The Road Ahead:
Part 4
M.A.B.
"Sam," Abbey said warningly.
"Ma'am, I'm only going to go to my office to get some work and that's it.
Afterwards, I'll go home. I promise," Sam said as he hobbled out of the
chevy suburban.
"Sam, you're not going home," Abbey countered. "You'll be coming to the
residence where I can keep an eye on your for the next few hours."
"Mrs. Bartlet, no offense Ma'am, but there's really no need for me to go to
the residence. I mean, after all, I've already had a biopsy that was more
invasive than jabbing a needle into me."
"He didn't jab it into you, Sam." She should know. When he first yelled,
the First Lady had forgotten to act as a professional doctor, and instead
reacted on motherly instinct. When she ran in, she not only surprised
Nichols and Alcott (who had been assisting), but also Sam and her own secret
service agent. Abbey held onto Sam's arms, to make sure that he didn't try
to make any motion to move the needle, and quietly spoke to him. She saw
his face contort in pain and truly felt for him. Unfortunately she couldn't
offer to take his place, but she hoped that she had given the young man some
comfort. She had also hoped that Sam hadn't felt any embarrassment over the
situation. He hadn't said anything that led her to believe so.
Then again, this was Sam.
"That may be so," Sam conceded as they walked through the detectors, "But it
felt like it."
"Sam, if you don't want to do stay for yourself, then please do it for own
my peace of mind."
Sam stopped to look at her. "Really?"
"Really," Abbey confirmed. "That and the fact that I don't want to be the
only one my husband interrogates, tonight."
Sam knew a lost battle when he faced one. He now knew why the President was
afraid of his wife. "Fine. But I get to go to my office first to get my
briefcase and some work. I would like to feel that I can be useful in some
part."
"Okay, but if you don't show up in five minutes, I'm going hunting for you."
"Mrs. Bartlet, it'll take me three minutes to get to my office, then another
fifteen getting around Toby."
"Leave that to me, Sam," Abbey promised.
"Okay," replied Sam, not feeling terribly optimistic about that.
As he hobbled towards his office, gathering looks from onlookers, he tried
to concentrate on upcoming speeches, when a thought cropped up, 'When it's
announced that I have Hodgkin's, who will say it? CJ or myself?' Could he
write a statement and say it himself? Sure he wrote statements
before--heck, half of the stuff that came out of the President's mouth came
from him--but could he say one himself?
"Where have you been?" Toby demanded as Sam came into the Communications
bullpen.
"I thought that the President had ordered you not to bully me around about
that," Sam commented.
"Can you see him anywhere near us?" came the argument. They walked into
Sam's office. "And why are you hobbling around like that? Did you hurt
yourself again?"
Sam sighed as he pulled his briefcase off of the floor onto the desk, and
put some stuff in it. "Yeah, Toby, I hurt myself again. Happy?"
"No," came the frank reply. "But I would be if you told me where you went
and if it has any consequence on the President. And where are you going?
You just came back on your mysterious errand."
"And I thought that I told you not to bully Sam when he came back," came a
disapproving voice. Both men turned around and saw POTUS enter.
"Sir--"
"Toby," the President warned. He turned to Sam. "Come on, get your
things."
"Sir, this isn't really necessary," Sam stated.
"Maybe, but this way, I get to interrogate you first," Jed Bartlet said with
a smile.
Sam grimaced at this, but quickly closed the case, picked it up and went by
the CIC. "Bye, Toby."
"Yeah, bye, Toby," the President chimed in, giving his Communications
Director a wave.
"Bye," replied Toby, wondering what the hell was going on.
When they were out in the corridor, Jed Bartlet began. "Sorry about that,
but Abbey called me. She figured that what just happen would...happen."
"I'm glad to see that she did," Sam conceded.
"Anemic?"
"Yep."
"Might be in the fourth stage?"
"Uh-huh."
"When do the bone marrow results come in?"
"Next week."
"Sam..."
"Sir, I know what you're thinking and don't."
"You shouldn't have gone through that. Not alone."
"Sir, it was no big deal."
"Hodgkin's disease, despite that name, is cancer, Sam. No two ways about
it. And going for a surgical biopsy like that? Alone? Who drove you home?"
"I took a cab."
"Who made sure that you were okay?"
"I'm a big boy, Sir. I've been out on my own for a while now."
"I'm not disputing that," POTUS interjected, "I'm just saying that you
shouldn't have gone through that alone."
"I'm used to it, Mr. President," Sam said with a shrug.
"Well, you shouldn't be. And you're not alone anymore. I want you to
promise to come to Abbey or myself whenever something happens," POTUS
prodded.
"Sir, you and Mrs. Bartlet and very busy people, and you have a job with a
hectic schedule--"
"I'm there for family, Sam, and whether you like it or not, you're family,"
the President interrupted.
"Sir..."
POTUS turned to the person beside him, as they got into the elevator leading
to the Residence. "Ron?"
"Yes, Mr. President?" replied the secret service agent.
"New directive; Sam is to come to Abbey or myself whenever something
happens. No ifs, ands or buts about it."
"Yes, Sir," Ron said with a smile, as he took in Sam's face. He liked
Sam--everyone on Detail liked Seaborn. Hell, it was hard *not* to like the
guy. He wished that the Deputy Director didn't have to face what was going
to come up next, but wishing wouldn't accomplish nothing. He faced that
fact the hard way, when his own father died of cancer eight years ago. No,
he didn't want Sam to go through that. But Sam was strong, he was a
survivor. He would get through this.
"It's about time you guys got here. I was wondering where you were."
"Sorry honey," Jed Bartlet said kissing his wife's cheek. "Had to take care
of Toby first."
"So Sam was right," Abbey noted.
POTUS laughed. "When it comes to Toby, Sam is right 99% of the time."
Abigail shook her head. "Sam, make yourself comfortable. I'm just going to
go to my office, get my messages and some work, and then join you, okay?"
"Ma'am, you don't have to."
"I am, so stuff it." At Sam's shocked look, she turned to her husband. "I
still got it."
"As if it was ever doubted." He turned to face the deputy director. "Sam,
do you want to call your brother?"
"Kyle?"
"Yes, Kyle. Do you want to call him?"
"But he lives..."
"Sam, I don't care where he lives, call him."
Sam bobbed his head. "Yes, Sir." Then the first couple left. Sam walked to
a chair and put down his briefcase. He sat down, laid his head against the
back of the chair and gave a shaky sigh, as he closed his eyes. Upon
opening them, he gazed around for a phone. Finding one by the sofa, he got
up and went to it. He glanced at his watch as he seated himself, pulled the
phone from the hook and dialed in some numbers.
"Dr. Seaborn," came a voice after several rings.
"Kyle, hey, it's me."
"Sam?"
"Yeah," Sam answered. "So, what's new in the world of academia?" Dr. Kyle
Seaborn was a professor of history at UCLA.
"Fine. I'm on sabbatical right now, doing research. But then you already
know that."
"I hope you don't mind me calling your office, but I know that you still
have office hours at this time--or at least that's what you said in your
email so I knew that--"
"Sam, you're babbling. What's wrong?"
Sam was taken aback. "What makes you think that something's wrong?"
"Sam, you're my brother so I know you very well."
"You didn't answer my question."
A sigh came over the line. "Fine, first, you avoided my question.
Secondly, you rarely call me during my office hours. And third, you're
using that voice."
"What voice?"
"The voice that you use whenever you try to... Never mind. What's wrong?"
Sam drew in a breath. "Kyle, has anyone in the family ever had cancer?"
"Yeah, Grandpa Miller, but he died when you were pretty young so I'd be
surprised if you remember. Sam, what does..." Kyle trailed. "Sam, why are
you asking me this?"
"Oh, no reason."
"Sam," his brother warned.
"I ah, I haven't been feeling very well lately, so I went in for some
tests."
Silence. "And?"
"The results came back in."
"Sam..."
"I, I have Hodgkin's Disease."
More silence. "Oh my god."
"Yeah, that was the way I felt when I first heard it," Sam chimed in.
"How bad?"
"Possible and likely fourth stage. It's confirmed in the neck, underarm,
diaphragm and I just had a bone marrow biopsy today, because I'm anemic and
that usually means that it's present in the...bone marrow."
"When do you start chemotherapy?"
"I don't know. Sometime next week, I suppose."
"Next week?!?"
"I said that just had a bone marrow biopsy today and they won't be able to
get the results until next week, probably Monday," replied Sam. "Then I
have to go to some place and freeze some sperm and--"
"Because of potential sterility," Kyle interrupted.
"Yeah, though the Press will have a field day with that."
"Damn it!" Kyle yelled, "It doesn't matter what they think! This is your
life we're talking about! If this is something that has to be done, then it
has to be done! Sometimes I wonder if any of them has a single active brain
cell in them."
"Danny does," Sam defended. "He's a good and honest reporter."
"If you say so," Kyle stated, having no use for the press himself.
"I, I just wanted to let you know."
"Are you at home?"
"Not at the moment. I'm still at the White House. I'm not allowed to leave
for a few hours."
"They're keeping you at work?!?"
"No!" Sam shouted. "The First Lady--who happens to be a doctor--won't let
me leave until she's satisfied that I'm alright."
"I hate to tell you, bro, but she's a few years too late for that."
"Kyle..."
Silence.
"I'm coming over."
Sam perked up at this. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. I'm coming over there."
Sam shook his head. "Kyle, you may be on sabbatical, but you still have
work."
"Work which I can do from anywhere. I have most of the material that I need
to write my book, all I have to do is read it and make notes. And that
little brother, is something that I can do anywhere. Including D.C."
"Kyle, I don't want you to come if it's going to be an inconvenience for
you."
"Hey, if it was going to be an inconvenience, trust me, I wouldn't be doing
this."
"Kyle," Sam warned.
"Okay, so I would be doing this," Kyle Seaborn conceded. "But damn it, Sam,
this is something that I have to do!" Sam heard a shaky breath over the
line. "Damn it, Sammy, I lost Mom and Dad, I couldn't be there when they
died. I'm not going to lose my little brother, too. You are not going to
be alone for this. *I* won't let you!"
"But what about..."
"School? I'm on sabbatical! I have no classes to teach! Besides, I'll
speak to the Chuck and the Dean, they'll understand. And so will Jaime."
Sam said nothing. "Sammy, please...please let me do this. I *have* to do
this."
Sam felt tears swell up at the emotion in his brother's pleading. "Okay," he
whispered.
Silence. Finally a "Good," was heard. "I'll phone you as soon as I know
what flight I'm on."
"I'll meet you at the airport."
"Sam..."
"I have cancer, I'm not incapacitated or dead as of yet." Sam gazed at the
floor. "Well, that and the fact that you just said you'd call to say what
flight you'll be on."
"I can always not call."
"I can always find out which flight you're on."
Kyle chuckled. "Fine. I'll call in an hour."
"Call my cellphone. I'm not in my office."
"I thought you said you were at the White House."
"In the Residence. I'll be here for a while."
"Okay." There was a pause. "Love you, little brother."
"Love you too, big brother. Bye."
When Sam heard another good-bye, he hung up.
The Road Ahead: Part 5
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