“You’re not sitting up alone are you?” asked her father. She could hear the exhaustion in his voice.

“Are you?” She had countering down to a science.

“On my way home from work if you must know.”

“Eleven thirty on a Sunday night?”

“And what are you doing?”

“Watching Dick Clark.”

“Why? It’s always the same-”

“Dad, I know there’s a reason for this call. I have yet to figure it out and you have yet to reveal it.”

“Sam’s in his office.” She was silent for a solid two minutes, wondering what she should do with that morsel of information. “Mal?”

“Yeah?”

“Just making sure you were still there.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, anyway, baby, have a good night. Call me next year.”

“You think you’re so clever.”

“I am.”

“Yeah. Night, Dad. Happy New Year.”

“Not for another thirty-no, twenty-six minutes.” She sighed at her father’s detail. “Good night, baby.”

“Night, Dad.”

She wandered through the halls of the West Wing, a large brown paper bag at her side, stopping in the communications bullpen to watch him work through the open blinds. He always looked so focused when he worked, so determined. She admired him for it, the same way she admired her father’s work ethic. Leo’s work had kept him off the bottle for years. It was when his career was hitting major lows that his drinking rose as well as his drug abuse. She hated that, because of his job, her parents split. It was a vicious circle.

Looking at her watch, she had exactly seven minutes to make her peace. She walked to his open door and leaned against the doorjamb, clearing her throat. When that didn’t break his concentration, she spoke. “Sam?”

“Yeah?” he asked, working away. She shook her head lightly.

“Sam Seaborn?” His fingers stopped dancing on his laptop keyboard instantly and he looked up.

“Mallory.”

“Hi,” she said with a faint smile.

“What are you doing here?’

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I’m working.”

“I see that.”

“Then why’d you ask?”

“Do you know what day it is?”

“New Year’s Eve,” he said, looking at the laptop.

“Yeah.”

“So why aren’t you out at a party? Surely Richard Andruchuck has friends who are throwing galas.”

“He does,” Mallory conceded with a nod.

“Then why-”

“Because I broke up with him a month ago.”

“You did what?” he asked, looking up at her with wide eyes.

“I don’t stutter, Sam.”

“A month ago would put that around the time of the Reykjavik Symphony Orchestra performance.”

“It would put it on that night, yes.”

“Mallory, that picture...” he said, standing. “Maybe I should have called, maybe I should’ve listened to Toby and not even gone to visit her but-”

“Sam.”

“Yeah?”

“Should auld acquaintance be forgot and never come to mind,” she said. “I want to start the New Year, the real start of the new millennium, being happy.”

“Me, too...”

“You’re happy sitting here on New Year’s Eve working on a speech?” Sam glanced at his watch for the first time in hours.

“It’s three minutes to midnight.”

“Yes, it is.”

“I thought it was nine o’clock maybe.”

“You’re way off, there, Skipper.”

“So I see.” Mallory placed the bag on his desk and pulled out a cardboard top hat with “2001” printed on it and handed it to Sam. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Wear it of course,” she said as she put a shimmering tiara on her head, complete with four sparkling numerals sticking out on top. “I promise no photographs, Sam. No one will see it but me.” He reluctantly put the hat on.

“And this is in your grand scheme of being happy?”

“Yes, but I wouldn’t call it a ‘scheme,’ I’d call it a plan.”

“Okay.”

“Want to hear more of my plan?”

“You’ve got well over two minutes. Shoot.”

“It’s going to involve something I normally have trouble doing.”

“What’s that?”

“Putting the past in its place.”

“Mallory?” he asked as she handed him a horn.

“She’s your friend, right? Laurie?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Sam asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow.

“You want to give me the benefit of the doubt here? I mean, it’s New Year’s Eve; I just told you I’m no longer attached to anyone. Don’t I get a little slack?”

“Okay.”

“Good,” she said with a nod. “Now, do you want to watch the ball drop?”

“Huh?”

“In New York City? On TV? I mean, I know you lived in the Big Apple for a while. I thought-”

“No, it’s okay.”

“You sure?”

“Do you want to see it?”

“No, I get depressed when I watch it because that means I’m at home and not out on New Year’s.”

“Okay.”

“That’s a nice hat, by the way.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome.”

“What’s the rest of your plan?”

“Well,” she said slowly. “I suppose this is more a resolution than a part of my plan but... I’m going to cut down on my coffee intake and chaperone more events at Clearlake-the hours can be draining but fun.”

“Okay. I just... I’m confused.”

“About what? See, normally I only go on trips or to events they tell me I have to attend. But, in February, there’s a trip to Richmond that I think would be grand.”

“About us. I mean... In your equation for happiness, does ‘us’ even factor in?”

“That depends.”

“On what?” Mallory handed him a noisemaker.

“Do you think if we pulled the string on these popper streamer things that the Secret Service would come in?” Mallory asked, pulling a handful of the little poppers out of her bag.

“I don’t know. The Bartlets are in Hanover for the holiday, I... I honestly don’t know.”

“I brought them but I wasn’t sure. They didn’t confiscate them on my way in-the Service I mean-so I guess it’s okay.”

Sam was thoroughly lost. Of course anything having to do even remotely with women was just beyond his comprehension, especially so late at night. He watched Mallory pull out a bottle of champagne followed by two crystal glasses wrapped in tissue paper.

“Would you do the honors?” she asked, nodding to the bottle as she saw to the glasses. “I can never manage to get the cork out.”

“Sure,” Sam said dazedly.

“How much time?” He glanced at his watch.

“Thirty seconds now.”

“Hurry up; open the bottle,” said Mallory as she watched the seconds tick down on her watch. She jumped when the cork flew, with fifteen seconds to go, but held the glasses steady while Sam poured. Setting the glasses on the desk, she crossed to him quickly, mindful of how dangerously close they were to midnight-eight seconds to be exact. “I want you to know; I love you.”

“M-Mallory, I-”

“The key to my happiness plan-”

“Yeah?”

“Is you.”

Sam leaned down until his lips met hers on the exact stroke of midnight. The slow, gentle kiss lasted well into the New Year. When they finally parted, Sam whispered, “I love you.”

“Happy New Year,” she said, handing him a glass of champagne.

“A very *happy* New Year.”