DISCLAIMER: Characters of The West Wing, any recognizable dialogue, and the canon events of their storyline belong to Aaron Sorkin.

A/N:

Recently found this in my "Ideas" folder.

Occurs sometime after #2.13 "Bartlet's Third State of the Union."

It had been a particularly stressful day at The White House. Most of the staff had worked late. Some went out to a local bar to blow off steam before heading home. Others were debating what they needed more – sleep or a drink.

Sam had noticed Ainsley going down to her office with a dejected look on her face. She had written a memo on one of the topics they had been dealing with today. She had been telling anyone who would give her a second of their time that the issue was important and "we're getting it wrong." She'd been telling them for more than a week. But no one had listened. At least, not seriously enough.

The last thing she had said before walking out of Sam's office was, "If I'd have done a better job making my case, you wouldn't be dealing with this mess today."

He had replied, "It's not your fault. We screwed up."

However, she didn't hear him. Her mind was on the bottle of scotch in the bottom drawer of her desk. An old friend had come to visit her office about a week after she accepted the job. He had brought the bottle as a gift and they had shared a drink to celebrate. It had been sitting in that drawer, forgotten since that afternoon.

Her focus was on getting to her office, closing the door, and having a drink in solitude. She wasn't sure if she just wanted to forget the day (and her failure to affect change) or if she wanted to figure out what she could have done differently (so that it never happened again). One thing was certain, she didn't hear Sam following her.

When she crossed the threshold of her office, she reached behind herself to shut the door. The door met resistance in the form of Sam's hand. She spun around to see what had stopped it from closing.

"Sam. What are you doing here? Did you need something?" The sense of defeat apparent in her tone.

He stepped through the doorway. Watching her pull the bottle from her desk, he closed the door. If she was planning to drink, he was going to join her.

One, he could use a drink right now.

Two, he remembered another time she had been drinking in her office. He wouldn't mind seeing the giddy, relaxed side of Ainsley again.

And if anything should happen between the two of them … well, they'd just blame it on the bossa nova.

A/N:

At the moment, I have no plan to continue this. I have too many WIP here plus original projects. So, the many fanfic story ideas sitting in the "Ideas" folder on my computer will likely start showing up as one-shots in various fandoms.

Thanks for reading! Until next time ...

~Jen