XII

SATURDAY:

Sam gradually drifted awake and rolled out of bed. He stretched lazily, buttoning his shirt as he sauntered into the kitchen. It was amazing how different Saturday mornings felt when you hadn't spent the night before hunched over documents until your eyes felt like they were going to bleed. Or drinking the night away in an effort to forget that you spent all your nights hunched over documents until your eyes felt like they were going to bleed.

His happy mood dimmed somewhat as he saw that Steve's blinds were tightly closed against the sunshine, and remembered why. Somewhere out there were a swarm of reporters, waiting to catch their first glimpse of the happy couple leaving the building. No doubt the ones who had been outside his own apartment had come charging over here in the night, cursing the missed photo opportunities.

Well, that was their problem.

Already the layout of this kitchen was becoming as familiar as his own - after all, it wasn't a place he'd spent a great deal of time in any case. He made himself a cup of coffee and wandered through into the next room.

Steve stood shirtless with his back to him, frowning at some kind of paper in his hands. With a smile, Sam came up behind him and draped a hand over his shoulder. "Hey, what's that?" he asked close to his ear.

Steve flinched and dropped the papers. An envelope and the letter from inside it fluttered to the ground. Puzzled, Sam made a grab for it at the same time he did.

"Sam-" Steve protested. But it was too late to stop him from seeing the letter.

Sam read the crudely-lettered missive with rising disgust, and then crumpled it into an angry ball. Hate mail. Already. "Jesus, Steve, I'm-"

Steve glared at him. "No. Don't."

"I'm sorry," he continued, turning away from him. "This is- damn." He buried his face in his hands. "This is because-"

"Don't you dare start telling me this is your fault, Sam," Steve said warningly.

Sam looked up and met his eyes. "It is my fault. Those guys out there; they're here because of me. You're all over the papers because of me. And- And you shouldn't have to deal with this crap just because you're with me."

Steve folded his arms. "I'm gay, Sam. You think this crap wasn't already out there for me? You think I never had any trouble in my happy little world before you came along? Get over yourself, Sam! You didn't make this world for me, you didn't make me what I am, and you sure as hell didn't make the guy who pushed this through my door what he is! Which, now I come to think of it, would probably be my mailman, so just pretend I said something there that actually made sense, and nod your head! Okay?"

"Okay." Sam blinked a few times, and quickly nodded his head.

"Well, good." They kept staring at each other, and then gradually dissolved into nervous chuckles. "It's okay, Sam," Steve said more quietly, and pressed a grateful kiss to his cheek. "It's sweet that you want to protect me, but I don't need your protection. I'm a big boy now."

"You are not," Sam insisted, lightening up a little. "You're a baby. How old are you again? I'm a cradle-robber!"

"Oh, no, no, no," Steve said firmly, shaking his head. "I am nicely matured. You, on the other hand, are old."

"I am not old!" he retorted, mock-offended. "I'm in the prime of my life here!"

"You've got grey hairs on your chest!"

"I've got what?" Sam hurriedly tried to peek down the front of his shirt, and Steve giggled.

"Made you look."

He glared. "That's just cruel."

"Hey, you wouldn't have been worried about it if you weren't so old."

"Well, since I'm officially decrepit, I guess you're gonna have to make the breakfast." The two of them wandered back into the kitchen, and Steve dropped the letter into the trashcan as he passed it.

They spoke no more about it, but as Sam pushed his way through the throng of journalists to go to work, the dull burn of frustrated anger resurfaced. Whatever Steve said, it was his job that had thrust them into this media spotlight; a spotlight which showed no signs of fading away anytime soon.

CJ blinked, thinking to clear the hallucination her tired eyes were showing her. But the unlikely image remained.

Toby Ziegler, bearing coffee.

"Okay, what the hell is this?" she demanded warily as he crossed the room and placed the steaming cup in front of her.

He just looked at her. "Coffee."

"In what sense?"

"Mostly in the caffeinated beverage sense," he said, rolling his eyes.

"What's wrong with it?" she asked, giving the mug a cautious nudge.

"Nothing."

"And yet you brought it to me."

Toby shuffled his feet. "It's... a gift."

It was hard not to smile at his bashful expression. She let him squirm for a minute.

"A gift."

"Yes."

"For me."

"It's coffee," he elaborated.

"I think we covered that already," she said dryly.

"You seemed confused."

"Ah." She was desperately in need of some caffeine. She picked up the mug and took a cautious sip. Surprisingly, Toby didn't take advantage of the moment to beat a retreat and hide any evidence of doing good deeds.

CJ peered at him over the top of the mug. "Okay, was there a point to this little coffee delivery expedition?"

Toby responded by sitting on the edge of her desk and regarding her seriously. "Don't do that," she scowled at him.

"Do what?" He kept looking at her.

"That."

"Sit?"

"You know what." She turned away from his sharp gaze and rolled her eyes. "Toby, I'm fine."

"Okay," he nodded, in a way that meant he didn't believe her, and wasn't going anywhere. It would probably have been quite sweet, if it wasn't so frustrating.

"Toby..." Shaking her head, she let her defences down for a few seconds. "Really I, I feel better." She smiled wryly at herself. "It's... I know it's stupid, but knowing that the president's going to be okay, I somehow feel like... I don't know." Not that her father was going to get better, her father was dying, but still, somehow... It felt a little less like the world was falling apart.

Still, CJ hesitated. "Toby, he is... the president is going to be all right, isn't he?"

Whatever she might think she'd seen flicker in his eyes was gone too fast to classify. Toby smiled softly at her. "The president's gonna be fine."

"Mr. President? Leo."

"Thank you, Charlie." The president looked up as he entered. "Ah, Leo."

"The First Lady's already left?" he asked.

"Yeah." Jed nodded. He hesitated. "Leo, I need you to set up a meeting for me."

That didn't sound good. "Sir?"

The president pulled a face. "I want to talk to Stanley Keyworth. Today, if possible."

Leo felt as if the wind had been abruptly knocked out of him. "Mr. President, is-?"

"It's not-" Jed overrode him quickly. He shook his head and snorted. "It's just... I need to talk about..." He reluctantly met Leo's eyes. "My doctor recommended that I look at ways of getting more rest and reducing the amount of stress I'm under."

It wasn't difficult to read between those lines. You could fit several full length novels between them.

Did he say you should resign? The question hung in the air between them, unspoken. When had he become such a coward that he couldn't ask the hard questions?

When all the hard questions started getting a hell of a lot harder.

Jed was the first to look away, and he waved a hand as if dismissing the unsaid words. "So, anyway, Abbey would feel better if I talked to somebody."

"I think I would too," he agreed sincerely. The president rolled his eyes.

"Well, you know, I still hope that one day Abbey will treat me like a grown-up, but I've given up all hope of getting you to stop fussing over me."

Leo rolled his eyes too, and on the inside wholeheartedly agreed. "I'll set you up some time."

"Thank you." Jed quickly changed the subject. "Have you spoken to Sam?"

"I saw him at staff this morning."

"How is he?" Leo privately marvelled over the way Jed could be so protective of everyone around him, and yet never spare the slightest flicker of concern for his own condition. It was hard to tell if it was faith in his own invulnerability, or some kind of near-suicidal altruism.

"He's holding up pretty well," Leo agreed. "But it's taking its toll. That's a hell of a lot to get landed on you all at once."

"Yeah." The president reflected a moment, then nodded firmly. "Sam's strong. He'll be okay."

"Yeah."

But on the inside, Leo couldn't help thinking that everybody being so strong only made it that much harder to watch them suffer and be able to do nothing.