Fic: Riding Bicycles 1.1
Finally got around to readying this for posting in seperate chapters. Obviously, being part of the Epic Proportions 2010 challenge, the entire story can be found over at Passion and Perfection;, but I'm hoping to generate some feedback (good, bad or ugly - as long as I know people are reading ;)) and maybe a discussion or two about possible future storylines, since I'm hoping to turn it into a series.
Author: Suzy Creamcheese
Contact: pwessroom@yahoo.com, http://cjhuk.livejournal.com
Series: West Wing, Grey’s Anatomy
Pairing: CJ Cregg/Addison Montgomery
Rating: T for the most part (M rated bits will be indicated as such)
Canon: about 98%
Timeline: flexible - Shondastyle
Setting: Starts a few days after West Wing 3x22 “Posse Comitatus” and before Grey’s 3x07 “Where the boys are”. In other words, Addison just got officially divorced and CJ’s agent-could-be-boyfriend got killed. You don’t really need to have seen either series, but it’ll certainly help with the in-jokes.
Beta: Wonderful Lisa (so, feel free to throw all rotten tomatoes in her direction)
Disclaimer: They’re not mine - never have been, never will be and I’m actually okay with that.
Reviews: Please. It’s not the easiest of pairings, so any and all input is greatly appreciated. I’m toying with the idea of expanding it into a series of fics.
Summary: Sometimes you just need a break from your life, step outside your usual circle of friends and co-workers. Find someone new, someone interesting - sex is just an added bonus.
Part of Epic Proportions 2010
Riding Bicycles
“A woman without a man is like a fish without a bicycle” - Gloria Steinem, feminist
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FASE ONE: Getting back on the horse bicycle
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“Miss Cregg?”
“Agent Buttercup.” His mouth twitches and if she wasn’t trying not to think of everything that happened in the past forty-eight hours, she would’ve smiled to match her expression to the faux-cheer in her voice.
He lets the nickname slide. Damn special agents. “I watched the briefing, we all did.” He can’t look at her and doesn’t see it when she falters in her pretense of being just peachy. “You did him justice.”
“It’s the best I could do.”
Josh breaks the ensuing silence to ask her out for drinks, for which she’s ever so grateful. For all her training and experience, she just doesn’t know how to deal with Simon’s colleagues hovering around her.
For a moment, her empty apartment lures with promises of darkness and solitude, but she only knew Simon for a few weeks and nothing happened, certainly not enough to excuse hiding, so she accepts.
There’s relief on his face, though he masks it well. “’K, holler when you’re ready.”
“I was just leaving.”
“Excellent!” He bounces a little on the balls of his feet and takes off, presumably to grab his coat and wallet. It’s Friday and while they all need to come in on Sunday, it looks like Saturday at least will be a genuine day off and God knows she needs it.
“We’ll drive you.”
Ron’s offer knocks the wind out of her, but when she turns to face him, she’s wearing a smile, forced though it may be. “I thought you guys gave up on me?” She makes it a joke, because she’s too raw to handle it in any other way. “My car’s in the garage, I can get home.”
The agent looks away guiltily. “It’s still missing its sparkplug.”
“Oh.”
====
“I wish they’d leave me alone,” CJ complains when Josh hands her a new flying grasshopper.
“They’re Secret Service.”
As if that explains everything. She got their colleague killed, why coddle her? The green liquid slides down her throat, it’s slight kick exactly what she needs, though it doesn’t temper her frustration. “You been here before?”
Decidedly more relaxed, Josh takes a swig of his beer. He shakes his head, “you?” Her answer is cut off by the incessant ringing of a cell phone. She watches with a fair amount of suspicion as he fishes his phone from his pocket and answers it with a curt “yeah?”
In the grand scheme of things, they haven’t worked together all that long, but she can name every emotion that flickers across his face and it’s enough to make her nervous. Stubbornly she lurks on her drink while keeping an eye on him. She needs this night, please let it not be a big Thing. His eyes don’t bode well, so she continues to hide in her drink. When he hangs up, she almost doesn’t dare to ask. “Do we have a Thing?”
“Nah.” It’s not much of an assurance, because he puts the bottle to his lips and puts it down again without taking a sip. “It’s an Amy-thing.”
Considering Amy Gardner’s track record, that could easily turn into a real thing. “I want my day off tomorrow Josh, go fix it.”
There’s doubt on his face, as if he worries she’ll do something stupid if he leaves her alone. At the same time, it’s clear he wants to go and fix whatever it is Amy’s done. They’re all obsessed with fixing things and they have to be. “You don’t mind?”
CJ knows she can’t be fixed tonight, so really, he should do something useful. Something that means she can sleep in in the morning and nurse a hangover. “Certain. Go kick her butt, and take the car with you, please?”
The rarely seen ‘big brother’ smile makes an appearance, dimples at each side. “They’re just looking out for you Ceej.”
“I’m fine, they did catch the guy. No more creepy stalkers out to get me, so I get to have a life again.”
“That’s not how it works, trust me.” It’s the voice of experience, but their stories are not the same. She didn’t get shot and almost die. She was perfectly fine until someone decided she needed protection.
Josh kisses her cheek and settles their bill. “Don’t do anything crazy,” he says, concern clouding his brown eyes.
“I’m the queen of crazy, mi amour.”
He holds her eyes for a moment, then relents. “See ya Sunday.”
“Bright and shiny,” she promises halfheartedly and watches him weave through the other patrons. It takes him a few minutes to convince the two agents sitting discreetly by the door to follow him, but as always, he gets the job done.
When she turns back to the bar, there’s a new drink waiting for her. The bartender shrugs. With a silent thanks to Josh, she knocks back half of the green liquid and pretends the two young kids behind the bar aren’t talking about her. Their wide eyes give away admiration, but it only makes her feel claustrophobic. This part of her job she’ll never get used to.
====
“You look like you could use another drink.”
“I’m fine,” she retorts, only glancing up briefly at the new occupant of Josh’ deserted barstool.
The redhead, unimpressed by CJ’s inhospitable attitude, shrugs. “Well, I could use one.”
While CJ gets instant service because in Washington even most bartenders know who she is, the woman at her side has the looks that will ensure quick service no matter where she goes. Red lipstick sets off sharply against pale, flawless skin. An order of tequila shots surprises her; she wouldn’t have taken the other woman for the tequila type. She looks more like someone used to expensive red wines and cocktails.
CJ sighs into her glass and empties it in one long swallow. When she moves to fish her purse from beneath her feet, the red-haired stranger motions the bartender for two more shots. “Don’t let me chase you away, I’ll be quiet.” She does the self-deprecating smile rather well, her eyes warm but sad even in the dim lighting. The second CJ hesitates, she flashes pearly teeth. “I’d feel better if it doesn’t look like I’m all alone while I drink myself into a coma.”
Against her better judgment, CJ retakes her seat. She didn’t really want to go home anyway. She takes one of the shots put in front of her and clinks it against the stranger’s. The woman’s smile widens further, pleased. “To temporary amnesia.”
The alcohol screws up CJ’s face for a second, but still feels good going down.
“Addison.” The woman offers, after emptying her measure of tequila in one go.
So much for the promised silence. CJ surprises herself when she answers, “Claudia.” The redhead doesn’t appear to recognize her and she doesn’t feel like volunteering her position.
Silence returns when they both turn back to their respective drinks and she does feel a little better now that she’s not so obviously alone drowning her sorrows. Still she’s careful and alert. Journalists are crafty beasts and she knows squat about her neighbor, or anyone else in this joint. This might be one of the more upscale and discreet bars, as Ron put it, but they still let Joshua Lyman in. So clearly, the standards here aren’t all that high.
Ruefully she smirks into her glass, casting a sidelong glance to the redhead. Three years in office and she can’t remember how to make polite small talk, they’re all going to need rehabilitation before they’re allowed back into the general population.
Well into her second drink, curiosity gets the better of her companion. “Work, sex or love?”
“Sorry?”
“The reason you were nursing that nuclear concoction.” Addison’s blue eyes are playful, but she’s pulled her lips into a twisted smile that betrays her true mood. The woman, thirty-ish, is impeccably groomed. The long, red tresses shimmer healthily in the dim lighting and flawlessly applied make-up, though noticeable, doesn’t overwhelm her naturally angled features.
For now, CJ decides she’s game. “All of the above.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
“No.” The answer holds more venom than she intends and gives away more than she can afford. The redhead’s expression softens and CJ orders them both another drink to cover up the crack in her façade.
The bartender kindly reminds her Josh settled the bill, but shuts up and gets them their drinks when she glares. Addison calls after him to put the drinks on her tab. She doesn’t look like the type who needs to worry about money, but then neither does CJ.
On the off chance this woman is a reporter of some kind (the clothes and finely manicured hands say no), she won’t give her the satisfaction of feeding Bartlet’s press secretary drunk. That CJ can accomplish all by herself, thank you very much.
“I’m a Doctor, I can help.” Her smile is on the good side of sassy.
“Doctors are part of the problem.”
“We usually are,” the redhead deadpans. “But we can help too. What are the symptoms?”
“Where are you from?” CJ asks, because a question is always a better distraction than an answer, especially if that answer is death.
“New York. Well, I guess Seattle now.” Her expression falls, but she pulls it together. “I’m giving a couple of lectures at Georgetown, it seemed like the perfect chance to get away from my husband and his dirty, little mistress for a few days.”
Surprised, CJ turns and studies the other woman. She looks like she could be Andi’s younger sister, not as habitually angry as Toby’s ex-wife is these days and CJ likes her shade of red better. Maybe she should introduce Toby to this woman. Or Sam. Addison seems a little neurotic and naïve in the same way that Sam can be, has a similar open expression. And she’s always felt his only fault is his height. He’s just not tall enough for his looks, although she’ll admit to a possible bias on the subject. They’d make beautiful children. Perhaps too beautiful. She decides she refuses to inflict that kind of perfection on the world. The train of thought cracks her up and adequately distracts her from her own maybe-something a few days ago. She swallows a guffaw and displays genuine sympathy instead. “Sorry.”
Addison smiles coldly, “it’s okay, I cheated on him first.”
“Why?” At least the one word question doesn’t betray the curiosity she feels. She’s been wondering what could’ve motivated the First Lady to kiss her and Addison doesn’t appear to be anymore the cheating type than Abbey.
“I know I should have an answer - and I did at the time, but there really isn’t one.” She sets her glass down forcefully and tells the bartender she wants to switch to martini’s. CJ decides on vodka on the rocks. She might be off tomorrow, but vodka is easier on the hangover. When their glasses are full and within easy reach again, Addison looks ahead. “I was lonely, angry and I couldn’t figure out how to close the distance between us. He was ‘with me’, he’d say, but then wouldn’t do anything that actually supported that. He was always working and I get that, I’m a surgeon too, but we all need human contact, you know.” She meets CJ’s eyes and shrugs, “someone who makes you feel like you matter.”
The lump in her throat is stubborn and won’t go down until she’s poured half of her vodka down her throat. “Yeah.”
“Anyway,” the left corner of Addison’s mouth pulls up, “we’re okay now. We work together, we’re friends. I just needed a break.”
There’s some truth to it, CJ can tell because it’s her job to. It’s her job to figure out if someone is being truthful or possibly luring them into a PR-trap. Communication, verbal and otherwise is her livelihood and the woman next to her hasn’t finished her story. “We all need a break every now and then.”
“Hmmm.” The redhead knocks back the rest of her martini and shakes her head. “You ever feel like you screwed up and no matter how hard you try to be good, you just keep making more of a mess?”
CJ laughs humorlessly. This whole year has been one mistake after another. She lost her footing the day Leo told her about the MS and hasn’t regained it since.
“So what’s your story?” Addison wonders aloud, her eyes inquisitive. “Cheating husband? Scumbag boyfriend?”
She laughs despite herself. “God, no.” The redhead seems trustworthy enough and doesn’t know anything about CJ’s life, which is refreshing, but she can’t talk about him. She can’t let this stranger into what was the only private part of her life. “No husband, or boyfriend.”
“Do you miss it?” Her surprise must be clear on her face, because Addison blushes and ducks. “Sorry, that was a little inappropriate.”
After a swig of her drink, CJ shakes off her initial discomfort. “It’s okay, we’re drinking.” It earns her a smile, but doesn’t change the subject and she really doesn’t want to talk about the poor state of her love life. “So you’re a surgeon?”
“Neonatal surgeon, actually. You?”
“I’m in communications. I talk a lot without saying anything for a living.” It’s embarrassing, so painfully useless in comparison and it’s almost amusing to watch the other woman try to keep a neutral expression. “Must be nice,” CJ muses, “to save lives every day.”
Addison’s voice doesn’t hold any pride when she responds, instead she sounds hollow and it’s enough of a surprise to shake CJ from her own misery. “Yeah, it is, but you’re constantly reminded how much you don’t know, that there are patients for whom your best just isn’t good enough and never will be.”
They talk - or Addison does - about everything and nothing. From the Seattle weather to childhood memories. Nothing too serious and yet… CJ never had many friends, since her childhood she’s had little time or energy to maintain friendships. Of the few she did cultivate only two survived her transition into the White House.
It’s forced her to hone her social skills, to read people in relatively short amounts of time and she likes to think she’s good at figuring out people, at anticipating their motives and actions. And, at looking beyond façades. This redheaded Doctor, for all her cockiness and self-deprecating smiles, has a sadness that lingers even behind the most hilarious stories.
At least the constant stream of inconsequential anecdotes allows CJ to watch the door. There could be any number of journalists here and she’s too aware of today’s constant flow of information between regular citizens and those with column-space in respected news-outlets (and less respected ones) to fully relax. The more vodka she pours down her throat, the more nervous she gets and it’s not really how she planned on spending her one free night this week.
The company is good though. Addison is two shots ahead by now and not holding her liquor all that well. Even her insanely pretty red hair (no amount of styling gives CJ’s hair that movie-star quality) seems bogged down by the percentage of alcohol in her system.
She’s quite content to let the other woman do the talking, public image a factor even with this stranger so she’s trying divulge as little as possible. Besides, it’s nice to be Claudia for a night and not the face of the White House.
“’Nother one?”
CJ considers it, but hasn’t heard from Josh. “I’m good, Doc. Thanks.”
“Lightweight,” Addison bristles, “and I never liked that nickname.”
“Red?”
“Oh, very original. I’ll do without.” She does something with her eye that might’ve been a blink, CJ’s vision is a little too blurred for her to be sure. Even so, she recognizes a challenge when she sees one.
“I give people nicknames, that’s what I do. Pokey, Sparky, Chaz, Fishboy-“
“I think I’ll pass.”
She feigns hurt at her companion’s horrified expression. “They’re good nicknames, very appropriate.”
“Well,” the other woman tries, “you don’t know me well enough.”
“Hmm, you’re a surgeon, I could call you Surg.” Oh no, she’s got a better one. “Serge! That’s it, it’s perfect.” Pleased with herself she empties her glass and orders a refill anyway. Who knew the President’s inane trivia knowledge of famous redheads would come in handy when she’s four drinks from wasted.
Her new friend looks doubtful. “It is?”
Smiling to herself, Claudia Jean nods vigorously. “Yes, yes it is.”
Addison sighs. “At least it’s not Satan.”