Title: Fine Print.

Author: Adi
Spoilers: Errrrr none really.
Pairing: CJ/Toby Or not.

Summary: She never told anyone, especially not Toby, especially not while she was two drinks past drunk and three hours past exhausted.

Disclaimer: They're not mine, but if someone really loved me they'd get them for me for my birthday.

Author's Notes: I said I had writers block. She said drop and give me 500, I immediately kneeled and got out my wallet. Why she would want this fic instead of having me at her feet giving her money is beyond me.

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Sometimes she felt like she was one of those people who carried the king's throne as he sat and waved to the people. She couldn't explain why, at least not without sounding like a total idiot, so she never told anyone, especially not Toby, especially not while she was two drinks past drunk and three hours past exhausted.

"We're holding him up Toby, that's all we're doing. We're holding him up and making sure he doesn't get his shoes dirty." She was slouching, if only her mother could see her now, she was slouching and she was looking at the world through a shot glass. She wondered if maybe Toby was a bad influence on her, then figured they'd known each other too long for it to really matter.

"So?" She looked up from the glass and blinked, tracing back her train of thought until she figured out what he was talking about.

"So? Doesn't that bug you?" He was slouching too, but he was drinking beer, and wasn't nearly half as wasted as she was. She, however, was still the cute one, so she figured she could still have another couple of drinks.

"Not really." He still wasn't looking at her, which angered her even though she knew he didn't have to look her in the eye to take her seriously. "It's what we signed up for." He looked up, looked straight into her eyes, and took a drink. And suddenly she wasn't angry, just tired, and drunk, and staring into the eyes of one of the only men that could make her feel stupid without even trying.

"Is it Toby?" Late nights and early mornings. Heartburn and heartbreak. Fighting and losing and fighting again. Sour victories and words that left a bitter aftertaste. Carrying a king on their shoulders because he had promised them when they put him down their country would be a better place to live in, but meanwhile they had to keep the mud away from him, to make sure that he stayed clean." Is this really what we signed up for?"

He looked at her a long time then, long enough to wonder whether he even remembered what they were talking about, long enough so that she had to look down again, because his eyes could burn, and they could freeze, and she was too drunk and too tired to be able to deal with the climate change.

"Let's go." And she looked up again he had already paid the bill and was standing next to her holding out his hand.

In the morning, sometime between swallowing an aspirin dry and forcing her red eyes open to accept the eye drops, she'll decide that it never happened. That she had never told anyone that sometimes she felt like her back was breaking and that it didn't really matter, especially not Toby, especially not while she was two drinks past drunk and three hours past exhausted.

That night the cool air sobered her somewhat and Toby hailed a cab for her but didn't open the door when it arrived. That night as she climbed into the cab wishing that she hadn't worn high heels she played with the thought of inviting him home, but decided against it, because he was Toby, and he was the one man in the world that could make her feel stupid without even trying. Sometimes she felt like she was one of those people who carried the king's throne as he sat and waved to the people, and apparently that's what she had signed up for. She knew she should have read the fine print.