Part 2: The Weak Word
There is nothing to distract him. He looks around the room for something to hold his interest and remove him from the situation he is in. But he knows the room too well. For five years he has used it to solve the world's many problems and scruples. He has planned summits and meetings and even laws in this room. His private study in the Residence. His office away from the office. He should have chosen another room, one he didn't know quite so well. Then he wouldn't have to pay attention to the man with the clipboard seated before him. He isn't fading; he is real.
The President clears his throat, and the air, ridding it of the awkwardness and silence that had consumed it moments before.
"Dr. Keyworth says you're good. The best out there, he says"
It is the best ice-breaker he can come up with. Unimpressive for a man of such diplomatic stature.
"Stanley's a good friend of mine," Dr. Adams replies, his eyes burning into his patient's.
He sits in the presence of the person who is potentially the most interesting, complicated, and fascinating client he has ever been honored with. If only he would open up, let himself go. He is uptight; clearly unwilling to engage in such a personal practice- the process of picking apart the mind, then putting the puzzle back together.
"Yeah," the President says, succinctly. "But you're a marriage specialist"
It is both a question without an answer and a statement without a true purpose. His eyes dart around the room, evasive and restless. Dr. Adams tries to catch his gaze and, in doing so, hold his interest steady.
"Among others things"
Dr. Adams' declaration is questioning, searching, despite the way it sounds.
"Like couples' therapy," Jed Bartlet says. "But how can you do couples' therapy with just one half of the couple"
A sign of his reluctance and doubt, certainly. Yet also a dead giveaway that his heart is in this session, if not his mind.
"Desperate times, Mr. President"
"Right," he says, quickly.
He doesn't want to hear the end of that sentence. He doesn't want to know the outcome before it is upon him.
"So what's wrong with my marriage, Doc"
Dr. Adams studies his patient carefully, searching for the origin of such a question. Surely he wasn't expecting a direct answer, a solution for all his problems after five minutes of what was, thus far, a very unproductive session.
"You tell me"
Jed flashes his a half-smile, conveying his suspicion and wry sense of humor, all on one charming little smirk.
"Then what am I paying you for"
Dr. Adams nods. He saw that coming. While the President himself is an unpredictable as it gets, his sense of humor is not quite so.
"Stanley warned me about your sarcasm"
Jed sits up straight, to his full height. Which, admittedly, isn't much for a man of such power and influence over not only his country, but the entire world. Maybe even the universe, if there's life out there.
"Then you came prepared"
All right, Dr. Adams thinks. Enough of this small talk. It's time to get to the good stuff, Mr. President.
"Your wife's been in therapy. Did you know that"
At first, Jed is offended by the question. It seems, to him, challenging and judgmental.
"Yeah"
Dr. Adams is disappointed by the response, yet something compels him to include it in his notes, on his trusty clipboard.
"Have you spoken to her since her overdose"
Jed is almost too embarassed to respond. He remembers the value of truth, all that hogwash about how it sets you free and the like. Maybe it'll lead him to Abbey. She's the purpose of these sessions, is she not?
"No"
His answer is terse, definitive, but ultimately very conclusive. For once, Dr. Adams is pleased by his patient's brevity.
"I see. How long have you been separated"
Dr. Adams knows the answer to this well, yet is anxious to hear it from him.
"A few weeks"
"But she sent you the papers much earlier. Why didn't you sign them right away"
What do you care?' Jed thinks. 'Oh, that's right. For $450 an hour, of course you care.
"I'm a busy man"
Dr. Adams leans back in his chair, eyeing his patient warily.
"Mr. President, if you want my help, you need to talk to me. Be honest with me. I'm not here to judge you"
The hell you're not. This he thinks, but doesn't say articulate. He realizes then, that for reasons unbeknownest even to himself, he is fearful of this Dr. Adams character. Dr. Adams is going to know things about him that even he doesn't know. He's going to draw conclusions, make inferences, analyze, prod, probe, and in the end, hopefully, present him with a solution.
All right, Dr. Freud. You help me, I'll help you.
"I didn't sign them because…I don't know. I was hoping she'd change her mind"
Dr. Adams smile; he is pleased. A breakthrough so early. He hadn't expected it. Remarkable.
"Why did you finally sign them"
"She showed up at Buckingham Palace with another man," Jed says, as quietly as he can while still being heard. "I had to"
"For politican reasons then," Dr Adams surmises.
"Yeah"
No sense beating around the bush, Dr. Adams thinks. Especially when the bush is supposedly the purpose of this man's certain need for therapy.
"Do you love your wife"
The President hesitates, glancing around the room in an almost wistful manner. Dr. Adams panics inwardly, worrying that maybe the answer this, such an important, essential question, will be conveyed through sarcasm.
"Love…" He begins, and then focuses his once wandering eyes on his psychiatrist. "Love is too weak a word for what I feel"
Dr. Adams finds it difficult to conceal his pleasure, yet somehow manages to find a way.
"So you do love her then"
"Yeah, I love her"
"Even now"
Dr. Adams assumes his patient understands what he is trying to express with the word 'now'; he does.
"Yes"
Dr. Adams nods, jotting a few things down on his notepad. Jed watches his pencil crawl across the paper, wondering which aspects of his life are being now immortalized by that one pencil, on that one lonely piece of paper.
"What do you love about her"
Jed looks up; he is far from ready for such a personal question. He is just learning to open up, feeling out his comfort zone. Instead of hitting upon the untapped emotion, he opts for the easy way out.
"Right now, not a whole lot"
Though it was the truth he spoke, it was far too vague to lead Dr. Adams to any conclusions.
"She's hurting you," Dr. Adams says, hoping this statement will lead him to bigger and better things.
"Keen observation, Doctor. You're so wise"
The feared sarcasm has come out to wreak havoc upon them once again, but Dr. Adams has intention of allowing it to prevail and through his train off the very specifically laid out tracks.
"You can't say it"
"Say what?" Jed replies, hoping it isn't what he thinks.
"That she's hurting you"
Damn.
"I can say it"
He is defensive and distrustful. Why shouldn't he able to say it?
"Go ahead"
Frustration overwhelms the President of the United States. Why is this crackpot psychiatrist outlining my weaknesses? Why is he trying to overthrow the throne of my emotions?
"This is ridiculous," he mutters.
"Why"
"Because I'm…because it is"
His voice is raised, his guard is up. The walls are high and impassable. Dr. Adams has never been one to decline a challenge. He climbs them.
"You know, admitting that you're hurting isn't a sign of weakness"
Do you read minds too? Jed wonders, in all his aggravation.
"I know that!" He exclaims instead.
"Well then"
"All right"
His walls crumble at the feet of this intruder who has somehow managed, with almost no effort whatsoever, to ascend them and invade the hallowed kingdom of his brilliant, cryptic mind.
"She's hurting me"
Dr. Adams does not smile, though he wishes he could. Such progress in so little time could bring a smile to anyone's face. However, the subject matter keeps him from doing so. Hurt should never garner the praise of a smile.
"Okay," Dr. Adams replies, with composure. "Very good. How did you feel when she overdosed"
An odd question, Jed thinks. How was he suppoed to feel? Happy? Happy that his wife, one evening, felt destructive enough to drink herself into a comatose state?
"I was scared as hell! What do you think"
This man confuses Dr. Adams unbelievably. Just one moment ago, admitting hurt was a sign of weakness. Now, he was admitting fear. Fear, typically the most hidden sentiment.
"Scared of what exactly"
"Losing her," he whispers, after a short, reflective moment plagued by images of his words.
"I'm sorry"
"Losing her"
"Ah," Dr Adams says, his pencil scurries furiously across the notepad. "You were afraid she wouldn't make it"
"Yeah"
Jed has nothing beyond that to say. Yes, he was afraid. Yes, he wondered for a time if she wouldn't make it. Yes. Yes.
"You went to see her in the hospital. Why did you leave before she woke up"
"I didn't want her to know I was there"
"Why"
He shrugs. The answer is so obviously clear to him, why not Dr. Adams? He forgets for a moment that Dr. Adams has never met his wife, nor does he know the first thing about her. She is the First Lady of the United States, a former doctor, mother of three First Daughters, grandmother of two First Grandchildren, matriach of the First Family, one-time inhabitant of the large and spacious White House, a master of shaking hands and waving to her many desperate admirers, a gracious hostess with a lovely figure often accentuates by extravagant designer gowns, the woman who often stood behind the President, observing him with loving, proud, and watchful eyes. That's all she was to Dr. Adams, who simply didn't know any better having never been blessed by the chance to do so. But Jed had been blessed with that chance. He knew. He understood. Well, most of the time.
"Because it would have made things worse between us," Jed explains. "I knew she wouldn't want me to see her like that"
"Like what"
"Weak and helpless," he says, matter-of-factly. "She'd have been embarassed"
"When I spoke to Dr. Hewson, your wife's psychiatrist, he made it very clear to me that she still loves you. And it's extremely clear that you're very much in love with her. So what I need to know is what happened to put you in the position you're in now.
Jed sighs, almost smiling.
"How much time you got?"
The President clears his throat, and the air, ridding it of the awkwardness and silence that had consumed it moments before.
"Dr. Keyworth says you're good. The best out there, he says"
It is the best ice-breaker he can come up with. Unimpressive for a man of such diplomatic stature.
"Stanley's a good friend of mine," Dr. Adams replies, his eyes burning into his patient's.
He sits in the presence of the person who is potentially the most interesting, complicated, and fascinating client he has ever been honored with. If only he would open up, let himself go. He is uptight; clearly unwilling to engage in such a personal practice- the process of picking apart the mind, then putting the puzzle back together.
"Yeah," the President says, succinctly. "But you're a marriage specialist"
It is both a question without an answer and a statement without a true purpose. His eyes dart around the room, evasive and restless. Dr. Adams tries to catch his gaze and, in doing so, hold his interest steady.
"Among others things"
Dr. Adams' declaration is questioning, searching, despite the way it sounds.
"Like couples' therapy," Jed Bartlet says. "But how can you do couples' therapy with just one half of the couple"
A sign of his reluctance and doubt, certainly. Yet also a dead giveaway that his heart is in this session, if not his mind.
"Desperate times, Mr. President"
"Right," he says, quickly.
He doesn't want to hear the end of that sentence. He doesn't want to know the outcome before it is upon him.
"So what's wrong with my marriage, Doc"
Dr. Adams studies his patient carefully, searching for the origin of such a question. Surely he wasn't expecting a direct answer, a solution for all his problems after five minutes of what was, thus far, a very unproductive session.
"You tell me"
Jed flashes his a half-smile, conveying his suspicion and wry sense of humor, all on one charming little smirk.
"Then what am I paying you for"
Dr. Adams nods. He saw that coming. While the President himself is an unpredictable as it gets, his sense of humor is not quite so.
"Stanley warned me about your sarcasm"
Jed sits up straight, to his full height. Which, admittedly, isn't much for a man of such power and influence over not only his country, but the entire world. Maybe even the universe, if there's life out there.
"Then you came prepared"
All right, Dr. Adams thinks. Enough of this small talk. It's time to get to the good stuff, Mr. President.
"Your wife's been in therapy. Did you know that"
At first, Jed is offended by the question. It seems, to him, challenging and judgmental.
"Yeah"
Dr. Adams is disappointed by the response, yet something compels him to include it in his notes, on his trusty clipboard.
"Have you spoken to her since her overdose"
Jed is almost too embarassed to respond. He remembers the value of truth, all that hogwash about how it sets you free and the like. Maybe it'll lead him to Abbey. She's the purpose of these sessions, is she not?
"No"
His answer is terse, definitive, but ultimately very conclusive. For once, Dr. Adams is pleased by his patient's brevity.
"I see. How long have you been separated"
Dr. Adams knows the answer to this well, yet is anxious to hear it from him.
"A few weeks"
"But she sent you the papers much earlier. Why didn't you sign them right away"
What do you care?' Jed thinks. 'Oh, that's right. For $450 an hour, of course you care.
"I'm a busy man"
Dr. Adams leans back in his chair, eyeing his patient warily.
"Mr. President, if you want my help, you need to talk to me. Be honest with me. I'm not here to judge you"
The hell you're not. This he thinks, but doesn't say articulate. He realizes then, that for reasons unbeknownest even to himself, he is fearful of this Dr. Adams character. Dr. Adams is going to know things about him that even he doesn't know. He's going to draw conclusions, make inferences, analyze, prod, probe, and in the end, hopefully, present him with a solution.
All right, Dr. Freud. You help me, I'll help you.
"I didn't sign them because…I don't know. I was hoping she'd change her mind"
Dr. Adams smile; he is pleased. A breakthrough so early. He hadn't expected it. Remarkable.
"Why did you finally sign them"
"She showed up at Buckingham Palace with another man," Jed says, as quietly as he can while still being heard. "I had to"
"For politican reasons then," Dr Adams surmises.
"Yeah"
No sense beating around the bush, Dr. Adams thinks. Especially when the bush is supposedly the purpose of this man's certain need for therapy.
"Do you love your wife"
The President hesitates, glancing around the room in an almost wistful manner. Dr. Adams panics inwardly, worrying that maybe the answer this, such an important, essential question, will be conveyed through sarcasm.
"Love…" He begins, and then focuses his once wandering eyes on his psychiatrist. "Love is too weak a word for what I feel"
Dr. Adams finds it difficult to conceal his pleasure, yet somehow manages to find a way.
"So you do love her then"
"Yeah, I love her"
"Even now"
Dr. Adams assumes his patient understands what he is trying to express with the word 'now'; he does.
"Yes"
Dr. Adams nods, jotting a few things down on his notepad. Jed watches his pencil crawl across the paper, wondering which aspects of his life are being now immortalized by that one pencil, on that one lonely piece of paper.
"What do you love about her"
Jed looks up; he is far from ready for such a personal question. He is just learning to open up, feeling out his comfort zone. Instead of hitting upon the untapped emotion, he opts for the easy way out.
"Right now, not a whole lot"
Though it was the truth he spoke, it was far too vague to lead Dr. Adams to any conclusions.
"She's hurting you," Dr. Adams says, hoping this statement will lead him to bigger and better things.
"Keen observation, Doctor. You're so wise"
The feared sarcasm has come out to wreak havoc upon them once again, but Dr. Adams has intention of allowing it to prevail and through his train off the very specifically laid out tracks.
"You can't say it"
"Say what?" Jed replies, hoping it isn't what he thinks.
"That she's hurting you"
Damn.
"I can say it"
He is defensive and distrustful. Why shouldn't he able to say it?
"Go ahead"
Frustration overwhelms the President of the United States. Why is this crackpot psychiatrist outlining my weaknesses? Why is he trying to overthrow the throne of my emotions?
"This is ridiculous," he mutters.
"Why"
"Because I'm…because it is"
His voice is raised, his guard is up. The walls are high and impassable. Dr. Adams has never been one to decline a challenge. He climbs them.
"You know, admitting that you're hurting isn't a sign of weakness"
Do you read minds too? Jed wonders, in all his aggravation.
"I know that!" He exclaims instead.
"Well then"
"All right"
His walls crumble at the feet of this intruder who has somehow managed, with almost no effort whatsoever, to ascend them and invade the hallowed kingdom of his brilliant, cryptic mind.
"She's hurting me"
Dr. Adams does not smile, though he wishes he could. Such progress in so little time could bring a smile to anyone's face. However, the subject matter keeps him from doing so. Hurt should never garner the praise of a smile.
"Okay," Dr. Adams replies, with composure. "Very good. How did you feel when she overdosed"
An odd question, Jed thinks. How was he suppoed to feel? Happy? Happy that his wife, one evening, felt destructive enough to drink herself into a comatose state?
"I was scared as hell! What do you think"
This man confuses Dr. Adams unbelievably. Just one moment ago, admitting hurt was a sign of weakness. Now, he was admitting fear. Fear, typically the most hidden sentiment.
"Scared of what exactly"
"Losing her," he whispers, after a short, reflective moment plagued by images of his words.
"I'm sorry"
"Losing her"
"Ah," Dr Adams says, his pencil scurries furiously across the notepad. "You were afraid she wouldn't make it"
"Yeah"
Jed has nothing beyond that to say. Yes, he was afraid. Yes, he wondered for a time if she wouldn't make it. Yes. Yes.
"You went to see her in the hospital. Why did you leave before she woke up"
"I didn't want her to know I was there"
"Why"
He shrugs. The answer is so obviously clear to him, why not Dr. Adams? He forgets for a moment that Dr. Adams has never met his wife, nor does he know the first thing about her. She is the First Lady of the United States, a former doctor, mother of three First Daughters, grandmother of two First Grandchildren, matriach of the First Family, one-time inhabitant of the large and spacious White House, a master of shaking hands and waving to her many desperate admirers, a gracious hostess with a lovely figure often accentuates by extravagant designer gowns, the woman who often stood behind the President, observing him with loving, proud, and watchful eyes. That's all she was to Dr. Adams, who simply didn't know any better having never been blessed by the chance to do so. But Jed had been blessed with that chance. He knew. He understood. Well, most of the time.
"Because it would have made things worse between us," Jed explains. "I knew she wouldn't want me to see her like that"
"Like what"
"Weak and helpless," he says, matter-of-factly. "She'd have been embarassed"
"When I spoke to Dr. Hewson, your wife's psychiatrist, he made it very clear to me that she still loves you. And it's extremely clear that you're very much in love with her. So what I need to know is what happened to put you in the position you're in now.
Jed sighs, almost smiling.
"How much time you got?"