CHAPTER FOUR : GOODBYES
PART ONE
February 2023, The White House
Sam was in the Oval Office, enjoying a few moments of quiet before returning to the wrap party, when his assistant poked his head through the door.
"Sir, you have a phone call," he said.
"Tell them to call back tomorrow," Sam groaned.
It was their last night in the White House, he wanted to enjoy the party, and the bittersweet goodbyes shared by the staff. He wanted to get himself in condition to leave the next day - and maybe a good hangover would help the moment to pass.
Of course, he couldn't get drunk off his ass here - not with all his staff watching, not while he was still, technically, the President. For a few more hours.
Where had those eight years gone, he had wondered more than once since his successor had been elected.
He wanted a few hours of quiet, he wanted to be left alone.
His assistant insisted, "I would, but it's... er... President-elect Young."
Oh.
Well, he better take that then...
As he had expected, Charlie began the conversation by making small talk.
"How are you doing?" he asked sincerely.
"I'm fine," Sam lied. Well, he'd survive. Survival was good. Simply, he was beginning to wonder if he had done some good, and the more people told him that it was normal to evaluate his two terms, to try to decide if he had done enough, the more he felt guilty for doing it.
He had a gifted staff, he knew they hadn't let him look like an idiot, he knew that this was as much their job as it was his, and if he had been awful at the job, they would have said it. They spoke their minds, especially Toby and Colleen.
"Okay," Charlie said, and Sam wondered, not for the first time, if the younger man was still considering himself as less worthy than the others were. They had known him when he was a twenty year old kid, who had to work to be able to go to college, and who didn't have their education. God knew he had filled that void by now - after all, he was the new President - yet Charlie always seemed self conscious around the lot of them.
Sam knew why he had called - it was the same reason that had made him call President Bartlet eight years before, the day before his Inauguration, on the verge of a panic attack.
Bartlet had told him afterwards that he wished he had been able to help more. There hadn't been much he could say to reassure Sam, just as Sam realized there wasn't that much he could do for Charlie.
At least Charlie had him and Sam had had Bartlet to help him. Bartlet had been alone, with a staff he barely knew (and who were trying to get used to the fact that they'd won the election and were now working in the White House), and a predecessor who didn't take kindly to the fact that a Democrat had won.
Maybe they had it easy after all.
"What if I can't do it?" Charlie blurted out, bringing him back to the problem at hand.
"Charlie, I've known you for how long now?"
"Well, twenty-three years now, Mister President."
"You'll do great," he stated. He had the feeling that it was going to take more than that to comfort the newly elected President, though.
Charlie was completely frozen.
Not that Sam was about to mock him for that - he still remembered the well intentioned teasing of his staff on the day he had been sworn in. He was sure he was going to die from the pressure and there they were, laughing. Well, not really, he guessed they were mostly trying to make him feel better, but their choice of method was a little questionable, to say the least.
"What if..." Charlie didn't finish, but he didn't have to. "What if they don't like me?" he was about to ask. "What if they think I suck at my job? What if I make mistakes?"
"Charlie, the best advice I was ever given was by President Bartlet, a few days after Alex was born. He told me that no parent was perfect, that I would make mistakes, and learn from them, and be better for them. He was right."
"Sir, I'm not going to have a baby," Charlie squealed.
Sam almost laughed. "I know, I'm just saying that the two are not too different. You have people to care for, and you have to do the best you can, and you have to learn to accept that you'll make mistakes."
"Oh."
Sam sighed. It mustn't have sounded reassuring, but it had to be said. He strongly suspected that each and every statesman was said that at least once - more if they were lucky.
"Charlie, you'll have advisors, trusted ones, friends who will give you a piece of their mind when they think you screwed up, and believe me, the fact that you're the President won't stop them. And in the end, you'll have your greatest asset."
"Which is?"
"Yourself. You're the one they elected," Sam said forcefully.
"People don't always make the right choice, sir," he pointed out.
"Okay, I can see you're being difficult on purpose," he sighed. "Let's put it another way: do you trust my judgement?"
"Yes," he said, without hesitation, and it pleased Sam more than he'd care to explain.
"Well, I voted for you."
CJ came into the Oval, and smiled at him. "Charlie?" she mouthed.
He nodded and she rolled her eyes, set a drink in front of him, then winked and left, as Sam settled for the next question Charlie would ask.
**********
2015, Inauguration day
Sam had locked himself in the bedroom and was practicing his breathing. He was sure he was forgetting something.
The speech? No, Toby was taking care of that.
His glasses? No, Ainsley was taking care of that.
His lucky watch? Check.
And he was fully clothed. Pants, and everything.
What the hell had he overlooked?
Leo came in as he was beginning yet another inventory.
"You okay, kid?" he asked before catching himself. "Sorry, I mean Mister President," he amended.
"I'm going to be sick," Sam told him, evenly.
His plaintive voice made Leo smile widely. "You'll do fine," he reassured, still smiling.
"Very funny," Sam mumbled through clenched teeth.
There was a knock and Toby poked his head in. "Feeling good?" he asked cheerfully.
Leo snickered. "He's going to throw up on your shoes," he warned.
No respect for the new leader of his country!
And why the hell was Leo there anyway? If his only reason to be present was to make Sam miserable, he could go back to Boston, or New Hampshire, or wherever he had come from.
"No he's not. He needs me to make sure he doesn't make an ass of himself in front of the whole - "
"All right," Sam cut off, "get out."
"Sam - " they tried to protest.
"Out," he pleaded. "If you're just gonna make fun of me, I don't... I mean, there will be other times when you call laugh at me all you want, but right now, really..."
The giant lump that had just taken residence in his throat prevented him from finishing, but they took the hint.
Looking properly chastised, they sat on either side of him. "Should we hold hands?" Toby asked.
Okay, maybe not * so * chastised, after all.
"I wasn't this nervous on my wedding day," he complained. "I was cool on my wedding day. I was in control."
"Really?" Ainsley asked from the doorway.
Great, his loving, faithful wife was going to help him.
"Then why did I hear Angela yell that if you even thought of approaching that window, she'd call the press to take pictures?"
Or not.
"Sam, face it, you're prone to - "
Just then, his stomach rebelled violently and he tried to hide a grimace. She must have seen it because she turned serious suddenly.
"Okay, leave us alone," she ordered to Leo and Toby.
The two others gone, she kneeled in front of him. "I'm sorry, I thought you were just, you know, overreacting," she said gently.
"Overreacting?" he squeaked. "Ains', I'm about to be sworn in."
"I know."
"As the President," he insisted, trying to make her see his point. "The President. Of the United States! What the hell was I thinking? And why did you let me do that?"
"Oh, blame the woman, why don't you?"
"It usually - "
"- doesn't work," she laughed.
"Seriously, how, how am I even going to... Can I do that?"
"Yes," she stated.
"Easy for you to say," he muttered. "What if I screw up? What if I declare war on someone, what if I can't make things better, what if I make them worse?"
"Sam, you have it in you. What more can I do to... I know you're terrified, honey, and so am I, but you really, really can do it."
"Yeah?"
She smiled and squeezed his hand. "I'll be here with you, we'll all be here with you. And hey, someone doesn't like the way you do it? They can kiss my ass, and take the job. See if they'll do better."
He frowned, pondering the feasibility of her idea. That would have been great. Of course, given the amount of people who were unhappy with their government, the actual President wouldn't have the time to govern at all, but hey...
"Not gonna happen," Ainsley said gently.
"How do you know I - "
"You're easily sidetracked. And you know there's absolutely no way this - "
"Yes, yes, I know. Still, it would be an idea."
There was a knock on the door and Colleen entered. "Sir, they're waiting for you," she said.
He nodded jerkily. Ainsley took his hand, and guided him to the door. As they were about to leave, she kneeled and picked up something on the floor. "Your tie clip," she said.
"I knew I was forgetting something," he said.
The rest of the staff was waiting outside, they fell in step behind him as he made his way through the hallways. As they were approaching the doors, Sam told his staff to go take their seats.
Toby lingered, waiting to give some last minute advise. "Do like usual. Breathe, don't mess up the order of the sheets, and try not to fall on anyone, or on your ass, or - "
"Yes, I get it, Toby, thank you. Could I have a few words with my wife, now?"
He smiled. "I'll be outside. I'll see you after. And Sam?"
Sam turned to him. His former boss looked at him sternly. "Youdidgoodupuntilnowandyou'regonnabegoodatthistooandI'mproudofyou," Toby said.
Sam frowned. "What?"
"You heard me perfectly well, and I'm not going to repeat it for your amusement, so - "
Sam smiled, more touched by Toby's mumbled words of praise than by anything his own father had ever told him. "Thanks Toby," he said, thinking of all the ways his boss had helped him through the years.
The grumpy Toby Ziegler, who had seen a green writer and had reluctantly become a mentor to this kid, who had given him a chance to prove himself, to become good at writing, then better, always better.
Toby, who had helped him to survive a nightmarish night in Rosslyn, the crumbling of all he had believed in, the loss of his son, the loss of a friend, and his parent's apparent indifference in the face of all he had accomplished.
Sam didn't know how he would ever be able to repay his mentor, to thank him enough. Toby was looking at him, and he obviously got the message Sam didn't know how to put into words.
He nodded, smiled briefly, spun on his heels and left, leaving Sam vaguely disoriented.
"Sam?" Ainsley said.
He nodded jerkily. "Yeah."
"You okay?"
He smiled, his nervousness gone. "Yeah. Thanks for... you know, before."
"I'm here to do all the pep talk you want," she said, smiling in that annoying way she had when she was about to tease him. "But may I just say that I don't think a republican would be quite that nervous?"
"Okay, let's go already," he snapped.
Just as he began walking again, she grabbed his arm and whispered into his ear, "If you do good, there'll be sex this night. If you do great, there'll even be whipped cream, and cherries. And champagne. Get it?"
He gulped and looked at her, noticing for the first time the way her dress clung to her body. "You're beautiful," he said.
"Took you long enough to notice."
"I've been preoccupied," he needlessly pointed out. "But I'll try to do more than great."
"Oh, if you do more than great, we'll have to take extra measures," she said. "By the way, I'm wearing the purple underwear you like so much."
And with that image in his head, he came on the outside and began waving when the crowd cheered.
He didn't fall, he delivered the speech to Toby's satisfaction, smiled at the appropriate times, and mingled with the crowd.
He did great.
And Ainsley (God bless her soul, he thought) decided that he'd even done more than great.
He still remembered that night quite vividly when she had a medical check-up two months later.
**********
2023
"What are you going to do tomorrow?" Charlie asked, maybe to try and think about something else than his impending Inauguration.
"Well, we're going to visit everyone we haven't seen in a while. Abbey, Alex, our families."
"You'll begin in Manchester?" Charlie asked.
"Yes. I don't know if she'll be there," Sam added. Zoey and Charlie had broken up before the end of the Bartlet administration, and after two years of "We'll never talk to each other again," they had decided to try to be friends. They were quite close now, and both happily married, Zoey with two kids, Charlie with four.
"If she is, will you - ?"
"Yeah, I'll tell her you say hi."
"Who will you take with you?"
"Anyone who wants to come," Sam replied. Which, he was sure, would be everyone. They would spend a week in Manchester, then go their separate ways, because they had lived with each other for eight years in a row, and they needed some space.
Then they'd try to set up a yearly reunion.
"I miss him," Charlie said.
Sam didn't need to ask who he was talking about. Of all of them, Charlie had been the most affected by Jed's passing.
"I miss him too," Sam said. "He would have been so proud of you. He always was."
Charlie's voice was thick when he answered, "Thanks."
They all missed him. Jed Bartlet, for all his flaws, had been a force to be reckoned with. He had been a father figure to all of them. It had hit them hard to learn that the MS was finally progressing. They had thought they were prepared to hear it, but they had been so busy with their own lives that they had put the issue on the side, until Abbey had called to tell them that Jed's health was deteriorating, that he refused medical assistance, that if they wanted to come, they should hurry.
Ironically, Sam thought, the man who had been the focal point of all their lives for so long was dying as Ainsley and him were about to celebrate the arrival of a new child - as if life wanted to compensate the loss of a member of the family by the gift of another one.
It hadn't made saying good-bye easier.
**********
2015
Sam would always remember the day when Ainsley had come back from her doctor's appointment, two months after the Inauguration. She had had a check up that day. He hadn't thought of asking her how she was, he was too preoccupied with the day he had had, setting up briefing after briefing with the Joint Chiefs.
He was reading a memo that night, and Ainsley had been trying to get his attention for several minutes now. Seeing that nothing worked, she adopted the blunt approach.
"I'm pregnant," she said.
He put down his memo and stared at her, speechless.
Pregnant? That was... unexpected.
She later told him that it had been fun to see him - powerful, the man who delivered speeches that made a crowd stand up, the man generals jumped to their feet for, being struck stupid by the news.
"You're what?" he squeaked after a while.
"Pregnant," she said patiently.
He smiled then, slowly at first, then more convincingly.
"The timing is terrible," she pointed out before he could speak.
His smile grew even wider. "Yeah," he said distractedly. "Yeah. You're - "
"Pregnant," she finished for him when he resorted to hand language.
"Yeah. That's..." He looked for a word, but when nothing came, he just walked to her and kissed her. "We're gonna have a baby?" he asked when he pulled away for breath.
"Yeah."
"Great," he said, grabbing his phone and dialing CJ's number.
Three days later, his ears were still ringing with the squeal CJ had made at the news.
He hadn't been able to stop smiling yet, either. He was still smiling broadly when his assistant told him he had a phone call from Manchester. He had taken it, and Abbey's composed voice had greeted him.
"Mister President, I have something to tell you," she had said, the seriousness of her voice erasing the smile on his face.
Four days later, Sam and Ainsley were in Manchester, being hugged by Abbey, and squeezing the hand of Jed Bartlet, who was looking more through them than at them, and who insisted on calling Sam, Jack, after a former Congressman he had worked with twenty years earlier.
They had stayed the night, and Jed had had a brief moment of lucidity, allowing them to say goodbye to the former President, to the man they knew, instead of the stranger who had greeted them the previous day.
On the plane back to Washington, Sam had asked to be left alone, and when he had emerged, as the plane was nearing Washington, his eyes were bloodshot, his face was drawn, and he had gratefully accepted a cup of coffee from Ainsley.
CJ and Toby had gone to Manchester shortly after that, coming back depressed. He had been worse than with Sam and Ainsley, they had explained. He hadn't recognized them at all, and Sam knew that Toby, who had been hoping for a chance to thank Jed for all he had done, had been deeply hurt.
Then Donna had gone, along with Charlie. Leo had temporarily moved to the farm. He's the one who called Sam, one week later, his voice shaking. "He's gone. He hadn't regained consciousness in the last two days. Last time we talked, it was maybe four days ago, he told me to tell you that he loved you all, and thanks for everything."
Sam hadn't been able to say much more than a brief, "We'll be there for the funeral, and if you or Abbey and the girls need something, anything...Let us know, okay?"
Then he had cried himself back to sleep, Ainsley's hand rubbing small circles on his back, like she always did when bad news came - the only thing that anchored him when he needed it.
They had all gone to the funeral. It was raining, Leo was thin and looked even too fragile to be hugged. Abbey was calm - she had told them again and again that she had had years to prepare herself to that, but Ainsley had found her crying in the kitchen after the ceremony.
"I didn't know what to say," she told Sam later. "What could I say?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "I have no idea."
He was tired of losing people he loved.
It was at that point that he began to freak over Ainsley's pregnancy.
**********
2023
"I'll let you go back to your party, Mister President," Charlie said.
"It can wait, really," Sam said. He spent so much time reminiscing anyway - brooding, Ainsley sustained, it was brooding - that he didn't think many people would want to stay near him.
"Yeah. I'll... thanks for your time."
"Call me if you ever need anything," he said sincerely.
"Thanks," Charlie said again, hanging up.
Sam sighed, fearing he hadn't been able to do much to ease the younger man's worries.
He could only hope he had done enough.
He was rising up when his assistant called to him. "Sir? Your son on line three."
PART ONE
February 2023, The White House
Sam was in the Oval Office, enjoying a few moments of quiet before returning to the wrap party, when his assistant poked his head through the door.
"Sir, you have a phone call," he said.
"Tell them to call back tomorrow," Sam groaned.
It was their last night in the White House, he wanted to enjoy the party, and the bittersweet goodbyes shared by the staff. He wanted to get himself in condition to leave the next day - and maybe a good hangover would help the moment to pass.
Of course, he couldn't get drunk off his ass here - not with all his staff watching, not while he was still, technically, the President. For a few more hours.
Where had those eight years gone, he had wondered more than once since his successor had been elected.
He wanted a few hours of quiet, he wanted to be left alone.
His assistant insisted, "I would, but it's... er... President-elect Young."
Oh.
Well, he better take that then...
As he had expected, Charlie began the conversation by making small talk.
"How are you doing?" he asked sincerely.
"I'm fine," Sam lied. Well, he'd survive. Survival was good. Simply, he was beginning to wonder if he had done some good, and the more people told him that it was normal to evaluate his two terms, to try to decide if he had done enough, the more he felt guilty for doing it.
He had a gifted staff, he knew they hadn't let him look like an idiot, he knew that this was as much their job as it was his, and if he had been awful at the job, they would have said it. They spoke their minds, especially Toby and Colleen.
"Okay," Charlie said, and Sam wondered, not for the first time, if the younger man was still considering himself as less worthy than the others were. They had known him when he was a twenty year old kid, who had to work to be able to go to college, and who didn't have their education. God knew he had filled that void by now - after all, he was the new President - yet Charlie always seemed self conscious around the lot of them.
Sam knew why he had called - it was the same reason that had made him call President Bartlet eight years before, the day before his Inauguration, on the verge of a panic attack.
Bartlet had told him afterwards that he wished he had been able to help more. There hadn't been much he could say to reassure Sam, just as Sam realized there wasn't that much he could do for Charlie.
At least Charlie had him and Sam had had Bartlet to help him. Bartlet had been alone, with a staff he barely knew (and who were trying to get used to the fact that they'd won the election and were now working in the White House), and a predecessor who didn't take kindly to the fact that a Democrat had won.
Maybe they had it easy after all.
"What if I can't do it?" Charlie blurted out, bringing him back to the problem at hand.
"Charlie, I've known you for how long now?"
"Well, twenty-three years now, Mister President."
"You'll do great," he stated. He had the feeling that it was going to take more than that to comfort the newly elected President, though.
Charlie was completely frozen.
Not that Sam was about to mock him for that - he still remembered the well intentioned teasing of his staff on the day he had been sworn in. He was sure he was going to die from the pressure and there they were, laughing. Well, not really, he guessed they were mostly trying to make him feel better, but their choice of method was a little questionable, to say the least.
"What if..." Charlie didn't finish, but he didn't have to. "What if they don't like me?" he was about to ask. "What if they think I suck at my job? What if I make mistakes?"
"Charlie, the best advice I was ever given was by President Bartlet, a few days after Alex was born. He told me that no parent was perfect, that I would make mistakes, and learn from them, and be better for them. He was right."
"Sir, I'm not going to have a baby," Charlie squealed.
Sam almost laughed. "I know, I'm just saying that the two are not too different. You have people to care for, and you have to do the best you can, and you have to learn to accept that you'll make mistakes."
"Oh."
Sam sighed. It mustn't have sounded reassuring, but it had to be said. He strongly suspected that each and every statesman was said that at least once - more if they were lucky.
"Charlie, you'll have advisors, trusted ones, friends who will give you a piece of their mind when they think you screwed up, and believe me, the fact that you're the President won't stop them. And in the end, you'll have your greatest asset."
"Which is?"
"Yourself. You're the one they elected," Sam said forcefully.
"People don't always make the right choice, sir," he pointed out.
"Okay, I can see you're being difficult on purpose," he sighed. "Let's put it another way: do you trust my judgement?"
"Yes," he said, without hesitation, and it pleased Sam more than he'd care to explain.
"Well, I voted for you."
CJ came into the Oval, and smiled at him. "Charlie?" she mouthed.
He nodded and she rolled her eyes, set a drink in front of him, then winked and left, as Sam settled for the next question Charlie would ask.
**********
2015, Inauguration day
Sam had locked himself in the bedroom and was practicing his breathing. He was sure he was forgetting something.
The speech? No, Toby was taking care of that.
His glasses? No, Ainsley was taking care of that.
His lucky watch? Check.
And he was fully clothed. Pants, and everything.
What the hell had he overlooked?
Leo came in as he was beginning yet another inventory.
"You okay, kid?" he asked before catching himself. "Sorry, I mean Mister President," he amended.
"I'm going to be sick," Sam told him, evenly.
His plaintive voice made Leo smile widely. "You'll do fine," he reassured, still smiling.
"Very funny," Sam mumbled through clenched teeth.
There was a knock and Toby poked his head in. "Feeling good?" he asked cheerfully.
Leo snickered. "He's going to throw up on your shoes," he warned.
No respect for the new leader of his country!
And why the hell was Leo there anyway? If his only reason to be present was to make Sam miserable, he could go back to Boston, or New Hampshire, or wherever he had come from.
"No he's not. He needs me to make sure he doesn't make an ass of himself in front of the whole - "
"All right," Sam cut off, "get out."
"Sam - " they tried to protest.
"Out," he pleaded. "If you're just gonna make fun of me, I don't... I mean, there will be other times when you call laugh at me all you want, but right now, really..."
The giant lump that had just taken residence in his throat prevented him from finishing, but they took the hint.
Looking properly chastised, they sat on either side of him. "Should we hold hands?" Toby asked.
Okay, maybe not * so * chastised, after all.
"I wasn't this nervous on my wedding day," he complained. "I was cool on my wedding day. I was in control."
"Really?" Ainsley asked from the doorway.
Great, his loving, faithful wife was going to help him.
"Then why did I hear Angela yell that if you even thought of approaching that window, she'd call the press to take pictures?"
Or not.
"Sam, face it, you're prone to - "
Just then, his stomach rebelled violently and he tried to hide a grimace. She must have seen it because she turned serious suddenly.
"Okay, leave us alone," she ordered to Leo and Toby.
The two others gone, she kneeled in front of him. "I'm sorry, I thought you were just, you know, overreacting," she said gently.
"Overreacting?" he squeaked. "Ains', I'm about to be sworn in."
"I know."
"As the President," he insisted, trying to make her see his point. "The President. Of the United States! What the hell was I thinking? And why did you let me do that?"
"Oh, blame the woman, why don't you?"
"It usually - "
"- doesn't work," she laughed.
"Seriously, how, how am I even going to... Can I do that?"
"Yes," she stated.
"Easy for you to say," he muttered. "What if I screw up? What if I declare war on someone, what if I can't make things better, what if I make them worse?"
"Sam, you have it in you. What more can I do to... I know you're terrified, honey, and so am I, but you really, really can do it."
"Yeah?"
She smiled and squeezed his hand. "I'll be here with you, we'll all be here with you. And hey, someone doesn't like the way you do it? They can kiss my ass, and take the job. See if they'll do better."
He frowned, pondering the feasibility of her idea. That would have been great. Of course, given the amount of people who were unhappy with their government, the actual President wouldn't have the time to govern at all, but hey...
"Not gonna happen," Ainsley said gently.
"How do you know I - "
"You're easily sidetracked. And you know there's absolutely no way this - "
"Yes, yes, I know. Still, it would be an idea."
There was a knock on the door and Colleen entered. "Sir, they're waiting for you," she said.
He nodded jerkily. Ainsley took his hand, and guided him to the door. As they were about to leave, she kneeled and picked up something on the floor. "Your tie clip," she said.
"I knew I was forgetting something," he said.
The rest of the staff was waiting outside, they fell in step behind him as he made his way through the hallways. As they were approaching the doors, Sam told his staff to go take their seats.
Toby lingered, waiting to give some last minute advise. "Do like usual. Breathe, don't mess up the order of the sheets, and try not to fall on anyone, or on your ass, or - "
"Yes, I get it, Toby, thank you. Could I have a few words with my wife, now?"
He smiled. "I'll be outside. I'll see you after. And Sam?"
Sam turned to him. His former boss looked at him sternly. "Youdidgoodupuntilnowandyou'regonnabegoodatthistooandI'mproudofyou," Toby said.
Sam frowned. "What?"
"You heard me perfectly well, and I'm not going to repeat it for your amusement, so - "
Sam smiled, more touched by Toby's mumbled words of praise than by anything his own father had ever told him. "Thanks Toby," he said, thinking of all the ways his boss had helped him through the years.
The grumpy Toby Ziegler, who had seen a green writer and had reluctantly become a mentor to this kid, who had given him a chance to prove himself, to become good at writing, then better, always better.
Toby, who had helped him to survive a nightmarish night in Rosslyn, the crumbling of all he had believed in, the loss of his son, the loss of a friend, and his parent's apparent indifference in the face of all he had accomplished.
Sam didn't know how he would ever be able to repay his mentor, to thank him enough. Toby was looking at him, and he obviously got the message Sam didn't know how to put into words.
He nodded, smiled briefly, spun on his heels and left, leaving Sam vaguely disoriented.
"Sam?" Ainsley said.
He nodded jerkily. "Yeah."
"You okay?"
He smiled, his nervousness gone. "Yeah. Thanks for... you know, before."
"I'm here to do all the pep talk you want," she said, smiling in that annoying way she had when she was about to tease him. "But may I just say that I don't think a republican would be quite that nervous?"
"Okay, let's go already," he snapped.
Just as he began walking again, she grabbed his arm and whispered into his ear, "If you do good, there'll be sex this night. If you do great, there'll even be whipped cream, and cherries. And champagne. Get it?"
He gulped and looked at her, noticing for the first time the way her dress clung to her body. "You're beautiful," he said.
"Took you long enough to notice."
"I've been preoccupied," he needlessly pointed out. "But I'll try to do more than great."
"Oh, if you do more than great, we'll have to take extra measures," she said. "By the way, I'm wearing the purple underwear you like so much."
And with that image in his head, he came on the outside and began waving when the crowd cheered.
He didn't fall, he delivered the speech to Toby's satisfaction, smiled at the appropriate times, and mingled with the crowd.
He did great.
And Ainsley (God bless her soul, he thought) decided that he'd even done more than great.
He still remembered that night quite vividly when she had a medical check-up two months later.
**********
2023
"What are you going to do tomorrow?" Charlie asked, maybe to try and think about something else than his impending Inauguration.
"Well, we're going to visit everyone we haven't seen in a while. Abbey, Alex, our families."
"You'll begin in Manchester?" Charlie asked.
"Yes. I don't know if she'll be there," Sam added. Zoey and Charlie had broken up before the end of the Bartlet administration, and after two years of "We'll never talk to each other again," they had decided to try to be friends. They were quite close now, and both happily married, Zoey with two kids, Charlie with four.
"If she is, will you - ?"
"Yeah, I'll tell her you say hi."
"Who will you take with you?"
"Anyone who wants to come," Sam replied. Which, he was sure, would be everyone. They would spend a week in Manchester, then go their separate ways, because they had lived with each other for eight years in a row, and they needed some space.
Then they'd try to set up a yearly reunion.
"I miss him," Charlie said.
Sam didn't need to ask who he was talking about. Of all of them, Charlie had been the most affected by Jed's passing.
"I miss him too," Sam said. "He would have been so proud of you. He always was."
Charlie's voice was thick when he answered, "Thanks."
They all missed him. Jed Bartlet, for all his flaws, had been a force to be reckoned with. He had been a father figure to all of them. It had hit them hard to learn that the MS was finally progressing. They had thought they were prepared to hear it, but they had been so busy with their own lives that they had put the issue on the side, until Abbey had called to tell them that Jed's health was deteriorating, that he refused medical assistance, that if they wanted to come, they should hurry.
Ironically, Sam thought, the man who had been the focal point of all their lives for so long was dying as Ainsley and him were about to celebrate the arrival of a new child - as if life wanted to compensate the loss of a member of the family by the gift of another one.
It hadn't made saying good-bye easier.
**********
2015
Sam would always remember the day when Ainsley had come back from her doctor's appointment, two months after the Inauguration. She had had a check up that day. He hadn't thought of asking her how she was, he was too preoccupied with the day he had had, setting up briefing after briefing with the Joint Chiefs.
He was reading a memo that night, and Ainsley had been trying to get his attention for several minutes now. Seeing that nothing worked, she adopted the blunt approach.
"I'm pregnant," she said.
He put down his memo and stared at her, speechless.
Pregnant? That was... unexpected.
She later told him that it had been fun to see him - powerful, the man who delivered speeches that made a crowd stand up, the man generals jumped to their feet for, being struck stupid by the news.
"You're what?" he squeaked after a while.
"Pregnant," she said patiently.
He smiled then, slowly at first, then more convincingly.
"The timing is terrible," she pointed out before he could speak.
His smile grew even wider. "Yeah," he said distractedly. "Yeah. You're - "
"Pregnant," she finished for him when he resorted to hand language.
"Yeah. That's..." He looked for a word, but when nothing came, he just walked to her and kissed her. "We're gonna have a baby?" he asked when he pulled away for breath.
"Yeah."
"Great," he said, grabbing his phone and dialing CJ's number.
Three days later, his ears were still ringing with the squeal CJ had made at the news.
He hadn't been able to stop smiling yet, either. He was still smiling broadly when his assistant told him he had a phone call from Manchester. He had taken it, and Abbey's composed voice had greeted him.
"Mister President, I have something to tell you," she had said, the seriousness of her voice erasing the smile on his face.
Four days later, Sam and Ainsley were in Manchester, being hugged by Abbey, and squeezing the hand of Jed Bartlet, who was looking more through them than at them, and who insisted on calling Sam, Jack, after a former Congressman he had worked with twenty years earlier.
They had stayed the night, and Jed had had a brief moment of lucidity, allowing them to say goodbye to the former President, to the man they knew, instead of the stranger who had greeted them the previous day.
On the plane back to Washington, Sam had asked to be left alone, and when he had emerged, as the plane was nearing Washington, his eyes were bloodshot, his face was drawn, and he had gratefully accepted a cup of coffee from Ainsley.
CJ and Toby had gone to Manchester shortly after that, coming back depressed. He had been worse than with Sam and Ainsley, they had explained. He hadn't recognized them at all, and Sam knew that Toby, who had been hoping for a chance to thank Jed for all he had done, had been deeply hurt.
Then Donna had gone, along with Charlie. Leo had temporarily moved to the farm. He's the one who called Sam, one week later, his voice shaking. "He's gone. He hadn't regained consciousness in the last two days. Last time we talked, it was maybe four days ago, he told me to tell you that he loved you all, and thanks for everything."
Sam hadn't been able to say much more than a brief, "We'll be there for the funeral, and if you or Abbey and the girls need something, anything...Let us know, okay?"
Then he had cried himself back to sleep, Ainsley's hand rubbing small circles on his back, like she always did when bad news came - the only thing that anchored him when he needed it.
They had all gone to the funeral. It was raining, Leo was thin and looked even too fragile to be hugged. Abbey was calm - she had told them again and again that she had had years to prepare herself to that, but Ainsley had found her crying in the kitchen after the ceremony.
"I didn't know what to say," she told Sam later. "What could I say?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "I have no idea."
He was tired of losing people he loved.
It was at that point that he began to freak over Ainsley's pregnancy.
**********
2023
"I'll let you go back to your party, Mister President," Charlie said.
"It can wait, really," Sam said. He spent so much time reminiscing anyway - brooding, Ainsley sustained, it was brooding - that he didn't think many people would want to stay near him.
"Yeah. I'll... thanks for your time."
"Call me if you ever need anything," he said sincerely.
"Thanks," Charlie said again, hanging up.
Sam sighed, fearing he hadn't been able to do much to ease the younger man's worries.
He could only hope he had done enough.
He was rising up when his assistant called to him. "Sir? Your son on line three."