Series: Snapshots of the Past

Story: The Anniversary Waltz

Chapter 8

Disclaimer: See chapter 1

Previously: Jed had a bad day at the State House and took it out on his garage

Summary: Abbey attempts to heal Jed's emotional and physical wounds

- - -

The night Abbey Bartlet had envisioned wasn't supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be a night of relaxation, a night to cheer up her husband and attempt to repair his broken spirit.

That plan quickly spun out of control.

She was setting the napkins on the dinner table when she heard the jarring sound. The screeching breaks were unforgettable, but only seconds later, the echo of metal hitting the house was even more sensational. She stood frozen to her spot for a moment, then rushed outside.

Confronted with the sight of Jed sitting perfectly still, his hands on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead with steely, vacant eyes, sent a chill up her spine.

"Jed!" She sprinted towards him.

He snapped his head around as he opened his door. "Hi."

"Hi?" A hand placed under his arm, she helped him up off his seat.

"I'm sorry."

She brushed aside a few hairs that fell carelessly forward, covering up the small bruise that colored his forehead. "Oh, Jed."

"I'm okay."

"No, you're not."

"And neither are you." She was shivering from the cold February air. She had rushed out so fast that she didn't bother to grab her jacket. He took off his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders. "Abbey, I'm fine. Let's go inside."

With a nod, she led the way.

"Sit down," she ordered when he followed her through the front door. Even with her back to him, she knew he had picked up his utensils and absently ran his knife between the prongs of his fork. "Put them down."

He acquiesced after a roll of his eyes. Her hands gently grazed his head just before she held the ice pack against his bruise. "Abbey, I barely hit the steering wheel. It's really nothing."

"Don't fight me. You're going to have one hell of a headache later."

"Yes, Doctor."

The kiss that followed made it obvious she ignored his sarcastic undertone. "It'll be better tomorrow."

"My bruise?"

"Your day."

"What's the point? There's nothing to vote on tomorrow."

Sadness. That was the only way to describe the lack of energy obvious in his crooked posture and somber eyes. A man so moved by vocal expression was now slurring his words, allowing the power behind them to fade without meaning.

"Stop it," she scolded. She wouldn't let herself feel as badly as he did.

"I'm serious."

"So am I. You go in there with this attitude, Jed..."

"You don't get it, Abbey," he snapped as he grabbed the ice pack out of her hand and set it down on the table. "These people don't care."

She took a moment to gather her thoughts before responding in kind. Retrieving the chicken from the oven, she muttered under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear. "Neither do you."

Insulted by the intentional implication, he replied, "I do," before rising to his feet.

"Show me."

"I'm not one of the girls. You can't pull that reverse psychology crap and expect me to do whatever you want."

"I don't expect you to do what I want. That's the last thing I expect. And it isn't reverse psychology. I'm sorry you had such a rough day today, but I'm not going to sit here and tell you that you're right, that it's okay to just give up."

"Who said anything about giving up? I'm not going to resign."

"That's not what I meant. You're giving up on getting your ideas heard. When you got into this race, you did it to make a difference, to represent this community. You told me you weren't in it for the glory or the prestige. You weren't in it to listen to yourself talk."

"And I'm not."

"Doesn't look that way to me. For a man who wasn't in it to listen to the sound of his own voice, you seem awfully upset that no one's there to hear your lecture on democracy."

"Look..."

"No, you look." He took a step back, silenced by the strength in her tone. She always hated getting tough with him, but there were times when it was the only way to reach him. She knew that. So did he. "When you made the decision to run, you asked for my support, and we sat down together and listed the reasons why this was a good thing. Arguing on the floor of the State House was nowhere on that list. So people didn't show up. So what? It just means they're out of it when it comes time to vote."

"It means they're going to vote the way they were planning to! See, this is what I mean when I say you don't understand." Exacerbated and annoyed, he leaned against his chair to catch his breath. "Can't I just be miserable tonight without you analyzing it to death?"

Probably not, she thought. "No." She adopted a different approach to calm his temper. "Make me understand."

"I got in it to make a difference. The only way I can do that is if I can talk to people, discuss ideas with my colleagues, maybe change their minds about an issue, give them an opportunity to change mine." Always the idealist.

"You can still do that."

"Not if they're not there!" he shouted. "I can't do it if they're not there. We lose that interaction. Don't you get it?"

Raising his voice was always a regrettable part of his personality, but it was undeniably Jed Bartlet. The passion and fire would collide with failed aspirations and raw emotions. And when that happened, everyone usually stepped back. Everyone except Abbey.

"You only lose that interaction if the interaction is solely dependent upon debates at the State House. Do you even know the other democrats in the legislature?" He turned his back to her, his frustration apparent in the way he rubbed his forehead. With a gentle touch, she placed both hands on his shoulders and massaged gently. "I know you met them all in Concord last month, but what would happen if you got to know them outside of work? Develop a bond with them, share your ideas, let them share theirs. We could have a cocktail party here at the house to get things started."

"A cocktail party." He repeated what she said, becoming resigned to it himself.

"I've been thinking about it anyway. This is all new to me too. I'm trying to learn how to be that perfect political wife."

"You already are," he whispered, taking one hand off his shoulder and pressing his lips to her fingers.

"The bottom line is, you got into this for one reason that outweighed all the others. Decisions are made by those who show up. That's what you're teaching out daughters. You still mean it, don't you?"

"Yes. Of course." He loved her smile, even when it was motivated by a feeling of triumph. She won this round. That was obvious. "Where are the girls?" But changing the subject was always better than admitting it.

"Paige came by. She wanted to show them off to her family. They'll be back soon."

"This chicken any good?" he asked as he took his seat at the table and lifted the ice pack to his forehead. Little did he know there was a chocolate cheesecake waiting in the fridge.

"I don't know. I was hoping you'd eat it first."

He nodded with a laugh. Typical Abbey. Only she knew how to make him feel better. Probably because when he was upset, so was she. When he was hurting, so was she. No one else had the power that she seemed to wield every time he looked into the depths of her emerald eyes.

He extended his arms and pulled her towards him when she clasped her hands around his. Falling onto his lap, she rubbed her thumb over the purple bump coloring his skin.

Tonight, she was playing doctor. And he would let her.

TBC