Disclaimers: I don't own them. If I did, I would never have been foolish enough to let both Rob Lowe and Emily Procter get away.
Category: Sam/Ainsley
Spoilers: Anything with Ainsley, also the knowledge that Sam's leaving in the next season, though since we don't know why yet, I don't deal with particulars.
Archive: Anywhere you like, just email me first.
Author's Notes: Okay, I've spent my summer pouring over every Sam and Ainsley fic I could get my hands on and mourning the loss of my favorite West Wing couple that never was. Tomorrow is back to school day, so I figured it was now or never as far as writing my own goes. It's nothing much, just a sad story to reflect the way I feel about Rob Lowe's departure.
Goodbye To You
She couldn't have said what brought her to his office door that day. Half a dozen times on the long trek from the Steam Trunk Distribution Venue to his office she hovered on the brink of turning around and returning to the safe loneliness of her cave. There was a whole list of reasons why she shouldn't come, not the least being that she wasn't even sure he'd want her to. Obviously, there were a lot of people he'd want to see today more than her.
But not a single rational impulse could tamper with the firm resolve Ainsley Hayes had fixed upon. Her heart, her strength of will, her stubbornness, was often the guiding force behind the decisions that other people thought to be crazy, like coming to work for a Democratic White House. Many times since then she had looked back and pondered if maybe they all were right, and she was crazy to be working here; but always some part deep inside her justified what she had done. It was the same power that brought her to Sam Seaborn's office that morning.
She didn't bother to analyze the pang that went through her heart as she saw him packing up the last of his belongings into three boxes on top of his desk. The flag that had been the focal point of the room for so long had been taken down. The office already seemed barren and forlorn, and she couldn't visualize it as belonging to anyone but him. It just wouldn't be right.
His back was to her, but he must have sensed someone's presence behind him, for he spoke without turning around. "Quit worrying, Cathy. I'm fine. Get back to work."
Ainsley cast one look over her shoulder to the cubicle where Cathy sat typing, although not without an occasional sniffle. "Apparently she has."
The soft tones of her sweet Southern accent brought Sam's head up sharply. He brought the same forced smile to his mouth that he'd been using to lie to his colleagues all week before turning around. "Hey," was all the greeting he could muster for the petite blonde standing before him.
"Hey, Sam."
He fought against the urge to close his eyes and simply savor the way her name sounded on her tongue. No one said his name quite the way that Ainsley did. There was something beautiful about it. Why had it taken him this long to notice? Of course, everything about this place had grown infinitely more dear as the time came when he was going to leave it. Even the blonde Republican girl who nobody liked.
As he saw her shifting nervously in the doorway, looking at him through sad blue eyes, and for once in her life not having anything to say, he realized that he truly did like her. She was a Republican, and he liked her. She fought with him, argued with him, challenged him, defeated him, and he liked her. She was a woman who'd kicked his ass on national television and reversed his position papers and thought that everything he stood for was wrong, and still he liked her.
The silence lengthened, with them simply staring at each other, remembering each and every moment they'd spent together. It was an altogether too familiar scenes for Sam by now. He'd gone through the same thing with almost every one of his friends and colleagues here, but there was something different in this, something undefined, something he wasn't sure he wanted explained. He cleared his throat nervously. "Was there something you needed?"
The spell was broken, and Ainsley finally found the use of her voice again. "Actually, that's what I was going to ask you. Do you need anything? Help with packing or…" She searched her mind frantically for something else he might need, before finishing lamely, "anything?"
Sam gestured around him at the nearly bare office. "I think I've got it covered, but thanks."
Ainsley hesitated in the doorway, biting her lip nervously, and searching for a reason to stay. Again drawing a blank, she murmured a quick "Yeah" and turned to go.
"Hey, Ainsley," Sam called before she could leave. He didn't know quite why, but he couldn't let her leave. Not yet. She turned back around, her expression hopeful, but her eyes sad. He had the sudden desire to take her in his arms, hold her there, and never let her go. It was a desire he quickly checked. "I mean it…thanks. For wanting to help, I mean."
Ainsley shrugged her delicate shoulders, and he was struck once again by how small and seemingly fragile she was. But she wasn't fragile. If she was, she never could have survived the onslaught she received in all directions when she broke party lines to come work here. She was strong, indomitable. Then, why did she look so broken?
"No problem, Sam," she demurred, slight color rising up into her pale cheeks at the way he was looking at her. She had to pull herself together; and as was so often the case with Ainsley, the only way she could do that was by giving full rein to her tongue. "Seriously, it wouldn't be a problem to stay. I'd like to stay, but I understand…I mean, there are more people that you…well, I mean there are other people who probably have more right to be here than I do; but I just didn't want you to go without knowing that I—"
Sam was startled more by the disjointed method of her speech and the abrupt cessation than he ever could have been by a flowing speech from her. Ainsley might talk twice as much as the average person, but she usually had the benefit of making twice as much sense as well. Now, she looked confused and tongue-tied and much as he thought she must have seemed as a little girl. "You what, Ainsley?" he asked softly, taking a few steps towards her and seeing her tense.
For a moment, Ainsley considered turning on her heel and running all the way back to the safety of her office. She might exude confidence when it came to politics, and her job, and men as well; but when it came right down to it, Ainsley was afraid. And the fact that she couldn't even put a name to the source of her fear made her feel weak, and weakness was the enemy. All she knew was that Sam had a way of turning everything upside down and inside out, until she didn't know which way to turn anymore. She hated that, and she hated him. And she loved it, and she loved him.
Not that she would explain a single word of this to Sam Seaborn. He'd never understand. He'd blush and laugh and politely tell her "Thanks, but no thanks." So instead, she told him a partial truth, a truth to make parting less difficult and spare her yet one more round of public humiliation. "Well, I'll miss you when you're gone," she said in a low tone.
She'd miss him? But why? He'd been nothing but horrible to her from the first time he'd met her, Sam thought with chagrin. He'd belittled her and mocked her and fought with her…and yet underneath it all, he respected her and the strength of her convictions—even if they were the wrong convictions to be having—and the way she debated with such fire and passion. She fought the way that he did, as though the fate of the entire world rested on winning this one argument. "I'll miss you too, Ainsley," he admitted, not even realizing it himself until the words were out of his mouth.
The soft pink glow in her cheeks became even brighter in the face of Sam's words, as she mumbled an embarrassed, "Okay."
Sam grinned. "You know, you always fall back on that when you have nothing else to say."
Ainsley smiled sheepishly back, relieved to see the moment of sobriety had faded. "Okay," she deadpanned back to him.
"Bet you never thought you'd see the day when you'd be staying at the White House, and I'd be leaving," Sam commented, though he couldn't hide the faintest twinge of regret from seeping into his tone.
"Sure I did," she quipped back immediately. "I just thought President Bartlett would be leaving with you."
"Yeah, well…" Sam let his words trail off, as memories washed over him again. "Hey, Ainsley?"
"Yeah, Sam?" she responded. Seeing that he wasn't in any hurry to see her go and feeling a reluctance to leave herself, she finally fully entered his office sitting down next to him on the edge of his desk, the boxes at their backs constant reminders that they were living on borrowed time.
"I just want to say…I know we were tough on you when you got here, and I know you've never felt quite like part of the team, but—"
"Sam, don't," she shushed him with quiet forcefulness. "It's been a privilege to work with you, with all of you. You know that, right? I'm probably never going to see things quite the way you do, or even remotely close; but I don't respect people based on their party affiliation anymore than I do on what church they go to. I respect you for the desire you have to make the world better. All of you have that—the President, Leo, C.J., Josh, even Toby—and I've gotten to be a part of that, even if I haven't been able to be a part of the actual group. In short, I'm glad I came to work here, Sam. I wouldn't change it for anything in the world."
"Yeah," Sam muttered. Even Ainsley loved it here, even the Republican who disagreed with almost everything they did knew what an honor it was to be part of the Bartlett administration, something he wasn't going to be anymore.
Without conscious thought, Ainsley reached over and wrapped his hand in hers, seeing that same lost little boy in Sam that had been apparent the night he came to her about the Indio. "It will all turn out right, Sam. The important thing is to realize that it's not where you are but what you do that's important. You have a good heart, Sam. You'll be fine."
Sam turned to face her, his surprise and pleasure written across his face. "I never thought I'd hear you of all people say that to me."
She bit down the instant retort that sprang to her lips at the implication that she didn't have it in her to be kind to him. He didn't need sharp answers from her today. He needed friends and reassurance. "Sam, I'm not sure what exactly you would call us. I'm not sure what I would call us either. Maybe we aren't friends, but we're not enemies either."
Sam nodded his understanding of that reasoning. They had a special relationship, a nameless one that could never be spoken for fear they'd ruin that delicate balance. "I'm not sure I ever told you, Ainsley, but you've made me think harder about everything I believe in."
A soft smile adorned her face at his unnecessary admission. "I know that, Sam. I could say the same thing of you. It's so easy to simply accept things because it's what you've been taught your whole life, when the truth is sometimes much harder to see."
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. If things had been different, they might have done more than argue and flirt. If they had met in anyplace but Washington, in any field but politics, he'd never have let that hand go. Ever. He'd have held onto her for an entire lifetime. Even now, part of him wanted to whisk her away from the drab and dreary world of betrayal and bargaining that they lived in and find someplace special where only the warm rays of the sun could find them.
As if sensing his thoughts, a small smile flitted across Ainsley's face before she disentangled her hand from his. This was still Washington; he was still Democrat; she was still Republican. Not all the wishing in the world could change that. "Well, I should probably let you get back to…" She left the statement unfinished, her eyes drifting once again to the boxes.
"Yeah," Sam remarked, once again assuming the indifferent, almost cheerful mask he'd had on when she came in. "I should…"
Ainsley nodded once, curtly. The others would start coming in soon. The ones who had become Sam's family over the last five years, the ones who he wouldn't go away and forget. But he would forget her. She knew it, just as she knew that in time he would fade to no more than a distant memory for her. They had crossed paths and changed each other's lives; but theirs was a single moment in time, and it was passing even as they sat here and looked at each other as if they could picture all that might have been.
Abruptly, Ainsley stood. She had spent her whole life putting on a brave front. She could do it again. She would do it. "Goodbye, Sam." The words nearly choked her, but she got them out without the slightest tremor in her voice. And though her stomach swirled with the desire to be sick, her eyes remained unclouded. She reached out one surprisingly steady hand to him.
Sam took it and held it. He realized now that what people thought of as being a haughty bitch was merely Ainsley's armor. It protected her. It kept her safe, but it also made her hard. She needed to be hard to survive in this White House, in the career she had chosen for herself. "Bye, Ainsley. It's been…something." His mouth turned up into a lopsided smile, in which there was no humor but a great amount of irony.
His grip on her hand lingered a moment longer, as he savored the unbelievable smoothness of her skin. But then, as he saw her resolve start to weaken, and tears threaten her composure, he knew he had to let her go. It was the only way to protect her now. As he felt her hand slip out of his, he felt a strange sense of desertion, like the best part of himself was leaving with her.
Ainsley only managed one more weak nod before she left his office—left him—behind her. She turned on her heel, and the same stiff resolve that had carried her to say her goodbye, now brought her back to the close, safe walls of her dungeon.
The End