What Colour is the Sky?
RATING: PG-13
DISCLAIMER: The West Wing characters and histories aren't mine and aren't being used for profit, blah, blah, how's your mother?
SUMMARY: A crisis close to home interrupts the smooth (cough) running of the White House, and puts two of the staffers in peril.
NOTES: The first chapter is FLOTUS POV, but this is an ensemble fic and the voices change throughout.
Part 1 - Where The Heart Is
~~~~~
"Last night before you fell asleep,
You whispered something to me.
Was it just a dream?
I'm gonna listen to you close
Cause your goodnight kiss
Felt like a ghost."
~~~~~
Jed Bartlet tapped his fingers on his whisky glass. He finished the drink with a swallow and raised the glass, tilting it till it caught the firelight. He wanted to see if he looked as old as he felt. Any minute now Abbey would be in to drag him to bed, using force if necessary. He really should be the one to go to her; it would ease her worry a little. He sighed heavily. She was in such a good mood this afternoon…
* * * * *
My, but it's good to be back. Hah! I must be out of my mind: good to be back at 'Ten Crises Before Breakfast' Central. Yep, I must've lost a few more marbles in Bonnie Scotland.
I guess I didn't notice because everyone there is a few particles short of a nucleus: singing songs about shoving grannies off buses! What's that all about?
Oops, I'd better stop talking like that or the British Ambassador will start leaping down Jed's neck and before we know it the press pack will have the voters convinced 3 in 4 White House staffers is racist, and we'll be at war with the Isle of Mull.
Life was so much easier before I was married to the President of the United States. Of course, back then I was married to a Professor of Economics, and I had to watch my mouth in case I let his colleagues know how indescribably dull I found them.
I guess Jed Bartlet just wasn't meant to have a mouthy wife. But he seems to like me, so I guess it's okay.
I can't believe how glad I am to be walking into the White House again. I was so angry to have to leave my house when Jed was inaugurated; it took me so long to make it feel like home and I had to go and live in possibly the most impersonal building in the world.
Oh, it might seem cool when you're taking the official tour but believe me, you don't want to live there. I care about my country's history as much as anyone but I'd prefer to see that stuff in a museum than in my living room. At home a family should make its own history.
It's been a struggle, but I've come to accept the place for the simple reason that anywhere my family is by definition must be my home.
And I'm very happy to be home after three weeks lecturing to troubled youths and visiting women's shelters in Scotland. Lord knows my staff were no help.
Picture it: I've just arrived, there's a big function in my honour, all the most important people the little scrap of land has to offer in attendance. I'm the guest of honour (I am so bone-tired of being a guest of honour; can't I just be along for the party sometimes?). I'm holding court with the First Minister and his cronies while across the table Lily Mays is trying to maintain a conversation with some nouveau-riche entrepreneur, I think he owns a couple of their tacky tabloids (I'm telling you, nothing they have can hold a candle to the National Enquirer) or something.
That woman, I have no idea why I gave her a job sometimes. She's been looking stuck for something to say for a while, then the light bulb comes on.
"Hey," she drawls, loudly enough for everyone to hear over the hum of conversation. "I hope you don't mind me asking, but do you guys have television over here?"
I swear the temperature dropped ten degrees.
The businessman looks around at his compatriots with an amused smile, before turning back to Lily and exploding, "We only fuckin' invented it, ye Yankee eedjit!"
The First Minister strategically avoided being seen with me too much for the rest of the trip.
I can't wait to tell Jed that story, though I'm sure coming up with a way to halt the decline in Anglo-American relations will give his staff a few more late nights.
Maybe I can tell it this weekend: he's promised me he'll make time to come to Liz's with me. I talked Zoey into cutting her Friday afternoon lecture so she can come with us, on the understanding that her father Must Never Know. We'll all sit round in easy chairs and keep the wine flowing and tell anecdotes and find out what's been going on in each other's lives since we last got together as a family. There's a lot to catch up on.
This is very embarrassing; I'm so looking forward to it there's a tear in my eye.
I have to stop this nonsense, I've reached the Residence.
"Honey!" I yell. "Guess who's back?"
I should have known better than to think he'd actually be at home. I wander the rooms, even the faulty bathroom, just to make sure, then I ask one of the secret service goons if they know where he is.
"I believe the President is in the West Wing, ma'am."
There's no way of telling from his tone whether my husband is playing poker with his staff or giving the order to bomb Israel. Well, I don't care. I am determined that nothing is going to spoil my homecoming, and especially not this weekend.
The secret service guy says he'll radio to say I'm on my way. I ask him not to. Jed probably doesn't know I'm in the building yet; I'd like to surprise him.
Mrs. Landingham looks up as I stride in flashing her my best "I'd like to see my husband now please" smile.
I pause at her desk. She looks frazzled; it must've been a tough morning. Hell, when isn't it?
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Landingham. How've things been since I've been gone?"
She looks at me over the top of her glasses.
"Well, dear, the country's been on the brink of war; two prominent Congressmen have had to resign; and my time's been split between helping Charlie convince your husband to take his pills and convincing Charlie it's not my job to help him convince your husband to take his pills."
"As long as he takes them."
"Don't worry." She smiles at me, but there's a trace of sadness behind it. "Whatever madness happens tomorrow, while I still have a job the President will take his pills."
"Thank you," I tell her, and I mean it. "Can I go through?"
She nods. "He's waiting for something urgent but I'm sure he can spare you a minute."
"When do I ever get any longer, right?" I throw up my hands in mock despair as I head into the Oval Office.
Right away I remember why I hate the White House. It's because I'm terrified of what it's doing to my husband.
"Jed?" I'd been planning to race in and hug him but now that I see him I'm afraid.
At first I fear he's had another episode with the MS, he looks so terrible. Quickly I realise it isn't that. Something's happened. Something bad. It's taking him a moment to register my arrival.
"Oh, Abbey, thank God you're here."
We're in each other's arms and he's holding on to me so tightly it hurts to breathe.
All I'm thinking is that whatever I'm going to be doing this weekend, it isn't going to be swapping travel stories with my eldest daughter.
TBC
RATING: PG-13
DISCLAIMER: The West Wing characters and histories aren't mine and aren't being used for profit, blah, blah, how's your mother?
SUMMARY: A crisis close to home interrupts the smooth (cough) running of the White House, and puts two of the staffers in peril.
NOTES: The first chapter is FLOTUS POV, but this is an ensemble fic and the voices change throughout.
Part 1 - Where The Heart Is
~~~~~
"Last night before you fell asleep,
You whispered something to me.
Was it just a dream?
I'm gonna listen to you close
Cause your goodnight kiss
Felt like a ghost."
~~~~~
Jed Bartlet tapped his fingers on his whisky glass. He finished the drink with a swallow and raised the glass, tilting it till it caught the firelight. He wanted to see if he looked as old as he felt. Any minute now Abbey would be in to drag him to bed, using force if necessary. He really should be the one to go to her; it would ease her worry a little. He sighed heavily. She was in such a good mood this afternoon…
* * * * *
My, but it's good to be back. Hah! I must be out of my mind: good to be back at 'Ten Crises Before Breakfast' Central. Yep, I must've lost a few more marbles in Bonnie Scotland.
I guess I didn't notice because everyone there is a few particles short of a nucleus: singing songs about shoving grannies off buses! What's that all about?
Oops, I'd better stop talking like that or the British Ambassador will start leaping down Jed's neck and before we know it the press pack will have the voters convinced 3 in 4 White House staffers is racist, and we'll be at war with the Isle of Mull.
Life was so much easier before I was married to the President of the United States. Of course, back then I was married to a Professor of Economics, and I had to watch my mouth in case I let his colleagues know how indescribably dull I found them.
I guess Jed Bartlet just wasn't meant to have a mouthy wife. But he seems to like me, so I guess it's okay.
I can't believe how glad I am to be walking into the White House again. I was so angry to have to leave my house when Jed was inaugurated; it took me so long to make it feel like home and I had to go and live in possibly the most impersonal building in the world.
Oh, it might seem cool when you're taking the official tour but believe me, you don't want to live there. I care about my country's history as much as anyone but I'd prefer to see that stuff in a museum than in my living room. At home a family should make its own history.
It's been a struggle, but I've come to accept the place for the simple reason that anywhere my family is by definition must be my home.
And I'm very happy to be home after three weeks lecturing to troubled youths and visiting women's shelters in Scotland. Lord knows my staff were no help.
Picture it: I've just arrived, there's a big function in my honour, all the most important people the little scrap of land has to offer in attendance. I'm the guest of honour (I am so bone-tired of being a guest of honour; can't I just be along for the party sometimes?). I'm holding court with the First Minister and his cronies while across the table Lily Mays is trying to maintain a conversation with some nouveau-riche entrepreneur, I think he owns a couple of their tacky tabloids (I'm telling you, nothing they have can hold a candle to the National Enquirer) or something.
That woman, I have no idea why I gave her a job sometimes. She's been looking stuck for something to say for a while, then the light bulb comes on.
"Hey," she drawls, loudly enough for everyone to hear over the hum of conversation. "I hope you don't mind me asking, but do you guys have television over here?"
I swear the temperature dropped ten degrees.
The businessman looks around at his compatriots with an amused smile, before turning back to Lily and exploding, "We only fuckin' invented it, ye Yankee eedjit!"
The First Minister strategically avoided being seen with me too much for the rest of the trip.
I can't wait to tell Jed that story, though I'm sure coming up with a way to halt the decline in Anglo-American relations will give his staff a few more late nights.
Maybe I can tell it this weekend: he's promised me he'll make time to come to Liz's with me. I talked Zoey into cutting her Friday afternoon lecture so she can come with us, on the understanding that her father Must Never Know. We'll all sit round in easy chairs and keep the wine flowing and tell anecdotes and find out what's been going on in each other's lives since we last got together as a family. There's a lot to catch up on.
This is very embarrassing; I'm so looking forward to it there's a tear in my eye.
I have to stop this nonsense, I've reached the Residence.
"Honey!" I yell. "Guess who's back?"
I should have known better than to think he'd actually be at home. I wander the rooms, even the faulty bathroom, just to make sure, then I ask one of the secret service goons if they know where he is.
"I believe the President is in the West Wing, ma'am."
There's no way of telling from his tone whether my husband is playing poker with his staff or giving the order to bomb Israel. Well, I don't care. I am determined that nothing is going to spoil my homecoming, and especially not this weekend.
The secret service guy says he'll radio to say I'm on my way. I ask him not to. Jed probably doesn't know I'm in the building yet; I'd like to surprise him.
Mrs. Landingham looks up as I stride in flashing her my best "I'd like to see my husband now please" smile.
I pause at her desk. She looks frazzled; it must've been a tough morning. Hell, when isn't it?
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Landingham. How've things been since I've been gone?"
She looks at me over the top of her glasses.
"Well, dear, the country's been on the brink of war; two prominent Congressmen have had to resign; and my time's been split between helping Charlie convince your husband to take his pills and convincing Charlie it's not my job to help him convince your husband to take his pills."
"As long as he takes them."
"Don't worry." She smiles at me, but there's a trace of sadness behind it. "Whatever madness happens tomorrow, while I still have a job the President will take his pills."
"Thank you," I tell her, and I mean it. "Can I go through?"
She nods. "He's waiting for something urgent but I'm sure he can spare you a minute."
"When do I ever get any longer, right?" I throw up my hands in mock despair as I head into the Oval Office.
Right away I remember why I hate the White House. It's because I'm terrified of what it's doing to my husband.
"Jed?" I'd been planning to race in and hug him but now that I see him I'm afraid.
At first I fear he's had another episode with the MS, he looks so terrible. Quickly I realise it isn't that. Something's happened. Something bad. It's taking him a moment to register my arrival.
"Oh, Abbey, thank God you're here."
We're in each other's arms and he's holding on to me so tightly it hurts to breathe.
All I'm thinking is that whatever I'm going to be doing this weekend, it isn't going to be swapping travel stories with my eldest daughter.
TBC