Disclaimer: See Part 1

All right, guys, here we are. No angst! And a Darrah/Donna conversation! I hope it lives up to expectations; I'm not sure about it. A few quick things: I know this may not cover as much of the wedding as you might like, but the next part will. I tend to leave out the "obvious" in favor of snippets, as you might have noticed by now! Unfortunately, I only have so much time and patience, even for fanfic! I'm not sure if I shall split the reception and the rest of Liza's part into two, as the reception is an integral part of her story, but...

Yes, I know I have everyone being casual with Sam again, but they're old friends, and it's a wedding, so...there.

Yeah, so I'm noticing a certain preoccupation with BW's hair, which, you know, I'm all for, but on some level it's kinda disturbing, ya know?

Um, ya, so that's it for now. I prolly left something out, but...oh, go read!

Oh wait, I remember. Ok, so if you've been reading all of these notes and stuff, (which you prolly have if you're reading this), you might remember that in my last post I mentioned my scooter basically dying on Friday. It is now fixed, but the reason I'm mentioning it is because you may notice that Sam's son Drew uses a wheelchair. He has cerebral palsy, as do I, and you will be finding out the details of his story in a new fic I plan to do in this universe as soon as this is complete. Yes, I am writing him because I feel individuals disabled from birth(as fictional characters, anyway) are underrepresented in the media, and such. I don't have a guy perspective on it, personally, but hopefully I should be able to come up with a good story that you will all enjoy.

WHEW! Thanks for listening/ reading all that! Ok, now go read...honest!

"NO!"

"Honey, I was just thinking, in the pictures, for posterity's sake..."

"No, Mom."

"Think about it?" I wheedle, pouting.

"Mom, the pout only works on Dad. The beard stays. Deal with it. You'll have to go get your dimple fix somewhere else. Somewhere," he cautions, as a gleam comes into my eye, "that I don't want to know about, okay?"

"All right, honey." I relent. "Are you and Darrah picking up Dave later?"

"Yeah."

I grin widely at him. "Good luck with that."

"Thanks a bunch."

"Do you see him yet?"

"No. What are you so worried about, anyway?"

"Darrah, he's your brother. And he's in the Army.

"Sandy, there's-Oh, there he is! Dave, Dave, over here!"

I look in the direction she's frantically waving. And swallow. Hard. The guy, he's huge. A fricking walking recruitment poster. Six foot six, and broad to match. I tug frantically at Darrah's sleeve. "Where are my sunglasses?"

"You left them in the car. What do you need them for in here?"

"Darrah, you didn't tell me he's the next Jolly Green Giant! I need armor!"

She rolls her eyes. "Oh, for God's sake," and without further comment, she launches herself into her brother's open arms.

I wait, somewhat nervously, as they generally make a fuss over one another.

"Dave, this is Sandy."

I shake his hand with the firmest grip I can muster. "Good to meet you finally."

"And you. Sandy, that's short for-"

"Samuel. The president is my godfather." Beat that, Rocky.

He quirks an eyebrow at me. "Well, I can handle a machine gun."

Ah, well, okay. 'Bout even, then.

My consternation must show in my face, because he laughs, punching me playfully in the shoulder. "Relax, man. I don't bite. And anyway, anyone who makes my sister this happy is okay by me."

I smile wanly, then whisper in Darrah's ear. "Let's go pick up my relatives now, okay?"

We can hear Phil and Norah arguing a full two minutes before they emerge from the arrivals gate. Adi and Miri appear first, and my brother and I smile knowingly at one another. "They've been doing that, at varying decibel levels, for the entire trip," he mutters, in fond exasperation.

"What about?"

"Do they need a reason? Last time I tuned in, it was miniature golf, or something."

I laugh, pulling first him, then Miri, into a hug. They look good, both of them. He put on some weight, and other than the scar gleaming on his cheek, and the limp, which is causing him to lean on Miri, he looks the same as ever. "You look good, bro."

"I feel good."

"Do I even need to ask why?" I tease, and Miri blushes. "Seriously, man," I say earnestly. "It's good to see you."

"You too, kid."

"Hey, Sunshine, quit monopolizing the welcoming committee!" Phil calls.

I brighten. "Hey, Phil!"

"How's the world treating you, Picasso?"

"Can't complain."

"I should say not." He looks over his shoulder and grins. "Here comes Medusa. Watch out."

I get to carry the bags. Whenever I suggest that he, you know, help, he groans ever so slightly and starts murmuring about his burns. So I carry them. In all fairness, I'm the one who instated such rules in the first place, but it's been awhile, and he could at least offer, right?

But then he grins at me, that smug, cocky, sexy, wonderful grin, and I can feel his eyes dancing behind those ubiquitous sunglasses, and everything else flies out of my head. I know I said once that he wasn't Tom Cruise or anything, and I haven't changed my mind. I'm still right, but in a different way. He's better.

I wonder if I packed the theme music to Top Gun?

He wouldn't believe me if I said I wanted to jump him right now. He's been surprisingly sensitive about the burns, for all his wisecracks. There were a lot of second-degree ones, but third degree ones too, on his lower body, and he had to have skin grafts. He calls himself Quasimodo sometimes, and it makes me want to cry. But I don't. At least not in front of him. Him I just tell to shut up.

Actually, it would probably be really good for him, psychologically, if I went up and planted one on him. Almost medicinal, even.

What the hell. You only live once.

"Miri?"

"Hi, Donna."

She's sitting at one end of the couch, reading a magazine, Adi's head in her lap. One hand idly strokes his hair. She looks up at me, and we smile over him together. "He pass out?"

"Yeah. He still gets tired pretty easily. That infection took a lot out of him. Well, everything did, really."

I watch him tenderly for a moment. With his hair grown out like that, he doesn't look much older than he did when he first came to visit, to "get used" to us. There's so much of Josh in him, but so much of his own, too: His compassion, his easygoing sense of humor, his knack for reaching out to others. I would do anything for this boy, even though he's not technically mine. He feels like mine, and I suppose that's what matters.

"It was the same with Josh, after the shooting," I recount, snapping out of my reverie. "I remember, I used to sit with him like this. I loved watching him sleep. It felt so timeless, so secure." I sigh, reaching out a hand to brush back his curls. "Like father, like son, in more ways than they know. Or want to think about. God, he reminds me of Josh when we first met. I bet you've heard that story."

She smiles. "Yeah. That was a pretty gutsy move."

"I had no other acceptable options, so I just took the plunge, and, luckily, Josh caught me, so to speak. Don't ever tell him that, though. His ego's big enough. How did you two meet? Not at work, obviously."

She laughs. "Hardly. Mr. 'I burned my calc books in a bonfire fifteen minutes after I finished the final?' I don't think so. That's the first thing he said after I told him where I worked, and what I did. He goes 'Really? I burned my calc books.' I mean, who says things like that to a financial analyst right off the bat? It was a hell of a lot better than the glazed over look I usually got, though. And," she continues, "that was the first time I saw the dimples."

"Ah. Yes. They're irresistible. I know that from plenty of experience. And I'm sorry to say that I'm no more proof against them now than I was the day Josh and I met. So where did you meet?"

"In a bar. He had just gotten back from assignment somewhere, and I guess he needed a beer pretty badly, because he was still all scruffy, gorgeously scruffy, I might add. He caught my eye right away, because everyone else there was trying to make some sort of move, and looked it, you know? He didn't. And he didn't care. He was so confident; he was the...the sexiest person there, and he didn't even know it. That's why I love him. One of the reasons, anyway. He doesn't know how wonderful, how extraordinary, he is." She chuckles. "Wow. I don't usually babble this much."

"Don't worry, sweetheart. Banter is a way of life around here. And I'm glad you told me. It's good to hear."

It's almost time for the rehearsal to start. We're waiting for Liza still, hoping she'll get here in time. She's the maid of honor, so we can't really have a rehearsal without her.

Meanwhile, I watch Norah embrace Toby enthusiastically. "Uncle Toby!" she screeches. She stopped using the honorary titles years ago on our other "Bartlet" friends, but Toby always has been, and always will be, her "Unca Toby," as she used to say. He pretends to abhor it, and she claims to do it just to see his discomfort, but they both love it, although Toby would rather have one of his speeches compared to a Dr. Seuss book first.

Now Sam and Toby are discussing Sandy's impending bachelor party. "Sam, please, don't let him get too drunk tonight."

"Hey, Donna, any godson of mine can hold his beer," he proclaims.

"I actually meant Josh, but while you're at it..."

"Who says we're stopping at beer?" Toby. "And anyway, Sam, I happen to remember this one time in Topeka, when you..."

"All right, all right. So tell me, what happened to the respect that, you know, I was gonna get once I took office?" he complains.

"Funny how that worked out, isn't it?"

I pace anxiously. I want my sister to be here. This is an important time for me, and I want her to be here.

Suddenly, she is here, racing around the room, her long hair flying, bestowing hugs and kisses, and apologizing laughingly for her tardiness, explaining that her flight was late. She flings herself into Drew's lap (he's the best man, by the way), and accepts a spin in his wheelchair, and generally makes an exuberant spectacle of herself. Everybody smiles, because it's basically innocent, it's Liza being Liza, happy-go-lucky Liza; no one can stay annoyed with her for long. In fact, there's only one person I can see not smiling at her. Dave. He's looking at her with this expression of, well, I don't even know what. But I don't like it.

"Darrah," I whisper, poking her with my elbow. "Your brother is staring at my sister."

"Oh?"

"Yes, 'oh.' Well?"

"Well what?"

"What are you going to do about it?"

"Nothing. I thought they might like one another."

"You 'thought' they might like one another, and you invited him to the wedding?"

She shoots me a withering glance. "Sandy," she says too pleasantly, "he happens to be my only living relative. And I am not going to banish him from my wedding simply because you want to go off and have some adolescent nutty! Got it? Good. Now, pay attention."

"It's the way you feel about that place under my collarbone, this one right...here," she says flirtatiously, tracing along the spot with her finger.

"Whoa! Mir, are you trying to give me a hear-"Her face blanches, and I realize my gaffe. "Whoops, guess I already covered that one. Look, I'm sorry, babe, I just don't realize why you care so much."

"I just like it, Adi, that's all. It's cute. Especially in the morning."

"I look like I'm six years old!"

"Which does have its occasional charms."

I roll my eyes, but she continues. "Donna and I were talking, and we agreed that it's one of your most attractive features."

"You and Donna were talking about my hair?"

She's ignoring me. "That, and your eyes, not to mention your-"

"Don't say it!" I groan.

"-your dimples," she finishes relentlessly.

"Okay, wait. I fail to see how my hair and this," I say, planting a kiss on the spot where her neck meets her collarbone, "are comparable. This has nerves, and pleasure sensors or whatever they are, and stuff like that."

"Are you telling me that you don't find this," she murmurs, massaging shampoo into my hair, "enjoyable?"

"No, no, as a matter of fact it's very enjoyable. Actually," I say, shifting so I can at least try to kiss her, "it's-"

Suddenly, there's a barrage of knocks against the bathroom door, followed by raucous laughter. "Hey, stop fooling around in there, you kids! We want a turn."

It's Norah and Phil. I can only imagine what state Dad must be in if he heard.

"Anyway," Miri continues earnestly as she steps out of the tub, "I would love you if you suddenly sprouted, I don't know, fish scales or something, so..."

"Fish scales?"

"You know what I mean, right?"

"Yeah, baby," I say softly. "I know what you mean."

I miss my mom.

I'm getting married today, and I miss my mom.

I actually don't remember her all that much, but that doesn't stop me from wishing she were here.

A knock sounds on the door, and I wipe away the few tears traveling down my cheeks, trying not to smudge my makeup. "Oh, hi, Donna."

"Darrah, sweetie, you look beautiful. Sandy'll be out of his mind when he sees you."

"He holding up okay?"

"A little fidgety, but I just tied his tie, so we're all set, provided his father doesn't do something to ruin my efforts in that area."

"I'm a, a little nervous."

"Of course you are, honey."

"It's not just that, Donna. The President of the United States is at my wedding!"

"You've met Sam several times before, Darrah."

"This is different."

"Oh, honey, it's really not. Sam loves Sandy. He loves you. You love each other. That's all that matters. Really. But that's not all, is it?"

"No," I sniffle. "I miss my Mama." The tears start flowing then in earnest, and Donna rocks me, shushing, murmuring into my hair.

"I can't imagine it, sweetie. My wedding was such a happy day. I'm so sorry, so sorry I can't do more. But I hope...I hope that if you ever need anything, you feel like you can come to me. You don't have to call me Mom, or anything like that, but...I love you, sweet girl. I love you for how happy you make my baby, and just for who you are."

"Donna," I say, "if you don't mind, I think I'd like to call you 'Mom.' It just might...take a little while, okay?"

"Whatever you want, sweetheart. And, look, before we destroy our insanely expensive makeup any more, I have something for you. This ring, well, Josh gave it to me on our first anniversary. Not everyone likes amber, but I always thought it was such a beautiful stone. So strong, and unassuming, yet lovely. And Josh and I were talking, and we decided it reminded us of you. So. This is for you."

"This is what you tell me, to make me stop crying?"

"Yeah, I guess it wasn't one of my brightest ideas. Josh is itching to talk to you before everything starts, so I better go let him in. Everything will be fine, sweetheart. I love you. Remember that."

"Look, Darrah, don't worry about it. Any of it. All you have to think about is Sandy. That's all. And, you know, getting your answers right, 'cause that would cause publicity problems like you wouldn't believe, so..."

She's laughing, and she gives me a kiss on the cheek. I redden a little, make noises about going to check on something outside, when she stops me. "Josh?"

"Yeah, hon?"

She's looking down again, but she seems more shy than nervous. "I was talking to Dave. I know it's last minute...there never seemed to be a good time, but...would you mind walking me down the aisle?"

I don't think I could be more flabbergasted than if she told me Republicans had stormed the White House in my absence. "Wouldn't Dave be-"

"I'd like to have both of you, if you don't mind, or anything."

I grin at her. "Well, yeah, sure! Do I look like a guy who minds?" With that, I turn to go out and announce to, you know, the world, my new role in the wedding.

"Josh?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. For everything."

My eyes moisten; there must be some sort of pollinating plant in here, or something. "No problem."

"No, really. For the ring, and everything. Everything," she repeats.

I walk up to her, and drop a kiss on the top of her head. "Honey," I say, "normally I would parade out something like 'welcome to the family,' or some kind of platitude like that, but this, today? It's just making it official. You've been part of the family from the first minute. Now, should we get this show on the road?"

I nod, he smiles, and Dave comes, and takes my other arm.

Family.