POV: Donna
Spoilers: None
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me.
As I Was Drifting Away - Chapter One A West Wing Story
by MAHC
Donna watched the President carefully, worry on her face, aching in her heart. He held his shoulders straight, his head up. Dignity and control apparently surrounded him, but she could tell he really wasn't aware of any of the somber pomp that occurred in the vast chamber they occupied. The eyes gave it away. Those eyes that were so sharp, so blue, so comprehending, those eyes now glazed over with the all-encompassing shock that had jerked him from innocent happiness into agonizing despair.
The National Cathedral was packed with dignitaries from around the world, all paying their sympathetic respects to a Nobel prize winning economist, former governor and congressman, leader of the free world, who had suddenly been given a new, unwelcome identity: widower. They had filed past at the wake held earlier in the East Room at the White House, a room that served in similar sad capacity throughout the history of the building, most notably as the site where Abraham Lincoln's assassinated body lay in state. This time, it held the beloved wife of Josiah Bartlet.
The mass ended. The powerful notes of the organ filled the church with "A Mighty Fortress is Our God," interestingly enough, a Lutheran, not Catholic, hymn.
"He will need a mighty fortress," thought Donna. He will need a bulwark. How will he survive without it? How will he survive without her?
She watched as the First Family, now incomplete, turned to leave, all other mourners standing silently in respect. The President looked right at her for a moment, but did not indicate that he saw her at all. She doubted that he saw anything except the red haze of pain that must pervade his whole being. They moved with dignity up the aisle, Zoey on one side, Ellie on the other. Liz and Annie followed directly behind. Knowing the President's past relationship with the his middle daughter, Donna found it heartening that Ellie had chosen to be one who walked next to her father.
Jed Bartlet moved automatically, years of public appearances controlling his motions, yet he faltered once as he neared the doors, just a hesitation, as if he were reluctant to step back into the world without her by his side. His shoulders rose and fell in a heavy sigh. Ellie's hand found his in a poignant move that would be related over television and newspapers that day and the next. Then, they continued. Donna wondered at the significance of that moment.
After that, Donna had lost sight of the mourning family, had exited the church with the other stunned members of the Bartlet staff, and had made her way to Josh's car. They would not be going to Manchester. Abigail Bartlet's body would be flown there on Air Force One, the President and their daughters accompanying it. The internment would be private, only immediate family, and Leo, of course, no cameras. The only reporter allowed was Danny Concannon, who attended as representative of the entire press corps. He would later write a simple, poignant piece about the loss of a vibrant, gracious First Lady and the strength of a President.
Aides and assistants manned the White House that terrible weekend. The senior staff simply couldn't bear to walk through those halls and be bombarded with reminders of their loss and the leader's devastating tragedy. Instead, they all went to Josh's house, toasted Abigail Bartlet, and got drunk. It was the best they could do, under the circumstances. Donna knew they all wondered what would happen to Josiah Bartlet. He and Abbey were really one person. How could he continue without half of himself?
She returned to her apartment early the next morning, still not quite able to grasp the brutal fact that the First Lady was dead. She could only imagine the difficulty the President must be having. Since the MS revelation, she knew he always felt he would be the one to die first, not from the MS perhaps, but maybe complications. It probably never occurred to him that his energetic, forceful life partner could leave him so abruptly. The First Lady of the land, and a doctor to boot, with the best medical resources at her disposal, had died instantly of a massive heart attack while on a trip to speak at a conference for children's healthcare.
Donna had been in the Oval Office at the time, taking notes for Josh while he and the President discussed the White House's policy on aid to illegal immigrants. The banter had been light and she laughed at Jed Bartlet's quick wit. She closed her eyes at the disturbing memory of that moment when Leo and Ron Butterfield had interrupted, their faces giving away a dreadful message. Leo had indicated with a head jerk that they should leave and she remembered the rush of panic that she felt, knowing something big had happened. At the time, she had figured it was an invasion or hostage situation. She and Josh waited outside the door for a long time. Once, she thought she heard a moan from inside, but she wasn't sure. Finally, Ron came out, and for a second, she got a glimpse inside. The President sat on the couch, his back to the door, shoulders hunched, his head buried in his hands. Leo was next to him, his arms around his old friend. That was when Donna knew it must be Abbey. Nothing else could have affected him that way.
Later, after the President had gone to the residence to be with two of his daughters that had arrived, Leo gathered the senior staff and told them the terrible news.
"How is the President?" C.J. had asked, her own grief evident in the trembling voice and tearing eyes.
Leo didn't answer. He told Toby and Sam to prepare a simple announcement and gave C.J. instructions to say that details would be forthcoming. If anyone asked, and they were certain to ask, the President was with his family and no other comments would be made at that time. The rest of the day had the fuzzy memory of a nightmare. Soap operas were pre-empted, CNN spent constant coverage on the incident and reported the transportation of the body from Chicago back to Washington, speculating that the President was too overcome to meet the plane at Edwards Air Force Base.
"They were wrong," Donna thought with a touch of pride. The President had somehow pulled himself together and dragged the mantle of his office around him, standing straight and calm as the casket, an American flag draped over it, was removed from the rear of the 747. She later found out that he had collapsed once they got back into the limousine and Leo had held him all the way to the White House, but by the time they arrived, he had again become the controlled leader and had shown his strength to the watching world.
Donna threw her keys on the table and stumbled into her bedroom, no longer fighting back the tears that spilled down her face, tears for her country's loss, tears for her President's loss, tears for her own loss. Her thoughts focused on him, though, and what must be going through his mind, if he could think at all. She wished she could do something for him, wished she could comfort him in some way. But she knew she couldn't. No one could. She just hoped that he could hold on until the future brought him something good, because he surely couldn't see past the present, and she had to believe there must be something else waiting for him. He was such a good man. There must be something more for him.
As I Was Drifting Away - Chapter One A West Wing Story
by MAHC
Donna watched the President carefully, worry on her face, aching in her heart. He held his shoulders straight, his head up. Dignity and control apparently surrounded him, but she could tell he really wasn't aware of any of the somber pomp that occurred in the vast chamber they occupied. The eyes gave it away. Those eyes that were so sharp, so blue, so comprehending, those eyes now glazed over with the all-encompassing shock that had jerked him from innocent happiness into agonizing despair.
The National Cathedral was packed with dignitaries from around the world, all paying their sympathetic respects to a Nobel prize winning economist, former governor and congressman, leader of the free world, who had suddenly been given a new, unwelcome identity: widower. They had filed past at the wake held earlier in the East Room at the White House, a room that served in similar sad capacity throughout the history of the building, most notably as the site where Abraham Lincoln's assassinated body lay in state. This time, it held the beloved wife of Josiah Bartlet.
The mass ended. The powerful notes of the organ filled the church with "A Mighty Fortress is Our God," interestingly enough, a Lutheran, not Catholic, hymn.
"He will need a mighty fortress," thought Donna. He will need a bulwark. How will he survive without it? How will he survive without her?
She watched as the First Family, now incomplete, turned to leave, all other mourners standing silently in respect. The President looked right at her for a moment, but did not indicate that he saw her at all. She doubted that he saw anything except the red haze of pain that must pervade his whole being. They moved with dignity up the aisle, Zoey on one side, Ellie on the other. Liz and Annie followed directly behind. Knowing the President's past relationship with the his middle daughter, Donna found it heartening that Ellie had chosen to be one who walked next to her father.
Jed Bartlet moved automatically, years of public appearances controlling his motions, yet he faltered once as he neared the doors, just a hesitation, as if he were reluctant to step back into the world without her by his side. His shoulders rose and fell in a heavy sigh. Ellie's hand found his in a poignant move that would be related over television and newspapers that day and the next. Then, they continued. Donna wondered at the significance of that moment.
After that, Donna had lost sight of the mourning family, had exited the church with the other stunned members of the Bartlet staff, and had made her way to Josh's car. They would not be going to Manchester. Abigail Bartlet's body would be flown there on Air Force One, the President and their daughters accompanying it. The internment would be private, only immediate family, and Leo, of course, no cameras. The only reporter allowed was Danny Concannon, who attended as representative of the entire press corps. He would later write a simple, poignant piece about the loss of a vibrant, gracious First Lady and the strength of a President.
Aides and assistants manned the White House that terrible weekend. The senior staff simply couldn't bear to walk through those halls and be bombarded with reminders of their loss and the leader's devastating tragedy. Instead, they all went to Josh's house, toasted Abigail Bartlet, and got drunk. It was the best they could do, under the circumstances. Donna knew they all wondered what would happen to Josiah Bartlet. He and Abbey were really one person. How could he continue without half of himself?
She returned to her apartment early the next morning, still not quite able to grasp the brutal fact that the First Lady was dead. She could only imagine the difficulty the President must be having. Since the MS revelation, she knew he always felt he would be the one to die first, not from the MS perhaps, but maybe complications. It probably never occurred to him that his energetic, forceful life partner could leave him so abruptly. The First Lady of the land, and a doctor to boot, with the best medical resources at her disposal, had died instantly of a massive heart attack while on a trip to speak at a conference for children's healthcare.
Donna had been in the Oval Office at the time, taking notes for Josh while he and the President discussed the White House's policy on aid to illegal immigrants. The banter had been light and she laughed at Jed Bartlet's quick wit. She closed her eyes at the disturbing memory of that moment when Leo and Ron Butterfield had interrupted, their faces giving away a dreadful message. Leo had indicated with a head jerk that they should leave and she remembered the rush of panic that she felt, knowing something big had happened. At the time, she had figured it was an invasion or hostage situation. She and Josh waited outside the door for a long time. Once, she thought she heard a moan from inside, but she wasn't sure. Finally, Ron came out, and for a second, she got a glimpse inside. The President sat on the couch, his back to the door, shoulders hunched, his head buried in his hands. Leo was next to him, his arms around his old friend. That was when Donna knew it must be Abbey. Nothing else could have affected him that way.
Later, after the President had gone to the residence to be with two of his daughters that had arrived, Leo gathered the senior staff and told them the terrible news.
"How is the President?" C.J. had asked, her own grief evident in the trembling voice and tearing eyes.
Leo didn't answer. He told Toby and Sam to prepare a simple announcement and gave C.J. instructions to say that details would be forthcoming. If anyone asked, and they were certain to ask, the President was with his family and no other comments would be made at that time. The rest of the day had the fuzzy memory of a nightmare. Soap operas were pre-empted, CNN spent constant coverage on the incident and reported the transportation of the body from Chicago back to Washington, speculating that the President was too overcome to meet the plane at Edwards Air Force Base.
"They were wrong," Donna thought with a touch of pride. The President had somehow pulled himself together and dragged the mantle of his office around him, standing straight and calm as the casket, an American flag draped over it, was removed from the rear of the 747. She later found out that he had collapsed once they got back into the limousine and Leo had held him all the way to the White House, but by the time they arrived, he had again become the controlled leader and had shown his strength to the watching world.
Donna threw her keys on the table and stumbled into her bedroom, no longer fighting back the tears that spilled down her face, tears for her country's loss, tears for her President's loss, tears for her own loss. Her thoughts focused on him, though, and what must be going through his mind, if he could think at all. She wished she could do something for him, wished she could comfort him in some way. But she knew she couldn't. No one could. She just hoped that he could hold on until the future brought him something good, because he surely couldn't see past the present, and she had to believe there must be something else waiting for him. He was such a good man. There must be something more for him.