Author's Note: Here's another quick hit on a Tumblr prompt, because it's fun! Those of you who've been following Such A Winter's Day, I also put a chapter of that up rather late last night, so go see it before it gets lost in the wash of minifics. :)
Anonymous asked "It's the morning of President Seaborn's inauguration, maybe with some Josh/Sam?"
…...
It was the morning of Inauguration, and Sam Seaborn was more than ready. It had been a very long time since he was last in the White House, but he was excited to step through those lobby doors later that afternoon and see everything that had changed in all those years. First, though, there was the ceremony itself to get through. He levered himself out of bed with one hand on the bedside table and made his way slowly to the closet, which opened at his touch. Something warm, he reminded himself. Wool, probably, and one of those synthetic blends underneath to seal in the heat. Josh had been to many more of these ceremonies than Sam had, and he would always wear long underwear beneath the suit. He claimed to have learned the trick from Matt Santos, and Sam believed it. A big day, with lots of cameras, a tie that wouldn't bleed was definitely required. Democratic blue, of course, with a gold tietack with the symbol of the New Democracy coalition. Very sharp, he decided, admiring himself in the mirror. Age may have added some lines, but he was still a good looking man.
Breakfast was important too, he decided. The ceremony could run very long, and there were no snacks provided. He could still remember Santos' second inauguration, how Josh had actually smuggled in a bag of beef jerky and a pocketful of candy bars. He'd almost been mugged for the candy bars by Donna and Lou, but luckily Sam had been there to protect him (and parcel out candy bars). This morning Sam decided on scrambled eggs, cracking open a packet and letting it heat while he watched the news projected on the kitchen window. Wall to wall Seaborn inauguration, he noted with a warm swell of pride. As well it should be. They'd come down a very long road to reach this place. Decades of pain, and love, and hard work, and trying to simply exist in a media spotlight that never seemed to go away. Sam wondered often why he should be the one standing here today at the end of one road and the beginning of the next, but he'd finally accepted that some things were just fate, or chance, or the vagaries of mortal human bodies. Everyone would be here in spirit today, he was absolutely sure.
He ate his eggs, drank his mango juice, straightened his tie one more time, looked at the clock. He got up so much earlier these days than he used to. Time for medication. That at least was simple enough, a big handful of pills with a glass of water, everything premeasured and dosed for his convenience. Just as well; he was sure the cars would be here soon.
"Daddy?" came a voice from the hallway. "Are you decent?"
"Yep, come on in," he called, straightening his cuffs again. The most important audience of this big day was upon him already.
Celia Joan Seaborn walked into the room, wearing a tailored burgundy pantsuit and looking very few of her forty-four years. The color was high in her cheeks, Sam noticed, nerves and excitement. "It's almost time to go. Are you ready?"
Sam grinned at her. "Yes ma'am, Ms. President-Elect. Got my long underwear and my cane, so I'm all set. Are you ready?"
She took a deep breath. "I am," she said soberly. "I just wish Papa were here to see this too."
"God, you know he'd be absolutely insufferable today," Sam grinned at her, blinking a few extra times. "'My little girl, President of the United States! I always told you she was smarter than all your kids!' He'd be so proud of you, sweetheart," he said, his voice a little hoarse. "I'm sure he's looking down on us today and bragging."
Celia stepped in to hug him, her laugh just a little watery. "I'm sure Aunt CJ has already smacked him a few times for it."
"Absolutely." He squeezed her back, remembering the days when he could lift her above his head and twirl her, the days when he could scoop her up in one arm. "Where are the kids?"
"Downstairs with Aunt Donna, she's teaching them card tricks while we're waiting for the motorcade," Celia told him. "She's promised to teach them poker during the balls tonight."
"She'll do it too," Sam warned. "Don't play her for money."
"She taught me when I was twelve," Celia reminded him with a laugh. "It's how I kept myself in designer shoes through college."
Sam shook his head. "The first scandal of the Seaborn administration, and it's not even officially started yet. The shame!"
"If you think that's exciting, wait till you see my gown for tonight." With a positively evil grin, Celia kissed him on the cheek, then headed for the stairs.
Sam grabbed his cane and followed as fast as he could, which was not saying much. "Hold on there, young lady, let's talk about this! You may be the President, but I can still ground you!"
"Pretty sure that's not true," floated up the stairs in Donna's unmistakable voice. She still had startlingly good hearing for a woman in her seventies.
"You stay out of this, Donnatella," Sam called back as the lift carried him gently to the first floor. "Aren't you busy corrupting my grandchildren?"
"Nope," Donna told him blithely, handing him his overcoat. "The cars are here, it's time to go." She straightened his tie, kissed his cheek. "Let's go make history one more time."
As he followed Donna and his family out to the motorcade, Sam could swear for just a moment that he smelled coffee and spicy aftershave, and felt a familiar arm around his waist. He smiled broadly, savored the feeling, and then walked forward into the future.