PART THREE
2023 - Two hours later
Sam had isolated himself in the Oval again, not feeling like company. The staff had just begun to get loud, and he could feel the beginning of a headache creeping on him - too much alcohol, too much noise, too many sleepless nights.
As he was beginning to wonder whether he should go back - it was his party too, after all - Toby stepped into the room, walking purposefully toward him, and Sam had a brief flash of their first days during the Bartlet administration, and how CJ wouldn't dare to walk on the carpet.
"What are you doing?" Toby asked.
"Thinking," Sam said.
"About what?"
Sam shrugged. "Ainsley on Capitol Beat."
"She kicked your ass big time there," Toby smiled. It was still a running joke in Washington; how the President had met the First Lady on a debate where she had pureed him.
"I could have countered her, she just didn't let me say a word," Sam defended, knowing that it was a lost cause anyway. He had had a chance to counter. He had screwed up anyway. He hadn't been prepared, he could admit that much now. He had gone there, arrogant, thinking that no republican could ever outdo him in a debate, and he'd been creamed.
In the end, he didn't regret it.
"Those were the days," Toby mused.
Indeed. The president's admission that he'd concealed his illness, the hearings, the sleepless nights, the re-election... How had they even survived, Sam wondered.
"Do you remember the day you and Josh set the mural room on fire, Mister President?" Toby asked mischievously, and Sam almost laughed. The look on the President's face when Josh accused him was something he'd never forget. The staff had never stopped teasing him about that, and the 'new ones' - Colleen, Peter, Jim and the assistants - had stared at CJ, open mouthed, when she had told them about that particular gaffe. It hadn't been his more embarrassing moment, that honor went to explaining to the President that, no, he hadn't paid to have sex with Laurie. It hadn't been Josh's either - the press conference won that claim.
It had still been pretty embarrassing, to stand here in the Oval, and explain to Bartlet that he was the reason the President had had to stand on the balcony in his underwear.
"I miss him," Sam said and Toby sighed, not asking who he was talking about.
"Me too."
Sam suddenly realized that Toby was still standing and motioned for him to sit on the couch, asking him if he wanted a drink.
"I know someone who's not sleeping tonight," he said once they both had a glass to occupy their hands with.
"Your mighty successor?"
"God knows I didn't sleep the night before my Inauguration."
"You didn't look tired to me. Just a little green around the edges."
He was, on more than one level. "He called me. He's petrified."
"Every President is, Sam, you know that. He'll be good."
Sam nodded. He would. He was glad Charlie would be the one to take over this office tomorrow.
"He'll have advisors. He knows we'll be here to help him if he needs us," Toby continued.
Sam didn't answer to that. Toby would never really understand what it meant to be the President. You were the most staffed person in the world, and yet you were utterly alone when it came to making the big decisions. Even when all your advisors agreed on a course of action (and they so rarely did), you were the one who had to go through with it.
Even when all your Joint Chiefs told you, "Yes, the best course of action is to send soldiers down there to free the hostages," you were the one who gave the final order. It was your name that was on the executive order, it was your name people said the next day, it was you who had to step upfront and say, "I made this decision, for better and for worse, and God help us all."
He hadn't truly realized that when he was staffing Bartlet. He had known it, on a superficial level, like he had known that a father loved his children more than himself. He hadn't felt it, in his heart, in his gut, until Alex had been born, until he had been elected and he had had to send his troops into a hostile country for the good of the nation.
Toby knew that, but he hadn't felt it. He hadn't spent nights tossing and turning and wondering if he would have blood on his hands the next morning.
Toby wouldn't understand why Sam couldn't help Charlie, why their friend was on his own, and would be for the next four to eight years.
He had been a great help, both politically and personally, but he wouldn't get it. He owed Toby a lot, Sam thought, swirling the amber alcohol in his glass, thinking back about the months following Bartlet's funeral.
**********
2015
A few journalists had asked CJ, who was more confident than she had ever been in a press room, if the First Couple was scared to be expecting a child again, after having lost a baby.
Sam could have sworn he saw the press secretary roll her eyes, and he was pretty sure she was going to say, "D'uh, yeah." She hadn't, of course. She had served the official story : the First Couple was overjoyed, was impatient, was prepared, was in control. Sam had admired her ability to lie.
They were terrified. That they would lose the baby before he was to term. That they would lose the baby in an accident, from a sickness, from bad luck or because they would do something wrong.
That God didn't want them to have another child and would strike again.
Even after all these years, they missed their son. It hurt to think about him, and it hurt even more to play the 'what if' game.
If he was still alive, he'd be six by now. He'd walk, they'd have conversations, they'd tell him to be careful when he crossed the street, they'd help him with his homework, they'd play football with him, maybe he'd want to be a doctor, or a sailor, or a teacher, or to play clarinet, or guitar, whatever.
Would he still be alive if they had woken up sooner?
Could they have done something more?
Would Ben have gotten along with Alex?
Would the two of them have been the cause of much havoc?
All these questions kept turning in their minds, again and again, preventing them from enjoying Ainsley's pregnancy, from rejoicing that they were going to have another baby.
After a few days of smiling in public and panicking in private, Sam called in the reinforcements - in this case, Abbey Bartlet. She was, and always had been, the mother of the gang, and he knew she'd go through the medical records of Ben and Ainsley, that she'd reassure, and that she'd tell the both of them that they were stupid for worrying so much.
"You're stupid to worry so much," was indeed part of what she said during her visit. "You've got to relax, watch what you eat, rest and let nature do its work," was another.
"Mister President, if you don't eat the salad I prepared, you're toast," also made it.
"You're fine, the baby's fine. Be careful as any other pregnant woman would be, and everything will be okay," she admonished the day she left.
Okay then.
"And for God's sake, come visit me from time to time, it'll relieve Leo. He's there every week, and he isn't in any shape to travel that much."
They all knew that, he was old, and tired, and claimed that he was more than ready to go see elsewhere if the grass was greener, to quote him.
They weren't ready to see him go, though.
Abbey left, and Ainsley and Sam were a little reassured. The baby was fine, and Abbey was right, being overly anxious wouldn't be good for him.
They tried to relax, and not to think so much about what might have been.
**********
Three weeks after Abbey's departure, Sam's assistant told him that Toby wanted to see him.
Sam sighed. It was nearly midnight, he had just had yet another tiresome meeting with his security detail, he wanted to go back to the Residence and steal a few hours of sleep. Toby wanting to talk at that late an hour could only mean they had a problem. Good news could always wait, Sam had discovered. Crises, not so much.
He warily allowed Toby in, and noticed immediately that it wouldn't be a professional discussion.
Toby had his hands deep in his pockets. He was staring at the carpet. He seemed not to be sure where to sit. And he began by saying hesitantly, "Sorry, Sam, I know it's late, it can wait if you're tired."
It was one of the rules Sam had set up when they had taken office. "When you talk to the friend, you say Sam. When it's to the President, you say Sir." He had witnessed Leo, Jed's best friend, call him Mister President for years, no exceptions, and he was sure he wouldn't be able to stand that. Of course, 'the new ones' had never called him Sam since Election Night, and he hadn't really expected them to, but Toby, CJ and Donna had stuck to the rule easily, to his eternal relief.
So it was going to be a Sam moment.
Shrugging, he motioned for Toby to sit down, and asked him what he wanted to talk about.
"You, Ainsley, the baby," Toby summarized.
Oh.
"I was thinking, and I suddenly, well it dawned on me that you had never talked about it with any of us. In hindsight, I'm afraid we didn't make it clear enough that we were there, if you wanted to talk."
"Toby, you told me, time and again, that I could come to you. I knew it."
"Yet you never came," Toby said.
"Toby, I had more than enough therapy sessions with our counselor to get it off my chest. So did Ainsley. When we were done with therapy, all we wanted to do was never talk about it again. I didn't even know it was possible to feel that tired. There were days, when we were done, where I could barely drag myself upstairs to my room. Everyone kept telling us that everything was going to be all right, that time would heal, and we didn't want to hear it anymore - we knew, but God, if we had to hear it once more..." Sam trailed off, took a deep breath and went on, "Look, we talked about it, and back then, we didn't have the energy to go through it more than once. If we had had to begin to explain all that, I'm not sure I would have had enough energy left to do anything else."
"And now?"
"Now, we're fine."
"Are you scared? Of what might happen?"
Scared? Scared didn't even begin to cover it. Sam was petrified, he had insomnia, he woke up at night sometimes, after a dream that the birth had gone wrong, that the baby, or Ainsley, or both were dead, he kept thinking back about Ben's death, always wondering "Did we do something wrong?" The same question that had haunted him for years, except this time, he didn't ask it so he could have more munitions for the guilt trip, but he wondered in hope that he would find out what had gone wrong so he could prevent it this time around.
Then, there were the nightmares about his accident, all these years ago, when he had been trapped in the car, unable to move, hearing Alex cry and unable to do anything to save his son.
Alex had been fine, but he could easily have been hurt, and he could have needed his father, and he hadn't done anything.
He spent so many nights hearing a baby cry, looking around to find it, looking in every room, in a haze, knowing that his son needed him. Sometimes, it was even worse. Sometimes, he saw him, bleeding on the floor, and he was unable to move. He was paralyzed, frozen on the spot, he couldn't stop the bleeding, he could just watch, and scream for help.
That's usually when Ainsley shook him hard enough to wake him up, and he opened his eyes to realize that he was in the Residence, that he had screamed and that one of his agents had opened the door to make sure he was fine, that Alex was fine, and that in a few months, he'd be a father again.
"Are you scared?" Toby asked.
"Yeah, a little," Sam admitted.
Toby rolled his eyes. "Like Ainsley's 'a little' pregnant?" he smiled.
"Pretty much, yes. I just... I'm not sure I'd be able to survive that again."
His voice caught, and his eyes were beginning to burn. He got up and refilled his glass, peripherally aware that Toby was looking at him, worried.
"You won't have to go through that again," Toby said.
Sam smiled a little, and came back to sit in front of his former boss. "Thanks for the effort, but there's no way you can be sure of that. We'll just have to take things as they come, but that doesn't make them less frightening."
"I know. I wish..."
He wished he could do more, but Sam knew that.
His friends had done enough, already, but the way to convince them of that...
"Sam, seriously, you know you can..."
"Talk to you?" Sam asked, with a small smile.
He shrugged, and said gruffly, "Well, we do need you focussed on the job, so..."
Sam nodded seriously. "And that is, of course, the only reason you're asking."
"Of course," Toby answered. Sam almost believed him. Would have believed him, without the concern still visible in his eyes.
Sam bit his lip, still stalling.
He hadn't told everything to the therapist - or to Ainsley, who didn't need to know that.
The worst part of that night, the one that still haunted him, was how his son had felt his arms, when he had lifted him from the crib - the immobility, so absolute that he knew, without a doubt, that there was nothing to do.
And then the cold skin, the lack of reaction as he breathed air into his lungs, that panic because he didn't want to survive his child, because he didn't think he would be able to.
He was certain that he would go insane if he had to go through that again.
Sometimes, he felt that he was going insane just thinking about it. That was usually before the memory of this night sent him in a run to the bathroom.
Sam swallowed convulsively, then looked up to see Toby. "I'm not sure I'll be able to..." He trailed off, shocked at how hoarse his voice sounded.
Toby looked ten times more concerned now. "Well, you're going to make an effort, because I seriously think it's imperative you talk about it before you explode."
Sam could only agree. The nightmares were becoming more intense, and he feared Ainsley was beginning to suspect that he had hidden things from her.
Feeling slightly light headed, like he always did when he thought about his son, Sam began to talk.
**********
2023
"Sam?"
He startled, shaken from his reverie. "Yeah?"
"You okay?"
He smiled. "Thinking. About that night. When you third degreed me."
Toby nodded, his countenance serious. "You scared me that night," he admitted.
Sam looked up, surprised at the admission. "I did?"
Toby sighed. "You looked, I don't know, so... devastated. Almost as much as you had immediately after... after."
"I thought I had put that behind me," he explained. "Imagine my surprise, when it resurfaced."
"You shouldn't have tried to deal with that on your own."
"Yeah, you've already pointed that out."
"It bears repeating," Toby said.
Sam nodded. He knew keeping all that to himself had been stupid. In his defense, he had thought he was better, until he had to deal with the prospect of having another child.
"I still - " His voice caught, and he swallowed. "Miss him," he finished resolutely. "I still miss him. I still, you know, wonder what he would have become. Who he would have become."
Toby was looking at him, sympathy written all over his features.
Sam shook his head, as if trying to physically dislodge his grief. "Anyway," he said.
"Okay. We should go back to the party," Toby said, not making a move.
"Yeah."
"They'll wonder where we are."
"I think they know already," Sam corrected. "They know I always come here to think tonight."
"Fine, then they'll miss me," Toby shrugged.
"Go ahead, I'll join you soon," Sam said, "I'll just finish my drink first."
He also wanted to find a way to thank Toby.
His friend and himself were often a little self conscious when it came to talking about their relationship, and he didn't think he had ever managed to tell him how grateful he was for all his help.
Not for the first time, Sam thought about what Toby could have done, instead of helping him to not look like an idiot. He could have retired long ago. He could have found another job - with a better pay, and less hours. He could have written books, and the amount of experience he had amassed would have made them sheer treasures. Instead, he had stayed with him, he had helped him govern past the paralyzing fear of the first few days, when he needed to hear people repeat several times that yes, what they were proposing was the best possible course of action, before signing a paper, when he wondered what Bartlet or Hoynes would have made, had they been in his shoes.
Toby had finally had enough.
"Damn it, Mister President, you're the first one who said that you didn't want to be dependant of Bartlet's memories, when are you going to speak for yourself?"
This was an argument they'd have quite a few times over the years.
"Toby - "
"No, I'm sorry, but I want to know."
Well, he didn't want to be the second Bartlet, that much was true.
He also wanted to benefit from whatever Bartlet had learned there. Maybe it would help him to gain some time.
It was Toby who pointed out to him that Bartlet had left eight years ago, that the world had changed, that their country had changed, that what he had to do was to take that fact into consideration, and that if he didn't follow his own mind, Toby would kill him.
"No offence," he added.
Sam would have taken it the wrong way (it was surprising how fast you got used to people treating you with deference. He had had a foretaste of this while being Governor, but here, that was a whole new level), but he had other things on his mind.
Ainsley was nearing the ninth month back then.
So he put what Toby had said in a corner of his mind, to think about it from time to time, and he focussed on his wife.
**********
2015
The labor began during the night, so Sam could at least be there. Not than men were useful in times like these, unless they were doctors, he thought. It was the helplessness. The inability to help. Or the fact that they have to handle the pain and that you knew that if you were her, you'd be shouting for someone to kill you already.
Whatever the reason, Sam became deeply conscious of his helplessness when Ainsley woke him at 2 A.M., and told him her waters had broken. Sam did what he knew any self respecting man would have done. He held her hands and screamed for help.
Thank God for the secret services, he thought. And for Gina, who had made her way to the head of his detail, and took one look at the scene, thinking "If only I wasn't a professional, I could sell pictures to the press" - he could tell because it was written all over her face.
Ainsley laughed when the contraction stopped.
"Honey, you're gonna have to do better than that, if you want the hospital personnel to say that you were brave."
The hospital personnel were probably the * last * thing on Sam's mind just then. Except that they would be able to help.
Help.
They had to get there, and they would know what to do.
Yeah, that was a great plan.
Sam had been through that twice already, and he really thought it would be easier this time - a 'practice makes you better' kind of thing. It wasn't so. And the labor went on for hours, just like when Alex had been born.
He never said so to Ainsley, but deep down, he took it as a good sign. Ben's birth had been quick - four hours - but after what had happened to him, maybe it was a good thing that this time, it was different.
It was stupid superstition, he knew, but how do you stop the thoughts that came so naturally to mind?
The secret services blocked the entire floor for them, and Sam alternated between pacing in the hall, drinking coffee, and holding Ainsley's hand, letting her insult him all she wanted.
Eight hours after their rushed departure from the White House, the doctor decided that he had to do a C section. In no time, Sam was lead to a waiting room, Ainsley having disappeared around a corner. He was trying to hold on to his calm, trying not to call Toby and have a panic attack on the phone. Trying to tell himself that Ainsley wasn't thirty anymore and that a C section was not an unusual procedure.
Trying to tell himself that everything was going to be just fine.
As he was about to go kill someone, a nurse entered the room, smiling. "They're both fine."
Sam felt his knees go weak, and forced himself to remain upright.
"If you'll follow me, I'll show you your daughter, sir."
"Ainsley?"
"She's resting. You'll see her in a few moments."
Sam was led into a room, a nurse put the baby in his arms and retreated to a corner of the room, obviously waiting in case there was a problem and wanting to let him see his daughter alone.
He blinked back tears, smiled at the baby, and whispered softly at her - he didn't remember what he had said, he was sure it wasn't coherent anyway.
Two hours later, a grinning CJ was making her way onto the podium of the White House press room, announcing the press corps that Kathryn Eleanor Seaborn had been born on October the 5th, 2015, that the mother and the child were fine, and that the President would allow pictures in a few days, and would make a statement when he got back at the White House.
Sam and Ainsley, in her room, were too busy watching their baby to notice.
**********
2023
Sam checked his watch, surprised to discover that he had spent a good fifteen minutes staring off in space, recalling Kate's first few moments. There had been hard times - they knew she would be the last child they would have, they were terrified that something would happen to her and they admitted easily that they were overprotective parents.
They reduced to the minimum her public appearances, preferring to keep her in the Residence, where the Secret Services' surveillance was virtually flawless. Ainsley spent the first two months not sleeping, checking on Kathryn every few minutes, until the day she almost collapsed during a State dinner. Then Kate began to toddle, and Sam redefined the words 'baby proof'.
Thankfully, they had enough friends to warn them not to overdo it, to remind them that no good would come of preventing her from making her own discoveries, and her own mistakes.
Shortly after that, Alex took their minds off Kathryn by deciding to join the Naval Academy after high school - what had first been an hesitant project had turned into a clear ambition, and after a few heated fights, Sam had decided that he would only alienate his son if he pressured him into giving up. He caved in, deciding that Alex was the only one who knew what he wanted to do.
Alex was now happy in the Academy. He was doing his classes, he hoped to become an officer. Sam, who had had to send troops into battle, who had sometimes heard the radio communications of a crashing helicopter, or of a drowning warship, knew that he would have trouble sleeping for some time, but he had come to accept Alex's decision. If his son thought he could make a difference that way, he wasn't the one who would argue him out of it.
Ainsley might, though.
She was also probably waiting for him right now, wondering where he had gone.
Testing his leg carefully, he decided that it could take some more dancing.
Yes, going back to the party sounded good.
**********
He hadn't gotten very far when Jim hesitantly asked for a few minutes of his time.
"Hum, Mister President?" he asked, shuffling his feet.
"Yes?"
"I, hum, I'd like to, I mean, do you have - "
"What do you want to talk about?" Sam pressed on. He loved Jim dearly, but the man could be so intimidated sometimes (by Sam, by Toby, by the congressmen he had to meet) that if you didn't push, you were in for hours of hesitations.
To his credit, though, the young man never failed to answer a direct inquiry.
"Well, perhaps in private?" he asked. Sam rolled his eyes (what could be so secret, a few hours before the official end of the administration?) but he motioned Jim back to the Oval, entering behind him and closing the door himself.
"I just wanted...," Jim said, still stalling.
"What?"
"Well, there's something... I, hum, won't pretend to understand the relationship you have with Toby," he said.
" * I * don't understand the relationship I have with Toby," Sam replied
Jim smiled nervously.
"I know. I think there's something you need to know, but I may be wrong, and if I am, he'll kill me, so - "
"Jim, did it occur to you that for now, I have far more power than Toby has?"
"Yes, sir, but with all due respect, come tomorrow, you won't be able to help me anymore," he pointed out.
True enough, Sam thought. "Fine, but... Look, what is it?" He was beginning to sound worried, and Jim picked up on that.
"I, hum, well, he was offered... The DNC tried to convince him to run for Mayor, sir. In New York. It was just before you accepted to... you know."
To run for President.
So when Sam decided to run, Toby let go of a seat in... to...
"I'm going to kill him," Sam growled
"Sir, I didn't tell you so - " Jim tried to put in, worried.
"I know, but still..."
Still, Toby should have said something.
He should have given Sam the chance to fire his ass and make something...
He should just have said something.
And how many times had they had this conversation in the past?
Sam waved Jim away, and tried not to smile when he looked at him worriedly, obviously fighting the urge to tell him to go easy on his boss. For all of Toby's growling, he tended to raise his deputies' instincts of protection, Sam could testify of the fact.
And now, he needed to find Toby, and kick his ass.
**********
"The Party offered you the chance to run for Mayor?" he said as soon as he spotted his friend, lurking near his old office.
Toby looked taken aback, then shrugged. "Yes."
Leave it to Toby to give non committal answers at times like these.
"I didn't... I had no idea... Toby, Why? Why didn't you - "
Jump on the chance?
Tell me what you had given up to help me not look like an idiot?
Tell me?
"I'm not that kind of man, Sam. You, President Bartlet, Charlie, you have that. I'm the one... I'm like Leo, and Josh, and Colleen. We're better, you know, behind the scenes."
He seemed depressed and Sam frowned a little. Could it be that Toby regretted that?
"Hey, that's a * good * thing," he offered. "If it weren't for people like you, we wouldn't have done half what we wanted."
"Sam, you didn't do half what you wanted," Toby pointed out.
It was both true and false.
And it really wasn't the point.
"Do you think I really expected to?" Sam asked. "Toby, I know there are some things that are impossible to accomplish in eight years. But you know what? I'm not ashamed of the shape we leave the country in." And he really wasn't. It had been his greatest fear, but all in all, they had done * some * good, and yes it could have been more, but can't it always? They were not at war, there were less people living in poverty than before - not many, not nearly enough, but still less - and the American people seemed to reconsider the wisdom of killing off his criminals. If only they'd been able to do something more about weapons...
But now wasn't the time to dwell on what could have been.
"And we leave the country in good hands," Sam added, and to him that was important too.
"Yeah," Toby didn't sound convinced.
"Toby, you wrote me," Sam insisted.
"It was you."
"Not all of it. It was your perspective, your input that prevented me from blowing it. And it was you who helped me to get rid of the shadow of Jed Bartlet. And when I began thinking like an arrogant son of a bitch, you're the one who gathered the courage to tell me what was what."
Sam hadn't talked to his mentor for a week after that, so angry at having been told he had become what he had sworn himself he would never be - a second Jed Bartlet. Then Ainsley had come back from her trip, she had shaken some sense into him, and Sam had humbly apologized.
Toby had kept him honest.
He had kept him thriving to do better, always better, from the day they had met to this night.
He deserved more recognition than he would get.
"You should have told me," Sam said.
Toby raised an eyebrow, probably thinking of all the arguments they had had that began with that same sentence and ended in frustrating shouting matches.
"You had enough to think about."
"Yes, and damn it, Toby - " he tried to say.
"Sam, I know you appreciated what I had to offer anyway. You're thinking that it would have made you easier on me if you had known, aren't you?"
He hesitated, then nodded. For all the arguments they'd had during Bartlet's administration, there had been three during his own, and some of them pretty ugly. He had said things he regretted, and now he learned that Toby could have been far away, doing things for himself, for once. "Yeah."
"It's exactly why I didn't tell you," Toby said. "I wanted you focussed, I wanted you to fight me, and you wouldn't have done that if you had known. You would have spent your time berating yourself for taking me away from that, and Sam, we had only eight years to, you know..."
"Change the world?" Sam smiled.
"Yes, we couldn't afford to lose some of that time to your feelings of inadequacy. You did a great job, I'm not saying it enough, but - "
"I had great advisors," Sam cut off. "And you won't stop me from wondering where I would be without them."
"Oh, I know that," he said in a long suffering tone, and they shared a quiet laugh. "How do you feel?" Toby asked then.
"Fine," Sam shrugged. At Toby's glare, he amended "Weird. On one hand, I'll finally be able to sleep a little, and not constantly worry that someone's going to kill me or my family, or that terrorists will strike, or whatever. And I'll get to see Kathryn grow up. On the other, I'm gonna miss this place."
He nodded, and Sam knew he understood. Toby had spent sixteen years in these walls, Sam suddenly realized. It was completely insane.
"I'll let you say goodbye to all this," Sam gestured to the whole West Wing. "I'll go do the same with the Oval."
Toby nodded, and the two men went their separate ways to perform their own little parting ceremony.
2023 - Two hours later
Sam had isolated himself in the Oval again, not feeling like company. The staff had just begun to get loud, and he could feel the beginning of a headache creeping on him - too much alcohol, too much noise, too many sleepless nights.
As he was beginning to wonder whether he should go back - it was his party too, after all - Toby stepped into the room, walking purposefully toward him, and Sam had a brief flash of their first days during the Bartlet administration, and how CJ wouldn't dare to walk on the carpet.
"What are you doing?" Toby asked.
"Thinking," Sam said.
"About what?"
Sam shrugged. "Ainsley on Capitol Beat."
"She kicked your ass big time there," Toby smiled. It was still a running joke in Washington; how the President had met the First Lady on a debate where she had pureed him.
"I could have countered her, she just didn't let me say a word," Sam defended, knowing that it was a lost cause anyway. He had had a chance to counter. He had screwed up anyway. He hadn't been prepared, he could admit that much now. He had gone there, arrogant, thinking that no republican could ever outdo him in a debate, and he'd been creamed.
In the end, he didn't regret it.
"Those were the days," Toby mused.
Indeed. The president's admission that he'd concealed his illness, the hearings, the sleepless nights, the re-election... How had they even survived, Sam wondered.
"Do you remember the day you and Josh set the mural room on fire, Mister President?" Toby asked mischievously, and Sam almost laughed. The look on the President's face when Josh accused him was something he'd never forget. The staff had never stopped teasing him about that, and the 'new ones' - Colleen, Peter, Jim and the assistants - had stared at CJ, open mouthed, when she had told them about that particular gaffe. It hadn't been his more embarrassing moment, that honor went to explaining to the President that, no, he hadn't paid to have sex with Laurie. It hadn't been Josh's either - the press conference won that claim.
It had still been pretty embarrassing, to stand here in the Oval, and explain to Bartlet that he was the reason the President had had to stand on the balcony in his underwear.
"I miss him," Sam said and Toby sighed, not asking who he was talking about.
"Me too."
Sam suddenly realized that Toby was still standing and motioned for him to sit on the couch, asking him if he wanted a drink.
"I know someone who's not sleeping tonight," he said once they both had a glass to occupy their hands with.
"Your mighty successor?"
"God knows I didn't sleep the night before my Inauguration."
"You didn't look tired to me. Just a little green around the edges."
He was, on more than one level. "He called me. He's petrified."
"Every President is, Sam, you know that. He'll be good."
Sam nodded. He would. He was glad Charlie would be the one to take over this office tomorrow.
"He'll have advisors. He knows we'll be here to help him if he needs us," Toby continued.
Sam didn't answer to that. Toby would never really understand what it meant to be the President. You were the most staffed person in the world, and yet you were utterly alone when it came to making the big decisions. Even when all your advisors agreed on a course of action (and they so rarely did), you were the one who had to go through with it.
Even when all your Joint Chiefs told you, "Yes, the best course of action is to send soldiers down there to free the hostages," you were the one who gave the final order. It was your name that was on the executive order, it was your name people said the next day, it was you who had to step upfront and say, "I made this decision, for better and for worse, and God help us all."
He hadn't truly realized that when he was staffing Bartlet. He had known it, on a superficial level, like he had known that a father loved his children more than himself. He hadn't felt it, in his heart, in his gut, until Alex had been born, until he had been elected and he had had to send his troops into a hostile country for the good of the nation.
Toby knew that, but he hadn't felt it. He hadn't spent nights tossing and turning and wondering if he would have blood on his hands the next morning.
Toby wouldn't understand why Sam couldn't help Charlie, why their friend was on his own, and would be for the next four to eight years.
He had been a great help, both politically and personally, but he wouldn't get it. He owed Toby a lot, Sam thought, swirling the amber alcohol in his glass, thinking back about the months following Bartlet's funeral.
**********
2015
A few journalists had asked CJ, who was more confident than she had ever been in a press room, if the First Couple was scared to be expecting a child again, after having lost a baby.
Sam could have sworn he saw the press secretary roll her eyes, and he was pretty sure she was going to say, "D'uh, yeah." She hadn't, of course. She had served the official story : the First Couple was overjoyed, was impatient, was prepared, was in control. Sam had admired her ability to lie.
They were terrified. That they would lose the baby before he was to term. That they would lose the baby in an accident, from a sickness, from bad luck or because they would do something wrong.
That God didn't want them to have another child and would strike again.
Even after all these years, they missed their son. It hurt to think about him, and it hurt even more to play the 'what if' game.
If he was still alive, he'd be six by now. He'd walk, they'd have conversations, they'd tell him to be careful when he crossed the street, they'd help him with his homework, they'd play football with him, maybe he'd want to be a doctor, or a sailor, or a teacher, or to play clarinet, or guitar, whatever.
Would he still be alive if they had woken up sooner?
Could they have done something more?
Would Ben have gotten along with Alex?
Would the two of them have been the cause of much havoc?
All these questions kept turning in their minds, again and again, preventing them from enjoying Ainsley's pregnancy, from rejoicing that they were going to have another baby.
After a few days of smiling in public and panicking in private, Sam called in the reinforcements - in this case, Abbey Bartlet. She was, and always had been, the mother of the gang, and he knew she'd go through the medical records of Ben and Ainsley, that she'd reassure, and that she'd tell the both of them that they were stupid for worrying so much.
"You're stupid to worry so much," was indeed part of what she said during her visit. "You've got to relax, watch what you eat, rest and let nature do its work," was another.
"Mister President, if you don't eat the salad I prepared, you're toast," also made it.
"You're fine, the baby's fine. Be careful as any other pregnant woman would be, and everything will be okay," she admonished the day she left.
Okay then.
"And for God's sake, come visit me from time to time, it'll relieve Leo. He's there every week, and he isn't in any shape to travel that much."
They all knew that, he was old, and tired, and claimed that he was more than ready to go see elsewhere if the grass was greener, to quote him.
They weren't ready to see him go, though.
Abbey left, and Ainsley and Sam were a little reassured. The baby was fine, and Abbey was right, being overly anxious wouldn't be good for him.
They tried to relax, and not to think so much about what might have been.
**********
Three weeks after Abbey's departure, Sam's assistant told him that Toby wanted to see him.
Sam sighed. It was nearly midnight, he had just had yet another tiresome meeting with his security detail, he wanted to go back to the Residence and steal a few hours of sleep. Toby wanting to talk at that late an hour could only mean they had a problem. Good news could always wait, Sam had discovered. Crises, not so much.
He warily allowed Toby in, and noticed immediately that it wouldn't be a professional discussion.
Toby had his hands deep in his pockets. He was staring at the carpet. He seemed not to be sure where to sit. And he began by saying hesitantly, "Sorry, Sam, I know it's late, it can wait if you're tired."
It was one of the rules Sam had set up when they had taken office. "When you talk to the friend, you say Sam. When it's to the President, you say Sir." He had witnessed Leo, Jed's best friend, call him Mister President for years, no exceptions, and he was sure he wouldn't be able to stand that. Of course, 'the new ones' had never called him Sam since Election Night, and he hadn't really expected them to, but Toby, CJ and Donna had stuck to the rule easily, to his eternal relief.
So it was going to be a Sam moment.
Shrugging, he motioned for Toby to sit down, and asked him what he wanted to talk about.
"You, Ainsley, the baby," Toby summarized.
Oh.
"I was thinking, and I suddenly, well it dawned on me that you had never talked about it with any of us. In hindsight, I'm afraid we didn't make it clear enough that we were there, if you wanted to talk."
"Toby, you told me, time and again, that I could come to you. I knew it."
"Yet you never came," Toby said.
"Toby, I had more than enough therapy sessions with our counselor to get it off my chest. So did Ainsley. When we were done with therapy, all we wanted to do was never talk about it again. I didn't even know it was possible to feel that tired. There were days, when we were done, where I could barely drag myself upstairs to my room. Everyone kept telling us that everything was going to be all right, that time would heal, and we didn't want to hear it anymore - we knew, but God, if we had to hear it once more..." Sam trailed off, took a deep breath and went on, "Look, we talked about it, and back then, we didn't have the energy to go through it more than once. If we had had to begin to explain all that, I'm not sure I would have had enough energy left to do anything else."
"And now?"
"Now, we're fine."
"Are you scared? Of what might happen?"
Scared? Scared didn't even begin to cover it. Sam was petrified, he had insomnia, he woke up at night sometimes, after a dream that the birth had gone wrong, that the baby, or Ainsley, or both were dead, he kept thinking back about Ben's death, always wondering "Did we do something wrong?" The same question that had haunted him for years, except this time, he didn't ask it so he could have more munitions for the guilt trip, but he wondered in hope that he would find out what had gone wrong so he could prevent it this time around.
Then, there were the nightmares about his accident, all these years ago, when he had been trapped in the car, unable to move, hearing Alex cry and unable to do anything to save his son.
Alex had been fine, but he could easily have been hurt, and he could have needed his father, and he hadn't done anything.
He spent so many nights hearing a baby cry, looking around to find it, looking in every room, in a haze, knowing that his son needed him. Sometimes, it was even worse. Sometimes, he saw him, bleeding on the floor, and he was unable to move. He was paralyzed, frozen on the spot, he couldn't stop the bleeding, he could just watch, and scream for help.
That's usually when Ainsley shook him hard enough to wake him up, and he opened his eyes to realize that he was in the Residence, that he had screamed and that one of his agents had opened the door to make sure he was fine, that Alex was fine, and that in a few months, he'd be a father again.
"Are you scared?" Toby asked.
"Yeah, a little," Sam admitted.
Toby rolled his eyes. "Like Ainsley's 'a little' pregnant?" he smiled.
"Pretty much, yes. I just... I'm not sure I'd be able to survive that again."
His voice caught, and his eyes were beginning to burn. He got up and refilled his glass, peripherally aware that Toby was looking at him, worried.
"You won't have to go through that again," Toby said.
Sam smiled a little, and came back to sit in front of his former boss. "Thanks for the effort, but there's no way you can be sure of that. We'll just have to take things as they come, but that doesn't make them less frightening."
"I know. I wish..."
He wished he could do more, but Sam knew that.
His friends had done enough, already, but the way to convince them of that...
"Sam, seriously, you know you can..."
"Talk to you?" Sam asked, with a small smile.
He shrugged, and said gruffly, "Well, we do need you focussed on the job, so..."
Sam nodded seriously. "And that is, of course, the only reason you're asking."
"Of course," Toby answered. Sam almost believed him. Would have believed him, without the concern still visible in his eyes.
Sam bit his lip, still stalling.
He hadn't told everything to the therapist - or to Ainsley, who didn't need to know that.
The worst part of that night, the one that still haunted him, was how his son had felt his arms, when he had lifted him from the crib - the immobility, so absolute that he knew, without a doubt, that there was nothing to do.
And then the cold skin, the lack of reaction as he breathed air into his lungs, that panic because he didn't want to survive his child, because he didn't think he would be able to.
He was certain that he would go insane if he had to go through that again.
Sometimes, he felt that he was going insane just thinking about it. That was usually before the memory of this night sent him in a run to the bathroom.
Sam swallowed convulsively, then looked up to see Toby. "I'm not sure I'll be able to..." He trailed off, shocked at how hoarse his voice sounded.
Toby looked ten times more concerned now. "Well, you're going to make an effort, because I seriously think it's imperative you talk about it before you explode."
Sam could only agree. The nightmares were becoming more intense, and he feared Ainsley was beginning to suspect that he had hidden things from her.
Feeling slightly light headed, like he always did when he thought about his son, Sam began to talk.
**********
2023
"Sam?"
He startled, shaken from his reverie. "Yeah?"
"You okay?"
He smiled. "Thinking. About that night. When you third degreed me."
Toby nodded, his countenance serious. "You scared me that night," he admitted.
Sam looked up, surprised at the admission. "I did?"
Toby sighed. "You looked, I don't know, so... devastated. Almost as much as you had immediately after... after."
"I thought I had put that behind me," he explained. "Imagine my surprise, when it resurfaced."
"You shouldn't have tried to deal with that on your own."
"Yeah, you've already pointed that out."
"It bears repeating," Toby said.
Sam nodded. He knew keeping all that to himself had been stupid. In his defense, he had thought he was better, until he had to deal with the prospect of having another child.
"I still - " His voice caught, and he swallowed. "Miss him," he finished resolutely. "I still miss him. I still, you know, wonder what he would have become. Who he would have become."
Toby was looking at him, sympathy written all over his features.
Sam shook his head, as if trying to physically dislodge his grief. "Anyway," he said.
"Okay. We should go back to the party," Toby said, not making a move.
"Yeah."
"They'll wonder where we are."
"I think they know already," Sam corrected. "They know I always come here to think tonight."
"Fine, then they'll miss me," Toby shrugged.
"Go ahead, I'll join you soon," Sam said, "I'll just finish my drink first."
He also wanted to find a way to thank Toby.
His friend and himself were often a little self conscious when it came to talking about their relationship, and he didn't think he had ever managed to tell him how grateful he was for all his help.
Not for the first time, Sam thought about what Toby could have done, instead of helping him to not look like an idiot. He could have retired long ago. He could have found another job - with a better pay, and less hours. He could have written books, and the amount of experience he had amassed would have made them sheer treasures. Instead, he had stayed with him, he had helped him govern past the paralyzing fear of the first few days, when he needed to hear people repeat several times that yes, what they were proposing was the best possible course of action, before signing a paper, when he wondered what Bartlet or Hoynes would have made, had they been in his shoes.
Toby had finally had enough.
"Damn it, Mister President, you're the first one who said that you didn't want to be dependant of Bartlet's memories, when are you going to speak for yourself?"
This was an argument they'd have quite a few times over the years.
"Toby - "
"No, I'm sorry, but I want to know."
Well, he didn't want to be the second Bartlet, that much was true.
He also wanted to benefit from whatever Bartlet had learned there. Maybe it would help him to gain some time.
It was Toby who pointed out to him that Bartlet had left eight years ago, that the world had changed, that their country had changed, that what he had to do was to take that fact into consideration, and that if he didn't follow his own mind, Toby would kill him.
"No offence," he added.
Sam would have taken it the wrong way (it was surprising how fast you got used to people treating you with deference. He had had a foretaste of this while being Governor, but here, that was a whole new level), but he had other things on his mind.
Ainsley was nearing the ninth month back then.
So he put what Toby had said in a corner of his mind, to think about it from time to time, and he focussed on his wife.
**********
2015
The labor began during the night, so Sam could at least be there. Not than men were useful in times like these, unless they were doctors, he thought. It was the helplessness. The inability to help. Or the fact that they have to handle the pain and that you knew that if you were her, you'd be shouting for someone to kill you already.
Whatever the reason, Sam became deeply conscious of his helplessness when Ainsley woke him at 2 A.M., and told him her waters had broken. Sam did what he knew any self respecting man would have done. He held her hands and screamed for help.
Thank God for the secret services, he thought. And for Gina, who had made her way to the head of his detail, and took one look at the scene, thinking "If only I wasn't a professional, I could sell pictures to the press" - he could tell because it was written all over her face.
Ainsley laughed when the contraction stopped.
"Honey, you're gonna have to do better than that, if you want the hospital personnel to say that you were brave."
The hospital personnel were probably the * last * thing on Sam's mind just then. Except that they would be able to help.
Help.
They had to get there, and they would know what to do.
Yeah, that was a great plan.
Sam had been through that twice already, and he really thought it would be easier this time - a 'practice makes you better' kind of thing. It wasn't so. And the labor went on for hours, just like when Alex had been born.
He never said so to Ainsley, but deep down, he took it as a good sign. Ben's birth had been quick - four hours - but after what had happened to him, maybe it was a good thing that this time, it was different.
It was stupid superstition, he knew, but how do you stop the thoughts that came so naturally to mind?
The secret services blocked the entire floor for them, and Sam alternated between pacing in the hall, drinking coffee, and holding Ainsley's hand, letting her insult him all she wanted.
Eight hours after their rushed departure from the White House, the doctor decided that he had to do a C section. In no time, Sam was lead to a waiting room, Ainsley having disappeared around a corner. He was trying to hold on to his calm, trying not to call Toby and have a panic attack on the phone. Trying to tell himself that Ainsley wasn't thirty anymore and that a C section was not an unusual procedure.
Trying to tell himself that everything was going to be just fine.
As he was about to go kill someone, a nurse entered the room, smiling. "They're both fine."
Sam felt his knees go weak, and forced himself to remain upright.
"If you'll follow me, I'll show you your daughter, sir."
"Ainsley?"
"She's resting. You'll see her in a few moments."
Sam was led into a room, a nurse put the baby in his arms and retreated to a corner of the room, obviously waiting in case there was a problem and wanting to let him see his daughter alone.
He blinked back tears, smiled at the baby, and whispered softly at her - he didn't remember what he had said, he was sure it wasn't coherent anyway.
Two hours later, a grinning CJ was making her way onto the podium of the White House press room, announcing the press corps that Kathryn Eleanor Seaborn had been born on October the 5th, 2015, that the mother and the child were fine, and that the President would allow pictures in a few days, and would make a statement when he got back at the White House.
Sam and Ainsley, in her room, were too busy watching their baby to notice.
**********
2023
Sam checked his watch, surprised to discover that he had spent a good fifteen minutes staring off in space, recalling Kate's first few moments. There had been hard times - they knew she would be the last child they would have, they were terrified that something would happen to her and they admitted easily that they were overprotective parents.
They reduced to the minimum her public appearances, preferring to keep her in the Residence, where the Secret Services' surveillance was virtually flawless. Ainsley spent the first two months not sleeping, checking on Kathryn every few minutes, until the day she almost collapsed during a State dinner. Then Kate began to toddle, and Sam redefined the words 'baby proof'.
Thankfully, they had enough friends to warn them not to overdo it, to remind them that no good would come of preventing her from making her own discoveries, and her own mistakes.
Shortly after that, Alex took their minds off Kathryn by deciding to join the Naval Academy after high school - what had first been an hesitant project had turned into a clear ambition, and after a few heated fights, Sam had decided that he would only alienate his son if he pressured him into giving up. He caved in, deciding that Alex was the only one who knew what he wanted to do.
Alex was now happy in the Academy. He was doing his classes, he hoped to become an officer. Sam, who had had to send troops into battle, who had sometimes heard the radio communications of a crashing helicopter, or of a drowning warship, knew that he would have trouble sleeping for some time, but he had come to accept Alex's decision. If his son thought he could make a difference that way, he wasn't the one who would argue him out of it.
Ainsley might, though.
She was also probably waiting for him right now, wondering where he had gone.
Testing his leg carefully, he decided that it could take some more dancing.
Yes, going back to the party sounded good.
**********
He hadn't gotten very far when Jim hesitantly asked for a few minutes of his time.
"Hum, Mister President?" he asked, shuffling his feet.
"Yes?"
"I, hum, I'd like to, I mean, do you have - "
"What do you want to talk about?" Sam pressed on. He loved Jim dearly, but the man could be so intimidated sometimes (by Sam, by Toby, by the congressmen he had to meet) that if you didn't push, you were in for hours of hesitations.
To his credit, though, the young man never failed to answer a direct inquiry.
"Well, perhaps in private?" he asked. Sam rolled his eyes (what could be so secret, a few hours before the official end of the administration?) but he motioned Jim back to the Oval, entering behind him and closing the door himself.
"I just wanted...," Jim said, still stalling.
"What?"
"Well, there's something... I, hum, won't pretend to understand the relationship you have with Toby," he said.
" * I * don't understand the relationship I have with Toby," Sam replied
Jim smiled nervously.
"I know. I think there's something you need to know, but I may be wrong, and if I am, he'll kill me, so - "
"Jim, did it occur to you that for now, I have far more power than Toby has?"
"Yes, sir, but with all due respect, come tomorrow, you won't be able to help me anymore," he pointed out.
True enough, Sam thought. "Fine, but... Look, what is it?" He was beginning to sound worried, and Jim picked up on that.
"I, hum, well, he was offered... The DNC tried to convince him to run for Mayor, sir. In New York. It was just before you accepted to... you know."
To run for President.
So when Sam decided to run, Toby let go of a seat in... to...
"I'm going to kill him," Sam growled
"Sir, I didn't tell you so - " Jim tried to put in, worried.
"I know, but still..."
Still, Toby should have said something.
He should have given Sam the chance to fire his ass and make something...
He should just have said something.
And how many times had they had this conversation in the past?
Sam waved Jim away, and tried not to smile when he looked at him worriedly, obviously fighting the urge to tell him to go easy on his boss. For all of Toby's growling, he tended to raise his deputies' instincts of protection, Sam could testify of the fact.
And now, he needed to find Toby, and kick his ass.
**********
"The Party offered you the chance to run for Mayor?" he said as soon as he spotted his friend, lurking near his old office.
Toby looked taken aback, then shrugged. "Yes."
Leave it to Toby to give non committal answers at times like these.
"I didn't... I had no idea... Toby, Why? Why didn't you - "
Jump on the chance?
Tell me what you had given up to help me not look like an idiot?
Tell me?
"I'm not that kind of man, Sam. You, President Bartlet, Charlie, you have that. I'm the one... I'm like Leo, and Josh, and Colleen. We're better, you know, behind the scenes."
He seemed depressed and Sam frowned a little. Could it be that Toby regretted that?
"Hey, that's a * good * thing," he offered. "If it weren't for people like you, we wouldn't have done half what we wanted."
"Sam, you didn't do half what you wanted," Toby pointed out.
It was both true and false.
And it really wasn't the point.
"Do you think I really expected to?" Sam asked. "Toby, I know there are some things that are impossible to accomplish in eight years. But you know what? I'm not ashamed of the shape we leave the country in." And he really wasn't. It had been his greatest fear, but all in all, they had done * some * good, and yes it could have been more, but can't it always? They were not at war, there were less people living in poverty than before - not many, not nearly enough, but still less - and the American people seemed to reconsider the wisdom of killing off his criminals. If only they'd been able to do something more about weapons...
But now wasn't the time to dwell on what could have been.
"And we leave the country in good hands," Sam added, and to him that was important too.
"Yeah," Toby didn't sound convinced.
"Toby, you wrote me," Sam insisted.
"It was you."
"Not all of it. It was your perspective, your input that prevented me from blowing it. And it was you who helped me to get rid of the shadow of Jed Bartlet. And when I began thinking like an arrogant son of a bitch, you're the one who gathered the courage to tell me what was what."
Sam hadn't talked to his mentor for a week after that, so angry at having been told he had become what he had sworn himself he would never be - a second Jed Bartlet. Then Ainsley had come back from her trip, she had shaken some sense into him, and Sam had humbly apologized.
Toby had kept him honest.
He had kept him thriving to do better, always better, from the day they had met to this night.
He deserved more recognition than he would get.
"You should have told me," Sam said.
Toby raised an eyebrow, probably thinking of all the arguments they had had that began with that same sentence and ended in frustrating shouting matches.
"You had enough to think about."
"Yes, and damn it, Toby - " he tried to say.
"Sam, I know you appreciated what I had to offer anyway. You're thinking that it would have made you easier on me if you had known, aren't you?"
He hesitated, then nodded. For all the arguments they'd had during Bartlet's administration, there had been three during his own, and some of them pretty ugly. He had said things he regretted, and now he learned that Toby could have been far away, doing things for himself, for once. "Yeah."
"It's exactly why I didn't tell you," Toby said. "I wanted you focussed, I wanted you to fight me, and you wouldn't have done that if you had known. You would have spent your time berating yourself for taking me away from that, and Sam, we had only eight years to, you know..."
"Change the world?" Sam smiled.
"Yes, we couldn't afford to lose some of that time to your feelings of inadequacy. You did a great job, I'm not saying it enough, but - "
"I had great advisors," Sam cut off. "And you won't stop me from wondering where I would be without them."
"Oh, I know that," he said in a long suffering tone, and they shared a quiet laugh. "How do you feel?" Toby asked then.
"Fine," Sam shrugged. At Toby's glare, he amended "Weird. On one hand, I'll finally be able to sleep a little, and not constantly worry that someone's going to kill me or my family, or that terrorists will strike, or whatever. And I'll get to see Kathryn grow up. On the other, I'm gonna miss this place."
He nodded, and Sam knew he understood. Toby had spent sixteen years in these walls, Sam suddenly realized. It was completely insane.
"I'll let you say goodbye to all this," Sam gestured to the whole West Wing. "I'll go do the same with the Oval."
Toby nodded, and the two men went their separate ways to perform their own little parting ceremony.