Work Header


Work Text:

Charlie's mother followed the old ways. The really old ways. So Oya wasn't named until the first moon after she settled as a fruit bat, the beads of his mother's crown jangling in his face as she smudged ash on his lip.

Let them think of her as a staid beat cop, the picture of respectable black America.

He's Catholic too, but sitting with Zoey through the long masses the President liked was his limit. It just wasn't the sort of thing you talked about with the Bartlets, who meant well but tripped over race often like they were blind.