On the Wall – Chapter Three
A West Wing Story
As I Was Drifting Away Series
by MAHC
POV: Donna
Spoilers: None
Rating: PG/Teen
Disclaimer: The only character I created is J.T. The others belong to – well, you know already.
Donna Bartlet stared at the healthcare report before her, the words blurring into nothing more than meaningless symbols to her frustrated brain. Finally deciding to surrender the futile attempt to get anything constructive done, she sighed and pushed back from her desk, her eye catching the flash of gold of her wedding band.
Instantly, memories of that day returned: the panic of wondering if her future husband would escape Washington and arrive in time; the excitement of seeing him waiting for her, so handsome, so happy; the warmth of hearing their vows and feeling the depth of their commitment; the tingling anticipation of that night together as husband and wife.
It all came back in a rush, the joy, the hope – the future.
One year. It had been one year exactly. And he hadn't noticed.
Not that she had seen him long enough even to probe. Her first and last glimpse of him that morning had been as he flipped on his coat and headed out the door.
"I'll call you later," he had tossed back over his shoulder. That was when she had realized the disappointing truth.
He had forgotten.
At first, she tried to justify such a glaring error. He had been busy, certainly, had spent hours with the leadership and his staff pounding out the final – and optimistic – agreement over Korea. The weeks of negotiations, of late-night sessions and early morning phone calls had paid off. She could forgive him for being so buried under such important business.
Still, there was no way around the bottom line: he had forgotten.
Damn it.
"Ma'am?"
Donna jerked involuntarily at the voice. Her chief-of-staff stood at the door, a grin stretching her mouth.
She plastered an innocuous smile on her face. "Yes?"
"You doing all right?"
An eyebrow lifted suspiciously. "Fine."
"Feeling okay?"
Now the brow came down with even deeper suspicion. "Yes."
"Can I get you anything? Crackers or juice or seltzer water, maybe?"
The First Lady narrowed her eyes. "How did you find out?"
Her chief of staff smiled, only slightly chagrined. "I can just tell."
Panicked, Donna scanned down her body.
Terri laughed and admitted, "Margaret's called over here about every half hour to check on you, and her questions have been less than subtle."
"Let me guess – have I been throwing up, do I need some crackers or Sprite, do I look pale?"
"Pretty close," Terri agreed; then the humor in her voice softened. "When are you due?"
"November."
"I'll bet the President's beside himself."
A dull pain throbbed in her chest. She bit her lip for a moment before admitting, "The President – uh – doesn't know yet."
"Oh."
"I just haven't found the right time."
Terri pushed the fading smile back to her face. "I know he'll be thrilled," she decided confidently. "He was pretty goofy over J.T., if you don't mind me saying."
"He still is," Donna agreed, trying to keep the sadness from her tone. "And I don't mind."
The chief didn't ask if she meant that she didn't mind her saying, or that she didn't mind his being goofy. Maybe it didn't matter – except that she did mind one thing. She minded thinking he might not be so goofy about another child. Minded wondering if a new baby might not receive the same doting attention he gave his first-born son.
"Until then, tick a lock," Terri promised. "But you might want to advise Margaret to sneak around a little better when she checks up on you."
This brought a true smile. "Easier said than done."
"True," she agreed, stepping back toward the door. "Still, if you want to be the one to tell the President – "
"Terri?"
The chief turned expectantly. "Ma'am?"
What if he isn't happy? What if he doesn't want another child? What if – "I could go for a cup of tomato juice – V8 or something like that."
"You got it."
There was no denying it now. If Terri knew, who else might find out? Despite the obstacles that tried to deter her, she knew she had to tell Jed. Whatever his reaction was, it wouldn't change just because she wasn't brave enough.
Her chief of staff returned with the requested juice, but by that time, the decision was made. Donna left it on her desk and stepped into the hallway.
As she strode through the corridors, a new emotion began to creep up through her soul, an emotion that drew from the frustration, from the disappointment, from the fear. It was not unknown to her, but it had been rare in their relationship – at least to this point – so rare that she wasn't quite sure how to deal with it. Nevertheless, it was present, and growing with each step toward the West Wing.
Anger.
In some strangely calm corner of her brain, she assessed the source of her anger. It wasn't to identify. Of course, the fact that he had forgotten their anniversary – their FIRST anniversary – created no small amount of hurt. That would be cause enough, but add to that the late hours that had kept him away from his wife and son, and they had a credible conflict on their hands. Still, something deeper lay at the root of her feelings, something she had pushed back again and again, unwilling to approach him with it.
Until now.
It was time to state the raw, harsh truth: He had apparently decided on his own that they shouldn't even have any more children.
He had decided. Without her. A decision of such magnitude that it literally could change their lives. How dare he?
Weeks of uncertainty now sharpened into a focused, powerful fury that bristled just beneath the surface of her control by the time she arrived at Debbie Fiderer's desk. From the look on the secretary's face, it would seem her control was tenuous.
"I need to see – "
But before she could make her entrance, the door opened and Josh and the President emerged from that sanctuary, their demeanor jovial, their faces smiling.
Well, hell.
"I think that's all we'll need for the final – " Jed stopped as he saw her, the smile curving wider.
Damn him for being so cute, she thought, fighting to keep her emotional momentum.
Oblivious to her ire, he lifted a hand in greeting, then turned back to Josh. "We'll check it one more time before we send it to the leadership," he said, the fond pat on the younger man's shoulder a gentle dismissal.
"Yes, sir," Josh said, taking the hint. As he passed the First Lady, though, he seemed to remember something, and turned back to his boss. "Oh, by the way, way to go, sir," he grinned, flashing a thumbs-up toward his chief executive. "You da man!"
Donna swallowed a gasp, and tried to skewer her former boss with a pointed frown. How the hell did Josh know? And if Josh knew, wouldn't others know soon – if not already?
Jed raised a brow as he pulled back from the kiss he had brushed against her cheek. Even in her anger, she cherished the warm caress. "Well, thank you there, Josh," he replied, amused. "Of course, I could be 'da man' for any number of things, but what exactly am I 'da man' for this time?"
Donna's glare had caught its target, and Josh finally comprehended his mistaken stumble into domestic complications. His smile collapsed into uncertainty.
"Uh, the – uh – the – uh – the Korean agreement," he hedged. "Nice work." Smooth. Did his hair seem wilder than usual?
"Josh, did you go to another bachelor's party last night?" Jed wondered, cocking his head. "You're the one who's done most of the footwork on that. I would have to concede a significant portion of 'da man' title to you."
"No, sir. I'm just giving credit where credit is due, sir," he insisted, recovering. "You deserve the credit. You are definitely 'da man.' You're the top dog, the head dude, the big cheese – "
Now the President pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes, their usual crystal blue darkening in suspicion. "How many?"
"Sir?"
Warily, Donna turned toward him.
"How many seats did we lose?"
"I'm not sure what – "
"I'm just askin' how many seats we lost in the House over whatever the hell debacle you have orchestrated on Capitol Hill."
"Sir," Josh protested, indignantly, "when have I ever – okay, strike that – "
Mild panic fizzing in her chest, Donna flashed through several scenarios that would remove them from this awkward situation, but the simplest – and most logical – fell right into her lap.
"Mister President?" The interruption came from Leo inside the Oval. Donna breathed both a prayer of thanks and a curse of irritation for the intervention. Josh closed his eyes in relief.
"Do you have a minute before the next meeting?" the chief of staff asked.
Jed gave Josh a last dubious look, then gave his wife another quick kiss before he strode back into his office. "I'll call you later," he said, repeating his promise from earlier that day. She wasn't holding her breath.
With a quick turn, she prepared her attack on Deputy Chief Blabbermouth. Even if Jed could dodge her anger, Josh wouldn't be so lucky. But he was squirrelly, and before she could lash out, he had scrambled halfway down the hall. "Ah – gotta go," he explained hastily. "Government stuff, you know – I'll – you know – "
His lanky body disappeared down the corridor, leaving her staring at Mrs. Fiderer, who smiled enigmatically and returned to her work.
With Jed engaged in whatever crisis Leo had brought him, Donna had no other option by to turn her attention on this latest complication. Who the hell could have blabbed her news to Josh?
"Margaret?"
Leo's secretary glanced up from her desk, initial smile of greeting sliding from her lips with one glance at her visitor.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Bartlet," she said formally.
"Can it, Margaret," Donna ordered. "How could you?"
"How could I what?"
Donna didn't have the patience to play a game. "How could you tell anyone about – about – Moon Unit."
"Why do you think – "
"Josh just gave Jed a thumbs-up and a way-to-go."
Margaret's eyes widened. "Did the President figure out – "
"I don't think so." No thanks to you.
"I didn't tell Josh a thing," the secretary swore.
Right. "Then how did he know?"
"No idea."
"Margaret – "
"I promise. Not a word to Josh."
"Not a word?"
"Not a word."
Donna frowned. If it wasn't Margaret, then –
"And Sylvia promised she wouldn't – "
Ah ha. "Sylvia?"
"Braitswaith in legal. We can trust her – "
"WE? I trusted YOU, Margaret. Not Sylvia!"
"I'm sure she wouldn't tell anyone. Plus, she assured me that Carlos in Protocol can keep a secret – "
"Carlos!"
"And I'm certain that Carolyn – "
"Oh God," Donna groaned, running a hand through her hair, forgetting her anger in the face of the bigger debacle. "Everybody knows!"
"Except the President," Margaret pointed out helpfully.
Donna recovered enough to pin her with a glare. "Next time why don't you just rent space on one of those interstate traffic signs?" she asked.
Margaret tightened her lips as if considering the option, then raised a brow. "You know, it's not my business – "
"Really?"
" – but I think you just need to tell him."
She tried to deny it, tried to explain that she HAD been trying to tell him, but Margaret was right. Donna shook her head in defeat. Anger, frustration, helplessness. She couldn't fight all of them. "Okay," she conceded.
"Okay?"
"Okay." And she could only hope it really would be.
Debbie still held her post when Donna returned. As she drew closer to the secretary's desk, she fought to calm her pumping heart. Now was the time. Now, before she lost the lingering anger. Now, before her nerve deserted her. Now, before she became a banner behind Wolf Blitzer's head on CNN.
"Is he in?"
The secretary gave her the usual cockeyed perusal. Donna was never sure exactly what it meant, but Debbie had shown herself to be perceptive and compassionate and completely devoted to the President, so she didn't really worry about innuendos.
"He is, but the Canadian Prime Minister and his entourage are about to arrive."
Well, maybe now wasn't really the time. But Donna had psyched herself up and knew that if she didn't use that adrenaline, it might not return.
Carpe Deum. Seize the Day. Or the minute, as the case may be.
"I don't need long," she announced, ignoring the smirk and pushing through the door that both separated and connected him with the world.
He didn't look as if he was expecting VIP company. With his legs propped casually on the desk, shirt sleeves rolled back, and glasses perched on his nose, he had reverted to the professorial persona she had imagined him to have been 20 years before. Trying to ignore the dash of desire at the sight of those the strong forearms with their golden hair, she eased the door closed behind her.
He peered over his glasses, such a characteristic look that it drew an involuntary grin to her lips. She forced it back down and reminded herself what he had forgotten.
"Hey," he called, oblivious to her mood, letting his feet drop to the floor and tossing his glasses onto the papers he had been studying.
She returned his greeting and allowed the brief kiss he gave her after coming around to the front of the desk. "You busy?" she asked, knowing quite well the answer.
His shoulders lifted in apology. "Yeah. Canadian PM's on his way up."
"Too bad," she sighed, a little too loudly, a touch of selfish mischief guiding her words, "because I thought I might steal you away for a little – lunch." Her tone left no doubt about what the main course would be.
As expected, he swallowed and sighed himself. She tried to feel guilty, but didn't really. "Well," he croaked as her hand ran down his chest, "maybe Debbie can – "
"But the Canadian PM is on his way up, remember?" she pouted.
He grunted ruefully. "Damn Canada anyway. What the hell did they ever give us but a pretentious name for ham?"
"Well, they gave us William Shatner and Michael J. Fox," she supplied, unable to stifle the grin at her rare triumph in trivia.
Innocently, he added, "John Candy. Rick Moranis."
"Peter Jennings."
"Shania Twain."
"Beaver tails."
He paused. "Excuse me?"
"You've never had beaver tail?"
He hesitated, and the color rising in his cheeks drew a laugh from her.
"The pastry," she explained.
"Ah."
She suddenly realized that her resolve was weakening with their shared moment, with his charm. Gritting her teeth, she abandoned the misdirection the lightness had brought. It was time.
"Josiah," she began, and was guiltily satisfied by his flinch.
She could only remember two times she had used that name. Once was during her wedding vows. The other was when some grabby congresswoman was making a play for her husband. He knew she meant business.
"Donna?" he asked, his tone guarded against the abrupt mood swing.
"Sir?"
Damn it. Damn it! Debbie Fiderer had stuck her head in the door and smiled in apology.
Jed didn't turn as he answered. "Yeah?"
"The Prime Minister to see you."
He hesitated, and for a moment, she almost thought he would put off the Canadian leader, but after a beat, he dragged his gaze away from hers and nodded to the secretary. "Yeah. Okay, have him come in."
Unexpectedly though, he caught his wife's arm and said, "I won't be long. Stay."
Surprised, she could only nod and put on her best diplomatic face, greeting the Prime Minister side by side with her husband. The Canadian was just slightly taller than the American President, perhaps a half a decade younger, but he had not aged nearly as well. Donna found a strange pride in that. Nevertheless, his demeanor was pleasant, friendly.
The two leaders shook hands and sat as the senior staff filed in. If anyone thought it strange that the First lady was included in their discussion, they kept it to themselves. The topic centered on fishing rights along the coasts of Maine and Nova Scotia, but quickly devolved into a competition over who could really claim to be King of the Lobsters, or something like that.
Donna found herself drifting, running through the conversation she had not quite managed to have with her husband. I won't be long, he had said. She hoped not. After weeks of hedging, she was ready to face it, and the additional thirty minutes might just prove to be the most intolerable.
"In 1999," the Prime Minister was saying, "our courts ruled that natives have the right to fish year-round. After all, Nova Scotia lobster – "
" – can't compare with Maine lobster," the President interjected with a grin.
"Sir," Josh suggested, "I'm not sure there's a diff – "
Her nerves throbbed. Donna felt the words surging up into her throat and smashed them back down, but not without effort.
Across the room, Jed was smiling. "Of course there is, Josh. Do you know the scientific name for this crustacean?"
The deputy chief of staff grimaced, realizing what he had unleashed upon them all. Donna recognized the triumph in her husband's face.
"Homarus americanus. The American Lobster!" the President announced, standing so that he could argue without obstacles.
The words made another run, but Donna bested them once more – barely. She had to move, had to get out of there before she lost control in the midst of everyone else's obliviously innocuous conversation.
The Prime Minister pursed his lips, but recognized the good-natured ribbing for what it was. "If you will pardon me for saying so, Mister President, Canada IS part of 'America,' and Atlantic Canada is the world's largest producer of American lobster."
More bubbling. More smashing back.
"It's still the American – "
"I'm pregnant."
Silence, sudden and complete.
A beat.
More silence.
Oh God. Who said that? Who the hell said that? Well, so much for control.
Donna realized that six astonished sets of eyes stared at her. Mouths dropped in synchronization like a Busby Berkley dance line. C.J. gasped. Toby stared, one eyebrow cocked. Leo coughed. Josh stole a glance at the President.
Jed stood frozen, hand still raised in mid-gesticulation. He almost looked like his own robotic doppelganger from the Hall of Presidents at Disney World – but his face had paled too much to be even that realistic.
No one moved. No one spoke. The stark tick of the clock counted out ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty.
Finally, with a quick cough, C.J. Cregg stepped forward. "Congratulations!" she offered, her grin warm and genuine.
Donna thought she smiled back, wasn't sure.
But the press secretary's move broke the tension, and the Prime Minister took the liberty of following her lead. Gathering the stunned President's hand in both of his, he pumped enthusiastically. "Well, well! Congratulations, Mister President." With a nod her way, he added, "And, of course, Mrs. Bartlet. Well done! Well done, indeed."
Donna colored. Everyone else relaxed a bit and smiled their own good wishes.
Everyone except Jed.
He had not moved, and slowly the congratulatory remarks faded at that observation.
"Well," the Canadian leader said, clearing his throat, "I think I'll just get started on our end of this. If you'll excuse me – " He didn't wait for confirmation before he hurried out.
With a quick jerk of his chin, Jed silently ordered the rest of them from the room. They filed out obediently, faces a mixture of pleasure and confusion as they tried to assess their President's unexpected mood.
C.J. threw her a supportive smile as she passed. Leo glanced between his boss and her before he allowed himself to exit.
Swallowing hard, she turned toward her husband and searched his face. He held her gaze, face carefully masked.
After a long moment, he asked, "What did you say?"
What do you mean, what did I say, she wanted to snap, but knew he only said that to buy himself more time.
She met his eyes. "I'm pregnant."
"Pregnant?" he repeated.
She nodded. He didn't want anymore children. She knew that his own moral stand against abortion would prevent any such suggestion. And she wouldn't do it anyway, even if it didn't. Her resolve almost vanished in the face of his anticipated reaction.
He doesn't want more children, she reminded herself. He forgot our anniversary.
After a very long silence, accompanied by an unreadable stare, he shifted a bit and stepped forward, his brow lowering. It took only a few paces to reach her, and as he did, his hands came up, gripped her upper arms hard. She stiffened, heart racing.
"Jed?" she asked cautiously, wondering just how angry he was going to be.
"Donna – " he ground out between gritted teeth, pulling her closer so that they were almost nose to nose.
She could do nothing but wait. Wait for his next move. Wait for his anger. Wait for her retort.
But his next move was not what she expected. Not at all. Slowly, his grip relaxed, and he let the few inches separating them close.
Then he kissed her.
He kissed not with the strength of irritation or even anger, but with the infinite tenderness of love.
His lips move slowly on hers as his hands slid down her arms to end up entwining their fingers. When he finally pulled back, the adoration that burned in his eyes brought a soft sob to her throat.
"I love you," he whispered, then leaned in to kiss her again. "I love you so much."
Relief and joy and love swept through her, rushing into her brain, dissolving the fear, the disappointment, the anger. With a happy cry, she threw her arms around his neck and pressed against him, tears sliding down her cheeks.
"Pregnant?" he asked gently, pulling back to look at her and let a thumb brush away a tear.
She nodded again.
After a beat, he said, "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Okay." He smiled that smile that answered any doubts she had.
And suddenly it was okay, just like that.
Suddenly, he was forgiven for forgetting their anniversary, excused for spending long hours at work. Later, they would talk. Later, she would bring up the rest, but not now. Now, as she let his arms enclose her and their baby, it didn't matter so much.
For now.