Author's Note: Okay, they kicked me out of the Peace Corps and I'm really sad, but basically now I have nothing to do but look for a job and write Sam fanfic. So sorry for the delay, but on with the story!
Leo opened the door to the Oval Office for Sam, then followed Sam as he stepped inside. President Bartlet sat behind the Resolute desk, glasses perched on the end of his nose.
"Good morning, Mr. President," Leo announced their entrance. Sam noted the White House photographer standing unobtrusively near the door to the Outer Office.
"Good morning, Leo, Sam. How did you sleep last night, Sam?"
"Sir?"
"How did you sleep, I asked."
"Fine, sir." Bartlet stared unerringly at Sam, his half smirk telling Sam that he knew what it was like the night before one is inaugurated. "There may have been some throwing up," Sam admitted finally.
"Glad to hear it. I would have been worried about you if there wasn't. Hey, Leo, tell Sam what you did the night before my first inauguration."
Leo rolled his eyes. "Until he's inaugurated, he still works for me. And I have no intention of telling anyone who works for me that story. Matter of fact, I'm pretty sorry I told the guy I work for that story."
"Spoilsport. You want to keep your office here, Sam?" Bartlet asked, changing topics with his trademark lightening speed.
"Won't the new Deputy need it?"
Bartlet brushed off Sam's concern with a wave of his hand. "They can work out of the OEOB. It's traditional for the Vice President to have a West Wing office, but Hoynes thought he wouldn't be around here enough to use it."
"That'd be great, Mr. President." Sam said, smiling gratefully. "I'm here collecting advice, sir. Do you have any tips I could use?"
Bartlet removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose thoughtfully. "Always think about what you're saying when you say it," he said finally. "So you avoid 'This magnificent vista' problems."
Sam was a little disappointed that the President hadn't given him any real advice, but he quickly swallowed it. "Thank you, sir.
"You and Claudia Jean stop by the Residence sometime this week. Abbey and I want to have dinner with our new-minted Vice President."
"Yes sir."
Sam turned towards the outer office, but the President's voice stopped him. "Sam."
Sam turned back. "Mr. President?"
"Don't hesitate to let your staff do things for you. You don't need to be inside on every single decision, nor do you need to revise every set of remarks the staff submits for you. Let them take charge of things."
"Thank you, Mr. President."
"The one thing you learn over time is discretion. What fights you should pick, and when you should let things go. Where you should step in, and when you should let your staff take over." Bartlet nodded, and Sam could tell the speech was over.
"Thanks, sir." Sam's voice was soft, and very sincere. Fleetingly Bartlet hoped that sending Sam to the Vice Presidency was the right thing to do, but the hours of debate in days and weeks past strengthened his resolve and he dismissed it. Sam exited into the outer office. He nodded hello to Deborah Fiderer, and continued toward the office of the Press Secretary.
"Hey, CJ," Sam greeted her, walking through the open door. She waved a greeting to him, absorbed in her phone conversation. Sam made a smiling note of the ring on her finger as she waved.
Sam crossed the office and flopped down on CJ's couch. "So," she smirked at him, hanging up the phone.
"So," he answered, as she stood up and motioned her to follow him.
"You're being inaugurated today."
"You're going to be there. Matter of fact, I'm pretty sure you're going to be standing next to me on the dais.
"Wouldn't miss it." They walked into the halls of the West Wing, walking quickly through the corridors to the Mess.
"And yet?"
"I'm just saying, we're both here."
"We work here. Why wouldn't we be here?"
"You're getting inaugurated today, and I'm going to be there."
"And that precludes our presence here how?"
"It doesn't. I'm just saying, we're workaholics."
"Because we're here the same morning I'm being inaugurated," Sam said, understanding. "Come to think of it, why are we here?" he wondered, looking around at the Mess.
"Because I'm going to buy you some Sleepytime Tea."
"You're what now?"
"I'm buying you tea," she said, leading him to the purchase line.
"Why?"
"I know what you did last night."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Would that that were innuendo," he joked. CJ's eyes met his for a brief moment.
"Would that it were," she muttered. "My point is, have you eaten anything today?"
"No."
"And did you keep down anything you ate yesterday?"
"Yes!" Sam cried, glad of a small victory.
"And was it tea?"
"Yes."
"Okay then. I'm going to buy you some tea, which you are going to drink without complaint. Do I make myself clear?"
Sam's expression didn't reflect happiness, but he stood in line with CJ without complaint. She draped one long arm around his shoulders, and he comfortably encircled her waist with his own. They were so comfortable in each other's company that neither noticed one of the nearly omnipresent White House photographers taking pictures.
After a comfortable silence, they reached the front of the line and CJ ordered Sam's tea. He groused, and she agreed to let him drink chamomile instead of Sleepytime, but only after some cajoling.
The retired to a table, Sam warming his fingers with the paper cup of tea and CJ eating apple sticks and peanut butter. Each bought their own favorite publication – CJ selecting the Washington Post, and Sam the New York Times. They carefully avoided stories about the impending inauguration or wedding, but read each other amusing vignettes. They debated the merits fo a President facing an opposition Congress, and, with elections not far away, how glad they were not to be led by a Prime Minister. They told small stories and reveled in each other's company.
But their calm was broken when both pagers went off at nearly the same time. It was time for Sam to prepare for his inauguration.