While the forty-fourth president watched the impending destruction of his March Madness bracket, his phone rang. He saw the ID and groaned. He considered sending her to voice mail, but there was that old pull again. Michelle would have something to say about that. Understanding and not understanding why he couldn’t just walk away from a lifetime in public service.

The phone rang again. He mustered up a smile in his voice that he in no way felt, and answered, “Madame Secretary.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said. Following that was a grunt worthy of Serena Williams laying down an ace. “What are we doing about this?”

Grunt. Obama paused a beat. “Frankly, I don’t know.” Grunt. “What is that noise?”

Another grunt, as if on cue. “Krav Maga class. I’m killing it.” Her voice rose. “You got it, Justice Barrett. Harder. Aim for the man parts next time.”

He winced. Resistance did indeed make for some strange bedfellows, and he’d never expected that Ruth Bader Ginsberg’s replacement would be walking in the Notorious RBG’s martial arts footsteps. “Sounds like you’re, maybe, getting ready to do something about this.”

“If you stay ready,” Hillary said. “You don’t gotta get ready.”

“Are you seriously quoting RuPaul to me right now?”

“If the stiletto fits. Listen. I got some ideas. Why not let’s get the band back together and see what we can do about this clown car shit show before we’re all speaking Russian.”

“About that…” He’d been chewing on the future utility of the Council for some time now.

The other end of the phone went quiet. She sighed. “Barry…”

That was never good. He waited for her to say more. Because there was always more. But then he grew impatient. “No,” he said. “I’ve done my time. I can’t save the world. I am not Superman. Much as everybody wants me to be and, deep down, much as I want to be. It’s killing my spirit and my health, it’s killing my marriage…and no, those rumors are not true, but it’s awfully chilly up in here lately. And I do not blame her one bit for drawing her own lines in the sand.”

More silence. Her voice was quiet, cracked a bit. “But if not us, who?”

“Aunt Hillary, maybe it’s time.”

“To take matters into our own hands? Good. So, my last idea didn’t pan out like we hoped. But I got some Serbian mercenaries lined up, all I have to do is hit send and the crypto will be deposited straight into their wallets. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head. “No. It’s time… for a new generation to step up and lead.”

“Why? You need a nap?”

“You need a new hip? Get real, Madame Secretary. The gerontocracy has got to go. Nobody in our, shall we say, peer group has the courage to be the first to start. Sure, some are passing the gavel but they’re not leaving the stage unless the good lord calls them home. You know what? I’m gonna be the first to start. Carry on if you must, I can’t stop you, but I. Can. Not.”

And then he hung up. He got a cold beer, reclaimed his favorite chair and tried to watch the rest of the basketball game in peace. But it was no use. He knew deep in his soul that he would never exit the stage and never leave public service until the last breath left his body. Cussing under his breath, he picked up the phone. And as he was about to press the button, she called him.

“I got an idea,” he said, before she could speak.

“Too late. I just gave the order. I sent in my own version of Seal Team Six.”

The breath froze in his lungs. He had visions of blood and brains on walls. Of all of them in an El Salvador prison camp. “Hill, we can’t—”

“You can’t. I can, so I did.” She raised her voice. “Justice Barrett! Harder! Imagine it’s Alito.”

“Call them off,” he said, in his FAFO tone.

“Hell no,” she said. “I got an army to build.”