DISCLAIMER: The West Wing and all its characters belong to NBC, no infringement intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This ficlet displays C.J.'s darker side. I hope.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
The kiss is soft, sweet, nothing like what C.J. expected, and she is disappointed, thought she would taste power, thought it would be stronger, more intense, would give her an excuse. Yet, she now finds herself craving the more gentle side of the First Lady, the side hidden by the person the public sees. C.J. had been content with that persona, knew how to handle it, mollify it, enjoy it. Only faced with her disillusionment does C.J. fear their flirtation could go further than their first kiss. She had not wanted it to. She had desired the illicitness of the affair, the passion, had thought it would eventually grow cold and she would be free, not falling in love.
C.J. had never thought of Abigail Bartlet as a woman. She had admired her for years, had respected her, lusted after her, feared her, defended her, but she had never looked beyond the control Abbey seemed to foster with well-timed quips and steely glares. She tells herself she never had a reason to, but she knows the truth. If she had investigated further, gotten to know Abbey Bartlet outside of their destined roles, C.J. worries she would have lost interest. She was drawn to the older woman because of the confidence, easy grace, and abrasive attitude Abbey possessed, radiated. The softer side the mother side of Abbey was of no consequence to C.J. The press secretary did not want to lose interest before she got what she wanted, but now she had won the prize, had tasted the lips she once thought forbidden. Her interest, that forceful attraction, was still perfectly in place, which left C.J. lost. Her energies had been spent in the seducing; she had been overly confident in the dismissal.
C.J. had thought she wanted the commanding woman she placed in the spotlight the politician, the doctor, the staunch Democrat. She had thought she wanted to have sex with the authority of it all, not make love to the woman. The sentimentality of it was overwhelming. Fire was what she once craved, excitement, heat, lust, but as Abbey's breath ticked her upper lip, C.J. realized she had fallen for mother earth, began to appreciate the layers of Abbey Bartlet, decided to treat them like secrets she could unravel.
The fire was there, in her, around her, and would eventually burn C.J., a fact the younger woman was willing to accept. She had, after all, intended to do the same to Abbey.
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