Chapter Text
“Oh, come on,” Chris laughed, shaking her short blonde hair out of her eyes. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. Look, I’ve got a guy waiting in DC, love him to death, but we’ve been bouncing from hayseed town to hayseed town for months, and there’s nothing to do but appreciate the scenery. Thompson’s 25 and fine. Admit it.” Chris raised an expectant brow at the rest of the women at the booth, drinking her beer without dropping the challenge. Katie, a veteran reporter for the Times, broke first. Laughing, she conceded, “Yeah, I notice every once in a while. But not Thompson. He’s not my type. I started paying attention when the photographer from the Globe joined the campaign – you know, what’s his name, the beardy one?” Halfway through her second whiskey ginger, CJ couldn’t believe she was even joining the conversation, but what the hell. She knew his name. With a slow half smile, she offered, “Joseph Fitzgerald?” “Thaaat’s the one,” Katie nodded, smiling with satisfaction. “Beautiful kid, you know? And when he wears the right jeans…” Katie paused for a moment, then decided to go for it. What the hell, she thought, they were so deep in Nebraska that the rules couldn’t possibly apply, and they were all a few drinks down. “What about you, CJ?” she asked. “Chris and I have been around these guys so long that we barely even notice half of them, but you’ve got fresh eyes.” CJ laughed, low and warm. “Hell no,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m not falling for this.” “Off the record!” Katie cried, feigning hurt. “Yeah, come on,” Chris teased. “Strictly between us. Be a sport.” CJ just laughed, signaling for another drink. “Fine,” Chris said, changing course. “Donna? You don’t have anything to lose. Who’s your eye candy of choice?” Donna choked on her vodka soda and CJ rolled her eyes. “Come on, Donna, you had to see that coming,” she sighed. Donna started to look wounded, but then she noticed CJ’s teasing half smile. “I don’t know the press corps like you guys do,” she protested. “They’re hardly the only men on the campaign,” Chris challenged, unfazed by Donna’s attempt to duck the question. “You’ve noticed somebody. Give it up.” “I honestly thought I was going to get away with just listening,” Donna muttered. Just when it looked like she was going to admit defeat, though, inspiration struck. “I’ll tell if CJ does,” Donna countered with a smirk, figuring that would be the end of it. CJ, having just finished her third whiskey, was staring back at the bar with a slight smile. When she heard what Donna said, she jerked with surprise, then turned to pin Donna with an appraising stare. “Donnatella Moss,” she said with grudging respect, “Good defense.” She paused and looked back at the bar with a considering stare. “Am I going to let you get away with it, though…?”
Sitting at the bar, Danny knew full well that he probably shouldn’t be listening in on this, but it was just too entertaining to pass up. Besides, he’d already heard Chris and Katie mooning over the young reporters on the press bus. Hell, everybody had. He was just enjoying listening to the friendly sparring match, teasing himself with the prospect of hearing which reporter the new press secretary had a crush on. Not that she was going to answer, he figured. She was too cagey for that. He kept one eye on the mirror behind the bar, watching the conversation unfold, trying to seem casual without missing a word.
“Yeah, you’re going to let me get away with it,” Donna said with a grin, flicking her hair back. “You’re the press secretary. Your crushes are news.” Damn right they were, Danny silently agreed. Hell, he’d buy a paper to find out who CJ had her eye on. She had great eyes, he thought, looking down into his drink. Great legs, great… whole package, he decided. The whole damn thing. He signaled the bartender for a beer, chuckling to himself. Breaking news: he’d figured out who he liked looking at. The bartender handed him his drink and Danny nodded his thanks, tuning back in to the conversation behind him.
“I bet I could find some reporters interested in writing about who Donna Moss has the hots for,” CJ challenged. “Hell, I should start a pool, add a little entertainment to the tour.” “I think gambling’s illegal wherever we are,” Donna said drily. “Besides, if you start a pool, I start a pool.” Chris perked up. “I’m in,” she said with a grin. “Oh, hell yeah,” Katie agreed. “I want in on both of these bets. Let’s make the bus a rolling casino.” “I’m not going down for leading a rolling house of sin through America’s heartland,” CJ returned. “Now that would be interesting,” Chris responded with an exaggerated leer. CJ snorted. “Imagine the headlines.” CJ chuckled, enjoying the thought. Feeling loose and warm from the whiskey, she glanced aimlessly at the copper-haired man relaxing at the bar, back turned to her. “What the hell,” she said softly. Chris looked at her expectantly while Katie’s face changed from mild confusion to an eager grin. “No formal pool,” CJ said, trying to sound stern. “And off the record. But let’s hear your best guess. If you’re right, I’ll admit it.” “And if we’re wrong?” Chris challenged. CJ sighed. “Maaaybe I’ll tell you. And we’re guessing Donna, too.”
Danny couldn’t stop his brows from flying up. That was unexpected, he had to acknowledge. CJ had a sense of humor, sure, but she was always a professional. As he started considering who he would pick in the pool, he caught himself frowning into his beer. Probably… well, she didn’t seem too enthusiastic about Fitzgerald when Katie brought him up, so not him. And if she didn’t like Fitzgerald, that probably also got rid of McCann. She hadn’t said anything about Thompson, but Thompson was still a strong contender. Pretty boy, Danny thought with light contempt, surprising himself. Maybe Gaines? He hoped not. Gaines was… tall, dark, and striking, sure, but an asshole. Philips was old, but maybe she was into silver foxes. Danny considered his choices, trying to think of anyone else he should include. At some point, eavesdropping on this particular conversation had gotten less fun, he noted. Maybe he was just tired – or maybe, his brain suggested mockingly, you’re about to hear something you’re not going to like. Danny gave a little irritated huff. So he liked looking at CJ, fine. And he liked talking to her. And listening to her talk to other people. She could like whoever she wanted. He was man enough to handle that. Unless it was Gaines, but… No, even Gaines. As Danny crankily tried to make his pick, CJ downed the rest of her drink, raising a brow at the other women. “So?” she asked archly, letting the syllable hang.
“Fitzgerald,” Katie said immediately. CJ smiled and shook her head. At the bar, Danny rolled his eyes. Waste of a guess. And suddenly, he didn’t want to be there anymore. More likely than not, CJ wasn’t going to tell them who she liked, but in that moment, the whole scenario made him itch. Danny grabbed his coat and dropped a bill on the bar, choosing to over-tip rather than wait for his change. It was easier to breathe when he made it out of the bar; leaning against the building, he let the cold air wash over him. Suddenly, the bar door opened, and Danny heard an entirely unwelcome voice exclaim, “Concannon! What are you doing out here?”
James MacMillan was a nice enough kid, but at the moment, he grated on Danny’s already raw nerves. He was such a junior reporter that, in a just world, Danny would never have had to bother talking to him. The journalists covering the Bartlet campaign were an unusual mix, though. On the press bus, experienced political reporters taking a chance for the Real Thing shared space with rookies on a throwaway assignment, which meant that MacMillan was, for all intents and purposes, a colleague. Besides that, MacMillan, who was covering his first election for the Baltimore Sun, was the nephew of the last administration’s press secretary. MacMillan idolized his uncle; his most treasured lessons about what it meant to be a journalist had come from him, as had his ideas about how a press secretary should do the job. The thing was, Danny thought, suppressing a sigh, MacMillan’s uncle had been kind of a dick. As press secretary, he had practically handled the press corps with a whip and a chair, never missing a chance to assert his authority in whatever way most accentuated someone else’s powerlessness. Sure, he’d been competent, but the day he’d left the briefing room for good, the press corps had popped champagne. Somehow, MacMillan had no clue, and Danny didn’t want to be the one to tell him. “Hey, James.” “You feeling OK, man? It’s cold out here.” “Yeah,” Danny assured him with a half-hearted smile. “Just needed a little space, you know? It gets tight on the campaign trail.” “Yeah, we’re all pretty packed in. Maybe a little too close, you know? Especially seeing as it’s us and CJ. And not just on the bus, but in the bar, too.” Danny’s head started throbbing. He hadn’t meant to give MacMillan an opening, but here they were, talking about CJ, working their way to the topic of how press secretaries should handle themselves. Fixing what he hoped was a patient smile on his face, Danny took a deep breath. “I mean…”