"I'm going to say something now," Sam began carefully when the waitress left.

"No, let me. I didn't blame you for the leadership breakfast." Toby put down his bottle and raised his eyes, sighing.

"I didn't think you could possibly provide a reason."

"Rather, I didn't blame you personally. I blamed everyone around for not being there to help me take the fall, and while I realize the gesture has some qualities analogous to reaching, it was the best I could come up with on short notice."

"Well, in that case I'd like to blame you for the fight I had with Mallory today because I kept thinking about you screwing me over the whole time and she finds it upsetting when I don't pay attention."

"I understand," said Toby, smiling just a little bit.

"And you wouldn't let me go see the President."

"No."

Sam sat silently for a moment, words of earnestness caught in his throat.

"GDC is the reason I got involved," he said finally. "It wasn't completely Josh's influence, you know. I thought if I could have some bearing on the Global Defense and spare the world the exacerbating effects of the Greenhouse Effect, my life would gain meaning."

"It's a day-by-day fight, Sam. You can't win it, but you can stay in battle and not get killed."

"How did you know the drop-in would turn out like this?"

"I know the President a little. I realize you know him, too, but this was right in front of my eyes the whole time while you were too preoccupied with the issue."

"And that's a bad thing?"

"I didn't say that, Sam."

"Didn't you? I thought your actions throughout the course of this day said that quite clearly."

"Yes," agreed Toby.

"You undermined my authority, you belittled my work, and you wouldn't let me talk to the President when I wanted an explanation - which I believe I was entitled to!"

"Yes."

"Where the hell do you get off telling me what to do?"

"I'm your direct supervisor?" offered Toby.

Sam took another sip of his beer.

"I'm a better writer than you are," he said, swallowing nervously.

"Yes."

"I'm also... did you just agree with me?"

Toby shifted in his chair.

"You're a better writer, Sam. You are young, passionate, zealous, and you care about everything so much more than I would ever give a damn to bother. But I'm a better politician than you, and even that is only because I've been at it since before you were born."

"I *am* a better writer than you are," repeated Sam with conviction.

"And in time, you will be a better politician, but for now I'd advise you to stop taking political issues so personally and learn from the mistakes you make, as I'm learning from mine. While you need almost no help in writing, it might do you good to pay attention to the great teachers in politics you've got around you."

"That sounds a bit patronizing, Toby."

"Ah, Sam. The son I never paid alimony for."

Sam chuckled.

"Admitting I'm a better writer than you must have been hard."

"You have no idea."

"I'm also much more handsome."

"Crossing the line there, Seaborn."

"Wanna go ask C.J.?"

"Only if you're in for a round of sharp female sarcasm. In that case I'd be happy to get Bonnie and Ginger to come along."

"Hey. You're paying for my drinks, I think I've made my point."

"Fair enough," Toby agreed, standing up. "Truce?"

"Truce." Sam shook his hand willingly. "Until the next time I'm out of the loop."

"It'll be a while, then. Friends tell the truth, remember?"

They walked out of the mess, falling in each other's stride, as the day closed its eyes at the hurt and unfairness that was not to repeat itself.