PART THREE
Later that day
Sam's place
Sam was having a nightmare. He knew he was dreaming, it felt too... surreal, to be anything but a nightmare.
A series of images, people saying everything he dreaded hearing.
Leo's office, Toby saying, "Sam, it's time they knew." Him, facing the window and telling them everything, not looking at them once. The silence that followed.
CJ saying softly, "God, Sam, I'm so sorry." Her eyes, pitying.
The whispers.
The sideways glances.
His mother on the phone, calling him a liar, saying, "He would never have done that!"
Him hanging up, not knowing what to say.
And when the phone rang again, he unplugged it violently.
It went on ringing.
He stared at it, horrified.
He didn't want to hear her anymore.
He didn't want to -
Sam woke up with a start, and grimaced at the pressure in his chest. The phone was ringing.
'Nightmare,' he thought.
It didn't help him relax, though.
The phone had stopped ringing. Sam got up, and fell off the bed, out of breath. The pain in his chest increased.
Panic attack.
'Not again,' he silently begged.
He sat up and leaned against his bed, trying to breathe evenly.
He knew it was stupid. He knew it wouldn't happen like that, even if the story made it to the press. It was just... his worst nightmare. His mother would never doubt him. He was just scared that it might take this course, but it didn't mean anything.
'He would never have done that.'
God, his chest hurt.
The phone rang again and he picked it up. "Yeah?"
"What's wrong?" Toby asked immediately.
Sam felt the pressure in his chest increase. His vision was beginning to blur. He was cold.
"I don't... I... Toby..."
"I'll be there soon," his boss cut off.
Sam hung up, not wanting to waste his breath answering. Trying to control his breathing, he dialed Joyce's number.
Toby arrived at Sam's apartment in time to see a middle aged woman entering it. "Who are you?" he asked, following her inside.
"Dr Joyce Porter," she answered crisply, heading straight for the bedroom, not even looking at him. He followed, and did a double take when he saw Sam, sitting on the floor, holding his chest, breathing heavily. He had closed his eyes, but opened them when Joyce kneeled in front of him.
"What you make me do," she said softly, shaking her head.
"Sorry," he apologized.
"Don't be. How long has it been..."
"Don't know." He took a shaky breath, shivered and added, "Few minutes before I called you."
"Okay. Can you get up?" He thought a little, shook his head, and she raised her eyes to meet Toby's. "I assume you're Toby Ziegler?" she said.
He nodded.
"Toby's here?" Sam asked, turning his head, squinting in Toby's direction.
"Yes."
Sam frowned and opened his mouth. Toby growled, "Sam, I promise you, if the next words leaving your mouth are 'I'm sorry', I'll kick your ass."
Sam smiled softly, then grimaced. "I can't... God, I can't make it go away," he whispered.
Joyce got up, and gestured to Toby. "Help me get him on the bed," she ordered. Once Sam was lying down again, she said, "Get out now, I need to examine him."
"I thought you were a psycho - "
"Psychiatrist," she interrupted. "I can take a patient's bp if need be."
"I'm not leaving," Toby decided.
Joyce shot him a look and asked, "Sam?"
"Don't care," he said weakly.
"Okay," she said, shrugging.
Toby watched as she pulled up Sam's T-shirt to listen to his heartbeat, took his blood pressure, and asked him a few questions as she was preparing a syringe.
"What are you going to give him?" Toby asked.
"A mild sedative. It'll help him relax."
"I'm sorry," Sam said. "I was having a nightmare." He chuckled humorlessly. "I guess I'm lucky I didn't hurt someone this time."
Joyce raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. She passed a disinfectant wipe over Sam's arm, then injected the sedative.
She sat on the edge of the bed. "What was the nightmare about?"
He shrugged. "Story was published." He stared at the ceiling. "I knew it was a dream, just..."
He stopped.
She looked at Toby askance, and he said reluctantly, "There's a possibility the story might become public."
She sighed. "You should have called me, Sam. That was asking for trouble, trying to do this alone." He opened his mouth and she added quickly, "Don't apologize."
"'Kay," he said sleepily.
She waited silently for him to pass out, and Toby stood at the room's entrance, watching them.
Sam had been asleep for two hours when the doorbell rang. Joyce and Toby had made themselves comfortable in the living room, in case Sam needed them in the night.
"Why are you staying?" Toby had asked.
"I'm worried," she had answered.
"You're his therapist. Isn't staying at your patient's place a little above and beyond the call of duty?"
She had shrugged. "I retired three years ago, Mister Ziegler. I only see a few of my former patients, who won't or can't see anyone else."
"That's - " He was about to say 'noble' when she cut him off.
"It's a responsibility, too. I could have decided not to see them at all, but I'm almost sure that Sam, for one, wouldn't go talk to anybody else. I don't want to learn that he's killed himself in a few years. Or any of these other people who I still see."
That was brutally honest, and Toby nodded. He wished Sam would confide more in people at work - he couldn't believe that he had once thought that Sam was too talkative - but if Sam preferred a therapist, so be it.
He knew that Sam hadn't told him anything, that he never would. If he could confide in this woman better than in him... well, that was too good an opportunity to waste.
They had sat down and talked a little, until the bell rang. Toby frowned a little, and went to answer the door.
"Josh?" he said, surprised to see him there.
"Toby? What are you doing there?"
"I could ask you the same thing," Toby said calmly.
"I came to see how he was doing," Josh said defensively. "He didn't look well earlier."
"You came here at two in the morning to see if he was fine?" he repeated. "That's... Josh, you weren't going to grill him, were you?" he asked, slowly, as a suspicion struck him.
"What? No, of course - "
"Yeah, you thought that you'd wake him up, and take him off guard, so you could -"
"Toby!" Josh yelled. "I wasn't about to question him, okay? I haven't... I haven't been too great a friend, and I'm worried. Is that really so unacceptable?"
Toby closed his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said.
"Yeah, whatever, we're all used to seeing you all protective toward him, recently. And what's with that, anyway?"
Toby sighed, and motioned for Josh to come in. "I already told you," he said. "It's not my place to tell."
"Then why don't you convince Sam to talk to me?" Josh asked. His tone was becoming whiny, Toby noticed. He didn't like Josh to be whiny. He was exasperating when he was like that.
"Look, the situation is complicated, and we really don't need you to - "
"Who are you?" Josh interrupted, looking at Joyce when she got up, entering his line of sight.
"Joyce Porter," she answered casually. "You must be Josh," she added, extending her hand.
Josh shook it, frowning at her, and she shrugged.
"Let me guess, not your place to tell," Josh said, when she didn't expand on the reasons of her presence.
"She's my therapist, Josh," Sam said from the door.
Toby turned around quickly, assessing his deputy. Too pale, he decided. His hands were still shaking, he had circles under his eyes, he looked half asleep and his hair was sticking in every direction. "You should be in bed," he pointed out. "How are you even conscious after..."
He trailed off, not wanting to tell Josh about the sedative, and Joyce walked to Sam. "Thirsty?" she asked.
He nodded.
"Okay, go lie down," she ordered. "I'll bring you something,"
He shot a look at Josh and Toby, and Josh took the initiative. "You should go, I'll see you tomorrow."
Sam nodded gratefully. "Okay, bye," he mumbled, trotting back to the bedroom.
Joyce came back from the kitchen, a glass of water in her hands, and followed him.
"He looks bad," Josh said quietly when the door of the bedroom had closed.
Toby couldn't deny it.
"His therapist," Josh said, his tone almost plaintive.
"I won't tell you more," he said again. "Drop it, okay?"
Josh didn't look too happy with it, but he seemed to recognize that he couldn't force Toby to tell him what he knew. Shrugging, he sat down. "I'll stay here a little," he said.
The next morning
"CJ, CJ?"
Sam froze, pen in the air, waiting to hear what question she would be asked this time.
This was becoming ridiculous, he thought. If he couldn't even work while CJ was talking to the press, he might as well turn the TV off.
But if he did that, he was scared that it would prompt a reporter to ask * the * question. It was stupid he knew. If someone in the press corps knew something, he would ask no matter what. He just didn't want to jinx it.
So there he was, startling each time someone called to CJ, unable to focus on his work, bits from his nightmare flowing back at him.
'God, I'm a mess,' he thought.
Toby had told him yet again that he needed to tell CJ, and they had once again argued about it. Sam was fighting even harder now that he was beginning to agree with his boss.
CJ needed to know. Josh too, but for other reasons. Sam hadn't forgotten what it was like to be left out of the loop - on a professional level, of course, but on a personal one as well. If he told CJ, he needed to tell Josh. Besides, if the story made it out, Josh would probably be outed as following a therapy too.
He jumped when yet another reporter yelled CJ's name. His heart was beating too quickly, he realized. He was covered with sweat.
He couldn't go on like that.
He couldn't go on dreading the day CJ would learn from an outsider what had happened.
Getting up, he marched into Toby's office. "Okay, can you tell CJ and Josh to come to my place tonight?" he asked, breathlessly.
Toby looked up, surprised. "Sure, why - Oh. Sure," he said. Then he paused, seemingly at a loss for what to say. "Do you want me to be there too?" he finally asked.
Sam nodded jerkily and Toby smiled reassuringly. "It's gonna be fine," he promised.
Sam looked at him, not daring to believe it.
'Expect the worst,' he told himself. 'That way, you won't be disappointed.'
"Sure," he said, forcing a smile. "Sure."
That night
Sam's apartment
"Are you sure?" Toby asked again.
Sam rolled his eyes. "You've been the one harassing me to do this, and now you're having second thoughts?" he complained.
"No, I... Never mind."
He was worried that Sam might snap.
Well, Sam was worried that he might snap too.
He had never really had to tell friends about this. Steve and Toby had guessed on their own and he had only had to confirm, his father had known what had happened, and his therapists were strangers, who had presumably heard worse than his story. They were people he didn't need to live with - he could afford them looking at him compassionately, what did their opinion matter?
He was about to explain everything to two friends. Who could, potentially, freak out, not know how to act around him, and treat him differently.
He wasn't sure he'd be able to deal with that.
He wasn't sure he was ready to tell them the whole story.
The bell rang and he jumped slightly. Toby shot him a look and went to answer the door.
"Hey guys," CJ said cheerfully as she entered, closely followed by Josh. "What are we all doing here?"
"Who wants a drink?" Sam asked, to buy some time.
He'd have to get down to it soon, he knew, but he could stall a little.
Just a little.
One hour later, he was still putting it back. Toby was shooting him insistent looks, CJ looked perplexed, and Josh looked about to explode.
After a tense silence, Sam cleared his throat. "Okay, I asked you to come because... there's something I need to tell you."
CJ and Josh looked at him expectantly and he got up nervously, pacing the room. "The thing is... I... When I was living in California..."
He stopped, frustrated. He had prepared a speech, but it was evading him right now. All he could focus on were the faces of his friends, worried, and seeming to close in on him. He stared at the floor not to see them anymore.
It didn't help, their faces danced in his sight.
He couldn't do that, he realized. It seemed like a step back to him, after all the therapy sessions he had followed where he talked about it, but he just couldn't.
Taking a deep breath, he looked at Toby. "Tell them," he said, his voice quavering a little.
"Sam..." Toby shook his head. "I really think you should be the one to..."
"No. I'm sorry, I... I can't. I'm sorry," he added.
He spun on his heels and fled the room, feeling as mature as a six year old.
Damn it.
He had been so sure he was ready for this.
He felt awful, letting Toby explain what was wrong with him while he went hiding in his room, like the coward he knew he was. He should be able to deal better, he thought.
He should have been able to tell his friend, he should have been able to protect his brother, he should have been able to resist his godfather, he should have been strong instead of running to his room.
The last thing he heard before closing the door was Toby's voice. "A few months ago, we were trying to pass this bill," he said.
The door closed and Sam sat on the edge of the bed, shaking.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, even though no one could hear him. "I'm sorry."
Later that day
Sam's place
Sam was having a nightmare. He knew he was dreaming, it felt too... surreal, to be anything but a nightmare.
A series of images, people saying everything he dreaded hearing.
Leo's office, Toby saying, "Sam, it's time they knew." Him, facing the window and telling them everything, not looking at them once. The silence that followed.
CJ saying softly, "God, Sam, I'm so sorry." Her eyes, pitying.
The whispers.
The sideways glances.
His mother on the phone, calling him a liar, saying, "He would never have done that!"
Him hanging up, not knowing what to say.
And when the phone rang again, he unplugged it violently.
It went on ringing.
He stared at it, horrified.
He didn't want to hear her anymore.
He didn't want to -
Sam woke up with a start, and grimaced at the pressure in his chest. The phone was ringing.
'Nightmare,' he thought.
It didn't help him relax, though.
The phone had stopped ringing. Sam got up, and fell off the bed, out of breath. The pain in his chest increased.
Panic attack.
'Not again,' he silently begged.
He sat up and leaned against his bed, trying to breathe evenly.
He knew it was stupid. He knew it wouldn't happen like that, even if the story made it to the press. It was just... his worst nightmare. His mother would never doubt him. He was just scared that it might take this course, but it didn't mean anything.
'He would never have done that.'
God, his chest hurt.
The phone rang again and he picked it up. "Yeah?"
"What's wrong?" Toby asked immediately.
Sam felt the pressure in his chest increase. His vision was beginning to blur. He was cold.
"I don't... I... Toby..."
"I'll be there soon," his boss cut off.
Sam hung up, not wanting to waste his breath answering. Trying to control his breathing, he dialed Joyce's number.
Toby arrived at Sam's apartment in time to see a middle aged woman entering it. "Who are you?" he asked, following her inside.
"Dr Joyce Porter," she answered crisply, heading straight for the bedroom, not even looking at him. He followed, and did a double take when he saw Sam, sitting on the floor, holding his chest, breathing heavily. He had closed his eyes, but opened them when Joyce kneeled in front of him.
"What you make me do," she said softly, shaking her head.
"Sorry," he apologized.
"Don't be. How long has it been..."
"Don't know." He took a shaky breath, shivered and added, "Few minutes before I called you."
"Okay. Can you get up?" He thought a little, shook his head, and she raised her eyes to meet Toby's. "I assume you're Toby Ziegler?" she said.
He nodded.
"Toby's here?" Sam asked, turning his head, squinting in Toby's direction.
"Yes."
Sam frowned and opened his mouth. Toby growled, "Sam, I promise you, if the next words leaving your mouth are 'I'm sorry', I'll kick your ass."
Sam smiled softly, then grimaced. "I can't... God, I can't make it go away," he whispered.
Joyce got up, and gestured to Toby. "Help me get him on the bed," she ordered. Once Sam was lying down again, she said, "Get out now, I need to examine him."
"I thought you were a psycho - "
"Psychiatrist," she interrupted. "I can take a patient's bp if need be."
"I'm not leaving," Toby decided.
Joyce shot him a look and asked, "Sam?"
"Don't care," he said weakly.
"Okay," she said, shrugging.
Toby watched as she pulled up Sam's T-shirt to listen to his heartbeat, took his blood pressure, and asked him a few questions as she was preparing a syringe.
"What are you going to give him?" Toby asked.
"A mild sedative. It'll help him relax."
"I'm sorry," Sam said. "I was having a nightmare." He chuckled humorlessly. "I guess I'm lucky I didn't hurt someone this time."
Joyce raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. She passed a disinfectant wipe over Sam's arm, then injected the sedative.
She sat on the edge of the bed. "What was the nightmare about?"
He shrugged. "Story was published." He stared at the ceiling. "I knew it was a dream, just..."
He stopped.
She looked at Toby askance, and he said reluctantly, "There's a possibility the story might become public."
She sighed. "You should have called me, Sam. That was asking for trouble, trying to do this alone." He opened his mouth and she added quickly, "Don't apologize."
"'Kay," he said sleepily.
She waited silently for him to pass out, and Toby stood at the room's entrance, watching them.
Sam had been asleep for two hours when the doorbell rang. Joyce and Toby had made themselves comfortable in the living room, in case Sam needed them in the night.
"Why are you staying?" Toby had asked.
"I'm worried," she had answered.
"You're his therapist. Isn't staying at your patient's place a little above and beyond the call of duty?"
She had shrugged. "I retired three years ago, Mister Ziegler. I only see a few of my former patients, who won't or can't see anyone else."
"That's - " He was about to say 'noble' when she cut him off.
"It's a responsibility, too. I could have decided not to see them at all, but I'm almost sure that Sam, for one, wouldn't go talk to anybody else. I don't want to learn that he's killed himself in a few years. Or any of these other people who I still see."
That was brutally honest, and Toby nodded. He wished Sam would confide more in people at work - he couldn't believe that he had once thought that Sam was too talkative - but if Sam preferred a therapist, so be it.
He knew that Sam hadn't told him anything, that he never would. If he could confide in this woman better than in him... well, that was too good an opportunity to waste.
They had sat down and talked a little, until the bell rang. Toby frowned a little, and went to answer the door.
"Josh?" he said, surprised to see him there.
"Toby? What are you doing there?"
"I could ask you the same thing," Toby said calmly.
"I came to see how he was doing," Josh said defensively. "He didn't look well earlier."
"You came here at two in the morning to see if he was fine?" he repeated. "That's... Josh, you weren't going to grill him, were you?" he asked, slowly, as a suspicion struck him.
"What? No, of course - "
"Yeah, you thought that you'd wake him up, and take him off guard, so you could -"
"Toby!" Josh yelled. "I wasn't about to question him, okay? I haven't... I haven't been too great a friend, and I'm worried. Is that really so unacceptable?"
Toby closed his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said.
"Yeah, whatever, we're all used to seeing you all protective toward him, recently. And what's with that, anyway?"
Toby sighed, and motioned for Josh to come in. "I already told you," he said. "It's not my place to tell."
"Then why don't you convince Sam to talk to me?" Josh asked. His tone was becoming whiny, Toby noticed. He didn't like Josh to be whiny. He was exasperating when he was like that.
"Look, the situation is complicated, and we really don't need you to - "
"Who are you?" Josh interrupted, looking at Joyce when she got up, entering his line of sight.
"Joyce Porter," she answered casually. "You must be Josh," she added, extending her hand.
Josh shook it, frowning at her, and she shrugged.
"Let me guess, not your place to tell," Josh said, when she didn't expand on the reasons of her presence.
"She's my therapist, Josh," Sam said from the door.
Toby turned around quickly, assessing his deputy. Too pale, he decided. His hands were still shaking, he had circles under his eyes, he looked half asleep and his hair was sticking in every direction. "You should be in bed," he pointed out. "How are you even conscious after..."
He trailed off, not wanting to tell Josh about the sedative, and Joyce walked to Sam. "Thirsty?" she asked.
He nodded.
"Okay, go lie down," she ordered. "I'll bring you something,"
He shot a look at Josh and Toby, and Josh took the initiative. "You should go, I'll see you tomorrow."
Sam nodded gratefully. "Okay, bye," he mumbled, trotting back to the bedroom.
Joyce came back from the kitchen, a glass of water in her hands, and followed him.
"He looks bad," Josh said quietly when the door of the bedroom had closed.
Toby couldn't deny it.
"His therapist," Josh said, his tone almost plaintive.
"I won't tell you more," he said again. "Drop it, okay?"
Josh didn't look too happy with it, but he seemed to recognize that he couldn't force Toby to tell him what he knew. Shrugging, he sat down. "I'll stay here a little," he said.
The next morning
"CJ, CJ?"
Sam froze, pen in the air, waiting to hear what question she would be asked this time.
This was becoming ridiculous, he thought. If he couldn't even work while CJ was talking to the press, he might as well turn the TV off.
But if he did that, he was scared that it would prompt a reporter to ask * the * question. It was stupid he knew. If someone in the press corps knew something, he would ask no matter what. He just didn't want to jinx it.
So there he was, startling each time someone called to CJ, unable to focus on his work, bits from his nightmare flowing back at him.
'God, I'm a mess,' he thought.
Toby had told him yet again that he needed to tell CJ, and they had once again argued about it. Sam was fighting even harder now that he was beginning to agree with his boss.
CJ needed to know. Josh too, but for other reasons. Sam hadn't forgotten what it was like to be left out of the loop - on a professional level, of course, but on a personal one as well. If he told CJ, he needed to tell Josh. Besides, if the story made it out, Josh would probably be outed as following a therapy too.
He jumped when yet another reporter yelled CJ's name. His heart was beating too quickly, he realized. He was covered with sweat.
He couldn't go on like that.
He couldn't go on dreading the day CJ would learn from an outsider what had happened.
Getting up, he marched into Toby's office. "Okay, can you tell CJ and Josh to come to my place tonight?" he asked, breathlessly.
Toby looked up, surprised. "Sure, why - Oh. Sure," he said. Then he paused, seemingly at a loss for what to say. "Do you want me to be there too?" he finally asked.
Sam nodded jerkily and Toby smiled reassuringly. "It's gonna be fine," he promised.
Sam looked at him, not daring to believe it.
'Expect the worst,' he told himself. 'That way, you won't be disappointed.'
"Sure," he said, forcing a smile. "Sure."
That night
Sam's apartment
"Are you sure?" Toby asked again.
Sam rolled his eyes. "You've been the one harassing me to do this, and now you're having second thoughts?" he complained.
"No, I... Never mind."
He was worried that Sam might snap.
Well, Sam was worried that he might snap too.
He had never really had to tell friends about this. Steve and Toby had guessed on their own and he had only had to confirm, his father had known what had happened, and his therapists were strangers, who had presumably heard worse than his story. They were people he didn't need to live with - he could afford them looking at him compassionately, what did their opinion matter?
He was about to explain everything to two friends. Who could, potentially, freak out, not know how to act around him, and treat him differently.
He wasn't sure he'd be able to deal with that.
He wasn't sure he was ready to tell them the whole story.
The bell rang and he jumped slightly. Toby shot him a look and went to answer the door.
"Hey guys," CJ said cheerfully as she entered, closely followed by Josh. "What are we all doing here?"
"Who wants a drink?" Sam asked, to buy some time.
He'd have to get down to it soon, he knew, but he could stall a little.
Just a little.
One hour later, he was still putting it back. Toby was shooting him insistent looks, CJ looked perplexed, and Josh looked about to explode.
After a tense silence, Sam cleared his throat. "Okay, I asked you to come because... there's something I need to tell you."
CJ and Josh looked at him expectantly and he got up nervously, pacing the room. "The thing is... I... When I was living in California..."
He stopped, frustrated. He had prepared a speech, but it was evading him right now. All he could focus on were the faces of his friends, worried, and seeming to close in on him. He stared at the floor not to see them anymore.
It didn't help, their faces danced in his sight.
He couldn't do that, he realized. It seemed like a step back to him, after all the therapy sessions he had followed where he talked about it, but he just couldn't.
Taking a deep breath, he looked at Toby. "Tell them," he said, his voice quavering a little.
"Sam..." Toby shook his head. "I really think you should be the one to..."
"No. I'm sorry, I... I can't. I'm sorry," he added.
He spun on his heels and fled the room, feeling as mature as a six year old.
Damn it.
He had been so sure he was ready for this.
He felt awful, letting Toby explain what was wrong with him while he went hiding in his room, like the coward he knew he was. He should be able to deal better, he thought.
He should have been able to tell his friend, he should have been able to protect his brother, he should have been able to resist his godfather, he should have been strong instead of running to his room.
The last thing he heard before closing the door was Toby's voice. "A few months ago, we were trying to pass this bill," he said.
The door closed and Sam sat on the edge of the bed, shaking.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, even though no one could hear him. "I'm sorry."