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helsinkibabyTitle: What Matters
Author: helsinkibaby
Fandom: West Wing
Rating: PG
Pairing: Sam/Carol
Spoilers: H-Con 172 and everything up to it.
Disclaimer: If it was in the show, it's not mine.
Summary: Sam and Carol talk in the mess.
Author's Note: I am still working on the Design of a Decade requests! Promise!
Carol poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down in the deserted mess, closing her eyes as the first jolt of caffeine slipped down her throat. It had been a long day, and at almost two in the morning, it was already into another day, which promised to be just as long as this one had already been. After all, it was January, a time when most Senior Staffers, and thus their assistants, lived in the White House. When you factored into that that the hearings were due to restart soon, and that everyone was reading the galley proofs of a book that promised to have every scandal sheet in the country devoting huge amounts of column inches to the Bartlet White House, well of course, they were going to be here late.
Listlessly, she began to flick through the pages of the book she had with her, the one that had been in and out of her hands all day. She'd actually laughed out loud at most of the stuff that was in there; some of it so ridiculous that it just couldn't be taken seriously. Not that that was going to matter to the press or to the public.
She heard footsteps behind her and smiled to herself, knowing who it was without even turning around, recognising his footfall. "That'll give you nightmares," he said tiredly, coming around to join her.
"I'm finding the funny," she told him.
Sam sat down beside her, his gaze falling on the book and staying there. "That's what CJ thinks we should do."
"CJ's a wise woman," Carol told him, sticking up for her boss.
"You don't think that the press are going to have a field day with this?"
Carol chuckled without humour. "You don't think the press have been having a field day with us since May?" she asked. "You don't think we're all under scrutiny already?"
"I know we are, that's why I can't believe that people are being so blasé about…"
"About the President trying to manipulate the sex of his next born child by reading a book? About some poll that no-one remembers out of however many polls we've put in the field? About how we all knew about the MS and tried to cover it up? About what happened behind the scenes after Rosslyn? Sam, this is gossip, and it's trash. Badly written trash at that."
Sam managed a genuine laugh at that. "Ain't that the truth."
Carol, bolstered by his reaction, was on a roll. "I mean, really? ' The prickly, mumbling Communications Director, whose inner, bitter darkness spelled the break-up of the one marriage we know about.' I've seen grade schoolers who can write better than that."
"Toby says that he may mumble occasionally, but he objects to prickly."
Carol laughed at that. "Me too…it's far too mild."
"He's not that bad." Carol wasn't the only one who could stick up for their boss.
They sat in silence for a moment, then a smile flickered across Sam's face. "I take it that that's your roundabout way of denying that on your birthday last year, you and a bunch of the other assistants held a séance to try to contact Margaret's grandmother."
She didn't bat an eyelash. "That's not true." A beat. "It was Margaret's birthday. And my grandmother." Sam stared at her for a second before he realised what she was doing, and then he began to laugh. "Don't mock Samuel," she continued, a glint in her eyes that he was more than getting used to. "Granny was wise in the ways of love." That straight-faced admission caused more laughter from Sam, and Carol waited until he had sobered up before speaking seriously, taking another sip of her coffee. "So, why are you so upset about this book? Really?"
Sam shifted in his chair. "You shouldn't drink coffee this late. You'll never get to sleep."
"You haven't had a problem with that the past few nights," Carol observed, raising an eyebrow at him, and he had the good grace to blush. "Besides, unless you want to drive home tonight…"
Sam shook his head. "I had a beer in CJ's office."
"And you've changed the subject."
"I was hoping that that might slip by you."
"Not a chance." Carol scooted her chair closer to him. "C'mon Sam." She reached over and laid her hand on his, stilling his fingers which had been drumming restlessly on the book. "You got me to talk to you on New Year's Eve…you can tell me."
Sam took a deep breath. "It's just…I hired the guy, you know? And he's out there and he's spouting all this crap, and it makes me crazy that people can lie like that and get away with it. And we've got these hearings, and there's something going on in the Oval Office that no-one knows about. Except Leo and the President and Josh…" His voice trailed off in frustration.
"That's a pretty good triangle I would've said," Carol noted, squeezing his hand.
"Yeah. Me too."
"What else?" Sam looked up at her in surprise, and she gave him a knowing look. "What else?"
Sam just stared at her, and she could almost see him weighing up whether to continue or not. His eyes betrayed his confusion, and then suddenly they cleared, and it was his turn to squeeze her hand. "I'm just worried…that if the press look at the White House, if they start digging for dirt…what they might find."
His words hung in the air for a moment, then disappeared, and Carol felt as if they'd taken most of the air in the room along with them. "Is this an us thing?" she finally asked him. Because despite the fact that they'd only been dating a little over a week, and that they'd never had a discussion about how serious they were or where they were going, she knew in her heart and soul that she didn't want this to end just yet. If at all.
Her worry must have been obvious in her voice, because he shook his head rapidly, leaning forward in his seat, clutching her hand tighter. "Not like that, not like you think," he said earnestly. "It's just…I'm a Senior Staffer. You're an assistant. And not that there's anything wrong with us dating, but they could make it look…" At a loss for words, his voice trailed off.
"Cheap?" Carol filled in the blanks, but Sam was already recovering.
"Like something that it's not." He put his other hand on top of theirs on the table. "I don't want them to do that. Not again."
"Ah." Much became clear to Carol as she remembered a crisis from some eighteen months previous. "Like they did with Laurie."
"Yeah." Sam sighed. "That was bad enough. But it wasn't like this. We weren't like this. This is different." He shook his head, his breath escaping in a hiss. "For a speechwriter, I'm doing a pretty lousy job here."
"You're doing fine." Carol's voice was very low when she spoke.
"When they attack me, that's one thing. Or the President, or any of us. That's bad enough, but you expect to be attacked over some things, you know? It comes with the territory, sad as that is. But with you…with this…I don't want that for you."
"I'm a big girl Sam," she chided him gently. "I can take care of myself."
"I don't want you to have to." Sam's gaze was fixed on the grainy wood of the table, not on her face, not even on their joined hands, nor even on the book, and Carol felt her breath catch in her throat.
"You can't protect me from the world Sam. Or any of us. You can't change the way the world works."
"I know." His defeated whisper broke her heart, and she reached out one of her hands, cupping his cheek, making him look up at her. Her thumb traced a path up and down his cheekbone, and tears came into her eyes when she spoke.
"Just promise me you won't stop trying?"
He smiled at that, even laughed slightly. "Done," he told her, leaning forwards, and brushing her lips with his gently. One of his hands moved too, touching her cheek in the same way that hers was touching his, and when their lips parted, they stayed like that for a long moment, their foreheads touching, smiling into one another's eyes.
"I'm not interrupting am I?"
A familiar voice interrupted their reverie, making them jump apart, standing up hurriedly, both flushing red.
"Not at all Mr President." Sam tried to fight the blush that was creeping up his cheeks in vain, and couldn't look over at Carol, knowing instinctively that she was as mortified as he was.
"Because if I am, you know, I can come back later…" The President put his hands in his pockets, looking from one to the other, a knowing smile on his face. In marked contrast, the Secret Service agents on either side of him were their usual taciturn selves.
"No, Sir, honestly, it's fine." Sam was still trying to affect composure, and judging from the look on the President's face, he had the feeling he was failing utterly.
"I know you, don't I?" He was looking at Carol as if he was trying to place the face, and knowing the President's decided lack of affinity with names, it was a safe bet that that was indeed what he was doing. "You're CJ's assistant…Caroline, isn't it?"
"Carol," she corrected him, smiling nervously.
The President winced, snapping his fingers in mock anger. "So close."
"Yes Sir." Carol looked from him to Sam, then back again. "I should get back upstairs Sir…in case CJ is looking for me…"
The President nodded. "Sure, sure…" He looked down between them. "You might want to let go of his hand first though."
Fresh blushes of red shot up Sam and Carol's faces, and embarrassment or not, she took the exit line gratefully. "Yes Sir." She gave Sam a significant look before beating a hasty retreat.
Sam watched her go, blinking when she disappeared from sight, looking back at the President, who was looking at him still with that amused little smile on his face. "Is there anything I can do for you, Mr President?" he asked.
The President shrugged, moving to a table. "I just came down for some apples and peanut butter. I didn't know you were seeing someone Sam." He motioned for Sam to join him, and Sam did so.
"It's new," he said. "Since the New Year."
The President gave a surprised nod. "Very new then," he acknowledged. "I thought you said that you lived here in January. How's she taking that?"
"Since she's living here too Sir, surprisingly well."
"That's good. That's good. You know you stared after her when she walked out of the room?"
"Did I Sir?"
"Yep, you did. I used to do that when Abbey and I started dating. Still do."
Sam wasn't quite sure what to say to that, so he just nodded.
"You told me in the Oval Office tonight that it's not a good idea to be casual with the truth. You were right about that Sam."
"Yes Sir." Watching him, it struck Sam that there was something different about him. As if he'd made a decision, as if some weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
"And the truth is, that you were right. Back in the summer, when you were telling everyone who would listen that I should have apologised? You were right." He sighed. "I never thought that I'd win you know. I thought we'd go home on Super Tuesday. And then we got lucky. And there have been so many ups and downs in the last three years…" He shook his head. "I'm sorry that I didn't tell people about my MS. But I'm not sorry that I ended up here. With all of you. I could never regret the people that have come into my life because of it. That's the truth."
Sam nodded. "I feel the same way," he admitted. "It just makes me crazy that people look for the bad before the good…"
"But we know the truth Sam. We do. You and me." The President gestured between the two of them. "And the rest of us in here. And maybe that's all that matters. Maybe history will call me a liar. Maybe this book…" He tapped the volume that Carol had left behind on the table. "Will be part of our legacy. But we'll still have the truth. Maybe that's all any of us can ask for."
"Maybe so."
They sat in silence for a moment, then the President waved his hand. "But what do I know? It's the middle of the night and I'm looking for apples and peanut butter." He stood up, and Sam followed suit. "You should go home Sam."
"If we can get through the snow," Sam mused, and didn't know why the President's lips quirked up in a grin. The use of the plural had slipped by without Sam realising it, but not Bartlet.
"Leo and I were out a few minutes ago, it's not that bad," he told the younger man now. "And even if it were, you should go out walking in it. Take Carol with you."
Sam looked down at the ground and smiled. "I just might."
The President nodded. "Good. Good. See you tomorrow."
Sam nodded again, bidding him a goodnight, and left the mess, taking the stairs two at a time, wondering whether Carol would have gone to her own desk or straight to hide out in his office. He was wondering which one he should check first when he saw her leaning against a wall, waiting for him. She straightened up when she saw him, and when he got closer to her, when he was close enough to see the look in her eyes, they both began to laugh. Checking to make sure that no-one was around, Sam pulled her into his arms.
"I have never been so embarrassed," she told him, hiding her head in his shoulder. "What did he say?"
"He was very nice," Sam said, sure that there had been some subtext to what was being said in there, but also knowing that he was missing it totally. "He thinks that we should go out walking in the snow."
Carol pulled back so that she could see his face, looking at him sceptically. "He does?"
"Yeah. That's if we can't drive home."
She lifted her left arm up behind him, so that she could see her watch. "Is it even worth it?" she groaned. "By the time we get there…"
"Carol." Sam cut across her, his voice definite. "It's worth it."
And she stopped, blinking once as she looked up at him, before smiling broadly. "Let's go."
Not caring who might see them, they walked down the hall with their arms around each other's waists. As it happened, the only person who was taking any notice of them was the man that Sam had just left in the mess, the man who had left without his apples and peanut butter, the man who had paused just out of sight at the end of the corridor so as not to frighten them twice in the one night.
And to himself, he murmured a line from his favourite film, a line that someone had quoted him earlier that day. Now however, he wasn't thinking about falls, and fall out, and retribution. He was thinking about the job that they were doing here, the work they'd done, the changes they'd effected, the relationships they'd forged.
"It matters a great deal," he said to himself, nodding slowly before making his way back to his wife.
Author: helsinkibaby
Fandom: West Wing
Rating: PG
Pairing: Sam/Carol
Spoilers: H-Con 172 and everything up to it.
Disclaimer: If it was in the show, it's not mine.
Summary: Sam and Carol talk in the mess.
Author's Note: I am still working on the Design of a Decade requests! Promise!
Carol poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down in the deserted mess, closing her eyes as the first jolt of caffeine slipped down her throat. It had been a long day, and at almost two in the morning, it was already into another day, which promised to be just as long as this one had already been. After all, it was January, a time when most Senior Staffers, and thus their assistants, lived in the White House. When you factored into that that the hearings were due to restart soon, and that everyone was reading the galley proofs of a book that promised to have every scandal sheet in the country devoting huge amounts of column inches to the Bartlet White House, well of course, they were going to be here late.
Listlessly, she began to flick through the pages of the book she had with her, the one that had been in and out of her hands all day. She'd actually laughed out loud at most of the stuff that was in there; some of it so ridiculous that it just couldn't be taken seriously. Not that that was going to matter to the press or to the public.
She heard footsteps behind her and smiled to herself, knowing who it was without even turning around, recognising his footfall. "That'll give you nightmares," he said tiredly, coming around to join her.
"I'm finding the funny," she told him.
Sam sat down beside her, his gaze falling on the book and staying there. "That's what CJ thinks we should do."
"CJ's a wise woman," Carol told him, sticking up for her boss.
"You don't think that the press are going to have a field day with this?"
Carol chuckled without humour. "You don't think the press have been having a field day with us since May?" she asked. "You don't think we're all under scrutiny already?"
"I know we are, that's why I can't believe that people are being so blasé about…"
"About the President trying to manipulate the sex of his next born child by reading a book? About some poll that no-one remembers out of however many polls we've put in the field? About how we all knew about the MS and tried to cover it up? About what happened behind the scenes after Rosslyn? Sam, this is gossip, and it's trash. Badly written trash at that."
Sam managed a genuine laugh at that. "Ain't that the truth."
Carol, bolstered by his reaction, was on a roll. "I mean, really? ' The prickly, mumbling Communications Director, whose inner, bitter darkness spelled the break-up of the one marriage we know about.' I've seen grade schoolers who can write better than that."
"Toby says that he may mumble occasionally, but he objects to prickly."
Carol laughed at that. "Me too…it's far too mild."
"He's not that bad." Carol wasn't the only one who could stick up for their boss.
They sat in silence for a moment, then a smile flickered across Sam's face. "I take it that that's your roundabout way of denying that on your birthday last year, you and a bunch of the other assistants held a séance to try to contact Margaret's grandmother."
She didn't bat an eyelash. "That's not true." A beat. "It was Margaret's birthday. And my grandmother." Sam stared at her for a second before he realised what she was doing, and then he began to laugh. "Don't mock Samuel," she continued, a glint in her eyes that he was more than getting used to. "Granny was wise in the ways of love." That straight-faced admission caused more laughter from Sam, and Carol waited until he had sobered up before speaking seriously, taking another sip of her coffee. "So, why are you so upset about this book? Really?"
Sam shifted in his chair. "You shouldn't drink coffee this late. You'll never get to sleep."
"You haven't had a problem with that the past few nights," Carol observed, raising an eyebrow at him, and he had the good grace to blush. "Besides, unless you want to drive home tonight…"
Sam shook his head. "I had a beer in CJ's office."
"And you've changed the subject."
"I was hoping that that might slip by you."
"Not a chance." Carol scooted her chair closer to him. "C'mon Sam." She reached over and laid her hand on his, stilling his fingers which had been drumming restlessly on the book. "You got me to talk to you on New Year's Eve…you can tell me."
Sam took a deep breath. "It's just…I hired the guy, you know? And he's out there and he's spouting all this crap, and it makes me crazy that people can lie like that and get away with it. And we've got these hearings, and there's something going on in the Oval Office that no-one knows about. Except Leo and the President and Josh…" His voice trailed off in frustration.
"That's a pretty good triangle I would've said," Carol noted, squeezing his hand.
"Yeah. Me too."
"What else?" Sam looked up at her in surprise, and she gave him a knowing look. "What else?"
Sam just stared at her, and she could almost see him weighing up whether to continue or not. His eyes betrayed his confusion, and then suddenly they cleared, and it was his turn to squeeze her hand. "I'm just worried…that if the press look at the White House, if they start digging for dirt…what they might find."
His words hung in the air for a moment, then disappeared, and Carol felt as if they'd taken most of the air in the room along with them. "Is this an us thing?" she finally asked him. Because despite the fact that they'd only been dating a little over a week, and that they'd never had a discussion about how serious they were or where they were going, she knew in her heart and soul that she didn't want this to end just yet. If at all.
Her worry must have been obvious in her voice, because he shook his head rapidly, leaning forward in his seat, clutching her hand tighter. "Not like that, not like you think," he said earnestly. "It's just…I'm a Senior Staffer. You're an assistant. And not that there's anything wrong with us dating, but they could make it look…" At a loss for words, his voice trailed off.
"Cheap?" Carol filled in the blanks, but Sam was already recovering.
"Like something that it's not." He put his other hand on top of theirs on the table. "I don't want them to do that. Not again."
"Ah." Much became clear to Carol as she remembered a crisis from some eighteen months previous. "Like they did with Laurie."
"Yeah." Sam sighed. "That was bad enough. But it wasn't like this. We weren't like this. This is different." He shook his head, his breath escaping in a hiss. "For a speechwriter, I'm doing a pretty lousy job here."
"You're doing fine." Carol's voice was very low when she spoke.
"When they attack me, that's one thing. Or the President, or any of us. That's bad enough, but you expect to be attacked over some things, you know? It comes with the territory, sad as that is. But with you…with this…I don't want that for you."
"I'm a big girl Sam," she chided him gently. "I can take care of myself."
"I don't want you to have to." Sam's gaze was fixed on the grainy wood of the table, not on her face, not even on their joined hands, nor even on the book, and Carol felt her breath catch in her throat.
"You can't protect me from the world Sam. Or any of us. You can't change the way the world works."
"I know." His defeated whisper broke her heart, and she reached out one of her hands, cupping his cheek, making him look up at her. Her thumb traced a path up and down his cheekbone, and tears came into her eyes when she spoke.
"Just promise me you won't stop trying?"
He smiled at that, even laughed slightly. "Done," he told her, leaning forwards, and brushing her lips with his gently. One of his hands moved too, touching her cheek in the same way that hers was touching his, and when their lips parted, they stayed like that for a long moment, their foreheads touching, smiling into one another's eyes.
"I'm not interrupting am I?"
A familiar voice interrupted their reverie, making them jump apart, standing up hurriedly, both flushing red.
"Not at all Mr President." Sam tried to fight the blush that was creeping up his cheeks in vain, and couldn't look over at Carol, knowing instinctively that she was as mortified as he was.
"Because if I am, you know, I can come back later…" The President put his hands in his pockets, looking from one to the other, a knowing smile on his face. In marked contrast, the Secret Service agents on either side of him were their usual taciturn selves.
"No, Sir, honestly, it's fine." Sam was still trying to affect composure, and judging from the look on the President's face, he had the feeling he was failing utterly.
"I know you, don't I?" He was looking at Carol as if he was trying to place the face, and knowing the President's decided lack of affinity with names, it was a safe bet that that was indeed what he was doing. "You're CJ's assistant…Caroline, isn't it?"
"Carol," she corrected him, smiling nervously.
The President winced, snapping his fingers in mock anger. "So close."
"Yes Sir." Carol looked from him to Sam, then back again. "I should get back upstairs Sir…in case CJ is looking for me…"
The President nodded. "Sure, sure…" He looked down between them. "You might want to let go of his hand first though."
Fresh blushes of red shot up Sam and Carol's faces, and embarrassment or not, she took the exit line gratefully. "Yes Sir." She gave Sam a significant look before beating a hasty retreat.
Sam watched her go, blinking when she disappeared from sight, looking back at the President, who was looking at him still with that amused little smile on his face. "Is there anything I can do for you, Mr President?" he asked.
The President shrugged, moving to a table. "I just came down for some apples and peanut butter. I didn't know you were seeing someone Sam." He motioned for Sam to join him, and Sam did so.
"It's new," he said. "Since the New Year."
The President gave a surprised nod. "Very new then," he acknowledged. "I thought you said that you lived here in January. How's she taking that?"
"Since she's living here too Sir, surprisingly well."
"That's good. That's good. You know you stared after her when she walked out of the room?"
"Did I Sir?"
"Yep, you did. I used to do that when Abbey and I started dating. Still do."
Sam wasn't quite sure what to say to that, so he just nodded.
"You told me in the Oval Office tonight that it's not a good idea to be casual with the truth. You were right about that Sam."
"Yes Sir." Watching him, it struck Sam that there was something different about him. As if he'd made a decision, as if some weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
"And the truth is, that you were right. Back in the summer, when you were telling everyone who would listen that I should have apologised? You were right." He sighed. "I never thought that I'd win you know. I thought we'd go home on Super Tuesday. And then we got lucky. And there have been so many ups and downs in the last three years…" He shook his head. "I'm sorry that I didn't tell people about my MS. But I'm not sorry that I ended up here. With all of you. I could never regret the people that have come into my life because of it. That's the truth."
Sam nodded. "I feel the same way," he admitted. "It just makes me crazy that people look for the bad before the good…"
"But we know the truth Sam. We do. You and me." The President gestured between the two of them. "And the rest of us in here. And maybe that's all that matters. Maybe history will call me a liar. Maybe this book…" He tapped the volume that Carol had left behind on the table. "Will be part of our legacy. But we'll still have the truth. Maybe that's all any of us can ask for."
"Maybe so."
They sat in silence for a moment, then the President waved his hand. "But what do I know? It's the middle of the night and I'm looking for apples and peanut butter." He stood up, and Sam followed suit. "You should go home Sam."
"If we can get through the snow," Sam mused, and didn't know why the President's lips quirked up in a grin. The use of the plural had slipped by without Sam realising it, but not Bartlet.
"Leo and I were out a few minutes ago, it's not that bad," he told the younger man now. "And even if it were, you should go out walking in it. Take Carol with you."
Sam looked down at the ground and smiled. "I just might."
The President nodded. "Good. Good. See you tomorrow."
Sam nodded again, bidding him a goodnight, and left the mess, taking the stairs two at a time, wondering whether Carol would have gone to her own desk or straight to hide out in his office. He was wondering which one he should check first when he saw her leaning against a wall, waiting for him. She straightened up when she saw him, and when he got closer to her, when he was close enough to see the look in her eyes, they both began to laugh. Checking to make sure that no-one was around, Sam pulled her into his arms.
"I have never been so embarrassed," she told him, hiding her head in his shoulder. "What did he say?"
"He was very nice," Sam said, sure that there had been some subtext to what was being said in there, but also knowing that he was missing it totally. "He thinks that we should go out walking in the snow."
Carol pulled back so that she could see his face, looking at him sceptically. "He does?"
"Yeah. That's if we can't drive home."
She lifted her left arm up behind him, so that she could see her watch. "Is it even worth it?" she groaned. "By the time we get there…"
"Carol." Sam cut across her, his voice definite. "It's worth it."
And she stopped, blinking once as she looked up at him, before smiling broadly. "Let's go."
Not caring who might see them, they walked down the hall with their arms around each other's waists. As it happened, the only person who was taking any notice of them was the man that Sam had just left in the mess, the man who had left without his apples and peanut butter, the man who had paused just out of sight at the end of the corridor so as not to frighten them twice in the one night.
And to himself, he murmured a line from his favourite film, a line that someone had quoted him earlier that day. Now however, he wasn't thinking about falls, and fall out, and retribution. He was thinking about the job that they were doing here, the work they'd done, the changes they'd effected, the relationships they'd forged.
"It matters a great deal," he said to himself, nodding slowly before making his way back to his wife.
