Better at You, Dana/C.J., PG
Title: Better At You
Crossover: Sports Night/The West Wing
Pairing: Dana Whitaker/C.J. Cregg
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Set post both of these shows. Dana has been promoted up the ranks, and C.J. is moving back into the media world after splitting up with Danny.
Disclaimer: Not mine! Sorkin was the genius behind both shows, but I am merely playing and making no profit.
Prompt: For jenepel, who requested: CJ/Dana good morning, good morning (we’ve talked the whole night through)
Dedication: For lovely Jenn, she of the kickass taste and brilliant prompts ;) Have a lovely Christmas and New Year, though I'll tell you in person come Baking-palooza.
Dana paces the arrivals hall in measured strides, counting them without intending to. five-six-seven-eight; she’s a Follies number in Donna Karan slacks. She checks the screen one more time, and sees the garish red ‘ARRIVED’ glaring back at her, quietly mocking. How long can the walk from the gate be, for God’s sake? Maybe it’s time to ask someone, ask one of these bored looking teenagers with wings on their uniform to actually do something.
But there’s a fresh gaggle of footsteps then, the squeak of sneakers and the click of heels on the dull linoleum floors, too many voices competing at once as the 3.15 from L.A. finally disgorges its passengers into the glass and strip-lighting of JFK. C.J. is, predictably, the last to emerge. She’s wearing a smart trench coat that might not be quite warm enough for the crispness of the fall day, and smiling warmly at the elderly man who’s regaling her with some story or other.
In that moment Dana doesn’t see the former Press Secretary, who spent six years on everyone’s television screen. Instead, she sees the C.J. that she’s fallen in love with, smart and compassionate and a little too accessible for her own damn good.
Then C.J. looks up, and she smiles. If there’s anyone else in the terminal, or on the planet, Dana can’t say she’s noticed.
-
Not many love stories begin in an elevator, or not as many as Aerosmith would have led Dana Whitaker to believe. She’s on her way to lunch, texting frantically with Natalie, when she walks right into a tall woman getting out on Dana’s floor. Not that Dana has a whole floor, of course, but she has a nice corner office that’s a bit bigger than Issac’s old one, and she’s not used to a whole lot of foot traffic up here on the Executive levels.
“You should have been a linebacker,” the unfortunate woman says, and Dana looks up from her phone long enough to apologize and to register the face looking back at her.
“Well,” Dana is flustered for a moment, blushing like she’s been caught smoking out of her office window again. “Good defensive play does kinda run in my blood.”
It’s a ridiculous conversation for two women in pantsuits that each cost thousands of dollars, but it happens to be the one that they’re having.
“You’re C.J. Cregg,” Dana continues. She recognizes the face of the Bartlet administration despite the lighter and shorter hair, the absence of the smart glasses that became something of a trademark behind the podium. “I heard the News Division was trying to land you.”
“We’ll see,” C.J. says with a smile that seems to come easy, but doesn’t make it all the way to her eyes. “I have a meeting, anyway.”
“Good luck,” Dana says with a smile, stepping inside the waiting elevator. “Again, sorry for the accidental tackling.”
“Don’t worry about it,” C.J. says with an awkward little wave, and the elevator doors slide shut.
(And if they met a few hours later, crossing Rockefeller Plaza, well maybe that’s where things really started. Where Dana, for reasons passing understanding, invited C.J. for the best martinis in town.
And if they drank those martinis, and Dana got talking--somehow--about how postponing a date with the so-called love of her life for six months led her to discover that maybe not so much for her, with the men, well. These things happen.
C.J. kissed her in the hallway by the restrooms two hours after that, tasting like vermouth and freshly-applied lipstick. When Dana asks ‘what the hell?’, C.J. just says ‘oh, I’ve always known.’)
-
“Hey,” Dana says, still a little unsure of greetings and PDAs and a hundred other things that come with being a visible woman in a relationship with an even more visible one. C.J. never did take that job with the News Division at CSC, but here she is anyway, almost two years later. That’s two years of snatched weekends and one glorious week in Bermuda, getting to know C.J.’s daughter and talking her through the aftermath of telling that journalist who happened to be said daughter’s dad. Two years of Dana being more secretive about her personal life than ever before, and actually wanting to be free off the office early on the days when C.J’s in town (California does not agree with Dana, and although she makes the sacrifice as often as necessary, there’s always more in Manhattan to bring C.J. to her.) Today that something is a new permanent role with CBS, something that makes Dana so happy she hasn’t even made a crack about rival networks and selling out.
“Hey,” C.J. says right back, drifting away from her travel companion and gathering Dana in one of her generous hugs. That would be enough, honestly, but all the planning means it’s been a month and maybe that’s why C.J. opts for the bolder gesture of a soft kiss on the lips, which somehow manages to feel appropriate. Whatever the reason, Dana has no complaints. She pushes her glasses up onto her head; they’re not necessary without distant monitors to check. Arm-in-arm, they stroll out to the waiting town car, already loaded up with C.J’s cases and the bottle of Veuve that Dana bought on impulse last night.
“Welcome home,” Dana says once they’re safely behind tinted windows. Nothing about the kiss that follows is appropriate at all.
-
“Wow,” C.J. says when they step inside the apartment. “I had almost forgotten about the lamp thing.”
Dana shrugs, and switches on the nearest one (Tiffany, brass) because the evenings are already drawing in and it took them a while to get through the rush hour traffic. She’s about to take C.J.’s coat, commenting that Burberry really do make a nice trench, but C.J. seems intent on finishing what they started in the car.
It works wonders for Dana’s nervousness when instead of awkwardly unpacking and standing around they get naked right there in the foyer and C.J.’s fashionable coat becomes a handy barrier between cold floor and warm skin.
“I haven’t lived with anyone in a long time,” Dana confesses, catching her breath as she lies there on crumpled fabric with C.J. smiling into her shoulder. “But I don’t think I’m going to hate it so much this time.”
“I’m a pleasure to live with,” C.J. nods in agreement. “It’s going to be fun.”
_
And somehow? It actually is.
There are a few squabbles carried over from the weekends spent in each other’s space--real estate battles in the bathroom, some terrible attempts at cooking in the kitchen. C.J. gets a little tighter around the eyes once the initial honeymoon period wears off, but that tension fades in turn when the school term ends and Ava finally comes to stay.
Dana watches them hug in the middle of her living room, and she thinks that maybe now it feels like a home. Danny starts back with the Times in a couple of weeks--he’s still packing up what used to be their family home in California--but some kind of fortune has shone on them to make this twenty-first century arrangement work out so neatly.
Ava is her mother in miniature, something that C.J. doesn’t see, and Dana delights in. They order takeout that first night, and bust out the board games that Dana’s recovered from three different closests and unpacked crates. Trivial Pursuit lasts until four, way past anyone’s bedtime, but Ava revels in the updated questions and ends up kicking both of their asses quite comprehensively. The kid smiles when Dana takes C.J.’s hand out of habit, and another concern falls by the wayside.
When they finally pack the victor off to bed, C.J. is the one who stretches and pours them both another glass of wine. Dana grabs a sweater and they slip out onto the roof terrace, watching the twinkling lights of Manhattan as it waits for Sunday to come.
“This is nice, don’t you think?” Dana whispers into C.J.’s neck as they sit, wrapped up under a blanket, on the single deckchair that’s still out. C.J. runs the fingers of one hand through the blonde strands of Dana’s hair and hesitates before answering.
“Good morning,” she says, as the sun struggles out from behind the rolling clouds. She kisses Dana, firmly and without hurry. “And yes, I really think it is.”
Crossover: Sports Night/The West Wing
Pairing: Dana Whitaker/C.J. Cregg
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Set post both of these shows. Dana has been promoted up the ranks, and C.J. is moving back into the media world after splitting up with Danny.
Disclaimer: Not mine! Sorkin was the genius behind both shows, but I am merely playing and making no profit.
Prompt: For jenepel, who requested: CJ/Dana good morning, good morning (we’ve talked the whole night through)
Dedication: For lovely Jenn, she of the kickass taste and brilliant prompts ;) Have a lovely Christmas and New Year, though I'll tell you in person come Baking-palooza.
Dana paces the arrivals hall in measured strides, counting them without intending to. five-six-seven-eight; she’s a Follies number in Donna Karan slacks. She checks the screen one more time, and sees the garish red ‘ARRIVED’ glaring back at her, quietly mocking. How long can the walk from the gate be, for God’s sake? Maybe it’s time to ask someone, ask one of these bored looking teenagers with wings on their uniform to actually do something.
But there’s a fresh gaggle of footsteps then, the squeak of sneakers and the click of heels on the dull linoleum floors, too many voices competing at once as the 3.15 from L.A. finally disgorges its passengers into the glass and strip-lighting of JFK. C.J. is, predictably, the last to emerge. She’s wearing a smart trench coat that might not be quite warm enough for the crispness of the fall day, and smiling warmly at the elderly man who’s regaling her with some story or other.
In that moment Dana doesn’t see the former Press Secretary, who spent six years on everyone’s television screen. Instead, she sees the C.J. that she’s fallen in love with, smart and compassionate and a little too accessible for her own damn good.
Then C.J. looks up, and she smiles. If there’s anyone else in the terminal, or on the planet, Dana can’t say she’s noticed.
-
Not many love stories begin in an elevator, or not as many as Aerosmith would have led Dana Whitaker to believe. She’s on her way to lunch, texting frantically with Natalie, when she walks right into a tall woman getting out on Dana’s floor. Not that Dana has a whole floor, of course, but she has a nice corner office that’s a bit bigger than Issac’s old one, and she’s not used to a whole lot of foot traffic up here on the Executive levels.
“You should have been a linebacker,” the unfortunate woman says, and Dana looks up from her phone long enough to apologize and to register the face looking back at her.
“Well,” Dana is flustered for a moment, blushing like she’s been caught smoking out of her office window again. “Good defensive play does kinda run in my blood.”
It’s a ridiculous conversation for two women in pantsuits that each cost thousands of dollars, but it happens to be the one that they’re having.
“You’re C.J. Cregg,” Dana continues. She recognizes the face of the Bartlet administration despite the lighter and shorter hair, the absence of the smart glasses that became something of a trademark behind the podium. “I heard the News Division was trying to land you.”
“We’ll see,” C.J. says with a smile that seems to come easy, but doesn’t make it all the way to her eyes. “I have a meeting, anyway.”
“Good luck,” Dana says with a smile, stepping inside the waiting elevator. “Again, sorry for the accidental tackling.”
“Don’t worry about it,” C.J. says with an awkward little wave, and the elevator doors slide shut.
(And if they met a few hours later, crossing Rockefeller Plaza, well maybe that’s where things really started. Where Dana, for reasons passing understanding, invited C.J. for the best martinis in town.
And if they drank those martinis, and Dana got talking--somehow--about how postponing a date with the so-called love of her life for six months led her to discover that maybe not so much for her, with the men, well. These things happen.
C.J. kissed her in the hallway by the restrooms two hours after that, tasting like vermouth and freshly-applied lipstick. When Dana asks ‘what the hell?’, C.J. just says ‘oh, I’ve always known.’)
-
“Hey,” Dana says, still a little unsure of greetings and PDAs and a hundred other things that come with being a visible woman in a relationship with an even more visible one. C.J. never did take that job with the News Division at CSC, but here she is anyway, almost two years later. That’s two years of snatched weekends and one glorious week in Bermuda, getting to know C.J.’s daughter and talking her through the aftermath of telling that journalist who happened to be said daughter’s dad. Two years of Dana being more secretive about her personal life than ever before, and actually wanting to be free off the office early on the days when C.J’s in town (California does not agree with Dana, and although she makes the sacrifice as often as necessary, there’s always more in Manhattan to bring C.J. to her.) Today that something is a new permanent role with CBS, something that makes Dana so happy she hasn’t even made a crack about rival networks and selling out.
“Hey,” C.J. says right back, drifting away from her travel companion and gathering Dana in one of her generous hugs. That would be enough, honestly, but all the planning means it’s been a month and maybe that’s why C.J. opts for the bolder gesture of a soft kiss on the lips, which somehow manages to feel appropriate. Whatever the reason, Dana has no complaints. She pushes her glasses up onto her head; they’re not necessary without distant monitors to check. Arm-in-arm, they stroll out to the waiting town car, already loaded up with C.J’s cases and the bottle of Veuve that Dana bought on impulse last night.
“Welcome home,” Dana says once they’re safely behind tinted windows. Nothing about the kiss that follows is appropriate at all.
-
“Wow,” C.J. says when they step inside the apartment. “I had almost forgotten about the lamp thing.”
Dana shrugs, and switches on the nearest one (Tiffany, brass) because the evenings are already drawing in and it took them a while to get through the rush hour traffic. She’s about to take C.J.’s coat, commenting that Burberry really do make a nice trench, but C.J. seems intent on finishing what they started in the car.
It works wonders for Dana’s nervousness when instead of awkwardly unpacking and standing around they get naked right there in the foyer and C.J.’s fashionable coat becomes a handy barrier between cold floor and warm skin.
“I haven’t lived with anyone in a long time,” Dana confesses, catching her breath as she lies there on crumpled fabric with C.J. smiling into her shoulder. “But I don’t think I’m going to hate it so much this time.”
“I’m a pleasure to live with,” C.J. nods in agreement. “It’s going to be fun.”
_
And somehow? It actually is.
There are a few squabbles carried over from the weekends spent in each other’s space--real estate battles in the bathroom, some terrible attempts at cooking in the kitchen. C.J. gets a little tighter around the eyes once the initial honeymoon period wears off, but that tension fades in turn when the school term ends and Ava finally comes to stay.
Dana watches them hug in the middle of her living room, and she thinks that maybe now it feels like a home. Danny starts back with the Times in a couple of weeks--he’s still packing up what used to be their family home in California--but some kind of fortune has shone on them to make this twenty-first century arrangement work out so neatly.
Ava is her mother in miniature, something that C.J. doesn’t see, and Dana delights in. They order takeout that first night, and bust out the board games that Dana’s recovered from three different closests and unpacked crates. Trivial Pursuit lasts until four, way past anyone’s bedtime, but Ava revels in the updated questions and ends up kicking both of their asses quite comprehensively. The kid smiles when Dana takes C.J.’s hand out of habit, and another concern falls by the wayside.
When they finally pack the victor off to bed, C.J. is the one who stretches and pours them both another glass of wine. Dana grabs a sweater and they slip out onto the roof terrace, watching the twinkling lights of Manhattan as it waits for Sunday to come.
“This is nice, don’t you think?” Dana whispers into C.J.’s neck as they sit, wrapped up under a blanket, on the single deckchair that’s still out. C.J. runs the fingers of one hand through the blonde strands of Dana’s hair and hesitates before answering.
“Good morning,” she says, as the sun struggles out from behind the rolling clouds. She kisses Dana, firmly and without hurry. “And yes, I really think it is.”