On the Other Side of the Country
Pairing: Sam/Ginger
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Shutdown
Disclaimers: Not mine.
Notes: For the LiveJournal Writer’s Choice Screen challenge. An alternate take on why Ginger left.
The television screen shows the same pictures that it has been showing all day, and on the other side of the country, just as he’s been doing all day, Sam can’t help but smile when he looks at them.
There is the President, on his way up to the Hill, to the Speaker’s Office, stopping the car, talking with the ordinary man and woman on the street, listening to them, convincing them of his point of view. It is the venue in which he excels, and Sam feels the familiar thrill of pride as he sees it.
Then, his favourite bit, when the President decides that he is going to walk the few blocks to Capitol Hill, and Sam can only imagine the heart attacks that Ron and the other agents must have had when they heard about that one. He can see Angela Blake with the President, and Josh, all smile and swagger, and Sam knows that his friend must be loving this, that this is what he lives for.
It’s what Sam used to live for, and staring at the screen, he is nostalgic for those days.
“You miss it, don’t you?”
The voice from his door, although quiet, makes him jump, though it shouldn’t. He knew she was here, just doesn’t know how long she was looking at him. He can guess what she’s thinking though, can see it in the dark blue of her eyes, the tilt of her head, the stiffness of her shoulders as she leans against the door.
To allay her worries, he smiles, stands from the couch, throws the remote control on the table. “It’s November, and I’m walking around in my shirt sleeves,” he reminds her, taking a step towards her. “I’m Chief of Staff to the Governor of California, and I’ve got you. So tell me Ginger… why would I miss that?”
As he talks, he holds out his hand to her, and she comes towards him, allows him to take her hand, threading their fingers together. There’s a small smile on her face, something almost sad about it, and her head is still tilted as she looks up at him. “But you do… don’t you?”
He knows he’s not going to get away with anything less than the truth, but luckily enough, the truth isn’t so bad. “Sometimes,” he admits honestly. “Days like today… when something like this happens… a little more than others. But I mean it Ginger… I wouldn’t go back.” As he talks, his free hand goes to her face, traces the line of her cheek bone, and he loves the way she leans into his touch, eyes closing for an moment. “Would you?”
He’s curious as to her answer, is briefly
worried at the silence following his question. Then she opens her eyes and
smiles at him, and it’s like sunshine. “Sam, it’s November and I’m walking
around in short sleeves,” she says. “I’m Assistant to the Communications
Director for the Governor of
He chuckles, uses their joined hands to pull her closer. “You’re stealing my lines,” he says, and she laughs, slides her free arm around his waist.
“They’re good lines,” she counters, rising
up on her toes to brush her lips across his. She intends it to be a brief kiss,
he’s sure, but he’s not going to let her away with that, deepening it, opening
his mouth to hers, the little sigh she gives doing crazy things to his heart
rate. And he thinks again about how glad he is that he made that trip to
Washington this summer, caught up with all his friends, with her in particular.
It hadn’t been the first time that they’d left the bar together while the
others pretended not to notice, but it had been the first time that he realised
how much he missed her, the first and only time he’d asked her to go back to
He hadn’t had to ask her twice.
She pulls away from him then, her hand playing with the buttons of his shirt, her eyes drifting over to the television screen, where pundits in one little box talk about the President’s actions that day while on the other side of the screen, the President is one more walking up to the Hill. “I do miss it,” she says quietly, so quietly that he can barely hear her. “Sometimes.”
He sighs, kisses the top of her head. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Sometimes.” And then, because he has to know, because he can’t not know, he asks, “Would you go back? Do things differently?”
Ginger looks up at him then, shakes her head. “No,” she says with a smile, then continues with a chuckle, “Who knew a drunken stumble on the campaign trail would lead here?”
He frowns at that, because he knows it wasn’t like that, and he thinks that she should to. “You were never just a drunken stumble,” he tells her. “You know that, right?”
Another soft smile, her hand going to his cheek. “If I didn’t,” she says, “I wouldn’t be here.”
Their lips meet in another kiss, and this time, there’s no pretence of brevity as they sink on to the couch, wrapped in one another’s arms. Blindly, Sam reaches for the remote control, presses a button blindly.
The screen flashes to black, takes Josh and the President with it, but he doesn’t miss it at all.