Chapter Eleven

Washington, D.C.

"Don't talk to me about Abbey, Leo."

As President Bartlet and Leo McGarry marched through the West Wing, all those in their paths instantly scattered and anyone caught sitting immediately stood, out of respect.

"I wasn't going to, sir."

"Yeah, you were."

"Well, can you blame me?" Leo questioned.

"No," Jed answered, honestly. "But try to control yourself, all right?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Thank you."

"So what'd she say?"

"Leo!" Jed exclaimed in frustration.

"Are you pissed that I called her?"

"No. If she hadn't come, who knows if she'd have ever shown Prescott the door. You did the right thing."

"And look at you now," Leo commented. "On your way to kick the crap out of the Speaker."

"This is not because of her."

Leo smirked and shook his head.

"Yeah, it is."

"She had nothing to do with it."

"Sir, you know just as well as I do that you'd be sitting in the Residence boiling macaroni right now if she hadn't come back."

"Anyway," Jed said, intent on changing the subject. "How's Millie?"

"Pissed."

"Pissed and withholding sex or just pissed?"

"I don't know. I haven't had the chance to find out yet," Leo answered, as if the thought had never occurred to him.

"Yeah. What'd you do?"

"She doesn't want to go to Jenny's wedding in February. That's all."

"You want her to go?"

"She's one of Jenny's best friends. Of course she should go."

"Yeah, but she's with you now. You don't think it's a little awkward to go to your best friend's wedding while you're dating her ex-husband?"

"Why should it be?" Leo asked, naively.

"Women," Jed lamented, thinking of his own troubles.

Leo nodded.

"Women."

Unaware of her open office door, Amy Gardner paced her East Wing office frantically, muttering obscenities under her breath. Her meeting with the First Lady had not gone quite as planned, not that many things involving Abbey Bartlet ever did. Abbey had, as she often did, disregarded her advice and gotten a second opinion from CJ. Though Amy was certain CJ would have told her the same thing, that didn't make her less uneasy. Pausing in front of her desk, Amy tapped her foot anxiously against the hardwood floor and began chewing on her lip. So engaged was she in her thoughts that she didn't notice when Sam Seaborn entered her office.

"Hey."

She whirled around in a frenzy, her eyes widening slightly at the rare sight of him.

"Well, this is a surprise."

"It's been awhile since I've been down here. Office looks nice," Sam commented.

"Thanks. What's up?"

"Josh wanted me to give you a message."

"Josh sent you to the East Wing to give me a message?" Amy asked, incredulously.

"Yeah."

"Why didn't he just call me? Or…send Donna."

"I was on my way here anyway," Sam explained, rather unconvincingly.

"Why?"

"No reason."

Amy gazed at him suspiciously.

"All right. What's the message?"

"Uh, 'Sorry about the lack of Crazy Eights and such.'"

"That's his message," Amy replied in disbelief.

"Yes," Sam answered.

"Exact words or are you paraphrasing?"

"Quote unquote."

"Figures."

"You know what that means?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. Sad as that is."

"Good, 'cause he said you would but I wasn't sure that…"

"Sam." Amy stopped him.

"Right. Did you talk to the First Lady?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"And she's…as difficult as ever," Amy replied.

"She gonna make a statement?"

"Sam, there isn't a psychic in the world who could predict what Abbey Bartlet is gonna do."

"You could try her Ouja board." Sam smirked.

"Right, 'cause we don't have enough scandal here at the First Lady's office."

"You know what I think?"

"What?" Amy asked.

"And this is pure speculation on my part and by no means can I back this up, but I think this has been building for quite awhile."

"What has?"

"The thing with the First Lady. I think the tension's been mounting since the President announced his reelection campaign," Sam said.

"You think so?"

"I'm not saying the President and First Lady have been walking on eggshells or been at war since then. I mean, I did catch them in a rather compromising position on election night. I'm just saying somewhere, in the back of her mind…"

"Yeah. I don't know. It's possible, I guess."

"She lost her medical license."

"I know," Amy answered, pensively. She knew exactly what he meant by that.

"Okay. I'm just gonna…go. Now."

He started to back out.

"Hey," Amy called, stopping him in his tracks.

"Yeah."

"You wanna go down to the mess and get some coffee?"

Sam looked up at her in amazement, and then smiled.

"Sure."

"CJ."

CJ Cregg, filled to the brim with tension and anxiety, glanced up from the paperwork on her desk at the First Lady standing in her office doorway. She immediately stood, removing her glasses from her smile and smiling cordially at her boss.

"Mrs. Bartlet."

Abbey smiled back, however awkwardly, and entered the room further.

"Sit down, CJ."

"Yes, ma'am," CJ answered, complying without question.

"We need to talk," Abbey stated, lowering herself onto the couch.

"Yes, ma'am"
"Tony's gone."

"Yes, ma'am, I saw him leave. As did the press."

Abbey nodded.

"Yeah. Listen, I know you're not thrilled with me right now."

"Mrs. Bartlet…"

"Abbey."

"Abbey. I would like to point out that this really is not about me," CJ said.

"I'm making it about you, CJ, and I want you to talk to me."

The younger woman allowed her eyes to wander for a minute, as she gathered the courage display the kind of honesty Abbey Bartlet, at least the old Abbey Bartlet, deserved.

"No, I'm not thrilled. I'm disappointed, I'm hurt, I'm…"

"Angry?" Abbey assumed.

"No, not angry. Just hurt."

"Well, I apologize. I'm sorry, CJ. I'm sorry for what you've had to endure these last few months because of my actions."

"Okay." CJ nodded. "You wanted to make a statement?"

"Yes."

"Right. Well, I was considering it, and I'm not entirely sure that's the best idea."

"What?" Abbey asked, surprised.

"I think you should delegate this to Amy. I'll work with her on it, but I think it'd be best, for you, if you just stayed out of the spotlight for a little while."

"Why?"

"Because if you make a statement to the press, you're going to have to delve a lot deeper into this situation than you're probably willing to go. You'll need to tell them why you left the White House, why you left the country, why you overdosed in England, and why you're back. But more than that, you'll need to explain the nature of your relationship with Sir Anthony, as well as the current state of your relationship with the President. In short, you're gonna need to get up close and personal with the American people, and I know you're a very private person. There will be questions about Oliver Prescott, there will be questions about Mark Schaefer, there will be questions about your psychiatrist and about your father."

"What are you saying, CJ?"

"I'm saying, Abbey, that you're gonna get your ass kicked if you go into the press room," CJ said, bluntly.

"Is it better than leaving things unsaid?"

"That's entirely up to you, what you think you can handle. You have two options. You can say something, or you can not say something. But if you say something, you're gonna need to say a lot more than you're probably comfortable with. There's no in-between here."

Abbey hesitated, considering CJ's advice carefully.

"Do you think I can handle it?"

CJ nodded.

"I think you can, yes. You're generally very good with the press, you're articulate and expressive, you're tough as nails, and you look great on camera. But that doesn't mean it's the right thing for you to do right now, and I'm telling you that as a friend, not as your husband's press secretary. You might want to wait until you get back on your feet."

Abbey laughed cynically.

"That could take awhile."

"Let the public, the press, and the President take their time adjusting to your homecoming, and we'll go from there. I don't think it would be such a bad idea to give yourself a little time to adjust either, if you don't mind my saying so."

"You might be right," Abbey conceded. "But we both know I'm no good at closeting my feelings. And I'm not sure it would be fair to the American people to keep them guessing."

"Due respect, Abbey, but…we're all still guessing. You're still guessing. It won't hurt them to do the same for a little while."

"How's your afternoon shaping up for tomorrow?"

"Excuse me?" CJ replied, thoroughly bewildered.

"Nevermind, I'll go talk to Carol," Abbey said, standing up.

"Abbey…"

"We'll talk tomorrow, CJ. I've got a Prime Minister to attend to."