Thanks for the encouraging comments, as usual.
POV: Donna Spoilers: AISTTC (only minorly) Rating: R Disclaimer: I love Jed and Donna, but I don't own them, nor did I create them.
Beauty and Honor - Chapter Three A West Wing Story
by MAHC
Could that damned clock possibly move any slower, Donna wondered, glaring at it for at least the fifth time since he left. She sighed, drawing the silk robe tighter around her and stretched out on the bed.
Their bed.
A bed she was miserably alone in at the moment.
On her wedding night.
Snapping a curse that expressed both disappointment and frustration, she snatched a magazine off the pile Margaret had brought for her that morning to calm her nerves before the wedding. Escapist reading, she figured. Well, she needed that now, because there were certainly no escapist activities going on where she was.
After Jed was called away by Leo about North Damn Korea, she had fought for a long time to calm her body, to quell the electric anticipation that her husband's touches had triggered. It worked maybe a little. Maybe.
With another sigh, she flipped the pages of the periodical, not really even reading. Surely Jed would make the trip as quick as possible. She thought back to his irritated response to the interruption and knew he was as anxious as she was. It had been several days since they had been alone together and this was supposed to be their honeymoon.
Even though she had told herself it was part of the price she paid for falling in love with the President of the United States, she still couldn't help but be frustrated that every time they seemed to have a moment, something happened, something that-
Oh God! The article headline screamed at her, forced her fingers to crumple pages in an effort to scratch her way back through the magazine. Her heart raced, pumped hard as the words slapped her.
"The Truth Behind the Bartlet Marriage: Presidential Paternity"
Oh no! Frantically, she scanned the story, cheeks burning as the author laid out the accusation that Josiah Bartlet had, indeed, had an affair with Donna Moss, had gotten her pregnant and then been forced to marry her. It continued to list key senior staff as sources, insinuating even that Jed Bartlet was responding to a blackmail attempt and shutting her up by giving her the power and prestige of being First Lady.
Her blood both boiled and ran cold at once, if that was possible. Twisting the crinkled cover around, she seethed in anger as the bold familiar logo of The Star stared back at her. These guys just wouldn't give up! Still, if they were reporting this, the chances that the real media might be looking, too, were good. How long would it be before this was plastered all over every newspaper in the country, before CNN ran it, before C.J. was forced to make a statement. And what would that statement be? What could they say, except the truth? What would that do to Jed? To the country? Old fears returned in full force.
A knock at the door drew her attention. "Donna?"
Leo.
She gulped, shoving the paper behind her in a vain effort to destroy the very existence of the information. "Yeah?"
"May I come in?"
No. Go away. I don't want to see anybody except my husband. "Yeah."
He eased his head in, perhaps making sure she was actually decent. "The President is stuck with Fitzwallace still. Things - well, there are more complications." His eyes seemed unable to meet hers. "Look, Donna, something's happened, something that - we need to talk about. C.J. told me - there's an article - "
"The Star again," she acknowledged.
"No."
"No?"
"No. C.J. tells me the Atlanta Constitution will break it tomorrow."
"What's the story?" She braced for his answer.
"I think you know."
Oh God!
"They have your medical records, apparently. They know you're pregnant and they know the President is the father, and they know when."
Oh God! From some strangely calm mouth, she heard her response. "Who else has it?"
"TIME. The Post. The New York Times. U.S.A. Today. A few others."
Dear Lord! "What does this mean?"
He looked straight at her now, not hedging a bit. "Congressional talks, hearings perhaps. I don't know. Impeachment maybe, depending - Certainly the Republicans will attack his morals, will bring up the honesty issues again."
"Oh, Leo. He - he'll be humiliated. I can't let them do that. I can't - "
"There's no spin on this, Donna," he explained, then looked at her again, eyes hard, accusing. "No defense except the truth and that won't wash either - so Jed's decided to step down, to accept responsibility. He's already called Hoynes."
What? What? "Leo! He can't - That will kill him. He'll be ruined. I've ruined him."
Leo stared at her, then nodded. "Yes," he agreed coldly. "Yes, you have."
She flung herself into the pillows, sobs choking her, fists pounding the sheets. "I've ruined him! I've ruined him! I've ruined him!" She couldn't stop, couldn't believe this had happened. It couldn't be true. It couldn't.
"You have ruined him, Donna," Leo snarled, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her back up. "You have ruined him."
"No!" She tried to pull away, tried to hide her face, but he wouldn't let go.
"It's your fault."
"No! No!"
"Your fault."
"No!" Please, oh please let go. Please!
"Donna!" Hands held her tight, shook her. Her head swam; darkness swirled around her. Her heart ached, was bursting.
"Oh, Jed! I'm sorry!" she cried out. "I'm sorry!"
"Donna! Wake up!"
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
"Donna!"
She stopped, gasping, and found herself looking up into the clear blue eyes of her husband as he stared anxiously at her. He held her by the shoulders, shaking gently. "Donna?"
Allowing herself a quick scan, she realized they were alone. No Leo.
"Oh Jed!" She clutched at him, threw her arms around his neck, planted kisses on his face, in his hair. "Jed! I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!"
"Sorry about what?" Laughing softly, he managed to pull away from the frantic caresses. "Gee, I would have come back earlier if I had known this was going to be my greeting." Then he saw the tears and reached up to brush them away. "It's okay. Just a nightmare. A bad dream. Must have been a doozie."
A nightmare? A nightmare! Oh thank you, God! Thank you! She looked at him, convincing herself he really was there, that everything was all right. It really was just a dream.
He must have been undressing when he heard her; his shirt had already been tossed on a chair back, his shoes and socks kicked under the same chair. His belt hung, unbuckled, from the loops and, although his pants were still zipped, the button gaped open.
"I'm here, now," he assured her. "I'm here. Want to talk about it?"
She reached behind her for the magazine. Not there. Probably never was. Had she read that and then fallen asleep - or just dreamed the whole thing? She shook her head. "No. It was just a dream."
His frown let her know he had guessed the problem. "What have I told you about that?"
"I know, but what happens when - "
"Donna - " he warned.
" - when I start to show?" she finished anyway. "People can count, Jed. There will be speculation."
"Let them speculate."
"But - "
He swished a finger in front of her face. "Remember what I said."
"But - "
"Josh. Senior assistant."
Now she smiled.
"Okay?" he asked, head bent so that his eyes had to cut upward to see her. He usually looked at her this way from over his glasses, but he did it without them now.
"Okay."
"Okay," he echoed. "I think you need a little - distraction." His hands ran over her waist, pulling her against him. "Get your mind on - something else, hmmm?"
Still trying to calm her pounding heart, she was grateful for the shift in focus. She had no doubt at all he could distract her. He kissed her gently, his fingers dancing down her arms, tugging at the robe tie, sliding the silk material from her shoulders.
"You're not supposed to spend your wedding night having bad dreams," he teased.
"Maybe you can give me some good ones to make me forget," she decided, gaining an affirmative chuckle from him.
As she leaned back, her gaze fell on the clock and she realized with surprise that he had not really been gone very long. "Do I have North Korea or Admiral Fitzwallace to thank for getting you back to me so soon?"
"Maybe both," he murmured through lips that were already sliding down her neck, anxious to pick up where he left off two hours before.
And she wanted nothing better than to let him steal the breath from her, re- ignite the fires that were still smoldering from earlier in the evening. But her disturbing dream had left her feeling uninformed, out of the loop, and she needed some answers, even now, even before --
Placing a restraining hand gently against his chest, she asked, "Jed, what's going on?"
He lifted his head from nuzzling her ear and grinned. "Well, if you have to ask I must not be doing it right."
God, he was good looking, especially with the hair falling into his eyes and that mischievous smirk. It took all her strength not to just surrender right then. But she had waited too long, had suffered too many lost or delayed moments and he at least owed her the reason why.
He grunted in surprise and disappointment as she sat up. "I want to know what's going on with Korea."
"Korea? Holy Mother - " The frustration fairly radiated from him as he ran a hand roughly through his hair and sat back. "That damned country is going to be the death of me," he growled.
Well, that was one of the things she was afraid of.
He tried again, reaching for her. "This is not exactly the distraction I had in mind," he noted ruefully.
"Do you trust me?" That wasn't playing fair, but she could see that it worked.
Now his eyes softened and he took her hands in his. "Of course I trust you, Donna. It's just that - there are some things I can't tell you." His gaze dropped to the covers and his voice fell. "There were things I couldn't tell Abbey, either." Regret filled the broken tones.
"I understand." And she really did.
"North Korea," he began, despite his earlier statement.
"You don't have to -"
"I can tell you this," he explained, pulling her down with him onto a chair so that she sat in his lap. As he spoke, she ran her fingers through the hair on his chest and marveled at the intimacy of just being with him.
"For years we've suspected that North Korea is either on the verge of having, or actually has, nuclear weapons capabilities. There is an underground site at a place called Kumchang-ri northwest of Yongbyon. It's supposed to be frozen."
"Frozen?" As in really cold? Probably not time for humor. Better just to listen.
"No activity. Almost certainly they are violating the 1994 Agreement Framework that provides U.S. inspection rights."
"They're not letting us in?"
He shrugged. "Well, yes and no."
Of course. Couldn't be that easy.
"In 1999, we offered food and economic assistance in return for access. We also threatened to stop heavy-fuel oil shipments. There have been visits, but - "
"You still don't trust them." Obviously.
He shook his head and she saw the burden of his office sinking onto his shoulders. "Intel says they have produced enough plutonium for at least one, possibly two nuclear weapons."
She gasped at that revelation. Maybe there were some things she really didn't want to know. For a quick moment a strange, surreal wave swept over her. Dear Lord! This was the President of the United States. This man who was speaking of U.S. inspection rights and international politics. This man whose conversation consisted of world trade agreements and nuclear power. This man whose hands at that very moment were gliding up her thighs.
"IAEA still has not been given complete inspections."
Somehow, she managed to focus again on his words. "IAEA?"
"International Atomic Energy Agency," he explained, grasping her hips and letting his thumbs circle gently on either side of her navel. "I don't think they ever intend to comply totally."
How could he continue to talk about North Korea? Did he not see that his touches set her on fire? She was beginning to regret even asking the original question.
Gulping, she fought to remain in the conversation. "Because?" But she knew.
"Because they plan to make a nuclear bomb." He stated it flat out. Bottom line.
Nuclear bomb. "Has - has something happened recently?"
His hands dropped, and even though she was disappointed, she was able to concentrate more on what he was telling her. "Possible satellite detection of activity at Yongbyon. Could mean they're almost ready to test."
Not good. Her mind searched back to their untimely interruption. "You asked Leo if they blinked. What did you mean?"
He smiled in a humorless gesture, taking a strand of her hair and twirling it around his fingers. "We gave them an ultimatum: freeze production or we pull out all economic and food aid and reinforce DMZ troops. An obvious battle status for the world to see."
"And?"
"They froze. At least Fitz assures me they are in the process of freezing."
Okay. That's good, right?
"So," he sighed, "we're really back where we started." Now he looked up at her and seemed to be aware, for the first time, of the patterns her fingers were running over his chest. "I'm sorry their timing sucked."
"Me, too." A smirk played on her lips. "Did Nancy McNally or Admiral Fitz give you a hard time?"
Another smile spread across his face, genuine this time. "Baby, you were the one that gave me a hard time."
She colored at his pun. Then she realized exactly what he had said and also saw that he was unaware he had even said it.
Baby.
Until now he had never referred to her in any other way except by her name. No endearments. Not "dear" or "sweetheart." The realization touched her and she fought to keep it from showing on her face. She didn't want him to feel uncomfortable.
She wanted him to do it again.
"Actually," he admitted, letting his fingers creep up her sides, "Fitz was pretty blunt." His blush told her she probably didn't want to know exactly what the Head of the Joint Chiefs had said. "But Nancy seemed truly apologetic. Told me to tell you she was really sorry."
Wow! The National Security Advisor apologizing to her. So much to get used to.
Now her hands began to move away from his chest, sliding lower. "Sorry enough to leave us alone for awhile?" She slipped inside his trousers, stretching the elastic band of his underwear.
"She'd better be," he growled, leaning forward to kiss her.
She met his lips hard, her frustrations of the past few days manifested in complete lack of patience. No more waiting. No more interruptions. Korea could go to hell, at least for the next couple of hours. He would be hers now, she determined, dropping her fingers to feel the re-ignition of energy between his legs - or maybe he had never been un-ignited.
Time to get this show going. Ignoring his grunt of protest when she stopped, she took his hand, pulling him toward the bed and urging him onto it. He acquiesced, allowing her to finish the enjoyable task of unzipping his pants and pulling them and his underwear down his body. Before he could stand again, she stretched out on top of him, the silk of her lingerie sliding erotically against his skin.
His hands traced up her thighs, fingered the garters, eased under the camisole, then pulled it over her head, his lips almost immediately taking in a nipple and sucking luxuriously.
"Ow!"
He stopped immediately, looking up at her with a question on his lips, but before he could ask, she smiled weakly and explained, "They're a little sore."
A look of almost unbearable tenderness touched his eyes and he nodded, leaning forward to kiss her stomach softly, then dragging his tongue back up to circle in gentle caresses around the nipple again. This time, sparks of desire shot through her breast and pulsed between her legs. Now he turned her to the side, moved down her body, mouth trailing sparks as he went, until he touched the swollen folds, barely letting his tongue flick against her. She gasped and tried to arch up, but he drew back. She relaxed and he moved in again. This time, she held his head in place and pushed against his touch.
"Oh, God! That's - that's -" She couldn't actually pull the words to her lips.
The exquisite feeling stopped. She looked down in distress. Please keep going! But his eyes had grown smoky, clouded, and she saw the need in them. Coaxing him up with her legs and hands, she lay on top of him again, rubbing against his erection that was caught between them, a hot brand against her hips, jerking at her touch, spreading moisture against their skin.
Okay, this was moving fast. Running her middle finger up and down the velvet flesh, she felt him harden fully, heard his moan. His hands slid to her buttocks, pressed her into him but it wasn't enough. They both wanted this. They both needed this. Now.
His mouth claimed hers and without breaking the kiss he shifted, twisting so he was above her, nudging her legs apart, lowering his hips to hers. They were both slick, both way past ready. But he slid himself against her once, then held still.
She looked up in protest. Please don't stop! Please don't!
"Donna," he whispered, his voice hoarse, his eyes moist. "Donnatella - Moss - Bartlet."
She grinned. That sounded so good.
"I love you." But the words were unnecessary. She saw it in his eyes, felt it in his body.
Sighing in complete contentment, she breathed, "I know."
A small laugh escaped her and his brow rose in question. She smiled. "Who would have thought?" she wondered silently. "Who could have imagined I would be here with Josiah Bartlet?"
She looked down, ran her eyes over his body braced above hers. "When we first - made love - " she said. "Well, I have a confession to make."
He let his hips brush against hers, somehow calming his body, slowing the pace, reminding her of the pleasure that awaited them. "What?"
With difficulty, she hung on to her train of thought. "I told her. I told Margaret."
His brow rose a little, the pink scar shifting with the motion. "Ah. That explains some strange looks I got from her - strange even for Margaret."
"Yeah, well, she didn't tell anybody. I know that."
"It's okay, Donna," he assured her, buzzing her neck with his lips. "What did she say? If you want to tell me, that is."
Another laugh. "I believe her exact words were, 'Oh my God!'."
Jed chuckled, too. "I don't think I'll ask why. I'll let my ego remain ignorantly happy."
This time her brow rose. What did he think she would have said? "Jed, look at me."
"Oh, Baby, I've been looking at you all day."
Baby. He did it again, as if it he had always done it, and suddenly she was Baby. His Baby. She liked it.
Smiling, she ran her hand along his chin, drawing his face up to hers. "You know what I mean. Look at me."
He let his eyes focus straight into hers and she made sure he could see the sincerity there. "Jed Bartlet, I have never felt this way before. I've never felt so warm, so secure, so loved."
He smiled and started to kiss her again, but she pushed him back, made sure their eyes were locked. "And I have never - ever - had sex so good."
Ah! That did it. It was rare that she could surprise him. It took something big. Three times she had done it before. First by telling him she wanted to sleep with him. Next by telling him she loved him and finally by telling him she was pregnant. Now she grinned as the hot flush swept across his face.
Still, he was Jed Bartlet, and he recovered valiantly, rotating his hips and drawing a gasp from her. "Well, I always try to do my best," he conceded.
Yes. Yes indeed.
"You finished talkin' now?" he asked softly, continuing his deliberate movements against her.
The best she could manage, as the shivers tingled through her, was an incoherent moan.
"I'll take that as a yes." And he braced on his hands, nudging her legs farther apart with one knee.
She expected a hard plunge, a deep thrust, but he kept control, easing into her slowly, careful not to be too rough, not to take a chance. She smiled at his thoughtfulness, at his ability to hold back. He withdrew, then pushed in again, leaning forward to suck on her earlobe, to kiss the tip of her nose, to tug her lower lip between his teeth. Then he pulled back with aching luxury, drawing out of her body just to the tip. He held there until she couldn't bear the teasing and tugged him toward her with her legs. Even then he waited one more beat before he sank inside her again. Her groan carried across the room, probably into the hallway, but she really didn't care. And it continued like that, easy and gentle, much slower than she would have believed possible the way they started.
Occasionally he paused and drew in a shuddering breath, bending down to kiss her, to trace the contours of her face with the tips of his fingers. And sometimes she stopped him, when she felt herself approaching the edge, made him wait until she had subdued her body's urgency. It had never been so good, so amorous, so sensual. And that was saying quite a lot for them. She wasn't sure exactly when the luxuriously slow slides accelerated, but after a very long time, she felt him swing into a faster rhythm, dropping onto his elbows, and she allowed her body to follow his lead as the sensations began climbing over each other with increasing power until they were both carried past any real control. Mouth open in a silent gasp, she teetered for a long moment on the pinnacle, unable to go over, but unwilling to go back, until her straining, screaming muscles erupted into delicious spasms around him, the focus of pleasure at her center bursting and sending ecstasy through her. As the explosion peaked, she found her voice and could not suppress a cry that she knew the agents outside could not have missed.
"Jed!"
At her release, his body tensed, a low, tortured groan rising from deep within as she arched against him. Her name burst from his throat just as the pulses burst into her, carrying his seed, his seed that had already taken root inside her, had already joined with her to form a life, a life from their passion, from their love. Sweat trickled down his face as he thrust into her again and again, trying not to push too hard, but no longer able to control his body's fierce instinct to be buried deep inside her.
Even as the intensity faded, he somehow remained braced on his elbows, rocking gently in and out. Raising a trembling hand, she brushed the scar over his brow, reddened now a little more with his exertions, pushed through the hair at his temple, trailed a finger around his ear, then pulled his head down so she could kiss him as they continued to move together in the soothing aftershocks, his body caressing hers with gentle motions. Finally, he slowly withdrew and rolled off with a reluctant, but satisfied moan. As she felt him slide from her body, she sighed, not wanting to lose the exquisite feel of him inside her.
What was that saying? The anticipation is better than reality. Maybe sometimes. But not always. Not always. This time, anticipation had paled in comparison to reality.
Lying back, he drew her against him, her golden hair falling across his body like a silk fan. She heard the thunder of his heart, felt the dampness of his skin, the hard rise and fall of his chest as his lungs worked to regain normal breathing. And she knew he heard and felt the same from her. This would be a night to remember, the most sensuous, erotic time they had spent together - so far. Boy, though, did she look forward to trying to beat it.
"Jed?"
"Hmm?"
"I love you."
A lazy smile curved his lips. "I love you, too, Donna Bartlet. You okay?"
Oh yeah. "Um hmm."
He shifted so that his hand rested on her hip, fingers tickling chill bumps onto her skin. "Not worried about the dream?"
Don't remind me. "I'm fine. It's just - in it there was this magazine article."
"Oh!" he said, groaning as he eased from under her, sitting up. "C.J. handed this to me on my way back." He stepped to the chair he had dropped his shirt in and lifted a newspaper, extending it toward her.
Eyes widening, she stared at it. Oh, please, no!
"The Post," he explained when she hesitated. "Danny Concanon's story."
"What - what does it say?" Still she couldn't take it.
He grinned, sliding back in beside her. "Says I'm a lucky son of a bitch."
Her eyes flashed up at him, remembering the last time she had heard that phrase, but he kept smiling.
"Well, not in so many words, but that's the gist of it. There's a picture on the front. Not bad actually."
Glancing reluctantly toward him, she saw there was, indeed, a photograph on the front of the paper. The photographer had captured Jed as he lifted her hand and kissed it, that impulsive move, that intimate gesture. Perfect. She had to admit it was very nice.
"Read this part here," Jed was instructing, pointing to a paragraph about halfway through the article.
With a deep breath, she drew it closer, skimming past the byline and the generic reporting of the ceremony. Settling on the indicated passage, she read.
"For those who knew Abigail Bartlet, this was a bittersweet moment. A reminder that she was truly gone, for Jed Bartlet would never have been without her otherwise. But a reassurance that what she had cared for, what she had loved, was cared for and loved again. Donnatella Moss Bartlet has stepped in. She has stepped into the national spotlight. She has stepped into the world arena. But mostly she has stepped into the heart of a President. And given his love of literature, perhaps even the President would acknowledge that William Shakespeare, as is often the case, can be applied for some appropriate observations:
'Beauty and honor in her are so mingled That they have caught the king.'"
Tears pushed down her cheeks, both in relief and in joy. "That's beautiful," she whispered.
"So are you," he returned, kissing the tears, taking the paper from her hands, and tossing it to the floor while he eased her back down to the bed.
Her arms wrapped around him; his mouth remembered to be gentle on her breasts. Soon she was arching up toward him, wanting him again, needing him again. Once more sheer amazement struck as she watched him move over her, as she felt his hard need for her, as she tried to comprehend that the face so close to hers belonged to the President of the United States, to the leader of the free world - to her husband. With a happy sigh, she welcomed him back, urged him inside her again. But just as he moved forward, an all too familiar noise returned.
Impossible! Absolutely impossible!
"Damn it! Damn it to hell!" Teeth gritted, Jed didn't even bother with his pants this time. Instead, he grabbed an afghan from the couch and wrapped it carelessly around his waist while Donna scrambled under the covers.
The door flung open and she saw Leo flush bright red when he saw his President. She was fairly sure she heard him gulp.
"Mister President?" Almost a squeak this time.
"Yeah?" Abrupt. Harsh. Painful.
"Mister President, I'm really sorry."
"What IS it?" Jed demanded, patience non-existent now.
A deep breath. A reluctant response. "Mister President. We have detonations."
Immediate change. Jed's stance even shifted. "What?"
"North Korea, Sir. We have confirmed detonations."
His head dropped, and he braced an arm against the doorframe, clutching the afghan in one hand. His reply was soft, deflated, disappointed. "Ah, hell."
And as he turned and their eyes met, she knew this was more than an inconvenience. More than a frustrated bride and groom. More than a diplomatic irritation.
This was a war.
"Beauty and honor in her are so mingled That they have caught the king."
William Shakespeare Henry VIII Act. II, Scene 3
POV: Donna Spoilers: AISTTC (only minorly) Rating: R Disclaimer: I love Jed and Donna, but I don't own them, nor did I create them.
Beauty and Honor - Chapter Three A West Wing Story
by MAHC
Could that damned clock possibly move any slower, Donna wondered, glaring at it for at least the fifth time since he left. She sighed, drawing the silk robe tighter around her and stretched out on the bed.
Their bed.
A bed she was miserably alone in at the moment.
On her wedding night.
Snapping a curse that expressed both disappointment and frustration, she snatched a magazine off the pile Margaret had brought for her that morning to calm her nerves before the wedding. Escapist reading, she figured. Well, she needed that now, because there were certainly no escapist activities going on where she was.
After Jed was called away by Leo about North Damn Korea, she had fought for a long time to calm her body, to quell the electric anticipation that her husband's touches had triggered. It worked maybe a little. Maybe.
With another sigh, she flipped the pages of the periodical, not really even reading. Surely Jed would make the trip as quick as possible. She thought back to his irritated response to the interruption and knew he was as anxious as she was. It had been several days since they had been alone together and this was supposed to be their honeymoon.
Even though she had told herself it was part of the price she paid for falling in love with the President of the United States, she still couldn't help but be frustrated that every time they seemed to have a moment, something happened, something that-
Oh God! The article headline screamed at her, forced her fingers to crumple pages in an effort to scratch her way back through the magazine. Her heart raced, pumped hard as the words slapped her.
"The Truth Behind the Bartlet Marriage: Presidential Paternity"
Oh no! Frantically, she scanned the story, cheeks burning as the author laid out the accusation that Josiah Bartlet had, indeed, had an affair with Donna Moss, had gotten her pregnant and then been forced to marry her. It continued to list key senior staff as sources, insinuating even that Jed Bartlet was responding to a blackmail attempt and shutting her up by giving her the power and prestige of being First Lady.
Her blood both boiled and ran cold at once, if that was possible. Twisting the crinkled cover around, she seethed in anger as the bold familiar logo of The Star stared back at her. These guys just wouldn't give up! Still, if they were reporting this, the chances that the real media might be looking, too, were good. How long would it be before this was plastered all over every newspaper in the country, before CNN ran it, before C.J. was forced to make a statement. And what would that statement be? What could they say, except the truth? What would that do to Jed? To the country? Old fears returned in full force.
A knock at the door drew her attention. "Donna?"
Leo.
She gulped, shoving the paper behind her in a vain effort to destroy the very existence of the information. "Yeah?"
"May I come in?"
No. Go away. I don't want to see anybody except my husband. "Yeah."
He eased his head in, perhaps making sure she was actually decent. "The President is stuck with Fitzwallace still. Things - well, there are more complications." His eyes seemed unable to meet hers. "Look, Donna, something's happened, something that - we need to talk about. C.J. told me - there's an article - "
"The Star again," she acknowledged.
"No."
"No?"
"No. C.J. tells me the Atlanta Constitution will break it tomorrow."
"What's the story?" She braced for his answer.
"I think you know."
Oh God!
"They have your medical records, apparently. They know you're pregnant and they know the President is the father, and they know when."
Oh God! From some strangely calm mouth, she heard her response. "Who else has it?"
"TIME. The Post. The New York Times. U.S.A. Today. A few others."
Dear Lord! "What does this mean?"
He looked straight at her now, not hedging a bit. "Congressional talks, hearings perhaps. I don't know. Impeachment maybe, depending - Certainly the Republicans will attack his morals, will bring up the honesty issues again."
"Oh, Leo. He - he'll be humiliated. I can't let them do that. I can't - "
"There's no spin on this, Donna," he explained, then looked at her again, eyes hard, accusing. "No defense except the truth and that won't wash either - so Jed's decided to step down, to accept responsibility. He's already called Hoynes."
What? What? "Leo! He can't - That will kill him. He'll be ruined. I've ruined him."
Leo stared at her, then nodded. "Yes," he agreed coldly. "Yes, you have."
She flung herself into the pillows, sobs choking her, fists pounding the sheets. "I've ruined him! I've ruined him! I've ruined him!" She couldn't stop, couldn't believe this had happened. It couldn't be true. It couldn't.
"You have ruined him, Donna," Leo snarled, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her back up. "You have ruined him."
"No!" She tried to pull away, tried to hide her face, but he wouldn't let go.
"It's your fault."
"No! No!"
"Your fault."
"No!" Please, oh please let go. Please!
"Donna!" Hands held her tight, shook her. Her head swam; darkness swirled around her. Her heart ached, was bursting.
"Oh, Jed! I'm sorry!" she cried out. "I'm sorry!"
"Donna! Wake up!"
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
"Donna!"
She stopped, gasping, and found herself looking up into the clear blue eyes of her husband as he stared anxiously at her. He held her by the shoulders, shaking gently. "Donna?"
Allowing herself a quick scan, she realized they were alone. No Leo.
"Oh Jed!" She clutched at him, threw her arms around his neck, planted kisses on his face, in his hair. "Jed! I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!"
"Sorry about what?" Laughing softly, he managed to pull away from the frantic caresses. "Gee, I would have come back earlier if I had known this was going to be my greeting." Then he saw the tears and reached up to brush them away. "It's okay. Just a nightmare. A bad dream. Must have been a doozie."
A nightmare? A nightmare! Oh thank you, God! Thank you! She looked at him, convincing herself he really was there, that everything was all right. It really was just a dream.
He must have been undressing when he heard her; his shirt had already been tossed on a chair back, his shoes and socks kicked under the same chair. His belt hung, unbuckled, from the loops and, although his pants were still zipped, the button gaped open.
"I'm here, now," he assured her. "I'm here. Want to talk about it?"
She reached behind her for the magazine. Not there. Probably never was. Had she read that and then fallen asleep - or just dreamed the whole thing? She shook her head. "No. It was just a dream."
His frown let her know he had guessed the problem. "What have I told you about that?"
"I know, but what happens when - "
"Donna - " he warned.
" - when I start to show?" she finished anyway. "People can count, Jed. There will be speculation."
"Let them speculate."
"But - "
He swished a finger in front of her face. "Remember what I said."
"But - "
"Josh. Senior assistant."
Now she smiled.
"Okay?" he asked, head bent so that his eyes had to cut upward to see her. He usually looked at her this way from over his glasses, but he did it without them now.
"Okay."
"Okay," he echoed. "I think you need a little - distraction." His hands ran over her waist, pulling her against him. "Get your mind on - something else, hmmm?"
Still trying to calm her pounding heart, she was grateful for the shift in focus. She had no doubt at all he could distract her. He kissed her gently, his fingers dancing down her arms, tugging at the robe tie, sliding the silk material from her shoulders.
"You're not supposed to spend your wedding night having bad dreams," he teased.
"Maybe you can give me some good ones to make me forget," she decided, gaining an affirmative chuckle from him.
As she leaned back, her gaze fell on the clock and she realized with surprise that he had not really been gone very long. "Do I have North Korea or Admiral Fitzwallace to thank for getting you back to me so soon?"
"Maybe both," he murmured through lips that were already sliding down her neck, anxious to pick up where he left off two hours before.
And she wanted nothing better than to let him steal the breath from her, re- ignite the fires that were still smoldering from earlier in the evening. But her disturbing dream had left her feeling uninformed, out of the loop, and she needed some answers, even now, even before --
Placing a restraining hand gently against his chest, she asked, "Jed, what's going on?"
He lifted his head from nuzzling her ear and grinned. "Well, if you have to ask I must not be doing it right."
God, he was good looking, especially with the hair falling into his eyes and that mischievous smirk. It took all her strength not to just surrender right then. But she had waited too long, had suffered too many lost or delayed moments and he at least owed her the reason why.
He grunted in surprise and disappointment as she sat up. "I want to know what's going on with Korea."
"Korea? Holy Mother - " The frustration fairly radiated from him as he ran a hand roughly through his hair and sat back. "That damned country is going to be the death of me," he growled.
Well, that was one of the things she was afraid of.
He tried again, reaching for her. "This is not exactly the distraction I had in mind," he noted ruefully.
"Do you trust me?" That wasn't playing fair, but she could see that it worked.
Now his eyes softened and he took her hands in his. "Of course I trust you, Donna. It's just that - there are some things I can't tell you." His gaze dropped to the covers and his voice fell. "There were things I couldn't tell Abbey, either." Regret filled the broken tones.
"I understand." And she really did.
"North Korea," he began, despite his earlier statement.
"You don't have to -"
"I can tell you this," he explained, pulling her down with him onto a chair so that she sat in his lap. As he spoke, she ran her fingers through the hair on his chest and marveled at the intimacy of just being with him.
"For years we've suspected that North Korea is either on the verge of having, or actually has, nuclear weapons capabilities. There is an underground site at a place called Kumchang-ri northwest of Yongbyon. It's supposed to be frozen."
"Frozen?" As in really cold? Probably not time for humor. Better just to listen.
"No activity. Almost certainly they are violating the 1994 Agreement Framework that provides U.S. inspection rights."
"They're not letting us in?"
He shrugged. "Well, yes and no."
Of course. Couldn't be that easy.
"In 1999, we offered food and economic assistance in return for access. We also threatened to stop heavy-fuel oil shipments. There have been visits, but - "
"You still don't trust them." Obviously.
He shook his head and she saw the burden of his office sinking onto his shoulders. "Intel says they have produced enough plutonium for at least one, possibly two nuclear weapons."
She gasped at that revelation. Maybe there were some things she really didn't want to know. For a quick moment a strange, surreal wave swept over her. Dear Lord! This was the President of the United States. This man who was speaking of U.S. inspection rights and international politics. This man whose conversation consisted of world trade agreements and nuclear power. This man whose hands at that very moment were gliding up her thighs.
"IAEA still has not been given complete inspections."
Somehow, she managed to focus again on his words. "IAEA?"
"International Atomic Energy Agency," he explained, grasping her hips and letting his thumbs circle gently on either side of her navel. "I don't think they ever intend to comply totally."
How could he continue to talk about North Korea? Did he not see that his touches set her on fire? She was beginning to regret even asking the original question.
Gulping, she fought to remain in the conversation. "Because?" But she knew.
"Because they plan to make a nuclear bomb." He stated it flat out. Bottom line.
Nuclear bomb. "Has - has something happened recently?"
His hands dropped, and even though she was disappointed, she was able to concentrate more on what he was telling her. "Possible satellite detection of activity at Yongbyon. Could mean they're almost ready to test."
Not good. Her mind searched back to their untimely interruption. "You asked Leo if they blinked. What did you mean?"
He smiled in a humorless gesture, taking a strand of her hair and twirling it around his fingers. "We gave them an ultimatum: freeze production or we pull out all economic and food aid and reinforce DMZ troops. An obvious battle status for the world to see."
"And?"
"They froze. At least Fitz assures me they are in the process of freezing."
Okay. That's good, right?
"So," he sighed, "we're really back where we started." Now he looked up at her and seemed to be aware, for the first time, of the patterns her fingers were running over his chest. "I'm sorry their timing sucked."
"Me, too." A smirk played on her lips. "Did Nancy McNally or Admiral Fitz give you a hard time?"
Another smile spread across his face, genuine this time. "Baby, you were the one that gave me a hard time."
She colored at his pun. Then she realized exactly what he had said and also saw that he was unaware he had even said it.
Baby.
Until now he had never referred to her in any other way except by her name. No endearments. Not "dear" or "sweetheart." The realization touched her and she fought to keep it from showing on her face. She didn't want him to feel uncomfortable.
She wanted him to do it again.
"Actually," he admitted, letting his fingers creep up her sides, "Fitz was pretty blunt." His blush told her she probably didn't want to know exactly what the Head of the Joint Chiefs had said. "But Nancy seemed truly apologetic. Told me to tell you she was really sorry."
Wow! The National Security Advisor apologizing to her. So much to get used to.
Now her hands began to move away from his chest, sliding lower. "Sorry enough to leave us alone for awhile?" She slipped inside his trousers, stretching the elastic band of his underwear.
"She'd better be," he growled, leaning forward to kiss her.
She met his lips hard, her frustrations of the past few days manifested in complete lack of patience. No more waiting. No more interruptions. Korea could go to hell, at least for the next couple of hours. He would be hers now, she determined, dropping her fingers to feel the re-ignition of energy between his legs - or maybe he had never been un-ignited.
Time to get this show going. Ignoring his grunt of protest when she stopped, she took his hand, pulling him toward the bed and urging him onto it. He acquiesced, allowing her to finish the enjoyable task of unzipping his pants and pulling them and his underwear down his body. Before he could stand again, she stretched out on top of him, the silk of her lingerie sliding erotically against his skin.
His hands traced up her thighs, fingered the garters, eased under the camisole, then pulled it over her head, his lips almost immediately taking in a nipple and sucking luxuriously.
"Ow!"
He stopped immediately, looking up at her with a question on his lips, but before he could ask, she smiled weakly and explained, "They're a little sore."
A look of almost unbearable tenderness touched his eyes and he nodded, leaning forward to kiss her stomach softly, then dragging his tongue back up to circle in gentle caresses around the nipple again. This time, sparks of desire shot through her breast and pulsed between her legs. Now he turned her to the side, moved down her body, mouth trailing sparks as he went, until he touched the swollen folds, barely letting his tongue flick against her. She gasped and tried to arch up, but he drew back. She relaxed and he moved in again. This time, she held his head in place and pushed against his touch.
"Oh, God! That's - that's -" She couldn't actually pull the words to her lips.
The exquisite feeling stopped. She looked down in distress. Please keep going! But his eyes had grown smoky, clouded, and she saw the need in them. Coaxing him up with her legs and hands, she lay on top of him again, rubbing against his erection that was caught between them, a hot brand against her hips, jerking at her touch, spreading moisture against their skin.
Okay, this was moving fast. Running her middle finger up and down the velvet flesh, she felt him harden fully, heard his moan. His hands slid to her buttocks, pressed her into him but it wasn't enough. They both wanted this. They both needed this. Now.
His mouth claimed hers and without breaking the kiss he shifted, twisting so he was above her, nudging her legs apart, lowering his hips to hers. They were both slick, both way past ready. But he slid himself against her once, then held still.
She looked up in protest. Please don't stop! Please don't!
"Donna," he whispered, his voice hoarse, his eyes moist. "Donnatella - Moss - Bartlet."
She grinned. That sounded so good.
"I love you." But the words were unnecessary. She saw it in his eyes, felt it in his body.
Sighing in complete contentment, she breathed, "I know."
A small laugh escaped her and his brow rose in question. She smiled. "Who would have thought?" she wondered silently. "Who could have imagined I would be here with Josiah Bartlet?"
She looked down, ran her eyes over his body braced above hers. "When we first - made love - " she said. "Well, I have a confession to make."
He let his hips brush against hers, somehow calming his body, slowing the pace, reminding her of the pleasure that awaited them. "What?"
With difficulty, she hung on to her train of thought. "I told her. I told Margaret."
His brow rose a little, the pink scar shifting with the motion. "Ah. That explains some strange looks I got from her - strange even for Margaret."
"Yeah, well, she didn't tell anybody. I know that."
"It's okay, Donna," he assured her, buzzing her neck with his lips. "What did she say? If you want to tell me, that is."
Another laugh. "I believe her exact words were, 'Oh my God!'."
Jed chuckled, too. "I don't think I'll ask why. I'll let my ego remain ignorantly happy."
This time her brow rose. What did he think she would have said? "Jed, look at me."
"Oh, Baby, I've been looking at you all day."
Baby. He did it again, as if it he had always done it, and suddenly she was Baby. His Baby. She liked it.
Smiling, she ran her hand along his chin, drawing his face up to hers. "You know what I mean. Look at me."
He let his eyes focus straight into hers and she made sure he could see the sincerity there. "Jed Bartlet, I have never felt this way before. I've never felt so warm, so secure, so loved."
He smiled and started to kiss her again, but she pushed him back, made sure their eyes were locked. "And I have never - ever - had sex so good."
Ah! That did it. It was rare that she could surprise him. It took something big. Three times she had done it before. First by telling him she wanted to sleep with him. Next by telling him she loved him and finally by telling him she was pregnant. Now she grinned as the hot flush swept across his face.
Still, he was Jed Bartlet, and he recovered valiantly, rotating his hips and drawing a gasp from her. "Well, I always try to do my best," he conceded.
Yes. Yes indeed.
"You finished talkin' now?" he asked softly, continuing his deliberate movements against her.
The best she could manage, as the shivers tingled through her, was an incoherent moan.
"I'll take that as a yes." And he braced on his hands, nudging her legs farther apart with one knee.
She expected a hard plunge, a deep thrust, but he kept control, easing into her slowly, careful not to be too rough, not to take a chance. She smiled at his thoughtfulness, at his ability to hold back. He withdrew, then pushed in again, leaning forward to suck on her earlobe, to kiss the tip of her nose, to tug her lower lip between his teeth. Then he pulled back with aching luxury, drawing out of her body just to the tip. He held there until she couldn't bear the teasing and tugged him toward her with her legs. Even then he waited one more beat before he sank inside her again. Her groan carried across the room, probably into the hallway, but she really didn't care. And it continued like that, easy and gentle, much slower than she would have believed possible the way they started.
Occasionally he paused and drew in a shuddering breath, bending down to kiss her, to trace the contours of her face with the tips of his fingers. And sometimes she stopped him, when she felt herself approaching the edge, made him wait until she had subdued her body's urgency. It had never been so good, so amorous, so sensual. And that was saying quite a lot for them. She wasn't sure exactly when the luxuriously slow slides accelerated, but after a very long time, she felt him swing into a faster rhythm, dropping onto his elbows, and she allowed her body to follow his lead as the sensations began climbing over each other with increasing power until they were both carried past any real control. Mouth open in a silent gasp, she teetered for a long moment on the pinnacle, unable to go over, but unwilling to go back, until her straining, screaming muscles erupted into delicious spasms around him, the focus of pleasure at her center bursting and sending ecstasy through her. As the explosion peaked, she found her voice and could not suppress a cry that she knew the agents outside could not have missed.
"Jed!"
At her release, his body tensed, a low, tortured groan rising from deep within as she arched against him. Her name burst from his throat just as the pulses burst into her, carrying his seed, his seed that had already taken root inside her, had already joined with her to form a life, a life from their passion, from their love. Sweat trickled down his face as he thrust into her again and again, trying not to push too hard, but no longer able to control his body's fierce instinct to be buried deep inside her.
Even as the intensity faded, he somehow remained braced on his elbows, rocking gently in and out. Raising a trembling hand, she brushed the scar over his brow, reddened now a little more with his exertions, pushed through the hair at his temple, trailed a finger around his ear, then pulled his head down so she could kiss him as they continued to move together in the soothing aftershocks, his body caressing hers with gentle motions. Finally, he slowly withdrew and rolled off with a reluctant, but satisfied moan. As she felt him slide from her body, she sighed, not wanting to lose the exquisite feel of him inside her.
What was that saying? The anticipation is better than reality. Maybe sometimes. But not always. Not always. This time, anticipation had paled in comparison to reality.
Lying back, he drew her against him, her golden hair falling across his body like a silk fan. She heard the thunder of his heart, felt the dampness of his skin, the hard rise and fall of his chest as his lungs worked to regain normal breathing. And she knew he heard and felt the same from her. This would be a night to remember, the most sensuous, erotic time they had spent together - so far. Boy, though, did she look forward to trying to beat it.
"Jed?"
"Hmm?"
"I love you."
A lazy smile curved his lips. "I love you, too, Donna Bartlet. You okay?"
Oh yeah. "Um hmm."
He shifted so that his hand rested on her hip, fingers tickling chill bumps onto her skin. "Not worried about the dream?"
Don't remind me. "I'm fine. It's just - in it there was this magazine article."
"Oh!" he said, groaning as he eased from under her, sitting up. "C.J. handed this to me on my way back." He stepped to the chair he had dropped his shirt in and lifted a newspaper, extending it toward her.
Eyes widening, she stared at it. Oh, please, no!
"The Post," he explained when she hesitated. "Danny Concanon's story."
"What - what does it say?" Still she couldn't take it.
He grinned, sliding back in beside her. "Says I'm a lucky son of a bitch."
Her eyes flashed up at him, remembering the last time she had heard that phrase, but he kept smiling.
"Well, not in so many words, but that's the gist of it. There's a picture on the front. Not bad actually."
Glancing reluctantly toward him, she saw there was, indeed, a photograph on the front of the paper. The photographer had captured Jed as he lifted her hand and kissed it, that impulsive move, that intimate gesture. Perfect. She had to admit it was very nice.
"Read this part here," Jed was instructing, pointing to a paragraph about halfway through the article.
With a deep breath, she drew it closer, skimming past the byline and the generic reporting of the ceremony. Settling on the indicated passage, she read.
"For those who knew Abigail Bartlet, this was a bittersweet moment. A reminder that she was truly gone, for Jed Bartlet would never have been without her otherwise. But a reassurance that what she had cared for, what she had loved, was cared for and loved again. Donnatella Moss Bartlet has stepped in. She has stepped into the national spotlight. She has stepped into the world arena. But mostly she has stepped into the heart of a President. And given his love of literature, perhaps even the President would acknowledge that William Shakespeare, as is often the case, can be applied for some appropriate observations:
'Beauty and honor in her are so mingled That they have caught the king.'"
Tears pushed down her cheeks, both in relief and in joy. "That's beautiful," she whispered.
"So are you," he returned, kissing the tears, taking the paper from her hands, and tossing it to the floor while he eased her back down to the bed.
Her arms wrapped around him; his mouth remembered to be gentle on her breasts. Soon she was arching up toward him, wanting him again, needing him again. Once more sheer amazement struck as she watched him move over her, as she felt his hard need for her, as she tried to comprehend that the face so close to hers belonged to the President of the United States, to the leader of the free world - to her husband. With a happy sigh, she welcomed him back, urged him inside her again. But just as he moved forward, an all too familiar noise returned.
Impossible! Absolutely impossible!
"Damn it! Damn it to hell!" Teeth gritted, Jed didn't even bother with his pants this time. Instead, he grabbed an afghan from the couch and wrapped it carelessly around his waist while Donna scrambled under the covers.
The door flung open and she saw Leo flush bright red when he saw his President. She was fairly sure she heard him gulp.
"Mister President?" Almost a squeak this time.
"Yeah?" Abrupt. Harsh. Painful.
"Mister President, I'm really sorry."
"What IS it?" Jed demanded, patience non-existent now.
A deep breath. A reluctant response. "Mister President. We have detonations."
Immediate change. Jed's stance even shifted. "What?"
"North Korea, Sir. We have confirmed detonations."
His head dropped, and he braced an arm against the doorframe, clutching the afghan in one hand. His reply was soft, deflated, disappointed. "Ah, hell."
And as he turned and their eyes met, she knew this was more than an inconvenience. More than a frustrated bride and groom. More than a diplomatic irritation.
This was a war.
"Beauty and honor in her are so mingled That they have caught the king."
William Shakespeare Henry VIII Act. II, Scene 3