President Carlton Harper made his way quickly through the 'new' White House. He was followed closely by a trio of Aides, each taking turns to fill him in on the issue of which they were personally in charge. When they reached the big set of doors that unofficially divided the White House between working area and living area -- The Residence -- the three stopped suddenly.

The watched helplessly as the leader of what remained of the 'free world' headed away, down the hall and out of sight around a corner. Carlton was finished with them for the evening. Truth be told, he hadn't heard a word they'd said since he left the Office. He had more important -- and more enjoyable -- pursuits on his mind.

He found his wife, Ellen, in her own bedroom and sat with her for a moment, giving her a chance to talk about her day. Carlton never brought his work -- management of the remnants of the United States of America -- to her bedroom: this was her sacred space, and topics discussed here were of her choosing.

He had hoped that one particular subject wouldn't rise, but as he rose to leave, she intercepted him with, "Is this really necessary?"

He hesitated before answering, toying with the bouquet of flowers his pre-teen daughter had picked from the South Garden. He turned and looked to his wife of 14 years. "I must do my part, sweetheart. For a better future."

She looked away, a doubtful expression in her face. She waited a moment before turning away from him and returning to her book. It was her way of telling him she was done with him and he should just go the fuck away.

He contemplated a better way of discussing the issue, but remembered that this was her space. He wasn't going to start a philosophical argument on this topic here, where she slept and -- when the mood suited her -- made love to Carlton, simply for pleasure's sake.

He went to his own bedroom a few doors down the hall, changed out of his work suit, donned something a bit more comfortable -- loose slacks and a button up shirt -- and headed to the White House's basement.

There, he greeted the Guard politely, discussed the primary school soccer match that had taken place on the North Lawn the day before, then passed through the steel bar gate the Guard unlocked for him. Carlton made his way to the end of the passageway, passed by a second Guard and a second locked door, and was greeted by a man in white scrubs.

"Three is ovulating?" he asked hopefully.

"Yes, Mister President," the Doctor said, looking to the charts before him. "Number Two as well, though you bred with her yesterday."

"But we don't know if it took," Carlton asked, moving down to a metal door to look through a small one way glass at a woman sitting on a queen sized bed in an otherwise stark room. "Perhaps we should double up."

"Of course, Mister President," the Doctor said, retrieving a set of keys from the desk and moving to the door at which the Commander in Chief stood. "It never hurts to..."

He let the thought fade as he opened the door.

Carlton entered, and the woman on the bed rose. The shackle connecting her left wrist to the heavy metal frame of the bed rattled. The Breeders weren't normally shackled, but Number Two had fought Carlton the day before, trying to avoid her duty to the future of the human race.

"If you are nice today," Carlton said in a polite tone, nodding toward the chain, "We can take that off. We're not trying to hurt you. We just need you to do your part."