A/N: This is the second chapter in “Forks in the Road” which follows “Dark History”. You do not have to have read the events in “Dark History” to understand what goes on in this series, but it is advisable as there are a lot of references back to events in that series.

Disclaimer: This story is based on the events in “Internal Displacement”. That being said, “Internal Displacement” was written by Bradley Whitford and there is no copyright infringement intended on his tele-play or the characters that are owned by WB, NBC, John Wells, and Aaron Sorkin. I make no money from any of the West Wing fic that I write and do not intend to do so.

Pairing: CJ/Danny (Hints at CJ/Toby)

Rating: All of my stories are rated Adult.

Been a long time/Since I lay with you in bed/Conversations, full of words you never said. ~From Josh Kelley's "Almost Honest"

Chapter Two: She Wanted to Say I Love You

She wanted to tell him she loved him. It wasn't easy to watch Danny walk out the door. She always pretended it was, teased him about the kiss and stroked his beard before sending him on his way. He'd give her that half smile and she knew that he'd be back, because he knew that she felt just as strongly as he did. They couldn't be together, their jobs couldn't allow it, but that didn't stop her from feeling the way she did.

“Danny called again.” Margaret handed over the pile of messages. “Do you want me to get him back?”

“No, I’ll do it myself at some point. Is there any more word on the investigation? Anything new on the charges for Toby?” She wandered into her office, half dead from exhaustion.

“Not that I’ve heard, do you want me to check?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” She barely noticed Margaret putting the cup of coffee down on her desk; her attention was too focused on the fact that since leaving her office only five hours ago, her schedule for the day had already changed. Knowing Margaret like she did, she knew that her doctor’s appointment for this afternoon had already been pushed, the slot filled by the secretary to the assistant of the joint chiefs of … something else caught her eye. “Margaret?!”

“Yeah?”

“What is this doing on my schedule?” She pointed at the paper in her hands. “I’m not meeting with reporters, any reporters, until this investigation is over with!”

“Except Danny.”

“Except …” she glared at the woman. “Get NBC off my schedule!”

“You want to take it.”

“Why?”

“It’s not a meeting with a reporter, it’s about –“

“No! We aren’t putting new job possibilities on my desk until after the election. We’ve had this conversation.”

“No we haven’t.”

“We … oh, we … I had it in my head. No job possibilities until after the election. Just screen and prep, okay.”

“Okay.”

Her coat finally made it off her shoulders. “Thanks, Margaret.” With a click, the TV closest to her desk came on, tuned as she had left it last night, to Fox News. As the coffee burned her lips and the sugar coated her throat, she watched images of her soul mate as the media burned him in effigy. The conservatives loved it because it brought their ratings up and brought the Bartlet White House down. The liberals loved it because it brought the ratings up. A quick flip showed that C-SPAN hadn’t begun their programming yet, so she muted the TV and left it there, letting the hearings she’d listened to the day before replay, the Senators miming through their motions. She made a few notes on her schedule, crossing out the three-thirty meeting and penciling in the time to finish that position paper she’d been avoiding. She made a note to Margaret to get back to her about her doctor’s appointment, adding that she’d forgotten to schedule her mammogram. But it wasn’t necessary, she knew Margaret knew. Margaret knew everything; it was the only way CJ made it through her day.

Half a grapefruit, a small glass of orange juice, and a quarter of a cinnamon raisin bagel with nothing on it appeared on her desk, taking the place of the schedule that Margaret was already taking to revise. Yes, Margaret knew everything, and the only reason CJ remembered to eat was that her assistant placed the food in front of her three times a day. Maybe, if Margaret got lucky, CJ would eat one of the meals.

Message after message about the investigation, the problems in China, and the refugee situation in Darfur all blurred together in her mind. Making the mistake to open a file that Margaret had yet to flag, CJ came face to face with the image of a mother holding a skeletal infant. The image, captured by some reporter who probably would never make it home, even though his pictures did, turned her stomach and she found her hand instantly going to her abdomen to protect a child who no longer dwelled there. She closed the folder and walked it out to Margaret’s desk, piling it in the stack of files yet to flag, and her attention was again caught by images. These, file images from when Toby and Andi had left the hospital with the twins. The screen cut to shots of reporters trying to flag down the felon’s ex-wife and CJ felt the tears welling up in her eyes. She didn’t know if it was because of the look of agony on Andi’s face or the fact that she herself missed Toby so much. “Can’t they find something else to talk about? We’re on the edge of war on the Russian subcontinent and all they want to pontificate about is Toby.” She rolled her eyes, trying to cover the pain. She didn’t fool Margaret. “I’m going to return Danny’s call, then can you hold things for me until after staff?” Without waiting for an answer, she disappeared into her office, and closed the door.

For a long time, she stared at her cell phone, the personal one, the one she planned to use to call Danny. In truth, she could also call Toby, no one would know, she could call him and make sure he was okay. She missed him, but she knew she didn’t love him. But she missed him, she missed her soul mate, the man who kept her clove cigarettes in the freezer for her, but she no longer loved him. She wanted to tell him that she’d find a way to make it be okay. She wanted to tell him that she’d lost the baby. She wanted to tell him that nothing he could do would ever make her hate him; she knew that he thought she hated him, she’d seen the look in his eyes that night. She wanted to tell him that no matter what, she would always love him, but that she wasn’t in love with him anymore.

She wanted to say I love you. Not since Toby had any man been able to stir emotions like these in her. Just the look in Danny’s eyes made her knees weak, and when his lips touched hers, she was completely hopeless. Arguing with him made her smile, teasing him always made her day. Late at night, when he was the only one left in the press area, he'd come to her office to watch basketball with her. Once, he made the mistake of trying to explain it to her, and she’d surprised him by correcting him on some of the finer points of man-to-man defense. She’d let Danny into the inner circle of those who knew the secret about her life back in high school. She was scared that she loved him. She wanted to tell him, she knew she never could. So she corrected him on sports statistics, held his hand, and kissed him passionately. They both knew it was hopeless; they spoke to each other through eye contact and touching. They knew each other’s feelings. So they didn’t say the words, but they wanted to.

Her hands shook and it took three tries to dial Danny’s number. It was a new number; she wondered when he’d changed it, probably when he stopped working for the Post. He freelanced now. She hoped it wouldn’t go to his voice mail; she didn’t want him calling back on White House lines. But she got the slight switch in ring tone, and the sound of his gentle, goofy, midwestern voice filled her ear. Her stomach surged with emotion she’d refused to let herself feel in a long time. Her heart beat faster as she left a quick message and begged him to return the call on her private cell. She left the number. She left her new, private e-mail account – the idiots at the Washington Times had discovered the last one. She told him to be in touch. She wanted to tell him she was sorry and that she still loved him. She hung up.

CJ reached for a file, one that Margaret had indeed flagged – notes for senior staff. The agenda had been reworked from the time she’d left last night. How did that happen? Changing her mind on not being disturbed, she hollered for Margaret.

The redhead came through the door, saw the agenda and shrugged. “Larry and Ed left a note on my desk.” She made a move to escape out to the office again.

“Hey,” CJ stopped her, trying to smile. Margaret knew now, about why she’d been late that Friday. Since that day, pictures of Margaret and Bruno’s little boy had stopped making the rounds with the staff, and the only picture Margaret kept was a small one tucked near her computer monitor. CJ could only appreciate the effort. “How’s that kid of yours? Do you ever see him? Do you have a new picture?” Margaret hesitated. “It’s okay, Margaret. Really.”

“I do. Hold on.” Margaret reappeared with two new shots of her baby boy. “He’s going to have my hair.”

CJ found herself smiling. “What does Bruno have to say about that?” She eyed her assistant carefully. “Or is that a current sore subject?”

“No. I mean, we aren’t together anymore, not at the moment, but he’s a good father when he can be. I know he loves his son.”

“He does.” CJ blinked at the unexpected tears. “He does.”

“Are you okay?” Margaret knew better, she knew CJ was hiding the pain, dealing with it alone. But she also knew CJ would end up being okay.

“I think so.” She glanced at her cell phone, willing it to ring. “Let me know when the President gets down here. And tell Will I should see him before staff so that we can go over the Darfur language before he sees his gaggle. Call him, and if he’s not in yet, tell him to go in the back door to avoid the press. I don’t want him talking to a reporter about anything until he’s talked to me first.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“And, Margaret,” CJ handed the picture back to the younger (but not much younger) woman, “you should get a frame for that one. It will look good on your desk.” They exchanged small smiles, and Margaret went to call Will.

She wanted to say I love you as he walked her to her car. Once or twice his fingers touched the small of her back. Under the light of the street lamp, he pressed her back into the car door, his lips hot on hers, his hands remaining tame, but barely. The kiss dragged on, she heard a car pass them but for once didn’t care. She wanted to break her lips free, to tell him how she felt, but logic overruled her heart. She pulled back, doing a terrible job of hiding the tears in her eyes and smoothed his shirt down and sent him on his way. She wanted to tell him. He knew.

“What’s going on?”

CJ giggled, actually giggled, into his ear as he teased her across the digital airwaves. Danny shifted in his chair, staring blankly at his computer screen, as with all things CJ, everything faded into the background when she was even within reach over the phone. He missed her, he loved her.

“Is that a giggle coming from the White House Chief of Staff?”

“Not if that goes on the record. For the record, I don’t giggle.” CJ took a small bite of the almost-stale bagel. She missed him.

“You do. And I have clear memory of you doing it in a myriad of different situations.” He grinned, knowing she was blushing. He loved the way the blush on her body darkened her already dusky nipples. He’d only seen it once, and the image was burned into his memory forever.

“What do you want?”

The tone hadn’t changed either. This woman on the other end of the phone, she was still his CJ, just with a few more stress wrinkles and a lot fewer pounds. She was still the same woman he’d loved for eight years. “Dinner.” He wanted more than that. Would she still have him? Was she still interested? But that tone, he knew that tone and even through the trials and tribulations of the other man in her life, she only used that tone with him. He knew the drill, he’d bring some story to discuss; he’d bring the piece of shit he was investigating about Doug Westin. He’d bring something that shouldn’t matter.

“When and where?” Her tone slipped into something different, something familiar to both of them. They’d danced this dance so many times – but had only made it work once.

He gulped. He’d been prepared to argue with her. He’d been prepared for her to tell him to go to hell. “Ruby’s? Tonight? Around nine?”

CJ glanced at her schedule, wanting to tell him yes, needing to make sure she wouldn’t stand him up. “Ruby’s at nine,” she whispered. “I’ll try to not be late.” She took a sip of her coffee, and a bite on her bagel. “If I am …”

“I’ll wait. It’s a business dinner after all.” The words did not meet with the tone in his voice, and he could tell by her silence that she knew this dance. “See you tonight, CJ.” He hung up before he told her that he still loved her.

She wanted to say I love you. The kissed while she locked her door and linked hands as they made the way to her bedroom. She giggled as his hands fumbled with her bra. Their lips met, their bodies, flesh against flesh, passionate. Speaking in touches, in glances, they realized in this moment that each time they’d kissed, they’d made love. Each time they looked into each other’s eyes, they made love. This here, this moment as he laid her back on the bed and she arched up against him as he entered her body, this was only their inevitable climax – the first of many. She wanted to tell him she’d heard about the job offer, but it would have to wait. It was why he was here tonight, why she’d finally let him past her walls. He would be an editor and she could be with him. He wanted to tell her about turning down the job offer, but it would have to wait. She cried his name as her body trembled around him; he whispered hers in his own release. He wanted to tell her he loved her. She knew. And later, in the after glow of the giggles and the kisses and the gentle touches that only two people in love could share, later as he drifted to sleep, she pressed her lips to his shoulder and trailed her fingers down his arm. “I love you,” she whispered, hoping he was asleep, not knowing if he was. He heard. He bit his lip, keeping his tears from falling. She would never forgive him now. He should have taken the job.

She stared, angry at the clock for daring to tell her that she was late. Fifteen minutes became half an hour, half an hour, forty-five minutes, and finally the Chairman shut up. “Margaret!” She bellowed, realizing in that moment just how much she was sounding like Leo. “I’m going to try and salvage this part of my night, go home, see your son. I’ll be back after dinner, which should only last an hour, if he’s still there, and so anything you need me to finish, leave for me.” Her coat, her scarf, the butterflies in her stomach, she had everything. Her assistant nodded and returned to her desk, CJ made a mental bet with herself on whether or not the redhead would still be here when she got back. If she was, she owed herself a manicure, if she wasn’t, she owed herself a massage. Overall, it was a win-win situation.

There were advantages, she had to admit, to having the town car. A luxury she had grown to love, she could do work in the car even now, and was able to place three of the calls she’d needed to place before the Chairman decided to bend her ear over a problem she really didn’t care that much about. It wasn’t Qumar or Iran she was worried about tonight, it was Kazakhstan and China and Russia. The town car idled in front of Ruby’s while she finished the third call; she raced out, knowing he’d be gone. Ten-fifteen. No one, not even Danny, waited that long.

He’d waited.

Their eyes met and they smiled and it was like nothing had changed, but everything had changed. The kiss was awkward, and she wanted to cry when he told her she looked beautiful. She didn’t. And he knew something was wrong. He blamed Toby.

“I’m surprised you called.” Her tone dropped slightly. “I vaguely remember shunning you.” She wanted to apologize; she wanted to take everything back. She couldn’t.

“Dignity’s not my forte.” He blushed and smiled at her, still talking, something inane about the kitchen. He couldn’t remember what, he was too busy falling into those perfect blue eyes and the sadness that lay beneath. What had happened to her? It wasn’t just the job. It wasn’t just Toby. It was something else. So he kept talking, looking into her scared blue eyes and wondering how he could tell her that he still loved her.

She couldn’t look up at him; she knew he could see past her walls, down into the pain she felt over letting him walk away. Maybe if she’d just set aside her fears, she wouldn’t be here right now, snipping at innocent waitresses and making Danny squirm. She wanted to tell him she loved him. Was it really that hard? Why was she here? She heard herself ask him the question. She heard his joke about performance anxiety. She blew it off. She argued with him about reporters. She loved doing that. Somewhere, deep inside, something sparked; something she hadn’t felt in years, not even when Toby was making love to her and she cried because she felt so safe and protected in his arms. Something sparked and tingled and it scared her. So she argued.

Danny could see her coming alive. “So don't get hypnotized by complexity. Make it count!” He paused, realizing he’d stepped over a line. Maybe he needed to tread lightly. “What are you working on?” She put him in his place.

“Right now? I'm trying to keep China and Russia from annihilating the Northern Hemisphere over oil in Kazakhstan. What are you working on?”

He blushed. She was right; she was doing her best in a world that only demanded the worst from people. There were times she didn’t have the time to play anything but defense, not if she wanted to save lives. He wanted to touch her hand, he talked about Doug Westin. “I think he may be banging the nanny.”

She talked over him, scared to really hear what he had to say. “I want a big slab of...” She stopped, she stared at him, she felt her heart sink and the familiar discomfort return. Suddenly this wasn’t a date. Suddenly it was what reporters always wanted, to ask her for private information. Why couldn’t he just love her? Why couldn’t she just love him? “What?”

He repeated himself. He saw the old, well-guarded wall return around the depths in her eyes. The sadness disappeared, she was the Chief of Staff again, not his CJ. “I think the President's son-in-law may be banging the nanny.”

“Is that a euphemism?” She wanted him to not be asking this question, to be telling her what he was telling her. She wanted him to just stop talking. But she’d asked a question.

“No. Well, "banging" is,” he had to laugh. Maybe it would get her guard down. It failed. “I guess. It's just a rumor…” he kept talking. It was a bad idea. He saw her shut down, he saw her stand and not need to put her coat back on; she’d never taken it off. He watched her walk away and felt miserable for having ruined dinner. He’d slipped back behind the same wall she hid behind. Opposite ends of the playing field, the war games triggered and ready to go. He called out, asking when he could see her again. He’d meant to say I love you.

She knew.

She heard him ask, she wanted to turn around and tell him tomorrow night. She told him when they were out of office. She meant to say, I love you.

He knew.

She wanted to say I love you. Their lips met again as she closed her office door. God, she’d missed him, but that didn’t mean that this was right. “Danny …” she whispered, slowly ducking aside. He understood the tone in her voice and nodded. Rather than kissing her, he pinned the gold fish pin to her dress. She unlocked the door; he took a seat and started talking.

“What’s next, Margaret?” She’d had a million painful things to do today, and the look in the President’s eyes had killed her. In her heart, it was easier to listen to him yell than watch him sink in on himself. Something told her that he’d suspected, but now to have the information and have it come from her rather than Liz … there were days she hated her job.

“You’re done.” Margaret grinned. She knew what CJ was up to tonight and she wanted to usher her boss out the door as quickly as possible. Maybe, just maybe, something good for CJ would come out of this. Then again, she knew that the other woman was incapable of keeping any kind of relationship going.

“You’re kidding?” CJ reached for the files.

“No. You have a date. The rest of the world can wait until tomorrow. This is an earth-shattering event and I know you were late to your last one. Here’s a hint, be nice to him this time.”

“How do you …” she trailed off. Never mind. Margaret knew everything. She snatched the schedule folder out of Margaret’s hands, scanned it, and then handed it back. “Okay. Page me if and only if something explodes.” She knew that by saying that, something bad was destined to happen. Leave it to her to personally start war in Kazakhstan by saying what she’d just said. Margaret also looked at her with a raised eyebrow and shook her head, walking out of the office and muttering something about not saying certain words in this building.

CJ sighed, swallowed back her nervousness, grabbed her coat and purse and pager and headed out toward her waiting town car. Maybe tonight she could finally be honest. Maybe her fears wouldn’t hold her back. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much to look into his sparkling blue eyes. Maybe she could tell him how she still felt. Maybe.

She wanted to tell him the truth, that she missed him, that she still loved him. Instead, she taunted him with her perfume and her blouse and she stroked him behind the ears. She wanted him to tackle her with a kiss and shut the blinds and make love to her right there. She wanted to hear the words from his mouth, not just see the truth there in his eyes. So she hurt him and teased him and walked away and when she made it back to her office, she struggled to keep the tears at bay. She didn’t know how to love him, and what was worse, he knew how to love her.

She was pissed at something, and he could tell it was more than Doug Westin. For the millionth time, he wondered what Toby had done, exactly, to break her heart. It was more than his leaking the information … something Danny knew he hadn’t done. At least, not on his own. “Men are like salmon - swimming upstream, hosing down the riverbed with their indiscriminate seed...”

He wanted to laugh, “Indiscriminate seed?” But he paused. She’d just given him a clue about Toby. She kept talking, answering his questions without realizing she was doing it. He heard the pain in her voice as she talked about bear paws and death and the truth clicked in his mind. He knew there was more than what he knew, but he was able to get the big picture. How could anyone hurt her? Did she know that he’d never been with anyone since meeting her? He wanted to tell her. “So you're struggling with trust issues.”

Only he would ever be able to pick up the tears in her voice, “I'm struggling with reality.”

The waitress coming back kept him from taking her hands. Personally, it was funny to see someone hate his CJ this much. So he laughed while she talked to the waitress and while the waitress stalked off. But then, she caught him by surprise.

“I'm sorry about the other night.” She looked into his eyes and found herself falling and felt the walls come tumbling down.

He watched the color in her eyes change as again, she let him past the well-guarded walls around her heart. She’d forgiven him for the Doug Westin story. This was Claudia Jean again, not just CJ, Chief of Staff. This was the woman he’d been in love with since he’d first laid eyes on her back in Manchester, New Hampshire when she came into the room, all smiles and professionalism, and Toby Zeigler had instantly gravitated to her side.

Her voice changed and she looked down, daring to speak words she’d wanted to say all night. Maybe it was time to stop wanting. “I wanted to see you... and I haven't felt that in a long time and I just got all awkward and antagonistic.”

He tried to laugh it away, but there wasn’t any chance of really doing that. She’d finally said the words, he could say his own. With a single breath, he felt his own walls coming down. And he knew she could see it too.

The tone in her voice didn’t change as she reminded him, futilely, that she didn’t want to see him until after the inauguration, that she wanted to focus completely on her job. Behind the words, he knew that just a single push would put them together tonight – if she wanted. But he didn’t want to push her. He wanted forever, he’d waited eight years; another few months wouldn’t kill him. And suddenly her tone changed again, and his heart broke. He realized that maybe she didn’t think she was getting anything done. Maybe she thought that the past eight years were a mistake.

“How dirty do my feet have to get without disappearing into the mud in order to get an inch of what I really want done?” She looked into his eyes again, and brick for brick, they matched each other as the walls tumbled under the weight of the dam of emotion breaking between them.

“It doesn't sound very heroic.”

“It's not.” She sighed. Bricks fell. She didn’t need to tell him. He knew. Another brick, and then she stopped. Something else was coming, something that she didn’t know if she was ready to hear.

“… I can't write that kind of crap anymore. I don't... I don't even know if I want to be a reporter anymore.”

What was he telling her?

“I don't know. Can I ask you something?” It was a rare question, and he looked into her eyes, for the first time completely unable to read what she was thinking.

She watched him move the plates and felt her heart stop as he started to speak. “Uh, I'm flying a little blind here. I'm halfway through my life and I'm never quite sure if I'm doing anything right until I'm completely done doing it wrong.” He kept talking, right over CJ’s encouragements. He didn’t feel heroic; he didn’t want to feel heroic. She was the hero of the two of them. She was keeping war from breaking out over oil and he was investigating unfaithful husbands.

“Uh, we're both about to fall of a cliff and I don't know what I'm going to do with the rest of my life except I know what I don't want to do. And on Inauguration Day you're going to be released from that glorious prison on Pennsylvania Avenue with...”

“No human skills?” She blushed and looked down for a minute before just shaking her head and threatening him. He loved her even more in that moment.

“So, if I'm going to jump off the cliff and you're going to get pushed off the cliff, why don't we hold hands on the way down?” Blue eyes met blue eyes and the dams fell away, revealing oceans of emotion that neither of them could express, but for a single touch of their fingers. In that minute, he knew her answer.

She looked into his eyes; she wanted to tell him that she’d been holding his hand since the first moment she’d laid eyes on him back in campaign headquarters in New Hampshire. While Toby had wrapped his arm around her waist, she’d locked eyes with Danny. Was now the right time to tell him she loved him? She opened her mouth to talk, and her least favorite sound in the world shrilled through the air. Jumping clear out of her seat, she reached for her pager, knowing before she even checked the message that something had indeed blown up. Danny begged for just another minute of her time, but she couldn’t. This was big, and she had to get back, already the worst-case scenarios about China were racing through her mind. “Oh, my God. I have to go.” She looked at him, hoping her eyes could tell him what she couldn’t say. And she didn’t have time to look back as he shooed her away from the table and she ran out the door. She wanted to tell him she loved him.

“I'll see you later.” He knew.