POV: Donna
Spoilers: None
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine.
Love's Creation - Chapter Two
A West Wing Story
by MAHC
He didn't see her when he entered. She knew because he didn't try to cover the utter exhaustion that visibly dragged him to the chair and refused, even though it was two a.m., to wait even for the discarding of his clothes. Standing just inside the bathroom door, she watched for another few minutes, hating to spy, but needing to see how he really felt, because he wouldn't admit it to her. Wouldn't admit to more than just a passing tiredness. But it was more, she could see now. And it scared her.
Arms draped over the sides of the chair, he coughed roughly and leaned back, eyes closed, legs stretched out before him, almost reclining somehow, in a straight-backed wing chair. After a moment, she moved toward him, calling softly to alert him, give him time, if he chose, to show her whatever face he wanted.
"Jed?"
Immediately, he straightened, clearing his throat and pushing to his feet with feigned energy. But she saw the grimace, heard the involuntary grunt. "Hey, Baby," he greeted, the lightness forced. Giving him a quick kiss, she unbuttoned his shirt, slipping it from his shoulders, then poured him a glass of brandy and extended it toward him. He lifted both eyebrows in surprise.
"That's service," he observed archly, taking the liquor. "What happened?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean the kiss, the shirt, the brandy. Is this going to cost me money?"
Despite her deep worry, she laughed. "Always, Big Boy," she returned, using the nickname without thinking, the first thing that sprang from her lips.
Now his brow arched even further. "Big Boy?" he questioned, chest puffing.
She blushed, even though it was just the two of them. At least his weariness lessened a bit with his amusement. And, she had to admit, the term certainly fit. "Remember," she reminded him, chuckling, "pride's a sin."
"Only when you don't have something to be proud of," he declared, brow bouncing once, and leering.
"You are hopeless."
"And you love me."
"Yes, I do."
"Okay." He nodded in satisfaction and sat, coughing again, and quickly losing the surge of enthusiasm that their conversation had prompted. "I'm sorry I'm so late."
Despite Jed's post-press conference promise of clearing the evening, Korea had apparently not left them the hell alone.
"What happened?" she asked, frowning at the tickle of concern the cough had triggered.
He knew instinctively that she referred to the phone call from the President of North Korea and she liked that they had begun to read each other. "He backed off on IAEA inspections. No restrictions. They'll send a group in next week."
Well, that was good news, wasn't it? "Is that what you wanted?"
A sigh, a swirl of brandy. "Some. Still gives them too much chance to hide anything they don't want us to see. It won't stop them, but maybe it'll delay them, at least - "
He didn't finish, but she could have finished for him. " - at least until I'm out of office and it's somebody else's problem."
And that wasn't like him. Not at all. No, he wanted to solve all the problems of the world himself and leave nothing for the next guy to do. That would be his legacy: Josiah Bartlet did everything. World perfect. End of story. And there was nothing she could do to change his deep-down desire for that really to happen, even though he saw the ridiculousness of it.
The quarter hour chime sang quietly. She had sent him off almost twelve hours ago to answer the call from the North Korean president. "Did it take that long to talk him into it?"
"Hmm?" His eyes stayed on the carpet, unfocused.
She cocked her head toward the clock. "The President of North Korea. Did it take that long to talk him into the inspections?"
Following her gaze, he sighed and answered, "Nah. Just a few minutes. He already knew he had no other choice."
"Then why - "
"Air Traffic Controllers."
"A strike?"
"No. Not yet, anyway. But I don't know - " The weariness with which his words trailed off disturbed her. "And the oil spill. Crews have started - " He stopped and glanced up at her. "Have you ever been to the Gulf Coast?"
Actually, yeah. "Once. With some friends. Destin."
"Beautiful beaches. White sand. Hard to walk on, though. Not as firmly packed as the Atlantic Seaboard - " He trailed off, his expression a little wistful, and curiosity pricked at her, wondering what memory he was re-living. A tired smile curved his lips. It must be a good memory. After a moment, he took a deep breath and shifted, sipping at the drink.
"Damned shame."
"What?"
"Those white sands are going to be black pretty soon. Probably already are."
"Is it a bad spill?"
He laughed without any humor. "Are there any good ones?" It could have been sarcastic, but his smile softened the words.
"No, I suppose not."
"Could be worse," he admitted. "Not a large tanker, and they've managed to contain a lot of it. Still, the wildlife - not to mention economic losses to the area."
She nodded again. There was no real response to that, anyway.
Minutes passed in silence. For a long while he stared ahead without really looking at anything. Finally, Donna leaned forward and ran her index finger around the rim of his glass, creating a hollow ring as the drop of brandy sang on the surface. It drew his attention again, and he looked up, smiling slightly. She caught his gaze once more, trying to convince her suspicious mind that it was merely making up needless problems. But at the expression on his face, she felt her heart drop. She could clearly see the tension in the tightness of his mouth, the extra lines on his forehead, the disturbing flush to his cheeks.
"Jed?"
An eyebrow rose in subtle acknowledgement.
"You okay?" She knew the answer already, already didn't believe it.
His eyes betrayed wariness, as if she had caught him at something he didn't want her to see. Then he masked it with a laugh, a forced, nervous sound that stumbled into another rough cough.
"Oh Baby, how could I not be okay? I'm sitting here looking at the most beautiful woman in the world who's carrying my child, and who kept me up - literally - all night last night. Yeah, I'm definitely okay." A strident hoarseness marred the usual smooth richness of his voice.
The hell you are, you charmer, she thought, noting the few beads of perspiration on his forehead. "Well, I didn't hear any complaints last night," she reminded him, wondering suddenly if they had done too much. But he'd seemed quite eager and willing at the time.
"You won't ever hear any from me," he assured her, his smile fading as he shifted stiffly in his chair.
Now his actions overrode his words and she abandoned the lighter banter to get straight to the point. "You look tired. And that cough doesn't sound so good, either." Understatement. "Back bothering you? Want me to rub it?" Want to admit what's really wrong?
She saw the smile, knew she had thrown him something he could grasp to minimize her concern, and even though she would let him think he had been successful, he had not been.
"Now that would be great," he decided, regarding the offered massage. With a leer, he asked, "How do you want me?"
She played along, tossing back, "I want you so many ways you can't imagine."
"Mmm. Can I try to imagine?" He stood, poorly concealing an involuntary wince at the movement, and walked to her chair, pulling her up with him, turning her so that his hands ran over her stomach, now protruding boldly.
She turned and tapped his chest lightly. "Lie down."
This time, uncharacteristically, he hesitated.
"Lie down so I can rub your back."
"Ah. I was wonderin' if it was just my back you wanted to rub," he allowed, stripping off his pants and tossing them onto the floor.
She shook her head. He was hopeless. "You'll tell me if I 'rub you the wrong way'?"
"Oh, I don't think that's possible," he assured her, his chuckle collapsing into another cough before he lay face down on the bed, arms cradling his head. She watched for a moment as he settled, her eyes roaming over the muscles of his shoulders, still strong despite the illness she tried to forget, still well-defined despite his self-deprecating jokes about their age difference. He was still quite handsome and she enjoyed watching him, especially those moments he was not aware of her gaze.
As her fingers ran over the long muscles on either side of his spine, pushing into him firmly and sliding slowly up to his shoulders, she frowned again at the heat under her palms. He was warm, warmer than usual, and she inched her way up his back to his neck, intent on a casual brush of his face to check her suspicions. After a few soft circular motions, she slipped the back of her hand over his forehead.
"Donna?" The voice held a warning. A warning she planned on completely ignoring.
"Josiah Bartlet," she scolded, fear and irritation mixing in a frustrated combination in her voice. "You have a fever. You knew that, too."
Now he rolled on his side, wiping a thumb across his face. "I told you I'm fine," he insisted, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and sitting, a broken cough belying his unconvincing protest.
Right. "Okay, sure. I can see that." She turned, bellowing, just as loudly as she had often accused Josh of doing. "Charlie!"
This brought Jed to his feet. "I told you - " But he had not gotten steadied before he paled and grabbed the bed's foot poster, sinking abruptly back onto the mattress.
"Jed!"
He sat for a moment, breathing shallowly, perspiration now trickling down his face. "I'm okay," he was saying, even though she could tell he was most definitely not okay.
Before she could issue a retort, Charlie flung open the door, the agent on duty following immediately behind. She saw from his face the anxiousness that certainly was mirrored by her own expression. It didn't occur to her until much later to wonder why he was still there so late.
"Mister President?" he questioned, stepping quickly around to the far side of the bed.
"I'm fine," Jed insisted again, gathering enough energy to glare at her before he launched into another sharp fit of coughing.
Charlie's eyes lifted and met hers and she didn't need to say another word. "I'll get Leo," he said, already lifting the phone receiver.
"And Admiral Hackett," Donna added, fielding her husband's fresh frown easily. Oh, please don't let this be happening now, she prayed. Not now when they seemed to have things under control, when they were only a few weeks away from the birth of their baby, the first birth in the White House to a President since the tragic few days of Patrick Bouvier Kennedy in 1963.
"Just lie back, Jed," she suggested, knowing that a command would only be met with resistance. "Lie back until Admiral Hackett gets here, okay? For me?"
That last entreaty seemed to have some effect. Or maybe he was weaker than she had thought, because he nodded and eased back in the bed, letting his head drop onto a pillow. Almost immediately, though, the coughing began again, choking him with its severity, and he sat up quickly. She realized he barely managed to keep from gagging at the reflexive contractions of his throat muscles.
The door burst open again and Leo flew in, coattails flapping as he crossed the room almost at a run. Obviously, he had been on his way out the door when Charlie caught him. Standing in front of Jed, he fought to catch his breath for a few seconds, then addressed his friend directly.
"Mister President? How do you feel?"
Managing to calm the coughs with water Donna had fetched for him from the bathroom, Jed pressed his lips together and raised a sardonic brow. "Well, let's see. I'm sitting in my bedroom in my underwear surrounded by irritatingly nosey people who should be at their own homes now instead of in mine bothering m- "
Before he could continue, the Chief of Staff interrupted, his tone refusing to hide even the least amount of exasperation. "Damn it, Jed! How long have you been sick?"
"Leo, I'm not sick - "
"How long?"
It wasn't often Donna saw this side of her husband's best and oldest friend. This was not the Chief of Staff addressing the President. This was a concerned, frustrated friend fussing at his equally stubborn friend.
"How long?"
Shoulders slumped, Jed finally sighed, coughed hard again, and admitted, "Mid-afternoon, I guess." He shrugged, attempting to lower the anxiety in the room. "It's no big deal, just a cold, that's all."
Mid-afternoon. After the press conference.
Now the guilt fell on her. She had kept him up - literally - most of the night. And it had been wonderfully erotic and fulfilling, but he couldn't have gotten more than two or three hours sleep. Then he had headed out early, staying in the Sit Room over North Korea most of the day, taking time out to sit with her and watch C.J. make the big announcement. Then the call from the North Korean president, apparently followed by more negotiations with air traffic controllers and the unexpected complication of an oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico. All this meant was yet another grueling twenty-hour day on only a few hours sleep.
Irritation at his disregard for his health joined with fear at the same thing. She did something she had never done before. She yelled at her husband. Well, she had done that before, but not in front of other people. Okay, not yelled, exactly. More like cautiously questioned. There was still some part of her that was the senior assistant to the deputy chief of staff standing in awe of the President of the United States. But she was working on it. Sleeping with him helped, even though it produced another reason for awe at times. Anyway, this was a first. This time, Leo, Charlie, and the secret service agent bore witness to her anger.
"You are the most stubborn man I have ever met!" she snapped, startling Jed along with everyone else in the room. "You have been sick all day - running a fever apparently - and you don't tell anybody? I cannot believe that!"
"Donna, Baby - "
Oh, those eyes! She faltered, but sucked up her anger again, determined to make him see how she felt.
"No! How long do you think you can keep going like this? How could you risk - How could you take a chance on not- " Now she choked back a sob at the thought. "On not being here for our baby - for me?"
The devastation that fell on his face tore at her heart. She saw the revelation in his eyes, the realization that what she suggested could actually happen.
"Oh, Donna. I didn't - I - " Now he turned to Leo. "Can you give us a moment?"
Reluctantly, but with understanding, Leo gathered everyone and left. When they were gone, Jed took her hands in his.
"Donna, you knew going into this what my job meant."
Well, she thought she did, but -
"This is not an unusual day," he continued. "And I don't have the luxury that others have of being sick." When she opened her mouth to debate him, he lifted a hand. "I don't. But - " Now he cradled her face in his hand and she knelt before him, looking up into his eyes. "I would never jeopardize my chance to be with you, Donna. And the baby - "
Swallowing, she nodded and managed to whisper, "Then do whatever Admiral Hackett says, okay?"
He smiled. "Okay. It's just a cold, really. No big deal."
Right. "I'm sure it is. Let's just let him take a look."
Again, he nodded and she rose, with a little more trouble than usual, just as the doctor peeked in.
"Mister President?"
"Yeah," he called, coughing and wiping perspiration from his face. "Come in."
Hackett's eyes caught Donna's, asking for answers he knew he wouldn't get from his patient. She shrugged, because she wasn't sure what to say, how to feel. Silently, she stood at his side as he examined her husband, listening to his heart, taking his temperature, feeling for swollen glands in his neck.
The exam stretched on, picking at her nerves, dragging at her patience. Periodically, Jed would break into an uncontrolled spasm of coughs, and Hackett had to pull away to wait it out. She studied her husband's face, took in the lines of fatigue he had worn for too long, noticed the care the Admiral took in listening to his chest, his back, saw the concentration on the doctor's brow. She almost screamed for someone to tell her something.
Finally, Hackett straightened and proclaimed, "Mister President, I feel like you have a summer cold."
A cold? Just a cold? A cold? Oh, thank God! Thank You!
Jed grinned for the first time all evening. "See? I told you I was fine. A cold - " Sneeze. " - that's all."
Hackett frowned. "Well, actually, sir," he cautioned, "don't let the word 'cold' fool you. This is probably a virus, feels like a mild case of the flu. Chills, fever, coughing, congestion, muscle aches. Treatable, certainly, but nothing to overlook, especially since - "
"Yeah," Jed acknowledged flatly.
All right. Not just a cold. Almost the flu. And she knew the dangers of the flu, remembered the panic caused by his collapse in the Oval Office several years before, had found out much later that Abbey had good cause to cancel her trip.
- a fever can be life-threatening -
"I'd really like to do a chest x-ray, just to make sure it's nothing worse."
Okay, stay calm. Worse? As in - "Doctor?"
He obviously sensed her anxiety. "Let's see how he does for the next twenty-four hours, Mrs. Bartlet. In bed now and through tomorrow, at least, Mister President," the doctor ordered, his face betraying absolutely no fear whatsoever of reprisal from the most powerful man on earth.
Jed frowned. "I'm in the middle of negotiations with North Korea. I've just barely, and possibly only temporarily, averted a strike by arguably the most critical employees in the world. And the Gulf Coast from Biloxi to Mobile is turning black. I don't have ti - "
With plenty of experience with this President, Hackett stood firm in the face of executive resistance. "Then instead of one day in bed, you'll end up in there for a week - or the hospital."
Donna tried to fight back her growing anxiety. "Could this - could it trigger - "
Hackett shrugged. "Any fever is dangerous, but if you follow orders things should be all right." Now he looked directly at his patient and added, "Mister President."
Finally, Jed nodded in resignation and sighed, sneezing loudly and shifting back onto the bed.
Donna saw the satisfaction on the doctor's face and tried to hide a smile. It wasn't every day he triumphed so easily over the President of the United States. "Lots of fluids, sir," he was instructing, glancing at her, too, in case his patient wasn't really listening. "You're already dehydrated. Gatorade is good, along with juices. It will lessen the possibility of cramps. Advil for the fever. It's not bad, just over 100, but we certainly don't want to give it any room to grow. And that cough is pretty nasty. I'll give you something for it, too. We don't want to tempt pneumonia."
Donna started at that possibility. Pneumonia!
"You need to sleep - " He continued, holding up a hand as Jed opened his mouth in protest. " - but I know you won't, so I'll send up a decongestant without antihistamine. Still, sir, take it easy the rest of today and tomorrow. All right? And if there are any other developments, rise in temperature, worsened cough, contact me immediately."
Another sneeze, followed by a cough. Jed nodded again, and answered, voice thick, now, as the congestion built. "All right. I'll be good." He smiled up at his wife. "At least I've got a beautiful nurse for my every need."
Hackett's eyes smiled, too, but warned at the same time. Donna figured he knew her husband pretty well. "For medical purposes, only, Mister President. Understood?"
Pouting, Jed growled, "You're no fun, Doc."
As he gathered up his bag, the stoic doctor handed her a small packet and surprised them all by throwing back, "Wait 'till you get my bill."
She stood for a moment after Hackett left, contemplating how firm she could be and still acquire his cooperation. Finally, after noting the stubborn slant to his jaw, she figured the hell with his cooperation, and decided she'd just run the show for a while.
"All right," she said, coaxing his legs up so she could pull the covers over him. "Sleep now."
"See, I've got to talk with Leo - "
"Uh uh."
"But I'm sure he's still here -"
"Uh uh. No Leo. No Korea. No air traffic controllers."
He opened his mouth, but she added, "And no oil spill. At least not until you've had a good night's sleep."
"But - "
"Nope." This might be the President of the United States, but he was also Donna Bartlet's husband now, and he was sick, and she was damned if he was going to get sicker. Besides, the look of total astonishment on his face at her unbreachable determination was priceless. He fell silent, bewilderment in his eyes, and lay back on the propped pillows.
She nodded in satisfaction and placed the two Advil capsules Hackett had left on his nightstand.
"You have a headache?" Donna asked, watching the lines between his eyebrows furrow.
"Nah."
"Yes, you do. You want an ice pack?"
"Donna, I'm okay."
"I'll get one, anyway," she decided. He would get better, whether he helped or not.
"I wonder if Tony Blair has to deal with this sort of tyranny," she heard him mumble as she moved to the door to ask Charlie for an ice pack.
When she came back, though, the capsules were gone and he lay, eyes closed on the pillows. The even breathing, louder than usual because of the congestion, told her he slept, although his rest was broken too frequently by hard coughs. Fever and a long day and previous night had taken their toll. Curling up beside him, she brushed a hand through his hair, then leaned back, herself, her own fatigue coaxing her into dreams with her husband.
"It's a girl!" Jed called, grinning, and Donna forced her eyes open, trying to see her daughter, trying to focus on the scene before her, her husband holding up the sprawled, naked baby for her to see.
"A girl?" She had trouble comprehending the situation. When had she gone into labor?
"She's beautiful!" he gushed and Donna pushed past the strange feeling that something wasn't right, allowing the elation to flow over her at his joy. He had meant it when he told her, boy or girl, it didn't matter. Just healthy. And this new Bartlet apparently was, bellowing loudly in the delivery room.
Still, an irritating thought marred her total happiness and suddenly she gasped as she watched the smile slide from his lips, heard the hacking cough explode from his lungs, over and over, unstoppable. His knees buckled and he fell, their baby tumbling with him. She tried to reach for them, couldn't move, couldn't breath.
"No!" She tried to scream, but no sound came out. What was happening?
Trembling, Donna sat up in bed, staring into the dark, gulping down a relieved sob when she heard only the familiar tick of the clock and realized she was still in their bed in the residence. Her belly, still huge, pushed out, keeping her from leaning too far forward.
Dear Lord, what a horrible dream. She forced her heart to slow, worked on steadying her breathing.
"Jed?" Patting the bed next to her, she felt only the empty mattress. Then she heard the deep cough, rough and painful, and she knew that her subconscious mind had integrated the real sound into her dream. It came from the bathroom, echoing off the hard surfaces. Shaking off the cruel scene her own brain had conjured, she slid over to his side of the bed and peeped through the bathroom door.
Jed stood, still in his boxers, leaning over the sink, arms braced against the porcelain, muscles tensing as spasms jerked his whole body. As she drew closer, she heard him spit and she grimaced. If he was coughing up mucous, the infection must be worse. The doctor's warnings about pneumonia flew through her mind.
But when she stood over him and her eyes caught his expression, the shock on his face slapped her even harder than she anticipated. Following his stare to the sink, she gasped, her stomach surging upward to her throat. Bright splotches of red, mingling with the frothy saliva, clashed against the smooth white surface.
Red. Red.
Oh God! Oh God!
His gaze rose to meet hers, and the same alarm she saw in his eyes was most assuredly mirrored in hers.
He was coughing up blood.
Love's Creation - Chapter Two
A West Wing Story
by MAHC
He didn't see her when he entered. She knew because he didn't try to cover the utter exhaustion that visibly dragged him to the chair and refused, even though it was two a.m., to wait even for the discarding of his clothes. Standing just inside the bathroom door, she watched for another few minutes, hating to spy, but needing to see how he really felt, because he wouldn't admit it to her. Wouldn't admit to more than just a passing tiredness. But it was more, she could see now. And it scared her.
Arms draped over the sides of the chair, he coughed roughly and leaned back, eyes closed, legs stretched out before him, almost reclining somehow, in a straight-backed wing chair. After a moment, she moved toward him, calling softly to alert him, give him time, if he chose, to show her whatever face he wanted.
"Jed?"
Immediately, he straightened, clearing his throat and pushing to his feet with feigned energy. But she saw the grimace, heard the involuntary grunt. "Hey, Baby," he greeted, the lightness forced. Giving him a quick kiss, she unbuttoned his shirt, slipping it from his shoulders, then poured him a glass of brandy and extended it toward him. He lifted both eyebrows in surprise.
"That's service," he observed archly, taking the liquor. "What happened?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean the kiss, the shirt, the brandy. Is this going to cost me money?"
Despite her deep worry, she laughed. "Always, Big Boy," she returned, using the nickname without thinking, the first thing that sprang from her lips.
Now his brow arched even further. "Big Boy?" he questioned, chest puffing.
She blushed, even though it was just the two of them. At least his weariness lessened a bit with his amusement. And, she had to admit, the term certainly fit. "Remember," she reminded him, chuckling, "pride's a sin."
"Only when you don't have something to be proud of," he declared, brow bouncing once, and leering.
"You are hopeless."
"And you love me."
"Yes, I do."
"Okay." He nodded in satisfaction and sat, coughing again, and quickly losing the surge of enthusiasm that their conversation had prompted. "I'm sorry I'm so late."
Despite Jed's post-press conference promise of clearing the evening, Korea had apparently not left them the hell alone.
"What happened?" she asked, frowning at the tickle of concern the cough had triggered.
He knew instinctively that she referred to the phone call from the President of North Korea and she liked that they had begun to read each other. "He backed off on IAEA inspections. No restrictions. They'll send a group in next week."
Well, that was good news, wasn't it? "Is that what you wanted?"
A sigh, a swirl of brandy. "Some. Still gives them too much chance to hide anything they don't want us to see. It won't stop them, but maybe it'll delay them, at least - "
He didn't finish, but she could have finished for him. " - at least until I'm out of office and it's somebody else's problem."
And that wasn't like him. Not at all. No, he wanted to solve all the problems of the world himself and leave nothing for the next guy to do. That would be his legacy: Josiah Bartlet did everything. World perfect. End of story. And there was nothing she could do to change his deep-down desire for that really to happen, even though he saw the ridiculousness of it.
The quarter hour chime sang quietly. She had sent him off almost twelve hours ago to answer the call from the North Korean president. "Did it take that long to talk him into it?"
"Hmm?" His eyes stayed on the carpet, unfocused.
She cocked her head toward the clock. "The President of North Korea. Did it take that long to talk him into the inspections?"
Following her gaze, he sighed and answered, "Nah. Just a few minutes. He already knew he had no other choice."
"Then why - "
"Air Traffic Controllers."
"A strike?"
"No. Not yet, anyway. But I don't know - " The weariness with which his words trailed off disturbed her. "And the oil spill. Crews have started - " He stopped and glanced up at her. "Have you ever been to the Gulf Coast?"
Actually, yeah. "Once. With some friends. Destin."
"Beautiful beaches. White sand. Hard to walk on, though. Not as firmly packed as the Atlantic Seaboard - " He trailed off, his expression a little wistful, and curiosity pricked at her, wondering what memory he was re-living. A tired smile curved his lips. It must be a good memory. After a moment, he took a deep breath and shifted, sipping at the drink.
"Damned shame."
"What?"
"Those white sands are going to be black pretty soon. Probably already are."
"Is it a bad spill?"
He laughed without any humor. "Are there any good ones?" It could have been sarcastic, but his smile softened the words.
"No, I suppose not."
"Could be worse," he admitted. "Not a large tanker, and they've managed to contain a lot of it. Still, the wildlife - not to mention economic losses to the area."
She nodded again. There was no real response to that, anyway.
Minutes passed in silence. For a long while he stared ahead without really looking at anything. Finally, Donna leaned forward and ran her index finger around the rim of his glass, creating a hollow ring as the drop of brandy sang on the surface. It drew his attention again, and he looked up, smiling slightly. She caught his gaze once more, trying to convince her suspicious mind that it was merely making up needless problems. But at the expression on his face, she felt her heart drop. She could clearly see the tension in the tightness of his mouth, the extra lines on his forehead, the disturbing flush to his cheeks.
"Jed?"
An eyebrow rose in subtle acknowledgement.
"You okay?" She knew the answer already, already didn't believe it.
His eyes betrayed wariness, as if she had caught him at something he didn't want her to see. Then he masked it with a laugh, a forced, nervous sound that stumbled into another rough cough.
"Oh Baby, how could I not be okay? I'm sitting here looking at the most beautiful woman in the world who's carrying my child, and who kept me up - literally - all night last night. Yeah, I'm definitely okay." A strident hoarseness marred the usual smooth richness of his voice.
The hell you are, you charmer, she thought, noting the few beads of perspiration on his forehead. "Well, I didn't hear any complaints last night," she reminded him, wondering suddenly if they had done too much. But he'd seemed quite eager and willing at the time.
"You won't ever hear any from me," he assured her, his smile fading as he shifted stiffly in his chair.
Now his actions overrode his words and she abandoned the lighter banter to get straight to the point. "You look tired. And that cough doesn't sound so good, either." Understatement. "Back bothering you? Want me to rub it?" Want to admit what's really wrong?
She saw the smile, knew she had thrown him something he could grasp to minimize her concern, and even though she would let him think he had been successful, he had not been.
"Now that would be great," he decided, regarding the offered massage. With a leer, he asked, "How do you want me?"
She played along, tossing back, "I want you so many ways you can't imagine."
"Mmm. Can I try to imagine?" He stood, poorly concealing an involuntary wince at the movement, and walked to her chair, pulling her up with him, turning her so that his hands ran over her stomach, now protruding boldly.
She turned and tapped his chest lightly. "Lie down."
This time, uncharacteristically, he hesitated.
"Lie down so I can rub your back."
"Ah. I was wonderin' if it was just my back you wanted to rub," he allowed, stripping off his pants and tossing them onto the floor.
She shook her head. He was hopeless. "You'll tell me if I 'rub you the wrong way'?"
"Oh, I don't think that's possible," he assured her, his chuckle collapsing into another cough before he lay face down on the bed, arms cradling his head. She watched for a moment as he settled, her eyes roaming over the muscles of his shoulders, still strong despite the illness she tried to forget, still well-defined despite his self-deprecating jokes about their age difference. He was still quite handsome and she enjoyed watching him, especially those moments he was not aware of her gaze.
As her fingers ran over the long muscles on either side of his spine, pushing into him firmly and sliding slowly up to his shoulders, she frowned again at the heat under her palms. He was warm, warmer than usual, and she inched her way up his back to his neck, intent on a casual brush of his face to check her suspicions. After a few soft circular motions, she slipped the back of her hand over his forehead.
"Donna?" The voice held a warning. A warning she planned on completely ignoring.
"Josiah Bartlet," she scolded, fear and irritation mixing in a frustrated combination in her voice. "You have a fever. You knew that, too."
Now he rolled on his side, wiping a thumb across his face. "I told you I'm fine," he insisted, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and sitting, a broken cough belying his unconvincing protest.
Right. "Okay, sure. I can see that." She turned, bellowing, just as loudly as she had often accused Josh of doing. "Charlie!"
This brought Jed to his feet. "I told you - " But he had not gotten steadied before he paled and grabbed the bed's foot poster, sinking abruptly back onto the mattress.
"Jed!"
He sat for a moment, breathing shallowly, perspiration now trickling down his face. "I'm okay," he was saying, even though she could tell he was most definitely not okay.
Before she could issue a retort, Charlie flung open the door, the agent on duty following immediately behind. She saw from his face the anxiousness that certainly was mirrored by her own expression. It didn't occur to her until much later to wonder why he was still there so late.
"Mister President?" he questioned, stepping quickly around to the far side of the bed.
"I'm fine," Jed insisted again, gathering enough energy to glare at her before he launched into another sharp fit of coughing.
Charlie's eyes lifted and met hers and she didn't need to say another word. "I'll get Leo," he said, already lifting the phone receiver.
"And Admiral Hackett," Donna added, fielding her husband's fresh frown easily. Oh, please don't let this be happening now, she prayed. Not now when they seemed to have things under control, when they were only a few weeks away from the birth of their baby, the first birth in the White House to a President since the tragic few days of Patrick Bouvier Kennedy in 1963.
"Just lie back, Jed," she suggested, knowing that a command would only be met with resistance. "Lie back until Admiral Hackett gets here, okay? For me?"
That last entreaty seemed to have some effect. Or maybe he was weaker than she had thought, because he nodded and eased back in the bed, letting his head drop onto a pillow. Almost immediately, though, the coughing began again, choking him with its severity, and he sat up quickly. She realized he barely managed to keep from gagging at the reflexive contractions of his throat muscles.
The door burst open again and Leo flew in, coattails flapping as he crossed the room almost at a run. Obviously, he had been on his way out the door when Charlie caught him. Standing in front of Jed, he fought to catch his breath for a few seconds, then addressed his friend directly.
"Mister President? How do you feel?"
Managing to calm the coughs with water Donna had fetched for him from the bathroom, Jed pressed his lips together and raised a sardonic brow. "Well, let's see. I'm sitting in my bedroom in my underwear surrounded by irritatingly nosey people who should be at their own homes now instead of in mine bothering m- "
Before he could continue, the Chief of Staff interrupted, his tone refusing to hide even the least amount of exasperation. "Damn it, Jed! How long have you been sick?"
"Leo, I'm not sick - "
"How long?"
It wasn't often Donna saw this side of her husband's best and oldest friend. This was not the Chief of Staff addressing the President. This was a concerned, frustrated friend fussing at his equally stubborn friend.
"How long?"
Shoulders slumped, Jed finally sighed, coughed hard again, and admitted, "Mid-afternoon, I guess." He shrugged, attempting to lower the anxiety in the room. "It's no big deal, just a cold, that's all."
Mid-afternoon. After the press conference.
Now the guilt fell on her. She had kept him up - literally - most of the night. And it had been wonderfully erotic and fulfilling, but he couldn't have gotten more than two or three hours sleep. Then he had headed out early, staying in the Sit Room over North Korea most of the day, taking time out to sit with her and watch C.J. make the big announcement. Then the call from the North Korean president, apparently followed by more negotiations with air traffic controllers and the unexpected complication of an oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico. All this meant was yet another grueling twenty-hour day on only a few hours sleep.
Irritation at his disregard for his health joined with fear at the same thing. She did something she had never done before. She yelled at her husband. Well, she had done that before, but not in front of other people. Okay, not yelled, exactly. More like cautiously questioned. There was still some part of her that was the senior assistant to the deputy chief of staff standing in awe of the President of the United States. But she was working on it. Sleeping with him helped, even though it produced another reason for awe at times. Anyway, this was a first. This time, Leo, Charlie, and the secret service agent bore witness to her anger.
"You are the most stubborn man I have ever met!" she snapped, startling Jed along with everyone else in the room. "You have been sick all day - running a fever apparently - and you don't tell anybody? I cannot believe that!"
"Donna, Baby - "
Oh, those eyes! She faltered, but sucked up her anger again, determined to make him see how she felt.
"No! How long do you think you can keep going like this? How could you risk - How could you take a chance on not- " Now she choked back a sob at the thought. "On not being here for our baby - for me?"
The devastation that fell on his face tore at her heart. She saw the revelation in his eyes, the realization that what she suggested could actually happen.
"Oh, Donna. I didn't - I - " Now he turned to Leo. "Can you give us a moment?"
Reluctantly, but with understanding, Leo gathered everyone and left. When they were gone, Jed took her hands in his.
"Donna, you knew going into this what my job meant."
Well, she thought she did, but -
"This is not an unusual day," he continued. "And I don't have the luxury that others have of being sick." When she opened her mouth to debate him, he lifted a hand. "I don't. But - " Now he cradled her face in his hand and she knelt before him, looking up into his eyes. "I would never jeopardize my chance to be with you, Donna. And the baby - "
Swallowing, she nodded and managed to whisper, "Then do whatever Admiral Hackett says, okay?"
He smiled. "Okay. It's just a cold, really. No big deal."
Right. "I'm sure it is. Let's just let him take a look."
Again, he nodded and she rose, with a little more trouble than usual, just as the doctor peeked in.
"Mister President?"
"Yeah," he called, coughing and wiping perspiration from his face. "Come in."
Hackett's eyes caught Donna's, asking for answers he knew he wouldn't get from his patient. She shrugged, because she wasn't sure what to say, how to feel. Silently, she stood at his side as he examined her husband, listening to his heart, taking his temperature, feeling for swollen glands in his neck.
The exam stretched on, picking at her nerves, dragging at her patience. Periodically, Jed would break into an uncontrolled spasm of coughs, and Hackett had to pull away to wait it out. She studied her husband's face, took in the lines of fatigue he had worn for too long, noticed the care the Admiral took in listening to his chest, his back, saw the concentration on the doctor's brow. She almost screamed for someone to tell her something.
Finally, Hackett straightened and proclaimed, "Mister President, I feel like you have a summer cold."
A cold? Just a cold? A cold? Oh, thank God! Thank You!
Jed grinned for the first time all evening. "See? I told you I was fine. A cold - " Sneeze. " - that's all."
Hackett frowned. "Well, actually, sir," he cautioned, "don't let the word 'cold' fool you. This is probably a virus, feels like a mild case of the flu. Chills, fever, coughing, congestion, muscle aches. Treatable, certainly, but nothing to overlook, especially since - "
"Yeah," Jed acknowledged flatly.
All right. Not just a cold. Almost the flu. And she knew the dangers of the flu, remembered the panic caused by his collapse in the Oval Office several years before, had found out much later that Abbey had good cause to cancel her trip.
- a fever can be life-threatening -
"I'd really like to do a chest x-ray, just to make sure it's nothing worse."
Okay, stay calm. Worse? As in - "Doctor?"
He obviously sensed her anxiety. "Let's see how he does for the next twenty-four hours, Mrs. Bartlet. In bed now and through tomorrow, at least, Mister President," the doctor ordered, his face betraying absolutely no fear whatsoever of reprisal from the most powerful man on earth.
Jed frowned. "I'm in the middle of negotiations with North Korea. I've just barely, and possibly only temporarily, averted a strike by arguably the most critical employees in the world. And the Gulf Coast from Biloxi to Mobile is turning black. I don't have ti - "
With plenty of experience with this President, Hackett stood firm in the face of executive resistance. "Then instead of one day in bed, you'll end up in there for a week - or the hospital."
Donna tried to fight back her growing anxiety. "Could this - could it trigger - "
Hackett shrugged. "Any fever is dangerous, but if you follow orders things should be all right." Now he looked directly at his patient and added, "Mister President."
Finally, Jed nodded in resignation and sighed, sneezing loudly and shifting back onto the bed.
Donna saw the satisfaction on the doctor's face and tried to hide a smile. It wasn't every day he triumphed so easily over the President of the United States. "Lots of fluids, sir," he was instructing, glancing at her, too, in case his patient wasn't really listening. "You're already dehydrated. Gatorade is good, along with juices. It will lessen the possibility of cramps. Advil for the fever. It's not bad, just over 100, but we certainly don't want to give it any room to grow. And that cough is pretty nasty. I'll give you something for it, too. We don't want to tempt pneumonia."
Donna started at that possibility. Pneumonia!
"You need to sleep - " He continued, holding up a hand as Jed opened his mouth in protest. " - but I know you won't, so I'll send up a decongestant without antihistamine. Still, sir, take it easy the rest of today and tomorrow. All right? And if there are any other developments, rise in temperature, worsened cough, contact me immediately."
Another sneeze, followed by a cough. Jed nodded again, and answered, voice thick, now, as the congestion built. "All right. I'll be good." He smiled up at his wife. "At least I've got a beautiful nurse for my every need."
Hackett's eyes smiled, too, but warned at the same time. Donna figured he knew her husband pretty well. "For medical purposes, only, Mister President. Understood?"
Pouting, Jed growled, "You're no fun, Doc."
As he gathered up his bag, the stoic doctor handed her a small packet and surprised them all by throwing back, "Wait 'till you get my bill."
She stood for a moment after Hackett left, contemplating how firm she could be and still acquire his cooperation. Finally, after noting the stubborn slant to his jaw, she figured the hell with his cooperation, and decided she'd just run the show for a while.
"All right," she said, coaxing his legs up so she could pull the covers over him. "Sleep now."
"See, I've got to talk with Leo - "
"Uh uh."
"But I'm sure he's still here -"
"Uh uh. No Leo. No Korea. No air traffic controllers."
He opened his mouth, but she added, "And no oil spill. At least not until you've had a good night's sleep."
"But - "
"Nope." This might be the President of the United States, but he was also Donna Bartlet's husband now, and he was sick, and she was damned if he was going to get sicker. Besides, the look of total astonishment on his face at her unbreachable determination was priceless. He fell silent, bewilderment in his eyes, and lay back on the propped pillows.
She nodded in satisfaction and placed the two Advil capsules Hackett had left on his nightstand.
"You have a headache?" Donna asked, watching the lines between his eyebrows furrow.
"Nah."
"Yes, you do. You want an ice pack?"
"Donna, I'm okay."
"I'll get one, anyway," she decided. He would get better, whether he helped or not.
"I wonder if Tony Blair has to deal with this sort of tyranny," she heard him mumble as she moved to the door to ask Charlie for an ice pack.
When she came back, though, the capsules were gone and he lay, eyes closed on the pillows. The even breathing, louder than usual because of the congestion, told her he slept, although his rest was broken too frequently by hard coughs. Fever and a long day and previous night had taken their toll. Curling up beside him, she brushed a hand through his hair, then leaned back, herself, her own fatigue coaxing her into dreams with her husband.
"It's a girl!" Jed called, grinning, and Donna forced her eyes open, trying to see her daughter, trying to focus on the scene before her, her husband holding up the sprawled, naked baby for her to see.
"A girl?" She had trouble comprehending the situation. When had she gone into labor?
"She's beautiful!" he gushed and Donna pushed past the strange feeling that something wasn't right, allowing the elation to flow over her at his joy. He had meant it when he told her, boy or girl, it didn't matter. Just healthy. And this new Bartlet apparently was, bellowing loudly in the delivery room.
Still, an irritating thought marred her total happiness and suddenly she gasped as she watched the smile slide from his lips, heard the hacking cough explode from his lungs, over and over, unstoppable. His knees buckled and he fell, their baby tumbling with him. She tried to reach for them, couldn't move, couldn't breath.
"No!" She tried to scream, but no sound came out. What was happening?
Trembling, Donna sat up in bed, staring into the dark, gulping down a relieved sob when she heard only the familiar tick of the clock and realized she was still in their bed in the residence. Her belly, still huge, pushed out, keeping her from leaning too far forward.
Dear Lord, what a horrible dream. She forced her heart to slow, worked on steadying her breathing.
"Jed?" Patting the bed next to her, she felt only the empty mattress. Then she heard the deep cough, rough and painful, and she knew that her subconscious mind had integrated the real sound into her dream. It came from the bathroom, echoing off the hard surfaces. Shaking off the cruel scene her own brain had conjured, she slid over to his side of the bed and peeped through the bathroom door.
Jed stood, still in his boxers, leaning over the sink, arms braced against the porcelain, muscles tensing as spasms jerked his whole body. As she drew closer, she heard him spit and she grimaced. If he was coughing up mucous, the infection must be worse. The doctor's warnings about pneumonia flew through her mind.
But when she stood over him and her eyes caught his expression, the shock on his face slapped her even harder than she anticipated. Following his stare to the sink, she gasped, her stomach surging upward to her throat. Bright splotches of red, mingling with the frothy saliva, clashed against the smooth white surface.
Red. Red.
Oh God! Oh God!
His gaze rose to meet hers, and the same alarm she saw in his eyes was most assuredly mirrored in hers.
He was coughing up blood.