It was inevitable, of course, that Simon would be invited to the Residence with alarming speed. There was to be a party five days after her rescue, but Zoey and the First Couple wanted some time alone with Simon first. Being Simon, he was acutely uncomfortable with the fuss. Worse, he felt responsible for Molly O'Connor's death, which he didn't foresee. Combine that with his dread of seeing CJ, or worse, not seeing her, and the result was a very agitated, hurt human being.

Though he has met with the President before, as part of the security briefings following the rescue, there was no chance for any personal exchange. In the days following the rescue, the President and the Senior Staff learned that Simon's year-long work, gaining the terrorists' trust and subtly guiding their actions, were largely responsible for keeping Zoey alive, and for her safe delivery to Simon. The First Family was going to make this night very personal.

Zoey flew out of her seat (Charlie's lap) when he entered, and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. Embarrassed, he untangled himself from her arms, and gave her a half-smile.

"You look much better than the last time I saw you, Ms. Bartlet. Perkier, too."

Zoey smiled. "You're not gonna be all formal with me now, are you?"

"Of course he's not," her father boomed as he came to shake Simon's hand. "That's an order, Simon."

"Yes Sir."

And they sat down to talk.

The Senior Staffers, minus CJ, arrived at 6:30. Simon found himself most comfortable with Will, who came with no "shooting in NY" baggage.

He enjoyed seeing these people genuinely celebrating, their closeness evident in times of happiness just as it was in time of crisis. But he was the odd man out, in more ways than one, and there was really nothing to keep him there beyond required courtesy.

As he was looking around, hoping against hope CJ was just late, Simon felt a tap on his arm. Abbey Bartlet was by his side. "Give her time, Simon."

"Yes ma'am," he replied automatically, realizing he sounded like the idiot CJ fondly said he was. It happened outside the theater, in New York, a lifetime and one year ago.

Abbey sighed and shook her, then almost dragged Simon across the hall, to an empty room where they could speak in private.

"Simon, what's the one thing you would guess really scares CJ Cregg?"

Frankly, Simon couldn't think of anything that would really scare CJ. "Snakes?" He suggested, because it was something to say rather than admit how much he really didn't know the woman he fell in love with in three short weeks.

Abbey chuckled. "Well, besides that."

Simon shook his head, feeling tired and depressed. The past five days have been brutal, personally, with the fallout of his "resurrection" continuing unabated. He sometimes wished he could keep his fictitious identity and let Simon Donovan stay dead…He shook his head and focused back on Abbey Bartlet.  

 "She's been hurt before, by men she thought she could love, men whom she loved…she's afraid of letting herself fall in love, or even come close. With you, she already felt she was treading on dangerous ground – she told me she thought she could fall in love with you, despite herself, and then she lost you. She needs time."

Simon nodded. He understood what Abbey was saying, but he couldn't help wondering if there was enough time in the universe to help CJ get close to him again.

After leaving the party, Simon went to CJ's office. He expected she'd gone home, and wanted to leave her a note. He was feeling the kind of pain he hadn't experienced since his wife's murder thirteen years ago. If he thought too much about the implications of his reactions, he was pretty sure he would go crazy. So he just concentrated on composing the note in his head as he made his way through the now-quiet West Wing. He sat at Carol's desk to write the note.

"Funny, you don't look like Carol."

Simon got up, heart beating wildly. Uncharacteristically, he could not think of a single snarky response. He simply whispered her name, trying to find his normal voice. He cleared his throat and tried again.

"You weren't at the…I was going to leave you a note. I figured you'd gone home."

She meant to. She couldn't bring herself to go to the party, but a part of her hoped he'd end up here, so she stayed and tried to work.

 "I live here, you ought to know."

He nodded, reaching out with his hand to touch her face, but stopping short. His hand fell to his side, and he looked at her. Her face was closed, her eyes hooded. He kept his own face open – quite the role reversal for them. They stood in silence for a long time, until he spoke first.

"I'm sorry."

She shook her head.

"CJ, I didn't know…and never dreamed it would happen the way it did…or take so long."

She nodded, and whispered, "I just…don't know what I'm supposed to feel…or do."

He sighed. "You're not supposed to do anything that…feels wrong. Or uncomfortable. And…if you tell me you'd be happier with me completely out of your life I'll go. I can't really say I'd blame you, either."

He looked down for a moment, than looked up at her again and smiled sadly. "I'm going to Chicago tomorrow, to untangle the mess there…If you want…can I call you? Just one call and we can take it from there. No promises, no pressure. Or you can take your time, I won't call, but I'll take you out for that drink I owe you when I get back. You call the shots right now."

"Right now?" she was amused.

"I'm not good at being contrite for lengthy periods."

"I see." Somewhere in her, laughter almost bubbled to the surface, which she took as a hopeful sign. "A phone call would be nice."

His face lit up and the smile she missed so much seemed to brighten her world. "Really?"

"Simon, to borrow a line, don't make me feel so benevolent."

He chuckled. "I'd like to know where that line is borrowed from, but I'm not pushing my luck any further tonight. It may be a couple of days before I can call…things will be pretty tough. Can you wait?"

She gave him a look. He nodded. "Right. Thank you."