Rating: PG
Pairing: Sam/Carol
Spoilers: SGTE, SGTJ
Feedback: Makes my day
Disclaimer: If it was in the show, it's not mine.
Archive: At my site The Band Gazebo (helsinkibaby.ahkay.net) Anywhere else please ask first.
Summary: Carol talks to Sam at the end of Big Block of Cheese Day
Author's Note: Nothing to do with the Dark Horses series, just a stand-alone that came to me after watching SGTE, SGTJ - I couldn't leave Sam all alone in that office!

CJ and I are sitting in her office at the end of yet another Big Block of Cheese Day. This is also known as the time where I sit quietly on the couch while she sits leaning back in her chair, telling me all about whatever group got to visit her today, and I try to keep my job by not laughing too hard. Today's group, I must admit, is one of the funnier ones, although I will also admit to having some idea what her meeting might have been about when she told me this morning that she was meeting with the Cartographers for Social Equality. My brother lived in England for a while a couple of years ago; he was sent there on business and his family went with him. When they came back, the kids were showing me the schoolbooks that they used over there, telling me what they'd learned, and the map of the world that they'd been using almost made my eyes fall out of my head. Although if you think I warned CJ about that, you'd be wrong. After all, I have to secure my entertainment somewhere, don't I?

Even having guessed about the different kinds of map being talked about, I'm still surprised when she begins talking about the various plans that the cartographers had for rectifying the inequalities. When she tells me that they tried to convince her that the globe should be turned upside down, I begin giggling uncontrollably. But it's the mention of Josh's quote about finding Brigadoon that does me in completely. I lean back against the couch cushions and give myself up to laughter, not caring if she fires me, and after a couple of seconds, I hear that she's joining me, her infectious laugh making my own laughter even worse.

When I finally manage to sober myself up, CJ's looking at me with a smile on her face. "Well," she says. "It's about time."

Confusion chases the last of my giggles away with only the odd hiccup remaining. "What do you mean?" I ask, although I have an uncomfortable feeling that I already know.

"It means," she continues, leaning forward in her seat, not taking her eyes off me for a second, "That you haven't been nearly as relaxed as everyone usually is during one of Leo's Big Block of Cheese Days. I've missed the snide remarks, the rolled eyes, the acerbic commentary…" I blush, but her assessment is more or less accurate. "You want to talk about it?" Her voice is kind at the end, and I look to the ceiling, trying to keep the tears at bay, and doing quite a good job of it.

"I'm fine CJ," I find myself saying, even though I'm not so sure that I really am. "I've just got some stuff on my mind, that's all."

I knew it was weak when I was saying it, and CJ being CJ, she's not going to let me away with it. "Stuff named Sam?" she probes gently, and I feel my cheeks warming yet again, as they always do when people ask me about him. I should be used to it. I am used to it, I tell myself again; after all, that's one of the pitfalls of dating someone from work. Your personal life becomes privy to all kinds of prying eyes under the guise of friendship, under the auspices of "I'm just looking out for you." Although at least when CJ does it, I know that it's genuine, that she really does care about the two of us, and that she's worried about us. There are people, and I've met a couple of them, who aren't as concerned with our feelings, and just want to gossip.

I sigh, leaning forward and resting my elbows on my knees, running my hands through my hair. "Is it that obvious?" I ask, although I'm sure it is. More than one person has asked me over the past couple of days what's wrong with Sam, and I'm sure that the rumour mill is working overtime.

"Only to those who know you both," CJ attempts to reassure me, and even if it is a lie, I'm grateful for the deception. "He's going to be fine you know."

Except that I don't know that, and neither does she. "I've never seen him like this," I say, and the defeated tone of my voice shocks me. "You know Sam, you know what he's like. So passionate, so driven…" I shake my head, recalling all the times that I've seen people roll their eyes at those traits, especially when he goes off on one of his rants. I've done it myself, and right now, I'd give anything to have to do it once more.

"That's why I know he'll bounce back. Because he's Sam."

CJ's confidence would mean a lot more to me if she'd seen the side of Sam that I've seen over the past couple of days, since he found out about his father. "He didn't come home last night," I tell her, and I see her blink at that. For appearance's sake, we keep separate apartments, but the fact of the matter is, he's long since been spending most of his nights at my place and it's an open secret that if it's after hours and you want Sam Seaborn, you're far more likely to find him in my little apartment than his. I asked him about it once, about why he preferred my small pokey little place to his far more spacious townhouse. He'd shrugged, with that sheepish smile of his, and told me that my place looked more like a home than his did. That his had been decorated beautifully, and that everything matched, but that the only sign that he lived there was that his belongings were scattered around. My apartment, he said, was stamped with my personality. He said that when he walked in, he knew that I lived there, and that he liked that feeling. I didn't need to point out to him that as much of his belongings were in my place as were in his, and that the apartment looked more like ours than just mine. I happen to like it like that.

"I don't just mean that he didn't go back to my place," I add, seeing her questioning look. "He called. Said that he was going to be working late on pardon recommendations, and that he didn't want to wake me when he came in. I told him that I didn't mind, but he wouldn't listen to me."

"That's fair enough-" CJ is trying to be reasonable, but I cut her off with a shake of my head.

"Margaret told me that Leo found him asleep in Toby's office. She said that Leo tried to make him go home, take the day off, but Sam refused."

CJ's shaking her head now too, muttering something that sounds very much like, "Lord save us all from stubborn men," but she lets me continue.

"He stayed at his own place the night before last too…at least I think he did…and Tuesday night…" A shudder runs through me as I remember his face on Tuesday night, remember the look in his eyes as he told me the whole story. About his mother's phone call, about the things she'd told him, the conversation he'd had with his father later on. I don't keep much alcohol in the apartment, simply because I'm not much of a drinker, but there was a bottle of brandy there that I bought the last time my father was in town, and he worked his way through most of that. He hadn't cried, he'd been too shocked for that I think, but I could see the pain in his eyes, could hear it in his voice. It took a long time for me to convince him to come to bed, and when he did, he just held me tightly, as if he was afraid that I was going to disappear on him. The last time he did that was the night of the Congressional Christmas party, when he was so worried about Josh.

"Tuesday night he was with me…" I finish. "But CJ…you should have seen him…" My voice is only a whisper by this stage. "I didn't know what to say to him…what do you say when someone's whole world is falling apart around them? What do I say to help him?"

CJ's eyes are wide and worried as she looks me over, and she stands, coming over and putting her arm around me. "Sometimes you can't say anything," she tells me. "Sometimes, you just have to hold on to them, and hope."

I smile across at her, those brief words and the touch of her hand doing more than any long speech could to calm me down. I'm about to thank her when I hear a soft knock at the door, and we both turn to see Donna standing there, her coat in her arms. "Hey guys." She looks from me to CJ and back. "Am I interrupting?"

"Nope," I say, pasting a smile to my face.

"What do you need Donna?" CJ adds.

Donna grins uncertainly at us. "It's just that we're all going out…"

No sooner has she begun the sentence than a strident voice makes itself known. "Donnatella Moss!" Donna rolls her eyes, CJ snickers, and I just grin. "If you're done with your gossiping…" Josh appears at her shoulder, looking slightly guilty when he sees CJ and me sitting there, CJ's arm still around me. "Hey guys."

"As I was saying," Donna resumes. "We're all going out for drinks."

"I like drinks," CJ says quickly.

"So you're in?" Donna is still looking from me to CJ, and she's got her begging face on. "Come on, don't leave me and Stephanie with Josh and Toby and Sam all night."

At the mention of his name, my ears prick up. "Sam's going?"

"Yeah, we're going to get him drunk," Josh confirms, a look of amusement on his face. Then he looks at me, and my face, which I think is hovering somewhere between confused and concerned, makes him change his tune slightly. "He's still in his office though. He said he's going to meet us there."

I nod, not taking my eyes off his face. "Is he ok?"

Josh's mouth opens, then closes again. "I don't know," he finally admits, heaving a sigh. I know that Josh is just as worried about Sam as I am; he and I have had a number of snatched conversations about it over the past couple of days. "He could probably do with someone to talk to though."

Knowing that's as close to telling me to go to Sam as Josh is ever going to get in company, I grin at him and stand up. I glance over at CJ, who is pulling on her coat, raising an eyebrow at her. "That ok boss?"

She waves her hand in dismissal. "We'll see you there," she tells me. "Georgetown Station?" she asks Josh, and he nods.

I head out of the office, passing Toby on my way, getting out of his way as he bellows something about getting out of here before the bars close, and I'm sure that I hear Josh and Donna getting ready to launch into their "you've got a very sensitive system" routine. But I don't pay any heed to that, instead concentrating on making my way through the halls to the Communications bullpen. I purposely enter through the far door, the one that's opposite Sam and Toby's office windows, knowing that that'll give me a chance to observe him through said window, allowing me to gauge his mood. What I see there doesn't fill me with hope, because he's on the phone, gesturing frantically with one hand, his face a mask of agitation. I watch as the conversation goes on, and I wince when the phone is slammed down hard, and Sam raises his fist to his mouth, staring down at it as if he expects it to leap up and attack him.

Taking a deep breath, marshalling my courage as best I can, I walk over to his door, knocking on it gently. There's no reply from the other side, but I open it anyway, just enough that I can slip inside, closing it firmly behind me. "It's just me," I say, leaning back against the door, waiting for him to look up.

When he does, against all odds, a tired smile crosses his face. It's not a real smile, more like half a smile, and it's gone quickly, but it was there. "Hey." Again, it's more an exhalation of breath than an answer, but it's enough for me.

I reach out and close the blinds, shielding us from whatever prying eyes might be passing through the bullpen at this hour of the night. I don't take my eyes off him while I do it, and I see the quick upturn of his lips when he sees what I'm doing, and I know just what he's thinking. After all, it wouldn't be the first time that I've done this, and for far more libidinous reasons. "Don't get your hopes up," I tell him, but I'm doing my best to smile at him as I drop my hand and walk over to him.

"That was my dad," he tells me unnecessarily, waving a hand in the direction of the phone.

"And?" I consider sitting in the visitor's chair, but something makes me walk past it, not stopping until I get to his desk, standing at the side, leaning my hip against it.

"More of the same," he tells me. His voice is only a whisper, and he's not looking up at me. "Apologies. He didn't want to hurt me, or Mom. We were never meant to find out. As if that makes it any better." He shakes his head. "I keep thinking about all the things that we used to do when I was a kid. All the trips we took; the things that we used to do together. Not just me and him; but the things we used to do as a family. You know, the Sunday drives, afternoons in the park, days at the beach…and I'm looking back on them, and it's all a lie…it's all based on lies."

Somewhere in that speech, I came around the table, leaning back against it, standing so close to him that my leg is brushing the leather of his chair, the stiff material cool against my knee. "It wasn't a lie," I find myself saying. "Your dad does love you Sam."

"I know." He looks up at me then, but I don't think that he really sees me, and there are tears in his eyes. "That's what makes it worse."

"Sam…."

"Donna asked me to look at a case for a pardon recommendation. Her friend Stephanie? Her grandfather." I nod, having met Stephanie earlier on. "He worked here under FDR, and was jailed for espionage. I wrote about him in my thesis at Princeton. Demonstrated his innocence." He laughs without humour when he says the word "innocence" and I frown. "Something else I was wrong about…."

"What did you find Sam?"

"He was a spy," he whispers. His right hand reaches out blindly, touching me, fingers curling around my knee, tapping lightly against my skin. I don't think he even realises he's doing it. "Nancy McNally showed me a file…or bits of a file…she blacked out the pieces that were code word classified…Daniel Gault committed treason against this country…sold secrets for personal gain…there was a woman called Shaba Demsky, who was going to reveal his identity, she was killed…she was doing her job, going about her ordinary everyday business and…"

A hiss from me breaks his train of thought and he looks at me, really looks at me. When he was talking, his jaw was clenching in agitation, and although he didn't realise it, so was his hand on my leg. It wasn't so bad at first, just a reflex action, but by the end of the speech, his grip was so tight that it was actually painful, and I couldn't keep back my reaction.

He sees the look of pain on my face, looks at where his hand is, so tightly clenched around my knee that the knuckles are white. He drops his hand instantly, with a muffled exclamation, and when he sees the red imprints of his fingers on my skin, remorse fills his face. "God Carol, I didn't…are you…"

"I'm fine Sam," I tell him, but I don't think he heard me. His hand reaches out and catches mine, holding it in both of his.

"I didn't mean to hurt you…" he continues, and I shake my head.

"You didn't hurt me…" If it's a lie, it's only a small one. "I'm not going to break." My free hand reaches out to cup his cheek, and it's then that I feel the first drop of moisture against my skin. He hasn't cried at all this week, at least not that I've seen, and even now, I can see him struggling to hold himself together. "Sam…" I whisper.

"That's what my dad said…" His voice is so low that I can hardly hear him. "That he never meant to hurt me…"

"Oh Sam…" Not knowing what to do, or what to say, I take matters into my own hands. Standing up straight, I turn myself sideways slightly, so that I can slip in between the gap between the desk and him, and I sit down on his lap. His hands are still clasping one of mine tightly, and my free hand moves from his cheek to around his neck, reaching up to run through his hair.

My head is resting on top of his, and he releases my hand, slipping his arms around my waist, under my jacket. His hands are warm through the material of my blouse as they settle on my ribs, unmoving. I can still feel the tension in his back as I rub circles there, and I kiss the top of his head gently. "It's ok," I whisper. "It's going to be ok." I continue to whisper that, and other things to him, and after a minute, it's like a string breaks, and I feel him start to shake in my arms. Tears come into my own eyes as I hold him, and once more, I'm at a loss at what I should do next or what I should say. It's then that CJ's words from earlier on come back to me.

"Sometimes you can't say anything. Sometimes, you just have to hold on to them, and hope."

So that's what I do, just sit there, holding him as tightly as I can, whispering words of comfort and hoping that it's enough. I don't know how long it takes for his sobs to subside, and it takes even longer for him to stop shaking, but time doesn't have any meaning here. It's late on Friday night, the bullpen is deserted, and the only people who might come looking for us are the ones who are at Georgetown Station right now. I also know that even if one of them were to express a wish to find us, one of the others would soon disabuse them of that notion. It's just him and me in our own little world, which suits me fine right now, and, I think, him as well.

Eventually, I feel his head moving against me, and that's directly followed by the feel of his lips on my skin. I hold very still at first, before closing my eyes and moving my head back, allowing him better access. The kisses begin against my chest, in the deep v of my blouse, before moving up my neck and jaw. I don't speak, keeping one hand in his hair, the other on his back, and by the time his lips meet mine, I'm barely breathing. The kiss starts off chaste, gentle, then his tongue reaches out and traces my upper lip almost in request. I press myself closer to him in response, granting him entrance, losing myself in the familiar sensations of his touch and his taste, letting him lose himself in me.

This is the first time that he's touched me like this since Monday night; the last night when everything in his world was as it had always been. I honestly didn't realise how much I'd missed him, how much I'd got used to him being there, being able to hold him like this, touch him like this. It's only when I feel his hands becoming more active, one reaching around to pull my blouse from my skirt, the other reaching around to fumble with the buttons, that I pull away from him, looking down into his face. "Sam," I whisper, cupping his cheek again, meeting his eyes, reassured by what I see there. Clear orbs of blue, clouded still, but this time by desire rather than pain, and I find myself smiling at the sight. It's too soon by far for any wounds to have healed, but when I look at him now, I know that he's at least begun to deal with the revelations of the past few days.

He smiles under my gaze, lifting one hand to cover him, pushing it over to cover his lips, and placing a kiss on the palm, before bringing it down to rest between our bodies. "It's like I said earlier…there are some things you're sure of. Like longitude and latitude. Like my father." He rubs my knuckles gently. "Like you."

Something catches in my throat at those last two words, and I lean forward to kiss his forehead again. "I'm here Sam," I whisper. "And I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

He leans back to look at me, and that's a promise that we seal with a kiss. "Thank you," he tells me afterwards, and despite the emotion running high in the air, I chuckle.

"What else would I do?" I ask.

He grins, dropping his head on to my shoulder. His breath tickles my neck, and the tiniest of shivers runs up my spine. "I told Josh I'd meet him at the bar," he says quietly.

"I told CJ the same." My hand plays with the hairs at the nape of his neck. "You still want to go?"

He looks at me, and I can tell that he's torn. Finally, he shakes his head. "I want to go home," he tells me.

I lean down to kiss him quickly, before I stand up. "Let's go home then." I watch him pack up his office, and he walks me down to get my things, and we go to our cars. He starts to fish for his keys, but I insist that he leave his car here, and that I'll drive home. We can both come in together tomorrow I tell him; after all, it's not like we're in the middle of some clandestine affair. He hesitates for a second, but only a second before he gives in, dropping his keys back into his pocket. And I smile as I begin our drive home, knowing that I'm still going to follow CJ's advice when we get home, and afterwards. I'm not going to do anything, or say anything special. I'm just going to hold him.

But I'm not going to hope that that's enough to help him.

Because I know it will be.