[ Fanfiction ] The West Wing -- Resentment
Title: Resentment
Fandom: The West Wing
Summary: C.J. used to come to her at night.
Characters/Pairings: C.J. Cregg/secret
Genre: Angst/Romance
Beta: None
Rating/Warnings: R
Margret never realised why you resented her. You talked about it once, because Donna couldn't stand the tension between you. She'd pulled you with her into a room down the hall from Josh's office where files where kept in long lines of packed shelves. And you felt it suiting, to be discussing this in the room of discarded old news.
"I know it's hard..." She'd said; a look of pity on her face that made you want to smack her. "…it's a big change. But you can't take it out on her." She'd pleaded.
"What do you want from me?" You'd asked, because after all, she was just trying to be nice. She was always trying to be nice, and this time you couldn't take it, because she didn't know.
She'd sighed, leaned back against the small table that, just like the files on the shelves, had been placed in there because it was no longer of use. You started feeling sick to your stomach. It was too real.
"I want us all to be able to work together." She'd said and you had to force yourself not to scoff at her.
"Fine." You'd said and turned on your heels. You didn't want to talk, you didn't want to be nice, and you really didn't want to be in this room.
"Carol?" She gripped your arm and you felt the rubber band holding the doors to your emotions closed, starting to wear thin.
"You don't know." You'd hissed, unfazed by the shocked expression on her face. "If Josh had gotten that promotion and left you behind…" You started, and her face fell.
"That's not the same, and you know it." She'd said, her look telling you that you should know better than to compare her seemingly one-sided love for her boss to your professional relationship with C.J.
"You don't know." You'd repeated and the look in her eyes told you that you'd said too much.
She never asked you again, never complained about the way you spoke to Margret, if you even did. But you saw the look of pity in her eyes every time she stopped by with coffee because she felt she owed you something.
It had been weeks since she left you, because in your eyes that was exactly what she did. And you resented Margret for not seeing what you saw, for thinking it was professional arrogance on your part.
You'd see her in the hallways, always in a rush and never alone. You'd see her and your heart would jab at your ribs, telling you to close your eyes, to shut her out of your world.
You didn't want her out, you wanted to grab her, hold her, to make her scream.
She didn't acknowledge your presence, and you couldn't address her without a valid reason.
Instead you started lurking; you'd know her schedule because even if you didn't speak to Margret, you did get along with the other secretaries. You'd watch her from across the hall as she spoke to Ambassadors in the Roosevelt room, her hair falling off her shoulder as she laughed and you bit your cheek to keep silent as she crossed her legs under the table. You wondered if they realised her methods, how she persuaded them to go her way with such ease and grace they wouldn't know what hit them until they walked out of the room and away from her smile.
But you almost preferred to watch as she switched the honey for the paddle, because there was something in the way she towered over her prey, her chest heaving from the same restrained anger that flushed her skin that made you think of epic battles and horns blaring in the sky. It made you remember.
"Why do you keep trying to set me up with Danny?" She'd asked one night as you were having drinks in her office. The shades were drawn and the door closed, otherwise you'd have heard the soft humming from the vacuums as the cleaning crew went about their nightly ritual.
"I think you'd make a good couple." You'd lied and hid your face behind your glass.
"Really?" She didn't sound convinced, and you thought it might have something to do with the fact that she'd caught you starring at her legs earlier that day.
"Alright." You confessed, wondering if she got you drunk because she knew you wouldn't be able to lie to her then. "I thought you liked him." You revised your previous statement.
"I do." She said with a shrug before standing up and you refusde to look at her because you knew where your gaze would drop. "I like a lot of people."
"I meant in a dating capacity." You explained and felt your breath hitch as she slid into the sofa next to you, sliding over so your knees touched.
"Dating is too much of a hassle." Her words were slightly slurred and you could smell the alcohol and peanuts on her breath. You just nodded your reply because her eyes were pinning you down, piercing through you with far too much force, like she was using a sword to butter her toast.
You jumped slightly as you felt her fingers brush against your thigh, and as you looked up she was smiling from one side of her mouth, a strain of brown falling into her face.
"C.J., what…?" You didn't finish your question, partly because you didn't know how to continue, but mostly because it wasn't relevant.
"You think I'm blind?" She asked; that amused look in her eyes that she always got when she knew she was winning. "You think I don't notice how you look at me?" You blushed and turned away, but her fingers moved from your thigh to your chin and she turned your face to hers.
"I'm sorry, I didn't…" For the second time you trailed off, but she wasn't interested in what you had to say anyway.
"Dating is too much of a hassle." She repeated again, her thumb brushing over your lips and you gasped, showing her your hand before she called you. "Don't you think Carol?" She asked and as you nodded, she smiled, her fingers moving away from your face again. "Good."
Then she stood up and you wondered if you'd missed something, or if she'd just been playing you to get to the truth. So you watched as she moved to the door, but felt your heart rate pick up as she locked it before walking back to you. This time as she sat down beside you, you turned to face her, your hand reaching out to pull a strand of hair from her face as you'd always wanted to do. She smiled a little before placing her hand on your thigh, inching it upwards. You held your breath as she leaned forward, your lips craving hers. The disappointment as you felt her kiss the hollow of your neck instead was short-lived as her tongue darted out over your skin.
You'd whimpered her name even when she told you to be quiet and you saw stars as she bit down on your shoulder as she shuddered silently in release.
It had been the first time, but not the last, and as you remembered the night in your car a year ago you felt your body melt from the memory and your chest constrict from the realisation.
You knew it had only been sex, but you'd taken what you could get from her. She'd never asked you home, or even into her car. You'd kissed every inch of her body, but not her lips. When you tried, she'd distract you, and you did like those distractions too. But now she was gone and now you craved her, you felt like an addict.
That's why you resented her new secretary, because since C.J. got her promotion and you stopped answering her calls, she had stopped seducing you.
It was on late nights just like this one, when the day had gone smoothly and no one saw any reason to stay behind after hours, that she would call you into her office. You'd always stay behind; making sure you had clean underwear in your purse.
Now you staid behind simply for the memories, for the off-chance she might come back.
So when you saw Margret walking past the hallway outside the communications bullpen, her coat buttoned tightly up to her chin and her purse in hand, you knew something was going on, because C.J. hadn't gone home, you'd knew if she had.
And a warm tingle spread in your lower stomach as you stood and made your way to her office, knowing she was still there and that this was your chance.
You knew she'd enjoyed your encounters, because even if she often criticised your spelling, she'd never once made a bad remark about your lovemaking skills. And you knew you could make her come back if given the chance, you knew she wouldn't be able to resist you if you got to show her what she'd been missing out on.
The door was closed, but there was a small ray of light shining through the keyhole and that's how you knew the door wasn't locked. Smiling to yourself you decided your best chance would be not to make your presence known until your hands were on her skin, so you opened the door ever so carefully, making sure it didn't squeak from the movement.
You wanted to scream, but the punch to your stomach made it impossible for you to even move, let alone utter sound. So instead you watched, your anger rising with every heave of her chest. You felt it strange, how you'd slept with her all this time but never seen her naked until now. And as you watched the scene unfold, suddenly you realised what you had always been. Because she'd been in control, even when you touched her, she'd controlled your moves. And you had thought her private, too strong to let down her guard. You would have laughed at the very notion of her spread naked and vulnerable on her desk under the power of someone else's body and will, like she was now. And because it was so surreal to you, so far from whom she'd been with you, you watched. You watched her arch into the touches above her, the soft light at the other side of the room playing over her skin, the shadows changing as she moved. You watched her hand tangle in silky blonde and you unconsciously twirled your own black between your fingers.
She had you mesmerized, the soft moans, the pleading look on her face and you noticed that her eyes where open, something you'd never seen before.
And as you heard her barely being able to formulate the word 'please' along with a term of endearment to the woman on top of her, before their lips crashed together in front of you, you felt your world shatter in time with her climax.
The next day you ignored her, as if she would notice you not looking at her in the hallways. And you no longer resented Margret because you had realised the other night that it hadn't ended because she had taken over your job. But you felt a numbing pain in your chest, a fierce burning of hatred as you watched her walk the halls with the blonde from the other night, noticing that their demeanour was not giving anything from their nightly activities away, until they parted by the communications bullpen and you felt yourself crashing into the abyss with the look they shared.
As she continued onward, the blonde took the route towards you and you let your head fall, because you didn't want to be nice and you hated her for not knowing what she'd done to you.
"Hey Carol." She smiled softly and you had to look up, cursing not only her but the hierarchy that forced you to acknowledge someone who so severely outranked you.
"Commander Harper." You spoke her title as a greeting of professional respect, for no matter how much you loathed her, you had respect for her service. And you really did hate her, not for being the one to take you place under C.J.'s touch, because deep down you knew someone would. No, you detested her because the woman whose existence kept you up at night fell in love, and it wasn't with you.