Title: The Other Team

Author: Jinni (druscilla@cox.net)

Rated: PG13

Pairing: W/Ainsley

Disclaimer: All things BtVS belong to Joss Whedon, et al. All things WW belong to Aaron Sorkin, et al.

Distribution: The usual places.

Author's Notes: Something I've been meaning to write for a while.

Warnings: F/F content matter.

~*~*~

It was bad enough, in my friends' opinions, when I started working for the 'other team'. Meaning, of course, the Democrats. Nothing to do with any sort of sports team. Or academic challenge team. Or --

Well, you get the point, I hope.

Anyway, to make a long story that much shorter (which some would argue, with me, is an impossibility), I've 'switched sides' in another way now.

Oh, Matt Skinner couldn't be happier. He's not the 'only one' now. Not the only high profiler that did this thing that the rest of my party would probably like to have me hog-tied and thrown in the river for. Dear old Matt makes a point to drop by once or twice a week since 'The Incident' to make sure I'm doing alright. That I'm still as sane as ever and able to perform my job duties.

To lend me a sympathetic ear.

He's a good boy.

'The Incident'? Oh, don't worry, I can hear those devious little gears in your heads just turning away. You want to know what happened, right? I don't blame you. I'm sure that, in your position, I'd be just as curious. Thank goodness I'm not in your position, though. Or, is that a bad thing? Maybe your position is easier than mine. Knowing what I know, having done what I did. Maybe you have the easier way of things.

Fine. I'll tell you what happened.

Just let me grab a muffin, first.

~*~

Let me start off by saying that I was a perfectly normal Republican lawyer before being accosted by this White House.

Maybe accosted is too strong of a word. No one forced me to take the job. In fact, I said no - and then changed my mind.

Alright - not accosted at all, then.

I was a perfectly normal Republican lawyer before I was offered this job.

And then things began to change.

I'm not saying I compromised my beliefs. I didn't. In fact, I was right there, in their faces, shoving my beliefs down their throats, striving to show them how wrong they were.

But, still, I was here. . . in Bartlet's White House, working with his admittedly very proud Democratic staff.

That's what I choose to blame what happened next on. The fact that I was working amongst them. It must have rubbed off on me. This. . . tolerance. And tolerance led to other things.

Like Willow.

I saw her for the first time when she was visiting her Uncle between attending classes at Georgetown. She was sitting there, babbling away, with both Mister Ziegler and Sam just looking at her like she was something to behold.

They look at me the same way sometimes.

Turns out, they were used to her babbling, much in the same way they have yet to become used to my own. Her cheeks were pink and she had this gleam in her eyes. Sam waved me in, offering me a seat next to him; and yet she didn't break stride.

Turns out she's only twenty-two and finishing up her pre-law requirements. She finds law fascinating. Not that I blame her. I used to sit up reading past hearing and rulings just for the fun of it. I still do. She was arguing with Mister Ziegler over something trivial, but it meant the world to her.

I know what that's like.

"Willow?" Mister Ziegler interrupted her, his eyes flickering to me and then back to her. "Willow?"

She paused her babbling rant, mouth snapping shut. "Yes?"

"Are you going to sit there or introduce yourself?"

I wanted to tell him that it wasn't necessary, to just let her talk and keep talking. It was refreshing to hear someone that had so much to say. She reminded me of. . .me.

"Sorry." She blushed, standing up and offering me her hand. "Willow Rosenberg."

"Ainsley Hayes." I smiled. "That was impressive."

If anything, that only made her blush harder - Sam and Mister Ziegler just thought it was funny.

~*~*~

I didn't know it, but that was the moment my life changed forever. No, it isn't 'The Incident'. That happened later. I know you're still curious, but I've gotta run and get something from the mess. You want anything?

~*~*~

'The Incident' happened three weeks later. One week, to be precise, after I admitted to myself that my feelings for her weren't entirely staying where I wanted them - in the bounds of friendship. I think I'll also blame this entire mess on her being gay to begin with. If she wasn't, the ideas never would've gotten into my head. And, you know how ideas are, once they get in there they just take up roost and won't get out.

That's what happened - roosting ideas.

I sound silly, you don't have to say it. To blame these feelings on anyone other than myself is just not right. It's a defense mechanism, I swear.

Anyway, three weeks after I first met Willow we met for lunch. Not unusual in the least. She enjoys food about as much as I do. And she can cook, too. Not that that plays a part in this story. No, cooking wasn't the culprit of 'The Incident'.

A strawberry was.

She chose a tiny little cafe, near the college, for lunch. They served salads and fruit - a lot of vegetarian fare. Food is food, and I'm far from picky.

She ordered strawberries with her salad. A side of ripe, lush strawberries. They looked so good. Very juicy. Sweet. Maybe a little hint of bitterness.

"Want one?" She offered, sliding the bowl towards me.

"No, thank you," I smiled, looking down at my altogether boring looking salad. "I'm fine."

"Go on." She shrugged. "Plenty there to share."

She lifted one by the green of the stem, holding it out with a laugh. "C'mon, it looks all juicy."

She wasn't flirting with me. At least, I don't think she was. Which made what I did next all the more baffling to me.

I took the strawberry.

Oh, not just with my fingers. Oh, boy. Nothing so. . .easy. I had to take it with my teeth, right from her fingers.

That's when I realized that I was the one flirting with her.

That's a scary thing to suddenly have jump up and bite you in the butt, you know. It made me shake, scared me.

But didn't scare me -enough-.

By the end of the meal she had fed me three more of those little red troublemakers, and we were sitting so close we might as well have been sharing a chair. I was lost in the feelings, the emotions.

I didn't notice the reporter.

The story hit the paper before print that night.

~*~*~

So, there it is, 'The Incident'.

Not nearly as steamy as some make it out to be. Two friends sharing lunch together and it turned to something more. It was innocent. And wonderful. I'm pariah to my party right now; Matt assures me they'll come around eventually.

I couldn't care less.

I'm working in the White House, for a great man, Josiah Bartlet.

My coworkers are some of the most noble people in this country, even if they are misguided at times.

And --

"You ready to go?"

She's there, in the doorway of my office, otherwise known as the Steam Pipe Distribution Room. Her hair looks like soft copper in the false light of the overhead lamps.

"Sure thing, sweetie. Just let me finish this up."

And I have her.

I'm happy.

Everyone else can go dunk their heads for all I care.

~*~End Fic~*~