XVII

Zoey tugged open the door, and then beamed with delight. "Hey, Charlie! What are you doing here?"

He smiled in moved in on her, forcing her to back up into the room. "Figured I'd come check on my..." he lowered his voice with a wary glance at the agent across the hall; "fiancée." Zoey bit her lip, but was unable to stop the huge grin that split her face.

"C'm'ere, you." She tugged him all the way inside and shut the door behind him.

"You know, those guys across there are gonna be wondering what we're up to in here, you grabbing me like that," he smiled.

"Let 'em wonder," she shrugged. "Seriously, Charlie, what are you doing here? You never get off work this early."

"Your father gave me the rest of the evening off," he told her. She gave him a disbelieving look.

"Dad? Gave you time off? In what alternate universe?"

"Well, your mother's home, and I guess he wanted to-"

Zoey quickly clapped her hands over her ears. "Trauma! Trauma! Childhood trauma. Go no further into this conversation!" Charlie smirked, damn him. Her parents were quite bad enough right there in front of her without Charlie getting in on the act.

Still, mental images or not, an evening with Charlie was too good an opportunity to pass up. "I'm glad you're here," she admitted. "Sit down." She pulled him over to sit on the bed beside her.

"Okay, now we're doing this and your father's actually still in the country," he noted, seeming actually just a tiny bit serious in his concern.

"Will it be okay if I promise not to ravish you?" Zoey asked.

Charlie grinned at her. "Well, I guess I'll have to take your word for it." She gave him a light kiss on the lips.

"See? Barely any ravishing at all."

He gave her a fond look that turned her knees to jelly, and then suddenly fumbled in the inner pocket of his jacket. "Oh, hey. I got something for you."

"Is this something that my dad would disapprove of?" she teased.

"No." He reconsidered. "Well, he probably would at that. Close your eyes."

"Charlie," she objected, sticking out her lower lip.

"Close your eyes." She did so. "Now hold out your hand."

"I'm not twelve, Charlie," Zoey said as she complied.

"And that expression really shows it, too. Keep your eyes closed," he cautioned.

"They're closed, already!"

She waited for what seemed like a very long time. "Okay, this isn't gonna be, like, Jello or sheep's eyeballs or something, is it?" she demanded. "'Cause I'm-" She gasped as something cold touched her hand, then registered that it was metal. Zoey's eyes flew open, and she looked with awe at what lay in her palm. "It's a ring!"

"It's an engagement ring." He grinned shyly. "I got one too." He opened his hand to show a ring that was the twin of hers.

"Oh, Charlie!" She leapt for him, and squeezed him until they were both giggling and short of breath.

"I thought you promised not to ravish me?" he asked her as she backed off and reverently slid the ring over her finger.

"Charlie, it's beautiful!" Zoey's face fell. "But we can't wear them. Charlie-"

But her boyfriend - no, fiancé - remained undaunted. "I got you something for that, too." He produced two long, fine silver chains. "One for me, and one for you."

Zoey gave a not-very-dignified squeal, and lifted her hair to carefully slip the chain around her neck. When she looked up, her heart thudded in her chest to see Charlie unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt to lower the ring down inside it. She decided that if it meant she got to see a fair proportion of Charlie's chest, this direction in ring-wearing was definitely the way to go.

"You're just trying to get me to ravish you there, aren't you?" she demanded, to cover the fiery blush that tinted her cheeks.

Charlie's answering grin was decidedly devilish. "Well, I guess you unravelled my cunning plan. Is it working?"

"Maybe." She leaned forward to give him a long kiss, planting her hands against the bare flesh of his shoulders. Mmm, she could get used to this...

It was a long time later - and far too soon - when Charlie finally broke the kiss. "This is turning into one of those times where I should go, isn't it?" he admitted.

"No!" She didn't want him to go. "No, Charlie, stay. For a while," she amended, when he looked ready to protest that he couldn't.

"Okay." He kissed her again.

When they came up for air, Zoey admitted "Okay. Maybe you should at least do your shirt up."

This whole non-ravishing thing was turning out to be a lot more difficult than it looked.

This time, Sam wasn't drinking beer.

In fact, he'd half forgotten what he was drinking. The bartender, after the first couple of shots, had taken the hint and kept them coming.

He was well on his way to being completely buzzed, and it wasn't nearly as satisfying as he'd hoped. What cruel quirk of fate had decided that he be the kind of drunk who brooded over things rather than forgot them?

Like the Healthcare Bill. Oh, Toby was hopelessly naïve if he truly believed that their latest failure was the cause of Sam's depression, but it definitely managed to squat in the middle of it all like a particularly ugly troll. It felt like a symbol of... something. Something to do with trying hard and getting nowhere that he was too drunk to condense into a neat little pithy saying. But then, apparently he'd lost that art quite some time ago.

Maybe he'd be able to find amnesia at the bottom of the next glass of whatever it was he was drinking.

"Hey." He didn't even look up as his drinking buddy of prior days dropped into the seat across from him. "I missed you yesterday night." Steve sounded concerned. Well, why not? His friends didn't even notice there was anything wrong, so it made sense that someone who was practically a stranger would. Symmetry. Something to do with things being back-to-front. Some kind of metaphor for... something else.

Yup, still drunk.

Apparently he'd missed the acceptable window for framing a response, had he been able to remember the question, as Steve leaned over and picked up one of the empty shot glasses to give it a concerned sniff. "What are you drinking?" he asked.

"Alcohol." He'd never been the kind of drunk who had trouble getting his words out, either. Apparently that only happened when he was writing.

Steve smirked. "Yeah." He sighed and stood up. "You know what? I think we should probably get you home."

"'M not drunk enough yet," he objected.

"Drunk enough for what?"

"Forget."

"You've forgotten why you needed to be drunk?"

"No, I haven't. That's the problem." He looked up blearily. Steve was smiling down at him faintly.

"Okay, we're definitely getting you home. Come on." The blond man hustled him to his feet and towards the door. Sam went along, mainly because it was such a novelty to have somebody actually care.

"So where do you actually live, buddy?" Steve asked when they were out of the door. The night air was cool and bracing, sobering him up. He spun around to point, and almost fell into the road.

Okay, so maybe it hadn't completely sobered him up.

Steve steadied him with a hand to the arm, that made him feel warm in a way that he decided he probably shouldn't analyse. He had a feeling he was doing something stupid here.

But hell, what else was new?

The two of them walked through the streets talking about... nothing he would need to summarise in a briefing memo, ever. Ordinary things, non-political things. When at work had he stopped having conversations like this? Had he ever had conversations like this? Suddenly he couldn't remember.

Then they got to his front door. And when Steve kissed him, he was just a little too drunk to pretend it was entirely unexpected.

A blur of thoughts passed through his mind. Memories of a few fumbled encounters in college, sketchy thoughts about photographers who would really have no reason to be lurking outside his doorway anyway, brief wonderings whether he knew what the hell he was doing... but mostly, mostly, just the thought that it had been a very long time since anyone had kissed him. Or even come close to kissing him.

And then Steve pulled back, and smiled at him questioningly. Sam blinked few times.

"You just kissed me, there," he observed.

"I did, yes."

He hesitated for a moment. "Okay."

Steve waited, and then snorted a brief laugh, hugging his arms across his chest slightly defensively. "You know, at this point, it's traditional to either hit me or kiss me back."

Sam squinted, still a little unsteady on his feet. "Oh, I am way to drunk to try and hit you right now."

Steve smirked. "Well, I guess that makes your decision easier then, doesn't it?"

Sam smiled, and then impulsively kissed him back. Kissing was nice. Kissing was simple.

This could get complicated. He drew back. "You know, there are many, many reasons why this is a terrible idea," he pointed out.

"Really?" asked Steve brightly.

"Oh, yes."

"Can you give me a list?"

He considered for a moment. "Um, possibly later?"

"How much later?"

His hesitation was only minor. "Tomorrow?"

Steve smiled. They went inside.