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Fic: Red, White, and Blueberry
Title: Red, White, and Blueberry
Fandom: The West Wing
Characters/Pairing: Sam Seaborn/Ainsley Hayes
Setting: post-series
Genre: Pure, unadultered schmoop
Rating: PG
Written for: The Doomed Ship Comment Ficathon
Prompt: Seaborn for President
Summary: "Do you understand me, Sam?" Sam, Ainsley, and an inevitable conversation.
“I’m not giving up my career.”
“I would never ask you—“
“I am not giving up my career, Sam, and I’m not going to change my stance on anything.”
“Ains, I know—“
“I’m still going to be the Senator from South Carolina and I’m still going to be for small government and against abortion, and I absolutely will not go on the campaign trail and be your supportive little wife parroting everything you say and pretending to be unobtrusive and inoffensive.”
He gives up trying to actually get a word in. When she’s like this—pacing, hands emphasizing each word, tossing her long hair over her shoulder, and isn’t that distracting?—it’s better just to let her get it out of her system.
Let it never be said that Sam Seaborn’s incapable of listening to common sense. Even if it takes years of marriage to pound it into his head.
“I refuse to tell people that I agree with you when I don’t. You cannot ask me to play nice with people I find morally reprehensible. And I won’t cut my hair to make myself look more…matronly, no matter what Toby says.”
The idea of her cutting her hair is so horrifying that even if he’d wanted to say something, he wouldn’t be able to.
“Do you understand me, Sam?”
He always understands her. Even when he doesn’t. Even when he couldn’t disagree more vehemently, he understands why she does and says the things that make his head spin and rocket his world into confusion.
It’s very simple. She’s Ainsley.
She’s standing there, breathless and with her hands on her hips, staring up at him with that expectant look that only she is capable of. Now it’s his turn to talk.
He reaches out and takes her hands and he wonders if it’s decent for a man his age to still feel a thrill from holding his wife’s hands. “Ainsley, I would never ask you to do anything different or to be anyone other than who you are. But I’ve been dreaming of this for a long time, and you know that. President Bartlett wanted this for me, and I have Toby and Josh and CJ on my side. I have so many ideas about how to make this country stronger and change things for the better. I know people say I’m an unrealistic idealist, but I think we need a little bit of that in our political system right now. I want to do this, but I only want to do it with you beside me. Even if you’re standing there disagreeing with everything that comes out of my mouth.”
He still finds it difficult to believe that anyone as wonderful as Ainsley could ever look at him like that. With her heart in her eyes and a smile on her lips. Like she adores him. Like he’s wonderful.
Like he can do anything. Even become the president of the United States.
She stands on her tiptoes and brushes a kiss against his lips. “You know what I will stand beside you and say, Sam?”
“What?”
“That you’re the best man I know. That you’re a patriot and that you care about this country more than anyone else I’ve ever met. And that you’ll always, always do what you think is right. Even if you’re clearly wrong. Like on gun control.”
When she says things like that, he has no choice but to kiss her breathless. The familiarity of her lips beneath his, the little sounds she makes, her scent—none of it has lost its allure. He’s pretty sure that when they’re ninety years old and in a nursing home, she’ll still be able to thrill him.
She pulls back for breath. “You know Josh’s head nearly imploded when you told him we were getting married,” she says with a grin. “I could see him thinking, ‘Well, there goes any chance Sam has at the presidency.’”
He laughs and ducks his head down to nuzzle behind her ear. “He actually said that to me.”
She snorts. “Oh, of course he did. Why am I not surprised?”
“Know what I told him?”
“No, Sam, I do not know.”
“I told him that in a choice between you and the presidency, I’d pick you every time.”
“Oh, Sam.”
Of all the things he’s ever accomplished in his life, he thinks the ability to make her melt, that loving smile spreading down from her eyes to her lips, is the thing that makes him proudest. After all—she’s always had the ability to turn him into a flustered little boy: it’s only fair that sometimes he can sweep her off her feet.
“And also that you would be an asset on the campaign trail, not a liability.”
Of course, he usually ruins it. She rolls her eyes this time, but she’s still smiling. “What’s your reasoning, Mr. Seaborn?”
“People will believe me when I say that I’m committed to bipartisan relations and compromise, what with being willing to marry a conservative Republican.”
“And?”
“And they’ll also know that I stand by my beliefs, what with not changing my stances when I did marry a conservative Republican.”
“Well, that’s not contradictory at all.”
“What can I say? I am large. I contain multitudes.”
“Very cute. I’m sure your being cute will help. You’ll be the sexiest president since Kennedy. Just make sure some blonde Republican girl that no one likes doesn’t come along and kick your ass on national TV.”
That starts a tussle—one that ends in more kisses, of course.
It’s a little while later before he picks up the thread of conversation again. “Plus, Andy says it’ll show the women voters that I appreciate a strong woman and am not intimidated by people disagreeing with me.”
“I always liked Andy.”
“Besides, think of what the good ole boys will think—‘May as well vote for Seaborn. He landed the hot gal; he must be doing something right.’”
“Sam, how many times have I told you not to fake a Southern accent? You sound like Laurence Olivier trying to imitate Jed Clampett. Do it again and I will divorce you.”
They can joke about things like that, because they both know that will never happen.
“Never again,” he swears, but they both know it’s a lie. He enjoys teasing her far too much to ever give up imitating her accent.
“So,” she says, the light she gets when meeting a challenge appearing in her eyes. “Seaborn for president?”
He grins. “Seaborn for president.”
“We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
“We do.”
“A long campaign ahead of us.”
“Definitely.”
“But Sam?”
“Yes, Ainsley?”
“First let’s celebrate with pie.”
“That’s my girl.”
Fandom: The West Wing
Characters/Pairing: Sam Seaborn/Ainsley Hayes
Setting: post-series
Genre: Pure, unadultered schmoop
Rating: PG
Written for: The Doomed Ship Comment Ficathon
Prompt: Seaborn for President
Summary: "Do you understand me, Sam?" Sam, Ainsley, and an inevitable conversation.
“I’m not giving up my career.”
“I would never ask you—“
“I am not giving up my career, Sam, and I’m not going to change my stance on anything.”
“Ains, I know—“
“I’m still going to be the Senator from South Carolina and I’m still going to be for small government and against abortion, and I absolutely will not go on the campaign trail and be your supportive little wife parroting everything you say and pretending to be unobtrusive and inoffensive.”
He gives up trying to actually get a word in. When she’s like this—pacing, hands emphasizing each word, tossing her long hair over her shoulder, and isn’t that distracting?—it’s better just to let her get it out of her system.
Let it never be said that Sam Seaborn’s incapable of listening to common sense. Even if it takes years of marriage to pound it into his head.
“I refuse to tell people that I agree with you when I don’t. You cannot ask me to play nice with people I find morally reprehensible. And I won’t cut my hair to make myself look more…matronly, no matter what Toby says.”
The idea of her cutting her hair is so horrifying that even if he’d wanted to say something, he wouldn’t be able to.
“Do you understand me, Sam?”
He always understands her. Even when he doesn’t. Even when he couldn’t disagree more vehemently, he understands why she does and says the things that make his head spin and rocket his world into confusion.
It’s very simple. She’s Ainsley.
She’s standing there, breathless and with her hands on her hips, staring up at him with that expectant look that only she is capable of. Now it’s his turn to talk.
He reaches out and takes her hands and he wonders if it’s decent for a man his age to still feel a thrill from holding his wife’s hands. “Ainsley, I would never ask you to do anything different or to be anyone other than who you are. But I’ve been dreaming of this for a long time, and you know that. President Bartlett wanted this for me, and I have Toby and Josh and CJ on my side. I have so many ideas about how to make this country stronger and change things for the better. I know people say I’m an unrealistic idealist, but I think we need a little bit of that in our political system right now. I want to do this, but I only want to do it with you beside me. Even if you’re standing there disagreeing with everything that comes out of my mouth.”
He still finds it difficult to believe that anyone as wonderful as Ainsley could ever look at him like that. With her heart in her eyes and a smile on her lips. Like she adores him. Like he’s wonderful.
Like he can do anything. Even become the president of the United States.
She stands on her tiptoes and brushes a kiss against his lips. “You know what I will stand beside you and say, Sam?”
“What?”
“That you’re the best man I know. That you’re a patriot and that you care about this country more than anyone else I’ve ever met. And that you’ll always, always do what you think is right. Even if you’re clearly wrong. Like on gun control.”
When she says things like that, he has no choice but to kiss her breathless. The familiarity of her lips beneath his, the little sounds she makes, her scent—none of it has lost its allure. He’s pretty sure that when they’re ninety years old and in a nursing home, she’ll still be able to thrill him.
She pulls back for breath. “You know Josh’s head nearly imploded when you told him we were getting married,” she says with a grin. “I could see him thinking, ‘Well, there goes any chance Sam has at the presidency.’”
He laughs and ducks his head down to nuzzle behind her ear. “He actually said that to me.”
She snorts. “Oh, of course he did. Why am I not surprised?”
“Know what I told him?”
“No, Sam, I do not know.”
“I told him that in a choice between you and the presidency, I’d pick you every time.”
“Oh, Sam.”
Of all the things he’s ever accomplished in his life, he thinks the ability to make her melt, that loving smile spreading down from her eyes to her lips, is the thing that makes him proudest. After all—she’s always had the ability to turn him into a flustered little boy: it’s only fair that sometimes he can sweep her off her feet.
“And also that you would be an asset on the campaign trail, not a liability.”
Of course, he usually ruins it. She rolls her eyes this time, but she’s still smiling. “What’s your reasoning, Mr. Seaborn?”
“People will believe me when I say that I’m committed to bipartisan relations and compromise, what with being willing to marry a conservative Republican.”
“And?”
“And they’ll also know that I stand by my beliefs, what with not changing my stances when I did marry a conservative Republican.”
“Well, that’s not contradictory at all.”
“What can I say? I am large. I contain multitudes.”
“Very cute. I’m sure your being cute will help. You’ll be the sexiest president since Kennedy. Just make sure some blonde Republican girl that no one likes doesn’t come along and kick your ass on national TV.”
That starts a tussle—one that ends in more kisses, of course.
It’s a little while later before he picks up the thread of conversation again. “Plus, Andy says it’ll show the women voters that I appreciate a strong woman and am not intimidated by people disagreeing with me.”
“I always liked Andy.”
“Besides, think of what the good ole boys will think—‘May as well vote for Seaborn. He landed the hot gal; he must be doing something right.’”
“Sam, how many times have I told you not to fake a Southern accent? You sound like Laurence Olivier trying to imitate Jed Clampett. Do it again and I will divorce you.”
They can joke about things like that, because they both know that will never happen.
“Never again,” he swears, but they both know it’s a lie. He enjoys teasing her far too much to ever give up imitating her accent.
“So,” she says, the light she gets when meeting a challenge appearing in her eyes. “Seaborn for president?”
He grins. “Seaborn for president.”
“We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
“We do.”
“A long campaign ahead of us.”
“Definitely.”
“But Sam?”
“Yes, Ainsley?”
“First let’s celebrate with pie.”
“That’s my girl.”