AN: I promise there will eventually be updates to Calling Sam, but this idea grabbed hold of my brain this morning and refused to let go until I'd written it. Blame the plot bunny!

key square – in chess, a square whose occupation by one side's king guarantees the achievement of a certain goal, such as the promotion of a pawn

"Have you asked him yet?"

Josh glanced up in surprise at the sudden change of topic, then quickly dropped his gaze back to the papers he was shuffling in his lap. "Not yet."

Santos raised an eyebrow. "Why not? For weeks now you've spent all your spare time looking for someone, for – oh, what was it?"

"The real thing," Josh muttered reluctantly.

"The real thing," Santos repeated. "Yeah. Now you finally find it, and what? You chicken out?"

Josh raised his head and glared at the president. "I am not chickening out."

"Then why haven't you asked him yet?"

Josh looked away again, shrugged, continued shuffling his papers. "I'm – I'm waiting for the right moment."

Santos gave him a hard stare. "Right."

Josh stood up so quickly he almost dropped the files he'd finally managed to get in the right order. "Are we done for tonight, sir?"

Santos resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "We're done." He shrugged off Josh's 'thank you, Mr. President,' watching with a faint smile as his Chief of Staff almost tripped over his own feet in his haste to escape the room. Just before he reached the door, Santos called after him, "Do us all a favor and just talk to him, would you?"

Choosing not to answer, Josh quickly closed the door behind him, calling a goodnight to Santos' secretary and ignoring her audible tsk as he rushed past her desk. Finally reaching the relative safety of the corridor outside, he allowed himself to slow, running a hand over his unruly hair and tugging at his tie. Truth be told, he really wasn't sure why he was stalling. It wasn't as if anyone would be particularly surprised if he left the White House again to back a new democratic candidate. Santos had been in office for seven years, after all. It was time to think about the future.

What might surprise everyone, though, was the identity of Josh's potential candidate. And he had a feeling that among the most surprised would be the candidate himself.

It was after midnight, and Sam was still working. He had told himself that as soon as this draft of the speech was done, he would go home. Admittedly, that had been about six hours ago. But he was making decent progress – in fact, he was almost done. Almost…

He reached absentmindedly for his coffee mug and jumped, nearly spilling the cold drink on his laptop as he noticed Josh leaning against the doorway.

"Josh! What – how long have you been standing there?"

Shaking his head, Josh entered the office and dropped onto the couch, putting his feet up on the small coffee table that sat in front of it. "Like, five minutes. And I watched you stare at that little ball thing for at least half of it without even noticing me."

"It's called a Newton's cradle," Sam muttered defensively.

"Whatever," Josh laughed. "You were staring at it like a zombie. It was weird."

Sam took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes tiredly, glancing at the clock. "Yeah, well, that might be because I haven't left this office – or this chair, actually – since I got dinner about six and a half hours ago." He stifled a yawn, rereading the last few sentences he'd written. "I'm almost done, though."

Josh sat up, leaning forward slightly. "So do you have a minute to talk, then?"

Glad for the excuse to take a break, Sam stood and stretched, moving around the desk to sit in one of the armchairs across from Josh. "What's up?"

Josh took a deep breath. "I don't know if you'd noticed or not, but for a while now I've been hunting for a new candidate for office…"

Sam let out a snort of laughter. "Josh, trust me, everyone in this building knows that. Hell, everyone in DC probably knows that."

"Right," Josh said. "Well… guess what?"

Sam sighed, deciding it was late enough at night that he may as well just humor his best friend and get it over with. "What?"

"I found him."

Sam stared at him for a moment, then leaned forward, unconsciously mirroring Josh's posture. "You found…"

Josh gave him a quick grin. "The real thing. Yeah."

Sam laughed, knowing how worried Josh had been about not being able to find another candidate who showed as much promise as Bartlet and Santos. "All right, then, spill! Who is it?"

Josh shifted nervously in his seat, staring at Sam. "It's you."

Sam stared back at him, suddenly speechless. Then he laughed incredulously. "What?"

"It's you, Sam," Josh said seriously. "You're it. You're the real thing. I want you to run for president."

"Of the United States?" Sam blurted out.

"No, Sam, of my Tuesday night bridge club."

"You don't have a Tuesday night bridge club."

"Not the point, buddy."

"Right."

They stared at each other for a long moment, Josh scrambling to think of an argument strong enough to convince Sam that this was a good idea, and Sam still struggling to process the idea that Josh actually appeared to be serious.

Silently cursing himself for not better preparing for this conversation, Josh finally asked lamely, "So what do you think?"

"I think you've lost your mind."

"Sam…"

"I mean, you can't be serious!" Sam ploughed on. "I'm a speechwriter, Josh. That's it. That's what I do. I'm the guy who stays behind the scenes and writes speeches for the guys who are smarter than me."

"What, you think you're not smart – "

"I can't do it, Josh," Sam interrupted him. "Keep looking. I'm not a Bartlet or a Santos. I'm not your guy." Standing up, he moved around behind his desk and settled back into his chair, opening his laptop. "Do you mind? I'm almost done with this, and I really want to finish."

Josh stood slowly. "Yeah. Sure." He left, wandering the halls absentmindedly until he found himself back at his own office. He hesitated for a moment in the doorway, and, not for the first time, was struck by how similar he'd managed to make it to the way it had looked a decade ago when it had belonged to someone else and Josh was just a deputy.

It had been five days since Josh had first asked Sam to run for president. In fact, he had asked five times now, once every day. He had tried early in the morning, hoping that Sam would be less stubborn before he'd been fully wakened by his coffee. He had tried taking Sam out to lunch and asking him away from the White House. He had tried catching him while he was distracted and running late for a meeting. He had tried reverse psychology, telling Sam that he'd changed his mind and didn't want him to run after all. Unfortunately, Sam had agreed. Finally, he had tried late at night again, just for the hell of it. It hadn't worked.

"He still hasn't changed his mind." Josh shuffled his feet, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. He glanced around self-consciously, making sure no one was watching. "I know he's the right one, but… he doesn't believe me. He doesn't see it." He shook his head. "I guess that's not really surprising. Sam's always been his own worst critic. You knew that, didn't you? You were good at making sure he didn't get lost in his own mind." He laughed bitterly. "Wish I was."

The silence he received in response was almost deafening. A stiff breeze rustled through the trees, and Josh shivered.

"He's so much like Bartlet. I mean, he always was, but now… the older he gets, the more he acts like him. It's a bit weird, to be honest." He laughed again, more genuinely this time. Then the smile faded. "So how'd you do it, then? I know Bartlet never would have run on his own. I know you were the one who went to him and convinced him he was the real thing. How'd you do it?"

Once again, there was no answer – but Josh hadn't really expected one. He sighed quietly, bending down to lay the flowers he was holding on Leo McGarry's grave.

"Miss you."

He turned and walked slowly back to his car, his mind whirling with the names of other democrats who were in a position to run for president, knowing in his heart that not a single one of them could measure up to Sam.

Sam barely glanced up from the drawer he was rummaging through when Josh entered his office and, as usual, commandeered his sofa as if he owned it. "You're not here to ask me to change my mind again, are you?"

Josh sighed dramatically, letting his head thump against the back of the couch. "No, I'm not. I give up, all right? I give up. You're a stubborn, pertinacious idiot, and I give up."

"Thank you." Sam finally looked up from his desk. "Pertinacious?"

"It's a good word," Josh said defensively.

"It is," Sam agreed. "I just didn't know you knew it."

"Shut up."

Grinning, Sam went back to his thorough search of his desk drawers. Josh watched him silently for a while, until his curiosity at last got the better of him.

"Lose something?"

Sam flushed slightly, clearing his throat. "My, uh… my spare glasses."

Now Josh was the one grinning. "Did you break your glasses again, Sam?"

"Maybe." Before Josh could so much as open his mouth to ask what he'd done, Sam snapped, "I got hit with a door, okay?" He again returned to his search, doing his best to ignore the laughter that Josh was unsuccessfully trying to hide.

Finally taking pity on Sam, who was squinting at the contents of his desk in an effort to bring them into better focus, Josh left the sofa and joined his friend. "Want some help?"

Sam pushed his chair back to give Josh space. "Be my guest."

As Josh began to dig through the semi-organized clutter in the first drawer, he asked, "So the door broke your glasses, huh?" Sam was behind him now, but Josh could hear his sigh.

"You're gonna make me talk about this, aren't you?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Then if you must know," Sam began somewhat irritably, "the door didn't break them. The door hit me and I dropped them, and then I… you know… I kind of stepped on them," he finished lamely.

Josh started to laugh – but then stopped suddenly, staring at something in the very bottom of the last drawer.

"What is it?" Sam asked, trying to lean around him. "Did you find them?"

"Not exactly." Josh shook his head, reaching into the drawer to remove the object that had grabbed his attention. "Is this what I think it is?"

Sam took the worn box from him in surprise, running his hand over its smooth surface. "It's the chess set Bartlet gave me all those years ago," he said softly. "I'd honestly forgotten it was in there." He popped the latch open and removed one of the polished pieces, a pawn, tilting it so it caught the light. "We played that night. He kicked my ass, of course." Sam smiled faintly at the memory.

"What did he tell you that night?"

Sam looked up in confusion, surprised at how direct the question was. "What?"

"He told you something that night," Josh said insistently. "I know he did. And I know you remember. What was it?"

Sam stared at the pawn in his hand a moment longer, then slowly looked up at Josh. "You're gonna run for president one day," he whispered. "Don't be scared. You can do it… I believe in you."

For several minutes, neither of them said anything. Sam continued to stare at the chess set, and Josh continued to stare at Sam, all but holding his breath as he waited for him to break the silence.

At long last, Sam said quietly, "I never told you about that."

"No."

"How'd you know, then?" he asked, already guessing what the answer must be.

"Bartlet told me."

Sam nodded slowly. "Yeah."

Sitting on the edge of the desk, Josh leaned toward him slightly. "You know why?"

"Why?"

"Because he knew you're too damn much like him," Josh answered, smiling.

Sam finally looked up at him. "What?"

"You're too much like him," Josh repeated. "You think he ever would have even thought about running for president on his own? It was Leo's idea. Leo was the one who convinced him. Just like he knew I'd have to convince you."

"Not doing a very good job of it, are you?" Sam joked weakly.

"Sam…"

"I'm kidding."

"Yeah." Shaking his head, Josh reached into the box of chess pieces and pulled one out. "That pawn in your hand? That's what you think you are right now. I know that. I know that's why you left back when Bartlet was president, and I know part of you still feels that way." He opened his hand and held it out. Resting in his palm was a king. "You can change that. You can change everything. All those crazy ideas you used to have? You can use them."

"I can't – I can't change everything. It doesn't work like that, and you know it."

"Yeah, but think about what we've done, Sam! About what Bartlet and Santos have done! That could be you. You could make a difference, and you can't tell me that's not what you've always wanted." He held up the king. "Come with me, Sam. Come with me to New Hampshire, and in a year the two of us can be back here turning this country into what you know it can be. All that potential you can see? You can make other people see it, too. You can do this."

"How do you know?"

Josh shook his head again. "It doesn't matter how I know. It just matters that I do. And that Bartlet did. Dammit, Sam, when he met you, you were a rookie kid who was only there because you loved to write and you wanted it to mean something, and four years later he was telling you that you'd run for president someday. Do you think he was joking?"

"No."

"Do you think he was stupid? Do you think he didn't know what the hell he was talking about?"

"No," Sam said again, more emphatically.

"Then are you going to run for president?"

There was utter silence in the room as the two of them stared at each other, each of them holding their breath as they waited for something, anything, to happen. And then Sam very slowly dropped the pawn back into the case, reached out, and took the king from Josh.

"You'll never guess who's here!"

Jed looked up as Abbey stepped out onto the back porch, smiling brightly. "An undertaker?" he deadpanned. "I know you think I've got one foot in the grave already, but I promise you, I'm still very much alive."

Abbey swatted his arm. "Two of your children decided to drop by for a visit."

"Two daughters, or a daughter and a son-in-law? Because if it's the latter, I'm not sure why you're so excited."

"Your other children, Jed," Abbey said with a smile.

Before he could answer, the back door opened and Sam and Josh stepped out of the house, both wearing enormous grins.

"Well," Bartlet said, eyeing them sternly. "You two certainly look older. Too busy to come visit an old man every once in a while?" He kept up the pretense just long enough for the two of them to start fidgeting, then allowed his face to soften into a smile. "Oh, relax. I was kidding. Grab a chair and make yourselves at home."

They did so, and once they were seated, Bartlet asked, "So… two of the White House's best and brightest running off to New Hampshire in the middle of the week to visit an ex-president? To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Well, sir…" Josh glanced at Sam. "Strictly speaking, as of this morning, neither of us actually work at the White House anymore."

"For the time being," Sam added.

"Oh?" Bartlet raised an eyebrow. "And why would that be?"

Reddening slightly, Sam nodded at Josh, who reached into an inner pocket of his coat and pulled out a small object, which he held out to Bartlet.

"We don't work in the White House at the moment because…" Sam laughed nervously. "Well, because you were right."

"Of course I was," Bartlet agreed sagely. "Doesn't really matter what about." He peered at the pen Josh had given him, and then handed it to Abbey. "If you'll excuse me for a moment, my eyes don't work quite as well as they used to," he said to Josh and Sam. Then he turned to his wife. "So if you don't mind, do me a favor and just tell me that says what I think it says."

Abbey laughed, staring at the pen for a long moment before looking up at the youngest of the three men in front of her, her eyes full of pride.

"It says, 'Seaborn for America.'"