Before Somebody's Going to Emergency, Somebody's Going to Jail

The Oval Office was bright and sunny, the atmosphere relaxed. The meeting between the president and his senior staff was beginning to wind down, with just a few last pieces of business to attend to before everyone would be dismissed. At the moment, Bartlet was talking to CJ, asking for more detail on a press release she had planned for later in the afternoon.

Sam Seaborn was not listening. He had tried to at first, but somewhere along the line, the voices of his colleagues had faded, becoming little more to him than tuneless background noise. He stared unseeingly at a patch of carpet in between his shoes, utterly unaware that the conversation had just shifted. His own preoccupation, the tumultuous thoughts that had been rattling around his head since the night before, seemed to fill his ears with a faint buzzing.

"Sam?"

He jumped, snapping suddenly out of his reverie as the president called his name for what he suspected was not the first time.

"Nice of you to join us," Bartlet said sardonically, an eyebrow raised at his Deputy Communications Director's uncharacteristic absentmindedness.

Sam reddened slightly, looking suitably abashed. "Sorry, sir, I… what was the question?"

"I just asked how the speech was coming along."

"Oh… right." Sam hesitated for a brief moment, struggling to get his thoughts in order, then answered, "It's almost finished. I should have it ready to go over with Toby sometime this afternoon, and then we'll come up with a final draft."

Bartlet studied him intently for a moment, then nodded. "All right."

Sam sank back into his seat with a faint sigh as the conversation moved on, listening mutely as the president expressed his satisfaction and then dismissed the assembled group. He had just started to rise when Bartlet amended his statement.

"Sam, you stay back for a minute, please."

Dreading what was to come, Sam reluctantly sat back down.

Bartlet waited until the rest of the senior staff had left, most of them casting curious looks in Sam's direction, before again addressing the obviously distracted young man. "Everything all right, Sam?"

For a minute or two, Sam didn't answer. He sat stiffly, hunched over, hands clasped together to keep them from shaking. Finally, he spoke. "I just – " His voice was so quiet it could barely be heard. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Have – have you ever known someone for a really long time – decades, even – someone you trust and admire, and then one day… one day you find out something about them that changes everything, and you realize that they never really were the person you thought you knew at all?" He finally forced himself to look up at the president, and Bartlet saw that his eyes were shining, his expression lost and pleading.

"Sam…"

Just as quickly as the vulnerability had appeared, it was gone, a blank mask snapping down over Sam's face. He stared at the carpet again. "Can I go now, sir?"

Bartlet was reluctant to let him leave while he was clearly still in such a state of distress. But it was also clear that whatever was bothering him, he didn't want to talk about it at the moment. So he nodded. "You can go, Sam."

"Thank you," came the quiet response as Sam stood shakily and hurried out of the room.

Almost as soon as he was gone, Charlie appeared in the doorway. Before he could so much as open his mouth, the president spoke. "Would I be correct in assuming that Leo's been standing right outside?"

"Yes, sir," Charlie gave his usual reply, by now no longer bothering to wonder how the president knew.

"Send him in."

"Yes, sir."

Charlie stepped out, and Leo appeared a moment later, settling into the chair across from his friend's.

"I'm guessing you heard all that?" Bartlet asked, knowing that his Chief of Staff would be just as worried about Sam as he was.

Leo nodded. "Not that he really gave you much. But Jesus, what's a kid like him doing talking about decades? Sam's what, thirty-three?"

"Thirty-two," Bartlet corrected.

"All right then," Leo conceded. "So how many people could he possibly have known for decades who have been lying about who they are?"

Bartlet shook his head. "Not too many, Leo. That's what worries me."

Sam was relieved to escape the Oval Office, but upon exiting it, realized immediately that he didn't know where to go. He knew that what he should do was go back to his own office and continue working on the speech – but that would likely mean facing Toby, and the last thing he wanted right now was to have to face one of his colleagues.

Just a few minutes later, however, he found himself correcting his assessment. The actual last thing he wanted, he thought even as it happened, was to be pulled into CJ's office and forced to face all of his colleagues. But nonetheless, there were CJ, Josh, and Toby, all standing there waiting for him, and all – even Toby, although to a lesser extent – looking concerned.

Knowing that he'd never escape, Sam tried to avoid making eye contact with any of them as he sat heavily on the edge of CJ's desk, letting the other three arrange themselves in a semicircle around him. When a long moment had passed and he had still failed to break the silence, however, CJ prompted him softly.

"What's the matter, Samshine?"

Hands beginning to shake again, Sam folded his arms tightly across his chest in what none of the other three failed to recognize as a defensive posture.

"I just found out that my dad's been having an affair for the last twenty-eight years."

For a long moment, the room was filled with a shocked silence. Once the words sank in, though, it was CJ who finally broke it.

"Oh, Sam…" She sat on the desk next to him and put an arm around him, tightening her hold when he leaned against her and rested his head on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, buddy," Josh said softly, stepping forward to give Sam's shoulder a squeeze.

Sam nodded slightly, not looking at him or any of them. "Yeah."

Toby didn't say anything. He was shocked, furious. He'd never met Sam's father, had never even so much as seen a picture of him, and so the sudden ferocity of his anger surprised him. If he'd known where the elder Seaborn lived, he would gladly have caught a redeye out to California just to punch the man in the face. Pushing his own rising feelings of brotherly protectiveness aside, he cast around for something he could say to Sam, anything that might make him feel better. Verbal comfort never had been his strong suit, though, and before he could come up with anything beyond the most useless of platitudes, Sam had gently shrugged off CJ's arm and stood up.

"I should go," he said lamely, still not looking any of them in the eye. "I've got work to do."

Not knowing what else to do for him, they had to let him leave.

"We should have told him to go home."

Leo raised an eyebrow at Toby's statement. "Oh, come on. It's Sam; you really think he would have gone?"

"No," Toby conceded.

Shaking his head, Leo walked over to the window that separated Toby's office from Sam's, staring through it at the young man in question. As far as he could tell, Sam hadn't even noticed he was there. Despite his earlier insistence that he had work to do, Toby had looked in on him enough times throughout the day to see that Sam hadn't accomplished much.

"Twenty-eight years, though?" Leo asked softly, still not sure he believed it.

"That's what he said," Toby confirmed grimly.

"God, that's most of his life."

Toby didn't answer. He was more than aware of that; in fact, he'd spent most of the afternoon trying not to think about Sam, at just four years old, blissfully unaware that his father was not – and now would never be – the man he thought he was.

Once again shaking his head in disbelief, Leo headed for the door. "I'd better get back to the president. I'll have to tell him; he's been worried about Sam since staff this morning."

Toby nodded.

"I'll tell him not to ask Sam about it, though. You, Josh, and CJ just keep an eye on him. I know Sam's not the most emotionally open guy, but… this one's gonna be pretty hard on him."

"Yeah," Toby sighed tiredly. "I know."