The Boy-From-Next-Door Routine

By Cappuccino Girl

Genre: CJ/Sam. Angst. Drama.
Rating: R for language and some serious necking.
Spoilers: None, but I assume you have been watching.
Disclaimer: As you can probably guess, the characters aren’t mine. That’s why when you watch the show on TV, it credits Aaron Sorkin, and ends with the John Wells Productions and Warner Bros. logos.

Notes: Follows A Teasing Distance.
This has been an interesting instalment for me to write, especially due to my having lost the perfect ending and needing to rewrite it. Thanks, Eris, for being so wonderfully supportive during my little computer nightmare :-), and to all of you who have begged for me to write this next instalment.

Summary: “That’s all it takes.”






They lean over the desk, almost lying down upon the papers, pens and pictures. They move slightly, causing a mass of files to float towards the floor, papers flying around them. She sees it from the corner of her eyes, but barely registers. She’s sure there is another sound mixed with that of falling leaves. He kisses her along the slope of her neck, listening to her sigh.

“CJ, I just wanted to talk about the press confer-” A familiar voice interrupts the daydream.

~* *~

They fly apart, shooting to opposite ends of the room, the desk acting as a barrier between them. Her cheeks burn and she knows she’s gone scarlet. He’s shoved his hands into his pockets, putting them away so they won’t get him into any more trouble. Both of their eyes are fixed on the figure of the First Lady standing in the doorway.

Abby’s eyes dart between the two of them, unsure of how to start any conversation, as she’s forgotten what she planned to ask.

“Getting ready for the function, were you?” she questions after a moment’s silence, giving them both appraising stares.

CJ tries to nod, but nothing happens.

“Um, yeah,” Sam murmurs under his breath.

The First Lady enters the office, and the walls seem a lot closer than they used to be.

“I assume this wasn’t common knowledge?” she asks casually, waving a hand about to clarify.

The two shake their heads.

“No, ma’am, it wasn’t,” CJ states, once again reverting to her role of resident spokesperson.

Abby nods. “Okay.” Her brow furrows, utterly confused by what she has just witnessed.

Sam and CJ have moved closer together now, and he’s taken her hand. While uncertainty clings to the air around them, Abby can’t help but notice a mutual adoration between the two. “I’ll see you at the dinner.” She walks out, turning around when she’s almost left the room. “You’d better be slightly more restrained in there, or we could have a minor alteration in tomorrow’s news cycle,” she mentions.

“Yes, ma’am.”

They are alone once more, but it doesn’t feel like it. She’s staring at him, pulling out of his hold and moving her hands behind her back. Her stance has altered completely. He’s confused, moves closer to her when she tries to step away.

“CJ,” he whispers.

“Don’t. Don’t come closer. _Don’t_ do anything.” She cries, and he notices the pain in her eyes. “How could I be so stupid? How could we be so stupid as to-” She crumples into the nearest chair.

“Stupid?” he exclaims. “It wasn’t stupid. It was two sensible adults acting on impulse. How were we to know that the First Lady was going to waltz in here?”

“Maybe because this is the White House?” she snaps, anger at herself replacing the initial shock. “No one was supposed to know,” she says into her hands, which now cover her face so he can’t see if she’s crying.

He stands helplessly before her, wishing he’d read some book which would explain her every complexity to him, so he would know what he should do in such a situation. He scratches the back of his neck, eyes focused on the floor, for he knows she doesn’t want him to witness her anxiety.

“Oh God, Sam,” she exclaims. “What happens if more people find out?”

He gives her a critical stare. “Is that so terrible? Anyway, who is the First Lady going to tell besides maybe the President, or a few senior staffers?”

She scrunches up a sheet of paper, watches as her knuckles turn white from the pressure. “That’s all it takes.”

“All it takes for what?”

She throws the ball of paper into the waste basket, and, finding some hidden strength, rises weakly from the chair. She tosses her hair back, and wipes a finger over her eyes, glad that she had the sense to wear waterproof mascara. “We need to go now,” she states, fixing her dress before walking out the door.

He can see her force the transformation to flow through her. It is as though she could kid herself into leaving her personal life behind in the office like a cloak or some accessory she only wears occasionally, and when she walks out into the hallway she is ‘CJ Cregg, White House Press Secretary’ once more. She’s poised, proud, and except for a hint of red in her eyes, nothing reveals the fear she carries with her.

~* *~

She stands in the center of the crowded room taking a sip of the wine she is holding, wishing it was something far stronger. She’s oblivious to the many eyes fixed on her perfect image because she is too deep in thought, and that scares her, for she might blurt something out should anyone approach her to talk.

He’s leaning against one of the white pillars, trying his best to focus on a conversation with the German ambassador, but he can’t stop wondering what she could be thinking behind her mask. He wishes they could discuss everything, but he knows she’s never been one to do that. As he watches her move towards someone Leo is talking with, he considers how much she must value her work, because no one that he’s known has ever caused so much pain to themselves in order to retain perfect credentials. She will have it all, and if she can’t, then she’ll be damn sure that it appears that way. She’s incredible, he muses to himself.

“CJ,” a gruff voice calls behind her, and she spins around to see Toby and Josh. “Did Mrs. Bartlet find you?”

She wishes that the moment might not constantly haunt her, that she could continue as though nothing at all had happened. Him. Her. Hands. Lips. Passion. Panic.

She tucks a strand of stray hair behind her ear while talking. “Yes, she did.” She notices the diagonal marble tiles on the floor in alternating black and white, and it makes her head spin even more profusely than it had before.

“Well, all we can do is hope that we won’t get any more trouble in the next few months,” Josh offers optimistically, and it makes her shiver slightly, for she fears she could provide some.

Josh pauses for a moment, and looks her over before questioning. “You okay, CJ? You look a little, I don’t know, faint, or something.”

She glances up at him, horrified that he’s noticed, because it means that her cover isn’t working. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” She flicks her hair back and forces a smile.

“Good.” His eyes focus on her empty wine glass with the delicate smudge of lipstick around the rim. “You want another?” She nods gratefully and follows him towards the bar, standing besides him as he collects their drinks. In an almost childlike gesture, she gingerly accepts the deep burgundy liquid.

“Tired?” he comments casually as they walk across the room before taking their place at a corner table. She nods, and sinks down into the chair, tossing the folds of fabric around her like a protective veil, and she’s questioning her common sense for even sitting at a table with him.

She nods and takes another sip, thinking of scandals and shame. Her shoulders slip forward and she stares into the glass.

“You sure you’re okay?” Josh questions, touching her gently on the arm.

“Hmm?” She blinks, startled. “Yes, of course.” Her eyes wander towards Sam for a few minutes, and she wishes she could be so carefree. “I’m just going to, you know, go deal with something,” she mentions, before rising once again and making a move towards the glass doors.

From across the room, he watches her depart in a haze of silk as she drifts out the doors that lead outside. He finds it funny that his first thought isn’t why she might be going out, but that it’s freezing cold.

“Would you excuse me.” He moves swiftly to the doors.

“Sam,” Josh calls from his seat at the table, but he doesn’t even notice.

He fusses with the temperamental handle for a moment before it opens for him, and when he steps out he gasps, as he’s sure it’s colder than he remembers.

She stands motionlessly by the trees at the opposite end of the lawn, her shadow making her look like something out of an old film, all mystery and elegance.

He moves purposefully towards her. “CJ,” he calls, but she doesn’t respond, not even when he’s right behind her.

Her arms are wrapped around her waist, and she’s staring at something. Maybe it’s that which she wishes she could see. He doesn’t know, so he says what he is sure of. “You shouldn’t be out here like that.”

“And you shouldn’t be out here at all,” she says dryly, her breath freezing as she speaks.

He places his arm around her, and she shivers before brushing it off. “Don’t do that. I don’t need any more trouble than I already have,” she speaks lifelessly into the dark before her.

“Trouble? You don’t have troubles, you just have a fear of admitting the truth,” he says from behind her.

“And that is?”

“That you love me and are scared of how that appears.”

She spins around, her angry eyes sparkling as fiercely in the dim light as the jewels around her neck. ‘Don’t you dare feed me all your emotionally accessible bullshit again Sam,” she says harshly, her eyes fixed intently on his.

He responds with an earnest look of his own before commenting. “God, you’re beautiful.”

“What?”

“When you’re like this, all full of contradictions,” he continues, in spite of her angered expression, and he can’t stop himself from running his hand down the side of her face.

She turns away again slightly. “You can’t just pull your boy-from-next-door routine with me, Samuel.”

“You think?” he murmurs before leaning in to kiss her.

She only lets it last for two seconds, yet it doesn’t seem cold outside anymore. “Are you crazy?” she half whispers, half yells. “Getting caught once is enough for tonight.”

“See,” he gloats, grinning, and she can’t help but admit that his ways are infectious, and that she’s happier now that she feels she should be.

Her eyebrow arches, demanding further explanation.

“All contradictions. It’s fucking amazing.” He moves towards her again, and she spins around playfully in response.

“No,” she giggles without losing her assertive tone. “Not here.”

“The office?” he mentions unhelpfuly.

“Yeah, you’re a real genius.”

He can tell she’s smiling even though part of her face is obscured by the darkness. “You should do that more often. They say it’s healthy, you know.”

“How do you do this? I’m about ready to, I don’t know, kill myself, and then you come out here, all Prince Charming, and then- Damn. How do you do that?” She looks at him sincerely.

“We can ditch the party. No one will notice,” he remarks spontaneously without answering her question.

She bites her lower lip. “Okay.” The corners of her mouth form a delicate smile, and they depart in opposite directions.

~* *~

He pokes the key around, trying to locate the lock without looking, like a baby trying to fit the square block into the circular hole. They stand sideways, leaning against the closed door of his apartment, and her hand fumbles to undo his bow tie.

When the lock clicks open, they fall over each other into the darkened room, their clothes crumpled, an attractive mess. She pushes his jacket back, and sends it flying across the smooth floor. His fingers move down her shoulders, gently running them under the emerald fabric which barely covers her upper arms.

“The door,” she whispers. He lifts his leg back, and forcefully kicks it shut, while continuing to fuss with the zipper to her dress.

She undoes each of his shirt buttons, celebrating each open button with kisses, as he moves his hands over her back, pulling her close. The political risks looming over them act like a stimulant, and their kisses deepen.

His shirt opened, she strokes her fingers over that which she has uncovered. He glides his tongue down her chest, taking in the smell of her perfume, and her every move.

“We should agree on what we will say if anyone-” she moans as his hands cup her breasts, teasing her nipple. “asks about our relationship.”

“Uh huh.” His shirt falls to the ground, and they move across the living room, towards the open bedroom door.

“Because, you know, we must be prepared, as we are very important people.” She whispers into his ear, while she tries to free him of his pants.

He slips his fingers under her silk dress, pulling it lower, until it falls, a sea of deep green pooling at her ankles.

“I’d like us to be one of those-” she gasps as his fingers run expertly over her. “Inconspicuous couples, who don’t draw attention to their relationship.”

She does her best not to trip over the dress still wrapped around her feet, as they step into the bedroom. He grabs her ass, pulling her onto covers.

“We’ll just have to be very discreet about this,” she gasps, before kissing him deeply, their bodies intertwined on the white sheets.

They fuss to quickly remove any of the remaining clothing which separates them, his hands mapping her body as he does so. His fingers dance up her thighs, and he watches as her head falls back, showing the slope of her neck.

“We need to be honest,” he whispers in between kissing down her neck. “I’ll inform everyone at staff tomorrow, and get it over with.”

Her head flips forward at the sound of his words, hair swept across her face. She shoves him forcefully across the bed.

“Excuse me?”

~ To Be Continued ~


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