Post Episode for "The Wake-Up Call"
Disclaimer: The characters belong to Wells, Sorkin, WB, and NBC! We're just borrowing them
Rating: PG
Abbey tore through the Residence, snapping her shoes and flinging them off her feet. She ripped her jacket off her shoulders. It barely reached the sofa when he swung open the door, slightly jarring the agents standing outside.
He was angry. She had pushed all his buttons and now he was angry. She had gone behind his back to reduce his schedule, to help alleviate his stress, to force him to rest. She did it for him. Out of love, out of concern, out of her own anger about his stubborn habits that kept him from tending to his health.
Her head jerked towards him at the loud smack on the table. It was the card she bought him for Valentine's Day. He slammed it down forcefully, his eyes not expressing a bit of remorse.
"Great conversation starter, Jed."
"Conversation? I can't remember the last time we had a conversation. That would mean the two of us would be on equal footing. We'd sit as partners, as equals and talk and discuss a situation. We don't do that anymore."
His voice was cold and reserved, a direct response to her shrill tone. "Only one caveat, Jed. We can't discuss anything without honesty."
"Are you implying I haven't been honest with you?"
"I'm not implying anything. I'm telling you that you haven't been honest with yourself." He turned from her, his hand now running through his hair furiously, causing her to adopt a more neutral direction. "When are you going to face up to the fact that you can't do everything..."
Her voice barely waned as he silenced her with his reply. "I can do a hell of a lot more than you think I can. You had no right to tell CJ not to call me. You had no right to interrupt my meeting with Kate and Marbury. You had no right to tell Toby to call off the national address. None, Abbey."
"You needed to rest."
"That's not your call to make!"
He crossed in front of her, his chest heaving with frustration. Abbey stood still and silent trying to calm herself before escalating the argument she had waited so long to have.
"You have a legacy," she said quietly.
"What?"
"You have a legacy. That's why you're pushing yourself to your limits. You want to be remembered as the Great Josiah Bartlet, the best president, statesman, diplomat that ever lived."
"What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing. Except somewhere along the way, that became more important to you than anything else. And that's fine. That's who you are. But if you think I'm going to stand here and watch you slowly kill yourself in the process, you really are out of your mind."
She crashed down on the sofa, visibly exhausted from the turmoil that dominated her body. For the first time, he saw it. He heard the long, deep breath as she exhaled, he saw the dark smudges under her eyes, the haggard posture of a woman in agony. He took his seat next to hers with his eyes focused straight ahead.
"I came here to do a job. I need to do that job, no matter what. You need to let me do that. You can't take this away from me." He was calmer now. His voice resonated through the room with a soft undercurrent of apprehension.
"I don't think I've done that...I don't think I've taken anything away from you."
"I don't feel like I'm in control any more. I can't stop this damn disease from doing whatever the hell it's going to do to me. I don't know when I'm going to have another episode. I don't know if I'll ever need anyone to help me put on my pants, or feed myself again." His deep sigh diverted the tears he was determined to keep at bay. "I need some control."
"Yeah." It seemed like an inadequate response, but she wasn't ready yet.
"You kept me out of the meeting with my doctors. I wanted to be there."
She felt him turn and out of the corner of her eye, she could see him staring at her. She didn't stare back. "I didn't want you to have to sit there in front of your staff and feel helpless." Her words were disjoined, her voice despondent.
"I feel more helpless now." Her refusal to face him was becoming slightly annoying. "Why won't you look at me?"
She shrugged discreetly, a petty answer to a serious question. "You see your future as behind you. You've chosen your legacy over your life. What does that say to me?"
"Nothing."
"I'm your future, Jed. Or at least, I'm supposed to be. My goal used to be to back you up, to make sure you're as good a President as you are a man. Those goals have changed. Now all I want to do is to keep you alive so I can enjoy you...away from here. And all you want to do is finish out your year, no matter what the cost. Then what? I'm supposed to go back to New Hampshire without you? I'm supposed to face the world alone because my husband chose his legacy over his wife?"
Tears lit her eyes, daring to trek down her cheeks too fast for her to swipe them away. He reached out a hand and gently grazed her arm.
"Abbey..."
She waited, but he didn't continue. It was still her turn. "Did you know I've been taking Xanax ever since the Zoey thing?"
He knew. He had seen her when she didn't think anyone was looking. He had noticed the empty pill bottle on the nightstand when she forgot to throw it away one evening. He even counted the pills and kept track of how often she refilled her prescription. "Yeah. Only in moderation, right? Thirty pills for 73 days last cycle."
"How did you know?" Finally, she looked at him.
"I'm concerned about you too. I wanted to talk to you, but I couldn't, for this very reason. I wanted to know if it was a problem."
"If it was?"
"Then we would have already had this conversation." She agreed with a nod. "I'm not the only one feeling out of control. You hate that you can't fix this. I see you tossing and turning in your sleep at night. I wake up and ask you what's the matter and you tell me about some bogus dream and then roll over. But I know what's keeping you up. It's these thoughts about me. I also know that sometimes the Xanax is your only solution...to numb the stress so you can get some sleep."
"You know all this?"
"Yeah."
"Then why the hell are you giving me such a hard time?"
"It's funner that way." They shared a laugh for the first time all evening. "Seriously, I haven't fought you until tonight because I know you're scared. You're more scared than I am."
"I became a doctor to help people." Now, she was ready.
"And you do."
"But the one person I want to help, I can't."
He knew her guilt all too well. When he had been diagnosed, he pushed her away. He fell into a deep depression, wanting to be kept company by only his thoughts. And now, she bore the scars of the confrontation that ended that separation.
He told her to fix it. She was a doctor. She could fix it. It's what she does. The plea didn't go unheard. In fact, it violently scratched Abbey's soul. Her hands were tied and even the anguish of her husband, her lover, her best friend wasn't enough to untie them. She knew a thing or two about feeling helpless. He was right. She had lost control and she had lost it with his diagnosis.
"I'm sorry." He wanted to give a more eloquent response, but it was all he could muster.
At least he made the first move. She had to make the next. "I shouldn't have interfered with your schedule."
"No, you shouldn't have. You shouldn't have had to. You were right. I did need to rest. I was out to prove something and I wasn't thinking about you or anyone else." Feeling the tension slowly easing away, he took her hand and forced her to stare into his eyes. "I want a future with you too, away from here, away from all of this. I would never choose this job over that."
"Then you have to start taking better care of yourself."
"I will. The last thing I ever want to do is make you think you're not more important than all of this. When you were in Manchester last year, I literally fell apart. I don't want to live without being the best President in history. I CAN'T live without you. It's just not possible."
She pushed herself close to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder. He felt her body shudder with each rebound as she cried softly. He knew MS was hard on him. He hadn't taken the time to find out just how hard it was on her.
"I can't live without you either. But the idea that I might have to is what terrifies me more than anything," she finally said when she regained control.
"You won't have to. At least not for a long time. We'll work this out together, you and me, as husband a wife."
"As a team, partners on equal footing?"
"Of course. Just like it should be. That's all I wanted."
Another awkward pause lingered between them while they embraced once again. "So I canceled the opera," she reminded him when they separated.
"So I heard."
"I know you were looking forward to it."
He was, but another idea monopolized his thoughts. "Do you remember that one Valentine's Day when I went to such trouble to get the girls out of the house and plan a special evening only to have you tell me you had to work late at the hospital?"
"I do." Her fingers twirled around his collar playfully. "That was a fun surprise."
"When I came home and saw you dressed up as a giant chocolate heart..."
"It was real chocolate..."
"I know. I just wanted to eat you up right then and there."
"I still have that outfit," she teased.
"And I'm pretty sure we have some chocolate around. So who the hell needs the opera?"
She traced his features with the tips of her fingers as she whispered in his ear. "Especially when the lead kills his wife."
He pulled away a bit surprised. "You knew the plot?"
"Italian opera isn't exactly out of my realm, Sweetheart."
"Why do I get the feeling you were a little pleased that you got to cancel?"
"Because you know that I knew I'd just have to make it up to you?"
He pressed his lips into hers as he helped her to her feet. "Show me."
Her hand found its way seductively down his arms. She laced their fingers together and led him into the bedroom, shutting the door behind them with forcefully. This time, they were both smiling.
The End