fic: reaching enlightenment
Title: Reaching Enlightenment
Author: Lindsay (nylana)
Beta: Mary (stillxmyxheart)
Rating: G
Genre: Character Study, Angst, Friendship
Word Count: 7,667
Characters/Pairings: Sam, April, Nathan
Summary: They were not always friends.
A/N: This has been in my head a while. I always knew how the relationship/friendship between Sam and April evolved and it's time some of it came out. It should be said that while I ship them romantically, I also ship them as friends and this fic is definitely in the latter of the two categories. This is not intended to be anything other than how they finally stopped being "enemies" and started on the road to being friends. Enjoy!
It seems everywhere there is a puddle, cold and muddy, swirled with grease and oil. They spill out of the potholes in the street and the missing sections of pavement, sending splatters of muck in all directions with every step and squelching tire. The traffic light changes, only one of the two lit and beaming red into the fading daylight, another small sign that the city of London, though alive, is still a long way from recovered.
Sam steps off the curb, frowning as the cuff of his trousers dips into the trickle of water flowing in the rut along the street. April follows after him, the click of her heels sharp and crisp as she hurries to keep up with his long strides. Beside him a Secret Service agent struggles to cover them with a single black umbrella. It’s mostly unnecessary though; the steady rain that fell most of the day has dwindled to an annoying sprinkle and it’s just one more item on the list of things he hates about this trip.
The first thing being that he was sent here with April.
It’s not that he dislikes her exactly. He has to admit that his original opinion of her, that she wouldn’t last a month, was grossly inaccurate. She’s done very well in the year she’s worked for the administration, and she’s been speaking up more frequently, making her opinion heard. Sometimes she’s a little tentative and he still thinks they would be better served by someone with more experience, but Harrison and Nathan are firm in their decision and he’s reluctantly accepted it.
In the year they’ve worked together, they’ve never traveled further than New York, which was just a day trip, never anywhere overnight. The entire situation unnerves him, and he can’t help but think about the huge disparities between them. It’s not just the age gap, though that’s plenty in and of itself; it’s that they seem to have little in common. They can only talk shop so much before they run out of new things to say.
To make matters worse, he’s home, though London hasn’t felt like home in decades, not since he lost everyone that mattered. Everything about this visit makes him feel awkward and uncomfortable, dredging up old things he thought were over, memories he thought he’d buried. It’s hard to face the fact that they are all still so close to the surface.
April stumbles stepping up the curb on the other side of the street and frowns at Sam’s back, wishing she had worn different shoes. She would call out for him to slow down but he would probably ignore her. He seems intent on leaving her scrambling along behind him. He was out of sorts when they got on the plane late last night and his mood has only declined since. She originally chalked it up to the late hour, but after a whole day of feeling like he’s trying to leave her behind, she’s left wondering what she did to piss him off.
It’s been the nature of their relationship since day one, always a bit antagonistic and at odds. He thinks she’s too young and too inexperienced, never mind that she’s had the job for just over a year, and she thinks he’s too stubborn and too rigid, and yeah, maybe too old too. Sure she didn’t have a clue when she started, but she’s a fast learner and she feels like she’s done quite well. Harrison and Nathan would agree, she knows, but Sam remains on the outside, critical at every turn. It’s not as if she needs everyone to like her, but it’d be nice if the people she spent nearly every waking hour of her life with did.
The hotel lobby is busy with staff and guests moving to and fro in spite of the presence of numerous agents blocking doorways and securing the bank of elevators. There is a group of business men scattered amongst the chairs and couches, their idle conversation dying down as the entourage enters through the revolving doors. The manager, a high strung young man with dark wavy hair, stops them almost immediately, apologizing profusely over a problem with their rooms.
There is only one.
April fights the urge to bury her face in her hands as Sam scowls. The manager explains further that they’ve been moved to the larger two room executive suite, which sounds fine to April, but Sam’s face darkens. Before he can say anything, April steps between him and the manager, hastily assuring the nervous man it will be fine. She accepts the two room keys and heads towards the elevators, leaving Sam to follow her for a change.
The ride to the top floor of suites is dreadfully tense.
She can feel the annoyance radiating off him, and keeps her eyes on the numbers above the door, willing them to turn on and off faster. She just wants this ride to be over so she can shut herself in her room for the night, and pretend she’s not spending the next three days sharing space with someone who so obviously doesn’t like her.
The suite, April finds, is bigger than her entire apartment, comprised of two large bedrooms each with its own ensuite bathroom and desk. In the middle is a common room with a sitting area and a table that can be used for dining or working. Two large French doors open to a balcony overlooking the courtyard and beyond it the shimmery lights of the city.
She’s just settling into her room, rummaging through her suitcase for her toiletry bag, when there is a knock on the door.
“It’s open, sir,” she calls out.
He pushes gently on the door, finding that it’s not shut all the way, and steps into the doorway, hands crossed behind his back. “It seems our overly anxious concierge has made dinner reservations for us.”
She looks over at him and raises an eyebrow. “That so?”
He hums an affirmative. “It’s just downstairs in the hotel restaurant, so no need to go back out in rain. And it’s complimentary, of course.”
He rolls his eyes a bit at the last part and April turns back to her luggage. “Probably feels bad that we’ve been forced into such paltry living conditions.”
Sam smiles a little but it’s gone by the time April looks up again. He spies the hair dryer in one hand and a zippered cosmetic bag in the other and raises his eyebrows. “Do you need longer than an hour before dinner?”
April frowns and then realizes what she’s holding. “Oh, I’m just unpacking a little,” she says with a small shrug. “An hour is fine, sir, thank you.”
Sam nods curtly and leaves, and April sighs. Then she turns and walks to the bathroom to freshen up.
April spins her glass by the slender stem, watching the red wine swirl up the sides, and pokes at her salad, not feeling the least bit hungry. Across from her sits Sam, eating quietly and carefully.
“So tomorrow is Parliament right?” she asks, tentatively trying to start conversation. “And the Department of Defense?”
“Ministry,” he corrects. Then he lifts his wine glass and takes a sip.
She winces. “Right, sorry.”
He shrugs and sets his fork down, leaning back in his chair. “Different words, same meaning.”
April sighs and leans forward, her forearms resting on the table. She’d done a lot of reading up on the current situation in the UK before this trip and she sought out Nathan’s opinion on a number of things, but she’s never heard Sam talk about it. He lived here just as long as Nathan, lived through the war even, and never talks about anything outside of what is work related, no stories or memories from childhood, no reminiscing about university days.
It surprises her sometimes how little she knows about Sam Shipton. She’s read the customary files and picked up bits and pieces from their day to day interactions and a little extra from Nathan and Harrison, but the man still remains something of a mystery.
Their meals arrive and they eat in relative silence, neither sure of how to start any sort of real conversation. She has so many questions but she’s afraid to ask them. There has to be a reason why he doesn’t share anything about himself, though she knows she isn’t really one to talk. There’s plenty in her own past that’s uncomfortable to speak of and that she doesn’t care to relive for anyone.
Sam’s cell phone rings and he frowns at the display but answers it. Then he stands, excuses himself and moves a few tables away, to a darkened corner of the restaurant. She turns in her chair and watches him as he talks, standing there in his crisp dress shirt and tie, one hand holding his mobile, and the other slid casually into his pocket. He doesn’t seem pleased with whatever he’s hearing.
Sam wanders back to the table a few minutes later, sighing heavily and dropping his phone unceremoniously into his jacket pocket.
“That was Nathan,” he explains, before she can ask the obvious question. “It seems our fearless leader has opened his mouth again.”
She stops with her wine glass halfway to her mouth and looks at him over the rim. “Oh?”
He hums in discontent and shakes out his napkin before laying it over his lap.
She sets her glass back down and asks, “About what?”
“Tomorrow’s vote on the labor union bill,” he replies, looking over the food in front of him.
April’s fork clatters to her plate and she gives Sam an annoyed look. “Seriously?”
Sam glances up cautiously, surprised at her tone of voice. “He’s only echoing what a lot of people already think. It’s not -”
“Oh, please,” she interrupts, dropping the formality she usually maintains with him and shooting a glare across the table. “Are there problems? Yes. There have been for over a century.”
He stabs a bite of chicken and stops with it halfway to his mouth, catching her icy stare. “And that’s what he’s trying to do. So many things have been overlooked because we have bigger things to fix.”
“I’m well aware of that,” she says. “There’re about forty memos to that effect on my desk and every briefing gets worse with questions about the little things - infrastructure and tax reform and education credits. I want to scream at them to shut up and realize we still have half a million displaced people living in temporary housing.”
He chews and nods, then says, “Those ‘little things’, as you call them, are overwhelming us. We can’t ignore them anymore. There are too many loopholes and the unscrupulous among us are taking advantage of more than just refugees.”
His voice is stern and she frowns. “So then close the loopholes, don’t vilify an entire construct because people want something to blame!”
“Oh, it’s hardly vilification!” he exclaims. Then he catches the wait staff and a few patrons staring at them and sighs in frustration. “We can’t ignore the fact that two high ranking union leaders were convicted of fraud two months ago. This is as much about protecting the workers as it is trying to fix a systemic problem.”
“Exactly!” she snaps, and then shoves a forkful of pasta into her mouth.
Several more moments of silence pass before he frowns and picks up his glass, wondering what they were even arguing about.
The rest of the meal passes with a casual discussion of their itinerary for tomorrow, but there’s still a tension between them that keeps their words careful and stilted. Eventually the waiter returns and collects their plates and they depart for the elevators and their top floor suite.
“So,” April starts, once the elevator doors have slid closed. “How much damage control am I going to have to do?”
Sam shrugs and stares up at the floor numbers. “Well, Nathan made it sound like the end of the world, but you know how he is.” He glances sideways at her and she nods, smiling.
Then she sighs. “I suppose I should call him and find out exactly what was said.”
The doors open and they exit to their floor, flanked by two agents.
April’s phone beeps and she looks down at it to see a text message from Nathan. “Speak of the devil,” she says, pressing a button to view the message.
Sam looks at her curiously, stopping at their room and fishing the keycard out of his inside jacket pocket. The lock clicks open and he enters, asking, “Which one?”
“Nathan,” she replies, following him inside. “The UN voted against the sanctions and embargo for the Russian Federation.”
He sighs. “Great, we just lost our only bargaining chip.”
She pulls a face and turns to him. “How is usurping the sovereignty of a nation an appropriate bargaining chip?”
“Oh, not this again.” He rolls eyes and then fixes her with a stern look. “We’ve been over this and -”
“Yeah, right,” she interrupts, hands on her hips, meeting his look with a glare of her own. “If by over this you mean you state your opinion, that’s the end of it and anything anyone else has to say on the matter is wrong.”
He frowns. “I never said your opinion was wrong, but this is how international relations work.”
She sighs and runs a hand through her hair. Somehow she knew he would miss the entire point. “It’s not about international relations. I have a master’s in international relations, thank you very much. It’s about you being stubborn and, a-and -”
She stutters as the frustration builds and before she can get it all out he’s interrupting her with equal annoyance.
“Right, I’m the stubborn one,” he says, turning away from her and walking towards the French doors.
“You are!” she insists, stalking after him. “You’re always - you’re so - set in your ways, and you refuse to see any other side.”
His eyes go wide as he turns back to her. “Set in my ways?” She folds her arms over her chest and stares back at him. “Are you sure the word you’re looking for isn’t old?”
His eyes are hard as he looms over her but she just smirks. “If the shoe fits.”
He scowls and for a second she’s almost intimidated. Except she’s not that girl anymore who stood in awe of him at her first Cabinet meeting, who sat silently while everyone around her talked and she feverishly scribbled notes, too afraid of missing something important to realize that the discussion was important, not what was said. So she spins away from him and starts heading towards her room.
“So immature,” she mutters under breath.
He wants to laugh at the absurdity of her words but instead he glares and marches after her. “A statement like that might make one question your maturity, Miss Newcastle.”
She stops with her hand on the doorknob as soon as he says her name. Her fingers twist over the metal, knuckles turning white, trying to reign in her temper. But she feels like if she walks away from this fight nothing will change and in the morning they will fall back into the same pattern of pushing and pulling.
He huffs and then turns and starts to walk away, muttering, “Makes a person wonder how you got this job.”
Somewhere inside her something snaps and she whirls on him, stalking across the room, her heels clicking angrily against the white marble tile.
“Look, sir,” April says, practically spitting the title out at him. He turns back around instantly, his eyes wide in surprise. “I’ve never been handed anything in my life. My parents couldn’t have given less of a fuck about me, so everything I am, everything I have, I earned.”
Sam opens his mouth to speak, wanting to take back what he said as soon as it left his mouth, but the look in her eyes is fiery and despite her petite size the picture she presents is formidable. He finds himself taking a step backwards as she moves towards him again.
“You think I’m too young, too inexperienced, too stupid, whatever, I don’t care. If I haven’t proven otherwise to you in the last thirteen months and fifteen days then I never will.”
She takes a breath and blinks, her eyes bright with unshed tears, but she refuses to let herself cry in front of him. He watches as she looks away and surreptitiously swipes at her cheek, silently hating himself for being such an old grumpy bastard.
Steeling herself she looks back at Sam and fixes him with a hard stare. “You don’t have to like me. But the one thing you will do is respect me.”
With that she spins on her heel and walks swiftly to her room, slamming the door behind her. He follows after her, a sick feeling swelling in his gut, but the sharp click of the deadbolt tells him the conversation is effectively over. With a heavy sigh, he ambles over to his own room and sits on the end of the bed, head bent and staring at the floor.
April slams the door shut and then sags against it, her breath coming in short gasps as the tears finally start to fall. She hears Sam’s footsteps move closer and then stop, and she presses a hand over her mouth to muffle her sobs. When he retreats she pushes off the door and moves into the room, pulling some tissues out of the box on the bedside table and dabbing at her eyes.
Her anger is still bubbling under the surface and his stinging words keep replaying over and over. She paces around the room, running her hand through her hair repeatedly, tugging at it and crushing the tissue in her other hand. She pivots by the dresser and stumbles, rolling her ankle a bit.
Hissing in pain, she pulls off her shoes and throws them rather roughly at her suitcase, not caring that one misses and bounces onto the floor.
She drops her cell phone on the table and turns, flopping on the bed and laying on her back to stare up at the ceiling. Sighing, she wipes a hand across her eyes and frowns at the smear of makeup and mascara on her palm. She hates that she let Sam get to her this way, that she cares about his opinion, that she wants his approval. It was only a couple of weeks ago she was sitting in Nathan’s kitchen lamenting about how the Vice President didn’t like her. Nathan had been reassuring, as always, telling her that Sam would come around, that he was stubborn and if he didn’t like her then it was his problem not hers.
She wishes Nathan was here now. She could really do with a hug.
She doesn’t know when or how it happened but he has taken her under his wing, mentored her and been there for her as a friend and as a sort of father figure. She’s never really had that and while it had been strange at first, she can’t imagine their relationship any other way now.
She wants to believe in Nathan and the assurances he’s given her, but the events of the day can only lead her to one conclusion and that is Sam Shipton hates her. It should be enough that Harrison and Nathan have done nothing but sing her praises, but doubt still lingers in her mind. The three of them, Harrison, Nathan and Sam, are the best of friends, and have worked together for decades. Even when they don’t agree on the methods of getting there they always agree on the destination. She can’t help thinking that if Sam thinks this way about her then how long will it be before Harrison and Nathan do too?
She wonders if Sam is in his room right now telling Harrison and Nathan everything she said, and her stomach turns as she thinks about the consequences. Getting fired would only be the half of it.
Her cell phone starts to vibrate, slowly sliding its way across the table. She sits up and grabs it, her mood brightening a bit when she sees Nathan Gates across the display.
She taps the screen and answers, “Hello?”
“Hello there, I seem to have lost my dinner date,” he says, his voice light and teasing. “I’m wondering if you’ve seen her. She’s blonde, beautiful and brilliant, answers to April?”
She can tell Nathan’s smiling, but imagining his bright eyes and teasing grin just makes her want to cry again. “Hey, N-Nathan.”
Nathan pauses and feels a tinge of concern. It’s unlike April not to carry on the conversation, bantering back and forth until things get so absurd they just can’t keep up the charade without dissolving into laughter. And he’s pretty sure that was a hitch in her voice.
“Everything all right?” he asks. He moves out of the hallway and into his office for more privacy, choosing the couch over his desk chair for now.
“Yeah,” she says, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. She takes a breath to calm herself and then adds, “Fine. Just fine.”
He frowns. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” she insists. Her nails pick at a seam on the duvet. “I said everything was fine.”
“April Newcastle, you are a terrible liar.” He waits a moment to see if she’s going to respond, but all he hears is a soft sigh and it makes his chest tight. He knows something is wrong and suddenly he wishes he snap his fingers and be there.
“What happened?” he asks again, his voice soft.
She sighs again. “It’s fine, Nathan. I was stupid, but it’s fine.”
Nathan rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “You are never stupid and something is very not fine.”
“Just let it go,” she says, trying to be stern but unable to fight the quiver in her voice.
He gives a short laugh. “You don’t know me very well if you think I’m going to let you off the hook. I know you're not okay, love, so I’m going to sit here talking to you until you decide to tell me what's wrong.”
“Right,” she scoffs, smiling in spite of the way she feels.
Twenty minutes later, Nathan is still talking, regaling her with the story of the United Nations council meeting and Harrison’s indignation. She can’t help laughing, picturing the scenes as he describes them and hearing voices of the players in her head.
He smiles when he hears her laugh and says, “I hope my interrogation techniques are working, because I have a dinner date in two hours, and I was hoping to duck out of here early.”
She sits back against the pillows and takes a breath. “It really was stupid.”
“What was?”
She sighs. “I kind of, sort of - I um -”
“Just start at the beginning,” he replies.
She proceeds to recount the entirety of the day starting with Sam’s abruptness on the flight and the way he let her lag behind like a stray puppy. She hesitates when she gets to their argument, afraid of how Nathan might react to hearing what she said about his friend. It takes some more encouragement on his part, but eventually she gets it all out through a few more tears, and then sits, waiting for the reassurance, the wise words that will make her feel instantly better.
Nathan’s head tips back against the couch as he laughs.
April frowns. “Well, I’m glad you’re amused by this, but I’m sitting here fearing for my job.”
He shakes his head and wipes some moisture away from the corner of his eye. “Oh, April, love, you’re not going to lose your job.”
“Nathan, I told off the Vice President! I called him stubborn and - and old!” She waves her hand as she talks and then slaps it against the bed covers. Then she slides down until her head is resting on the pillow and lays her arm over her eyes.
Nathan just starts laughing again.
“I still fail to see how any of this is funny,” she says, her annoyance showing.
“I’m sorry. I really am,” he says between snorts and snickers. “But you really haven’t said one thing that isn’t true, or that Harrison or I haven’t said a thousand times.”
“But you’re his friend,” she counters.
“Yes. He’s my best mate, and he’s an old, stubborn, arrogant arse, what’s your point?” he asks, half laughing again. He hears her huff in frustration and then he sighs. “Look, some of this is my fault. I should have warned you.”
She frowns in confusion. “Warned me about what?”
“Sam’s - well, Sam’s lived through a lot,” he answers. “And I don’t mean that in the he’s an old man way. I mean - he was twelve when the world went to shit, you know? He lived through that, he survived, and then his parents, and the war -”
He trails off and exhales, rubbing his eyes. He looks at the clock above his bookcase as his own bitter memories flood his mind. Then he stands and crosses to his desk, picking up the framed photo that has sat on the corner since his first day. He sighs and runs his thumb along the shiny silver edge, then up and over the glass covering Emily’s face.
“It’s getting late,” he says softly. “I don’t want to keep you and I don’t want to betray any decades old confidences.”
“What are you saying?” she asks, sitting up.
“I’m saying that the ones who came to the States, we - we left a lot of ghosts behind in England. Sam more than most.”
“Oh,” she breathes.
He runs a hand through his hair and leans forward, elbows propped on the edge of the desk. “You two, you’re - you and Sam -”
He stops, wanting so badly to point out how much alike she and Sam are, but knows that she would only scoff at him or get upset. It’s funny, he thinks, how they are so similar they can’t get along, like magnets, two north poles repelling each other.
“Just talk to him,” he says finally. “Eventually he’ll pull his head out of his arse and say something to you. When he does, just listen.”
Her lips twist in doubt but she agrees. “Okay.”
“You going to be all right?” he asks.
She nods to herself and takes a deep breath. “Yeah.”
He smiles. “Good. When you get home there’s dinner and a hug waiting for you.”
She laughs lightly, thinking that sounds like the next best thing to heaven, and then says, “I look forward to it.”
“Good night, April.”
“Good afternoon, Nathan.”
They share a laugh and then she drops back on the bed, breathing slowly and mulling over their conversation.
She had never considered coming back to London might make Sam uncomfortable and grumpy, or that he would have left so much baggage behind. Nathan had told her some of the stories of his time there, with Emily and his son, but she still knows very little about what went on outside of what she’s read and learned in school. To think that Sam went through even more, with the plague years and the war, makes her feel a pang of sympathy for him. She knows if she ever went back home it wouldn’t be a pleasant experience, and she’d probably take it out on everyone around her.
Sighing, she gets up and plugs in her phone to charge, then strips off her clothes and tucks them into a corner of her suitcase. She pulls out a pair of yoga pants, t-shirt and clean underwear, and moves into the bathroom, feeling the strong desire for a nice hot shower. Catching a glimpse of her face in the mirror she stops and stares at her messy hair, streaked makeup and puffy red eyes.
She drops her clothes on the toilet seat and turns on the shower, sticking her hand in the spray of water until it gets hot. As the water runs over her, she takes a few deep breaths and lets Nathan’s words replay in her mind. Nothing excuses what Sam said or did, but she can feel her perspective shifting and she knows she doesn’t want their relationship to continue the way it has been.
Sam looks at the reading on the blood pressure cuff and sighs. Of course it’s higher than it should be; he didn’t doubt it would be. He rips the velcro loose and stuffs the device back into its bag, setting it to the side on the vanity. He catches his reflection in the mirror and frowns.
She’s right, he thinks.
Somewhere along the line he became stubborn and old and stopped being able to see past the end of his nose. He leans on the counter and shuts his eyes, head dropping. The words keep cycling through his mind, what he said, what she said back and the anger flashing in her eyes. He hurt her, he knows that, and he’s not sure there’s any way to make it better.
There’s that part of him that’s continually surprised and amazed by April Newcastle. She’s not shy or timid anymore, not like when she started, and even when he doesn’t completely agree with what she’s saying he can’t fault her logic. Just a few weeks ago he made a passing joke that at the time seemed to be only funny to him, another obscure reference that would make everyone look at him strangely and then move on with life. He’s used to it by now, has always been, but she laughed. She actually laughed and when he looked at her she hid her face as if she had done something wrong. The truth is he was so astonished he didn’t know how to react.
There are moments when April reminds him of her, of Audrey, though there’s so much that’s different that the comparison is fleeting at best. Still, it unnerves him a little and he knows he’s never really dealt with any of that old baggage. It was always easier to move on, though he realizes now that he’s been taking much of it out on those around him. Being back in London has brought too much of it back and he has no idea what to do any with of it. Sometimes it’s like it happened to someone else, and other times it’s so present and real he can hardly breathe.
She’s probably talked to Nathan by now and Sam’s not looking forward to facing him when they return home. Nathan and April have become very close and Nathan’s protective nature can be fierce. By insulting and upsetting her he’s turned his friend into an enemy. He knows he needs to make amends however he can, and decides that whatever it takes to resolve this mess between them, he’ll do.
He pulls his tie loose and then off, laying it over his suitcase as he walks past the bed. Leaving his room, he crosses the space to April’s and gently knocks on her door. After a minute, he knocks again, louder, and calls out to her, asking her as calmly and nicely as possible to please open the door. He touches the door handle, only intending to see if it’s locked, but it snicks open instead.
Sam freezes at the sound of running water and then fights a smile when he hears her singing. Her voice is clear but not strong and it’s obvious she’s trying not to be loud. He can’t quite make out the song, but he thinks it sounds lovely just the same. Abruptly the shower shuts off and it occurs to him that she could walk out here any minute and catch him standing in her doorway, eavesdropping and staring at her in -
He can feel the blush go from his ears to his toes and immediately backs out of the room, easing the door closed quietly. Then he hurries back to his own room and shuts the door, turning the lock with a loud click.
Later, Sam finds April on the balcony, leaning on the railing with her hand wrapped around a glass of wine. Her hair is loose and wavy, and he can see it’s still a little damp. She looks comfortable in her t-shirt and sweats, and he leans against the door jamb for a moment, just watching her as she lifts the glass and takes a small sip.
“Are you going to stand there and watch me all night?” she asks.
He straightens and crosses the short distance to stand near her along the railing, looking out at the lights of the city. He notices a second glass of wine on the small wrought iron table set into a corner of the balcony and picks it up, giving it a tentative sip.
“More compliments of the manager,” she explains, staring straight ahead.
They stand in silence for a few minutes, and then she sighs.
“I’m sorry.”
Sam turns to her and frowns. “I think that’s my line.”
Her lips twitch, almost smiling, and she drops her head for a second before turning to look at him. “I thought maybe since I started it I should go first.”
He shakes his head and stares at his glass. “I think I started it when I doubted you’d last a month.”
April snorts laughter and takes a long swallow of her wine. “Missed that by a fair bit.”
Then she smirks at him and straightens, turning to face him, her arm resting on the railing. He smiles and nods and takes a long look at the city. They are high enough that the low hum of traffic doesn’t reach them but not so high that the wind makes it uncomfortable. He hasn’t savored a view like this in some time. He scans the buildings backlight in a dark orange with the setting sun, then takes a deep breath and sighs.
“I missed a lot of things,” he mutters. Glancing to the side he sees her frown and turns to her, looking her in the eyes as he speaks.
“I’m sorry.”
She nods and shifts her glass from her right hand to her left, slipping the stem between her fingers.
“I mean it,” he says. “I’ve been quite a bastard, especially these last few days.”
“Sir, I -”
He holds up a hand. “No, let me say this while I’m in the groveling mood because it may not happen again for some time,” he says wryly. She smirks and lets him continue.
Sam looks from the city view to his glass and everywhere in between but her face. It’s hard enough to say any of this without seeing her eyes too. “I was hard on you because I thought I needed to be. I thought because you didn’t have the experience the other candidates did, or because you’re so young, I had to push you. I thought those things mattered. What I said earlier -” He swallows and looks at her. “It was wrong, and I’m sorry.”
April nods again and smiles. “Apology accepted, sir.”
He winces. “Can you please start calling me Sam?”
She laughs. “Yeah, I can do that.” Then her face turns more serious. “I meant what I said. I'm sorry.”
He starts to object and she gives him a look, eyebrow raised in a way that almost dares him to try to interrupt her again. He snaps his mouth shut and inclines his head for her to go on.
“We both said things before, things that we may have meant at the time, but - I’m sorry too. We’re both a little too stubborn for our own good, I guess.”
Sam grins at that and she smiles back.
“What you said -” He hesitates and takes a breath. “What you said about your parents, was it -?”
She looks away and then lifts her glass, downing the rest of the wine in one large swallow. “Yeah,” she answers softly.
“I -” He starts, and then abruptly stops, unsure of what to say and unable to imagine parents not giving a damn about their daughter, especially when she’s someone as accomplished and bright as April.
“Yeah,” she says again.
They stand side by side on the balcony for a few minutes until Sam breaks the silence.
“My parents were professors.” He smiles slightly as memories float through his mind. “I always thought I’d go into academia too.”
Her lips press together as she resists a smile. “Why didn’t you?”
“Because the world changed.” He looks down at his hands and spins the wine glass between his palms.
She nods and looks over at him. “This trip must be bringing back a lot of memories for you.”
He smiles, but it’s tight and a bit forced. “It’s alright. We all have a past we have to face.” Then he takes another sip of wine and shuts his eyes, the faces of friends, family and the fallen scrolling past like an old movie.
Thunder rumbles long and low in the distance, signaling another round of rain is on its way. April frowns and steps back from the railing.
“We’d better take this pity party inside,” she says with a half smile.
“I’m going to stay out here for a bit, I think,” Sam replies.
She nods and moves to the balcony doors. “Okay, I’m going to head to bed then. We have another long day tomorrow.”
Sam sighs and says, “Goodnight.”
Smiling, she leans against the doorframe. “Goodnight, Sam.”
April finds the next day to be far more pleasant both in terms of the weather and the change in her relationship with Sam. They tour the renovated Parliament building and meet with several heads of state, taking their time walking between buildings and enjoying the sunny day. When the rain does move in during the late afternoon, Sam takes the umbrella and holds it between them, slowing his walk and bending his head to make sure April stays covered.
She’s still a little unsure of where they stand, but she feels much better about where they are headed. She believes that Sam is truly sorry and that what was said was purely out of anger and the stress of the situation, not any real malice towards her. It’s funny how he seems to be almost going out of his way to be nice and make it up to her, but after a while she realizes that this is just the sort of man Sam is when he’s not busy being a jerk.
On a whim he takes her to one of his old haunts, a pub on the west side only a few blocks from the flat he shared with Audrey. It doesn’t hurt as much as he thought it would to walk the old streets again. So much has changed that at first he thinks they are in the wrong neighborhood. Then he worries that it might have never reopened, but as they come around the corner he sees the familiar stone building and smiles.
They are terribly out of place, with their very businesslike attire and line of Secret Service agents and police, but the food is as good as Sam remembers and after a little while, the local clientele go back to their lives and pay them no mind.
“So you lived near here?” she asks.
He swallows and nods. “Yes, for a time. Just a few blocks south and one street east, actually. Most of it was destroyed in the war. It’s all new construction now. I can hardly recognize any of it.”
She takes a long drink of her beer and contemplates him for a moment. “Was this where you grew up?”
“No,” he replies, shaking his head. “This was -” He pauses and sighs. “It was after I left university, before the war started.”
“Oh,” she says quietly.
“It was a strange time, you know,” he says. “We could tell the world was on the verge of something and people were leaving the country in droves. She wanted to leave, had an aunt in Massachusetts, but I insisted on staying.”
“And you, um, ended up in the war.” She looks down at her plate and bites her lip, wishing she hadn’t said anything and hoping that it doesn’t upset their tenuous relationship.
He hums an affirmative and sips his beer, but doesn’t look the least bit cross with her for asking.
“You never talk about it, do you?” He gives her a half smile and shakes his head. “Don’t want anyone to know you’re a hero?”
She smiles back in an effort to lighten the conversation, but his expression fades and his head tilts. He looks her in the eye, contemplative rather than angry. “Show me a hero and I’ll write you a tragedy.”
“Fitzgerald.” She says it without thinking and then sighs, giving him a sympathetic look.
“Right in one,” he says, the corner of his mouth rising. He says it without a trace of surprise, knowing she would place the quote immediately. In that way he’s always felt she’s a bit of a kindred spirit.
His voice is soft and there’s a faraway look in his eyes that tugs at her heart. She curious about this mystery ‘she’ and how he came to survive the war and land in the States, but knows this is treading into that dangerous territory of old memories. She changes the subject to work instead, though the level of safety in that topic is short lived. It isn’t long before they’re arguing the same side again and somewhere between refugee relocation plans and farm subsidies Sam bursts out laughing.
She stares at him, her eyes wide, wondering if maybe he’s finally lost it.
“Are you okay, Sam?” she asks, lips twisting at a grin.
“I’m sorry,” he manages between fits. He composes himself and wipes his eyes, then takes a long swallow of ale. “I just - I don’t even know what we’re arguing about.”
She frowns at him for a moment and then cracks a smile. “I have no idea.”
They share a laugh and then depart for their hotel, much less apprehensive about sharing space than last evening.
Later, April has showered and changed and plopped herself on one end of the couch, tucked into the corner with her legs folded under, file folder open over her legs and a laptop on the coffee table. Sam sits at the other end, with his own set of folders spread over his half of the table. They sit like that, side by side, for a time, April in her sweats and t-shirt, wireframe glasses slipping down her nose as she bends her head towards the screen, and Sam in jeans and his dress shirt, the top buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
He lifts his glasses and squints at the tiny text on the page, frowning. Then he straightens and looks down at his leg, raising his eyebrows when he sees a pair of socked feet, their toes wiggling against his thigh.
April startles and stills her feet when she realizes what she’s doing. “Sorry,” she says sheepishly. “They get cold.”
He fights a grin and returns to the file he was reading. A second later he feels her feet move again and then stop.
“Sorry, again.”
He looks over at her and sees the slight blush to her cheeks, then shakes his head. She starts to pull her legs back, but he bends down, snatching one of the many throw pillows they displaced to make room on the couch. He plops it over her feet, and tugs it next to his side, pulling her feet along with it.
His arm rests on the pillow as he clicks his pen and makes a note in the margin of the page. “Better?” he asks.
She nods quickly and says nothing, too surprised to even know where to begin.
A few minutes later, he steals a glance across the sofa at her, watching her run the back of her thumbnail over her bottom lip as she reads. He can feel her toes, still wiggling, barely brushing against him. Suppressing a smile, he turns back to the report in front of him. She shifts and leans forward to exchange files with the stack on the coffee table, catching a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye. He frowns at whatever he’s reading and flips the page up, rolls his eyes and lets it drop. She bites her lip to keep from grinning and picks up her laptop.
Nathan takes a deep breath and opens the door to the conference room, prepared for the worst. It’s the first day Sam and April are back and he’s ready to send them to opposite ends of the table if need be. What he finds instead is the two of them seated next to each other, bent over a report, talking quietly.
As he approaches, April tilts her head back and laughs and Sam smiles.
He stares in surprise and crosses to the other side of the table, taking the seat opposite Sam. He’s completely unsure what to think of this change of events.
“So,” Nathan says, eyeing them both suspiciously. “How was London?”
Sam shrugs and April smiles.
“It was -” she starts, brow creasing in thought. Then she turns to Sam and a smile tugs at her lips.
“It was enlightening,” Sam answers.
They share a smile and Nathan raises an eyebrow, wondering how long this peace will last and how long it will take to get a straight story out of either of them.
Author: Lindsay (nylana)
Beta: Mary (stillxmyxheart)
Rating: G
Genre: Character Study, Angst, Friendship
Word Count: 7,667
Characters/Pairings: Sam, April, Nathan
Summary: They were not always friends.
A/N: This has been in my head a while. I always knew how the relationship/friendship between Sam and April evolved and it's time some of it came out. It should be said that while I ship them romantically, I also ship them as friends and this fic is definitely in the latter of the two categories. This is not intended to be anything other than how they finally stopped being "enemies" and started on the road to being friends. Enjoy!
It seems everywhere there is a puddle, cold and muddy, swirled with grease and oil. They spill out of the potholes in the street and the missing sections of pavement, sending splatters of muck in all directions with every step and squelching tire. The traffic light changes, only one of the two lit and beaming red into the fading daylight, another small sign that the city of London, though alive, is still a long way from recovered.
Sam steps off the curb, frowning as the cuff of his trousers dips into the trickle of water flowing in the rut along the street. April follows after him, the click of her heels sharp and crisp as she hurries to keep up with his long strides. Beside him a Secret Service agent struggles to cover them with a single black umbrella. It’s mostly unnecessary though; the steady rain that fell most of the day has dwindled to an annoying sprinkle and it’s just one more item on the list of things he hates about this trip.
The first thing being that he was sent here with April.
It’s not that he dislikes her exactly. He has to admit that his original opinion of her, that she wouldn’t last a month, was grossly inaccurate. She’s done very well in the year she’s worked for the administration, and she’s been speaking up more frequently, making her opinion heard. Sometimes she’s a little tentative and he still thinks they would be better served by someone with more experience, but Harrison and Nathan are firm in their decision and he’s reluctantly accepted it.
In the year they’ve worked together, they’ve never traveled further than New York, which was just a day trip, never anywhere overnight. The entire situation unnerves him, and he can’t help but think about the huge disparities between them. It’s not just the age gap, though that’s plenty in and of itself; it’s that they seem to have little in common. They can only talk shop so much before they run out of new things to say.
To make matters worse, he’s home, though London hasn’t felt like home in decades, not since he lost everyone that mattered. Everything about this visit makes him feel awkward and uncomfortable, dredging up old things he thought were over, memories he thought he’d buried. It’s hard to face the fact that they are all still so close to the surface.
April stumbles stepping up the curb on the other side of the street and frowns at Sam’s back, wishing she had worn different shoes. She would call out for him to slow down but he would probably ignore her. He seems intent on leaving her scrambling along behind him. He was out of sorts when they got on the plane late last night and his mood has only declined since. She originally chalked it up to the late hour, but after a whole day of feeling like he’s trying to leave her behind, she’s left wondering what she did to piss him off.
It’s been the nature of their relationship since day one, always a bit antagonistic and at odds. He thinks she’s too young and too inexperienced, never mind that she’s had the job for just over a year, and she thinks he’s too stubborn and too rigid, and yeah, maybe too old too. Sure she didn’t have a clue when she started, but she’s a fast learner and she feels like she’s done quite well. Harrison and Nathan would agree, she knows, but Sam remains on the outside, critical at every turn. It’s not as if she needs everyone to like her, but it’d be nice if the people she spent nearly every waking hour of her life with did.
The hotel lobby is busy with staff and guests moving to and fro in spite of the presence of numerous agents blocking doorways and securing the bank of elevators. There is a group of business men scattered amongst the chairs and couches, their idle conversation dying down as the entourage enters through the revolving doors. The manager, a high strung young man with dark wavy hair, stops them almost immediately, apologizing profusely over a problem with their rooms.
There is only one.
April fights the urge to bury her face in her hands as Sam scowls. The manager explains further that they’ve been moved to the larger two room executive suite, which sounds fine to April, but Sam’s face darkens. Before he can say anything, April steps between him and the manager, hastily assuring the nervous man it will be fine. She accepts the two room keys and heads towards the elevators, leaving Sam to follow her for a change.
The ride to the top floor of suites is dreadfully tense.
She can feel the annoyance radiating off him, and keeps her eyes on the numbers above the door, willing them to turn on and off faster. She just wants this ride to be over so she can shut herself in her room for the night, and pretend she’s not spending the next three days sharing space with someone who so obviously doesn’t like her.
The suite, April finds, is bigger than her entire apartment, comprised of two large bedrooms each with its own ensuite bathroom and desk. In the middle is a common room with a sitting area and a table that can be used for dining or working. Two large French doors open to a balcony overlooking the courtyard and beyond it the shimmery lights of the city.
She’s just settling into her room, rummaging through her suitcase for her toiletry bag, when there is a knock on the door.
“It’s open, sir,” she calls out.
He pushes gently on the door, finding that it’s not shut all the way, and steps into the doorway, hands crossed behind his back. “It seems our overly anxious concierge has made dinner reservations for us.”
She looks over at him and raises an eyebrow. “That so?”
He hums an affirmative. “It’s just downstairs in the hotel restaurant, so no need to go back out in rain. And it’s complimentary, of course.”
He rolls his eyes a bit at the last part and April turns back to her luggage. “Probably feels bad that we’ve been forced into such paltry living conditions.”
Sam smiles a little but it’s gone by the time April looks up again. He spies the hair dryer in one hand and a zippered cosmetic bag in the other and raises his eyebrows. “Do you need longer than an hour before dinner?”
April frowns and then realizes what she’s holding. “Oh, I’m just unpacking a little,” she says with a small shrug. “An hour is fine, sir, thank you.”
Sam nods curtly and leaves, and April sighs. Then she turns and walks to the bathroom to freshen up.
April spins her glass by the slender stem, watching the red wine swirl up the sides, and pokes at her salad, not feeling the least bit hungry. Across from her sits Sam, eating quietly and carefully.
“So tomorrow is Parliament right?” she asks, tentatively trying to start conversation. “And the Department of Defense?”
“Ministry,” he corrects. Then he lifts his wine glass and takes a sip.
She winces. “Right, sorry.”
He shrugs and sets his fork down, leaning back in his chair. “Different words, same meaning.”
April sighs and leans forward, her forearms resting on the table. She’d done a lot of reading up on the current situation in the UK before this trip and she sought out Nathan’s opinion on a number of things, but she’s never heard Sam talk about it. He lived here just as long as Nathan, lived through the war even, and never talks about anything outside of what is work related, no stories or memories from childhood, no reminiscing about university days.
It surprises her sometimes how little she knows about Sam Shipton. She’s read the customary files and picked up bits and pieces from their day to day interactions and a little extra from Nathan and Harrison, but the man still remains something of a mystery.
Their meals arrive and they eat in relative silence, neither sure of how to start any sort of real conversation. She has so many questions but she’s afraid to ask them. There has to be a reason why he doesn’t share anything about himself, though she knows she isn’t really one to talk. There’s plenty in her own past that’s uncomfortable to speak of and that she doesn’t care to relive for anyone.
Sam’s cell phone rings and he frowns at the display but answers it. Then he stands, excuses himself and moves a few tables away, to a darkened corner of the restaurant. She turns in her chair and watches him as he talks, standing there in his crisp dress shirt and tie, one hand holding his mobile, and the other slid casually into his pocket. He doesn’t seem pleased with whatever he’s hearing.
Sam wanders back to the table a few minutes later, sighing heavily and dropping his phone unceremoniously into his jacket pocket.
“That was Nathan,” he explains, before she can ask the obvious question. “It seems our fearless leader has opened his mouth again.”
She stops with her wine glass halfway to her mouth and looks at him over the rim. “Oh?”
He hums in discontent and shakes out his napkin before laying it over his lap.
She sets her glass back down and asks, “About what?”
“Tomorrow’s vote on the labor union bill,” he replies, looking over the food in front of him.
April’s fork clatters to her plate and she gives Sam an annoyed look. “Seriously?”
Sam glances up cautiously, surprised at her tone of voice. “He’s only echoing what a lot of people already think. It’s not -”
“Oh, please,” she interrupts, dropping the formality she usually maintains with him and shooting a glare across the table. “Are there problems? Yes. There have been for over a century.”
He stabs a bite of chicken and stops with it halfway to his mouth, catching her icy stare. “And that’s what he’s trying to do. So many things have been overlooked because we have bigger things to fix.”
“I’m well aware of that,” she says. “There’re about forty memos to that effect on my desk and every briefing gets worse with questions about the little things - infrastructure and tax reform and education credits. I want to scream at them to shut up and realize we still have half a million displaced people living in temporary housing.”
He chews and nods, then says, “Those ‘little things’, as you call them, are overwhelming us. We can’t ignore them anymore. There are too many loopholes and the unscrupulous among us are taking advantage of more than just refugees.”
His voice is stern and she frowns. “So then close the loopholes, don’t vilify an entire construct because people want something to blame!”
“Oh, it’s hardly vilification!” he exclaims. Then he catches the wait staff and a few patrons staring at them and sighs in frustration. “We can’t ignore the fact that two high ranking union leaders were convicted of fraud two months ago. This is as much about protecting the workers as it is trying to fix a systemic problem.”
“Exactly!” she snaps, and then shoves a forkful of pasta into her mouth.
Several more moments of silence pass before he frowns and picks up his glass, wondering what they were even arguing about.
The rest of the meal passes with a casual discussion of their itinerary for tomorrow, but there’s still a tension between them that keeps their words careful and stilted. Eventually the waiter returns and collects their plates and they depart for the elevators and their top floor suite.
“So,” April starts, once the elevator doors have slid closed. “How much damage control am I going to have to do?”
Sam shrugs and stares up at the floor numbers. “Well, Nathan made it sound like the end of the world, but you know how he is.” He glances sideways at her and she nods, smiling.
Then she sighs. “I suppose I should call him and find out exactly what was said.”
The doors open and they exit to their floor, flanked by two agents.
April’s phone beeps and she looks down at it to see a text message from Nathan. “Speak of the devil,” she says, pressing a button to view the message.
Sam looks at her curiously, stopping at their room and fishing the keycard out of his inside jacket pocket. The lock clicks open and he enters, asking, “Which one?”
“Nathan,” she replies, following him inside. “The UN voted against the sanctions and embargo for the Russian Federation.”
He sighs. “Great, we just lost our only bargaining chip.”
She pulls a face and turns to him. “How is usurping the sovereignty of a nation an appropriate bargaining chip?”
“Oh, not this again.” He rolls eyes and then fixes her with a stern look. “We’ve been over this and -”
“Yeah, right,” she interrupts, hands on her hips, meeting his look with a glare of her own. “If by over this you mean you state your opinion, that’s the end of it and anything anyone else has to say on the matter is wrong.”
He frowns. “I never said your opinion was wrong, but this is how international relations work.”
She sighs and runs a hand through her hair. Somehow she knew he would miss the entire point. “It’s not about international relations. I have a master’s in international relations, thank you very much. It’s about you being stubborn and, a-and -”
She stutters as the frustration builds and before she can get it all out he’s interrupting her with equal annoyance.
“Right, I’m the stubborn one,” he says, turning away from her and walking towards the French doors.
“You are!” she insists, stalking after him. “You’re always - you’re so - set in your ways, and you refuse to see any other side.”
His eyes go wide as he turns back to her. “Set in my ways?” She folds her arms over her chest and stares back at him. “Are you sure the word you’re looking for isn’t old?”
His eyes are hard as he looms over her but she just smirks. “If the shoe fits.”
He scowls and for a second she’s almost intimidated. Except she’s not that girl anymore who stood in awe of him at her first Cabinet meeting, who sat silently while everyone around her talked and she feverishly scribbled notes, too afraid of missing something important to realize that the discussion was important, not what was said. So she spins away from him and starts heading towards her room.
“So immature,” she mutters under breath.
He wants to laugh at the absurdity of her words but instead he glares and marches after her. “A statement like that might make one question your maturity, Miss Newcastle.”
She stops with her hand on the doorknob as soon as he says her name. Her fingers twist over the metal, knuckles turning white, trying to reign in her temper. But she feels like if she walks away from this fight nothing will change and in the morning they will fall back into the same pattern of pushing and pulling.
He huffs and then turns and starts to walk away, muttering, “Makes a person wonder how you got this job.”
Somewhere inside her something snaps and she whirls on him, stalking across the room, her heels clicking angrily against the white marble tile.
“Look, sir,” April says, practically spitting the title out at him. He turns back around instantly, his eyes wide in surprise. “I’ve never been handed anything in my life. My parents couldn’t have given less of a fuck about me, so everything I am, everything I have, I earned.”
Sam opens his mouth to speak, wanting to take back what he said as soon as it left his mouth, but the look in her eyes is fiery and despite her petite size the picture she presents is formidable. He finds himself taking a step backwards as she moves towards him again.
“You think I’m too young, too inexperienced, too stupid, whatever, I don’t care. If I haven’t proven otherwise to you in the last thirteen months and fifteen days then I never will.”
She takes a breath and blinks, her eyes bright with unshed tears, but she refuses to let herself cry in front of him. He watches as she looks away and surreptitiously swipes at her cheek, silently hating himself for being such an old grumpy bastard.
Steeling herself she looks back at Sam and fixes him with a hard stare. “You don’t have to like me. But the one thing you will do is respect me.”
With that she spins on her heel and walks swiftly to her room, slamming the door behind her. He follows after her, a sick feeling swelling in his gut, but the sharp click of the deadbolt tells him the conversation is effectively over. With a heavy sigh, he ambles over to his own room and sits on the end of the bed, head bent and staring at the floor.
April slams the door shut and then sags against it, her breath coming in short gasps as the tears finally start to fall. She hears Sam’s footsteps move closer and then stop, and she presses a hand over her mouth to muffle her sobs. When he retreats she pushes off the door and moves into the room, pulling some tissues out of the box on the bedside table and dabbing at her eyes.
Her anger is still bubbling under the surface and his stinging words keep replaying over and over. She paces around the room, running her hand through her hair repeatedly, tugging at it and crushing the tissue in her other hand. She pivots by the dresser and stumbles, rolling her ankle a bit.
Hissing in pain, she pulls off her shoes and throws them rather roughly at her suitcase, not caring that one misses and bounces onto the floor.
She drops her cell phone on the table and turns, flopping on the bed and laying on her back to stare up at the ceiling. Sighing, she wipes a hand across her eyes and frowns at the smear of makeup and mascara on her palm. She hates that she let Sam get to her this way, that she cares about his opinion, that she wants his approval. It was only a couple of weeks ago she was sitting in Nathan’s kitchen lamenting about how the Vice President didn’t like her. Nathan had been reassuring, as always, telling her that Sam would come around, that he was stubborn and if he didn’t like her then it was his problem not hers.
She wishes Nathan was here now. She could really do with a hug.
She doesn’t know when or how it happened but he has taken her under his wing, mentored her and been there for her as a friend and as a sort of father figure. She’s never really had that and while it had been strange at first, she can’t imagine their relationship any other way now.
She wants to believe in Nathan and the assurances he’s given her, but the events of the day can only lead her to one conclusion and that is Sam Shipton hates her. It should be enough that Harrison and Nathan have done nothing but sing her praises, but doubt still lingers in her mind. The three of them, Harrison, Nathan and Sam, are the best of friends, and have worked together for decades. Even when they don’t agree on the methods of getting there they always agree on the destination. She can’t help thinking that if Sam thinks this way about her then how long will it be before Harrison and Nathan do too?
She wonders if Sam is in his room right now telling Harrison and Nathan everything she said, and her stomach turns as she thinks about the consequences. Getting fired would only be the half of it.
Her cell phone starts to vibrate, slowly sliding its way across the table. She sits up and grabs it, her mood brightening a bit when she sees Nathan Gates across the display.
She taps the screen and answers, “Hello?”
“Hello there, I seem to have lost my dinner date,” he says, his voice light and teasing. “I’m wondering if you’ve seen her. She’s blonde, beautiful and brilliant, answers to April?”
She can tell Nathan’s smiling, but imagining his bright eyes and teasing grin just makes her want to cry again. “Hey, N-Nathan.”
Nathan pauses and feels a tinge of concern. It’s unlike April not to carry on the conversation, bantering back and forth until things get so absurd they just can’t keep up the charade without dissolving into laughter. And he’s pretty sure that was a hitch in her voice.
“Everything all right?” he asks. He moves out of the hallway and into his office for more privacy, choosing the couch over his desk chair for now.
“Yeah,” she says, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. She takes a breath to calm herself and then adds, “Fine. Just fine.”
He frowns. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” she insists. Her nails pick at a seam on the duvet. “I said everything was fine.”
“April Newcastle, you are a terrible liar.” He waits a moment to see if she’s going to respond, but all he hears is a soft sigh and it makes his chest tight. He knows something is wrong and suddenly he wishes he snap his fingers and be there.
“What happened?” he asks again, his voice soft.
She sighs again. “It’s fine, Nathan. I was stupid, but it’s fine.”
Nathan rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “You are never stupid and something is very not fine.”
“Just let it go,” she says, trying to be stern but unable to fight the quiver in her voice.
He gives a short laugh. “You don’t know me very well if you think I’m going to let you off the hook. I know you're not okay, love, so I’m going to sit here talking to you until you decide to tell me what's wrong.”
“Right,” she scoffs, smiling in spite of the way she feels.
Twenty minutes later, Nathan is still talking, regaling her with the story of the United Nations council meeting and Harrison’s indignation. She can’t help laughing, picturing the scenes as he describes them and hearing voices of the players in her head.
He smiles when he hears her laugh and says, “I hope my interrogation techniques are working, because I have a dinner date in two hours, and I was hoping to duck out of here early.”
She sits back against the pillows and takes a breath. “It really was stupid.”
“What was?”
She sighs. “I kind of, sort of - I um -”
“Just start at the beginning,” he replies.
She proceeds to recount the entirety of the day starting with Sam’s abruptness on the flight and the way he let her lag behind like a stray puppy. She hesitates when she gets to their argument, afraid of how Nathan might react to hearing what she said about his friend. It takes some more encouragement on his part, but eventually she gets it all out through a few more tears, and then sits, waiting for the reassurance, the wise words that will make her feel instantly better.
Nathan’s head tips back against the couch as he laughs.
April frowns. “Well, I’m glad you’re amused by this, but I’m sitting here fearing for my job.”
He shakes his head and wipes some moisture away from the corner of his eye. “Oh, April, love, you’re not going to lose your job.”
“Nathan, I told off the Vice President! I called him stubborn and - and old!” She waves her hand as she talks and then slaps it against the bed covers. Then she slides down until her head is resting on the pillow and lays her arm over her eyes.
Nathan just starts laughing again.
“I still fail to see how any of this is funny,” she says, her annoyance showing.
“I’m sorry. I really am,” he says between snorts and snickers. “But you really haven’t said one thing that isn’t true, or that Harrison or I haven’t said a thousand times.”
“But you’re his friend,” she counters.
“Yes. He’s my best mate, and he’s an old, stubborn, arrogant arse, what’s your point?” he asks, half laughing again. He hears her huff in frustration and then he sighs. “Look, some of this is my fault. I should have warned you.”
She frowns in confusion. “Warned me about what?”
“Sam’s - well, Sam’s lived through a lot,” he answers. “And I don’t mean that in the he’s an old man way. I mean - he was twelve when the world went to shit, you know? He lived through that, he survived, and then his parents, and the war -”
He trails off and exhales, rubbing his eyes. He looks at the clock above his bookcase as his own bitter memories flood his mind. Then he stands and crosses to his desk, picking up the framed photo that has sat on the corner since his first day. He sighs and runs his thumb along the shiny silver edge, then up and over the glass covering Emily’s face.
“It’s getting late,” he says softly. “I don’t want to keep you and I don’t want to betray any decades old confidences.”
“What are you saying?” she asks, sitting up.
“I’m saying that the ones who came to the States, we - we left a lot of ghosts behind in England. Sam more than most.”
“Oh,” she breathes.
He runs a hand through his hair and leans forward, elbows propped on the edge of the desk. “You two, you’re - you and Sam -”
He stops, wanting so badly to point out how much alike she and Sam are, but knows that she would only scoff at him or get upset. It’s funny, he thinks, how they are so similar they can’t get along, like magnets, two north poles repelling each other.
“Just talk to him,” he says finally. “Eventually he’ll pull his head out of his arse and say something to you. When he does, just listen.”
Her lips twist in doubt but she agrees. “Okay.”
“You going to be all right?” he asks.
She nods to herself and takes a deep breath. “Yeah.”
He smiles. “Good. When you get home there’s dinner and a hug waiting for you.”
She laughs lightly, thinking that sounds like the next best thing to heaven, and then says, “I look forward to it.”
“Good night, April.”
“Good afternoon, Nathan.”
They share a laugh and then she drops back on the bed, breathing slowly and mulling over their conversation.
She had never considered coming back to London might make Sam uncomfortable and grumpy, or that he would have left so much baggage behind. Nathan had told her some of the stories of his time there, with Emily and his son, but she still knows very little about what went on outside of what she’s read and learned in school. To think that Sam went through even more, with the plague years and the war, makes her feel a pang of sympathy for him. She knows if she ever went back home it wouldn’t be a pleasant experience, and she’d probably take it out on everyone around her.
Sighing, she gets up and plugs in her phone to charge, then strips off her clothes and tucks them into a corner of her suitcase. She pulls out a pair of yoga pants, t-shirt and clean underwear, and moves into the bathroom, feeling the strong desire for a nice hot shower. Catching a glimpse of her face in the mirror she stops and stares at her messy hair, streaked makeup and puffy red eyes.
She drops her clothes on the toilet seat and turns on the shower, sticking her hand in the spray of water until it gets hot. As the water runs over her, she takes a few deep breaths and lets Nathan’s words replay in her mind. Nothing excuses what Sam said or did, but she can feel her perspective shifting and she knows she doesn’t want their relationship to continue the way it has been.
Sam looks at the reading on the blood pressure cuff and sighs. Of course it’s higher than it should be; he didn’t doubt it would be. He rips the velcro loose and stuffs the device back into its bag, setting it to the side on the vanity. He catches his reflection in the mirror and frowns.
She’s right, he thinks.
Somewhere along the line he became stubborn and old and stopped being able to see past the end of his nose. He leans on the counter and shuts his eyes, head dropping. The words keep cycling through his mind, what he said, what she said back and the anger flashing in her eyes. He hurt her, he knows that, and he’s not sure there’s any way to make it better.
There’s that part of him that’s continually surprised and amazed by April Newcastle. She’s not shy or timid anymore, not like when she started, and even when he doesn’t completely agree with what she’s saying he can’t fault her logic. Just a few weeks ago he made a passing joke that at the time seemed to be only funny to him, another obscure reference that would make everyone look at him strangely and then move on with life. He’s used to it by now, has always been, but she laughed. She actually laughed and when he looked at her she hid her face as if she had done something wrong. The truth is he was so astonished he didn’t know how to react.
There are moments when April reminds him of her, of Audrey, though there’s so much that’s different that the comparison is fleeting at best. Still, it unnerves him a little and he knows he’s never really dealt with any of that old baggage. It was always easier to move on, though he realizes now that he’s been taking much of it out on those around him. Being back in London has brought too much of it back and he has no idea what to do any with of it. Sometimes it’s like it happened to someone else, and other times it’s so present and real he can hardly breathe.
She’s probably talked to Nathan by now and Sam’s not looking forward to facing him when they return home. Nathan and April have become very close and Nathan’s protective nature can be fierce. By insulting and upsetting her he’s turned his friend into an enemy. He knows he needs to make amends however he can, and decides that whatever it takes to resolve this mess between them, he’ll do.
He pulls his tie loose and then off, laying it over his suitcase as he walks past the bed. Leaving his room, he crosses the space to April’s and gently knocks on her door. After a minute, he knocks again, louder, and calls out to her, asking her as calmly and nicely as possible to please open the door. He touches the door handle, only intending to see if it’s locked, but it snicks open instead.
Sam freezes at the sound of running water and then fights a smile when he hears her singing. Her voice is clear but not strong and it’s obvious she’s trying not to be loud. He can’t quite make out the song, but he thinks it sounds lovely just the same. Abruptly the shower shuts off and it occurs to him that she could walk out here any minute and catch him standing in her doorway, eavesdropping and staring at her in -
He can feel the blush go from his ears to his toes and immediately backs out of the room, easing the door closed quietly. Then he hurries back to his own room and shuts the door, turning the lock with a loud click.
Later, Sam finds April on the balcony, leaning on the railing with her hand wrapped around a glass of wine. Her hair is loose and wavy, and he can see it’s still a little damp. She looks comfortable in her t-shirt and sweats, and he leans against the door jamb for a moment, just watching her as she lifts the glass and takes a small sip.
“Are you going to stand there and watch me all night?” she asks.
He straightens and crosses the short distance to stand near her along the railing, looking out at the lights of the city. He notices a second glass of wine on the small wrought iron table set into a corner of the balcony and picks it up, giving it a tentative sip.
“More compliments of the manager,” she explains, staring straight ahead.
They stand in silence for a few minutes, and then she sighs.
“I’m sorry.”
Sam turns to her and frowns. “I think that’s my line.”
Her lips twitch, almost smiling, and she drops her head for a second before turning to look at him. “I thought maybe since I started it I should go first.”
He shakes his head and stares at his glass. “I think I started it when I doubted you’d last a month.”
April snorts laughter and takes a long swallow of her wine. “Missed that by a fair bit.”
Then she smirks at him and straightens, turning to face him, her arm resting on the railing. He smiles and nods and takes a long look at the city. They are high enough that the low hum of traffic doesn’t reach them but not so high that the wind makes it uncomfortable. He hasn’t savored a view like this in some time. He scans the buildings backlight in a dark orange with the setting sun, then takes a deep breath and sighs.
“I missed a lot of things,” he mutters. Glancing to the side he sees her frown and turns to her, looking her in the eyes as he speaks.
“I’m sorry.”
She nods and shifts her glass from her right hand to her left, slipping the stem between her fingers.
“I mean it,” he says. “I’ve been quite a bastard, especially these last few days.”
“Sir, I -”
He holds up a hand. “No, let me say this while I’m in the groveling mood because it may not happen again for some time,” he says wryly. She smirks and lets him continue.
Sam looks from the city view to his glass and everywhere in between but her face. It’s hard enough to say any of this without seeing her eyes too. “I was hard on you because I thought I needed to be. I thought because you didn’t have the experience the other candidates did, or because you’re so young, I had to push you. I thought those things mattered. What I said earlier -” He swallows and looks at her. “It was wrong, and I’m sorry.”
April nods again and smiles. “Apology accepted, sir.”
He winces. “Can you please start calling me Sam?”
She laughs. “Yeah, I can do that.” Then her face turns more serious. “I meant what I said. I'm sorry.”
He starts to object and she gives him a look, eyebrow raised in a way that almost dares him to try to interrupt her again. He snaps his mouth shut and inclines his head for her to go on.
“We both said things before, things that we may have meant at the time, but - I’m sorry too. We’re both a little too stubborn for our own good, I guess.”
Sam grins at that and she smiles back.
“What you said -” He hesitates and takes a breath. “What you said about your parents, was it -?”
She looks away and then lifts her glass, downing the rest of the wine in one large swallow. “Yeah,” she answers softly.
“I -” He starts, and then abruptly stops, unsure of what to say and unable to imagine parents not giving a damn about their daughter, especially when she’s someone as accomplished and bright as April.
“Yeah,” she says again.
They stand side by side on the balcony for a few minutes until Sam breaks the silence.
“My parents were professors.” He smiles slightly as memories float through his mind. “I always thought I’d go into academia too.”
Her lips press together as she resists a smile. “Why didn’t you?”
“Because the world changed.” He looks down at his hands and spins the wine glass between his palms.
She nods and looks over at him. “This trip must be bringing back a lot of memories for you.”
He smiles, but it’s tight and a bit forced. “It’s alright. We all have a past we have to face.” Then he takes another sip of wine and shuts his eyes, the faces of friends, family and the fallen scrolling past like an old movie.
Thunder rumbles long and low in the distance, signaling another round of rain is on its way. April frowns and steps back from the railing.
“We’d better take this pity party inside,” she says with a half smile.
“I’m going to stay out here for a bit, I think,” Sam replies.
She nods and moves to the balcony doors. “Okay, I’m going to head to bed then. We have another long day tomorrow.”
Sam sighs and says, “Goodnight.”
Smiling, she leans against the doorframe. “Goodnight, Sam.”
April finds the next day to be far more pleasant both in terms of the weather and the change in her relationship with Sam. They tour the renovated Parliament building and meet with several heads of state, taking their time walking between buildings and enjoying the sunny day. When the rain does move in during the late afternoon, Sam takes the umbrella and holds it between them, slowing his walk and bending his head to make sure April stays covered.
She’s still a little unsure of where they stand, but she feels much better about where they are headed. She believes that Sam is truly sorry and that what was said was purely out of anger and the stress of the situation, not any real malice towards her. It’s funny how he seems to be almost going out of his way to be nice and make it up to her, but after a while she realizes that this is just the sort of man Sam is when he’s not busy being a jerk.
On a whim he takes her to one of his old haunts, a pub on the west side only a few blocks from the flat he shared with Audrey. It doesn’t hurt as much as he thought it would to walk the old streets again. So much has changed that at first he thinks they are in the wrong neighborhood. Then he worries that it might have never reopened, but as they come around the corner he sees the familiar stone building and smiles.
They are terribly out of place, with their very businesslike attire and line of Secret Service agents and police, but the food is as good as Sam remembers and after a little while, the local clientele go back to their lives and pay them no mind.
“So you lived near here?” she asks.
He swallows and nods. “Yes, for a time. Just a few blocks south and one street east, actually. Most of it was destroyed in the war. It’s all new construction now. I can hardly recognize any of it.”
She takes a long drink of her beer and contemplates him for a moment. “Was this where you grew up?”
“No,” he replies, shaking his head. “This was -” He pauses and sighs. “It was after I left university, before the war started.”
“Oh,” she says quietly.
“It was a strange time, you know,” he says. “We could tell the world was on the verge of something and people were leaving the country in droves. She wanted to leave, had an aunt in Massachusetts, but I insisted on staying.”
“And you, um, ended up in the war.” She looks down at her plate and bites her lip, wishing she hadn’t said anything and hoping that it doesn’t upset their tenuous relationship.
He hums an affirmative and sips his beer, but doesn’t look the least bit cross with her for asking.
“You never talk about it, do you?” He gives her a half smile and shakes his head. “Don’t want anyone to know you’re a hero?”
She smiles back in an effort to lighten the conversation, but his expression fades and his head tilts. He looks her in the eye, contemplative rather than angry. “Show me a hero and I’ll write you a tragedy.”
“Fitzgerald.” She says it without thinking and then sighs, giving him a sympathetic look.
“Right in one,” he says, the corner of his mouth rising. He says it without a trace of surprise, knowing she would place the quote immediately. In that way he’s always felt she’s a bit of a kindred spirit.
His voice is soft and there’s a faraway look in his eyes that tugs at her heart. She curious about this mystery ‘she’ and how he came to survive the war and land in the States, but knows this is treading into that dangerous territory of old memories. She changes the subject to work instead, though the level of safety in that topic is short lived. It isn’t long before they’re arguing the same side again and somewhere between refugee relocation plans and farm subsidies Sam bursts out laughing.
She stares at him, her eyes wide, wondering if maybe he’s finally lost it.
“Are you okay, Sam?” she asks, lips twisting at a grin.
“I’m sorry,” he manages between fits. He composes himself and wipes his eyes, then takes a long swallow of ale. “I just - I don’t even know what we’re arguing about.”
She frowns at him for a moment and then cracks a smile. “I have no idea.”
They share a laugh and then depart for their hotel, much less apprehensive about sharing space than last evening.
Later, April has showered and changed and plopped herself on one end of the couch, tucked into the corner with her legs folded under, file folder open over her legs and a laptop on the coffee table. Sam sits at the other end, with his own set of folders spread over his half of the table. They sit like that, side by side, for a time, April in her sweats and t-shirt, wireframe glasses slipping down her nose as she bends her head towards the screen, and Sam in jeans and his dress shirt, the top buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
He lifts his glasses and squints at the tiny text on the page, frowning. Then he straightens and looks down at his leg, raising his eyebrows when he sees a pair of socked feet, their toes wiggling against his thigh.
April startles and stills her feet when she realizes what she’s doing. “Sorry,” she says sheepishly. “They get cold.”
He fights a grin and returns to the file he was reading. A second later he feels her feet move again and then stop.
“Sorry, again.”
He looks over at her and sees the slight blush to her cheeks, then shakes his head. She starts to pull her legs back, but he bends down, snatching one of the many throw pillows they displaced to make room on the couch. He plops it over her feet, and tugs it next to his side, pulling her feet along with it.
His arm rests on the pillow as he clicks his pen and makes a note in the margin of the page. “Better?” he asks.
She nods quickly and says nothing, too surprised to even know where to begin.
A few minutes later, he steals a glance across the sofa at her, watching her run the back of her thumbnail over her bottom lip as she reads. He can feel her toes, still wiggling, barely brushing against him. Suppressing a smile, he turns back to the report in front of him. She shifts and leans forward to exchange files with the stack on the coffee table, catching a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye. He frowns at whatever he’s reading and flips the page up, rolls his eyes and lets it drop. She bites her lip to keep from grinning and picks up her laptop.
Nathan takes a deep breath and opens the door to the conference room, prepared for the worst. It’s the first day Sam and April are back and he’s ready to send them to opposite ends of the table if need be. What he finds instead is the two of them seated next to each other, bent over a report, talking quietly.
As he approaches, April tilts her head back and laughs and Sam smiles.
He stares in surprise and crosses to the other side of the table, taking the seat opposite Sam. He’s completely unsure what to think of this change of events.
“So,” Nathan says, eyeing them both suspiciously. “How was London?”
Sam shrugs and April smiles.
“It was -” she starts, brow creasing in thought. Then she turns to Sam and a smile tugs at her lips.
“It was enlightening,” Sam answers.
They share a smile and Nathan raises an eyebrow, wondering how long this peace will last and how long it will take to get a straight story out of either of them.