Author: Angie
Email: AngieSuth@aol.com
Title: A Pyrrhic Victory
Characters: CJ/Toby
Rating: R
Summary: It's amazing what his mind blinds him with, how he can deceive himself; prepare his own truth.
Disclaimer: Not mine at all.
Spoilers: Season 4 is fair game
Feedback: Always appreciated.
A/N: Thanks to Kat, Emma and Jeanne.
Rhonda – hope your break was a good one. I hadn't lost it after all, not completely anyway.
Thank you, Oro – no longer a beta virgin, and only you know how much I owe you – or at least should. Onwards and upwards, as they say.
*
A Pyrrhic Victory
*
He stumbles into her office, dignity barely intact, and drops down onto the couch next to her. The cushion moulds instantly to his shape, like an old friend, and he is too wired to acknowledge it. Their thighs touch and she can feel the energy bouncing off him; wonders briefly how many stares he brushed off in his agitated journey, how many eyes are boring through her closed door, how many ears are straining for evidence of a fight. She won't give them the satisfaction. He, on the other hand, … he likes his reputation.
**
Toby forces his mind to focus. Expressing himself has always been a problem, he invariably needs a second, maybe third draft. What comes out of his mouth instead of his pen can land him in hot water, and with CJ more than most. Although she forgives him faster than the others, sometimes is the only one to do so.
CJ and his mother, may she rest in peace.
Focus, Toby, focus.
The words spray out of his mouth with the force of suppressed excitement behind them, "She said she'll think about it. Andi said she'll think about it."
It's no use, he can't sit still. Nearly a year of asking and constant rejection; hopes raised and then dashed.
"This time she didn't say 'no'".
He stops his manic prowling and turns to face the woman slumped on the couch, looking at her for the first time since he crash-landed in her office. He stares, eyes burning, not able to blink. And then he takes notice.
CJ is not slumped, he sees. It's amazing what his mind blinds him with, how he can deceive himself; prepare his own truth. The revelation registers briefly in a sudden flicker and a moistening of his lips. She is not slumped, but upright, shoulders forced back against the cushions, arms clamped to her sides and one hand balled into a fist. He is mesmerized by that fist. With arms that long she could pack quite a punch. He blows away the thought and rests his gaze on her face. It tells him nothing. He is outraged, outraged, that she should present him with her professional mask in his moment of near triumph. His voice when it erupts is cold.
"I believe you wanted a wedding. I believe you thought it would make your life easier."
He can hardly hear himself talk, wonders briefly whether he is actually saying the words. Apparently so; for in a flash, he sees her rise to her feet and then she is bearing down on him. Her agility has always disarmed him, made him anxious in his own body while simultaneously forcing him to acknowledge the ease with which she manipulates hers, the glory of it; the beauty. He silently thanks God for swimming pools and takes a nervous step back.
He knows that she is speaking, hears her words, but he cannot marry them with the lips that are inches from his own; pink and chapped and stretched over generous teeth. He closes his eyes and the meaning hits him.
"How dare you, Toby? Just … just how dare you imply that I would use your personal life to facilitate my professional one?"
And he has done it again; put himself in the wrong by the clumsiness of his anger, his inability to rein in his overpowering emotion, and the near triumph burns in ashes at his feet. The injustice strikes him, and then his sense of fair play and the years of knowing CJ and trusting her … eventually, swirl through the fog of his mind and he knows; knows he should have kept a hold on his temper and measured his words; knows he has hurt her, accused her unfairly. It's happened before.
He ponders the trade off.
Considers how she will punish him.
Trusts her innate kindness and generosity of spirit will keep them afloat as it has in the past.
He misses the danger signs.
**
She feels the heat of his thigh and moves her hand between her leg and his, fingers curled innocently. The contact warms her, reassures her even in the flash of sudden premonition, the 'Voice of Doom' that has echoed in her head since Saybrook, the feeling that her world is lopsided on its stand. Another nudge is coming, she just knows it.
"She said she'll think about it. Andi said she'll think about it." Then in quick succession, "This time she didn't say 'no'".
A scream fills her head, over and over. She sits upright, shoulders back. She is ready for battle. She remembers to breathe only when the pain in her palm penetrates the adrenaline rush. Her fingers cramp. Flight or fight, flight or fight. She only knows how to fight; Qumar, Haiti, Pakistan, Andi once and then Andi again. The lights flash in the briefing room, the State Department. Rosslyn. She slips on her poker face and the battle begins.
It's a facility, a talent even, that she has developed. She can appear unruffled, serene, while inside, inside the body she has grown to accept – love at times – inside that body, entire conversations are replayed or wars waged.
Andi. For the second time.
It is only now that CJ understands how much was pinned on that 'no'; that obstinate refusal. The refusal that she believed was the only thing keeping Toby at it, the hatred he has for losing, for giving in. That and the babies; she can't ignore the babies, much as she fucking wants to. Well, she can't ignore any of it now because Andi has given in, or at least given Toby hope, and CJ doesn't know what's worse - Toby's hope or her hopelessness.
Then she hears his voice and hears his words and feels his anger. And she hates him; very suddenly she hates him for what he has done to her, what he has made her become. Hates him for the life she has denied herself, even as she acknowledges that it is not his fault, that he has never offered himself to her, never pretended anything more. Hates him even more for the slur on her professionalism – why the fuck can't he at least leave that intact?
She's on her feet. Fast, and grateful for the bike and the gym and all that pain, because she could take him now, woman to man and hurt him … except he looks lost and she can't bear that. A change of tactic. Alter the battle plan. Take the moral high ground.
"How dare you, Toby? Just … just how dare you imply that I would use your personal life to facilitate my professional one?"
She finds her mark and watches his confusion and his retreat.
But she doesn't back off, doesn't absolve him.
History does not always bear repetition.
She prepares to attack.
**
CJ speaks softly and Toby feels her breath as a caress on his cheek, on his ear, on his neck, and he shivers despite himself.
"Can you remember what it is like to be with someone who wants you, Toby? A woman who desires you? A woman who dreams about you, craves your touch, wants nothing more than to lose herself in you?"
Her voice has the edge of old whisky and he finds himself craving its heat and its taste. He stands still and closes his eyes, letting her wash over him, waiting for her touch of forgiveness, bewildered by her meaning, but trusting in her. Always trusting in her.
She moves closer, moves until she can feel his beard on her lips, see the pulse in his temple. Until she can smell him.
"A woman who wants to know what you can do with those hands; those fingers that stroke and the warmth of those palms. A woman who needs to know what that mouth will feel like on her breasts, on her mouth; how that tongue can twist and lick. And suck." CJ stops and breathes. Her anger is mixed with arousal and she can feel Toby's desire against her thigh as he involuntarily presses against her; hears his heart hammering and sees the drop of sweat trickle down past his ear. She laps it up.
Toby is unbearably turned on.
"Can you remember, Toby? Or are you happy with a woman who has had all that and 'might be' interested in having it all again?"
He opens his eyes and finds himself staring straight into hers.
"CJ . . ." He swallows and leans in. A moth to a flame, like water in the desert. God, cliché after cliché. He can only think in clichés and he doesn't care.
He has to have her.
He has to have this.
He never has before.
CJ pulls back from the kiss, the abyss.
"Do you remember, Toby?" She sees him shake his head, desperation and confusion making him look younger than his years. Uniquely vulnerable.
"And do you want a woman who wants you like you want this? Do you want to make love with her, laugh with her? Grow old with her?"
He nods. Signals defeat and waits for her mercy.
She goes in for the kill.
"Well, I feel sorry for you, Toby." She lifts her head and walks to the door.
"Because she's leaving you now."
*
The End