"Who was that?" Mannon asked as P clicked the end button on her phone.
"The queen," P said with a smile. "She is presenting all of her dresses tonight!"
"Ooh! I want to go, Mommy!" Mannon squealed.
"I promise I will take you after the baby is born," P said, holding out her pinky. "I sent her a few dresses from the white house."
"Maybe they will want one of your dresses," Mannon wondered.
"Maybe some day," P smiled wistfully, imagining a dress she wore being on display in the Smithsonian or Buckingham Palace. Then P remembered that one of her garmets was to be on display, someday. The well known pink coat she had worn the day Michael was killed was being professionally treated everyday to keep the blood stains and fabric from fading, so that one day it could be on display for future Americans to learn of the assassination of Secretary of Defense Michael Patrick Conoroy.
"Mom?" Mannon's little voice broke through P's dazed thoughts.
"Hm?"
"Can we go out now?"
P realized that in her saddened reminiscence she had remained standing in front of the door leading to the south lawn, blocking Mannon from going out ahead of her.
"Oh- sorry. Lets go!"
P and Mannon, followed by their dog, Abraham, Mr. George and one of Mannon's agents flooded onto the leaf-covered grass. P had promised Mannon while Ben was still at his school in the White House solarium that the two would have some alone time in the yard. At least, as alone as one could be in the White House. Because they were going outside their agents would be following, and the snipers on the roof were constant companions.
P and Mannon wandered down the sloping hills, chatting about school and their plans for Halloween, which was coming up soon. P glanced over her shoulder, seeing Mr. George and Mannon's agent conferring quietly, trailing just a few yards behind.
P huffed out a frustrated breath. She could hardly enjoy a walk with her daughter around their yard anymore, not without constant surveillance. Maybe it was the resurfacing of her thoughts on Michael's assassination- but P felt that the secret service had failed them in a way.
"Mr. George, would you mind leaving Mannon and I alone for a while?" She didn't want to be rude to her favorite agent, he was always so kind and had no responsibility for what happened to Michael. "You men could stay back a ways and I'll call you if we need anything. We're no where near the fence, anyway," P said.
Mr. George nodded reluctantly. "Alright, Mrs. Conoroy. We'll be right up here if you need us," he said before hiking up a small but steep slope.
P dropped a blanket she had been carrying onto the grass and carefully settled down onto it. Her stomach was almost unbearably large and her black sweater revealed the slightest bit of tanned skin at the bottom, just above the waist of her wine colored pants.
"Okay, Mommy. Ready?" Mannon asked.
P nodded and smiled brightly at her daughter. "Ready!"
Mannon began to do the tumbling routine she was learning on the grass, laughing when she forgot a part and starting over.
P felt her stomach tightening a bit when Mannon completed a perfect somersault. When suddenly, a loud pop filled her ears. P felt her whole body tremor, and her eyes went black before an horrifying image filled her mind. She saw Michael's eyes looking into hers, the moment of slight confusion before the fatal shot hit his head. Then, the sickly feeling of warm blood spraying across her face overwhelmed her until she screamed. P was clawing at her face and trying to rub the image out of her eyes when a pair of strong hands grabbed her shoulders.
"MRS. CONOROY!" Mr. George's familiar voice shouted, followed by a rough shake.
P's eyes opened wide and she was back on the south lawn, freed of the horrible images that were flooding her mind.
"A door slammed. It was just a door," Mr. George comforted, explaining the noise that seemed to set the whole thing off.
P took a deep breath and was aware that Mannon was crying, but being comforted by her agent. The poor thing was probably scared. But something else got P's attention. A warm spray covered her skin, but this time it wasn't from an assassin's bullet.
"Mr. George, you need to get me to the hospital. The baby is coming."
---
P took a deep breath, the pain of her contractions dulled by her epidural. "Can anyone get ahold of my husband?" P asked the nurse hooking up a bag of fluid to her IV.
"I think your cheif of staff is coming to speak with you, Mrs. Conoroy," the nurse stated simply before leaving the room.
P glanced at the door a moment later and smiled weakly at Liza as she walked in. "Liza, have you heard from Bobby?"
Liza nodded slowly. "Mrs. Conoroy- I'm so sorry, but the president is in Palm Beach. He's trying to get here as soon as he can- but we don't think he will make it."
P's heart dropped. Bobby was in Palm Beach. He wouldn't be there for her during the birth of their third child. She nodded stonily. "Thank you, Liza."
For a moment, a look of pure pity flashed in Liza's eyes, but she nodded curtly and hurried from the room. P sat back on her head and grimaced when another contraction hit her abdomen.
Hot tears poured from her eyes uncontrollably, thinking of Bobby in Palm Beach with Noel Nichols while she laid in a bed delivering their baby.
P looked up to the door after hearing the echoing of footsteps a few minutes later.
"I'm sorry I'm late!"
P smiled in relief. "Oh, Jan- I can't believe you're here!"
Jan sat on the bed next to P and grasped her hand. "You were there for me during the worst time of my entire life. It's the least I could do."
---
"Mrs. Conoroy, he's the most beautiful baby I've ever seen," Mr. George said sincerely, looking down at the little blue bundle in P's arms.
"Thank you, Mr. George. He looks just like his father," P said with a soft smile.
"No- I think he looks just like you." Mr. George put a hand on P's shoulder before leaving her alone in the hospital room.
Jan had run out to get some coffee for herself and give P some time to rest. However, the First Lady was too absorbed in her newborn son to sleep. The baby had a flawless face- full lips, a button nose, and large, dark eyes that she glimpsed only once when he opened them briefly. He had been born quickly into the doctor's arms, and Jan cut the cord before he was handed to P. She was reluctant to put him down only for a second, an overwhelming need to protect him coursed through her the second he was born.
The doctors decided that it was the anxiety attack that sent P into labor, but it wasn't a big deal because she was already so close to her due date. P was a bit embarrassed, she had made a scene in front of her agents and scared Mannon to death.
The telephone rang on the table next to P. She answered it quickly as to not disturb the sleeping baby and whispered, "Hello?"
"P!" a familiar voice said happily.
"Poppy! How are you?"
"I have big news!" the queen said giddily. "My twins were born today!"
P smiled brightly. "Congratulations!! Not to take away from your special day... But I had my baby today too!"
"Oh, P! That's wonderful!"
P didn't bother to say that her husband wasn't there, it would only darken the mood. "So, give me details!"
"Well the first one, a little boy-"
P squealed. "Our future king!"
"Don't be ready to get rid of me so quickly," Poppy laughed. "Anyway, he was born at 7:07 pm. Then I had to have an emergency C-section to deliver the little girl, at exactly 7:29 pm."
P frowned. "My son was just delivered at 3:29 pm."
"Wait... without the time difference..." Poppy said hesitantly.
"Our babies were born at the same exact time!" P laughed.
"We really are meant to be best friends," Poppy laughed.
A knock on the hospital room door interrupted P's phone call. "Poppy- I have to go. I'll call you back soon. I promise!" P said apologetically. The two women exchanged goodbyes before hanging up.
P looked to the door and chewed her lip. Bobby walked in, his eyes wide. "P- I am so sorry."
She shook her head. "Save it. Jan was here for me."
Bobby glanced at her sadly before reaching to take their infant son from her arms. "Oh, he has my mouth."
"Mr. George says he looks like me," P added. There was a hint of anger in her voice, but she tried not to ruin his moment.
"We never discussed names," Bobby said as if remembering for the first time.
"I have one in mind," P said quietly.
"What is it?"
"Patrick Michael Conoroy."
Bobby looked at P, his eyes unreadable. "Michael."
"I would like to name him Michael Patrick, but Michael Jr. already exists, so I thought we could change the order."
Bobby looked at the baby before nodding. "That sounds like a fine name."
***
Poppy looked down at her beautiful baby daughter, her eyes locked on the girl's -- a familiar ocean blue. Fritz stood next to her, the boy in his arms. She hadn't really thought about it in depth, but it felt right having Fritz hold him. "What're you going to name them?" he asked, breaking the silence that had ensued as she had looked at her daughter.
"I have a name for my little girl," Poppy told him with a smile. "It's pretty old and rare, but still in the family history. But I figured I'd let Will decide the boy's -- for the most part," she added with a soft laugh.
"Right. Will."
Poppy looked up sadly. "He's the father," she said matter-of-factly. She wished things didn't have to be awkward, that he could be here as a friend. Maybe that was too much to ask of her husband.
Fritz opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by the door opening. A guard popped his head in. "Uh, you have one of your...usual visitors."
Poppy lifted a brow curiously, but she realized what he meant soon enough. "Fritz, put the baby down," she snapped. She had a feeling a fight would break out no matter what -- but she knew Will would be overprotective of their children. Fritz looked as if he would refuse, but after meeting Poppy's pleading gaze he set the boy in the cart.
William walked in at that moment, and Poppy held her breath. He shot a dark blue glare at Fritz for a fraction of a second before his eyes met the bundle in Poppy's arms. "Oh my God," he breathed, rushing to her side. "She's beautiful."
As if sensing her father's presence, the little girl blinked open her eyes for a moment. "Your eyes," Poppy murmured. She barely noticed as Fritz slipped out of the room. "I was thinking of naming her...Mary Adelaide," she told Will. "Mary was my mother's name."
Will smiled, a small, euphoric shape unlike his usual lopsided grin. "Our little Lady." Poppy chuckled at his uncanny sense for nicknames.
"What do you want to name our son?"
Will's eyes got wide, as if he had forgotten there were two. He turned, looking down into the crate that held the little boy. Slowly he reached inside, his arms incredibly gentle as he lifted his son to his chest. He stood like that for a minute, his eyes closed, cherishing the meeting of the child. Then he looked at Poppy, grinning. "I think he looks like an Alfie."
Poppy laughed. "Alfred, right?"
"Sure, sure," Will waved it off. "Alfred Phillip."
Poppy looked down, her father's name catching her off guard. "What about your family?"
He shrugged. "Its not like I ever knew them."
"Well, I think its great. Alfie -- our future king."
They smiled at each other, but a rap on the door caused another interruption. Instead of the guard, Dr. Potter walked in. Poppy became uneasy, his usually friendly face grim. "I have some...upsetting news."
"What?" Poppy demanded, hugging Mary Adelaide closer.
"Well, from the blood work.. It seems that the boy --"
"Alfie," Will interjected.
"Alfie," Dr. Potter corrected. "Well, he has hemophilia."
Poppy blinked. "What?"
"Hemophilia," Dr. Potter repeated. "The blood doesn't clot --"
"I know what it is," Poppy said sharply. "How did he get it?"
Dr. Potter looked uncomfortable. "Its probably because of your...family history." Poppy's cheeks flared. "You're probably a carrier."
"Leave us alone," Poppy said after a moment.
Dr. Potter nodded. "I know this is difficult...I'll give you some alone time."
When the door had shut, Poppy dissolved into tears. "Its okay, poppy seed," Will consoled, hurrying over to her side again. She looked up, saw Alfie in his arms, and began to sob. "He's going to be fine."
"Fine?" she cried. "He's got hemophilia! Because of me, no less! We'll have to keep him in a cushioned room for the rest of his life! He could go outside, scratch his arm, bleed out and die!"
"Poppy," Will sighed, his eyes large. "He'll be fine -- we'll make sure of it. Plus, he's got his sister to protect him. She's going to be a tough one."
But Poppy just kept thinking of the future king of England, surrounded by guards and never able to get as much as a paper cut.
--
Poppy stripped out of her hospital gown and grabbed the baby blue dress given to her by Elsie. Though her stomach had deflated considerably, she was still harboring a bit of fat around her middle. Her fingers traced the pink line on her abdomen from the incision before she slipped the fabric over her head.
She walked out of the bathroom putting on her white flats, and hopped right up to Fritz. "Hey," she said awkwardly. He hasn't been at the hospital in the past two days, since Will had been. But they had to leave the hospital together for the press.
She was surprised to find him smiling down at her. "Hey. Its a bit cold out there, so I brought this in case." He wrapped a white cardigan around her arms.
"Thanks," she whispered.
"No problem. Let's do this. You want me to carry Alfred or Mary Adelaide?"
"Take Mary," Poppy immediately ordered. She wanted her little boy protected in her arms. She walked over to his cart and slowly and carefully lifted him into her embrace. She wrapped the little white blanket a little closer around him, as if it would better protect him. She kissed his small forehead before she joined Fritz by the door.
They walked out, security by their sides until they walked down onto the blocked off street. They then lined the sides, and Poppy saw Elsie standing off to the side out of her peripheral vision. Poppy shuffled closer to Fritz, finding comfort in his presence. They had to smile for the press surrounding them, cameras flashing all around. Everyone was shouting questions at them, but she only caught a few.
"Your Majesty, will you tell us their names?"
Poppy looked up at Fritz, who nodded encouragingly. "Our little boy was the firstborn -- Alfred Phillip. His baby sister is Mary Adelaide."
The press and onlookers cheered and shouted the royal names.
"Your Majesty, will you be seeing the First Lady and her baby soon?"
Poppy smiled. "I hope so. I have a feeling they're all going to be good friends," she added, looking at her twins. The crowd went wild, snapping pictures and recording her words.
She was relieved when the car pulled up. She waved to the observers and climbed in, Fritz right behind her. She held Alfie close, and watched Fritz out of her peripherals. He was looking down at Mary Adelaide, smiling and moving his hands and making cute faces. She smiled to herself, unable to control the slight skip in her heartbeat.
And for a split second, Poppy had a dangerous thought. If Will hadn't come back from the war...would she be with Fritz right now?