POV: C.J.
Spoilers: Up through 4th season, plus "Jefferson Lives"
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I did not create these characters, but I love them.
No Heavier Burden - Chapter Ten: Protector of the President A West Wing Story
by MAHC
She was going to get fired, there was no doubt about it. This would be her last act as press secretary to the President of the United States. And the ironic thing would be that she was doing it for him. Her allegiance was to Josiah Bartlet, and she would protect him to the end - even if it meant that Abigail Bartlet tossed her out on her ass.
"She's leaving him," she had told Leo, knowing from his face it was true. Knowing those three words proclaimed the death sentence for Josiah Bartlet. Knowing that she had to do something, that she had to stop this tragedy from destroying not just one man, but a country.
C.J. Cregg had managed to slow her heart rate enough to breath regularly by the time she entered the private waiting room, guarded not so inconspicuously by a strong contingent of Secret Service. But their presence merely reminded her of why she was there, why HE was there. Her thoughts drifted back to the glimpses she had gotten of him in the past weeks. The drawn face, the haunted eyes, the hunched shoulders, the absence of mirth, of mischief, of warmth. This was the destruction of a man who, above all others, deserved not to be destroyed.
And now, pulling up in the middle of the room, she was looking directly at the main cause.
She stared at the back of the petite form for a long moment, noting that the First Lady seemed a bit disheveled, a loose jacket replacing the familiar smart suit coat, faded jeans displacing the short skirt, hiking books instead of three-inch pumps. She looked out the window, oblivious to anyone's entrance, lost in some tumultuous world of her own. For a moment, C.J. felt pity for her and knew she would hate that as much as her husband did.
Then she remembered: Abbey was leaving him. After everything they had been through. After Rosslyn, after Mrs. Landingham's death, after the MS disclosure, after the censure, after the triumph of the debates and the victorious election. After the torture of Zoey's abduction, after the agony of knowing his actions led to it, after handing his Presidency to the enemy, after the burden of bearing the harsh accusations from his entire family.
After all this, she was leaving him.
She wanted to scream, to shake the First Lady, to ask her what the hell she thought she was doing. But her brain warned her to play it calmly, to make the diplomatic approach, to appeal to the logic of the situation. Be subtle. Be reasonable.
Okay, deep breath. Easy now.
"What the hell do you think you are you doing?
All right. That wasn't quite how she had planned the moment. Someone had jumped right in there and taken over, and it sounded suspiciously like the soon-to-be-former press secretary to Jed Bartlet. So much for listening to her brain.
The First Lady spun around, eyes wide, jaw dropped. C.J. couldn't tell if she was reacting to the sound or the words or both. It didn't matter, though. The gauntlet had been thrown.
"Excuse me?" An innocent response, unless you saw the daggers in her eyes.
Well, hell. She was toast anyway. Go for it. "I, uh, I'm pretty sure I said 'what the hell do you think you are you doing'."
Now those famous green eyes narrowed and Abbey Bartlet stepped toward her, arms crossed, mouth pursed. When she had drawn within five feet of the taller woman, she said, "That's what I thought you said, too. What the hell ARE you doing, C.J.?"
Getting fired.
"Um, that's not really what I intended to say, Mrs. Bartlet," she offered, not as an apology, but because it was the truth. Abbey Bartlet, herself, had advised her once that the truth would do it every time.
"Really?" She dealt sarcasm as well as any of them.
"Yes. See, my plan was to, uh, well, Leo said that - " She broke off, furious with herself for faltering, but the First Lady was a formidable force, even though she was just standing there and even though C.J. had almost a foot's height advantage on her. As Jed Bartlet had proved many times, power and presence doesn't necessarily rely on physical stature. Gritting her teeth, she reminded herself that she possessed a bit of presence herself.
"Mrs. Bartlet, I serve at the pleasure of the President," she began and noted the confusion that crossed the older woman's face.
"Okay - " At least she was letting her talk.
"Part of my job is to protect the President. Usually, it's from bad press, or irritating reporters, or hot-headed staffers who speak out of turn on Crossfire."
"I know that, C.J. Has someone screwed up on Crossfire?"
With effort, she ignored the comment. "But sometimes it's from threats even closer. And I have to say that I've failed him this time, Mrs. Bartlet."
She could see it was not where the First Lady thought she was going. She had the upper hand, if only for a moment.
"What are you talking about, C.J.?"
"He's in danger, ma'am. He's in great danger, and I can't do anything about it."
"C.J., I'm sure you're making a point, but for the life of me, I'm not seeing it. You have something to say, say it." This was vintage Abbey Bartlet. To the point.
With a steadying breath, she laid it out. "Your husband is the President of the United States, Mrs. Bartlet."
"Really?"
Again, sarcasm would not deter her. She had that very weapon in her own arsenal. "When he took that oath of office, he promise to 'preserve, protect, and defend.'"
"I seem to recall being present." Those eyes flashed again. Only the boldest - or the most foolish - would plunge on. C.J. continued.
She wanted to ask what had happened to that, to being present, but it would be off subject and she needed to get through. "I have watched him 'preserve, protect, and defend' the Constitution and all of us for over four years, now. I have seen what it takes out of him to do it. I have seen the war between Jed Bartlet, the man, and Josiah Bartlet, the President."
"C.J., if you're planning to lecture me, I think I know what my husband has sacrificed to be - "
She cut her off, doomed anyway. "Every single day he faces decisions that impact the entire world. How many people can say that? One word from him sends stocks zooming or crashing, armies advancing or retreating, governments rising or falling. One word. What incredible power that is. What an incredible responsibility. What an incredible burden."
This time, the First Lady didn't speak when she paused. Only watched, her face dark, her eyes hard. But she had not thrown C.J. out yet, and she was still listening.
"He made the call about Shareef because he had to. As Josiah Bartlet, he had to take on the burden of sacrificing one life to saves thousands. As Jed Bartlet, he had to take on the burden of knowing that's what he had done."
Now the hard wall came up, and the First Lady lifted her chin. "This is none of your business, C.J."
"As protector of the President, ma'am, I think it is."
"As protector of the President? What have you done for him? What have any of you done except force him to be someone he isn't? Twist him into situations that tear him apart, that take him away from us."
From me. C.J. heard the unspoken addition. She swallowed, watching the emotions play across that elegant face before Abbey gathered herself again.
With obvious control, the First Lady took a breath and said, "You've protected him enough, C.J. He's made his own choices. He's on his own now."
"I'm not protecting him from those things, Mrs. Bartlet."
Those eyes looked at her, curious, wary. "What you are protecting him from?"
A beat. Deliver the clincher. "You."
She wasn't entirely sure she would have another chance to say anything, especially not if the Secret Service agents removed her bodily from the room. But no one moved. No one spoke. The First Lady had frozen, eyes boring into her. C.J. felt a moment of fear. Not physical fear, but fear that she had just destroyed her own relationship with Abbey Bartlet and that she would lose what she had with the President, too, since she would probably never see him again after today.
Deep breath. Too late to turn back now. "Mrs. Bartlet, I know this is not really my place - "
"No, it is not." The tone was cold, measured.
She had been told before, both by Abbey and by the President, that they didn't need a marriage counselor. They may have been right then. They were wrong now.
"Mrs. Bartlet, you haven't been here recently to see - "
"Again, Ms. Cregg," the First Lady said, and the warning signs were clear, "I don't believe this is your place."
"Abbey," she appealed finally, hoping the genuine emotion in her voice bought her a few more seconds.
It worked. The First Lady pursed her lips and waited.
"I can't imagine what you and the President have gone through. I can't even fathom what you were thinking, what you were feeling."
"No, you can't," she agreed.
"But I saw. I saw the cool, controlled Abigail Bartlet frantic with worry, consumed by fear. I saw a mother desperate to do anything to save her child. I saw a father struggling to choose between two impossible positions and make the only choice he could, an incredibly unselfish and noble choice that saved a country and his daughter. I saw a family torn apart by the actions of evil people."
"C.J., if you think this is helping - "
"Please, just let me say this."
Her silence was permission.
"And then, miraculously, I saw a child returned, a family reunited, a country spared the loss of its leader. We thought things would be all right. But they aren't, are they, Abbey?"
"Okay, here's where you're out of your jurisdiction - "
"They aren't. I know you blame the President. Everyone knows. And I can see how you would do that. I can see how the pain and the trauma would make you want to lash out at the person you could identify as the cause of that pain."
"C.J., I'm warning you - "
"He blames himself. Can't you see that? Have you gotten a good look at him lately? Have you seen what this has done to him?"
"This is not your job, C.J."
"Probably not for long, I know. But as long as it still is for a few more minutes, I'm going to say this." Sucking in another breath, she continued. "He knows what his decision cost. He knows that he was the catalyst that put into motion the abduction of his own daughter. He knows that he risked his family with that one call. And he knows if it happened again, he'd do the same thing. That's because he is the President of the United States, and sometimes Jed Bartlet has to sit down and watch Josiah Bartlet stand up to do the hard stuff."
The First Lady had turned away from her now, and C.J. wished she could see her face, to read her expression. But the stiff shoulders told her enough. Finishing out her final duty for Josiah Bartlet, she continued.
"But at the end of the day, he had one thing left, no matter what had happened. No matter how hard the decisions. No matter how painful the responsibility. He had one thing left."
Abbey still didn't move. C.J. played her last card.
"You, Abbey. He had you. And that made it all right. That made everything all right."
The shoulders lifted once, then settled back hard. Still silence.
"We have all admired what you have together. All of us. No one can be in a room with the both of you and not feel the electricity, the connection, the passion. I envy you such a relationship. It's what I used to dream of having, what so few people have. I think maybe I've missed my chance, but I can't stand by and see you throw that away. I can't watch you do this to him. To yourself."
One more shot. She could tell her time was growing short. This might be her last chance. Their last chance.
"I know you love him, Abbey. You may be furious with him, disappointed in him. But you still love him. And we might ask a lot of him, we might expect more of him than you want to give, but that's because we don't want to lose this chance, this rare opportunity for a truly great man to do great things. There are no other Jed Bartlets out there. We won't have this chance again."
She sighed and ran a hand across her forehead. "But we also don't want to lose him. I don't want to lose him. I love him, too, Abbey. He's not just my boss. He's my friend. He's - he's - I can't even really put into words what he is to me. To all of us."
Deep breath. Final plea. "So I'm asking you please not to do this. Please. And - that's - all I have to say."
The room remained silent for at least a full minute. C.J. searched for something else, for some magic word that would convince, that would persuade, that would heal. But nothing more came. She knew she was finished. Whatever happened now, she had done all she could.
Finally, the First Lady turned, slowly, with precision. Her face was unreadable, her eyes hard. "I think maybe you need to go now, C.J." Her voice was just as precise as her posture.
Yeah, go clean out my desk. I got it.
With only a slight hesitation, C.J. nodded once. "Yes, ma'am."
Regardless of how heavy her heart was, she was satisfied that she had done her duty, perhaps her final duty. She turned, head high, shoulders squared, and walked from the room.
No Heavier Burden - Chapter Ten: Protector of the President A West Wing Story
by MAHC
She was going to get fired, there was no doubt about it. This would be her last act as press secretary to the President of the United States. And the ironic thing would be that she was doing it for him. Her allegiance was to Josiah Bartlet, and she would protect him to the end - even if it meant that Abigail Bartlet tossed her out on her ass.
"She's leaving him," she had told Leo, knowing from his face it was true. Knowing those three words proclaimed the death sentence for Josiah Bartlet. Knowing that she had to do something, that she had to stop this tragedy from destroying not just one man, but a country.
C.J. Cregg had managed to slow her heart rate enough to breath regularly by the time she entered the private waiting room, guarded not so inconspicuously by a strong contingent of Secret Service. But their presence merely reminded her of why she was there, why HE was there. Her thoughts drifted back to the glimpses she had gotten of him in the past weeks. The drawn face, the haunted eyes, the hunched shoulders, the absence of mirth, of mischief, of warmth. This was the destruction of a man who, above all others, deserved not to be destroyed.
And now, pulling up in the middle of the room, she was looking directly at the main cause.
She stared at the back of the petite form for a long moment, noting that the First Lady seemed a bit disheveled, a loose jacket replacing the familiar smart suit coat, faded jeans displacing the short skirt, hiking books instead of three-inch pumps. She looked out the window, oblivious to anyone's entrance, lost in some tumultuous world of her own. For a moment, C.J. felt pity for her and knew she would hate that as much as her husband did.
Then she remembered: Abbey was leaving him. After everything they had been through. After Rosslyn, after Mrs. Landingham's death, after the MS disclosure, after the censure, after the triumph of the debates and the victorious election. After the torture of Zoey's abduction, after the agony of knowing his actions led to it, after handing his Presidency to the enemy, after the burden of bearing the harsh accusations from his entire family.
After all this, she was leaving him.
She wanted to scream, to shake the First Lady, to ask her what the hell she thought she was doing. But her brain warned her to play it calmly, to make the diplomatic approach, to appeal to the logic of the situation. Be subtle. Be reasonable.
Okay, deep breath. Easy now.
"What the hell do you think you are you doing?
All right. That wasn't quite how she had planned the moment. Someone had jumped right in there and taken over, and it sounded suspiciously like the soon-to-be-former press secretary to Jed Bartlet. So much for listening to her brain.
The First Lady spun around, eyes wide, jaw dropped. C.J. couldn't tell if she was reacting to the sound or the words or both. It didn't matter, though. The gauntlet had been thrown.
"Excuse me?" An innocent response, unless you saw the daggers in her eyes.
Well, hell. She was toast anyway. Go for it. "I, uh, I'm pretty sure I said 'what the hell do you think you are you doing'."
Now those famous green eyes narrowed and Abbey Bartlet stepped toward her, arms crossed, mouth pursed. When she had drawn within five feet of the taller woman, she said, "That's what I thought you said, too. What the hell ARE you doing, C.J.?"
Getting fired.
"Um, that's not really what I intended to say, Mrs. Bartlet," she offered, not as an apology, but because it was the truth. Abbey Bartlet, herself, had advised her once that the truth would do it every time.
"Really?" She dealt sarcasm as well as any of them.
"Yes. See, my plan was to, uh, well, Leo said that - " She broke off, furious with herself for faltering, but the First Lady was a formidable force, even though she was just standing there and even though C.J. had almost a foot's height advantage on her. As Jed Bartlet had proved many times, power and presence doesn't necessarily rely on physical stature. Gritting her teeth, she reminded herself that she possessed a bit of presence herself.
"Mrs. Bartlet, I serve at the pleasure of the President," she began and noted the confusion that crossed the older woman's face.
"Okay - " At least she was letting her talk.
"Part of my job is to protect the President. Usually, it's from bad press, or irritating reporters, or hot-headed staffers who speak out of turn on Crossfire."
"I know that, C.J. Has someone screwed up on Crossfire?"
With effort, she ignored the comment. "But sometimes it's from threats even closer. And I have to say that I've failed him this time, Mrs. Bartlet."
She could see it was not where the First Lady thought she was going. She had the upper hand, if only for a moment.
"What are you talking about, C.J.?"
"He's in danger, ma'am. He's in great danger, and I can't do anything about it."
"C.J., I'm sure you're making a point, but for the life of me, I'm not seeing it. You have something to say, say it." This was vintage Abbey Bartlet. To the point.
With a steadying breath, she laid it out. "Your husband is the President of the United States, Mrs. Bartlet."
"Really?"
Again, sarcasm would not deter her. She had that very weapon in her own arsenal. "When he took that oath of office, he promise to 'preserve, protect, and defend.'"
"I seem to recall being present." Those eyes flashed again. Only the boldest - or the most foolish - would plunge on. C.J. continued.
She wanted to ask what had happened to that, to being present, but it would be off subject and she needed to get through. "I have watched him 'preserve, protect, and defend' the Constitution and all of us for over four years, now. I have seen what it takes out of him to do it. I have seen the war between Jed Bartlet, the man, and Josiah Bartlet, the President."
"C.J., if you're planning to lecture me, I think I know what my husband has sacrificed to be - "
She cut her off, doomed anyway. "Every single day he faces decisions that impact the entire world. How many people can say that? One word from him sends stocks zooming or crashing, armies advancing or retreating, governments rising or falling. One word. What incredible power that is. What an incredible responsibility. What an incredible burden."
This time, the First Lady didn't speak when she paused. Only watched, her face dark, her eyes hard. But she had not thrown C.J. out yet, and she was still listening.
"He made the call about Shareef because he had to. As Josiah Bartlet, he had to take on the burden of sacrificing one life to saves thousands. As Jed Bartlet, he had to take on the burden of knowing that's what he had done."
Now the hard wall came up, and the First Lady lifted her chin. "This is none of your business, C.J."
"As protector of the President, ma'am, I think it is."
"As protector of the President? What have you done for him? What have any of you done except force him to be someone he isn't? Twist him into situations that tear him apart, that take him away from us."
From me. C.J. heard the unspoken addition. She swallowed, watching the emotions play across that elegant face before Abbey gathered herself again.
With obvious control, the First Lady took a breath and said, "You've protected him enough, C.J. He's made his own choices. He's on his own now."
"I'm not protecting him from those things, Mrs. Bartlet."
Those eyes looked at her, curious, wary. "What you are protecting him from?"
A beat. Deliver the clincher. "You."
She wasn't entirely sure she would have another chance to say anything, especially not if the Secret Service agents removed her bodily from the room. But no one moved. No one spoke. The First Lady had frozen, eyes boring into her. C.J. felt a moment of fear. Not physical fear, but fear that she had just destroyed her own relationship with Abbey Bartlet and that she would lose what she had with the President, too, since she would probably never see him again after today.
Deep breath. Too late to turn back now. "Mrs. Bartlet, I know this is not really my place - "
"No, it is not." The tone was cold, measured.
She had been told before, both by Abbey and by the President, that they didn't need a marriage counselor. They may have been right then. They were wrong now.
"Mrs. Bartlet, you haven't been here recently to see - "
"Again, Ms. Cregg," the First Lady said, and the warning signs were clear, "I don't believe this is your place."
"Abbey," she appealed finally, hoping the genuine emotion in her voice bought her a few more seconds.
It worked. The First Lady pursed her lips and waited.
"I can't imagine what you and the President have gone through. I can't even fathom what you were thinking, what you were feeling."
"No, you can't," she agreed.
"But I saw. I saw the cool, controlled Abigail Bartlet frantic with worry, consumed by fear. I saw a mother desperate to do anything to save her child. I saw a father struggling to choose between two impossible positions and make the only choice he could, an incredibly unselfish and noble choice that saved a country and his daughter. I saw a family torn apart by the actions of evil people."
"C.J., if you think this is helping - "
"Please, just let me say this."
Her silence was permission.
"And then, miraculously, I saw a child returned, a family reunited, a country spared the loss of its leader. We thought things would be all right. But they aren't, are they, Abbey?"
"Okay, here's where you're out of your jurisdiction - "
"They aren't. I know you blame the President. Everyone knows. And I can see how you would do that. I can see how the pain and the trauma would make you want to lash out at the person you could identify as the cause of that pain."
"C.J., I'm warning you - "
"He blames himself. Can't you see that? Have you gotten a good look at him lately? Have you seen what this has done to him?"
"This is not your job, C.J."
"Probably not for long, I know. But as long as it still is for a few more minutes, I'm going to say this." Sucking in another breath, she continued. "He knows what his decision cost. He knows that he was the catalyst that put into motion the abduction of his own daughter. He knows that he risked his family with that one call. And he knows if it happened again, he'd do the same thing. That's because he is the President of the United States, and sometimes Jed Bartlet has to sit down and watch Josiah Bartlet stand up to do the hard stuff."
The First Lady had turned away from her now, and C.J. wished she could see her face, to read her expression. But the stiff shoulders told her enough. Finishing out her final duty for Josiah Bartlet, she continued.
"But at the end of the day, he had one thing left, no matter what had happened. No matter how hard the decisions. No matter how painful the responsibility. He had one thing left."
Abbey still didn't move. C.J. played her last card.
"You, Abbey. He had you. And that made it all right. That made everything all right."
The shoulders lifted once, then settled back hard. Still silence.
"We have all admired what you have together. All of us. No one can be in a room with the both of you and not feel the electricity, the connection, the passion. I envy you such a relationship. It's what I used to dream of having, what so few people have. I think maybe I've missed my chance, but I can't stand by and see you throw that away. I can't watch you do this to him. To yourself."
One more shot. She could tell her time was growing short. This might be her last chance. Their last chance.
"I know you love him, Abbey. You may be furious with him, disappointed in him. But you still love him. And we might ask a lot of him, we might expect more of him than you want to give, but that's because we don't want to lose this chance, this rare opportunity for a truly great man to do great things. There are no other Jed Bartlets out there. We won't have this chance again."
She sighed and ran a hand across her forehead. "But we also don't want to lose him. I don't want to lose him. I love him, too, Abbey. He's not just my boss. He's my friend. He's - he's - I can't even really put into words what he is to me. To all of us."
Deep breath. Final plea. "So I'm asking you please not to do this. Please. And - that's - all I have to say."
The room remained silent for at least a full minute. C.J. searched for something else, for some magic word that would convince, that would persuade, that would heal. But nothing more came. She knew she was finished. Whatever happened now, she had done all she could.
Finally, the First Lady turned, slowly, with precision. Her face was unreadable, her eyes hard. "I think maybe you need to go now, C.J." Her voice was just as precise as her posture.
Yeah, go clean out my desk. I got it.
With only a slight hesitation, C.J. nodded once. "Yes, ma'am."
Regardless of how heavy her heart was, she was satisfied that she had done her duty, perhaps her final duty. She turned, head high, shoulders squared, and walked from the room.