Diamonds and Rust

Title: Diamonds and Rust

Author: Just Me (justmewdc@hotmail.com)

Summary: When she left the White House, it was without saying good-bye . . .

Pairing: Ainsley/Sam

Genre: songfic/futurefic

Disclaimer: The West Wing and its characters are the intellectual property of Aaron Sorkin, et al. Needless to say, I'm not included among the 'et al'. The song 'Diamonds and Rust' is copyrighted to Joan Biaz and Chandos Music. This story, insofar as it stands apart from those two elements belongs to the author.

Rating: R

* * * * *

Well, I'll be damned
Here comes your ghost again
It's not that unusual
It's just that the moon is full
And you happened to call.

When she left the White House, it was without saying good-bye. Having decided to go, she packed the contents of her office into an empty Xerox box, and left a letter of resignation on Leo McGarry's desk.

It hadn't taken Sam long to find her. She'd run home - to her roots, accepting a leadership position with the North Carolina Federation of Republican Women.

And so, less than four days later, he'd found her at her parents' house. Her mother showed him up - and there he discovered her, safely tucked away beneath the pink gingham canopy of her childhood bed, clutching a well-loved mohair teddy bear to her chest.

"So this is the kind of upbringing that turns someone to the Republican Party." He was leaning casually against her doorframe, looking for all the world as though there were nothing unusual about his sudden appearance.

She rolled over onto her stomach, tossing the bear aside. "I know it's not the clambakes and yacht parties that Harvard liberal elites are used to, but it's home."

She hadn't meant to answer him. She had fully intended to nurse her hurt and disillusionment, but her relationship with him was not something she could turn off at will.

He invited her to lunch.

She accepted.

He asked her to go back with him to his hotel room.

With a deep sigh, she agreed.

Their lovemaking was fierce, frenzied, frantic. In the joining of their bodies, they fought without saying a word - ending kisses with a possessive nip, tugging just a little too hard on a nipple, locking joints in the tangling of legs. She was bruised and breathing heavily following her release when he turned on her.

"I've never known you to be the type to run away, Ainsley."

"I'm not running; this is a well-thought-out career move." She said it listlessly, looking not at him, but at the ceiling."

"Bullshit!" He climbed out of bed and reached for his trousers, dressing as he continued. "You couldn't stand the election - couldn't stand feeling torn between that imbecile, Ritchie, and Bartlett. And then when the president won, you left - left without saying a word." He paused, searching for a stray sock, and then continued. "You couldn't stand that we had the better candidate - that we were right."

He was angry, and he didn't care if he hurt her. She swallowed back her tears, and stood, naked in both soul and body to tell him, "Go to Hell, Sam Seaborn."

"I already am," he answered flippantly. "I'm running for Congress, or haven't you heard." Grabbing his shirt, he buttoned it, and slipped through the door, leaving her alone in his empty hotel room.

And here I sit
Hand on the telephone
Hearing a voice I'd known
A couple of light years ago
Heading straight for a fall

In spite of it all, they hadn't been able to leave one another. He'd look her up when he was passing through town; she'd give him a call when she was up in DC lobbying for one cause or another.

Politics was always a part of it, and never a part of it. Two jaded idealists fighting for causes they could no longer fully articulate, fighting during the day and turning the passion in a different direction at night.

Gradually, however, the phone calls grew further apart – months passed, and then they stopped altogether.

She kept up with him via news reports; he followed her via friends of friends.

Then, even the Christmas cards stopped; and it was as though he was nothing but a ghost – a memory – an echo.

As I remember your eyes
Were bluer than robin's eggs
My poetry was lousy you said

Every once in a while, she would dig out her diary from those months. She found it hard not to resent the woman she was then. The entries were full faith, hope, and idealism. And poetry - the things high school literary magazines were made of.

She remembered the poem she wrote for him after they made love. She'd left it on the pillow for him to find the following morning.

He came down to her office that morning, slipping in and closing the door, he stared at her and smirked.

"What?" She blushed under his scrutiny.

He pulled the sheet of notebook paper from his pocket. "It's a really good thing that you're a lawyer and not a speechwriter," he chuckled. "This has got to be one of the worst things I've ever read."

"I'll have you know I won awards for my poetry!" She was both indignant and embarrassed.

"Blue eyed Adonis," he quoted, "I soared until I broke the sky."

"Okay," she conceded. "I suck."

Where are you calling from?
A booth in the Midwest

And then, it was inevitable, he before he even knew what was happening, he was stumping in Iowa, not so much expecting to win as attempting to stay in the game – setting the stage for a few years down the road.

But, just as in Orange County, the unthinkable had happened. He'd come in third place. He was legitimate.

He stood in the middle of the street in Ames, wanting to celebrate, wishing to recreate just what it was he had way too many years ago with a different candidate, and wondering whether it was even possible.

Nostalgia and emotion bubbled up in his stomach. He wondered if she even had the same phone number. In another nostalgic move, he slipped into a phone booth for some privacy even as he pulled her name out of the extensive directory in his cell phone.

"Hello?"

It was her – with only one word, he knew it. Her southern drawl was unmistakable.

"Ainsley . . . it's Sam."

"What the hell do you want?"

Ten years ago
I bought you some cufflinks
You brought me something
We both know what memories can bring
They bring diamonds and rust.

As a rule, they didn’t' exchange gifts.

Had she had her choice, she would've celebrated everything – the one week anniversary of the first time they slept together, the one year anniversary of her hire date, the one month anniversary of the first time he took her out to eat – but somehow she knew he wouldn't go for that.

She couldn't help but get him something for his birthday, though. She searched for a long time, trying to find just the right present. Something that said, "I care, but I'm not clingy.

She found the cufflinks at Union Station – refashioned from old Roman coins. They were both unique, and personal. She hoped he would like them.

She never expected him to wear them.

Now he looked down at them as they continued their strained telephone conversation. He couldn't stand to wear them, most of the time they sat, unused, on the top of his dresser. At the same time, he couldn't stand to be rid of them. Every so often he pulled them out. Those days also tended to be among the most memorable in his life.

Well you burst on the scene
Already a legend
The original vagabond
You strayed into my arms

Few people didn't know Sam's reputation with women – the photos of him with the call girl had been widely circulated through her office in previous years.

Then, when she set up shop in the steam trunk distribution venue, the other women on the staff whispered – both of his Adonis-like beauty and his conquests. Leo's daughter was said to number among the broken hearts he had left behind.

So, when he invited her to dinner, she wasn't that surprised. When she invited him into her apartment for a nightcap, she was. Neither of them had expected to wake up in bed with each other that following morning, nor had they expected it to turn into anything permanent.

She wasn't usually so feckless when it came to men. She listened to her head over her heart, or lower portions of her anatomy – and yet, with him it was as though both of them had lost control of their better senses.

He came running to her as often as she went to him.

And there you stayed
Temporarily lost at sea
The Madonna was yours for free
Yes, the girl on the half-shell
Would keep you unharmed

She didn't like to use clichés, but she often described their relationship as 'good while it lasted.'

He had come to her rescue when she'd started at the White House.

She'd come to his rescue every day after that – serving as yin to his yang, grounding him. His passion needed to be channeled, and she had the ability to do that - the unstoppable force had finally met the immovable object. She would not back down against him, and rather than becoming weaker, he found himself strengthened by her.

The unstoppable force had finally met the immovable object.

What she hadn't realized, however, is that she would become drained. Her idealism wore thin after the president was proven to be a liar; her infatuation wore off after her lover proved to be more devoted to a cause than to her.

But he had no trouble expecting her always to be there, and so, she left.

And he followed.

Now I see you standing
With brown leaves falling around
And snow in your hair
Now you're smiling out the window
Of that crummy hotel
Over Washington Square

On one of their few weekends away, he'd taken her to New York City. He'd paid for a suite at the Plaza, and they'd spent the bulk of the weekend getting drunk on Dom Perignon and enjoying the view of central park.

They left for dinner, a freak early November snowstorm blowing around them. On their way, they passed Tiffany's, and just for a moment, she'd allowed herself a sideways glance at the ring display.

Giddy in the winter air and still somewhat tipsy, she'd asked him the sort of deep, philosophical questions she never would've allowed herself to ask while sober.

"If you could have anything in the world, what would you want?"

"You," he'd answered without a moment's hesitation. She'd wondered if he were still a little bit drunk, too.

Now, she was back, and the city didn't look quite the same.

It was darker, deeper, dirtier – the shadows of an attack that had happened more than ten years ago, still lingered. It wasn't often obvious, but it was there – in the way a head turned when an airplane flew by, or the way the simple smell of a fire, could turn some people green, or the sideways glances any man in a turban got – despite the fact that it was Sikhs, not Muslims, who wore turbans.

She turned left at the next street, and found herself in Washington Square. The area seemed not to have received the news that the city was attempting to regentrify itself. Graffiti tags, ineffectively sandblasted marred most of the walls.

The sky, too, had a grey pall – stuck in the fickleness of fall when it can't decide whether to snow or to rain, and so does neither. She looked again, and the directions, she'd scrawled on the hotel notepad that morning, and thought, not for the first time of turning back and going home.

He wanted to see her.

That's what he said when he'd called her. He was going to be in New York in a few days, and wanted to see her.

Had it been too long?

Had it been long enough?

"Ainsley!!" The sound came from above, and her choice was suddenly stripped from her.

Our breath comes out white clouds
Mingles and hangs in the air
Speaking strictly for me
We both could have died then and there

He looked like she would have expected. His hair gone grey at the temples, laugh lines around the eyes just a little bit more pronounced, but otherwise, still very much the same. Still very much Sam.

She forgot herself – the years of anger that had built up. The carefully constructed wall that she had vowed would never come down, came down the moment she flung herself into his arms. "Sam!"

He stepped back without letting go in order to study her face.

"You look good," he said, tracing her cheekbone with the back of his hand.

"Uh – huh," she replied, finding herself momentarily dispraxic. She then added, "Sam, what are you doing here?"

He looked up at the hotel, as though searching for an answer, and finally said, "I'm hiding"

"Not here," she twisted her lips against the word, "here, New York."

"Tomorrow's election day."

She tugged on her scarf, trying to figure out the relationship between the two seemingly unrelated events. Finally, befuddled, she said, "No kidding! I would've let this one go by."

"Did you know I haven't voted since Bartlet was reelected?" Without waiting for a response, he continued. "Really; I didn't even vote for myself when I was running for Congress."

She looked up at him, paying rapt attention waiting to see where his story was going – and knowing at the end, that somehow it would involve her.

"I never expected to win," he admitted, "and when I did win, I didn't know what to do. I was like a kid who'd been thrown in the deep end of the pool on his first day of swimming lessons, and all I could do was try to keep my head above water.

"It was worse in the Senate," he continued, "I didn't want to be there, but I didn't want not to be there either. It was exhilarating and awful at the same time." He paused long enough to catch his breath and run his hand through his hair. "And all of the pundits were following me, scrutinizing me, calling me 'more like Bartlet than Bartlet' and the 'new wunderkind of the democratic party,' and the whole time I'm trying to figure out just how I got there."

She interrupted him, "You're babbling, Sam."

"You do that to me," he smiled, and reached for her hand, and before she realized what she was doing, she'd let him take it.

It was getting colder, and he didn't have a coat on. As he spoke to her, his breath crystallized, and then dissipated, riding the wind. "And then, I was running for the presidency, and suddenly, I couldn't do anything right. They didn't like that I was single; they didn't like that I worked for Bartlet; they didn't like that I didn't dye my hair. And people, I'd never even heard of were accusing me of things I would've never even thought of doing."

"I watched you," she admitted.

He was silent. He stared into her eyes for a few minutes before answering, “I’m glad.”

She stepped back momentarily. “So, you’re hiding out, huh?”

“I didn’t want the scrutiny tonight; I knew they wouldn’t look for me here.”

Ainsley looked again up at the building. “It is rather . . .” she paused, “unimposing.”

He looked from her to the building and back again. “The interior is rather homey. Would you be . . .”

She smirked and squeezed his hand. “You haven’t gotten any smoother in your old age.” Then, without guile, she leaned back in and kissed him. “But I’d be glad to.”

* * * * *

Their lovemaking was touched with longing and the words that had gone ten years unspoken. He made his way slowly down her body - enjoying the curves and softness that had earlier been flat planes.

Her breasts were rounder, her hips a little softer, but she was still proportionate, still appealing.

He brushed a thumb across her nipple and it stiffened into a solid peak. With little preamble, he replaced his fingers with his mouth, suckling her. At the same time he began to explore her elsewhere, running his fingers back and forth over her clit, and then, just as she thought she would go over the edge, moved his attention elsewhere.

"Sam . . ." Her hands clutched at whatever portion of his body they could find. Her lips trailed kisses along his jawline, his neck, his shoulder - every square inch of his body was open for new exploration.

He knew her, and played her body like a harp - each string resonating and humming deep within her, and she quivered.

He plied his fingers into her hair as he entered her. "I've missed you," he whispered into her ear, and then captured her earlobe between his teeth - tugging gently. "I've really missed you."

"I've missed you, too." It was a sigh with hardly any force behind it but he heard her, and tightened his arms around her in response.

When he came, it was like coming home - finding where he belonged and staying there.

He had a congressional term to serve out, and he would - but where his future would lead remained to be seen. He only knew that it would be richer were she there and that this time, they would find a way to make it work.

The End

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