Disclaimer: Aaron's.
Spoilers: In The Shadow of Two Gunmen.
Notes: I'll be continuing the story started in Unbroken Road at a later date. Also: mighty big props to Rowing Goddess, who made my story her bitch.
Bartlet For America
By Lizka
Sitting on her chair, surrounded by paper and envelopes, Donna let herself wallow in self-pity. Everyone she knew was back in Wisconsin. She was running out of money. She had no (paying) job, no boyfriend, and apparently, no intestinal fortitude.
She had chickened out. No assistant job for her.
Oh, sure, she could say to herself that it was a dumb idea in the first place, that it never would have worked, that she could have been escorted out of campaign headquarters by the Secret Service, but one thing was abundantly clear:
Donnatella Moss was a coward.
She started to clear a small space on the table where she had been stuffing envelopes. After all, if she was going to bang her head against a hard surface, it shouldn't be padded with a thick layer of memos.
Bang. Wimp.
Bang. Scaredy-cat.
Bang. Wuss.
Bang. She couldn't think of another name to call herself, but it's the sentiment that counts and she really needed to stop now because her head was starting to hurt.
As she rested her sore head against the cool surface of the desk, she said, "My kingdom for a bottle of acetylsalicylic acid."
"Here you go," a vaguely familiar voice said as Donna felt something (hopefully some blessed acetylsalicylic acid) settle gently next to her head.
"Thank you. You're a godsend." Donna popped two tablets into her mouth, took a sip of her bottled water, and swallowed. Ah, she felt marginally better already, placebo effect or no. Closing the bottle of aspirin, she turned to bestow further thanks upon her mysterious benefactor –
- who turned out to be none other than the highly amused Abigail Bartlet.
Donna felt the blood rush up to her face and knew that she must be horribly red. Damn alabaster skin, damn headache, damn everything.
"Thank you, ma'am," Donna managed to get out as she hurriedly pushed the childproof bottle back into the hands of the formidable governor's formidable wife. "It's been a long day and I'm really tired, not that everyone else isn't tired but, Dr. – I mean, Mrs. –," Donna stopped herself and took a breath. There, see, don't brains work much better with an oxygen supply? "I'm sorry; do you prefer Dr. or Mrs.?"
For a split second, the older woman's face showed surprise, sadness, and regret. Then it was gone, replaced with a perfect politician's smile mixed with just a hint of wry humour. "Mrs. Bartlet will do just fine."
"Thank you, Mrs. Bartlet."
She stood, waiting for Mrs. Bartlet to make her good-byes. Future First Ladies did not often stop to talk with volunteers, and if they did, it was rarely for very long.
Mrs. Bartlet, Possible Future First Lady, did not move. "Are you a med student?" she asked, "It's not everyday that I come across someone who knows the proper name for aspirin. Well, except for most of my friends, my colleagues, and my middle daughter, but most people in the campaign can't even pronounce acetylsalicylic acid."
Donna flushed. Again. This was becoming surreal. "No, I'm not a med student. I just dated one for a while."
Mrs. Bartlet winced. "Bad breakup?"
"Excuse me?"
"I have three daughters. I can spot a bad breakup a mile away."
Donna tried to stop herself. Really she did, but it had been such a long day and it was a bad breakup and dammit, she had just driven from Wisconsin to New Hampshire and that's not something that she does everyday. So, somehow, the whole sordid story came flooding out. She was pretty sure that the Governor's wife had tricked her in some way, but Donna couldn't point out exactly how.
"So you worked as an office manager for how many years, Donna?"
"Two, ma'am, and the year before that I worked as a receptionist."
Mrs. Bartlet nodded, took a look at a copy of Donna's résumé (how did she get a hold of that?), and stood.
"All right then. I'm going to give this to Mrs. Landingham, and she'll check it out. Afterwards, you'll be interviewed, and someone will run a background check. Security reasons, you understand. If everything goes well, Mrs. Landingham will set up a meeting with you and fill you in on your responsibilities."
"Ma'am, I –,"
"Now I'm going to leave you to your work. Have a good night, Donna, and I'll see you in the morning."
With a smile, Mrs. Bartlet turned and walked away. Donna continued to stuff envelopes, as she wondered exactly what had just happened.
