Bipartisanship

Author: ScarlettMithruiel

Rating: PG-13

Classification: R Sam/Ainsley

Disclaimer: Not mine. Belongs to Aaron Sorkin (the creator), Thomas Schlamme, and John Wells (who is currently causing the avalanche that is West Wing now, but we won't get into that).

Summary: Sam tries to decide whether or not he should go after Ainsley, the presidency, and a shot at happiness.

Author's Note: Again, I hope they're in canon. Here's the fourth chapter. I hope they're in character. To all reviewers, Thank you! I really am not that good of a writer. These characters are just so dear to me! This chapter is really romantic. There really isn't a lot of comedy.

Ainsley Hayes had aged. In reverse. In a matter of seconds, she had been reduced from a cool, professional woman in charge of her life to a simpering seventeen-year-old. She had decided to get ready, not realizing that it would creating an outfit would take up such a monumental amount of time. She had finally decided upon a dark purple gown that had a lattice design down the back to rest comfortably on her hips. It was a gift from her mother after she had seen her on Capitol Beat. Accompanying her gown was a diamond pendant. With such limited preparing time, she quickly did her hair in a classy, quick, neat coif. It was a variant of the French Twist, with two decorative chopsticks positioned at just the right angle, with a few loose tendrils hanging loose. She reached for the curling iron and wielded it so skillfully, giving her a few wavy strands to frame her face. Her cheekbones, a stunning hereditary attribute, were wearing a light shade of rouge and as she checked her appearance for the fortieth time, the doorbell rang. Releasing a breath as a futile attempt to calm herself, she slipped her feet into some high heels, and opened the door.

Nothing prepared her for the sight of him. She had been preparing all day to look lustrous and beautiful, not prepared to see his own masculine handsomeness. He too was shocked at the sight of her. He reached for her hand and as he held it high above her head, she realized what he wanted, and so she indulged him with a girlish twirl. At the end of it, she felt lightheaded and managed to suppress her inner urge to giggle. After locking her door, she followed him and headed for the White House.

They arrived and she had a sudden urge to mingle. She supposed it was the Fight or Flight instinct within her? Sam was forced to do the same. He joined Josh and Toby, as Ainsley joined CJ and Donna. They talked. Abbey, watching from afar, had come to realize these circles formed every time this ball was held. She smiled slightly and felt an arm slip around her waist. She greeted her husband with a kiss and continued to watch them.

When all mingling had been done, all that could really be done was dance. Dance they did. It was a mathematical anomaly. They had factorials and permutations of all kinds with the dancing partners. However, certain partners did occur and reoccur a lot of times. Abbey, with her watchful eye, watched Sam dance with Ainsley more times than he danced with CJ and Donna, just as Josh danced more with Donna than he did with Ainsley or CJ.

Sam Seaborn was holding Ainsley against him and she felt like heaven in his arms. He had been so shell-shocked, she had to remind him to move, with a half-smirk, half-grin on her face. She had practically melded with him. She had made a soft sigh and they moved in a small circle with little steps to the music. He saw her neck, practically flaunting its alabaster, luminescent glow in his face, and he felt drawn to it. Before he could stop himself, and before his mind could fully plot out the entire tree of repercussions that could result from this one action, he pressed his lips to her neck. He could feel her pulse, beating frantically. She quickly snapped her head up to look in his eyes. "Sam," she began. "Sing me something." He snapped out of his reverie.

"Ainsley, I think you've had too much champagne." They stopped dancing for a second and stood there, stock still in the center of the dance floor.

"I can hold my alcohol, thank you. Why won't you sing for me?" She, in her flushing frustration, had her hands on her hips and looked at him. "By the way, you know, just because I happen to prefer Pink Squirrels, it doesn't mean that I can't hold my liquor. I used to very much be into hard liquor when I was younger, my alcoholic tastes have just…" Aware of the curious spectators, he grasped her forearms gently, shushing her gently. She broke away and looked offended. "I can't believe you're shushing me!" He linked his fingers with hers and quickly led her to his office. As soon as she entered, he shut the door behind them. He pulled her close to him in one fluid motion, feeling the contours of her body against his and brought his lips close to her ear. His soft baritone drifted in melodious harmony across her cochlea and timpanic membrane. But she couldn't help it. She had to laugh.

Her soft giggles made him stop. "What?" She kissed him gently on the lips, savoring the feel of his lips against hers, inadvertently memorizing it. She didn't know what made her so cynical to believe that she would never have him. That was because he was never hers to have.

"Sam, I asked you to sing me something, so you sang me Air Supply. Why?"

"Why did I sing you something or why did I sing you Air Supply?"

"Why did you sing me Air Supply?"

"They were the only lyrics I could tap into. I'm pretty sure me and my seventeen-year-old counterpart crossed over right there." She laughed and clasped her hands together behind his neck.

"Sam Seaborn, you are one of a kind." It was a slow movement, one that is often seen in movies. It was the cliché in most cases, but here they were, being tentative, kind, and gentle. It wasn't because of any stereotype or cliché. This was who they were. They were on a tough career path, with decomposing careers strewn on the side of the roads, but they were unusually optimistic. Perhaps that was why they were so dear to their friends and colleagues. They were intelligent people who refused to see the pessimistic choice until it was looming in their faces. Their lips met, and the deviant Republican she was, she opened her mouth and they engaged in fervent kissing. He loved kissing her and he didn't think it was a vice he could ever give up. She tasted sweet and the residual taste of champagne in her mouth tasted slightly tart to her. It was a lovely clash. The door unexpectedly opened and they pulled away to find Donna, Josh, CJ, and Toby standing there. All looked embarrassed.

"When you guys didn't come back…we thought you guys killed each other," Donna said. Sam's eyes flitted everywhere, obviously uncomfortable. Amidst his scanning of the room, he caught Josh's arm wrapped around Donna's waist. That isn't odd for Josh. Josh's eyes were a bit glazed over, as they often were when he was inebriated. Imbedded deep in those strong, emotional eyes was a hint of possessiveness, though, which caused Sam to smile.

"Josh, how many drinks did you have?"

"I only had four things of champagne."

"He's drunk," Sam stated, matter-of-factly, to Donna. She nodded and he knew that she knew. Josh, however, in full protest, held up his hands.

"I am not drunk! I am perfectly prepared to prove my point of sobriety! I am not inebriated, I am perfectly capacitated to undertake any assignments!"

CJ, holding her pair of killer high heels in one hand, smirked. "Josh, what about the President's secret plan to fight inflation?"

"Sure," he mumbled, in a sarcastic, but drowsy voice. "It involves the Census, the National Security Advisor, and Republican-owned oil companies."

"He's going to collapse soon. I better get him home," Donna said to them. "Come on, Quixote."

CJ looked at Toby, linked her arm through his, and told them she planned to go back to the dance floor, which was slowly losing dancing couples. "As you were," she said, smiling, softly closing the door behind her.

Before she could turn around, she felt his hands around her waist and his lips on her neck. She giggled and turned around to face him. "Are you trying to seduce me, Samuel Norman?" Although he tried hard not to, he cringed at the use of his middle name. He kissed her softly.

"No. In order to do that, I'd have to own a bakery or some other food vending store, and agree to raise the children Republican." She hit him playfully on the arm, but he kissed her deeply then. He slanted his mouth over hers and he let the tip of his tongue gently tickle the roof of her mouth. She groaned softly into his mouth and when they pulled apart, she brushed some of her lipstick off of the corner of his mouth with her thumb. His hand found her hand and they walked out of the building and towards his car. He kissed her again, unknowingly pushing her up against the frame of the car. When they pulled apart, she got in the passenger and he got in the driver's seat. He started the car and began to drive. "Do you want me to drop you off at your place?" he asked.

She looked at him and when he stopped momentarily at a traffic light, he looked at her. She saw the emotions swimming in those dark, amber pools and she felt herself flush. She felt wanton briefly and she quickly uttered, "Why don't you drop us both off at your place?" Perfectly timed, the stoplight changed to green and he began to drive. After he parked, he headed into his apartment, his hand still clasped with hers. He toed off his shoes and she followed suit. He shed his suit jacket and laid it on the back of a kitchen chair. He pulled two beers from the refrigerator and sat down on the sofa opposite the television. She heard the faint click of the television turning on and the droning voices of anchormen on CNN and took the proffered beer.

She set it down on the coffee table, making sure to have a coaster resting underneath. Nervous as she was, she tried to mentally coach her through this. This is good. Come on, Ainsley, you can do this. This is Sam. Your Sam. He's not some stranger. She heard him mumble something about meticulous Republicans and grinned as she pinned him down on the sofa. She took his beer and set it on the table too. Her platinum locks gently brushed the side of his face as she leaned down to kiss him deeply. She stepped onto the floor and helped him up. Immediately after he stood up, he brought an arm under her to hold her. She gently let her thumb brush his cheek. "You sure?" he asked.

She feigned to be frustrated as he began to walk upstairs to his bedroom. "I made the first move, Sam. I think I'm sure. You Democrats," she said. "You need to be coached through everything." He kissed her roughly then and she let the cascading, momentous feelings blend within her. She ached for him. If anything, at least this will strengthen the bipartisan bonds. She grinned at her thought, but was quickly distracted as he brought his mouth down on hers again.