Bipartisanship

Author: ScarlettMithruiel

Rating: Back to 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 sixth chapter. Thanks to all reviewers for reviewing. Note: I didn't know that the brackets didn't show up in the final draft on There were originally brackets around Sam/Ainsley in the Classification part to show that the R (romance) belonged to S/A. Anyway, now that the details have been hashed out…enjoy the story. The POV is different in this story. It's first-person and it's from CJ's POV. It's only one chapter, though. For a little change. Sorry if they're off canon. By the by, I'm a little iffy about episode sequences, so, for the sake of argument, let's place 17 People, Stackhouse Filibuster, andthe episode with the green beans all in the same area.

The door opens. "I bought her a fish." I look up and I get that feeling of dread. That feeling that tells you today is one of those days again. It's Sam. I'm on the phone, talking to an incompetent aide to an Oregon senator about green beans. I give him the international symbol for wait-a-second-I'm-on-the-phone and proceed with my conversation.

"Yes, you see, green beans are vital to Oregon's…oh, for crying out loud! Just have the Senator call me when he's not busy." I hang up and turn to face Sam. He looks like this might be the last conversation he might ever have with someone. "You bought who a fish?"

"Ainsley." Did it ever occur to these men working in the White House that fish does not a romantic gift make?

"Ah. Seems to be a running theme."

"What?"

"Fish as gifts. What type of fish?"

"I bought her a catfish."

"Is it dead?"

"God, I hope not."

"What do you mean, 'God, I hope not?' You do know where it is, don't you?" He nods. "Then, why aren't you sure if it's still alive or not?"

"I left it in my office. I gave it some food. And I just let it swim and, you know, do its thing."

"And why are you in here?"

"I need you to join myself, Josh, and Donna in an elaborate plot to convey a simple message." I give him a look. "You know, flowers and chocolates, three little words, writing in the sky, Say Anything, Cupid, Venus, Aphrodite…" He trails off. Sparky wants to say I love you. Will wonders never cease? There's a knock on my door. It's Toby. And he's dripping on my carpet.

"I got hosed," he says, in a flat tone. I laugh.

"What?"

"I was walking back here from the Hill and there were men in yellow suits and they accidentally…spritzed…me."

"Men in yellow suits? Firefighters?" Sam injects. Toby gives Sam a glare and he backs away.

"Spritzed?"

"Their words. Not mine. They apologized. But now I look like I've been trooping through Woodstock."

"Toby, were you even alive during…"

"CJ, do you know where people keep extra suits?"

"I'm sure Josh has one somewhere. He's always staying late."

"CJ!" I look up. Damn, was that all in my head? Oh, well. It was pretty damn funny. "So, I need you in on this mission of mine. We're going to…" He leans over the desk and whispers in my ear. I feel like I'm in an episode of Scooby-Doo. Is this still the curse of Bast? I thought I cleared this up, you Egyptians. I didn't mean to break the damn thing. Can you clear me of the curse now?

So after that meaningful conversation with Sam, I was to acquire a copy of Hail to the Chief and a working tape player and to clear my schedule for tomorrow night (Friday). I was to meet Josh and Donna, who would have done their deed and purchased two large containers of assorted muffins and brought the catfish (who still doesn't have a name).

"Carol, get me a copy of Hail to the Chief and a tape player or CD player by tomorrow. And get me information on green beans." My faithful assistant nods and heads down the hallway. Today might be getting better, except now I have to go talk to Toby because he was right. Immediately after having an absolutely humiliating conversation with Toby, I got in my office and picked up the phone.

"Sam Seaborn."

"Sam, you answer your own phone?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because you're putting poor Ginger out of a job."

"Ginger is Toby's secretary."

"So who is yours?"

"You know, I'm not quite sure."

"Name the fish."

"What?"

"Name the catfish you bought for her."

"CJ, I have GAO projections to finalize and make fun of."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm sure Winnifred Hooper could get around to that."

"Could we just drop that incident? How was I supposed to know she read them all? Who reads them all?" He sounds absolutely shocked. Oh…God. I can tell I need painkillers right about now.

"Name the fish."

"Daisy."

"That's a name for a cow. Name it again."

"You tell me to name it and then you don't like what I name it? I'm a writer, CJ, and that's what I do, write, and inadvertantly, I name things. Therefore, whatever I say—"

"Name it, Sparky!"

"Penelope!"

I start banging my head against my desk. I can see Carol lean back and look at me worriedly. Carl Jung must be having the time of his life watching me. "Can't you come up with a decent name? I feel sorry for your children."

"What children?"

"Your future children."

"Oh. How about Veronica?"

"Sounds a bit—oh," I groan. "I give up. Yes, yes, the fish is now dubbed Lady Veronica."

"How did the conversation with Toby go?"

"Shut up and go back to making fun of the GAO projections."

"Have a nice day, CJ," he says, in a singsong voice. I could kill that man right now if he wasn't ready to proclaim his love for someone. "Don't forget!"

"Yes, yes, the Roxy at 6:30 sharp. I still haven't forgotten since the last 54 times you've told me."

"Actually, 57."

"You've been counting?"

"GAO projections do that to you."

I hang up and just sit there, my head resting against the frame of my desk. I hear the sound of fabric sliding against fabric and I know who's strutting down the hallway. Josh. He stops and looks at me. "CJ, are you okay? Are you having an epileptic fit of some kind?"

"Josh," I manage to say. "Leave before I shoot you."

"Just checking up on my fellow coworkers. After all, what are we without each other?"

"Alone."

"No, see, the correct answer was nothing."

"Josh, you know that part where I said, 'Leave before I shoot you?'"

"Yeah?"

"I wasn't being facetious. I really will shoot you."

"Are you going to get Hail to the Chief for Sam? He asked me to ask you."

So there I was, heading into the most rundown, dilapidated building in DC, searching for a copy of Hail to the Chief available in CD form. I found it and it was $4.50. I quickly paid and headed back to the White House for the CD Player. After finding it, I rushed to the Roxy in Arlington, Virginia. Operation Sparky was in place.

I arrived at the Roxy to find Sam practically sweating off a quarter of his weight waiting for me. Josh and Donna were there. Josh had purchased chocolate-chip muffins. They sounded disgusting to me. Donna was holding a bag with Veronica happily swimming away. She looked a little nauseous. Josh offered her a muffin. She chastised him because they were Ainsley's muffins.

"You brought the tape?"

"Yeah."

"I talked to restaurant management. Somehow, we can put the CD player in an inconspicuous place where she would be able to hear it."

"Why don't you just play it over the PA?"

"Because that would be embarrassing and potentially damaging to my career and most definitely damaging to my ego," he said, bluntly.

"Okay. It's 6:45. What do you want us to do?" I ask.

"I want Josh to give me the muffins," he starts, as he reaches for them. Josh surrenders them to him. "I want the plastic baggie with the fish—er…Veronica—and whenever Josh gives you the signal, hit 'play,' okay?"

"Yes."

The three of us head off in the general direction towards the bathrooms, crouching behind a table. We see blonde hair moving towards the direction of Sam's table. We plug in the CD player and have it paused, ready for action. Our position is absolutely flawless, despite the fact that we're obstructing the pathway to the restrooms. We can hear them talking, albeit softly.

"Hey," he says, greeting her. I feel like I'm intruding on someone's private moment. Oh, wait. I am. I'm intruding on Sam and Ainsley's private moment. We can see him kiss her on the cheek and they sit. "How are you today?" The waiter arrives to pour them glasses of ice water, before heading towards the bar.

"Oh, did I tell you? The steam pipe trunk distribution venue—are you going to eat those muffins?—started to backfire today for the sixth time this month. I'm not kidding. I've actually counted how many times it's blown one-hundred-and-ten degree air at me. I need to talk to Leo about this." He smiles a soft smile and I can see her face brighten. He picks up her hands, almost in admiration; perhaps in admiration.

"Do you remember…the first time we met?" he asked. "When you made me look like an idiot on national television?" She blushes and nods.

"And then I was hired to go work for the same person you work for."

"You can call him the President, you know. You don't have to be so skittish about it." She makes a soft noise to show her reluctance about it and takes a sip of water.

"Ainsley, I, ahem, have something to tell you. It's nothing that rings of national importance or anything, but it's important to me."

"Are you breaking up with me?" she drawls. "Because if you are, save the speech. You know what? I never should have left North Carolina but all I ever wanted to do was work in the White House and, now, you're shattering that—" He places a finger on her lips to interrupt her.

"Why don't you have a muffin?" She tentatively takes the one he offers and begins to unwrap it. "First of all, this fish is for you." He takes the bag out and hands it to her. "Her name is Veronica and she's a catfish. You being North Carolinean and all. Second, I have something important to tell you."

"You mentioned that already but go ahead."

He looks at her with a burning gaze and takes a deep breath. "Ainsley, I…uh…I love you. I mean, I know it seems trite, what with the divorce rate and the muffins and all, but I do. I truly do. I like the way you laugh at my corny Republican jokes and the way your hand fits in mine, and just all the other clichès that fit with love. I mean, they're just true for me and if you don't…feel the same…if you could please let me know now…" He leaves the air hanging with possibilities and I can almost sense his nervousness. I hear Donna sniffling in the background.

"Donna, please, no crying."

She takes a bite of her muffin and chews. "Thanks for the catfish. She's beautiful in her own slimy way…" Tentative, she leans in and kisses him. I feel a nagging urge to turn away, just because it's a bit awkward. I think it's supposed to explain things. Not that I'm an interpreter of the Sam-Ainsley skittish relationship language.

"And…uh…sometime soon, I want to give up my job." She looks stricken.

"What? Why?"

"And…uh…run for President." She reaches out and links her hands behind his neck and she pulls him in for a long kiss. Whatever signal he was giving me to play the music that I was ignoring is certainly forgotten.