His fingers gently stroked the soft face."You of all people should know that there's nothing to be done," he said softly. "It's only a matter of time." But we've been given so little! There wasn't enough time!" she wailed, her fist clenching."We've been blessed," he insisted. "We've been given what most people could not find in a lifetime"She rested her head on his chest, sobbing. She clenched his shirt. He closed his arms around her and murmured words of comfort. He rocked her like a child. He pressed his nose against her head, his brows knitted as anguish squeezed his chest, a keener pain than any physical ones he had felt before. He knew that she is all the reason he needed for staying alive.But he did not want her memory of him to be tarnished. He did not want to be a shriveled figure incapable of controlling his own body. He did not want machines to breathe for him or feed him through a tube.She deserved better."I want you to remember me before the cancer," he said, his own. They’d called ahead, so one of the Senators’ security people was already at the gate that nominally blocked off her DC home from the street. It was more of a gesture at security than an actual boundary and wouldn’t keep out anyone actually determined to get into the Senators’ home. That’s what her armed security (which was now the Secret Service rather than private security now that she was one of the two major nominees for President) was for.While it was an impressive home in the elite DC suburbs used by high ranking politicians going back to Woodrow Wilson, it didn’t compare to the massive compound she maintained in South Carolina. While fancy, this looked a lot more normal, if you managed to look past the obviously armed men standing around watching the reporters who in turn watched them.They’d pulled up to the curb in front of the Senators’ home and as soon as Taylor was out of the car the reporters recognized him. It wasn’t the mad rush he’d experienced at the press conference.
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