This is it, the final chapter of "No Heavier Burden." Thanks so much to
everyone who has read and expressed interest in this story. As usual, I
never meant for it to go on so long. It was begun before "Abu el Banat,"
so it's become a little AU, but that's what fanfic is all about, hmm?
I decided that Jed and Abbey had been through enough from my pen and, thus, they are rewarded for their perseverance. (And maybe you'll feel rewarded, too. I hope so.)
Enjoy!
POV: Jed Spoilers: "And It's Surely to Their Credit;" "Separation of Powers" (a little) Rating: R Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, but, as usual, I wish they were.
No Heavier Burden - Chapter Thirteen: America's First Sport A West Wing Story
by MAHC
Jed Bartlet leaned back in his chair, tugged off his glasses, and took a break from the detailed budget report. Rubbing at his eyes, he allowed himself a moment and gave into the weariness that stung them.
"Mister President?"
He glanced back, startled, at the concerned voice and smiled. It was nice - unusual - but nice to have Toby Ziegler asking about his welfare. But only because it was Toby. Anyone else would have irked him. With a wave of his hand, he assured the communications director, "I'm fine. This damned report is too damned long with too damned many words."
"Yes, sir. That's why we are doing the damned editing."
He chuckled. "Yeah." He could tell by the stiffness in his arms and legs that it was time to call it quits, a decision he had been forced to make with more care since the collapse. "Listen, Abbey's out tonight. Want to come up for a friendly game?"
His companion leaned forward, his brows lifted. "Mister President, there is no such thing as a friendly game of chess with you."
"Toby, I'm hurt. Surely you don't think I have any other intentions than - "
" - to humiliate me with the inexorable carnage?" he finished ruefully.
"I'll let you go first," Jed offered.
"Merely allowing me to seal my fate one move earlier."
That had never stopped him before. "Interested?"
But Toby surprised him. Instead of his usual acquiescence, he hesitated. "I uh, I really can't tonight, sir."
"No?" He tried not to show his disappointment too much. Knew he failed.
"No, sir. I'm, uh, I'm babysitting tonight."
"Andi going out?"
"Yes, sir. She's - uh - she's speaking at the Democratic Women's fundraiser tonight."
"Really? So's Abbey. They booked them both?" That seemed a little like overkill, but far be it from him to question the Democratic Women, especially since their votes had elected him in the first place.
Toby shifted, his movements jerky. "Uh - I suppose so. What about that?" His mouth twisted in that awkward smile he had, as if he really didn't practice it enough to be good at it.
"You could bring the babies, " Jed suggested, hopefully.
Toby looked momentarily horrified, then said, "I don't think so, Mister President. Ab - Andi wouldn't like that."
"She doesn't want her children to be able to say one day that they visited the President at the White House?"
The eloquent writer was practically stammering now. "Uh, no, sir, that's not - it's just that - see, she's planned, well - I mean, Andi, of course - I just can't come, sir. But - thank you anyway."
He was gone before Jed could decipher the gibberish, stunned at the uncharacteristic lack of poise. But he soothed his slightly wounded ego by thoughts that Toby had something strange going on that night - something he probably didn't want to know anything about.
With a fatalistic shrug, he sat forward and let his mind flow over the recent events. He had been back in the office for a good month now, back to the work that had kindly waited for him that week his world finally fell apart, when his body had betrayed him, had ripped his fingers loose from their tenuous hold on what little control he had managed, to that point, to cling to.
The time seemed almost surreal now, even from that horrific moment Leo and Ron had come to him with Zoey's kidnapping. Had it really happened? Had he almost lost his daughter? Had he almost lost his Presidency? Had he almost lost Abbey? Each time he considered those possibilities, it jolted him to acknowledge how close they were to the truth. Disaster had clipped him, wounded him, but not destroyed him. Not yet. And not ever, now, he knew. Because the one thing he needed, the one thing he almost lost that would have meant the end for him, that one thing was his again, as secure - or perhaps more secure - than it ever had been.
Abbey.
Even now, even weeks after her return, after her forgiveness, after her promise never to leave again, he felt the emotions welling at the center of his chest, threatening to overwhelm him. It happened sometimes in the middle of a budget meeting, sometimes during a Sit Room briefing, and he had to fight to stay composed, to keep the others from sensing the intense feeling that assurance gave him.
Because Abbey was back. And she was not leaving him again. Even if he screwed up some more, and he was sure he would, although hopefully not quite as spectacularly as he had this time.
He still wasn't quite sure what had happened between the time she told him she'd be "around - for now," and the moment he opened his eyes again to find her smiling down at him, her hand soft on his face, her lips brushing his. Somewhere in that strange, swirling gray that had claimed his consciousness, things had changed. And he wasn't about to question his good fortune at having somehow obtained her forgiveness.
"Mister President?"
He opened his eyes as Charlie poked his head in the door. With that simple greeting, the young body man was suggesting to the leader of the free world that it was time to close up shop for the evening. He checked his watch: 7:00 p.m. Not bad, at least compared to the hours he was used to keeping. No chess game with Toby. Perhaps it would just be a nice, quiet evening in the Residence. Maybe he'd finish the book of Greek poetry he had picked up that night that seemed so long ago, that night that really didn't end until Abbey came back to him.
With just a little effort, he forced down the irritation over Charlie's hovering. Mainly because his body man was only the point guard on an entire team of mother hens who refused to allow him the same mistake again. Leo made sure his schedule stayed clear after 5:00 p.m., barring any major crises. C.J. and Josh dropped by each day, taking turns sacrificing themselves for a bout of national parks trivia or a crash course in international economics. Once or twice a week, Toby offered his brain as victim of a chess massacre. In observing the obvious attempts to keep help him relieve stress, he had asked Leo whose idea it was, but the chief of staff maintained his stone face and professed ignorance of anything he suggested. In the end, he accepted their efforts for the love and affection they represented, but insisted on a full schedule as soon as the doctor approved - and Coach Abigail, of course. Still, he decided, he might see how much longer C.J. and Josh would allow themselves to be trivia slaves, just for fun.
"Mister President?" Charlie reminded when he didn't receive a response.
"I'm going, Mother," he called out to his daughter's ex-but-hopefully-soon- to-be-again boyfriend.
"Yes, sir," the young man replied, smiling, satisfied that he had done his duty, but also obviously pleased that things had gotten so much better. His genuine affection for the President never failed to warm Jed.
"Hey," he said, an idea forming, "why don't you come up and we can talk a while, maybe look at that economics project you're working on for your class." He tried not to notice the panic that flashed across Charlie's face before the body man controlled his expression.
"Uh, thank you, Mister President, but I - I have to - help Deena with her homework."
"Charlie, I'm offering to help you with your homework. I do know one or two things about economics, or at least the committee in Stockholm seemed to think so." He stepped around his desk and placed a hand Charlie's shoulder. "Besides, what the hell kind of homework does she have in the middle of summer?"
The young man flinched. "Uh, it's one of those honors courses, sir, that Georgetown offers to high school kids. And I'd better not let her slack up. I can't set that example. Just as you, Mister President, have set the example for me and hard work. But now you have certainly earned a chance to just go upstairs and relax."
Bartlet frowned. Surely Charlie wasn't blowing him off. "It would be relaxing, Charlie," he wheedled. "How many Econ 101 students have the opportunity to get advice from a true economist? I could make a few suggestions for your paper."
"I'm thinking, Mister President, that my submitting a 204-page plan to restructure the entire fiscal strategy of the United States might be looked on with minor suspicion by my professor."
"We could use short words."
"Thank you, anyway, sir," he said, then mumbled something that sounded almost like, "The First Lady would kill me."
"What's that?" Jed asked sharply.
Charlie blinked. "Uh, I said the First Lady would kill me if she found out I had kept you up late."
His eyes narrowed at the suggested betrayal. "Traitor." He waved a hand. "Okay, go. See if I care when you get a C."
"Yes, sir. Good night, Mister President."
If he weren't so self-assured, he would begin to get a complex. The President of the United States turned down by both his Communications Director and his body man. Wasn't being the commander-in-chief worth something? Well, he couldn't fault them for having personal lives; he just wished they could have been a little more convincing in their excuses.
With a sigh, he stuffed his briefcase with papers he would probably fall asleep reading and allowed his thoughts to cloud, drifting over the past six weeks, six weeks of darkness that had twisted and dragged him so far down he almost couldn't escape.
But somehow he had kicked free and broken the surface, gasping for air, taking in the oxygen his brain craved. He wasn't sure how it happened - and he had the uneasy feeling that it almost didn't, that he came too close to succumbing to the abyss, to being sucked so far into the maelstrom that he couldn't escape. Something had helped him, something had given him the strength to claw his way back.
And he had a fairly good idea who that had been.
As he stepped into the warm Washington evening, he took in a breath and grinned in true happiness at the guards. "Good evening, gentlemen," he called, breezing past them at his old pace.
"Good evening, Mister President," they returned.
As he walked, he decided that things seemed to be righting themselves. He reflected on the press conference skillfully handled by C.J. the day after he returned to the White House. The country had held its breath for a day or two, not completely convinced by C.J.'s optimistic reports that their President wasn't about to abandon them to the questionable succession of Bingo Bob. But, as usual, the adroit press secretary had managed to acknowledge the incident without any subterfuge, while at the same time minimizing its true impact.
"The President experienced a momentary lapse in consciousness after being up for over seventy-two hours straight working to complete the transition from Acting President Walken's tenure back to his own control," she had reported smoothly, almost with studied nonchalance. "Add to that the fact that he had just gone through an experience that created stress for him and his family such as very few of us can imagine. I think we can all understand how this could have happened."
The press corps shuffled, as usual, for her recognition. "C.J.!"
She had pointed at a familiar face. "Sandy?"
The tall, dark women stood, poised and professional. "C.J., when the President left the hospital, we all saw the bandage over his cheek. Was that an injury sustained when he fainted?"
The press secretary frowned a little at the term 'fainted,' having carefully avoided it in her wording, but she nodded. "He fell against an end table in the Oval Office. My report here says that he received five stitches to close it, but that there should be only a minimal scar."
Another hand rose above the others. "C.J.!"
"Steve?"
"Did the President suffer a relapse from the stress? Was this incident a result of his MS?"
They had all known it would come up, but fortunately, C.J. could answer this one without any hesitation. "The cause of the lapse in consciousness was sleep deprivation and exhaustion. It had nothing to do with the MS." Of course, she didn't add that his existing condition certainly had not aided in his recovery, but the doctors had no definite proof there actually was a relapse. The only suspicious symptom was the blurred vision, which had cleared within a few days.
The rest of the conference dealt with the President's return and the fact the Mrs. Bartlet and Zoey were back, too, a development they all understood could only have a positive effect on the President's health.
All in all, it had turned out much better than he expected. On reflection, he might just give C.J. a break from the trivia, since she had done so well. He rubbed two fingers over the healing scar on his cheek and whistled a bit as he lengthened his strides.
Halfway down the colonnade, Leo fell into step beside him. "Mister President. Calling it a night?"
Jed glanced sideways at him, not slowing his steps. "As if you didn't know, you and your SPECTRE agents."
"I have no idea - "
"I know. I know. You're completely innocent."
"As usual, sir. You have plans for the evening?"
Jed nodded. "A nice quiet night. Perhaps some Greek poetry. Maybe a lacrosse game on ESPN 2." The last thought just occurred to him and he added it, knowing it would provoke a response from his friend.
"Is this lacrosse season?" Leo wondered cheekily, not failing in his predictability.
"Would you know if it were?"
"Good point."
"Besides, Classic Sports always has something good."
"Sure, if you can be mesmerized by the explosive action of a women's field hockey game that was decided ten years ago."
He twisted slightly to bestow a disdainful glare at his old friend. "For your information, lacrosse is America's first sport, created by the North American Indian. It requires coordination and agility."
"Coordination?" Leo smirked, and Jed knew a good natured slam was coming. "I'm assuming, then, you've never - "
"Watch it - " he warned.
"Watching it, sir," came the amused response.
Jed shook his head, partly playing, partly scolding. "You're not a true fan, Leo."
"Never professed to be, Mister President."
They had entered the building, now, exited onto the residence hall. Leo slowed.
"Wanna come in for a while?" Jed offered. They had gotten past their tensions, that strange clashing of wills and philosophies that separated them after Zoey's rescue and Abbey's departure. Tonight would be a good time to allow the old camaraderie to peek from behind the professional masks again. It had been a very long time since the two friends had relaxed together, Jed and Leo, not the President and Chief of Staff. And truth be told, he would enjoy the company.
Leo's face twisted in an almost-smile before he smoothed it. "I think not, sir. I wouldn't want to intrude on your lacrosse game."
"You, too?"
"Sir?"
"Toby and Charlie turned me down, too," he admitted, a little embarrassed at the petulance in his voice.
Leo grinned. "So I'm third choice?"
"Well, if I could have found Haffley, you would have been even further down the list."
"I'd better not, sir," he said, ignoring the bait.
With effort, Jed covered the disappointment, unwilling to shovel guilt on a man who had borne so much for him the past weeks. But he made one more gentle attempt, in case Leo really did want to stay, but was uncertain about this invitation.
"You sure? Abbey had a thing tonight. I'll have to make a big-to-do over it. Last time I didn't place importance on something she did - " He stopped and winced at the memory of that frustrating evening. "Well, I won't make that mistake again. You sure you don't want to stay?"
But the chief of staff adopted a look of careful innocence and shook his head. "Thank you, sir, but no." Backing away, he said, "Have a pleasant evening, Mister President. I hope you enjoy the game."
Something in his stance and tone intrigued Jed, but Leo was already turned and out the doors before he decided to ask about it. And America's first sport awaited him, so he shrugged it off and approached the double doors. The guards in place nodded deferentially.
"Mister President."
"Fellas. You okay tonight?"
A particularly beefy agent assured him, "Yes, sir."
"Listen, I'm planning a nice quiet evening, so no interruptions."
"Yes, sir."
But a sudden vision of nodding in front of lacrosse reruns convinced him not to shut himself off completely. After all, if Toby decided tonight would be a good one for losing another chess match, that might be pleasant. If Charlie came to his senses and chose to make an A instead of a C on his econ paper, he'd be willing to forgive. Or if Zoey dropped in to munch Fritos and cheese dip and just chill, he could go for that, too.
So he added, "Well, unless it's, you know, someone who needs to see me."
The agent looked at him without turning his head at all. "No need to worry tonight, sir. We know the plan."
Jed frowned, wondering if he was being mocked. Surely not. "Okay, well, good. See you in the morning."
He was developing a suspicion now that Abbey had made her contacts, insuring that he was uninterrupted for the evening. No chance of work, no office conversations under the guises of relaxing. A forced exile. He would rest despite his best efforts.
Well, lacrosse it was, he supposed. An uneventful, mundane evening alone. Not such a bad prospect.
But as soon as he stepped through the double doors, he froze, his breath catching in his throat. Any thoughts of Toby, or Charlie, or Leo, or Zoey, or lacrosse, or Greek poetry vanished from his brain, annihilated by the splendor before him.
Abigail Bartlet stood at the foot of their bed, a shot of bourbon in one hand extended toward him, the other hand braced on the bedpost, her hips cocked in a marvelously seductive stance. She wore only black lace panties and a matching bra that tried in vain to keep her ample breasts from pushing over the tops.
After a moment's astonished pause, he shook himself, stuck his head back out the door, and amended, "Guys, about that last part, the part about interrupting if someone needed to see me?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Nevermind."
"Yes, sir," the agent acknowledged, so smoothly Jed knew he must be completely aware of what the evening now held for his President.
His left hand pushed the door closed behind him, lest they see more than they had a right to see. His right hand stripped the tie from his neck and flicked open the top three buttons of his shirt as he took several steps toward the enchanting beauty who blatantly flaunted herself for him.
"I thought you had a thing - " he began hoarsely.
She smiled, a wicked smile that sent needles of excitement straight to his groin. "I do have a thing."
"You said it was a fundraiser," he ventured.
"Well, I do intend to raise things," she told him, "but not necessarily funds."
The blood in his body began redirecting itself immediately.
"But the Democratic Women - "
"There's only one Democratic Woman you need to worry about tonight," she purred.
"Does this mean we're okay for - " Please say yes.
Stirring the liquid with her finger, then lifting to her lips, she said, "Dr. Radford called this afternoon. Your last tests look good. You are clear for - recreational activities. No limitations." Her brow lifted once with the last statement.
He swallowed, affected by both her words and her actions. "No limitations?" Except perhaps stopping somewhere short of giving him a heart attack.
This was the old Abigail, the one who teased him, who sparred with him, who shot back playful banter to him even in the midst of their lovemaking, at least until they had reached the point of incoherence. He sincerely hoped they made it there tonight. She was playing the game; it was only fair that he join in.
With effort, he feigned a casual tone, shrugging. "Well, I had sort planned to watch lacrosse tonight."
"Really?" She shifted so that her hips thrust toward him slightly.
Swallowing again, he nodded vaguely. "Uh, yeah."
"Be my guest." She gestured toward the television cabinet.
But he found himself without any sharp response and realized he was out of practice, both with the teasing and with the seduction. Okay, end of game. Might as well claim defeat and offer himself as prisoner.
"No," he said with a genuine smile, "I'll defer to your guidance."
"A wise move, Mister President." Moving toward him slowly, letting her hips swing hard with each step, she handed him the glass, brushing his wrist with her fingers as she released it. Fire raced up his arm and flushed his cheeks. It had been so long since they were together. The night before Zoey's graduation, he remembered. And that had been nice - it was always nice - but this, he could tell, promised much more.
"The guard said there was a plan - " he prompted, hoping to move things along more quickly.
Still smiling, she nodded. "Yeah."
"You mean they know - "
"They know that even if the Kremlin is calling, they take a message." Her arms slid around his neck. His pants tightened in response.
"What about the Pope?"
"You'll call him back." She brushed her breasts against his chest. The pressure at his groin became increasingly uncomfortable.
"Nicole Kidman?"
Her body made full contact now, hips pressing against his, grinding in hot invitation. "Not in."
The ache at the pit of his belly erupted into an almost burning pain. He was beginning to wonder if he would survive this night.
Her lips pressed against his neck, sliding down to nibble at the hair revealed by the open buttons of his shirt. Gamely, he attempted to continue the conversation.
"I tried to get Toby to come play chess tonight," he admitted.
"Yeah?" She swirled her tongue around a few tuffs.
"Yeah. And I worked on Charlie, too. And Leo."
"No luck?" Her hands worked their way down his back to his hips.
"Uh uh."
"Too bad."
"Uh huh. Funny how they all had something to do," he probed, having a good idea now why they resisted his invitations.
"Funny," she agreed, sneaking her hands between them to finish unbuttoning his shirt and run her fingers up his chest.
"Does everyone know the plan?" He could see the smirks tomorrow morning at Saturday staff meeting, not that he gave a damn, though.
"I had some accomplices," she admitted. "Mad?"
He shook his head, and, without having taken one sip of his drink, fumbled the glass onto the nearest table, catching his wife hard against him, sliding their mouths together, mingling their tongues, showing her just how mad he wasn't. Returning his kisses, she slipped the shirt off his shoulders and tossed it carelessly toward the sofa. Now only the lace of her bra separated him from her bare nipples.
"Oh, Abbey," he breathed, forgetting all teasing, his voice rough with the intensity of his desire, "I've missed you so much."
But when he bent to press a kiss over the fabric, she shook her head and knelt in front of him. His breath almost stopped completely as she unbuckled his belt, brushing against the bulging material below it. His knees weakened even before she had touched him, and he found himself bracing against the couch in an effort to remain standing while her fingers slowly eased the zipper down, taking extra care as the metal teeth struggled over the prominent protrusion.
Heart pounding in his chest, he dropped a hand to brush through her hair, to urge her against him, unable to stop the surge of desire that pushed him. But the delicious sensation stopped abruptly. He opened his eyes, not remembering having closed them, to see her standing again, staring at him.
Oh hell, what had he done, now? The horrible thought occurred to him that she had changed her mind, that maybe this was purgatory. This was his penance for his sins. He was Tantalus, condemned to eternal hunger and thirst with ripe fruit and sweet water always just out of reach.
"Jed," she said softly, taking his face between her hands.
He looked back, afraid to answer, afraid of what she was about to say.
As if she had read his thoughts, she smiled and shook her head. "Let me do this for you tonight."
He breathed again. Things were all right. Things, as a matter of fact, were quite wonderful. "Do what?" She was already doing everything he wanted.
"You just lie back and let me take care of things."
He grinned. "Hot Pants, you're already taking very good care of things," he assured her.
But she wagged a finger at him. "If I take care of things, that means you have to let me. I'm in charge."
In charge? He liked the sound of that. Obediently, he answered, "Yes, ma'am."
"All right. Take off the rest of your clothes and lie down on the bed," she instructed. He had already managed to follow her orders almost before she finished them. "No touching until I say so."
No touching? This might be more difficult than he anticipated.
As he watched her saunter toward the bed, he didn't think he could be any harder than he was at that moment. He ached for her, and he saw her eyes gleam at the intense effect she was having on him. Stretching out on his legs, she hovered over his pelvis, teasing the swollen tip with her mouth, and running her fingers up and down the insides of his thighs. It was almost too much, too soon.
"Abbey," he groaned, reaching a hand down in an attempt to slow her caresses. The blood pounded furiously through his groin, and he knew he wouldn't last long at that pace.
"Uh uh," she scolded lightly, catching his wrist. "You're just to observe, not to participate."
"Babe, whether you intended it or not, I'm participating," he pointed out as he watched her take him in again. "Ahh, oh yeah, I'm participating."
She pulled back, grasping the thick base with her fingers, a move which didn't help his precarious situation at all. "I told you just to relax and let me take care of things."
"Oh, you're taking care of things all right, Sweet Lips. A little too efficiently, if you know what I mean," he warned. "As for relaxing - "
She grinned and released him. "We'll slow it down a bit."
He wasn't sure he could, but he made a valiant effort and was pleased to feel the urgent need lessen slightly. Just slightly, he emphasized to himself as she crawled up his body, placing kisses along the line of hair over his abdomen and across his chest before coming to rest with her mouth poised above his and her legs straddling his hips. The roughness of the lace against his bare skin triggered a shudder through him, and she raised her brow once in almost evil pleasure at what she was doing to him.
"God, you are incredible, Abbey," he groaned, pushing his hands toward her panties in an effort to slide them off. "Just let me - "
"Uh uh," she whispered, grasping his wandering fingers. "Remember, I'm - "
" - taking care of things, I know," he finished for her, then arched his hips upward to press his throbbing erection into her pelvis. "Take care of this, please."
Her moan was his reward. That and the return thrust against him that almost took him over the edge. If she would only let him touch her the way he wanted to. But she had made it clear she was in charge. It was, he figured, an apology of sorts, a physical demonstration of what she had already told him verbally. And who was he to argue when she was trying to make amends?
Except that he was beginning to doubt his ability to see the plan through to completion, at least in her time frame. And he didn't want to let her down, didn't want to end it before it had really begun. So he decided not to play fair anymore. Sliding his mouth over her jaw, he let his tongue flick at her earlobe, gratified to feel her tense against him. Before she could stop him, he had licked down her neck and sucked firmly at the one spot he knew drove her crazy.
"J-e-e-e-d," she groaned, arching into his wet caress. "You're cheating."
But she didn't pull away, so he braved a hand against the small of her back, dipping lower to run his fingers over her buttocks. Still, he knew from experience she could hold out for a long time, taunting him with her moans, tantalizing him with her calculated wriggles. But either he had overestimated her own control or she had realized how close he was, because suddenly, she was sitting up, stripping off the bra, panties following in quick succession, and curling her hand around his base, guiding him against her flesh, now hot and wet and ready.
Gasping, he took her surrender as his cue that the plan had just been altered, reaching up his hands for the first time to run the palms over her breasts, feeling the hardened peaks push into his touch.
"Abbey," he said, fighting for control a little longer, "can you feel what you've done to me? I want you so much. I want to make love to you all night, but right now - "
Her answer was to shift her legs so that he was poised right where she wanted him - right where he wanted to be. He felt the heat surround him, groaned as he slid against her, their intense arousal making them slick and smooth. But still, he held back with his last ounce of willpower, letting her make the ultimate move, hoping he could wait for her.
With a breathless sigh, she sank onto him, letting him slide into her as she clutched at the hair on his chest. He didn't even feel the pain of her fingers over the ecstasy of being inside her again. Deeper and deeper he pushed as she arched her hips and moaned his name.
Oh God, that felt good, too good. His jaw clenched in an effort to hold back for her, but as he hit the deepest spot, she cried out, surprising him with the explosion of spasms that squeezed him, with the hot release that burned him. She jerked against him, and he gripped her shoulders, doing his best to extend her pleasure with his hard thrusts. Their bodies met over and over, Abbey crying out with each driving push. Finally, as the frenzied writhing slowed, he knew he didn't have to wait any longer - couldn't wait any longer.
With a growl that contained no teasing whatsoever, he grasped her thighs and turned so that she lay beneath him. Before they were completely settled, he withdrew just to the edge, then plunged deep inside again, his body moving instinctively, wildly. They hadn't been this out of control in a long time, but he couldn't have stopped even if he had wanted to - and he sure as hell didn't want to. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him into her again and again. His arms shook as they braced against the mattress; sweat ran down his face, dripped from his jaw. His entire soul seemed to gather at one point, ready to burst from his body, to merge with hers.
She urged him on with her voice, her hands, her body, until he gave in to the power of that final eruption, shattering as the climax overtook him, washing through his body and into hers, pouring out the weeks of torture, of doubt, of guilt, like a cleansing baptism. It seemed to go on and on. His muscles cramped with the convulsions, but he couldn't spare the time to relieve them. When the orgasm finally released him with one last shudder, he fell against her, exhausted, still trembling as his nerves screamed their protests over such treatment.
"Jed?" she whispered after a moment, her gentle voice marked contrast to the fury of just moments before.
"Mmm?" It was as coherent as he could manage between gasps.
"How ya doin'?" It was casual, light, but he heard the more serious question through the tone.
He groaned and made his mouth move. "I'll let you know when my heart starts beating again."
Now he heard the smile. "I'm sorry I couldn't wait for you, Babe."
With much more optimism than he felt at the moment, he mumbled against her neck, "You'll wait for me the next round."
"Okay," she agreed, placing a kiss against his sweaty neck.
Finally able to send enough of a signal to his muscles to move, he withdrew from her and fell to the side. She snuggled against him, draping one arm over his stomach. They lay there for several minutes, their damp bodies cooling in the air. Lifting his hips, he pulled the comforter out from under them and draped it across their legs.
He was still shaking a little. He was breathing hard. He was completely drained of any energy.
He felt incredible.
He planned to lie there a little longer, regroup, and do his damnedest to fulfill his promise to her to make love all night. But the body in his arms suddenly stiffened, shifted, and he knew something was about to change.
"I've got something to tell you, Josiah Bartlet," she began, tone quiet but business-like.
He tensed. Josiah? That was usually not good. Usually he was in severe trouble when she used his given name. If she added Edward, he might as well just turn and run.
But she didn't. She propped herself up on an elbow and gazed down at him, smiling. Not the seductive smile of before, but a deep, warm, almost sad smile. "You are a wonderful man," she told him, and he couldn't keep the surprise from his face. It only made the smile sadder.
"I haven't told you that enough," she whispered, brushing her fingers over the fading scar on his cheek. "I have teased you to keep from getting too deep. I have criticized you so you wouldn't over-reach that Montana-sized ego. But you need to know this. You are a brilliant, witty, warm, compassionate, loving, charming, handsome man."
With effort, he pushed his jaw shut and cracked, "How much is this gonna cost me?"
But she wouldn't allow his self-deprecation. "I love you so much, Jed Bartlet." That did it. The tears that shimmered in her eyes were now mirrored in his. "I know that you've been through hell these past few weeks, and I know that a lot of it was my fault. And I am so sorr - "
This time he slipped his fingers over her lips. "Shh. You've already said it. I've already said it."
"But I want you to know that - "
"I know. Didn't you see Love Story?"
She smiled through the tears. "But love does mean having to say you're sorry. Love means being willing to say you're sorry."
"That's done," he reminded. It was done for both of them, long ago. Their souls, their minds, their hearts had rejoined weeks ago. And now their bodies had finally followed.
She pulled away from him for a moment, and when she turned back, he saw that she held the book of Greek poetry he had been reading when he collapsed. Voice soft, she flipped to the very poem that had followed him down into the darkness that night.
"Anguish devours the mind, and furious rage, and hope than which the heart can bear no heavier burden, when it is long deferred."
"Abbey - "
"Is that what you felt, Jed? Is that what it was like? That your heart couldn't bear anything else?"
His hand touched her face. "Abbey, don't do this. I'm fine. It's okay."
But she shook her head. "No. We made a commitment to each other thirty- six years ago to share everything. We have shared our dreams, our jobs, our children, our passions, and we have shared our burdens, Jed. It's sure as hell not time to stop now when they are just getting heavier."
He knew she referred to many things, to the decisions of the Presidency, to the increasingly complicated lives of their children - to the uncertain future they faced with the MS.
Sighing, he ran a hand through his tousled hair, unable to look her directly in the eyes, apologizing for what she would go through. "I know thirty-six years ago you didn't anticipate - "
But she interrupted, catching his jaw and turning his face toward her. "I didn't anticipate being First Lady of the United States, although I should have known. I didn't anticipate what amazing influences you have had on the entire world. I didn't anticipate your still being as incredibly sexy today as you were thirty-six years ago."
He stared at her, for once speechless.
Now her hands slid down his body and that gleam shone in her eyes. "And I didn't anticipate that we would be in the White House making out like teenagers every chance we got."
Her touch charged him with energy he wasn't sure he still had. He felt himself respond beneath her skilled fingers. But he needed her to know one more thing, despite the risk of losing the moment. "Abbey, you know there are still some things I can't - "
She stopped him again, this time with a kiss hard against his mouth. When she pulled back, she said, "I'm not asking you to reveal state secrets. I don't want to be privy to Sit Room discussions. I just want you to let me take some of the burden off. Can you do that, Jed?"
Her green eyes almost pleaded with him, for herself, for him, for their children, for their marriage. And he knew that, even though there would continue to be things he couldn't tell her as long as he was President, he could let her make those burdens just a little lighter, for both of them.
Nodding, he smiled and kissed her gently. He could do that. He could do that all night.
"Round Two?" she suggested, arching against him.
"Wait for me this time?" he teased.
"I'll wait for you forever, Jethro," she assured him.
He grinned, pulling her on top of him. "I always did like your confidence."
And in the end, they shared again and again. Their dreams, their words, their passions.
And their burdens.
I decided that Jed and Abbey had been through enough from my pen and, thus, they are rewarded for their perseverance. (And maybe you'll feel rewarded, too. I hope so.)
Enjoy!
POV: Jed Spoilers: "And It's Surely to Their Credit;" "Separation of Powers" (a little) Rating: R Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, but, as usual, I wish they were.
No Heavier Burden - Chapter Thirteen: America's First Sport A West Wing Story
by MAHC
Jed Bartlet leaned back in his chair, tugged off his glasses, and took a break from the detailed budget report. Rubbing at his eyes, he allowed himself a moment and gave into the weariness that stung them.
"Mister President?"
He glanced back, startled, at the concerned voice and smiled. It was nice - unusual - but nice to have Toby Ziegler asking about his welfare. But only because it was Toby. Anyone else would have irked him. With a wave of his hand, he assured the communications director, "I'm fine. This damned report is too damned long with too damned many words."
"Yes, sir. That's why we are doing the damned editing."
He chuckled. "Yeah." He could tell by the stiffness in his arms and legs that it was time to call it quits, a decision he had been forced to make with more care since the collapse. "Listen, Abbey's out tonight. Want to come up for a friendly game?"
His companion leaned forward, his brows lifted. "Mister President, there is no such thing as a friendly game of chess with you."
"Toby, I'm hurt. Surely you don't think I have any other intentions than - "
" - to humiliate me with the inexorable carnage?" he finished ruefully.
"I'll let you go first," Jed offered.
"Merely allowing me to seal my fate one move earlier."
That had never stopped him before. "Interested?"
But Toby surprised him. Instead of his usual acquiescence, he hesitated. "I uh, I really can't tonight, sir."
"No?" He tried not to show his disappointment too much. Knew he failed.
"No, sir. I'm, uh, I'm babysitting tonight."
"Andi going out?"
"Yes, sir. She's - uh - she's speaking at the Democratic Women's fundraiser tonight."
"Really? So's Abbey. They booked them both?" That seemed a little like overkill, but far be it from him to question the Democratic Women, especially since their votes had elected him in the first place.
Toby shifted, his movements jerky. "Uh - I suppose so. What about that?" His mouth twisted in that awkward smile he had, as if he really didn't practice it enough to be good at it.
"You could bring the babies, " Jed suggested, hopefully.
Toby looked momentarily horrified, then said, "I don't think so, Mister President. Ab - Andi wouldn't like that."
"She doesn't want her children to be able to say one day that they visited the President at the White House?"
The eloquent writer was practically stammering now. "Uh, no, sir, that's not - it's just that - see, she's planned, well - I mean, Andi, of course - I just can't come, sir. But - thank you anyway."
He was gone before Jed could decipher the gibberish, stunned at the uncharacteristic lack of poise. But he soothed his slightly wounded ego by thoughts that Toby had something strange going on that night - something he probably didn't want to know anything about.
With a fatalistic shrug, he sat forward and let his mind flow over the recent events. He had been back in the office for a good month now, back to the work that had kindly waited for him that week his world finally fell apart, when his body had betrayed him, had ripped his fingers loose from their tenuous hold on what little control he had managed, to that point, to cling to.
The time seemed almost surreal now, even from that horrific moment Leo and Ron had come to him with Zoey's kidnapping. Had it really happened? Had he almost lost his daughter? Had he almost lost his Presidency? Had he almost lost Abbey? Each time he considered those possibilities, it jolted him to acknowledge how close they were to the truth. Disaster had clipped him, wounded him, but not destroyed him. Not yet. And not ever, now, he knew. Because the one thing he needed, the one thing he almost lost that would have meant the end for him, that one thing was his again, as secure - or perhaps more secure - than it ever had been.
Abbey.
Even now, even weeks after her return, after her forgiveness, after her promise never to leave again, he felt the emotions welling at the center of his chest, threatening to overwhelm him. It happened sometimes in the middle of a budget meeting, sometimes during a Sit Room briefing, and he had to fight to stay composed, to keep the others from sensing the intense feeling that assurance gave him.
Because Abbey was back. And she was not leaving him again. Even if he screwed up some more, and he was sure he would, although hopefully not quite as spectacularly as he had this time.
He still wasn't quite sure what had happened between the time she told him she'd be "around - for now," and the moment he opened his eyes again to find her smiling down at him, her hand soft on his face, her lips brushing his. Somewhere in that strange, swirling gray that had claimed his consciousness, things had changed. And he wasn't about to question his good fortune at having somehow obtained her forgiveness.
"Mister President?"
He opened his eyes as Charlie poked his head in the door. With that simple greeting, the young body man was suggesting to the leader of the free world that it was time to close up shop for the evening. He checked his watch: 7:00 p.m. Not bad, at least compared to the hours he was used to keeping. No chess game with Toby. Perhaps it would just be a nice, quiet evening in the Residence. Maybe he'd finish the book of Greek poetry he had picked up that night that seemed so long ago, that night that really didn't end until Abbey came back to him.
With just a little effort, he forced down the irritation over Charlie's hovering. Mainly because his body man was only the point guard on an entire team of mother hens who refused to allow him the same mistake again. Leo made sure his schedule stayed clear after 5:00 p.m., barring any major crises. C.J. and Josh dropped by each day, taking turns sacrificing themselves for a bout of national parks trivia or a crash course in international economics. Once or twice a week, Toby offered his brain as victim of a chess massacre. In observing the obvious attempts to keep help him relieve stress, he had asked Leo whose idea it was, but the chief of staff maintained his stone face and professed ignorance of anything he suggested. In the end, he accepted their efforts for the love and affection they represented, but insisted on a full schedule as soon as the doctor approved - and Coach Abigail, of course. Still, he decided, he might see how much longer C.J. and Josh would allow themselves to be trivia slaves, just for fun.
"Mister President?" Charlie reminded when he didn't receive a response.
"I'm going, Mother," he called out to his daughter's ex-but-hopefully-soon- to-be-again boyfriend.
"Yes, sir," the young man replied, smiling, satisfied that he had done his duty, but also obviously pleased that things had gotten so much better. His genuine affection for the President never failed to warm Jed.
"Hey," he said, an idea forming, "why don't you come up and we can talk a while, maybe look at that economics project you're working on for your class." He tried not to notice the panic that flashed across Charlie's face before the body man controlled his expression.
"Uh, thank you, Mister President, but I - I have to - help Deena with her homework."
"Charlie, I'm offering to help you with your homework. I do know one or two things about economics, or at least the committee in Stockholm seemed to think so." He stepped around his desk and placed a hand Charlie's shoulder. "Besides, what the hell kind of homework does she have in the middle of summer?"
The young man flinched. "Uh, it's one of those honors courses, sir, that Georgetown offers to high school kids. And I'd better not let her slack up. I can't set that example. Just as you, Mister President, have set the example for me and hard work. But now you have certainly earned a chance to just go upstairs and relax."
Bartlet frowned. Surely Charlie wasn't blowing him off. "It would be relaxing, Charlie," he wheedled. "How many Econ 101 students have the opportunity to get advice from a true economist? I could make a few suggestions for your paper."
"I'm thinking, Mister President, that my submitting a 204-page plan to restructure the entire fiscal strategy of the United States might be looked on with minor suspicion by my professor."
"We could use short words."
"Thank you, anyway, sir," he said, then mumbled something that sounded almost like, "The First Lady would kill me."
"What's that?" Jed asked sharply.
Charlie blinked. "Uh, I said the First Lady would kill me if she found out I had kept you up late."
His eyes narrowed at the suggested betrayal. "Traitor." He waved a hand. "Okay, go. See if I care when you get a C."
"Yes, sir. Good night, Mister President."
If he weren't so self-assured, he would begin to get a complex. The President of the United States turned down by both his Communications Director and his body man. Wasn't being the commander-in-chief worth something? Well, he couldn't fault them for having personal lives; he just wished they could have been a little more convincing in their excuses.
With a sigh, he stuffed his briefcase with papers he would probably fall asleep reading and allowed his thoughts to cloud, drifting over the past six weeks, six weeks of darkness that had twisted and dragged him so far down he almost couldn't escape.
But somehow he had kicked free and broken the surface, gasping for air, taking in the oxygen his brain craved. He wasn't sure how it happened - and he had the uneasy feeling that it almost didn't, that he came too close to succumbing to the abyss, to being sucked so far into the maelstrom that he couldn't escape. Something had helped him, something had given him the strength to claw his way back.
And he had a fairly good idea who that had been.
As he stepped into the warm Washington evening, he took in a breath and grinned in true happiness at the guards. "Good evening, gentlemen," he called, breezing past them at his old pace.
"Good evening, Mister President," they returned.
As he walked, he decided that things seemed to be righting themselves. He reflected on the press conference skillfully handled by C.J. the day after he returned to the White House. The country had held its breath for a day or two, not completely convinced by C.J.'s optimistic reports that their President wasn't about to abandon them to the questionable succession of Bingo Bob. But, as usual, the adroit press secretary had managed to acknowledge the incident without any subterfuge, while at the same time minimizing its true impact.
"The President experienced a momentary lapse in consciousness after being up for over seventy-two hours straight working to complete the transition from Acting President Walken's tenure back to his own control," she had reported smoothly, almost with studied nonchalance. "Add to that the fact that he had just gone through an experience that created stress for him and his family such as very few of us can imagine. I think we can all understand how this could have happened."
The press corps shuffled, as usual, for her recognition. "C.J.!"
She had pointed at a familiar face. "Sandy?"
The tall, dark women stood, poised and professional. "C.J., when the President left the hospital, we all saw the bandage over his cheek. Was that an injury sustained when he fainted?"
The press secretary frowned a little at the term 'fainted,' having carefully avoided it in her wording, but she nodded. "He fell against an end table in the Oval Office. My report here says that he received five stitches to close it, but that there should be only a minimal scar."
Another hand rose above the others. "C.J.!"
"Steve?"
"Did the President suffer a relapse from the stress? Was this incident a result of his MS?"
They had all known it would come up, but fortunately, C.J. could answer this one without any hesitation. "The cause of the lapse in consciousness was sleep deprivation and exhaustion. It had nothing to do with the MS." Of course, she didn't add that his existing condition certainly had not aided in his recovery, but the doctors had no definite proof there actually was a relapse. The only suspicious symptom was the blurred vision, which had cleared within a few days.
The rest of the conference dealt with the President's return and the fact the Mrs. Bartlet and Zoey were back, too, a development they all understood could only have a positive effect on the President's health.
All in all, it had turned out much better than he expected. On reflection, he might just give C.J. a break from the trivia, since she had done so well. He rubbed two fingers over the healing scar on his cheek and whistled a bit as he lengthened his strides.
Halfway down the colonnade, Leo fell into step beside him. "Mister President. Calling it a night?"
Jed glanced sideways at him, not slowing his steps. "As if you didn't know, you and your SPECTRE agents."
"I have no idea - "
"I know. I know. You're completely innocent."
"As usual, sir. You have plans for the evening?"
Jed nodded. "A nice quiet night. Perhaps some Greek poetry. Maybe a lacrosse game on ESPN 2." The last thought just occurred to him and he added it, knowing it would provoke a response from his friend.
"Is this lacrosse season?" Leo wondered cheekily, not failing in his predictability.
"Would you know if it were?"
"Good point."
"Besides, Classic Sports always has something good."
"Sure, if you can be mesmerized by the explosive action of a women's field hockey game that was decided ten years ago."
He twisted slightly to bestow a disdainful glare at his old friend. "For your information, lacrosse is America's first sport, created by the North American Indian. It requires coordination and agility."
"Coordination?" Leo smirked, and Jed knew a good natured slam was coming. "I'm assuming, then, you've never - "
"Watch it - " he warned.
"Watching it, sir," came the amused response.
Jed shook his head, partly playing, partly scolding. "You're not a true fan, Leo."
"Never professed to be, Mister President."
They had entered the building, now, exited onto the residence hall. Leo slowed.
"Wanna come in for a while?" Jed offered. They had gotten past their tensions, that strange clashing of wills and philosophies that separated them after Zoey's rescue and Abbey's departure. Tonight would be a good time to allow the old camaraderie to peek from behind the professional masks again. It had been a very long time since the two friends had relaxed together, Jed and Leo, not the President and Chief of Staff. And truth be told, he would enjoy the company.
Leo's face twisted in an almost-smile before he smoothed it. "I think not, sir. I wouldn't want to intrude on your lacrosse game."
"You, too?"
"Sir?"
"Toby and Charlie turned me down, too," he admitted, a little embarrassed at the petulance in his voice.
Leo grinned. "So I'm third choice?"
"Well, if I could have found Haffley, you would have been even further down the list."
"I'd better not, sir," he said, ignoring the bait.
With effort, Jed covered the disappointment, unwilling to shovel guilt on a man who had borne so much for him the past weeks. But he made one more gentle attempt, in case Leo really did want to stay, but was uncertain about this invitation.
"You sure? Abbey had a thing tonight. I'll have to make a big-to-do over it. Last time I didn't place importance on something she did - " He stopped and winced at the memory of that frustrating evening. "Well, I won't make that mistake again. You sure you don't want to stay?"
But the chief of staff adopted a look of careful innocence and shook his head. "Thank you, sir, but no." Backing away, he said, "Have a pleasant evening, Mister President. I hope you enjoy the game."
Something in his stance and tone intrigued Jed, but Leo was already turned and out the doors before he decided to ask about it. And America's first sport awaited him, so he shrugged it off and approached the double doors. The guards in place nodded deferentially.
"Mister President."
"Fellas. You okay tonight?"
A particularly beefy agent assured him, "Yes, sir."
"Listen, I'm planning a nice quiet evening, so no interruptions."
"Yes, sir."
But a sudden vision of nodding in front of lacrosse reruns convinced him not to shut himself off completely. After all, if Toby decided tonight would be a good one for losing another chess match, that might be pleasant. If Charlie came to his senses and chose to make an A instead of a C on his econ paper, he'd be willing to forgive. Or if Zoey dropped in to munch Fritos and cheese dip and just chill, he could go for that, too.
So he added, "Well, unless it's, you know, someone who needs to see me."
The agent looked at him without turning his head at all. "No need to worry tonight, sir. We know the plan."
Jed frowned, wondering if he was being mocked. Surely not. "Okay, well, good. See you in the morning."
He was developing a suspicion now that Abbey had made her contacts, insuring that he was uninterrupted for the evening. No chance of work, no office conversations under the guises of relaxing. A forced exile. He would rest despite his best efforts.
Well, lacrosse it was, he supposed. An uneventful, mundane evening alone. Not such a bad prospect.
But as soon as he stepped through the double doors, he froze, his breath catching in his throat. Any thoughts of Toby, or Charlie, or Leo, or Zoey, or lacrosse, or Greek poetry vanished from his brain, annihilated by the splendor before him.
Abigail Bartlet stood at the foot of their bed, a shot of bourbon in one hand extended toward him, the other hand braced on the bedpost, her hips cocked in a marvelously seductive stance. She wore only black lace panties and a matching bra that tried in vain to keep her ample breasts from pushing over the tops.
After a moment's astonished pause, he shook himself, stuck his head back out the door, and amended, "Guys, about that last part, the part about interrupting if someone needed to see me?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Nevermind."
"Yes, sir," the agent acknowledged, so smoothly Jed knew he must be completely aware of what the evening now held for his President.
His left hand pushed the door closed behind him, lest they see more than they had a right to see. His right hand stripped the tie from his neck and flicked open the top three buttons of his shirt as he took several steps toward the enchanting beauty who blatantly flaunted herself for him.
"I thought you had a thing - " he began hoarsely.
She smiled, a wicked smile that sent needles of excitement straight to his groin. "I do have a thing."
"You said it was a fundraiser," he ventured.
"Well, I do intend to raise things," she told him, "but not necessarily funds."
The blood in his body began redirecting itself immediately.
"But the Democratic Women - "
"There's only one Democratic Woman you need to worry about tonight," she purred.
"Does this mean we're okay for - " Please say yes.
Stirring the liquid with her finger, then lifting to her lips, she said, "Dr. Radford called this afternoon. Your last tests look good. You are clear for - recreational activities. No limitations." Her brow lifted once with the last statement.
He swallowed, affected by both her words and her actions. "No limitations?" Except perhaps stopping somewhere short of giving him a heart attack.
This was the old Abigail, the one who teased him, who sparred with him, who shot back playful banter to him even in the midst of their lovemaking, at least until they had reached the point of incoherence. He sincerely hoped they made it there tonight. She was playing the game; it was only fair that he join in.
With effort, he feigned a casual tone, shrugging. "Well, I had sort planned to watch lacrosse tonight."
"Really?" She shifted so that her hips thrust toward him slightly.
Swallowing again, he nodded vaguely. "Uh, yeah."
"Be my guest." She gestured toward the television cabinet.
But he found himself without any sharp response and realized he was out of practice, both with the teasing and with the seduction. Okay, end of game. Might as well claim defeat and offer himself as prisoner.
"No," he said with a genuine smile, "I'll defer to your guidance."
"A wise move, Mister President." Moving toward him slowly, letting her hips swing hard with each step, she handed him the glass, brushing his wrist with her fingers as she released it. Fire raced up his arm and flushed his cheeks. It had been so long since they were together. The night before Zoey's graduation, he remembered. And that had been nice - it was always nice - but this, he could tell, promised much more.
"The guard said there was a plan - " he prompted, hoping to move things along more quickly.
Still smiling, she nodded. "Yeah."
"You mean they know - "
"They know that even if the Kremlin is calling, they take a message." Her arms slid around his neck. His pants tightened in response.
"What about the Pope?"
"You'll call him back." She brushed her breasts against his chest. The pressure at his groin became increasingly uncomfortable.
"Nicole Kidman?"
Her body made full contact now, hips pressing against his, grinding in hot invitation. "Not in."
The ache at the pit of his belly erupted into an almost burning pain. He was beginning to wonder if he would survive this night.
Her lips pressed against his neck, sliding down to nibble at the hair revealed by the open buttons of his shirt. Gamely, he attempted to continue the conversation.
"I tried to get Toby to come play chess tonight," he admitted.
"Yeah?" She swirled her tongue around a few tuffs.
"Yeah. And I worked on Charlie, too. And Leo."
"No luck?" Her hands worked their way down his back to his hips.
"Uh uh."
"Too bad."
"Uh huh. Funny how they all had something to do," he probed, having a good idea now why they resisted his invitations.
"Funny," she agreed, sneaking her hands between them to finish unbuttoning his shirt and run her fingers up his chest.
"Does everyone know the plan?" He could see the smirks tomorrow morning at Saturday staff meeting, not that he gave a damn, though.
"I had some accomplices," she admitted. "Mad?"
He shook his head, and, without having taken one sip of his drink, fumbled the glass onto the nearest table, catching his wife hard against him, sliding their mouths together, mingling their tongues, showing her just how mad he wasn't. Returning his kisses, she slipped the shirt off his shoulders and tossed it carelessly toward the sofa. Now only the lace of her bra separated him from her bare nipples.
"Oh, Abbey," he breathed, forgetting all teasing, his voice rough with the intensity of his desire, "I've missed you so much."
But when he bent to press a kiss over the fabric, she shook her head and knelt in front of him. His breath almost stopped completely as she unbuckled his belt, brushing against the bulging material below it. His knees weakened even before she had touched him, and he found himself bracing against the couch in an effort to remain standing while her fingers slowly eased the zipper down, taking extra care as the metal teeth struggled over the prominent protrusion.
Heart pounding in his chest, he dropped a hand to brush through her hair, to urge her against him, unable to stop the surge of desire that pushed him. But the delicious sensation stopped abruptly. He opened his eyes, not remembering having closed them, to see her standing again, staring at him.
Oh hell, what had he done, now? The horrible thought occurred to him that she had changed her mind, that maybe this was purgatory. This was his penance for his sins. He was Tantalus, condemned to eternal hunger and thirst with ripe fruit and sweet water always just out of reach.
"Jed," she said softly, taking his face between her hands.
He looked back, afraid to answer, afraid of what she was about to say.
As if she had read his thoughts, she smiled and shook her head. "Let me do this for you tonight."
He breathed again. Things were all right. Things, as a matter of fact, were quite wonderful. "Do what?" She was already doing everything he wanted.
"You just lie back and let me take care of things."
He grinned. "Hot Pants, you're already taking very good care of things," he assured her.
But she wagged a finger at him. "If I take care of things, that means you have to let me. I'm in charge."
In charge? He liked the sound of that. Obediently, he answered, "Yes, ma'am."
"All right. Take off the rest of your clothes and lie down on the bed," she instructed. He had already managed to follow her orders almost before she finished them. "No touching until I say so."
No touching? This might be more difficult than he anticipated.
As he watched her saunter toward the bed, he didn't think he could be any harder than he was at that moment. He ached for her, and he saw her eyes gleam at the intense effect she was having on him. Stretching out on his legs, she hovered over his pelvis, teasing the swollen tip with her mouth, and running her fingers up and down the insides of his thighs. It was almost too much, too soon.
"Abbey," he groaned, reaching a hand down in an attempt to slow her caresses. The blood pounded furiously through his groin, and he knew he wouldn't last long at that pace.
"Uh uh," she scolded lightly, catching his wrist. "You're just to observe, not to participate."
"Babe, whether you intended it or not, I'm participating," he pointed out as he watched her take him in again. "Ahh, oh yeah, I'm participating."
She pulled back, grasping the thick base with her fingers, a move which didn't help his precarious situation at all. "I told you just to relax and let me take care of things."
"Oh, you're taking care of things all right, Sweet Lips. A little too efficiently, if you know what I mean," he warned. "As for relaxing - "
She grinned and released him. "We'll slow it down a bit."
He wasn't sure he could, but he made a valiant effort and was pleased to feel the urgent need lessen slightly. Just slightly, he emphasized to himself as she crawled up his body, placing kisses along the line of hair over his abdomen and across his chest before coming to rest with her mouth poised above his and her legs straddling his hips. The roughness of the lace against his bare skin triggered a shudder through him, and she raised her brow once in almost evil pleasure at what she was doing to him.
"God, you are incredible, Abbey," he groaned, pushing his hands toward her panties in an effort to slide them off. "Just let me - "
"Uh uh," she whispered, grasping his wandering fingers. "Remember, I'm - "
" - taking care of things, I know," he finished for her, then arched his hips upward to press his throbbing erection into her pelvis. "Take care of this, please."
Her moan was his reward. That and the return thrust against him that almost took him over the edge. If she would only let him touch her the way he wanted to. But she had made it clear she was in charge. It was, he figured, an apology of sorts, a physical demonstration of what she had already told him verbally. And who was he to argue when she was trying to make amends?
Except that he was beginning to doubt his ability to see the plan through to completion, at least in her time frame. And he didn't want to let her down, didn't want to end it before it had really begun. So he decided not to play fair anymore. Sliding his mouth over her jaw, he let his tongue flick at her earlobe, gratified to feel her tense against him. Before she could stop him, he had licked down her neck and sucked firmly at the one spot he knew drove her crazy.
"J-e-e-e-d," she groaned, arching into his wet caress. "You're cheating."
But she didn't pull away, so he braved a hand against the small of her back, dipping lower to run his fingers over her buttocks. Still, he knew from experience she could hold out for a long time, taunting him with her moans, tantalizing him with her calculated wriggles. But either he had overestimated her own control or she had realized how close he was, because suddenly, she was sitting up, stripping off the bra, panties following in quick succession, and curling her hand around his base, guiding him against her flesh, now hot and wet and ready.
Gasping, he took her surrender as his cue that the plan had just been altered, reaching up his hands for the first time to run the palms over her breasts, feeling the hardened peaks push into his touch.
"Abbey," he said, fighting for control a little longer, "can you feel what you've done to me? I want you so much. I want to make love to you all night, but right now - "
Her answer was to shift her legs so that he was poised right where she wanted him - right where he wanted to be. He felt the heat surround him, groaned as he slid against her, their intense arousal making them slick and smooth. But still, he held back with his last ounce of willpower, letting her make the ultimate move, hoping he could wait for her.
With a breathless sigh, she sank onto him, letting him slide into her as she clutched at the hair on his chest. He didn't even feel the pain of her fingers over the ecstasy of being inside her again. Deeper and deeper he pushed as she arched her hips and moaned his name.
Oh God, that felt good, too good. His jaw clenched in an effort to hold back for her, but as he hit the deepest spot, she cried out, surprising him with the explosion of spasms that squeezed him, with the hot release that burned him. She jerked against him, and he gripped her shoulders, doing his best to extend her pleasure with his hard thrusts. Their bodies met over and over, Abbey crying out with each driving push. Finally, as the frenzied writhing slowed, he knew he didn't have to wait any longer - couldn't wait any longer.
With a growl that contained no teasing whatsoever, he grasped her thighs and turned so that she lay beneath him. Before they were completely settled, he withdrew just to the edge, then plunged deep inside again, his body moving instinctively, wildly. They hadn't been this out of control in a long time, but he couldn't have stopped even if he had wanted to - and he sure as hell didn't want to. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him into her again and again. His arms shook as they braced against the mattress; sweat ran down his face, dripped from his jaw. His entire soul seemed to gather at one point, ready to burst from his body, to merge with hers.
She urged him on with her voice, her hands, her body, until he gave in to the power of that final eruption, shattering as the climax overtook him, washing through his body and into hers, pouring out the weeks of torture, of doubt, of guilt, like a cleansing baptism. It seemed to go on and on. His muscles cramped with the convulsions, but he couldn't spare the time to relieve them. When the orgasm finally released him with one last shudder, he fell against her, exhausted, still trembling as his nerves screamed their protests over such treatment.
"Jed?" she whispered after a moment, her gentle voice marked contrast to the fury of just moments before.
"Mmm?" It was as coherent as he could manage between gasps.
"How ya doin'?" It was casual, light, but he heard the more serious question through the tone.
He groaned and made his mouth move. "I'll let you know when my heart starts beating again."
Now he heard the smile. "I'm sorry I couldn't wait for you, Babe."
With much more optimism than he felt at the moment, he mumbled against her neck, "You'll wait for me the next round."
"Okay," she agreed, placing a kiss against his sweaty neck.
Finally able to send enough of a signal to his muscles to move, he withdrew from her and fell to the side. She snuggled against him, draping one arm over his stomach. They lay there for several minutes, their damp bodies cooling in the air. Lifting his hips, he pulled the comforter out from under them and draped it across their legs.
He was still shaking a little. He was breathing hard. He was completely drained of any energy.
He felt incredible.
He planned to lie there a little longer, regroup, and do his damnedest to fulfill his promise to her to make love all night. But the body in his arms suddenly stiffened, shifted, and he knew something was about to change.
"I've got something to tell you, Josiah Bartlet," she began, tone quiet but business-like.
He tensed. Josiah? That was usually not good. Usually he was in severe trouble when she used his given name. If she added Edward, he might as well just turn and run.
But she didn't. She propped herself up on an elbow and gazed down at him, smiling. Not the seductive smile of before, but a deep, warm, almost sad smile. "You are a wonderful man," she told him, and he couldn't keep the surprise from his face. It only made the smile sadder.
"I haven't told you that enough," she whispered, brushing her fingers over the fading scar on his cheek. "I have teased you to keep from getting too deep. I have criticized you so you wouldn't over-reach that Montana-sized ego. But you need to know this. You are a brilliant, witty, warm, compassionate, loving, charming, handsome man."
With effort, he pushed his jaw shut and cracked, "How much is this gonna cost me?"
But she wouldn't allow his self-deprecation. "I love you so much, Jed Bartlet." That did it. The tears that shimmered in her eyes were now mirrored in his. "I know that you've been through hell these past few weeks, and I know that a lot of it was my fault. And I am so sorr - "
This time he slipped his fingers over her lips. "Shh. You've already said it. I've already said it."
"But I want you to know that - "
"I know. Didn't you see Love Story?"
She smiled through the tears. "But love does mean having to say you're sorry. Love means being willing to say you're sorry."
"That's done," he reminded. It was done for both of them, long ago. Their souls, their minds, their hearts had rejoined weeks ago. And now their bodies had finally followed.
She pulled away from him for a moment, and when she turned back, he saw that she held the book of Greek poetry he had been reading when he collapsed. Voice soft, she flipped to the very poem that had followed him down into the darkness that night.
"Anguish devours the mind, and furious rage, and hope than which the heart can bear no heavier burden, when it is long deferred."
"Abbey - "
"Is that what you felt, Jed? Is that what it was like? That your heart couldn't bear anything else?"
His hand touched her face. "Abbey, don't do this. I'm fine. It's okay."
But she shook her head. "No. We made a commitment to each other thirty- six years ago to share everything. We have shared our dreams, our jobs, our children, our passions, and we have shared our burdens, Jed. It's sure as hell not time to stop now when they are just getting heavier."
He knew she referred to many things, to the decisions of the Presidency, to the increasingly complicated lives of their children - to the uncertain future they faced with the MS.
Sighing, he ran a hand through his tousled hair, unable to look her directly in the eyes, apologizing for what she would go through. "I know thirty-six years ago you didn't anticipate - "
But she interrupted, catching his jaw and turning his face toward her. "I didn't anticipate being First Lady of the United States, although I should have known. I didn't anticipate what amazing influences you have had on the entire world. I didn't anticipate your still being as incredibly sexy today as you were thirty-six years ago."
He stared at her, for once speechless.
Now her hands slid down his body and that gleam shone in her eyes. "And I didn't anticipate that we would be in the White House making out like teenagers every chance we got."
Her touch charged him with energy he wasn't sure he still had. He felt himself respond beneath her skilled fingers. But he needed her to know one more thing, despite the risk of losing the moment. "Abbey, you know there are still some things I can't - "
She stopped him again, this time with a kiss hard against his mouth. When she pulled back, she said, "I'm not asking you to reveal state secrets. I don't want to be privy to Sit Room discussions. I just want you to let me take some of the burden off. Can you do that, Jed?"
Her green eyes almost pleaded with him, for herself, for him, for their children, for their marriage. And he knew that, even though there would continue to be things he couldn't tell her as long as he was President, he could let her make those burdens just a little lighter, for both of them.
Nodding, he smiled and kissed her gently. He could do that. He could do that all night.
"Round Two?" she suggested, arching against him.
"Wait for me this time?" he teased.
"I'll wait for you forever, Jethro," she assured him.
He grinned, pulling her on top of him. "I always did like your confidence."
And in the end, they shared again and again. Their dreams, their words, their passions.
And their burdens.