Here's That West Wing Fanfic Where Sam and Ainsley Are On a Date

Because it's Substack, so why not?

I think my favorite thing about Substack is how absolutely great it is to just write freely, have an outlet for thoughts, flex my writing muscles, and really have zero regard for how many followers I have or if I'm building an audience. 

Don't get me wrong -- I love making things for an audience. Whether I'm getting laughs from my friends or onstage or getting the odd "like" on something I wrote, I am motivated by validation the way dogs are motivated by cheese. But Substack seems to have a great culture of "whatever," and while I mess around until I figure out what this is, I feel really liberated while I just play around. 

I also like reading what other interesting, creative, and thoughtful people are writing. After seeing an Instagram post by Sarah Cooper -- the comedian and author who went viral for lip-synching Donald Trump and continued to be truly delightful and hilarious -- I signed up for her Substack to see what she was up to. And while Sarah Cooper is a zillion times more accomplished than I am, her writing was just so, so relatable. So relatable that I gasped a couple of times. (In a good way, like finding out you're weird the same way someone else is weird and then feeling a massive sense of relief.) 

Her latest Substack included a bit about how writers need to kill their darlings. It's what happens when you write something and you love it (like, love it), but for whatever reason, it needs to be kiboshed. It could be because it's extraneous, or it ultimately just doesn't help your story anymore. No matter what the reason, everyone edits, but killing your darlings is something every writer will have to do for the sake of making their work the best it can be. 

I thought about this as it related to the fanfiction I write. In a sense, I'm always writing very doomed darlings because these stories can't really go anywhere. And if my fanfiction serves the purpose I need it to, to help me find an original story with original characters, then there's going to be a massacre of darlings when I get rid of everything pertaining to the IP that doesn't belong to me. These are dead darlings walking. 

But here on Substack where nothing matters, I thought maybe I could resurrect some of these darlings for the sheer fun of it. After all, my most successful post so far (which isn't saying much, but still) is the West Wing fanfiction scene I wrote about cocaine in the Bartlet White House. And even better, people left me some extremely lovely feedback on it, which made me feel like I actually didn't do something embarrassing. (Doesn’t mean I won’t! Keep reading to find out if I do.)

So, now, I present to you another West Wing fanfic that I wrote because I wanted to see Sam Seaborn and Ainsley Hayes on a date. That date goes sideways, but not until they get some good Sam-Ainsley banter in there. This is also a story that (as I'd hoped) took on a life of its own and I've already started the new, original version with different characters. But Sam and Ainsley were so much fun to write, and while these darlings have been banished to the writerly graveyard, here they are, returned to this Substack where they may live on as zombies. 

Thursday Night – 9:00 PM

“Great to see you.”

“You too, just don’t use my real name, okay?”

“Should I come up with a fake name for myself? For fun?”

“Seriously, if people see us here and think we’re together…”

“When I was a kid, I used to pretend I was a detective named Kent Trenchcoat.”

“Well, that’s adorable.”

“I wore my dad’s fedora and my mom’s raincoat.”

“If you’re trying to seduce me…”

“For the record, I certainly don’t mind being seen here with you.”

“I know, Sam, I was kidding.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” In an incredibly smooth move, Sam stroked the back of Ainsley’s shoulder, gently pulling her in for a passionate kiss. They let themselves disappear into the moment, taking in each other’s taste and scent, the way their chemistry bubbled and sparked and made them feel like they were the only two people in that DC bar. Ainsley gave the back of Sam’s neck a scratch, cupping his head in her hands, then slipping her hands down to his shoulders. His hand went from her shoulder to her waist, pulling her into him just a bit so he could kiss her just a bit deeper. He let her break the kiss, then he gave her one last peck before smiling at her. “Hi.”

Ainsley could only smile. “Hi.”

“What are you drinking tonight?”

“It’s Thursday? I’ll get a strawberry daiquiri.”

“Well, you can order that yourself, Ms. Hayes.”

“Not too embarrassed to be seen with a Republican but a strawberry daiquiri is just crossing the line. This kind of discernment will definitely win you re-election.”

“Weird how you were the first person to see our official platform.”

“You’ve really gotta be careful about letting pieces of paper like that just float around.”

“You should really stop rooting around in my garbage for doughnuts.” Sam gave Ainsley another smile then turned to the bartender, who had patiently given the two a moment. “Can I get a strawberry daiquiri?”

The bartender smirked, giving Ainsley a short nod. “You got it.”

Ainsley hung up her coat on the hook underneath the bar and took her seat. As if to further show off his now proven masculinity, Sam grabbed either side of the stool and pulled her toward him, resting his closer hand on Ainsley’s leg. Ainsley took Sam’s hand and wrapped her fingers around it.

“How was your day?” he asked, sipping his beer.

“Rushed, like I was hours behind on nearly everything. But it all worked out. Things were finished mostly on time with little to no bloodshed. How about your day?”

“Finished the first draft of remarks for the childcare appearance. It’s not there yet, but between me and Toby, we’ll turn it into something.”

“I have some ideas.”

“Is one of them not offering free childcare?”

“It is!”

“The general purpose of the event is to promote our free childcare program…”

“Because no one’s trying to make any money with their own privately-run childcare.”

“People are free to pay for that if they want to and can afford it.”

“But if there’s a no-frills, government-run program that costs nothing and plops kids in front of the TV for a few hours…”

“Or they can forget about saving up to send those children to college and spend the same amount of money on group naps.”

“If you wanna debate about early childhood education versus secondary education and how we pay for it…”

“I suppose all those working mothers can just quit their jobs.”

“And start their own small businesses, perhaps a for-profit childcare center.”

“We never really talk anymore.”

“Aren’t we better when we don’t talk?”

They gazed at each other for a moment, longingly. Admiringly.

“I happen to think we’re really good when we talk.” Sam tucked a lock of hair behind Ainsley’s ear.

Ainsley let out a small chuckle that turned into a big smile, then planted another kiss on Sam. “Me too.”

“Seriously though, you like the new job?”

“I do, I feel a bit more appreciated there. I feel… heard.”

“Ainsley, we always heard you.”

“I know you always heard me.”

“So did Josh, Toby, and CJ. Not to mention Leo and the President.”

“Except my boss was the White House Counsel.”

“Well, I can’t speak for… any of those guys.”

“See?”

“They just keep disappearing, like the drummers from Spinal Tap.”

“Look, it was an honor to work for the White House, but I was happy to get back to something where I wasn’t just the devil on your shoulder.”

“We needed that devil! I miss that devil.”

“If you ever need my hellraising on something, you can always call me. But I’m happy to be putting my own name in front of things instead of… well, a Democratic President’s name.”

That same bug bit Sam more often lately. He watched intently as Ainsley spoke, not just agreeing with her for her sake, but understanding it on his own level. After three months of dating each other, they’d come to treat these sparring matches as play – sometimes foreplay – and for two smart, ambitious people, they were constantly leveling up their respect for each other. They would keep opening doors that they wanted to walk through together.

It scared the hell out of both of them. They loved it.

The bartender slid Ainsley’s tropical red concoction in front of her, placing it on a napkin. She thanked him as Sam raised his glass. “I’m happy that you’re happy.”

Ainsley raised hers, and they clinked. “Thank you.”

They each took another sip and grasped each other’s hands. Sam swallowed carefully, trying to avoid choking on his beer as he worked up the courage to ask Ainsley a question he’d been wanting to ask.

“What’s your weekend look like?”

“My weekends are pretty open. Do you actually have a weekend this weekend?”

“I was going to sneak away from things for a day.”

“Did you want company while you snuck?”

“Isn’t it ‘sneaked’?”

“Snuck.”

“There’s no way that’s right.”

“Sam, if you want a dictionary as company this weekend, that can be arranged.”

“No, I would really like to take a trip. With you. Maybe overnight. Like a hotel with room service, hiking or walking or some sort of low-impact activity somewhere scenic where we can breathe air and talk about, I don’t know, anything but our jobs.”

Ainsley considered it while taking a lengthy drink. “The weather is supposed to be beautiful.”

“Yeah.”

“I’d love to.”

“I can look into a few places.”

“I have a few ideas.”

“We can compare notes.”

“I like this idea.”

“It’s almost like a vacation.”

“For a day.”

“A day-cation.”

“Such a wordsmith.”

“I save my best nonsense words for you, you know.”

“I am so flattered.”

“And I write for the President of the United States.”

They lifted each other’s hands, intertwining their fingers, caressing each other’s palms.

“I’d love to go on a day-cation with you, Sam.”

“Excellent.”

After a pause and a sip of his drink, Sam took in the atmosphere of The Farnsworth. He wondered to himself how people started thinking they could get away with getting drunk on Thursdays only to be hungover and unproductive on Fridays. They didn’t generally take Fridays off. So why sabotage themselves? Maybe this was too nerdy to even think about.

“Hey Sam,” Ainsley said, interrupting his thoughts. “Have you ever snuck a nonsense word into a speech for the President?”

“You mean ‘sneaked.’” For a fleeting moment, Sam’s brow furrowed as he surveyed the crowd at the bar. Something caught his attention and held it, something that struck him as unusual. At the very least, something was off. A familiar-looking man was talking to an even more familiar-looking woman, the latter of which he recognized as a reporter. The man was very animated, his eyebrows shot up to his hairline. Sam took a moment and frowned as he tried to identify the man. “Isn’t that Lenny Hagle?”

Ainsley looked in the direction Sam had been looking, pretending to look around the whole bar. “Yeah.”

“Why do you think he’s talking to a reporter?”

“Which reporter?”

“Jill Mackie. Washington Post.”

“Doesn’t she write an opinion column now?”

“Does she?”

“Yeah, I think she changed jobs.”

Sam frowned again. There was something bothering him about this, and some of it had to do with the body language of Democratic Minority Whip Lenny Hagle. He looked nervous, like he didn’t want to be there. Like he knew he shouldn’t be talking to a reporter. Sam swore he saw beads of sweat reflecting off Hagle’s temples, illuminated by a conveniently placed light. Hagle confirmed it when he wiped his brow, exposing pit stains on his light gray blazer.

“Something is making him very nervous.”

“Do you want to call someone, check things out?”

“I do.” He chilled out and came back to Earth, looking into the eyes of the beautiful, blonde woman sitting in front of him. “But I really don’t have to.”

“Do you want me to find out what’s going on?”

“No, I want you to stay here so I can watch you eat that strawberry.”

Ainsley obliged, looking right into Sam’s eyes and bringing the strawberry that was wedged on the rim of her glass to her lips. She took a sensual bite, maintaining eye contact. His eyes were still darting to the point beyond her. “Sam…”

“I’m sorry.”

“Honestly, you’re getting me curious. Text Josh.”

Sam quickly reached for his phone and sent a text to Josh, then put the phone on the bar. Less than a minute later, it started vibrating and Sam picked it up. “Hey.”

Ainsley watched him as he listened and watched as his expression went stoic. She knew this face. Sam had a good poker face, but she also knew when he was trying to put on a good poker face, ultimately meaning that he had a bad poker face. At least to those who knew him well enough. He’d just heard something that really concerned him, signaled by his look down to the floor and off to the side. As he kept listening and providing one-syllable responses, she finished her strawberry and sipped her drink. He stood up, gave a gesture to hold on a sec, and he stepped out after she nodded. He gave her hand a quick squeeze, indicating he’d be right back. Ainsley watched him as he weaved through the bar’s patrons and exited, stopping right in front of the big front window.

As she waited, the bartender asked if she wanted another drink. She politely declined then casually turned around to rummage through her bag hooked on the back of her chair, giving her a discreet way to look behind her at Hagle. He still looked very stressed out, and Jill Mackie was not giving him an inch. He was practically cornered, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, looking down at the floor, sometimes nodding his head, sometimes putting his hand to his face. Ainsley wondered if he’d approached the reporter or if the reporter approached him, dangling something incriminating in front of him.

Five minutes later, Sam appeared next to her, the cold air from outside still coming off his blazer. He immediately reached for Ainsley’s coat.

“We need to get outta here.” His voice was hushed. “We can find somewhere else, but we need to leave.”

“Did you find something out?”

“Oh yeah.” Sam held Ainsley’s coat out for her to put on, and she backed into her sleeves. Both she and Sam gave another glance to Hagle, who picked that moment to look up. He saw the two looking at him, and that was that. He’d been seen by a member of the President’s senior staff and a prominent Republican attorney. Sam and Ainsley both saw the look of dread on Hagle’s face and started getting ready quicker. Ainsley went for her wallet, but Sam had already closed the tab, getting his card back from the bartender and leaving a cash tip on the bar. He grabbed his own coat and took Ainsley’s hand, a bit frantically, and they headed out of the bar, bundling up as he walked out.

“Sam, tell me what’s happening,” Ainsley urged as soon as the cold air hit her face.

“As soon as we get in the car.”

Part of the success of Sam and Ainsley’s relationship was that they both knew when they had to stay quiet. And while Sam was clearly disturbed by whatever he’d heard on the phone, Ainsley played it cool until they found Sam’s car a block away.

Once inside with the car door closed, insulating them from the cold and noise outdoors, they were finally somewhat private. Sam locked the car doors and took a quick look around. Then he took a breath, turned Ainsley’s face toward his with one hand, and leaned in to kiss her passionately. Ainsley decided against following her confusion and pressed on with their makeout session. After a few minutes, and just as their heat was fogging up the windows, Sam pulled himself away.

Sam took a breath and grinned at Ainsley. “Hi.”

“Hello.”

“I genuinely wanted to do that, but I also wanted people to see us doing that so that’s what they can say we were doing.”

“We were doing that.”

“Right.”

“Sam, why do we need people to witness us making out?”

“Okay, I’ll get right into it. It’s bad.”

Ainsley briefly mourned the death of the sensual mood they’d just set in Sam’s front seat. “How bad?”

“Sex trafficking bad.”

“What?”

“This isn’t just a Minority Whip problem. It’s also the Speaker of the House. They’re apparently part of a sex trafficking ring that’s been operating out of DC.”

Ainsley was dumbstruck. “Josh knows this?”

“He heard it was a rumor, he didn’t have any evidence. But according to those rumors, he said Hagle was apparently involved too, and if Hagle is acting funny around a reporter, he might be trying to plug the leak.”

“With Jill Mackie?”

“Jill most likely knows about it.”

“How did Josh find out?”

“Gossip mill. He didn’t give it a whole lot of credence until, well…” Sam let out a deep breath as Ainsley rubbed his neck. “Hagle saw us.”

“I know.”

“So did Jill Mackie.”

“I know.”

“That makes me very uncomfortable.”

“Yeah.”

“Not because they saw us together.”

“I knew what you meant.”

“I really don’t care if we make the papers.”

Ainsley smiled. “I figured we were only keeping quiet because we weren’t sure where we were going.”

“If I’m being honest, Ainsley, I don’t know where we’re going, I just hope it’s somewhere.”

“Me too.”

Sam let his breath slow down as Ainsley kept a hold of his hand. He grasped it back then leaned in to kiss her across the console of his car. She returned it, a little more attentively in an effort to distract him from this gross bombshell they just heard. She placed one hand on his chest, feeling for his heart. It was pounding.

“You should come to my place. Spend the night.”

“As much as I’d like to do that…”

“I don’t think you should be alone.” Ainsley nibbled his neck. “Seriously, come over for a few hours and calm down.”

“I’m calm…”

“Please, what we just heard is… disgusting.”

“Yeah.”

“Upsetting.”

“Yeah.”

“And frankly, I’d like to not be alone tonight.”

“Well, if that’s what you need, I have no choice but to keep you company.”

“Okay.” She stroked his cheek and jawline as they kissed again. Ainsley broke the kiss and gave Sam’s leg a playful slap. “You know where to go, let’s go.”

Sam gave her a nod and started his car, carefully pulling out into the street.

“Hey, Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“You know there really wasn’t any reason for you to create some kind of alibi for us before, right?”

“I know, but it felt like a great excuse to kiss you very passionately.”

Ainsley smiled and gave Sam’s arm a shove. They drove a few more blocks, stopped by traffic lights at nearly every single corner. The traffic was light, rush hour having ended hours ago. They finally hit one green light and Sam sailed through the intersection.

At the same time, another car blew their red light, sailing through the intersection and into Sam’s car, t-boning the driver side, sending the wreckage across multiple lanes and into a mailbox. Had it not been for that mailbox, which was bolted to the ground yet still hit with enough force to knock it sideways, the car would have careened into the storefronts.