A/N: This was just a series of little angst pieces. There are three pairings in this little piece. The first is Sam/Ainsley. The second is Josh/Donna. And the third is Zoey/Charlie. Enjoy. Review. Whatever. Oh, and this is unbetaed, so anything you catch is my fault.
i. Blue Moon of Carolina
He watches her, standing alone in the corner. She doesn't look happy. He feels bad for her. It must not be the most comfortable thing to try and mesh with Democrats when you're a Republican. Especially in a Democratic White House. But she had done her best, and he had to admit, it was a damn fine job. She turns, and begins to slowly walk away. He sprints, catching up to her in a second. "Ainsley." The word is light on his lips, fleeting, with a Yankee touch on a name kissed by the South. She turns. He knows what she's doing. She smiles forlornly at him. He reaches into his pocket and scribbles down something. "Call me, okay?" She takes it, her fingers brushing his for the slightest of a second. He knows she'll never call. As she turns, and wiggles her slender fingers in a gesture of goodbye, all he can think is that sometimes reality isn't what it's cracked up to be.
ii. Wilting Flowers
She's been trying to distance herself from him lately. She knows he thinks she's mad at him. Nothing could be further from the truth. She's trying to stop her tears from flowing freely down her cheeks as her slender fingers fly across the keyboard, following her mind's wishes rather than her heart's. He sits in his office, unaware. The staccato stops. She clicks print, and listens to the whirring. When she hands it to him, it'll be the last time he sees her. Acting quickly, she tries not to think about what she does. She walks in. She knows she's interrupting him. He looks up at her with annoyance. She sets the paper on the desk in front of him. She begins to walk. Her things are packed, her loose ends are tied. He walks out of his office. "Donna, what--?" She says nothing. As he watches her form disappear, an old poem makes its presence known to him. Gather ye rosebuds while ye may/Old time is still a-flying/This same flower that smiles today/Tomorrow may be dying.
iii. Dark Horse Running
She walks out of the building, laughing and smiling. She's happy today, bubbly. It seems so unlike her. She barely remembers the threat that some other white supremacist group sent today. As she heads down the walkway, her hand linked with his, she hears someone yell behind her. She's tackled onto the ground. A shot is fired. Her eyes, which instinctively closed, tentatively reopen. She sees him, struggling for life next to her. When he fades, she realizes her hand is still linked with his. She can hardly go anywhere now. There's too much bitterness.
A/N: Click shiny button? Please?
