As they crossed the hotel lobby at a pace that was just short of a jog, Sam felt his nerves kick in again. The President strode along beside him, grasping his shoulder as he had since they stepped out of the limousine. Even as he smiled and waved to the hotel staff and guests who had gathered to see him arrive, his hold did not loosen. Josh and Leo followed with Charlie a step behind them. A phalanx of Secret Service agents encircled them as they hurried toward the waiting elevator.

As the door closed and the elevator began rising, the President checked his watch. Sam resisted the temptation to do the same thing. He knew it was no later than nine, but it seemed like hours had passed since the car had picked him up.

"Look, I've got a call I have to take when we get upstairs. It shouldn't take more than ten minutes, and then we'll sit down together, all right?"

"Of course, sir."

The President turned to Josh who was leaning against the wall of the car. "You'll keep him company?"

Josh straightened. "Yes, sir."

When the elevator doors opened, they stepped into the formal living room of the penthouse. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed a stunning view of Los Angeles, now a sea of blue-white lights in the darkness. The President and Leo disappeared into the study, and Charlie closed the doors. Sam walked to the windows, trying to put space between Josh and himself. Between the President, Josh and the Secret Service, he was getting a little claustrophobic.

"Where's Toby?" he asked, looking down at the street.

"Home, minding the store," Josh said, dropping onto one of the couches and loosening his tie.

He turned at that, surprised. "Who's here from Communications?"

Josh smiled and pointed a finger at him.

"I'm not—"

"Sam!" CJ said, stepping off the elevator. She crossed the room and gave him a hard hug. "You look good, mi amor," she said, her voice gentle as she stepped back and looked him up and down. "Rested and relaxed, but with just a touch of that deer-in-the-headlights look that says you've spent some quality time with the President." Her eyes met his. "You're all right?"

"Better than the last time I saw you," he confirmed.

"Where's the President?"

"Phone call, international crisis, you know the drill," Josh told her, stretching his arms out along the top of the couch. "I'm keeping an eye on Sam until he gets back."

"You're keeping an eye on Sam."

"You know, so he don't make a break for it," Josh said. He grinned at Sam. "Not that I wouldn't enjoy seeing the Secret Service tackle you in the lobby."

"He would never —" CJ started to protest, and Sam felt his color rise as she turned to him, incredulous. "You're not having cold feet!"

"Only for a second," Sam and Josh explained in unison.

She smiled. "It's been a long time since you two did that."

"Did what?" they chorused and then looked at each other.

"Okay, that's gotta stop," Sam said.

"Yeah, that was weird," Josh agreed. "CJ, Sam was wondering where Toby is."

"Nobody was there from Communications?" Sam asked.

"Well, I wouldn't say nobody, Sam. I was there and Carol —"

"I meant from the writing staff," he interrupted.

"You were there," CJ told him.

"First of all, I don't work at the White House anymore. Secondly, I wasn't exactly there, was I? I mean I was at the meeting for, you know, like two minutes at the end. I did watch some of it on TV, but I didn't do any of the prep. And speaking of which, who came up with that answer on the OMB restructuring the…"

His voice trailed off, seeing CJ look at Josh, one eyebrow slightly raised. Sam watched as they had a silent conversation — about him, he was sure, but the finer points escaped him. A few weeks away from the White House, and he was no longer fluent in reading subtext.

"What?" he demanded.

CJ kissed his cheek and then wiped away the lipstick smudge with her thumb. "It's good to see you, Sam."

They turned as the study door opened, and Charlie came out.

"Sam, he's ready for you."

Fighting for a semblance of calm, Sam followed him to the study. Charlie waved him in and then quietly shut the door. The room was wood-paneled with a small conference table and chairs to the right where Leo sat, reviewing and signing a stack of letters. The President led Sam to a pair of club chairs across the room. He had shed his suit jacket, loosened his tie, and rolled up his sleeves. Sitting in the chair the President indicated, Sam's eyes went to the small side table that stood between their chairs. A small stack of blue and red folders sat in the center.

Leo signed one of the letters and put it aside. "Sam, nothing's changed since we talked."

The President looked at him in surprise. "You've talked?" he demanded. "I don't recall you mentioning that, Leo."

His Chief of Staff rolled his eyes. "Sir, I think we can agree that there are many things I don't mentioned."

"But, for the purposes of this discussion —"

"For the purposes of this discussion, I'm just a guy sitting in a chair, doing some work."

The President looked from Leo to Sam and back. "This conversation — was it after your mandate?"

"That would depend on which mandate you're referring to, Mr. President. Not that it matters since I seem to recall you ignoring most of them."

"I used my best judgment — which, may I remind you, is one of many reasons people voted me into office."

"And I'm just a guy sitting in a chair," Leo said, returning his attention to the papers in front of him.

The President glared at him before turning to Sam. "A few weeks ago, I asked Toby to put together what you've been working on for the last couple of months. What he found shocked us." The President shook his head. "I'm ashamed to say that I didn't have the slightest idea of how much you handled, Sam. I'm grateful for all of it. I'm grateful that you chose to serve at the pleasure of this President."

"Thank you, sir."

The President put his hand on the folders. "These, though... Well, they absolutely stunned us."

Sam realized what those folders contained — position papers and opposition prep. When he had written them, he had been determined to do his best by them. And, as he finished each one, he had consigned it to the bottom drawer of his credenza, certain no one would ever read them.

"We were stunned by your passion and eloquence on issues none of us had paid the least bit of attention. Toby reviewed the security logs, so we know the number of hours you spent researching and writing." The President shook his head. "My god, you felt so strongly, yet you never said a word. Didn't you think any of us would want to hear your thoughts?"

Sam shook his head. "No, Mr. President, I didn't."

"Sam..."

"For months, all I heard was how important it was that we stick to the agenda, how we couldn't waste time on anything else, anything inconsequential." Sam knew his voice was getting louder with each word, but he could not control it. The disappointment and frustration were all but choking him. "It didn't matter that important ideas were getting lost. It didn't matter that we were losing the support of our friends. All that mattered was the agenda!" He drew a shaky breath. "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean to raise my voice."

"Don't apologize. It's time and more you said it."

Sam shook his head, trying to regain some level of detachment. Since he had come home, he had tried so hard to put it all behind him. The hours he had spent sailing had been filled with shouted diatribes, his angry words carried away by the wind. This morning he had been convinced that he had succeeded, that he would be able to meet the President and not lose his temper. Now he gripped the arms of the chair so tightly that his hands ached. Slowly, he forced himself to loosen his hold.

The President stood and poured two glasses of water from the carafe on the table, allowing him a moment to regain his composure. When he resumed his seat, he handed one of the glasses to Sam who took a swallow before setting it aside.

"Sam, I've only read a few of these, but Leo's read them all, and so have Toby and Josh. They agree with you. Things are getting lost, things that shouldn't be; and you were the only one who realized it. And you were the one we chose to shout down or ignore."

Steepling his fingers, the President rested them against his lips for a moment before continuing. "When you first resigned, I told Abbey that I didn't want to lose your words, that there was plenty of time for you to have your own voice. I realize now that I want your words, but I need your voice. You are the only one who refuses to let go of what we planned to do when we took office, the only one determined to stick by the things we campaigned on. We abandoned our course, and we need your conscience to guide us back."

"I don't think I'm the best choice for that," Sam began.

"You might not realize it, but you are not only the best choice, but the only choice. And as much as I'd like to drag you back to Washington with us tomorrow, I know there are other opportunities available to you." He paused and took a drink of water. "Sam, we've done our homework. We know how interested Beckman-Casey is in you."

Sam blinked. The information channels available to the White House never ceased to amaze him.

"I'm told they're in the forefront of environmental law — is that right?"

"Yes, sir."

The President leaned forward. "Then I want you to consider this: as the President's senior advisor on the environment, you would directly impact the White House's position on environmental legislation."

"Sir, I — ah..."

The President raised his hand. "Sit down with Beckman-Casey. Listen to what they have to offer you. You owe yourself that. But I want you to consider what we're offering you as well — the opportunity to shape policy on a national level. Think about it, and then come and talk to me — to us. Will you do that?"

The President rose to his feet, and Sam stood up. "Yes, sir."

Taking Sam's hand between both of his, the President spoke so softly that Sam barely heard the words. "Come back to us, Sam. We need you."