Non Sum Qualis Eram part 10

By Ecri

See Part One for Disclaimer and Spoilers.

December 24

The White House

CJ Cregg's Office

9:42 AM EST

CJ Cregg had never in her life simply not known how she should feel. She stared at her computer, but didn't see anything on the screen. Her hand rested on the desktop, but she didn't even notice what documents she was crumbling in her hand. She'd come in early hoping to get a jump on the last minute things that always seemed to keep her late on Holidays, but the morning had already gotten away from her. It wasn't that she had too much to do. In truth, it was that she kept slipping into a kind of numbness, and sort of waking up from it moments later, not even sure what she'd been doing when it happened.

Her phone rang, and she jumped, her heart racing at the sudden break in the unusual quiet of both her office and her thoughts. "CJ Cregg." She'd answered from habit, and for a moment she worried that she should have asked Carol to screen her calls, but just for a moment.

"CJ, it's Sam."

"Sam! How are you?" She glanced at her watch. "A bit early for you, isn't it?"

"You know I work best early in the morning."

She actually snorted, grateful that Sam was the only one to hear it. "I know you most likely haven't been home yet, Spanky." She felt infinitely better than she had moments ago. Sam's calls had that effect on her. Sam had that effect on her.

Sam's laugh eased her tension another notch. "Well, old habits die hard. Of course, I miss Toby's couch!" He sat back in his office chair grimacing at the squeak it made and at the stiffness in his back. The laughter subsided quickly, and the smile faded from Sam's voice. "I didn't really call just to catch up."

"Of course not. How did you hear?"

"I havesources."

"Out with it, Spanky."

"I was on Ron Butterfield's contact sheet."

"Samyou didn't have to. I expected you to drop it when you had to start your campaign."

"I wouldn't do that, CJ. I couldn't."


She smiled again. "No, I don't suppose you could."

"You okay?"

She wondered how she should answer that. "The man is dead, Sam. He killed himself." She sat back swiveling slightly, her eyes resting on a picture on the desk. It was one of her with Sam, Josh, and Toby back during the Bartlet for America campaign. Her hair was awful, but she looked so happy. Someone, she thought maybe it had been Leo, had snapped the picture just when they'd all started laughing, probably at some stupid remark Josh had made. Just looking at it usually made her smile, and now was no exception. Silence on the other end of the line snapped her back to the present. "The man who stalked me, who made it so I couldn't sleep, couldn't go out on my own, couldn't shop with my niecehe killed himself. And all I can think is, if that's what he wanted to do, why didn't he just do it before he started all this?" If he had Simon would still be alive. Of course, if he had, she probably wouldn't have met Simon.

"I know, CJ." He wanted to say more, but no matter what he came up with, it sounded so lame in his ears. "If you need to talk"

"Thanks, Sam, but I just want to forget."

"Okay." Even through the phone, he could hear Carol telling CJ she had a meeting in a few minutes. "I guess I had better let you go. You must be busy."

"I could say the same for you, Sam. I hear Hoynes is going out there in a couple of days."

"Yeah. I figure the President must have arranged it."

"Actually it was Hoynes' idea."

"Really?"

"Yes. He seems to like you, but then doesn't everybody?"

"I wish!"

"I'll call you later, Spanky."

"Okayand, CJ, I'm here if you need me."

"I know, Sam. You're like longitude and latitude."

"Contrived for the convenience of others?"

"No, Sam. Eternally, unfailingly, unalterably dependable. And I do know that all those words mean the same thing."

Sam laughed. "Thanks, CJ."

"No fair, Spanky, I was going to say that."


**


December 24

Dulles Airport

4:00 PM EST

Mallory stared at the screen announcing that her flight to California was going to leave on time. She should be racing to the gate. She should be worried that her gift for Sam was packed correctly to survive the trip. She should be counting the minutes until she saw his face again. That's what you did when you were finally going to see the man you loved. She paused at that thought. Yes, indeed, she did love him. She knew that. She had probably always known it even when she had offered him Chinese Opera and no sex.

She continued to stare at the screen. She could hear the clock ticking in her head. She watched the people rushing past her for the gate. She saw the screen shift, and, finally, raced towards the gate. Running for all she was worth, she somehow managed to get there just as the attendant was closing the door to the boarding ramp. She stopped just short of the door.

"Was this your flight?" The attendant was poised to reopen the door and allow her to board.

Mallory stared at the woman, wondering for a moment what she had said. Then, her brain caught up with her auditory senses. "Yes" she meant to say. It was on the tip of her tongue, yet, what came out was, "No, thanks. This isn't my gate." The woman nodded, locked the door, and moved on with her duties.

Mallory stood there for about 15 minutes watching the plane move away from the boarding ramp and down towards the runway.

"I'm sorry, Sam." Her whisper was almost too soft for her to hear.

**

Christmas Eve

Seaborn for Congress Campaign Headquarters

3:00 PM PST (6:00 PM EST)

Sam watched the last of his staff leave the office. He would probably be working for a while longer, but he'd let the staff leave. It was later than he'd wanted them to work anyhow. After all, it was Christmas Eve, and he wasn't anything like Ebenezer Scrooge.

The clicking of the keys on his laptop provided the only sound besides his own breathing, and he barely noticed either. His thoughts were focused on the words. He found that if he thought about actually saying them, he couldn't write them. He sat back for a second to relieve the dull ache in his lower back and glanced at his watch. It was only 3:30. Mallory's plane was still several hours away. He was going to pick her up himself. They had reservations at a lovely Italian restaurant, and he would buy flowers on the way to the airport. He couldn't wait to see her.

Reaching out a hand, he patted the present he'd picked for her. Wrapped in red and green paper with a gaudy red ribbon and a candy cane tied to it, the box looked deceptively small. The gift itself, diamond earrings, had been something he'd spent a lot of time choosing. They couldn't be just any earrings. These would perfectly suit Mallory. He considered it practice. Next year, he hoped to pick out an entirely different piece of jewelry.


The ringing of the phone stopped his thoughts of tonight's reunion.

"Sam Seaborn."

"Sam, it's Mallory."

"Mal, where are you? Did you get in early?"

"No, I"

She paused and he could tell what was coming. He was getting uncannily good at detecting when a woman meant to break his heart. He only wished he could sense it more than a few moments before it happened.

"Mal"

"No, Sam, let me say this. I'm still home. I couldn't come."

Sam's heart rate increased. He'd been wrong. Something had happened. "Are you okay? What happened? Is it Leo? Your mom?"

"No, Sam, nothing like that. Everyone's fine. I justI couldn't do it."

"Do what?"

"I couldn't come out there. I can't beSam, you're going to win."

"Everyone keeps saying that. My numbers are good, but"

"Sam shut up and listen. If you don't win this election, you will win your next. I can just see it. You want to be this. You want to do this. Sam, I'm not ready to be Abbey Bartlet."

"Mal, that's not gonna happen."

"You want it to happen. You want to be in politics, except you want to be the candidate, not the Staffer. I don't want that. I wanted to make a difference when I was in school, but for me that meant teaching. For youyou want to be the one to show the world the way. I admire that about you, I really do, but I can't be the candidate's wife. I can't be on display. I can't share my private life with the world. I can't be the First Lady."

"You're getting a bit ahead of yourself, aren't you?" He couldn't keep all the bitterness out of his voice, but he tried.

"No, Sam, I'm not. We both wanted more than casual dating. We were both looking for a long-term relationship. I just projected that desire on the kind of future we both want. Don't you see? We want different things."

"We can work through this, Mal. If we love each other"

"NO!" Mallory almost screamed into the phone, and Sam was taken aback by her vehemence. "We can't. My parent's loved each other. They couldn't do it, and I don't want to. I can't live like that. I want to be with someone. You, Sam Seaborn, are a lot like my father. You would be married to your job, whether you were a congressman or the President. I won't do it. It's better we end this now rather than later." She began to sob.

Sam looked at the red and green package still resting beneath his hand. Slowly he moved his hand to the desktop, careful not to touch the package. Moments earlier, he could barely wait to give it to her, now he treated it as if it would give him an electric shock if he even brushed against it.

"Mallory, don't. I love you." Her crying got louder when he said that. "Mallory?"

He thought he could hear her say something through the tears, but then she hung up. He hit the redial button, but he got a busy signal. He had to take the hint. He had to give her time. He picked up the phone and dialed his mother. It would be easier to tell her over the phone that there'd be one less for dinner.

**

Christmas Eve

11:45 PM

Manchester

Leo McGarry hadn't spent a Christmas with Jed and Abbey Bartlet in a few years, and he was surprised to find that he was looking forward to it. Jenny was going to be with her sister's family, and Mallory was going to be with Sam in California. Leo was certain Jed would have a grand time teasing him about that fact.

The flight to Manchester had been relatively uneventful. He had met briefly with the President and they had discussed John Hoynes' warning from Lord Marbury. They still didn't have any hard evidence, so they'd done what they could. The President had tightened security all across the country, not least of all for his own family. Leo wished he could give him more advice, but he really couldn't guess what the Qumari had in mind.

He moved cautiously through the darkened house, nodding or whispering greetings to the Agents scattered around his friend's home. It wasn't until he stepped into the kitchen that he had any notion he would have company.

"What are you doing up?" He moved around the table to face the President.

"It's my house!"

"I'm not disputing that. You can't sleep?"

"How much weight do I give Marbury's unofficial off the record warning?"

"We've been through that."

"We never decided anything."

"Because there's nothing to decide. Safety protocols have been put in place. That's the best we can do."

"I know."

Leo sighed. "Don't get all melancholy now. Your wife and daughters are here. Your country is safe."

"I wish I were as certain of that as you seem to be."

Leo moved to the cabinet and got a glass filling it with water from the cooler in the corner of the kitchen. "Jed, you're as certain as I am. The only difference is you're still thinking about it and I'm not. Try to get some sleep. No one wants to spend Christmas Day with a grumpy Commander in Chief." Then he turned, and walked back to his room.

When Leo left, Jed Bartlet sat in his darkened kitchen staring at nothing. His mind raced with details, problems, potential solutions, and all he could think to do about it at the moment was sit at his kitchen table and thank God that his wife and kids were all safely in their beds.

Shaking himself from his reverie, he opened the file Fitzwallace had given him before he'd left the White House. He knew what it said, what it meant, but he got some small amount of comfort holding it, paging through it, and mulling over it.

Qumar knew what he had done. Somehow, that made what he had done seem more real than ever. If someone knew, someone could accuse publicly or privately. Whether they accused or not, they could retaliate. Retaliation in this circumstance could be a national horror, like a bombing, or a terrorist attack. It could, of course, also be a personal horror. Kidnapping, assassinationhe knew they were capable of doing it. He knew they were more than capable. They would do it, or they would let him think about them doing it.

He wondered, not for the first time, if he'd made the right decision, and the horror of it was, he knew he'd be wondering that for the rest of his life.

**

December 26

Office of the Press Secretary

9:15 AM

CJ Cregg stared at the letter in her hands wondering just what she was supposed to do about it. The letter had arrived at her home address, which was in itself enough to frighten her. Yes, there it was. She was frightened. Again. She'd read it a half dozen times, but there was no denying it. She would have to turn it over to Ron Butterfield.

She picked up the phone and dialed leaving a rather short, curt message on his voice mail. She knew he would get back to her ASAP, but waiting alone wasn't going to work. Getting up from her desk she wandered the halls, telling Carol to page her if Ron called.

It was a short walk before she found Danny heading in her direction.

"CJ! I needed to check with you about this quote from the President. Did he really say" He checked his notes. " Sam Seaborn is the best man ever to run for any office in California?'"

She smiled. "Yes. He said that."

"A little over the top, don't you think?"

"I won't editorialize about the President's statements."

"Isn't that your job?"

"Not in the least."

"Right. Where you going?"

"Hello, this is the White House. I work here, and sometimes they do let me leave my office."

"Okay, then let me tag along."

"Why?"

"To pester you with questions, which will one day land me a Pulitzer."

"Okay."

Danny frowned. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Fine." She knew she was lying, but she hoped he wouldn't notice.

"You wanna get a cup of coffee?"

"Sure."

"Is this a gag?"

"No, I love coffee."

"But you don't go out with me. Why are you agreeing to go out with me?"

"I didn't. I agreed to have coffee. We have coffee here." She pointed to a glass coffeepot set in the corner.

"Soyou wanna have dinner with me tomorrow night?"

"Let's get through the coffee, first, okay." She looked at her belt as her beeper went off. "I gotta run, Danny. Raincheck on the coffee?" Without waiting for a reply, she dashed to her office. Danny stared after her.

When CJ reached her office, she thanked Ron Butterfield for coming and handed him the letter.

He read it through twice. "Do you mind if I take this?"

CJ shook her head. As he turned to leave, she took a step towards him. "So this is something to worry about?"

Ron turned back to face her, his expression serious and concerned. "We'll look into it."

He was out the door when CJ mumbled to herself. "I guess that was a yes."

**

Orange Country, CA

Save Our Beaches Organization

Formal Dinner

Palm Springs Marquis Hotel

December 26, 11:23 PM

Vice President John Hoynes vigorously shook hands with Sam Seaborn amidst the shouts of photographers to look in a particular direction. The speech Hoynes had given seemed to be having a positive impact, and Sam was grateful the man had come through for him. His own speech had been rousing as well, and he had felt the thrill of having an audience get to their feet when he'd finished speaking in just the way he'd once described it; from their socks. He wondered how it would translate to the polls.

Things had finally started looking up when Webb had tried to paint Sam Seaborn as a slacker, a coward, and a lackey. An off the cuff comment by White House Press Secretary CJ Cregg had seemed to turn the tide. When she'd told the press that Sam Seaborn had saved her life in Rosslyn, and then refused to elaborate, news stations all over the country had pulled out their tired old videotapes and examined them frame for frame. It hadn't taken much. A little magic with the zooming and the cleaning up of the images, and the entire country had seen the clear images of Sam Seaborn throwing CJ to the ground and covering her with his own body as glass and bullets flew through the air.

CNN had even had some sort of expert determine that if Sam had not done that, CJ would indeed have been killed and that Sam might even have died if he had hesitated in the slightest or if he had tripped.


Sam himself had been embarrassed and even mortified by the attention. Deflecting the question for weeks, he had finally made his one and only comment to a local newsman. The reporter had suggested that Sam's bravery had been an accident.

"Mr. Seaborn, are you avoiding these awkward questions because your intention was to save your own skin, but you ran blindly into Ms. Cregg?"

Sam stopped walking, and turned to face the reporter and no amount of tugging, pulling, pushing, or hushed whispers by Will Bailey or Elsie Snuffin could keep Sam Seaborn from telling the man what he thought. "I won't discuss my actions at Rosslyn. I won't capitalize on it. I won't listen to your feeble attempt to decipher what may or may not have been my intention. I only discuss Rosslyn with the people who were there. If you have a problem with that, there's really nothing I can do about it."

It had been a non-statementa verbose no comment' that had somehow become a story. Local newspapers and television stations had picked up the sound byte and had repeated it. Talk radio hosts debated the possibilities that Sam Seaborn was either sincere or calculating enough to capitalize on it by insisting that was the furthest thing from his mind. The general consensus of the public had been a profound belief in Sam Seaborn's unshakable morals. His numbers had started climbing immediately.

Sam was appalled that anything related to that day could turn out to benefit him. He had asked CJ why she'd done it.

"Why did you tell them that? It was our secret. No one needed to know."

CJ sighed softly before replying, and, even though a continent separated them, Sam could close his eyes and picture the precise look on her face. Her small, sincere, somewhat sad smile coupled with the twinkle of her eyes as the light danced in them gave him a moment of sanity and peace in his chaotic life. "I told them because it had to be said, Sam. You would never have done it, and Webb's allegationsSam, you are one of the good guys. There aren't many left. You deserve a chance, and I won't have Webb steal that from you with lies."

Sam had been grateful for her belief in him. After the MS scandal, he'd shut himself off from his coworkers. Truthfully, they all had. There had been precious little interaction between members of the Senior Staff, and they were only now coming together again. Sam assumed they'd withdrawn from each other as a sort of defense mechanism. It had been hard, especially after the blow of Mrs. Landingham's death, to deal with the intensity of the scandal. They'd been bombarded with questions about the President's health and how it might have impacted his decisions while in office. The media, the Republicans, and the lawyers had hounded them. The chance to govern had been overshadowed by the need to defend. Now, with the President's reelection, they had the chance to put it all behind them. They'd all set about repairing their damaged relationships.

Now, Hoynes and Seaborn played to the crowd. The two seemed natural together. They easily played off each other and their unrehearsed comments to the press couldn't have been better if they had been scripted. Will Bailey followed at a discreet distance as Hoynes and Seaborn walked the rope line. He saw Sam reach out to take someone's hand, then, Sam stopped and turned moments before his body jerked backwards, and he half-stumbled into Hoynes. The Vice President caught the younger man, but Will was able to see no more since Hoynes' Secret Service Detail converged on the pair. He heard someone scream, and then chaos erupted as the Detail tried to disengage Hoynes from Seaborn, only to be met with resistance by the Vice President. Bailey wasn't sure what the man said from this distance, but his tone and the vice-like grip he held on Sam brooked no argument. In moments, both men had been shoved into a waiting limousine, and Will stood staring after it knowing no more about what had just happened than the average television viewer who was undoubtedly staring at a couple of talking heads who claimed to have no information.

**

To Be Continued