XIX
CJ frowned thoughtfully over her notes. "Hey, Sam," she smiled gratefully as he came in. Anything to take her mind off lists and lists of mind-numbingly dull figures.
Well, anything that didn't involve Danny Concannon or yet another gaffe by the Swedish Ambassador, anyway. She pulled off her glasses. "What's on your mind?"
He leaned back against her doorframe. "I'm wondering what's on Toby's, actually. Does he seem... distant to you?"
"These past few days?" She shrugged. "Maybe." She'd thought so, in passing, but then she'd been more than a tad distracted herself.
"Yeah... I'm just wondering if everything's all right with him and Andy," he reflected,
She shrugged again. "It's a complicated thing, Sam. It's best if everybody else stays out of it."
Toby and Andy had always had a convoluted relationship, whether it was during their marriage, divorce, or less sharply defined states before, after and between. The knowledge of their difficulty having children filled in several highly uncomfortable blanks, but still... There was really no predicting where the two of them would end up next.
"Yeah, you're right," Sam agreed. He tilted his head back and stretched, apparently not inclined to leave her office just yet. She rested her chin on her hand to regard him.
"So how's things with your other half?" she asked him. He blushed, a source of amusement that never got old.
"We're- we're fine," he shrugged, ducking his head. "Things are great. Really."
"That's great," she nodded, and meant it. It was funny; a year ago, she would have screamed blue murder at the idea of the Deputy Communications Director dating a man - when it had come to light nine months ago, she'd done exactly that - but now it just seemed natural enough it was hard to remember a time before Steve had been on the scene. If anyone could pick up a date and forget to pay attention to what gender they were until after the fact, it was Sam Seaborn.
The White House staff had mostly embraced this new yet somehow unsurprising aspect of Sam with good grace, and he seemed to have straightened things out with his family after a rocky start. She knew certain segments of the media and the general public were a lot less accepting of it, and he'd no doubt kicked up a serious obstruction to what should have been a fast-track ascent to the high-profile position of his choosing... but at least he seemed happier than he'd been for a long time.
Happier than she'd been in a long time, too. She sighed, and absently tapped her nails on the rim of Gail's bowl.
"So how are things with you and Danny?" he asked her after a moment.
"They're not," she said, with a warning glare, but he shrugged defensively.
"I just- you know."
CJ relaxed, and sighed again. "Yeah."
Sam smiled sympathetically. "So, did you figure out who you are in his book yet?" he said, deliberately shifting the subject into lighter areas.
She gave him a look. "Did you come here for a reason?"
"Not really, no," he shrugged cheerfully.
"Then whatever you're doing here, do it quietly."
"Okay." He shrugged, and leaned back against the wall. For a moment, all was quiet, and she read through a few more transcripts and highlighted points.
"CJ," Sam said finally, oddly hesitant. She looked up expectantly.
"Yeah?"
"Would you say the president-? Never mind," he decidedly suddenly, cutting himself off.
She peered at him. "Do I think the president what?"
"Do you think he's-? No. No, forget it. Something that Steve said, forget it."
He wandered off, looking troubled. CJ frowned after him for a few moments, and then went back to her work.
"Hey, sugar. Still sober?"
Jed smiled wryly at that, but his pleasure at seeing his wife won out. "Hey," he said warmly, as she came over to sit on the arm of his chair. She brushed back his hair; no doubt a cunning ploy to surreptitiously check his temperature, but he leaned into her touch happily enough.
"How're you feeling?" she asked. Gently, but then the dire threats for if he pretended to be fine went entirely unspoken by now. He mustered a smile.
"Better... A little tired," he conceded.
"Yeah. You should try to get to sleep early tonight."
"Charlie cleared me some time," he assured her.
Abbey frowned, leaning against him. "Did he and Zoey have a fight? I spoke to her this morning, she sounded pretty down, and Charlie's been out of sorts since yesterday."
Jed sighed, the comfort of cuddling up to his wife for a while beginning to evaporate. "I spoke to Ron Butterfield on Monday; the Secret Service is worried about some new letters they've been getting. I had a word with Zoey last night, and Ron talked to Charlie."
Abbey looked concerned. "What kind of letters?"
He hesitated for a beat too long in answering.
"Jed-" she said warningly.
Hiding things from his wife was never a good idea... but he didn't much relish talking about this one. "They're, uh... they're worried about the baby," he said softly.
She frowned in puzzlement. "I know they have to think about these things, but isn't it a little bit early to-?"
"Even before it's born," he said, perhaps a touch too brusquely. It was hard to meet her eyes and see the mirror of his own distress and horror. "There are people who don't want to see our grandchild born, Abbey. There are people who would rather see our daughter dead or horribly brutalised than see her give birth to a baby that's whole and healthy and loved and wanted. How..." Words failed him. "How can anybody hate that much?"
She gave him a desperately sad smile, and rested her head against his chest. "I don't know, babe," she said softly. "I don't know."
"Andy?" Nikki appeared through the doorway, phone in hand. "Toby."
Andy took a slow, deep breath. She was tempted to tell her assistant to duck the call, but that would only lead to more concerned looks and complications. She wasn't sure she could deal with complications right now.
She sighed. "Put him through in my office." She nudged the door closed before picking up the receiver.
"Andy." Just the sound of his voice brought on an instant headache, and she massaged her forehead tiredly. Crying herself to sleep hadn't led to a very restful night.
"Toby, I-"
"I think we should talk," he said simply.
"Toby, I already-"
"I think we should have dinner, and we should talk," he rolled on determinedly. "You were very upset last night, and-"
"That doesn't mean I wasn't right, Toby," she said wearily. There was a brief silence.
"Come to dinner," he said eventually. "I have... things to say."
"It won't change anything."
"Then I should have a chance to do it."
She smiled, without humour. "It's not a political debate, Toby." Trust her ex- husband; he could never leave anything alone without arguing his case exhaustively.
"It's more important than that."
And, as always, his soft-spoken, solemn tone knocked her off balance more thoroughly than any amount of shouting could do.
She found she just didn't have the strength for arguing further. "All right, Toby," she sighed. "But not somewhere busy, I just don't have the-"
"Okay," he acquiesced without question. "I'll pick you up tonight."
"Okay."
She put the phone down with a heavy heart. He always did this. Always, always did this. She'd come to a decision, but he'd keep arguing, and just keep arguing, and it never changed anything...
All too often, his words were too persuasive, and she'd allow herself to believe that this time, this time maybe it could all be different... and then they'd both get sucked into the whole awful, painful, self-destructive cycle all over again.
But not anymore. There were only so many times you could go through the same heartbreak before it ground your soul down into dust. She would go to dinner with him, and she would break it off, and this time, it would be for good.
