PART ELEVEN
Sam was sitting in the passenger seat of Toby's car. His boss was taking him home, after what felt like years, but had only been two and a half weeks.
He would be back at the hospital soon enough, he knew. The planning of his appointments was tight, especially in the first few weeks. But it felt good to be on the road to -
"Hum, Toby, this isn't the way to my place," he pointed out.
"No," his boss answered.
He sighed. He was tired already, he hadn't had that much activity in weeks, he wanted to go to bed. "Where are we going?" he asked.
"To my place," his boss said as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "You'll stay there for a while."
"Excuse me, since when?" he snapped.
Toby shot a look at him, swore softly, and looked for a parking space. Once the car had stopped, he unbuckled his belt and turned to face Sam. "Calm down, please, you're white as a sheet," he said.
"Toby, I really - "
Toby put a hand up and he quieted down.
"Sam, you live on the third floor, without an elevator. We brought a few things from your place to mine, and when you're up to it, you'll move back to your place."
He stared at Toby, stunned.
They could have consulted him, he thought.
Okay, so he had lost a lot of weight and couldn't work up an appetite, he had dizzy spells sometimes, and he felt like he could sleep for days.
That wasn't a reason not to go home.
He could sleep home just as well as he could sleep at Toby's place.
And they hadn't even asked him what he thought about their arrangement.
He wanted to argue, but he wasn't sure he was up to it. He was already ready to cry as it was, and more than a little apprehensive. For all his dislike of the hospital, he was at least comforted to know that if there was a problem, he would be treated for it immediately. The move was making him more nervous than he would have admitted to anyone. And he had felt depressed for so long now that it was a real struggle to keep his emotions in watch.
"Whatever," he shrugged.
"Sam, someone would have had to live with you anyway," Toby pointed out.
Yes, but he would have been at his place.
And he had gone home directly when he had been checked out of the hospital after the shooting, so he had assumed .
"Besides," his boss went on, "my place is ten minutes closer to the hospital than yours, in case there's a problem."
"Fine, Toby."
"And it's only temporary," Toby added.
"I said fine. Let's go, okay. It's beginning to hurt, here."
Toby watched him a moment, then started the car and pulled out of the parking place.
They were silent for the rest of the drive.
* * * * *
As soon as they arrived, Sam headed for the guest room, letting Toby deal with his bags. He collapsed on the bed, curled up slightly, and closed his eyes, trying not to think. He was asleep in a few minutes.
When he woke up, it was dark, and he could hear that the TV was on in the living room. He fumbled for the light and blinked a little to adjust his eyes to the brightness.
Then he took in his surroundings, and he did a double take.
When had Toby's guest room become that comfortable?
He had slept here once, when his boss had had to choose between driving a drunk Sam to his own place, at the risk of seeing him throw up on the carpet of the car, or take him home with him, and give him a bucket. He had opted for the second approach, and back then, Sam had noticed that all the guest room contained was a bed, a nightstand, a lamp and a table.
Now, his boss had added a few paintings on the walls, he had transformed the table in a desk, with another lamp, pens, a notepad and his laptop. He had also brought some of Sam's CD's from his place.
There were even carpets on the floor, for God's sake.
And the four Harry Potter books were forming a neat pile on the second nightstand. He smiled. CJ.
And he would have bet that the frames on the walls came from Donna.
He blinked back tears, cursing the violent mood swings he was suffering from, and tried to compose himself.
When he felt ready to see Toby without breaking down, he went to the living room. His boss was watching CNN, scribbling furiously on a notepad. Sam stood where he was, waiting for him to be finished. When his boss acknowledged his presence, he said "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to ." He gestured toward the room. "Did you put all that together for ."
"Yes, but look - "
"Thanks, that's really . You took me by surprise. I . I hadn't really thought about what was going to happen next, and . You should have told me. Why didn't you?"
"It didn't occur to us," Toby admitted.
"Toby, I appreciate what you did, really. I just . I spent days having no control on what was happening to me, being moved from one room to the other, being too out of it to . Look, even if I don't have a choice, could you at least try to pretend that I do?" he asked.
"I'm sorry, we hadn't thought about that," Toby said. "Simply, my place is closer to the hospital. And we didn't think you'd like to be alone anyway."
"I wouldn't, but that's not the point," Sam said quietly. "I'd like to have some more control, that's all."
"Okay," his boss said, then hesitated.
"What?" Sam asked.
"I kind of told the others they could drop by when they were done, do you want me to call them, and - "
"Tell them not to come? Do you think I have a death wish?" Sam exclaimed.
"You sure?"
"I want to see them anyway. They helped with the, hum, arrangements, didn't they?"
"Do you think I could choose paintings?"
The image of Toby choosing frames in a store made him smile, then chuckle, and Toby rolled his eyes.
"Your bags are still there, I didn't want to ."
"Okay, I'll unpack."
"Want some help?" Toby asked, and Sam was grateful to see that it was a real question, and that he could choose either way. A small step, yes, but a step forward nonetheless. He nodded.
"Sure. Thanks."
They grabbed the bags and as they were making their way to Sam's room, Toby said "You won't be staying here too long, you know. Simply, the doctors told us it would be a good idea to have someone with you in the beginning, in case you didn't feel well. And my spare room wasn't . Well it was depressing, or so CJ and Donna said, and you know how those two are when they set their mind on something."
"I know. Thanks," Sam said.
Toby nodded, and they began to unpack.
* * * * *
Two weeks later
Toby entered the apartment as quietly as he could, careful not to make a noise. He shouldn't have bothered, Sam's voice greeted him. "Toby?"
"Yes. Why aren't you sleeping?" he asked.
His deputy had had some bad nights recently, waking up screaming, and unable to go back to sleep, even after taking a sleeping pill. Had he had a nightmare again?
Sam shrugged, and Toby had his answer. Sam tended to shut down on himself when he had a nightmare, uncommunicative, either depressed or angry.
He swallowed back a sigh. He was tired, but Sam really looked bad this night, curled up on the couch in front of the TV, clutching a pillow on his stomach, his hair mussed.
"Want to talk about it?" he offered.
Sam shook his head, and Toby went put his bags in his room. The senior staff had had to go with the President on a trip to London. Everyone was needed, so Sam had had to stay alone. The First Lady had proposed to make him come over at the Residence, but Sam had protested adamantly. Toby had hesitated before supporting his deputy, but the memory of what Sam had told him the day he had been out of the hospital helped him choose. Sam needed more control on his life, he could have that.
Now he was wondering if he had had the right idea.
He came back in the living room where Sam hadn't moved an inch, then went to the kitchen to pour them two glasses of water.
He came back to the couch and handed one of the glasses to Sam, who nodded his thanks, and sat up to drink.
After a long silence, he asked "Why didn't you tell me about the car, Toby?"
Toby looked at him, surprised. "What car?"
"My car. The one they found back one week ago. Well, what was left of it, anyway."
"Oh," Toby said, for lack of a more pertinent answer.
"Why? And don't tell me it didn't occur to you, or you forgot."
He sighed. "One week ago is when you began having nightmares," he said. "I thought it could wait, given the circumstances. I know you don't want me making decisions for you, but don't expect me to make your life harder than it already is, okay?"
Sam nodded. "They're not going to catch the guy, are they?"
"Chances are slim," Toby confirmed.
"Slim? Even if they catch someone who stole a car, or shot someone else, they won't know it was him. If I'd only turned back a little - "
"Don't go there," Toby warned. "Please. And no, they won't catch him. I'm sorry, for your sake, I wish I could bring you his head on a platter, but that's just not going to happen."
"I know. I don't understand why he stole my car, shot me, only to burn it down later. What was the point, really?"
"The police thinks he may have used it to transport drugs, or to rob a bank. He'd have needed a stolen car to do that."
"Yeah, or it could be kids who made a bet," Sam spat. "Or someone who recognized me and didn't like politicians. Or . whatever."
"Yeah."
"I'd feel better if he was dead. Or in jail."
"I know," Toby said, wishing there was something he could do about that.
Sam tried to hide a yawn, and Toby smiled. "Go sleep, okay?"
"Yeah," Sam sighed, heading to his room.
"Call me if you need something," Toby said.
"I will. I will."
* * * * *
Sam's apartment October 2002
Sam tied his tie, and studied his reflection in a mirror. He hadn't regained all the weight he had lost after the shooting yet, and his hair was too long. Not by much, but he would be getting a few "You need a haircut" comments in the day, he was sure of it.
Other than that he didn't see anything different. Why did he feel like a stranger, when he thought back to the last time he had been in his office? He fleetingly wondered if Josh had had the same feeling, then he grimaced. "No dwelling," he admonished himself.
He took his briefcase, absurdly reassured by the comfortable feeling of the handle. He wasn't sure he liked the way it made him feel more professional, like he was a freshman who got out of his home State for the first time.
A few knocks on the door made him smile. He was sure Toby would come see him.
He opened the door, and found himself in front of Josh, who was smiling so widely his cheeks * had * to hurt. He raised an eyebrow, surprised to see his friend there.
"I came to take you to work," Josh said brightly. "So you don't get lost."
He almost protested, then decided that it would probably ease the transition if someone was with him.
He had already worked on a few light projects Toby had handed him in the last few weeks, but all the work had been done by phone and fax. And there had been two gatherings at the Residence, once with the First Couple, the other with the senior staff. But today was the day he officially got his office back, and he was hating himself for being so nervous.
Josh talked non stop during the drive, trying to diffuse the tension, and Sam found himself laughing at quite a few of his jokes. Their relationship had evolved into an easy co-operation, but there were still times when they treated each other a little too carefully for it to look natural. CJ and Toby had noticed, of course, but Sam hadn't given them too many details. At least the tension between Josh and him had diminished, and he didn't ask for more.
The guard welcomed him at the gate, and almost every one he passed by insisted on hugging him, and on telling him a quick "Good to see you" before heading away.
By the time they reached the communication's bullpen, he had the feeling he had been hugged by the totality of DC's population. To his eternal relief, his co workers hadn't set up a surprise party. They all seemed to understand he wanted to keep it quiet. Most of them came to embrace him, Ed and Larry made a show of kneeling in front of him, begging him to save them from Toby's "dictatorship", and Bonnie and Ginger seemed suspiciously moist eyed to him, but they all kept their welcome sober, which was exactly what he wanted.
Toby came out of his office, and finished putting him at ease by handing him a file. "Sam, this is the environment thing, get on it now."
"Yes master," he shot back, and he wondered what exactly he had been so worried about.
* * * * *
By the end of the afternoon, he was ready to drop. The President had asked him to stay after the first meeting of the day, hugged him (it was getting tiresome beyond word), and told him he'd missed him, and that if he gave them another scare like that ever again, he would be fired.
Leo had taken him apart, hadn't hugged him (Sam had almost hugged him to show his gratitude), and had told him that if he ever needed anything, all he had to do was ask. Sam had thanked him for the sentiment, then asked for a raise, because he was close to tears again. Leo had concluded the meeting by "Get out now," and Sam had felt home again.
He was going over the revisions Toby had asked him to make on the remarks the President needed when his boss appeared at the door. "Are you done?"
"I'll be in half an hour."
"Okay, but then, you're gone," his boss ordered.
"Thanks," he said, choosing not to protest that he was still perfectly able to handle a meeting.
Toby nodded once, and left him.
Sam half expected to see him come back, but it was CJ who marched into his office, thirty minutes later.
"I know, I'm done," Sam saved her to say.
"Exactly. Get your things."
Resistance would have been futile. He had no doubt Mrs Bartlet was around the corner, ready to threaten him into submission if Toby, and CJ and Josh couldn't convince him to go.
"Tell everyone I'm going home," he said, rolling his eyes. "You won't have to gang up on me. Well, not today."
"Good, because Nancy McNally was ready to participate too."
Sam shot her an evil look and put on his coat, asking if Toby wasn't going to come.
CJ shot him an innocent look and said that he hadn't wanted to give Sam the feeling he was being harassed. Sam had a sharp laugh, and she winked.
She walked him to the exit, where Sam could see that a taxi was already waiting for him.
"How was your day?" she asked, in her "don't you dare lying to me", voice.
"Fine," Sam answered evasively.
They stood there in silence for a while, then she asked again, as if she hadn't already asked the exact same question two seconds before, "So, how was your day?"
"Good," Sam growled, glaring at her.
"Want to elaborate here?" she asked.
"I'm not sure. It was both easier and harder than I expected," Sam said. "But I may not be making too much sense."
"You do. Go sleep now."
"Hum, it's not even dark yet, CJ," Sam pointed out.
"Do I look like I care? You're exhausted."
Sam nodded and climbed into the cab, gave his address to the driver, and leaned back on his seat, smiling.
He had just survived his first day back at work.
And * that * was a big step.
Sam was sitting in the passenger seat of Toby's car. His boss was taking him home, after what felt like years, but had only been two and a half weeks.
He would be back at the hospital soon enough, he knew. The planning of his appointments was tight, especially in the first few weeks. But it felt good to be on the road to -
"Hum, Toby, this isn't the way to my place," he pointed out.
"No," his boss answered.
He sighed. He was tired already, he hadn't had that much activity in weeks, he wanted to go to bed. "Where are we going?" he asked.
"To my place," his boss said as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "You'll stay there for a while."
"Excuse me, since when?" he snapped.
Toby shot a look at him, swore softly, and looked for a parking space. Once the car had stopped, he unbuckled his belt and turned to face Sam. "Calm down, please, you're white as a sheet," he said.
"Toby, I really - "
Toby put a hand up and he quieted down.
"Sam, you live on the third floor, without an elevator. We brought a few things from your place to mine, and when you're up to it, you'll move back to your place."
He stared at Toby, stunned.
They could have consulted him, he thought.
Okay, so he had lost a lot of weight and couldn't work up an appetite, he had dizzy spells sometimes, and he felt like he could sleep for days.
That wasn't a reason not to go home.
He could sleep home just as well as he could sleep at Toby's place.
And they hadn't even asked him what he thought about their arrangement.
He wanted to argue, but he wasn't sure he was up to it. He was already ready to cry as it was, and more than a little apprehensive. For all his dislike of the hospital, he was at least comforted to know that if there was a problem, he would be treated for it immediately. The move was making him more nervous than he would have admitted to anyone. And he had felt depressed for so long now that it was a real struggle to keep his emotions in watch.
"Whatever," he shrugged.
"Sam, someone would have had to live with you anyway," Toby pointed out.
Yes, but he would have been at his place.
And he had gone home directly when he had been checked out of the hospital after the shooting, so he had assumed .
"Besides," his boss went on, "my place is ten minutes closer to the hospital than yours, in case there's a problem."
"Fine, Toby."
"And it's only temporary," Toby added.
"I said fine. Let's go, okay. It's beginning to hurt, here."
Toby watched him a moment, then started the car and pulled out of the parking place.
They were silent for the rest of the drive.
* * * * *
As soon as they arrived, Sam headed for the guest room, letting Toby deal with his bags. He collapsed on the bed, curled up slightly, and closed his eyes, trying not to think. He was asleep in a few minutes.
When he woke up, it was dark, and he could hear that the TV was on in the living room. He fumbled for the light and blinked a little to adjust his eyes to the brightness.
Then he took in his surroundings, and he did a double take.
When had Toby's guest room become that comfortable?
He had slept here once, when his boss had had to choose between driving a drunk Sam to his own place, at the risk of seeing him throw up on the carpet of the car, or take him home with him, and give him a bucket. He had opted for the second approach, and back then, Sam had noticed that all the guest room contained was a bed, a nightstand, a lamp and a table.
Now, his boss had added a few paintings on the walls, he had transformed the table in a desk, with another lamp, pens, a notepad and his laptop. He had also brought some of Sam's CD's from his place.
There were even carpets on the floor, for God's sake.
And the four Harry Potter books were forming a neat pile on the second nightstand. He smiled. CJ.
And he would have bet that the frames on the walls came from Donna.
He blinked back tears, cursing the violent mood swings he was suffering from, and tried to compose himself.
When he felt ready to see Toby without breaking down, he went to the living room. His boss was watching CNN, scribbling furiously on a notepad. Sam stood where he was, waiting for him to be finished. When his boss acknowledged his presence, he said "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to ." He gestured toward the room. "Did you put all that together for ."
"Yes, but look - "
"Thanks, that's really . You took me by surprise. I . I hadn't really thought about what was going to happen next, and . You should have told me. Why didn't you?"
"It didn't occur to us," Toby admitted.
"Toby, I appreciate what you did, really. I just . I spent days having no control on what was happening to me, being moved from one room to the other, being too out of it to . Look, even if I don't have a choice, could you at least try to pretend that I do?" he asked.
"I'm sorry, we hadn't thought about that," Toby said. "Simply, my place is closer to the hospital. And we didn't think you'd like to be alone anyway."
"I wouldn't, but that's not the point," Sam said quietly. "I'd like to have some more control, that's all."
"Okay," his boss said, then hesitated.
"What?" Sam asked.
"I kind of told the others they could drop by when they were done, do you want me to call them, and - "
"Tell them not to come? Do you think I have a death wish?" Sam exclaimed.
"You sure?"
"I want to see them anyway. They helped with the, hum, arrangements, didn't they?"
"Do you think I could choose paintings?"
The image of Toby choosing frames in a store made him smile, then chuckle, and Toby rolled his eyes.
"Your bags are still there, I didn't want to ."
"Okay, I'll unpack."
"Want some help?" Toby asked, and Sam was grateful to see that it was a real question, and that he could choose either way. A small step, yes, but a step forward nonetheless. He nodded.
"Sure. Thanks."
They grabbed the bags and as they were making their way to Sam's room, Toby said "You won't be staying here too long, you know. Simply, the doctors told us it would be a good idea to have someone with you in the beginning, in case you didn't feel well. And my spare room wasn't . Well it was depressing, or so CJ and Donna said, and you know how those two are when they set their mind on something."
"I know. Thanks," Sam said.
Toby nodded, and they began to unpack.
* * * * *
Two weeks later
Toby entered the apartment as quietly as he could, careful not to make a noise. He shouldn't have bothered, Sam's voice greeted him. "Toby?"
"Yes. Why aren't you sleeping?" he asked.
His deputy had had some bad nights recently, waking up screaming, and unable to go back to sleep, even after taking a sleeping pill. Had he had a nightmare again?
Sam shrugged, and Toby had his answer. Sam tended to shut down on himself when he had a nightmare, uncommunicative, either depressed or angry.
He swallowed back a sigh. He was tired, but Sam really looked bad this night, curled up on the couch in front of the TV, clutching a pillow on his stomach, his hair mussed.
"Want to talk about it?" he offered.
Sam shook his head, and Toby went put his bags in his room. The senior staff had had to go with the President on a trip to London. Everyone was needed, so Sam had had to stay alone. The First Lady had proposed to make him come over at the Residence, but Sam had protested adamantly. Toby had hesitated before supporting his deputy, but the memory of what Sam had told him the day he had been out of the hospital helped him choose. Sam needed more control on his life, he could have that.
Now he was wondering if he had had the right idea.
He came back in the living room where Sam hadn't moved an inch, then went to the kitchen to pour them two glasses of water.
He came back to the couch and handed one of the glasses to Sam, who nodded his thanks, and sat up to drink.
After a long silence, he asked "Why didn't you tell me about the car, Toby?"
Toby looked at him, surprised. "What car?"
"My car. The one they found back one week ago. Well, what was left of it, anyway."
"Oh," Toby said, for lack of a more pertinent answer.
"Why? And don't tell me it didn't occur to you, or you forgot."
He sighed. "One week ago is when you began having nightmares," he said. "I thought it could wait, given the circumstances. I know you don't want me making decisions for you, but don't expect me to make your life harder than it already is, okay?"
Sam nodded. "They're not going to catch the guy, are they?"
"Chances are slim," Toby confirmed.
"Slim? Even if they catch someone who stole a car, or shot someone else, they won't know it was him. If I'd only turned back a little - "
"Don't go there," Toby warned. "Please. And no, they won't catch him. I'm sorry, for your sake, I wish I could bring you his head on a platter, but that's just not going to happen."
"I know. I don't understand why he stole my car, shot me, only to burn it down later. What was the point, really?"
"The police thinks he may have used it to transport drugs, or to rob a bank. He'd have needed a stolen car to do that."
"Yeah, or it could be kids who made a bet," Sam spat. "Or someone who recognized me and didn't like politicians. Or . whatever."
"Yeah."
"I'd feel better if he was dead. Or in jail."
"I know," Toby said, wishing there was something he could do about that.
Sam tried to hide a yawn, and Toby smiled. "Go sleep, okay?"
"Yeah," Sam sighed, heading to his room.
"Call me if you need something," Toby said.
"I will. I will."
* * * * *
Sam's apartment October 2002
Sam tied his tie, and studied his reflection in a mirror. He hadn't regained all the weight he had lost after the shooting yet, and his hair was too long. Not by much, but he would be getting a few "You need a haircut" comments in the day, he was sure of it.
Other than that he didn't see anything different. Why did he feel like a stranger, when he thought back to the last time he had been in his office? He fleetingly wondered if Josh had had the same feeling, then he grimaced. "No dwelling," he admonished himself.
He took his briefcase, absurdly reassured by the comfortable feeling of the handle. He wasn't sure he liked the way it made him feel more professional, like he was a freshman who got out of his home State for the first time.
A few knocks on the door made him smile. He was sure Toby would come see him.
He opened the door, and found himself in front of Josh, who was smiling so widely his cheeks * had * to hurt. He raised an eyebrow, surprised to see his friend there.
"I came to take you to work," Josh said brightly. "So you don't get lost."
He almost protested, then decided that it would probably ease the transition if someone was with him.
He had already worked on a few light projects Toby had handed him in the last few weeks, but all the work had been done by phone and fax. And there had been two gatherings at the Residence, once with the First Couple, the other with the senior staff. But today was the day he officially got his office back, and he was hating himself for being so nervous.
Josh talked non stop during the drive, trying to diffuse the tension, and Sam found himself laughing at quite a few of his jokes. Their relationship had evolved into an easy co-operation, but there were still times when they treated each other a little too carefully for it to look natural. CJ and Toby had noticed, of course, but Sam hadn't given them too many details. At least the tension between Josh and him had diminished, and he didn't ask for more.
The guard welcomed him at the gate, and almost every one he passed by insisted on hugging him, and on telling him a quick "Good to see you" before heading away.
By the time they reached the communication's bullpen, he had the feeling he had been hugged by the totality of DC's population. To his eternal relief, his co workers hadn't set up a surprise party. They all seemed to understand he wanted to keep it quiet. Most of them came to embrace him, Ed and Larry made a show of kneeling in front of him, begging him to save them from Toby's "dictatorship", and Bonnie and Ginger seemed suspiciously moist eyed to him, but they all kept their welcome sober, which was exactly what he wanted.
Toby came out of his office, and finished putting him at ease by handing him a file. "Sam, this is the environment thing, get on it now."
"Yes master," he shot back, and he wondered what exactly he had been so worried about.
* * * * *
By the end of the afternoon, he was ready to drop. The President had asked him to stay after the first meeting of the day, hugged him (it was getting tiresome beyond word), and told him he'd missed him, and that if he gave them another scare like that ever again, he would be fired.
Leo had taken him apart, hadn't hugged him (Sam had almost hugged him to show his gratitude), and had told him that if he ever needed anything, all he had to do was ask. Sam had thanked him for the sentiment, then asked for a raise, because he was close to tears again. Leo had concluded the meeting by "Get out now," and Sam had felt home again.
He was going over the revisions Toby had asked him to make on the remarks the President needed when his boss appeared at the door. "Are you done?"
"I'll be in half an hour."
"Okay, but then, you're gone," his boss ordered.
"Thanks," he said, choosing not to protest that he was still perfectly able to handle a meeting.
Toby nodded once, and left him.
Sam half expected to see him come back, but it was CJ who marched into his office, thirty minutes later.
"I know, I'm done," Sam saved her to say.
"Exactly. Get your things."
Resistance would have been futile. He had no doubt Mrs Bartlet was around the corner, ready to threaten him into submission if Toby, and CJ and Josh couldn't convince him to go.
"Tell everyone I'm going home," he said, rolling his eyes. "You won't have to gang up on me. Well, not today."
"Good, because Nancy McNally was ready to participate too."
Sam shot her an evil look and put on his coat, asking if Toby wasn't going to come.
CJ shot him an innocent look and said that he hadn't wanted to give Sam the feeling he was being harassed. Sam had a sharp laugh, and she winked.
She walked him to the exit, where Sam could see that a taxi was already waiting for him.
"How was your day?" she asked, in her "don't you dare lying to me", voice.
"Fine," Sam answered evasively.
They stood there in silence for a while, then she asked again, as if she hadn't already asked the exact same question two seconds before, "So, how was your day?"
"Good," Sam growled, glaring at her.
"Want to elaborate here?" she asked.
"I'm not sure. It was both easier and harder than I expected," Sam said. "But I may not be making too much sense."
"You do. Go sleep now."
"Hum, it's not even dark yet, CJ," Sam pointed out.
"Do I look like I care? You're exhausted."
Sam nodded and climbed into the cab, gave his address to the driver, and leaned back on his seat, smiling.
He had just survived his first day back at work.
And * that * was a big step.
