[A/N: I'm sorry. I know it's been forever since I updated, and I thank everyone who encouraged me to continue. Frankly, with both characters gone, I haven't been truly inspired in a while, and I was occupied with other activities anyway. But tonight, I was bored or inspired—take your pick—so I decided to finish this chapter, which has been lying around on my computer half-written for months. I'm not very pleased with it, and it's obvious I wrote it in two separate parts, but oh well, 'tis done…]
Consorts
Part Three
"I'm not saying there aren't problems with the system, Sam; but that doesn't mean you can totally throw it out. It does serve a purpose you know."
"The purpose of government sanctioned murder, you mean," I returned scathingly. At that moment, it was incomprehensible to me how Ainsley could still be sitting across from me with that innocent face of hers. Shouldn't she have sprouted horns or something? Three hours after a man with an IQ of 63 was executed, my girlfriend was arguing in favor of the death penalty.
Ainsley sighed, picking up our plates and taking them to the kitchen sink, before returning to my side. I struggled to hold onto my anger as she placed herself in my lap and buried her hands in my hair. You try it sometime. Within mere moments, I had wrapped her tightly to me, never wanting to let go.
"It
was a horrible thing that happened today, Sam," she said softly, in a voice
laced with actual pain. Pain similar to what I was feeling at such a blatant miscarriage of
justice. "I know you think I
don't care, but I do. That execution
should never have happened."
"No execution should ever happen," I maintained fervently. "I don't care what the circumstances are. When we take the lives of our own citizens, we become the bad guys ourselves."
"That's not true, Sam, and you know it. You're speaking emotionally right now. Deep down, you know that there are some cases where the death penalty is called for. The Oklahoma City bombing. 9/11. Do you honestly believe the state doesn't have the right to execute the people responsible for those?"
"You're talking about a very few cases, terrorist actions committed on U.S. soil. Most of the people we execute aren't terrorists. They're not even necessarily the criminals with the worst records or who commit the worst crimes. Hell, a lot of the time they aren't even guilty. The system's not about guilt or innocence anymore, Ainsley. It's about how good your lawyer is and how much money you can pay."
"Then, change it."
Her loaded statements like that were more infuriating than anything else about that woman. If she'd stick to fighting with me on the issues, I might have a better chance of winning an argument one day. Yet every time she began to lose, she switched tactics, instead focusing the discussion around me, my political career, what I can do. I didn't understand her.
"Ainsley, we've been over this before—"
"Yes, and you're still vacillating, Sam. If there are problems in this country you want fixed, then you have to fix them. That's why we go to work every day, and do our jobs, and do them well. We're trying to make a difference. We have a responsibility to the American public to do our best for them."
"And like you said, I'm doing that," I argued, even though I knew exactly what she was talking about. It had been a reoccurring theme over the course of our month-long relationship. "Can't we leave it at that?"
She slipped out of my lap to sit on the couch next to me, her legs still draped across mine, as she stared at me with that demanding look only Ainsley could perfect. "Run for President, Sam."
"Why is this so damn important to you?" Irritated, I pushed her legs off me and rose to stand before her. "What could it possibly mean to you for me to run?"
Ainsley stood immediately, matching me gesture for gesture, refusing to be intimidated. "It would mean a President who actually cared about this country. It would mean having someone in the Oval Office who wouldn't be spending every waking moment trying to figure out how not to make a fool of himself that day; someone who was capable of having an original idea every once in a while; someone who would instigate change and not merely be satisfied with the status quo. That's what it would mean to me, Sam."
I didn't want to smile at her. I didn't want to feel proud to have her standing there building up my ego with her idealistic hopes for me. But as was so often the case with Ainsley, I didn't really have a choice. "Even if it meant I outlawed the death penalty?"
She smiled back at me. "That's what we have Congress for, Sam. You're not allowed to unilaterally outlaw things. Balance of powers is a wonderful thing. We should all thank the Founding Fathers for thinking of it."
"So that really is in the Constitution?" I quipped, pulling her body close to mine. It was hard to keep solely focused on politics when she looked so charmingly self-satisfied. "Not another of those frauds perpetuated on the American public?"
"No, it's really and truly there. Right along with the Fourteenth Amendment."
"For God's sake, aren't you ever going to let that one drop?" I groaned. "One conversation about the ERA is going to haunt me for the rest of my life."
"It was a memorable conversation, Sam," Ainsley remarked innocently, wrapping her arms around my neck. "Every argument that I win with you is memorable."
"Memorable meaning you're never going to let me forget them," I translated.
"Well, if you want to be literal about it…"
"Ainsley?"
"Hmm?"
"Shut up."
"Make me."
So I did.
~~*~~
"Ainsley!" Sam's voice practically reverberated off the apartment walls.
I cringed but studiously ignored him, instead occupying myself entirely with rummaging through the cupboards of my friend's apartment for something to munch on while I waited for the pizza to arrive.
"Ainsley, I know you're here. How could you?" I heard him swear under his breath.
I finally found a bag of pretzels and lifted myself onto the countertop, still refusing to dignify Sam's ranting from the foyer. The crunch of the pretzels drew him to the kitchen, and his face when he looked at me was a far cry from his normal sheepish grin.
"You voted against the assault weapon ban!" How I hated the look in his eyes that night! He looked at me as though I was a stranger to him, some enchantress who had bewitched him, and the spell had finally fallen from his eyes.
I forced myself to swallow, though I suddenly wasn't hungry—for one of the first times in my life. "I thought we agreed we weren't going to discuss our votes with each other," I began, as a weak attempt to divert the subject and subdue his wrath.
An impossible task. "That's before our votes, Ainsley. This is a matter of public record now. You voted against extending the ban to include over a dozen new semi-automatic weapons—including the kind that shot Josh."
"I know what the law was about, Sam," I retorted, my self-defensive anger rising…mostly because I knew his anger was entirely justified. I was feeling quite a bit of it myself. "I also know that the Second Amendment of the Constitution states—"
"Don't you dare pull that crap with me again, Ainsley!" Sam's lips were pulled into one thin, hard line; his eyes were dark and angry; his face seemed pinched. "I can bear that sanctimonious bull from almost everyone but you. When the Second Amendment was written, they had muskets. We're talking now about guns that can kill a dozen people without being reloaded. How can you stand here and defend that?"
I couldn't. He knew I couldn't. He saw it in the way I kept my eyes averted. Approaching the countertop, he put an arm on either side of me, effectively trapping me until I answered his questions. "Why, Ainsley? Tell me why."
"Because, unpleasant or not, there are some times when we have to play politics," I admitted finally. I didn't want to admit it. I didn't want to see myself fallen in his eyes. He had a kind of idealized picture of myself in his mind. He saw me as being above all the normal considerations that every politician faced everyday. And though I knew it wasn't right, I wanted to stay stainless before him. Only now I couldn't any longer.
As I foresaw, Sam pulled away from me immediately, repulsed. "What did they promise you for your vote?"
He didn't ask who "they" were. He didn't need to. They were the Republican Party, in his eyes, Satan's government on earth. I groaned, pushing his arms down and jumping off the counter. I wanted to face him on my own footing if I had to do this. "You know I can't tell you that, Sam."
The normally good-natured face was deformed with a sneer. I saw myself diminishing in his sight by the moment, and I turned away, unable to bear it. "You were the deciding vote, you know that, Ainsley? If you had voted your conscience, the measure would have passed."
I choked back the tears threatening to spill over. I refused to let him see me weak. No one ever saw me cry. "Yeah, well, we can't all vote our conscience all the time, Sam. Even if I hadn't been offered something, I would probably have voted against the bill anyway. When I step onto the Senate floor, I don't represent my own beliefs. I represent the people of North Carolina. Do you know how a lot of the constituents back home feel about gun control laws?"
"God forbid the people of North Carolina should be forced to shoot people one at a time," he shot back bitterly.
Unable to bear his righteous indignation any longer, I silently left the kitchen, prepared to walk out the door and out of Sam's life. I had been a fool to think it could work in the first place. But my pride refused to let me, and I abruptly turned around to make my last defense. I saw the way he was looking at me, a mixture of anger, sorrow, and shattered illusions. I had to clear myself, come what may.
"I don't blame you for being disappointed in me, Sam. I'm not exactly proud of myself at this moment. But before you go writing me off as just another corrupt politician, could you look beyond this one vote? This week alone, I've voted in favor of stopping oil drilling throughout the United States, and for the exploration of alternate energy sources. I voted against the Family Protection Act—although there were things in it I agreed with—simply because I do not feel it is the government's job to legislate morality. I voted for campaign finance reform and the health care bill. All of which I did because I believed it was right. But I can't fight every battle. Can you look me in the eyes and honestly tell me I have lost my integrity over one vote?"
His anger held out for only a moment longer, then his shoulders slumped, and I saw the defeat that had truly been driving his fury. In a moment, I had wrapped him in my arms, and he buried his face in my neck, holding onto me like his last lifeline. "Oh, darling," I soothed him as well as I could. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Forgive me."
He didn't answer, but he pulled me tighter. Yet as surely as I knew all was forgiven, I realized I would never be the same to him. I had fallen from my pedestal. Nothing could ever restore me to that place in his life. My knowledge of my failure tore at my heart, for I was convinced this would be the end for us. Oh, Sam would try to make it work. He didn't have it in him to be cruel, and he would be reluctant to believe he had been deceived. But in the end, he would accept who I really was. Tight as he held me at that moment, it would be only a short while until he let me go.
~~*~~
She'd been different since that night. She was pulling away from me. I could feel it. She thought I didn't see, but I did. Despite what Ainsley thought, I knew her almost as well as she knew me. I knew she despised weakness in herself above all things. So she would try to push me away because I was a reminder of her weakness. It wasn't me she was really angry with. I knew that. She was angry at herself for succumbing to the pressure, for proving fallible. She thought I would see her in the same way. If she only knew how that night had changed my opinion of her…
Up until then, I admit I had practically worshipped her. She was to me the ideal all women—no, all people—should strive to become. She seemed to me made from a different mold than all of us poor mortals surrounding her. But perhaps my idolization of her had hampered my true knowledge and love of her.
Yes, I say love. For, as she was quietly trying to pull away from me, I was becoming ever surer that the feelings I harbored for Ainsley Hayes went far beyond a passing attraction. When I had perceived her as perfect, it was beyond my reach to love her. Now I saw her more as she was, a woman tormented by the same challenges the rest of us faced everyday. For all her seeming confidence, she was as doubtful and weak as the rest of us. And I loved her for it.
I'm not sure I'd ever loved a woman before. Perhaps Lisa, but the deeper I fell for Ainsley, the more I realized how pale an imitation of love I had been settling for with her. Something about the blonde Republican suited me. Even the way she pushed me away because of her own guilt was strangely reminiscent of myself. I began to realize how very much we echoed each other. Not in politics, but in character; in everything that really mattered, we were symmetrical so to speak.
Her dreams for me, which had once appeared grand and impossible, now felt like possibilities…if not realities. I knew I could accomplish anything with her by my side, and I was acutely aware that was why she stayed. She was terrified of being rejected; she was filled with self-recrimination of her own humanity, when she had striven for so long to be irreproachable. Yet she stayed. For me.
And so it was, to prove myself worthy of the faith and trust of this woman, I, Samuel Norman Seaborn, decided to run for President of the United States of America.