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Josh, as Chief of Staff, had a lot of rules one would probably call “pointless” (Donna), “ridiculous” (Amy), and “arbitrary" (Lou). Things like only using Post-It brand Post-Its, no comment boards (especially if they were politics related, press would kill them, Josh would know) and no surprise parties of any kind. But he stuck to them anyway.
"Not even fun ones?” Donna said, one day, when she’d made the trek from the East Wing to talk about a UN summit. “Not even birthday-related ones?”
“The last time that happened, I fucked up with Chris Carrick,” Josh grumbled. “So, this year, in this administration, it’s not happening. It’s a rule. It hasn’t happened yet, and it’s not going to.”
“Wait,” Sam said, from his perch on Josh’s couch. He spent way too much time there, considering his office was a lot bigger than the one he used to have, and he could probably get a couch if he really wanted. Josh didn’t mind, really; he’d never minded back then, when Sam had come over with a “Hey,” with something in hand, and they’d end up in his office for hours talking about something. “Chris Carrick? That was you?”
Josh slanted a glance at him. “It’s—it was a thing.”
Sam considered him for a moment over his glasses. He looked good today, Josh thought absently, and then immediately shook it out of his head. Work. Yeah—he had a meeting with Vinick today. That was going to go great.
“I mean, your birthday is coming up,” Sam noted, and exchanged a grin with Donna.
“No,” Josh stated. “If you—I don’t know, rope half of the West Wing and the goddamn social secretary into filling the Roosevelt Room with balloons and shit, I—I’ll—” he paused.
Sam raised his eyebrows. “You’ll?”
Donna snorted. “It was the Mural Room, Josh. But, y'know, it’s been a while, I’ll let it slide.”
“What—”
“It’s the first year of our second term, Josh,” Donna replied, grinning. “We have to set out and find our own traditions. We have to bond! We just got reelected!”
“Like our own Big Block of Cheese?” Sam asked, and Donna nodded.
“Well,” Josh said, rolling his eyes, but feeling warm all over. “As long as we keep doing what we need to do.” He winced. God, he did sound old. He sounded like Leo—and the thought of that made something ache, just a bit.
*
The next two weeks started when Amy came by and said, “So, you still hate red velvet, right?”
“I—yeah,” Josh said, distracted, before looking at her. “Is this—relevant somehow?”
“It’s relevant to things,” she said easily, enigmatically, in that way where Josh had no clue what she meant.
He got up. “Amy—”
“I’ve got a meeting with the House Minority Whip. He’s kind of a tough nut to crack,” she broke in. “So I’ll be out for a while.”
Josh blinked. “Uh, ok.”
Amy left, and Josh could swear that she was smirking.
*
Bram asked him, offhandedly, about the schedule. Edie mentioned something about mixology and cocktails and what drinks he liked. Annabeth popped in and asked something about pop music.
It all came to a head, one night, really, really late, when he and Sam were working on some legislation related to an education bill.
“Ok,” Josh noted, tapping his pen. “I’ll talk to Santos on Wednesday about some more people in Congress we can tap.”
“Right, yeah,” Sam said. And then: “Hey, uh, irrevelant, but do you know what time the First Lady’s going to be meeting with UNICEF next week?”
“Sam, there are things called shared calendars now,” Josh said, rubbing at his chin. God, he was tired. “They’re on this other thing called the Internet. I know I’m not exactly thirty anymore, but the Admin Office would probably bother me if I didn’t tell you.”
“No, I—” Sam looked at him, with a kind of faint grin. “It’s not really about—that. I just wanted to know when they were using the Blue Room that day.”
Then something fell over his face, and Josh blinked. “Wait. Wait. Wait—”
Sam looked like he was going to panic, but a calm settled over his face almost instantly. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not—nothing!” Josh said. “Why would you need the Blue Room? Why would you need to know?”
“It’s—well, actually, it’s a very old and beautiful room, with a long and detailed history—”
“Like you would know the history of rooms in the White House—” Then all the pieces fit together in Josh’s head. “It’s my birthday next week, isn’t it,” he said, flat. “Are you guys throwing a party?”
Sam had the gall to look apologetic. “It—we could be? We could stall it if makes you feel better.” He grinned, small and a little wicked, but still sincere.
“Sam,” Josh said, then sighed. “I—It’s fine. I mean now I’ll guess I’ll have to perfect my ‘shocked’ expression.”
“You never did have a great poker face.”
“So,” Josh crossed his arms. “You’re really throwing a surprise party. With all the works. That—explains a lot, actually about the past few weeks.
"I mean—” Sam leaned back. “We were trying to, you know, be secretive. I guess we’ll have to brush up.”
“Yeah, no kidding. Seriously, though,” Josh met his eyes. “I asked if you were having a party. I didn’t tell you to have a party.”
Then Sam’s face got a little sad, in the way that made Josh’s chest hurt. "You know, Josh,” he said. “You do have people here. I know it’s not like—back then, but you do. And they care about you.”
“I know that,” Josh said, and it came out insistent. He thought of all the debates he’d had with Lou, all the whiskeys he’d shared with Amy, the time Bram had solved the problem with Social Security, the time Edie and Ainsley had found a loophole in some dense legislation that helped them with pushing healthcare. Santos—with his unwavering belief and his sense of humor, more apparent than not. The First Lady, who apparently did have the best poker face. Donna—where could he even start? And Sam—
“So let us do this,” Sam said, plaintively, meaningfully. “You’ve had our backs. Eat some cake and pretend to be surprised and pop champagne.”
“Champagne?”
Sam nodded. “You’re kind of a big deal,” he replied, teasing, but kind, and Josh—
Josh knew Sam was kind of amazing, even back when he’d been a dorky twenty-year old at Princeton, but even then, he never failed to take Josh’s breath away. It’d been years, and he still could.
What the hell, Josh thought. It was 2011, not 1988 or 1998 or 2002, and he got up. Sam got up, too, probably to say something, but Josh leaned over the desk and kissed him.
Sam didn’t kiss back, and Josh panicked for a bit before he did, skimming a thumb on Josh’s jaw.
When they pulled apart, he was smiling, close mouthed, but his eyes were sparkling.
“So that happened,” Josh said.
“It did.”
“It—probably should’ve happened a while ago.”
Sam cocked his head. “I was okay with the wait, Josh.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” Sam said. “It makes the present better.”
Josh looked at him and then: “Sam, is that supposed to be a pun?’
When Sam’s mouth ticked on one side, Josh groaned. "You’re—you’re so—”
“Yeah?”
Josh blinked at him, saw his grin get wider. Sam looked tired, but so was he. It was—probably morning now, god. And he couldn’t bring himself to retort, not while Sam was grinning at him like that.
“Never mind,” he muttered, but sat down. When Sam sat down with him, Josh leaned over to hold his hand.
*
(Everyone but Donna was convinced at Josh’s face next week.
“Sam told you, didn’t he?”
He shrugged. “Among other things.”
Her eyes went wide, before her mouth split in a bright smile. “Other things?”
Josh looked over to where Sam was laughing with Ainsley and Lou with a flute of champagne. He tried not to grin but failed. “Yeah.” )