Charlie hung up the cell phone and, taking a deep breath, went back into the clinic. It was the second time Nancy had called in as many hours. The President really needed to find someone to replace Mrs. Landingham. It had been easy to ignore at first, the extra work and the President's reluctance to find someone new. With the campaign ahead, though, too many things were getting out of hand, too many things being missed. And now, with Deena...

He opened the door to her room and shut it behind him as softly as he could. He knew the pain medications probably had her knocked out still, but he didn't want to risk disturbing her. Last night had been rough. The pain had spread from her joints to her whole body more quickly than he could ever remember. By the time they'd gotten to the clinic, Dr. Richards had to give her almost twice the normal dose of morphine just to ease the pain to bearable. Mostly Charlie was grateful that she'd slept, even if it was fitfully, since then.

He looked at his sister with the sheets tucked up around her chin, covering her totally except for the arm attached to the IV. Quietly he moved one of the chairs next to her bed and sat. He took the hand nearest him, the one without the IV, in his own and slowly caressed the back of it with his thumb. He was so transfixed, watching as the fluids ran into Deena, that he didn't notice the change in breathing. Only when she spoke did Charlie realize that she'd woken up.

"Hey there."

"Hey," he said, quietly. "How do you feel?"

"Like I just survived the worst crisis of my life."

Charlie chuckled softly; his sister never was one to beat around the bush. But he could also hear the resignation there. This was her first crisis in over a year, but even he could see that it had been worse than the several preceding it. Maybe it wasn't enough to be a pattern but it still caused him to worry. Charlie wondered if he should bring up the use of hydroxyurea with Dr. Richards again. When it had first been approved by the FDA, Deena had still been so young that it hadn't even been seriously discussed. Now she was older, though, and still no other drug therapies were available. If nothing else, it was worth talking about, he thought.

"Other than that," she continued, wincing slightly as she shifted in the bed, her voice still slurred from the medication, "I'm ready to party."

"Sorry, Dee. Not tonight, Doctor's orders."

"Okay. Some other night."

"Some other night," he agreed. "Dee, listen. They're going to keep you here overnight."

She nodded, but her eyes clearly conveyed her displeasure at the prospect.

"It's just for tonight. And I need to go into work for couple hours right now, but I'll be back tonight if I can, and definitely in the morning."

"It's okay Charlie. It's not a big deal. It's not like I'm going to do anything but sleep anyway," Deena gestured to her surroundings, emphasizing her point. "Go to work, go home, I'll see you in the morning."

"Are you sure?"

"Go!"

"Okay. I'll just stay till you fall asleep, how about that."

"Thank you," she murmured as her eyes drifted shut.

Charlie reached out with the hand not caressing Deena's and softly pushed the hair off her forehead. He thought sometimes about the first time he'd met Jed Bartlet. When the President asked him to help them to fight against the guns that killed his mother he'd felt like he was doing something for her. And sometimes he wondered if he could do the same for Deena. All he had to do was take it to the President and say 'this is my sister, what can we do'. But he also knew he couldn't. Deena didn't want it that way, and he couldn't blame her. She didn't want anyone to know and other than her doctors and Charlie, her basketball coach and her principal, only a handful of people were aware of her condition. Even if he had disagreed with her not wanting others to know, he would have had no idea how to bring it up with the President anyway.

Gently laying her hand down on the bed he drew the white blanket over her arm. He kissed her on the forehead and, with a brief look back, headed for work.

-----

Sam replaced the receiver in its cradle, removing his glasses in frustration. He'd spent a good part of the morning on the phone with various Senators or their staffs. He felt like he'd simply been talking to the same recording over and over all morning, none of the Senators offered any insight as to why the bill was being held up. Just cryptic answers; or, more accurately, non-answers. Propping his feet up on the desk, he wondered why he'd hit such a firewall on this. He leaned back in the chair closing his eyes and didn't hear the footsteps arriving in his office.

"They cloned a cat."

"Yeah?"

CJ stepped into the room holding a picture out in front of her.

"A calico. Her name is CC."

"Copy Cat?" Sam guessed.

"No, Carbon Copy. She's cute, look." CJ pushed aside a stack of files and perched herself on the corner of his desk.

"Sam!" Toby came around the corner from his office to find his Deputy and Press Secretary ogling a picture of what appeared to be a kitten. "What are you two doing?"

"They cloned a cat," CJ offered, holding out the picture for Toby to see.

"What? Did they run out of other animals?"

"Not a cat person Toby?" Sam asked, grinning.

"It's hard to be a fan of an animal when you get the sense that they'd just as soon eat you as rub against you."

"Bad experience as a child?"

Toby said nothing, but gave them an expression that said not to push it further.

"The company that sponsored the research," CJ looked up and removed her glasses, "I kid you not is called Sperling's Genetic Savings and Clone."

"Well wasn't that clever," Toby deadpanned. "Anyway if you're done now Grizabella, I need Sam."

"Why Toby, I didn't know you saw Cats."

"Trust me. It wasn't voluntary."

"Andie dragged you along, huh?"

"You saw Cats?" Sam asked, astonished.

"It was awful, there was scratching and growling."

"We know about your marriage Toby, but how was the play?" CJ snickered.

"You," Toby pointed an accusing finger at CJ, "are not as funny as you think."

"Sam seems to think I'm pretty hilarious." CJ gestured to where Sam was trying hard to stifle a laugh.

"Sam also thinks Cheech and Chong are masters of comedy."

"Hey!" Sam objected.

"Well, I'm afraid we'll have to continue this later, I'm late for my briefing." CJ picked up her article, turning to leave.

"Going to regale them with tales of CC the wonder cat are you?"

CJ gave a kind of half shrug as she exited. "Got to love slow news days."

Toby watched her go, his mind reeling from the possible headlines CJ could create with too much free time. "So, the speech?" He asked turning back to Sam.

"The speech...Yeah, no I'm almost done. I just need to polish a little."

"Yeah?"

"Well, maybe a lot of polish. But this thing isn't until Friday."

"Just...just don't spend a lot of time on this drug thing. I need to see it, done, by Wednesday."

"Okay," Sam answered absently, his mind still on his unfruitful phone calls as Toby left. Rising suddenly he followed Toby out the door. "Hey, hang on."

"Yeah," Toby answered over his shoulder, still moving towards the lobby.

"Listen, so I've been calling the committee members."

"Sam."

"I'm not getting caught up. Really. It's just...there's something not right."

They passed through the lobby and down the stairs to the mess.

"Nobody's saying anything but it's obviously Terry who's holding it up. I just can't figure out why he'd have a problem with this," Sam continued, falling into step slightly behind his boss.

"He doesn't."

"What?"

"Mark Terry made his money in pharmaceuticals." Toby gestured to an open table and sat down across from the younger man.

"Yeah?"

"He still has pretty close ties with some of the CEOs."

"This bill doesn't hurt them. It doesn't even address the companies, if anything it benefits them. We're asking to appropriate money to a program that gives grants for small clinical trials at academic institutions. They do the hard work, and then when a drug shows promise a big company can swoop in and snatch it up, without having to invest in the preliminary research."

"That's all good, but it amounts to pennies in the bank for these guys."

"Toby..."

"I'm saying they don't have a problem with the RDA, they're after something else."

"What?" Sam stopped, the pieces seeming to come together in his mind. It was clear Terry was holding out for something, but what? Sam couldn't think of any other pending legislation dealing with pharmaceuticals. Maybe Terry was after something else completely.

"Talk to Terry," Toby just shrugged, unable to offer any more answers. He walked away with his coffee, leaving Sam sitting by himself in the middle of the mess.

-----

"Mr. President?" Charlie stuck his head into the Oval Office, not immediately seeing Jed standing by the window.

"What is it Charlie?"

"This just came for you by messenger." Charlie crossed the room, laying the large, flat package across the desk.

"Fantastic!" Jed exclaimed, not containing his excitement.

"Do you want me to open it?"

"No, no I'll do it."

"Can I ask what it is?"

"Hmmm..." Jed was so engrossed in the package that he almost didn't hear the question. "Oh, this? Nothing, just a painting I had restored."

Charlie raised his eyebrow at the President. "I don't remember sending out a painting."

"No, I did it." Jed took in Charlie's incredulous look and continued, "I am quite capable of doing things for myself you know."

"Okay."

"Get Leo would you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then go find Josh. Tell him I'll be ready for him in about fifteen minutes."

"Yes, sir," Charlie answered as he disappeared back out into the outer office.

Jed carefully undid the wrapping, pushing the brown paper off the desk. Resting the bottom edge on the desk he held the top with one hand and reached for his glasses with the other.

"Good evening, Mr. President."

Jed looked up to see Leo standing in the door between offices.

"Leo," Jed whispered, motioning his friend over to the desk. "Look at this."

Leo crossed the office to stand next to the President and gazed at the framed drawing. In the middle of the picture stood an oak tree rendered in black ink. Squinting he could make out enough of the printed words to recognize them as names.

"So, what do you think?" Jed asked.

"It's lovely."

"It should be. That's real vellum, all hand colored!"

"And the frame?" Leo asked, lightly fingering the smooth wood edge.

"Natural Oak."

"Who's it for?"

"It's for Charlie."

"You got him a framed picture of an old tree for his birthday? He should be thrilled."

"No!" Jed scowled at his friend, gesturing again to the frame. "Look closer."

Leo touched his hand to his breast pocket and then motioned to his office. "My glasses," he offered as explanation.

"It's his family tree."

"Really?"

"All the way back five generations," Jed said proudly.

"It's got both his mother's and father's side."

"Yes."

"Do you think maybe he might not be comfortable with that?"

"It's not like I invited the man to the party Leo. We can't pick our family but it's important to know who they were."

-----

Sam had been able to schedule a late meeting with Senator Terry. Unfortunately, he had to go up to the Hill. As he stood in the outer office, waiting for Terry's assistant to show him in, he noticed the photograph of Terry and several others standing on the deck of what appeared to be a rather large yacht. Next to Terry, Sam recognized the past CEO of Pfizer and the current CEO of Glaxo-Wellcome. It almost amazed Sam how blatant Terry's association with these men was. Obviously it hadn't hurt him in the election.

"Mr. Seaborn? You can go in now." Terry's assistant motioned Sam into the office, as she offered to take his coat.

Sam thanked her as he entered the office. Behind a rather large oak desk sat Mark Terry. "Sam," he said warmly, standing to extend his hand.

"Senator."

"Can I get you something to drink?" Terry gestured to the small fridge. "I'm afraid I only have water and some sort of juice that my wife insists is good for me."

"No, thank you, Sir. I'm fine."

"Well, then, what can I do for you today?" Terry asked as he motioned for Sam to sit.

"I wanted to talk to you about the RDA."

"What about it?"

"We're concerned that it's being held up in committee so long."

"Well there are certain aspects of the bill that I feel need work before I'm willing to let it move to a vote."

"Such as?" Sam asked.

"The creation of a new department in the NIH for one. Rare diseases already has an office."

"The office is a temporary solution. It was always intended for the department to be written into law."

Terry smiled and shrugged, completely unworried that his reasons were being attacked.

"You don't really have a problem with the bill, do you Sir?"

"I wouldn't go so far as that. I will say that I have other concerns that may be more pressing and are taking my attention away from the RDA."

Sam leaned back in his chair, eyeing the other man, unsure of what he was getting himself into. "Like what?"

Monday Evening

"Hey."

Sam looked up to see Josh leaning against his doorframe. Still cradling the phone in one hand, Sam motioned his friend in with the other.

"Linda, hang on. I went to him and this is what it's going to take to get it out of committee in its current state."

Sam sighed heavily, seriously thinking about placing the phone on the desk and leaving for thirty minutes. Maybe by that time Linda would be done with her tirade.

"No, I'm not suggesting...I'm just telling you what Terry's after...No, I haven't had a chance to look it over yet...yeah, I'll call you later."

Sam deliberately placed the phone in its cradle, using all his self-control not to slam it down. Across the desk Josh was looking at him questioningly.

"I'm guessing your meeting with Terry didn't go so well."

"They want to reopen Hatch/Waxman."

"Extended patent lives?"

"The drug companies can petition the FDA for a recoup of the patent life lost during clinical trials and FDA approval for up to five years right now. They want to extend that to seven."

Josh let out a low whistle. Two additional years of patent life could literally add up to millions of dollars for a single drug. It also meant increased co-pays on those drugs and higher out of pocket expense for those that were uninsured.

"How'd the Yucca Mountain meeting go?" Sam asked, changing the subject abruptly. He'd had just about as much of the RDA as he could take for the day. Even talking about a nuclear waste dumpsite was better than thinking about Terry for one more minute.

"The Secretary is going to recommend it and I'm going to tell the President to approve it."

"So you really took their concerns to heart, huh?" Sam grinned at his friend's obvious disgust.

"You know, it's not like we're dumping it in their back yard for Sue and Jimmy to play with. We're building a vast underground repository."

"Yeah but to get it there it has to be driven through Las Vegas."

"So it'll be something new for them to bet on. Will the nuclear waste truck tip over today, when and where...I think the casinos will embrace it," Josh shot back.

"Yeah and if there is a spill they won't need to use all that electricity to light the city since all the citizens will be day glow."

"Exactly, think of the energy we'll save them."

Sam couldn't help but chuckle at Josh. It had been a long time since they'd had a chance to do this. Sit and commiserate over futile days. Unfortunately, it wasn't likely to get better until after the election. But it was nice now, sitting together talking, or even in a comfortable silence, like the one they'd drifted into. Both men were so caught up in replaying the day that they missed the slight knock on the door and were startled by Charlie's quiet voice.

"Josh? The President's ready for you."

Recovering quickly, Sam followed Josh and Charlie out of the office. Sam could see the slump in Charlie's shoulders even from behind. The young man's whole body seemed to sag as if he were trying to shoulder a great weight. Sam marveled again at how hard Charlie worked. Besides his job at the White House, he had classes to attend to and a sister to raise. It was no wonder that they almost never saw him of outside of work any more. In fact, the previous evening had been the first time since they'd all gone to Manchester.

"How's Deena?" Josh asked, unconsciously echoing Sam's silent concern.

"She's fine."

"What is it," Sam asked. "The flu?"

"Yeah." Charlie didn't even glance at the other two men. He wasn't exactly lying; he was just letting them draw their own conclusions.

"You know the most dangerous part of the flu is dehydration," Sam continued. "It's important to have her drink lots of fluids. Water, of course, but anything clear is good..."

"Sam." Charlie tried to interrupt.

"Gatorade, broth..."

"Sam." Charlie tried again, a bit more forcefully.

"Popsicles are good if she's running a fever..."

"Sam!" Charlie's voice was so sharp and full of frustration that it stunned him as much as it did the other two men. Charlie hardly ever raised his voice, and he cursed himself silently for letting it happen. He could almost feel the exhaustion and worry of the day crashing in on him. He cringed when he saw the hurt look on Sam's face and steeled himself, continuing in a calmer tone. "She's fine, really. But thanks, you know, for the advice." He wondered if his lame attempt at a reassuring grin came across as desperate as it felt.

Sam smiled back, willing to accept that he'd overstepped useful into annoying. Even though he appeared to let it go, Sam silently cataloged the edge of desperation that infused the younger man for examination later.

They walked the rest of the way to the Oval Office in an uncomfortable silence. Charlie left the other men in the outer office while he ducked into the Oval.

"So," Josh broke the silence. "Why's Terry holding up the RDA? There's nothing in the language about Hatch/Waxman."

"See, and here's why I love politics, it doesn't have anything to do with the RDA. Terry is just using it as leverage to force NORD into *not* opposing the extended patent life."

"Which NORD will never go for?"

"Which NORD will never go for, and why Linda is now livid with me." Sam sighed, wondering exactly how again he'd gotten into the middle of this.

"He's on a call, it'll be a few minutes." Charlie exited the Oval Office where he'd caught most of the conversation through the cracked door. "Were you, I'm sorry, we're you just talking about H.R. 1379."

"Yeah, you know about it?"

"For my class...we each chose a bill currently in Congress to research."

"So what do you think?" Sam leaned against Charlie's desk, perching himself on the edge.

"I'm really not the guy to ask."

"Come on Charlie, you're smart, you've been looking into this."

"Only for a week or two," Charlie offered weakly, not wanting to get pulled into this argument.

"Well you may have to choose something else here pretty soon." Josh added, moving to sit next to Sam on the desk.

"What do you mean?" Charlie asked, confused. The last he'd heard the RDA was going to sail through Congress.

"The RDA is just about to get killed in committee," Josh shrugged.

"There's got to be a way to salvage it though, right, I mean we can't just let it die."

"There's an offer out there. But it would be sacrificing the interests of 250 million people in favor of a bill that benefits less than 10 percent of the population," Sam explained.

"But they're only asking for 50 million." Charlie remembered reading that statistic more than once because it had struck him as rather low.

"50 million and an official department in the NIH," Josh confirmed.

"Yeah but Terry's going to make all that conditional on a longer patent life for drugs," Sam sighed, pushing off the desk in order to pace. "Which will increase the amount the average patient will have to spend on already overpriced medications."

"So you're telling me that you're going to let a bill that could possibly help save lives die because you don't want to risk people associating an increased co-pay with this White House?"

"The joys of an election year," Josh said flippantly, missing the obvious anger painting Charlie's features.

"That's bunk." Charlie took in their startled expressions and continued. "That's really just...that 'less than 10 percent of the population' is 25 million people. The bill isn't about the money or a change in title it's about saving lives, it's about finding cures and treatments for more than 6,000 diseases. And you're treating it like a throw-away because it's an election year?!"

"Charlie?"

"They're asking for 50 million dollars, that's only two dollars per person affected. I say give them the key to the bank. This is the White House, man, why don't we just take the bill and shove it down the committee's throat."

For a moment the only sound in the small office was Charlie's ragged breath. They all turned abruptly as the door to the Oval opened.

"Josh," the President invited. "Come on in."

"Yeah...I..." Josh looked sideways at Sam; neither man knew what had just happened. "I'll catch up with you later." Josh shuffled, still distracted, to follow the President.

Sam listened to the door closing and tried to reconcile the mild-mannered Charlie he knew with the one who'd basically just yelled at him and stood now, still panting slightly.

"Sam, I...I'm sorry." Charlie's voice wavered with emotion, as his eyes avoided Sam's. Instead he focused on his desk.

Sam followed his eyes and realized that Charlie was staring at a small family portrait. Suddenly something became very clear in Sam's mind.

"Charlie?" He asked softly. He only continued when Charlie met his eyes, "What's wrong with Deena?"

-----

Charlie tossed the keys on the small table and threw his bag down. The small apartment was dark but he didn't bother with the lights. Instead he began to pull off clothes like a snake sheds its skin. The trail of clothes strewn behind him would be comical if his sister had been there to laugh, but to him it seemed nothing but pitiful. By the time he reached the bathroom he was clothed only in boxers.

The water scalded his skin as he stepped in. He didn't reach for the soap or the shampoo; it wasn't that kind of shower. Years ago, before his father left, he learned to do this. He discovered, one night, that with the water running no one outside the tiny room could hear the muffled sobs. As a bonus the tears were lost in the rivulets of water running down his body, out the drain, and he could almost deny they'd ever existed.

He wasn't sure how it happened, how he'd ended up telling Sam everything. Something in him had broken and Sam had been there to witness it. He'd cursed himself the whole way home. But he was also relieved. To have someone else know, someone else to share the worry. He knew Sam would worry; he'd take it to heart as quickly as he did everything else and hold it there. He also knew that after she was done pouting, Deena would be glad it was Sam. And he didn't really fool himself; he knew when he'd talked to Sam that the whole Senior Staff might as well have been there too.

Charlie often suspected that Josh looked at him like a younger brother; and, by proxy, Josh had also managed to adopt Deena into the family. And he saw it too, sometimes, in the others. The way CJ fussed over Deena when she came to the White House and the way Toby offered quiet, unsolicited advice. And Sam who'd lost to a girl, but never complained, and afterwards graced Deena with a large bear hug.

He'd seen it almost from the start really. And just as quickly he'd moved to avoid it. Always quick to bow out of socializing, quick to reserve the larger part of himself, leaving only the little he could bear to lose on display. Sometimes he wasn't sure if it was more to protect him or them, because if there was one inevitability in his life, it was loss. First his father, although all things considered, he'd probably been done a favor never having really known the man. His mother, who'd been in the very wrong place at the wrong time because he'd asked her to. Then the President, who was shot because those ill-informed bigots didn't have good enough aim. And Josh, who broke and bled and broke again, because of him; yet never so much as looked at him with the scorn he'd deserved, at moments longed for. Sometimes he stood in the shower and fingered his chest imagining what Josh's scar must feel like, wondering how it would look on him. And Deena. He didn't know if she would be the next, he only knew with a grave certainty that he would outlive her, his younger sister.

He doubled over suddenly, his stomach rebelling, like it always did, against the thought. Quickly stumbling out of the shower, his wet feet slick on the floor, he realized that somewhere in the apartment his cell phone was ringing. Wrapping a towel around his waist he glanced at the trail of clothes he'd left and groaned. Somewhere in there was his cell phone. Thankfully it was still ringing when he finally came across it.

"Charlie Young," he answered, making his way back to the bedroom.

"Charlie."

His stomach clenched at the voice, and he had to put a hand out to steady himself as the person on the other end continued.

"This is Dr. Richards. It's Deena."