Falls the Shadow

By Anne Callanan and Kathleen E. Lehew

Part 4/14

Abbey was nearly overwhelmed by the bleak suffering on his face, the careworn exhaustion that had turned familiar laugh lines into worried furrows. She studied his profile as he paced in front of her, shrugging out of his jacket and quartering their bedroom like a condemned inmate awaiting execution as he spoke. Even his voice seemed lost. She no longer really heard the words, her alarm growing at what her eyes were telling her.

Initially, she'd been so caught up in her own emotional turmoil as she listened to him speak that she hadn't seen the signs, what he was doing to himself. Maybe she hadn't wanted to see it. It had been too easy to lose herself in the anger, to see only the possibilities of what might have happened and the politically expedient lies that had left them vulnerable to so much more.

Somebody, a criminal, had tried to kill her husband. For whatever spurious, bureaucratic or profit motivated reason, they wanted him dead.

If she had understood Jed correctly, they probably still did. That frightened her, terrified her more than it had the first time she'd been party to the information. That night, when she'd found out in the pressroom corridor, Abbey had never thought to be so primitively afraid ever again. She'd been wrong. Even that moment could not compare to what she was now feeling.

Another fear had been added to the rest, supplanting the new and replacing it with one far older and sickeningly familiar. That it was borne of love did little to relieve the ache in her heart. Watching him pace, vaguely hearing his tiredly issued words, Abbey realized that they, whoever they eventually turned out to be, didn't need to try and kill the man she loved.

He was doing it all by himself.

The harder she tried to deny the truth, the more it persisted. He had lost weight, a health issue whose merits Abbey had long argued to no avail; he never listened. Well, she had finally won that marital dispute, but not in the way she had envisioned or hoped for. He wasn't sleeping either. His appearance, tired and haggard, was testament to that. From the tense line of his shoulders, a slight hitch in his stride, she could see that his back was acting up as well.

Abbey couldn't stop the clinical analysis of what else might be acting up if he didn't slow down, if he didn't stop doing this to himself.

Closing her eyes, she turned her back to him, deafening herself to the steady drone of his voice and fighting her own internal battle with personal restraint. Abbey wanted to scream at him, to shout down his stubborn persistence. One simple word. Stop.

But she couldn't. Listening to the advice of others and the voice of her own conscience, she'd given him her permission to carry on, to travel his chosen path with her devotion and support. She loved him and could do no less.

That same love allowed for a great many things, but not this. If he wouldn't relent, then neither would she.

"Abbey?"

Her husband, saying her name so closely behind her, sent a ripple of awareness through her. For a moment, Abbey couldn't place the odd tremor she detected in the usually rich and confident timbre of his voice. When she finally placed it, she almost laughed, although the humor was bitter. Caution. Jed wasn't sure how she was going to respond to this news. He was waiting for the fireworks.

In a heartbreaking way, she couldn't blame him. His wary reaction was her own fault; she had taught him that lesson. In three decades of marriage she'd managed to give him more pyrotechnics in the last three years than she had over the preceding thirty-one. Given her recent track record, how did she expect him to behave?

It all added up to just one more thing he had to worry about, one more burden he didn't need.

Not this time. Abbey shook her head and swore softly, "Damn it, Jed."

She heard him stop pacing, exactly what she'd intended. With her back to him, she knew he couldn't see the grim satisfaction that flashed in her eyes and tightened the line of her mouth. Good! Intentionally or not, over the last year Jed had become very good at pushing her buttons. At this point, Abbey wasn't above pushing a few of his for once.

All in a good cause, of course.

"Damned is relative, Abbey." Bartlet heard the cynicism spill over into his voice. He couldn't help it. Lately, he'd found himself simply waiting for the inevitable and right now was strangely disappointed his wife wasn't performing in the way he'd anticipated.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he shrugged and said, "I was expecting..."

Abbey didn't let him finish.

In one motion, she turned and flung herself at him, felt him pull his hands from his pockets and stagger a bit at the unexpected impact. Unexpected. That was good. She wanted him off balance. Abbey sensed his confusion as she wrapped her arms around him and held him close, his response hesitant as he returned her embrace.

The touch of his hand on her back was tentative, almost unbearable in its uncertain exploration. Abbey didn't have to glance at his face to see the look of overworked depression that passed over his features. She knew he was taking what he felt he could get, what little solace a brief moment of peace could give him. And somewhere, somehow, he had convinced himself he didn't deserve it.

Too much given for too little in return. He did deserve some peace. Holding him tighter, Abbey wanted to tell him that, but realized sadly that the one constant in their marriage would tragically close him to the validity of any argument she might throw at him.

He wouldn't listen.

Caught between the desire to both slap him silly for his stubborn stupidity and the need to take him away from all this, Abbey dropped her chin on to his chest with a long-suffering sigh and murmured, "Was this what you expected?"

Bartlet hesitated, torn by conflicting emotions and expectations. "It was way down on the bottom of the list," he finally admitted.

"It shouldn't have been."

"Aren't you the one who's always telling me I've never been very good at prioritizing?"

Abbey had told him a great many things over the years. This time, all she said was, "Jed, just shut up."

Bartlet chuckled softly at the irony. "That's twice in one day the President of the United States has been told to shut up." For the first time he felt some of the numb detachment that had been weighing him down disappear.

"Only twice?" Abbey reached up and brushed her hand lightly across his cheek, trailing her fingers along the line of his jaw. His skin, cool and dry to the touch, gave no hint of anything other than his need to shave. He hadn't driven himself that far down. Perhaps her initial fears had been premature. For the moment, exhaustion seemed to be his only complaint.

Abbey lifted her chin and boldly met her husband's tired, questioning gaze. She could fix that.

Backing out of his arms, Abbey took both his hands. Giving them a gentle squeeze, she smiled and pulled him along firmly. "You're slipping. So who had the honors this time?"

He took a hesitant step forward, following her lead. "Leo."

"Good for Leo."

"I think Nancy wanted to, but she couldn't quite overcome her sense of self-preservation." Another suspicious step as she tugged again at his hands.

"So who did she take it out on?"

"Leo."

"Good for Nancy," Abbey laughed, pleased that her reaction seemed to amuse him, however briefly. "Leo needs to be taken down a peg or two every now and then."

Bartlet tilted his head, looking at her uncertainly. "Not unlike me?"

"No, Jed." Abbey held on to his hands as he tried to pull free, taking another step back and forcing him to follow. "Not like you."

This time, Bartlet planted his feet and refused to be led any further. "Abbey," he warned, glancing over her shoulder at the bed now only a few steps behind her. He smiled at her duplicity. She could be sneaky when she needed to be. It was one of her more endearing traits. "You're not going to win this one. We need to talk."

"You and your words. Is there anything more to say?" She looked into his eyes; tired, withdrawn and worried, she wondered when they had started to look so old. Abbey sighed, clasping his hands tighter and, keeping her tones as reasonable as possible, asked, "Will more words change anything?"

Pride kept him from arguing with her. Obstinacy made him ask, "So you were listening?"

"Every word."

"I wasn't sure."

Abbey shrugged. "So I didn't follow the script."

"There's a script?" One corner of his mouth pulled into a tight smile. "Are we reading the same one?"

"Not even on the same page." Rewarding him with a larger smile of her own, Abbey pulled him closer, watched him with concern as he stumbled a little. "Or I wouldn't be able to do this..."

In one smooth motion, she spun him round in a clean one-eighty. Knowing him as she did, the initial subterfuge and trip shouldn't have been that easy. Abbey heard him grunt in surprise and both felt and saw his right leg go out from under him as he lost his balance. With another dramatic grunt - a bit overdone she thought - he landed on the bed and fell back on his outstretched arms.

With both hands on her hips, Abbey braced herself for his reaction. If she had to tackle him to keep him there, she would. Still, that tumble had been way too easy. Either he had been expecting it and gave in without a fight, or he was so close to the edge he hadn't even seen it coming. Of the two choices, she knew which one she'd prefer.

Bemused, the President stared up at his glowering wife. "That was pretty good," he admitted, teasing her affectionately, "for a girl."

"You're making points, sunshine." Abbey had been hoping for something a bit more colorful. A snarled expletive or two wouldn't have disappointed her. Eyes narrowing suspiciously, she straight out demanded of him, "Is your leg bothering you?"

"If I lie, what'll you do to me?"

"Use your imagination."

"Sorry. I'm trying, but nothing's coming." With a heavy sigh, Bartlet fell back on the bed. Listlessly, he reached up to loosen his tie, then gave up on the knot and let his hand fall across his chest. Closing his eyes, he muttered, "I'm just too damn tired."

"Finally, an admission of mortality." The triumph in her voice was equally mixed with concerned relief. With practiced ease, she lifted his legs and swung them up on to the bed. After removing his shoes, Abbey settled down next to him, taking his limp hand and holding it tightly. "Does this mean I win?"

Bartlet's short laugh came out more like a defeated groan. "Just this once. Gonna mark the calendar?"

"Don't be a smart ass." Turning his hand over, she trailed her fingers along the underside of his wrist, pausing when she felt the fluttering of his pulse. "Just admit defeat like the big, brave man I know you are; with a minimum of fuss, no whining and just this once, please God, no tantrums."

Truthfully, Abbey would have been more than pleased to see him have the energy to even throw a tantrum, let alone whine. Fingers still on his wrist, she watched him intently.

"I don't throw tantrums," Bartlet growled with suitably wounded dignity. Conscious of where she was touching him, one eye opened and regarded her suspiciously. "Abbey?"

"Yes?"

"You're not exactly being subtle."

"About what?" Abbey blinked at him guilelessly, hand and fingers still on his wrist.

"You're usually better at the innocent act, too." The other eye opened and he managed an indulgent smile. "So how's my pulse?"

Abbey sighed and laid his hand back down, patting him on the shoulder with sweet nonchalance. "Normal," she admitted thankfully. With another worry ticked off the list, she felt it safe to relax her guard just a little. But only a little.

"You mean I still have one?" An arched eyebrow indicated his genuine surprise. "Imagine that."

"Yeah, imagine that." Abbey didn't smile at his weak humor, weak being the operative word. He was usually much better with his evasions. A scowl of fond exasperation was all he received for his efforts. "Your leg, Jed?" she patiently asked again. "Is it bothering you?"

"A little," Bartlet admitted irritably. At this point, there was no use in trying to hide it.

"And your back?"

"Are you keeping a list?"

"Do I need a list?" He was getting petulant. Even running on fumes, she could count on his emotional consistency. He hadn't given up yet.

Tenderly brushing away a lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead, wondering when so much more gray had been added to the mix, Abbey reminded him gently, "You know, limping, however slightly, all day then sitting up reading all night is no good for it."

"Good for what?"

"Your back." Abbey resisted the urge to wallop him.

Hitching himself up on one elbow, Bartlet glared at his wife. "Abbey..."

Not impressed at all with his dirty look, Abbey pushed him back down. "Shut up, Jed."

Giving in to the inevitable - and wondering where the Secret Service was when he really needed them - Bartlet muttered a bit sullenly, "That's three."

"Now who's keeping a list?"

"There's hope for me yet." Closing his eyes and counting the aches and pains, Bartlet figured that hope was a long shot at best.

"That," Abbey proclaimed in arch tones, adjusting the pillow behind his head then reaching to finish the job he had begun with his tie and slipping it from around his neck, "is highly debatable."

"Seriously, Abbey, we need to talk."

"No, Jed." Abbey shook her head, cupping his face with one hand and running her finger along his jaw. "We don't. Words won't change anything."

"It might," Bartlet insisted stubbornly.

That stubborn streak was one of the reasons she loved him so much. "Will it be any different in the morning?"

"No."

"Will a good night's sleep make any difference?"

"Possibly." The last traces of obstinate resistance faded and he let the final tides of exhaustion carry him away. "Don't you hate always being right?"

At that plaintive question, Abbey had to fight the urge to gather him into her arms. "No," she whispered, watching the tense lines of his face ease as he slipped away.

It might have been a laugh, or it might have been a sigh of weary agreement, Abbey wasn't sure. He was asleep between one breath and the next. Watching him sleep and listening to his breathing slow and deepen, it occurred to her that either one suited her purposes just fine. She'd won this argument. Her victory felt hollow at best, a battle postponed. When the sun rose, it would all start again.

"We'll talk in the morning."

She knew he hadn't heard her, that he was already deeply asleep. But somehow saying them relieved the odd twinge of guilt that accompanied the thought and words, the sound and sentiment so much like the excuses they'd both used during those long, angry months. Abbey brushed the feeling aside.

This time it was different. Darker, meaner and not of their choosing. Abbey couldn't quite stop the dull ache of foreboding thinking of the possible future forced on her. This was her husband, half her soul, and somebody wanted to kill him. But this time, they would face it together.

In the morning.

Careful not to wake him, she took the phone off the hook and slid off the edge of the bed. Turning the lights off as she went, Abbey quietly made her way across the room. Grasping the door handle, she paused and turned, giving the sleeping form of her husband a long, searching look. Searching for what, she wasn't sure. Her course determined, she opened the door and confronted the agent standing outside.

"Vaughn, isn't it?" she asked him softly, carefully pulling the door shut behind her.

"Yes, Ma'am."

"I've taken the phone off the hook. Nobody wakes him, Henry." That was his first name. It pleased Abbey no end that she could keep far better track of names than Jed. Drove him nuts. "Three people, mister. Myself, Leo McGarry or Charles Young. Anybody else tries to get in..."

Vaughn's mouth twitched. "Shoot them?"

Abbey blinked at that. For some reason she couldn't quite fathom, that particular Secret Service solution had become the quip of choice. She didn't necessarily disagree with the sentiment. "If you'd like. Far be it from me to deny you some fun. Just don't mess up the carpets."

This time the twitch made its way to a half smile. "I understand, ma'am."

"Yeah, I guess you do." That truly surprised Abbey. He did understand. Touching his arm gratefully, she said, "Thank you."

Vaughn merely nodded.

"Oh," Abbey paused before leaving, another name occurring to her. All things considered, having Ron Butterfield bouncing off the walls wouldn't do at all, especially with the phone off the hook. "You might want to add your boss to the list."

"I had considered it, ma'am." Vaughn had already determined to give his boss a heads-up as soon as the First Lady was out of earshot.

"Good boy."

"We try, ma'am."

Abbey nodded, satisfied that at least for now some things had been taken care of. Not stopping to explain herself further, she left the agent to his job. Jed was safe until the sun came up. Then they would talk. Maybe amongst the words, she and her husband would be able to find some peace.

Maybe Jed could find some peace. Sadly, she doubted it. It wasn't in his nature to accept responsibility without guilt. No amount of words was going to change that.

In the meanwhile, she and Leo McGarry were going to have their words. The night was still young and she knew there were more than a few things Jed's oldest friend could tell her that her husband would not.

If it took all night, Abigail Bartlet was going to have her answers.

To be continued…