Disclaimer: CJ and Co. aren't mine, but Chris is. Yay!

Notes: This is the first installment in what will most probably be a three-part Chris-centric detour. I hope you like it; please let me know!. Without witchofnovember, this would not have been written, plain and simple, so thank her. You rock, friend. This is for you.

It's a rainy California evening. I have the window open, so I can hear the patter of the rain and the rumble of thunder. I love the sound of storms.

Then I hear something I'm not expecting: A rap at the door. I tighten the belt of my cream-colored robe and go to open it. To my surprise, Chris is there, in a sodden gray sweatshirt and khakis.

"Chris?"

He looks up. Rain drips from his hair onto his face. He attempts to smile, but it's a dismal failure. His hands are in his pockets, and he's chewing on his lip.

"What's the matter?"

"Dennis is leaving. He's moving to New York for good."

I'd be the first to acknowledge that kids and I don't mix. I mean, I love all my nieces and nephews, honorary and otherwise, and I adore spending time with them. But a 24/7 mommy? You've got the wrong CJ Cregg. And I've always stuck by that belief.

Except, now and again, I get…sad.

In Chris I recognized a kindred spirit: someone offbeat and witty, who was searching for something: acceptance.

I remember the day I made him that daiquiri. Once inside, I gripped the edge of the sink for what seemed like hours. That sunny, brilliant kid, always ready with a hug or a wisecrack, carrying around all of that hurt. It just…got to me.

So I did things. Kept an eye on him. Sent him notes, emails, made sure he had a place to stay over breaks. I gave him a Gail Jr. for his birthday one year. When he got mono, Josh and I strong-armed him into staying at my place for a while.

We just, we get one another. And that feels good.

He's sitting on the couch, uncharacteristically quiet. I go into the guest room, find some sweats and a t-shirt he left the last time he stayed over, hand them to him. "Here." He looks at me rather blankly. "Chris, if this couch gets mildewy I'll kill you. You're soaked. Go change." He smiles wanly and goes into the bathroom. I put the kettle on and grab a towel from the hall closet.

When he comes out, he looks a bit better. I hand him the towel and he rubs abstractedly at his hair. The kettle whines. I make up two mugs of tea and watch as he takes a long sip. "Now," I say, "start over."

Chris jumped from one relationship to another over the years, a mad spinning top, always backing away before things got too deep. I recognized the pattern quite well, of course, and it caused me a measure of pain, for myself and for him. I held my tongue, though, told myself it wasn't my business.

So I was glad when he met Denny. He seemed stronger, more secure in showing his true feelings and affections, rather than always playing the clown. And watching him make Denn laugh, and tease out Denny's great, slow smile, seeing how happy that made him? It warmed my heart, and still does, every time.

"He got a job at a top firm. It's what he's always wanted. Plus, he misses New York. He tries not to show it, but I know he does. He misses the rhythm of it. He misses his mom and his sister and her family. I think he even misses the damn hot dogs." He rubs a hand across his eyes. "He asked me if I wanted to go. With him."

"And?"

"What do you mean, 'and'? CJ, I can't just…My life is here. My…family, such as it is. You, JJ, Becca, Sarah. My job."

"They have schools in New York, you know."

"Yeah, but people know me here, CJ. I've gotten to the point when I don't have to deal with speculation when I walk through the door. People are okay with it."

"New York isn't exactly a backwater, Christian."

"CJ." He scowls unhappily.

I regard him calmly, steadily. I'm not giving him the easy out he wants. He looks away. "You have people in New York, too. Suzy. They all visit her pretty regularly, JJ, Becca, Josh and Donna. Friends of yours from school. And Toby's there, too. I go to visit him often. You know that. You wouldn't lose us, Chris. I promise. But you might lose Dennis. Is that what you want?"

"No." He jumps up, paces. "But CJ, I can't-"

"You've got to. You've got to try."

"Easy for you to say," he spits out. "You've never done it, put your life and your love on the line for someone."

"You're right," I tell him. "When it comes down to it, I really haven't. Not like that. And most of the time, I'm okay with it. I'm comfortable with solitude. But I do have regrets, Christian. And you're not made for a life like this, being essentially on your own. People bring out the best in you, love does. And to have love, you sometimes need to risk being hurt. Okay? Just think about it."

He looks a bit taken aback by his earlier vehemence, but he answers. "Yeah. Thanks, CJ. And I'm sorry, about what I said."

I wave a hand dismissively. "I've had far worse in my years." I eye him, wait for the mischievous spark in his eyes. It flares just a little, and I beat him to it. "One crack, mister, and you'll find your sorry ass out in the rain. Now, I'm hungry. Cheetos and Snapple?" When you have a desperately ill kid under your roof, you learn his comfort foods. I keep them on hand, along with Fudgesicles and strawberry applesauce, for when he drops by.

When I come back into the room, he's asleep. I sigh and press a hand to the small of my back. I go over and watch him for a minute, pick up his shoes and line them up. I put a blanket over him, and my hand hovers over the messy shock of damp hair falling over his forehead. I brush it back once, lightly, then scold myself. 'Get a grip, Claudia Jean! He doesn't need this right now, and neither do you.'

I march resolutely towards my bedroom. Once inside, I push a hand through my hair. It's hard work, this unconditional love thing.

Thank God I don't have any kids.