FIC::West Wing::left and right (because our hands fit together so nice) Sam/Ainsley; PG-13
I basically just wanted to write a little more tonight.
Title: left and right (because our hands fit together so nice)
Author: hyacinthian
Rating: PG-13
Author's Note: I wrote this because I needed to write? Unbetaed, so sorry if their voices sound off. Inspired by how effing cold it was tonight and how I imagine New England winters are going to be.
Summary: Sam proposes. SamAinsley.
She wraps her coat tighter around her, shivering as she does so. "You're crazy," she complains. "Y'all are nuts."
"Y'all?" he repeats, with a quirked eyebrow.
"Sam, it is eighteen degrees out. Eighteen. Which is really, like, nine with wind chill. It's cold."
"That has nothing to do with your Southern colloquialism there."
"Thank you for catching my slip-up," she replies with an eye roll. "What are we doing here?"
"It's pretty here."
"This is New England. This is Boston. Massachusetts. It's January. We couldn't have picked a better time to come? Like, say, August?"
"Ainsley."
"Samuel Norman." She pauses, smiles. "You see what I did there?"
"Didn't you go to Harvard?"
"Yes, I did. But I made a point to move down to Washington DC after I graduated. Which is nestled warmly between states and does not get twelve thousand feet of snow a winter."
"Now that's just--"
"The least you can do if you're going to try and freeze me to death is feed me."
"Oh, right. Chowder?"
"You know what we have in North Carolina?" They march through the snow, which rests up to their ankles. "We have pie. And beaches. And warm weather."
"You're really not holding back the bitterness tonight, are you?"
"I will be better once you feed me." They enter the restaurant, seating themselves. After they order, she kicks her ankles back and forth playfully like a bored child. "Did you watch the debates, Sam?"
"No," he rattles off. "Because I don't work for the President."
"Someone gets sarcastic when they're hungry."
"Ah, but see, there's your faulty Republican logic at work. I'm not hungry."
"Well, I'm hungry."
"I think that's what psychologists call projecting."
"Because one of the courses you take in law school teaches you how to psychoanalyze people. Weren't we busy." She dips a piece of bread in olive oil. "In addition to the work we did as secretary of the Gilbert and Sullivan society."
His lips quirk into a smile. "What have you been doing?"
"Well, with all the extra time on my hands after taking the White House Associate Counsel position, I've decided to take a swing dance class and perhaps take up baton twirling again."
"It's good to have goals."
"I think so."
When their food arrives, they eat in relative silence. Ainsley devours her food like she's been starving, leaving barely any time to take a breath or utter a word. Sam tries to stifle his laughter and just tries to eat without choking. All in all, she asks for the dessert menu just as he starts his entree. "You're quick," he says around a mouthful of pasta.
"In my family, you eat fast or you don't eat at all."
"Did you grow up with bears?"
"What?"
"I'm just saying--you ate pretty quickly."
"And bears eat quickly?" She furrows her brow. "I'm sorry, were you a studier of bears?"
"An ursologist? No, but they are pretty majestic creatures."
"I--I am stunned you know that term."
"Then again, not all of us can aspire to a career so renowned as baton twirling." She orders the cheesecake, he doesn't get dessert. She gasps. "Sam!"
"What?"
"Sam, you profane defamer of restaurateurs."
"What?"
"How can you not order dessert? Dessert is the best part of the meal."
"Ainsley, what are you--see, maybe this is why I don't take you out."
"Why? Because I'm generally delightful and knowledgeable in many conversation topics?"
"You just yelled at me for not ordering dessert. In my field, we call that hostility."
"I'm not being hostile."
"Right. Yelling at Democrats about not ordering dessert really falls under the umbrella of bipartisanship."
"Sam, I don't think dessert falls under politics. And if it did, we would probably yell at you for ordering dessert in the first place as a misuse of government spending."
"I'm glad we cleared that up."
Her dessert arrives, a big slice of cheesecake with raspberry sauce drizzled on top in the shape of a heart. She wrinkles her brow. "Did the waitress do that? Because that's not how it looked in the picture, and if so, I just--I mean, that's just awkward."
He laughs and shifts in his seat. The box feels heavy against his leg. She eats her cheesecake slowly, savoring each bite, oblivious to his heightening anxiety. When she finishes, he exhales loudly. "Ainsley."
"Mmhmm?"
He puts the box on the table. "Ainsley Hayes," he whispers. "You are crazy and Republican and consume more food than I ever thought would be possible by a human being. But you are also beautiful and intelligent and...mine. Will you...marry me?" The hinge on the box creaks.
"Yes." His face lights up in a grin. She leans over the table and kisses him, tasting of cheesecake and tartness. He takes the ring from the box, slides it onto her finger. "Come on."
"What?"
"Let's get out of here."
He smiles. "Okay."
"But let it be known that you now contractually owe me cheesecake on a regular basis." She takes his hand. It snows as they walk out.
Title: left and right (because our hands fit together so nice)
Author: hyacinthian
Rating: PG-13
Author's Note: I wrote this because I needed to write? Unbetaed, so sorry if their voices sound off. Inspired by how effing cold it was tonight and how I imagine New England winters are going to be.
Summary: Sam proposes. SamAinsley.
She wraps her coat tighter around her, shivering as she does so. "You're crazy," she complains. "Y'all are nuts."
"Y'all?" he repeats, with a quirked eyebrow.
"Sam, it is eighteen degrees out. Eighteen. Which is really, like, nine with wind chill. It's cold."
"That has nothing to do with your Southern colloquialism there."
"Thank you for catching my slip-up," she replies with an eye roll. "What are we doing here?"
"It's pretty here."
"This is New England. This is Boston. Massachusetts. It's January. We couldn't have picked a better time to come? Like, say, August?"
"Ainsley."
"Samuel Norman." She pauses, smiles. "You see what I did there?"
"Didn't you go to Harvard?"
"Yes, I did. But I made a point to move down to Washington DC after I graduated. Which is nestled warmly between states and does not get twelve thousand feet of snow a winter."
"Now that's just--"
"The least you can do if you're going to try and freeze me to death is feed me."
"Oh, right. Chowder?"
"You know what we have in North Carolina?" They march through the snow, which rests up to their ankles. "We have pie. And beaches. And warm weather."
"You're really not holding back the bitterness tonight, are you?"
"I will be better once you feed me." They enter the restaurant, seating themselves. After they order, she kicks her ankles back and forth playfully like a bored child. "Did you watch the debates, Sam?"
"No," he rattles off. "Because I don't work for the President."
"Someone gets sarcastic when they're hungry."
"Ah, but see, there's your faulty Republican logic at work. I'm not hungry."
"Well, I'm hungry."
"I think that's what psychologists call projecting."
"Because one of the courses you take in law school teaches you how to psychoanalyze people. Weren't we busy." She dips a piece of bread in olive oil. "In addition to the work we did as secretary of the Gilbert and Sullivan society."
His lips quirk into a smile. "What have you been doing?"
"Well, with all the extra time on my hands after taking the White House Associate Counsel position, I've decided to take a swing dance class and perhaps take up baton twirling again."
"It's good to have goals."
"I think so."
When their food arrives, they eat in relative silence. Ainsley devours her food like she's been starving, leaving barely any time to take a breath or utter a word. Sam tries to stifle his laughter and just tries to eat without choking. All in all, she asks for the dessert menu just as he starts his entree. "You're quick," he says around a mouthful of pasta.
"In my family, you eat fast or you don't eat at all."
"Did you grow up with bears?"
"What?"
"I'm just saying--you ate pretty quickly."
"And bears eat quickly?" She furrows her brow. "I'm sorry, were you a studier of bears?"
"An ursologist? No, but they are pretty majestic creatures."
"I--I am stunned you know that term."
"Then again, not all of us can aspire to a career so renowned as baton twirling." She orders the cheesecake, he doesn't get dessert. She gasps. "Sam!"
"What?"
"Sam, you profane defamer of restaurateurs."
"What?"
"How can you not order dessert? Dessert is the best part of the meal."
"Ainsley, what are you--see, maybe this is why I don't take you out."
"Why? Because I'm generally delightful and knowledgeable in many conversation topics?"
"You just yelled at me for not ordering dessert. In my field, we call that hostility."
"I'm not being hostile."
"Right. Yelling at Democrats about not ordering dessert really falls under the umbrella of bipartisanship."
"Sam, I don't think dessert falls under politics. And if it did, we would probably yell at you for ordering dessert in the first place as a misuse of government spending."
"I'm glad we cleared that up."
Her dessert arrives, a big slice of cheesecake with raspberry sauce drizzled on top in the shape of a heart. She wrinkles her brow. "Did the waitress do that? Because that's not how it looked in the picture, and if so, I just--I mean, that's just awkward."
He laughs and shifts in his seat. The box feels heavy against his leg. She eats her cheesecake slowly, savoring each bite, oblivious to his heightening anxiety. When she finishes, he exhales loudly. "Ainsley."
"Mmhmm?"
He puts the box on the table. "Ainsley Hayes," he whispers. "You are crazy and Republican and consume more food than I ever thought would be possible by a human being. But you are also beautiful and intelligent and...mine. Will you...marry me?" The hinge on the box creaks.
"Yes." His face lights up in a grin. She leans over the table and kisses him, tasting of cheesecake and tartness. He takes the ring from the box, slides it onto her finger. "Come on."
"What?"
"Let's get out of here."
He smiles. "Okay."
"But let it be known that you now contractually owe me cheesecake on a regular basis." She takes his hand. It snows as they walk out.