Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

August, 1999 

“Thank you, doctor Haymen,” said Abigail Bartlet, with a professional smile that remained plastered on her face while the young doctor left the room with the final, courteous nod and a brief “Mr. President, Dr. Bartlet.”

He was too young to be chief of anything, let alone the Department of Orthopedics at St. John’s hospital.

Or maybe Abbey had reached that age when everyone else seemed too young.

The fake smile was gone as soon as she turned to look at her husband. The President of the United States sat on the hospital bed, the look on his face reminiscent of the looks their children had often worn, having been caught doing something which they should not have been doing.

She sighed and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. At least her initial diagnosis was correct. No torn ligaments, no fractures, just a mild sprain and a bruised ego. The ankle would heal in a week or two, but the press would have a field day with the whole cycling fiasco. They must have snapped hundreds of photographs of Jed, riding the damn bike, falling off the damn bike and resisting help from his security detail then falling off the damn bike again. Her husband, the First Klutz.

“Abbey,” he spoke to her.

Abbey ignored him. Frowning, she sat on the bed next to him.

“I need to call Leo, tell him I’ll be back in a few hours, let Hoynes know not to get his hopes up.”

“You can call him from the car,” she said coldly.

Jed turned to look at her, but Abbey was adamantly ignoring him.       

“C'mon, say it,” said Jed. “I know you want to say ‘I told you so.’”

“I told you so.” Abbey’s voice was low and dangerous. “I told you a million times, Jed, I told you not to drive when you're upset! I told you not to get on that damn bike! I told you not to do anything while you’re upset!”

“Abbey…”

“Can you imagine how worried I was, jackass?!” She snapped at him, but her voice cracked. Abbey looked away, blinking, her eyes suddenly glassy. “I thought you’d lost control because you couldn’t see the tree, or because the tingles in your legs had returned.”

“My thing had nothing to do with it, Abbey!”

“I know,” she agreed, her voice softer now, “but for those few moments, I forgot that I was married to the clumsiest guy in America, and all I could of was that I was married to a guy with MS.”

The First Couple sat in silence. A part of her wanted to reach out to Jed and touch him. Another part of her wanted to punch him. She did neither.

After what seemed like an eternity, she asked: “You gonna fire him?”

“Hmmm?”

“Josh? You gonna fire him?”

“What he did was incredibly stupid,” Jed said slowly.

“Yeah,” Abbey agreed. “He was pissed, so he did something incredibly stupid.”

Not unlike someone else we know, she thought, but didn’t say it.

Jed sighed. Abbey gave him a pointed look, but she reached out and took his hand in hers. Jed lowered his gaze to their entwined fingers.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“Yeah,” Abbey repeated.

Silence descended upon them once more, like a warm blanket on a cold winter night. Her fingers rested over his, gently.

When he spoke again, Jed’s voice was soft.

“I’m sorry, Abbey.”

Abbey looked up at him, surprised. Sorry for what? For cycling into a cypress tree?  

“This isn’t how I imagined we’d spend our vacation. I thought we’d go to Grand Teton and Yellowstone, hiking by day, and making love under the stars by night,” he said in a low, seductive voice. His fingers were caressing hers.

“At our age?” Abbey chuckled. “I enjoy your optimism, boyfriend, but we have a perfectly nice bed in our bedroom in the Residence.”

“You heard the doctor, sweet knees. I need to rest, so you’re gonna have to do all the work.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Abbey teased. Then she kissed his cheek and stood up. She handed Jed the cane.

“Doctor’s orders,” she said before he could complain. “Can you stand up?”

“Yeah.”

Jed was a little wobbly on his feet, but he waved away her attempt to help him.

“Tom and Harry are waiting outside?” he asked.

“Mike and Bob. Yeah.”

Abbey took his arm, leading him to the door.

“At least we know what we’re getting Leo for Christmas,” said Jed, amusement clear in his voice.

“Better than that umbrella we got him last year.”

“It was a perfectly nice umbrella; it had a pretty handle and everything.”

Abbey laughed and rolled her eyes playfully. She was about to push the door open, when Jed spoke again, his voice more somber this time.

“I’m not gonna fire Josh.”

“Okay,” Abbey said softly.

“Okay,” Jed repeated.

Arms linked, they walked into the brightly lit hospital corridor where the agents stood waiting.

Chapter Text

Late August 1999

“… originally in crimson and gold and it wasn’t until 1837 that President Martin van Buren had the room decorated in blue. Now, van Buren, who also happened to be the first president born as an American citizen…”

Jed’s speech went on and on, undisturbed by obligatory hand shaking and the sound of photographers snapping shots of the group gathered in the Blue Room. Abbey watched them as they stood; most of them weren’t even pretending to listen to Jed.

Abbey inspected the group closely. One, two, three… only four women in a group of twenty cardiologists. When Abbey had gone to med school, there had only been three women in her year, bullied recklessly by their male colleagues, including – Abbey’s eyes narrowed – two of the men standing next to Jed. Jackasses.

The door on the left opened and a nervous-looking assistant walked to Jed. They talked in hushed voices for a few moments.

“Okay. Thank you, Laura,” Jed said, and the assistant frowned, probably because her name was actually Nancy.

“Leo and Fitzwallace need to see me in the Sit Room,” he whispered to Abbey.

“Okay,” said Abbey. Her voice was colder than New Hampshire winters. They had barely talked since last night. Jed had snapped at her eight times at dinner; a miracle really, since he’d been up from the table every five minutes. Even Toby had looked upset.

“Do you know what a group of doctors is called?” he asked.

“Off to do a crossword puzzle with Leo and Fitzwallace?” Abbey looked up at him. She wasn’t in the mood for his nerdy outbursts, but she indulged and ventured a guess: “Association?”

“Dose. A dose of doctors.”

“Not an overdose?”

“Nah. Whoever came up with that never met this bunch.”

Jed wrapped his arm around her waist and Abbey flinched. She almost pulled away, but when she looked around the room, from the cameras to unfriendly faces from her past, she pulled him closer and pressed her mouth to his. She was still pissed at Jed, but seeing the look on Edward Wilson’s face was worth the effort.

Her eyes followed Jed out of the room.

Was it too early for a drink?

“Abbey?”

She would have recognized that voice anywhere.

“Robert! So good to see you!”  

When he leaned down to hug her, a rare smile was playing on Robert Nolan’s usually serious face. Abbey smiled and kissed his cheek.  

“Where’s Janet, did she come with you?

“A woman named Donna is giving her a tour of something called the East Room. I don’t know how that happened.”

“An important room,” Abbey nodded. “That’s where Abigail Adams dried her laundry.” At Robert’s chuckle, she added, “You should stay for dinner, and I’ll show you where she wrote her letters.”

More photos were taken, and Abbey watched the group with an arched eyebrow.

“Did you know that a group of doctors is called dose?” she asked.

“I didn’t.” said Robert. “And where did Mr. President go?” he added, correctly identifying the source of random linguistic trivia.

“He’s pretending to solve an international crisis, because he’s surprised there are people more arrogant than the people he works with.”

“Why is he surprised, he’s been married to you for thirty years,” Robert shrugged.  

“Hey, I outrank you, jackass,” Abbey snapped.

“No, you don’t. You weren’t appointed, dr. Bartlet.”

“And who do you think told him to appoint you to the board, jackass?”

Five years ago, almost to date, then-governor of New Hampshire Jed Bartlet had appointed Robert Nolan the President of New Hampshire Medical Board.

“Haven’t been called a jackass twice in twenty seconds for years,” Rob gave another chuckle. “I missed you, Abbey. I just meant that Jed knows what kind of people you worked and went to med school with.”

“I went to med school with Wilson and Stevenson. Wilson used to call me Betty Friedan and Stevenson was so pissed that I scored higher than him on every exam we took, even when I was pregnant with Liz, that he complained to the dean.”  

Abbey’s tone was casual, but Robert looked annoyed.

“A dose of doctors? More like a plague,” he said.

“Or an affliction?” Abbey suggested.

It was well past midnight when Abbey returned to the bedroom. The dinner with the Nolans had turned into a lengthy tour of the Red Room, Green Room, Lincoln’s Sitting Room and half a dozen other rooms where different first ladies dried their laundry or wrote their letters. Kicking off her heels, she switched the light on and threw her jacket on the back of an armchair.

The TV was on, showing Jed who wore the tie Annie had given him for Christmas. But something on the table caught Abbey’s eye: a beautifully arranged bouquet of red roses. Her face softened.

“…in response to the unwarranted, unprovoked, and cold-blooded…” Jed was saying on TV and Abbey felt a pair of strong, familiar arms wrap around her frame. The real Jed was wearing a Notre Dame sweatshirt and he nuzzled into her neck.

“Abbey…” he started, but Abbey put a finger to his lips.

“I know,” she said. And then she kissed him.

Chapter Text

January 2001

Half past midnight

Soothing darkness had descended on the presidential bedroom. The room was perfectly quiet, perfectly dark, with nothing disturbing the well-earned slumber of the First Couple. Fast asleep, Jed reached for Abbey's soft body, and she snuggled closer into his warm embrace.

There was a light knock on the door.

Tap! Tap! Tap!

Abbey groaned and buried her face in her pillow.

“Jed, someone's at the door.”

Jed replied with a single grunt.

Tap! Tap! Tap!

The knocking was getting louder now, more urgent.  

“Go away!” Jed groaned.

“Mr. President?” The voice on the other side of the door was timid, as though the owner of the voice knew that he was seconds away from being sent on a special assignment to Qumar.

“It's Charlie,” said Abbey, her face still buried in her pillow.  

“I know!” said Jed without opening his eyes.

“Tell him to go away!”

TAP! TAP! TAP!

The rapping was becoming louder, more determined, and sadly, impossible to ignore.

Jed cursed, and Abbey thought that was an appropriate reaction. In fact, she thought it was such an appropriate reaction that she echoed it.

A very unhappy Jed got up. Abbey could hear him cursing under his breath, looking for his slippers in the dark. Meanwhile, Abbey rolled on her back and pulled the blanket up over her face. She closed her eyes, trying to go back to sleep. Whatever the crisis was, Jed would deal with it without her, and she would get some sleep.

There was a loud thud and another curse. Jed had run into a chest of drawers.

Abbey opened her eyes.

“You okay, hon? Don’t need me to stich you up in the dark?”

“Nah!” Jed whined in response.

Abbey sighed and sat up. In the dark, she blindly felt her way across the bedside table until she found her lamp. Bright yellow light spilled across the room and Abbey watched Jed as he waddled to the door, even more unhappy than only a few moments earlier.

“What?” The door flew open, and Jed snapped at the unfortunate soul standing on the other side. On another night, Abbey would have sympathized with poor Charlie, but she had been rudely awakened, which left her crabby.   

“Mr. President, you know how you told me not to wake you up unless the building was on fire?” Charlie started.  

“Yeah?” Jed still sounded groggy.

“Well, sir, someone’s set off the smoke alarm. Accidentally.” Charlie’s voice was carefully blank. “So, I'll have to ask you to step down the hall with the agents. There's no real threat, but it's Secret Service procedure.”

“Damn it, Charlie! Which one was it? I bet it was Josh!”

“No idea, sir,” Charlie said, slowly, voice still carefully blank.

“Tell 'em I'm gonna fire 'em all in the morning!”

“Yes, sir,” Charlie agreed.

No way they were going to let Abbey sleep with the building on fire, so she slipped into her fluffy robe and warm slippers. Casting a sad little glance at her cozy bed, she made her way to the door and slid past bleary-eyed Jed, and a Secret Agent who escorted them to Truman Balcony.

It was a freezing cold night, but at least it had stopped snowing.

Jed was wearing only his pajamas. Abbey, as proud a New Englander as her husband, but not equally divorced from reality, wrapped herself tighter in her robe.

“Why didn’t you put something on? It’s freezing out here!”

“It’s not that cold,” said Jed.

“It’s January in Washington D. C.,” Abbey countered. She was shivering.

“When did you turn all Southern, Katie Scarlet?” Jed asked, getting a tittering laugh in return.

“You still think you got the best and brightest minds in America working for you?” Abbey asked.

“I’m seriously considering firing every single one of them. I can do that, you know, I’m the president.”

“You sure are, hon.”

Abbey was still shivering. She moved closer to Jed and leaned her head against his shoulder. Jed, the proud son of Granite State, was also shivering in his thin pajamas, but Abbey pretended not to notice.

“I can also send them on special assignments to the North Pole. Or they can join Charlie in the Yukon.”

Jed wrapped his arms around her petite frame.

“Why are you sending Charlie to the Yukon?” Abbey raised her eyebrows, looking up at Jed.

For a moment, Jed looked almost embarrassed. He lowered his eyes.

“Never mind,” he said, and Abbey didn’t ask more questions. It was too late at night anyway. There would be time to make fun of him in the morning.

“You gonna talk about the Patients’ Bill of Rights tomorrow?” Abbey asked.

“Yeah,” Jed answered.

“Okay.” Abbey nodded her head and closed her eyes. Perhaps she would have dozed off in his arms if it weren’t so damn cold.

“See, Sweet Cheeks, we’re already awake, so when they finally let us in, we could…”

“When they finally let us in, I’m going to sleep and so are you!”

“You're a wicked woman, Abigail,” Jed said, earning another tittering laugh.

Chapter Text

April 2001

“Dear Dad, I’d write you an email, but I don’t think you know how to open it.”

It wasn’t the most conventional beginning of a phone conversation, but there were very few conventional things about Abigail Bartlet. The phone in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other, she flopped on one of the couches in the family den. It was almost noon. In Manchester, far away from all the first lady fanfare, Abbey was wearing her soft sweatpants and Jed’s old Notre Dame sweatshirt. Oh, she was still pissed at Jed, but his sweatshirt was warm and soft. Even if it still carried a faint smell of Jed’s cologne. Even if it reminded Abbey that she hadn’t spoken to her husband for six days.

“Do you know how to write it?” her father asked, amusement clear in his voice.

“I have people who do that for me,” said Abbey.

“Hope you pay them well.”

She could feel her father’s grin in his voice.

“Next time, I’ll send you a postcard.”

“Do you have people who can read your illegible scribbles?”

“What was the name of that woman who wanted to sue you thirty years ago because her pharmacist couldn’t decipher your prescriptions?” Abbey asked innocently and sipped her coffee.

Doctor Barrington laughed a loud, hearty laugh.

“So, you’re getting your 6-billion-dollar children’s health bill,” he began in a businesslike tone.

The Family Wellness Act was the reason Abbey had called her father that Friday morning. She’d called him once earlier, on Monday, when Lily had told her in a brief conversation that they’d scheduled the vote for Friday at noon. The girl had braved through Abbey’s rant about the Republican provision directed at women seeking abortion, but the bill was an enormous success. Not Abbey’s, though.  

“It’s not my bill, dad. I wasn’t elected, as you keep reminding me.”

“Josiah’s a smart kid, but he couldn’t have done this alone.”

 “Well, it's a bipartisan bill,” said Abbey. “That means your people will support it, too.”

“My people?”

“You keep saying Jed's the first Democrat you’ve ever voted for.”

“Only to annoy him. And you. I voted for Kennedy back in 1960.”

“Because Mom and I made you!”

Her father’s voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper, and Abbey had to press the phone closer to her ear.

“She still thinks Rose Kennedy was a distant cousin.”

Abbey chuckled. She glanced at the TV set in the corner.

“Here we go!” she exclaimed. “I’ll call you in ten minutes when the voting’s over.”

**

That was nine hours ago.  

Oh, how confident she’d been!

Oh, what an idiot she’d been!

Dressed in her silky pajamas, now sipping wine instead of coffee, Abigail Bartlet was still sitting on the couch, and still watching C-SPAN2. Howard Stackhouse had put down a book of recipes and had moved on to Dickens. Abbey, however, couldn’t move on from the feeling that she’d somehow been screwed. Again.

There were many things that Abbey Bartlet hated. The list of things that Abbey Bartlet hated was long, but being kept in the dark was somewhere at its top. Here she was, sipping her wine and nibbling on cheese and crackers, because she had no idea what was going on. She’d told Lily and the rest of her senior staff to take the afternoon off. Not that the East Wing would implode if they weren’t there while Abbey was in Manchester. And now she was squeezing a piece of cheese in her hand and grinding her teeth because she had no idea what was going on and she had no one to ask.

The phone rang and Abbey picked it up without looking away from the TV set.

“Hello?”

“What’s this old grouch still doing up there?”

The thought of her eighty-three-year-old father calling someone an old grouch made Abbey titter and shake her head.

“What are you still doing up?”

“I just woke up,” he admitted. “But your mother watched the whole thing. She wrote down the recipe for fried fantail shrimp.”

“Go back to bed, Dad. I’m pretty sure he’s got a copy of Moby Dick somewhere in his pocket.”

“What the hell is he doing?”

Abbey shrugged.

“I don’t know. Jed could probably give you a lecture on etymology and history of filibusters–” she started, her lips curling in a small smile, but then she remembered that she was angry with Jed. She tried to change the subject. “Jed was in the House; I don't know the Senate rules. But I don’t think they can do anything until he stops talking.”

“So, what’s Jed gonna do?”

“I don't know, we haven't talked in–He's busy!” Abbey snapped, harsher and faster than she intended. Damn it! Her father knew that she and Jed talked on the phone three times a day when one of them was away. An old habit from their courting days, when she and Jed had exchanged passionate letters and made countless expensive long-distance calls. Her father had teased her that their midnight phone calls had cost him more than her Harvard tuition.

Maybe he wouldn’t notice–

“What happened?”

Or maybe he would. Well, damn it!

“Abigail?”

The teasing was gone from his voice, and so was his grumpiness. He spoke softly, as though Abbey was still a whimpering four-year-old scared of the dark.

“Nothing happened,” she said in a carefully neutral tone.

What was she supposed to say? I'm pissed at Jed because he's running again and three years ago, we made a deal he wouldn’t run for the second term. Why? Oh, because he has M. S. and his own immune system is shredding his brain and I've been treating him in secret and kept it hidden from everyone, including you–a licensed physician, which is a miracle really, since he had a relapse in your living room six years ago, while Mom was baking apple pie.

That would be one helluva conversation for sure!

“What's the matter, Sugarplum?”

“Dad! I'm almost sixty and I have two grandkids,” Abbey protested.  

“You'll always be my Sugarplum.”

“Dad…”

“Just say the word and I’ll take Josiah on a hike again.”  

Thirty-five years ago, her father had dragged Jed on a hike on a freezing December day. Jed had been so terrified that he’d practically turned green. He’d even worn layers upon layers of clothes, in a very non-Jed-like manner. Neither man had ever told her what they’d talked about, but after they’d returned, her father had shared a bottle of his most expensive whiskey with Jed.

“Thank you, Don Corleone, but Jed's scared of me more than he's scared of you,” Abbey replied with a chuckle.

“As he should be.” A beat and then, “he still looks at you like a love-struck teenager after all these years. Whatever he’s done, it’s not worth going to bed angry. Call him, talk it over.”

“Dad…” Abbey was too tired to protest. A part of her knew her father was right, anyway.

“And Abbey?”

“Yeah?”

“We're only two hours away. You have people who drive you around, come visit us. And bring Annie and Gus with you.”

“I will.”

**

Almost an hour later, Abbey had run out of wine and cheese and Howard Stackhouse had moved on from David Copperfield to the rules of contract bridge. Abbey was sitting on the couch, frowning, and staring at the phone in her hand. She must've stopped paying attention to the television for a moment, because when she looked up, the camera was on Senator Tom Grissom who was asking a question. What the hell was going on?  

She sighed and dialed a number. Before she could change her mind and hang up, on the other side of the phone line, Charlie answered with a quick: “Yeah, Mr. McGarry?”

The poor boy sounded exhausted.

“No, it’s Mrs. Bartlet,” said Abbey. “Is he still keeping you in the office, Charlie? It’s Friday night, I swear to God, I’m gonna kill him—”

“No, Mrs. Bartlet, I’m on my way out,” a tone of nervousness crept into Charlie’s voice. “The President’s in the Residence.”

“Get him and go home!”

“Yes, Ma’am. Goodnight, Ma’am.”

“Goodnight, Charlie.”

Abbey waited. There was a soft ‘click’ and after a few more moments, she heard Jed’s voice.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” he said.

“What the hell’s going on with Howard Stackhouse?”

No courtesies, no beating around the bush. Just because she called him first, that didn’t mean Jed was out of the doghouse yet.

“We got ourselves our first filibuster.” Jed sounded amused, almost victorious, which confused Abbey. She listened as he went on, “See, the word filibuster comes from the Dutch word ‘ury geite’ which means ‘freebooter’ and the Spanish word ‘filibusteros’ – a term used to describe the pirates raiding Caribbean Islands back in…”

“Jed…”

“…century. Bet you didn’t know that the tactic of using long speeches to delay action on legislation appeared in the very first session of the Senate. William Maclay, a Senator from Pennsylvania…”

“Jed!” Abbey repeated, this time with more urgency.

Jed sighed. Abbey imagined him rubbing his forehead, in a weary gesture.

“He has an autistic grandson.”  

“Oh my god, Jed…”

“He wanted forty-seven million for autism care and research, but we didn’t give him the money, 'cause we didn’t know. He could’ve just told me about the kid, I would’ve gotten it done, but no, he had to do this, old crank.”

“So, you called Grissom and told him to ask the question?” Abbey whispered.

“Yeah, Grissom and McNamara and Gianelli and others–all grandfathers. We’re crazy people, we’ll do anything for our grandkids.”

“Yeah,” Abbey agreed.

“Abbey, I…” Jed started, but Abbey cut him off.

“We'll talk when I get back,” she said.

“When are you coming back?” Jed asked.

“I don’t know.” Her reply was sharper than she’d intended.

“Pierre Boileau was here. He made us saffron chicken and tomate du saltambique.”

“Us?”

“I had dinner with Leo, since you weren’t here.”

“Under the candlelight?” Abbey asked and when she only got silence in response, she gave a chortle her mother would’ve called unladylike.

“Well, Stackhouse ruined the dessert,” Jed was smiling now, she could hear it in his voice. “I miss you,” he added.

There was a moment of silence, before Abbey said: “I miss you too.”

And she meant it.

Chapter Text

Tuesday, 8^th January 2002

The only sound in the President’s Bedroom was the ticking of a little clock in the sitting area. The clock, a gift from an ambassador of some small European country or another, stood proudly next to a picture of slightly younger, but much more relaxed Bartlets, taken in their Manchester home. A slightly older, but exhausted, Abigail Bartlet was lying on the four-poster bed, her back against the pillow, her glasses perched on her nose. She was reading a book about Edith Wilson, in the broadest sense of the term, since she had no recollection of the contents of the page she’d been looking at for over an hour.

Jed wasn’t there yet, even though it was well past two o’clock in the morning. He was still in the Oval, talking to Babish, Pat, maybe Leo. After all, there was much to be discussed.

Censure.

Abbey didn’t know a lot about joint resolutions, but she knew what a censure was. What it would do to Jed. He would never recover, the jackass! Stupid, brave, kind-hearted jackass! But he was her jackass. Who had accepted the censure because of her, to stop the witch hunt before they burned her at the stake. But he would never get over it. Dear God, he’d never get over it and she would have a front-row seat, watching him fall apart and collecting the pieces. That was her cross to bear.

The door opened and Abbey sat up. Jed stood in the doorway, blinking at her, a long, rolled-up piece of paper in his hand. For a second, Jed looked shocked to see her awake. Perhaps he’d hoped for a night of quiet contemplation, without having to face her until morning. Well, tough luck, jackass!

“Abbey! What are you doing up?”

Jed removed his jacket and threw it over a couch. Then he untied his tie and threw it over his jacket.

“I was waiting for you.”

Abbey closed the book and put it on the bedside table. She hadn’t been reading it anyway. Her glasses followed suit. They touched the cover with a soft tap. It was barely louder than a whisper, but Abbey flinched. She was a bit on edge. Jed looked at her for a moment, his free hand loosening the top buttons of his shirt.

“Jed, we need to—” Abbey started, softly. Jed, however, practically catapulted himself towards the bed, kicking his shoes off and spreading the roll – a map of some sort – as he went. Abbey scooted on the bed, folding her legs beneath her. Jed sat at the foot of the bed, the map in its full glory, now lying on the covers between them.

“Look what Charlie gave me today!”

His eyes glinted and at that moment, he looked more like a child than a grown man, someone’s father, grandfather, and President of the United States. Abbey looked at his new toy. It really was a pretty map, but not pretty enough to take her mind off joint resolutions and censures.

“Look at these topographical details, Abbey! It’s hand-colored, copper engraved… Can you believe he found it at a flea market?”

“As a matter of fact, I can. It’s lovely, Jed, but—”

“I knew you’d like it. That’s why I married you.” Jed grinned. “That and a couple of other things,” he added, noticing Abbey’s raised eyebrow.   

The corners of her lips almost curved into a smile, but her voice was serious when she said his name, this time with more urgency:

“Jed…”

“But no one else likes my map, Abbey!” He complained, ignoring her feeble attempt to change the subject. “Just you and me! And Charlie.”

“Yeah, he told me. They’re a bunch of uncultured jackasses, what can we do,” Abbey said, with a small shrug, hoping to put an end to his lamentations by agreeing with him. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes.  

“See, Abbey, the map was drawn in 1709, that was two and half centuries before—”

Not tonight, though.

“Can’t we just put it here in the Residence?” Abbey tried again.

They had things to discuss, real things to discuss, more important than a three-hundred-year-old map that touched the depths of Jed’s nerdy little heart that even she couldn’t touch.

“Nah. You see, what I wanted to do, before my hopes were squashed like—”

“How about we hang it in your study in Manchester?”

Abbey’s heart was racing. She was losing her patience, but she schooled her expression and lowered her voice. Sometimes it felt the same talking to Jed and talking to Gus. The only difference was that Jed understood and used the words with more than two syllables and she could swear in front of him. Often at him.  

“Of course I’m gonna put it up in my study, eventually! I wanted to put it in the outer office, next to the s—”

“Jed!”  

Abbey raised a hand to silence him. Another thing that usually worked. And this time it did. Jed stopped mid-sentence and gave her a puzzled look.

“Jed, we need to talk.”

“And what have we been doing for the last ten minutes?”

“Jed…” Abbey started in exasperation, but Jed was faster.

“So, there’s this photographer who worked here for 17 minutes two years ago and he wrote a book about us.”

“Yeah, Emma told me. That’s not important, no one’s gonna take him seriously. What I want—”

“Who’s Emma?” Jed asked.

The elephant in the room was now as tall as the Washington Monument.

Abbey’s fist squeezed the comforter that covered her legs. The urge to grab a decorative pillow and hit him over the head was hard to resist. This time, she had to satisfy the urge by glaring at him, not sure if he was just trying to distract her by adopting the persona of an absent-minded professor. A night of failed distractions.

“She’s my chief of staff,” Abbey finally said.

Jed frowned. His hand rested playfully on Abbey’s leg.

“Third since Lily quit. What are you doing to them, Hot Stuff?”

Abbey sighed. “It’s easy for you, you got Leo. Apparently, this First Lady isn’t the employer of the year.”

“Well, I made your best friend my Surgeon General, Sweet Lips, I don’t think the public will take it well if we make her your Chief of Staff.”

“That’s not what I… Jed…”

But he was ignoring her again.

“Well, since no one wants my map, I’m just gonna put it away somewhere where no one can see it.”

Jed rolled up his map. He was about to stand up, but Abbey grabbed his arm.

“Jed.”

“Abbey.”

She stared at him with such intensity that he looked up and met her gaze.

“I talked to Babish. He called me after he’d talked to you,” Abbey whispered.

Jed looked away and sighed. It was a sad, little sound that touched the deepest parts of Abbey’s soul. For a moment, he looked ancient, a tired man, a broken man. Abbey reached out to touch him, but he avoided her touch.

When he finally spoke again, his voice was shaking.

“You saw what they wanted to do to Leo, Abbey! Gibson wanted to crucify him, you know what he was going to bring up, you know what happened before the third debate!”

Leo didn’t know that Abbey knew. Jed hadn’t told her; he’d kept his promise to his best friend, but Abbey had figured it out herself. It didn’t take a degree from Harvard medical school to recognize the symptoms. It had been their silent agreement not to tell Leo that she knew, though.

“Just imagine what they were planning to do to you when you took the stand! Gibson and everyone else! Dragging you through the mud, prodding and probing and asking questions about every patient you ever treated, every prescription you ever made, every suture… And then they would go after Liz and Ellie and Zoey!”

His chest was heaving, and his eyes were burning.

“I had to do it, Abbey!”

Abbey took his hands in hers.

“I know,” she whispered, through the tears that welled up in her eyes. “And I’m so proud of you.”

Jed’s eyes rested on hers. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. Abbey caressed his cheek.

“What we did was wrong. I can’t fix everything,” he said, softly, “but I can fix this.”

“I know…”

Now it was Abbey’s turn to sigh and look down, Tears were pooling in her eyes, tears of love, uncertainty, anguish. She dabbed at them with the back of her hand.

“I can’t save you from the AMA, though,” Jed whispered as he reached to wipe away her tears.

“I can handle the New Hampshire Medical Board, Jed. I’ll be fine.” She didn’t allow her voice to break.

Jed leaned in and kissed her. Abbey wrapped her arms around him. They remained like that for a few minutes. Finally, it was Abbey who broke the silence.

“Hon, it’s late and Leo will have you up in two hours. You should go get changed.”

Jed nodded his head. Slowly, he stood up, put his map on the couch and disappeared into the en suite bathroom.

Alone again, Abbey looked down, tracing the floral pattern on the covers with her finger.

Jed was right, what they had done was wrong. Concealing the truth from the American public was a mistake. But they hadn’t lied! They had never coerced anyone into lying! She’d even made sure to tell the anesthesiologist at GW that he was under no obligation to keep the secret. They hadn’t started wiretapping the GOP headquarters! They weren’t selling state secrets to Korea! They hadn’t poisoned the Majority Leader – although it seemed like a good idea now. And yet, here they were, making history: the US Congress was about to condemn Jed’s actions and Abbey still had to face the New Hampshire Board of Medicine. On her birthday. A birthday party to remember! Even better than the one, some twenty years ago, when she'd worked a 36-hour shift. Jed was right, nothing could save her from their scrutiny. A jury of her peers – friends or foes.

Wearing his pajamas, Jed joined her in bed. Abbey rested her head on his shoulder.

“C.J. read a paragraph from that book to me,” he said.

“I’m sure it broadened your horizons,” she said, drowsily.

“It says that I have special underwear,” Jed said in a solemn tone.   

“Isn’t that my line?” Abbey teased.

“Apparently, the sex of your baby depends on the underwear you’re wearing.”

“Medically impossible but do go on.”

“So that guy says that we wanted a son after two daughters. Now this is important, if he wants a son, the father-to-be needs to avoid jockey shorts and jock straps.”

Abbey burst into laughter.

“Hon, if that’s what his book’s about, no one’s going to take him seriously.”

The first button of Jed’s pajamas was open, and Abbey was playing with his greying chest hair. She looked up at him with a grin.

“You can tell C.J. that you don’t have to wear special underwear to turn me on. When you start talking about eighteenth-century maps or conjugating Latin verbs, my panties fly off.”

Jed chuckled and pulled her closer. He was warm and soft, and Abbey had almost dozed off in his arms, when she thought of something.

“I think I’ll tell C.J. that you sometimes wear jock straps,” she said. “Want to see the look on her face when I tell her.” 

Jed, who had almost dozed off as well, gave a low chuckle and turned the light off.

Chapter Text

October 2001

It was early on a Thursday morning, and Abbey was pissed. She was shooting daggers at her husband, unable to speak because there was a thermometer in her mouth, while Admiral Hackett busied himself with his medical bag to avoid her glare. A grown man cowering before a woman who would, if she were standing, barely reach his shoulder. She almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

“Your temperature’s 101.4, ma’am,” he said, reading the thermometer. 

“Yes, I know,” said Abbey. “Because I took my temperature before you came in and wrote it down.” She pointed at a piece of paper on her nightstand, with her temperature, blood pressure, and other medical information, written in what Jed called her ‘doctor’s handwriting’.

“I’m fairly certain it’s the flu –” Hackett began. 

“Of course it’s the flu,” Abbey sighed in exasperation. “Give me codeine and acetaminophen and I’ll be up and running in four days.”

Unbothered by Abbey’s interruption, Hackett continued taking her blood pressure.

“I also want a chest x-ray.”

“A chest x-ray for a stuffy nose and a headache?! I don’t need a chest x-ray!” Abbey argued. “Of course,” her voice was icy cold now, “I am a thoracic surgeon, so my experience with chest x-rays is limited.”

Sitting at the bottom of the bed, Jed chuckled. He looked as though he was having the time of his life, as though someone had given him a checkbook to balance in Yellowstone. 

“Honey, stop trying to scare the nice admiral with your double board certification.”

“Shut up, Jed!” Abbey snapped.  

Still chuckling, Jed turned to the physician. 

“Ever heard of that old saying doctors are the worst patients? Yeah, they came up with that one because of her. She hates being told what to do.” 

Abbey rolled her eyes.

“I still want to take you to Bethesda for an x-ray, ma’am, and I want blood work.” 

Abbey could feel her heart racing. Her face blanched.  

“I have the flu! I don’t need x-rays or bloodwork! Give me codeine and acetaminophen and I’ll get enough rest and drink plenty of water. Please.”   

Jed chuckled again.

“I’ve known my wife for thirty-seven years, and this is the fourth time I heard her say please.”

From a cold, professional, medical standpoint, Abbey knew that she was being unreasonable. She was acting like Gus. Worse, she was acting like Jed! But the second Hackett removed the cuff, Abbey rolled down her sleeve and pressed her left arm to her chest protectively.

“140/90. Is your BP usually this high?”

“No! Only when I’m upset!” Abbey snapped. “I’m not going to have a heart attack! And it’s not pneumonia, so please just—”

“No, but it might be a bacterial infection, that’s why we need to do a CBC,” Hackett said, as if he was talking to a petulant child.

Abbey sighed.

“Fine!” she snapped, rolling up the sleeve of her silky purple pajamas again. “I’ll do it myself!” 

“Draw your own blood? Don’t think that’s a good idea, ma’am.”

“Why not?” Abbey asked, pursing her lips in a smirk. “I have been subpoenaed to answer questions before Congress because I treated my husband in secret. Drawing my own blood can’t be worse than that.”   

The physician-on-duty looked surprised, but to his credit, he recovered quickly.

“I still don’t think it’s a good idea. But it can wait a couple of days,” he finally agreed.

When he left and the door closed behind Hackett, Abbey looked at Jed.

“I’ve always liked him. He’s a reasonable man.”

“Yeah, but only ‘cause you scared him off,” Jed smiled. He moved closer and took Abbey’s hand in his. “I wasn’t gonna tell him you’re scared of needles.”

“I’m not scared,” Abbey pouted. “I just hate the thought of someone else sticking a needle in my arm.” She shuddered.

“I know,” Jed said softly.

He leaned in to kiss her, but Abbey shook her head. “Don’t kiss me, you’ll get sick.”

Jed planted a small kiss in her hair.

“I need to get back to the Oval. Will you be alright on your own?”

“Yeah,” said Abbey.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

*

A doctor and a nurse rushed into the hospital hallway. 

“Did you find that chart on the patient in six?” the handsome doctor demanded.

“I don't know where it is,” countered the nurse.

“Well, find it,” the doctor raised his voice.

Taking a sip, Abbey put the glass of orange juice down on the nightstand. Then she fluffed her pillow and snuggled down in her warm, comfortable bed. The doctor and the nurse continued to shout at each other on screen. 

There was a knock on the door. 

“Yes?”

Donna Moss peeked inside with a warm smile and a small, “Mrs. Bartlet?”

“Donna, come in.” Abbey sat up in the bed. 

“How are you?”

“Much better,” Abbey lied. “Did you draw the short straw and had to come babysit for the boss?”

“No, I just wanted to see how you were,” Donna smiled awkwardly. She looked uncomfortable, as though she felt out of place. Understandable, since most assistants weren’t allowed into the Residence, let alone the President and First Lady’s bedroom. 

“I brought you something,” Donna announced. “My mom’s chicken soup. At least, it’s my mom’s recipe, I made it. It always helps me when I have a cold.” 

She put the container on the table. Abbey, genuinely touched by the gesture, smiled. 

“That’s awfully nice of you. Thank you.” 

Donna shifted from one foot to the other. “Well, I just wanted to bring you the soup. Josh…”

“You don’t have to go yet. Come sit with me, we’ll watch handsome doctors and gossip. Josh can manage without you for a few minutes.”

Donna’s smile grew, and she took a seat in an armchair. “My mom loves this show,” she said. Didn’t think you watched TV shows, Mrs. Bartlet.”

“Even I need a hobby, Donna. I don’t live in an ivory tower.” Abbey shrugged. “You’re too young to remember that year when we had to wait all summer to see who shot J.R.”

“Must have been a long summer,” said Donna. She watched the screen where a doctor with glasses talked with a cop while orderlies dragged a patient across the hallway. 

“I’ve always wondered, is this what working in a real hospital looks like?”

Abbey thought about it for a moment. 

“Not really. Charting doesn’t make for exciting TV. Half of what real doctors do is paperwork. There isn’t nearly as much sleeping around.” Abbey glanced at the TV set. A close-up of George Clooney’s handsome face appeared on the screen. Both women admired it for a few moments. “Because nobody looks this good in scrubs.”

She smiled and winked. Donna giggled.

“But maybe it’s just me,” Abbey added with a shrug. “I was married before I got to clinical rotations.” 

Donna was laughing. 

“However,” Abbey started, with a dangerous glint in her eyes, “maybe we can find a handsome doctor for you, Donna. Not a surgeon, God knows surgeons are egomaniacs.” Abbey ignored a little chortle that Donna gave. “Maybe a cardiologist. Or a pediatrician, like Dr. Handsome, over there.” 

“Well, Mrs. Bartlet, you got to the President first, so the rest of us can only look at handsome actors and daydream.”

Abbey gave her a little motherly smile. 

“Josh working you too hard?” she asked in what she hoped was an innocent tone of voice. 

Ever since she’d joined the campaign, the girl had been looking at Josh the way that Jed looked at his rare books and Abbey, perhaps not in that order.

“Oh, no, it’s not Josh, it’s those boxes–” Donna stopped herself abruptly, but Abbey understood what was going on. She didn’t have to be a politician or a lawyer to know that the subpoenaed documents could fill several boxes. 

“I should get going,” Donna said. “Hope you feel better soon, Mrs. Bartlet.”

“Thank you, Donna. And thanks for the soup.”

*

The book wasn’t interesting enough to keep her engaged, but it wasn’t boring enough either to send her to sleep. When someone knocked on the door, Abbey was happy to throw the book aside and take her glasses off. 

“Come in!”

Leo walked into the room, looking tired and pissed, but he smiled when he saw Abbey. 

“Hi, Abbey.”

“Leo! He send you to make sure I was behaving myself?”

“Nah, I just wanted to check on you. And make sure you didn’t kill anyone. How you feeling?”

“Better,” Abbey said. “I’m sad I’m gonna miss the Nobel dinner.”

Leo laughed. 

“Yeah, we were gonna put you next to this guy who won a Nobel Prize for chemistry. Now CJ’s gonna have to sit next to him.”

Abbey gave a titter. 

“I hear the food’s gonna be great,” she said. “Hot pumpkin soup with cheese gnocchi and a chevre brioche. And that’s only the entrée.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll steal some cheese gnocchi and bring it over,” said Leo.

“Thanks,” said Abbey. “You know, I saw Millie last week,” she tried to sound coy.

Leo said nothing.

“Doctor Griffith,” Abbey added, the tone of her voice still innocent.

No reaction.

“My friend, the Surgeon General. We went shopping last week.”

“Yeah?” was all Leo said.

“Yeah. I go shopping from time to time. I’m not spending the taxpayers’ money. Anyway, we went shopping last week, had lunch, and we talked about you.”

That wasn’t true, entirely. Abbey had mentioned Leo and reminded Millie that he was divorced. Just like her. Millie had complained about how rude Leo had been the last time they’d spoken.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Jed should have accepted her resignation. She gave us a hard time after that crap she pulled last year.”

“She’s a doctor, Leo, not a politician. It’s our job to tell the truth.” Abbey said sharply. “And Jed knows I’d kill him if he ever tried firing her.”

Leo smiled, but his smile soon faded.

Please, don’t talk about the Congress. Or subpoenas. Or hearings. Abbey thought.

For a second, he looked as though he was about to say something, but he changed his mind.

“If you need anything, let me know.”

When Leo was gone, Abbey sank into the pillow and closed her eyes. There was a fire in Yellowstone, the Congress had sent subpoenas to her and Jed and the girls, as well as Leo and all the kids who worked for Jed, but she couldn’t do anything about it, because she was in bed with a fever, high blood pressure and she was aching all over.

Abbey fluffed her pillow and turned the television on.

Chapter Text

“Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I.” Alone in the spacious kitchen, Abbey was singing a jazzy melody as she poured tea into her crimson mug. Unlike Jed who had a large collection of college memorabilia, Abbey owned a single mug with her alma mater’s logo, white on crimson. She also had an old Harvard sweatshirt that she hadn’t seen in years, so she usually wore one of Jed’s. They were cozier and smelled like him.

Tonight, however, Abbey was wearing her red suit and a pair of fluffy slippers. She had kicked her heels off and got rid of her pantyhose the moment she’d walked into the Residence, having said goodbye to Jed before his Portland trip.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Bartlet?”

Abbey turned towards the door and found Lilli Mays standing there.

“Lilli, what are you still doing here? Isn’t it your niece’s birthday?”

“Next week. We finished your speech for Children’s Literacy Initiative tomorrow.”

“Oh. Okay,” said Abbey.

“Your approval rating’s at 62%. If everything goes well tomorrow, it might go up two points.”

Abbey nodded politely. Lilli cared about her job approval rating a lot. Abbey didn’t.

“You hungry?” she asked.

“No, I’m fine.”

“You sure? I’ve got food, can’t eat it all by myself.” Abbey gestured at a plate of sandwiches on the kitchen counter. “I think I’m gonna eat a sandwich, drink some tea and watch Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf.”

“That’s cheerful,” said Lilli. “You could watch Practical Magic. Or Grease.”

“I’ve never seen Grease.” Abbey shrugged.

If Lilli was surprised, she hid it well.

“John Travolta’s very handsome,” she said.

“So is Richard Burton,” Abbey countered.

Abbey took her plate of sandwiches and her tea and made her way from the kitchen, down the hallway and to the bedroom, with Lilli at her heels, holding the papers awkwardly.

“When I was younger, my dad used to say I looked like Elizabeth Taylor. Millie used to say I looked like the girl from that movie where she starts off chubby and ugly but becomes attractive after a reconstructive surgery and sets off to kill everyone who made fun of her and she wears this yellow dress—hi, Mike!” Abbey greeted the agent who stood by the door. He raised his eyebrows, but he didn’t say anything.

“You’re too young to remember that film,” Abbey decided, and Lilli nodded.

“I grew up watching Sesame Street and Julia Child.”

Abbey opened the door and Lilli followed her in.

“You know who’s also handsome? That guy from Apocalypse Now.”

“Marlon Brando?” Lilli asked.

“No, the other one.”

Lilli lingered by the door while Abbey walked past her and put her plate of sandwiches on the coffee table.

“Sit down,” said Abbey, “have a sandwich. We can look at the speech over some food.”

Lilli hesitated before taking one. “They’re really good,” she said.

“I know,” said Abbey. “I’m starving.” Instead of having lunch like sane people did, she’d allowed Jed to talk her into a quick barbecuing session. She hadn’t stopped smiling since the lunch break, but her stomach was starting to protest.

Abbey reached for the sandwich, but before she could take it, the phone rang, making her sigh in exasperation.

“I can leave if you want,” Lilli offered.

“No, it’s just Jed. Don’t go anywhere,” Abbey said with a reassuring smile. She crossed the room and picked up the phone.

“Hey!”

“Hi, Hot Stuff! What are you wearing?”

“My red suit. And Lilli is here with me.”

Abbey looked at Lilli, sitting on the couch and pretending not to be listening to the conversation.

“Who’s Lili?” Jed asked. Abbey couldn’t see him, but he imagined his brow wrinkling as he tried to remember.

“My chief of staff.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Still giving CJ a hard time?”

“She disrespected my Fighting Irish,” Jed complained.

“Yeah, I’m sure they’re gonna be sad for days.”

“She’s wearing the cap and she’s gonna lead the press in a rendition of the Notre Dame fight song..."

“Jed…”

“...as we fly over South Bend. All five verses.”

“I’m gonna call CJ and tell her there are only two verses.”

There was a pause.

“Nah, you wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, I would.”

“Yeah, I know you would.”

Abbey heard the grin in his voice. She smiled. Behind her, Lilli was pretending to be interested in a copy of Moll Flanders she’d found on the couch.

“How’s it going up there?” Abbey asked.

“We’re calling for a permanent revolution in education.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“High time we did it. Try and get some sleep, Jed,” Abbey suggested softly.

“You know I can’t sleep on the plane.”

“Yeah, I know, just… take care of yourself!”

“Will do. I’m gonna think about you in that red teddy.”

Abbey could hear a smirk in his voice.

“I’m wearing a suit.”

“Not in my imagination, you’re not.”

Abbey chuckled, shaking her head.

“I might be the good wife and wear that teddy for you when you get back,” she whispered.

Behind Abbey’s back, Lilli was trying to disappear behind the cushions.

“Yeah, I’m gonna tell Colonel Beach to turn the plane around.”

Abbey laughed.

“Good night, babe!”

“Good night! Say hi to Emily!”

When she hung up, Abbey turned back to Lilli.

“See, it’s better that you decided to work for me, or you would’ve been on board Air Force One at 10 p.m., singing the Notre Dame fighting song.”

“Did you go to Notre Dame?”

Abbey sat on the couch and crossed her legs.

“No. When I started college, a thousand years ago, Notre Dame was a men’s college. So, I went to St. Mary’s, which was a women’s college, right across the street.” Abbey shrugged. “My Dad wanted me to go to Johns Hopkins, because he’d gone to Johns Hopkins, and my Mom wanted me to go Smith because she’d gone to Smith, but she also wanted me to marry a rich art dealer and live on Upper East Side.” Abbey smiled and Lilli laughed.

“My Mom wanted me to go to Yale,” she said.

“And you should always listen to your mother,” Abbey said, reaching for the plate of sandwiches.

Lilli, who had laughed again, asked, “So, how did you meet the president?”

Abbey smiled.

“I was a pre-med student, Jed majored in Theology. We met near the library, they let us use the library at Notre Dame and Jed offered to carry my books for me. We were just friends at the beginning, he was going to be a priest and I had a boyfriend—”

“Ron Ehrlich?” Lilli asked.

Abbey paused.

“Yes, Ron Ehrlich, but that’s not the point,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” Lilli apologized. “So, what happened?”

“Jed changed his mind,” said Abbey.

“How?” Lilli asked.

Abbey smirked.

“I guessed it helped that I looked a bit like Elizabeth Taylor."

“And the girl in the yellow dress?" Lilli suggested.

With a self-satisfied smirk still lingering on her face, Abbey nodded her head. Then she took one sandwich. They really were very tasty.

Chapter Text

10:13 a.m.

The sun peered above the clouds as Abigail Bartlet held the receiver to her ear and waited.

“Hey, Sweet Cheeks!” Jed’s voice boomed from the other end.

“Hey, babe! What are you doing?”

“Thinking about you in that negligee you wore last night.”

“Jed!”

“What? It’s more fun to think about you than bananas.”

True, although she had no idea why he would be thinking about bananas and she didn’t want to ask.

“Okay,” she said. She shifted the receiver slightly in her hand to reach for her mug. “Have you read it?”

“Read what?”

“The sex ed report?”

“No, not yet.”

“You should read it, you know,” Abbey insisted, her free hand resting on her copy of the report. “Or at least the summary. It says and I quote: ‘the First Lady was right’.”

“Isn’t that the summary of my life,” Jed laughed.

“Jed, I’m serious.”

“So am I. I’ll read it later.”

“Sex education programs that teach abstinence only don’t work. They don’t lower the rate of sex among teenagers, they lower the rate of protected sex among teenagers. That’s what the report says, that’s what the Surgeon General’s report from last year says. That’s what I’ve been saying for years.”

Even though she could not see him, she knew what he was doing, taking his reading glasses off and shaking his head. It was a conversation they’d had many times over the years.

“And I’ve been saying for years that we shouldn’t just hand them free condoms and sex manuals.”

Abbey rolled her eyes.

“We’re not handing out sex manuals, Jed! The only way to make sure the kids have safe sex—”

“There’s nothing wrong with teaching the kids that it’s okay to wait. We waited and it only made the sex better.”

“Because we were two repressed Catholic kids. Besides, I knew I’d met the love of my life when I met you and you wanted to be a priest. ”

“I’m just saying it worked fine for us.”

“And how well has it worked for our kids?” Abbey asked.

On the other end, Jed sighed.

“I’ll call you when I read it and we’ll talk,” he said. “I have to go deal with bananas.”

It was far from the strangest thing she’d heard since Jed’s inauguration, so she went with it.

“Okay,” she said.

“Love you,” said Jed.

“Love you too,” said Abbey and hung up.

*

2:48 p.m.

The sun was high up in the sky, shining brightly through the large window in her East Wing office, when the phone rang, and Abbey answered it.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Hot Stuff!” Jed crooned. Before she could ask him about the sex ed report, he continued, “Did you know there’s a town in Alabama that wants to abolish all laws except the Ten Commandments?”

“No,” Abbey said. She truly did not know. And she didn’t care.

“Please tell me you’re not thinking about moving there when we retire?” she teased.

“No, I’m just thinking about the practical effects of the whole thing. How would anyone know you’re honoring your mother?”

Abbey thought about it for a second.

“The mother would know because we know everything. Coveting your neighbor’s house is a tricky one.”

“Or wife,” Jed supplied.

“Would you covet your neighbor’s wife?”

“I have you, Sweet Cheeks, I don’t need my neighbor’s wife.”

“And what if someone coveted me?”

“I’d stone him, hang him and burn him at the stake.”

Abbey chuckled. “You know that nobody in Alabama voted for you, right?”

“Yeah, I know.” Jed laughed. “But I’m looking at page 45 of that report. We haven’t done that in a while.”

Abbey leafed through her copy until she found the page. She scanned the text and smirked.

“We haven’t. We could do it tonight?” she suggested, her voice taking on a soft, coquettish tone that she knew turned Jed on. As if any other tone of her voice turned him off.

“Sure, if this banana thing doesn’t keep me in the office too long. Then we’ll just ‘engage in petting behavior’. And yes, that means what I think it means, I checked.”

Abbey laughed again. She felt sorry for the poor, unfortunate staffer who was burdened with the task of confirming what petting behavior was to the President.

“When are you going to present it to the public?” she asked.

“We’re still working on it. No one wants to hear the President saying that more than 25 percent of teenagers have touched a girl’s…” Jed paused. “I’m still not going to say that word. There are many words in this report that I’m not going to say.”

“Why not? Can’t remember the last time you struggled with words.” Abbey bit into her lower lip to stop herself from laughing again.

“Babe, you’re a medical professional. I’m the kid who laughed in biology class.”

“So, you don’t mind doing the things from page 45 to me, but you don’t want to talk about them? That’s very Republican of you, hon.”

“There’s nothing bipartisan about this, Abigail. I just don’t want Mrs. Landingham to walk in and hear me. She’s very stealthy. I’ll need about 78 years of therapy, and I don’t have that kind of time.”

“As I recall, she once walked in on us when I was doing something from page 29.” Abbey’s cheeks flushed at the memory from Jed’s days in the New Hampshire State House.

“Hang on.” Jed said. She could hear him leafing through his copy.

“Third paragraph,” she added, helpfully.

“Yeah, I remember that. I tried avoiding her for a month afterwards—”

On cue, Abbey heard Mrs. Landingham’s voice from a distance.

“I’ll call you later, Sam and Josh are back from the Hill,” said Jed.

“Okay,” she replied. “Don’t be late and I’ll let you touch my…” she started, but Jed had already hung up.

*

9:32 p.m.

The sun had gone down when Abbey took her reading glasses off, massaged her temples and picked up the phone. A couple of moments later, she heard Jed’s tired voice.

“Hey, how you doing?”

“Better than you,” Abbey said. “What’s going on?”

“Mrs. Landingham withholds food from me,” he complained.

“Because I asked her to.”

“Yeah, cause you don’t want me eating real food like steaks or hamburgers. She won’t let me have a banana.”

“I’m sure you did something to piss her off.” Abbey shrugged.

“Do you two enjoy torturing me?”

“Yes,” she said innocently.

“Okay,” said Jed, and Abbey recognized his tone. It was the tone of a man who knew he was fighting a losing battle.

“You discussed the sex ed report with the staff?”

There was loud silence on the other side. Abbey waited.

“We’re going to shelf the report,” he finally said.

“Why?” Abbey asked.

There was that loud silence again. Abbey sighed. So did Jed.

“Jed, we commissioned this report a year ago, I recommended some of the best doctors who—”

“When Sam and Josh went to the Hill today, they cut a deal. There won’t be a Congressional investigation about Leo’s problems with alcohol and Valium. There won’t be a hearing. I told you I didn’t want it for Leo, I didn’t want it for Mallory and Jenny, didn’t want it for us. So, they had to play ‘Let’s make a deal’.”

“And you can’t release the report?”

“We’re going to put it in a drawer until after the midterm elections.”

Abbey drew in a deep breath.

God, she hated politics!

“Okay,” she said.

“Okay,” Jed repeated.

“You coming upstairs?” Abbey asked.

“Yeah, I have to finish something first.”

“Don’t be long, I’ll wait for you,” Abbey said.

After Jed hung up, Abbey sat in her chair, tapping on the desk with her pen, lost in her thoughts.

Then she stood up, straightened her skirt and made her way to the Residence.

Chapter Text

“A position where I can do the most good” had been Eleanor Roosevelt’s description of the position of the First Lady of the United States. Abigail Bartlet, M. D., didn’t quite agree with the assessment, having spent thirty years scrubbed up in various operating rooms. The list of duties and services of a First Lady seemed endless, from a hostess to political reformer, from a policy advocate to a presidential confidante. However, the First Ladies weren't elected, as the newspapers, Leo and her own father often reminded Abbey.

Through the years, different First Ladies had adopted specific causes to which they’d dedicated their time and energy. Eleanor Roosevelt had campaigned for civil rights, Jackie Kennedy had been protector of the arts, Libby Lassiter had championed drug awareness and Barbara Newman had worked on childhood literacy programs. Abbey Bartlet had decided that she would dedicate her time at the White House to healthcare.

As the First Lady, Abbey was well-informed about her duties. Different staffers of various degrees of education and importance had given her instructions about the office. As a voracious reader, Abbey had read books on all First Ladies who’d preceded her. As Jed Bartlet’s wife, Abbey had spent thirty-five years listening to stories about the Presidents, the First Ladies and the Congress. 

The perks of being married to a walking history textbook...

*

When Abbey walked into her hotel room that night, the first thing she did was to kick her heels off and take off her pantyhose. She was craving a long hot bath. Before she could fill the tub or take her suit off, there was a knock on the door. Emily, one of the assistants who’d come to Argentina with her, peeked into the room. 

“Mrs. Bartlet? The President’s on the line.”

Abbey thanked her and cleared her throat. Attempting to sound strict, she answered the phone. 

“Bumming cigarettes on Air Force One? Really, Jed? Do I need to have a talk with the press corps as well?”

“I didn't—How’d you know about that?”

The sudden panic in Jed’s voice made her chuckle. 

“They have TVs here, Jethro,” she said. 

“Don't call me Jethro, Evita.” Jed’s tone was threatening. And sexy. Abbey smirked. 

“Oh, I will.”

Jed sighed. 

“Yeah, I know you will.” A beat. Then, “What else have you been up to out there, other than spying on me?” 

“For the leader of the free world, you're remarkably easy to spy on.”

“I keep trying to get Mrs. Landingham to take away your walk-in privileges, but she won't do it.” 

She heard the smirk in his voice.

“My poor baby,” Abbey teased in a mock childish voice. She curled up in the overstuffed chair. In a more serious, level voice, she continued, “I opened a new wing at a children’s hospital this morning. Then I went on a tour of Early Childhood Centers. After lunch, I had a meeting with the Minister of Education and the Minister of Health.” She rubbed her temple with her free hand. 

“You had a busy day, babe,” Jed said softly.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “How was your day?”

There was silence on the other side.

“Jed?” 

Jed groaned. 

“Between Mendoza and O’Leary and the crap my senior staff pulled, I’m thinking we should've stayed in New Hampshire.”

“Too late for that, I’m afraid.”

“Yeah.”

Abbey shifted on the armchair to pick up a pitcher and pour herself a glass of water. 

“I know it’s secret, but can you tell me more about your plan to fight inflation? You’ve always liked soft landings,” she teased in a soft voice. Abbey was quite proud of herself for making an economics joke. She was almost certain it was funny, too. 

But Jed wasn’t amused. 

“How do you know about—?”

“I told you they had TVs and newspapers in Argentina,” she said.

“And you’re reading their newspapers?” Jed asked. 

“I can speak French, unlike some people, and Spanish is similar to—they have cable here, Jed.” 

“I’m gonna kill Josh.” 

“Don't kill him, make him come up with a secret plan to fight inflation.” 

“Nah, I’m pretty sure I can kick his ass, it's somewhere in the Constitution.” Jed's soft chuckle turned into a yawn. 

“Did you sleep at all last night?” Abbey asked. His flight from New Orleans had arrived late and Abbey knew Jed had never been able to sleep on the plane. 

“A few hours,” he said. “Charlie didn't sleep at all, serves him right for waking me up.”  

Abbey glanced at the clock on the wall. 

“You should go to bed, Jed.”

“Lotta good that's gonna do me, I can't sleep without you, babe.”

“I'll be home in two days.”

“I'll sleep then.”

“That's what you wanna do when I get back?”

This time she could hear the smirk in his voice. 

“No, when you get back, hot pants, I'll carry you to the residence and make love to you for days.”

“Inflation be damned?”

Jed gave a hearty laugh, which, again, turned into a yawn.

“You should go to bed,” Abbey reminded.

“Yeah,” Jed agreed. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Don't take Charlie’s head off for waking you up, you know it’s his job.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s written in the Constitution that I can kick his ass, too.”

“Sure it is.” Abbey stretched in the armchair. “Sweet dreams, boyfriend!”

“I’ll dream about you,” Jed’s tired voice came from the other side. 

Drowsy, Abbey changed into her pajamas, and cuddled under the blankets. She turned the light off and the soft creamy colors around her dissolved into calming darkness.

Chapter Text

As her motorcade drove down Pennsylvania Avenue, Abbey thought about the last few hours. The news about the shots fired at the White House had echoed like thunder. Three shots had been fired at the White House from the street. Three shots had been fired at her husband.

Although she would never admit it, the news had shaken Abbey to the core.

Of course, the first thing she'd done was to call the White House. Abbey talked to Jed, and her husband reassured her that he was fine. Then she talked to Debbie Fiderer and the secretary reassured her that the President was fine. Finally, she talked to Zoey, and their youngest daughter reassured Abbey that Jed was fine. And that Charlie was fine. Even in her bothered and bewildered state of mind, Abbey couldn’t suppress a small smile at the mention of Charlie. Lord knew how much both she and Jed cared about the boy. And if someone asked Abbey to choose between Charlie and Jean-Paul… Well, Abbey certainly wouldn’t spend her summer holiday in France.

Despite the reassurances, Abbey had decided to cut her trip to Boston short and to cancel her trip to Chicago entirely. She would send the Democratic Women of Massachusetts and the Democratic Women of Illinois a signed photo.

Her gaggle of assistants talked about bulletproof windows and the Secret Service, at least until Bobby saw the look on Abbey’s face and changed the topic to French fashion and Italian cuisine. But none of that was enough to distract Abbey during the plane trip and the ride from Andrews. As they walked down a familiar corridor, Abbey handed her bag and her coat to Bobby and rushed towards the West Wing, her Secret Service detail practically running to keep up with her.

Debbie Fiderer stood up when Abbey walked into her office. She looked fine. Better than fine and much better than most people who were still at work at two a.m. on Saturday.

“Hello, Mrs. Bartlet. He’s just finishing a meeting, I’m sure he’ll—”

“It’s fine, I'll wait,” said Abbey. Now that she was standing just outside his office, she felt silly for being so worried about Jed. He wasn’t a child, although he sometimes behaved like one.

Abbey leaned against a desk and looked at Debbie who was looking at her.

“Debbie, are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” Debbie reassured her. “And the President is fine.” In an attempt to add more credence to her words, perhaps, she handed Abbey a piece of paper.

Abbey put her glasses on, and the blurry lines turned into carefully written words.

“9:45 p.m. BP 130/80,” she read.

Debbie nodded.

A bit high, but not unexpected, after being shot at. Again.

As instructed by Jed’s physician, Debbie and Nancy took turns taking his blood pressure every few hours. Abbey felt the familiar tightness in her stomach, a cruel reminder that she was no longer Jed’s physician and that she was not allowed to be anyone’s physician anymore.

She took her glasses off. They remained hanging around her neck on a chain.

“And what about CJ and the others?”

“Everyone's fine,” said Debbie. “At least they were until I robbed them blind of their hard-earned money.”

Abbey sighed.

“Someone shoots at him, and what does he do? He plays a game of poker with the staff.”

Yes, that was the exact stupid thing Jed would do. For a genius with 180 IQ, he could be such an idiot.

“And not very well, ma’am,” Debbie added casually.

Abbey was silent. Her long fingers tapped against the polished surface of the desk. Debbie looked at her but said nothing.

“Did he bother you with trivia?” Abbey finally asked.

“I learned a lot about national parks,” said Debbie, the diplomat. Her face was blank. No wonder she’d taken all their money. Amateurs.

Abbey nodded her head.

“Did Leo bring pastrami and roast beef?”

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say that.”

Her face was still blank. Deborah Fiderer, the Chief Protector of her President's secrets. Thank God Abbey had talked to her about the cigarettes early on; she would've been better at hiding the counterfeit than Leo and the Secret Service combined.

For the first time in four hours, Abbey smiled.

“Well, I told him you were great when he hired you.”

A look of surprise crossed Debbie’s face.

“Thank you,” she said. A beat, then “I’ll let him know you’re here.”

Abbey watched her cross the room and knock on the door.

“Sir, the First Lady’s here.” She couldn’t hear the response, but Debbie held the door for her, and Abbey walked in.

“Ladies and gentlemen, my wife, Abigail Bartlet, who hasn’t got codeword clearance, but Debbie won’t let me take away her walk-in privileges,” Jed said in his best TV announcer voice. Abbey noticed a small crowd of advisors gathered around Jed and Leo, all of them chuckling awkwardly. She also noticed that there was only one woman among them.

Leo cleared his throat.

“Okay, what's next?” Jed asked.

“That's all for tonight, Mr. President,” Leo offered.

It had better be at two in the morning.

One by one, the advisors cleared the room, until there was only Leo left.

“Good night, Mr. President,” he said with a little grin. “Abbey…”

“Leo…”

Finally, the door closed behind Leo and Jed and Abbey were alone.

He held out his arms, and she eased into his embrace.

“Abbey, I’m fine,” Jed whispered into her hair.

Abbey pulled away to look up at him.

“You’re not fine!”

“Abbey—”

“You run the country on four hours of sleep, you eat roast beef even though your cholesterol levels are high, and you have MS, to say nothing of the fact that someone shot at you, for the second time in four years.”

“Abbey, a very disturbed man fired three shots at the press room, while I was in the Oval. It’s bulletproof glass in the windows and there’s an agent whose job is to stand in front of a bullet. You wanna be worried about someone, you should be worried about him.”

“Jed…”

“And I’m going to tell you what I told Charlie, you wanna kill me, you're going to have to do it from inside the building.”

“I can assure you that I’m considering that option,” Abbey said coldly.

Jed smiled, but Abbey was still pissed. Pissed at whoever had fired the three shots at the press room, pissed at the world and pissed at Jed.

“Nobody was hurt this time—”

Abbey gave a joyless laugh.

“There shouldn’t have been a this time, Jed! If you… if…” she made a pause and declared, “Jed, I’m a doctor. I know what MS can do to you and I know what a bullet can do to you. So, I think I should be allowed to worry about you.”

“I know,” he said. “And you’re right.” He took her hand and locked her fingers in his.

“Remember when Leo came to my office with the crazy idea that I should run for president?”

Abbey nodded. Of course she remembered.

“We had dinner at Patsy's that night and we agreed it was a crazy idea,” she said, uncertain what he was aiming at.

“But the next morning, you told me I should go and talk to Leo and consider his idea.”

“I still thought it was a stupid idea,” Abbey added.

Jed laughed.

“Yeah, I know, you told me.” He squeezed her hand tighter. “But you told me to talk to Leo.”

“Because I know you, Jed,” Abbey sighed. “You're the smartest man in the world and you would regret not running for the rest of your life.”

Abbey let her fingers trail down his cheek and brushed away his hair. God, he was sexy in this casual outfit, a Notre Dame sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. In fact, he was so sexy that she forgot what they were talking about for a moment, until Jed called her name.

“If you had known everything that was going to happen in these four years, would you have supported my decision to run?”

Would she have supported his decision to run for President? What would she have done? Had she known that Jed would renege on their deal and seek a second term, that someone would shoot him in Virginia, that hiding his MS would cause a scandal which would cost Abbey her medical license and her professional integrity? What would she have done?

“Had I known,” she answered slowly, “I would’ve done the same. You’re a great man, Jed, and you're a great president.”

Jed gave her a small smile. His blue eyes sparkled with adoration so powerful that it nearly brought tears to Abbey’s eyes. His fingers traced the line of her cheek. Then he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. Despite herself, Abbey was starting to relax under his touch. She leaned in to kiss him.

“Did you and Leo have a little party before I walked in?” she asked when they parted.

“Well, we had a little situation in Kaliningrad, so I talked to Chigorin.”

“Oh?” was all Abbey said. Jed never talked to her about foreign policy, and she had learned to make do with the breadcrumbs he sometimes dropped. “So, what did you tell him?” she asked.

“I told him the truth. You once told me the truth would do it almost all the time.”

“I also told you I sometimes lie to you,” said Abbey.

“Yeah, but I didn’t tell him that.”

Jed smiled and so did Abbey. His hands were warm against her back, his fingers trailing down her waist.

“You really think I’m the smartest man in the world?” Jed asked.

“You’re also the biggest jackass in the world,” Abbey said.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer, and Abbey leaned her head against his shoulder.