Ainsley didn't need to ask what was wrong when Sam showed up at her door one evening, dripping wet from the rain outside, with his face red and blotchy from something other than rain. She already knew.
"She's...gone...isn't she?" she asked.
Sam nodded.
"Oh Sam..." she pulled him inside, closing the door on the downpour of rain. He stared blankly at the floor, and she suddenly had the urge to hug him. He looked so vulnerable, so lost. She'd never seen Sam quite this way before, and it broke her heart.
"She just lay there for a while, quietly," he said softly. "Then she looked at me, and closed her eyes...and just...died...like that...she was in so much pain...I suppose it's better that she doesn't hurt anymore."
Ainsley couldn't restrain herself. She wrapped her arms around him, and he didn't resist, too tired and pained to care.
"Sam, you knew she was going to go...eventually. She's in a better place now..."
"I wish I could believe that, Ainsley," he said quietly. "But if there was a god, this wouldn't have happened to her anyway...would it? She was just a little girl...never hurt anyone, just a sweet little 7 year old kid. No, Ainsley, god's a joke. America's a joke. Everything's screwed up."
She looked up into his face, and saw that there were actually tears running down his cheeks. He wasn't even bothering to try and hide them, or wipe them away. It was too much. She led him into the kitchen, sat him in a chair, and took his coat, giving him a towel to dry himself off as she made coffee.
"Why, Ainsley?" He kept asking, over and over. "It doesn't make sense...what happened to freedom, justice, equality? Life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness? What happened to all those things that our ancestors died to gain for us? Where are they? Seems you can't find them anywhere anymore...except in the eyes of dying little girls..." He bent over the table again, fresh tears in his eyes.
"Sam, think of all the other great things in America."
"Like what?" He rose from the chair. "Like the crime rate? Like the rest of the racism? Like the murders? Like the gangs and the cruelty and the hate? Oh I know it's not exclusive to America, Ainsley. I know we're better. But we're not better enough, can't you see? We'll never be...really. Not the way we're going. In fact," and he sat down again, "We're probably going to blow ourselves up one of these days."
"But what about our morals? Not everyone in this country is a killer, Sam!" Ainsley had stopped with the coffee, and was standing next to him now.
"It's all the same..." Sam shook his head, laying it down on the kitchen table. "It's all the same."
"No, it's not! You listen, Sam Seaborn." Sam's head snapped up and he stared at her. "It's not all the same. We-live-in-a-wonderful-country. We-"
"I don't want to hear it, Ainsley. I don't care. It's all screwed."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Sam spent the night. He was too tired to go home, and when he fell asleep in a puddle of his own tears at the table, Ainsley had to wake him up and help him to the couch. He'd protested a little bit, but in the end she'd won, as he stumbled on the steps and realized he wasn't fit to drive.
She'd found out from him that the girl's aunt was organizing a candlelight memorial for her, her father, and the other victims of attacks that had happened since September 11. Sam was going, and she was determined to go with him. She wasn't going to let him stand there by himself, sinking deeper and deeper into his own stupor of grief. She didn't trust him really. She didn't trust what he'd do when it went too far. But she couldn't blame him. That poor little girl...where was god, really?
She finished the coffee she'd made for herself and Sam, and walked over to the closed door of the den, where she heard Sam's breaths coming through the door. "Maybe he's right," she whispered to no one in particular. "Maybe we are too far gone. But then...isn't there anything to hope for?" She shook her head before settling in a sleeping bag posted by his door. She wasn't going up to her own room. She wanted to make sure she was there if he needed anything.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
When Sam awoke in the morning, he stepped quietly out of the room, and found Ainsley's sleeping bag on the floor. Entering the kitchen, he found a large plate of pancakes sitting on the table, and it was set for two.
Ainsley called from the other room, "Hurry up and eat, we need to get to work. I'll drive you, don't argue, it's faster."
Sam didn't argue, finding himself hungrier than he had been in a long time. Before long, they were both standing outside his office at the White House, where Ainsley left him. To his surprise, the door was open. Stepping inside, he saw the President of the United States standing in the corner, nodding at him as he entered the room.
"Good Morning, Sam."
"...Good Morning, sir...can I help you with something?"
The President shook his head. "Nah...Sam, I heard about your goddaughter...I just wanted to say I'm sorry..."
Sam felt his throat tighten, and he nodded shortly. "Thank you, sir...I'm sorry too."
"Come sit down, Sam, it's your office I intruded on, anyway." Sam walked stiffly to his desk chair, and flopped into it. "I wanted to apologize, really, Sam. Because I know what you've been thinking lately. And yes, I've heard it from Ainsley. Don't blame her, she's trying to help you the best way she can. By being there for you. And as long as there are people in our country who are willing to care about one another, it's not as 'screwed' as you think."
Sam looked up from the floor he was staring at into Bartlet's face, and nodded slowly. "Yes...yes, sir. Thank you."
Bartlet shook his head. "You aren't going to forgive soon, are you Sam? Well," and he stood up, walking towards the door, "I don't blame you."
After the President had left the room, Sam sat for a long time, just thinking. But he did have work to do.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
When Ainsley came to pick him up and drive him to the ceremony, she found him standing at his office door waiting for her. He wasn't dressed up at all, as she'd suggested he be, but neither of them really wanted to argue about it, so she let it go, and they both got in the car.
They arrived an hour early by the small pond outside of a pretty little house, where the girl and her father had once lived. There were already a few people there, standing around and talking in low voices, but no one Sam recognized. Ainsley kept trying to talk to him, but he wouldn't respond with anything more than a simple yes or no. After a while, she gave up.
When enough people had arrived, a tall woman who had been there from the beginning walked to the center, and began laying out a series of candles on the soft grass. Each was in a small plastic dish, which could float successfully on water. One by one, everyone went forward and selected one. Sam and Ainsley were the last people. Ainsley took hers and moved away, but Sam stared for a moment, as if undecided, before picking his up.
The woman came around to each person, lighting his or her candle with her own, and wishing
"God bless," in a soft voice before moving off. When she reached Sam, she smiled kindly at him, lit his candle, and whispered. But as she did so, he shook his head, stood straighter, and then took a deep breath.
"No," he whispered. "God cannot bless, there is no god. There is no higher power, there is no reason to believe that there is anyone out there who cares about us!" His voice rose steadily in volume, and Ainsley watched him in horror.
"Sam!" She grabbed his arm.
"Don't, Ainsley, leave me alone!" He pulled away. "Listen to me! This is all some kind of joke...there is no god." Shaking his head and staring around at all the faces turned to him, he whispered, "I...there...is no...I'm sorry..." and then ran off in the direction of Ainsley's car. She looked around her, and then followed him, with an ache in her heart that grew stronger every time she saw the look on his face. This was wrong, she knew...so wrong...
"Sam..."
"She's...gone...isn't she?" she asked.
Sam nodded.
"Oh Sam..." she pulled him inside, closing the door on the downpour of rain. He stared blankly at the floor, and she suddenly had the urge to hug him. He looked so vulnerable, so lost. She'd never seen Sam quite this way before, and it broke her heart.
"She just lay there for a while, quietly," he said softly. "Then she looked at me, and closed her eyes...and just...died...like that...she was in so much pain...I suppose it's better that she doesn't hurt anymore."
Ainsley couldn't restrain herself. She wrapped her arms around him, and he didn't resist, too tired and pained to care.
"Sam, you knew she was going to go...eventually. She's in a better place now..."
"I wish I could believe that, Ainsley," he said quietly. "But if there was a god, this wouldn't have happened to her anyway...would it? She was just a little girl...never hurt anyone, just a sweet little 7 year old kid. No, Ainsley, god's a joke. America's a joke. Everything's screwed up."
She looked up into his face, and saw that there were actually tears running down his cheeks. He wasn't even bothering to try and hide them, or wipe them away. It was too much. She led him into the kitchen, sat him in a chair, and took his coat, giving him a towel to dry himself off as she made coffee.
"Why, Ainsley?" He kept asking, over and over. "It doesn't make sense...what happened to freedom, justice, equality? Life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness? What happened to all those things that our ancestors died to gain for us? Where are they? Seems you can't find them anywhere anymore...except in the eyes of dying little girls..." He bent over the table again, fresh tears in his eyes.
"Sam, think of all the other great things in America."
"Like what?" He rose from the chair. "Like the crime rate? Like the rest of the racism? Like the murders? Like the gangs and the cruelty and the hate? Oh I know it's not exclusive to America, Ainsley. I know we're better. But we're not better enough, can't you see? We'll never be...really. Not the way we're going. In fact," and he sat down again, "We're probably going to blow ourselves up one of these days."
"But what about our morals? Not everyone in this country is a killer, Sam!" Ainsley had stopped with the coffee, and was standing next to him now.
"It's all the same..." Sam shook his head, laying it down on the kitchen table. "It's all the same."
"No, it's not! You listen, Sam Seaborn." Sam's head snapped up and he stared at her. "It's not all the same. We-live-in-a-wonderful-country. We-"
"I don't want to hear it, Ainsley. I don't care. It's all screwed."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Sam spent the night. He was too tired to go home, and when he fell asleep in a puddle of his own tears at the table, Ainsley had to wake him up and help him to the couch. He'd protested a little bit, but in the end she'd won, as he stumbled on the steps and realized he wasn't fit to drive.
She'd found out from him that the girl's aunt was organizing a candlelight memorial for her, her father, and the other victims of attacks that had happened since September 11. Sam was going, and she was determined to go with him. She wasn't going to let him stand there by himself, sinking deeper and deeper into his own stupor of grief. She didn't trust him really. She didn't trust what he'd do when it went too far. But she couldn't blame him. That poor little girl...where was god, really?
She finished the coffee she'd made for herself and Sam, and walked over to the closed door of the den, where she heard Sam's breaths coming through the door. "Maybe he's right," she whispered to no one in particular. "Maybe we are too far gone. But then...isn't there anything to hope for?" She shook her head before settling in a sleeping bag posted by his door. She wasn't going up to her own room. She wanted to make sure she was there if he needed anything.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
When Sam awoke in the morning, he stepped quietly out of the room, and found Ainsley's sleeping bag on the floor. Entering the kitchen, he found a large plate of pancakes sitting on the table, and it was set for two.
Ainsley called from the other room, "Hurry up and eat, we need to get to work. I'll drive you, don't argue, it's faster."
Sam didn't argue, finding himself hungrier than he had been in a long time. Before long, they were both standing outside his office at the White House, where Ainsley left him. To his surprise, the door was open. Stepping inside, he saw the President of the United States standing in the corner, nodding at him as he entered the room.
"Good Morning, Sam."
"...Good Morning, sir...can I help you with something?"
The President shook his head. "Nah...Sam, I heard about your goddaughter...I just wanted to say I'm sorry..."
Sam felt his throat tighten, and he nodded shortly. "Thank you, sir...I'm sorry too."
"Come sit down, Sam, it's your office I intruded on, anyway." Sam walked stiffly to his desk chair, and flopped into it. "I wanted to apologize, really, Sam. Because I know what you've been thinking lately. And yes, I've heard it from Ainsley. Don't blame her, she's trying to help you the best way she can. By being there for you. And as long as there are people in our country who are willing to care about one another, it's not as 'screwed' as you think."
Sam looked up from the floor he was staring at into Bartlet's face, and nodded slowly. "Yes...yes, sir. Thank you."
Bartlet shook his head. "You aren't going to forgive soon, are you Sam? Well," and he stood up, walking towards the door, "I don't blame you."
After the President had left the room, Sam sat for a long time, just thinking. But he did have work to do.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
When Ainsley came to pick him up and drive him to the ceremony, she found him standing at his office door waiting for her. He wasn't dressed up at all, as she'd suggested he be, but neither of them really wanted to argue about it, so she let it go, and they both got in the car.
They arrived an hour early by the small pond outside of a pretty little house, where the girl and her father had once lived. There were already a few people there, standing around and talking in low voices, but no one Sam recognized. Ainsley kept trying to talk to him, but he wouldn't respond with anything more than a simple yes or no. After a while, she gave up.
When enough people had arrived, a tall woman who had been there from the beginning walked to the center, and began laying out a series of candles on the soft grass. Each was in a small plastic dish, which could float successfully on water. One by one, everyone went forward and selected one. Sam and Ainsley were the last people. Ainsley took hers and moved away, but Sam stared for a moment, as if undecided, before picking his up.
The woman came around to each person, lighting his or her candle with her own, and wishing
"God bless," in a soft voice before moving off. When she reached Sam, she smiled kindly at him, lit his candle, and whispered. But as she did so, he shook his head, stood straighter, and then took a deep breath.
"No," he whispered. "God cannot bless, there is no god. There is no higher power, there is no reason to believe that there is anyone out there who cares about us!" His voice rose steadily in volume, and Ainsley watched him in horror.
"Sam!" She grabbed his arm.
"Don't, Ainsley, leave me alone!" He pulled away. "Listen to me! This is all some kind of joke...there is no god." Shaking his head and staring around at all the faces turned to him, he whispered, "I...there...is no...I'm sorry..." and then ran off in the direction of Ainsley's car. She looked around her, and then followed him, with an ache in her heart that grew stronger every time she saw the look on his face. This was wrong, she knew...so wrong...
"Sam..."