PART TWO

Sam got out of his car.

"//People get better//."

He was almost afraid to believe it.

On the other hand, once upon a time, he wouldn't have dared to take his car and drive to an appointment with his therapist - or anywhere, really. So, he had already gotten better, he reminded himself.

He entered his building, smiled to his neighbor in the elevator (to his relief, she didn't start a conversation. He wasn't in the mood for chit- chat tonight), and made his way to his apartment.

Toby was sitting on the threshold, his legs outstretched in front of him, reading from a file.

Sam coughed discreetly and his boss raised blurry eyes to him.

"Hey," Sam said, hoping his boss would hear the implied, 'What are you doing here?'

"Hey."

Okay, telepathy didn't work, then. "What are you doing here?"

A shrug. "What does it look like?"

Sam rolled his eyes. He wasn't in the mood for a grilling by his boss, either. He could already feel the meaningful conversation Toby wanted to have, the sincere concern he would express, the assurance that Sam was safe now and could go to any of them if he ever needed to talk.

He knew all that. He didn't want to hear it again tonight.

Toby was staring in his direction and Sam followed his gaze - to the pharmacy bag in his hand.

Great.

"What's up?" Toby asked.

He hesitated, torn between the desire to be left alone and the will to erase some of the concern etched on his friend's face.

What decided him was the dawning realization that Toby wasn't going anywhere.

He motioned for his boss to get up, opened the door and they both entered.

* * * * *

Half an hour later, they were watching CNN, discussing the last speech the President had given. He could have delivered it better, Toby claimed, and Sam couldn't help but agree. Their leader seemed tired.

He could sympathize.

"He should have insisted more, * we * should have insisted more, on the third section."

"I know," Sam said. Toby was preaching to the choir, they both knew it, but his boss needed to get it out.

"It made us look weak."

"We'll do better next time," Sam said, waiting to see when Toby would make his move. He didn't have to wait for a long time.

"What's happening to you?"

Sam looked at him eloquently, and Toby dropped his gaze. His boss had tried to trick him, but then he had been expecting that.

"Sam, seriously."

"When did you notice?"

"When you began walking around like a zombie."

"So, about a week ago?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

"You didn't come to us," Toby said.

"No, I didn't."

"You promised, after last time, that you would come to us."

"It's not PTSD," Sam said.

"Still."

"I was waiting for it to go away," Sam admitted.

Not that that had ever worked in the past, of course. But there was always this hope that maybe ignoring the problem would drive it away.

It hadn't worked before, but who knew if it wouldn't work this time?

"Yeah, because that usually goes over so well," Toby said, his tone definitely.snarky.

"I know. Toby, I know what you're thinking, and if I was in your shoes, I'd be thinking the same thing."

Toby had become his confessor, Sam thought. He was the one who immediately picked up when something was wrong. He was the one Sam talked to more easily, because Toby wasn't judgmental of the people he loved, and his boss knew how to bully him into talking.

CJ had become. CJ hadn't become anything, CJ had stayed the same, mothering him when need be, teasing him when he needed some cheering up, and making a point of not treating him any differently than before.

The assistants had taken a while to admit that he wasn't made of glass and wouldn't shatter if they came back to making his life hell, but now they were back to their old ways, and Sam didn't know if he was glad or frightened.

Josh. After their talk, their relationship had subtly changed. Josh was accepting him more as an equal, even if sometimes, he still tried to revert to their old ways. Sam tried to accept Josh as he was, not as he thought Josh should be. Josh joked with him, Josh had talked to him about his own little gun-related hell in the hope that it would help.

"But you didn't come to us anyway," Toby said, dragging him back to the matter at hand.

He shrugged. "We've all been busy."

"Bullshit."

"I didn't know where to start."

"At the beginning," his boss said firmly. "Tell me now."

It seemed so simple when Toby said that. If only it could have been that simple.

"I don't sleep."

"You mean. what, you don't sleep well?"

"No, I don't sleep at all. Or, well, almost not at all."

"Since when?"

"A little more than a week."

"And you were waiting for it to pass?" Toby's voice was as incredulous as Sam had ever heard it.

"Yes."

"When did you stop waiting?"

Sam smiled wickedly. "When I realized it wasn't going to go away."

"And you realized it wasn't going to when - " He gestured for Sam to finish.

Sam bit his lip. "When I fell asleep in the bathtub. This morning."

Toby rubbed his eyes. "Marvelous." They stayed silent for a moment, then Toby asked, "Did you.?"

"Yes, I was coming back from it."

"The guy you saw before?"

"No, the woman I saw back when I was still in the hospital."

Toby looked mildly relieved, and Sam knew exactly what he was thinking. That at least, his deputy had no qualms about seeing a therapist.

Which wasn't entirely true, and Sam prayed that the press would never know that he did, but at least, the last few months had ridden him of a good part of his reluctance. Besides, Josh had needed to see a therapist too, and he had gotten better for it. Eventually.

"Did she give you something to sleep?" Toby asked.

"Yes."

"Are you going to take it?"

"No."

Toby rolled his eyes.

"I'm fine," Sam said, sounding defensive in his own ears.

"You don't sleep, that's not fine."

"I'll get over it."

"You should have come to us."

"Yes, I should have. But you know what, I didn't, and it's a bit late to take that back so." He stopped before he could turn really snappish. Too late, if Toby's face was any indication.

His boss nodded, looking slightly taken aback.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound harsh. Just, you know."

"Hard day," Toby completed.

Sam shrugged. His definition of a bad day had dramatically changed over the last year. But no, he hadn't had a very good day.

"I'll stay for the night," Toby announced.

Sam was shaking his head before the older man was done talking. "No, you won't."

"Sam."

"Toby, I'm not five, and I don't need anyone to hold my hand so I can go to sleep."

"Yet you don't sleep," Toby said.

"No, and you watching me for signs of sleepiness isn't going to help one bit."

His boss clearly wasn't convinced.

Damn, he thought. Sam hated when Toby did that - when he insisted that he only wanted to watch over Sam, when he guilted Sam into letting him do so.

He hated feeling as if he didn't have a choice.

He hated not having a choice - it was either blow Toby off, at the risk of hurting him, after everything he had done, or cave in and spend the rest of the night longing for privacy, and peace.

He hated this 'trapped in a corner' feeling.

"Toby." he said, his tone pleading. Please, don't make me choose, he wanted to say.

His boss eyed him quizzically. "You really don't want me to stay, do you?" he asked.

He shook his head, not wanting to let Toby see the relief he was feeling. "Thanks for asking, and it means a lot, you know that, but I want to be alone tonight."

His boss didn't answer.

"Please," he added.

He was busy claiming his life back, between two check ups at the hospital and two therapy sessions. He didn't get to have his word on so many issues - the fact that he had to follow a diet wasn't negotiable, the treatment wasn't negotiable, the appointments schedule was not negotiable. The therapy. well, actually, that one was negotiable, he just didn't feel like he could afford to have another nervous breakdown so soon after the first one.

He needed to be able to kick people out of his home once in a while, he needed to yell at stubborn congressmen sometimes (work, the one place he was in control of most of what crossed his path. His shelter.) He needed some semblance of normalcy, and Toby sleeping on his couch wasn't normal.

"Okay," his boss said. "I'll tell the others not to bug you tonight."

"Do they know that I have this problem?" Sam asked.

"They didn't come ask me if I knew something, if that's what you're asking."

It was. It didn't mean that they hadn't noticed something amiss with him, but the rule was now, 'when Sam is acting funny, go to Toby first, if he doesn't know anything, try Josh, and if neither of these two know what's up, then ask Sam directly.'

Josh didn't mind, Sam was glad that they didn't crowd him each time he sneezed, but he had no idea how Toby was taking it.

"That doesn't mean they're not going to gang up on you," Toby added.

Sam nodded, stifling a yawn. "Okay."

"Tired?" his boss asked.

"Well, yes."

"Maybe you'll sleep then."

He wasn't so sure. He had been tired before in the last ten days, that wasn't the problem.

"Maybe."

"I'd better go," Toby said.

"Okay."

He showed Toby to the door.

As he was crossing the threshold, his boss said, "It began when you had your check up then?"

"You noticed," Sam said, torn between a smile and an urge to close the door now.

"Yes."

"They. they were wondering if there was a problem with the transplant," Sam summarized. "Turned out there wasn't."

Toby nodded. "You - "

"Should have said something, yeah, I know."

"As long as you know." his boss said.

"I do," Sam said, more firmly.

"Okay."

They said their good-byes, Toby left, and Sam came back in. He collapsed on the couch, watching CNN re run pieces of the President's speech. Sam fell asleep while Bartlet was talking about new funds allocated to teachers.

When he woke up three hours later, the TV was still on.

He stared at the screen, his eyelid heavy, cursing the nightmare that had woken him up.

The pill bottle was on the table.

He sighed, and dry swallowed one, then lay back on the couch, feeling too tired to make it to his room.

He was just as well here, he thought, feeling himself go under again.

Hoping that this time, he would sleep through the night.