In Silence, She Was There
Amanda N
He sat there, in his office, windows cracked open slightly to let
in the scent of fresh rain, no matter how brutal a storm it was. The
cool air blew in small gusts across his face as he stared across the
lawn, and his face was slightly moist from the rain. It was dark,
too dark to see anything, but he wasn't trying to focus on the view.
The lights in his office were off, leaving only the soft glow
from Toby's through the glass partition.
"Hey," the tired voice said from his doorway. After a few
moments, Sam turned towards the source with a sigh. "Hey."
Toby stood still, his hands buried deep in his coat pockets, his
face impassible. "Josh, Donna, CJ and I are going out for a drink.
Want to come?" Toby's voice was quiet, not forcing the younger man
either way. Almost as if another decision, however trivial would be
to much. Forcing the giant elephants in the room to explode.
Sam looked up and gave a tight smile. "No thanks." He stood,
coat already on. He'd never taken it off. He hadn't taken it off
since the press briefing. It was plan A. He was glad. Josiah
Bartlet was the right man, but Sam was silently reeling in the
shadows of many things.
"I'm just going to head home."
Toby gave him a last look before stepping out of his way. "Sam,
you shouldn't be alone. None of us should. Not tonight." Sam said
no more, and Toby didn't expect him to. He knew his deputy was
wounded in a way no drink could ever fix.
* * * * *
Sam knocked on the small apartment door before him. He'd managed
to slip in with another tenant who'd given him an inquiring look, but
didn't say much beyond the fact that if he was going to be coming
over, he should really get the code. Sam had nodded politely and
thanked him.
He was soaked through. His dress shirt clung to him and his coat
hung heavily on his shoulders. Almost like her coffin... Almost.
She pulled the door open, still wearing the black dress she'd had
on at the Cathedral, only now she was shoeless and her make up was
slightly smeared around the eyes.
"What are you doing here?" she asked softly. Sam was silent for
a while. The atmosphere between them was still and quiet. "You
heard?"
She nodded. "Yeah, I heard."
"I wanted you to know sooner, but..."
The truth was, he hadn't known sooner. "It's okay. I
understand." She moved away from the door, allowing him in.
The door shut quietly, and there was a moment when no one said
anything. "It was a nice service," she said sadly. He nodded and
swallowed dryly. "I carried the coffin."
She looked up at him and saw the pain he'd been trying so hard to
mask. Her expression softened and she took him into her arms. "Are
you okay?" He shook his head. "You're soaked." She pressed a hand
to his forehead and frowned, wiping away a few strands of hair.
"I need to be with you, Mal," he said into her ear, his voice
barely audible, even in the silence of her small apartment.
She pulled away from him to meet his eyes. They were deep blue
and wet with unshed tears. Tears for so many things, some of which
she didn't even know. When she met his lips, the tension broke, as
did the silence.
Clothes fell softly to the floor as they undressed each other
slowly. Their movements were sensual, needing to feel touch instead
of needing to feel nothing at all.
No, you don't go drink on a day like today.
She peeled off his shirt and threw it into the corner. Her hands
roamed over his body, and she knew what he needed.
She took him to bed that night, and when he came, it was with a
loud whimper. Almost mournfully.
Sam collapsed silently beside her and the only sounds heard were
the harsh storm against her windows and their ragged breaths. There
was little light in her bedroom to reflect off the white sheets and
she pulled him against her.
This was about him needing to feel. To know there was more than
lies and pain in the world. And she held him as he stared lifelessly
at her nightstand, his face grief-stricken and tired.
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