Fic: Birds and Bourbon (1/1)
Disclaimers: No member of the BAU belongs to me, though I love them dearly. They are the playthings of Messrs. Gordon, Bernero, and Mundy. Sam Seaborn belongs to Aaron Sorkin, John Wells, et al.
Rating: FRC
Spoilers: Up to S7 for The West Wing; Season 5 for CM- 5x01 and 5x03 in particular.
Genre: Gen/Crossover (The West Wing)
Characters: Hotch, Sam Seaborn
Pairing: None
Note: a)Another ficlet originally written and posted for the CM Gen Comment Fic/Drabblethon, hosted by the lovely and talented melliyna .
b) Well after "Tomorrow" in TWW-verse, Sam is still DCOS; this is set somewhere between "Reckoner" and "Cradle to Grave" in the CM'verse
c) Internet Cookies to melliyna for giving me a chance to write two of my all-time teevee boyfriends in one fic.
Prompt: ""Hotch and Sam Seaborn are old friends from law school who met up occasionally for a drink. Discuss."
Summary: Hotch isn't doing great, but he's doing his best. And his old friend Sam knows better than to push.
*******************
Sam looked down at his scotch and soda. And then up at the incredibly kitschy clock on the wall behind Garrett's main bar. It was an Audobon clock, with all the birds, but its design scheme seemed to be dated circa 1965.
Sam had begged, cajoled, pleaded with Rich the bartender to take it down; even tried to bribe toward its removal, violating what he was certain were several federal laws. All attempts had failed, and there it remained hanging, like a gym sock on a shower rod.
A jingle near the door roused Sam from his reverie. He looked over at the man entering the door, and then looked the other way to motion for Rich.
"Rich? Can I get a Jim Beam, neat?"
"Sure thing, Mr. Seaborn."
Sam sighed. He had tried, again to no avail, to get Rich to start calling him Sam again. But something in Rich's nature rebelled against calling anybody with any bit of "Chief of Staff" and "White House" in their title by a first name. Josh had warned him, but Sam had thought he was joking.
He turned, and almost jumped to see 6-feet of tall dark FBI agent standing behind him.
"You really do that way too well, Hotch."
"Just part of the job."
"Yeah, but you weren't nearly as good at it in law school. I think you practice in your off hours."
"Only to see that look on your face." Hotch almost smiled. He grabbed the glass, and sat down on the stool next to Sam.
Silence fell. Awkwardly. Some things had to be said.
"Hotch, I'm...I'm really sorry that I haven't called in so long."
"You were in California, you had your own life."
"Nah, but since I've moved back here..."
Now Hotch really did smile. "What, using your copious free time? From what I hear, you have even less than I do."
"I was sorry to hear about your divorce. You and Haley were such a great couple."
Hotch stared into his drink, in a way that (to those who didn't know Aaron Hotchner) might just have been called morose.
"And then we...weren't, any more."
There wasn't really much to say to that. So for a while, the two men just nursed their drinks, until, finally, Sam got up the courage to speak.
"Aaron. Are you doing okay?"
"You mean, in general?"
"I mean, since...I read the file. And well, obviously, I hear stuff."
Damn Hotch's talent. Because when he returned Sam's gaze, it was obvious that the profiler had immediately guessed his meaning, and a lot more. And was not at all happy about it.
"David Rossi has a big mouth."
"Hotch, please, do not blame Dave on this. I came to him. And believe me, once I can find the money ..."
Hotch stared at the condensation on the formica surface, and raised his hand. "Sam, please. I'm really doing just fine. It's not easy, but I'm doing my best. So please, let's just drop it?"
He looked up, and what Sam saw in Hotch's eyes broke his heart. He had seen that look in Josh's eyes, nearly a decade ago now. It was going to get worse before it got better. But he also knew that pushing was going to be the opposite of helpful.
"All right." He couldn't stop himself from patting Hotch on the shoulder. But Hotch didn't seem to mind.
"Thank you, Sam."
So both of them sat there, and stared at the ugly birds on the Audobon clock.
*fin*
Rating: FRC
Spoilers: Up to S7 for The West Wing; Season 5 for CM- 5x01 and 5x03 in particular.
Genre: Gen/Crossover (The West Wing)
Characters: Hotch, Sam Seaborn
Pairing: None
Note: a)Another ficlet originally written and posted for the CM Gen Comment Fic/Drabblethon, hosted by the lovely and talented melliyna .
b) Well after "Tomorrow" in TWW-verse, Sam is still DCOS; this is set somewhere between "Reckoner" and "Cradle to Grave" in the CM'verse
c) Internet Cookies to melliyna for giving me a chance to write two of my all-time teevee boyfriends in one fic.
Prompt: ""Hotch and Sam Seaborn are old friends from law school who met up occasionally for a drink. Discuss."
Summary: Hotch isn't doing great, but he's doing his best. And his old friend Sam knows better than to push.
*******************
Sam looked down at his scotch and soda. And then up at the incredibly kitschy clock on the wall behind Garrett's main bar. It was an Audobon clock, with all the birds, but its design scheme seemed to be dated circa 1965.
Sam had begged, cajoled, pleaded with Rich the bartender to take it down; even tried to bribe toward its removal, violating what he was certain were several federal laws. All attempts had failed, and there it remained hanging, like a gym sock on a shower rod.
A jingle near the door roused Sam from his reverie. He looked over at the man entering the door, and then looked the other way to motion for Rich.
"Rich? Can I get a Jim Beam, neat?"
"Sure thing, Mr. Seaborn."
Sam sighed. He had tried, again to no avail, to get Rich to start calling him Sam again. But something in Rich's nature rebelled against calling anybody with any bit of "Chief of Staff" and "White House" in their title by a first name. Josh had warned him, but Sam had thought he was joking.
He turned, and almost jumped to see 6-feet of tall dark FBI agent standing behind him.
"You really do that way too well, Hotch."
"Just part of the job."
"Yeah, but you weren't nearly as good at it in law school. I think you practice in your off hours."
"Only to see that look on your face." Hotch almost smiled. He grabbed the glass, and sat down on the stool next to Sam.
Silence fell. Awkwardly. Some things had to be said.
"Hotch, I'm...I'm really sorry that I haven't called in so long."
"You were in California, you had your own life."
"Nah, but since I've moved back here..."
Now Hotch really did smile. "What, using your copious free time? From what I hear, you have even less than I do."
"I was sorry to hear about your divorce. You and Haley were such a great couple."
Hotch stared into his drink, in a way that (to those who didn't know Aaron Hotchner) might just have been called morose.
"And then we...weren't, any more."
There wasn't really much to say to that. So for a while, the two men just nursed their drinks, until, finally, Sam got up the courage to speak.
"Aaron. Are you doing okay?"
"You mean, in general?"
"I mean, since...I read the file. And well, obviously, I hear stuff."
Damn Hotch's talent. Because when he returned Sam's gaze, it was obvious that the profiler had immediately guessed his meaning, and a lot more. And was not at all happy about it.
"David Rossi has a big mouth."
"Hotch, please, do not blame Dave on this. I came to him. And believe me, once I can find the money ..."
Hotch stared at the condensation on the formica surface, and raised his hand. "Sam, please. I'm really doing just fine. It's not easy, but I'm doing my best. So please, let's just drop it?"
He looked up, and what Sam saw in Hotch's eyes broke his heart. He had seen that look in Josh's eyes, nearly a decade ago now. It was going to get worse before it got better. But he also knew that pushing was going to be the opposite of helpful.
"All right." He couldn't stop himself from patting Hotch on the shoulder. But Hotch didn't seem to mind.
"Thank you, Sam."
So both of them sat there, and stared at the ugly birds on the Audobon clock.
*fin*