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CJ sits in her office, mind racing after a sleepless night and two days of nonstop action -- one spent in Dayton, one spent in the briefing room. She had made it partway to her car, a lid called and her staff debriefed, but had forgotten something and turned back. By the time she had flipped the desk light on, the reason for the return escaped her. She had collapsed onto the couch, defeated.
Her chest aches and she tries to blink the fog from her vision, willing herself to stand and head home.
Toby stops in her doorway, hands in his coat pockets. He leans one shoulder against the frame, taking in the scene before him. In the dim light her face is unreadable.
He clears his throat. “You did good today.”
“Thanks.” She gives him a weak smile.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she says, looking at her hands resting in front of her. Gloves , she thinks, I needed to put on gloves .
Toby raises his brow. “How was he?”
“I told you yesterday, he’s fine.” CJ brushes some hair off of her face and looks up at him.
“How was he, really?” He knows he’s probing, but he knows without him probing she will maintain this act indefinitely.
She bites the inside of her cheek, shaking her head. It’s too hard, lying to his face. “He forgot he quit smoking. The man hasn't smoked a cigarette in twenty years, but one day he just forgot.”
Toby walks into the room and perches on the armrest of a chair. “Well, good thing I never quit.”
“Don’t.” She looks up at the ceiling, her voice breaking.
“Claudia, let me take you home,” he says, rubbing his thighs.
She fixes a steely gaze on him. “I can take myself home.”
“I’m not sure you should be driving after the weekend you’ve had.”
“Screw you.”
“Please, CJ.” He couldn’t fix what was broken back in Ohio, but he could at least get her into a warm bed, maybe convince her to eat something. He could make sure she wasn’t alone tonight.
She takes a deep breath, eyes closed, and nods. “Okay.”
He picks up the gloves from her desk, and offers her his other hand. She slides their palms together, rising from the couch. When he moves to give the gloves to her, she gives him a pleading look, as if standing had taken everything she had left. Without a word, he gently slips her left, then her right, into the wool, finally just holding her hands in his.
“Let’s go.”