TITLE: Playing for Keeps
AUTHOR: Kansas J. Miller
PAIRING: CJ/Charlie
RATING: PG-13
SPOILERS: "Hartsfield's Landing", "Posse Comitatus", and "20 Hours in America"
DISCLAIMER: CJ, Charlie and all of the "West Wing" character belong to Aaron Sorkin. Clearly, 'cause I doubt he'd be having them do this.
AUTHOR NOTE: This is going to be a five-parter and was spurred on by the pranks in HL, but it quickly turned into something deeper and a little bit more involved than I'd immediately imagined. Still, I hope it's remotely believable (even it if it is CJ & Charlie) and I appreciate feedback. Thank you to Rhonda!! Look for frequent updates. (
~*~
"You really wanna dance with me?"
Sure, Charlie thought inwardly, keeping his mouth set in a straight, firm line. I'll dance with you anytime.
It wasn't the first time CJ had caught Charlie's attention. In fact, Charlie always found himself amused by, and a bit drawn to, the tall Press Secretary, even though he'd never admit it to himself.
Every so often, she'd give him an idiotic nickname or smirk back at one of his cracks; he wasn't very close to CJ but whenever he found himself in a conversation with her, Charlie was aware of the excessive teasing that their banter always turned to. CJ was funny and fun to be around, even when she was antagonizing him or making variations on his given name.
So as part of the package it came that when Leo asked for an explanation, CJ proceeded to shriek hers in a voice threatening to transcend Charlie's. More of a surprise was the calm look on CJ's face when her desk collapsed under the weight of the thrown book
"So, how long do you usually make people your bitch?"
She hadn't even flinched. It was impressive, actually, and as Charlie tossed a grim-faced, hard-nosed, "Depends," over his shoulder in response, he fought the urge to laugh with her. Not too many senior staffers would take in stride such practical jokes as they'd played on each other; no one was really mischievous like CJ was.
~*~
Deanna graduated high school and the life kept picking up speed until it was the summer again. For Charlie, the summer was no different than the rest of the year. Same early starts, same frantic job, same late nights working outside of the Oval Office.
This summer could be distinguished from the others only by the extensive amount of travelling that they did. Having not been a part of the first campaign, Charlie was secretly fascinated by the furious work that went on behind the scenes of a presidential bid. His day began earlier, his work grew more frantic, and the nights became almost nonexistent as they faded back into the mornings.
Somewhere between the passing of spring and the start of summer, they had lost a little piece of CJ. Charlie wouldn't have known first hand; he never knew anything of a personal nature about the staff unless he overheard them talking. They were all friends, but there were clear degrees of separation between the Senior Staff and senior aides. Long flights cooped up on Air Force One did, however, lend easily to an unintentional eavesdrop; it was frequent that Charlie picked up bits and pieces of chatter.
It was usually not very interesting; Leo was working too hard, Toby was grumpy, Sam was getting burned out, Josh and Amy, more Josh and Amy.there was always plenty of the same to go 'round. On one particular flight in early June, a late night trip from Portland to Andrews, Charlie heard Toby's mumbling murmur; it was unusual to hear something unrelated to work out of the Communications Director, and so with piqued ears, Charlie had listened.
CJ. CJ was unraveled, grieving through her hurt but hiding it. It was clear to only a select few that she was losing weight, interest and focus. It might have been Sam or it could have been Josh, Charlie was not sure, but the response that came was a patronizing, "can you blame her?"
Even if no one else had noticed, Charlie refused not to feel guilty. If nothing else, CJ was a friend and if a friend was in pain.Charlie now thought about her reaction to Simon Donovan's death. He could relate to her there; losing someone at the bullet of an angry gun was a penetrating sickness that one never fully recovered from. How close CJ and the Secret Service agent had become, Charlie was not sure, though he had heard the rumors. That was private business, but if CJ was being so deeply wracked and affected by it.worse, if she were hiding it.Charlie thought to seek CJ out on the matter, but before his mind could ponder it further, a work- related distraction had arisen.
It wasn't until another night in late-August that Charlie earned a substantive interaction with the Press Secretary; it wasn't clear until that night just how deeply CJ was feeling the same pain Charlie himself had been dealt.
~*~
"He really tore it up tonight, didn't he?" Charlie asked jovially, walking swiftly out of the hotel ballroom, tailing Sam and Josh.
"I don't know, Charlie, I'm pretty drunk," Josh slurred, swaying until he was steadied by Sam's hand.
Looking over his shoulder at the younger man, Sam nodded to Charlie. "He did well," Sam asserted, his demeanor calm but his eyes shining. "We've been doing well," he repeated again, shoving Josh towards a door.
Waiting as Josh clumsily unlocked his hotel room and stumbled inside, Sam then turned back to Charlie with a shrug and a smile. They continued down the hallway, neither man quite so inebriated as Josh, yet still light from the party. It was the last night of the Democratic Convention and in mere hours, Air Force One would be leaving for Washington.
"We're out of here at six?" Sam confirmed, stopping at his room.
"Yeah. Someone was incredibly inconsiderate in their planning," Charlie responded glibly, searching his own pockets for a key.
"G'night," Sam offered, disappearing into his room as Charlie did the same.
Once inside, Charlie stifled a yawn as he slowly began to remove the layers of his tuxedo. By the time he was down to an undershirt and boxers, the crisply-made bed was looking more and more enticing to the young aide. Sure that the President and First Lady were secure one floor above and not in need of his services, Charlie allowed himself to fall face-down on the mattress.
If it was two minutes or two hours later, Charlie could not distinguish. He'd been shocked awake by the unmistakable sound of crashing glass and CJ's muffled cursing. Groggily pulling himself into a sitting position, Charlie waited a moment while he oriented himself. CJ's voice. CJ's room. CJ was in her room next door. Breaking glass from the room next door where CJ was...Breaking glass?
Approaching the locked connector door, Charlie felt the dizziness wash over him as more blood rushed through his head. Opening his side of the door, Charlie brought his knuckles to the smooth white door, knocking twice. He waited before another two knocks.
"CJ? It's Charlie. Are you okay?"
A beat passed. CJ's still-muffled voice eventually responded. "Go away, Charlie, I'm fine."
Twisting his mouth into a smirk, Charlie knocked again. "I heard you break a glass. Are you sure everything's okay?"
"Yeah, Charlie, things are peachy-keen. Go away."
Her voice sounded more distant this time, and as Charlie stood with his head pressed to the door, he wondered if CJ were drinking. Another thud came from inside the room, something falling to the ground.
"CJ. If you don't open the door in fifteen seconds, I'm gonna get the Secret Service in here to-"
"Christ, Charlie, I said I was fine!" her high-pitched, wide-eyed shriek came loud and clear as CJ flung the connecting door wide open. And there she stood in a tank top and shorts with her hair pulled up, a huge wad of tissue wrapped around her left index finger.
"Further proof," Charlie nodded with a self-inflating smirk, his eyes resting nonetheless on CJ with concern.
"Proof of what?" CJ asked, shaking her head in confusion.
"When someone says they're fine, it usually means they're not," Charlie explained, simultaneously taking CJ by the wrist and turning her into the room. Leading her over to the dresser, Charlie left her standing dazedly while he rooted through her toiletry bag. He found a Band-Aid and held it up with a triumphant smile, determined that he play this lightly.
"Charlie, I can do it myself," CJ murmured, watching through a haze as Charlie wrapped her bleeding finger.
"Yeah," he smirked softly, gesturing at the broken bottle of Jose Cuervo. "'Cause not only do you smell like Tequila, but it's clearly affected your motor skills."
CJ only stared at Charlie, acutely aware of alcohol coursing through her blood. It had been a good plan at the time; they were in New York City and the party sucked. Simon had died here three months before, and since no one else seemed to remember.it was a shame that she'd dropped the bottle before it was empty. Now the room and her own breath reeked of the sour, bitter liquid.
"CJ," Charlie was saying, stepping closer as he spoke. "What's this about?"
"Nothing," she answered too quickly, her slight giggle forced even despite of her swimming head.
Charlie's eyes were penetrating and accusatory as he continued to stare her down. Shrinking back a bit in reflexive defense, CJ found herself sitting on the edge of the unturned bed. Avoiding Charlie's eyes for a moment, CJ finally forced herself to focus on the younger man. Swallowing the bitter taste on her tongue, she rolled her neck and finally answered with an evasive, "Oh, you know."
"I do know," Charlie crossed his arms over his chest succinctly, nodding his head once. "I'm sure I know exactly what you're going through. But since you didn't come to me-or anyone, for that matter, no one can help you. We'd like to, trust me, but you have to stop hiding."
Charlie found his eyes resting on CJ's long, slim legs as he wondered about his hard-edged tone. She didn't need that in a sober frame of mind, much less this dulled drunkenness. "CJ, I didn't mean to-"
CJ clumsily held up a hand to stop him. "It's 'kay. He died. People do that from time to time," she said lazily, sighing as her eyes finally focussed on Charlie's dark ones. "I just wanna forget."
"Drinking yourself into oblivion," Charlie began, touching CJ's shoulder and indicating towards the unturned sheets, "is the wrong answer."
He felt a bit like he was lecturing, but as Charlie helped CJ under the covers, he saw the smile that registered sloppily on her face as she asked, "You got the right one, then, Chipper?"
Sitting himself down on the edge of the bed, and briefly wondering if he should have left five minutes ago, Charlie placed his palm on the top of CJ's hair. "You have a nickname problem," he muttered through a grin.
CJ snickered cynically, rolling onto her stomach. Resting her head on the pillow so she was facing Charlie, her eyes lazily traced the lines of his dark face. "Whatcha gonna do, punish me?" CJ asked, her voice and her eyelids heavy.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Charlie teased, unsure of where his words came from; very sure of CJ's appeal, her long legs tangled together as she stretched her body over the mattress.
"Yes," CJ responded clearly, the teasing tone gone from her voice.
Suddenly aware that his palm was resting in the middle of CJ's back, only her thin tank top separating skin from skin, Charlie quickly stood up. Their eyes were still locked, and there was something electric in her voice. It was something that Charlie would have taken advantage of if she were not so drunk or emotionally torn up. The prospect of exploring a response was exciting, but for one night, Charlie had spent enough time alone in CJ's room.
"Wake up call is at five," he informed her, watching as the smile faded off of CJ's face, her eyes closed. A noncommittal murmur was all he received in response, and she was asleep before he locked their connecting door. Charlie returned to his room and went back to bed hoping that in the morning, all would be forgotten.
~*~
Air Force One quickly filled with tired, groggy staffers, and after CJ squared away her business with the press, she sank exhaustedly into one of the plush leather seats. Her head was pounding with a vicious hangover, and as she sat holding her temples, all that remained clear from the night before was Charlie.
The broken glass and the cut on her finger, the smell of Tequila blanketing her room, Charlie somehow arriving inside, fixing her finger and coaxing her into bed.it was all blurry save for the strange tease that had passed between the two. Maybe the drunkenness was altering her memory, but CJ was sure that whatever had happened was really one of those things that shouldn't have.
Charlie sat subtly down next to CJ, eyeing her as she remained deep in thought. Last night had gone unmentioned until now, when Charlie intended to offer her an open ear. He was hoping she hadn't noticed the slight moment of their unprofessional behavior, and even in the back of his mind, Charlie tried to convince himself it had been just another piece of CJ's mischievous banter. Nonetheless, it played on his mind as he touched CJ's sleeve.
"Feeling better?" he asked brightly, rewarded with one of CJ's trademark smirks.
"I'm hung over and embarrassed, what do you want me to say?" she sighed, cocking her head towards the younger man.
"Nothing," Charlie shrugged with a smile. "But if you ever do want to say anything.it might be good for you."
"Yah," CJ yawned, uncomfortable with opening up, and she couldn't recall what she'd said to him the night before.
"I'm here if you ever need me," Charlie added lightly, his behavior genuine but just a tad forced.
CJ leaned her head against the seat and turned her head, smiling with her lips pressed together.
"Thanks Charlie," she said quietly, nodding and watching as he stood.
Just then Sam rushed past, rambling and catching Charlie by the arm. Before he could be completely swept off to work, Charlie was able to offer CJ a reassuring grin.
CJ sighed, crossed her legs and waited for the plane to take off. There was nothing Charlie-or anyone else, for that matter-could really say that would make life better, and deep down CJ wasn't even sure she wanted to fix her mood. Sometimes it was just easier to feel sad. Yet all through the flight the image of Charlie wrapping a Band-Aid around her finger wandered through her thoughts. Before they touched down in Washington, D.C., CJ knew she'd end up talking to him, one way or another.
AUTHOR: Kansas J. Miller
PAIRING: CJ/Charlie
RATING: PG-13
SPOILERS: "Hartsfield's Landing", "Posse Comitatus", and "20 Hours in America"
DISCLAIMER: CJ, Charlie and all of the "West Wing" character belong to Aaron Sorkin. Clearly, 'cause I doubt he'd be having them do this.
AUTHOR NOTE: This is going to be a five-parter and was spurred on by the pranks in HL, but it quickly turned into something deeper and a little bit more involved than I'd immediately imagined. Still, I hope it's remotely believable (even it if it is CJ & Charlie) and I appreciate feedback. Thank you to Rhonda!! Look for frequent updates. (
~*~
"You really wanna dance with me?"
Sure, Charlie thought inwardly, keeping his mouth set in a straight, firm line. I'll dance with you anytime.
It wasn't the first time CJ had caught Charlie's attention. In fact, Charlie always found himself amused by, and a bit drawn to, the tall Press Secretary, even though he'd never admit it to himself.
Every so often, she'd give him an idiotic nickname or smirk back at one of his cracks; he wasn't very close to CJ but whenever he found himself in a conversation with her, Charlie was aware of the excessive teasing that their banter always turned to. CJ was funny and fun to be around, even when she was antagonizing him or making variations on his given name.
So as part of the package it came that when Leo asked for an explanation, CJ proceeded to shriek hers in a voice threatening to transcend Charlie's. More of a surprise was the calm look on CJ's face when her desk collapsed under the weight of the thrown book
"So, how long do you usually make people your bitch?"
She hadn't even flinched. It was impressive, actually, and as Charlie tossed a grim-faced, hard-nosed, "Depends," over his shoulder in response, he fought the urge to laugh with her. Not too many senior staffers would take in stride such practical jokes as they'd played on each other; no one was really mischievous like CJ was.
~*~
Deanna graduated high school and the life kept picking up speed until it was the summer again. For Charlie, the summer was no different than the rest of the year. Same early starts, same frantic job, same late nights working outside of the Oval Office.
This summer could be distinguished from the others only by the extensive amount of travelling that they did. Having not been a part of the first campaign, Charlie was secretly fascinated by the furious work that went on behind the scenes of a presidential bid. His day began earlier, his work grew more frantic, and the nights became almost nonexistent as they faded back into the mornings.
Somewhere between the passing of spring and the start of summer, they had lost a little piece of CJ. Charlie wouldn't have known first hand; he never knew anything of a personal nature about the staff unless he overheard them talking. They were all friends, but there were clear degrees of separation between the Senior Staff and senior aides. Long flights cooped up on Air Force One did, however, lend easily to an unintentional eavesdrop; it was frequent that Charlie picked up bits and pieces of chatter.
It was usually not very interesting; Leo was working too hard, Toby was grumpy, Sam was getting burned out, Josh and Amy, more Josh and Amy.there was always plenty of the same to go 'round. On one particular flight in early June, a late night trip from Portland to Andrews, Charlie heard Toby's mumbling murmur; it was unusual to hear something unrelated to work out of the Communications Director, and so with piqued ears, Charlie had listened.
CJ. CJ was unraveled, grieving through her hurt but hiding it. It was clear to only a select few that she was losing weight, interest and focus. It might have been Sam or it could have been Josh, Charlie was not sure, but the response that came was a patronizing, "can you blame her?"
Even if no one else had noticed, Charlie refused not to feel guilty. If nothing else, CJ was a friend and if a friend was in pain.Charlie now thought about her reaction to Simon Donovan's death. He could relate to her there; losing someone at the bullet of an angry gun was a penetrating sickness that one never fully recovered from. How close CJ and the Secret Service agent had become, Charlie was not sure, though he had heard the rumors. That was private business, but if CJ was being so deeply wracked and affected by it.worse, if she were hiding it.Charlie thought to seek CJ out on the matter, but before his mind could ponder it further, a work- related distraction had arisen.
It wasn't until another night in late-August that Charlie earned a substantive interaction with the Press Secretary; it wasn't clear until that night just how deeply CJ was feeling the same pain Charlie himself had been dealt.
~*~
"He really tore it up tonight, didn't he?" Charlie asked jovially, walking swiftly out of the hotel ballroom, tailing Sam and Josh.
"I don't know, Charlie, I'm pretty drunk," Josh slurred, swaying until he was steadied by Sam's hand.
Looking over his shoulder at the younger man, Sam nodded to Charlie. "He did well," Sam asserted, his demeanor calm but his eyes shining. "We've been doing well," he repeated again, shoving Josh towards a door.
Waiting as Josh clumsily unlocked his hotel room and stumbled inside, Sam then turned back to Charlie with a shrug and a smile. They continued down the hallway, neither man quite so inebriated as Josh, yet still light from the party. It was the last night of the Democratic Convention and in mere hours, Air Force One would be leaving for Washington.
"We're out of here at six?" Sam confirmed, stopping at his room.
"Yeah. Someone was incredibly inconsiderate in their planning," Charlie responded glibly, searching his own pockets for a key.
"G'night," Sam offered, disappearing into his room as Charlie did the same.
Once inside, Charlie stifled a yawn as he slowly began to remove the layers of his tuxedo. By the time he was down to an undershirt and boxers, the crisply-made bed was looking more and more enticing to the young aide. Sure that the President and First Lady were secure one floor above and not in need of his services, Charlie allowed himself to fall face-down on the mattress.
If it was two minutes or two hours later, Charlie could not distinguish. He'd been shocked awake by the unmistakable sound of crashing glass and CJ's muffled cursing. Groggily pulling himself into a sitting position, Charlie waited a moment while he oriented himself. CJ's voice. CJ's room. CJ was in her room next door. Breaking glass from the room next door where CJ was...Breaking glass?
Approaching the locked connector door, Charlie felt the dizziness wash over him as more blood rushed through his head. Opening his side of the door, Charlie brought his knuckles to the smooth white door, knocking twice. He waited before another two knocks.
"CJ? It's Charlie. Are you okay?"
A beat passed. CJ's still-muffled voice eventually responded. "Go away, Charlie, I'm fine."
Twisting his mouth into a smirk, Charlie knocked again. "I heard you break a glass. Are you sure everything's okay?"
"Yeah, Charlie, things are peachy-keen. Go away."
Her voice sounded more distant this time, and as Charlie stood with his head pressed to the door, he wondered if CJ were drinking. Another thud came from inside the room, something falling to the ground.
"CJ. If you don't open the door in fifteen seconds, I'm gonna get the Secret Service in here to-"
"Christ, Charlie, I said I was fine!" her high-pitched, wide-eyed shriek came loud and clear as CJ flung the connecting door wide open. And there she stood in a tank top and shorts with her hair pulled up, a huge wad of tissue wrapped around her left index finger.
"Further proof," Charlie nodded with a self-inflating smirk, his eyes resting nonetheless on CJ with concern.
"Proof of what?" CJ asked, shaking her head in confusion.
"When someone says they're fine, it usually means they're not," Charlie explained, simultaneously taking CJ by the wrist and turning her into the room. Leading her over to the dresser, Charlie left her standing dazedly while he rooted through her toiletry bag. He found a Band-Aid and held it up with a triumphant smile, determined that he play this lightly.
"Charlie, I can do it myself," CJ murmured, watching through a haze as Charlie wrapped her bleeding finger.
"Yeah," he smirked softly, gesturing at the broken bottle of Jose Cuervo. "'Cause not only do you smell like Tequila, but it's clearly affected your motor skills."
CJ only stared at Charlie, acutely aware of alcohol coursing through her blood. It had been a good plan at the time; they were in New York City and the party sucked. Simon had died here three months before, and since no one else seemed to remember.it was a shame that she'd dropped the bottle before it was empty. Now the room and her own breath reeked of the sour, bitter liquid.
"CJ," Charlie was saying, stepping closer as he spoke. "What's this about?"
"Nothing," she answered too quickly, her slight giggle forced even despite of her swimming head.
Charlie's eyes were penetrating and accusatory as he continued to stare her down. Shrinking back a bit in reflexive defense, CJ found herself sitting on the edge of the unturned bed. Avoiding Charlie's eyes for a moment, CJ finally forced herself to focus on the younger man. Swallowing the bitter taste on her tongue, she rolled her neck and finally answered with an evasive, "Oh, you know."
"I do know," Charlie crossed his arms over his chest succinctly, nodding his head once. "I'm sure I know exactly what you're going through. But since you didn't come to me-or anyone, for that matter, no one can help you. We'd like to, trust me, but you have to stop hiding."
Charlie found his eyes resting on CJ's long, slim legs as he wondered about his hard-edged tone. She didn't need that in a sober frame of mind, much less this dulled drunkenness. "CJ, I didn't mean to-"
CJ clumsily held up a hand to stop him. "It's 'kay. He died. People do that from time to time," she said lazily, sighing as her eyes finally focussed on Charlie's dark ones. "I just wanna forget."
"Drinking yourself into oblivion," Charlie began, touching CJ's shoulder and indicating towards the unturned sheets, "is the wrong answer."
He felt a bit like he was lecturing, but as Charlie helped CJ under the covers, he saw the smile that registered sloppily on her face as she asked, "You got the right one, then, Chipper?"
Sitting himself down on the edge of the bed, and briefly wondering if he should have left five minutes ago, Charlie placed his palm on the top of CJ's hair. "You have a nickname problem," he muttered through a grin.
CJ snickered cynically, rolling onto her stomach. Resting her head on the pillow so she was facing Charlie, her eyes lazily traced the lines of his dark face. "Whatcha gonna do, punish me?" CJ asked, her voice and her eyelids heavy.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Charlie teased, unsure of where his words came from; very sure of CJ's appeal, her long legs tangled together as she stretched her body over the mattress.
"Yes," CJ responded clearly, the teasing tone gone from her voice.
Suddenly aware that his palm was resting in the middle of CJ's back, only her thin tank top separating skin from skin, Charlie quickly stood up. Their eyes were still locked, and there was something electric in her voice. It was something that Charlie would have taken advantage of if she were not so drunk or emotionally torn up. The prospect of exploring a response was exciting, but for one night, Charlie had spent enough time alone in CJ's room.
"Wake up call is at five," he informed her, watching as the smile faded off of CJ's face, her eyes closed. A noncommittal murmur was all he received in response, and she was asleep before he locked their connecting door. Charlie returned to his room and went back to bed hoping that in the morning, all would be forgotten.
~*~
Air Force One quickly filled with tired, groggy staffers, and after CJ squared away her business with the press, she sank exhaustedly into one of the plush leather seats. Her head was pounding with a vicious hangover, and as she sat holding her temples, all that remained clear from the night before was Charlie.
The broken glass and the cut on her finger, the smell of Tequila blanketing her room, Charlie somehow arriving inside, fixing her finger and coaxing her into bed.it was all blurry save for the strange tease that had passed between the two. Maybe the drunkenness was altering her memory, but CJ was sure that whatever had happened was really one of those things that shouldn't have.
Charlie sat subtly down next to CJ, eyeing her as she remained deep in thought. Last night had gone unmentioned until now, when Charlie intended to offer her an open ear. He was hoping she hadn't noticed the slight moment of their unprofessional behavior, and even in the back of his mind, Charlie tried to convince himself it had been just another piece of CJ's mischievous banter. Nonetheless, it played on his mind as he touched CJ's sleeve.
"Feeling better?" he asked brightly, rewarded with one of CJ's trademark smirks.
"I'm hung over and embarrassed, what do you want me to say?" she sighed, cocking her head towards the younger man.
"Nothing," Charlie shrugged with a smile. "But if you ever do want to say anything.it might be good for you."
"Yah," CJ yawned, uncomfortable with opening up, and she couldn't recall what she'd said to him the night before.
"I'm here if you ever need me," Charlie added lightly, his behavior genuine but just a tad forced.
CJ leaned her head against the seat and turned her head, smiling with her lips pressed together.
"Thanks Charlie," she said quietly, nodding and watching as he stood.
Just then Sam rushed past, rambling and catching Charlie by the arm. Before he could be completely swept off to work, Charlie was able to offer CJ a reassuring grin.
CJ sighed, crossed her legs and waited for the plane to take off. There was nothing Charlie-or anyone else, for that matter-could really say that would make life better, and deep down CJ wasn't even sure she wanted to fix her mood. Sometimes it was just easier to feel sad. Yet all through the flight the image of Charlie wrapping a Band-Aid around her finger wandered through her thoughts. Before they touched down in Washington, D.C., CJ knew she'd end up talking to him, one way or another.