TITLE: Cleanse

AUTHOR: Demon Faith

CATEGORY: S/J, Vignette, Post ep: Black Vera Wang

SPOILERS: Heavy for ‘Black Vera Wang’ and slight for ‘US Poet Laureate’.

RATING: PG

CONTENT WARNINGS: Guilt trip.

SUMMARY: Sam needs a hug.

DISCLAIMER: They are not mine. :( If they were, *somebody* would’ve given Sam a hug.

AUTHOR’S NOTES: I was e-mailing Jeanine as I watched this episode, and my comments went:

Poor naive Sam - awwww! :( Sam, darling Sam! Getting soaked in the rain, fist-fight - cute!!! Soaking wet Sam...awwwwwww! Cuddle him!

I'm going to write fic - nice sappy S/J fic! Poor Sam needs a hug. And it's Josh's turn.

From there, this little vignette was born.

It was late. The rain battered at the windows, a steady drumming, driving him further into the wall. He brought his arms tightly around his knees, and shivered again. A drop of water trickled down his nose, but he made no move to stop it. Maybe he would drown.

What had he done? Gone against his friends’ counsel, set up the enemy’s next strike and quite possibly made this close election even closer. He could not face them, the people he had betrayed. He had worked though the day in silence, and then, with anger, tried to start a fight with Kevin Kahn. As if the administration needed any more bad press, as if he hadn’t wounded them enough.

Again, he shivered, his body protesting the cold water all around, trying to breathe through the guilt and the anger. He thought that, maybe, if that was all there was, if he was nothing more than guilt and anger, this wouldn’t happen again. He wouldn’t trust, wouldn’t care, wouldn’t want to believe that friends could be loyal. As he would be loyal. It’s easier to play politics without a soul.

The door to his office opened. He didn’t look up, just stayed staring at the floor he was ruining with his wet clothes.

“Sam.”

The word was a caress, no accusations, no anger – just his name spoken as if it were the most beautiful thing in the world. Footsteps approached, and suddenly, there was someone kneeling in front of him. Carefully, gentle fingers lifted his chin.

“It’s alright, Sam.”

The water on his face was no longer rain, and when Josh took him in his arms, there was no resistance. He held onto him, closer than close, Josh drowning with him, part of him. Then Josh pulled him away from the wall, slowly lifted him to his feet, pushing off the wet coat.

“You’re freezing. God, Sam, what were you thinking?”

“You wouldn’t want to know me.”

The words, dull to his ears, fell from his mouth before he could think. Josh stared, jaw setting, eyes hardening. He grabbed Sam’s shoulders, forcing him to look up.

“I love you, Sam,” he said, his voice rough, “Just cos some…Republican,” he spat out the word, “used your trust and loyalty against you…God, Sam I’m *proud* to be your friend,” his voice lowered, “your lover.”

Sam brought his head to Josh’s, and they stood, clutching at each other. Josh kissed him, a sweet reassurance, a promise. Sam surrendered, letting Josh press against him, his own hands buried in Josh’s jumper. They pulled away, breathing in ragged unison.

“Let’s go home, Sam. You need some dry clothes.”

“Josh,” he met his eyes, his loving eyes, “I believe in you. We would never…if they gave us…we wouldn’t…”

“No, Sam,” Josh said, firmly, “We never would. We’re the good guys, remember?” Sam smiled, “And if I ever try,” Josh said, deadly serious now, “run, Sam, because I won’t deserve a man like you.”

“You wouldn’t, Josh. You’re not Kevin Kahn,” Sam’s voice was bitter, hard.

“Too right. That’s why I have a fan club, and he doesn’t.”

Sam laughed, and dragged Josh to him, the kiss fragile, the trust complete. Josh pulled away gently, and with an arm around him, led him away from his office, from his failure, from his guilt.