POV: Donna
Spoilers: None
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Although I wish Donna and Jed were mine (especially Jed), they
are not.
Love's Creation - Chapter Four A West Wing Story
by MAHC
Results. Results. I have some results for you, Mister President -
Here it was. Right in front of them, and as soon as someone acknowledged the lead in, as soon as someone responded to her, Dr. Raniero would say them - the words that would chart his course - their course. And Donna wanted to do it, wanted to speak, but she couldn't give up that one moment of innocence in which she could still pretend things were all right, nothing was wrong, their lives weren't about to be shoved through an emotional meat grinder and mutilated.
The best she could manage was a swallow, feeling the lump in her throat protest, trying her best not to throw up, not to turn around and run the other way away from the terrible pronouncement.
Breathe. Breathe.
She forced herself to look at Jed, even if she couldn't handle what she might see: fear, sorrow, devastation. But his expression remained neutral, blank, except for a slight furrow between his eyebrows.
"Okay," he finally prompted calmly, but she heard the tightness in his tone.
The doctor's slender body shifted slightly as she flipped the chart in her hands and considered it. Leo took an involuntary step forward, as if he needed to move, to prompt some response, to speed her along.
What? What? For God's sake, what it is?
Finally, she looked up and pursed her lips. "Actually, I have good news and bad news."
Oh God. Good news and bad news. She wanted only good news, but gritted her teeth, steeled herself.
"The bronchoscopy showed normal cells in the trachea with no foreign bodies or obstructions. That's the good news."
Okay. Normal cells. That did sound good, but what else? There was bad news. What?
"And the bad news?" That was Jed. Still calm, sounding just as he had when he asked Hackett for the worst-case scenario.
After only a brief pause, which nevertheless seemed like hours to Donna, the doctor answered. "The bad news is that there is severe inflammation of the bronchi, so severe that it has caused the hemoptysis."
Jed's head cocked to the side a bit. "Inflammation of the bronchi that - that means - "
"That means, Mister President," she declared, a strange curve touching her lips, almost like a smile, "that you have Acute Bronchitis."
Donna tried to read the olive face, tried to figure out exactly what she was saying. What? What? Say it again, please. But she somehow couldn't make her vocal chords work properly. Fortunately, her husband still maintained control of his verbal abilities.
"All right," he acknowledged, his voice still guarded. "What are we talking about?"
Right. What he said.
Raneiro closed the chart and finally looked directly at him. "That means that the viral infection identified by Doctor Hackett produced bronchial inflammation, which set the stage for bronchitis and secondary bacterial infection." Now the smile fell into a frown and she dared to lift a pointed brow at her commander-in-chief. "From going unattended, sir. You were too exhausted, too worn down, to fight it off, and it escalated rapidly."
"So the biopsy - "
"Well, we won't have the results for a little while on that, but when we got the tube down there it became obvious what had caused the bleeding. And analysis of the cells obtained in the lavage corroborate our initial observations. I feel very confident about the diagnosis."
But Donna was still trying to grasp the implications, not because she didn't understand, but because she just couldn't believe it. Does that mean - Does that mean he doesn't have -
Finally, she spluttered out, "Bronchitis? Bronchitis. Not - "
"Acute Bronchitis," Raniero confirmed, repeating the diagnosis. "We'll step up the antibiotics. I would say smoking should be avoided, but Doctor Hackett told me you have stopped. However, years of smoking, even as light a smoker as you have generally been, have made the lung tissue fragile, sensitive. I think that probably contributed to the hemoptysis. The good news of that is that there is visible reclamation by your body of the damaged tissue. If you don't smoke again, it should continue to regenerate in healthier tissue. That's not to say you're totally free of any risks, but - well, it's certainly a good sign."
Bronchitis. Not cancer? Not cancer? NOT CANCER! Her brain grabbed onto the revelation, caressed it, cradled it, shouted it. Thank God. And she did, literally.
Eyes closed, Leo had no qualms about voicing his similar opinion. "Thank God." She glanced at him and watched in amazement as the burden that pushed on his shoulders visibly lifted, pulling them straighter, smoothing his face, touching his cheeks with color.
Raniero was continuing. "You'll need to stay overnight, at least, Mister President, possibly longer. We'll set up a humidifier and continue fluid intake. And even though your cough might be painful, productive coughing is good for bringing up mucous, so we probably won't try to suppress it. Of course, if it threatens irritation of the trachea, we will give you something."
Donna's eyes finally shifted back to her husband, and, although his expression had not significantly changed, she could read the relief in every line of his body. A crisp nod acknowledged the doctor's assessment.
"If you follow instructions, Mister President," Raniero ordered boldly with the security of expertise, "you should be back on the job within the week. It will probably be at least a month to six weeks, however, before you're considered clear."
If Jed felt any resentment at the curt words, he didn't show it. On the contrary, he had finally allowed a smile to tug at his lips, finally turned to Donna and let his eyes reveal unshed tears that stood poised to wash away the anticipated pain.
Almost in a dream, she repeated the diagnosis to her doubtful perception. Bronchitis. Bronchitis. Not -
He was okay. Well, not totally, but he would be okay. He would be okay.
As the relief swept through her, Donna's knees weakened, wavering, a hot flush raced across her face and the room swayed dizzily. Just as the dark tunnel began to close in, she saw Jed, alarm on his face. He was off the bed, despite still fighting the lingering effects of the procedure, reaching out a steadying arm, even as Ron reached to steady him. Leo joined the collapsing group, trying to grab both the President and First Lady at the same time. All four ended up sitting on the hospital room floor.
"Donna?" The voice came from far away, but it was a familiar voice, a comforting voice, a loving voice. "Donna, Baby?"
I'm okay, she thought she said, but when she opened her eyes, no one's face registered any acknowledgement. The face closest to hers was her husband's. As her brain expanded the view, she noted that Jed sat back on his haunches, hospital gown askew and falling off his shoulders. Good thing he has on his boxers, she thought vaguely. His hand was pressed to her cheek.
"Mrs. Bartlet?" the doctor asked firmly. "Are you in pain? Are you feeling any contractions?"
Contractions? Was she? No - no, she wasn't. Just dizzy - and happy. Deliriously happy. She shook her head and lifted her hand to cover his against her cheek, smiling up into his worried eyes. A new wave of relief passed across his face and he slid to his knees, drawing her close and kissing her, right there in front of Leo, and Ron, and Dr. Raniero. And she didn't mind a bit.
When he pulled back, he braced a hand beneath her elbow to help her stand, but Ron moved in quickly.
"Let me do that, sir," he offered in a tone that all of them heard as a command, not a suggestion.
Jed frowned, but apparently saw the wisdom in the move and nodded, pushing himself to a standing position, which didn't last very long. Even as Ron helped Donna struggle to her feet, the President swayed precariously, face paling. Both Leo and the doctor rushed to support him back onto the bed, where he sat, catching his breath.
"Don't tell me I have two patients, now," Ranerio quipped, making sure Jed was secure before turning back to Donna. "Mrs. Bartlet, tell me how you are feeling at this moment."
She considered carefully, taking stock of her body. Really, except for a little light-headedness, she felt all right. No - not all right - great! Her husband was not facing a terminal illness and her baby was healthy and kicking. That was certainly more than she had anticipated a few minutes before. Yes, she felt great.
"I'm all right," she assured them. "Really. It's just that - well, I think the relief was a little too much for me. But that's okay," she added, holding up a hand and beaming at Jed, who had recovered somewhat and beamed back.
"I think you probably need to see your OB, though. I'll have my office call to tell her you're coming."
"No, I'm all ri -"
But the firm voice of her husband cut in. "Yes, thank you, Doctor. She'll go." He lowered his gaze to her, conveying silently his desire for her to do just that and she lifted her eyebrows in acquiescence. Without shifted his attention, he said, "Leo?"
Immediately, his oldest friend stepped forward, nodding and grinning. "Yes, sir. I'll take her."
She stared at both of them for a long moment, then shrugged and accepted Leo's arm, knowing it wouldn't do any good anyway.
Charlie Young cleared his throat with obvious intent as he entered the room. Donna smirked. Even with her husband confined to the Residence for at least two more days, sidelined by illness, his personal aide still wasn't taking any chances on interrupting something he'd pay for later.
"Come on in, Charlie," Jed called from the couch, his cough still persistent, but rumbling with the signs of finally breaking up.
"Mister President," the young man said, "Admiral Fitzwallace and Doctor McNally would like to speak with you if possible."
Trying to clear his throat, Jed settled for a simple hand motion to let Charlie know they could enter.
"Jed," she warned softly, not wanting to let her displeasure be known to anyone except her husband.
"I'm fine, Donna," he assured her, gesturing a casual hand in the air. "Really. I'll just be a minute with them."
A frown crossed her brow and he saw it, as she had intended. "The doctor said - "
"The doctor said to take it easy, and I am. But Fitz and Nancy have something important I need to deal with. I don't have a choice." His mouth smiled, but his eyes didn't. She knew it, too. Knew he didn't have a choice. Knew he tried to take care of himself for her - for the baby. But she also knew he couldn't ignore his duty, couldn't just stop being the President of the United States.
Finally, she smiled back, silently acknowledging his point. "You need anything?" she conceded.
"No." Again he smiled and this time it reached his eyes. "Come here."
As he stood, she walked into his arms, her belly making him lean forward to kiss her. It was a soft kiss, not totally devoid of passion, but not holding any promise for immediate escalation. He was sworn off for the next few weeks. Doctor's orders, damn it.
"Excuse us, Mister President." The voice was startled and full of chagrin. They both looked around at the faces of Admiral Fitzwallace and Nancy McNally. The former grinned widely; the latter winced. McNally continued. "Should we come back later?"
He laughed and released his wife, turning to extend a hand to his National Security Advisor. "Nah. You didn't interrupt anything."
Fitz coughed suddenly and Jed threw a mock glare his way before returning his attention to McNally. "What do you guys have?"
"Plutonium reserves, sir, voluntarily relinquished at Yongbyon." Her voice held more than a hint of triumph.
"They turned it over?" the President asked, astonished.
"Yes, sir," Fitzwallace said. "IAEA feels it is a significant amount, possibly ninety percent of their stores."
Donna watched her husband carefully, seeing him shift his stance, pull his hands from the robe pockets. "Why?"
Nancy answered first. "They're desperate, Mister President. They need our help to build the power plant. We refused until they turned over their supplies of plutonium."
"But we don't have all of it."
"No, sir, but I think we have enough. It will be years before they can acquire enough to bring them back up to where they were. In the meantime - "
"In the meantime, they can grow economically with our help," he finished.
Fitz nodded. "Exactly."
They all waited for a long moment, waited for confirmation of what they wanted to do, waited for their Commander-in-Chief to give the word.
Finally, Jed pursed his lips and sighed. "How many years?"
"Sir?" Fitz asked.
"How many years until they can re-supply?"
"Five. Maybe even ten."
More thinking. More waiting.
"I want it all," the President decided. "Not ninety percent. Not 'enough.' All."
If Nancy was disappointed in her leader, she didn't show it. As a matter of fact, her eyes seemed to shine a little brighter as she nodded crisply.
"All right," Jed said, and everyone in the room knew it was a signal that he was finished. The conversation was over.
"Thank you, Mister President," Fitzwallace said as he and the National Security Advisor left.
Donna watched her husband. He sighed and braced a hand on the back of the couch, turning to look into the fireplace that was currently hosting the first warm blaze of the season. She trailed her eyes to the window and counted the turning leaves. More than half the trees blazed with golden, burgundy, and crimson.
"Hard decision?" she asked, still not sure what her role was in foreign politics.
An unpleasant chuckle shook him slightly. "No. The funny part is that wasn't a hard decision. But it might be a hard result if it backfires."
"You mean they might not be that desperate?"
He coughed again, and shook his head. "I think they are." With a shrug, he turned back to her, smiling. "We'll see, anyway. Now, where was I?" His arms slinked around her non-existent waist in a valiant, but vain, attempt to encircle it.
"Jed," she protested, knowing it would only frustrate both of them.
With a quick kiss, he stepped back, keeping his hand on her belly. "I felt her," he grinned.
Not too hard these days. The baby danced and boxed most of the time now, making it a point to be most active when Donna wanted to rest. The funny thing was if she wanted to show off the baby's kicking prowess, nothing happened, but anytime Jed placed his hand on her to feel, his child cooperated immediately. Figured.
"Hey, Emily," he whispered.
Emily? "Where'd that come from?"
He cut his eyes to look up at her. "I don't know. I just like it. What about you?"
Apparently, this was name time. They had tiptoed around the subject for months, now, and this was the first time he had initiated any conversation about that subject. Donna wasn't exactly sure where she stood on it. She was afraid to suggest what she really wanted, thinking it was too weird. She didn't know how he would take it.
"It's nice," she agreed.
Standing with more ease than he had a few days before, he took her hand and led her back to the couch. "I guess it's time to talk about this," he said.
It was natural, now, assuming the position with him lying on the sofa, his legs spread so she could lie between them, his hands automatically moving to her belly. They settled in for a moment before he continued.
"Donna, I have named, or at least given in to names for three people in my life - not to mention a good number of dogs, cats, hamsters, horses, and one porcupine."
"Porcupine?"
"Long story. What I'm saying is, you can name her anything you want. I know whatever you choose will be wonderful." She heard the smile in his voice and felt a swell of love and excitement.
"Anything?"
"Well, unless you're goin' for Moon Unit or somethin' like that."
"Moon Unit Bartlet. Has a ring to it, don't you think?"
His silence surprised her. Surely he didn't think -
"I had a Boxer named Apollo, once. Buzz Aldrin gave him to the girls when I was in Congress."
Okay, there was probably a connection there, but she wasn't sure she knew exactly what it was. "Jed?"
"Yeah?"
"Why do you always call the baby her? Why do you think it's a girl?"
She felt his shrug push at her own shoulders. "I don't know. I just do."
"It could be a boy," she posed.
"It's a girl." Said with no regret, but with conviction.
"How do you know?"
"I just know."
Twisting a little so she could see his face, she lowered her brow. "You just know, huh? Do you know everything?"
"Pretty much." Then he laughed. "Hey, who is the Trivial Pursuit King?"
"I did win that once," she reminded him, a tingle running through her at the memory of what happened that evening. They had kissed, passionately, and she even got his shirt off before he regained enough control to stop the spiraling momentum. But she had declared her desire for him flat out, stunning him, and paving the way for their first incredible night together a few weeks later.
"Want a rematch?" she challenged.
"Now?"
Snuggling back against him, she said, "Sure. Okay, I've got one. Who is the sexiest President?"
"Hmm. Let's see - Kennedy?"
"Not Kennedy."
He paused for a moment, then offered, "Harding was considered handsome."
"Nope."
"Grover Cleveland."
"Grover Cleveland?" Strange that he should bring him up. She thought back to her conversation with Margaret about that very person so many months ago.
Jed argued his point. "He married a much younger woman, had a family with her. Even withheld the fact that he had a serious illness. Imagine that."
"Illness?" New information for her.
"Throat cancer."
"Really?"
"Yeah. He even had surgery while he was in office. " A rueful sigh escaped. "He didn't have the same press corps to contend with."
She closed her eyes as his thumb rubbed gently across her abdomen. "Why do you think his wife married him?"
"Charm, sex appeal."
"Grover Cleveland? Maybe he had money."
He lifted his head and she felt his breath on her cheek. "Are you saying that's the only reason a younger woman marries an older man?"
Trying to stifle a giggle, she said, "Well, it helps."
He grunted in mock insult.
"But that's not the only reason."
"No? What else?"
"Because he's handsome, and he's kind, and he's funny - and he's really good in bed," she declared.
She heard him swallow and couldn't ignore the immediate reaction of his body beneath hers. "Uh oh. Can't start that."
A groan pushed from his lips. "There's a word for a woman like you."
"Yeah, I know - "
But before she could say it, he supplied, "Beautiful."
God, she loved this man. "Jed?"
"Hmm?"
Should she do it? Go on. Take the chance. You'll never find out, otherwise. "What about Abigail?"
The stiffness that suddenly hardened his muscles revealed his feelings clearly. After a very long pause, he asked in a whisper, "What about her?"
Gently. Do this gently. "Our child. What about naming her Abigail?" Her heart quickened in anticipation of his response.
She had to wait at least two full minutes before he spoke. When he did, his voice was raw with emotion. "You would - you would do that?"
Now she turned in his arms, lay on her side so she could look up at him. "I think it's the perfect name."
The brightness in his eyes overflowed into tears, even though he remained silent. Finally, a simple nod told her everything she needed to know, and he eased her onto her back again, curling his body around her, his lips in her hair, his arms enfolding her tenderly.
They lay in silence, watching the flames leap and dance until the light from the windows faded so that only the warm, cozy reflection of the blaze provided the only illumination to the room. And Charlie found them that way, asleep, when he came to check on them.
Love's Creation - Chapter Four A West Wing Story
by MAHC
Results. Results. I have some results for you, Mister President -
Here it was. Right in front of them, and as soon as someone acknowledged the lead in, as soon as someone responded to her, Dr. Raniero would say them - the words that would chart his course - their course. And Donna wanted to do it, wanted to speak, but she couldn't give up that one moment of innocence in which she could still pretend things were all right, nothing was wrong, their lives weren't about to be shoved through an emotional meat grinder and mutilated.
The best she could manage was a swallow, feeling the lump in her throat protest, trying her best not to throw up, not to turn around and run the other way away from the terrible pronouncement.
Breathe. Breathe.
She forced herself to look at Jed, even if she couldn't handle what she might see: fear, sorrow, devastation. But his expression remained neutral, blank, except for a slight furrow between his eyebrows.
"Okay," he finally prompted calmly, but she heard the tightness in his tone.
The doctor's slender body shifted slightly as she flipped the chart in her hands and considered it. Leo took an involuntary step forward, as if he needed to move, to prompt some response, to speed her along.
What? What? For God's sake, what it is?
Finally, she looked up and pursed her lips. "Actually, I have good news and bad news."
Oh God. Good news and bad news. She wanted only good news, but gritted her teeth, steeled herself.
"The bronchoscopy showed normal cells in the trachea with no foreign bodies or obstructions. That's the good news."
Okay. Normal cells. That did sound good, but what else? There was bad news. What?
"And the bad news?" That was Jed. Still calm, sounding just as he had when he asked Hackett for the worst-case scenario.
After only a brief pause, which nevertheless seemed like hours to Donna, the doctor answered. "The bad news is that there is severe inflammation of the bronchi, so severe that it has caused the hemoptysis."
Jed's head cocked to the side a bit. "Inflammation of the bronchi that - that means - "
"That means, Mister President," she declared, a strange curve touching her lips, almost like a smile, "that you have Acute Bronchitis."
Donna tried to read the olive face, tried to figure out exactly what she was saying. What? What? Say it again, please. But she somehow couldn't make her vocal chords work properly. Fortunately, her husband still maintained control of his verbal abilities.
"All right," he acknowledged, his voice still guarded. "What are we talking about?"
Right. What he said.
Raneiro closed the chart and finally looked directly at him. "That means that the viral infection identified by Doctor Hackett produced bronchial inflammation, which set the stage for bronchitis and secondary bacterial infection." Now the smile fell into a frown and she dared to lift a pointed brow at her commander-in-chief. "From going unattended, sir. You were too exhausted, too worn down, to fight it off, and it escalated rapidly."
"So the biopsy - "
"Well, we won't have the results for a little while on that, but when we got the tube down there it became obvious what had caused the bleeding. And analysis of the cells obtained in the lavage corroborate our initial observations. I feel very confident about the diagnosis."
But Donna was still trying to grasp the implications, not because she didn't understand, but because she just couldn't believe it. Does that mean - Does that mean he doesn't have -
Finally, she spluttered out, "Bronchitis? Bronchitis. Not - "
"Acute Bronchitis," Raniero confirmed, repeating the diagnosis. "We'll step up the antibiotics. I would say smoking should be avoided, but Doctor Hackett told me you have stopped. However, years of smoking, even as light a smoker as you have generally been, have made the lung tissue fragile, sensitive. I think that probably contributed to the hemoptysis. The good news of that is that there is visible reclamation by your body of the damaged tissue. If you don't smoke again, it should continue to regenerate in healthier tissue. That's not to say you're totally free of any risks, but - well, it's certainly a good sign."
Bronchitis. Not cancer? Not cancer? NOT CANCER! Her brain grabbed onto the revelation, caressed it, cradled it, shouted it. Thank God. And she did, literally.
Eyes closed, Leo had no qualms about voicing his similar opinion. "Thank God." She glanced at him and watched in amazement as the burden that pushed on his shoulders visibly lifted, pulling them straighter, smoothing his face, touching his cheeks with color.
Raniero was continuing. "You'll need to stay overnight, at least, Mister President, possibly longer. We'll set up a humidifier and continue fluid intake. And even though your cough might be painful, productive coughing is good for bringing up mucous, so we probably won't try to suppress it. Of course, if it threatens irritation of the trachea, we will give you something."
Donna's eyes finally shifted back to her husband, and, although his expression had not significantly changed, she could read the relief in every line of his body. A crisp nod acknowledged the doctor's assessment.
"If you follow instructions, Mister President," Raniero ordered boldly with the security of expertise, "you should be back on the job within the week. It will probably be at least a month to six weeks, however, before you're considered clear."
If Jed felt any resentment at the curt words, he didn't show it. On the contrary, he had finally allowed a smile to tug at his lips, finally turned to Donna and let his eyes reveal unshed tears that stood poised to wash away the anticipated pain.
Almost in a dream, she repeated the diagnosis to her doubtful perception. Bronchitis. Bronchitis. Not -
He was okay. Well, not totally, but he would be okay. He would be okay.
As the relief swept through her, Donna's knees weakened, wavering, a hot flush raced across her face and the room swayed dizzily. Just as the dark tunnel began to close in, she saw Jed, alarm on his face. He was off the bed, despite still fighting the lingering effects of the procedure, reaching out a steadying arm, even as Ron reached to steady him. Leo joined the collapsing group, trying to grab both the President and First Lady at the same time. All four ended up sitting on the hospital room floor.
"Donna?" The voice came from far away, but it was a familiar voice, a comforting voice, a loving voice. "Donna, Baby?"
I'm okay, she thought she said, but when she opened her eyes, no one's face registered any acknowledgement. The face closest to hers was her husband's. As her brain expanded the view, she noted that Jed sat back on his haunches, hospital gown askew and falling off his shoulders. Good thing he has on his boxers, she thought vaguely. His hand was pressed to her cheek.
"Mrs. Bartlet?" the doctor asked firmly. "Are you in pain? Are you feeling any contractions?"
Contractions? Was she? No - no, she wasn't. Just dizzy - and happy. Deliriously happy. She shook her head and lifted her hand to cover his against her cheek, smiling up into his worried eyes. A new wave of relief passed across his face and he slid to his knees, drawing her close and kissing her, right there in front of Leo, and Ron, and Dr. Raniero. And she didn't mind a bit.
When he pulled back, he braced a hand beneath her elbow to help her stand, but Ron moved in quickly.
"Let me do that, sir," he offered in a tone that all of them heard as a command, not a suggestion.
Jed frowned, but apparently saw the wisdom in the move and nodded, pushing himself to a standing position, which didn't last very long. Even as Ron helped Donna struggle to her feet, the President swayed precariously, face paling. Both Leo and the doctor rushed to support him back onto the bed, where he sat, catching his breath.
"Don't tell me I have two patients, now," Ranerio quipped, making sure Jed was secure before turning back to Donna. "Mrs. Bartlet, tell me how you are feeling at this moment."
She considered carefully, taking stock of her body. Really, except for a little light-headedness, she felt all right. No - not all right - great! Her husband was not facing a terminal illness and her baby was healthy and kicking. That was certainly more than she had anticipated a few minutes before. Yes, she felt great.
"I'm all right," she assured them. "Really. It's just that - well, I think the relief was a little too much for me. But that's okay," she added, holding up a hand and beaming at Jed, who had recovered somewhat and beamed back.
"I think you probably need to see your OB, though. I'll have my office call to tell her you're coming."
"No, I'm all ri -"
But the firm voice of her husband cut in. "Yes, thank you, Doctor. She'll go." He lowered his gaze to her, conveying silently his desire for her to do just that and she lifted her eyebrows in acquiescence. Without shifted his attention, he said, "Leo?"
Immediately, his oldest friend stepped forward, nodding and grinning. "Yes, sir. I'll take her."
She stared at both of them for a long moment, then shrugged and accepted Leo's arm, knowing it wouldn't do any good anyway.
Charlie Young cleared his throat with obvious intent as he entered the room. Donna smirked. Even with her husband confined to the Residence for at least two more days, sidelined by illness, his personal aide still wasn't taking any chances on interrupting something he'd pay for later.
"Come on in, Charlie," Jed called from the couch, his cough still persistent, but rumbling with the signs of finally breaking up.
"Mister President," the young man said, "Admiral Fitzwallace and Doctor McNally would like to speak with you if possible."
Trying to clear his throat, Jed settled for a simple hand motion to let Charlie know they could enter.
"Jed," she warned softly, not wanting to let her displeasure be known to anyone except her husband.
"I'm fine, Donna," he assured her, gesturing a casual hand in the air. "Really. I'll just be a minute with them."
A frown crossed her brow and he saw it, as she had intended. "The doctor said - "
"The doctor said to take it easy, and I am. But Fitz and Nancy have something important I need to deal with. I don't have a choice." His mouth smiled, but his eyes didn't. She knew it, too. Knew he didn't have a choice. Knew he tried to take care of himself for her - for the baby. But she also knew he couldn't ignore his duty, couldn't just stop being the President of the United States.
Finally, she smiled back, silently acknowledging his point. "You need anything?" she conceded.
"No." Again he smiled and this time it reached his eyes. "Come here."
As he stood, she walked into his arms, her belly making him lean forward to kiss her. It was a soft kiss, not totally devoid of passion, but not holding any promise for immediate escalation. He was sworn off for the next few weeks. Doctor's orders, damn it.
"Excuse us, Mister President." The voice was startled and full of chagrin. They both looked around at the faces of Admiral Fitzwallace and Nancy McNally. The former grinned widely; the latter winced. McNally continued. "Should we come back later?"
He laughed and released his wife, turning to extend a hand to his National Security Advisor. "Nah. You didn't interrupt anything."
Fitz coughed suddenly and Jed threw a mock glare his way before returning his attention to McNally. "What do you guys have?"
"Plutonium reserves, sir, voluntarily relinquished at Yongbyon." Her voice held more than a hint of triumph.
"They turned it over?" the President asked, astonished.
"Yes, sir," Fitzwallace said. "IAEA feels it is a significant amount, possibly ninety percent of their stores."
Donna watched her husband carefully, seeing him shift his stance, pull his hands from the robe pockets. "Why?"
Nancy answered first. "They're desperate, Mister President. They need our help to build the power plant. We refused until they turned over their supplies of plutonium."
"But we don't have all of it."
"No, sir, but I think we have enough. It will be years before they can acquire enough to bring them back up to where they were. In the meantime - "
"In the meantime, they can grow economically with our help," he finished.
Fitz nodded. "Exactly."
They all waited for a long moment, waited for confirmation of what they wanted to do, waited for their Commander-in-Chief to give the word.
Finally, Jed pursed his lips and sighed. "How many years?"
"Sir?" Fitz asked.
"How many years until they can re-supply?"
"Five. Maybe even ten."
More thinking. More waiting.
"I want it all," the President decided. "Not ninety percent. Not 'enough.' All."
If Nancy was disappointed in her leader, she didn't show it. As a matter of fact, her eyes seemed to shine a little brighter as she nodded crisply.
"All right," Jed said, and everyone in the room knew it was a signal that he was finished. The conversation was over.
"Thank you, Mister President," Fitzwallace said as he and the National Security Advisor left.
Donna watched her husband. He sighed and braced a hand on the back of the couch, turning to look into the fireplace that was currently hosting the first warm blaze of the season. She trailed her eyes to the window and counted the turning leaves. More than half the trees blazed with golden, burgundy, and crimson.
"Hard decision?" she asked, still not sure what her role was in foreign politics.
An unpleasant chuckle shook him slightly. "No. The funny part is that wasn't a hard decision. But it might be a hard result if it backfires."
"You mean they might not be that desperate?"
He coughed again, and shook his head. "I think they are." With a shrug, he turned back to her, smiling. "We'll see, anyway. Now, where was I?" His arms slinked around her non-existent waist in a valiant, but vain, attempt to encircle it.
"Jed," she protested, knowing it would only frustrate both of them.
With a quick kiss, he stepped back, keeping his hand on her belly. "I felt her," he grinned.
Not too hard these days. The baby danced and boxed most of the time now, making it a point to be most active when Donna wanted to rest. The funny thing was if she wanted to show off the baby's kicking prowess, nothing happened, but anytime Jed placed his hand on her to feel, his child cooperated immediately. Figured.
"Hey, Emily," he whispered.
Emily? "Where'd that come from?"
He cut his eyes to look up at her. "I don't know. I just like it. What about you?"
Apparently, this was name time. They had tiptoed around the subject for months, now, and this was the first time he had initiated any conversation about that subject. Donna wasn't exactly sure where she stood on it. She was afraid to suggest what she really wanted, thinking it was too weird. She didn't know how he would take it.
"It's nice," she agreed.
Standing with more ease than he had a few days before, he took her hand and led her back to the couch. "I guess it's time to talk about this," he said.
It was natural, now, assuming the position with him lying on the sofa, his legs spread so she could lie between them, his hands automatically moving to her belly. They settled in for a moment before he continued.
"Donna, I have named, or at least given in to names for three people in my life - not to mention a good number of dogs, cats, hamsters, horses, and one porcupine."
"Porcupine?"
"Long story. What I'm saying is, you can name her anything you want. I know whatever you choose will be wonderful." She heard the smile in his voice and felt a swell of love and excitement.
"Anything?"
"Well, unless you're goin' for Moon Unit or somethin' like that."
"Moon Unit Bartlet. Has a ring to it, don't you think?"
His silence surprised her. Surely he didn't think -
"I had a Boxer named Apollo, once. Buzz Aldrin gave him to the girls when I was in Congress."
Okay, there was probably a connection there, but she wasn't sure she knew exactly what it was. "Jed?"
"Yeah?"
"Why do you always call the baby her? Why do you think it's a girl?"
She felt his shrug push at her own shoulders. "I don't know. I just do."
"It could be a boy," she posed.
"It's a girl." Said with no regret, but with conviction.
"How do you know?"
"I just know."
Twisting a little so she could see his face, she lowered her brow. "You just know, huh? Do you know everything?"
"Pretty much." Then he laughed. "Hey, who is the Trivial Pursuit King?"
"I did win that once," she reminded him, a tingle running through her at the memory of what happened that evening. They had kissed, passionately, and she even got his shirt off before he regained enough control to stop the spiraling momentum. But she had declared her desire for him flat out, stunning him, and paving the way for their first incredible night together a few weeks later.
"Want a rematch?" she challenged.
"Now?"
Snuggling back against him, she said, "Sure. Okay, I've got one. Who is the sexiest President?"
"Hmm. Let's see - Kennedy?"
"Not Kennedy."
He paused for a moment, then offered, "Harding was considered handsome."
"Nope."
"Grover Cleveland."
"Grover Cleveland?" Strange that he should bring him up. She thought back to her conversation with Margaret about that very person so many months ago.
Jed argued his point. "He married a much younger woman, had a family with her. Even withheld the fact that he had a serious illness. Imagine that."
"Illness?" New information for her.
"Throat cancer."
"Really?"
"Yeah. He even had surgery while he was in office. " A rueful sigh escaped. "He didn't have the same press corps to contend with."
She closed her eyes as his thumb rubbed gently across her abdomen. "Why do you think his wife married him?"
"Charm, sex appeal."
"Grover Cleveland? Maybe he had money."
He lifted his head and she felt his breath on her cheek. "Are you saying that's the only reason a younger woman marries an older man?"
Trying to stifle a giggle, she said, "Well, it helps."
He grunted in mock insult.
"But that's not the only reason."
"No? What else?"
"Because he's handsome, and he's kind, and he's funny - and he's really good in bed," she declared.
She heard him swallow and couldn't ignore the immediate reaction of his body beneath hers. "Uh oh. Can't start that."
A groan pushed from his lips. "There's a word for a woman like you."
"Yeah, I know - "
But before she could say it, he supplied, "Beautiful."
God, she loved this man. "Jed?"
"Hmm?"
Should she do it? Go on. Take the chance. You'll never find out, otherwise. "What about Abigail?"
The stiffness that suddenly hardened his muscles revealed his feelings clearly. After a very long pause, he asked in a whisper, "What about her?"
Gently. Do this gently. "Our child. What about naming her Abigail?" Her heart quickened in anticipation of his response.
She had to wait at least two full minutes before he spoke. When he did, his voice was raw with emotion. "You would - you would do that?"
Now she turned in his arms, lay on her side so she could look up at him. "I think it's the perfect name."
The brightness in his eyes overflowed into tears, even though he remained silent. Finally, a simple nod told her everything she needed to know, and he eased her onto her back again, curling his body around her, his lips in her hair, his arms enfolding her tenderly.
They lay in silence, watching the flames leap and dance until the light from the windows faded so that only the warm, cozy reflection of the blaze provided the only illumination to the room. And Charlie found them that way, asleep, when he came to check on them.