POV: Donna Spoilers: None, I don't think Rating: PG Disclaimer: J.T. is my creation, as are the doctors and Gino. Jed, Donna, Leo, C.J., Josh, and Toby are AS's. Darn.

A Dagger Unseen – Chapter Twelve A West Wing Story

by MAHC

Donna felt her chest lift in a deep breath and push her body on through to alertness. Blinking twice, she rose from the folding cot the attending nurse had brought her and stood, glancing around the room. The light that slashed through the window blinds was sufficient to illuminate everything, so she surmised it was at least seven a.m., maybe a little later. Almost immediately her mind shifted to the bed and the figure in it. Jed lay on his back, head elevated slightly by an extra pillow, the bandaged left arm resting on his stomach, the other resting by his side.

She took the time to study him, allowed this luxury only as long as he remained asleep. If he were awake, she knew he would resent the careful perusal, the pointed assessment of his health, so she took advantage of the moment. The swelling had lessened a bit around his eye, but the bruising was deepening, swiping a paint-brush of purple and green toward his temple. A nurse had removed the bandage over his forehead, and she saw, really for the first time, the result of the bullet that came so close to taking him from her. It was surprisingly minor looking, actually, for what she had imagined. A slash that extended from just above his brow around to just behind his ear, pulled together with black stitches. They had shaved a narrow strip of hair for easier access, but the new growth had already begun to push its way through. She resisted the urge to brush her finger over the area, her need to comfort bowing to the fear of causing more pain.

They still had not been able to assess his condition completely since he had woken and recognized her earlier. And although his few muttered words had given them all a boost, and they seemed a little more content to wait him out a bit longer, she was growing impatient to judge for herself just how the trauma might have affected him, just how much he remembered – or how much he had forgotten, or even what kinds of physical consequences the injury had left him with.

So far, her prayers had been answered. He was alive. He knew her. Maybe that was all she should have expected, and certainly she thanked God for that. But selfishly, greedily, she wanted more; she wanted her Jed back like he was. Just as she was considering trying to talk him to the surface, the squeak of the door drew her attention. She smiled a little as Leo walked in.

"How ya doin'?" he asked quietly, and she noted that he had finally changed from the suit he had worn since the shooting.

"I'm okay," she told him. It was close enough to the truth.

"He come around again yet?" He nodded toward the bed.

"No." Anxiety sharpened her response more than she had intended.

Leo let out a quick breath. "Give him time, Donna. He'll do it. Jed Bartlet is the most stubborn man I know."

She smiled slightly.

Glancing toward the bed, he added firmly, "And he's a fighter."

"I know." But how much fighting could one man take? How much embattlement? What if he'd just had enough? Shrugging off those uncomfortable thoughts, she shifted subjects. "What's going on out there?"

"C.J.'s trying to downplay the incident."

"Incident?" She laughed humorlessly. "An attack on the President of the United States in his hospital room by one of his own staff? A possible conspiracy somehow wrapped up in North Korea? The President's brother-in- law wounded saving his life?"

Leo raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement of her point. "You think 'incident' is too dramatic?" he asked in sarcasm.

Donna shook her head. "I wish C.J. luck. She's going to need it."

"If anyone can do it – "

"That's true," she agreed. C.J. could, if anyone could.

"You wanna hear some irony?" Leo asked.

She tilted her head up, inviting him to continue.

"The North Korean President has sent his best wishes and has offered to resume talks about nuclear buildup."

Imagine that. Guilt? Or self-preservation, since the entire world was now looking at him as the possible instigator for the attempted murder of the leader of the free world?

"A blessing in disguise?" she wondered.

Leo shrugged. "In the words of Winston Churchill, 'at the moment it seems quite effectively disguised.'"

She silently agreed.

"In the meantime," Leo continued, with more energy, "when's Sleeping Beauty gonna come around?"

A low grunt spun them instantly toward the bed, and a familiar, if strained and slurred, voice answered before she could. "Who – ya – callin' – beauty?"

Her heart jumped ahead of her lungs for a minute, almost stealing her breath. "Jed?"

His eyes remained closed, but he lifted the hand from his stomach and wiggled his fingers in greeting. She caught them, holding on tight, as much for her own reassurance as for his.

"How're you feeling?" she asked gently.

He tried to shift, but stopped abruptly and gritted his teeth. "Uh, like – some – body – hit – me – with – a – base – ball – bat."

She exchanged a look with the chief of staff, both at the words and at the gait with which they were delivered. She squeezed his hand harder, trying not to encourage the spark of fear that his halting speech had ignited.

"That's pretty close, sir," Leo admitted, his own expression guarded.

Eyes still closed, Jed responded with only, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she answered, but hurried to add, "But you're okay."

"You?"

"Me, too. I'm fine." Another squeeze for emphasis.

A pause, then, "J. – T.?"

Relief swept over her, almost making her sway with its force. She had not wanted to push, even though the temptation to test his memory was strong. Now, her two paramount questions had been answered. Would he know her? Would he remember their son?

"Yes," she assured, bringing his hand to her face. "He's great. Mom is with him. Dad's with Gino."

Jed's lips lifted slightly, almost a smile. "Lock – door – next – time."

She smirked at Leo's flush, delighted that her husband recalled that ignominious incident, as well. Fears for his memory faded. "You bet."

The Chief of Staff backed away. "I'll let the doctor know you're awake," he decided, but before he could reach the door, Jed's voice stopped him.

"Russell?"

"Yes, sir. He's sitting in for you, Mister President."

"Great." Even flat on his back, Jed Bartlet managed sarcasm quite well.

"He's doing fine, sir. Josh is with him. And Toby checks in."

"– kay."

Clearing his throat, Leo stepped outside the room, leaving the President and First Lady alone. Donna watched Jed for a moment, took in the pinch of discomfort between his brows, the tightness around his mouth. He was in pain, to be expected, since the doctors hesitated to administer too much morphine. That could be the cause of his slow speech, his uncharacteristic economy of words. Couldn't it?

As she stared at the man she had been terrified would leave her, his eyes finally opened, squinting into the unaccustomed light.

"Donna." An acknowledgement, a satisfaction.

"I'm here, Baby," she told him, echoing his own nickname for her. Gently, she shifted so that both her hands clasped his.

They stared at each other for a long time, and she was content to let his eyes linger on points of her face, as if he hadn't seen her in months. Finally, she leaned over and kissed his lips softly, so glad that it wasn't a final goodbye, but a welcome back.

"I missed you," she told him, brushing another kiss over his forehead before pulling back.

"Have – I – been – gone?" he asked, and she wasn't sure if he was joking or serious.

"Do you remember anything about what happened?"

Fear crept into his eyes, not for himself, she knew, but for her, for J.T., even though she had assured him they were fine. "What – happened?"

Dear God, how did she say this? Okay, start with a broad statement. "There was an – attempt."

"God – "

"No! We're fine, I told you. And you'll be fine."

"I – need – to – " He tried to sit up, but grimaced, his hand coming up to probe at the stiff stitches over his temple. Donna caught at his shoulders, only partially helping him back down onto the bed. His body fell with a hard jar, and he groaned.

"Jed?"

"I'm – all – right," he told her, but the tight features belied his reassurance.

"I – need – to – talk – to – Leo." The words were forced out between gritted teeth, as if he had to squeeze them from his brain through his lips.

Still, she tried not to give in to the alarm that threatened her hope. He hadn't spoken in several days. He had a severe concussion. He had been shot, for God's sake. That trauma had to manifest itself somewhere. Was this it? Surely it was temporary. Surely it would pass. Right?

"He'll be back in a minute," she promised patiently.

"Need – to – know – what – happened." Again, the stilted speech drew a frown to his face, as if he was baffled by his inability to make the words come out faster.

"You've been shot, Mister President," Dr. Egris informed him as he breezed into the room, followed by Leo.

He paused, long enough for Donna to grow anxious, but finally sniffed and said, "Again?" There was ironic humor in his voice.

Even though it would have certainly been strange, Donna almost laughed. Leave it to Jed to find the levity in a dark situation.

Then he sobered and asked, "Any – body – else – "

"No, sir," Leo assured him, glancing back at the doctor.

Jed sighed, relief showing clearly on his body.

"Mister President," Egris asked, taking the small silver instrument from his pocket and shining it quickly in his patient's eyes, "are you having any difficulty thinking?"

Jed frowned warily, not answering. Not a good sign.

Calmly, the young doctor pretended not to notice the hesitancy. Instead, he clarified, "Any problems pulling the right word you want to use?"

This time, the President shook his head and sighed. "No," he told him, and Donna breathed a little easier. But his next statement thrust a hole in her relief. "Well – maybe. Just – can't – seem – to – get – it – out." The gritted teeth, the pain in the eyes completed the story.

Her thoughts returned to the warnings Ellie had given before Jed awoke, to the possible consequences of the injury. "Headache, dizziness, confusion, ringing in the ears, nausea, visual disturbance, loss of balance, memory loss, difficulty concentrating." Nothing about trouble speaking. Why hadn't they mentioned that, too? It didn't seem fair that he would avoid all the pitfalls they listed, only to fall prey to an unexpected one.

"Doctor?" she asked tightly, still holding her husband's hand in hers.

He answered her, but included Jed in his conversation. "Aphasia can occur as a result of a head injury."

"Aphasia?"

"Impaired expression or comprehension of written or spoken language."

Dear God. Speech. How maliciously ironic. His greatest gift was the one taken from him. Her wonderfully articulate husband, oratorical master, weaver of words. This was what he had lost?

"Does he seem to understand what you are saying?" Egris continued.

Donna couldn't believe he was asking this, that this was possible, but she tried to shake off the panic and answer. "Yes. He – he understands."

"I'm – right – here," Jed protested with such a little-boy expression that she almost smiled despite the disturbing suggestion the doctor was making.

Egris turned to him instantly. "I'm sorry, Mister President. Let me ask you, then. Are you having trouble finding the word you want to use?"

She could tell he didn't want to respond, didn't want his acknowledgement to give credence to such a development. But after a moment, he pressed his lips together and nodded.

Her heart ached for him. Language, the spoken word, was so much a part of who Josiah Bartlet was. How could he be the same man without his ability to express himself so skillfully?

"Will it get better?" she asked. Please say yes.

The doctor shifted slightly and sighed. "I wish I could say definitely, but the brain is a complicated organ." He looked directly at the President again. "Sir, your speech skills may come back quickly, or over time – "

"Or not at all?" Donna asked. They had to know, however painful it was. Jed needed to know.

"Or not at all," he admitted. "I'm sorry. I will say it is early to be making long-term judgments. Your body is still trying to get past the trauma of the injury. It can't devote too much energy to full healing yet. We'll need to run some tests, of course. And then we'll probably want to get you going on therapy, but we'll let you rest a while before we start."

No one spoke for a moment as he allowed them to absorb this new complication. Finally, he touched Donna's elbow and asked, "Can I get you anything?"

"No," she said. "Thank you, Doctor." She just wanted him to leave, just wanted to be alone with her husband.

But as Egris left, Leo eased into the slot beside him. "Hey," he said, voice working hard to be light. "Well, the good news is that this time they were actually aiming at you."

Jed tried to laugh, didn't carry it off convincingly. "Lucky – me."

Lucky him, all right, Donna reflected ruefully.

"Glad – it – was – lousy – shot," Jed decided, holding his hand over his eye.

"Not necessarily, sir." This new voice interrupted them and all three looked toward the door as Ron Butterfield entered, also sporting a change of clothes.

Leo took it upon himself to respond. Donna didn't know if it was to save Jed the embarrassment of speaking or just because he wanted to know. "Are you saying that the President wasn't lucky this was a lousy shot?"

"No, sir. I'm saying this wasn't a lousy shot."

They let this settle over them before Leo shook his head and asked, "Well, if you don't consider the fact that the President could have been hit right between the eyes – "

Donna flinched at that visual.

"That's exactly what I'm saying, Leo."

She watched Jed close his eyes as if he needed a little less stimulation to concentrate. Not caring that Ron would comprehend his problem, he managed, "Gonna – use –excuse – I've – been –- sh–shot – in – the – head – to – ask – you – to – explain."

The quick double take by Ron was masked almost immediately, but Donna had seen it. So, she figured, had Jed.

"As excuses go," Leo allowed, trying to keep things light still, "it's not bad."

Jed smiled, but Ron's next statement turned the conversation serious again.

His composure recovered, the agent told them, "The gun used was a 40-year- old M1D, accurate to about 500 yards, but not so much after that. We figure the gunman was at least 700 yards away."

"That – means – "Jed prompted.

"That means if she had been 200 yards closer, or if she had had a newer sniper rifle – well, you might be lying in the Rotunda instead of here, Mister President."

The thought was sobering, and they all remained silent for a moment.

"She?" Jed asked.

Donna glanced toward Leo and Ron. They gave her silent agreement to fill her husband in on events.

"Mikki Chul, Josh's assistant."

Jed frowned at her. "She – "

"She shot you."

"She – shot – "

"Tried to shoot you again last night."

His hand went to his head and he grimaced, not from pain, she realized, but from the sheer shock of her words. She let him digest that information before she continued.

"Gino – Gino stepped in front of you."

Now he looked up, jaw slack. "Gino?"

She laughed. "Yeah."

"Is – he – "

"He's all right. Was hit in the shoulder, but he'll be fine."

"God," Jed breathed, glancing toward his arm and holding it up as if he had just noticed the heavy bandages. "What – "

She winced at having to tell him the IVs had been ripped out of his arm when Gino fell across him, but gave him all the gruesome details, knowing she would have to eventually anyway. When she finished, he stared at her in amazement.

"Where?" he wanted to know.

"Down the hall."

"I – want – to – see – him."

Leo stepped closer. "He'll be able to visit later, Mister President. He's still recovering from surgery."

But Jed shook his head vehemently. "No. Now."

She locked eyes with the Jed's oldest friend and knew they were both wondering how they were going to get Jed to Gino's room, because it was already apparent he was going. But before they could even begin a plan, a knock at the door interrupted them.

Thank goodness. Maybe her stubborn husband would at least wait until they were sure he could even stand by himself.

"Come," Leo called, probably grateful himself for the distraction.

Toby Zeigler stuck his head inside, his usually dour expression somehow lighter at the sight of a conscious President. "Mister President?" he greeted.

"Toby," Jed acknowledged, another confirmation of his unaffected memory.

Stepping fully into the room, the communications director smiled, that quick smile that faded fast before it cracked his face too much. "It's good to see you awake, sir," he said. "We were pretty worried."

"The President's doing much better, Toby," Leo intercepted, and Donna knew he was trying to keep Jed from talking. She wasn't sure she agreed with him. "You can tell C.J. to let the press know he's fully conscious and recovering."

"That's good news," Toby said. "Very good news."

"Thanks." Jed was restricting himself to single words. For Toby? Or for himself?

The younger man shuffled his feet a moment, then added hesitantly, "I know it's not really time, but I thought maybe since the President is feeling better, we could go over the last draft of the State of the Union speech."

The shock of that simple statement flew across her face and she figured Leo's expression mirrored hers in its stunned horror. The State of the Union? The State of the Union? How had they forgotten about the State of the Union?

Toby frowned, not sure about the cause of the reaction. "Well, not now, of course," he backtracked quickly, "but maybe soon."

Donna looked at Leo, then at Jed.

Still not receiving any verbal acknowledgement of his statement, Toby continued with the kicker. "'Cause, you know, it IS next week."

Oh hell.