A/N: Hoo boy. Sorry guys. (Author ducks head and accepts many blows) It's been a really long time since I updated, no? Well, sorry. And that's a sincere apology. I have no right to keep you waiting that long and other such apologetic things.
Here's something that several of you have been waiting for caring!Abbey Bartlet with grieving!Donna!
Disclaimer: Oh, how my life would different if only I had come up with the idea first! If only…
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Abbey Bartlet's POV
Being a doctor is the greatest pleasure in my life. All right, I won't lie, being First Lady is rather nice sometimes, but being a doctor was always my ambition. When I was a small child I was always the first kid over at the play stethoscope, diagnosing horrible diseases in all of my playmates and managing to bring them back to life at the last second. I never lost that passion for it, not after high school, college and med school. And then I met Jed.
When I met him he was a student and Notre Dame, studying to be a priest. A shame, I thought after I met him. He seems like he would make a nice husband to some lucky girl. That was all the time I spent thinking about it. Several months later we met at a party. I asked him how studying for the priesthood was going and that was when he told me that he had given up on that, had changed his major to economics. That was the first night that he asked me out. I accepted, and then about six months later we were engaged. You might think it was fast, but we were young, we were in love and we just had that feeling that comes about once in a lifetime when you're young and arrogant and you think: This was meant to be. Most of those people are wrong. We were lucky. We were right.
He wanted to be an economist. I didn't quite understand it, but I got to be a doctor. As long as I had that, I was fine. Then he won the Nobel Prize and our lives changed. Sure, the economics prize might not be as widely sought after as the others, but I still thought that it was somewhat neat that my husband had won a Nobel Prize. Suddenly people were noticing us. I don't quite remember how we got into the politics, it all happened so fast. The important thing is we managed to get our name into politics, got elected to the House of Representatives for New Hampshire, and then Governor of New Hampshire. It was overwhelming and I thought that this was as high as we could ever reach. And then Leo McGarry came to us.
I remember that night with perfect clarity, the night that Jed first told me that he intended to run for the office of President of the Untied States. I was in bed, waiting for him to get in. this was a later night than usual, but I wasn't really concerned. He probably just had some work that could not wait another day and he was finishing it up. He came into the bedroom, his face flushed and his eyes bright with excitement.
"Abbey, Leo came to see me today," he told me, waiting for some reaction. I nodded pleasantly and put down the book.
"Did he feel like staying overnight?" I asked, ready to swing my legs out of bed and go to greet him. "I could make him something very fast and we have plenty of spare bedrooms here."
"No, he just stopped by for today…I think. I don't know. He came into see me earlier this morning and ever since then I haven't been thinking straight. He came to tell me that he thinks…" Jed paused and let his sentence run off. This was the one thing about Jed that I absolutely hated. He was apt to trail off in the middle of a sentence if something else caught his attention. I coughed slightly to bring his attention back to me.
"Abbey, Leo thinks that I should run for President of the United States," he said in a rush, obviously glad to have that out in the open. I paused, my mouth hanging wide open in astonishment. Governor of New Hampshire seemed like a big leap, but President? As in, the man who would run our country? That was too far out of the realm of possibility, even with Jed.
It never really occurred to me that my husband could actually run this country. Even when I was spending time with Josh, Toby, Sam, and CJ it didn't really sink in that we were trying to make my husband the most powerful man in the world. When I was defending him for not being ready, I was also defending myself. I don't think that either one of us was ready. But when it came down to it, we were ready. We both were. The night of the Illinois primary, the night that we found out that he was the President-elect, when he was sworn in…we were ready when it mattered.
And all through this, I was the doctor. I was Dr. Bartlet in New Hampshire, and I was Dr. Bartlet during the campaign. Something happened in the campaign that I disliked. I stopped being a doctor. Now when everyone looked at me they saw Mrs. Bartlet instead of Dr. Bartlet. It upset me, but I kept my mouth shut for once for the good of the campaign. I wish I hadn't done that. For in that one second of not correcting the stupid reporter, I lost my status, my career, myself. I lost the ability to be Dr. Bartlet and I became just like almost every other First Lady, just a side place, a robot to smile and nod, support whatever her husband said and stand beside him while the flashbulbs were going off. It ate at me, and I never realized how much until the night that my husband was shot.
That night started out almost like any other one. I was at the Residence, just performing some paperwork that my office needed. The television was on, and provided some comforting background noise, even though I was paying absolutely no attention to it whatsoever. The knock on the door was the only thing that disturbed my peace and solitude.
I stood up and walked towards the door, trying to calm my racing heart. No one knocked except for people who were not Jed. It couldn't be anyone from my office, they'd all gone home. It couldn't be Charlie looking for Jed because he was in Rosslyn with Jed. The only people that my brain could come up with were the Secret Service.
I opened the door and found out that my brain had been right. "Mrs. Bartlet, you need to come with us," one said, moving away so that I could walk out of the room. I automatically bristled at the way that I had been addressed, but then concern for my family took over.
"Why, what's happening?" I asked, looking around as if I expected to see the answers in the hallway. The agents' faces were carefully expressionless. They were so nonchalant that I knew for certain that something was happening. And I knew that it wasn't anything good.
"Mrs. Bartlet, we need to get you to a secure location right now," they said in a carefully measured voice. They took several steps forward, expecting me to follow them. I took several steps forward and then stopped.
"I want to know what's going on," I said, trying to control the quaver in my voice. Whether it was there from rage or fear, I didn't know that myself.
The agents exchanged glances, apparently speaking volumes with their eyes. They appeared to come to the same conclusion and turned back to me. "Ma'am, the President was walking out from his meeting when he was shot," they said quickly, as if this sort of thing happened all the time. "Now we need to get you in the car and to a secure location."
I took a step back, defying them with my posture. "No, I am not going to a secure location!" I said, raising my voice unnecessarily. "I am going to the hospital with my husband. And anyone who tries to tell me differently can watch me shove a stethoscope into a part of their anatomy that I'm sure they would rather have free." It's interesting. Secret Service agents look rather funny when they're threatened and they actually take the threat seriously.
One of the braver ones steps forward. "Ma'am, our policy is that we have to get you to a secure location. They've already taken the Vice-President to one, now we need to get you."
"Well, that's all well and good for the Vice-President," I said, losing my famous temper. "He might be President. I'm not. And I would like to go and to spend time with my husband not go hide around in some damned hole!" I caught my breath and glared up at the Secret Service agents.
"Mrs. Bartlet, we sympathize with you, but this is Secret Service procedure. I need you to cooperate with us. Now please. You'll be taken to your husband when we're sure that you're in no danger." They saw me trying to argue again, and then he spoke up before I could. "Mrs. Bartlet, your husband has been shot. We don't know why, we don't know by whom, and we don't know how many of them there were. It could be a plot to ruin our government. What I need you to do is just to cooperate with us."
"I'm sorry," I apologized. A hopeful look came onto all of their faces before I spoke again. "But this is my husband that we're talking about. I'm sorry that I'm not making your jobs any easier, I really am. But this is the man that I swore to spend the rest of my life with, through the good and bad, for better or worse. That hospital is where I need to be. And if you say Secret Service procedure is the only reason for you not taking me to the hospital, then I swear to God that I will get on the phone and I will call the head of Secret Service and force him to make an exception for me."
I jutted my chin out stubbornly, just daring them to disagree with them. "I'll be back in just a moment," one of the agents said, walking down the corridor and taking out a small phone. I tapped my foot impatiently. After a few minutes the agent came back. He smiled at me and I ventured to give him a slight nod. "It's your lucky day Mrs. Bartlet," he said in the manner of someone playing Santa. I looked at him in shock.
"Lucky day? My husband's been shot, and you're saying that this is my lucky day?" he tried to walk back over his words and apologize, but I merely waved him off. "Never mind. We'll have plenty of time to apologize at a later day. For now let's just get to the hospital."
We started to walk down the stairs, and our pace increased the closer we got to the door. By the time that I could see the car I was almost sprinting, which was rather uncomfortable seeing as I had not changed out of my uncomfortable shoes. I shouted out some doctors' terms, and got into the car. I could hardly restrain myself from calling the hospital from the car and finding out what was happening. Now Abbey, don't do that, I cautioned myself. God knows that they have enough going on now without the crazy First Lady trying to find out and run the entire hospital.
The ride took entirely too long to get to the hospital. Once inside the Emergency Room I could feel myself relax. It's strange that a place filled with as much blood, death and despair as that place could make me feel comfortable. But it did. I could feel Mrs. Bartlet, the First Lady slipping away. I could feel the no-nonsense, fast-talking, intelligent Dr. Bartlet return to the front. I exchanged medical statistics with the doctor in charge after greeting Zoey and Leo.
After the doctor left, Leo took me aside. "Abbey, he's going under anesthesia," he told me. I immediately understood what he was talking about and nodded slowly.
"I'll go talk to him," I said, spinning on my heel to go the other way. Leo took my forearm and held me back.
"Are you sure that's a good idea?" he asked. I looked at him in distress. "I just mean, what's to stop him from going to the press as soon as he's done? This could ruin everything."
"I'd much rather my husband lose his political career than my life," I said sharply, turning around. "After all, I always liked the house at New Hampshire. Much more space."
The words of Leo still echoed in my mind when I was talking to Dr. Lee. "When all this is over, tell the press…don't tell the press…it's your choice." I leave the darkened room and immediately lean against the wall, unable to support my own weight…not that it's a lot of weight you understand.
The night seemed to take me over for a short minute. I heard sirens, but I couldn't move myself to go investigate. I just didn't care anymore. I couldn't force myself to care. My eyes closed for a second before I heard Leo's voice raised in a shout, anger, frustration and fear shooting through his normally calm tones. "Josh!" My eyes snapped open and my heartbeat started to pound again, sending the blood pulsing through my veins, just below the surface of my skin.
I shoved off of the wall and started to walk forward, my knees feeling shaky and unable to support my not-great weight. Jed was already in danger, wasn't that enough for the West Wing? Wasn't the leader of the country enough for these people? Did they really have to take out someone as egotistical, sexist, and elitist as Josh?
I walked forward and saw the entirety of White House staffers going into a room. I paused at the doorway, unable to make myself go into the room. To go in would be to receive sympathy and pity, and to receive sympathy and pity would be to admit that Jed was in danger. To receive pity was acknowledging that there was a problem, and that he might die. I leaned up against another wall and tried to let my mind relax and go over the events of the last few minutes.
My husband had been shot. He was in surgery right now, and there was an anesthesiologist that might reveal his MS to a thousand waiting cameras. It was all a little bit much to deal with, but it was much better than being in the operating room, your brain stretched into a thousand places at once. I took a deep breath, steadying myself and then I stepped forward and opened up the door.
Everyone's heads turned to me, their eyes curious, fearful, and sympathetic. CJ took a step towards me and then stopped, as if she was unsure about how I would react. I nodded at her and managed to make eye contact with everyone in the room, even the Secret Service agents in the back. Leo nodded at me. "So we're just going to stay here," he said, ending his speech.
Everyone looked around awkwardly, waiting for someone to tell them what to do. I was the first to make a move, grabbing one of the uncomfortable waiting room chairs and sitting down in it. You'd think they could get something at least a little more comfortable for the First Lady, but oh well. I wasn't complaining. I don't know how much time had passed before I decided to walk out and about the hospital. Things were just becoming too cramped for me in the small room.
I walked around the hallway, looking around at all the different rooms. I didn't hear the call at first. "Dr. Bartlet!" I turned around to see the Doctor that I had talked with earlier walking swiftly down the halls towards me. "What are you doing here?" he asked me curiously. I looked around self-consciously.
"Just walking around," I said. "Is there any word on him?" I asked anxiously, suddenly wondering why he was out here instead of operating on Jed.
"We just got done with the operation, and everything looks fine," he reassured me. It took a second for the words to sink in. Jed was fine. He was not going to die. His surgery had taken an incredibly short time. It felt like I had been carrying five twenty pound sacks on my shoulders and then some strong person had taken them off at all once. I felt like I was standing three feet taller than I had been. It's strange how much relief can help your posture.
"No internal damage?" I asked, walking back to the room with him. I saw random people walking in the hallways and felt like hugging them, felt like dancing around the hallways with them. My husband's going to be fine! My husband's going to be all right! I managed to smother my giddy grin, realizing that this was still a hospital, and as such, was a somber place.
"No, everything looks like it's going to be fine," he reassured me. "He should be awake from the anesthesia in just a few hours." I took a breath to steady myself and then asked the fatal question.
"What about Josh?" His entire demeanor changed. When he had been telling me about Jed he had been quietly pleased, the kind where you know they're just waiting to go into a quiet room so they can jump around and congratulate themselves. Now he seemed like the person who has just been told that their puppy died.
"The bullet lacerated his pulmonary artery," he said reluctantly. "We're going to have to go in and try to repair it manually." I felt my heart sink to my feet at this noise. And the night had been looking so good for all of two minutes!
I searched my brain for solutions, racking it for almost every procedureI knew.I could tell that the answer would be no, and I knew that he had already thought of this, but I couldn't help but throw out one more suggestion. He shook his head. By then we were at the door and I knew what I had to do. I thanked him for his trouble and walked in to break the bad news to the staff.
The broken look on their faces was too much for me to take. I hate being the bearer of bad news; I can't stand the look that people get in their eyes when their hopes get crushed. I've had to deal with that look too many times since I moved my residence to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. I eventually wandered back into the waiting room and took a seat beside Donna. She was staring straight forward, her eyes wide and unfocused.
It was so strange to see Donna sitting still. She was normally such a ball of energy, jumping around the West Wing, full of enthusiasm for the job. I know there's been times when she's the only thing that's managed to get Josh through a particularly hard day and for that the President and the entirety of the White House staff love her. Also, she's just a good person to be around.
"Donna?" I asked softly. She jumped and stared wildly at me. It took her a second to get oriented to her surroundings. When she did, the despair seemed to return with a greater force to her eyes. "Are you all right?"
"Yes, I'm fine," she said, making an obvious effort to talk around the lump in her throat. She played idly with one of the buttons on her sweater that didn't really match the shirt she had underneath.
"Donna, Josh is going to be fine," I reassured her. It was an empty promise and I could see from the look in her eyes that she knew that as well.
"Yes I know," she said. I smiled sadly. Even now she was still observant of the proper procedures of respect. She did not openly contradict me. In a way I wished she had. I wish she had screamed and yelled in my face: how do you know that? How do you know he's going to be all right? Everyone keeps on telling me that, but no one has any real proof for me!
I sat back in my chair, becoming so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I didn't hear her soft whisper. "It's just strange to think that a few hours ago I was worrying about what I would have to do at the office tomorrow," she began softly. "Everything can change so fast…and I can't think about tomorrow, I can't imagine what'll happen if…if…" her voice tapered off and she was shaking her head. The tears were threatening to fall now, but Donna managed to rein them in, shaking her head as if she was swearing to herself that she would not cry.
I could not think of anything to say to this so I just settled for sitting and looking supportive. I found that it was a role to which I was surprisingly suited to. Donna took a second to compose herself and she went on. "He let me go home early tonight. I wonder…if I had been with him…I could have gotten to him faster, I could have been with him…I don't know, have done something important…" she shook her head again.
I reached out and tentatively patted her on the shoulder. "Donna, there was nothing you could have done," I reassured her. "There was nothing more anyone could have done. It was just one of those things. You can't change things that Fate wants."
"I know that," she whispered to herself. "I know that. But I can't help thinking that I might lose him tonight…" her voice caught again, but she soldiered on through it. "And when I think that I might lose him, all I want to do is just to crawl up into a hole somewhere and die," she managed to choke out. The tears threatened to come out, they were hovering on the edge of her eyelashes, but she pulled them in again and her cheek stayed dry.
"Donna, I swear to you that Josh is going to make it through," I said, suddenly determined that my favorite sexist was going to make it alive through the night. Donna looked at me, sensing a difference between this promise and my earlier empty promise. Perhaps it was the determination in my voice that made me so much easier to believe the second time around.
Donna nodded and stared off into space again. I stared at the same place in the wall that she was, mulling over what I had just said. I had just given a promise that I didn't know would succeed. But I believed it would succeed. I needed it to succeed. Because as much as I needed Jed…that was how much Donna needed Josh. My promise had to succeed.