Sam was literally shuffling his feet through the parking lot, eyes planted firmly on the ground. "She has a partner, you know? I didn't know that."

"I know. They've been together 8 years. How the *hell* do you keep a relationship a secret for 8 years?" Josh wondered idly.

"Oh, I'd imagine the same way you'd do it for 28 years, but, you know, for not as long."

If it smells like shit, and it feels like shit...

"Come home with me." It was a plea now.

"I'm gonna get some sleep." Sam, sliding behind the wheel. "Another time, Josh. Really."

It had been two days since the story broke, and after valiantly trying to gain control of the situation, Charlotte Stiles had graciously withdrawn her nomination and walked away with what little dignity she'd had left. Leo had danced fast to keep the failings of their initial investigation as quiet as possible.

The administration had been taking the hits, Sam absorbing the majority of them, and Josh was proud that he hadn't fallen completely apart. Though it had been touch and go. And he admitted to himself that his motives for getting to spend some time with Sam weren't as simple as wanting to get his mind off things. Josh really wanted to gauge how Sam was coping.

Josh drifted towards his own car, pondering the complexities of his friendship with Sam. And he had to acknowledge, he was feeling a little wounded by how Sam had been shutting him out. Everyone needed space once in awhile, and Josh expected that was truer for them than most, because they worked together everyday. But it was as if Sam was reaching out an arm to physically hold Josh back.

If he was going to find out what exactly was eating Sam alive, Josh was going to have to put a little more muscle into it to get him to open up.

**

"You have to talk to Leo," Josh declared, leveling his gaze on his friend's tired face. He'd been trying quite unsuccessfully to convince Sam to take a few days off. The seven day work weeks were killing everyone, but Sam already looked half dead.

Sam sighed quietly and lifted the top of his sandwich to peek at the tomato resting there. "I don't have that kind of relationship with him. I'm not even sure what I'm asking for."

"He's really good at that part."

But that would require articulating what the problem was. And if Sam could do that, he pondered silently, he probably wouldn't have allowed himself to become such a train wreck in the first place.

Sam, nibbling at his pickle distractedly, Josh plowing through his chili, neither aware of the bustle of the diner around them. This was good, sitting here, having lunch with Sam. It was a small step, but a big win, as far as Josh was concerned. And it was the first time in ages that they were having a conversation that didn't end with Sam fleeing, or shutting him out.

And it was tempting beyond all reason to keep pushing. But Josh was determined not to give Sam an excuse to slide back, even an inch, so he squirmed in his seat, and watched Sam look under the bread again.

"Something wrong there, Sam?" Josh was honestly curious now, because, not that he was counting, but that was the third time Sam had done that.

Surprised at being caught, Sam looked over the rim of his glasses at Josh. "Hmmm... I may be hallucinating here. But I think this tomato is alive."

Josh lifted himself off the plastic bench and craned his neck for a better view of Sam's chicken salad sandwich. "When you say alive, you must mean..."

"Well, it moves."

Nearly choking on a pinto bean, Josh shot Sam an alarmed look. And noticed that Sam was wearing a rather perplexed expression himself. He couldn't mean it literally moved.

"This doesn't *concern* you, Sam?!" Josh's voice squeaking a little at the end.

"That my tomato is moving, or that I might be hallucinating?"

So, this was bizarre. Because either one of those things would be causing Josh a hell of a lot more angst than Sam was demonstrating right now.

"Let me see. Show me the thing."

Sam calmly lifted a corner of the sourdough bread and slid the plate a fraction closer to Josh. "It might take a second to.... There." Sam sitting up a little straighter was the only visible reaction he showed.

Josh, on the other hand yelped and threw himself against the back of the booth. "What the hell is that?! What the hell is that?!"

The commotion brought the waiter to the table, where Josh proceeded to sputter out a demand for an explanation. After another showy display from the exposed tomato, the waiter reached out gingerly and lifted it off the bed of chicken.

All three men leaned closer to examine the woolly-looking worm that rested obliviously among the bits of celery.

"Hmph." Sam, frankly relieved that he hadn't been seeing things.

Josh, bleating at the waiter, throwing money on the table, pulling Sam out of the booth. Out on the sidewalk, Josh tugged at his jacket, regaining some composure. He cocked his head at Sam, who was looking magnificently unconcerned. "You okay, Sam?"

"I'm fine."

Well of course he was.

And Josh decided he needed to do something about that.

**

There were too many people in this room, Sam thought almost desperately. No way was there enough air to sustain this much life. But what disturbed him most was not the image of the bodies of his co-workers writhing on the floor, clutching their throats in anguish. No, what was causing Sam to inch slowly towards panic was the realization that if they all dropped dead right now, that would leave more air for him. What kind of a man did that make him?

"Excuse me." Sam spilled out of his chair and, leaving his open notebook, laptop and files in place, stepped around the people lining the Roosevelt Room.

Without a clearly defined destination, Sam started towards the lobby, distantly hoping the openness would calm him a bit. He'd completed three full circles around the area, eyes firmly planted on the tile in front of him, oblivious to the skeptical guard watching him, when he heard his name being called.

Donna. "Did you drop something, Sam?" She tottered over and began examining the ground surrounding him. "What was it?" She was doing a little dance now, darting her small feet around as if afraid she might be stepping on the precious item Sam had obviously been intent on retrieving.

Wide-eyed at first, confused by the question, until he realized why she had asked it. No, I was just, you know, wandering aimlessly trying to get these horrific images of dead, decaying corpses out of my head.

Sweet, concerned Donna, just trying to help. One of the few people who didn't seem to think Sam had metamorphosed into a woolly worm over the last few months. It made him smile.

"No, I didn't drop anything. I was just wandering aimlessly trying to get these horrific images of dead, decaying corpses out of my head." Well, Josh was always telling him he had to talk about these things....

The alarmed expression on Donna's face nipped the urge to share any more of his thoughts in the bud, and Sam's grin turned sheepish. "Sorry. Just, forget I said anything. Thanks all the same for helping me look."

Okay.

When Sam finally returned to the abandoned meeting in the Roosevelt Room, he was at first keenly relieved that the crowd had thinned to almost nothing. Until he saw that Toby was one of the few remaining people, sitting at the head of the table, arms folded securely across his chest. Sam's closed computer and notebook neatly stacked in front of him.

"Oh god," Sam groaned. How long had he been circling the lobby? Hadn't he just stepped out for a minute? "Oh god," he repeated. Moving across the room, aware that the lingering staffers were now scurrying away. Against all instincts for survival, Sam found himself steadily closing the distance between himself and his boss. "Oh. God."

"You know, for a secularist, you say that a lot."

"Only in times of intense distress or incredulity."

"Well, then." Toby's dark eyes firing a thousand volts into Sam.

"Oh -- " He had to stop that. "Toby. I don't know what to say. Please tell me they're all on a break or something." But Sam knew better. The room was empty. All signs that an hour ago 20 people had been strewn about, trying to hammer out a revised Superfund site list had been wiped away in Sam's absence.

"They seemed to be under the impression the meeting was over. Since the person leading it had left the room. And didn't come back." Toby replied accusingly, unfolding his arms and placing his hands atop Sam's laptop.

There was nothing to be gained by Sam pointing out that he *had* come back. Just, um, a little later than he'd intended. And telling Toby that the various people from the Department of Energy, and the State, Tribal, and Site Identification Center among many others had been sucking up all the air - that it was every man for himself - probably wouldn't cut it.

Releasing a lungful of air he hadn't even been aware he was holding, Sam collapsed in the chair closest to Toby. "Am I fired? Just tell me, Toby. 'Cause I don't think I can survive the suspense."

Toby's thick fingers began drumming the top of Sam's laptop, lazily and absently, while he stared at his dejected deputy. "Are you ill? Did you get sick again?" Toby's tone was so even and inquiring, Sam was momentarily lulled off his guard.

"No, I... I usually get sick *after* I've fucked up." Said so matter-of-factly, Toby struggled against a smile.

"So, you just got up and walked out of the meeting." That was a pretty succinct summary of events. Toby rose to his feet and started for the door. "I've always found you a little... odd. But never this flaky, and in case you haven't pulled your head out of your ass in awhile, you're working in the White House. I don't tolerate flaky. So you can imagine how Leo and the President feel about it." And then he was gone, leaving Sam with his head resting on folded arms atop the gleaming table.