Title: When the Earth Moves 
Author: CGB
Web: http://Appelsini.tripod.com
Email: luberluber@yahoo.com.au
Archive: Sure
Category: CJ/T
Rating: PG - 13
Spoilers: Some ITSOTG and Mandatory Minimums
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to Shroom-boy and WB.
Summary: It's all over bar the shouting.
 
Thanks again to Ms Jenny McD for her political nous.
 
*
 
"Give me a place to stand and I will move the Earth" - Archimedes
 
*
 
It has a beginning and an end, a first time and a last.
 
The first time is hazed in his memory, surreal and intangible. 
 
He remembers arguing in a bar only his opponent eludes him. He 
thinks it might have been Sam. He remembers Sam saying something 
about mathematicians and military strategists and needing a place to 
stand in order to move the Earth.  He argued, convincingly, that 
mathematicians in military strategy were superfluous despite the 
reputation of Archimedes, and Sam had taken the opposition because 
Sam knew the rules - take a stance and stick to it. During such 
arguments CJ and Josh were philosophical, prone to giving over to the 
other side if the other side presented a better argument. 
 
But Josh was a freight train when he knew he was right. Maybe it was 
Josh?  
 
It was, however, CJ who rescued them.
 
"To campaign finance reform!" she said holding her glass high. 
 
"Gays in the military!" Sam added and they all drank again.  
 
He was singing "Old Man River". CJ applauded and Sam buried his 
face in his hands. 
 
He watched her drinking from a pint glass and he had that feeling that 
came over him like sleep, a feeling that he needed to touch a spot just 
inside the collar of her blouse.  
 
He thinks he might have told her this.  He remembers her standing 
outside the bar and laughing. They were alone and he can't remember 
why, whether they left the others inside or whether they were left. 
 
He kissed her. He claims later that all reason had flown from him after 
the third pint glass but he knows that he gave himself a choice. Act 
now or never act at all. 
 
Later, in her apartment, it was Archimedes' lever that came to mind as 
he unbuttoned her blouse and kissed that spot at the base of her neck. 
The lever that rests on the fulcrum that is needed to move the world.
 
He told her how much he wanted her. That he's wanted her for years.  
 
*
 
He still wants her.  Even when he knows she is currently mid-flight to 
Australia for a series of speaking dates before she heads off to Europe 
for more of the same.  Even when he has told her otherwise.  
 
But he had to give her that.  Something that was final. An end.
 
He kicks at leaves in his path outside his apartment. He goes to the bar 
on the corner everyday at the same time. He leaves when he's read the 
Post and downed his Scotch unless he manages to instigate an 
argument with the young female political science student working the 
bar in which case she'll pour him a second on the house just to shut 
him up. 
 
He was sure he never saw a Washington autumn when they were in the 
White House. He used to joke that he hated the outdoors but it doesn't 
seem so funny anymore. 
 
They all left.  Josh was in Wisconsin insisting he was going to put the 
first woman president in the White House, Sam followed Josh 
claiming that Josh was nothing without him and everyone agreed he 
was probably right. Leo retired only to resurface in the DNC and CJ 
waived career making decisions and accepted invitations to speak on 
women and leadership around the world. The Bartlet's returned, as 
everyone knew they would, to New England. 
 
They left him behind to watch and wait. 
 
There are four flights of stairs to his apartment which he climbs rather 
than take the elevator because he tells himself he needs the exercise 
but he knows it's really because he hasn't been in a hurry for a long 
time.
 
His movements are steady in spite of the sound of the phone ringing 
inside. He unlocks the door at a leisurely pace before picking up the 
phone.
 
"Yeah?"  
 
"Hey you," CJ's voice on the other end is tired, languid. 
 
"Hey."
 
"You're home."
 
"Have I not been?"
 
"I called you yesterday."
 
"I have a machine."
 
"Toby, I'm not talking to your machine."
 
"Then it's fortunate you've caught me at home." 
 
"I guess so." A silence. "How have you been Toby?"
 
"Fine," he says too emphatically, "fine, I met with Danny yesterday. 
He's expecting to launch the thing next year." His voice is tinged with 
annoyance. He made it clear that he would frown on any publication 
concerning the Bartlet administration and then Danny had sought him 
as an advisor.  He couldn't say no because he knew she'd be angry.
 
"I heard." 
 
His chest constricts a little as it sinks in that she contacted Danny 
Concannon. He thinks this is Washington to her now. The home of her 
past lives.
 
"How are you CJ?" 
 
"Fine. I leave tomorrow for my world tour. It's a pity you're not 
coming along. I could use a support act."
 
He smiles to himself. 
 
"Maybe some other time. How long are you gone for?"
 
"Three months. I'll be back in time for Christmas."
 
"And what will you do then?" He says the words without being able to 
stop himself.  
 
"Well you know what they say. Turn the US on its side and everything 
loose falls into California."
 
"You came loose?"
 
"We all did Toby.  
 
* 
 
The morning after the first time he hides in his office, feeling eighteen 
again. He never liked being eighteen. He didn't like lacking 
confidence, making mistakes and being unsure of himself.  
 
He hated making mistakes so he stopped making them. Until now. 
And he thinks this one might be the one that makes up for lost time.
 
CJ doesn't challenge his privacy. The Press Room is a hive of activity 
all day and he receives word that Leo is cooking up a big finale. In the 
mean time he is asked to entertain his ex-wife and he finds himself 
keen for the diversion. 
 
Their meeting is conducted in good spirits. He even takes the news of 
her date jovially. 
 
But avoiding CJ is impossible. Later the all find themselves in the 
residence, Bartlet pretending to be furious when their devotion secretly 
tickles him. 
 
She corners him on the way back to his office.
 
"I'm sorry," she says.
 
"What for?" he feigns a casualness he doesn't feel.
 
"Whatever it is that stops you from being able to look at me." 
 
He stops and looks at her.
 
"Let's talk in my office."
 
She nods.
 
 
He's always been grateful for his education but never more so than 
when he has to think on his feet.  It' s not what he's learned it's how 
he's learnt it. Finishing a paper at 3 am because he spends too much 
time hanging out with friends, smoking and drinking coffee, taught 
him to exercise his mental faculties under duress. 
 
He's never ungrateful for the skill; he's just amazed at how often he 
uses it.
 
"What would you like to talk about Ms Creig?" 
 
"How about the Gross National Product Toby, I think it's something 
we need to discuss right now."
 
"I'm pleased your sense of humour is still intact."
 
"I'm nothing if not amused Toby."
 
He leans a hand on his desk. 
 
"CJ, I didn't think…I didn't think you'd want to make a thing out of 
this."
 
"I'm not making a thing Toby."
 
His eyes shoot up to the ceiling.
 
"Help me out here, CJ, what is it that you want?"
 
"I don't want to pretend it didn't happen."
 
A random thought flies to the night before when she moaned softly 
against his ear. He smiles ruefully.
 
"Believe me, CJ, you are not that easy to forget."
 
She sighs a full body sigh. Her shoulders slump.
 
"Toby, you can't just say things like that."
 
He throws his hands into his pockets and studies her. He is wrong and 
he can't figure out how.  
 
"CJ, I think we were both a little drunk last night and… uhm…things 
were said and we did something we probably both regret. And…" he 
thought for a moment searching for the right thing to say. It was 
baffling. "I'm sorry?"
 
"No, I'm sorry Toby, I just didn't want you to assume you could just 
have your evil way with me and forget about it." She says 'evil' with 
mock seriousness. 
 
He frowns and looks at the floor.
 
"You think I would do that?"
 
"No," she says after consideration. "No."
 
They stand uncomfortable for a while.  He tries not to think about he 
fact that he knows she has scars that go all the way up to her thigh. He 
tries not to think of her back arching as he follows the scars up her leg 
with his tongue.
 
There was a time when they all indulged in idle speculation over who 
might end up in bed with whom by the end of the campaign. On the 
road they fell asleep on couches, at desks and in the wrong beds.  They 
were tired and they were worried and as Josh moaned from time to 
time, they never had any fun. 
 
So why now? Why not then when it was easy? 
 
"Well, goodnight," she says, and she turns to go.
 
"CJ?" 
 
"Yeah?" She turns around.
 
"CJ, I didn't forget any of it. I couldn't."
 
She doesn't say anything. She places her fingers to her lips and lets 
them sit there, deep in thought
 
"I know," she says eventually, and then she is gone. 
 
* 
 
Andrea visits when she's in town. 
 
"How's my favourite retiree?" she asks too cheerfully.
 
"I'm not retired and I expect your father would take issue with your 
favouritism."
 
"He always suspected I liked you more than him." 
 
"What's not to like?" 
 
She ignores him and makes herself at home on the couch, throwing off 
her shoes and finding the remote control for the television.     
 
"Hoynes is speaking at Georgetown tonight."
 
"Turn it off."
 
"You don't want to see it?"
 
He frowns at the dust in the coffee maker while Andrea yells at him 
from the living room.  He serves them coffee from matching cups he 
bought for a dollar each after Andrea left with the crockery.  
 
He spies the television still defiantly showing Hoynes waving to the 
crowd.
 
"Turn it off."
 
Andrea ignores him turning the remote over idly in her hand.
 
"You don't want to miss this." 
 
President Hoynes, looks healthy and vital.  And happy. He thinks it is 
sinful for Hoynes to look that happy. 
 
The applause from the throng continues longer that it needs to. Hoynes 
smiles and waves and feigns modesty. 
 
"Son of a bitch surfed our wave all the way to the sand," Toby 
grumbles. Andrea turns to look at him.
 
"A surfing metaphor, Toby. You really are a man of the people." 
 
"Flattery will get you nowhere Congresswoman." 
 
Hoynes starts speaking and Toby finds himself transfixed by his 
hands. He is a gesticulator. The kind of speaker whose hands feel the 
need to provide constant accompaniment. He notes that the White 
House PR department has reeled him in on the hand actions because he 
compromises by keeping one hand close to his body as if holding 
himself in.  
 
He is reminded of CJ who gripped the lectern for reinforcement when 
speaking.  
 
"Turn if off," he says again.
 
Andrea sighs.
 
"Whatever." She aims the remote at the television and the image 
disappears.  "You know you really need to get back out there." 
 
"I've parted company with politics Andrea." 
 
"Never happen." 
 
"I have worked tirelessly in the service of the American people and I 
have earned my retirement." 
 
"Now you're retired?"
 
He throws her a pointed look. This is Andrea's second extended visit 
since the end of the administration. At first he thought her intention 
had been purely to taunt him with their failed marriage as this was the 
feeling that resulted from her visits, however he now considers her 
agenda more sinister.
 
She feels sorry for him.  
 
*
 
The second time comes without warning and like the shots fired at 
Rosslyn, nothing is the same afterwards. 
 
The White House began to breathe again with the news of Josh's 
recovery and CJ made meaning out of chaos in the pressroom. She was 
the first one to find a voice. He'd been impressed
 
As usual, it was a feeling he buried. He looked typically dour in her 
company and admonished her for attempting to carry out her duties 
under obvious emotional stress.  
 
"What were you thinking?" he demanded.
 
"Well the President said if I was bleeding…"
 
"He was joking, CJ."  He tried to make light of the situation, to attach 
a levity he didn't feel. She didn't respond.
 
She drifted.  
 
She became the collapsing centre. The one that brought them together 
under the pretence of a stability she did not echo. 
 
He hadn't known it then. He thought she needed space and he kept his 
distance. 
 
And then Ginger spoke up.
 
"Carol said that CJ isn't sleeping." 
 
He looked up at his assistant busily cross checking his receipts. 
 
"She told you that?"
 
"Yes." 
 
"Why did she tell you that?"
 
"She was worried." 
 
 "I don't doubt that, Ginger, by why you?"
 
Ginger places the receipts on his desk and looks thoughtful.
 
"I guess she thought I'd tell you."
 
"Exactly. Why me?"
 
"Because Josh is in hospital and Sam is visiting Josh in hospital?"
 
"So you're saying I was her last choice?"
 
"You were her only choice." 
 
 
He did what he thought he should do. He did the right thing only he 
wasn't sure it wouldn't look completely wrong coming from him.  He 
approached her.
 
"Carol says you're not sleeping." 
 
CJ's was writing. Making notes on a large pad of unlined paper. She 
looked up when he spoke.
 
"She told you that?"
 
"No she told Ginger who told … It doesn't matter.  Are you having… 
problems of some kind?"
 
She stared at him blankly for a moment and then looked down again at 
her writing.
 
"Toby, the whole reach out and touch thing isn't your style."
 
He rolled his eyes to the ceiling and threw up his hands.
 
"I don't do one night stands either, CJ, what's your point?"
 
She took off her glasses and placed them on her desk.
 
"Shut the door," she said, and he did as he was asked.
 
She clasped both hands in front of her on the desk. 
 
"It's true," she said, "I've had one or two sleepless nights since the 
shooting. I expect we all have.  Carol picked up some clothes for me 
the other morning because I had the misfortune to be here all night. It's 
nothing irregular. We've all done it. I'm fine. I'm just…" she looked 
away at a spot on the wall slightly to his left. 
 
"I'm fine," she repeated.
 
He pushed his hands in his pockets and rocked back onto his heels.
 
"So… did you sleep last night?"
 
She looked at him expressionless for a few moments.
 
"No," she said finally.
 
"And the night before?"
 
"Barely."
 
 "CJ…" he paused. She was right. It wasn't his style. His words felt 
clumsy and contrived. "CJ, is there anything I can do?"
 
Inside its bowl, CJ's goldfish swam endless circles, oblivious to their 
conversation. Toby counted its circumnavigation while waiting for CJ 
to answer. Once, twice…
 
"Take me home," she said eventually.
 
"OK," he answered.
 
Later he noted that she slept soundly. Andrea had always said that sex 
never solved anything so he was surprised to learn, that in this 
instance, it solved everything.
 
*
 
Danny shows him the book over lunch. Bartlet's face is enshrined on 
the cover but inside there are pictures of all of them. 
 
Toby frowns at yet another picture of him for public consumption that 
makes him look like a dour old English Professor.  Danny had a range 
of pictures of him to choose from and he was not smiling in any of 
them.  
 
"You don't smile much," Danny says.
 
"I smile all the time."
 
"Ok."
 
"You don't believe me?"
 
"You're not smiling now." 
 
"I've nothing to smile about now. " 
 
"Smile through the pain Toby, it's an art. 'Smile though your heart is 
breaking, smile even though its aching…'."
 
"Forget I said anything." 
 
"Ok."
 
Toby places the book on the table. He's ordered the Thai salad because 
Mrs Landringham had achieved an office wide cholesterol watch by 
the end of the term. One of her many successes in the regulation of the 
lifestyles of the White House Staff. 
 
Mrs Landringham went back to New Hampshire. He swore he would 
visit her.  He had a list of people he swore he would visit.  He made 
Ginger write one out a list of addresses for him. She raised an eyebrow 
but she added her own name to the list.  
 
He hadn't expected any of them, the pen, Charlie, the Press, Sam, to 
insist he look them up but he wasn't sure he had expected anything. 
The goodbyes he knew were never like that. They were never so final.  
 
Danny watches him shift spinach around his bowl with his fork.
 
"I believe it's spinach Toby, but I can ask the waiter if you want me 
to."
 
"I went to Thailand. No one tried to serve me spinach."
 
Danny ignores the remark.  
 
"So, have you got plans?"
 
He dreams about sleeping in and taking the time to read. He hasn't 
read a work of fiction in years.  The trouble with the dreams is they 
never seem like him.  
 
"Andrea wants me on her staff."
 
Danny pretends to be shocked.  
 
"You mean she's actually going to pay you to give her advice? You'll 
be an icon to ex-husbands the world over."
 
"You have a better idea?"
 
"You could tour with me. Be my opening speaker."
 
"What an enticing prospect."
 
"Just like old times."
 
Old times were the endless hotel rooms with late night takeaway. 
Styrofoam cups of coffee and loud arguments. Insults evolving into 
art.  Danny on the phone to his editor asking to delay the piece another 
day because something important was about to break when the truth 
was Bartlet had kept him up all night lecturing him on the role of the 
press in the Presidential campaign. That Danny continued to extol 
Bartlet's achievements after these sessions mystified everyone.
 
CJ yelling at them because the latest debate had taken place in her 
room and she needed to change clothes, Abbey feeling sorry for CJ 
and driving them out of her room because Abbey had the tone of a 
Four Star General and everyone did what she told them to.
 
He would sit with his elbows resting on his knees and watch the polls 
on the morning talk shows.  Josh would burst in if they were doing 
well but would knock quietly if they slipped.  
 
At the end of the day he'd allow himself his one cigar and count the 
days until it would all be over.  
 
*
 
CJ calls before Christmas.
 
"Happy Hanukah!"
 
"Hanukah's over CJ." 
 
"It's the festive season."
 
"How was your trip?"
 
"Great. It was ninety-five degrees in Sydney and minus five in 
London.  Do you have any idea of the stress that places on your 
hypothalamus?" 
 
Toby takes his phone out onto the balcony. In the night view he can 
see the monument lit up like a burning spear.  He met Andrea below 
the monument last week and it had been scaffolded for renovations. He 
was late, stuck in traffic. 
 
Traffic passes on the road beneath him and he can hear tires screeching 
to a halt. A near miss. Washington, he muses, is full of tourists and no 
one knows where they are going.
 
"Travel is nothing without extremes of weather. It gives you 
something to write on your postcards, which, I might add, were not 
abundant in my mailbox during your absence."
 
"You wanted a postcard?" 
 
"I can live without postcards," he concedes. 
 
"I bought you a present." 
 
He smiles in spite of himself.  
 
"You shouldn't have." 
 
"Oh I know I shouldn't have. I did. When will you be in San 
Francisco?"
 
His breath catches in his throat.
 
"How did you know I was going to San Francisco?"  
 
"Danny…"
 
"Concannon? You spoke to Concannon before you spoke to me?"
 
"I spoke to Danny from London, Toby.  He's the political editor for 
the Post, he fact checks with me on occasion, and why the hell does it 
matter anyway?"
 
He feels like an idiot. An overbearing, jealous idiot. He chides himself 
for being weak and, more importantly, for letting her see it.
 
"We'll be there in March."  
 
The other end of the phone is silent. In his head he counts lights in the 
sky and tries to determine whether they are planes or helicopters. He 
reaches four before she responds.
 
"I missed you, you know."  
 
Two of the lights are circling erratically and he expects they are 
helicopters. One set of lights is ascending. Someone is leaving. 
Someone is going home.
 
He doesn't always say the right thing but he always writes it. He thinks 
it should have been him who sent the postcard.
 
"I missed you too." 
 
And sometimes the words are there before he can stop them. 
 
*
 
The last time is after Bartlet announces he will not run for a second 
term.  He thinks they may have had weeks left in the White House but 
it may have been months. Time flew by in the West Wing.
 
He had become used to taking her home when she was tired, frustrated 
or on edge. 
 
They played at being a couple sometimes. They went to a movie, went 
out to dinner, read the papers together on Sunday morning and argued 
about towels on the floor in the bathroom.
 
They played at being in love sometimes too.  He spent an afternoon 
watching her hands in the oval office that culminated in him later 
taking her hand and kissing her wrist.  He remembered that she said 
nothing but unsuccessfully tried to hide her face from him so he would 
not see her blush.  
 
For his birthday she bought him a copy of "Showboat"  - the 1936 
version rather than the 1951 version because the woman in the 
'classics' video store told her it was the better remake. 
 
He was moved.
 
"I didn't know you could get this version," he said and at the time it 
had been enough.  
 
He wondered whether it was practice he lacked. If he'd been given 
more time he would have perfected the art of relating.  He'd been 
married. He could lay claim to experience there, but he was unused to 
their quietude.  They were pieces that fell together but did not fit.  
They took one step forward and one step back but never more than one 
step.  
 
It wasn't what he was used to. He doubted she was used to it either.   
 
That night, they made love as usual.  It was slow and lazy.  After their 
earlier frenzied couplings driven by an unanticipated and unequivocal 
lust they had advanced to a slow and languid pace, taking time to 
savour the moment.  
 
He indulges the memory.  He lets himself think about it too often.  He 
endows it with an ethereal quality so that it glows against the dull 
backdrop of the final days in the White House.
 
Afterward she had mentioned his family in New York, his mother who 
called regularly to berate him for neglecting her.  
 
"You should go home," she said, "your family misses you." 
 
He was tempted to chastise her tendency to lecture him on his 
estrangement from his family when her words sank in.
 
"You're going to Napa," he said quietly.
 
"I have family that misses me too."  
 
"What will you do in Napa?"
 
"Visit my parents.  Get some sleep. Eat breakfast in bed.  Have a life." 
 
"I give you a year." 
 
"A year?" 
 
"One year before you're backing the next Democrat out of California 
touting education reform."
 
"I give you six months." 
 
"To back a Californian Democrat?"
 
"Before you're back in politics. That's if you leave."
 
He rolled onto his back to look at the ceiling. CJ moved from her 
position on her side to mimic him.  They lay like that for a while.  He 
watched his hands, clasped on his chest, rise and fall.  
 
"You could come to Napa," she said quietly.
 
He remained fixed on an unseen point on the ceiling weighing his 
words carefully.
 
"You want me to come to Napa?" 
 
"Why not?" 
 
He rolled back onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow.  
 
"CJ, do you want me to follow you to California?"  He'd said it so 
quietly he barely heard it himself.
 
She didn't move but she looked at him from the corners of her eyes.  
 
"Maybe," she said weakly.
 
He flopped onto his back again.  He found the bedclothes suddenly 
stifling and he shifted within them.  He looked at his suit neatly 
hanging against the bedroom door and wondered whether 1 am was 
too early to arrive at the White House for work.  
 
The truth was, it was never too early. It was just unnecessary now.
 
"Are we going anywhere with this, CJ?" he said finally.
 
She sighed and smiled nervously.  
 
"I don't know. I just… I thought it would be nice if you were there."  
She looked like she was going to say more but she didn't.  Her eyes 
were no longer on him but on the far corner of the room.  Her thumb 
was stroking the bed spread in rhythmic patterns as if she were 
deriving pleasure from the friction she created with the movement.
 
"CJ, I think what we have here is a habit. And, as you probably are 
aware, one of the most effective means of breaking a habit is to change 
the one's environment." He paused in his speech. He didn't have proof 
that her offer was not genuine, but his instinct had always shouted 
louder than evidence. He thought, and when he looked back on it he 
knew this it had been risky to think so, that she wanted a way out.  
And he thought he had to offer her one.  
 
"You know I have work to do here CJ." 
 
"Yeah."
 
At the end of the lever the world tipped to one side sending him out 
into space. 
 
*
 
The habit proved easy to break. It was the last time. 
 
Other habits are not so easy. He lights a cigar and drinks his third 
scotch.  The flight has been delayed another hour.  
 
Hoynes is on the television above the bar. He indulges a slight 
paranoia that tells him Hoynes is mocking him by following his 
movements around Washington.  
 
The Bartender groans at the sight of Hoynes and changes the channel.
 
The glass is soon empty and he orders again. 
 
There is a clock next to the television that reminds passengers of just 
how late their flight is. For Toby it tells him he will arrive in 
California closer to 4 am than 3 am and he really needs to sleep on the 
plane when he knows he won't. 
 
He ponders drinking until he forgets why he came. He could stumble 
out into the grey morning, fling himself into the back of a cab and be 
home before sunrise, just in time to sleep the day away. 
 
He can't remember when he became scared, when he lost hold of his 
orbit and came loose. Whether it was the first time or the last. 
 
His momentum propels him forward and he gets on the plane.  By 4 
am he has checked into his hotel room. He spends a long time in the 
shower feeling the water hammer against his head until it becomes 
deafening. 
 
In the morning he is awakened by the sound of his own name.
 
"Toby?"
 
The hotel linen feels crisp and clean against his cheek. His mouth is 
dry and his head feels heavy and sore.
 
"Toby?"
 
"CJ?"
 
He rolls over because he is used to finding her beside him. He reaches 
out to find nothing more than empty space at his fingertips. He opens 
his eyes to stare at the vacancy beside him.
 
"Up here."
 
She is standing just inside the room. The Concierge is behind her and 
she waits for CJ to nod before leaving.
 
"I was waiting downstairs. They told me you didn't answer your wake 
up call."
 
He groans and lies back against the pillows.
 
"What time is it?"
 
"11.30."
 
He groans again.
 
"You drank on the plane?" 
 
"Delayed…delayed for an hour. I drank in the flight lounge." He rubs 
his hand across his forehead. It doesn't help.
 
"And on the plane," he adds as an afterthought.
 
"Toby it's been almost a year and you decided to catch up over a 
hangover?"
 
"I thought you'd appreciate the irony," he says, his hand still on his 
forehead shielding his eyes from the light of the room.
 
She sees the chair by the window and moves to sit down.
 
He lifts his hands off his eyes to look at her. "CJ can you not sit by the 
window?"
 
She hesitates and then gets up to sit on the other side of the room.
 
"Better?'
 
"Considerably."
 
He stares at her without speaking for a moment. He notices the way 
she places one hand loosely in the other. The contours of her knee are 
visible beneath camel coloured fabric of her cotton pants.
 
He feels that familiar surge of need to touch her. He feels it like a 
betrayal. His body wants what it wants irrespective of his rationale.
 
This is San Francisco. The country is on its side, tipping him into the 
sea.
 
"CJ, I'm sorry."
 
She looks at him warily.
 
"For what?"
 
'This...uhm...me."
 
She smiles.
 
"I think punishment has already been meted out.
 
"No… I mean…" he rubs his hand against his chin feeling awkward,
"Everything, CJ. I'm sorry for everything."
 
Her brow furrows slightly, confused.
 
He sits up in bed. He is wearing a grey T-shirt which he put on when 
he decided California was too warm for pyjamas. He still feels 
partially naked.
 
"See CJ," he scratches his neck and thinks, "see, we had this thing..."
 
"A habit."
 
"A habit?"
 
"You said it was a habit."
 
His words echoing back to him sound callous.
 
"It was a good habit."
 
"Toby…"
 
"CJ, it was more than a habit."
 
Her eyes scrutinise him searching for meaning beneath his fumbled 
words.
 
He waits while the words come. He's tired and feeling old. He's 
middle aged, stuck in his funk, and still some kind of off centre 
dreamer who believes in fairness and equity and the rights of the few 
being just as important as the rights of the many.
 
He thinks he should be better than this because he believes. 
 
Leo's voice is inside his head.
 
Don't screw up.
 
"CJ," he looks down and up again. She watches his eye movement and 
waits for a revelation," CJ, if you're not doing anything tonight would 
you like to go out with me?"
 
A smile appears briefly at the corner of her mouth only to be overtaken 
by a perplexed frown again.
 
"Go out with you? Like on a date?"
 
"Yeah."
 
"Toby we've slept together. Isn't it a little late for dating?"
 
"CJ, I want to go on a date with you. I want to buy you candy or 
whatever it is that guys do when they go on dates these days."
 
"Candy?"
 
"You don't like candy?"
 
"I like candy."
 
"Caramels? Turkish delight?"
 
"You wanna buy me Turkish delight?" 
 
"Yeah."
 
She laughs.  A full laugh. He is relieved to see she takes the situation 
lightly but it does little to alleviate his apprehension.
 
"CJ, I've met your mother and she's not the kind of women who would 
fail to tell her daughter that it's not polite to laugh when a guy asks her 
out."
 
"Candy Toby!" She laughs again.  He smiles too because for 
everything he has done, he has done this well no matter how much she 
laughs at him.
 
She gets up and comes over to the bed. She sits on the side and leans 
in to kiss him lightly on the lips.  He savours the feels of her against 
his mouth. He missed that too.
 
"You know, I thought of you when I arrived in London."
 
"You did?"
 
"Yeah. It was cold, it was raining, everyone was wearing three 
overcoats and I've just arrived from Australia wearing jeans and short 
sleeves and I thought of you saying 'why are you wearing short sleeves 
CJ? You knew if would be freezing in London'".
 
"And this is a good thing?"
 
She looks at him barely inches from his face.
 
"I thought you were angry with me."
 
"Angry with you?"
 
"Yeah. I thought you hated me because I needed you."
 
"CJ--" he shakes his head.

"Toby listen," she lifts her fingers to his lips, "if that's the case, if you 
can't handle me needing you, then we can't do this, I can't do this 
again."

She looks like she's close to breaking and he berates himself for 
forgetting what this all means. That's it's much bigger than him. That 
she's bigger than him.

"God damn this CJ, I'm buying you candy." He throws back the covers 
and swings his legs over the side of the bed.

"Now?"

He finds his bag and searches through it for pants and a shirt. He 
throws them on the bed.

"No time like the present."

"Toby did you hear what I said?"

"Yeah. CJ-" he stops what he is doing to turn around and face her, 
"Damned if I'm letting you think for one moment that I don't need you 
too, CJ." He returns to his bag, flinging socks onto the bed next to his 
pants and shirt. "I'm buying you candy for God's sake."

Her eyes lift and she smiles breaking through the dull lit hotel room 
and his alcohol deadened senses. It's like winning the Illinois Primary, 
like being sworn in.

'"Let's do it," she says quietly. 

And he smiles too.

And he is right every now and then, and he wins one time out of seven. 
If he just has a place to stand he can move the Earth and he remembers 
that once he stood in the White House. 
 
 

Fin