Request: anything with sam seaborn but try not to spoil anything after season 2 ep17, as i’ve just started watching and k am completely uwuu with him. i guess id love it if there’s some idiots in love, with angsty pining and a happy ending 🥹
Summary: You've been in love with Sam Seaborn since you met him on the Campaign Trail, and according to your coworkers you are not doing a good job at keeping that hidden. Your friends and colleagues are convinced you're not the only one pining. You're more focused on supporting Sam as a colleague in your role as Deputy Press Secretary and a friend, through the good days and the bad, like in the aftermath of Rosslyn. Despite the day-to-day chaos, everything seems to be the same until the night of Bartlet's Third State of the Union when things finally click for the two of you.
Starts right after Let Bartlet be Bartlet and mostly follows the plot through Bartlet's Third State of the Union, up until the Senior Staff finds out details about Colombia.
Author’s Note: I have been a Sam girly since day one. I read the word angst and pining on that request and absolutely ran with it. Like I cannot overstate how insanely this ran away from me but I really loved writing every second. I hope you enjoy! Feel free to stop by my ask to chat or with your own request! xoxo
As always this can also be found on my ao3
Divider credits to @/saradika
Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, hospitals, and references to (no depictions of) injury/death
“So, when are you going to tell Sam?” Even before you look up from your desk, you know the exact mischievous smile on Donna's face as she leans against the frame of your office door, just like she knows that you’re about to roll your eyes in response.
“I’m not sure I know what you mean.” As expected, you roll your eyes.
“Oh please, do you think you’re subtle?” Setting your pen down on your desk, you finally look up from the draft speech you’re reading. As Deputy Press Secretary, you don’t always get the same read-ahead that CJ gets before a big announcement, but you’ll take as much information as you can get, whenever you can get it.
“Would you like to talk subtle? How about –”
“– Subtle? Who’s subtle?” As if summoned, Sam Seaborn comes strolling into your office, interrupting Donna before she can say something incriminating about you and the feelings you've been trying to hide since you first met on the Campaign.
“Certainly not this latest FEC nomination draft that’s been put in front of me. We’re really coming in hard on campaign finance reform aren’t we?” You flash a quick look at Donna that says so help me if you don’t play along, hoping that Sam buys your sudden shift in topic.
‘I’m trying something new, Let Bartlet be Bartlet.” Sam says, so earnestly it makes your heart clench a little.
“I like it.” You say honestly. Over the past few years, you've mastered the ability to separate your feelings for Sam from your professional and political opinions on his writing. It certainly helps that most of the time, the two are in agreement: Sam's incredible. “Does Toby?”
“Sam!” From the way that he’s hollering down the hallway, you’re pretty sure that Toby does not, in fact, care for the heavy handed nature of Sam’s latest draft. In true Sam fashion, he just flashes you and Donna a charming smile before turning to respond to the summons.
“See, that right there. That look!” Donna says, placing a hand over her heart, pretending to swoon.
“Again, I don’t know what you mean, Donna. He gave you the exact same look.”
“Oh it might have started that way, but as soon as you looked back, it was something different entirely, something captivating. I felt like I was intruding on something personal."
“What are you, an office romance writer now? Doesn’t Josh need you for something?”
“Hey Donna, Josh just called to ask if I’ve seen you. He said he needs the file before Joey Lucas gets here.” Carol, your savior, right on time to get you out of this situation before the entire West Wing knows about your feelings.
“That’s what I’m doing, I had to go grab it. Shockingly, despite Josh’s wishes, I have not yet mastered the art of teleportation. I’m on my way back.”
“Strange, I thought you were here to berate me.” You tease.
“Is it berating if it’s done with love?” Donna counters.
“About Sam?” Carol chimes in. Okay, so maybe Carol isn’t here to save you.
“Carol! Not you too!” Donna and Carol share a smile as Donna turns to make her way back to Josh’s office. “Okay how about this. Let’s grab dinner later and over a glass of wine I’ll explain to you all about why my saying anything to Sam is a bad idea.”
“You’re joking but we’re going to hold you to it.” Donna calls over her shoulder as you groan.
“Carol, does she need me?” You ask, when Carol lingers in the doorway.
“Yep, something about Sam’s newest draft.”
“Tell her I need five minutes.”
“She’s going to tell me to come back in three.” She says knowingly, but you’re counting on this response.
“Good thing I can get it done in two.” You wink at Carol, quickly returning to the draft in front of you so you can wrap up and head over to CJ’s office.
A few hours later, you find yourself out to dinner with Donna, Carol, and Ginger. You know Donna wants to press you on your interrupted conversation from earlier but so far you’ve been foiling her at every turn, picking up a new conversation wherever anyone leaves off.
Finally, you set down your empty wine glass. You’ve managed to time it perfectly so that you can immediately nod to the waiter, indicating your readiness for a refill. Donna patiently suffers through another conversation about your annoying neighbor until finally, your second glass of wine is set in front of you, and she pounces.
“So, Sam.” She says, as if that’s all she needs to say. Unfortunately for you, it is.
“So... Sam.” You say, trying for casual. You fail, spectacularly, if the immediate rush of blood to your cheeks is anything to go by.
“My lips are sealed.” Ginger says, before you can even say anything to her about keeping what you’re about to say between the four of you. Not that you think she’d ever say anything to Sam, it just feels like a necessary precaution before you discuss him in front of one of his assistants.
“Fine, what do you want to know?”
“Are you going to tell him how you feel?” Donna asks.
“We all know there’s something there.” Carol says at the exact same moment.
“I mean, I know I spend all day outside his office but it’s not like I’m the only one who sees it.” Ginger adds. “There’s absolutely something between the two of you. Half the time you’re in his office, I feel like I’m interrupting something very personal and very hot.”
“You’re the worst. Seriously, all of you.” You pause to take another sip of wine. “No, I’m not telling him anything, that would be terrible. Even in the best of work environments, I couldn’t imagine dating a coworker, much less in the White House. That sounds like a recipe for disaster. Not to mention the fact that he’s not into me. Not to mention the fact that I’m not his type - I mean come on, I’m no Mallory.” You don’t mean it self-deprecatingly, if anything you mean it as a token of your admiration for Mal. It’s almost hard to feel so jealous of her when you know firsthand how much of a sweetheart she is. Mal’s a girl’s girl, so much so that it almost leaves you feeling bad for never telling her how you feel for Sam because you know she’d have backed out in a heartbeat.
“Oh come on, he hasn’t seen Mallory in ages. I should know, I keep his calendar.” Ginger tells you.
“Besides, they went on a few dates, it’s not like he swore off all other women forever.” Carol adds.
“So we’ve solved Mallory. Now will you tell him?” Donna asks.
“Absolutely not, I’m a big fan of not making a fool of myself at the workplace. Or in general really. An odd interest of mine - not looking like an ass.” You’re laying it on thick, hoping the girls will take pity on you and change the subject.
“You’re a pain.” Donna groans.
“I’m charming, what can I say?” You deflect. “Seriously though, I appreciate it. I just – I mean, he’s Sam. He’s brilliant, and clever, and maddeningly attractive. And we’re colleagues, and friends, good friends, and I don’t see the point in ruining a good thing by owning up to these feelings like a blushing schoolgirl.”
“How long have you felt this way?” Ginger asks gently.
“Since the campaign.” You softly admit.
As you look down at your wine, using it as an excuse to look away from the intense eye contact with your friends, you don’t see the way they all exchange glances with each other. With your forced casual tone giving way to reveal how flustered you truly are over this, they realize how serious your feelings really are. If anything, this makes them want to talk about it more, wholly convinced that there is something between the two of you, but as good friends do, they see that you’ve hit your limit for the night so in silent agreement, they all drop it and turn the conversation to mindless office gossip.
You spend the rest of the night trying not to spiral over your feelings for Sam. You know you haven’t been doing the best job keeping them undercover, how can you? You mean what you said, Sam’s absolutely brilliant. There’s something about his effortless, often dorky, earnest charm that just worms its way right into your heart every single time you see him. But tonight’s not the time to think about it further, so you accept the out that your friends are giving you, and turn the conversation elsewhere.
A few days later, you’re in your office having an incredibly late cup of coffee, working on compiling additional info CJ asked for in preparation for the end of the polling. You’re reviewing your latest edits when your cell phone rings. Without looking, you flip it open, assuming it’s CJ or Carol.
“Hello.”
“Hi, she’s on her way back from polling, how soon can you be in her office?” Carol’s tone sets off your internal crisis alarms, and immediately you’re on your feet.
“Faster than she can, I’m in mine.”
“I’d bring coffee.” Carol warns you in a low tone before hanging up. You’re not sure what this is about, but you’re desperately hoping that this doesn’t mean an unfortunate turn in the polling numbers. You grab your coffee, the notes you’re working on, a pen, and a blank notebook just in case, and make your way to wait in CJ’s office.
“I mean, god, Carol. How stupid can he be?” After a few minutes, you hear CJ coming down the hall. You’d hate to be the person on the other end of her rant. Mentally, you prepare yourself to begin whatever damage control you’re about to help with.
“Do you want me to call Leo?” Carol’s measured tone is a stark contrast to CJ's frantic one.
“Absolutely not. Not until we know anything for sure.” CJ says as she enters her office. At the sight of you waiting, she seems to deflate just a fraction. “Good, you’re here. Carol, close the door and send him in the second he gets here.”
With one eyebrow raised, you listen as CJ fills you in – it takes a considerable amount of effort not to drop your jaw in astonishment when she tells you that Sam has likely been photographed giving Laurie a gift. Your immediate reaction is astonishment – how can such a brilliant, political savvy man be so naive sometimes? You know as well as CJ does that Sam was warned in advance about his friendship with Laurie, just as well as you know that Sam has too much goodness in his heart to take the warning at face value. Sam can’t fathom judging someone in that way, in profiting off of a friendship like that, so in some ways you’re not surprised to hear that he visited her anyways.
All the while you're biting back the irrational feelings of jealousy. You’re ashamed to be jealous. Sam’s your friend, just like he is Laurie’s. Neither of you own him. Besides, it’s a terrible situation all around. No, there’s no time for your feelings tonight, you’re here to do a job, your friendship comes second and as far as you're concerned, your fondness for Sam comes last. It has to. For both of your sakes.
Still, you’re not in CJ’s office as Sam’s friend or defender. You’re there as CJ’s Deputy, and close confidante and it’s time for you to get to work. You sit down opposite CJ as the two of you prepare your game plan, and when Sam finally arrives, you remarkably manage to keep a straight face while CJ berates him, jumping in every now and then when your expertise is required.
Finally, CJ hits her limits and sends you to your office to follow up with any contacts that you trust to answer your questions without asking any of their own. You’re not surprised when Sam follows you, going immediately to lean against one of the chairs on the other side of your desk. You shut the door, knowing what’s coming.
“How dare she?” Sam’s pissed in a way you’ve rarely seen. You take a split second to set your things down and nod, encouraging him to continue. He’s not mad at CJ, not really. He’s mad at the people judging him and his friend, he’s mad at the business you’re all in treating people the way it does, and he’s mad at himself for not taking everyone’s cautionary warnings more seriously. Besides, it’s much better to let him get it all out now, with you, than risk him blowing up at CJ or worse, Toby. You sit there quietly let Sam get it all out of his system, and he finishes his rant, sinking down into the chair in front of him.
“I know, and I’m sorry.” You tell him, and you mean it. Against your better judgment you reach a hand out and place it on top of his on the desk. Instinctively, Sam twists his, placing his palm against yours and moving his thumb on top of your first finger. You sit there, holding hands, for just a moment, offering a hint of nonjudgmental comfort, knowing that he needs it – a moment of refuge between friends. Nothing more, and nothing less. You only let a moment go by before you pull your hand away, and shift back into work mode.
“I’m going to see what I can find out. Do you want to stay here? I can’t promise you’ll like what I find.”
Sam just nods as you pick up the phone, dialing the first contact who came to mind when he had told you and CJ all of the details in her office. It’s the first phone call of many, and between you and CJ it takes hours to even confirm that there was a photo. At that point you offer Sam a sympathetic look, just a moment, to say I know. You’re a good man. It was a sweet gift. You make a mental note to remind him of that soon, just as soon as you get the White House through this.
By the time you make it home, you only get a few hours of sleep before you’re back at the office, which is unfortunately par for the course. You stop at Carol’s desk on the way in, confirming the latest updates with her before you head to your desk where you find a hot cup of coffee with a note waiting for you.
Picking up the sticky note on top of it, you smile as you read Thank you. I hope you still take it the way you did on the Campaign Trail. With your head full of memories of laughing and strategizing with Sam along the campaign, you take a sip of your coffee and are unsurprised when it’s perfect. When Sam commits, he commits. You brush aside your personal feelings for the man as you pick up where you left off last night, and if you have a soft smile for the rest of the morning whenever you take a sip of your coffee, nobody’s any the wiser as to why. Until you and Sam are in the same meeting and Donna catches his stare lingering on the cup in your hands. In a sheer quirk of timing, she watches as you look down at your cup and then smile at Sam almost the exact second he looks away from you. She'll tell you about this later and you'll brush her off, telling her that you love her but it sounds like her imagination is running wild.
In a few hours, you’ll be with CJ when she finds out the results of the poll, the nine-point jump that nobody dared to hope for. You’re not in the Oval when it happens, but she’ll later tell you that Sam’s okay, and the two of you celebrate both facts over pizza in her office.
From there, things seem to be normal, as normal as they can be with your job. You do your job, Sam does his, and you determinedly avoid Ginger’s raised eyebrows whenever you pass by on the way to Sam’s office, you dodge Donna’s pointed questions, and you try to escape Carol’s knowing looks when she (also) catches you looking a little bit too long. Maybe if you weren’t being so stubborn and actually looked, you’d see them doing the same to Sam, you’d know that they’ve been telling him all of the same things they tell you. But you’re both too focused on the job, on what could go wrong, that you refuse to see what could be right in front of you.
All in all, it seems like a normal day when it happens. You’re practically swimming in NASA reports, trying to help CJ dodge Danny when she pops her head into your office.
“Hey, we’re heading out.”
“The Rosslyn thing?”
“Yeah.”
“Enjoy the traffic.” You both laugh. God bless traveling by motorcade, it ruins everyone else’s day but when you’re in it, dodging traffic between DC and Arlington, it’s the closest thing to a miracle you have.
“I’ll call you from the car on the way back with any updates. Do you have the current remarks?”
“I’ve got them right here, I’ll be ready and waiting to hear the latest presidential ad libs.” You joke. CJ laughs and everything seems normal. The next few hours fly by, you’ve got the tv on in the background on low volume like you always do, but your attention is elsewhere when it happens. You don’t register what you’re hearing until Carol literally runs into your office.
“Turn around.” Carol nearly yells at you.
“What?” You’ve never seen Carol like this, you’re not sure what to expect.
“Look at the damn tv.”
“Carol, what’s going –” You’re in the middle of a question you never finish as you swirl in your chair, turning to face the news. Suddenly, you scramble to grab the remote off of a nearby cabinet, turning the volume on.
“Oh my god.” The remote falls out of your hands, hitting the floor. Neither you nor Carol notice as it hits at an angle that dislodges the back, sending the batteries flying everywhere. They stay on the floor, unnoticed, until a custodian comes to clean in the middle of the night.
“What do we do? What do you need?” She’s not quite in panic mode, not quite in work mode. Carol is somewhere in between, eyes completely locked on the screen in front of you as you suddenly hear every phone in the bullpen start ringing.
It hits you faster than you’d expect, that with Sam, Toby, Josh, and CJ all in Rosslyn, you’re going to be the woman with the answers for a while.
“Call Margaret, ask her if she needs me. Check in with Donna, Bonnie, and Ginger. See if they know anything. And Carol, keep the press out of here.” You’re giving orders left and right and it’s a testament to how capable Carol is that she manages to take it all in, heading back to her desk to do exactly as you’ve asked.
You allow yourself just one minute to panic. One minute to worry about your people. You want to cry. You don’t know anything but you’re prepared for the worst. This isn’t just your job, it’s your life, these people are your family. You've known them for years, you've spent long nights and early mornings with them. You feel like a little kid, lost at the supermarket, looking between the rows of food and throngs of adults, trying to find your mom. You don’t have time for this, your friends don’t have time for this, and the country doesn’t have time for this. So you force yourself to take a deep breath, and you pick up the phone, ready to get to work.
The rest of the night is a blur. If pressed, you don’t know that you could recall finding out about Josh or the President. All you know is the bone crushing fear you’ve felt and how it’s mixed with the bittersweet relief at finding out that everyone else is okay. Are you allowed to be happy it’s only two people you care about? You don’t know. You don’t have time to know. Besides, it’s not like you can ask anybody for the answer.
Once she returns, you're CJ’s shadow, fetching her water and a cool cloth for her head, pretending you don’t notice that she’s in worse shape than she’s letting on. Finally, you’re sent to the hospital. CJ can’t be in two places at once and she’s needed at the podium more than you are. It’s more of a favor to a friend than it is an ask from your boss. There’s no real reason to have the Deputy Press Secretary in the waiting room at the hospital, but you go anyway.
You’re not senior staff, but you’ve been there since the beginning, so it’s really no shock to anyone when you walk into the waiting room. Everyone’s heads immediately pop up, and you feel a pang of guilt for not having any updates to give them.
You’re not sure where to sit, you don’t know where you’re needed. You don't even realize that you've crosses the room until Donna sees you and stands up, and the next thing you know you’re pulling her into your arms. You’re holding one another while the rest of the room tries not to stare at this moment, it’s so raw, it hurts. You have to stop yourself from bringing one hand up to your chest, as if you could feel the pain from the outside.
You just stand there, holding Donna, when another hand is placed on your back. You don’t need to look to know it’s Sam, of course it is. The three of you stand there, holding onto one another, nobody daring to say anything.
Eventually, you sit down, and somehow you’ve maintained your position in the middle of them. Donna’s on your left, hand holding yours so tightly you know it will leave marks, and Sam on your right, one arm on the back of your chair, just barely brushing against you. You both need the comfort but right here, in a room illuminated by harsh fluorescents with too much silence, you don’t know how to give it. So you lean back, just a fraction of an inch. Just enough to press against Sam, to let him know you’re there.
The three of you stay like that for a while, until CJ calls and tells you and Sam you’re needed back at the office. You think that leaving that waiting room, walking away from Toby, and Donna, Charlie, and Mrs. Bartlet might rip your heart straight out of your chest. Until Mrs. Bartlet pulls you into a hug and promises that she’ll personally make sure you two receive any updates. Until Toby gives you the harshest look he can muster under the circumstances, as close to a confirmation of your place at the White House as he can bring himself to give. Until you press a loving kiss to Donna's hair, the closest thing to a sister you have in this town, and she repeats Mrs. Bartlet's promise.
You don’t realize that you’re holding Sam’s hand until he lets go long enough to slide your jacket over your shoulders. For his part, Sam doesn’t realize either. He’s so caught up in the guilt of walking away from the hospital holding his best friend that he doesn’t notice much of anything until you two make it to the car out front.
Sam’s just going through the motions as he lets you slide into the car first. Everyone’s on edge tonight, and the Secret Service usher you two into the car, eager to get you to the White House quickly and in one piece. You don’t know what makes you do it, but suddenly you’re five minutes into the drive, sliding across the seat, flinging yourself at Sam. In one fluid motion, you’ve twisted sideways, tucking your legs under you and burying your face in Sam’s shoulder. Sam doesn’t hesitate to grab onto you, strong arms circling you, holding you tighter than ever before.
You sit like that for a while, all that can be heard is the way you’re breathing heavily, trying not to cry. You don’t know what to say, nobody tells you the protocol for something like this.
Finally, you pull away, brushing away a piece of Sam’s hair that’s fallen onto his forehead.
“Do you want to work in my office when we get back? After you talk with Nancy?” You hope that Sam understands what you’re saying. That he knows you really mean I couldn’t handle it if it was you. Thank god you’re safe. I’m sorry it was Josh. I’m sorry it was the President. Tell me what you need. I’ll do anything. I’m right here. You’re not alone.
Sam just nods, and says “I think that’s good. We can stay updated easily that way.” Sam hopes that you know that he’s really saying that’s my best friend. I’m barely staying upright. Please don’t make me write his eulogy. I won’t survive it. Thank you for coming. Thank you for holding me. I don’t know what to do with my hands when I’m not holding on to you. I think I need you to get me through the night.
You just nod, sliding back to your original spot, leaving one hand reaching across the middle. There’s no time at all before Sam’s hand is set on top of yours, and in a mirror image of the night in your office focused on Laurie’s graduation gift, you turn your palm up and hold onto Sam for dear life.
There’s an added grief in your heart tonight at watching Sam go through this. It’s hard enough going through it for yourself, feeling your fear and anger and sadness over Josh, President Bartlet, for all of your friends. It’s seeing the look in Mrs. Bartlet’s eyes reflected in Donna’s. When you held Donna, you were sure that she felt heavier than normal, letting herself sink into your arms, bones weary and filled with love and grief that she doesn’t know how to put down.
But there’s something additional about watching Sam do it. Sweet, incredible Sam. Sam, who hit on his boss’ daughter, and takes the opposing view to help the President prepare for the worst response. Sam who writes speeches that bring people to tears and helped convince a nation to vote for the underdog. Sam who loves classical music, and his alma mater, and would do anything for his friends. Sam, a lawyer, a speechwriter, a trusted confidante to the President, and a man who once spent an overnight drive between campaign stops trading the worst puns with you, until you had to beg him to stop because you laughed so hard it physically hurt. Sam, who jokes about it with Josh but doesn’t even realize how beloved he is, how many heads he turns in a room. Whose hopeful optimism bleeds into his every political project. The man who has captivated most of your thoughts since the day you met. It breaks something in you watching him get through it, and you're bound and determined to be there every step of the way.
Somehow, you make it through the night. When he gets the call that Josh is out of surgery, Sam’s so excited he picks you up, spinning you around right in the middle of the bullpen. His joy is contagious. It’s a brief reprieve in a terrible night that you’ll never forget. The first time that he feels calm enough, that he lets go of his fear and anger long enough to joke with you again, you have to take a second in your office to cry silently. You’re so relieved and it’s the only way your body can figure out how to process the myriad of emotions you’ve been feeling since Carol first came into your office with the news.
Somehow, the world keeps turning. You make it through the night, and then the next, and then things slowly go back to normal. People stop being so afraid to whisper Josh’s name, they stop worrying that referencing the President will tempt the universe to bring him more pain. Eventually, people can reference Rosslyn again, they don’t find other ways to reference taking where they’re getting off the Blue Line to go get drinks after work. And you and your friends, your family, figure out how to talk to one another without expecting Josh to be lingering over your shoulders, without it feeling like you’re doing something wrong by not sitting in silence.
Through it all, you continue your work: preparing CJ for briefings, tackling any assignments thrown your way, and navigating the press with a charm that seems to come back stronger every day. It’s exhausting work, but you’re thankful for it. You watch in amusement as Sam encounters Ainsley Hayes on Capital Beat and try not to overplay your hand when everyone teases him afterwards. You’re convinced that everyone can see through you as you offer him a sympathy that nobody else seems to possess, before joining in on the teasing.
It’s normal again, until you hear CJ yelling in the hallway. Shrieking, really, about Leo’s latest idea: bringing Ainsley in to work for this Administration. You don’t love the idea, and you try to convince yourself that it’s for reasons other than jealousy. Aside from the disastrous takedown, everyone’s seen the way she can go toe-for-toe with Sam. She’s gorgeous, she’s smart, and hell even you’re a little infatuated with her. It’s easy to take Sam and CJ’s side, to listen to them complain behind closed doors, to wish that she’d never been on that damn show with Sam. But decisions like that are way above your pay grade, so you just hope you can put your head down and avoid interacting with the two of them at the same time.
When she eventually starts work, you feel like an ass for wanting to hate her as she attempts to politely navigate being a fish out of water, a Republican in the Bartlet White House. It doesn’t take long for the office gossip to reach you about everything that happened between Ainsley and Joyce and Brookline. You gasp when Ginger gives you the details in a dramatic retelling of Sam’s righteous anger and the way he fires them.
It’s equally a testament to Sam’s willingness to do the right thing as it is a critique of those two assholes when you tell Ginger that Sam firing them is the hottest thing you’ve ever heard. The only problem is, that it’s the closest thing to admitting your feelings that you’ve done since your dinner with her, Donna, and Carol all those months ago and it reignites their efforts to act as matchmakers.
They pick it back up subtly. Ginger mentions you a little bit more in front of Sam, trying to keep an eye on his responses. When she slips in stories about her weekend, she makes sure that you’re featured prominently in them. Anytime she goes to your half of the office, she makes sure to refer to you and the Deputies, not just the Deputies. Carol mostly just observes, pays attention to how many times she walks by and finds him in your office, or vice versa.
Donna is the real lynchpin of the plan. She brings you up frequently in the way that only she can. A reference to the briefing you gave in CJ’s absence, a retelling of something you said that made Josh laugh, and then finally, the pièce de résistance – a quick, blink and you miss it, comparison between you and Sam, and Josh and Joey Lucas. It nearly knocks Sam off his feet, his instinct to deny, deny, deny. But that doesn’t stop Donna, if anything it encourages her further. It’s at this point that she ropes Josh and CJ into it. A well placed comment here and there over the next few weeks, and suddenly the entire senior staff is wondering what’s going on between you and Sam. The kicker is that you’re each convinced that the other doesn’t know, you practically beg them to keep their mouths shut. Leo pretends not to know anything about it, but at the end of the day, a few days before the Third State of the Union, when the President needs a break from talking policy and political ramifications, the two share what they’ve each heard like the protective, gossipy dads they are.
Finally, it’s time for President Bartlet’s Third State of the Union, and the White House is aflutter getting ready. You’ve been back and forth between your office, CJ’s, Sam and Toby’s, and Josh’s so many times that you think you could trace the exact path in your sleep.
“Sam, it’s a great draft. The section looks great, just like it did four hours ago.” You tell him, head resting on your hand.
“I know, but it needs to be better.”
“No, it doesn’t. You just need to take a breather. You’re getting neurotic.”
You both ignore Ginger huffing under her breath. “Getting?” She mumbles to herself in the bullpen.
“Come on, let’s go get coffee.”
“I have to write, I need to fix this.”
“Sam. Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking. Stand up and walk with me to the coffee pot for five minutes.”
Suddenly, he acquiesces. How can he not when you’re looking at him like that? Sam trusts you, and while his instincts are screaming at him to keep drafting, he finds himself standing up, following you blindly like a sailor lured into the sea. For your part, you’re so proud of yourself for getting him to take a break, even a miniscule one, that you don’t give him the chance to sit back down. Instead, you gently hold onto his arm as if he’s an old school gentleman taking you for a lap around the garden as you set off to get a cup of coffee.
Sam listens while you talk about your family, sharing an anecdote from your latest call home and takes the moment for what it is – a life raft designed to keep him from sinking down, chained to his perfectionism and fear of failing Toby and the President. Eventually, you let him get back to it, the two of you spend longer curled up in your office working on last minute edits and preparing remarks for hours. Finally, he has to deliver his updates to Toby, and you need to go chat with Chris about a quote she's been asking for.
“It really is a great speech, Sam. You know it. I know you do.”
Sam just gives you a grateful smile as the two of you make your way out of your office, and head off in separate directions.
You don’t see Sam again until after the speech. You’ve each been busy between conversations with CJ, Toby, and Josh about everything from polling, to Officer Sloan. For two people who are laser focused on the same things, it’s almost funny how you keep missing each other throughout the night.
You’re constantly in motion engaging the press at the exact times CJ needs you to, while strategically disappearing when you don’t have any updates for them. You know there’s something else going on, you’ve picked up on the signs in the past few years, but you’ll find out when you need to so you keep your head down and focus on your own work. By the time you find Sam again, he’s back in his office, already thinking about what tomorrow will bring.
“I heard what you did for Ainsley, that was sweet of you, Sam.” You say, leaning against the doorframe to his office.
“She was in a bath robe. She’s mortified.” He sighs, clearly having already been torn to shreds over this.
“Yeah but you didn’t plan that. It was a series of unfortunate accidents. It was still sweet. Besides, you should be mighty pleased. It was a great speech.” You walk over to him, sitting on the edge of his desk.
“It turned out well.” He agrees.
“When’d you finally finish?”
“Right before he walked on stage.” He admits, and as always, that sweet grin does something to you.
“You’re incredible.”
You mean for it to come out light hearted, as a testament to his ability as a speechwriter. Instead, you somehow convey years of yearning, of admiration, of the feelings you’ve been trying not to share. You know the second that you say it that there’s no going back. You just hope that Sam has the grace to let you get away with it, to let you brush it off as though it was just a casual compliment, Bartlet Communications member to Bartlet Communications member.
Sam freezes, for just a second, and it’s just enough time for your brain to cycle through to concern. You move to hop down from his desk, mouth already opening to explain yourself away when all of a sudden Sam jumps up, his hands flying to the outside of your thighs to keep you in place.
“Wait.” He says, and the two of you look down simultaneously, equally surprised by his hold on you. “Sorry, I, uh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to grab you like that.” He says, flustered. You’ve heard of Sam being like this from Mallory, but you’ve never witnessed it yourself.
Oh. All of a sudden, something clicks for you, and in a second you’re cycling through all of the times you’ve wound up sitting together laughing, talking at all hours, in the times you’ve gone to each other first with news or for feedback, and in the rare moments of physical connection.
Oh. At the same time, Sam is too busy feeling your thighs under his hands to think of much of anything aside from the sound of you telling him that he’s incredible. He thinks it might be the greatest compliment that he’s ever received.
For the second time in as many minutes, Sam’s body moves faster than his brain and suddenly his lips are on yours. You move as much by instinct as you do desire as your hands snake up to pull Sam closer to you. Time seems to stop as you hold onto one another, kissing like your life depends on it.
You’re not thinking about the speech, or about the questions you’ve been fielding from the press. Your world has gone quiet, you don’t notice the sounds of people talking in the bullpen, and you certainly don’t notice the first time that Ginger clears her throat, trying to give you and Sam a moment to compose yourselves.
Ginger certainly wasn’t expecting this when she stood up from her desk to go give Sam a message from Leo. Given that the door is wide open, she thinks that you two probably weren’t either. She knows that whatever Leo needs Sam for sounds serious, and that every minute could count. She wants to be able to close the door and let you two have your moment but she knows that she can’t. She can, however, give you two the decency of reacting calmly even though she wants to throw confetti in the air. So when you don’t respond the first time she clears her throat, she waits approximately five seconds and tries again. This time, she pairs it with a gentle knock on the door.
“Hi, I’m sorry. Sam, Leo needs you. I told him I had to grab you and that you’d be there shortly. It was the most time I could give you.” She says with a slight smirk before immediately turning around. “I didn’t see anything.” She calls over her shoulder, and even though she’s trying, she can’t keep the laugh out of her voice.
You’re…alarmed. On the one hand, you’re embarrassed to have been caught making out at work like a horny teenager. On the other hand, you now know firsthand that kissing Sam is every bit the experience that you always thought it might be. Ginger caught you so off guard that you twisted your neck to look at her, but your hands are still around Sam’s neck, and he’s still holding onto your waist.
“Hi.” You say, looking at him shyly for the first time since you two met.
“Hi. This is terrible timing but apparently, Leo needs me.”
All you can do is laugh. This job is full of terrible timing, you’re used to it, but in this context it’s truly just funny. Sam joins you in laughing, and delicately tucks a piece of hair behind your ears.
“We should talk later. Can we talk?” He asks.
“I’ll be here. You know how to find me.” You lean back up, pressing one more kiss to his lips while you can. There’ll be time to talk later, you’re sure of it. You’ve been waiting for so long, what's another few hours.
Sam just nods and detangles himself from you, and you bite back a giggle at how reluctant he seems to do so. He takes a few steps away before he turns back to you.
“I’ve been wanting to do that forever.” He admits.
“Since we first met.” You admit, smiling so big that it almost hurts.
Sam rushes back over to you, offering one more kiss before pulling away again. What a man. What a truly incredible man.
“Okay. I should go. Before Leo sends the calvary.”
You’re left giggling, sitting on Sam’s desk, as he leaves. You know that you should head back to your desk, and you will. But first, you take a second to just bury your head in your hands, still smiling, as you kick your legs in excitement.
You’re not sure what the rest of the night will hold, or when you and Sam will get to talk, but you know that you’ll make it work, just like you have with everything else. You can only hope that it involves a whole lot more of Sam's sweet smiles, and of feelings his lips against yours.
they should bring back the whole ‘cast bloopers during the credits’ thing that in space did…it literally cemented Cassie as one of my fave rangers ever because her actress was just…she was so funny…
I know it’s a fandom joke and all but I do not understand the whole thing with “Carter being at the capital on January 6th”, like Carter Grayson…the goodie two shoes red ranger storming the capital? please…
He was too busy at home getting clapped by that demon boy to EVER have that idea brewing in his head
Probably everything from The Eras Tour film but my favourite folklore cream/white dress. I wanna run in a flowery meadow in it and spin around. But the concert movie blue dress comes close.
Warnings: Icy pond, non sexual nudity, Kissing, minors dni
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The wind whispered a warning through the leafless trees as we approached the pond. It was a cold, moonless night, the stars above shivering in the inky sky. Peter and I, two agents of the night, were tailing a target that had led us on a merry chase through the quiet suburban park.
"Remember, Y/n," Peter had said earlier that evening, his breath frosting in the frigid air, "the ice isn't thick enough to hold us. We stick to the path."
I nodded, my eyes gleaming with the thrill of the pursuit. Peter's words echoed in my mind, but the path was longer, and every second counted. The target was slipping away. We had to move fast.
Crunching through the snow, I spotted a shortcut—a frozen pond, glistening under the distant street lamps. It was a risk, but one I was willing to take. I knew Peter would follow.
Without a second thought, I bolted onto the ice. It groaned under my boots, but held firm. The cold bite of the wind stung my cheeks as I gained ground. The target's footsteps grew clearer in my mind, the thrum of my heart drowning out the creaks of the ice beneath me.
But the universe has a cruel sense of humor. Just as I reached the pond's center, the ice let out an ominous crack. I felt the world tilt, and suddenly, I was plunging into the icy abyss.
The cold water slapped me like a giant's hand, stealing the air from my lungs. Panic swirled through me, thick and paralyzing, as the freezing water closed over my head. I thrashed, my legs kicking uselessly, searching for a foothold that wasn't there. The world was muffled, my thoughts racing like a rabbit in a snare.
Then, a hand—warm, strong, and reassuring—closed around my arm. Peter. His face was a blur through the water's surface, but the fierce determination in his eyes was clear. He'd seen me fall, had rushed to my side without hesitation. The ice creaked and groaned, but he didn't care. He was going to pull me out.
My teeth chattered as he hoisted me onto the unsteady ice. It took everything I had to roll away from the treacherous edge. The cold seeped into my bones, turning them to lead. I gasped for air, my breath coming in ragged puffs that painted the night air white. Peter knelt beside me, his own breathing heavy, his eyes searching my face for any sign of injury.
"You okay?" he asked, his voice tight with concern.
I nodded, my voice lost to the cold. My body trembled violently, and my teeth chattered so hard they hurt. Peter peeled off his own winter coat, wrapping it around my shivering frame. His warmth seeped into me, bringing a semblance of comfort.
"We need to get you warm," he said, his voice gruff. "We can't risk hypothermia."
He helped me to my feet, and we stumbled back to the path, leaving the pond and its treacherous embrace behind us. The chase was forgotten for the moment, overshadowed by the stark reality of survival. We had to find shelter—and fast.
As Peter scooped me into his arms, the warmth from his body was like a beacon of hope in the frigid night. He began to sprint, his long legs eating up the ground as he carried me away from the icy trap. Each step felt like a small victory, a defiance against the biting cold that threatened to claim me.
My eyes fell shut as the world spun, the only thing anchoring me to reality was Peter's steady breathing and the rhythmic thump of his heart against my chest. I could feel the heat of him seeping into my frozen bones, a gentle warmth that spread through me like a balm.
The jolting motion stopped, and I heard the crunch of snow underfoot followed by the sound of a door opening. The sudden influx of warm air was like a warm embrace, and I was vaguely aware of Peter carrying me into a dimly lit cabin. The scent of pine and woodsmoke filled my nose, a stark contrast to the icy pond.
He laid me down on something soft—a couch, I realized as it creaked beneath my weight. The heat from a nearby fireplace wrapped around me like a warm blanket. I couldn't feel my hands or feet, and my teeth chattered so badly it hurt to breathe. Peter's eyes searched my face, a mix of fear and concern.
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice gruff and low. "I've got to get these wet clothes off you."
With trembling hands, he began to unbutton my shirt. I tried to help, but my fingers felt like they were made of ice. He peeled the soaking fabric away, revealing my shivering skin. He worked with a gentle urgency, his movements precise and efficient. His eyes never left mine, seeking silent permission.
As my clothes came off, the warmth of the room began to seep into me, but it was a battle against the icy grip of the water. Peter's touch was firm, yet tender, as he stripped me of the sodden layers. Each piece of clothing that fell away was a victory against the cold, but the process was painfully slow.
"Thank you," I managed to murmur through chattering teeth.
"It's okay," he said, his own teeth clicking together. "We've got to warm you up."
Without a moment's hesitation, Peter removed his own shirt and wrapped it around me. It smelled faintly of gunpowder and mint—his scent—and was surprisingly warm. He hovered over me, his own breathing ragged, his eyes searching my face for signs of improvement.
The warmth began to spread through my body, chasing the cold back into the shadows. I felt a surge of gratitude for his quick thinking, his selflessness. Peter had always been like that—reliable, strong, and unyielding. But now, in this moment of vulnerability, I saw a different side of him. A tenderness that made my heart ache in a way that had nothing to do with the cold.
The cabin was small, but it was a haven. Peter had lit a fire that roared in the hearth, casting a warm glow across the wooden walls. He crouched beside me, peeling away my frozen boots and socks, his eyes never leaving mine. He rubbed my icy feet with his calloused hands, trying to bring the feeling back.
"You're going to be okay," he said, his voice steady and calm. "Just hold on."
He pulled me closer to him, his bare chest pressed against my icy skin. His warmth was like a beacon, a lifeline that I clung to desperately. His heart thudded against my ear, a reassuring rhythm that echoed the promise of survival. His arms were a warm cocoon around me, his chest a furnace that chased away the cold.
"I'm sorry," Peter whispered, his breath warm against my cheek. "This is the best way."
He began to rub my arms and legs vigorously, trying to generate heat. His skin was like a warm embrace, and I could feel the chill retreating from my body inch by inch. The warmth grew, spreading through me like a wildfire. The tremors in my body began to subside, the cold receding from the fiery warmth of his touch.
"Your core temperature is dropping too fast," Peter said, his voice tight with worry. "We need to warm you up."
With a gentle yet firm grip, he turned me onto my side and began to rub my back. The friction created a delicious heat that spread through me, thawing the ice that had taken hold of my very essence. His touch was sure and methodical, each stroke bringing a little more warmth to my frozen limbs.
As the cold loosened its grip, a new sensation began to creep in—pain. It was a dull ache at first, a distant whisper that grew louder as the blood returned to my extremities. I winced, but Peter didn't miss a beat. He simply tightened his grip and continued rubbing, his eyes never leaving mine.
"It's okay," he murmured. "You're safe now."
The pain grew, but so did the warmth. I focused on Peter's eyes, the way they crinkled at the corners when he was worried, the way the firelight danced across his features. His touch was a promise, a silent vow that he'd never let go. And in that moment, I knew I could trust him with more than just my life—I could trust him with the secrets of my heart.
The chill of the night was forgotten, replaced by the warmth of Peter's arms. His skin was a lifeline, a bridge between life and the cold embrace of the pond. Each rub, each press of his hand brought me back to the world of the living. I could feel my heart slowing, the panic of the fall receding like the tide.
"You're okay," he said, his voice a gentle rumble. "You're going to be okay."
I nodded, the tremors in my body slowly fading away. The cold had been vanquished by his warmth, his care. We sat there, wrapped in the warmth of the cabin and each other, the fire crackling a comforting lullaby.
For a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. There was only Peter, his warmth, and the fierce beat of his heart—a rhythm that matched my own. And in that moment, I knew that no matter what the night had in store for us, together, we could face it.
The chase was on hold, the mission forgotten. Our priority was simple: stay alive and warm. And as Peter's hands continued their tireless work, as the warmth of the fire wrapped around us like a comforting blanket, I couldn't help but feel that for the first time in a long while, we were truly alive.
"I'm sorry," Peter said again, his voice thick with apology. "I know this isn't the time for it, but I had to get you out of the cold."
He was apologizing for invading my space, for the intimacy of his actions. But all I felt was a profound sense of gratitude. Without him, I'd be lost in that icy embrace, my life snuffed out like a candle in the wind.
"Don't be," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "I'd do the same for you."
His eyes searched mine, looking for the truth behind my words. I held his gaze, willing him to understand. The bond between agents was unbreakable, a silent vow to have each other's backs. And in that moment, as I sat there shivering in his arms, it was clear that Peter took that vow to heart.
He nodded slowly, the tension in his jaw easing slightly. "If anything had happened to you..." His voice trailed off, the unspoken words hanging heavily in the air.
The fire crackled and spit, casting flickering shadows across the cabin. The warmth was finally reaching my core, and with it, the realization of just how close I'd come to the edge. Peter had saved my life. He'd risked his own to pull me out of the water, to warm me up, to keep me alive.
"Nothing happened," I said, my voice a little stronger now. "You're here, and so am I."
He offered a small, tight smile, his eyes never leaving mine. The room was quiet except for the hiss of the fire and the sound of our breathing—his steady and warm, mine still ragged from the cold. The weight of the night's events began to settle over us, the gravity of the situation sinking in.
We sat there, wrapped in the warmth of the cabin and each other's presence, until my shivering had ceased and the color had returned to my cheeks. The fire had turned from a ravenous beast to a gentle companion, licking at the wood with lazy tongues of flame.
"We should get you some dry clothes," Peter said finally, his voice still low.
He rose, the movement sending a shiver down my spine despite the warmth of the room. He moved to a closet in the corner and rummaged through the contents, his back to me. He returned with a pile of clothes—sweatpants and a thick sweatshirt that looked like they'd swallow me whole.
With shaking hands, I took the clothes from him, our fingers brushing in a way that sent a jolt through me. He turned away, giving me privacy, as I slowly changed, each movement sending a fresh wave of pain through my frozen limbs. The clothes were too big, but they were warm, and that was all that mattered.
When I was dressed, I looked up to find Peter watching me, his expression unreadable. He handed me a mug of steaming tea, the warmth of it seeping into my cold hands.
"Thank you," I said, my voice a little stronger now.
He nodded, his eyes never leaving mine. We sat in silence for a while, sipping our tea and watching the fire. The night outside was still and cold, a stark contrast to the warmth of the cabin. But we were safe, at least for now.
As the warmth of the tea spread through me, I felt the last of the chill retreat. The tremors in my limbs subsided, and the ache of the cold was replaced by a gentle glow. I leaned into Peter, my head finding a natural resting place on his shoulder.
He tensed for a moment before relaxing, his arm slipping around my shoulders. "You scared me," he murmured.
I knew he meant more than just the fall into the pond. He'd seen the recklessness in my eyes, the thrill of the chase that had led me to ignore his warnings. But I had trusted him to save me, and he had come through without a second thought.
"I know," I said softly. "I'm sorry."
He didn't respond, just held me tighter. And in that moment, I knew that our friendship had shifted, had grown stronger in the face of the cold.
Then, without warning, Peter's hand cupped my cheek, turning my face towards his. His eyes searched mine for a second, looking for permission, for reassurance. And when he found it, he leaned in and kissed me.
It was gentle, a soft press of his warm lips against mine. The kiss was filled with all the unspoken words of the night—his fear for me, his relief at finding me alive, his concern as he warmed me up. It was a declaration of more than friendship, a promise of protection that went beyond our job descriptions.
I leaned into the kiss, the warmth of his mouth a stark contrast to the icy water that had tried to claim me. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me closer, and suddenly, the cold was forgotten. The kiss grew deeper, more urgent, as if we were trying to banish the chill that still clung to my skin.
Our breaths mingled, hot and desperate, as we broke apart. Peter's eyes searched my face, looking for any sign of doubt or regret. But all I felt was the warmth of his kiss spreading through me, thawing the last of the ice that had lodged in my heart.
"Y/n," he said, his voice raw with emotion. "What are we doing?"
"We're alive," I replied, my voice just as shaky. "And I'm not going to let this moment pass without telling you how I feel."
His thumb brushed my cheek, wiping away a tear that had escaped my eye. "I've felt it too," he confessed. "But we can't let it interfere with the mission."
I nodded, understanding the gravity of his words. Our job was dangerous, and distraction could mean the difference between life and death. But in the quiet of the cabin, with the fire whispering to us in a language of warmth and comfort, it was hard to remember the world outside.
"I know," I said, my voice a little steadier. "But we're not on the job right now. We're just Peter and y/n."
He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling against me. Then, with a nod, he leaned in for another kiss. This one was slower, more deliberate. Our tongues danced together, exploring each other as if for the first time. The kiss grew deeper, more urgent, until it was all I could feel.
The world outside the cabin walls faded away, and all that remained was the warmth of Peter's body, the scent of mint and pine, and the steady rhythm of his heart. His hands roamed my back, tracing the curves of my spine, sending shivers down my body that had nothing to do with the cold.
We pulled back, both panting, our eyes locked. The tension in the room was palpable, a living thing that crackled in the air like static. Peter reached out, brushing a strand of wet hair from my forehead. His touch was feather-light, but it sent a jolt of electricity through me.
"We can't," he said, his voice strained. "We have to focus."
I nodded, reluctantly breaking the spell. The mission was important, and we couldn't afford to let our emotions cloud our judgment. With a deep sigh, I leaned back into the couch, the warmth of the tea and Peter's body a comfort against the cold that still lingered in my bones.
"You're right," I said, taking another sip of the tea. "But for now, let's just be Peter and y/n."
He nodded, his arm still around me, and we sat in silence, watching the fire. The flames danced and played, casting shadows that painted our faces in a warm glow. It was a brief reprieve from the world of espionage and danger that we both knew was waiting for us outside.
As the warmth of the cabin seeped into me, I felt the weight of the night's events begin to lift. The chase, the fall, the kiss—it all felt like a dream, a moment out of time. But Peter's arm around me was real, his heartbeat a steady reminder that we were in this together.
We had survived the pond, and we would survive whatever the night had in store for us. The mission would go on, and we would be stronger for it. But for now, we were just two people, finding warmth in the cold embrace of the night.
Author’s note: Eeeeeep I can’t believe I’m finally posting writing. I’ve been a long time reader and enjoyer of fanfiction, but never a writer so this is all very new to me. If you have any advice or edits, please let me know!
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