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POV: Donna Spoilers: "Galileo," "Gone Quiet" Rating: R Disclaimer: I didn't create, nor do I own, any of these characters. But I love them anyway.
Beauty and Honor - Chapter Two A West Wing Story
by MAHC
She was never quite sure how it had happened, but no mention of her unpleasant experience ever surfaced, either on CNN or even in The Star. The closest story was a strange article in that tabloid, suggesting that the President had once been a prizefighter in a previous life, an insinuation that Jed found immensely satisfying.
Of course, it could have had something to do with a meeting Ron Butterfield, C.J. Cregg, and Leo McGarry held with Mr. Tyson G. Travinsky, laying out the possible results of assault charges for attacking the future First Lady of the United States. Whatever had done the trick, Donna was forever grateful, and could now focus on the last few hours she would spend as Donna Moss.
Already at Camp David, she had flown out on Marine One Friday afternoon, meeting her parents there for a joyful, yet somewhat unbelievable reunion. Her mother was having difficulty enough comprehending that her little girl was getting married. The fact that her future son-in-law was the most powerful man in the world merely added to her incredulity. Still, Donna figured she wouldn't repeat the mistake of referring to him as "Jeff." According to plan, Jed would arrive later that evening and the ceremony would begin at 11:00 a.m. Eastern Time, the next day. Everything seemed in order. C.J. had taken charge of publicity and of preparations for the layout.
After she had settled her folks into their room, she opened her suitcase, grinning as she emptied it of its questionable contents. Margaret had taken it upon herself to become Donna's personal dresser, selecting the appropriate accessories for her attire, including something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue. The old was easy. Her mother's pearls, a strand her father had given her as a wedding present, hung in classic elegance around her neck. The new was also simple: a rose- colored Donna Karan suit that she felt was appropriate for the circumstances. Even the borrowed fell into place. An ivory comb that held her hair in an easy sweep from her face, surprising compliments of Ellie Bartlet.
But the blue was something else entirely. Margaret, face both wicked and flushed at once, had thrust a gift bag into her hands that morning before she left. Rummaging through the crinkling tissue, she pulled out an intimate set of pale blue lingerie, garters, camisole, bra, all of which screamed sex.
"Margaret!"
Her friend blushed deeper, but defended her gift. "You'll thank me for this later."
She held them up dubiously. "They'll show through my suit. It's light colored."
"No they won't. Already checked it out. You're safe - at least until the President sees you in those."
Now they both blushed, laughing at the very accurate prediction.
Clutching them to her chest, she took a moment to press her lips together, closing her eyes and just standing there.
"You okay?" Margaret's voice was tentative, but reassuring, nevertheless.
"I just can't believe - "
"You and me both."
"It seems like yesterday you were announcing to all of LaFayette Park that I had slept with the President, and now - "
Margaret lifted a brow. "And now - gee, what's changed?"
She slapped her friend on the arm and packed her new garments, self- consciously sliding them under a set of much more conservative underwear.
"I think that -" But she couldn't finish the sentence. The wave of nausea that had begun accosting her about that time of day hit and she forgot about Margaret, the lingerie, and especially the humor as she darted to the bathroom, skidding to a stop over the toilet just in time.
"Donna?"
Give me a break, here, Margaret. Can't you see I'm busy?
"Donna? You okay?"
Nothing a few more months and an epidural won't cure.
Finally, losing her dry toast and apple juice from breakfast, she rinsed her face, brushed her teeth and rejoined her friend, a little shaky, but better.
"Geez," Margaret grimaced, "that didn't sound pleasant."
"It was probably worse in the bathroom," Donna noted, a little more sarcastically than she had intended.
It wasn't Margaret's fault she had morning sickness. It was her own fault. No, no, they weren't going there again. Jed had already berated her for feeling guilty, responsible. He had made it clear in no uncertain terms that he was absolutely thrilled about the baby, planned or not, and had threatened to assign her back to Josh's office if she mentioned guilt again.
"How long should it last?" her friend wondered, helping her pack the rest of her clothes.
"Only a few more weeks, I hope. Although some people are sick the whole time." She sincerely hoped she wasn't one of them.
Margaret winced in sympathy. "How horrible."
But she definitely felt better and took the moment to speak candidly. "In all the scrambling to get ready, I don't have a maid of honor. Would you do that for me, Margaret? I know this is sudden, that we put this whole thing together quickly, but - "
She couldn't finish because she found herself almost crushed in an embrace, Margaret's choked "Thank you" muttered over and over in her ear. When she was finally released, she blinked at the tears in those eyes.
"Oh, Donna. I'll be there for you. Don't worry."
She grinned, not realizing how much this meant to Margaret and pleased to be able to bring such joy to a person who meant so much to her.
Later, she watched, amazed, as Washington shrank away below her. Her first ride on Marine One. The first of many, she figured, still fighting that stunned feeling about the whole thing.
That night she stretched back in the rocking chair Jed had sent with her, a present, he noted with a grin, for her and for the baby. Feet propped and eyes closed, she listened as C.J. prepped her, just as she had prepped the President, on the coming events. Of course everything was in order; she had no doubts about that since the Press Secretary was in charge, but it she still liked knowing exactly what was happening.
"We ran a few pieces of music by the President," C.J. was saying as she scanned her thick notepad. "He approved of anything written more than one hundred and fifty years ago."
Donna smiled. He didn't like contemporary music that masqueraded as classical. According to Charlie, his exact words were, "Modern music sucks." The only exception was something an Icelandic composer had written for him a couple of years ago, but that was strictly an exception.
"Mostly Bach," C.J. continued, unaware of Donna's musings. "And a few classical hymn arrangements performed by a string quartet from the New York Philharmonic."
She let this sink in and decided to voice her one thought. "Wow."
C.J. looked up now and grinned. "Yeah," she agreed, and for a long moment, they just sat in silence.
But their reflection was interrupted abruptly by the harsh ring of the phone. Her eyes met C.J.'s briefly before she lifted the receiver, and they exchanged a wary glance, both anticipating the same thing.
"Hello?"
"Hey." Damn. Before he had said anything else, she knew what it meant. Jed on the phone meant no Jed in person.
"Hey."
"Watcha doin'?"
With another glance toward C.J., she answered, trying to keep the obvious disappointment out of her tone. "C.J.'s here going over tomorrow, but mainly we're just waiting for you."
Hell, she shouldn't have said that. She knew perfectly well why he was calling and now she had just heaped guilt on the regret already clear in his voice.
"Yeah, well, that's why I called."
"Yeah."
The sigh at his end was painfully audible. "Yeah. I - uh - won't make it tonight."
"Yeah." What else could she say? Now C.J. cleared her throat and rose to leave. Donna waved her back down.
"I'm sorry, Donna. I'll explain when I get there."
"Which will be?"
Another sigh. "I don't know. Morning. Maybe later tonight, after all. I just don't know."
"Okay." She tried to fight down the ache that pushed at her gut, tried to suppress the tears in her eyes. She wasn't normally so emotional, knew it was probably crazy hormones. "Okay. I'll see you when you get here."
"Donna?" he asked, and she felt his concern through the phone line.
"Yeah?"
"You feel all right?"
She smiled, wiping away a tear that had stubbornly fallen anyway. "I'm fine."
"Still sick?"
A glance at C.J. She tried to be subtle. "Not tonight. That's just - you know - in the mornings." Okay, not as subtle as she intended. Now the Press Secretary's head popped up before she could stop it. Donna lowered her eyes.
"Donna?"
"Yeah?"
"I'll be there. I love you."
More tears, unstoppable this time. She nodded, even though he couldn't see her, and managed, "I love you, too."
"Good night."
The receiver clicked back on the cradle and Donna gathered herself before facing C.J. When she did, she found an expression of sympathy, understanding, and a little shock waiting her.
"How far along?" her friend wanted to know.
"About six weeks."
"Who knows?"
Wiping at her face, Donna counted off the people who were aware of her condition. "Jed, Leo, Ron, Margaret, and probably a few EMTs who worked on Jed at my apartment."
"How do the EMTs know?" Alarm cut though her tone.
Donna grinned sheepishly. "Jed told them."
"What?"
"Well, he was a little woozy. He'd just come to."
C.J.'s brow rose sharply. "So the stitches weren't from the blades of Marine One hitting him in the head?"
Donna's mouth gaped. "He told you that?"
"Well, I sort of figured it wasn't true." She grinned now. "It's an old joke. But seriously, we told the press he tripped and hit a coffee table."
"True."
"At your apartment, though?"
"Yes."
"After you told him - "
"Yes."
"Ah."
The Press Secretary seemed hesitant for a moment, but asked her question anyway. "How does - how does he feel about it?"
This one Donna knew for certain. She shrugged. "He's thrilled. I was scared to death to tell him. I had been using - well, I just got so busy with the tobacco cases and - I forgot - anyway -"
C.J.'s hand touched her gently. "Good," she said, and her voice held genuine happiness. "Good for him. And for you, I hope?"
"Oh, yes," she assured her. That was true, too. She couldn't describe the joy of knowing that she carried his child, that they had made this incredible life together, and that he wanted it just as much as she did. "I'll need your help, though," she told the Press Secretary. "Jed doesn't care if people know, but I know what complications it would cause, what criticism he would catch. He does, too. He just doesn't care, I don't think."
"Don't worry about it right now," C.J. said, patting her hand. "Just enjoy tomorrow. We'll - deal with the other later." She rose and gathered her notes in her hand. "Get some rest."
She fully intended to, because she had a feeling she wasn't going to get much the next night.
She awoke to voices outside her door, not quite angry, but certainly agitated. Keeping her eyes closed a little longer, she listened.
"Where the hell is he?" C.J. spat out, obviously trying to be quiet, but not succeeding at all.
"He'll be here. He'll be here. I'm - pretty sure." That was Josh. Wait a minute. What did he mean by 'pretty sure'?
C.J. asked the same question, only much louder. "Josh! He's getting married in three hours and you tell me you're 'pretty sure' he'll be here!"
"Leo said -"
"Leo better have said he was calling you from the chopper, my man."
Donna heard the bemused tone in Josh's voice. "See, I haven't figured out yet how this is my fault. I'm here, aren't I?"
But C.J. wasn't playing his game. "I don't so much care that you're here, Joshua. I just care that the groom is NOT here. Okay? Now you get on the phone with Leo or Ron or the 82nd Airborne - whoever the hell can GET him here."
Apparently, Josh chose wisely to act instead of respond verbally because Donna heard quick footsteps, then her door eased open.
"Donna?"
She blinked and looked up to see C.J. peering in. "Is Jed not here?" Okay, don't panic yet. Wait to see if C.J. is panicked first.
"Uh - no, but I'm sure he's - on his way. I sent Josh to - to -" All right. Maybe it was time to panic.
"C.J.?"
Now she entered all the way and Donna saw that she was already dressed. Wait a minute. What time was it? Oh God. Had C.J. said she was getting married in three hours?
"He'll be here, Donna. Leo called to say there were - complications. It seems North Korea insists on doing things the hard way. Not very good timing, huh?"
Not at all.
Two and a half hours later she stood in her suit, afraid to sit for fear of wrinkling it, afraid to ask again if he was there yet, afraid she'd get the same answer she had the previous six times. Maybe this was all a dream. Maybe the reason Jed wasn't here was because it was a dream and she wasn't really about to marry the President of the United States and she wasn't really pregnant and she wasn't even at Camp David. The infamous Dallas episode flashed through her mind, the one where a whole season had apparently been a nightmare and the next one opened with Bobby in the shower.
Or maybe he had changed his mind. Maybe he actually thought about what he was doing, what he was getting into. Maybe Leo would come in in a minute and offer to buy her off, put her up in an apartment somewhere with a monthly income and - Dear Lord, what was she doing?
The burst of activity outside interrupted her thoughts and Margaret dashed in the room without even knocking.
"He's here!" she announced breathlessly.
She knew it. Never doubted it.
Now that the time had finally arrived, Donna couldn't suppress the joy that surged through her, racing to shoot from her toes, her fingertips, her hair, throwing sparkles of tingling excitement across her skin. She heard her cue, felt the gentle nudge from Zoey, who had helped Margaret dress her. The acceptance of Jed's children had been unexpected, but incredibly satisfying. Even Liz had come, whispering thanks for making their father happy.
Now she stepped out into the crisp morning, the fingers of sunlight stretching through emerald leaves of the Shenandoah Valley, leaving spotlights on the concrete patio that waited before her. And on that patio stood her lover, her friend, the father of her child, and, in just a few moments, her husband.
If he was harried from his chaotic morning, no one could tell. He looked wonderful, dressed in a well-fitting navy suit, his tie a subdued splash of burgundy with tiny print, his hands clasped in front of him, waiting to take hers. He had apparently gotten the stitches out just that morning, or maybe the night before, and the doctor had been right; the scar rested mostly in his brow, only a thin line stretched above it for less than an inch. And the frank appreciation that sparkled in those blue eyes under that brow when he saw her merely served to stir the desire in her that this ceremony be done quickly so the honeymoon could begin.
Margaret walked before her, bouquet in hand, his ring thrust onto her thumb. Leo flanked Jed on one side. The service was simple, the priest brief, the guest list limited to close family, friends, and only a few select members of the media. CNN had a camera crew that was pledged to release the footage no sooner than one hour after the ceremony ended.
She was suddenly conscious of her abdomen, although she knew she was not showing yet, wondered if anyone who didn't know suspected. Wondered if the three EMTs who had inadvertently heard Jed's woozy exclamation in her apartment would say anything. Well, she couldn't worry about that, now. If they were lucky, it would remain speculation. She was only six weeks, anyway, and if the baby was late, people might just assume it was a honeymoon baby. Maybe.
Of course, this was her own hope, her own plan. Jed could not care less, had told her it didn't matter to him, much to Leo's anxious protests. She had almost been afraid he would call a press conference to announce to the world that his fiancé was pregnant and that he had done it. Well, maybe not. But she had never seen him so excited.
Her gaze rested on him now as she approached, lightly grasping her father's arm. His eyes shone, his lips curved in a smile that he tried with little success to keep from blossoming into a full-blown grin. God, he was handsome. And sexy. And, and - okay, concentrate, she told herself. Concentrate.
Now the string quartet concluded the strains of Bach's "Air on the G String" - she figured Jed had picked that out - and her father kissed her gently before returning to sit with her mother. Jed's hand touched hers, grasped it firmly and he lifted it to his lips for a brief kiss. This was pure impulse on his part and he seemed suddenly embarrassed at the instinct, but she smiled and hoped her eyes gave the reassurance she intended.
The priest began. No full mass. They had both agreed. Only the basic ceremony. No personal vows, just those in the classic wedding service. And when the "I do's" were completed, and the rings exchanged, and the priest pronounced them husband and wife, they turned to each other, both a little stunned that it had really happened. Jed took her face in his hands and she rested hers against his chest as their lips met gently. For a long moment his mouth moved softly on hers, then he withdrew, eyes claiming her just as his lips had done. The guests broke into enthusiastic applause when he kissed her once more, this one a little harder, but still not too long. Then the music began again, and as had been planned, they simply strolled around the patio, greeting guests, holding hands, and, occasionally, sharing another kiss.
The faces blurred together as people marched by, congratulating them, bestowing hugs and kisses. More than once she observed Jed catching a teasing poke in the ribs from a senator or two and was somehow pleased to see his unamused reaction. The afternoon's festivities included an impromptu concert by the string quartet, who in a surprisingly eclectic move, ditched violins for brass and bass and broke into some light jazz as the party loosened. As twilight settled over the valley, the sounds grew more muffled, muted, and eventually the celebration ended.
The press had long before rushed to print or air, the guests were gone, or at least settled in for the evening. Ron had bid them goodnight, positioning their agents a little bit farther away than usual. Donna flushed at his consideration, knowing the reasoning behind the move. When the door closed she turned, her breath catching at the expression on her husband's face.
Her husband. Wow! What a thought. What an incredible thought.
His eyes had darkened now, had taken on a dangerous, exciting glow. They fairly smoldered. Her body tingled again at the promise she saw in those depths. Stepping toward him, she felt alive, renewed, adventurous. With slow, deliberate motions, she unbuttoned the pale rose jacket, revealing the lacy, delicate, periwinkle camisole beneath. He remained motionless, having already deposited his coat on a nearby chair, but she was pretty sure she saw the eyes glow a little brighter. Now she slipped off the pumps, the skirt and watched in delight as he ran his gaze down the stockings and garters she had, with Margaret's encouragement, donned earlier that day.
His control slipped, and she saw his mouth open slightly, heard the groan that escaped, noted the material of his pressed trousers tensing around the zipper. Yep, Margaret had been right on the money with that gift. She'd have to remember to thank her.
Somehow, he wrestled his body back under temporary control and stepped to a table, lifting the decanter and pouring two glasses of brandy. As he held them, she eased close, her fingers reaching for his tie, loosening the knot, sliding it from his collar. He smelled subtly of aftershave and fresh laundry. Still not taking her glass, she ran her hands down his shirtfront, releasing the lower buttons. Her tongue licked slowly across his stomach, her teeth tugged at the hair running down toward the waistband.
He whispered her name as she pressed her lips to the hardness that pushed insistently against the fabric of his pants. He groaned her name as she unbuckled his belt and eased open the zipper, slipping his boxers down. And he gasped her name as she took him in her mouth.
"Oh, God, Donna," he managed to get out. "Take this drink before I drop it."
She pulled away, grinning, and stood, accepting the glass from him and setting it, untouched, on the table. "No alcohol, remember?" she said and he nodded.
The haze had begun to clear from his eyes, but no other signs of his excitement diminished at all. She pulled at his shirt, suddenly frantic to feel him, to have his bare skin against hers. He set his own glass down, then raised his arms to finish unbuttoning and aid in the removal before he was choked to death in her haste.
The knock at the door was impossibly clear. Still, for a moment, Donna thought she must have imagined it. Surely it could not have been real.
But there it was again. Clear and solid.
"What the hell-" Jed turned, unbelieving, toward the sound.
If she hadn't been so frustrated herself, Donna might have found some sympathy in her heart for the foolish intruder. But not tonight. Not now.
"Whoever the hell that is had better have his - or her - things packed by morning!" Jed yelled, and Donna wasn't sure that he was kidding.
"Mister President?"
Leo.
"Leo, are you insane?" her husband asked, still not opening the door. By now she had scrambled into a silk robe, knowing it would be useless to assume they could continue anytime soon.
"That is a strong possibility, Mister President," the Chief of Staff admitted.
Not bothering to grab his own robe, Jed pulled his pants back up, flung open the door and stood, bare-chested before his former best friend. Donna figured he wanted to make it clear to Leo just what he had interrupted, as if the red-faced man had any doubts.
"I know, Mister President," he began, voice heavy with apology and regret, "that this is the worst possible timing."
"Really?" Sarcasm was one of Jed's fluent languages.
"Korea," he said simply.
Now the atmosphere changed with an immediate snap. "They blinked?"
Who blinked? And was blinking good or bad? Suddenly, concern for a much more serious situation swallowed Donna's moment of self-pity.
Leo nodded. "Fitz is on his way. Nancy's here already. I'm sorry."
Donna saw the quick nod from the man with whom she had planned to spend a passionate night of love. "On my way," he said and Leo left with one more apology.
He turned, personal regret mixing with global burden on his face. "Donna-"
"Go," she said. "I heard. Go."
"I wish-"
"Go. I'll be waiting when you get back."
"I'm sorry." And he looked sorry, for himself and for her.
Picking his shirt from the floor, she handed it to him, then slid one arm around his neck, using the other to draw his hand between her legs, so he could feel for himself how ready she was for him. Kissing him hard, she arched against him once more before moving away.
"Oh man," he breathed raggedly. "I am really sorry."
With a deep sigh, he leaned against the doorframe in an attempt to gain some control over his body. After a full minute, he threw her a regretful grin, and stepped through the door, pulling on the shirt as he went. She smiled at the vision of Fitzwallace and Nancy McNally greeting their half- dressed President in whatever room at Camp David served as the temporary Situation Room. She knew there would be stifled snickers tonight, but a more sobering thought overshadowed that as she remembered why he was going. Korea. It sounded as if some limit had been reached, some expected action had occurred. What were they facing? What was Jed facing?
She picked up his jacket, gathering it in her hands, taking in his lingering scent. Maybe it was nothing. Just a bluff, just a mistake. Maybe. She hoped so. She really did.
Because she was horrified at the possibility of war with a country that had nuclear capabilities.
Because she dreaded the stress and burden such a war would place on Jed.
And because this was a really crappy way to spend a wedding night.
POV: Donna Spoilers: "Galileo," "Gone Quiet" Rating: R Disclaimer: I didn't create, nor do I own, any of these characters. But I love them anyway.
Beauty and Honor - Chapter Two A West Wing Story
by MAHC
She was never quite sure how it had happened, but no mention of her unpleasant experience ever surfaced, either on CNN or even in The Star. The closest story was a strange article in that tabloid, suggesting that the President had once been a prizefighter in a previous life, an insinuation that Jed found immensely satisfying.
Of course, it could have had something to do with a meeting Ron Butterfield, C.J. Cregg, and Leo McGarry held with Mr. Tyson G. Travinsky, laying out the possible results of assault charges for attacking the future First Lady of the United States. Whatever had done the trick, Donna was forever grateful, and could now focus on the last few hours she would spend as Donna Moss.
Already at Camp David, she had flown out on Marine One Friday afternoon, meeting her parents there for a joyful, yet somewhat unbelievable reunion. Her mother was having difficulty enough comprehending that her little girl was getting married. The fact that her future son-in-law was the most powerful man in the world merely added to her incredulity. Still, Donna figured she wouldn't repeat the mistake of referring to him as "Jeff." According to plan, Jed would arrive later that evening and the ceremony would begin at 11:00 a.m. Eastern Time, the next day. Everything seemed in order. C.J. had taken charge of publicity and of preparations for the layout.
After she had settled her folks into their room, she opened her suitcase, grinning as she emptied it of its questionable contents. Margaret had taken it upon herself to become Donna's personal dresser, selecting the appropriate accessories for her attire, including something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue. The old was easy. Her mother's pearls, a strand her father had given her as a wedding present, hung in classic elegance around her neck. The new was also simple: a rose- colored Donna Karan suit that she felt was appropriate for the circumstances. Even the borrowed fell into place. An ivory comb that held her hair in an easy sweep from her face, surprising compliments of Ellie Bartlet.
But the blue was something else entirely. Margaret, face both wicked and flushed at once, had thrust a gift bag into her hands that morning before she left. Rummaging through the crinkling tissue, she pulled out an intimate set of pale blue lingerie, garters, camisole, bra, all of which screamed sex.
"Margaret!"
Her friend blushed deeper, but defended her gift. "You'll thank me for this later."
She held them up dubiously. "They'll show through my suit. It's light colored."
"No they won't. Already checked it out. You're safe - at least until the President sees you in those."
Now they both blushed, laughing at the very accurate prediction.
Clutching them to her chest, she took a moment to press her lips together, closing her eyes and just standing there.
"You okay?" Margaret's voice was tentative, but reassuring, nevertheless.
"I just can't believe - "
"You and me both."
"It seems like yesterday you were announcing to all of LaFayette Park that I had slept with the President, and now - "
Margaret lifted a brow. "And now - gee, what's changed?"
She slapped her friend on the arm and packed her new garments, self- consciously sliding them under a set of much more conservative underwear.
"I think that -" But she couldn't finish the sentence. The wave of nausea that had begun accosting her about that time of day hit and she forgot about Margaret, the lingerie, and especially the humor as she darted to the bathroom, skidding to a stop over the toilet just in time.
"Donna?"
Give me a break, here, Margaret. Can't you see I'm busy?
"Donna? You okay?"
Nothing a few more months and an epidural won't cure.
Finally, losing her dry toast and apple juice from breakfast, she rinsed her face, brushed her teeth and rejoined her friend, a little shaky, but better.
"Geez," Margaret grimaced, "that didn't sound pleasant."
"It was probably worse in the bathroom," Donna noted, a little more sarcastically than she had intended.
It wasn't Margaret's fault she had morning sickness. It was her own fault. No, no, they weren't going there again. Jed had already berated her for feeling guilty, responsible. He had made it clear in no uncertain terms that he was absolutely thrilled about the baby, planned or not, and had threatened to assign her back to Josh's office if she mentioned guilt again.
"How long should it last?" her friend wondered, helping her pack the rest of her clothes.
"Only a few more weeks, I hope. Although some people are sick the whole time." She sincerely hoped she wasn't one of them.
Margaret winced in sympathy. "How horrible."
But she definitely felt better and took the moment to speak candidly. "In all the scrambling to get ready, I don't have a maid of honor. Would you do that for me, Margaret? I know this is sudden, that we put this whole thing together quickly, but - "
She couldn't finish because she found herself almost crushed in an embrace, Margaret's choked "Thank you" muttered over and over in her ear. When she was finally released, she blinked at the tears in those eyes.
"Oh, Donna. I'll be there for you. Don't worry."
She grinned, not realizing how much this meant to Margaret and pleased to be able to bring such joy to a person who meant so much to her.
Later, she watched, amazed, as Washington shrank away below her. Her first ride on Marine One. The first of many, she figured, still fighting that stunned feeling about the whole thing.
That night she stretched back in the rocking chair Jed had sent with her, a present, he noted with a grin, for her and for the baby. Feet propped and eyes closed, she listened as C.J. prepped her, just as she had prepped the President, on the coming events. Of course everything was in order; she had no doubts about that since the Press Secretary was in charge, but it she still liked knowing exactly what was happening.
"We ran a few pieces of music by the President," C.J. was saying as she scanned her thick notepad. "He approved of anything written more than one hundred and fifty years ago."
Donna smiled. He didn't like contemporary music that masqueraded as classical. According to Charlie, his exact words were, "Modern music sucks." The only exception was something an Icelandic composer had written for him a couple of years ago, but that was strictly an exception.
"Mostly Bach," C.J. continued, unaware of Donna's musings. "And a few classical hymn arrangements performed by a string quartet from the New York Philharmonic."
She let this sink in and decided to voice her one thought. "Wow."
C.J. looked up now and grinned. "Yeah," she agreed, and for a long moment, they just sat in silence.
But their reflection was interrupted abruptly by the harsh ring of the phone. Her eyes met C.J.'s briefly before she lifted the receiver, and they exchanged a wary glance, both anticipating the same thing.
"Hello?"
"Hey." Damn. Before he had said anything else, she knew what it meant. Jed on the phone meant no Jed in person.
"Hey."
"Watcha doin'?"
With another glance toward C.J., she answered, trying to keep the obvious disappointment out of her tone. "C.J.'s here going over tomorrow, but mainly we're just waiting for you."
Hell, she shouldn't have said that. She knew perfectly well why he was calling and now she had just heaped guilt on the regret already clear in his voice.
"Yeah, well, that's why I called."
"Yeah."
The sigh at his end was painfully audible. "Yeah. I - uh - won't make it tonight."
"Yeah." What else could she say? Now C.J. cleared her throat and rose to leave. Donna waved her back down.
"I'm sorry, Donna. I'll explain when I get there."
"Which will be?"
Another sigh. "I don't know. Morning. Maybe later tonight, after all. I just don't know."
"Okay." She tried to fight down the ache that pushed at her gut, tried to suppress the tears in her eyes. She wasn't normally so emotional, knew it was probably crazy hormones. "Okay. I'll see you when you get here."
"Donna?" he asked, and she felt his concern through the phone line.
"Yeah?"
"You feel all right?"
She smiled, wiping away a tear that had stubbornly fallen anyway. "I'm fine."
"Still sick?"
A glance at C.J. She tried to be subtle. "Not tonight. That's just - you know - in the mornings." Okay, not as subtle as she intended. Now the Press Secretary's head popped up before she could stop it. Donna lowered her eyes.
"Donna?"
"Yeah?"
"I'll be there. I love you."
More tears, unstoppable this time. She nodded, even though he couldn't see her, and managed, "I love you, too."
"Good night."
The receiver clicked back on the cradle and Donna gathered herself before facing C.J. When she did, she found an expression of sympathy, understanding, and a little shock waiting her.
"How far along?" her friend wanted to know.
"About six weeks."
"Who knows?"
Wiping at her face, Donna counted off the people who were aware of her condition. "Jed, Leo, Ron, Margaret, and probably a few EMTs who worked on Jed at my apartment."
"How do the EMTs know?" Alarm cut though her tone.
Donna grinned sheepishly. "Jed told them."
"What?"
"Well, he was a little woozy. He'd just come to."
C.J.'s brow rose sharply. "So the stitches weren't from the blades of Marine One hitting him in the head?"
Donna's mouth gaped. "He told you that?"
"Well, I sort of figured it wasn't true." She grinned now. "It's an old joke. But seriously, we told the press he tripped and hit a coffee table."
"True."
"At your apartment, though?"
"Yes."
"After you told him - "
"Yes."
"Ah."
The Press Secretary seemed hesitant for a moment, but asked her question anyway. "How does - how does he feel about it?"
This one Donna knew for certain. She shrugged. "He's thrilled. I was scared to death to tell him. I had been using - well, I just got so busy with the tobacco cases and - I forgot - anyway -"
C.J.'s hand touched her gently. "Good," she said, and her voice held genuine happiness. "Good for him. And for you, I hope?"
"Oh, yes," she assured her. That was true, too. She couldn't describe the joy of knowing that she carried his child, that they had made this incredible life together, and that he wanted it just as much as she did. "I'll need your help, though," she told the Press Secretary. "Jed doesn't care if people know, but I know what complications it would cause, what criticism he would catch. He does, too. He just doesn't care, I don't think."
"Don't worry about it right now," C.J. said, patting her hand. "Just enjoy tomorrow. We'll - deal with the other later." She rose and gathered her notes in her hand. "Get some rest."
She fully intended to, because she had a feeling she wasn't going to get much the next night.
She awoke to voices outside her door, not quite angry, but certainly agitated. Keeping her eyes closed a little longer, she listened.
"Where the hell is he?" C.J. spat out, obviously trying to be quiet, but not succeeding at all.
"He'll be here. He'll be here. I'm - pretty sure." That was Josh. Wait a minute. What did he mean by 'pretty sure'?
C.J. asked the same question, only much louder. "Josh! He's getting married in three hours and you tell me you're 'pretty sure' he'll be here!"
"Leo said -"
"Leo better have said he was calling you from the chopper, my man."
Donna heard the bemused tone in Josh's voice. "See, I haven't figured out yet how this is my fault. I'm here, aren't I?"
But C.J. wasn't playing his game. "I don't so much care that you're here, Joshua. I just care that the groom is NOT here. Okay? Now you get on the phone with Leo or Ron or the 82nd Airborne - whoever the hell can GET him here."
Apparently, Josh chose wisely to act instead of respond verbally because Donna heard quick footsteps, then her door eased open.
"Donna?"
She blinked and looked up to see C.J. peering in. "Is Jed not here?" Okay, don't panic yet. Wait to see if C.J. is panicked first.
"Uh - no, but I'm sure he's - on his way. I sent Josh to - to -" All right. Maybe it was time to panic.
"C.J.?"
Now she entered all the way and Donna saw that she was already dressed. Wait a minute. What time was it? Oh God. Had C.J. said she was getting married in three hours?
"He'll be here, Donna. Leo called to say there were - complications. It seems North Korea insists on doing things the hard way. Not very good timing, huh?"
Not at all.
Two and a half hours later she stood in her suit, afraid to sit for fear of wrinkling it, afraid to ask again if he was there yet, afraid she'd get the same answer she had the previous six times. Maybe this was all a dream. Maybe the reason Jed wasn't here was because it was a dream and she wasn't really about to marry the President of the United States and she wasn't really pregnant and she wasn't even at Camp David. The infamous Dallas episode flashed through her mind, the one where a whole season had apparently been a nightmare and the next one opened with Bobby in the shower.
Or maybe he had changed his mind. Maybe he actually thought about what he was doing, what he was getting into. Maybe Leo would come in in a minute and offer to buy her off, put her up in an apartment somewhere with a monthly income and - Dear Lord, what was she doing?
The burst of activity outside interrupted her thoughts and Margaret dashed in the room without even knocking.
"He's here!" she announced breathlessly.
She knew it. Never doubted it.
Now that the time had finally arrived, Donna couldn't suppress the joy that surged through her, racing to shoot from her toes, her fingertips, her hair, throwing sparkles of tingling excitement across her skin. She heard her cue, felt the gentle nudge from Zoey, who had helped Margaret dress her. The acceptance of Jed's children had been unexpected, but incredibly satisfying. Even Liz had come, whispering thanks for making their father happy.
Now she stepped out into the crisp morning, the fingers of sunlight stretching through emerald leaves of the Shenandoah Valley, leaving spotlights on the concrete patio that waited before her. And on that patio stood her lover, her friend, the father of her child, and, in just a few moments, her husband.
If he was harried from his chaotic morning, no one could tell. He looked wonderful, dressed in a well-fitting navy suit, his tie a subdued splash of burgundy with tiny print, his hands clasped in front of him, waiting to take hers. He had apparently gotten the stitches out just that morning, or maybe the night before, and the doctor had been right; the scar rested mostly in his brow, only a thin line stretched above it for less than an inch. And the frank appreciation that sparkled in those blue eyes under that brow when he saw her merely served to stir the desire in her that this ceremony be done quickly so the honeymoon could begin.
Margaret walked before her, bouquet in hand, his ring thrust onto her thumb. Leo flanked Jed on one side. The service was simple, the priest brief, the guest list limited to close family, friends, and only a few select members of the media. CNN had a camera crew that was pledged to release the footage no sooner than one hour after the ceremony ended.
She was suddenly conscious of her abdomen, although she knew she was not showing yet, wondered if anyone who didn't know suspected. Wondered if the three EMTs who had inadvertently heard Jed's woozy exclamation in her apartment would say anything. Well, she couldn't worry about that, now. If they were lucky, it would remain speculation. She was only six weeks, anyway, and if the baby was late, people might just assume it was a honeymoon baby. Maybe.
Of course, this was her own hope, her own plan. Jed could not care less, had told her it didn't matter to him, much to Leo's anxious protests. She had almost been afraid he would call a press conference to announce to the world that his fiancé was pregnant and that he had done it. Well, maybe not. But she had never seen him so excited.
Her gaze rested on him now as she approached, lightly grasping her father's arm. His eyes shone, his lips curved in a smile that he tried with little success to keep from blossoming into a full-blown grin. God, he was handsome. And sexy. And, and - okay, concentrate, she told herself. Concentrate.
Now the string quartet concluded the strains of Bach's "Air on the G String" - she figured Jed had picked that out - and her father kissed her gently before returning to sit with her mother. Jed's hand touched hers, grasped it firmly and he lifted it to his lips for a brief kiss. This was pure impulse on his part and he seemed suddenly embarrassed at the instinct, but she smiled and hoped her eyes gave the reassurance she intended.
The priest began. No full mass. They had both agreed. Only the basic ceremony. No personal vows, just those in the classic wedding service. And when the "I do's" were completed, and the rings exchanged, and the priest pronounced them husband and wife, they turned to each other, both a little stunned that it had really happened. Jed took her face in his hands and she rested hers against his chest as their lips met gently. For a long moment his mouth moved softly on hers, then he withdrew, eyes claiming her just as his lips had done. The guests broke into enthusiastic applause when he kissed her once more, this one a little harder, but still not too long. Then the music began again, and as had been planned, they simply strolled around the patio, greeting guests, holding hands, and, occasionally, sharing another kiss.
The faces blurred together as people marched by, congratulating them, bestowing hugs and kisses. More than once she observed Jed catching a teasing poke in the ribs from a senator or two and was somehow pleased to see his unamused reaction. The afternoon's festivities included an impromptu concert by the string quartet, who in a surprisingly eclectic move, ditched violins for brass and bass and broke into some light jazz as the party loosened. As twilight settled over the valley, the sounds grew more muffled, muted, and eventually the celebration ended.
The press had long before rushed to print or air, the guests were gone, or at least settled in for the evening. Ron had bid them goodnight, positioning their agents a little bit farther away than usual. Donna flushed at his consideration, knowing the reasoning behind the move. When the door closed she turned, her breath catching at the expression on her husband's face.
Her husband. Wow! What a thought. What an incredible thought.
His eyes had darkened now, had taken on a dangerous, exciting glow. They fairly smoldered. Her body tingled again at the promise she saw in those depths. Stepping toward him, she felt alive, renewed, adventurous. With slow, deliberate motions, she unbuttoned the pale rose jacket, revealing the lacy, delicate, periwinkle camisole beneath. He remained motionless, having already deposited his coat on a nearby chair, but she was pretty sure she saw the eyes glow a little brighter. Now she slipped off the pumps, the skirt and watched in delight as he ran his gaze down the stockings and garters she had, with Margaret's encouragement, donned earlier that day.
His control slipped, and she saw his mouth open slightly, heard the groan that escaped, noted the material of his pressed trousers tensing around the zipper. Yep, Margaret had been right on the money with that gift. She'd have to remember to thank her.
Somehow, he wrestled his body back under temporary control and stepped to a table, lifting the decanter and pouring two glasses of brandy. As he held them, she eased close, her fingers reaching for his tie, loosening the knot, sliding it from his collar. He smelled subtly of aftershave and fresh laundry. Still not taking her glass, she ran her hands down his shirtfront, releasing the lower buttons. Her tongue licked slowly across his stomach, her teeth tugged at the hair running down toward the waistband.
He whispered her name as she pressed her lips to the hardness that pushed insistently against the fabric of his pants. He groaned her name as she unbuckled his belt and eased open the zipper, slipping his boxers down. And he gasped her name as she took him in her mouth.
"Oh, God, Donna," he managed to get out. "Take this drink before I drop it."
She pulled away, grinning, and stood, accepting the glass from him and setting it, untouched, on the table. "No alcohol, remember?" she said and he nodded.
The haze had begun to clear from his eyes, but no other signs of his excitement diminished at all. She pulled at his shirt, suddenly frantic to feel him, to have his bare skin against hers. He set his own glass down, then raised his arms to finish unbuttoning and aid in the removal before he was choked to death in her haste.
The knock at the door was impossibly clear. Still, for a moment, Donna thought she must have imagined it. Surely it could not have been real.
But there it was again. Clear and solid.
"What the hell-" Jed turned, unbelieving, toward the sound.
If she hadn't been so frustrated herself, Donna might have found some sympathy in her heart for the foolish intruder. But not tonight. Not now.
"Whoever the hell that is had better have his - or her - things packed by morning!" Jed yelled, and Donna wasn't sure that he was kidding.
"Mister President?"
Leo.
"Leo, are you insane?" her husband asked, still not opening the door. By now she had scrambled into a silk robe, knowing it would be useless to assume they could continue anytime soon.
"That is a strong possibility, Mister President," the Chief of Staff admitted.
Not bothering to grab his own robe, Jed pulled his pants back up, flung open the door and stood, bare-chested before his former best friend. Donna figured he wanted to make it clear to Leo just what he had interrupted, as if the red-faced man had any doubts.
"I know, Mister President," he began, voice heavy with apology and regret, "that this is the worst possible timing."
"Really?" Sarcasm was one of Jed's fluent languages.
"Korea," he said simply.
Now the atmosphere changed with an immediate snap. "They blinked?"
Who blinked? And was blinking good or bad? Suddenly, concern for a much more serious situation swallowed Donna's moment of self-pity.
Leo nodded. "Fitz is on his way. Nancy's here already. I'm sorry."
Donna saw the quick nod from the man with whom she had planned to spend a passionate night of love. "On my way," he said and Leo left with one more apology.
He turned, personal regret mixing with global burden on his face. "Donna-"
"Go," she said. "I heard. Go."
"I wish-"
"Go. I'll be waiting when you get back."
"I'm sorry." And he looked sorry, for himself and for her.
Picking his shirt from the floor, she handed it to him, then slid one arm around his neck, using the other to draw his hand between her legs, so he could feel for himself how ready she was for him. Kissing him hard, she arched against him once more before moving away.
"Oh man," he breathed raggedly. "I am really sorry."
With a deep sigh, he leaned against the doorframe in an attempt to gain some control over his body. After a full minute, he threw her a regretful grin, and stepped through the door, pulling on the shirt as he went. She smiled at the vision of Fitzwallace and Nancy McNally greeting their half- dressed President in whatever room at Camp David served as the temporary Situation Room. She knew there would be stifled snickers tonight, but a more sobering thought overshadowed that as she remembered why he was going. Korea. It sounded as if some limit had been reached, some expected action had occurred. What were they facing? What was Jed facing?
She picked up his jacket, gathering it in her hands, taking in his lingering scent. Maybe it was nothing. Just a bluff, just a mistake. Maybe. She hoped so. She really did.
Because she was horrified at the possibility of war with a country that had nuclear capabilities.
Because she dreaded the stress and burden such a war would place on Jed.
And because this was a really crappy way to spend a wedding night.