Part Seven

July, 2002

It had been months since they'd spent more time together awake in a room than asleep. Despite that, the first thing they did up their arrival at Camp David was sleep. Jed slept with Abbey's hand touching his back, the tiny throbbing of her pulse easing him into peace. He didn't dream of his fallen soldiers or lost friends for a change. He didn't dream of mistakes made -- and unchangeable, but of tomorrow's possibilities and what he could do with them. He could change minds and lives and wake people up to the fact that this was not a perfect world but that it could be.
But now, just now, he slept with the soothing press of his wife's fingers against his back and thought, peripherally, of how, the next day, he would lead her into the dense wood for the kind of kiss that would occupy them for well past an hour. He sighed and settled as she snuggled towards his warmth, her hand sliding around him to rest on the junction of his stomach and chest. Her fingers fit into the indentions of his muscles, into the space between the xylophones of his ribcage. He slept restfully for the first time in months; she slept gladly for the same. They carried the burden of exhaustion together.
They had the weekend to look forward to. Plans, plans, there were always plans. This trip had been planned, planned and plotted until there wasn't a moment of spare time remaining to be human. It was a risk they'd both taken when they'd agreed to be these icons for the world. Plans, plans, schedules and time limits. That didn't mean they didn't miss humanity.
Their mutual dislike for both plans and idolatry made them slow to wake the next morning and even slower to part when he had to attend his daily security briefing. They assured each other that they would own the rest of the day, just them and their livelihood and their regressions into adolescent courting rituals. They parted with a lingering kiss that left her strangely weak and left him touching his lips where still a trace of lipstick clung.
He spent the bulk of the briefing just nodding his head where appropriate -- which couldn't be good for anyone -- and thinking about open spaces and the surface of the lake where he hoped to take Abbey rowing. No, it wasn't something he was particularly skilled at, but that fact alone would give her reason to mock him endlessly and therefore to smile. She hadn't smiled enough in a while. It wasn't so much that she seemed unhappy; she came across as content in most ways, but she didn't exactly radiate with bliss either. She used to; he remembered that she had once.
When he returned to the quaint cabin they shared within shouting distance of a 'discreet' Secret Service guard house, he found her folded into an old wingback chair before a window overlooking the woods. She had a book opened in her lap, though she clearly wasn't reading, wasn't even wearing her glasses. Instead, they hung forgotten from her fingers as she stared absently over the modestly enchanting vista. She didn't appear upset or anxious, just lost in her head, a place he wasn't sure he was welcome.
Although their time together was dwindling every second he stood watching and not being with her, he didn't approach. A thoughtful Abbey was best allowed to wander through the fields of gold that were her thoughts undisturbed. She knew he was here, or would figure it out soon enough. She'd let him know when she wanted him.
Careful of his own klutziness, Jed turned away to the sitting room and navigated his way to the couch. Here, there was also a view. It wasn't as enrapturing, but it was vast and compelled him to think again. Their first chance to be completely alone and they spent it apart. It didn't bother him as much as it struck him rather philosophical.
The people of the world, even those in their private section of it, had sutured them together unfairly. What she did affected him and what he could do, and what he did was to punish her or to restrict her or to apologize for her. They had been attached with the belittling titles of cause and effect interchangeably. Everyone tended to define them together and to forget that separate they were just as fascinating. Sometimes, Jed forgot too.
With his legs stretched out before him, he could just glimpse the sun's unassuming reflection off the dark water over the window seat. It was far enough away to put off but near enough that he couldn't forget. He yawned voraciously and pulled back his sleeve to check his watch. Twenty minutes gone and not a sound from Abbey. She had to know he was here by now. He felt a twinge of concern in the pit of his stomach. He swung his legs down and made to stand when two arms he'd know in the freezing rain came to still him. She was laughing, patently enjoying his torment, when she asked him if he was looking for her. He peered over his shoulder to find no trace of the pensive woman he'd stumbled onto a little while ago. In her place was someone with an exhilarated gleam in her eyes. This was the woman he knew.
He grumbled something about how terrifically unfunny she was. She, per their usual routine, paid him no attention, preferring to hold him as closely as having the back of the couch between them would allow. As she leaned against him her hair slipped from behind her ear to rest damply against his collar. A subtle fragrance exuded from the warm body behind him, filling his lungs and waking his nerves from their midday stupor.
He inhaled her atmosphere, noting the backwards pull of her lips into a smirk. She knew exactly what she was doing. She rubbed her cheek against his, still carrying a light sheen of steam from her warm shower. He didn't know how she'd gotten to the bathroom without his seeing her, but he wasn't terribly concerned. Lovely and mysterious were the ways of his wife; he'd learned not to ask.
Not that he cared right now. Her hair was wet and the way she practically stuck to his body indicated that the rest of her wasn't exactly waterless either. Pakistan and Italy could've marched on Washington and he would've told them to make an appointment. He had a special meeting of the government to attend.

He repositioned himself to get a good look at her, shimmering skin and lips. "Get over here," he tugged her over the back of the couch, ignoring her protests and set her down in his lap. She glared at him and he wiggled his eyebrows at her. He didn't show any sympathy. She knew that every action had its consequence. This was hers. There were worse things he could do.
He ignored any further complaint, winding an arm around her waist and another around her shoulders. She reciprocated, hiding her face in his neck and making some non sequitur comment about the weather. He responded with an aimless tangent about clouds to which she could only scoff and say that he was hers, uncontested.
They remained that way, partaking in the most eccentric conversation of their years together; weather, local politics, ER, and Chopin. It was foreplay to her, coupled with his picking at her sweater with thick fingers and rubbing her hip against his. She shivered, though it might've been the cold. She wasn't quite dry yet.
He nudged from him lap and stood up, taking her by the hand and leading her away from the picture window and its magnificent lake view. The bedroom waited patiently for their return and didn't balk when Abbey firmly shut the door behind them. Clothes littered the floor a short time later and the walls jailed the invigorating sounds a husband and wife meeting on common, shuddering ground.
In their after bliss, she judged his hands. One splayed across her sternum, just within reach of her breasts and the other rested across her inner thigh. They were large, with a deeply embedded potential for violence, but they weren't weapons. They were tender instruments of support, love and pleasure. She counted his fingers and for each had a memory.
He judged her eyes, inquisitive, constantly seeking answers and resolutions. She was thinking now, stroking his hands affectionately. What striking eyes, and behind them, what a beautiful mind. They flitted up to look at him and he caught his breath. Score one for falling in love again, with the same person.
She smoothed down what little of the sheets covered them, flushing under his look. His hands weren't his only instruments. As he played with her hair, which had dried into a mess of massive proportions, there was a knock on the door.
Abbey closed her eyes and pursed her lips. Jed looked down at her with remorse. He covered her with a kiss, knowing any interruption meant departure. He donned his robe and tied it shut. He steeled himself before opened the heavy door. He didn't try not to be imposing.
The agent filled him in quickly on the details, bothering to look apologetic for the intrusion. It was appreciated and Jed let him go with a "Thank you, son." He walked around, dressing unenthusiastically and noted how Abbey hadn't moved since he left the bed.
Once he was presentable, he ran his fingers down her bare arm and swore that the evening would be theirs, he'd be back before nightfall -- a host of promises he shouldn't have made and most likely wouldn't keep. She didn't respond to that, but wished him luck and a weak smile.
As soon as he left, the smile vanished and she slumped against the pillows in frustration. She came here to have him to herself, not to share him with the latest world crisis.
She threw up her hands and climbed out of bed, sheet in tow, to her chair and her wooded still life. She replaced her book in her lap and picked up her glasses. She might as well read, she wouldn't be graced with Jed's company for some time.
Plans, plans, schedules and time limits. This was not the plan. Four more years, she told herself. Just four.

The intricate carving of the Oval Office ceiling captivated Abbey with its opulence and realism. In her more easily distracted mind, she imagined the regal fowl might very well have turned his head to peer down at her and wink. She sealed her lips with two fingers, her eyes crinkling with her concealed smile. She'd never given their internal sky more than the barest glance since the day of their arrival; it was much too far above her head to do while upright. But this vantage point made for flawless study. Of both the ceiling and the man fingering her hair so wistfully.
Under the pretense of inspecting woodwork, she observed him, his settled mood of an hour ago a distant recollection. He had come to peace with some matters, but others still weighed heavily on his mind and heart. They were three years and two months old respectively and she didn't think they'd be settled tonight. Or by him. Another man, already chosen, would attempt to repair the first damage and the other was permanent, and left that sort of scar. He would nurse it for a long time, and she would wait in that hell with him until the pain cooled.
She turned on her side, fingering his buttons with the intent to distract. He followed their aimless motions for a few seconds before capturing them in his hand, kissing her palm tenderly. She sat up, folding her legs beside her. Her solemn humming caught him off-guard. When somebody loves you, it's no good unless he loves you all the way. "When all else fails, sing?" He asked her and she stood up, stretching her shapely limbs in different directions.
"And if you can't sing?" she questioned playfully, stepping beyond his arms' reach and shedding her dress jacket.
Happy to be near you, when you need someone to cheer you - all the way. He rose behind her, following her slightly dancing hips, until he caught her atop the floor's imposing Seal. She sighed, he rubbed his lips to the subtle meeting of her neck and shoulder. "You sing anyway"
Taller than the tallest tree is, that's how it's got to feel.
She turned in his affected embrace, wrapping her arms vine-like about his neck. He beamed down at her, his melancholy packed away in a box labeled miscellaneous. She could only hope he would remember where it was. His loss for names was equaled only by his ability to misplace, at least once, every thing of import he'd ever owned.
Not limited to his wedding ring, which had led, some years ago, to a shouting match that ended with him sleeping on the couch and her not speaking to him for a week and a half. Admittedly, most of that was to punish him; she never was all that upset. Things happened. It was how he responded to his vision of her nightmare reaction that made for years of memoir-worthy anecdotes.
She loved this man; she did. He was a walking made-for-TV movie.
Deeper than the deep blue sea is, that's how deep it goes - if it's real They rocked along with the melody hanging invisibly over their heads, touching noses, wrapped in one of God's eternal jokes; love. Her dress's silk fabric bent and gave between his fingers as he memorized the tactile sensation he would forever associate with her skin. He would touch her again, but it would be different in some way. Things wouldn't be the same.
When somebody needs you, it's no good unless he needs you - all the way She rubbed her thumb up and down the nape of his neck, drawing a murmur of satisfaction from her swaying husband. He dipped down to kiss the sharp and smooth arches of her brow, the positive slope of her nose, and the flawless creaminess of her cheek with dry, attentive lips. A flush rose in said cheeks, accentuating her eyes' meaningful shine.
She stood on the toes of her stilettos and kissed those attentive lips, which still smiled. The dizzy pleasure went to his head and he backed up, keeping her close, until they collided with one of his lovely antique chairs and she stumbled. She caught herself on him, leaning against him like he was a breakfast counter and she his most faithful patron.
Through the good or lean years and for all the in-between years - come what may Feigning nonchalance, she adjusted his collar and flattened his necktie. "You are a handsome one."

He raised his eyebrows up in subdued mirth. "So I've been told"
She framed the face she adored in her petite hands and blessed him with another kiss, and another -- then, one more. He wouldn't let her slip away form the last one so easily. He held her with one powerfully-muscled arm and tickled her side with nimble fingertips.
She twisted away, gaping and sputtering with invented indignation. Naturally, he went after her, poking her in the ribs and swatting her ass. They were a sight for the tabloid covers; Abbey skittering behind the Resolute Desk and Jed daring her to go anywhere else.
She moved a yard towards the door; he moved to cut her off. She moved towards the standing flag and he looked at her like she was deluded. She wasn't going anywhere. He knew it. She knew it. That was half the fun.
Washing her hands of the entire stand-off, Abbey perched on the edge of the desk closest to the windows and stuck her tongue out at her befuddled husband. She was so not letting him knock her on her ass and said as much. He surrendered. He didn't exactly feel like chasing her all over Oval Kingdom Come. That was them in their twenty and forties. Instead, he approached her and took her hand. She watched him with wariness, not believing for a moment that he was conceding.
He parted her fingers, tracing seemingly meaningless symbols on her open fist. Until he began to say them as he stroked their likeness into her skin. "January 19th, 1966, the day I met a certain breathtaking Harvard student with a sharper tongue and sharper wit. I didn't know she would change my life"
She leaned towards him imperceptibly, drawn to wistfulness in his inflection and the feather light sensation of his touch.
He wrote a 1, a 3, a 2. "1:32 am, the minute I woke up in a cold sweat after a particularly vivid dream about that same student. She left me breathless and she wasn't even there. I missed her for the first time that night." A 9. "It took me nine months to get her attention from a certain football jock "
"Six," she corrected, smirking. Though it weighed little in hindsight, she remembered as well as he did. His rampant adoring looks and his shy stumble and ramble had endeared him to her in that time.
"Nine, Abigail. I should know. I waited, I prayed, and I counted"
She drew a 37 on the back of his hand. "And you won." Thirty-seven years and counting. She slid closer to him on the desk's surface, nestling herself into the niche of his lap and shoulder. He brushed her hair from her neck, inhaling Shalimar and Abigail by God from her proximity.
Who knows where the road will lead us, only a fool would say "I won." He laid a possessive hand on her stomach. "More than I could've imagined." A lifetime of emotions rolled just under the surface of his words. She pressed herself against him, willing them to become one if for nothing more than to exorcise whichever demons had been alternatively stealing and returning him to her all night.
She couldn't take anymore of this relapsing/remitting depression. They would never spend another moment in this building, in this position, and this leisure. There was something to be said for last chances. "I only have a vague idea what's going on in that head of yours, but I do know that it's hurting you. I don't want that and I don't want you sitting here with me and not telling me. Tell me what it is. Even if I can't fix the problem, I may be able to ease your mind"
He dropped a kiss onto her temple and buried his nose in her hair. "You always ease my mind"
"I try." He only exhaled in mild exasperation at her stubbornness. He always did. "I love you and there's nothing going on up there that will change that"
"Even when what's up here changes"
An ice age descended over her heart. All of the changes; people were growing up, growing apart, raising families while he was growing older, and in his mind, frailer.
Still, she nodded, eyes closed in her own personal denial. "Even if it doesn't." She removed herself from his hold, preferring to face him directly. "No matter how much you change -- inside or out, it makes no difference --I will always love you. I will be there"
"You promised"
She groaned in frustration, squeezing her eyes shut before looking at him pleadingly. "Believe me, I won't be there because of a promise or even our marriage vows. I will be there, because that's where I belong. With you. I go where you go"
But if you'll let me love you, it's for sure I'm gonna love you all the way. All the way "I love you, too." He wasn't ready to answer to the rest of it. Even in dwelling on it internally, he wasn't ready to further discuss his own demise. Not with her, not with the one who would see him every step on the path to sleep.
"You look so tired." She peered at him, ever-loving and concerned. She outlined the deep impressions exhaustion had abandoned on his skin. She knew under well-applied cosmetics, she looked similar. In the future, she would laugh and call them battle scars. She remembered being almost young when they came here.
"I haven't slept in years." Not for a lack of trying; between the world on fire and Abbey, there wasn't a wink to be had.
"You wanna sleep now?" She stroked the center of his chest, stopping at her soft stomach. She was shimmering in an enchanting way and he felt the need to bask in her life force a while longer.
"Not so much"
I'm gonna love you all the way Life would not end now. There were still many births and celebrations and anniversaries for them to call their own. Although they would, in leaving, leave behind some they loved, they would also carry them with them on the many journeys yet to come. Life would not end here, but their time in this White House was through.
THE END