AN: I don't really know if anyone's going to be all that interested in these little one-shots, but just in case any of you are, I figured I'd let you know they aren't really going to be in any kind of order as I'm just writing them at random as inspiration strikes. I can't really promise any sort of regular updates, either (I kinda still haven't finished the show...), but I'll try to keep adding to it. Also, I can't really make any promises (my muse is awfully fickle), but if anyone would like to see a chapter based on a certain episode or event, feel free to message me or leave a request in the comments :)

6.09 Impact Winter

Sam is surprised to be woken in the middle of the night by his phone ringing. His sleeping habits have greatly improved since leaving the White House. When he worked there, he was used to things like this happening; now, not so much. He fumbles around for a moment in the dark, struggling to locate his phone. When he finally finds it, he answers without bothering to look who's calling.

"H'llo?"

"Sam?"

In his exhaustion, it takes him a moment to place the familiar voice. He sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes. "Toby?" he asks groggily, confused. Until now, Josh, Toby, and CJ have been good about remembering the difference in time zones between DC and California. Glancing at the clock, Sam briefly wonders what could possibly have happened in Washington at four in the morning that had resulted in him receiving a call at one o'clock California time.

"Did I wake you up?"

"Well, you know, most adults who don't work in the White House do tend to be asleep at one in the morning…"

"I didn't know what time it was there."

Slightly more alert now, Sam pushes his comforter off and swings his legs out of bed, stretching as he tries to wake himself more fully. That's when it finally hits him. How can Toby not know what time it is? "Where are you right now?"

"On a plane," Toby answers shortly. Then he adds, "Somewhere over China, I guess."

"Right," Sam says in sudden realization. "The summit."

"Yeah."

Sam lets out a long breath, knowing Toby has to have called for a reason, but also recognizing that it's something he's reluctant to share. "What's going on, Toby?"

There's silence for a moment. And then: "The president's having an episode."

Sam, who's just decided to make his way to the kitchen for a glass of water, stops dead and almost drops his phone. "You mean the MS?"

"Yeah, Sam," Toby answers heavily. "The MS."

"What's – " Sam's voice is unsteady, and he has to stop and clear his throat. "What's wrong, exactly?"

"Started out unable to move his hands," Toby says quietly. "We decided to let him rest for a while. Then we found out about a – a situation, went to take it in to him… he couldn't move at all."

For a long moment, Sam isn't sure what he should focus on. He's torn between the rational side of his brain, the part that's worried about the implications of Bartlet being unable to go through with the China summit, and the emotional, the part that's worried about the man who for more than five years had been a mentor – and practically a second father – to him. And then a wayward thought crosses his mind, and he fixates on it, if only for the sake of having something coherent to say. "Does the press know? Is the press going to know?"

"Not yet," Toby admits. "We're going to have to make a statement, I guess."

"So… no one else outside the plane knows about this yet?"

"No."

"So you really shouldn't have called me."

"Not really."

Sam laughs nervously. "Right." There's silence again for a while, until Sam decides to break it with an obvious question. "So why did you call me, then?"

"Doesn't one of us always call you when something like this happens?" Toby asks.

Sam knows him well enough to recognize that he's being evasive. "One of you always calls me when big things happen," he concedes. "But I wouldn't go so far as to say that something like this has happened before."

"Right," Toby mutters, agreeing reluctantly.

Tired and more than a little exasperated, Sam is about to repeat his question when Toby speaks again.

"So what do you think?"

Sam sits down at his kitchen table, sipping at a glass of water. "What do I think?" he echoes glumly. "Well… you can't cancel the summit."

"I agree."

"That's not what you were asking about, was it?"

"Not really."

"I think…" He hesitates for a moment, running a hand through his hair. "You just have to trust him, Toby. He had to have known something like this was coming. He knows what he's doing. He's not letting anyone tell him he should order the plane to turn around, is he?"

"Of course not."

"Course not," Sam repeats softly. "Whatever happens… he'll handle it. It might not be great, but he'll get through it. Everything'll work out okay."

Sam can picture Toby hunched forward in his seat, rubbing at his forehead. "You really believe that, don't you?"

"Yeah," Sam answers honestly. "I do."

To his surprise, when Toby answers, he sounds relieved. "Good."

Sam can't help the grin that spreads across his face at Toby's reply. "Is that why you called me?"

"No."

"It is, isn't it? You were worried and you wanted me to make you feel better."

"That's not why I called."

"Then why did you?" Sam challenges, still grinning shamelessly.

There's no answer.

Sam glances at the phone in his hand, making sure the call is still connected. It is. "Toby? Is that why you – "

"Shut up."

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Sam can't help letting out a snort of laughter. "It's gonna be okay, Toby. I know you're gonna keep worrying, but it's gonna be okay."

"I'm not worrying."

"Right. Course not."

"I'm not."

"No, I know. You're not worrying."

"Right."

"Right," Sam repeats sarcastically, still grinning.

If it was possible for an eye roll to be audible, Toby would have managed it. "I'm hanging up now, Sam."

"I mean it, Toby, don't worry about him so much – "

"Goodbye, Sam."

The call cuts off. Shaking his head, Sam downs the last of his water and leaves the glass by the sink, returning to his room and falling back into bed. By the sound of it, whatever is happening with the president and his MS at the moment is fairly serious, especially given its timing – but Sam had meant what he'd said to Toby. Jed Bartlet has lived with MS for more than a decade, and Sam has no doubt at all that he's not going to let it get the better of him today.

Some six thousand miles away, Toby settles back into his seat, letting out a long breath. As usual, Sam had seen right through his flimsy premise for the call – and, as usual, he had managed to do exactly what Toby had hoped he would. He looks up as CJ enters the cabin and stops next to his seat.

"You all right, Toby?"

"Yeah."

"Because it's just…" CJ hesitates, takes a deep breath. "This isn't going to be easy. He's gonna need all of us to be on top of our game as soon as we land. We can't seem flustered, or – or uncertain at all about whether or not he can do this, or – "

"CJ," Toby says firmly, leaning forward to look her in the eye. "It's gonna be fine."

CJ glances briefly at the phone in his hand, and something clicks. She nods, and finally allows herself a small smile. "You talked to him, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

"You really think it's gonna be okay?"

"Yeah."

CJ nods, letting out a sigh of relief. "Okay."