"CJ?  I *think* that was Portuguese, and I *think* you just called me your lovely little waiter.  I'm gonna assume you don't have a direct line to my damaged psyche this week, and let you get away with it this one time."  Flopping onto her sofa, Sam rested his elbows on his knees and waited for her to remove her glasses.

"I'm going to Portugal, Sam."

"Okay.

"I'm taking a vacation."

"Right."

"I mean it this time.  No, I really do,"  Watching him shake his head slowly.  "You don't believe me?"

"I never believed you any of the other times either, and what do you know? You never went."  Sam sat back and crossed his arms.  "Can we talk about me, now?"

Slapping the book closed with a quick snap, CJ rose from behind her desk to join Sam on the sofa.  "I'm here for you, babe."

Dropping his hands into his lap, shoulders slumping.  "I think my week has developed a theme," Sam sighed.

"You have a theme?  But you don't have a theme song, am I right?  Is that your problem?"  Sam could see CJ had immediately warmed to that idea.

"No.  Well, it could be.  Okay, I may have more than one problem.  But you can actually help me with the big one."  Sam gave into the nervous energy he felt swelling in him, and got to his feet.

"What can you tell me about Francine Mallet, in Protocol?"  Pacing over to the television, Sam ran a hand over the screen, then examined his fingers, scowling at the abundant amount of dust he found there.

CJ stopped half-way as she reached for a can of soda on the coffee table and looked at Sam carefully.  "Is this about your investigation?  The leaked speech?" she asked, sitting back carefully.

Turning to face CJ, Sam shrugged his shoulders and pressed his lips together briefly before speaking.  "I wouldn't characterize it as an investigation.  That word always seems to get us in deep shit.  I'm just checking into a few things for Leo." 

"Okay, so now I have my answer if anyone in the pressroom get's a whiff of this.  Between us, Sam.  Is this related to your investigation?" she pressed.

Sam winced.  He had a job to do, and felt he was getting close to connecting all the dots.  But he wasn't crazy about the idea of dragging out the identities of people who may not have anything more than a passing acquaintance with the names Kim had given him.  Coming back to sit beside CJ, Sam looked her squarely in the eyes.

"Francine Mallet went to the Office of Protocol after you passed her over for Deputy, is that right?"

"You don't honestly think – "

"I don't know enough to think, CJ.  So I'm just asking questions here," Sam told her honestly.  "I have three possible names, and only one of them has a direct connection to the White House."

"Francine?"

Somewhat sadly, Sam nodded.  "She got engaged last month."

"Yeah?  I didn't know."

"Her fiancι works on the Hill.  He makes $27,000 a year, and has been trying like hell to get a job with Swift."  Sam dropped his head into his hands.  "I'm not making an accusation, you understand.  And I'm really, really not comfortable even discussing this with anyone."  Sam straightened up and looked over at CJ once more.  "But you knew her, and obviously I know I can trust you.  I don't want to bring undue attention to this woman if there's any chance I could be going down the wrong road here."

CJ could see this wasn't easy for Sam to ask.  There was very little she hated more than having to face the fact that occasionally someone inside their own small community would have their loyalties questioned.  The task had fallen to her, once or twice in the past, and she recalled how uneasy the entire affair had made her.  She reached out and touched Sam's cuff lightly.

"Francine was always a bit of a social climber," she confided to Sam.  "She wanted the house in McLean, the receptions, the mention in Lloyd Grove's column on Monday mornings.  She did good work, but I never felt as if her mind was one hundred percent where it should have been."  CJ picked up her warm soda and took a deep swallow.  "That's all I know, Sam.  I hope it helps you."

With a deeper, exhausted sigh, Sam got to his feet, thanked CJ, and went back to his office.

End part 3/7

__________________________

With Respect, To the Gentleman From California

Part 4/7

"Can we...?"  Toby lingered in the doorway, waiting for an invitation he wasn't even sure would be forthcoming.  "I was thinking, it's been a long day."

Sam caught the weariness he felt reflected in Toby's face.  "We can do this another time.  It can keep another night," he reasoned.

"I was actually thinking we could get a drink, maybe.  Or we can do it tomorrow.  I just thought, it might be good to get out of here, walk over to the Grill.  And we could talk over a drink, or...."

Beginning to feel as if something physical was in the room with them whenever they were together, Sam figured it would be better to get whatever was happening between him and Toby out of the way, once and for all.  He felt a small twinge of regret at the idea of sending Josh home without him.  The thought of how his own expectations and Josh's plans might coincide caused an unwelcome stir in his groin.

Clearing his throat and his mind, Sam nodded solemnly.  "Let's do that," he agreed.  "I'll just tell Josh."

"Yeah."  Toby sucked his lip into the dense undergrowth around his mouth and walked back into his office to fill his pockets with his cell phone and pager while Sam made his call.

Moments later he was back, just in time to find Sam plucking his cell phone out of its charger, then slipping on his jacket.

__________________________

Dismissing the long, ornate bar, the two men were directed to a table away from the front of the restaurant.  Settling wordlessly into club chairs, waving away the menus the host offered, Toby cut his eyes back and forth between Sam and the approaching server.

"Gentlemen," the young blonde woman greeted them cheerfully.  "What can I bring you?"

"Jack, rocks," Toby instructed. 

Turning her attention to Sam, who was rubbing the bridge of his nose between his fingers.  "Gin gimlet, please," he requested wearily, hoping the sharp lime drink would clear the gummy, stale taste from his mouth.  "And a glass of water, when you get a chance."

Nodding briskly, the server was gone, leaving a bloated silence hanging in place of her presence.

Like bumping noses, they both began to speak at once.

"No, go ahead," Toby demurred, offering a palm up gesture to encourage the younger man to take the floor.

"So.  I guess we should....  We should try to figure out... where we go from here."  Sam sighed and went back to massaging his nose.

The waitress returned, setting their drinks down in front of them. "Jack for the gentleman.  Gimlet for his friend," she said with what Toby could have sworn was a wink.

Toby swirled the ice cubes around a few times before speaking.  "If you believe nothing else about me Sam, you have to know I am sorry if I've made you feel in any way...  in any way unequal.  To the task, to me, to anyone."

Sam raised his eyes to Toby for a moment, turning the words over in his mind.  Distractedly bringing his drink to his mouth, he swallowed hard, gasping back a cough.  "Ugh!" he sputtered.  After shooting a vicious glare into his glass, he caught the attention of the server and motioned her over with two fingers.

"This isn't a gimlet."  His voice was uncharacteristically tight.  "It's a gibson."  He handed it up to the startled woman who rapidly darted away.

Catching Toby's confused expression, Sam took a quick sip of water and dabbed at his mouth with the cocktail napkin.  "I don't doubt that you're sorry."  The fingers of Sam's right hand were vibrating against the table.  "Just... do you think it somehow changes the fact that you feel that way in the first place?" he asked pointedly.

Toby fingered the swizzle stick the way he would a cigar, flexing them around it, see-sawing it back and forth.  "I don't know where this is all coming from right now, Sam.  This business about me not coming to you?"  His dry chuckle belying the fact that he saw no humor in this absurd notion.  "What is *that?*  You're my deputy.  I come to you with *everything.*  You sound like you've suddenly discovered you're not daddy's favorite child.  So, so what the hell is your problem?"

The fingers halted their nervous dance, and Sam's eyes visibly drained from blue to gray in the evening light.  "We're obviously still not on the same page, here," he countered. 

"Here you go, sir."  Sam sat back abruptly when the server replaced his drink.  Prepared to continue his train of thought, Sam looked down and snapped his mouth shut.

"*Excuse* me."  Arching a dark eyebrow at the perplexed expression on the blonde's face.  "Have you ever been to a farm?" Sam asked curtly.

"I'm sorry...?"

"Farm, community garden, grocery store.  Any one would do.  I was just curious whether you've ever seen how things are actually grown," Sam persisted.  "Do you see these?" he asked, fishing a dripping green cocktail sword out of the clear liquid.  "These are onions."  Waving them around a little, drops of gin splashing against the table, running down his wrist.  "Onions, even of the miniature or, cocktail variety, are vegetables, and they grow in the ground," he continued with exaggerated reasonableness.  "Whereas a *lime* is a fruit, and grows on trees."

"Sam."  Toby, suddenly seeing what was happening right in front of him.

"The difference in taste is also remarkable.  One being tart and fruity, the other being, well, an ONION," Sam's voice taking on a slightly menacing edge Toby had never heard before.  "So while the words 'gimlet' and 'gibson' have all of two letters in common, the difference in taste between the two - "

"Sam!"

"The difference in taste - "

Aghast, Toby rose to his feet and snatched the drink from Sam's hand, placed it with studied deliberation into the trembling waitress'.  "Please, just, go.  Take this, go... bring him a *gimlet* or a tranquilizer, or something.  Just, please."  Turning back to face Sam, who was staring helplessly at the floor.

"Well.  That was...." Sam began, clearly as shaken as the departed server.  "I should... excuse me."

On his feet before Toby could respond, he watched as Sam walked purposely to the service bar where he bowed his head and spoke into the ear of the unsuspecting young woman whom he had a moment ago nearly brought to tears.  A firm hand on her sleeve drew her around to face him, and although Toby was unable to see Sam's face, he saw the tension in the woman's drain away, eventually replaced by a slender smile and a slow nod of her head.

Returning to the table, Sam was unable to meet Toby's condemning stare.  "I owe you an apology too, Toby.  I really don't know...."  Snorting gently to himself.  "That's the second time in two days I've flown off the handle."  Finally bringing his eyes up to meet his boss'.  "I obviously, I really....  Maybe this isn't the best time for us to be having this conversation," he concluded weakly.

"Oh, I think I've just realized how important it is we *do* have this conversation," Toby disagreed.

After gulping down some water, Sam planted his elbows on the table and rested his head in his hands.  "I blew up at Josh last night, too," he admitted meekly.  "I mean, it passed before I even knew it.  But for a minute there...."  Sam raised his head, sat back in his chair.  Offered a weak smile to the server when she placed his drink in front of him.

"You've been working too hard; the questions about the email improprieties....  Maybe Babish is asking too much of you right now," Toby speculated.  "We have an entire counsel's office. You've been an invaluable liaison between them and the staff, but....  Maybe it's too much right now."  Toby sipped thoughtfully at his drink, keeping an evaluating eye on Sam.

"Hm.  Well, that wasn't the problem, actually; feeling overworked.  It was... it was personnel, but it was also connected with... us.  With what we're talking about here."  Sam plucked the lime wedge from his drink and squeezed it gently, anything to avoid eye contact.  What they were supposed to be talking about, if Sam could regain control of the conversation.

"I still think I'll speak to Oliver.  Ainsley's perfectly capable of assisting - "

"Toby.  Um.  Some people have expressed.... They're not entirely comfortable going over their testimony with her.  They've mentioned it to me," Sam said with surprising timidity.  "They just feel – "

"Because she's a Republican?" Toby finished.  "That's bullshit!  When are they going to get over the fact that we have a REPUBLICAN WORKING FOR US?"  His voice rose with indignation.  "If anything, this whole fiasco has proved that we can't predict where the next hit is coming from, our side, their side.  It's like a game of political dodge ball!"

Sam sat patiently, nodding his head when he felt Toby would expect it.  "She *is* doing a great job.  My point was, they feel more comfortable hearing this stuff from me.  Not because she's a Republican.  Because they know me.  And I don't mind."  Sam sighed deeply and brought his eyes up to meet Toby's at last.  "And isn't that what we keep coming back to?"

"Oh, for the love of god, Sam," the older man groused.  "So, *everybody* goes to you except me.  Is that what we're stuck on?  Is that where you want to keep ending up?"

"Well," Sam declared bitterly.  "Doesn't that sound... inconvenient for you."

Biting the inside of his lower lip, sucking at it, chewing the flesh, Toby studied Sam intently.  CJ had warned him about this.  Had been trying to prepare Toby for a year.  She'd told him that he'd only be able to ride Sam's moderate case of hero worship so far, before he'd start to chafe at the bit.  One day, Sam would come up along side of Toby, if not overtake him completely.  He had all the qualities Toby lacked, he just didn't realize yet how far it would get him.

"So why?" Sam was saying, intruding suddenly on Toby's train of thought.  "Why is it that you have more respect for my abilities as a speechwriter than you do as a policy advisor?" Sam demanded.

"You have enough to worry about," Toby mumbled without thinking.

"Bullshit."

"*I* have enough to worry about."

Pushing his drink away with barely disguised disgust, Sam leveled his stare on Toby.  "I'm sorry to be the source of so much worry and concern for you."

"I worry, yes, I worry, Sam.  I don't want to give you more than you can handle, okay?  I don't...."  Toby twirled the stirrer in his drink violently, wrestling with himself.  "Dammit.  I'd never want you to think that I was setting you up for failure.  You have the potential to be really great at this.  Contrary to the first impressions I formed of you, I believe, given time and the right, the right guidance... you could go very far.  Doing this.  Or, you know, whatever you wanted to do," he finished, agonizingly pulling the words from his own mouth.  "But you're so fucking young.  You don't even realize it yourself."  Resigned to just telling the unvarnished truth.  "But I do." 

"You know, Toby, that may have been true, at one point.  In the beginning.  I'll give you that."  Sam shook his head once, willing to accept the judgment.  Once.  "But... I'm not the same guy that walked into campaign headquarters in Nashua to meet the 'great Toby Zeigler'.  Who, as I recall, wasn't so 'great' and didn't make a tremendous first impression either."  Sam lowered his eyes and licked his lips nervously. 

"You want to talk about first impressions?  Sam, you're lucky you made it past the first three impressions.  Beyond all reason, I was able to see past all three, and I'm...."  Toby cocked his head slightly at the memory, avoiding the young man waiting across the table from him.  "That's something I'm not known for doing," Toby finished quietly.

"That bad?"  Sam wanted to know.  He wasn't fishing, but he thought distantly that if he had some idea what pre-conceptions Toby had started with, he might be able to figure out how to finally banish them for good.  Hard work, dedication, sacrifice.  These were the things he'd imagined would be asked of him.  He'd given all happily.  And in return he'd gained so much more than he'd ever hoped he would.  Purpose, the opportunity to make a lasting difference, a clear direction.  And Josh. 

Toby sized Sam up carefully.  "You want to know what I thought of you?"  Not sure he wanted to tell him.  Despite all the evidence to the contrary, Toby felt an unspecified affection for his deputy, one that had gradually become based on more than the fact that Sam *was* his deputy.  He saw qualities in Sam that he'd once hoped to see in a son of his own.  And though Toby often found Sam's very presence frustrating, he'd admitted to himself long ago that his job would be immeasurably gloomier without him in the next office. 

Toby figured the least he could do was keep being honest with him.  "Okay, Sam, you want to know?  Okay.  First impression: you were some inexperienced, young, rich, over-achiever who thought it might be 'fun' to get into politics.  Second impression: You were there because you were a friend of Josh's, who's motives I really wasn't sure of back then."  He risked a thin smile at Sam, who sat uncharacteristically slumped in the dark leather chair.

"What was the third impression, Toby?"

There was a long uncomfortable silence, a few charged glances.  Finally, "You were too goddamn pretty."

Thirty seconds stretched into sixty.  Toby noted with apprehension that Sam had yet to take his eyes off the melting ice in his sickly green drink, hadn't yet responded at all to his declaration.  Sixty into ninety.  Noticed when Sam tilted his head almost invisibly, as if listening to a ghostly conversation going on in his own head.  Ninety into -

"Sam?" 

Eyes snapping up at the sound of his name, Sam looked keenly at Toby.  "I...  I really don't know what to say to that," he admitted.  "I think, I mean, do you...?"  Still feeling blindsided.  "I guess I'm wondering if you still hold those same opinions of me, is what I'm trying to figure out."

Licking his lips more out of discomfort than any desire to taste the last of his remaining Jack Daniels, Toby had to look away from the question on Sam's face.  This wasn't his job.  This wasn't his job.

Gesturing to the hesitant server to bring another drink, Toby folded his hands over his stomach and stretched out his legs.  "I can see we're in for the long haul, so you might as well get comfortable, Sam."  The weak attempt to lighten the mood seemed lost on the other man.

"It's a simple enough question."  Sam's lame attempt at bullying his boss.

"So, you think I can give you a simple answer?" Toby scoffed lightly.  "It's not as clear-cut as you make it sound, Sam."

"Oh?"

"Well, you're not as young as you were then, that's simple enough.  And yet... and yet, Sam.  You still possess such childlike qualities sometimes – "

"I trip on things, Toby.  How exactly does that disqualify me from earning your respect?"

This made Toby smile, as much as he tried not to.  "Your grace and poise never entered into my thinking.  I was actually talking about your unique ability to still find the wonder and enthusiasm for what should have by now become crushingly disillusioning to you."  Toby stopped smiling abruptly.  "And if you tell me one more time that I don't have respect for you, I'll kick your ass into the street and drag you down to the Reflecting Pool where I will strip you to your shorts and set the ducks on you.  Are we absolutely, completely clear on at least that one point, Sam?"

Toby's intense, dark eyes blazed at Sam, daring him to object.

Folding his lips inwardly, pressing them together, Sam simply nodded his head in agreement.

Accepting his fresh drink, Toby smiled palely at the woman before she dashed away again.  "Good.  So.  Your inexperience."  Getting right down to business now.  "What can I say?  You're a damn quick study, Sam, and a hell of a bluffer sometimes."

"You're saying I have everyone fooled?"

"Goddamn it."  Toby didn't allow the blazing frustration he was feeling to seep into his voice.  "Goddamn you, Sam."  Taking a noisy slurp of his drink.  "You're determined to make this something it isn't.  And when it's all over, don't think I'm  going to want to talk about *that.*"  Seeing a small flicker of amusement drift across Sam's eyes, Toby turned his head to face him fully.  "No, I mean it.  *Don't* think I'm going to want to talk about that, too.  You deal with whatever's fueling this nonsense on your own time."

"And now we're back to you thinking I'm... frivolous somehow."  The resignation in Sam's tone obviously battling with his own frustration.

Toby's hand stopped in midair, halfway to his mouth.  "Excuse me?  Frivolous?"  He looked around the room for someone who might rescue him from the absurdity of this conversation.  "When did I call you frivolous?  When did I *imply* that I thought you were frivolous?  And when did you lose your freaking mind, Deputy of mine?"  His glass finally found its destination, and he took another deep drink.  "This ain't the conversation you said you wanted to have, Sam."

"I don't know what I'm doing." 

Toby's eyes locked onto Sam's like guided missiles.  There was something in his voice, something that wasn't there a minute ago.  A doubtfulness, a distance.

"What's going on?" he asked with overdue concern.  "Sam, what's really going on here?"

Shaking his head slowly, Sam tipped his drink to his mouth, shuddered involuntarily at the pungent taste of it.  "God only knows.  All I do know is, I was having a fairly good day yesterday, until the moment you said that Kim Carruthers didn't seem like the kind of person you thought I should be 'playing' with.  And something in my head just....  Like ears popping on a plane.  Ever since then, Toby, everything anyone says to me seems colored by that one moment.  It made me feel so....  yup.  Reduced.  And last night when Josh called me 'baby' it came rushing back at me again, and to tell you the truth, the hell of it is, I can see how some people might see me in that light sometimes.  I mean, I *am* young and came into this job inexperienced.  And, for the record, I'm still an obnoxious over-achiever, and pretty well off financially.  So, yeah.  You didn't call me frivolous, not technically; but you sure made my feelings seem that way.  I got pissed off.  I'm sorry."

Sam was apologizing to him, Toby realized unexpectedly.  He set his glass on the table with a loud clink.  "I'm not sure I can process all that on only two drinks, Sam," was all he could manage to say before gesturing wildly to the exasperated server again.

Ducking his head down, Sam appeared to be continuing the inner dialogue he'd started earlier in his head.

"Is there more?" Toby asked, with almost comical uneasiness.

Bringing his eyes up to meet Toby's, Sam smiled ruefully.  "No.  Really, I think if we just deal with all of that, we should be done."

For the first time in a long time, Toby laughed outright.  Rubbing his hands over his face a few times in an effort to clear away the tension that had been building between them, Toby shook his head.  "Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam."

"I get that a lot."

Toby laughed again.  "Can you please tell me why you couldn't just say all that yesterday?  Do you have any idea how worried I was about what was going on with us?"

"Keep worrying, big guy.  We still haven't gotten to the good stuff."

Sputtering slightly, Toby leaned forward to get a better look at Sam's unsmiling face.  "The good stuff?"

"You're feeling you have to protect me from myself?  Don't want to give me more than I can handle?  Won't be the one to set me up for failure, la la la."

"Stop that," Toby warned with mock sternness. 

"The rest I can deal with.  Well," Sam took a quick swig of his drink.  "I guess I can't; but the coming to me thing?  *That's* what I want to get straight.  'Cause that just bugs me, Toby."

Suppressing another snicker, which would so noticeably be at Sam's expense, Toby sighed instead.  "And a bugged Sam is a very grumpy Sam.  And as we all know, there's only room for one grump in the Communications Office."  Poking himself with a pointed finger, Toby nodded his head once, emphatically.  "And you're looking at him."

"So I should, what, smile and have a nice day?"

"No room for snappy Sam, either."

Stuck on a high wire, Sam peered down at amusement on one side of him, and overwhelming agitation on the other.  He seriously couldn't decide which way he was leaning.

When the waitress brought Toby's third drink, she looked suspiciously at Sam's unfinished first.  "I'm fine," he assured her.  Then to Toby, "I don't need protecting.  And you... sorry, but you don't seem like the type of person who'd be unduly concerned about being anyone's protector."

"I'm not."

"So, again, you single me out because I'm – "

"My Deputy!  *MY* Deputy.  This concept is completely lost on you, Sam?" Toby bellowed, feeling no regard for the few stares that came their way.  "It's what mentors do.  They criticize, and throw balls; they demean and abuse.  And yes, they protect.  I would protect you with my life, Sam.  As I know you would me." 

Now he was really getting annoyed.  Feeling these things was one thing.  Confessing them to CJ was another.  But sharing them with Sam?  That was asking more than Toby was willing to do, on any given day.  Yet another indication of how this brash, bright, befuddling young man had gotten under his skin, he thought crossly.

"Mentor?"  Apparently, Sam had landed on the side of amusement.

"Are we done yet?"

An honest chuckle worked its way out of Sam.  "No, I don't think so.  There's other stuff."

"So, Josh called you baby?"  Toby knew that would put the sputter back in Sam.

"Wha-  I-  Yuh- Can we stick to -  Look.  Toby.  I... you know, you're telling me all that?  I do appreciate that it wasn't easy for you.  And, I'm sorry to tell you this, but.  I already knew it.  All that.  What a mentor is, and, you know, that you don't hate me."  His diplomatic skills still needed work, Sam realized, but there was time for that later.  "And the fact that you thought you were doing something nice for me?  I appreciate that too.  But.  Don't.  Okay?  I *can* take care of myself.  And if I fuck up?  God, Toby, do you honestly think it'll make a bigger difference if it's something you asked me to do, than something the President asked?  'C'mon.  That's ludicrous!"

"It'll make a difference to me," Toby replied softly.  Bowing his head, he studied his hands for a moment before meeting Sam's sympathetic gaze.  "See, don't look at me like that.  That's exactly the kind of thing you shouldn't be doing.  Aw, shit.  You had to go and ruin a perfectly good abusive relationship, didn't you?  You are so much more trouble than you're worth...."

Sam's smile warmed by the second, relieved that he in fact *hadn't* ruined a perfectly good relationship with his unique ability to bring the overwrought wherever it might be lacking.  "Toby."  His voice was quietly repentant.  "I'm sorry I over-reacted.  I'm sorry I reacted at all, in fact."

Squinting his eyes narrowly, Toby cocked his head at Sam in mild confusion.  "Of all the things to say." 

"What does that mean?"

"You."  Toby shook his head and went for his drink again.  "Apologizing for reacting to something that upset you greatly.  Why would you feel the need to do that?"  He sipped noisily before shaking his head once more.  "Are you human?" he wanted to know.

Sitting back in his seat, Sam eyed his boss – mentor – carefully.  "I usually do a better job of ignoring these kinds of things.  You know; the repression thing."

Toby responded with a healthy chuckle.  "Yeah, I know.  So, you won't do that anymore?"

"I really can't promise anything," Sam said with a twinkle.  "But I can tell you this:  from now on, if you do something to tick me off, I won't over-think it.  As much.  I'll just, I'll trust you more."

"I thought I was the one who wasn't doing the trusting?"

"And you'll trust me more too.  We'll trust each other.  Except...."

"Oh god."

End part 4/7

_______________________

With Respect, To the Gentleman From California

Part 5/7

"Josh?"

The apartment was dark, no sound came from within the bedroom.

"Josh?"

Sam walked through the familiar landscape without flicking on a switch, guided only by the ambient light slopping in through the wide window.  Turning on a lamp by the bed, he discarded his jacket, and slipped off his tie, hanging both in the walk-in closet.  The sharp taste of gin, and his conversation with Toby played together on his tongue, so the first thing he did when he entered the bathroom was brush his teeth and rinse with mouthwash. 

Noticing how low the bottle was, he smiled to himself.  He and Josh had been going through the stuff four times as fast as Sam did when he lived alone.  It was the only thing that got the smell off their fingers.

He had expected Josh to be here, and was considering calling his cell, but glancing at the beckoning shower, Sam decided to wait until he'd rinsed the day off his body, and see if Josh didn't show up by then.

Deftly tossing the rest of his clothes into the hamper, Sam turned the water on as hot as he knew he could stand it, knowing he'd inevitably work it up a little higher once his skin adjusted.  Climbing under the pounding spray, he stood for an extravagantly long moment, each prick to his skin delectable.  When he moved his head under the thundering jet, he could feel his face flush with heat, and savored it intensely.

Squirting some shampoo into his hands, he worked up a lavish lather before applying it to his hair, raking his fingernails a little too hard against his scalp, relishing that feeling too.  The water pouring over his head swept away the soap, leaving his body slippery.  He decided the only thing that would have made the whole experience any more sensual, would be if it were Josh's hands ministering to him.

As if in answer to his thought, two strong, nimble hands snaked across his stomach, slipping along his smooth skin.  He immediately felt a firm press to the back of his legs, the familiar shape of Josh snuggled in the cleft of his ass, a tongue exploring his ear, as hot as the water crashing over them.

Turning his head just enough to catch the tip of the tongue between his teeth, Sam then followed through with his entire body, coming to rest in the arms of his lover.

He blinked rapidly.  Shaking away the water that was trickling into his eyes, Sam licked at Josh's collarbone before raising his head to accept a kiss.

He could feel Josh smiling against his lips.  Sam pulled back a little to address him.  "If I'd known you were working late, I would have come looking for you," Sam told him.

"If I'd known you were back from Old Ebbitt, I would have come to get *you,*" Josh responded.

"And here I'm supposed to be deputy of 'Communications'."

When Josh opened his mouth again to reply to that, Sam moved his over it, deftly slithering his tongue into place against Josh's.  The water now hammering at his back seemed to match his pulse, and the rapturous thunder in his groin made his legs weak.  Kisses, spread like icing across his face, his neck, then a quick bite on his shoulder, sent a deep tremor through him.

Moaning with pleasure, from the heat of the water, the heat of Josh, Sam felt himself spiraling out of his own head, leaving behind every wretched part of his day except this. 

The sound of Josh's voice pulled Sam back through the haze of contentment he'd lost himself to.

"Sam?  Are you done in here, man?  'Cause I am so ready to get the hell out of this shower."  Josh bent his knees a little to look deeply into Sam's downcast eyes, gauge the alertness of his partner.  "Goddamn.  You are.... I love you when you're dazed and wet," he sighed, using both hands to wipe away the rivers of water flowing over Sam's face.

Not waiting for an answer, Josh reached around Sam and shut off the stream of liquid heat. 

The sudden loss of sensations shook the last, lingering dullness from Sam's mind, and he drew back the shower curtain, slightly amazed at the dense wall of steam that faced him.

Reaching for both towels that hung side by side on the bar, he back-handed one to Josh, and wrapped the other around his waist.  The moment his feet hit the thick mat as he stepped from the tub, everything went dark, another absorbent towel covering his head.  He allowed himself to stand perfectly, obediently still while Josh gently worked the towel over his head, nibbling at his ear every time it appeared.

"Did you eat?" Josh asked, turning Sam around to wipe down his chest.

"Not hungry," Sam mumbled, still aware of a distant, bitter taste of lime in his mouth.  "You?"

"Yeah, I grabbed something on the way home.  I would have called, but I didn't think you and Toby were finished."  There was a mild reproach in Josh's tone, one that Sam easily ignored.

Flipping the towel from his waist, Sam stepped away from Josh and swiped at the large mirror above the sink.  He leaned over to crack open the door, watched with fascination as steam rushed for the cooler air in the bedroom, disappearing right before his eyes.

Turning to the mirror, he considered the image reflecting back at him for a moment, before instinctively reaching for his toothbrush for a second time.

Josh, coming up from behind once more, missed the look of mild confusion that passed quickly over Sam's face. 

"Hey," he murmured into Sam's ear, arms circling him yet again.  "What does it feel like, to look like that?"

Looking up, Sam caught Josh's appraising stare in the mirror before him.  "What?"  He wasn't sure what he had heard, exactly.

Josh bumped Sam's cheek with his own.  "I just want to know," he repeated quietly.  "What do you see?"

Eyes darting from his own image, to Josh's, Sam took an involuntary step back, nearly treading on Josh's feet.

"What are you doing, Josh?"  The furrow between Sam's eyebrows deepened noticeably as he made a weak effort to turn around.

Holding Sam in place, Josh pulled his mouth away from his ear, but kept his eyes on their reflections.  "Do you see what I see?" he wanted to know, dropping his hands to Sam's waist.  "What do you see?"

His discomfort becoming more and more evident, Sam instinctively brought his towel down over his nakedness.  "Stop it.  Right now."

"Sam, I just want you to – "

"I know what you're doing," Sam snapped, directing his remarks to the other man who stared back at him in the mirror, a mix of concern and stubbornness battling it out on Josh's face.  "All I wanted to do tonight was come home so I could see you.  I wanted to talk to you.  And you pull this?  Now?"

Sam pushed back, dislodging Josh's place behind him, and strode out of the bathroom.  Throwing the towel against the open closet door, he went to the dresser and removed a pair of soft, worn flannel pajama bottoms and a fresh t-shirt.

"I'm sorry."

Sam looked up to find Josh standing beside him, the stubbornness nowhere to be found, only concern left on his face.  Opening another drawer, Josh took out a pair of sweat pants, a t-shirt of his own.  The two men dressed in silence, Josh biding his time until he saw Sam's jaw relax, Sam waiting until he felt the warmth of anger drain from his face.

One hand on his hip, the other scratching absently at his chest, Sam passed his eyes over the informally made bed, imagining how differently he'd wanted the evening to go.  Looking back around, ready to accept Josh's apology then offer one of his own, he saw that he was alone.

Sam found Josh at the big window in the front of the apartment, one side of the curtains drawn, the other still in his hands, partway closed.  Coming up from his left, Sam hesitated before he reached out to touch Josh's shoulder.

"You really know how to push my buttons, you know that?" he said ruefully.  "And have an uncanny ability to say the wrong thing – "

" – at the wrong time.  Yeah.  I have noticed that."  Josh brought the drapes together and turned to Sam.  "I honestly did have a reason for bringing that up, if you can believe it."

"I don't doubt it."

Josh shook his head and tried to lure Sam closer, but he turned instead and headed towards the kitchen, Josh eventually following.

"Can I tell you why?"  Josh stepped into the kitchen just as Sam was closing the refrigerator, empty handed.

"No thank you," Sam said thoughtfully.

Taken back a little, Josh scratched at his ear.  "No *thank you?*  I'm trying to tell you – "

"And I'm trying to tell *you,*" Sam shot back, feeling irritation stab at him again.  "I'm trying to tell you this is not the time to be bringing that into the mix.  Jesus, Josh!  I've got enough going on.  I *don't* need you bringing age-old lessons in self-image to the table."  He brushed past Josh and walked to the middle of the living room.  "This is why we need a two bedroom apartment," he mumbled to no one.

"Talk about bringing old issues to the table."  Josh stood in the opening to the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest.  Seeing the look of complete misery on his lover's face, he dropped his head, chin nearly resting on his collarbone briefly.  "I shouldn't have said that.  I'm sorry.  Again."

"You know what, Josh, I'm just... that's your thing, you know?  I'm done with it."  Sam remained standing, both hands planted low on his hips, but with surprisingly little defiance.  "You know the timetable.  You'll do whatever you want to do."

Josh also stayed where he was, unwilling to move any further into Sam's space.  He could almost see the tension swirling around him, like a dust storm.  The last thing he'd wanted was to kick more grit into his face.

"Now's not the time, but I guess....  Sam.  I've told my landlord I'm not renewing my lease.  June.  That's it."  He opened his hands to Sam, a sign that he had nothing left on his agenda.

Taking one deep breath, Sam slowly allowed the realization to spread through him.  Had he heard right?  Josh was really giving up his apartment of nearly fifteen years?  To be with Sam?  It wasn't as if they hadn't been living together for months.  But Josh still paying rent on his apartment was a bone of contention they'd hashed over time and again.  And now wasn't the time to bring up the fact that paying months of rent to avoid breaking his lease was something Sam could never buy as reason enough to put off making that decision.

"My... my head is about to explode.  Could you fix it, please?" Sam asked weakly.

Hearing all he needed to, Josh went to Sam's side, folding him into his arms protectively.  "I was going to tell you.  I mean, I really was going to tell you.  I was saving it so I could throw it in your face the next time we had an argument that I desperately wanted to win."

Sam pulled his face out of Josh's neck to look at him with startled eyes.  "You're kidding, naturally."

"No," Josh assured him, shaking is head to confirm Sam's worst opinion of him.  "I'm not.  Trust me, I know how sick and manipulative it sounds."  Chuckling a little at his own expense.  "But it was such a sure fight-stopper.  I couldn't see wasting it on, you know, pillow talk, or something."

Sam's smile warmed up his eyes, propelled his mouth towards Josh's for a lasting kiss.  "You should be in therapy," he observed before wrapping his arms around Josh's neck.  His smile genuine and easy now.

Josh took Sam's hand in his own and pulled him towards the sofa, bending to move a pillow out of the way before directing Sam to sit.  "I need a drink.  Then you're going to tell me what happened with your meeting with Toby, and how the investigation is coming, and how much you love me."

A skeptical eyebrow shot up above Sam's left eye.  "I am?"

"What do you need?" Josh asked as he disappeared into the kitchen.

"You.  Nothing.  I'm good."

______________________

Sitting back on a kitchen chair, feet planted on another, Sam was examining the hem of his t-shirt closely, while he sucked on a snow pea.  Josh stood before the stove, poking the left-over stir fry he'd insisted on heating for Sam.

"Leo's joked that you're going to run for office at the end of our term," he said without turning.

Sam spit the snow pea onto the table.

"Tell me you didn't answer him," he snarled.  "Josh."

"I didn't say anything.  I changed the subject."  Josh collected the snow pea with a napkin, as Sam continued to stare at him.  "We should talk," he added without looking up.

"Done talking for tonight."  The sullenness in Sam's voice unmistakable.

"We should talk," Josh attempted again, this time without any humor.

"I'm thinking we should *never* talk again.  Just have sex.  Quietly."

"You just don't want to talk about this," Josh mumbled, returning to the stove.  "So let's talk about Toby."  After Sam succinctly filled Josh in on his evening with his boss, he asked, "Do you feel like you settled things?"

"For now, I guess.  What happens in the future is somehow not as important to me.  He either will, or won't figure out how much I have to offer.  But he talked to me."

"And laughed at you – " 

"And listened to me," Sam reminded Josh.  "I feel okay.  Who knows?"  Speaking around a yawn that came more out of an emotional exhaustion than a physical one, Sam lifted his head to catch Josh looking back at him over his shoulder.  "What?"

"Nothing."  Josh went back to stirring the vegetables slowly.  Surreptitiously glancing once or twice at Sam.  "Okay," he said eventually.  "I just want to ask you one thing.  If I can."  Not waiting for permission, he turned to stand in front of Sam.  "Toby knows that you got upset about him putting you down – "

"Diminishing me."

"Right.  And he admitted that he sometimes circumvents you in order to protect you from failing."

"From being the one that I might perceive as having set me up for failure."

"Speak English.  So the question is, did he ever admit that you're a big boy – sorry, bad choice of words again – admit that he thinks you can handle yourself just fine without his intervention?  I guess what I want to know is, is this really resolved for you?  Or will you just bury your feeling for another year?"

"Something's burning, Josh.  I feel good.  I told you.  It's gonna be okay.  Whether he changes the way he really sees me, who knows?  But I can almost guarantee he won't be going around me as much."  Sam accepted the plate Josh was handing him.  "That's all I care about, really.  I want to do my job.  The job I know I can do.  Everyone knows I can do.  I just want to do it without having to fight for every scrap."

"Sam; was it ever *really* that bad?"  Josh wasn't looking for an argument.  But Sam seemed to be coming from a slightly different place now than he had the night before.  Even though he'd felt annoyed at Toby for being so dismissive of Sam's feelings, Josh had never in fact believed that he was doing it out of a lack of respect for Sam.

"You think I over-reacted?"  Sam set his fork down firmly.  Peering at Josh pointedly, he scooted his chair away from the table.  "And now I have to wonder;  I said as much to Toby, apologized to him, in fact.  But you saying it, for some reason that just pisses me off."  Getting up from the table, Sam scooped up his still full plate and dumped it into the sink before turning back to a stunned Josh.  "Why do you suppose that is?"

"Because you're entitled to your own feelings, and I just basically questioned the validity of them, and you're also the only one who can forgive Toby, and I pretty much implied that it wasn't even necessary," Josh recited, swallowing down his words nervously.  "I nailed that, didn't I?"

Releasing a deeply help breath, Sam smiled helplessly.  "Okay.  So, I did it again.  I'm having a hissy-fit every hour on the hour these days."

Josh snickered into the back of his hand.

"Laugh.  It's funny.  Sam's venting.  Yeah.  *That'll* get Toby to see me as an adult."

"Shit, Sam.  Stop it, already!  He sees you as an adult!  We all see you as an adult!"

"I know." 

"You're a fully grown, politically savvy, well-hung, sexually powerful force to be reckoned with," Josh observed, coming to his feet, grabbing a wiggling Sam around the waist.  "People fear and admire you."

"Well, not really."  Sam had thrown his head back and was practically giggling as Josh continued his assault.

"You turn the world on with your smile!  You came to Washington a political neophyte, and now you run the galaxy from your cozy little office in the West Wing."

Doubling over to protect himself from Josh's roaming hands and rush of verbal nonsense, Sam brought his head up long enough to squeak "stop!" and caught a kiss on the lips.

"Grrrrr.  Come here Baby, give me another kiss!"  Josh froze in place.  "Oh."  Looking down into Sam's face, he didn't bat an eyelash.  "Uh."  Loosening his grip, he began to slowly straighten up.

Josh wasn't sure if he could save the moment by trying to speak again, or would bury himself even deeper by doing so.  All he knew was that Sam's face was completely unreadable, eyes wide, lips parted, cheeks a little flushed.

"See?" Sam finally spoke.  "No hissy-fit.  All grown up." 

"Shit.  It really just... heat of the moment, Sam.  Not using my head.  Love you."  He thought it couldn't hurt to slip that last declaration in there someplace Sam could find it easily.

Leaning himself back against the counter, Sam's lips turned up into a soft smile.  "It's okay.  Really.  It... it didn't hurt."  Rocking forward enough to catch Josh's hands in his.  "Can we forget it?  The whole thing.  Like, forever?"

"Do you mean I can call you whatever I want?"  Josh's enthusiasm caught Sam off guard.

"Nooooooo. I just mean, don't worry about slips of the tongue.  'Kay?"

"Okay, Sweetie."

"Good.... Pudding?"  Sam looked around the room with embarrassment, his smile twisted into a pain-filled grimace.

"Sam."  Josh pulled his friend close to his body.  "That... that was lame.  You need to practice before you go making irreversible decisions like that."  Sealing the reprimand with a kiss that lasted longer than the entire incident had.

______________________

Wound together under the covers, quietly discussing the rest of their day, Sam felt sleepy and content.  He'd serenely reached over and found Josh's hand, blindly guiding it to his groin.  His body was responding lazily to Josh, who gently kneaded the doughy flesh.

"I'll be asleep in another five minutes," Sam assured his lover.

"Go ahead.  I'm right behind you."

"I may get up early to start writing.  My schedule's a mess."

"Anything I can help with?" Josh asked, his voice already thick and drowsy.

Sam groaned low in his throat, shifted closer to the warm body already molded to his.  "Mmm.  Can you write a somewhat light-hearted but ultimately caustic diatribe on the state of health care among the lower-middle class for a bunch of self-indulgent, overpaid insurance company executives?"

Josh's mouth turned up at the corners.  "No.  Can *you?*"

"That's what they pay me for."

Josh sniffed his a musement.  "Why the somewhat light-hearted part?" he asked as he buried his face into Sam's shoulder.

"Because that's what President Bartlet asked for," Sam responded simply, right before he yawned deeply.  "'Night, Josh."

"'Night, Sam."

Chapters - 1 | 2 | 3 |

| << back | send feedback | The National Library |