Farther off from Heaven

By Anne Callanan and Kathleen E. Lehew

Part 3/7

"Abigail."

Torn from her thoughts, Abbey jumped violently, barely suppressing a gasp. "For heaven's sake, John!" she complained heatedly. "I'm not used to you announcing yourself quietly."

Lord Marbury beamed at her. "Dear lady, forgive me," he boomed with tipsy gallantry.  "I simply could not endure the sight of such a beautiful woman standing unattended.  Besides it struck me that, in the heat of my emotional response to your outstanding comeliness earlier, I may have neglected to offer you my sincere felicitations on your birthday."

Abbey rolled her eyes, but could not suppress a fond grin. It was almost impossible to be offended by Marbury's outrageousness, perhaps because most women could sense the honest appreciation that lay beneath. She suspected this apparent forbearance was part of the reason why the Englishman irritated so many of his own gender. 

Another was almost certainly the constant air of near inebriation. Her husband was one of the few men who took the time to see through Marbury's air of blurred caricature to the sharp, incisive mind below.

"Besides," the ambassador's voice dropped discreetly, "it occurred to me that both you and my old friend are unusually despondent this evening." Suddenly appearing perfectly sober, he regarded her gravely. "I want to take this opportunity to wish you well with the Medical Board tomorrow. I am aware it won't be easy. But what you did was born of love and affection, and concern, too. No action that stems from such motives can ever be regarded as base, and I believe the board will realize that as we, your friends here gathered, do."  He gestured with his glass to indicate the crowd milling around them.

Abbey ducked her chin as she felt the emotion welling up inside her.  She reached out and squeezed their old friend's arm affectionately.  "Thank you for that, John. It means a great deal to me, and to him. But there will be no hearing tomorrow." 

At the man's raised eyebrows, she took a deep breath and told him, "I've decided to voluntarily forfeit my medical license for the duration of Jed's time in the White House." 

The British Ambassador was silent for a moment before speaking. "Well, it is a brave decision, and a gallant one. Also, I know it means a very considerable sacrifice to you.  You are a highly talented surgeon and doctor.  But if you and the President feel this is the best decision for you… "

Abbey interrupted him with an abruptness that surprised even herself.  "No, John.  This is my life and my decision.  Jed was gearing up for a fight on my behalf.  I only told him of my decision a short time ago." A faint, oddly bitter little smile twisted her lips. "I rather think I yanked the rug out from under him."

Marbury paused a moment.  "I see." 

He glanced around the room, as if seeking out the object of their conversation, then turned back to Abbey. "That would certainly explain the somewhat… deflated air I noticed about him since your return to the party."

Abbey instinctively glanced around herself, but Jed was now nowhere to be seen. With a slight frown, she hoped he wasn't plaguing the unfortunate Charlie again. At least the toast was safely delivered now.  Donna was now arguing with a petulant looking Josh, and clearly having the last word in that particular conversation.

She mentally applauded the young woman. It was about time Lyman learned to appreciate the jewel he had in his assistant.

"Yes, I think he was hoping to be able to ride to my defense somehow."  Her tone was wry. "You know, save the day, slay the dragon." The last words slipped out unconsciously, "Make amends."

The words and the unspoken accusation lay between them and Marbury regarded the glass in his hand thoughtfully. 

Abbey shifted uncomfortably and looked around for her errant husband again. Still no sign. She was slightly puzzled to see that several of his constant shadows were still present. Since the accident, Butterfield had discreetly but discernibly increased the President's personal detail, ignoring a couple of executive tantrums on the subject with his trademark calmness. 

Of course, he had found a stalwart ally in Leo McGarry, and the President had discovered that no amount of rank pulling created the slightest impression on either man's determination.

"If it isn't too personal a question, how did he take the news?"  Marbury was reclaiming her attention.

Abbey smiled at him. She had always found it easy to talk to this man.  Jed and she had friends in common, but Marbury was one of the few who held both of them in equal regard. Even Leo, whom she liked and always trusted to look out for Jed, was somehow more her husband's friend than hers.  Now that he was also her husband's Chief of Staff, that division was even wider. His present duel role in Jed's life made some subjects simply too difficult to discuss easily.

"You mean, about my forfeiting the license?" Abbey paused to throw her mind back to that intensely personal moment there in the crowed ballroom. "He was shocked, I'm sure.  Very shocked.  I think he expected me to continue to fight." She looked up at the elegant man beside her. "He didn't understand, it wasn't a case of my giving up. I had a revelation of sorts this evening.  I don't regret having helped Jed, but I violated several professional tenets I had sworn to uphold by doing so. I'm not accepting censure for my motives, but for the way I handled things. Jed's already stepped up and acknowledged his own responsibility, and done so with some grace and dignity.  I decided it was my turn to do the same."

"Hmmm."  Marbury was giving her his full attention.  "It is certainly a very impressive gesture on your behalf.  I hope he appreciates it, and you."

He was fascinated, and more than a little envious of Josiah Bartlet, as he watched a tender smile of remembrance lighten the First Lady's features. 

"He told me he loved me very much," Abbey answered softly, momentarily basking in the warm glow the memory bestowed.

"I don't think you ever doubted that," Marbury interjected gently.  "Certainly no one here who watched the two of you together ever thought otherwise, even when things were at their most uncomfortable between you." 

A twinkle in his eye, he gave her a typically courtly little bow. "I have always held Josiah Bartlet to be a lucky man in his ability to win and hold your love. But I will say this for my old friend, I do not think it could have happened to a better man."

Abbey felt herself blush a bit at that.

Seeing her embarrassment, Marbury puckishly added, "I'm sure he will thank you appropriately too." He was startled to observe his companion's features darken abruptly in angry realization. "Abbey?  You're still angry with him. Why?"

Abbey gave a short, mirthless laugh.  "Yes I am, John.  And I've only just realized why."  She scowled around the room.  No, still no sign of him.  Where had the man got to now?  "He never said thank you.  Damn him anyway.  I gave up my license, my career, for him, and he never even said 'Thank You'."

"I… see."  Lord Marbury winced at this evidence that, President of the United States and Noble laureate or no, Josiah Bartlet was still not winning any prizes when it came to judgment calls about his wife. "Well, I know it's not much of an excuse, and even when you know he's grateful it is still nice to hear him actually say it, but you did take him by surprise with your announcement… "

He broke off as he saw an expression of irritated dissatisfaction flash across Abbey's face. Leo McGarry and Josh Lyman might have plenty to say on the subject of the British ambassador, but even they were forced to acknowledge, however grudgingly, that the man was a perceptive observer of human nature. "But that's not all, is it?" he asked quietly.

"Hmmm?" Abbey's attention was momentarily distracted by a slight flurry among the group of Secret Service agents nearest to her.

They were such a constant presence that normally the First Couple had little difficulty in disregarding them, but every once in a while those silently efficient and intimidating figures made their presence felt. She guessed that some idiot had probably tried to crash the gate. It often happened when the White House hosted a party, sparking the usual discreet security alert despite the fact that the perceived threat usually had a snowball's chance in hell of setting foot on White House grounds, never mind inside the executive mansion.

Or maybe it was something else?  This flurry seemed a little more agitated than usual, and was spreading out in tiny little ripples, passing over the oblivious guests to encompass the other agents scattered throughout the room. Then Ron Butterfield emerged from the side room with a face like thunder to engage in a controlled but unquestionably heated sotto voce debate with a flustered looking Agent Carlyle. 

Abbey rolled her eyes in sympathy for the agent, who was on her husband's personal detail.  She sincerely hoped that Jed hadn't done it again. It really was too bad of him.  Butterfield looked like he was about to have a seizure. A few more vigorous exchanges, then Carlyle took off out of the ballroom, while the Security Chief retreated back into the side room.  He emerged again a few moments later and Abbey could have sworn that she heard the door slam behind him, even over the sound of the orchestra. 

"He didn't give you what you wanted."

"Sorry?" Abbey's attention was jerked back to her conversation with Marbury. "The thank you?  No.  No, he didn't."

"I don't mean just that." The Englishman met her puzzled gaze squarely. "You hadn't even thought of that until a few moments ago.  I mean he didn't even give you the chance to say 'See what it feels like'."

"John… " Abbey's eyes were beginning to narrow in a fashion that would have caused her husband, had he been present, to hastily withdraw and regroup. 

Marbury's own sense of self-preservation seemed to have been dulled by the alcohol. Either that or he believed diplomatic immunity extended its protection even to the wrath of the First Lady. "You didn't consult him about your decision."

"No, I didn't." Abbey's tone was testy. "I told you, John. My life and career, my decision."

"So you presented him with a fait accompli."

"If you want to put it that way, yes."

"You took a major decision that affected both your lives, and you didn't consult his thoughts on the issue. You simply told him what you were going to do."  Marbury took a deep breath and struck straight to his point. "Just as he did to you when he decided to run for re-election." 

Silence. 

Marbury broke it first.  He spoke gently, sensitive to the roiling emotions of the woman beside him. "I know, it's not exactly the same thing.  But you did make a major decision without discussing it with him; something that I know is unlike either of you. Admit it, there was just an element of payback there. You wanted him to know what it was like, to get angry with you for deciding without him. Then you could ask him how it felt." 

The ambassador was warming to his subject, gesturing freely with his fortunately empty glass for emphasis. "But he didn't give you that satisfaction, did he? No anger, no challenge. He simply accepted your decision, because you told him it was what you wanted to do. He respected your wishes." 

Abbey simmered quietly.  John Marbury was one of their oldest friends, and she had been convinced that if anyone would sympathize with her, it would be he. But honesty compelled her to admit that he was being sympathetic, and that he had a point. She had taken her decision from the purest of motives, but there had been a flash of vengefulness in her decision to present Jed with the finished act. 

She had wanted him to feel something of how she had felt when she had sat in their bedroom at the Residence and listened to that fateful news conference. 

But instead of responding with anger or wounded pride, or attempting to talk her out of it, he had had the nerve to totally disarm her with that simple, accepting declaration of love.  Once again she had been left with nothing to rail against. Oh, she knew the decision had wounded him, left him feeling horribly guilty. That much had been clear from his reaction.  But he hadn't questioned her decision for an instant. 

He respected your wishes. Why did regarding the evening in those terms make her feel vaguely uncomfortable?

Marbury had paused to gauge the atmosphere, and now decided to go for broke. "Abbey, why were you so angry with him after the news conference?"

She whirled to view him incredulously. "I can't believe you asked me that question. He broke his word to me, John! We had a deal. One term only, and he broke his word!"

"Yes, he did." Marbury managed to keep the surprise from showing on his face. One term? The deal, as it were, and the President's breaking of it, put in plain words what Abbey was feeling, explaining her still simmering anger. He regarded her intensely. "And that fact isn't to his credit. But Abbey, why did you hold him to it in the first place? You know how good he is at this.  Why didn't you reconsider holding him to a promise made when neither of you really believed he would ever be granted this opportunity at all? Why allow him to hold this office in the first place if you weren't going to let him give it all the time and energy he had to give?"

"Precisely because it does take so much of his time and energy!"  Mingled frustration and fear caused Abbey's voice to catch in her throat. "Do you know that medical opinion believes the most beneficial long term treatment for MS is to live as stress-free and restful a life as possible?"  She smiled grimly at Marbury's whimsical expression. "Yeah, he sure picked the right job, didn't he?" 

She laid a hand on her companion's arm, desperate to make him understand.  "John, this office can exact a considerable toll. He was my husband before he ever was President. I want to know I'll get that same man back once we're finished with this place. I won't lose him to this job!"

Marbury's features were grave. "You're afraid for him", he stated quietly.

Tears blurred Abbey's vision.  She blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. Looking away, she whispered, "Yes, I am. I love him, John."

"And he you." Marbury waited until she met his eyes again. "You've never seriously doubted that, have you?"  When she mutely shook her head, he continued quietly. "So, why make it a contest. Why force him to choose?"

"I'm not!"  Abbey protested, startled.  "I'm a doctor. I'm fully aware of the dangers… "

"Are they really so much greater if he remains in office?"  Marbury interrupted her. "He has after all had only one attack since he began. And he is surrounded by the best in medical care. Be certain now, are you speaking from the knowledge of a doctor, or the fear of someone who loves and dreads to lose him?"

Abbey glared at him defiantly. "A bit of both", she admitted reluctantly. "Does it matter?"

Marbury smiled gently at her. "It matters if what caused you to hold him so tenaciously to his promise, despite knowing that it was against his own wishes, was certain knowledge or merely fear of a future possibility." He leaned forward to speak quietly. "Abbey, your husband is a remarkable man.  He has served his country well at home, and represented her abroad with grace and distinction. I have seen enough of the cynicism and apathy of international diplomacy to know the worth of a world leader who is prepared to make hard decisions, yet allows himself to be guided by a sense of morality. The world needs more men like your husband in positions of power." 

Drawing back, giving her a moment to think, he regarded her intently. Finally, satisfied she'd had enough time, he challenged her gently, "Ask yourself, honestly, do you really believe that he is incapable of continuing to serve for as long as he is needed?" 

Abbey stood with slightly bowed head, considering the new perspective just offered her.  She had known Jed wished to be released from their agreement. He loved the work he did, and desperately wanted to continue it for as long as possible.  And he was good at it.  She felt real pride in the way he administered his great responsibilities.

So, why had she ignored what she knew to be his personal desire? She knew her actions had been inspired by her fears for his health, but had there also been just a touch of selfishness there too? She definitely didn't want to lose him, and this job seemed so often to threaten to snatch him away. She had wanted to keep him safe, for her sake as much as his. 

She looked up, to find Marbury regarding her quizzically, head on one side. She gave him a smile and was promptly beamed upon with an extravagance characteristic of all the Englishman's actions. She felt her own smile instinctively widen in response. 

Abbey was still irritated, but the anger had cooled. Jed had better find the right words when next they met, if he knew what was good for him. And he still wasn't absolved by any means. There had been a great deal of blindness on both sides in recent months. But she felt a turning point had been reached.  For the first time in a long time, she had ceased merely reacting and started to think again. Maybe it was time to see if she and Jed couldn't finally have that long overdue talk at last.

Touching Marbury's arm, she smiled gratefully up at him and said, "John, would you excuse me? I rather think I need to go find my husband."

Marbury saluted her with his empty glass as she left. Rocking back on his heels, a small, satisfied smile lighting his face, he watched her weave her determined way through the crowd in search of her husband. A true diplomat's job was never an easy one, but it did come with no few rewards.

Tonight, at least, he'd earned his title. Staring morosely into his empty glass, he decided filling it would be ample recompense and headed towards the bar.

~ooOoo~

"The Egyptians were the first people to celebrate birthdays." Scowling, Bartlet picked the last bit of onion off the pizza slice. It was overpowering evidence. Next time he bullied a staffer into a reluctant bit of apportionment, he'd have to remember to warn them. Nothing like the lingering smell of an onion to let the blood pressure police know he'd broken the law.  "Did you know that?" he asked, before taking a bite.

Donna chewed thoughtfully for a moment before answering. She was having no problems with the onions. Personally, she loved them and as Josh repellent they were indispensable. The Deputy Chief of Staff hated onions and considered anything even remotely touched by them hopelessly contaminated. Any pizza so decorated was safe from his scavenging.

Watching Bartlet, she was forced to conclude that apparently New England presidents weren't quite so picky.

Swallowing, she said, "I thought it was the Babylonians?" She'd lost her nervousness early on. Whatever else she had expected, this agreeable, quietly relaxed, simply pleasant gentleman hadn't been part of her fevered speculation. Every once in a while, she even managed to forget that he was the President. Against her better judgment - and despite Josh's insistence that she had no better judgment - she was enjoying herself.

And she was holding her own in the useless factoid department. Donna was rather proud of that. Of course, the more than half bottle of wine she'd polished off certainly helped in lowering her social and conversational barriers.

"Nah. The Egyptians beat them to it. Of course, only the members of the Royal family were honored with a celebration." Bartlet's voice retained a genial tone, but a suggestion of annoyance hovered in his eyes. The parallels with what was going on upstairs were a bit too close to a historical truth and a sour present day reality. Only not nearly as much fun. "The local peasantry was left to best guess their date of birth."

"Probably figured it by harvest years. 'You're twenty-six harvests old today, let's see about adding another to your tally, make it a good one'."

"Could be. Pity the poor kid born during a famine."

"Or when the Nile didn't flood. That would suck."

"Bad luck, that." By no means a snob as so many political opponents had accused him of being, Bartlet was still impressed by Donna's performance so far. At this point in the conversation, he was used to getting the 'deer in the headlight' look from any cornered staffer.

It was a pleasant change of pace.

"Yeah, a social pariah." Donna tossed a tail end crust into the box and picked up another slice of pizza. Happily taking a fortifying bite, onions and all, she finished her commentary around a mouthful, "'Don't talk to him. On the day he was born, the Gods dusted the inundation. It was all his fault'. Talk about carrying a load."

Bartlet winced at the innocently delivered observation, a momentary look of discomfort crossing his face before he masked it with mild indifference. Right now, he didn't need to be reminded about whose fault anything was. He was all too aware that following the line of pointing fingers led directly to him.

With suitable gravity, he selected another slice of pizza and began the process of making it safe for consumption. The pile of onion bits was growing exponentially. No hint of his troubling thoughts was in his voice when he said, "The Greeks broadened the concept a bit. All adult males were entitled to a celebration each year. Women and children weren't very high on the priority list, so they didn't get one."

"Chauvinists."

"Probably."

"Definitely."

That unequivocal analysis required something a bit more empowering than pizza. Reaching for her drink, she decided her luck this evening hadn't really been all that bad. Having forgotten to grab some glasses when she'd snitched the wine, Donna had been relieved to find that Ainsley's office had come complete with the paper variety, saving her a return trip.

She'd have to mention the idea of a utensil stash to Josh. After all, you never knew when a hidey-hole was going to need supplies. Or when a party was going to branch out into unknown territory.

Speaking of parties, another silly historical tidbit occurred to her. "And they didn't know when to quit. Kept on celebrating even after the honored doofus bit the big one."

"The Greeks knew how to party down."

"Any excuse to bust open a jar of wine," she noted sagely. Taking a healthy sip of hers and draining the cup, Donna decided that wine from a Republican paper cup tasted just as good as it did from Democratic crystal.

Life was just full of surprises.

"They invented the birthday cake, too," Bartlet said, politely waving her off when she offered to top off his drink. His brow rose with amused surprise as he watched her happily empty the bottle into her own cup. "Probably the ensuing sugar rush as well."

"And considering who the candles on that cake were supposed to honor, this whole males only thing totally bites."

"Artemis, goddess of the night."

"Moon."

Bartlet frowned. He wasn't used to being corrected. "Night," he insisted stubbornly and with suitably affronted ceremony. Quite sure he had won this round of trivial pursuit, he lifted his own cup and took a sip, waiting patiently for her to acknowledge the point.

Totally missing the presidential clues, Donna shook her head vehemently. "Moon. See, the candles were supposed to represent moonlight, which means moon, so Artemis… " She looked up and finally realized whom she was contradicting. Making a quick save, she stammered, "Of course, I'm sure night is included in the whole honoring thing somewhere. Moon, night, they both kind of go together, right? Inseparable."

In danger of crushing the paper cup in nervous hands, Donna waited for the ax to fall. She'd seen Josh after a presidential dressing down too many times to count. Considering his state, she hoped her scolding wouldn't hurt quite so much. She attempted to give the President a weak smile, failed miserably, and then braced herself for the inevitable.

Bartlet tried to maintain a disapproving expression, and then he grinned. He couldn't help it. Watching Donna squirm wasn't quite as entertaining as putting his Deputy Chief of Staff on the hot seat, but it was close.

Besides, as a gentleman, he was bound to let a lady off the hook. "We'll go with that for now," he said, more than a trace of laughter in his voice.

Donna visibly relaxed, on the point of melting with relief and slumping into her chair. Saved by the bell. Letting out the breath she hadn't been aware she was holding, all she could manage was a sickly smile of gratitude.

"I'll have Charlie look it up and get back to you."

Donna couldn't hide her surprise at that revelation. "He does that?"

"Charlie?" Bartlet shrugged a bit self-consciously. "Occasionally. I can't remember everything."

"Really?" Donna asked with a teasing drawl, one eyebrow raised with comic skepticism. She hadn't meant it to come out that way; it wasn't exactly respectful. Still, it wasn't everyday a minor mystery was solved.

"Sharing your pizza entitles you to a great many things, Ms. Moss…"

"Sharing, sir?" Now she was interrupting him. It was the wine, had to be the wine. Ignoring the warning signs - she'd never been accused of being verbally challenged before, so why start now - Donna threw caution to the wind, took another healthy swallow of wine and said, "I thought it was an executive order?"

Helping himself to another slice of pizza, Bartlet grinned smugly and replied archly, "Rank hath its privileges. A minor, yet endlessly entertaining perk."

"Like torturing your staff?"

"And you don't?"

"Torture my staff?" Donna drew herself up and announced proudly, "I don't have a staff."

"Just Josh."

"That's enough," Donna sighed with long suffering dedication.

Bartlet laughed at her forlorn expression. When it came to Josh Lyman, most of the staffers, senior or otherwise, had acquired the same look at one time or another. "I'm curious. Why so haughty over a lack of staff?"

Emboldened by his gentle laugher, not to mention the wine, Donna answered with a satisfied grin, "I'm incredibly efficient, a staff of one."

"Lucky Josh."

"I'd be ever so grateful if you'd remind him of that for me, sir. He forgets." Wrinkling her nose, she thought about it for a moment, then admitted honestly, "Besides, I don't think I'd know what to do with one. A staff, I mean."

"Half the time I don't either."

"Only half?"

"Touché."

"And Donna Moss scores!" She might have gone a bit too far with that, but quickly rejected the idea as absurd. After all, the President had been the one to start this and he was still smiling.

Still, it wouldn't hurt to play it safe. Unable to quite stifle her grin, she added a bit more respectfully, "Sir."

Her wide-eyed innocence was merely a smokescreen. Eyes narrowed speculatively, Bartlet studied her for a moment, then asked carefully, "Exactly how much wine have you consumed this evening?"

"Probably far too much." On that note, she finished what was in her cup with a flourish.

Donna picked up the empty bottle and stared at it morosely. It was a truly sad sight. Where had it all gone? A quick glance at the President's cup, the original and still with about half its contents, and she was forced to consider the evidence.

The conclusion wasn't a pretty one. "Considering the evidence, or at least what I perceive to be the evidence, way, WAY too much. Sir, with all due respect, you're not making me look good."

Just to make her happy, Bartlet lifted his cup and took a token swallow. "I'm driving."

"Oh." Donna blinked a few times and thought about it. Somehow, it made sense. In a truly bizarre way, he was driving. "That's okay then."

The President's only response was a dry chuckle.

As a long, heavy silence descended, Donna tried to figure out if she should feel some relief or nervous that she had finally gone too far. When the President was in this kind of mood, it was hard to tell which way a person could turn. Watching him absently swirl the contents of his cup, staring off into space, she decided the silence had been his choice. Either he'd had enough pizza, or had grown tired of picking it apart for onions. His last slice lay forgotten in the box.

It had been a good pizza, too. Definitely not a good sign.

The conversation seemed to have staled for him as well. Whatever peace of mind he'd sought and found, however briefly, had eluded him once more. As it had earlier that evening, it struck Donna once again that something else was going on here.

"So," she began, praying she wasn't sticking her verbal foot in a bear trap. "How's the party going?"

"Truthfully?"

"I don't think I could handle the truth. There's been far too much of it tonight."

Bartlet's short laugh had a bitter edge to it. "Now there's a glaringly blunt yet oddly innocent observation."

"Sucks, huh?"

"An understatement," Bartlet muttered, scowling into his cup. "A highly evocative word, sucks. I'll have to suggest to Sam that he work it into the next State of the Union. I may as well invite the ire of the Hill as well as those few who tune in to watch the circus. Piss them all off, let them join the club. God knows it's not exclusive."

Confused and not completely sure where this was going or whether she really wanted to follow; Donna asked warily, "Sir?"

A depressed smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, Bartlet told her candidly, "I'm trying, but I can't think of one person, who matters, that I haven't managed to piss off."

"Leo?" Donna suggested helpfully.

"Hides it well."

"Charlie?"

"Incredibly annoyed, bordering on pissed, but it's still directed at me."

"Toby?" The moment she said his name, the absurdity of her suggestion was immediately apparent. She didn't even have to think about it. "But then how could you tell? He's always angry about something."

"Trust me," Bartlet replied with dark emphasis, all humor lost, "he's not happy."

"Is he ever, sir?" Donna asked with all seriousness. A happy Toby staggered the imagination. Suddenly, she brightened as she thought of the one person who by his very nature couldn't possibly be pissed at the President. "Sam?"

"Crushed. That's even worse."

"CJ?" Donna wasn't about to give up so easily. Then she remembered what happened upstairs. "No, wait. She swallowed cork. She wouldn't do that if she were emotionally stable."

Bartlet was almost afraid to ask. "Swallowed cork?"

"It was very ugly, sir. A screwy corkscrew, poor hand-eye coordination. It was pitiful. You really don't want to know. What about Lord Marbury?"

"Elegantly ticked, but still angry."

Donna took a deep breath and sighed. She was running out of names and the President wasn't helping. Scowling with frustration, she muttered, "Amy doesn't count."

The President nearly choked on the wine he was in the process of swallowing. Coughing, he caught his breath and managed to croak, "Thank God for that."

"Josh sort of just... twists in the wind. You gotta love him, but his emotional attention span lacks any cohesive staying power." Realizing what she'd just admitted, and that she could only partially blame the wine, Donna began to stammer an apology, "Oh, God..."

"Donna, please. Let's not start that again."

"I'm not mad at you," Donna told him sincerely, meaning every word. She wasn't sure it was what he wanted or needed to hear, but it seemed the right thing to say.

"I stole your pizza."

"It's a good pizza. Plenty to share, executive order or not."

"You've an innate talent for diplomacy, Donnatella Moss."

Donna shuddered dramatically and said with all seriousness, "Ick. What a nasty thought."

Bartlet stared at her incredulously for a moment, then burst out laughing. The high art of the diplomat had found its best and worst critic, someone who with blunt honesty called things as she saw them. All things considered, he couldn't bring himself to totally disagree.

Donna relaxed at the sound of his laughter. While still a bit subdued, it was at least heartfelt. He was going to need it, because only one name was left to toss into the emotional hopper.

Keeping a mental eye out for those pesky verbal bear traps, Donna regarded him with wary concern and said, "Well, sir, that leaves..." She couldn't quite bring herself to finish the sentence.

Sensing her reluctance, Bartlet finished the sentence for her. Letting out a long, audible breath, he said in a soft, resigned voice, "My wife."

"Yep," Donna couldn't lie to him. "She's definitely pissed."

"Yet another diplomatic understatement?"

Donna shrugged uncomfortably; increasingly unsure as to how far she could take this. Even being who he was, who he was married to, what had happened upstairs with the girls - and in this case, the First Lady was definitely included among that sorority - was strictly an alcohol induced confidence. The present level of alcohol in her blood stream didn't change that.

"Let me guess," Bartlet offered with a wry yet indulgent glint in his eyes. "I'm a jackass."

"I vaguely recall that word being used."

"Applied to me, no doubt."

"Maybe."

"Diplomacy again. Good girl." The President couldn't help but laugh at her reluctant candor.

As he'd told her earlier, Abbey hadn't given him a single clue as to what had gone on upstairs between the girls. But he was more than capable of coming up with a few good guesses. He knew his wife. Hell, he didn't have to guess; he knew all too well that when Abbey was well and truly ticked at him no other word would serve. It was her favorite. Three decades of marriage had infused that simple word with a myriad of hidden nuances and she was fully capable of including each and every one in a single, heartfelt burst.

Bartlet was used to it, and right now he couldn't deny the truth. He deserved it. The good Lord knew he hadn't been fair to her. She'd given up so much and he hadn't even had the courage to ask why. What had he given her in return?

Grief, and nothing but. He was getting pretty good at it; yet another bitter truth. No matter how hard he tried, he kept missing her signals, passing her by. The easy way out, using the office as an excuse, once more disappointing the woman he loved. When exactly had he started doing that, and so easily?

Lately, he had given Abbey too much of everything, except himself.

Scowling, he took a swallow of wine. It could have been vinegar for all he tasted it.

Bartlet didn't know why, maybe because she'd earned it with her patience, but he felt he had to tell Donna part of the truth. "She's giving up her license."

For a moment, his words didn't register in Donna's mind. When they did, she could only offer a confused, "Sir?"

"Voluntarily. For the duration of our stay in the White House." His lips twisted wryly at that, and he added with heavy sarcasm, "However long that may be."

"Oh."

A pitiful response, but all she could come up with. It was at that moment Donna guiltily realized she had begun this. Her words. How she'd said them and when she'd said them. One blunt, ill advised but honest statement that had spurred the First Lady's decision. The harder she tried to ignore that truth, the more it persisted. While she had been confused at the time, unsure of whom she was talking to; it had been Mrs. Bartlet all along who had been listening.

Beyond any logic or reason, her thoughts driven by a heartfelt instinct, Donna also realized it was the only decision Abigail Bartlet could make. Wife, mother and healer, she'd chosen the only path circumstance and her husband had allowed her. She could have fought, but she didn't.

Donna hoped and prayed that someday she could show that same kind of courage and depth of love. It was humbling.

"Did you tell her thank you, sir?" she asked tentatively, trying to put the pieces together and still feeling a touch of guilt. Watching him stare blankly at the desktop, the thought occurred to her that maybe helping him fix this would give her a bit of release.

Startled at the question, Bartlet's head jerked up and he snapped, "What?" It came out a bit sharper than he had intended.

Donna flinched. She'd put her foot in it again. "Mr. President, I'm sorry. It's none of my business..."

"Thank you?"

"Pay no attention to me, sir. Lately I seem to have developed a taste for shoe leather and toe fungus. I think I need therapy."

The President gave no indication that he'd heard her, staring off blankly into empty space. "I told her..." his voice trailed off. Failure slumped his shoulders and he rubbed his eyes wearily. "Shit."

Donna began to shift uncomfortably in her seat, squirming. This has gotten into territory she was not at all happy with. Losing it with the First Lady was one thing. Losing it with her husband, who just happened to be the President of the United States - First Lady, President, she should have copped to that one sooner - was a horse of another color. And she couldn't lay all the blame on the wine.

What was it Leo was always telling the staffers? Think before you open your mouth? How hard was that simple advice to remember?

Donna wondered if she was starting to like the taste of her own feet. Pizza, booze, the President of the United States; she didn't know if it was the combination of all the above, or simply the logical conclusion to a biblically awful evening.

At that moment, one of the ingredients to her downfall made its inevitable presence known. As a closing chapter, it somehow seemed a touch anti-climactic. Shooting an urgent glance towards the office door, Donna said, "Umm, sir?"

Lost in his own thoughts, Bartlet wasn't listening.

"Sir, I really have to..." What was the polite way to say this? "...go."

"Go?" Reluctantly dragged back from his thoughts, he looked up at her curiously, nearly smiling in sympathy at what he saw. The empty wine bottle – and no doubt the companion bottles consumed earlier - was exacting its revenge. Her eyeballs were nearly floating.

Absently waving his hand, he gave her silent permission to leave.

"I'll be right back," she promised before bolting.

And she left, perhaps a bit faster than circumstances and the somewhat august company would allow. Bartlet couldn't really blame her. He'd unfairly put her on the spot, although his guilt over the subterfuge was balanced by what he'd learned.

Watching the door swing closed behind her, he pondered the wisdom of one young lady who had not yet been corrupted by a cruel world. So simple. So easy. He hadn't seen it, but Donna had. He wondered if Abbey did.

"Jethro," he muttered.

Not jackass.

His wife had understood. He was beyond jackass.

Bartlet's hand slammed down on the desk angrily, perhaps a bit more forcefully than prudence would have allowed. Shaking out his pained fingers, he gave himself the title Abbey had refused.

He had, after all, earned it. Blind stupidity had its rewards.

"Jackass."

This, at least, he could fix. He hoped. If it wasn't too late.

To be continued…