As he walked through the Policy bullpen after an early meeting on the Hill, Josh reflected that Mondays were, by definition, chaotic, but today was worse than usual. Leo had "strongly encouraged" everyone to stay at home on Sunday, unwilling to have them risk life and limb for a few hours in the office. That had left no time to finish last week's work nor prepare this week's.

Josh had taken home a pile of briefing books and forced himself to review them. If asked (and he sincerely hoped no one would), he would be unable to reference anything he had read. He had spent most of his time trying to find a way to resolve the situation with Sam. He was a strategist after all, and a damn good one according to some. Corralling one wayward speechwriter should be easy, not a challenge in the least. Unfortunately, Sam was the wayward speechwriter, and things were never easy when Sam got his back up.

After the meeting with the President on Saturday morning, Josh had wandered the halls of the West Wing, eventually ending up in Sam's office. Leaning against the desk, he had put the Newton's Cradle into motion as he always did when he visited Sam. As it clicked back and forth, Josh tried to remember the last time he had dropped in on Sam or Sam had stopped to see him. How long had it been since they had watched a game together or debated some inane issue? Dropping into a chair, he looked up at the First Navy Jack with its "Don't Tread on Me". The President had given it to Sam soon after naming him Deputy Communications Director. Josh had never been sure if the slogan was a reminder to Sam or a warning to others.

"Do you need anything?" Cathy asked from the doorway.

He shook his head, still studying the flag. "No, I'm good."

"Josh..."

He turned to face her then, saw the distress in her dark eyes. "We're going to get him back, I promise."

"I don't want to work for anyone else," she confessed.

"Don't worry."

But he had spent rest of the weekend doing just that. He had picked up the phone to call Sam more than once but hung up each time, his promise to the President the only thing keeping him from dialing that last number. Instead he had spent hours thinking, pacing, staring out at the storm. On Friday, he had been so sure there was a simple solution, something guaranteed to bring Sam to his senses. By Sunday, he had thought of and discarded a dozen different plans. Frustrated by his lack of success, he had called Toby a couple ... well, to be honest, several times before Toby had summarily hung up on him.

"Josh, meeting in ten minutes," Donna yelled from her desk as he passed.

"Right," he replied, dropping his knapsack on his desk. Pulling off his gloves, he stuffed them in the pockets of his coat before hanging it up. He grabbed his mug and hurried to get himself some coffee.

"Are you ready?" Donna materialized beside him armed with a steno pad, two pens and her own mug.

"Where's my stuff?" he complained.

"For god's sake, Josh, it's on your desk! Why couldn't you pick it up while you were in there? We're going to be late if you don't move right now."

Relieved he had left his pad and agenda in the center of his desk, Josh grabbed them and followed Donna to the Roosevelt Room. Once a week, Leo presided over a meeting of the entire staff. A few assistants remained at their desks to answer phones and field messages, but attendance was mandatory for everyone else.

Josh arrived to find the room was already full, people drinking coffee and finding seats. He sat down across from Toby who was discussing something with Ed and Larry, making sharp emphatic points which they dutifully jotted down. CJ nodded to him as she dropped into the seat to his right, but turned away to referee a discussion between two of her deputies. Grabbing a muffin from the tray nearest him, Josh leaned back and concentrated on not getting crumbs all over himself as he ate it.

"All right, people," Leo said as he came through the door with Margaret. "Let's get this over with."

Immediately the room went silent. Leo looked at the people around the table and lined up against the walls. "Is everybody here? Where's Sam?"

Surprised by the question, Josh inhaled a crumb and began coughing. CJ hit him between the shoulder blades as he gulped down some coffee. Tears running from his eyes, he gasped out, "Sorry, swallowed wrong."

Leo waited until the coughing subsided before turning back to Toby. "Sam?"

"Working at home on a couple of policy things." Toby looked around the room. "He's doing important work here, people. No one -- and I mean no one -- will call, email or contact him in any way upon pain of death. If you have questions, come to me. If anything happens, come to me. Understood?" When a few people mumbled nervous agreement, he glared at the room in general and barked, "Is that understood?"

The response was loud and emphatic. Toby caught Josh's eye across the table and slowly winked. With luck, their secret was safe for a few more days.

"Moving on..." Leo continued.

An hour later, they finished. Every department had reviewed its accomplishments and upcoming projects. Questions had been asked and answered, initiatives discussed, inter-departmental cooperation assured. Josh reread the notes he had taken, trying to formulate a logical workflow for his staff.

"How was your Sunday?" CJ asked as they waited for the room to clear.

"I read 400 pages of briefing memos."

"And I'll always be grateful you managed to take time out of your busy schedule to annoy me," Toby muttered as he passed them with Ed and Larry in tow.

Josh ignored him. "So, what did you do?"

She glanced away, looking slightly embarrassed. "I cooked."

He could not stop a smirk as he followed her back to her office. "You what?"

"I cooked. I'm descended from hardy pioneer stock, and when we're faced with brutal winter weather, we cook."

"CJ, it was a storm, not the dawn of the next ice age."

"There were power outages all over Washington. I wanted to be prepared."

"Exactly how were you going to keep the food hot if you didn't have power?"

"I have a camp stove."

"Do you have the faintest idea how to light it?"

"Listen, bucko -- "

"Shouldn't that be 'buckeye' you being from Ohio and all?"

She turned on him then, and he stopped in his tracks. CJ in a snit was never a good thing. Being the cause of it was even worse. Josh glanced around for help, but the crowd of staffers who had surrounded them an instant before had evaporated at the first sign of trouble. Cowards.

A long, manicured finger poked him in the chest. "Listen, bucko, my father took us camping a couple of times a year until I was eighteen. Unlike you, I know my way around the great outdoors. Now, if you want to live long enough to eat lunch, get away from me."

"C'mon, CJ! You have no sense of humor!"

One eyebrow rose dangerously. "Get thee gone, Joshua!"

"What I meant was -- "

"Hey, CJ," Danny broke in. "Josh."

Josh gave silent thanks for the White House Press Corps. "Hey."

Danny turned to CJ, neatly excluding Josh from the conversation. "I was wondering if you were available for dinner tonight."

She frowned slightly. "Monday night? What's up?"

Danny shrugged. "Is there anything wrong with going out for dinner on Monday?"

Tilting her head slightly, CJ studied him. "No, you just surprised me."

"Well, I'm a surprising kind of guy. Dinner with a friend, what do you say?"

"All right," she agreed slowly. "I'll be done by 9:00."

Danny grinned. "That works. How about 9:30 at the French place around the corner from you?"

"Okay, I'll meet you there."

"Great!" He turned to Josh who was openly listening. "See you around."

"See you." Before Danny was four feet away, Josh's smirk had returned. "CJ's got a date, CJ's got a date."

"It's not a date," she corrected him. "You heard him. It's dinner with a friend."

"CJ's got a date, CJ's got a -- Ow!" Josh rubbed his arm. "Hey, Mom said you couldn't hit me!"

CJ grinned in a way which terrified him. "No, she said I shouldn't, not I couldn't," and humming quietly, she disappeared into her office and closed the door.