Washington D.C.

The West Wing

A week had passed since the trip to Washington State. Since Ainsley had invited him to share a bed with her, since he had woken up feeling her touch. A week since he had touched her, though it felt like he had spent a year away from her, the memory of her face lying next to his in the early morning light was distant. Sam had spent a fair amount of time thinking about her touch, her skin. He couldn't deny he yearned to feel her again, even if it was just for a moment. But that was a fleeting hope. Instead, he had immersed himself in work for the past week, focusing on working with Toby to write the main points to the President's upcoming State of the Union speech.

Because of this, he had barely seen her, only passing her by occasionally in the hallways of the West Wing. They had exchanged quick 'hello's and how are you doing' but nothing more than your average niceties. It was fine, he was fine. So what he shared a bed with a beautiful woman? It didn't mean anything, she had just extended him a friendly gesture because his heater had been broken and he needed a place to sleep.

There was a knock on his office door. Without looking up he told the visitor to enter. Whoever it was, they entered and shut the door behind them, the international sign for privacy. Sam looked up from his notepad.

"Hey," he said looking up at the woman he had been unintentionally avoiding for the past seven days.

Ainsley stood in front of his desk. "Hey."

He continued to stare at her. "What's up?" he asked, remembering how to effectively initiate a conversation.

She raised a finger as if to point at him, but then quickly retracted that action, crossing her arms instead and planting herself firmly in the spot where she stood. She cocked her head to one side and began to look at him like she would look at a Rubik's cube.

"Have you-," she stopped herself short of finishing that sentence and started a new one. "I talked to Josh earlier today."

Was that supposed to mean something to him? "Okay…," he replied taking off his glasses and leaning back in his chair. "You talk to a lot of people."

"I'm a popular girl," she retorted, "but that's not the point."

Sam grabbed the file on his desk, stood up and moved to the cabinet near the window to file it back in place. He really didn't have time for whatever this was right now. He turned back around to face her.

"So the point of you talking to Josh and then telling me that you've talked to him is what exactly?" he inquired, looking back at her confusingly.

He watched her chest rise as she took a deep breath. Oh boy.

"Sam-,"

His name had barely escaped the confines of her lips when the glass window behind them shattered and Sam heard three loud bangs. He recognized the sound instantaneously and threw his body at Ainsley, sending them both crashing down onto the carpeted floor of his office. He felt glass splatter across his back as he covered her body with his as best he could and squeezed his eyes shut. Two more loud bangs echoed in his eardrums and he instinctively pressed his body further onto Ainsley's so she couldn't move. He covered her head with his forearms and glanced back to the shattered window. Three breaths and four seconds later, the door to his office burst open and two Secret Service agents holding Sig Sauer pistols up in the air surveyed the scene. Then, upon seeing Sam and Ainsley on the floor, one of the agents spoke in a rushed tone.

"Is everyone alright?!"

Sam looked down from the agent to Ainsley, who was still closing her eyes. "Are you okay?" Sam still kept her pinned to the floor, he knew the drill, but he was also extremely and uncharacteristically concerned for her. She whispered back a small 'yes' and Sam gave a thumbs up and a 'we're all good' to the agents. They left the room immediately to check on everyone else, the door remained open and Sam and Ainsley remained on the floor.

Sam took a few deep breaths and stared down at the woman beneath him. She had opened her eyes, but was holding her hands on her ears like the shots were still ongoing.

"Ainsley," he whispered, "it's okay, it's over. We're safe."

Her eyes told him she didn't believe him, so he put his hands on hers, and slowly and delicately lifted her hands off her own ears. When he had successfully done that, he pushed himself up onto his knees, bringing her up with him. She was still scared and scooted over away from the view of the window and in front of his desk, where he joined her. She had not let go of his hands. He was happy about that.

Twenty-three seconds later, an agent popped his head around the door to inform them that they were crashing the West Wing, but that the initial threat had been eliminated. Sam thanked the agent and went to stand up, but Ainsley was not letting go of his hand. He looked over at her, propped up against the front of his desk like a ragdoll, he could still see the fear in her eyes.

He squeezed her hand in his and she looked over at him. "It's okay now," he whispered.

"I know…," she said. He heard the shakiness in her voice. She leaned into him and he leaned back into her. Then she did something that surprised him, something that made his heart skip a few beats.

Ainsley climbed onto his lap, facing the same direction he was, and curled up in a fetal-like position as she let a few tears run down her cheeks and onto his shirt. She let go of his hand and placed both of hers on his chest, taking his shirt in a firm grip, as if she was trying to hold on so that she wouldn't fall. Sam put one of his arms around her middle back, holding her into him as he used his free hand to stroke her hair.

"It's okay," he whispered into her ear, holding her closer than she had ever been. "It's okay."

They sat there, in his office as a thousand tiny pieces of glass lay just a few inches away on his carpet. Sam sat there, holding Ainsley in his arms, her legs touching his, her head resting on his chest for support as he whispered the smallest of reassurances into her ear. They sat together like that for a long time.