Disclaimer:  What's the saying?  Wish in one hand and shi-oh never 
mind.  It goes without saying really that this is an amateur work of 
fiction, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Notes:  Whew, this is going to be a doozy.  I will be touching on 
some extremely sensitive subjects in this story, specifically, 
abortion.  As this is an issue I know most folks feel very strongly 
about, I am attempting to present both sides without leaning one way 
or the other.

I've done a little research on the 'net and am going to include the 
pertinent links.  The Feminists for Life page is 
http://www.feministsforlife.org/, and the Emily's List page is 
http://www.emilyslist.org/.  Also, for more information on the Freedom 
of Access to Clinic Entrances Act, check out 
http://www.msu.edu/user/schwenkl/abtrbng/s636.htm

Category:  CJ/T friendship, CJ/J friendship.eventually romance 
perhaps. :)

Summary:  Series of first person POV, relating to a traumatic instance 
in CJ's life.

Rating:  Right now about PG-13.

Feedback:  Rocks!

Spoilers:  None specifically, but everything is fair game.

Thanks:  Lizisita and Sidalicious.  Thank you gals for your friendship 
and inspiration.  Also big ups to all those other CJ/J authors for 
giving me the courage to delve into this genre.

****

She was a quiet woman, my mother.  Quiet in her devotion, quiet in her 
happiness, and quiet in her anger.  She could make you feel small and 
mean without even uttering one word.  It was her weapon, and she knew 
how to use it.  Maybe that's why I can't bear silence, because 
somewhere in my mind I equate the absence of sound with my mother.  
And it's terrifying.

To say our relationship was complicated would be an understatement.  
The woman hated me.  She hated my easy laugh, and the way I could walk 
into a room like I owned it, even though I wasn't the prettiest woman 
there.  She hated the way I defended myself with self-deprecating 
jokes in an argument, and she hated the ready-forgiveness I offered to 
my older brothers when they'd hurt my feelings.

I don't know when it all started.  This complicated relationship with 
my mother.  Had it always been there, or only when it became apparent 
that I wouldn't be the striking beauty she'd always imagined any 
daughter of her's would be?  I remember the conversation I'd 
over-heard more than twenty-five years ago.  My Aunt Katherine had 
been visiting from Birmingham, and the two women sat on the porch, 
sharing Parliament cigarettes.

I'd been standing in the kitchen, searching the refrigerator for 
something cool to drink when I heard my name.  Claudia Jean.  I knew 
it was my mother because she was the only one who ever addressed me 
that way.  To everyone else I was Claudia, or CJ, or Ceej.  I think 
I'm going to Hell Katherine because I don't love my daughter.  I know 
it's not Claudia Jean's fault that she's ugly, but I can't bring 
myself to forgive her for that.

Ugly.  My own mother called me ugly.  Not unattractive, not plain, or 
any of the other nicer ways of saying it.  And that's when I realized 
that nothing I did would ever please her because I wasn't pretty. 
And it hurt.  It hurt more than any physical pain I've ever endured.

But I dealt with it, and I learned to forgive her even as she refused 
me.  And later, when she grew ill I tried to offer an olive branch.  
Not out of any sense of great guilt for the way our relationship had 
deteriorated to the point where we couldn't even have a civil phone 
conversation, but because I knew she wouldn't be around much longer.  
She pretty much snapped that twig in two and told me to go back to San 
Francisco because she didn't need me.  Stephanie, Tom's wife and 
former Miss Georgia, was there to take care of her.

So I left, and didn't come back for two years.  Until it was time to 
bury her.  My brothers and Father were inconsolable, and I hated her 
because I felt guilty for not being able to shed any tears at the 
funeral.  They understood of course, and left me alone after the 
reading of the will. She'd left my grandmother's ring, the one I'd 
admired since I was five, to a distant cousin.  And she'd left me 
nothing.  Nothing, except bitterness.

It's amazing how people can continue to hurt you, even after they're 
dead and buried.  I don't know why I'm thinking of all this now.  
Maybe it's because the woman sitting two pews in front of me has the 
exact same hair color as my mother.  Maybe it's because the 
lemon-scented furniture polish filling my senses now, reminds me of 
Mass as a child.  Or maybe it's the silence as the congregation 
reflects on the Homily.  She was a quiet woman, my mother.

*******

"Claudia Jean, Good Morning!  You look exceptionally ravishing today."

I look up from the news report I've been scanning for the better part 
of an hour and can't help but grin as I meet Josh's twinkling eyes.  
He's leaning carelessly against the doorjamb, and so very obviously 
up to something.  Josh is not a morning person.  Particularly on 
Mondays.  This doesn't bode well for me, but I decide to play along 
anyway as I push the report aside.

"Joshua Ann!  I would say you look devastatingly handsome this fine 
Monday morning, but then, well, I'd be lying."

Josh brings his hand to his heart and feigns pain.  "You wound me, 
CJ.  Here I am, greeting you cheerfully and paying you compliments,
wait, you called me Joshua Ann again.  Why do you keep doing that?"

"Because I think it's cute."  I reply simply as I turn back to the 
news report.

"Ah, much like the man himself, wouldn't you say?"  When I don't 
respond, Josh continues.  "So, how was your weekend?"

"It was fine."

"Aren't you going to ask me how mine was?"

"No."

"Ok."

"Josh, just tell me what you want, or what you did that I'm going to 
have to fix."

"What makes you think I want something?"  He asks as he steps into my 
office and sits down nonchalantly on the couch.

I snort in a decidedly un-ladylike fashion, but don't raise my eyes.  
"What, are you kidding me?"

"OK, there is this thing."

I push the paper aside and glance at Josh. "Oh, this ought to be 
good."

"Well, there's this group of people coming in today that I'm supposed 
to meet with."

"You mean that you are going to meet with."

"No, uh, I said it right the first time."

"Ok, so there's a group of people coming in today that you're scared 
of and?"  I prompt.

"Let me state for the record that I am not scared of these people.  I 
just don't like dealing with nut cases on Mondays.  Well the ones who 
don't work at the White House, anyway."

"Well, why did you agree to meet them in the first place?"

"I didn't agree.  Leo set it up.  In fact, I think he did it out of 
spite."  Josh replies as he stands to pace in front of my desk.

"What'd you do now?"  I ask in amusement.  Josh just never learns.

"I made fun of the whole Karen Cahill thing."

"What Karen Cahill thing?"

"Leo made some comment about-" Josh trails off and shrugs his 
shoulders.  "Oh never mind about that.  I've got bigger problems.  
Now where was I?"

"Um. Leo and spite."

"Yeah, well, I didn't even know I had to deal with these people until 
I stroll into my office first thing this morning.  You'd think he 
would've given me a heads up, right?  No, no, no.  Not Leo McGarry, 
royal pain in the-"

"Hey, that's our boss you're about to belittle.  A man who has been 
extremely understanding about the numerous screw-ups you've managed to 
headline in the past two years."  I interrupt.

Josh pales and leans forward conspiratorially.  "Oh God. Is he standing 
behind me right now?"

I smile and shake my head.  "No, I just wanted to see what you'd do 
if-"

"Speaking of pains in the ass, you're one too, you know that?"

"I don't think that is any kind of way to talk to someone who you're 
about to ask a favor from."  I sniff indignantly.

Josh closes his eyes briefly and ducks his head.  "OK, look, if you 
meet with these people-"

"You keep calling them 'these people' Josh, who in the hell are they 
and what do they want?"

"I'm glad you asked."  He says brightly.  "You ever heard of 'Feminists
for Life'?"

"Get out of my office as fast as your legs can carry you, Joshua."

"Oh come on, CJ.  It won't be that bad.  You'll spend fifteen minutes 
over coffee listening to them whine about the Freedom of Access to 
Clinic Entrances Act and send them on their way with a nice White 
House mug.  It'll be over before you know it."

"Once again, you astound me with your stupidity."  I say angrily.  
"You think that they're going to see this meeting with me, the 
frigging Press Secretary, as a suitable substitute for the Deputy 
Chief of Staff?  They're going to feel patronized and-"

"Who cares if they feel patronized?"

I sigh audibly and pinch the bridge of my nose.  "Joshua, these women 
don't like me."

He cracks a smile, and I see he's about to make a joke at my expense.  
He thinks better of it though, and simply shrugs again.  "They don't 
like me either.  You'll do fine."

"You don't see the potential for disaster in this?"

"Quite frankly, no."

"Josh!"

"What's the problem?"  A new voice inquires from the doorway.

"Go away Toby."  I say irritably as I cross my arms over my chest.

"I'm talking to her about the thing."  Josh explains.

"Wait, you're in on this too?"  I ask incredulous.

"Josh and I discussed it this morning.  Do it, ok?"

"No, it's not ok.  I want to know why Josh can't do it."

"Because Josh would alienate them and we need their support."  Toby 
says as he ignores the indignant glance Josh tosses him.

"So why don't you do it then?"

Toby lifts one corner of his mouth and shrugs.  Damn what is it about 
these men and shrugging?  I'm starting to get seriously annoyed.  
"Because I would too."

"So let me get this straight.  Because the two of you jackasses can't 
control yourselves, I have to take fifteen minutes out of my extremely 
busy day to pat some women on the head, all the while trying to 
conduct myself without appearing to know, that they know, that the 
only reason I'm there is because I've been brow-beaten by my boss."

"In a nutshell."  Josh agrees.

"Did it occur to either of you that I might alienate them?"

"Nah.you'll go in there and charm them.  Be funny, be gracious-"

"I don't need tips from you Mr. Lyman."  I cut him off.  "I really 
don't want to do this."  I say quietly, hoping they can't detect the 
note of desperation in my voice.

"Why not?"  Toby asks.

He's staring at me now in that piercing way of his, like he's trying 
to divine the secrets of my soul.  Well, he's not going to discover 
anything I don't want him to know.  I've become very good at 
protecting myself and hiding things.  Especially since, well, never 
mind.

"I never thought I'd see the day CJ Cregg was afraid of a bunch of 
women."  Josh pipes in.

"I hate you both.  Now get out of my office."

"CJ."

"NOW!"  I yell, almost smiling in satisfaction as Josh jumps.

Toby and Josh exchange glances, but they both know better than to 
argue with me when I use that particular tone of voice.  They know 
that I'll meet with those women, despite my objections, and this is 
enough for them.  Josh follows Toby out of my office and closes the 
door gently behind him.  I pick up the brass nameplate from my desk 
and throw it against the wall, feeling some of the anger drain from my 
body at the loud thud.  I'll worry about the gaping hole underneath 
the window later.  Damn, this is the second time I've broken the 
White House.

******************

"Do you think she's mad?"

Toby gives me one of his well patented 'are you serious' looks and 
arches his eyebrow.  "Yes Josh.  I think it is safe to assume that CJ 
is not in the best of moods right now."  He answers sarcastically as 
he begins to jot something down in his ever-present notebook.

"What are you writing?"  I ask curiously as he starts to walk away.

"My will."

"Hey, make sure you spell my name right."  I call after him.  He 
doesn't acknowledge me, much like my assistant who chooses this moment 
to walk past me with a stack of folders balanced precariously in her 
arms.  I could help her but, well, she didn't even say 'good morning' 
to me.

I turn around and regard CJ's closed door for a few moments.  Yeah, 
she's pissed.  But it's not my fault.it's Leo's.  Of course, she's not 
going to see it that way.  In fact, she's going to look at it like 
Toby and I were pulling rank.  Which, in hindsight, I guess we did.

"Oh Donnatella?"  I call as I walk into the bullpen, where my faithful 
assistant is busy scribbling something down on a yellow-sticky note.

"Good morning to you too, Josh.  How are you?  I'm fine, thanks so 
much for asking."

"You know Donna, this sarcastic thing you've got going?"

"Yeah?"  She asks without looking up.

"It's not an attractive feature on you.  Work on it, will you?"

"Bite me, Josh."

There's a joke in there, but I decide to leave it alone, because I've 
got other, more pressing matters to concern myself with.  "Hey, you 
wouldn't happen to know what CJ's favorite flowers are, would you?"

"CJ doesn't like flowers."

"What do you mean she doesn't like flowers?"

"She doesn't like flowers, Josh.  She thinks flowers are for funerals."

"But all women like flowers."

"Oh for Pete's sake.  The woman doesn't like them, get over it."

"Wow."  I pause for a moment and then shake my head.  "Well, now I'm 
out of ideas.  Um, what do you think I should get her?"

"Well, I guess my answer will depend on what you did to piss her off 
this time."  Donna replies, finally looking up from her notes and 
meeting my gaze.

"I just-hey, what do you mean 'this time'?"

Donna just rolls her eyes at me and places her hands on her hips.  
"On second thought, you don't deserve my help."

"Whatever.  Hey, everyone likes chocolate.  Maybe I'll get her some 
really expensive-"

"That's a really good idea Josh."

"It is?"  I ask hopefully.  If Donna says it's ok, then I trust her.

"Yeah, it's a great idea if you want a box of chocolates shoved up 
your-"

"Thank you very much Donna.  I always appreciate our time together."  
I interrupt before she can get any further.  She's snickering openly 
and it's, quite frankly, very annoying.  I turn on my heel and start 
walking towards my office.  Maybe I can find something on the Internet.

"Hey Josh?"

"Sup?"

"My favorite flowers are tulips."

"Who asked you?"

And now I'm snickering because although I don't turn around, I know 
she has that crest-fallen look on her face.  Put that in your pipe and 
smoke it, Donna Moss.

*********************

"CJ?"

"Yeah?"

"They're waiting for you in the Roosevelt Room."  Carol reminds me as 
she sticks her head around the corner.  Her gaze is drawn to the hole 
in the wall, and she tries to hide her smile.

I stand up and smooth out the imaginary wrinkles in my skirt.  "Remind 
me why I haven't quit yet?"

"Because this place would fall apart without you."

"Oh, yes.  Good reason."  I stride down the hallway with Carol at my 
heels, tugging at the sleeves of my suit jacket, feeling like a lamb 
being sent into the Lion's Den.  "Carol, if I'm not out of there in 
fifteen minutes, you come in and interrupt me.  I mean it, fifteen 
minutes.""

"Interrupt you, how?"

I stop in my tracks and face my assistant.  "I don't know, just be 
vague and say that there's something that needs my immediate 
attention.  They can't argue with that, can they?"  Carol tosses me a 
dubious look, and I scrunch my lip to the side.  "Ok, they can argue 
with that, but I'm not going to wait around long enough for them to 
do it."

I stop before the door and take a deep breath.  I'm going to kill 
Josh.  I really am.  And then, I'm going in search of his big, bald 
friend, who by the way has been on my shit list for quite a while 
now.  I open the door and walk in with a confidence I don't really 
feel.

"Good morning ladies.  Welcome to the White House."


************************
OK, flowers are out of the question.  And according to Donna, so is 
chocolate.  What the hell?  I guess it really shouldn't surprise me 
that Claudia Jean would be complicated, but, damn, it doesn't make my 
life any easier.  I mean, should I really apologize to her anyway?  
I'm higher on the ladder than she is, and I delegated.  Is there 
anything wrong with that?  
No.

Then why do I feel like shit?  Maybe it's because she had this haunted 
look in her eyes, and I ignored it.  I'm her friend, but I just 
brushed it aside because I needed-wanted-her to take this meeting.  
In the back of my mind, I know that she'll forgive me in a day or two, 
because she always does.

She'll make a joke or two about her poor, sainted, put-upon self, and 
we'll laugh, and then she'll punch me in the arm, or pinch me, and 
I'll know that I'm forgiven.  We have this routine, she and I.  I've 
grown accustomed to it, taken it for granted.  Maybe that's why I'm at 
this stupid web page, looking through an assortment of stuffed-animals 
and mushy cards, trying to find something adequate enough to express 
my apologies.

"Josh?"

"Sam!  Sam, my man, I need your help."  I look up and meet the eyes of 
my other best friend.

"Ok."  He answers simply as he comes into my office and perches on the 
edge of my desk.

"When you think of CJ, what comes to mind?"

"What did you do now?"

"What makes you think I did anything?"

"Because when I went to CJ's office to talk to her, there was a big 
hole in the wall."

"There was a hole in the wall?"  I ask in amazement.  "Damn, I think 
I'm in trouble."

"Big trouble."  Sam agrees.

"Ok, so what should I get her.you know, to get back into her good 
graces?"

"Your head on a platter, perhaps?"  Sam suggests, smiling in amusement.

"Are you gonna help me or not?"

Sam cocks his head to the side as if he is seriously considering it, 
and I throw a pencil at him.  He throws his hands up.  "All right, 
calm down.  Let's think about this logically."

"Yes."

"CJ doesn't like flowers, so those are definitely out of the question."

"How did you know?"  I ask, not willing to believe that Sam knew this 
about Claudia Jean, when I didn't.

"That CJ doesn't like flowers?"

"Yeah."

"Oh come on, Josh.  Everyone knows that."

I didn't, but I don't tell him so.  "OK, so what else do we got?"

"She doesn't strike me as the stuffed-animal type and don't even think 
about getting her something as trivial as candy."

"I happen to think that a nice box of chocolates is a very thoughtful 
gift." I say defensively.

Sam clears his throat and smiles.  "If you say so."

"No flowers, candy or cute teddy-bears.  What's left?"

"How about a piece of jewelry?  Maybe a pair of earrings, or a 
bracelet."

"No way."

"Why not?"

"Because jewelry is something you give a girlfriend, or a wife, or a 
mother. And CJ is none of the above."

"Yet."  Sam mutters, but I pretend I don't hear him because he's going 
in a direction that I'm not sure I can handle.

"Anything else, oh friend-of-friends?"

"Sorry. I don't have much experience in this department."

I sigh in frustration and lean back in my chair.  It's only ten in 
the morning, and already I feel like I've been there for eight hours.  
Maybe I should just forget this gift thing all together.  It's not 
like she'll be expecting it which of course is why I want to do it.  
Damn.

**********************************

I think I know how all those people felt during the Spanish 
Inquisition.  I mean, I'm not about to be burned at the stake for 
heresy, but, well, you know what I mean.  I'm sitting across the table 
from three very professional-looking women and all I can think of is 
the Spanish Inquisition.  This isn't going very well.

"Ms. Cregg, we were told that we would be meeting with Josh Lyman."

"I'm sorry, Ms--?"

The young woman looks at her companions and they exchange a 
commiserating glance.  Great.  I guess it would be nice if Josh had 
given me the names of the women I was meeting, but then again, I 
didn't ask.  I should have prepared, but I was too busy trying to get 
my emotions under control.  So now I look like a fool, which isn't a 
new sensation, believe me, but I've also managed to insult these 
people.  Good going Claudia.

"Clark.  Jenna Clark, and these are my associates, Anna Moreno and 
Tammy Nguyen."

I clear my throat and absently play with the cuff of my jacket.  "I 
apologize Ms. Clark, but Josh Lyman was called away to an important 
meeting at the last minute.  I was asked to come here instead."

Jenna observes me silently for a moment, and I can only imagine what's 
going through her mind.  "Look Ms. Cregg, we're here to discuss a very 
sensitive matter, and quite frankly, we'd rather not do it with you."

I look to her companions who are busy studying their hands and I'm 
suddenly aware of the dread settling in my belly.  I'm speechless for 
a moment, and worried because they won't meet my eyes.  "If this is 
about the work I did with Emily's List, then let me assure you that 
my own personal views don't-"

"That isn't the reason."

"OK, then.I don't understand."

"The reason we don't want to discuss this sensitive issue with you is 
because, well, we're here about you."

"About me?"

Jenna sighs, and nervously draws circles on the table with her 
fingernail.  "Please Ms. Cregg.  We'd rather talk to-"

"Well, I'm all you've got Ms. Clark, so whatever it is, you're going 
to have to tell me to my face."

There is a steel edge to my voice, and the women in the room recognize 
it.  They glance at each other again, and seem to come to a consensus, 
because Jenna meets my unwavering gaze and begins.

"The Feminists for Life was established in 1972.  The organization is 
dedicated to education about and prevention of abortion, capital 
punishment and euthanasia."  After I nod my head, she continues.  
"Recently, there's been a split some members thought our methods 
were too docile.  More specifically, they think we should be more 
vocal in our condemnation of abortion."

"I understand.but what does this have to do with me?"

Jenna clears her throat and pushes a large manila envelope I hadn't 
even realized she possessed across the table until I grasp it with my 
fingers.  "We respect President Bartlet.he's always been a champion of 
women's rights, and has a better track record than any of his 
predecessors in supporting legislation for equality."

I'm barely listening to her as I begin to pull out what appears to be 
a stack of glossy photographs.  I realize that my hands are shaking 
and I pray that they don't notice.  
OhGodOhGodOhGodOhGodOhGodOhGodOhGod.

I can't swallow.  I can't breathe.  And I can't tear my gaze away from 
the picture in front of me.  I still have nightmares of this day. 
About once a month, I wake up soaked in my own sweat, shaking and 
sobbing into my pillow. 
  
I've never told anyone.  Not even my Priest in confession.  No one.  
And now these women who hate me know.  And by this time tomorrow, the 
Public is going to know as well.  And all I want to do is curl up and 
die, because I don't have the strength to fight this. I'm not sure I'd 
want to, even if I could.

"We want to make something clear to you Ms. Cregg, we aren't 
responsible for this.  We just wanted to give you a heads up, give 
you some time to prepare."

I only vaguely hear her apology.I think it's an apology anyway.  I can 
feel their sympathy even though I don't look up because I'm trying to 
concentrate on regulating my breathing.  Panic wells up in my chest 
and it takes all I have not to run from the room, hell from the West 
Wing itself.  I can't break down in front of these women. I won't.

"Where.how.why?"  Is all I can manage to get out, although in my head it 
sounded far more intelligent.

"As I explained earlier, there is a more radical faction of our 
organization.  We don't know how they obtained the photographs, but we do 
know that they are probably being delivered to The Washington Post as we 
speak."

The Washington Post?  Oh God, Danny.  How am I ever going to be able to face 
him again?  How am I ever going to be able to face anyone again?  I nod my 
head, and the panic in my chest is slowly being replaced by numbness.  
There's nothing I can do.  My world is falling apart, and I have absolutely 
no control.

"They want me to resign?"  I ask in a low voice, although I already know the 
answer.

"That is their goal, yes."

I don't say anything.  I know I'm making the women uncomfortable, but at 
this point, I really don't give a damn.  I start to sift through the 
pictures, feeling my heart constrict with each one.  This is bad.this is 
very bad.  I need to leave.  I need to get up and just walk out of the room 
because I don't know what's worse; the fact that these women were the ones 
to warn me, or the fact that their eyes are filled with pity as they watch 
me now.  In the end however, I just sit there because I don't trust my legs 
to support me.

"I am sorry Ms. Cregg.  We don't encourage this type of personal attack, and 
we'll say as much if asked.  I um, I think we'll show ourselves out."

I don't acknowledge Jenna Clark, or the others as they get to their feet and 
exit the room.

I don't acknowledge Carol as she reminds me that I have a press briefing in 
thirty minutes from the doorway.

I don't acknowledge the bustle in the hallway, or the flickering light 
overhead that is on the verge of dying out all together.

I can't think about anything except the fact that by this time tomorrow, I 
will be destroyed.

*************************

In hindsight, I guess I should have seen this coming.  She's a strong woman, 
but I think we all tend to forget that she's still human.  That she still 
has her breaking points.  She's the one we run to when our problems are 
threatening to overwhelm us.  We go to her because we know she'll fix them.  
That's what she does.  But as I stand in the doorway of her office, I wonder 
whom she goes to when she has problems.  And I hate myself for not knowing 
the answer.

I can't forget the look on Carol's face when she ran into my office moments 
earlier.  Frightened.  Distraught.  Confused.  None of these adjectives seem 
appropriate right now, but I don't know how else to describe it.  She only 
managed to utter two words before I was out of my chair, and down the 
hallway.  CJ's leaving.

I know this for a fact now because I am silently observing her filling a 
small cardboard box with her belongings.  Her movements are slow and 
resigned.  She looks tired.  Defeated.  I don't know what happened in that 
room, but whatever it was, it has turned this strong, vibrant woman into a 
walking zombie.  She doesn't even know I'm there.

"CJ?"

She jumps at the sound of my voice, and seems reluctant to meet my eyes.  
But she finally does, and what I see there nearly breaks my heart.  
"Toby.not right now.  I need you to get me an audience with Leo and The 
President."

"Why?"

"Do you want what's best for this administration?"

I pause because she has caught me off-guard with her question. "Of course I 
do."

"Then please do as I ask and get me ten minutes alone with Leo and the 
President."

"Can I tell them what it is in regards to?"

CJ closes her eyes briefly and ducks her head.  When she finally looks up 
again, her face is devoid of emotion and I don't think I've ever been more 
scared of anything in my life.  "Just tell them it's important, ok?"

I nod my head and leave, because I don't know what else to do.  This 
friendship I have with CJ has always been a bit.well, convoluted.  I'm torn 
between demanding answers and pulling her into my arms for comfort.  In the 
end I do neither because I'm scared of the consequences.  When did this 
happen?  This trepidation when it comes to all things CJ?  I can't answer 
that question and this scares me too.


********************
Above all else, I remember the pain.  Not the physical pain.  That was the 
easy part.  No, what I can't seem to get over is the unremitting ache in my 
heart as I sat in the waiting room, clutching the armrest until my knuckles 
were white.  I kept telling myself that it wasn't too late, that I could 
walk out of the doors just as easily as I had entered.

"CJ?"

I realize now that I'm not in the clinic waiting room.  I'm just outside the 
Oval Office, waiting to meet with The President and his Chief of Staff.  But 
the ache is still there.  The ache in fact, has never left.  I've just 
become good at ignoring it.

I don't say anything as I get up from my seat and pick up the damning 
evidence, following Leo into the office.  This may be the hardest thing I've 
ever had to do, and I can't reconcile myself to the fact that I'm about to 
disappoint two men who I've tried very hard to prove myself to.

"Good Morning, Sir."  I greet politely as I come to stand before Bartlet's 
desk.  He looks at me over his glasses, and I can see the concern in his 
gaze.

"Mornin' CJ.  Toby told us you had something important to discuss?"

"Yes sir.  I have just concluded a meeting with three representatives from 
Feminists For Life."

"What?  I assigned that meeting to Josh."  Leo grumbles from beside me.

"Yes, well he delegated to me.and quite frankly, I'm glad that he did.  You 
see." I trail off because I don't think I can go through with this.

Both men wait patiently while I try to gather my thoughts.  And then I 
decide that the easiest way to do this is to let them see for themselves.  I 
pull out the stack of photographs and place them on the President's desk.  
"I um, I think you should take a look at these."

Leo glances at me curiously before he walks behind the President's desk to 
stand over his shoulder.  I dip my head and close my eyes because I can 
already feel the tears welling, and I'll be damned if I'm going to start 
sobbing like a little girl in the Oval Office.  And that's exactly what I 
feel like, a little girl.

I can't help but being reminded of the time I was six, maybe seven, and I 
stood in my father's study, awaiting punishment.  My brothers and I had been 
digging around in the attic because it was summer, and it was raining, and 
we were bored.  We discovered some old photos of my mother and father when 
they first married, a box full of baby clothes, and some old sporting 
equipment.

My brothers were satisfied with the leather mitts and baseball they found, 
but I wanted more.  So I continued to dig through the chests and boxes, 
carefully avoiding the spiders nesting there, until I came upon it.  I was 
mesmerized by the fake jewels, and how it shined even though it was covered 
in dust.

My brothers laughed as I placed the tiara on my head and started prancing 
around the attic, waving as I'd seen all the beauty queens do in the 
parades.  It was heavy on my head, but I felt beautiful with it.  Beautiful 
and invincible.  I should have been more careful, should've put it back in 
the chest with the glamorous dresses my mother used to wear in the pageants, 
but I didn't.

No, instead, I continued my 'victory walk' and tripped over one of the 
boxes.  The tiara flew off my head, and shattered into three pieces as it 
hit the floor.  I couldn't move because all I could think of is how angry my 
mother was going to be.  My brothers didn't move either.  And then my mother 
was in the attic, beckoned by the crash.  And the look in her eyes was 
enough to make me want to find a hole to crawl into.

"Claudia Jean, go downstairs and wait for me in the study."

I must have waited alone in that room for an hour, anxiously anticipating my 
punishment.  When she finally did come in, she sat in the leather armchair 
behind the imposing desk and observed me silently.  I stood before her and 
nervously picked at the fringes of my cut-off shorts, praying that she would 
say something, anything.

She continued to regard me coolly and my legs were getting tired because I'd 
been standing for an hour, but I knew better than to sit down.  She'd take 
that as a personal affront since I hadn't been instructed to do so and I was 
already in enough trouble.  I don't remember how much longer I stood there 
waiting for her to speak, but in my youthful mind, it seemed like eons.

When she finally did address me, her words were lined with ice and I winced.

"You had no right to wear that crown Claudia Jean.  You didn't earn it."

"I'm sorry."

"What do you think your punishment should be?"

"I don't know."

I never looked at her through the entire exchange because she had a way of 
penetrating my defenses, of making me cry.  And I knew she despised me 
because of it.  Viewed it as weakness.  She finally stood up and extended 
her hand.  I looked up from the intent study of my well-worn sneakers and 
gasped.

"You will wear this for the rest of the week.  And I mean at all times.  You 
may take it off when you go to bed."

I shook my head in horror.  The once-beautiful tiara, held together now by 
three strips of duct tape, had been clutched tightly in her hands.  She'd 
placed it roughly on my head and I remember hissing in pain as the combs dug 
into my scalp.  She could be extremely cruel, my mother.  My father wasn't 
there to save me this time because he was traveling on business.  I knew 
instinctively that he never would have allowed it.

He never would have forced me out of the house, amidst the taunts of the 
neighborhood children.  He never would have made me carry that hideous thing 
on my head when I complained of neck pain.  He never would have been so 
angry over something as trivial as a broken tiara that hadn't been removed 
from the chest in over ten years.

"CJ?"

Oh Dear God.

"Yes sir?"

I still can't look up because I don't want to see the disgust on their 
faces.  I couldn't bear it.not right now.  But I can hear the confusion and 
disbelief in the President's tone, and that's almost enough to send me into 
hysterics.

"When?"

"Five years ago."

The silence in the room is suffocating.  I'd rather they interrogate me, ask 
embarrassing questions, demand an explanation.  Anything but this 
unforgiving silence.  I'm not thinking rationally right now so I don't take 
into consideration that this is an extremely awkward situation for them.  
Instead, I take it as condemnation.  And my heart breaks all over again.

"Sir, I want to apologize for the PR nightmare this is going to cause.  I 
didn't think.I didn't think anyone knew about this."  He doesn't say 
anything, and so I continue.  "I think you should consider Simon Glazer as 
Press secretary.  All my deputies are good, but Simon's more at ease with 
the Press than the rest.  He'll handle this for you."

"We already have a Press Secretary."  Leo speaks for the first time.

"As of," I glance at my watch, "Eleven-fifteen you don't."

"Look CJ-"

"No.  This is my decision.  The best thing for this administration is-"

"The best thing for this administration is for you to remain here as the 
Press Secretary.  We lived through my alcoholism, and Sam's.friend.  And 
damn it, CJ we'll get through this too.  Personal attacks on the staff 
aren't uncommon."

I smile humorlessly and shake my head.  "I'm not staying Leo."

Out of the corner of my eye I see Leo turn to the President, willing him to 
speak, to try and change my mind.  But he doesn't, and this is how I know 
I've made the right decision.  "I um, I'd like to tell the guys personally 
if you don't mind."

"For the love of God CJ!"  Leo explodes.  He moves towards me, but I back 
away.  He stops short and leans on the President's desk.  "You don't have to 
do this.we understand, and we support you."

"Please Leo."

"Why are you doing this?"  He asks softly.

I finally meet his eyes and feel the anger at the injustice of it all run 
through my veins.  "I'm doing this because in a few hours, the entire free 
world is going to know about a very personal and private moment in my life.  
And I don't know how I'm going to face my family and friends, let alone a 
room full of reporters.  I'm doing this because I'd rather resign than put 
you in a position where you have to fire me.  I'm doing this because no 
matter what you say, you can't understand."  My voice has steadily risen in 
pitch and my chest is heaving with indignation.  I take a deep breath and 
turn to the President.

"May I be excused, Sir?"

His face is unreadable and his hands are clasped together on top of the 
pictures.  He clears his throat and dips his head.  "Yes."

He says it so softly that I have to strain to hear him.  His face may be 
unreadable, but his body language comes through loud and clear.  
Disappointment.  Confusion.  Frustration.  Anger.  Take your pick, because 
it's there.and I'm responsible.  I swallow hard and nod.

"Thank you, Sir."
*******************

He's a great man, my father.  He celebrated his seventieth birthday this 
past March and his mind is still as sharp as it was when he was thirty-five, 
and the hero in my world.  Actually, he's still the hero in my world.  It's 
funny, but I'm forty years old, and I'm a daddy's girl.

My father is the one who greeted me with a kiss each morning as I came down 
for breakfast.  He's the one who placed band-aides on my knees and elbows 
when I fell off my bike.  He's the one who comforted me with milk and Oreo's 
when I came home from the Spring dance in tears because I'd stood against 
the wall the entire night.  He's the one who told me I was beautiful and 
made me believe it, too.

I remember the tears in his eyes the day I told him I'd been accepted into 
Berkeley.  He wasn't crying because he was happy, he was crying because he 
thought Berkeley was too far from home.  The man thought a thirty-minute 
drive north was too far.  And I loved him for it.

I talk to my father once a week, sometimes twice when things get to be too 
much at the office.  I don't visit him as often as I'd like, but he 
understands, or says he does anyway.  And he never fails to tell me how 
proud he is of me.  How he wishes my mother, God rest her soul, were still 
alive so she could see me.  How much he loves me.

And I start crying now in the darkened church because after tomorrow, I 
don't think he'll ever be able to say those words to me again.  My father is 
a devout Catholic.  He wakes up every morning at four so that he can make it 
to five-thirty daily mass.  He serves as a Eucharistic minister on Sundays 
and is active in the parish fund-raisers.  And for the life of me, I don't 
know how he's going to be able to face his fellow congregates come Sunday 
morning.

I'm sitting in an empty church on a Monday afternoon because it reminds me 
of my father.  The flickering devotional candles, the lingering smell of 
incense and the hardwood pew comfort me, as they always have.  I bow my head 
and send a silent prayer to God, Jesus, Mary and all the Saints.  I pray for 
strength.  I pray for wisdom.  And I pray for forgiveness.

I'm so sorry, Daddy.

***********
It's funny how your life can change in an instant.  Not ha-ha funny, more 
like weird funny.  Ironic funny.  Or maybe it's not funny at all.  I don't 
know anymore.

I'm standing in CJ's office, my eyes roving in quick succession over the box 
on her desk, the hole in the wall, and Simon Glazer on the TV screen doing 
the afternoon briefing.  Was it only a minute ago that Donna barged into my 
office with this new development?  CJ leaving?  I laughed, I actually 
laughed, because no matter how many times she pretends to quit, I know that 
Claudia Jean could never walk away from what she does.  It isn't in her.

I was wrong.  God was I wrong.  I'm aware that someone is behind me, but I 
don't turn around because I know it isn't her.  She has this presence, this 
overwhelming, beautiful presence, and.whoa, where in the hell did that just 
come from?

"Where's CJ?"

Well now, there's a voice I haven't heard in a long time.  Come to think of 
it, I haven't seen him in a while either.  I remember how it used to be.when 
I couldn't walk past CJ's office without seeing him in the doorway, trying 
to charm her.  Things changed between them a few months ago though.  She 
misses him, even if she won't admit it.  Or maybe it's just the attention 
she misses.

Someone, I think it may have been Donna, told me he's been seeing a woman 
from the State Department for a few months now.  I don't know if it's 
serious or not, but I do know that Mister Daniel Concannon, reporter 
extraordinaire, has blown any chance he may have had with CJ.  And I'm not 
even going to think about why this makes me happy.

I turn around now because there's this urgency in his tone that I've never 
heard before.  He looks a little more fit than the last time I saw him, and 
I realize that he's taken more care in his appearance.  Yep, this thing with 
that State Department woman is definitely serious.

"I don't know."  I answer honestly.

He sighs and looks down at his feet for a moment.  There's an agitated air 
about him, and for one moment I think maybe he knows.  He knows that CJ's 
leaving.and then I think maybe he knows why.

"Well do me a favor, will ya?  When she gets in-"

"What do you know?"  I interrupt.

"Pardon me?"

"What do you know?"  I repeat more slowly, as if I were talking to a third 
grader and not the Senior White House Correspondent.

"Well, I know a lot of things, Josh.  You want to specify?"

I take a step towards him and I lower my voice.  "Look Danny, don't play 
games with me.  If you know anything about-"

"What in the hell's going on in here?"

I visibly cringe as Toby storms into the office, slamming his shoulder into 
Danny in the process.  Here we go.  These two men don't like each other, and 
have never tried to conceal the fact.  And I'm not exactly suited to the 
role of peacemaker.where in the hell is CJ when you need her?  Well, I guess 
if we knew that, we wouldn't all be congregated in front of her desk right 
now.

"Nothing's going on.we're just waiting for CJ."  I answer quietly.

"You aren't supposed to be back here Danny.shouldn't you be in the briefing 
room right now?"  Toby asks irritably.

"I'm working on another story.and I need to talk to CJ about it, all right?"

"Well, you see she's not here.  Come back later."

"Toby."

"I said come back later, Concannon."

The tension in the room is palpable, and now I am absolutely convinced that 
Danny knows something.  This 'new story', well, it's got him quite worked 
up.  He's an easy-going guy, takes things in stride and all that jazz, but 
right now, he's standing toe-to-toe with Toby Ziegler of all people, and 
he's not backing down.  I guess I should try to do something to diffuse the 
situation, but I refuse to get in the middle of this one.

"Well, if I would've known you all were throwing a party in my office, I 
would have brought some refreshments."

"CJ!" We all exclaim at the same time.  She comes breezing into the room, 
and sets her purse down on the desk.  Her expression is neutral, but there's 
something in her eyes, something dangerous.

"You and you," She begins pointing to Toby and I, "Meet me in the Mural room 
in fifteen minutes, and bring Spanky."

"But CJ," I begin, only to be quelled by her look.

"Fifteen minutes Josh.  Now get out, and shut the door behind you.  Danny 
and I have some things to discuss."

Toby lingers for only a moment before following me out of the room.  I 
expect there to be a look of triumph on Danny's face because, well he's a 
guy, and guys have been known to gloat in times of victory.  However, he 
merely nods to me as I walk past, and I swear I see an apology written 
across his features.  Oh God Claudia Jean.  What have you done?

***********************

She has this habit of wringing her hands when she's nervous.  Her beautiful 
hands. she's got these long tapered fingers and although her nails are 
short, they're well manicured.  And her skin.I'm a writer and I can't begin 
to think of any adequate adjectives to describe the softness of her hands.

I once asked her what kind of lotion she used, but she'd laughed off the 
question and shut the door in my face.  I don't know why I'm thinking of her 
hands now.  Maybe it's because for once, she's hiding them under her desk, 
and her face is too impassive for me to read.  If I could just see her 
hands.

"Let's cut right to the chase, shall we?  I know the pictures were delivered 
to your paper.and I know that given your seniority, you're the reporter in 
charge of the story."

"Yes."

"I'm not giving any interviews.  I'm not talking about this to you, or 
anyone else."  She says quietly.

"Well, to be quite honest I don't know if I'm going to be working at the 
Post after today, so you don't have to worry about me looking for an 
interview."  I answer angrily because I'm offended that she thinks the only 
reason I'm here is to get a story.  She's my friend.I want to protect her.

"What are you talking about, Danny?"  She asks me in this weary voice that 
I've only heard one other time.after the shooting.

"I don't work for a tabloid, CJ.  I'm not going to be a party to this."

"It's the truth Danny.  You're not printing anything unfounded."

"CJ-"

"Look Danny.  Don't do me any favors, all right?  You love your job, and 
you're great at it.  Don't throw that away because you think it's going to 
change anything.  They're going to print this story with or without you, and 
then everyone else is going to pick it up the day after.  It's inevitable."

"I don't think you understand the consequences, CJ."

"You don't.you don't think I understand the consequences?  Who do you think 
you're talking to?  I know what's going to happen to me.to my name.to my 
reputation.  Believe me."

"Then why are you asking me to help them destroy you?"

CJ gazes at me for a moment and I see the affection in her eyes.  "Because 
I'm selfish.my motives aren't entirely altruistic Danny.  People are going 
to step forward after this, you know?  And they're going to make up stories 
about me, and everyone will believe them.  But you know me Danny.you're my 
friend."

"So you want me to stay on to defend you?"

"No.  I want you to stay on because you won't print lies."

I sigh because I don't know what else to say.  She's staring intently into 
my eyes, and I see the plea in them.  CJ's a proud woman, has always been 
able to hold her own amongst these men without asking for help, but now she 
needs it, and she's coming to me.  And I don't want to fail her.  But in the 
end I will, because there's no way I can protect her from this.

"Danny, if you're not comfortable-"
"CJ, I would go to the ends of the Earth for you.you know that."

She seems startled by the vulnerability in my voice, and she ducks her head. 
  It doesn't matter that I've been seeing another woman for two months now, 
that I keep a toothbrush and shaving kit at her apartment, that her robe and 
hairbrush are at mine.  No, none of that matters because I'm still in love 
with CJ Cregg, and suspect I always will be.

"Danny."  Her voice is choked with tears and I feel guilty for putting them 
there.

I stand up now because I know she doesn't want me to see her like this, 
doesn't want me to think her weak, even though I never could.  "CJ, if you 
ever want to talk.if you ever need anything.call me, please."

I know she won't, even as she nods her head.  I can only hope that Toby, 
Josh, and Sam will be able to penetrate her defenses, will be strong enough 
to fight for her even when she tells them to go to hell.  I close the door 
behind me and avoid Carol's eyes as I walk down the hallway.  I feel tired 
already, and the battle hasn't even begun.

*******

I used to be young once, and idealistic.  CJ tells me I'm still 
idealistic.that I try to hide it behind acidic criticism and gruff 
responses, but that she can see through all that because she's known me so 
long.  And she's right.  I can't begin to tell you how much I hate that.  
Not that she's right, but that she can see beyond this well-crafted exterior 
I've developed over the years to protect myself.

I wasn't always like this, guarded and jaded.  But decades of working in 
politics will do that to a person.  Make him erect walls so that others 
can't see just how much he is affected by losses and victories; how much he 
wants to believe in the basic goodness of humankind; and how he cries when 
someone he trusts has disappointed him.

Sam is staring off into space, looking lost in the big armchair in the 
corner, Josh is pacing the length of the room, running his hands nervously 
through his hair so that it stands on end, and I'm resting my forehead on 
two fingers as I lean on the arm of the small couch when CJ finally enters 
the room.  We've been waiting for ten minutes now, but it seems like so much 
more time has passed.

Josh has stopped in mid-stride, and seems unsure of what to do next.  CJ 
smiles at him reassuringly as she walks past, and places her hand briefly on 
his arm.  She sits next to me on the couch, close enough so that our 
shoulders touch, and I can see she's been crying.  I'm thinking of possible 
ways to kill a certain red-haired reporter, when she begins to speak.

"Thank you all for coming.  I was going to talk to each of you privately, 
but I don't think I could handle it, so I'm going to tell you all together."

"What's going on, CJ?"  Josh asks as he leans against the wall.

She removes her glasses, and pinches the bridge of her nose.  She seems 
reluctant to start, so I take one of her hands in my own, and squeeze it 
gently.  CJ seems surprised at this simple display of affection, but it 
isn't long before she's gripping my hand as if her life depended on it.  "I 
don't want you guys to think that I was keeping this a secret because I 
didn't trust you.you've been like a family to me, and well.I just wanted you 
to know that.  I honestly didn't think this would ever become an issue."

"What is it?"  I ask quietly, because she has fallen silent again.

She closes her eyes briefly and leans her head on the back of the couch.  
"God I don't even know how to begin."  CJ sighs and a few more seconds pass 
before she pulls herself into an upright position.  "Five years ago while 
working for Emily's List, I met a man.and I fell in love with him.  I won't 
go into specifics because they aren't important, but well, after five 
months, I found out that he was married, and had three children."

I swear under my breath because as she looks up, there is a tremendous 
amount of pain and heartache in her large eyes, and I'd like to break the 
neck of the man who put it there.  Josh has moved from his place on the 
wall, until he's standing beside her, and places his hand on her shoulder.  
She looks at him gratefully and takes a deep breath before continuing.

"Needless to say, I wasn't going to continue seeing him.not when he was 
still married and had no intention of leaving his situation.  It suited him 
politically, and he wasn't willing to sacrifice that for me.and I wasn't 
willing to sacrifice my self-respect for him, and so we parted ways."

I used to call each other every week, but during that period, it had 
dwindled down to once every few months because I was trying to save my 
marriage to Andi.  I of course kept abreast of CJ through mutual friends, 
but no one ever mentioned a significant other, and I wonder if she ever told 
anyone.  If he was married, he probably fed her a line about wanting to keep 
CJ all to himself, so that their romance could remain a secret.  If I ever 
find out who the scum was, so help me God.

"And then.about three weeks later I went to the doctor because I thought I 
had the flu."  She laughs now in that self-deprecating way she has, and I 
want her to stop because it sounds bitter.  "I was so stupid.it wasn't the 
flu, I was pregnant."

Sam shifts a bit disconcertedly in his seat, and Josh has grown considerably 
pale.  I don't know what I look like, but if it's close to the way I 
feel.God save us.  CJ was pregnant and she never told me.  I feel completely 
and utterly betrayed.

We used to tell each other everything.I mean there was nothing that we 
didn't share.  She knew about the fertility drugs Andi was taking to get 
pregnant, knew about the miscarriages, and knew about our finally just 
giving up because it was too heart-breaking.  But never once did she tell me 
she was pregnant.  I guess she didn't trust me as much as I trusted her, and 
oh, how that hurts.

I'm afraid to meet her eyes because of what she might see there, so I study 
our joined hands while she continues.  "I.I didn't know what to do.  I mean, 
Mr. Wrong was out of the picture.had never really been a part of it.  I was 
living out of hotels and buses; I didn't even have my own apartment.all of 
my things were in storage.  I didn't have room for a baby in my life."

"Did you.did you give it up for adoption, CJ?"  Sam asks as he leans forward 
on his knees.

A tear falls on my hand, but I don't know if it's mine, or CJ's, and I don't 
care enough to find out.  I'm aware that her voice is shaking now, and the 
shoulder next to mine is trembling, but I can't bring myself to look at her, 
to speak a single word of comfort, to squeeze her hand reassuringly.  
Nothing.

"I couldn't bear the thought of someone else raising my child.  I mean, what 
if they weren't good parents, what if they couldn't love him or her as much 
as they should?  I couldn't do it.  And so I found the name of a doctor 
and-"

She's sobbing now, and I pull my hand away from hers in disgust.  She 
knew.she knew how hard Andi and I were trying to have children, knew how 
much we longed to be parents.  She knew this and still.I get up from the 
couch because I'm not sure I can handle sitting next to her right now, not 
even sure I can look at her.

I walk over to the wall and lean my forehead against the brilliant colors, 
trying to block the sound of her tears.  There's a hand on my shoulder and I 
can identify the grip as Sam's.  He's speaking to me quietly, but I can't 
make out what he's saying because there's this pounding in my ears, and for 
one minute, I think I'm going to faint.

I don't know how much time passes before I gain control of myself, but when 
I finally have the strength to turn around, CJ's cries have subsided, and 
she's looking at her hands, folded now in her lap.  Sam is still beside me, 
but I notice that Josh has moved across the room and is gazing intently at 
his shoes.

When CJ speaks again, her voice is clear, and there's a coldness lacing her 
words.  "I thought I should tell you all because tomorrow morning, The 
Washington Post is going to be running a story, along with some photographs 
of me entering and leaving the clinic.  That's the reason the 
representatives from Feminists For Life were here today.they wanted to warn 
us."

No one says anything for a few moments and CJ sighs audibly in what can only 
be described as sorrow.  "Simon Glazer is going to be taking over the duties 
of Press Secretary, so you all should meet with him sometime today to go 
over what he's going to say."

She stands up and moves towards the door, but before her hand touches the 
knob, she turns back and meets my gaze.  "I'm sorry."

I can't offer her the forgiveness she's so desperately seeking because I 
don't have it in me.  She nods her head almost imperceptibly in 
understanding and walks out the door.  I'm a hypocrite.  I've always 
believed in a woman's right to choose, I've gone to rallies and protests, 
hell, I've even spent a night in jail for the cause.  I don't know why I'm 
so angry and hurt.  I only know that I am, and the fact that I can't explain 
the origin of these emotions angers me even more.

****************

I've never been a drinker.  I mean, I'll have a beer or a grasshopper, which 
is a perfectly respectable drink by the way, every once in a while, but I've 
never used alcohol to escape from my problems.  That's the coward's way, and 
call me what you will, but Claudia Jean is not a coward.

At least I didn't used to be.  Now though, I'm absently fingering the label 
on the bottle of tequila Carol had waiting in my office when I returned from 
my father's birthday a few months ago, imagining how comforting the golden 
liquid would be burning its way down my throat.  And the numbness and 
lightness that would follow.I really need that right now.

He wonders why I never told him.  He feels betrayed, deceived, letdown.  
Three words that all mean the same thing.do they really?  I don't know 
anymore.  He doesn't understand.doesn't know that I was sparing him.  Has he 
forgotten how often he used to call me, his voice slurred with scotch and 
exhaustion?  I had to cradle the phone, when I really wanted to cradle him, 
as he sobbed about Andi's infertility, his feelings of inadequacy as a 
husband, and the fear that one day she'd leave him because they'd run out of 
things to talk about.

I'm not that cruel.

And anyway, we'd stopped talking by then.  He'd told me it was because he 
was busy with one campaign or another, but I know the real reason.  Andi had 
never been entirely comfortable with our relationship.not quite lovers, but 
so much more than friends.  Toby loved Andrea Wyatt, still does, and so he 
chose her over me.  I don't blame him.  God, I'm a crummy liar.  I do blame 
him.  It's been six years and I'm still bitter.  I've never told him that 
either.  Add that to the list of 'Things Claudia Jean Has Failed to Disclose 
to Toby'.  It's getting to be quite long actually.

He thinks I owe him.thinks every secret I have belongs to him.  What an 
egotist.  I don't know why he would even expect it after all these years.  
We've both changed too much.  He's closed himself off since the divorce and 
sometimes I feel like he's a completely different person.  And I.well, I'm 
not a doormat anymore.  But every now and then, when he smiles or brushes 
against my shoulder as we walk down the hallway, I see a bit of the old 
Toby.  And who am I kidding?  I still have doormat tendencies.  Especially 
where my colleagues are concerned.

Which brings me to Sam and Josh.  I guess in the back of my mind I had been 
expecting Toby's anger, but never the silent condemnation of the men I've 
grown so close to over the past few years.  I've still got quite a bit of 
learning left to do I suppose.

Sam just had this look of disbelief on his face, like he didn't think it 
possible.  I guess I'm glad that Toby broke down in that room because it 
gave his deputy something to focus on.  Poor Spanky couldn't even look at 
me.  He's been going through a lot lately.his father's affair, Toby's 
drop-in, my.problem.  He's never worshipped me as he has these two men, but 
I'm fairly certain this hurts just the same.  I idly wonder how much more he 
can take.  Oh don't get me wrong, Samuel Seaborn is strong, has carried us 
through some pretty tough situations, but I fear for his idealism, his 
care-free smile and the way his eyes shine when he's excited.  I don't want 
him to lose any of this.

Joshua.  Josh Lyman.  I've been thinking about him a lot lately.  Probably 
more than I should, but let's be honest, I haven't had any action in quite 
some time so I'm sure these hormone-induced images of him in my mind don't 
mean anything.  But it's not all sexual.I find myself wandering into his 
office at the end of a particularly hard day because I know that just being 
with him makes me happy.  Sometimes we talk, sometimes we sit on his couch 
in silence and watch ESPN, and on very rare occasions we go out to dinner 
because neither of us remembered to eat during the day.

He's one of the best friends I've ever had.  He can make me laugh without 
even trying, can manage to brighten an otherwise dismal day by simply 
flashing his dimples, can make me forget about everything else as he spins 
one of his Capital Hill tales.

Of course, this also means he can make me cry without even trying, can 
manage to send my day straight to hell with his thoughtlessness, can make me 
so angry I throw things.

But I love him.

As a friend, mind you.  And maybe a little more, but I'm not prepared to 
start turning that over in my mind.  Don't I have enough to worry about 
already?

He couldn't, or wouldn't, look at me either though.  And it hurts.

And now this emptiness is being replaced with anger at their abandonment.  
Anger is good, anger is an old friend of mine, anger is better than the 
numbness that occupied its space just a few minutes before.  How dare they 
judge me?  These men who sing the praises of women like Maria Cantwell, 
Dianne Feinstein and Carol Moseley, but can't even look me in the eye when I 
share a bit of my own life with them.  Maybe none of them realized just how 
much one kind word, or look, would have meant to me.  Or maybe they did, but 
couldn't look past their own pain to diminish mine.

In either case, they failed me.

I've been hiding in my office for the past three hours because the truth of 
the matter is, I'm scared of running into Toby, or Sam or Josh.  So, I guess 
this does make me a coward, but I place the Tequila in the box, which is 
already filled near to capacity with framed pictures, degrees, awards and 
other things I've managed to accumulate over the past two years, by my feet 
anyway.  You see, I've never been a drinker.

**********************************************
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say, It's in the reach of my arms,
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.


The human mind is a mystery.  I have trouble memorizing the pin number to my 
ATM card, can't for the life of me remember the name of my Ethics professor 
at Harvard, and couldn't tell you when my mother's birthday is without 
looking at a calendar.

But I know every single line to a Maya Angelou poem.  I, Josh Lyman, can 
still recite every stanza of 'Phenomenal Woman' after hearing it only once, 
fifteen years ago.

You see, I thought I was in love with her.  She had this way about her.  She 
wasn't what you would call classically beautiful; her eyes were to small, 
her nose too wide and her hair a mass of unruly curls that she kept cut 
close to her scalp.

But you forgot all that when she opened her mouth to speak.  Then she became 
the most beautiful woman in the world, hell, she became the only woman in 
the world.

I thought I loved her because she didn't wear pleated skirts and expensive 
cardigans.  She didn't smell of Jean Nate and Ivory soap.  She didn't carry 
her books close to her chest like the other girls on campus, and she never 
owned an umbrella.

I thought I loved her because she was like nothing I'd ever seen before.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honeybees.
I say, It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing of my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

We were lying on opposite sides of the bed because she didn't like to cuddle 
after sex, didn't like what it implied.  And so I asked her to speak, to say 
something because it made me feel like I was still part of her life.  It 
didn't matter that she never returned my calls, that she only stayed until I 
fell asleep, and that she'd started spending more time with Tim, or Tom, or 
whatever his name was.

Her voice had been sensual as she softly repeated the words crafted by Maya 
Angelou and the movement of her lips captivated me.  I leaned in for a kiss, 
but she'd pushed me away and this is how I knew it was over.

I never saw her again after that night, but the poem reigned in her absence. 
  Only now, I don't associate it with Leah, the free spirit I met my junior 
year at Harvard.

No, now 'Phenomenal Woman' belongs to Claudia Jean; has since the night I 
met her.  She walked into the room with a confidence I didn't think possible 
to possess, and won us all over with a dazzling smile.

Oh sure, we've all given her a hard time at one point or another.  
Disregarded her feelings or advice.  Despite what she claims, it's not 
because she's the only woman on this all-star team.  The truth of the matter 
is, she's the only person on the staff who will put up with our bullshit, 
and then go out for drinks with us at the end of the day just to make sure 
we get home all right.  She's extraordinary, and she has no idea.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them,
They say they still can't see.
I say, It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

She has no idea because no one has ever told her.  I've come close a few 
times.like when I'm sitting in a bar after one too many drinks, or when I'm 
stuck in traffic and a song comes on the radio that reminds me of her, or 
the one time she was sitting beside me watching the Lakers game and I 
couldn't focus on anything but the way the TV light danced across her 
features.

This love I have for CJ didn't just suddenly come upon me.it's been here 
from the moment she walked through the door of campaign headquarters in New 
Hampshire and I couldn't get the damn poem out of my head.  But she doesn't 
know this.

No one does.

Oh, Sam thinks I have a little crush on her because he caught me staring at 
her from across the room one night at a Sate Dinner, but he doesn't know 
that I love her.  Doesn't know that there have been nights when I've called 
her at home just because I needed to hear the sound of her voice, even if it 
was only a groggy 'hello' before I hung up in embarrassment.

I think Donna may have her suspicions too.  She's a woman, and women are 
intuitive about these things.  Of course, it could just be because she found 
the picture I have of CJ, taken on the night of the Inauguration Ball, 
buried under a stack of papers in the top drawer of my desk.  Her head is 
thrown back, exposing her graceful neck, and she's laughing at something The 
First Lady said.I can't remember what it was now.  But she looks 
magnificent.

Donna never came right out and asked me about the picture.  I think she just 
filed it away in her brain with the other 'My Boss is Weird' moments and 
moved on.  But sometimes when I'm in the hallway talking with CJ, I'll catch 
Donna out of the corner of my eye observing us with this funny look on her 
face.

Sigh.

I've tried to forget about CJ.  Well, one could never forget her, let's be 
honest.  What I mean is, I've tried to banish all romantic thoughts from my 
head because I know it could never work.  I'm Josh, and she's CJ.  Deputy 
Chief of Staff and Press Secretary.  Friends, Buddies, Pals.

But I'm not feeling that confident in our relationship right now.

I've never seen her cry.  Not when Bartlet was elected, not when we lied to 
her before press briefings, and not even after the shooting.  I'm sure she 
may have allowed herself the luxury of a few tears when she was alone, but 
never in front of us.  Ever.

She finally made that concession to us though.Sam, Toby and me a few hours 
ago.  Allowed us to see her sorrow and anguish, confirmed that she was 
human, and not the Emotional Superwoman we all thought her to be.

And what did we do?

Nothing.  Absolutely nothing.

The woman who has stood beside us, fought for us, fixed our mistakes without 
ever once asking anything in return, needed just one look of understanding 
and we couldn't give it to her.

The truth of the matter is, I didn't know what I could do or say to assuage 
that guilt and pain so evident in her eyes.  So I didn't do or say anything, 
because I feared whatever I decided would ring false and she would detect 
the trembling in my hands and voice.

She thinks we condemn her, thinks our silence is accusatory, thinks we've 
abandoned her.  How do I tell her the truth?  How do I tell her that the 
only reason I couldn't offer her comfort was because I didn't trust myself 
to speak without breaking down?

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing,
It ought to make you proud.
I say, It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
The palm of my hand,
The need for my care.
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I don't know what I'm going to say to her, but I know I need to try because 
she deserves it.  She's a phenomenal woman, phenomenally.


++++++++

She is my daughter.

Oh, not in the blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh way, but in every other 
sense of the word.  She was there in the beginning when I was speaking out 
of warehouses on fishing docks, and then when I was debating other democrats 
for the party nomination in more refined locations.  She survived the almost 
suffocating heat of an Alabama summer, and the bitter cold of a New 
Hampshire winter.  She traveled on cramped buses and lived out of cheap 
motel rooms.  Ran on bottled water and Twinkies for weeks at a time.

She gave up her life for me.  Because Toby told her I was a good man.  That 
was all she needed to hear before selling her house, taking a pay cut and 
leaving the life-style she'd become accustomed to.

She left everything she knew behind to take on a difficult and often 
thankless task.  She became the face of the campaign with a grace that 
surpassed our highest expectations.  Bared the brunt of our anger when 
things didn't go well, cleaned up our political messes with her sharp wit 
and even sharper tongue, and smoothed down ruffled feathers when we took to 
in-fighting.  She was amazing.is amazing.

If it was Toby who motivated us, Sam who pointed the way, and Josh who got 
us moving, it was CJ who made sure we followed through, even as we all 
wanted to give up.  She was determination and tenacity personified, a 
tornado on legs.  She still is.

She is my daughter.

And when she hurts, so do I.  It's the nature of the relationship, you see.  
Her pain becomes my own until the invisible lines separating us as 
individuals are blurred beyond recognition.  It's hard to tell where her 
sorrows end and mine begin.and that's how it should be.

She's hurting now, is about to go through the toughest thing in her life, 
and will be forced to do so with the eyes of the nation upon her.  And I 
can't help her.  I wish to God I could, but this is beyond my control.

CJ's ashamed.  This woman who berated a decorated General stood in my office 
and refused to meet my gaze because she was afraid of what she might find 
there.  She didn't understand that the disappointment in my voice came not 
from the knowledge of her past action, but from the knowledge that she would 
think me cruel enough to deprive her of my support, of my love.

So I let her walk away.

But I don't accept her resignation.  I know she's going to fight me, going 
to try and convince me that leaving is the only option.  But I have a 
reputation for being stubborn myself, and if there was ever an issue worth 
locking horns over, this is it.

She's not like my daughter; she is my daughter.

+++++++++

She was known as 'The Linebacker' on the campaign trail because she used to 
run interference for us with Leo, or more frequently, Toby.  When I thought 
I'd done something wrong, CJ was the first person I spoke to.  I'd bring her 
coffee, or a brown paper bag filled with jawbreakers and fireballs and she'd 
set aside anything she was working on to listen.  It was our signal.

Sometimes she'd cluck her tongue in sympathy at my latest faux pas, other 
times she'd deliver a swift slap to the back of my head.  She was 
unpredictable that way.  But in the end, she'd tell me that things weren't 
as bad as I'd perceived them to be, that she'd fix everything, that she'd 
talk to Leo or Toby, that she wouldn't tell Josh.

And she was as good as her word.  I mean, sometimes a lecture from Toby was 
unavoidable, but she never let me down.  Not once.

But things changed.  Once Bartlet was elected, I felt like I'd graduated 
from the school of politics.  I was one of the 'Big Boys' now and I didn't 
need anyone to fix my screw-ups.  I could do it myself because I was that 
damn good.

Yes, I actually thought I didn't need CJ.  Even told her as much.  She'd 
been hurt, but in the typical CJ-fashion, she'd masked it with a sharp reply 
and a curt dismissal.  I've never told her how wrong I was.how much I do 
need her, how much we all do.

So, here I am, standing outside her office with a bag full of those 
God-awful jawbreakers she's so fond of, trying to find the courage to knock 
on the door.

I screwed up again.

I'm willing to admit that much, willing to admit that I need her help.  Only 
this time, it isn't because I messed up somewhere in the political arena, 
though that still happens from time to time.

You see, I didn't know how to handle it.  CJ doesn't have problems; we don't 
have to worry about her.  I've always been confident in that knowledge.  
She's so great at what she does that it's sometimes hard to separate the 
Press Secretary from the woman; hard to see CJ as human.

She was crying.  CJ doesn't cry.  The sun doesn't rise in the west, pigs 
don't fly, money doesn't grow on trees, and CJ doesn't cry.  These are 
fundamental truths.  Not anymore.

Oh, I'm sure that I won't look up into the sky and see a flock of pigs, and 
that there aren't any money-tree orchids in Oregon, but CJ does, in fact, 
cry.

I was scared, if you want to know the truth.  Scared of what her tears 
meant.if CJ was unraveling, what was going to happen to the rest of us?  I'm 
still scared, but I know she needs me, needs us.

"Sam?"

I turn around and smile in embarrassment as Carol sets her purse down upon 
her desk.  I must have been extremely deep in thought if I didn't hear her 
come up behind me.or maybe it's that stealth thing women have again.

"Uh.hi Carol.  I was, um.I was.is CJ in?"

She walks past me, tossing me a knowing look before knocking on the door 
while simultaneously opening it.  It's too late to back out now.

"CJ, Sam's here."

"O.K."

She's sitting in her chair, with her legs propped up on the desk and crossed 
at the ankles.  I can't help myself from admiring the view, but I'm quickly 
pulled back to reality as Carol closes the door and CJ sits up.

"What's up, Sam?"  She asks me softly.  The pitch of her voice doesn't fool 
me.there's this hardness to her tone that I've only heard her use with our 
enemies, never with us, no matter how much we piss her off.

I'm startled because I wasn't expecting it, and I can't seem to think of 
anything appropriate to say as an opener.  She's looking at me with her 
eyebrow arched, and I can see the impatience working it's way across her 
face, but still I can't seem to speak.

So instead, I hold up the bag of candy and shrug my shoulders.  I guess this 
is the right thing to do because she flashes me the most beautiful smile 
I've ever seen and gets to her feet.  I round the desk before she does 
though, and pull her into my arms.

I hold her so tight that I'm afraid I'm hurting her, but I can't seem to 
release the pressure because I'm afraid if I do, she'll let go.  But then I 
realize that she's squeezing me just as tightly and I bury my face into the 
side of her neck.

"I'm so sorry CJ."

Just then, the door to her office bursts open and we pull apart slightly.  
"Now, I want you to listen.to just listen while I try and-whoa, am I 
interrupting something here?"
There's a spark of jealousy in Josh's eyes as he approaches the two of us, 
and I can't help but smile at CJ.

"I mean, I can come back in ten minutes while you two finish making out, but 
you really should put a sign on the door."

CJ throws her head back to laugh and Josh gets this dreamy look on his face, 
the same look he's had for a while when he thinks no one is watching him 
observe her.  I move my arms from around her waist and gently push her 
forward.

This is the only cue Josh needs before he tenderly encloses her wrist in his 
fingers and tugs her toward him.  Their embrace is much more intimate, and I 
feel like I'm intruding on something private.  I know Josh has feelings for 
CJ, and now I wonder if maybe there's some reciprocity.  Heaven help us.

The moment ends too soon though as there is another interruption from the 
doorway; this time in the form of President Bartlet.  If he's surprised to 
find us there, he doesn't show it.  He just smiles at the three of us and 
inclines his head.

"You two mind if I have a word with CJ?"

"No sir."  I answer for the both of us, because Josh doesn't seem too 
inclined to answer right now.

He gives her hand a gentle squeeze and follows me out of the office.  We 
both know why Bartlet's here.he's going to talk her into staying.  I think 
at this point, he's the only one who can.

"We're gonna be o.k."  I whisper more to myself than Josh.

But he looks at me anyway and nods his head.  "Yeah."

+++++++++

Sometimes, he would have to drive fifty miles to the next town to find a 
Starbucks.  Sam would never tell me this as he set the large plastic cup in 
front of me, but the melted whipped cream was always a telltale sign.  Well, 
that and the fact that the first thing I ever did when we pulled into a city 
was ask the hotel clerk for directions to the nearest caf� of my addiction.  
So, when Sam strode into my office with a Caramel Frappuchino, I always knew 
exactly how far he had to go to get it.  Most of the time, the liquid was 
luke-warm, but it always tasted sweetest that way because I knew he'd gone 
out of his way for me.

Other times, he'd come to me with a bag filled with my favorite candy and 
he'd explain his latest lapse of judgment while I rummaged through the 
goodies.  He's always been a sweetheart.

However, Sam hasn't come to see me like that in quite some time.  Not since 
Bartlet was inaugurated, in fact.

I was full of righteous indignation when he came into my office, waiting for 
an excuse to make him feel as small as they'd made me feel earlier, but he 
didn't give me the chance.  Instead, he'd held up his offering and I felt 
all the anger deflate like air from a tire.

And then Josh.  God his arms felt so nice.  I felt safe, secure, 
electrified.  Did I just say electrified?  Well.I don't know how else to 
describe it, but then again, this is neither the time nor the place to be 
thinking of how his touch affected the rate of my pulse, so I'll just move 
on to other things.

Like Bartlet, and why he's sitting on my couch now.

"Have a seat CJ."  He says quietly as he pats the cushion beside him.  I 
hesitate for only a moment before complying, and hope he doesn't notice.

But he's an observant man, and I see the hurt in his eyes before I even sit 
down.  I start fiddling with the hem of my skirt because I don't know what 
to do with my hands.it's a nervous habit I've been trying extremely hard to 
curb.

"Why are you so uncomfortable around me, CJ?  What have I done to make you 
so scared of me?"

"Nothing, sir."

"Then why can't you look me in the eye?"

I know that nothing I say can erase the fear that somewhere along the line, 
he's done something wrong.  I want to reassure him, tell him that he's one 
of the most amazing men I've ever met, that my reluctance has nothing to do 
with him.  But in the end, I only sit there mute because the words stick in 
my throat.

"Claudia Jean, do you think I.do you think I blame you for this somehow?  Do 
you think I judge you?"

I sigh and rest my head on the back of the couch so that I'm staring at the 
ceiling.  Well, I would be staring at the ceiling if my eyes were open, 
which they're not.  Why does this have to be so difficult?  He's asking me 
questions I don't know the answers to, and he's not leaving until he gets 
them.  Maybe if I just sit here quietly, he'll get the hint and.no, I didn't 
think so.

"I'm not letting you shut me out, CJ."

His voice is quiet, but he has spoken with so much conviction that I can't 
help but look at him.  He's got 'the pitbull' expression on now.  The one 
that means he's not going to let go of the issue until it is resolved to his 
satisfaction.

"Sir, all due respect, this is my own personal-"

"Own-of or belonging to oneself or itself.  Personal-of or relating to a 
particular person.  It's not proper to say 'my own personal' anything 
because the my-"

"All right, you know what?  I'm pretty sure I don't give a damn about the 
syntax of my sentence."

"What do you give a damn about, then?"

The question catches me off guard, and I pause for a moment because I know 
he's trying to trap me.  Trying to get me to say something he can use 
against me.

"Don't you have a meeting to get to, or.something?"  I try to keep the 
irritation out of my voice because he's the President of the United States 
for Pete's sake, but he can be so damn annoying sometimes.

"Nope.I had Charlie clear my schedule for the rest of the afternoon.or 
however long it takes."

I know I'm going to regret it, but I ask anyway.  "However long what takes?"

"When you were in my office earlier, and I." He trails off, and I can almost 
see the wheels turning in his head.  "Have I ever told you the story about 
the two travelers and the bear?"

OK, now I'm confused, but knowing his penchant for going off on tangents, 
I'm not too surprised by the sudden turn in the conversation.  "Um, no sir.  
I don't believe you have."

"Two men were traveling together, when a Bear suddenly met them on their 
path. One of them climbed up quickly into a tree and concealed himself in 
the branches. The other, seeing that he must be attacked, fell flat on the 
ground, and when the Bear came up and felt him with his snout, and smelt him 
all over, he held his breath, and feigned the appearance of death as much as 
he could. The Bear soon left him, for it is said he will not touch a dead 
body. When he was quite gone, the other Traveler descended from the tree, 
and asked his friend what it was the Bear had whispered in his ear. 'He gave 
me this advice,' his companion replied. 'Never travel with a friend who 
deserts you at the approach of danger.'"  He smiles at me as he takes my 
hand.  "You get what I'm saying here, CJ?"

I try to swallow the lump in my throat because I promised myself that I 
wouldn't cry again.  Ever.  But he's looking at me with such earnestness and 
confidence, and I can't help the lone trail that slides down my cheek.  I 
want to wipe it away, but now he's got both my hands firmly ensconced in his 
own and I can't move them.

"We're a family, we're here to support you, and we're not letting you 
leave."

"I can't-"

"You've taken care of us more times than I can count.please let us return 
the favor."

My body is wracked with sobs now and I hate myself because I feel out of 
control, lost, like my world is spinning off its axis.  This isn't how it's 
supposed to be.  "I don't think I have the strength to fight this."

Bartlet pulls me into his arms and tucks my head beneath his chin.  "That's 
ok, Claudia Jean, because we do." 


Part IV

I forget how long they've known each other sometimes.  Forget that before 
she and I were sharing laughs over a joke, they were sharing cigarettes and 
expensive bourbon.  Forget that there are things only he knows about her, 
things he isn't willing to share with the rest of us.

They have this bond, this connection born of years, and cigarette smoke, and 
ice clinking against tumblers.  And it sustains them when sometimes he is 
too sharp with her, or she too flippant with his feelings.

I used to be jealous of their relationship because they had something 
together that I could never touch.  They speak a secret language with hidden 
meanings and cloaked words.  It's complicated, and dangerous.  Sometimes I 
wonder if it's the only way they can communicate without crossing that 
invisible line in their friendship.

I forget how long they've known each other sometimes because there are days 
when they appear less than strangers.  There are days when he passes her in 
the hallway without greeting her.  There are days when she shoots down one 
of his ideas in staff before he's even finished speaking.

But then there are days when he holds the door open for her when they enter 
the building together.  And there are days when she brings him breakfast 
from the cafeteria because he'll forget to eat otherwise.

Their friendship is tempered with snide remarks and shy compliments; 
thoughtlessness and solicitude; sarcasm and sincerity.  They bear the 
familiarity of old lovers, and the tentativeness of newborns.  They're 
nestled in a cocoon of contradiction, and they're happy.

Were happy, or at least comfortable.

Now, Toby's door is closed forbiddingly, and his blinds drawn tightly.  
Ginger and Bonnie are huddled over the large file cabinet in the corner of 
the bullpen, talking in hushed voices.  They spot me, and stand a little 
straighter in defense as they realize where I'm headed.

"I wouldn't go in there, Josh."  Bonnie warns me as she crosses her arms 
over her chest.

"He on the warpath?"

"Not exactly.that would mean he'd have to engage in social interaction of 
some sort."  Ginger mutters as she throws a manila folder on the desk.  "I 
came in to work this weekend because he needed me to research some 
statistics.he made it sound important.  Now he won't even bother to read 
them."

"Look.there's some things going on.  Be sweet to him, will you?"

Bonnie snorts and I can see I've offended them.  "When are we ever anything 
but sweet to him?"  Ginger cuts in.

I shrug and dip my head.  "I'm just saying."

"Yeah.  You want me to-" Bonnie gestures to the door.

"No, that's ok.  I'll surprise him.  But, if you hear anything 
crashing.please alert the Secret Service."

I don't wait for a response as I grip the knob and open the door.  It takes 
a minute for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, but I can make out his 
silhouette behind the desk.  I wait for him to tell me to get out, but he 
doesn't, and this is how I know things are bad.

"Toby?"

I pull on the metal chain of the small lamp on his desk and wince as the 
harsh light bathes our faces, and nothing else.  He looks at me now, and I 
have to glance away from the intensity of his gaze.  I feel like I'm 
intruding on something very private, but I can't leave him here alone, 
victim to his own demons.

"What do you want?"  His voice is soft and laced with weariness.

"I'm worried about you.you've been holed up in here all day."

"Josh." He warns as he leans back in his chair.

"I don't know what kind of memories this brings up, or what's going 
through-"

"You don't want to go there with me."  He interrupts as he gets to his feet.

"No, I really don't, but someone has to, because she needs our support.  So 
you're just going to have to swallow whatever-"

His fist sails across the desk with a speed I wouldn't think possible for 
someone of his size to possess and connects with my jaw before I can even 
finish my sentence.  And damn it hurts.  He rounds the desk and for one 
cowardly moment I think of walking, no scratch that-running, away, but then 
I think of how lost CJ looked in the Roosevelt room, and I can't.

"That make you feel better, big guy?"  It takes all I have not to rub the 
side of my face, but I somehow manage to restrain myself.  "Go on, hit me 
again.  Use me as a punching bag, because you're not going to use her."

I brace myself because he seriously looks as if he's considering it, but he 
suddenly turns and flings the door open.  I watch him from the doorway as he 
plows through the bullpen, and disappears around the corner.

"What happened to your face?"  Ginger asks as she rushes to my side and 
tentatively reaches out to touch my jaw.  "Did Toby do this to you?"

I back away and hold my hands up to ward her off.  "He's just a little 
upset."

"Well, I'd hate to see what the other guy looks like."  Oh great.  As if my 
day couldn't get worse, President Bartlet has chosen this moment to leave 
CJ's office and is now standing in front of me.  "You got a minute, Josh?"

"Of course, sir."

He ushers me into Toby's now-vacant office and closes the door behind him.  
I dip my head towards the window, "Is she staying?"

The President smiles and nods.  "I managed to talk her into it.  She's 
making a call right now."

"Her dad?"

"Yeah.  Listen, Josh, things are going to get hard around here."

"You mean to tell me things haven't been hard, yet?"

"Funny boy.  We're going to meet in the Oval at eight to go over our 
options."

"I understand."

"And Josh.Toby and CJ are going to have to work this out for themselves.  
Don't get involved."

"Yeah, now you tell me."

Bartlet chuckles and grips my shoulder.  "And I would've told you the same 
thing, if you'd have asked me."

"Yes sir."

"Good.well, I've gotta-" He motions vaguely towards the door.

"Yeah."

His hand is on the knob, but something strikes him, and he turns to face me. 
  "Give her some space, Josh.  She's confused enough as it is without you 
making moon eyes at her."

I think about denying it for a moment, but it's not exactly in my best 
interests to lie to the President of the United States.  "How did you know?"

"I've got eyes in my head, and anyone who's willing to face the wrath of 
Toby Ziegler's got to have some pretty strong feelings.  I'm just saying to 
give her some time.  She's vulnerable."

"I'd never hurt her."

"I know that."

He leaves the office and I finally give into the temptation of rubbing my 
aching jaw.  I'm never going to live this one down, but I'd go through a lot 
more for Claudia Jean if she asked me.  Who says chivalry is dead?

++++++++++

Tom had it the easiest growing up.  He was the baby of the family and my 
mother doted on him, if only because he hid in the folds of her dress when 
strangers came to visit.  She basked in his dependency; hell, she encouraged 
it.

Tom was special, is special.  He was the kind of kid who always looked down 
at the asphalt when he walked because he didn't want to step on any ants, or 
other hapless insects.  He was always bringing home stray dogs and cats, and 
nursing baby birds that'd fallen out of their nests.

He used to get picked on a lot.  He'd come home about once a week with a 
bloody nose, or fat lip, and I'd be forced to go hunt down the assailants 
because no one messed with my baby brother.  In hindsight, maybe this is why 
he got picked on so much; his sister was always fighting his battles.  But I 
just felt that need to protect him.

My mother had wanted Tom to become a Priest, but it was evident by the time 
he reached high school that his passion lay with science; It didn't matter 
that he had to work twice as hard as everyone else to understand the 
principles and theorems.  He'd started researching good veterinarian schools 
before he reached his junior year.

Tom was the one my mother bragged about to her friends over coffee.  He was 
the one she hugged extra long at Mass when we exchanged signs of peace.  And 
he was the one she held dinner up for when he was running late.

And then there was Peter, all boy that one.  He played every sport there 
was, and then made up some of his own for good measure.  He was fiercely 
independent and had instituted a no-kissing rule for my mother before he 
reached his sixth birthday.

Sometimes he'd let me tag along with him and the neighborhood boys to the 
lake two miles away.  Other times, he'd ditch me because my bike would have 
a flat and he didn't want to get left behind.  He'd put gum in my hair one 
day, and bring home shiny new marbles for me the next.  He was a mystery.

Peter was popular and well liked in high school, had even been voted 'Most 
Likely to Succeed'.  Everyone expected him to sail through Stanford and 
become a doctor, or even lawyer.  So it came as a great surprise when he 
decided at the last minute to apprentice himself to a welder instead.  It 
wasn't until three months later when he'd returned from Las Vegas with his 
new wife that we knew he and Jeanette were expecting their first child.  My 
mother had been scandalized of course, but I remember the look of pride in 
my father's eyes as he'd patted Peter on the shoulder and told him he'd done 
the right thing.

And finally, there was Joseph, the product of my father's first marriage.  
He'd come to live with us after he'd had one too many run-ins with the law.  
He'd resented my father, barely tolerated my mother, and ignored my 
brothers.

But he was different with me.  He'd let me come into his room and listen to 
records while he rolled joints.  And he talked to me.  I mean really talked 
to me.  He had this way of looking at me while he listened, like I was 
announcing the Second Coming of Christ.  He made me feel important.

I cried until my eyes were swollen shut the day he was shipped to Basic 
Training Camp in Illinois.  I was thirteen and couldn't understand why he'd 
choose to fight in a war so far from home.  My father said it'd be good for 
him, and my mother was relieved to have him out of the house.  I was the 
only one who mourned his absence.

We wrote to each other once a week, and although he never said it, I knew he 
was scared.  I knew this because he never wrote about living in a foreign 
jungle, or dead bodies, or burning villages.  Instead, he wrote poems about 
the girl he'd met in Hanoi, and pressed tropical flowers flat between thin 
sheets of paper.  When the letters stopped coming, my father assured me it 
was just because he was busy, or that the post office was slow in delivering 
international mail.

My mother had been slathering Tom's shoulders with aloe to soothe his 
sunburn when the man came to the door.  He'd held his hat in his hands and 
twisted it nervously as he imparted the news and extended his sympathies.  
To this day I can't stand the smell of aloe because it takes me back to the 
summer of 1974, when I locked myself in Joseph's room and wouldn't let 
anyone near his things because they were all I had left of him.  Death 
changes everything.

I'm holding the phone cord so tight that it's almost cutting off my 
circulation as I wait for my father to pick up the other end in California.

"Cregg residence."

I place the picture of my brothers that I've been studying for the past 
twenty minutes back on my desk and answer, "Hi Dad."

"What's wrong, Claudia?"

I smile despite myself because he knows me too well, and has seen past the 
false note of cheerfulness in my voice.  "I um, I have something to tell 
you, dad."

I hear the sharp intake of breath on the other end, and my father clears his 
throat.  "You're not.you're not sick, are you?"

"No.nothing like that."  I quickly assure him, although I'm sure that would 
almost be easier for him to accept at this point.

"I don't.I don't know how to say this."  I whisper.

"Just come right out with it, Claudia Jean."  His voice is so confident, so 
soothing.  He thinks he can handle this, thinks I'm not about to break his 
heart.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes.  "Five years ago.five years ago, 
dad, I went to a clinic and I.I went to a clinic and I had an abortion."  I 
wait for a response, and when there is none, I continue.  "I didn't want you 
to find out, didn't want to disappoint you, but there's going to be a 
newspaper article tomorrow, and it'll be on the evening news.and I, well, I 
just wanted to tell you myself.  And Dad, I won't blame you, won't blame you 
one bit, if you decide never to speak to me again.  But you have to know 
that I never-"

"I know.  I know about the.your visit to the clinic."

"But.how?"  I ask, and there is this pain in my chest, and it is so hard to 
breathe.

"Father Flynn.you see, he was holding a vigil outside of the gates."

"But I was in-"

"Chicago.  He was visiting his brother."

"How long have you known."

"He called me that night.I've known for five years."  This shouldn't be so 
easy, this telling him.  I want him to denounce me, to hang up the phone in 
disgust because it's what I deserve.  And almost as if he's reading my mind, 
he speaks again, this time softly.  "It's time you stopped blaming yourself, 
Claudia.  It's time you let this go.  There have been so many nights I've 
wanted to call you, to let you know that I know.  To let you know that I 
loved you before you walked through those doors, and I loved you after you 
walked out.  You are my daughter, and nothing could make me love you any 
less."

There is this pressure in my chest, and behind my eyes and before I can stop 
it, I'm sobbing uncontrollably as my father tries to soothe me with his 
gentle tone and endearments.  After my cries have subsided to a few sniffles 
and hiccups, my father says,

"It's time to come home, Claudia.  You need to heal your heart, and you 
can't do it with cameras and reporters at your doorstep."

"I can't dad.I have to be here.I have work to do."

He sighs in disappointment, but he doesn't press the issue.  "Promise me 
something."

"Anything."

"Promise me that if things get to be too much, if you can't handle this, 
you'll come home."

"I promise."

"Good, because there is someone I'd like you to meet."

I laugh now and loosen my grip on the phone cord.  "Dad, do you have a 
girlfriend?"

"I don't have time for that sort of nonsense, Claudia Jean."  He says 
disapprovingly, and I hear the sound of a chair sliding across the linoleum 
floor as he sits down at the kitchen table.  "I went down to the animal 
shelter on Saturday, and believe me when I tell you that I picked up the 
most amazing dog you'll ever see."

"You got a dog?"

"I most certainly did.  And the tricks Rufus can-"

"Wait, you named him Rufus?"

"No, his previous owners did, but that's beside the point.  I have to tell 
you."

I smile now because my father can still talk to me about animal shelters and 
dogs, can still make me giggle like a little girl, and can still say 'I love 
you' without sounding false.

He has forgiven me, even when I can't forgive myself.  And although I'm a 
long way from completeness, the healing has begun, and it is enough for now.

+++++++++++

The smell of her perfume reaches me before the sound of her footsteps.  It's 
the same soft scent she's been wearing for years, subtle and intoxicating.  
I've never gathered the courage to ask her what it is; it's too intimate.

But I once spent two hours at Macy's sampling every perfume bottle locked 
behind the glass cases because I needed to know the brand.  And there is a 
pillowcase in my top drawer that still lingers with her scent from the night 
she spent on my couch during our first week in office.  I can't bring myself 
to wash it.

I've never told her any of this, of course.  It would scare her, hell it 
scares me.  And then I remember that I'm supposed to be mad at her, and so I 
don't turn around when the footsteps stop a few inches behind me.  I can see 
her reflection in the smooth marble of the memorial and realize that she's 
not looking at me, but at a point beyond my shoulders.

"Is there something you wanted?"  I ask gruffly after the silence becomes 
almost unbearable.

"Can we talk?"  She asks, and her voice is rough with emotion, but she's 
still not looking at me.

"How did you know where to find me?"  I relent as I turn to face her, and I 
notice that she's not wearing a coat.

She finally tears her gaze away from the wall and shrugs as she meets my 
eyes.  "I had a hunch."

"Did you talk to Josh?"  I ask, and unconsciously run a finger across my 
bruised knuckles.

Her face is set in lines of confusion and she shakes her head negatively.  
"No.should I have?"

"No, I was just wondering."

She seems to accept this weak answer because she looks off to the side and 
absently begins to move around the loose gravel with the toe of her shoe.  
She sighs and looks up again.  "So."

"Yeah."

"You're angry with me."

I wonder if she realizes how ridiculous her statement sounds, how my 
feelings go beyond anger, how hard I'm trying to control myself because no 
matter what I'm feeling right now, I don't want to hurt her.

She runs her fingers through her hair and shifts nervously on her feet 
because I don't answer.  After all these years she knows how to read my 
silences though, so she takes this as a sign to continue.

"You don't have any right, Toby."

"Any right to what?"  I ask angrily, and I'm aware that my voice is pitched 
a little higher than normal.

"You don't have any right to judge me."

"Is that what you think I'm doing?"

She snorts.  "Aren't you?  You're a self-righteous son of a bitch Toby 
Ziegler, and don't tell me that you haven't been sitting in your office all 
day wondering what kind of woman kills her own child."

Her eyes dare me to contradict, but I can't.  "You don't know what I went 
through, don't know how much I agonized over that decision, how much I still 
wonder if I did the right thing."  She says softly as she looks away.

"You should've told me."  I counter quietly.

"I should've." She trails off incredulously, and then meets my gaze 
squarely.  "Fuck you."

She brushes past me, but almost on it's own accord, my hand snakes out and 
grips her arm in what I know is a bruising grip, but she doesn't flinch.  
"Let go."  She says simply.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I ask, and I hate the vulnerability in my voice.

She jerks her arm free and points her finger accusingly.  "You stopped 
calling.  You never answered my letters.  I didn't even get a lousy e-mail 
in three years, and you want to know why I didn't tell you?"

Her voice is shrill, and I wince.  "You don't know what it was like, CJ.  
You didn't have to see the look in Andi's eyes whenever I got off the phone 
with you, didn't have to deal with her insecurities.  She was my wife.what 
did you expect me to do?"

"Nothing."  There are tears in her eyes, and her voice is heart-breakingly 
low.  "I expected nothing of you, Toby.  Because she was your wife and you 
were my friend, and I knew you loved her.  And all I ever wanted was for you 
to be happy.  But I'll be damned if I let you stand here and try to pin this 
on me."

I've never once considered how those years of silence weighed on her soul.  
I've never considered it because when I showed up at her house three years 
ago to recruit her for Bartlet's campaign, she acted as if there had never 
been three years of unanswered letters, and un-returned phone calls.  She 
never demanded an explanation, never asked questions.

"And later?"

"Later, what?"

"You could've told me later.when you joined the campaign."

She closes her eyes briefly, and I've disappointed her again because 
whatever response she's been expecting, this wasn't it.  She pinches the 
bridge of her nose and sighs.  "I barely recognized you.  You were so 
different, so.hard."  The breeze ruffles her hair and she looks up into the 
velvet sky, blanketed now with bright stars.  "I've been trying to forget, 
Toby.  Because there are days when I can barely get out of bed, when I have 
to force myself to brush my teeth and put some clothes on.  There's this 
hole.this emptiness, and I don't know how to fix it, but as long as I don't 
think about it, as long as I try to forget the smell of the clinic 
antiseptic, then I can live without what's missing."  She sighs again and 
seems embarrassed by her admission.  "God, I sound so pathetic."

Her honesty and the fragility of her posture startle me.  And before I know 
what I'm doing, I've removed my coat and draped it around her shoulders.  
I'm so ashamed of myself, and I wish I could just erase the last six hours.  
But I can't, and so instead I have to concentrate on the next six hours, and 
how I'm going to help this amazing woman.

"I'm.I'm sorry, CJ."  There are so many other things I want to tell her.  
Poetic things, mundane things, romantic things, trivial things.but in the 
end I can't.  "I'm so sorry."  I repeat.

The coat falls from her shoulders as she pulls me closer and wraps her arms 
loosely around my neck.  "Oh Toby." She breathes against my temple.

And I know she's forgiven me, because she moves away to gently wipe the 
tears from my cheeks.  Tears I wasn't even aware I'd shed.  She holds my 
face between her hands for a moment before she gently plants a kiss on my 
forehead.

"We should get back." She murmurs as she bends down to pick up the fallen 
coat.  She drapes it across her forearm and intertwines her fingers in mine, 
leading me across the park.

And we walk back to the White House this way, our joined hands swinging 
loosely between us, and my coat dangling over her arm.

+++++++++++++++++++++++
The first time I found him waiting for me on the couch in my office, 
he'd been drunk. And my office wasn't an office so much as it was a 
closet with windows. I'd only been on the campaign two weeks, and 
already I had grown men crying on my couch. Okay, he wasn't really 
crying, more like railing against Mandy Hampton, and women in general.
The second time I found him waiting for me on the couch in my office, 
he'd been sober. And my office wasn't an office so much as it was a 
converted motel room outside of Wildomar, California. We'd been on the 
trail for a little over two months, and he was burned out. In his 
defense, we were all a little burned out.
It became a tradition with Josh and me. I knew without a doubt that 
after a particularly trying day, he'd be waiting for me in my office, 
room, or even a few times, the large bus we traveled in. We clung to 
each other because he needed someone to talk to without watching what 
he said, and I needed someone to listen to without having to take 
notes.
The last time I found him waiting for me on the couch in my office, 
he'd been drunk again. But this time it wasn't scotch, it was the 
euphoria of having just helped a man get elected to the highest office 
in the country. And the couch, well it was brand new, something he had 
shipped from Pier One, or Ikea, or someplace like that, and put in 
my new spacious office as a surprise. He really is very sweet 
sometimes.
I guess the whole point of this rambling is that he's waiting for me 
on the couch in my office again, something that hasn't happened in 
two years. And he's sleeping. You know, with his mouth hanging open 
and everything. It's times like these I wish I knew how to operate the 
camera my brother sent me for my birthday five years ago. Bygones.
He looks so uncomfortable though. He's still pretty much sitting in an 
upright position, with his head thrown back against the cushion and 
his arms crossed over his chest. I don't know how long he's been here, 
but he's sleeping soundly because when I sit down beside him he 
doesn't even stir.
So I've come to the conclusion that I am a pathetic woman, because 
here I am, sitting in the dark, listening to Josh's breathing, and 
thinking how wonderful it would be to fall asleep to this particular 
sound each night. Kill me now, please.
I lean my head back and close my eyes, and in the back of my mind I'm 
hoping that I'll wake up in my bed at home, and find out this was all 
just a terrible dream. But sleep won't come because I know that no 
amount of wishing is going to erase this day, or the days to come. 
The most I can do is sit quietly in the dark, drawing comfort from a 
friend whom doesn't even know I'm there.
"Claudia Jean?"
Well, I guess he does now.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."
"No, no. I was waiting up for you." His voice is still thick with 
sleep, and he's talking in that hushed tone usually reserved for 
funerals. "Are you all right?"
I smile at him, even though I'm pretty sure he can't see me. "I'm 
still in one piece, if that's what you're worried about, although 
maybe I should be asking you that question."
"Toby told you?"
"You really did a number on his knuckles with your face, Josh. He 
wasn't very forthcoming with information, but I eventually wheedled it 
out of him." I say as I stand up and cross the office to my desk. 
After a few seconds of scrambling, I find the lamp switch and blink a 
few times as the harsh light comes to life with a simple tug of the 
chain.
Josh chuckles humorlessly and as I turn around, I understand why. The 
side of his face is swollen so that it looks like he's harboring a 
giant Gobstopper in his cheek. And well, there really isn't a color 
in any Crayola box I've ever seen that matches the hue of that great 
big bruise on his face.
"Oh Josh, what in the hell were you thinking?" I sigh as I sit beside 
him again and tentatively reach out my fingertips to caress his cheek. 
He flinches at the contact, but doesn't pull away. "You should know 
better than to mess with Toby when he's in a mood."
"Well, in my own defense, I didn't think he was actually going to hit 
me."
"Come on, let's go to the Mess and get some ice." 
"No way, everyone's going to be staring at me." 
"Oh stop being such a guy. Unless you plan on wearing a paper bag on 
your head, which by the way isn't such a bad idea, for the rest of 
the week, then I'm pretty sure everyone is going to know Toby kicked 
your ass."
"Let me state for the record that Toby did not kick my ass. He threw 
one punch and-"
"He threw one punch, and just look at you. I don't even want to think 
about what you would've looked like if you hadn't curled into a ball 
and played dead."
I know I'm having way too much fun at his expense, but I'm usually on 
the receiving end of Josh's own unique brand of humor, so I don't feel 
too bad. But he's looking at me with those wounded eyes and I smile 
despite myself.
"I don't know what tales Mr. Ziegler has been regaling you with, but I 
most certainly did not curl up into a ball and-"
"Oh calm down, Josh. I was kidding. Now come, we're going to try and 
get that swelling down." I instruct as I get to my feet. He eyes my 
extended hand warily for a moment before capitulating and accepting 
my help. "Although, I gotta ask."
"What?"
"Why didn't you hit him back?"
For once I think he's about to give me a serious answer, because his 
brow furrows in what I take to be deep thought. Maybe he's going to 
tell me that he knows Toby needed to hit something, and he was willing 
to sacrifice himself. Maybe he's going to tell me that he was scared 
of what might happen if he did return the blow. Or maybe he's going 
to tell me he was still dazed from the first punch that he couldn't 
even think to reciprocate.
He cracks a smile and shrugs. "I'm a lover, not a fighter."
++++++++++
It's really tough putting up a macho front when what you really want 
to do is scream like a girl. At least I don't give into the temptation 
of batting CJ's hand away as she presses the make-shift ice-pack onto 
my cheek. She arches an eyebrow at my clenched fist, but refrains from 
saying anything.
We are alone in the cafeteria, and most of the chairs have been 
stacked on the tables. The smell of disinfectant is in the air, kind 
of a combination of chlorine and Pinesol, and it reminds me of 
elementary school. It's comforting in an odd sort of way.
"So, I never said thank you."
"For what?"
CJ smiles and squeezes my arm gently. "For defending my honor, or 
whatever the hell you were doing when you decided to march into 
Toby's office."
"You know, for someone who's trying to sound grateful, you aren't 
being very nice." 
She chuckles lightly and moves my hand so that I am now supporting the 
ice pack. I lessen the pressure considerably and try not to wince at 
the soreness of my jaw. "Oh Josh, what am I going to do with you?"
I wiggle my eyebrows suggestively and grin. "You want me to 
alphabetize a list for you?"
She swats my arm and laughs openly, and God, how great the sound is. I 
know it's a bit cliched, but her laughter really is musical. It's 
lilting and happy, and whenever I hear the sound, I can't help but 
join in too because it's so contagious. I want to tell her this, and 
much more, but I'm scared.
I'm scared she'll see the vulnerability in my eyes and run screaming. 
The one insecurity that consumes CJ is her fear that she will hurt 
someone she cares about. Oh, she's never told me this, but I know it 
anyway. 
I know it because she'll eat all the cookies Carol bakes for potluck 
lunches when no one else will touch them. I know it because instead 
of telling Sam his tie is ugly, she'll go out and buy him a new one. 
I know it because she once endured three hours of a Doobie Brothers 
concert rather than tell me she hated the band. 
I don't want to scare her away, but there is so much I'm longing to 
know, so much I need to know. There are better places than the 
deserted cafeteria in the West Wing to have this conversation, but I 
can't bring myself to wait. I'm frightened that I may never get the 
chance to ask her all the questions I have, so as with everything else 
in my life, I plunge in headfirst.
"Do you have any regrets?" I ask quietly.
Her smile fades immediately and she looks down at her hands. CJ's 
face, her beautiful face, is usually so expressive, so vibrant and 
illuminating. Now, it is set in hard, angry lines and she seems to 
have aged five years right in front of my eyes. She sighs, and I hear 
the tiny catch in her throat.
"Every day." She whispers so softly that it takes me a moment to 
realize she has spoken. She looks up and meets my gaze, and I am 
taken aback at the naked pain in her eyes. "God Joshua, those people 
out there, those people who want to punish women like me, they have no 
idea. I have to live with my decision for the rest of my life, and 
that is punishment enough."
"You-you think you made the wrong choice?"
"No." She answers vehemently. "No, I know I wasn't ready. Horrible- 
I would have been a horrible mother."
CJ a horrible mother? It's not possible. She's so full of love, so 
gentle and kind-hearted. How could she think she would have been 
anything less than perfect with a child?
"Why do you think that, CJ?" My voice sounds pained, even to my own 
ears.
"I couldn't bear the thought of not loving my own child. What if I 
hated him, or resented him? There would be no one to protect him from 
me. I couldn't bear the thought of destroying someone, a child, like 
that. No, I know I made the right decision, but Josh, there are days 
when I wake up and wonder if the baby would've had my eyes, or his 
nose. And I hate myself. I just hate myself." 
Her voice is strangely calm and resolution sparks in her eyes, and I 
have to know what, or who, made this intelligent, capable, and caring 
woman so unsure of her capacity to love. And then it hits me like the 
proverbial ton of bricks.
You see, as much as CJ talks about her brothers, about her father, 
about the modest home in Napa and the summers spent in Tahoe, I can 
count on one hand the number of times she has ever mentioned her 
mother. And I know without a doubt that all the anguish carved in her 
features now stems from the woman who died while CJ was working on her 
masters at Berkeley.
"CJ, oh CJ-," is all I can manage before pulling her awkwardly into my 
arms. She doesn't resist, but she is stiff and quiet in my embrace, 
and I don't know what to do. "I don't-I don't know what your mother 
said, or did to you, but-"
She pulls back with lightning speed, and is on her feet in an instant. 
"Don't-just don't go there, Joshua."
The anger in her voice brings me to my feet as well. "It's true, 
isn't it? This-this fear you had, this fear you have comes from your 
mother." I'm yelling now, and I realize from the look in her eyes 
that this isn't the best tactic, so I relent. "What was she like? You 
never talk about her-," I try softly.
She clenches her fists and begins to pace the room. "My father and 
brothers loved her very much."
"But how did you feel about her?" I coax.
She shrugs her shoulders and looks at a point behind me. "When I was 
five, I remember her pulling me onto her lap while she put her make-up 
on. She was so beautiful-and I wanted to be just like her." She sighs. 
"I don't know if you can understand this Josh, but there is a point in 
every girl's life when she is absolutely certain that there is no one 
more perfect than her mother."
"At what point do you realize that she's human, and faulted?"
She looks at me then, and there is such infinite sadness in the smile 
she offers that it takes all I have not to cross the room and kiss it 
all away.
"It depends really. I know women who still worship their mothers, and 
I just wish it could've been like that for me."
"But it wasn't?"
She laughs bitterly and looks as if she's ready to fall to pieces any 
minute now. "She hated me, Josh. And I don't mean she favored my 
brothers, or that she was strict with me. I mean there wasn't a day I 
looked into her eyes that I didn't see disgust, or disapproval. She 
hated me, and she didn't care that I knew it."
"I'm sorry." I know it's inadequate, but it seems the only appropriate 
thing to say.
"Don't be-it made me stronger. Her hatred made me independent, made me 
push myself harder to prove I was just as worthy as Tom or Peter."
"But it also made you afraid, CJ. It made you doubt yourself, your 
ability to love."
There is a movement at the door, and suddenly we are joined by Toby. 
He looks between the two of us curiously but refrains from making any 
observations. Instead, he puts his hands in his pockets and speaks to 
CJ.
"It's time for the meeting. The President, Leo and Sam are waiting for 
us in the Oval."
CJ nods her head, and with one last look in my direction brushes past 
Toby into the hallway. I sigh in frustration but decide that maybe 
what she needs is time-time to deal with her demons, time to heal. I 
move to follow her, but Toby steps in my way.
He's not looking at me, and I wonder what is running through his mind 
as he studies his soft leather shoes. "Look-I'm sorry."
"You're sorry?"
"Yes."
"What are you sorry for?"
Toby finally looks at me and realizes that I'm having a little fun 
with him. "I'm sorry for kicking your ass."
"You, my friend, did not kick my ass. I allowed you to get one hit, 
one hit, and may I just add that I learned to box in the streets. 
I could take you if I wanted to."
Toby laughs, well, as close to laughing as Toby Ziegler comes. "I 
wasn't aware they had 'streets' in Connecticut."
"Are you mocking me?" I ask indignantly.
"And what if I was? Are you going to, you know, 'take me'?"
I can't help but laugh at the absurdity of me taking Toby anywhere 
and I shrug my shoulders. "All right, all right. I never learned to 
box."
Toby sobers for a moment and grasps my right shoulder. "Seriously 
Josh, I do apologize. I was out of line, and-"
"Forget it, Toby-I mean it, forget it."
He gazes at me in that penetrating way of his for a moment and then 
nods his head. "Yeah. Um, yeah, OK."
"Just buy me a beer sometime, and we'll call it even."
"Or I could, you know, get Mrs. Landingham to give you a few boxing 
lessons."
+++++++++++++++++++++++
It's amazing where your thoughts lead you in times of trouble.
I haven't thought about my grandmother's apartment in that old Boston 
Tenement in years. We visited her every summer, my sisters and I. I 
still remember how the smell of freshly brewed tea and brown bread 
greeted us every time we crossed the threshold. I still remember how 
brightly scrubbed her kitchen was, how clean the other rooms were 
despite the shabbiness of the furniture, worn out by ten children.
And I still remember the delicate, framed proverb, hand-stitched by my 
grandmother's grandmother hanging over the small couch in the living 
room: It's easy to be pleasant when life flows by like a song.
But the man worth while is the one who can smile
When everything goes dead wrong.For the test of the heart is trouble 
and it always comes with years.
And the smile that is worth the praises of earth
Is the smile that shines through the tears.
 
I would stare at the green letters for hours, lightly tracing them 
with my fingers, long before I knew what they meant. On the last 
visit I made to my grandmother, the summer before I went off to my 
freshman year at Stanford, she placed the frame in my hands and told 
me to be sure to hang it where I would see it every day. And I had. I 
kept that damn thing hanging in every apartment I ever rented until I 
married Jenny.
She'd refused to hang the simple frame in our home together, replacing 
it instead with a cheap print of Monet's 'Water Lillies' and I hadn't 
bothered to argue with her. She packed my grandmother's gift along 
with the other 'tasteless bachelor things', as Jenny called them, 
that I'd collected over the years.
That box followed us through three moves, and even now sits in the 
storage garage I rent in Maryland. I haven't bothered to go through 
it, but I'm considering making the trip just to dig out that piece of 
my history. I'm going to need it in the next couple of weeks. CJ's 
going to need it. Hell, we all are.
She's sitting across from me, quietly sipping from her bottle of water 
as we wait for Josh and Toby to arrive. Jed is making small talk with 
Sam about pecans, or peaches, or something that starts with a 'p', 
and I can't stop myself from staring at CJ, covertly of course.
She's always been a bit of an enigma to me, you see. This woman who 
I almost didn't hire because she'd never worked on a national 
campaign. It was only Toby's insistence that secured her job; that 
made me want to give her a chance.
And God, I'm so glad I did. 
I can't imagine life without her now. Can't imagine what it would be 
like to work one day without her dry wit, the bright smile, or 
graceful poise. I took her under my wing during the campaign because 
I missed Mallory, and she missed her father.
She would stay behind some nights while the guys went to the local 
watering hole and listen to me ramble on about Mal and Jenny. She 
endured the picture show, the tirades about my only daughter's newest 
boyfriend, and the unabashed pride when Mal received her Master's 
degree in education.
She never spoke much about herself really, I think she just enjoyed 
being in my company. When we were elected, I had to set boundaries. 
We weren't friends trying to get a good man in office anymore. I was 
her boss, and I had to put distance between us.
I regret it now. I regret that I'm not as close to her as Josh or 
Toby. But I realize this comes with the territory. I realize that our 
relationship can be no different than it is. I do think of her as a 
daughter, as much as I think of Josh and Sam as sons, but I can never 
tell them this. I pray they know it anyway.
"Do I have something in my teeth?"
I break out of my reverie to find CJ staring back at me with her head 
tilted to the side. She's smiling and I realize that I've been caught.
I cough in embarrassment and notice that Jed and Sam have turned their 
attention to the two of us.
"Uh, I was just zoning out there for a minute."
She arches her eyebrow quizzically but before she can respond, Toby
and Josh enter the office in the middle of what seems to be a 
conversation on boxing skills. They both halt abruptly however at the 
stern look I toss them.
"Glad to see you two could join us." I say gruffly as they sit beside 
me on the sofa.
Josh flashes me a crooked grin, and Toby ignores me completely as he 
starts flipping through the notes in his folder and speaks.
"Simon should give the morning briefing tomorrow, Sam and I have a 
rough draft of the statement already written-"
"I want to give the first briefing. It will look like I'm hiding if I 
pass this off to Simon." CJ cuts in stubbornly. Yeah, like I didn't 
see this coming from a mile away.
Toby sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "CJ, you can't deliver 
a statement about yourself-it doesn't sound right."
"Why not? I think-"
"Toby's right." Sam says, although he avoids eye contact with her for 
a moment. "Let Simon handle the first briefing."
The office is quiet for a moment, and it unnerves me. I expect more 
argument from CJ, but I see she's deep in thought even as she studies 
one of her well-manicured fingernails. When she looks up again, there 
is fire in her gaze and I wonder if the others can feel it.
"Fine. Simon can handle the briefing, but I want a chance to get up 
there. I want to answer questions-I want to speak for myself."
"Absolutely not," I say quietly before anyone else can.
She looks at me in surprise. "Excuse me?"
"I said absolutely not. You're not ready for this."
"Who are you to tell me what I'm ready for? I thought you of all 
people would understand the need I feel to do this." I wince at the 
sharpness of her voice, but I don't back down.
"You get up there, CJ, and it gives those vultures a chance to tear 
you apart. I won't allow it."
Her face softens at my concern, but the resolve is still clear in her 
large eyes. "You don't think they're going to do it anyway? You don't 
think they're going to print lies and trash about me if I don't get 
up there? Get real, Leo."
I know she's right, I know it. But I can't quell the fear that she's 
getting in over her head, and the father in me just can't stand back 
and allow her to get hurt in the process. Everyone else in the room 
seems to have taken a step back, they know this is between CJ and me.
"You don't understand, CJ. They're going to get personal, they're 
going to ask you questions you may not be prepared to answer."
CJ leans forward and frowns. "I know and I can take care of myself. I 
supported you Leo, and I'm asking you to support me, now."
I'd have to be a fool not to know what she's referring to. I'll never 
forget the look on her face when she came into my office to tell me 
that news of my stay at the drug rehab clinic had just gone public. 
The concern, the anxiety in her voice had nearly sent me over the 
edge, but she'd promised to prep me. And I knew everything would be 
fine.
I knew because she was so good at her job, and I trusted her.
She's asking me to trust her again, and I realize I have no reason not 
to. I nod my head in defeat and give her a small smile. "Just be 
careful out there, Kid. I don't want to have to whoop some reporter's 
ass."
She smiles back at me and I realize for the first time that there are 
tears in her eyes, and it's one of the most beautiful things I've ever 
seen because the smile that is worth the praises of earth is the 
smile that shines through the tears.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
I was never good a solving puzzles.
It wasn't that I didn't have the attention span. Quite the contrary, 
my concentration is legendary in the Cregg family.
It wasn't that I didn't have a grasp for the concept.
And it wasn't because my brothers would inevitably tear through the 
room, scattering the pieces across the floor in their boredom.
No, I was never good with puzzles because no matter how hard I tried, 
I could never get any two pieces to fit together like they should. I 
used to be convinced that it was a conspiracy, that these puzzle 
makers had in fact put all the wrong pieces in the box just to drive 
me crazy.
OK, I'm not that paranoid, but you get the idea.
So, after all these years, I still feel like a ten year old, unable to 
create the image of the Eiffel Tower on the box. Only now, I'm trying 
to get the pieces of my cracked life to fit. And I have about six 
hours to do it.
Sigh.
Why didn't I ever take a creative writing class? Why can't I be 
poetic, or enlightening, or brilliant? Why is it that I'm stuck with 
inadequate words, and tedious paragraphs? 
It doesn't seem fair that Toby and Sam can write speeches about the 
Gross National Product that brings people to their feet, and I can't 
manage to pour a single ounce of emotion into my own statement. 
I'm already developing a headache from the blinking cursor on the 
screen of my laptop, well, I have been staring at it for two hours. 
Why can't I write this simple thing? Why can't I tell them of the 
fear, of the pain, of the almost blinding whiteness of the clinic 
operating room?
Because I don't want to appear weak, that's why.
I've worked too damned hard to get where I am today, I've made too 
many sacrifices. It can't all come down to this, can it? A simple 
statement, me in front of people I've worked with for two years, 
trying to explain something that is beyond their understanding. 
Trying to defend myself about something that can never be 
rationalized, but must be felt.
"How are you doing?"
I look up and try to smile at Sam, but the energy it requires is too 
much and I settle for a faint upturn at the corners of my mouth. "I 
gotta tell you, Sam, I've seen better days."
He takes this as an invitation to come into my office, which of course 
it is.
"Need any help?" At the look I give him, he shrugs. "Stupid question, 
I guess. Do you need anything? A coke, a muffin maybe?"
"A muffin?"
"Yeah, you got something against muffins?" he asks defensively.
He looks so cute standing there with his chest puffed out and I can't 
help but to chuckle. "Oh Sam. Have a seat."
Sam smiles and sinks onto my couch, letting out a satisfied sigh. "You 
know, CJ, you have the most comfortable couch in the West Wing. I 
don't get to use it often enough."
"Yeah, and don't get used to it either, Spanky, or I might have to 
start charging you rent."
"Hey, I offered to bring you a muffin, didn't I?"
"Toby and Josh go home yet?"
"When I left my office, Josh was sleeping at his desk, and Toby was 
playing with his balls." Sam must be reading my mind because he 
quickly interjects. "Get it out of the gutter, CJ. I meant his pink, 
rubber balls."
This sends me off into a peal of laughter, and Sam joins me after a 
minute or two.
"Jesus! You'd think a body could get some sleep at midnight in the 
White House." Josh bellows from the hallway, and it isn't long before 
he makes an appearance in my office. He joins Sam on the couch and 
tosses us both an irritated look. "What are you two laughing at?"
"Nothing," we both say at the same time, and of course we start 
laughing again, even as Josh glowers at us.
I sober first and turn back to the computer screen. "Now, you boys are 
welcome to stay here as long as you like, but I've got work to do, so 
pipe down and let me get to it."
Josh mock salutes and Sam mutters "Yes ma'am", but they both smile at 
each other as if I can't see them.
Thirty minutes later I'm still on the same sentence, and I can feel 
Josh's eyes on me. Sam has long since fallen asleep, and I feel 
strangely vulnerable, naked in front of this man who has been my 
friend for almost four years.
He knows more about me than I'd like. He knows that beneath all my 
bravado and confidence, I'm still a little girl longing for her 
mother's approval. And if Josh could figure it out, what makes me 
think that Arthur Leeds won't, or Katie?
Maybe Josh senses my discomfort because he closes his eyes and sinks 
further into the couch, making a pretense of sleep. I know he's 
wide-awake fifteen minutes later however, because his breathing is 
still shallow and regular. God Bless him for trying anyway.
I've gotten through worse, haven't I? 
I'm going to get through this, and I'm going to come out stronger on 
the other side. And now I sigh because I sound like a frigging 
Hallmark card. There are worse things I suppose, and before I know it 
words are flowing from me like a river and I feel strangely light. 
This is cathartic for me, and although it may not be the most eloquent 
thing to come out of the West Wing, it just might be the most honest, 
and that's ok with me.
Part VI
Some days she comes in to the office humming the last song she heard 
on the radio before parking her car in the garage and smiling at 
everyone she passes.
Some days she comes in to the office with onion bagels, which she 
knows are my favorite, and two tall coffees-- Jamaican Mountain Blend 
thank you very much-- and we stand in front of my desk, chatting about 
mundane things.
Some days she comes in to the office like a whirlwind, removing her 
coat, asking for messages, and reading the latest memos stashed in 
her 'in-box' all at the same time.
Some days she comes in to the office still smarting from the reprimand 
or briefing faux pas from the previous day, looking for all the world 
like a child whose favorite pet has just died.
And some days, actually most days now, she comes in to the office two 
hours before I do, trying to stay ahead of the game.
I have learned to anticipate just how our day (yes our day) will 
progress by the way she comes in to the office each morning. Donna, 
Ginger, Bonnie, Margaret, and Cathy all think I am the luckiest of 
the assistants because I work for CJ. Oh, it's not that they don't 
respect and admire Josh, Toby, Leo, and Sam, but they somehow think 
it is easier working for a woman, and not just any woman, mind you.
But they don't know how many times I've stood on the other side of the 
door while CJ sheds tears she'll never admit to. They don't know that 
she watches all of her press briefings after everyone has gone home, 
criticizing herself for saying too much, or not enough. They don't 
know how lonely she really is.
She and I have our secrets, and this is why we work so well 
together.
CJ is the only person in the world who knows about Bill. She is the 
only one who knows about the bruises, the broken wrist, and fractured 
ribs. She is the only one who knows about the hospital visits and the 
restraining order. She is the only one who knows about the 
miscarriage.
We've never talked about that night I called her at 1 a.m. from the 
emergency room in Norfolk. I remember how scared she sounded on the 
phone when I told her where I was, and I remember the relief on her 
face when she saw I was still in one piece; although that relief was 
quickly replaced with anger when she realized what had happened.
I'd promised her that I would never see him again back in Montgomery, 
but we got to Norfolk, and he had called, and I'd fallen for his lines 
again. Everything had been perfect-the dinner, the dancing, the car 
ride back to his place. But after I refused to leave the campaign-
Well, let's just say he wasn't too happy. I'll never know how I 
managed to drive myself to the hospital while I was losing a baby, 
my baby, but I knew there was no one else to call. 
And she came, God bless her. And she never looked at me in 
disapproval, never asked me why I stayed with a man who gave me more 
concussions than flowers. She simply held me while I cried, and then 
later she talked to Bill.
I don't know what she said to him, but whatever it was, it must have 
put the fear of God in him, because he hasn't bothered me since. She 
put me on a plane to my mother's house in San Jose and told everyone 
that she'd given me some personal time. And when I came back three 
weeks later, I still had a job. 
And I am the only person in the world who knows about Jacob. I am the 
only one who knows about the songs he wrote for her, the flowers he 
sent her every day he was away on business, and the elegant ring he 
bought for her the night he proposed. I am the only one who knows 
about the car accident and the coma. I am the only one who knows he 
died three minutes after he was unhooked from the machines.
She blames herself for his death; thinks that if she had said 'yes' 
instead of 'not now, maybe not ever', he wouldn't have left their 
apartment so upset; thinks he would have paid more attention to the 
traffic around him; thinks he would have seen the truck running the 
red light.
I'd tried telling her the night we raided the mini-bar in her hotel 
room two weeks after I returned from San Jose that none of it had been 
her fault. But she'd only smiled in that sad ways of hers and I knew 
she hadn't believed me. She didn't have to tell me that no one else 
knew about Jacob-she'd cried so long, and hard, that night and I knew 
instinctively that it was the first time she had told anyone.
We were so much closer after that night. Maybe it was the vodka, gin 
and tequila talking, or maybe she felt she owed me a secret after 
knowing mine. But I like to think that she trusted me above all the 
others on the campaign, and that was her way of showing it.
All right, Carol, you have gone so far off track that it's a wonder if 
you remember what point you were trying to make in the first place.
Oh yeah. I'm standing in CJ's doorway, and her head is resting on her 
folded arms upon the desk. This isn't something out of the ordinary, 
mind you. I'm used to walking in on CJ asleep at her desk, wearing the 
same suit as the previous day. But she's always been alone.
Well, not this time. Both Sam and Josh are camped out on her couch, 
looking entirely too comfortable in my opinion. They're both sleeping 
soundly, if their snoring is any indication, and I wonder for a moment 
how in the hell CJ is managing to get any shut-eye through their duet.
I swear the pictures on the wall are shaking.
And then I realize that she's not sleeping, that she is fact staring 
at me now from her position, and she cracks a smile as I motion to the 
two morons-I mean, men, on the couch. She finally lifts her head and 
I see the dark circles under her eyes, but she looks peaceful, happy 
even and I wonder what has changed her mood so drastically.
"What are you doing here so early?" she whispers as she stands up and 
ushers me out of the office, closing the door quietly behind her.
"I thought that, well, after yesterday I thought you might need me to 
come in a little early."
CJ grins at me and touches my arm briefly. "Carol, it's four o'clock 
in the morning."
"Well, I was worried-and I was right because I knew you'd still be 
here."
Her smile fades and she lowers her head for a moment. "Look Carol, 
it's going to be busy around here today-and I don't mean regular 
busy. I mean-Sam-and-a-call-girl busy."
"Is there something going on I should know about?"
She waits a beat before meeting my gaze and nodding her head. "Yes-why 
don't you and I go see what we can scrounge up in the mess? I'm going 
to have to wake up the sleeping beauties in a minute, and I don't 
think I can do so without caffeine of some sort. You and I will talk 
on the way."
Despite the lightness in her tone, I sense the underlying anxiety and 
urgency. "Of course," I respond as I let her lead me down the empty 
corridors of the White House.
+++++++++++
There were times during the campaign when the four of us-Toby, Josh, 
CJ and I-would break down and rent a car because we were tired of 
riding across the country in the cramped passenger bus. We didn't do 
it often, and it wasn't because we couldn't afford it-- which was true 
believe me-- but it had more to do with the fact that we could never 
agree on a model. 
CJ always wanted a convertible because she wanted to travel with the 
sun on her back and the wind in her hair. Josh always wanted a tiny 
sports car so that he could impress people. I always wanted an SUV, 
because let's face it, they're so much fun to drive. And Toby, well, 
Toby always wanted the cheapest car they had-it didn't matter that the 
radio didn't work and the air conditioner was broken.
So, we would inevitably stand in front of the Enterprise counter 
haggling over various points. CJ would eventually capitulate and agree 
to anything that had a c.d. player, Josh would admit that a Mazda 
Miata wasn't exactly the most ideal car to travel in with three other 
people, and I could be talked down from the Ford Explorer just to stop 
Toby from yelling.
I remember vividly the last time we rented a car together. We ended up 
settling on a four-door Saturn with cigarette burns on the seats. It 
didn't matter that the right side passenger door didn't open from the 
inside, or that the dashboard rattled because it was loose. CJ was 
happy singing along to the Jim Croce c.d. she'd brought along; Toby 
was happy not having to talk about Governor Bartlet and his flair for 
inserting lame jokes into his speeches; Josh was happy singing along 
with CJ to 'Bad, Bad Leroy Brown'; I was happy stretched out in the 
back because I didn't have to drive. 
It was really late by the time we stopped at an all-night diner in 
Tucson, and everyone was feeling a little punch-drunk. Toby, CJ, and 
Josh piled out of the car and I waited for CJ to open the door for me, 
as she'd been doing for the length of the trip. I thought they were 
joking at first as they walked away from the car without letting me 
out, but when CJ hit the control on the key chain, locking the door, 
I began to panic.
I started banging on the window and yelling at the top of my lungs. 
Didn't they notice I wasn't yammering on about the monsoons in Tucson
 this time of year, the highway we should take to get to Phoenix, or 
how visible the stars were in the Arizona sky? CJ had suddenly turned 
around and ran back towards the car.
She unlocked the door for me and took me in her arms as soon as I was 
standing. She apologized profusely while Josh and Toby laughed. She 
had felt so guilty after that she even allowed me to put my Enya c.d. 
in for part of the ride. I tried getting her to allow a little John 
Tesh, but she didn't feel that bad about the incident.
Anyway, I just remember for those few seconds in the car how alone I 
felt. Like I was missing something. And that's how I feel right about 
now because I'm all alone in CJ's office. I squint my eyes, because I 
left my glasses somewhere else, and wince at the same time. I might as 
well get up and start the day because I know I won't be able to get 
back to sleep anyway.
I start to sit up just as CJ walks back into the office carrying two 
steaming mugs of what I hope to God is coffee. She smiles at me, but 
raises an eyebrow questioningly.
"Where's your partner in crime?"
"I don't know-I just woke up and he was gone."
"Story of my life," CJ jokes as she hands me the white ceramic cup. 
"How long have you been awake?" I ask, although I'm pretty sure I know 
the answer already.
"I didn't go to sleep."
"Mmmm-don't take this the wrong way or anything CJ, but are you going 
to go home and change? When Josh or Toby wear the same suit two days 
in a row, nobody notices, but you-?"
She chuckles slightly as she sits beside me on the couch. "I already 
sent Carol back to my place to pick up a few things for me."
"Carol's already here? You really ought to look into giving that woman 
a raise or something."
"Yes, well, the thought had crossed my mind on one or two occasions."
"So-I guess you uh, told her?"
CJ closes her eyes briefly before she looks at me. "Yeah."
"And how did she take it?"
"Let's just say that if everyone out there reacts to it as well as she 
did, I'm going to be all right. But there's two chances of that-slim 
and none."
I put my hand on her knee reassuringly because I sense her need for 
physical contact. She places her hand over mine and leans her head on 
my shoulder. I catch the faint whiff of something fruity, or maybe 
it's flowery, and I try to inhale more deeply without making myself 
conspicuous because, quite frankly, she smells good and I never 
noticed before.
"Seriously guys, this is the second time in as many days. Is there 
something going on here that I should know about?"
CJ doesn't even bother to raise her head from my shoulder; she just 
smiles and beckons Josh to the other side of her with her free hand. 
He rolls his eyes, but complies with her unspoken demand until her 
arm is looped through his. Josh sighs contentedly and eyes my cup of 
coffee enviously.
"What, none for me?"
CJ catches his meaning and nods towards the desk. "I brought you some 
too, but you weren't here when I got back."
I can see Josh debating whether or not to get up, and he finally 
settles on staying where he is. Hell, I'm not too inclined to move 
either, but Josh is shooting me dirty looks over CJ's head. I know 
he wants some time alone with her, but I'm not sure leaving the two 
of them in a room by themselves would be the wisest thing. 
But, when have I ever done the wisest thing?
I extricate myself as gently as possible from CJ and apologize. 
"Sorry guys, I've got some things waiting for me in my office. I might 
as well get a head start on them before-" I trail off because I 
was going to say 'before the shit hits the fan', but then I realize 
that Josh would kick my ass.
CJ is almost asleep on her feet; well she would be if she were 
standing, but since she's sitting-well, what in the hell is the 
expression for someone who's sitting? Have they ever come up with one? 
Whoa Sammy boy-way off track. Anyway, my point is that I don't even 
think she realizes I'm speaking to her. 
Josh narrows his eyes at me for a moment, and then smiles his 
gratitude as I close the door gently behind me. The hallways are 
still empty, so I make my way back to my office without running into a 
single person. 
The light in Toby's office is still on, and I find him stretched out 
on his couch with his arm thrown over his head, obscuring his eyes. 
I want to talk to him, to see if he's all right, but I have the 
feeling he wouldn't talk to me even if he was awake. And I definitely 
don't want to end up looking like Josh. I didn't think Toby had it in 
him quite honestly.
So here I am, standing in my office with a million things awaiting my 
attention, but the motivation to do none of it. What I really want to 
do is march back into CJ's office and make sure she's prepared for the 
vultures-I mean the press. She knows how to handle them of course, 
has been doing so for almost two years now, but this is going to be 
harder than lying to them about a rescue mission in Columbia, or 
dumping a story she wants out there in the Friday trash. No, this 
is so much more personal, and I wonder for a moment if this will be 
too much.
++++++
Her shoe size is eleven; she picks the olives out of her martinis 
because she doesn't like them; owns every single Kevin Smith flick 
from 'Clerks' to 'Dogma'; refuses to admit that she really can cook.
I know that she can't drink Corona because it reminds her of a booze 
cruise she took one Spring Break in Mexico. I know that she waxes, 
not shaves, her legs. I know she calls her father once a week. I know 
that she visits her eldest brother's grave once a year.
She loves big hoop earrings, but refrains from wearing them because it 
doesn't fit her professional persona. She has an extensive nail 
polish collection, but half of the bottles are unopened. She keeps a 
stash of Tootsie-Pops hidden in one of the cabinets in her kitchen.
Toby loves her caustic wit. Sam loves her maternal coddling. Leo loves 
her grace under fire. President Bartlet loves her incredible 
intelligence. And I just love her, for all that she is, and all that 
she's not.
I reach my hand out tentatively to push her hair away from the smooth 
contour of her cheek. She smiles at me and squeezes my hand as I pull 
it away. "Is everything taken care of?" She knows what I'm talking 
about of course, and so she just nods her head. "Good then-why don't 
you try and get some sleep?
"When did you become such a mother hen?" she asks as she leans away a 
little so that she can look me in the eye.
"What, is there only room for one around here?"
"Are you trying to imply that I am a mother hen?"
"Imply-no. I'm flat out telling you."
She pinches me in the side and I jump away from her a little. She 
throws back her head to laugh, and I am once again struck silent by 
the elegant lines of her neck and jaw. I reach out to lightly trace 
her skin, and she pulls back as if she's been burned.
"Joshua, what are you doing?" I detect the note of panic in her voice 
and the confusion in her eyes.
What in the hell was I thinking? Nothing, that's what. I wasn't 
thinking anything at all, except how soft her lips look, and for one 
moment I will never be able to completely forgive myself for, I 
thought about stealing a kiss. It didn't matter that she doesn't 
have any feelings of that nature for me, it didn't matter that Bartlet 
told me to give her space, and it sure as hell didn't matter that 
she's extremely vulnerable right now.
"I'm-I'm sorry-"
The door to her office opens quietly and Sam enters, looking between 
the two of us suspiciously. He mumbles something about forgetting his 
coffee, and looks like he's about to leave, but then thinks better of 
it.
"Josh, can I talk to you in my office for a minute? I have a thing I 
need your opinion on."
To anyone else, his tone seems benign, but I know I'm in trouble 
because he keeps clenching his jaw. He looks at CJ in apology, and she 
smiles her forgiveness, and I'm sure just a little relief. I get up 
from the couch, missing the warmth of her body immediately, and follow 
Sam out into the hallway and then his office.
He is holding his body stiffly and cocks his head to the side once I 
shut the door behind me. "What in the hell do you think you're 
doing?"
"You want to be a little clearer with me, buddy? My psychic powers 
only work in the afternoon."
He stalks toward me, and it takes all I have not to throw my hands up 
in self-defense. I'm not scared of Sam, but I don't want a black eye 
to go with my swollen jaw. He stops until his face is only 
centimeters from mine. His eyes have narrowed into veritable slits, 
and I immediately go into defensive mode.
"You know damn well what I'm talking about. You were sitting just a 
little too close to CJ when I walked in-and she looked scared to death 
of you. Now, I'll ask again, what in the hell do you think you're 
doing?"
I'll be honest here and admit that I don't think I've ever seen Sam 
this angry. And why wouldn't he be? I mean, he thinks of CJ as a 
sister, and I know that if I thought anyone was messing with my 
sister-well, the end results wouldn't be pretty. 
But Sam knows me. He knows I would never do anything to intentionally 
hurt her. I know he's only trying to protect her, only trying to look 
out for her best interests, but damn it, I'm offended and now I'm 
spoiling for a fight.
"I think CJ already has a father, Sam. Maybe you can find some other 
hard luck case though."
He pulls back as if I have physically struck him, and I'm immediately 
sorry for the hurt in his eyes. "I swear to God, Josh, if I didn't 
think CJ had enough problems without worrying about the rest of us, 
I'd make you regret that comment."
And he would, of that I am certain.
He stares at me for a moment and then shakes his head. "Stay away from 
her, Josh. If you can't keep your feelings to yourself-" he trails off 
and then throws his hands in the air. "Damn it, Josh. What are you 
trying to do to her? Don't you think she's confused enough? You're 
supposed to be her friend-don't complicate things."
"I didn't mean-I don't want to hurt her, Sam. I was only-hell, I don't 
know. She just looked so beautiful and I-oh, forget it."
I turn to leave, but Sam's hand is on my shoulder and I turn to face 
him. "I know you love her. I know you don't mean any harm-and maybe 
when this all blows over, you can sit down and talk to her. But now 
isn't the time-and you know it."
"You think this is all going to blow over?" I ask hopefully.
He pauses for a moment as if truly reflecting. "Yes," a beat and then 
more convincingly. "Hell yeah."
I can't help but smile at him, and I nod my head in agreement. 
"Yeah."
++++++
This is it. I mean, this is it.
Carol is looking at me sympathetically from the doorway as I tug my 
suit coat on. She brought me the blue skirt ensemble because she 
thinks it makes me look softer, less-threatening. I take one final 
glance in my compact mirror just to make sure that my mascara hasn't 
smudged, and my lipstick is still visible. Ok-I guess I'm ready to 
go.
I swear I expect someone to call out 'Dead Woman Walking' at any point 
now. Most of the staffers have assembled in the hallway, and although 
they don't know what the hell is going on, they know something is 
about to happen. Carol is flanking me on my right side and grips my 
elbow for just a moment in support. I smile at her gratefully and 
stop just before I reach the press room door.
Leo, Sam, Toby and Josh are congregated in front of it, trying to 
look as nonchalant as possible, but failing miserably. Oh sure, 
every now and then my boys have come to wish me well when they know 
the briefing is about to get nasty, but they have never come 
together. Not ever-and I must say that I am particularly touched.
"Knock 'em dead, CJ," Sam says with quiet enthusiasm as he hugs me 
tightly.
"Are you sure you want to do this, kid? We can call the whole thing 
off-oh hell, I don't know why I'm wasting my breath. Do good in 
there," Leo whispers as he puts a hand on my shoulder.
Toby just nods at me, but his eyes speak volumes. Josh smiles 
crookedly and pulls me to him quickly. The embrace is brief and I can 
feel how tense he is, and in the back of my mind I know that I have 
to talk to him about what happened in my office a few hours ago. But 
I'll worry about that later.
I take a deep breath and straighten my skirt. Josh opens the door for 
me and I walk to the podium, looking far more confident than I feel. 
I see the curiosity in Katie's eyes, and the apology in Danny's. 
Arthur and Steve are conversing quietly until my hands grip the side 
of the lectern, and then I have their full attention.
"Good morning. A story is going to break into wide circulation by the 
end of the day, and I'd like to take this opportunity to read a 
statement. I'll answer a few questions afterwards, and then let Simon 
get back to business."
I pause a moment as several photographers begin to take pictures, and 
I glance over at Simon, who nods at me encouragingly. I turn back to 
the press gaggle and take a deep breath before reading the piece of 
paper in front of me.
"In October of 1996 while working for Emily's List in San Francisco, 
I entered a Planned Parenthood clinic, which I will refrain from 
identifying, and had an abortion performed. I deeply regret the pain 
and embarrassment this incident has caused my family, friends, and 
this administration. I would like to take the time to clarify a few 
things."
I glance out at the sea of faces and recognize the shock etched in 
their features. Katie lowers her gaze almost in embarrassment and 
Steve places his pen down almost ceremoniously, as if he refuses 
to even write about the rest of my statement.
"I was six weeks pregnant, and as such, the doctor opted for a 
surgical abortion," I wince slightly to myself because the procedure 
itself was humiliating enough, but now I have to recount it to the 
rest of the world. "My cervix was dilated to seven millimeters, and 
the surgeon aspirated the products of conception with a syringe. 
I stayed in the clinic overnight and was released the next day."
My hands are shaking wildly, and I place them at my side behind the 
podium so that no one can tell. I take another deep breath and read 
the last part of my statement. "Neither the President, nor any staff 
members were aware of this information until yesterday afternoon. 
I will not be doing any interviews about this subject, so the next 
ten minutes is all you have to ask your questions. I'll open the 
floor now."
The room explodes in a flurry of hands and shouts. The questions come 
at me fast and hard, but I've been trained for this. I've become good 
at separating the questions from the reporter. But this is too close 
to home-this wasn't in the job description.
"CJ, as a devout Catholic, how does the President feel about his 
Press Secretary having had an abortion?"
He doesn't judge people, you self-righteous son of a bitch. No, I 
can't say that. "The White House does not comment on the personal 
lives of staff members."
"CJ, what about the father?"
"The father and I were no longer together by the time I found out I 
was pregnant. I am not giving any details as to his identity."
"Is he a politician?"
"I just said that I wasn't giving out any details on the father, 
let's move on."
"Has President Bartlet asked for your resignation?"
"How many times do I have to tell you? The White House does not 
comment on-"
"But you're not speaking as the White House right now, CJ. Has 
President Bartlet asked for your resignation?"
I refrain from making any number of smart-assed comments because I 
know it won't help the situation. But I don't bother keeping the 
sarcasm out of my voice as I answer. "You're not taking me there, 
Mike. Get over it."
"How did the story become public?"
"Some photos were obtained by a pro-life group. We don't know who the 
photographer was at this time, and know even less about the motives 
of the aforementioned group."
"You won't tell us whether or not President Bartlet asked for your 
resignation, CJ, but can you tell us whether or not you will be taking 
a leave of absence?"
"At this time, it is too early to tell."
"Did the abortion impede your ability to have other children?"
Well now, that was downright personal. Stay calm, CJ, he just wants to 
write a sidebar I'm sure. "No, and I don't know why that question is 
even relevant."
"I only ask because you're forty years old, and childless."
I ought to bitch slap him for that one. "Has it ever occurred to you 
that perhaps my lack of a steady relationship since entering the White 
House, and indeed the long hours of this particular job, are the 
reason for this?"
"Do you want children now?"
Hello! Are you even listening to me? "I'm not answering that."
"CJ, can you tell us why you decided on abortion rather than 
adoption?"
I knew this question was coming, Simon and I even prepped for it, 
but my mind is drawing a blank and I can't remember what I was 
supposed to say. Time seems to have stopped as everyone waits 
expectantly for me to answer, but there is this pounding in my head 
and I can't concentrate.
I feel like I'm trapped in some cheesy movie, and I wonder if this is 
what Leo felt like when they grilled him about his alcoholism and 
drug addiction. I'm supposed to know how to handle this-it's my job 
for Pete's sake, but all my knowledge and training seem to have 
deserted me.
Before I know what's happening, Simon storms onto the stage and ushers 
me into Josh's waiting arms. I'm not aware of how much time has 
passed, but from the look on Sam's face, I know I must have been 
frozen up there for a while.
Josh supports my weight as we head towards my office. He lowers me 
onto the couch and kneels before me. "CJ, are you all right?"
I don't answer him because my throat has constricted, and I am trying 
so very hard to reign my emotions in. I can't concentrate on anything 
else right now, or I'll fall apart. My gaze wanders to the Matrix 
award I received a few months ago and I can't help remember how proud 
I was. It didn't matter that no one else remembered I was receiving 
it, and mattered even less that no one remembered to congratulate me 
when I returned home. I received the award from a group of my peers, 
and that makes all the difference in the world.
Josh gently grasps my chin in his hand and turns my face so that our 
eyes meet. "Tell me how I can help you, Claudia Jean."
And even though it breaks my heart to admit it, I shake my head and 
whisper, "You can't."

I blame Bob Marley for the unholy alliance-Leo's description, not 
mine-CJ and I formed fifteen years ago.  Well, Bob Marley and Neil 
Diamond.

I was in San Francisco, visiting an old college friend.  I had been 
scouring the city for about two hours looking for his apartment 
complex, and had just about given up, when I all but stumbled upon 
it.  So already, I was in a, well, foul mood.

I had sprinted-ok, more like trudged-up the stairs when something 
sharp hit me upside the head.  I was dazed for a minute, but when I 
looked down at my feet, I found the album sleeve for-wait for it now-
Neil Diamond's `September Morn'.  God, who buys this drivel?

A few seconds later, I was showered with a generous amount of 
clothing and then a few more albums:Bread, KC and the Sunshine Band, 
Donna Summer-someone is in some dire need of musical taste.

And then I heard it.  A loud female voice.  A loud, off-key female 
voice singing to the almost blaring strains of `Three Little Birds'.  
I continued to climb the stairs, intent on finding the incredibly 
rude owner of the voice, not bothering to remove the T-shirts and 
shorts draped across my shoulders.

"Don't worry, about a thing.  Cuz every little thing, gonna be all 
right." OK, I'd had enough of her murdering one of my favorite songs; 
something had to be done.  

I'd reached the third flight of the rather dilapidated building and 
stood before the open door of the first apartment on the right.  I'd 
heard some moving inside, but hadn't seen the body attached to the 
terrible singing.  I'm not patient now, and I wasn't patient then, so 
I did the only logical thing.  "What in the hell did Bob Marley ever 
do to you?" I'd bellowed through the hallway.

An auburn head had poked outside of the door, followed by the most 
amazing pair of legs I'd ever seen.  She had taken one look at me and 
laughed until she was bent over with the effort.

"I'm glad you find this amusing.  Tell me, is this how you greet all 
visitors in this building?"

"I'm-I'm sorry.  Oh God-if you could see yourself," she'd said as 
she'd wiped a tear away.  She'd walked closer and tugged the various 
apparel, which decorated me like a Christmas Tree, to the ground.  "I 
didn't know anyone was down there," she'd explained more soberly as 
she'd taken a step back.

"Well, maybe you should check before you start throwing things down 
the stair case.  You could've poked my eye out."

She'd nodded her head, but I could tell she wasn't taking me 
seriously.  She'd then extended her hand and said simply, "CJ Cregg."

"Toby Ziegler.  What in the hell possessed you to buy this?"  I'd 
asked as I held up the offending Neil Diamond album.

She'd snorted then, and I knew I liked her.  "That is not mine-it 
belongs to a gutter snipe by the name of James Arrington who will 
never be shadowing my doorway again if he knows what's good for him."

"Gutter snipe?"

"Yes, a gutter snipe-you have a problem with that?"

"No ma'am," I'd responded as I tried to hide my smile.

She'd appraised me for a moment before suddenly grabbing my 
arm.  "Come on Toby-I owe you a drink."

I hadn't been thirsty, but I couldn't concentrate on anything but her 
cut-off shorts and simple tank top.  I'm a man after all.  And back 
then I was a much younger man.

Her apartment had been like every other college apartment I'd ever 
seen.  Furniture pulled from curbs and dumpsters, posters of Bob 
Marley (of course), Joan Baez, and David Bowie covering the walls 
instead of fine art, and a supply of alcohol large enough to open a 
small bar.  She'd gestured to the bottles on top of the hideous green 
refrigerator and smiled.

"Vodka?  Tequila?  Gin?  No-I think you're a whiskey man."  

I think my smile gave it away because she'd nodded and pulled two 
cups down from the cupboard.  

We'd talked about many things that night.  The best Cat Steven's 
album-I'd said `Tea for the Tillerman', and she'd said `Teaser and 
the Firecat'--; the social and political ramifications of a female 
president; Ken Kesey's indictment of mental health institutions 
in `One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest'; and why the only good thing to 
come out of Russia was vodka.

She'd been amazing arguing across the small table from me.  She'd 
been passionate and fiery.  She'd been like nothing I'd ever seen, 
even as she cried over the `gutter snipe' who'd run off with one of 
his students.  In short, she'd been wonderful and I knew then that my 
life would never be the same.  Even if I did live all the way across 
the country with a woman I was sure I was going to marry someday. 

It wasn't until all the whiskey was gone that I'd remembered the 
purpose of my visit.  I'd stumbled to the phone and made my excuses 
to Eli, and then slow danced with CJ into the early morning hours.  
She'd kissed me goodbye at the door the next afternoon and made me 
promise to keep in touch.

And I swear to this day, it was the best promise I ever made.

Josh is standing across the hall from her door when I walk out of my 
office.  After he'd escorted her from the briefing room, I'd gone 
back to work.  Well, I'd gone back to staring at the same piece of 
paper I'd been analyzing for the past three hours, because I knew she 
needed someone, but I also knew that someone wasn't me.

And I hate that.  I've known CJ the longest, but it's clear that 
she's closer to Josh than she is to me.  He knows exactly what to say 
when she's upset.  He knows exactly what drink to order for her when 
we go out, depending on how the day went.  And he always knows what 
present to buy on her birthday.

I manage to say all the wrong things when she's having a bad day.  I 
have the waitress bring her a whiskey sour when she wants a martini.  
I spend hours in various boutiques and department stores because I 
don't know what the hell to buy for one of the best friends I've ever 
had before settling on a gift certificate to a music store.

It doesn't matter that I know she was confirmed when she was thirteen 
at the Our Lady Of Victory chapel.  It doesn't matter that I know she 
graduated a year early from Berkeley because she threw herself into 
her studies after her mother's death.  It doesn't matter that I know 
she has a scar behind her knee from when she fell off her bike when 
she was eight.

None of these things matter because somewhere in the years of our 
friendship, I have forgotten how to relate.  I have built walls 
around my heart and she has stopped trying to scale them.  We're 
comfortable in our distance and I don't know who's more afraid of 
getting hurt.  I guess it really doesn't matter in the end.

Josh's eyes are upon me now, and I don't know why he thinks I can 
help her where he has failed.  But he's pleading silently with me and 
I shake my head.  He walks across the hall until we're standing side 
by side.  

"I don't know what to say to her," he explains almost apologetically 
as he gestures to the door.  "I had Donna make a run to that salad 
place she loves so much."

"You know she probably won't eat it," I say because I can think of 
nothing else.

His shoulders sag just a little bit, but he nods in agreement.  "I 
know, I just wanted to feel like I was doing something."

"I want you to listen very carefully to me now, Josh.  There is 
nothing you can do.  Nothing.  If you remember that, you'll be fine.  
She's strong, you and I know that better than most, and she'll get 
through this.  And then she'll come back.  But you have to accept 
that there is nothing you can do."

His eyes narrow slightly as he digests my words.  He thinks I'm being 
cold, callous even, I can see it in his stance.  But he suddenly 
relaxes and pinches the bridge of his nose.  "I know you're right, 
Toby.  But this is killing me-this helplessness."

I'm surprised at his candor, but maybe I shouldn't be.  Josh can be 
arrogant and insensitive, but he's always expressed his affection, 
and indeed love, for his friends and family.  He has never been 
ashamed of his emotions.  And I admire him more than I can say for 
that particular trait.

"Yeah, well I've got a thing," I murmur as I walk back towards my 
office.

He nods his head and goes back to his station across from CJ's door.  
He reminds me of a puppy waiting expectantly at the door for his 
owner to return.  I only hope he doesn't get hurt in the process of 
this mess, because I don't think CJ could bear it.

++++++++

She once locked me in a car and made me listen to all eight minutes 
of `Free Bird' because I had mocked Lynyrd Skynyrd and called them 
overrated.

She once made me eat an entire bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken while 
she watched because I admitted to not remembering the last time I had 
a meal.

She once made me compile a list of the things I loved about Lisa 
because she'd heard me arguing on the phone with her again.

She once made me compile a list of things I disliked about Lisa to 
compare with the list of things I loved about Lisa until I realized 
that I deserved better.

She once took me out to get drunk after the breakup, and then held a 
cold washcloth to the back of my neck as I got sick in the toilet.

She once danced with me when Bartlet won the primary, and then again 
when he was inaugurated.  
Sometimes when I'm feeling dissatisfied with my job, when I think 
about opportunities I may have missed by joining the campaign, by 
working long hours, I turn my thoughts to CJ.  Because if I hadn't 
followed Josh to New Hampshire, then I never would have met one of 
the most amazing women ever to grace the Earth.

 I think of the time she physically stood between Toby and me during 
one of our more heated arguments; an argument that may have come to 
blows if not for her well-timed intrusion.  I think of the time that 
she allowed Donna to stay in her hotel room even though she didn't 
know her because Josh said she had no money.  I think of the times 
she stayed up late to finish a task so that the rest of us could get 
some sleep.  

I also think of the time that she cradled Josh while he cried over 
his father's death.  I think of the time that she held Toby's hand 
when he announced his divorce was final.  I think of the time that 
she squeezed Leo's arm after his press conference about his drug and 
alcohol addiction.

"Sam, you got a minute?"

I look up into Josh's worried eyes and nod.  "Of course," I smile and 
then sit up straighter.  

"What were you doing?" he asks as he claims the chair in the corner 
of my office.

"I was thinking about CJ," I admit honestly.

He smiles at me and then leans forward, "You remember that time she 
bribed Joe to play `American Pie' over and over again on the bus 
because she was pissed at Toby?"

I can't help but laugh at the memory of CJ dancing down the aisle as 
the rest of us covered our ears.  "Yeah-but you know what's even 
better than that?  Do you remember that time in Phoenix when she made 
the five of us have a sharing circle?"

Josh nods enthusiastically as he adds to the story.  "And she kept 
squirting Leo with the water gun because he was speaking out of turn 
and yelling at you."

I'm laughing so hard I can hardly breathe.  "Wait, wait.  What about 
that time she flew your mother in and had her berate you in front of 
the entire campaign staff for being mean to Donna?"

"It wasn't that funny, Sam," Josh says, although his smile gives him 
away.  He sobers for a moment and settles back against the 
chair.  "We can't lose her."

"Lose her?  I thought she was staying-I mean, she told the President-"

"I don't mean physically, Sam," Josh sighs and closes his eyes 
briefly.  "I looked into her eyes, I mean right after the press 
conference.  And, Sam, I didn't recognize her.  I didn't recognize 
her."

Josh's voice is trembling with emotion, and I hardly know how to 
react.  But I do know that I'm not ready to let CJ go, and I tell him 
as much.  "Josh, we're not going to lose her."

Maybe it's the steel in my voice or the resolve in my eyes but Josh 
smiles a bit lopsidedly and nods his head, taking a deep 
breath.  "You're right."

"Well, of course.  I'm always right and the sooner you accept that-"

"All right, smart guy.  I get it.  I'm gonna go talk to her."

"You think that's wise?"

"I need to let her know that I'm here for her-that we're all here for 
her."

I nod because I know he needs to see her, needs to reassure himself, 
more than CJ.  "All right-but don't take it personal if she, you 
know, closes you off a little bit.  She's just protecting herself, 
you know emotionally."

Josh does something totally unexpected.  He throws his head back and 
begins to laugh.  That deep, rolling laugh usually reserved for bars 
and sports events that I haven't heard in quite some time.  "Sam, you 
really gotta stop watching Oprah.  You're just getting-well, weird."

"Oh get out," I smile as I toss a pen at him.  He catches it in his 
hand effortlessly and raises an eyebrow as he closes the door behind 
him.

++++++++++++

The light from the TV dances eerily across the shiny surfaces in my 
office.  The paperweight, Gail's bowl, the small stapler I stole from 
Carol's desk, even the half-empty bottle of water reflect the image 
of Mary Marsh.  

I've tuned out her angry voice, but I know what she's saying.  It 
doesn't take a genus, and even if I hadn't watched the tape three 
times already, I'd know from her angry face and wild hand gestures.  
Janet, or whatever her name is, from the Planned Parenthood clinic in 
DC is fighting a losing battle.  And Mark, bless his heart, is trying 
to appear impartial even as he argues with something the Spawn, I 
mean Mary, says.

She's demanding my resignation, more eager now than she was with Josh 
a year and a half ago.  She's calling me immoral, incapable, 
irresponsible.  Mary really likes alliteration.

What gives her the right?  What gives anyone the right to judge me?  
These people who purport to be Christian-these people who bomb 
abortion clinics while calling themselves pro-life-these people who 
shout unmentionable names at women as they walk through the doors 
that will change their lives forever.

I don't understand, I just don't understand.

"CJ, can I come in?"

Damn it, I've already sent Josh away three times today.  What in the 
hell does he want from me?  Whatever it is, he's bound to be 
disappointed because I can't play this game anymore.  I can't pretend 
that everything is fine when it literally feels like my heart is 
constricting in my chest, growing smaller with every punctuated 
statement Mary makes.

I don't answer, but he opens the door anyway and walks into my 
office.  He eyes me disapprovingly as he crosses the room to turn the 
television off, ignoring my frustrated sigh.

"How long are you going to keep doing this?" 

"Doing what?"

"Punishing yourself."

"Is that what I'm doing?"

Now it's his turn to sigh in frustration as he perches on the edge of 
my desk, careful not to get too close to me.  "You've watched this, 
what, five times now?"

"Three," I correct automatically, even though I know it doesn't 
matter.

Silence dominates the room for a few minutes as he observes the 
darkened view from the window.  There's something he wants to say, 
but he seems almost afraid to voice it.  Finally, he turns his gaze 
back to me and takes a deep breath.

"I was thinking that maybe you should go home for a few weeks."

I know he's not referring to my modest apartment down the street.  He 
wants me to go back to California.  "Is that what Leo and the 
President think, too?"

He looks at me in surprise and shakes his head.  "I haven't talked to 
Leo or the President.  This isn't some scheme we've hatched, CJ.  I 
think that you'd be better off in Napa until things calm down around 
here."

"And then they get what they want, Josh.  Mary Mash and her cronies 
get to see me leave with my tail between my legs.  I'm not doing it."

"Jesus, CJ," he says as he jumps up and begins to pace the 
room.  "This isn't about Mary Marsh, the Christian Right, or even 
President Bartlet.  This is about you...and what you need."

"And how would you know what I need?" I recognize the hurt in his 
eyes at my sharp tone, but press on anyway.  "You think you know me 
so well, Josh, but the truth is, you have no idea who I am."

He stops suddenly and shoves his hands in his pockets.  "You're 
wrong, Claudia Jean."

"Oh really?  What was my major before switching to communications?"

Josh lowers his eyes and shrugs.  "English?"

"Zoology.  I switched because I didn't like chemistry.  Where was I 
born?"

"San Francisco?"

"Duxbury, Massachusetts.  My family moved to California when I was 
two.  What did I want to be when I was a little girl?"

"A teacher?"

"A Broadway singer." 

"What the hell, CJ?  So I don't know these things about you-you don't 
know them about me," Josh says angrily as he places his hands on his 
hips.

I stand up now as I rapidly shoot out, "Before you switched to 
Political Science, you majored in engineering, but you were failing 
calculus.  You were actually born in Boston, but your family moved to 
Connecticut when you were ten.  When you were a little boy you wanted 
to be an astronaut."

He widens his eyes in surprise, but still won't admit defeat.  "These 
things aren't important-"

"You're wrong.  The reason these things are important is because I 
had to ask you these questions at some point in our friendship.  I 
cared enough to ask.  You have never asked me about myself, ever."

"You like extra nuts on your sundaes from McDonalds.  You are 
ambidextrous, but usually write with your right hand.  Your favorite 
book is `A Tree Grows in Brooklyn' and your favorite song is `Tiny 
Dancer'.  Kevin was the name of your first boyfriend, and you broke 
up because he was enlisting in the army, and you were going away to 
Berkeley.  You studied the piano for twelve years."

"Shut up, Joshua," I say quietly, overcome with emotion.

"You starred in `The Sound of Music' in your high school theater.  
You prefer Coke to Pepsi, and butter over margarine.  You wear a size 
eleven shoe.  You cook better than anyone I know, but don't let on.  
You keep a rosary in the bottom left drawer of your desk."

"Shut up!" I yell as I cross the room until I am standing in front of 
him.  He grips my upper arms and continues.

"You run every morning.  You don't eat enough, and sleep even less.  
You have three jewelry boxes full of necklaces.  And, you're 
beautiful."

His voice breaks, and there are tears in his eyes.  I don't think I 
have ever been as ashamed of myself as I am right now.  One lone tear 
makes its way down his cheek and I reach out a hand to wipe it away.

"I'm sorry, Josh, I'm so sorry."

He shakes his head and pulls me into a tight embrace.  His chest 
rumbles against mine as he speaks.   "Don't ever doubt my love for 
you, Claudia Jean.  I know you."  I nod my head and he repeats 
himself again, this time more quietly, but no less convincingly.  "I 
know you."

He holds me for a few more minutes before releasing me.  He places 
his hand on my arm, reluctant to break all physical contact, and 
squeezes it gently.  And then I smile because he called me beautiful.

Mary Marsh may be looking for my head, there may be reporters camped 
outside my door, and there may be questions about my character, but 
none of that matters right now because Josh called me beautiful.

"I'm going to take you home now.  If you're not going back to Napa 
for a vacation, then you're going to need your strength to deal with 
the next few days around here."

I see the surprise in his eyes when I capitulate and grab my coat.  
He expected me to argue, but right now I'm so tired I feel like I 
could sleep for a few days.  He places his hand on the small of my 
back as we make our way down the hall under the surreptitious gazes 
of several co-workers.

Once we're inside his car, I grab his hand and squeeze it 
affectionately.  "Thank you."

"For what?" he asks shyly as he looks everywhere but my eyes.

I duck my head and smile.  "For caring."

He squeezes my hand back and replies, "Always."

I haven't seen her this shaken up since I watched the tape of her 
first briefing shortly after Rosslyn.  It's funny how we don't call 
it an assassination attempt, or a lynching gone wrong.  We just refer 
to the entire incident and the weeks following as Rosslyn.  It seems 
almost too simple.

I can still see her face in my mind, her eyes narrowed in confusion 
as she tried to make sense of Arthur's question.  I remember crying 
for her as she rushed off- stage because there was such a lost 
quality about her appearance.  Her hair and clothes a disheveled 
mess, her eyes large and frightened, and the small, almost innocuous, 
scratch on her neck that is barely recognizable unless you are 
looking for it.

I only watched the tape once because it was too painful to see her so 
unglued.  She had it pulled together by the next briefing, but she 
looked so vulnerable in the first one, so raw.

I sometimes wonder what was going through her head when she finally 
remembered the events of that night.  I wonder what her heart felt 
like when she realized that if she hadn't been talking to Sam about 
our plans to go out that night, she might have been dead.  I wonder, 
but I don't ask because that, like watching the first briefing, is 
too painful.

Sam told me that she hadn't slept for days afterwards.  He would find 
her sprawled out on the couch in her office, too scared to close her 
eyes because of what she might wake up to.  No amount of coaxing or 
bargaining on his part could convince her to go home and sleep.  It 
wasn't until three days later when she almost collapsed from 
exhaustion that she allowed Sam to take her back to her apartment.

I still have nightmares about that night, but I can't imagine they're 
anything compared to those who actually lived through the days 
afterwards while I was drugged out of my mind.  I can't imagine what 
it was like for Toby to find me slumped against the wall.  I can't 
imagine what it was like for Sam to do the morning shows while 
wanting to be at the hospital.  I can't imagine what it was like for 
Leo to live with the knowledge that their fellow Americans had just 
attacked his best friend and a man he loved like a son.  And I can't 
imagine what it was like for CJ to face the press corps even as her 
head pounded ferociously and her eyes watered at the very mention of 
my name. 

I have given up trying to study her covertly, because I doubt she's 
even aware of my presence at the moment.  Her eyes are glued to the 
group of people camped in front of her apartment building, holding 
cameras and microphones.  I have parked the car in the garage across 
the street, for once grateful that her building doesn't have allotted 
spaces.  This gives us options.

"Why don't we just go back to my place?  We can have Carol drop by 
here in the morning to pick up some clean clothes for you."

She pulls her gaze away, and looks at me squarely in the eye.  "You 
don't have to come in with me, Josh, but I am not letting those 
people keep me from my own apartment."

"Of course I'm coming with you, CJ.  Whatever you decide to do-but, 
are you really up to this right now?"

"I haven't done anything wrong, and I'm tired of being ashamed.  This 
is not going to control my life."

Her voice sounds stronger that it has in the past two days and I 
can't help smiling at the steel in her eyes.  God help those 
reporters.  "Let's do it then," I say as I open the door.

"I'm not going to answer any questions.  I'm just going to walk past 
them, into the building, all right?" she tells me over the hood of my 
car.

I nod my head in approval and the next two minutes pass by in a 
blur.  They spot her before she even crosses the street and start 
hurling questions at her, their words indistinguishable from the 
camera flashes and hurried scuffles.  Her head is held erect and I 
admire her resolve in front of these people.

I'm walking behind her, making sure no one follows us into the 
private building.  She stops suddenly and I almost run into 
her.  "What the hell?" I ask as I peer over her shoulder.

The letters are large, angry, and red.  She reaches out her hand to 
trace the `w' but pulls back when she realizes the paint is still 
wet.  She sighs in frustration and inserts her key in the lock, 
kicking the door open with more force then necessary.

She doesn't even shed her coat as she heads straight to the kitchen, 
leaving me standing lost in the living room.  She's back about ten 
seconds later with a sponge and a bucket, and I have to intercept her 
before she reaches the still-open door.

"Get the hell out of my way, Josh," she grinds out between gritted 
teeth.

"You shouldn't-you shouldn't have to do this, CJ.  I'll take care of 
it."

"Absolutely not," she says as kneels before the door, pausing long 
enough to shrug out of her coat.

She begins to scrub furiously at the door and I feel like I'm 
intruding on something intensely private.  Her eyes are angry, and 
her movements strained, but I know she's gaining strength with every 
pass of the sponge.  She leans back on her haunches and swipes her 
forearm across her sweat-dotted brow.

I quietly take the dirty water to the kitchen and exchange it.  She 
murmurs her thanks and goes back to work for another ten minutes 
before she realizes that no amount of scrubbing is going to erase the 
faint pink letters mocking her.  She leans her forehead on the door, 
and it takes me a few minutes to realize she is quietly sobbing.

"Hey, hey-we'll get some paint tomorrow and take care of everything," 
I soothe as I take her in my arms and lead her to the couch.

She nods numbly, and I know she is trying to regain control of her 
emotions again.  By the time I've hung up her coat and put away the 
cleanser, she is visibly calmer.  She smiles at me gratefully and 
stands up.

"Listen, I'm gonna go change.  Make yourself at home."

I wait until she has disappeared down the hallway before heading into 
the kitchen, intent on scrounging up some food.  She hasn't eaten all 
day, and come to think of it, neither have I.  I open the 
refrigerator and sigh in disappointment.  

Two cans of Diet Coke, a jar of mayonnaise, a handful of mild-sauce 
packets from Taco Bell, and a molded block of cheese.  I can't work 
with this.  I open the freezer and am greeted by the sight of three 
frosty mugs and nothing else.  This woman must have some food 
somewhere.  I begin foraging through the kitchen cabinets and come up 
with a box of tea bags, sugar, and a can of green beans.

"I'm sorry, I haven't had a chance to go grocery shopping this past 
week," she apologizes as she joins me beside the counter, wearing a 
pair of worn jeans and an oversized sweatshirt.

"CJ, it looks like you haven't been grocery shopping in months."

"Yeah, that's probably more accurate."  At the look I toss her she 
crosses her arms defensively.  "I'm never home, Josh.  The milk 
always spoils and the bread molds.  However-" she trails off as she 
crosses to the small pantry in the corner.

I follow her and smile as she tosses a blue package my way.  "You eat 
Top Ramen noodles?" I ask incredulous because she strikes me as being 
so much more sophisticated.  This is bachelor food.

"I gained a great appreciation for Ramen at school," she admits 
almost shyly as she pulls a pot from the dish drain.  "Plus, noodles 
don't go bad."

"Well neither do frozen pizzas, but you don't have any of those."

She pats the side of my face and smiles.  "That stuff will kill you."

We sit in companionable silence later as we eat our Oriental flavor 
noodles in the living room.  For once she doesn't have CNN on, and I 
wonder if it is because she is scared she might see herself.  Her 
eyes are resting on the blank TV screen and I can tell she is deep in 
thought because her lips are scrunched to the side, and she hasn't 
touched her food in at least ten minutes.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

She looks at me after a moment and sets her bowl on the coffee 
table.  She half turns to me and regards me quietly before looking at 
her hands.  "Do you think I'm a horrible person, Josh?"

I set my bowl beside hers and grab one of her hands in mine.  "Are 
you serious, CJ?"

She raises her eyes, but looks at a point past my shoulder as she 
shrugs.  "It's just-I don't know.  I've tried to be a good citizen, a 
decent human being my entire life.  I stole lipstick once when I was 
thirteen, but besides that, I think I've lived right."

"And?" I prompt when she falls silent.

"But what have I done to deserve this?  People are camped outside my 
apartment building; someone painted the word `whore' on my door, for 
Christ's sake.  I just-I just don't understand."

"People are assholes, CJ.  You've been working in the White House for 
two years now-I thought you would have come to that conclusion 
sooner."

"I know-but, God, it makes me so angry.  These people have no right, 
no right, to judge me."

"No, they don't.  But they don't know you, CJ.  They don't know how 
intelligent, how loving, how special you are.  But your family and 
friends, we know, and that's all that matters."

She murmurs something inaudible and I take her face in both my 
hands.  "Do you believe me, CJ?"

"Yes," she whispers as her eyes move to my lips.

And then before I can even contemplate what's happening, she moves 
closer until her I can feel her breath on my face.  "CJ, what--," but 
she cuts me off as she presses her lips to mine.

My thought processes are shot to hell as she wraps her arms around my 
neck and pulls herself against my body.  Her lips are soft, and 
incredibly insistent, and I find myself responding to her advances.  
However, I snap back to reality as her tongue slips past my teeth and 
she moans softly into my mouth.

"CJ, we can't do this," I whisper as I pull back, resting my hands on 
her forearms.  "You're not thinking straight, you're confused."

She shakes her head and meets my gaze.  "I'm not confused, Josh.  I 
know what I want."  And with that, she leans forward again and 
captures my lips in a searing kiss.

I grab both her arms in my hands and pull them down between us.  "You 
don't-you don't understand how badly I want this, CJ.  But not here, 
not now."

She pulls back suddenly and turns hurt eyes upon me.  Her face 
flushes in embarrassment as she gets to her feet.  "Oh God.  I'm 
sorry-I thought, I mean-the way you touched me in the office, I just 
thought.  Oh God, just forget I did that, ok?"

"You don't understand, CJ.  I want-"

"Can you please leave now?  I think I've embarrassed myself enough 
for one night-enough for an entire damn lifetime."

"CJ-"

"Please, just-go."

She sweeps past me down the hallway and I hear a door slam.  I want 
to explain things to her, but I know the time isn't right.  Instead, 
I carry the bowls to the kitchen and rinse them out before stacking 
them in the sink.

"CJ, I'm gonna go now, but I'll be back in the morning to pick you 
up," I say to the closed bedroom door.

"I'll take a cab," comes her muffled response.

"Don't be ridiculous.  I'll be here at six."

"I told you, I'm taking a cab."

I know better than to argue with her when she uses that particular 
tone.  And I also know how to choose my battles, so I tap the door 
gently and sigh.  "Fine, I'll see you tomorrow."

She doesn't respond, but then, I don't really expect her to.  

On the car ride home I can't help remembering the feel of her body 
nestled against mine, and the passion with which she kissed me.  
Being with CJ, like that, was so much better than I had ever imagined 
it to be, and I only hope I'm able to get a second chance.

+++++++

When I was twelve years old, my mother entered me into one of those 
local beauty pageants.  I don't remember if it was the Strawberry or 
Harvest Festival, but my mother thought it would be a good idea to 
parade me in front of the whole town with an expensive dress, and big 
hair.  I think the only reason she did so was because all of her 
friends were entering their daughters.

I was already 5'10 that summer and I felt so conspicuous standing 
beside my much-shorter peers.  I wanted to make my mother proud, so I 
practiced my talent-singing `Hey There' by Rosemary Clooney-everyday 
for two hours.  I worked on my posture, on my walk.  I endured the 
teasing of my brothers as I walked around with curlers in my head the 
entire day before because I wanted more body.

I wouldn't say I was confident, but I wasn't deathly afraid of being 
on stage.  I wouldn't say I felt beautiful, but I didn't feel 
hideous.  I wouldn't say I thought I was going to win, but I didn't 
think I was going to lose.

I killed in the talent section, and did even better in the 
interview.  I waltzed on stage for the final round, feeling a bit 
relieved that it was almost over and I could get out of the shoes 
that pinched my feet painfully.  And then it happened.

Amber Page stepped on the back of my dress as I continued to walk 
forward.  My strapless dress, which was held up by little more than a 
prayer.  I heard the rip before I felt the warm rush of air hit my 
skin and it took me several seconds to realize that the dress was 
making its way south.

I clutched the bodice in my hand and rushed from the stage, very much 
aware of the gentle ripple of laughter from the crowd.  I ran all the 
way home and locked myself in my room for two days.  People still 
refer to that incident when I visit my father.

Yeah, up to this point, it was probably the single, most embarrassing 
event in my life.  But now, even that has been eclipsed by my failed 
attempt to seduce Josh.  My cheeks flare up again as I make my way 
into the building.

He was so gentle with me, but the rejection hurt just the same.  I 
don't know what I was thinking.  But he was there and had seen me at 
my worst.  And his eyes were so soft, his lips slightly parted.  And 
he had called me beautiful, had touched me almost reverently in my 
office hours earlier.

Of course he doesn't want me.  He's in love with his assistant; 
everyone knows that.  But, God help me, I didn't care.  At that 
moment Tad Whitney could have been sitting on my couch and I would 
have kissed him.  Only Tad Whitney would have kissed me back, would 
have carried me to the bedroom.

And for one night I would have felt whole again.  Sex doesn't solve 
anything, but it sure makes you forget for a while.  And that's 
exactly what I need right now, to forget.

Carol jumps out at me right before I reach my office and gestures to 
the door.  "He says he won't leave until he talks to you.  I tried to-
"

"Don't worry, Carol," I say as I open the door, thinking Josh is 
waiting for me on the other side.  I almost drop my briefcase as my 
visitor stands up from his seat on the couch and tugs at his suit 
jacket unconsciously. 

"Good morning, CJ," he begins in a neutral tone.

"Senator Shallick," I return as I close the door and cross to my desk 
so that I'll have something to lean against.  I lower my voice and 
meet his gaze.  "What in the hell are you doing here, Henry?"

"I saw your press conference-it's in every newspaper from here to San 
Francisco.  Did you think I wouldn't come?"  He takes a deep breath 
and runs a hand through his thinning hair.  "Why didn't you tell me?"

He's changed so much in the past five years that I hardly recognize 
him.  His face is more lined, and his waist thicker than I remember.  
There's a hardness in his eyes, and steel in his posture.  Ambition 
has destroyed everything in him I ever loved.

He used to bring me breakfast in bed, and buy volumes of poetry to 
read to me in the bubble bath.  He was a terrible cook, but he never 
stopped trying.  I think those five months I was with him were the 
happiest of my life.  

I've tried very hard to forget how gentle his kisses were as we 
debate on `Capitol Beat'.  I've tried very hard to forget how soft 
his voice was in the morning as he hurls insults at the Bartlet 
Administration from a podium on the steps of the Capitol.  And I've 
tried very hard to forget how much I loved him as he stands across a 
crowded room staring at me in loss and regret.  And I've succeeded 
for the most part.

"I didn't owe you anything, I don't owe you anything now."

"I would have taken care of you, I would have made sure you had 
everything you needed," he continues as if I hadn't spoken.  "I know 
I hurt you, but we could have worked something out."

"You had a wife, and three children, Henry.  What could we have 
worked out?  I know; you could have hidden me somewhere obscure and 
made visits whenever you were feeling frisky.  You could have sent me 
checks every month so you wouldn't feel guilty, and might have even 
kept a picture or two hidden somewhere of your bastard child."

"That's not fair, CJ."

"Was it fair that I had to find out from a newspaper that you were 
married?  Was it fair that you told me you loved me even though you 
weren't free to do so?  Screw fairness, Henry."

"I did love you," he whispers quietly as he shifts on his 
feet.  "Does anyone else know?"

"You have nothing to worry about.  There is nothing to connect you to 
this-unless of course you keep visiting my office at dawn."

He's quiet for a moment and when he looks up, there is sadness in his 
eyes.  "For what it's worth, I never meant to hurt you."

"Well, I'm sorry to say, but that isn't worth a damn thing to me.  
Now, I'm sure you have other, more pressing concerns to attend to."

He looks at me and then nods his head.  "Take care of yourself," he 
whispers as he opens the door and walks past a very confused Carol.

She waits until he is out of sight before coming into my office and 
cocking her head to the side.  "So, was that him?"

"Him, who?"

"Mr. Wonderful, who in fact turned out to be married?"

"You're far too perceptive for your own good, Carol," I say as I sit 
behind my desk and lean back in the chair.

"He's a Republican, CJ," she replies in horror.

I chuckle a little bit and sigh.  "Oh, Carol.  When I met him, he 
wasn't a senator yet."

"Yeah, but he was still a Republican, wasn't he?  How did you meet 
him?"

"One of the local high schools in San Francisco was holding a debate 
between one of our guys, and one of his.  I didn't realize who he was 
until after he asked me to dinner, but the way he looked at me-I tell 
you, Carol, no one had ever looked at me like that before-and to be 
quite honest, no one else has since." 

"Like what?"

"Like getting me to dinner was the most important thing in his life.  
He always made me feel like I came first, always.  It does wonders 
for the ego.  Even if he did turn out to be scum, when we were 
together he all but worshipped me."

"How did you find out-I mean, that he was married?"

"I was in bed on a Sunday morning reading the paper, and he was 
featured in an article about congressional hopefuls.  There was a 
picture-it must have been taken on one of their family vacations, I 
don't know.  But his children were beautiful, Carol.  I loved him-and 
I hate myself for admitting it, but I might have stayed with him if 
it weren't for those children.  I couldn't do that to them."

"What did he say when you confronted him?"

"He tried to deny it, if you can believe that.  But I threw the 
article in his face.  And then he broke out into the whole `I'm only 
in the marriage because of the kids' routine."

"And what did you say to that?"

"I told him he could go to hell."

Carol smiles and nods her head.  "Has he ever said anything-I mean, 
since you've been in Washington?"

"No.  Well, we've seen each other on the political circuit, but 
nothing personal."

"Is it hard-seeing him?"

I don't even have to think about my answer.  "I closed that chapter 
of my life a long time ago.  As far as I'm concerned he's just 
another pain in the ass from the opposite party."

She looks at me thoughtfully for a moment and then smiles.  "Well, 
I've got to finish typing up those releases."

"Thanks, Carol," I say as I turn my attention to the pile of mail 
sitting on my desk.  

The building won't start filling up for at least another two hours, 
and I bask in the peace and calm.  I've started coming in earlier 
than need be for the past few months because it's easier to face the 
day once I've had at least an hour of quiet in my office.

Invitations for speaking engagements and fundraisers comprise most of 
my mail, and I sigh in relief as I get to the final envelope.  I 
unfold the letter and can't bring myself to look away from the large 
cutout letters even as I gasp in horror.

Carol rushes in and looks over my shoulder.  "Damn, I thought we'd 
gotten all of it," she whispers as she tries to take the letter from 
my hand.

Her words snap me out of my shock and I look up at her 
angrily.  "There's more?"

"Things started coming in late yesterday by express mail," she says 
almost guiltily as she looks into my eyes.  "CJ, you shouldn't have 
to sort through this."

"Yes, I should.  I want to see everything.  Bring it to me."

"I don't think that's-"

"Now," I interrupt.

She flinches at the volume of my voice and walks immediately out of 
my office, returning about five minutes later with a stack of 
letters.  She hands them over wordlessly and closes the door behind 
her.

When Toby stops by my office an hour later, I've read through every 
letter, some twice, and am quietly reflecting about what my next move 
should be.  I've been ripped to shreds, every ounce of confidence 
I've ever had stripped from me.  Whore, murderer, bitch, and many 
other things I don't even want think about sit before me.  Some 
written in neat cursive.  Others slashed angrily on a page.  And 
still others typed, or pasted. 

"Carol shouldn't have given those to you," he says quietly as he sits 
on my couch.

"No-I needed to see them-I needed to know."

"Needed to know what, CJ?  You needed to know what these close-minded 
people think of you?"

"I don't know-I just, I don't know," I whisper as I study my 
hands.  "Toby, will you take me to the airport?"

He regards me intently for a moment and then shrugs his 
shoulders.  "It depends."

"Depends on what?"

"Are you coming back?"

I can't quite meet his eyes when I respond.  "I don't know."

"Fair enough," he says as he stands up and gestures to the door.

Two hours later as he's sitting beside me at the gate, I feel the 
need to make a confession.  He hasn't asked any questions since we 
left the West Wing.  He hasn't asked why I didn't want to wait until 
Josh or Sam got to the office before leaving.  He hasn't asked why I 
was so dead-set against talking to the President.  He hasn't asked 
why my hands are shaking uncontrollably.  He already knows the answer 
to most of these things, but I feel the need to explain anyway.

"I did something really stupid last night."

He looks sideways at me and smiles.  "You didn't beat any reporters 
up, did you?"

"No," I chuckle.  "Something much, much worse."

"You went out and bought a Spice Girl's c.d.?"

"I'm trying to be serious here, Toby.  And I happen to like the Spice 
Girls."

He holds his hands up and says, "All right, Amazon Spice.  Tell me 
the incredibly stupid thing you did last night."

"I kissed Josh."

The half smile fades abruptly and he lowers his hands.  "I see."

"I don't know what I was thinking.  I was just so-God, I don't know.  
I just needed to feel desired I guess."  I flush in embarrassment 
because I can't believe I'm talking to Toby about desire in an 
airport.

He doesn't seem at all put off by the conversation however because he 
holds my gaze.  "So, why was it stupid?"

"So, were you listening to anything I said, or what?  I kissed Josh, 
Josh Lyman, our Josh."

"I know very well which Josh we're talking about, but thanks for 
clearing that up," he says sarcastically.  "I'm asking why you think 
it was stupid.  Is it that you don't have feelings for him?"

"My feelings for him are not the problem, here.  I mean, I don't know 
exactly what it is I feel for him, but I know that I care for him 
more than a friend."  I cover my face with my hands because Toby 
isn't exactly the person I had in mind for this conversation.

"Then what is the problem?" he asks as he pulls my arms down.

"You idiot, he doesn't have feelings for me!" I exclaim as I pull 
back.  "And before you start lecturing me about Donna, I know that he 
loves her.  I just wasn't thinking last night about all the romantic 
intrigue going on in the office, all right.  So that, my friend, is 
what I mean by being stupid."

Toby does the thing I least expect; he throws his head back and 
laughs.  Toby laughs.  I gotta admit that I'm a little hurt.  He 
sobers immediately as he notices my fallen expression.  "CJ, what on 
Earth makes you think that Josh doesn't have feelings for you?"

"Are you kidding me?  I was offering myself, there on a platter, 
Toby, and he didn't take it.  He didn't take it," I trail off and 
sigh.  "I know you're thinking that rejection should be the least of 
my problems right now, and you're right, but I made a complete fool 
of myself, and I have absolutely no idea how I am ever going to be 
able to look that man in the face again."

Before Toby can respond, my flight is called over the loud speaker 
and I stand up.  "That's me."

He nods his head and awkwardly hands me my carry-on.  "You have a 
safe trip, and take care of yourself," he says as he backs away.

Now I know Toby isn't the demonstrative type, but I was hoping for a 
hug, a squeeze on the arm at the least.  He looks ready to bolt.  
Same old Toby I guess.  I smile at him and nod my head.

"You take care of yourself too.  I'll-" I pause because I was going 
to say `I'll see you soon', but I honestly don't know that I will.  
So I settle for, "Be in touch."

I turn around and start walking towards the ramp.  I'm almost there 
when I feel a hand on my shoulder.  Toby spins me around and pulls me 
into his arms.  "You're a fool, CJ."  He presses a gentle kiss to my 
forehead as he pushes me away gently.  "If you need anything-please 
call me."

"I will."

I look back when I'm halfway down the ramp and he's still standing 
there.  I wave to him and he smiles back broadly for a moment before 
settling back into his regular scowl.  I roll my eyes and board the 
plane, feeling a little lighter than I did a few hours ago.

I'm going home.  I'm going to see my father, and I'm going to deal 
with this.  The rest of the world be damned.

+++++++

Did you tackle the trouble that came your way
 With a resolute heart and cheerful?
Or hide your face from the light of day
 With a craven soul and fearful?
Oh, a trouble's a ton, or a trouble's an ounce,
 Or a trouble is what you make it.
And it isn't the fact that you didn't hurt that counts,
 But only how did you take it?

I've only met CJ's father once, and very briefly.  We were at a 
campaign stop in Modesto, and he had driven down to spend the day 
with his daughter.  I remember how tall he was, and fit looking for a 
man approaching seventy.  His voice was rich and low, much like CJ's 
and I had been struck at the resemblance between the two.

I've only met CJ's father once, but I have talked to him every day 
since she's been gone.  She doesn't return my calls, and refuses to 
speak to me when she's there.  But Paul always has a kind word, and 
we've struck up a friendship of sorts.  Well, as well as any two 
people can over the phone.

He tells me embarrassing stories from her childhood, and I tell him 
things he should be proud of because I know CJ never will.  He talks 
about her activities, and I talk about her absence.  He laughs over 
coffee, and I cry over my beer sometimes.

And then just like that, he tells me to come and visit.  He won't 
listen to my excuses, and mutters something about stubborn females, 
and foolish men.  He tells me that CJ misses me even though she won't 
admit it, but that she probably misses D.C. even more.  He tells me 
that she's started smiling again, and I book my flight.


You are beaten to earth? Well, well, what's that?
 Come up with a smiling face.
It's nothing against you to fall down flat,
 But to lie there-that's disgrace.
The harder you're thrown, why the higher you bounce;
 Be proud of your blackened eye!
It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts,
 It's how did you fight and why?

The cab pulls up to the modest two-story house and I fight my nerves 
as I tip the driver and walk the short distance to the door.  Paul 
meets me on the porch before I have a chance to knock and shakes my 
hand firmly as he pats my back.

"Claudia Jean is out with the dog," he explains as he leads me 
further into his home and ultimately the kitchen.  I set my bag down 
beside the table and smile.

"Does she know I'm coming?"

"No, no-I thought it would be best to surprise her."

"That way she can't run off before I get here," I add sarcastically 
as I accept the glass of iced-tea he sets before me.  "How has she 
been?"

Paul smiles brightly as he sits across from me.  "She's found peace 
here, Josh.  She's getting restless, but I think she needed this 
time.  She needed time to cry, to mourn, and to heal.  And I think 
she's come to terms with it all."  He pauses and then leans 
forward, "How are things in Washington?"

I know he's not talking about the latest bill we're trying to get 
through, or the new Appropriations Committee Chair.  He's not talking 
about the weather, or the Rose Garden.  I shrug.  "It's a non-story 
now, Paul.  It lasted all of one week before Congressman Phillip's 
scandals took center-stage.  Mostly now, the press corps just wants 
CJ back so they don't have to listen to Simon drone on.  They miss 
her-we all do."

"Fantastic-now all you have to do-" he cuts off as a peal of laughter 
erupts behind us.  He half turns in his chair as someone races up the 
steps and opens the screen door.


And though you be done to death, what then?
 If you battled the best you could;
If you played your part in the world of men,
 Why, the critic will call it good..
Death comes with a crawl, or comes with a pounce,
 And whether he's slow or spry,
It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts,
 But only, how did you die?




She looks amazing.  She's wearing a pair of khaki shorts, and a 
simple white tank top, but quite honestly, I don't think she's ever 
looked as beautiful.  Her arms and legs are bronzed from the 
California sun, and her face is set in tranquil lines.  Even her 
posture is relaxed as she holds the door open for the dog that comes 
bounding into the kitchen.

"Hey, Dad, I was thinking that-" she trails off as she realizes who 
is sitting at the table with her father.  "What are you doing here?" 
she asks harshly.

"Don't be rude, Claudia Jean," he father admonishes as he stands 
up.  "I have to make a run to the store, so sit and visit with our 
guest for a while and I'll be back later."

"Dad, tell me what you need, and I'll run to the store.  I haven't 
had a chance to get the oil changed yet, and I don't want you 
stranded somewhere," CJ says as she walks into the kitchen and leans 
against the sink.

Paul sighs with the air of having had the argument before.  "I don't 
need you to run errands for me.  I am perfectly capable of operating 
my own car, a car I've had for almost twenty years by the way, and-"

"All right, all right.  Don't give yourself a heart attack," she says 
as she crosses the kitchen and places a kiss on his weathered 
cheek.  "Just please take my cell phone."

He capitulates and silently takes the small phone in his hand as he 
grabs a set of keys from a hanging hook with the other.  He shoots me 
an encouraging look before he disappears down the hallway, and CJ 
begins wringing her hands nervously, as she looks anywhere but at 
me.  The dog, Rufus, if I remember correctly, has his head in my lap 
and is looking at me with the most incredibly sad eyes until I begin 
to scratch the back of his ears.

"So how are things?" I ask when it becomes clear CJ isn't going to 
speak.

She smiles briefly as she looks down at the dog.  "My father is 
driving me crazy-or maybe it's the other way around, or maybe it's a 
little bit of both."

"Does that mean you're ready to come back?" I ask, hoping my voice 
isn't as desperate as my heart.

"Don't, just don't, Josh," she says wearily as she pinches the bridge 
of her nose.

"Don't what?"

"You can't just come here, unannounced, and then start asking 
questions."

"My visit wouldn't have been unannounced if you would have accepted 
any of my phone calls," I reply angrily as I stand up.

"Doesn't that tell you something, Josh?  I wouldn't even take your 
calls, so what the hell makes you think I wanted you to come here?"  
Her eyes soften and she runs her hand through her hair.  "I'm sorry, 
I didn't mean that-it's just-I'm a little embarrassed."

"About that night in your apartment?" I ask, even though I already 
know the answer.

She lowers her head so that her hair obscures her face.  "I really am 
sorry, Josh.  I-I didn't mean to put you in such an awkward position."

"Don't apologize, CJ.  Don't apologize unless you didn't mean it."  
She looks up at me, and her blue eyes widen as I walk closer.

"What are you talking about, Josh?"

I take her hand in mine, and gently entwine our fingers together.  "I 
have wanted you from the moment you walked into campaign 
headquarters, CJ."

"You have?" her voice is small, almost strangled and I smile as I 
tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear.

"You have no idea how hard it was for me to walk away that night, to 
refuse everything you were offering.  I just didn't want to take 
advantage of you."

"Why didn't you ever say anything?"

"Because there was never a good time.  I was involved with Mandy.  We 
were trying to get a man elected President.  Toby was always 
glowering at me."

"You were scared of Toby?"

"I still am," I admit as I smile.  "And then when we started working-
I just didn't think, I mean, I didn't think you'd give me the time of 
day."

She laughs and smoothes down the collar of my shirt.  "And now?"

"You tell me," I whisper.

She sighs and pulls back, but I don't release her hand.  "I don't 
know what you want from me, Josh."

"I just want you to let me love you."

She wrestles her hand away from mine and walks to the sink, turning 
her back on me.  "I come with a lot of baggage," she says quietly, 
and her voice is thick with emotion.

"I don't care about that, CJ.  I just-I just want to share some part 
of your life," I reply as I place my hand cautiously on her back.  

"I leave the cap off my toothpaste sometimes," she says suddenly as 
she turns to face me.

"What?" I ask in confusion.

"I also leave dirty dishes in the sink.  I sleep with the TV on.  I 
am, in fact, a pack rat.  And I snore."

"What in the hell are you talking about, woman?"

"I just wanted to let you know what you'd be dealing with, if you 
ever, you know, spent the night."

My eyes widen and I place my hands on my hips.  "Are you saying what 
I think you're saying?  Because I just want to be clear before-"

She grabs a fistful of shirt and tugs me forward, silencing me with a 
tender kiss.  I move my hands from my hips to hers, and pull her even 
closer.  "You talk too much, Josh," she says against my lips.  "This 
isn't going to be easy-you know that, right?  I mean, the hours we 
work are going to be hell on this relationship, not to mention the 
media.  I don't know what Leo, or the President is going to-"

"You talk too much, CJ," I interrupt before covering her lips with my 
own.

+++++

Life is good.

Sometimes I tend to forget the simple things in my mad rush to save 
the world.  My father used to tell me to slow down, to enjoy life 
because it would be over soon enough.  I never listened to him 
because I was always in a hurry to get somewhere.  It didn't matter 
that I didn't know my destination.  All that mattered was I got to it 
first, wherever it ended up being.

Josh shifts beside me on the couch and I smile.  Life is very good.

The sun is beginning to peek up over the horizon and I sigh because 
Josh just fell asleep an hour ago, and he'll have to leave for the 
airport in three more.  He was only able to get the weekend, and even 
that required some serious string pulling.  

I cradle the delicate frame he presented me with last night in my lap 
and slide a finger down the smooth glass.  He said the poem reminded 
him of my grace, of my dignity.  And he wanted me to have it so that 
every time I felt discouraged, I could look at it and take heart.  
It's not a sonnet by Shakespeare, and I wouldn't classify it as 
romantic, but it's special to me just the same. 

"I thought you were going to try to get some sleep," Josh mutters 
groggily from the other end of the couch.

I smile and stretch out beside him, nestling comfortably against his 
side, the frame lying forgotten on the floor.  He kisses my forehead 
distractedly and closes his eyes as I tighten my arm across his 
chest.  The couch is not very big, and not terribly comfortable, but 
there's no place I'd rather be at the moment.

I've come to the realization that we pay for the sins of our 
parents.  My mother never loved me, at least not in the way a mother 
should love her child.  My father did his best to protect me, but he 
couldn't change her, couldn't touch that hate in her heart.  And I 
suffered.

I suffered quietly for so many years, biting the inside of my cheek 
to keep from screaming at the injustice of it all.  I visited her 
grave for the first time in years yesterday with Josh.  He held me 
while I cried, and never tried to make excuses for her.  Never told 
me that she loved me in her own special way.  Never told me that I'd 
feel better if I forgave her.

He just kissed me, and told me he loved me.  And that was enough.
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