PART THREE
California, 2003
Sam had bought a ring before he left Washington.
Later, he would wonder why he had waited so long to actually propose to Ainsley. He knew he wasn't afraid of commitment - after all, they already lived together. He wasn't afraid she was going to laugh him off - well, not too much. After all, she had followed him across the country. It wasn't even because of the campaign, although the campaign was a convenient excuse - too much work, uncertain future, and he could only focus on so many things at once. But it wasn't the reason.
The reason he had waited, Sam realized one morning, was that he had been burned before. It was stupid - he and Ainsley loved each other. For all their differences, they shared a vision. They both wanted to do good, they were both willing to argue their cases, and ready to admit that sometimes, they were wrong. The fact that they teased each other about it didn't undermine their sincerity.
But Sam had made lousy choices before. He had asked Lisa to marry him, and it had turned out badly. He had wanted to date Mallory, a woman who didn't trust politicians, who didn't want to become her mother and wasn't willing to take any chances.
What if he was wrong this time?
He had a feeling that Ainsley was the one, but what if he was wrong, like he had been wrong with Lisa?
More importantly, was there a way to know whether he was wrong before they tried?
He thought about it, and concluded that there wasn't.
He had often heard that people always took chances when they fell in love, and he supposed that it was true.
Well, so be it, then, he'd take a chance, he decided.
He went to their place, retrieved the ring from its hiding place, and began to wonder - how was he going to do it? Was he going to screw it up? Was she going to tell him that she needed to think? That he was out of his mind? That she would never, ever, marry him? That he was stupid for obsessing so much? That he didn't obsess enough?
That she loved him, but - ?
That she loved him, period?
**********
Nine months later, Sam was holding her hand - or rather, he was letting her crush his hand - as she was giving birth to their baby.
And as he was on the verge of becoming a father, he was wondering how being a husband had ever made him nervous.
"God, that hurts," she said, through clenched teeth.
He couldn't do much more than whisper that she was doing great, and that it would be over soon.
"Shut up," she told him disgustedly.
He shut up.
**********
This had all been a slight planning misstep, he told everyone.
He had finally asked her if she would marry him, two months after the election. She hadn't laughed. She hadn't smacked him, not even after he'd spilled wine all over her new dress, in a display of clumsiness.
There had been no 'but' after her 'I love you'.
They had 'celebrated' their decision, as Colleen had put it, and two months later, Sam helped Ainsley to her feet, after a bad case of nausea.
"I'm sorry," she had said, leaning on him.
"It's okay," he had answered, wondering if he should ask her. He had finally decided that he needed to know. "You're late," he had said, and it wasn't exactly a question.
"You noticed?"
He had shrugged. "I'm a guy. I'm not blind. Or stupid."
She had sighed. "I guess we should have been a little more careful. But then, we had quite a few things on our minds."
He had almost smiled. "Yeah, I suppose so."
"I have an appointment this afternoon. We'll be sure then."
"You didn't take a test yet?" he had asked.
"No. But I'm never late. Not ever."
"Okay."
"Unheard of," she had added.
He had felt strangely relieved that she seemed as nervous as he felt.
She had come back from an appointment, told him that 'it was that', and they had begun to freak.
"We're not married yet."
"I know. The press is going to slam us!"
"I know. Our parents are going to kill us."
"I don't think my parents will mind."
"Well, mine will."
"The Governor is going to kick my ass."
"I know!"
"We should probably calm down now."
"Yeah."
Neither of them had pointed out that they weren't ready for this yet. It wasn't as if they could avoid dealing with it.
They had rushed the wedding arrangements, making it smaller and more private than their families had wished, and prepared their place for the arrival of the baby and tried to pick a name.
**********
"This is all your fault," Ainsley hissed after a long contraction.
"It'll be over soon," he tried to soothe her.
"I don't want it over *soon *. I want it over * now *."
"I know."
"No, you don't ! If you knew, you'd be grabbing the baby and getting it out of me."
"Ains - "
"SHUT. UP."
"Okay."
An hour after that, Ainsley was crying as the doctor was saying, for the sake of formality, "Congratulations, it's a boy."
Sam felt his knees go weak.
A son.
They had a son.
Sam had known that this day would come, but he had had trouble grasping the concept. Now, as the doctor put the little bundle in his arms, he could only stare in awe, and wonder what exactly he was going to do with it.
Ainsley laughed softly. "You should see your face," she said tenderly.
He only nodded, not trusting his voice, admiring the baby he held.
Then Ainsley claimed her son, and he sat gingerly on the side of the bed, looking over them both.
**********
Three weeks later, Sam's cousin, Angela, who had agreed to be Alex's godmother, followed Sam onto the apartment balcony, after the Alex's christening - and the party that followed.
Sam was leaning on the railing, watching the town lighting up, enjoying the relative peace now that most of their family and friends had gone home.
"You okay there?" she asked gently.
"Yeah, I'm just exhausted. And a little scared. I could screw this up, and..."
"You won't," she said decisively, and Sam smiled.
She had always been his more vocal cheerleader, ever since they had been kids. She was only a few months older than he was, and they were close - they had grown up together, they had survived their grandparents deaths together, then Angela's parents' divorce, a few ugly break ups, their teen aged years... they knew each other well, and they were good at listening and reassuring the other.
"I mean it," she insisted. "I had overbearing parents, yours were... I know you love them, but - "
"But I want to do better than they did," he admitted, thinking back to his father's absences and his mother's indifference sometimes.
"I know," she said. "I know you, and I know you're probably freaking right now, because it was all so sudden, and you didn't really have a lot of time to prepare. But, you know... you'll do great."
"Thanks," he repeated. A little reassured.
**********
Two weeks later
A few days after the christening, Sam was busy yelling at a journalist on the phone when his assistant poked her head in his office.
"Someone's here to see you," she said.
He waved at her to make his visitor enter, and his mood lifted considerably when he saw Toby come in.
"I'll get back to you on that but... No... Look, I'll call back. Bye," he hung up on the reporter, and rose to hug Toby. "Great to see you," he said softly.
"Congratulations," Toby said. "How are they?"
"Good. Great. Ainsley's tired, and her hormones are rebelling, we haven't have a good night's sleep in I don't know how long, I feel rumpled, and I can't keep my mind on what I'm doing for more than five minutes. So, you know... great."
Toby smiled a little. "Look, the President wants to see the three of you."
"When?"
"Would tonight do? You can drop at the hotel by, I don't know, five? Would that be okay? It won't take long, he wants to see Alex."
"I'll check with Ains. And, you know, my boss."
Toby laughed. "I'm sure he'll say yes, if he doesn't want to have an angry President to deal with."
Sam nodded, and gestured helplessly to his desk.
"I'll go. See you tonight. And Sam?"
He looked at his boss.
"Fatherhood suits you. You've never seemed so..."
"Thanks, Toby," he said, almost sure he was blushing.
His former boss went out and Sam went back to his work, his eyes often drawn to the picture on his desk, a smile on his lips.
**********
Later that day
"I can't believe you did that," CJ said again, smiling at the baby in her arms.
Ainsley, Sam, Alex and the senior staff, minus Josh, were gathered in Bartlet's suite, and Alex had been going from arm to arm for more than fifteen minutes, sleeping, oblivious to all the ruckus he was causing.
"Neither can we," Ainsley said. "Each time I wake up in the morning, I tell myself, 'wow, I have a baby. I'm a mother.' Does it ever get old?"
Leo shook his head. "Wait until he begins skipping school," he warned.
"Don't spoil their fun," Bartlet chastised, looking over CJ's shoulder. "He's beautiful," he added, and Sam felt absurdly glad that none of his colleagues tried to pretend that he looked just like his father. He loved his son, with an intensity nothing had prepared him to, he thought he was perfect, but he knew that he didn't look like either of his parents yet. He looked like a baby. He was tired of people saying that he was the spitting image of one of them. Besides, he hated the expression 'spitting image'.
"Josh wanted to come, but we needed someone in DC," Leo told Sam, just as Bartlet was beginning to tell stories about his girls. Sam looked at him and nodded. He hadn't really expected Josh to come anyway, and he wasn't sure they would have had anything to say to each other.
"How is he?" he asked.
"Fine. Still with Amy. What those two do together, I wonder..."
Sam chuckled, remembering all the times he had thought the same thing.
"Still a pompous jackass," Leo added, "Not that we would have him any other way."
Sam didn't say anything, but not for the first time, he wondered why exactly they couldn't ask for more where Josh was concerned. No one had ever hesitated to tell him when he was being an ass, when he was being arrogant, when he was out of line. Toby and CJ had also been criticized on the attitude they had sometimes. How come Josh wasn't held to the same standards they were? How come no one ever asked him to be a little more... diplomatic, in his dealings with people?
He didn't say any of this to Leo, though. He didn't see the need to launch into this kind of debate now, and both Ainsley and Alex were beginning to look tired. A look from Ainsley confirmed his impression.
It was time for them to go home, he thought, and he smiled. It had taken him a few months to stop thinking of his Washington apartment as home, he realized, but now he never had any hesitation.
Rising, he went to pick up Alex, and began to say goodbye to the others.
**********
2006, Manchester
After two hours of tossing and turning, Sam gave up and got up, careful not to wake Ainsley, still sound asleep. The dampness was making all his old wounds sore, and the dull pain in his leg was driving him insane. He dressed quickly, in whatever he found first (faded blue jeans and a warm, black sweater), and went out of the farm for a walk, hoping it would ease the stiffness that had settled in.
Once he had gone a few meters, he stopped to take in the sight all around him. He had always loved this place. Nothing would ever compare with California to him - the ocean, he needed an ocean nearby to be happy - but this place had its charms too, especially in the morning when all was quiet.
A cough startled him and he turned around. Bartlet was watching him, smiling softly, a few agents in the background, looking as severe as ever.
"Good morning, sir."
"Sam, you don't have to 'sir' me anymore," the President said again.
"Old habits..." he explained. "Besides, you're still the President."
"Not for long," Bartlet said, bitterness creeping into his voice.
Sam could understand why it was there.
The fall of 2006 brought mixed feelings to anyone belonging to their extended family.
On one hand, Ritchie had run again, against Hoynes. The odds had been in the Republican's favor from day one, and everyone who had ever met President Bartlet was horrified at the thought that a bigot who could barely read had his chances at becoming the next President of the United States. But the polls all said the same thing: Bartlet was perceived as arrogant, as confrontational, and as someone who wasn't trusted anymore. There had been too many PR gaffes, too many battles with Congress had been lost, too many occasions to make a difference disregarded. The American people wanted a change, they didn't want someone who had been on Bartlet's side for eight years. The senior staff had given much of their time to help, but it was hopeless and everyone knew it. Hoynes had campaigned on the differences existing between Bartlet and him, but the message hadn't gone through.
The election had been called for Ritchie, and it had been depressing as hell to watch.
Sam's heart went to his colleagues, who had to handle the transition, who had to empty their offices, knowing that their side had lost.
On the other hand, Sam had run for Governor, and won the election - not by much, but won all the same. He wouldn't have made it without Adams' support, he knew that. The outgoing governor was well liked, and his words carried a lot of weight.
"Hoynes will be back," he said, to try and lighten the mood.
"Yes, I suppose so."
Jed gestured for Sam to follow and they walked on silently for a while, circling the house. Sam could tell that Bartlet was watching discretely, worried. He said, "You can ask, you know."
"I didn't mean to - "
"I know you didn't. It's all right."
His limp wasn't usually too noticeable but it had worsened since he'd arrived here. The cold and the wetness. He had already seen Josh and Toby trade worried glances. Sometimes, it felt like nothing had changed. If these two could still play mother hens...
"You're in pain," Bartlet said, not really a question.
"It's more stiff, than painful," Sam explained. "It's usually not that bad. The cold - "
"Sorry."
"It's not your fault it's cold in New Hampshire," he smiled.
"Do you... Are you OK?"
Sam knew he wasn't talking about just his leg anymore.
"I'm... better. Kind of."
Except for the nightmares where he found himself unable to save Alex from another car accident. Or from a fire. Or from drowning. Or from... anything his brain insisted on bringing up.
"Good," Bartlet said, not sounding convinced.
They walked on silently for a minute, then Jed suddenly stopped and turned to Sam. "I wanted to tell you... I wanted you to stay. I wanted your idealism at my disposal. I wanted your passion. It was unfair to you, you had a career to worry about, I know, I just... I'm just a man, Sam." He smiled, raised a hand to prevent Sam from talking yet, and added, "I wanted the best around me. I can be, to quote my wife, a bull headed son-of-a-bitch sometimes, I'll admit that. I was wrong to refuse to listen to your advice, even though you weren't always right, and I was wrong to avoid you in the last weeks. I just wanted to say that."
Sam nodded, not trusting his voice.
They moved back to the house, and Sam tried not to grimace when the pinching reappeared in his back.
"Sam?"
He smiled, aware that he was probably deathly pale.
He hated this.
"I'm fine, sir."
Bartlet just looked at him, an eyebrow raised, and he amended, "Nothing a painkiller won't cure."
Except he had no intention of taking one.
He sighed.
He really hated this.
**********
2004, California
The only thing Sam remembered from the accident was that he had tried to get to Alex. His son was on the backseat, strapped into the babyseat, and that's probably what had saved his life.
When Sam woke up in the car, he heard his son shouting. He tried to move his head, but the pain that shot through his skull made him scream, and he passed out.
The next time he came to, there was someone next to him, asking him if he was there.
"What?" he asked.
"Sir, do you hear me?"
Alex began to cry again, and Sam tried to get up, raise his hands, move, do something to help him, but someone was preventing him from moving his head, and the rest of his body didn't seem to want to cooperate.
"Let me..." he pleaded.
"Sir, I really don't think it would be a good idea to move," the voice said calmly.
They didn't understand. His son might be hurt, he had to help him.
"My son," he tried to explain.
"I can see him from where I am, he doesn't seem hurt."
"He's crying," Sam pointed out.
Couldn't this guy see it? Couldn't he tell that it was bad?
"Yes, and quite loudly," the voice said, reassuringly. "If he's strong enough to scream like that, I'm sure it'll be fine."
Sam wasn't so sure.
Then Alex stopped crying, and he fought the hand holding him down some more.
"Let me see," he began, just as Alex began screaming again, definitely unhappy, it seemed.
"Hear him?" the voice asked.
He did. And he didn't like the fact that they wouldn't let him see his son one bit.
He tried to get his legs to move once again. The pain took him completely by surprise - and made him forget everything else.
He heard a scream and everything went black.
For a moment, he still heard Alex's cries, then the noise faded, and the pain with it.
California, 2003
Sam had bought a ring before he left Washington.
Later, he would wonder why he had waited so long to actually propose to Ainsley. He knew he wasn't afraid of commitment - after all, they already lived together. He wasn't afraid she was going to laugh him off - well, not too much. After all, she had followed him across the country. It wasn't even because of the campaign, although the campaign was a convenient excuse - too much work, uncertain future, and he could only focus on so many things at once. But it wasn't the reason.
The reason he had waited, Sam realized one morning, was that he had been burned before. It was stupid - he and Ainsley loved each other. For all their differences, they shared a vision. They both wanted to do good, they were both willing to argue their cases, and ready to admit that sometimes, they were wrong. The fact that they teased each other about it didn't undermine their sincerity.
But Sam had made lousy choices before. He had asked Lisa to marry him, and it had turned out badly. He had wanted to date Mallory, a woman who didn't trust politicians, who didn't want to become her mother and wasn't willing to take any chances.
What if he was wrong this time?
He had a feeling that Ainsley was the one, but what if he was wrong, like he had been wrong with Lisa?
More importantly, was there a way to know whether he was wrong before they tried?
He thought about it, and concluded that there wasn't.
He had often heard that people always took chances when they fell in love, and he supposed that it was true.
Well, so be it, then, he'd take a chance, he decided.
He went to their place, retrieved the ring from its hiding place, and began to wonder - how was he going to do it? Was he going to screw it up? Was she going to tell him that she needed to think? That he was out of his mind? That she would never, ever, marry him? That he was stupid for obsessing so much? That he didn't obsess enough?
That she loved him, but - ?
That she loved him, period?
**********
Nine months later, Sam was holding her hand - or rather, he was letting her crush his hand - as she was giving birth to their baby.
And as he was on the verge of becoming a father, he was wondering how being a husband had ever made him nervous.
"God, that hurts," she said, through clenched teeth.
He couldn't do much more than whisper that she was doing great, and that it would be over soon.
"Shut up," she told him disgustedly.
He shut up.
**********
This had all been a slight planning misstep, he told everyone.
He had finally asked her if she would marry him, two months after the election. She hadn't laughed. She hadn't smacked him, not even after he'd spilled wine all over her new dress, in a display of clumsiness.
There had been no 'but' after her 'I love you'.
They had 'celebrated' their decision, as Colleen had put it, and two months later, Sam helped Ainsley to her feet, after a bad case of nausea.
"I'm sorry," she had said, leaning on him.
"It's okay," he had answered, wondering if he should ask her. He had finally decided that he needed to know. "You're late," he had said, and it wasn't exactly a question.
"You noticed?"
He had shrugged. "I'm a guy. I'm not blind. Or stupid."
She had sighed. "I guess we should have been a little more careful. But then, we had quite a few things on our minds."
He had almost smiled. "Yeah, I suppose so."
"I have an appointment this afternoon. We'll be sure then."
"You didn't take a test yet?" he had asked.
"No. But I'm never late. Not ever."
"Okay."
"Unheard of," she had added.
He had felt strangely relieved that she seemed as nervous as he felt.
She had come back from an appointment, told him that 'it was that', and they had begun to freak.
"We're not married yet."
"I know. The press is going to slam us!"
"I know. Our parents are going to kill us."
"I don't think my parents will mind."
"Well, mine will."
"The Governor is going to kick my ass."
"I know!"
"We should probably calm down now."
"Yeah."
Neither of them had pointed out that they weren't ready for this yet. It wasn't as if they could avoid dealing with it.
They had rushed the wedding arrangements, making it smaller and more private than their families had wished, and prepared their place for the arrival of the baby and tried to pick a name.
**********
"This is all your fault," Ainsley hissed after a long contraction.
"It'll be over soon," he tried to soothe her.
"I don't want it over *soon *. I want it over * now *."
"I know."
"No, you don't ! If you knew, you'd be grabbing the baby and getting it out of me."
"Ains - "
"SHUT. UP."
"Okay."
An hour after that, Ainsley was crying as the doctor was saying, for the sake of formality, "Congratulations, it's a boy."
Sam felt his knees go weak.
A son.
They had a son.
Sam had known that this day would come, but he had had trouble grasping the concept. Now, as the doctor put the little bundle in his arms, he could only stare in awe, and wonder what exactly he was going to do with it.
Ainsley laughed softly. "You should see your face," she said tenderly.
He only nodded, not trusting his voice, admiring the baby he held.
Then Ainsley claimed her son, and he sat gingerly on the side of the bed, looking over them both.
**********
Three weeks later, Sam's cousin, Angela, who had agreed to be Alex's godmother, followed Sam onto the apartment balcony, after the Alex's christening - and the party that followed.
Sam was leaning on the railing, watching the town lighting up, enjoying the relative peace now that most of their family and friends had gone home.
"You okay there?" she asked gently.
"Yeah, I'm just exhausted. And a little scared. I could screw this up, and..."
"You won't," she said decisively, and Sam smiled.
She had always been his more vocal cheerleader, ever since they had been kids. She was only a few months older than he was, and they were close - they had grown up together, they had survived their grandparents deaths together, then Angela's parents' divorce, a few ugly break ups, their teen aged years... they knew each other well, and they were good at listening and reassuring the other.
"I mean it," she insisted. "I had overbearing parents, yours were... I know you love them, but - "
"But I want to do better than they did," he admitted, thinking back to his father's absences and his mother's indifference sometimes.
"I know," she said. "I know you, and I know you're probably freaking right now, because it was all so sudden, and you didn't really have a lot of time to prepare. But, you know... you'll do great."
"Thanks," he repeated. A little reassured.
**********
Two weeks later
A few days after the christening, Sam was busy yelling at a journalist on the phone when his assistant poked her head in his office.
"Someone's here to see you," she said.
He waved at her to make his visitor enter, and his mood lifted considerably when he saw Toby come in.
"I'll get back to you on that but... No... Look, I'll call back. Bye," he hung up on the reporter, and rose to hug Toby. "Great to see you," he said softly.
"Congratulations," Toby said. "How are they?"
"Good. Great. Ainsley's tired, and her hormones are rebelling, we haven't have a good night's sleep in I don't know how long, I feel rumpled, and I can't keep my mind on what I'm doing for more than five minutes. So, you know... great."
Toby smiled a little. "Look, the President wants to see the three of you."
"When?"
"Would tonight do? You can drop at the hotel by, I don't know, five? Would that be okay? It won't take long, he wants to see Alex."
"I'll check with Ains. And, you know, my boss."
Toby laughed. "I'm sure he'll say yes, if he doesn't want to have an angry President to deal with."
Sam nodded, and gestured helplessly to his desk.
"I'll go. See you tonight. And Sam?"
He looked at his boss.
"Fatherhood suits you. You've never seemed so..."
"Thanks, Toby," he said, almost sure he was blushing.
His former boss went out and Sam went back to his work, his eyes often drawn to the picture on his desk, a smile on his lips.
**********
Later that day
"I can't believe you did that," CJ said again, smiling at the baby in her arms.
Ainsley, Sam, Alex and the senior staff, minus Josh, were gathered in Bartlet's suite, and Alex had been going from arm to arm for more than fifteen minutes, sleeping, oblivious to all the ruckus he was causing.
"Neither can we," Ainsley said. "Each time I wake up in the morning, I tell myself, 'wow, I have a baby. I'm a mother.' Does it ever get old?"
Leo shook his head. "Wait until he begins skipping school," he warned.
"Don't spoil their fun," Bartlet chastised, looking over CJ's shoulder. "He's beautiful," he added, and Sam felt absurdly glad that none of his colleagues tried to pretend that he looked just like his father. He loved his son, with an intensity nothing had prepared him to, he thought he was perfect, but he knew that he didn't look like either of his parents yet. He looked like a baby. He was tired of people saying that he was the spitting image of one of them. Besides, he hated the expression 'spitting image'.
"Josh wanted to come, but we needed someone in DC," Leo told Sam, just as Bartlet was beginning to tell stories about his girls. Sam looked at him and nodded. He hadn't really expected Josh to come anyway, and he wasn't sure they would have had anything to say to each other.
"How is he?" he asked.
"Fine. Still with Amy. What those two do together, I wonder..."
Sam chuckled, remembering all the times he had thought the same thing.
"Still a pompous jackass," Leo added, "Not that we would have him any other way."
Sam didn't say anything, but not for the first time, he wondered why exactly they couldn't ask for more where Josh was concerned. No one had ever hesitated to tell him when he was being an ass, when he was being arrogant, when he was out of line. Toby and CJ had also been criticized on the attitude they had sometimes. How come Josh wasn't held to the same standards they were? How come no one ever asked him to be a little more... diplomatic, in his dealings with people?
He didn't say any of this to Leo, though. He didn't see the need to launch into this kind of debate now, and both Ainsley and Alex were beginning to look tired. A look from Ainsley confirmed his impression.
It was time for them to go home, he thought, and he smiled. It had taken him a few months to stop thinking of his Washington apartment as home, he realized, but now he never had any hesitation.
Rising, he went to pick up Alex, and began to say goodbye to the others.
**********
2006, Manchester
After two hours of tossing and turning, Sam gave up and got up, careful not to wake Ainsley, still sound asleep. The dampness was making all his old wounds sore, and the dull pain in his leg was driving him insane. He dressed quickly, in whatever he found first (faded blue jeans and a warm, black sweater), and went out of the farm for a walk, hoping it would ease the stiffness that had settled in.
Once he had gone a few meters, he stopped to take in the sight all around him. He had always loved this place. Nothing would ever compare with California to him - the ocean, he needed an ocean nearby to be happy - but this place had its charms too, especially in the morning when all was quiet.
A cough startled him and he turned around. Bartlet was watching him, smiling softly, a few agents in the background, looking as severe as ever.
"Good morning, sir."
"Sam, you don't have to 'sir' me anymore," the President said again.
"Old habits..." he explained. "Besides, you're still the President."
"Not for long," Bartlet said, bitterness creeping into his voice.
Sam could understand why it was there.
The fall of 2006 brought mixed feelings to anyone belonging to their extended family.
On one hand, Ritchie had run again, against Hoynes. The odds had been in the Republican's favor from day one, and everyone who had ever met President Bartlet was horrified at the thought that a bigot who could barely read had his chances at becoming the next President of the United States. But the polls all said the same thing: Bartlet was perceived as arrogant, as confrontational, and as someone who wasn't trusted anymore. There had been too many PR gaffes, too many battles with Congress had been lost, too many occasions to make a difference disregarded. The American people wanted a change, they didn't want someone who had been on Bartlet's side for eight years. The senior staff had given much of their time to help, but it was hopeless and everyone knew it. Hoynes had campaigned on the differences existing between Bartlet and him, but the message hadn't gone through.
The election had been called for Ritchie, and it had been depressing as hell to watch.
Sam's heart went to his colleagues, who had to handle the transition, who had to empty their offices, knowing that their side had lost.
On the other hand, Sam had run for Governor, and won the election - not by much, but won all the same. He wouldn't have made it without Adams' support, he knew that. The outgoing governor was well liked, and his words carried a lot of weight.
"Hoynes will be back," he said, to try and lighten the mood.
"Yes, I suppose so."
Jed gestured for Sam to follow and they walked on silently for a while, circling the house. Sam could tell that Bartlet was watching discretely, worried. He said, "You can ask, you know."
"I didn't mean to - "
"I know you didn't. It's all right."
His limp wasn't usually too noticeable but it had worsened since he'd arrived here. The cold and the wetness. He had already seen Josh and Toby trade worried glances. Sometimes, it felt like nothing had changed. If these two could still play mother hens...
"You're in pain," Bartlet said, not really a question.
"It's more stiff, than painful," Sam explained. "It's usually not that bad. The cold - "
"Sorry."
"It's not your fault it's cold in New Hampshire," he smiled.
"Do you... Are you OK?"
Sam knew he wasn't talking about just his leg anymore.
"I'm... better. Kind of."
Except for the nightmares where he found himself unable to save Alex from another car accident. Or from a fire. Or from drowning. Or from... anything his brain insisted on bringing up.
"Good," Bartlet said, not sounding convinced.
They walked on silently for a minute, then Jed suddenly stopped and turned to Sam. "I wanted to tell you... I wanted you to stay. I wanted your idealism at my disposal. I wanted your passion. It was unfair to you, you had a career to worry about, I know, I just... I'm just a man, Sam." He smiled, raised a hand to prevent Sam from talking yet, and added, "I wanted the best around me. I can be, to quote my wife, a bull headed son-of-a-bitch sometimes, I'll admit that. I was wrong to refuse to listen to your advice, even though you weren't always right, and I was wrong to avoid you in the last weeks. I just wanted to say that."
Sam nodded, not trusting his voice.
They moved back to the house, and Sam tried not to grimace when the pinching reappeared in his back.
"Sam?"
He smiled, aware that he was probably deathly pale.
He hated this.
"I'm fine, sir."
Bartlet just looked at him, an eyebrow raised, and he amended, "Nothing a painkiller won't cure."
Except he had no intention of taking one.
He sighed.
He really hated this.
**********
2004, California
The only thing Sam remembered from the accident was that he had tried to get to Alex. His son was on the backseat, strapped into the babyseat, and that's probably what had saved his life.
When Sam woke up in the car, he heard his son shouting. He tried to move his head, but the pain that shot through his skull made him scream, and he passed out.
The next time he came to, there was someone next to him, asking him if he was there.
"What?" he asked.
"Sir, do you hear me?"
Alex began to cry again, and Sam tried to get up, raise his hands, move, do something to help him, but someone was preventing him from moving his head, and the rest of his body didn't seem to want to cooperate.
"Let me..." he pleaded.
"Sir, I really don't think it would be a good idea to move," the voice said calmly.
They didn't understand. His son might be hurt, he had to help him.
"My son," he tried to explain.
"I can see him from where I am, he doesn't seem hurt."
"He's crying," Sam pointed out.
Couldn't this guy see it? Couldn't he tell that it was bad?
"Yes, and quite loudly," the voice said, reassuringly. "If he's strong enough to scream like that, I'm sure it'll be fine."
Sam wasn't so sure.
Then Alex stopped crying, and he fought the hand holding him down some more.
"Let me see," he began, just as Alex began screaming again, definitely unhappy, it seemed.
"Hear him?" the voice asked.
He did. And he didn't like the fact that they wouldn't let him see his son one bit.
He tried to get his legs to move once again. The pain took him completely by surprise - and made him forget everything else.
He heard a scream and everything went black.
For a moment, he still heard Alex's cries, then the noise faded, and the pain with it.