Title : A new life
Author : Géraldine
Email : lazy.gege@ibelgique.com
Category : ESF, drama, angst
Characters : Sam/OFC, Toby
Rating : PG
Summary : Sam and Toby have a talk. That's about it, I think...
Spoilers : To be sure, the first four seasons
Disclaimer : They belong to Aaron Sorkin, John Wells Productions, NBC, Warner Brothers, and I hope I haven't forgotten anyone. So obviously, they don't belong to me. I'm not making money from this story, I just have too much free time on my hands. So I'm begging : don't sue.
Feed back appreciated.
Note : Sequel to Setbacks and Healing, takes place in 2009.
Acknowledgements : As always, thanks a lot to Emily, who beta'd the story and made sure I said what I wanted to say. Thanks also to coupdepam, for her comments and her kind words on this fic.
**********
Thanksgiving 2009
Los Angeles
Sam looked at his assembled friends, only half listening to their conversation. He had missed them.
They didn't have many occasions to meet, now that they were working on different sides of the country. By tacit agreement, they called each other at least once a week, and tried to see each other a couple of times each year. Sam hoped the bonds that had formed during the Bartlet administration wouldn't disappear, just because of the physical distance between them.
They had been through so much together - he didn't think they would ever stop wanting to call each other at the slightest excuse ; a press conference from the new President, an editorial Toby had published, a quote from Josh taken grossly out of context... It seemed like the old days, all over again.
"Sam?" His wife's voice startled him.
"Yes?"
"Daydreaming?" she asked.
"It's dark outside, I don't think we could really call it - "
"Yes, of course, dear," she answered, and he had the eerie feeling that Abbey Bartlet had just entered the room. "Josh was asking what you taught to 'the poor kids who have the misfortune to have you as a teacher'," Fran added.
Sam raised an eyebrow at his friend. "Misfortune?"
"I was joking, Sam," Josh answered in a long suffering tone. "They were ganging up on me," he added as a stage whisper. "These women... You know how they can be, right?"
Sam risked a look at CJ, Donna and his wife, all looking at him sternly. "You're on your own, there, buddy," he told Josh.
CJ smiled sweetly - never a good sign. "So, Joshua, what are 'these women' like?" she asked.
Sam listened distractedly as his friend dug his grave with his mouth, smiling to his wife. Hearing Josh say... inconsiderate things had never grown old.
Frances was backing up CJ, now, and Sam couldn't help but feel sympathy toward Josh. His friend was going to need all the sympathy he could get, by the time the women were done teaching him the error of his ways.
* * * * *
Sam had begun dating Frances in 2004.
To the outside world, he was back on top of his game. Few people knew that he was still seeing a therapist, even fewer people knew he was still having nightmares on a regular basis.
He had met Frances at a bar where the staff often went. Typically, he had bumped into her while carrying drinks back to the table. They were both well splattered with alcohol. She took one look at him, smiled and said, "Mr Seaborn, I've heard a lot about you."
He had stumbled through his apology, and her smile had widened. Ignoring her now damp and sticky clothes, she had said, "Buy me a drink?"
It took a lot to faze Frances Ellison, Sam had learned later on.
A little dizzy, that night, in that bar, he had stared at her. She had shrugged. "I don't usually hit on men in bars, but what can I say... Perhaps our meeting was a sign."
He had said, "Actually, I'm afraid it was just me being... me."
She had shrugged off the matter. "Buy me a drink?"
Feeling he owed her at least that much, he had gestured to an empty table.
Three hours later, he had realized that he had forgotten to tell his friends where he was going, that the bar was about to close, and that he was almost certain he was in love. In that order.
He had tried to tell himself that he wasn't ready for a commited relationship, that he was still unbalanced, that he needed time.
None of that had seemed to matter in the face of Frances' stubbornness - and the fact that he didn't want to regret not having taken a chance.
Three months after their encounter, half her things were at his place and half his things at hers. Three months after that, they had moved to a bigger place. One year after their encounter, they were married and Sam was wondering if someone, Up There, enjoyed seeing his life take these kinds of mad turns.
Two years after they met, they were parents and they were still learning from each other.
* * * * *
2006
Washington
Sam woke up from yet another nightmare, gasping - this one had been full of voices, far way from him, and he had felt cold, so cold...
He hadn't screamed this time, but the lights were on, he was tangled in the covers and Frances was looking at him worriedly.
"Sorry," he said, extricating himself from the covers with her help. He tried to forget the helplessness he had felt in the dream, the paralyzing fear at the metal of the gun against his head, wondering if he was going to die, then and there.
Frances put her hand on the back of his neck and he shivered. "Don't," he snapped.
She took off her hand, surprised.
"Sorry," he said.
"Sam, you don't have to-"
"I know. I just... Sorry."
They both lay back, and Frances turned off the lights.
"I'm fairly sure I'd have pretty horrible nightmares too, if I had been shot," she said.
"Yeah."
There was a silence, and Sam could feel... something, in this silence. As if she wanted to say something and couldn't bring herself to do it.
"What?" he asked.
"Nothing."
"Fran..."
"Nothing. It's just... It's stupid."
"I've told you about my issues," he said jokingly. "Your turn to share."
"I just... when you told me that, just then, I remembered something."
He bit back an apology, and asked, "What?"
"I was... there was this parking lot, and there wasn't anyone around. And I... There was a man, who came out of the store I was heading to. He was walking toward me, and his head was lowered, and I had this feeling that he was going to come for my purse, so I held on to it."
Sam nodded silently in the dark, not liking where this was going.
"And he... I would have felt stupid sidestepping him, so I walked on, and he was on my left, and when he passed me, he, well... he touched my breast. And he walked on."
She laughed nervously, shaking her head.
"I was so... That was the last thing I expected. I was so surprised. I didn't even yell, I just turned back, and he was walking away, and I hurried into the store. And I thought, 'No big deal, no harm done.'"
Sam didn't agree, but nodded for her to continue.
"And I thought I was fine. I took a few things, went to the checkout, waited in line like a good customer, and then the guy standing in front of me turned back, probably to ask me what time it was or something, and I literally jumped backwards. He must have thought I was crazy or something. But for a minute, I thought he was going to... I could still feel that man's hand on my breast, and it lasted for hours. To this day, I get nervous when someone passes me by the left. How stupid is that?"
Sam, who tried to avoid dark parking lots and who, sometimes, could still feel the cold metal on his skin, said softly, "It's not stupid at all. Not at all."
"It was nothing."
"He... imposed, something on you. And... No, it's not stupid."
She snuggled against him. "Do you... that feeling that his hand was still there, that's what I remember the most. And yet, it was nothing. I can't begin to imagine what it must have been like for you."
He shrugged. "I never forgot it. I'd be lying if I said it was the worst, but... sometimes, I can still feel it, as if it had only happened yesterday."
"Hence you being startled."
"Yeah."
She nodded silently, and they shifted closer together, and waited for sleep to come.
* * * * *
Thanksgiving 2009
Los Angeles
"And that's all I really wanted to say," Josh concluded.
The three women continued staring at him, unperturbed.
"Really," Josh insisted.
Sam rose to his feet. "Much as I'd love to see the three of you beat the crap out of Josh, I'm getting hungry, and I think Toby is going to eat his cigar soon. Let's eat, shall we?"
"Thanks," Josh said, obviously relieved.
"Don't thank him yet, Josh," Frances said. "You're sitting between Donna and CJ."
Laughing at his friend's horrified expression, Sam lead everyone to the dining room.
Ten minutes later, everyone was in their place, Josh looked pretty miserable, and adequately frightened, and the turkey was on the table.
"Sam, will you do us the honors?" CJ asked him teasingly, eyeing the turkey.
He smiled. "CJ, I've never been able to do that correctly, so don't even try to take pictures this time."
"Is that why you invited us?" Donna asked. "So someone else could do it?"
"Yes. Only reason I'd want to see you," Sam answered, ironic.
Frances handed the knife to Toby, who said "Thank you, Frances."
Sam groaned inwardly. His wife hated when people called her by her full name. It was old, she claimed.
Jeremy ran to his father and climbed on his knees. "Why doesn't Toby have more hair on his head?" he asked.
There was a silence then Josh burst out laughing.
CJ tried to resist, but Josh's laughter was contagious, and soon, everyone was laughing, Toby glaring at them, and holding the knife as a weapon.
Sam was trying to explain to Jeremy that it wasn't the kind of question he should ask when Josh recovered enough to apologize, and Toby went on glaring, slicing the turkey with an almost mechanical precision.
"Come on, Toby, it was funny," Josh insisted.
Jeremy muttered an apology, which was lost in the noise, and Sam smiled. He caught Frances's eyes, enjoying the glint in them.
He knew Toby was going to try to convince him to come back to DC with him. They never met without the subject being raised. He also knew what he would answer - a firm, "Thanks but no thanks."
Corralling Jeremy back to his seat, he smiled at Frances again.
His life was here, and it was good.
* * * * *
2009
Two weeks earlier
Waiting room
Sam was reading Toby's last published editorial. It was highly entertaining to read his former boss shred the new administration to pieces - not that anyone on the former Bartlet staff was about to sympathize with Ritchie.
President Ritchie.
So many things wrong in these two words, Sam thought.
The woman next to him - 24 years old, tops - was checking her watch every thirty seconds or so.
She caught his eyes as he was watching her.
"Sorry," she said sheepishly. "It's just that I'm waiting for test results..."
He knew the feeling. After all, he was waiting for test results too.
"I'm waiting for a transplant," she went on, and Sam put the article on the side and listened as she nervously chattered away, explaining that the dialysis was going well but that she was waiting for a donor and that the doctor had asked her to come, and did Sam think it was going to be good or bad?
"I honestly have no idea," he said gently.
"Of course, I'm sorry, I'm generally not so nervous."
"Don't worry about it. I know what it's like."
"You had a..." She trailed off, chewing on her lower lip.
"Yes."
"When?" she asked curiously. Sam swallowed, remembering a gun held at his head, darkness, and the nightmarish months that had followed. The woman must have seen something on his face, and she hastily backpedaled. "I mean, if you don't want to talk about it ..."
"It's okay. It was seven years ago."
"Seven years," she repeated. "Wow."
That's what he thought too.
The check ups were becoming more thorough, now, and he knew that the medical team that was following him was looking for signs of rejection.
He hoped the day wouldn't come, but he tried to be a realist. It would happen eventually.
"How long have you been under dialysis?" he asked.
"It's been about four years, now."
It was his turn to think "wow"
"I only went through that for a month, and I was so sick of it at the time ..." he recalled. "That must be hard."
She shrugged. "You get used to it eventually. It doesn't become fun, but you know..."
Yes, it was amazing what you could get used to when you didn't have a choice.
"Does it hurt?" she asked suddenly. "The surgery, I mean."
Well, given that they basically ripped you open, sewed an organ into you, and closed again, yes, it did, Sam thought. He didn't think that this kind of consideration would help her, though, so he smiled. "Yes, but it doesn't last that long. And believe me, it's a walk in the park compared to having to live with the dialysis."
He just hoped he'd never, ever, have to go through that again.
She nodded thoughtfully.
"You're waiting for results?" she asked.
"Yes."
"What if ..."
He grimaced, wondering if she was psychic.
Stranger things had happened, and hey, it was LA after all.
"Then I'll see," he said.
Once upon a time, he had told himself that he'd never have the strength to fight that again.
He had never said so to his friends, but he had firmly believed it.
Of course, back then, he was single, he lived on the opposite coast of his family, and he had so few obligations. He lived for his job then.
Now he had a wife, a son, a baby on the way, and a mother who had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's on the verge of her sixtieth birthday.
He couldn't afford the luxury of giving up now.
More importantly, he didn't * want * to give up now. He wanted to see his son and his future baby grow up, wanted to know who they would become. He wanted more arguments with his wife - and make up sex, afterwards. He wanted more quiet evenings, and discussions with Toby, and heated debates.
"You forget the worst, you know," he said, not sure he had spoken out loud until she turned to look at him, wide eyed.
"Excuse me?"
"You forget the pain, eventually."
It was something he would never have believed back then, but it was true.
You went on living, you built a family, you made new friends, and the bad memories faded in the background - always present, but not overwhelming anymore.
"Or rather," he amended, "It loses its, I don't know how to put it, reality?"
She nodded. "Thanks," she muttered, as the nurse came into the room and called her name.
Sam was left alone, the newspaper forgotten by his side.
* * * * *
Two hours later, Sam was home again, watching over Jeremy while Frances was throwing up in the bathroom.
"The person who called it morning sickness was a male," she often spat, just like she had when she was expecting Jeremy.
She came down the stairs and collapsed beside him on the couch.
"You okay?" he asked.
She smiled weakly. "That's my line."
"No, it's not."
"Sam, it's morning sickness, you don't die from that. What did the doctor say?"
"I'm fine. Everything is working within acceptable boundaries. Nothing new."
She sighed. "Great."
"On to you," he said. "What did the doctor say?"
She smiled. "We'll know the gender next time."
"Still betting on a girl?"
"Yes. Would you prefer ..."
"Fran, I couldn't care less, really. Boy, girl, what does it matter. It'll be ... you know ..."
"Ours."
There were still days where he wondered if he hadn't made his son up - if he hadn't just been dreaming.
There were still nights where he went to his room to watch his sleep, marveling that they had been able to do that.
"Toby called," Frances said, out of the blue.
Ouch, Sam thought. His wife didn't even try to hide her antipathy toward Toby, who seemed amused by the situation. Sam had stopped trying to mediate their relationship long ago.
They were civil to each other, they didn't badmouth each other, he didn't ask for more.
"Will he come?" Sam asked, hopeful.
"Yes."
"Great." He smiled.
"He'll try to drag you back there."
He shrugged. "I'll say no, you know that. We have our life here, and Mom ..."
He didn't finish his sentence. Her doctors weren't optimistic. She didn't recognize him anymore, but she often talked to him about her son, "Sammy", who would become a writer, some day - she could tell, because he was leaving unfinished stories everywhere in the house, and they were quite good, she said.
And then, sometimes, she asked when Sam's father would come visit her, and that hurt more than anything ever had. He listened to her, planning her future with her husband, forgetting that they had gotten a divorce and he had moved to Europe with what-'s-her-name. He listened to her, smiled and held her hand, because he didn't know what else to do.
It was painful, to see her fade away like that.
Sam was staring off into space, and Frances gently nudged him.
"Let's go to bed," she said, raising an eyebrow.
"Jeremy..." he whispered.
"It's almost his bedtime, anyway."
"Right," he smiled.
Jeremy opened his mouth to protest but one glance from Frances made him stay silent.
Sam took Jeremy to his room, helped him through his evening routine, tucked him into bed, marveling, once again, at his very existence. Frances came say goodnight to their son, and together, they went to their room.
Sam looked at her, raising an eyebrow.
"I thought I couldn't touch you, ever again?" he said innocently. "Isn't that what you said this morning?"
She smiled sweetly. "Go on like that and you won't, no." Then she added, more softly, "We have cause to celebrate."
He could only agree.
And celebrate, they did.
* * * * *
Thanksgiving 2009
Sam and Toby were alone in the kitchen, drinking ginger ale and pretending they weren't going to have * the * talk, yet again.
"So..." Toby said.
"So..."
They lapsed into silence again, and after a while, Sam said, "Come on, say it."
"You should come back."
Sam shook his head. "Toby..."
"You could, Sam!"
"Yes, I could. I just don't want to."
"Why? Okay, it's not working in the West Wing, but still, it's a good job."
"Toby, I'm not saying... I'd get sucked in the work in no time, wouldn't see my family anymore..."
"Not necessarily."
Sam bit back an angry retort and breathed deeply. "I know it doesn't *have * to be this way. It's just that it's going to be that way no matter what. We both know it will. The only way to avoid that would be for me to do a half assed job, and that's not going to happen."
"So you prefer to stay here."
"Yes! Here, where I can enjoy my family, and teaching."
"It's not the same as writing."
"I still write, Toby."
His friend didn't seem unduly surprised to learn that. "Figured as much."
"Because I couldn't stop, no matter what. I'm happy this way." Thinking about the almost finished novel sitting on his desk, he promised himself, once more, that Toby would be the first person to read it.
"Okay." After a short pause, Toby asked, "You're... You're still fine, right?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "Yes. I had a check up two weeks ago, I'm fine."
"Four years with Bartlet didn't deteriorate your health."
"No. But I was completely wiped out by the time we were done. And I missed Jeremy's first word - we were in Oregon when he said 'dad' for the first time. I almost missed his birth. I almost lost Frances too - and I promised her that I wouldn't work in politics again after the end of the administration. I want to be in their lives."
"It's not politics," Toby said.
"You created a magazine that talks about politics. You write about Ritchie, you give tips on the who's who in DC, it's... Toby, it's politics. Of course, it is."
"You could still..."
"Damn it, Toby," Sam yelled. "Why do you keep bringing that up? I feel like I'm talking with Josh, at times!"
"We could use a good writer on the team."
"You taught me ninety nine percent of what I know."
"Yeah."
"So?"
Toby stayed silent, staring at the bottom of his glass, and Sam calmed down. "Drop it, Toby," he said gently. "Or else Frances will ban you from coming here."
"And you'll let her do it?"
"Yeah."
"What, you're scared of her?"
"No," Sam answered indignantly. "I just happen to value her opinion."
"Right."
To avoid getting dragged into * that * debate, Sam asked, "So, what's new in DC?"
Toby didn't answer. "You had a check up," he said.
"Yes."
"You didn't say."
Sam shrugged. "Not much to say. It was fine."
Toby studied him for a moment, then nodded. "It still scares you, doesn't it?"
"It never really stopped," admitted Sam, without meaning to. Then, he decided that he might as well go on. Toby had seen him at his worst before, and still respected him. What did he have to lose? "I just... I have so many more reasons to live now, than I did then, and... I thought it would make things easier, but it doesn't. What if I die, and leave Fran alone with two kids?"
Toby shrugged. "What if she gets hit by a car and leaves you alone with two kids? You don't think she's scared too?"
"Of course, she is. I just..."
"Sam, if you're going to say that you're likely to die, don't. Medicine progressed since 2002.
And you know that there are people out there who had as many as four transplants, and still live."
"I know."
Toby smiled. "Back then, you thought you wouldn't go through that ever again, remember? You said that even if you had this chance, you wouldn't take it."
"Yeah, I remember. But, well, a kid will change your life in quite a lot of ways."
"I know," Toby said.
"I'm... I'm living with it, really. And the life I have here... I wouldn't trade it for the world. Simply, sometimes, I still wonder why it had to be me."
"We all wondered why it had to be you," Toby said.
Once upon a time Sam would have been as aggravated as he was touched upon hearing that. Today, he was just touched. He nodded to Toby. "Yeah. Well..."
"Are you... okay?"
Sam smiled. "I have a kid, a baby on the way, a wonderful wife, and I think... I love teaching, and I think I'm getting good at it. Some of my students... it always seemed corny to me, to hear teachers say they were proud of some of their students. But I am proud of quite a few of my students. One of them is probably better than I am, and I'm actually learning a lot from him. I'm... happy."
Toby smiled. "Good. And I don't really want to uproot you and drag you back to DC so I can make your life miserable, you know. I just... I miss having someone to yell at."
Sam smiled. "Thanks," he said. "I know Toby. But..."
"But you're good, here. I get it."
"Good." There was a short silence, then Sam said, "You... you're going to try and convince me again, next time, right?"
Toby studied him a moment. "Of course."
"Good," Sam said, relieved. It was a sign that things were normal, he thought. A sign that his friends still cared - for he didn't doubt that Josh and CJ wanted him back too.
Another silence, then, "Josh told me you're still sailing," Toby said.
Sam, amused, noted that his friend sounded like a disapproving father.
"Yes."
"Did you fall from the boat again?"
"No. And it was just that once. I don't understand why everyone makes such a big deal out of it."
"Because it's always amusing to see a klutz at work." Toby shook his head. "Well, at least you didn't take on piloting planes."
Sam looked at him guiltily.
Toby stared, open mouthed, then said, "You're kidding."
Sam smiled. "It's only a small plane, Toby. A twin engine aircraft, to be precise. And I don't go often. I just - "
"A plane," Toby said, raising his hands heavenwards. "'Only a small plane,' he says. That way when the plane falls down, they won't find anything left, because..."
Sam laughed outright. "Give me some credit, I know how to make a plane land, even under less than ideal circumstances."
"And Frances lets you do it?"
"Frances taught me," Sam said.
He had been teasing Toby, that day on the boat, after his transplant. But he had been honest too; he had always wanted to learn how to fly. He just had never gotten around to doing it. Then, one day, Frances had asked him if he wanted to come with her, she was going to fly for a few hours. He had laughed, said, "Sure" and accompanied her. Two hours later, she was giving him theoretical basics. It had been an endless subject of amusement to them - still another thing we have in common.
"She taught... that's it, I'm filing a complaint. Someone who trips over his own feet shouldn't go up there unsupervised."
"Toby, I promise, there's very little walking involved in the piloting of a plane."
"Sam, you can't... you're... a klutz."
"That I am," Sam said serenely. "So?"
"So? So?" Toby was spluttering, and when Frances poked her head in to see what the problem was, Sam was laughing at him.
"You should see your face, Toby," he was saying.
"You..." Toby growled.
"Yeah."
And for the next half hour, he listened as his friend complained about klutzs, and risks, and idiots.
* * * * *
He tried to convince you," Frances said. "I heard yelling. Before the laughing."
"Yes."
"Sam..."
"Fran, he just... you know..."
"Misses you."
"Yes."
"And he can only prove that by engaging you in a yelling match each time you meet."
"That's Toby we're talking about. He yells like we speak."
She snorted. "Yes, and you're you, you'll both die before you admit that you like each other."
"Put it this way," Sam smiled.
"Men!!"
"Indeed," Sam said.
"Are you sure?" Fran asked.
"Fran... I have my family here. I love my job, I think I may even become quite good at it. What more could I want?"
"Writing."
"I do."
"Professionally."
"And not seeing the two and a half of you for days on end... It's like... what I have here, it's..."
"The best of both worlds?" she said, smiling.
He laughed. "Yeah. I get to have everything I want, Fran."
"Sure?"
He smiled again. "Sure."
"Okay." There was a short silence, then she said, "Why don't we celebrate your decision to stay here?"
"There was never any doubt about what my decision would be," Sam said. Then his brain caught up, and he said, "Yeah. Let's."
And celebrate, they did.
* * * * *
"I'm still not sure I understand," Frances said, much later.
"What?"
"Toby. I... why do you let him try to drag you back?"
Sam sighed. "I owe him."
"Yes, I know, he was your mentor, he taught you all he knew about writing," sounding like she was rehearsing a well-known lesson. "And you all were part of the Senior Staff, and these were the days -"
"That's not all there is to it," he interrupted. "That's... You... I don't think you realize what a mess I was, when it happened."
"Which would be..."
"... because I don't talk much about it," Sam said, nodding. "I know. We talked about the shooting, the nightmares, the PTSD, but... I was... I don't know. In denial, perhaps. I didn't want to deal with the transplant. I thought that the shooting was enough, I didn't see why I had to go through everything else, and the fact that I didn't have a choice didn't matter to me right then."
Frances took his hand, squeezing slightly. This was the most he had ever told her about this, and she didn't want to interrupt him.
"I gave up, in a way," Sam said. "I let my friends do the job, and I hid home. I needed them to tell me when my appointments were, I needed them to pressure me into going. And after a while, Toby decided that he'd had enough."
"Oh God," Frances said, choking on a laugh. She had seen Toby when he was determined, and she could imagine what it must have been like. Poor Sam hadn't stood a chance, she thought.
"Yeah," Sam said, smiling. "He yelled at me, and I... exploded, I guess. Except I didn't have the energy to yell too, so I cried. I don't remember much of what I told him, but I do remember telling him that he didn't understand, that no one understood, that it wasn't fair... Must have sounded like a brooding teenager."
His tone was self depreciating, but Frances thought she could hear something else underneath all the jokes. Shame? Self consciousness. "Sam..." she said.
"Everyone told me that I was doing the best I could, that I was very courageous, and so on. But the truth is... I saw people going on with their lives, and I wished they had been the ones it had happened to." He shook his head, eyes closed. "No, it's not what I mean. Of course, I wouldn't wish that on anyone. I just wondered why it had to be me, you know? I never asked Josh if he went through the same thing, but I think... sometimes, after Rosslyn, I asked myself, 'Why my friend and not me?', and I think, sometimes, he saw us healthy, and he envied us."
Frances sighed. "Terrible thing, to be human, isn't it?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"Sam, you saved CJ's life, and you could have been shot that night, by doing so." Noticing his startled expression, she laughed, "You didn't think she wouldn't tell me that story, did you? She knows you don't think much about it, but she does."
Impatiently, he said, "So, I helped her instinctively. If I'd had the time to think, I probably wouldn't have. I'd have been too scared, or - "
"So, your first instinct is to save people, and you fear, without any certainty, that if you had to think about it, you would hesitate. Yeah, you're a horrible person."
He thought about it. "We're drifting off topic," he said.
"Fine, ignore me." She had a dangerous smile. "But we will talk more about it."
"Yeah. Anyway, Toby... We didn't like each other at first, you know. During the campaign."
"I can see how that might be."
"Yes, well, that night... he let me yell, he didn't tell me that I was full of crap, even though I deserved it, he held my hand, figuratively, let me cry on his shoulder, literally, and... you can't imagine how much I needed that. Even I didn't know how much I needed that, until he came."
She nodded. "Okay."
"His trying to get me back to DC is his way of telling me he misses me, my letting him do it is my way of thanking him for caring. I'm sorry... I know we tend to be pretty... close-knit group. We just..."
"Went through a lot." Frances sighed. "I actually know that. And I don't think you'd ask us to go back to DC, and if you did, I wouldn't refuse for the sake of refusing either. I just fear that you'd get sucked into politics again. I really thought I was losing you, after Jeremy's birth."
"I know. It's... I loved this world, I did, and I can't describe how I felt the first time the President delivered a speech I had written. To hear him say my words, that was..." He trailed off dreamily, then shook himself. "But, for all the problems I had with Bartlet, I can't imagine working for another President. And, aside for the fact that I don't want to stop spending time with you and our children, for the sake of the job, I can't imagine working for anyone else. I think I'd be disappointed."
She smiled. "But Toby..."
"Toby owns a magazine. And yes, it would be different. But... I had a bad experience in politics, then an incredible one. I want to stay on that note. Josh, and Toby, they're... political animals, really. They can't help it, they can't do anything else. It's... their addiction, if you will. I can write anything I want. I'm working on a novel, and it's terrible, but I'm nearing the end, and I think I might even survive its writing."
She laughed.
"CJ, too, loves politics, but doesn't * have * to work in it. She chose to because of Josh and Toby. I didn't start in politics, and while I loved it, and I ... you know."
"You're as happy outside this world as you once were inside it?"
"Yes."
"Okay."
"Can we sleep now?"
She laughed. "I'd still like to celebrate, but... you're right, sleep we should. Big day, and all."
"Yeah."
He took her in his arms, she snuggled happily against him, and they waited for sleep to come.
END
Loved it? Hated it? Please, let me know!
Author : Géraldine
Email : lazy.gege@ibelgique.com
Category : ESF, drama, angst
Characters : Sam/OFC, Toby
Rating : PG
Summary : Sam and Toby have a talk. That's about it, I think...
Spoilers : To be sure, the first four seasons
Disclaimer : They belong to Aaron Sorkin, John Wells Productions, NBC, Warner Brothers, and I hope I haven't forgotten anyone. So obviously, they don't belong to me. I'm not making money from this story, I just have too much free time on my hands. So I'm begging : don't sue.
Feed back appreciated.
Note : Sequel to Setbacks and Healing, takes place in 2009.
Acknowledgements : As always, thanks a lot to Emily, who beta'd the story and made sure I said what I wanted to say. Thanks also to coupdepam, for her comments and her kind words on this fic.
**********
Thanksgiving 2009
Los Angeles
Sam looked at his assembled friends, only half listening to their conversation. He had missed them.
They didn't have many occasions to meet, now that they were working on different sides of the country. By tacit agreement, they called each other at least once a week, and tried to see each other a couple of times each year. Sam hoped the bonds that had formed during the Bartlet administration wouldn't disappear, just because of the physical distance between them.
They had been through so much together - he didn't think they would ever stop wanting to call each other at the slightest excuse ; a press conference from the new President, an editorial Toby had published, a quote from Josh taken grossly out of context... It seemed like the old days, all over again.
"Sam?" His wife's voice startled him.
"Yes?"
"Daydreaming?" she asked.
"It's dark outside, I don't think we could really call it - "
"Yes, of course, dear," she answered, and he had the eerie feeling that Abbey Bartlet had just entered the room. "Josh was asking what you taught to 'the poor kids who have the misfortune to have you as a teacher'," Fran added.
Sam raised an eyebrow at his friend. "Misfortune?"
"I was joking, Sam," Josh answered in a long suffering tone. "They were ganging up on me," he added as a stage whisper. "These women... You know how they can be, right?"
Sam risked a look at CJ, Donna and his wife, all looking at him sternly. "You're on your own, there, buddy," he told Josh.
CJ smiled sweetly - never a good sign. "So, Joshua, what are 'these women' like?" she asked.
Sam listened distractedly as his friend dug his grave with his mouth, smiling to his wife. Hearing Josh say... inconsiderate things had never grown old.
Frances was backing up CJ, now, and Sam couldn't help but feel sympathy toward Josh. His friend was going to need all the sympathy he could get, by the time the women were done teaching him the error of his ways.
* * * * *
Sam had begun dating Frances in 2004.
To the outside world, he was back on top of his game. Few people knew that he was still seeing a therapist, even fewer people knew he was still having nightmares on a regular basis.
He had met Frances at a bar where the staff often went. Typically, he had bumped into her while carrying drinks back to the table. They were both well splattered with alcohol. She took one look at him, smiled and said, "Mr Seaborn, I've heard a lot about you."
He had stumbled through his apology, and her smile had widened. Ignoring her now damp and sticky clothes, she had said, "Buy me a drink?"
It took a lot to faze Frances Ellison, Sam had learned later on.
A little dizzy, that night, in that bar, he had stared at her. She had shrugged. "I don't usually hit on men in bars, but what can I say... Perhaps our meeting was a sign."
He had said, "Actually, I'm afraid it was just me being... me."
She had shrugged off the matter. "Buy me a drink?"
Feeling he owed her at least that much, he had gestured to an empty table.
Three hours later, he had realized that he had forgotten to tell his friends where he was going, that the bar was about to close, and that he was almost certain he was in love. In that order.
He had tried to tell himself that he wasn't ready for a commited relationship, that he was still unbalanced, that he needed time.
None of that had seemed to matter in the face of Frances' stubbornness - and the fact that he didn't want to regret not having taken a chance.
Three months after their encounter, half her things were at his place and half his things at hers. Three months after that, they had moved to a bigger place. One year after their encounter, they were married and Sam was wondering if someone, Up There, enjoyed seeing his life take these kinds of mad turns.
Two years after they met, they were parents and they were still learning from each other.
* * * * *
2006
Washington
Sam woke up from yet another nightmare, gasping - this one had been full of voices, far way from him, and he had felt cold, so cold...
He hadn't screamed this time, but the lights were on, he was tangled in the covers and Frances was looking at him worriedly.
"Sorry," he said, extricating himself from the covers with her help. He tried to forget the helplessness he had felt in the dream, the paralyzing fear at the metal of the gun against his head, wondering if he was going to die, then and there.
Frances put her hand on the back of his neck and he shivered. "Don't," he snapped.
She took off her hand, surprised.
"Sorry," he said.
"Sam, you don't have to-"
"I know. I just... Sorry."
They both lay back, and Frances turned off the lights.
"I'm fairly sure I'd have pretty horrible nightmares too, if I had been shot," she said.
"Yeah."
There was a silence, and Sam could feel... something, in this silence. As if she wanted to say something and couldn't bring herself to do it.
"What?" he asked.
"Nothing."
"Fran..."
"Nothing. It's just... It's stupid."
"I've told you about my issues," he said jokingly. "Your turn to share."
"I just... when you told me that, just then, I remembered something."
He bit back an apology, and asked, "What?"
"I was... there was this parking lot, and there wasn't anyone around. And I... There was a man, who came out of the store I was heading to. He was walking toward me, and his head was lowered, and I had this feeling that he was going to come for my purse, so I held on to it."
Sam nodded silently in the dark, not liking where this was going.
"And he... I would have felt stupid sidestepping him, so I walked on, and he was on my left, and when he passed me, he, well... he touched my breast. And he walked on."
She laughed nervously, shaking her head.
"I was so... That was the last thing I expected. I was so surprised. I didn't even yell, I just turned back, and he was walking away, and I hurried into the store. And I thought, 'No big deal, no harm done.'"
Sam didn't agree, but nodded for her to continue.
"And I thought I was fine. I took a few things, went to the checkout, waited in line like a good customer, and then the guy standing in front of me turned back, probably to ask me what time it was or something, and I literally jumped backwards. He must have thought I was crazy or something. But for a minute, I thought he was going to... I could still feel that man's hand on my breast, and it lasted for hours. To this day, I get nervous when someone passes me by the left. How stupid is that?"
Sam, who tried to avoid dark parking lots and who, sometimes, could still feel the cold metal on his skin, said softly, "It's not stupid at all. Not at all."
"It was nothing."
"He... imposed, something on you. And... No, it's not stupid."
She snuggled against him. "Do you... that feeling that his hand was still there, that's what I remember the most. And yet, it was nothing. I can't begin to imagine what it must have been like for you."
He shrugged. "I never forgot it. I'd be lying if I said it was the worst, but... sometimes, I can still feel it, as if it had only happened yesterday."
"Hence you being startled."
"Yeah."
She nodded silently, and they shifted closer together, and waited for sleep to come.
* * * * *
Thanksgiving 2009
Los Angeles
"And that's all I really wanted to say," Josh concluded.
The three women continued staring at him, unperturbed.
"Really," Josh insisted.
Sam rose to his feet. "Much as I'd love to see the three of you beat the crap out of Josh, I'm getting hungry, and I think Toby is going to eat his cigar soon. Let's eat, shall we?"
"Thanks," Josh said, obviously relieved.
"Don't thank him yet, Josh," Frances said. "You're sitting between Donna and CJ."
Laughing at his friend's horrified expression, Sam lead everyone to the dining room.
Ten minutes later, everyone was in their place, Josh looked pretty miserable, and adequately frightened, and the turkey was on the table.
"Sam, will you do us the honors?" CJ asked him teasingly, eyeing the turkey.
He smiled. "CJ, I've never been able to do that correctly, so don't even try to take pictures this time."
"Is that why you invited us?" Donna asked. "So someone else could do it?"
"Yes. Only reason I'd want to see you," Sam answered, ironic.
Frances handed the knife to Toby, who said "Thank you, Frances."
Sam groaned inwardly. His wife hated when people called her by her full name. It was old, she claimed.
Jeremy ran to his father and climbed on his knees. "Why doesn't Toby have more hair on his head?" he asked.
There was a silence then Josh burst out laughing.
CJ tried to resist, but Josh's laughter was contagious, and soon, everyone was laughing, Toby glaring at them, and holding the knife as a weapon.
Sam was trying to explain to Jeremy that it wasn't the kind of question he should ask when Josh recovered enough to apologize, and Toby went on glaring, slicing the turkey with an almost mechanical precision.
"Come on, Toby, it was funny," Josh insisted.
Jeremy muttered an apology, which was lost in the noise, and Sam smiled. He caught Frances's eyes, enjoying the glint in them.
He knew Toby was going to try to convince him to come back to DC with him. They never met without the subject being raised. He also knew what he would answer - a firm, "Thanks but no thanks."
Corralling Jeremy back to his seat, he smiled at Frances again.
His life was here, and it was good.
* * * * *
2009
Two weeks earlier
Waiting room
Sam was reading Toby's last published editorial. It was highly entertaining to read his former boss shred the new administration to pieces - not that anyone on the former Bartlet staff was about to sympathize with Ritchie.
President Ritchie.
So many things wrong in these two words, Sam thought.
The woman next to him - 24 years old, tops - was checking her watch every thirty seconds or so.
She caught his eyes as he was watching her.
"Sorry," she said sheepishly. "It's just that I'm waiting for test results..."
He knew the feeling. After all, he was waiting for test results too.
"I'm waiting for a transplant," she went on, and Sam put the article on the side and listened as she nervously chattered away, explaining that the dialysis was going well but that she was waiting for a donor and that the doctor had asked her to come, and did Sam think it was going to be good or bad?
"I honestly have no idea," he said gently.
"Of course, I'm sorry, I'm generally not so nervous."
"Don't worry about it. I know what it's like."
"You had a..." She trailed off, chewing on her lower lip.
"Yes."
"When?" she asked curiously. Sam swallowed, remembering a gun held at his head, darkness, and the nightmarish months that had followed. The woman must have seen something on his face, and she hastily backpedaled. "I mean, if you don't want to talk about it ..."
"It's okay. It was seven years ago."
"Seven years," she repeated. "Wow."
That's what he thought too.
The check ups were becoming more thorough, now, and he knew that the medical team that was following him was looking for signs of rejection.
He hoped the day wouldn't come, but he tried to be a realist. It would happen eventually.
"How long have you been under dialysis?" he asked.
"It's been about four years, now."
It was his turn to think "wow"
"I only went through that for a month, and I was so sick of it at the time ..." he recalled. "That must be hard."
She shrugged. "You get used to it eventually. It doesn't become fun, but you know..."
Yes, it was amazing what you could get used to when you didn't have a choice.
"Does it hurt?" she asked suddenly. "The surgery, I mean."
Well, given that they basically ripped you open, sewed an organ into you, and closed again, yes, it did, Sam thought. He didn't think that this kind of consideration would help her, though, so he smiled. "Yes, but it doesn't last that long. And believe me, it's a walk in the park compared to having to live with the dialysis."
He just hoped he'd never, ever, have to go through that again.
She nodded thoughtfully.
"You're waiting for results?" she asked.
"Yes."
"What if ..."
He grimaced, wondering if she was psychic.
Stranger things had happened, and hey, it was LA after all.
"Then I'll see," he said.
Once upon a time, he had told himself that he'd never have the strength to fight that again.
He had never said so to his friends, but he had firmly believed it.
Of course, back then, he was single, he lived on the opposite coast of his family, and he had so few obligations. He lived for his job then.
Now he had a wife, a son, a baby on the way, and a mother who had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's on the verge of her sixtieth birthday.
He couldn't afford the luxury of giving up now.
More importantly, he didn't * want * to give up now. He wanted to see his son and his future baby grow up, wanted to know who they would become. He wanted more arguments with his wife - and make up sex, afterwards. He wanted more quiet evenings, and discussions with Toby, and heated debates.
"You forget the worst, you know," he said, not sure he had spoken out loud until she turned to look at him, wide eyed.
"Excuse me?"
"You forget the pain, eventually."
It was something he would never have believed back then, but it was true.
You went on living, you built a family, you made new friends, and the bad memories faded in the background - always present, but not overwhelming anymore.
"Or rather," he amended, "It loses its, I don't know how to put it, reality?"
She nodded. "Thanks," she muttered, as the nurse came into the room and called her name.
Sam was left alone, the newspaper forgotten by his side.
* * * * *
Two hours later, Sam was home again, watching over Jeremy while Frances was throwing up in the bathroom.
"The person who called it morning sickness was a male," she often spat, just like she had when she was expecting Jeremy.
She came down the stairs and collapsed beside him on the couch.
"You okay?" he asked.
She smiled weakly. "That's my line."
"No, it's not."
"Sam, it's morning sickness, you don't die from that. What did the doctor say?"
"I'm fine. Everything is working within acceptable boundaries. Nothing new."
She sighed. "Great."
"On to you," he said. "What did the doctor say?"
She smiled. "We'll know the gender next time."
"Still betting on a girl?"
"Yes. Would you prefer ..."
"Fran, I couldn't care less, really. Boy, girl, what does it matter. It'll be ... you know ..."
"Ours."
There were still days where he wondered if he hadn't made his son up - if he hadn't just been dreaming.
There were still nights where he went to his room to watch his sleep, marveling that they had been able to do that.
"Toby called," Frances said, out of the blue.
Ouch, Sam thought. His wife didn't even try to hide her antipathy toward Toby, who seemed amused by the situation. Sam had stopped trying to mediate their relationship long ago.
They were civil to each other, they didn't badmouth each other, he didn't ask for more.
"Will he come?" Sam asked, hopeful.
"Yes."
"Great." He smiled.
"He'll try to drag you back there."
He shrugged. "I'll say no, you know that. We have our life here, and Mom ..."
He didn't finish his sentence. Her doctors weren't optimistic. She didn't recognize him anymore, but she often talked to him about her son, "Sammy", who would become a writer, some day - she could tell, because he was leaving unfinished stories everywhere in the house, and they were quite good, she said.
And then, sometimes, she asked when Sam's father would come visit her, and that hurt more than anything ever had. He listened to her, planning her future with her husband, forgetting that they had gotten a divorce and he had moved to Europe with what-'s-her-name. He listened to her, smiled and held her hand, because he didn't know what else to do.
It was painful, to see her fade away like that.
Sam was staring off into space, and Frances gently nudged him.
"Let's go to bed," she said, raising an eyebrow.
"Jeremy..." he whispered.
"It's almost his bedtime, anyway."
"Right," he smiled.
Jeremy opened his mouth to protest but one glance from Frances made him stay silent.
Sam took Jeremy to his room, helped him through his evening routine, tucked him into bed, marveling, once again, at his very existence. Frances came say goodnight to their son, and together, they went to their room.
Sam looked at her, raising an eyebrow.
"I thought I couldn't touch you, ever again?" he said innocently. "Isn't that what you said this morning?"
She smiled sweetly. "Go on like that and you won't, no." Then she added, more softly, "We have cause to celebrate."
He could only agree.
And celebrate, they did.
* * * * *
Thanksgiving 2009
Sam and Toby were alone in the kitchen, drinking ginger ale and pretending they weren't going to have * the * talk, yet again.
"So..." Toby said.
"So..."
They lapsed into silence again, and after a while, Sam said, "Come on, say it."
"You should come back."
Sam shook his head. "Toby..."
"You could, Sam!"
"Yes, I could. I just don't want to."
"Why? Okay, it's not working in the West Wing, but still, it's a good job."
"Toby, I'm not saying... I'd get sucked in the work in no time, wouldn't see my family anymore..."
"Not necessarily."
Sam bit back an angry retort and breathed deeply. "I know it doesn't *have * to be this way. It's just that it's going to be that way no matter what. We both know it will. The only way to avoid that would be for me to do a half assed job, and that's not going to happen."
"So you prefer to stay here."
"Yes! Here, where I can enjoy my family, and teaching."
"It's not the same as writing."
"I still write, Toby."
His friend didn't seem unduly surprised to learn that. "Figured as much."
"Because I couldn't stop, no matter what. I'm happy this way." Thinking about the almost finished novel sitting on his desk, he promised himself, once more, that Toby would be the first person to read it.
"Okay." After a short pause, Toby asked, "You're... You're still fine, right?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "Yes. I had a check up two weeks ago, I'm fine."
"Four years with Bartlet didn't deteriorate your health."
"No. But I was completely wiped out by the time we were done. And I missed Jeremy's first word - we were in Oregon when he said 'dad' for the first time. I almost missed his birth. I almost lost Frances too - and I promised her that I wouldn't work in politics again after the end of the administration. I want to be in their lives."
"It's not politics," Toby said.
"You created a magazine that talks about politics. You write about Ritchie, you give tips on the who's who in DC, it's... Toby, it's politics. Of course, it is."
"You could still..."
"Damn it, Toby," Sam yelled. "Why do you keep bringing that up? I feel like I'm talking with Josh, at times!"
"We could use a good writer on the team."
"You taught me ninety nine percent of what I know."
"Yeah."
"So?"
Toby stayed silent, staring at the bottom of his glass, and Sam calmed down. "Drop it, Toby," he said gently. "Or else Frances will ban you from coming here."
"And you'll let her do it?"
"Yeah."
"What, you're scared of her?"
"No," Sam answered indignantly. "I just happen to value her opinion."
"Right."
To avoid getting dragged into * that * debate, Sam asked, "So, what's new in DC?"
Toby didn't answer. "You had a check up," he said.
"Yes."
"You didn't say."
Sam shrugged. "Not much to say. It was fine."
Toby studied him for a moment, then nodded. "It still scares you, doesn't it?"
"It never really stopped," admitted Sam, without meaning to. Then, he decided that he might as well go on. Toby had seen him at his worst before, and still respected him. What did he have to lose? "I just... I have so many more reasons to live now, than I did then, and... I thought it would make things easier, but it doesn't. What if I die, and leave Fran alone with two kids?"
Toby shrugged. "What if she gets hit by a car and leaves you alone with two kids? You don't think she's scared too?"
"Of course, she is. I just..."
"Sam, if you're going to say that you're likely to die, don't. Medicine progressed since 2002.
And you know that there are people out there who had as many as four transplants, and still live."
"I know."
Toby smiled. "Back then, you thought you wouldn't go through that ever again, remember? You said that even if you had this chance, you wouldn't take it."
"Yeah, I remember. But, well, a kid will change your life in quite a lot of ways."
"I know," Toby said.
"I'm... I'm living with it, really. And the life I have here... I wouldn't trade it for the world. Simply, sometimes, I still wonder why it had to be me."
"We all wondered why it had to be you," Toby said.
Once upon a time Sam would have been as aggravated as he was touched upon hearing that. Today, he was just touched. He nodded to Toby. "Yeah. Well..."
"Are you... okay?"
Sam smiled. "I have a kid, a baby on the way, a wonderful wife, and I think... I love teaching, and I think I'm getting good at it. Some of my students... it always seemed corny to me, to hear teachers say they were proud of some of their students. But I am proud of quite a few of my students. One of them is probably better than I am, and I'm actually learning a lot from him. I'm... happy."
Toby smiled. "Good. And I don't really want to uproot you and drag you back to DC so I can make your life miserable, you know. I just... I miss having someone to yell at."
Sam smiled. "Thanks," he said. "I know Toby. But..."
"But you're good, here. I get it."
"Good." There was a short silence, then Sam said, "You... you're going to try and convince me again, next time, right?"
Toby studied him a moment. "Of course."
"Good," Sam said, relieved. It was a sign that things were normal, he thought. A sign that his friends still cared - for he didn't doubt that Josh and CJ wanted him back too.
Another silence, then, "Josh told me you're still sailing," Toby said.
Sam, amused, noted that his friend sounded like a disapproving father.
"Yes."
"Did you fall from the boat again?"
"No. And it was just that once. I don't understand why everyone makes such a big deal out of it."
"Because it's always amusing to see a klutz at work." Toby shook his head. "Well, at least you didn't take on piloting planes."
Sam looked at him guiltily.
Toby stared, open mouthed, then said, "You're kidding."
Sam smiled. "It's only a small plane, Toby. A twin engine aircraft, to be precise. And I don't go often. I just - "
"A plane," Toby said, raising his hands heavenwards. "'Only a small plane,' he says. That way when the plane falls down, they won't find anything left, because..."
Sam laughed outright. "Give me some credit, I know how to make a plane land, even under less than ideal circumstances."
"And Frances lets you do it?"
"Frances taught me," Sam said.
He had been teasing Toby, that day on the boat, after his transplant. But he had been honest too; he had always wanted to learn how to fly. He just had never gotten around to doing it. Then, one day, Frances had asked him if he wanted to come with her, she was going to fly for a few hours. He had laughed, said, "Sure" and accompanied her. Two hours later, she was giving him theoretical basics. It had been an endless subject of amusement to them - still another thing we have in common.
"She taught... that's it, I'm filing a complaint. Someone who trips over his own feet shouldn't go up there unsupervised."
"Toby, I promise, there's very little walking involved in the piloting of a plane."
"Sam, you can't... you're... a klutz."
"That I am," Sam said serenely. "So?"
"So? So?" Toby was spluttering, and when Frances poked her head in to see what the problem was, Sam was laughing at him.
"You should see your face, Toby," he was saying.
"You..." Toby growled.
"Yeah."
And for the next half hour, he listened as his friend complained about klutzs, and risks, and idiots.
* * * * *
He tried to convince you," Frances said. "I heard yelling. Before the laughing."
"Yes."
"Sam..."
"Fran, he just... you know..."
"Misses you."
"Yes."
"And he can only prove that by engaging you in a yelling match each time you meet."
"That's Toby we're talking about. He yells like we speak."
She snorted. "Yes, and you're you, you'll both die before you admit that you like each other."
"Put it this way," Sam smiled.
"Men!!"
"Indeed," Sam said.
"Are you sure?" Fran asked.
"Fran... I have my family here. I love my job, I think I may even become quite good at it. What more could I want?"
"Writing."
"I do."
"Professionally."
"And not seeing the two and a half of you for days on end... It's like... what I have here, it's..."
"The best of both worlds?" she said, smiling.
He laughed. "Yeah. I get to have everything I want, Fran."
"Sure?"
He smiled again. "Sure."
"Okay." There was a short silence, then she said, "Why don't we celebrate your decision to stay here?"
"There was never any doubt about what my decision would be," Sam said. Then his brain caught up, and he said, "Yeah. Let's."
And celebrate, they did.
* * * * *
"I'm still not sure I understand," Frances said, much later.
"What?"
"Toby. I... why do you let him try to drag you back?"
Sam sighed. "I owe him."
"Yes, I know, he was your mentor, he taught you all he knew about writing," sounding like she was rehearsing a well-known lesson. "And you all were part of the Senior Staff, and these were the days -"
"That's not all there is to it," he interrupted. "That's... You... I don't think you realize what a mess I was, when it happened."
"Which would be..."
"... because I don't talk much about it," Sam said, nodding. "I know. We talked about the shooting, the nightmares, the PTSD, but... I was... I don't know. In denial, perhaps. I didn't want to deal with the transplant. I thought that the shooting was enough, I didn't see why I had to go through everything else, and the fact that I didn't have a choice didn't matter to me right then."
Frances took his hand, squeezing slightly. This was the most he had ever told her about this, and she didn't want to interrupt him.
"I gave up, in a way," Sam said. "I let my friends do the job, and I hid home. I needed them to tell me when my appointments were, I needed them to pressure me into going. And after a while, Toby decided that he'd had enough."
"Oh God," Frances said, choking on a laugh. She had seen Toby when he was determined, and she could imagine what it must have been like. Poor Sam hadn't stood a chance, she thought.
"Yeah," Sam said, smiling. "He yelled at me, and I... exploded, I guess. Except I didn't have the energy to yell too, so I cried. I don't remember much of what I told him, but I do remember telling him that he didn't understand, that no one understood, that it wasn't fair... Must have sounded like a brooding teenager."
His tone was self depreciating, but Frances thought she could hear something else underneath all the jokes. Shame? Self consciousness. "Sam..." she said.
"Everyone told me that I was doing the best I could, that I was very courageous, and so on. But the truth is... I saw people going on with their lives, and I wished they had been the ones it had happened to." He shook his head, eyes closed. "No, it's not what I mean. Of course, I wouldn't wish that on anyone. I just wondered why it had to be me, you know? I never asked Josh if he went through the same thing, but I think... sometimes, after Rosslyn, I asked myself, 'Why my friend and not me?', and I think, sometimes, he saw us healthy, and he envied us."
Frances sighed. "Terrible thing, to be human, isn't it?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"Sam, you saved CJ's life, and you could have been shot that night, by doing so." Noticing his startled expression, she laughed, "You didn't think she wouldn't tell me that story, did you? She knows you don't think much about it, but she does."
Impatiently, he said, "So, I helped her instinctively. If I'd had the time to think, I probably wouldn't have. I'd have been too scared, or - "
"So, your first instinct is to save people, and you fear, without any certainty, that if you had to think about it, you would hesitate. Yeah, you're a horrible person."
He thought about it. "We're drifting off topic," he said.
"Fine, ignore me." She had a dangerous smile. "But we will talk more about it."
"Yeah. Anyway, Toby... We didn't like each other at first, you know. During the campaign."
"I can see how that might be."
"Yes, well, that night... he let me yell, he didn't tell me that I was full of crap, even though I deserved it, he held my hand, figuratively, let me cry on his shoulder, literally, and... you can't imagine how much I needed that. Even I didn't know how much I needed that, until he came."
She nodded. "Okay."
"His trying to get me back to DC is his way of telling me he misses me, my letting him do it is my way of thanking him for caring. I'm sorry... I know we tend to be pretty... close-knit group. We just..."
"Went through a lot." Frances sighed. "I actually know that. And I don't think you'd ask us to go back to DC, and if you did, I wouldn't refuse for the sake of refusing either. I just fear that you'd get sucked into politics again. I really thought I was losing you, after Jeremy's birth."
"I know. It's... I loved this world, I did, and I can't describe how I felt the first time the President delivered a speech I had written. To hear him say my words, that was..." He trailed off dreamily, then shook himself. "But, for all the problems I had with Bartlet, I can't imagine working for another President. And, aside for the fact that I don't want to stop spending time with you and our children, for the sake of the job, I can't imagine working for anyone else. I think I'd be disappointed."
She smiled. "But Toby..."
"Toby owns a magazine. And yes, it would be different. But... I had a bad experience in politics, then an incredible one. I want to stay on that note. Josh, and Toby, they're... political animals, really. They can't help it, they can't do anything else. It's... their addiction, if you will. I can write anything I want. I'm working on a novel, and it's terrible, but I'm nearing the end, and I think I might even survive its writing."
She laughed.
"CJ, too, loves politics, but doesn't * have * to work in it. She chose to because of Josh and Toby. I didn't start in politics, and while I loved it, and I ... you know."
"You're as happy outside this world as you once were inside it?"
"Yes."
"Okay."
"Can we sleep now?"
She laughed. "I'd still like to celebrate, but... you're right, sleep we should. Big day, and all."
"Yeah."
He took her in his arms, she snuggled happily against him, and they waited for sleep to come.
END
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