POV: Donna
Spoilers: None specifically
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: There are a few original characters in this story, but most
were created by A.S.
A Dagger Unseen – Chapter One A West Wing Story
by MAHC
"Cruel with guilt, and daring with despair, The midnight murderer bursts the faithless bar; Invades the sacred hour of silent rest And leaves, unseen, a dagger in your breast."
Samuel Johnson
It was too cold to snow on Christmas morning, but the two and a half inches that had fallen three days before still stretched across the streets of Washington, the powdery beauty hardened into a more treacherous slab of ice. But Donna Bartlet had not noticed it yet, had not risen to glimpse the outside world. She still curled under the protective comforter, snug against the warm body of her husband, a body that, once again, lay by hers without the barriers of clothing.
Slowly, her eyes peeked open, took in the early stream of sunlight pouring through the slits in the drapes. For a moment, she stretched lazily, curious about the strange fatigue in her arms and legs. Then she remembered, and the furious blush that washed over her entire body gave evidence of the incredible night she had shared with Jed. Smiling at the tingling memories, she propped on an elbow and let her eyes linger on him, beginning at his face. The worn lines that had begun to etch deeper in his forehead were smoother now; the pinch between his brows relaxed. And she knew it wasn't just the physical release that brought that change – although it certainly had not hurt. It was an emotional relief from the tension between them. It was a healing from wounds they had not even realized existed.
She let her gaze travel over his chest, watching it rise and fall for a moment, celebrating his continuing health, his strength. As she moved lower, she eased the comforter down, baring the rest of his body for her enjoyment. He was handsome indeed, she thought. Another blush pinked her cheeks as he stirred slightly, his shifting hips unconsciously presenting her with a delicious view.
She considered waking him with another present, even if she was a little sore from the night before, but the muffled frets of an infant jerked that idea away from her. Before they could grow into a full-blown wail, she had slid from the bed and lifted the baby to her breast. Propping against the headboard, she guided him to the sweet milk he sought, smiling at the intimacy, at the deep connection between mother and child.
Her eyes closed, and she focused on the sensation that she knew would be with her the rest of her life. She was vaguely aware of movement beside her, but didn't peek until she felt a weight on her legs and a warm, wet touch against her belly. Looking down, she couldn't help the grin at the sight.
The President of the United States lay on his stomach, scooted halfway down the bed, his lips pressed to the slight swell of her abdomen just below her navel. He grinned at her impishly and she felt her heart race.
"Morning sexy," he whispered.
"Ditto," she returned, because he was, hair tousled, jaw rough with stubble, biceps flexed as he slid his arms beneath her hips.
He flicked out his tongue for a lick or two, then contented himself to rest his head against her, face to the side. "You okay?"
Yes, indeed. "Um hmm. Why do you ask?"
"I, uh, I think I need to apologize for last night," he continued, voice mellow with chagrin.
She couldn't imagine what he was talking about. Last night had been the most erotic, most sensuous evening she had ever spent. "What are you –"
But he raised his head. "No. Let me finish." Then, he lowered it again, as if he couldn't meet her in the eye. "Last night was, well, I let things get a little – I was – I was carried away by your – by you. And I know it was probably too rough, especially your first time after the baby. I should have been in control more. I should have known you – "
"Jed – "
"But you were so, well, you made me so – "
"Jed, stop."
He did, looking up at her again, his face so boyish she reached a hand down to ruffle his hair.
"Last night was wonderful. You were wonderful. Just what I wanted."
"Yeah?"
"Oh yeah."
He grinned, obviously relieved, and scooted up the bed to drop a kiss on his son's head. "Really?"
"Yes, really."
"I'd never want to hurt you, Donna."
"I know." And she knew he meant more than just physically, too.
"Hey, Buddy," he cooed to the baby. "Don't you want to see if Santa's come?"
Pursing her lips, she teased, "I'm here to tell you that Santa did, indeed, come."
He smirked. "Mamma's funny, isn't she?" he directed to the child, again. "Let's go see what Old Saint Nick dropped off at J.T.'s house."
Despite his child-like glee, she forced him to wait until she had finished feeding the baby. Can't do one side without the other, that was for sure.
When they finally shuffled the few steps from the bed to the fireplace, she grinned. Laid out in the grandest of presentations was an eclectic assortment to tempt the fancy of every lad. When on earth had had done this? At least three sets of football uniforms, all sporting the Irish logo; a Boston Celtics jersey; every type of ball known to man; four immense stuffed animals, all replicas of endangered species (her contribution); a motorized swing; a playpen; an activity jungle; and an embarrassingly extensive assortment of literature, from The Real Mother Goose to a brand new copy of Norton's Anthology of English Literature.
She lifted a brow at her husband, who shrugged and said, unapologetically, "You're never too young for Shakespeare."
The recipient of these treasures seemed unimpressed, until his father thrust a squishy mini soccer ball into his face, and he found some satisfaction in slobbering on it. His parents, however, beamed with the nostalgia of their own childhood Christmases. Donna cast a sideways glance at Jed, wondering if his holidays had been joyful, hoping that, even in the tension of his home, there had been some pleasure at Christmas. Whatever his experience, he seemed quite content now, even goofily happy over the moment.
The tentative – and ubiquitous – knock snatched away their rare peace. Jed shook his head. "Surprise."
They were all still naked, even J.T., except for the diaper, and Donna enjoyed watching her husband walk the few paces to retrieve the pajama bottoms he had quickly discarded the night before – or had she discarded them for him? Slipping back into her own robe, she nodded her readiness before he opened the door.
"Merry Christmas, Mister President," Leo greeted. "Good morning, Donna." Not surprisingly, he was fully dressed: coat, tie, pocket handkerchief.
"Leo," Jed returned. "What the hell – "
"Jed!" she warned.
"What on earth are you doing here at – what time is it?"
"Seven-fifteen," the chief of staff supplied.
"At seven-fifteen in the morning?"
"I'm wishing you a Merry Christmas."
"And?"
"And, I'm letting you know that your in-laws' plane has been delayed in Chicago, but they should be arriving just in time for lunch."
"Okay. Again I ask what on earth you are doing here at seven-fifteen in the morning. Charlie could have told me that."
"You sent Charlie home yesterday."
"Well, someone else could have told me. You're supposed to be enjoying your holiday."
"I am, sir." Right.
"You are absolutely hopeless, Leo," Jed decided, throwing a hand up. "Hopeless."
"Yes, sir. Do you want to send a car to pick them up?"
"Nah, let's just let them walk across the Potomac, why don't we? Maybe my brother-in-law will be too tired to throw a punch at me this time."
"Jed!"
"Well, if we have to – "
"When you're dressed, sir, there's just a little something we need to discuss." His tone was carefully casual, but even Donna heard the tension behind it. Jed sobered immediately, jerking up his chin.
"What?"
"Nothing, really." Not very convincing. "It'll wait."
"Leo – "
"It'll wait, Mister President. I'll catch up with you in a while."
He left, but Jed had changed suddenly, the little boy glee over Christmas replaced by the grown-up leader-of-the-free-world burden from every other day of the year.
They had chosen to attend a Mass at the Franciscan Monastery on Quincy Street, which offered the flexibility of services at 7:00, 8:30, 10:30 and noon. If they went at 10:30, they could be back at the White House in time for the arrival of her family and for dinner. The new nanny, Tricia, had arrived around 8:30 to take care of J.T. while she prepared herself for church. So she and Jed had at least thirty minutes alone. She wondered if he would be interested in one more present. Maybe a little bonus gift before Mass. Wait – was that sacrilegious? She decided she didn't really care.
She arched under the hot spray of the shower, letting the massage setting pulse and beat a rhythmic pattern against her shoulders and back. Jed's shower had been much quicker. She wondered if he could have used the same treatment for his own strained muscles. Already she had seen him wince this morning when he bent to tie his shoes. He shouldn't have lifted her yesterday onto the desk – well, in hindsight, anyway, but at the moment –
Her skin buzzing from the strong massage, Donna grabbed a towel and stepped from the shower, eager to catch her husband off guard – to send him to church relaxed and happy. But when the water stopped, the voices from their bedroom delayed her plans, then dissolved them altogether.
Leo had returned, and by the sound of things, the conversation wasn't casual. Although she knew it was not really right, she leaned against the door, wanting to know what they were saying, needing to know what was happening. It was hard, though, and she finally gritted her teeth and eased the door open enough to hear them more clearly. Too bad Margaret wasn't there to give her some expert tips on eavesdropping.
"Where are you going, sir?" Leo asked.
Donna turned her head a little so her ear fit into the crack. The tone was not casual.
She could tell Jed had not stopped getting ready to answer. "I'm going to Mass, Leo. We're going to Mass. Christmas Mass. Just like every year."
"Do you think that's wise?"
A pause, and not a pleasant one. "What are you saying?"
Leo sighed. He didn't like doing this, Donna could tell. "I'm saying the note threatened to – "
"I KNOW what the note threatened," Jed snapped, and Donna flinched. She knew what the note said, too.
The chief of staff's voice had grown gentler now, backing off at the sound of a tenuous hold on control from the President. "I know you want to go to Mass, Jed," he said.
Donna caught a breath. If he had lapsed into using his friend's name, something deeper was happening. She peeked around the door frame, saw them almost squared off facing each other now.
"I've always gone to Mass," Jed reminded him, his voice losing a bit of the edge. "Every Christmas. My entire life. My God, what's Christmas about, anyway?"
"I agree." That calm, that logic; something else was coming.
Jed knew it, too. "But?"
"But the circumstances are different now. You have to consider – "
"Yeah." His tone fell in defeat, his body slumping with it. Donna fought the impulse to rush out and wrap her arms around him. Instead, she held back, watching and listening, trying to make sense of what they discussed.
"I'll go alone," he decided.
"I'm not even sure – "
"I said, I'll go alone, Leo. They'll stay here. No danger to them, as long as – "
Danger? As long as what?
"What about to you?"
He turned to stare out the window, probably not even seeing the white world before him. "It's not me they want – "
"We can't know that for sure. They might take what they can get."
Oh God.
A rare flash of temper swept over her husband's face, and he swung around fiercely. "Damn it, Leo! Damn it! I can't just shut down. I WILL NOT just shut down."
"I'm not asking you – "
"Yes, you are. That's what you're asking. I won't send Donna and J.T. out into danger. You know I'd die before I'd let anything happen to them."
"I know." Soft answer, no doubt there.
"But I can't remove myself from the world. I can't let them win – or him win, or whoever the hell – "
Finally, the calm that had characterized Leo's argument snapped. "Don't you think they win when they kill you?"
Kill him? She felt sick. What on earth was going on?
The two men remained silent for a moment, breath coming hard for both. After at least a full minute, Jed said, "I've given in to everything this lunatic has demanded. I tried to – " His voice broke. "I did what Ron asked. I kept my distance, even though – How the hell would anyone know, anyway?"
Leo cleared his throat awkwardly. "You are the President of the United States. There's no more real privacy. You know that. As for keeping your distance, there's, uh, well, there's a story out there about – about an incident yesterday in the Oval Office."
Donna flushed and watched Jed's face do the same, but for entirely different reasons.
"That's between my wife and me, Leo. No one else's business." He sounded more angry than embarrassed.
"Normally, I would certainly agree with you, Mister President." Back to being formal. Good or bad? "But in this situation, we don't know who is watching."
"NO ONE was watching, Leo. My God, what do you think of me?"
"I think you are a man who loves a woman and who wants to be with her. But this guy's insane. And you just assumed no one was watching. Maybe – " He sighed again. "This is something we've never dealt with before. Ron has called in more agents this morning in case – in case there's a – reaction."
Jed's voice had darkened, the words grinding out in dangerous tones. "Reaction? This has gotten ridiculous, Leo. How can someone be so close that he knows when I make love to my wife, but we can't even figure out WHO IT IS?" He finished at a flat yell, prompting an agent to peek in the door.
"Mister President?"
Leo stepped forward, hand waving off the assistance. "It's okay. Everything's okay."
With one curt nod, the guard retreated to resume his protective post.
"It's because he's so close that we're having trouble," the chief of staff suggested, voice soft.
"I should send them away," Jed decided suddenly. "I should send them to New Hampshire or to Camp David until we figure this out."
"Maybe."
"Leo, you tell Ron if he doesn't find this person, or these people, soon I'm going to – I'm going to – " She heard him let out a heavy breath. "God, I don't know what I'm going to do. I can't continue like this, Leo."
Now it took all the strength in her not to race from the bathroom, naked, and take him in her arms.
He ran a hand through his hair, destroying any neatness he had previously created. "You're telling me I put my wife in danger yesterday by loving her. You're telling me I'm putting myself in danger by going to Mass. You're telling me I can't stay here, but I can't go anywhere else, either. What the hell ARE you telling me, Leo?"
Perhaps trying to counter the emotions of his friend, Leo kept his voice low, level, reasonable. "I'm telling you that a crazy man has threatened your family. I'm telling you that someone who has inside connections wants to harm your child, and your wife, and possibly even you, if you get in the way. He's given specific warnings. He's sent letters – "
"Letters?"
The silence and the streak of regret on Leo's face told her he had slipped. Jed pounced, actually grabbing his chief of staff's shoulders and squeezing. "Letters? More than one? You told me there was just one. Leo?"
With a heavy breath, his friend nodded and detached himself from the desperate grip. Slowly, he withdrew a single folded sheet of paper from his jacket pocket and handed it to the President.
Jed took it, flipping it open and reading it. Donna watched him carefully, almost lunged for him when she saw him sway, saw the blood drain from his face. Leo snagged an elbow. It was enough to keep him on his feet until he regained the strength himself.
After a shuddering breath, he muttered, "Oh my God." The paper crumpled in his hands. "When – when did you get this?"
"This morning. That's a copy. The FBI is running tests on the original right now."
He swallowed and braced himself against the couch back. "This means – "
Leo nodded. "Yeah."
"Oh my God," he repeated, visibly shaken.
"We'll find him, Jed. We will."
That seemed to reach him more than any other plea. He took in a shuddering breath and nodded.
"It had been seven weeks," he murmured, and Donna knew instantly what he referred to. "She thought – "The tears were evident even in his voice. "I couldn't let her continue to think I didn't want her."
"I know."
"I thought I was doing the right thing. She needed – hell, I needed – Oh my God, what have I done?"
"You did what you thought was best," Leo reassured him. "You always do."
"But if he knows now that we – that I –"He shoved the smashed sheet of paper in his friend's face, anger blackening his own features. "Find this bastard, Leo. You find him."
"Yes, sir."
"I want every single person in this building checked. Every single person."
"Yes, sir. Senior staff, too?"
He hesitated, then said, "Every single person."
"Yes, sir."
Then Leo was gone, and Donna watched her husband for a minute. To her alarm, she saw that his entire body shook. With an uncharacteristic snarl, he crushed the wad of paper in his hand and threw it across the room. But its innocuous flight did nothing to relieve his fury, so he fumbled blindly for something, anything, to give him satisfaction. He found it on the coffee table: a delicate vase that she remembered being presented to them by the Ambassador from Sweden. Catching it up in his grip, he reared back and hurled it against the fireplace, yelling out unintelligibly as he did. The fragile porcelain shattered against the hard frame, its tiny pieces raining down onto the floor.
She had never seen him like that, had never witnessed a loss of physical control from him. Stunned, she grabbed her robe from the door and plunged into the room, tying the sash just as Ron Butterfield burst in from the hall.
"Mister President?" he asked, and, although his voice remained its usual even level, his eyes flashed. Jed didn't move, didn't acknowledge anyone else's presence.
"It's okay, Ron," Donna assured him, even though she was far from believing her own words. "It's okay."
Unconvinced, he nevertheless backed out. "I'll be right out here, Mrs. Bartlet." And she heard the unspoken completion of the sentence: "If you need me."
When they were alone, she took a closer look at Jed. He still stood as he had finished the throw, breath coming hard, body bent in the follow through of a perfectly-delivered fast ball. If the situation had not been so startling, she would have asked him if he played baseball in his youth.
"Jed?" Keep it soft, unchallenging.
Slowly, he straightened and met her eyes, his face red, his clothes in disarray. "I – uh – I broke the Swedish vase. I'm sorry."
"Come here," she ordered, and held out her arms in invitation.
Something broke in him, then, as if he had finally been given permission to let go of some of the burden, of the responsibility. The tears already glistened in his eyes by the time he reached her, even though he was trying hard to push them back. When he stepped into her embrace, his arms went around her, clutching her to him almost desperately.
"What's wrong?" she asked as he buried his face against her neck. "What's wrong, Jed?" Her tone was gentle, like someone would use with a child that had skinned his knee.
His voice was choked, fighting not to lose what little control he still hung onto. "I – I can't – tell you – "
But he had to tell her. For his sake as much as for hers. There was something more, something he still had not shared with her and it was eating him up. Quickly, she pulled back, acting before he realized it, and scooped the mutilated letter from the floor.
"No!" he ground out, reaching for it, but she stepped back, and he didn't pursue. Maybe he realized it wouldn't do any good. Maybe he saw that he couldn't keep this away from her.
Peeling it open and smoothing it out, she let her eyes run over the words that had dealt him such a blow. The nausea rose in her throat, threatened to overwhelm her. The sheer incredulity of it hit her, weakened her knees. This time, he was the one to pull her into a comforting embrace and for a moment they clung to each other.
When the tremors that ran through both their bodies had faded, she gathered the strength to withdraw enough to look at him. Bracing herself, she made sure their eyes were locked before she spoke.
"Tell me everything."
A Dagger Unseen – Chapter One A West Wing Story
by MAHC
"Cruel with guilt, and daring with despair, The midnight murderer bursts the faithless bar; Invades the sacred hour of silent rest And leaves, unseen, a dagger in your breast."
Samuel Johnson
It was too cold to snow on Christmas morning, but the two and a half inches that had fallen three days before still stretched across the streets of Washington, the powdery beauty hardened into a more treacherous slab of ice. But Donna Bartlet had not noticed it yet, had not risen to glimpse the outside world. She still curled under the protective comforter, snug against the warm body of her husband, a body that, once again, lay by hers without the barriers of clothing.
Slowly, her eyes peeked open, took in the early stream of sunlight pouring through the slits in the drapes. For a moment, she stretched lazily, curious about the strange fatigue in her arms and legs. Then she remembered, and the furious blush that washed over her entire body gave evidence of the incredible night she had shared with Jed. Smiling at the tingling memories, she propped on an elbow and let her eyes linger on him, beginning at his face. The worn lines that had begun to etch deeper in his forehead were smoother now; the pinch between his brows relaxed. And she knew it wasn't just the physical release that brought that change – although it certainly had not hurt. It was an emotional relief from the tension between them. It was a healing from wounds they had not even realized existed.
She let her gaze travel over his chest, watching it rise and fall for a moment, celebrating his continuing health, his strength. As she moved lower, she eased the comforter down, baring the rest of his body for her enjoyment. He was handsome indeed, she thought. Another blush pinked her cheeks as he stirred slightly, his shifting hips unconsciously presenting her with a delicious view.
She considered waking him with another present, even if she was a little sore from the night before, but the muffled frets of an infant jerked that idea away from her. Before they could grow into a full-blown wail, she had slid from the bed and lifted the baby to her breast. Propping against the headboard, she guided him to the sweet milk he sought, smiling at the intimacy, at the deep connection between mother and child.
Her eyes closed, and she focused on the sensation that she knew would be with her the rest of her life. She was vaguely aware of movement beside her, but didn't peek until she felt a weight on her legs and a warm, wet touch against her belly. Looking down, she couldn't help the grin at the sight.
The President of the United States lay on his stomach, scooted halfway down the bed, his lips pressed to the slight swell of her abdomen just below her navel. He grinned at her impishly and she felt her heart race.
"Morning sexy," he whispered.
"Ditto," she returned, because he was, hair tousled, jaw rough with stubble, biceps flexed as he slid his arms beneath her hips.
He flicked out his tongue for a lick or two, then contented himself to rest his head against her, face to the side. "You okay?"
Yes, indeed. "Um hmm. Why do you ask?"
"I, uh, I think I need to apologize for last night," he continued, voice mellow with chagrin.
She couldn't imagine what he was talking about. Last night had been the most erotic, most sensuous evening she had ever spent. "What are you –"
But he raised his head. "No. Let me finish." Then, he lowered it again, as if he couldn't meet her in the eye. "Last night was, well, I let things get a little – I was – I was carried away by your – by you. And I know it was probably too rough, especially your first time after the baby. I should have been in control more. I should have known you – "
"Jed – "
"But you were so, well, you made me so – "
"Jed, stop."
He did, looking up at her again, his face so boyish she reached a hand down to ruffle his hair.
"Last night was wonderful. You were wonderful. Just what I wanted."
"Yeah?"
"Oh yeah."
He grinned, obviously relieved, and scooted up the bed to drop a kiss on his son's head. "Really?"
"Yes, really."
"I'd never want to hurt you, Donna."
"I know." And she knew he meant more than just physically, too.
"Hey, Buddy," he cooed to the baby. "Don't you want to see if Santa's come?"
Pursing her lips, she teased, "I'm here to tell you that Santa did, indeed, come."
He smirked. "Mamma's funny, isn't she?" he directed to the child, again. "Let's go see what Old Saint Nick dropped off at J.T.'s house."
Despite his child-like glee, she forced him to wait until she had finished feeding the baby. Can't do one side without the other, that was for sure.
When they finally shuffled the few steps from the bed to the fireplace, she grinned. Laid out in the grandest of presentations was an eclectic assortment to tempt the fancy of every lad. When on earth had had done this? At least three sets of football uniforms, all sporting the Irish logo; a Boston Celtics jersey; every type of ball known to man; four immense stuffed animals, all replicas of endangered species (her contribution); a motorized swing; a playpen; an activity jungle; and an embarrassingly extensive assortment of literature, from The Real Mother Goose to a brand new copy of Norton's Anthology of English Literature.
She lifted a brow at her husband, who shrugged and said, unapologetically, "You're never too young for Shakespeare."
The recipient of these treasures seemed unimpressed, until his father thrust a squishy mini soccer ball into his face, and he found some satisfaction in slobbering on it. His parents, however, beamed with the nostalgia of their own childhood Christmases. Donna cast a sideways glance at Jed, wondering if his holidays had been joyful, hoping that, even in the tension of his home, there had been some pleasure at Christmas. Whatever his experience, he seemed quite content now, even goofily happy over the moment.
The tentative – and ubiquitous – knock snatched away their rare peace. Jed shook his head. "Surprise."
They were all still naked, even J.T., except for the diaper, and Donna enjoyed watching her husband walk the few paces to retrieve the pajama bottoms he had quickly discarded the night before – or had she discarded them for him? Slipping back into her own robe, she nodded her readiness before he opened the door.
"Merry Christmas, Mister President," Leo greeted. "Good morning, Donna." Not surprisingly, he was fully dressed: coat, tie, pocket handkerchief.
"Leo," Jed returned. "What the hell – "
"Jed!" she warned.
"What on earth are you doing here at – what time is it?"
"Seven-fifteen," the chief of staff supplied.
"At seven-fifteen in the morning?"
"I'm wishing you a Merry Christmas."
"And?"
"And, I'm letting you know that your in-laws' plane has been delayed in Chicago, but they should be arriving just in time for lunch."
"Okay. Again I ask what on earth you are doing here at seven-fifteen in the morning. Charlie could have told me that."
"You sent Charlie home yesterday."
"Well, someone else could have told me. You're supposed to be enjoying your holiday."
"I am, sir." Right.
"You are absolutely hopeless, Leo," Jed decided, throwing a hand up. "Hopeless."
"Yes, sir. Do you want to send a car to pick them up?"
"Nah, let's just let them walk across the Potomac, why don't we? Maybe my brother-in-law will be too tired to throw a punch at me this time."
"Jed!"
"Well, if we have to – "
"When you're dressed, sir, there's just a little something we need to discuss." His tone was carefully casual, but even Donna heard the tension behind it. Jed sobered immediately, jerking up his chin.
"What?"
"Nothing, really." Not very convincing. "It'll wait."
"Leo – "
"It'll wait, Mister President. I'll catch up with you in a while."
He left, but Jed had changed suddenly, the little boy glee over Christmas replaced by the grown-up leader-of-the-free-world burden from every other day of the year.
They had chosen to attend a Mass at the Franciscan Monastery on Quincy Street, which offered the flexibility of services at 7:00, 8:30, 10:30 and noon. If they went at 10:30, they could be back at the White House in time for the arrival of her family and for dinner. The new nanny, Tricia, had arrived around 8:30 to take care of J.T. while she prepared herself for church. So she and Jed had at least thirty minutes alone. She wondered if he would be interested in one more present. Maybe a little bonus gift before Mass. Wait – was that sacrilegious? She decided she didn't really care.
She arched under the hot spray of the shower, letting the massage setting pulse and beat a rhythmic pattern against her shoulders and back. Jed's shower had been much quicker. She wondered if he could have used the same treatment for his own strained muscles. Already she had seen him wince this morning when he bent to tie his shoes. He shouldn't have lifted her yesterday onto the desk – well, in hindsight, anyway, but at the moment –
Her skin buzzing from the strong massage, Donna grabbed a towel and stepped from the shower, eager to catch her husband off guard – to send him to church relaxed and happy. But when the water stopped, the voices from their bedroom delayed her plans, then dissolved them altogether.
Leo had returned, and by the sound of things, the conversation wasn't casual. Although she knew it was not really right, she leaned against the door, wanting to know what they were saying, needing to know what was happening. It was hard, though, and she finally gritted her teeth and eased the door open enough to hear them more clearly. Too bad Margaret wasn't there to give her some expert tips on eavesdropping.
"Where are you going, sir?" Leo asked.
Donna turned her head a little so her ear fit into the crack. The tone was not casual.
She could tell Jed had not stopped getting ready to answer. "I'm going to Mass, Leo. We're going to Mass. Christmas Mass. Just like every year."
"Do you think that's wise?"
A pause, and not a pleasant one. "What are you saying?"
Leo sighed. He didn't like doing this, Donna could tell. "I'm saying the note threatened to – "
"I KNOW what the note threatened," Jed snapped, and Donna flinched. She knew what the note said, too.
The chief of staff's voice had grown gentler now, backing off at the sound of a tenuous hold on control from the President. "I know you want to go to Mass, Jed," he said.
Donna caught a breath. If he had lapsed into using his friend's name, something deeper was happening. She peeked around the door frame, saw them almost squared off facing each other now.
"I've always gone to Mass," Jed reminded him, his voice losing a bit of the edge. "Every Christmas. My entire life. My God, what's Christmas about, anyway?"
"I agree." That calm, that logic; something else was coming.
Jed knew it, too. "But?"
"But the circumstances are different now. You have to consider – "
"Yeah." His tone fell in defeat, his body slumping with it. Donna fought the impulse to rush out and wrap her arms around him. Instead, she held back, watching and listening, trying to make sense of what they discussed.
"I'll go alone," he decided.
"I'm not even sure – "
"I said, I'll go alone, Leo. They'll stay here. No danger to them, as long as – "
Danger? As long as what?
"What about to you?"
He turned to stare out the window, probably not even seeing the white world before him. "It's not me they want – "
"We can't know that for sure. They might take what they can get."
Oh God.
A rare flash of temper swept over her husband's face, and he swung around fiercely. "Damn it, Leo! Damn it! I can't just shut down. I WILL NOT just shut down."
"I'm not asking you – "
"Yes, you are. That's what you're asking. I won't send Donna and J.T. out into danger. You know I'd die before I'd let anything happen to them."
"I know." Soft answer, no doubt there.
"But I can't remove myself from the world. I can't let them win – or him win, or whoever the hell – "
Finally, the calm that had characterized Leo's argument snapped. "Don't you think they win when they kill you?"
Kill him? She felt sick. What on earth was going on?
The two men remained silent for a moment, breath coming hard for both. After at least a full minute, Jed said, "I've given in to everything this lunatic has demanded. I tried to – " His voice broke. "I did what Ron asked. I kept my distance, even though – How the hell would anyone know, anyway?"
Leo cleared his throat awkwardly. "You are the President of the United States. There's no more real privacy. You know that. As for keeping your distance, there's, uh, well, there's a story out there about – about an incident yesterday in the Oval Office."
Donna flushed and watched Jed's face do the same, but for entirely different reasons.
"That's between my wife and me, Leo. No one else's business." He sounded more angry than embarrassed.
"Normally, I would certainly agree with you, Mister President." Back to being formal. Good or bad? "But in this situation, we don't know who is watching."
"NO ONE was watching, Leo. My God, what do you think of me?"
"I think you are a man who loves a woman and who wants to be with her. But this guy's insane. And you just assumed no one was watching. Maybe – " He sighed again. "This is something we've never dealt with before. Ron has called in more agents this morning in case – in case there's a – reaction."
Jed's voice had darkened, the words grinding out in dangerous tones. "Reaction? This has gotten ridiculous, Leo. How can someone be so close that he knows when I make love to my wife, but we can't even figure out WHO IT IS?" He finished at a flat yell, prompting an agent to peek in the door.
"Mister President?"
Leo stepped forward, hand waving off the assistance. "It's okay. Everything's okay."
With one curt nod, the guard retreated to resume his protective post.
"It's because he's so close that we're having trouble," the chief of staff suggested, voice soft.
"I should send them away," Jed decided suddenly. "I should send them to New Hampshire or to Camp David until we figure this out."
"Maybe."
"Leo, you tell Ron if he doesn't find this person, or these people, soon I'm going to – I'm going to – " She heard him let out a heavy breath. "God, I don't know what I'm going to do. I can't continue like this, Leo."
Now it took all the strength in her not to race from the bathroom, naked, and take him in her arms.
He ran a hand through his hair, destroying any neatness he had previously created. "You're telling me I put my wife in danger yesterday by loving her. You're telling me I'm putting myself in danger by going to Mass. You're telling me I can't stay here, but I can't go anywhere else, either. What the hell ARE you telling me, Leo?"
Perhaps trying to counter the emotions of his friend, Leo kept his voice low, level, reasonable. "I'm telling you that a crazy man has threatened your family. I'm telling you that someone who has inside connections wants to harm your child, and your wife, and possibly even you, if you get in the way. He's given specific warnings. He's sent letters – "
"Letters?"
The silence and the streak of regret on Leo's face told her he had slipped. Jed pounced, actually grabbing his chief of staff's shoulders and squeezing. "Letters? More than one? You told me there was just one. Leo?"
With a heavy breath, his friend nodded and detached himself from the desperate grip. Slowly, he withdrew a single folded sheet of paper from his jacket pocket and handed it to the President.
Jed took it, flipping it open and reading it. Donna watched him carefully, almost lunged for him when she saw him sway, saw the blood drain from his face. Leo snagged an elbow. It was enough to keep him on his feet until he regained the strength himself.
After a shuddering breath, he muttered, "Oh my God." The paper crumpled in his hands. "When – when did you get this?"
"This morning. That's a copy. The FBI is running tests on the original right now."
He swallowed and braced himself against the couch back. "This means – "
Leo nodded. "Yeah."
"Oh my God," he repeated, visibly shaken.
"We'll find him, Jed. We will."
That seemed to reach him more than any other plea. He took in a shuddering breath and nodded.
"It had been seven weeks," he murmured, and Donna knew instantly what he referred to. "She thought – "The tears were evident even in his voice. "I couldn't let her continue to think I didn't want her."
"I know."
"I thought I was doing the right thing. She needed – hell, I needed – Oh my God, what have I done?"
"You did what you thought was best," Leo reassured him. "You always do."
"But if he knows now that we – that I –"He shoved the smashed sheet of paper in his friend's face, anger blackening his own features. "Find this bastard, Leo. You find him."
"Yes, sir."
"I want every single person in this building checked. Every single person."
"Yes, sir. Senior staff, too?"
He hesitated, then said, "Every single person."
"Yes, sir."
Then Leo was gone, and Donna watched her husband for a minute. To her alarm, she saw that his entire body shook. With an uncharacteristic snarl, he crushed the wad of paper in his hand and threw it across the room. But its innocuous flight did nothing to relieve his fury, so he fumbled blindly for something, anything, to give him satisfaction. He found it on the coffee table: a delicate vase that she remembered being presented to them by the Ambassador from Sweden. Catching it up in his grip, he reared back and hurled it against the fireplace, yelling out unintelligibly as he did. The fragile porcelain shattered against the hard frame, its tiny pieces raining down onto the floor.
She had never seen him like that, had never witnessed a loss of physical control from him. Stunned, she grabbed her robe from the door and plunged into the room, tying the sash just as Ron Butterfield burst in from the hall.
"Mister President?" he asked, and, although his voice remained its usual even level, his eyes flashed. Jed didn't move, didn't acknowledge anyone else's presence.
"It's okay, Ron," Donna assured him, even though she was far from believing her own words. "It's okay."
Unconvinced, he nevertheless backed out. "I'll be right out here, Mrs. Bartlet." And she heard the unspoken completion of the sentence: "If you need me."
When they were alone, she took a closer look at Jed. He still stood as he had finished the throw, breath coming hard, body bent in the follow through of a perfectly-delivered fast ball. If the situation had not been so startling, she would have asked him if he played baseball in his youth.
"Jed?" Keep it soft, unchallenging.
Slowly, he straightened and met her eyes, his face red, his clothes in disarray. "I – uh – I broke the Swedish vase. I'm sorry."
"Come here," she ordered, and held out her arms in invitation.
Something broke in him, then, as if he had finally been given permission to let go of some of the burden, of the responsibility. The tears already glistened in his eyes by the time he reached her, even though he was trying hard to push them back. When he stepped into her embrace, his arms went around her, clutching her to him almost desperately.
"What's wrong?" she asked as he buried his face against her neck. "What's wrong, Jed?" Her tone was gentle, like someone would use with a child that had skinned his knee.
His voice was choked, fighting not to lose what little control he still hung onto. "I – I can't – tell you – "
But he had to tell her. For his sake as much as for hers. There was something more, something he still had not shared with her and it was eating him up. Quickly, she pulled back, acting before he realized it, and scooped the mutilated letter from the floor.
"No!" he ground out, reaching for it, but she stepped back, and he didn't pursue. Maybe he realized it wouldn't do any good. Maybe he saw that he couldn't keep this away from her.
Peeling it open and smoothing it out, she let her eyes run over the words that had dealt him such a blow. The nausea rose in her throat, threatened to overwhelm her. The sheer incredulity of it hit her, weakened her knees. This time, he was the one to pull her into a comforting embrace and for a moment they clung to each other.
When the tremors that ran through both their bodies had faded, she gathered the strength to withdraw enough to look at him. Bracing herself, she made sure their eyes were locked before she spoke.
"Tell me everything."