A/N: I actually don't have an author's note for this chapter, just hope you enjoy :)

Washington D.C.

The West Wing

Thirty-seven seconds. From when the shooter fired the first shot at the White House to when he was subsequently shot and killed by Secret Service. Thirty-seven seconds where Ainsley had feared for her life.

CJ was to be starting a press briefing on yesterday's events in just a few minutes, and Ainsley was desperate to watch. She wanted to know everything, from the shooter's parents' names to which Secret Service agent delivered the kill shot. As if knowledge would somehow make her feel better. She had barely slept last night, and she wasn't quite sure exactly why that was. She had grown up around guns, even visiting the firing range a few times with her father when she was a teenager. But for some strange reason, when she had heard those bangs and saw the glass window shatter behind Sam, she was overcome with fear.

She knew Sam would be tuning in for the briefing as well, so that meant he was most likely in his office. She was glad that she had been with him when it happened, even if she was in more danger than she would have been if she had stayed in her downstairs steam pipe office. He could have been hurt had she not been there, maybe he would have been talking to somebody else or standing just two inches to the right and caught a bullet in the lung. She made a disgusted face, she didn't want to focus on the what if's right now, just the what is.

Ainsley walked through the bullpen where she had been many times before and made her way directly through the open door into Sam's office. The window had been covered in a grey sheet metal until it could be fully repaired and thus the office was darker than usual. Sam sat in his chair facing the small television in his office and hadn't heard her come in.

"CJ on yet?" Ainsley asked taking a seat in the spare chair across from his desk.

As if on command, Sam almost stumbled over backwards in his chair in surprise. Luckily, he saved himself and turned to look at her.

"Oh, hi," he said quickly, then calmly turning his attention back to the TV. "Carol just announced her."

Ainsley straightened herself in the chair and watched CJ walk up in front of the podium in the press room. The press immediately erupted in questions but she quickly settled them down.

"Quiet everyone, I have a statement to read and then we'll get to questions afterwards," CJ said commandingly. "This comes directly from the joint efforts of the FBI and Secret Service."

The press room went dead silent and Ainsley watched camera flashes begin to bounce of CJ like she was a celebrity on the Hollywood walk of fame.

"The incident yesterday occurred at approximately 2:38 pm in the afternoon and lasted a total of less than one minute. The FBI had identified the shooter as James Dale Carnvey, that's C-A-R-N-V-E-Y. Carol is currently passing around copies of his mugshot."

"CJ," interrupted one of the press core members, "This man had a criminal record?"

"If you'll all be so kind as to hold your questions until I have finished giving you the answers, that'd be marvelous," CJ responded in kind. Ainsley didn't know how she dealt with all that pressure, but she was glad it was CJ doing the briefing and not anybody else.

"As I was saying," CJ continued, "James Carnvey, 48 years old, Caucasian male from the D.C metro area. He grew up in a suburb in Virginia and moved to D.C just a few years ago to pursue work with a lobbying firm known as BioGen. He was recently divorced, and no the FBI will not be releasing the name of his ex-wife." CJ paused, and Ainsley knew she was about to drop a bomb. "Seven months ago, his only daughter died of brain cancer. He was pronounced dead on the scene yesterday and his body will undergo further autopsy at the FBI field office. I will take your questions now."

The room erupted in roars of blood-thirsty journalists, but CJ quickly chose one out from the crowd and the room went completely silent again.

"CJ, the mugshot that's being passed around, are you telling us he had a criminal record?"

CJ nodded. "Yes, Mr. Carnvey was arrested for DUI in 1993 by state police, served 23 hours in a county jail in Virginia, posted bail, and had his license suspended for eight months."

Again, the room erupted in questions. Ainsley was beginning to get the answers she wanted, even if they didn't make her feel any better.

"What does the FBI suspect as a possible motive?"

CJ let out an audible sigh. "As of right now, the lead investigator on the case has informed me that it's looking like a case of suicide by cop."

Ainsley glanced over at Sam, who was leaned in towards the TV and had his chin resting in his palm. She looked back to the TV to see CJ answering another question.

"No, Mark, we don't have reason to suspect he was a disenfranchised voter nor does the FBI think this was politically motivated. The area where the incident occurred was on the opposite side of the building from the Oval Office."

"And just to be clear," one reporter started, "nobody was injured in the attack?"

CJ paused and Ainsley knew exactly what she was thinking. No, nobody had been physically injured, but the entire staff of the West Wing had certainly been shaken for the remainder of the day. She would know, she still was.

"No," CJ replied, "three bullets hit a couple of office windows and the other two penetrated a few ferns but other than that, everyone is okay. I'm going to turn it over to our lead liaison now for the technical aspects, FBI agent Green will answer any of your remaining questions. Thank you."

Ainsley watched CJ step off the podium and the FBI agent begin to try and calm everybody down, but a second later the screen went black and switched off. Ainsley looked over at Sam, who held the remote in his hand. He turned his chair back to face his desk and began typing at his computer. She wasn't done yet.

"Suicide by cop…," she began, "couldn't he have just pulled a gun on a street cop instead of shooting at the White House?"

Sam sighed but kept his eyes glued to the computer screen. "He wasn't a healthily-minded person, I mean, nobody who has all their marbles shoots at the White House."

"Well I would reckon losing a daughter to cancer might be reason for that…," she replied quietly.

He suddenly took off his glasses with an almost scary speed and slammed his fist down on the desk.

"Damnit Ainsley, don't tell me you're trying to justify what this guy did! This isn't about if he had a reason or not this is about him putting other people's lives in danger because he was too much of a coward to live. These people that do these horrific things, that try to inflict pain onto others, they don't think like we do, they don't process things the way you and I do."

So he wanted to argue. Okay, she could argue. "Sam, you're being completely irrational and you're saying things because you're emotional," she said loudly enough to conquer his tone. She heard the door slam shut behind her, thank God, she didn't need anybody hearing what she was about to say to him.

"This man had a reason for shooting at the White House, I'm not saying it's justifiable, I'm simply trying to get it across your thick skull that you can't dismiss everything bad that happens simply because you don't have a clear answer. News flash Sam, you don't know what was going through this guy's head as he pulled the trigger, and neither do I, and neither does the FBI. This man shot five bullets at the White House and was killed by twenty. To this man, this now deceased man, this was more than a random act of violence, and I accept that, regardless of what you think you know."

Sam stared back at her with a frustration she had not seen before and had she not known him better, she might have thought he was going to shout her out of his office. Instead, he took a calm and offensive approach.

"Is this about guns?" he asked simply.

Now she was about to shout him out of his office. "How dare you ask me that."

"This is exactly what I can't stand about you Ainsley," Sam started, getting up from his chair and pacing around the small office while he scratched his forehead. "You think that everyone in the country should have an absolute right to gun ownership, whether it be a civil war era musket or an AR-15, and yet, the moment you get shot at, or are put in harm's way because of some psycho with a gun, you and all of your friends in Congress bring out the PowerPoint that somehow illustrates how more gun ownership will decrease crime and deter radical criminals. It's infuriating how you think adding more waste to the river will in any way make the river cleaner."

Ainsley was fuming to the point of no return. How could he be so foolish? How could this amazingly intellectual man not see that this wasn't about guns? Why did everything with him always have to be so political? She stood up from her chair and swiftly cornered him near the shielded window, pointing a finger up at him as she shouted.

"You're going to talk to me about infuriating?!" She shouted up at him. "You are quite possibly the most blindly idealistic person I have ever met! It never matters to you what anyone else believes Sam, because you are such an arrogant jerk that you already think you know all the right answers! This isn't about guns Sam! This is about you and me and how that man could have killed you yesterday!"

As she stared back into his big brown eyes, she saw something change. He went from angry and upset to confused and concerned, for her. Ainsley hadn't realized she had nearly pushed her body up against his, her chest was heaving from the shouting match they had just engaged in, as was his. They both took a few deep breaths, but she was the first to break the silence.

"Sam…," she said speaking softly and looking down at the carpet between them. "When I saw the window shatter behind you yesterday, I was scared, more scared than I think I've ever been…and I wasn't scared for myself. I knew that when you covered me with your body, it was you who could have been…," she couldn't bring herself to say it, "hit." She let out a deep breath and looked up at him again. "My reasoning isn't political or even intellectual, and maybe that's where I went wrong. But, Sam, when we sat here in your office afterwards, as the bullets that could've killed you remained embedded in the wall above our heads, all I could think about was how lucky I was not to have lost you."

He stared back down into her eyes. The argument was over. Neither of them had won. They didn't need to win, she just needed him… and that was that.

He wrapped his arms around her upper back as he brought her in for a hug. She quickly wrapped her own arms around his torso, not wanting to let go and squeezing him as close to her as he could get.

"You should be doing my job Ainsley Hayes," he said softly into her hair as he held her to him for the second time in twenty-four hours. "That's the single-most powerful thing anyone's ever said to me."

She let a small smile form on her lips. "I never said thank you for nearly crushing me to death yesterday."

"And you're saying it now I take it?"

"Sam Seaborn, if you tell anyone I opened myself up to you like this-,"

"You'll crush me to death?"

She smiled wider and unwrapped herself from his embrace. Looking back at him as she turned to leave his office, she was more than glad to see a similar smile had appeared on his face.