Chapter Five

Monday, February 2

The cloud of doom that hovered over Sam was no match for the brilliance of Jake and Jamie's excitement at spending time with him. What had started as a few hours catching a basketball game had morphed into a movie and pizza, with his brothers camping out in his apartment overnight. On Sunday, the three of them met up with Hoynes and Suzanne for brunch, then all of them had returned to Observatory Circle to spend time together. It wasn't until after a pleasant Sunday dinner, when Sam had returned home, that he recalled Winters' message. He didn't know why Winters wanted to speak to him, but his overactive imagination couldn't help but generate a list of possibilities.

Fortunately, Sam didn't have time to dwell on his impending meeting. No sooner had he arrived at work did Hoynes arrive at his door for their now-regular breakfast. Though it had only been a handful of days since the truth had come out, Sam found himself looking forward to spending time with a man who had already done more to show him what a father should be than the man who had raised him.

Flushed with exhilaration at their most recent debate, Sam hurried through the halls and back to his office for his notes on health care. Quickly grabbing what he needed, he rushed into Toby's office, kicking the door shut behind him with his foot.

Toby was standing beside his desk, watching the latest news bulletin on the television. At Sam's entrance, he turned his attention to the younger man, taking in his slightly disheveled appearance as Sam set up camp on the sofa. "Did you sleep here again over the weekend?"

Sam's head snapped up in surprise. "What?" he asked. "No!"

Toby's frown deepened slightly. "Given your recent track record, you'll forgive me for not quite believing you," Toby told him. "You're looking a bit rushed. Are you sure you didn't spend the last couple of days on my couch?"

"No, Toby, I didn't spend the night in your office," Sam said flatly.

"Sam-," Toby said warningly.

"Toby, I didn't stay in your office!" Sam insisted. "I didn't even work this weekend! I was too busy with . . ." he trailed off.

"With . . ." Toby prompted, drawing the word out.

"With . . . other stuff," Sam finished lamely.

"Would this 'stuff' require a heads up for CJ and a visit to the White House Counsel Office?" Toby asked.

"Toby!" Sam snapped.

"What?" Toby retorted, lifting his hands out at his sides. "You're being deliberately vague! When you do that, you're usually hiding something, and it's never been anything good!"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Toby, it's no big deal."

"Then what did you do?" Toby pressed.

"Nothing," Sam insisted. "I just spent the weekend with my . . . uh . . ." Seeing Toby's unmoving gaze, Sam's shoulders slumped. "My brothers," he finally admitted. It sounded weird to his ears to hear it out loud.

Toby's eyebrows shot up. "Your brothers," he echoed. "I didn't think you had brothers." He narrowed his eyes as a thought occurred to him. "This isn't the Winters thing all over again, is it? Your brothers aren't cabinet members, or heads of federal agencies, are they?"

"Of course not!" Sam exclaimed.

"Well, what the hell am I supposed to think?" Toby demanded. "Every time I see you, you've got a family member popping out of the woodwork!"

"It's not like that!" Sam cried. "I didn't even know about them until last week!"

Toby idly wondered when he'd gone down the rabbit trail in his conversation with Sam. "You didn't know? How did you not know you had brothers? What, did your dad or mom have other kids before they got married or something?"

"No," Sam replied. "They . . . I sort of . . . last week, I . . ."

Toby waited patiently.

Sam sighed. "The Secret Service's background checks . . . they found out that . . . thatsomehowIwasthemissingHoynesbaby."

Toby frowned at the jumble of words. "Run that by me again?"

"I . . ." Sam swallowed thickly. "I'm really . . . Charlie Hoynes?"

Toby covered his mouth, rubbing the lower half of his face as he processed the statement. "You're Charlie Hoynes." It wasn't a question.

Sam nodded.

"The Secret Service found it out," Toby stated.

Sam nodded again.

Toby's arm dropped. "You mean to tell me that you're the missing son of the vice president of the United States, and you didn't happen to mention it?" he boomed, the words growing louder as he continued.

"Shh!" Sam frantically hushed Toby, glancing over his shoulder at the bullpen to make sure no one had heard him. "I haven't exactly told people about it yet!"

Toby's disbelief pushed his eyebrows up. "What? Why the hell not?"

"I'm not . . . I'm not ready yet," Sam admitted.

"Who else knows?" Toby asked.

"The president," Sam answered. "Mrs. Bartlet. Zoey. Um . . Leo. The vice president, of course."

Toby rolled his eyes. "'Of course' he says," he muttered. His eyes flickered over Sam's shoulder and into the bullpen. "I guess that explains the Secret Service's presence, then."

Sam jerked in surprise. "You knew they were there?"

"You didn't?" Toby scoffed and shook his head. "Of course you didn't. Why would you notice a six-and-a-half foot man, built like a brick house, who never once attended a staff meeting but had a desk in our bullpen?"

Sam avoided Toby's gaze. "He blends in really well."

Toby let that one go. "How long have you known?"

"Since Wednesday evening," Sam replied as Toby moved to sit behind his desk. "We were talking about the welfare thing, and the president asked to see me?"

Toby nodded, recalling the moment. "How did Hoynes take the news?"

Sam shrugged. "I guess, about how you'd expect," he answered. "Leo and Agent Butterfield told him. I don't know how he reacted then, but by the time I saw him, he was pretty convinced."

"You weren't?" Toby asked, his voice soft.

"Would you be?" Sam asked, eyes searching the room. "There's never been any hint in my entire life that I wasn't the son of Norman and Chelsea Seaborn." His eyes dropped to his hands in his lap. "Even with the DNA tests proving it, it still feels like it's not quite real."

"What do your parents have to say?" Toby asked. "The other ones."

"I don't know," Sam said. He felt relief at finally voicing his doubts. "I can't get a hold of them. I mean, the Secret Service told me not to try, but how can I not?" He shook his head. "Anyway, Agent Butterfield said that a team went to go question my mom, and that my dad is out of the country. I haven't heard more than that."

Toby nodded, his mind whirring. "So what happens in the meantime?"

Sam shrugged again. "I guess I'm just taking it one day at a time. John, uh . . . the vice president . . . he's been really good about it. He hasn't really pushed me on anything since we found out, and he's actually been spending time with me during breakfast."

Toby lifted an eyebrow. "Imagine that," he commented.

Sam gave him a dirty look.

"So, you spent time this weekend with your brothers?" Toby continued.

Sam's expression softened immediately, a shy smile growing on his face. "Yeah," he replied. "I met them Friday night; John and Suzanne invited me over to dinner."

"How was it?" Toby asked.

"It was . . . really great," Sam admitted.

"You sound surprised," Toby observed.

"I guess I am," Sam replied. "It wasn't at all what I expected. It was . . . fun."

Toby grunted. "I'm glad you're handling this so well. When are you planning on telling everyone else? I assume there's a plan in place?"

Sam hesitated, his eyes shifting away from Toby.

Toby frowned. "Sam!" he barked.

Sam held his hands up in surrender. "I know, I know," he said. "I will, I just . . . I'm not ready yet. It's so big . . ."

"It is, which is why CJ and Josh will be pissed off if they find out about it from someone else," Toby pointed out.

"I'll tell them, I promise," Sam said. A worried look crossed his face. "You won't say anything, will you?"

Toby heaved a heavy sigh. "No, I won't tell anyone."

"Thank you," Sam said in relief.

"However," Toby added, "I reserve the right to say 'I told you so' when this situation inevitably blows up in your face."

Sam rolled his eyes.

"Well, now that this episode of Maury Povich has concluded, let's get back to that pesky little issue of national health care reform," Toby stated.

For the second time in a week, Hoynes found himself being escorted through the halls of the Executive Residence, though this time he was able to pay more attention to the portraits and artwork that adorned the walls without the added distraction of a long-lost and newly recovered child at his side. Unbidden, thoughts of Sam's passionate defense of health care benefits for single mothers from that morning's debate filled his mind. Hoynes wondered if he could maneuver Sam into taking an opposing side, and how he might do as the devil's advocate.

President Bartlet was waiting for him in the private dining room. He held a hand out to Hoynes. "John, good to see you. I'm glad you agreed to meet me for lunch."

Hoynes shook the offered hand. "Thanks for the invitation," he replied. "Though I admit to some surprise at receiving it."

Bartlet gestured for him to take a seat, then sat himself. "Well, I thought it might be good for us to meet and commiserate over our kids. Besides, Abbey and Suzanne have set up a standing lunch together; we need to join forces if we have any hope of talking them down from any outrageous schemes they may dream up."

"I admire your aim, Jed, though I don't know how much of a chance we stand on actually being successful," Hoynes replied.

The two chuckled as the stewards brought in their lunch. Once the food had been served, and the stewards dismissed, Bartlet picked up the conversation once more.

"So," he said, "what's this I hear about you arguing up a storm with my Deputy Communications Director at breakfast every morning?"

Hoynes' eyebrows rose. "And where did you hear that?" he asked.

"It's not like you two were keeping very quiet," Bartlet pointed out with a smirk. "So?"

A proud grin blossomed on Hoynes' face. "To be honest, I wanted to spend time with him, get to know him. When he started to warm up to me, I saw an opening and took it. We seem to have fallen into finding a topic to debate; I'm really enjoying it, and I think Sam is, too."

Bartlet's smile was fond. "He's good, isn't he?"

"He's incredible," Hoynes raved, waving a fork to illustrate his point. "He's able to sniff out the slightest weak spot in an argument and flip it back on you with evidence and statistics to back him up." Hoynes shook his head. "He must have been a force to be reckoned with in a courtroom."

"Oh, he still is," Bartlet assured him. "I'll never forget the first time I really noticed it."

"Yeah?" Hoynes prompted, eager for any piece of information about his youngest.

"It was during the campaign," Bartlet told him. "We were in . . . Florida, I think. We were gearing up for a debate against Whitmire, and we needed someone to stand for him in our mock debate. The thing was, none of our usually guys could argue the issues we knew that Whitmire was bringing to the table. That's when Josh suggested that we try Sam."

"He did?" Hoynes asked.

Bartlet nodded. "He did. And he wiped the floor with me, too, once I ordered him to. It took me three tries before I could even argue him to a stalemate." He chuckled. "I was tempted to skip the debate altogether and just send Sam in my place. Whitmire would never have known what hit him."

Both men chuckled at the visual that comment provoked.

Hoynes sobered as a question that had been niggling at him demanded attention once more. "Do you know much about his childhood growing up? About the people who raised him?"

"Not much," Bartlet admitted. "He never talks about himself all that much. Why do you ask?"

"Just some things he's let slip here and there," Hoynes said. "There isn't anything concrete I can point to, but I can't help but wonder if there's more than he's letting on."

"Well, if you want details, the best person to ask would be Josh," Bartlet told him. "He knows Sam better than anyone."

Hoynes nodded, unable to completely disguise the distaste on his face.

Bartlet chuckled lightly. "I know there's history between you two, John, but you're going to have to find a way to deal with it. Josh is your son's best friend, and if there's one thing I do know about Sam, it's that he's even more passionate in defense of those he cares about."

He watched as Hoynes let that sink in, then switched over to a lighter topic.

"So I heard that your two oldest came back into town to meet Sam," he said. "How did that go?"

By the time the lunch hour had come to a close, Sam had decided that he could no longer delay the inevitable. Winters was expecting him, and if he didn't present himself in the Congressman's office soon, there'd be hell to pay.

The Capitol Building loomed over him, tall and imposing. Sam stood on the steps, looking up at it as he tried to work up the courage to walk inside.

Elliot stood beside him, his eyes scanning the faces of the people around him. "You're awfully nervous for a visit to the Hill. What's wrong?"

"I'm not nervous," Sam immediately denied.

Elliot glanced at him quickly in disbelief, then continued watching out for threats. "If you say so."

Sam took a deep, calming breath. Bracing himself, he dutifully trudged up the stairs to the entrance.

The walk to Winters' office was made in silence. Each step Sam took seemed to heighten his tension; by the time they reached Winters' outer office, his stomach was doing flip-flops and his jaw was clenched so tight that he was sure he was about to crack a tooth.

Winters' assistant recognized Sam instantly. "Mr. Seaborn," she stated. "Congressman Winters is expecting you. You can go right in."

Sam gave a tight nod and took all of two steps before the assistant's voice stopped him.

"I'm sorry, sir, but only Mr. Seaborn is permitted to enter."

Sam glanced back in surprise. The rest of his detail had spread out around the perimeter of the outer office, but Elliot hadn't left his side. At the assistant's words, the former SEAL turned and frowned at her.

"I'm sorry, miss, but he doesn't leave my sight," Elliot told her.

The assistant was unmoved. "No sir; Congressman Winters' orders were very clear. He wanted to see Mr. Seaborn, and Mr. Seaborn only."

Elliot opened his mouth to challenge the statement, but Sam cut in quickly.

"It's fine," he told Elliot. "I'll be fine. This is the only entrance to the office, and I've been alone with him before. What could happen?"

Elliot gave him a disgusted look. "You just had to tempt fate, didn't you?"

A flash of humor cracked through Sam's anxiety, and he smiled.

"I'll be right here," Elliot told him, pointing at the floor. "If you need anything, just call or push your panic button."

Sam saw Elliot position himself directly in the way of the entrance and shook his head, closing the door.

Winters was seated behind his desk, writing something down in a file folder. At Sam's entrance, he didn't even bother to look up. "Sit."

Sam moved to one of the chairs and gingerly lowered himself into it. He was careful not to make a noise, knowing better than to disturb Winters' train of thought.

After what felt like an eternity, Winters finally set his pen down and closed the folder. Setting the folder aside, he folded his hands on his desk and scrutinized the young man across from him.

"Have you heard from your mother recently?" he asked.

Sam felt his heart leap into his throat. "Not . . not since she called and left a message last week," he stammered.

Winters nodded, standing and moving around the desk to lean against it. Sam stared up at Winters, his body tensing at the proximity. "So you don't happen to know what the FBI might want from her?"

Sam flinched back.

A gleam of triumph appeared in Winters' eyes. "I thought so. Your mother called me on Friday and asked for my help. It would seem that she was picked up by the FBI and asked a number of questions. About you."

Sam's eyes dropped to his knees, his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth.

"For some reason," Winters continued, "the FBI seems to be under the impression that Chelsea is not your mother. Tell me, Samuel; why would the FBI think such a thing?"

Sam lifted his chin. "I-I don't know."

"You're lying, Samuel," Winters stated, his calm tone only serving to cause Sam's heart to race. "You know how I feel about that."

Sam swallowed thickly. "I really don't-."

The blow came out of nowhere. Sam found himself flung against the arm of his chair, his cheek stinging, before realizing that Winters had backhanded him.

"Do not lie to me, Samuel," Winters ordered. "What is going on?"

"My background check!" Sam blurted as he straightened in his chair. He resisted the urge to touch his cheek. "Something was wrong with my birth certificate! That's all it was; I don't know why the FBI was involved!"

Winters stared at Sam, his icy blue gaze boring into him. It took everything in Sam not to look away.

Finally, finally, Winters stood and moved to look out the window. Sam sagged back in relief.

"I sent the family lawyer to take care of it," Winters announced. "Since that no good husband of hers couldn't be bothered. Cartwright will clean this up in no time. In the meantime, however, you will keep your mouth shut."

"Yes, sir," Sam replied.

"Get out," Winters ordered.

Sam needed no encouragement. Standing, he walked as fast as he could from the room, past Elliot and his detail, and down the hall. He ignored the calls for his name, intent on putting distance between himself and his uncle.

A gentle hand took his elbow and moved him down a side hallway. Elliot hovered over Sam, his bulk blocking the exit. Rather than feel trapped, Sam felt shielded from any potential hazards.

"What happened?" Elliot demanded. "You took off so fast . . ." He trailed off, his eyes zeroing in on Sam's face.

Sam calmed his racing heart. "Everything's fine," he assured Elliot.

Elliot lifted a hand towards Sam's face. Sam was unable to control his flinch at the move. Freezing for a brief moment, Elliot gently turned Sam's chin to the side to get a closer look at his face."

"Did he hit you?" he practically growled.

"No." Sam didn't even have to think about his response.

Elliot lowered his hand. "Then how did you get that red mark on your face?"

"I fell," Sam replied. "You've seen how clumsy I can be."

Elliot was not amused. "Sam, if he hit you-."

"He didn't," Sam cut him off. "I told you, I fell. I'm fine. Just leave it."

He didn't give Elliot a chance to argue further, pushing past him and storming off down the hall. Elliot immediately followed after him, but made a mental note to take a closer look at Chris Winters.

Sam welcomed the chaotic atmosphere of the West Wing like an old friend, allowing the memory of Winters' disapproval to be swept away in its wake. The minute he stepped past security, Cathay appeared beside him, easily keeping pace with her boss' brisk stride.

"Sam, the Citizen's Climate Lobby returned your call," she told him. "I set up a meeting with them the day after tomorrow for you in the Roosevelt room. CJ also told me to tell you that she wants to meet to go over the latest reports on health care."

Sam paused just outside his office door, frowning in confusion. "What reports?"

Cathay shrugged, continuing on down the hall. "The ones CJ has."

Sam shook his head, making a mental note to check in with CJ as he moved to his desk and rifled through his outbox for the folder he needed. Finding it, he headed back into the bullpen and started towards Leo's office.

Josh suddenly appeared at his side, startling him. "Cathy said you went to the Hill."

"I did," Sam confirmed.

"Was it to see your uncle?" Josh asked. "What did he say?"

"It was to see my uncle," Sam replied. "But it wasn't about 286. It was . . . personal."

Josh put a hand on Sam's arm, both of them stopping in the middle of the hall. "Sam! You're killing me here! When is Winters' meeting with President Bartlet scheduled?"

"I haven't heard," Sam answered. "Go and ask Mrs. Landingham if you're that impatient. Or have Donna do it. But don't pester Uncle Chris about it; if you do, chances are he'll stall just to spite you."

"Good advice," Josh agreed. "I'll swing by the Oval now. Sam; whatever he wants, he gets. Let's not do anything to rock the boat, okay?"

With an energetic pat on the back, Josh headed down the hall. Sam frowned after him, concerned at how much Josh was willing to bend to get Winters' support. Shaking it off, he continued on to Leo's office.

Leo glanced up from some files on his desk at Sam's knock, then waved him in. Sam passed him the folder he carried.

"Here's the main position statement for the president on the abortion thing," Sam told him.

Leo took the folder and opened it, giving the report inside a quick scan. "Thanks, Sam. Oh- Sam?"

Sam, who had been about to leave, paused. "Yeah?"

"You doing okay?" Leo asked.

Sam nodded. "I'm fine, Leo."

Leo set the folder aside in favor of giving Sam his full attention. "Lot of changes happening," he observed. "I'm not sure I'd be 'fine'."

"It is a lot," Sam agreed. "But, really, John's been great about it. He's not at all what I expected."

"How so?" Leo asked, curious.

Before Sam could answer, there was a knock on the door connected to the Oval Office. The door opened, and Bartlet stepped through.

"Leo-." He paused whatever he had been about to say when he realized that Leo was not alone. "Oh, Sam; hello. Am I interrupting?"

"No, sir," Sam replied.

"Ron Butterfield is in my office with an update on the case," Bartlet told them. "John's just arrived. I'm glad I found you here, Sam; I'll let the Secret Service know to stop looking for you. Would you join us next door?"

Sam obediently followed Bartlet into the Oval Office, Leo right behind him.

Hoynes and Butterfield were seated on the couches in the office, waiting patiently to begin their meeting. The minute Hoynes' eyes fell on Sam, he smiled brightly, but Sam didn't miss it faltering once Hoynes' eyes moved to the fading red mark on his cheek. To his credit, Hoynes didn't say anything about it.

Sam took a seat beside Hoynes, smiling in greeting. He watched as Leo sat beside Butterfield and mused on the difference in the room's atmosphere when compared to the last time they had all found themselves in the same positions.

Bartlet joined them moments later. "All right, Ron; what have you got for us?"

"We've found a way around the press, or anyone, finding out about Sam's identity for now," Butterfield stated. "We've reopened the case, but we've also opened a new one under the guise of investigating the discrepancy in Sam's birth certificate. The FBI agents working with us will take the lead on it to help keep up appearances." Butterfield fixed Sam with an intense look. "I want to stress, however, that this is only temporary, and only buys us a little more time. I strongly advise moving forward with a plan to deal with the press."

Sam nodded reluctantly. Hoynes reached over and patted his knee.

"We understand," the vice president said. "We appreciate the help."

Butterfield nodded. "As you know, the FBI picked Chelsea Seaborn up for questioning. However, they were unable to get any information from her. She invoked her right to a lawyer and ultimately had to be let go."

Sam tensed in his seat ever-so-slightly. Only Hoynes noticed, but he remained silent.

"Our team did a little more digging into her background and spoke to a few acquaintances," Butterfield continued. "Based on what they've uncovered so far, Chelsea believes that Sam is her son and she doesn't know why there's a problem with his birth certificate."

Unease lurched in his gut, and Sam couldn't entirely understand why. "So maybe the DNA tests weren't accurate after all?"

At the question, Hoynes latched onto one of Sam's hands and held tight.

Butterfield shook his head. "The DNA tests are conclusive; you are Charlie Hoynes. All this little wrinkle with Chelsea tells us is that someone, somewhere, knows more than they are saying."

Relief swept through Sam as Hoynes squeezed his hand reassuringly. A small voice in the back of his mind questioned his relief, but Sam squashed it. He wasn't ready to deal with the implications it brought just yet.

"What about her husband?" Leo asked.

"We got word to the authorities in Monaco, who agreed to work with us," Butterfield said. "They've picked him and his . . ." His gaze flickered to Sam briefly. "His companion up and are in the process of sending them back stateside."

Sam frowned. "His companion?"

Butterfield looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Norman Seaborn did not travel to Monaco alone," he stated. "It would seem that he was accompanied by another lawyer from his firm."

"He was on a business trip," Sam stated, still not understanding what Butterfield was hinting at. "That's not unusual."

Realization dawned on Leo's face, followed by sympathy.

"The team spoke to the partners at Norman's firm," Butterfield said. "It wasn't a business trip."

Sam stared blankly at Butterfield. Bartlet rubbed his chin and leaned back in his chair as the news sank in.

Hoynes squeezed Sam's hand again, but this time Sam pulled away. His gaze burned, unwavering, at Butterfield.

"Who was with him?" he demanded.

"Sarah Miles," Butterfield answered.

Sam shook his head. "She's a lawyer at my dad's law firm," he said. "I've known her for years. They work together. She's been to my house."

"Sam-," Leo started.

Sam was beyond listening at this point. His memories of his father replayed themselves before his eyes, his vision of a happy family crashing down around him. The parents he thought he knew, the lies they'd been living . . . suddenly it was too much.

He jumped to his feet and muttered an excuse before tearing out of the Oval Office. Darting blindly through the halls and ignoring the staffers around him, Sam didn't stop until he reached his office. He shut the door and closed the blinds, hiding himself away.

The ensuing silence only seemed to make the memories that much louder. Sam stared blankly at his desk, his mind revisiting scenes from his childhood behind a new lens.

His father, hosting a Christmas party and spending most of it talking to Aunt Sarah . . .

His mother, telling him how long she was in labor with him, so he could give her five minutes to talk . . .

His father, apologizing for missing his first band concert because of a business trip to Mexico with Aunt Sarah . . .

His mother, telling him if he would just work harder, then his father would want to spend more time with him . . .

Norman, so many times, saying he was too busy to help Sam right then . . .

Chelsea, always insisting it was Sam's fault that Norman was gone so often . . .

Rage swelled in Sam's gut. He reached out and grabbed the nearest object and flung it as hard as he could.

A thick book sailed through the air, crashing into the awards and paraphernalia sitting in the bookshelf opposite him. A loud clatter filled the air, and several objects fell to the floor. Sam stared at them, his chest heaving with sharp gasps of air.

A gentle knock on the door broke through the swirling emotions in Sam. The door opened, and Toby stepped inside. He sized up his deputy, took in the mess on the floor, then closed the door. He leaned against it and folded his arms.

Sam turned his head slightly in Toby's direction but didn't meet his eyes. "Don't start."

"Did I say anything?" Toby asked.

Sam let out a huff and ran his hand through his hair. "Have you ever been so sure about something? So confident in what you knew, only to have it all turn out to be something so completely different?"

"Sure," Toby replied.

Sam finally looked at him, wide-eyed in surprise.

"Maybe not to the degree you're dealing with right now, but nothing is ever completely as it seems," Toby amended.

Sam's shoulders slumped. "I had this vision of my family," he said wearily, his anger draining rapidly out of him. "I was one of the only kids in my class growing up whose parents were still happily married. My mom worked for a charity organization and was always involved in my school's PTA. My dad was this amazing lawyer, and I wanted so much to make him proud of me."

Toby remained silent as the words spilled out of Sam.

Sam moved to one of his visitor's chairs and sank into it. "Now I find out that my parents aren't actually my parents, and may have helped kidnap me, and that, while still married, my dad may have been having an affair for years. What else have I missed? Is one of them really the head of an international crime syndicate? God." He leaned forward and covered his face. "My whole life is one big lie."

Toby stepped forward, moving to be within Sam's line of sight as Sam lifted his head. "Most of it, maybe," he said. "Not all of it. The parts that are all you might have been misled, but they aren't lies. The choices your parents made are their choices. Don't let their actions define you. Only you can do that."

Sam met his gaze, hope blossoming in his chest.

Another knock interrupted them, and Hoynes poked his head inside.

"Sam?" he said gently. "I wanted to make sure-." He stepped inside, then froze once his eyes landed on Toby.

"It's okay," Sam assured him. "Toby knows. About . . . you know."

The surprise on Hoynes' face rapidly gave way to pleasure. "He does? You told him?"

"It wasn't so much that he told me as much as it was a fit of verbal diarrhea," Toby stated. "But yes, he told me."

Sam stood and took a step to move towards Hoynes, but his foot caught on one of the many stacks of books and he tripped. Only Hoynes' quick reflexes saved him from landing on the ground at Hoynes' feet. Hoynes' hands held him steady until he regained his footing.

Toby was completely unsurprised at the clumsy move. "And, sir, may I say, Mazel Tov; it's a klutz."

Hoynes let out a startled laugh at the unexpected joke. Sam's glare rolled right over Toby, no more threatening than that of an angry kitten.

"I came by to make sure you were all right," Hoynes told Sam. "And to fill you in on the rest of Agent Butterfield's report, if you want."

Sam nodded. "I'd like that."

"You're welcome to use my office," Toby offered. "I have a meeting soon with the Bureau of Labor and Statistics, and my office doesn't have quite as many death traps that this one does."

Hoynes grinned in amusement.

"You're not funny," Sam retorted.

Toby quirked an eyebrow. "That's not what you told the president last week."

"I changed my mind," Sam replied primly.

"Thank you, Mr. Ziegler," Hoynes cut into the banter. "We appreciate the use of your office."

Toby nodded. "Of course, Mr. Vice President," he replied. He turned back to Sam. "Do you think you can make it there in one piece? Or should I ask your security detail to clear the way?"

Sam rolled his eyes.

end chapter 5