Rating/Pairing: PG, Leo/Ainsley
Disclaimer: The West Wing is not mine, nor ever will be mine.
Spoilers: Post ep to "Somebody's Going To Emergency, Somebody's Going To Jail"
Summary: Leo tells Ainsley about Big Block of Cheese Day
Archive:On my site, The Band Gazebo Anywhere else, ask first
Feedback: Yes please!
Author's Notes: Eighth in the Stolen Moments series; after Reports, Statistics and Divine Intervention, Of Divorces and Desserts, Cookies and Children's Choirs, Loose Lips, Of Peanuts and Lord Fauntleroy, A Bigger Night and More Than Like.
All stil hail uselessknowledge.com, home of useless trivia.

I lean back in my seat and rub my eyes, trying to get out the million pieces of grit that seem to have settled in them. I've been cooped up here all day, analysing pardon recommendations, deciding who to recommend to Mr. Tribbey and who not to. I seriously can't believe some of these cases - what kind of lawyers are out there pretending to practice law? I could've argued these cases better as a freshman in college, never mind after passing the bar. Honestly, these cowboys would make you ashamed to call yourself a lawyer.

Not that that's a ringing endorsement. I mean, tell a room full of strangers that you're a lawyer, and the crowd around you thins pretty soon, and that's probably after you've heard every joke under the sun.

But that's not my point.

I lean forward until my head touches the desk and close my eyes. If I'm contradicting my own internal monologue, it is most definitely time to go home. It's Friday night for goodness sake.

That's when my phone rings.

I open one eye and squint at the phone. It's late. It's late in the West Wing on a Friday night. Who on earth could be calling me, here, now?

One answer leaps immediately to mind.

He's the only one who ever comes down here, or calls, this late at night. Well, Sam and the President have been known to, but let's not go there. Please, let's not go there. This has become something of a habit with us, and more than that. It's become something that I look forward to.

Which begs the question - do I think it's him because of habit, or because of wishful thinking?

Either way, I know that I want to answer the phone. "Hello?" At least, I tell myself, I don't sound as tired as I feel. Even if my head is still down on my desk.

"Hey Ainsley."

I sit back up, his voice infusing me with energy. "Hey Leo. You're still here?"

"One of the last ones," he tells me. "What are you working on?"

I give the huge stack of files on my desk the evil eye. "Pardon recommendations." Those two words should only have four letters, I swear. "The pile just seems to get bigger every day, no matter how many I read."

"I thought Sam said we were nearly through with that."

I snort. "As far as Sam's concerned we are."

"But?"

I don't even have to close my eyes to remember Lionel Tribbey coming down here - believe me, I heard him before I saw him - hurtling through my door with a stack of files, most of which are still on my desk, voice booming that we might almost be finished with this batch, but that we were going to get a head start on the next batch by God! "Put it this way," I say dryly. "I thought I saw the light at the end of the tunnel. But it was just Lionel Tribbey with a torch bringing me more work."

There's a laugh at the other end of the phone, and it strikes me anew how much I've grown to love that sound.

In a strictly platonic, friendly way, of course.

The fact that I went to church with him on Christmas Eve was a friendly thing. He was upset over Josh. I thought it might do him some good. The fact that he held my hand during the singing, and that we walked back home with my arm through his was purely safety minded - he didn't want me slipping on the icy path. The fact that he kissed me on the cheek was just polite. It was Christmas.

But it wasn't Christmas when I kissed him on the cheek in his office after the reception for the new ambassadors.

And it wasn't Christmas when he came down to talk to me after the State of the Union and I was able to put a name on the feelings that I had whenever I talked to him.

And it wasn't Christmas last week when he walked me back to my car, and looked for all the world like he was going to kiss me properly. When I wanted him to kiss me properly. When he hugged me instead. When he hugged me for just a little too long.

"Were you planning on leaving soon?" he asks me.

Relief breaks over me. This I can handle. This is familiar territory. "Yeah. You want to meet at the place?"

There's a pause at the other end, and I can almost hear him weighing whether to say yes or not. The familiar ground starts to shift beneath my feet a little. "I'm actually hungry…I was running around meetings all day today. You want to grab dinner somewhere?"

If an earthquake levelled the office around me, I couldn’t be more surprised than I am now. This isn't just new territory; we're heading into outer space here. And I don't mind a bit.

"That'd be good," I find myself saying. "Got anywhere in mind?"

"Yeah…a couple."

"Well, I can be ready in ten minutes," I tell him, jumping in over whatever else he might have been going to say. "Should I meet you in the lobby and follow you in my car? That'd probably be best…although with all the protesters outside, it might be tricky…what do you think?"

"How about I drive, and I can bring you back here after?" He sounds amused, and I realise that I was babbling.

"You'll drive?" Leo never drives. Leo has a driver who drives him.

"I gave my guy a day. Of course, I forgot about the protesters. Do you know how long it is since I've driven in something like that?"

I find myself smiling. Again. "So, ten minutes in the lobby?"

"I'll see you then."

It takes me two minutes to turn off my computer and put away the file I was working on. It takes me a minute to fly up the stairs and into the nearest ladies room where I spend six minutes making sure that my hair is just so and that my make up isn't sliding off my face. That gives me one minute to get to the lobby, where I find Leo waiting for me.

We walk to his car, keeping a professional distance, not touching. He holds open the door for me, takes my briefcase and puts it into the trunk with his. We're quiet on the drive to the restaurant, unusual for us, but Don Henley is singing softly from the car speakers, so I don't really mind. "I'd never have figured you for an Eagles fan," I tell him, and he only shrugs in response.

I can't but laugh when I see the place that he's chosen for us. "You had to bring me here didn't you?" I ask when he opens the door for me.

Worry lands on his face. "You don't like Japanese food?"

"I love Japanese food," I hasten to reassure him. "But you just brought me here to show off your chopstick etiquette didn't you?"

He laughs at that, recalling our dessert conversation last week. "What can I say?" he shrugs.

I take his arm as we walk into the restaurant and the concierge smiles at us as he seats us. Leo helps me off with my coat and after dropping menus on the table, the concierge disappears, leaving us to order. There's silence while we scan the menu, eventually deciding on the "dinner for two" option, so we can sample a little bit of everything. I think that's his concession to me, since I change my mind every couple of seconds.

"So," I ask when the waiter has left with our order. "Are you going to tell me about this chopstick etiquette or are you going to wait until I embarrass myself horribly?"

I'm not sure how to take the look on his face when he hears my question. It's almost like a cross between amusement and relief, as if he was nervous that there was going to be an awkward silence where neither one of us was sure what to say. Truth be told, that's what I was afraid of. That's why I asked the question. "Well," he begins, lifting the chopsticks on the table for my inspection. "First of all, you have the differences between Chinese and Japanese chopsticks."

I remember this. "Japanese pointed, Chinese blunt."

"I see I've told you this."

"Well, it's always bugged me. What else?"

He puts the chopsticks down, leaning back on his chair. "Well, you shouldn't wave them over different foods trying to make up your mind."

I bite my lip, grinning self-consciously, even though this is a light-hearted conversation. "I've done that."

"I thought so." There's nothing I can say to that - my indecision when it comes to food is quite the joke with us. Unless we're at our usual place, because I can't resist their chocolate fudge cake. "You should also never lick the ends of the chopsticks, or use them to point at something."

"Which is why you thought stabbing the President with one would be a no-no."

"That and the jail term."

"Oh."

He nods, then starts to laugh. "I've got to tell you Ainsley…I think that this is one of the most bizarre conversations that we've ever had."

I'm laughing too. "I think so." When I sober slightly, I ask a more serious question. "Have you seen Sam lately?"

The mention of Sam's name causes him to frown. "Why?"

I toy with my chopsticks, not really caring if that's a gross breach of etiquette or not. "It's just…I'm not trying to be nosy or anything…but we've been talking about the pardon recommendations, and it's just…he's been behaving…well, not badly, he's doing his work fine, but it's just…. he doesn't seem like himself. You know what I mean?"

"Sure."

"I mean, you know Sam. He's usually so…dapper. And this past week he's looked…wrinkled."

Leo's nodding. "He's been sleeping in Toby's office."

That stops me short. "Why?"

"He's going through some personal stuff…" Leo takes a deep breath, and I can see he's wondering what to tell me, and how much. He must make a decision because he begins to speak. "He found out that his father is having an affair."

I wince, knowing how much that must have hurt Sam. "Oh, poor Sam."

"And that it's been going on for twenty eight years."

I can feel my jaw drop. Sam's the same age as me. That means, for most of his life, his father has been cheating on his mother. Carrying on another life, a life that Sam's had no part of. Suddenly, his demeanour this week makes perfect sense. I can't imagine the impact that that would have one someone's life. "How is that even possible?" I wonder.

Leo holds out his hands, indicating that he's as lost as I am. "He'll be fine," he assures me, but I can tell that he's worried too, from the set of his mouth, the look around his eyes.

I shake my head, trying to dispel the cloud that seems to have settled over us both. "So, you were in and out of meetings all day?"

He nods. "Yeah. Big Block of Cheese meetings."

I shake my head again, this time to make sure my ears are working properly. He can't have said what I thought he said, could he? "Pardon me?"

"Big Block of Cheese meetings." There's not a hint of a smile on his face as he repeats himself, and I must be looking at him as if he's speaking in tongues.

"What are-?"

A gleam comes into his eyes. "You've never heard of Big Block of Cheese Day?"

"Never." I find myself more than a little curious. "What is it?"

He grins. "Andrew Jackson, in the main foyer of the White House, had a big block of cheese."

"And a mousetrap the size of Mount Rushmore?"

I have no idea where that came from, but I get a dirty look from Leo. "This is a good speech. Why do I always get interruptions?"

I hid my grin behind my hand. "Sorry. Go on."

"This block of cheese was huge, over two tonnes. And it was there for any and all who might be hungry. Jackson wanted the White House to belong to the people, so from time to time he opened his doors to those who might wish an audience. The block of cheese was there for the hungry, it was there for the voiceless. And it is in that spirit, the spirit of Andrew Jackson, that I, from time to time, ask members of senior staff to have face to face meetings with those people representing organisations who would ordinarily have a difficult time getting our attention." He stops, and there's a look of amazement on his face. "You know, that's the least amount of interruptions I've ever got. You're a good listener."

"It's a good speech."

"Thank you."

"So…what kind of people get an audience?"

"Well, Toby had to meet with the protesters."

I have a sudden picture of how that must have gone. "What did Toby do to you?"

"It's Big Block of Cheese Day Ainsley." He speaks as if that should answer any and all questions. "And CJ met with the Cartographers for Social Equality."

I take a leap in the dark. "Mercator versus Peters Projection Maps?"

"How did you know that?" He looks impressed that I did.

"I read a lot," I shrug. "How do the Senior Staff react to this?"

"Josh has re-christened it 'Total Crackpot Day.'" He doesn't seem annoyed by that, and there's a gleam in his eyes when he continues. "And then he wonders why he gets the worst assignments. Although he did have time to sit in with CJ and Toby today."

The waiter picks that moment to bring the food, and we eat in silence for a while, and I can't help but be mindful of how I use my chopsticks. I also find myself keeping a watchful eye on Leo, just waiting to catch him out. "Do you meet with anyone?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

"I drop in on some of the meetings. Make sure it's all going smoothly." He's being evasive.

"But you don't actually meet with anyone?" I can't stop the laugh that escapes. "Isn't that a little hypocritical?"

He takes a bite of some kind of chicken before he answers. "I'm making a note of your mockery, as I do at every Big Block of Cheese staff meeting. And I will be preparing appropriate retribution."

"I have a stack of pardon recommendations a foot high to read," I remind him, sure that that's only the tip of the iceberg as far as Lionel Tribbey is concerned. Being the Republican in the basement means that I get all the glamour assignments. "What else can you do to me?"

There's an amused glint in his eyes. "It's Big Block of Cheese Day Ainsley." He repeats his earlier words. "You'd be surprised."

I look at him across the table, then back down at my plate, before thinking of today's events, thinking of the man across from me, who he is and where we are. And I can't help the thought that goes through my head. "I see what you mean." Let's look at what we know here. That Leo has come to think of me as a friend. We spend time together after work. I'm attracted to him. And there have been times when I've considered the evidence and come to the conclusion that he might just be a little attracted to me too. Times that I've caught him looking at me, times that I've seen something in his eyes that I haven't seen in too long a time.

Then I start thinking about all the problems that something like this could bring - the age thing, the boss thing, the partisan thing, the scandal thing.

And the more I think about all those things, the more I know that spending this time with Leo, feeling the way I do - well, let's just say that it's a bad idea. A very, very bad idea.

And I really don't care.

I know the way that this night is going to end. We're going to talk and laugh and smile, we're going to drive back to the White House, he's going to walk me to my car, and, given the location of my car tonight, there's no earthly way that he's going to hug me like he did last week, or kiss me on the cheek like he did at Christmas.

But that's ok. Because whatever's happening between us, we appear to be taking it slowly. Which is fine with me. Which is the way it should be, all things considered. But look at us - here, tonight, having dinner together. It's not much, but it's a step in the right direction.

I'm not quite sure which direction we're going in, or where the path ends.

But I do know that I'm enjoying the journey.

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