This is the last installment of "In Your Eyes," which follows the three-
part story "As I Was Drifting Away." Hope you have enjoyed it.
POV: Donna Spoilers: None Rating: R Disclaimer: These characters are not mine. (sniff)
In Your Eyes: The White Rose - Chapter Three A West Wing Story
by MAHC
"Psst!"
Donna heard the fly-like noise in the distance, ignoring it as she usually did pesky creatures that tried to distract her, whether they were of the Josh variety or the Sam variety.
"Psst!"
This bug was certainly persistent. Finishing the sentence, she lifted her head in irritation, prepared to swat away her interrupter, but the gesture faltered when her eyes fell on Margaret's long frame. Work forgotten at the intense expression on her friend's face, she lifted her brow in question.
Instead of answering, Margaret shook her head, red hair bouncing briskly, and whispered, "LaFayette Park. Same bench. Ten minutes." As if she were a double agent, the secretary to the Chief of Staff slipped away down the hall.
"Be there. Aloha," Donna added in her head.
Despite her common sense that it could be anything, she knew without a doubt that Margaret's upcoming conversation would concern Jed Bartlet, and probably Leo McGarry. It had been over an hour since she left the Oval Office, disheveled and abashed at being discovered in a heated embrace with the President. It had also been over an hour since she had brilliantly blurted out that she loved him, and received a decidedly stunned response. Now, her heart accelerated in anticipation of what Margaret might be telling her.
The minutes crept by, second hand surely running backwards. Finally, she left her office, trying to maintain an air of nonchalance. Outside the gates, she barely kept from sprinting to the appointed rendezvous.
"Hey," greeted Margaret simply, rising from the bench.
"Hey."
For a minute they just stared at each other. Donna fought down the urge to scream and managed to inquire calmly, "What?"
"Maybe we'd better sit," her friend suggested and they both eased onto the hard bench. Donna's heart now galloped.
"I couldn't get to you any sooner. Leo had me rescheduling meetings for the afternoon and tomorrow, but as soon as I could-"
"What is it?"
Margaret sat with her usual ramrod posture and spoke in a low voice. Donna appreciated her newly found discretion, remembering that the last time they sat on that bench Margaret had practically announced to the entire greater D.C. area that Donna had slept with the President. "Apparently," her friend began, "after you left the Oval Office, Leo - confronted the President about you two. I'm not sure how-"
"He saw us."
Margaret stopped, eyes wide. "He SAW you?"
She nodded.
"He saw you - doing what?"
"Kissing, hugging - touching. If he hadn't interrupted, I'm not sure where - it would have led." She decided not to mention her blunder, at least not yet.
"Oh - my -"
"Margaret! Just tell me what you heard."
"Okay. Well, that certainly explains his reaction, then. He really gave it to the President."
Leo gave it to the President? Didn't Leo know? Oh no! He didn't know, or at least he hadn't known until today. Now she was concerned, for Jed, for her, for the entire situation. "What did he say?" Her voice squeaked.
Leaning closer, Margaret said, "Well, at first things were pretty quiet, so I couldn't hear much. See, Leo had left the door cracked and-"
"I understand."
"Anyway, like I said it was quiet, but before long the President raised his voice and told Leo to mind his own business."
"Really?" That pleased her somehow.
"Yeah, but Leo said this was his business and if it became the country's business then the President might as well be ready to face another hearing."
"Hearing? Oh God. How did Je-the President respond?"
"He asked Leo what possible laws of the country he would have broken by spending time with a friend. That it had not and would not interfere with his ability to run the country. Then Leo said it didn't look like you two were just friends and where did the President plan on taking it?"
Her nerves tingled; her throat dried out. Donna asked in a hoarse whisper, "What did he say?"
Her eyes widening as she relayed the heated disagreement, Margaret answered, "He said he'd take it wherever he damned well pleased, and, while he was still talking, Leo called him by his name - by that I mean Jed - which I've never heard him do, and then they didn't say anything at all for a while."
It took all of her concentration to force down the lump in her throat to keep from throwing up. What a mess. Leo and the President, best friends, were at each other's throats and it was about her. She had never intended for it to be like that. Never. Screwing up her courage, she said, "Anything else?"
Margaret nodded, as if she had been waiting for Donna to ask. "When they started talking again, it was quiet, so I had to, you know, move a little closer to hear. The President told Leo how much you'd helped him get through a hard time and he didn't think he could give that up."
Donna took a deep breath as her friend continued.
"After a very long pause, Leo said he knew that and that they'd figure it out somehow. There was another long silence. Then I heard a sigh -I think it was the President - and someone headed toward the door. I barely made it back to my desk before Leo came into his office. He looked at me kind of funny anyway." Margaret finished her details of the conversation, a triumphant gleam in her eyes.
Biting her lip, Donna stood and paced, her shoes making a soft mush on the grass. She wished she had heard it herself, even though Margaret's recollection was probably verbatim. She was eerily like that. Still, she could have interpreted vocal tone and emphasis. The way what was said was said. "What does that mean, he didn't think he could give that up? What does that mean, Margaret?"
Her friend shrugged, then placed a hand on her shoulder. "I think he's the only one who can answer that."
Donna let her gaze focus loosely on the rain that fell in lazy trails outside the window. The ancient hand-blown glass panes distorted the movement so that sometimes the drops seemed to jump up just a little before they continued on their paths to the groomed lawn. She waited by his door, calm and composed on the outside, but screaming and trembling on the inside. It had taken her all night to convince herself that Margaret was right. She needed to see him, to talk to him about - about whatever was going on. Charlie glanced at her occasionally, but did not comment. After several minutes, she heard the President's voice and smiled. He had finally decided to figure out the intercom. Charlie rose.
"He can see you now, Donna." No smirk. Completely serious. Was that good or bad?
When she entered, he was just standing and stepping from behind his desk. Glasses had been discarded already and he was in his usual office dress, but it was early in the day and his tie was still snug at his collar, his coat still on. Their eyes met briefly and he was the one to look away first. Donna knew he was unsure about how they left each other the last time. She also knew something he did not. She was aware of his conversation with Leo.
"Hey," he greeted, slight grin sending shivers through her.
"Mister President," she returned formally just in case the door had not yet completely closed.
"What's up?" His hands had already made it to his pockets, a sign he was either very relaxed or very nervous. She was pretty sure which one now.
"Mister Pres-Jed," she began and smiled at his widened grin. "I thought maybe - maybe I should explain myself for yesterday. What I said here, before Leo-"
He waved a hand to stop her and stood quietly, obviously gathering his response. She waited a long time, over a minute, maybe two, before he spoke.
"Donna, I-I didn't know how to - respond to that. I still don't." Although she tried not to react, the disappointment must have shown on her face, because he lifted his hands quickly, holding them out to her in supplication. "It's not that - I don't know if - Damn!"
He sighed, shoulders dropping wearily, and sank onto a chair. Without looking at her, he said quietly, "I - care for you, Donna. I care - a lot."
She held her breath. And.?
Leaning forward, he braced his elbows on his knees and lowered his eyes, not looking at her, not really looking at anything. "Abbey and I were married for thirty-five years. She was my - confidant, my lover, my children's mother, my soul-mate, my - life. I loved her so much." His voice cracked and she took another breath against the pain that flowed from him. After a moment, he regained some control and continued, still not able to look at her. "I know she's - dead. I know I have to continue living, but - giving all that up is just - hard. It's just - so hard - " His head fell into his hands and the tears dropped softly through his fingers.
She wasn't sure what to do. Wasn't sure how to comfort him. But she couldn't just stand there. Walking to the couch, she knelt in front of him, took his shoulders in her hands and drew him to her. He allowed himself to fall forward for just a moment, then he pulled away abruptly and stood, moving to face the rain-spattered window, hands shoved back deeply into his pockets.
The silence in the room was broken only by the ubiquitous ticking of the clock. Donna wanted to go to him, to comfort him more, but something kept her rooted where she was. His shoulders had stopped shaking now, and she saw him wipe his face before he took a deep breath and turned. Except for reddened eyes, he was composed again.
"Donna, you are a beautiful woman."
She blushed, just as much from the words as from the naked appreciation in his gaze.
"And I want you to know that - the time I've spent with you - and I don't mean just the sex - well, it has been such a healing for me." Now he colored a little at his own frankness. "I wish I could - I wish I could tell you-" He faltered, searching for the right wording. "Right now, Donna, I - I can't make any - promises. That wouldn't be fair to you, but - "
But what? Tell me -
He drew another breath. "If it's all right, I'd - like to see you again - sometime - if you want."
If I want? If I want! Her mind screamed this, but outwardly, she managed to be amazingly calm. "I would like that - Jed."
He nodded, smiling just a little, but didn't move forward, as if he still didn't trust himself to be any closer to her. "How about tomorrow evening? Dinner?" He grinned now. "I sent Charlie out this morning to get a new version of Trivial Pursuit. All new challenges."
"Oh joy!" she proclaimed, the sarcasm heavy in her voice, but her smile let him know it was a joke.
"Seven-thirty?"
"Seven-thirty," she agreed.
It was time to go. As much as she wanted to touch him, to feel him touch her, she realized that now was not the place nor time. Even as intimate as they had been, he was still the President and he was basically dismissing her, no matter how subtle he was about it. Easing toward the door to the outer office area, she gave him a smile that she hoped showed her understanding as well as her compassion.
"I'll - see you later," she promised, and closed the door behind her, feeling his eyes follow her all the way out. I'll see you later, indeed.
Damn. Six o'clock. She had meant to get out of the building by 5:30, but things just hadn't gone her way. Still, she was ready now, gathering up her satchel and cramming in a few documents that she would dutifully take home, ignore, and bring back tomorrow. Swiping a hand across her eyes to push the hair out of the way, she swung toward her door and ran flat into Leo McGarry, whose hands came up automatically, steadying her. He dropped them when he saw she was not going to topple and smiled slightly.
"Got a minute, Donna?"
No. But you're the Chief of Staff to the President, so of course I do. "Sure." She leaned the leather case against her desk and backed up, Leo following.
"Donna-"
The minute he began speaking, she knew. She knew why he was there. Her heart sank, she felt sick at her stomach, dreading what he had to tell her, what he was going to ask her to do. Give him up. Let him go. But she knew she couldn't. How could she tell Leo that? But how could she not?
"Donna, you know who I'm here to talk about, don't you?"
She nodded, couldn't speak. Oh, she felt sick.
"And you know that I - know about you and the President?"
Another nod. How much do you know?
Leo took a deep breath and shifted his gaze slightly, not looking directly at her. "When you become a public figure, you give up a great deal. Your private life is no longer private, never will be completely again." He turned to stare out her office, as if what he had to say was too hard to say directly to her. "When Abbey died, before she had even been buried, they were coming out of the woodwork."
She frowned, confused. They who?
"Do you know how many letters he receives every day from women, Donna?"
No. She had not thought about that and the President had not shared it with her.
"He has suddenly become the most eligible bachelor in the world, totally against his desire to be. At state functions they are like vultures circling the prey, like tigers stalking." He swung back around, his eyes sharp, angry.
Why was he telling her this? Then she heard him sigh, saw his shoulders slump. "He's - he's gone through so much, Donna. He needs someone, but not someone who wants him because - because he's the President of the United States, because he's powerful, because he's wealth. He needs someone who - who wants him because of him, who'll - someone who'll be there for him."
Me. I will. What on earth did Leo think of her? "Leo-"
He held up a hand and his eyes bore into hers. "I won't stand by and see him used, Donna. I need to know-"
This wasn't exactly what she was expecting. Leo wasn't here to berate her, or to scare her away. He was here to protect him, to protect his friend, his President, but not from scandal. He was here to protect him from heartbreak, from being hurt. "Leo-"
"I have to know if-"
"I love him."
He stumbled to a halt and stared at her. "What?"
"I love him, Leo. I love him."
"Donna, he's-"
"I know. I know whatever you're going to say. He's thirty years older than I am. He has MS. He has grown children." A smile curved her lips. "He's also smart and funny and handsome and sweet and-" She wondered whether or not to add this, and decided she would. "-and sexy."
She smiled at the raised brow, but to his credit, Leo didn't comment on that.
"He won't be President forever, Leo, but he'll always be Jed Bartlet." Of course, there was always the MS, but she refused to believe it would take him away from her. She refused to believe it would beat him.
He took her measure, held her confident gaze for several moments. "Do you know what this could cause?" he asked quietly.
She had thought about that, too. Had wondered what might happen. Okay. Cut to the chase. What do you want, Leo? "Are you telling me to stop it? Are you telling me to break it off, because if you are-" She couldn't continue and wondered if he could feel the anguish rolling from her.
For a moment, she thought he would say yes. Please don't. Oh, please don't. But he shook his head.
"No. No, that would kill him," he admitted, the long lines of his face seeming even deeper. He looked at her, eyes intense, jaw tight. "He needs you now, Donna. He needs the friendship, the companionship, the-well, what you are giving him."
Blushing, she realized now that Leo probably knew everything.
He cleared his throat. "I just don't know - for how long. I don't want to be - cruel, but I don't think he really knows - what he wants himself. Do you know what I'm saying, Donna?"
She nodded, already accepting that fact. He had acknowledged passion, but not love. Had shown her tenderness and desire, but not love. Still, she would wait, since Leo seemed to be allowing it, maybe even sanctioning it for the time being. And in a way, Leo was looking out for her, too, with the warning that this all might be temporary. Well, okay. She was going in with eyes open. But, she knew, with heart open, too, and if something happened, if Jed decided not to - No, she wouldn't deal with that now. Patience. Patience. An easy concept, a hard practice.
Leo was watching her as if he could hear her mental conversation with herself. After a moment, he sighed and stepped to the door, turning at the last moment. Almost in a whisper, he left her with his parting command: "Be discreet."
That night, Donna lay in the President's arms, hair fanned out across his shoulder and chest, hand resting intimately at his hips. She dozed in and out of a dream state, her body pressed against his, replaying the delicious moments of earlier in the evening.
They had laughed as they played the game, pretending to fight over pies and challenging each other's answers. Somewhere between the longest suspension bridge in the world and Scout's brother's name in To Kill a Mockingbird, the innocent teasing and banter evolved into less innocent teasing. By the time they got to the role Russ Tamblyn played in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, the game was no longer the focus. And with her hands in his hair and her lips at his ear, the President didn't even bother to answer the question.
Tokens still half empty on the table, Donna had quickly found herself beneath him on the couch, moaning at the touch of his lips traveling from her ear to her throat. He lingered over the soft swell between her breasts, breath hot against her skin. She fought the strong urge to make him go faster, to rip off their clothes right then and lose herself as he filled her. Instead, she swallowed and concentrated on where he focused, feeling the nipple harden under his wet touch.
"Donna," he had murmured. "You are so beautiful."
She had smiled and run her hands through his hair again. Man, he had great hair. She loved to tousle it and make it boyish. He moved back up to her lips, lying on top of her so that she was branded with the heat of his erection. She groaned at the burst of desire between her legs and arched her hips into his, grinding against the hardness, close to coming just from that.
They didn't make it to the bed. Instead, she became aware that their clothes had disappeared and he was moving above her and inside her and she had never felt so good. Their hands ran over each other, their tongues did combat, their lips bruised. And when they finally climaxed, they both cried out so loudly that she was certain the secret service would burst into the room.
As it had been the first night, they barely came down from one high before both were ready again. Now she lay against his shoulder, fingers stroking him, feeling him harden at her touch. It made her feel good to know she could arouse him so quickly. He shifted so that he could see her face. She blushed at the heated desire in his eyes.
"Oh, Donna," he breathed, drawing her on top of him. "I didn't think - I didn't think I could feel alive again, after-" He stopped abruptly, and she searched his face with sudden concern, but he didn't react, just continued. "You make me feel so vibrant, so - so alive." He pulsed hard against her hand, proving his words.
She didn't know what to say, so she raised up to straddle him and reward him for feeling so alive and for being so alive again so quickly. They were learning each other's bodies more, finding out just where to touch, just where to linger. She panted softly as his fingers danced around where they joined. He had discovered she liked that. And she drew a moan from him when she leaned down and teased his nipple with her teeth.
He filled her body just as he filled her heart, and she couldn't suppress a brief curiosity for what he was feeling now. Was his heart full? Did he think of her constantly? Did he yearn for her when she wasn't around? Or did he think only of this moment, this physical act that brought both of them exquisite satisfaction, but was only an ephemeral sensation?
As their thrusts grew toward orgasm, she whispered in her head, "I love you." His eyes opened, as if he heard her, but she knew he had not. Then, as the eruption overtook him, he grimaced in pleasure, thrusting up hard and bringing her with him, and she couldn't focus on anything except the incredible moment.
The next two weeks were spent in the usual clamor of the West Wing. Josh worked almost day and night on the tobacco cases, and, as a result, she also worked almost day and night. They felt good about what they had put together, felt that benefits would come from this, but the hours were exhausting. She found herself trudging home and collapsing onto her bed, only to be harshly dragged away by the alarm a few short hours later to begin again.
During this time, she saw the President only twice. Once, during a staff meeting when she was helping Josh report the tobacco progress. Their eyes had met only for a second and neither of them betrayed any emotion, any change in their relationship. She caught Leo's glimpse, too, and his nod to acknowledge her efforts. The second time had been in the corridor outside the Oval Office. Leo and the President were just leaving, headed toward the pressroom to practice for an upcoming press conference. As they passed, for some unexpected reason, Leo pushed ahead a little more quickly than the President, leaving the two of them almost alone. He didn't stop, couldn't stop without drawing more attention than he was already drawing just by being himself, but he slowed and touched her arm, just a quick caress, but the heat from his fingers burned through her sleeve and against her skin.
Then he was gone and she was left with an aching, but smiling heart. That night, she dreamed of Trivial Pursuit questions and reporters' questions, and colleagues' questions. And she tossed in the covers, unable to answer any of them. But Morpheus had pity on her and later she dreamed of him. Dreamed of gentle hands and teasing lips and thrusting hips. Dreamed of a rich, warm voice and cool blue eyes.
After that, she began noticing that he came through the bullpen at least once a day, spoke now more often with his staff, like he had before Abbey's death. Even teased Toby occasionally, which pleased the communications director, even if he didn't admit it. Josh told her the President had actually lectured him for a while on the irony of Einstein's pacifism and his contribution to the atomic bomb. All over the West Wing, people were mentioning the re-appearance of the President after what had been, for all intents and purposes, a year of isolation. He joked with them, smiled at them, and seemed almost, but not quite, like his old self.
Yet, he had not uttered three words to her in that time. Slowly, Donna began to realize what was happening. It had worked. She had accomplished her original goal of pulling him in, of keeping him from drifting away. He was back, anchored now. And now, her job was done. He didn't need her anymore, at least in that way. He was Jed Bartlet again. And according to Leo, the focus of every single woman, and some married ones, over 21 in America, if not the world. She felt that his ominous silence over the two weeks was foretelling a turning point for them. But what kind of turn would it be?
Another week of late hours and strained eyes and it finally arrived, the end of the grueling marathon sessions about the tobacco cases. And Donna looked forward to its completion. But that meant more time to ponder her relationship with the President, to contemplate why he had been so quiet recently, to steel herself to face the terrible possibility that his next words to her would be simply to let her down easy.
Carefully planning her steps, so that she did not take any more than necessary for the gazillionth time, she navigated the path from the file room to the bullpen. Pencil clasped between her teeth, she rushed into her office, balancing the bulky legal briefs and a box of paper clips precariously, intent on dumping them on her desk before they could scatter themselves all over the floor. It was late, well after quitting time if there was such a thing in the West Wing, and everyone, even C.J., had left. But she had promised Josh she'd get those final papers organized before morning and she figured thirty more minutes ought to do it.
Just as she began to ease her fingers from them in release, she saw it, and tightened her hands around her load, barely keeping it all intact. Biting the pencil in frustration, she deposited the books on a chair and turned, irritated, to get a better look at what interfered with her plan. A book, muted green cover with spots of hoar-white mildew at the binding, lay right in the middle of her desk. Frowning, she reached to move it, but something caught her eye and her hand froze.
Lying between the pages, its long stem warping the lines of the book slightly, was a single rose whose petals were so white they looked like alabaster. Her breath caught in her throat at the beauty, and for a moment her fingers hovered, shaking, over the gift. Finally, she closed her eyes, and when she reopened them, gently ran her hand over the aged cover. The Oxford Book of English Verse.
She opened the book to release the rose, lifting the fragrant flower and touching it to her lips. She expected to find a note inside, but there was none. Instead, her eyes fell on the open page and she saw the title of a poem by someone named John Boyle O'Reilly. It stood out across the top of the page: "The White Rose."
As she read the first line, she smiled at the words: "The red rose whispers of passion."
Of course, it was so like him to have pulled that from literature. A red rose to signify their passion. But as she read on, the sweet, gentle feeling that flowed through her chest turned into pounding waves of shock, because the next verse declared more:
"And the white rose breathes of love."
Her eyes darted from the lines to the rose. White. A white rose. "The white rose breathes of love." Racing wildly in her chest, her heart swelled with joy, with ecstasy, with - love.
A soft voice from the doorway startled her and she started to spin, until the familiar baritone cut through to her brain. Instead, she caught herself and remained as she was, rose and book clutched to her chest, eyes closed.
"It seemed appropriate, too, to select a rose the color of your skin," he said, his tone somewhere between the buttery seduction of a lover and the cottage cheese nervousness of a suitor.
Slowly, she turned on unstable legs, willing herself not to lose control, not to let her emotions run wild, not to leap into his arms and cover him with kisses right there. But when she saw him, all her plans shattered at the expression on his face. He smiled at her, that most endearing, heart- tugging, boyish smile he had that always made him seem both mischievous and vulnerable at the same time. And he held out a strong hand to her, which she took, letting him pull her to arm's length.
"Put that down, please," he asked, indicating the book and rose.
They had already settled on the desk before he finished speaking. Taking both her hands in his, he clenched his jaw once, then began to speak softly.
"We haven't had much time together recently. You've been busy and I've been - thinking about - things for the past few weeks." He drew a deep breath and worked his jaw one more time. "I have two things to say. The first thing - the first thing is not easy."
Her heart fluttered, but she stayed calm and silent, waiting.
"Being - with me will not be easy. There will be a great deal of speculation, tremendous criticism, cruel words, evil scenarios. Reporters who have never noticed you before will hound you. You'll have to have secret service protection. My own family might not.might not be understanding. And I have no inkling of how Josh and the others will take this." He clutched her hands tighter. "Donna, do you have any idea what this might mean?"
Maybe. Maybe she did - but probably not. She didn't care, though, if he was suggesting what she desperately hoped he was. She nodded and tried to put all the confidence she could into the gesture.
"The second thing?" she asked in a whisper.
"Ah," he said, eyes going softer then she had ever seen them. "The second thing is easy." He raised a hand to cup her cheek with delicate tenderness. His voice was soft, too, but very clear.
"I love you."
Can't see. Can't breath. Can't stand. Can't speak. Can't sit. Can't - Oh God! Oh God!
When she was aware of vision again, she realized neither of them had moved. His hand still touched her face, his eyes still rested on her. Slowly, slowly, she allowed herself to smile. His own smile, which had become a little tentative when she didn't respond, immediately, returned and he used his hand to draw her close.
Very softly, he kissed her, just a touch of their lips, just a sweet pressure against each other. Her heart leaped up to meet his, her arms stretched around his neck, her lips deepened the kiss. His hands moved to draw her against him and they clung to each other, to what they had found together. She wanted to shout, to dance, to sing. She really wanted to shove everything off her desk and pull him down onto it and-
A gasp, a choked exclamation drew her attention, and, with difficulty, she broke away from his embrace. There through the glass walls of her office, in the open hallway, silhouetted against the darkened evening lighting, stood C.J. Cregg, hand at her mouth, papers scattered on the floor. Jed, seeing the shock in her eyes, turned, and she knew her own expression mirrored his.
Oh God. What had they done?
"The red rose whispers of passion, And the white rose breathes of love; O, the red rose is a falcon, And the white rose is a dove."
-- John Boyle O'Reilly (1844-1890)
POV: Donna Spoilers: None Rating: R Disclaimer: These characters are not mine. (sniff)
In Your Eyes: The White Rose - Chapter Three A West Wing Story
by MAHC
"Psst!"
Donna heard the fly-like noise in the distance, ignoring it as she usually did pesky creatures that tried to distract her, whether they were of the Josh variety or the Sam variety.
"Psst!"
This bug was certainly persistent. Finishing the sentence, she lifted her head in irritation, prepared to swat away her interrupter, but the gesture faltered when her eyes fell on Margaret's long frame. Work forgotten at the intense expression on her friend's face, she lifted her brow in question.
Instead of answering, Margaret shook her head, red hair bouncing briskly, and whispered, "LaFayette Park. Same bench. Ten minutes." As if she were a double agent, the secretary to the Chief of Staff slipped away down the hall.
"Be there. Aloha," Donna added in her head.
Despite her common sense that it could be anything, she knew without a doubt that Margaret's upcoming conversation would concern Jed Bartlet, and probably Leo McGarry. It had been over an hour since she left the Oval Office, disheveled and abashed at being discovered in a heated embrace with the President. It had also been over an hour since she had brilliantly blurted out that she loved him, and received a decidedly stunned response. Now, her heart accelerated in anticipation of what Margaret might be telling her.
The minutes crept by, second hand surely running backwards. Finally, she left her office, trying to maintain an air of nonchalance. Outside the gates, she barely kept from sprinting to the appointed rendezvous.
"Hey," greeted Margaret simply, rising from the bench.
"Hey."
For a minute they just stared at each other. Donna fought down the urge to scream and managed to inquire calmly, "What?"
"Maybe we'd better sit," her friend suggested and they both eased onto the hard bench. Donna's heart now galloped.
"I couldn't get to you any sooner. Leo had me rescheduling meetings for the afternoon and tomorrow, but as soon as I could-"
"What is it?"
Margaret sat with her usual ramrod posture and spoke in a low voice. Donna appreciated her newly found discretion, remembering that the last time they sat on that bench Margaret had practically announced to the entire greater D.C. area that Donna had slept with the President. "Apparently," her friend began, "after you left the Oval Office, Leo - confronted the President about you two. I'm not sure how-"
"He saw us."
Margaret stopped, eyes wide. "He SAW you?"
She nodded.
"He saw you - doing what?"
"Kissing, hugging - touching. If he hadn't interrupted, I'm not sure where - it would have led." She decided not to mention her blunder, at least not yet.
"Oh - my -"
"Margaret! Just tell me what you heard."
"Okay. Well, that certainly explains his reaction, then. He really gave it to the President."
Leo gave it to the President? Didn't Leo know? Oh no! He didn't know, or at least he hadn't known until today. Now she was concerned, for Jed, for her, for the entire situation. "What did he say?" Her voice squeaked.
Leaning closer, Margaret said, "Well, at first things were pretty quiet, so I couldn't hear much. See, Leo had left the door cracked and-"
"I understand."
"Anyway, like I said it was quiet, but before long the President raised his voice and told Leo to mind his own business."
"Really?" That pleased her somehow.
"Yeah, but Leo said this was his business and if it became the country's business then the President might as well be ready to face another hearing."
"Hearing? Oh God. How did Je-the President respond?"
"He asked Leo what possible laws of the country he would have broken by spending time with a friend. That it had not and would not interfere with his ability to run the country. Then Leo said it didn't look like you two were just friends and where did the President plan on taking it?"
Her nerves tingled; her throat dried out. Donna asked in a hoarse whisper, "What did he say?"
Her eyes widening as she relayed the heated disagreement, Margaret answered, "He said he'd take it wherever he damned well pleased, and, while he was still talking, Leo called him by his name - by that I mean Jed - which I've never heard him do, and then they didn't say anything at all for a while."
It took all of her concentration to force down the lump in her throat to keep from throwing up. What a mess. Leo and the President, best friends, were at each other's throats and it was about her. She had never intended for it to be like that. Never. Screwing up her courage, she said, "Anything else?"
Margaret nodded, as if she had been waiting for Donna to ask. "When they started talking again, it was quiet, so I had to, you know, move a little closer to hear. The President told Leo how much you'd helped him get through a hard time and he didn't think he could give that up."
Donna took a deep breath as her friend continued.
"After a very long pause, Leo said he knew that and that they'd figure it out somehow. There was another long silence. Then I heard a sigh -I think it was the President - and someone headed toward the door. I barely made it back to my desk before Leo came into his office. He looked at me kind of funny anyway." Margaret finished her details of the conversation, a triumphant gleam in her eyes.
Biting her lip, Donna stood and paced, her shoes making a soft mush on the grass. She wished she had heard it herself, even though Margaret's recollection was probably verbatim. She was eerily like that. Still, she could have interpreted vocal tone and emphasis. The way what was said was said. "What does that mean, he didn't think he could give that up? What does that mean, Margaret?"
Her friend shrugged, then placed a hand on her shoulder. "I think he's the only one who can answer that."
Donna let her gaze focus loosely on the rain that fell in lazy trails outside the window. The ancient hand-blown glass panes distorted the movement so that sometimes the drops seemed to jump up just a little before they continued on their paths to the groomed lawn. She waited by his door, calm and composed on the outside, but screaming and trembling on the inside. It had taken her all night to convince herself that Margaret was right. She needed to see him, to talk to him about - about whatever was going on. Charlie glanced at her occasionally, but did not comment. After several minutes, she heard the President's voice and smiled. He had finally decided to figure out the intercom. Charlie rose.
"He can see you now, Donna." No smirk. Completely serious. Was that good or bad?
When she entered, he was just standing and stepping from behind his desk. Glasses had been discarded already and he was in his usual office dress, but it was early in the day and his tie was still snug at his collar, his coat still on. Their eyes met briefly and he was the one to look away first. Donna knew he was unsure about how they left each other the last time. She also knew something he did not. She was aware of his conversation with Leo.
"Hey," he greeted, slight grin sending shivers through her.
"Mister President," she returned formally just in case the door had not yet completely closed.
"What's up?" His hands had already made it to his pockets, a sign he was either very relaxed or very nervous. She was pretty sure which one now.
"Mister Pres-Jed," she began and smiled at his widened grin. "I thought maybe - maybe I should explain myself for yesterday. What I said here, before Leo-"
He waved a hand to stop her and stood quietly, obviously gathering his response. She waited a long time, over a minute, maybe two, before he spoke.
"Donna, I-I didn't know how to - respond to that. I still don't." Although she tried not to react, the disappointment must have shown on her face, because he lifted his hands quickly, holding them out to her in supplication. "It's not that - I don't know if - Damn!"
He sighed, shoulders dropping wearily, and sank onto a chair. Without looking at her, he said quietly, "I - care for you, Donna. I care - a lot."
She held her breath. And.?
Leaning forward, he braced his elbows on his knees and lowered his eyes, not looking at her, not really looking at anything. "Abbey and I were married for thirty-five years. She was my - confidant, my lover, my children's mother, my soul-mate, my - life. I loved her so much." His voice cracked and she took another breath against the pain that flowed from him. After a moment, he regained some control and continued, still not able to look at her. "I know she's - dead. I know I have to continue living, but - giving all that up is just - hard. It's just - so hard - " His head fell into his hands and the tears dropped softly through his fingers.
She wasn't sure what to do. Wasn't sure how to comfort him. But she couldn't just stand there. Walking to the couch, she knelt in front of him, took his shoulders in her hands and drew him to her. He allowed himself to fall forward for just a moment, then he pulled away abruptly and stood, moving to face the rain-spattered window, hands shoved back deeply into his pockets.
The silence in the room was broken only by the ubiquitous ticking of the clock. Donna wanted to go to him, to comfort him more, but something kept her rooted where she was. His shoulders had stopped shaking now, and she saw him wipe his face before he took a deep breath and turned. Except for reddened eyes, he was composed again.
"Donna, you are a beautiful woman."
She blushed, just as much from the words as from the naked appreciation in his gaze.
"And I want you to know that - the time I've spent with you - and I don't mean just the sex - well, it has been such a healing for me." Now he colored a little at his own frankness. "I wish I could - I wish I could tell you-" He faltered, searching for the right wording. "Right now, Donna, I - I can't make any - promises. That wouldn't be fair to you, but - "
But what? Tell me -
He drew another breath. "If it's all right, I'd - like to see you again - sometime - if you want."
If I want? If I want! Her mind screamed this, but outwardly, she managed to be amazingly calm. "I would like that - Jed."
He nodded, smiling just a little, but didn't move forward, as if he still didn't trust himself to be any closer to her. "How about tomorrow evening? Dinner?" He grinned now. "I sent Charlie out this morning to get a new version of Trivial Pursuit. All new challenges."
"Oh joy!" she proclaimed, the sarcasm heavy in her voice, but her smile let him know it was a joke.
"Seven-thirty?"
"Seven-thirty," she agreed.
It was time to go. As much as she wanted to touch him, to feel him touch her, she realized that now was not the place nor time. Even as intimate as they had been, he was still the President and he was basically dismissing her, no matter how subtle he was about it. Easing toward the door to the outer office area, she gave him a smile that she hoped showed her understanding as well as her compassion.
"I'll - see you later," she promised, and closed the door behind her, feeling his eyes follow her all the way out. I'll see you later, indeed.
Damn. Six o'clock. She had meant to get out of the building by 5:30, but things just hadn't gone her way. Still, she was ready now, gathering up her satchel and cramming in a few documents that she would dutifully take home, ignore, and bring back tomorrow. Swiping a hand across her eyes to push the hair out of the way, she swung toward her door and ran flat into Leo McGarry, whose hands came up automatically, steadying her. He dropped them when he saw she was not going to topple and smiled slightly.
"Got a minute, Donna?"
No. But you're the Chief of Staff to the President, so of course I do. "Sure." She leaned the leather case against her desk and backed up, Leo following.
"Donna-"
The minute he began speaking, she knew. She knew why he was there. Her heart sank, she felt sick at her stomach, dreading what he had to tell her, what he was going to ask her to do. Give him up. Let him go. But she knew she couldn't. How could she tell Leo that? But how could she not?
"Donna, you know who I'm here to talk about, don't you?"
She nodded, couldn't speak. Oh, she felt sick.
"And you know that I - know about you and the President?"
Another nod. How much do you know?
Leo took a deep breath and shifted his gaze slightly, not looking directly at her. "When you become a public figure, you give up a great deal. Your private life is no longer private, never will be completely again." He turned to stare out her office, as if what he had to say was too hard to say directly to her. "When Abbey died, before she had even been buried, they were coming out of the woodwork."
She frowned, confused. They who?
"Do you know how many letters he receives every day from women, Donna?"
No. She had not thought about that and the President had not shared it with her.
"He has suddenly become the most eligible bachelor in the world, totally against his desire to be. At state functions they are like vultures circling the prey, like tigers stalking." He swung back around, his eyes sharp, angry.
Why was he telling her this? Then she heard him sigh, saw his shoulders slump. "He's - he's gone through so much, Donna. He needs someone, but not someone who wants him because - because he's the President of the United States, because he's powerful, because he's wealth. He needs someone who - who wants him because of him, who'll - someone who'll be there for him."
Me. I will. What on earth did Leo think of her? "Leo-"
He held up a hand and his eyes bore into hers. "I won't stand by and see him used, Donna. I need to know-"
This wasn't exactly what she was expecting. Leo wasn't here to berate her, or to scare her away. He was here to protect him, to protect his friend, his President, but not from scandal. He was here to protect him from heartbreak, from being hurt. "Leo-"
"I have to know if-"
"I love him."
He stumbled to a halt and stared at her. "What?"
"I love him, Leo. I love him."
"Donna, he's-"
"I know. I know whatever you're going to say. He's thirty years older than I am. He has MS. He has grown children." A smile curved her lips. "He's also smart and funny and handsome and sweet and-" She wondered whether or not to add this, and decided she would. "-and sexy."
She smiled at the raised brow, but to his credit, Leo didn't comment on that.
"He won't be President forever, Leo, but he'll always be Jed Bartlet." Of course, there was always the MS, but she refused to believe it would take him away from her. She refused to believe it would beat him.
He took her measure, held her confident gaze for several moments. "Do you know what this could cause?" he asked quietly.
She had thought about that, too. Had wondered what might happen. Okay. Cut to the chase. What do you want, Leo? "Are you telling me to stop it? Are you telling me to break it off, because if you are-" She couldn't continue and wondered if he could feel the anguish rolling from her.
For a moment, she thought he would say yes. Please don't. Oh, please don't. But he shook his head.
"No. No, that would kill him," he admitted, the long lines of his face seeming even deeper. He looked at her, eyes intense, jaw tight. "He needs you now, Donna. He needs the friendship, the companionship, the-well, what you are giving him."
Blushing, she realized now that Leo probably knew everything.
He cleared his throat. "I just don't know - for how long. I don't want to be - cruel, but I don't think he really knows - what he wants himself. Do you know what I'm saying, Donna?"
She nodded, already accepting that fact. He had acknowledged passion, but not love. Had shown her tenderness and desire, but not love. Still, she would wait, since Leo seemed to be allowing it, maybe even sanctioning it for the time being. And in a way, Leo was looking out for her, too, with the warning that this all might be temporary. Well, okay. She was going in with eyes open. But, she knew, with heart open, too, and if something happened, if Jed decided not to - No, she wouldn't deal with that now. Patience. Patience. An easy concept, a hard practice.
Leo was watching her as if he could hear her mental conversation with herself. After a moment, he sighed and stepped to the door, turning at the last moment. Almost in a whisper, he left her with his parting command: "Be discreet."
That night, Donna lay in the President's arms, hair fanned out across his shoulder and chest, hand resting intimately at his hips. She dozed in and out of a dream state, her body pressed against his, replaying the delicious moments of earlier in the evening.
They had laughed as they played the game, pretending to fight over pies and challenging each other's answers. Somewhere between the longest suspension bridge in the world and Scout's brother's name in To Kill a Mockingbird, the innocent teasing and banter evolved into less innocent teasing. By the time they got to the role Russ Tamblyn played in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, the game was no longer the focus. And with her hands in his hair and her lips at his ear, the President didn't even bother to answer the question.
Tokens still half empty on the table, Donna had quickly found herself beneath him on the couch, moaning at the touch of his lips traveling from her ear to her throat. He lingered over the soft swell between her breasts, breath hot against her skin. She fought the strong urge to make him go faster, to rip off their clothes right then and lose herself as he filled her. Instead, she swallowed and concentrated on where he focused, feeling the nipple harden under his wet touch.
"Donna," he had murmured. "You are so beautiful."
She had smiled and run her hands through his hair again. Man, he had great hair. She loved to tousle it and make it boyish. He moved back up to her lips, lying on top of her so that she was branded with the heat of his erection. She groaned at the burst of desire between her legs and arched her hips into his, grinding against the hardness, close to coming just from that.
They didn't make it to the bed. Instead, she became aware that their clothes had disappeared and he was moving above her and inside her and she had never felt so good. Their hands ran over each other, their tongues did combat, their lips bruised. And when they finally climaxed, they both cried out so loudly that she was certain the secret service would burst into the room.
As it had been the first night, they barely came down from one high before both were ready again. Now she lay against his shoulder, fingers stroking him, feeling him harden at her touch. It made her feel good to know she could arouse him so quickly. He shifted so that he could see her face. She blushed at the heated desire in his eyes.
"Oh, Donna," he breathed, drawing her on top of him. "I didn't think - I didn't think I could feel alive again, after-" He stopped abruptly, and she searched his face with sudden concern, but he didn't react, just continued. "You make me feel so vibrant, so - so alive." He pulsed hard against her hand, proving his words.
She didn't know what to say, so she raised up to straddle him and reward him for feeling so alive and for being so alive again so quickly. They were learning each other's bodies more, finding out just where to touch, just where to linger. She panted softly as his fingers danced around where they joined. He had discovered she liked that. And she drew a moan from him when she leaned down and teased his nipple with her teeth.
He filled her body just as he filled her heart, and she couldn't suppress a brief curiosity for what he was feeling now. Was his heart full? Did he think of her constantly? Did he yearn for her when she wasn't around? Or did he think only of this moment, this physical act that brought both of them exquisite satisfaction, but was only an ephemeral sensation?
As their thrusts grew toward orgasm, she whispered in her head, "I love you." His eyes opened, as if he heard her, but she knew he had not. Then, as the eruption overtook him, he grimaced in pleasure, thrusting up hard and bringing her with him, and she couldn't focus on anything except the incredible moment.
The next two weeks were spent in the usual clamor of the West Wing. Josh worked almost day and night on the tobacco cases, and, as a result, she also worked almost day and night. They felt good about what they had put together, felt that benefits would come from this, but the hours were exhausting. She found herself trudging home and collapsing onto her bed, only to be harshly dragged away by the alarm a few short hours later to begin again.
During this time, she saw the President only twice. Once, during a staff meeting when she was helping Josh report the tobacco progress. Their eyes had met only for a second and neither of them betrayed any emotion, any change in their relationship. She caught Leo's glimpse, too, and his nod to acknowledge her efforts. The second time had been in the corridor outside the Oval Office. Leo and the President were just leaving, headed toward the pressroom to practice for an upcoming press conference. As they passed, for some unexpected reason, Leo pushed ahead a little more quickly than the President, leaving the two of them almost alone. He didn't stop, couldn't stop without drawing more attention than he was already drawing just by being himself, but he slowed and touched her arm, just a quick caress, but the heat from his fingers burned through her sleeve and against her skin.
Then he was gone and she was left with an aching, but smiling heart. That night, she dreamed of Trivial Pursuit questions and reporters' questions, and colleagues' questions. And she tossed in the covers, unable to answer any of them. But Morpheus had pity on her and later she dreamed of him. Dreamed of gentle hands and teasing lips and thrusting hips. Dreamed of a rich, warm voice and cool blue eyes.
After that, she began noticing that he came through the bullpen at least once a day, spoke now more often with his staff, like he had before Abbey's death. Even teased Toby occasionally, which pleased the communications director, even if he didn't admit it. Josh told her the President had actually lectured him for a while on the irony of Einstein's pacifism and his contribution to the atomic bomb. All over the West Wing, people were mentioning the re-appearance of the President after what had been, for all intents and purposes, a year of isolation. He joked with them, smiled at them, and seemed almost, but not quite, like his old self.
Yet, he had not uttered three words to her in that time. Slowly, Donna began to realize what was happening. It had worked. She had accomplished her original goal of pulling him in, of keeping him from drifting away. He was back, anchored now. And now, her job was done. He didn't need her anymore, at least in that way. He was Jed Bartlet again. And according to Leo, the focus of every single woman, and some married ones, over 21 in America, if not the world. She felt that his ominous silence over the two weeks was foretelling a turning point for them. But what kind of turn would it be?
Another week of late hours and strained eyes and it finally arrived, the end of the grueling marathon sessions about the tobacco cases. And Donna looked forward to its completion. But that meant more time to ponder her relationship with the President, to contemplate why he had been so quiet recently, to steel herself to face the terrible possibility that his next words to her would be simply to let her down easy.
Carefully planning her steps, so that she did not take any more than necessary for the gazillionth time, she navigated the path from the file room to the bullpen. Pencil clasped between her teeth, she rushed into her office, balancing the bulky legal briefs and a box of paper clips precariously, intent on dumping them on her desk before they could scatter themselves all over the floor. It was late, well after quitting time if there was such a thing in the West Wing, and everyone, even C.J., had left. But she had promised Josh she'd get those final papers organized before morning and she figured thirty more minutes ought to do it.
Just as she began to ease her fingers from them in release, she saw it, and tightened her hands around her load, barely keeping it all intact. Biting the pencil in frustration, she deposited the books on a chair and turned, irritated, to get a better look at what interfered with her plan. A book, muted green cover with spots of hoar-white mildew at the binding, lay right in the middle of her desk. Frowning, she reached to move it, but something caught her eye and her hand froze.
Lying between the pages, its long stem warping the lines of the book slightly, was a single rose whose petals were so white they looked like alabaster. Her breath caught in her throat at the beauty, and for a moment her fingers hovered, shaking, over the gift. Finally, she closed her eyes, and when she reopened them, gently ran her hand over the aged cover. The Oxford Book of English Verse.
She opened the book to release the rose, lifting the fragrant flower and touching it to her lips. She expected to find a note inside, but there was none. Instead, her eyes fell on the open page and she saw the title of a poem by someone named John Boyle O'Reilly. It stood out across the top of the page: "The White Rose."
As she read the first line, she smiled at the words: "The red rose whispers of passion."
Of course, it was so like him to have pulled that from literature. A red rose to signify their passion. But as she read on, the sweet, gentle feeling that flowed through her chest turned into pounding waves of shock, because the next verse declared more:
"And the white rose breathes of love."
Her eyes darted from the lines to the rose. White. A white rose. "The white rose breathes of love." Racing wildly in her chest, her heart swelled with joy, with ecstasy, with - love.
A soft voice from the doorway startled her and she started to spin, until the familiar baritone cut through to her brain. Instead, she caught herself and remained as she was, rose and book clutched to her chest, eyes closed.
"It seemed appropriate, too, to select a rose the color of your skin," he said, his tone somewhere between the buttery seduction of a lover and the cottage cheese nervousness of a suitor.
Slowly, she turned on unstable legs, willing herself not to lose control, not to let her emotions run wild, not to leap into his arms and cover him with kisses right there. But when she saw him, all her plans shattered at the expression on his face. He smiled at her, that most endearing, heart- tugging, boyish smile he had that always made him seem both mischievous and vulnerable at the same time. And he held out a strong hand to her, which she took, letting him pull her to arm's length.
"Put that down, please," he asked, indicating the book and rose.
They had already settled on the desk before he finished speaking. Taking both her hands in his, he clenched his jaw once, then began to speak softly.
"We haven't had much time together recently. You've been busy and I've been - thinking about - things for the past few weeks." He drew a deep breath and worked his jaw one more time. "I have two things to say. The first thing - the first thing is not easy."
Her heart fluttered, but she stayed calm and silent, waiting.
"Being - with me will not be easy. There will be a great deal of speculation, tremendous criticism, cruel words, evil scenarios. Reporters who have never noticed you before will hound you. You'll have to have secret service protection. My own family might not.might not be understanding. And I have no inkling of how Josh and the others will take this." He clutched her hands tighter. "Donna, do you have any idea what this might mean?"
Maybe. Maybe she did - but probably not. She didn't care, though, if he was suggesting what she desperately hoped he was. She nodded and tried to put all the confidence she could into the gesture.
"The second thing?" she asked in a whisper.
"Ah," he said, eyes going softer then she had ever seen them. "The second thing is easy." He raised a hand to cup her cheek with delicate tenderness. His voice was soft, too, but very clear.
"I love you."
Can't see. Can't breath. Can't stand. Can't speak. Can't sit. Can't - Oh God! Oh God!
When she was aware of vision again, she realized neither of them had moved. His hand still touched her face, his eyes still rested on her. Slowly, slowly, she allowed herself to smile. His own smile, which had become a little tentative when she didn't respond, immediately, returned and he used his hand to draw her close.
Very softly, he kissed her, just a touch of their lips, just a sweet pressure against each other. Her heart leaped up to meet his, her arms stretched around his neck, her lips deepened the kiss. His hands moved to draw her against him and they clung to each other, to what they had found together. She wanted to shout, to dance, to sing. She really wanted to shove everything off her desk and pull him down onto it and-
A gasp, a choked exclamation drew her attention, and, with difficulty, she broke away from his embrace. There through the glass walls of her office, in the open hallway, silhouetted against the darkened evening lighting, stood C.J. Cregg, hand at her mouth, papers scattered on the floor. Jed, seeing the shock in her eyes, turned, and she knew her own expression mirrored his.
Oh God. What had they done?
"The red rose whispers of passion, And the white rose breathes of love; O, the red rose is a falcon, And the white rose is a dove."
-- John Boyle O'Reilly (1844-1890)