On the other hand, Sam being Sam, chances were he would have thought the same thing if it had been 20 below with howling winds and six feet of snow. And to top things off, he was having breakfast in one of his favourite restaurants, with his... maybe-girlfriend.

"I'll be right back." Mallory smiled at him as she got up.

"Sure," Sam said lazily, beckoning the waitress.

"You're looking awfully chipper this morning, sir," the waitress said, smiling, handing him his check.

"It's my birthday," Sam announced proudly, grinning.

"Happy birthday," smiled the waitress, accepting payment and wandering off, dying to tell her friends that she had made the cute guy smile at her.

Mallory returned and raised her eyebrows. "We going?"

"Yeah." Sam stood, helped Mallory put on her coat, still grinning.

Mallory hesitated for a second, then said, "You know what day it is today?"

"Of course I do," Sam replied, shaking his head at all the hilarious hijinks. Good ol' Mallory, always good for a laugh. Well... always good for an argument, anyway.

Mallory smiled hesitantly. "I'm surprised you remember. And you don't mind?"

"Of course not. Why would I?"

"Because it means I'll have to cancel lunch!"

Sam stared at her, his smile fading. "What? Why?"

Mallory gave him an exasperated look. "Because, idiot, I can't cut my class's field trip short just to have lunch with you. I explained all this over the phone yesterday."

"Field trip?" Sam repeated incredulously, vaguely remembering a call from Mallory in the middle of a high-level meeting. "Today is field trip day?"

"Yes! What did you think I was talking about?"

Sam hesitated, then sagged. "Um... nothing. Nothing. Field trip day. Right."

Mallory smiled. "We can reschedule for tomorrow."

"Sure." Sam gave a half-hearted smile as she kissed him on the cheek.

"Walk me to my car," she ordered.

"Right."

****

Sam strolled into the West Wing almost completely recovered from the disappointment of having his sort-of-girlfriend – he still wasn't entirely clear where he stood in that regard – forget his birthday, and feeling decidedly optimistic about the day ahead. So what if the day of his birth had slipped Mallory's mind? She was a busy woman; she had things on her mind. A field trip with a bunch of snot-nosed kids was naturally more important than he could ever be. God forbid she should ever make up her mind about him enough to remember tiny details like his *birthday*, for crying out loud... Sam cut short that train of thought. He was being unfair; of course he was. The best of people overlooked things sometimes.

He sauntered into the communications bullpen with the cheerful smile back on his face.

"Morning, Toby!"

"What's good about it?!"

"I didn't say it was good..." Sam said, bewildered. That hadn't sounded much like "happy birthday" to him.

"Oh, you were thinking it. It was implied. It was written all over your face." Toby glared at him as though being in a good mood was the worst crime that had ever been committed in the history of the multiverse. Actually, Toby was just trying to figure out why, the moment he had seen Sam, an itchy feeling had crawled across the back of his brain, which usually meant that he had forgotten something.

"Having trouble writing the speech thing, Toby? Because I'd be happy to help."

"I don't need your help!" Toby snapped irritably, rubbing his head. Seeing Sam's crestfallen expression, he rolled his eyes and relented. "I should have it finished by tonight. Why don't you look it over for me."

Sam brightened, a slightly disbelieving expression flickering across his face. "Really? I... Sure."

"Yeah," Toby muttered, before stomping into his office and slamming the door.

"Morning, Cathy." Sam quickly regained his equilibrium, flashing his secretary a smile on his way into his office.

"Oh!" Cathy leapt to her feet and followed Sam, holding both hands behind her back. "Sam!"

Sam slid into his chair, put his feet on the desk and turned his attention to his assistant. "Yes?"

Cathy smiled awkwardly. "Happy birthday!"

Sam nodded happily. "Thanks."

Cathy produced a package from behind her back and held it out. "Donna and Margaret and Ginger and, well, all of us, we all got you this. Even Mrs. Landingham chipped in."

Sam gave a surprised, touched look, then smiled. "Well, isn't that sweet."

He leaned forward, took the package, and carefully began peeling off the wrapping.

Cathy watched impatiently. "Oh, just rip it!" she said sharply, after an excruciating two-minute wait.

He glanced up, smiled, shrugged. "But it's wrapped so nicely!" He shook his head in response to the look Cathy gave him, and tore off the remaining wrapping.

"Wow! It's... uh... a pair of boxer shorts with yellow smiley faces and cute little puppies all over them! Just what I always wanted!"

"There's more."

"Oh, well I never. A matching tie! And socks with little happy kittens! Well, that's a nice contrast. And, oh, a cookie with a note attached – unlimited cookies for a week. How sweet!"

"They're cheer-up clothing items. Well, except for the cookie."

Sam blinked. "Pardon?"

Cathy sighed, exasperated. "When you're feeling down in the dumps, you put them on and they cheer you up. That's the theory, anyway." She felt like a bit of an idiot, but Donna had insisted that cheer-up clothes were exactly what everyone needed, without exception. With special emphasis on Toby.

Sam stared at his present for a moment, gave a short bark of laughter, and turned a huge grin on Cathy. "This is the nicest present I've ever had," he said sincerely. "Thank you."

Cathy smiled back. "You can wear them to ward off your mid-life crisis."

Sam's grin faltered. "I'm not old enough for a mid-life crisis."

"You do occasionally like to get an early start on things. Anyway, you're thirty-two. If you live to seventy, that's almost half your life! If you live 'til ninety, it's a third!"

Sam swallowed, then morosely reached for the cheer-up tie.

Cathy blanched. "Oh, no! I've upset you. And on your birthday! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean..."

"Yeah," Sam said moodily, then laughed. "I'm kidding. Thank you for the present. It was very thoughtful."

Cathy looked relieved. "Wait, there's a card!" She rushed out and then rushed back in, holding a white envelope.

Sam pulled out the card – a number of octogenarians, all with their arms raised, and in bold letters across them, "It's unanimous!" He opened the card. Inside, it said, "You're old." It had been signed by all the secretaries, with short birthday messages from each. "Thanks," Sam repeated, smirking at one of the messages.

Cathy nodded, smiled, and left to tell everyone that Sam had liked his gift.

He watched her shut the door, looked down at his present, and, shaking his head and laughing, picked up his cookie.

Four hours later, Sam had to face the fact that every senior staffer had forgotten his birthday. Danny had stopped in with a card, a framed picture of all the senior staff grinning at the camera, and best wishes, "his" Secret Service agent had given him a whistle to blow in the event of an emergency, and CJ, Leo, Josh, Toby... Had all utterly forgotten about him.

He couldn't understand it. They had remembered everyone else's birthday. CJ had even helped Josh plan his own surprise party. Of course, three weeks before his birthday Josh had started dropping such subtle hints as, "Guess who's having a birthday in three weeks? I'll give you a hint: the name starts with a 'J' and ends with an 'osh'. And he wants a surprise party."

Sam sat slumped in his chair, glumly bouncing a tennis ball off the ceiling, listening with half an ear to the droning of the small portable radio he kept in his office for no ascertainable reason. Okay, there probably was a reason, and it probably involved listening to talk shows for possible stories, but then, what's CNN for if not exactly that, only with pictures? At the moment, there seemed to be some kind of on-air counseling session going on.

"...And this makes you angry," said the radio host dude, whose name was Bob.

"Nah, man. I'm just a little annoyed," said the caller.

"Word to that," Sam muttered, throwing the ball at the ceiling and catching

it.

"You're more than that. I think you're flat out angry. Tell me why." Bob had the most irritatingly soothing voice Sam had ever heard.

"Well," Sam muttered, talking over the caller. "I will admit I'm slightly ticked off, since the people purporting to be my best friends are all too busy to recall that it's my birthday. And after I got them all such nice presents for theirs, too. Would you believe my parents haven't even called? Even Charlie forgot, and he never forgets anything. And then there's my girlf- my could-be-girlf – there's Mallory." He threw the ball a little harder than he had been doing thus far, and it ricocheted downward at much more of an angle than he was prepared for. In the ensuing attempt to catch it, Sam managed to tip his chair too far back, and went crashing to the ground.

Cathy ran in. "Sam? I heard a thump. Sam?!"

"Now I want you to let go of that anger, say goodbye, blow it away to the sky, whoosh," said Bob.

"Goodbye," Sam said, woozily. "Whoosh!"

Cathy heard a soft giggling, which quickly escalated into full-blown guffaws, with muffled exclamations of pain thrown in every so often. "Sam?" she repeated uncertainly. "Would you like me to call a doctor?"

****

By the time it was time to knock off for the night, Sam had decided that his birthday was no big deal anyway, and his headache had faded sufficiently for him to risk talking to someone without snapping. His friends may not have remembered what day it was, but that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy the company of at least one of them.

"Josh!"

Josh skidded to a halt. "Yep?" Don't yell at me again, he thought frantically. Sam was *really good* at scathing sarcasm when he tried, as Josh had discovered today.

"Laurie's taking me out for a drink tonight. Up for it?"

Josh mulled this over for a second. "She hates me," he announced, resuming his original walking pace now that he knew Sam was just going to talk and not rip him to shreds.

"That's why I want you to come. I know that if she knew you better, she'd still hate you, but in a better way."

Josh blinked slowly. "Ri-ight. Okay. Sure. Why not?" A thought occurred to him. "Why's she taking you out?"

Sam shrugged, not about to tell Josh if he didn't know. "She's just treating me, is all. She even volunteered to be the designated driver. She hates having to stay sober," he added proudly. Such good friends he occasionally had.

"Okay, then," Josh announced decisively, "I'll come."

*****

"Did he have to come?" Laurie complained in a whisper, as Josh was over at the bar buying drinks.

"I wanted you to find out that he's a good guy underneath all the... the..."

"Obstinate folly?"

"Er, okay."

"And you say I'm not allowed to get inebriated in order to help me learn what a good guy he allegedly is?"

"Look at you," Sam said, smiling contentedly. "Talking like a lawyer."

Laurie stuck her tongue out at him, before turning her brightest smile on a returning Josh. "Well," she whispered, before he sat down, "If I have to stay sober, I can at least make sure he has a killer headache tomorrow."

****

Sam and Josh had assumed identical positions at opposite ends of their table. They had their heads on the table, facing sideways, and were attempting to drink beer out of the bottle without lifting their heads. This involved much fish-like puckering of lips, and resulted in very little beer going into them and a large puddle of beer accumulating on the table. The competition to see who could drink the most in this position had begun when Sam had suddenly announced, "I can't hold my head up anymore," and allowed himself to slump forward over the table. Josh had become jealous, and had done the same. It looked like fun.

Laurie sat between them, slightly away from the table so as not to be dripped on, and watched unhappily. Had she had as many beers as Sam, she would doubtless have been joining them in their endeavor, but alas, she had to stay sober. She hated that designated driver crap. And, she added mentally, she had never seen anyone get quite as drunk as Josh was from two beers and a tequila shooter.

"Come on, you two, time to go home before you drown," she announced eventually.

****

"What shall we do with the drunken staffers, early in the morning," Sam sang, loudly, but quite well, leaning heavily on both Laurie and Josh as they staggered into the elevator. Josh was barely standing himself, but he managed to stay upright by leaning on Sam as Sam leaned on him.

"Put 'em with the President and lock the door," Josh sang tonelessly.

Sam looked horrified. "No! That's... awful..."

They stumbled out of the lift and down the hall.

"Shhhh," Sam said, trying to put a finger to his lips, but missing. "My landlord lives on this floor. Ifwemakeanoise -" he stopped and started again, speaking slowly and deliberately. "If we make a noise, she won't like me anymore." This was untrue. The owner of the building thought Sam was very pretty, and wouldn't have thrown him out for the world.

"Here we go... Easy... Hold him up, Josh." Laurie looked over at Josh and rolled her eyes. "Who am I kidding?" She allowed both of her companions to slide bonelessly to the ground while she struggled with Sam's keys, trying to get into his apartment.

A few minutes later, Laurie, with a tiny bit of fumbling help from Josh, lay Sam down on his bed, where he promptly passed out. Laurie smiled faintly as she started untying his shoes.

"Ooh." Josh fell into a chair and watched silently, waiting for his head to stop spinning.

Laurie tossed Sam's shoes to the floor, slid his jacket off with some difficulty, and pulled the covers over him, tucking him in. "Happy birthday, Sam," she said, ruffling his hair.

Josh straightened slightly. Only slightly. "Birthday?" he repeated.

She looked at him. "Don't tell me you didn't know. Your best friend and you forgot?" She sounded utterly disgusted.

"Of course I knew!" Josh said. After a pause, he admitted, "I don't think anybody knew." He pulled himself to his feet and reeled around the apartment. "Phone, phone," he muttered. "Guy like Sam's bound to have a pen by the phone." There was, indeed, a pen by the phone, as well as a notepad.

Josh laboriously wrote three letters on the top sheet, followed by several exclamation marks, tore it off and put it in his pocket. "That way I'll remember tomorrow," he said, sounding extraordinarily self-satisfied.

Laurie sighed. "We'd better get you home too, I suppose. Where do you live?"

Josh shut one eye and squinted at her with the other. "Uhhhh..."

Laurie rolled her eyes. "Okay. A guy like Sam is bound to have your address in his Rolodex. Which will probably be..." She held up the required item triumphantly as she finished, "...by the phone."

****

Cathy awaited the arrival of her superior with anticipation. She had heard from Donna – who had heard from Josh during an extremely late-night drunken phone call – that he had gotten completely smashed the night before, and she was very interested in seeing how he looked this morning.

She didn't have long to wait. Sam came in at eight o'clock sharp, looking, disappointingly, as immaculate as ever, except for a single lick of hair that stood straight up from his head. His only concession to his hung-over state was a pair of mirrored sunglasses to conceal his bloodshot eyes.

She unconsciously stepped in front of him to get a closer look, forcing him to stop walking. He couldn't be completely neat, surely... She examined him closely. Freshly shaved, not a hair out of place – except, of course, for the little piece of hair that didn't seem to want anything to do with his head. She resisted the urge to smooth it down.

"Good morning, Cathy," he said in a polite, even tone, standing as still as possible and not moving his head.

"Morning," she said, fascinated. He sounded mostly normal – slightly hoarse, but that was all. Donna would be so jealous – Josh was such a wreck hung-over. "I see you're wearing your cheer-up tie and..." She glanced at his feet. "... socks."

"You'd be surprised how much they don't help a hangover."

"They're not supposed to. They're supposed to cheer you up. Are you wearing the boxers too?"

"I'm not sure it would be appropriate to tell you that."

"So, yes, then."

"Yes."

"Okay."

"As long as you're blocking my path, would you mind finding out if Toby has finished that thing for me to look over?" Sam ventured a slightly hesitant smile. When this didn't seem to cause him undue distress, he slowly turned up the wattage.

Cathy watched her boss in silence for a moment. Then, without looking away, she shouted, "Bonnie! Has Toby given you the thing yet?"

She noted, impressed, that Sam didn't even flinch – although, behind the sunglasses, she could well imagine that he was giving her the skunk-eye.

"No!" Bonnie yelled back.

"No," Cathy reported, in a normal tone.

"Why do you torture me?" Sam asked calmly, still smiling fixedly, still standing very still.

She shrugged. "I have to entertain myself somehow."

There was a long pause. Cathy found it disconcerting to try and meet eyes she couldn't see, but she gave it a go anyway.

Finally, Sam said, "Cathy, could you please bring me a glass of water, with just a pinch of salt and, if possible, a teaspoon of honey – if not, sugar will do - and an aspirin."

"You don't want coffee?"

"Coffee," Sam informed her, "is about the worst thing you can do to a hangover. Make it a bottle of aspirin. And bring a jug of ordinary iced water."

"You don't want a doughnut or something?"

A slightly queasy expression flickered over his face, and Cathy smiled inwardly, satisfied. It was official - he was human.

"No," he said pleasantly. "Although, please feel free to have one or two yourself."

"Coming right up," she promised. He looked as though he was about to nod, then thought the better of it and gave her a thumbs up instead, before walking quite normally into his office.

Sam sat carefully at his desk, ramrod straight, unmoving, until Cathy arrived with his water and aspirin. Waiting until she had shut the door behind her, he shook four tablets out of the bottle, washed them down with a decidedly awful glass of salty-sweet water, hesitated, and took another two aspirin. Then, with a long, drawn out moan, he dropped his head, sunglasses and all, onto his arms, and closed his eyes.

***

Josh stared blearily at the piece of paper in his hand, waiting for hisvision to clear so he could see what was written on it. It said, "SBD!!!" He frowned.

"SBD?" he wondered. "What the hell?" He tried thinking about it, but his brain was working only sluggishly, so he decided just to say words out loud to see if he came up with the right translation of the strange code. "So Bloody Down?" he hazarded. That seemed unlikely. "Silly Billy Doddle?" No. Probably not. "Strange Boot Dawn? S... Sea... Blue... Drown?" He doubted it.

He hesitated for a moment before falling back on the tried-and-true, "DONNA!" Then groaned and clutched at his head.

The door was flung open. "What now, Josh?"

"My head hurts," he whined.

"That's the third time in half an hour that you've called me in here to tell me that, Josh. And I'll tell you again that coffee does nothing at all for hangovers. That's a myth."

"No... Wait, don't go. Tell me what this means." He waved the paper in front of him, his free hand covering his eyes from the blindingly bright light currently streaming in through his door. There was a reason he had his drapes shut, he thought sourly. Couldn't she take a hint?"

"SBD?" Donna shrugged. "Sam's birthday?"

His eyes widened. "What? When's that?"

"Yesterday."

"It... what? It's when?"

"It was yesterday, Josh. I reminded you last week."

Josh blinked. "Oh, man."

"And I said, 'You want me to get him a present?' And you said, 'No! I think I can get my best friend a present, Donna.' And-"

The words were starting to sound vaguely familiar. "Okay, okay," he interrupted, putting a hand to his head. "Just, shhhhh. What the hell do I do now?"

***

Toby burst into Sam's office, once again proving that having to knock was something that happened to other people.

"Sam!"

Sam jerked upright, groaned, clutched at his head. His sunglasses dangled from one ear, and he moved one hand just enough to pull them back on and hold them in place. Sam used the hand that wasn't holding on to his sunglasses to pick up his glass, which had been refilled with ice water, and poured its contents over his head in an unsuccessful attempt to stop the room from spinning.

"What'd you do that for?" Toby barked.

"Wha- Toby-"

"Have you read over the thing yet?"

"No, I-"

"Why not?!"

Sam used his free hand to put a finger to his lips. "Toby, please, please, quiet, God, please."

Toby opened his mouth to continue yelling, then took in Sam's pale face, which, along with the lick of hair which still stood defiantly upright in spite of the fact that the rest of his hair was now plastered to his head, was the only visible indication of how awful he felt. He scowled. "Are you okay?"

Sam regained control of himself. "Yes. Headache. I can't read over the thing because I don't have it yet."

"What do you mean, you don't have it yet? I sent it over."

Sam stuck his tongue slightly out of his mouth as he concentrated. Had Cathy had brought it in? "No, I don't think so."

Toby aggravatedly looked around, then down. The speech was in his hand. "Well, here it is. Read it, and make it quick. Then you can tell me what you came up with for the Czechoslovakia thing." He tossed it onto Sam's desk and stalked out, slamming the door behind him.

Sam whimpered softly as he waited out the waves of agony in his head. Finally, he reached out a trembling hand and picked up the loose papers. "I quit," he muttered.

***

"Leo, got a minute?"

"Not really," Leo replied, waving an unenthusiastic hand at the pile of paperwork on his desk. Somewhere on the way from Josh's ears to his brain, the reply changed to a far more suitable, "Always got time for you, Josh."

"I was wondering if you knew it was Sam's birthday yesterday?"

Pause. Then, "Margaret!"

Margaret stuck her head inside. "What?"

"Was it Sam's birthday yesterday?"

Margaret rolled her eyes. "Yes."

"Why didn't you remind me?!"

"Because! When I reminded you about CJ's birthday, you told me that you could remember the birthdays of the senior staff on your own, thank you very much, and you were disappointed that I thought so little of you. Which came as a surprise, since when I reminded you about everyone else's, you just said thanks."

"I didn't mean it," Leo grumbled. "Of course you need to remind me about these things! I'm lucky if I remember what day it is!"

"Well, I'm sorry, Leo, but I don't see how I'm supposed to know when you mean it and-"

"Learn the signals, Margaret." Leo sighed. "So what do we do now?"

*****

For the second time that day, Sam's door slammed open. He winced. "Oh, the pain, the pain. Slightly less pain than earlier," he noted, with considerable relief, "But large amounts of pain nevertheless." A weary expression settled on his face when he saw who had so rudely intruded.

Where was Cathy when he needed her? "Whaddaya want, George?"

George, who was one of those annoying slimy politician types that seemed so prevalent in Washington, smiled smarmily. "To say happy birthday for yesterday. And a business lunch."

"Forget it. I have plans."

"With whom?"

"None of your business."

"Cancel your plans."

"No."

"Cancel them."

"No."

"Cancel them."

"No."

"Cancel them."

Sam rolled his eyes. "No."

"Cancel them."

This type of exchange was common when George was around, and Sam knew from experience that there was only one way to handle it.

"You have fifteen seconds to get out of my office before I call security."

George headed resignedly for the door. "You're a tough one, Seabourn," he said as he left.

"You're an idiot, George," Sam mumbled, then sighed heavily and got back to work.

****

"CJ!"

"Wait for the press briefing, Danny."

"I just wanted to know what you've come up with on Czechoslovakia."

"Wait for the press briefing, Danny."

"I was also hoping that maybe you'd feel an overwhelming urge to grab me and kiss me."

"Wait for the press brief- what?"

"Well, I know you're secretly in love with me, and it's been a while..."

CJ stopped walking and stared at Danny. "I told you that the kissing would stop. There can be no more kissing."

Danny shrugged. "I can wait. You'll break eventually."

"Danny-" CJ started walking again, hoping he'd get the hint and stay behind.

He didn't.

"I'm just sayin'..."

"Danny."

"So what'd you get Sam for his birthday?"

CJ stopped again. "What?" she asked sharply.

"Sam's birthday." A slow grin spread across Danny's face. "It was yesterday. You forgot, didn't you?"

"No, of course not."

"So what'd you get him?"

"Go away, Danny."

"Okay." Danny watched CJ make a sharp turn into her office, shouting for Carol, and laughed to himself.

****

Ring, ring. Sam cursed. After two jugs of water and four cups of coffee – he could only live without caffeine for so long – his head was gradually improving, but progress wasn't helped by the many, many loud noises that were part of everyday life at the White House.

He tried to answer the phone with a crisp, "What?" the way Toby did, but habit kicked in and he found himself saying, "Sam Seabourn," in his usual polite tone. His face brightened. "Mom! Is Dad there?" He grinned at the affirmative response. "Just a sec, let me put you on the speakerphone so I can have my hands free." He had become accustomed to speaking to his parents and doing work at the same time, since they rarely required his full attention.

"Okay, Mom, still there?"

"Hang on, honey." His mother's voice. "Let me put you on the speakerphone."

Sam laughed. He'd given them a new phone for Christmas, with conference calling, speakerphone and a whole lot of gadgets that Sam was sure nobody in the world knew how to operate. It was probably capable of trans-dimensional calls, if the right buttons were pressed. "Don't hang up on me this time."

Pause. Click. "Still there, son?"

"Yeah."

"We're sorry we didn't call yesterday, Sam." His mother sounded anxious – she'd never missed a birthday before. "The phone lines were down."

Sam propped his feet up on his desk. "That's okay, Mom."

"Did you get your present?"

"No," Sam replied, puzzled. "You sent me a present?"

"That's my fault," his father put in, clearing his throat, sounding embarrassed. "I only sent it this morning."

Pause. "We'll talk about this later."

His father sounded resigned as he sighed, "Yes, dear."

Next came the part where his parents filled him in on everything that had been happening with his relatives since their last call. This could last for anything from half an hour to, during one record conversation, three hours. This was where he did work, since he only needed to say the occasional "uh-huh" to keep the near-monologue going.

Mercifully, this was one of the shorter sessions. Toby cut it even shorter by attempting to kick the door down. "There's a thing called a doorknob," Sam told him reproachfully. "You might want to look into it."

"What's that, dear?"

"Toby's here, Mom and Dad," Sam explained cheerfully.

Toby scowled at him.

"Hello, Toby! How are you?"

"Hello, Mr Seabourn. I'm fine, thank you." Toby's tone was one of infinite patience, but nevertheless managed to convey the idea that Toby had no time to waste talking to anyone less important than the President, and even he should make an appointment.

"Keeping our son busy, are you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"We'd better leave you to it, then. Goodbye, Sam. Happy birthday for yesterday."

"Thanks. I'll call you."

"Okay. Love you. Bye, Toby."

Toby opened his mouth to reply, but Sam's parents had already hung up. Wait a minute, he thought. Birthday? He glared at Sam.

"I read over the thing," Sam was saying, oblivious, "and I made a few changes."

The revelation of seconds ago slipped Toby's mind completely. "You what?" he asked, his voice dangerously calm.

"Well, a few of the sentences read a little, um, harshly, so I changed them a little, and replaced a few words. Here. I did it in pencil so you wouldn't kill me." Sam handed Toby the sheaf of papers, now neatly placed in a file.

"Look it over. I'm right."

Several responses ran through Toby's head – "Are you high?" "Who died and made you Communications Director?" "Hand me that pen, so that I may ram it through my eye. Better yet, your eye." "If I were in better shape, I would so be kicking your ass right now." – but none seemed entirely appropriate, so he just grabbed the file and left grouchily.

****

Toby entered his office considerably more bad-temperedly than usual. His mood was not improved by Ginger promptly ordering him to Leo's office. He arrived to find Leo, CJ, Josh and Charlie standing around disconsolately. "What?"

CJ looked at him miserably. "We all forgot Sam's birthday."

"So?" Toby had better things to do. Well, he could find some, he was sure. And he wasn't feeling guilty. He wasn't. Not at all.

"Think how awful he must feel!"

"I feel awful too," Josh volunteered. "Of course, that's because I have a hangover."

Not feeling guilty, Toby thought. He never felt guilty. "He looks fine to me," he muttered guiltily.

"Shut up," CJ ordered, before continuing. "We're supposed to be his friends and not one of us remembered-"

"All right! We get it! What is this, the Spanish inquisition?" Admittedly, not Toby's best line, but he was feeling – wait, no. He wasn't feeling anything.

"Okay," Josh said absently. "Anyway.... What do we do?"

"Forget about it until next year?"

CJ slapped Toby upside the head. "Any suggestions that aren't stupid?"

"We could pretend that all the calendars in the White House got set back a day..." Charlie proposed.

"No. Too much work."

"Well, what then?"

"We're thinking!"

****

"Where's Donna?"

Josh jumped, scrambled to pretend he hadn't been startled, and fell out of his chair. Jumping to his feet, he dusted off his suit and said, "Uh, who? Oh, Donna. She's running an errand."

Sam narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Bonnie isn't here either. She's running an errand, too. So is Ginger. And Margaret."

"Really? Maybe they're all gossiping. Is Mrs Landingham around?"

Sam waved a cookie. "Yeah."

Josh's mouth dropped open. "She gave you a cookie? She wouldn't give me a cookie!"

"I get unlimited cookies for a week," Sam said, smirking. "This is my fifth one today. She hasn't even given me a disapproving look!"

Josh glowered jealously. "She always did like you the best."

Sam snickered softly. "I tried to get one for you, but she had me figured. One at a time, she said."

"Well, at least you made the effort."

"That was almost a successful subject change. Why's everyone running errands?"

"Gossiping, I bet," Josh repeated, watching wistfully as Sam finished his cookie. "Is that all you wanted?"

"No. Should I still work on the Czech thing, or can I let it go?"

"Uh... Leave it for the moment. You can always start up again tomorrow, if necessary."

"Okay." Sam lingered in the doorway for a moment, seeming reluctant to leave. Josh raised his eyebrows.

"How's the hangover?" he asked eventually, when Sam showed no inclination to move.

"Going away. You?"

"My head is killing me."

"Coffee isn't good for hangovers. You should get rehydrated before you start drinking it."

"I'll keep that in mind. Anything else?"

Sam hesitated. "No."

"Bye."

"Yeah." Sam unwillingly headed back to his office, and more work.

****

"Sam!"

"Yup!"

"Oval office."

Sam glanced at his watch and sighed. "I was just about to go home."

Toby watched Sam expectantly. Sam watched Toby, also expectantly. Finally, Toby said, "What's your point?"

Sam sighed again. "Nothing. On my way."

Sam knocked politely on the door to the Oval Office. "Hello? Mrs Landingham isn't at her desk, so..." He quietly pushed the door open.

"Surprise!"

Sam leapt back, slamming the door shut, and leaned against the wall, gasping.

The door creaked open, and Josh stuck his head out. "Sam?" he said worriedly. "Are you okay?"

Sam looked at him wildly. "God, Josh, next time you want to kill me, just shoot me outright!"

"You look a little pale... Man, I'm sorry, we didn't mean to scare you."

Sam nodded, forcing himself to slow his breathing. "Uh. Is that a surprise party, in there?"

"Yes."

"It's a day late," Sam told him reprovingly, cautiously stepping over the threshold. Josh gave a shamefaced look as he stepped out of the way.

"Surprise?" repeated the group inside, uncertainly.

Sam smiled weakly, nodded. He had never thought he would get a chance to see balloons and streamers all over the Oval Office. He surveyed the room thoughtfully before saying,  "You really think this is supposed to make up for you forgetting my birthday - again?"

"No, of course not," Josh said uncomfortably, while everyone else in the room shifted uneasily.

Sam grinned good-naturedly. "Well, it does. I never could resist a huge pile of presents."

Sure enough, there was a table piled high with guilt presents in the middle of the room.

"Did he just say 'a huge pile of peasants'?" Mallory - who had been shocked to learn that field-trip day was also the yearly observance of Sam's birth - whispered, horrified.

Donna lifted her eyes heavenward. "No, Mal, *presents*."

"Oh." Mallory seemed almost disappointed at the prospect of having nothing to fight about.

A rather out-of-place object caught Sam's attention as his friends gathered around to give him all manner of amusing belated-birthday cards. "CJ! I see you brought your fish."

CJ smiled as she handed him a card with a sad teddy bear on the front. "Well, she was looking a little listless, so I thought maybe a party..."

"I bet she just wanted to see her daddy," Danny interrupted, leaning over the goldfish bowl.

"Daddy?" CJ repeated. "What do you mean, daddy?"

"I bought her. Coochy-coochy-coo," Danny added, swishing his finger around in the bowl. The goldfish appeared to be frightened.

"You gave her to me! You would've killed her!"

"I would not!"

"Would too!"

"Would not!'

"Would!"

"Not!"

"Too!"

Sam left CJ and Danny to argue and wandered over to the cake, which said "Happy anniversary Kate and Lester!" in green icing. He stared at it.

"It was the only cake the store had available," Toby explained sheepishly. "This was a rush job."

"So I see," Sam said thoughtfully. "Did you get this yourself?"

Toby looked away, embarrassed. "I was passing the store anyway," he muttered. "I had to get..." He stopped.

"Me a present?" Sam guessed, grinning.

"No! Well... Okay, but I was there to get myself a toaster. Your present was secondary."

"A toaster?" Sam repeated, wondering what kind of gift Toby could have gotten at an appliance store.

Mercifully (for Toby), the President came along to wish Sam a happy birthday.

"Thank you, sir," Sam said dutifully. The President clapped him on the shoulder.

"Come on and get drunk."

"But I just got over my hangover," Sam protested weakly.

The President laughed jovially, got a firm hold of Sam's ear, and pulled him over to the drinks.

****

The next day, Sam had the worst hangover of his life – or at least he would have, once he stopped being drunk. On the other hand, he also had the day off, a large pile of presents and a video tape of the previous night, so he could watch the bits that he couldn't remember. Although, on viewing it, he would have preferred the strip-dancing-on-the-table incident to remain forgotten. All in all, he had to admit, it had been an enjoyable evening.

Well, he thought, staring incredulously at his brand-new VCR – guilt presents were simply the best - all's well that ends well. Until next year.