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| | Josh, Then Sam |
 | | Strong arms pressed him closer, and Josh inhaled tears that were threatening to trickle from his eyes, and he squeezed back in defiance. He hadn't made it to the wedding, or the funeral, the swearing in, or the retirement party. But he made it here, to the curb outside the White House. Their White House. |
 | | Their embrace was embraced by the moist, cradling smell of popcorn and hotdogs, a circus smell that seemed out of place in front of the imposing presidential mansion, but not on a sidewalk in New York. Sam breathed it in along with the unfamiliar aroma of Josh, long purged from his sense memory banks. |
 | | His hand slipped down along the sharp shoulders, down to a hazardously pointed elbow, and Sam griped it firmly, used it to pry himself away from the stranger in his arms. His lips pressed together against a smile or a sob, he couldn't identify which, and he blinked into the brown eyes blinking back. |
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