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POV: Donna Spoilers: "In the Shadow of Two Gunmen" Rating: R Disclaimer: These are not my characters.
All the Way - Chapter Six A West Wing Story
by MACH
"Sit down," he had said.
And she was. She was sitting, and she was watching him, eager to discover what was wrong, but terrified about it at the same time.
Jed Bartlet didn't exactly wear his emotions on his sleeve, but Donna had known him long enough to recognize the signs of turmoil. She had seen those expressive eyes shift from carefree to careworn in an instant. She had watched the broad shoulders square, then slump, then square again. She had felt his muscles tense, relax, tense. Only moments before they had laughed together in relief, in true communication for the first time in three weeks.
He loved her.
He was not sick.
That in itself was enough to right her listing world. But what was it then? What had kept him from her arms for so long? What had stiffened his easy interaction with the public? What had thrown up stubborn obstacles between them when she pushed for a little independence from her station?
What had etched this disturbing pain across his features?
"Something's happened," he had said.
Why did everything start with that? Why didn't people just say right out what was wrong? But even as she thought that, she dreaded hearing what he would say.
"A few weeks ago, Leo came to me with - a situation." His steady voice braced her, allowed her to control the mounting panic.
Leo. It was always Leo. She almost felt sorry for him being the fall guy. Almost.
She watched his jaw work as he pushed on. "Ron Butterfield has received some - threats."
"Threats to Ron?" That didn't seem right, but her anxious brain refused to clear itself enough to make sense.
"To Ron? No." His silence seemed calculated to give her the chance to figure it out. Or maybe he just couldn't quite say what he had to say.
Oh God. Threats to Jed, then. Oh God. "What kinds of threats?" she finally managed, having an idea that she didn't like at all.
He swallowed. "Death threats."
Dear God. Even though she knew this must be par for the course for the President of the United States, it was still horrifying to face it directly. Anger swept over her, directed at no one in particular. There was no one at which to direct it. How could someone threaten Jed Bartlet? Why would someone want to hurt him? Despite differences in politics, despite wins and losses between the White House and Congress, everyone knew that this President was respected across the parties, even admired and - in some circles - loved. It made her queasy to think that some idiot out there wanted to see him harmed. Hadn't he already paid his dues at Rosslyn? Wasn't one assassination attempt in an administration enough?
"What's - what's Ron doing about it?" she wondered. He'd better be doing something. She wasn't about to lose her husband. Not now. Not after all they'd been through, not after all they'd overcome.
Jed clasped her hands harder, as if to let a little of his strength leap to her. "That's the reason for the increased security - for no rope line." His grimace revealed how much that displeased him. He lived for the crowds, for the people.
"Good," she decided. "I'm glad Ron's putting his foot down. Jed, if there's a credible threat to you, you need to pay attention to it. There are enough crazy people out there already."
But he didn't smile at her or agree. Instead, his face darkened with an emotion she almost identified as sheer hate. But Jed Bartlet did not hate.
"Donna - " he began, then fell silent.
She waited for him to draw his words together.
"Donna, these threats aren't - they aren't against me." His eyes held hers, pleaded with her to understand, not to make him say it. But she simply stared, not sure exactly what he was telling her.
"What do - what do you mean?" Surely not what she thought. Surely not.
"They aren't against me," he repeated in a whisper, as if he didn't trust his voice to back him.
"Then who - " Her? There were threats against her? What a strange thought, one that had never occurred to her before. What a strange notion that someone would want to - to kill her. It was so bizarre that she didn't even feel the least big scared about it.
"Okay," she said, for lack of any other response. An ironic smile crossed her lips. "I didn't know I'd pissed anybody off recently - except maybe you."
Some of the anxiety dropped from him, replaced by confusion. He cocked his head suddenly. "What do you mean?"
"Oh, Jed. I know we've been - a little tense lately. I'm not sure why, but I must have, well, I guess I said something, or did something - "
He stood in one smooth motion, bringing her with him so that his hands clasped her shoulders and held her firmly. "Why do you think - have I - "
"And you haven't been exactly subtle about not wanting to be around me or to touch me." That hurt to say, but she felt better. At least they were talking again. "I understand," she allowed. "Having a baby does things to a woman's body. I'm not as attractive - "
She got no further. His hands tightened on her, his eyes filled with tears. "Oh my God," he breathed, pain hardening his features. "Oh, Donna, how could you think - Have I made you feel - " He closed his eyes for a moment and swore harshly. "Son of a bitch!"
Not sure if he was angry with her or with himself, she waited him out, let him finish before she probed deeper to find out what she had done wrong.
After a few seconds, he looked at her again, the regret tightening the skin around his eyes. "Baby, I'm so sorry. How could you think I wouldn't want to touch you or be with you? My God, you are so beautiful."
"But Margaret said it was hard for you to be around me." Even though she didn't doubt his love anymore, the pain from that comment still cut.
He stepped back, dropping her hands in shock. "What?"
"She heard you tell Leo." He couldn't deny that.
She expected guilt or anger or maybe even a profession that Margaret hadn't heard right. Instead, he just laughed lightly and shook his head.
"Well, hell." Leaning in and kissing her gently, he asked, "Do you know why I said that?"
Oh God, he really had said it. Swallowing, she shook her head.
"Do you remember that night - or maybe it was morning - when I - " His voice fell off, regret and a little embarrassment softening it. "I must have been dreaming. You were touching me, stroking me, and, man, it felt so good. And before I knew it I was - I was - I had - well, I was making love to you. I was - inside you." He grimaced, suddenly unable to look her in the eye. "You cried out and I realized I had hurt you. I felt like - like an idiot. Like a cad."
Cad? Only Jed Bartlet would think to use that word. She would have smiled if he hadn't looked so miserable.
Her eyes clouded at the memory. Was this why he had avoided her all this time? He was afraid of that happening again? Dear God, why hadn't they talked about it? What a waste of worry and anxiety.
"I couldn't trust myself, Donna," he confessed, blushing. "You - you drive me crazy."
And she blushed a little herself. But she couldn't push back the touch of irritation either. "Josiah Bartlet," she snapped. "I cannot believe that you didn't tell me this. I cannot believe we've been dancing around each other for three weeks thinking - Do you have any idea what I've been going through? What I've been thinking?"
The expression on his face answered that question. It was a sudden flash of realization, of guilt.
"I thought you were sick. I thought you didn't - you didn't want me anymore."
"What?" Total incredulity lifted his voice a register. "I could never - Donna, do you know how much I want you? How much I need you?"
She let her eyes drop to his trousers and saw, even then, the evidence of their closeness.
"Why did you think I was sick?" he wondered, his head tilting almost like a puppy's curious stare.
"You were distracted. You forgot things, or maybe you weren't even listening. You were tired. Even Zoey noticed."
A shadow fell on his face and he nodded. "Yeah. Well, that's also part of - that goes back to the - situation."
Oh yeah. The situation. Funny how such a generic word could take the rawness out of something. It didn't alarm you nearly as much as "death threat." No wonder he had been preoccupied, distracted. His wife was sent death threats. She supposed it was certainly cause enough.
"Don't worry about me, Jed," she soothed with a bravado she didn't really feel. "Ron will take care of things. I'm not worried." Well, not much, anyway.
But his eyes stayed dark and he pulled her close to him. "Donna, the threats aren't against you, either - not exactly."
Now she was confused. There were threats, but they weren't against him - or her. Then why -
As the horrible truth dawned on her, she felt her legs weakening, fought against the nausea that pushed up her throat. If it weren't for his arms around her, she had no doubt she would have sunk to the floor.
"Donna!" Alarm sharpened his voice. He held her tightly and eased her down onto the couch. "Listen, it's okay. I'm not going to let anything happen. It's going to be okay."
How could he say that? Some maniac, some evil person had threatened her child, his child. How could he stand there and tell her it would be okay?
A sigh lifted his shoulders, then dropped them again. "See, this is why - "
"How many?" she asked, not looking at him. "When? What is Ron doing about it? What are you doing about it?"
Calm. His voice was so calm, as if he knew he must counter her rising hysteria. "Only one," he told her. "It's probably innocuous, but we check everything out."
But he couldn't fool her. They wouldn't have reacted so strongly for a common threat. This was something more, something worse. "Tell me," she demanded, her eyes catching his hard. "Tell me."
With a sigh, he complied. "The letter arrived two days after Thanksgiving. It says - it says John Thomas is a product of sin, that he shouldn't live as proof of - of something created by lust and debauchery."
Lust and debauchery? What she had with Jed was beautiful. Anyway, how could someone blame a child even if that were true?"
"Why does Ron think it's more dangerous than any of the others?" She wondered where that even voice came from. Surely it wasn't her voice.
"There was evidence, Ron thought, that - well, that this person was watching you. It stated that if you had J.T. with you - " He swallowed and for the first time she saw fear in his eyes. " - they would kill him."
Dear God. He had known this for three weeks, had let this eat at him without being able to share it with her. All to protect her. Noble. Stupid.
"But I couldn't count on them waiting for him. I wasn't sure they wouldn't go after you anyway, so - "
"So that's why no shopping," she finished for him.
He nodded. "I couldn't tell you, Donna. I didn't know how to tell you someone wanted to kill our child. It is inconceivable."
Her eyes closed and when she opened them she was in his arms, clinging to him, pressing her face against his neck, breathing his name through her tears. She needed him to hold her, to comfort her. Maybe he had been right to keep silent, if it kept her from feeling this way for three weeks. Maybe she was better off oblivious. But not now. Now she knew, and now, at least, he had someone with whom to share the fear.
"This person knows that J.T. was - was conceived before - "
"Shh," he soothed. "Doesn't matter. Don't think about that."
"But questions could be asked. What happens if you are asked?" It was a legitimate concern, she felt, even if it was not a pleasant one.
But he just smiled and stroked her hair. "I'll tell them the truth."
"Which is - "
"You seduced me with your charms and your siren song lured me into your bed. I was powerless in your arms."
The grin dispelled some of her fear and she found a new strength in that secure smile, in those reassuring eyes, in the solid frame against her.
"I'm still singing the siren song," she whispered at his ear as they leaned into each other. After a few moments, she became aware that his shirt was still unbuttoned, that her fingers had found themselves wrapped around the curls of hair on his chest, that his hands had strayed lower to run over her hips, to press her into him. Loosening her grip, she skimmed down his stomach to ease open his belt buckle and lower the zipper of his pants, deciding they had both been patient long enough. After all, there was no law that said she had to wait for the doctor's blessing.
The abrupt sensation of her touch jerked his hips forward, pulled an agonized groan from deep within his chest. She briefly remembered that he once planned to be a priest and could not imagine how he would have managed that. He was too responsive, too eager, too damned good at sex not to have been a serious and frequent participant. She closed her hand around him, silk and steel together.
"Donna," he gasped, fumbling for her wrists. "Stop - "
"I don't want to," she breathed, feeling the warmth between her thighs, the tingle of anticipation for him move inside her again.
"No. I can't - it's too ris-" He broke off abruptly and she might have wondered what he was going to say if she had not been so completely caught up in her own need. Instead, he eased her fingers away from his eagerly responding body, looking as if it were the very last thing he really wanted to do. "We can't do this, yet," he protested, the strain stretching his tone. "You haven't seen the doctor, and I haven't - I don't - I can't hurt you again."
Love swept over her at his concern. "Oh, Jed," she said, "I'm okay now. It'll be okay."
But he had somehow found the will to hold himself back. "No," he insisted. "I won't do that. I will not hurt you. It's not long now, anyway, is it? Maybe by that time - " He stopped himself and again she almost asked what he was going to say, but the hope he gave her overcame her curiosity.
"Two days after Christmas," she said. "Four more days." An eternity.
"Okay," he decided. "Four more days. We can wait." But his expression contradicted his words. Still, he stepped back and zipped his pants, which was no easy task considering the insistent erection that showed no signs of leaving him.
"But - "
"It'll be a nice Christmas present, the most memorable one I'll get." A smirk, too long absent, curved his lips. "Unless Gino decides to deck me again."
Oh, but that grin was good to see. "If Gino actually talks to you, I'll be surprised," she figured.
"Well, just in case, Ron's sticking close to me while he's around." It was meant to be a joke, but the circumstances reminded them of the real reason Ron would stick close. More somber, he took her hands in his. "It's going to be okay, Donna," he insisted. "I wouldn't let anything happen to you or to J.T. I would die first."
And he would, which didn't make her feel at all better. Still, she smiled and nodded, yearning for the next four days to pass.
And deciding maybe she would create that Christmas list for Jonah, after all.
She suddenly had an idea for a present.
POV: Donna Spoilers: "In the Shadow of Two Gunmen" Rating: R Disclaimer: These are not my characters.
All the Way - Chapter Six A West Wing Story
by MACH
"Sit down," he had said.
And she was. She was sitting, and she was watching him, eager to discover what was wrong, but terrified about it at the same time.
Jed Bartlet didn't exactly wear his emotions on his sleeve, but Donna had known him long enough to recognize the signs of turmoil. She had seen those expressive eyes shift from carefree to careworn in an instant. She had watched the broad shoulders square, then slump, then square again. She had felt his muscles tense, relax, tense. Only moments before they had laughed together in relief, in true communication for the first time in three weeks.
He loved her.
He was not sick.
That in itself was enough to right her listing world. But what was it then? What had kept him from her arms for so long? What had stiffened his easy interaction with the public? What had thrown up stubborn obstacles between them when she pushed for a little independence from her station?
What had etched this disturbing pain across his features?
"Something's happened," he had said.
Why did everything start with that? Why didn't people just say right out what was wrong? But even as she thought that, she dreaded hearing what he would say.
"A few weeks ago, Leo came to me with - a situation." His steady voice braced her, allowed her to control the mounting panic.
Leo. It was always Leo. She almost felt sorry for him being the fall guy. Almost.
She watched his jaw work as he pushed on. "Ron Butterfield has received some - threats."
"Threats to Ron?" That didn't seem right, but her anxious brain refused to clear itself enough to make sense.
"To Ron? No." His silence seemed calculated to give her the chance to figure it out. Or maybe he just couldn't quite say what he had to say.
Oh God. Threats to Jed, then. Oh God. "What kinds of threats?" she finally managed, having an idea that she didn't like at all.
He swallowed. "Death threats."
Dear God. Even though she knew this must be par for the course for the President of the United States, it was still horrifying to face it directly. Anger swept over her, directed at no one in particular. There was no one at which to direct it. How could someone threaten Jed Bartlet? Why would someone want to hurt him? Despite differences in politics, despite wins and losses between the White House and Congress, everyone knew that this President was respected across the parties, even admired and - in some circles - loved. It made her queasy to think that some idiot out there wanted to see him harmed. Hadn't he already paid his dues at Rosslyn? Wasn't one assassination attempt in an administration enough?
"What's - what's Ron doing about it?" she wondered. He'd better be doing something. She wasn't about to lose her husband. Not now. Not after all they'd been through, not after all they'd overcome.
Jed clasped her hands harder, as if to let a little of his strength leap to her. "That's the reason for the increased security - for no rope line." His grimace revealed how much that displeased him. He lived for the crowds, for the people.
"Good," she decided. "I'm glad Ron's putting his foot down. Jed, if there's a credible threat to you, you need to pay attention to it. There are enough crazy people out there already."
But he didn't smile at her or agree. Instead, his face darkened with an emotion she almost identified as sheer hate. But Jed Bartlet did not hate.
"Donna - " he began, then fell silent.
She waited for him to draw his words together.
"Donna, these threats aren't - they aren't against me." His eyes held hers, pleaded with her to understand, not to make him say it. But she simply stared, not sure exactly what he was telling her.
"What do - what do you mean?" Surely not what she thought. Surely not.
"They aren't against me," he repeated in a whisper, as if he didn't trust his voice to back him.
"Then who - " Her? There were threats against her? What a strange thought, one that had never occurred to her before. What a strange notion that someone would want to - to kill her. It was so bizarre that she didn't even feel the least big scared about it.
"Okay," she said, for lack of any other response. An ironic smile crossed her lips. "I didn't know I'd pissed anybody off recently - except maybe you."
Some of the anxiety dropped from him, replaced by confusion. He cocked his head suddenly. "What do you mean?"
"Oh, Jed. I know we've been - a little tense lately. I'm not sure why, but I must have, well, I guess I said something, or did something - "
He stood in one smooth motion, bringing her with him so that his hands clasped her shoulders and held her firmly. "Why do you think - have I - "
"And you haven't been exactly subtle about not wanting to be around me or to touch me." That hurt to say, but she felt better. At least they were talking again. "I understand," she allowed. "Having a baby does things to a woman's body. I'm not as attractive - "
She got no further. His hands tightened on her, his eyes filled with tears. "Oh my God," he breathed, pain hardening his features. "Oh, Donna, how could you think - Have I made you feel - " He closed his eyes for a moment and swore harshly. "Son of a bitch!"
Not sure if he was angry with her or with himself, she waited him out, let him finish before she probed deeper to find out what she had done wrong.
After a few seconds, he looked at her again, the regret tightening the skin around his eyes. "Baby, I'm so sorry. How could you think I wouldn't want to touch you or be with you? My God, you are so beautiful."
"But Margaret said it was hard for you to be around me." Even though she didn't doubt his love anymore, the pain from that comment still cut.
He stepped back, dropping her hands in shock. "What?"
"She heard you tell Leo." He couldn't deny that.
She expected guilt or anger or maybe even a profession that Margaret hadn't heard right. Instead, he just laughed lightly and shook his head.
"Well, hell." Leaning in and kissing her gently, he asked, "Do you know why I said that?"
Oh God, he really had said it. Swallowing, she shook her head.
"Do you remember that night - or maybe it was morning - when I - " His voice fell off, regret and a little embarrassment softening it. "I must have been dreaming. You were touching me, stroking me, and, man, it felt so good. And before I knew it I was - I was - I had - well, I was making love to you. I was - inside you." He grimaced, suddenly unable to look her in the eye. "You cried out and I realized I had hurt you. I felt like - like an idiot. Like a cad."
Cad? Only Jed Bartlet would think to use that word. She would have smiled if he hadn't looked so miserable.
Her eyes clouded at the memory. Was this why he had avoided her all this time? He was afraid of that happening again? Dear God, why hadn't they talked about it? What a waste of worry and anxiety.
"I couldn't trust myself, Donna," he confessed, blushing. "You - you drive me crazy."
And she blushed a little herself. But she couldn't push back the touch of irritation either. "Josiah Bartlet," she snapped. "I cannot believe that you didn't tell me this. I cannot believe we've been dancing around each other for three weeks thinking - Do you have any idea what I've been going through? What I've been thinking?"
The expression on his face answered that question. It was a sudden flash of realization, of guilt.
"I thought you were sick. I thought you didn't - you didn't want me anymore."
"What?" Total incredulity lifted his voice a register. "I could never - Donna, do you know how much I want you? How much I need you?"
She let her eyes drop to his trousers and saw, even then, the evidence of their closeness.
"Why did you think I was sick?" he wondered, his head tilting almost like a puppy's curious stare.
"You were distracted. You forgot things, or maybe you weren't even listening. You were tired. Even Zoey noticed."
A shadow fell on his face and he nodded. "Yeah. Well, that's also part of - that goes back to the - situation."
Oh yeah. The situation. Funny how such a generic word could take the rawness out of something. It didn't alarm you nearly as much as "death threat." No wonder he had been preoccupied, distracted. His wife was sent death threats. She supposed it was certainly cause enough.
"Don't worry about me, Jed," she soothed with a bravado she didn't really feel. "Ron will take care of things. I'm not worried." Well, not much, anyway.
But his eyes stayed dark and he pulled her close to him. "Donna, the threats aren't against you, either - not exactly."
Now she was confused. There were threats, but they weren't against him - or her. Then why -
As the horrible truth dawned on her, she felt her legs weakening, fought against the nausea that pushed up her throat. If it weren't for his arms around her, she had no doubt she would have sunk to the floor.
"Donna!" Alarm sharpened his voice. He held her tightly and eased her down onto the couch. "Listen, it's okay. I'm not going to let anything happen. It's going to be okay."
How could he say that? Some maniac, some evil person had threatened her child, his child. How could he stand there and tell her it would be okay?
A sigh lifted his shoulders, then dropped them again. "See, this is why - "
"How many?" she asked, not looking at him. "When? What is Ron doing about it? What are you doing about it?"
Calm. His voice was so calm, as if he knew he must counter her rising hysteria. "Only one," he told her. "It's probably innocuous, but we check everything out."
But he couldn't fool her. They wouldn't have reacted so strongly for a common threat. This was something more, something worse. "Tell me," she demanded, her eyes catching his hard. "Tell me."
With a sigh, he complied. "The letter arrived two days after Thanksgiving. It says - it says John Thomas is a product of sin, that he shouldn't live as proof of - of something created by lust and debauchery."
Lust and debauchery? What she had with Jed was beautiful. Anyway, how could someone blame a child even if that were true?"
"Why does Ron think it's more dangerous than any of the others?" She wondered where that even voice came from. Surely it wasn't her voice.
"There was evidence, Ron thought, that - well, that this person was watching you. It stated that if you had J.T. with you - " He swallowed and for the first time she saw fear in his eyes. " - they would kill him."
Dear God. He had known this for three weeks, had let this eat at him without being able to share it with her. All to protect her. Noble. Stupid.
"But I couldn't count on them waiting for him. I wasn't sure they wouldn't go after you anyway, so - "
"So that's why no shopping," she finished for him.
He nodded. "I couldn't tell you, Donna. I didn't know how to tell you someone wanted to kill our child. It is inconceivable."
Her eyes closed and when she opened them she was in his arms, clinging to him, pressing her face against his neck, breathing his name through her tears. She needed him to hold her, to comfort her. Maybe he had been right to keep silent, if it kept her from feeling this way for three weeks. Maybe she was better off oblivious. But not now. Now she knew, and now, at least, he had someone with whom to share the fear.
"This person knows that J.T. was - was conceived before - "
"Shh," he soothed. "Doesn't matter. Don't think about that."
"But questions could be asked. What happens if you are asked?" It was a legitimate concern, she felt, even if it was not a pleasant one.
But he just smiled and stroked her hair. "I'll tell them the truth."
"Which is - "
"You seduced me with your charms and your siren song lured me into your bed. I was powerless in your arms."
The grin dispelled some of her fear and she found a new strength in that secure smile, in those reassuring eyes, in the solid frame against her.
"I'm still singing the siren song," she whispered at his ear as they leaned into each other. After a few moments, she became aware that his shirt was still unbuttoned, that her fingers had found themselves wrapped around the curls of hair on his chest, that his hands had strayed lower to run over her hips, to press her into him. Loosening her grip, she skimmed down his stomach to ease open his belt buckle and lower the zipper of his pants, deciding they had both been patient long enough. After all, there was no law that said she had to wait for the doctor's blessing.
The abrupt sensation of her touch jerked his hips forward, pulled an agonized groan from deep within his chest. She briefly remembered that he once planned to be a priest and could not imagine how he would have managed that. He was too responsive, too eager, too damned good at sex not to have been a serious and frequent participant. She closed her hand around him, silk and steel together.
"Donna," he gasped, fumbling for her wrists. "Stop - "
"I don't want to," she breathed, feeling the warmth between her thighs, the tingle of anticipation for him move inside her again.
"No. I can't - it's too ris-" He broke off abruptly and she might have wondered what he was going to say if she had not been so completely caught up in her own need. Instead, he eased her fingers away from his eagerly responding body, looking as if it were the very last thing he really wanted to do. "We can't do this, yet," he protested, the strain stretching his tone. "You haven't seen the doctor, and I haven't - I don't - I can't hurt you again."
Love swept over her at his concern. "Oh, Jed," she said, "I'm okay now. It'll be okay."
But he had somehow found the will to hold himself back. "No," he insisted. "I won't do that. I will not hurt you. It's not long now, anyway, is it? Maybe by that time - " He stopped himself and again she almost asked what he was going to say, but the hope he gave her overcame her curiosity.
"Two days after Christmas," she said. "Four more days." An eternity.
"Okay," he decided. "Four more days. We can wait." But his expression contradicted his words. Still, he stepped back and zipped his pants, which was no easy task considering the insistent erection that showed no signs of leaving him.
"But - "
"It'll be a nice Christmas present, the most memorable one I'll get." A smirk, too long absent, curved his lips. "Unless Gino decides to deck me again."
Oh, but that grin was good to see. "If Gino actually talks to you, I'll be surprised," she figured.
"Well, just in case, Ron's sticking close to me while he's around." It was meant to be a joke, but the circumstances reminded them of the real reason Ron would stick close. More somber, he took her hands in his. "It's going to be okay, Donna," he insisted. "I wouldn't let anything happen to you or to J.T. I would die first."
And he would, which didn't make her feel at all better. Still, she smiled and nodded, yearning for the next four days to pass.
And deciding maybe she would create that Christmas list for Jonah, after all.
She suddenly had an idea for a present.