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TITLE: Upside Down and Falling Fast
AUTHOR: Michelle K. (cageygrl@yahoo.com)
CATEGORY: CJ/Josh
RATING: PG-13
ARCHIVE: If you have some of my other stuff, feel free to have this
too. New archives - drop me a line first.
SUMMARY: "This has happened before, so she's not surprised when he
shows up at her door." (post-ep for 'The Fall's Gonna Kill You')
DISCLAIMER: Characters from "The West Wing" don't belong to me.
Instead, they are the sole property of Aaron Sorkin, Warner Brothers Television and NBC.
NOTES: First attempt at CJ/Josh. I don't even know why I wrote this, it 
just flowed from my keyboard. Comments and criticism are greatly
welcomed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This has happened before, so she's not surprised when he shows up at
her door. 

She may have even been expecting it.

"Josh," CJ says with a nod of her head.
 
"CJ," Josh answers. "I wanted to see if you were okay."

"I'm fine," she responds, although they both know that statement isn't true. 

Neither of them is fine. 

He lets his eyes roam over her. She's still wearing the clothes she had 
on when he last saw her, which was over two hours ago. "I thought you 
were going to get some sleep."

"If you thought I was going to sleep, why did you come over here?" she
asks.

"I didn't think you'd actually sleep," he returns. "I just thought
you'd at least go the trouble of changing."

"I sat down on the couch and didn't feel like getting up again," she
answers truthfully. 

At some other time, he may have smirked at this. But he knows what she
means. He knows the wiped out feeling. He felt it after the shooting,
all those months in his apartment. He felt it during Christmas, when
the sound of that damn music wouldn't stop. 

He feels it now.

"Yeah," he replies. 

She realizes that he's still standing there, outside her door. "Oh.
Come in," she says as she steps out of his way.

"Thanks," he says as he enters.

They stand there after she closes the door - after all, there is that
problem with sitting down.

"I told Donna about the satellite." He pauses. "She slapped me."

"Isn't that a little extreme, even for her?"

"It was on the arm."

"Oh."

"She said it was for me making her look like an idiot. I said that she
didn't need any help."

"Slap number two?"

"Yeah. I was going to fire her, but she is entertaining. Even with all
the physical abuse," he says.

He says this to be funny; and she smiles, even though she doesn't find
it all very amusing. Maybe at another time, she would've. But now, she
can't muster the energy to have a sense of humor. She might be able to
muster some bitter sarcasm, but that isn't what either of them needs
right now. So she flashes her artificial grin.

And he smiles back. He knows that the smile is phony, but he's glad to
see it anyway. Because it is her smile - it's beautiful even when it's
an imitation.

"You should contact somebody. You may just be an abused boss."

They are silent for a moment, content not to fill up the empty spaces
with even emptier words. They know each other well enough to not need
the sound anymore. 

She closes her eyes and throws her head back. The light catches her
face in such a way that it reminds him of the first time he kissed her.

It wasn't so long ago. Sometimes - times like this - it can even feel
like it happened yesterday. 

They were on the campaign trail, in her hotel room. They were talking
about something - he can't remember exactly what it was. She claims
that she remembers the conversation perfectly, but he often wonders if
she's just saying that to one-up him. After all, he wouldn't know if
she were lying. 

But, either way, they were talking. He had said something in the
self-satisfied tone that has become his trademark - that, they both
know for sure. She had rolled her eyes and tilted her head back
slightly. Just enough for the light of the lamp to trail down her long
neck. Seeing her there, he realized how beautiful she was. How
beautiful she is. 

And he kissed her. She had been stunned for a moment. He had to fight
the urge to smirk at the look of surprise on her face. He didn't have
to fight the urge long, though, because she had kissed him back.

And that's what the light reminds him of - the way it's caressing her
face now. It reminds him of the first time and all the times in
between. It reminds him of all the times he's glanced at her - as a
lover, as a friend. It reminds him of everything they have together.
And it reminds him of how much he's needed her, all these nights that
they've been apart.

"Claude," he says softly as he moves his fingers across her face.

She opens her eyes now, and there's a little trace of the surprise she
had that first time. Maybe she's even surprised that he's there - so
wrapped up in her own thoughts that years could've passed without her
noticing. But she's aware of his presence now, aware of his look, aware
of his touch.

This is how it begins, with a touch. This is how it usually begins.
They're not even sure why it happens, why it's each other that they
turn to in their loneliness. But this is how it happens; this is how it
begins. This is who they are; this is what they need.

His hand slides away from her face and moves to the small of her back,
pulling her closer to him. There is the smallest of pauses before he
brings his lips to hers. 

Whatever the reasons, they are doing this. Just as they've done before.
They are doing this. They don't turn back. They don't want to.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Afterwards, they lie in bed silently. They are both tempted to say 'I
love you' - because they do love each other. But, somehow, the words
seem hollow to both of them after sex. As if they're just supposed to
say it because they've slept together. 

But they don't want the emptiness now, or the vague appearance of it.
But they don't get fulfillment from not saying it, either. That is the
tightrope they walk when they do this, when they pause their friendship
to explore the sexual attraction that flows between them.

They've often wondered what it would be like to cross the line, to
devote themselves to each other. Or at least devote themselves to each
other as much as two workaholics can. 

But maybe they've already done that. Maybe this is as devoted as they
can be - late night talks and occasional sex. Maybe this is as close as
they can get to having a relationship.

She thinks for a moment; wonders if it might be better to just stop
this all. Stop falling into bed with him; start being only his friend.
She wonders if that would make this simpler. She wonders if she wants
it that way.

CJ rolls on her side, leaving him to look at her back. She wants it
that way - she doesn't want him to see her face, for some reason that
she can't quite explain herself.

"Why do we do this, Josh?" she asks him softly.

"Why not?" he replies, because it's all he can think of. "It doesn't
change anything," he adds.

"Exactly," she shoots back. "It doesn't change anything."

He stays silent, unsure what it is she means. But she stays silent,
too, which troubles him. He doesn't know what's happening now, and he
wonders how it is that every single moment of his life can be so
complicated.


But CJ isn't simple; neither is he. Maybe that is why they end up here,
like they do. Because they fit, somehow, even in their loaded silences.

He rolls on his side to face her bare back. He touches her skin lightly. "Claudia Jean?" he says, his voice rife with questions. 

"It doesn't change the fact that the President's sick, does it? It
doesn't change the fact that we all are party to a lie, does it?" She
says these things still facing away from him. She says these things
barely loud enough for him to hear. 

But he does hear them. And he can picture her face as the words fall
out. He can see her wracked in pain. He can feel it, too. And he wishes
he had a way to take it all away.

"CJ," he says as he puts a hand on her shoulder to comfort her. "I--"

"Talking won't change it, either," she says a little too sharply. It's
not his fault that this is happening. But it is, and she can stop it.
And she can't stand it.

She thinks for a moment about how the world turned upside down a few
months ago - all with the simple click of a button. It had scared her
then - how perceptions could be reversed so quickly.

The world had turned upside down. And, now, the sky was falling.

He doesn't even know she's crying - her sobs are quiet and dry. It's
only when he notices the gentle shaking of her body that he realizes
what's happening.

"Claude," he says softly as he pulls her to him. 

She doesn't resist sinking into his arms or resting her head on his
chest. It feels right, this moment. And maybe that's why they end up
like this. Because they can comfort each other. 

Even when the world is upside down and the sky is falling, they can be
there for each other. To let each other know that there is something
normal in the world.

"I love you," he tells her, because it's true. And because in this
moment, it feels right. It doesn't feel empty.

"I love you," she returns. It's true for her, too. And maybe it should
be enough, beyond all the complications of their relationship. Whether
they're friends, or lovers, or not speaking to each other, they do love
each other. Beyond all the questions of why they do this and how they
ended up here, is the fact that they do love each other. It still
doesn't answer all the questions, but it can be enough for a little
while. 

"The fall's not gonna kill us," Josh says. "We'll get through this."

And it occurs to her, fully, that she's in this with Josh.

She's in this with all of them.

And she's not going to let the fall kill her. No matter how fast it is.

THE END