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title: not happy
author: august
email: appelsini@hotmail.com
spoilers: to the end of season two
rating: R
Codes: CJ/T
Summary: "there is an ending, somewhere, in all this"

Penelopody has a much cleaner, more well-stocked brain than I. Don't
blame her.

*

She is gradually aware that they are collecting bits of each other.
Suits in her closet, saline solution in his bathroom. Memos thrust into
her hands, "hey CJ, can you give this to Toby tonight?"

She has to pull over onto the side of the road. Traffic passes her by,
news bulletin on the radio talks of impeachment and her head against
the steering wheel. Somewhere, in this, there is an ending.

Later, hours later, his hand on her thigh. Her key on his keyring, his
scotch in her cupboard. Pulled gently, too gently to him, slow moving
over her. Pulling herself away, elbows on mattress eyes open in the
almost morning.

"Toby, no." Head against pillow, alarm set for early meetings with
Babish. "Not, not like this."

Twenty years of history, eight months of these too patient mornings.
Her key on his keyring, his lips on her shoulder. Pulling over onto the
side of the road two times in one week. Leo's whispered tones. Not
crying in her office, opening apartment door, not sure what's inside.

Tears over polenta and CNN.

Waiting in darkness, his breath on shoulder. Closing eyes to "CJ? Are
you, what's wrong?"

"I don't want to think, tonight." Hoping he will understand. Hands on
hip, pulled towards him. Knees and elbows touching sheets, head in
pillow, eyes closed hoping for sudden deafness, blindness anything but
this atrophy.

Counting movements. One, two, three. His hand between her thighs, her
head back, her breath pushed out. Losing count. Stretching out
underneath him, face in pillow. "No," as he tries to move off her.
"Stay."

Dreams of being trapped in pyramids. Dreams of being sealed into walls.

Coffee. Toast. Toby's cigarette. Being watched pulling on clothes.
Sliding rings over fingers, watch over bone. His fingers circling
wrist, metal watch hitting skin. "You've lost weight, CJ."

Wonder at being known too well. Palm stretched across stomach. Wonder
that it is him.

Knowing there is an ending, somewhere, in all this. Thinking about LA.
Thinking about job offers from friends who say, "just in case."
Thinking about sex with nameless men on kitchen tables. Thinking about
sex with men who can't circle wrists like fortune tellers. Men who
likely don't care.

No sweaters. No scarves. No long black coats.

Standing in the White House toilets. Not recognising skin pulled over
cheekbones as her own.

*

fin

she says, "it's too much, you know
this time, it's too much."
http://appelsini.tripod.com/sub-index.html