Hillary adjusted her mic again.  “Can you hear me?”  The tech behind the camera nodded. She smiled.  “All right.  Let’s get started then, shall we?”

                The cub reporter sitting to the right of the blinking red light nodded.  She looked nervous.  It sense enough; never in history had someone so green gotten to do this big an interview.  Hillary knew that this could make or break the young woman’s career. She supposed she could take it easy on her then.

                “Can you state your name and occupation for the record?”

                Bottling up the urge to laugh at the absurdity of the request, Hillary assented encouragingly.  “My name is Hillary Rodham Clinton-Bayh and I am the President of the United States.”

                The reporter scribbled away at her notebook.  If only she was a bit more confident, Hillary thought this might be a better day for her.  “President Clinton-Ba—Do you mind if I just refer to you as President Clinton? Your surname is a bit of a mouthful.”  She looked anxious.

                “That’s fine.”  Legally, that was who she was, but she hadn't used Clinton privately for a while now.  There had been a President Clinton and there would be a President Bayh. History could probably do without the confusion. That said, really, she just wanted to get this over with.  She had another dozen interviews to do before the day was out.

                The cub reporter beamed, reminding Hillary so much of Chelsea.  She couldn’t believe her daughter had been that young once.  Today, she was one of the most sought-after Senators in Congress.  To say that there were murmurs of a White House run would be low-balling it. Not a day went by that she didn’t hear the suggestion made in jest—and in all seriousness.  It was in Chelsea’s genes to do what they’d done.  The Presidency was a family business.

                “President Clinton, what’s it like to be married to the President-Elect of the United States?”  That was a question at which she had to laugh.  Déjà vu all over again.

                “It’s an experience.  The moment when they called the Electoral College for Evan was…sweet.  I actually couldn’t breathe the entire day, I just wanted to get out every single vote I could for him.  I like to think I helped him a little, but I know that it was all Evan.  He was fantastic on the trail and I know he’ll be fantastic in the Oval Office.”

                The reporter continued to smile, softly flipping the pages of her notepad for her next question.  “I have to ask this—because I know many have wondered—how reminiscent was this Election Night to the one in which you were elected and the one in which your late husband was elected President?”

                Ah, the $64 million question.  “I would say it was very much reminiscent of the night Bill was elected.  You know, you’ve worked your heart out; you’ve lost sleep, you’ve lost weight, and this is the night when it all comes to a head.  This is the night where you discover whether all your hard work has paid off.  And once you see that it has, it stops feeling like it’s about you. It becomes completely, you know, about that person.  In ’92, it became about Bill and what he would do next.  This time around, it became about Evan and his plans.  For my part, I just felt an overwhelming sense of love and pride for him and what he’d managed to accomplish.  It hasn’t gone away.”  She could feel the face-splitting grin coming a mile away.  Evan made her smile this way, as though she’d never actually smiled before.

                “How do you think the late President Clinton would feel about what’s happened over the last eight years?” the young lady asked, sounding a great deal bolder.

                Hillary shifted in the antique chair in the center of the Blue Room.  Not a day went by…“Well…I don’t know.  You know, I hope that he’d be proud of the work that I’ve done as President.  I hope he would think that I kept faith with the missions he set—and we set— out to accomplish in life.  I think he would understand my journey—and I think he’d agree with my actions over the course of my two terms in Office.  Bill and I were very like-minded when it came to issues that matter to everyday Americans, but we had a great deal of respect for one another with regard to abstract matters on which we differed.  So, yes, I think he would feel good about these last eight years.”

                “And you think he’d approve of President-Elect Bayh’s role in your presidency?”

                “If you mean the part where I married him, you’ll have to wait until he’s reincarnated to ask.  I don’t know if he necessarily would’ve thought it was a great idea for the first female President to marry her Vice President right before he runs for President himself.  However, I don’t think he would have objected to the extent of Evan’s involvement in the day-to-day operations of the White House.  He was definitely less involved than Dick Cheney but certainly more involved than Al Gore during Bill’s presidency.  He was there as often as I needed him to be.  We worked exceptionally well as a political machine.”  They still did, actually.  Her old West Wing office from the Clinton years was warmed up and ready to go.  He said he wanted her on hand in case anything problematic arose.  She thought it was a combination of things: fear of another attack and fear that he was unprepared—he wanted her nearby.  She was sure he’d come into his own before too long.  She believed in him.

                The young journalist nodded respectfully.  Her eagerness had receded to an expectant calm. “The stories are legend, of how you two maneuvered through Washington to get your agenda passed in the Senate.  There will be books written.”  Hillary smiled crookedly.

                “There are already books.  Evan and I have had an unprecedented professional relationship.  Very often, the President and Vice President don’t interact on a daily basis. The President usually goes about putting forth his—or, in my case, her—agenda without input from the second-in-line.  I didn’t want to do that.  I realized when I was elected that I had been chosen by the American people against the wishes of my own Party.  My allies among the party leadership were few and I needed to consolidate my power base. The best way to do that was to gather those that remained faithful to me, as well as those that remained faithful to my husband, and combine them with whatever network my Vice President had in his grasp.  With that combined infrastructure, we were able to shepherd through the great majority of my legislative agenda.  I am forever grateful to those who remained devoted to the cause of the American people; without them, my administration would not have been the success it has become.”

                “Do you believe that you now qualify as the most beloved president in recent history?”

                Hillary chuckled heartily.  “I don’t know about that.  I’m not nearly the President that Bill was to the American people.  I don’t believe I am half the President that Evan will be to the American people.   I don’t know where I’ll rank on list of popular Commanders-in-Chief by the time my epitaph is written.  I just know that I have done the absolute best that I could do—and that I’m so glad to have gotten the chance.”

                “I’d like to go back to a previous question, and build on that a bit.”

                “All right.”  She clasped her hands on her lap and expected the worst.

                “Well we know that you’ve made history with your presidency—becoming the first female President of the United States.  In being elected, you also achieved another first: You are the first former First Lady to be elected President.”

                “Yes, I am.”

                “By marrying President-Elect Bayh, you will also have become the first former President to become First Spouse.”

                Hillary was surprised to hear that.  It had never occurred to her that she might be breaking anymore records.  Frankly, she thought it had been done.  Bill had done it.  “Not necessarily,” she reasoned.  “My late husband was President before…” she tapered off uncertainly.  “I guess, since he passed away before I was sworn-in, he wouldn’t qualify.”  She felt an old familiar pang in her heart.  Not so strong as it had been eight years ago, but sharp enough.  “Well, I guess you could say I’m the first, technically.”

                “Is that hard,” the reporter asked, sounding so very earnest in her curiosity.  “I imagine it would have to be; to come to so far with someone, to fight the battles the two of you fought together, only for you to have to make the ultimate journey on your own.  I can’t even begin to imagine how that must’ve been.”

                “I lived it and sometimes I’m not sure how I made it through those days.  The weeks following Bill’s death were surreal for me.  He was my best friend, my husband, the father of my daughter.  All I could see was this hole where he used to be.  It wasn’t just a hole in my life, but a hole in me.  There were days when I thought I was going to die, I hurt so badly.

“I think about three years went by before I allowed myself to let him go.  I was clinging to his presence because I thought I needed it.  He was a comfort to me, even on his worst day, and I didn’t want to have to go on without that.  But, as I started to lean on other people more, and allow myself to live more, it became easier not to rely on an echo of something that wasn’t there.  I realized that I would always have my husband.  We had lived more of our lives together than we had apart and nothing would change that.  His death is a loss to the world and I wish to God he was still here, but I don’t regret a moment of my life since then.”  She instinctively rubbed a thumb across her burned hand.  Around her ring finger was her wedding band, placed by Evan this very morning.  Still hanging around her neck were the reconstructed remains of what had been her last ring.  Chelsea had re-presented it to her the night of her wedding; said it was something she thought she’d miss.  She took it as a sign that she could keep faith with them both at all times.

“Madame President, I think I can safely speak for many when I say that I’m glad to hear that.  Thank you for inviting me to the White House this afternoon.  I wish you and President-Elect Bayh all the happiness in the world.”  The young woman stood and offered Hillary her hand.  The retiring President took it, beaming.

“Thank you so much. I hope to see you here for the Inauguration in January.  It’s going to be interesting.”  Susan was coming and bringing the twins.  Chelsea was coming and bringing the baby.  Her mother was coming and bringing the beau.  Her brothers and their families wouldn’t be far behind.  It was going to be a madhouse.

“I bet it will be.”  Hillary’s smile only widened.

This kid had no idea.

Punditocracy never dies.  “It can’t be fun,” she said, shaking her head at the brief clip of the lame-duck President they’d just played.

“What can’t be fun,” Pat Buchanan asked, sitting casual in his seat.  He’d had an easy life these few years.  He commented on what he saw, and what he saw was competency at work. He liked it.  He was thinking about retiring, but he’d have to see how well Bayh did in the first 100 days.

“Holidays at that house,” murmured Rachel Maddow, his esteemed—if misguided—co-panelist.

                Pat nearly sighed out loud. It was by the grace of his elder patience that he didn’t.  She was still relatively young; the chances that she might eventually come to her senses were good.  “Should I even ask why you would think that?”  He didn’t particularly want to give her a chance to spew her vitriol on-air, but curiosity killed the cat—always had.

                “Just think about it,” she started.  “Just think.  Bill Clinton was President.  He was one of the most popular, most beloved Presidents of our time and the only two-term Democratic President for 69 years.  Hillary Clinton was his First Lady.  Right before he left office she was elected to the U.S. Senate—first First Lady to do it.  Then, she goes on to be elected President after one of the most catastrophic primary seasons in recent history—that indirectly resulted in the previous Clinton’s death.  When she comes into the White House, she whips the government into shape with the help of her overachieving Vice President.  She’ll likely leave in January with an approval rating even higher than that of her late husband.  And get this, she marries—marries—her Vice President.  He goes on, in her second term, to run and be elected President himself.  He’s given every indication that he will continue to promote her legislative reform agenda, meaning he will likely be as popular.  Chelsea Clinton, the daughter of two Presidents—now the step-daughter of another, is the esteemed Senator from New York in her mother’s seat.  Don’t tell me she isn’t running in 2024, because I won’t believe you. I don’t think anybody will.”

                The elder pundit looked at the young woman wearily.  Somewhere in all this, he was sure, there was a point.  “And?”

                “And?!”  She seemed to catch herself suddenly.  She continued more calmly.  “And, it must really suck to be Beau and Nicholas Bayh.  Dad’s about to be President.  Step-mom’s already President; step-mom’s last husband was President.  Step-sister’s likely next to bat.  How the hell do they come home with a medical degree in brain surgery when their dad is on the phone with Khadafy and their dad’s new wife is off saving the world through the Clinton Global Initiative? I would never come home after that.  Holidays are gonna be a monster this year for those kids.”

                “Nah, I think they’ll be fine. Nobody expects much from them yet.  It’s those Clinton grandkids that are going to have a hard time.  They’ve got legacies stacked three-deep and they’re gonna to have to live up to it all their lives.”

                Rachel nodded, having collected herself sufficiently.  “They sure will, because if they don’t, we’ll be watching and reporting on it.”

                Pat looked at Rachel’s eager smile and didn’t hesitate to sigh this time.  “Journalism is dead,” he muttered, resigned. “I think it died with the last guy.”  Whatever it was they were here for wasn’t reporting.  It was just talking out of their back ends.  He didn’t like it, but at least he still had his integrity.  When he lost that, he’d know it was time to call it a day.

                “She got nominated in a floor fight. She got elected, and she turned this country right on its head.  That’s Hillary Rodham Clinton for you—and that is what she will leave behind on January 20, 2016.  History made again.” Joe Scarborough applauded the woman he had for years impishly referred to as his mistress.  She was a good friend now and a damned great Commander-in-Chief.  He’d miss those State of the Union Addresses, but mostly he’d just miss seeing her on TV.

                “And that, my friends, is the news.  Please join us again next time on Road to the White House on MSNBC,” David Gregory nodded and the red light flickered off.

Epilogue Pt I