TITLE: To His Coy Sam

AUTHOR: Demon Faith

EMAIL: demon_faith@btopenworld.com

CATEGORY: Sam/Josh, Fluffiness

SPOILERS: None that I can think of.

SEASON/SEQUEL: Set sometime before Season 4, cos of, y’know...the thing. :( Amy exists as a plot device.

RATING: PG-13

CONTENT WARNINGS: Slushy stuff. Some...subtle messages. (if my teacher is to be believed.)

SUMMARY: Someone is sending Sam messages...if only he knew what they meant...

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own these people, and, well, Aaron Sorkin’s ownership is a little shaky right now. Good luck to whoever has to follow that amazing act. ‘To His Coy Mistress’ was written by Andrew Marvell in the 17^th Century, so I don’t think he’s going to sue me for messing with his poem.

AUTHOR’S NOTES: As ridiculous as it may sound, this is in fact my English Literature revision. Yeah, fooling no one. This poem was in my English anthology, and despite the fact it’s written to a woman, I couldn’t help feeling that it referred to Sam and Josh in some strange way. Hence, this fic.

“Do I look old to you?”

Sam started at the question, and looked up to see a pensive Josh loitering in his doorway. Hiding a quiet smirk, Sam shook his head slowly.

“No you don’t. Why?”

“I feel old. Do you feel old, Sam?”

Feeling it was one of *those* days, Sam sighed and shut down his laptop. This was going to take a while.

“Uh...not particularly. What...what made you feel old?”

“Amy dumped me. She said I was old.”

Mouthing a silent ‘ah’, Sam shuffled the papers to one side. This was going to take a *long* time.

“Nope, you don’t look old to me. You look...great.”

Sam pushed aside the immediate flow of images and commentary that flowed to his brain regarding exactly how great Josh looked and how much better he would look without his clothes. //So not going there today// he thought ruefully.

Josh’s eyes met his, and a slow smile spread across his face.

“Uh...thanks Sam. That...means a lot to me.”

Josh left the doorway, leaving a stunned Sam sitting at his desk. //Well, that must be a record// he thought, dumbly.

~

It was past ten before Sam got back to his office that day, after a string of meetings that went absolutely nowhere. He stumbled tiredly into his office, realising that he did feel old, and that he really should go to the gym sometime. He stopped as he came to his desk, frowning at what he saw in front of him.

“What the hell...” he muttered, and walked slowly up to his desk. Sitting in the middle, where he swore his laptop had been, was a pile of sugar rubies arranged carefully beside one of the day’s reports. //Irrigation from the Ganges// his brain supplied, as he reached out to touch the collection of sweets.

Frowning at the apparent gift, he shook his head and walked slowly around the desk to find his laptop. He looked up as the light hit something shining. Fixed with a silver pushpin to his world map was a wooden doll’s house chair, with a typed note beside it that read:

‘We would sit down, and think which way

To walk and pass our long love’s day?’

He pulled it off, frowning, wondering whether to call security or CJ. The words seemed vaguely familiar, something he recognised...

The phone began to ring and he turned, hesitant. Should he answer it? Would it be his...mystery gift-giver? He picked it up, and said ‘Hello?” in a small voice.

“Sam? You alright, buddy?”

Josh. Thank God.

“Josh! Yes, I’m...good. I just...”

He stopped his babble about stalkers and mystery gifts – how stupid would that seem to Josh? Laying the note and chair carefully over the sugar rubies, he leaned back against the desk.

“It’s nothing. What’s up?”

“The President’s been wanting a report on vegetables for months now and no one’s been able to find it. Thought I might pass it along to you.”

Sam blinked at the absurdity of that request, but just passed it off as the usual Josh Lyman insanity.

“Ok...I’ll look for that tomorrow.”

“Thanks Sam, I owe you.”

Sam replaced the receiver, and turned back towards his desk. Smiling to himself, he placed his gifts in a drawer before going home for the night.

~

The next day, bright and early, Sam arrived at the office, to find Ginger staring at a folder in her hands. He peered over her shoulder, and yelped, making his assistant jump.

“Sam! What...what are you doing?”

Sam took the folder from her, and stared at the label.

“’Vegetable growth in the United States’. Ginger, where did this come from?”

“It was on my desk when I came in. Do you know...?”

“Yeah, I’ll take it.”

Sam walked into his office, frowning. Flipping open the front page, he was surprised to see another typed note overlaying the report. This time, it read:

‘My vegetable love should grow

Vaster than empires, and more slow.’

Again, he knew the words but couldn’t place them. He set down the report, frowning. This was both scary and exciting – who was sending strange gifts and notes? What did it all mean?

“Sam?” Donna’s head peered round the door, and she handed him an envelope. “This came through for you.”

He took the envelope, smiling at her, and opened it carefully. A picture fluttered to the floor, and he stooped down to pick it up. He froze, not quite believing his eyes. A picture of him, printed from somewhere, with little silver annotations – beside his eyes, 100; across his chest, 200; and a long bracket around him with 30,000 beside it. He wondered if this could be a bull’s-eye of some description, when he spotted another note on the floor beside it. He picked it up with trepidation, but his brain told him it was alright: the Service checked the mail. It couldn’t be bad...unless it was from within the White House...his mind flickered to Donna. Could Donna be the one? That was...absurd. He shook his head, too confused to think about it, and read the note aloud.

“An age at least to every part,

And the last age should show your heart.”

Despite a slight fear of this mystery gift-giver, Sam wasn’t too disturbed. These notes were...beautiful, and he knew this poetry. Someone was sending him something that he should know, someone wanted him to know what was going on here – if only he could figure it out...

“Sam? What you doing down there?”

Sam quickly flicked the paper under his desk, and looked up to see Josh frowning at him.

“Nothing, just looking for...my pen.”

Sam got hurriedly to his feet, as Josh reached out and plucked the pen from Sam’s top pocket.

“This pen?”

Sam stared at it, as Josh handed it back, fingers brushing. Sam tried to suppress the jolt of energy running through him as Josh called “Senior Staff!” to him as he left.

Sam leaned back against the desk, wondering what was the matter with him. He wouldn’t be able to do his job if this kept up all day. He knelt back down on the floor and retrieved the picture and note, stuffing them in his drawer. Hurriedly grabbing his memo, he moved quickly away from the office.

Senior Staff was uneventful, not that he had expected anything else, but Josh’s eyes kept meeting his and that was doing nothing for his concentration. When he managed to escape from the meeting, he was met by Donna.

“Sam! Ginger said you found the report.”

Sam, looking at her strangely, nodded slowly.

“Yes, I did. Do you want it...?”

“Josh says tomorrow is fine. You alright, Sam? You look...worried.”

“No, no, I’m fine,” he mumbled, before heading back to his office. Opening the door slowly, he just resisted covering his eyes with his hands. He walked towards the desk, squatting down to be at head height with the...interesting object on his sand-covered desk.

It appeared to be a winged chariot, a metal model that must’ve been constructed rather than ordered. He blew absently at the sand, sending it flying off his desk. He picked up the note beside the chariot, and read:

‘But at my back I always hear

Time’s winged chariot hurrying near:

And yonder all before us lie

Deserts of vast eternity.’

Hmm...not quite the same note as the last ones. Sam was concerned again, but it was dampened by the knowledge that it was someone in the building, and that it probably had something to do with Donna. Donna could tell him...but did he want her to? This mystery was intriguing, and just a little bit...sexy. Okay, more than a bit...

“Sam?”

He started again, turning at that voice. Josh stood there with his hands in his pockets, as Sam arranged himself in front of the chariot. And just for a moment, Josh’s eyes flicked up and down his body and a small smile flitted across his lips. Sam felt the temperature rise, and reached up to adjust his collar.

“The President wants to see you.”

Josh thankfully disappeared, so that Sam could return his breathing to normal rate. Carefully, he brushed the sand into his filling drawer and placed the chariot with it. Whoever sent the gifts, they definitely knew how to push his buttons, with just the edge of mystery and uncertainty making it so much more exciting. He had the faint idea where this poem led, and he couldn’t wait for the finale.

~

The President, for reasons passing understanding, had dragged him into the Oval Office and was refusing to let him out. All the time it was speeches and policy and more writing, and then editing – all which apparently had to happen within the confines of his office, whilst he lectured about the merits of poetic expression versus conventional conversation. If he hadn’t known better, Sam could’ve sworn that the President also knew what was going on, but that would’ve been absurd.

At last, as dusk was beginning to fall, Sam managed to escape to his office, wondering what treasure he would find there. He walked into his bullpen to find it deserted, and the blinds in his office were closed. He walked in, and picked up the gift, admiring it. There was a white marble heart and a spent match rested on top, a pile of ash around it. He set it down, and picked up the note, almost afraid of what it would say. It read:

‘And your quaint honour turn to dust

And into ashes all my lust.’

Sam tilted his head to one side. He didn’t understand this one. Was he holding out on someone? What was...?

“Sam.”

He turned, and saw light. Josh stood in the doorway, a candle cupped in his two hands. He smiled at Sam, and walked forward slowly, words flowing from his lips.

“Now, therefore, while the youthful hue

Sits on thy skin like morning dew,

And while thy willing soul transpires

At every pore with instant fires.”

Josh set the candle down on the desk, where a few grains on sand still clung. Sam watched in wonder, transfixed. This couldn’t be...could it?

“Now let us sport us while we may;

And now, like amorous birds of prey,

Rather at once our time devour,

Than languish in his slow-chapped power.”

Josh took the note from Sam’s trembling hands, then sealed them between his own.

“Let us roll our strength, and all

Our sweetness, up into one ball:

And tear our pleasures with rough strife,

Thorough the iron gates of life.”

He moved just a little closer; his lips inches from Sam’s, and his words a whisper:

“Thus, though we cannot make our sun

Stand still, yet we will make him run.”

Josh closed the distance, and Sam gasped, his head swimming as all his suppressed thoughts and feelings exploded into an amazing kiss. When Josh finally pulled away, sliding his hands carefully onto Sam’s shoulders, he smiled lazily.

“You like poetry, Sam?”

He could only nod stupidly, as Josh took his hand and led him slowly out of the door.

“So do I.”

*fini*

Real, unadulterated poem here: http://www.luminarium.org/sevenlit/marvell/coy.htm

Shame I couldn’t have found that before typing it out <sigh>