Special thanks to Linda M. who always inspires me. This story is a late birthday present to her.
POV: Abbey
Spoilers: "Abu el Banat;" "No Exit"
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. I didn't create them. But I do love them.
Given the Force (2/2) A West Wing Story
by MAHC
"What the hell is this?"
Abigail Bartlet stared at her husband, at his extended hand, usually strong and solid, but trembling now, perhaps from the strain on his muscles after sex, perhaps from the shock of the prescription bottle he clutched in it. Her brain worked to respond, to form words of some sort, but the connection wouldn't quite click to her mouth.
What the hell indeed.
As she struggled to find her voice, he asked, more specifically, "What is Alprazolam?"
She saw the fear tighten his eyes and felt a wave of regret mixed with a selfish satisfaction that he was worried about her.
She knew the crude saying about the fan and – well, it had definitely been hit. With a sigh, she shrugged.
"More commonly known as Xanex," she supplied with an arch smile, strangely grateful for the freedom of having her secret revealed.
His head turned slightly, as it did when he wasn't quite sure what he had heard, when he needed a moment or two to digest the information. "Xanex? That's for – "
"Anxiety. Depression." No use making him guess.
He straightened, dropping his hand and tilting his chin back, almost in a defensive posture, as if he was bracing for an attack, as if he felt she would blame him for her needing the help. Her thoughts latched on briefly to the events of the past year, to her reactions, and she decided that maybe he was justified in his impulse.
"Abbey – "
But she didn't let him finish, didn't want him to apologize for something he couldn't change anyway. "Do you know what stress does to your body, Jed?"
Despite his shock, the protective mask snapped into place. "Abbey, if you're going to start in on me – "
But she shook her head. "I'm not talking about you. I'm taking about all of us. I'm talking about – me."
Sudden comprehension drew him out of the tense stance, dropped the mask, and pulled him toward her. "Oh God, what's wrong? What have you – "
"Nothing," she rushed to assure him. "Nothing – yet. But I decided that I have to do something to keep it from happening. I have to keep myself from going crazy in this place."
He flinched and she sighed. He would never stop feeling that he was responsible for everything that happened in the entire world.
"Jed, I know that you have constant burdens that cannot be forgotten. I lie beside you every night while you stare at the ceiling until two or three in the morning. I know how many cigarettes you smoke. I see what this job is doing to you."
"Abbey – "
She held up her hand. "And I know I can't do anything about it," she conceded. God knew she had tried. "If it destroys you, I know it's what you wanted to do. We're not going back there. But God – or Xanex – help me, it will not destroy me, too." She didn't finish the rest: "And someone has to be around to pick up what's left of you when it's over."
His eyes dropped from her face, stared at the carpet. For a strange moment, her brain considered the ridiculousness of their situation. They both stood facing each other, the short negligee the only thing covering her. He didn't even have the comfort of boxers. Their bodies were bared, just as their souls were.
After a moment, she said quietly, "Stress can create real physical problems, Jed."
He slipped the bottle back into her bag and leaned heavily against the chair arm. "Yeah."
"In fact, stress is one of the major contributors to an MS episode – "
"I thought this was about you," he snapped.
She bit her lip, silently acknowledging his point. "Yes. Do you begrudge me this chance to help – "
Now he turned back hard. "I don't begrudge you, anything, Abigail, all right? I know I've screwed up your life here. I know you hate me for it. You've made that quite clear – "
"Self-pity doesn't become you, Josiah," she noted, angry at herself for feeling the truth of his accusations, angry at him for throwing them in her face.
"Yeah? Well, what else can I do?" His voice had risen to a yell and she wondered if the service outside the door was enjoying their show. "I've apologized. I've accepted blame. What the hell else do you want from me? I could give you my blood, but half of the Middle East and all of North Korea are in line before you!"
He finished, chest heaving, hair falling into his face, mouth hard. Abbey waited for him to come down, which he always did, the emotional release retreating in favor of a more logical calm. He straightened, running his fingers through his hair, and in spite of herself she found the gesture, as always, sexy.
Damn it! She was trying to hang on to the anger, to defend herself against the accusations hurled at her from his own pain. But when his hand crossed over and threaded through the thick strands of hair, she couldn't suppress a smile. Of course, just about anything Josiah Bartlet did was sexy to her, even after 37 years of watching him do it. He never failed to ignite the desire in her even during their most heated arguments. Sometimes the anger was enough to break through. Sometimes, the disappointment sufficed. But it was always an effort to resist – if she chose to resist. She wondered if he really knew how he affected her, then determined that he must not be completely aware, or he would have won more of those fights in the past 37 years.
Pressing his lips together for a moment, he finally sighed and shook his head, staring past her shoulder. "I just – tonight was so good. Like it hasn't been in – in a while. And I thought that meant maybe things were – better. For you. For us." His voice dropped a register, and he drew in a shuddering breath.
Abbey caught her own breath, and fought not to melt under his vulnerability. It could reach her better than any of his exclamations. But she was not sure she wanted to go where he was taking them.
His own sudden switch in temperament saved her the trouble. "Then I find out, purely by accident, that you – that you need medication just to get through the day. Just to deal with – with crap I caused, I suppose." He threw his arm in the air, and she watched, eyes narrowing, as he winced and drew the bandaged hand back to his chest.
Was it the medication? Was it the proof that, once again, he couldn't solve all the problems of the world without help? Was it the fact that it was his wife, the closest person to him, who was suffering the most from his actions? Was it all of that combined that tormented him?
She didn't know how he coped with the stress, how he kept from falling completely apart. Maybe he was just falling apart in bits and pieces. He didn't sleep. He smoked too much. He had grown haggard-looking, burdened down. The mischief was gone from his eyes, the twinkle she thought would always be there. The lightness, the banter, the wit – all a memory.
That's how the stress had affected him. He was changing into someone else. And, damn it, not only could she do nothing to stop it, she had to admit to a significant amount of responsibility in actually causing it. How was that for guilt?
"It's not you, Jed," she tried in her best soothing voice. "It's the situation – "
"And who the hell put you – put all of us – in the situation? Nice try, Abbey, but the bottom line is that you are here because of what I wanted, not because of what you wanted. I got that, all right? I understand."
Her forced calm evaporated, and she felt herself losing patience. Here she was trying to reassure him and the bastard insisted on beating himself up. Here she was trying to play the forgiving wife and mother, trying to absolve him finally of the guilt for what had happened with Zoey and he was the one not letting it go. She almost resented that fact that he was acknowledging the burden she had thrust on him with the kidnapping, was finally taking the blame in front of her after she had waited for months for him to admit to it. Well, damn it, he could at least give her the satisfaction of being gracious.
A heated retort bubbled to her lips, but died at the sharp click of the door.
"Excuse me, Mister Pres – "
Leo McGarry stumbled to a halt, both his words and his body brought up short by the sheer power of the tension cracking the air – and probably the fact that the President had no clothes on and his wife might as well have not.
His jaw dropped as he comprehended what he had interrupted. Abbey almost felt sorry for him. Almost. After all, if they were passing guilt around, this man would have to take his turn at catching it.
She saw the progression of waves wash across his brow: first confusion, then comprehension, then compassion. For her, maybe. For Jed, certainly.
Leo McGarry. Protector General of Josiah Bartlet. Life term.
She used to feel guilty when her own stubbornness made things awkward for her husband, the President. When Leo had to step in and guide her to the safe ground so she wouldn't cause political turmoil. But after Shareef, after Zoey, she no longer felt the guilt. Nothing she could do would match the crime Leo – and Jed – had perpetrated. And she didn't mean the killing of Shareef. She meant placing her baby in danger. She meant keeping it from her.
It had been Jed's decision, but she carried no delusion that Leo had not initiated the thought. Without his push, Jed Bartlet would never have even considered the possibility – would never have imagined ordering the assassination of another human, even an evil one. Hell, without Leo, Jed Bartlet would never have been President of the United States. Oh yes, she owed Mr. McGarry a great deal.
All these thoughts swept through her head in the few seconds it took for their intruder to gather himself enough to determine his next hasty course of action.
"Ah – damn. Abbey, I'm sorry. I thought you were at the – Mister President, I'm sorry. I'll should just – I'll just – "
Poor Leo. Poor proper, stiff Leo. Of course, after their earlier conversation while Jed was apparently being disinfected from the Plague, he would have assumed she had gone to the clinic, that Jed would be alone, and perhaps in need of venting or unloading about the latest lockdown.
But there she was, knowing things Leo didn't know. Having time with Jed that Leo didn't have. It was petty, but she couldn't keep the thought from her mind: "Turnabout's fair play, eh, Leo?"
After only a few seconds' hesitation, he was gone, fumbling back through the doorway, completely un-Leo-like in his awkward exit, mumbling and scarlet-faced.
There was a beat. Then two. Then three.
After several stunned moments of silence, Abbey turned to look at Jed, to gage from his reaction what his mood was now. A strange expression froze his features until she thought the hard mask might just break. The building explosion had been snuffed out by the interruption, but what would take its place?
Then, in the involuntary release of stress, a twitch cracked his lips, and within only a few seconds, he was laughing – that hearty, deep, rich laugh that had warmed her since she first heard it erupt from that beautiful, expressive mouth. It was Jed Bartlet's laugh, and no one else had it – as distinctive as his voice.
Unable to do anything else, her body let go of its own tension and fell into the mirth with him, at the same time falling into his arms, thanking God as she felt him pull her tighter in the embrace, as she clutched at his shoulders and around his neck, as the emotions consumed her and urged her to press so hard against him that they might somehow magically merge flesh and minds.
The heat of his body warmed her, and she grew acutely aware of the effect her own touch was having on him.
"Okay," he said finally, lifting his head to look at her. "Okay. You do what you – need to do. I wish I could – I wish I could keep you from needing it, but – "
"It's done," she said dismissively, fingering the hair on his chest. "Don't worry about it. Better Xanex than ACE inhibitors."
"Yeah."
"For all of us," she reminded pointedly.
"I get checked fifty times a day," he protested. "My blood pressure is fine. Cholesterol is okay." Now his face softened. Not a smile exactly, but almost. He let his hips jut forward against her. "And my reflexes are working."
Relieved that he seemed to be letting the issue go much more easily than she had anticipated, she gave him back the same expression, grinding gently into the swelling hardness. "Yes, I would have to agree. They are working quite well."
A strong pulse was his response.
"Still, Josiah Bartlet, just remember that I had better be the only one checking your reflexes."
"Only for you, Babe," he assured her. And throughout all of their ordeals, she had never doubted that.
They stood in a silent embrace for a moment until he took an unexpected step back and cleared his throat. "We'd better get dressed in case Leo plans to come back."
With a reluctant nod, she said, "I don't think there's much chance of that, but okay."
"Probably not, but – "And she realized that the move had more to do with his own control in the situation than with any concern about being interrupted again. He stepped to the bureau and pulled out a pair of boxers, slipping them on before he dropped onto the couch.
Shrugging into his robe, she chuckled softly. "Poor Leo. I'd love to hear what he says to you in the morning."
"He'll say, 'What the hell were you doing standing so far away from your gorgeous wife when you could have been on top of her?'"
"Jed!"
"Well, maybe he'll just think it."
"I hope so." Wait, she wasn't sure that came out right. Jed's leer affirmed her suspicion. "You know what I mean."
"I certainly do."
This was much better now. This easy banter. More like the old days. More like the old Jed and Abbey. She yearned for it to stay that way, but experience told her that wasn't even just wishful thinking. Still, she would fight for the moment.
"Thank you for understanding, Jed," she said warmly, at the risk of getting too serious again. "I didn't need another lecture on – "Her eyes clenched shut at the slip. Maybe he hadn't noticed –
"Another lecture?" No such luck.
"Jed – "
He sat straighter, those intense eyes commanding and pleading at once. "Who else knows, Abbey?'
"Earlier, during the lockdown, Leo and I talked. He gave me a speech about the pills – "
"Leo knows?" The flash of betrayal, of hurt in his voice stopped her. Damn it. She heard the rest of his thought, even without his speaking it. "– and I didn't?"
And despite the pang his hurt caused, a natural voice of vengeance said, "Yeah, Leo knows. Leo knew and you didn't. How does it feel, Jackass?" But she didn't say that. Instead, she shrugged and told him, "He saw me take the pills. They aren't daily. Just as needed."
His expression warred between asking more about Leo and delving deeper into her dependence on anti-anxiety drugs. She was mildly pleased that she won.
"As needed?" he asked quietly. "And how often do you need them?"
It struck her that a role reversal was in the making. She was the one being scrutinized now. She was the one under surveillance from careful eyes. She was the one whose every move would be met with cautious contemplation.
It had been Jed for so many years. Her turn now and she felt an uncomfortable pang of guilt with just a brief taste of what he had endured all that time. It was disconcerting to feel that every twinge could be seen as an indication of a problem.
Touche, Mister President.
"Abbey?"
He was worried, she could hear it in his voice and the thought softened her own response that could have been much harsher. "Well, when my husband has just possibly been exposed to the Plague qualifies, don't you think?"
"Yeah," he had to agree, dropping his gaze.
And there it was again. After the anger, after the tirade, after the accusations, she saw the guilt still. He would never be without it.
"Abbey, I wish I could – maybe I can – I'm sorry I can't – "
She bent over the couch and touched her fingers to his lips, stopped his attempt at a vain promise. "You can't. All you can do is what you are doing now. Running the country. Doing what you think is right."
"But you – "
"I'll manage. When we're out of here in three more years, I'll kick your ass good, but for now I'll manage."
His brow rose sharply. "You haven't been kicking my ass good the past five years?"
Okay, maybe he had a point. She smiled in concession to it.
"Does it – does it help?" he wondered. "You, I mean. Does it make things – easier?" And she saw that he wanted it to.
So she nodded, not completely sure she was being truthful, but then it was the night for almost-truths, wasn't it?
"Okay," he conceded; then his brow darkened. He didn't want to say it, but the words came anyway. "Just – be careful, all right? I don't want to lose – I don't want to lose who you are to me. Not before – "
The sob that crowded her throat came unexpectedly, but she couldn't stop it. He didn't mean just the Xanex. He meant so much more. Her thoughts raced back to Christmas, to his choked admittance that, "It'll get ugly and that's that." He feared losing himself, and thus losing the people he loved. He was terrified of the possibility of the changing relationships – of not knowing what they had been to each other, of not being that anymore.
He looked up at her, tears pushing at his eyes, flowing down his cheeks as he saw her comprehension. And suddenly the Xanex and the Tularemia and even Leo meant absolutely nothing in their moment.
Sliding around the sofa, she fell on him, wrapping her arms around his body, hugging him to her in love, in protection, in reassurance, in comfort. She couldn't fix anything. She couldn't fix the warring factions of the Middle East; she couldn't fix her inability to deal with the stresses without help; and she couldn't fix what was wrong with Jed, physically or emotionally.
But she could love him. And maybe, for now, that would be enough.
As their bodies finally sank into the limpness of emotional satiation, she felt him shift beneath her and realized that he was stirring against her groin. Lifting her head, she peered down questioningly into his face and was a bit surprised to see the blush that colored his cheeks.
"Sorry," he muttered.
But it was the key to breaking their melancholy, so she smirked and said, "I think, Mister President, that it's time to check your reflexes again, just in case."
After a moment's shock, he grinned back gratefully. "Just in case."
Drawing her legs up she tossed his robe to the floor, straddled his hips, and let her fingers run through the hair on his chest and stomach. It was a move that never failed to bring him fully to arousal and he didn't disappoint her now. As she let him slide into her again, she groaned at the marvelous sense of fullness, of completion, dismissing the disturbing complications of the world and trying to focus solely on his heat, his pulses, his caresses.
Somehow they would get through the next three years. Somehow they would survive the penance for taking the high call to duty. She prayed they would both emerge from it with the same fire, the same passions with which they entered. She prayed the office wouldn't rip him from her by the end. But whatever happened, she would still be there. She had promised him that – she had promised herself that.
But this moment was theirs, this celebration of pleasure and love. The burdens were still there, behind the doors Leo had closed so hastily. Burdens that would wait for them, she had no doubt of that.
Given the force, any weight might be moved. She had heard that somewhere, although she wasn't exactly sure where. She prayed that one day the weight from all of their shoulders would be moved, and she worked, if only for tonight, to provide enough force to push it off Jed, at least long enough to let him gather the strength to carry it again tomorrow.
Because he would carry it until someone pried his hands away on a cold January day three years in the future. And even then, she wasn't completely certain he could let go.
But she would sure as hell make him try.
POV: Abbey
Spoilers: "Abu el Banat;" "No Exit"
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. I didn't create them. But I do love them.
Given the Force (2/2) A West Wing Story
by MAHC
"What the hell is this?"
Abigail Bartlet stared at her husband, at his extended hand, usually strong and solid, but trembling now, perhaps from the strain on his muscles after sex, perhaps from the shock of the prescription bottle he clutched in it. Her brain worked to respond, to form words of some sort, but the connection wouldn't quite click to her mouth.
What the hell indeed.
As she struggled to find her voice, he asked, more specifically, "What is Alprazolam?"
She saw the fear tighten his eyes and felt a wave of regret mixed with a selfish satisfaction that he was worried about her.
She knew the crude saying about the fan and – well, it had definitely been hit. With a sigh, she shrugged.
"More commonly known as Xanex," she supplied with an arch smile, strangely grateful for the freedom of having her secret revealed.
His head turned slightly, as it did when he wasn't quite sure what he had heard, when he needed a moment or two to digest the information. "Xanex? That's for – "
"Anxiety. Depression." No use making him guess.
He straightened, dropping his hand and tilting his chin back, almost in a defensive posture, as if he was bracing for an attack, as if he felt she would blame him for her needing the help. Her thoughts latched on briefly to the events of the past year, to her reactions, and she decided that maybe he was justified in his impulse.
"Abbey – "
But she didn't let him finish, didn't want him to apologize for something he couldn't change anyway. "Do you know what stress does to your body, Jed?"
Despite his shock, the protective mask snapped into place. "Abbey, if you're going to start in on me – "
But she shook her head. "I'm not talking about you. I'm taking about all of us. I'm talking about – me."
Sudden comprehension drew him out of the tense stance, dropped the mask, and pulled him toward her. "Oh God, what's wrong? What have you – "
"Nothing," she rushed to assure him. "Nothing – yet. But I decided that I have to do something to keep it from happening. I have to keep myself from going crazy in this place."
He flinched and she sighed. He would never stop feeling that he was responsible for everything that happened in the entire world.
"Jed, I know that you have constant burdens that cannot be forgotten. I lie beside you every night while you stare at the ceiling until two or three in the morning. I know how many cigarettes you smoke. I see what this job is doing to you."
"Abbey – "
She held up her hand. "And I know I can't do anything about it," she conceded. God knew she had tried. "If it destroys you, I know it's what you wanted to do. We're not going back there. But God – or Xanex – help me, it will not destroy me, too." She didn't finish the rest: "And someone has to be around to pick up what's left of you when it's over."
His eyes dropped from her face, stared at the carpet. For a strange moment, her brain considered the ridiculousness of their situation. They both stood facing each other, the short negligee the only thing covering her. He didn't even have the comfort of boxers. Their bodies were bared, just as their souls were.
After a moment, she said quietly, "Stress can create real physical problems, Jed."
He slipped the bottle back into her bag and leaned heavily against the chair arm. "Yeah."
"In fact, stress is one of the major contributors to an MS episode – "
"I thought this was about you," he snapped.
She bit her lip, silently acknowledging his point. "Yes. Do you begrudge me this chance to help – "
Now he turned back hard. "I don't begrudge you, anything, Abigail, all right? I know I've screwed up your life here. I know you hate me for it. You've made that quite clear – "
"Self-pity doesn't become you, Josiah," she noted, angry at herself for feeling the truth of his accusations, angry at him for throwing them in her face.
"Yeah? Well, what else can I do?" His voice had risen to a yell and she wondered if the service outside the door was enjoying their show. "I've apologized. I've accepted blame. What the hell else do you want from me? I could give you my blood, but half of the Middle East and all of North Korea are in line before you!"
He finished, chest heaving, hair falling into his face, mouth hard. Abbey waited for him to come down, which he always did, the emotional release retreating in favor of a more logical calm. He straightened, running his fingers through his hair, and in spite of herself she found the gesture, as always, sexy.
Damn it! She was trying to hang on to the anger, to defend herself against the accusations hurled at her from his own pain. But when his hand crossed over and threaded through the thick strands of hair, she couldn't suppress a smile. Of course, just about anything Josiah Bartlet did was sexy to her, even after 37 years of watching him do it. He never failed to ignite the desire in her even during their most heated arguments. Sometimes the anger was enough to break through. Sometimes, the disappointment sufficed. But it was always an effort to resist – if she chose to resist. She wondered if he really knew how he affected her, then determined that he must not be completely aware, or he would have won more of those fights in the past 37 years.
Pressing his lips together for a moment, he finally sighed and shook his head, staring past her shoulder. "I just – tonight was so good. Like it hasn't been in – in a while. And I thought that meant maybe things were – better. For you. For us." His voice dropped a register, and he drew in a shuddering breath.
Abbey caught her own breath, and fought not to melt under his vulnerability. It could reach her better than any of his exclamations. But she was not sure she wanted to go where he was taking them.
His own sudden switch in temperament saved her the trouble. "Then I find out, purely by accident, that you – that you need medication just to get through the day. Just to deal with – with crap I caused, I suppose." He threw his arm in the air, and she watched, eyes narrowing, as he winced and drew the bandaged hand back to his chest.
Was it the medication? Was it the proof that, once again, he couldn't solve all the problems of the world without help? Was it the fact that it was his wife, the closest person to him, who was suffering the most from his actions? Was it all of that combined that tormented him?
She didn't know how he coped with the stress, how he kept from falling completely apart. Maybe he was just falling apart in bits and pieces. He didn't sleep. He smoked too much. He had grown haggard-looking, burdened down. The mischief was gone from his eyes, the twinkle she thought would always be there. The lightness, the banter, the wit – all a memory.
That's how the stress had affected him. He was changing into someone else. And, damn it, not only could she do nothing to stop it, she had to admit to a significant amount of responsibility in actually causing it. How was that for guilt?
"It's not you, Jed," she tried in her best soothing voice. "It's the situation – "
"And who the hell put you – put all of us – in the situation? Nice try, Abbey, but the bottom line is that you are here because of what I wanted, not because of what you wanted. I got that, all right? I understand."
Her forced calm evaporated, and she felt herself losing patience. Here she was trying to reassure him and the bastard insisted on beating himself up. Here she was trying to play the forgiving wife and mother, trying to absolve him finally of the guilt for what had happened with Zoey and he was the one not letting it go. She almost resented that fact that he was acknowledging the burden she had thrust on him with the kidnapping, was finally taking the blame in front of her after she had waited for months for him to admit to it. Well, damn it, he could at least give her the satisfaction of being gracious.
A heated retort bubbled to her lips, but died at the sharp click of the door.
"Excuse me, Mister Pres – "
Leo McGarry stumbled to a halt, both his words and his body brought up short by the sheer power of the tension cracking the air – and probably the fact that the President had no clothes on and his wife might as well have not.
His jaw dropped as he comprehended what he had interrupted. Abbey almost felt sorry for him. Almost. After all, if they were passing guilt around, this man would have to take his turn at catching it.
She saw the progression of waves wash across his brow: first confusion, then comprehension, then compassion. For her, maybe. For Jed, certainly.
Leo McGarry. Protector General of Josiah Bartlet. Life term.
She used to feel guilty when her own stubbornness made things awkward for her husband, the President. When Leo had to step in and guide her to the safe ground so she wouldn't cause political turmoil. But after Shareef, after Zoey, she no longer felt the guilt. Nothing she could do would match the crime Leo – and Jed – had perpetrated. And she didn't mean the killing of Shareef. She meant placing her baby in danger. She meant keeping it from her.
It had been Jed's decision, but she carried no delusion that Leo had not initiated the thought. Without his push, Jed Bartlet would never have even considered the possibility – would never have imagined ordering the assassination of another human, even an evil one. Hell, without Leo, Jed Bartlet would never have been President of the United States. Oh yes, she owed Mr. McGarry a great deal.
All these thoughts swept through her head in the few seconds it took for their intruder to gather himself enough to determine his next hasty course of action.
"Ah – damn. Abbey, I'm sorry. I thought you were at the – Mister President, I'm sorry. I'll should just – I'll just – "
Poor Leo. Poor proper, stiff Leo. Of course, after their earlier conversation while Jed was apparently being disinfected from the Plague, he would have assumed she had gone to the clinic, that Jed would be alone, and perhaps in need of venting or unloading about the latest lockdown.
But there she was, knowing things Leo didn't know. Having time with Jed that Leo didn't have. It was petty, but she couldn't keep the thought from her mind: "Turnabout's fair play, eh, Leo?"
After only a few seconds' hesitation, he was gone, fumbling back through the doorway, completely un-Leo-like in his awkward exit, mumbling and scarlet-faced.
There was a beat. Then two. Then three.
After several stunned moments of silence, Abbey turned to look at Jed, to gage from his reaction what his mood was now. A strange expression froze his features until she thought the hard mask might just break. The building explosion had been snuffed out by the interruption, but what would take its place?
Then, in the involuntary release of stress, a twitch cracked his lips, and within only a few seconds, he was laughing – that hearty, deep, rich laugh that had warmed her since she first heard it erupt from that beautiful, expressive mouth. It was Jed Bartlet's laugh, and no one else had it – as distinctive as his voice.
Unable to do anything else, her body let go of its own tension and fell into the mirth with him, at the same time falling into his arms, thanking God as she felt him pull her tighter in the embrace, as she clutched at his shoulders and around his neck, as the emotions consumed her and urged her to press so hard against him that they might somehow magically merge flesh and minds.
The heat of his body warmed her, and she grew acutely aware of the effect her own touch was having on him.
"Okay," he said finally, lifting his head to look at her. "Okay. You do what you – need to do. I wish I could – I wish I could keep you from needing it, but – "
"It's done," she said dismissively, fingering the hair on his chest. "Don't worry about it. Better Xanex than ACE inhibitors."
"Yeah."
"For all of us," she reminded pointedly.
"I get checked fifty times a day," he protested. "My blood pressure is fine. Cholesterol is okay." Now his face softened. Not a smile exactly, but almost. He let his hips jut forward against her. "And my reflexes are working."
Relieved that he seemed to be letting the issue go much more easily than she had anticipated, she gave him back the same expression, grinding gently into the swelling hardness. "Yes, I would have to agree. They are working quite well."
A strong pulse was his response.
"Still, Josiah Bartlet, just remember that I had better be the only one checking your reflexes."
"Only for you, Babe," he assured her. And throughout all of their ordeals, she had never doubted that.
They stood in a silent embrace for a moment until he took an unexpected step back and cleared his throat. "We'd better get dressed in case Leo plans to come back."
With a reluctant nod, she said, "I don't think there's much chance of that, but okay."
"Probably not, but – "And she realized that the move had more to do with his own control in the situation than with any concern about being interrupted again. He stepped to the bureau and pulled out a pair of boxers, slipping them on before he dropped onto the couch.
Shrugging into his robe, she chuckled softly. "Poor Leo. I'd love to hear what he says to you in the morning."
"He'll say, 'What the hell were you doing standing so far away from your gorgeous wife when you could have been on top of her?'"
"Jed!"
"Well, maybe he'll just think it."
"I hope so." Wait, she wasn't sure that came out right. Jed's leer affirmed her suspicion. "You know what I mean."
"I certainly do."
This was much better now. This easy banter. More like the old days. More like the old Jed and Abbey. She yearned for it to stay that way, but experience told her that wasn't even just wishful thinking. Still, she would fight for the moment.
"Thank you for understanding, Jed," she said warmly, at the risk of getting too serious again. "I didn't need another lecture on – "Her eyes clenched shut at the slip. Maybe he hadn't noticed –
"Another lecture?" No such luck.
"Jed – "
He sat straighter, those intense eyes commanding and pleading at once. "Who else knows, Abbey?'
"Earlier, during the lockdown, Leo and I talked. He gave me a speech about the pills – "
"Leo knows?" The flash of betrayal, of hurt in his voice stopped her. Damn it. She heard the rest of his thought, even without his speaking it. "– and I didn't?"
And despite the pang his hurt caused, a natural voice of vengeance said, "Yeah, Leo knows. Leo knew and you didn't. How does it feel, Jackass?" But she didn't say that. Instead, she shrugged and told him, "He saw me take the pills. They aren't daily. Just as needed."
His expression warred between asking more about Leo and delving deeper into her dependence on anti-anxiety drugs. She was mildly pleased that she won.
"As needed?" he asked quietly. "And how often do you need them?"
It struck her that a role reversal was in the making. She was the one being scrutinized now. She was the one under surveillance from careful eyes. She was the one whose every move would be met with cautious contemplation.
It had been Jed for so many years. Her turn now and she felt an uncomfortable pang of guilt with just a brief taste of what he had endured all that time. It was disconcerting to feel that every twinge could be seen as an indication of a problem.
Touche, Mister President.
"Abbey?"
He was worried, she could hear it in his voice and the thought softened her own response that could have been much harsher. "Well, when my husband has just possibly been exposed to the Plague qualifies, don't you think?"
"Yeah," he had to agree, dropping his gaze.
And there it was again. After the anger, after the tirade, after the accusations, she saw the guilt still. He would never be without it.
"Abbey, I wish I could – maybe I can – I'm sorry I can't – "
She bent over the couch and touched her fingers to his lips, stopped his attempt at a vain promise. "You can't. All you can do is what you are doing now. Running the country. Doing what you think is right."
"But you – "
"I'll manage. When we're out of here in three more years, I'll kick your ass good, but for now I'll manage."
His brow rose sharply. "You haven't been kicking my ass good the past five years?"
Okay, maybe he had a point. She smiled in concession to it.
"Does it – does it help?" he wondered. "You, I mean. Does it make things – easier?" And she saw that he wanted it to.
So she nodded, not completely sure she was being truthful, but then it was the night for almost-truths, wasn't it?
"Okay," he conceded; then his brow darkened. He didn't want to say it, but the words came anyway. "Just – be careful, all right? I don't want to lose – I don't want to lose who you are to me. Not before – "
The sob that crowded her throat came unexpectedly, but she couldn't stop it. He didn't mean just the Xanex. He meant so much more. Her thoughts raced back to Christmas, to his choked admittance that, "It'll get ugly and that's that." He feared losing himself, and thus losing the people he loved. He was terrified of the possibility of the changing relationships – of not knowing what they had been to each other, of not being that anymore.
He looked up at her, tears pushing at his eyes, flowing down his cheeks as he saw her comprehension. And suddenly the Xanex and the Tularemia and even Leo meant absolutely nothing in their moment.
Sliding around the sofa, she fell on him, wrapping her arms around his body, hugging him to her in love, in protection, in reassurance, in comfort. She couldn't fix anything. She couldn't fix the warring factions of the Middle East; she couldn't fix her inability to deal with the stresses without help; and she couldn't fix what was wrong with Jed, physically or emotionally.
But she could love him. And maybe, for now, that would be enough.
As their bodies finally sank into the limpness of emotional satiation, she felt him shift beneath her and realized that he was stirring against her groin. Lifting her head, she peered down questioningly into his face and was a bit surprised to see the blush that colored his cheeks.
"Sorry," he muttered.
But it was the key to breaking their melancholy, so she smirked and said, "I think, Mister President, that it's time to check your reflexes again, just in case."
After a moment's shock, he grinned back gratefully. "Just in case."
Drawing her legs up she tossed his robe to the floor, straddled his hips, and let her fingers run through the hair on his chest and stomach. It was a move that never failed to bring him fully to arousal and he didn't disappoint her now. As she let him slide into her again, she groaned at the marvelous sense of fullness, of completion, dismissing the disturbing complications of the world and trying to focus solely on his heat, his pulses, his caresses.
Somehow they would get through the next three years. Somehow they would survive the penance for taking the high call to duty. She prayed they would both emerge from it with the same fire, the same passions with which they entered. She prayed the office wouldn't rip him from her by the end. But whatever happened, she would still be there. She had promised him that – she had promised herself that.
But this moment was theirs, this celebration of pleasure and love. The burdens were still there, behind the doors Leo had closed so hastily. Burdens that would wait for them, she had no doubt of that.
Given the force, any weight might be moved. She had heard that somewhere, although she wasn't exactly sure where. She prayed that one day the weight from all of their shoulders would be moved, and she worked, if only for tonight, to provide enough force to push it off Jed, at least long enough to let him gather the strength to carry it again tomorrow.
Because he would carry it until someone pried his hands away on a cold January day three years in the future. And even then, she wasn't completely certain he could let go.
But she would sure as hell make him try.