Title: The Luck of the Draw

Author: slimwhistler

Rating: PG/PG-13

Part: 1/?

Disclaimers: They aren't mine, unfortunately, apart from a few originals...they belong to Sorkin and Wells

Spoilers: Ummm...Anything

Summary: Josh and Donna deal with an unexpected addition to their family.

Feedback: Please!!!!! With a cherry on top! This is my first fic ever, and I really enjoy writing it. So let me know if you enjoy it,

Author's Notes: Major kudos to my beta, Caitlin, for her enthusiastic encouragement and assistance and for reaching out to a newbie author such as myself. Thanks also to my friends and family for putting up with my spouting of random WW trivia all summer. Thanks to all the great writers out there, too; reading was so fun, it made me want to try creating my own story!

Archive: Sure, but please let me know!

P. S.: If you've never seen the classic Tootsie Pop commercial with the cartoon owl and all, it'll be hard to get the ending.

Thanks to whoever came up with that, too!

Numbly, almost blindly, I follow Lanie into the lobby, my heart pounding so hard I can hear the echo in my ears. "Aidan? Adi, honey?" The boy swings around, and my chest constricts as I look into the eyes of my oldest son. The son, until recently, I never knew I had.

Until recently, my life had been following the pattern that I've come to accept as normal. Make no mistake, I'm not unhappy by any definition, but lately, well, life hasn't been very obliging, I guess you could say.

Of course, I'm married to Donna, if you haven't already guessed. She and I have always been on the same weird wavelength, and honestly, I don't think I could live without her. Especially now.

Until last year, the best adjective to describe our life was, smugness and syrup be damned, well, idyllic. I really mean it. Three great kids, a fabulous house, a senate seat for me, and a journalism career for Donna; she's a features editor for Cosmopolitan, and I couldn't be prouder. Hell, the only accomplishments she's achieved that make me happier are our children.

Eliza is our youngest. She's four, as blond and blue-eyed as Donna, with a sunny nature and a mouth that runs nonstop. Samuel, or Sandy, is six. He's more a mix of Donna and me: dark blond, with hazel eyes, and, to his mother's intense pleasure and my chagrin, the infamous Lyman dimples. I'm not saying they aren't as cute as heck, but I know how much he'll hate them when he's older. Plus, he can turn either the dimples or Donna's pout on at the slightest provocation, so he usually gets what he wants. Not that he's spoiled though, never that. Apart from a serious mischievous streak, he's a quiet kid, coming out with the greatest questions. He also has, as a courtesy of his Lyman genes, a tendency to brood. The situation with Norah hasn't helped any in that department either.

Norah. My spitfire. Smart, sassy, and, by the tender age of three, able to argue her way out of everything. Donna always says that I must have been so eager during Norah's conception that her genes somehow got bypassed. I can see her point. The child bears a striking resemblance to me physically as well, except, thanks to Donna, I think, more refined, somehow, if that makes any sense. Delicate, I guess. She's got my eyes and angular nose, which always sports a dusting of tiny golden freckles. From the day she was born, I've never seen anything more beautiful. She's a lot like Donna in temperament, though: she knows how to keep her dad organized and how to handle me when I start to get demanding and blustery. She does have my flash of temper, though, and isn't afraid to use it when she's displeased. I haven't heard such vehement "telling-offs" since the days when Donna had to suffer through the agonies of hair brushing with her. Of course, Donna can blame me for that, too: Norah's hair is every bit as unruly as mine, this great, thick, curly, reddish-brown. Sometimes, I think, Donna regards it with something between despair and jealousy. Not that anybody has to worry on that score anymore, at the moment.

Cancer. When we got the news last year, I was dumbstruck. I mean, here I am, the former "bulldog of the Bartlet administration," used to browbeating anyone, anything, into submission if need be, and there was nothing I could do. Not one single, damned thing. It was a horrible realization, one I had promised myself since her birth that I would never allow myself to experience. Unfortunately, over the past few months, I've had to get used to it. I hate it, every second, but for once I'm completely and utterly helpless, and, though I would never admit it to anyone, incredibly shaky. Norah's my girl, my first.

Which is why the thing with Aidan threw me so violently.

"Hey there, Donnatella."

She spins to face me as I plant a kiss on the back of her neck. "Joshua! What have I told you about kissing me when I'm hunched over a pot of boiling water?

"Um, that you enjoy the thrill?"

"No, that isn't it at all, and you know it. Although it is nice to see you smirking again. God knows I never imagined myself saying that."

I sober quickly. "Did you see her today?"

"Of course, Josh. Why else do I now work from home?"

"Hey! I was just asking, you know!"

Donna rubs her hand across her face. "I know, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Josh. It's just; she had another round of chemo today. It wasn't a good day."

I wrap her in a bear hug. "I'm sorry, honey. I know. You need a break..."

She cuts me off. "A break? You think a break will help?"

"No, I'm just saying, maybe you should take the kids out somewhere, or, I don't know, ask CJ for the weekend. Just something, Donna. Speaking of the munchkins," I say, raising my voice, "where are they, anyway?"

From upstairs I hear Eliza's happy shriek, followed by the pounding of feet on the stairs. I catch her up and twirl her as she skids into the kitchen. "Daddy!"

"Hey, Minnie."

"Daddy..."

"Honestly, Josh, do you want to give the girl a complex?"

"Well, Donna, it's not my fault she looks just like you, now is it?"

"Well, it kinda is..."

Thankfully, Eliza interrupts this conversation with a question. "Mommy, what's a complex?"

Before Donna's tired mind is subjected to Eliza's favorite "why, what, where" game, I ask quickly, "Liza, where's Sandy?"

"In his room, Daddy. He's sad again."

Shooting a quick glance at Donna, I head for the stairs, take them two at a time, and knock softly on Sandy's door. "Hey Sand-man? It's Dad. Can I come in?"

I take the muffled sound I hear through the door for assent and enter his room. My son is sitting on the edge of the bed, in his ball gear, sniffling. "Hiya, Slugger, what's up?"

He turns toward me, tears running down his face. "I'm not a slugger, Daddy. I'm not even gonna play in the game this weekend, probably. I can't do anything right," he sobs despairingly.

These kids break my heart, they really do. "Sandy, you know I don't care if you play or not, right? Just try your best, buddy, and have fun. It's supposed to be fun. And you do lots of things well, like drawing, and piano. You know, when I tell people that the drawing in my office is yours, they're amazed. They think its Norah's, at least."

He had begun to perk up as I talked of his drawing, but at Norah's name his face fell once again. "Daddy, is Norah gonna die?"

Now, Donna and I discussed this. We're not going to lie to the kids, or make promises, just soften the truth as much as possible. Eliza's too young to understand, really, but Sandy can, up to a point. And if he can't, many at his school, unfortunately, are only too happy to try and explain it to him. "Who told you that, kiddo?"

"Tommy and Peter. They said their mommies said..."

"Listen to me, Samuel Noah. Norah's pretty sick, but Mommy and I, and Dr. Feldman, you met him, remember, well, we're doing everything we can to make sure she gets better really soon. She's trying hard too."

He considered this. "Daddy, does everybody die?"

"Yeah, everybody does, sometime."

"Even you and Mommy?" he asks plaintively.

"Yeah, kiddo, even me and Mommy."

"Soon?" he wails.

" I sure hope not. Neither of us plans to go anywhere for a long, long time, okay?"

Sandy flings himself against me, and I settle him in my lap, kissing his hair. "Okay?" I ask.

"Uh-huh."

"Daddy?"

"What, kiddo?"

"Do you think, when Norah gets better, she'll come to my games?"

"I know she will. You know what I think would make her happy now, though? You should draw her a picture. She could hang it up in her room where she'd see it. There's no reason why I should be the only one to brag about the great Sandy Lyman, world famous artist."

"Daddy, you're silly!" he giggles.

"Darn right," I say. "You too. Now, can we get ready for dinner already? Mom made spaghetti."

"Yay!"

"Scoot," I say, giving him a nudge.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, Sandy?"

"I love you."

"I love you too, kiddo. I love you too." In order to try and control the lump forming in my throat, I mumble, "Dinner soon."

He's so involved in going about his business; he doesn't hear me, which is just as well. I go out of his room and lean my back against the wall, trying to extract a measure of comfort from the familiar technique. Except, this time it doesn't work, and I slide down against the wall, wrapping my hands around my knees, shaking and fighting against tears. All I can think of is a little girl with Sandy's eyes, Joanne's eyes, lying in a hospital bed, and the same eyes staring out at me from a photograph of a boy I've never known, never been able to comfort.

Bracing myself, I head down to dinner, knowing the tranquility that has, at least temporarily, settled on my home will shatter in a few hours, when I tell Donna.

Four days later, Donna and I sit down with Sam, CJ, Danny, and Toby. I had to twist a few arms, but even an annoyed Toby got the message when he realized that my tone was quiet, without its usual, ah, forcefulness, we'll call it.

"Okay, guys, thanks for coming. Ah...so. So, here's the thing..." God, what an eloquent beginning. I can do this. I swallow hard, and lace my fingers with Donna's. "Um, do you guys know who I mean when I say Lanie Whittaker?"

"Lanie?" Sam pipes up. "Wow, I haven't seen her in forever. How's she doing?"

"Wait a sec," interjects CJ. "Lamie. The Lanie who was the college girlfriend, the one long-term relationship besides Donna you had that you didn't irreparably screw up? The one girl who you didn't just plow into sideways without realizing it? Foreign Service Lanie? That Lanie?"

"Yes, CJ, and thank you for that brisk and rosy summary of my love life."

"Any time, mi amor."

Toby's been watching silently, intently. No father loves his children more fiercely than Toby Ziegler; he knows the haunted look in my eyes intimately. In typical Toby-like fashion, he cuts to the chase: "Josh, what's this about?"

"Um, yeah. Well, Lanie's not doing so good. Heart disease. She only has a couple months left. And...and, she's not alone. She's got a kid, a son. Aidan. Adi. He's mine. He's my son."

"Josh." It's Sam. "How come you didn't tell us?"

"Because, I didn't know, Sam! She never told me.

Never! His name's not even Lyman. She told him who I was when he was twelve. He's known longer than I have."

I look around and see the questions on their faces. I sigh, and run my hands through my hair. "It was before Gaza. She and I, well, we parted on good terms in college, we were both alone, and busy, we cared about each other, were comfortable with one another, so we just, you know, were together. Our relationship, well, we just called each other up. We never stayed in touch in between, really. We just didn't. Then Gaza, then Donna and I got together, then marriage, and, you know. She sent congratulations, and then she got posted abroad, and I haven't heard from her since. Until a few days ago, that is. There's nobody for him. Her family's gone, and all the close friends are overseas. So. That leaves us."

"Well, she's got a lot of nerve. How can she just, you know, not tell you, and then ask you to pick up the pieces after fourteen years, Josh?"

"She's dying, CJ," Donna reminds softly, speaking for the first time. She squeezes my hand. "She loves him, and she's scared."

"Yeah, but how can you just not tell someone that they have a son?" Sam again.

"I guess it turns out to be pretty easy there, Spanky," CJ shoots back testily.

"Guys, stop. Let them finish."

I nod at Toby in thanks. "Well, you know, with being Deputy, and then Congress, and Senate, she just didn't want to make things harder for me. I don't like it, but I can understand it. She was just trying to protect me, and him, too."

"Yeah, well what about the poor kid now? How is this poor kid gonna cope with his mother dying, moving in with a father he's never known, in a new country, practically? And what about the kids? You've got so much going on, with Norrie in the hospital, and you say Sandy's clinging to you in tears all the time now. What's this gonna do to them? Their world's already been turned upside down fifteen times over! Huh?"

CJ might sound sort of harsh, but it's indignation at the situation, not the people, and on my behalf. She's trying to process it in her own way. I know this, because I know her.

"So, what's next, Josh?" Toby.

Our eyes lock. "He's my kid, Toby."

He nods. "Okay then."

"What can we do, Josh?"

I look at Danny. I see the friend, not the reporter. I don't even need to ask him to keep this quiet for the moment.

"Well, we were thinking. We want to talk to Norah, go up to Manchester afterwards. Could you guys maybe take the kids for a while?"

"Of course."

"Norah's got chemo on Monday, Josh. I don't want her to be alone. Maybe we should-"

"I'll go."

The look Donna gives Toby is so heartbreaking, it makes me want to start bawling. He nods. It's right. Toby's the one. He's Norah's godfather. Not that any of them would refuse, but Toby will just be. As only Toby can be.Quiet. Calm. A comfort.

"Thank you." I look at each of them in turn. The room is silent. With friends like these, words become unnecessary.

He's a good kid. Which is why, a few months down the line, I'm surprised to get a call from his school, saying he's been in a fight. Norah's been worse lately; Donna's even less comfortable about not having one of us with her. So I go, and, regretfully, the Lyman temper isn't as reined in as I like it these days. In fact, by the time I get to the office, I barely look at Adi; I just give him a glare before I stalk in the door.

"Mrs. Cooper? I'm Joshua Lyman, Aidan Whittaker's father. He was in a fight?"

"Mr. Lyman. Thank you for coming in. I know you must be busy."

"Well, yes, I am, but that's rather beside the point now, isn't it? What happened?"

"Well, of course I wasn't present when the incident occurred, Mr. Lyman, but from what I can gather, some boys were taunting Aidan."

"Taunting?" I can barely believe it. "This is about taunting? Why didn't the kid just walk away, for Christ's sake?"

"He did, Mr. Lyman. Until they said something about, ah, his being an unwanted stray, that his mother just picked you, and you only accepted him to save political face."

I can feel my blood begin to boil. "That is the most, the most...preposterous thing I've ever heard. Have they even looked at him? He looks exactly like me! And even if he didn't, regardless of anything, what right have they to question... I didn't even know until his mother...until... do they think that if I'd known I would have..."

She spoke softly. "I realize that, Mr. Lyman, just as I am cognizant of the fact that this is a new country for Adi, as well as a new home. I'm also aware of your eldest daughter's sickness." As I stiffen, she continues. "I'm sorry, Mr. Lyman. I can't imagine how difficult it must be. I won't pretend to. I wouldn't have mentioned it except, well, all of these things have an effect on Adi, and perhaps, with everything, you and your wife haven't noticed it as you otherwise would."

"Mrs. Cooper, are you implying that I am not concerned with my son's well-being? Let me tell you something. I have loved each of my children since the first second I saw them, including Aidan. I would never, ever, willingly neglect them, and it kills me, that through no fault of my own, that that is exactly what has happened with Adi!"

"I can see that, Mr. Lyman. Perhaps it would help if Adi could see that as well."

"Yeah." I put my head in my hands. How the hell do I deal with this? I let him down, just like I let them all down. I couldn't fix it, any of it, for any of them. I wish Donna were here.

"Now, taking into account the extenuating circumstances, and the fact that Adi did attempt to walk away, I've decided to dispense with any severe disciplinary measures. This time. I can't afford to be this generous again. You can take him home with you now, and we'll see him on Monday."

"I will. Thank you, Mrs. Cooper. Thanks for understanding."

As I turn to leave, she speaks again. "He's a wonderful boy, Mr. Lyman. All things considered, he's handling everything exceptionally well. I don't mean to sound as if I'm preaching, but I'd hate for anything like this to get in his way. He's too special for that."

I give her my little half-smile as I let her words sink in. "Yeah."

By the time we get out to the car, however, any warm feelings Mrs. Cooper aroused in me have been replaced by anger. He is too smart to pull a stunt like this, and he damn well knows it! Never mind that I often do the exact same thing, never mind the little voice in my head telling me I'm unreasonable; by the time we get home I'm so angry I can barely see. Adi's just sitting there, scuffing his shoe against the floor covering, not saying anything, not fighting, not explaining. For some irrational reason, this makes me even angrier. I explode.

"What the hell did you think you were doing, Adi? What the hell were you thinking? You know better than that. I know you do, and I know damn well your mother made sure you knew, too. Jesus! I just, I can't handle...Jesus, Lanie! How...Aidan, you knew what those little pricks were saying was complete bullshit! Why in God's name didn't you just keep on walking? Why?"

"Because I don't know that! I don't!" he blazes.

I'm dumbfounded. "Adi-"

"No, you listen for a second! Do you think I don't know exactly who you are, Josh? Do you think I'm stupid? I'm not, and neither is my mother. I know exactly how good a politician you are. And my mother knows. And my mother doesn't lie, she doesn't conceal, she...didn't," he ends quietly. "So she must've had a reason not to tell you. Why would she do something like that if she didn't have a reason? She wouldn't have done that. She wouldn't!" He ends on a wail, a wail heartbreakingly young for a fourteen year-old boy. I am speechless.

Outside, it has begun to rain, with lightning and wind. Inside, all I can hear are the sounds of my son's choked sobs and labored breathing. I can't say anything, because a cold, clammy sheen of sweat has begun to coat my body, and soon I begin to shiver, though not from the cold. Adi misinterprets my silence; he slams out of the car after spitting out a vehement "Asshole!" I stay, and watch helplessly as he runs into the storm, too stunned to move. He's gone. I failed him, and he's gone. The front door opens. Donna. Donna. Thank God.

"Josh? I didn't hear the car. What happened? There was a message... I called the school... they told me some... Josh? JOSH! Relax. Relax, Josh. I'm here it's okay. It's okay, Josh. What happened? Where's Adi? Josh, it's pouring, he could get sick. Where is he? Josh, please!"

"He ran," I gasp out, allowing the present, Donna's face, to become my focus. "The woods...he doesn't think, doesn't think I want him, Donna, doesn't know... that it's the last thing, ever..."

"Josh, go after him. Now, before it's too late. You can't freeze up on him now, Josh. You can't." She yanks open the car door, pulls my arm. "Josh! GO! NOW! I nod, and her face softens. "I'll be here."

The sodden earth is slick under my dress shoes. I could care less. All I need right now is a redheaded, hazel-eyed kid. He's not erratic and explosive like me, he's a steady, sure flame, one that would rather help than blaze and hinder, and the last thing I want is to have that change, have that be my fault too. Suddenly, I see something. Adi. I stand in the cold mud and let the rain pour over my face. Under his tree, he hears me. His jeans are soaked and muddy; half of his cranberry-red shirt collar is sticking our from under a blue sweater beaded with glistening rain. His usually buoyant curls are plastered down over his forehead, and his face is streaked with tears and naked misery; it's devoid of the detached teenage mask he often affects. It's the most miraculous thing. He is. Beats the Ave Maria like nobody's business.

"Don't ever think I don't want you, Adi. I swear to God, if I had known, if I'd had the faintest inkling, nothing and nobody would have kept me away, you understand? When something's important to me, nothing gets in my way. You want to know stuff about me, start with that. Adi, I don't know what your mother was thinking, I don't, other than what she told us, and there was probably more, some of which even she probably didn't realize. But whatever her reasons, she did what she did because she loved you, and don't ever think any different. And I love you, too, and no matter what stupid-ass things you might do, I'll always want you, always love you so much I won't know what to do about it. Always. Even if you vote Republican."

Despite my attempt at levity, he looks as if his heart's breaking into fifteen million pieces, so I give him what's been coming to him fourteen years and more: I pull him into my arms and rock him, and you know what, he's so damn tired, he lets me.

Later that night, an exhausted boy wakes to the muffled strains of the Ave Maria. He creeps downstairs from his attic bedroom, realizing that he is not the only one who has noticed the music. He melts into the shadows as Donna makes her way to the living room, then follows, curious.

In this house, the Ave Maria means one thing: brooding. Josh prefers to call it introspection, but trust me, it's brooding.

"Josh?"

He's hunched over, resting his chin in his hands. "Josh?" He turns to me with that haunted, faraway look in his eyes, the one that was there after the shooting, after Gaza. And although I know the answer very well, I still ask the question: "Whatcha doing, Joshua?"

"Just thinkin'" he replies, scrubbing his hand through his hair.

I can never resist that, so I go sit next to him on the couch and smooth it back into place. "Yeah? What about?"

"Stuff."

"What are you, Josh, six? Elucidate." I say it softly, though, and rub my hand in circles on his back.

"Yeah, maybe, I guess," he says huskily.

"Come on, Josh, spill it. I'm too tired to poke it out of you, and I don't feel like twisting your ear, either. Now, you're sitting here being broody, and I can't help you when you're broody unless you talk. You know you'll feel better afterwards, Joshua," I add more softly.

"Broody? Donna, you make me sound like a mother hen," he says snarkily.

Good. "I wouldn't say mother hen so much as, maybe, a soft-shell crab." At his incredulous look, I continue. "You know, tough on the outside, with threatening pincers, but tender underneath. Actually," I ramble, "I think the name might have more to do with the way they're cooked than biology."

"Well, you were the biology major," he smirks. "Honestly, Donna, can't I be something more manly, more suave? You know, like a panther. I would've made a great panther," he affirms.

"Newsflash, Joshua: Debate skills wouldn't have helped much when push came to shove in the jungle. And you are not an outdoorsman."

"I so am," he sputters indignantly.

"No, Josh," I say calmly.

"Go away," he grumbles.

"Impervious."

"Tell me again why I married you?"

After a resounding smack, I say, "Because you couldn't live any longer without the witty repartee, useful trivia, and organization I bring to your life. I, on the other hand, married you as a way to become a martyr for the local gomer population. They needed my protection."

"Nah. Honestly, I think your trivia fetish works better than a wedding ring or pepper spray, myself. You should patent the system. And that's saying a lot, you know, to consider myself second-best in any capacity."

"You know you're crazy for my trivia skills, Joshua."

Softly, "I'm crazy for you, Donnatella."

I kiss his cheek and snuggle closer. "Did I mention," I say after a moment, "that soft-shell crabs are extremely delectable? Succulent, even."

He grins. "Is that so?"

"Oh yeah, baby."

"Well, why don't we test that theory?"

"Not so fast, buster. As much as I have enjoyed yet another foray along the Lane of Misdirection, which, I admit, I instigated, I still want to know what's bothering you. Well, actually, I don't need to know; I already do. I just want to hear what you have to say about it."

"Hey!" he protests.

"Yes, Josh, in case you were wondering, you are utterly predictable. It's Adi, isn't it? What happened?"

"Well, actually, it's not really-"

I cut him off. "Josh."

He blows out an exasperated breath. "Yes, okay? It was Adi. We had the thing at the school, we got home, I was an insensitive ass, he said as much and more ran off, and I froze. 'Cause I realized I failed him, too. Just like everybody else."

"Josh, you have never truly failed anyone in your entire life. You're much more likely to go overboard in the opposite direction. Yeah, so you yelled at him, you were stupid, but you did it because you care. You're his father; it's what you were supposed to do. Just like you were supposed to run out of a burning house and make your father proud by succeeding at doing what you love."

"Yeah, but doing those things meant I wasn't there when they needed me."

"Josh, don't you think your sister and your father were happy that you survived, that you were doing what you were meant to do? Being with Joannie might have made you feel better, but you wouldn't be around now to realize it. And then you wouldn't have been around to comfort your father when he needed something else to think about besides the hell he was going through. And you know that if you had quit your job to be with him, he would have kicked your ass into next Tuesday. You know that, Josh."

"But how does any of that help Adi? He thought I didn't want him, Donna. He thought that we took him because we had to, because of the politics."

"Does he think that now?"

"Well, I told him no, but-"

"Josh, this is not in any way your fault. I of all people know that if you'd found out you'd have been on the next plane to wherever he was. Adi will realize that, too. It'll take some time, that's all. He's been through a lot, he has to deal with it, process it. Just like you did with everything, after..."

"You see, though? Every period of my life, when things are going right, something happens. First Joanie, then my dad, then getting shot and the damn PTSD, and now Norah. And Lanie. Adi. And I can't help thinking it's all because in some fundamental way I failed. And I failed him."

"Honestly, Josh, you're worse than a Tootsie Pop. How many times do I have to tell you before it penetrates into your thick skull: this is not your fault! Look, for each of those times you just listed, lots of good things happened to you. Your parents loved you, they went on to build a life for you, when Joanie's death might have crushed and embittered 'lesser mortals'. You got a good man elected to the presidency, and you helped millions of people. You still do. You got me. That alone proves you must have played your cards right somewhere along the way. And now you have Adi. You have a chance with him."

"Wait," he says slowly. "Are you suggesting that Adi makes up for Norah, is some sort of replacement for her? Damm it, Donna, he is not a trade!"

"Joshua, do not go there. Do not go one step farther. If you do, I swear...I carried her for nine months, Josh. I'm there with her every day. I feel every pain, and I would give anything to take that burden away from her. If you ever say anything like that to me ever again, Joshua Lyman, anything, I swear to God, I just might have to...don't touch me. Just... don't.

"Donna." There's that husky tone again, the one he only uses when something of great import has just transpired. "God, I'm sorry. You know I didn't mean that. You know I didn't. Donna, please." He's wearing this crestfallen expression, simultaneous shock, horror, and pleading. Agony.

"Please, Donna. Hit me, scream at me, just don't freeze on me. Please don't turn away. I'd rather have you yelling at me, mad as a snake, than not... I can't, I can't...I can't," he chokes out desperately.

I manage a small smile through my tears. "There's no need to hyperventilate, Joshua; I'm quite used to you being an ass. Besides, I'd rather have a smirk from you than flowers any day." I pause to reconsider my statement. "Wait, let me rephrase that...When I said..."

He's grinning again. "Hey, no backtracking."

"You bet your ass I can backtrack. I can backtrack all I damn please. You're gonna owe me flowers every day for the next year, Lyman."

"Try 'the next century'."

"Don't you start being sweet. I'm trying to prove a point, and it's harder to do that when I'm not at least a little bit mad at you. All I was trying to say, before you started being, you know, a rather nasty version of you, (and here I pause for the reference) was look at the good things. We're successful. We have a great family, great friends. We can afford to give our daughter every chance. We have each other. And now we have Adi. And he's a great kid, Josh."

" I know. I guess I played another good game of cards, there."

"Yeah, you're a real shark."

"What is this, The Night of Metaphors? First I'm a crab, then a panther, and now I'm a shark."

"First of all, I never said you were a panther. That was thanks to your own special brand of chronic delusion."

"Yeah, but you did call me a Tootsie pop back there. You can't deny it."

" I did. And I have no intention of denying it."

His grin is huge, dimples and all. "Tell me, Donna: Exactly how many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop?"

"Only one way to find out."

Outside, the boy has been sitting against the wall with his arms wrapped around his knees, unknowingly mimicking the position his father had assumed earlier. He hears them stirring and sprints soundlessly up to his bedroom. His eyes are bright with tears, but there's a smile on his face.