It's CJ who first hears about it, delivered as a question when she's behind the lectern during the first morning briefing.

"Does the President have any thoughts on the new Broadway musical Hamilton?"

CJ cocks her head in confusion, brows knitting together. "Someone wrote a musical about Alexander Hamilton? What, 1776 wasn't enough constitutional song-and-dance for everyone?"

A few scattered chuckles among the crowd. "Is it true, CJ?" another reporter pipes up, notebook in hand.

CJ raises an eyebrow and pretends to scan her notes for an answer. "Well, if it is, it's certainly news to me…"

The cast album lands on Bartlet's desk later that morning courtesy of one Charlie Young, whose usual stoic demeanor is rustled by a hint of a smile.

Bartlet dons his glasses and examines the plastic package, squinting slightly at the black-and-gold design. "Charlie? What's this?"

"CJ got a question about it during the first briefing, sir." Charlie's voice has a sly edge to it as the President opens the CD case and flips through the little booklet.

"A musical about Alexander Hamilton, of all people?"

"Seems that way, sir."

Bartlet lifts his head and studies Charlie's face intently. "Any good?"

Charlie practically beams. "Why don't you listen to it yourself, sir?"

Halfway through the opening number, Bartlet decides to declare Lin-Manuel Miranda's birthday a national holiday.

The CD makes its way back to the residence, where Zoey rolls her eyes knowingly upon hearing the first strains of "My Shot" through the surround sound system in the living room.

"Daddy, Hamilton's been in the news for weeks-it's practically all anyone's talking about at school-"

Bartlet harrumphs for dramatic effect, turning up the volume. "Well, Zoey, some of us have been a little busy running the country-"

Abbey raises an eyebrow upon hearing about the musical-after all, incessant glorifying of the Founding Fathers is hardly anything new-but she can't stop the grin that threatens to split her face in half upon hearing Angelica Schuyler's confident declaration:

"And when I meet Thomas Jefferson/I'mm'a compel him to include women in the sequel!"

"Hey, Donna!"

She pokes her head in Josh's doorway. "Yes?"

Josh leans back in his chair cockily, notes from a melody emanating from his desktop.

"I gotta holler just to be heard/and with every word I drop knowledge!"

"D'you think I'm like Alexander Hamilton? Because I think I'm like Alexander Hamilton-"

Donna cocks her head to the side, wondering where this could possibly be going. "How so?"

Josh cracks a smirk and crosses his legs. "Well, for one thing, we're both too brilliant for our own good, we're both hardworking, not to mention-ahem- 'we're reliable with the laaaadies'-"

Donna rolls her eyes good-naturedly, walking into the room to drop off a few documents on Josh's desk . "Yes, Josh. I think you're exactly like Alexander Hamilton… your big mouth will definitely get you shot one of these days…"

Toby would never admit it-not even to CJ or Andi-but he likes to hum a bar or two from "Dear Theodosia" whenever he puts the twins to bed.

Much to Danny's delight and amusement, CJ swears that Gail's been in a better mood ever since she started playing the cast album in her office.

"How can you tell, CJ?" he asks from across her desk, humoring her.

"She's just been-I don't know, swimming around more, not just, y'know, floating there all limply like she used to-"

Danny leans forward and studies the goldfish in her bowl, "Helpless" playing softly in the background.

"Could Carol remembering to clean her bowl have anything to do with Gail's newfound liveliness, perhaps?" Danny teases, flicking his eyes up to meet CJ's.

CJ scowls. "Don't you have a column to write?"

Leo's not sure which character he relates to most-Burr? Madison? Lafayette? Or even Hamilton?-but he does know that whatever idiot savant told Sam that he was allowed to rap along to the Cabinet battles should be drawn and quartered.

Sam has taken to eating his lunch outside of the West Wing these days, on one of the benches outside the White House, if only because lunchtime is when Bonnie, Ginger, and even Donna, sometimes, try to manage-more like mangle-the three-part Schuyler sister harmonies.

He swears someone must be doing this to him on purpose.

He blames Toby.

Charlie's taken to listening to the cast album during his treadmill jogging sessions-though they are few and far between-and feels something like unmistakable pride well up in his chest whenever he hears George Washington call Hamilton "son." A thrill of recognition, that memory of Bartlet presenting him with the knife, glowing golden in his mind.

Lin-Manuel sits by Mrs. Landingham's desk, eyeing the cookie jar, the air thick with tension as her fingers strike the keys of her computer in a soft, repetitive motion.

"The President will be with you shortly," she assures him, catching his eye-then seeing where he's looking.

A tiny grin of approval curls her lips. "Would you like a cookie, Mr. Miranda?"

Lin-Manuel nods quickly, flashing her a smile. "I'd love one, Mrs. Landingham-"

The older woman pops the lid off the jar and hands him a sizable chocolate-chip cookie, still warm from the oven. "You can call me Dolores, Mr. Miranda-"

The door to the Oval opens suddenly, Charlie holding it open from the inside. "Mr. Miranda, the President will see you now."

"Now, Mr. Miranda, what you've done is a marvelous thing. Just marvelous. You know, of course, that I'm a bit of a history buff, myself…"

Lin-Manuel nods, resting his hands on the arms of his chair. "Yes, Mr. President-and I'm honored that you enjoyed Hamilton so much-"

Bartlet looks sharply at Lin-Manuel over the rims of his glasses. "You know, with all that free time I have, I've managed to find some hours here and there to page through the Chernow book you found so inspirational. And-well, young man, I've noticed that in several occasions, you do take a bit of dramatic license, as it were, with the timeline of events…"

He reaches into a drawer in the desk and pulls out the heavy volume. Lin-Manuel notes that nearly half of the pages are dog-eared and well-worn.

Bartlet flips open the book, particles of dust spraying into the air, caught in a stream of sunlight.

"Now, young man-about the decision to have Philip Hamilton's death come before, rather than after, the election of 1800…"

Lin-Manuel ducks his head in recognition. "As you say, Mr. President-dramatic license."

On the other side of the door, nearly the entire staff is crowded into the small office, ears practically pressed against the door.

Even Toby.

It's Sam who breaks the hushed silence, who asks the question on all of their minds:

"Do you think he can get us free tickets?"