Title: In Their White House
Author: Greer
Rating: K+
Spoilers: AU. Set at the beginning of the Santos Administration.
Pairing: Sam/Ainsley
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Just a little vignette to combine my love for all things Sam/Ainsley and my enduring fascination with JFK.
'...A magical moment in American history, when gallant men danced with beautiful women, when great deeds where done, when artists, writers and poets met at the White House...'
Theodore White, December 1963.
xxxxxx
The Johnson pattern is her favorite.
She's not really sure why.
Perhaps she appreciates it's unabashed femininity amidst the more masculine and reserved patterns in the neighbouring cabinets.
Perhaps she just likes this one the best.
The Roosevelt china, she had been sure would be her favorite, he was, after all her favorite President. (Although if anyone where to ask, her answer would of course be 'Reagan'.)
Somehow, out of all the rooms in this White House, she thinks she appreciates this one slightly more than others.
Politics and dining are two of her most favorite things.
xxxxxx
"There you are."
She turns at the sudden interruption and rewards him with a guilty smile.
The strains of an old standard courtesy of the assembled band, drift through the darkened hallways and remind her of where she should be.
But her smile is growing weary and her feet tired, so she is happy that he seems content to linger for a moment.
"Ah, the dish room," Sam smiles as his gaze sweeps the display cases around him and he wonders at the dignitaries who broke bread on those very plates.
The 34th skips to the 36th. He is sure the 35th would have been his favorite. (A thousand days of Camelot).
"The China Room, Sam," she corrects. He has always loved the way she says his name.
She points out her favorite pattern and he smiles at his wife. LBJ was a Democrat, he'll remind her of that later on.
"Did you know that only one First Lady came from North Carolina?" He didn't.
Ainsley Hayes suspects that one day she will become the second.
xxxxxx
She marvels once again at the grandeur of their surroundings and the deep affection in his eyes.
She finds beauty and nobility in both.
She has already decided on their china pattern.
"Dogwood," she tells him, lifting her head from his shoulder only long enough to explain.
He smiles at her certainty, at her unwavering belief in him, although he fears it is misguided.
Still, he concedes, stranger things have happened.
Like the Democrat who fell in love with the Republican.
xxxxxx
He lures her back to the party with promises of slow dances and cheesecake.
He lies about the cheesecake, so they dance.
Yes, she decides, there will be dogwoods on their china. Perhaps even poppies.
And gallant men will dance with beautiful women.
And great deeds will be done.