Sam Seaborn had had worse mornings, though none immediately came to mind. His alarm blared at 5:30, as it had done nearly every day since his return, forcing him to open his eyes in this unfamiliar room—a condo he'd only been living in since the year began.

It only took seconds for the events of the previous night to come back to him, eliciting from him a sound somewhere between a groan and a sob.

What sleep he'd gotten, although he wasn't entirely sure he'd gotten any, had been restless and unsatisfactory. Five years ago this would have been nothing, but now, used to the normal 9-to-5 schedule, healthy food, exercise and good nights of sleep, he felt, quite frankly, like shit.

Suddenly he ached for the life he'd left behind; for Allison and everything that was seemingly on track. He wondered, idly, if she'd take him back. He could leave, just like that, this ridiculous schedule and Josh Lyman left in the dust and everything back to the way it had been. But no—he couldn't do that now, he was reminded, as he turned over and shoved his face into the pillow, and Ainsley Hayes was why.

A shower and three cups of coffee helped considerably, though his head still ached and his eyes were dry and itchy. He felt okay. Or he would have, had he not been told the news he was told the night before. And now, he lamented, as he walked out the door, he could only guess the jokes Josh had made up over night. God only knew what would transpire between him and Ainsley today.

It wasn't enough that they were still dealing with a military crisis on the other side of the globe, forty-six days into a new administration—still ironing out the inevitable kinks and calamities; that he was back in D.C. after four years away, newly single, and still dealing with an entire staff (including a President) who he didn't know very well.

As he walked blindly through the iron gate, gazing up at the massive ivory building in front of him, he wondered why these sorts of things only seemed to happen to him when he was in this city.

Josh was waiting for him in his office.

Sam made a disgusted noise, dropping his briefcase on the floor with a thud and falling violently into his chair with his jacket still on. "Don't you have a job to do?"

Josh simply folded his arms across his chest. "How'd you sleep last night?"

"How does it look like I slept last night?"

Josh, ignoring the question, leaned forward in his chair with his elbows on his knees. "So when did this thing with Ainsley start?"

"I don't want to talk about it, Josh."

"Why not?"

"I just...don't, okay?" He rested his head on the back of his chair, trying to stifle the sick feeling that rose in his gut every time he thought of her.

"She's here already," Josh said cautiously.

"Who is?"

"Ainsley."

Sam felt his stomach clench again. "How did she look?"

Josh shrugged, bringing his hands up to rest behind his head. "I dunno. Fine, I guess. Maybe a little tense. You gonna go talk to her?"

Sam leant his head back again, gazing despondently at the space above his door. "Maybe later."

Josh stood with a flourish and reached over to clap Sam on the shoulder. "Well, I better go. Margaret's probably put out an APB on me already."

Sam managed a wan smile. Josh stopped at the door and turned to his friend.

"You should talk to her, Sam."