Title: Better Angels
Author: Raedbard
Fandom: The West Wing
Pairing: Get ready for this folks: Sam/Toby, Jed/Toby, Jed/Sam/Toby. In that order
Rating: R
Word Count: c. 6,700
Disclaimer: I don't pretend to be Aaron Sorkin or John Wells. I just like to borrow their characters and make them do morally reprehensible things to each other.
Timeline/Spoilers From pre-season 1 up to season 4. I'm going AU from S4's 'Election Night'. In this 'verse, someone other than Jed won the general election and Sam became the Congressman for the California 47th. It also assumes that Toby remembers the date of Rooker's appointment as AG (cf. 'Debate Camp') for a whole other reason than "I just do."
Summary: A perfect metaphor: the legend of Tobias Ziegler, Samuel Seaborn and Josiah Bartlet, with discourse on the subject of better angels and the lies you tell to them. A less than divine comedy.

BETTER ANGELS

ACT III

"The streets of heaven are too crowded with angels tonight."
-- '20 Hours in America, pt. II'

"Sam!"

"Mr. President."

"You know, you can call me Jed now, right?"

"Yeah, but I don't think I'm ever going to."

Jed Bartlet, ex-President of the United States, laughs and slaps Sam on the arm.

"Okay. I may have to retaliate by indulging what is, at times, an over-developed taste for political nomenclature, Congressman Seaborn."

"I see your sense of whimsy hasn't suffered, sir."

"I do okay."

"Come in, Mr. President."

"Big house for a single man, Sam. Something you haven't mentioned?"

"No, sir, nothing like that. Just, you know - California."

"Ah, yes. I hear it takes a little getting used to."

Sam laughs, "Come on in, sir. Toby'll be anxious to see you."

"Now, that I really do doubt," Jed says, closing Sam's door behind himself.

"I've told him he has to be nice, sir. Don't worry."

Jed raises an eyebrow. "You think I can't take him?"

"Well ... "

"Because even though I may look less than the perfect athlete, beneath this cultivated and distinguished exterior lies the physique of a prize-fighter."

"Yes, sir."

"Don't humour me, Sam."

"No, sir."

"I heard all that you know." Toby says, standing in the doorway.

"Toby," Jed says, without inflection.

Toby nods slightly, shifting his glass of bourbon to his other hand. "Mr. President."

Jed smiles, "It's good to see you, Toby."

"And you, sir."

"As I mentioned to Sam, the servility can be knocked off at any time."

"I know."

Jed comes to Toby and embraces him, laughing. Sam notes that Toby, initially stiff, leans into the other man after a moment, his face close to Jed's shoulder. Toby's not smiling, of course, but Sam thinks he recognises his expression nevertheless and it gives him more than a moment of pause.

"So," Jed says, slapping Toby's arm, "Is there going to drinking, or do I have to suffer through your company a sober man?"

"I'll get you something, sir." Sam says, almost eager to be gone from the room, even if the drinks cabinet is only in the next one.

"Thanks, Sam."

The drink flows, as do the infamous Bartlet quizzes. Toby beats the quiz-master twice: once on figures of speech and again on the participants of obscure protest marches. Sam doesn't beat him at all. When the cards and poker antes come out he does a little better, winning fifty-six dollars from his former President and, by his count, twenty-three from Toby. But even so, Sam starts to hope, quite hard, that the chess set doesn't get broken out.

The President is in a light mood, Toby less so. Once they're finished with the poker, he sits in Sam's big armchair, nursing his whisky and listening to the President torture Sam with the revised edition of his National Park trivia. He seems to Sam to be disappearing into the shadows of the room. When Bartlet excuses himself for a moment, Sam says,

"Toby? You okay there?"

"Sure."

"You're kinda quiet."

"Yeah," Toby says, and though his face is shadowed, Sam can tell he has one eyebrow raised.

"It was good of you to come down, Toby. I appreciate it."

He nods. "I wanted to."

"I promise no, you know, sunlight of any kind this time. Although this is California, so it might be a little hard to arrange."

"There was sand in my shoes."

"Sorry?"

"Sand. In my shoes, for about a week, after we last visited."

"I promise, Toby, okay?"

"You like it here, don't you?"

"Yeah. It's good to feel like maybe you're handling bigger stuff; helping."

"Bigger stuff?"

"Toby."

"Sorry.

"I made a promise, Toby."

"You weren't meant to win."

"That's perhaps a little harsh, Toby," Jed says, from the doorway. He comes back into the room and sits back down, re-filled glass in hand. He smiles at Toby.

"He's going to say something ridiculous now. You ready?"

"I think what Toby means to say is that he misses you, Sam."

"He's been pulling this crap a lot in the last few months."

"And now Toby is finally in a position to give his honest opinion. I retract my earlier statement on the subject of servility, by the way."

"You've added psychiatry to your accomplishments now?"

"Can't take your own medicine, Toby?"

"Have I ever given any indication of being able to do that?"

"Not especially, no," Sam says.

"Sam's with me." Jed says, smiling.

"Yeah. There's no loyalty."

"I missed you too, big guy."

"There's beer, right?"

"It's not like I never saw you all."

"I hate that guy you stuck me with."

"Well, you never have to see him again now," Sam says. "Sorry, Mr. President."

"No, no, Sam. We're all must come to terms with loss in our own way."

"You are two of the biggest freaks I have ever met," Toby says, from his armchair.

"Sam, we must get plaques made at once."

Sam laughs at that, "Yes, sir - absolutely."

It is much later that Toby comes to him: a little knock on his bedroom door shifts him out of what had been a light sleep, he opens his eyes to a restless silhouette standing in his doorway.

"Toby."

He comes in, silent. He sits on the edge of Sam's bed and turns on the bedside lamp and smiles a little when he looks at Sam in the light,

"You look like shit."

"I was sleeping."

Toby smoothes out a patch of Sam's hair which is standing up from his head with two fingers, then touches Sam's cheek.

"I'm sorry."

"For the rudeness?"

"If you insist."

"You definitely grown, Toby."

"Your tan looks fake. Just so you know."

Sam laughs and sits up in bed, resting his leg against Toby's back. "It is good to see you, Toby."

"Yeah. You too."

"You really hate Will?"

Toby shrugs, noncommittal. "He's okay."

"I'm sorry I had to leave, Toby."

"You promised. And, being you, that would be something you feel to be important and worth following through on."

"True."

"It's over now anyway."

"It's a good legacy, Toby. We did okay."

"I'm not sure he thinks that."

"He's the guy in the office. He has to stand up next to Washington and Lincoln and be counted, of course he doesn't think that."

"Yeah."

"Has he been, you know ... okay?"

Toby looks up at him, his eyes dark. "Yeah. Fine - he's ... fine."

"Toby, have you and the President - and it's hard to accept that I'm actually saying these words - have you ever had a sexual relationship with him?"

"Excuse me?"

"I'm serious, Toby."

"Where the hell did that come from?"

"I happen to know the signs."

"In your deranged mind, perhaps."

"I'm not stupid, Toby."

"I know." He sighs. "Until now it hasn't been such a drawback."

"Did you?"

"Yeah," he says, very quietly.

"So, all that stuff you said - well, preached and promised, actually - to me about not being gay was bull."

"No," he says, making the point with his hands as well as his words. "I'm not ... I'm not - that."

"I mean, I knew it was bull at the time, I just thought maybe you'd moved on as well."

"I was married, Sam."

"Yes."

"There were also, contrary to what I feel sure must be popular opinion, women before Andy."

"I'm sure there were, Toby. But there was also, apparently, Jed Bartlet. And me."

"Yes."

"I don't suppose I can really say 'why didn't you tell me' without being on the receiving end of sarcasm?"

"That would be correct."

"So you just thought you'd commit a huge breach of professional ethics instead?"

"Yeah. Since it's not actually anybody else's business I thought I'd do what I like."

"What about the President?"

"He makes his choices, Sam."

"And what about Abbey?"

Toby stays silent at that, and stares at his hands.

"Toby?"

"Are you sure you don't mean to say, 'what about me', Sam?"

"I'm pretty sure I don't mean that, no."

"It didn't last long."

"How come?"

"It was kinda like Andy, really. We couldn't stop arguing."

"Figures."

"Abbey knew."

Sam nods, "Yeah. She would."

"Not a conversation I ever want to think about again."

"Okay."

"Okay."

"Does the President know that we ..."

"Not because I told him."

"I think he might."

"I feel like you should maybe stop being so blasé with your use of the word 'think' tonight."

"You think he was trying to, you know, get us back together or something tonight? All that stuff about you missing me?"

"Yeah, that's ... likely."

"I think he might be worried about you."

"Why? No - don't tell me."

"It's a lifeboat."

"Do you float?"

"Under the right circumstances."

Toby sighs when Sam kisses him, heavy where Sam is light, he leans his shoulder against Sam's chest, turning only his head for the kiss. Sam finds one hand, folded in the other between Toby's legs, and holds on. He pulls Toby by that hand, backwards into the bed and the light, so that he can see too.

It is several minutes before the creak of the door comes, and neither of them hear it.

"I really must try to knock, or at least find a keyhole to peer through before I even think about opening a door in future."

"Mr. President!" Sam says, spluttering a little.

"You had that set up, didn't you?" Toby says, his hand still in Sam's.

"I'm not completely gone, Toby."

"And yet ... "

"Sir, I - "

"Don't worry Sam, no need to explain. This is your house and your business."

"He thinks you're trying to," Toby pauses, but can't find a less humiliating phrase, "Get us 'back together'."

"It's an idea," Jed says, smiling.

"Not jealous then?" Toby says.

"I must say, Sam," Jed says, ignoring Toby, "Your powers of deduction have really come on in leaps and bounds. Does Congress pay for classes or something?"

"They would be quite reluctant, sir." Sam says, getting his voice back. "You know what Congress is like."

"Thankfully not very well."

"You didn't answer my question," Toby says.

"No, I'm not jealous. It's been a while after all. But I do have another idea."

"Besides trying to get us back together?" Sam asks.

"Besides finally giving into whatever bizarre form of dementia will eventually carry you off?"

"I'm a liberal guy, you both know that about me."

"Yes, sir."

"What was it Ritchie said?" Toby says, under his breath.

"And I'm open-minded, probably a little more so than Sam at least had realised."

"You're a very modern man, sir."

"Dementia notwithstanding?" Jed says, still smiling. "Listen guys, what we're going to do, I want you to think of it as a male-bonding ritual."

"I beg you, by everything we have ever held holy, not to go on with that thought."

"What's your plan, sir?"

"I'm not sure 'plan' would be my word, Sam."

"He's a lunatic. I have said this before."

"You mean ...?"

"Yes, Sam."

"Oh."

"'Oh' is right."

"Toby, just shut up for a minute."

"Jed, there isn't enough alcohol in America!"

"Actually, Toby," Jed says, his hands in his pockets, "I think you have the easy part."

"The easy part?"

"Sure. You know Sam, you know me -"

"In the Biblical sense," Sam puts in.

"Quite. So you're just being candy-assed about this whole thing."

"Was that intentionally horrible wording?"

"You tell me there, Yoda. I'm just an old guy in a bathrobe."

"But you do have a certain amount of gravitas, sir, even so."

"Sam, I really meant what I said about the ass-kissing."

"Could we please stop with the punning!"

Jed holds up his hands, "It was just lying there."

California is too bright for him, but Toby is glad that he can't quite see; something that he cannot watch is happening in this room.

The morning sunlight shines heavy on Sam's face as Jed comes to him and touches his cheek, gentle. Toby makes himself watch Sam bow his head into that touch, close his eyes as Jed's fingertips move to his mouth and stroke there, impossibly light. Toby can hear Sam's breathing from across the room.

He slips off his shoes, unties his tie, loosens his first two shirt buttons. He smoothes down his hair, swipes two fingers through his beard, takes a sip of whisky and then a much larger swig. When he looks up they are kissing, and he wishes he could jump out the window to the carefully manicured lawn, three storeys below. He can hear Jed whispering but cannot make out the words.

He unbuttons his shirt completely, but cannot bear to take it off. He wipes his hands on his pants leg, wishing that the room was dark and not full of dawn light. He is diminished and unused, a shadow in the corner.

"Toby?"

Sam's lips are wet, they shine.

"You gonna ... you know?"

"Toby?" Jed says, his voice level.

"Am I welcome?" Toby says, equally level, and low; his words almost buried in the folds of his shirt.

"You really do have the easy part, Toby," Jed answers, smiling. He holds out a hand.