Series So Far:

All Before Noon 1/4
By Lacy


She looks tired. Not tired the way she did after Christmas -- but
give it some time.

That's exactly what I don't want to do. I'm not that guy anymore.
I'm not the Josh Lyman that was so wrapped up in his own misery that
he couldn't see the most important person in his life self-destructing
right under his nose. It's different now than it was then, because
the most important person in my life is...well...the most important
person in my life.

That sounds totally whacked, doesn't it? I mean, back then, she was
the most important person in my life -- I was just too slow-witted to
realize it. I've wised up since then. Or, at least, I hope I have.

My point is that there's something going on in that head of hers.
I've seen it before. I can relate. I can sympathize. I know what
it's like to wake up in a cold sweat and vividly recall how it feels
to know your life is slipping away. The problem is that when you're
in that position, that place inside your head, you don't want to
believe that someone knows how you feel. The truth is, you want to
believe you're an island - that no one on the planet has ever been
through what you've been through.

It's safer somehow, to believe you're alone. And maybe...just
maybe...there's a little heroism in that place too -- to struggle on
and pretend that nothing's wrong. You can remind yourself that you've
been brave - just in case you've forgotten the time you stared Death
in the eye and outwitted him.

I remember what Dr. Keyworth said to me about being in nine kinds of
pain. Donna's mind doesn't comprehend that yet, but her subconscious
has begun a process that will twist her up and tie her into knots.
She's been through so much in the last year, and I have to wonder how
much more she can take. The answer to that question, just beyond my
reach, plagues me.

She woke me in the predawn hours with another nightmare. Night terror
- I should call it. Even from the outside looking in, I could see how
real it was for her. The grip with which the terror clung to her was
frightening to behold.

I'm powerless again. There's nothing for me to do, no office for me
to perform, that can keep the nightmares away. The only thing I can
do, is hold her after they come and sooth her shaking body. When I
ask, she says that the nightmares haven't changed, but I can tell that
something is different. She shares nothing more with me, and I can
only hope that Dr. Kreskin will have better luck with her on Monday
evening.

I don't mean to give the impression that Donna is in some kind of
drastic decline, because she's not. Not yet, anyway. What I mean to
say, is that I can definitely see the potential there.

You see, in the end, we all have to face our demons. We have to look
them in the eye and tell them, in no uncertain terms, that we won't
allow them to control our lives. Or we can stare into the abyss and
be swallowed whole by them. Those are our choices.

But, regardless of the outcome, the final destination is the same.
Eventually, we all end up on that battleground, and if we're lucky, we
aren't there alone. I was one of the lucky ones, and I just want to
be sure that Donna knows she's lucky too.

If I've learned anything in the last year, it's that there are two
roads to every destination. I've done what I can to ensure Donna the
easier path - which isn't much. When you survive a trauma, you can do
one of two things. You can accept that you've been damaged and set
about repairing it as quickly as possible. Or, you can take the
longer road, which involves a whole lot of denial, and hurting
yourself or the ones you love.

I speak from experience when I tell you that the destination is set -
it's constant - it's the journey that can mean the difference between
victory and defeat.

Donna's still strong, even after all she's been through, but if her
demons continue to eat away at her, eventually she'll weaken. My hope
for her is that she learns to deal before that happens. Donna doesn't
have the luxury of waiting six months for the inevitable breakdown,
like I did. Luxury -- it's a weird term to associate with traumatic
backlash, but truthful nonetheless.

Now, everything that happens to her happens to the baby and I'd be
lying if I said I wasn't worried about it. She's in her second
trimester, which significantly decreases her chance for miscarriage,
but that's assuming the pregnancy exists within the confines of an
ideal situation. This does not qualify.

Her dreams affect her physically and her fear follows her out of the
dream world and into the waking one. My concern is that her body has
become so stressed the baby can't help but be affected by it. I'm
afraid. I'm afraid for both of them.

These are the thoughts that have kept me awake for most of the night.

I never went back to sleep after she awoke with her latest nightmare.
Her hoarse screams and choking tears haunted me even as she slipped
back into what now appears to be a peaceful slumber. As for my fear,
I'm hoping that it will in some measure, be put to rest by our morning
appointment with Dr. Burgess.

Like a nagging muscle ache, my nerves have plagued me all week about
the upcoming ultrasound. I've come to the conclusion that despite my
claims to Donna that I wouldn't feel uncomfortable accompanying her, I
am. I guess a part of me feels like it's not my place - like it's
strictly a woman's domain.

I know that it's my baby, but still it feels like my work here is
done. Somehow it doesn't feel like 'our' baby - it feels like 'her'
baby. I mean, what else is there for me to do here?

I disconnected myself from the child when Donna wasn't sure what she
wanted to do. The problem is that I haven't yet found a way to
reconnect with it - emotionally. At this stage, the baby is kind of
this…nebulous concept. An idea…a twinkle, looming somewhere in the
future, but not in any way imminent. I wish I could remember how The
Epiphany felt, but it seems to have faded back from where ever it
came.

I mean, on an abstract level, I'm excited about the baby. I'm able to
take a certain amount of joy from it, the way I do anything that Donna
and I accomplish together. But in reality, I feel separated -
ostracized.

It's not disinterest. I just want to clear that up, right now. I am
anything but disinterested. I want to be involved. I want to know
everything that's going on with the baby.

But the fact of the matter is...what am I now? This is the question
that hounds me. Donna's carrying the baby while I...what? Am I just
supposed to wait until the birthday arrives and then suddenly dive
right into fatherhood? Can't I be a dad right now? Isn't there
something I should be doing? I know...I'm obsessing, but it's just
not in my nature to accept being relegated to spectator status.

There has to be some way that I can participate in this momentous
event that will inevitably revolutionize our lives.

The alarm softly intones its wakeup call and Donna's breathing changes
as she opens her eyes. Her hand stretches to slap the snooze button
on the clock before rolling over to wake me up.

"You're awake," she says.

"Yeah. Sleep better?"

"Much. How long have you been up?"

"Couldn't go back to sleep," I admit.

"I'm sorry, Josh," she sighs, sadly.

"It's okay," I say, truthfully. "I had a lot on my mind."

"You're not freaking over what the Deputy Secretary said, are you?"

"No, the thought never crossed my mind."

"Good. You really shouldn't dwell Josh. It's not healthy."

"Shower," I order. "You first. It's 6:45 already."

"You're not going to fight me for it?"

"Nope. Not today."

She groans as she rolls out of my arms and onto the floor. She stops
at the bathroom sink and quickly downs a full glass of water -- the
first of six that she'll have to drink before the appointment. Within
minutes the water in the shower is on, and airy clouds of steam are
escaping through the crack in the door. When she finishes, she steps
out of the bathroom, wrapped in a tiny towel that leaves nothing to
the imagination, and informs me with a wry smile that she selflessly
left me some hot water.

I spend significant shower time listening to the blow dryer, as Donna
grooms herself on the other side of the bathroom. It's not until the
water turns cold before I exit the shower and dry off.

I'm dressed and ready to go before Donna even finds something to wear.
She finally settles on a pair of khaki slacks and a v-neck sweater,
mumbling something about having to take her clothes off anyway. She
skips the bulk of the makeup process, opting instead to wear a simple
shade of lipstick. She smiles when she informs me she's ready to go.

I'm still driving the rental car that Sam arranged for me over a month
ago, and the bills are starting to get outrageous. I was told on
Thursday that my car, the Corvette, is to be made available again, now
that the police have extracted what evidence they need. It's sitting
in an impound lot somewhere, and I have no intention of retrieving it
anytime soon.

Donna directs me to Dr. Burgess' office and into a parking spot right
in front. I kill the ignition and unhook my seatbelt, but my hand
comes to an involuntary stop when I reach for the door handle. She's
already out of the car and up on the sidewalk before she realizes I
haven't followed. She cocks her head to the side, staring at me
through the windshield. I take a deep breath before opening the door
and sliding out of the car. I do my best to look confident and
self-assured when I join her on the sidewalk.

"Josh?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay?" Busted.

"Yeah," I lie.

"Are you scared?"

"Yeah," I answer without hesitation.

"It's okay," she tells me.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I'm a little scared too."

"I just want everything to be okay," I tell her. I need for her to
know I'm not having second thoughts here. Especially since it's too
late for second thoughts. She takes my hand in hers. I think she got
the message.

"Take a deep breath, Josh," she instructs me. I follow her advice,
taking a second to close my eyes and focus. I can do this. I can
face whatever the next hour may bring. Everything's going to be fine
- I just have to have faith. "Let's go," she says, tugging me along
behind her.

TBC

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