Alix: Don't be so hard on yourself! Everyone has courage in their own way. :)

Thought I'd go ahead and post the resolution to Ellie's boyfriend drama...next chapter skips ahead a bit. Enjoy xo

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Sam

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She didn't want to see me. I had to leave a message threatening to show up at her door before she'd even answer the phone, and even then she balked and denied and tried to change the subject. Unfortunately for her, I argue for a living and her stamina just wasn't up to par.

I slip away after lunch on Monday, not even telling Cathy where I'm going. The President is in California, the First Lady is in London, and Ellie is sitting by herself in the Residence living room, staring out the window over the back of the couch, her chin resting on her arm.

"Hey, kiddo."

I keep my voice low on purpose, but she still jumps. Still, when she sees it's me, I get an unexpected smile, and she looks unquestionably better than she did on Friday night. Stronger, not so mousy and fragile.

"Samuel."

That prompts me to smile back. She only occasionally uses my full name, as a term of endearment. She's more conservatively dressed than I think I've ever seen her, with a long sleeved, high necked black tee shirt, and a pair of baggy, well worn jeans. A thick black belt makes sure they don't ride low, and even her feet are covered in a pair of those creepy, furry toe socks.

Her hair is thick and long, and so freshly washed I can still smell the Dove shampoo. Without hesitating, I reach over and indulge myself in a long brush of it, pushing my fingers in deeply and running them through, hair rushing over my knuckles like silk. She closes her eyes and leans into it, and it all feels natural, like it could just as easily be a day two years ago.

Like some things never change.

I want to keep touching her. I could stand here and do this for hours, but instead I withdraw my hand and stare out the sunny window, trying to regain my footing in the present.

She surprises me by speaking first.

"Sit with me, Sam."

Her voice is different. Her tone is casual, normal, but there's a subdued weariness I've never heard in it before. It brings me firmly back to my mission, and I accept her offer, perching on the edge of the sofa next to her and resting my elbows on my knees.

I try to remember how I was going to start.

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Ellie

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I can't tell if I'm in the moment so much because it's real or because it's surreal.

The rare silence, the heat of a sunny day beating in the window on our backs, the gentle timbre of his voice that I've adamantly refused to miss while I've been away... or the sunlight catching the natural highlights in both of our hair and making our faces glow.

It's a feeling of safety, of hope. Right this second, I'm certain I'm going to be okay, and I can't do anything but stare at Sam and want desperately to make him believe it, too.

He already knows everything, I can tell. Mom missed it. Liz, Zoey, Dad, everyone. They've always been so easy to fool with a smile and a chirp. Not Sam. Not one word spoken, but he already knows.

He's the only one who worries about me.

I know it's not entirely true, but just now it feels real enough that unexpected tears spring to my eyes and I have a sudden surge of overwhelming gratitude.

I pull myself out of a sitting position to kneel on my knees next to him, and as he glances up, I wrap my arms around him from the side and hold tightly. He sits patiently and lets me hug him, showing reciprocation only by turning his head and breathing deeply into my hair. After a minute I pull back, cup his face in both hands and give him a chaste kiss.

He looks shocked, but pleased. "Is it my birthday or something?"

I smile, "Something."

"We're still going to talk, you know."

"Yeah," I say noncommittally, but even that isn't enough to ruin the moment. He reaches over and does that thing with my hair again, but I keep my eyes open this time, looking into his. They're like a mirror.

"Here we are," I whisper, "Right back at the same place."

He lets his eyes flick over me. "Not exactly same place..."

I shiver a little, and even though I don't really mind the implication, it brings memories, and the moment ends. I slowly withdraw from his hand, move back to my side of the sofa and begin studying my fingernails, which he correctly interprets as a beginning of The Talk.

"Is this going to be easy or hard, Ellie?"

I just shrug, and he sighs. "It doesn't have to be..."

I shrug again mid sentence and it cuts him off as if I'd spoken.

"Why won't you talk to me?" He asks, as if already defeated.

"I can't." It feels true. I wish I could elaborate more, but it never works.

"Yes, you can," He says encouragingly, "You can tell me."

"Not this."

Talking makes it real. Making it real makes it hurt. Is it that hard to understand?

"But you don't know why?"

"I'll get upset, Sam."

"I've seen you upset before, Ellie."

"It's different. We're different now..." I pause, allowing myself to glance up so I can see his eyes, "I'm different."

"I know it's hard, but do you understand why...." He trails off, and needs a moment to think, too. I guess I'm not the only one having problems articulating. "I know you don't need help. I know you can take care of yourself. But if I'm going to keep this to myself, I need to know you're okay. I need to know what happened."

It's weird to think of someone being afraid for me. Everyone's always so sure I've got it together. Honors courses. Med school applications. Fancy internships. If they knew how close I always was to giving it all up...How desperately I wanted to.

Sam's looking at me like he can hear every word I'm thinking, and I grope through my memory for the last thing he said.

"No, you don't. It'll piss you off. There's no gain in that."

"I can't promise it won't piss me off. But I can promise I'll get over it, and you'll feel better."

I'm cracking like a very large pane of glass, spider web fractures slowly running through my resolve, deepening with pressure, all hanging on the moment when I know everything will fall to pieces.

"Why do you have to make everything sound bigger than it feels?" I whisper flatly, and he moves closer to me, because now he can tell I'm going to talk. The door's open, and he moves right through it. He curves his palm around the back of my head and pulls it to his shoulder, reaching his other arm across my torso so I'm pulled to him limply like a rag doll. I turn my face into his neck, trying to hide, and when he whispers, his lips brush my ear.

"Tell me."

I take a deep breath, and tell him. Everything. And it sucks, because telling the grand story of how you're just a statistic, following in the same footsteps as the women you used to scoff at, is never fun. The story of leaving, going back, and stupid second chances is nothing unique.

Well, with one small exception. If I left and it went wrong, it would be in the paper. It would be asked in interviews, speculated on by the public and thrown at CJ in the briefing room. Amy Gardner would be on the phone insisting it was my duty to women to hold some kind of press conference. And all of the political ramifications pale in comparison to the look that would be on Daddy's face. That godawful wounded look he gets when bad things happen to people he cares about. I just couldn't take the thought of that look. I thought I could fix it on my own.

"So that's it," I finally finish, and my voice is tight. "Can it just be over now?"

"Yeah," Sam mutters absently. "It's over."

I was right, I know he's pissed. But he's doing a better job than I thought he would of not doing that big show of male indignation on my behalf, storming around the room and threatening to kick people's asses.

"You're not worried that when you go back -"

"No. Carson graduates this semester, and I'm sure someone will have hired him at some douchebag law firm by then, for ten times more money than he deserves."

"It won't last. In five to ten years, he'll get convicted of embezzling and end up in prison. It's written all over him."

I manage to laugh a little. "We'll see."

"What happened last night? When he left? Did..." He swallows, wanting to ask the pointed question, but changing his mind. "Was everything okay?"

"Yeah." I pat his hand, amused by his awkwardness. "That's one of the nice things about having a government trained security team on your side. I talked to Kimberly and she took care of it. I went out on the balcony, and when I saw them put him in a car, I came back inside. He's emailed me, but..."

I wave a hand carelessly. "He's not going to chase me. How could he? White House. Secret Service. Kind of a losing battle. Carson's very driven, but he's not a moron."

"I don't know that I can completely agree with that, but whatever." He taps my hand with his index finger a few times and asks, "So what now?"

I shrug. "Take a break, I guess. Fulfill this ridiculous internship cover story and do grunt work for a while. It's not like it looks bad on an application."

"Want to start now?"

"Huh?"

"I'm having some trouble with a couple of Senators. You want to get their sons on the phone and help me out?"

This time I laugh for real. "I can't believe you remember that."

"You can't? I thought I was about to get my ass handed to me on a silver platter because of you. It's not a trauma two short years can erase."

"You were such a baby."

"You were playing chicken with my career."

"Like it mattered. You could have been making five hundred an hour in the private sector in about two seconds." I reach out and pinch his cheek. "Or anything else you wanted."

"You took years off my life that summer. In more ways than one."

"But I made it up to you, didn't I?"

He blushes, and I shake my head. "Seaborn, you are too easy."

He gets up and holds out a hand. "Come on. I have about nine thousand file folders to be sorted."

"Wow. Nice pitch. I'm really dying to get off this couch now."

He pulls me to my feet, then hugs me. "Have I told you I've missed you, kid? Even with all of your nonsense?"

"'Nonsense'? How politically correct of you."

"They didn't hire me for nothing."

"Toby says they did."

"I don't the two of you hanging out, you give each other ideas."

"Ideas?"

"Of new ways to abuse me."

"Well, like I said, you're too easy."

"Do you want to come back to work with me or not?"

I hesitate. Part of me doesn't want to sit around moping all day, but I still feel shaken. I look at Sam uncertainly, then shake my head. "I think I need a day to get my game face back on."

The humor on his face flickers back to seriousness. "Call me if you need anything?"

I flop back onto the couch. "Totally. Because if you're discussing the Middle East and I want candy, I think we both know that M&M's trump world peace."

He gives me a faux stern look. "Only for today."

"Get out."

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