Okay, so maybe my muse isn't being fickle. Maybe it's just crying a lot over Sam and Toby.

This one takes place in the middle of Manchester Part 2, the night before Bartlet's speech.

"Bruno just got off the phone with Leo. The speech is locked."

Toby sighed and glanced at his watch. It had been just over an hour since his conversation with Doug, since he'd told him the President had approved the speech. Doug had left immediately afterward, probably to get some sleep - it had been an exhausting few days, after all. Toby knew he should have done the same, and yet here he was an hour later still wandering the halls.

"You guys are so pissed at him, you don't even know it."

Toby picked up his pace a bit, looking for something with which to distract himself, knowing that if he allowed himself to think about Doug's words enough, he'd probably realize that he was right, and that was obviously the last thing he wanted to -

What was that? Snapping out of his reverie, Toby backtracked a few steps, trying to figure out what had caught his eye. It didn't take him long to realize that the door he'd just walked past was open. Frowning, he approached it quietly and gave it a light push, peering around it as it swung a few inches wider. It was dark on the small side porch that the door opened onto, and it took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust. Once they did, though, they landed on -

"Sam?"

Sam started slightly and looked up at Toby from his position on the porch floor, apparently surprised that someone had found him. Shifting uncomfortably, he turned away again. "Shouldn't you be getting some sleep?"

Toby raised an eyebrow, stepping fully out onto the porch and pushing the door nearly shut behind him. "Shouldn't you?"

Sam crossed his arms, pulling his knees up closer to his chest. "Couldn't."

"Well… me neither." Toby watched Sam for a moment, but he didn't move, didn't say anything else, didn't even look up. Finally, Toby asked, "Mind if I sit?"

Sam shrugged in response, which Toby decided to take as a 'yes.' He lowered himself onto the porch floor, silently taking a place next to Sam. He could easily see why Sam had chosen this as his - for lack of a better word - hiding place. The view was beautiful, silvery moonlight shining on grassy fields and a small pond in the distance, many constellations clearly visible in the sky. Toby had to hide a small smile as he wondered vaguely whether Sam had ever learned which star really was Polaris.

Almost as though he could read his friend's thoughts, just a few seconds later, Sam pointed and said quietly, "See that? That's Ursa Major… the Big Dipper. And if you follow the two stars at the end of it a ways, there's Ursa Minor. And the star at the end of that one… that's Polaris."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Toby gave him a sideways look. "You're sure it's not a plane this time?"

Sam almost managed to laugh. "Pretty sure now, yeah."

They both smiled faintly, but then silence fell again, and the good humor quickly dissipated. Toby let his eyes trace the path in the stars that Sam had pointed out, his mind wandering to a brief conversation they'd had a few weeks before.

"He needs to apologize."

"Don't worry about it."

"He lied."

"He didn't lie."

Toby frowned, rubbing his forehead. "You guys are so pissed at him, you don't even know it." He sighed heavily, glancing at Sam. He was no longer looking at the sky; instead his head was lowered, his eyes closed. For a few seconds, Toby had to wonder if he'd fallen asleep. "Sam?"

He didn't open his eyes, didn't give any sign that he'd heard Toby until at last he whispered very softly, "I'm so tired."

Toby's heart sank at the words, at the exhaustion evident in Sam's voice when he spoke. It wasn't physical, Toby knew. He'd seen Sam work for three and four days straight without going home, had forced him to get some rest on the couch in his office on many such occasions, knew well what it looked like when Sam was physically tired. This wasn't it. This was something… different.

"He needs to apologize."

Toby could recall with striking clarity the expression that had been on Sam's face when he'd come back from the Oval the night they'd finally told him about the MS. He'd seen it twice before - the day Sam had found out about his father's affair, and the night he'd realized Toby had planned the last-minute drop in to his GDC speech. At first, he'd assumed it was anger. It had taken him a while to recognize it for what it really was: hurt. One by one, the people Sam looked up to the most were betraying his trust, and it was breaking his heart a little more each time. And not a single one of them had bothered to take a second to apologize. Not the President, not his father… not Toby.

"I know why you want the President to apologize."

Sam stiffened slightly, didn't answer.

Toby sighed, wondering not for the first time just how much more of this Sam could take. Ever since he'd met the kid, he'd never quite stopped worrying about the idea that Sam might someday end up as cynical as Toby himself. He knew he couldn't let that happen. Sam had too damn much potential for that.

"I'm sorry, Sam."

Sam opened his eyes, at last looking up at Toby. It only took a second for the surprise to disappear from his face, and Toby knew he understood. Turning away again, Sam let out a long, slow breath. Then, to Toby's surprise, he relaxed back against the wall of the house and let himself slide a few inches sideways, his shoulder against Toby's. Toby recovered quickly and didn't try to make him move. It was about time someone was there to support him.

"You should go in and get some sleep."

"So should you," Sam answered quietly.

"Yeah."

Neither of them moved. It felt good to have someone to lean on.