POV: Donna
Spoilers: None
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine (but I wish they were).
As I Was Drifting Away - Chapter Two A West Wing Story
by MAHC
"Donna?"
Donnatella Moss looked up from plowing through files and pushed strands of her straight blonde hair out of her face. In the doorway to her office stood Charlie Young, hand on the frame, leaning slightly into the room.
"Yeah?"
"The President needs to see you."
She supposed that hearing those words would be a shock at any time, especially since she didn't really have any direct responsibility to President Bartlet, but now they seemed unusually surprising.
"Me?" She knew her mouth was hanging open, but Charlie was kind enough not to comment.
"Yeah. He's in the Oval."
Well, of course he's in the Oval. Where else would he be? Forcing a deep breath into her lungs, she straightened and smoothed her dress, noticing the smirk on Charlie's face, but deciding to ignore it. Anybody would want to look their best when they were going to see the President, right?
"Right. Okay. I'm coming."
"Okay."
As they walked through the West Wing, she turned to Charlie and asked, "Did he say why he wanted to see me?"
"No."
"I mean, did he need me to get him something?"
"Don't know."
"Or look up weather for him?"
Charlie shrugged.
"Or-"
"I don't know, Donna. He just asked me to get you."
"Okay."
"How's he doing?"
Charlie didn't look at her. "Okay," he answered, but it didn't seem very enthusiastic. Donna took the hint and stopped asking questions.
The walked along for a few more minutes in silence and she reflected on the past eight months in the Bartlet White House. Eight months of surreal normality. Eight months without Abbey. After her death things had fallen into an uneasy stability. The President, publicly strong and competent, withdrew privately, interacting in a personal relationship only with his daughters, and occasionally, Leo. His stature in the eyes of America had grown even taller, with the courageous, calm demeanor he maintained throughout the agonizing ordeal. Donna had heard the whispered polling numbers. His approval rating had skyrocketed, but she knew no one would be so callous as to mention it in his presence.
He remained polite enough to his staff, interacting with them in the necessary business of the day, but gone were the warm smiles, the easy wit, the light banter. All conversations covered only basics, the cut-and-dried facts. He worked late into the night in the Oval Office, as if he could not bear to return alone to the bed that he had shared with her. They all worried about him, especially Leo, who, even with his long history with Jed Bartlet, suffered from the President's stoic mask and determined silence in acknowledging his grief.
The withdrawal made this summons even more curious. Donna knew that the President, who used to make a point of visiting informally with various members of his staff every few weeks or so, had not had even one evening like that since the First Lady's death. In fact, he rarely even spoke with C.J., Sam, Josh, or Toby. Instead, he relayed messages through Leo to them. What could he possibly want with her?
They snaked their way through the halls and came to the outer office. Charlie held up a hand to indicate that she should wait, then stuck his head in the door. Donna heard the President's distinctive voice answer and the aide ushered her in.
Taking a quick breath, she braced herself for what she might find. Rumors ran rampant about the President's appearance and health since his wife's death. Even though he had appeared on television numerous times since then, she still heard rumors that, in person, he had really aged. In person, he moved slowly, devoid of his old energy. In person, his eyes were old. So she braced herself to see the destruction of this wonderful man, this man who deserved much more.
"Mister President," she said softly, warily.
"Donna."
To her surprise, he did not appear to be on the verge of collapse. He greeted her warmly, stepping up to her with apparent ease and placing a warm hand on her shoulder. His hair, which had already begun graying a little after his third year in office, didn't seem any grayer than before Abbey's death, and the smile that he now graciously gave her was just as charming, if not quite as joyful. Only his eyes gave away his true feelings. They still held the pain of loss, the loneliness he must face each night. But he pushed through that and led her to a couch.
"Have a seat," he said.
She eased down, still baffled about her requested presence. "How are you doing, Sir?" she asked, then mentally thumped herself on the head. Stupid question. Why did I ask that?
But he just nodded and responded, "Okay. Thanks for asking."
He took a place in the chair next to her. The one he usually occupied. The one he had been sitting in when Leo and Ron came in and- No. Don't think about that now. They simply stared at each other for a few minutes. What's happening here? she wondered.
Finally, she garnered enough courage to ask. "Can I help you with something, Mister President?"
He started to say something, stopped, then started again. "Leo thinks-Leo thinks I need some - lighter conversation."
She frowned, not really sure where this was going. "Sir?"
"Something that doesn't have anything to do with running the country. Something that will - "
--distract you from your grief, she finished silently.
"- be relaxing," he said, probably changing his original sentence.
She shrugged. "And how can I help, Sir?"
He took a deep breath. Did he seem nervous? Jed Bartlet? Surely not. She was reading him wrong. Then, he said something that sounded just like the Bartlet of old.
"Donna, do you know what President did the most to promote the national park system?"
Was this a test? All right, she did know. Let's see. It was a Roosevelt, right? Franklin? No. "Theodore Roosevelt."
His eyes lit up. "Very good. What do you know about TR?"
"Well, he was a member of the Rough Riders in the Mexican War and, uh, spoke softly and carried a big stick." Was that it? Anything else?
"Spanish-American."
"Sir?"
"He was in the Spanish-American War. The Mexican War was in 1848. The Spanish-American War was fifty years later."
"Oh. Okay."
"What else do you know about Teddy Roosevelt?"
She thought about the history classes she had taken in her two years at college, but could not call any more vital information about that particular President. What was he doing, anyway? Well, if Leo had sent her in here as a distraction, she would certainly fulfill her mission. It was good to talk to the President again. "I'm not sure I know a great deal about President Roosevelt, Sir," she finally admitted.
His mouth lifted a bit and it surprised her. The first smile she had seen in over half a year. "Trivia."
"Sir?"
"Trivia. He was full of knowledge about any subject and enjoyed regaling his visitors, sometimes welcomed, sometimes not, with information."
"Sounds familiar, Sir." Oh. Did she say that aloud?
But he passed over her comment. "Yes. Only I haven't really been able to - share my trivia with anyone recently." Now his smile faded and she bit her lip in sympathy. "I guess I just-" He paused as a thought occurred to him. "Do you play Trivial Pursuit, Donna?"
Champion of the Moss Family Reunion Trivial Pursuit Marathon, three years in a row. Leo had known that, hadn't he? She remembered Josh saying something about it in the presence of the Chief of Staff. "Y-Yes, Mister President."
"Well, I thought we'd.Would you be interested in" He cleared his throat again and she was shocked to realize that he really was nervous. "How about a match tonight? You can come to the residence. I'll have the kitchen whip up some snacks and we can pit our minds."
Oh wow! "I think I'm hopelessly outmatched, Mister President, but I'll be honored to do my best." She was still stunned that he had even invited her to the Oval Office, now she tried to comprehend a personal invitation to the private residence of the President of the United States to play a game of Trivial Pursuit and eat snacks. Unbelievable.
"Okay." He seemed relieved and terrified at the same time. "I'll have Charlie let you know when to come. He and Zoey can join us. I've got a few more things to deal with here before I go to the residence." He smiled again, and even though it still didn't reach his eyes, she heard the anticipation in his voice.
"What was the code name for the Invasion of North Africa?" Donna flipped over the small card in her hand to check the answer, but before she could find it, the President had already responded and was reaching for another triangular pie to add to his nearly full playing piece.
"Operation Torch. I roll again."
"Fine." She tossed the card onto the table and reached for another, frowning at the lonely single pie in her token. He had graciously allowed her to begin and she felt a moment of hope when the first question had asked who played Scarlett O'Hara in Gone With the Wind. Then it had been some inane leisure question about wines and she bombed. From then on, he had not missed a single one.
"Isn't this fun?" he asked.
Whoopie. I really enjoy getting creamed in Trivial Pursuit by the Master Wizard of Triviadom. Aloud, she agreed.
Still, it was nice to see him happy, and he did seem much more relaxed. She glanced over at Charlie and Zoey, their chins in their palms, waiting for turns that had not yet even begun.
"Dad," the First Daughter said, "Charlie and I are going to go to the kitchen and make a sandwich. Call me when, or if, it is ever my turn."
Jed looked up, surprised. Then he nodded, apparently understanding that the young couple's actions had more to do with being together than with quitting the game. Donna decided he had come a long way in his attitude toward his youngest daughter's relationship with his bodyman. Their departure prompted a break in play.
"You need more to drink?" he asked, startling her.
She nodded, and he reached for the glass just as she did; their fingers touched. Donna was surprised at the electric shock that jumped through her. She raised her eyes to meet his and saw that he had felt the same thing. For a moment, his hand stayed on hers, then he pulled back and cleared his throat.
"Ah. I think maybe that's enough for tonight, Donna. Thanks for coming up." He stood and his smile returned. "I really enjoyed it."
Confused, she rose uncertainly. "Uh, okay, Mister President. Maybe we can do this again?"
"Sure. That'd be great." He seemed too eager for her to go, stepped to the door and opened it. She had no choice but to walk through it.
Back at home that night, she lay in her bed thinking about the evening and why the President had chosen her to play Trivial Pursuit with. Then, as she drifted off to sleep, she felt again the warmth and tingle of his fingers on hers. It was a good feeling.
"Donna?"
She looked up to see Charlie again. He didn't have to say a word this time. She knew what he wanted. A few moments later, she knocked on the door to the residence, just as she had every other night the past two weeks. Jed Bartlet opened the door and waved her in. He looked good, more relaxed tonight than any other night before. He wore jeans and an open- collared sweater that fit nicely across his broad chest. His hair hung over his forehead in a more casual look than he wore in the office. On previous nights, Charlie and Zoey had been there, and sometimes Leo participated, even though she knew he hated Trivial Pursuit. But he did it for the President. Tonight, however, they seemed to be the only players.
"Come on in, Donna," he greeted, turning toward the game board, already set up. "I think tonight's your night."
This was generous. The best she had done so far was three pies and she had actually cheated for one of those. Still, she had to admit she was enjoying these sessions with the President, and Leo had let her know, in a round-about way, that they were beginning to make a difference in the President's attitude.
Settling onto the couch, she reached for the dice to roll it. Instead of his place in a separate chair, as he had done before, the President sat next to her, his thigh touching hers lightly. He didn't seem to notice, but she felt an immediate and unexpected surge rush through her. If she hadn't known better, she would have described it as sexual. But that couldn't be - could it?
Of course not. Forget it. Roll the Dice. Move the piece.
After a moment, she realized he asked her a question. "What?"
"You need me to repeat it?" he said, amused.
Since I have no idea at all what you just said - "Yes, Sir."
"Of whom is Hamlet speaking when he tells Horatio, 'I knew him'?" His glasses balanced down his nose, he looked over them at her for the answer.
I know this. Hamlet. Hamlet. Alas, Poor - "Yourick!"
"Yes!" He laughed, showing his pleasure that she was right; it made her feel warm.
As the evening continued, she seemed to be getting more and more correct, and he was uncharacteristically missing some. Finally, she stood poised to answer the game-winner. He selected the history category and read.
"What two Presidents have earned PhD's? Oh please." His eyes rolled and he shook his head. "Might as well just give you the title now. If there are any easier questions, I haven't seen-"
"Mister President!"
"Okay. Sorry."
All right. One was a given. Josiah Bartlet, PhD in Economics. Nobel Winner. Who was the other? Kennedy? No. He wrote a book, but - Clinton? Rhodes Scholar, but not PhD. "Wilson!" she exclaimed at the same time she thought of it. "Woodrow Wilson and -let me think - hmmm - who - "
He growled and she laughed. "Oh yes, some President named Bartlet, I think."
He looked down at the board and smiled. "Well, Donna, that gives you a victory, I believe. Congratulations."
She did it! After weeks of inglorious and humiliating defeats, she had done it. She had beaten Josiah Bartlet in trivia. Suddenly elated by her feat, she jumped up and threw her arms around his neck. Laughing, he stood with her and hugged her back, obviously happy for her. When she pulled away just a little, their eyes met and she realized his mouth was only inches away from hers, his hands were on her hips, and her breasts were pressing into his chest. Logic screamed for her to back up, to step away before it was too late, but logic really had no control over the situation. Even as she berated herself for doing it, she moved forward so that her lips touched his, gently, softly. She sensed his surprise, but also felt him respond, his mouth moving on hers, his hands drawing her to him, his hips against hers, making his reaction obvious. The kiss lasted several moments, long enough for their tongues to mingle warmly, before she felt him stiffen and step back suddenly.
They stared at each other, both stunned. Then, he regained his composure and cleared his throat. "That was - a good game, Donna," he managed, voice hoarse. "Thanks for playing. I'll uh - I hope you have a good night."
And it was over. She stood in her office before she went home and she still felt his lips on hers, his hands burning through her clothing, his hard warmth against her pelvis. And she realized she had wanted that to happen. She was glad it had happened. That night, she dreamed of him, dreamed of what might be next, dreamed of his hands moving from her hips to other places on her body. She had hoped something good waited for him. Was she it? Was that too presumptive? Could she be an instrument in bringing him back to himself? Twisting restlessly in the covers, she anticipated what would happen the next night or two nights from then when she returned.
But Charlie didn't call her the next night, or the next, or the next. She tried not to let the depression settle on her, telling herself that what had happened was obviously an accident. He did not intend to pursue anything resulting from their momentary loss of control. That was as it should be. He was a widower, her father's age, and the President of the United States. Why, then, did the thought that nothing would come of it disappoint her?
Finally, over a month after the first Trivial Pursuit game, Charlie came to get her again. Nervous tingles jumped across her skin as she approached the Residence, mind racing through possible things he might say. Trying to find appropriate responses, trying to decide where she wanted this to go.
She entered to find him facing a crackling fire in the fireplace, its warm leaping glow flickering over him, the only other light from a table lamp. He wore the same sweater he had on that first evening. She liked that sweater. Okay. Don't think that. See what he wants first.
He turned at her entrance and smiled slightly, motioning for her to sit. She shook her head.
"How are you, Sir?
He didn't answer, but got right down to business. "Donna, I think we need to talk."
Uh oh. That didn't sound good at all. "About what, Mister President?"
The surprise on his face amused her. "About - what happened last time we were -together."
"You mean during the Trivial Pursuit game?"
"Yeah. I needed to apologize to you, Donna. I don't know what came over me. I suppose it had been so long - " He trailed off and the pain in his voice showed how difficult it was for him to say the words. "I just - got carried away for a minute and - you certainly didn't deserve to be a victim of my weakness."
She looked at him, surprised. Couldn't he tell she had responded willingly? Didn't he realize - But how could he when she was just realizing it herself. She was shocked to hear the words come from her lips.
"But Mister President, I wanted to do that."
"What?"
"I wanted - I wanted to kiss you. I wanted you to kiss me."
He stared at her for a long minute, eyes wide with incredulity, mouth open. Finally, he managed a response.
"That's absurd," he choked out. "I'm 30 years older than you, Donna."
Okay. This was it. She talked now or never. She had nothing to lose. Might as well go for broke. "You are young, Mister President. Every move you make, every twinkle in your eye, every joke says it. You are young. It doesn't matter how long you've lived." She meant it, meant it with all her heart.
His voice dropped now, so low that she had to lean forward to grasp his hoarse mutter. "It hasn't - it hasn't been long enough."
She knew what he meant. "It's been too long, Mister President," she countered, courage growing with each word. He looked up in surprise at the vehemence in her tone. Taking advantage of his silence, she continued. "Abbey wouldn't want this, would she? Wouldn't want you morose and wallowing in pity and misery. Would you want her to be if it had been you?"
Her words hit him hard, she could tell. Whether or not they would work the way she intended, she wasn't sure yet. He drew in a ragged breath, steadied himself with one hand on the back of a chair. The agony in his face reached into her chest and twisted her heart. She hated seeing him so torn, so lost. It was so unlike the confident, cocky Jed Bartlet she remembered from almost a year ago.
"I don't - I don't know - if I can," he admitted finally, softly.
Those words, spoken with such pain and uncertainty, drew her to him slowly. He did not look up when she stood toe to toe with him, did not acknowledge that he was even aware of her presence, but she heard his breath come a little faster, saw his chest rise and fall. If she didn't take the chance now, she knew she might never take it. Moving slowly so that he could step back if he chose to, she reached up to run her fingers across his jaw, cupping it gently in her palm. He did not recoil.
Okay, so far, so good. Her other arm came up and she held his face in both hands, unable to suppress a gasp when his eyes met hers and she read the mixture of emotions in them: guilt, hope, and - possibly, she thought, a tiny gleam of desire. Oh, she hoped so.
Still, he did not move. Leaning in, she touched her lips to his, just brushing him, then pulled back to judge his reaction. His lips had parted, his eyes widened at her actions. She thought he was about to speak, and moved before he could stop her, kissing him again, this time with more pressure, letting out only a fraction of the passion and desire she now realized she had suppressed for a long time. After a moment, his mouth softened against hers and his tongue slipped between her lips. She fought back a scream of triumph, settling for a moan that drew an immediate response from him. He grasped her around the waist and pulled her to him, his mouth now hard and insistent, his hands slipping lower to press her hips into his. A thrill ran through her when she felt his arousal, hot and hard against her, even through the jeans he wore. Her hands pushed upward, shoving his shirt away from his body, running fingers through the hair on his chest. One hand dropped lower, slipping open the button of his jeans. He moaned, arching into her palm, and she smiled at the hard pulse. She felt them both losing control, and knew that in only a few moments, they would be on the couch, or the floor maybe -
"Oh, God!" He scratched his way out of the heated embrace and stood, staring at her in disbelief, bare chest heaving, jeans bulging, hair falling into his eyes. "Oh, Donna," he groaned. "I'm - I'm so sorry." Combing a hand through his hair, he snatched up his shirt and scrambled back into it, then turned toward the fireplace and shook his head. "I can't believe I - Oh, God. I can't - "
The breaking voice, so uncharacteristic, threatened to undo both of them. Donna was determined, however, not to let him fall back into the depths of loneliness and pity. "Mister President," she began.
"No! No. I - can't. I just-" He faced her again. "I'm sorry, Donna. I know you're trying to help. But - I can't do it. Not yet. Not now."
A smile touched her lips. "I understand," she assured him softly. "But I want you to know this. I'm not doing this to try to help."
His head cocked a little to one side, as it frequently did when he was trying to figure something out. She was at the edge. Did she dare keeping moving? With a deep breath she leaped.
"I'm doing this because you are a warm, wonderful, handsome, sexy man, Jed Bartlet, and I am very attracted to you."
She suppressed a wider grin when his jaw dropped. He stared at her, unable to put a sentence together.
"Wow," she laughed. "I made Josiah Bartlet speechless. That deserves some type of award, I think."
After a full minute of silence, he managed pull himself together a little bit, clearing his throat and shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. "Um, Donna, I'm, uh, flattered, you know. It's certainly sweet of you to say that-"
Throwing a palm up before her, she stopped him, amazed at her confidence. "You may not be ready. It may not be time, but I will not have you think I am merely patronizing you or pitying you. I'll be here when you are ready. Any time."
Using his astonishment to her advantage, she backed out of the door, tossing him a final seductive smile as he stood, eyes on her, hand still deep in his pockets. Stunned at her own brazen words and actions, she didn't know how long he remained in that position after she left.
As I Was Drifting Away - Chapter Two A West Wing Story
by MAHC
"Donna?"
Donnatella Moss looked up from plowing through files and pushed strands of her straight blonde hair out of her face. In the doorway to her office stood Charlie Young, hand on the frame, leaning slightly into the room.
"Yeah?"
"The President needs to see you."
She supposed that hearing those words would be a shock at any time, especially since she didn't really have any direct responsibility to President Bartlet, but now they seemed unusually surprising.
"Me?" She knew her mouth was hanging open, but Charlie was kind enough not to comment.
"Yeah. He's in the Oval."
Well, of course he's in the Oval. Where else would he be? Forcing a deep breath into her lungs, she straightened and smoothed her dress, noticing the smirk on Charlie's face, but deciding to ignore it. Anybody would want to look their best when they were going to see the President, right?
"Right. Okay. I'm coming."
"Okay."
As they walked through the West Wing, she turned to Charlie and asked, "Did he say why he wanted to see me?"
"No."
"I mean, did he need me to get him something?"
"Don't know."
"Or look up weather for him?"
Charlie shrugged.
"Or-"
"I don't know, Donna. He just asked me to get you."
"Okay."
"How's he doing?"
Charlie didn't look at her. "Okay," he answered, but it didn't seem very enthusiastic. Donna took the hint and stopped asking questions.
The walked along for a few more minutes in silence and she reflected on the past eight months in the Bartlet White House. Eight months of surreal normality. Eight months without Abbey. After her death things had fallen into an uneasy stability. The President, publicly strong and competent, withdrew privately, interacting in a personal relationship only with his daughters, and occasionally, Leo. His stature in the eyes of America had grown even taller, with the courageous, calm demeanor he maintained throughout the agonizing ordeal. Donna had heard the whispered polling numbers. His approval rating had skyrocketed, but she knew no one would be so callous as to mention it in his presence.
He remained polite enough to his staff, interacting with them in the necessary business of the day, but gone were the warm smiles, the easy wit, the light banter. All conversations covered only basics, the cut-and-dried facts. He worked late into the night in the Oval Office, as if he could not bear to return alone to the bed that he had shared with her. They all worried about him, especially Leo, who, even with his long history with Jed Bartlet, suffered from the President's stoic mask and determined silence in acknowledging his grief.
The withdrawal made this summons even more curious. Donna knew that the President, who used to make a point of visiting informally with various members of his staff every few weeks or so, had not had even one evening like that since the First Lady's death. In fact, he rarely even spoke with C.J., Sam, Josh, or Toby. Instead, he relayed messages through Leo to them. What could he possibly want with her?
They snaked their way through the halls and came to the outer office. Charlie held up a hand to indicate that she should wait, then stuck his head in the door. Donna heard the President's distinctive voice answer and the aide ushered her in.
Taking a quick breath, she braced herself for what she might find. Rumors ran rampant about the President's appearance and health since his wife's death. Even though he had appeared on television numerous times since then, she still heard rumors that, in person, he had really aged. In person, he moved slowly, devoid of his old energy. In person, his eyes were old. So she braced herself to see the destruction of this wonderful man, this man who deserved much more.
"Mister President," she said softly, warily.
"Donna."
To her surprise, he did not appear to be on the verge of collapse. He greeted her warmly, stepping up to her with apparent ease and placing a warm hand on her shoulder. His hair, which had already begun graying a little after his third year in office, didn't seem any grayer than before Abbey's death, and the smile that he now graciously gave her was just as charming, if not quite as joyful. Only his eyes gave away his true feelings. They still held the pain of loss, the loneliness he must face each night. But he pushed through that and led her to a couch.
"Have a seat," he said.
She eased down, still baffled about her requested presence. "How are you doing, Sir?" she asked, then mentally thumped herself on the head. Stupid question. Why did I ask that?
But he just nodded and responded, "Okay. Thanks for asking."
He took a place in the chair next to her. The one he usually occupied. The one he had been sitting in when Leo and Ron came in and- No. Don't think about that now. They simply stared at each other for a few minutes. What's happening here? she wondered.
Finally, she garnered enough courage to ask. "Can I help you with something, Mister President?"
He started to say something, stopped, then started again. "Leo thinks-Leo thinks I need some - lighter conversation."
She frowned, not really sure where this was going. "Sir?"
"Something that doesn't have anything to do with running the country. Something that will - "
--distract you from your grief, she finished silently.
"- be relaxing," he said, probably changing his original sentence.
She shrugged. "And how can I help, Sir?"
He took a deep breath. Did he seem nervous? Jed Bartlet? Surely not. She was reading him wrong. Then, he said something that sounded just like the Bartlet of old.
"Donna, do you know what President did the most to promote the national park system?"
Was this a test? All right, she did know. Let's see. It was a Roosevelt, right? Franklin? No. "Theodore Roosevelt."
His eyes lit up. "Very good. What do you know about TR?"
"Well, he was a member of the Rough Riders in the Mexican War and, uh, spoke softly and carried a big stick." Was that it? Anything else?
"Spanish-American."
"Sir?"
"He was in the Spanish-American War. The Mexican War was in 1848. The Spanish-American War was fifty years later."
"Oh. Okay."
"What else do you know about Teddy Roosevelt?"
She thought about the history classes she had taken in her two years at college, but could not call any more vital information about that particular President. What was he doing, anyway? Well, if Leo had sent her in here as a distraction, she would certainly fulfill her mission. It was good to talk to the President again. "I'm not sure I know a great deal about President Roosevelt, Sir," she finally admitted.
His mouth lifted a bit and it surprised her. The first smile she had seen in over half a year. "Trivia."
"Sir?"
"Trivia. He was full of knowledge about any subject and enjoyed regaling his visitors, sometimes welcomed, sometimes not, with information."
"Sounds familiar, Sir." Oh. Did she say that aloud?
But he passed over her comment. "Yes. Only I haven't really been able to - share my trivia with anyone recently." Now his smile faded and she bit her lip in sympathy. "I guess I just-" He paused as a thought occurred to him. "Do you play Trivial Pursuit, Donna?"
Champion of the Moss Family Reunion Trivial Pursuit Marathon, three years in a row. Leo had known that, hadn't he? She remembered Josh saying something about it in the presence of the Chief of Staff. "Y-Yes, Mister President."
"Well, I thought we'd.Would you be interested in" He cleared his throat again and she was shocked to realize that he really was nervous. "How about a match tonight? You can come to the residence. I'll have the kitchen whip up some snacks and we can pit our minds."
Oh wow! "I think I'm hopelessly outmatched, Mister President, but I'll be honored to do my best." She was still stunned that he had even invited her to the Oval Office, now she tried to comprehend a personal invitation to the private residence of the President of the United States to play a game of Trivial Pursuit and eat snacks. Unbelievable.
"Okay." He seemed relieved and terrified at the same time. "I'll have Charlie let you know when to come. He and Zoey can join us. I've got a few more things to deal with here before I go to the residence." He smiled again, and even though it still didn't reach his eyes, she heard the anticipation in his voice.
"What was the code name for the Invasion of North Africa?" Donna flipped over the small card in her hand to check the answer, but before she could find it, the President had already responded and was reaching for another triangular pie to add to his nearly full playing piece.
"Operation Torch. I roll again."
"Fine." She tossed the card onto the table and reached for another, frowning at the lonely single pie in her token. He had graciously allowed her to begin and she felt a moment of hope when the first question had asked who played Scarlett O'Hara in Gone With the Wind. Then it had been some inane leisure question about wines and she bombed. From then on, he had not missed a single one.
"Isn't this fun?" he asked.
Whoopie. I really enjoy getting creamed in Trivial Pursuit by the Master Wizard of Triviadom. Aloud, she agreed.
Still, it was nice to see him happy, and he did seem much more relaxed. She glanced over at Charlie and Zoey, their chins in their palms, waiting for turns that had not yet even begun.
"Dad," the First Daughter said, "Charlie and I are going to go to the kitchen and make a sandwich. Call me when, or if, it is ever my turn."
Jed looked up, surprised. Then he nodded, apparently understanding that the young couple's actions had more to do with being together than with quitting the game. Donna decided he had come a long way in his attitude toward his youngest daughter's relationship with his bodyman. Their departure prompted a break in play.
"You need more to drink?" he asked, startling her.
She nodded, and he reached for the glass just as she did; their fingers touched. Donna was surprised at the electric shock that jumped through her. She raised her eyes to meet his and saw that he had felt the same thing. For a moment, his hand stayed on hers, then he pulled back and cleared his throat.
"Ah. I think maybe that's enough for tonight, Donna. Thanks for coming up." He stood and his smile returned. "I really enjoyed it."
Confused, she rose uncertainly. "Uh, okay, Mister President. Maybe we can do this again?"
"Sure. That'd be great." He seemed too eager for her to go, stepped to the door and opened it. She had no choice but to walk through it.
Back at home that night, she lay in her bed thinking about the evening and why the President had chosen her to play Trivial Pursuit with. Then, as she drifted off to sleep, she felt again the warmth and tingle of his fingers on hers. It was a good feeling.
"Donna?"
She looked up to see Charlie again. He didn't have to say a word this time. She knew what he wanted. A few moments later, she knocked on the door to the residence, just as she had every other night the past two weeks. Jed Bartlet opened the door and waved her in. He looked good, more relaxed tonight than any other night before. He wore jeans and an open- collared sweater that fit nicely across his broad chest. His hair hung over his forehead in a more casual look than he wore in the office. On previous nights, Charlie and Zoey had been there, and sometimes Leo participated, even though she knew he hated Trivial Pursuit. But he did it for the President. Tonight, however, they seemed to be the only players.
"Come on in, Donna," he greeted, turning toward the game board, already set up. "I think tonight's your night."
This was generous. The best she had done so far was three pies and she had actually cheated for one of those. Still, she had to admit she was enjoying these sessions with the President, and Leo had let her know, in a round-about way, that they were beginning to make a difference in the President's attitude.
Settling onto the couch, she reached for the dice to roll it. Instead of his place in a separate chair, as he had done before, the President sat next to her, his thigh touching hers lightly. He didn't seem to notice, but she felt an immediate and unexpected surge rush through her. If she hadn't known better, she would have described it as sexual. But that couldn't be - could it?
Of course not. Forget it. Roll the Dice. Move the piece.
After a moment, she realized he asked her a question. "What?"
"You need me to repeat it?" he said, amused.
Since I have no idea at all what you just said - "Yes, Sir."
"Of whom is Hamlet speaking when he tells Horatio, 'I knew him'?" His glasses balanced down his nose, he looked over them at her for the answer.
I know this. Hamlet. Hamlet. Alas, Poor - "Yourick!"
"Yes!" He laughed, showing his pleasure that she was right; it made her feel warm.
As the evening continued, she seemed to be getting more and more correct, and he was uncharacteristically missing some. Finally, she stood poised to answer the game-winner. He selected the history category and read.
"What two Presidents have earned PhD's? Oh please." His eyes rolled and he shook his head. "Might as well just give you the title now. If there are any easier questions, I haven't seen-"
"Mister President!"
"Okay. Sorry."
All right. One was a given. Josiah Bartlet, PhD in Economics. Nobel Winner. Who was the other? Kennedy? No. He wrote a book, but - Clinton? Rhodes Scholar, but not PhD. "Wilson!" she exclaimed at the same time she thought of it. "Woodrow Wilson and -let me think - hmmm - who - "
He growled and she laughed. "Oh yes, some President named Bartlet, I think."
He looked down at the board and smiled. "Well, Donna, that gives you a victory, I believe. Congratulations."
She did it! After weeks of inglorious and humiliating defeats, she had done it. She had beaten Josiah Bartlet in trivia. Suddenly elated by her feat, she jumped up and threw her arms around his neck. Laughing, he stood with her and hugged her back, obviously happy for her. When she pulled away just a little, their eyes met and she realized his mouth was only inches away from hers, his hands were on her hips, and her breasts were pressing into his chest. Logic screamed for her to back up, to step away before it was too late, but logic really had no control over the situation. Even as she berated herself for doing it, she moved forward so that her lips touched his, gently, softly. She sensed his surprise, but also felt him respond, his mouth moving on hers, his hands drawing her to him, his hips against hers, making his reaction obvious. The kiss lasted several moments, long enough for their tongues to mingle warmly, before she felt him stiffen and step back suddenly.
They stared at each other, both stunned. Then, he regained his composure and cleared his throat. "That was - a good game, Donna," he managed, voice hoarse. "Thanks for playing. I'll uh - I hope you have a good night."
And it was over. She stood in her office before she went home and she still felt his lips on hers, his hands burning through her clothing, his hard warmth against her pelvis. And she realized she had wanted that to happen. She was glad it had happened. That night, she dreamed of him, dreamed of what might be next, dreamed of his hands moving from her hips to other places on her body. She had hoped something good waited for him. Was she it? Was that too presumptive? Could she be an instrument in bringing him back to himself? Twisting restlessly in the covers, she anticipated what would happen the next night or two nights from then when she returned.
But Charlie didn't call her the next night, or the next, or the next. She tried not to let the depression settle on her, telling herself that what had happened was obviously an accident. He did not intend to pursue anything resulting from their momentary loss of control. That was as it should be. He was a widower, her father's age, and the President of the United States. Why, then, did the thought that nothing would come of it disappoint her?
Finally, over a month after the first Trivial Pursuit game, Charlie came to get her again. Nervous tingles jumped across her skin as she approached the Residence, mind racing through possible things he might say. Trying to find appropriate responses, trying to decide where she wanted this to go.
She entered to find him facing a crackling fire in the fireplace, its warm leaping glow flickering over him, the only other light from a table lamp. He wore the same sweater he had on that first evening. She liked that sweater. Okay. Don't think that. See what he wants first.
He turned at her entrance and smiled slightly, motioning for her to sit. She shook her head.
"How are you, Sir?
He didn't answer, but got right down to business. "Donna, I think we need to talk."
Uh oh. That didn't sound good at all. "About what, Mister President?"
The surprise on his face amused her. "About - what happened last time we were -together."
"You mean during the Trivial Pursuit game?"
"Yeah. I needed to apologize to you, Donna. I don't know what came over me. I suppose it had been so long - " He trailed off and the pain in his voice showed how difficult it was for him to say the words. "I just - got carried away for a minute and - you certainly didn't deserve to be a victim of my weakness."
She looked at him, surprised. Couldn't he tell she had responded willingly? Didn't he realize - But how could he when she was just realizing it herself. She was shocked to hear the words come from her lips.
"But Mister President, I wanted to do that."
"What?"
"I wanted - I wanted to kiss you. I wanted you to kiss me."
He stared at her for a long minute, eyes wide with incredulity, mouth open. Finally, he managed a response.
"That's absurd," he choked out. "I'm 30 years older than you, Donna."
Okay. This was it. She talked now or never. She had nothing to lose. Might as well go for broke. "You are young, Mister President. Every move you make, every twinkle in your eye, every joke says it. You are young. It doesn't matter how long you've lived." She meant it, meant it with all her heart.
His voice dropped now, so low that she had to lean forward to grasp his hoarse mutter. "It hasn't - it hasn't been long enough."
She knew what he meant. "It's been too long, Mister President," she countered, courage growing with each word. He looked up in surprise at the vehemence in her tone. Taking advantage of his silence, she continued. "Abbey wouldn't want this, would she? Wouldn't want you morose and wallowing in pity and misery. Would you want her to be if it had been you?"
Her words hit him hard, she could tell. Whether or not they would work the way she intended, she wasn't sure yet. He drew in a ragged breath, steadied himself with one hand on the back of a chair. The agony in his face reached into her chest and twisted her heart. She hated seeing him so torn, so lost. It was so unlike the confident, cocky Jed Bartlet she remembered from almost a year ago.
"I don't - I don't know - if I can," he admitted finally, softly.
Those words, spoken with such pain and uncertainty, drew her to him slowly. He did not look up when she stood toe to toe with him, did not acknowledge that he was even aware of her presence, but she heard his breath come a little faster, saw his chest rise and fall. If she didn't take the chance now, she knew she might never take it. Moving slowly so that he could step back if he chose to, she reached up to run her fingers across his jaw, cupping it gently in her palm. He did not recoil.
Okay, so far, so good. Her other arm came up and she held his face in both hands, unable to suppress a gasp when his eyes met hers and she read the mixture of emotions in them: guilt, hope, and - possibly, she thought, a tiny gleam of desire. Oh, she hoped so.
Still, he did not move. Leaning in, she touched her lips to his, just brushing him, then pulled back to judge his reaction. His lips had parted, his eyes widened at her actions. She thought he was about to speak, and moved before he could stop her, kissing him again, this time with more pressure, letting out only a fraction of the passion and desire she now realized she had suppressed for a long time. After a moment, his mouth softened against hers and his tongue slipped between her lips. She fought back a scream of triumph, settling for a moan that drew an immediate response from him. He grasped her around the waist and pulled her to him, his mouth now hard and insistent, his hands slipping lower to press her hips into his. A thrill ran through her when she felt his arousal, hot and hard against her, even through the jeans he wore. Her hands pushed upward, shoving his shirt away from his body, running fingers through the hair on his chest. One hand dropped lower, slipping open the button of his jeans. He moaned, arching into her palm, and she smiled at the hard pulse. She felt them both losing control, and knew that in only a few moments, they would be on the couch, or the floor maybe -
"Oh, God!" He scratched his way out of the heated embrace and stood, staring at her in disbelief, bare chest heaving, jeans bulging, hair falling into his eyes. "Oh, Donna," he groaned. "I'm - I'm so sorry." Combing a hand through his hair, he snatched up his shirt and scrambled back into it, then turned toward the fireplace and shook his head. "I can't believe I - Oh, God. I can't - "
The breaking voice, so uncharacteristic, threatened to undo both of them. Donna was determined, however, not to let him fall back into the depths of loneliness and pity. "Mister President," she began.
"No! No. I - can't. I just-" He faced her again. "I'm sorry, Donna. I know you're trying to help. But - I can't do it. Not yet. Not now."
A smile touched her lips. "I understand," she assured him softly. "But I want you to know this. I'm not doing this to try to help."
His head cocked a little to one side, as it frequently did when he was trying to figure something out. She was at the edge. Did she dare keeping moving? With a deep breath she leaped.
"I'm doing this because you are a warm, wonderful, handsome, sexy man, Jed Bartlet, and I am very attracted to you."
She suppressed a wider grin when his jaw dropped. He stared at her, unable to put a sentence together.
"Wow," she laughed. "I made Josiah Bartlet speechless. That deserves some type of award, I think."
After a full minute of silence, he managed pull himself together a little bit, clearing his throat and shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. "Um, Donna, I'm, uh, flattered, you know. It's certainly sweet of you to say that-"
Throwing a palm up before her, she stopped him, amazed at her confidence. "You may not be ready. It may not be time, but I will not have you think I am merely patronizing you or pitying you. I'll be here when you are ready. Any time."
Using his astonishment to her advantage, she backed out of the door, tossing him a final seductive smile as he stood, eyes on her, hand still deep in his pockets. Stunned at her own brazen words and actions, she didn't know how long he remained in that position after she left.