"I'm sorry I'm late," the President said, dropping his briefcase on the desk. His eyes were warm as he shook Sam's hand. "It's good to see you."

"Thank you, sir."

Turning to the First Lady, he kissed her. "Abigail, are you torturing him? I thought we talked about that."

"How could we?" she returned. "You were planning to sneak Sam in and out of here without anybody knowing about it. I'm surprised you didn't tell Ron to stick him in the trunk of the car."

"I would have, if I had thought of it. And if I was so sneaky, how did you find out?"

"Oh, I have my ways," she teased as she turned to the door. "I'll leave you to talk, but Sam, remember what I said."

"Yes, ma'am."

The President waved Sam back to his chair. "I want you to try this single-malt," he announced, walking to the tray set out near the windows. He poured healthy amounts of whiskey into glasses and handed one to Sam. "The British Prime Minister brought this with him when he was here in February. We had quite a conversation over it one night."

Sam took a small sip, savoring the taste. "It's amazing, sir."

Sitting down on the couch, the President loosened his tie. "I thought you'd appreciate it. It has an interesting history —" He paused, catching himself. "— But that can wait for another time." Sighing, he leaned forward. "I have so much I want to say to you, so much I need to say. And frankly, I'm not sure where to begin."

Sam looked down at the cut-crystal tumbler in his hand. He had promised himself that he would hear the President out, but he marveled at his own naiveté in believing he could distance himself from this man and all he had meant to him.

"Sam, I came across a quote the other day: ...the sea is a great breeder of friendship. Two men who have known each other for twenty years find that twenty days at sea bring them nearer than ever they were before. Do you know who wrote that?"

"Gilbert Parker."

The President nodded. "It occurred to me what a perfect analogy it was for the campaign. We all learned so much about each other in so short a time. And from that, the two of us built a relationship based on mutual respect. I've always believed we could sit down and be honest with one another."

"I thought so too," Sam agreed softly. Until you turned away and proved me wrong.

"I keep asking myself: when did we lose that? When did I lose you?"

The President walked over to the fireplace. He watched the flames for a minute, his hand gripping the mantel. "When Lizzie was six, I took her along with me on some errands, to get her out of Abbey's hair for a little while. Lizzie chattered away the whole time, telling me all about the play her class was putting on for Thanksgiving. I was distracted by something — to this day, I don't know what — and I wasn't paying much attention to her. In the middle of the supermarket, I suddenly realized she wasn't beside me. What was worse was that I couldn't remember when she had been. It took me fifteen minutes and half the store staff to find her, and I'll tell you, I aged about ten years. I never wanted to feel like that again, Sam, but I did last Friday."

"With all due respect, sir, I'm not a six-year-old girl lost in a supermarket."

"But you're a member of this family, and I lost you through my own negligence."

Frowning, Sam rolled the tumbler between his hands as the President returned to the couch.

"Sam, one of the many things I admire about you is your tenacity. You took a Federal Court judge around the block, stood toe to toe with Lillienfield and his thugs, and more than held your own in arguments with Josh and Toby, even Leo. Individually, any one of those things would gain my respect, but together..." He shook his head. "You've made me very proud to have you as a member of my staff.

"That's why, with all your passion, your spirit, I simply don't understand why you didn't fight for yourself. Why you didn't demand we listen to your ideas. Why you didn't remind us how much you've contributed."

Sam fought to keep his voice even. "If my work was valued, I wouldn't have had to do any of those things, sir."

"But you never denied us your gifts."

"I served at the pleasure of the President of the United States. Any gifts I possess were at his disposal to use or not, as he saw fit."

The President smiled sadly. "Even when he saw fit to take them and ignore the giver. I'm an ungrateful son of a bitch, Sam."

Sam remained silent, unwilling to absolve him of the pain he had inflicted.

"I knew what we were doing to you, and I convinced myself you were being treated no differently than anyone else."

"We do unkind things in a kind way..." He met the President's eyes evenly. "Bernard Shaw."

Bartlet nodded, acknowledging the hit. "I would give anything to take back these last few months, but that isn't what this is about, is it?"

"It's about the future."

"Which you don't want to spend here."

"Sir," Sam said bluntly, "there are things I want to do, to achieve; and I no longer see the White House — and my place in it — as the means to those ends."

"Have you decided what you'll do?"

"The only thing I've decided is that I'm going home. I won't start thinking about what my next step will be until then." Taking the last swallow of his whiskey, Sam put down the glass.

The President stood up, and Sam did so as well. "Toby has warned me about the consequences of not listening to my better angels, and he's right." He gripped Sam's shoulder. "You are my conscience and my better nature, and I have squandered your counsel. I can only beg you to forgive my arrogance."

Sam swallowed hard, shaken by the affection and loyalty he felt for this man. Both were emotions he thought he had carefully categorized and put away.

"Before I let you go, I have a favor to ask of you — although I no longer have that right. As you're considering your opportunities, it would please me greatly if you would include the one you have waiting for you here." The President pulled him into a brief hug, then stepped back, his eyes moist. "Godspeed, Sam."

"Thank you, Mr. President."

Picking up his overcoat, Sam stumbled on the rug as he reached the hall. A hand steadied him, and he met Charlie's dark, sympathetic eyes.

"You all right?"

Sam nodded. "Just clumsy."

"Having a conversation with the President will do that to you. C'mon, I'll take you down to the car."

"How have you been, Charlie?" he asked as they stepped onto the elevator.

"Not bad." He looked at Sam out of the corner of his eye. "Do you mind if I say something?"

"Go ahead, but let me warn you, between the President and the First Lady, there's very little I haven't heard tonight."

"Listen, I don't know what's going on except you resigned, the President has had a bunch of meetings about it, and I've talked to the FBI more than I'm comfortable with."

Sam smiled slightly. "It's always good to make connections in the Bureau."

"Maybe in your neighborhood, it is. In mine, it's a really good day when you pick up the phone and the guy on the other end doesn't say, 'This is Special Agent Simons of the FBI.'"

Sam's smile became a grin. "Sorry, I —"

"The President feels a connection to you, Sam."

His grin fading, Sam turned his attention to the display over the door. "I wrote his speeches for almost three years, Charlie. I put words to his vision."

"It's not just that. He sees a lot of himself in you, and he believes you two are pretty much in tune with each other. When you wrote that statement of support for Leo —"

Do me a favor, Sam. Don't show initiative.

"— I brought it to him, and you know he wasn't even surprised? He said he'd been waiting for it. He was so sure you'd do it, he didn't even ask you to."

The elevator doors opened, and they stepped out on the basement level.

"Sam, I know you put a lot of thought into it before you resigned, but I'm saying the President wants you here. And from what I've seen, so do the rest of Senior Staff and the communications assistants — especially Cathy."

Reaching into the pocket of his overcoat, Sam drew out a small slim box and an envelope. "Could you give these to her?"

Charlie looked at them and then at Sam, his eyes unhappy. "Sam, she won't want them. She's waiting for you to come back."

Sam held them out. "I want her to have them, to say thank you."

"And I'm telling you, she won't want them. Besides, nobody knows you're here. How am I going to explain how I got them?"

"You don't have to. Just leave them on her desk."

Charlie took them reluctantly. "Just think about what I said, okay?" He held out his hand. "Take it easy, man."

"You, too."

The driver held the door open, and Sam got into the car. As the car pulled away, he settled back against the seat, refusing to look back as they left the White House behind.