POV: Donna
Spoilers: "Take This Sabbath Day;" "Bartlet For America;" "25"
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Most of these characters were not created by me.
A Dagger Unseen – Chapter Fourteen A West Wing Story
by MAHC
Mikki Chul had been dead for nine years?
Donna couldn't speak, couldn't even wrap her thoughts around what Ron was saying. Everything they thought, all the conjectures of why she did it, of what had motivated her to threaten the First Family, to shoot the President, shattered with that one statement.
Mikki Chul had been dead for nine years.
"Then who?" Jed wanted to know.
Well, he wasn't the only one. Who the hell was it that pulled that trigger, that took those photos, that crashed that plane, that almost destroyed their lives?
Ron cut his eyes downward for a moment, then looked back up, as if to say, "You're not going to like this." He was right.
"Mister President, we believe a North Korean agent was sent here, using Mikki Chul's identity to infiltrate the military and get into a position to intimidate U.S. policy in North Korea."
Jed turned his head, but did not move his eyes from the agent, a habit of his when he tried to sift through the padded layers of confusion to get to the solid center of information. "North Korea?"
"Yes, sir."
"It really is – North Korea?"
"Yes, sir."
"Are they crazy?"
"I wouldn't know, sir."
"North Korea actively pursued the – the assassination of a sitting American President?"
"It looks possible, sir."
He ran a hand through his hair. "But that had to be planned – I wasn't – even President when – "
"Excuse me, Mister President."
All three occupants turned to see Leo McGarry and another dark-suited man enter. Donna vaguely wondered if they knew what had occurred between the First Couple in that room, then decided she didn't really care.
Leo nodded to her and opened a palm toward the other man. "Mister President, this is Special Agent John Odechek, FBI."
As Jed pushed away from the desk and shook the agent's hand, Donna watched for any signs of weakness, saw that Ron did the same. But the hand was steady, the eyes clear. Still, she saw the alarm in Leo's eyes as he peered more closely at the President.
"Are you all right, sir?"
Jed frowned, then saw where the Chief of Staff's gaze lingered. Touching the fresh blood at the wound, he shrugged off the concern. "I'm fine."
Not looking totally convinced, Leo nevertheless took the hint and switched his attention to Ron Butterfield. "You briefed him?"
"We had just begun," the head of POTUS' detail told him, then turned back to the President. "The plan was obviously not a personal one against you, sir."
"At least not at first," Leo added. "But later, when you insisted the North Korean government give up all nuclear capacity before humanitarian aid could resume, the plan shifted to make it personal."
"I didn't want to compromise," Jed muttered, almost to himself. "Maybe I should have – "
"You didn't want to leave it for the next guy," Leo reminded him gently. "A compromise would only delay this, not fix it."
"Yeah." But doubt flattened his tone.
Leo took the liberty of touching his friend's shoulder and drawing their gazes together. "This person had to have been in place long before you did anything to piss them off."
The pure pain in those blue eyes hurt them all when Jed asked quietly, "Then, why – J.T.? Why Donna?"
She moved beside him, slipping her arm through his, both lending and gaining strength from the contact.
Odechek stepped closer to field the ragged question. "They were weapons, sir, used initially in an attempt to distract you, to take your attention away from the Korean issue."
The President shook his head ruefully and laughed, a sharp, harsh sound. "Worked."
"Not enough," Leo observed, his voice also regretful. "When it became apparent you weren't budging on the nuclear bans, they gave up on that and tried to create a scandal, to humiliate you, to make you lose credibility."
Jed exhaled hard. "Then?"
"Then they got impatient. The scandal didn't work like they had planned. You didn't cave in to the threats. And somehow, the – uh – the photographs have not been published, despite the probability that someone has at least one copy even now."
Oh God. Someone had a copy still? She had almost forgotten about those stark pictures, almost pushed that threat from her mind. But was this humiliation still looming, still out there somewhere waiting to sideswipe them after all they had been through?
Clearing his throat, Ron threw an apologetic glance toward Donna and added, "The – uh – Oval Office – rumors, which were calculated to humiliate and threaten you, didn't create the negative fervor they anticipated."
Yeah, okay. The world knows we had sex in the Oval Office. You can drop it now.
But he didn't. If Donna hadn't been certain she knew Ron better, she would have sworn she saw a fleeting grin cross his lips. "In fact, the suggestion that you and the First Lady had – well, that you and she – Let me just say that the possibility seemed to draw even more favorable impressions for you, sir."
On second thought, she did know him well enough to be relatively sure that it was a grin.
Jed colored and swallowed hard. Donna cast her eyes down. No way she wanted to see the other men's expressions at the moment.
Hastily, Leo jumped to add his conclusion. "So they finally decided the only way to get rid of your policy was to get rid of you."
The room absorbed that synopsis for a long moment.
"Where does – Fahrwell fit in?" Jed asked finally, shifting attention away from their embarrassment.
"A stooge," Odechek surmised. "Only superficially involved. Possibly out of the loop completely until it was too late to get out. Knew Mikki Chul – or whoever was using her identity – from his visit with the North Korean president to photograph the family and staff. She used him to get the pictures, then disposed of him when he realized what was going on."
"Proof?"
"Some. Enough probably to make things very uncomfortable for North Korea."
Keeping her arm tucked almost protectively through Jed's, Donna asked, "What are the chances there will be another attempt?"
Odechek shook his head. "Low. They've played their hand. Anything else would be too dangerous for them, too chancy. If anything were directly connected to the North Korean government, global hell would break loose, and the entire West would cut them off completely. No, they'll cut their losses and run. Or try to play nice, now."
Jed shifted slightly and raised a hand to push back the hair that kept falling over his forehead. Donna almost grinned. The endearing habit always made him look rather boyish. "What about China?"
Leo shrugged. "Probably no comment either way. It would really be their only choice without coming out against North Korea."
"And they won't do that?" Jed wondered, opening his arms in a question. Donna let her grip drop, satisfied that the dizziness had left him.
"Doubtful."
Suddenly, the President, who had remained uncharacteristically low-key so far, slammed a fist on the desk top, grimacing at the impact, but not letting that keep him from his fierce question. "How the hell did an agent – infiltrate the damned – Marine Corps?"
She realized he had used his left hand and knew the impulsive motion had to have hurt. But when she tried to see if he had caused damage, he waved her off and faced the FBI agent, who, to his credit, managed not to flinch in the face of Presidential wrath.
"Apparently, sir," he explained, "the original records for Mikki Chul from Annapolis had been altered with new fingerprints and photographs. And pretty well, too. Fooled the recruiters at Parris Island and the IRS."
"And the FBI?" Jed wanted to know, pain forcing the calm back over him.
"At first, yes, sir," Odechek admitted.
"Do we know who this – really was?"
"Not yet, Mister President. But we are running matches of all known spies and terrorists who may have had links to North Korea."
Donna watched her husband run a hand through his hair again, a sure sign of frustration or fatigue. Or both. "Could she have just been – a hired gun?"
"With the amount of time devoted to this plan, several years apparently, I doubt it. This was a long-term goal," the FBI agent said.
Shifting his stance, Leo placed a hand back on the shoulder of his best friend. "It really didn't start out to be personal. Plans were made to influence presidential decisions while you were still Governor of New Hampshire."
"Well, it damn well GOT personal, didn't it?" Jed snapped.
And suddenly, despite the trauma of the discussion, despite the intensity of the information they were receiving, Donna realized that Jed's words were coming a little faster, a bit smoother. In fact, he had been much more articulate since – since their "conference" on the floor of the study. Certainly she did not credit a simple matter of sex with the improvement. But maybe a combination of the emotional and physical release had relaxed him. It gave more evidence for her theory.
But now wasn't the time to bring that up, so she listened to the dialogue and filed that knowledge away for later.
After a moment's thought, Jed looked up and nodded. "All right. Heighten the alert status at – the DMZ. Get the Joint – Chiefs together." He turned back to Odechek. "Anything else?"
"That's all we have at the moment, sir," the FBI agent said.
"You'll keep us informed?" Leo asked, but it wasn't really a question.
"Yes, sir."
With a duet of "Thank you, Mister President," Ron and Odechek left.
In their wake, the room relaxed into silence except for the ubiquitous clock's ticking. Donna wondered why she only noticed it in times of tension. Neither Leo nor Jed had moved. Both men stood facing each other, looking at the floor. Finally, her husband's sigh skimmed the quiet.
"All right," he said, jerking his chin toward Leo. "Let's go."
Lingering by her side for a long moment, he leaned in and kissed her tenderly. "I'll be – I'll be back later."
And who knew what that meant? Later could be minutes, hours, or days. All part of the job, a job, thank God, that was still his, even after the best efforts of Mikki Chul's imposter.
"Okay." She caught him again for another kiss, selfishly happy when he seemed genuinely reluctant to leave her.
But duty called, and it was only another moment before he and Leo were walking out of the residence toward the waiting intrigue of the West Wing.
Two days before the State of the Union, the President had set himself a full agenda after a check-up with Dr. Egris, who had made an appearance at the Residence so his famous patient didn't have to field questions from waiting reporters. The physical progress was good, even though the First Couple had received a mild lecture on the dangers of premature relations.
"I suppose, however, Mister President," Dr. Egris had allowed, "if it didn't kill you already, you're safe to, uh, continue."
Her husband had been almost insufferably proud of himself after that remark. Nevertheless, the doctor cautioned them to take things easy, especially since the head wound had shown some minor strain as a result.
When he left, Jed's impromptu proposal that they take the next hour off to celebrate was postponed with Leo's phone call. Typical.
So as her husband conferred with his Chief of Staff in the Oval Office, the First Lady made a needed visit to her own offices in the East Wing, plowing through briefs and memos placed at the bottom of the piles for several weeks. Until recently, she had simply ignored all but the most pressing items brought to her by her own chief of staff. Now, however, she could at least begin the tedious process of sifting through the documents.
Two hours, and several depleted stacks, later, her body reminded her of the other duty she had: motherhood. The pressing fullness in her breasts gave evidence that she couldn't ignore. J.T. would be fretting to be fed soon.
With a rueful glance at the remaining voluminous layers of papers, she told her staff she would return later and headed toward the residence. But an impulse sent her instead on past that toward the West Wing. Just a quick check, she told herself a little guiltily. She could mask her mother- henning with a visit with Margaret.
Leo's office bustled as usual, but the competent willowy redhead who ran it maintained her usual quirky smirk.
"Hey!" Donna greeted, as casually as possible. Nothing more than a simple visit, right?
Margaret replied dutifully, "Hello, Mrs. Bartlet."
Donna rolled her eyes. "Oh, give me a break," she scolded. "I don't have time for protocol today."
"Okay. What's up?" Easy switch from years of camaraderie.
She loved Margaret. What you saw was what you got.
"Catching up." Lifting a chin toward Leo's door, she asked, "How are things going?"
The hesitation was so slight, she almost didn't notice it. Almost. "Fine," Margaret replied smoothly. "They should be finished in a little while. Would you like to wait in Leo's office until – "
"What?" Donna interrupted.
"What?"
"What's going on?"
"I don't know – "
"This is me, Margaret. I know you, remember? Your 'fine' meant anything but."
At least the other woman had the decency to blush.
"I know you know what's happening in there. What's not so fine? Spill it."
Not seeming too distraught over this order to squeal, Margaret stepped toward Leo's office and confided, "Well, they started in there, but moved to the Oval Office about a half hour ago. Leo hasn't come back out yet."
"Could you hear them?" Might as well just give up any pretense of not wanted to eavesdrop. It was for the good of the President, after all.
"Not at first, but when Leo told me they were leaving his office, he left this door open. Every so often, their voices come through, but I can't really hear what they are saying."
Donna pursed her lips in challenge. She didn't have the time to play the suspense game today.
With a shrug, Leo's assistant admitted, "Okay. The best I can tell they are talking about North Korea and the possible involvement in the – " Margaret stumbled, but Donna shook her discomfort away and she finished. "In the assassination attempt."
No real news there. "How does he sound?" No need explaining who "he" was.
Another hesitation, this time not so slight. "Well – fine, I'm sure. He sounds fine."
There was that suspicious "fine" again. "Margaret, it doesn't do him any good for you not to tell me. I need to know."
Her face blanked, then molded into a visibly sympathetic grimace. "Slow. He still sounds slow and – and unsure about what he's saying. I'm sorry, Donna. I know you want him to – "
"I want him to get better. I want him to be happy." It was true, whether that meant speaking better or not. She didn't really give a damn.
"I know." And this time she heard the sincerity in her friend's voice. "You wanna wait in Leo's office?"
"I didn't really come to see him," she explained. But when Margaret's eyes narrowed, she knew she was not fooling her friend. "But – okay." Besides, Leo's office would at least afford the privacy she couldn't have perched on Charlie's or Debbie Fiderer's desk.
Margaret ushered her into the dark room. Before she left, she turned and smiled. "I'm sure the President will be fine. He has a lot going for him. Intellect. Determination. Courage. Strength."
"Thanks, Margaret," Donna said, returning the smile.
"Hey."
She raised her brow in acknowledgement.
"There's one more thing he has going for him," her friend reminded.
"Yeah?"
"He has you."
Of all people, perhaps Margaret understood her feelings best. After all, she was the first person, besides the participants themselves, to know that she had slept with Jed. The person who had taken her sample to the obstetrician to test for pregnancy. The person who had assured her – quite accurately – that the blue lingerie she selected for their wedding night would drive her new husband wild. The person who had kept an eye on her during the late, miserable days of pregnancy. The person who had helped care for J.T. when they waited, panicked and uncertain at the hospital after the assassination attempt.
Yes, Margaret understood.
Touched by the warm reassurance, Donna pressed her lips together. "Thanks."
As the door closed behind her, she heard the voices in the next room, intense, pushing, and realized that the door was not completely closed. With only a minor twinge of guilt at eavesdropping, she stepped silently to the connecting hallway and peered through the gap.
Both men stood, Leo in front of the huge Resolute Desk, Jed behind it, hands braced on the solid wood. From the tension of their bodies, she could see that the conversation was serious.
"We can't just come out and accuse North Korea of trying to kill the President of the United States," Leo said.
Jed looked at him. "Why not?"
"Well, because for one they didn't. CIA thinks it's just a faction."
"Working under – the direction – of the government." Her husband's voice was tight again, the words resistant.
"They'll deny it."
"Ya think?"
They both fell silent for a moment. Finally, the President exhaled heavily and straightened, rubbing his head, wincing at the movement. "So – what – do we do?"
Leo sighed. "We take out the faction. Or at least the leader."
Jed's face paled. "Like Shareef," he whispered.
Oh no. Don't go there, Donna prayed, unconsciously clutching at her throat. Please. It still haunted her husband. This act he had sanctioned, this order he had given that almost stole his child from him.
"Sir – "
"My God. I've become the – Godfather of the world. You don't do – what I want – I rub you out."
"This is not just some vendetta, Mister President. They tried to kill you."
"Instead of Don – Corleone, we've got – Don Bartlet," he said, the self- reproach all too clear.
Leo tried to lighten the burden. "Now see, that just doesn't have quite the same effect."
Jed breathed out in a humorless laugh. "So I get him – before – he gets me." The President grew quiet. After a moment, he turned, hand to his head again, and stared out the window. "What a – legacy I'll leave. An eye – for an eye."
"You do what you have to do."
Donna didn't move, didn't dare even shift as she waited for Jed's answer, waited to see which impossible choice her husband made. The second hand of the clock kept a steady rhythm, loud and jarring in the silence.
Finally, still staring out the window, he said softly, "No."
"Sir?"
"No. We're not – going to do it."
"Mister President – "
Now he turned, and the rueful smile on his face lingered barely long enough to let them know it had been there at all. "'Vengeance – is mine, saith the Lord.' Someone reminded me once – that means 'God is the only one – who gets to kill people.' I forgot that. I won't again."
After a moment, Leo nodded his acceptance. "Yes, sir. I understand, Mister President."
And Donna knew he did, more than he let on. The Shareef decision had hurt Leo, too, because it hurt Jed so much. And she knew Leo blamed himself for Zoey's abduction, even as Jed had taken the burden on his own shoulders. She shuddered as she remembered those terrible days, watching the First Family face a nightmare.
"Toby's waiting to go over the speech again," Leo reminded as he stepped to the outer office door.
"Yeah." She saw the dread on her husband's face at that prospect, heard the stilted speech, the halting words, and wished she could rescue him. Despite the progress he had made, despite the few relaxed moments in which he was able to let go a little, his mind still fought him, still made him wrestle to express himself like Jed Bartlet had always been able to express himself.
She wondered what would happen if he never regained control over his speech, if he was unable to command the oratorical skills that had made him such a powerful speaker. She could not imagine him losing that ability forever. It was such a part of him, such an intricate component of his personality. How would such a loss change him?
No, she couldn't believe that he would never again hold dominion over the spoken word. As she watched the speech writer shuffle in, his face almost cracking with the forced smile, she prayed that all the frustration would not be in vain.
Then she left without ever having spoken to Jed. That night she would hold him in her arms, feel his body against hers, comfort him from the pressures of the day, allow him to communicate without any words at all.
But until then, he belonged to Toby. She had a feeling he would need that comfort at the end of the day.
Two nights later on the eve of the State of the Union, Jed stumbled in from the Oval Office well past dark, despite the fact that his doctors warned him to keep the days short and light. Short and light to him meant dawn to dusk instead of pre-dawn to midnight. Donna winced at the fatigue in his eyes.
"Hey," she greeted cautiously, communicating her mild scolding through the tone instead of with harsh words. He knew how she felt about the long hours. Not that it changed anything.
"Hey," he returned, trying to force a little energy into his voice. It didn't work.
He stripped off the Notre Dame sweatshirt, taking time to ease it past the wound, then tossed it in the general direction of the bathroom.
"You okay?" That was a risky move. He never liked being asked, but she wanted to know.
"Yeah." Quick answer. That meant, "Don't ask."
"How's the speech?"
"Fine." Another one-word response. That meant, "It sucks."
Kicking off his shoes, he almost stumbled over a set of baby stacking rings on the floor, catching himself with a hand on the bed post. "Damn – it!"
Now she was up, both to check on him and to make sure he hadn't roused J.T. It had taken her a good 45 minutes to rock their son to sleep.
At her reproachful expression, his face softened and he lowered his eyes. "I'm – sorry – Donna. I'm just – I'm sorry."
The words came roughly, jerking out of his mouth. She tried not to show her alarm. Just that afternoon he had spoken so much better. And now –
"Why don't you take a hot shower?" she suggested. "Remember to cover your arm." The stitches in his head had come out just that morning, so he was free to duck under the spray now. She knew he had been looking forward to it.
"Donna, I'm – really sorry," he repeated. "I – shouldn't have – "
"It's okay. I'll just check on J.T. You take your shower."
Nodding, he dragged into the bathroom as she slipped quietly next door to J.T.'s crib. Sure enough, the infant's eyes caught her movement immediately and he began kicking in excitement.
Well, there went 45 minutes for nothing. Clicking her tongue teasingly at him, she lifted him from the bed and cradled him against her shoulder. At least Jed would be able to spend some time with his son, if he could keep his eyes open long enough.
A few minutes later, the water stopped and he emerged from the bathroom, hair still wet, towel clutched loosely around his waist. Fatigue slumped his shoulders, but as soon as he saw J.T. on the pallet she had made, his eyes lit.
"Hey, Big Man!" he greeted.
At the distinctive sound of his father's voice, the baby gurgled and kicked.
"You gonna – visit with – your old man – awhile?"
"That's what he told me," Donna smiled.
"Okay. Let Daddy – put on some – clothes."
She ran a hand down his bare chest, brushing her fingers through the damp hair. "Don't feel like you have to," she suggested, even though she knew with J.T. awake the chances were slim that anything would be happening between them that night.
Jed caught her hand and raised it to his lips, kissing the fingertips gently and drawing her against him. She let the other hand drop between them. The towel was woefully insufficient to conceal his reaction to her touch.
"Is that a Minuteman Missile in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?" she purred.
He looked hurt. "Minuteman?"
She grinned, realizing what she had said. "What, then?"
"A Peacekeeper," he decided.
"What's the difference?"
"Much larger," he assured her.
"Need a silo?" Oh, that was bad, but then bad jokes had always been her forte.
He winced and grinned at that same time, then leaned forward to flick his tongue against her lips. She pressed into him harder, rubbing the silk of her gown on his bare skin. Peacekeeper, indeed.
A hand went around the back of her neck, held her against him, as another hand slid down her body, trailing fire as it danced across her flesh. Her blood pumped with increasing urgency, surging up to the pit of her belly, pounding in rhythm with his own firm pulses. The towel had dropped, leaving him completely and deliciously open to her caresses.
"You ready for launch?" she asked at his ear, hoping he didn't mind the corny teasing.
His tongue left a hot, slick path from her neck to her breasts. "Ma'am, yes ma'am."
"Then let me say you are go for – "
They say that you never stop reacting to a baby's cry once your nervous system has been fused to your own child's voice. Donna didn't know if that was true, but she did know that her body moved instantly with the jarring screech of an irritated and ignored J.T.
Both parents jerked apart, as was certainly the intention of their offspring. With a sigh, she gave Jed a final squeeze before pulling away. His frustrated grunt made his feelings clear.
"We were goin' for – Defcon Three, there, son," he groaned to J.T. "You are interfering with a mission of national importance."
With a grin, she stripped the gown over her head and tossed across his face and shoulders. "If you're patient," she promised, "we might even make it to Defcon Two."
"I'm the tortoise in – 'The Tortoise and the Hare.' I'm Job. I'm – "
"I'm going to take a shower," Donna announced. "If J.T.'s asleep when I finish – "
And she entered the bathroom to the rumbling strains of "Rockabye Baby."
When she returned, feeling fresh and frustratingly sexy, she was greeted by her husband and son lying together on the floor. Jed had slipped on a pair of pajama bottoms and now propped his head on one hand as he swung a small, soft soccer ball just out of the grasp of his son with the other. J.T. followed its path with keen eyes and kicked his chubby legs in glee or frustration, she wasn't sure which.
The older Bartlet chuckled and lowered the prize so that the younger one could reach for it, his tiny fingers curling and uncurling against the fuzzy material. The sight drew a quick tightness to her throat, and she fought it back, not wanting to bring back her fears of the past to this pleasant scene. Jed didn't need her angst, didn't need anything except for her total love and commitment.
"Hey, John Thomas," he whispered, unaware he had more than his son as an audience. "I love you. Never doubt – that your dad loves you."
Aware only of the love and security he felt from his father's voice, the baby cooed in contentment. Donna bit her lip to keep from losing it right there.
But Jed wasn't finished. "And I'll – always be proud of you. Man, you don't have to be the – best athlete or the – smartest guy at school."
She wondered if these things had been expected of him so many years ago, if his own father had withheld love and pride from some erroneous belief that Jed Bartlet had not achieved what John Bartlet expected. She couldn't imagine how he could not have been proud of his remarkable son.
Sitting up now and lifting the infant to his chest, Jed murmured, "You just be the best John Thomas Bartlet you can be."
Well, damn it.
Holding back the tears long enough to retreat into the bathroom, Donna closed the door and leaned against it, letting herself react to the poignant scene. She ached for the little boy that her husband had been. The little boy who fought to be good enough for his father. The little boy whose brilliance was never acknowledged until adulthood, whose amazing charm and wit was never encouraged inside his own family. The little boy who had grown into the most remarkable man she had ever known. The man who now promised his own son the unconditional love he never had.
Under control again, she eased back into the room, wiped her eyes and watched the scene a little longer, listening to Jed's soft conversation, smiling at the smoothness of his words, in such contrast to the stiffness earlier. Smiling, she curled up behind him, resting her chin on his shoulder, and breathed in the tender moment, wishing it could last forever, wishing time would freeze for them, just for a little while.
But it wouldn't. He was about to take one of the biggest risks of his life by going before an entire nation and most of the world in a condition that was considerably less than his best. Maybe they would understand. Maybe they would see it as brave, as honest. But maybe they would hear the slow speech and associate that with slow thinking, with questions about his judgment, his decision-making.
But that was twenty-four hours away. For tonight, he just needed to be a husband and father.
And even though the mission was scrubbed and they never even reached Defcon Four, they were both more than content with the results: asleep in each other's arms in the big bed, their precious child harbored between them.
A Dagger Unseen – Chapter Fourteen A West Wing Story
by MAHC
Mikki Chul had been dead for nine years?
Donna couldn't speak, couldn't even wrap her thoughts around what Ron was saying. Everything they thought, all the conjectures of why she did it, of what had motivated her to threaten the First Family, to shoot the President, shattered with that one statement.
Mikki Chul had been dead for nine years.
"Then who?" Jed wanted to know.
Well, he wasn't the only one. Who the hell was it that pulled that trigger, that took those photos, that crashed that plane, that almost destroyed their lives?
Ron cut his eyes downward for a moment, then looked back up, as if to say, "You're not going to like this." He was right.
"Mister President, we believe a North Korean agent was sent here, using Mikki Chul's identity to infiltrate the military and get into a position to intimidate U.S. policy in North Korea."
Jed turned his head, but did not move his eyes from the agent, a habit of his when he tried to sift through the padded layers of confusion to get to the solid center of information. "North Korea?"
"Yes, sir."
"It really is – North Korea?"
"Yes, sir."
"Are they crazy?"
"I wouldn't know, sir."
"North Korea actively pursued the – the assassination of a sitting American President?"
"It looks possible, sir."
He ran a hand through his hair. "But that had to be planned – I wasn't – even President when – "
"Excuse me, Mister President."
All three occupants turned to see Leo McGarry and another dark-suited man enter. Donna vaguely wondered if they knew what had occurred between the First Couple in that room, then decided she didn't really care.
Leo nodded to her and opened a palm toward the other man. "Mister President, this is Special Agent John Odechek, FBI."
As Jed pushed away from the desk and shook the agent's hand, Donna watched for any signs of weakness, saw that Ron did the same. But the hand was steady, the eyes clear. Still, she saw the alarm in Leo's eyes as he peered more closely at the President.
"Are you all right, sir?"
Jed frowned, then saw where the Chief of Staff's gaze lingered. Touching the fresh blood at the wound, he shrugged off the concern. "I'm fine."
Not looking totally convinced, Leo nevertheless took the hint and switched his attention to Ron Butterfield. "You briefed him?"
"We had just begun," the head of POTUS' detail told him, then turned back to the President. "The plan was obviously not a personal one against you, sir."
"At least not at first," Leo added. "But later, when you insisted the North Korean government give up all nuclear capacity before humanitarian aid could resume, the plan shifted to make it personal."
"I didn't want to compromise," Jed muttered, almost to himself. "Maybe I should have – "
"You didn't want to leave it for the next guy," Leo reminded him gently. "A compromise would only delay this, not fix it."
"Yeah." But doubt flattened his tone.
Leo took the liberty of touching his friend's shoulder and drawing their gazes together. "This person had to have been in place long before you did anything to piss them off."
The pure pain in those blue eyes hurt them all when Jed asked quietly, "Then, why – J.T.? Why Donna?"
She moved beside him, slipping her arm through his, both lending and gaining strength from the contact.
Odechek stepped closer to field the ragged question. "They were weapons, sir, used initially in an attempt to distract you, to take your attention away from the Korean issue."
The President shook his head ruefully and laughed, a sharp, harsh sound. "Worked."
"Not enough," Leo observed, his voice also regretful. "When it became apparent you weren't budging on the nuclear bans, they gave up on that and tried to create a scandal, to humiliate you, to make you lose credibility."
Jed exhaled hard. "Then?"
"Then they got impatient. The scandal didn't work like they had planned. You didn't cave in to the threats. And somehow, the – uh – the photographs have not been published, despite the probability that someone has at least one copy even now."
Oh God. Someone had a copy still? She had almost forgotten about those stark pictures, almost pushed that threat from her mind. But was this humiliation still looming, still out there somewhere waiting to sideswipe them after all they had been through?
Clearing his throat, Ron threw an apologetic glance toward Donna and added, "The – uh – Oval Office – rumors, which were calculated to humiliate and threaten you, didn't create the negative fervor they anticipated."
Yeah, okay. The world knows we had sex in the Oval Office. You can drop it now.
But he didn't. If Donna hadn't been certain she knew Ron better, she would have sworn she saw a fleeting grin cross his lips. "In fact, the suggestion that you and the First Lady had – well, that you and she – Let me just say that the possibility seemed to draw even more favorable impressions for you, sir."
On second thought, she did know him well enough to be relatively sure that it was a grin.
Jed colored and swallowed hard. Donna cast her eyes down. No way she wanted to see the other men's expressions at the moment.
Hastily, Leo jumped to add his conclusion. "So they finally decided the only way to get rid of your policy was to get rid of you."
The room absorbed that synopsis for a long moment.
"Where does – Fahrwell fit in?" Jed asked finally, shifting attention away from their embarrassment.
"A stooge," Odechek surmised. "Only superficially involved. Possibly out of the loop completely until it was too late to get out. Knew Mikki Chul – or whoever was using her identity – from his visit with the North Korean president to photograph the family and staff. She used him to get the pictures, then disposed of him when he realized what was going on."
"Proof?"
"Some. Enough probably to make things very uncomfortable for North Korea."
Keeping her arm tucked almost protectively through Jed's, Donna asked, "What are the chances there will be another attempt?"
Odechek shook his head. "Low. They've played their hand. Anything else would be too dangerous for them, too chancy. If anything were directly connected to the North Korean government, global hell would break loose, and the entire West would cut them off completely. No, they'll cut their losses and run. Or try to play nice, now."
Jed shifted slightly and raised a hand to push back the hair that kept falling over his forehead. Donna almost grinned. The endearing habit always made him look rather boyish. "What about China?"
Leo shrugged. "Probably no comment either way. It would really be their only choice without coming out against North Korea."
"And they won't do that?" Jed wondered, opening his arms in a question. Donna let her grip drop, satisfied that the dizziness had left him.
"Doubtful."
Suddenly, the President, who had remained uncharacteristically low-key so far, slammed a fist on the desk top, grimacing at the impact, but not letting that keep him from his fierce question. "How the hell did an agent – infiltrate the damned – Marine Corps?"
She realized he had used his left hand and knew the impulsive motion had to have hurt. But when she tried to see if he had caused damage, he waved her off and faced the FBI agent, who, to his credit, managed not to flinch in the face of Presidential wrath.
"Apparently, sir," he explained, "the original records for Mikki Chul from Annapolis had been altered with new fingerprints and photographs. And pretty well, too. Fooled the recruiters at Parris Island and the IRS."
"And the FBI?" Jed wanted to know, pain forcing the calm back over him.
"At first, yes, sir," Odechek admitted.
"Do we know who this – really was?"
"Not yet, Mister President. But we are running matches of all known spies and terrorists who may have had links to North Korea."
Donna watched her husband run a hand through his hair again, a sure sign of frustration or fatigue. Or both. "Could she have just been – a hired gun?"
"With the amount of time devoted to this plan, several years apparently, I doubt it. This was a long-term goal," the FBI agent said.
Shifting his stance, Leo placed a hand back on the shoulder of his best friend. "It really didn't start out to be personal. Plans were made to influence presidential decisions while you were still Governor of New Hampshire."
"Well, it damn well GOT personal, didn't it?" Jed snapped.
And suddenly, despite the trauma of the discussion, despite the intensity of the information they were receiving, Donna realized that Jed's words were coming a little faster, a bit smoother. In fact, he had been much more articulate since – since their "conference" on the floor of the study. Certainly she did not credit a simple matter of sex with the improvement. But maybe a combination of the emotional and physical release had relaxed him. It gave more evidence for her theory.
But now wasn't the time to bring that up, so she listened to the dialogue and filed that knowledge away for later.
After a moment's thought, Jed looked up and nodded. "All right. Heighten the alert status at – the DMZ. Get the Joint – Chiefs together." He turned back to Odechek. "Anything else?"
"That's all we have at the moment, sir," the FBI agent said.
"You'll keep us informed?" Leo asked, but it wasn't really a question.
"Yes, sir."
With a duet of "Thank you, Mister President," Ron and Odechek left.
In their wake, the room relaxed into silence except for the ubiquitous clock's ticking. Donna wondered why she only noticed it in times of tension. Neither Leo nor Jed had moved. Both men stood facing each other, looking at the floor. Finally, her husband's sigh skimmed the quiet.
"All right," he said, jerking his chin toward Leo. "Let's go."
Lingering by her side for a long moment, he leaned in and kissed her tenderly. "I'll be – I'll be back later."
And who knew what that meant? Later could be minutes, hours, or days. All part of the job, a job, thank God, that was still his, even after the best efforts of Mikki Chul's imposter.
"Okay." She caught him again for another kiss, selfishly happy when he seemed genuinely reluctant to leave her.
But duty called, and it was only another moment before he and Leo were walking out of the residence toward the waiting intrigue of the West Wing.
Two days before the State of the Union, the President had set himself a full agenda after a check-up with Dr. Egris, who had made an appearance at the Residence so his famous patient didn't have to field questions from waiting reporters. The physical progress was good, even though the First Couple had received a mild lecture on the dangers of premature relations.
"I suppose, however, Mister President," Dr. Egris had allowed, "if it didn't kill you already, you're safe to, uh, continue."
Her husband had been almost insufferably proud of himself after that remark. Nevertheless, the doctor cautioned them to take things easy, especially since the head wound had shown some minor strain as a result.
When he left, Jed's impromptu proposal that they take the next hour off to celebrate was postponed with Leo's phone call. Typical.
So as her husband conferred with his Chief of Staff in the Oval Office, the First Lady made a needed visit to her own offices in the East Wing, plowing through briefs and memos placed at the bottom of the piles for several weeks. Until recently, she had simply ignored all but the most pressing items brought to her by her own chief of staff. Now, however, she could at least begin the tedious process of sifting through the documents.
Two hours, and several depleted stacks, later, her body reminded her of the other duty she had: motherhood. The pressing fullness in her breasts gave evidence that she couldn't ignore. J.T. would be fretting to be fed soon.
With a rueful glance at the remaining voluminous layers of papers, she told her staff she would return later and headed toward the residence. But an impulse sent her instead on past that toward the West Wing. Just a quick check, she told herself a little guiltily. She could mask her mother- henning with a visit with Margaret.
Leo's office bustled as usual, but the competent willowy redhead who ran it maintained her usual quirky smirk.
"Hey!" Donna greeted, as casually as possible. Nothing more than a simple visit, right?
Margaret replied dutifully, "Hello, Mrs. Bartlet."
Donna rolled her eyes. "Oh, give me a break," she scolded. "I don't have time for protocol today."
"Okay. What's up?" Easy switch from years of camaraderie.
She loved Margaret. What you saw was what you got.
"Catching up." Lifting a chin toward Leo's door, she asked, "How are things going?"
The hesitation was so slight, she almost didn't notice it. Almost. "Fine," Margaret replied smoothly. "They should be finished in a little while. Would you like to wait in Leo's office until – "
"What?" Donna interrupted.
"What?"
"What's going on?"
"I don't know – "
"This is me, Margaret. I know you, remember? Your 'fine' meant anything but."
At least the other woman had the decency to blush.
"I know you know what's happening in there. What's not so fine? Spill it."
Not seeming too distraught over this order to squeal, Margaret stepped toward Leo's office and confided, "Well, they started in there, but moved to the Oval Office about a half hour ago. Leo hasn't come back out yet."
"Could you hear them?" Might as well just give up any pretense of not wanted to eavesdrop. It was for the good of the President, after all.
"Not at first, but when Leo told me they were leaving his office, he left this door open. Every so often, their voices come through, but I can't really hear what they are saying."
Donna pursed her lips in challenge. She didn't have the time to play the suspense game today.
With a shrug, Leo's assistant admitted, "Okay. The best I can tell they are talking about North Korea and the possible involvement in the – " Margaret stumbled, but Donna shook her discomfort away and she finished. "In the assassination attempt."
No real news there. "How does he sound?" No need explaining who "he" was.
Another hesitation, this time not so slight. "Well – fine, I'm sure. He sounds fine."
There was that suspicious "fine" again. "Margaret, it doesn't do him any good for you not to tell me. I need to know."
Her face blanked, then molded into a visibly sympathetic grimace. "Slow. He still sounds slow and – and unsure about what he's saying. I'm sorry, Donna. I know you want him to – "
"I want him to get better. I want him to be happy." It was true, whether that meant speaking better or not. She didn't really give a damn.
"I know." And this time she heard the sincerity in her friend's voice. "You wanna wait in Leo's office?"
"I didn't really come to see him," she explained. But when Margaret's eyes narrowed, she knew she was not fooling her friend. "But – okay." Besides, Leo's office would at least afford the privacy she couldn't have perched on Charlie's or Debbie Fiderer's desk.
Margaret ushered her into the dark room. Before she left, she turned and smiled. "I'm sure the President will be fine. He has a lot going for him. Intellect. Determination. Courage. Strength."
"Thanks, Margaret," Donna said, returning the smile.
"Hey."
She raised her brow in acknowledgement.
"There's one more thing he has going for him," her friend reminded.
"Yeah?"
"He has you."
Of all people, perhaps Margaret understood her feelings best. After all, she was the first person, besides the participants themselves, to know that she had slept with Jed. The person who had taken her sample to the obstetrician to test for pregnancy. The person who had assured her – quite accurately – that the blue lingerie she selected for their wedding night would drive her new husband wild. The person who had kept an eye on her during the late, miserable days of pregnancy. The person who had helped care for J.T. when they waited, panicked and uncertain at the hospital after the assassination attempt.
Yes, Margaret understood.
Touched by the warm reassurance, Donna pressed her lips together. "Thanks."
As the door closed behind her, she heard the voices in the next room, intense, pushing, and realized that the door was not completely closed. With only a minor twinge of guilt at eavesdropping, she stepped silently to the connecting hallway and peered through the gap.
Both men stood, Leo in front of the huge Resolute Desk, Jed behind it, hands braced on the solid wood. From the tension of their bodies, she could see that the conversation was serious.
"We can't just come out and accuse North Korea of trying to kill the President of the United States," Leo said.
Jed looked at him. "Why not?"
"Well, because for one they didn't. CIA thinks it's just a faction."
"Working under – the direction – of the government." Her husband's voice was tight again, the words resistant.
"They'll deny it."
"Ya think?"
They both fell silent for a moment. Finally, the President exhaled heavily and straightened, rubbing his head, wincing at the movement. "So – what – do we do?"
Leo sighed. "We take out the faction. Or at least the leader."
Jed's face paled. "Like Shareef," he whispered.
Oh no. Don't go there, Donna prayed, unconsciously clutching at her throat. Please. It still haunted her husband. This act he had sanctioned, this order he had given that almost stole his child from him.
"Sir – "
"My God. I've become the – Godfather of the world. You don't do – what I want – I rub you out."
"This is not just some vendetta, Mister President. They tried to kill you."
"Instead of Don – Corleone, we've got – Don Bartlet," he said, the self- reproach all too clear.
Leo tried to lighten the burden. "Now see, that just doesn't have quite the same effect."
Jed breathed out in a humorless laugh. "So I get him – before – he gets me." The President grew quiet. After a moment, he turned, hand to his head again, and stared out the window. "What a – legacy I'll leave. An eye – for an eye."
"You do what you have to do."
Donna didn't move, didn't dare even shift as she waited for Jed's answer, waited to see which impossible choice her husband made. The second hand of the clock kept a steady rhythm, loud and jarring in the silence.
Finally, still staring out the window, he said softly, "No."
"Sir?"
"No. We're not – going to do it."
"Mister President – "
Now he turned, and the rueful smile on his face lingered barely long enough to let them know it had been there at all. "'Vengeance – is mine, saith the Lord.' Someone reminded me once – that means 'God is the only one – who gets to kill people.' I forgot that. I won't again."
After a moment, Leo nodded his acceptance. "Yes, sir. I understand, Mister President."
And Donna knew he did, more than he let on. The Shareef decision had hurt Leo, too, because it hurt Jed so much. And she knew Leo blamed himself for Zoey's abduction, even as Jed had taken the burden on his own shoulders. She shuddered as she remembered those terrible days, watching the First Family face a nightmare.
"Toby's waiting to go over the speech again," Leo reminded as he stepped to the outer office door.
"Yeah." She saw the dread on her husband's face at that prospect, heard the stilted speech, the halting words, and wished she could rescue him. Despite the progress he had made, despite the few relaxed moments in which he was able to let go a little, his mind still fought him, still made him wrestle to express himself like Jed Bartlet had always been able to express himself.
She wondered what would happen if he never regained control over his speech, if he was unable to command the oratorical skills that had made him such a powerful speaker. She could not imagine him losing that ability forever. It was such a part of him, such an intricate component of his personality. How would such a loss change him?
No, she couldn't believe that he would never again hold dominion over the spoken word. As she watched the speech writer shuffle in, his face almost cracking with the forced smile, she prayed that all the frustration would not be in vain.
Then she left without ever having spoken to Jed. That night she would hold him in her arms, feel his body against hers, comfort him from the pressures of the day, allow him to communicate without any words at all.
But until then, he belonged to Toby. She had a feeling he would need that comfort at the end of the day.
Two nights later on the eve of the State of the Union, Jed stumbled in from the Oval Office well past dark, despite the fact that his doctors warned him to keep the days short and light. Short and light to him meant dawn to dusk instead of pre-dawn to midnight. Donna winced at the fatigue in his eyes.
"Hey," she greeted cautiously, communicating her mild scolding through the tone instead of with harsh words. He knew how she felt about the long hours. Not that it changed anything.
"Hey," he returned, trying to force a little energy into his voice. It didn't work.
He stripped off the Notre Dame sweatshirt, taking time to ease it past the wound, then tossed it in the general direction of the bathroom.
"You okay?" That was a risky move. He never liked being asked, but she wanted to know.
"Yeah." Quick answer. That meant, "Don't ask."
"How's the speech?"
"Fine." Another one-word response. That meant, "It sucks."
Kicking off his shoes, he almost stumbled over a set of baby stacking rings on the floor, catching himself with a hand on the bed post. "Damn – it!"
Now she was up, both to check on him and to make sure he hadn't roused J.T. It had taken her a good 45 minutes to rock their son to sleep.
At her reproachful expression, his face softened and he lowered his eyes. "I'm – sorry – Donna. I'm just – I'm sorry."
The words came roughly, jerking out of his mouth. She tried not to show her alarm. Just that afternoon he had spoken so much better. And now –
"Why don't you take a hot shower?" she suggested. "Remember to cover your arm." The stitches in his head had come out just that morning, so he was free to duck under the spray now. She knew he had been looking forward to it.
"Donna, I'm – really sorry," he repeated. "I – shouldn't have – "
"It's okay. I'll just check on J.T. You take your shower."
Nodding, he dragged into the bathroom as she slipped quietly next door to J.T.'s crib. Sure enough, the infant's eyes caught her movement immediately and he began kicking in excitement.
Well, there went 45 minutes for nothing. Clicking her tongue teasingly at him, she lifted him from the bed and cradled him against her shoulder. At least Jed would be able to spend some time with his son, if he could keep his eyes open long enough.
A few minutes later, the water stopped and he emerged from the bathroom, hair still wet, towel clutched loosely around his waist. Fatigue slumped his shoulders, but as soon as he saw J.T. on the pallet she had made, his eyes lit.
"Hey, Big Man!" he greeted.
At the distinctive sound of his father's voice, the baby gurgled and kicked.
"You gonna – visit with – your old man – awhile?"
"That's what he told me," Donna smiled.
"Okay. Let Daddy – put on some – clothes."
She ran a hand down his bare chest, brushing her fingers through the damp hair. "Don't feel like you have to," she suggested, even though she knew with J.T. awake the chances were slim that anything would be happening between them that night.
Jed caught her hand and raised it to his lips, kissing the fingertips gently and drawing her against him. She let the other hand drop between them. The towel was woefully insufficient to conceal his reaction to her touch.
"Is that a Minuteman Missile in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?" she purred.
He looked hurt. "Minuteman?"
She grinned, realizing what she had said. "What, then?"
"A Peacekeeper," he decided.
"What's the difference?"
"Much larger," he assured her.
"Need a silo?" Oh, that was bad, but then bad jokes had always been her forte.
He winced and grinned at that same time, then leaned forward to flick his tongue against her lips. She pressed into him harder, rubbing the silk of her gown on his bare skin. Peacekeeper, indeed.
A hand went around the back of her neck, held her against him, as another hand slid down her body, trailing fire as it danced across her flesh. Her blood pumped with increasing urgency, surging up to the pit of her belly, pounding in rhythm with his own firm pulses. The towel had dropped, leaving him completely and deliciously open to her caresses.
"You ready for launch?" she asked at his ear, hoping he didn't mind the corny teasing.
His tongue left a hot, slick path from her neck to her breasts. "Ma'am, yes ma'am."
"Then let me say you are go for – "
They say that you never stop reacting to a baby's cry once your nervous system has been fused to your own child's voice. Donna didn't know if that was true, but she did know that her body moved instantly with the jarring screech of an irritated and ignored J.T.
Both parents jerked apart, as was certainly the intention of their offspring. With a sigh, she gave Jed a final squeeze before pulling away. His frustrated grunt made his feelings clear.
"We were goin' for – Defcon Three, there, son," he groaned to J.T. "You are interfering with a mission of national importance."
With a grin, she stripped the gown over her head and tossed across his face and shoulders. "If you're patient," she promised, "we might even make it to Defcon Two."
"I'm the tortoise in – 'The Tortoise and the Hare.' I'm Job. I'm – "
"I'm going to take a shower," Donna announced. "If J.T.'s asleep when I finish – "
And she entered the bathroom to the rumbling strains of "Rockabye Baby."
When she returned, feeling fresh and frustratingly sexy, she was greeted by her husband and son lying together on the floor. Jed had slipped on a pair of pajama bottoms and now propped his head on one hand as he swung a small, soft soccer ball just out of the grasp of his son with the other. J.T. followed its path with keen eyes and kicked his chubby legs in glee or frustration, she wasn't sure which.
The older Bartlet chuckled and lowered the prize so that the younger one could reach for it, his tiny fingers curling and uncurling against the fuzzy material. The sight drew a quick tightness to her throat, and she fought it back, not wanting to bring back her fears of the past to this pleasant scene. Jed didn't need her angst, didn't need anything except for her total love and commitment.
"Hey, John Thomas," he whispered, unaware he had more than his son as an audience. "I love you. Never doubt – that your dad loves you."
Aware only of the love and security he felt from his father's voice, the baby cooed in contentment. Donna bit her lip to keep from losing it right there.
But Jed wasn't finished. "And I'll – always be proud of you. Man, you don't have to be the – best athlete or the – smartest guy at school."
She wondered if these things had been expected of him so many years ago, if his own father had withheld love and pride from some erroneous belief that Jed Bartlet had not achieved what John Bartlet expected. She couldn't imagine how he could not have been proud of his remarkable son.
Sitting up now and lifting the infant to his chest, Jed murmured, "You just be the best John Thomas Bartlet you can be."
Well, damn it.
Holding back the tears long enough to retreat into the bathroom, Donna closed the door and leaned against it, letting herself react to the poignant scene. She ached for the little boy that her husband had been. The little boy who fought to be good enough for his father. The little boy whose brilliance was never acknowledged until adulthood, whose amazing charm and wit was never encouraged inside his own family. The little boy who had grown into the most remarkable man she had ever known. The man who now promised his own son the unconditional love he never had.
Under control again, she eased back into the room, wiped her eyes and watched the scene a little longer, listening to Jed's soft conversation, smiling at the smoothness of his words, in such contrast to the stiffness earlier. Smiling, she curled up behind him, resting her chin on his shoulder, and breathed in the tender moment, wishing it could last forever, wishing time would freeze for them, just for a little while.
But it wouldn't. He was about to take one of the biggest risks of his life by going before an entire nation and most of the world in a condition that was considerably less than his best. Maybe they would understand. Maybe they would see it as brave, as honest. But maybe they would hear the slow speech and associate that with slow thinking, with questions about his judgment, his decision-making.
But that was twenty-four hours away. For tonight, he just needed to be a husband and father.
And even though the mission was scrubbed and they never even reached Defcon Four, they were both more than content with the results: asleep in each other's arms in the big bed, their precious child harbored between them.