POV: Donna
Spoilers: None
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine.
A Dagger Unseen – Chapter Three A West Wing Story
by MAHC
Donna stared at her husband's face, a face she usually loved to watch. She had her favorite features: the strong jaw, the expressive mouth, the well- shaped nose, the tan skin, and the hair – always the hair. But now she didn't see any of those things. Now she just saw the eyes, and, instead of their usual twinkling blue mischief, they bore a sadness that had darkened them almost to gray.
"I've got some bad news," he had said. "Bad news."
"Bad news?" No, I don't want bad news. Don't give me bad news.
But he didn't listen to her, seemed determined to do it anyway. Before she could pull away, before she could give in to the instinct to cover her ears, he said, "There's been another plane crash."
A plane crash? A plane crash.
Oh, Thank God. Just a plane crash.
The sweet taste of relief flooded her stomach. It wasn't J.T. It wasn't Jed. It was just a plane crash. That pleasant sensation, though, was followed immediately by the bitter tang of guilt. She shouldn't be glad, shouldn't be happy. That was wrong. But she was. She was grateful.
"Oh," she said, keeping the unseemly upbeat tone from her voice. "That's terrible."
And it was, certainly. A plane crash. But as bad as that was just on its own, it took her a moment or two to realize why Jed might be so concerned about this particular accident, why he had been pulled from Christmas Mass to be informed about it.
"Is it – do they suspect terrorism?" Just what they needed – what he needed.
She expected a shrug, or maybe an angry nod. Instead, his jaw clenched once, and he clutched her hands tighter. "Donna," he said, voice low, reluctant. "The plane was out of O'Hare."
Okay. Just like the first one. Was that a clue, a coincidence? But he seemed to be telling her something more, something she wasn't getting. He was disturbed, upset. Not that he shouldn't be but – "What does that – "
"The plane's destination was Dulles," he explained, his eyes almost begging her to comprehend before he had to finish. "It was coming here."
Dulles. From O'Hare? But that was – A sharp jolt of clarity struck her, stabbing with keen accuracy directly into her chest. She knew then what he was telling her. She understood the hesitance in his voice, the sorrow on his face.
A plane from O'Hare to Dulles. "My parents," she choked out abruptly, a question and a statement all at once. "My parents' plane."
"It was their flight, Donna," he confirmed, and she felt his hands squeeze hers hard before they moved around her back to draw her into his arms.
With a nod, he cleared the room except for them. In a daze, she watched the others leave.
"I'm so sorry, Baby," he said at her ear. "I'm so sorry."
She leaned against him, head on his shoulder, but the truth just didn't quite register. Her parents' plane had crashed. It seemed unreal, just a statement. The significance of those words, the consequences of the moment were lost to her. Her brain could not – or would not – allow her to process it, so she stood there, enfolded in his embrace, clinically noting the brush of his fingers through her hair, the soft murmurings of comfort, the solid support of his body.
But it made no sense. How could they be in a plane crash? They were coming for Christmas, coming to see their grandson, coming to complete her holiday. It was Christmas. How could their plane crash on Christmas?
"Donna?" The alarm in Jed's voice drew her attention, and she realized she had fallen against him, had slid down his body, and he was easing her into a chair. "Charlie!"
A glass of water touched her lips. She drank it obediently, absently, until it was pulled away.
"What – how – " She didn't know what to ask, where to start. "Is everyone – are there any survivors?" But it was a plane crash. She knew the answer already.
"No."
Genuine grief lined her husband's face. It was one of the things she loved about him – his compassion, his empathy with his fellow humans. He hurt because he had lost family, too, but mostly he hurt because she hurt. Or at least she should hurt. Somehow, her numbed nerves fought off any attempt by her brain at realization. It would hit eventually, but not yet.
"Donna?"
He watched her carefully, his hands at her shoulders, supporting her still, holding her upright.
"I'm – I'm okay."
A lifted brow revealed his doubt.
"You didn't answer me earlier," she reminded him suddenly.
"What?"
"Earlier. I asked if it was terrorism. You never answered me." She was so calm, so matter-of-fact. Was this how you dealt with tragedy? Was this how people got through desperate times?
"Possibly," he answered with a heavy sigh. "Probably." Then he pulled her against him again and rocked gently, like she had seen him do to calm John Thomas. She gave into it, relaxed in the security of his strength, of his warmth.
She should call someone. Do something. Gino? Where was he? Was he coming with them or from somewhere else? Why couldn't she remember that? Strange thoughts washed through her sluggish mind. Their newspaper would need canceling. And credit cards. What did you do when someone was killed? Their physical existence had ended, but how did you go about ending their financial and governmental presence? And why was she thinking of all this? Why wasn't she grieving?
"Mister President?"
Without raising her head she recognized the voice of Jed's Head of Security. Ron sounded tired, but she supposed he must be, with everything that had been happening. He was probably working on little sleep, searching for the threat to his boss's family.
"Yeah." Jed hadn't moved either.
"We have a call. A cell phone."
"What?"
"From the plane. A cell phone call."
What did he mean? How could someone call from the plane crash? But Jed understood.
"Names?"
"No, sir. But a description, and there's some noise in the background that we might be able to distinguish."
She still had not moved out of Jed's complete hold on her, did not want to. But he twisted a little now to look at Ron. "There's a recording?"
"An answering machine. Somebody called Baltimore just before the crash, left a message. The FBI has it."
"Okay." She felt her husband's muscles tense with reluctant withdrawal. "Donna – "
"I'm okay," she whispered. Not true.
"Are you ready to go back – "
"Mister President?" New voice this time, but just as familiar.
Jed's acknowledgement was strained. This time he stepped farther away, although one hand still touched her waist. "Yes?"
Leo McGarry's lined face seemed even longer as he shifted his weight from one leg to another. "I'm sorry to interrupt, sir."
"What is it, Leo?" The brittle tone gave clear evidence of her husband's tight emotions.
The chief of staff glanced at her, his expression showing his uncertainty about what to say. What could he say? "Donna, I'm so sorry."
She nodded absently. She would have to get used to that. So many would express their condolences. Strange how the mind can function apart from emotions. She felt nothing, had already found herself planning the funeral. What the music would be. How she would act. Her mother had a favorite dress – but then, she wouldn't need that, would she?
Jed's jaw pumped. "I think we just want to be – "
"There's a call from the White House. J.T. is sick."
If there was any breath left in her lungs it left in a sudden explosive gasp. "Sick?" Common sense told her babies got sick. Colic, colds. But common sense had been cruelly twisted recently and she couldn't rely on it anymore. The void of feelings over the surreal news gave way to an almost overpowering fear.
Jed had left her side and stepped closer to Leo. "Sick?" he asked, and she saw the stiffness in his shoulders, the same anticipation of bad news she felt. But his voice remained calm. "Is he running a fever?"
Leo shook his head. "I don't know. One of the agents called and said that Tricia felt that Donna needed to come back."
She had to go. Had to go now. Her baby was sick.
But Jed's eyes had narrowed and he tilted his head in thought. "She said specifically that Donna needed to come back?"
"Well, yeah. Donna is his mother, and – "
"But she didn't say WE needed to come back? Just Donna."
"What are you – "
Ron moved into the scene, his tall shadow solidifying into prominence. "What are you thinking, Mister President?"
Jed spun on his heel, hands raised to help him flesh out his idea. "I don't know. I don't know. It just – it's just strange. Just Donna needs to go back? But if we both go back, all my security goes with us. If it's just Donna – "
Before he could finish, Ron was already shooting orders into his sleeve.
"Jed?" Surely he wasn't suggesting what she thought he was suggesting.
"Trina was vetted, right?" He asked, voice cranked up a level higher with barely controlled alarm. "We know all about her?"
"Tricia," she corrected automatically. "And yes, she checked out with flying colors." But doubt tore at her confidence, and the burn of fear ate at her as his theory solidified. "Senator Yatcher's wife, Representative Yamato, Senator Levoiz – "
"Those are all republicans," Leo noted, shrugging when they stared at him. "Well, they are."
"My God, Leo," Jed said, open-mouthed. "You can't think that they would go so far as to – "
It suddenly sounded plausible, and she lunged for Jed's arm, clutching it, dragging him to the door. "We've got to get back. We've got to get to J.T." She had never really been hysterical in her life, even through the cancer scare, but her body was getting away from her, threatening to strip her of any remaining will to control it.
"Donna, stop." He grabbed her upper arms and squared her body with his. "Donna, it's okay." Turning to Ron, he snapped out his orders. "We're going back to the White House now."
"But, sir – "
"Now, Ron." He took one long stride toward the door and found his path blocked, respectfully somehow, but blocked, nevertheless.
"Ron – "
"You can't go, Mister President." A calm, level statement, as if he were not giving orders to the most powerful man in the world.
"Get out of my way." Although Donna had heard Jed angry before, the hard edge of steel, dangerous in its inflection, was something that she had not yet witnessed. She would not have been at all surprised to see her husband take on his agent, despite the fact that Ron's entire body was probably classified as a weapon and the President didn't stand a chance.
To his credit, the taller man kept his cool. "If it's a trap, sir, you could be walking into danger."
"I don't care – "
"Or taking Mrs. Bartlet into danger."
That worked. The President stopped abruptly, falling back on his heels, arms still swinging with his momentum. "My son – "The audible ache in his voice ripped at her own pain, twisting their fears together.
"I've already contacted Jonah," Ron told him, still blocking the doorway, just in case. "He's on his way."
"But – "
"I can't let you put yourself in danger, Mister President." He stressed the title, and Donna saw that that worked, too. A subtle reminder to Jed Bartlet that he was not only a husband and father; he was the leader of the free world. He did not have the discretion of sacrificing himself for personal reasons. He must think of the impact his death would have on an entire planet. She watched as that burden pushed down his shoulders and hardened his face.
When he finally spoke, his voice was coiled as tightly as she had ever heard it. "Ron, I want you to go to the residence. I want to hear from you as soon as you get there and see my son. As soon as you get there, understand?"
"Yes, sir," Ron replied, his voice just as crisp as his boss's.
"The second you get there."
"Yes, sir."
"And then you get us home."
"Yes, Mister President."
Then he was gone and they were alone again, except for Leo.
"Really, Jed," he began, "you can't believe that – "
It was Leo's misfortune that he happened to be the first one to speak. Donna heard Jed's restrained tones bend, quiver, then crack.
"Why can't I believe it, Leo? Why not? I don't know what the hell to believe, anymore. My wife and two-month-old child are getting death threats. Someone has breeched the security of the White House – and our privacy, I might add – to take intimate and graphic photographs. North Korea is at the point of starting a nuclear war. And my in-laws have just been murdered by terrorists!"
Oh God. Her parents. His passionate display somehow made the news fresh, sharp, and realization kicked her with a violence so strong that she sank toward the floor, arms wrapped around her stomach to stem the sudden nausea.
"Jed!" She heard Leo's sharp cry as she fought vainly to hold on to consciousness.
"Donna!"
As the blackness took her, she was vaguely aware of her husband's face above her, guilt washing the anger away, fear cracking through the layer of wrath.
"Donna? Baby?"
With one last ironic thought, she found some selfish justice in that. Maybe he should feel guilty. Hadn't she told him she didn't want bad news in the first place?
A Dagger Unseen – Chapter Three A West Wing Story
by MAHC
Donna stared at her husband's face, a face she usually loved to watch. She had her favorite features: the strong jaw, the expressive mouth, the well- shaped nose, the tan skin, and the hair – always the hair. But now she didn't see any of those things. Now she just saw the eyes, and, instead of their usual twinkling blue mischief, they bore a sadness that had darkened them almost to gray.
"I've got some bad news," he had said. "Bad news."
"Bad news?" No, I don't want bad news. Don't give me bad news.
But he didn't listen to her, seemed determined to do it anyway. Before she could pull away, before she could give in to the instinct to cover her ears, he said, "There's been another plane crash."
A plane crash? A plane crash.
Oh, Thank God. Just a plane crash.
The sweet taste of relief flooded her stomach. It wasn't J.T. It wasn't Jed. It was just a plane crash. That pleasant sensation, though, was followed immediately by the bitter tang of guilt. She shouldn't be glad, shouldn't be happy. That was wrong. But she was. She was grateful.
"Oh," she said, keeping the unseemly upbeat tone from her voice. "That's terrible."
And it was, certainly. A plane crash. But as bad as that was just on its own, it took her a moment or two to realize why Jed might be so concerned about this particular accident, why he had been pulled from Christmas Mass to be informed about it.
"Is it – do they suspect terrorism?" Just what they needed – what he needed.
She expected a shrug, or maybe an angry nod. Instead, his jaw clenched once, and he clutched her hands tighter. "Donna," he said, voice low, reluctant. "The plane was out of O'Hare."
Okay. Just like the first one. Was that a clue, a coincidence? But he seemed to be telling her something more, something she wasn't getting. He was disturbed, upset. Not that he shouldn't be but – "What does that – "
"The plane's destination was Dulles," he explained, his eyes almost begging her to comprehend before he had to finish. "It was coming here."
Dulles. From O'Hare? But that was – A sharp jolt of clarity struck her, stabbing with keen accuracy directly into her chest. She knew then what he was telling her. She understood the hesitance in his voice, the sorrow on his face.
A plane from O'Hare to Dulles. "My parents," she choked out abruptly, a question and a statement all at once. "My parents' plane."
"It was their flight, Donna," he confirmed, and she felt his hands squeeze hers hard before they moved around her back to draw her into his arms.
With a nod, he cleared the room except for them. In a daze, she watched the others leave.
"I'm so sorry, Baby," he said at her ear. "I'm so sorry."
She leaned against him, head on his shoulder, but the truth just didn't quite register. Her parents' plane had crashed. It seemed unreal, just a statement. The significance of those words, the consequences of the moment were lost to her. Her brain could not – or would not – allow her to process it, so she stood there, enfolded in his embrace, clinically noting the brush of his fingers through her hair, the soft murmurings of comfort, the solid support of his body.
But it made no sense. How could they be in a plane crash? They were coming for Christmas, coming to see their grandson, coming to complete her holiday. It was Christmas. How could their plane crash on Christmas?
"Donna?" The alarm in Jed's voice drew her attention, and she realized she had fallen against him, had slid down his body, and he was easing her into a chair. "Charlie!"
A glass of water touched her lips. She drank it obediently, absently, until it was pulled away.
"What – how – " She didn't know what to ask, where to start. "Is everyone – are there any survivors?" But it was a plane crash. She knew the answer already.
"No."
Genuine grief lined her husband's face. It was one of the things she loved about him – his compassion, his empathy with his fellow humans. He hurt because he had lost family, too, but mostly he hurt because she hurt. Or at least she should hurt. Somehow, her numbed nerves fought off any attempt by her brain at realization. It would hit eventually, but not yet.
"Donna?"
He watched her carefully, his hands at her shoulders, supporting her still, holding her upright.
"I'm – I'm okay."
A lifted brow revealed his doubt.
"You didn't answer me earlier," she reminded him suddenly.
"What?"
"Earlier. I asked if it was terrorism. You never answered me." She was so calm, so matter-of-fact. Was this how you dealt with tragedy? Was this how people got through desperate times?
"Possibly," he answered with a heavy sigh. "Probably." Then he pulled her against him again and rocked gently, like she had seen him do to calm John Thomas. She gave into it, relaxed in the security of his strength, of his warmth.
She should call someone. Do something. Gino? Where was he? Was he coming with them or from somewhere else? Why couldn't she remember that? Strange thoughts washed through her sluggish mind. Their newspaper would need canceling. And credit cards. What did you do when someone was killed? Their physical existence had ended, but how did you go about ending their financial and governmental presence? And why was she thinking of all this? Why wasn't she grieving?
"Mister President?"
Without raising her head she recognized the voice of Jed's Head of Security. Ron sounded tired, but she supposed he must be, with everything that had been happening. He was probably working on little sleep, searching for the threat to his boss's family.
"Yeah." Jed hadn't moved either.
"We have a call. A cell phone."
"What?"
"From the plane. A cell phone call."
What did he mean? How could someone call from the plane crash? But Jed understood.
"Names?"
"No, sir. But a description, and there's some noise in the background that we might be able to distinguish."
She still had not moved out of Jed's complete hold on her, did not want to. But he twisted a little now to look at Ron. "There's a recording?"
"An answering machine. Somebody called Baltimore just before the crash, left a message. The FBI has it."
"Okay." She felt her husband's muscles tense with reluctant withdrawal. "Donna – "
"I'm okay," she whispered. Not true.
"Are you ready to go back – "
"Mister President?" New voice this time, but just as familiar.
Jed's acknowledgement was strained. This time he stepped farther away, although one hand still touched her waist. "Yes?"
Leo McGarry's lined face seemed even longer as he shifted his weight from one leg to another. "I'm sorry to interrupt, sir."
"What is it, Leo?" The brittle tone gave clear evidence of her husband's tight emotions.
The chief of staff glanced at her, his expression showing his uncertainty about what to say. What could he say? "Donna, I'm so sorry."
She nodded absently. She would have to get used to that. So many would express their condolences. Strange how the mind can function apart from emotions. She felt nothing, had already found herself planning the funeral. What the music would be. How she would act. Her mother had a favorite dress – but then, she wouldn't need that, would she?
Jed's jaw pumped. "I think we just want to be – "
"There's a call from the White House. J.T. is sick."
If there was any breath left in her lungs it left in a sudden explosive gasp. "Sick?" Common sense told her babies got sick. Colic, colds. But common sense had been cruelly twisted recently and she couldn't rely on it anymore. The void of feelings over the surreal news gave way to an almost overpowering fear.
Jed had left her side and stepped closer to Leo. "Sick?" he asked, and she saw the stiffness in his shoulders, the same anticipation of bad news she felt. But his voice remained calm. "Is he running a fever?"
Leo shook his head. "I don't know. One of the agents called and said that Tricia felt that Donna needed to come back."
She had to go. Had to go now. Her baby was sick.
But Jed's eyes had narrowed and he tilted his head in thought. "She said specifically that Donna needed to come back?"
"Well, yeah. Donna is his mother, and – "
"But she didn't say WE needed to come back? Just Donna."
"What are you – "
Ron moved into the scene, his tall shadow solidifying into prominence. "What are you thinking, Mister President?"
Jed spun on his heel, hands raised to help him flesh out his idea. "I don't know. I don't know. It just – it's just strange. Just Donna needs to go back? But if we both go back, all my security goes with us. If it's just Donna – "
Before he could finish, Ron was already shooting orders into his sleeve.
"Jed?" Surely he wasn't suggesting what she thought he was suggesting.
"Trina was vetted, right?" He asked, voice cranked up a level higher with barely controlled alarm. "We know all about her?"
"Tricia," she corrected automatically. "And yes, she checked out with flying colors." But doubt tore at her confidence, and the burn of fear ate at her as his theory solidified. "Senator Yatcher's wife, Representative Yamato, Senator Levoiz – "
"Those are all republicans," Leo noted, shrugging when they stared at him. "Well, they are."
"My God, Leo," Jed said, open-mouthed. "You can't think that they would go so far as to – "
It suddenly sounded plausible, and she lunged for Jed's arm, clutching it, dragging him to the door. "We've got to get back. We've got to get to J.T." She had never really been hysterical in her life, even through the cancer scare, but her body was getting away from her, threatening to strip her of any remaining will to control it.
"Donna, stop." He grabbed her upper arms and squared her body with his. "Donna, it's okay." Turning to Ron, he snapped out his orders. "We're going back to the White House now."
"But, sir – "
"Now, Ron." He took one long stride toward the door and found his path blocked, respectfully somehow, but blocked, nevertheless.
"Ron – "
"You can't go, Mister President." A calm, level statement, as if he were not giving orders to the most powerful man in the world.
"Get out of my way." Although Donna had heard Jed angry before, the hard edge of steel, dangerous in its inflection, was something that she had not yet witnessed. She would not have been at all surprised to see her husband take on his agent, despite the fact that Ron's entire body was probably classified as a weapon and the President didn't stand a chance.
To his credit, the taller man kept his cool. "If it's a trap, sir, you could be walking into danger."
"I don't care – "
"Or taking Mrs. Bartlet into danger."
That worked. The President stopped abruptly, falling back on his heels, arms still swinging with his momentum. "My son – "The audible ache in his voice ripped at her own pain, twisting their fears together.
"I've already contacted Jonah," Ron told him, still blocking the doorway, just in case. "He's on his way."
"But – "
"I can't let you put yourself in danger, Mister President." He stressed the title, and Donna saw that that worked, too. A subtle reminder to Jed Bartlet that he was not only a husband and father; he was the leader of the free world. He did not have the discretion of sacrificing himself for personal reasons. He must think of the impact his death would have on an entire planet. She watched as that burden pushed down his shoulders and hardened his face.
When he finally spoke, his voice was coiled as tightly as she had ever heard it. "Ron, I want you to go to the residence. I want to hear from you as soon as you get there and see my son. As soon as you get there, understand?"
"Yes, sir," Ron replied, his voice just as crisp as his boss's.
"The second you get there."
"Yes, sir."
"And then you get us home."
"Yes, Mister President."
Then he was gone and they were alone again, except for Leo.
"Really, Jed," he began, "you can't believe that – "
It was Leo's misfortune that he happened to be the first one to speak. Donna heard Jed's restrained tones bend, quiver, then crack.
"Why can't I believe it, Leo? Why not? I don't know what the hell to believe, anymore. My wife and two-month-old child are getting death threats. Someone has breeched the security of the White House – and our privacy, I might add – to take intimate and graphic photographs. North Korea is at the point of starting a nuclear war. And my in-laws have just been murdered by terrorists!"
Oh God. Her parents. His passionate display somehow made the news fresh, sharp, and realization kicked her with a violence so strong that she sank toward the floor, arms wrapped around her stomach to stem the sudden nausea.
"Jed!" She heard Leo's sharp cry as she fought vainly to hold on to consciousness.
"Donna!"
As the blackness took her, she was vaguely aware of her husband's face above her, guilt washing the anger away, fear cracking through the layer of wrath.
"Donna? Baby?"
With one last ironic thought, she found some selfish justice in that. Maybe he should feel guilty. Hadn't she told him she didn't want bad news in the first place?