Fandom:

The West Wing AU

Pairing:

C.J./Danny

Rating:

PG-13 for topic

Distribution:

How much do I owe you for hauling it off?

Spoilers:

Up to and including Full Disclosure, from which the series follows on

Email:

exfilia at livejournal dot com

Disclaimer:

if I owned them, they'd have a lot more fun

Warning:

mentions nonconsensual sex

Note:

Hoynes lovers should probably be hitting delete right about now.

"Mr. President?" said Charlie. "The First Lady would like to speak to you."

"I just came down!"

"She said that. She still said call her, right now."

"Is she mad?"

"No, sir. She sounds scared."

"Oh."

"Josh?"

"Hey, I made the coffee! Don't I get any points for that?"

"You need to see this." She held out a newspaper.

"C.J. send it over?"

"She's still not in."

"Did Carol call her?"

"Read, Josh."

He read.

"Oh, my God."

The knocking stopped. She held her breath, wondering if he'd given up or decided to try another door, or a window, or the chimney....

That was ridiculous. A grown man couldn't get down a chimney, or climb up to her bedroom window, or....

She heard a key in the lock, and fought the urge to scream. She should get up, look for a hiding place or a weapon. She should try for the back door.

She balled herself up under the covers and pulled a pillow over her head. The door opened, and she shoved a fistful of sheet against her mouth to stifle the sound of her sobs.

"C.J.?" The light came on, and the pillow was pulled away, and Danny's arms were around her and she was sobbing against his chest like an idiot while a Secret Service team swept through her home like so many bird-dogs. "C.J., what happened?"

"He called."

"Who, sweetheart?"

"Him. John."

"Why didn't you call me?"

"I don't know. I turned the phones off in case he called back."

"They've been trying to get you from work."

"What happened?"

"Nothing. Nothing important, but the First Lady called me looking for you and I came to check on you and you wouldn't answer the door and...."

"So they sent the Secret Service?"

"Yeah, with a passkey. They were worried about you."

"Ms. Cregg?" Ron Butterfield stood in her bedroom door. "If you're all right, you're needed at the White House as soon as possible."

"She told me it was all over," said Danny.

"I think this is something else, sir."

He couldn't find his Nikes. One of the good things about retirement was that he could dress however he wanted, as long as he could find his clothes. He was wearing jeans and a Marine Corps sweatshirt, and he wanted his Nikes, but they weren't by the door or under the dresser or on the bathroom floor. Well, so much for the easy places. He took a deep breath, bent his not very bendable bulk and peered into the dark under his bed. No shoes.

"Mr. President?"

He lurched forward and banged his head on the nightstand.

"I told you not to call me that!"

"Excuse me, Mr. Ex-President?"

"It was three days, Bruce! You see my Nikes anywhere?"

"...And because of those three days, you're going to be Mr. President for the rest of your life." The aide stepped into the closet and took Walken's shoes from the top shelf. "I believe someone installed fresh insoles last night, Mr. President, and put the shoes... where they belong."

"Look, just don't call me that before breakfast, okay?" he said, sitting on the edge of the bed to don the proffered footwear.

"Yes, sir. There are three gentlemen from the RNC in your study, and the cook is prepared to do steak and eggs whenever you're ready."

"I got three party wonks waiting on me at eight o'clock in the morning? Who died?"

"Your secretary felt that you might want to see this before you go down." He held out a newspaper.

"Don't give me that at this hour," Walken growled. "Just turn on CNN."

"These are her own words, sir."

"All right, give it here, and tell the cook to make it breakfast for four."

"It won't work this time."

"Why not? She's not nearly as hard to get to."

"It's too late. You have a really obvious motive now, and if you go down, you'll roll on me."

"If I go down, you'll have more to worry about than this. As a matter of fact...."

"Don't threaten me, and don't expect me to expose myself for you."

"I'm not the only one with a motive."

"So?"

"So get it done, however you have to do it."