"How did President Bartlet discover your affair?"

CJ gritted her teeth at the word 'affair' but knew it had been tossed around during the last couple of days frequently. "I'm sure you'd have to ask him. And before someone asks, he was pleased upon learning of our relationship. Greg?"

"Have you had any contact with Alex Hart's parents since that night?"

She pursed her lips. A headache began to buzz in her forehead. "Actually, I have spoken with them."

"Regularly?"

"Yes, regularly," CJ answered. It wasn't any of their business that she had spoken to them as recently as last week. "Carrie."

"Under what pretenses was Tad Whitney brought to the White House to meet Chief of Staff, Leo McGarry and the President?"

CJ shifted behind the podium. "Mr. Whitney was not asked to come here under any pretenses. He was requested to meet with the Chief of Staff and President. I think the President and Leo can hardly be blamed for what Mr. Whitney assumed was his reason for being requested to come to the White House."

"CJ, are you saying that the Chief of Staff and President conspired to conceal the events of your past and if so, how does the White House respond to charges it orchestrated a cover-up?"

She fought the urge to rub her head and give away the fact that she had already tired of this line of questioning. "That's exactly what I am not saying. As I mentioned earlier in my statement, Tad Whitney was blackmailing Samuel Seaborn and myself through a combination of our concealed relationship and my involvement in the death of Alex Hart. When he was summoned to the White House, Leo McGarry and the President attempted to set him straight. Obviously, that did not work very well."

"And how did you conclude Mr. Whitney was behind the picture and newspaper clippings that were sent to you?" another reporter queried.

"He was the only one besides myself and Toby Ziegler who were aware of those events. Alicia?"

"Will Mr. Whitney and Ms. Stark be reprimanded for their false allegations?"

"As neither one directly works for the White House, I cannot say at the moment. Maybe you should take that up with the Majority Whip's Office. Thanks everyone. That's it." CJ picked up her notes and handed them to Carol as she walked out the door.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" she asked her assistant.

"Not at all," Carol answered.

"Hey, that wasn't too bad," Sam walked towards her.

"If you say so," CJ sighed. "Sam, remind me why I can't string them up by their thumbs."

"Because you don't look good in prison orange for one thing."

"Good point."

"Look, why don't we go home early and -"

CJ placed her hand on his shoulder. "I - I really think I just want to go home and sleep some." She sighed. "I'm tired and I'm going to need all the rest I can get." She looked back at the Briefing Room. "They haven't finished by a long shot. I think we should all just rest for now."

Sam tried to conceal the hurt look he knew was creeping into his eyes. "Uh, okay."

"I'm just not feeling very well," she tried to explain.

"You're not?" She could feel the concern in his voice.

"I have a headache not exactly helped by the shark chorus in there. My stomach's been acting funny and I've already had to race to the bathroom once today. With my luck, it'll be full-blown pneumonia. How about tomorrow? We can both catch whatever I have and get laid up together," she mustered a smile for him.

"You threw up?"

CJ tried not to roll her eyes. "Yes, it's something people do, Sam. Perfectly normal and before you ask, I have been eating. I am not going to blow chunks all over your shoes and I will be at work tomorrow."

"Blow chunks?" He couldn't help but grin. "Take some Vitamin C."

"Does that really help?"

"Does chicken soup?"

She smiled softly. "Good point. Okay, I'm going to just -"

"Okay."

*

"Hey, CJ, I've got a pizza. Open up before I drop it on your steps." Sam stood out on the stoop, hoping CJ would answer the door soon.

"If it falls, you're cleaning it up," CJ answered, opening the door. "Isn't this a pleasant surprise? I told you I wanted to sleep." Greedily, she eyed the box. "But I think I can forgive you." She kissed him in greeting and took the white box out of his hands.

Sam shrugged out of his coat. "I didn't want you to be alone if you were feeling sick and I thought I'd keep you company. And...I decided to kick out early when Toby threatened me."

CJ's eyebrow arched. "Toby threatened you?"

"You sound surprised."

"I mean, true, it's something Toby does but I thought that was something he only reserved for Josh. And I thought you two kids were getting along so well these days." Lightly, she pinched his cheek.

"Why do I get the feeling I'm being mocked?"

"Probably because you are."

"Well, yeah, I'm just next on his list."

"Whatcha bring me?" CJ picked up two plates from the rack.

Sam did a double take. "I thought you were feeling sick."

CJ rolled her eyes. "You brought food, Sam. Greasy food, albeit which will probably not help me later tonight. My stomach has been churning all day but I'm still hungry and I'm not about to turn this down for anything."

"Oh. I got us a supreme - green peppers, olives, onions, sausage, pepperoni, extra cheese."

"Mmm," CJ wiped the grease off of her fingers after she laid the slice of pizza onto her plate. "A man after my heart."

"Ahh," Sam groaned. "You mean I could have gotten you months ago with a pizza?"

"Do you think I'm that cheap?"

"No."

"Of course not," CJ agreed, smirking. "I'd have wanted a pint of Blue Bell Homemade Vanilla to go with that. Come on, I was watching Buffy."

Sam groaned. "Why can't we watch AMC or HBO?"

"Be careful or we'll end up watching Lifetime."

His mouth clamped shut at the threat. "You know, CJ, I never pegged you for a Buffy kinda girl."

She sat down beside him. "Well, Mr. Seaborn, there are many things you have yet to learn about me."

"I know," Sam said quietly. "How're you holding up?"

"Me?" CJ asked in a false cheery voice. "I'm doing peachy, Sam. What do you think?" she snapped.

"That great, huh."

"You know what I don't get?" She placed her plate onto the coffee table. "Why did they have to use someone else's life as a punching bag? He could have just gone after us but no, he had to bring Alex into the mix. And then he brought Ann in to help him out. What did I do to them?"

"They're a bunch of sons of bitches, CJ. You know that and so does everyone else now." Sam said softly. "I know there's no love lost between you and Ann."

"Got that right," she said, plucking a piece of pepperoni off of her pizza.

"How is your stomach now?"

"It stopped threatening me a few hours ago but I've still got a headache the size of Mt. Rushmore."

"Are you going to see a doctor?"

"It's probably just the flu or something," CJ shrugged him off. "Come on, Sam. I don't want to talk about anything unpleasant tonight."

"Well, that sounded very Anne of Green Gables." As CJ made a face, he draped his arm around her shoulders casually. "What do you want to talk about?"

CJ burst out laughing. "That was real smooth. Does that work on all the girls?"

Sam couldn't help but crack a smile. "Until you."

"For good reason, Sammy boy."

"Why don't you ever let me call you Claudia Jean?"

She looked surprised at his question. "You wanted to?" she barely squeaked. "It's not a request I get a lot but if you wanted to."

"No, I just thought I would ask."

"Why, do you have something else you want to call me?"

"Ginger?" Sam smiled.

CJ leaned back in his arms as all the fight and tension from the day fled her body. "Oh, did you ever find out if there's a way to get those changed?"

"CJ, I don't think you can just change your Secret Service name."

"Do you think if I protested really loudly, they'd change it?"

"Mmm, probably not."

"Ah, so you'll be Fred and I'll be Ginger?"

"Yep."

"Just as long as we don't have to do any dancing," she murmured sleepily. "You know the President would make us. We'd have to fly around the dance floor for hours on end and my shoes would be too small to really dance in and I just couldn't do it. Then you'd have to go dance with Ainsley or Donna or someone and I'd be on the sidelines." she rambled nonsensically.

"What if I told you I wouldn't dance with anyone but you?"

"I'd say you were a damned fool."

Sam squeezed his arm around her gently. "No Scarlett and Rhett?"

"No, you don't have a mustache or a Southern accent."

"Yeah," he answered quietly. "Why don't we get you into bed?"

Her eyes fluttered open. "Are you trying to take advantage of me, Sam?"

"Would you like me too?"

She bit her lip as if she was contemplating his question. A slow smile found its way to her lips. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

Sam found the remote and clicked off the TV. They rose off the couch and stumbled their way to her bedroom. Gently, he laid her on the bed and followed suit after kicking off his shoes.

"Sam," she said sleepily.

"What?"

"Love you."