It's been over a year since I wrote "A Dagger Unseen," the ninth story in the Jed/Donna As I Was Drifting Away series. Since then, I've written several Jed/Abbey stories, but I knew I couldn't abandon my secret enjoyment of Jed and Donna.

Since I was so mean to them in "A Dagger Unseen," I've let up a little in this one, which is not nearly as complicated, and will probably be a transition story to give them a little break until the next crisis. Don't worry, though, there is still conflict. Wouldn't be fanfic (or a story, for that matter) without it.

This is, of course, AU, but I've tried to follow some of the show's timeline; however, I'm pretty much completely ignoring the sixth season. Jed has not had a relapse. Josh is still Deputy Chief of Staff. And we ARE NOT skipping an entire year of Jed's presidency.

Hope you enjoy!

On the Wall – Chapter One

A West Wing Story

As I Was Drifting Away Series

by MAHC

POV: Donna

Spoilers: None, really. Maybe a little about the Middle East talks.

Rating: PG-13 - Teen

Disclaimer: Jed and Donna are not my creation. J.T. is, however.

"In the dime stores and bus stations,
People talk of situations,
Read books, repeat quotations,
Draw conclusions on the wall."

Bob Dylan

"Love Minus Zero/No Limit"

1965

It had been the night of the State of the Union, Donna knew it. She could still feel the pulsing heat of his release deep inside her, could still hear his gasp of ecstasy at her ear, could still taste the sweetness of his mouth on hers as they came down from the exquisite high. No doubt. It had been that night.

She had suspected for several weeks, with several minor – and one major – clues, but a morning visit to Dr. Carlstein confirmed it. With a timid smile, she lifted her head from Jed's shoulder and propped on one hand, watching him sleep, her gaze flickering from his thick, scattered hair to his beautiful mouth. She leaned over to press a soft kiss on the tiny scar in his brow, the one he acquired the first time she had told him she was pregnant. At least this time he would be lying down already and avoid another injury.

What she couldn't avoid was the larger, more violent scar that slashed from the other brow back across his temple – an ominous, malicious reminder of evil in the world, and of how close she had come – they all had come – to devastating tragedy. She kissed it, too, having to lean against him to reach it. He stirred, his eyes opening slightly, crinkling in a slight smile as he came to consciousness with her above him.

"Hey," he whispered, reaching up to run his fingers through her hair and tuck a bit behind her ear.

"Hey."

"You my alarm clock – this morning?" he wondered, the smile widening.

She noted the slight hesitation that still affected his speech occasionally, but gave thanks daily that it was only on occasion now, when he was especially tired or stressed. He was light years ahead of where he had been two months before on that nerve-wracking State-of-the-Union night that turned into an amazing display of willpower and outright stubbornness.

"Yep," she confirmed, suddenly deciding exactly how she wanted to get him stirring. "It's my job to get you up."

He grunted a laugh, and she was sure would have cracked a terrible joke if she had not slid down his body and started to make good on her declaration. Instead, the words were sucked away by his gasp as her tongue flicked out to lick at the erection already strong and eager beneath the sheets.

A smirk touched her lips at his groan. She had taken him by surprise, judging from the uncharacteristic lack of control she felt from his body. Head thrown back, he was thrusting up toward her mouth almost immediately. Shifting around for a better angle, she pushed the covers completely off him and kneeled between his outstretched legs, totally committing herself to the action.

A choked attempt to relieve her of the task failed at his lips, and he finally gave in to the overwhelming need she had created, arching against her until the hard pulses shuddered through him and pumped into her again and again.

"Oh, God," he groaned, finally collapsing, arms and legs flung wide, chest heaving. "Oh, God." He kept his eyes closed.

More than a little proud of herself, she relaxed onto him, her breasts pressing against his softening genitals, her teeth tugging at the swirls of hair on his abdomen. "No, just me," she teased, then flinched a little at the thought that her comment might have been a tad sacrilegious.

"Oh, Donna," he amended. "You didn't have to – I wasn't expecting – "

"I know. That's why it was so fun."

"It was that," he agreed with another grunt, still not opening his eyes.

Well, it had been fun, but now she realized ruefully that, while he was obviously wiped out, her nerves sang for relief. Maybe she should have planned her impromptu seduction a little better.

He groaned again and blew out a hard breath before opening his eyes and moving his hands down to tug her up his body. When they were hip to hip, he ran his fingers through her hair again and pulled her down into a kiss, deep and slow.

When she drew back, he smiled warmly and cradled her face in his palms. "That wasn't very gentlemanly of me," he apologized, placing two fingers across her lips when she tried to protest. "Let me make it up to you."

Oh yes. That would be just fine, she decided, as he eased his body lower. Just fine.

Much later, he lay between her legs, his head resting just above the pubic bone, his fingers running gentle circles over her stomach as she tried to calm her trembling limbs. God, that had been good – as usual. Absently, her own fingers toyed with his hair, smoothing it back down after she had clung to the thick locks through her wild orgasm.

This was it – the perfect moment to tell him, but for some reason, she hesitated, uncertainty checking her impulse. He would be glad, right? He had told her only a few months before, in the limo as they brought J.T. home, that he would welcome more children.

Still, this was big news, especially with him still recovering from the "incident." She had taken to referring to it that way, as if avoiding the jarring term "assassination attempt" would make it any less traumatic.

"Jed, there's something I need to tell you – "

The demanding wail drowned out her words, summoning every ounce of attention from parents who were more than happy to give it. At four months, J.T. Bartlet had learned that these folks were at his beck and call. Donna wondered if it was too early to spoil a child, but it didn't really matter. He would be ruined regardless of their intentions. In addition to the love of his parents, he could claim unlimited doting from his sisters, Aunt C.J., Aunt Margaret, Uncle Josh, Uncle Toby, and especially Uncle Leo.

Her husband groaned and pushed up from the bed. "I'll get him."

She nodded, not too disappointed, and perhaps a little relieved. There was plenty of time for her news. Well, maybe not plenty.

As he slipped on a pair of sweat pants, however, the ring of the phone intruded into their family moment, and she knew instinctively that the world would demand attentions of its own.

She lifted the receiver, waving him on. "Hello?"

"Donna?"

Damn. Leo. This early in the morning that was never good news.

"Yeah." An attempt at masking her irritation didn't work.

"I'm really sorry to – "

"I know," she interrupted, a little too quickly.

He took the tone in stride, having heard much worse from both Abbey and her throughout his years of stealing Jed Bartlet away at the worst times. "I need to talk with him."

He's not here. I don't know where he is. He won't be back until next Tuesday. "Hang on."

"So then the Big, Bad Republican said, 'I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow the House down – '" Jed stepped through the door between their bedroom and the nursery, his son bouncing happily in his arms.

She laughed, finishing the sentence for him. "' – and then the Senate, and then the Court.'"

He grinned, looking at J.T., but addressing her. "A good moral tale."

At the sight of his mother, the tow-headed youngster pushed with pudgy legs toward her and babbled with excitement, having connected her from birth with warmth, security, and – his main concern at the moment – food.

His voice tugged at her maternal depths, both emotionally with the sweetness in her heart and physically with the sweetness of her milk. Smiling at both of her men, she held out her arms as her husband passed off the child whose immediate need he could not satisfy. He brushed her lips before he stood again.

Jerking her chin toward the waiting receiver, she said simply, "Leo."

With a grimace, he picked up the phone. "Hey."

She watched carefully, trying to judge the importance of the call, the severity of whatever crisis – and it always was a crisis – had crashed their morning. The sigh was the first sign. The hand brushing through the hair was the second. The expletive finished it up. She refrained from reminding him that J.T. was in the formative stages of language. Heaven forbid that his first words would be mimics of certain colorful metaphors his father carelessly dropped.

With a final sigh, he returned the receiver to its cradle and faced her. The apology in his eyes told the story. "I'm sorry. I've gotta go."

Naturally.

"Serious?"

His lips pressed together for a moment before he answered. "Possibly."

She had learned enough in the past two years to know not to probe, but he volunteered the information anyway.

"North Korea again."

Her spine stiffened, so much that J.T. grunted in protest at the shift in position. Ever since the shooting, she had hated hearing that name, dreaded reading about the almost-fatal attempt. "What – about it?"

He turned to her, his eyes betraying him with their uncertainty. He was pondering whether to be honest, she could see. Finally, lowering his head so he wasn't looking at her anymore, he admitted, "We have some information about – testing."

"Nuclear weapons?" she guessed. It wasn't hard.

He nodded. "It came from rather secret sources."

"So you can't let them know you know without revealing that you have spies."

"Something like that."

She smiled through her disappointment. With everything else he had to worry about, she was determined to keep her name off that list. "Go," she instructed. "We'll be fine."

Leaning over, he kissed her gently, his hand stroking along her jaw, coming critically close to dissolving her resolve to let him leave. "You said you had something to tell me?" he murmured against her lips.

Oh, yeah. But this wasn't the time. She wanted it to be just right. She wanted his full attention. She wanted them to lie in each other's arms and reflect on it. "It'll keep," she assured him.

"Okay."

One more kiss and he was pulling on jeans and a sweatshirt, then hurrying out the door to meet the harsh realities of the world. As usual, she lifted up a prayer for his strength and wisdom.

This time, she added a hope for her own.