Title: Fathers

Author: N'kala
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to Aaron Sorkin. I make no money from this fic.
Summary:

Author's Note: Still playing in this fandom with different ideas. This takes place during the campaign. I saw a challenge on building a more father/son moment between Bartlet and Sam, and I went in this direction. A couple things to note:

a.) in this particular head canon, I'm assuming Sam skipped some grades, so his
age in here is somewhere in the mid-twenties (ish).
b.) his father is controlling; no close relationships and no 28-year affair

Fathers

By: N'kala

"You ready?" Sam called to Josh, adjusting his necktie in front of the mirror.

"Just about," Josh replied from the bathroom. "I'm surprised you're so chipper this morning; your phone didn't stop dinging until after midnight last night."

Sam winced. "Sorry about that."

"Eh," Josh replied, ducking his head out of the bathroom to glance at Sam. Patches of shaving cream still dotted his face. "Who was it? Lisa?"

Sam frowned. "Not exactly. She was the first text, but the rest were from my dad."

The admission sent a jolt of surprise through Josh. He ducked into the bathroom to pat his face dry, then moved into the room to face Sam fully. "Your dad?"

"Josh-," Sam started wearily.

"Is he still hounding you?" Josh demanded.

"He's angry about me jumping ship," Sam told him. "He'll get over it."

"It's been three months," Josh insisted.

"He's really angry," Sam amended. "It's fine." He grabbed his suit jacket and slung it over his arm, then picked up his briefcase. "I'm heading down to the lobby to meet up with the group."

Josh wanted to continue the conversation, but he could see that Sam wasn't ready to talk about his father just yet. He nodded, mentally promising himself to get more information out of Sam later that night. "All right, I'll be down there in a few minutes."

Sam nodded and slipped out of the room as fast as he could without seeming like he was escaping.

The hotel lobby was fairly busy for mid-morning, with people lining up to check out at the front counter. Sam walked over to one of the sitting areas that their group had designated as their meeting place while they were there, finding Toby sitting in one of the plush armchairs and reading something from a folder.

"Morning Toby," Sam greeted, setting his jacket and briefcase down on the chair beside his mentor.

Toby grunted, not lifting his eyes from his paper.

Sam smiled faintly and glanced around the room, taking in the faces of the people around him. His eyes fell on a shockingly familiar face and his body froze.

A tall, solidly-built man with a distinguished air about him was striding purposefully in his direction. Sam's eyes locked on the man's, unable to turn away.

"Samuel," the man said upon arrival.

Sam nodded.

Toby glanced up at the new arrival, his gaze assessing the man in idle curiosity.

The man glanced down at Toby, then turned back to Sam. "I need to speak with you. In private."

Sam glanced down at Toby. "Um . . ."

Toby raised an eyebrow. "We leave in ten minutes."

"I'll be quick," Sam promised.

The man gestured for the entrance to the hotel. Sam nodded and followed the man outside, leaving Toby to sink back into his folder.

Leo stepped off of the elevator car and walked straight over to his team's designated meeting place, spying Toby and an abandoned briefcase and jacket he recognized as belonging to Sam.

"Where's Sam?" Leo asked, glancing around the lobby as he approached Toby.

"Someone he knew showed up and asked to talk to him," Toby replied absently, not lifting his eyes as he checked through the folders in his briefcase. "They stepped outside for a few minutes."

"We're leaving for the thing in five minutes," Leo stated.

Josh exited the elevators at that moment and, after a quick scan of the lobby, trotted up to them. "Everyone ready?"

"Just about," Leo told him, still scanning the room. His eyes landed on Bartlet, who had just emerged from another elevator. Bartlet met his gaze and waved a pack of cigarettes in the air, gesturing to a side door. Leo nodded at him in acknowledgement, continuing his conversation with Josh. "We're just waiting on CJ and Sam."

"I just saw CJ upstairs," Josh replied. "She was on the phone, but she said to say she's on her way down. Sam left before me; isn't he here already?"

"Apparently he's talking to somebody outside," Leo replied.

Josh frowned. "Who? Everyone he knows in Sioux City is right here in this building."

"Evidently not," Toby stated. "This older guy came up to us a few minutes ago and asked to speak to Sam. Sam seemed to know him."

Worry began to cloud Josh's features, along with a spark of anger. "Older guy? Brown eyes, graying hair, built a little like a linebacker?"

Leo and Toby's attention sharpened at the hard tone Josh's voice had taken. "Yeah, as a matter of fact," Toby answered. "Do you know him?"

"We've met," Josh said shortly.

"Is Sam in some kind of trouble?" Leo asked.

"Which way did they go?" Josh demanded.

"Josh-," Leo began.

The rest of his words were lost as a sudden commotion from outside the hotel grabbed their attention. Josh was off like a shot towards the source, Leo and Toby close on his heels as concern for their young friend added wings to their feet.

Bartlet lit his cigarette and leaned against the brick facade of the hotel, taking a long drag and releasing it slowly. He smiled and nodded at a woman walking past with her young son, taking the moment to relax before their rally downtown.

Raised voices from just around the corner of the hotel shattered the peace he had found. Bartlet rolled his eyes as he took another drag, then straightened to retreat to another quiet spot when he recognized one of the voices as Sam's. He hesitated, the shock of the anger in his young speechwriter's tone gluing his feet to the ground.

" . . . shouldn't have come here!" Sam was saying.

"How could I not?" the other voice demanded. "You're throwing away everything we've worked for, and for what? Some two-bit hack with a pipe dream?"

"Everything 'we' worked for?" Sam shot back. "That's funny, 'cuz I don't remember seeing you at my graduation from Princeton or Duke. Or in New York, when I was hired at Gage Whitney!"

Bartlet began to feel uncomfortable with eavesdropping on what was certainly a private disagreement. He usually tried to maintain a professional distance with the men and women who worked for him, but the longer he spent time with them on the road during his campaign, he couldn't deny that he was coming to care about his team.

"It was my money that sent you to school!" the other voice stated. "It was my connections that got you to New York and Dewey Ballantine in the first place!"

"Why are you here, Dad?" Sam's voice was suddenly very weary.

Bartlet frowned, his feet moving him closer before his brain realized it. Unease began to churn in his gut at his speechwriter's tone. The small voice in the back of his mind insisted it wasn't too late to leave; he hadn't been discovered yet. The father in him, however, refused to let him go without making sure Sam was all right.

"I'm here to bring you back to New York," Sam's father said. "I've made some calls and pulled some strings. You can still salvage your career if you leave with me right now."

"You had no right!" Sam yelled. "I'm an adult! This is my life! You have no say in it! I'm finally doing something that matters; why can't you just be happy for me?"

"Something that matters?" Sam's father shot back. "Look at you! You're camping out in hotels and scribbling words on paper. You're not even the primary speechwriter for Bartlet! You're wasting your education being a second string writer to a guy who has no chance of becoming president! Now stop arguing with me and get in the car!"

"Let go of me!" Sam cried.

The cigarette dropped out of nerveless fingers as Bartlet charged around the corner at Sam's cry. Blue eyes quickly took in a tall, muscular man standing beside a black SUV with a hand clamped around Sam's bicep in an unyielding grip.

Sam was tugging against his father's grip. At Bartlet's arrival, Sam's eyes slid to the governor and he froze. Surprised at his son's sudden stillness, Sam's father followed Sam's gaze and turned to find Bartlet watching him.

"This is a private discussion between me and my son," he stated coolly. "You can go."

Bartlet ambled closer, careful not to make any sudden movements. "No, I don't think I can," he replied airily. He focused on Sam, gentling his tone. "Are you all right, Sam?"

Sam's father tightened his grip on Sam's arm as if in warning. Sam winced.

"This is none of your business," Sam's father told him bluntly. "I'll thank you to leave."

"Sam?" Bartlet said again.

Sam glanced quickly up at his father, then turned back to Bartlet. "I'm fine, Governor. My father was just leaving."

"We were just leaving," Sam's father corrected him. "I'll send for his things, but my son must return to New York right away."

"That's a shame," Bartlet stated. "Especially since he's already informed you that he has no intention of going with you."

Sam's father glowered at Bartlet. "He's my son, and he'll do as I say."

"The hell I will!" Sam suddenly exploded, trying once more to free himself from his father's vise-like grip. "I'm not going anywhere with you! I've made my decision, and I'm staying with the campaign! If you don't leave me alone, I'll contact the police and tell them that you're harassing me! Let's see if your contacts will stand by you after they hear-."

Sam's father abruptly released Sam, causing Sam to overbalance. Before he could regain his footing, his father's hand swung out and backhanded him across the face with enough force to send Sam crashing onto the ground with a cry of pain.

Bartlet closed the distance between himself and Sam's father, grabbing Sam's father by the front of his shirt and slamming him back against the SUV with a roar of anger. Despite the fact that the man stood a full foot taller than Bartlet, his surprise at the sudden attack gave Bartlet the advantage.

"Leave. Now." Bartlet's voice came out as a low growl. "Do not ever call your son. Don't speak to him, don't text him, don't write him any letters. If I ever see you come within fifty feet of him, I will marshall all power of whatever office I hold to ensure that you are ruined before I kick your ass. You got me?"

Sam's father tried to twist free, but Bartlet pulled him forward and slammed him against the car again.

"You got me?" he repeated icily.

Sam's father's eyes shifted, noting the appearance of several more people gathering nearby at the commotion. Bartlet's glare never wavered from his face, intent upon an answer.

Sam's father nodded wordlessly. Bartlet held him a moment longer, staring into his eyes to drive his point home, then released him. He stepped back, dimly aware of someone slipping behind him to go to Sam, but he didn't dare turn his gaze away from Sam's father.

Sam's father straightened his shirt. Without so much as a glance at his son, he opened the door to the SUV and slid into the driver's seat. Bartlet continued watching him until the SUV turned the corner and drove out of sight.

Leo was at his side immediately. "You okay?"

Bartlet took a deep breath, turning to Sam. Sam was sitting up, holding his cheek and staring up at Bartlet in a mix of shock, embarrassment, and wonder. Beside him crouched Josh, who was speaking softly to him and trying to turn Sam's face to get a better look at his injury.

Bartlet stepped forward and held out a hand. Sam stared at the hand for a long moment, then grasped it and climbed to his feet.

"Governor . . . sir . . . I . . ." Sam tried to meet Bartlet's eyes, but couldn't seem to raise his own eyes any higher than Bartlet's collar.

Bartlet smiled gently, reaching up to gently squeeze Sam's shoulder. "You okay, Sam?"

Sam nodded. "Yes sir, I'm fine."

Bartlet grunted and turned to Josh. "He's gonna need some ice. I'll find Abby and let her know to check him over."

Sam jolted. "Sir, the rally-."

"Will still be there in a half hour or so," Bartlet interjected. He held Sam's gaze for a moment, the feelings he'd been suppressing finally coalescing into understanding. "There will always be rallies, and debates, and speeches. We take care of our own first."

Surprise flared in Sam's eyes, and he glanced at Josh.

Bartlet turned to Leo. "Leo, can you call the mayor and let him know we're running a little behind?"

"Of course, sir," Leo replied. "What reason do you want me to give him?"

Bartlet turned back to Sam, smiling faintly. "Tell him it's a family emergency."

END