Rating: PG-13/R
Pairings:CJ/Danny, CJ/Toby, Toby/Ginger
Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine. The song isn't mine.
Archive: At my site, The Band Gazebo; anywhere else, just ask.
Feedback: Yes please. Don't make me beg.
Spoilers: General season one and two
Summary: Danny thinks about his relationship with CJ.
Notes: A depressing little idea that took hold while I was driving...I shouldn't listen to tapes while I do that! Don't Close Your Eyes was sung by Keith Whitley, and Alan Jackson does a very good version too.

I think I can pinpoint the exact moment that I fell in love with you. It was at a campaign stop in Albany, it was the dead of winter, Christmas was fast approaching, and I resented like hell the fact that my paper had assigned me to do this report on a candidate that didn't have a chance in Hell of winning the Democratic nomination.

I had an attitude, I admit it.

Then you walked in to lay down the rules for the interview. You told me what he would talk about, what he wouldn't, and what you'd really like me to work in. You told me all about the players on the campaign, about who was running what, who was doing what, who could be contacted if I had any further questions.

You knew your stuff, no doubt about it. You blew me away.

And not just professionally.

I thought you were the brightest, wittiest, most together woman I'd met in a long time. And your eyes - your eyes were the deal-breaker. They sparkled, they shone, they danced with life, with belief, with passion for this candidate. And as soon as that thought struck me, I began to wonder what it would be like if one day you'd look at me like that, speak of me with that kind of passion in your eyes.

Then I met him.

There was something about the way you interacted with him that set him apart from the rest. When you were with Sam and Josh, there was camaraderie there, but it was more of a brother/sister vibe. With Bartlet, it was awe, respect, even when you were laying down the law to him. And with Leo, it was always professional; he was your boss, and you did what he told you. But with Toby…

It was different. Warmer somehow. Like you'd known each other for years. Like you'd been friends forever. Like you'd been more than friends.

I'm a reporter, I have my sources. I'm not half a bad detective. So I did my homework. How did Claudia Jean Cregg, late of Triton Day Public Relations in L.A. and Toby Ziegler, professional political operative who had never won an election in his life, get to be here, working on this campaign together, yet not together, yet more together than any other two people on the campaign?

What I found was this. You met in the late eighties, on a campaign in Southern California. You were the assistant press secretary, destined to do great things, he was the assistant speechwriter, destined for not so great things. People I talked to all agreed on two things, the first being that you guys couldn't be in a room together without starting a fight. He said right, you said left. He called it black, you called it white. You'd be in strategy meetings, discussing any subject under the sun, and there'd be a betting pool about who'd lose their cool first, and how bad the explosions would be. I guess some things really never do change.

The second thing that everyone agreed on was that explosive chemistry between the two of you wasn't confined to the strategy room. Oh, they all agreed that you never brought personal stuff to work, that you never made it obvious what was going on. It was never a scandal. But, as one of your ex-colleagues put it, you just knew that when you two turned in for the night, the motel could expect to be repainting the walls when you vacated the room.

When that campaign ended in failure, you ended up on opposite sides of the country, before meeting again whilst working on opposite sides of another campaign. There were whispers about the two of you, but nothing more concrete than that. People knew you were friends, but as for anything else, it was just rumour, malicious scandal. And your candidate won, and his lost, and he was your date for the party that Andrea Wyatt gave to celebrate.

You went to their wedding. You danced at their wedding, and you smiled. I know, I've seen the pictures. But it was only your lips that smiled. It never got as far as your eyes. The eyes that made me fall in love with you were sparkling; your zest for life abounded from them. But your eyes in those pictures - they were hollow. Dead. And if they were sparkling, it was a distinctly liquid sheen.

There were more campaigns for him, public relations for you. More reports of friendship, but only that. Again, no hints of scandal. You were there for him when he and Andrea divorced: irreconcilable differences, no third parties involved. Then you both surfaced on Bartlet's campaign. As just friends.

After that day in Albany, my editor was surprised at how much I wanted to cover the Bartlet campaign, but he wasn't against the idea. It was one less headache for him, and I didn't meet too much opposition. The reason was only partly to do with you; you see, I'd seen in Jed Bartlet what the rest of you saw. He was the Real Thing. And there was nothing more that I wanted than to see him become President of the United States.

Well, apart from you.

Bartlet got to Pennsylvania Avenue, and you did too. And you were the Press Secretary and I was a White House Reporter.

The words "conflict of interest" could have been invented for us, but I didn't have a problem with it. You had problem enough for both of us, and a few kisses, a date (business dinner, you called it) and one goldfish later, you knocked it all on the head. Told me that there was no way that anything could come of it.

That was before Healthgate and when your world began to fall apart.

I was surprised when you called me that night - after all, the press were the people that the Bartlet senior staff were trying to avoid. But I was still nursing a crush on you, or so I said, and I wanted to be there for you. I saw the slump of your shoulders, the shattered look in your eyes, that same look that I'd seen in those wedding pictures, and I wanted to be there for you.

So I was.

And when, in true Jed Bartlet fashion, you beat the odds, didn't get impeached, did get the nomination, did get re-elected, I celebrated with the rest of you. Not as a White House Reporter though. Once I filed my report, I went off the record, and did so with a smile on my face. I was there as your boyfriend after all. What more could I ask for?

Over the next few months though, we were happy. And that's important for me to note. We were happy. We did all the things that couples do, although we did have to be careful because of our jobs. We were in love, not stupid. But we were happy.

I don't know when things started to change, when you started to hold back on me. Or maybe you always did, and I don't know when I began to notice it. It was little things mostly. Your smile seemed to come just that bit more slowly, your laugh that little bit less loudly and freely. Your eyes seemed that bit dimmer, your back that bit more rigid.

Did you always close your eyes when we made love? I can't remember.

Or maybe I don't want to remember that when you opened your eyes again, sometimes there was a flash of something in them, something that I didn't like to see. It looked as if you were expecting to see someone else when you opened your eyes. As if you expected to see him.

I told myself that I was just being paranoid, that what you had between you, whatever it was, was long in the past. I tried looking at you through other people's eyes, and I knew that I was being crazy. Everyone saw us as altar-bound once the administration ended, and I can't deny that it's what I wanted. What I still want, more than anything, more than I've ever let on to you.

If you could just open your eyes.

Today should have been our day of jubilee.

Yesterday was Election Day, and last night, as the White House partied, CNN called the election for Vice President Hoynes. And while you and I and everyone else may have questioned Hoynes as a man and as a President, at least he was a Democrat. We looked on the bright side.

And for me the bright side was that you were finished working in the White House. You have so many job offers to consider, but the White House isn't one of them. I'll still be there, but you won't, and it won't be a conflict of interest anymore. We can be together as openly as we want, not worrying about who's going to see us, who's going to talk.

I was so busy thinking about us that I never realised other people were waiting for the same thing.

We went out to a bar tonight, the old gang once more for old times sakes. How many nights had we all gone out like this together, times that would come to an end in a few short weeks? Josh and Donna were there with us, so were Sam and Ainsley. Carol was there, and Margaret and Bonnie. A few other people came and went; we were quite the little party. Then Toby and Ginger arrived together.

No-one in or connected to the Bartlet Administration is blind, or stupid. We all knew that Toby and Ginger were involved. But they were discreet about it, far more discreet than you and I were. Only the Senior Staff knew about it; I'm convinced that Leo and the President didn't. Of the Press, I knew for sure, but that was because of my relationship with you and I wasn't going to trade on that. I think a couple of others knew as well, but the perception was that they're doing their jobs, they're not hurting anyone, it's not news. So we knew. It was a secret, not an open one, but it was certainly ajar. They'd spend time together, but in a group, in public. They'd stay late in the office together working and maybe catch a late dinner, but that was only logical wasn't it? They always arrived separately and left separately and sat apart at nights like this.

This was the first night they arrived together. The first night that they sat beside each other. And when they sat down, I saw something in your eyes. You looked surprised, hurt, maybe even a little betrayed, and you were looking right at Toby, as if he'd done something to you. And I kept an eye on him, trying to figure out what it might be, and it was when he was baiting Josh over something, his eyes jumping, his lips twitching, glass held up in his hand that I realised what it was.

He wasn't wearing his wedding ring anymore.

There was a dance floor in the bar, and there were some couples up slow-dancing. The women were watching them idly, not really paying attention when Toby stood up and, without a word, held his hand out to Ginger. She smiled and took it, and they started dancing together. Very close. There was no way that you could look at them and not see that they were involved, but Sam still managed to do it. He looked at them with the rest of us and said, with a little smirk on his face, "Is it just me or-?"

Ainsley cut him off with a little smirk of her own. "It's not just you Sam."

Both Sam and Josh looked at Ainsley and Donna, who were both smirking, as if they knew something that the rest of us didn't. And after all, they did. "They've been together for months," Donna informed us all.

"I knew that," Sam blustered.

"We all knew that." Josh backed up his comment. "But we thought it was just…" He saw Donna's face and realised that he might need to rethink that comment. "..I mean, we didn't know…they look so…"

"Happy?" Ainsley tried.

"Serious?" Donna added. Josh, his relief at having been let off the hook obvious, nodded, and Sam did likewise. "They are serious," Donna continued, her voice low as she looked at Toby and Ginger quickly, as if she was afraid that they could hear her. Turning her attention back to the rest of us, she lowered her voice even more. "Ginger told me that Toby hasn't decided what he's doing in January yet. But he did tell her that they're going to take a vacation. Anywhere she wants to go." She tilts her head up, gives Josh a look I don't understand. "I suggested Hawaii."

"Anywhere?" Ainsley's voice was awed.

Donna nodded seriously. "He said that he doesn't care where he ends up as long as she's with him."

Josh and Sam looked as if they want to burst out laughing at that, but all the women at the table looked as if they were about to start crying. But not you. Your jaw was set like it was stone, and you grabbed my hand. "Let's dance," you said.

"Ahh-kay," I shrugged, letting you drag me onto the floor, near to where Toby and Ginger were dancing. They didn't notice us, although I don't think they noticed anyone else in the room either. They were looking into each other's eyes as they danced, and every now and again one of them would say something to make them both laugh. And I really do think that the room could have fallen down around them and they'd have kept on dancing.

I looked at them, and then looked at you, hoping to see in your eyes what Toby was no doubt seeing in Ginger's. But you put your head down on my shoulder and closed your eyes.

I didn't say anything, because what could I say? He was with Ginger, you were with me. And on the surface, everything was fine. The only thing that was wrong was that you won't open your eyes when you're with me, when we're together, and that's such a small thing in the grand scheme of things.

I would have given anything, anything, back in the early days of the first term, to know that I'd get to this point with you. That I'd get to dance with you at a bar, that I'd be your date to things like this. That I'd get to lie here with you like I am now, in my bed - our bed- with you sleeping soundly, a small smile on your face. You look so beautiful when you lie here like this, so serene, dreaming your dreams.

I hope I'm in them.

I thought tonight was going to be the night. When we sat down at the table after our dance, you were the CJ I fell in love with again. You laughed with us all, teased Josh about his sensitive system, teased Sam about falling for a Republican, talked to Toby and Ginger about holiday destinations, even offering them advice. And at the end of the night, you took me by the hand and took me outside to get a cab home.

It was cold out, but we didn't feel it, either from the liquor or each other, I'm not sure which. We gave the cab driver a hell of a show, and I could hardly get the key into the door of the apartment because of what your hands were doing. We hardly even made it to the bedroom, but somehow, someway, I got you there, got us both onto the bed. And you whispered my name, my name, as I prepared to enter you, and I could see your eyes, and they were so beautiful with all that passion inside them, more beautiful than I'd ever seen them, and then you looked at me, looked right at me.

And then you closed your eyes.

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