In the Woods

We are still going although the hour I aimed for is over. Miranda is still okay, Peter was pretty tired. I picked him up, he is riding on my back. But now I'm dead tired too, the sleepless night and the physical stress wore me out, I guess. I clench my teeth, I think I can go on for another ten minutes.

"Okay, that's it," I tell Miranda and Donna, because I feel Peter's body slacken against my back. "I think he is asleep, and now he is dead weight, I can't carry him on," I explain them.

They nod, and Donna removes the parachute from the bag and stretches it out. I place Peter in the middle, hoping that he doesn't wake, and motion Miranda to lie down next to him. Donna and I settle down to flank them from both sides. Then we pull the excess material over our bodies, leaving only our head exposed.

"Is Mommy okay?" Miranda asks, and I know she had to think of this the whole way but didn't ask because she didn't want to worry her brother.

"I won't lie to you, Miranda," I say, "she was injured. I hope that someone found her and that she is already in a hospital."

"Was the injury bad?" Miranda presses on.

"I'm not a doctor, Miranda, but I think it was serious. Not critical, but serious. You understand the difference, right?"

"Yes, Josh. Thank you for not lying to me," she says. "Does Daddy know what to do? You are his top advisor." She can be sweet sometimes, and most of the times I really like her. I touch her hand, and she turns to me.

"Honey, your Daddy is one of the smartest crayons in the box," I tell her, making her smile. "I'm 100 percent sure that he knows what to do."

"Yeah, he is really smart," Miranda agrees in a whisper. "I'm sleepy, is it okay to sleep?" she asks, looking over to Peter. I hope that one day my daughter will be the same considerate, loving person like Miranda.

"Yes, honey, rest assured that we will watch your back while the two of you are sleeping," I tell her, and she closes her eyes. Her breath evens out, and soon she is asleep. I watch her face, and notice that some time during our walk in the forest she must have been crying. There are two lines of tears visible on her dirt covered face. "She had been crying?" I ask Donna in a whisper.

"Yes," she simply answers.

"Should we take turns or do you want to keep me company?" I ask her gently.

"I'm pretty tired but I want to keep you company, Josh," she says, and I can hear her emotions in her voice.

"Donna, I know I don't say this enough, but I love you."

"I know, Josh. And I love you too, I hope you know that," she says. Yes, I know. But I also know that she sometimes doesn't like me.

"But right now you don't like me?" I press.

"Right now… I think I've never loved you more than right now, Josh," she confesses, and I have to tell you my eyes are misty and my heart is thumping. I don't think I deserve such happiness but I'm not the fool I once was, I accept it as long as it's mine.

"I would like to explain myself and then apologize," I whisper to her.

"Josh, you don't need to…" she says, but I cut her off.

"I need to do this. It's almost midnight, and I can't stand the thought that you are mad at me for more than twenty-four hours."

"Okay," she sighs.

"I meant everything I said this morning, Donna. I'm happy and I want to marry you. No," I cut her off again when she protests. "I even meant that hurtful sentence although my choice of words surely is an indicator how much of a jerk I am."

"Josh, that sentence made me cry," she confesses.

"I know, Donna, that's why I want to apologize. But I will do that later. First I want to explain why I said it."

"Okay," she says and then hesitates a moment before speaking again, "Chief of Staff Knocks Up His Former Secretary," she repeats my sentence, and I hear that she is about to cry again.

"Donna, that's how they will present it. I'm sorry, but that's the truth. If we do marry they will still say it, but the story is half as interesting if we are married."

"And I told you, Josh, I don't want to marry you because of the baby," she says. Yes, I know. That's where she left this morning.

"Okay, can we pick up the conversation from there?" I ask her, and she nods. "I love you, and you know that. Is that not good enough of a reason to marry?"

"Josh, I treasure it that you love me and I really appreciate that you want to make an honest woman of me but it's not enough for marriage."

"Donna, we are lovers since the elections. That's three years. You didn't want to move in with me, and I can understand that although I'm not happy about it," I admit, and then go on. I have to know. I really have to know because I really want to marry her but honestly I don't see where she is coming from. I mean I love her. It surely must be enough! "What would be a good enough reason for marriage?"

"I can't tell you that, Josh, it would be cheating. But if you don't know right now that proves my point, you are not ready to be married," she says, and I feel the anger rising up.

"Okay, I think you should go to sleep," I tell her and can't help to notice how cold my voice sounds.

"No, Josh," she protests. "We have to talk about this."

"I know, but right now I'm pissed at you," I confess.

"That's okay, I'm pissed at you too," she says and smiles a sad smile.

"I want to marry you, Donna. Is that not enough? I, the man who was afraid of commitment, want to marry you."

"Josh, that's not enough, I'm sorry."

I'm so mad right now that I could shout. If there was a wall in front of me, I think there would be a hole right through by now. I need to vent, I need to shout. But I can't. I need to keep my voice low. The whole idea of talking is maybe dangerous, but I can't help it. I want her to feel, to know how I feel.

"You want to know why I want to marry you?" I ask, still trying to keep my voice down but it's a struggle, I can tell you.

"Yes, Josh, that's what I want to know." Why is it that she is so composed and so level-headed during these arguments? Why can't I be that way?

"I want to marry you because of that damn photographer in front of my house," I tell her, and I see that she is confused.

"Josh, to tell the truth, I honestly have no idea what you are talking about," she says.

"You know about the paparazzo at the other side of my street?" I ask her. I know that she knows, we talked about it once or twice.

"Yeah, but I don't understand why you want to marry me because of him."

"Because he makes us cheap!" I exclaim, still keeping my voice low. This sucks. What's good about an argument if you can't raise your voice? "Because he makes our relationship like it's some kind of tawdry affair, like a sordid liaison! I don't want people to think that because it's not true. What we have is something I treasure, something I want to have for the rest of my life. And you know what? I'm hurt. I'm hurt because you wouldn't stay for the night. I need to hold you and I need you to hold me," I admit. "I had nightmares this morning after you left. I couldn't sleep a single minute because once I fell asleep the nightmares came. I desperately needed you, Donna, but you weren't there. And I'm hurt because of it."

"Oh, Josh," I hear her whisper.

"Why wouldn't you marry me? I know you love me, you carry my child. Is the thought of being married to me so hideous?" I know that I sound pretty desperate, but I really am. And Donna is crying again. "Why is it that all our serious conversations end up with me being angry and you crying?"

"Oh, Josh," she whispers again. "You just gave me a good enough reason to marry you," she is laughing through her tears.

"I did?" When did that happen?

"You told me you needed me in your life, you told me you want us for the rest of your life. I want that. I'll marry you if you still want me,"

"More than ever," I tell her and reach out my hand over the kids' heads. She takes it and caresses the back of my hand with her thumb.

"Was the nightmare bad?" she asks then.

"I knew it was a dream, I knew it this time, but it was still bad," I whisper back. I don't like talking about my nightmares, but this is Donna, my love, my soon-to-be wife and the mother of my child. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm okay. I'll schedule a visit with my gynecologist when we are done here. Would you like to come?"

"Yes," I say and nod. I really want to be there for Donna.

"Thank you, Josh," she whispers.

"You didn't answer my other question," I tell her.

"About the serious conversations?" she asks, and I nod. "Josh, how many times do we have serious conversations where we talk about us?"

"Every once in a while?" I ask tentatively. We like fooling around and we talk about politics every time, but conversations concerning us are rare.

"Exactly. By the time we have those conversations you bottled up enough anger to drive you to the edge and when you are angry at me I tend to cry."

"We should schedule serious conversations concerning us?" I ask her half jokingly-half serious, knowing that she likes being organized.

"Josh," she says in a warning undertone, but I see that she is smiling. "No, I don't want to schedule conversations. I just need you to tell me when I piss you off."

"Why am I not able to tell you until it's almost too late?" I muse aloud, hoping that she helps me to understand.

"Why, Josh?" she asks me.

"No, I asked you," I clarify.

"I know, but it's your psyche, you should realize it on your own not because I told you," she says, and I know she is right. And finally I give this a thought. Why is it that I'm afraid to yell at Donna, why is it that I'm afraid to tell her that she hurt me or that she made me angry?

"I'm afraid," I tell her.

"Afraid of what, Josh?" she asks gently, and I know I'm on the right path.

"Afraid that one day you'll leave me," I tell her. "Afraid that while I'm angry I say something bad, something unforgivable and you'd leave me."

"Yes, I know that," she says. I know she knew; she knows me better than anybody else, including myself. "I'm afraid too, you know. Because I know that you have the power to hurt me so much that I'd leave you. But I also trust you, Josh. You say things in the heat of an argument that I know you don't mean. I can live with those. I know that you want to hurt me because I hurt you or because you are angry. I accepted this a long time ago."

"Why?"

"Because I love you the way you are. And you have to trust me too, Josh. You have to trust me that I can deal with this side of you. If I'd ever leave you, you could trust me that it wouldn't be because you told me for example that I have no feeling of self-worth or because I'm stupid."

"I never said you were stupid," I say, and I'm painfully aware of the fact that I did say the other thing.

"I know that, Josh," she whispers back. "Do you trust me?"

"I do," I say, and I honestly do. "What would make you leave?"

"If you'd mean those words or if you wouldn't love me anymore."

"How could you know that I don't really mean them?"

"I know you, Josh," she tells me, and I nod. She really does. "Besides, I know that you try. You try to control yourself, and I know you love me. That's why I stayed with you for these three years."

"Yes, I try. Am I making any progress?" I ask her, and I smile. Maybe the first time since we left the chopper. Or maybe the first time since she left my apartment this morning.

"Yes, Josh, you are definitely better at it," she says, and I let out a sigh of relief. "I know you have to control yourself in front of the Joint Chiefs and Senators and Congressmen and the President, and I know that you need to vent. You can vent, you have the right to vent. I think it would be better though if you would vent daily rather than weekly or monthly. All that bottled anger is really not healthy. Would you like to try? Because I'd like to help you with that."

"Yeah, that would be good," I admit. "Would you like a boy or a girl?" I ask her then out of the blue. I don't know what prompted the question suddenly, but I want to know.

"I would like a boy, Josh, but I really want nothing else but a healthy baby," she tells me, and I nod. Same feeling here. "What about you?"

"I concur, but I would like to have a girl. She could have your hair but maybe my eyes. Do you think it'd good?" I ask her and I think about whether I would make a good father. I mean I have my father as an example, I have Leo who was kind of a surrogate father to me and I have President Bartlet. I've always wondered whether I could be such a good father as he is. Sure he has his faults but he is a very good father.

"It doesn't work that way, Josh, but I think it'd good. She would be part me, part you. And Josh, I think you'll be an excellent father."

"Do you honestly think that or do you want to make me feel better?" And how comes she knew I was thinking about that?

"I honestly think that, Joshua."

"Okay," I say gratefully. "Thank you. I like it."

"What?"

"When you call me Joshua. I don't know, it's… It's so familiar. So intimate," I confess.

"Oh, Josh. You can be so sweet sometimes," she whispers, squeezing my hand. I squeeze it back, and we stare at each other, eyes locked, both of us sporting a little smile.

"Do you think Toby came through?" I ask her.

"Yes, definitely. You know what I think? I think he called Andie and she called the President," she tells me. Strangely, I had the same idea.

"Yeah, sounds about right. I hope the President keeps his cool," I say, but I can't imagine him staying level-headed when his kids are in the middle of nowhere and his wife is injured. Of which he probably doesn't even know yet.

"Yeah, I think that ship sailed the moment Ron told him that we dropped off of radar," Donna says, and I know she is right. "Josh?"

"Yeah?"

"Why do you think they left us there? I mean we'd serve better as hostages."

"Yeah, I was thinking about that. There are a number of scenarios," I tell her. Please, don't ask me about them, Donna. Please, don't ask me about them.

"Name just one. The one that would reassure me, Josh," she tells me, and I know I lost. I have to share my theories with her. But you see, these theories are no fairy-tales.

"Are you sure?" Yeah, I'm stalling the inevitable. I don't want her to know that my mind works that way, that I can imagine these scenes casually. It's not casual, and I can only hope that she knows that. It's me. It's me in Chief of Staff mode.

"Come on, Josh, you told me there are a number of scenarios," she reminds me.

"Yeah, okay. Well, there were two agents. I guess one of them had to run off to get their cronies and the other one should have stayed there with us. They had a quarrel and shot each other. It was dark when we left the chopper and I didn't exactly secure the perimeter, so there were maybe two dead bodies on the other side."

"Okay, that's a reassuring one. Tell me another one," she demanded.

"They got out, one of them had pangs of guilt or remorse whatever, shot his partner and then committed suicide," I tell her, and she shudders. I can't help it, my mind works this way.

"You are aware of the fact that if these two scenarios are likely than we should have waited by the chopper."

"The co-pilot told me to take you away from the helicopter. And you know full well that we can't trust anyone. Picture it. Just picture it that a squadron of Secret Service agents finds us. What would you do? Would you trust them? Because right now I don't trust anyone but the people here with me and maybe a couple outside this forest."

"You are right. Are there other scenarios?"

"Yeah, the co-pilot could have been a co-conspirator. He had a pretty bad wound but he'll live if he gets treated," I tell her.

"And yet you took us away from the chopper just as he said," Donna wants to confirm.

"Yeah, because he was right about that. But he told me to head eastwards. I didn't follow his advice," I say, waiting for the realization.

"You warned, Toby!" Donna exclaims, and Peter stirs for a second.

"Yep, I informed Toby. I just hope that he gets a personal conversation with the President."

"Yeah, me too," Donna whispers. "What do you think what does he right now?"

"I think by now he ordered Sam and Lou back. I think he contacted the Joint Chiefs but I can tell you that he won't trust them either. I hope he contacted one of his old Marine friends and I hope someone had an idea to call on to the only set of Secret Service agents I would trust."

"President Bartlet's," she whispers.

"Exactly. These are the times I miss Leo," I admit, and she squeezes my hand again. "I mean Sam's a great guy but he wasn't with us when Zoey was kidnapped. I wish you could be with him, you'd great," I say, and suddenly an image pops into my mind. Donna advising President Santos in the Oval Office. Nice picture.

"Yeah, I wish you could be with him. You'd know the words to keep him centered," Donna says, and I nod. I wouldn't have imagined in my wildest dreams, but I'm actually a pretty good Chief of Staff. I'm good at calming him down, helping him see the whole board, as Sam calls it. President Bartlet says Leo would be proud. I certainly hope so. "I think if they let Toby near him, he will be a great asset. Do you think they will?"

"I don't know, Donna. But keep two things in mind, he is in Camp David and he trusts no one. He is not moving. And I kinda think that they are in a lockdown both in the White House and at the retreat."

"Yeah, that's what I feared."

"I really am sure that he called President Bartlet," I say, while squeezing her hand.

"I hope so," she whispers, and soon I can hear her breath even out. I find it very soothing listening to her rhythmic breathing. And then I fall asleep too. I know I promised to watch the kids' back, but I practically hadn't had a sleep three days in a row. I had to help prepare Sam's and Lou's visit, oversee the Camp David advance team. And basically everybody else got on my nerves. Not to speak of last night's nightmares.

I wake up what feels like a minute later, but I must have been asleep longer since it already dawns. Donna squeezed my hand pretty forcefully, and the kids are awake too. All three of them are looking at me, eyes wide with fear. There is someone near to us; I can hear the fallen leaves rustling underneath their feet. I put my finger in front of my mouth, and Donna and the kids nod. Maybe if we stay put and don't utter a sound they won't find us.

TBC