FF: Necessary
Title: Necessary
Author: little zigzags
Rating: PG13
Pairing: J/D
Disclaimer: No money from these beauties.
Summary: All she can see is him, late at night when she finds him in his office, tie abandoned, shirt undone a little and his sleeves rolled up, hair askew and grinning his saucy grin, and really, who else could there possibly be.
A/N: Just a short piece of fluff. Comments are delightful, delicious, de-lovely.
“Make yourself necessary to someone.”
-Ralph Waldo Emerson
She thought he’d give her shit about how big her office is, but to her amazement he picks her up and twirls her, laughing and whispering a soft congratulations in her ear.
Then he gives her shit about it.
***
She realizes suddenly, after nearly a decade of knowing him, why he loves CJ.
Sure, there’s her wit and her snorty laugh and her fierce, amazonian heart, but watching them dance at the inaugural ball, him laughing up at her as he spins her deftly she’s amazed that she’s only realizing it now; how they look like the worn and grainy picture he has on his bedside table, him small and dimpled and grinning up at a gangly young girl in much the same way.
After all these years, she realizes that CJ reminds him of his sister.
***
In Hawaii, she had watched curiously as he scanned the ground as they hiked a rather impressive volcanic site. She had thought he was bored, but when he places the one perfect igneous stone on Leo’s grave a week later, she realizes the truth of it.
***
When people find out about that the two of them are finally together, she finds her voicemail suddenly full to the gills with worried phone calls. Toby, CJ, Will, even Abby Bartlet, all of them want to make sure she’s okay, and you know, they’re happy for her, but has she recently hit her head on something?
He feels like he should be getting at least one call of congratulations, but the closest he gets is an uncharacteristically menacing clap on the back from Sam.
***
Her mother nags her about things like age differences and workaholic tendencies and really, that Sam Seaborn is such a handsome young man, but all she can see is him, late at night when she finds him in his office, tie abandoned, shirt undone a little and his sleeves rolled up, hair askew and grinning his saucy grin, and really, who else could there possibly be.
***
She’s startled at how much she didn’t know about him.
Sure, she knows his shoe size and his social security number and how to spot the many and minute signs of PTSD, but she’s moved in with him and is amazed by the person that unfolds in front of her. He stubs his toes at least twice a day walking barefoot around their apartment. He likes the smell of the morning paper. He snores. Despite his general cluelessness concerning women, she’s pleased to discover that he’s really, really good in bed. Sometimes, when she finds him working in front of the TV late at night she catches him watching something totally embarrassing, like Baywatch, or The Bridges of Madison County, or cartoons. She’s always known him to be loud; he’s talkative and he yells and he munches on things rather than chews them, but when they fight he’s quiet, devastating and clear and most of the time, it makes her want to cry.
***
She’s surprised to realize that despite his ridiculous ego, he’s self-conscious about his scars. It takes some cajoling to get him to walk around without a shirt on, something she accomplishes by threatening to never walk around with bare legs again, and also by letting him know how much she likes it.
***
She thought he might be overbearing to have sex with; loud, kinky, insatiable. Well, sometimes they are all those things, but mostly she’s surprised that even after some time has passed they are so tender with each other, still amazed that they are allowed to touch.
***
He secretly loves that she shops for him. Suits, ties pajamas… for the first time in his life he’s well dressed down to his underwear, and he doesn’t mind in the slightest.
He returns the favor by earmarking a few pages in a Victoria Secret catalogue he thinks she’d like, at which point she thanks him for being so selfless and whacks him with said pages.
***
Despite the fact that up until this point she considered him to be generally inept at well, life, she’s pleasantly surprised when he turns out to be a generally functioning human being. He cleans his bathroom. He does dishes, most of the time. He’s a better cook than she is, makes pasta sauce and fried eggs and surprises her one day with the best chicken marsala she’s ever had.
He still eats sugar cereal in the morning, and just when she thinks she’s converted him with her lectures and bans and good-natured yelling, she finds his stash, rogue boxes of Apple Jacks and Cocoa Puffs and Count Chocula hidden in the back of a cabinet behind some cleaning supplies; at which she merely shakes her head and closes the door. She guesses it could be worse.
***
She drags him to Wisconsin and picks fights with him over nothing the entire time. Still, he charms over her entire family and rubs her knee on the plane ride home.
***
He boasts insufferably to her about his fan club, which has only multiplied since he became Chief of Staff. This is until he discovers her fan club, which has four times the people, all of whom he offers to go at with a crow bar.
***
He cheats at crosswords. She, however, is excellent at them.
***
She thought he would have learned his lesson from their week in Hawaii, but it’s Sam who has to kick them out of the White House again, two years into the administration.
This time she takes him to Venice, and its worth it to watch him gape at her as she converses fluently with the locals, later asking her cheekily if she’ll speak Italian to him in bed, because really, it’s the sexiest thing he’s ever heard.
***
She can’t figure out what he’s up to when stopped in Manchester for the New Hampshire primary, he drags her into a stationary store and begins looking around, pacing the floor and mumbling to himself. She thinks the pressure of re-election may just have caused him to lose it for good when he gets down on one knee beside a rack of glue-sticks and she realizes that give or take a few feet, they are exactly where they were when they met.
***
She thinks that they might be developing some sort of unhealthy fetish when she realizes how much he really, really likes having sex with her in hotel rooms.
He drags her off to them for nice weekends away, grinning devilishly and citing ‘nostalgia’ and ‘for old time’s sake,’ but she thinks that he just likes not having to make the bed in the morning, and really she can find better things with which to be bothered.
***
She’s shocked when she enters his office one day to find him pacing his office, a baby tucked in one arm and a memo in the other. She guesses she thought he would hold a child in the generally dumbfounded way that he does everything remotely domestic: held out in front of him like an imminently exploding grenade; awkwardly tucked under his arm. But he’s holding Margaret’s second child like he’s been doing it every day of his life, pausing a little to grin down and make oogly eyes.
She’s got Thai take-out and some memos for a quick lunch, but is transfixed by him, and when he looks up at her and smiles softly she forgets the quip she was going to make about some other family he’s been hiding from her, and just watches.
***
When he actually does hold his daughter, it’s minutes after she’s born and he’s still in the scrubs they gave him. He’s tired and joyous and his hand hurts from her crushing it but he thinks he just might be holding it together until she looks up from the bed and mumbles ‘nice hat’ at him, exhausted and unthinking. Her wide blue eyes fly open as his face crumples, thinking about all the possibilities he’s had for a crappy, stagnant life, and how unbelievably glad he is that they’ve gotten here.
***
He still gets her flowers every April; she still gives him crap about it.
Author: little zigzags
Rating: PG13
Pairing: J/D
Disclaimer: No money from these beauties.
Summary: All she can see is him, late at night when she finds him in his office, tie abandoned, shirt undone a little and his sleeves rolled up, hair askew and grinning his saucy grin, and really, who else could there possibly be.
A/N: Just a short piece of fluff. Comments are delightful, delicious, de-lovely.
“Make yourself necessary to someone.”
-Ralph Waldo Emerson
She thought he’d give her shit about how big her office is, but to her amazement he picks her up and twirls her, laughing and whispering a soft congratulations in her ear.
Then he gives her shit about it.
***
She realizes suddenly, after nearly a decade of knowing him, why he loves CJ.
Sure, there’s her wit and her snorty laugh and her fierce, amazonian heart, but watching them dance at the inaugural ball, him laughing up at her as he spins her deftly she’s amazed that she’s only realizing it now; how they look like the worn and grainy picture he has on his bedside table, him small and dimpled and grinning up at a gangly young girl in much the same way.
After all these years, she realizes that CJ reminds him of his sister.
***
In Hawaii, she had watched curiously as he scanned the ground as they hiked a rather impressive volcanic site. She had thought he was bored, but when he places the one perfect igneous stone on Leo’s grave a week later, she realizes the truth of it.
***
When people find out about that the two of them are finally together, she finds her voicemail suddenly full to the gills with worried phone calls. Toby, CJ, Will, even Abby Bartlet, all of them want to make sure she’s okay, and you know, they’re happy for her, but has she recently hit her head on something?
He feels like he should be getting at least one call of congratulations, but the closest he gets is an uncharacteristically menacing clap on the back from Sam.
***
Her mother nags her about things like age differences and workaholic tendencies and really, that Sam Seaborn is such a handsome young man, but all she can see is him, late at night when she finds him in his office, tie abandoned, shirt undone a little and his sleeves rolled up, hair askew and grinning his saucy grin, and really, who else could there possibly be.
***
She’s startled at how much she didn’t know about him.
Sure, she knows his shoe size and his social security number and how to spot the many and minute signs of PTSD, but she’s moved in with him and is amazed by the person that unfolds in front of her. He stubs his toes at least twice a day walking barefoot around their apartment. He likes the smell of the morning paper. He snores. Despite his general cluelessness concerning women, she’s pleased to discover that he’s really, really good in bed. Sometimes, when she finds him working in front of the TV late at night she catches him watching something totally embarrassing, like Baywatch, or The Bridges of Madison County, or cartoons. She’s always known him to be loud; he’s talkative and he yells and he munches on things rather than chews them, but when they fight he’s quiet, devastating and clear and most of the time, it makes her want to cry.
***
She’s surprised to realize that despite his ridiculous ego, he’s self-conscious about his scars. It takes some cajoling to get him to walk around without a shirt on, something she accomplishes by threatening to never walk around with bare legs again, and also by letting him know how much she likes it.
***
She thought he might be overbearing to have sex with; loud, kinky, insatiable. Well, sometimes they are all those things, but mostly she’s surprised that even after some time has passed they are so tender with each other, still amazed that they are allowed to touch.
***
He secretly loves that she shops for him. Suits, ties pajamas… for the first time in his life he’s well dressed down to his underwear, and he doesn’t mind in the slightest.
He returns the favor by earmarking a few pages in a Victoria Secret catalogue he thinks she’d like, at which point she thanks him for being so selfless and whacks him with said pages.
***
Despite the fact that up until this point she considered him to be generally inept at well, life, she’s pleasantly surprised when he turns out to be a generally functioning human being. He cleans his bathroom. He does dishes, most of the time. He’s a better cook than she is, makes pasta sauce and fried eggs and surprises her one day with the best chicken marsala she’s ever had.
He still eats sugar cereal in the morning, and just when she thinks she’s converted him with her lectures and bans and good-natured yelling, she finds his stash, rogue boxes of Apple Jacks and Cocoa Puffs and Count Chocula hidden in the back of a cabinet behind some cleaning supplies; at which she merely shakes her head and closes the door. She guesses it could be worse.
***
She drags him to Wisconsin and picks fights with him over nothing the entire time. Still, he charms over her entire family and rubs her knee on the plane ride home.
***
He boasts insufferably to her about his fan club, which has only multiplied since he became Chief of Staff. This is until he discovers her fan club, which has four times the people, all of whom he offers to go at with a crow bar.
***
He cheats at crosswords. She, however, is excellent at them.
***
She thought he would have learned his lesson from their week in Hawaii, but it’s Sam who has to kick them out of the White House again, two years into the administration.
This time she takes him to Venice, and its worth it to watch him gape at her as she converses fluently with the locals, later asking her cheekily if she’ll speak Italian to him in bed, because really, it’s the sexiest thing he’s ever heard.
***
She can’t figure out what he’s up to when stopped in Manchester for the New Hampshire primary, he drags her into a stationary store and begins looking around, pacing the floor and mumbling to himself. She thinks the pressure of re-election may just have caused him to lose it for good when he gets down on one knee beside a rack of glue-sticks and she realizes that give or take a few feet, they are exactly where they were when they met.
***
She thinks that they might be developing some sort of unhealthy fetish when she realizes how much he really, really likes having sex with her in hotel rooms.
He drags her off to them for nice weekends away, grinning devilishly and citing ‘nostalgia’ and ‘for old time’s sake,’ but she thinks that he just likes not having to make the bed in the morning, and really she can find better things with which to be bothered.
***
She’s shocked when she enters his office one day to find him pacing his office, a baby tucked in one arm and a memo in the other. She guesses she thought he would hold a child in the generally dumbfounded way that he does everything remotely domestic: held out in front of him like an imminently exploding grenade; awkwardly tucked under his arm. But he’s holding Margaret’s second child like he’s been doing it every day of his life, pausing a little to grin down and make oogly eyes.
She’s got Thai take-out and some memos for a quick lunch, but is transfixed by him, and when he looks up at her and smiles softly she forgets the quip she was going to make about some other family he’s been hiding from her, and just watches.
***
When he actually does hold his daughter, it’s minutes after she’s born and he’s still in the scrubs they gave him. He’s tired and joyous and his hand hurts from her crushing it but he thinks he just might be holding it together until she looks up from the bed and mumbles ‘nice hat’ at him, exhausted and unthinking. Her wide blue eyes fly open as his face crumples, thinking about all the possibilities he’s had for a crappy, stagnant life, and how unbelievably glad he is that they’ve gotten here.
***
He still gets her flowers every April; she still gives him crap about it.