Last one in this story, but there's more coming for those who are
interested! Thanks for continuing to read.
POV: Donna Spoilers: Pilot, ITSOTG, DIW, PC Rating: PG-13 Disclaimer: Jed, Donna, and the other characters are not my creation.
Stony Limits - Chapter Three A West Wing Story
by MAHC
Donna sat quietly in C.J.'s office watching on television the press conference that was unfolding only a few hundred yards away. She had never been more grateful for the press secretary's cool demeanor. If she had not already known the topic of the specially called meeting, she would have assumed, from C.J.'s expression and body language, that this was just a common, vanilla-flavored, everyday event.
But she knew better. And so did C.J., despite her brilliant nonchalance.
As the tall press secretary stepped to the podium, camera bulbs flashed, shutters clicked, video whirred. They knew this was a big event even if C.J. didn't show it. She slipped on her glasses and faced the familiar crowd. Donna swallowed once, wishing she were with Jed, but he was with Leo in the Situation Room. Korea again. A threat of nuclear activity. An uneasy stretch toward war.
So she had left the Residence, gone in search of familiar faces, faces that now regarded her quite differently, faces of colleagues whose roles had suddenly changed. An unanticipated complication. She flinched as Carol nodded to her in deference, without the usual wisecrack or chummy grin.
She should have realized. But she hadn't. Even Josh seemed distant, unsure of how to treat her, of what to say. He didn't joke with her anymore, didn't offer barbs or banter. She missed that. Only Margaret remained the same, possibly because she had been aware almost from the start. And C.J. C.J. never changed.
Donna lifted her eyes to the screen as the press secretary began, her voice even, its usually bright tone undiminished.
"First I have a statement, then I'll take questions. The White House has the pleasure of announcing the upcoming wedding of President Josiah Bartlet to Senior Staff Assistant Donnatella Moss to be held next Saturday at Camp David. Close family and friends in attendance." She looked up as if she had just read the weather report. "Any questions?"
Seventy-five hands shot up simultaneously.
At least that was over. Donna breathed deeply like you do when you have dreaded something and when it comes, it is just as bad as you anticipated. But you reassure yourself by remembering that at least it is over. She closed her eyes, hearing again the yelled inquiries into her past, the thinly-veiled insinuations about her motives for marrying the President, even the ridiculous suggestion, however subtle, that the relationship was more of convenience to have a First Lady than it was a physical and emotional connection. At least she had been able to chuckle at that one. This guy didn't know Jed Bartlet, that much was certain - or her for that matter.
Not knowing how much longer Jed would be, how serious the situation in Korea was, she decided to stop by her apartment, gather a few things, begin selecting what to bring to the Residence and what to send home with her folks. Jonah trailed after her, her newly-assigned secret service agent. She had protested, but Jed insisted, stood firm on that one, and so her shadow traveled with her constantly. She remembered C.J.'s complaint about Simon Donavan and sighed sadly at the tragedy that became.
Just a quick trip home, she thought. Just a fast errand. But as they reached the side gate, she looked up to see an army of cameras, reporters, and gawkers, every eye on her, every lens pointed her way.
"Oh my God," she breathed, stunned, even though Jed and C.J. had warned her about this. The settling dusk erupted in bright explosions of light as cameras flashed, the stillness of the evening shattered by shouts from the crowd.
"Donna Moss!"
"Over here!"
"How long have you known the President?"
"What does your dress look like?"
"When did you decide to get married?"
"How did he propose?"
"Did you have a relationship with him before Doctor Bartlet died?"
"Are you sleeping with him?"
Oh God! Oh God! She couldn't believe the questions thrown at her, couldn't comprehend the audacity of some of the reporters badgering her for information, getting in her face. Jonah pushed ahead, shielding her as best he could, but the throng moved in closer. She broke into a run and they barely made it to her car before the group rushed her. The D.C. police arrived in time to force them back and let the car through, but Donna knew her days of anonymity were over.
"Son of a bitch! Son of a bitch!"
"Jed-"
"Damn it!"
She tried to calm him, to draw him closer by grabbing his hand, but he continued to pace the bedroom floor anyway, merely limiting his path so he remained in contact with her. The flush to his face made the white bandage stand out starkly against the ruddy skin. She smiled a little as the sight reminded her of that moment two days before, that statement that had so floored him he staggered backward, tripping over the rug and hitting the edge of the coffee table: "I'm pregnant, Jed."
Five stitches it had taken to close the gash over his right eye. More than she had figured, but the doctor assured her the scar would hardly be noticeable, mostly in his brow. As if she cared. Each mark on his body told the story of his life: the harsh scars on his abdomen and back where the gunman's bullet tore through him; the small nick on his shin where he had ridden Leo's $4,000 bike into a tree and sprained his ankle; the faded mark on his shoulder where his brother threw him against a tin shed as they wrestled, mostly in fun, as boys. And she loved each scar.
His third expletive of the morning drew her back. "Damn it to hell!"
"Jed-"
"I knew they would ask. I knew they would approach you, but-"
"It's okay," she assured him, even though she didn't really feel that way. "It's okay-"
"No! No, it's not. It is definitely not okay. They went after you, Donna. If the police had not-" He stopped, face paling alarmingly. "God, I can't even contemplate what might have happened."
Taking his hand in a harder grip, she forced him to stop and be still. His gaze came round to hers, his chest heaving from the tirade, his lips pressed tightly together, his hair scattered. But as their eyes met, she saw the gentleness descend, watched his expression soften, and the vision sent a thrill screaming into her chest.
"Donna," he whispered, lifting his right hand to touch her cheek, her lips. "Donna, I'm sorry you have to go through this. I'm sorry your private life is not your own anymore. I'm sorry-"
"Shh." Her fingers fell on his lips, halting the apology. "Shh. It doesn't matter," she said. "Don't you see? It doesn't matter. If I'm with you, Josiah Bartlet, none of it matters."
He shook his head as if he didn't believe her, but smiled anyway, stepping forward so his arms could slide around her waist and draw her close. She leaned against him, her head on his shoulder, her fingers curling around the hair at his neck. He pressed his hands into her hips, and she smiled at the familiar pulse she felt between them. Yep, that was a stupid reporter who speculated this was a platonic relationship. Now one hand slipped between them and rested lightly on her abdomen. She knew what he was doing, knew he realized it was way too early to feel anything, but the gesture was endearing and sweet, nevertheless.
She lifted her head to smile at him and was suddenly struck by the love in his eyes. Tears burned her at the hot emotion.
"Donna," he whispered. "I've got something for you."
The smile grew on her lips.
Stepping to the wardrobe, he dug in the bottom of it for a moment before withdrawing a carefully wrapped package. His hand extended it to her and she took it, looking up at him, askance.
"What's the occasion?"
"None. Except I love you."
Her fingers shook as she tore into the paper. A book, she could already tell, not that she was surprised by that. This one was old, of course, but not quite as ancient as the volume of Oxford English Verse she kept treasured in her cedar chest. Turning it over, she read the cover. The Complete Works of William Shakespeare.
"Thank you," she said, feeling that maybe there was more to it than she realized.
"Open to the marked page," he instructed, pointing at a simple gold bookmark peeking from the top.
She flipped open the book, scanned the chosen page. Romeo and Juliet. Appropriate. Now she noticed a hand-drawn bracket to the side of a particular passage.
"Read it," he said softly. "Aloud."
Donna forced her eyes to stay clear as she repeated the written words:
"With love's light wings did I o'erperch these walls, For stony limits cannot hold love out, And what love can do, that dares love attempt."
"Act Two, Scene Two," he identified from memory. "We have scaled the walls, Donna. We have faced the stony limits and they couldn't hold love out. We'll get through this, Donna. We will."
She threw her arms around him, wept into his shirt, whispered his name over and over. Oh, how she loved him.
Finally, as she regained control, he breathed, "Donna -"
She closed her eyes, already anticipating what he was going to say.
"Donna, let me love you. Let me make love to you."
Gee, well, let me think about it - Yes! Yes! Yes!
She nodded, eyes still closed. Groaning at the sudden wet heat of his tongue at her ear, she mumbled, "I'd say I want to make a baby with you, but -"
She paused to gasp as his lips nibbled at the sensitive skin of her neck.
"- but we've already -"
Now his mouth slid downward to suckle gently at her breast. She came close to screaming.
"- done that."
The abrupt knock at the Residence door jarred her and prompted her own quiet expletive. Jed growled and pulled away enough to answer.
"Yeah?"
The muffled reply still carried enough clarity that they could hear the seriousness in the tone. "Mister President?"
"Yeah, Charlie. Come in." His hand reluctantly smoothed her blouse back in place, but he took the liberty of one last caress before the aide entered.
"I'm sorry, Mister President," he offered, and Donna saw the genuine regret in his eyes. "Mister McGarry sent me."
"Sit Room?" Jed knew already.
"Yes, Sir."
"Coming."
He turned to her, the disappointment clear on his face, but managed a grin and said, pointing a finger toward her breast, "Save my place."
As he left with Charlie, Donna sighed and tried to suppress the desire he had ignited. She wasn't particularly successful, but eventually managed to walk from the room without flushed cheeks.
Unfortunately, though, she need not have saved his place. Because he didn't return that night. She gave up waiting about midnight, falling into an uneasy sleep, her hand resting on his pillow. Not until early morning did he stumble in, eyes dark, clothes rumpled, collapsing onto the bed still dressed. He was out so cold that even her awkward movements to divest him of his shoes, shirt and pants didn't rouse him. With a sigh, Donna realized there would be many nights like this. Maybe she would get better at undressing him, at least.
Wide awake now, she watched him sleep for a long time, wondering what it must be like to shoulder such a heavy burden, to be responsible for keeping peace not only in the United States, but around the entire world. She wondered what Korea was up to, wondered if he would share anything with her, if he had shared such information with Abbey. She wondered how she could help him, or if she could help him at all. And she wondered what kind of First Lady she would make. In a few short days she would assume that mantle, that role, that title. And it scared her more than anything else had so far.
Even asleep, his brow knitted, the bandage wrinkling against his skin. All she could do was pray. Pray that she was strong enough for him. Pray that she could give him strength. Pray that nobody realized she was just a girl from Minnesota, or Wisconsin - or was it Canada - who had fallen in love with the most powerful man in the world and now was thrust into an unimaginable situation.
A thought came to her as she lay beside him. Picking up the book from the nightstand, she flicked on a table lamp, checking to see if it disturbed him. He did not even flinch. She opened the cover again, found the words he had marked, and let her eyes run over them.
"For stony limits cannot hold love out, And what love can do, that dares love attempt."
Her heart drew them in, used them to fill her with inspiration. She could do this. They could do this. They were doing this. A wave of love swept over her and she kissed him softly, smiling when he mumbled her name, but not waking him. Yes, Shakespeare was right. Stony limits cannot hold love out. That much she knew, and she would take that with her into the days ahead.
"With love's light wings did I o'erperch these walls, For stony limits cannot hold love out, And what love can do, that dares love attempt."
William Shakespeare
Romeo and Juliet
Act II, Scene 2
POV: Donna Spoilers: Pilot, ITSOTG, DIW, PC Rating: PG-13 Disclaimer: Jed, Donna, and the other characters are not my creation.
Stony Limits - Chapter Three A West Wing Story
by MAHC
Donna sat quietly in C.J.'s office watching on television the press conference that was unfolding only a few hundred yards away. She had never been more grateful for the press secretary's cool demeanor. If she had not already known the topic of the specially called meeting, she would have assumed, from C.J.'s expression and body language, that this was just a common, vanilla-flavored, everyday event.
But she knew better. And so did C.J., despite her brilliant nonchalance.
As the tall press secretary stepped to the podium, camera bulbs flashed, shutters clicked, video whirred. They knew this was a big event even if C.J. didn't show it. She slipped on her glasses and faced the familiar crowd. Donna swallowed once, wishing she were with Jed, but he was with Leo in the Situation Room. Korea again. A threat of nuclear activity. An uneasy stretch toward war.
So she had left the Residence, gone in search of familiar faces, faces that now regarded her quite differently, faces of colleagues whose roles had suddenly changed. An unanticipated complication. She flinched as Carol nodded to her in deference, without the usual wisecrack or chummy grin.
She should have realized. But she hadn't. Even Josh seemed distant, unsure of how to treat her, of what to say. He didn't joke with her anymore, didn't offer barbs or banter. She missed that. Only Margaret remained the same, possibly because she had been aware almost from the start. And C.J. C.J. never changed.
Donna lifted her eyes to the screen as the press secretary began, her voice even, its usually bright tone undiminished.
"First I have a statement, then I'll take questions. The White House has the pleasure of announcing the upcoming wedding of President Josiah Bartlet to Senior Staff Assistant Donnatella Moss to be held next Saturday at Camp David. Close family and friends in attendance." She looked up as if she had just read the weather report. "Any questions?"
Seventy-five hands shot up simultaneously.
At least that was over. Donna breathed deeply like you do when you have dreaded something and when it comes, it is just as bad as you anticipated. But you reassure yourself by remembering that at least it is over. She closed her eyes, hearing again the yelled inquiries into her past, the thinly-veiled insinuations about her motives for marrying the President, even the ridiculous suggestion, however subtle, that the relationship was more of convenience to have a First Lady than it was a physical and emotional connection. At least she had been able to chuckle at that one. This guy didn't know Jed Bartlet, that much was certain - or her for that matter.
Not knowing how much longer Jed would be, how serious the situation in Korea was, she decided to stop by her apartment, gather a few things, begin selecting what to bring to the Residence and what to send home with her folks. Jonah trailed after her, her newly-assigned secret service agent. She had protested, but Jed insisted, stood firm on that one, and so her shadow traveled with her constantly. She remembered C.J.'s complaint about Simon Donavan and sighed sadly at the tragedy that became.
Just a quick trip home, she thought. Just a fast errand. But as they reached the side gate, she looked up to see an army of cameras, reporters, and gawkers, every eye on her, every lens pointed her way.
"Oh my God," she breathed, stunned, even though Jed and C.J. had warned her about this. The settling dusk erupted in bright explosions of light as cameras flashed, the stillness of the evening shattered by shouts from the crowd.
"Donna Moss!"
"Over here!"
"How long have you known the President?"
"What does your dress look like?"
"When did you decide to get married?"
"How did he propose?"
"Did you have a relationship with him before Doctor Bartlet died?"
"Are you sleeping with him?"
Oh God! Oh God! She couldn't believe the questions thrown at her, couldn't comprehend the audacity of some of the reporters badgering her for information, getting in her face. Jonah pushed ahead, shielding her as best he could, but the throng moved in closer. She broke into a run and they barely made it to her car before the group rushed her. The D.C. police arrived in time to force them back and let the car through, but Donna knew her days of anonymity were over.
"Son of a bitch! Son of a bitch!"
"Jed-"
"Damn it!"
She tried to calm him, to draw him closer by grabbing his hand, but he continued to pace the bedroom floor anyway, merely limiting his path so he remained in contact with her. The flush to his face made the white bandage stand out starkly against the ruddy skin. She smiled a little as the sight reminded her of that moment two days before, that statement that had so floored him he staggered backward, tripping over the rug and hitting the edge of the coffee table: "I'm pregnant, Jed."
Five stitches it had taken to close the gash over his right eye. More than she had figured, but the doctor assured her the scar would hardly be noticeable, mostly in his brow. As if she cared. Each mark on his body told the story of his life: the harsh scars on his abdomen and back where the gunman's bullet tore through him; the small nick on his shin where he had ridden Leo's $4,000 bike into a tree and sprained his ankle; the faded mark on his shoulder where his brother threw him against a tin shed as they wrestled, mostly in fun, as boys. And she loved each scar.
His third expletive of the morning drew her back. "Damn it to hell!"
"Jed-"
"I knew they would ask. I knew they would approach you, but-"
"It's okay," she assured him, even though she didn't really feel that way. "It's okay-"
"No! No, it's not. It is definitely not okay. They went after you, Donna. If the police had not-" He stopped, face paling alarmingly. "God, I can't even contemplate what might have happened."
Taking his hand in a harder grip, she forced him to stop and be still. His gaze came round to hers, his chest heaving from the tirade, his lips pressed tightly together, his hair scattered. But as their eyes met, she saw the gentleness descend, watched his expression soften, and the vision sent a thrill screaming into her chest.
"Donna," he whispered, lifting his right hand to touch her cheek, her lips. "Donna, I'm sorry you have to go through this. I'm sorry your private life is not your own anymore. I'm sorry-"
"Shh." Her fingers fell on his lips, halting the apology. "Shh. It doesn't matter," she said. "Don't you see? It doesn't matter. If I'm with you, Josiah Bartlet, none of it matters."
He shook his head as if he didn't believe her, but smiled anyway, stepping forward so his arms could slide around her waist and draw her close. She leaned against him, her head on his shoulder, her fingers curling around the hair at his neck. He pressed his hands into her hips, and she smiled at the familiar pulse she felt between them. Yep, that was a stupid reporter who speculated this was a platonic relationship. Now one hand slipped between them and rested lightly on her abdomen. She knew what he was doing, knew he realized it was way too early to feel anything, but the gesture was endearing and sweet, nevertheless.
She lifted her head to smile at him and was suddenly struck by the love in his eyes. Tears burned her at the hot emotion.
"Donna," he whispered. "I've got something for you."
The smile grew on her lips.
Stepping to the wardrobe, he dug in the bottom of it for a moment before withdrawing a carefully wrapped package. His hand extended it to her and she took it, looking up at him, askance.
"What's the occasion?"
"None. Except I love you."
Her fingers shook as she tore into the paper. A book, she could already tell, not that she was surprised by that. This one was old, of course, but not quite as ancient as the volume of Oxford English Verse she kept treasured in her cedar chest. Turning it over, she read the cover. The Complete Works of William Shakespeare.
"Thank you," she said, feeling that maybe there was more to it than she realized.
"Open to the marked page," he instructed, pointing at a simple gold bookmark peeking from the top.
She flipped open the book, scanned the chosen page. Romeo and Juliet. Appropriate. Now she noticed a hand-drawn bracket to the side of a particular passage.
"Read it," he said softly. "Aloud."
Donna forced her eyes to stay clear as she repeated the written words:
"With love's light wings did I o'erperch these walls, For stony limits cannot hold love out, And what love can do, that dares love attempt."
"Act Two, Scene Two," he identified from memory. "We have scaled the walls, Donna. We have faced the stony limits and they couldn't hold love out. We'll get through this, Donna. We will."
She threw her arms around him, wept into his shirt, whispered his name over and over. Oh, how she loved him.
Finally, as she regained control, he breathed, "Donna -"
She closed her eyes, already anticipating what he was going to say.
"Donna, let me love you. Let me make love to you."
Gee, well, let me think about it - Yes! Yes! Yes!
She nodded, eyes still closed. Groaning at the sudden wet heat of his tongue at her ear, she mumbled, "I'd say I want to make a baby with you, but -"
She paused to gasp as his lips nibbled at the sensitive skin of her neck.
"- but we've already -"
Now his mouth slid downward to suckle gently at her breast. She came close to screaming.
"- done that."
The abrupt knock at the Residence door jarred her and prompted her own quiet expletive. Jed growled and pulled away enough to answer.
"Yeah?"
The muffled reply still carried enough clarity that they could hear the seriousness in the tone. "Mister President?"
"Yeah, Charlie. Come in." His hand reluctantly smoothed her blouse back in place, but he took the liberty of one last caress before the aide entered.
"I'm sorry, Mister President," he offered, and Donna saw the genuine regret in his eyes. "Mister McGarry sent me."
"Sit Room?" Jed knew already.
"Yes, Sir."
"Coming."
He turned to her, the disappointment clear on his face, but managed a grin and said, pointing a finger toward her breast, "Save my place."
As he left with Charlie, Donna sighed and tried to suppress the desire he had ignited. She wasn't particularly successful, but eventually managed to walk from the room without flushed cheeks.
Unfortunately, though, she need not have saved his place. Because he didn't return that night. She gave up waiting about midnight, falling into an uneasy sleep, her hand resting on his pillow. Not until early morning did he stumble in, eyes dark, clothes rumpled, collapsing onto the bed still dressed. He was out so cold that even her awkward movements to divest him of his shoes, shirt and pants didn't rouse him. With a sigh, Donna realized there would be many nights like this. Maybe she would get better at undressing him, at least.
Wide awake now, she watched him sleep for a long time, wondering what it must be like to shoulder such a heavy burden, to be responsible for keeping peace not only in the United States, but around the entire world. She wondered what Korea was up to, wondered if he would share anything with her, if he had shared such information with Abbey. She wondered how she could help him, or if she could help him at all. And she wondered what kind of First Lady she would make. In a few short days she would assume that mantle, that role, that title. And it scared her more than anything else had so far.
Even asleep, his brow knitted, the bandage wrinkling against his skin. All she could do was pray. Pray that she was strong enough for him. Pray that she could give him strength. Pray that nobody realized she was just a girl from Minnesota, or Wisconsin - or was it Canada - who had fallen in love with the most powerful man in the world and now was thrust into an unimaginable situation.
A thought came to her as she lay beside him. Picking up the book from the nightstand, she flicked on a table lamp, checking to see if it disturbed him. He did not even flinch. She opened the cover again, found the words he had marked, and let her eyes run over them.
"For stony limits cannot hold love out, And what love can do, that dares love attempt."
Her heart drew them in, used them to fill her with inspiration. She could do this. They could do this. They were doing this. A wave of love swept over her and she kissed him softly, smiling when he mumbled her name, but not waking him. Yes, Shakespeare was right. Stony limits cannot hold love out. That much she knew, and she would take that with her into the days ahead.
"With love's light wings did I o'erperch these walls, For stony limits cannot hold love out, And what love can do, that dares love attempt."
William Shakespeare
Romeo and Juliet
Act II, Scene 2