Title: A Tree Called Life Author: little zigzags Rating: PG-13 Pairing: J/D Spoilers: Through end of series. Disclaimer: No money from these beauties. Summary: The truth is, there's sometimes when she can't believe it, that she's not arranging his schedule and cleaning his office and watching him trail after the wrong women. Can't believe that they've lived together, that he's seen her pee and wax her legs and get the stomach flu, that they've had sex on the kitchen table, twice. A/N: I always thought I would be the type to write deliciously angsty things, but it seems that fluff is a disease, or something. Comments are better than pie. Also, sorry for the minor Studio 60 reference/steal. As much as I loved the scene in which it came from, the line really belonged to Josh and Donna after 10 years, not Danny and Jordan after, you know, 10 seconds. So a minor allusion remains. Here is the deepest secret nobody knows (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart) -e.e. cummings Despite the fact that it's almost midnight, he can't help but feel a deep pang of disappointment when he opens the door to their apartment and realizes that she's already gone to bed. But still, she's everywhere. Her scarf and coat hanging up; some mail tucked into a neat pile on the table by the door. There's a plate of chicken and vegetables on the kitchen counter, saran wrapped and marked with a bright post-it in her familiar scrawl: 'Eat this, not cookies.' He smiles a little and picks at the plate before putting it back in the fridge, then chuckles and grabs an Oreo from a cupboard. When he's pretty sure he's wiped all the incriminating evidence from his mouth, he pushes open their bedroom door. Through the darkened room he can see her, faintly discernible under the comforter, turned on her side. He sits down gingerly on the edge of the bed. She would probably kill him if she saw him doing this, watching her breathe; the deep, even swells of her body. But sometimes, after these exhausting, endless days, it's all he can do but sit here and marvel that she's here with him, asleep in their bed, so real and alive that he can barely believe his wonderful, ridiculous luck. Quietly, he brushes his teeth and strips down to a t-shirt and boxers before sliding between the cool sheets. His foot glances down her leg as he settles and he feels her shift and make that little humming noise she makes when she awakens. "Josh?" Her voice is sleep-slurred and thick. "It's okay, go back to sleep." He strokes her soft hair briefly before sliding further down into the bed. "Mmm. It's late." "It is." "Everything okay?" She a little more awake now; he can see the faint light from the window glinting off her bright eyes. "There was a thing." He turns his face into the pillow a little. He sighs as she rubs his forearm, drawing faint circles on his wrist. "The education bill?" "Yea, it'll be okay. Sam's got it." His voice catches as she takes his hand fully in hers, stroking his palm, fingering the wedding band on his hand. She's looking at him, all soft half-lidded eyes, and his chest tightens oddly. He guesses it could be some hitch, a remnant of all those people digging around beneath his ribs, and for a second he can feel the tight burn of the bullet. But really, he thinks its just her that does it, in their bed as the night becomes morning, her cool feet finding purchase in the warmth between his calves. Yes, this must be it, because he's forgotten, like he does every day for at least a minute when he's piled under memos and folders and briefing books, that she's here, that she's promised in front of a judge and God and two Presidents and CJ that she'll be here for the rest of their lives. "Josh?" She jolts him out of his reverie, her voice quiet. "Did you tell him?" He breathes out. "Yea, I told him." He rolls over onto his back, and she props her head up on her hand to look at him. "And?" "And... I'm not sure." He can see without looking at her face that she's worried and confused, and he wishes he could reassure her but he's not even sure what to think. He lets out another breath. "I think... I think he might have been glad. I mean, not glad. But happy for me, I guess. He understands." She's silent for a second, and he feels his chest clench again when he hears her voice, small and unsure. "And are you... Josh, are you happy?" He rolls back to face her, quickly. "Donna-" She sniffs a little, and he curses himself. "God, Donna. Of course I'm happy. More than happy. I'm... I'm freaking ecstatic." He reaches out with both hands, sliding one between her cheek and the pillow, and the other down, placing his palm gingerly on her stomach, and the modest bump beginning to peek out from under her shirt. His voice cracks a little, and he half grins at her, hoping she can see in the dark room. "I may be scared out of my mind, but I'm happy. Never doubt it." She sniffs again, laughing a little watery laugh and swiping at her eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, of course you are. I'm just... it's your job, Josh, you know? It's what you are." She places her hand over his on her stomach. "I don't want to take that away from you." "You're not." She looks away, and he takes her hand from hers to tilt her chin back to him. "You're not. I'll still be there, I'll still be a part of it. I'll just, you know, be less with changing the world and more with, you know, changing diapers. At least for a while." She laughs a little, then sobers. "I just can't help but feel like I'm dragging you away. I mean, Josh, he's your guy. This was yours, all of it." She looks at him seriously. "You know that, right? That none of this would have happened if you hadn't gone on some harebrained jaunt to Texas?" "Hey! It was not harebrained. It was brave... and Quixotic-" "Quixotic?" "Yes, Quixotic. And anyway, I have a feeling like some of this would have happened"-he gestures at the space between them-"considering you were the one that jumped me." He waggles his eyebrows at her, and he can feel her glaring at him from her edge of the bed. "Jumped you?" "Yes, jumped me. Three times, nonetheless, insatiable woman...." She swats him, hard, and he yelps. "First off, Sancho Panza, I was talking about politics, not this mess of attempted cohabitation that has become our married life. Secondly, I did not 'jump' you." "Fine. Propositioned." She laughs at that, a full, throaty sound. He takes her hand again. "I got him through re-election, he's got congress behind him. I trust Sam with my life, and it can't be much harder to take care of me than to take care of the country. I'll still be there, but... I never thought I'd say this, but I think... I think I've done enough, in that office." He hears her sharp intake of breath, and realizes how it must sound to her, how if someone had told him four years ago when things were so fresh and exciting that he'd be giving up this job he'd have laughed in their face. "I know, I know, and before you start calling the police because you think pod people have abducted me, let me just say this." He clears his throat a little, but in the end he's quiet, almost whispering. "Matt Santos may be my guy, but this is my family. You are my family. Forever. And don't you even think about talking to the First Lady, because there is no way in hell that I am letting you leave that job before you are good and ready. I will do whatever it takes, change atomic diapers, wipe drool, hell, I'll clean the house..." he's blabbering but then she's kissing him, hard, full on the lips and he shuts up as she reaches up to cup his jaw, her thumbs brushing over his face. They part, a little breathless, and he can see the faint outline of her flushed cheeks. "Oreo's, huh?" He curses. "We've got to get some better toothpaste." Then they are both grinning, he can see her face echoed in his, a wide, earsplitting grin. He rolls her over onto her back, pulling the comforter down around her waist. She can't help but sigh a little as he places both warm hands on her stomach, under her shirt, pushing up slowly until he can see all of her bare stomach. She puts her hand in his hair as he places his lips on the small bump, just below her navel. Gingerly he rests his head there, and she pets him contentedly. He's got his ear against her skin and is humming softly. "You think she can hear me?" "Maybe. She?" He shifts, looks up at her. "Yea." "What, did you call a psychic hotline, or something?" He chuffs. "I have a hunch." She's about to argue with him, but then her mind is suddenly filled with images. little girls with wide blue eyes and wild hair, pink dimpled cheeks and smirking, mischievous mouths. "Okay." "Have you been thinking about, you know, names?" He's not looking at her, is drawing little ticklish pictures over her stomach. "Not so much, no." She looks at him curiously. "Have you?" His hand stops suddenly, and she brushes her thumb over his temple. She feels him swallow once, twice against her skin. "Josh..." she speaks softly, softer than either of them have spoken tonight. "Josh, if it's a girl, do you want to name her Joanie?" She feels him jerk under her hand, and he looks up at her suddenly. "Donna..." "I would... we could, if you wanted to." She can't see his face, can't read him in the dim light. "Donna, that's... thank you." His voice is quiet, matching hers. "But I don't think... I don't want that for her. As much as I miss her..." she starts a little at the hurt in his voice, decades old and still a raw, full ache. "I don't want that for her," he repeats solemnly. "Maybe a middle name, or something, but not that." "Okay." She gives him a small smile. "Was there anything else you were thinking?" He looks at her contemplatively. "I was thinking... I don't know what you would be okay with this, or if you had even thought of anything, or if you wanted-" "Josh." "Leah." He swallows. "I was thinking we could name her Leah." "Leah." She looks at him. "I don't-" And then it hits her, the sharp wit, the toothy grin she'd almost forgotten, leather chairs and defibrillators and Josh's face wetting the hem of her shirt, his arms tight around her waist like he might fall through the earth. He looks away at her little intake of breath. "I know, I didn't... I was thinking, and it's the closest feminine form I could get without it being, you know, ugly..." She stops him. "It's good, Josh." He looks up. "Yea?" He sounds sad but maybe a little hopeful, and she can see the small smile. "Yea." She takes his his hand again, puts them both on her stomach. "Leah Joan Lyman. It's good." "Are you sure? I mean, no Moss, Moss-Lyman, something of you?" She glares at him. "Well, hopefully she'll have something of me." "God help us." He grins, then looks serious again. "Really, though? No family name, or something?" "You are my family," she repeats back to him, smiling at the look of soft surprise, even after all these years. "He was my family, too. Besides, that's quite enough names for something that's the size of a grapefruit." He chuckles. "And, you know, of indeterminate sex." "That too." He looks up at her, and something in her catches at his look of sheer wonder. "Can you believe we did this?" He brushes both hands over her stomach in wide, sweeping touches. The truth is, there's sometimes when she can't believe it, that she's not arranging his schedule and cleaning his office and watching him trail after the wrong women. Can't believe that they've lived together, that he's seen her pee and wax her legs and get the stomach flu, that they've had sex on the kitchen table, twice. Can't believe the test was positive and that at the first ultrasound he'd been rendered speechless for the entire ten minutes of the procedure, which remains the longest time to date that she's seen him keep silent. "Yea, I can." They are silent for several long moments before she speaks again. "He was happy for you?" He turns his head and rests his cheek against her belly, closing his eyes. "Yea, he was. Mrs. Santos, too. She gave me a hug." "Yea?" She can feel her eyes drifting shut, and she feels his breathing even out over her bare skin. "Mmm. I think she wants me." "Josh?" "Yep." "Stop talking now." "'Kay." He burrows his face into her skin, and she allows her hand to rest in his unruly hair. "Love you." He mouths it against her, barely audible over her slowing breaths. He hopes, as he drifts off to sleep, that his daughter can hear him.