Warning : This chapter deals with a subject that may upset some readers.
CHAPTER THREE : DARK DAYS
PART ONE
2009, Manchester
Why was it always cold when they came here? Sam wondered, limping to the kitchen where his friends were gathered.
It was that time of the year, as all Bartlet's former staffers had come to name it. The Annual Gathering of the Family at the Manchester farm.
He hadn't been sure he'd come, he had warned Abbey, but she had insisted, and Ainsley had decided that they both needed to take a few days off anyway. And now, two weeks later, on a cold morning, they were all gathered in Manchester, gratefully accepting the mugs Abbey distributed among them. Alex had been able to come this time, and he was fast asleep in his room, exhausted by the flight.
"Do you have to force feed them, my dear?" Bartlet asked as Abbey bullied the guests into eating pie.
"Yes," she retorted. "Look at them, they all look exhausted. Sam, when was the last time you ate?"
"I... uh..." Amazing how a fairly articulate and educated man could turn speechless in front of Abbey Bartlet, he reflected.
"Thought so. And Josh, stop snickering, your turn will come."
Josh stopped snickering, and they all listened to her sermon about food, and health, and not complicating the jobs of their wives. Even Toby didn't dare to protest that he wasn't married.
When she was done, Donna asked with a half smile "This is the main reason we're all here, isn't it, Ma'am?"
"No. The main reason is that we both miss you all. Bullying you is a bonus. Now, go to the living room, and try to keep my husband entertained while I cook some food."
They were obediently filing out of the room when she called Sam back.
"How are you?" she asked. "Really?"
He managed a smile. "I'm - We're fine, I guess."
Which was a bit of an exaggeration. There were days when they almost made it without crying. Almost. Still, it was actually progress, so...
She hugged him. "I'm so sorry we couldn't come to the funeral," she whispered. "Jed was better, but travelling was out of the question for him."
He knew that, and he refrained from telling her that Ainsley and he wouldn't have noticed them even if they had been able to come. He didn't even remember his parents being there. All he remembered was the tiny hole in which the tiny coffin had been buried, and Donna telling him that everything was going to be all right after the doctor had had to sedate Ainsley. The rest of that day was a total blank to him, and he wasn't sure it was a bad thing.
In fact the four days following Ben's death were blurry to him, and, he knew, to Ainsley. He vaguely remembered people expressing their regrets, telling him that time would make things better. He had a vague memory of Colleen telling him that they had received truckloads of flowers and letters from people who wanted to express their sympathy.
A few random scenes were clear in his mind, for reasons past his understanding - the morning following the funeral, Ainsley, Alex and him trying to eat. Angela asking Ainsley if she wanted to take a shower, and Ainsley bursting into tears. Toby patting him on the shoulder, Josh putting a beer in his hand, neither of them saying a word. Why he remembered these moments and nothing more, he didn't know.
Then, as he was becoming increasingly conscious of his environment, as the pain began to awaken, Bartlet had called him, expressing his condolences, apologizing for not being able to come. He had broken his leg falling down the stairs a few weeks earlier. For a minute, everyone had feared it was his MS progressing, but it turned out it was mostly the years adding up, finally. He was better at the time of Ben's death, but he couldn't take a plane.
Sam, listening to his comforting words, feeling himself emerging from the daze he had been trapped in, had reflected that he would have preferred feeling numb for the rest of his life.
He blinked back tears, realizing that Abbey was waiting for an answer. "I know you wanted to be there," he said. "It's okay. I know you thought about us."
She rubbed his back slightly and sent him back with the others, a little tearful.
**********
Sam had joined the others in the living room and was letting the conversation unfold without him, lost in his thoughts.
He tried not to think too much about Ben's death, but being here with his friends had brought back memories he'd rather have seen disappear. The last time he had seen CJ, Ainsley was eight months pregnant. The last time he had seen Leo, the older man was trying to keep him grounded during the priest's homily at the funeral, two days after... after.
Ainsley had told him she was pregnant during a diner - candles, wine, and so on. She had announced it carefully, as if she had been afraid that he'd chicken out of the room. But, if fatherhood had once made him horribly nervous, he was older now. So many things had changed since the last time they had been expecting. He was the Governor now, and she was the Governor's wife. The thought of having another kid didn't make them panic like it had before. It was as good a time as any, they thought.
No, Sam wasn't petrified anymore.
Just slightly... apprehensive.
It didn't mean that he hadn't cried in the maternity ward, when the nurse had put the baby in Ainsley's arms. Then later, when Alex had seen his brother for the first time. Then when he had called his friends to let them know.
The first two months had been exhausting, but oh so happy. They had missed having a baby with them - Alex was great, but he was growing up, and he was beginning to show signs of wanting to do things by himself.
They had enjoyed having another new born with them.
Then, one night, Ainsley had woken him up, screaming from the baby's room.
"Sam?" Bartlet's voice interrupted his musings.
"Yeah?" he said, finding out that everyone was watching him. Great, just great.
"Are you all right?"
"Sure."
"Because Toby wanted to know why you had given the speech last Friday without being arrested by a 'grammar policeman', and - "
"Toby!" Sam said indignantly, trying to pretend he was interested in the game his former boss was playing, "Why the hell would you think such a thing?"
He wasn't making a good job of joking, he could tell, but none of the others insisted. Toby raised an eyebrow and said, "Well, since you ended up blue in the face after a five line sentence, I was wondering whether or not your staff was trying to kill you."
**********
Ainsley listened to Toby's opinion of Sam's speechwriting staff, grabbing Sam's hand discretely and squeezing it. The small pressure he gave back reassured her.
She didn't like to see him zoning out like that, even if it didn't happen too often.
She didn't like those four letters - SIDS.
She didn't like that they cried so often.
She didn't like that her son was dead.
She was forced to live with it anyway.
She had never been sure what had woken her up that night. Ben was barely two months old, he was finally sleeping more than half an hour in a row, and Sam and her were enjoying the time they could spend sleeping.
They had settled him in his own room, but there were baby monitors. She listened and didn't hear anything, but decided to go check. Ben seemed to be asleep, and he didn't stir when she moved the blanket. Then she realized that he was cold.
Way too cold.
She tried to shake him, or rather, she saw her hand move of its own accord and shake him slightly, and he still didn't react.
The rest was fuzzy. She vaguely saw Sam barge into the room, and he later told her that she had screamed to wake him up, but she didn't remember that part.
What she did remember, though, was her husband taking the baby, putting it on the ground, and doing mouth-to-mouth on him, then yelling at her to call for help.
She would never forget Sam, trying to breathe for Ben, doing CPR. A small part of her mind had told her that it was too late anyway - Ben's coolness, the way his body had moved bonelessly when she had shaken him, those were signs that something had gone horribly wrong - but she stood there, watching, as if by praying hard enough, she could bring her son back.
Ben still hadn't reacted when the medics arrived.
They probably knew it was too late, she saw them exchange a look when Sam told them that it had been at least ten minutes, and when one of them opened his mouth, she was sure he was going to say "I'm sorry, but it's too late." He didn't though. He told his colleague to prepare an intubation kit. They gently shoved Sam out of the way, Sam who looked terrified, more so than she remembered ever seeing him, and they both observed the medics.
They worked on Ben for another ten minutes before stopping.
"No," she breathed.
"We're sorry," the older one said, looking genuinely compassionate. The younger one, he must have been barely twenty five, if that, just looked at them, his eyes wide, sympathetic.
"Isn't there - " Sam began to ask, but the older medic was already shaking his head.
She was glued to the spot, and she was almost sure she'd never be able to move again. If she stayed there, the world would just go on without her. Big deal. But if she moved, if she got out, then she'd have to take whatever would come next - she would have to thank the medics, wait for someone to come take away the body, go to sleep, then wake up the next morning, and God, she didn't want the night to stop, she didn't the sun to rise ever again, she didn't want to see what would happen next, she didn't want -
She hadn't realized she was crying until Sam took her in his arms, not saying anything, just hugging her tightly, rocking her, rubbing her back.
The last image she had of that night was the older medic motioning to the younger to follow him outside.
She had been trying to erase the face of that kid from her memory ever since. The compassion in his eyes, as if he was feeling bad for her.
She didn't want compassion, she wanted her son.
A squeeze on her hand startled her from her reverie. Sam was looking at her worriedly. "Zoning out too?" he asked.
She smiled weakly. She didn't tell him what she had been thinking about, she didn't need to. Usually, when they began to stare into space, it was because they were thinking about * that*
Everyone was still chatting around them, and for a second, the unfairness of the situation struck her.
Why the hell couldn't her son have survived to meet these people?
Why the hell couldn't her son have survived, period?
Sam squeezed her hand tighter, and she blinked back tears.
There would be time for crying later that night, she thought, trying to focus back on the conversations around them.
**********
As everyone was moving out of the living room, Toby followed Sam to his car to help him take his suitcases out.
"You lean on it more heavily when you're tired," Toby said softly, gesturing at his cane.
"Yeah." He knew. He didn't need it too often, but he had learned his lessons from his last stay here.
"The way you're clutching it right now, you look like you're going to fall over."
Sam looked down to realize that he was squeezing it so hard, his fingers were white.
"It's not that I'm tired, I just... I was, you know, remembering." That was only a small lie, he was tired, but not to the point where it's either lie down or fall down.
"Thought so. You have this look when you do that."
He knew. "I'm fine," he said, because his friend was probably worried sick right now.
"Sure," Toby said, unconvinced. "I just... you seemed so..."
He didn't finish, and Sam filled in the blanks. Of course, no one had seen him since -
He must have looked awful these days, he knew. After the medics had gone, Sam had called Angela, listening to his own voice explaining what had happened, feeling like he was watching a movie. His cousin had arrived half an hour later, just in time to witness the coroner taking the body away.
Sam should have been hurting, he knew, he should have been screaming in pain, but he just felt numb. She had taken one look at him, had pushed him into his room and ordered him to stay there as she handled the formalities. She had closed the door, and he had found himself alone with Ainsley, and Alex, who was already asleep on their bed. Ainsley had gone to get him while Sam was calling his cousin. Ainsley sat on the bed, staring fixedly at a point on the wall, and he sat next to her, putting a hand on her back. He didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything.
After a few minutes that had felt like centuries to him, there had been a knock on the door, and he had opened. Angela was looking at him, concerned, and he had tried to smile. "They took him away," she had said gently. "I'm calling your Mom, okay? And... who else?"
"Ainsley's parents," he said. "I don't know. I..." His voice broke, and he realized that he couldn't form a coherent thought.
Besides, he didn't give a damn who she called - his parents, her parents, the Pope, none of them would make a difference.
"I'll take care of it, try to sleep, you two," she had said, and he had nodded and closed the door again.
Sleep, yes.
He wouldn't have to remember how cold Ben's body had been if he fell asleep.
He wouldn't have to worry about Ainsley's quietness if he fell asleep.
He could forget if he fell asleep.
The next morning, he had found his pillow wet with tears he didn't remember shedding, then his mother had come in, talking in hushed tones, hugging him, and Angela had needed his advice on the funeral, and Ainsley's parents had arrived, with her siblings, and they had had to take care of Alex, who seemed worryingly withdrawn, and they hadn't had the time to think.
After the funeral, when everyone had come and gone and they had found themselves alone in their house again, then it had hit them. They had been too stunned, too busy, to react before.
Toby had seen him at the funeral, but he hadn't talked to anyone that day, and in hindsight, he realized how that must have worried everyone.
"We're better, Toby. We miss him, of course, but... we're better."
"Good," Toby said.
Of course, there had been three months of a deafening silence between Ainsley and him. Three months of not looking at each other, of not entering Ben's room, of not touching each other in bed, of not sleeping, of just lying there, staring at the ceiling, not knowing what to say.
Later, when they had begun therapy, he found out she was blaming herself for not waking up sooner. "I was his mother, I should have known," she had sobbed.
Ironically, Sam blamed himself. He was a light sleeper, how many times had he taken care of one of the boys before they had had the time to wake Ainsley? And yet, this time, he had slept through his son's death.
He hadn't been able to restart the heart. He had tried, God knew he had tried, and he could still feel the coolness of his son's skin as he was trying to save him.
It hadn't been enough.
He hadn't even been able to comfort Ainsley. He didn't know how to reach out to her, each of his attempts ended awkwardly, with her trying to smile and him not knowing what to tell her, except "Sorry."
They were both so sorry.
They had decided to seek help after four months. He had come back from work late that night, and had found Alex crying in his room and Ainsley sobbing uncontrollably on the couch. It had taken him half an hour to calm her, he had been very close to calling a doctor, but she had finally stopped crying long enough to apologize.
"I didn't mean to," she had said, between hiccups.
"Didn't mean to what?"
"Lose it like that. It's stupid, really."
"What happened?" he had asked.
"I lost my wedding band," she said, beginning to cry again.
He had taken her in his arms, rubbing his back, at a loss. Why was she reacting that way? "We'll buy a new one, honey. It's no big deal," he said softly.
"I know! I know. I was taking my shower, it slipped from my finger, I couldn't catch it..."
She had lost weight recently, Sam noticed. So that probably explained the whole thing. And he still didn't understand what the big deal was.
"I don't know why it seems so bad, I just... I was tired, and when I saw it disappear in the water, I don't know why, I..."
Or maybe he did understand.
He tended to react that way too, at the end of a long day. It wasn't the big things that made him lose it. When Lisa had dumped him, he had been fine until one night, he had gone back to the motel where the staff was staying, somewhere in Massachusetts, and found out he had lost the keys to his room. He had begun to cry in front of his door, feeling like an idiot for doing it, hoping that no one would see him like that.
When the President had told him about the MS, he had begun to lose it when he had found out he didn't have warm water anymore at his place, since his neighbor had used all the reserves.
"I'm sorry," Ainsley sighed. "I didn't react that bad when..."
When Ben had died, she didn't say it, but Sam heard it all the same. And she was wrong of course, she wasn't crying for the ring then, not any more than Sam had grieved for his hotel keys.
It was time they did something, he had thought. They weren't going to make it on their own, not the way they were handling it.
He was worried about her, and he knew she had noticed the way he downed painkillers now, blaming the insomnia on the pain in his leg - which was sometimes true, but most often an exaggeration, he could admit it.
They had found a therapist, a friend of Colleen, someone they knew would be discreet - because even in the midst of the hell they were in, they still had to think about appearances. They had received lots of sympathetic letters, flowers, well-wishes, but Sam knew that as the Governor, he couldn't look too affected by his loss. He had to look in control of his private life as well as in control of the state.
So, they had secretly met the therapist, and had talked it through. And screamed, at each other, at their therapist, at Whoever was in charge, at themselves.
Putting their life back in order had necessitated work, lots of talking, and an energy none of them thought they still possessed, but they were almost there now, Sam knew.
Almost.
Turning back to Toby, who was still looking at him worriedly, he admitted sheepishly, "Well, the therapist we see is pretty good."
Leaving Toby to digest that, Sam turned to the main house, just in time to see Alex come out and run to him.
"Dad! Josh says I can watch an horror movie with him!" he said excitedly, throwing himself into Sam's arms - a dark haired tornado. "Can I, please?" He turned pleading blue eyes to Sam, who sighed and nodded. Alex jumped up and down in excitement, and ran back to the house, shouting, "Uncle Josh! He said I can!"
Sam watched him, smiling slightly.
**********
Later that evening, Sam was enjoying a beer, alone on the porch. Josh was busy convincing everyone that he had been right to call a journalist 'stupid specimen of his stupid race', and CJ was explaining to him that he was just hostile with journalists, always. The debate had amused him for a while, but now he felt a headache creeping on him, and he wanted some quiet.
He heard a door open lightly in his back, and he sighed.
So much for loneliness, then.
"Do you have a minute?" Toby asked.
Sam had a brief laugh. "I'm drinking a beer, Toby, not reading memos."
"Yeah, I... How are you doing?"
Sam looked at him incredulously. "How am I doing?" he asked. "That's what you came to ask? Again?"
He had noticed the worried looks everyone was shooting at him, and at Ainsley, and he hadn't said anything because they had a right to be worried, and they were his friends, and it was nice to see them care. But he was almost sure his former boss wouldn't follow him outside, for the second time that day, just to ask him how he was once again.
The sight of Toby shifting his feet, trying to find a way to bring up whatever he was thinking about, made him frown. "What? Ask me already," he urged, now interested.
"Okay, I... the thing is... Rumor has it you're going to run." He didn't add anything, and Sam stared at him, nonplussed.
"For second term, yeah," he said, "That's not a big surprise."
"No, I meant, for President."
Sam blinked. "What?"
"Well, everyone knows you're going to eventually."
"Then everyone knows better than I do. Of course, I'm thinking about it, but between thinking and doing it... Certainly not in the next election," Sam said firmly.
"Sam, you really could. You'd be running against Ritchie, who, honestly, the people are fed up with, and you're well liked, and - "
"Toby, no," he said, beginning to shiver. He wasn't done dealing with... whatever it was he had to deal with. He needed time.
"But - "
"I don't... It's too soon, I'm not ready for this, and I'm still... we're still... we're trying to get over Ben's death right now, and I don't have any strength to spare on campaigning for something this big. Besides, Hoynes is going to run."
"Great," Toby said sarcastically.
"He'd do good," Sam said. "And... God, Toby, I have enough trouble getting out of bed in the morning as it is. I couldn't... I never envisioned running this soon."
"So you are thinking about it."
"Yeah, I am. Sure. Just, you know, give me time to... I'm just now getting good at being a Governor, Toby."
"You were good already."
"Not like now. Not like... Okay, just give me time is all I'm asking."
Toby studied him a moment, then nodded. "Fine. But for the next elections, I'm asking again."
"Whatever," Sam said. He didn't mind Toby asking again. As long as he had time to think about it.
Sure, he had always thought about it. In theory.
He loved his country, he loved the people who lived in it, and wanted to help them. Once upon a time, he had tried to do so by writing speeches. Now, he did so by trying to govern.
And the place where he would be able to do the most good would be the White House, he knew.
He just didn't think it was time yet.
No, he definitely wasn't ready for that.
Yet.
CHAPTER THREE : DARK DAYS
PART ONE
2009, Manchester
Why was it always cold when they came here? Sam wondered, limping to the kitchen where his friends were gathered.
It was that time of the year, as all Bartlet's former staffers had come to name it. The Annual Gathering of the Family at the Manchester farm.
He hadn't been sure he'd come, he had warned Abbey, but she had insisted, and Ainsley had decided that they both needed to take a few days off anyway. And now, two weeks later, on a cold morning, they were all gathered in Manchester, gratefully accepting the mugs Abbey distributed among them. Alex had been able to come this time, and he was fast asleep in his room, exhausted by the flight.
"Do you have to force feed them, my dear?" Bartlet asked as Abbey bullied the guests into eating pie.
"Yes," she retorted. "Look at them, they all look exhausted. Sam, when was the last time you ate?"
"I... uh..." Amazing how a fairly articulate and educated man could turn speechless in front of Abbey Bartlet, he reflected.
"Thought so. And Josh, stop snickering, your turn will come."
Josh stopped snickering, and they all listened to her sermon about food, and health, and not complicating the jobs of their wives. Even Toby didn't dare to protest that he wasn't married.
When she was done, Donna asked with a half smile "This is the main reason we're all here, isn't it, Ma'am?"
"No. The main reason is that we both miss you all. Bullying you is a bonus. Now, go to the living room, and try to keep my husband entertained while I cook some food."
They were obediently filing out of the room when she called Sam back.
"How are you?" she asked. "Really?"
He managed a smile. "I'm - We're fine, I guess."
Which was a bit of an exaggeration. There were days when they almost made it without crying. Almost. Still, it was actually progress, so...
She hugged him. "I'm so sorry we couldn't come to the funeral," she whispered. "Jed was better, but travelling was out of the question for him."
He knew that, and he refrained from telling her that Ainsley and he wouldn't have noticed them even if they had been able to come. He didn't even remember his parents being there. All he remembered was the tiny hole in which the tiny coffin had been buried, and Donna telling him that everything was going to be all right after the doctor had had to sedate Ainsley. The rest of that day was a total blank to him, and he wasn't sure it was a bad thing.
In fact the four days following Ben's death were blurry to him, and, he knew, to Ainsley. He vaguely remembered people expressing their regrets, telling him that time would make things better. He had a vague memory of Colleen telling him that they had received truckloads of flowers and letters from people who wanted to express their sympathy.
A few random scenes were clear in his mind, for reasons past his understanding - the morning following the funeral, Ainsley, Alex and him trying to eat. Angela asking Ainsley if she wanted to take a shower, and Ainsley bursting into tears. Toby patting him on the shoulder, Josh putting a beer in his hand, neither of them saying a word. Why he remembered these moments and nothing more, he didn't know.
Then, as he was becoming increasingly conscious of his environment, as the pain began to awaken, Bartlet had called him, expressing his condolences, apologizing for not being able to come. He had broken his leg falling down the stairs a few weeks earlier. For a minute, everyone had feared it was his MS progressing, but it turned out it was mostly the years adding up, finally. He was better at the time of Ben's death, but he couldn't take a plane.
Sam, listening to his comforting words, feeling himself emerging from the daze he had been trapped in, had reflected that he would have preferred feeling numb for the rest of his life.
He blinked back tears, realizing that Abbey was waiting for an answer. "I know you wanted to be there," he said. "It's okay. I know you thought about us."
She rubbed his back slightly and sent him back with the others, a little tearful.
**********
Sam had joined the others in the living room and was letting the conversation unfold without him, lost in his thoughts.
He tried not to think too much about Ben's death, but being here with his friends had brought back memories he'd rather have seen disappear. The last time he had seen CJ, Ainsley was eight months pregnant. The last time he had seen Leo, the older man was trying to keep him grounded during the priest's homily at the funeral, two days after... after.
Ainsley had told him she was pregnant during a diner - candles, wine, and so on. She had announced it carefully, as if she had been afraid that he'd chicken out of the room. But, if fatherhood had once made him horribly nervous, he was older now. So many things had changed since the last time they had been expecting. He was the Governor now, and she was the Governor's wife. The thought of having another kid didn't make them panic like it had before. It was as good a time as any, they thought.
No, Sam wasn't petrified anymore.
Just slightly... apprehensive.
It didn't mean that he hadn't cried in the maternity ward, when the nurse had put the baby in Ainsley's arms. Then later, when Alex had seen his brother for the first time. Then when he had called his friends to let them know.
The first two months had been exhausting, but oh so happy. They had missed having a baby with them - Alex was great, but he was growing up, and he was beginning to show signs of wanting to do things by himself.
They had enjoyed having another new born with them.
Then, one night, Ainsley had woken him up, screaming from the baby's room.
"Sam?" Bartlet's voice interrupted his musings.
"Yeah?" he said, finding out that everyone was watching him. Great, just great.
"Are you all right?"
"Sure."
"Because Toby wanted to know why you had given the speech last Friday without being arrested by a 'grammar policeman', and - "
"Toby!" Sam said indignantly, trying to pretend he was interested in the game his former boss was playing, "Why the hell would you think such a thing?"
He wasn't making a good job of joking, he could tell, but none of the others insisted. Toby raised an eyebrow and said, "Well, since you ended up blue in the face after a five line sentence, I was wondering whether or not your staff was trying to kill you."
**********
Ainsley listened to Toby's opinion of Sam's speechwriting staff, grabbing Sam's hand discretely and squeezing it. The small pressure he gave back reassured her.
She didn't like to see him zoning out like that, even if it didn't happen too often.
She didn't like those four letters - SIDS.
She didn't like that they cried so often.
She didn't like that her son was dead.
She was forced to live with it anyway.
She had never been sure what had woken her up that night. Ben was barely two months old, he was finally sleeping more than half an hour in a row, and Sam and her were enjoying the time they could spend sleeping.
They had settled him in his own room, but there were baby monitors. She listened and didn't hear anything, but decided to go check. Ben seemed to be asleep, and he didn't stir when she moved the blanket. Then she realized that he was cold.
Way too cold.
She tried to shake him, or rather, she saw her hand move of its own accord and shake him slightly, and he still didn't react.
The rest was fuzzy. She vaguely saw Sam barge into the room, and he later told her that she had screamed to wake him up, but she didn't remember that part.
What she did remember, though, was her husband taking the baby, putting it on the ground, and doing mouth-to-mouth on him, then yelling at her to call for help.
She would never forget Sam, trying to breathe for Ben, doing CPR. A small part of her mind had told her that it was too late anyway - Ben's coolness, the way his body had moved bonelessly when she had shaken him, those were signs that something had gone horribly wrong - but she stood there, watching, as if by praying hard enough, she could bring her son back.
Ben still hadn't reacted when the medics arrived.
They probably knew it was too late, she saw them exchange a look when Sam told them that it had been at least ten minutes, and when one of them opened his mouth, she was sure he was going to say "I'm sorry, but it's too late." He didn't though. He told his colleague to prepare an intubation kit. They gently shoved Sam out of the way, Sam who looked terrified, more so than she remembered ever seeing him, and they both observed the medics.
They worked on Ben for another ten minutes before stopping.
"No," she breathed.
"We're sorry," the older one said, looking genuinely compassionate. The younger one, he must have been barely twenty five, if that, just looked at them, his eyes wide, sympathetic.
"Isn't there - " Sam began to ask, but the older medic was already shaking his head.
She was glued to the spot, and she was almost sure she'd never be able to move again. If she stayed there, the world would just go on without her. Big deal. But if she moved, if she got out, then she'd have to take whatever would come next - she would have to thank the medics, wait for someone to come take away the body, go to sleep, then wake up the next morning, and God, she didn't want the night to stop, she didn't the sun to rise ever again, she didn't want to see what would happen next, she didn't want -
She hadn't realized she was crying until Sam took her in his arms, not saying anything, just hugging her tightly, rocking her, rubbing her back.
The last image she had of that night was the older medic motioning to the younger to follow him outside.
She had been trying to erase the face of that kid from her memory ever since. The compassion in his eyes, as if he was feeling bad for her.
She didn't want compassion, she wanted her son.
A squeeze on her hand startled her from her reverie. Sam was looking at her worriedly. "Zoning out too?" he asked.
She smiled weakly. She didn't tell him what she had been thinking about, she didn't need to. Usually, when they began to stare into space, it was because they were thinking about * that*
Everyone was still chatting around them, and for a second, the unfairness of the situation struck her.
Why the hell couldn't her son have survived to meet these people?
Why the hell couldn't her son have survived, period?
Sam squeezed her hand tighter, and she blinked back tears.
There would be time for crying later that night, she thought, trying to focus back on the conversations around them.
**********
As everyone was moving out of the living room, Toby followed Sam to his car to help him take his suitcases out.
"You lean on it more heavily when you're tired," Toby said softly, gesturing at his cane.
"Yeah." He knew. He didn't need it too often, but he had learned his lessons from his last stay here.
"The way you're clutching it right now, you look like you're going to fall over."
Sam looked down to realize that he was squeezing it so hard, his fingers were white.
"It's not that I'm tired, I just... I was, you know, remembering." That was only a small lie, he was tired, but not to the point where it's either lie down or fall down.
"Thought so. You have this look when you do that."
He knew. "I'm fine," he said, because his friend was probably worried sick right now.
"Sure," Toby said, unconvinced. "I just... you seemed so..."
He didn't finish, and Sam filled in the blanks. Of course, no one had seen him since -
He must have looked awful these days, he knew. After the medics had gone, Sam had called Angela, listening to his own voice explaining what had happened, feeling like he was watching a movie. His cousin had arrived half an hour later, just in time to witness the coroner taking the body away.
Sam should have been hurting, he knew, he should have been screaming in pain, but he just felt numb. She had taken one look at him, had pushed him into his room and ordered him to stay there as she handled the formalities. She had closed the door, and he had found himself alone with Ainsley, and Alex, who was already asleep on their bed. Ainsley had gone to get him while Sam was calling his cousin. Ainsley sat on the bed, staring fixedly at a point on the wall, and he sat next to her, putting a hand on her back. He didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything.
After a few minutes that had felt like centuries to him, there had been a knock on the door, and he had opened. Angela was looking at him, concerned, and he had tried to smile. "They took him away," she had said gently. "I'm calling your Mom, okay? And... who else?"
"Ainsley's parents," he said. "I don't know. I..." His voice broke, and he realized that he couldn't form a coherent thought.
Besides, he didn't give a damn who she called - his parents, her parents, the Pope, none of them would make a difference.
"I'll take care of it, try to sleep, you two," she had said, and he had nodded and closed the door again.
Sleep, yes.
He wouldn't have to remember how cold Ben's body had been if he fell asleep.
He wouldn't have to worry about Ainsley's quietness if he fell asleep.
He could forget if he fell asleep.
The next morning, he had found his pillow wet with tears he didn't remember shedding, then his mother had come in, talking in hushed tones, hugging him, and Angela had needed his advice on the funeral, and Ainsley's parents had arrived, with her siblings, and they had had to take care of Alex, who seemed worryingly withdrawn, and they hadn't had the time to think.
After the funeral, when everyone had come and gone and they had found themselves alone in their house again, then it had hit them. They had been too stunned, too busy, to react before.
Toby had seen him at the funeral, but he hadn't talked to anyone that day, and in hindsight, he realized how that must have worried everyone.
"We're better, Toby. We miss him, of course, but... we're better."
"Good," Toby said.
Of course, there had been three months of a deafening silence between Ainsley and him. Three months of not looking at each other, of not entering Ben's room, of not touching each other in bed, of not sleeping, of just lying there, staring at the ceiling, not knowing what to say.
Later, when they had begun therapy, he found out she was blaming herself for not waking up sooner. "I was his mother, I should have known," she had sobbed.
Ironically, Sam blamed himself. He was a light sleeper, how many times had he taken care of one of the boys before they had had the time to wake Ainsley? And yet, this time, he had slept through his son's death.
He hadn't been able to restart the heart. He had tried, God knew he had tried, and he could still feel the coolness of his son's skin as he was trying to save him.
It hadn't been enough.
He hadn't even been able to comfort Ainsley. He didn't know how to reach out to her, each of his attempts ended awkwardly, with her trying to smile and him not knowing what to tell her, except "Sorry."
They were both so sorry.
They had decided to seek help after four months. He had come back from work late that night, and had found Alex crying in his room and Ainsley sobbing uncontrollably on the couch. It had taken him half an hour to calm her, he had been very close to calling a doctor, but she had finally stopped crying long enough to apologize.
"I didn't mean to," she had said, between hiccups.
"Didn't mean to what?"
"Lose it like that. It's stupid, really."
"What happened?" he had asked.
"I lost my wedding band," she said, beginning to cry again.
He had taken her in his arms, rubbing his back, at a loss. Why was she reacting that way? "We'll buy a new one, honey. It's no big deal," he said softly.
"I know! I know. I was taking my shower, it slipped from my finger, I couldn't catch it..."
She had lost weight recently, Sam noticed. So that probably explained the whole thing. And he still didn't understand what the big deal was.
"I don't know why it seems so bad, I just... I was tired, and when I saw it disappear in the water, I don't know why, I..."
Or maybe he did understand.
He tended to react that way too, at the end of a long day. It wasn't the big things that made him lose it. When Lisa had dumped him, he had been fine until one night, he had gone back to the motel where the staff was staying, somewhere in Massachusetts, and found out he had lost the keys to his room. He had begun to cry in front of his door, feeling like an idiot for doing it, hoping that no one would see him like that.
When the President had told him about the MS, he had begun to lose it when he had found out he didn't have warm water anymore at his place, since his neighbor had used all the reserves.
"I'm sorry," Ainsley sighed. "I didn't react that bad when..."
When Ben had died, she didn't say it, but Sam heard it all the same. And she was wrong of course, she wasn't crying for the ring then, not any more than Sam had grieved for his hotel keys.
It was time they did something, he had thought. They weren't going to make it on their own, not the way they were handling it.
He was worried about her, and he knew she had noticed the way he downed painkillers now, blaming the insomnia on the pain in his leg - which was sometimes true, but most often an exaggeration, he could admit it.
They had found a therapist, a friend of Colleen, someone they knew would be discreet - because even in the midst of the hell they were in, they still had to think about appearances. They had received lots of sympathetic letters, flowers, well-wishes, but Sam knew that as the Governor, he couldn't look too affected by his loss. He had to look in control of his private life as well as in control of the state.
So, they had secretly met the therapist, and had talked it through. And screamed, at each other, at their therapist, at Whoever was in charge, at themselves.
Putting their life back in order had necessitated work, lots of talking, and an energy none of them thought they still possessed, but they were almost there now, Sam knew.
Almost.
Turning back to Toby, who was still looking at him worriedly, he admitted sheepishly, "Well, the therapist we see is pretty good."
Leaving Toby to digest that, Sam turned to the main house, just in time to see Alex come out and run to him.
"Dad! Josh says I can watch an horror movie with him!" he said excitedly, throwing himself into Sam's arms - a dark haired tornado. "Can I, please?" He turned pleading blue eyes to Sam, who sighed and nodded. Alex jumped up and down in excitement, and ran back to the house, shouting, "Uncle Josh! He said I can!"
Sam watched him, smiling slightly.
**********
Later that evening, Sam was enjoying a beer, alone on the porch. Josh was busy convincing everyone that he had been right to call a journalist 'stupid specimen of his stupid race', and CJ was explaining to him that he was just hostile with journalists, always. The debate had amused him for a while, but now he felt a headache creeping on him, and he wanted some quiet.
He heard a door open lightly in his back, and he sighed.
So much for loneliness, then.
"Do you have a minute?" Toby asked.
Sam had a brief laugh. "I'm drinking a beer, Toby, not reading memos."
"Yeah, I... How are you doing?"
Sam looked at him incredulously. "How am I doing?" he asked. "That's what you came to ask? Again?"
He had noticed the worried looks everyone was shooting at him, and at Ainsley, and he hadn't said anything because they had a right to be worried, and they were his friends, and it was nice to see them care. But he was almost sure his former boss wouldn't follow him outside, for the second time that day, just to ask him how he was once again.
The sight of Toby shifting his feet, trying to find a way to bring up whatever he was thinking about, made him frown. "What? Ask me already," he urged, now interested.
"Okay, I... the thing is... Rumor has it you're going to run." He didn't add anything, and Sam stared at him, nonplussed.
"For second term, yeah," he said, "That's not a big surprise."
"No, I meant, for President."
Sam blinked. "What?"
"Well, everyone knows you're going to eventually."
"Then everyone knows better than I do. Of course, I'm thinking about it, but between thinking and doing it... Certainly not in the next election," Sam said firmly.
"Sam, you really could. You'd be running against Ritchie, who, honestly, the people are fed up with, and you're well liked, and - "
"Toby, no," he said, beginning to shiver. He wasn't done dealing with... whatever it was he had to deal with. He needed time.
"But - "
"I don't... It's too soon, I'm not ready for this, and I'm still... we're still... we're trying to get over Ben's death right now, and I don't have any strength to spare on campaigning for something this big. Besides, Hoynes is going to run."
"Great," Toby said sarcastically.
"He'd do good," Sam said. "And... God, Toby, I have enough trouble getting out of bed in the morning as it is. I couldn't... I never envisioned running this soon."
"So you are thinking about it."
"Yeah, I am. Sure. Just, you know, give me time to... I'm just now getting good at being a Governor, Toby."
"You were good already."
"Not like now. Not like... Okay, just give me time is all I'm asking."
Toby studied him a moment, then nodded. "Fine. But for the next elections, I'm asking again."
"Whatever," Sam said. He didn't mind Toby asking again. As long as he had time to think about it.
Sure, he had always thought about it. In theory.
He loved his country, he loved the people who lived in it, and wanted to help them. Once upon a time, he had tried to do so by writing speeches. Now, he did so by trying to govern.
And the place where he would be able to do the most good would be the White House, he knew.
He just didn't think it was time yet.
No, he definitely wasn't ready for that.
Yet.