Disclaimers:  I don't own them.  If I did, I would never have been foolish enough to let both Rob Lowe and Emily Procter get away.

Category:  Sam/Ainsley

Rating:  PG-13 

Spoilers:  None really.  General references to most Ainsley episodes, but it's post-WW

Archive:  Anywhere you like, just email me first.

Author's Notes:  Don't know where this even came from, just a reluctance to let S/A go once I'd started writing for them.  Not sure how long it will end up being, or how often I'll get to update with school and stuff, but I'll do my best.

Consorts

Part One

"What a bitch," I heard a voice behind me mumble.

I never had quite been able to figure out how to act immune to those words when applied to her.  I knew, of course, that the wise thing to do was simply to act like I didn't hear, to not respond to those offhand comments.  But something about Ainsley Hayes brought out my protective side and had from the moment I saw those dead flowers on her desk.  Of course, that had been eight years ago; and I had still had some professional cover for my concern for her.  Now, anything I said or did could only bring suspicion on matters that were better left alone.

But knowing this still couldn't keep me silent, as I fell into the old trap and turned around to glare daggers at my colleague.  "Do you call every woman who's smarter than you a bitch, Scott?"

The senator's mouth gaped open wide at my words, even as several people close enough to overhear began to chuckle quietly and lean in closer.  Scott Roberts finally managed to pull himself together and return my icy stare.  "You're implying that the woman down there arguing against a welfare bill you drafted yourself is more intelligent than me, Seaborn?  I'm sorry if I don't follow that logic."

"No, I'm flat out saying that a woman who can voice her opinions in a clear, concise, intelligent manner instead of resorting to personal attacks has to be more worthy of my respect, no matter which side of the debate she's on.  You don't care about this bill, you're just jealous that a blonde, Southern, Republican girl gets more respect from this institution than you do."

Scott sneered derisively.  "No need to ask where this is coming from, Sam.  Everyone knows you've always had a thing for her, even back when you were in the White House.  Mark Brookline happens to be a good friend of mine.  I know what happened.  And now you think defending her to me will get you back into her bed.  Well, can't say I blame you.  She does have a great set of legs, but it'll come back to haunt you come election time."

My fists clenched at my sides, and I wondered what C-SPAN would think if a brawl suddenly broke out on the floor of the United States Senate.  It would probably earn them their highest ratings yet.  Only a glance across the room to where she still stood making her argument, unaware of the words being spoken around her, kept me in my place.  There were better ways to protect her reputation than by picking a fight with an idiot politician who only made it here because of his family's connections and his wife's money.

"Trust me, Roberts, we will talk about this later.  Try and grow a brain before then."  That said, I turned my attention away from him, choosing to ignore his sniff of triumph.  I couldn't be distracted by the bastard any longer.  This debate was important to me.  This bill could be my ticket to reelection; but from the holes Ainsley was shooting through it, I wasn't about to start writing my inauguration speech yet. 

"While the senator's goals may have been lofty, the end result is that this bill would allow almost eighty percent of our nation's poor to remain below the poverty line throughout the course of their lives.  There's nothing in here that prepares the nation's welfare recipients for moving back into the working field.  It's a free ride at the taxpayer's expense to sit and do nothing for the rest of their lives.  Am I the only one who sees a flaw in this?"

I should have been furious with her.  I was furious with her.  She was an arrogant, self-righteous Republican, who was more impressed by the power of her own words than by the sufferings of human beings.  She was single-handedly defeating the piece of legislation I'd spent the whole year working on.  I could see it in the faces of the senators I'd worked so long and hard to persuade.  With one speech, she swiped every veil of idealism from their eyes and made them see the bill in its strictly rational form; and she was kicking my ass.

And yet, despite all of this, I could only watch in wonder.  The woman was amazing.  She used words as weapons, but she crafted them so skillfully that none could see any harm in them.  She wove a spell around us all, drawing us in with that misleading Southern charm.  She still looked the part of a naïve schoolgirl.  Her blonde hair was shorter now, only falling to her shoulders in a sedate cut; but other than that, she might as well have been the fresh-faced young lawyer who made a fool of me on Capitol Beat so long ago.  Her blue eyes still sparkled with that same mysterious joy, as if all of politics, her entire career, was merely one endless joke to her. 

But the determination with which she spoke put to shame any thoughts that she might be making fun at our expense.  She had done her research.  She knew her facts.  She knew how to argue and challenge people in a way that no one else could rival…except perhaps me.  I smirked a little at the thought.  I still had my speech to give, my last word, before the bill came to a vote; and I could duel with words just as well as she could.

As she finally yielded the floor to me, her eyes rested on my face for only the barest instant.  In that moment, understanding passed between us.  This was no different than debating on Capitol Beat for a national television audience or arguing about the ERA over Chinese food amongst a small group of White House staffers.  What it all came down to was a war of wits between her and me, and it was—and always had been—the most exhilarating part of our jobs. 

I rose and made my way to the floor, making a final plea for the bill, for the children it could help, for the families it could save.  I was impassioned.  I was direct.  I spoke with the kind of fervor that I had always put into my speeches for President Bartlet.  I spoke words that could change hearts and minds and, most importantly, votes.  Every so often, I hazarded a glance at her and found her watching me with that misleading look of nonchalance she got on her face while other people spoke.  I knew that she might appear uninterested on the surface, but inside her mind was already working on how to counter all my arguments.  I half expected her to jump up in the middle of the room and point out all the things I had gotten wrong.

Before I knew it, my time was up; and it was time for the vote.  I barely remember breathing as senator after senator cast their vote and brought me one step closer to my fate. 

"With fifty-six votes for, and forty-two against, and two absenting, the measure passes."

I literally felt the air sucked out of my lungs.  I barely heard the congratulations of my friends and colleagues or felt their pats on the shoulder.  I couldn't believe it.  I had won.  I had beaten Ainsley.  I had never beaten Ainsley.  At anything.  The thought seemed almost sacrilegious. 

A sudden hush falling around me would have alerted me to her presence, even if I wasn't always acutely aware of her location in every room we both happened to be in.  She walked towards me, every step a model in that unknowing grace that made her more beautiful than humanly conceivable.  I wasn't sure what to expect until she stuck out her hand to me and said politely, in that sweet little Southern drawl that made all rational thought fly from my head, "Congratulations, Sam.  You finally won one."  A slight tip at the corner of her mouth suggested that she had known that was precisely the direction my thoughts had taken.

I shook her hand, feeling the warmth only she could give me.  "I don't know if I should feel gratified or insulted."

"A little of both," she returned, without batting an eye.  "Besides, it doesn't matter anyway.  You know President Lillienfield will veto it."  She shrugged daintily, as if almost sorry to be robbing me of my victory.  But a certain malicious spark in her eyes said that maybe she wasn't all that disturbed with sucking part of the joy out of the day for me.

It was all I could do not to grab her in the middle of the room and kiss her senseless.  Why her evil Republican nature was so irresistible to me I'll never know.   "Thanks for the reminder.  I can always count on you to keep me in my place, can't I, Senator Hayes?"

She laughed then.  All women should be taught to laugh the way she does.  Like everything else about her, it's completely free and unrestrained by anyone else's expectations of her, yet still it contains the element of a little girl's innocence.  "Only when you need it, Sam."  One flirtatious wink and a twirl of her blonde head and she was gone again.

I was once again acutely aware of the crowd of Democratic senators and aides around me, looking on in disapproval.  "Sam, Sam, Sam…" Andrea Wyatt clucked her tongue disapprovingly.

"What?"

"What?" she mocked me.  "You're flirting with the enemy, that's what.  You do remember that's Ainsley Hayes, right?  The same woman who has spent the last four years doing everything she can to make sure that not one piece of Democratic legislation passes through Congress.  The same woman who has made it a personal mission of hers to make you look like an idiot at every given opportunity.  As much as it pains me to agree with Scott on anything, especially involving my gender, she's a bitch."

I clench my jaw to keep from screaming at an old and dear friend.  It would be safer if it was wired shut.  People have selective memories when it suits them.  Ainsley has voted in favor of many bills, regardless of whether they were Democratic or Republican supported.  Sometimes I think she doesn't serve any party but her own conscience.  Sometimes I think the world would be a much better place if we were all just a bit more like her. 

But I couldn't make Andrea or anyone else understand this.  Because no one else understood Ainsley quite the way I did.  Republicans still couldn't forgive her for working—quite loyally and happily—in the Bartlet White House.  They'd never understood her motives for doing it, and neither had most Democrats.  They didn't like her or trust her; and no matter what her record might be in Congress, she'd never fully belong to either side. 

Unable to think of a response that wouldn't end in more questions than I was willing to answer, I simply shook my head and walked away, leaving Andrea, Scott, and all the rest of them far behind me.  I should have made my way back to my office.  I knew that, of course, as I knew I'd been making bad decisions all day long.  Still I couldn't seem to stop my feet from crossing unfamiliar territory in pursuit of the office of the senator of North Carolina.

I finally found it and then silently wondered why it had taken so damn long for me to give in.  It's not like I hadn't wanted to stop by every single day since she'd been sworn in, yet something—whether pride, fear, or Democratic loyalty—had kept me away from the place I most wanted to be. 

As I stepped into her outer office, her assistant looked up at me, deep brown eyes immediately widening.  "Mi…Mister Senator…sir…" she stammered.  She obviously wasn't used to influential Democratic senators walking into her boss's office, at least not without some intention of screaming and throwing things before the end of their stay.  But she managed to recover herself.  "May I help you, Senator?"

"Is Senator Hayes in?" I asked.  I couldn't believe I was there.  I couldn't believe I was about to have my first private conversation with Ainsley since we both worked at the White House, and I would make periodic trips down to the Steam Pipe Trunk Distribution Venue just for the excuse to pick a fight with her.  Life had lost a lot of its joy since then.

"Yes, sir," the assistant squeaked out, still obviously nervous and afraid of my presence there.  "Just let me tell her you're here."  She picked up the phone with a grimace, as if she expected to bear the full brunt of Ainsley's anger over the presence of the loathsome Democrat.  "Senator Hayes, Senator Seaborn's here to see you.  What should I do?...Yes, Senator, if you say so."  If possible, her eyes were even wider as she hung up the phone and turned to face me.  "She says to go on in."

Not caring any more about what the assistant thought, I practically sprinted to Ainsley's door.  It was if I suddenly realized that she was the solution to all my disillusionment, that simply talking to her could bring back some of the fire I'd once had for our profession.  But nothing could have prepared me for what I was confronted with on the other side of that door.

Ainsley sat behind her desk, littered with papers and a couple food wrappers, her hands folded primly in front of her, perfecting the school teacher persona.  I felt sheepish and awkward as I let the door close behind me.  Before I could even think of anything to say to her, she came at me, armed for the defense as always.  "No, Sam, I didn't mean that I was personally going to make sure the President vetoed your bill.  I don't have the ear of the President; and even if I did, I wouldn't use it to get your bill sent back.  I was simply stating a fact that President Lillienfield isn't going to let that kind of Democratic welfare reform pass—probably the one area where he and I agree.  But I resent the implication that I would be petty enough to take—"

"Whoa, Ainsley, slow down!"  I held up my hands in surrender.  It had taken me this long even to process what she was talking about.  I realized she must have associated my coming to see her as being related to her parting shot about the President, a thought that had never even crossed my mind.  She sat there before me, the epitome of dignity and wronged honor, and I found myself wanting to laugh. 

This was Ainsley as she had always been.  I had a feeling that she was perhaps the only one of us who would never change, never become jaded and disillusioned like everyone else in Washington.  "God, I missed you."  The words slipped out as soon as I thought them; and as they did, I found myself blushing.  For a former speechwriter, I had to question my way with words.

Ainsley looked neither embarrassed nor moved, simply confused.  "I don't understand, Sam.  Why did you come here?  Aren't you here about the Welfare Reform Bill?"

I shook my head, finally sinking into the cushioned seat before her desk.  "No, I came…I came…I don't even know why I came.  I just wanted to see you, I guess."

The bewilderment on her face only increased, though I thought I saw a hint of pleasure in her eyes.  Wishful thinking.  "You just saw me at the vote," she pointed out.  "Sam, I really don't appreciate games.  Whatever it is you came here to say, just say it.  I don't understand what's going on."

I ran a hand back through my hair in frustration.  Of course she didn't understand.  How could I make her see when I barely had a grasp of it myself?  Instead of answering, I looked around the practical but well-furnished office, with the large glass window in back of her desk letting in streams of the spring sunshine.  "Quite a change from your old office."

Her look of confusion had melted into a frown of perplexity and perhaps a little worry.  "Sam, are you all right?  What's going on?"

I shrugged my shoulders.  "Don't you miss it?  I mean, of course you probably don't miss it.  You were down in that godforsaken basement all day long and had to deal with all our idiotic prejudices against you.  But just…that time…that place…it was special, you know?"

Much to my surprise, I saw her swallow back a hint of emotion.  Her eyes welled with pity for me, and her face showed perhaps some of the same nostalgia as mine.  "Yes, Sam, I know," she replied in a hushed, reverent whisper.  "I felt it too.  We did something great there.  I may not have agreed with him politically, but President Bartlet was a great man, a great statesman.  He hired me even though I disagreed with everything he stood for.  I think that's something rare in people in general, and especially here.  Everyone's so corrupt and looking out for their own best interests…"

Ainsley's voice trailed off completely as she blushed, once again aware of my presence.  "Sorry.  I probably don't have a right to talk like that.  I mean, you're right, I never was part of—"

"Stop right there," I interrupted.  "I wouldn't have come here if you weren't part of that, a part of all that we did.  That's why I came, I guess.  I wanted to feel connected to that again.  I thought maybe…somehow…seeing you could bring that idealism back."  I laughed at my own foolishness.  "But you know what they say, you can't go home again."

The crystal blue eyes of amazing depth seemed lit with fire as she gazed at me, the same fiery passion she'd had the first day on Capitol Beat, the fire I so desperately wanted back.  "Who says, Sam?" she challenged.  "The trick is simply to fight for what you believe in, to never give up, and never compromise when you can help it.  That's what President Bartlet did, that's what we all did.  I know you still believe in that, your welfare bill is proof of that."

It was my turn to be confused.  "But you hate that bill, you just stood up in front of the Senate and said that it was evidence of the devaluing of human independence.  You said—"

"I know what I said, Sam.  And I believe every word of it.  The point is that you don't.  You drafted that bill out of a desire to do good; and while I disagree entirely with your approach, it doesn't make you any less noble.  You're probably the only one left of us who still has that quality."

I'm sure my jaw dropped to the floor.  "Me?" I stammered incredulously.  "And here I was coming to you because I saw it in you in the debate today; and I wanted to be exposed to that again."

Ainsley shook her head and laughed.  God, how I loved that laugh.  "Sam, if I was impassioned today, it was only because I knew I would be going up against you.  Any one else I wouldn't have even cared, because to them it's not about ideals and principles, it's about constituents and lobbies and polling data.  That's not what I got into politics for, and I know you didn't either.  I knew I was actually arguing with someone who gave a damn."

A slow grin was creeping across my face.  "You know, Senator, I think we're a lot more alike than most people realize."

She smiled back at me, and I felt that familiar punch in the gut.  "I don't know about that.  I think some people have always had a pretty good idea.  At any rate, I'd rather be like you than like a lot of Republicans I know…though if that leaves this room, I'll deny it to my dying breath."

"Fair enough," I agreed.  A silence fell around us, but it wasn't uncomfortable.  I simply sat there, soaking in being near her.  I knew that I'd have to leave soon, but something inside me rebelled at the thought.  Ainsley made me feel young and free again.  I was afraid that feeling would disappear as soon as I left the sanctuary of her office. 

But the interlude couldn't last forever.  The phone rang; and from the short conversation that ensued, I deduced Ainsley was late for a meeting.  I had already stood and was making my way slowly to the exit when she hung up.  "Sorry about that," she said, with genuine regret.  Apparently, she didn't want me to leave any more than I wanted to go.

I turned around once more, and the look on her face was my undoing.  I never could resist that face.  The question sprang from my lips before I even realized what I was saying.  "Ainsley, would you like to have dinner with me?"

She bit her lip, and I could see the conflicted emotions flickering across her face.  She wanted to go, and yet she didn't.  She was flattered, yet afraid.  She was the same mixed-up bundle of emotions and intellect which made her loathed of Republicans and Democrats alike.  "I really don't think that would be a good idea," she said finally, frowning.  "People might…"

"Yeah," I said quickly, attempting—badly—to hide the feelings of rejection.  "Of course.  Really bad idea.  Consorting with the enemy and all that.  Wouldn't be a good idea to get our picture in the papers."

"Right," she said in a very unconvinced tone.  "Right."  The repetition nearly killed me.

"Well, I gotta…I should be…"  I gestured randomly behind me as I made my way to the door backwards.

My hand was on the doorknob before I heard her say it.

"Hey, Sam?  Pick me up at eight."

~~*~~

It wasn't like I didn't know it was a bad idea.  I knew it was a bad idea before the words ever left my mouth.  But some of my worst decisions had been the things that made me happiest in life.  Like working for the Bartlet White House.  And okay, I might as well just face it, I wanted to go out with Sam.  I had always had a bit of a crush on him, although that sounds far too junior high school.  The whole situation was far too junior high school. 

But I was not in junior high school.  I was a United States Senator, representing the interests of the people of North Carolina, and affiliated with the G.O.P.  There was no way I could go out with Sam Seaborn.  No matter how much I wanted to.  It would be unethical, quite possibly immoral, and just plain stupid.  But he looked so vulnerable, like he needed me, and the words came out of my mouth before I'd even realized it.

It was only once he was gone—leaving, by the way, with a look I used to see on his face after Bartlet nailed a speech—that the reality of the situation broke over me, and I realized there was absolutely, positively no way that Sam and I could go out on a date like normal people.  This is the point when rational people would call off the whole thing; but I never have been, strictly speaking, rational.  And I could still see that look on his face...

So I did the only thing I could do.  I found a way to get around the rules.  It was stupid, I know.  I had never in my entire life begun a relationship with the certain knowledge that it had to be a secret.  I've always hated lying and liars.  So what made me do it?  Heaven knows.  What made me take a job at a Democratic White House?  What made me argue against the ERA in front of a college full of extreme feminists?  What made me run for senator in a state that was still convinced a woman's place was in the home?

I never lived my life by other people's standards, I rationalized.  Why should I start now?  I wanted to date Sam, so damn it all, I would.  And if anyone else had a problem with it they could all go to he…It might be constructive at this point in time to mention that I hadn't had a serious relationship—or really any relationship—in two years.  That might have affected my judgment a bit.

Then again, this was Sam.  I probably would have done the same thing no matter what my love life at the time had been.  He was the one guy I had never quite been able to get out of my head, which was strange considering we had never done anything other than argue and flirt and even that was several years before he suddenly swooped back into my life.  Well, "swooped" wasn't exactly the right word, more like sheepishly shuffled.

All of which is completely irrelevant.  Controlling the direction of my thoughts has never been easy for me.  It's a nervous condition.  But I wasn't nervous that day.  That day I was surprisingly calm.  I was breaking every ethical boundary I had ever set for myself, and I could not have cared less.  It wasn't like the system cared about us.  We were just two more people lost in the storm of bureaucracy and fighting like hell to stay afloat.  To put it simply, Sam was my lifeline; and I was his.  Thoughts of consequences didn't really matter compared to that.

With complete awareness of where I was heading, I made all the arrangements I knew Sam would never think to make.  He couldn't think like that, and I wouldn't want him to.  He wouldn't be the Sam I knew if he did.  The most wonderful thing about Sam Seaborn always was his idealism.  He never saw the world quite the way it was; and in a bizarre way, I felt the need to shelter him from it. 

I was the one to call him on a private, secure line and tell him not to come pick me up after all.  Instead, I gave him an address.  Not for a restaurant, but for the apartment of a friend of mine—a friend who would be conveniently out of town.  Truth be told, she was the only friend I would have trusted to help me out, since she was in no way connected with politics of any sort, God bless her. 

The sensible portion of my mind—which sounded frighteningly like my father—told me that I was committing gross national fraud and there was no way I wasn't going to get caught.  But I barely acknowledged it.  The other part of me said it would be better to order in Chinese than Italian for a first date.  Which when you think about it is rather sensible in itself. 

So without a thought for consequences or politics or all the forces that had dominated my life so far, I was waiting by the door when Sam showed up precisely at eight o'clock that night.  Chinese takeout waited for us on my friend's table.  And the adorably awkward smile on Sam's face as he came in made every anxiety or problem seem worth it.

With full knowledge of the Pandora's Box I was opening, I, Ainsley Hayes, lifelong Republican and Senator of North Carolina, opened the door of my heart to the enemy that night.  I never looked back.