23 Elul 5761

It had begun with the attacks on New York and the Pentagon. I had, of course, been at work "stalking" Congressmen as my assistant, Donna Moss, referred to it. Leo and the President had been away schmoozing voters in Florida – it's never too early to court those re-election votes, is it? Anyway, I was on the phone harassing another recalcitrant Congressman when Donna appeared in my doorway, ashen and shaky. Immediately, I covered the mouthpiece with my suddenly sweaty palm. "Donna?"

Her mouth moved, but her voice didn't squeak in until the second syllable. "Nancy McNally on line three." She swallowed hard. "She says it's urgent."

I mumbled a word or two before, basically, hanging up on the ranking member of the House Appropriations Committee. "Josh Lyman."

"We have a Defcon Delta situation, Josh."

My mind immediately spun back to the security briefings then through the innumerable drills and produced what had become an automatic response. "I'll need confirmation."

Her response matched the current codes. Just as she spoke the C-SPAN feeds cut to CNN and a sight that, over twenty years later, I still cannot fully comprehend. "An airliner has just crashed into the World Trade Center."

Mutely I stared at the screen.

"Josh?" Nancy McNally interrupted just as a dark-suited agent replaced Donna in my office doorway.

"Does the President know?" The clock on my wall read eight-fifty-five.

"He is being secured." She then rattled off instructions for "crashing" or locking down the White House. No, the President would not be returning here, at least for now. I heard a fighter jet scream overhead and could see more dark-suited agents coursing through the bullpen. She had no more said, "Do you understand?" than the unthinkable happened again.

"Do you see this?" I asked in horror.

"Confirmed?" she asked someone on her end. "Yeah," she spoke to me again. "Confirm second crash." A voice mumbled in the background. "Confirm Eagle is secure?" she asked the voice. "The President is secure," she said to me. "You should be prepared to evacuate the White House."

"Acknowledged," I said with a dry mouth. With a grunt, she disconnected. "Where is the Vice-President?" I asked the suit that had positioned itself in my door.

"He asked to go to the bunker, Mr. Lyman."

My dry mouth turned sour. "Fitzwallace in the Situation Room?"

The Suit nodded as I dialed the Officer of the Day.

"Initiate 'crash,'" I said needlessly but necessarily. "Then prepare for evacuation." I didn't even wait for his acknowledgment before striding into the bullpen. "We're only locked down, for now," I squeezed Donna's trembling hand, "but call the Senior Staff assistants and tell them to prepare to evacuate within the hour."

"What's going on?" Her eyes could be so round when she was terrified.

"That's what I'm gonna find out. Gone to Leo's." All of the faces I met had the same look, terror and disgust, leaving me to wonder if I looked that way and hoping I did not. I found Margaret at her desk with a tear-streaked face. Jabbing a finger at the door and receiving a nod, I entered. Toby and CJ were pacing while Sam was leaning against the armchair. They each shot a question at me, which I ignored until the phone buzzed and Leo's voice emanated from the speaker. "Josh, hold on," he ordered, and a muffled conversation ensued in the background. "What's it like there?" his voice sounded closer.

"We're at full lockdown, Leo," I answered. "Staff is okay, for now, but we've got to tell them something soon."

"Like what?" Leo asked.

"Like what the hell's going on, Leo," Toby Ziegler huffed.

"You'll know when I do!" Leo barked. "The FAA is shutting down New York. We need to go on the air ASAP. How soon can you be ready?"

"How soon can we get a security briefing?" Toby asked.

Leo's voice asked a muffled question before responding, "Be in the Situation Room in five."

Toby nodded and disappeared with CJ and Sam.

"What do you need from me, Leo?"

"Are you alone?"

"Yeah."

"We're under attack, Josh. Fitz and Nancy both say to consider the White House a primary tactical target. Do you know what that means?"

I swallowed hard. "We're at a Defcon Delta crash now, Leo. I've already ordered all sections to prepare to evacuate within the hour."

Static popped. "Are we ready for this?"

"Don't you mean am I ready for this?"

"Josh, I didn't . . ."

"It's okay, Leo. I'm not sure any of us is ready for this."

A knock preceded Toby's reappearance in the room. "CJ has cleared nine-thirty with the networks, Leo. You should be receiving the script in the next ten minutes."

"That's only ten minutes lead time, Leo," I warned.

"Make it five, Toby."

"Okay," Toby agreed reluctantly and left.

"I'm counting on you, Josh," Leo warned. "Over a thousand people work at the White House."

"Nearly two-thousand, Leo." I almost choked. "I won't let them down. Or you."

"Good," he replied just as I heard the President's voice in the background. "I've got to go. Good luck to you."

I wondered how many of his fellow pilots he'd said that to in his last war. "Good luck to us all." Silence indicated the line was disconnected. I gathered myself for a moment before opening the door. "Are you okay, Margaret?"

"I'm fine," her face and her trembling voice belied her response. Quickly, she lowered her head, trying to hide her tears behind a curtain of titian.

Before thinking, I patted her quaking hand. "Do you need some help getting ready?"

She shook her head and I strode down the hall, the Suit my ever-present shadow. He was, as you may have guessed, Secret Service; I didn't usually rate that kind of protection but, as the ranking member of the Senior Staff during a Defcon Delta alert, I did rate an escort. And so he followed, silently, like Lurch: I almost expected to meet Gomez and Morticia around the corner. I met Sam, instead, reading the President's script as he scurried to the secure fax machine in the Situation Room. His eyes met mine, terrified, before continuing on his mission. The next few minutes are like a montage in my head: Donna's terrified looks, everyone's terrified looks, standing silently in the bullpen listening to the President's speech, more "stiff-upper lip" performances, and then, Donna handing me the phone, "It's Nancy McNally."

The National Security Advisor was even more curt than usual. "The Pentagon has been hit, Josh. Evacuate."

"I'll need confirmation," I repeated automatically.

Immediately she responded with the doomsday code confirmation.

"Acknowledged," I responded then dialed the Officer of the Day. "This is the Deputy Chief of Staff. Dayword," I repeated the word I'd memorized, "Codeword," and continued with the second half. "Evacuate all White House personnel," receiving only an acknowledgment before hanging up. Donna's expression betrayed terror and I squeezed her shoulder before proceeding to the Oval Office and gathering the items on the checklist that had appeared in my hand and giving them to my shadow. As I left the Oval, I could see, through the windows, people streaming from the building, onto the Mall, into Lafayette Park. By the time I returned to my office, Donna was no where to be found. Following the security plan, I proceeded to my assigned station, and paused, determined to wait until everyone had cleared the building. My shadow had other ideas, though.

"Mr. Lyman, you have to go."

"I'm not leaving until everyone's safe."

"That's not your job, sir."

"The hell it isn't. I'm staying."

A shadow crossed my Shadow's face, as if he were considering mayhem, before he pushed at his earpiece and relayed, "The building's clear, sir. You can go now."

I shook my head. "No." Desperately I turned around, searching the place where she, Donna, should be. She wasn't there. Oh, God, she wasn't there. I spun around again, "Where is she?"

"Who?" the Shadow asked.

"Donna Moss, my assistant. She's supposed to be here."

Shadow spoke into his sleeve before shaking his head. "No location on Ms. Moss is available. You have to go to your designated location now, sir." He loomed over me, but I spun around again, scanning hundreds of terrified faces without seeing the one I sought.

"Now, Mr. Lyman," the Shadow insisted.

The crystallization of my thoughts into a truth-revealing orb was immediate. I had been an idiot. Since I had realized I loved her, and intellectually pursued that thought to its logical conclusion of home and family, I had also realized that I could never share that with her, at least, not for long. According to the doctors, the three idiots in a pick-up truck had taken years from me–years that, if I followed my heart, would leave Donna alone with small children and a car payment and a house note and everything. So, I feigned disinterest–poorly most tell me now–watching her date Gomer after Gomer, praying that each would be the one who could give her everything she wanted and be there to share it with her. But now, searching vainly for her in the semi-ordered chaos of the evacuation, I realized that, if the tables were turned, I would rather be left with everything than nothing. Just one more chance, please, I prayed to a God in whom I barely believed.

And there she was.

Without a word I grabbed her hand and dragged her to the place where the Senior Staff would await transport to the infamous "undisclosed location." Expecting surprise and resistance, I was shocked to encounter acceptance and, dare I say, envy in the countenances of my colleagues. The security team was not nearly so understanding, denying her access despite my pleas, arguments, and orders. I closed my eyes for a moment, then jerked my watch off my wrist, holding it out to her. "This isn't the way I wanted, or the time I wanted, but it's something I've wanted for a very long time, Donna. Would you . . ."

"Yes," she smiled before I could finish the question. She knew. She knew what the exchange of something valuable meant. She'd cared enough to find out. Snagging the watch from my hand, she slipped in on her wrist as though it represented her fondest wish. In a way, for both of us, it did.

I returned her smile, brushed my lips past hers, before turning to the security officer. "She's my wife; put her with the First Lady."

"Mr. Lyman . . ."

"What the hell are you waiting for?" I nearly screamed, then grinned at her like the imbecile I'm sure everyone thought I was.

"Now, Mr. Lyman . . ." My shadow called impatiently. Sam and CJ had already embarked, but Toby had lagged behind, watching and seeing all.

I turned back to Donna and held out my right palm. Hers met mine and we twined our fingers together. "I am my beloved's," I vowed.

She smiled and with a squeeze replied, "And my beloved is mine." With glistening eyes we parted, each to our appointed places. Toby waited to walk beside me.

"Grand gesture. Do you understand what you just did?"

"Do you know what today is, Toby? In Hebrew?"

"Something in Elul," he replied. "5761. Why?"

"So I can put it on a Ketubah."

"You're serious?"

I nodded. "It's about time, don't you think?"

"Past time," he chastised, but paused at the door of our transport and held out his hand, "Mazel tov."

"Shalom," I replied, joining mine to his for an instant, then following him into our waiting transport.

"From your mouth to God's ear," he looked skeptical for a moment but then we were crowded together in our blacked-out transport for our "buggy ride." I jammed on the headphones offered insistently by the radio operator and adjusted the boom microphone.

"The Pentagon has been hit," I shouted over the engine roar.

"Jetliner?" Sam asked, then returned to tapping madly on his laptop when I nodded.

"Say again?" I cocked my head to hear the rest. "Another jetliner has been hijacked and is vectored toward Washington."

"The Capitol?" Toby's voice rose and his forehead creased. CJ grasped his forearm but he didn't notice.

"Maybe. They can't tell."

"Why not?" CJ replied with Toby.

"The pilot turned off the plane's radar beacon." Our transport pitched sharply, sending us grasping for handholds. I listened again before replying, "Hell, yes, get them out of there!"

"What?" Toby asked impatiently.

"They're evacuating the Capitol. Leadership is on its own little exodus." Toby choked back a question but I asked into my mic. "Do you have a location on Congresswoman Wyatt?"

Long minutes passed, punctuated by Sam's nervous keytaps.

"Say again?"

"Where is she?" Toby shouted.

"She's confirmed at her appointed location, Toby. She's okay."

After than the news came in spurts–false alarms, evacuations, the eventual crash of the airliner in Pennsylvania before we returned to the White House. It was bedlam for an hour or so until the panic subsided and the demands of each person's duty deadened their senses–at least for everyone else. CJ and Carol, Sam, Toby and Ginger, each were huddled together in an extended "divide and conquer" task session. My assistant, however, had not returned–which, since I was stuck in the Situation Room until Leo physically returned, was not necessarily a bad thing. With the Vice-President safely tucked away, the President returned to the White House by mid-afternoon, cameras rolling as the Senior Staff greeted him on the South Lawn. With a strong and determined stride and flinty New England carriage he marched from Marine One through the White House to the Situation Room. Then, only there where neither camera nor junior staffer could see, his eyes softened for a moment, his shoulders stooped slightly, and, for the first time, I noticed a tiny tremble in his hand as he held it out to first to CJ– "How're ya doin', Claudia Jean?"

"I'm fine, Mr. President."

–Then to Sam–"You must have known people there--"

"Yes, I did, Mr. President."

–Then to Toby–"Vengeance is the Lord's, Toby."

"Vengeance isn't Jewish, Mr. President."

–Then to me–"Thank you for holding down the fort, Josh."

"Welcome home, Mr. President."

Leo followed the President, greeting each of us with a grave handshake, prolonging mine to tug until I fell in step beside him. "What's going on?"

"We're hangin' in there, Leo. The staff is doing okay, I think, doing what needs to be done despite being in shock." I ran down the rest of his checklist, hesitating at the door to the Situation Room.

"Come on," Leo beckoned and for the next hours I became his shadow, marveling at his passion and dispassion about the current situation, wondering if I could ever match his performance–and praying nobody would ever have to. Occasionally, increasingly, he would ask my opinion about something. Although my initial response was a fish-eyed stare, pretty quickly I found out that he truly needed my viewpoint which, seemingly, was diametrically opposed to everyone else's in the room. After I asked what would happen if we made no military response, the soldiers looked at me like I had grown a third eye in the middle of my forehead. Fortunately, a gold-braided aide handed me a note which I showed to Leo and, with a nod, hurried to the First Lady's offices.

Lilly Mays, the First Lady's Chief of Staff, met me by the receptionist's desk with a handshake. "Donna's in my office, Josh," she paused, "and the First Lady would like to see you when you're through."

I mumbled thanks and slipped into the office, no more crossing the threshold before finding my arms filled with her. "Are you okay?" the weight of my clasped hands behind her drew her against me.

She nodded tearfully, arms encircling my shoulders lifting her face until it was even with mine. "I was so afraid."

"I know."

"What you did before," fear dulled her eyes and she pulled back, "protecting me by saying I was your wife, was very kind, Josh, but if you want to change your mind . . ."

"I meant every word." I pulled her close again. "But you may want to reconsider."

She pulled away and crossed her arms. "Why?"

I jammed my hands in my pockets. "I'm a target of both a Grand Jury and a Congressional investigation, Donna. I may not be employed, or employable, much longer."

"So, I'll work and you'll be a kept man," she deadpanned. "Next?"

"We're on the verge of war, Donna. As a member of the Senior Staff, I'm a likely target for retribution. Anyone near me . . ."

"I'll be near you," she cut me off with a headshake, "whether we're married or not, and you know it. What else have you got?"

My back twinged and I backed against the door facing, head lolling against the cool wood before meeting her clear gaze. "I'm forty years old, Donna. I don't know how you found out, but I know you know how little time I have left: just enough time to leave you with teenagers, a mortgage, car notes . . ."

She stepped forward, fingers brushing lightly against my cheeks. "I'd rather have thirty minutes of wonderful than a lifetime of nothing special, Joshua."

"Quoting 'Steel Magnolias'?" I chuffed.

"It's true." She captured my face between her hands. "Do you love me, Joshua Lyman?"

I covered her hands with mine. "Yes."

"And I love you." She leaned into me, wrapping my arms around her before enfolding me in her embrace. "Everything else is just crap."

"Leo McGarry, the poet laureate of the Bartlet administration," I chuckled before meeting her gaze. "You're sure? About the marriage thing?"

"I'm sure," she promised, then prevented any further objections with a kiss made even more electrifying by the years taken to build up to it. "Besides," she panted for air while remaining in my arms, "a case could be made that we've been married a lot longer." She pulled away and smoothed her clothing.

"Since when?" I adjusted my jacket and tugged at my waist band, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

She raked her fingers through her hair and blotted her lipstick with the handkerchief I'd proffered. "Since New Hampshire. When you gave me your campaign badge."

"If only I'd been that smart," I smoothed my hair and buttoned my coat. "I could have saved us from a lot of suffering at the hands of Mandy and an endless string of Gomers."

"Yes, you could have," she smoothed my tie and twined her fingers through mine. "See you later?"

I nodded and opened the door, my voice switching back to 'boss' timbre. "Make sure that room in the basement still has the couches, blankets and pillows and make sure every Senior Staff member who has a couch has a blanket and a pillow, too." I smiled at her, regretfully, "Nobody's gonna sleep for a while."

She nodded and, with a little wave, left just before Lilly Mays opened the door to the First Lady's Sitting Room.

"Josh," Abigail Bartlet greeted with a tired smile.

"Ma'am."

She waived me to a chair. "It was very nice to have Donna's company on our little excursion."

I leaned forward, "Ma'am, I'm sorry about that; I . . ."

"Don't be sorry, Josh." She leaned against one arm and clasped her hands. "Is it the real thing?"

I rested my elbows on my knees, my hands clasped between them. "Yes," I said softly.

"She knows everything, Josh? About your time?"

I nodded and silence stretched between us before I spoke. "When you found out about the President's MS, about how little time you might have left, did you consider leaving him? To save yourself from the pain of watching what you know will come?"

"For an instant," she admitted, "until I realized that I, too, would rather have thirty minutes of wonderful than a lifetime of nothing special."

"Has every woman on earth seen that movie?" I grinned.

"At least twice," she returned my smile and stood. "All the best to you both, Josh."

I rose but before I could thank her the door burst open.

"Abby, are you okay?" the President asked breathlessly, stopping short upon seeing me.

"Thank you, Josh," the First Lady offered her hand.

"Thank you, Ma'am," I returned and pulled the door closed behind me, enchanted by the simple, caring embrace, not of the President and First Lady, but of Jed and Abby, thirty years joined. "All the best to you both," I breathed before scurrying back to the Situation Room.