Work Text:
Title: No Words Necessary
AUTHOR: Ozwitch
ARCHIVE: Anywhere you see fit.
FEEDBACK: ozwitch@iinet.net.au
CATEGORY: J/S
RATING: FRT-13 slash. No sex, just mush.
DISCLAIMER: They're not my characters, they're Aaron Sorkin's. But
I've let them out of the box for a bit.
SUMMARY: Even the President's a sucker for a pair of lovers.
NOTE: I always love reading Candid Photo stories so I decided to write one at last. The President's attitude is wildly improbable, but well, this is fiction right?
President Bartlet put down the draft, and sighed.
"Mrs Landingham?"
"Yes Mr President?"
"Do you know what syncretistic means?"
"No, sir."
"Didn't think so. Is Sam still here?"
"I'll check for you, sir."
A few minutes later Sam entered the Oval Office, trying to look delighted to be discussing the President's speech to the National Association of the Better News for Christians Group at 9.30 pm on a Friday.
"I'm glad you're still here Sam."
"So am I, Mr President." Sam tried to sound sincere, but overdid it and the President eyed him with suspicion.
"Yes, I am, because I'd like to know why I sound like a snotty
elitist philosophy graduate in this speech."
"Perish the thought, sir."
". . one of the greatest strengths of the Christian religion has
always been its syncretistic ability . . ."
"Yes, sir - I thought you believed that."
"It doesn't matter whether I believe it or not. I can't say it. I'll
have all the members diving for their dictionaries. It'll sound like I'm showing off. What if someone asks me what it means?"
"Well, you could explain it to them."
"Then I'll sound patronising."
Sam gave it up. "I'll strike it, sir."
"I notice Toby already did that, Sam. He wrote in "synchronistic" instead. And you overwrote him."
"Toby isn't as erudite as you, Mr President."
"You're being a smart ass, Sam. Do so no more."
"Yes, sir."
Mrs. Landingham entered. "Mr President, is there anything more you need?"
The President looked at his watch. "No, Mrs. Landingham, thank you."
"I'll be off then sir. Oh by the way - Jenny Driver from the Post dropped off these pictures she took at the Welcome Back barbecue the other day. They might end the week on a good note."
The President took the envelope. "Ooh, photos. Informal candids on the White House Lawn. Just can't wait to see who made a jerk of themselves this time round."
"I don't think I did, Mr. President."
"Of course you didn't Mrs. Landingham. Good night."
"Good night sir."
Sam watched with amusement as his boss tore the envelope apart with unabashed glee.
"Oh, Sam. Look at this. It's CJ! And she's - oh, and this one. Toby - ha-ha." He leafed through the rest, chuckling to himself. Sam patiently waited his turn.
The President reached the last photo in the pile, and the smile
faded, and his face went very still. Sam had seen that look before. It meant trouble.
"What is it, sir?"
Bartlet flashed Sam a quick look and continued to stare down at the photo. Sam couldn't read the look.
"Sir, can I help?"
"I sure hope so, Sam. I'm counting on you to." He held out the photo.
It was a medium close-up two-shot, him and Josh. Sam, his profile to the camera, laughing at something out of frame, the afternoon sun throwing highlights on his hair. Josh, fullface, gazing at Sam, unaware of the camera, totally rapt in the vision in front of him.
Tenderness, love and a kind of wondrous joy were all too easily readable in that one unguarded moment when the camera had snapped. He looked undeniably in love.
Sam swallowed. His mouth went suddenly dry. It was an effort to tear his eyes away from what he was seeing, to stifle the stab of joy that pierced his gut, the tumult of emotion that washed through him at the sight of Josh's expression, to remember where he was. He would have given anything to be home, to be in Josh's office, his own office, anywhere he could take in what he felt. But he was in the Oval Office, and the President of the United States was in front of him, and something had to be said.
Sam looked at the President, and found he couldn't speak after all. He handed back the photo, and went over to the window, and stared out of it.
Bartlet broke the silence. "Sam, as far as I know, nobody's committed a crime here."
"Sir, have you ever been afraid to go to sleep?" The words came out of Sam as though forced. Bartlet blinked, but came over to the window and joined Sam in gazing out at the dark.
"I know what that is like, Sam." His voice was gentle.
"I'm afraid to sleep. I'm afraid to even close my eyes. When I'm awake, everything's okay, he's alive, he's here, he's Josh, and my life is normal. But when I go to sleep, all I see is Josh with a bullet in his chest, and he's dead, or he's dying, and I can't stop it or help him - oh God." Sam's voice was trembling as the words tumbled out unchecked. Tears stung his eyes, so he shut them, and then found something being put into his hand. It was a handkerchief.
Sam took it with gratitude, and blew his nose noisily. He found the President's arm round his shoulders.
"It's okay, Sam, it's okay."
"And then, I see that" - Sam gestured to the photo and his voice cracked again - "and I think that an inch or so either side, or a second or two later, or earlier, or if Toby hadn't been there, there wouldn't be a photo, there wouldn't be any Josh, and that beautiful thing I feel when I come to work in the morning and I know he's there, and he's going to make my day better, make me so glad that I'm Sam Seaborn, that wouldn't exist-" Sam stopped, twisting the handkerchief into impossible knots between his fingers, desperately trying to calm himself.
"You're as much in love as he is."
There didn't seem to be anything to say to that, so Sam went back to staring out the window.
"Sam, I'm only going to ask one question. Are you having an affair with Josh?"
"No, sir."
"Then the rest is not my business."
"I didn't think you'd see it that way."
"Look, Sam, I owe you and Josh a great deal. I don't want to lose either of you. You're good at what you do. I'm trusting you not to let me down. I won't deny this is potentially very, very damaging. But I'm not about to crucify anyone for their feelings. I appreciate your honesty tonight. Show me your discretion."
"I haven't always made you proud of my discretion."
The President waved a hand. "Forget that. You learned a salutary lesson. Besides," he added, "where else could I find a speechwriter who knows the meaning of syncretistic, even if he wants to brag to me that he does?"
Sam offered a wry smile at that. "I appreciate your generosity, Sir.
But I'm not sure that I. . ."
"Is Josh still working?"
"I believe so."
The President went over to his desk and picked up the phone. "Josh? This is your President calling. Please come to my office." He sat down on the edge of his desk and folded his arms, looking at Sam with that smug expression he always got when the President knew what he was doing and nobody else did.
Sam felt a flutter of panic. The President smiled at him. "I expect your total discretion, unswerving loyalty and unconditional honesty, Sam."
"Of course, sir."
"Starting tomorrow."
Josh entered, looking mildly startled. "Sir?"
"Ah, Josh. I just remembered I have to go to the little men's room. Well, not remembered exactly, but, um, I'll go anyway. Maybe for a while. Feel free to make yourself at home while I'm gone."
Josh looked at Sam, but Sam was staring at Bartlet with complete astonishment.
"Oh, and Sam," the President added, clearly enjoying himself, "much as I admire your way with words, right now is probably not the time to indulge yourself."
"No, sir." Sam seemed torn between exasperation and a desire to laugh.
"Perhaps it would be timely to explore your syncretistic skills.
Excuse me." The President smiled at them both and disappeared into his private office.
"What the hell?" asked Josh, staring at the shut door.
"Oh, Josh." Sam sounded breathless, and almost shy. Josh turned back to him and stopped, caught by the expression on the face of his dear friend. Something he'd never thought to see.
Sam held out the photo."I think the President is trying his hand at a little matchmaking."
Josh took the photo. He looked at it for a long time before raising his eyes. He seemed stunned. "I don't know what to say."
"Then don't say anything." Sam's voice was full of tenderness, and he was coming towards him. Josh searched desperately for words.
"What does syncrestistic or whatever mean?"
"A joining of different forces, more or less. Like now."
"Ohhh."
"Yes."
"Here?"
"Well, we have a few minutes. He said he'd be a while."
"Sam, this is mad."
"I love you."
"You're mad!"
"You love me."
"Sam!"
"Shut up, Josh."
And Josh had to shut up because Sam chose that moment to kiss him, and after that it was impossible to say anything even if he wanted to. Neither of them heard the door softly open, and then close again.