WITH RESPECT, TO THE GENTLEMAN FROM CALIFORNIA

Part 2

____________________________________________________

Thursday

"Morning, Toby.  Bonnie."

The older man looked from his deputy to his assistant before speaking. "Good morning, Sam," he answered carefully.  Toby watched as Sam first accepted a stack of pink message slips from Bonnie, and then moved on.

Subtly rolling his eyes at his assistant, Toby trailed Sam into his office, pushing the door shut behind him.

"We have a few things we need to clear up, Sam," Toby began quietly.  "I don't like leaving it the way we did last night."  He came into the room a little more, waiting for Sam's acknowledgement. 

Placing his briefcase and coffee on the desk with practiced deliberation, Sam finally looked up at Toby's face.  The nervous chewing of the lips, the dark eyes skipping around the room.  Sam could tell his boss was uncomfortable, and he felt a tug of sympathy.

"I'm not sure how we left things, Toby.  And I'm not sure what more I can do to change how you see me."   Sam looked back down at his desk and began arranging his day into stacks.

Scratching at an eyebrow, Toby shifted his weight a few times, as he tried to find the words that would move this discussion in a more productive direction.  "You don't have to prove anything to me," he declared.  "You did that in the first three months I knew you."

That was news to Sam.

"That's number one," Toby continued.  "Number two is, what you said last night?  That was...  I... I do rely on you, Sam.  Your opinion?  It's one of the most valued in this administration.  I know you haven't felt that very much lately."  Toby lessened the distance between them, leaned a fist against Sam's desk.  "The President, Leo; they recognize your talent and contributions."

"Actually, Toby.  If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to keep this on topic.  You and me.  If I want to know what President Bartlet or Leo think of the job I'm doing, I'll ask them." 

The business-like tone of Sam's voice caught Toby off guard, and he blanched slightly at the rebuff.  "All right, Sam.  That's fine.  So.  You and me."

Sam took his seat and motioned with his eyes that Toby was welcome to sit in one of his guest chairs.  Still slightly off-balance by the formality in Sam's voice, and the deliberateness of his movements, Toby reluctantly sat across from him.

Allowing a moment to pass, Toby began again.  "So... I've given you the impression that I think you're not doing a good job - "

"No," Sam cut in emphatically.  "That's not what this is about.  I know I do a good job.  I may act a little squirrelly about it occasionally, and stress out at times.  A lot of times.  But I know I'm a great writer."  Sam's expression was not challenging, just sure.  "I'm talking about politics, Toby.  You don't see me as an equal there.  As I said last night; you have faith enough in me to handle anything that Leo throws my way.  But you.  You never turn to me first.  That's what this is about."

Toby sat as still as a statue, looking uncomfortably at Sam.  Caught momentarily speechless, he struggled to form a reply that might satisfy the younger man.  But he was too slow, and Sam was clearly on the offensive.

"Do you know what kinds of things people like Kim Carruthers call me about, Toby?" Sam wanted to know.  "They ask me what they need to do to get the President to consider their positions on matters that are important to their constituents.  They ask how far he may be willing to go, or in what direction, or why.  Sometimes they just want some clarification.  And do you know what else they ask me, Toby?"  Sam was speaking in a deceptively hushed voice, one that carried more of a threat in it than anyone who hadn't been on the receiving end before could imagine.  "They ask me how to best approach you.   How to take your temperature, or mend a misunderstanding before it becomes a vendetta."  The last word was nearly spit at Toby, causing him to flinch visibly. 

"I've been doing this a lot longer than you have, Sam.  I've made my share of friends, and maybe more than my share of enemies," Toby lectured.  "And if you see yourself as the Bearer of Light around here, I'm sorry to be the one to tell you, you have enemies too - "

"I know who my enemies are."  Sam sounded resigned and saddened by this, but he stood his ground.  "But my enemies are not your enemies.  Most of your enemies are still my 'friends.'  And it's a damn good thing, Toby; a goddamn good thing that they still feel there's someone in this administration they can have a civil conversation with, and call their ally."

Both men inhaled deep, calming breaths, their eyes refusing to meet.

"Well."  Toby rose from his chair and stepped towards the door before returning to stand before Sam's desk.  "There is obviously a lot more we need to talk about here."  He twisted his watch on his wrist, rubbing a thumb along the ridged metal.  "Unfortunately, we have a staff meeting in less than ten minutes - "

"Yeah."

" - and I have a call I really need to make before then."

"Yeah."

"But we are going to... Sam.  Sam, could you please...  would you look at me, please?"

As Sam drew his eyes up to meet Toby's, all defiance seeped out of him, leaving him feeling weary and muddled.

"We are going to work this out.  Because whatever you may think of me, I place an immeasurable value on you and your opinion."  Toby rapped Sam's desk once with a meaty hand, and went back to his own office, leaving Sam slightly winded.

_____________________________

_____________________________

Josh was in his meeting, unavailable for Staff, or for Sam.  And Sam really needed Josh.  Slightly apprehensive about the way things were going with Toby, he longed for just five minutes with someone who could help him put his thoughts in order; reassure him he wasn't doing more damage to the relationship than he may already have done. 

After an abbreviated Staff meeting, Sam was heading out the door behind Toby when Leo called him back in, causing both men to hesitate.  Clearly rushed for time, Leo never brought his head up from the binder in front of him, his words curt and to the point.  "You're going to get to the bottom of this Swift thing, right?"

Sam raised his eyebrows skeptically, but didn't respond right away.

"Sam?" Leo finally looked up at the young man. "You're gonna get to the bottom of it, right?" he repeated.

Sam impulsively darted his eyes toward Toby, lingering at the door.  "If that's what you want me to do...." he began.

"Do whatever you have to.  Talk to whoever you need to," Leo commanded.  "If your contacts won't help, go at it from the other end.  Our end."  Leo paused and took careful stock of Sam.  "You ready to take 'em to town?"

"Ookay," Sam answered warily.  "Well, I really don't know what that means, but I'm willing to give it a shot."

A quick nod of the head dismissed him, and Sam excused himself past Toby.

_____________________________

_____________________________

Sitting behind his desk, thoughtfully chewing on a fig danish Ginger had left him, Sam stared vacantly ahead, not registering the perpetual motion outside his office.  It wasn't until Ginger poked her head in the door and called his name that he realized he'd been so absorbed in thought he hadn't heard her call to him the first time.

"Line seven, Sam," Ginger informed him.  "Kim Carruthers, returning your call."

Washing down the last of his breakfast with a gulp of slick, cold coffee, Sam mentally braced himself and reached for the receiver.

"Good morning, Kim. Thanks for getting back to me."  He picked up a pen, enjoying the comforting weight of the cool metal in his hand.

A deep, almost sultry voice vibrated in his ear over the phone.  "I was expecting to hear from you, Sam.  After Josh Lyman's pleasant visit yesterday, I knew you weren't going to let this rest so easily."

"Speaking of resting easily, when's the wake for the Congressman?  President Bartlet would like to, you know, send flowers or something," Sam jibed effortlessly.

"Or something," Kim repeated, irony lacing her words.  "What can I do for you, Sam?"

Ready to get down to business, Sam set the pen carefully on his desk and looked towards his empty doorway.  "I need to see you."  It wasn't a request.

There was silence on the other end of the line, and Sam was just about to ask for some assurance that Kim was still there when she spoke quietly into his ear, sounding as if she were right over his shoulder.

"I... I can't see you right now, Sam.  Look.  We both know what you're going for here," she continued before he could respond.  "But I can't give you what you want."

"Come on, Kim."  Sam suddenly felt a flash of irritation.  "You gave me the damn speech.  Giving me a name can't be that much more difficult."

"No, Sam. You don't understand.  I don't have a name for you."  There was a slow intake of breath that Sam could almost feel against his ear.  "But I'd be willing to dig around, if I felt it was worth my while."  Kim's voice sounded less sure than it had when Sam had first picked up the phone. 

"I'm not sure what I can do for the Congressman after what he tried to pull, Kim."

"I don't want anything for Swift, Sam.  Do you know what I'm saying here?" she wanted to know.

The realization caught Sam off guard.  But for the life of him, he couldn't imagine what he could do for Kim either. "I'm really not.... What kind of...."  Feeling a little out of his depth made Sam recall his whole argument with Toby.  Refusing to give in to the doubts that teased at him, Sam switched the phone from one ear to the other in a bid to stall for time.  "You want some kind of favor that has nothing to do with the Congressman," he speculated. "Something for yourself."

"And you get something for yourself," Kim countered.  "You want to know who leaked Toby's speech?  You get me into the White House." 

Sam nearly pulled the phone from his ear to stare at it.  "You want...?  I'm sorry;  You want to meet with the President?"  Bewilderment clear in his voice.

"Sam.  I want to work for the President," came the curt reply. 

_____________________________

_____________________________

Josh threaded his way towards his office, pent up energy twisting away inside of him.  The idea of sitting at his desk for another ten hours was making him feel antsy and restless.  He wondered idly if he could successfully pull Sam down to the Mess for an early lunch. 

Entering his office, he was momentarily struck motionless to find Donna sitting behind his desk, phone planted to her ear.

"...you don't have to tell me, I don't even think he's capable of doing it himself.  I'm sure that's part of the appeal of having Sam around."  Looking up at her boss' dumbstruck presence, Donna spoke easily into the phone.  "He just got back, hold on."  Punching the hold button, she held the phone out to Josh and rose swiftly from the chair.  "It's your mother," she informed him before retreating to her own desk.

Unthinking, Josh brought the phone to his mouth.  "Uh, hi Mom.  I... I got your message last night, but it was a little late.  Thanks for the oranges.  What the hell were you talking to Donna about?"  It wasn't until the last word trailed out of his mouth that Josh realized the hold light was still flashing at him.

Coming around the desk, he sighed heavily and tossed his backpack onto the floor beside a crate of Florida oranges before poking the button reluctantly.  "Hi, Mom," he repeated weakly, and sank into his chair.

_____________________________

_____________________________

_____________________________

_____________________________

Sam pulled his coat closer around himself, despite the rather moderate temperature.  He just needed something to do with his hands.  

The voice startled him.  "Do you know, I have never been here before?"

Turning to face it, Sam then instinctively glanced around at the only other people standing in the clearing; two tourists clambering across the lap of the four ton bronze sculpture of Albert Einstein. 

"This is wonderful.  Why have I never been here?" Kim wondered aloud.

"I couldn't say."  Sam reached out one hand to take Kim's, giving it a firm shake.  "Thanks for meeting me.  Though I gotta tell you, I'm not really big on the cloak and dagger stuff."  He scowled at her slightly.

Ignoring him, the tall woman brushed her chin length ash brown hair from her eyes and moved gracefully towards the looming figure sitting nestled in a corner of the enclosed clearing. 

"Marvelous," she breathed. 

"Yeah.  Remind me to take you to the top of the Washington Monument sometime."    Sam was unable to keep his impatience at bay.  "Look - "

Whipping her head around to glance at Sam, Kim smiled broadly, then watched the man and woman who had been cavorting on Einstein head down a shady path.  "Give me a break, Sam.  I never get out of the office."

Waiting a moment for the couple to disappear, Kim ran her hand over the jagged sculpture.  When she eventually turned back to Sam, she saw him toeing the celestial map embedded in the marble at their feet.

"Okay.  Coast is clear, secret agent Sam," she joked.

Taking in a deep breath, Sam swiveled his eyes around to make sure they were indeed alone.  "You know, Toby thinks you're a very scary woman."

"Toby Ziegler thinks all women are very scary.  But, thanks for the tip.  Don't think I won't use that bit of insight against him at some point."

"Please, feel free," Sam mumbled.  "So.  You said you might have something for me?"  Sam lowered himself onto the ledge where Einstein resided, and sat there with his hands in his lap.

Sitting beside him, Kim looked carefully into his blue eyes.  "You looked a lot better at lunch yesterday.  Are you getting a lot of heat about this?"

Puffing out a breath, Sam hung his head.  "Someone we all know and work with everyday stole a copy of President Bartlet's speech, and gave it to someone we all know and do not work closely with.  Yeah, Kim.  We're taking some heat."

Nuzzling her shoulder against Sam's wool-clad coat, Kim nodded her head in understanding.  "I'm sorry.  Let's talk suspects, shall we?"  Opening her purse, she pulled out a small leather spiral-bound notebook.  "Okay, there are three people who may have given the speech to the Congressman.  Who gave it to them, I can't help you with."

"Can I just ask you something?" Sam interrupted.  Waited for her to nod her acquiescence before he continued.  "Why can't you ask Swift?  Do you really think he would keep it from you?"  Twisting his neck to look at her, Sam was startled to see a familiar expression move across her face.  He knew what that look meant.  She was visibly uncomfortable with the question, as well as obviously resigned to the answer.  He knew what that felt like, too.  "I'm sorry."  He felt a sympathetic twist in his gut. 

"So, you see why - with or without your help - I need to move on.  I can't keep working for someone who I not only have drifted so far from politically I'm not sure we're from the same party, but who obviously doesn't feel the need to confide in or include me in his decisions any longer."

Sam swallowed hard a few times, brushed his hand across his eyes.  "And you want to work for President Bartlet."  Without meaning to, it came out sounding like a question, which caused Kim's eyebrows to shoot up.

"Yeah, Sam.  In spite of some of the things I've said about him as Swift's CoS, I truly believe my own political philosophy is much more aligned with the President's.  Do you doubt that?"

"No," Sam responded.  "But a lot of other people will.  I have to be honest with you, Kim.  Private sector, I can get you in anywhere.  But the White House?  It's gonna be a pretty hard sell, to some pretty hard people."

They sat in silence for a moment, each mulling over Sam's words.  Eventually, Kim spoke.  "I'm willing to give it a shot, if you are."  Her voice was quiet, soft, not at all the brash and ballsy woman most people would recognize. 

Sam reached into the breast pocket of his suit and retrieved his own small notebook.  "Give me three names." 

_____________________________

_____________________________

Slowly entering the Communications Bullpen, Sam bent a little to his left to check out Toby's office.  His boss was nowhere in sight, so he ambled into his own office and took a seat behind his desk.  Making some calls, following up on Kim's information, it was a full thirty minutes before anyone even noticed he was there, which was just fine with him.  

"How did you get in here?" Bonnie wanted to know, spotting Sam through the open door.

"Don't make me have to come up with a really lame, cute answer to that," Sam retorted impishly.

"No," Bonnie agreed.  "That would hurt me as much as I would hurt you."  She walked into the office and stared hard at him, unapologetically.  "So?"

Sam blinked carefully at her.  "You really want me to say something lame and - "

"Sam!  How did it go?"

"Oh."  Making hollow motions of tidying up his already immaculate desk, Sam avoided eye contact for as long as he could.  But Bonnie's relentless stare was burning holes through his shirt, and he eventually gave up.

"Well.  Let's put it this way; I'm not entirely sure.  But when I figure it out, you'll be the first to know," he assured her, cocking a charming eyebrow at her.

Shrugging a padded shoulder back, Bonnie turned from him and began to leave the room.  "Oh, Josh has been looking for you," she informed him before returning to her desk.

Reaching out for the phone, Sam punched in Josh's extension, waited for Donna's slightly nasal voice to answer.  "Hey, Donna, it's Sam.  Is he there?"

"He's here.  He wanted me to let him know when you got back - "

"I'm coming over."  Sam disconnected without giving her the opportunity to respond.

Walking briskly through the hallway, crossing the bright lobby, Sam felt the adrenaline begin to slosh through his veins again.  The glint of the marble, the drape of the American flag, the seal of the White House on the wall all caused Sam's pulse to race a little as he strode across the lobby.  He couldn't blame Kim for wanting to grab just a little of the feeling he had working for the President of the United States. 

Catching Donna's eye briefly, she nodded Sam into Josh's office, where he found him sitting eagerly. 

Excitement crinkling the edge of his voice, Josh beckoned Sam to sit.  "Toby said you had a meeting about the leak."  The words gushed out as Josh came from behind the desk to perch in front of Sam. "What's up?"

A half smile rising to his lips, Sam looked up at Josh from his seat.  "Einstein's nipples.  It's getting cold out."

"I, uh, don't want to know what you're talking about.  Just... tell me what the hell you found out!" Josh insisted, eyes blazing, hands fluttering with anticipation.  Taking in the confident posture and smooth, unruffled countenance of his lover.  "You know who it is, don't you?"

"I know... I know some things I didn't know before.  I just need to put it all together."  Sam's smile faltered slightly, but he adjusted it quickly.  "I may need some more time.  And, possibly to sleep with Kim Carruthers."

The infectious enthusiasm Josh had been showing suddenly slipped off his face entirely.  "You - that's a joke.  That's clearly a.... I mean, it's not funny; but it's a joke."  Concern now the overwhelming expression on his face.

A little shocked, a little amused, Sam's smile widened.  "You're jealous," he declared proudly.

Josh's head was already declaring the negative.  "That was a joke," he repeated once again, blowing an incredulous breath through his lips.  "No.  Of course I wasn't jealous!"  And he put that away to examine later.

After quickly moving behind Sam to close his door, Josh turned back and placed both hands on Sam's shoulders, allowing them to drift down his chest.  "Mmm.  It was cold out, wasn't it?" he asked teasingly, rubbing his fingers briskly over the rising nubs he found.

Sam grunted weakly, then pulled himself out of the chair.  "Don't do this to me," he complained, passing Josh and going to the door.  "Maybe later...."

"Oh, I have some very definite plans for you later.  They involve eating red meat, drinking mead - "

"Why can't you just say 'beer'?"

"I'm staying in character."

"The whole medieval thing is so over, Josh."

"But I thought we could, I don't know, joust at each other with our long, pointy -  "

"Stop.  I really don't think...."  Sam leaned back against the door, bringing a hand up to rub at his eyes.

"Fine.  I'll make different plans.  I'll tell you about them, if you stick around," Josh said as he dropped into his chair, swung it back and forth indifferently.

At the door, Sam hesitated before opening it.  "Surprise me," he said, and left with a teasing smile. 

_____________________________

_____________________________

"Sam, you're late," Ginger chided him as he rounded the corner into the Bullpen.

"I am?"

"Leo.  Toby.  Eric Elfman and Ricki - "

"Combs!  Ah, shit, Ginger.  Why didn't anyone remind me?"  Sensing a losing argument looming in front of him, Sam waved the assistant off and jogged into his office.  Collecting his notebook, he spun around and headed back into the Bullpen.  "Find the folders on the National Taxpayers Union, would you please?  Bring them when you've got 'em," Sam directed with unusual irritation.

He quickly crossed over to the Roosevelt Room and silently took his place at the table next to a scowling Toby.  Repressing his quilt at having had his nipples rubbed while he should have been in a high level meeting with a powerful lobbyist, Sam wisely kept his head down and dove right into the discussion.

"....you can't honestly sit here and tell me you still believe the government fairy is just hovering out there ready to reallocate these increases - "

"Proposed increases," Sam corrected.

" - to reallocate the money to its neediest citizens in any reasonable measure of time,"  Elfman was insisting loudly.  "You're the ones talking about people in need; desperate need right now."

Sam sighed deeply, accepted the files Ginger handed him, and sat up so straight his lower back screamed at him.  "Mr. Elfman, if I can direct your attention to page two fifty-two of the second section...." he began in his most diligent lawyer's tone of voice.

_____________________________

_____________________________

"If you'll excuse me, I need to get to another meeting," Leo was saying.  Getting out of his chair, he cocked his head towards Sam.  "Can you walk with me?"

Grasping his pen compulsively, Sam followed Leo into the hall. 

"It's going well," Leo said, moving slowly towards his office.

"Yes," Sam sighed.

"It's going great."

"Yeah."  Sam patted down his tie absently.  "I'm thinking the numbers sounded a little fuzzy."

"The numbers are fine."

"But I made them sound a little soft, you know?  I thought I'd keep them soft at first, so when I came back around to roll over him I'd have some steam left." 

Leo set his things down on the desk and looked back at Sam's uneasy expression.  "You didn't have to come back, he bought it the first time."

"I sounded less than convincing."

"Yet, he was convinced."  Leo shook his head in consternation.

"Yes, which left the numbers looking fuzzy," Sam insisted.

"And you looking like a lunatic.  Really, it's good."  Leo sat at his desk and placed his glasses on his nose.  Sensing Sam's continued presence, he reluctantly looked back up.

"Yeah, see...."

"Oh god, Sam."

"I'm just saying - "

"Where have you gotten with the other thing?" Leo interjected, hoping to derail Sam from his self flagellation.

Firing off a puzzled look, Sam relented and rolled his pen between his fingers rapidly.  "I have a few things.  I have a name.  I need to....  Just how much discretion do I have here, Leo?"

Setting aside the brief he had been pretending to read over, Leo sat back in his chair and looked up at Sam, taking careful note of the slightly disheveled hair, the uncharacteristic pallor.  "You've always handled these things well for us in the past.  Take whatever steps you feel necessary.  I trust you to get it done, that's why I came to you."

Sam's pen slid out of his hand.  Straightening himself after retrieving it from under a chair, Sam caught a questioning look from Leo.

"I'm.... having issues with that this week," he offered apologetically.  "But don't worry, I'll take care of it."

"I'm not worried, Sam.  Now go.  De-fuzz your numbers, if it'll help you sleep better tonight."

_____________________________

_____________________________

Done with his last meeting of the day, Sam wandered back to his office and took a seat behind his desk.  His mind was filled with a dozen different things, none of which were particularly pleasant.  Except the lingering suggestion that Josh truly did have something special in mind for him when they got home that night.

He was far behind on a speech that he'd barely begun.  There was a meeting Sam needed to reschedule from earlier in the week, and a growing stack of briefing memos were whispering to him from a corner of his desk.  Which was sprinkled with pink message slips, calls that had been accumulating all day.  Fingering through them, trying to prioritize, he couldn't get his mind off of Josh, and the way he'd looked at Sam as he'd left Josh's office earlier.  Sitting back in his chair, Sam closed his eyes and, for an indulgent moment, let himself imagine the best possible scenario for their evening.

Something to eat, obviously, though Sam wasn't in the mood to go anywhere.  A shower, long and scalding, to ease his muscles and warm him from the inside.  Maybe some quality time on the sofa, filling Josh in on what he could, gaining strength to face the next few days from his unwavering support.  Maybe some necking, maybe some exploration.  Definitely some fucking.

"I am so addicted to him," Sam mumbled to himself, and got out of his chair, in search of something to put him out of his misery.

_____________________________

_____________________________

"Ceej, you got a minute for me?"  Sam's head poked into her doorway, a shock of dark hair falling across his forehead.

Shutting off one of the two televisions she had on, CJ waved him in with a small leather-bound book.  "Many minutos.  Have a seat.  What can I do for you meu empregado de mesa pequeno encantador?

"CJ?  I think that was Portuguese, and I think you just called me your lovely little waiter.  I'm gonna assume you don't have a direct line to my damaged psyche this week, and let you get away with it this one time."  Flopping onto her sofa, Sam rested his elbows on his knees and waited for her to remove her glasses.

"I'm going to Portugal, Sam."

"Okay."

"I'm taking a vacation."

"Right."

"I mean it this time.  No, I really do,"  Watching him shake his head slowly.  "You don't believe me?"

"I never believed you any of the other times either, and what do you know? You never went."  Sam sat back and crossed his arms.  "Can we talk about me, now?"

Slapping the book closed with a quick snap, CJ rose from behind her desk to join Sam on the sofa.  "I'm here for you, babe."

Dropping his hands into his lap, shoulders slumping.  "I think my week has developed a theme," Sam sighed.

"You have a theme?  But you don't have a theme song, am I right?  Is that your problem?"  Sam could see CJ had immediately warmed to that idea.

"No.  Well, it could be.  Okay, I may have more than one problem.  But you can actually help me with the big one."  Sam gave into the nervous energy he felt swelling in him, and got to his feet.

"What can you tell me about Francine Mallet, in Protocol?"  Pacing over to the television, Sam ran a hand over the screen, then examined his fingers, scowling at the abundant amount of dust he found there.

CJ stopped half-way as she reached for a can of soda on the coffee table and looked at Sam carefully.  "Is this about your investigation?  The leaked speech?" she asked, sitting back carefully.

Turning to face CJ, Sam shrugged his shoulders and pressed his lips together briefly before speaking.  "I wouldn't characterize it as an investigation.  That word always seems to get us in deep shit.  I'm just checking into a few things for Leo." 

"Okay, so now I have my answer if anyone in the pressroom get's a whiff of this.  Between us, Sam.  Is this related to your investigation?" she pressed.

Sam winced.  He had a job to do, and felt he was getting close to connecting all the dots.  But he wasn't crazy about the idea of dragging out the identities of people who may not have anything more than a passing acquaintance with the names Kim had given him.  Coming back to sit beside CJ, Sam looked her squarely in the eyes.

"Francine Mallet went to the Office of Protocol after you passed her over for Deputy, is that right?"

"You don't honestly think - "

"I don't know enough to think, CJ.  So I'm just asking questions here," Sam told her honestly.  "I have three possible names, and only one of them has a direct connection to the White House."

"Francine?"

Sam nodded, somewhat sadly, CJ noted.  "She got engaged last month."

"Yeah?  I didn't know."

"Her fiancé works on the Hill.  He makes $27,000 a year, and has been trying like hell to get a job with Swift."  Sam dropped his head into his hands.  "I'm not making an accusation, you understand.  And I'm really, really not comfortable even discussing this with anyone."  Sam straightened up and looked over at CJ once more.  "But you knew her, and obviously I know I can trust you.  I don't want to bring undue attention to this woman if there's any chance I could be going down the wrong road here."

CJ could see this wasn't easy for Sam to ask.  The task had fallen to her, once or twice in the past, to root out a disloyal member of their small community.  She recalled how uneasy the entire affair had made her.  CJ reached out and touched Sam's cuff lightly.

"Francine was always a bit of a social climber," she confided to Sam.  "She wanted the house in McLean, the receptions, the mention in Lloyd Grove's column on Monday mornings.  She did good work, but I never felt as if her mind was one hundred percent where it should have been."  CJ picked up her warm soda and took a deep swallow.  "That's all I know, Sam.  I hope it helps you."

With a deeper, exhausted sigh, Sam got to his feet, thanked CJ, and went back to his office.

_____________________________

_____________________________

"Can we...?"  Toby lingered in the doorway, waiting for an invitation he wasn't even sure would be forthcoming.  "I was thinking, it's been a long day."

Sam caught the weariness he felt reflected in Toby's face.  "We can do this another time.  It can keep another night," he reasoned.

"I was actually thinking we could get a drink, maybe.  Or we can do it tomorrow.  I just thought, it might be good to get out of here, walk over to Old Ebbitt.  And we could talk over a drink, or...."

Beginning to feel as if something physical was in the room with them whenever they were together, Sam figured it would be better to get whatever was happening between him and Toby out of the way, once and for all.  He felt a small twinge of regret at the idea of sending Josh home without him.  The thought of how his own expectations and Josh's plans might coincide caused an unwelcome stir in his groin.

Clearing his throat and his mind, Sam nodded solemnly.  "Let's do that," he agreed.  "I'll just tell Josh."

"Yeah."  Toby sucked his lip into the dense undergrowth around his mouth and walked back into his office to collect his cell phone and pager while Sam made his call.

Moments later he was back, just in time to find Sam plucking his cell phone out of its charger, then slipping on his jacket.

_____________________________

_____________________________

Dismissing the long, ornate bar, the two men were directed to a table away from the front of the restaurant.  Settling wordlessly into club chairs, waving away the menus the host offered, Toby cut his eyes back and forth between Sam and the approaching server.

"Gentlemen," the young blonde woman greeted them cheerfully.  "What can I bring you?"

"Jack, rocks," Toby instructed. 

Turning her attention to Sam, who was rubbing the bridge of his nose between his fingers.  "Gimlet, please," he requested wearily, hoping the sharp lime drink would clear the gummy, stale taste from his mouth.  "And a glass of water, when you get a chance."

Nodding briskly, the server was gone, leaving a bloated silence hanging in place of her presence.

Like bumping noses, they both began to speak at once.

"No, go ahead," Toby demurred, offering a palm up gesture to encourage the younger man to take the floor.

"So.  I guess we should....  We should try to figure out... where we go from here."  Sam sighed and went back to massaging his nose.

The waitress returned, setting their drinks down in front of them. "Jack for the gentleman.  Gimlet for his friend," she said with what Toby could have sworn was a wink.

Toby swirled the ice cubes around a few times before speaking.  "If you believe nothing else about me Sam, you have to know I am sorry if I've made you feel in any way...  in any way unequal.  To the task, to me, to anyone."

Sam raised his eyes to Toby for a moment, turning the words over in his mind.  Distractedly bringing his drink to his mouth, he swallowed hard, gasping back a cough.  "Ugh!" he sputtered.  After shooting a vicious glare into his glass, he caught the attention of the server and motioned her over with two fingers.

"This isn't a gimlet."  His voice was uncharacteristically tight.  "It's a gibson."  He handed it up to the startled woman who rapidly darted away.

Catching Toby's confused expression, Sam took a quick sip of water and dabbed at his mouth with the cocktail napkin.  "I don't doubt that you're sorry."  The fingers of Sam's right hand were vibrating against the table.  "Just... do you think it somehow changes the fact that you feel that way in the first place?" he asked pointedly.

Toby fingered the swizzle stick the way he would a cigar, flexing them around it, see-sawing it back and forth.  "I don't know where this is all coming from right now, Sam.  This business about me not coming to you?"  His dry chuckle belying the fact that he saw no humor in this absurd notion.  "What is that?  You're my deputy.  I come to you with everything.  You sound like you've suddenly discovered you're not daddy's favorite child.  So, so what the hell is your problem?"

The fingers halted their nervous dance, and Sam's eyes visibly drained from blue to gray in the evening light.  "We're obviously still not on the same page, here," he countered. 

"Here you go, sir."  Sam sat back abruptly when the server replaced his drink.  Prepared to continue his train of thought, Sam looked down and snapped his mouth shut.

"Excuse me."  Arching a dark eyebrow at the perplexed expression on the blonde's face.  "Have you ever been to a farm?" Sam asked curtly.

"I'm sorry...?"

"Farm, community garden, grocery store.  Any one would do.  I was just curious whether you've ever seen how things are actually grown," Sam persisted.  "Do you see these?" he asked, fishing a dripping green cocktail sword out of the clear liquid.  "These are onions."  Waving them around a little, drops of gin splashing against the table, running down his wrist.  "Onions, even of the miniature or, cocktail variety, are vegetables, and they grow in the ground," he continued with exaggerated reasonableness.  "Whereas a lime is a fruit, and grows on trees."

"Sam."  Toby, suddenly seeing what was happening right in front of him.

"The difference in taste is also remarkable.  One being tart and fruity, the other being, well, an ONION," Sam's voice taking on a slightly menacing edge Toby had never heard before.  "So while the words 'gimlet' and 'gibson' have all of two letters in common, the difference in taste between the two - "

"Sam!"

"The difference in taste - "

Aghast, Toby rose to his feet and snatched the drink from Sam's hand, placed it with studied deliberation into the trembling waitress's.  "Please, just, go.  Take this, go... bring him a gimlet, or a tranquilizer, or something.  Just, please."  Turning back to face Sam, who was staring helplessly at the floor.

"Well.  That was...." Sam began, clearly as shaken as the departed server.  "I should... excuse me."

On his feet before Toby could respond, he watched as Sam walked purposely to the service bar where he bowed his head and spoke into the ear of the unsuspecting young woman whom he had a moment ago nearly brought to tears.  A firm hand on her sleeve drew her around to face him, and although Toby was unable to see Sam's face, he saw the tension in the woman's drain away, eventually replaced by a slender smile and a slow nod of her head.

Returning to the table, Sam was unable to meet Toby's condemning stare.  "I owe you an apology too, Toby.  I really don't know...."  Snorting gently to himself.  "That's the second time in two days I've flown off the handle."  Finally bringing his eyes up to meet his boss'.  "Obviously, I really....  Maybe this isn't the best time for us to be having this conversation," he concluded weakly.

"Oh, I think I've just realized how important it is we do have this conversation," Toby disagreed.

After gulping down some water, Sam planted his elbows on the table and rested his head in his hands.  "I blew up at Josh last night, too," he admitted meekly.  "I mean, it passed before I even knew it.  But for a minute there...."  Sam raised his head, sat back in his chair.  Offered a weak smile to the server when she placed his drink in front of him.

"You've been working too hard; the questions about the email improprieties....    Maybe Babish is asking too much of you right now," Toby speculated.  "We have an entire counsel's office. You've been an invaluable liaison between them and the staff, but....  Maybe it's too much right now."  Toby sipped thoughtfully at his drink, keeping an evaluating eye on Sam.

"Hm.  Well, that wasn't the problem, actually; feeling overworked.  It was... it was personnel, but it was also connected with... us.  With what we're talking about here."  Sam plucked the lime wedge from his drink and squeezed it gently, anything to avoid eye contact.  What they were supposed to be talking about, if Sam could regain control of the conversation.

"I still think I'll speak to Oliver.  Ainsley's perfectly capable of assisting - "

"Toby.  Um.  Some people have expressed.... They're not entirely comfortable going over their testimony with her.  They've mentioned it to me," Sam said with surprising timidity.  "They just feel - "

"Because she's a Republican?" Toby finished.  "That's bullshit!  When are they going to get over the fact that we have a REPUBLICAN WORKING FOR US?"  His voice rose with indignation.  "If anything, this whole fiasco has proved that we can't predict where the next hit is coming from, our side, their side.  It's like a game of political dodge ball!"

Sam sat patiently, nodding his head when he felt Toby would expect it.  "She is doing a great job.  My point was, they feel more comfortable hearing this stuff from me.  Not because she's a Republican.  Because they know me.  And I don't mind."  Sam sighed deeply and brought his eyes up to meet Toby's at last.  "And isn't that what we keep coming back to?"

"Oh, for the love of god, Sam," the older man groused.  "So, everybody goes to you except me.  Is that what we're stuck on?  Is that where you want to keep ending up?"

"Well," Sam declared bitterly.  "Doesn't that sound... inconvenient for you."

Biting the inside of his lower lip, sucking at it, chewing the flesh, Toby studied Sam intently.  CJ had warned him about this.  Had been trying to prepare Toby for a year.  She'd told him that he'd only be able to ride Sam's moderate case of hero worship so far, before he'd start to chafe at the bit.  One day, Sam would come up alongside of Toby, if not overtake him completely.  He had all the qualities Toby lacked, he just didn't realize yet how far it would get him.

"So, why?" Sam was saying, intruding suddenly on Toby's train of thought.  "Why is it that you have more respect for my abilities as a speechwriter than you do as a policy advisor?" Sam demanded.

"You have enough to worry about," Toby mumbled without thinking.

"Bullshit."

"I have enough to worry about."

Pushing his drink away with barely disguised disgust, Sam leveled his stare on Toby.  "I'm sorry to be the source of so much worry and concern for you."

"I worry, yes, I worry, Sam!  I don't want to give you more than you can handle, okay?  I don't...."  Toby twirled the stirrer in his drink violently, wrestling with himself.  "Dammit.  I'd never want you to think that I was setting you up for failure.  You have the potential to be really great at this.  Contrary to the first impressions I formed of you, I believe, given time and the right, the right guidance... you could go very far.  Doing this.  Or, you know, whatever you wanted to do," he finished, agonizingly pulling the words from his own mouth.  "But you're so fucking young.  You don't even realize it yourself."  Resigned to just telling the unvarnished truth.  "But I do." 

"You know, Toby, that may have been true, at one point.  In the beginning.  I'll give you that."  Sam shook his head once, willing to accept the judgment.  Once.  "But... I'm not the same guy that walked into campaign headquarters in Nashua to meet the 'great Toby Zeigler'.  Who, as I recall, wasn't so 'great' and didn't make a tremendous first impression either."  Sam lowered his eyes and licked his lips nervously. 

"You want to talk about first impressions?  Sam, you're lucky you made it past the first three impressions.  Beyond all reason, I was able to see past all three, and I'm...."  Toby cocked his head slightly at the memory, avoiding the young man waiting across the table from him.  "That's something I'm not known for doing," Toby finished quietly.

"That bad?"  Sam wanted to know.  He wasn't fishing, but he thought distantly that if he had some idea what pre-conceptions Toby had started with, he might be able to figure out how to finally banish them for good.  Hard work, dedication, sacrifice.  These were the things he'd imagined would be asked of him.  He'd given all happily.  And in return he'd gained so much more than he'd ever hoped he would.  Purpose, the opportunity to make a lasting difference, a clear direction.  And Josh. 

Toby sized Sam up carefully.  "You want to know what I thought of you?"  Not sure he wanted to tell him.  Despite all the evidence to the contrary, Toby felt an unspecified affection for his deputy, one that had gradually become based on more than the fact that Sam was his deputy.  He saw qualities in Sam that he'd once hoped to see in a son of his own.  And though Toby often found Sam's very presence frustrating, he'd admitted to himself long ago that his job would be immeasurably gloomier without him in the next office. 

Toby figured the least he could do was keep being honest with him.  "Okay, Sam, you want to know?  Okay.  First impression: you were some inexperienced, young, rich, over-achiever who thought it might be 'fun' to get into politics.  Second impression: You were there because you were a friend of Josh's, who's motives I really wasn't sure of back then."  He risked a thin smile at Sam, who sat uncharacteristically slumped in the dark leather chair.

"What was the third impression, Toby?"

There was a long uncomfortable silence, a few charged glances.  Finally, "You were too goddamn pretty."

Thirty seconds stretched into sixty.  Toby noted with apprehension that Sam had yet to take his eyes off the melting ice in his sickly green drink; hadn't yet responded at all to his declaration.  Sixty into ninety.  Noticed when Sam tilted his head almost invisibly, as if listening to a ghostly conversation going on in his own mind.  Ninety into -

"Sam?" 

Eyes snapping up at the sound of his name, Sam looked keenly at Toby.  "I...  I really don't know what to say to that," he admitted.  "I think, I mean, do you...?"  Still feeling blindsided.  "I guess I'm wondering if you still hold those same opinions of me, is what I'm trying to figure out."

Licking his lips more out of discomfort than any desire to taste the last of his remaining Jack Daniels, Toby had to look away from the question on Sam's face.  This wasn't his job. This wasn't his job.

Gesturing to the hesitant server to bring another drink, Toby folded his hands over his stomach and stretched out his legs.  "I can see we're in for the long haul, so you might as well get comfortable, Sam."  The weak attempt to lighten the mood seemed lost on the other man.

"It's a simple enough question."  Sam's lame attempt at bullying his boss.

"So, you think I can give you a simple answer?" Toby scoffed lightly.  "It's not as clear-cut as you make it sound, Sam."

"Oh?"

"Well, you're not as young as you were then, that's simple enough.  And yet... and yet, Sam.  You still possess such childlike qualities sometimes - "

"I trip on things, Toby.  How exactly does that disqualify me from earning your respect?"

This made Toby smile, as much as he tried not to.  "Your grace and poise never entered into my thinking.  I was actually talking about your unique ability to still find the wonder and enthusiasm for what should have by now become crushingly disillusioning to you."  Toby stopped smiling abruptly.  "And if you tell me one more time that I don't have respect for you, I'll kick your ass into the street and drag you down to the Reflecting Pool where I will strip you to your shorts and set the ducks on you.  Are we absolutely, completely clear on at least that one point, Samuel?"

Toby's intense, dark eyes blazed at Sam, daring him to object.

Folding his lips inwardly, pressing them together, Sam simply nodded his head in agreement.

Accepting his fresh drink, Toby smiled palely at the woman before she dashed away again. "Good.  So.  Your inexperience."  Getting right down to business now.  "What can I say?  You're a damn quick study, Sam, and a hell of a bluffer sometimes."

"You're saying I have everyone fooled?"

"Goddamn it."  Toby didn't allow the blazing frustration he was feeling to seep into his voice. "Goddamn you, Sam."  Taking a noisy slurp of his drink.  "You're determined to make this something it isn't.  And when it's all over, don't think I'm  going to want to talk about that." Seeing a small flicker of amusement drift across Sam's eyes, Toby turned his head to face him fully.  "No, I mean it.  Don't think I'm going to want to talk about that, too.  You deal with whatever's fueling this nonsense on your own time."

"And now we're back to you thinking I'm... frivolous somehow."  The resignation in Sam's tone obviously battling with his own frustration.

Toby's hand stopped in midair, halfway to his mouth.  "Excuse me?  Frivolous?"  He looked around the room for someone who might rescue him from the absurdity of this conversation. "When did I call you frivolous?  When did I imply that I thought you were frivolous?  And when did you lose your freaking mind, deputy of mine?"  His glass finally finding its destination, he took another deep drink.  "This ain't the conversation you said you wanted to have, Sam."

"I don't know what I'm doing." 

Toby's eyes locked onto Sam's like a guided missile.  There was something in his voice, something that wasn't there a minute ago.  A doubtfulness, a distance.

"What's going on?" he asked with overdue concern.  "Sam, what's really going on here?"

Shaking his head slowly, Sam tipped his drink to his mouth, shuddered involuntarily at the pungent taste of it.  "God only knows.  All I do know is, I was having a fairly good day yesterday, until the moment you said that Kim Carruthers didn't seem like the kind of person you thought I should be 'playing' with.  And something in my head just....  Like ears popping on a plane.  Ever since then, Toby, everything anyone says to me seems colored by that one moment.  It made me feel so....  yup.  Reduced.  And last night when Josh called me 'baby' it came rushing back at me again, and to tell you the truth, the hell of it is, I can see how some people might see me in that light sometimes.  I mean, I am young and came into this job inexperienced.  And, for the record, I'm still an obnoxious over-achiever, and pretty well off financially.  So, yeah.  You didn't call me frivolous, not technically; but you sure made my feelings seem that way.  I got pissed off.  I'm sorry."

Sam was apologizing to him, Toby realized unexpectedly.  He set his glass on the table with a loud clink.  "I'm not sure I can process all that on only two drinks, Sam," was all he could manage to say before gesturing wildly to the exasperated server again.

Ducking his head down, Sam appeared to be continuing the inner dialogue he'd started earlier in his head.

"Is there more?" Toby asked with almost comical uneasiness.

Bringing his eyes up to meet Toby's, Sam smiled ruefully.  "No.  Really, I think if we just deal with all of that, we should be done."

For the first time in a long time, Toby laughed outright.  Rubbing his hands over his face a few times in an effort to clear away the tension that had been building between them, Toby shook his head.  "Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam."

"I get that a lot."

Toby laughed again.  "Can you please tell me why you couldn't just say all that yesterday?  Do you have any idea how worried I was about what was going on with us?"

"Keep worrying, big guy.  We still haven't gotten to the good stuff."

Sputtering slightly, Toby leaned forward to get a better look at Sam's unsmiling face.  "The good stuff?"

"You're feeling you have to protect me from myself?  Don't want to give me more than I can handle?  Won't be the one to set me up for failure, la la la."

"Stop that," Toby warned with mock sternness. 

"The rest I can deal with.  Well."  Sam took a quick swig of his drink.  "I guess I can't; but the coming to me thing?  That's what I want to get straight.  'Cause that just bugs me, Toby."

Suppressing another snicker, which would so noticeably be at Sam's expense, Toby sighed instead.  "And a bugged Sam is a very grumpy Sam.  And as we all know, there's only room for one grump in the Communications Office."  Poking himself with a pointed finger, Toby nodded his head once, emphatically.  "And you're looking at him."

"So I should, what, smile and have a nice day?"