By Lacy

"How are you doing?" he asks, invoking our ritual that’s been a daily occurrence since Christmas.

"Today? Never been better," I respond.

"Really?" he examines me overtly for signs of prevarication.

"Leo," I shrug. "I’m great."

"You and Donna?"

"On the road to recovery," I provide.

"She’s here?"

"She insisted."

"You’ll send her home when she gets tired," he tells me.

"I will. I promise."

"So, does this mean you’re back with us?"

"One hundred percent."

"If you need someone to talk to…" he trails off.

"Yeah," I say before he can get embarrassed. "I know. Thanks."

"Get to work," he orders with a gruff voice, but a sideways smirk that belies his tone. Vintage Leo McGarry.

I clutch my binder tighter to my chest and exit through the hallway door, brushing the overhead doorjamb with one hand, in my usual (but forgotten lately) manner.

Sam’s loitering in the corridor outside the Roosevelt Room, trying not to look like he’s waiting for me.

"What’s up?" I ask as I pass by him.

"You owe me a story," he informs me as he matches his pace with mine. "So?"

"What story? There’s nothing to tell."

"Are you going to make me do this the hard way?"

"What’s the hard way?"

He opens his mouth to speak, but closes it again. "Well, I haven’t figured that out yet."

I duck into his office, because, while I’ve known all along that I was going to spill the truth for him, I just enjoy toying with him. Messing with him is too easy to resist.

"So what happened? Yesterday, you were moping and brooding and today you’re practically glowing."

"I am not glowing!"

"You are. You’re glowing."

"Men do not glow," I insist.

"And yet, here you are," he contradicts, crossing behind his desk and dropping into the chair. He links his hands together behind his head and leans back. "Spill, Josh. I want the good stuff."

"She’s forgiven me," I shrug.

"She’s a saint."

"No arguments from me."

"And?"

"And we’ve reconciled," I supply.

"And?"

"And what?"

"And has she made any decisions…?" he prompts.

"Yes."

"Well?"

"We’re having a baby."

"That’s…well…I mean…that’s really great," he sputters. "I knew it all along. I wasn’t worried."

"Hey, you didn’t tell anyone, did you?"

"No," he holds up his hands. "Mum was the word. I’ve been cultivating my secret keeping skills."

"Good," I sigh, relieved. "Because we haven’t discussed telling anyone yet."

"But you are going to tell everyone, right?"

"Well, I don’t think it’s something we can hide indefinitely, Sam. I’m pretty sure people will start to guess in a couple of months."

"You’ve got a point there."

"I think there’s some sort of protocol involved here."

"Protocol?"

"Yeah. I think we’re supposed to tell relatives first, and then friends, and then co-workers."

"You blew that play, Josh."

"I think there’s a special dispensation for people who are present at the time of discovery."

"You lucked out then."

"Yeah."

Sam sits straight up in his chair. "That’s what it is!" he exclaims.

"That’s what what is?"

"The glow. You have that expectant father glow."

"That’s for expectant mothers."

"You’re having sympathy glow."

"Sympathy glow?"

"Yeah. Haven’t you heard about those men that get sympathy morning sickness when they find out that their wives are pregnant? And sympathy pains when they go into labor? You have sympathy glow."

"Shut up, Sam. Don’t make me hit you."

"I understand," he responds, "You’re not ready to accept your glow."

"Didn’t you want to be the godfather?" I ask, as I open the door to leave.

"Shutting up now."

"I’ve got work to do," I say by way of good-bye.

TBC

****