| Subject: Re: PWP |
Author:
A4
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Date Posted: 20:28:29 02/18/04 Wed
In reply to:
A4
's message, "PWP" on 20:25:42 02/18/04 Wed
Someday she would learn.
Stalking down the aisle past the sleeping reporters, CJ cursed her bad luck and the giddy happiness that had made her drink far too much the previous evening. Muttering something incoherent, she waved Toby off as he approached, continuing her journey through Air Force One towards the cabins she knew would be her saving grace. Sleep, and about a gallon of water, should clear her head enough for the briefing she'd need to give before landing.
The previous evening had been a wonderful coup d'etat. The President had been in perfect form during his speech, garnering a standing ovation at its conclusion. Even Toby had approved; admitting, for once, that the President had done his work justice. That alone had been reason to celebrate, but still more news increased their jubilation – a dicey situation in the Middle East, one they'd been watching closely for days, had been resolved with no incident.
Or so they'd thought.
CJ knocked gently on the closed door in front of her, trying to ignore the buzz in her head that said she was far too tipsy to be doing anything significant. When no answer came, she stepped inside, leaning back against the door and looking eagerly towards the leather couch in the corner. A few hours was all she needed, long enough to sleep off the fuzz in her brain.
They'd all been careless last night, confident in the idea that they had hotel rooms booked overnight, and no reason to be concerned. The celebration had been going on for hours when Leo called the second time – quickly sobering the group with his news. The situation in the Middle East had escalated, the President needed to come home. Immediately.
CJ sighed, collapsing onto the couch and tossing her shoes into the far corner. Dragging thirty grumpy reporters out of bed at 3:30 in the morning had done nothing to help her mood, and the briefing that followed, while subdued, hadn't been her finest hour. Too many grasshoppers, and far too little food.
Someday, she would learn. There was never time to relax – not really.
Laying back, she closed her eyes, sinking further into the leather and hearing it creak beneath her. With a small cushion as a pillow, she felt herself drifting off – the alcohol, and the excitement of the last few hours making it easy.
"Hey, CJ."
In her haze, she thought she was dreaming, the voice coming from somewhere deep within her. The fact that it sounded like Danny didn't phase her, the fact that it was accompanied by a soft touch on her hand didn't even register. After all, it wouldn't be the first, or the last time, she dreamt of him.
"CJ?"
This time, in her conscious mind, the touch did register – although the voice held no significance. She pulled her hand away, tucking it under the cushion and out of reach. "Leave me alone."
"CJ."
She closed her eyes tighter, hoping it would make the person go away, but somehow, doubting that was going to happen. "Is someone dying?" she muttered, wishing she had a blanket to pull over her head. "I mean, right now, on this airplane?"
"No."
"Does the President need me?" She could feel tired tears welling up behind her eyes, and frowned. A couple of hours, that's all.
"Not that I know of."
The string of five words together made the voice suddenly clear, and made CJ suddenly, achingly aware of its owner. "Danny?"
"Yeah."
She let her eyes open, wondering why she hadn't noticed the light of the lamp he'd turned on over the couch, or felt the couch give when he sat down. "You can't be back here."
"Yeah. I know." Moving to rise, he stumbled a little, sinking back into his place on the couch. He was seated in the hollow between her knees and her chest, and his hand, when he fell back, had come to rest on her hip.
This was bad on so many levels.
"Daniel." CJ pushed herself up, feeling her skin tingle as his hand drifted down her leg to rest at the hem of her skirt. He hadn't moved since he'd lost balance; his eyes closed against what she assumed was a rush of dizziness. "You all right there, fishboy?"
"I will never drink with Josh again." His eyes fluttered open, brilliant blue even in the dim light. But as he turned towards her, he suddenly came back into himself; the realisation of where he was, and where his hand was, catching him by surprise. He ran the offending hand through his hair, as though that's what he'd been intending all along. "I'm sorry. Josh said to come back here to get some sleep. I don't think I realised until I sat down…"
"S'okay. I had the same idea myself." She pulled her legs up under her chin, wrapping her arms around them. It suddenly seemed significant that her legs were bare, and even more so that he sat so close to them. She could feel his warmth, could hear him breathe in the silence. "There's probably another cabin back here. We should…"
"Yeah."
She thought about rising, she was clearly the better off of the two of them, the one most likely to make it into another cabin without physical damage, and yet.
Yet.
"It was a good night, wasn't it?" She spoke softly, laying her head against her knees. Her head was still fuzzy, the few minutes of sleep she had doing little to appease it. She needed the sleep, but she wanted the company more.
"'Til the end, yeah. You guys deserve it, the windfall I mean." He shifted on the couch, leaning back against the cushions where her legs had been. He tilted his head towards her, a soft smile crossing his lips. For some reason, it made her heart flutter. "You look like hell."
She chuckled. "You're not looking so hot yourself, you know."
"I guess not." That smile again. This time, it made her shiver.
"Danny?" His hand had reached up to release hers, pulling her legs out so they were draped over his. His touch was surprisingly soft, a lone finger trailing along her calf. She closed her eyes, feeling a dull heat travel through her. "We can't…"
"Can't what?" He squeezed her knee, his finger tracing the hem of her skirt. "We're not doing anything….are we?"
She let her eyes flutter open, meeting his. His tone was teasing, but his expression made her weaken. Sitting forward, she reached for him, pulling him into a fierce kiss. When she let him go, she found herself straddling his thighs, his hands gripped around her waist.
"So, yeah," he breathed. "Now we'd be doing something."
"Yeah." Equally breathless, she leaned her forehead against his, letting her fingers tangle in his hair. Her voice was shaky with desire – with fear. "We shouldn't…"
Tentatively, his hands came up her back, cupping her shoulder blades. She arched backwards into them, feeling a shudder overcome her as he kissed the nape of her neck. "On the other hand," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "Maybe…"
She kissed him again, hands still tangled in his hair, body pressed against his. She was light-headed, intoxicated, and was no longer sure it was just the alcohol. Drawn in by each touch and each kiss, her conscious mind ignored the voice in her head – the one that had kept them from this moment all this time.
Danny gasped, reaching up to cup her face between his hands. He ran a thumb along her lips, stroking softly. "CJ?"
She read the question in his eyes: one last chance to turn back, to let better sense prevail. And, for a fleeting moment, she considered it. But the touch of his hands on her face and the scratch of his beard on her cheek made the decision for her.
There was no turning back.
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