POV: Donna
Spoilers: None
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine.
All the Way - Chapter Four A West Wing Story
by MAHC
"'On the fifth day the squirrels brought a present of wild honey; it was so sweet and sticky that they licked their fingers as they put it down upon the stone. They had stolen it out of a bumble bees' nest on the tippitty top of the hill. But Nutkin skipped up and down, singing - '"
Donna Bartlet slowed her brisk stride as she drew closer to the nursery, letting the familiar, rich voice flow over her, its smooth strains comforting, endearing. Carefully, she peeked around the door, hesitant to break whatever magic was being practiced in the room. In the rocking chair sat her husband, baby cradled in the crook of his left arm, book held out before him in his right hand, glasses perched a little low on the bridge of his nose. He was as relaxed as she had seen him in a long time, dressed in worn jeans and a soft, thin sweater that buttoned at the neck. She smirked as he sang the silly song, but the smirk turned into a tremble at the fragile tenderness in his voice.
"'Hum-a-bum. Buzz! Buzz! Hum-a-bum buzz! As I went over tipple-tine I met a flock of bonny swine; Some yellow-nacked, some yellow backed! They were the very bonniest swine That e'er went over Tipple-tine.'"
Okay, the smirk was back. Surely he was not singing that to the tune of "Yellow Submarine." She listened closer. Yep. That was it. She somehow doubted that Beatrix Potter had that song in mind when she wrote her famous children's book. Nevertheless, the words actually almost fit, and J.T. seemed completely taken with his father's serenade, his eyes, which mirrored Jed's, wide and alert, his arms waving in excitement.
Nimbly turning the page with his thumb, Jed continued reading. "'Old Mister Brown turned up his eyes in disgust at the impertinence of Nutkin. But he ate up the honey!'" He paused, looking away from the book and directly at his son. "Now, John Thomas, there's a word you need to know, especially when dealing with republicans. "'Impertinence.' Rudeness. Insolence. Sauciness."
She watched him grin and wondered what he was thinking until he confided, "Well, rudeness and insolence are one thing. But sauciness. Now that's not necessarily bad. Your mom, for example, can be quite saucy."
"Jed!"
It was out before she could stop herself. She marched into the room, hands on hips, expecting him to jump at the sudden intrusion, even to be angry at her eavesdropping. But once again, he surprised her.
Without flinching, without even turning, he said, "See?"
And the moment was so natural, so relaxed, so welcome, that she found herself with a goofy smile on her face and tears in her eyes. He turned then, and his eyes scanned her, ran up and down the length of her, devouring her without a word. For a moment she envisioned him standing and laying the baby back in the crib, then taking her hand and leading her to their bedroom, to their bed, touching her, holding her, loving her.
When she focused again, though, he was still sitting in the chair, still holding J.T. But he was still looking at her, too. Loath to lose the precious moment, she smiled at him, as invitingly as she could.
"What eventually happens to Squirrel Nutkin?" she asked, partly in jest, partly in real interest.
To her delight, Jed had apparently decided to play along. "Old Mister Brown beat the hell out of him and made squirrel dumplings later that night."
"Seriously?" That seemed rather violent, even for Beatrix Potter.
Jed laughed. Not his true, deep, laugh, but a pleasant sound, nevertheless. "Nah. Actually, he was going to skin him, but Nutkin escaped. Of course, he broke his tail in two in the process."
Ouch. "What a lovely story," she decided with a grimace.
"But great vocabulary," he countered.
"So we'll have a sesquipedalian son who is a bully."
His brow rose sharply in surprise and she laughed. She had been waiting at least three months to use that word, one she had discovered from "It Pays to Increase Your Word Power" in an old Reader's Digest she ran across at two in the morning.
"Sesquipedalian," she repeated in her best teacher's voice. "Having many syllables. Using long words."
"I know what it - I just didn't think - " He wisely stopped before getting his foot too far into his mouth, a mouth that could - and sometimes did - boast of years of experience and talent with sesquipedalian words.
She grinned. "I think just about any comment you can make right now would plunge you to the depths of hypocrisy."
To his credit, he simply shrugged in acceptance and, shifting J.T. to his right arm, stood and settled the baby in his crib, turning on the mobile of the planets above him. It was a gift from Toby, strangely enough, and Donna figured the communications chief couldn't bring himself to purchase Noah's Ark or Winnie the Pooh figures. So, instead, her child's early visual experience was a cloth Saturn and Jupiter smashing into each other every time the infant kicked hard.
When no scream of protest drew him back down to the crib, he straightened and took several steps forward. Her heart leaped in her chest at the prospect of feeling his touch again, of having his arms around her. But he stopped short of that. Still, he reached out and took her hands in his.
"Donna," he began, eyes shifted downward with uncharacteristic hesitancy. Discomfort stiffened his body.
She waited.
He tried again. "Donna, I know I - I know things have been - well, sometimes things happen that - that are hard to face - "
Oh God. The tightness that squeezed her throat took her breath. What was he saying? What was he saying?
"Something's happened and I feel, well, I need to tell you - I don't want to - "
I'm going to throw up, she thought. He's telling me he doesn't love me anymore - that he doesn't feel the same way he did - or maybe he never really loved me - and I am going to throw up.
But before he could drop the hideous news on her, a knock at the door interrupted. She saw his jaw muscles clench in frustration. "Yeah?" he called, not at all politely.
Peeking in, Charlie winced when he saw the two of them holding hands. "I'm sorry, sir, but you wanted to know as soon as Agent Butterfield - "
"Yes!" he snapped, dropping her grip and stepping past her in only a second or two. "Tell him I'll be right there." Almost as an afterthought, he glanced back at her. "I'm sorry. I'll - We'll talk later."
She wasn't sure why she blurted it out. Maybe it really was because she didn't know what to say. "Don't bother. I'll be shopping - If I'm still allowed to go."
He stopped and swung back around, the line of his jaw twitching. "Donna, I told you that - " With visible effort, he locked down his anger and drew his voice to an even level. "I said Ron would arrange it."
"Yeah. Thanks." Well, damn it. She had promised herself not to lose her cool, not to antagonize him. But what did it really matter now? "I guess my mom won't mind getting a White House paper weight for Christmas this year?"
"Your mom?" It was something about the way he asked that set off the alarms in her brain. Like he didn't know what she was talking about.
"My mom. You know, the mother of your wife." Maybe she put too much of a sneer on "wife," but he didn't seem to notice.
He frowned and the visible defensive mask slid over his features. "What about her?"
The alarms rang louder now, quickening her pulse. "She's - she's coming for Christmas, along with Dad and Gino - "
"Yeah. Okay." But, despite his quick agreement, he had been surprised, had not remembered that - even though they had discussed it already.
Donna forced herself to stay calm, tried to hear over the clanging in her head, urged the battling emotions not to destroy her just yet.
"Look," he offered, still not meeting her eyes, "I've got - we'll just - there are some things - we'll just talk later. Tonight, all right?"
She had never heard him so ineloquent, so at a loss for words. It spoke louder than anything he could have said.
"Okay," she whispered, unable to pull any more volume from her voice. As he left, she felt herself moving through the building, heading instinctively to the only place she knew would provide her the answers she yearned for.
"He's in," Margaret said quietly, her eyes worried, her brow drawn. "You okay?"
Donna had caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror on the way down, and she knew how she looked. Pale, thin. She knew it. Margaret saw it.
No. I'm losing my husband.
"How's - how's - Jed?" It was the first time her friend had let herself use anything besides "the President," and it was somehow more heartbreaking now that -
"Busy." A truth, at least.
"Yeah. Okay." They exchanged a look of mutual sadness, both mourning the apparent loss of the joy that had captured not just two people but an entire nation. Then Margaret cleared her throat and said, "Leo's waiting."
The light brush of shoulders conveyed sufficient strength for her to step forward.
"Donna." Leo smiled, a fleeting expression. "What can I do for you?"
No waiting. No mincing of words. "What's wrong with Jed?"
The chief of staff froze before his instincts kicked in enough to try a little distraction. "I've asked myself that for years," he laughed, but it was forced. "Too many brain cells and not enough green vegetables, I think."
It didn't work. "Leo - "
He turned toward the window, and, in the reflection, she saw his eyes close. "Donna, I don't think - "
"It doesn't matter. I know already." She didn't want to admit it, but she did.
He turned back to her, head cocked to assess what she did know. "You do?"
"Yes. Does he want me to leave?"
Leo's sigh only verified her suspicions. Nausea rose in her throat. He shoved his hands in his pockets. "I don't know," he admitted. "It might help. It might not."
Well, at least he was honest. "How long?"
"Since just after Thanksgiving."
"Why does he stick around?" Was she really asking these questions? This was just surreal.
"Where would he go?"
Fair point. "Why doesn't he ask me to go? I could - " Oh, this was hard to say - impossible to believe. "I could go home. Wisconsin." But then he'd want to stay near to J.T., wouldn't he?
Leo shook his head. "That wouldn't solve anything."
Finally, she couldn't hold back, couldn't bear the burden that was crushing her. How could they just stand here and talk calmly about this? How could things have changed so drastically? So quickly? How could her life be falling apart when it had just come together?
"God, Leo," she groaned. "What am I going to do? How can I face this?"
Her sobs startled him, but after a moment's hesitation, he drew her close, held her. "It's okay, Donna," he soothed. "It'll be okay."
She fought back the anger. How could he say that? He had no idea.
Gently, he stroked her hair. "You'll get through this. You and Jed will see each other through this."
The weight of her despair dulled her senses, muffled her comprehension, so it took a few beats for his words to sink in. When they did, she caught her breath and pulled back.
"What?"
"What what?"
"What did you say?"
"I said you'll be okay. You'll see each other through this."
What was he talking about? "Leo, I thought - I mean - " She swallowed, forced to verbalize the worst fear for the first time. "Jed doesn't - Jed doesn't want me anymore."
Sheer astonishment broke across the face of Jed Bartlet's oldest friend, followed quickly by confused amusement. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"He - he doesn't want to be around me anymore. Margaret heard him tell you. And I see it, too. He won't touch me. He avoids talking with me for any length of time. We're rarely together anymore. He won't even let me - " She broke off, not willing to reveal too intimate a detail, even in front of Leo.
But to her surprise, he started to chuckle, then let the laughter build to a full sound. "Donna!" he managed. "Are you serious?"
Well, yeah. All she could do was to stare at him and wait for an explanation.
When he regained a little more control, he took her shoulders in his hands and shook his head. "Doesn't want you anymore? Are you crazy? Do you know how deeply Jed Bartlet loves you? Dear God, Donna, the man's devoted to you. He adores you. He is absolutely - and sometimes nauseatingly - in love with you. Can't you see that?'
Well, she thought she did, but -
"Then why is he avoiding me? Why won't he let me get close to him? Why won't he let me - "
Suddenly, the expression dropped, along with the hands and his eyes. "I think - I think maybe you two need to talk - "
The brief relief crumbled under an old assault. "Leo, tell me! What is it? What's wrong?"
But he wouldn't budge. "This is something he needs to tell you."
"Leo - "
"No. I can't - I'll tell him you're waiting - "
"In the Oval," she decided. Maybe the official setting would give her the strength to accept whatever he had to say.
He loved her. He adored her. That only left -
"No. I changed my mind. I'll be in the Residence," she said. Make him as comfortable as possible. She knew it would be hard enough for him as it was.
Leo nodded solemnly and she felt his eyes on her as she left.
This was it, then. This was the beginning. She would cry when he told her; they would hold onto each other. But she was ready, had known it would happen eventually. They'd just hoped it wouldn't be so soon. But she was ready to do whatever he needed her to do - except leave.
All the Way - Chapter Four A West Wing Story
by MAHC
"'On the fifth day the squirrels brought a present of wild honey; it was so sweet and sticky that they licked their fingers as they put it down upon the stone. They had stolen it out of a bumble bees' nest on the tippitty top of the hill. But Nutkin skipped up and down, singing - '"
Donna Bartlet slowed her brisk stride as she drew closer to the nursery, letting the familiar, rich voice flow over her, its smooth strains comforting, endearing. Carefully, she peeked around the door, hesitant to break whatever magic was being practiced in the room. In the rocking chair sat her husband, baby cradled in the crook of his left arm, book held out before him in his right hand, glasses perched a little low on the bridge of his nose. He was as relaxed as she had seen him in a long time, dressed in worn jeans and a soft, thin sweater that buttoned at the neck. She smirked as he sang the silly song, but the smirk turned into a tremble at the fragile tenderness in his voice.
"'Hum-a-bum. Buzz! Buzz! Hum-a-bum buzz! As I went over tipple-tine I met a flock of bonny swine; Some yellow-nacked, some yellow backed! They were the very bonniest swine That e'er went over Tipple-tine.'"
Okay, the smirk was back. Surely he was not singing that to the tune of "Yellow Submarine." She listened closer. Yep. That was it. She somehow doubted that Beatrix Potter had that song in mind when she wrote her famous children's book. Nevertheless, the words actually almost fit, and J.T. seemed completely taken with his father's serenade, his eyes, which mirrored Jed's, wide and alert, his arms waving in excitement.
Nimbly turning the page with his thumb, Jed continued reading. "'Old Mister Brown turned up his eyes in disgust at the impertinence of Nutkin. But he ate up the honey!'" He paused, looking away from the book and directly at his son. "Now, John Thomas, there's a word you need to know, especially when dealing with republicans. "'Impertinence.' Rudeness. Insolence. Sauciness."
She watched him grin and wondered what he was thinking until he confided, "Well, rudeness and insolence are one thing. But sauciness. Now that's not necessarily bad. Your mom, for example, can be quite saucy."
"Jed!"
It was out before she could stop herself. She marched into the room, hands on hips, expecting him to jump at the sudden intrusion, even to be angry at her eavesdropping. But once again, he surprised her.
Without flinching, without even turning, he said, "See?"
And the moment was so natural, so relaxed, so welcome, that she found herself with a goofy smile on her face and tears in her eyes. He turned then, and his eyes scanned her, ran up and down the length of her, devouring her without a word. For a moment she envisioned him standing and laying the baby back in the crib, then taking her hand and leading her to their bedroom, to their bed, touching her, holding her, loving her.
When she focused again, though, he was still sitting in the chair, still holding J.T. But he was still looking at her, too. Loath to lose the precious moment, she smiled at him, as invitingly as she could.
"What eventually happens to Squirrel Nutkin?" she asked, partly in jest, partly in real interest.
To her delight, Jed had apparently decided to play along. "Old Mister Brown beat the hell out of him and made squirrel dumplings later that night."
"Seriously?" That seemed rather violent, even for Beatrix Potter.
Jed laughed. Not his true, deep, laugh, but a pleasant sound, nevertheless. "Nah. Actually, he was going to skin him, but Nutkin escaped. Of course, he broke his tail in two in the process."
Ouch. "What a lovely story," she decided with a grimace.
"But great vocabulary," he countered.
"So we'll have a sesquipedalian son who is a bully."
His brow rose sharply in surprise and she laughed. She had been waiting at least three months to use that word, one she had discovered from "It Pays to Increase Your Word Power" in an old Reader's Digest she ran across at two in the morning.
"Sesquipedalian," she repeated in her best teacher's voice. "Having many syllables. Using long words."
"I know what it - I just didn't think - " He wisely stopped before getting his foot too far into his mouth, a mouth that could - and sometimes did - boast of years of experience and talent with sesquipedalian words.
She grinned. "I think just about any comment you can make right now would plunge you to the depths of hypocrisy."
To his credit, he simply shrugged in acceptance and, shifting J.T. to his right arm, stood and settled the baby in his crib, turning on the mobile of the planets above him. It was a gift from Toby, strangely enough, and Donna figured the communications chief couldn't bring himself to purchase Noah's Ark or Winnie the Pooh figures. So, instead, her child's early visual experience was a cloth Saturn and Jupiter smashing into each other every time the infant kicked hard.
When no scream of protest drew him back down to the crib, he straightened and took several steps forward. Her heart leaped in her chest at the prospect of feeling his touch again, of having his arms around her. But he stopped short of that. Still, he reached out and took her hands in his.
"Donna," he began, eyes shifted downward with uncharacteristic hesitancy. Discomfort stiffened his body.
She waited.
He tried again. "Donna, I know I - I know things have been - well, sometimes things happen that - that are hard to face - "
Oh God. The tightness that squeezed her throat took her breath. What was he saying? What was he saying?
"Something's happened and I feel, well, I need to tell you - I don't want to - "
I'm going to throw up, she thought. He's telling me he doesn't love me anymore - that he doesn't feel the same way he did - or maybe he never really loved me - and I am going to throw up.
But before he could drop the hideous news on her, a knock at the door interrupted. She saw his jaw muscles clench in frustration. "Yeah?" he called, not at all politely.
Peeking in, Charlie winced when he saw the two of them holding hands. "I'm sorry, sir, but you wanted to know as soon as Agent Butterfield - "
"Yes!" he snapped, dropping her grip and stepping past her in only a second or two. "Tell him I'll be right there." Almost as an afterthought, he glanced back at her. "I'm sorry. I'll - We'll talk later."
She wasn't sure why she blurted it out. Maybe it really was because she didn't know what to say. "Don't bother. I'll be shopping - If I'm still allowed to go."
He stopped and swung back around, the line of his jaw twitching. "Donna, I told you that - " With visible effort, he locked down his anger and drew his voice to an even level. "I said Ron would arrange it."
"Yeah. Thanks." Well, damn it. She had promised herself not to lose her cool, not to antagonize him. But what did it really matter now? "I guess my mom won't mind getting a White House paper weight for Christmas this year?"
"Your mom?" It was something about the way he asked that set off the alarms in her brain. Like he didn't know what she was talking about.
"My mom. You know, the mother of your wife." Maybe she put too much of a sneer on "wife," but he didn't seem to notice.
He frowned and the visible defensive mask slid over his features. "What about her?"
The alarms rang louder now, quickening her pulse. "She's - she's coming for Christmas, along with Dad and Gino - "
"Yeah. Okay." But, despite his quick agreement, he had been surprised, had not remembered that - even though they had discussed it already.
Donna forced herself to stay calm, tried to hear over the clanging in her head, urged the battling emotions not to destroy her just yet.
"Look," he offered, still not meeting her eyes, "I've got - we'll just - there are some things - we'll just talk later. Tonight, all right?"
She had never heard him so ineloquent, so at a loss for words. It spoke louder than anything he could have said.
"Okay," she whispered, unable to pull any more volume from her voice. As he left, she felt herself moving through the building, heading instinctively to the only place she knew would provide her the answers she yearned for.
"He's in," Margaret said quietly, her eyes worried, her brow drawn. "You okay?"
Donna had caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror on the way down, and she knew how she looked. Pale, thin. She knew it. Margaret saw it.
No. I'm losing my husband.
"How's - how's - Jed?" It was the first time her friend had let herself use anything besides "the President," and it was somehow more heartbreaking now that -
"Busy." A truth, at least.
"Yeah. Okay." They exchanged a look of mutual sadness, both mourning the apparent loss of the joy that had captured not just two people but an entire nation. Then Margaret cleared her throat and said, "Leo's waiting."
The light brush of shoulders conveyed sufficient strength for her to step forward.
"Donna." Leo smiled, a fleeting expression. "What can I do for you?"
No waiting. No mincing of words. "What's wrong with Jed?"
The chief of staff froze before his instincts kicked in enough to try a little distraction. "I've asked myself that for years," he laughed, but it was forced. "Too many brain cells and not enough green vegetables, I think."
It didn't work. "Leo - "
He turned toward the window, and, in the reflection, she saw his eyes close. "Donna, I don't think - "
"It doesn't matter. I know already." She didn't want to admit it, but she did.
He turned back to her, head cocked to assess what she did know. "You do?"
"Yes. Does he want me to leave?"
Leo's sigh only verified her suspicions. Nausea rose in her throat. He shoved his hands in his pockets. "I don't know," he admitted. "It might help. It might not."
Well, at least he was honest. "How long?"
"Since just after Thanksgiving."
"Why does he stick around?" Was she really asking these questions? This was just surreal.
"Where would he go?"
Fair point. "Why doesn't he ask me to go? I could - " Oh, this was hard to say - impossible to believe. "I could go home. Wisconsin." But then he'd want to stay near to J.T., wouldn't he?
Leo shook his head. "That wouldn't solve anything."
Finally, she couldn't hold back, couldn't bear the burden that was crushing her. How could they just stand here and talk calmly about this? How could things have changed so drastically? So quickly? How could her life be falling apart when it had just come together?
"God, Leo," she groaned. "What am I going to do? How can I face this?"
Her sobs startled him, but after a moment's hesitation, he drew her close, held her. "It's okay, Donna," he soothed. "It'll be okay."
She fought back the anger. How could he say that? He had no idea.
Gently, he stroked her hair. "You'll get through this. You and Jed will see each other through this."
The weight of her despair dulled her senses, muffled her comprehension, so it took a few beats for his words to sink in. When they did, she caught her breath and pulled back.
"What?"
"What what?"
"What did you say?"
"I said you'll be okay. You'll see each other through this."
What was he talking about? "Leo, I thought - I mean - " She swallowed, forced to verbalize the worst fear for the first time. "Jed doesn't - Jed doesn't want me anymore."
Sheer astonishment broke across the face of Jed Bartlet's oldest friend, followed quickly by confused amusement. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"He - he doesn't want to be around me anymore. Margaret heard him tell you. And I see it, too. He won't touch me. He avoids talking with me for any length of time. We're rarely together anymore. He won't even let me - " She broke off, not willing to reveal too intimate a detail, even in front of Leo.
But to her surprise, he started to chuckle, then let the laughter build to a full sound. "Donna!" he managed. "Are you serious?"
Well, yeah. All she could do was to stare at him and wait for an explanation.
When he regained a little more control, he took her shoulders in his hands and shook his head. "Doesn't want you anymore? Are you crazy? Do you know how deeply Jed Bartlet loves you? Dear God, Donna, the man's devoted to you. He adores you. He is absolutely - and sometimes nauseatingly - in love with you. Can't you see that?'
Well, she thought she did, but -
"Then why is he avoiding me? Why won't he let me get close to him? Why won't he let me - "
Suddenly, the expression dropped, along with the hands and his eyes. "I think - I think maybe you two need to talk - "
The brief relief crumbled under an old assault. "Leo, tell me! What is it? What's wrong?"
But he wouldn't budge. "This is something he needs to tell you."
"Leo - "
"No. I can't - I'll tell him you're waiting - "
"In the Oval," she decided. Maybe the official setting would give her the strength to accept whatever he had to say.
He loved her. He adored her. That only left -
"No. I changed my mind. I'll be in the Residence," she said. Make him as comfortable as possible. She knew it would be hard enough for him as it was.
Leo nodded solemnly and she felt his eyes on her as she left.
This was it, then. This was the beginning. She would cry when he told her; they would hold onto each other. But she was ready, had known it would happen eventually. They'd just hoped it wouldn't be so soon. But she was ready to do whatever he needed her to do - except leave.