Samantha Waters relaxed in the evening breeze from the
Tidal Basin. She was sitting on a stone bench just
inside the Franklin Delano Roosevelt Memorial. Though
from southern Maryland, she had never seen this
memorial, since it had just recently been built.

The Violent Crimes Task Force had just finished a case
in Washington, D.C., and their boss, Agent Bailey
Malone, had given the team the evening. They would
return to Atlanta early the following morning. Sam
had declined offers of company, and after giving
restaurant advice to her co-workers, had headed down
to the Tidal Basin. She?d stopped at the Roosevelt
Memorial out of curiosity.

It was quiet this evening. Though nice out, it wasn?t
yet tourist season, so visitors were few to this often
forgotten memorial. It was a good place to think, Sam
reflected, with the roar of the falls and quotations
by FDR engraved into the stones. A good place to
forget the hell her stalker had made her life, her
worries about her daughter, and her resentment toward
the bureaucrats who were making their jobs hell.

A low voice interrupted her musing. ?Nice place,
isn?t it??

Sam looked up into the eyes of a blonde. She noted
the power suit, her training automatically making her
evaluate this woman as she would a suspect. Power and
elegance in every line, probably a politician, she
decided. ?Yes, it is. It wasn?t built last time I
was here. It?s my first chance to visit.?

The woman sat next to her on the bench, her arm
brushing Sam?s as she placed a briefcase on the
ground. ?I come here often. It?s a great place to
think in the off season.? She shuddered. ?God, I
hate tourist season.?

Sam grinned. ?But the tourists help the economy.?

?I know. It?s a bitch, isn?t it?? The woman looked
chagrined. ?I?m sorry, I?m insulting you, aren?t I?
You?re a tourist.?

?No, I?m in town on business,? Sam explained quickly,
not wanting to offend this woman. ?I?m originally
from this area.?

The woman nodded. ?What kind of business?? she asked
warily, as if suddenly uncertain as to whether she was
talking to the enemy.

?FBI.?

?Oh, a Fed,? the woman said dismissively. ?Aren?t you
supposed to wear black suits??

Sam reflexively smoothed down her jeans. ?Only on
duty,? she grinned.

?So, why is the Fed spending time at the FDR Memorial
instead of at a bar with her colleagues??

Sam was beginning to get the rhythm for this woman?s
conversational changes. ?Why is the politico not
chatting up someone for campaign funds?? she
countered.

?Touché.? The woman looked at her hands. ?I suppose
I didn?t want to play the bad guy tonight.?

?You?re the bad guy?? Sam queried lightly. ?You don?t
look too awful.? She openly appraised the woman
sitting next to her, the artfully applied make-up, the
deep red suit, and the long, slim legs.

The woman flushed. ?I?m a Republican. The President
and his staff are Democrats. My guy wants to run
against them in the next election. Therefore, I?m
evil incarnate.?

?Of course,? Sam mocked her gently. ?How could I have
not recognized you for the devil the instant we met??

?Let me guess, you voted for Bartlet.?

?Maybe, maybe not.?

?And you think it was just fine that he lied about
being ill.?

?He never lied,? Sam pointed out. ?Not purposely. He
didn?t really break any laws. He just didn?t divulge
his illness.?

?Same difference.?

?Look where we?re sitting.? Sam gestured to the quote
on the wall. ?He lied to the American people. And we
elected him to four terms.?

?He didn?t lie,? the woman argued.

?Sure he did. Whenever he appeared in public, he
stood. He used canes, but he was on his feet. He
didn?t tell the American public that he was in a
wheelchair the majority of the time. It was an active
cover up, as opposed to Bartlet?s.?

?Bartlet is no Roosevelt,? the woman snorted.

?No, he?s Bartlet.? Lost in the passion of her
explanation, Sam dropped a hand to the woman?s knee.
?He?s not serving in war time, so he won?t have the
same chance to distinguish himself, but he may have a
chance to better our society, to improve our
children?s education, to improve health care, and to
get the guns out of our schools.?

The woman shivered under Sam?s touch and covered her
hand, stroking gently. ?Let me guess,? she murmured,
her voice husky, ?you?re just like the babies in the
West Wing. You want strict gun laws and wait limits
of a year before someone can get a gun.?

?What?s wrong with that?? Sam returned, turning her
hand over and tangling her fingers with the woman?s.

?You?re an FBI agent, you carry a gun. Of all people,
you should understand the value of guns.?

?I hate guns,? Sam said flatly. ?People who use guns
should have mandatory training in their use and
safety. And I?d like to point out to those who argue
that gunshot victims might be alive if they carried
guns, that Bartlet was shot with some of the best
marksmen in the nation surrounding him, and that I
have armed guards around me 24/7, yet they still can?t
save me if Jack makes his move.? She bit her lip.
?Pretend you didn?t hear that last part.?

The woman was gazing at her in frank admiration.
?You?re an FBI agent who hates guns. You?re an
enigma.? She raised a hand to caress Sam?s face.

Sam leaned into the touch. ?And you?re a politician
who hates Bartlet.?

?I don?t hate Bartlet,? the woman corrected. ?I just
want to beat him.?

?You want the White House,? Sam murmured.

?Doesn?t everyone?? Her fingers twined in strands of
Sam?s hair.

Sam moved closer to her companion. ?Y?know, I still
don?t know your name,? she murmured before lowering
her lips to the stranger?s.

The woman smiled as she broke away. ?Does it matter??
she asked rhetorically. ?We?ve had an enjoyable
conversation and forgotten about our miserable lives
for an evening. You?re not thinking about home, your
family, or your job, and I?m not thinking about how I
screwed over an old friend in a political maneuver,
how people at my office hate me, and how my boss only
keeps me around because he knows I?m better at his job
than he is.?

?Well, I usually like to know the names of women I?m
about to ask to bed,? Sam whispered into her ear.

She shivered. ?Ann.?

?Sam,? Sam murmured before kissing her once again.

Mouths opened and tongues clashed in a struggle for
dominance ? one woman used to being in control, the
other desperately needing some measure of it in a life
where she often felt like a puppet.

Sam moaned, her hands wandering down Ann?s back.
?Ann,? she gasped as lips left hers and concentrated
on her neck.

Ann concentrated on the feel of the graceful neck
beneath her lips, for once not using sex as a
political maneuver. ?I want you,? she told the FBI
agent. Her hands slid neatly beneath Sam?s sweatshirt
and up to her breasts. ?No bra??

?Didn?t feel like it,? Sam managed. Bolts of heat
spread across her body to meet where Ann?s fingers
were busy playing with her nipples.

?Good. Faster this way,? Ann said. She turned so she
could straddle Sam?s lap, her skirt bunched around her
waist.

Grateful for the nearly deserted area, Sam slowly
moved her fingers up the silk of Ann?s pantyhose
toward her center.

Ann was arching into Sam?s touch when the quiet was
shattered by a loud beep. ?Not now,? she groaned, her
head dropping to the crook of Sam?s neck.

Sam sighed as Ann removed her fingers from her breasts
and reached for her briefcase. She watched as the
woman fished around for the pager. ?Important??

Her question was answered by Ann reluctantly climbing
off her lap.

?My office,? Ann explained. ?I have to go.? She
looked at the agent. ?I?m sorry we didn?t get to
finish what we started.?

?Me, too,? Sam groaned.

Ann caught the back of her neck and pulled her close
for a quick, hard kiss. ?It was nice to meet you, Sam
of the FBI.? She pulled a card from her briefcase.
?If you?re ever in D.C. again, give me a call.? She
turned and headed toward the parking lot.

Sam listened as the sound of heels receded in the
distance. When she could no longer hear Ann, she
looked down at the card. ?Ann Stark, Chief of Staff,
Majority Leader?s office,? she read aloud. Slipping
the card into her pocket, she closed her eyes and
absorbed the scent and sound of Washington, D.C.

It had been an interesting evening, and she knew when
John and Bailey asked what she had done, she would
tell them nothing, but when Grace asked, she would
admit the truth. She had taken her friend?s advice.
Grace always advised her to take chances every once in
a while, to act a little crazy. Tonight, she had been
resting her spirit, healing in another soul as wounded
as she, and reconnecting with her past.