Title: To Think About the Weather
Author: keladryb: keladrywrites@aol.com
livejournal: , website:
Fandom: The West Wing
Summary: Sometimes, CJ wishes she could just disappear.
Disclaimer: Not mine, Don't sue.
To Think About the Weather
She wants to disappear, sometimes. She used to try, but she gave up on that all those
months ago when she was running the length of the mall, and that damn kid from Georgetown
caught up with her and asked for her fucking autograph. It was almost midnight, and that
damn kid was asking for her autograph like it was two in the afternoon back in L.A. and
she was Julia Fucking Roberts. That's when she knew: she could never disappear, not in
Washington.
Still, she thinks about disappearing often. It's not the days you might expect. She's okay
on the bad days, usually so full of adrenaline that she forgets that she wants to be
invisible. No, it's the good days, after things are calm and she's talking about the First
Lady's shoes or the what wine they'll be drinking with dinner. It's the days when
everything's going right and she remembers herself.
This is one of those days. The world is at peace, or rather, no one in the press cares
that it's not, because the U.S. isn't about to do anything about poverty in Haiti or the
brutal torment of women in Qumar. The President's at Camp David with Abbey and the
girls--he even convinced Ellie to come. It's Friday night and the last briefing went by so
smoothly she can't remember what she said. Josh is already gone, and Donna's heading out.
Toby's off to spend a weekend with the twins. She sent Carol home an hour ago, and she's
alone. At least, as alone as anyone ever is, in the White House. She lets herself sink
further into her chair, turns off the TVs, and closes her eyes. This is one of those days.
She focuses on breathing. That's the trick, really. In and out. Out and in. Like her
junior high French teacher all those years ago when the class was rowdy. Inspirer,
expirer. Inspirer. The harsh bite of the air conditioner turned up too high. Expirer.
Forgotten meals, unreturned eMails, missed phone calls. Inspirer. The flowers
someone sent to Carol that she forgot to take home for the weekend. Expirer. Her
name, called over and over and over again. Inspirer. The dust that's permanently
settled onto her couch, since she pissed off a janitor six months ago. Expirer.
Everyone else's world crumbling around her while she tries to pick up the pieces.
She's tired of holding everyone else together, because she has no time for herself
anymore. An hour a day, if that. An hour to reflect on her father's health, her mother's
death, her niece's college admissions, her brothers' latest gripe. An hour a day, and she
spends it on them. She remembers lounging by her pool, back in California, spending hours
thinking about nothing but the weather. Now, she wishes she'd spent that time in
self-reflection. She can't go back, of course, but usually, when she thinks of
disappearing, she wants to be sitting by a pool somewhere with the sun shining down on her
bare skin.
She wasn't happy then, not by any stretch, but she had time to wallow in her unhappiness,
and time to forget how miserable she was. Time to lounge by the pool and think about the
weather. And perhaps that's what bothers her about the little down time she does have.
It's not that she can't reflect on the weather: it's that she's forgotten how. Somewhere
between the first campaign and the second inauguration, her entire life seemed to become
the Bartlet Administration, and she's not sure how to salvage a piece for herself anymore.
She used to try, she remembers. She used to work out, used to jog, used to take her niece
out for lunch and go shopping for prom dresses. She used to date, used to steal kisses
from Danny, or Tad, and even from Simon, once. Simon. That's when the desire to disappear
started, really. Back when he was always on her tail, back when she couldn't shake him,
back when she stopped wanting to.
And then he was gone, and for a moment, she thought she was invisible. But, of course, she
wasn't, because then the cameras were in her face and the press was calling C.J., C.J.,
C.J.... And Toby and Ron tried to comfort her, but men are no good at that kind of
thing, and she brushed them away and sat in her New York hotel room and cried, but only
for a minute, because she had to brush her tears away, had to go back to Washington and
the cameras and everyone else's problems.
Sometimes, she wishes she could just break down, but that's a luxury she can't afford, so
she wants to disappear, instead.