july 2004
http://cakehole.org/zedpm
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It hit Josh right in the stomach, somewhere between breakfast and the mural room and Leo, yelling from behind his closed office door. Somehow the building had twisted itself into an intricate maze, mirroring the confusion in Josh's brain. Nearly colliding with C.J., he flashed her an apologetic grin, and retreated around the corner to somewhere quiet and safe.
Two days had passed since he'd talked to Sam; they'd exchanged nothing more than a distracted "hey" in the hallways between one meeting and the next. Sam was the kind of man, Josh realized, who had too many ideas in his head, and not enough time or power to fulfill them all. He'd made so many sacrifices—losing a partnership, breaking an engagement—all to work at the White House. This was Sam's chance to turn his dreams into reality, and nothing else mattered anymore.
Sam, with his tie loose and his sleeves rolled up around his elbows; Sam, with his hair in disarray from when he ran his hand through it; Sam, with his failing eyesight from long nights spent at the computer, twisting words around to fit the president's mouth; Sam, with black stains on his lips from chewing the end of his pen in frustration; Sam, his face tired and weary, but with clear and unmistakable triumph in his smile.
Josh closed his eyes, leaning back in the chair. My Sam, he thought, remembering the feel of warm fingers against his, and the taste of ink in his mouth, and laughed.
Sam Seaborn wanted to change the world, and Josh would be there for him at the end of it all.
