Those are words Sam Seaborn prided himself on. Words that he so badly wanted to believe. But life was interfering. And they weren't so believable anymore. Life just kept throwing him curveballs, and he'd never been that good a catcher.

The first of these was Josh showing up at the most inopportune and yet fantastically perfect time. Josh -- whom he'd never really gotten over. Josh, whom one look at brought back memories of days on the hill and drinking and laughing and more drinking and finally, finally, sex.

It had taken some convincing, some gentle persuasion -- yes some utter convincing -- until Josh had let go and ceased freaking out over the fact that he was going to bed with his best friend. Best *male* friend.

And each time after it happened, Sam would wake up alone and he'd never bat an eye. After all, thus situations were expected when you were dealing with Josh Lyman.

So when Josh had shown up, wet and bright-eyed, Sam was introduced to his first example of Things You Aren't Sure Of.

Leaving Lisa had been painful. She had been comfortable and Sam loved comfort. When Lisa had said 'You think you can just make this decisions, Sam. But you never seem to think of the consequences of your actions. You just never think, Sam,' Sam knew those words would be imprinted in his mind forever.

Four years later, after a nice long interlude, came his next curveball. Hearing of his father's infidelity was like having scalding water poured on his arm. And Lisa's words had come back to haunt him. For the first time in his life, Sam had been afraid -- afraid that he really was like his father -- because his father didn't think of the consequences of his own actions, either. And Sam hadn't thought of what leaving Gage Whitney would mean for Lisa. He found the realization of his selfishness a maddening one.

That night, he had done something else he wasn't proud of -- by sleeping with Josh, again. He had been drunk, Josh hadn't. But Josh had held him while he tried to make coherent sentences, while he tried to choke back the tears. He was sure he'd spilled some well-guarded secrets that the other man was never meant to hear, but he hadn't cared.

When he awoke in the morning, alone in the bed, as always, he had recalled Josh's kisses, Josh's touch, oh so sure and familiar.

And the only words he recalled from the previous night were probably the most important of his life:

*The only thing I'm sure of anymore is you, Josh.*

Sam knew that as being both a good and bad thing. Good because this was Josh, his best friend, his occasional lover, the person that knew him better than anyone. Bad because yes, this *was* Josh, and along with that came the admittance that as long as this was Josh, we would always awake alone.

The last, and most recent, of what Sam has since begun to call the theme of his life, came two days ago. And this was possibly the most difficult of all.

*There are certain things you are sure of. Longitude and Latitude, Josh poking his head in Sam's door with a brilliant smile and a 'Sup?' on his lips, Toby grumbling under his breath when frustrated about a speech -- and the President not having Multiple Scoliosis.*

But life was good at throwing Sam curveballs. And you'd think with all the practice he's had, he'd be able to chance at least one of them. Or perhaps hit one at least. Or maybe he should avoid them?

Two days ago, he learned the President of the United States, the man he looked up to and respected more than anyone in the world, more than his own father, had a terminal disease.

He allowed himself to be held by Toby afterward, allowed himself to shed tears for a brilliant man, and then he made his way home in a mournful daze and wasn't surprised in the least to find Josh sitting on his sofa with a solemn expression on his face.

They had talked for a long time, and then held each other, and even cried some. And then Josh had taken him to bed and loved him so thoroughly, so carefully, that Sam couldn't speak, much less move, afterward.

The next morning, he awoke in Joshua Lyman's arms. He didn't question it, didn't dare to, he just accepted it as proof to the fact that life was a continuous series of curveballs. And maybe, just maybe, he'd be able to catch this one.