Title: Stay Anyway 8/?

Author: Amber (Ambino1111@prodigy.net)

Author's Note: Okay, since part 7 is so short, here's a holiday gift to you all – 2 parts in one week. And, just to wipe away any confusion, parts 6, 7, 8, 9, and 10 are flashbacks.

Disclaimers & other notes in Part 1

Previously, in Stay Anyway…

Part 1…

… Josh and I are working our butts off on the latest Health Care Package, an amendment to H.R. 206.

… The President, CJ, Toby, and Charlie are in China until Monday evening.

… Josh lets out a snort. He wiggles his index finger in my direction. "You

were engaged to this woman, you haven't seen her in years, and all you can

say is 'she got a haircut'?" "Well, she did," I defend, looking down at my hands briefly. "That, and a baby."

Part 2…

… I can remember Sam leaving as if it were yesterday, yet... it's been over three years and, at times, seems decades longer.

… She shifts in her seat suddenly and thrusts a manicured hand in my direction. "I'm sorry, I didn't introduce myself. I'm Donnatella Moss, Josh Lyman's assistant." I chortle in amused sympathy, which causes Donna to grin. "I somehow doubt Josh's personality has changed much in three years." I pause. "You're a very brave woman."

… The door opens again and I sigh. Gathering my courage I stand, ready to face my ex-fiancee.

Part 3…

… Lisa and I are staring at each other, and Donna coughs slightly, backing into the Roosevelt Room. "I'll be in here, if you, uh, well, we'll be here." Then she's gone, and it's just Lisa and me... and Alex.

… Why does politics always come between Lisa and me?

Part 4…

… His face brightens and he smiles one of his killer smiles. I always loved his perfect white teeth, and it has nothing to do with professional appreciation.

… "I - I... we... why does everyone think we should date? Donna is my friend and a fine assistant, and we are both professionals."

… "You can both be professionals and be in love," I tell him truthfully. He doesn't meet my eyes.

… My body tenses immediately. "Sam, I don't want to do this right now," My voice carries with it a silent plea. Sam either misses or ignores it. "Lisa, please. I think we need to talk about it."

… Then Sam coughs and the spell is broken, and he leads the way to Josh's office.

Part 5…

… I stand up, more furious than I should be but unable to help it. "No. You know what? No! We're not getting into this. I know you mean well, but frankly, this is none of your goddamn business. Yes, I was engaged to Lisa, but that was before the campaign and has no relevance to anything. And unless I express them verbally, my thoughts and feelings are mine and mine alone. I'm sick and tired of being 'Poor Little Innocent Sam' whose life's purpose is to amuse the White House Staff with tales of his misadventures.

… Oh great. This is fitting; this is perfect. I take it back - the last thing I want to do right now is talk to Lisa.

… "Oh, Sam," Lisa sighs. I look up at her as she gestures vaguely with her left hand. "This - this was never supposed to happen; this wasn't supposed to be us... How did we get here?"

Part 6…

… I'm standing still, staring at this man in a most unprofessional manner but unable to stop. I never believed in love at first sight, but... "Uh, I'm Sam Seaborn. I have an eleven-thirty appointment to fill some cavities?" He sounds like he's trying to jog my memory, and he has.

… He laughs, and I can tell that despite his cavity problems he has a terrific smile. I wonder if he uses whitening toothpaste...?

… "I thed, 'ow woo fwee Fwiday night foh dinnah?'" I feel Helen's eyes boring a hole into the side of my head as I force my brain to respond coherently. "Y-yes. Yes, I am."

Part 7…

… "It's not lying; it's misdirection," Josh insists. "No wonder you're a politician," I mutter playfully. I can almost see his grin. "You're going to be here to help me, right? You're flying in on Thursday?"

… "Hi, Lisa," I say, walking up to her while discreetly tucking the paper in my back jeans pocket. She raises her eyebrows at my apparently _in_discreet actions, and I answer her unasked question with a kiss.

… She's going to love her surprise party.

*****

"The mind is its own place, and in itself, can make heaven of Hell, and a hell of Heaven."

-John Milton

*****

I'm not a jealous person. Honestly. Deep down, I am extraordinarily trusting and non-jealous. I believe that a person is innocent until proven guilty, and I try to rationalize suspicious behavior instead of jumping to conclusions. In the case of Sam's odd actions over the past few days, I've reached a verdict.

Sam is having an affair.

I know - ridiculous, isn't it? Really, I don't know what's wrong with me. He would never do something like that. And I _trust_ him. I really do.

So why does my mind torment me so? If I _know_ that Sam is faithful, then why does my stupid, annoying, doubtful brain keep pointing out clues?

Like, for instance, the receipt I found on the floor by the closet. It was for some items from a lingerie store in lower Manhattan. I tried not jumping to conclusions, but my birthday isn't for another three months, and our anniversary was two months ago. He didn't give me any lingerie for our anniversary, and he's not one to plan that far in advance.

Normally, I'd just forget about it and move on with my life, but lately... Sam's been acting very withdrawn. Secretive, even. It's beginning to worry me.

And then today, right now, when I walked in the room - what was on that paper that he so quickly folded and hid? My curiosity won't let me dismiss it.

I plop on the bed as Sam heads to the kitchen and study the nightstand. The pencil is next to the notepad, calling out to me. I lay on my back and squeeze my eyes shut. I trust Sam, I really do. What he wrote on the pad is none of my business. It doesn't bother me at all. I have absolutely no right, no need, no desire to know what it says.

I sit up very quickly and eye the pad again. Oh, but don't I have _some_ right? I love him so much... it would kill me if he didn't really love me the same way.

With a soul-weary sigh, I take the pencil in my hand and gently rub the surface of the pad, coloring lightly. The marks he made on the other sheet slowly begin to show.

I feel physically sick.

8th Ave. and 51st St. Howard Johnson. Room 206. Thurs. 7:30 pm.

No... it couldn't be. He wouldn't...

I wish I hadn't looked.

*****

Oh my God.

I am not doing this. I am NOT doing this. There is no way on Earth that I'm standing in front of Room 206 at the 8th Avenue and 51st Street Howard Johnson, contemplating raising my hand to knock.

I am certifiable.

It's 7:00 on Thursday, and I'm about to confront the woman with whom Sam has been cheating on me. What could I possibly be thinking?

Nothing. That's the answer. I can no longer properly use my cognitive abilities. I'm not thinking, plain and simple.

I watch in horror as my right hand, moving on its own accord, raises itself and knocks on the door.

There's still time to run. Why won't my legs work?

Before I can digest what's happening, the door swings open, and I'm suddenly facing a towel-clad man with dripping dark red hair.

"Can I help you?"

I'm standing in the hallway, immobile. I'm sure my jaw is hanging open. My mind races, frantically trying to analyze these latest developments, but, realizing it cannot, shuts down. An eternity passes while I'm staring at this man's bare chest.

Sam's having an affair with a man?

No.

I mean, that can't be right... can it? There has to be a more logical explanation, a reasonable conclusion to this mess I've made.

"Are you okay?" The man asks, wiping a drop of water off his forehead. The action breaks the spell, and I can move again.

"Is this room 206?" I croak. I feel dizzy.

"Yes," He says slowly, looking me up and down.

"Oh boy," I mutter. I want to dig a hole and bury myself in it.

"Would you like to come in?" He asks worriedly, apparently noticing my swaying. His voice sounds funny. I suddenly remember that I haven't really eaten all day.

'Please don't faint, please don't faint,' I murmur under my breath.

Despite my pleas, the world turns red, then black. I think I've fainted.

*****

Okay. It was only a dream. Thank Heavens.

I feel much better now. Really. I should have known I would never have done anything like that while conscious. It's only a bizarre dream.

"Ma'am? Ma'am?"

Dammit. A dream that came true.

I open my eyes and groan as the rays of bright light assail me. If only I had a time machine...

Towelman helps me sit up. I realize sheepishly that I fainted on his floor... wearing a skirt. Real classy. My cheeks flush scarlet, and I curse my alabaster skin.

"I- I am sooo sorry," I manage to sputter. His concern instantly switches to an amused smirk.

"Are you okay, ma'am?" I can tell he's trying not to laugh. Under any other circumstances I'd be in hysterics, but this is dangerously unfunny.

Towelman offers me a hand, and I graciously accept it, letting the mysterious stranger pull me to my feet. He leads me to the nearest chair and crosses his arms in front of himself, staring at me. I can't identify the look in his eyes, but part of it is amusement and part of it is worry. Slowly, I sit.

"Can I help you?" He repeats.

I clap my hands together, trying to both gather my thoughts and stall for time. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to be working too well.

"I know this is going to sound outrageous," I start, heavily weighing my words. His eyebrows raise, and I have to cough to clear the lump in my throat. I might as well keep going. "Do you know Sam Seaborn?"

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them. I find myself emphasizing with the scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz- if I only had a brain...

His eyes open wide and my stomach lurches. Someone tell me this isn't happening.

"Yes, I do. May I ask who you are?"

"Oh, just a friend," I answer quickly, leaping to my feet. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience."

I don't look back as I race out of the door, but I sense that his eyes are on me. I don't stop jogging until I'm safely a block away from the hotel.

I have never felt so horrible in my entire life.

TBC