Disclaimers: The West Wing and it's characters are the
property of Aaron Sorkin, Warner Brothers and NBC. No
copyright infringement is intended. No profit is being
made from this.

Rating: G.

Spoilers: Dead Irish Writers.

Category/Pairing: CJ/Toby friendship.

You Don't Even Like Cats

By ChelleC


The lights in her office were dim. A sure sign that
she had a headache. Toby found her sitting with her
head against the back of the couch. Her eyes were
closed and there was what he presumed to be a cool
cloth over her forehead.

"Hey." He shuffled into the room.

"I didn't see you at the party." She didn't open her
eyes.

"You aren't seeing me now, CJ."

"I have a headache."

"Somehow I figured that out. Why do you have a
headache?"

"One could perhaps call it the beginnings of a
hangover."

He laughed. "You got drunk at the First Lady's
birthday party?"

"Something like that."

"Was the party that bad?"

"No."

"Then why did you get drunk?"

"You don't say no when the First Lady asks you to get
drunk with her."

"I see."

"The first bottle had cork in it."

"And how many bottles did you have?"

"I believe there were two."

"Okay."

"I don't even have a cat."

"What?" He said, wondering at the change in subjects.

"I don't have a cat."

"CJ...have you forgotten you don't even like cats."

"No."

"Then why are you complaining you don't have a cat?"
He rubbed his forehead. "Not to mention, I don't
believe Gail would like a cat."

"Gail's here, a cat would be at home."

"Oh."

"I go home to an empty apartment."

"Yes..."

"The apartment wouldn't be empty if I had a cat."

He sat down in the chair, playing with his car keys.
"Where is this coming from?"

"Not fair." She moaned, finally opening her eyes. She
moved the cloth away from her forehead.

"What?"

"You want to have a serious conversation while I'm
drunk."

"Yes..."

"I'm not you. I don't have serious conversations
while I'm drunk."

"Okay."

"She has it all you know."

"Hmm?"

"The First Lady, she has it all."

"Okay."

"Even without her career she still has a husband and
a family."

"Yes."

"I have nothing but my career."

He was uncertain how to answer this. It was obvious
she was drunk, feeling a little sorry for herself, and
perhaps more than a little lonely.

"Sometimes I wish I had someone who looks at me the
way the President looks at her."

Toby was quiet for a moment. "CJ..."

"Yes?"

"Do you need a ride home?"

"Yeah, driving probably isn't a good idea."

"Come on."

"Okay." She stood and reached for her briefcase.

"Do you have a coat, a wrap, or something?"

"No."

"CJ, it's Washington in early March."

"I'm okay."

"Here." He draped his coat over her shoulders. His
hand lightly touched her bare back for just a moment.
Sleep would not come easily for him tonight.

The End.