Title: Everything Can Change
Author: Cherry Vanilla
Fandom: The West Wing
Pairing: Josh/Sam
Rating: R
Status: NEW, Complete 7/7/01
Spoilers: Somebody's Going to Emergency, Somebody's Going to Jail
Series/sequel: No
Summary: "I know there's somebody somewhere, who can make these dark clouds disappear."
Title and summary courtesy of "New York Minute" by The Eagles.
Notes: I seem to have an obsession with post SGTE, SGTJ stories, so here is yet another one.
* * * * * * * *
Sam resigned himself to that fact that this was how things would be from now on. He'd told Toby that they were 'working things out' but, really, he didn't know if he was just projecting or lying through his teeth. In all honesty, he just didn't want to think about the lies he'd been told, the disillusions he'd lived with his whole life practically.
The other alternatives of what else to think about were pretty bleak, though. And that, was do to the fact that Josh wasn't speaking to him.
They'd - well -- they'd fucked. That was the only word for it. It certainly hadn't been making love, that's for sure. Sam had wanted to be obliterated and Josh had done a damn good job of coming through for him. And one would think by Josh's own incessant screaming, he'd thoroughly enjoyed himself. Apparently not. The next day Sam was left tangled in the bed sheets with a note beside him saying 'had to run. I'll call.'
He hadn't called, of course. Sam had been decidedly pissed since the whole 'getting drunk and being put to bed' thing *had* been Josh's idea. And no matter how much Sam had teased about the suggestiveness of that statement, and contrary to Donna's drunken belief, he really didn't plan on getting 'debauched' that night.
And yet, it happened.
They'd kissed before, sure. That wasn't new. A few times they had been drunk, twice on alcohol, once just on laughter. And the kisses, they had been -- nice. Not weird, not awkward, just -- nice. Because this was Josh, after all, and nothing about Josh could ever seem awkward to him. Even that night, with Josh's dick in his mouth, it still seemed -- well, it was much better than plain *nice.* Incredible, indescribable, and comfortable, would be the words Sam choose if he absolutely had to.
But then, the next morning, Josh was gone after leaving Sam incredibly debauched and his body sore and his heart aching.
And so, the next week seemed to fly by in Sam's mind. It was easy to let himself not think about how fucked up everything was if he tried hard enough. If he tried hard enough, it was easy not to think about Josh Lyman.
Sometimes, most of the time, he berated himself for wanting Josh. Why, he would think, was he lusting after this man would could simply be a great friend, who *was* a great friend. Why was he determined to turn it into another romantic disaster?
He didn't know what force pulled him toward Josh. He only knew that it was impossible to derail it. It hadn't taken much persuading for him to leave Gage Whitney, he'd allow himself to admit at these vulnerable moments; it simply took one soaking wet, gorgeous, brilliant, bright-eyed man who in looking at, made him see a future that didn't seem so bleak.
Why then, was he sitting alone with a beer in one hand and the remote in the other, staring at the door, waiting for that dripping wet mirage of a man to walk through it. When did he completely lose control of his life? Was it before or after he found out about his father? Before or after he'd fallen for Josh Lyman?
The answers to these questions seemed to be floating somewhere over his head in some omnipresent Solar System, completely out of his reach. And he often wished he could just grab hold of them for one second and receive the answers from within the cosmic void.
Realistically, he realized all he had to do was talk to Josh to find out at least some of these answers; but that would require actual *talking* and the discussion of feelings, things that both of them usually went to great lengths to avoid. Even after those brief passionate kisses, Josh would turn away and lick his lips and Sam would run a hand through his hair and they'd fumble for the remote and find a game on television while Josh shifted to give a respectable amount of space between them.
Sam knew the routine and it was another thing he was comfortable with. And yet, in these quiet times alone within his apartment, he'd find himself reaching over and wishing Josh were beside him; wishing for god sake's that this routine they'd become accustomed to could just be broken once and for all. He wished -- he wished Josh would just -- talk to him again.
* * * * *
The relentless ringing of the phone awoke him. He stretched his legs and rubbed his left eye with his fist while peering at the clock through his right. 1:15.
"h'llo?"
"Sam?"
Of course. "Hi, Dad," he said stiffly, briefly cursing him for his unyeilding thoughtlessness of the concept of Eastern Standard Time.
"I just thought we'd talk for a while."
Sam sighed. "Look, Dad, could this -- I mean, it's after one here."
"Oh. Sure. Sorry, son."
And Damn him for making Sam feel guilty with that wounded tone. "No, no. It's all right. What did you--?"
And so they talked. Well, his dad talked, he listened. Sam categorized the whole conversation as 'bullshit drabble to make sure that everything is still okay.'
But everything wasn't okay. And Sam knew it wouldn't be for a while. There was only so much one could take and Sam had twenty-eight years of lies and deceit to put behind him. 'No Dad, this won't just disappear in a day.'
By the time the conversation ended, he was exhausted physically and mentally. He held on to the receiver for a long while, wanting, needing to call Josh.
He fell asleep with it in his hand.
* * * * *
Rapping. Tapping. No, banging. It was most certainly banging. Sam jerked awake, cursing.
It took a few seconds before the realization of where he was set in and that the sound from his sleep was a knocking at the door.
He rubbed his eyes and looked at the clock, feeling a faint sense of d�j� vu.
"This had better be good!"
He opened the door and realized it simply couldn't get any worse.
"Hey. You're uh, you're phone just kept ringing."
Sam briefly remembered a call not being placed. He rubbed his sweaty palm with his index finger and felt the indent left there.
"Yeah, I guess I--" he waved it off, vaguely. Josh just nodded.
Sam moved aside and Josh walked in just far enough so he could close the door behind him. Sam moved to the couch and waited. He felt five years older, felt the pain in his bones like he was holding the weight of the world on his shoulders. He wanted to release some of it. He just -- wanted release.
Josh was pacing now, and Sam wanted to scream at him but instead he leaned his head back against the couch and closed his eyes.
He decided, this time, it was up to Josh to take the first step.
An eternity later, he finally spoke.
"So, my plan didn't work that well."
Sam felt the pain course through him. He gave a nod, just a mere acknowledgment that he was there and listening; it was all he could manage.
Josh apparently took it as encouragement and sat on the sofa swiftly, his trench coat making a whooshing sound.
"No, see, my plan was to get drunk and take you home. And yes, sex -- though not planned, was hoped for. What wasn't -- it wasn't --"
Something in Josh's voice struck Sam as odd. He crinkled his forehead and opened his eyes. Looking at Josh, he found something he'd never expected to see. At least, not directed at him; Nervousness, embarrassment, sheer terror; of what? Rejection?
"Sam?"
"What?" He knew his voice sounded like a twelve-year old girl, but he felt lucky his vocal cords were working at all.
Josh moved closer. "Is this," their lips were a breath apart and Sam couldn't look anymore, had to close his eyes, "all right?"
He gasped sharply and closed the distance, grazing Josh's lips. "You never -- felt the need to ask before?" It came out like a question, and he sighed, loving the fact that his breath was warming Josh's lips.
And then Josh was kissing him, and mumbling in between breaths, "'cos this isn't like before."
Sam let out a sigh, a loud sigh that made his heart feel ten pounds lighter and almost made the surrounding clouds disappear. "No, it's not," he agreed wrapping his arms around Josh.
This was a whole new routine, all together, he thought. And Sam felt that maybe, just maybe, they could find it even more comfortable than the old one.
* * * * * *
END
