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Title: Inversion
Author: Kacey
Rating: PG-13 
Summary: Go back to the beginning.
Spoilers: completely canon-free
Disclaimer: They're not mine, nothing is mine, woe and alas.
Notes: The usual huge thanks to Ali and Roo.



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Inversion



"I know."

He hugs Josh, hard.

"I love you," Josh says.  "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, okay.  It's okay."  He drops his arms to his sides, takes a step
back.

Josh looks as if he's about to cry.  

"Can I just say that I'm sorry?  You never... would you just, let me..."

"Josh."  He shakes his head.  "Don't do this."

"It feels like my fault."

"But I'm fine."

"Now.  Fuck, Sam, you almost - "

"That doesn't make it your fault.  Besides, I'm fine, remember?"

"You wouldn't have been there, if I hadn't... You shouldn't have been
there."

"Is this going to be a thing, like, forever?  Because I don't want it to
be like this, with us - I don't want us not to be friends."

"Well, you should."

"I don't blame you, Josh.  I never did."

****

He picks up the rubber ball in front of his Newton's Cradle.  Through
the window he can see Toby coming towards his office.

"Don't overdo things today," Toby says when he's almost level with the
door.

"Toby - "

"I'm going to be late for my meeting."

"But - "

"Sam.  You should talk to him, not me." 

"You can't possibly still be...  Toby, it wasn't - "

"This, it isn't... I'm not the person you want to discuss this with," Toby
says, leaning his right shoulder against the doorframe.

"You haven't spoken to him?"

"I know he's around.  Probably in his office."

He nods, turns the ball over in his hand.  "Have you seen Josh today?"

"Is everything okay?" Toby asks.

There's a short pause.  

"It's good to be back," he says.

Toby straightens up, steps away from the door.  "It's good to have
you back."

He smiles, tosses the ball to the older man.

"Sam."

Toby considers the rubber ball in his hand for a second, then goes into
his own office.

****

The entire Communications staff gathers to watch him leave, but only
Cathy follows him into the front hall, carrying his briefcase.

"I thought you were being nice to me," he says, grinning at her.

"Keep it up, Norman, and you're going to have a very long day."

"But you'll settle for a donut."

She watches as he removes his name from the register.

"Which is not to say I couldn't use a raise," she informs him.

He squeezes her arm gently.  "Yeah, I know."

He glances at her, but she doesn't return the look.

"I did miss you, Sam."

"All right."

"Shut up."  But she's smiling, and there's no anger in her voice.

"That's better," he says.

She slaps his arm lightly.

"I'm just saying, it disturbs the natural order of things.  It turns my
whole universe - "

"Don't start with me," she warns him.

"No, seriously, what's going on?  Because this is unusual to a
disconcerting degree."

"I missed you."

"Why?" he asks, trying not to sound aghast.

"I'm being nice."

"Oh God, what are you doing?"

She hands him his briefcase, kisses his cheek, and hugs him good-bye.

****

He's sitting at his dining room table, laptop open - removing
punctuation from a speech, adding a few metaphors here and there.

He picks up the phone, balances it between his right ear and shoulder.

"Yeah," he says.

"Take it easy," Toby orders.

"I'm fine," Sam reassures him.  "But thanks."

"I know."  Toby sounds a little embarrassed.  "I was just..."

"You're checking up on me?"  He's amused, and doesn't bother trying to
mask it.  "I can take care of myself."

There's a short pause.

"Did you take any pills tonight?"

He sighs, deletes a comma.  "Toby..."

"Look, let's not talk about this," Toby says, almost pleads.

"You're not - "

"Not really."

"Have you spoken to Josh lately?"

"Yeah."  The answer is uncertain.

There's another pause.  He takes out an active verb, puts in a simile.

"Toby, you do remember I'm okay now, right?"

"Just take it easy, okay?  Don't...  It's not a big deal."

"You mean the speech?  It's good."

"Hey, Sam, how's it going?"

"Hello?"

He hangs up the phone, and it starts to ring.

****

He has with one prescription - a small white pill he takes whenever he
needs it.  At first he uses them only once in a while, but then he finds
himself needing them more and more often.

****

"I guess he must've asked for it," Donna says.

"Yeah, I know.  But why would he - why would Ron give it to him?"

"I don't know, Sam.  He didn't seem that upset at first, but now - now
he's just really quiet.  You know."

"But there isn't... I didn't even say anything.  I can't remember
anything."

"It's been on his desk for weeks.  I mean, I can see it right now.  It's
on top of his computer."

"I don't understand."

"The Secret Service report.  On the, on your accident."

"What're you talking about?"

"Josh read it, Sam."

****

Some technicians from the White House remove an extra telephone line
from his apartment, and leave with the fax machine, giving him
apologetic smiles as they mutter things about work.

He watches a lot of television, alone in his apartment.  CNN and C-
SPAN, mostly, watching as laws unravel into bills, watching as votes
are stripped away.  Sometimes he calls senators, asking for the
support they withdrew the day before.

****

Josh lets himself into the apartment, and hurries into the kitchen.

"No.  Thanks for coming by," he says.

"Did you need anything else?" Josh asks, pulling a few paper bags from
a drawer, and putting them on the counter.  

"Yeah."

"I've got this thing I have to do - you know how it is."

"You've only been here for like five minutes."

"I should go," Josh says as he unfolds the top bag.

"Listen to me - "

"No.  Absolutely not."

"Look, I'll talk to him."

He watches Josh take food from his cupboards.  Josh never looks at
him.

"He's right this time, Sam."

"Sometimes he's wrong.  Sometimes he's just angry."

"Usually he's right."  

"Well, he's wrong.    Come on, Josh, you know what Toby's like - he's
always trying to find someone to blame for everything.  I think it's
because he likes yelling so much."

"He really thinks it's my fault."

"What does Toby have to do with this?"

"Toby thinks I do."

Josh's voice is muffled from within the refrigerator.

"Are we doing this again?  Why do you keep trying to apologize?  You
don't have anything to be sorry about, Josh."

"I just... that night, I should've, I shouldn't have -  "

****

He starts to wake up sore.  Bruises appear, faint at first, then they
darken and spread across his chest and down his right side.  It gets
harder to breathe.  His single prescription doubles, triples, continues to
multiply; there's hardly any space on his night-table.

Josh's nightly phone call spawns into several calls throughout the day,
and Josh stops talking about work, starts asking what he's doing, how
he's feeling, if he's tired, if he needs anything.  Toby stops by more
frequently - three times a week, every other day, every day.  

Everything deteriorates.  He can't walk from his room to the kitchen
without breaking into a sweat, can't draw in a deep breath, can't move
without hurting something.

Toby never leaves, not until he has to go to the hospital.

****

He nods at Toby.

"Ready to go?" Toby asks, helping him sit down on the hospital bed.

"Yes, sir."

"Don't ever say that again.  I mean it, Sam."

He grins broadly at the older man.  "Who's my daddy?"

"Just shut up.  I want to get out of here sometime today."

He watches silently as Toby pulls off his shoes, then his socks.  "I can
do that myself, you know," he points out once Toby's done.

"That's it?" Toby asks.

He looks down at his shoes.  "Yeah.  Well, except for those."

Toby sighs.  "Are you ready then?"

A few nurses come in, bringing him flowers from other patients' rooms,
kissing his cheek in greeting.

"You're not?" he asks, smiling.  "Really?"

Toby glances around the nearly empty room.  "I am not going to miss
this place."

****

Josh practically runs into his room.

"Josh, wait - "

"I can't, Sam, you - you're lying to me."  Josh drops into the chair
beside his bed.

"I'm not stupid, you know.  There's something going on."

"No, of course not!  It's not, it's just..."  Josh uncrosses his arms, leans
back.

"Is something wrong?  Between us?"

He watches Josh for a moment, but Josh is staring at the ground.

"Right."  He nods.  "It's okay, I understand."

"Toby's going to be taking you home," Josh says, almost regretfully.  "I
wish I could... I just, I have this crazy-ass day, and, you know."

The brown eyes bore into him intently, then Josh looks away, looks
down.

"I don't know.  It really doesn't matter," he says.

"You know, before."  Josh glances around the hospital room.  "Before
this."

"What do you mean?"

"What's the last thing you remember, Sam?"

****

CJ glares at him for a long moment.

"SAM.  You will see him."  Her tone is hard, unyielding.

"Oh God, please don't - "

"Wait, you haven't seen Josh all week?" CJ asks him, and her eyes look
dark, angry.  "Well, you will.  Later today."

"I don't know; it feels like it, though.  I haven't seen him since
Sunday."

"He's avoiding you?"

He shrugs.  "I think he's avoiding me."

"Josh?"

"I tried that.  He won't talk to me about it."

"Why're you asking me about this?  Why aren't you asking Josh or
Toby? Well, I guess I can see you not wanting to ask Toby," she says
before he can answer.

"Okay.  I mean, good.  I guess."

"Well, not okay exactly but close enough.  They're civil...ish."

"Yeah?"

"Don't worry about it," CJ says quickly.  "They're okay at work."

"How're they going to work together if..." he stops.

CJ gives him a sympathetic look.  "I think that's part of the problem,
Spanky."

"But *I* don't blame Josh."

"Toby has enough blame for everyone, Sam."

"What about the other guy?  I mean, it wasn't Josh's fault that some
guy
-
"

"Yeah."

"He's still blaming him, isn't he?"

CJ glances at the floor briefly.  "Sam, this isn't really my - "

"Toby shouldn't blame him."

****

Ron strolls into the room, hesitates a moment at the base of his bed.
"You look a lot better, Sam."

"Thanks," he says.

Butterfield sits down, pulls a pen from his pocket and opens a small
notepad.

"It's all right.  Don't worry, the police report's solid enough."

"No.  I'm sorry."  He shakes his head.

There's a long pause as Ron gazes at him, waiting for something else.

"So you don't remember any of the actual - "

"Yeah."

"That's all?"

"Josh called."

****

They add more IVs every day.  Every day there's more machinery,
more noise.

Nurses come in, with needles.  They extract something from his IV,
something clear.  And it hurts when they do that; it hurts so much he
can barely breathe when they're done.  Gradually, the pain diminishes,
and usually it's almost gone when they return with another empty
syringe.

Toby's expression falls into a permanent scowl, the dark brow furrows
deeper, and Josh grows paler, though the circles under his eyes
lighten. They start visiting more often, then every day, then several
times a day, but never together.

He almost doesn't notice, because everything hurts now, and he's tired
all the time.

****

"What?" he asks, trying not to wince.

"You could've..." Josh trails off, swallows.  "They think maybe you
could've avoided it, they think there might've been enough time.
But..."

There's a long pause.

"There was an accident, but it wasn't your fault, Sam.  The other
driver was drunk, he swerved into your lane."

Josh stares at him, the worried expression clearing a little.

"What happened?" he manages to ask through the sore throat.

"You're supposed to stay still."  Josh's voice is trembling.

He starts to shake his head, but Josh stops the movement.  "No," he
says.

"You..."

Something's wrong.  He can't remember.

"No?  What do you mean?  Sam?"

"No."

"I'm so sorry.  I forgot, I can't believe I fucking forgot..."

Josh isn't looking at him.

"Wha - "

He blinks, tries to remember what happened.

"Shh.  It's okay, don't try to talk.  I know, it hurts."

Josh looks tired, rumpled.

" -osh?"

Josh smiles at him, but it's unconvincing.

"Hey, Sam."

****

There's a quiet hum above him, to the left.  Eventually it sharpens into
Toby's voice.

"Okay," Toby says, softly.  The gravelly voice is almost too soft, he
can barely hear it.  "I'm right here."

"No, don't..."  He has to struggle for a breath, and that wakes him up a
little.

Toby musses his hair, bringing strands down against his forehead.

"Do you want me to go?" Toby asks.  "You need to get some rest."

He blinks, and things slide slightly more into focus, though everything is
still blurry.  Toby looks tired, and upset, and he doesn't know why,
doesn't know if he's done something.

"Sam, I wouldn't lie to you," Toby says.

"You're sure?"  His voice is hoarse; it sounds strange to him.

"Yeah."

"He's okay?"

"He's not here right now."

Toby's expression brightens instantly.  He leans down, his right hand
moving to cover Sam's left.

"I..."  He doesn't...  Where is this?  Where is...   Someone else is
supposed to be here.  "Josh?"

Dark eyes scan his face.  "Do you know where you are?" Toby asks.

"Toby?"  It hurts.  He swallows, clears his throat.  That hurts more.
Make his throat dry.  He's tired again.  And confused.  "Wha...?"

"Sam?"

Toby's face is inches away, watery around the edges.

"Sam, can you hear me?"

Hazier, fading.

"Sam?"

A distant rumble.

****

They force him to swallow a tube that's hooked up to a machine which
follows his breathing.

Sometimes he can see it, peripherally.  There's a pump: it goes up
slowly as he inhales, then drops sharply when the air rushes out of his
lungs. But mostly he just listens to it.  It's loud - especially the
downward motion.  Like an accented beat in a one-note song.  Down.
And up.  Down.

And up.  

It never stops, and it's loud, and he has to listen to it.

Down.

...and up.

****

There's a hand on his forehead, repeatedly stroking from his hairline
down to his eyebrows.  It draws him out of sleep.

He hears the machine first, before he opens his eyes.

Down.  

...and up.

One shape - no, two, on his left.

"It's going to be okay."

One of them leans down.  

"It's okay, Sam."  The voice is low, soothing.

He blinks.

The shapes grow fuzzier, start to blend into one.

"Sam?"

He blinks again.

The shape is closer now, double-headed but indistinct, and he can't
focus anymore, so he closes his eyes.  It continues to talk.

"Look!"

"Was I knighted?"

"Yes, sir.  Sir, Jed - "

"...sure, talk to Butterfield, and Babish."

"...tried, sir... but... know Sam..."

"...make him go... damn it..."

Quieter, quieter, fading away, fading into...

Down.  

...and up.

"...awake? ...two hours?... crazy..."

"...Josh... drunk... gun... congress..."

"...reck... danger..."

Down.

...and up.

****

Voices.

Almost familiar.  Almost comprehensible.  Soft.

Not gentle.

"...go... now."

"...not... decision... Toby..."

"...leave... alone..."

Down.

...and up.

"...do... want... me..."

"...forgot... best friend... damn it..."

"...forgot... drunk, I..."

Down.  

...and up.

"...dent, Josh, but... too tired... driving..."

The deeper voice explodes from quiet scorn into fury.

"...got your goddamn bill passed!  He was awake for seventy-two
hours!"

"...you blame me?"

"You're...best friend... your fault."

Down.

...and up.

"...best friend, Toby."

"Oh, I don't think so."

"Listen to me!"

"Shut the hell up!"

They begin to ebb again.

"Toby... never meant for..."

"...don't care... fuck... excuses...."

"...drunk... I didn't..."

"...taxi..."

Down.  

...and up.

Down...

****

It's dark.

He's too tired for this.

He's supposed to be doing something.  He can't remember what it is.

Something... 

Something hurts.

Someone's yelling at him.  It sounds far away, muted.

Something hurts a lot.

The yelling is louder now, almost understandable.

Oh God, everything hurts, he can't -

"Sir?"

He can't breathe.

"Sir?  Can you hear me?"

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

Help.

"Sir?"

He can't breathe.

Someone's supposed to be here.  Someone else.

He doesn't know this man.

"Sir?  Look at me."

It's getting darker.

"Sir?"

The voice is farther away.

He's tired.

It's black.

****

The steering wheel throws him back into the seat.

There's a high-pitched, jarring sound, the screech of metal unbending.

A streetlight repels his car, forces it back onto the road, before
another car helps drag it back into the right lane.

The headlights are almost blinding.

He thinks he should probably beep, or swerve, something.  But the car
is reversing swiftly, if jerkily, away from him.

He blinks, but everything's shadowy.  Except for the other car's
headlights.  Those are definitely too bright.  He can't focus.

Is he in the wrong lane?  He looks down at the road, blinks again
against his blurry vision.  

That's yellow.  He's right.

He should do something.

Then the car slithers back into the other lane.

And he drives home.

****

He turns off the light, slowly lies down, then stares at the ceiling for
a minute.

"Okay," he says to the empty room.  "Get up."

He reaches over and picks up the phone.

"Yeah."

"Thanks, Sam."

"Sure, buddy."

"I mean it."

"Yeah, I've heard that before."

"This'll never happen again, I promise."

"Right.  Give me twenty minutes, okay?"

"You know the bar we took Charlie to - near Georgetown?"

"Okay," he says, biting down a sigh.  "Where are you?"

"Uh..."

"You didn't just fall over, did you?" he asks.  "Please tell me you're not
on the floor."

"Oops.  And ow."

There's a muffled thump.

"Okay," Josh says.

"Come over here, I'll deal with it.  Just..."  He's too tired to drive right
now; he's too tired to think right now.

"I don't have any money.  And the bartender's pissed at me."

"Take a cab, then."  His eyes burn from being open so long.  "Do you
have any idea - "  He knows Josh knows exactly how exhausted he is,
so he stops asking.

"Donna's not very pleased with me.  I think maybe I did something
wrong today.  Or yesterday.  Someday."

"What about Donna?"

"Sammm..." Josh half-pleads, half-whines.

"No."

"I kind of need a favor."

"You're drunk, aren't you?"

"I know.  Sorry."

"It's like three-thirty, Josh."  He can barely see the numbers on his
alarm clock, just a smear of red.

"Yeah.  'Morning."

"Josh?"

"Hey, Sam!"

He hangs up.

The phone rings.







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