Disclaimer: I do not own The West Wing, Sam Seaborn, Ainsley Hayes, et al. I do, however, own Dan. I am making no money off this endeavor. The only thing I've earned is the pleasure that comes from writing and the possibility of some nice comments.
AN: Many thanks to ilovenascar, ldugan, and fc2001 for the beta reads. Any remaining errors are mine.
AN2: There is a reference to Sports Night in one of the five chapters of this story. Anyone who stumbles across it and sends me a Private Message with the correct reference will be entered into a drawing for a $5 online gift certificate for .
~*~
Chapter One
Newly elected Congressman Samuel Norman Seaborn propped the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he taped up another cardboard box. Damn, he hated packing.
"Did you find a place yet?" he asked, pushing the box away and reaching for his bottle of water. He settled against a wall and took a swig.
His good friend—his best friend—Ainsley Hayes sighed. "Not yet. But I have a couple leads. You?"
He'd finally won the California 47th; and in an odd turn of events, a house seat in North Carolina had also become available. Ainsley ran and won. And now they were both on their way back to D.C., at least part time.
Sam was glad; ecstatic, in fact. He missed seeing her on a regular basis. If it weren't for the eyebrows they'd raise and the fact that she had a steady boyfriend, he'd suggest they share a home and expenses.
He shifted the phone to the other ear. "Possibly. But I have to see it in person. I was thinking of buying a house, but I don't know if I'll qualify for two mortgages; and I don't want to sell my house here."
"Why can' shoo shell that housh?" she asked.
"Are you talking with food in your mouth?" Sam asked, chuckling. Some things never changed.
"Shorry..."
"Well, I still have to, you know, live in my district. And it's not that I can't sell it, I just don't want to."
"Why not?"
"I love this house, and someday I do plan on coming back here to actually live. Besides, real estate, especially here in California, is always a good investment. And if I change my mind and want to sell, the value will just have increased."
"Sam, you're such a nerd."
"Hey, I'm just thinking about my future. You never know what's going to happen when we get to Congress."
"Too true," she said with a laugh.
"What about what's-his-name?" Sam hated even thinking about the other man in her life, but he'd missed the opportunity to make her a permanent part of his the last time it came around—or he just wasn't paying attention. He was such an idiot. What he wouldn't give to go back; after careful and thorough brain wracking, he'd finally figured out when it had all gone to hell in a hand basket. "Is he staying in Charlotte?"
Please oh please oh please...
"For the time being; he's finishing an internship. It'll be over in a few months and then we'll go from there," Ainsley said.
"An internship at his age?" Sam asked. They guy was a few years older than her.
"He's sub-specializing. That means he has to intern again."
Sam shook his head. "If you were my woman, there's no way in hell I'd let you out of my sight—let alone my life—for that long."
"Sounds a little caveman-ish for my liking, Sam."
"That's not what I meant, and you know it."
"I do know it," she said softly. The sentiment hung in the silence for several moments. Finally, she cleared her throat. "Anyhow, it's just a few more months. His career is important, too. He's worked long and hard to get where he is."
"Long distance is rough, you know," Sam said. He'd tried that with Lisa and look where it had gotten him—still unmarried on the downside of thirty. Not that there weren't other things wrong with that relationship.
"It's not that far. We can fly on weekends," she said, ever the optimist.
"Trust me, it's hard."
"We'll figure it out."
She sounded so confident and happy, and Sam's heart cracked just a little bit more. "Well, if it doesn't, you do know I have a list of people who'd be willing to sleep with you to help you get over him." And he wasn't ashamed to admit, at least to himself, that he was right at the top.
"That is good to know. I'll keep it in mind," she said wryly.
"Well, I have to get back to packing. I'll call you when I get to D.C., all right?" He'd be there at the end of the week to look at an apartment just northeast of Dupont Circle, among others. But he was determined to get his housing situation figured out and finalized so he could get the next phase of his life started. He wasn't looking forward to the weekend at all. Traipsing from one end of town to the other looking at empty apartments was not his idea of fun.
"I'll talk to you then. Bye, sugar."
Wonder what ol' Dan would think about her calling Sam sugar. It had startled Sam the first couple of times—until he realized it was just her brand of deep friendship. She was from the south after all.
~*~
"I found a place!" Ainsley's exuberant voice reverberated around Sam's brain two days later.
He smiled. What a way to wake up. He wished he could wake up to it every morning. But that was a heartbreak for another day.
He pushed himself to an upright position and blinked away the remnants of sleep. "You do know it's only five-thirty in the morning here on the west coast?"
"Oh, Sam, I'm so excited, I completely forgot about the time difference. I'm so sorry. I'll make it up to you."
"I'll hold you to that," he said. "Now tell me about your new place. Have you seen it yet?" He padded to the kitchen, cell phone pressed to his ear.
"Just pictures. I'm going tomorrow. It's on Newport Place just southwest of Dupont Circle, but if it lives up to the pictures..."
"Are you kidding? The first place I'm looking at is just northeast of Dupont." They'd practically be neighbors. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
"Turns out one of Dan's old frat brothers is a real estate agent in the District," she said. "He found the apartment for me. You want me to ask about something for you?"
"No, I've got an agent and a whole slew of places lined up to look at. Come hell or high water, I'll have something chosen by Sunday."
There would be no connection between Dan and him. No way, no how.
"You sure?" Ainsley asked. "It's his job; it's not like I'm asking him for a favor or anything."
"No, no; it's fine. My agent seems pretty knowledgeable. If I need help, I'll let you know."
"All right. So I'm moving at the end of the week. Will you have time to come see it while you're here?"
"I'll make time; you know that," he said, hoping she wouldn't hear the longing in his voice. It was pretty sad that he could hear it himself.
"Yes, you always make time for me," she said, her voice soft and melancholy all of a sudden.
He didn't quite know what to say. Of course, he made time for her. Her friendship was important to him. She was important to him. More important than almost everything else.
Damn, was this one of those opportunities? He just wasn't sure. He didn't want to miss it, but, then again, he didn't want to completely humiliate himself either. He wished he were better with women. That he could read the signs better.
"How's packing?" she asked, with forced cheerfulness before he could come up with anything to say to her.
"It's not hard as long as you remain organized," he said.
"You have, like, a list, don't you?" she asked, a genuine smile back in her voice now.
"Of course, I have a list." He was a man of organization after all. Well, except when it came to women and speeches...
"You're such a woman," she teased.
"Hey! Don't you have a list?"
"Nope. I'm just going from room to room, filling boxes and putting them by the front door. Dan comes once a day and loads them on the moving van."
"And when you get to D.C. and discover you have twelve wine glasses but no corkscrew, I'm going to laugh."
"Because they don't sell corkscrews in D.C.?" she asked saucily.
Sam could just imagine her expression and would have given anything to see her right then. "Running out for one right before serving dinner is as awkward as the middle-of-the-night condom run."
"Hmm...a problem you've had often? Doesn't sound very organized to me."
"Organization's one thing—preparedness is another. And you can bet your sweet ass that had I had even an inkling that I was going to get some that night, I'd have been prepared."
"I see," she said, sounding like a disapproving old school marm.
"I'll have you know that I've never been unprepared since." He made sure to put a fresh condom in his wallet at least monthly. Well, not so much anymore, because there was only one woman he had any sexual interest in, and she was unavailable.
"Well then, I'll make sure I look for a corkscrew before my next dinner party."
"You'll forget," he said.
"I'm not one hundred percent sure I own a corkscrew now. I'm not much of a wine drinker."
"You really should be. I'll bring over a good bottle so we can celebrate our mutual congressperson-ness."
"Is that a word, Sam?" she asked with a chuckle.
"It is now. My first bill will be to submit this word for inclusion in all the official dictionaries."
She laughed.
~*~
Saturday night, he knocked on her door, the best bottle of Chardonnay he ever tasted in hand. She opened the door and took his breath away.
A navy blue scarf with a paisley print held back her long blonde hair. Only two buttons held the white men's dress shirt closed, revealing a pale décolletage and the fraction of a tattoo over the waistband of the dark blue sweatpants that hung low on her hips. Some sinfully sexy cherry red polish covered her finger and toenails.
He swallowed.
She grinned at him. "Hi there."
"I brought the wine," he croaked, holding up the bottle. Who needed wine? He was drunk just looking at her. Couldn't he just ply her with alcohol and whisk her off to the king size bed she claimed she had? Spread that luscious mane of hair and her pale body across some dark colored sheets.... Kiss his way from one end of her to the other...
Her laughter brought him back to the here and now; to the acceptable. "Earth to Sam..."
He blinked away the images of his tanned skin against her alabaster flesh flushed with desire— He shook his head.
"I have a corkscrew." She held it up and stepped back. "Come on in."
He swept her up in a huge hug, twirling her around, and eliciting a delighted laugh. She smelled as delectable as she looked. He set her down with a kiss to her cheek.
Sam looked around at the wood floors and wine-colored walls. "I love it." He pointed at the haphazardly stacked boxes. "And I love what you've done with the place."
"I'm one woman unpacking an entire apartment." She offered him a mock frown before dissolving into sweet laughter.
Music to his ears. He'd missed hearing it in person and seeing her face light up with mirth when she did.
"I'll be in the same boat next week—living out of two suitcases and sleeping in a sleeping bag."
"How very organized of you." She led him into the kitchen, which was largely unpacked.
She was more beautiful than he remembered. Her hair was longer, too. Almost past her waist. He sighed and leaned against the doorjamb, running a hand through his own hair. It was an unsatisfactory attempt to assuaging the itch he had to run his fingers through her hair. "The moving truck will pick up my stuff Wednesday afternoon and arrive sometime Saturday morning. Hopefully."
"I'll cross my fingers for you. Would we like snacks with our wine?"
"You have food already? You've only been here, what—six hours?" He glanced at his watch and back at her.
She looked at him like he'd just asked if she was breathing.
"Right. Whatcha got?"
"Cookies. Chips. Muffins. Fresca."
"Of course." He laughed and shook his head as he took a seat.
She made a face at him and brought a plateful of muffins over to the table.
He took one and sniffed the crown. Banana nut. "Thanks."
She sat in one of the chairs, curling her feet up under her, those cherry red toenails catching his attention.
"So now we're congress people," she said, reaching for a muffin.
He dragged his gaze from her toes to her face and replayed her words in his head. Right. "Kinda scary, isn't it?"
"Hell, yeah."
"I hope we can do some good," he said, patently ignoring her wriggling toes.
She nodded, her eyes turning serious. "Yeah. That'd be really nice."
"That'll be harder from your minority position," he said with a grin.
She stuck her tongue out at him. "I'll make up for it with being a loud obnoxious Republican. Oh wait, they might mistake me for Nancy Pelosi or Barbara Boxer."
"Believe me—no one is going to mistake you for either of those women."
"Why, thank you, Congressman Seaborn," she said, inclining her head in his direction. "That's very kind of you."
"That's the God's honest truth. Those women give the Democratic party a bad rap."
Ainsley raised her brows and wrinkled her nose.
"What I mean is that you are class and style personified. You are well-spoken and present concise and logical arguments. Those women are shrews." He reached for the corkscrew and the bottle. "You ready to try this wine?"
She nodded and got up.
"So where's what's-his-name?" Sam asked as she grabbed a pair of glasses and came back to the table. "Did he just drive the truck up and hightail it back home?"
"His name is Dan, as you well know. He drove the truck here and unloaded it, too. But he had to get back to Charlotte. His mother's seventieth birthday is tomorrow, and they're having a big to-do for her."
"And why aren't you going?"
"Oh, she doesn't like me. I'm in politics. Don't you know a Southern lady never dirties her hands with politics?" She affected an even thicker Southern drawl than normal as she said the last part.
"You've been dating how long, and his mother still doesn't like you?"
"Just over two years."
"What's going to happen if he ever asks you to marry him?"
"That's a very good question. I guess she'll just have to like me or lump me."
"Oh, that'll go over well, I'm sure."
She winked at him and grinned.
"Two years, huh? You think a proposal is coming anytime soon?" Sam hated even thinking it.
"I imagine so," she said, shrugging. "Probably once his internship is over and he decides to move up here."
"You going to let him move in with you?"
She wrinkled her nose—not in a cute I-hadn't-thought-about-that way, but in more of a I'm-not-so-sure-I-like-that-idea kind of way.
"It would be the logical thing to do," she said, not sounding enthused at all.
"Well, if he proposes, and you accept, you're going to have to live together eventually," Sam pointed out. He considered her reaction to Dan's moving in and asked, "So why accept?"
She rolled her eyes and said, "I love him. He loves me. I see us together the rest of our lives."
"But you clearly have issues about living with someone—or is it just him?"
"Don't be silly, Sam." She cleared her face and looked at him, but not before he caught the uncertainty that flashed there.
"It just really hadn't occurred to me. It'll be fine," she said.
"Of course, it will," he said, pouring the wine and handing her a glass. It was time to be the friend he was supposed to be. He raised his glass to her— "To congressperson-ness." —and then took a sip. "Mm..."
Ainsley followed suit. She swirled the liquid around in her mouth before swallowing. "This is good, Sam."
"I'm glad you like it," he said with a smile.
"So...any potential Mrs. Seaborns on the horizon?"
"Nope." There was only one person he could see in that role, at this point, and he was looking at her. He either needed to say something, or get over it. Despite her doubts, that she denied to herself that she even had, she was heading toward a life with Dan.
"You have time."
"Yeah," he whispered, gazing at her for several long moments. But how much? And was he really the guy who would break up someone else's relationship?
"Sam?"
"Yeah," he said more firmly. He shook his head, sending his morose thoughts away, and returned her gaze.
She studied him now. "You okay?"
"I'm fine."
She didn't look convinced but didn't say anything else; she just took another drink of her wine.
~*~
"Sam! Hey, Sam!" Ainsley saw his tall frame and dark hair over the heads of the other House members as they dismissed from the chamber and headed for their offices.
He turned and perused the sea of faces and finally spotted her. A smile creased his handsome face and he lifted a hand in greeting.
She caught up with him and looped her arm through his. "Hey, handsome, how was your day?" They didn't get to see one another as much as she had hoped they would. But it was just the beginning. Surely, once they settled into a routine, they'd be able to find the time or make it.
"Just fine. How was it on your side of the aisle?" he asked before leaning down to kiss her cheek.
"Hey—you realize she's a Republican, right?" asked the guy from the Colorado 5th, with dead seriousness, as he passed by.
"What?? Dammit, Ainsley, why didn't you tell me?" Sam asked, with a mock look of shock on his face. He wiped his lips off, too. "Oh, no—now I've got Republican cooties."
The guy looked back and threw Sam a frown. Ainsley laughed, as did several others in their vicinity.
"Can you believe it's only been two months since we started?" she asked.
He shook his head. "No. It seems like much longer. Got the office all sorted out, yet?"
"Bit by bit. You know me. I like to let my office accrue stuff over time. Of course, it's no bigger than Leo's closet at the White House."
"No pipes, though, right?"
"Not a one." She'd never been so happy to get promoted and get out of that basement office, although, truly, she would have stayed there just for the sheer honor of working in the White House and for President Bartlet—even if he was a Democrat.
He grinned. "You want to get dinner to celebrate two whole months in office?"
"I'd love to. We can talk about our cool new jobs."
"Sounds good."
"The Ethiopian place?" she suggested. She hadn't eaten there in a while.
"Woman after my own heart."
She looked up at him. "I've missed it." She hadn't realized how long two months could actually be until just now when she realized how long it had been since they'd spent any time together. Their seats in the chamber were mighty far apart. And as junior representatives, they rarely got the chance to speak to anything.
"No Ethiopian food in North Carolina?" he quipped.
Something in his voice pierced her heart. "Your heart, Sam," she said, tightening her grip on his arm.
"My heart's yours for the taking," he said quietly instead, his gaze locking onto hers.
The look in his eyes gave her pause—he looked like he wanted to kiss her. More than kiss her, actually. Oh, Sam.... She didn't know what to say. She loved Dan. They talked weekly. Things were great.
She ended the awkward silence by re-answering his question. "Nope, no good Ethiopian food in North Carolina."
"Yeah, well, there's no good Mexican food in D.C.," he countered, schooling his features back into the happy-go-lucky Sam everyone knew and loved.
"I'm sorry," she said. For more than there not being any good Mexican food in D.C.
"Yeah. I had a quesadilla for lunch yesterday that had bacon in it."
"Eew."
"Wait...you're actually rejecting a bacon-laden food?" Sam asked, his good nature beginning to reassert itself.
"It just seems wrong," she said, wrinkling her nose.
He laughed out loud. "Do you even know what good Mexican food tastes like?"
There's the Sam she loved. "I've eaten in Texas," she said primly. Once. And was served barbecue brisket...but she wasn't about to mention that.
"Okay, that's acceptable."
"Good to know."
"Pick you up at seven?"
~*~
Their dinner two weeks ago had been fun, despite the rocky beginning. The food was good, and the company better. And Ainsley desperately missed Sam's company and his humor.
Despite her good intentions to get together with him more often, things had gotten busy, and she had been snowed under taking meetings with all kinds of committee chairs and other representatives—Republicans, of course. Democrats never seemed to want to cross the aisle. Except Sam. But he was probably in a similar situation and had to kow tow to the senior members of his party, as well.
Tonight, she was cold and tired, and wanted nothing more than a hot bath, some hot cocoa, and her warm bed.
Except that apparently wasn't going to happen. Her heart leapt at the sight of the Porsche at the curb. Sam was here. She hurried into the building.
To be continued...