A Year Later

Zoey couldn't remember ever feeling so helpless; or scared; or alone. She was terrified. Her family was falling apart, almost imploding, and she had no one to talk to about it. No one to confide in. As a child, if she'd been afraid, she'd have gone to her parents; but that wasn't an option right now. Her father was too sick, and as for her mom.... well, it just wasn't an option.

She'd thought about calling her sisters, but even though, as the years had passed, things had thawed out there, it still wasn't really an option. The closeness they'd once shared as a family was gone. And their concerns would be all about her dad anyway, and she was convinced that wasn't the real problem. She'd written Charlie off for the same reasons, even though they'd managed to salvage a friendship out of the ashes of their relationship, he wouldn't understand.

In the end, out of shear desperation, she found herself in The West Wing, going in search of the one person who she thought might help. The one person who had seen what she had all those years before.

"Donna?"

The Assistant looked harassed when she looked up, and it didn't take Einstein to work out why. Zoey knew that her father's illness had thrown his staff into chaos, as they tried to balance his determination to work with what his doctors, and ultimately his body, were actually telling them.

All the same, when Donna saw who was standing in front of her, she managed a kind smile, "Zoey," she got to her feet, giving her a hug, "how are you?"

The hug, combined with the gentleness in her voice was all it took for Zoey to burst into tears. Seeing this, Donna took her by the hand and led her to Josh's office.

"Joshua." She said firmly, "Out, now."

Josh, who had been hard at work, looked at her like she'd sprouted a second head. It was only when Donna pushed the sobbing daughter of the President through the door that he suddenly understood, getting to his feet and scuttling away like a terrified insect.

Crying women were not Josh Lyman's thing.

Once Josh had gone, Donna sat Zoey down, holding her until her tears subsided. Then she handed her a box of tissues and sat in the chair opposite hers. "So," she said, biting her lip nervously, a little concerned about saying the wrong thing, "I'm going to hazard a guess that these tears aren't over your dad." The surprise in Zoey's eyes told her she was right, and seeing a questioning look there too she thought she ought to explain, "If it was your dad, you'd have gone to your mom, or your sisters or to Charlie. You didn't. You came to me."

Zoey nodded slowly, "It's not that I'm not worried about dad." Nothing in fact, could have been further from the truth. She was worried sick about her dad. It didn't take a medical doctor to see that with this latest episode, his MS was becoming more aggressive and the results more profound. There had moments recently where she'd barely recognised the man in front of her. But yet, she could have coped with that. It was frightening, but they'd been living with the knowledge that it would happen for a long time. It was a forgone conclusion.

It was the unexpected that scared her.

Donna obviously understood that because she nodded, "Of course you're worried, but there's something else. Something bigger. Your mom?" She asked, taking a guess, although she knew deep down that she was right.

At her words, Zoey's eyes filled with tears again, "She's in trouble Donna, and I can't help her." She took a deep breath, knowing that what she was about to ask was as risky as it was controversial, and more than aware that in every likelihood Donna would turn her down, "I need CJ here." She blurted out, as tears streaked her face, "Mom needs CJ here. Please Donna, I don't know how to get hold of her, but you do..."

Donna sighed, "I can't do that." She felt like the biggest bitch in the world in the face of the younger girl's obvious distress, but she knew what trouble she'd be causing if she did as she asked. Not just for the President and First Lady, but for CJ too. She'd seen what her friend had been through over the last three years, knew how long it had taken her to get her life back on track. There was no way she was going to upset that particular apple cart now.

No matter how much Zoey cried.

Little did she realise however, Zoey had so much more than tears up her sleeve, a fact she discovered as Zoey reached out, took her by the hand, and dragged her, pretty much kicking and screaming to the residence.

When they got there Zoey led her through a series of corridors, only stopping when they reached a set of oak panelled double doors. Then she turned to her, a serious expression on her face,

"If you ever tell anyone what you saw in here, I'll have your security pass before you even know what's happening. I'm their daughter. I can do that. And you know it." They were big words, ones that both women knew were possibly not quite true, and yet, Donna could quite believe that any betrayal at this point and Zoey would, indeed, do her best to 'finish her'. She nodded slowly, "I promise."

With that Zoey pushed open the doors and motioned Donna inside. She gasped at the sight that greeted her, she couldn't help it.

They were in a drawing room, a cosy room with an open fire.

A cosy room where the First Lady was sprawled on the floor, an empty gin bottle at her side, her face tear stained.

Donna glanced surreptitiously at her watch. It was 11.37 in the morning. She looked over at Zoey and then hesitantly spoke, "Is this from last night?"

Zoey shook her head, tears pricking her eyes again, "This morning. Dad tried to stand to shave, he fell, they had a row. I could hear them all the way from my room. That was a couple of hours ago, and now look at her."

Donna looked from Zoey, a young girl who looked like she had the weight of the world on her shoulders, to Abbey and then back again. She sighed and then made her way over to the corner of the room where she'd spied a small telephone table. She picked up a message pad and pen that lay on it and then, pushing the last small vestiges of doubts into the far reaches of her brain, she scrawled down a telephone number.

"This is CJ's new number in DC." She ripped the paper from the pad and pushed it into Zoey's hand, "But if anyone asks, you didn't get it from me..."

X X X

CJ had been back in Washington for 3 months. She'd resisted it for as long as possible, not wanting to leave her father's last home behind, but in the end, she had to face facts. She was bored, and lonely. She wanted to be back where her friends were.

And so, she'd sold up, packed up all her belongings and moved back to DC. Her apartment was smaller, a lot smaller, than the one she'd left nearly 3 years earlier but she had somewhere to rest her head, and the whole of the city to entertain in, so she didn't grumble.

She was working again too. Nothing major, just some freelancing. Press releases, corporate work mainly, although she also penned the occasional newspaper column. Still the offers for book deals rolled in, but she resisted. Her life, both political and personal were her own, and it was going to stay that way. She was no John Hoynes.

It had been a little strange at first, after so long in the wilderness, to suddenly find herself crossing paths with long forgotten faces, but in some ways, quite comforting. It was like coming home.

Although not completely.

Not to her real home anyway.

She had been to The White House, hadn't been able to resist it. She'd gone one morning, and stood at the perimeter railings, staring into her old world. She'd even contemplated taking the White House tour, but knew the chance of being recognised meant it was a no go. It would only take one grainy photograph, stumbled up on by a journalist looking to make a quick buck, and CJgate would be blown up all over again. That was the last thing any of them needed.

And speaking of journalists...

The buzzer went. And as CJ put the finishing touches to her make up, she found herself wondering, not for the first time, if this was really a good idea. Still, it was a bit late to change her mind now, and so, after one last cursory glance in the mirror – during which she discovered she looked hot, tall, but hot – she headed for the door, opening it with new resolve as she squelched her misgivings.

"Mr Concannon." She flashed him a winning smile, "Good to see you."

X X X

It wasn't a date. She had made that clear to Danny on more than one occasion since she'd agreed to the lunch. It was just a white flag, to prove that the war was over. After all, they were moving in the same circles again now; there was nothing to be gained in keeping daggers drawn.

All the same, she'd taken some convincing. Three months of convincing in fact. Typical journalist that he was, he'd known her new number even before she had, calling her on her first day in her new home, and then daily, sometimes even twice daily, until she'd eventually acquiesced and agreed to this. To lunch.

In some ways, she was still furious with him. Not that she believed that her affair with Abbey would have gone unnoticed forever without his input, but all the same, she felt betrayed by him. And yet, as time as past, she had had to admit to herself that he'd had no choice. She'd compromised her own position, and that was no one's fault, ultimately, other than hers. Yes, it still pissed her off that Abbey had been made to suffer, but again, they were the ones that had entered into the relationship. No one had held guns to their heads.

Which was why she felt able to sit at a table with him. Dine with him. To clear the air.

Not that they talked about it much. They both knew it was probably wisest not to - no point in raking over old ground - and instead they focused on other things; their work, the Washington social scene, the race for democratic nomination that was just around the corner. Easy conversation. Little more than small talk.

And yet, she was glad that she'd come. In clearing the air with him, it felt like drawing a line under the whole affair. She'd moved on from the White House, and from Abbey, and now she'd forgiven Danny it felt like it was finally all over.

She could move on now. Set about building her future.

X X X

"What is this?" Abbey looked up at Zoey groggily. She was still on the floor of the drawing room, bleary eyed, having been woken by her daughter shaking her shoulders incessantly, only to be presented with a piece of paper. She turned her attention from Zoey to it, trying to make sense of its contents, before looking up at Zoey again,

"This is a phone number."

Zoey nodded silently.

She looked around the room, trying to put the pieces together from her fragmented memories. There had been a fight with Jed, she knew that. And clearly – clearly – she'd been drinking. She spotted a discarded gin bottle nearby and sighed,

"Rehab? This is a clinic? You think I need help?"

Again Zoey nodded, but she was quick to clarify her point, "Yes mom, I think you need help, but not from a clinic. That's CJ's number." She added softly.

Even if her words were not enough to stun Abbey completely into sobriety, they at least brought her round a little, as she stared at her daughter, absolutely stunned, "You got me her number?"

"You need something I can't give you." Zoey shrugged, "Since dad got sick, you're not coping. Please mom, just call her..."

Abbey struggled unsteadily to her feet, before quickly collapsing back onto the couch, shaking her head as if trying to clear it.

"I can't." She murmured, "It's been too long. And, your father," she sighed, "if he found out, especially at the moment, it would kill him."

"Yes," Zoey snapped, reaching down to pick up the empty bottle, "and if you don't do this, this," she waved the bottle in Abbey's face, "is going to kill you. I'm not saying," she added, slightly more calmly, "that you have to restart your thing with her. Just call her mom. Talk to her. Tell her how you're feeling. Because you won't tell me, and you won't tell dad. Please... for us, for me and dad and Liz and Ellie... call CJ."

X X X

Watching her daughter leave the room in tears Abbey got to her feet, and moved slowly, aware how unsteady she was, to the drinks trolley, pouring herself a sizeable drink that she knew she didn't need. Clutching it in one hand, and the scrap of paper in the other, she moved over to the telephone, sitting down beside it.

This was ridiculous. Even blind drunk she knew that. The last thing she should be doing was ringing her. It flew in the face of everything she'd done in the last three years – giving her up, concentrating on her marriage to Jed, fighting to save it, even though at some points it seemed like there was nothing to save.

But she'd done it. Things HAD got better. Yeah, OK, it wasn't always perfect but what marriage was? Especially in the last year or so, as the end of their time in The White House seemed to come ever closer, things had improved a lot. They'd been closer.

They'd even had sex. Hell. It had taken over two years but they'd got there. Things were OK.

They were happy.

And, yeah, things weren't so good at the moment. But that wasn't Jed's fault. Jed was sick. Sick and scared. That was no reason to go running to CJ.

And yet the paper, the number, was still burning a hole in her hand.

Knocking half her drink back, she reached for the phone, her hand shaking as she punched in the numbers.

She shouldn't be doing this. She really really shouldn't. Even as it started to ring she thought she should put the receiver down, throw the number in the fire, forget this ever happened.

But she couldn't.

And then, the machine clicked in. She heard CJ's voice. The voice that she'd fallen in love with, the voice that had comforted her when she was at her lowest ebb. The voice that had told her how beautiful she was. How much she loved her.

Not today of course. All the voice did today was offer her the opportunity to leave a message, and then came the beep.

She drained her glass, and then, throwing caution to the wind, she started to speak.

X X X

"Thank you for a lovely lunch."

They were in Danny's car, parked up outside CJ's apartment. Danny was looking at her in a way that implied that he wanted inviting inside, but she was having none of it. It wasn't a date, it never had been. And it wasn't going to end that way.

With her not making a move in that direction though, he did. Not particularly subtly either.

"Can I come and say hi to Gail?"

She shook her head, reaching for the door handle.

"Well can I take you out again?"

Another shake of her head, "I don't think so Danny. It's been nice to see you, nicer still to bury the hatchet, but, no, really, its not a good idea."

And then she got out of the car without another word, leaving him open mouthed.

X X X

She was still questioning his audacity when she got inside her apartment, wondering how an otherwise utterly intelligent man could ever have thought that they'd be able to pick up their 'thing' exactly where they'd left off before he'd become embroiled in the plot that could have ruined her life.

Some people really were beyond belief.

She hung up her coat, and bag, in a coat cupboard that seemed at times to be twice the size of the apartment itself, and then reached for her answer phone to check her messages.

Just the one.

She hit the play button, expecting either Donna, and a plea to meet for drinks after work because Josh had been driving her to distraction 'again' – the two of them had seemed more like squabbling lovestruck teenagers than ever recently, or Sam and a tongue in cheek request that they go looking for women together, a request he seemed to make at least once a week, and that thus far she'd managed to refuse.

To her shock, it was neither.

In the first instance, the very first, she didn't recognise the voice on the other end of the phone, the slur to it acting as a very effective disguise.

A disguise that didn't last.

"- so yeah, its Abbey. You're probably wondering why I'm calling."

'You reckon?' She sunk down to the floor, feeling both sick and dizzy at hearing Abbey's voice after so long. Not that she hadn't heard it on television, during interviews and the like, but there was a difference between Abbey's private and public voice anyway, just a slight one, but if you knew her you could tell. Besides which, there was also the world of difference between hearing a voice on TV and hearing it on your own answering machine.

"You're also probably wondering why I'm drunk. At lunchtime. What can I say Claud? It's the only way I know how to cope. I'm so scared."

As Abbey clearly started to cry CJ clasped a hand to her mouth, not even sure what was upsetting her the most – Abbey's tears, her admission, or the 'Claud'. They were all tugging at her heart strings in their own different ways.

"I'm also angry."

She blurted out the last word, and CJ could tell it had taken a lot for her to actually get it out. And so, although listening to the recording was killing her emotionally, she knew she had to carry on listening. Because Abbey needed her to.

"You must have heard about Jed. Seen the state he's in. What if this could have been avoided? What if he'd done as I asked and stuck at one term. He might be OK now. But instead he's paralysed." The tears were coming thick and fast now, "And I can't say this to anyone, because they'll think I'm blaming him. And we all know that he's the good guy and I'm the bad guy, that's how its always been, but especially now. Since us. You're the only one who understands. Please Claud, if you're there... pick up the phone... I need you... please..."

The message faded out to just sobs then, and then a click as the phone was put down at the other end. Left in silence, crying herself, CJ wiped her eyes furiously, desperately trying to pull herself together. Thinking things through, planning her next move.

She knew from the message that Abbey did need her. In many ways, it was like turning the clock back to that night in the drawing room. Three bastarding years on and not a thing had changed.

Except for the fact that CJ couldn't be there for her any more.

Maybe if things hadn't gone the way they had done that night, she could have been there. Could have been Abbey's friend, the one to see her through Jed's illness. But not as it stood. She couldn't just roll up to the door of the White House and offer TLC, and as for an illicit meeting? That would just be asking for trouble.

She wanted to help, she really did. But as Jed had once pointed Abbey was too good at letting her heart rule her head. She hadn't thought this through, and now, once again, she was going to have to be the practical one.

And so, with a deep sigh, and a heavy heart, she reached up and hit the message delete button.

It hurt. But what else could she do?

X X X

CJ fixed Donna in a hard stare, "You gave Abbey my home number."

It was two days later, the two had met up for drinks, and rather than skirt the issue, CJ had decided to face it head on.

Donna shook her head, but the admission of guilt was written all over her face.

CJ sighed, "Well you gave it to someone."

She nodded then, unable to lie to her friend, "I'm sorry. Zoey came to me, she was worried. Things are really bad."

"Very bad?"

"Yeah."

There was a momentary silence as CJ sipped her drink, and then she looked back up at Donna, "You know why I can't help her. You also know I would if I could." She was fighting back tears now, tears that she couldn't stop coming much as she wanted to. She reached into her pocket, pushed a business card across the table. Donna picked it up and read it outloud.

"Ann Reid. Therapist."

"She's good." CJ said, by way of explanation, "Make sure Abbey gets it, and Donna, please, look after her. I need to know she's not alone..."

XXX