This Text file is old! In a 🏛️Museum, an unsorted archive of (user-)pages. (Saved from Geocities in Oct-2009. The archival story: oocities.org)
--------------------------------------- (To đźš«report any bad content: archivehelp @ gmail.com)

“Nature Boy” 
Category: Sam/C.J. 
Rating: PG for general darkness. 
Post-ep for “On The Day Before” 
Disclaimer: These people are so not mine. They’re Aaron Sorkin’s and I’m making no money or anything off of borrowing them. Ditto the song, which has been recorded many, many times since its writing in 1948, but the versions I’ve heard are by David Bowie (from Moulin Rouge) and Nat King Cole. 
Feedback: Please? Please? Oh please? samwest5@hotmail.com? 
Summary: “A little shy and sad of eye, but very wise was he …” 

***************************** 
There was a boy - a very strange enchanted boy 
They say he wandered very far – very far 
Over land and sea … 
***************************** 

She finds him alone, staring at the stars. It is not a cold night, yet 
he shivers. His thin dress shirt is not a shield, the way it’s meant 
to be. 

Not wanting to scare him, she lets her heels click on the path leading 
to his bench. Like she was just passing by. “Sam?” 

It works; he barely rouses from his trance. "Hi." 

Without waiting, she sits. She too needs a little star time. "Are you 
cold, Sam?” she finally asks. “You’re shivering.” 

He notices for the first time. “Oh.” He smiles ruefully, but only for 
one fleeting moment; then it is swallowed again. “I guess, a bit.” 

She puts her small hand on his. She does not want to broach the 
question, but she fears for him if she does not. 

She is saved the trouble. “C.J. …” His eyes are blue as butane in the 
dimming daylight. 

She does not say anything. She has the instincts, she’s a presswoman. 
She knows when a subject is going to speak. But he is not a subject. 
He is a man. 

So she speaks. “What are you doing out here?” 

He shrugs; a violent, reproachful sound. “Just thinking.” 

She is about to ask for more, when the flood comes. “C.J., why don’t 
they listen to me?” he says, sounding almost shy. Yet it’s an intense 
onslaught; she is not prepared and at once falls wounded. “If no one 
cares, why should I speak at all?” He is silent, but his eyes speak 
volumes. 

************************ 
A little shy and sad of eye 
But very wise was he … 
************************ 

He is not like the rest of them. He has come so far for what he 
believes in, but now he is letting little hurdles foil the distance 
run. Bruno, and Connie, and Doug. And Toby. 

Her voice is husky. “People care what you think.” 

At once his eyes suffuse with wounded pride. “How can you tell me 
that?” He stares at the stars as if his heart will tell him answers. 
“Right from the start, I said they’d hold an override vote. And I got 
shouted down without a person raising their voice.” 

He is in the right; she cannot deny him that. But only for a time. 
“Sam.” Her voice holds the power she wished she felt. “For starters, 
you’re not the only one.” 

“I know.” He agrees and feels a twinge of heartache. How many times 
has this little tableau been reversed? And yet he indulges his 
feelings, mooning like a kid turned down for Sadie Hawkins? 

She continues, unintentionally relentless. “I think you know your 
role. I think you’re hurt, but I think you can handle it. You are so 
important here.” Her hand strokes his cheek. It is not a lovers’ 
touch, but more than a friend’s. He is wise, beyond his years. 
How can he not know it? 

“My role is to voice the thoughts no one wants to hear.” His voice is 
dull, and now he searches the grass for answers, head down. 

She agrees; that is her role. She really does feel for him; he just 
needs an extra push now and then to keep his head up. “No one wanted 
to hear about an override,” she says. “But you had to say it. We 
needed to hear it.” 

Her tone is reassuring to him, though for the life of him he could 
not pinpoint why. “I just don’t feel needed.” 

She merely nods. She has heard it all before, so many times, but 
coming from him it has a new poignancy. This is the wrong milieu 
for him, and yet so right. He is in his element making a difference, 
yet he is badly misplaced in this atmosphere of double-dealing and 
untruth. Natural yet unnatural. 

********************************* 
And then one day – one magic day he passed my way 
And while we spoke of many things – fools & kings 
This he said to me … 
********************************* 

His next words surprise her. “You’ve got confidence, C.J. I wish I 
had that.” 

She is more amused than anything, because so many have his 
misperception. “Sam, I don’t have confidence.” 

“You don’t.” He is disbelieving. The entertainment reporter was a 
fluke, then? 

“No, I don’t.” Her eyes come away from the sky, and turn to the dulled 
stars in his eyes. Despite his pain, he seems so at home out here. 
“I have luck, and I have love.” 

“Love?” His echo is bitterness itself. 

“I have you guys.” Her tone holds warmth that she wishes could 
float to him. “I have you and Josh and Toby and Leo. You keep me 
afloat.” 

“You call that love, C.J.?” 

“Why, don’t you?” Her smile is quiet and determined. “You miss me 
when I’m gone, you’re sorry when I’m sad, you laugh with me when I 
laugh.” 

She makes sense, and in that instant he knows he will be fine. She is 
strong and comforting. Yet she looks deep and passionate, as well as 
tough. If she can do it, he can do it. Because he knows that he will 
have help. That they do care. 

Yet there is a nagging doubt. If they can be each other’s salvations, 
then what happens if something – or someone – is breached? 

She does not move, though she knows what he is thinking. “You know 
what they say.” 

“What?” 

She rises, ready to leave. But she faces him and sings, in a low, 
husky tone, the last line of a noble old song. “The greatest thing 
you’ll ever learn / Is just to love … and be loved in return …” 

They walk inside with the answers they wished.