TITLE: Mile High

AUTHOR: Demon Faith

CATEGORY: Humour (hopefully), Romance

SPOILERS: California 47^th, 25

SEASON/SEQUEL: Set near the beginning of Season 5, but outside the recognised timeline

RATING: PG-13

WARNINGS: Mild innuendo

SUMMARY: Josh wants to get laid at altitude; Sam is not quite with the program.

DISCLAIMER: The West Wing is the intellectual property of Aaron Sorkin, Bradley Whitford and Rob Lowe belong happily to themselves, and NBC should really take better care of its toys.

NOTES: Written on a 11-hour flight to Sri Lanka, when I really wished I was flying Air Force One. I’m a Brit stuck at the beginning of S5; therefore, please excuse all inconsistencies of the spoiler-free.

Feedback appreciated, if you can spare a moment.

It’s not that he was bored. It was more that he was having existential questions that he’d never had before – like ‘why am I here’, ‘why is Sam here’ and ‘why aren’t we on a lake in the Hamptons’.

Oh, he liked Air Force One well enough – it was difficult to dislike really, with the open lounges and the newly-installed beds, food fit for the President and far too much beer. If only Sam would let him at the beer, the sweeter and saltier foodstuffs, the bed…

Okay, that wasn’t fair, because Sam was all for making him sleep, but Josh didn’t want to *sleep* and there was nothing for him to do. He was Deputy Chief of Staff to President Bartlet; this was not a feeling that occurred often. Yet all the meaningful work he could do was back at the office and France was…well, a whole mess that really wasn’t his forte.

Really, he was Da Man for *domestic* policy – he had it all down, every politico on the Hill whipped into shape. However, when it came to reaching out to Europe, he was so not anyone’s man. Including Sam’s, who was still insisting Italy was a nice place to vacation. Sell-out.

Josh stretched, cracking his neck in the way that really bugged Sam and then just stared. Damn, but he’d missed him. He was the first to admit that them both boarding the Angel that day had been nothing short of a miracle.

First off, Leo McGarry got sick. Leo *never* got sick, never had Josh known the man with the ear of the Oval to sniffle. Influenza, however, didn’t obey convention, and Margaret refused to let Leo fly anywhere when he couldn’t stand up without swaying. Therefore, a very grouchy McGarry was holed up in his office, shouting at Margaret and bombarding Josh with hoarse-whispered advice. Like ‘Don’t do anything stupid’.

The second thing was even more absurd – Will couldn’t tell the President about France. Mostly because he was on vacation in some remote part of Africa with sporadic cell coverage and no way home for another week. Toby had been given Huck and Molly duty, whilst Andy powered through a piece of gay rights legislation that Josh really wished he were home for.

Which left only one man fit for the job, and wasn’t it fortunate that it had been Sam Seaborn who was responsible for all the initial groundwork on this oft-cancelled trip. Coincidence much.

So Josh admired the miracle before him and edged closer, studying the face thoughtfully. Sam looked older, he decided – a few more lines, darker shadows beneath his eyes, a look that told him unemployment would never suit Sam Seaborn.

He’d landed on his feet, some volunteering at EMILY’s List, but no one had offered him permanent work. He’d lost a Congressional race only to have the White House shun him – the budgeters didn’t want another top-level man in the west wing, especially not one commanding Sam’s salary. It stung, but that was the truth of it.

Besides, Josh suspected Sam was too proud to accept back the job he’d turned away from. His dream was shattered before his eyes, and Josh was stuck hundreds of miles away in DC. It could’ve been a million and Josh would never have felt more cold, jaded, heart-broken.

Josh crept up behind him, hands settling on his shoulders and digging in, diving down for a quick kiss to his neck. Sam squirmed and glanced pointedly at the door.

“Someone will see, Josh,” he murmured, but leaned back, exposing his neck to another attack. Josh smirked, sensing victory.

Then Sam pushed him away, cleared his throat and stared at the computer screen. He typed a few words and stopped. Then his normal pace resumed and he was soon lost in the multi-billion dollar trade agreement, all Josh’s efforts gone to waste.

But Josh Lyman was not a man who was easily defeated. He stalked to the door and very deliberately shut the blind before prowling back to Sam in what he hoped was a sexy and irresistible manner. Sam just raised an eyebrow, a smile playing on his lips. Josh leaned forward, both hands braced on the table and staring straight into Sam’s eyes. Then, tenderly, he kissed the side of his mouth, burying his face into Sam’s cheek.

“You need to rest.”

Sam chuckled. That wasn’t part of the plan.

“Yes, because ‘rest’ is what you have in mind.” At least, Josh was pleased to note, there was an edge of wobble to the voice. Small victories.

“Sam…” Josh whined, but Sam only laughed harder. “You’ve been working for *hours*!”

“And I’m still not finished.” Sam attempted to pull back from Josh, but his chair held fast. Josh grinned.

“Josh, please, I have to give this to the President.”

Josh relented, dropping into his chair with a heart-felt sigh.

“Not much longer, I promise,” Sam said and Josh sank further into his chair, suddenly guilty to be disturbing Sam. He had something to prove here, and Josh was getting in the way. He felt like a complete jerk.

Steady fingers tilted up his chin and a dazzling Seaborn smile met his weary eyes. “You’re welcome to distract me anytime,” he murmured, eyes running over Josh as if he was his next meal. Food!

Josh stood abruptly, smiling again. “I will find bagels!” he declared.

“Okay,” Sam said, attempting seriousness, but his sparkling eyes gave him away.

Josh had to hurry away before he did something rash. He ran into CJ.

“Hey, easy Joshua! Who are you running from?”

Josh was about to answer, when CJ held up her hand, a sudden realisation hitting her.

“On second thoughts, I don’t want to know. The less I know, the better. Go…do whatever, just stay away from Danny.”

“Why would anyone want to stay away from me?”

CJ whirled and Josh saw Danny grinning like a shark. Damn.

“I’m bagel hunting,” he blurted. “CJ says you’re possessive over your bagels.”

Danny’s face relaxed into an amused smile. “The lady would be right. Stay away from my bagels!”

Josh held up his hands in surrender. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He slipped past them, as CJ shooed Danny back to the Press area, clucking about entitlement and Danny’s over-inflated sense of it. Josh found the chef with little trouble and was generously laden with bagels, cheese and salami. Heaven on a plate.

He balanced his load carefully and was just about to enter the room when he was tapped on the shoulder. Yelping, he just managed to hold onto the plates as he leapt around to face the Leader of the Free World.

“I’m sorry, Josh, did I startle you?”

Unpleasant thoughts rose to Josh’s mind, but he swallowed them down and smiled at the President.

“No, sir, not at all.”

President Bartlet laughed. “Just tell Sam to come out when he’s ready.”

He walked away as Josh’s mouth fell open. He did not just say that, did he? Shaking it off as an unfortunate double entendre, Josh pushed open the door and set down the plates.

“The President wants you to come out when you’re ready,” he said with as much innocence as he could muster. The typing stopped.

“Josh, what have you told the President of the United States?”

“Nothing at all! Those were his words. Though possibly he was referring to that speech with policy notes that you’re supposedly working on.”

A huge exhalation and Sam sank back in his chair, hitting a key. The printer started up and Sam rose, stretching out. Josh stepped into him, a soft kiss to dry lips and gentle caresses over stiff muscles. The printer stopped. So did Sam.

“Ten minutes, max,” Sam promised, and they trudged into the President’s office.

Two hours later, they emerged, Sam looking near collapse and Josh bored to tears.

“Why, Sam?” he whinged. “Why did you have to start him on the French Revolution?”

“It was a meeting of minds,” Sam protested, but it was weak. Josh caught him as he swayed dangerously and guided him into their room.

“Josh, I just need…”

“Bed.”

Sam’s mumbled protests barely reached his ears, as he stripped him of his tie before pushing him onto the bed and divesting him of socks and shoes.

“Work, Josh,” Sam muttered sleepily; Josh just shot him a look.

Finally, Sam was settled down and Josh could throw aside his own shoes before diving under the covers.

“Josh, I’m tired and…”

“I am a perfect gentleman.”

Josh gathered Sam up into his arms, first time in six months, three weeks and four days, but hey, who was counting?

“I’m sorry. Not quite the reunion you were planning.”

Josh buried his face in Sam’s soft, sweet-smelling hair and sighed.

“There’s always the journey home.”