POV: Donna
Spoilers: None as far as I know.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: A few of these characters are mine, but AS created Jed, Donna,
the Bartlet girls, Leo, C.J., Ron – well, you know. The doctors, Gino, and
J.T. are mine.
A Dagger Unseen – Chapter Eleven A West Wing Story
by MAHC
As someone's scream broke the air, Ron Butterfield plowed through the doors into the Presidential suite. Chaos exploded. Jonah dived on top of her, throwing her on the ground and covering her with his body. She heard the footsteps of the agents who rushed by her, who plunged in after their boss, throwing themselves into harm's way for their country, for their Commander- in-Chief – for her husband. Another shot cracked in the air, then echoing ricochets of gunfire obliterated other individual weapon sounds.
"Get down! Get down!" That was Ron's voice, commanding, strong, but even it betrayed a touch of hot panic in the sudden cacophony that erupted in the room. "Not him! He's clear! Not him!" More screams, more gunfire, more chaos.
Then silence fell, as sudden and startling as the noise. The only sound she heard was the overwhelming pounding of her heart. Somehow, she blinked enough to see again, to prod her brain into some semblance of coherent thought.
"We're clear!" Ron's voice again. "Get a doctor in here, now!"
Jonah eased off her just a little, but it was enough. Pushing up from her protection with a sickening sense of deja vu, she strained to see through the open doors, then almost wished she hadn't.
"Oh my God!"
Blood. The room was splattered red, Jackson Pollack bursts against the walls, across the floor.
"Jed!" she cried out, scrambling to her feet, rushing to the doorway before anyone could stop her. As she stood at the entrance, she saw that nothing within ten feet had been spared the spray of crimson. To her left, against a millwork cabinet lay the body of Josh's assistant, the assailant – and apparently the source of most of the blood, which still seeped from her body – but Donna knew it was just a body now – as it lay twisted against the woodwork, ripped with Secret Service bullets. The assassin might have gotten in one shot, but it was the last one she would ever get. Four agents held their guns on the mutilated body. In some bizarre humor, Donna almost laughed at the uselessness of that precaution. There was no life left there – that was obvious.
Then, hesitantly, she turned toward the bed, dreading what she would see, trying to prepare her brain for something it could never be prepared for. The machinery had been overturned in the melee, and lay smashed and mangled on the floor. More blood, staining the white sheets, splashed against the monitors and coated the occupants of the bed.
Occupants. Occupants?
When her mind cleared enough to register what she saw, she still wasn't sure it could be real. Jed's body had twisted toward the rail, sticky red splattered over him, but she saw only his head and shoulders because sprawled across him, face down, was another body.
"Gino!" she cried, "Oh God!"
"Stand back!" Ron yelled, arms held out to keep the sudden rush of witnesses away. "Let the doctors in."
Dr. Egris pushed his way through the crowd, followed by at least three other medical personnel tugging along a crash cart. Two skidded to a halt at the end of the bed and hovered over Gino's limp form. Egris pulled the other one with him to minister to the President, running his hands over the exposed upper body. She saw to her horror that Jed's arm was flung over the rail, blood coursing from the gash where the IV lines had been jerked out when the pole fell. Fluid drained onto the floor, useless. Cursing, Egris grabbed the limb and raised it above the rail, clutching his hands over the wound, trying to stem the flow of blood.
"Get me a tourniquet, a pressure pack, something!" he yelled, and a nurse hurried in behind him almost immediately. Donna couldn't move, couldn't quite register what had happened.
A gurney appeared and they eased the bulk of her brother onto it, cradling his left arm and shoulder. Donna saw the huge spread of blood across his jacket, heard his groan. She couldn't breathe, didn't know where to look. Her brother and her husband lay at the center of a wildly nightmarish scene, and she didn't even know if either of them was still alive.
Egris worked on the President, his actions rapid, efficient, intense. Her eyes sought the monitor to see if Jed's heart still beat, but the machine lay on the floor, dark and silent, its surface marred by gruesome splotches.
"We have an entrance wound upper left chest," a doctor barked out over her brother's body, ripping the material away from the wound as they settled Gino onto a cart. "No exit. Prep OR Three."
She swung her attention back and forth. Couldn't somebody tell her what was happening? "Is he dead?"she asked, not sure if she meant her brother or her husband.
But no one answered. They were too busy scrambling to stabilize the patient on the cart. Was he the one maybe they thought had the best chance of survival? Was he the one who was still alive?
"Let's go!" someone yelled, and the group pushed from the room.
Donna fought the need to follow the cart, to go with Gino, to look after him. But a quick look back at her husband kept her rooted to the spot, fear clenching at her throat again. Blood coated the covers over his legs and abdomen and splattered across his face and shoulders. Egris still held onto his arm, teeth gritted in an effort to put enough pressure on it. A nurse stood by him, looking stunned, her hands holding out a white bandage. But did it matter? Jed's face was white, chalky. She couldn't even tell if he was still breathing.
"Doctor!" she cried, grabbing at Egris' arm. "Is he – my husband, is he – "
For the first time, the physician seemed to realize she was there. Motioning for the packet the nurse extended toward him, he shifted a little so she could see his face, haggard and a little shocked.
She braced herself for his words, for the horrible and final pronouncement.
Then he smiled. Just a slight upturn of his lips, but it was enough.
"Most of this is not his blood, Mrs. Bartlet," he explained, positioning a thick pack over the arm wound and beginning to wrap gauze around it. "He wasn't hit again. The IV lines were pulled out of his arm when the pole fell, made a nasty tear, and he lost blood with that, but we've got it stopped now. I want to take him into an OR so Dr. Menian can stitch it up. He's the best plastic man we have." He looked at her squarely. "He'll be all right. That young man saved his life."
The adrenaline that had propelled her fast behind Ron a few minutes earlier vanished, and with it her strength. She felt hands catching her elbows as her knees turned to jelly.
"Ma'am?" Jonah asked. "Do you need to sit down?"
"Mrs. Bartlet," Ron interrupted, gently, but firmly, "I need you to leave the room now. They're going to move the President, and this is a crime scene. If you would – "
She nodded and allowed Jonah to lead her out.
"This way," someone said, and she soon found herself settled into someone's private office, giving in to violent, uncontrollable tremors as her body finally had time to react to the unimaginable experience it had just had.
"Mrs. Bartlet?" The same young nurse who had taken care of Jed earlier stepped inside the room, blanket over her arm. "It will take a while for them to stitch up the President, and then before he is situated in another room. I know you haven't slept, ma'am. I've seen you. Why don't you stretch out on the couch here and just rest a bit?"
Donna bit back a protest. She didn't want to rest, didn't want to miss one moment, one chance to convince herself things were okay, that Jed was fine, and that Gino would be fine. But she felt the heaviness in her eyelids, knew the let down after the surge of energy.
"I promise to come get you as soon as he wakes up."
Well, maybe just a few minutes, just to rest her eyes.
She nodded and allowed the younger woman to drape the warm material over her. Just a few minutes, no longer.
Consciousness came back to her slowly as she swam through the fading black toward the light. Fighting against the surreal haze, Donna couldn't tell how long it took before the sudden memory of what her mind had last seen and heard overwhelmed her. She had only one thought.
"Jed!"
Firm hands held her shoulders. "Mrs. Bartlet?" She didn't recognize that voice.
"Donna?" But that was Leo, his tone unusually soft.
She looked up into his face, squinting a bit, searching for information, for reassurance. "Jed?"
The first voice answered, and Donna swung around to look at an older physician, her white coat stitched with the name Dr. Maria Nuenez. "We've moved him to the East Suite, ma'am."
"Is he – "
"He's all right. Dr. Menian sutured his arm where the IVs came out. He's our best plastic surgeon. It looks good. Mostly superficial damage."
She threw off the blanket, shook the fog from her brain, and stood. "Can I see him?"
Dr. Nuenez nodded. "Of course. His daughters are already in there. I think he's waiting for you before he wakes up."
"Yes. Fine." No small talk. She had to see Jed. She had to know he really was all right. Her last vision of him had been gruesome. Blood covering his body, splattering his face, his arm ripped open and pouring his life out onto the floor. Dear God, had it been real?
Then she remembered something else. "Gino?"
"Her brother," Leo explained to the doctor, who frowned in puzzlement. "The man who saved the President's life."
Nuenez smiled. "He's still in surgery, but he'll be all right. Dr. Egris has already retrieved the bullet and it's just a matter of closing the wound. I'll let you know when he's out of recovery."
Thank God. Thank God that Gino was all right. And thank God that he had somehow, incredibly, saved Jed.
"I want to see my husband now," Donna decided, her voice stronger and showing traces of the confidence she had begun cultivating as First Lady.
Leo smiled and fell into step next to her as they followed Nuenez out of the office and down the hallway, now a virtual fortress lined with stone- faced Secret Service agents. No one was getting in here now. She figured even J.T. might need special clearance.
The room Jed was in was almost an exact mirror of the previous one, except this one was pristine with white sheets and machinery that wasn't bullet- ridden. They had cleaned the blood from him and provided fresh bandages for his head and for the newly injured arm. She wondered vaguely if they had shaved the hair from his forearm before they wrapped it. Otherwise, it would smart when they removed the tape. The IV lines hung on the other side now, carefully inserted into his right arm this time, continuing to feed the needed medicines to his body. His color was better, still a little flushed, but that was preferable to the bone white she had seen after the melee. In the rush, they apparently had not bothered to try to slip another gown over him, and he lay bare-chested, the blanket covering him to just above his waist. She hoped he wasn't cold, didn't want him to suffer anymore than he already had. Ellie, Liz, and Zoey stood around the bed, each girl touching him somewhere. One hand on a shoulder, another against his cheek, another at a knee. They smiled tightly at her as she entered.
"Has he regained consciousness at all?" she asked to no one in particular.
Nuenez answered. "No, ma'am, but he's showing signs of coming around soon. His brain activity is getting closer to the surface and he's moving around more."
"You think soon?" She was excited and terrified at once. What would he remember? What would he know?
As if she sensed her thoughts, the physician put a hand on Donna's arm and said softly, "I do want to remind you, Mrs. Bartlet, that we don't know yet if there was any lingering damage as a result of the concussion. It was severe, which is why he's been out so long."
Donna nodded. She didn't need to be reminded. That had haunted her for days now.
"But just because he might have difficulty at first," the doctor added hastily, "doesn't mean it won't get better. As his brain heals itself, we should see improvement."
What was she saying? Improvement from what? What were they talking about here?
"Ellie?" It was the first person she thought of. Jed's daughter, Abbey's daughter, would give it to her straight.
The middle Bartlet girl gave her father's knee a soft pat and stepped back to meet her step-mother squarely. "With such an injury, Donna, he is likely to have some problems at first. Like we mentioned earlier. Memory loss. Weakness in his limbs, maybe."
"What are the chances?"
Neither doctor wanted to commit. Nuenez said, "Depends a lot on the patient. I just want you not to get your hopes up too much. I think eventually he'll be okay. It may just take some time."
"Are you saying he might not remember – me?"
Ellie pressed her lips together for a moment, then responded. "It's a possibility, Donna. After all, you are relatively new to him. The brain tends to pull out information it is more familiar with, that it has kept for a longer time."
"And J.T.?"
Nuenez shook her head. "We just don't know."
Now Leo stepped forward. "Doctor, what are the chances he doesn't – that there are other things he doesn't remember?"
"I would think, Mr. McGarry, that if something is foremost in his mind, like the heavy responsibilities he has as President, there is a good chance it will remain in his memory. But, of course, "she added, "we won't know until he wakes up."
He might know his position in the country, but not know his wife, Donna thought bitterly. How fair is that? Anger flared inside her. He would have the burdens of a nation still weighing him down, but not the comfort of a lover, of a family.
"It may take time, Mrs. Bartlet," the doctor said again. "There just may be some things he doesn't remember at first."
"Or ever?" she asked, needing to know, needing to hear the truth.
Nuenez hesitated, then nodded. "Or ever. Possibly."
"What do we do if he doesn't remember? What are the first steps?"
Liz stepped forward and laid a hand on her arm. The President's oldest daughter had been the quietest, the most reserved about their marriage. It was not that she didn't like Donna, but maybe it was just hard to see her father with anyone else but her mother. It hadn't matter that much, since Liz lived away and they saw each other rarely, but it made for a certain awkwardness when they were together.
Donna found herself bracing for whatever Liz had to say. But the face that looked so much like Abbey's smiled up at her now with a tenderness Donna had never seen before, at least not directed toward her. "Donna, Dad loves you very much, and I know you love him. We all know that. Let that be your first step. Let him know that. The rest can wait."
Tears burned her eyes, and she felt herself enfolded in the embrace of all three girls, a bond among them in their love for one man. But she didn't want to wait, didn't know if she could stand it when he woke and had no idea who was there holding his hand. Didn't remember that they shared a bed, a child, a life. Despite the support of his family, she needed him to be there again, to know her again, to love her again.
And there was something perhaps even bigger. Glancing over at Leo, she knew he was wondering what they would do if the President of the United States awoke and didn't have the foggiest notion that he was the Chief Executive.
But all the "what ifs" dropped away as reality took over. A groan from the bed drew their attention. She bent over him, squeezing his hand, her heart pounding, her body still shaking in anticipation and anxiety. Dr. Nuenez stepped to the same position on the other side of the bed and rested her hand on the rail. The others in the room crowded as close as they could without intruding on the moment too much.
He shifted restlessly, groaning again as his head pushed into the pillow, pressing against the wound. His eyes, still closed, tightened against the obvious discomfort, and Donna ached to do something to help him, to take the pain on herself. The best she could do, though, was gently brush the hair at his temple and murmur soothing words.
"It's all right, Jed. You're okay. Come on back to us."
She was vaguely aware of the crowd gathering closer. After a few moments of struggling with his own body, shuffling beneath the covers, he managed to break the surface of consciousness.
His eyes opened to a squint and he grimaced, even though the lights were on dim. Trying to shield them, he raised his right arm until the IV lines caught on the rail.
"Jed?" she said tentatively, willing her voice to stop wavering.
"Whoa," said Dr. Nuenez quickly, and Donna knew she certainly wanted to avoid another accident. "Hang on, sir."
With a quick twist, she freed the tubes, and Jed let his hand continue upward to touch his fingers to his bandaged head. Wincing, he sucked in a breath between his teeth as he pushed on the wound. With a grunt, he looked to his left toward the doctor; then his eyes drifted to the right, lingering only briefly on Leo, and apparently missing the ones behind them altogether.
Finally, he came to her. She wanted to say something, yearned to tell him it was okay, he was okay, but she was frozen, terrified that if she called his name again and he didn't answer, it would prove her fears true – all of their fears true.
He stared at her, their eyes locking, and she fought back a sob as she saw the blankness there, the glazed cloud, devoid of recognition, heavy with confusion. A frown pinched his brow, and he swallowed, closing his eyes again.
Damn it! Damn it! Pushing back a sob, she fought to keep her sanity, to take things one step at a time. What now? What would they do now? Leo would know what to do about the country, surely he would. But what about his family? His wife? His son?
Then she saw his eyes on her again, lingering in silence until amazingly, miraculously, he smiled. Not his usual mischievous grin, or even his satisfied smirk, but it was definitely a smile.
Afraid to tempt fate, to challenge the moment, she held her breath until he finally parted his lips and spoke.
It was weak and thready, but perfectly clear.
"Hey, Baby."
A Dagger Unseen – Chapter Eleven A West Wing Story
by MAHC
As someone's scream broke the air, Ron Butterfield plowed through the doors into the Presidential suite. Chaos exploded. Jonah dived on top of her, throwing her on the ground and covering her with his body. She heard the footsteps of the agents who rushed by her, who plunged in after their boss, throwing themselves into harm's way for their country, for their Commander- in-Chief – for her husband. Another shot cracked in the air, then echoing ricochets of gunfire obliterated other individual weapon sounds.
"Get down! Get down!" That was Ron's voice, commanding, strong, but even it betrayed a touch of hot panic in the sudden cacophony that erupted in the room. "Not him! He's clear! Not him!" More screams, more gunfire, more chaos.
Then silence fell, as sudden and startling as the noise. The only sound she heard was the overwhelming pounding of her heart. Somehow, she blinked enough to see again, to prod her brain into some semblance of coherent thought.
"We're clear!" Ron's voice again. "Get a doctor in here, now!"
Jonah eased off her just a little, but it was enough. Pushing up from her protection with a sickening sense of deja vu, she strained to see through the open doors, then almost wished she hadn't.
"Oh my God!"
Blood. The room was splattered red, Jackson Pollack bursts against the walls, across the floor.
"Jed!" she cried out, scrambling to her feet, rushing to the doorway before anyone could stop her. As she stood at the entrance, she saw that nothing within ten feet had been spared the spray of crimson. To her left, against a millwork cabinet lay the body of Josh's assistant, the assailant – and apparently the source of most of the blood, which still seeped from her body – but Donna knew it was just a body now – as it lay twisted against the woodwork, ripped with Secret Service bullets. The assassin might have gotten in one shot, but it was the last one she would ever get. Four agents held their guns on the mutilated body. In some bizarre humor, Donna almost laughed at the uselessness of that precaution. There was no life left there – that was obvious.
Then, hesitantly, she turned toward the bed, dreading what she would see, trying to prepare her brain for something it could never be prepared for. The machinery had been overturned in the melee, and lay smashed and mangled on the floor. More blood, staining the white sheets, splashed against the monitors and coated the occupants of the bed.
Occupants. Occupants?
When her mind cleared enough to register what she saw, she still wasn't sure it could be real. Jed's body had twisted toward the rail, sticky red splattered over him, but she saw only his head and shoulders because sprawled across him, face down, was another body.
"Gino!" she cried, "Oh God!"
"Stand back!" Ron yelled, arms held out to keep the sudden rush of witnesses away. "Let the doctors in."
Dr. Egris pushed his way through the crowd, followed by at least three other medical personnel tugging along a crash cart. Two skidded to a halt at the end of the bed and hovered over Gino's limp form. Egris pulled the other one with him to minister to the President, running his hands over the exposed upper body. She saw to her horror that Jed's arm was flung over the rail, blood coursing from the gash where the IV lines had been jerked out when the pole fell. Fluid drained onto the floor, useless. Cursing, Egris grabbed the limb and raised it above the rail, clutching his hands over the wound, trying to stem the flow of blood.
"Get me a tourniquet, a pressure pack, something!" he yelled, and a nurse hurried in behind him almost immediately. Donna couldn't move, couldn't quite register what had happened.
A gurney appeared and they eased the bulk of her brother onto it, cradling his left arm and shoulder. Donna saw the huge spread of blood across his jacket, heard his groan. She couldn't breathe, didn't know where to look. Her brother and her husband lay at the center of a wildly nightmarish scene, and she didn't even know if either of them was still alive.
Egris worked on the President, his actions rapid, efficient, intense. Her eyes sought the monitor to see if Jed's heart still beat, but the machine lay on the floor, dark and silent, its surface marred by gruesome splotches.
"We have an entrance wound upper left chest," a doctor barked out over her brother's body, ripping the material away from the wound as they settled Gino onto a cart. "No exit. Prep OR Three."
She swung her attention back and forth. Couldn't somebody tell her what was happening? "Is he dead?"she asked, not sure if she meant her brother or her husband.
But no one answered. They were too busy scrambling to stabilize the patient on the cart. Was he the one maybe they thought had the best chance of survival? Was he the one who was still alive?
"Let's go!" someone yelled, and the group pushed from the room.
Donna fought the need to follow the cart, to go with Gino, to look after him. But a quick look back at her husband kept her rooted to the spot, fear clenching at her throat again. Blood coated the covers over his legs and abdomen and splattered across his face and shoulders. Egris still held onto his arm, teeth gritted in an effort to put enough pressure on it. A nurse stood by him, looking stunned, her hands holding out a white bandage. But did it matter? Jed's face was white, chalky. She couldn't even tell if he was still breathing.
"Doctor!" she cried, grabbing at Egris' arm. "Is he – my husband, is he – "
For the first time, the physician seemed to realize she was there. Motioning for the packet the nurse extended toward him, he shifted a little so she could see his face, haggard and a little shocked.
She braced herself for his words, for the horrible and final pronouncement.
Then he smiled. Just a slight upturn of his lips, but it was enough.
"Most of this is not his blood, Mrs. Bartlet," he explained, positioning a thick pack over the arm wound and beginning to wrap gauze around it. "He wasn't hit again. The IV lines were pulled out of his arm when the pole fell, made a nasty tear, and he lost blood with that, but we've got it stopped now. I want to take him into an OR so Dr. Menian can stitch it up. He's the best plastic man we have." He looked at her squarely. "He'll be all right. That young man saved his life."
The adrenaline that had propelled her fast behind Ron a few minutes earlier vanished, and with it her strength. She felt hands catching her elbows as her knees turned to jelly.
"Ma'am?" Jonah asked. "Do you need to sit down?"
"Mrs. Bartlet," Ron interrupted, gently, but firmly, "I need you to leave the room now. They're going to move the President, and this is a crime scene. If you would – "
She nodded and allowed Jonah to lead her out.
"This way," someone said, and she soon found herself settled into someone's private office, giving in to violent, uncontrollable tremors as her body finally had time to react to the unimaginable experience it had just had.
"Mrs. Bartlet?" The same young nurse who had taken care of Jed earlier stepped inside the room, blanket over her arm. "It will take a while for them to stitch up the President, and then before he is situated in another room. I know you haven't slept, ma'am. I've seen you. Why don't you stretch out on the couch here and just rest a bit?"
Donna bit back a protest. She didn't want to rest, didn't want to miss one moment, one chance to convince herself things were okay, that Jed was fine, and that Gino would be fine. But she felt the heaviness in her eyelids, knew the let down after the surge of energy.
"I promise to come get you as soon as he wakes up."
Well, maybe just a few minutes, just to rest her eyes.
She nodded and allowed the younger woman to drape the warm material over her. Just a few minutes, no longer.
Consciousness came back to her slowly as she swam through the fading black toward the light. Fighting against the surreal haze, Donna couldn't tell how long it took before the sudden memory of what her mind had last seen and heard overwhelmed her. She had only one thought.
"Jed!"
Firm hands held her shoulders. "Mrs. Bartlet?" She didn't recognize that voice.
"Donna?" But that was Leo, his tone unusually soft.
She looked up into his face, squinting a bit, searching for information, for reassurance. "Jed?"
The first voice answered, and Donna swung around to look at an older physician, her white coat stitched with the name Dr. Maria Nuenez. "We've moved him to the East Suite, ma'am."
"Is he – "
"He's all right. Dr. Menian sutured his arm where the IVs came out. He's our best plastic surgeon. It looks good. Mostly superficial damage."
She threw off the blanket, shook the fog from her brain, and stood. "Can I see him?"
Dr. Nuenez nodded. "Of course. His daughters are already in there. I think he's waiting for you before he wakes up."
"Yes. Fine." No small talk. She had to see Jed. She had to know he really was all right. Her last vision of him had been gruesome. Blood covering his body, splattering his face, his arm ripped open and pouring his life out onto the floor. Dear God, had it been real?
Then she remembered something else. "Gino?"
"Her brother," Leo explained to the doctor, who frowned in puzzlement. "The man who saved the President's life."
Nuenez smiled. "He's still in surgery, but he'll be all right. Dr. Egris has already retrieved the bullet and it's just a matter of closing the wound. I'll let you know when he's out of recovery."
Thank God. Thank God that Gino was all right. And thank God that he had somehow, incredibly, saved Jed.
"I want to see my husband now," Donna decided, her voice stronger and showing traces of the confidence she had begun cultivating as First Lady.
Leo smiled and fell into step next to her as they followed Nuenez out of the office and down the hallway, now a virtual fortress lined with stone- faced Secret Service agents. No one was getting in here now. She figured even J.T. might need special clearance.
The room Jed was in was almost an exact mirror of the previous one, except this one was pristine with white sheets and machinery that wasn't bullet- ridden. They had cleaned the blood from him and provided fresh bandages for his head and for the newly injured arm. She wondered vaguely if they had shaved the hair from his forearm before they wrapped it. Otherwise, it would smart when they removed the tape. The IV lines hung on the other side now, carefully inserted into his right arm this time, continuing to feed the needed medicines to his body. His color was better, still a little flushed, but that was preferable to the bone white she had seen after the melee. In the rush, they apparently had not bothered to try to slip another gown over him, and he lay bare-chested, the blanket covering him to just above his waist. She hoped he wasn't cold, didn't want him to suffer anymore than he already had. Ellie, Liz, and Zoey stood around the bed, each girl touching him somewhere. One hand on a shoulder, another against his cheek, another at a knee. They smiled tightly at her as she entered.
"Has he regained consciousness at all?" she asked to no one in particular.
Nuenez answered. "No, ma'am, but he's showing signs of coming around soon. His brain activity is getting closer to the surface and he's moving around more."
"You think soon?" She was excited and terrified at once. What would he remember? What would he know?
As if she sensed her thoughts, the physician put a hand on Donna's arm and said softly, "I do want to remind you, Mrs. Bartlet, that we don't know yet if there was any lingering damage as a result of the concussion. It was severe, which is why he's been out so long."
Donna nodded. She didn't need to be reminded. That had haunted her for days now.
"But just because he might have difficulty at first," the doctor added hastily, "doesn't mean it won't get better. As his brain heals itself, we should see improvement."
What was she saying? Improvement from what? What were they talking about here?
"Ellie?" It was the first person she thought of. Jed's daughter, Abbey's daughter, would give it to her straight.
The middle Bartlet girl gave her father's knee a soft pat and stepped back to meet her step-mother squarely. "With such an injury, Donna, he is likely to have some problems at first. Like we mentioned earlier. Memory loss. Weakness in his limbs, maybe."
"What are the chances?"
Neither doctor wanted to commit. Nuenez said, "Depends a lot on the patient. I just want you not to get your hopes up too much. I think eventually he'll be okay. It may just take some time."
"Are you saying he might not remember – me?"
Ellie pressed her lips together for a moment, then responded. "It's a possibility, Donna. After all, you are relatively new to him. The brain tends to pull out information it is more familiar with, that it has kept for a longer time."
"And J.T.?"
Nuenez shook her head. "We just don't know."
Now Leo stepped forward. "Doctor, what are the chances he doesn't – that there are other things he doesn't remember?"
"I would think, Mr. McGarry, that if something is foremost in his mind, like the heavy responsibilities he has as President, there is a good chance it will remain in his memory. But, of course, "she added, "we won't know until he wakes up."
He might know his position in the country, but not know his wife, Donna thought bitterly. How fair is that? Anger flared inside her. He would have the burdens of a nation still weighing him down, but not the comfort of a lover, of a family.
"It may take time, Mrs. Bartlet," the doctor said again. "There just may be some things he doesn't remember at first."
"Or ever?" she asked, needing to know, needing to hear the truth.
Nuenez hesitated, then nodded. "Or ever. Possibly."
"What do we do if he doesn't remember? What are the first steps?"
Liz stepped forward and laid a hand on her arm. The President's oldest daughter had been the quietest, the most reserved about their marriage. It was not that she didn't like Donna, but maybe it was just hard to see her father with anyone else but her mother. It hadn't matter that much, since Liz lived away and they saw each other rarely, but it made for a certain awkwardness when they were together.
Donna found herself bracing for whatever Liz had to say. But the face that looked so much like Abbey's smiled up at her now with a tenderness Donna had never seen before, at least not directed toward her. "Donna, Dad loves you very much, and I know you love him. We all know that. Let that be your first step. Let him know that. The rest can wait."
Tears burned her eyes, and she felt herself enfolded in the embrace of all three girls, a bond among them in their love for one man. But she didn't want to wait, didn't know if she could stand it when he woke and had no idea who was there holding his hand. Didn't remember that they shared a bed, a child, a life. Despite the support of his family, she needed him to be there again, to know her again, to love her again.
And there was something perhaps even bigger. Glancing over at Leo, she knew he was wondering what they would do if the President of the United States awoke and didn't have the foggiest notion that he was the Chief Executive.
But all the "what ifs" dropped away as reality took over. A groan from the bed drew their attention. She bent over him, squeezing his hand, her heart pounding, her body still shaking in anticipation and anxiety. Dr. Nuenez stepped to the same position on the other side of the bed and rested her hand on the rail. The others in the room crowded as close as they could without intruding on the moment too much.
He shifted restlessly, groaning again as his head pushed into the pillow, pressing against the wound. His eyes, still closed, tightened against the obvious discomfort, and Donna ached to do something to help him, to take the pain on herself. The best she could do, though, was gently brush the hair at his temple and murmur soothing words.
"It's all right, Jed. You're okay. Come on back to us."
She was vaguely aware of the crowd gathering closer. After a few moments of struggling with his own body, shuffling beneath the covers, he managed to break the surface of consciousness.
His eyes opened to a squint and he grimaced, even though the lights were on dim. Trying to shield them, he raised his right arm until the IV lines caught on the rail.
"Jed?" she said tentatively, willing her voice to stop wavering.
"Whoa," said Dr. Nuenez quickly, and Donna knew she certainly wanted to avoid another accident. "Hang on, sir."
With a quick twist, she freed the tubes, and Jed let his hand continue upward to touch his fingers to his bandaged head. Wincing, he sucked in a breath between his teeth as he pushed on the wound. With a grunt, he looked to his left toward the doctor; then his eyes drifted to the right, lingering only briefly on Leo, and apparently missing the ones behind them altogether.
Finally, he came to her. She wanted to say something, yearned to tell him it was okay, he was okay, but she was frozen, terrified that if she called his name again and he didn't answer, it would prove her fears true – all of their fears true.
He stared at her, their eyes locking, and she fought back a sob as she saw the blankness there, the glazed cloud, devoid of recognition, heavy with confusion. A frown pinched his brow, and he swallowed, closing his eyes again.
Damn it! Damn it! Pushing back a sob, she fought to keep her sanity, to take things one step at a time. What now? What would they do now? Leo would know what to do about the country, surely he would. But what about his family? His wife? His son?
Then she saw his eyes on her again, lingering in silence until amazingly, miraculously, he smiled. Not his usual mischievous grin, or even his satisfied smirk, but it was definitely a smile.
Afraid to tempt fate, to challenge the moment, she held her breath until he finally parted his lips and spoke.
It was weak and thready, but perfectly clear.
"Hey, Baby."