Title: free/fall
Author: mdl
Rating: PG
Character: CJ Cregg
Pairing: CJ/Abbey Category: drabble-ish - Romance/Drama
Summary: I can see it like I'm watching myself from afar, like I'm my own voyeur

Disclaimer: "The West Wing", the characters and situations depicted are the property of Warner Bros. Television, John Wells Productions, NBC, etc. They are borrowed without permission, but without the intent of infringement. This site is in no way affiliated with "The West Wing", NBC, or any representatives of the actors. This site contains stories between two mature, consenting adult females.

Author's Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowing.

Author’s Notes: Thanks to all for making a new girl welcome. Inspired by a comment [info]indigo_inferno made about the Abbey drabble and how CJ would be having many of the same thoughts. Here are hers.

I'm babbling, going on and on about my Russian handyman and deck repair and the inevitable combination of comedy and tragedy that accompanies home improvement.

Chattering away - is this our fifth call this week? - to keep myself from blurting out the entirely inappropriate: "You looked amazing at the Kennedy Center dinner. I saw you on CNN and it was all I could do to deny the sudden hope that you'd wake up in my bed." Alternately: "I wonder how you bear missing him. How it feels after 40 years, this piece of yourself gone. How I wish it could be me to make you feel whole again."

I refuse to believe that this talking with you, every evening, late into the night, is inappropriate. That it crosses a boundary of intimacy I never allowed myself to hope for. Even now, I won't go inside it past the point where I can safely see the way out.

Ten years, Abigail Ann, of the most deliberate restraint, my boundaries clear from the start, slipping rarely but never often. Our friendship - and him - more important than wanting.

What I allow myself now is the low rumble of your laugh and the knowledge that Sam's wedding is three weeks and two days away. I imagine what it will be like to see you in the California sun, whether I'll be able to stop myself from pitching forward, whether I'll even remember to turn around and see if the way out is still visible.