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Apr. 10th, 2010 08:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
helsinkibabyBecause I've been getting some comments about them lately...
Title: A Relaxing Conversation
Rating: PG
Pairing: Leo/Ainsley
Spoilers: No Exit post ep
Word Count: 1,457
Disclaimer: Not mine
Notes: I can’t be the only one who wanted to know Leo’s answer when Abbey asked him what he did to relax… can I?
When Leo leaves the Residence, he intends to go straight home. But he stops by his office first, where he makes the fatal mistake of sitting down to read his phone messages, which means he’s still there when the President opens his door, relaying details of Ron Butterfield’s report about tonight’s live drill. All this means that it’s significantly later than he planned when he finally slides his key into his front door.
It’s later than he planned, so he’s not expecting it when a voice calls out questioningly, and he jumps, thankful that she’s not there to see him miss the coat hook. He gets it the second time, calls back with a smile, “It’s me, Ainsley,” before continuing into the bedroom where he sees her lying on the bed, obviously waiting for him.
Sometimes, when she waits for him, she falls asleep, and he walks in to find her underneath the blankets, sleeping soundly, and she doesn’t even stir when he slips in beside her.
Sometimes, she waits for him in satin or silk, long flowing nightgowns that he loves to slide from her body.
Sometimes, and these times are his favourite, she waits for him wearing nothing at all, and sleep is a long time coming.
Tonight is none of those nights. Tonight, she is in a pair of blue flannel pyjamas, well worn and soft, her hair pulled back in a pony tail. As he enters, she leaves her book down on the bedside table, glances at the clock, then curiously at him. “You’re late,” she observes mildly, then tilts her head, wrinkling her nose. “Though I don’t know why I’m surprised…”
He pulls the tie from his neck, throws it on the dresser. “When has the Correspondents’ Dinner ever run on time?” he asks, and she chuckles. “And that’s without a lockdown on top of that.”
She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t seem unduly concerned; after all, lockdowns are a fact of life at the White House, and recently, they’ve been coming along more often than ever. “My sympathies,” she says, in a voice that’s anything but sympathetic, more teasing. It’s said to make him smile, and it works as he takes off his tuxedo jacket, hangs it up neatly. Crossing the room, he sits down on the edge of the bed, and she scoots forward on her knees, rests her head against his shoulder. Her long blonde hair falls forward, light as a feather against his shirt sleeve, but it still makes him shiver. Maybe she interprets it as something else though, because she frowns. “What else?”
He sighs, because he really didn’t want to have this conversation tonight, wanted only to curl up against her body and drift off to dream. She knows him too well though, and he knows she won’t let this go, so he takes her hand in his, focussing on their entwined fingers. “I had a conversation with the First Lady,” he tells her, then pauses, because he’s not quite sure how to phrase this all of a sudden. “She left the dinner early,” he continues. “For a shift at the clinic.”
He feels her frown against his shoulder, because he’s had this conversation with her before, where he’s told her that he doesn’t think it’s a good idea that Abbey do this volunteer work. He’s never told Abbey that though, because he’s never told her “No” on anything. That’s not his job. His job is to help, to advise the President, occasionally Abbey. Decisions, though, are always made by them.
“She’s taking pills,” he tells her then, and her grip tightens on his. “Xanex, I think… and the way she spoke to me… it’s like she doesn’t even think she’s doing anything wrong.”
“But she’s a doctor.” The words, after a long silence where he can practically hear her groping for something to say, are laced with doubt, and too late Leo remembers that Ainsley is a Republican, that she makes a living – a very good living – commenting on the choices that the Bartlet Administration makes. He knows that, were people to overhear this conversation, hear what he’s telling her, they would be appalled. He doesn’t even entertain the thought though, pushes it away quickly, because there’s no way Ainsley would do that to him.
“She’ll know the signs, the dangers, how to be responsible…” The words grow stronger as she develops her train of thought, and her other hand slides around his back, rests on his waist. “Leo, this doesn’t have to be like it was for you.”
He nods, because that’s what his worst fear is. He doesn’t want to see anyone else go down the same road he’s been down, but he knows how easily it can happen, without the person even knowing.
“I know that,” he says, shaking his head. “But the way she looked at me, the way she sounded… Ainsley, I’ve never seen Abbey like that.” Not Abbey Bartlet, strong and confident and proud, always holding herself together in the most traumatic of circumstances.
But then, isn’t that what Abbey was telling him in the kitchen? That the human body isn’t equipped to live with the kind of tension they live with?
“It’s going to be ok Leo.” The words are a bare whisper, and he wants to believe them. He does.
He just can’t.
“No,” he says, and he can’t remember the last time he felt so old, so tired. “No, I don’t think it will be.”
Her sigh brushes over his skin, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and she places a kiss to his shoulder through his dress shirt. “Is there anything I can do?” she murmurs, voice somewhat muffled by his body, and he smiles, suddenly reminded of the rest of his conversation with Abbey.
“She asked about my health too,” he says. “Wanted to know was I eating properly, tried to get me to take an EKG… I said no.”
Ainsley looks up at him, eyes suddenly dark with worry. “Is there a reason she thinks you need one?”
“The job,” Leo shrugs. “The stress… these are not easy times.” Not easy, but he smiles anyway, and it’s because of her. “She asked me what I do to relax…”
He lets his voice trail off, and because she knows him so well, she figures out exactly where he’s going. “Please,” she begs, closing her eyes, amusement warring with embarrassment in her voice. “Please let my name not have been anywhere in your response to that question.”
He laughs out loud at that, a real laugh, the kind that occurs too rarely in his life, and usually when he’s with her. “Nah,” he says, resisting the urge to string her along, let her think that that’s just what he said. “But I should have.”
Because these are not easy times. There are days when he’s so tired that he can barely drag himself out of the office, days when he’s not sure that he even wants to continue with the work that they are doing. Days when it all seems so pointless, so futile, as if they’re spinning their wheels, getting nowhere.
Those are the days when he comes home to her, sees her smile, hears her laugh, presses his body against hers in the dead of the night, and he remembers that maybe, just maybe, not everything in his life is that bad.
Those are the days when he can’t remember how he got through life without her, the days when he knows exactly how lucky he is to have found her.
Laughing, she smacks his shoulder, and he leans back slightly, wrapping an arm around her. “If you had-” she laughs, a laugh he cuts off by pressing his lips to hers. It’s a long kiss, but nowhere near long enough as far as he’s concerned; yet it is he who breaks it, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes, cupping her cheek with one hand.
“I’m glad you waited up for me,” he whispers, and her smile is like sunshine.
“I’m glad I did too.” She looks at the clock on the bedside table, narrowing her eyes, and he can practically hear her doing the maths, working out how long they have until the alarm will blare, interrupting their slumber. “How tired are you?” she wonders, exaggeratedly thoughtful, and he laughs again.
“Not very,” he tells her, words that make her grin as she pulls him down on top of her. He doesn’t resist, nor does he think of the White House, or the lockdown, or his conversation with Abbey.
He just thinks of her, and lets the rest of the world fall away.
Title: A Relaxing Conversation
Rating: PG
Pairing: Leo/Ainsley
Spoilers: No Exit post ep
Word Count: 1,457
Disclaimer: Not mine
Notes: I can’t be the only one who wanted to know Leo’s answer when Abbey asked him what he did to relax… can I?
When Leo leaves the Residence, he intends to go straight home. But he stops by his office first, where he makes the fatal mistake of sitting down to read his phone messages, which means he’s still there when the President opens his door, relaying details of Ron Butterfield’s report about tonight’s live drill. All this means that it’s significantly later than he planned when he finally slides his key into his front door.
It’s later than he planned, so he’s not expecting it when a voice calls out questioningly, and he jumps, thankful that she’s not there to see him miss the coat hook. He gets it the second time, calls back with a smile, “It’s me, Ainsley,” before continuing into the bedroom where he sees her lying on the bed, obviously waiting for him.
Sometimes, when she waits for him, she falls asleep, and he walks in to find her underneath the blankets, sleeping soundly, and she doesn’t even stir when he slips in beside her.
Sometimes, she waits for him in satin or silk, long flowing nightgowns that he loves to slide from her body.
Sometimes, and these times are his favourite, she waits for him wearing nothing at all, and sleep is a long time coming.
Tonight is none of those nights. Tonight, she is in a pair of blue flannel pyjamas, well worn and soft, her hair pulled back in a pony tail. As he enters, she leaves her book down on the bedside table, glances at the clock, then curiously at him. “You’re late,” she observes mildly, then tilts her head, wrinkling her nose. “Though I don’t know why I’m surprised…”
He pulls the tie from his neck, throws it on the dresser. “When has the Correspondents’ Dinner ever run on time?” he asks, and she chuckles. “And that’s without a lockdown on top of that.”
She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t seem unduly concerned; after all, lockdowns are a fact of life at the White House, and recently, they’ve been coming along more often than ever. “My sympathies,” she says, in a voice that’s anything but sympathetic, more teasing. It’s said to make him smile, and it works as he takes off his tuxedo jacket, hangs it up neatly. Crossing the room, he sits down on the edge of the bed, and she scoots forward on her knees, rests her head against his shoulder. Her long blonde hair falls forward, light as a feather against his shirt sleeve, but it still makes him shiver. Maybe she interprets it as something else though, because she frowns. “What else?”
He sighs, because he really didn’t want to have this conversation tonight, wanted only to curl up against her body and drift off to dream. She knows him too well though, and he knows she won’t let this go, so he takes her hand in his, focussing on their entwined fingers. “I had a conversation with the First Lady,” he tells her, then pauses, because he’s not quite sure how to phrase this all of a sudden. “She left the dinner early,” he continues. “For a shift at the clinic.”
He feels her frown against his shoulder, because he’s had this conversation with her before, where he’s told her that he doesn’t think it’s a good idea that Abbey do this volunteer work. He’s never told Abbey that though, because he’s never told her “No” on anything. That’s not his job. His job is to help, to advise the President, occasionally Abbey. Decisions, though, are always made by them.
“She’s taking pills,” he tells her then, and her grip tightens on his. “Xanex, I think… and the way she spoke to me… it’s like she doesn’t even think she’s doing anything wrong.”
“But she’s a doctor.” The words, after a long silence where he can practically hear her groping for something to say, are laced with doubt, and too late Leo remembers that Ainsley is a Republican, that she makes a living – a very good living – commenting on the choices that the Bartlet Administration makes. He knows that, were people to overhear this conversation, hear what he’s telling her, they would be appalled. He doesn’t even entertain the thought though, pushes it away quickly, because there’s no way Ainsley would do that to him.
“She’ll know the signs, the dangers, how to be responsible…” The words grow stronger as she develops her train of thought, and her other hand slides around his back, rests on his waist. “Leo, this doesn’t have to be like it was for you.”
He nods, because that’s what his worst fear is. He doesn’t want to see anyone else go down the same road he’s been down, but he knows how easily it can happen, without the person even knowing.
“I know that,” he says, shaking his head. “But the way she looked at me, the way she sounded… Ainsley, I’ve never seen Abbey like that.” Not Abbey Bartlet, strong and confident and proud, always holding herself together in the most traumatic of circumstances.
But then, isn’t that what Abbey was telling him in the kitchen? That the human body isn’t equipped to live with the kind of tension they live with?
“It’s going to be ok Leo.” The words are a bare whisper, and he wants to believe them. He does.
He just can’t.
“No,” he says, and he can’t remember the last time he felt so old, so tired. “No, I don’t think it will be.”
Her sigh brushes over his skin, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and she places a kiss to his shoulder through his dress shirt. “Is there anything I can do?” she murmurs, voice somewhat muffled by his body, and he smiles, suddenly reminded of the rest of his conversation with Abbey.
“She asked about my health too,” he says. “Wanted to know was I eating properly, tried to get me to take an EKG… I said no.”
Ainsley looks up at him, eyes suddenly dark with worry. “Is there a reason she thinks you need one?”
“The job,” Leo shrugs. “The stress… these are not easy times.” Not easy, but he smiles anyway, and it’s because of her. “She asked me what I do to relax…”
He lets his voice trail off, and because she knows him so well, she figures out exactly where he’s going. “Please,” she begs, closing her eyes, amusement warring with embarrassment in her voice. “Please let my name not have been anywhere in your response to that question.”
He laughs out loud at that, a real laugh, the kind that occurs too rarely in his life, and usually when he’s with her. “Nah,” he says, resisting the urge to string her along, let her think that that’s just what he said. “But I should have.”
Because these are not easy times. There are days when he’s so tired that he can barely drag himself out of the office, days when he’s not sure that he even wants to continue with the work that they are doing. Days when it all seems so pointless, so futile, as if they’re spinning their wheels, getting nowhere.
Those are the days when he comes home to her, sees her smile, hears her laugh, presses his body against hers in the dead of the night, and he remembers that maybe, just maybe, not everything in his life is that bad.
Those are the days when he can’t remember how he got through life without her, the days when he knows exactly how lucky he is to have found her.
Laughing, she smacks his shoulder, and he leans back slightly, wrapping an arm around her. “If you had-” she laughs, a laugh he cuts off by pressing his lips to hers. It’s a long kiss, but nowhere near long enough as far as he’s concerned; yet it is he who breaks it, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes, cupping her cheek with one hand.
“I’m glad you waited up for me,” he whispers, and her smile is like sunshine.
“I’m glad I did too.” She looks at the clock on the bedside table, narrowing her eyes, and he can practically hear her doing the maths, working out how long they have until the alarm will blare, interrupting their slumber. “How tired are you?” she wonders, exaggeratedly thoughtful, and he laughs again.
“Not very,” he tells her, words that make her grin as she pulls him down on top of her. He doesn’t resist, nor does he think of the White House, or the lockdown, or his conversation with Abbey.
He just thinks of her, and lets the rest of the world fall away.
