powerofpink

But their repeated attempts to sign you up for speed dating on Valentine’s Day was as abhorrent as it was uncomfortable. You had managed to talk them down, to insist that you had your own plans. You hadn’t specified what those plans were, but they’d still backed down. 

You’d signed up for the cooking class on a complete whim. You’d been tipsy after brunch, wandering through one of your favorite cookware stores. The signup sheet had practically waved at you, and you’d jotted your name down, secure in the knowledge that you did indeed have something to do for Valentine’s Day. 

But what you had failed to realize, when you’d so smugly put your name down, was that it was a couple’s cooking class.

So there you were, surrounded by eleven nuzzling, giggling, hand-holding couples who were ready to feed each other whatever the hell it was that you would be making. You’d gotten a couple of odd looks, but for the most part, the couples were so wrapped up in one another that they hadn’t taken too much notice of the fact that you were there by yourself. Maybe that would work to your advantage. You made yourself busy with the laminated recipe in front of you, fingers fidgeting with the ties on your apron. God, this was going to be a long night—

“Is this, uh—Half of your table taken?” 

The question caught you off-guard, and you turned to see a harassed looking man trying and failing to shrug out of his camel coat. 

“N-no,” You shook your head. 

“You’re not—” He cast his bright, coffee brown eyes around the room toward the other couples. “You’re not waiting for anyone?” 

“Nope.” 

“Great.” 

“There’s a coat rack over there. Aprons are on the end.” You nodded toward it. 

“Great.” 

You watched him go, plucking up a hanger and shoving his coat onto it with muted irritation. Your brows rose at the way he jabbed it into the shoulders, tipping up the fabric as he did. He looked vaguely familiar, but you couldn’t place him. 

You hurriedly turned back to the table as you saw hi turn back toward you. It wouldn’t do to be caught staring at the stranger that you would be spending the next couple of hours with. Maybe the time would pass in a comfortable quiet as you worked in tandem. It was possible that not a single word would be spoken between you—

“So how did you get roped into this?” His question was dipping with vitriol. 

“Uh…” Now you were embarrassed to say. “I signed up.” 

“To a couple’s cooking class?” 

“Yes.” 

“...By yourself?” 

His tone was one part confused, two parts disbelieving, and it made you feel like a whole idiot. 

“I didn’t read too closely when I was signing up.” 

“Ah.” 

“What about you?” You chanced a glance toward the man just in time to catch him grimacing. 

“...I lost a bet with my boss.” 

“And you’re going through with it?” 

“Yes.” 

“Why?” You laughed. “Who’s your boss, the president or something?” 

The man’s guarded gaze flickered toward you, and your mirthful grin fell away as the pieces fell into place. 

“Oh…My god.” 

“Yeah.” 

“You’re Josh Lyman.” 

“Yeah.” 

“...Holy shit.” 

“Thanks, I think.” 

You scoffed a laugh before you turned back to your table, gently nudging the recipe between the two of you. He leaned in, his warm breath pushing against your cheek as he murmured,

“...Do I get to know your name, too?” 

“Oh! God, yeah, sorry.” You turned, holding your hand out to him and introducing yourself. His smile lifted a bit as you pumped his hand. 

“Nice to meet you,” You added, finally letting go of him. 

“Yeah, nice to meet you, too.” 

You turned back to the table, fingers drumming on the butcher block countertop as the teacher called you all to attention:

“Happy Valentine’s Day, all! My name is Amanda, and I’ll be your teacher. I’m so glad that you were all able to make it here this evening. Tonight, we’ll be making the recipe that was highly requested: Better Than Sex cake.” Her gaze swept around the room, a knowing smile on her lips. You almost wanted to shrink back at the speculative look that passed over you, Josh's mutter of, “Crying out loud," at your side.

“So! This recipe will need to be attacked as a team! I will demonstrate up here, so try to keep the canoodling to the minimum when the stove and oven are on. We want red-hot love, not red-hot hands and a trip to the ER.” 

“...We’re gonna crush this, right?” Josh murmured. 

“Why would we do that?” 

“To show all of the other couples how strong we are as a team.” 

“We’re not a team.”

“We are tonight. Besides, they don’t know that.” 

Your brows rose, amusement swelling at the mischievous glint in his eyes. 

“...You just wanna piss these people off.” 

“A little, yeah. This holiday is bullshit. Let’s ruin it.”

You grinned, unable to help yourself. 

“That sounds absolutely diabolical, Mr. Lyman.” 

“You in?” 

You might work terribly together. The cake could wind up being a complete disaster. 

“I am so in.” 

“Let’s begin!” Amanda clapped her hands together. “Now I know that we could take a shortcut here and use a boxed mix for the devil’s food cake, but there are no shortcuts in love. We will be making everything from scratch." 

You fought the urge to roll your eyes at the comment, already reaching for the cocoa powder. You glanced toward Josh, brows knitting.

“Do you cook at all?” 

“I’m very good at burning stuff.” 

“Okay,” You nodded, “This is gonna be great.” 

“Apparently you’re the optimist in the relationship.”

“I was being sarcastic.” 

“You know what, so was I. Match made in heaven.” 

-- 

“...So can I ask what the bet was?” You plied, glancing over at Josh. He hummed questioningly, doing a double-take when he caught you looking at him.

“Oh, I, uh,” He huffed a humorless laugh, “I made the mistake of arguing with him on the outcome of the Mets-Nationals game. Last time I make an over/under bet with the president.”

“What’s an over/under?”

“It’s a bet on the points total. You’re, uh,” He smiled, watching you stir a saucepan of milk, butter, water, cocoa powder, and instant coffee together, “You’re not a gambler, are you.” 

“Not at all.”

“Took a gamble on this cooking class, how’s that working out for ya?” 

You glanced at him, considering. So far, it wasn’t nearly as awkward as you thought it would be. You actually had a partner to cook with, and he was pretty easy on the eyes, if you were being completely honest. You gave a small shrug, turning back to the pan. 

“It’s already turning out better than I thought.” Your panic flared as you rushed to cover: “I mean, didn’t think I’d be making cake tonight. I like cake.” 

"Yeah, cake is good.”

You glanced up at the sound of Amanda’s voice as she called out, “Whoever is not bringing the chocolate mixture together should be putting together the dry ingredients.”

“That’s you, Lyman.” 

“On it.” 

You watched him out of the corner of your eye, taking in the steady, sure movements he makes as 

“...So, who won, the Mets or the Nats?” 

“The Nats? Oh, god. Am I baking with a Nationals fan?” 

“No,” You chuckled, “But you’re baking with the daughter of one.” 

“The Nationals won.”

“You poor thing.” 

“Keep that up and you’re gonna be making this cake yourself.” 

“Do I hear a lover’s quarrel brewing?” Amanda asked, and it was only a second before everyone's attention landed on the two of you. 

“No, no!” You hurried, slapping a smile on your face. 

“My honey likes it when I tease her,” Josh tacked on, and it was so fast and sounded so natural that it nearly knocked you on your ass. 

“Oh, look at her lovesick little smile,” Amanda cooed, sending a bolt of embarrassment shooing from your head to the tips of you toes. “A little passion will add spice in the kitchen. The rest of the class could take a leaf out of your book.” 

You glanced toward Josh just in time to catch his smug smile growing before he went back to measuring and sifting the dry ingredients. You waited until Amanda goes back to teaching before you leaned a little closer, murmuring, “Quick thinking.” 

“That’s why they pay me.” 

“Not for your secret inflation plans?” 

“Ouch,” Josh laughed humorlessly. “No. Definitely not for my secret inflation plans.”

--

“Now,” Amanda clapped her hands together. “We all have our cakes in the oven at 350—save for Gina and Marvin, but don’t fret, kids. This is how we learn about the importance of communication—in life, in love, and in the kitchen!” She shot a sickly sweet smile at the couple closest to her. You bit down on your lip to keep from laughing, but couldn’t help a soft snort as Josh murmured, “Gina’s head looks like it’s going to explode.” 

You lightly elbowed him in the ribs, covering your mouth to hide your smile.  

“We have a little time while the cake is in the oven, and I’d love to get to know who I’m baking with! Why don’t we go around the room—”

“Oh no,” You mumbled. 

“And get to know a bit about one another! I’d love to know your names, how long the two of you have been together, and how you met! Gina, Marvin, let’s start with you two.”

“Quick huddle,” Josh murmured, scooching closer. He turned his head slightly, eyes set on the wall behind your head as he spoke into your ear: “How do you wanna play this?”

“Why are you asking me? You’re the quick thinker here, remember?”

“Yeah, but we’re a team.”

“So?”

“So it’s your turn to make something up.”

“I didn’t realize we were taking it in turns.” 

“Gotta give to get, honeybun.”

“Are all of your pet names honey-based variants?”

“Would you prefer sugar-based variants?”

“I’m sensing a theme. Thank god we didn’t meet at a sausage making class.”

“Afraid you’d put the brat in bratwurst?”

“Lyman—”

“And what about you two!” Amanda’s voice cut through your bickering, snapping your attention back to the front of the room. You forced a calm expression, quickly introducing yourself. 

“And this is Josh. We’ve been together for…Well, let’s see if Josh knows.” 

A knowing chuckle from the other women rippled through the room, and Josh’s lips twitched with a smile.

“It’ll be two years next week."

You narrowed your eyes slightly. Two years, huh? 

“How close is he?” Amanda prodded. 

“Close enough, I’ll let it slide.” 

Another knowing chuckle from the group, but you were too distracted by the way Josh’s smile widened, deepening his dimples as he stepped back to eye the cake in the oven. 

“And how did you two meet?” 

“At a sausage making class.” It was out of your mouth before you could stop it, but it was well worth Josh’s head snapping up in surprise. There were a few guffaws from the surrounding couples, but Amanda’s interested, “Aaaah,” Cut over the class. 

“Then this isn’t your first cooking class rodeo?” 

“Oh, hardly.” 

“That explains why the two of you have been so in-sync. The trust that the two of you have,” Amanda shakes her head, “It really reads. Were you paired up in that class as well?” 

“No, but the teacher suggested that we look to Josh for pointers. He was nominated as having the best of the wursts.” 

You could see Josh pull his lips between his teeth, biting down as his shoulders subtly shook with laughter. 

“Baking is a little more my thing,” You added, “But he’s getting there.” 

“That’s so sweet. I cannot wait to see how your cake turns out,” Amanda grinned, clapping her hands together before gesturing to the next couple. “And you two?” 

Josh shuffled a little closer as the class’ attention shifted, hip nudging against yours. 

“You’re unbelievable,” He muttered. 

“That’s why you love me.” You gave Josh a sickly sweet smile. “And whatever needs winging next, it’s your turn.” 

--  

“That was not bad cake.” 

“No, not bad. The caramel, though.” Josh’s nose wrinkled as he held the door open for you, “So fiddly.” 

“I thought you were going to set that last batch on fire.” 

“Oh come on, it wasn’t that burnt.”

“Oh, yes it was,” You laughed, tightening the collar of your coat against the damp DC chill. You glanced down at the to go bag hanging over your arm.

“We should figure out splitting the cake up.” 

“You can have it.” 

“What? No way, I can’t finish this thing by myself. Besides, if you bring some in for the president, you’ll prove that you actually went through with the bet.”

Josh’s lips pursed as he glanced around. 

“I hate to admit it, but that’s a really good point.” 

You considered, glancing in the same direction before making yet another snap-decision. 

“I live, like, three blocks away. We can split it into tupperware. That way neither of us wind up with an entire cake.” 

Josh hesitated, shaking his sleeve back to eye his watch. 

“Ah…Okay. Okay, sure.” 

“Cool. I'm this way,” You nodded to the right, leading the way down the block. Josh’s arm wrapped around your shoulders, drawing you a little closer, and you frowned, glancing back toward it. 

“Uh—” 

“Amanda just came out and she’s locking up,” Josh murmured. 

“Goodnight, lovebirds!” You heard, and you twisted your head, giving her a friendly wave. 

“Night!” 

“Lovebirds,” Josh muttered. 

“Oh, be nice. She was very sweet, all things considered. She didn’t lay on the romance stuff too thick.”

“You didn’t think that was too thick? The whole…No shortcuts, or the importance of communication in life or love or whatever?” 

“I mean, none of that is technically wrong.” 

“So you’re a Nationals fan and a hopeless romantic?” 

“No. I’m just willing to accept that there are certain things that make relationships successful.” 

“Right,” Josh muttered. “Well, if you’re so aware of these things, why aren’t you in a relationship?”

Your smile faltered, and you turned your attention forward again. 

“...Or is there someone and they fucked up so royally that you had separate Valentine’s plans?” Josh prodded. You shook your head. 

“No. There’s no one.” 

“So?” 

“Well why are you single?” 

Josh blinked owlishly, mouth pursed into a small ‘o’.

“Uh—I’m busy,” He shrugged. “It’s kind of a high-profile job, working for the president—”

“Brag.” 

“—And the people I meet I’m mostly working with. Flirting is kinda frowned upon in the White House.”

“Frowned upon, but not explicitly against the rules?” 

“It’s usually a bad idea, trust me. I’ve dated people I’ve worked with before, it’s almost never gone well.”

“Almost?” 

“...Never.” 

“Mm.” 

“What about you? I don’t even know what you do.” 

“I’m a paralegal, and there’s no one at work that I would date.” 

“No? Not scoping out some handsome hot-shot lawyer who’s too busy eyeing a corner office to notice all of the love you pour into your memos?” 

“Oh, please,” You scoffed. “All of the lawyers I work with are at least 60.” 

“Older guys can be good. Nice and stable.” 

“And looking for blondes in their early twenties that’ll look good yachting in Cape Cod.” 

“I think you’d look great yachting in Cape Cod.”

“Well thanks, but I’m not sure they’d agree.” 

“No interest in anyone outside of work?” 

“Eh. I don’t know,” You shook your head. “Not really? My friends are all in relationships and they’ve been nagging me to get out there more, but it all just…Sucks. That’s how I wound up signing up for that class. I just wanted to tell them I had plans tonight so they’d get off my back.”

You fished into your pocket for your keys as you neared the front door, reluctantly stepping out from under Josh’s arm to lead the way up the stoop steps.

-- 

“Nice place.”

“Thanks,” You shot him a small smile over your shoulder as you head into the kitchen. “I’ll just grab some tupperware.” You shrugged out of your coat, hanging it and your keys up in their usual places in your entryway. You got a few steps down the hall before you stopped, turning to look at Josh. All of the other chances that you’d taken that evening had paid off, more or less. One more couldn’t hurt, right?

“Would you like something to drink?” 

Josh looked up from his pager, brows raised in surprise. 

“Oh—Sure.”

“Water? Beer, wine…?” You trailed off, taking another couple of steps back. 

“Beer would be nice.” 

“Okay.” You turned, adding, “You can leave your coat there,” as you hurried into the kitchen. You set the bag of cake on the counter before opening your fridge. Beer first, then tupperware. He’d stay for maybe half, you’d divvy the cake up, then bing bang boom, he would be out of there.

-- 

“Tell me another one.” 

“No, god no,” You laughed, leaning back against your couch. “I’ve already told you too much.” 

“One more,” Josh implored, scooching closer, his knee nudging yours. 

“It’s your turn.” 

Josh sighed, tipping his head back as he considered. You rested your elbow against the back of the couch and propped your chin up on your hand as you got a better look at him. With a beer in hand and his tie loosened, he was a far cry from the harried man that had asked to share your counter at the cooking class. 

“Alright, I’ve got one,” He met your eye again. “The heat was out in the West Wing, so Sam—I told you about Sam?” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“He and I had the great idea to start a fire in one of the fireplaces.” 

Your brow furrowed a touch. “That…Doesn’t sound like a bad idea.” 

“Well, it is if the fireplace is decorative and sealed.” 

You spluttered a laugh as Josh shook his head with a grudging smile. 

“Oh…Mr. Lyman.” 

“Live and learn.” 

You shook your head, leaning up to put your empty can of beer on the coffee table. Your eyes caught on the clock in the corner, and your eyes widened slightly. 

“Oh—Shit.” 

“What is it?” Josh twisted to see what you were looking at. He hurriedly shook his sleeve back, double-checking the time on his watch. “Oh, shit.” 

“Yeah,” You laughed, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you this late—”

“No, you didn’t.” 

“Let me divvy that cake up.” You pushed off of the couch, taking up your empty beer can and hurrying back to the kitchen. You really hadn’t meant to keep Josh there. Sure, it had been nice to talk to him, but it was three in the morning for crying out loud. You fished into your cabinet for clean tupperware before you pulled the cake out of the bag that you’d brought home. You heard Josh coming in, but focused on cutting the cake. 

“Yeesh, you’re giving me all of that?” 

“Equal division of assets.” 

“Very generous of you.” 

You smiled, plopping his half in the tupperware. You set the knife in the sink, raising your thumb to suck off some of the caramel that had caught on your thumb. You glanced over to look at Josh and froze at the sight of his eyes lingering on your mouth before his gaze flitted up to yours. You turned back to the cake, heat creeping up your neck as you set the top on the tupperware. 

“You gonna tell the president what the cake was called?” You asked, desperate to fill the heated silence. 

“...Probably just him that it's cake.” 

“That’s wise.” 

You took the bag that the cake had come in, setting Josh’s tupperware in it and holding it. 

“Sorry again for keeping you so late.” 

“You didn’t,” Josh insisted.

“I just mean—” 

“I know what you mean, but. You didn’t.” 

You nodded, letting him head down the hall. You stalled in the kitchen, putting your half of the cake in the fridge. You drew in a deep breath, steadying yourself. He wasn’t looking at your mouth like that, he was just—He was probably perturbed that a grown woman was sucking caramel off of her thumb instead of washing her hands. 

You turned into the hall, slowing as Josh pulled his coat on. You tucked your hands into your pockets, wandering closer. 

“You know, I’m, um…I’m sorry the Mets lost, but I’m glad you wound up at that class. That introduction round would’ve been painful to go through alone.” 

“I’m glad you didn’t read the sign up sheet more closely.”

You laughed softly, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, I am, too.”

You stopped in front of Josh as he finished buttoning up his coat. When he looked at you again, you found the mischievous little smile that you were quickly becoming enamored with on his lips.

“How cliché would it be if I asked you out on Valentine’s Day?”

You blinked at him, stunned, as the question washed over you. Was he kidding? 

“Well, it’s not Valentine's Day anymore, Josh. Hasn’t been for a couple of hours.”

“I meant to ask you out a couple of hours ago.” 

You bit your lip to keep a grin from spreading across your lips. “But you didn’t.”

“You were talking about accidentally spilling a cup of coffee all over your favorite shirt, seemed like a bad time to bring it up.”

“Oh, so that was what convinced you to ask me out? The reassurance that you wouldn’t be the clumsiest one in the relationship?” 

“No, it was the fact that I realized it was midnight, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave.”

“Ah, so technically, I did keep you late.”

The tease was hardly out of your mouth before Josh crossed the short space between the two of you, cupping your cheek and catching your lips in a soft kiss. Your eyes widened in slight surprise before you let them slip closed, mouth working tenderly against his as you curled your arms around his shoulders. His arm wrapped around your waist, drawing you into his chest as he backed you up against your hall wall. 

You let yourself hone in on the press of his body against yours, the slight nudge of his knee between your thighs, as his tongue teased gently along the seam of your lips. You shivered, parting your lips and fingers twining in the curls at the nape of his neck. Josh drew back slowly, nose nudging gently against yours. 

“Alright, maybe you are keeping me late,” He murmured, “But I’m happy to be kept."

You tipped your chin up, drawing hiss lower lip between yours and giving it a gentle suck. He groaned, fingers tightening in your shirt as he drew back, resting his forehead against yours.

"Can I see you this weekend?"

You tipped your head back against the wall, fingers teasing around to his jaw.

"On one condition."

His smile widened as he turned his head to press a kiss to your fingertips.

"Name it," He murmured, voice buzzing against your palm.

"You find a sausage making class for us to take."

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There is a constant buzz that lives in the west wing. 

If it’s not the white house staff and all the varying levels of personnel making noise, it’s the conference room meetings that hold everyone in D.C. trying to influence the white house and the American people. 

Normally, the buzz is comforting to you. In the middle of the communications department, you all thrive on it. But the last twenty four hours had reached a level of mayhem that not even you guys could spin into a positive narrative.

You accompanied Toby to CJ’s second brief of the night, trying to inform the press on the situation in Haiti while attempting to dodge any questions about the MS shock and reelection campaign.

CJ was losing control of the group. She was shuffling papers, removing sticky notes, adjusting her glasses, all in an attempt to keep herself somewhat grounded from the chaos at hand. You sensed Toby tense up as a member of the press pushed and pushed, asking his third follow up question. 

And that’s when it all came crashing down.

CJ flew off the podium and you and Toby followed after her.

“Did she just say the President is relieved to send troops into Haiti?” Sam asked as he joined you in the hallway, waiting outside of CJ’s office. “Relieved to put American lives and Haitian civilians at risk?”

“I was standing right there!” Toby shouted back and you flinched. This certainly was not the good buzz you wanted.

Before they could continue yelling at each other, the door to the briefing room slammed against the wall, CJ rubbing her hands over her face and turned to find the three of you standing there.

“CJ,” Toby started, but was quickly interrupted.

“Just don’t say anything! Just… don’t say anything.” You all gave her a moment to regroup before she began walking back to her office. 

Your two bosses stood in the middle of the hallway, not knowing what on earth to do next, other than duck and cover from Leo once he heard what happened. 

“They’re gonna need extra hands for damage control.” Sam turned to you, and you nodded.

“I’m on it. I started drafting notes for an apology statement,”

“Apology?” Toby asked, voice still an octave louder than you liked, directed to you.

“I told her to.” Sam added, and you watched the look the two of them shared. They sure had some things to discuss. “We’ll talk about them later. Just, make sure they are clear about what CJ meant. Redirect as much as you can without stepping on any toes.”

“Got it.”

You pushed your stack of papers into Sam’s hands and made your way to the press offices. Phones were ringing off the hook, aides scrambling from desk to desk, as Josh stepped in beside you.

Before either of you could reach CJ’s office, she slammed the door, rattling a few frames on the wall.

“Well, we’re just getting started aren’t we.” 

“Happy Thursday.” you added as he walked back toward his office. You looked out over the war room and locked eyes with Carol. She let out a breath before meeting you at her desk.

“Heard there’s a bit of a situation going on. Where do you need me?”

- 

You’re not sure if it’s still Thursday by the time you leave the press office. It’s still dark out; you haven’t eaten anything besides Carol’s desk mints and you need a nap. Desperately. 

You walked through the bullpen to Josh’s office, your final memo delivered before you could put the events of the last day and a half to rest - at least for the next six hours. You checked in with Sam one final time, making sure your absence today didn’t put him any further behind. (Of course it did, but he’d never tell.)

Donna wasn’t at her desk, and the rest of the bullpen was empty save for Josh pacing around his office while reading over a document. You waited until he stopped moving, scribbled something on the paper, and stuck the pen back in his mouth to knock on the opened door.

His eyes shot up, meeting yours for a quick second before he began pacing once again. 

You’ll take that as a ‘come in.’

“7:00 a.m. briefing notes, CJ wanted you all to take a look at them before morning.” You handed him the paper, skimming it before he went back to his thick document. “Carol says all they are waiting on is an update on Haiti from the situation room. They assume they won’t get that information until-”

“Nancy is doing the morning brief tomorrow.” He interrupted, not looking up from his papers.

“I’m sorry?” you questioned.

“Nancy is doing the morning brief tomorrow. She has the information and will get the Haiti update by 5:00.”

Taking a second to recover your thoughts and do a double take at your own copy of the memo, you couldn’t help but question the man in front of you. 

“Why are you benching CJ?”

“No one’s benching CJ. Leo made the decision to have Nancy give the brief on Haiti. I mean, she seems pretty qualified to give the brief being the President’s National Security Advisor, but I could be wrong. She just bribed me with some bagels to give her the opportunity.”

“Don’t you think CJ deserves to do her job?”

“She said the President was relieved to send troops into Haiti.”

“She made a mistake,” You argued, and you could feel the anger starting to spew out of you.

“Yeah, and unfortunately she made it in front of the press and during broadcasted briefing.”

“CJ used one wrong word and she’s getting hanged for it.” You dropped the stack of memos onto Josh’s desk, his full attention now on you.

“CJ is the press secretary, she is the line of communication from the President to the public.”

“And you’re the Deputy Chief of Staff, and Toby is the Communications Director, and Sam is the Deputy Communications Director, and-”

“What’s your point?” He interrupted, running a hand through his annoying, unkempt hair.

You scoffed. “What’s my point? As the Deputy Chief of Staff, you went on Capitol Beat and slammed Mary Marsh while simultaneously ridiculing every person of faith in the United States. You also went in front of the same White House Press Corps and stated that the President had a secret plan to fight inflation when he obviously did not. As the Communications Director, Toby was accused of insider trading. Finally, as the Deputy Communications Director, Sam slept with a prostitute, and instead of staying away from her like all of the senior staff advised, including Leo, he was photographed with her, which could have caused a major PR crisis for us to fix.”

“I thought you were in favor of Laurie and Sam’s relationship, prostitutes shouldn’t be discriminated against.” He added with a smirk.

“Do you think this is funny?”

“You listing all of the mistakes we’ve made as we work in the most powerful building in the world? Yes, I do.”

You crossed your arms in defiance, fighting back frustrated tears. He wouldn’t get it.

“CJ has stood at that podium over the last twenty six hours taking shit from the press on the President’s diagnosis. She chooses the wrong language once, and Toby is yelling at her while Leo shoves her in the corner.”

He let out a sigh, trying to choose his next words carefully. 

“It’s her job to get the language right-”

“For fucks sake Josh, this isn’t about her damn job! It’s about every single woman in this building working their ass off, taking the hits for their bosses, for the men in this administration without as much as a thank you. How many times has Donna been on the receiving end of phone calls from angry senators, stayed late to make sure she proofread your memos, sacrificed her free nights to lobby and push your policy on people? And how many times have you thanked her for it? I sit in the communications bullpen and hear Toby shout for Ginger, Bonnie, and me dozens of times a day. I see, first hand, the scrutiny that CJ is under every time she has to defend policy to the press. And don’t think I don’t understand that we all signed up for these roles. We all knew what we were getting into, we all knew the hierarchy of the west wing. We knew we weren’t going to be praised for our contributions, no matter how big or small. But none of us expected to be benched for doing our job, for telling the truth of a man that is too scared to say it himself.”

Josh’s eyes widened at your casual tone and bold statement. You knew you were crossing the line. 

“You’re talking about the President, keep your voice down.”

“Why? Everyone is thinking the same thing. He’s hiding behind Haiti, he’s hiding behind CJ, and he’s hiding behind this damn white house!”

Josh moved around you, going to shut the door in hopes that no one heard you. But a foot propped the door open, and in walked a still irritable Toby.

“I sure as hell hope that wasn’t the President you were having a public outburst about in his goddamn west wing,” Toby exclaimed, only causing you to roll your eyes.

“Toby,” Josh tried to interject, but you were ready to finally give everyone a piece of your mind.

“It sure as hell was. And I’ll repeat it for anyone that wants to hear it, in fact, why don’t we all just march down to the Oval office and tell the man causing all these problems himself how we really feel. Or am I the only one with the balls to say it?”

Josh had to physically stop you from leaving his office, holding onto your shoulder as you could practically see the smoke leaving Toby’s ears.

“You sure as hell don’t have enough seniority to command a meeting in the Oval!” Toby yelled out, landing another low blow to your ego. Josh’s hand tightened on your shoulder as you fought back the tears desperately trying to form in your eyes. But you wouldn’t give Toby the satisfaction. “So suck it up, and wait for us to tell you what the hell to write to get us out of this situation.”

You shook Josh’s hand off your shoulder as you took another step closer to Toby.

“I’m not writing a single word until I get to talk to the President.”

“Get the hell out of my bullpen, you’re done tonight.” Toby seethed, clearing the way for you to leave.

You didn’t think twice. You walked past the two of them, not a care in the world at the fact you just told off two of the most powerful people in the White House, potentially risking your job in the process.

The buzz followed you through the halls to the communications bullpen, walking past Ginger and Bonnie who were wrapping up phone calls at their desks. Sam yelled out to you from his office, but you kept your head down and kept walking. 

It wasn’t until you walked past the Roosevelt room, locking eyes with Donna as she sat with papers spread out in front of her, red markings all across the pages, that it hit you. She gave you a small smile, her eyes quickly turning to concern as you felt the tears threaten to fall.

You quickly walked to the exit, brushing past the security guards and stepping into the spitting night rain. The air was cold, and it felt like a shock to your system. 

What the hell have you done.

You barely made it fifty feet before you heard someone calling your name, heavy footsteps running toward you.

You turned to find Josh, coat in hand, approaching you outside the White House.

“Wait a second,” Josh said as he finally stood in front of you, draping your coat around your shoulders. You didn’t even realize you were shivering.

“I need to go,” you said, embarrassment and anger still seeping through you.

“We need to talk about what just happened. It’s been a long, hectic night-”

“Josh, you’re not going to talk me out of my own words.” You interrupted him. “I meant everything I said in there, and I’ve been feeling that way for a while. No amount of talking is going to change what I think, or what Toby thinks. It’s done.”

“We can fix it, please-”

“Nothing is going to change!” You exclaimed as your arms raised in frustration. “The only way this goes away is if I go back in there with my tail tucked between my legs and suck up to Toby. I’m not going to kiss the ring and pretend I’m okay with what’s going on in there. And if that’s the job now, I don’t want it.”

“It’s always been the job, the President's policies and opinions are our policies and opinions.”

“That’s easy for you to say when you’re in the room where it happens. And quite frankly, I’m sick of taking the hit for men who can’t help themselves.” you said and continued walking further away from the White House.

“It must be lonely up there on your high horse, pointing your finger at everyone who has what you want!”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about!” you whipped around to face him, finding him closer than he was before. You hated that he was looking down at you, both in height and pity. “And of all the people in that fucking building, it should have been you to understand why I feel this way.”

The two of you stood incredibly still, waiting for someone to make the next move. It had been like this between the two of you for months; push and pull, give and take, waiting for someone to crack and push the boundary wide open. No one knew how to get you to open up like Josh, and no one made him as flustered as you. And still, it all ended like this.

He looked down at your hands, clenched into fists at your sides, and he slowly reached out to grab them. But you couldn't let it happen this time. You took a step back, and both of you tensed up again.

“It’s time for me to go.” Physically, mentally, all of it. It was time for you to leave the white house.

Josh nodded, fighting the urge to continue to try and get you to stay. Instead, he rested his hands on the lapel of your jacket, pulling it tighter around you for the final time. You refused to look up at him, knowing you would give in just like all those times before.

He gave you a small nod once he was ready to finally let you go.

“I’ll see you around.”

*****

It’s been three days since the MS scandal completely shook the nation.

You haven’t left your apartment since that day, avoiding phone calls from everyone in the west wing.

Sam had left voicemail after voicemail, begging you to tell him why you haven’t been to work. Toby refused to tell him what happened, but he knew it had something to do with that night. Not even endless compliments on your prose and speeches from Sam could get you to crawl back there. He gave up after his sixth message.

There was a pile of unopened mail sitting on your kitchen table, along with empty take out containers and a bottle of wine - there may even be a copy of your law school application in the mix, a pity read or two occurring in a drunken haze. 

Later that night, after dodging another phone call from Donna and attempting to get as much of your life together as you could, you gave in and sat down to watch CJ’s nine o’clock press brief. You were glad to see that she was off the bench again, and seemed to be back to her usual self. 

There was a knock at your door as she opened up for questions, and you hated to think you missed the sound of the press gaggle.

You swung your door open, expecting a large pizza to be shoved into your face, but instead an exhausted Josh Lyman was standing at your door.

“Hi,” he said and began cracking his knuckles. “I would’ve called, but you seem to forget how the phone works.”

“I know how the phone works.” you replied. “What are you doing here?”

“Can I come in?” you sighed. “I walked all the way here, please take pity on me.”

“Fine.” You opened up your door, mostly to shut him up, and ushered him into your home.

“Glad to see you cut yourself off from us completely.” He jeered and pointed to the press briefing on the TV. “You know I’m the one that suggested she make the joke about Hungary, so they should be laughing for me.”

“What did you come here for, Josh?” you asked, again, trying to redraw the boundary between you two.

“Ginger and Bonnie kept saying you were sick, and since no one else heard from you, thought I would check in to see if you were alive. You look pretty not sick to me.”

“Josh-“

“We need you back in the west wing. Toby and Sam are at each other's throats and we need a speech for our first campaign stop. If you don’t get back to the bullpen I’m afraid we’ll never see the written word again.”

“I don’t-”

“I’m not beyond begging or bribing to get you back in there tomorrow morning.” He couldn’t help but smile at himself as he shrugged off his coat and sat down at the kitchen table. You tried not to notice how soft he looked in jeans and a sweater. “But you’re not getting my office, or my secretary, or my season tickets to the capitals. I will however put up Sam’s season tickets to-“

“I wrote my letter of resignation, Josh. I’m not coming back.”

You sat down next to him as you watched him freeze, eyes widening the slightest bit. Rendering Josh speechless never gets old, even under these circumstances.

“Toby’s not going to fire you, he was just pissed off the other night. C’mon, if we head down there now I’m sure he’s still there slaving away over this speech-“

“I didn’t write this because I was afraid of getting fired. This is my choice, Josh. I’m choosing to leave the White House.” 

You handed him the letter, and he took it with some hesitation. He spent a few minutes reading it, and then rereading it, shaking his head before throwing it back on the table.

“Why?” Was all he asked as he pulled his chair closer to you. You shook your head, not wanting to get into it. He leaned back in his chair, staring at your letter on the table.

“Josh, I’ve spent too much time helping people, specifically men, climb up the political totem pole. I’m tired of writing speeches and bills for someone else to say. I’ve been burned by too many men in my life to be naive enough to be comfortable in one place.”

He moved to pick up the letter, or so you thought, but instead he picked up your law school application.

“Since when have you been interested in law school?” He asked, flipping through the pages of the Georgetown Law School application. 

“Since forever,” you said, suddenly growing quiet under the scrutiny of his eyes on your application; your essay was practically a diary about your time working in the west wing. “I couldn’t afford to go after I graduated from UVA, and my parents weren’t exactly thrilled about the idea of having a girl lawyer in the family. So, I settled and started working on the campaign trails. I think you know the rest from there.”

Josh didn’t say a word in response, you’re not entirely sure he even heard a word you just said. Instead his eyes were darting across the page, flipping page after page to finish reading your essay. Josh had never read your personal work; sure you’ve written dozens of memos and speeches that he had proofed and listened to, but nothing with your voice. Nothing that showcased your intelligence, your compassion, and dedication to learning to improve not only yourself, but the world around you.

It was making you anxious the more he read and the less he spoke. Was it bad? Did he think you were absolutely insane for thinking you could go to law school? You need to get it out of his hands before it completely changes the way he sees you.

“I know it’s a long shot that they would accept me, I haven’t even decided if I’m actually going to apply or not, so-” you tried to take it out of his hands, but he grabbed your wrist before you could reach it.

“They would be absolute fools not to accept you.” he said, slowly lowering your arm back to your lap, not letting go of you yet. “The west wing is going to fall apart without you.”

“You guys will be just fine without me.” you started and rolled your eyes. “Toby has an ego, and a vocabulary, big enough for ten speechwriters. And, I haven’t gotten in yet.” 

“You will. And Toby’s ego, no matter how large, will never fill the hole you’re leaving.”

He maneuvered his hand away from his wrist down to your hand, and watched as he laced his fingers with yours. You let out a breath as he rested them on his knee, slowly bringing you closer together.

“So, will you accept my letter of resignation now that you know the full story?”

“No, I don’t think I will.”

“Josh-”

“I have a stipulation to the letter.” he interrupted, the smirk returning to his face. “You stay on until we win re-election, and take on a very part-time consulting position once school starts. You deserve to see this through, and we can’t part with you any sooner.”

How the hell does anyone say no to Josh Lyman? Between his annoyingly handsome signature smirk, his warm brown eyes, and his messy hair, he’s a total heartthrob. But you seemed to have some effect on him too, seeing as he hasn’t let go of you just yet.

“That sounds like a plan, only if you and Toby agree to write me the best recommendations Georgetown has ever seen.”

“I can deliver on Toby, but I’m not so sure I can give you what you’re looking for. I may have a conflict of interest,” he said and squeezed your hand, causing you to laugh. “But I have the next best thing, the President of the United States on speed dial.”

“Then you’ve got yourself a deal.” His smile spread over his entire face now. “And thank you, for believing in me. And not firing me last night.”

“Well, you were right. A little outspoken, but nothing worse than what Toby has said to the President himself. There’s going to be some change in the west wing now, thanks to you.”

“Who knew all it took to get something done in this city is to have a temper tantrum?”

“Almost every politician in Congress,” Josh added before being interrupted by his pager. His face fell the slightest bit as he let out a sigh. “It’s Leo.”

“Back to work?”

“A crisis awaits,” he said, letting go of your hand as he shrugged his coat back on. Your fingers flexed against your side, already missing the warmth of Josh’s hand in yours. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow morning?” 

“Bright and early,”  You replied as you walked him to the door. “With a desk full of notes from Sam, I’m sure.”

“Oh if only we could all be so lucky.” He joked, as the two of you lingered in the doorway to your apartment. You really didn’t want him to go. “I’ll brief you in the morning, hopefully nothing too serious.”

“Okay. Um, drive safe.” You stumbled over your words, and you didn’t miss the way his dimple jumped out at your expense. 

“I will. Have a good night.”

“Night,” you mumbled back, watching as his eyes flickered down to your lips for a split second before taking his first step back from you. 

“Josh,” you choked out, and he turned back to face you in seconds. He waited for you to say something, but for once in your life, nothing came to mind.

“Cat got your tongue?” He jeered. You hated that he had this effect on you. And he was reveling in it.

“It’s all your fault, you know. Dropping the whole ‘conflict of interest’ bit, and then leaving without any explanation.”

“I’m sorry, let me be a little more clear.” he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him as butterflies erupted in your stomach. 

“Such a charmer,” you whispered as he dipped his head down, and finally kissed you.

His lips were softer than you imagined, slowly moving against your own. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about this moment before, but it was surpassing everything you thought it would be. Josh was always gentle with you, and he kissed you just the same. He took his time with you, and you could feel yourself getting lost in the feel of his body against yours.

He was the first to pull away, resting his forehead on yours as you caught your breath. 

“I think that made it very clear how much I like you.”

You smiled as you wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his neck.

“I like you too.” You replied, placing a light kiss on his jaw before pulling back to get another look at him, dimples on display. 

“If you keep looking at me like that I’m never going to make it back to the White House,” he joked, and you shoved his chest.

“Then get out of here, Josh. I’ll see you in the morning.”

You smiled as he leaned in to kiss you once more, teasing you as he pulled away, leaving you chasing his lips. You placed one more chaste kiss on his lips before letting go of him.

“Goodnight,” he said, gently squeezing your hand before finally walking down the hall. “I’ll be sure to tell Sam I cured you back to health.”

“In your dreams, Lyman.”

“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.