**

She didn't have to ask. There wasn't any point in asking anyway because, these days, 9 out of 10 times if Ginger asked Sam if he wanted something he would tell her not to bother, then get up and get it himself. She wasn't sure if he didn't really hear her, or he did it to annoy her, but the effect was the same.

Walking into Sam's office with a piping hot cup of coffee, Ginger had to jump back when Sam, standing in the center of the room, began shaking his head like a puppy after a bath. Transparent droplets of water flew off of him, dousing the assorted framed photos and videotapes that were lined up haphazardly along the shelves.

"I'll get you a towel."

"That's okay."

Goddamn him. Fine.

"So, here's your schedule. I'll just put it on your desk." Sam was peeling off his suit jacket, which was dark with moisture. But his head was bowed, and Ginger wasn't entirely confident he was finished with his doggie routine. "...If you're done."

"Thank you, Ginger." He hadn't even looked up at her yet, and if he had it most likely would have made things worse. Because she was giving him that look, the look everyone seemed to reserve just for him these days. A large part irritation with a splash of pity mixed in for good measure. The metaphor made Sam think of how good a dollop of brandy would be, added to the coffee Ginger had left him.

Moving behind his orderly desk, Sam had the sudden feeling of being watched. A glance at his door assured him no one was there, but his eyes caught a quick blur to the right, and he cocked his head, waiting to see if it would come back into view. There it was. Toby's dour face, peeking through the large window between their offices. ...grant me the strength...

"If I ignore you, you'll just go away, won't you?" Sam muttered under his breath. Talking out loud to one's self wasn't the picture of mental health, but then Sam had blown *that* image awhile ago. "Hasn't worked in any other area of my life but, what the hell, I'm a fairly open-minded guy," he continued to himself. Sam sat back in his chair and began sifting through the correspondence stacked neatly there.

It took five minutes, and he was actually grateful when Toby materialized in front of his desk. The waiting was beginning to wear thin.

Toby cleared his throat. "You left before I did last night." It was a scolding. "I tried to call you, your cell was turned off."

"My cell was turned off." Sam sipped at his coffee and waited for Toby to continue. Because technically, he hadn't been asked a question here.

"You were supposed to have the draft finished. We were going to take it in to Leo. We discussed it...." Toby's hands finished the thought for him.

Was *that* a question? It was ambiguous, but Sam decided he could be magnanimous and give this one to Toby. "I did finish it. And I checked with Margaret. Leo had already left, so I knew we weren't going in there last night." Sam pulled the neatly typed draft of the speech for the Economic Club of Detroit out of his briefcase and slid it across the desk to Toby.

Shifting from one foot to another, it almost looked as if Toby was swaying to some unheard music. "If you had left this on my desk last night, I wouldn't have to come in here and hound you for it." Toby wasn't capitulating here, just making a point. His eyes darted from the draft in his hand to his Deputy. "This frees you up to start on the remarks for - "

"Already started. Here's the outline." Another meticulously typed page fluttered across the desk. Sam sat back and picked up his cooling coffee. "After staff, I'm briefing CJ on The Presidential Environmental Management Advisory Board, which will be very... brief. She's got it down cold." Then I'm planning on finding a nice warm closet to hide in, and I won't be available for the rest of the day. Please hold my calls, and ignore any sobbing sounds you may hear coming from inside.

"Okay. Staff in 15." Toby spun on his heels and was gone, leaving Sam to ponder what kinds of foods could be easily slipped under a closed door.

**

"...but it doesn't really matter what I do because that's something the Office of Personnel Management is looking at anyway. So why would I waste my time, duplicating the work of - Sam. What did I just say?" Josh's pen suspended above his pad, eyebrows raised. This was the third time in half an hour Josh had lost Sam, and had to run back to find him, dragging him back onto the trail. "And *this* time, you get a cookie if you guess right."

Sam's eyes had snapped back to Josh's amused face, but didn't reflect any of the levity he saw there. "Budget. No, the... the computers. And the people." It was vague, and a little simplistic, but seemed close enough to satisfy Josh, because he was talking again, and that bought Sam some more time.

His mother might have said Sam's problem was that he had too much time. Which had to mean something was wrong; no one had that much time on their hands at the White House these days. The place was being wallpapered with subpoenas, and they were barely keeping a lid on the Democrats, never mind the Republicans. And there was still the country and a re-election to run.

But somehow Sam found his own pace slowing, and he frequently had the sensation of moving outside his frenetic surroundings. Whatever he was given to do was getting done. But Sam hardly remembered doing any of it, and he obsessively went back over everything to make sure it was all really there, and the quality hadn't slipped.

He could have sworn Josh had stopped talking. If not, it was way too long a pause for effective speaking, and Sam interpreted it as an end. Rising out of the chair he'd been rigidly sitting in, he snapped his notebook closed, thrust a hand into his pocket and shrugged his shoulders in the direction of the door. "So, I'm gonna get back to my office."

"Uh, Sam? Did you somehow skip ahead while I wasn't looking and finish this discussion without me?" There wasn't much humor in Josh's voice now, and Sam started at that. Had he done something wrong? Again? "Leo wants this hammered out today, he wants to take it to Eugene by end of business. I was under the impression you were going to put it all together for me."

"I am." He was. He would. If Sam could just remember what it was they were talking about. "I'm going back to my office to do that. Just," he extracted the hand from his pocket and reached impatiently across the desk. "Gimme the thing. I'll take care of it for you." There, fixed, everything was fine, he'd just have to read it all from the beginning and take any questions to someone else. Home free.

"I don't think so. Sit down."

Josh was up now, walking around to the door, easing it shut. A hand on Sam's shoulder guided him back into the vacated chair. This didn't feel right.

Josh took his own seat again, and placed both hands folded on the desktop. "This is getting to be a problem, Sam." Jump in Josh, the water's fine. "Every time I think you're starting to get your shit together, you do something to.... You're making me nervous."

Sam didn't want to make Josh nervous. If anything, he wanted to make everything all right for both of them. Things hadn't felt all right between them for awhile now. Sometimes Sam was afraid he'd passed over into outright paranoia, the way he sensed Josh was watching him.

"You're making too much of a little daydreaming, Josh. It's not exactly scintillating conversation, you know what I'm saying? But I have a firm grasp on what you want, and I can distill it into nice crisp talking points for you - " Sam thought he'd bounced back well, was the very picture of sincere professionalism.

"I didn't want talking points. That's exactly what *I'm* saying here. I could get anyone to do talking points for me, Sam. You have no idea what has been going on in this room for the last hour." Josh was making no effort to hide the frustration and annoyance he was feeling now.

It had been a few months since President Bartlet had disclosed his illness to his staff and the American public. Frenzied months of spinning and mending, and somewhere along the way each of them had been forced to deal with their own personal repercussions. There were still hurt feelings, and some bruising that hadn't healed. The anxiety had dissipated a little when re-election had moved from a distant abstract to a solid reality. It felt good to have that clarity after the stressful uncertainty. But, Josh had come to realize only recently; somehow Sam had been left behind.

It was a lot. It was a lot for someone like Sam, Josh knew that. But he'd forgotten to look over his shoulder, and by the time he realized Sam was no longer there, he had no idea how to reach him.

They'd all been angry. At the President. At Leo and the First Lady. And at the damned disease that seemed to be physically stalking the very halls of the White House.

And they'd all been disappointed. That they hadn't been trusted enough to make their own decisions about just what they were willing to climb on board for.

But Sam.... Sam was lost. He'd been bitter, and combative, and Josh had felt let down that it had outlasted the rest of their anger, but he also recognized that a lot of things had been flying at Sam on all fronts, and they seemed to pick up speed since the beginning of the year.

Looking at his friend now, sitting across the desk, Josh contemplated, not for the first time, what Sam's life would have been like if Josh had never made that one last effort to get him out of New York. And it troubled him to think that Sam might be thinking the same thing. Right now, Sam looked as if he was ready to bolt from the room, and Josh was afraid he might not get him back if that happened.

"Sam. I've seen you at your best. And I've seen you at your worst. And this is definitely the worst of your worst. Now tell me what the hell's going on with you." Josh held in a breath while blue eyes bore into him. "That right there? That was your cue to speak." So. He was going to do it again.

After the anger had seeped away a little, and the antagonism appeared to be draining from him, Sam had taken a sudden and drastic tack. He'd pretty much stopped speaking. It had been stunning, and dramatic and irritated the hell out of everyone, but then CJ had said something to the effect of it being better than his being so argumentative, and they'd let him alone for awhile.

Eventually Sam began to draw back to them again, but the intensity and relentlessness of his silence had been a thing to behold. Josh didn't know how he did it, how he could sit in a meeting where feelings were running high, and policy was being discussed, where everyone knew Sam had strong opinions, but he never opened his mouth unless asked a direct question.

It was awesome and infuriating and Josh had to admire the fact that while he himself was still prone to the occasional unreasonable outburst, Sam retreated further into impeccable civility.

It didn't seem so awesome now, Sam serenely sitting there detached and impenetrable.

Josh allowed a sigh to explode from his chest. In all the years he'd known Sam, he had been mildly amused by his seemingly oblivious willfulness. How he could do things like giving the letter he wrote in support of Leo to President Bartlet after having been *expressly* told not to. Or go to see Laurie after her graduation even after agreeing it was a bad idea. Josh would just shake his head and say, that's Sam.

But Sam was mining new depths of stubbornness these days, and Josh was feeling ill-equipped to handle it. This was someone he loved, and admired, and couldn't imagine his life without. And right now he wasn't even sure if he liked Sam anymore.

Sam's eyes had narrowed as the moments ticked by, and Josh felt childishly triumphant when Sam broke away first and looked down at his hands. "I'm okay. I'm just having a little trouble, Josh." Josh leaned closer to hear the quiet voice, leaned in until the edge of the desk pressed into his stomach. "I'm not sure I'm doing anyone any good right now."

"Including yourself, man. You're a mess." And I'm a screw-up. Levity was a defense Josh relied on to diffuse situations he felt not entirely in control of, and this was one of those times. As soon as the words were out of his mouth it occurred to him Sam might not appreciate having something so confessional taken so lightly. Obviously this was hard for Sam. There was nothing Josh wanted to do but make things easier. "What can I do?"

Sam was making all kinds of noises now, sighs and groans, and it seemed like he was being rendered apart over there. A sudden clap of thunder almost swallowed the word when it worked its way out of Sam's mouth: "Jesus." Josh focused his eyes on his friend's sharp features. "I've got to get out of here."

And just like that, Sam was up, and gone, and Josh was looking at an empty chair.