Dark Suits, Tattered Jeans, and Faded Rugs
Archive: Yes to Persuaders, anyone else just ask
Fandom: West Wing (Leo, Sam. Implied Leo, Jed)
Feedback: much appreciated to gryffindor@bettelyrics.com
Warnings: Consensual m/m discipline. No slash. Rated R for language and spanking.
Disclaimer: West Wing remains the property of Aaron Sorkin, a man who owns all my jealousy as well. No infringement or harm is intended with the use of these characters.
Summary: The after effect of Sam's reaction to the President's MS, as mentioned in "Human Again."
Notes: Quotes come from Romans in the Bible, King James Version and King Lear Act II, Scene IV.
Spoiler: Two Cathedrals, In the Shadow of Two Gunmen, Bad Moon Rising. Minor spoilers for other episodes.
Status: Follows "Human Again"
The President, at least, was calm, or seemed to be in the face of the ensuing milieu. He hadn't really said much since Mrs. Landingham's accident, and had been oddly nonverbal during the funeral, not even speaking the Lord's Prayer, though Leo wasn't certain if it was emotion or indignation at a non-denominational service that rendered him silent. Afterwards, Leo had ordered the church cleared for him and when he'd emerged, again he'd said nothing, just shoved his hands in his pockets and strode towards his waiting car looking furious and pale, like he'd just summoned the wrath of God upon himself. At the White House, Leo had sat him down in a chair in the Oval Office and ordered him to stay until he was fetched. The President had nodded weakly and didn't even object to being sat in one of the straight-backed leather chairs normally reserved for disliked dignitaries. This disturbed Leo slightly, it being a sort of test of the President's psyche. When he returned, the President had moved to a more comfortable chair, but he was leaned forward enthusiastically reciting numbers and statistics about poverty and homelessness and crime and teenage mothers to an invisible audience as though his very soul depended on it. When Leo tapped him, the confused look returned, only briefly, though, and as his eyes refocused, the President squinted at Leo and smiled. He whispered something and perhaps because he had not spoken in so long his voice was hoarse, certainly it was that and not emotion that caused the raspiness that made Leo lean down, his ear practically to the President's mouth before he could make out the words:
"Bring it on."
Then Leo was smiling, but still serious, as the President strode out into the rain, ignoring pleas that he don a coat, so he could stand, rain-soaked, before the nation's press corps and announce that he, Josiah Bartlet, frequent sufferer of relapsing remitting multiple sclerosis would indeed be seeking a second term. The staff had cheered behind strained smiles that predicted endless days of stress that could result in either re-election or jail for some of them, or perhaps all of the above.
So it shouldn't have surprised him that Sam was standing in his office six am on Saturday looking like something the cat had dragged in and licked off. His shirt was half tucked in and his brown hair was sticking up in the back like he'd spit on his palm and tried to slick it down to make himself presentable. He stood with his hands at his sides and stared at Leo. Leo stared back and almost would have preferred that one of them begin moving, but neither he nor Sam was a pacer. It was a balancing act, really, the meetings he had with the President, with the other man always moving around like some ping pong ball.
"Sam?"
"Hmm?" Sam blinked and seemed stupefied that Leo should expect something of him.
"Did you need something?" Leo asked. He didn't mean to snap, except well, this was Sam and sometimes he just couldn't help himself.
Sam blinked again. He fidgeted and tucked the back of his shirt into his pants. "No, Leo. Sorry to bother you."
He left without another word. Leo, for his part, did not mention that six am on a Saturday was quite an odd time to pay someone a visit when one had nothing to say. He returned to his work and forgot about it.
There were rumors that Sam was in some trouble again. Leo heard rumblings of them on the rare occasions he entered the bullpen to fetch Toby or Josh. If he were a paranoid man, he might think that Sam was avoiding him, but he attributed Sam's ducked head and hastily exiting back to a desire to fend off the growing whispers. Of course, it could have simply been one of his normal speech-writing Sam trances. It was difficult to tell what was normal with Sam anymore, given the propensity he had for wandering aimlessly and muttering to himself anyway. Still, Leo half expected to find Sam sleeping on his office couch again as he had the week he'd learned about his father and the mistress of twenty-five years. Sometimes he wondered what would have happened if he hadn't come in early that day and discovered Sam asleep, peaceful for once until he'd awakened ruffled and embarrassed at being caught. Certainly he wouldn't feel an obligation towards the younger man if he hadn't found him. Certainly not a caring, an affinity towards him.
He never questioned why he wanted so badly to help the others. Whether it was Sam, or the President, or Josh. Of course, he rarely questioned anything. His mother had told him he was made for the service, even as a child when he'd empty his pockets nightly of wounded animals he'd picked up on the way home and beg his mother with watery eyes to "fix them." Perhaps she was right. In any case, he was happiest in his work. Happier even than the President. So, he didn't analyze himself or ask why he'd told Josh the parable about jumping into a manhole with a friend or why the President agreed to their secret arrangement, or why he wanted to call Sam into his office and shoulder whatever problem he was having. It could have been survivor's guilt. Maybe it was the desire to show that he'd learned something from fifty years of life, if not from all the rehab programs.
Sam showed up the next Saturday at the more reasonable hour of 6:15. His hair was uncombed, but he'd remembered to tuck his shirt in. He stared at Leo's hands. Leo made up excuses to move them around his desk just so he could watch Sam's eyes follow them. Finally, he hid them on his lap and almost felt bad over Sam's obvious disappointment.
"Sam?" he prompted.
"Hmm?" The blankness was back. Sam often said that he just played at being smart, and Leo was tempted to believe it. He might, if he hadn't seen him in action so many times.
"What do you need?"
Sam shrugged. He moved to leave, but Leo sighed and he stopped.
"Are you in some trouble, Sam?"
Sam dropped his head, and Leo interpreted the careless shrug as a "yes."
"Is it...your friend?" He stopped himself from saying "that hooker" and from the way Sam's eyes darted up and came as close to glaring as he would dare, he knew it was a barely existent save.
"If you mean Laurie, no."
"Okay." He didn't know the girl's name. Sam was the only one who bothered to remember it. Of course, Sam was the only one who was friends with her.
"Can you talk about it?"
"Ainsley said I shouldn't," he said defensively. He leaned back on his heels like he expected the fiery Republican to burst in, fist-shaking, and berate him for conceding even that much.
"So you've discussed this with Ainsley?" Leo asked.
He shrugged. "I needed legal advice."
"Sam, practically everyone here is a lawyer."
"I know."
"So why Ainsley?"
Sam was practically rocking. Perhaps he was reaching the cusp of pacing. "Because she didn't know me...before, like everyone else did."
"Before?"
"Before the election. That's what I meant."
"Okay."
"I needed, you know, someone who would be impartial."
Leo squinted at him. He hardly thought that Ainsley could be impartial, especially concerning Sam. He knew that the Gilbert and Sullivan posters on her walls belonged to him. It had taken about three seconds for him to hear about the lifetime staffers Sam had fired for insulting her. "Impartial?"
Sam stared at Leo. "I needed to talk to someone who wouldn't think I was idealistic." He paused, his mouth open. "Or laugh at me," he finished.
Leo nodded. He could understand that. "Makes sense."
"Yeah. Josh, he...I mean. Everything's funny you know, and I can't really..." he trailed off. His hand drifted up and rubbed his neck. He scrunched up his nose. He couldn't say anything derogatory about Josh even before the shootings and now, a year later, well, he couldn't even joke about him.
"Okay."
Sam stared at him again, his hand still on his neck.
"Is there anything else?"
"I...uh. No." He made it to the door before he stopped himself. He was half out when he said, "Do you remember what you said to me after you and President..."
Leo almost stood up, but something in Sam's face, a quiet, sad pleading kept him in his chair. "I told you anytime you wanted to talk I'd be here."
"Did you mean it?"
Leo smiled. "Sam. It's 6:30 on a Saturday morning. What do you think?"
Sam nodded. "Okay." His bangs fell into his eyes, and he brushed them away.
"Is there anything you need to talk about? Besides what you can't, of course."
"It was, you know, another life." He shook his head and the hair fell down again. "I..uh. Thanks, Leo." He closed the door, and Leo heard him trudging down the dead hallway.
Leo went back to his work, but this time he didn't forget about Sam's visit.
The next Saturday Leo ordered two coffees, just in case. His preparation was well-founded, but Sam didn't touch his beyond a few polite sips. He still refused to sit. This time his usual white shirt had been abandoned completely in favor of a sweater that looked oddly confining on him. It did, however, allay the issue of tucking anything in. Leo wondered if Sam had lost his comb. He made a note to ask Margaret to slip one into his desk. This time, Sam only stared at him for two minutes before he spoke. Leo spent the interim pouring Equal into his coffee.
"It's just that...I don't know what to believe anymore."
"What?" Leo asked.
"I mean. I don't know who to believe *in* anymore. I thought I did. But now, I'm not so sure." He waved his hand dismissively, indicating the room, but Leo noticed how the gesture sharpened when it edged towards the door to the Oval Office.
Leo stood up. Again, if he were a paranoid man, he might have thought that Sam flinched because of him, but he knew Sam wasn't the type who allowed touching willingly, or unsuspiciously. He didn't touch, him, though, just leaned against his desk and waited.
"So, that's just what I wanted to talk about," Sam mumbled. "That's it." He was at the door before Leo said a word and to describe his reaction when Leo stopped him as "stupefied" would be polite.
Still, Leo hadn't fully decided what he should say. With the President it was so obvious to him, to both of them, what should be done, and when. But this was Sam, and he was different, just like all of them. "Sam, will you come back next Saturday? I think I'll be able to help you." It was the best he could do, really.
Sam nodded. "Yeah. Okay."
"Sam? The President might be here as well."
"The President?" Sam said blankly.
"Yeah, he runs the country. Perhaps you've heard of him?" Leo smiled.
"Am I...am I in trouble?" he asked slowly.
"No, Sam. Just FYI. Nothing to worry about."
Sam forced a smile. "Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Leo."
"Yeah." Leo nodded and wondered if Sam would agree that he had nothing to worry about if he knew what Leo was thinking.
It was Friday before Leo got around to telling the President who, for his part, gaped at him over his reading glasses.
"So I have to be there?" he asked.
"I won't do this without your consent, Mr. President."
The President pulled his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose. "What, exactly, am I consenting to?"
"The regular...treatment," Leo trailed off, as they hadn't really come up with a name for it, considering they never talked about out. But, he held the President's gaze calmly.
"If you want me to consent to something, just write it down and put it on my desk. I'll sign anything. Mrs. Landingham was just yelling at me the other day about eraser pens..." he grew silent, as though he had forgotten that Mrs. Landingham would not be yelling at him, or, indeed, speaking to him anymore. Leo pretended to examine the carpet while the President composed himself.
"I've got eighteen hostages in Zaire, an oil rig leaking off our coastline, seventy percent of American children living in poverty, and the French ambassador calling every fifteen minutes with some prattle about the Euro, but if you want me to stand around so you can spank Sam, well hell, I've got time for that!" He threw his hands up and started pacing.
Leo sat down and smiled. "I'm glad, Mr. President."
"Will you be spanking everyone I tell about the MS, Leo? Because after that interview I did, the number has jumped to a few million or whatever it is....CHARLIE!"
"Yes sir?" Charlie asked, popping his head in immediately.
"Get me the latest census figures."
"Yes, sir."
"Leo needs to know how much overtime he needs to schedule."
"Yes sir." Charlie closed the door quietly.
Leo rolled his eyes. "Sam's different, Mr. President. You saw how he reacted."
"Yeah. I saw." The President glared at him. It was evident that he wished he hadn't seen; that he was just as bothered as Leo by Sam's silent reproval.
"He's been coming into my office every Saturday at six am. He barely dresses himself anymore. He needs something from us."
"*I* don't come into the office at six am," the President muttered.
"He needs reassurance," Leo said.
The President dropped onto the couch next to Leo. "Tell you what, Leo. He's not the only one."
Leo nodded. "Do you need...?"
"Leo, if you ever breathe a word of what I let you do to anyone, I will have the secret service on your ass so fast you'll think tomorrow is Monday."
Leo raised an eyebrow at the colloquialism, but the meaning was clear enough. "Yes, sir."
The President sat quietly for a moment. Then he said, "should I wear my dark suit?"
"Mr. President?"
"My father always wore his dark suit when he was yelling at me."
"Your father must have worn it a lot," Leo smiled.
"You'd think it was the only one he owned."
"Maybe it was."
"No, I used to launder the others for him. So, you think I could do without the suit?"
"I think that would be okay."
"Because if we're 'reassuring' Sam, I want to make sure the idea gets across."
Leo shifted so he could get a better look at the President. The innocent expression that met him barely masked an angry stoicism that reminded Leo of his demeanor after the funeral. "What idea did you have in mind, sir?" Leo asked hesitantly. Already he was beginning to regret his decision. Perhaps he should take Sam out instead...get him away from the office.
The President started pacing again. "Nothing, Leo. I was just being petulant." He grinned.
"Alright. Well, he'll be here tomorrow morning."
"I'll set my alarm."
"You have an alarm?"
"George. He sleeps outside my door."
"I see."
"Leo?" The President said, suddenly urgent.
"Sir?"
"I want to bring the quotes."
"Okay."
"We'll do it the same, only I want to bring the quotes. I can't be part of it just standing there."
"Okay."
The President nodded, and Leo went into his office. When the President's pacing continued for another twenty minutes, he turned his small radio on and tried to forget everything except the memo to Belgium he was drafting.
At seven p.m. his door flew open. "And just so you know," the President said, as though they'd been speaking all this time, "I'm exempting myself from the rules tomorrow."
Leo smiled. "I wasn't aware you could do that, Mr. President."
"I am the President, after all. I'm not allowed to build a dungeon, but I can damn well grant myself immunity from your rules for once."
"Okay, sir."
"It would just confuse Sam, anyway."
"Understood."
"Really?"
"Yes." He smiled as the President nodded and shut the door smartly. Seconds later the usual bustle of doors closing and agents muttering about the Eagle indicated that he had left the office for the night. Leo contemplated his couch and wondered if it would affect Sam more if he moved it now. Well, it had to be done sometime. He pulled it back, but angled it so the door could still open. The corner was free and that was the important thing.
In the morning, the President was standing in Leo's office when he arrived, glaring at the vacated corner.
"Mr. President?"
"You're putting him in my corner?"
"I had no idea you held such an affinity for it, sir," Leo said.
"That is my corner, Leo!"
"Oh good Lord! You can loan it out for a day!" Leo rubbed his temples. "It's too damn early for this."
"What if he wants you to do this again?"
"If you insist, I can put him in another corner."
"And how will you do that, Leo?"
"I will say, 'Sam, stand over there.' or 'Sam, stand here.' And I will point as well." He demonstrated.
"And what will you say when he asks you why?" The President crossed his arms triumphantly.
Leo glared. "I will say that the President does not wish to share."
"Leo..." his voice was low and threatening.
Leo ignored the tone. "Anytime you need me to give you a little *reminder*, you just let me know, Mr. President."
The President almost flinched at the pointed choice of reminder over reassurance, but as he was the President, he settled for merely uncrossing his arms. "Fine. He can have the damn corner." He slumped into the couch. He didn't get up when Sam knocked and entered a few moments later.
Sam was wearing his dark suit, neatly pressed. He'd evidently combed and gelled his hair, and scrubbed his face until it glowed. Obviously, Leo's telling him the President would be in attendance had intimidated him into freshness. In contrast, the President, perhaps wishing to downplay any such reaction, was dressed in his usual blue jeans, looking rattier than usual, and a blue sweatshirt. Of course, he could have simply been subtly emphasizing that he was the only person in the building allowed to dress like a college lout.
Leo waved Sam towards the couch, and he sat warily, on the opposite end from the President, who shifted and fixed what he hoped was a neutral gaze upon him. Leo leaned against his desk. Sam looked at him expectantly.
"Sam, I want you to know that the President and I both feel very badly about what you've been going through lately, regarding your father." He glanced at the President and was relieved that he was nodding sympathetically. Sam smiled slightly.
"Thank you."
"And we know you've had a difficult time here, too," Leo continued. "We all have, but perhaps because of your own recent circumstances, you are feeling it a bit harder."
Sam didn't move, so Leo went on. "I know about guilt, Sam."
"Me, too," the President said quietly.
"And I think that you are upset with both of us right now. Is that so?" Leo asked.
Sam nodded weakly.
"Do you know why?"
Sam stared at Leo, then at the President. He rubbed his hands against his thighs. "I just...I...you're like...nothing I've ever known," he mumbled. "I *believed.* I did. That things would be different."
Leo nodded. "I know. We felt the same way. We still do."
Sam's head shot up. "But I believed it about *you.* It wasn't the government for me, not the institution. It was the people. I believed I'd finally found people who could matter to me."
"Sam, we want to help you. We want to show you that you can still believe in us, depend on us."
"You said you could make me feel better. Is that true?"
"That's up to you, I suppose."
"What do we do?"
"First, you agree to trust me."
Sam's eyes flitted to the President and it was obvious that the President would be ill advised to make a similar request. "Okay."
"And in doing so you must accept what I tell you, whether it is a word or a command."
Sam scrunched his nose up, but he agreed again.
"And you must obey the President as well."
"I always do," Sam said indignantly.
Leo smiled. "Maybe better than you do me."
Sam had the good grace to look sheepish.
"And trust me, Sam," the President said firmly.
Sam stared at him a long moment, analyzing every bit of his face before he said, "Okay."
"Sam, before I tell you the rest of the rules, you have to understand that what happens today will remain a secret between us. We rely on you to keep it."
Sam sniffed. "Well, that shouldn't be any different. I'm used to secrets." His glance swept over them. Leo looked away briefly. The President idly scratched the couch's arm.
"I'm serious, Sam. It's the best way. We won't come after you, of course, if you feel you need to tell someone, but I hope that you won't."
"What's going to happen?" Sam asked.
"And there's the President," Leo continued. "He can't be here if you don't agree that this meeting is in confidence. He wants to be here, Sam."
Sam turned slightly so he could see the President. The President nodded. "I do, Sam. This is important to me as well."
Sam grinned, somewhat nervously. "Well, so long as we're all friends about it." He ducked his head, so the comment was rather deflected from the President. Sam wasn't going to risk informality with the President any more than Leo would.
"Okay," Leo said. "Good."
Sam watched him silently. He held his hands between his knees and wove his fingers together.
"So, the point, Sam," Leo continued, "is that you leave here understanding that you don't need to be self-resilient. You've got people here to help you. You don't need stress or whatever else you've got going on in that head of yours to control you. What happens today may not help you permanently, but I think it'll be a step in the right direction."
Sam glanced at the President who sat silently, his face nearly blank. Leo recognized the expression instantly. It was the one he bore whenever Leo brought him out of the corner when the two of them played this fragile game. Sam stared, his mouth slightly open. Leo could hear him breathing.
"Is the President okay?" Sam asked softly.
The President blinked. He looked at Sam, pale faced. "It's done with words, Sam," he said, ignoring Sam's question, or perhaps not hearing it beyond an incomprehensible mumble. "Your life is centered around grabbing words out of the air and making coherency of them. We take that from you and let you rely on the words of others. Just for a moment. It's a sort of...lesson." He stopped and looked to Leo. Leo nodded, and the President sat back again and dropped his hand over the side of the couch.
"Then what?" Sam asked.
"Then you'll be encouraged to reflect on yourself, Sam. And on us, if you want. We'll give you the freedom to do that," Leo said. The President wiped his nose quietly.
Sam shifted against the leather cushions. He chuckled softly. "That must be some trick. I can't even give myself that freedom. I try, but I can't..." he faltered.
Leo pushed himself from the desk. He almost put a hand out to Sam, but Sam almost imperceptibly cringed away from the touch. "Don't worry, Sam. We'll give you that freedom today."
"And how will you do that?" Sam asked. His voice was a barely contained snap. He chewed on his lip, all too aware of his error.
Leo glanced at the President, who was struggling now to keep the neutral facade. No sense in waiting, then. "I'm going to put you over my knee and spank you," Leo said.
The reaction was not what he expected.
Sam huddled into himself. His hands worked rapidly between his knees. His eyes glimmered when he looked at Leo. Then his head dropped again and Leo couldn't see his face for his bangs. The President, meanwhile, leapt to his feet, his eyes fairly glowing with indignation.
"Leo," he said through clenched teeth, "may I have a word in my office?" He didn't wait for a reply. He strode to the door knowing full well that Leo would follow. Leo cast a nervous glance at Sam, now looking like he'd just been told his puppy and grandmother had died on the same day, and followed.
The President waited until Leo closed the door before his fury poured forth. "What the hell is this, Leo? Over your knee?"
Leo waited.
"You can't be doing that, Leo. What if he reports it? If you hit him over the desk, it's just assault. He can pin something sexual on you this way." He glared at him, almost hyperventilating.
"Will you sit down, sir?" He gestured to a chair.
"Don't tell me what to do, Leo. Don't forget who I am." His voice was soft, and more threatening than the night Toby had pissed him off. That night that started everything.
"I apologize, Mr. President." Leo cocked his head. The President dropped into a chair across the room.
"I think I'll sit here."
Leo nodded. He knew this game. "So, you think it's assault if I hit him?" He stared intently, the true question unspoken in the surrounded room, neither willing to risk the agents outside or Sam next door overhearing. *Is it assault when I hit you?*
"It depends on the person."
"And Sam?"
The President shrugged. "Well, that's up to him, isn't it?" He sighed. "Look, I'm just trying to protect you, Leo. You're still bringing home birds with broken wings, you know that?"
Leo sat down opposite the President. "He needs to be touched. He needs the contact, that's all," he said quietly. "He's scared, but I know it's not from that. He's scared of being hurt--rejected. You can see it in the way he dodges and hesitates."
The President sniffed. Leo couldn't tell if it was disagreement or allergies. "It's not sexual?"
Leo stared, almost rose, but the President smiled mischievously and then Leo was grinning, too, and the moment passed. The President stood. Leo looked up at him. "So what do we do with a broken wing?"
"Fix it."
Leo leapt to his feet at the new voice. He turned to Sam, standing in the doorway, evidently tired of waiting.
"You fix it," Sam repeated. Leo squinted back emotion. Sam was looking at him, eyes pleading for something he couldn't give himself, begging Leo for it. Maybe it was the eyes, or the echo of words he'd uttered so often as a child that struck him speechless. Leo stared at him, and it was the President who gave the first command.
"Sam, go stand in the empty corner."
Sam's eyes flitted from the President to Leo. Then, he nodded once and disappeared into Leo's office.
"Are you okay?" The President asked.
Leo closed his eyes. He inhaled deeply. He smiled. "I'm fine." The President followed him back into the office. Sam stood facing the corner, his hands limp at his sides.
The President positioned himself just behind him and to the side a foot back. "Okay, Sam. Sometimes this is done from memory, but today I want you to repeat what I say. Alright?"
Sam nodded.
The President rubbed his hands against his jeans. He scratched the back of his head and said, "Romans:
6:5 For if we have been planted together in the likeness of his death, we shall be also in the likeness of his resurrection. Say it, back, Sam."
Sam slowly repeated the verse, prompted only once as he stumbled over "likeness of his death." His voice barely rose above a whisper and he seemed to be speaking more to the wall than the President.
"Good, Sam," the President said, but the jovial tone nearly gave way to patronization. He cleared his throat. "Going on... I find then a law, that, when I would do good, evil is present with me." He paused while Sam repeated it. "For I delight in the law of God after the inward man:" Another pause. "But I see another law in my members, warring against the law of my mind, and bringing me into captivity to the law of sin which is in my members." Sam had scrunched up his eyes like he was working his brain overtime to make the connection between himself and these foreign words. "O wretched man that I am! Who shall deliver me from the body of this death?"
Repeating them, he glanced behind at the President. His eyes glistened. "Good question," he muttered. "Who shall deliver me?"
The President opened his mouth, perhaps to answer, but Leo, from his desk, ordered Sam to turn around. He silently complied.
"And if children, then heirs; heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ, if so be that we suffer with him, that we may be also glorified together." The President leaned forward, so his mouth was against Sam's ear, so close only Sam could hear him, and almost before he knew what he was saying, he whispered, "'heirs of God,' as you are one of mine. Do you understand, Samuel?" Sam responded by putting his forehead against the wall.
"Yes, sir," he whispered.
"For we are saved by hope: but hope that is seen is not hope: for what a man seeth, why doth he yet hope for? Say it, Sam."
He did, still not raising his head from the wall.
" Moreover, whom he did predestinate, them he also called: and whom he called, them he also justified: and whom he justified, them he also glorified. What shall we then say to these things? If God be for us, who can be against us?" The President stopped. Sam remained silent.
"Sam?"
Sam twisted like he was trying to grind his head into the wall. "If God be for us, who can be against us?" he asked. He turned his head to the President, keeping his body in its awkward twisted position. "Who indeed, sir?" he asked, voice cracking. He turned again, but not before the President recognized the accusation in his eyes. He sighed, and not in friendly manner. Leo coughed. The President ignored the obvious attempt at distraction. So Sam would accuse him, would he, as Toby had, as the others would. He wanted to throttle the bowed head, would have, perhaps, if the desire to pity it wasn't just as strong. Instead, the last recitation would have to suffice. He hadn't planned on using it, but he was pissed.
"Infirmity doth still neglect all office
Whereto our health is bound; we are not ourselves
When nature, being oppress'd, commands the mind
To suffer with the body: I'll forbear;
And am fall'n out with my more headier will,
To take the indisposed and sickly fit
For the sound man. Death on my state!"
He didn't bother stopping for Sam and was nearly shouting in his ear by the end, so Sam was hyperventilating as he tried to repeat it, stumbling on the words with the President harshly prompting him until he was crying in earnest and just managed to sputter the final line and whirled, looking as if he truly wished death on his state. The President threw his arms out, thinking Sam might attack him as Josh almost had the night he'd gone mad, but Sam merely collapsed into him, looking just as shocked as the President who lowered him onto the couch. He sat and cried.
"Well, I hope you're happy," Leo's droll voice interrupted.
The President shrugged helplessly. "I didn't mean...not really, no." Leo squinted at him. "I'm much better at crises of a more international nature."
"We'll work on your people skills later, Mr. President," Leo said. The President nodded, and Leo didn't miss the slight twitch at his lips, or the way his blink lasted just a second too long.
Sam sniffled and wiped his nose. "I'm ready to go on, Leo."
"Are you sure, Sam?"
He nodded. "Let's do this."
Leo walked around the desk and sat in the center of the couch. Sam stood. He pulled his jacket off. His fingers tugged at his belt buckle.
"I shouldn't be here for this," the President said.
Sam pulled his belt free. "I don't mind, sir," he said. He toed his shoes off.
The President smiled at the openness in his expression, but he shook his head. "I'm leaving for you, Sam. If you want to make noise, you should be able to. The agents don't move without me. I think I need to go the mess and find some apples."
"And peanut butter," Sam said, almost smiling.
"Yes," the President smiled. "I'll be back in ten minutes. Good luck." He glanced at Leo. "You, too."
"Get out," Leo grinned. The President left, and soon they heard the agents marching down the hallway.
"Now what?" Sam asked
"Pants, Sam."
He undid the zipper and they flowed to his feet and shimmered there. Leo reached for him. He allowed himself to be lowered across Leo's lap. His head rested on the couch with his arms and his legs touched the floor until Leo shifted him and they were raised. He felt his pants drop off. Leo pressed a hand against his stomach. He lifted himself and Leo dragged his boxers off. He expected Leo to take his hand away, but he didn't. He just left it there, unmoving. He rubbed his back with his other hand. Sam almost shifted away, but Leo laid his hand over his bottom and he grew still. Leo didn't move for the longest time, and Sam began thinking that something was wrong, that perhaps he should roll off and run, but then Leo said,
"We all care about you very much, Sam. We want you to know that."
Leo wondered if he'd ever said that to someone who wasn't about to get spanked. He couldn't remember. He thought about it as he raised his hand and brought it down. Sam's flesh shuddered when he struck it. Sam gasped. Leo watched the back of his head. He supposed he'd told his wife he'd cared about her. Maybe he hadn't. He spanked Sam again. He turned his concentration to the writhing body on his lap. He pulled the arm that had held him from below free and used it to anchor him. He spanked him hard. It soon became obvious to him why he could only use the paddle on the President. Sam was softer, though, in his way, and it worked on him. Sam's legs kicked at nothing. Leo's hand turned as red as Sam's ass, but he still didn't stop. He spanked him until Sam's cries turned into hoarse whimpers and then voiceless hiccups. He stopped only when Sam's body went limp and he hung over Leo's knees silently accepting the spanking. He lowered Sam to his knees on the floor.
Sam looked up at him, that little boy lost look back with a vengeance. Looking at him, Leo wanted to cry himself. Perhaps the President was right. He had misjudged the situation. Maybe what Sam needed was therapy. He was a fragile young man, after all. His decision to tell Sam as much was interrupted by a sudden blur that nearly knocked the wind out of him. He refocused with some difficulty and rubbed his eyes again just to make sure that Sam was indeed hugging him around the waist. Not just hugging him, but squeezing him, uncomfortably tightly. He put his hand on Sam's shoulders to signal that he could stay and shifted into a more comfortable position.
"I'm sorry," Sam sputtered. "About everything. About the President, and the oil and C.J's necklace, and Josh...I'm so sorry about Josh. It should have been me. It should have been..." he dissolved into sobs. He buried his face in Leo's shirt and continued mumbling incoherently. Leo stroked his hair and tried to make sense of what he'd said. Sorry about the President was obvious. They were all sorry about that. He couldn't begin to guess at the oil, unless it had something to do with that leaking tanker, but how that linked back to Sam...Perhaps that was what he had confided to Ainsley. C.J.'s necklace. He'd broken it when he'd pushed her out of the line of fire. He'd tried to keep it a secret, but he never was very good at that, and C.J. was so persistent in her questioning that he'd broken. In a matter of minutes they'd all known. It was not the kind of gossip they enjoyed hearing, not like Josh wanting to be a ballerina. It made them look at Sam differently, like he could be as selfless, or perhaps as reckless as his speeches sometimes reflected. As for wishing he were the one. Utter nonsense.
"You don't wish it were you, Sam," Leo said.
"I do. Sometimes I do."
"Too many people need you, Sam."
"Sometimes I close my eyes and all I see is his blood all over me."
"I can't forget when I saw the President...bleeding under his jacket." Leo said softly. Sam sniffed again. He rubbed his head. "Sam, if you'd been in Josh's place, what would have happened to C.J?"
Sam shrugged. "Someone would have done it. The guy behind me." He paused. "I can't remember if there was anyone behind me." His voice cracked again.
The door creaked open. The President slipped in. He observed the scene before him silently. Leo on the couch, hands in Sam's hair and on his back. Sam, still half naked, with his arms draped around Leo's waist and his head against his stomach. He stepped around Sam and sat down next to Leo. Sam looked at him stupidly.
"Sorry, sir." He wiped his nose on Leo's shirt. Leo rolled his eyes.
"The President doesn't care if you cry, Sam."
Sam blinked and the President and Leo smiled reassuringly. Sam sniffed again. The President patted him on the shoulder. "Of course I don't, Sam."
"I get it now," Sam said to Leo's stomach. Leo slid his fingers beneath Sam's chin and lifted his head. "We're all in it together," he said softly. Leo smiled and nodded.
"That's about it, son," the President said.
Sam smiled. He rolled his head out of Leo's fingers and landed against his chest again. Leo raised his eyes at the soft rumbling. It took him a moment to realize that Sam was asleep. The President chuckled. "C'mon, pull his pants back up. I'll have one of the agents take him to the residence."
Leo smiled. "Poor kid. He probably hasn't slept in weeks."
In the end, it took both of them to hold Sam up and get him put back together. He hung like a rag doll in the President's arms as Leo fastened his belt. They didn't bother with the shoes, simply handing them to the lucky, if confused, agent chosen for the task of carrying Sam across the lawn and depositing him in the Lincoln bedroom where he would awaken several hours later no doubt just as befuddled as the agent.
The President sat on Leo's couch and rubbed his temples.
"That King Lear was a nice touch," Leo said.
"I was actually thinking of myself when I chose it."
"I could tell." He sat next to him, legs thrown out before him.
"You know, Leo," the President said after a moment, "I almost forgot why I was so sad today. That was nice. I didn't mean to get mad at Sam. I shouldn't have, I know." He picked at a faded spot on his jeans. "I keep thinking she's still around, Leo. I can hear her yelling at me."
Leo smiled thoughtfully. "Sometimes I can hear her yelling at you, too, sir."
The President grinned. "Maybe you just wish you do."
"Maybe."
"Yeah." His voice dropped to a whisper. When Leo looked over at him he wasn't surprised to see the blank face looking as if it would crumble at any moment. He stood abruptly, businesslike once more.
"I think we'll start with Lear today, sir. Since you chose it for yourself anyway."
The President gaped at him. "I excused myself from the rules today, Leo. It is my right, as the President of the greatest nation on earth to do so."
"As the number one advisor to the President of the greatest nation on earth, I am *advising* you to accept them," Leo countered.
The President squinted at him. Leo calmly opened the desk drawer and pulled out the paddle. The President winced imperceptibly. He stood, though, and walked to the corner.
"You can start anytime, sir," Leo said, barely able to keep the chuckle from his voice.
"Remind me to ask my advisor for advice on hiring an advisor less hands on."
"Don't worry, sir. I don't plan on putting my hands on you."
The President groaned. He leaned into the corner. Sam's hair gel had left a mark. He wiped it with his sleeve. Then he straightened his shoulders and began the recitation.
"Infirmity doth still neglect all office whereto our health is bound..."
When Sam poked his head into Leo's office the following Monday, Leo was at first shocked to see it combed. He waved Sam in and offered him coffee. Sam declined, though, and grinned somewhat sheepishly at him. Leo wondered if he should say something about there being no shame in what had happened.
"I just came to say thanks," Sam said. He tugged at his sleeves, but he looked Leo in the eyes. "That was, you know, ah, I think it helped."
Leo nodded. "I'm glad to hear that."
"So...your door's still open?"
Leo glanced behind Sam. The door was closed. Then he caught the half-smile countered by the wide eyes and said, "Yes. Whenever."
"Okay." Sam started to leave, then turned. "Do you do this a lot, Leo?"
Leo cocked his head at him. "What makes you think I do this at all, Sam? Perhaps I just made it up for you."
Sam smiled. "There's a worn spot on the carpet in the corner, like someone's been digging his shoe into it. So, either you practiced this whole situation a whole heck of a lot, or you've got somebody else in that position."
Leo rolled his eyes.
Sam leaned forward eagerly. "Lord knows I'm not at all observant usually, I mean, I missed that mistress thing, but that was one heck of a faded rug. You don't have a whole bunch of people, do you Leo? Did you get C.J. yet? Because, let me tell you..." Leo cut him off with a wave.
"Sam?" he smiled.
"Alright." Sam grinned at him. "I'm going." He left Leo sitting at his desk in wonderment.
A moment later Charlie poked his head in. "Leo? The President said I should give you this. He wants you to pick one out. Just let me know what you want and I'll have it delivered this week."
He dropped a catalog on his desk. A carpet magazine with a post it note on it reading, "Leo, I'm the only one who gets an eagle on his carpet. Please keep that in mind in your browsing. J.B"
Leo chuckled. He saved the letter he was drafting to the Swedish ambassador. Then he flipped the catalog open and settled down with a pen in one hand and his coffee in the other.
The End