Chapter Text
CONGRESSMAN METHUSELAH
Sam knew there was going to be a problem when she walked into Leo's office and found everybody waiting for her.
Leo was behind his desk.
Toby was on the sofa.
C.J. was leaning against the bookcase.
Donna had apparently been dragged in from Josh's bullpen.
Margaret was standing in the doorway.
Josh was sitting on the corner of Leo's desk.
Sam stopped.
“No.”
Josh frowned. “No what?”
“Whatever this is.”
“You don't know what this is.”
“There are six of you.”
“Five,” Toby said. “Josh doesn't count.”
“Thank you.”
“You're welcome.”
Leo pointed at the empty chair.
“Sit down, Sam.”
Sam sat.
Leo looked around the room.
“Congressman Henshaw.”
There was a collective reaction.
C.J. groaned.
Donna muttered something under her breath.
Toby's face hardened.
Margaret said, “Oh, God.”
Sam looked between them.
“What?”
Josh smiled.
“Congressman Methuselah.”
“Don't call him that,” Leo said.
“You call him that.”
“Not where he can hear me.”
Sam frowned. “Why am I here?”
“We need his vote.”
“You've needed his vote for three weeks.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And nobody in this room can get it.”
Sam looked at Toby.
“No.”
Toby looked offended.
“Why me?”
“Because normally when nobody else can get something through Congress, we send you.”
“He won't see me.”
“Why?”
“I told him his understanding of the Constitution was based on a document that apparently existed only in his imagination.”
Sam stared.
“You said that to a congressman?”
“He was wrong.”
Josh said, “He also called him a fossil.”
“After he called me a communist.”
C.J. nodded. “In fairness, that was provocation.”
Sam turned to her.
“You?”
“He'll see me. I'm not seeing him.”
“Why?”
“He asked whether I became aggressive because I hadn't found a husband.”
Sam's mouth fell open.
“He did not.”
“He did.”
Donna raised a hand.
“He told me I'd make somebody a very efficient little wife.”
Sam turned.
“He did not.”
“He did.”
Margaret said, “He asked me whether Leo dictated his correspondence to me.”
Sam stared at her.
“He does dictate correspondence to you.”
“He meant with me sitting on his knee.”
“Oh.”
Leo said, “Exactly.”
Sam looked at Josh.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
Everyone looked at him.
Josh sighed.
“I asked whether he'd actually read the bill.”
Sam waited.
“He said he'd been reading legislation since before I was born.”
“That seems factually likely.”
“I told him that wasn't what I asked.”
Toby smiled.
“He didn't like that.”
“No.”
Sam looked at Leo.
“And you?”
Leo's expression didn't change.
“I informed him that the nineteenth century had ended.”
Sam blinked.
“When?”
“During the nineteenth century.”
C.J. snorted.
Leo ignored her.
“Henshaw hasn't taken a meeting with me since.”
“So,” Sam said slowly, “you've insulted him, he's insulted all of you, and now we're down to me.”
“Yes.”
“Why will he see me?”
Silence.
Sam looked around the room.
“Why will he see me?”
Josh scratched his eyebrow.
“Well.”
Sam's eyes narrowed.
“Joshua.”
“He has... preferences.”
“What preferences?”
Donna suddenly became very interested in the carpet.
Toby said, “He's an antediluvian misogynist.”
“Toby.”
“What? He is.”
C.J. looked at Sam.
“He'll meet with women.”
“Good.”
“In skirts.”
Sam stared.
Nobody spoke.
“In what?”
“Skirts,” Josh repeated.
“I heard you.”
“Then why did you ask?”
“Because I was hoping I'd hallucinated.”
Leo leaned forward.
“You don't have to do it.”
Sam looked at him.
“We need his vote?”
“Yes.”
“And he'll meet me if I'm wearing a skirt.”
“Yes.”
“And this is actually a sentence we're saying in the White House in 2000.”
“Yes.”
Sam considered it.
Then shrugged.
“Fine.”
Everyone stared at her.
Josh said, “Fine?”
“It's a skirt.”
“Sam—”
“I'm not surrendering the vote, Josh. I'm putting on an item of clothing I already own.”
“You really don't have to.”
“I know.”
She looked around.
“What do I need to know?”
That was when things deteriorated.
“Don't interrupt him,” C.J. said immediately.
Toby said, “You have to interrupt him.”
C.J. looked at him.
“He hates women interrupting him.”
“If she doesn't interrupt him, he'll talk until Thursday.”
Sam looked from one to the other.
“So interrupt him?”
“No,” C.J. said.
“Yes,” Toby said.
Sam looked at Leo.
Leo sighed.
“Use your judgement.”
“Excellent start.”
Donna said, “Don't let him call you sweetheart.”
“He's going to call her sweetheart,” Josh said.
“Then she should correct him.”
C.J. shook her head. “Don't correct him.”
“Why?”
“He'll call you hysterical.”
“He called you hysterical.”
“Yes.”
“You threatened him.”
“That was afterwards.”
“With what?”
“Not important.”
Toby said, “Don't mention Roosevelt.”
Sam frowned.
“Which one?”
“Either.”
“Why?”
“He'll tell you stories.”
“I like history.”
“Not this much.”
Margaret spoke from the doorway.
“Don't sit before he does.”
“Okay.”
“But don't stand there waiting for him to offer you a chair.”
Sam turned.
“How am I supposed to—”
“He doesn't like women hovering.”
“What?”
“He said it.”
Donna nodded. “He did.”
Sam stared at them.
Josh said, “Don't tell him you're from California.”
“I'm from California.”
“I know.”
“What do I say if he asks?”
“Change the subject.”
“To what?”
“Not Roosevelt.”
“Thank you, Toby.”
C.J. said, “Don't smile too much.”
Josh frowned.
“Why can't she smile?”
“Because he'll think she's flirting.”
“She smiles at everybody.”
“Exactly.”
Sam looked increasingly alarmed.
“What does that mean?”
Donna said, “Not the Josh smile.”
Sam went pink.
“I don't have a Josh smile.”
Every person in the room looked at her.
Sam's colour deepened.
“I don't.”
“You do,” Margaret said.
“Definitely,” Donna agreed.
Josh looked delighted.
Sam pointed at him.
“Don't.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“Your face did.”
Leo rubbed both hands over his face.
“Can we get back to the congressman?”
Toby nodded.
“Don't give him too many statistics.”
Sam looked horrified.
“I'm explaining an appropriations package.”
“He doesn't like statistics.”
“Statistics are facts.”
Josh smiled.
“This is why you're going.”
“And don't call it progressive,” C.J. added.
“It's the Progressive Rural Development Initiative.”
“Call it the initiative.”
“Why?”
“He hates the word progressive.”
“Of course he does.”
“Modern's bad too,” Donna said.
Sam stared.
“Anything else?”
Silence.
Margaret raised one finger.
“Don't take the coffee.”
“Why?”
“He'll insist on pouring it for you.”
“What's wrong with that?”
“He'll then spend ten minutes telling you women don't know how to make coffee anymore.”
Sam slowly closed her folder.
“Let me see if I've understood this.”
Nobody interrupted.
“I have to wear a skirt. I mustn't interrupt him, except I have to interrupt him. I can't sit before he sits, but I can't wait to be invited to sit. I can't correct him when he calls me sweetheart, smile too much, mention California, either Roosevelt, progress, modernity, statistics or apparently coffee.”
“Yes,” Toby said.
“And I'm supposed to discuss a progressive federal spending programme with statistics that affects California.”
There was a pause.
“Yes,” Leo said.
Sam stood.
“Terrific.”
“Sam—”
“No, I'm good.”
She headed for the door.
Josh called after her.
“Remember the skirt.”
Sam turned.
“I swear to God, Josh, if you enjoy this even slightly—”
Josh wisely said nothing.
Sam left.
Donna looked at him.
“You're already enjoying it.”
“I haven't seen the skirt yet.”
Leo pointed at the door.
“Out.”
The meeting was the following morning.
Sam arrived at Congressman Henshaw's office at nine carrying the bill, three briefing folders and the increasingly certain conviction that everybody she worked with was insane.
She was dressed exactly as requested.
Dark navy jacket.
White silk blouse.
Matching skirt just above the knee.
Stockings.
Sensible heels.
Nothing anybody could reasonably object to.
Certainly nothing Congressman Henshaw could object to.
The stockings had caused a slight delay at home that morning.
That was nobody's business.
Henshaw's secretary showed her in.
The congressman stood.
“Miss Seaborn.”
“Congressman.”
His eyes travelled over her.
Not crudely.
Assessingly.
Then he smiled.
“It's nice to see somebody at the White House still knows how to dress for a meeting.”
Sam smiled politely.
One rule broken already.
“Thank you.”
He gestured towards the chairs.
Sam couldn't remember whether she was supposed to sit before him.
She hesitated.
Henshaw frowned.
“Something wrong?”
“No.”
She sat.
Apparently that was fine.
Henshaw sat opposite her.
“You're very young.”
“I've been told.”
“You lawyers all are now.”
“I'm thirty-two.”
“Exactly.”
Sam decided not to argue about the relative definition of youth.
They made it four minutes before he called her sweetheart.
She let the first one go.
At seven minutes he began telling her about Roosevelt.
She listened.
At ten minutes she realised he wasn't approaching a conclusion.
At twelve minutes she interrupted.
“Congressman.”
He stopped.
Sam braced herself.
“If we don't get to section twelve soon, neither of us is getting lunch.”
Henshaw stared at her.
Then laughed.
Sam blinked.
“Well,” he said, “at least somebody around there has some sense.”
And just like that, Sam stopped trying.
She'd spent the first twelve minutes mentally checking every sentence before she said it and had understood absolutely nothing Henshaw had said because half her brain was busy remembering whether modern was forbidden.
Sod it.
She knew the bill.
She knew Congress.
She knew how to talk to people.
She'd do Sam.
“The administration needs your vote.”
“I know.”
“You've been avoiding giving it to us for three weeks.”
“I've been waiting for somebody to answer my concerns.”
“Toby answered them.”
“Mr Ziegler shouted at me.”
“Toby shouts at everybody.”
“That doesn't make it better.”
“No, but it means it wasn't personal.”
Henshaw smiled.
Sam opened the bill.
“Your first amendment won't work.”
His smile disappeared.
“Excuse me?”
“It won't work.”
“You're very direct.”
“I'm trying to get us both to lunch.”
That got another smile.
Sam explained.
She used statistics.
She used the word progressive.
Twice.
She admitted she was from California.
Henshaw made a remark about Californians.
Sam informed him that Connecticut had produced plenty of strange people too.
He laughed again.
She corrected him.
She interrupted him.
He interrupted her.
At one point they both talked simultaneously until Sam held up a hand.
“I'm still talking.”
Henshaw stopped.
Looked at her.
Sam realised what she'd done.
Then he leaned back.
“So you are.”
Sam finished.
And somehow, impossibly, it worked.
There was only one complication.
The legs.
Sam was used to people looking at her.
She wasn't completely oblivious. She knew what she looked like. She knew men sometimes looked.
She simply rarely considered it relevant.
Henshaw was reasonably discreet.
Mostly.
She crossed her legs while explaining the second amendment.
His attention flicked down.
Then returned.
Sam continued.
“The projected cost in the first year is eighty-six million—”
“Eighty-six?”
“Yes.”
She reached for the second folder, uncrossed her legs and crossed them the other way.
Henshaw stopped.
Sam waited.
He blinked.
“I'm sorry?”
“The implementation grants.”
“Yes.”
He looked down at the bill.
“The implementation grants.”
Sam's mouth twitched.
Ah.
Right.
Apparently Congressman Methuselah was not entirely dead from the neck down.
She didn't change how she was sitting.
She also didn't exploit it.
She simply filed the information away under Things I Will Never Tell Josh and carried on.
By the end of the hour, Henshaw had withdrawn his first amendment, modified the second and persuaded Sam that his third was actually better than the administration's proposal.
“I'll take it back to Toby.”
“He won't like it.”
“Toby doesn't like anything.”
Henshaw chuckled.
“I like you.”
Sam smiled.
“I've broken almost every rule I was given about talking to you.”
“What rules?”
“Never mind.”
He stood.
Sam stood.
Henshaw offered his hand.
“Tell Leo I'll support it with the third amendment.”
Sam shook it.
“Thank you, Congressman.”
“And Miss Seaborn?”
“Yes?”
“Next time they want something from me, tell them to send you.”
Sam sighed.
“I was afraid you were going to say that.”
Henshaw smiled.
“And wear the navy.”
Sam stared at him.
His eyes flicked down.
Briefly.
Sam looked at her skirt.
Then back at him.
“Congressman.”
“Miss Seaborn.”
He looked entirely unrepentant.
Sam shook her head and left.
They were all in Leo's office when she returned.
Again.
Sam stopped in the doorway.
“Do none of you have jobs?”
“How'd it go?” Leo asked.
“You already know how it went.”
“Henshaw's office called.”
“Of course they did.”
Toby leaned forward.
“Well?”
“He'll vote for it.”
Silence.
Josh grinned.
C.J. stared.
Donna's mouth opened.
Toby said, “What?”
“He'll vote for it.”
“With what amendments?”
“He's dropping the first. We're modifying the second.”
“And the third?”
Sam handed him the folder.
“We're taking it.”
Toby looked personally betrayed.
“No, we're not.”
“Yes, we are.”
“His third amendment is terrible.”
“His third amendment solves the distribution problem in rural counties.”
“We don't have a distribution problem.”
“We will in eighteen months.”
Toby opened the folder.
Sam sat.
Leo watched him read.
Eventually Toby's expression changed.
Sam smiled.
“Yeah.”
Toby glared at her.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don't.”
“No.”
C.J. was still staring.
“What did you do?”
“Talked to him.”
“Did you interrupt him?”
“Yes.”
C.J. groaned.
“Several times.”
Toby looked up.
“Roosevelt?”
“He started.”
“And?”
“I stopped him.”
“You stopped a Henshaw Roosevelt story?”
“I wanted lunch.”
Donna said, “Statistics?”
“Lots.”
“California?”
“Yep.”
“Progressive?” C.J. asked.
“Repeatedly.”
Margaret appeared in the doorway.
“Did you sit first?”
“I don't know.”
“You don't know?”
“I stopped keeping track.”
Josh laughed.
Sam looked around at them.
“Your advice was useless.”
Toby looked offended.
“My advice was excellent.”
“Your advice contradicted hers.”
She pointed at C.J.
“And hers contradicted Donna's, and Donna's contradicted Margaret's, and all of you contradicted Josh.”
“That's generally good policy,” Toby said.
“I spent twelve minutes so confused I barely knew what I was saying.”
Leo smiled slightly.
“So what changed?”
“I gave up.”
“On the meeting?”
“On all of you.”
C.J. nodded.
“Again, generally good policy.”
“I stopped trying to be whatever bizarre creature you collectively thought Walter Henshaw wanted and just did my job.”
“And he loved you,” Josh said.
“He didn't love me.”
Margaret cleared her throat.
Everyone looked at her.
“He called.”
Sam closed her eyes.
“Of course he did.”
Margaret had a message slip.
“He says next time the President needs his vote, he wants Miss Seaborn.”
Josh smiled.
Sam pointed at him without looking.
“Don't.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“You're about to.”
Margaret continued.
“He says you're the first person this administration has sent him who knows her figures, listens when there's something worth listening to and isn't afraid to tell him when he's wrong.”
Toby looked appalled.
“I tell him when he's wrong.”
“You called him a fossil,” Josh said.
“He was wrong and old. Both statements were accurate.”
Margaret looked back at the note.
“And he says you dress properly.”
Sam sighed.
“There it is.”
C.J. smiled.
“The skirt worked.”
“My brain worked.”
“I know.”
“The skirt got me through the door. My brain got the vote.”
Leo nodded.
“Agreed.”
Sam looked faintly mollified.
Margaret said, “There's one more thing.”
Sam looked at her.
“What?”
Margaret's mouth twitched.
“He specifically requested the navy next time.”
Silence.
Josh's eyebrows rose.
C.J. looked at Sam's legs.
Donna looked at Sam's legs.
Toby looked at Sam's legs.
Leo resolutely looked at Sam's face.
Sam stared at Margaret.
“He said that?”
“Yes.”
Sam's eyes closed.
Josh said, very carefully:
“Why the navy?”
Sam opened her eyes and looked at him.
“Don't.”
“I just asked—”
“He noticed my legs.”
Nobody spoke.
Josh stopped smiling.
Then started smiling considerably more.
Sam pointed at him.
“Don't you dare.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“You're glowing.”
“I'm proud of you.”
“My legs?”
“Your bipartisan outreach.”
C.J. laughed.
Toby looked disgusted.
“So after three weeks of negotiations, what finally got Henshaw's vote was Sam being Sam in a skirt.”
“My brain,” Sam repeated.
“Yes,” Toby said. “Your brain did the heavy lifting.”
Josh's eyes dropped.
Sam caught him.
“My face is up here.”
“I know.”
“Apparently not.”
Leo raised his voice.
“Enough.”
Everyone quietened.
“We got the vote. Sam handled Henshaw. Henshaw wants Sam for future meetings. If Sam is willing to deal with him, Sam deals with him.”
Sam sighed.
“And I wear a skirt.”
Leo hesitated.
“If that's the condition he insists on.”
Sam considered.
Then shrugged.
“Fine.”
Josh looked delighted.
She pointed at him.
“Still not for you.”
“Never said it was.”
“No, but your face has been talking all morning.”
Margaret quietly left.
C.J. followed.
Toby took the amended bill.
Donna headed back towards the bullpen.
Sam stood.
Josh followed.
Leo called:
“Josh.”
Josh turned.
Leo gave him a look.
“What?”
“Work.”
“I am working.”
“Here.”
Josh looked at Sam disappearing through the door.
Then at Leo.
“Cruel.”
“Out.”
Some time later, Sam reached for a binder on a high shelf in Communications.
Donna happened to be walking past.
Sam stretched.
The hem of her skirt shifted.
Just enough.
Donna caught the tiniest glimpse of a suspender clip.
Donna froze.
Sam got the binder.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Sam narrowed her eyes.
“Why did you say it like that?”
“No reason.”
Sam walked away.
Donna waited.
Then turned towards Josh's office.
Josh saw her coming.
Saw her expression.
Immediately:
“Whatever you saw, no.”
Donna's mouth fell open.
“You KNOW.”
“Go away.”
“You absolutely know!”
“Donna!”
The apartment door had barely closed.
Sam managed to put her bag down.
That was it.
Josh caught her around the waist and steered her backwards.
“Josh—”
“No.”
“No what?”
“No talking.”
He lifted her onto the edge of the dining table.
Sam laughed as his mouth found her neck.
“We've been home for eight seconds.”
“I've been waiting since seven-thirty this morning.”
His hand disappeared beneath the hem of her skirt.
Sam's laugh caught.
“Oh.”
Josh found the top of one stocking.
Then the suspender.
He groaned against her neck.
“These.”
Sam smiled.
“They're practical.”
Josh lifted his head.
“There is nothing practical about these.”
“They hold my stockings up.”
“They've been holding me up all day.”
Sam laughed and pulled him back by his tie.
A button came off her blouse.
They both stopped.
Looked down.
The button bounced once on the floor.
Sam looked at Josh.
“That was silk.”
“I'll buy you another one.”
“You can't just—”
He kissed her again.
Sam apparently decided the blouse could be discussed later.
Some considerable time later, Josh discovered that the dining table was sturdier than it looked.
Some considerable time after that, they discovered it twice.