POV: Abbey
Spoilers: "White House Pro Am;" "Jefferson Lives"
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, but I would volunteer to John
Wells to be their caretaker.
No Heavier Burden - Chapter Twelve: Just Stand There in Your Wrongness A West Wing Story
by MAHC
Damn C.J. Cregg.
Damn Leo McGarry.
Damn Zoey Bartlet, even.
But as she stood at the window, staring out into the gray marbles of Washington, D.C., Abbey Bartlet had already come to the conclusion that there was only one person to damn.
Herself.
Yes, she was mad as hell at Jed. Yes, he should have told her about Shareef, at least when it became apparent that the decision could have led to Zoey's abduction. Yes, he was a stubborn son of a bitch.
And, yes, she loved him so much her heart burned inside her chest.
Zoey, Leo, C.J. Their bold words served only to remind her of what she already knew deep down. She had been wrong.
Not that this revelation vindicated what Jed had done. Not that he hadn't been wrong, as well. But she had been wrong. And now it was time to right that wrong.
A smirk involuntarily curved her lips as she remembered another rare time when she admitted fault. Their first Oval Office fight, Jed had christened it, when the emotions had settled. It was mixed up with Ron Erlich's appointment, a fight for the news cycle, and general miscommunication. The main argument revolved around her leaking her preference for her former boyfriend to be named new Chairman of the Federal Reserve, and Jed trying to track down the source before he realized her direct role.
"Jed, we share a bed," she had declared, furious that he would use his staff to send her a message. "Why didn't you just come to me?"
"I staffed it out to C.J." His tone spoke of trying to convince himself as well as her.
"You staffed it out?"
"That's right."
She let her anger show, knowing he had already recognized his mistake. "You don't staff me out. You don't give C.J. signals. You don't send Sam, and you don't bring Danny Concanon up here. Don't handle me, Jed."
His response had been more volatile than she expected. "Well, don't play me, Abbey! Don't work me."
They had argued about Ron for a bit. Even through her anger she was a little pleased to see that Jed could still be jealous over a long-finished romance. But they worked their way through everything and finally wound down. With tempers cooler, she felt the urge to give in some.
As he walked around behind his desk, she suggested that he ease up on the high ground.
Surprisingly, he gave a little himself, agreeing as he gazed out the windows. "On that point I concede the high ground."
His willingness to negotiate inspired her to admit, "And I concede I was wrong about the thing."
Turning, he looked at her, surprise on his face. "Good."
"However - "
But he stepped closer and cut her off, wagging a finger. "No. No however. Just be wrong. Just stand there in your wrongness and be wrong and get used to it."
She had made her point anyway, and their first Oval Office fight had ended later that evening with a memorable session of make-up sex that left both of them physically drained but emotionally refreshed.
The gray structures of D.C. refocused before her as she let her thoughts return to present. With resolve that she had not felt for a long time, she drew a deep breath and let the energy of anticipation fill her lungs, tingling through to her fingertips. Turning crisply, she squared her shoulders and stepped toward the hallway doors. Jed would get his absolution - well, at least forgiveness. And when he felt better, he'd get more than that. She grinned at the prospect, feeling another type of tingle tease her body at the thought. She had missed him so much.
"Mrs. Bartlet?"
Even if she had not heard the urgency in the voice, she could not have missed the alarm that flushed the face of the young physician who approached her, white coat billowing out behind him in his rush. Even the Secret Service agents tensed around her.
"Yes?" Calm, remain calm. But instincts told her she would have to work at it as soon as he opened his mouth.
"Mrs. Bartlet, I'm Alan Cowan. I'm Dr. Radford's partner."
"What's happened?"
If he was surprised at all by her perception, he didn't show it. "Ma'am, I don't want to alarm you - "
Well, too damn late for that.
"The President - " He faltered, cleared his throat and tried again. "I need you to come with me."
A flush of terror, of anticipation for the worst, of the most dreaded pronouncement, flashed across her skin, blurring her vision momentarily until she reached down and grabbed control of her racing heart. Somehow, she managed not to scream when she ordered, "Tell me."
His eyes revealed the regret he felt at being the messenger. "The President - the President's condition is deteriorating."
Deteriorating? What a horrible word. A word she had dreaded for over ten years now. "How?" she asked, already moving toward the hallway, toward Jed.
Striding to catch up with her, he said, "He's - he's not responding to verbal or physical stimulation and pupils are slow to contract when exposed to light."
Dear God. He was fine earlier. Well, not fine, but okay. Conscious at least.
"You've done an electroencephalogram, a blood deferential, an MRI?" Her mind automatically began listing the possible tests to run to determine cause.
"We did a CBC, and found him to be slightly anemic, but not enough to cause unconsciousness." He paused, took a deep breath, and added the worst of it. "The EEG was more telling. Brain activity is - sluggish, weak."
She swallowed, didn't want to ask the next question, but forced it out. "Coma?"
Mercifully, the younger man shook his head. "Not yet."
Not yet. Dear God. Dear God, please don't let him die.
"BP?" Who was this calm, collected person responding?
"Low. 86 over 55."
"What caused it?" They were almost sprinting now, unable to reach their destination soon enough. He had been okay an hour ago. What the hell had happened?
But no answers were forthcoming. "I - I don't know, Mrs. Bartlet. We can't find anything - physical."
Turning, she clutched at his arms with both hands, forcing him to stop. "What do you mean - physical? What are you telling me?"
Clearly uncomfortable with what he was about to say, the doctor swallowed but maintained eye contact. "I mean that whatever is happening to the President seems to be - a result of his own will."
His own will? He was doing this to himself? He was killing himself? Was that possible? Then she remembered who this was and swore fiercely.
"Son of a bitch!" She did not doubt that Jed had enough stubborn in him to do it.
Despair turned to anger. Anger at herself, anger at him. Damn you, Josiah Bartlet, if you leave me like this I will track you down in Heaven and drag you back to Hell with me, because that's probably where I'll be.
Then they were at the room, bursting through the doors, and she almost stumbled at her first sight of the ashen figure on the bed. Any anger fled with the horror of reality. Color had drained from his skin, his chest rose only in minimal, shallow breaths, his eyelashes cast shadows on pallid cheeks. Heedless of anyone else in the room, she fell against the rail, catching up his hand in hers, shuddering at the clammy, dying cold of his flesh.
"Oh, Jed," she murmured. "Don't do this."
She ran her hand through his hair, tousled and wild from where they had attached the electrodes to his head for the EEG. Frantic, she searched for an answer, for some way to reach him. But her only weapon now was herself.
"Mrs. Bartlet," the doctor offered gently, "We've got our best team on this. Dr. Radford is examining the results more closely. Admiral Hackett is working with him, as well as - "
"Leave us alone." Short, brutal, but she didn't have time anymore for courtesy.
"Ma'am?"
Without turning, she repeated, teeth gritted, "Leave us alone."
"But - "
"Now."
He didn't answer, but after a moment, she heard the door close softly. It was just them now. Just Jed and Abbey. As it had been in the beginning. Just two souls joined for a lifetime of love, of friendship, of decisions. Decisions. That was what had gotten them into this mess in the first place, wasn't it? His decisions. Not hers.
But she had made some, too. She had left. She had taken his little girl. Didn't matter that it was for her own good, at least that's what she had told him. He knew why she was gone. And he knew what he had done.
You would think he would have learned by now it was the thing she hated most: being left out. Not knowing. And it wasn't a matter of jealousy over power. They had always shared their thoughts, their decisions. Until the White House. Until his days became filled with secret missions and Sit Room briefings that he couldn't share, and he had borne the burden alone. Maybe that was it, even more than being left out - knowing that he didn't - or couldn't - trust her to take some of the load for him. Was he afraid it would make him less of a man if he let her help? Would it have made him less of a Bartlet?
Then she knew she had been wrong before. There was one area that he had never shared completely with her, an area she had probed only on rare and ephemeral occasions: the relationship with his father. That would probably always remain incomplete to her. From the few glimpses he had allowed into that dark window, she had determined that there must be much more - possibly even things he himself had chosen to forget. But she had long ago realized that, regardless of how much he achieved, he still felt the need to succeed, to prove his father's criticisms wrong, to please the man who, for good or bad, had raised him. It didn't matter that John Bartlet was selfish and insecure, and not even half the man his son had become. For someone so brilliant, so witty, so compassionate, so seemingly confident, there was a deep seed of insecurity within Jed Bartlet that his father had planted so many years ago, and that all the success in the world - and he had come pretty close to all of it - would never totally destroy.
Why had she not seen that? Why had she not realized that he still battled those old wounds, still questioned himself, still took the blame for all the evil in the universe squarely on his shoulders?
Her thoughts returned to the events at hand. Recent voices clashed in her brain, reminding, scolding, pleading, warning.
C.J.'s compassion. C.J.'s courage to risk her wrath for him - for them. "You, Abbey. He had you. And that made it all right. That made everything all right."
Zoey's torn accusation, her own trauma too close not to hurt still. "Don't you know that he feels the same, that he blames himself for what happened? That you have just heaped coals on his head when he had already dumped the entire furnace there?"
Jed's own confession. "I know you blame me, Abbey. You should."
And the worst. Leo's prophesy. "Then you condemn him to death. Because he can't survive without you, Abbey."
Is that what she had done? The one person he needed. The only person who could truly give him absolution. Had she pronounced his sentence?
Clutching his hand in a literal death grip, she concentrated on forcing her very life into his body to bring him back from the abyss, from the edge, from eternity without her.
She didn't know if he could hear her, had never really understood, even with her years of medical experience, how the mind worked when turned deeply within itself. Thoracic surgeons dealt mainly with the concrete. Arteries either worked or they didn't. Lungs sent oxygen or they didn't. But the mind, the soul? And this was Jed's mind she was trying to reach. Still, she had to try, had to believe he would respond to her, no matter what she had done before. So she began talking, long rambling sentences that kept flowing from her lips, desperate that she should reach him, that she could stop this spiral into oblivion that sucked him away from her.
"Jed, don't you dare do this. I know you have to win, but this is not the way. You son of a bitch, I am telling you that I will fight you every step to Hell."
She squeezed his hand again. It lay limp and cold in her grip. She pulled moments from her memory, moments they had shared, moments that might trigger some reaction that could break through to him.
"Do you remember that time the girls stayed with my parents and we went to Nantucket? Just the two of us? And we stay naked half the time because it was a private beach? And the Coast Guard skiff caught us skinny dipping off my brother's catamaran? Do you remember that, Jed?"
Her fingers slipped to his wrist, counted the pulse beats. Lethargic. Far too few. Massaging his hand, she fell back into the chatter.
"What about our first night in the governor's mansion? What about that? We were a little drunk on champagne and a lot drunk on victory. You and Liz were singing "We Are the Champions" at the tops of your lungs. Remember that?"
His skin had grown chalky now, his pulse even more labored. She released his hand and leaned over the bed, slipping an arm under his back and pulling him close into her embrace. He would not leave her easily, she would make sure of that.
Choking now on the sobs that caught in her throat, she rocked back and forth with her burden, rubbing his skin in a futile attempt to warm him, to bring life back to him.
"What do you want from me, Jed? Do you want me to say you were right? Well, damn it, I'll say it. You were right. You didn't have any other choice but to kill Shareef. It was the right decision. I know that. Didn't you see? I just wanted you to talk to me, to let me know what was happening. To let me help you. I just wanted to be with you like we used to be."
The beep of the machinery slowed. She tried to ignore what that meant, forced her complete consciousness on him.
"I'm losing you, Jed. I've been losing you since that first oath of office, and I can't bear it. I need you back. I need you to be my husband again. I need you to hold me again. I need you to make me laugh. I need you to spar with me about church, about politics, about the kids. I need you to kiss me again like you used to, so that I didn't want to feel anything else but your lips heating my skin. I need you to make love to me, Jed. I need that passion and that tenderness again. I miss you. Dear God, I miss you. I know it's my fault. I know I pushed you away. I can't change that, just like you can't change what you've done. But I want to move ahead now. And I can't do that without you."
She was sobbing now, burying her face against his neck, holding his body against hers as her hands ran through his hair, down his shoulders. She had poured out everything, had held nothing back. But was it enough? Would it keep him here? Was that even possible? The physician in her ridiculed her illogical efforts, but the wife, the lover clawed at the only thing she had left. He could not leave her. He simply could not leave.
Please, God!
She wasn't sure how long she lay there, her body draped across her husband's, her arms cradling him, but she knew it couldn't last forever. Eventually they would return. Eventually, she would have to face reality.
"Mrs. Bartlet?" It took several moments before she realized someone had come back into the room. The doctor could have been standing there for seconds or minutes or longer. She decided she didn't care which.
She didn't answer. What could he do, anyway?
"Mrs. Bartlet?" he repeated.
"Mom?" She might ignore him, but the voice of her youngest daughter was another matter. Had Zoey heard this? Had she watched her mother break down in despair over her father's death? Hadn't they put her through enough already without that?
"Mom, let go." Hands reached down, firmly but gently, to pry her away from her husband.
So it was time. The moment had come. Strangely enough, it wasn't how she had imagined it. Still, she found she couldn't quite make herself loosen the grip she had on Jed's body.
Stronger hands joined Zoey's and helped her give up the fight. She bit back a moan as her fingers slipped from him. A blackness poured into her soul and she collapsed backwards, caught by gentle arms.
"It's okay, Abbey." Leo eased her into a chair, not letting go until he was sure she would stay there.
Well, they were all here, then, at the end. And they had probably witnessed her final, pitiful, undignified plea for Jed not to leave them. Like it had done one damn bit of good.
With a fortifying breath, she took hold of her wits because that was what she would be expected to do. That was what Jed would want her to do. She was the First Lady, after all. At least for a little while longer. "Contact Liz and Ellie," she instructed whoever chose to listen. "They'll need to make arrangements to come. Has anyone called Russell?"
"Russell who?"
Glancing up, she looked into the bemused eyes of C.J. Cregg. Forgetting their earlier confrontation, she took another breath to clarify. Maybe they were just all in a state of shock. "The Vice-President."
"He's still standing by," Leo answered. "As before."
As before? "But now - "
"Now what?" That was the doctor again, and finally the change in his tone registered. The alarm was gone, but no sorrow replaced it, no regret clouded it. He sounded almost - happy.
How could he be happy - unless -
"But Jed - the President is - "
"Better," he finished for her.
Stunned, she simply stared at him until he smiled and gestured toward the bed.
"Look," he instructed.
Bracing herself against the false hope that pushed inside her, she looked. He still lay there, eyes closed, but something was different. His skin, she realized. Pale, but not chalky, not with the pinched look of death. And his chest rose and fell in an easily visible rhythm. The heart monitor beeped with regularity. But the best sign was the twitching of his hand and the soft moans that signaled a return to consciousness.
In years to come she would try to describe the sensation of that moment, but words never seemed adequate to the task. Elation, gratitude, humility, hope. All those, but so much more.
Rising on shaky legs, she stepped back to the rail, oblivious now of the others, even of Zoey. "Jed?" She touched his face tenderly, delighted to feel the warmth return.
"We'll be outside," Leo said, but she barely heard him.
She watched as her husband struggled up through the layers that had almost snuffed out his life, held his face until those blue eyes that had first stolen her breath and her heart so many years ago looked at her again.
He stared at her a moment, searching her face, reaching into her soul as he had always been able to do. She couldn't speak yet, didn't trust her voice to support actual words. Finally, the lines about his eyes crinkled and he nodded, just a slight movement that served well enough.
"Abbey." A whisper. A caress. "You still here?"
If her heart hadn't already been torn apart, that would have been enough to do it. As it was, she just clutched the ragged pieces of it and began the process of suturing it back together - of suturing both of their hearts back together.
As her fingers brushed his jaw, she nodded. "I'm still here. You just trying getting rid of me."
A short breath jerked his chest. A laugh, she realized. "Thought I'd already done that."
The tears trailed down her cheeks as she shook her head. "You just thought, Jethro. You're gonna have to work harder than that to run me off for good."
"I've - always been a hard worker," he quipped, voice weak, but even.
"I don't think even you can work that hard, Jackass," she promised.
He didn't say anything else, but his eyes stayed open, watching her, as if he couldn't believe she was really there.
Guilt pushed at her, but she refused to accept it. They had both drawn in enough of that to poison everyone. No looking back. No references to broken promises. No regrets. What was done, was done.
As they remained silent, content just to be in each other's company, she leaned in to kiss him, their first intimate touch since Zoey's abduction. It was soft, barely a brush of her lips to his, but it promised much more.
Later.
Now, it was enough.
No Heavier Burden - Chapter Twelve: Just Stand There in Your Wrongness A West Wing Story
by MAHC
Damn C.J. Cregg.
Damn Leo McGarry.
Damn Zoey Bartlet, even.
But as she stood at the window, staring out into the gray marbles of Washington, D.C., Abbey Bartlet had already come to the conclusion that there was only one person to damn.
Herself.
Yes, she was mad as hell at Jed. Yes, he should have told her about Shareef, at least when it became apparent that the decision could have led to Zoey's abduction. Yes, he was a stubborn son of a bitch.
And, yes, she loved him so much her heart burned inside her chest.
Zoey, Leo, C.J. Their bold words served only to remind her of what she already knew deep down. She had been wrong.
Not that this revelation vindicated what Jed had done. Not that he hadn't been wrong, as well. But she had been wrong. And now it was time to right that wrong.
A smirk involuntarily curved her lips as she remembered another rare time when she admitted fault. Their first Oval Office fight, Jed had christened it, when the emotions had settled. It was mixed up with Ron Erlich's appointment, a fight for the news cycle, and general miscommunication. The main argument revolved around her leaking her preference for her former boyfriend to be named new Chairman of the Federal Reserve, and Jed trying to track down the source before he realized her direct role.
"Jed, we share a bed," she had declared, furious that he would use his staff to send her a message. "Why didn't you just come to me?"
"I staffed it out to C.J." His tone spoke of trying to convince himself as well as her.
"You staffed it out?"
"That's right."
She let her anger show, knowing he had already recognized his mistake. "You don't staff me out. You don't give C.J. signals. You don't send Sam, and you don't bring Danny Concanon up here. Don't handle me, Jed."
His response had been more volatile than she expected. "Well, don't play me, Abbey! Don't work me."
They had argued about Ron for a bit. Even through her anger she was a little pleased to see that Jed could still be jealous over a long-finished romance. But they worked their way through everything and finally wound down. With tempers cooler, she felt the urge to give in some.
As he walked around behind his desk, she suggested that he ease up on the high ground.
Surprisingly, he gave a little himself, agreeing as he gazed out the windows. "On that point I concede the high ground."
His willingness to negotiate inspired her to admit, "And I concede I was wrong about the thing."
Turning, he looked at her, surprise on his face. "Good."
"However - "
But he stepped closer and cut her off, wagging a finger. "No. No however. Just be wrong. Just stand there in your wrongness and be wrong and get used to it."
She had made her point anyway, and their first Oval Office fight had ended later that evening with a memorable session of make-up sex that left both of them physically drained but emotionally refreshed.
The gray structures of D.C. refocused before her as she let her thoughts return to present. With resolve that she had not felt for a long time, she drew a deep breath and let the energy of anticipation fill her lungs, tingling through to her fingertips. Turning crisply, she squared her shoulders and stepped toward the hallway doors. Jed would get his absolution - well, at least forgiveness. And when he felt better, he'd get more than that. She grinned at the prospect, feeling another type of tingle tease her body at the thought. She had missed him so much.
"Mrs. Bartlet?"
Even if she had not heard the urgency in the voice, she could not have missed the alarm that flushed the face of the young physician who approached her, white coat billowing out behind him in his rush. Even the Secret Service agents tensed around her.
"Yes?" Calm, remain calm. But instincts told her she would have to work at it as soon as he opened his mouth.
"Mrs. Bartlet, I'm Alan Cowan. I'm Dr. Radford's partner."
"What's happened?"
If he was surprised at all by her perception, he didn't show it. "Ma'am, I don't want to alarm you - "
Well, too damn late for that.
"The President - " He faltered, cleared his throat and tried again. "I need you to come with me."
A flush of terror, of anticipation for the worst, of the most dreaded pronouncement, flashed across her skin, blurring her vision momentarily until she reached down and grabbed control of her racing heart. Somehow, she managed not to scream when she ordered, "Tell me."
His eyes revealed the regret he felt at being the messenger. "The President - the President's condition is deteriorating."
Deteriorating? What a horrible word. A word she had dreaded for over ten years now. "How?" she asked, already moving toward the hallway, toward Jed.
Striding to catch up with her, he said, "He's - he's not responding to verbal or physical stimulation and pupils are slow to contract when exposed to light."
Dear God. He was fine earlier. Well, not fine, but okay. Conscious at least.
"You've done an electroencephalogram, a blood deferential, an MRI?" Her mind automatically began listing the possible tests to run to determine cause.
"We did a CBC, and found him to be slightly anemic, but not enough to cause unconsciousness." He paused, took a deep breath, and added the worst of it. "The EEG was more telling. Brain activity is - sluggish, weak."
She swallowed, didn't want to ask the next question, but forced it out. "Coma?"
Mercifully, the younger man shook his head. "Not yet."
Not yet. Dear God. Dear God, please don't let him die.
"BP?" Who was this calm, collected person responding?
"Low. 86 over 55."
"What caused it?" They were almost sprinting now, unable to reach their destination soon enough. He had been okay an hour ago. What the hell had happened?
But no answers were forthcoming. "I - I don't know, Mrs. Bartlet. We can't find anything - physical."
Turning, she clutched at his arms with both hands, forcing him to stop. "What do you mean - physical? What are you telling me?"
Clearly uncomfortable with what he was about to say, the doctor swallowed but maintained eye contact. "I mean that whatever is happening to the President seems to be - a result of his own will."
His own will? He was doing this to himself? He was killing himself? Was that possible? Then she remembered who this was and swore fiercely.
"Son of a bitch!" She did not doubt that Jed had enough stubborn in him to do it.
Despair turned to anger. Anger at herself, anger at him. Damn you, Josiah Bartlet, if you leave me like this I will track you down in Heaven and drag you back to Hell with me, because that's probably where I'll be.
Then they were at the room, bursting through the doors, and she almost stumbled at her first sight of the ashen figure on the bed. Any anger fled with the horror of reality. Color had drained from his skin, his chest rose only in minimal, shallow breaths, his eyelashes cast shadows on pallid cheeks. Heedless of anyone else in the room, she fell against the rail, catching up his hand in hers, shuddering at the clammy, dying cold of his flesh.
"Oh, Jed," she murmured. "Don't do this."
She ran her hand through his hair, tousled and wild from where they had attached the electrodes to his head for the EEG. Frantic, she searched for an answer, for some way to reach him. But her only weapon now was herself.
"Mrs. Bartlet," the doctor offered gently, "We've got our best team on this. Dr. Radford is examining the results more closely. Admiral Hackett is working with him, as well as - "
"Leave us alone." Short, brutal, but she didn't have time anymore for courtesy.
"Ma'am?"
Without turning, she repeated, teeth gritted, "Leave us alone."
"But - "
"Now."
He didn't answer, but after a moment, she heard the door close softly. It was just them now. Just Jed and Abbey. As it had been in the beginning. Just two souls joined for a lifetime of love, of friendship, of decisions. Decisions. That was what had gotten them into this mess in the first place, wasn't it? His decisions. Not hers.
But she had made some, too. She had left. She had taken his little girl. Didn't matter that it was for her own good, at least that's what she had told him. He knew why she was gone. And he knew what he had done.
You would think he would have learned by now it was the thing she hated most: being left out. Not knowing. And it wasn't a matter of jealousy over power. They had always shared their thoughts, their decisions. Until the White House. Until his days became filled with secret missions and Sit Room briefings that he couldn't share, and he had borne the burden alone. Maybe that was it, even more than being left out - knowing that he didn't - or couldn't - trust her to take some of the load for him. Was he afraid it would make him less of a man if he let her help? Would it have made him less of a Bartlet?
Then she knew she had been wrong before. There was one area that he had never shared completely with her, an area she had probed only on rare and ephemeral occasions: the relationship with his father. That would probably always remain incomplete to her. From the few glimpses he had allowed into that dark window, she had determined that there must be much more - possibly even things he himself had chosen to forget. But she had long ago realized that, regardless of how much he achieved, he still felt the need to succeed, to prove his father's criticisms wrong, to please the man who, for good or bad, had raised him. It didn't matter that John Bartlet was selfish and insecure, and not even half the man his son had become. For someone so brilliant, so witty, so compassionate, so seemingly confident, there was a deep seed of insecurity within Jed Bartlet that his father had planted so many years ago, and that all the success in the world - and he had come pretty close to all of it - would never totally destroy.
Why had she not seen that? Why had she not realized that he still battled those old wounds, still questioned himself, still took the blame for all the evil in the universe squarely on his shoulders?
Her thoughts returned to the events at hand. Recent voices clashed in her brain, reminding, scolding, pleading, warning.
C.J.'s compassion. C.J.'s courage to risk her wrath for him - for them. "You, Abbey. He had you. And that made it all right. That made everything all right."
Zoey's torn accusation, her own trauma too close not to hurt still. "Don't you know that he feels the same, that he blames himself for what happened? That you have just heaped coals on his head when he had already dumped the entire furnace there?"
Jed's own confession. "I know you blame me, Abbey. You should."
And the worst. Leo's prophesy. "Then you condemn him to death. Because he can't survive without you, Abbey."
Is that what she had done? The one person he needed. The only person who could truly give him absolution. Had she pronounced his sentence?
Clutching his hand in a literal death grip, she concentrated on forcing her very life into his body to bring him back from the abyss, from the edge, from eternity without her.
She didn't know if he could hear her, had never really understood, even with her years of medical experience, how the mind worked when turned deeply within itself. Thoracic surgeons dealt mainly with the concrete. Arteries either worked or they didn't. Lungs sent oxygen or they didn't. But the mind, the soul? And this was Jed's mind she was trying to reach. Still, she had to try, had to believe he would respond to her, no matter what she had done before. So she began talking, long rambling sentences that kept flowing from her lips, desperate that she should reach him, that she could stop this spiral into oblivion that sucked him away from her.
"Jed, don't you dare do this. I know you have to win, but this is not the way. You son of a bitch, I am telling you that I will fight you every step to Hell."
She squeezed his hand again. It lay limp and cold in her grip. She pulled moments from her memory, moments they had shared, moments that might trigger some reaction that could break through to him.
"Do you remember that time the girls stayed with my parents and we went to Nantucket? Just the two of us? And we stay naked half the time because it was a private beach? And the Coast Guard skiff caught us skinny dipping off my brother's catamaran? Do you remember that, Jed?"
Her fingers slipped to his wrist, counted the pulse beats. Lethargic. Far too few. Massaging his hand, she fell back into the chatter.
"What about our first night in the governor's mansion? What about that? We were a little drunk on champagne and a lot drunk on victory. You and Liz were singing "We Are the Champions" at the tops of your lungs. Remember that?"
His skin had grown chalky now, his pulse even more labored. She released his hand and leaned over the bed, slipping an arm under his back and pulling him close into her embrace. He would not leave her easily, she would make sure of that.
Choking now on the sobs that caught in her throat, she rocked back and forth with her burden, rubbing his skin in a futile attempt to warm him, to bring life back to him.
"What do you want from me, Jed? Do you want me to say you were right? Well, damn it, I'll say it. You were right. You didn't have any other choice but to kill Shareef. It was the right decision. I know that. Didn't you see? I just wanted you to talk to me, to let me know what was happening. To let me help you. I just wanted to be with you like we used to be."
The beep of the machinery slowed. She tried to ignore what that meant, forced her complete consciousness on him.
"I'm losing you, Jed. I've been losing you since that first oath of office, and I can't bear it. I need you back. I need you to be my husband again. I need you to hold me again. I need you to make me laugh. I need you to spar with me about church, about politics, about the kids. I need you to kiss me again like you used to, so that I didn't want to feel anything else but your lips heating my skin. I need you to make love to me, Jed. I need that passion and that tenderness again. I miss you. Dear God, I miss you. I know it's my fault. I know I pushed you away. I can't change that, just like you can't change what you've done. But I want to move ahead now. And I can't do that without you."
She was sobbing now, burying her face against his neck, holding his body against hers as her hands ran through his hair, down his shoulders. She had poured out everything, had held nothing back. But was it enough? Would it keep him here? Was that even possible? The physician in her ridiculed her illogical efforts, but the wife, the lover clawed at the only thing she had left. He could not leave her. He simply could not leave.
Please, God!
She wasn't sure how long she lay there, her body draped across her husband's, her arms cradling him, but she knew it couldn't last forever. Eventually they would return. Eventually, she would have to face reality.
"Mrs. Bartlet?" It took several moments before she realized someone had come back into the room. The doctor could have been standing there for seconds or minutes or longer. She decided she didn't care which.
She didn't answer. What could he do, anyway?
"Mrs. Bartlet?" he repeated.
"Mom?" She might ignore him, but the voice of her youngest daughter was another matter. Had Zoey heard this? Had she watched her mother break down in despair over her father's death? Hadn't they put her through enough already without that?
"Mom, let go." Hands reached down, firmly but gently, to pry her away from her husband.
So it was time. The moment had come. Strangely enough, it wasn't how she had imagined it. Still, she found she couldn't quite make herself loosen the grip she had on Jed's body.
Stronger hands joined Zoey's and helped her give up the fight. She bit back a moan as her fingers slipped from him. A blackness poured into her soul and she collapsed backwards, caught by gentle arms.
"It's okay, Abbey." Leo eased her into a chair, not letting go until he was sure she would stay there.
Well, they were all here, then, at the end. And they had probably witnessed her final, pitiful, undignified plea for Jed not to leave them. Like it had done one damn bit of good.
With a fortifying breath, she took hold of her wits because that was what she would be expected to do. That was what Jed would want her to do. She was the First Lady, after all. At least for a little while longer. "Contact Liz and Ellie," she instructed whoever chose to listen. "They'll need to make arrangements to come. Has anyone called Russell?"
"Russell who?"
Glancing up, she looked into the bemused eyes of C.J. Cregg. Forgetting their earlier confrontation, she took another breath to clarify. Maybe they were just all in a state of shock. "The Vice-President."
"He's still standing by," Leo answered. "As before."
As before? "But now - "
"Now what?" That was the doctor again, and finally the change in his tone registered. The alarm was gone, but no sorrow replaced it, no regret clouded it. He sounded almost - happy.
How could he be happy - unless -
"But Jed - the President is - "
"Better," he finished for her.
Stunned, she simply stared at him until he smiled and gestured toward the bed.
"Look," he instructed.
Bracing herself against the false hope that pushed inside her, she looked. He still lay there, eyes closed, but something was different. His skin, she realized. Pale, but not chalky, not with the pinched look of death. And his chest rose and fell in an easily visible rhythm. The heart monitor beeped with regularity. But the best sign was the twitching of his hand and the soft moans that signaled a return to consciousness.
In years to come she would try to describe the sensation of that moment, but words never seemed adequate to the task. Elation, gratitude, humility, hope. All those, but so much more.
Rising on shaky legs, she stepped back to the rail, oblivious now of the others, even of Zoey. "Jed?" She touched his face tenderly, delighted to feel the warmth return.
"We'll be outside," Leo said, but she barely heard him.
She watched as her husband struggled up through the layers that had almost snuffed out his life, held his face until those blue eyes that had first stolen her breath and her heart so many years ago looked at her again.
He stared at her a moment, searching her face, reaching into her soul as he had always been able to do. She couldn't speak yet, didn't trust her voice to support actual words. Finally, the lines about his eyes crinkled and he nodded, just a slight movement that served well enough.
"Abbey." A whisper. A caress. "You still here?"
If her heart hadn't already been torn apart, that would have been enough to do it. As it was, she just clutched the ragged pieces of it and began the process of suturing it back together - of suturing both of their hearts back together.
As her fingers brushed his jaw, she nodded. "I'm still here. You just trying getting rid of me."
A short breath jerked his chest. A laugh, she realized. "Thought I'd already done that."
The tears trailed down her cheeks as she shook her head. "You just thought, Jethro. You're gonna have to work harder than that to run me off for good."
"I've - always been a hard worker," he quipped, voice weak, but even.
"I don't think even you can work that hard, Jackass," she promised.
He didn't say anything else, but his eyes stayed open, watching her, as if he couldn't believe she was really there.
Guilt pushed at her, but she refused to accept it. They had both drawn in enough of that to poison everyone. No looking back. No references to broken promises. No regrets. What was done, was done.
As they remained silent, content just to be in each other's company, she leaned in to kiss him, their first intimate touch since Zoey's abduction. It was soft, barely a brush of her lips to his, but it promised much more.
Later.
Now, it was enough.