POV: Jed
Spoilers: "Jefferson Lives"
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine.
No Heavier Burden - Chapter Eight: Here, For Now A West Wing Story
by MAHC
The first sensation Jed Bartlet had was hearing the distinctly unnerving beep of a heart monitor. And it occurred to his awakening brain that it was probably his heart being monitored. The second sensation was the thought that someone had decided to play a prank on the world and shift things just a tad out of focus. At least that was the way his eyes saw them. Squinting didn't help much, but he gave it a shot anyway, peering down his prone body to assess the situation.
He lay in an all-too familiar hospital bed, sheet to his waist, chest mostly bare since the ubiquitous gown was pulled back to allow for the heart monitor pads. He winced when he noted they hadn't bothered to shave any patches of chest hair. It would smart when they removed the discs. He listened to the steady rhythm for a moment before deciding he was healthy enough to try something bolder than just breathing.
All limbs seemed to be working adequately. No tingling, no numbness. With a grunt, he tensed his stomach muscles and propped his elbows behind him, immediately regretting the move when an ice pick of pain stabbed through his head. Okay, one problem identified. He dropped back onto the bed with another grunt and a grimace.
"Stubborn."
Startled, he turned his head toward the sound, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the brighter light beyond. The voice, the unexpected silhouette, blurred though it was, could not be mistaken. He knew them well. Nevertheless, recent events made him doubt his own vision.
"Abbey?"
Dear God, if she were there he must be at death's door. He quickly reassessed his condition.
If he didn't move his head too much, the pain was bearable, although it still felt a little prickly behind his right eye. But he became aware of a dull throbbing in his cheek, and eased a hand up to investigate. It took only one ginger touch to determine he didn't want to do that again.
"Like I said."
He peeked again and confirmed the unlikely fact that his wife was, indeed, standing by his bed, a good two feet away from any possible physical contact with him, but there, nevertheless. Forcing down a swell of relief and anticipation, he did his best to respond with studied nonchalance, needing to let her set the tone.
"Abigail." Damn it. He didn't mean for it to come out quite so sterile.
She observed him for a moment, then said quietly, "You scared Zoey."
An accusation? As if he had planned for this to happen?
It suddenly occurred to him that he wasn't really sure what exactly had happened. His last memory was a vague blur of watching his youngest daughter ride her horse, quizzing Charlie on national parks, and lecturing on Greek poetry. Of course, he could have dreamed every one of those things.
He chose not to respond. What good would it do, anyway? Maybe he wasn't dying after all. Even Abbey would refrain from the taunts in the face of certain death. At least he hoped she would.
Now the voice shifted to her clinical tone. "Charlie said you were in pain before you passed out."
At least the hate had dropped away for a moment. In fact, she allowed very little inflection in her tone at all. He shrugged, having no idea that Charlie was even there when he fainted. Really having no memory of fainting.
"What kind of pain?" she wanted to know. Dry, like a doctor. Any doctor.
Again, since he didn't remember the pain - But sarcasm would only irritate her, so he concentrated on how his body felt at the moment. Not so good.
"Headache," he decided. Could have been, after all, and he still had one.
"Focused or general?"
Pick one. "Focused. Behind my eye." The words came on their own, and he knew it must be the truth.
"Doctor Radford feels there may be some optic neuritis involved here."
"Yeah." He knew the term. It came with the MS territory.
"How do you feel now?"
Like he didn't want to be quizzed on how he felt by a woman who had to work so hard to be civil to him.
"Fine," he told her automatically. It was his standard answer. She never believed him.
A skeptical brow arched. "Right. You dizzy?"
They had been through this routine before. "No."
"Weak?"
"No." Wouldn't do any good to admit it.
"Vision blurred?"
"Uh uh."
"Still stubborn," she declared softly and stepped farther away from him, turning to stare out the windows into the main room.
He wanted to say something, needed to say something. He wanted to say how sorry he was, how hard it was to make the decision, how devastating it was to realize he had been the cause of suffering for his entire family. But he didn't know if she was ready, didn't know if he was ready.
"I'm sorry you had to come back," he told her instead. And he really was. He didn't want her back like this.
"I didn't have to come back."
"What?"
Still not looking at him, she shrugged. "I didn't have to come back. I chose to come back."
With effort, he held down the hope that popped into his chest. Maybe she was ready. Maybe this was the time for them to fix things. But he needed more from her, needed her to tell him what was happening. "I don't know what that means."
Now she did turn, and for the first time in weeks he saw a softening of that expression, a retreat from the harsh glares that cut him or the calm apathy that chilled him even more. His heart pounded as he waited for her to speak. The monitor echoed the increase.
"It means I've got to face you sometime. I've got to face what's happened."
"To Zoey?" But he knew that wasn't it.
"To us."
"To us," he repeated, fear twisting in his stomach. "Us." Whenever there was an "us" it usually wasn't good. "We" was much better than "us."
Her eyes flickered away from his face, toward the wall, and a heavy sigh tugged at her shoulders. Finally, her voice came at a whisper, and it touched him more than all of the yelling had ever done. "I thought - I thought I knew you, Jed. I thought after 35 years I couldn't learn anything more about you. But I was wrong." Her arms crossed, hugging her body as if it gave her the strength to say what she needed to say.
"Abbey - " She had to stop. He didn't think he could hear what she might be saying.
"I understand the decision," she told him, looking at him again, and he frowned in surprise. "I know why Shareef had to be killed."
What the hell -
"And I don't question that choice. It was probably the right choice for the President of the United States to make."
Stunned at this apparent 180 degree turn, he simply stared, trying to figure out what was next.
"But it was never a choice that the Josiah Bartlet I knew would have made. Never a decision that would have even occurred to the man I married. That man valued life supremely. That man was almost called to the cloth. That man cried at the births of his children, and the deaths of his pets. That man made love with a passion and a tenderness that broke my heart every time he touched me. That man would have never made such a decision. Not that man."
Tears streamed down his face, stinging his cheek. Her quiet declaration had kicked him in the gut. Nausea rose in his throat. She was right. Dear God, she was right. He had been that man. He had treasured life, not just his family's, but all humans.
What was the Donne quote? "Any man's death diminishes me because I am involved in mankind." Any man. Even Shareef.
How had he become someone else? How had he gotten to the point that he made such a decision, even if it was the right one for the President. How was it ever the right one for Jed Bartlet?
"Abbey," he choked. "If I had known - if I had seen - "
A slender hand came up to stop him. "No. If you had known, you would have done the same thing. You had no other choice. You are President of the United States." Her face remained composed, calm. He couldn't decide if it was better or worse than the anger that had hardened it for so long.
And was she still accusing or giving him an out? He couldn't tell.
Swallowing, he opened himself up. Might as well do it all now. "I know you blame me, Abbey." No revelation there. "You should."
Something flashed behind those keen eyes, something ephemeral that he almost missed. "Zoey thinks I shouldn't."
"Zoey?"
"She just gave me what for because I blame you, because you blame yourself."
A sudden urge to see his daughter washed over him and pushed his muscles to tense again, to attempt to sit. It was still a mistake.
"Damn it," he groaned as he tried to keep his skull from disintegrating.
This time, when he opened his eyes, she had moved closer. "Sharp pain?" she asked, not unkindly, but still without emotion.
He nodded, regretted it. "Is it an attack?"
Lips pursed, she sighed. "Maybe. At the very least you are suffering from sleep deprivation. Could have triggered a mild attack. You also did a number on your cheek as you passed the table in the Oval Office."
Wincing, he probed the tender wound again. That explained it.
"They promise a pretty scar."
It would be a good deal prettier than the deeper scar he knew would never heal, the scar that even now festered under the uncertainty of what she was saying, what she was doing. "Abbey, I know I should have told you - "
"We don't need to talk about this now," she decided.
"When the hell will we do it, then?" He couldn't stop his own surge of anger from boiling over into the tone. She had started this. She had dragged their buried turmoil to the surface. She would damn well listen to him.
"Not now." And the first sign of emotion colored that voice as she almost pleaded between gritted teeth. "Not now, Jed."
"Abbey, are you - "
"I'm here," she told him. "For now." Not an ultimatum, just a statement.
His muscles screamed for him to reach out for her, to grab her hand and pull her to him and hold her until he could make her find that man again, the one who cried at his children's births and his pets' deaths, the one who made love to her with the passion and tenderness that broke her heart. But he knew she didn't want the same thing, so he swallowed back the burning impulse and dug his fingers into the sheet, letting the fierce urge bleed out through the compulsive grip.
Don't walk out, Abbey. Don't go.
"I'm sure Zoey wants to see you. I'll send her in." At the door she turned and gave him a nod. "I'll be around."
Alone again with the persistent beeps of the monitor, he closed his eyes and pushed back the panic. He had never doubted Abbey's love for him, had never doubted his for her. They were joined by more than just physical attraction and fulfillment. They were one mind, one soul. At least they had been. But the mind had separated. And he had done it. It wouldn't take long for the mind to pry the soul apart, as well.
His fault.
"I'll be around," she had told him. "I'll be around."
But for how long, he wondered. For how long?
"Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee."
John Donne Meditation XVII Devotions Upon Emergent Occasions
No Heavier Burden - Chapter Eight: Here, For Now A West Wing Story
by MAHC
The first sensation Jed Bartlet had was hearing the distinctly unnerving beep of a heart monitor. And it occurred to his awakening brain that it was probably his heart being monitored. The second sensation was the thought that someone had decided to play a prank on the world and shift things just a tad out of focus. At least that was the way his eyes saw them. Squinting didn't help much, but he gave it a shot anyway, peering down his prone body to assess the situation.
He lay in an all-too familiar hospital bed, sheet to his waist, chest mostly bare since the ubiquitous gown was pulled back to allow for the heart monitor pads. He winced when he noted they hadn't bothered to shave any patches of chest hair. It would smart when they removed the discs. He listened to the steady rhythm for a moment before deciding he was healthy enough to try something bolder than just breathing.
All limbs seemed to be working adequately. No tingling, no numbness. With a grunt, he tensed his stomach muscles and propped his elbows behind him, immediately regretting the move when an ice pick of pain stabbed through his head. Okay, one problem identified. He dropped back onto the bed with another grunt and a grimace.
"Stubborn."
Startled, he turned his head toward the sound, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the brighter light beyond. The voice, the unexpected silhouette, blurred though it was, could not be mistaken. He knew them well. Nevertheless, recent events made him doubt his own vision.
"Abbey?"
Dear God, if she were there he must be at death's door. He quickly reassessed his condition.
If he didn't move his head too much, the pain was bearable, although it still felt a little prickly behind his right eye. But he became aware of a dull throbbing in his cheek, and eased a hand up to investigate. It took only one ginger touch to determine he didn't want to do that again.
"Like I said."
He peeked again and confirmed the unlikely fact that his wife was, indeed, standing by his bed, a good two feet away from any possible physical contact with him, but there, nevertheless. Forcing down a swell of relief and anticipation, he did his best to respond with studied nonchalance, needing to let her set the tone.
"Abigail." Damn it. He didn't mean for it to come out quite so sterile.
She observed him for a moment, then said quietly, "You scared Zoey."
An accusation? As if he had planned for this to happen?
It suddenly occurred to him that he wasn't really sure what exactly had happened. His last memory was a vague blur of watching his youngest daughter ride her horse, quizzing Charlie on national parks, and lecturing on Greek poetry. Of course, he could have dreamed every one of those things.
He chose not to respond. What good would it do, anyway? Maybe he wasn't dying after all. Even Abbey would refrain from the taunts in the face of certain death. At least he hoped she would.
Now the voice shifted to her clinical tone. "Charlie said you were in pain before you passed out."
At least the hate had dropped away for a moment. In fact, she allowed very little inflection in her tone at all. He shrugged, having no idea that Charlie was even there when he fainted. Really having no memory of fainting.
"What kind of pain?" she wanted to know. Dry, like a doctor. Any doctor.
Again, since he didn't remember the pain - But sarcasm would only irritate her, so he concentrated on how his body felt at the moment. Not so good.
"Headache," he decided. Could have been, after all, and he still had one.
"Focused or general?"
Pick one. "Focused. Behind my eye." The words came on their own, and he knew it must be the truth.
"Doctor Radford feels there may be some optic neuritis involved here."
"Yeah." He knew the term. It came with the MS territory.
"How do you feel now?"
Like he didn't want to be quizzed on how he felt by a woman who had to work so hard to be civil to him.
"Fine," he told her automatically. It was his standard answer. She never believed him.
A skeptical brow arched. "Right. You dizzy?"
They had been through this routine before. "No."
"Weak?"
"No." Wouldn't do any good to admit it.
"Vision blurred?"
"Uh uh."
"Still stubborn," she declared softly and stepped farther away from him, turning to stare out the windows into the main room.
He wanted to say something, needed to say something. He wanted to say how sorry he was, how hard it was to make the decision, how devastating it was to realize he had been the cause of suffering for his entire family. But he didn't know if she was ready, didn't know if he was ready.
"I'm sorry you had to come back," he told her instead. And he really was. He didn't want her back like this.
"I didn't have to come back."
"What?"
Still not looking at him, she shrugged. "I didn't have to come back. I chose to come back."
With effort, he held down the hope that popped into his chest. Maybe she was ready. Maybe this was the time for them to fix things. But he needed more from her, needed her to tell him what was happening. "I don't know what that means."
Now she did turn, and for the first time in weeks he saw a softening of that expression, a retreat from the harsh glares that cut him or the calm apathy that chilled him even more. His heart pounded as he waited for her to speak. The monitor echoed the increase.
"It means I've got to face you sometime. I've got to face what's happened."
"To Zoey?" But he knew that wasn't it.
"To us."
"To us," he repeated, fear twisting in his stomach. "Us." Whenever there was an "us" it usually wasn't good. "We" was much better than "us."
Her eyes flickered away from his face, toward the wall, and a heavy sigh tugged at her shoulders. Finally, her voice came at a whisper, and it touched him more than all of the yelling had ever done. "I thought - I thought I knew you, Jed. I thought after 35 years I couldn't learn anything more about you. But I was wrong." Her arms crossed, hugging her body as if it gave her the strength to say what she needed to say.
"Abbey - " She had to stop. He didn't think he could hear what she might be saying.
"I understand the decision," she told him, looking at him again, and he frowned in surprise. "I know why Shareef had to be killed."
What the hell -
"And I don't question that choice. It was probably the right choice for the President of the United States to make."
Stunned at this apparent 180 degree turn, he simply stared, trying to figure out what was next.
"But it was never a choice that the Josiah Bartlet I knew would have made. Never a decision that would have even occurred to the man I married. That man valued life supremely. That man was almost called to the cloth. That man cried at the births of his children, and the deaths of his pets. That man made love with a passion and a tenderness that broke my heart every time he touched me. That man would have never made such a decision. Not that man."
Tears streamed down his face, stinging his cheek. Her quiet declaration had kicked him in the gut. Nausea rose in his throat. She was right. Dear God, she was right. He had been that man. He had treasured life, not just his family's, but all humans.
What was the Donne quote? "Any man's death diminishes me because I am involved in mankind." Any man. Even Shareef.
How had he become someone else? How had he gotten to the point that he made such a decision, even if it was the right one for the President. How was it ever the right one for Jed Bartlet?
"Abbey," he choked. "If I had known - if I had seen - "
A slender hand came up to stop him. "No. If you had known, you would have done the same thing. You had no other choice. You are President of the United States." Her face remained composed, calm. He couldn't decide if it was better or worse than the anger that had hardened it for so long.
And was she still accusing or giving him an out? He couldn't tell.
Swallowing, he opened himself up. Might as well do it all now. "I know you blame me, Abbey." No revelation there. "You should."
Something flashed behind those keen eyes, something ephemeral that he almost missed. "Zoey thinks I shouldn't."
"Zoey?"
"She just gave me what for because I blame you, because you blame yourself."
A sudden urge to see his daughter washed over him and pushed his muscles to tense again, to attempt to sit. It was still a mistake.
"Damn it," he groaned as he tried to keep his skull from disintegrating.
This time, when he opened his eyes, she had moved closer. "Sharp pain?" she asked, not unkindly, but still without emotion.
He nodded, regretted it. "Is it an attack?"
Lips pursed, she sighed. "Maybe. At the very least you are suffering from sleep deprivation. Could have triggered a mild attack. You also did a number on your cheek as you passed the table in the Oval Office."
Wincing, he probed the tender wound again. That explained it.
"They promise a pretty scar."
It would be a good deal prettier than the deeper scar he knew would never heal, the scar that even now festered under the uncertainty of what she was saying, what she was doing. "Abbey, I know I should have told you - "
"We don't need to talk about this now," she decided.
"When the hell will we do it, then?" He couldn't stop his own surge of anger from boiling over into the tone. She had started this. She had dragged their buried turmoil to the surface. She would damn well listen to him.
"Not now." And the first sign of emotion colored that voice as she almost pleaded between gritted teeth. "Not now, Jed."
"Abbey, are you - "
"I'm here," she told him. "For now." Not an ultimatum, just a statement.
His muscles screamed for him to reach out for her, to grab her hand and pull her to him and hold her until he could make her find that man again, the one who cried at his children's births and his pets' deaths, the one who made love to her with the passion and tenderness that broke her heart. But he knew she didn't want the same thing, so he swallowed back the burning impulse and dug his fingers into the sheet, letting the fierce urge bleed out through the compulsive grip.
Don't walk out, Abbey. Don't go.
"I'm sure Zoey wants to see you. I'll send her in." At the door she turned and gave him a nod. "I'll be around."
Alone again with the persistent beeps of the monitor, he closed his eyes and pushed back the panic. He had never doubted Abbey's love for him, had never doubted his for her. They were joined by more than just physical attraction and fulfillment. They were one mind, one soul. At least they had been. But the mind had separated. And he had done it. It wouldn't take long for the mind to pry the soul apart, as well.
His fault.
"I'll be around," she had told him. "I'll be around."
But for how long, he wondered. For how long?
"Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee."
John Donne Meditation XVII Devotions Upon Emergent Occasions