By Lauren S
Danny, will you marry me? Wait, I'm getting ahead of myself here, still on a high from the end of this episode. C.J. comes into work to find her office being packed up, and is given another couple of very lucrative job offers -- including one from Santos to help out the new administration. While this is on her plate, C.J. is visited by Andi, asking about a possible pardon for Toby. It's a lot to handle in a single day, and C.J.'s not handling it as gracefully as Iâm sure she might hope. C.J. ends up visiting Toby, and after getting out some of her residual anger they have a great moment, and he helps her to start taking baby steps to move on from her current life as it is. Then she visits Danny, who convinces C.J. that he wants to help her learn how to have a relationship, and that he wants to be a part of her life. It's at this very point that I turned to a pile of mush on the couch. Meanwhile, Will is thinking about a new job campaigning and ends up thinking about one particular race in Oregon. When Kate doesn't get offered the NSA job, she realizes that Will should be the one running for office in Oregon, rather than just strategizing it for someone else. Sounds like these two just might end up as West Coasters, though, it's not entirely confirmed. And neither is Toby's pardon, but hopefully that will be one of the ends that is tied up with week's finale.
Ooh la la, C.J. is getting ready for work at Danny's apartment. She puts her toothbrush back into a little plastic travel holder, which causes Danny to point out that she's welcome to leave it at his place: "You know, on the off chance you're ever here again with bad breath." He's all cute talking about dinner plans, but she seems somewhat distracted and stressed. She gives him a kiss, but seems more concerned about the time than she is about the fact that she's in a nice apartment with a cute guy who is crazy about her and with whom she just spent the night. She shoots down the suggestion of dinner that night, and then every other night that week as well, with various meetings. Danny's still all casual with a mug of coffee while she flits about like an overcaffeinated bee. He finally jovially calls out, "Okay, I'm bailing on dinner!," which causes her to apologize. One of the invitations C.J. vetoed was meeting Danny's sister; she wistfully says that she'd like to meet her. Danny: "You would. She's like me but with bigger teeth. It's something." Sweet and self-mocking? C.J., don't mess this one up. He continues to convince her that saying no is okay, but she's only feeling bad. He inquires, "So I shouldn't ask? I should just sit by the fire and wait for my booty call?" Her knee-jerk reaction is "Of course not," but she seems surprised by the question, and he seems a bit tentative. While she claims not to make booty calls, he explains, "You don't make any calls; it's kind of how it works out. You're elusive. It's part of the draw." She's gone from surprise to irritation in a few seconds flat, and tells him that it's too early for "this." When he asks what "this" is, he then tells her that he is kidding, but she's not convinced. She apologizes (again), and then assures him, "This will all be easier in two weeks. It really will."
At the White House, C.J. is telling Margaret about typos in a document when Margaret breaks in to suggest that she might want to go for a walk. An understandably confused C.J. is unclear as to what they're doing now, if not walking. Well, you're pedeconferencing, C.J. It's a technical term. Margaret continues to try to sell C.J. on the idea of a nice scone for breakfast, and C.J. gets increasingly suspicious, asking, "I still have a schedule, right? We're not just pretending I have a job like Dad, who no longer runs the company, but still shows up at the office every day?" Margaret assures C.J. that she has a job, and goes so far as to suggest that C.J. should say hello to Will, causing C.J. to order her to step aside. Doing pretty much the opposite, Margaret throws her body against the door, citing some filing she and Charlie were doing. C.J. finally makes it in, and is the last person in the entire world to realize that what they were doing was not filing, but packing. Margaret is prattling on when Kate walks in and observes, "This looks grim." Eventually, Margaret changes subjects to tell C.J. that there's "another causal conversation about [C.J.'s] future" in ten minutes, and a very frustrated C.J. expresses that she wants this to be the last one. She's told it's some guy from Hollis -- and I'm going to save the figuring out for all of you, my lovelies, and say that it seems to be some big computer-ish corporation, based on what transpires later. Kate asks C.J. about her job interviews, and C.J. brushes her off: "Headhunters waving stock options and jets and all I need to do is show up at the occasional board meeting. Why should I find that appealing?" Kate: "They don't know you're a masochist?" C.J. is not having any of it, and gripes, "I like to work for a living. Is that odd?" No, C.J., but your totally being grouchy to everyone in your orbit is a little bit odd. And off-putting. They talk offers, and Kate also mentions needing her on a call with a Chinese bigwig later. On her way out, C.J. asks about Kate's transition memo and is told she'll have it later. Do you smell a boring story thread? Yes, you do.
Two meek guys -- Ned and...Ned 2, let's just call him -- come into C.J.'s office to answer her questions about the budget draft, and where budget reduction is, if not up front. Even worse than being buried, they finally admit that it's just not there: "We thought it was along the lines of 'I'd like a pony.' Nobody actually expects to get the pony." C.J. insists, "I want the pony!" The pony in this case is a 50% deficit reduction, and she orders them to do it with no questions. Following the letter of the law, they phrase their point in a statement: that this will be tons of work for a document that's basically a formality before they all leave. Ned 2 adds that they wouldn't even know where to conjure up $150 million, but C.J. is completely exasperated, since she already told them where to find the money. She totally did, but is it really that easy? If so, I'd just like, say, six figures; if $150 mil is that easy, then my request is mere pocket change. Their problem, however, is that C.J.'s solution involves what they deem a massive tax increase. The deficit reduction was Bartlet's idea, but the tax increase was C.J.'s, so she's uncomfortable with their continued use of the word "massive." They try to fight her, arguing that they actually want to be able to find jobs after this administration, but she snaps, yells, and dismisses them to make the changes and distribute it for approval. They file out past Will, and I suspect that part of why she won that argument is that she's nearly as tall as both of them put together and could squash them like bugs. She greets Will with an ever-cheery "What!?" He's just there for the yelling, and then cops to a healthy case of senioritis. C.J. asks about his own transition memo, it's not done, she's pissed off, lather, rinse, repeat. Everyone deals with endings in his or her own way, but frankly, I'm much more of a Will wander-the-halls-aimlessly type than a C.J. freak-out-and- try-to-stay- relevant-and- avoiding-real-life type. To be fair, I think both are actually ways of avoiding making a decision about what to do , but C.J.'s is much more aggressive.
Margaret comes in to order C.J. gently into the Roosevelt Room for her meeting, but C.J. goes on about the memos and tells her to call everyone to get them turned in today. There's some sort-of product placement as she tells Margaret that the waiting headhunter can relax with a Coke until C.J. is ready. This Coke will have to wait, though, since it turns out that it's actually Franklin Hollis himself. Will's impressed, but C.J. is dismissive, since she's sure Margaret is mistaken, which is getting a little old already this hour and we're only nine minutes into the episode. Once Will peeks and confirms that it's Hollis, as Kate walks in to talk about a guy in the other room who looks remarkably like Hollis. Margaret reports, "He just bought an island. And Montana." C.J. is frantically combing her hair as she argues, "He didn't buy Montana. He bought...most of Montana. Will and Kate both want to meet him, but Will points out, "We shouldn't go in together. It would look...not...cool." Never any fear of that, Will. Your coolness is definitely not why I love you. C.J. does a tooth check with Kate -- as all girls will do for one another, no matter what -- and Will is completely disgusted. Fine, Will. That broccoli is staying in your teeth time we're out.
Hollis is in the room talking with...his staff? I don't even know who these others are, but they look like they're having a business meeting until he tells them that they'll meet up in the lobby. C.J. shakes hands with Frank "Pseudo Bill Gates" Hollis.
Kate and Will wander off. He mentions that he's heading over to meet with the "D-triple-C." She seems surprised that he's getting an offer, but tries out, "Will Bailey, Executive Director of the Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee." She likes the sound of the title, and he likes the idea of being involved with a number of different campaigns. He also admits he likes staying in D.C., which clearly pleases Kate. He admits hat the'd like to see what happened between the two of them, and they both look really sweetly pleased.
Back in the Roosevelt Room of angsty Chiefs of Staff and pleasant billionaire entrepreneurs, Hollis begins to speak, and C.J. sighs and drops her shoulders. Her plastic smile remains in place, but he asks sincerely if he's boring her. She still manages to be nice, but is really abrupt in cutting him off: "I'm just...familiar...with the package these days." He asks what that is, and she recites something about a huge salary and an hour a week advising him about the FCC or some such, continuing on about corporate jets, board meetings, etc. Fortunately, Hollis is not Tom Cruise and is therefore not turned off by glibness, and tells her that sounds boring and like it would not be a good use of her talents. He explains, "I'm starting a foundation. Because if I hold on to all of this money, I start to look impolite." He wants to find a single problem to try to solve -- one that would actually make a difference. He throws out all sorts of ideas, but thinks she'd be the right person to know of a single big problem and how to tackle it. "Highways," she tells him, "is what you're looking for. It's not sexy; no one will ever raise money for it." She goes on to explain their importance in solving bigger problems -- like actually getting medicine to AIDS patients in Africa: "Blanket the continent in highways, then maybe start on plumbing..." "Also not sexy," quips Hollis. "Makes for a lousy telethon," C.J. agrees. Even so, that's what he was looking for: "Well, if you think that's what needs fixing, I'll give you ten billion dollars to fix it." C.J. raises her eyebrows and does a polite double take. I'd say that's extremely polite of him.
Will greets some guy, and they make small talk about Inauguration tickets and possible vacation plans for Will. Once they sit down, Nameless tells Will that would be fine with the DCCC schedule, and that, after March, they'd love to have Will come in and help them plan their strategy for various elections. Will sounds interested and asks about specific races, and Nameless lists a few, including the "Oregon 4th." ["The Fightin' 4th!" -- Wing Chun] Will grabs at this and asks if someone named Heffinger is stepping down. He's not, but although the DCCC would love to unseat him, they consider it a long shot. Will's run a campaign against him before, and seems to think the right candidate could do it, but Nameless seems certain they won't find anyone. The refreshing part of this whole conversation is that Nameless encourages Will to try if he thinks he can do it, rather than shooting him down outright. If only I knew this person's name to more easily recap his conversation.
Completely dazed, C.J. walks back into her office. Margaret immediately begins reassuring C.J. that she should consider the job even though Hollis probably has no people skills, and then it dawns on Margaret that C.J. is thinking about it. C.J. tries to downplay it, but will admit that it was "interesting," and then is saved by Andi's coming in to say hello. And though I don't know why she'd show up, I was first convinced that she was Julianne Moore in some new role. When Andi asks if she has some time, C.J. replies that she doesn't, but Margaret corrects her, which seems to genuinely please C.J. as she ushers Andi into her office. They talk about the twins, and C.J. looks at some pictures as Andi mentions, "They get to spend more time with their dad these days now that Toby's...not working." Glorious euphemism. "That must be...nice," C.J. says. Searching for the silver linings all around. But Andi's not there just to talk about her cute, cute babies: "So, presidential pardons. Tis the season, right?" C.J. says that it is, and Andi asks if Toby's name is on any list. C.J. tells her that the lists are being reviewed and have not gone to the President yet, so Andi asks if C.J.'s going to bring it to Bartlet. In a single breath, she then launches into what has clearly been weighing on her, and in one sentence says she knows Toby's ticked people off, including C.J. herself, but that he was just trying to save the astronauts. She lists the groups that want to laud him for his actions. C.J. gently tries to interrupt, and Andi asks about a New York Times petition, of which C.J. is aware. Andi gets a bit heated about the number of people united against Bartlet's nuclear/space plans, and C.J. is quiet as Andi concludes that she knows Bartlet is understandably angry and that she understands, but that the consequence for Toby will be prison. Andi finally asks C.J. to talk to Bartlet about it, and C.J. is only able to tell her that she'll see what she can do. Andi reaches into her arsenal and sternly says, "He was your friend for a long time." C.J. repeats, "I'll see what I can do." After Andi leaves, she leans back into her chair with a grimace.
Margaret comes in to interrupt the brewing migraine and tell C.J. it's time to go. (Go where?) She relays that the budget was sent out to the department heads for approval, and C.J. realizes that this was so that she wouldn't see the changes first. As she's getting ready to go, Charlie comes in with a list of pardons; after scanning it, C.J. asks if Toby's name is on the list. It turns out he didn't apply, and when Charlie asks if she's going to ask Bartlet about commuting his sentence, she replies that she doesn't know. C.J. tells Margaret that she's off to a quick meeting with Santos; she is surprised to learn that they asked for her résumé, but brushes it off as a mere formality.
Will greets Gil (hee) in his office -- Gil's is one of the names C.J. gave Will -- and they share packing-up pleasantries. Gil admits that change sounds nice, so Will asks what he thinks of running for office. He explains about the Oregon seat, but Gil just counters that everyone there loves the incumbent. Will corrects him that Heffinger is known, not loved. When Gil muses that it would be a nasty fight, Will kind of lovingly muses, "The best ones are." Gil's not very hot on the idea of losing an election, but Will tries to assure him that if they put up a decent candidate, that person would have a chance. Unfortunately, Gil's not buying it. Gil is a pill to Will who still wants to fill...the...congressional seat. Sigh.
Santos jumps right into wanting to talk to C.J. about working for him, and she equally quickly assures him that Josh will be a great Chief of Staff and that they don't need to create a position for her. Santos announces, "C.J., this isn't a courtesy call -- this is a real offer." He wants her to come on board and help with the Kazakhstan situation so that his new cabinet can deal with other matters, and lays on how important she would be to the process, since she's already been involved. The bomb he drops is that he's hired Vinick, which seems to stun her. He pushes hard on her continuing working on Kazakhstan while his new cabinet starts other things, but she finally breaks it to him that she had never considered staying in the White House. He interrupts to ask for just two years: "Special Counselor to the President?" She starts to offer what sounds like a refusal when Ronna breaks in apologetically to say that Santos has to leave. He tells C.J., "Uh, I'd love to talk to you more about this, but they've kind of got me on a sprint today, so I can see I'm going to have to make this fast and dirty. I'm the President-Elect of the United States and I'm asking you to help your country, so I'm probably not going to take no for an answer. So you go home and you think about it and you call me back with a yes. Thanks for coming in, C.J." That's a sentence from someone who clearly has really gotten to like both his title and the sound of his own voice.
As if to illustrate C.J.'s importance in the matter, Kate catches her on her way back to the office to ask her to lead that 4 PM China call, and to soothe the Chinese Defense Minister into feeling like the U.S. is reaching out to them and not vice versa. C.J. agrees, and then receives the transition memos from Margaret -- only three of the thirty due. When she realizes that Kate's is not there, she loses her shit and goes on a tirade about promotion, staying on or not, new people needing to know information, and this current staff still governing. She's still the only one pushing that message -- that they are governing for two more weeks.
Outside, C.J. is speed-walking down the street, and poor Danny can't keep up. She insists that she just wants to make it to lunch when he corrects her that this is lunch, and although I'd jump up and volunteer to get a hot dog with him right now, C.J. just fakes happy and asks him what was so important. Again, Danny's answer is "this": "It's this -- the walk, the day." Tactfully, she replies, "That's it?" Let's take a moment, shall we, out of C.J. rudeness to notice that Danny's hair waves up a bit on top, which helps him to look only two or three inches shorter than C.J. In real life, I have little patience for the men shorter than I that vie for my time. But to see someone sweet and non-greasy (that C.J. didn't meet in a bar -- yeah, so that's where I meet guys, what of it?) have the balls to go for a hot taller woman...well, it just warms my heart.
And now, back to the snit. When Danny tries to tell C.J. that he just wanted her to get out and see a beautiful day for a little while, she's irked, and insists that she was busy. The one thing I sort of believe is her statement that it was a really nice idea, but she repeats that this wasn't the day. Danny apologizes, and she tells him not to. These two just need a ban on apologies, or I'm going to need to make it an auto-command in my Word program. Danny gets to the real seed of his idea: "I thought it might do us good to see each other in the daylight. We're together from 11 PM to midnight or 5 to 6 AM; we're both half asleep. It leads to a lot of tension that I think is probably unnecessary -- like this morning, for example." All he wants is to hear about her day. C.J. looks surprised, not quite sure what to do other than pick some lint off Danny's coat. He takes her arm, and they resume walking, as she says, "Franklin Hollis showed up in my office with the most attractive offer I think I've ever heard, which I believe I'll have to turn down because I had a meeting with the President-Elect and it looks like I'm going to work in the White House a couple more years." Well, when you put it that way....
Danny looks understandably confused and stops; C.J. takes that moment to gripe that she doesn't see the food vendor. Ignoring that, Danny asks if she told Santos yet, and she says probably tomorrow. He's taken aback and finally, after telling her it's great, utters, "Wow." She's clueless about his shock. He takes a moment before stepping toward her -- I think choosing his words carefully -- before asking if she was going to talk to him about it first. Unfortunately, when C.J. establishes that Danny's serious, her answer is no. Even knowing that this will be resolved, I'm having such uncomfortable dating situational vibes right now, when you realize you're the one who likes the other person better than the person likes you. She tells him that their relationship isn't like that yet. "Apparently," he agrees. At this, she gets angry and asks where he gets off thinking he can decide things about her career. Whoa, C.J. hang on! Again, I go back to my storied dating past, and people having the same reaction. Who knew this hour of television would end up giving me hives? Seriously, is it so hard to just have a conversation, folks? A sounding board? Danny says the same thing -- he just wanted in on the conversation -- and also asks, if they don't have that kind of relationship, what kind is it? C.J. tries to put off this conversation until after the inauguration, but he points out that if she's working for Santos, they won't be able to have it then. He goes through the same list of what's coming up that Donna gave Josh a while back: "We keep shoving this conversation downstream. At some point, you have to choose to have a relationship. We're not twenty-five anymore. At our age, you can't date a little and screw a little and wait around to see if you get sentimental at Christmas. You have to decide you're going to make another person a part of your life." C.J.'s just staring at Danny. "A partner," he concludes.
I realize that this is my last recap of this show, but I still have time to declare "furrows" a stand-alone verb, meaning "to furrow one's brow disbelievingly." Between recapping scenes with C.J. and Josh, it's earned it. C.J. furrows at Danny, declaring, "I don't have time for this." She leaves to walk away -- but it's time for his ace. He tells her, exasperated, that she does have time, which he knows, because he checked with Margaret before he came down to her office: "You're not the busiest girl in America. That's not your life anymore." He looks at her, and he's upset but clearly also has a ton of caring in his eyes. "Look, I'm not trying to turn you into Doris Day. I know, if we have a future together, I'd be Mr. C.J. Cregg. That's fine. But you don't even see me in the picture, do you?" There is nothing worse than seeing someone secure enough to handle a more powerful woman than he, and to watch him realize that it's for naught. She fidgets and looks around over his shoulder with no answer. He gets it: "Thank you. That's useful information." He walks away, and she just scratches her head and furrows.
When C.J. comes back into the building, hugging herself, Margaret meets her and announces that Santos needs to speak to her. C.J. insists that it's not a good time, but it turns out that he's already there. She finally gives an icy "fine," and Margaret catches on and apologizes. C.J. adds that she's going to have to comb through the budget, and insists that it's a full day. It's like some sort of psychological lifeline for her at this point, possibly to keep her from really, actually thinking about her future. She throws her coat on the couch, and after taking the time to take only half a breath, Margaret ushers Santos in. They pedeconference as he asks about the fifty-cent tax, quietly very upset about it when he claims that the budget was just supposed to be a "placeholder document." She gives all the various oil/environmental upsides and insists, "The President wanted to present the country with a road map for reasonable governing." He's insulted, irritated, etc., and the two of them argue until she finally explains point-blank that the Republican Congress will shoot down his first budget no matter what unless Bartlet's is so insane that Santos's looks reasonable to it. Is there such a fucking thing as dialogue, folks? The first time, a tricky plan to help Santos ease into a tough situation was interesting. Now it's copying. Santos calms down enough to remove his jacket, and they go on, much calmer. He finally asks if this was really Bartlet's idea, and C.J. insists that he just saved Santos $30 billion. Finally, Santos picks up on something and clarifies, "You mean you just saved me thirty billion dollars." He commends her on the good idea, and asks how long it took her to talk him into it. C.J.: "More than five minutes, less than twenty. If your staff can't get you on-board faster than that, they don't know what they're talking about." Santos likes this logic. She winds up insisting that they're not "trying to leave a dead cat on [his] doorstep." She talks up a gas tax, he gives a for-good-measure request that Bartlet pull it from the budget, and at the last moment, he turns and tells her that if she thinks the gas tax is worth it, she should come work for him and do it. I'm still not buying that this offer is too good to be refused.
There's a knock on a door, and a Secret Service agent wishes Toby a good evening and asks to look around. When he walks in, Toby is staring at C.J., who stares at her shoes a moment before looking up at him, causing him to stare at the wall until they get the all-clear. She enters and hands him a gift bag with wine -- which she explains is not a gift: "I need a drink." I stand corrected -- it's just a bag of wine. She won't sit down, and he asks, "Should I be feeding you, or just the booze?" Just the booze; she declines the chicken he made as well. As he opens the wine, they talk, clearly out of practice at how to converse with one another. He's going to jail on the 26th, and he's reading and cooking chicken with his free time. He has also found a typo in the Constitution. C.J. gives her hunger away (after all, she never really ate lunch that we know of) by picking at the pan of chicken as Toby explains that he thinks the typo is in the original. "Sounds unlikely," C.J. notes, but he insists, "I read two versions, because I have time, and there's an inconsistent comma...so I looked at every English-language publication that exists -- half of them have the comma, half of them don't." He goes on to explain his further research, and also that this mystery comma changes the meaning of the "takings clause," as confirmed by a friend. When C.J. asks if they should do something, Toby assures her, "I'm going to write it up. I have a...window in the calendar." This brings the topic back to The Unpleasantness, but Toby's going to low-security prison, "which certainly outshines the alternatives." After some unfunny jokes sink in the water, C.J. mentions Andi's visit earlier that day. Unsurprisingly, Toby's response: "She and I apparently need to have a conversation about who talks to whom concerning my future." C.J. tells him that Andi was just thinking about the twins, but that turns out to be the wrong response for a less-but-still-volatile Toby. He begins to yell: "For a moment, I actually thought you came here 'cause you gave a crap and wanted to see how I was doing." C.J. gives as good as she gets and yells back, "I gave a crap enough to inquire if you wanted a pardon despite the fact that you walked out on me and walked out on the President while we still had a job to do. You don't need a pardon -- you need a frying pan to the side of your head." It's like therapy, with all of the tension and anger that comes pouring out of the both of them. Toby insists that he doesn't want a pardon, and when C.J. brings up Molly and Huck, he assures her that he's thought of them. He sits down, the angry words blowing out the window.
Toby asks C.J. about the job interviews that must be pouring in, and she mentions both Hollis and Santos from earlier that day. Toby downplays Santos, but C.J. assures him that the offer was serious, and that he also offered Vinick the Secretary of State position. Toby laughs and smiles while still gaping, which I didn't realize could be done simultaneously, and seems duly impressed by that move. When he asks C.J. if she's going to accept, she waffles and tells him that it's "complicated," which she spells D-a-n-n-y. Toby admits that he heard about that, and laughs. She explains that she likes spending time with him, but that Danny is getting too serious; she insists, "I'm not ready to shape my life around a guy I've been with for a month -- that doesn't make sense!" To the chagrin of all Toby/C.J. shippers around the world, he decides to give her some truths about Danny, who is an old friend and not a recent bar hookup. C.J. insists that she's not resisting anything: "I'm not one of those women who can't handle a good thing when it's standing in front of them." Toby speaks volumes with his response: "Good." She demands to know why he doesn't sound convinced. When he begins to explain how her world is filled with tons of powerful men packing tons of testosterone, her hackles go up. Toby just goes on to point out that she didn't really need to date, what with all of the men on the staff, all of the male reporters, and now even Frank Hollis and Matt Santos flirting with her every day. "So, what?" she asks. "You think this is all some sort of Freudian temper tantrum?" Toby's response is not "You said it, not me." Instead, he points out, "You showed up here at eight o'clock at night with a bottle of wine, asking me about a pardon we both know is out of the question, telling me about a man who's crowding you. I think a lot of things."
Toby comes and sits across from C.J., very close, and she wryly asks if he thinks she just came over to take advantage of him. Toby: "I think you don't know why you came here. You're a woman with a lot of options. You're acting like the world's backing you into a corner bouncing from one thing to the , from Bartlet to Santos to Danny to me...maybe you should stop bouncing, pick something. What do you want?" And like that, he pierced her to the core and she's left to admit that she wants "to learn how to make a chicken like that." "Stick a lemon up it and throw on some rosemary," Toby tells her. That's his gig -- hosting on the Food Network -- with that personality. She also admits to a skiing fantasy, hampered only by her complete ignorance of the vocabulary necessary to begin. Both laugh, and their eyes shine. Toby: "I missed you." C.J. agrees: "Yeah. We had it good there for a while." He concurs, looks down, and tells her that she should leave. When she asks if he's kicking her out, he confirms it, and she doesn't fight him. With that one unspoken moment, the door closed on the possibility of the two of them, but their friendship was repaired in the nick of time. It seems to be a good trade, even if bittersweet. They hug, awkwardly but long and deep, and he seems to hesitate to let her go. After the door shuts, he watches her leave out the window, and the driver asks where they'll be going.
There's another knock on another door, and this time it's Danny who greets the agent. C.J. has her shoulders hunched and head cocked like an insecure schoolgirl, and Danny looks directly into her face with a scotch in one hand while the agents inspect his apartment. She drops her gaze, but when she looks back, he's still staring, eventually giving her a sweet inquisitive eyebrow raise as the agent finishes up. The door closes, and, once they're alone, C.J. sighs, "I missed the window how to figure out how to do this." Danny's confused, and C.J. continues: "Share my life with another person. And how to be a partner or whatever condescending way you put it this afternoon." When he breaks in to assure her that he wasn't condescending, she jumps back in, saying everything in a rush: "I don't know how to do it. Maybe at one point I did, maybe I never did, but it's over now, it's too late. This, and skiing, it's too late. It's not going to happen." Again, C.J. thwarts Danny's attempt at speech and finishes, both pleading and defensive, "You said yourself, it's not an accident that this hasn't come together. This is who I am. I'm good at my job, Danny. I'm good at working. I'm not good at this." Much to C.J.'s surprise, he agrees. But then he also continues: "You're right -- you suck at it. You're going to need a tremendous amount of training." She cries and laughs, a sign that she just might turn the corner. She cannot believe it, but he insists that he'll train her. He quickly clarifies, "Well, we'll call it something else; that sounds bad. But we'll deal with it." They bicker -- she's still not sure about the training, but he insists that they'll make it work: "You're gonna get good at it. We're gonna get good at new things." See, C.J., you've just learned it, not missed it -- NO ONE knows what they're doing when it comes to relationships. You just try it out until it works. Or so I've heard. Danny insists over C.J.'s protests that she hasn't missed it, and that they can figure it out, until she sighs and shakes her head, defeated. The really good kind of defeated. The in love kind of defeated. Danny assures her, "You can be scared. That's okay! But you're not gonna walk away from me because you're scared. I'm not that scary."
C.J. takes a moment, and Danny looks at her, still a bit nervous but not that scary. She shrugs, and...asks him pathetically which job he wants her to take. "Where the hell did that come from?" he cries. She insists that she's trying, and he finally goes back to the real basics, telling her that he only wants her to do what she wants to do: "I want us to talk like we're gonna figure it out together. I want us to talk, because I like the sound of your voice. I just want to talk." And with that, C.J. finally sees him: "Franklin Hollis wants me to take ten billion dollars and go and fix the world." Danny gently says, "That sounds like fun. Does it sound like fun to you?" She nods. "Do you want to work at the White House?" he asks. After a moment, she slowly shakes her head. He smiles, and she finally smiles back. After a moment, she tells him that there's a typo in the Constitution. Danny: "Well, someone should look into that." She assures him, "Toby's gonna deal with it." Danny answers, "Okay. What else?" She just stares at him. I allow myself a brief moment in C.J.'s fictitious shoes as the recipient of the most heartfelt and sweetest conversation I could imagine.