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: I own nothing, merely borrowing, and promise to return them in perfect condition.
Author’s Notes: This is my first try at CJ/Abbey and my first LJ post ever. I've been lurking about and have finally decided to come out and play, inspired by all of your lovely writing. Apologies that I don't yet know how to link the story to another page.
Later you’ll remember that this was the moment: the August night breeze through the screened-in porch, the phone at your ear, a glass of red wine balanced on the arm of the oversized chair that Jed loved to sit in, and that laugh – her laugh – as rich and deep and full as the haze of red liquid you swirl side to side without brimming over.
A year and three months to the day from that terrible June night when you heard Curtis cry out and you knew, without knowing, that it was over.
It's the fifth night in a row that you've called or she's called and somehow, between your voices, evening passes into night. She's telling a story you can’t quite remember because she laughs that laugh and suddenly, suddenly you picture yourself kissing her.
Later, you’ll think to question why you weren’t shocked by this, but now, here in the dark Manchester night, you’ll only sink deeper into the chair, wrapping yourself up in the warmth of her voice and in the delicious ache you won't fully understand until next you see her.