The only image his tired eyes could discern was her silhouetted figured by the window. The sun had retreated, leaving only the lamp in the corner to illuminate her. His eyes traced the contours of her body and he soon felt overwhelmed by how exceedingly tiny she appeared at that moment. Her long, dark hair glistened in what little light it was exposed to; it only made her appear smaller. She had long since disposed of her jacket in favor of the long-sleeved silk blouse beneath it and discarded her shoes, allowing her sore feet to touch the ground uninhibited. She looked tired. She looked frail and disillusioned. He had done this to her. He was responsible for stealing the glow from her eyes. The regret was almost more than he could bear.
She knew the risks involved. She must have known it could come to this. She must have understood the potential ramifications of her actions. Their actions. He wasn't entirely to blame. But if he had never run for president…if he had never insisted on keeping the information clandestine from the public…if he hadn't promised her…
One term. One term, then back home to Manchester. Back to teaching classes at Dartmouth, attending symposiums, writing books. Back to guarding his health, or at least allowing her to. More time together, as a family, as a possible. There was nothing he would have liked more. He missed arguing with her over breakfast, calling to catch up in the afternoon, discussing the events of their day at dinner, and holding her at night. He missed the night when she was still awake by the time he came to bed. He missed having the time to talk about her about miscellaneous intellectual things, like art, music, and literature. He hated that, more often than not, they only had time to discuss the essentials. More than that, he missed seeing her smile. It had been so long.
But he couldn't be that guy. He couldn't be "Jed Bartlet, the one-term president." He couldn't be "Jed Bartlet, the cop-out." At the same time, he also couldn't be "Jed Bartlet, two-term president whose wife left him because he betrayed her." He wished there was some way they could reach a compromise. But no, the deal was their compromise. The deal was supposed to make everything all right, absolve him of sins not yet committed, and ease Abbey's fears. It had done no such thing. Now, she was being hounded by lawyers. Both her career and her conscience were at stake. Because of him. He did this to her. She was the wronged party. He was, perpetually, the jackass.
"Hey."
Even at the sound of his commanding voice, she did not flinch.
"Abbey."
At this, she turned her head, appearing genuinely startled by his intrusion. She looked shaken and hopeless. Rarely had he seen her in such a state.
"Oh. Hi."
Her voice was just as shaken, just as vulnerable as her appearance. She had been wrestling combative lawyers all day, probably responding to their every question with sharp, witty quips. The lawyers, he imagined, were not amused. They wouldn't see just how frightened she truly was. They saw the tower of strength Abigail Bartlet, impenetrable and somewhat intimidating. Only he saw the fear. He saw the regret, the dread, and the paralyzing realization of the gravity of the situation that she, that they had created.
He approached her slowly.
"How you holding up?"
When he reached her side, she turned her head to stare out the window once more.
"Fine."
"You talked to Sam today?"
"Yeah. Oliver Babish dropped by as well."
Jed smirked cynically.
"Bet that was a pleasant surprise."
"Yeah, it was a real treat," she replied, flatly.
"What'd he have to say?"
She hesitated for a moment, narrowing her eyes at some unidentified object in the corner of the room.
"He asked me if you'd ever had any extramarital affairs."
"What!" Jed demanded.
"Well, he asked me if I'd ever asked you…"
"Bastard."
"No, he was right," Abbey said, vacantly.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean he made a pretty valid point, Jed. That's a question I should have asked you. I can't believe we didn't see it."
"See what?"
"The obvious downsides to me acting as your personal physician when and where the MS was concerned."
"Maybe not one of our better decisions, no," Jed half-heartedly agreed. "Seemed like the right thing to do at the time."
"I should have known better. I should have asked you…"
"Abbey, you didn't ask me the question because you already knew the answer. That would be like standing in front of me and asking what color my eyes are. It wasn't necessary."
"That's not the point."
"I know it's not the point, but it's a point to be made and now that I've made it we can move on."
Suddenly, a single tear traveled down her cheek before she had the chance to catch it. As the tear slid underneath her chin, he felt his heart sever in a million different places. He wanted to reach out to her, but he knew she would come apart completely at his touch.
"They're gonna revoke my license."
Despite knowing full well that the scenario she had just concisely described was entirely possible and even probable, he shook his head fervently.
"No. That's not gonna happen. I'll make sure of it."
More broken promises.
"Jed, executive privilege only extends so far."
"No. Honey, this…this was an extenuating circumstance. They're gonna see that."
"No, Jed. They're gonna see me as an accomplice to fraud and deceit. I'm your little partner in crime, like Bonnie and Clyde. And you remember how that story ended, don't you?"
He shifted his weight uncomfortably and averted his eyes from hers.
"I remember."
"Bonnie and Clyde were both brutally murdered. Hundreds of gun shot wounds."
"At least they went down together."
"Remarkable how that isn't comforting to me," Abbey replied. "We'll be two brilliant scholars without jobs. That doesn't strike me as something you'd be particularly wild about, Jethro."
"Come here," Jed said softly, opening his arms to her.
"What." She pouted.
"Come here."
With only a bit of reluctance, Abbey stepped into his waiting arms and allowed him to envelop her with his undying love and support. He kissed her hair repeatedly and tightened his arms around her.
"God, I love you," he whispered.
She buried her face in chest and sniffled.
"I guess I love you too."
He laughed and lifted her chin so that he could look directly into her glistening green eyes.
"I love you, Abbey."
This time, her eyes met his with heartfelt sincerity.
"I love you too."
Jed leaned forward to kiss her, and as their lips made contact, they were both too enraptured to notice the quiet footsteps of his aide approaching them.
"Mr. President. It's Mrs. Landingham. There's been an accident."
THE END