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Disclaimers:  Characters belong to Aaron Sorkin, not 
to me. 
Classification:  I think this series went completely 
Alternate Universe long ago - although I'm trying to 
stick as close to Pre-Noel canon as possible 
Spoilers:  Anything could pop up.
Rating: PG-13	
Synopsis:  "Because these are the sacrifices I'm 
meant to make."
Series:  This story is the fifty-fourth in the 'Rocky 
Path' series.

Author's Notes:  Once again, thanks to Mary and Beth.



A Sworn Fealty
By Lacy



"Go home," I tell her.

She's got that sound in her voice like she's trying 
to sound peppy, but she's really not.  "Have you 
slept?"

"Have you?" I counter, knowing full well she's gotten 
only three, maybe four hours of sleep a night since I 
left.

"The bed's empty," she replies, as though I should 
know better.  "I'm fine."

Sure you are, I think.  "We're taking off in half an 
hour."  I'll be home by tomorrow morning, afternoon 
at the latest.

"Which means you'll actually be taking off in two 
hours," I can hear the smirk in her voice.

"Yeah." Most likely tomorrow afternoon.  "Go home, 
Donna."

"I just have to finish these numbers and put them on 
the President's desk.  Then I'll go home, I promise."

"I'll see you tomorrow."

"Can't wait.  Did you get Lani?"

"I wore him down," I sigh.  "I love you."

"Love you, too.  See you tomorrow."

"Gotta go," I finish, dropping the phone back onto 
the cradle.

It's three in the afternoon which means we'll be 
flying through the night, just as the President 
prefers, to arrive at Andrews Air Force Base at 
precisely eight AM Eastern time.  

I feel like I haven't slept in a week -- probably 
because I haven't.

"I'm sorry you weren't able to leave sooner, Josh," 
Phillip offers.  He sits beside me typing my brief 
for the President on his laptop.

"S'okay," I drawl.  "I'm headed home now, that's all 
that matters."

"And Lani's in the bag."

"Along with seven of his colleagues.  Not a bad four-
days work.  Hey, kid, sorry you didn't get to work 
with CJ."

"No, it's okay," he reassures me.  "I think she's 
more upset than I am."

"She needed the help," I point out.

"So did you."

"Stop being so ingratiating, Phillip.  It's pissing 
me off."

"Should I tell you to 'shut up already and get some 
sleep'?"

"Like music to my ears," I chuckle.

"I'll take my laptop to the back so you can have the 
whole row.  Did you want a blanket?"

"Phillip," I warn.

"Going," he replies, packing up his computer and my 
papers and skedaddling away.

"I can get my own damn blanket," I mutter, and then 
wonder where the hell I'm supposed to get that.  A 
folded up blanket hits me in the back of the head and 
I turn around to find Phillip smirking knowingly at 
me.  Yeah, that's more like it.  "Get to work," I 
say, meaning 'thank you'.

"Get some sleep," is his way of saying 'you're 
welcome'.

I stretch out my legs, taking up the whole row, and 
cover my upper body with the blanket.  The plane revs 
beneath me as we taxi to the runway, and the 
vibrations lull me into a warm place I haven't 
visited in several days, weeks even.

****

I must have slept through take-off because I wake up 
to the gruff touch of Leo's hand on my shoulder.  
Strange, I think.  Usually when Leo wants me he sends 
Margaret to do his bidding.

With a jerk of his head he indicates that I should 
follow and I toss off the blanket, wiping my fingers 
across my eyes to drive away the cobwebs of sleep 
still clouding them.  I stumble out of the row, my 
feet refusing to obey my commands, and check my 
watch.

4:28 PM

I quickly calculate the difference between my time 
and real time and conclude that I managed to get 
almost one full hour of sleep.  Will wonders never 
cease?


"What's up?" I ask, as he leads me down the side 
corridor of the plane.

"Conference room," he replies.

"Gotcha."  Whatever it is he wants to discuss it in 
more secure place.

When we reach the conference room, Leo holds the door 
open and waits for me to pass through before 
following me inside.  Okay...what did I do wrong?  
President Bartlet stands on the other side of the 
room, a glass of something dark in his hands.

"Uh...am I in trouble?" I ask.  Might as well get 
right to the point.

"Have a drink, Josh," the President says, holding out 
the glass.  "It's Scotch."

"No, thank you, sir."  What the hell is going on 
here?  Even the President knows that I'm a beer man.  
Scotch will more than likely put me under the table.

"Drink up, Josh," he insists, walking forward and 
putting the glass in my hand.

I take the glass because I have no choice and stare 
down into the depths of the dark liquid before 
tossing it back.  It burns as it slams down my 
throat, and I can't control the cough that results.  
Almost instantly, a warm glow spreads from my stomach 
to my legs and arms, and my head is more than a 
little fuzzy.  Any minute now, I'll be passing out.

I hand the glass back to the President.  "Have a 
seat, Josh," he orders.

"Am I being fired, sir?"

"Would I offer you a glass of my best Scotch if I 
were firing you, Josh?" he replies.

"Maybe," I answer.  My eyes squint as I try to ferret 
out the reasoning behind his actions.

"Have a seat."  This time it's Leo, who pulls a chair 
back from the table and offers it to me.

"Am I being interrogated?" I ask.

"Oh, for God's sake, sit down!" the President booms, 
and a second later my butt hits the chair.

"Yes, sir," I answer.

"I offered you a glass of my best Scotch because 
there is reason to celebrate," he begins.

"Right," I say, relief swimming in my veins.  "Lani's 
on board, along with Rifkin from Iowa, Bartles from 
Montana-"

"That's not what we're celebrating," he interrupts.

"There's something else, Mr. President?"

"Yes, in fact there is, Josh."
 
"What's that?"

"You, Josh, are going to be a father."

"I know," I grin, the warmth in my stomach spreading 
to my lips.  "Is that what this is?" I ask.  "Some 
kind of initiation into the Fatherhood."

"Not exactly, Josh.  You see, you are going to be 
father, but it's going to happen a little sooner than 
planned."

"A little sooner--?  What?"  The warm glow stops 
without warning and is replaced by icy tendrils of 
fear.

"I just received a call from Mrs. Landingham," the 
President begins, and I already know in my heart what 
he's going to say.  "Donna's water broke about forty-
five minutes ago.  My wife is with her, and she's 
been taken to the hospital by the Secret Service."

"Donna's water broke," I echo, dumbly.  "She went 
into labor."

"Yes," Leo confirms.

"I've requested regular updates, and we'll be 
receiving them here as often as they come.  I've also 
cleared incoming calls from the hospital."

"But she's not due for another three weeks," I point 
out.

"Sometimes these things happen, Josh," the President 
counters.

"But...but, I'm not there."

"Now, Josh, there's no reason to think that you won't 
be there.  It's a long flight back, I know, but 
sometimes labor is a long process.  There's no reason 
at this stage to think we won't make it back in 
time."

"But I'm not there, sir," I say again.  "I promised 
her I would be there."

A stifling silence permeates the air - it's the sound 
of complete helplessness.  I'm trapped here in this 
luxurious tin can, unable to get to her - to them.  
There's nothing I can do to make this plane fly 
faster, or to make Donna's labor last longer.

God!  Not that I would want that, because she's 
frightened enough as it is.  Which brings up yet 
another point, I'm powerless to ease her fear.

"Would you like another drink?" one of them asks.

I shake my head, because the Scotch swirling round my 
stomach roils impatiently and for a moment I'm not 
sure if it's going to stay put.  "I think I'm going 
to be sick."

I'm out of my chair and groping for the lavatory door 
before the President and Leo have a chance to react.

****

Flushing the lavatory toilet, I sit back on the floor 
and lean my head against the wall.  Through the door 
I can hear the muffled voices of the President and 
Leo discussing the situation.

"Well," the President sighs, "I didn't expect him to 
take it that hard."

"The Scotch was a bad idea, Mr. President.  Everyone 
knows that Josh can't hold his liquor."

I open my mouth to protest through the door, but my 
stomach rebels.

"I don't think this had anything to do with the 
Scotch, Leo."

"He's nervous," Leo deducts.

Nervous?  I'm not nervous, I think.  I am a man of 
nerves...nerves of steel.

After vomiting in the toilet once again, I decide to 
reevaluate my status as a man of steely nerves.  
Okay.  I might be a little nervous.  Also, scared out 
of my mind.

"Josh," comes the President's voice through the door, 
"are you okay in there?"

"Yeah," I answer, but my voice is weak and shaky.

"We can put him in my quarters," the President stage 
whispers.

"Good idea, sir," Leo agrees.  "He could use the 
rest.  He nearly drove himself into the ground trying 
to nail down Lani."

"Josh, why don't you come out of there?" the 
President asks, but anyone listening would know he 
was issuing an order.

I'm reluctant to leave my new best friend, the 
toilet.

"Leo and I have decided that you could use a little 
privacy and some rest."

Rest?  He thinks I could use a little rest.  Does he 
honestly believe I'm going to take a nap while my 
wife is thousands of miles away delivering my child?  
Is he insane?

"Come out of there, Josh," the President commands.

It's on the tip of my tongue to revolt like a 
petulant child.  What would the President do if I 
said 'I don't wanna'?

"Sir?" I say instead, "I'm not sure I'm ready to 
leave the lavatory."

"The lavatory is much nicer in my private quarters," 
he responds.

"Would it be possible to have a few more minutes?"

"Sure," he replies.  "Take a little more time 
to...pull yourself together."

"Thank you, sir."

Pull myself together.  I'm thinking I'm beyond that 
place where I can just splash some water on my face 
and jump back into the fray.  I flashback to another 
day, spent in another bathroom, and the absolute 
terror and defeat I felt then.  Sitting on the floor 
of the bathroom at home, and weeping for the damage 
done to 
Donna.

Just as then, I can't feel my legs, so moving right 
now would present nothing less than a colossal 
challenge.

Who's with Donna right now?  Who's helping her get 
through this?  I'm sure that she's surrounded by an 
army of well-wishers and encouragers, but does she 
notice my absence?  Is she angry?

How bad are her labor pains, and can she handle them?  
I should be there with her.  I'm supposed to be there 
with her.  If Lani hadn't been so damned hard to 
convince I would be there right now.  I would've 
boarded the first commercial flight back to DC, coach 
class be damned!  I would've been there when her 
water broke to tell her everything was under control 
-- even if I didn't feel that way myselff.

Is everything under control?

"You can't stay in there forever, Josh."  This time 
it's Leo, and his voice sounds edgy.

Damn it!  Why can't they just leave me alone?

"Come on out of there now."

"I'm coming," I say, reaching up for the vanity 
counter and dragging myself to my feet.  My legs 
quiver like a newborn colt's.  I open the lavatory 
door and Leo and the President each take an arm, 
offering me their support.

"Everything's going to be fine," the President vows.

Before I can edit my thoughts they spill out.  "No 
offense, sir, but there's not a whole lot you can do 
to make this 'fine'.  You may be the leader of the 
free world, but you can't stop a baby from being 
born, and you can't guarantee that it's going to be 
all right.  You just can't."

"I've arranged for my motorcade to take you directly 
to the hospital as soon as we land," he replies.  "No 
stopping for red lights, no waiting."

"Thank you, sir."

The men lead me out of the conference room, into the 
President's private berth.  I collapse onto the bed 
because my legs can carry me no further.

"What happened?" I ask.

"You had a meltdown," Leo answers.

"No, I mean, what happened with Donna?"

"Leo," President Bartlet turns to the other man, "why 
don't you get Josh something to settle his stomach?  
He's looking green around the gills."

A look passes between them before Leo nods and leaves 
the room.

"She was dropping a folder off on my desk," he 
continues.  

"The latest poll results, and some new numbers from 
the CWPS," I supply.

"I suppose," the President continues.  "Apparently, 
her water broke right there in my office.  That's 
going to cost a small fortune to clean, by the way.  
Abbey was called; the agents bundled her into the car 
and took her to the hospital.  Everything went by the 
book, according to the drills."

"Drills?" I ask.  "There were drills?"

"Well, we didn't want to leave anything to chance.  I 
asked Ron to cover any contingencies since your 
presence on this trip was last minute.  He came up 
with some fairly comprehensive procedures and wasted 
no time implementing them.  Every agent on the 
grounds was in the loop on this, Josh.  So, you see, 
it's actually a good thing that she went into labor 
while she was in the White House."

"So, what you're saying is that even if I'd been 
there, I still wouldn't have been in control?"

"Yup," he smiles, weakly.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're a busybody, Mr. 
President?"

"Frequently."

"Just so we're clear on that."

"I was only trying to help," he reminds me.

"I know."

"Abbey almost didn't make it to the hospital when 
Zoey was born," he sighs.  "I was driving as fast as 
I could, but Abbey kept telling me she had to push, 
that it was time to push.  No sooner did they get 
Abbey onto a gurney, than out slide Zoey, just as 
easy as you please."

Leo steps back into the room carrying a small glass 
of something fizzy.  Gratefully, I take it from him 
and gulp down the drink before I can taste what's in 
it.  

"Yeah," I say, trying to block out the sound of the 
President's voice and still look like I'm listening 
intently.  Under normal circumstances I would say 
that this is a skill I've mastered over the last few 
years.  Today, however, I'm not having a whole lot of 
luck.

"Ellie, on the other hand, was a different story.  
Stubborn before she was even born.  She didn't want 
to come out no matter what the doctor did.  Abbey was 
in labor for almost forty-eight hours.  She was so 
exhausted I thought I might lose her.  It looked like 
she would never be born, until the doctor threatened 
to perform a Caesarean section, and then she couldn't 
come out fast enough...."

I think about Donna laboring for days, and what it's 
like to almost lose her.  I've been there before, and 
I have no desire to revisit.  There goes my stomach 
again.  

"Sir?" I choke.

"Yes?"

"With all due respect...could you shut up?"

A steward knocks on the door and Leo is quick to 
answer it.  The uniformed man passes a note through 
the door.  Leo reads the slip of paper before passing 
it on to the President.

I sit up straight on the edge of the bed as the 
President peruses the note.  I don't think I've ever 
sat more erect in my life.  "Is it Donna?" I ask in a 
rush.

"No, Josh," the President replies with a shake of his 
head before turning to Leo. "You can take it in my 
office."

"Yes, sir."

Leo exits the room and the President turns back to 
me.  "Nancy's on the phone.  Something may be 
happening in the Balkans."

"Oh," I deflate.

"You really need to rest, Josh."

"I don't think I can, sir."

"Try."

"Mr. President, my wife is in labor thousands of 
miles away-"

"Josh," he interrupts.  "I have a flight surgeon on 
this plane, don't make me have you sedated."

"I should be there, sir.  I made a promise."

"Sometimes fate intervenes, Josh.  There's nothing 
you can do but go with the flow.  If you're meant to 
be there...you'll be there.  For now, you have to 
trust that Donna is surrounded by people who love her 
and that she won't be alone, not for a moment."

"This wasn't the way it was supposed to happen," I 
repeat my lament, like a record stuck in a groove.  I 
drop my head into my hands.

"I wasn't there when Liz was born," he comforts.

"You weren't?"

"It wasn't the thing in those days.  Men weren't 
really a part of the process until a few years later.  
I was sent off to a waiting room, where I sat for 
hours hoping to hear word.  You're not starting off 
on the wrong foot, son, you're just starting off the 
way most men did three decades ago."

"How did you stand it?"

"I honestly don't remember.  I do know that not being 
there is harder than being there.  No matter how much 
it hurts to watch someone you love suffer that kind 
of pain, it hurts more knowing you can't do anything 
about it.  So, I know how you feel, Josh."

"Thank you."

"The crucial thing to remember is that my 
relationship with my wife, and more importantly, my 
daughter, didn't suffer because I wasn't in the room 
when she was born.  We still bonded.  She's still my 
daughter, and I still love her more than my own life.  
Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Now, get some rest before I send the doctor back 
here with a big syringe."

"I'll try, Mr. President."

"I have to go check on this call.  I'll see that 
you're kept informed."  He waits for me to stretch 
out across the bed before slipping out the door. 

Alone, at last.

I roll over onto my side, fluffing the pillow beneath 
my head and close my eyes.  Behind closed eyelids I 
see Donna, laboring through contraction after 
contraction, and wish once again that I were by her 
side.  If wishes were horses, then beggars would 
ride.

I remember my last morning at home and the moments I 
spent in the nursery.  I think I knew then that 
something would go wrong.  I think I was sensing my 
own helplessness.  Because when it all comes down to 
it, my part is over - at least until the baby comes.

But still I fear the melancholic strains of "When You 
Wish Upon a Star".  

More than anything I want to hear my daughter's name 
on my own lips, to say it out loud -- shout it, even.  
But I can't.  Not yet.  My mother would tell me it's 
bad luck.  God, it's bad enough that I told Sam.  I 
just bandied about her name as though it were 
nothing, even though I knew - I just knew - that I 
should have kept it to myself.  I should have kept it 
safe.

So, for now I can only whisper it inside of my head, 
where it bounces around mercilessly like a shouted 
word in an echo chamber.  Held tight.  Held dear. 

The darkness behind my eyelids pulls me down in a 
swirling maelstrom and though I try, I can't seem to 
fight it off.  It swirls and swirls, sweeping me into 
its path until I can do nothing but follow where it 
leads.

**** 

A crushing blow, a scene I can't quite grasp taunts 
me and I'm forced into the light to escape its 
inevitability.

"Donna!" I gasp, shooting upwards from my prone 
position.

The cabin is dark, helped along by the inky blackness 
outside the porthole windows.  My head swims with 
sleep, but I'm alert enough to know that it was 
light out a minute ago.  At least, I think it was.

Where did the sun go?

I grope for a light switch but can't find it in the 
dark.  A tiny strip of light splashing on the carpet 
reveals the door's position and I stumble in that 
direction, using instinct and years of well-honed 
logic to locate the knob.  When the door swings 
inward it smacks me in the face and I need a moment 
for the stars to disintegrate.

"What the---?" my voice rattles angrily.  I know that 
something is wrong, but I just can't put the puzzle 
pieces together.  I slept, and at some point while I 
was vulnerable, someone removed my brains and 
replaced them with cotton.

"Mr. Lyman...sir," a voice I don't recognize says.  
"You're awake."

"Is that what this is?"  My eyes squint in the light 
that's entirely too bright, and I can just make out a 
uniform that seems familiar, and a face that does 
not.  "What's going on?"

The uniform takes me by the arm and leads me back 
into the room I was trying to escape.  He locates the 
light switch and the room explodes like the fire of a 
thousand suns.  I whimper as the light floods my 
senses and burns my retinas.  Well, it's more like a 
manly groan.

"I was ordered by the President to make sure you 
stayed put, and to notify him when you awoke."

Ah, yes...the President.  I work for him, don't I?  
And he took me into his private cabin to tell me 
something important.  Something about Donna.

The memories of what must been hours ago slam back 
into my brain, and I'm left wondering how anything 
could have made me forget.  "Donna," I say.  "I 
have to find out about Donna."

"You stay here," the uniform orders. Gone is 
friendly, subservient attitude of before.  "I'll get 
the President, and you," he points at my chest, "will 
stay put."

He frightens me.  "Okay."

I pace the cabin as I wait, trying to clear the 
lingering fog in my head, and to regain the strength 
in my legs.  I feel as though I've slept for a week.  
I check my watch to be sure and date still reads as 
the twelfth.  Except my watch is on Hawaiian time, 
which means in DC it's already tomorrow.  Early 
tomorrow, but still tomorrow.

I've been asleep for almost four and a half hours.  
I've missed four and a half hours!  Anything could 
have happened in that time.  Where are the updates I 
was promised?  Why didn't anyone wake me?

The President steps into the room without knocking 
and I turn my questions upon him.  He holds up a hand 
to halt my ceaseless babbling, and my voice trickles 
away.

"You needed your rest, Josh," he explains.  "I posted 
a man at the door to let me know when you'd 
awakened."

"Donna?"

"Still in labor," he replies.

Shamefully, I breathe a sigh of relief.

"Her contractions eased off after they arrived at the 
hospital." 

"What does that mean?"

"That it could be hours yet."

"Oh."  I collapse back onto the bed, shaking my head.  
"God," I moan, dropping my head into my hands.  "How 
could I sleep?  I'm terrified for Donna, but not 
terrified enough to stay awake, apparently!"

"Don't beat yourself up, Josh," he chuckles.  "It was 
the drink."

"The drink?"

"We slipped you a Mickey."

"You slipped me a...."

"Not a real one," he clarifies.  "The flight surgeon 
wouldn't give me access to the good stuff.  We just 
spiked the ginger ale with Nyquil.  Donna was right 
about your system." 

"Nyquil?"

"Cherry flavored," he nods.  "Well, I had hoped the 
Scotch would do it.  It might have too, if only you 
hadn't promptly threw it up before it could work its 
way through your system."  He sits on the edge of the 
bed beside me and covers my shoulder with his hand.  
"How are you feeling, son?"

"Well, my sinuses are clear."

"Good to know.  Sinus trouble can be murder at 30,000 
feet."

"You sure Donna's all right?"

"Would I lie to you, Josh?"

"You slipped me a Mickey, sir."

"Good point.  Donna's fine, according to our last 
report."

"Which was when?"

"Just before nine."

"That was over an hour ago, Mr. President!" I stand, 
my arms waving frantically.   "Anything can happen in 
an hour!  Nations can crumble!  The World Series 
could be won or lost in an hour!  An hour can mean 
the difference between life or death," I rant.  
"Believe me, I know."

"Calm down, Josh," he quietly says.  "I just asked 
AirCom to put a call through.  It'll ring through to 
this phone.  All we have to do is wait, but you have 
to listen to me, Josh.  You have to remain calm, do 
you understand?  I haven't given up on the idea of 
dragging out the heavy medications.  If the Secret 
Service thinks you're becoming a threat they'll put 
you in a Vulcan Death Grip so fast it'll make your 
head spin."

"Calm," I say, taking a deep breath.  "Need to stay 
calm.

The phone attached to the wall beeps loudly and I 
make dive for it.  "Hello?"

"Well," the President says, "it's my phone, but help 
yourself."

"Hello?" I repeat.

"They haven't sedated you yet?"

"Sam?"

"Who'd you think it was?"

"I was hoping for Donna."

"Donna can't come to phone right now, but if you 
leave your name and number-"

"Sam," I grind between clenched teeth.

"Little joke.  I was hoping to lighten the mood."

"How is she?"

"She's hanging in there.  The First Lady is with her 
right now.  I was with her earlier, but there was a 
thing with an enema...it wasn't pretty."

"An enema?" I cringe.

"Yeah, it's...nevermind...you don't want to know.  
That was a few hours ago; I've been in and out since 
then.  Her contractions are coming about five minutes 
apart, but she's being a trooper.  She was scared at 
first, but now I think she's okay.  Just so you know, 
she wishes you were here.  That's not a guilt trip, 
Josh, I'm just saying."

"Yeah," I croak, my heart constricting with a healthy 
dose of guilt anyway.  "Thanks."

"She really is fine, Josh."

"Yeah."

"How is everything there?"

"Fine," I sigh.

"And the President?"

"Oh, he's having the time of his life."

"Driving you crazy?"

"Uh-huh."

"I figured.  I wouldn't want to be where you are 
right now."

"Funny, because I'd do just about anything to trade 
places with you."

"If sitting through a hell flight with the President 
meant you could be here right now, I would do it 
gladly."

"Look...Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Just in case I don't get there in time...." I begin.

"You will," he assures me.  "Of course, you will."  I 
can almost see him shrug, as though he can't possibly 
imagine that anything this important would go wrong.  
But that's Sam for you - the bad guys always get 
what's coming to them in the end, and the good guys 
always save the day.

"Yeah, but just in case...." 

"What is it?"

"You know about this stuff."

"I've done a little research.  Oh, and there was that 
one class."

"Yeah.  You know about this stuff?"

"I know things."

"I don't want her to be alone, Sam."

"She's not.  I mean...she won't be."

"But...what I'm trying to say is...that it's gotta be 
you, Sam."

"Me?"

"Yeah, you."

"Wouldn't you rather it be Dr. Bartlet?  She is a 
doctor, after all."

"I need you to be there...for me."

"You want me to pinch hit this one?"

"Just if I don't get back in time," I clarify.  "If 
I'm back then you have to sit on the bench."

"Gotcha.  Josh, what about...you know...the other 
thing?"

"What about it?"

"Well, what if...?  I mean...if you don't get 
back...I'm the only one who knows."

"Sam," I say, sighing deeply into phone. "I'm already 
missing everything else."

"You don't know that for sure."

"I want to have this.  Just tell her...tell her I 
need this one thing."

"I hear you.  You know it's going to be okay, right?"

"Yeah," I respond,  "It's going to be okay.  It has 
to be -- she has to be.  I don't suppose there's any 
chance she could wait until I get there."

"It's out of her hands at this point," he replies.  
"I should get back."

"Yeah.  Tell her...."

"Yeah?"

"Nothing," I shake my head.  "Just give her my love."

"I will," he agrees.  "I'll have someone call, if I 
can't call myself."

"Okay."

Sam hangs up on the other end, and I set the phone 
back on its cradle.  Strangely, I feel worse than I 
did before I talked to him.  I feel farther away 
somehow.  I sink into the chair opposite the bed.

Every day with Donna has been a challenge.  Yet, 
making it work has been a goal that I have relished 
waking up to in the morning.  I've made mistakes that 
rattle my bones just thinking about them, but we've 
managed to sweep away the messes we've made and see 
the love that sometimes ends up hidden beneath a lot 
of crap.

I've lost count of all the promises I've made to her.  
Promises that, for one reason or another, I've ended 
up breaking.  Failure is not an acquired taste.  You 
don't ever get used to it, even though it tastes the 
same no matter how many times you end up choking it 
down. 

"Did you know I never made anything less an 'A' in 
college?"  I boast.

"I've seen your resume, Josh," the President replies.  
"I also recall seeing a 'C' on your high school 
transcripts.  Home Economics, was it?"

"Unfairly slanted to the advantage of females," I 
mount my usual defense.

"Yes, of course."

"I've never worked for a losing campaign, sir."

"It's one of the reasons I hired you.  In fact, it's 
the only reason I overlooked your miserable Home-Ec 
failure."

"I should've known then."

"Known what?"

"That I wasn't going to be any good at this."

"This?"

"I never had a relationship that lasted more than six 
months before it went downhill."

"Until Donna," he points out.

"Yeah," I echo.  "Until Donna."

He studies me for a moment and I can't help but 
squirm uncomfortably beneath his squinting gaze.

"During Feudal times," he begins.  I have to fight to 
keep from rolling my eyes.  "A knight would swear 
fealty to his liege lord.  He would vow honor and 
chivalry, and if necessary, give up his life in 
defense of his lord's lands and title.  When a knight 
knelt before his liege, it was understood that there 
would be sacrifices to make.  Sometimes his blood 
would be required of him, and sometimes it just meant 
being away from his family for months, sometimes 
years at a time.  Sacrifices aren't something we make 
when it's convenient for us, Josh.  When you came to 
work for me, you swore fealty and accepted that there 
would be sacrifices along the way.  Do you regret it 
now?"

"How can you ask me that, sir?"

"Because I think you need to know the answer more 
than I do."

"I serve at the pleasure of the President," I reply.

"So you've said before, but that isn't the answer 
you're looking for.  It kind of rings hollow in 
circumstances like these, doesn't it?"

"I love this country, sir, and I love working for 
you.  Working with you has given me an opportunity to 
change the direction of government, to shape policy."

"To make this world a better place for your child."

"That, too."

"I never asked you to give up having a personal life, 
Josh.  In fact, I think if we review the last few 
months, we'd find that I did everything in my power 
to encourage you."

"Yes, sir."

"I needed you on this trip, but even if I'd known-"

"You still would have asked me, anyway," I fill in.

"Yes."

"Because these are the sacrifices I'm meant to make."

He nods in response and takes a deep breath.  "I want 
you to know this, Josh.  If there's ever a time when 
you feel you need to pledge your time to your family, 
if you feel the sacrifices I ask are too much. I'd be 
willing to let you go for that.  I know that working 
for me can make things impossible most of the time."

As I sit, flabbergasted by his words, his admission 
that he'd be willing to accept a resignation from me, 
he clears his throat and stands.  A knock on the door 
admits a porter with a slip of paper.

"There's a call," he waves his hand vaguely at the 
door.  "Apparently my wife would like a few words 
with me."

"Choice words?"

"I sense that she won't be whispering sweet nothings 
into my ear.  About the other thing, did I make 
myself clear, Josh?"

"Perfectly clear," I reply, and then, "I'm not going 
anywhere, sir."

"Get some sleep," he orders.  "You don't want to meet 
your child for the first time looking like something 
scraped from the bottom of a barrel."  He swings open 
the door and steps over the threshold.

"No, sir, I wouldn't want that."

"Take a shower, Josh, and while you're at it, change 
your clothes."

"Yes, my liege."

"Smart ass."

A porter in the hallway delivers my suitcase and 
closes the door softly behind him.  Once again, the 
President has thought of everything.

Some of the things he said made sense.  Okay, a lot 
of the things he said made sense.  Four years ago, 
when I took on his campaign for the highest office in 
the land, I swore fealty to him.  I even brought Sam 
along.  And later, Donna did the same.  We always 
knew, even then, that there would be things we would 
have to forfeit.  Holidays with loved ones.  Eight 
hour work days, and full nights of sleep.  Somehow in 
the middle of all that, I fell in love, made a baby, 
a got married.

In short, I got lucky.  I've been given more than 
most people in my position.  I should be thankful for 
the things I have, rather than dwelling on the things 
I give up to have to this job.  If my life were 
ordinary, I would be with Donna right now, but it's 
not.

On the other hand, if my life had been ordinary, I 
might never have even met Donna, and all of this 
would be a moot issue.  Boggles the mind just to 
consider the way things might have turned out. 

So, I will be grateful for the gifts I'm given and 
the occasional normality I'm allowed.

Yeah, a shower sounds really good right about now.

****

I moved back into my seat for the final approach into 
Andrews Air Force Base. I wanted to be as close to 
the door as possible.

I'm already out of my seat and gathering my things as 
we taxi to the hanger, but a hand on arm catches my 
attention.

"Don't worry about it," CJ smiles.  "Phillip and I 
will get your things.  We'll take them back to the 
office.  You just get to the hospital."

"Thanks, CJ."  I smile, even though the nervous 
fluttering in my stomach is making me lightheaded.

"Nervous?" she asks.

I guess I really do have a bad poker face.  For the 
last few hours of the trip I've attempted to play it 
cool.  Pretend that I'm not bothered, or scared 
witless.  "Yeah," I nod.

"Me, too," she admits.

"Why are you nervous?"

"Because two of my best friends are about to become 
parents.  I'll probably have to babysit someday.  I 
never really had to do that before, but I've been 
reading up."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"I've spent most of the flight working on the 
release.  Can't really finish it though, not until 
the exits are in.  Get it?  Exits?"

"I got it."  I want to laugh at her joke, she's 
trying so hard to make me find the humor, but I'm 
long past the humor part of the evening.  If there 
ever was one.

"Anyway," she clears her throat.  "I've already 
spoken with the Corps.  Everyone's got their fingers 
crossed."

"Great.  Every little bit helps, I guess."

"Door's opening," she points.  "You better hurry."

I don't even say goodbye as I exit the plane and 
navigate the steps to the ground.  I think I'm still 
woozy from my Nyquil cocktail.  I'm rushed over the 
limousine and tucked inside, the door closing behind 
me.  Before I can even adjust my position on the 
seat, the car is moving, pointed in the direction of 
the hospital.

There are sirens and police escorts, and I try not to 
dwell on the sheer weirdness of being in the front of 
the Presidential motorcade.  I didn't think he'd 
come, but the driver informs the President is in the 
next car back.  I was not the only one that was 
rushed off the plane and into a waiting car.

During the ride to the hospital the fluttering 
butterflies in my stomach turned to a flock of 
condors.  The fact that I'm in a Presidential limo is 
the only thing that keeps me throwing up on the 
opposite facing seat.  I'm also wondering if this is 
the same car Donna and I "inaugurated" during our 
honeymoon.

Right, focus on that, Josh.

Thanks to Donna's preparatory lessons, and the tour 
she made me take last month, I know that the 
Obstetrics wing is on the third floor, so I don't 
bothering stopping at the information desk in the 
lobby.  I don't bother with the elevator either.

The stairwell spits me a few yards away from the 
registration desk.  I skid across the linoleum floor, 
but despite the speed I've managed to generate, I 
continue to feel as though I'm wading through sludge.

"Lyman?"  I ask, breathlessly.

The wide-eyed nurse points down the hall and I pivot 
just in time to hear Sam's voice carrying down the 
corridor.  "Josh!"

"Sam!"

"Shhh!" the desk nurse admonishes.

Sam trots up to me, and I can see the answer to my 
question in his eyes.

"I didn't make it," I say.

"Everything went fine.  There was a problem with the 
presentation-"

"A problem?"

"It was nothing," he reassures.  "The doctor handled 
it."

"Donna?"

"Out like a light.  She's exhausted."

"And...?"

"They took her to the nursery," he grins.  "If you 
hurry-"

'Hurry' is my new middle name.  I find the nursery 
partially by instinct, but mostly because my 
brilliant wife forced me to take a tour of the 
Obstetrics and Post-Natal wings.

There are five infants beyond the picture glass 
window, and I'm reading the cards, looking for the 
one that says -

"Lyman?" a voice asks.

"Yeah?"

"Did you just get here?"

"Yeah."

"Would you like to see your daughter?"

"Uh-huh," I nod, unable to produce intelligent sound.

She takes my arm and leads me into the nursery.  The 
babies are quiet, not crying, but I can still hear 
the tiny sounds they make.  However, none of those 
are mine.  The nurse is pressing a gown on me, and 
ordering me to sit.  Something in my brain promises 
that if I follow her orders to the letter then she'll 
let me see my baby.  

"I'm sitting," I tell her.

She chuckles, and I know that she must deal with men 
like me every day.  "They're just about to finish 
weighing her right now."

"Okay.  Is she healthy?" I ask.

"She's perfect," the nurse laughs.  "I'll get her."

When she returns all I can see is a bundle of 
blankets.  The nurse reminds me to hold out my arms, 
and I robotically obey.  I feel like a five year old 
on his birthday.  At the same time there's this fear 
that I don't know what I'm doing.  A fear that my 
hands are too big or she's too small to hold; that if 
I don't do this right I could break her.

"Six pounds, ten ounces," the nurse informs me as she 
places the bundle in my arms.  The bundle that's not 
even as heavy as some of the dumbbells I have at 
home.  "She'll need to eat soon, but right now she 
seems pretty content.  That should give her mother a 
chance to rest."

Go away, I want to tell her.  I want to be alone now.  
I want to hold my daughter and tell her all the 
things I've been waiting to tell her.

There are things that fathers need to tell their 
daughters.  It should be understood, even at this 
young age, that the world is a big bad place, with 
lots of darkness.  I've waited an eternity to tell 
her that I'm going to protect her from all of that.  
That I'm going to make the world a little bit nicer 
and a whole lot lighter for her.

I look down into her face and the fear rears up 
inside of me.  "Her head?" I ask.  "Is it supposed to 
be-?"

"That's normal."

"Okay, thanks."  I sigh with relief, unable to look 
away from my daughter long enough to acknowledge the 
nurse.

"I'll just leave you two alone," she whispers, 
getting the hint at last.

As I stare down at her, soaking in her pink cheeks 
and tiny upturned nose, I mentally tick through all 
the things I'd planned to tell her when I met her for 
the first time.

About the Epiphany, and how we've met before.  I can 
see tiny red and blue vessels beneath the skin on her 
eyelids.

How she was stubborn enough to be conceived on her 
own time and not according to our plans.  Thought out 
plans, I might add, involving marriage first, then 
kids -- but that she's much to unconventional for 
that.  Her eyelashes are like microscopic feathers 
resting on her cheeks.

How her father's a very important man, and that her 
mother's no slouch.

But none of that seems important next to the fact 
that when she yawns in my arms I can see a dimple on 
her right cheek.  She tenses and shudders in my arms, 
the yawn rippling though her entire being.  Her 
fingers clench tightly into a fist that pounds the 
air, and I take the opportunity to count the fingers 
there.

There's a tuft of downy soft hair peaking from 
beneath the pink bonnet on her head.  It's brown and 
light, and I know that someday it will be blonde.

I want to tell her that I've seen some of the most 
breathtaking things this world has to offer.  I've 
stood at the base of the Roman Coliseum and marveled 
at its grandeur.  I've been inside Buckingham Palace 
to shake hands with royalty.  I've even trembled in 
the shadow of Mount Everest.  Closer to home, I've 
seen spacious skies, amber waves of grain, and the 
purple mountain's majesty.

But I've never seen anything quite as spectacular as 
this creature in my arms.

I want to tell her that someday I'll take her to the 
top of the Eiffel Tower so we can spit over the edge 
together; but that we'll have to distract her mother 
first before we can accomplish our evil scheme.

Is it too soon to teach her about the Mets?

In her sleep, tiny digits wrap tightly around my 
index finger and my heart constricts painfully in my 
chest.  This time the pain steals my breath, and for 
a moment I'm afraid I'm having a heart attack.  It 
would be just my luck to hold my daughter in my arms 
and then never get to see her grow up.

But it's not a heart attack; it's something else.  
For all the things I've been told -- all the advice 
I've been given over the last few months -- no one 
bothered to tell me just how much this kind of love 
hurts.  As the sharp pain eases into a dull throb, I 
know that it will remain with me for the rest of my 
life.  And looking into the sleeping face of my 
daughter, I also know that I can live with that.

It's the kind of pain that fills you inside and makes 
you understand why life is worth living, even when 
things can sometimes get ugly.  It seeks out the 
softest parts of you and settles in for the long 
haul.  Pain that swells and aches, melding with all 
your joy until you can't tell the difference between 
the two.  The kind of pain that completes you.

Holding her in my arms, I know that I've crossed some 
invisible barrier and that there's no turning back.  
Most importantly, there's no desire to return.  She's 
a tiny, perfect being and she's done something that 
nothing; not time, not my parents, not the work, not 
even Donna could do.

She's made a man out of me.

I want to tell her all of these things, to give 
credit where credit is due, and to share with her all 
things we'll see and do together.  But I can't, 
because it seems that I've lost my voice.  My throat 
constricts leaving me without the power to speak 
lengthy and pithy monologues.  I'm lucky that my body 
remembers how to breathe.

The best I can do is gaze down at her miniature 
fingers with even smaller fingernails, stroke her 
silken pink cheek and croak out one short sentence.  
A sentence that I hope will say it all.

"Where have you been all my life?"



The End