A/N: For disclaimers, see chapter 1. I owe the inspiration to get this chapter out to Dee, it was your comment on the previous chapter that got me going and fired up. Also, I dedicate this to you because it was originally posted in honour of your first CJ/S vid which was awesome. Feedback makes my day. Enjoy.

A/N 2: This is hopefully the beginning of the end... but then I've been saying that since chapter 3...

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Chapter XVII – The Unseen

Pete stood completely still. He was stunned to the bone. His Uncle, his Dad's best friend had never been scared – he was the cocky one, the free spirit: Teflon-coated and eternally bullet proof. 'Bullet Proof' ... Oh God! Maybe, maybe not so much now... As suddenly as his idol's fallibility became unbearably apparent, the extent of his injuries dawned on Pete. His father had shrugged off the severity of Simon's state, but the bandages, the blue sling... He could feel the colour draining from his face, his eyes wandered over the red marks left by numerous IV lines, over the bruising that was a bold tattoo on seemingly delicate skin, and then fixed on the arm in splinting.

"Pete?" He hardly heard his name being called. "Pete... you OK?" Coming back to the concerned, yet firm voice he had always listened so closely to, he finally met Simon's eyes; the kid's own voice was far from steady.

"What happened to you?" Pete's eyes were still focused deliberately on the sling, Simon followed his gaze and took a quick breath – he had explained this in short quite a few times now and was used to it. So much so that the gut-wrenching, all-consuming fire of panic no longer accompanied the words.

"In Ephar, it was during the inauguration parade and..."

"I saw on CNN."

"Well then you know there was an attack – and I just took a hit." Simon casually gestured to his shoulder, omitting the detail that 'a hit' had meant more than just one high calibre bullet ripping into his body. Pete scowled, how could he just try and pass this off so nonchalantly? The edges were beginning to fray around his control over the anger he had harboured for so long – he began to bubble towards explosion.

"Did you mean to?" Although the question caught Simon off guard, the answer came to his mind without any conscious hesitation – his service face was set.

"Yes." Pete took a step backwards in revulsion: his expression that of shock and disgust, his jaw hanging slightly, his eyes wide.

"Why?"

"Because it was my job." The words came easily, a hint of the irritated tone he'd taken to the Press Secretary when she was being difficult surfacing.

"Did you think?" The accusatory words did nothing to change the fact that Simon's eyes were unblinking and emotionless. Yet despite the mask and the clouds that swam over his eyes, there was a terrified man inside who just wanted to curl himself up; he wanted to find for himself a pair of arms to be a shielding cocoon, a warm body that could comfort his soul from all this pain. The words that arrived on his lips were so automatic. No matter how hard he tried, there seemed to be no getting away from the truth - a truth that managed more often than not for him, to cause so much more hurt than happiness. This particular truth was simply the reality of life for a Secret Service Agent: for a bodyguard. Your existence is signed away, bound to the whimsical cycle of hate, justice, and honour... the words took him back...

... and there he is, the sight before him completely real. He is standing with CJ, her eyes glistening, warm with desire. Her expression betrays a fragile feeling of fear – after what seemed to be an eternity, he has ended the most beautiful kiss. He has just pulled away from her perfect lips, the taste of her lingers: exquisite and rich – like velvet on his tongue. The soft light of a solitary corner lamp in her New York hotel room splashes soft shadows over her kind features. She begins to look up ever-so slightly, that now familiarly shy expression on her face. CJ meets his gaze and he finds himself holding his breath. The touch of her hands to him sets his skin on fire, even through the material of his shirt. She pauses. A slight movement of his head and slowly, so slowly, she begins to completely undo everything that he is. His eyes squeeze closed as CJ's delicate hands move the leather of his holster over his shoulders. It is unbelievably sensual, and for the first time in as long as he has been married to this life of carrying a gun, he is able to feel safe without the weight of it close to his body. To be so safe in the small and tender arms of a woman he barely knows is something that causes an unidentifiable and deeply ineffable feeling to diffuse into his body from his very soul. The physical, leather yoke of his pledge to give his life to his chosen duty is very suddenly gone. With shaking hands, she brings the heavy tool of his trade between them, it unmistakably becomes the last barrier in front of something they will never be able to turn their backs on. He opens his eyes and lets the air that has begun to burn his lungs out slowly – he is ready to breathe again. In that moment, he chooses life. Simon Donovan breaks away from the automatic responses, bursts out from behind the service mask, ditching the bodyguard's lonely protocol. He consciously gives himself completely over to her. Choked up and almost quivering, he takes the holster and sets it down without a sound. Simon lets himself fall: her lips catch him with a tenderness he is not likely to ever forget. He falls so deep into her that he can no longer feel where she begins and he ends. Their dance becomes something spiritual. With the physical seal of unspoken promises made, their souls connect in an explosion of colours and sounds so brilliant it leaves them both stunned. His love for CJ Cregg is born...

"No." The vibrant memory faded from his mind's eye as his own words brought him back to focus on the stark reality of the hurt he is about to inflict. "I didn't think." Pete nodded, folding and unfolding his arms across his chest – his eyes were full of rage and he fought hard to keep the contents of his stomach down.

"No!" He stepped closer to his uncle, wanting to lash out physically but holding back. "How could you not think of any of us?"

"Pete..."

"Who the hell do you think you are!" He shouted harshly, waiting with blazing eyes, golden flickers of sunlight burning among the hazel strands of his irises.

"It's not like that!" Suddenly Simon's own frustrations let rip: he desperately wanted to feel safe again, he wanted CJ to come right over and make him into the man who could answer this boy honestly without being torn apart inside. All it would take is a smile, a touch... three small words.

"Then how is it?" Pete's arms swiped at the air in front of him before settling in tight fists at his sides. His feet were firmly rooted to the hard floor. His soft brown hair looked out of place as it settled over his forehead as a strange prelude to the taught features of his face, the strain so painfully evident. He waited... for what came out as a softly spoken reply:

"It was what I owed."

"What?" His face contorted further – confusion adding to the mix. That man CJ had made him didn't show up – Simon's soul cried out in hurt as he forced the words out. This was something that was painful to tell, the memories of a dark time and of a man who was so dangerously near the edge, one who had lost so much...

"Before you were born, Pete, something happened in the field... a... a ten year old kid put himself between me and death – he saved my life, I was..." Broken, completely shattered, I had just lost my Mother and my best friend was almost taken from me... Simon forced his thoughts away from the words he could not bring himself to say, and continued: "that kid... he grew up into the man I took those bullets for." It was that simple, yet through every weakness in him, Simon couldn't bring himself to tell Pete the whole story. To tell him that Ferdinand would have never made it out of Ephar either, the boy might put that incident together with his father's scars, his stiff arm and limp – but Simon somehow felt it not his place to lay it out as it was. It had been because of all the friends had been through that Simon had willingly taken Ferdinand's debt of honour. The circle was complete in a way: if his best friend hadn't been around to have thrown him a line out of that place of complete misery and self-loathing, Simon Donovan would have amounted to nothing more than a washed up drunk. Ferdinand had never asked him to take up his cup, but the day he had married Jodie, his best man had taken him aside and told him it was going to be that way. When Peter Eric Miles was born, Simon's handshake had been more than a congratulations.

"I..." Pete tried desperately to understand what his uncle was telling him – he had heard stories of a man's honour and the admirable exploits of the Rangers; he had been brought up to respect that above all things. Although the words his father spoke had never seemed without depth, at the same time, they had appeared idealistic and old fashioned – it had taken this for him to realise they were real.

"Four men gave their lives for me that day in Ephar. I'm not proud of that fact Pete – they hadn't been to the places I have in my life: they didn't owe me anything... I ate with their families... I played with their children... yet on that day they made a human shield over me because they live by a code of honour. Their tradition was both what led me there, and what brought me home... Pete, I don't expect you to understand this, there's no reason you should... but the job: it's not about thinking." The words had ceased long ago to be automatic, they were heartfelt and true, yet they were resigned in tone; there was regret for those families – there was bewilderment at the amazing devotion and courage that the Ephari way brought out in men.

"You're right, I don't understand." The teen was trembling, frustrated that he suddenly couldn't feel justified in his anger, frustrated that he couldn't understand how strangers' lives could be bound together so tightly. Simon recovered the firm tone that was normal of him,

"But... Pete, above all I need you to know that I love you and your family so much. You mean everything to me, nothing: bullets nor death could change that." Simon sought the changing seas that were the blinking eyes of his God-son, "I hope you understand that." Pete nodded, he held out his hand, and Simon took it. Smiling, they shook as they would have usually hugged, the sentiment just the same, the smiles just as real.

Following the delivery of the flowers from Simon, CJ bounced around the West Wing for the entire morning; even Toby enjoyed life when something put her in one of these moods. He realised as he bathed in her joy that he hadn't felt this kind of warmth in the West Wing in far too long. Josh teased and Donna was openly jealous. CJ enjoyed the flush that came to her cheeks at the mention of the bouquet, and couldn't help the grin that befell her face.

It was approaching the midday briefing when Margaret called.

"Close the door, CJ."

"Leo?" He felt horrible. Throughout this whole saga, he had ended up the bad guy. He sat down, putting his desk between himself and the Press Secretary.

"Did Donovan send you those flowers?" He kept a smile from forming on his lips; he kept the heart-felt joy out of his voice.

"Yes sir."

"You dating?" CJ's smile had long dissolved. Leo's formal tone caused her mind to race. She really hadn't considered the Administration in all of this – the media. Eric Orson had yet to become Simon Donovan to them. While today he was still being protected from the Press, tomorrow he would be discharged from hospital and there would be a media free-for-all. Nothing would change the fact that he was a member of the Secret Service who had not only protected the President of another country – a country who was still not on diplomatic terms with the United States, but he had also been what would be documented as a close confidant.

There were amazing things that love could do, but changing hard facts was not one of them.

"When he gets out of hospital, I had hoped..." against her better judgement and despite the thoughts going through her mind, the words slipped from her mouth in a whisper; her eyes fell to the carpet beneath her feet.

"Two hours ago, President ben-Kurah moved troops into Kokovim, an independent state in northern Ephar." CJ looked blankly at the Chief of Staff, he went on: "Since that time, we haven't been able to make contact with him, and while America is not on diplomatic terms with Ephar, you should be aware that there has been a leak – saying that we are anticipating starting talks with Epahr next month."

"Is that true?"

"It's been discussed, there has been a conversation between the President and ben-Kurah in the last week."

"OK."

"I don't need to remind you that Kokovim covers one of the single richest oil fields in the Middle East... nor that Kurah's first promise to his people was to rebuild their economy."

"I see where you're going, but this doesn't sound like the man who..."

"No... it doesn't, but that doesn't change the fact that it is happening and conclusions will be drawn – it could be more than damaging to the President, CJ."

"I can see that but..."

"You know this thing... with Simon..." Leo sighed, keeping his hands firm on his desk, instinct made him want to hold his head in his hands and plead off taking responsibility for this.

"Won't look good." CJ finished for him, bringing herself up to her full height, her game face now like a shroud over her feelings. Leo caught wind of the professional barriers going up.

"Donovan was a Ranger, a policeman – and technically, he is still a member of the Secret Service."

"Who may never work again!" He ignored her brief outburst and carried on, his tone soft, yet firm.

"But who worked here for nine years – six of which on Eagle's detail – the last few weeks on your detail, CJ! You know how exactly how this is going to look."

"It's going to look exactly how it is, he went there, did a job and came home!"

"And what was that 'job' exactly?" CJ was silent under Leo's glare. "There is a copy of a photograph taken in New York two Mays ago. It's going to be on the front page of every newspaper tomorrow morning."

"What photo Leo?" A sigh filled the room.

"One of you and Donovan... you're... getting very close outside the theatre in New York. The details don't matter – what I'm saying is that there will be a headline in this evening's papers that says our President had a foot in Kurah's camp."

"That photo is misleading, there was... nothing..." She sighed – there was something, but not what was being spoken about here - "there was nothing political Leo!"

"I should hope not!" She took a deep breath, trying to remain composed.

"Simon... he wasn't in Ephar for that reason!"

"How do you know?" CJ was silent, rage building in her – she could not believe the conversation was coming, much less that she hadn't seen it, or even considered it. "Tomorrow Donovan's protection from the Press will end. He'll be discharged, and he can't be seen with you, CJ."

"We could be discreet." Professionalism went briefly out of the window.

"No matter how discreet, you're still a member of the Senior Staff consorting with a man we're frankly trying to distance from the White House!"

"He's done nothing wrong!"

"He broke contract with the Secret Service then trained an army in Ephar, CJ!"

"He headed a security detail to protect Jeremiah ben-Kurah, and then saved his life! A man who will change that country for the better!"

"Look at how he's doing it, CJ! You can't just march troops into an independent state! This Administration can't afford another scandal."

"There is no scandal here Leo! Simon didn't break the rules when he was protecting me, he didn't break the law by leaving the country of his own accord!"

"Using a false passport!" CJ shook her head, this was so far from fair it was untrue.

"Surely he was just distancing himself from the person he is here, trying to protect this Administration!"

"Or was he running? The only reason he ever came back here was for life-saving surgery!" The words stung, and Leo wished them back as soon as they left his lips. Heavy tears welled up in CJ's wide eyes and she held them from falling, determined not to cry.

"No, Leo not now." She couldn't back down.

"CJ, I-am-so-sorry."

"And still you all let me go to him – you still all asked how he was doing... why didn't you tell me to stay away before?"

"CJ, it wasn't always going to be like this..."

"I can spin it." Leo stood up, his hands arched on the desktop:

"No!" He wanted more than anything to let it go. It hadn't been a discussion in the Oval Office. Negotiations with Ephar should have been a joyous occasion, and the noble man they had me that rainy night at Andrew's should have never put them in this position. The Chief of Staff wanted so badly to trust the promise of the desperate woman before him.

"I can do it!"

"No, CJ!"

"There must be a way... I..." ... can't lose him again, her mind finished her sentence. CJ would have never spoken this way to any of her colleagues, never mind that Leo was her superior, but suddenly she was that woman who they had pushed too far. She could not bear losing Simon – the unfulfilled promises of what could be between them ever present in her heart and her mind. Her natural determination told her not to give in. Not to buckle. All this considered, instead of her usual fiery anger, she exhibited nothing but desperation.

"I'm sorry." Leo was deadpan, his word was final. She fled his office, still a tear not shed. In fact it wasn't until she was behind the closed door of her office, facing the beautiful flowers Simon had sent her that she broke. The world was falling around her again. It was another day in this personal hell that had consumed her since the day she received that first email. CJ didn't know what to think, other than that she felt truly sad – it had been this feeling that had propelled her into this life, the man's world, and for the first time in a long while, she seriously thought she was not cut out for it. Denying herself love, denying herself a real life beyond the confines of her career, and this was all she had to show for it: a wreck of a heart. The tears fell now, and they were the thick, full, heavy ones that bitterly stung their way down her cheeks. Long gone was her brief flirtation with the light steams of happiness.

By the time the coffee party returned, it could have been like there were never any cross words between uncle and nephew, or indeed that they had spent months and months apart. It filled Ferdinand with relief to see his family finally back to something resembling normal. Tori proudly presented the cup of coffee to Simon, who gladly took it from her in his good hand. The group descended into a comfortable banter, and CJ started to play on Simon's mind. Perhaps he shouldn't expect her to turn up just because he sent flowers, but he desperately wanted to see her come through the door with that beautiful smile – and know he was the cause. To let these four people who meant so much to him see that he could keep a woman and make her happy. She had promised to drop by if she could get away. Getting her to meet the Miles' was the closest thing he had to taking her home to meet his Mother.

As if catching onto his thoughts through the distant look in his eyes, Ferdinand followed the scent of his friend's distraction immaculately to the White House.

"So, is Ms Cregg gonna be popping in, or are you trying to keep some credibility with her?" He joked, and Jodie thumped her husband lightly on the arm. Simon couldn't help but smile, he was stupid for the woman – a giddy grin was only the half of it.

"I don't know, her schedule is so unpredictable... it might be a heavy new cycle or something, she said she might drop by-"

"Hey, we could catch the briefing, does the hospital have ESPN?" Pete the ever helpful, joined in the fun with his Dad; as a Simon-goading force they were second only to Mr and Mrs Miles.

Gathering herself together with the aid of Carol and a box of Kleenex, CJ strode into the Briefing Room with her usual air of confidence and ownership over what was decidedly now her territory. Today would be no different. As she approached the podium, her eyes fell on Danny Concannon's empty seat. She began.

Danny slammed a Press Corps phone back into it's cradle. He rose swiftly to his feet, realising that he was late for the briefing. The arrival of the scruffy reporter at the back of the room allowed CJ's eyes to be drawn away from the mass of the corps. He looked worried. Her words kept on, slipping out smoothly in a cascade of authority.

"Mike?"

"CJ, what can you tell us about the movement of troops into Kokovim?"

"It is worrying, there is no denying that. We have had no contact with President ben-Kurah and no formal indication of his intentions. I'll have a full comment for you later."

"Sarah?"

"I have a source that says the personal bodyguard to President ben-Kurah was a member of the Secret Service," she looked down to her notes for the briefest of moments, "Special Agent Simon Donovan. Can you comment on that?"

Four sets of eyes widened at the TV, darting immediately to the man lying in the hospital bed between them.

Simon felt his world go dark. He had known it was coming. His cover had been blown on assignments before, but never did he feel so terrified. In his bubble: the safe and sterile world of his hospital room, he had only thought of his future in terms of those closest to him. The enormity of the effects of his now very public presence in Ephar dawned on him.

"We are just learning this ourselves, but we can confirm that identity, yes."

"Did the White House put Donovan in Ephar?"

"Simon Donovan worked for the Treasury Department, but his involvement in Ephar was not born of an order from this Administration." CJ felt the words pass over her lips and closed her mind briefly to the eruption of calls of her name. Danny sat still in among the frenzy, he wanted desperately to set the record straight. She met his eyes, looking to him for a life-line.

"Danny?"

"So there is no truth in the claim that this Administration had, and I quote: 'a foot in Kurah's camp'?"

"None what-so-ever." CJ was emphatic and confident. She could spin this, she could make it alright. It was then that a call came from the back row, hijacking Danny's follow-up:

"CJ, are you romantically involved with Agent Donovan?" The room descended into silence, there was an unwritten, unspoken code of respect in CJ Cregg's Press Room, and one of the rules was not to so completely ambush the woman who had earned that respect. All eyes turned to the burly, brash Barney Fuller.

Nothing could have prepared Simon for that sucker punch. He was winded, staggering backwards, falling. Focused on her porcelain features, the realisation came over him in a wave of nausea. Ferdinand turned to his friend, squeezing his good shoulder.

"You've got to say no, CJ." Simon's voice was brimming with emotion as the whole situation unfolded before him. Timidly, he had admitted it. There was a silence from the podium. "Dammit, say no CJ!" His harried voice urged the TV. Ferdinand's grip on his shoulder tightened. All it had to be was one small movement of her lips, a short expulsion of breath...

"The Staff will not comment on their personal-"

"This is hardly personal!"

"Simon Donovan was the head of my protection detail while I was being-" He committed a lesser Press Room felony and rudely cut in, shouting over her:

"Were you romantically involved?" Paralysed by her inner conflicts, she left herself open for a split second. Fuller did not hesitate, "There is a rather compromising photo!"

Knowing it was coming somehow just didn't help CJ. She stared, not believing that this arrogant, hateful little man was trying to take the best chance she had ever had at real love away from her.

Simon squeezed his eyes shut and tried to take a deep breath, shuddering as he struggled to hold onto his composure.

CJ Cregg's face was a closed book. She straightened herself up and gave Fuller a straight on stare as a testimony of her professionalism. Her hands rested easily on the lectern, her voice was even, although perhaps a little weary and she seemed unperturbed. The feeling in the room however, was one of icy tension.

"That was taken over a year and a half ago the moment I got the news I was no longer being stalked, I really don't think-"

"How many times have you visited GW this week?" He had done his homework, consulted his spies, and brought that one blow crashing down on her without a second thought. CJ's posture didn't change. She just slowly closed her briefing book. The only sound was of the odd camera flash. Bringing the book down to her side, she finally spoke.

"I won't comment on that." Fuller smiled like the shark that he was. Cold, insincere, and hungry for blood. "I'll take no further questions." With that she was off the podium, the room stayed relatively silent, the more loyal core of reporters loathing to be associated with men like Barney Fuller.

"Damn it!" Simon exclaimed, slamming his fist into the bed. It fired up the pain in his shoulder, but he welcomed the pain – it distracted from the world falling around him. Ferdinand pulled him into an embrace.

"Breathe slowly, brother." The soothing Ephari words were whispered softly. "Breathe with Peace." This was a time reminiscent of those darker days. Those foreign sounds a reminder of a place long left behind. Yet they had always been the beginning: the first flicker of light. His friend was climbing down into the hole, preparing the way to lead him out.

Barney Fuller sat triumphantly in his seat. She had refused to deny it. There were moments, he reflected, that she was weak. Easy to prey upon. Everyone else refused to see her for what she was – a woman in a man's job. They had accepted it too soon. He would be the undoing of CJ Cregg's dominion in the Room.

Danny started over towards the sixth row, fire in his eyes, professionalism long forgotten in his personal rage. Having only taken two steps, he was stopped by a pair of friendly hands – Katie knew the temper indicative of red-heads that occasionally found its way into Danny's otherwise calm persona. There were short whispered words, warnings not to create a further scene.

Barney Fuller left the room, followed by hateful stares and vicious murmurings. The disgust was palpable – the mass of reporters liked to think they were the flagship of integrity in their field. There was a definite feeling of civil unrest in the White House Press Corps.

-TBC-