Her family was safe. Her husband was asleep on the bed behind her, her
daughter was using one of the rooms in the residence in favor of her dorm. Abby
didn't blame Zoe at all for wanting to stay close to home. If one of the three
boys hadn't been kidding, then Zoe and Charlie had been targets. That
information had unfortunately leaked, and Zoe hadn't been willing to go back to
her dorm room upon hearing it.

Abby glanced behind herself at Jeb, thinking, As if he'd have let
her. She thought of the young man who'd very reluctantly gone home that
evening and was now sleeping with a police watch outside his apartment building,
and added ...or Charlie to that.

Abby had been strong and unflinching during the entire ordeal. She hadn't
cried or panicked as Leo and then Jeb recounted the events of the night. She
hadn't blanched when she'd heard about Toby and Josh's injuries. She'd calmed
everyone as they paced restlessly, waiting to hear about Josh, and then she'd
calmed Jeb before he finally consented to laying down for a few hours before
sunrise came and the Day After began. So now who was going to calm her?
Abby shut her eyes tightly and felt dizzy for a moment as the reality of
the last few hours struck home. I almost lost them. Both of them. Oh, God
help me, I never thought it would come to this. All those secret service agents,
and still two people were hurt. What if it had been my daughter? My husband?
Abby grimaced, realizing she felt a little guilty for being relieved it had been
someone else's son, someone else's husband. Well, ex-husband, anyways. She knew
the relief was hard-won, though, and she refused to let it go because of guilt.
They're all right. Thank God Almighty. They're alright.

"Still awake?"

His voice startled her a little. Abby turned and looked back at the bed. Jeb was
lying on his side, and from his profile she guessed he was looking at her across
the room, or trying to.

"Yeah," she answered softly, leaving the window reluctantly to join him
back in the bed. They held each other close and were both silent for some time.

"We got damned luck today," Jeb murmured. He felt Abby nod.
Sleep was as far from Jeb as peace of mind, something he wished wasn't the
case. He was going to need his rest to get through tomorrow, and yet the very
reason he needed it was keeping him from getting it.
Good ol' catch-22, he thought ruefully.

"Does it get any better?" Abby asked suddenly. He voice was half-choked
with the tears she'd refused to shed all day, and it hurt Jeb to hear it. He
held her fiercely.

"I hope so," he whispered.

Josh stared, certain that what he was seeing was a dream. There was no way
it couldn't be a dream.

"Dad?" he asked, confused. The man watching him from across the river
smiled serenely.

"Hello Joshua," Noah Lyman said. It had always annoyed Josh that his
father wouldn't call him Josh, simply 'Joshua' or, after he'd been admitted to
the bar, 'counselor'.

"Dad, what are you doing here?" Josh looked around himself. "Come to think
of it, what am I doing here?"

'Here' was a lovely run of forest, consisting of gloriously tall pinyon
pines, Douglas firs, and lodgepole pines that towered all around. The wind
sighed through the trees with a sound that seemed to mimic the river rushing
between then, the dark rocks of the riverbed glinting in the early afternoon
sunlight. The waters ran deep, deep enough that even a grown man like Josh or
his father would have to seriously consider the safety of crossing. Jays,
steller's jays, were flitting about, shrieking at each other. Josh realized he
wasn't wearing any shoes, and that the pebbles of the river's shores felt cool
and reassuring beneath his feet.

This is a dream. I've never been anywhere like this.

"I suspect you're here because you've been shot," Josh's father suggested
gravely. The words wrenched Josh from his peaceful reverie of staring at the
beautiful wilderness around him.

"What?" he asked, his heartbeat tripling immediately. What were those
memories, those thoughts, darting just below the surface of his consciousness?
Pain and fear and regret...

Noah frowned, eyeing the river shrewdly. "I don't think you'll be joining
us, though. The river doesn't look safe to cross."

Josh stared at his father, not understanding. "What do you mean? Am I--am
I dead?"

His father seemed to think on it for a moment. "No, I don't think you are.
Or we wouldn't be so separated."

"So I'm--is this some sort of near-death experience?"

"How can one almost experience something like death, Joshua? You either
are dead, or you are not. It's a door that is walked through and shut behind
you. You can't open it and then sit on the floor, looking through." His father
paused, something occurring to him. "Well, perhaps comatose individuals do..."

Josh stared at his father. The words were coherent, but the logic in them
was escaping him, and yet he knew it should be obvious. It slid through his
fingers, slippery as a trout.

"People almost die all the time dad," he said irritably.

Noah Lyman shook his head. "No, Joshua. They simply open the door, and
look inside. And then, because of the miracles of modern science, or maybe the
miracles of mysticism, they close the door, and go back. But they were never
near death."

Josh was becoming frustrated. "But dad, you just said, when you're dead,
you're dead."

"Oh Joshua," Noah said, sighing sadly. "Death is only a beginning."
Josh watched his father from across the river. He was struck suddenly with
the memory of the night his father had crossed this river, had left him alone in
the world.

A night without stars.

"Dad please don't go," Josh said softly. He could feel his throat
tightening. Noah smiled at him.

"I'm afraid it will be you who goes, and you must." Was it Josh's
imagination, or was the wind in the trees louder now? Was the river's soft
rushing now an angry roar? Was the sky darkening?

"I don't want to, I--I want to stay here with you." Please don't leave
me alone.

Noah smiled again. "I'll see you soon enough, Joshua." The roaring was so
loud, Josh almost couldn't hear his father's words, and yet he knew what they
were, he'd always known, hadn't he? "And you have not been alone, this whole
time. Why in your hour of greatest need would you be?"

The river and the trees and the sky, and even the jays were all one sound,
one sighing, shrieking, whispering sound, all around him, pulling him down--or
was that up?--away, far away, and somewhere in the distance he knew his father
loved him, but it was time to go back...

Josh opened his eyes slowly. The dream dissipated like fog before the
afternoon sun, its aftermath leaving him feeling hazy and confused. Already the
particulars were escaping him, but he still remembered his father's voice, he
still remembered the river...

Dad, Josh thought sadly. The last thing he needed at this point was
to be depressed; it certainly wasn't going to improve his health. Thinking about
the loss of his father brought to mind a lot of other things Josh didn't want to
think about, though. He quickly turned his mind from those thoughts.
It was dark in his room, and the sky outside suggested dawn was still some
ways off. Josh was too groggy from medications to move much, so he let his eyes
wander the room without the aid of his head. The clock on his bedstand read four
am.

He'd barely been asleep for three hours, and if he didn't missed his
guess, he'd have visitors starting sometime around six, the earliest they could
show up. He made a bet with himself that the President would be first.
I should get some sleep. I'm going to need it.

Josh shut his eyes and slid into a dreamless, wandering sleep.

For the first day, Josh slept more than anything else. It seemed to him
that he simply took one long nap that was punctuated by brief visits from nurses
and the presidential staff at varying intervals. He was still groggy from
painkillers and generally exhausted, but he was able to stay awake for everyone.
Josh won his bet with himself when the President showed up at six am
sharp. He looked like he hadn't slept at all, and through the haze of medication
Josh was fairly sure the President wouldn't be getting any rest in the next day,
either. It could be as much as a week before things settled down in the wake of
the shooting.

"Mr. President," Josh said, his voice still scratchy. Bartlet's smile was
weak and relieved.

"Damnit, Josh, it's good to see you alive," he said in a rush.

"Thank you, sir, it's good to see you alive."

For an awkward moment Bartlet stood there, clearly unsure what to say.
Josh saved him the trouble. "Is everyone alright?"

Bartlet knew Josh had already been told that only he and Toby were
injured, and that Toby was already back at work. His question wasn't about
physical injuries.

"They're as alright as they can be with two of the staff injured. The good
news is, the US Marshals and the Secret Service have three suspects in custody."

Josh nodded slightly. "That's good to hear, sir."

Bartlet watched Josh for a moment, then looked away, his expression one of
embarrassment.

"Josh...I am..." The President stopped and attempted to start over. "Words
cannot express..." He stopped again, then gave up any pretense of formality.

"God. I am very sorry for what happened." Josh blinked, but before he could say
anything, Bartlet continued. "I like to think that with all the high tech
security and fifty armed guards following us all everywhere we go, we're well
protected. But it was made painfully obvious to me, last night, that this just
isn't the case."

"Mr. President," Josh said, hoping to stem a small flood of words. "It
wasn't your fault."

Bartlet looked up from the floor and sighed heavily. "It sure feels like
it was."

"Well it wasn't," Josh said simply. He shut his eyes for a moment,
grimacing, and opened them again.

Bartlet couldn't hold back his immediate response, a programmed reaction
from dealing with Josh in the office. "Forgive me if I disagree."

Josh smiled a little, glad to see the President lightening up. "You
wouldn't be President Bartlet if you placidly let your staff overrule you, sir.
Even me."

"Especially you."

Josh's mouth twitched. "Well."

Bartlet grinned. It was like a weight had been lifted off his chest, and
it hadn't been the site of Josh, alive, that had done it. It had been his words,
his attitude. He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry to chat and run, but I have to
get going. I suspect I'm going to be assuring people all day that you're fine
and not in some cryogenic tank in Area 51."

Josh grinned this time. "Hey can you reserve me a spot there?" he asked.

Bartlet snorted. "Sorry, son, they're full up with LBJ on down."

"Damn."

Bartlet paused as he headed for the doorway. "I'll be back," he assured
Josh, who nodded.

"Yes sir."

With a last glance, Bartlet vanished through the door.

Leo told himself, for the fifth time, that he was not going to chicken out
and send a card.

St. Mary's was a busy hospital, and the number of patients, nurses, and
doctors that kept passing Leo was beginning to wear on him. Hospitals unnerved
him, a holdover from the war and several bad experiences in his life. Busy
hospitals unnerved him the most.

They had put Josh on the fifth floor, in one of the more private wings.
There was a security check for entrance to the wing, consisting of three secret
service agents, and two more agents flanked the door to the room. Only about
twelve people were allowed into the room at the moment. Leo was, of course, one
of those.

Earlier that day he'd realized that he was going to have a window of time
that he could use to visit Josh. If he had Margaret put that into his schedule,
no one would dare attempt to move it aside, and he'd be sure to get in and see
him. For whatever reason, it was terribly important to Leo to be there on Josh's
first day back amongst the living. Perhaps because he wanted physical proof that
his deputy chief of staff had come through a tough scrape alive. Not until Leo
had walked into the hospital had the uneasiness first set in, and as he made his
way into the labyrinthine building it only got worse.

Now, standing outside the room, seeing Josh lying on the hospital bed, he
almost felt nauseated. That could've been me, he thought to himself
sadly. Christ, that could've been any of us. We got so damned lucky out
there. A few more inches to the right and those bullets would've ripped his
heart to shreds.

No, no, stop thinking like that, damnit.

Leo turned his thoughts from gruesome might-have-beens and tried to focus
on the thankful present. Toby was alright, if cranky and a little unpredictable.
Josh had made it through surgery and was expected to be back on his feet in a
little over a week. Everyone was shaken, Zoe in particular; she and Gina had
missed a small handful of shots by bare millimeters. But when it came down to
it, everyone was alive. Leo had to focus on that, and be grateful for it. If he
let his mind stray off those facts for even a moment, the terrifying
possibilities of any of them lying dead on the concrete would swallow him whole.
It didn't happen like that. Everyone's okay. Well, as okay as they can
be.

Leo got hold of himself and walked into the room. The soft beeping and
humming of machinery made his skin crawl, as did the sight of Josh hooked up to
a small web of wires. Before Leo had too much time to panic himself further,
Josh opened his eyes and smiled wanly.

"Hey, managed to slip out of the Madhouse?" he asked softly. He looked
exhausted and dazed.

Leo half-smiled in response and looked away, not quite able to hold Josh's
gaze. "Well there was an unanticipated lull in activity and I took full
advantage of it." Leo looked back and watched Josh quietly. "How are you
feeling?"

"Like Air Force One used me for an unscheduled landing," Josh murmured
dryly, although there was humor in his voice. "How are all of you doing?"

Leo grimaced. "We've been better. The press corp has been unrelenting.
Getting those three suspects a fair hearing is going to be next to impossible."

"Boy, the thought of cops beating confessions out of people in my name is
not particularly comforting," Josh sighed.

Leo nodded, agreeing. "Well, the good news is Gina can finger at least one
of them, and a couple of people in the crowd saw them too. Any luck we'll have
it all taken care of soon."

Leo's mention of Gina brought two other people to mind. "How are Zoe and
Charlie?"

"Zoe's going to stay at the residence for a few days. Charlie has an armed
police escort that follows him to and from work, and a car is watching his
apartment whenever he's there."

Josh nodded slightly. He watched Leo for a minute, then finally asked.

"And Toby?"

Leo looked away, unable to conceal his annoyance. "Every bit as bad as
you'll be when they let you out of here, I bet."

Josh looked offended. "That's not very fair."

Leo snorted. "Please. He's hardly slept five hours since the whole thing,
nothing but painkillers and coffee keeping him on his feet, he's typing speech
notes for CJ with one damn hand, won't take a lick of help from Sam..." Leo
sighed and rubbed his forehead. "He's almost as bad as the President."

"Almost as bad?" Josh echoed. Leo shook his head.

"You don't want me to elaborate on that. He hasn't slept yet."

Josh seemed unsurprised. "No shock there. You know he's not going to get
near a bed until he's sure everything's alright."

"Nothing is going to be alright for weeks, Josh."

"Then I guess you should get Mrs. Bartlet to write up a prescription for
some valium."

Leo gave Josh an odd look. Josh was puzzled until he realized Leo was
misinterpreting him. He made to shake his head sharply, and regretted it
instantly. He chose to use his voice to emphasize.

"No, for him. You can slip it in his water, or something."

Leo relaxed slightly, and even smiled. "Don't think I haven't thought of
it."

"She's probably beaten us both to it."

"Yeah," Leo murmured. There was an uncomfortable silence, where Leo didn't
know what to say anymore, and Josh was a little too tired to carry a
conversation on his own. Leo was about to start groping for a topic when Josh
smiled at him, and shook his head.

"You should get back," he said softly, his voice feeling worn out already.
Leo heard the intended words. I know this is tough for you. Get going.

"Yeah, I guess I should." Thanks. Leo walked over to the bed and
gripped Josh's hand fiercely. "Take care of yourself."

Josh smiled weakly. "I'll try."

Leo responded with a smile of his own, then turned and left the room. He
felt slightly better than he had ten minutes earlier.

CJ, Sam, Zoe and Charlie, Donna, and Mandy's visits were all fairly
uneventful, and as the day wore on Josh wondered if the same scene would replay
itself every single time. They were all wary at first, but after seeing him and
talking to him, they appeared to calm down. Having proof that he was alright set
their minds at ease, particularly CJ's. She'd even brought Gail for a visit.
Josh was wondering if he was going to see Toby when the communications
director walked through the door at ten after seven p.m. His arm was still in a
sling, and he looked almost as bad as Josh felt, yet there he stood, dressed for
work.

"I'll bet you went to work today, didn't you," Josh said, unable to keep
accusation from creeping into his voice. Toby's expression flashed to one of
surprise, then it settled into its normal routine.

"That place doesn't run itself, Josh," Toby informed him, almost loftily.
"In fact, I'll be going right back."

"Jesus Christ, Toby, you could take just one day off," Josh replied,
exasperated.

"Well unfortunately, you're taking not only today off, but the next week,
so I'm forced to pick up your slack."

"Leo's picking up my slack."

"I'm picking up Leo's slack."

"So who's picking up yours?"

"Sam."

"And Sam's?"

"Mandy."

"And Mandy's?"

"CJ."

"And CJ's?"

Toby paused, clearly at a loss. For a moment they watched each other,
suddenly very aware that despite three gunshot wounds between the two of them,
they were arguing.

"I can't believe we're arguing about who's going to work," Toby said, his
expression losing its resolve. Josh felt his annoyance slip away.

"I sure can," he murmured. He met Toby's uneasy gaze steadily, sensing
that something was about to be said.

"It should've been me," Toby blurted after a few moments. Josh blinked; he
certainly hadn't expected that.

"Oh God, Toby, don't--"

"No, no," Toby insisted. "It ah, it should've been me. You'd be a lot more
helpful there right now--"

"Toby."

"--and I'm one-armed at this point so I can hardly even type and--"

"Toby--"

"--people keep giving me these looks and the painkillers are making me
dizzy all the time and would you STOP interrupting me!"

Toby's voice sounded awfully loud in the small room, and for a second he
stared at Josh, clearly horrified at his own words.

"Josh, I--I'm sorry..." he attempted. Josh waved off his apology.

"Toby, sit down."

Toby hesitated, and Josh pointed at the chair next to his bed as
forcefully as he dared with an IV in his arm. "Sit," he commanded. Toby obeyed
reluctantly.

"Now listen," Josh said, leaning back into his bed for some strength.
"You've been shot. This is not something you heal from in a few hours. In case
you've forgotten, you're wearing a sling, and people are going to want to look
at it. It'll take getting used to. In the mean time, you need to slow down, take
a deep breath every now and then, and just...be happy we're alive."

Toby watched Josh. It had been difficult for him to come to the hospital.
Ever since he'd been released the previous night, the whole episode had replayed
in his head. The fact that by sheer luck it had been Josh in the path of two
bullets and not him was more than he could handle. He felt guilty for being glad
he was only a few days from recovery, he felt scared that three people had taken
it into their heads to kill them all, and most of all he was terrified that
these same people had almost pulled it off with only determination and a few
guns.

There, but for the grace of God.

"I'm very happy we're alive," Toby told Josh quietly.

"Well, you could've fooled me."

Toby grimaced and looked at his sling. "It's not easy. Particularly since
I'll soon receive a small manila envelope detailing the events, like I wasn't
there."

Josh frowned at first, not entirely sure what Toby meant, but then his
brow cleared. "Oh, right. Well...don't sweat that. It's not like there's anyone
to tell who doesn't already know."

The levity in Josh's voice was part medicated humor and part nervousness,
but Toby glared at him anyways. "That's not funny."

"No, no it's not," Josh admitted, sounding a little sad. Toby watched him,
then finally took his hand.

"I'm glad you're okay," he said.

Josh smiled weakly. "I'm glad you are too."

They spoke of more mundane things then; what the public's general reaction
was to the shooting, the three suspects, the status of Josh's office under Joey
and Donna's joint rule, how difficult it was to go anywhere with ten secret
service agents trailing you.

Some time later, Toby glanced at his watch. "I should get back, it's
almost eight."

"What you should do is go home," Josh told him narrowly.

"Place doesn't run itself Josh."

"So you tell me."

Toby stood, looking like he felt awkward. "I'll tell Donna you'd
appreciate a real update."

"Tell her I'd also appreciate some real food if she can smuggle it in."

"You need to eat right. You've been shot."

"Hey, if you can work ten hours on your first day back, I get to have some
chocolate mousse." The absurdity of the comparison made them both laugh a
little. Toby's awkward feeling faded.

"I'll see you," he said, turning to go.

"See ya."

When the door shut, Josh looked over at the bedstand covered with vases of
flowers.

The manila folder. I forgot about that, he thought absently.

Before he could think on it much more, Joey walked in through the door.
Not until he saw her standing there was Josh aware he'd been waiting for her
visit all day long. She walked into the room and sat down in the chair next to
his bed, signing hello.

"Hi," Josh said, signing as best he could. Joey smiled and took one of his
hands firmly.

"You don't need to sign," she said simply. Josh decided he wasn't strong
enough to debate over it and instead settled back into his bed.

"So how's the office?"

"No work," Joey signed. Josh narrowed his eyes.

"What happened?" he asked, feeling tense despite the drugs in his system.
Joey rolled her eyes.

"No, Josh."

"But--"

"No."

Josh paused. "It's just--"

"No," Joey said firmly. She reached into her purse and pulled out a book.

"What's this?" Josh asked, taking the fat novel. Joey smiled.

"I brought you something to pass the time," she signed. "It's called
Grass."

Josh frowned. "Grass...?" he asked skeptically. Joey laughed.

"No, not that kind. It's a science fiction book. Light on the science,
heavy on the moral fiction" she signed. Josh nodded, examining the grey-green
cover.

"I haven't done a lot of personal reading in a while, thanks," he said
softly. He was beginning to feel tired again.

Joey smiled and gripped his hand, then kissed it lightly. "I'll get going.
You need your rest."

The feel of her kiss on his hand, even as light as it was, left Josh
feeling buoyed. He smiled at her. "Thanks for the book, " he said, unsure of
what else to say.

Joey's smile was somewhat enigmatic as she waved, leaving the hospital
room.

Josh fell asleep before he'd made it past the first paragraph of the book,
lulled to sleep by something he couldn't entirely describe.

"Sam?"

Sam turned at the sound of Donna's voice. She was looking decidedly
better, two days after the fact, although it was obvious she hadn't slept much
over the last few days. She stepped into his office almost gingerly, as if she
thought she was disturbing something of great importance and not simply Sam's
weekly search for his Alberts text.

"What can I do for you, Donna?" he asked, turning from his bookshelf.

Donna handed him a small manila folder with the name 'LYMAN' written on the tab
in plain, block letters.

"I'm supposed to give this to Toby, but I haven't seen him and it's almost
nine o'clock. Could you make sure he gets it before he leaves?"

Sam frowned, first at the folder, then at his watch. "If he hasn't left
yet I'll give him this, then beat him for staying here so late."

Donna smiled tiredly. "Thanks Sam." She turned and left, fatigue taking
the spring out her usually bouncing step.

Sam watched her go, then nosily flipped through the few papers in the
portfolio.

After reading them, he stood, staring.

"What?" he asked no one in particular.

Toby had retreated to a conference room, hoping for some peace and quiet
before leaving for the evening. He had made it almost an hour when Sam knocked
on the doorjamb of the room.

"Yes?" he asked tightly, not looking up from the scattered papers before
him, some of which he was writing on.

"Hey," Sam said, which caught Toby's attention. He looked up.

"And what can I do for you?"

Sam held up the small manila file folder. "Donna wanted to get this to
you before you left today."

Toby held out his hand for the thin file. When he took the folder, he
paused, reading the tab. A sort of recognition sparked in his eyes. Sam was
silent as Toby flipped open the folder and looked over the inside paperwork. He
nodded absently, and only then did Sam speak.

"Why are you listed as Josh's emergency contact?"

Toby glanced up at him, feigning surprise. "What?"

"Those are emergency contact forms, aren't they? Official letters, telling
you what happened, we're terribly sorry, etc. Except emergency contacts are
supposed to be family, and I'm very certain you aren't related to him."

Toby set the folder down and folded his hands. He looked somewhat annoyed
with Sam. "And you would know this because..."

"Well your last names, for starters."

Toby reigned in his temper. "Setting aside the fact that you don't know
that his mother's maiden name wasn't Ziegler, I was referring to how you knew
those were emergency contact forms," he said, allowing his tone to become sharp.

"Are you saying he is related to you?"

"Sam." Toby's voice had taken on a warning note, now.

"I've handled this sort of thing before," Sam replied, almost haughtily.

Toby kept staring at him. Sam continued, shifting under Toby's gaze. "And,
I, looked at the file."

"Mmmhmmm." Toby regarded Sam a little longer, then sighed. "Get the door,"
he said softly.

Sam was surprised, but reached behind himself and shut the large doors.
Toby waited for a moment, wondering how to carefully broach the subject. He
decided there wasn't any careful method and simply started from the beginning.

"You understand that what I am telling you is Josh's personal business and
I am only telling you so that you won't harangue him about it?"

"Actually I'd harangue you, then when you told me to ask him I'd harangue
him."

"Sam, this is serious."

There was something in Toby's voice that made Sam uneasy. "Okay,
I'm sorry."

Toby nodded and looked away. "I am listed as Josh's emergency
contact because he doesn't have any family."

Sam hadn't entirely expected that, and so he sat, dumbfounded.
He knew Josh's father, mother, and sister were all gone, but he'd assumed
(foolishly?) that he had family somewhere else. Aunts, uncles, cousins,
grandparents.

"I--are you sure? He doesn't have, cousins, or something?"

Toby looked back at Sam. He seemed very sad now, although the emotion
wasn't necessarily showing on his face. "The Lymans are a Jewish family, Sam."

"And that--" Sam stopped midsentence, as the significance of the fact
struck him. "Oh. I--God." He brought a hand to his forehead.

Toby glanced down at the slim, manila folder. "His mother was from
Poland, and she was the sole surviving member of her family. She was hidden by
friends of her parents. His father and grandfather were the only survivors of
their families, and they both spent the later half of the war in a camp. I think
he said they're from Germany."

Sam couldn't entirely grasp the concept. He'd grown up with a good-sized
number of extended family. "What about the family that hid his mother?" he asked
after a moment.

"He doesn't know anything about them. His mother didn't speak of them, and
he was never able to find out who they were."

The two of them sat in silence for a long time, Sam almost shaken by the
knowledge, Toby saddened by the reminder.

Sam cleared his throat. "God, Toby, I'm sorry."

"For what?" Toby asked, confused.

"For--for asking. For having family. Jesus I don't know."

Toby nodded. "Thanks for bringing this to me."

It was an abrupt subject change, and one that Sam welcomed with open arms.

"Sure." He stood, still somewhat dazed with what he'd been told, and headed for
the door. He paused at the doorway and said over his shoulder, "You need to go
home, you know."

"Some of us have work to do," Toby said, picking up a pen and pulling a
particular stack of papers to the front again.

"And some of us were recently shot."

"Thank you for reminding me." There was no malice in his voice.
Sam smiled to himself. The old Toby was back.

"Anytime," Sam said as he slipped out the door, subdued by the knowledge
that Josh had no one to go celebrate holidays with outside of his friends.

After Sam had left, Toby looked down at the folder. His thoughts drifted
back to his earlier conversation with Josh.

It's not like there's anyone to tell.

Toby shook off the feeling of regret that followed the memory of Josh's
remark. He resolutely turned back to the paperwork in front of him, determined
to make it home before eleven.