Despite painstaking research and several drafts, Toby found his latest speech on the healthcare reform issue "pedantic and idealistic."

When spoken by Toby the words dripped with scorn. Sam had spent half of his time in bed, a scant four hours, dreaming about new revisions.

He groaned and eased himself out of bed and off to his shower. He'd felt tired for days and his stomach had been too upset to eat last night so he felt generally crummy. As a speechwriter for the President, he mused to himself that he should be able to describe his condition with something more erudite that "generally crummy." But it was very early.

He reminded himself that Toby was leaving on a trip for labor negotiations in Detroit tonight and would be unable to torture him in person for four glorious days. He smiled at that thought.

After several cups of strong coffee and a relatively peaceful commute to work, Sam felt his day was on track. That ended the moment he strode into the West Wing to hear Toby yelling at someone on the phone.

"What do you mean by THAT Senator Tavings??!!! Yeah, you're an idiot. Go milk some cows or whatever they do in Iowa for fun." Toby growled and slammed down the phone.

"Making new friends so early in the morning Toby?" quipped Sam.

"Shut up Sam. Do you have a new draft for me yet?"

"Toby, I just left here a few hours ago, I do need at least three hours of sleep once a week, so, NO, I don't have a draft for you yet." Sam responded with more rancor than usual and Toby was surprised enough to pause and allow Sam to disappear into his office and close the door.

"Okay, that was weird." Toby mumbled and moved off to his office.

An hour later, Toby, Sam, Josh, Leo and the President convened briefly in the Oval Office to discuss upcoming events for the week and the day.

The President was in a jovial mood because his Notre Dame team had demolished its opponent the day before. Briefing was, therefore, short and relatively pleasant.

Sam sat quietly on the couch and tried to stay awake. He realized that he'd not had anything to eat since lunch the day before. He thought about swiping the last of the muffins from the tray. He moved forward to snatch it from the tray, but when he looked at it, his stomach flipped and he felt a wave of nausea. He decided against the muffin.

Josh looked at him oddly. Sam never missed the chance to snag the last muffin. Unlike Josh, whose "sensitive" system was an ongoing joke, Sam could eat and drink anything without adverse effects and his appetite was legendary.

The President waxed poetic about the glory of his team for a few more minutes and they managed to finish the briefing.

As they left the Oval Office, Mrs. Laningham offered Sam a cookie, as usual. He smiled politely, but stiffly, and practically ran down the hall to the rest room to throw up.

So much for my Monday looking up in any way, thought Sam as he wiped his face with a paper towel and tried to tell himself he couldn't be the pale guy in mirror.

He went back to his office and tried to work on the draft. At 11 AM he realized that he'd managed to write only two new paragraphs. He thought about getting more coffee but realized his stomach couldn't handle it. To make things worse, he'd began having real pain in his abdomen and he felt like he had a fever. But Toby would want to see the new draft before he left in a few hours. He kept working.

Despite several interruptions in the form of phone calls, and questions from Kathy about his schedule, he managed to finish the revisions by 6pm. Toby was due to leave at eight.

He handed off the draft to Kathy to photocopy and returned to his office. He'd felt progressively worse over the last few hours. Despite taking several doses of Motrin, Tylenol and Maalox, his abdominal pain had worsened and his fever blazed on.

C.J. rapped softly on his office door. Peering in, she saw Sam with his head down on his desk. He didn't respond to her when she called softly, so she stepped all the way in and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, are you okay?" C.J. asked in quiet tones. Sam was usually the most energetic of them all. She'd never seen him sleeping in his office.

Sam stirred at her touch and looked up.

"Hey C.J. What's up?"

"Sam, you look bad. What's wrong?"

"I'm a little sick I guess."

"You look more than a 'little' sick, Sam. What's the deal?"

"I guess I must have the stomach flu or something. I've been nauseated and had a fever all day. And my belly feels like it's going to explode at any second."

"Sam, you need to see a doctor."

"For this? They'd laugh at me. It's nothing. And I have too much work to do."

C.J. looked at him closely. He looked pale. A fine sheen of perspiration was on his face, and he couldn't fight the pain enough to hide it from her. His usually vivid blue eyes were dulled with fever and pain. She was truly worried.

"Sam, please be reasonable- " C.J began, but was cut off when Josh popped his head in the door.

"Guys, Oval Office in five minutes. There's a new thing." Josh made a quick announcement and was gone.

C.J. sat next to Sam on the couch at the briefing. She watched him closely. He was clearly still feeling horrible. Josh and Toby were on a tirade and Leo was unsuccessfully trying to rein them in. C.J. wasn't sure what the issue was, but it was, in the scheme of things, stupid. She knew this because the President was sitting quietly at his desk watching the show with calm amusement.

Finally, the President looked over at Sam and C.J. on the couch and just smiled indulgently. The "kids" were at it again. But then he looked closely at Sam and realized something was wrong.

Sam was sitting there, straight and calmly as usual. But he was pale and sweating and clearly not aware of the entertainment being provided by the Josh-Toby-Leo routine. This was unusual.

Bartlet rose and went to the couch to sit next to Sam.

"Hey Sam, what's up?'

Sam took a moment to respond. "Not much sir."

Bartlet looked at C.J. "So C.J.," he continued calmly, "What's Sam not telling me?"

"He's sick, sir. He really needs to be seen by a doctor."

"Sam, is that so?" said Bartlet quietly. Sam managed a scathing, but weak glower at C.J. for her betrayal.

Behind them, Leo, Toby and Josh continued to rant, oblivious to the quiet conversation on the couch.

"I'm just a little sick, sir. But Toby's leaving tonight, so I'm sure I'll feel better."

Bartlet smiled at Sam's humor, but continued to look at him quizzically.

"Sam, you are going home right after this meeting. C.J.'s gonna drive you."

He looked at C.J. briefly for confirmation and she nodded.

Bartlet stood. "Excuse me while I stifle the kids before they come to blows."

In a rather loud voice, Bartlet said "Leo- I think we are done here."

They continued to argue for a moment before the comment registered and then parted to neutral corners.

"Everyone go home and get some rest. Toby, have a nice trip. Try not to piss anybody really important off."

Toby and Josh stalked from the room after saying goodnight to the President. Bartlet nodded to Leo and he looked at Sam for the first time that evening.

"Jesus Sam, you look like Hell," Leo said with characteristic calm.

"Thanks, Leo. I'll go now."

Sam rose slowly from the couch with C.J. hovering at his side. He managed about two steps before doubling over in pain and being eased back into the couch by C.J.

Leo's face instantly changed to concern, and he stepped over to stand by Sam on the sofa.

"Sam, what's wrong?"

Sam shifted to lie down on the couch, in too much pain to answer.

C.J. spoke. "He's been in pain for hours. He has a fever and he hasn't eaten anything all day."

Leo shot a nervous glance at Bartlet, who was on the phone summoning the Secret Service for an escort to the hospital.

Sam didn't remember much of the next twelve hours. He'd been unconscious by the time the ambulance collected him from the West Wing.

He awoke briefly in the middle of the night to a surgeon telling him they'd removed his burst appendix and that he'd be very sick for awhile. He had a hazy memory of Josh and a pale and uncharacteristically remorseful Toby visiting his room and arguing over who felt more guilt at their failure to realize he was sick.

Two days later, when his fever had abated and the sedatives had worn off, he awoke to see C.J. at his bedside reading the paper.

"Hey." Sam managed weakly.

"Hey yourself. You scared us all to death you know."

"I'm sorry."

C.J. smiled at him. "Just glad you're okay. Don't do it again, huh. Toby feels so bad he's been a bear to everyone."

"Worse than usual? Is that possible.?"

"Yeah, it is. And Josh feels horrible because he didn't notice you were sick until you collapsed in the Oval Office."

Sam looked panicked. "Oh God, I did collapse in the Oval Office. The President-"

"- knows you were sick." C.J. interjected before he could continue. "Now just settle back into bed and sleep, Sam."

Sam smiled at her and squeezed the hand she'd placed over his. Then he closed his eyes to catch up on his sleep. The draft revisions of the speech still chased him in his dreams, but he just smiled happily. He finally felt well enough to start rewriting.