Sam didn't tell Josh that he hadn't kept his appointment with Doctor Brewer. Josh had guessed as much. He had stayed the night and took Sam into work on Tuesday. Nobody mentioned the dinner for which Sam was eternally grateful. He spent the morning in his office and had the feeling that Toby was making sure he stayed there. After lunch he reluctantly phoned the First Lady's office and made an appointment for later in the afternoon. Five minutes before he was due to go he went into Toby's office.
"So anyway, I've got to go and see the First Lady."
Toby looked up from his papers, "Good, she can give you the lecture that everyone else is avoiding."
"Well I've already got a headache so…" Sam loitered by the door, "Couldn't you phone her and say Ginger is giving me the lecture?"
"I couldn't." Toby studied Sam, "Have you taken something for your head?"
"No, it's fine, it's just whiplash."
"So you're taking something for that?" Toby asked.
"I'm sorry?"
Toby put down his papers. "The whiplash, your doctor gave you something for that?"
"Oh, yeah, yeah he gave me something." Sam hurried off to the East Wing. He hadn't lied to Toby. His doctor had given him something he just wasn't taking it.
"I'm going to give you a number, Sam," Mrs Bartlet reached over for a piece of paper. She hadn't lectured Sam. She hadn't even mentioned what had happened the other night. Sam gripped the edge of the chair desperate not to reveal the pain he was now feeling in his neck and head. Two more minutes, he thought, and I will be out of here and lying on Toby's sofa.
"Are you alright? You're holding your head a little stiffly."
"It's just whiplash," Sam explained. "The doctor gave me something," he added, hoping that would appease her.
"It's not just whiplash Sam. Whiplash can be a very serious injury. You need to arrange to have some physiotherapy?" As she spoke she wrote another number down and handed the piece of paper to him. "Doctor Radon is a friend of mine and specializes in neck and shoulder injuries. He doesn't like patients who don't take what's been prescribed for them so you better start taking whatever your doctor gave you before you see him."
Damn she's good, Sam thought.
"Doctor Chapman is very highly regarded. He's been working with a friend of mine who had a similar experience to yours. He's good Sam. I'm not going to force you to talk to someone and I'm not going to check if you have. I am privileged to know some of the most amazing people in this country. I meet and work with intelligent, powerful, tenacious men and women every day. But I haven't met anyone yet who could deal with what happened to you without seeking help."
"Thank you, Doctor Bartlet," It was all Sam could think to say. He needn't have worried, the tone of his voice told her the impact her words had had on him.
Toby looked up at Sam as he entered his office. He recognised the look on his face and wordlessly removed his briefcase from the sofa so that Sam could lie down. Toby watched as Sam removed his jacket and flung it over the back of the sofa. He curled up on his side and turned away from Toby.
"If your headaches are so bad that you have to keep coming in here to lie down then maybe you should go back to your doctor," Toby suggested. There was no response from Sam. "Are you not answering because you're asleep or are you pretending to be asleep so that you don't have to answer?"
"Pretending," Sam mumbled.
"And you say we don't have our little chats anymore." Toby reached over and pulled down the blinds, switched on his lamp and settled down to work.
Toby had become so absorbed by what he was reading that when he first heard Sam's voice he jumped. Sam quietened and Toby returned to his work. A little while later Sam mumbled something again. His breathing was rapid and when Toby put the light on he could see Sam was sweating. Before he could decide whether to wake him or not, Sam cried out and sat bolt upright on the sofa. The sound caused everyone in the bullpen to stop working and look towards Toby's office, and Josh to come running from his. By the time he had arrived Sam had stood up and was leaning over Toby's desk breathing hard.
Toby and Josh watched as Sam tried to calm himself down taking in deep shuddering breaths. Toby was waiting for Sam to recover before he started to talk to him, so Sam's sudden cry of 'damn it' startled him almost as much as the sight of the lamp and papers being swiped off the desk. The lamp landed heavily on the floor and the papers fluttered slowly down behind it. Outside a phone rang and Josh realised that along with Sam's breathing it was the only sound he could hear in the now silent bullpen. Josh noticed Sam's hands gripping onto the desk. He wondered if they would ever be able to prise them off he seemed to have such a hold of it.
"Sam." Toby cleared his throat and gently put his hand on Sam's arm. "It's alright."
"It's not alright." Sam started to shake his head. "It's not alright." He pushed away from the desk. "Alright, how can you say that? Alright," Sam started to laugh as he turned to Josh and Toby and repeated 'alright' as if it was the funniest word he had ever heard. He walked out of the office and went into his own, slamming the door behind him.
"What should we do?" Josh asked.
"Well, why don't we go in there and ask Sam if something's happened that's upset him."
"That's a good…oh, that was sarcasm." Josh joined Toby at the window and they watched as Sam pretended to be reading the papers he held. "I don't know what to do," Josh admitted.
"No one does. Maybe this is good, all this emotion. Maybe he's dealing with it better than we realise."
Josh nodded and paused before opening the door, "That was just a comfort thing right? I mean you don't actually believe that."
"No I don't," Toby admitted as Josh left him pretending not to watch Sam who in turn was pretending not to notice.
Josh stayed at the office until late. When he went to check on Sam he had found Toby in his office switching off his laptop for him and tidying away his work.
"He said he was going to get some air but he hasn't come back."
Josh knew immediately that Sam would be in some bar somewhere. He considered telling Toby what had happened last night but changed his mind. Josh had stayed late in the hope that he was wrong and that Sam would come back to the West Wing. He didn't, and so Josh left for home checking a few bars on the way.
Josh had fallen asleep on the sofa. In his dream his alarm clock was buzzing and someone was calling him. As he woke he realised that it wasn't his alarm that was buzzing it was his door and that someone was indeed calling him. He walked over to the intercom rubbing at his eyes.
"Hello." No one answered but he could hear men talking in the background and whoever had been calling his name had started again. He realised the sound was coming from outside. He pulled the curtains, opened the window and leaned out.
"Josh!"
"Oh shit." Josh recognised Sam's voice and as his eyes adjusted to the dark he could make out the swaying figure of his friend. There were other people too and Josh saw Sam push one of them away from him. When he got outside he found Sam and two of his neighbours arguing. One of them was shouting at Sam that if you've forgotten the number of a friend's apartment you don't just press every buzzer. Sam, using drunken logic, was arguing that that is exactly what you do. Josh managed to pacify his neighbours, apologising on Sam's behalf for disturbing them. He waited until the last curtain had stopped twitching before he approached Sam.
"I was tempted to let you carry on discussing buzzer protocol you seemed to be winning the debate." Josh said as he sat down next to Sam.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Tell you what? You know the number of my apartment you just forgot-"
"No! Why didn't you tell me about her brother?"
"Oh."
"Oh," Sam repeated, "Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh." He grabbed hold of the railing and pulled himself up. "He said his sister's death was no accident and that we, well I, should be brought to account for what happened." Sam stumbled slightly and Josh reached out to steady him. Sam mimicked the host who had interviewed Claire's brother, "Obviously a very traumatic day for you Stephen, but why don't you tell us about your ludicrous conspiracy theory." He walked to the other side of the steps. "Well why don't I tell you about my day Stephen. Why don't I tell you how one minute I was driving along and the next your sister's body was slamming against my windshield and how everything is fucked up because of it," Sam sat down suddenly, "it's all fucked up."
Josh started to offer some words of comfort but was silenced by Sam who twisted around and grabbed the lapels of Josh's jacket. "What am I going to do?" Sam was shaking Josh. "Tell me what to do."
"I don't know." Sam's hold of his jacket was so tight that he was almost choking him. His knuckles were white. Josh put his hands over Sam's and prised them open. "I don't know." Josh continued to hold Sam's hands. They stared at each other until Sam finally relaxed and pulled out of Josh's grasp.
"I don't know what to do. I can't see an end to this. I can't see how it ends."
Josh knew Sam was drunk but the sentiment behind the words still scared him. "You can cut that crap for a start." Josh pulled Sam around. "I mean it. I don't care if you're drunk or sober, I'm not going to listen to you talk like that."
Sam looked at Josh with a bemused expression. He didn't understand what he was talking about but he knew he looked scared and that wasn't good. He tried to sooth him. "It's alright, Josh, just drunk."
"It's getting late do you want to stay here tonight?"
"Yeah, but can we just sit here for a while, until those buildings stop swaying?"
"I think you're the one that's swaying," Josh pointed out. "We can sit here as long as you like. If you want to sit here all night then that's what we'll do."
Sam tuned bleary eyes to Josh, "You locked yourself out didn't you."
"Yeah," Josh admitted.
They sat in silence. Sam closed his eyes and tried to stop the sensation that the stoop was spinning. Josh closed his too and tried to figure out how he could get back into his apartment. Neither of them noticed the man sitting in his car watching them and they didn't notice as his car slowly pulled away.
As the days passed Sam seemed to be getting back to normal and watching him rushing to the men's room had stopped being a daily occurrence. Nobody talked about what had happened. Televisions were switched off and newspapers hidden if the accident was mentioned. There was an air of sadness to Sam, everyone acknowledged that, but mostly people were impressed that he had been able to come back to work and deal with what had happened so quickly.
Toby wasn't fooled though. Sam did everything that was asked of him and always finished before any deadlines but what he wrote was painful to read. There was no passion or flair to the words just a text that covered the main points which Toby would then reorder and embellish.
Josh wasn't fooled either. He had the feeling that Sam wasn't dealing with it so well when Sam called for the third night in a row and asked if he would come and collect him from whatever Washington Bar stool he was slowly sliding off at the time.
The first time it had happened Sam had been ashamed and apologised to Josh all the way home. The fourth time Sam had just phoned, said the name of the bar, hung up and waited for Josh to come and get him.
"You know, I don't think you're dealing with this very well," Josh kept his eyes on the road as he spoke, "I've been picking up on the signs, I'm intuitive like that. You know, subtle things like refusing to talk about it, waking up screaming three times a night, getting wasted straight after work. By the way, do you want me to pull over now so you can puke or do you want to wait until we get home?"
Sam ignored Josh but he carried on. "Toby told me your writing's flat." Sam looked at him but still didn't speak. "He thinks you should have some time off. He thinks you should visit your parents or something." Sam turned away again and carried on looking out of the window. "Is this going to stop soon? Haven't you had enough of this? I know I have. Beer is a temporary solution. Homer said that. Homer Simpson not the Iliad Homer." Sam smiled slightly but still didn't respond.
Josh knew Sam wouldn't speak again tonight. He would be sick, let Josh help him into bed and then later let Josh calm him down after a nightmare all without saying a word. He was ashamed of the drinking and as he sobered up his shame intensified. The shame was soon replaced with the guilt that had become his constant companion when sober. It showed itself in the images and sounds that haunted him still. He battled with it through the day but never won and would eventually end up heading for the nearest bar. The shame of drinking was comparatively easier to bear than the guilt of killing.
Eventually the day came when everyone realised Sam wasn't coping. It started innocuously enough. Toby was sitting at his desk reading the fifth rewrite of a paragraph to Sam. As Sam listened to him start the sixth version he sighed and leaned back heavily against the sofa. His weight dislodged Toby's briefcase and the pile of papers that were resting on top of it. He quickly reached forward to grab it and the action took him straight back to his car before the crash. His briefcase had been on the passenger's seat. There had been papers on top. Sam had reached for them, grabbed them, shuffled them back into place. That wasn't what had happened though. Josh had told him. Toby had told him. He had slowed down. She had tripped. All of the witnesses said that was what had happened. But what if he had been distracted by the briefcase slipping off the seat? Sam's guilt was now justified. The witnesses hadn't seen him grabbing at the papers. Maybe he could have swerved if he hadn't have been distracted. Sam watched the papers flutter to the floor.
"What's wrong?" Toby was taken by surprise by Sam's suddenly standing.
"Nothing, I'm going to get something to eat." Sam walked to the Mess, grabbed a tray and joined the queue. The man in front was having trouble deciding which sandwich to choose. Three more people waited behind Sam. He tightened his hold on the tray to try to stop his hands from shaking. He heard someone say hello but he didn't answer. Sam told himself he was fine, he just needed to get something to eat and then sit down somewhere quiet for a while. Not here, it was too noisy here, too many people. It was hot too; Sam pulled at his tie and loosened his collar. Why was this man taking so long? It's only a sandwich for Christ's sake. Sam pulled at his collar again. He was sure the Mess wasn't usually this hot. He felt trapped. The man was stopping him moving along and behind him three women were hunched close together their sporadic laughter seeming unnaturally loud to Sam. He looked at the way out. There were chairs in the way and people, it was too far. Sam leant against the counter and tried to calm his breathing. People were looking at him now and if he tried to walk out he was sure he would collapse before he could get to the door. He closed his eyes and tried to think of other things apart from the exit that seemed to be getting further and further away and the Mess that seemed to be getting smaller. He felt a hand on his arm but didn't open his eyes until the person's other hand touched his face.
"Sam, come and sit down. Get him a chair, give him some space." Donna said as she guided him towards a chair pushed his head down between his knees but he didn't feel like he was going to faint he felt like he couldn't breathe. He sat up, pushing against the hand that was rubbing his back.
"Sam, it's alright."
Donna spoke soothingly but Sam could hear more urgent voices around him. "Open a window, loosen his tie, does he have asthma?" He batted their hands away and tried to stand but felt arms pushing him down.
The next voice he heard cut through the others. "Okay try to relax, stop gasping and start breathing, slowly, that's it." Toby stood by his side ordering the people who had gathered around Sam to move away. Sam tried to stand again he wanted to get out of the room. He tried to tell Toby but only managed to croak his name between his increasingly frantic gasps for breath. Toby understood what he wanted and led him away from the remainder of onlookers over to the corner of the room.
"Someone get the White House photographer down here then you can get a photo as a keepsake, Jesus!" Josh pushed past the people who, embarrassed by his words, had started to turn away. "What's going on?" he asked as he crouched in front of Sam.
"It's a panic attack," Donna muttered then more loudly, "Sam you're okay this is just a panic attack okay. You're going to be fine you just need to breathe slowly."
Josh stepped aside relieved that Donna was taking charge. He watched as she took hold of Sam's hand and told him to look at her, "Do you understand what's happening?" Sam nodded but he didn't seem able to follow her advice and his breathing became increasingly rapid. He looked up at Toby his eyes were wide open, his face bleached of colour and his whole body seemed to be trembling.
"Ask if they've got a paper bag," Donna said to Josh. He headed off to the counter not questioning her request. He shook the crumbs from the bag before handing it to her.
"Sam you need to breath into this. Ten slow breaths okay." She placed the bag over his mouth and nose and held it in place.
"I thought that was for hiccups," Josh questioned.
"My dad used to have attacks like this. I know what I'm doing, Josh."
Josh and Toby watched as Donna continued to calm Sam down. She covered the bag to his face four times before his breathing began to return to normal. After a while Donna pulled up a chair and sat next to him and Toby and Josh did the same. The four of them sat there until Sam felt steady enough to walk back to Toby's office. He began to apologise but Toby told him to shut up. Josh and Toby supported him as he slowly made his way up the stairs.
The people who had stood in the Mess watching the Deputy Communications Director gasping for breath had gone back to their various offices and told their colleagues about their trip to the Mess which had been much more exciting than usual. Everybody knew now, everybody knew that Sam wasn't coping very well.