6 Weeks Earlier

The story began with an unexpected phone call. Again, it was just after full lid, and CJ was toying with her options for the rest of the evening; a Chinese takeout and the opportunity to get to grips with some paperwork, or an empty flat and tasteless convenience food; neither option being particularly appealing, which why she was relieved when the phone rang, and the caller gave her a third option; a somewhat surprising third option, but a welcome one all the same.

It was surprising because, even as Press Secretary to the President of the United States of America, it was a rare occurrence to be invited into 'the residence' to get, quote, "blind drunk" with the First Lady.

Still, such an invitation had been issued, and so 10 minutes later, CJ was ushered through a doorway by an official looking steward, and found herself in a cosy drawing room, in the presence of that very woman.

Curled up on a plush sofa, in front of a roaring fire. In her pyjamas.

Not exactly what she'd been expecting…

The First Lady smiled when she saw her, not the smile that CJ had seen her put on for visiting dignitaries or millions of voters, but a far more natural one, far more genuine.

"Claudia Jean, you came."

The smile was infectious but as CJ smiled back she couldn't help feeling concerned by the slight slur in the First Lady's voice. Obviously she was arriving late to a party that had been going on for some time.

"Good evening Mrs Bartlet."

At her words, the aforementioned smile faded from the other woman's face, only to be replaced by an almost childlike pout,

"Abbey, Claudia Jean, its Abbey."

It wasn't the first time they'd had the discussion, and would no doubt not be the last. CJ had always found it awkward. On some levels, yes, Abbey was 'Abbey' – but, at the same time, there protocol to be taken into account – and she was also the wife of the Commander in Chief. It wasn't always easy to know which salutation to use in which situation.

That said, in the cosy environs of the drawing room, with 'Abbey' dressed in white linen YSL pyjamas, it was an easier distinction to make, especially considering the other woman's obvious insistence, and so, CJ relented – on one condition;

"Fine, but if it's Abbey, it's CJ."

Abbey wrinkled her nose, looking more than a little disappointed, "But CJ is so formal. Can't I call you something better? Claud maybe? I bet your sorority sisters called you Claud."

CJ laughed, "The fact you think I had sorority sisters make me realize how little you know me."

Abbey got to her feet, albeit with a slight wobble as she did so, "Point conceded, which is one of the reasons you're here. The other being that I'm bored of drinking alone." She walked over to a mahogany drinks cabinet in one corner of the room (a gift from the Brazilian Ambassador, CJ noted) and began mixing Martini's with an impressive level of dexterity for someone who was obviously already three sheets to the wind, "Do you know the worst thing about being the First Lady CJ?" She added, breaking away from her task momentarily to turn to face her.

CJ suspected that there were many terrible things about being the First Lady. The press intrusion for one, and having your husband shot at being a second, quite without the potential third and fourth that were having to forfeit your medical license and your husband being censured by Congress. It was hard to know where Abbey expected her to begin. Luckily though, it appeared the question was rhetorical because she wasn't given chance to respond.

"I went through my address book tonight, and I don't have a single friend in DC. I have acquaintances, I have political allies, I have my youngest daughter but she doesn't answer her god damn phone, because I am only her mother after all." She brandished an olive on a cocktail stick around, is if illustrating her point with it, although CJ really wasn't sure what it meant, "But I don't have a single solitary friend, not here. They're all back in Manchester, and if I invite them down," she dropped the olive into one of the drinks she'd mixed and then pushed it into CJ's hand, "I have to be a hostess, a tour guide, I have to be the First Lady. And I don't want to be CJ. I want to be Abbey."

Her outpouring, which should have seemed incongruous from a woman usually so unruffled and in control of herself, in actual fact made the pieces fall into place. Suddenly, the pout she'd given earlier made sense to CJ. So did the fact she'd been given the invite in the first place. And the state Abbey was in.

It appeared that 'Mrs Bartlet' wanted a night off.

XXX

It took Leo a long time to say anything after she gave him the envelope. He emptied it of its contents and then just looked, and looked, and looked, and looked. It might actually have been for just mere seconds, but to CJ it felt like a lifetime. The silence was unbearable.

Then, however, he spoke, and that was even worse.

"CJ. This is you. This is you and the First Lady."

She knew that – of course she knew that – but she could tell from the way that he was looking at her that he expected a response, and she didn't have the first clue what to say. She wanted to try and explain, but how could she? Clearly the Jackal story hadn't explained it, so what else would? Instead she opted for the most mundane answer imaginable,

"I know Sir." The Sir was necessary, she knew that. Now wasn't the time to try and work her personal friendship with Leo, or anyone else in the West Wing – to do so wouldn't help in the slightest.

Leo glanced down at the photos again, then back up at her, clearly unable to believe what he was seeing, a fact that was reflected by the incredulity in his voice when he spoke again,

"But CJ, you're…"

"Don't." She cut him dead instantly, unable to bear the thought of him putting into words exactly what she was doing, "Please, I know what I was doing. I don't want to hear it."

He looked at her sharply, "You don't want to hear it? You don't want to hear it?" He shook his head, clearly disgusted with her, "I can think of someone else who's not going to want to hear it, but he's going to have to."

He heart sank. Leo wasn't saying anything she didn't know. She'd known full well from the second she'd seen the photos that this wasn't going to go away, that there was no burying it, but that didn't mean she had to like it. She took a deep breath, "You're going to tell him?"

There was a moments silence, and then, when Leo spoke again, things went even further down hill.

"No CJ, you are."

X XX