Author's Note: Set between Election Day Pt. 2 and Requiem.
She knew the path to his door; she had been there before, once, a long time before. It seemed as though, in the light of recent events, that a lifetime elapsed between then and now, when in reality, it was only a few years.
"Enough time for everything to change," she mused, as she straightened her skirt. She had managed to evade the Secret Service tonight; tonight was about hiding away, forgetting about the events of the past twenty-four hours.
She felt the hard wood of his door beneath her fingers as she rapped. There was no guarantee that he'd be at home on a Wednesday night, but she had to hope.
She couldn't be alone anymore.
She rocked back and forth on her heels, waiting for his response. The door hinges creaked, and a familiar face peeked out from the gap between the door and the frame.
"CJ," he said, looking at her, "what are you doing here?"
"Can we talk?"
He nodded and opened the door, and CJ forced a wan smile as she walked in.
"What brings you to my place?" he asked, as he leaned against his kitchen counter and she sat in one of his kitchen chairs, and she felt small, so small, small enough to shrink into his carpet.
She looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears, and she muttered something, something that sounded like a combination of "Leo" and "alone" and "please," but instead came out in an unbidden rush of tears.
"Oh, CJ," he said, walking over to her, leaning down, and wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace.
For the first time in over twenty-four hours, she felt alive.
The pads of his fingertips felt comforting as they swiped under her eyes, leaving behind a trail of day-old mascara and a distinct feeling of wetness. "Danny," she said, her voice cracking, and she was glad that if anyone had to see her in one of her moments of despair, that it was Danny.
He wouldn't think of her any differently than he already did.
She pulled back from him a short time later, as they lay entwined on his sheets, and looked – simply, looked at him. She knew she was a wreck; she should have washed her face, combed her hair; should have done something to make herself look better.
And then he whispered, "God, you're beautiful," as he trailed his fingers to the edges of her waistband and she smiled her assent.
She trusted him, this much she knew.
The light of the moon cast shadows across the walls as he sank down next to her, his arms wrapped loosely around her waist.
"That was good, Danny," she said, a broad smile crossing her face for the first time all evening, "very good."
"When can we –"