With a sidelong look at his watch, Josh nodded at the Honorable Representative from Rhode Island. "I agree, Ken, but I think it will be a hard sell to any state that isn't along the East Coast."

"I've talked to Barry from Oregon and a couple of people from California, and they've all agreed to support it."

Josh closed the folder in front of him. "Now there are just the states in-between to bring on board. Let me know when some of them agree, and I'll take it to the President."

Everyone around the conference table in the Roosevelt Room began collecting their belongings, quiet chatter filling the room as Josh shook a few hands and hurried out. It was eight a.m., and he was fifteen minutes behind schedule. Not bad for a Wednesday, he congratulated himself as he paused in the Communications bullpen, his eyes going to Sam's office. For the first time since Friday, the door was open and the lights were on.

Sam stood behind his desk, his hands on his hips as he surveyed his office — an office filled with plants, fruit baskets and trays of cookies. The three bottles of scotch Josh had noticed the day before had, however, disappeared. Already secreted away in the bottom drawer of the credenza if he knew Sam.

"Hey," he said, leaning against the doorjamb. "You're back."

When Sam turned to face him, Josh was relieved to see the bruises under his eyes had faded from black and blue to purple. With luck, they would disappear by Monday. The bandage was gone, and he winced at the row of stitches in the middle of a still spectacular bruise.

"What is all this?" Sam asked. "It looks like... Well, honestly, I don't know exactly what it looks like, but I'm pretty sure the National Arboretum is missing some of its exhibits."

Josh dropped into one of the guest chairs. "Ever read Day of the Triffids?"

Putting on his glasses, Sam flipped through a pile of cards, emails and gift tags. "Day of the what?"

"Triffids. Plants that walk around on three legs and have these poisonous stingers that kill people —"

Sam glanced at the foliage around the room. "These triffids — fiction, right?"

Josh swallowed a grin. "So they say."

"Cathy!"

"Don't worry, we have it under control," Cathy told him, coming in with a cup of coffee which she handed to him. "We've sent thank-you notes for almost everything, but I knew there were a few you'd want to write yourself." She pointed at a small stack of cards.

"You gave away the flowers to everyone who helped out on Saturday, right?"

"Didn't you notice? It's like a botanical garden out there."

He took a swallow of coffee, sighing happily at its strength. "Ginger made the coffee this morning?"

She grinned. "Came in early just to do it."

Sitting down, Sam gestured around the office. "And what about all this? Where did it come from?"

"Those started arriving yesterday. I guess people heard you were due back today. Don't worry, it won't be hard to get rid of it."

"I'll help, you know, take some stuff off your hands," Josh volunteered, looking at a tower of fruit, nuts and candy.

Sam nodded, carefully putting a basket of what appeared to be homemade cookies to one side. He met Josh's raised eyebrows with a small shrug. "From Mrs. Landingham."

"She made you cookies, like for you personally?" Josh asked, half awed and half jealous.

"She knows I like..." He looked at Cathy for help. "The ones with cinnamon sugar on top?"

"Snickerdoodles," she supplied.

"Sam, we all like her snickerdoodles," Josh protested. "I mean, her chocolate chip are terrific, the oatmeal-raisin are incredible, but those are..." He paused, at a loss for a superlative strong enough.

"So much for your 760 verbal," Sam teased.

"Sublime! Her snickerdoodles are sublime!"

Toby appeared in the doorway. "Snickerdoodles? Where?"

Josh gestured at Sam. "Mrs. Landingham made them for him, and he won't share. Don't you think he owes us after what we went through last weekend?"

Sam sighed, but brought out the basket and offered it to his three visitors. After each had taken one, he put the basket underneath his desk. "I just want to warn you that I've got them counted."

"Taste better pilfered," Josh managed around his mouthful of cookie.

"That's it. They're going in my car first chance I get."

The phone rang, and Cathy hurried out to her desk to answer it, taking her cookie with her. "Sam Seaborn's office..."

Toby looked around the office. "Ever read Day of the Triffids?"

Cathy appeared in the doorway. "Sam, the President would like to see you."

Josh stood up as Sam put on his suit jacket and picked up the leather portfolio from the corner of his desk. Tucking his glasses into his shirt pocket, he followed Josh out.

"Lunch today?" Josh asked as they reached the Roosevelt Room.

"One o'clock in the Mess?"

"Sounds good."

"Josh, I've been looking all over for you!" Donna's voice carried down the length of the hall. "You're late for..."

"Later," Sam murmured.

Josh sighed as he turned to meet his fast-approaching assistant. "Much..."

When Sam walked into Mrs. Landingham's office, she was not at her desk, and the door to the Oval Office was closed. Hearing the murmur of voices coming from inside, he sat down on the edge of Ted's desk — or rather the desk that had been his before the President's bodyman had returned to Dartmouth for his senior year.

"Good morning, Sam," Mrs. Landingham said as she came through the door with a stack of files in her arms. "How are you, dear?"

Sam rose to his feet. "I'm fine. Thank you for the cookies. They're my favorites."

"You're very welcome." She put the files on the corner of her desk and looked steadily at him. With a small nod, she sat down. "How are your parents?"

Sam returned to his seat on the desk opposite hers. "They're both fine, although they swear they aged ten years on Saturday."

"I have no doubt they did." Mrs. Landingham looked at him over her glasses. "We were all very worried, but your mother and father..." She shook her head.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Margaret was touched they sent her flowers. It's a beautiful arrangement."

Sam added another name to his mental list of people to thank today. "They — we all appreciate everything she did for them."

The door to the Oval opened, and a group of people in uniform filed out. A few nodded as they passed Sam, a Marine colonel he knew on sight offered his hand.

Admiral Fitzwallace followed them out, a grin spreading across his face when he saw Sam. "Good to see you, son. First day back?" he asked, shaking hands.

"Yes, sir."

"You gave us quite a scare."

"So I've heard."

"I had lunch with Bob Day —" He paused at Sam's blank look. "Commandant of the Coast Guard."

"Oh, right."

"Great guy. We've been friends for years. Anyway, I told him that, if this happens again, the Navy would be happy to send a couple helicopters with SAR swimmers."

"Admiral, much as I appreciate that, you don't know how hard I'm going to try to keep this from ever happening again."

Fitzwallace laughed. "Good to hear, Sam, good to hear."

"Sam?" the President called from the Oval. "Sam's out there?"

"Will he never use the intercom?" Mrs. Landingham murmured without looking up.

"Take it easy," Fitzwallace called back over his shoulder as he joined the small group of officers waiting for him in the hallway.

Sam walked into the Oval Office. "Good morning, Mr. President."

President Bartlet dropped his glasses on his desk and hurried forward. Taking Sam's hand between his two, he studied Sam's face.

Sam flushed, conscious of the deep concern in the President's eyes. It mirrored what he had seen on his parents' faces when he awoke at the hospital. It had not been until Monday afternoon that he had seen it start to ease.

Closing his eyes for an instant, the President murmured, "Thank God" before releasing his hand. Gripping Sam's upper arm, he directed him to the armchair Leo usually occupied. Sitting down opposite, he leaned forward, asking, "How are you?"

Sam unbuttoned his jacket. "The headaches are almost gone, the stitches come out in a couple of days, and the bruises are fading."

"You've been to see your doctor?"

"Monday. Overall he was pleased, but he told me to keep following the instructions the hospital gave me."

"Abbey was concerned about post-concussive syndrome. Did he mention anything about that?"

"He reviewed the symptoms with me, but he didn't seem overly concerned about it."

"Well, make sure we know what to look for as well."

"Yes, sir."

The President sat forward, his eyes never leaving Sam. "You know, this is the point where I usually make a bad joke, you laugh, and life goes back to normal."

Sam blinked, not sure what to say.

"I'm sure everyone has told you how concerned we all were."

It was not quite a question, but Sam managed a small nod.

"Sam, I have something to confess. I wasn't concerned; I was terrified. I was terrified for you. I was terrified for your parents and everyone here who loves you. But, most of all, I was terrified for myself."

Sam swallowed hard, but he could not look away from this man he was so privileged to serve.

"I was terrified I would lose you. Not just your words and your idealism, but the man I've come to know. I treasure our relationship, Sam. I treasure you. And on Saturday, I was terrified that I wouldn't have the chance to make sure you know that. As conceited as it may sound, I see a great deal of myself in you, but you're a much better man than I could ever hope to be."

"I —" Sam stopped and cleared his throat before trying again. "I'm honored, Mr. President. Thank you."

President Bartlet nodded as he leaned back in his chair. They were silent for a moment before he admitted, "Honestly, man, I can't take another accident like this one any time soon."

"Josh made me promise not to go sailing again until everyone's recovered from this."

"The first of the year is good as far as I'm concerned."

"That's about what Josh said."

His eyes drifted to the window over the President's shoulder and the Rose Garden beyond. At this time of day, it was still in shadow, but they had played touch football in the bright sunlight of afternoon. Had it only been ten days since the game?

"How are your parents dealing with all this?"

"They're certainly..." Sam cast around for a word. "Well, 'relieved' doesn't really cover it."

"I can't imagine it even begins to describe how they feel," the President murmured. "They're still here?"

"Actually, they fly home today. They have an 11:45 from Dulles."

President Bartlet's eyebrows rose. "You're not taking them?"

"I wanted to, but they insisted on taking a taxi so I could get back to work." Sam frowned. "They're extremely stubborn, sir."

"Like another Seaborn I know." The President stood up, and Sam immediately rose as well. "Mrs. Landingham!"

The door opened an instant later, and she asked calmly, "Yes, sir?"

"Arrange for a car and driver for Sam, will you? He's taking his parents to the airport."

"Sir, that's really not necessary," Sam tried as Mrs. Landingham hurried out, closing the door behind her.

The President gripped his shoulder. "Listen to me, Sam. Hug them, kiss them, and tell them you love them. There's absolutely nothing more important that you could be doing than that."

Sam nodded, emotion a hard knot in his throat.

"And, Sam?" He nodded toward the Rose Garden. "When I get back from vacation, we're going to give Josh and Toby that rematch they're demanding."

"Yes, sir."

The President opened the door for him. "Abbey and I are leaving on Friday for seven glorious days in Jackson Hole."

"Grand Teton?"

"Yes indeed. 484 square miles of national park." He pointed at Sam. "Established when?"

He thought and then shook his head. "I don't know."

"February 26, 1929." The President looked at the small group waiting for him. "Any National Park buffs?" When no one responded, he grinned. "Excellent!"

Sam hid a smile as he turned to go. Nodding to a few people, he made his way to the hall.

"Sam," the President called after him.

He turned back. The President stood beside Mrs. Landingham's desk, one hand resting on the back of her chair as she talked on the phone. In the hectic whirl of the West Wing, Sam was reminded that this man was its calm center. "Sir?"

The President touched his fist to his heart.

"Thank you, Mr. President."

"Now go get your parents." He gestured people into the Oval and followed them in. "What's next?"

AN: Thanks to all of you who made it this far, especially those who left such great reviews or sent me emails. Every one of them was appreciated. Thanks also to those who chose this as a favorite. Special thanks to the Lemanskis (USNR and especially, USCG). No, it wasn't a coincidence that the Coast Guard spokesperson shared your last name. I tried to keep everything as true to life as possible once I knew you were reading the story. And Ecri, this story wouldn't have been written if it hadn't been for you. ~ Pan