Spoilers: minor ones for "In the Shadow of Two Gunmen."

Timeline: This exists in the same universe as my last two stories,
"Downtime" and "The Company of Women" and timewise Part 1 begins
before the events of either of those, but the whole story will
eventually weave around them.

Rating: PG, just to be safe.

Summary: A friendship provides a basis for dealing with other
relationships as well.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


She really is beautiful. Not in that Cindy Crawford / Gwyneth
Paltrow / Ainsley Hayes kind of way, but in a way that I find frankly
more interesting and compelling. And yes, I just said Ainsley Hayes
was beautiful. I mean, she is. That doesn't mean I have to like
her. But we're not talking about Ainsley right now. We're talking
about me being irrational.

Not that thinking CJ's beautiful makes me irrational, because she
definitely is (although please don't tell my mother I said that, or
she'd jump to some pretty off-base conclusions and we'd have to have
one of our little chats). She's just the kind of beautiful that
comes from being graceful and confident and brilliant and utterly - I
don't know - radiant. Yeah. She's radiant.

I'm not generally a hero-worshipper. And I don't think that's what
this is, exactly. But I definitely admire her.

I do have to confess, in the interest of full disclosure, that I'm
not watching her right now because I admire her. I'm watching her
because I'm fascinated by the interpersonal scene taking place in his
dark office.

This is probably bad and wrong and semi-voyeuristic because they
definitely don't know I'm here, and from what I know of them they
probably wouldn't be doing this if they thought anyone was likely to
see.

Don't get me wrong, there's nothing raunchy going on. They're just -
being close, I guess. It's just that I've never seen them like this
before. He's never been overly demonstrative even with his
girlfriends, and she's - well, I've never seen her be this
affectionate with anyone. Ever.

I guess this is a good thing for them, then. You know, maybe this is
how they get their - I don't know - affection quota for the week.
Maybe they're both just the kind of people who have trouble with
romantic relationships.

Because I do know that this is not romantic. Somehow you can just
tell, watching them (which, as I've mentioned, I'm aware is a morally
questionable thing for me to be doing) through the crack in the door.
There's nothing sexual about what they're doing, it's just sweet.
But achingly, heart-rendingly sweet.

I wonder why I didn't see any of this when he was hurt. I guess
maybe they waited until everyone else was gone.

This internal monologue thing should probably worry me.

Meanwhile, as I'm carrying on a conversation with myself, he's moved
closer to her on his office couch. The lights, as I think I
mentioned, are already out. I flipped them myself on my way out half
an hour ago. Then I got into a conversation, came back for my coat,
peeked into the office - and was immediately gripped by what I saw.
I mean, one of the loveliest but also one of the most stoic women
I've ever met, together with the most unsentimental guy possible
(well, maybe a close second, after Toby), sharing what is quite
clearly an intimate moment.

God, I shouldn't be here.

But I still am.

Her eyes are closed, her head leaned back against the couch. She's
exhausted, I know. It's been a long press day. He's talking to her
so quietly that even I, standing right outside the office, can't
hear. But the quality of his gestures is unmistakable. He's lightly,
gently stroking her arm, his head resting against the couch but
almost on her shoulder. Something he says makes her smile, and she
leans over to rest her head against his. After a second, during
which she clearly says something else, he reaches over to wrap his
arm around her and pull her into a real embrace. She hugs him back,
and I have to duck behind the door because now he's practically facing
me. They pull back. He kisses her temple and for a moment they lean
their foreheads together. Something in my chest throbs in response.
I want friends like that.

They've said goodnight and are getting up to leave. Oops! They're
getting up to leave. Time to run. I dash around the corner and then
resume walking slowly so the Secret Service don't think I've either
a) gone crazy, or b) planted a bomb. But the image of what I just
witnessed stays with me. I've always known Josh and CJ were good
friends. I just never would have expected their friendship to be as
heart-breakingly beautiful as it is.

And I never would have expected myself to be this jealous.

I know, I know. Their friendship is inherently different. They're
equals. They're exactly the same age. There's a twelve-year
difference between them and me. It's not the same thing. But still.
I want. . .

I want him to treat me that way.

Oh, my Lord. I want him to treat me that way.

You have to understand, this is a major realization for me. Yes,
yes, I know. Go ahead and snicker. Yes, this is something I should
have realized quite some time ago - like maybe three years ago when
we met and I threw myself at his feet practically begging him to
rescue my life. But it's been something my subconscious has managed
to keep pretty well under wraps. Until now.

This is not good.

In fact, this is bad.

Serves me right for spying.

Only now what do I do?

Say, "Hey Josh, last night I watched you and CJ in your office, and I
got really lonely and realized that I would really like it if you did
that stuff with me too?"

Oh, I'm a sad, sad person.

I'm sitting here, in my darkened apartment, wishing my boss would hug
me the way he does his best friend. Who, I hardly need to add, is
his best friend because she's brilliant and sure of herself and funny
and confident and independent and quite a lot of other things that
I'm, well, not. At least, I tend not to think so.

There are times when he looks at me and I feel like a powerful woman.
And there are times when he looks at me and I feel like a little
girl playing at real life. Our relationship is on a whole different
level from his and CJ's, and I shouldn't be jealous. But the thing
is, I'm not really jealous so much as lonely. And I certainly can't
blame that on CJ - even if I didn't adore her, which I do.

Sigh. I go to bed, even though I can't really sleep. It's been
three years since I was dumped (by the man my boss has so eloquently
dubbed "Dr. Freeloader"), three years since there's been a constant
presence in my life like that, but I still have these bouts of
emptiness where I have trouble sleeping alone. I close my eyes, try
not to picture his arms around me, and try to ignore the tightness in
my chest. It doesn't work very well.