On the Wall – Chapter Two
A West Wing Story
As I Was Drifting Away Series
by MAHC
POV: Donna
Spoilers: None
Rating: Teen
Disclaimer: J.T. is mine. Jed and Donna are not.
Pressing a cool hand to her forehead, Donna gritted her teeth and made an attempt at normality as she eased back into her office, knowing she could do nothing about the newly greenish tint of her alabaster skin. She was nearly twelve weeks, the time she could supposedly anticipate the end of morning sickness and the beginning of Jed's favorite trimester – when her libido returned with a vengeance.
"Mrs. Bartlet?"
Turning gingerly, she faced Margaret with the calmest smile she could muster. Perhaps it would be sufficient.
"Geez, you look terrible."
Perhaps not.
"Well, thanks." She forced a laugh, waving a hand to deflect the other woman's observation.
"No. Really," Margaret insisted, oblivious to her friend's signals. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine." Donna slipped behind her desk, but the change of position – or height – or who-knew-what – propelled her from the chair and back into the bathroom.
When she emerged, Margaret stared at her for a few seconds, then asked frankly, "When are you due?"
Damn. But then Margaret had been the first one to know about J.T., hadn't she? Still, she gave it one last shot. "I don't know what you are – "
The look stopped her cold. No words. No need. With a sigh, she propped on the edge of the desk. "November third."
"Election Day," Margaret noted.
"Midterms," Donna clarified with a smile. "Besides, Jed's not running for anything, anyway." Not anymore.
"Except maybe 'Father of the Year," Margaret quipped. "Is he thrilled?"
She remained silent, turning away from her friend's probing eyes.
"Donna? He's thrilled, right?"
"He – he doesn't know."
"What? He doesn't know? Why on earth not?"
"I haven't told him." Duh.
"Donna, if you are due in early November, you'd have to be several weeks – "
"Twelve."
"You're three months pregnant and your husband doesn't know?" Horror crossed her face. "The President is the father, right?"
Dear God. "Margaret! How can even ask – "
"Sorry. I don't what I was thinking. You guys are all over each other – "
"Nevermind. Of course, he is the father. He's the only person I've had sex with in two years." Longer than that if she were honest.
"Visual," Margaret accused, closing her eyes. "TMI."
"Well, you started it."
The red-head's tone fell abruptly from teasing to serious. "You really haven't told him?"
"I just haven't found the right moment. He's been busy. We haven't – " Donna sighed. It was more complicated than it sounded.
Her friend nodded, but those expressive eyes sent a clear message: Tell him. Tell him soon.
It was a message Donna had been trying to follow for a month.
"It'll keep," she had assured her husband the night he had been called away to deal with North Korea and nuclear weapons – again – and she was right. It had kept. It had kept for almost four more weeks.
It had kept so long she began to wonder if she would be calling him from the delivery room to make the announcement. It wasn't his fault, really, unless she blamed him for being President. Korea monopolized his time. Or the budget. Or social security. Or the upcoming economic summit in Ottawa.
Always something. But Margaret was right: tonight – tonight was it. She really had little choice. Much longer and he would notice the slight bulge that had begun to push out below her navel – a bulge that would remain slight only a few more weeks. So she waited, having fed J.T. and put him down, taken a nice bath – not as warm as she usually liked, since the doctor had warned her about extreme temperatures – and settled under the covers.
She waited. And waited.
It was well past ten when he returned to the Residence, fatigue weighing down his shoulders, tugging at his legs. But he smiled at her, as always, and leaned over the back of the chair she had curled up in to give her a soft kiss.
"What are you still doing up?" he asked. "I asked Charlie to – "
"He called. I just wanted to wait for you." She had determined that this was the night, come hell or high water, that he would know.
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. Pressing another kiss into her hair, he shrugged out of his jacket and stepped away. "I always like it when you wait for me," he quipped, then grimaced. "But I'm not quite done for the night."
She arched a brow in question.
"Korea," he explained simply, pulling a bulky report from his briefcase, and she heard the regret in his voice.
Dropping into the nearest chair, he kicked off his shoes, drew his glasses out of his pocket, and balanced the thick manuscript in his lap.
Well, damn.
For several minutes, she took the liberty of watching him, of assessing his health, both mental and physical. He was fit, she determined in satisfaction. The strenuous exercise his doctors had prescribed toward his recovery had the bonus of a trimmer waist and harder muscles, not that she didn't already find him sexy enough. Now, though, she spent even more time running her fingers over the definition of his triceps, across the bulge of his thigh – and other bulges. These touches invariably led to reciprocal caresses from him and those led to the deepest touches of all.
Her eyes lingered at the point where his shirt collar opened, giving her a delicious peek at swirling gray chest hair. He liked to undo the first three buttons as he walked through the bedroom door, if he was in for the night. It was always a good sign. Tonight, his hands were already in motion with that very action before he even greeted her.
But any hopes for intimacy – at least for a while – were dashed by his one-track focus on the report.
"I understand." She did, but that didn't make it any easier.
She envied the papers their location, wished she were in their place, straddling him, taking his strong, hot thickness deep inside her, feeling their release slick their bodies. She ached for him but tried not to project her need. It would be easy, she knew, to distract him. He would go willingly, but she was a patriot, too, and doing her part sometimes meant letting the country – or at least the Joint Chiefs – have him for a while. Still, this moment, one of the few they had had alone in the past weeks, might be her best chance to break the news.
The clocked ticked in solid rhythm, its beat steady and reassuring. A good thirty minutes passed before she decided the hell with patriotism. Maybe now was the time, now in this tranquil bubble that protected them for just a few moments from the sharp needle of reality.
She unfolded from the chair and swirled around him, her silken gown sliding over his shoulder, caressing his cheek. Lifting the papers from his lap and substituting her body, she settled back against him, legs draped over the chair arm.
Irritation warred with amusement in those blue depths. "Can I help you?" he asked, the smile hiding just under the surface.
"No thanks. I'm fine," she replied, snuggling into his neck, enjoying the smell of lingering after shave, even this late at night.
One hand slid up her arm; the other ran down her thigh. "You sure I can't help you?" he probed, letting the heat of seduction warm his tone.
Well, as long as he was asking –
"Come to think of it," she purred, raising a leg to brush against his groin. The purr grew to a groan as the hardness burned through his trousers.
"You know, I really needed to – "
Her lips stole the weak protest from his mouth. He didn't seem to mind too much. When she drew back, he grunted pleasantly.
"I guess Korea can wait," he decided.
Oh yeah. Korea could wait.
She opened her mouth to whisper in his ear, but his invading tongue stole her words. At the same time, his fingers slid beneath her gown and she decided that Korea could wait, and her news could wait.
But she couldn't wait.
Donna listened to her husband's strong heartbeat beneath her ear and smiled. The last time she had interrupted his work with impromptu sex had been that wild ride on the floor of his study when he was relieving frustration over the agonizing preparation for the State of the Union. At least they had made it to the couch this time. An afghan covered their naked bodies, both in protection from the cooling air of the room and from any sudden entrances. Experience was a good teacher.
As her muscles still struggled to regain control, she lay against his chest, letting her fingers toy with the soft hair. Her message had kept far too long. Things were peaceful, now, idyllic. It was time. They wouldn't have a better opportunity.
"Jed, there's something – "
"Listen," he began at the same time.
They chuckled together.
"Go ahead," she prompted, and berated herself as a coward. There was time still. What would one more minute hurt?
But she wasn't too sure she should have backed off when he hesitated. Raising herself, she saw his eyes drop from hers alarmingly.
With a deep sigh, he began. "Okay."
But another sigh followed. Then a throat clearing. Any earlier lightness sank under the weight of his obvious burden. Finally, he shifted and said, "Maybe this isn't the right time, Donna, but we've had so little time together lately, and there's something I need to talk with you about."
Something I need to talk with you about. Had anyone ever started a sentence like that and actually delivered anything but disastrous news?
"Okay," she managed.
He took a careful breath, as if he were steadying himself for a tough moment. "Listen, since – since the 'incident' I have been reconsidering some things."
Incident? She hated that word. Her eyes tracked involuntarily to the scar at his temple.
Then, the other word registered. Reconsidering? Reconsidering what things? Her stomach flipped.
"A few months ago, we – we talked about – we discussed whether we – "
Alarms rang in her brain, buzzed through her nerves.
"Well, sometimes events make you look at things differently." He paused, drew a deep breath, and looked directly at her. "I've been thinking about what would have happened to you if – if I had died."
No, no. Don't go there. She sat, catching her breath, not wanting even to hear the possibility. This was not remotely close to what she had imagined he would say. "Jed – "
Sitting up himself, he caught her hands in his and shushed her. "Listen. I need to say this. You need to know this."
No. I don't need to know this. I don't want to know this.
"If something should – happen, of course, you'll be taken care of financially. It's arranged in the will – "
Will? Dear God, why was he talking about a will? They had just made love, for Pete's sake. And it had been hot, and passionate, and physical. Now he was at death's door?
"And you know Leo – well, I'm not worried about that."
At least somebody wasn't.
His hand cupped her face; his thumb caressed her cheek. "I'm concerned with what I'd leave you with – you and J.T. It's hard enough raising children with two committed parents, but for a single parent – "
"Stop!" she pleaded, heart sinking with sudden realization of what he was saying. Not now. Of all times, not now. "Why do we need to talk about this?"
"Donna," he insisted, squeezing her hands. "I know it's not pleasant. But it's reality. I'm almost thirty years older than you. I have MS. I'm in a job that invites every terrorist and nutcase out there to take a shot at me. Two attempts already. The odds that I will die first – "
"I know," she said flatly, heart sick.
"I don't want you to be burdened."
Too late for that. Love was always a burden, simply for the inevitability of its loss. All the money in the world couldn't lift that weight.
He slid a hand up her arm and she braced herself for what was coming.
"That's why I've decided that I don't think you should – "
The blare of the phone drowned out his voice. She fought between frustration and relief. The interruption would keep the dreaded words from being said, at least a little while longer.
He sighed ruefully and stretched toward the end table to lift the receiver. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."
It wasn't good, she could tell. But then, was it ever?
"Leo's on his way up."
Damn Leo. And thank God for Leo.
"Now? It's almost midnight, Jed. Can't it wait until morning?" Even as she said it, she knew it couldn't. She had vowed not to interfere with his work – at least as long as his work didn't interfere with his health.
"Donna, what I was saying before – "
"We don't have time to get into this now," she declared hastily, contradicting her previous protest. "You have to meet with Leo."
He hesitated, then nodded. "Later," he agreed.
She nodded back, nerves numb.
The knock broke their tension. Leo must have been in the West Wing already – or more than likely, he had never left. Donna heard the stifled groan as Jed stepped back into his pants and crossed toward the door. She pulled the afghan up around her chin.
"Mister President?"
"Hey, Leo."
Leo stepped in, eyes widening as he realized just how intimate his intrusion had been. Regret darkened his features. "Ah, geez. I'm really sorry."
She waved him off. It wasn't the first time. It wouldn't be the last.
"Yeah, see, we have a bit of a problem with Israel."
Donna almost smiled at the understatement. No problem with Israel could be described as a "bit" of a problem.
Shrugging back into his shirt, Jed seemed to be on the same track. "A bit as in – "
"A bit as in the Middle East Accords are in danger of complete collapse if you don't talk to the prime minister in the next three minutes," Leo explained.
Her husband pressed his lips together, and she easily read the frustration, both personal and professional. "You think we could just move them to a whole nother continent?" he asked his chief of staff as he tugged on his shoes. "How about Australia? There's not much in the outback. Or Antarctica? Plenty of room there."
Leo shrugged. "I'll call Two Men and a Truck."
Not bothering with the jacket, he turned to her, eyes apologetic. "I'm sorry, Donna. I'll be back."
But she wasn't sorry, not really. Whatever he was going to say would remain tucked away in his brain for a while longer. She wasn't ready to hear it, yet, because she had all too good of an idea what it was going to be. The hints were clear enough. He didn't want to leave her burdened if he – she swallowed, forcing her mind to think the terrible words – if he died. He was worried about leaving her alone with a child to raise.
Her hand fell to her abdomen.
He was going to tell her he didn't think they should have more children.
And she was going to tell him he had made that particular announcement a little too late
And then what would happen?