"Aw Hell!" he said, taking the call.

"Sam?" asked the confused voice on the other end.

"I mean hell-o, you have reached the office of Sam Seaborn, what can I do for you?" he covered quickly.

"You are so lucky that I am not some Senator," said Josh, laughing. "Is everything okay?"

"Of course," replied Sam, "Why do you ask?"

"Oh Gee, I don't know, Sam" retorted Josh, sarcastically "maybe because you just substituted your phone greeting with profanity."

"Yeah," said Sam, sheepishly, "Sorry, about that, I am just tired" Tired couldn't even begin to describe his state of exhaustion, but as he was no longer functioning at full mental capacity. Thus, he was not his usual thesaurus self, and tired would have to do. "Why did you call me?"

"Huh?" Josh said, blankly, distracted by Donna's long legs as she sauntered into his office to drop off a file.

"You, me, phone conversation.... Earth to Mr. Lyman"

"Oh yeah," Josh said recovering. "I just wanted to know what you were doing for Lunch."

"I don't know, I will probably stay here. I'm looking over court rulings concerning money as a legitimate, constitutionally-protected means of expression."

"Campaign finance?" questioned Josh, sympathetically.

"Yep."

"Well you get down with your bad-self and Buckley v. Valeo, 'kay?"

"You know it!" Sam said more cheerfully than he felt. "bye"

"See ya at the staff meeting"

As he hung up his phone he realized that he had forgotten to retrieve some of the appellate court decisions from his outer office. Unlike Josh, he would not call to his secretary like she was an animal or disobedient child, no matter how much pain he was in.

He groaned softly as he got out of the chair, sort of stumbling toward Cathy's office area. He grabbed the files and retreated back to his office, but not before CJ accosted him.

"Did you hear about the thing?"

"What thing?" He asked tersely, sighing in exasperation. He thought that the Press Secretary to the most powerful man in the free world should be a bit more articulate

Before responding to his question, she peered at him carefully through her glasses. "Sam, are you feeling alright?"

"Yes I am fine, now will you back off!" He practically shouted as people stared in their direction.

CJ screwed up her face and without a word took off quickly down the hall.

"CJ!" he called after her. "Wait, I'm sorry!" But he was just wasting his breath, she had already disappeared from sight. He trudged back to his desk thinking that on a normal day he might have gone after her, but he was tired and hurting and not at all in the mood to smooth the ruffled feathers of a flamingo.

"Who are you kidding yourself, Seaborn?" he spoke aloud, "on a normal day that little exchange in your doorway would never have happened." "Shit!" he said to no one in particular, kicking his bottom deck drawer closed, and then cringing because the action had jarred his back. CJ was just being nice and concerned. He actually usually found it a turn-on when she went all motherly on him. What that said about his disfunctional relationship with his mother, he didn't want to know. Nonetheless, he couldn't help but wonder if he weren't cracking up just a little. He was Sam, nice, even-tempered, Sam, who didn't yell at people or get frustrated with vague questions. That was Toby's job.

Speaking of Toby... the dark brooding figure loomed in the doorway, speaking, his tone, highly amused, "I hear you have been making some friends today...What have I told you about playing nicely with the other children?"

Sam flashed him a quick smile; it was weak, but better than biting his head off.

"Did you finish that research on campaign finance?"

"No," Sam replied bluntly.

"Are you going to finish it?" Toby countered, becoming slightly annoyed.

"Probably, although, I have been contemplating turning my trash can into an in-box"

"Uh, Sam?"

"Yes?" he replied, expecting yet another inquiry about his health.

"I don't think the President would like that." With that, Toby turned to go back to his office and return to the delicate process of refining the speech Sam had written for the state dinner being held at the White House the following week.

Sam picked up the phone. "CJ, This is Sam, I am so sorry. I don't know what the hell my problem is, the only defense I can offer is that I am so exhausted right now that if I suddenly discovered my office was on fire, I wouldn't have enough energy to evacuate or even care."

"Sam," CJ scolded. "That is no excuse... I expect that kind of crap from Toby and even Leo, but you and I are supposed to be friends.

"You're right CJ," he was at a loss. "I over-reacted and I am sorry."

"Its okay, spanky," she said "I forgive you this time, but don't even let it happen again, or the consequences will be immediate and painful."

"I promise," Sam said, sincerely. Secretly glad that she had not heard his flamingo thought earlier.

"Okay, see you at the staff meeting."

"definitely"

She hung up the phone, thinking that if it had been anyone but Sam and of if he hadn't looked like death warmed over, she would definitely have held a grudge.

Sam entered the oval office, his gait uneven. He stifled a small groan as he eased himself gently onto one of the plush couches.

CJ kept shooting those "I am concerned about you" looks in his direction, but he just ignored them.

The President surveyed his staff and then randomly asked, "Do any of you know what coreolis forces are?"

Before he could smugly answer his own query Sam said, "weak forces caused by the velocity of the earth's rotation. The strength varies depending on latitude and causes the curling of weather patters in the Northern and Southern hemisphere. Hurricanes form in this manner."

The senior staff just looked at him, incredulously. Finally Toby asked, "When did you start working for the National Weather Service?"

"About two weeks ago," he kidded.

They all laughed and returned to business, but not before Leo intoned to Bartlet, "Sir, I think you may have met your match!"

"Not hardly," said the President wryly before returning to the business of running the country.

When they stood up to leave, Sam stumbled, grabbing the edge of the sofa for support. "Okay, spanky" said CJ quietly, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing," he claimed, less than convincing. "I just slept in the recliner in the my living room last night, and I am a little stiff." They continued walking back to the communications area, with CJ eyeing Sam warily. When they reached Sam's office, Sam sat down in his chair, and CJ was giving him that look his mother did when she didn't believe him and wanted the truth.

Before long the staring contest was interrupted. Josh stuck his head in Sam's office and told CJ he knew what was troubling Sam. "Sam pulled a groin muscle," he explained, simply.

"Excuse me?" said Sam, angrily.

"Yes," continued Josh knowingly, "his extra curricular activities with the blonde republican sex kitten have been hard on him."

"Sam," said CJ, unable to control her laughter, "If that's the case, I know of a few staff members, pardon the expression, who might be willing to help you out."

Sam glared at both before asking Josh, more rancor in his voice than he intended, "Do you try to be this annoying, or is it just some innate thing you can't help"

Josh countered, "I usually consider it a gift from God, but in your case it is actually a conscious decision."

They all laughed, even Sam. "Shoo! I have work to do, out!" both Josh and CJ scurried away as Toby approached Sam's office.

"Sam is being pissy," warned Josh.

"I am quaking on the inside, really" deadpanned Toby.

"Did you finish the report on campaign finance?"

"Yes" responded Sam. Toby looked at him expectantly. "It's in that blue folder, on the bookcase.

"Are you going to give it to me?" Toby asked with exaggerated patience, as if Sam hadn't said anything.

"Toby," Sam practically whined, "you are standing right there, just grab it." He then flashed Toby one of his most pitiful puppy dog looks. Toby walked over to the bookcase and removed the file.

Before returning to his desk, he turned to Sam and said conversationally, "you know, I really ought to kick your ass."

"You do that, Toby..." Sam called after him.

He removed the bottle of pills and poured a substantial number into his hand, then he tossed them back like a shot of vodka. At that moment, CJ returned to Sam's office. Sam looked up guiltily, dropping the bottle on his desk. It poured open, and the contents spilled out, compounding Sam's feeling of having been caught like a little kid with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Can I help you?" he asked her thickly, afterall it isn't easy to swallow four extra strength tylenol without liquid.

"Sam," she said evenly. "Do you want me to wrestle you to the ground and force it out of you?" He looked at her, momentarily alarmed by the prospect.

She smiled at his wide eyes before softly assuring him, "I am not going to hurt you, Sam. Well, unless you make me," she amended.

"You know CJ," said Sam, seriously. "I think that the battered spouses of the world would have found your threat less than humorous."

"Sam!"

"Look," he said carefully, deciding that appeasement was the better part of valor, or something like that. "I have a thing."

She gazed at him expectantly, her eyes beckoning him to continue.

"You have to promise me two things first," he prefaced. "One, you won't laugh at me. Two, you won't tell anyone."

"Okay," she said, concerned, agreeing to his conditions.

"Well, you know how I was the recording secretary for the Gilbert and Sullivan Society during my Junior and Senior years at Princeton?"

"Uh huh" CJ nodded, not quite seeing where this was going, or what it could possibly have to do with a pulled groin muscle. In fact, she very much doubted that one could even use the phrases 'Gilbert and Sullivan,' 'getting laid,' or even that area of the anatomy in the same sentence without creating some kind of rift in the Space-time continuum. However, as she gazed at the pretty blue eyes, and lustily remembered the ass at the other end, she began to reconsider. If anyone could juxtapose these two completely incompatible phenomena, it was Sam Seaborn, the White House's very own GQ model.

Sam drew in a breath before continuing his revelation, "During my Freshman and Sophomore year, I played on the varsity football team.

CJ couldn't help herself, she began to laugh. Sam had not played for the Tigers...

"You promised you wouldn't laugh!" he said accusingly, before adding, "Mock all you want. I may be small, but I am very fast!"

"Sam is this some very convoluted way for you to get me to sleep with you, because if that is the case, you don't have to tell me stories about you having played football in college... I would do it anyway."

He looked momentarily surprised before adding the rejoinder, "Do you want me to tell you, or not?

"By all means," CJ said, gesturing for him to continue.

"Anyway, as I was saying, I was one of the running backs for the varsity football team, a first-stringer, my sophomore year. Unfortunately when you have the ball, people try to kill you." He made eye contact before commencing with his story-telling. "I sustained a fairly serious spinal injury in a game against Yale. Sometimes, depending on the weather, or whatever, my back goes out on me."

"Are you in pain?" she asked him gently.

"A little," he admitted, nodding miserably.

"Go home!"

"What about Toby?"

"Don't worry, I'll take care of him, and you can bet that I am going to come up with something more believable than your football story!" she paused, "What did you do, fall out of bed? Is there some Star Trek marathon on TNN that you forgot to tape?"

Sam declined to comment, instead, he slowly gathered his briefcase and other supplies, grimacing as he put his coat on to head back home.

"Need some help, spanky?" she questioned, noticing his pained expression.

He shook his head, but before departing, turned to her and asked, "Is it bad that I sometimes contemplate how relaxing it would be to be in jail?"

She laughed before shooing him out of his office. "See you tomorrow?"

"Yep."

Now CJ thought, as she went off in search of Josh, some real investigating can begin!