POV: Abbey
Spoilers: "Two Cathedrals;" "7A;" "Dogs of War;" "Jefferson Lives"
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Sorkin's originally. Wells, too, now. Not mine, although I
wish they were.
No Heavier Burden - Chapter Three: Debated and Discussed A West Wing Story
by MAHC
Jackass.
Bastard.
Son of a bitch.
She had called him all those names and more, and she had meant every hateful, bitter syllable. And at the time, in a twisted, selfish way, it had made her feel better.
How could he presume to play God? "Absolute power corrupts absolutely," and Jed Bartlet of all people had succumbed to that temptation. How could the gentle, compassionate man she had loved for so long transform from Jekyll to Hyde without her seeing it? How could he lie next to her, touch her with such tenderness, celebrate the joy and ecstasy of joining their bodies, their very lives, then degenerate into some cold godfather who commanded the murder of another human being? It didn't matter that the other person was evil. It didn't matter that he deserved to die. It simply wasn't Jed's choice. He stole that right from God.
She sighed and pushed a hand through hair that no longer needed a hand pushed through. Her eyes scanned the placid scene before her, emerald meadows framed by rich palates of creams, and reds, and purples as the New England flora reveled in the lushness of summer. The sudden flare of righteousness faded, and a disturbing shadow of honesty fell over her. Was that really it? Was she mad at Jed because he had executed a terrorist who had already killed hundreds or even thousands of people? Or was it because his decision led to the horror, to the unthinkable abduction of her child - of his own child?
At the moment it didn't matter that she was assigning different levels to his sins. She knew which one could destroy them.
In the midst of their agony, he had attempted a feeble explanation of that sin. "It was debated and discussed and agonized over for weeks - "
But she'd had no patience for it. "Debated and discussed? I'm here. I don't remember that," she had retorted in the kitchen, not caring about the reaction of their two other daughters, refusing to acknowledge the anguish in his eyes. She wanted him to feel the anguish, to feel what she felt.
"It was a difficult decision - " he snapped, the first spark of emotion he had shown in hours.
"Made by you. Not us," she reminded him bitterly.
"I did what I thought was necessary."
"Your decision, Jed. Not ours."
Leaving before they could really get into it in front of the girls, she had spoken to him perhaps five times since then, mostly short answers to his aborted attempts at communication. He sure as hell hadn't communicated with her when he decided to take a brutal step that put his family in danger. It was too late now.
His decision. His fault. His burden.
"I blame Jed," she had told Leo, and it was as much an intent to hurt him as Jed. Leo couldn't take the bullet on this one and she told him outright. She had no doubt he was an integral cog in the wheel of international intrigue, but as Harry Truman established, the buck stopped with the President. And this President had used his heavy hand to smite down one evil, only to discover ten more taking its place.
He should have known.
"He did this."
Sucking in a deep breath, she willed her body to calm, to regulate its wild heart rate and deal with reality less emotionally. Purposefully, she kicked back in the porch swing, feet brushing the wooden flooring coming and going as she swung, looking for solace, for refuge. She scanned the scene again, breathed in the fresh, earthy scent of the farm. But even that failed to comfort. His farm. It was his farm, handed down for generations in his family.
Funny, she hadn't told Jed she blamed him - not exactly. But she didn't have to. He knew. His tentative glances her way, his unfinished sentences, his painfully stiff posture. The way he seemed to brace himself any time she turned toward him. He knew. And part of her wanted to absolve him, to release him from the agony. But then she looked at Zoey, saw the bruises, inside and out, and she remembered.
It was his fault.
Also, she wasn't sure he wouldn't do it again, if given the choice. Wasn't certain he really understood what his actions had done, what they had cost his daughter.
What they had cost his marriage.
For the first time in 36 years she allowed herself to consider the true condition of their relationship. There had been strained times before, as in all unions, but never to the point that either of them so much as uttered the word "separation." And it still hadn't happened, but only because they weren't speaking to each other. She thought it, though, contemplated what kind of political fallout that would bring. It would certainly cause scandal, speculation, another media frenzy. And hadn't they had enough of that? She could wait until he left office. That would be better. Come and go in a respectable manner until then. But she could leave then.
Leave Jed. Separate. Divorce.
Instantly, her heart clenched, and she felt the hot sting of tears at her eyes, the sudden hole of emptiness in her chest. It was almost unimaginable that she would even be considering such an act. What would it be like to separate something that had become one so long ago?
She was mad as hell at him, madder probably than she had ever been in her life, even after he screwed her on international television by announcing he would run again. And she admitted that at the moment she didn't like him very much.
But she did love him. Would that be enough?
It would just take a while, she knew, to sort things out. And maybe she and Zoey could stay at the farm until they both healed. She closed her eyes and leaned back on the hard swing. It would be a good long time before she was ready to go back to that place, to the memories, to him. But eventually, she would go back, one way or another.
"Oh, Jed," she muttered wearily, "what the hell have you done?" No one answered her as her eyes fluttered shut and darkness seeped into her mind.
"Mom?"
Jerked awake, Abbey jumped from the swing, only momentarily disoriented until she saw the battered face of her daughter before her.
"Zoey! Are you all right?"
The young woman smiled, that sad, skittish expression she had worn since her return.
His fault.
"I'm okay, Mom," she assured her, a little impatiently. "There's a phone call."
No. She wasn't ready, yet. "Tell him I don't want to - "
"It's not Dad," Zoey told her, frowning slightly with the knowledge of what that response said about her parents' relationship.
"Who - "
"Uncle Leo."
Leo? The last person she wanted to talk to - almost. How did he dare call her in New Hampshire? What would make him think she'd be even remotely interested in anything he had to say at that time?
Her first instinct was to blow him off, let him sit there, waiting for an answer till kingdom come. But her temper almost overpoweringly craved a fight. She couldn't have it out with Jed. Leo was the next best thing.
Teeth gritted for the confrontation, voice hard, she picked up the receiver. "Leo," she said coldly. Nothing else. Make him come to her.
"Abbey - " he began, and instantly the anger melted from her. The crack in his voice, the pain in his tone hit her like a physical blow.
"Leo?" Dear God, what is it?
"Abbey, I - it's about - "
"- Jed," she finished.
"Yeah."
No Heavier Burden - Chapter Three: Debated and Discussed A West Wing Story
by MAHC
Jackass.
Bastard.
Son of a bitch.
She had called him all those names and more, and she had meant every hateful, bitter syllable. And at the time, in a twisted, selfish way, it had made her feel better.
How could he presume to play God? "Absolute power corrupts absolutely," and Jed Bartlet of all people had succumbed to that temptation. How could the gentle, compassionate man she had loved for so long transform from Jekyll to Hyde without her seeing it? How could he lie next to her, touch her with such tenderness, celebrate the joy and ecstasy of joining their bodies, their very lives, then degenerate into some cold godfather who commanded the murder of another human being? It didn't matter that the other person was evil. It didn't matter that he deserved to die. It simply wasn't Jed's choice. He stole that right from God.
She sighed and pushed a hand through hair that no longer needed a hand pushed through. Her eyes scanned the placid scene before her, emerald meadows framed by rich palates of creams, and reds, and purples as the New England flora reveled in the lushness of summer. The sudden flare of righteousness faded, and a disturbing shadow of honesty fell over her. Was that really it? Was she mad at Jed because he had executed a terrorist who had already killed hundreds or even thousands of people? Or was it because his decision led to the horror, to the unthinkable abduction of her child - of his own child?
At the moment it didn't matter that she was assigning different levels to his sins. She knew which one could destroy them.
In the midst of their agony, he had attempted a feeble explanation of that sin. "It was debated and discussed and agonized over for weeks - "
But she'd had no patience for it. "Debated and discussed? I'm here. I don't remember that," she had retorted in the kitchen, not caring about the reaction of their two other daughters, refusing to acknowledge the anguish in his eyes. She wanted him to feel the anguish, to feel what she felt.
"It was a difficult decision - " he snapped, the first spark of emotion he had shown in hours.
"Made by you. Not us," she reminded him bitterly.
"I did what I thought was necessary."
"Your decision, Jed. Not ours."
Leaving before they could really get into it in front of the girls, she had spoken to him perhaps five times since then, mostly short answers to his aborted attempts at communication. He sure as hell hadn't communicated with her when he decided to take a brutal step that put his family in danger. It was too late now.
His decision. His fault. His burden.
"I blame Jed," she had told Leo, and it was as much an intent to hurt him as Jed. Leo couldn't take the bullet on this one and she told him outright. She had no doubt he was an integral cog in the wheel of international intrigue, but as Harry Truman established, the buck stopped with the President. And this President had used his heavy hand to smite down one evil, only to discover ten more taking its place.
He should have known.
"He did this."
Sucking in a deep breath, she willed her body to calm, to regulate its wild heart rate and deal with reality less emotionally. Purposefully, she kicked back in the porch swing, feet brushing the wooden flooring coming and going as she swung, looking for solace, for refuge. She scanned the scene again, breathed in the fresh, earthy scent of the farm. But even that failed to comfort. His farm. It was his farm, handed down for generations in his family.
Funny, she hadn't told Jed she blamed him - not exactly. But she didn't have to. He knew. His tentative glances her way, his unfinished sentences, his painfully stiff posture. The way he seemed to brace himself any time she turned toward him. He knew. And part of her wanted to absolve him, to release him from the agony. But then she looked at Zoey, saw the bruises, inside and out, and she remembered.
It was his fault.
Also, she wasn't sure he wouldn't do it again, if given the choice. Wasn't certain he really understood what his actions had done, what they had cost his daughter.
What they had cost his marriage.
For the first time in 36 years she allowed herself to consider the true condition of their relationship. There had been strained times before, as in all unions, but never to the point that either of them so much as uttered the word "separation." And it still hadn't happened, but only because they weren't speaking to each other. She thought it, though, contemplated what kind of political fallout that would bring. It would certainly cause scandal, speculation, another media frenzy. And hadn't they had enough of that? She could wait until he left office. That would be better. Come and go in a respectable manner until then. But she could leave then.
Leave Jed. Separate. Divorce.
Instantly, her heart clenched, and she felt the hot sting of tears at her eyes, the sudden hole of emptiness in her chest. It was almost unimaginable that she would even be considering such an act. What would it be like to separate something that had become one so long ago?
She was mad as hell at him, madder probably than she had ever been in her life, even after he screwed her on international television by announcing he would run again. And she admitted that at the moment she didn't like him very much.
But she did love him. Would that be enough?
It would just take a while, she knew, to sort things out. And maybe she and Zoey could stay at the farm until they both healed. She closed her eyes and leaned back on the hard swing. It would be a good long time before she was ready to go back to that place, to the memories, to him. But eventually, she would go back, one way or another.
"Oh, Jed," she muttered wearily, "what the hell have you done?" No one answered her as her eyes fluttered shut and darkness seeped into her mind.
"Mom?"
Jerked awake, Abbey jumped from the swing, only momentarily disoriented until she saw the battered face of her daughter before her.
"Zoey! Are you all right?"
The young woman smiled, that sad, skittish expression she had worn since her return.
His fault.
"I'm okay, Mom," she assured her, a little impatiently. "There's a phone call."
No. She wasn't ready, yet. "Tell him I don't want to - "
"It's not Dad," Zoey told her, frowning slightly with the knowledge of what that response said about her parents' relationship.
"Who - "
"Uncle Leo."
Leo? The last person she wanted to talk to - almost. How did he dare call her in New Hampshire? What would make him think she'd be even remotely interested in anything he had to say at that time?
Her first instinct was to blow him off, let him sit there, waiting for an answer till kingdom come. But her temper almost overpoweringly craved a fight. She couldn't have it out with Jed. Leo was the next best thing.
Teeth gritted for the confrontation, voice hard, she picked up the receiver. "Leo," she said coldly. Nothing else. Make him come to her.
"Abbey - " he began, and instantly the anger melted from her. The crack in his voice, the pain in his tone hit her like a physical blow.
"Leo?" Dear God, what is it?
"Abbey, I - it's about - "
"- Jed," she finished.
"Yeah."