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The Tallest Orders

by Pares (kormantic@yahoo.com)

CJ/Toby, R-ish? But oh my dear lord, they don’t curse even once!

Spoilers: None to speak of.

Summary: He likes her.

Disclaimer: Everybody in this story belongs to Aaron Sorkin, except for
 Ira Glass. Aaron Sorkin rocks my televised world, and Ira Glass rules
 my radio heart.

NOTES: Punk and Sab held my hand when they weren't smacking me around. 
This story is better than it would have been, thanks to their cheerful 
brutality.


 

 

 

The Tallest Orders


Toby had asked her to go to the Childhood Leukemia Foundation Benefit 
in his place.

"Nope. I'm washing my hair that night."

About the time she figured Toby was debating to himself whether or not 
he could legitimately *order* her to go in his place, Sam stuck his 
head in and asked CJ if she'd been able to find any time for the 
committee on farming goodwill, and weighing a night out, dressed up, in
a limo, with an open bar and expensively prepared chicken, against a 
night spent with a vast number of greenbean farmers who had a bone to 
pick, she replied, "I can't. I have a thing. I'm going to that cancer 
benefit thing? Remember?"

Sam, who couldn't possibly be remembering something she'd only just 
told him, pressed his lips together and nodded briefly, then let go of 
the door jamb and ducked out.

"You'll go for me?" Toby sounded surprised.

"I'll go *with* you. I hate going to parties alone, and it's fun seeing
you try to tie a bow tie. And Andy will be there. That should be good."

"So this isn't a favor, so much as a sadistic experiment in modern 
anthropology?"

"I'm graciously accepting your invitation, Toby."

"And yet, just moments ago you had no trouble turning me down."

"Yes, but moments ago I'd forgotten that I've been trying to dodge that 
farming committee."

@@@

They'd gone in the limo and Toby had futzed with his cufflinks until 
finally she'd fixed them, although he'd managed the tie all right, 
probably as a point of honor. Or else it was a clip on.

She and Andy hovered together and amused themselves by wondering who had 
come for the free liquor and who had come to make the society page. They 
decided that most people had come for both, and then Andy's new husband, 
Devon, had finally arrived and Andy had squeezed CJ's hand and thanked her
for coming.

After an early scuffle with Andy over her association with Seth Gillette 
and his left wing cronies, Toby had retired to the bar.

Not surprisingly, Toby was still there when she went to get a fresh vodka 
and cranberry. 

Toby was leaning on his elbows with his back to the bar, facing the room. 
Following his gaze, she smiled to see him tracking the statuesque blonde 
hanging on the arm of Senator Givens.

"You like tall women."

Toby didn't bother to look up but she could feel him frowning at her.

"I'm just saying. You do. Andy is tall. Ann Stark is tall."

"There happens to be a statistically not insignificant percentage of tall 
women in Washington D.C. Tall women. Who wear heels. And I wouldn't really
describe Ann Stark as tall." He deigned to give her a sidelong glance, and 
then turned again to face the barkeep and wave, resettling on his 
barstool. "And what makes you think that Ann Stark and I ever--" 

"It's a lucky thing I'm not press secretary, or else I'd know everything 
and then where would you be? You, my friend, are a gigolo. *You* are the 
White House gigolo! Hm."

"What?" And even though he probably hadn't been asking about the 'hm,' CJ 
continued.

"It's just that, somehow, I always thought Sam would be the gigolo."

"Sam? Sam-- why would you think that?"

"Well, he *is* the pretty one. I guess it could also be Josh, since he has 
groupies and everything. But it's you. Is that fair?"

"Fair?"

"I'm good looking, Toby. I'm witty *and* charming. And yet, here I am, 
alone at a party. How is that fair? You're out there, the White House 
gigolo and I'm-- I'm not exactly-- I mean. I live like a nun! 
Practically." Great. This is all so much better. Go CJ go.

Toby mumbled something, and she nudged him with her elbow.

"You'd have to join a tall order."

"That's almost funny, Toby. How many of those have you had?"

"Three."

The bartender, who was adding a wedge of lime to her vodka and cranberry 
said, "Four."

Toby frowned at the bartender and then pressed his fingertips to his 
forehead, as if shading his eyes from some sudden light. He looked at her 
for a long moment and said, "You're the tallest woman. In the world. Did 
you know that?"

Deciding it was wiser to pretend he hadn't said that, CJ took her drink 
and walked away.

@@@

When she looked up, Donna was standing at her desk with her hands clasped 
in that winsome "I'm a sweet blonde girl, won't you help me?" way she had. 
CJ didn't want to smile right away, because then Donna would know for sure 
that whatever favor she was going to ask was probably going to be granted.

 

"Donna. What can I do for you?"

"I was just speaking to Carol? And she told me that you had an interview 
lined up with Ira Glass? And I was wondering--"

CJ took off her glasses and squinted at Donna.

"Ira Glass? From This American Life, Ira Glass?"

Donna nodded slowly.

"Carol!"

Carol stuck her head in and looked at CJ inquiringly.

"I have an interview with Ira Glass, apparently. When did this happen?"

"I just got off the phone with WBEZ. You had some room in your schedule on 
April 11th and I thought--"

"Oh my god. Ira Glass!" She stood up and patted her hair absently. "What 
am I gonna wear?"

"So you can make the April 11th thing?" Carol didn't quite smile, but CJ 
knew it was there. Not two weeks ago, CJ had been waxing rhapsodic about 
This American Life and the many fine qualities of Ira Glass, and Carol was 
fabulously intuitive, the best assistant she'd ever had, a queen, a gem, a 
delight, a wonder of a woman.

"CJ--" this from Donna, slightly plaintive.

"Yes. Donna. Sorry about that." CJ dropped into her chair again and Donna 
settled gingerly on the edge of CJ's desk. "Yes?" CJ prompted, and Donna 
smiled nervously. 

"Would you introduce me? If it's not too much trouble? It's Ira Glass and 
I've always wanted to meet him, and I listen to his show every week, 
and--"

"Donna! Come on, you just *had* a date, with that tax analyst, Gerry or 
Garry or something. This is my time to impress upon Ira Glass that my love 
for him is real."

"But so is mine! It's not fair! You can't have him all to yourself. 
Please?"

"Also, there's the possibility that he's married."

"Oh. Yeah. But. If he's not--" Donna said hopefully.

"If he's not, I've got dibs."

"Oh, all right. But can't you introduce me anyway? He's dreamy." Then she 
looked thoughtful. "Not that I, really, even know what he looks like."

CJ closed her eyes and tried to picture him.

"Ummm. Dark hair? Glasses. I think. I actually have no idea. But it 
doesn't matter, I love him and he *will* be mine."

"Who will be yours?" Toby was at the door.

"Ira Glass. He doesn't know it yet, but he's madly in love with me."

"Okay." And then he wandered away again.

@@@

 

Sam was currently complaining to her about Ainsley and how she was 
irritatingly right about certain things. Josh came by and stood in the 
door of her office and threw balled up handfuls of paper at them until 
they turned as one to give him a peevish look. Then he smiled his little 
"now I'm satisfied" Josh smile, and having garnered their attention, 
walked away without a word. 

Apropos of nothing Sam asked her, "Do you think Donna could take Ainsley 
in a fair fight? You know, like in a cage match? Or maybe mud wrestling."

He blinked at her, and looked appropriately chastened, when she gave him 
the look that said she was moments from deciding to stomp on his instep 
and give him a judo chop.

@@@

Leo stopped by and sat down in the chair next to her desk.

He flapped a manila folder once against his knee, and she looked at him 
over her glasses.

"What do you know about the Hilgev memo?" 

"I really don't know a thing about the Hilgev memo, Leo. I assume I'm 
going to be learning about it soon?"

"Yup. Here you go. The highlights: Russian émigrés coming into the country 
through Canada. A moving truck full of 'em got detained this afternoon. 
Probably you'll get some calls tomorrow." 

"I almost can't wait for that, Leo."

"Thanks, CJ."

"You're very welcome."

"Give it a look; Toby'll be by to strategize a little." He stood up and 
rapped gently on her desk. "You need anything?"

CJ placed her hands flat on her desk, rolled her neck and flexed her 
shoulders.

"A large, handsome Swedish man licensed to give full body hot-oil 
massage."

"Is it something about my face?"

"Leo?"

"Is there something in my face that encourages people to volunteer 
personal information? Because I'm just gonna stop asking."

She smiled at him.

"Okay." 

@@@

In the mess, while she stood at the salad bar, Sam asked her to name the 
national exports of Zimbabwe, and when she caught his eye to shoot him 
down, she realized he'd tipped his chin up to meet her gaze. She was 
looking down at him. She did that a lot, and not just with Sam.

Idly, she wondered how tall Sam was in his stocking feet.

Certainly, she wasn't an Amazon, but even in flats she was usually taller 
than most men in the room.

She was taller than the President of the United States.

"Sam, could it be possible that I'm the tallest woman in the world?"

"No."

"There's no chance of my being the tallest woman in the world?"

"You're not even in the top ten. But if you can name me the national 
exports of Zimbabwe, in alphabetical order, and that country's Gross 
National Product last year, I will proclaim you the tallest woman in the 
world."

"You're humoring me."

"No, seriously, I'll get a plaque made."

@@@

It was nearly nine before Toby stopped by to outline the press statement. 

She prepped it, and stood up to hand it back to him, but misjudged the 
distance or lost her grip, because the press statement and the Hilgev memo 
flopped to the carpet.

And when she was on her way up from dropping the Hilgev Memo, Toby sort of 
bobbed in and kissed her, very quickly, on the mouth.

They both froze, then, and CJ stared at him, trying to think of what to 
do.

When nothing came to mind, she kissed Toby back, dipping her head and 
dropping the Hilgev memo again so she could hold Toby's shoulders.

They continued to kiss until CJ had lost her breath and regained a measure 
of her sanity. Then she pushed him away and staggered over to drop down on 
the couch, before pointing accusingly.

Toby dropped his eyes and studied the ruffled pages of the Hilgev Memo, 
where it rested beside his scuffed shoe.

"I *know* you. You *look* all meek and mild-mannered, but in actual fact, 
you're a... megalomaniac!"

"A megalomaniac?" Toby looked like he was going for 'hurt', but his eyes 
crinkled, and hinted at 'smug' instead. 

"Okay, maybe that was a little over the top. It's just... Toby, this is a 
*bad* idea. A really bad one, with big potential to become... much much 
worse. I'm asking you. As a friend. Don't *do* this to me."

"I'm not doing a thing, CJ. Nothing. See? I'm standing over here, and 
doing... nothing."

"You're doing that thing. That downcast eyes, hands in your pockets, sober 
little pursing your mouth thing. You have to stop doing it. I mean it."

"What?"

"I'm only human, Toby!" 

Toby raised his eyebrows. CJ sighed and raised her arms to the heavens.

"What am I doing? Am I insane? You've got a beard, for god's sake!"

"You like beards."

"No, I most assuredly do not."

"You liked Danny."

"I can't explain my lapses in taste, Toby. Or in judgement, apparently, 
because, in case you weren't aware, I spend a good portion of my day being 
interviewed by the press, and it's probably not a good idea to be up there 
all, you know, rosy with beardburn."

"Well. You look good that way."

She paused and said, "You think I-- Oh, no, no, don't you turn this 
around! Technically-- well, you're my boss. It's just... sordid, that's 
what it is. This is a sordid affair!" 

"CJ, look--"

"No. No. I'm not-- I can't talk about this right now."

"I'm just trying---"

"Why why WHY are you doing this? Why-- where were you 10 years ago?"

"I was married," he said simply and CJ shut her mouth.

"Right. Right. I'd forgotten that for a moment." She ran a hand over her 
hair, and rested her palm against her forehead, thinking fiercely. "Okay. 
Here's what we do."

Toby looked at her expectantly.

"I go back to my place. And you pick up a bottle of wine. *Good* wine. And 
you come by. And we'll... talk."

"If we're... talking, will I really need the wine?"

She glared at him.

"Okay then. Let me ask you this: is this the sort of talk where I should 
bring a bottle of scotch instead?"

@@@

Wendy and the Lost Boys. Admittedly, Toby was an unlikely Peter Pan, but 
he'd flown to her window and told her wonderful stories about a 
never-never land of politics and civic duty and if it had seemed more real 
to her than her sunny days in Hollywood, well, she'd always had an active 
imagination.

And now she was one of the boys, but their mother and their sister, and 
sweetheart, too. Wifeless men, and she a wifeless woman. Or something.

The doorbell rang and she hadn't even brushed her hair.

She opened the door to see Toby staring at the doorbell with his hands 
behind his back.

"Why did you kiss me?"

"I just-- I wanted to. Why did you kiss *me*?"

"Well. I didn't want to be impolite."

He raised his eyebrows. 

"You kissed me because you didn't want to be impolite?

"Sort of. Do we really need to discuss this now?"

"I would like to point out that you asked me first. What if my advances 
had been unwanted? Were you... were you feeling threatened?"

"No! Toby-- And I'll have you know that Ron Butterfield himself has 
trained me in hand to hand combat."

"Really?"

"Well, no. But I *have* taken several courses in women's self-defense."

"Okay then. So. You gonna throw me over your shoulder if I try to kiss you again?"

"That remains to be seen. Did you bring wine?"

He held out the bottle and she turned away to read the label in the hall 
light.

"'Chateau La Guerre'."

"Is that good?"

"Well, it's not wine in a box, or Mad Dog 20/20. It's not *bad*...." 
She backed into the hallway, and he crossed her threshold, sliding his 
hands into the pockets of his coat.

"Because I don't know anything about wine. I don't drink wine. 
Usually."

"What do you know about Glenlivet?"

"I know it's a single malt beverage. It's 12 years old," He nudged the 
door closed with his elbow. "The age a girl can be legally married in 
Bangladesh, I should add."

He leaned close to kiss her, his hands still in his pockets, and she 
whispered, "Is that true?"

"Is what true?"

"The legal age to be married thingy?"

"CJ-- I honestly have no idea. I'm wondering, would it be possible for 
us to not talk. At all. Right now?"

"We should have the wine."

"I don't want the wine, CJ. I didn't come here for the wine, or even 
the conversation, I came here--"

"Why *did* you come here? Because I think I made it clear that this was 
really not your brightest idea."

"You invited me," he reminded.

"Yes," she said, and she put the wine down and wiped her hands on her 
hips. "I did that. But still."

"…And sometimes you should get what you want."

"Do you mean I should get it, or you should?"

"*We* should. Honestly. I think you would not be unhappy with this, if 
we--"

"So, what you're really saying is 'you don't know what you're 
missing'?" And she sat down on her couch so she wouldn't have to look 
down at him when she told him no.

"Possibly. Also, 'baby, you ain't seen nothing yet.'"

"Yes, but what concerns me is that I won't know what I've got 'til it's 
gone. Toby. Think. If this gets out, there'll be trouble. And if I 
sleep with you, and I like it, and I probably will, and we have to 
stop, I'll miss it, and then I'll regret it, and then where will I be?" 

"In a parking lot?"

"Joni Mitchell references aside, Toby, it's not that I don't want to--" 

"I should have brought the scotch. Just-- CJ." And he rubbed his 
forehead before *looking* at her, directly at her, which he almost 
never did. "I can be... very persuasive!" Then his eyes skidded away 
again, and he continued, "At times."

He sat down on the couch beside her and said, softly, "I know. I know 
that... probably you're right. But. Don't you even want to give it a 
chance?"

"Toby!" This strange softness in Toby, this reaching out thing he was 
so stubbornly, gently doing was inspiring dark thoughts. How could he 
*do* this to her? She wanted to sock him one, but instead she just 
raised her voice. "You are making me *insane*. And *not* in the good 
way. If. *If* you weren't, technically, my--"

"CJ, they're not gonna catch us making out under the bleachers!"

"No, but if we have a fight, like this, at work, surrounded by people, 
it sure as hell won't be too tough to figure out!"

Toby clasped his hands together between his knees and chewed 
thoughtfully on his lower lip for a moment. He said, "What if I say I 
don't care?"

"Then you'd be an idiot. *And* a liar. And you're not an idiot. And you 
had better not have ever lied to me, because I will find *out* and then 
I will make you *pay*."

"Look. I'm not. This isn't a lie. This is… About us. You and me."

In that moment, she forgave him for his aggravating tenderness, because 
she felt suddenly vindicated. Something she had long suspected was now 
spoken fact, and there were few things CJ liked more in the wide world 
than knowing she had been right all along. 

"You like me!" CJ crowed, poking Toby in the chest. "You really like 
me."

"Yeah, I like you," Toby groaned. "I like you, and Sally Field. It's a 
great day in America."

"You like Sally Field?"

"Not as much as I like you."

"You have a *crush* on Sally Field! I never knew this."

"I am now liking you less than I was before. In fact, Sally Field is 
pulling ahead."

"Any other nervous conditions I should know about?"

"Does scotch count? I can't think of any. And also... this is a little 
bit stupid."

He pressed his knuckles to his temple and cocked his head at her.

"I buy trouser socks when I'm upset about something," CJ confessed 
cheerfully.

"Trouser socks. 'Trouser' 'socks'," he repeated, waving his hand 
slightly as if counting the words, or introducing them to one another. 
"I didn't know that was a thing."

"Yes. It's my secret shame."

"And you thought *we'd* be the scandal."

"I have to say, Toby… I'm feeling pretty scandalous. At this moment." 
And she leaned closer, and murmured, "So you'd better act fast."

And really, he didn't hurry, but it was all right, because she figured 
her mood would remain scandalous for some time. 

@@@

She took care of herself, and yes, mostly it was because there was no 
one else to take care of her, but she took *good* care of herself. She 
ran, she biked, she ate right, and she pampered herself at every 
opportunity. Creams and lotions and long baths, and sunblock and 
moisturizer and exfoliants.

So she was glad she hadn't skipped shaving under her arms this morning, 
and she knew that her hands smelled of peppermint oil and Toby tasted 
like cigars and chocolate.

"Why do you taste like chocolate?"

"There's an obvious answer to that, but I'm going to let you draw your 
own conclusions," and he kissed her again.

@@@

He said, "Easy, baby."

She stared at him.

"Did you just call me 'baby'?"

"Uh. Yes?"

"If you keep calling me that-- well, I'm gonna laugh for one thing."

"I don't mind," and he kissed the hollow of her throat.

"Really? Because… I have to tell you, it hasn't gone over well in the 
past."

"Just relax. Baby." And his voice was exactly the same as it always was 
and he looked just the same and it was inexplicably charming to kiss 
his naked scalp while he nuzzled her breasts, and the laugh bubbled up 
and she couldn't help it.

And he didn’t mind.

@@@

In the morning, she watched him tug on his BVDs, and they were saggy in 
the seat, and it was evidence that he hadn't planned anything, and it 
made her smile.

She watched him stoop at the sink and lather his beard with her 
glycerin soap, and watched him brush his teeth and congratulated 
herself for buying one Oral B Compact Soft Bristle in every color on a 
whim. Even if she had actually planned to let Danny choose one, 
possibly in teal, and instead it was Toby, brushing his teeth with the 
maroon one.

Toby patted his face with a towel and said, "Do you want to know how I 
became the gigolo of the White House? Word got out that I can cook."

"You can't cook. I know you can't cook. Remember what I said about the 
lying thing?"

"I can cook breakfast. I can do things with eggs that you wouldn't 
believe."

And he made her eggs benedict and she hadn't even known she'd had the 
things in the house to *make* eggs benedict, and she wasn't sure how 
old the eggs were, but they smelled... better than good, and as a 
general rule, she wasn't a big egg fan.

After breakfast, he even washed the dishes, and he put on his suit coat 
and leaned over to kiss her and he smelled like eggs and coffee and 
also her mint toothpaste that whitened and fought plaque and 
gingivitis, and in his beard, beneath her glycerin soap, was the faint 
scent of herself.

She felt the first touch of real panic.

How the hell was she supposed to argue with him at work if she knew he 
knew what she tasted like? 

@@@

 

"Did you get some sun?"

"What?" She looked up from the statistics on the West Nile Virus 
outbreak, groggy with numbers.

Donna waved a hand at CJ, and said, "You look like you got some sun."

"Uh. Yeah. I guess. I had lunch at Etzo's. The patio?"

Donna nodded and smiled.

"I love their salads."

"It's the pine nuts," CJ offered, gingerly pressing her hand to her own 
flushed cheek. 

 

@@@

 

"Does anybody know anything about…" CJ consulted her sheet and looked 
up again, "The KKK and Missouri's Adopt-A-Highway program?"

Josh tucked his chin and smiled, leaning against his desk. "You know 
what they say about Missouri, right?" 

"No," she said tiredly. "What do they say about Missouri?"

"It's The 'Show Me' State," Sam volunteered.

Josh held up his hands and said, "What? Missouri loves company. That's 
all I'm sayin'."

"Thank you for that. So, any takers on my *actual* question?"

"The ACLU successfully defended the KKK in court in Missouri, saying 
the state was denying them their civil rights by refusing to allow them
to participate in the Adopt-A-Highway program. It's going to the 
Supreme Court, and they'll uphold the ruling," Toby said, not bothering 
to look up from his own notes.

"And the KKK wants to pick up trash on highways why?"

"It makes them look as if they're just another civic minded 
organization, instead of a group of racist thugs with an agenda of 
White Is Right, and a history of violence and oppression." Sam had his 
crusader hat on again.

"They're mainstreaming," CJ murmured. "Okay. And does anyone else think 
that any street sign that's emblazoned with a 'KKK' *won't* be 
vandalized ten seconds after they put it up?"

"It doesn't matter," Josh informed her. "If we only protected the 
rights of the people we liked--"

"Folks," Leo said. And they all looked his way. "The President is on a 
schedule, yes? Let's take this up later. He's waiting on you. You know 
how much he likes that." And he herded them down the hall.

@@@

Later that day, she came back to her desk to find a Hershey's Kiss on 
her blotter, where anyone might have seen it. 

@@@

She waited until Donna had left for the day and then she went down the 
hall to Toby's office and closed the door behind her.

When he looked up, she could feel some small buzz at the back of her 
mind telling her she was about to overreact, but the chocolate kiss was 
symbolic, indicative of other subtle behaviors and new complexities and 
she was afraid of what it might mean.

"You can't do that. I'm telling you right now. You left it on the desk 
and anyone might have seen it and-- you surprised me. I mean, yes, it 
was sweet, but work is work, and I can't concentrate if--"

He stood up and pressed his palms against his desk.

"What! Are you talking about?"

"The kiss, Toby, the Hershey's Kiss you left on my desk."

"I didn't. I didn't leave a kiss on your desk."

"But. But you--"

"It wasn't me," he insisted. And he sat down again and steepled his 
fingers, looking pensive.

And of course, *now* she was irrationally disappointed, and her "You 
didn't?" sounded crestfallen even to her own ears.

"It was Josh," Toby said quietly. "He likes the foil they come in. He 
rolls it up real small and pelts it at Sam and Donna when he's bored."

"Oh." And she'd known that. She'd *known* that. "Sorry about that, 
then." And she cleared her throat and walked out.

@@@

The next day found her staring at her day book and feeling like utter 
crap.

Josh breezed by and glanced in, and then stopped and came back.

"Something up?"

"Yes. Something is up. Today is Carol's birthday, and I'm a crummy 
boss."

"You forgot it, huh?"

"Yes and no. I remembered to write it down. I just didn't remember to 
do anything about it." She leaned her forehead on her hand and sighed. 
"My mind is a blank. I can't think of a thing to get her. What kind of 
person am I?"

"You could take her to lunch," Josh suggested.

"You see? You're a boy. And boys think all you need to do is take 
people to lunch on their birthdays, but really, you need to put some 
effort into it, Josh, some *thought*, some *time*--"

"You don't have time."

She peered at him from under the shelter of her hand.

"You know what? You're not helping."

Donna stopped to hand off a binder to Josh.

"Is he bothering you?"

"Yes," And then she said, "Donna. Do you know what Carol might want for 
her birthday?"

"Well, some people like skiing equipment, or even ski *trips*," she 
said primly, and Josh rolled his eyes and walked away. "But Carol just 
broke up with her boyfriend, and she probably--"

"She broke up with Dave? I didn't know that! Why didn't you tell me?"

"They broke up a month ago. Remember? She took those four days off 
and--"

"Donna, I'm a *crummy* boss. She was with him for two years!"

"You know what she could really use? She could use a romantic 
adventure. An introduction to a cultured and exciting and possibly 
eligible man. A man in Chicago."

CJ leaned back in her chair.

"The Women in the White House thing?"

Donna nodded.

"Carol has a crush on Ira Glass, too?"

Donna nodded again.

"Do me a favor? Book Carol a flight to Chicago-- and a room at the 
Ritz-Carlton. Carol has my credit card." And Donna flashed a smile and 
turned to leave, and CJ said, "Wait! Donna. Book two flights, and a 
double room. For you and Carol. You can fight over him when you get 
there."

"Fight over who?" And there was Toby, a highlighted sheaf of papers in 
his hand.

"Ira Glass," Donna said, and smiled again at CJ before she left. 

"Ira Glass. It seems to me, I heard somewhere that he was madly in love 
with you. Are you meeting him somewhere?"

"Yes. Chicago. It's a thing. It's a fluff piece. Women in the media. 
Women in government. Women in the... something. We'll look good, and 
Donna will get to flirt with Ira Glass." 

"And what will you be doing?" And it didn't sound like a joke.

"Working, Toby. I'll be working. It's what I do." 

He set the papers in her in-box without another word.

@@@

Donna had gone to the mall on her evening break and came back with four
different make-up-with-sunblock samples, handing two to CJ.

"Alabaster skin," Donna said.

CJ studied the tube: SPF 30.

@@@

 

The dinner hour had come and gone and she was shouldering her briefcase 
to leave for the day when Toby knocked twice and then invited himself 
in.

"Toby. What can I do for you?"

"Are you, uh, doing anything? Later?"

"Yes. I'm going home. I'm going to catch up on some reading and then 
I'm going to go to sleep." She really didn't want to get into this, she 
didn't want to have to explain herself, and she didn't want to have to 
look at him when she told him it wasn't going to work.

"Okay." And he rocked a little on his heels, as if planning his next 
statement.

"Toby. Look. It was fun. And it would be great if I could have that, 
and have this, and have everything be okay. But in my experience, no 
one can keep anything a secret for very long, especially in Washington, 
and I'm just not prepared to live a double life right now. I mean, 
yesterday Donna asked me if I'd gotten some sun, and I *told* you--"

"Okay. CJ-- it's okay."

"Okay." And he nodded a little and tucked his chin. At the door he 
turned around and came back in to leave something on her desk.

It was a Hershey's Kiss.

@@@

 

The next morning, Toby was standing in the bullpen and she had to look 
twice before she recognized him.

Toby was clean shaven.

Without the beard Toby looked chinless and weirdly vulnerable. As if 
someone had dyed only half an Easter egg, his jaw and chin pale and 
soft looking. She wanted to run the pad of her thumb against that spot 
just below his lower lip. And also yell at him.

She wondered if she should do something dramatic. Maybe stumble back 
with her hand at her throat, or even swoon. People still swooned, 
right?

Careening past Carol, who was currently discussing what they would be 
packing for Chicago with Donna, CJ dumped her papers on the couch in 
her office and made a beeline for Toby. She grabbed his arm and towed 
him away from his huddle with Sam and Josh, and they gave Toby a 
sympathetic look. It was plain that they thought Toby was in for a 
caning.

She led him back to her office, closed the door, let him go and made a 
concerted effort to keep her voice down. In fact, for a long moment she 
just bit her lip and looked at him. At his naked face and his new 
mouth, a face she knew but had never seen before. 


"Grow it back. Toby, you have to grow it back! Right now!"

"I'm pretty sure you know it doesn't work that way," and his beard no 
longer hid his amusement.

"How can you do this? You're secretly incredibly incredible, and 
you're gonna make me cry," she warned.

He put a hand on her elbow, just her elbow, and squeezed, and she took 
a deep breath.

"Grow it back, Toby," she ordered, and gently tugged her arm away. 
"I'll be at home. Tonight. If you wanted to. Call. Or something."

@@@

He was standing on her stoop.

"I brought wine."

"You brought *good* wine. You brought a Chilean merlot."

"Yes."

"Toby. I'm-- I'm really glad you brought good wine."

And she let him inside.


@@@

His hand on her ankle, and his fingers sliding up her skirt.

He made her neck sweat.

She lifted her head to watch him, and she could see herself in the 
mirror, her hair clinging to her neck, dark at the temples, the sharp 
relief of her own collar bone and the small hills of her breasts, and 
she looked-- surprised. Closing her eyes, she fell back, jouncing the 
mattress, and Toby never stopped what he was doing, only closed his 
hand on her hip, trying to hold her still. 

And, really, who would be better at this than a chinless man? Although 
she supposed an argument could be made for chinless women...

Later, she said, "You know what I think? I think you're bald because 
your brain likes to show off."

"CJ," he said patiently. "That makes no sense at all."

"It makes sense. It makes a *kind* of sense," CJ insisted.

"If you say so," and he rested his hand on her shoulder.

She blinked at him and then she said, "You look like that turtle. That 
turtle that was always beating Bugs Bunny at his own game? In that 
race?"

"I think that was a tortoise, actually."

"And in the grand scheme of things, that matters how? You look just 
like him. Sort of sleepy and sweet, yet secretly sly."

"That's. You have some alliteration thing, there. Look, I-- I don't 
know where you get this thing that I'm some kind of criminal 
mastermind. I'm not trying to be anything." 

"Toby. Sally Field?"

Toby waved vaguely. "She's spunky."

"*I'm* spunky."

"Yeah. And I like you."

"You really, *really* like me."

END