The god of writing known as Aaron Sorkin, and his cohorts at Warner Bros. and NBC own the characters. I'm just taking them out for a spin in a rented limo.
This is pure goofiness, plain and simple. It shouldn't even qualify as good fic, because just about every cliché, bad word, etc., is included. Just read and laugh (or cry), and I shalt be happy. ;-)
Mucho gracias to AJ for all of her help in this. This fic wouldn't be here without her!
Category: Pick one - it could fit under general, romance, angst, or humor
Rating: R for language and sexuality
Spoilers: minor "Let Bartlet Be Bartlet" references
Pairings: Jed/Abbey Archive: Yes, if you have to. But ask permission first!
Feedback: To BeckyAnneA@aol.com or on the lists.
Summary: The White House goes to hell in a handbasket, starting with the plumbing.
by Rebecca A. Anderson
Abigail Bartlet held her nose as she opened the door to her private johnny-on-the-spot out on the White House lawn.
Shivering as she stepped into the tiny stall, she pulled her jacket around her tighter. "Why the hell did they have to do this in the middle of winter?" She muttered.
Disgustedly, she picked up the copy of Vogue that one of her assistants had left in here for her earlier in the day. "Never could stand this stupid magazine," she muttered, dropping it on the floor of the cramped plastic palace.
Once she was through with her business, she leaped from the stinky thing, and practically ran from the cold outside to the warm comfort that the inside of the White House provided.
"Damn -- that's just heinously cold!" she grumbled as she walked by her Secret Service agent, rubbing her arms, trying to get the circulation going again.
"Abbey?" A male voice called out behind her.
She whipped around and snapped, "What?" with quite a lot of irritability in her voice.
"What's up with you? You're so moody lately." Jed said, wrapping his arms around his beautiful wife.
"Well, you would be, too, if you had to leave a nice warm building and use the restroom in weather *way* below freezing!" she sighed, absorbing all of the heat she could from his embrace.
"I do," Jed reminded her with a little snerk on his lips.
"Why did they have to do this now? I mean, really, Jed."
"Come on back to bed, Abbey," Jed coaxed, leading her down the corridor. "When pipes freeze, sometimes they burst."
"You'd *think* that they would have some way to keep pipes from freezing around here," Abbey groused, still shivering.
"That can be tomorrow's problem, sweetie. Let's just go back to sleep, huh?"
"I don't want this to be our problem at all, Jed. Not right now, not tomorrow."
"Not now, not ever -- I know," Jed sighed. "Look, we've got a crew coming first thing tomorrow to find the broken pipe out by the rose garden. Hopefully, by Friday, we'll be using porcelain toilets again."
"Damnit, Jed...." she began, but then cut herself off, saying, "No more Vogue in my bathroom. Never."
Giving off a slight chuckle, Jed responded, "Okay. No more Vogue in your bathroom. Now," Jed opened the doors to their bedroom. "Your bed awaits."
He led her down the hallway. She kept muttering under her breath about Vogue and Readers' Digest, and how much she truly disliked them. Oh, but it had been a stressful week! First the State Dinner in honor of the President of Russia's birthday, and now the dysfunction of nearly every piece of plumbing in the White House. Everyone had taken to carrying hand-sanitizing gel in their pockets because you never knew if you'd find a functional sink. And speaking of which, she had completely forgotten to sanitize her hands!
"And it's going to have to await even longer." She said, leaving his arms, and making her way to the bathroom; praying that the sink would work.
It did, spluttering brownish water that finally ran clear. "Thank *God* for small favors," Abbey breathed, washing her hands. Once she had totally dried them on her fluffy blue hand towel, she ran for the warmth of her bed -- and her husband's arms.
Giving off a heavy sigh as she climbed into bed, Jed moved his body onto the side, so he could observe Abbey.
She had been extremely irritable lately, and it was beginning to worry him. She didn't want to go on her usual "goodwill tours", or even work on anything substantial. It was almost as though her whole personality was undergoing a drastic change -- and not necessarily for the better. He had thought about asking her if she might want to take some hormones or something, but then thought better of it. In her current state of mind, she might well castrate him!
"Stop staring at me, if you want to live long enough to see the next day." She muttered as she turned onto her stomach and pulled the pillow over her head.
"Abbey, talk to me." Jed rested a hand on her back.
"Go to hell. I'm tired, I'm cold, I'm sick of living under a f*cking microscope all the goddamn time," she muttered forcefully, rolling over, so her back was to him. "Go to sleep, Josiah," she said. "You've got stuff to do in the morning."
"Abbey, we agreed never to go to bed angry." Jed chose a soft tongue.
"I'm not angry," she snapped. "I'm exhausted, frustrated, and infuriated. There is a difference. Now, GO TO *SLEEP*!"
Jed finally conceded to her wishes, and laid down, gathering his wife into his arms. A few seconds later, Jed found his arms being thrown off of Abbey, and so he just turned over to his side of the bed and went to sleep.
Abbey heard the soft, even snores from his side of the bed and knew he was asleep. With a growl, she threw the covers off and left their bedroom, pausing just long enough to throw on her robe, before storming down the corridors of the Residence like a thundercloud. Her destination: the kitchen. Reason: snack.
When she arrived, she jumped slightly as she found her daughter in there, getting a snack as well. "Hey Mom. You couldn't sleep either?"
"Why else would I be here?" Abbey muttered, reaching past Zoey into the freezer to bring out a well-disguised pint of caramel ice cream. "Why can't you sleep?" she asked her daughter as she hunted for a spoon.
"I had a weird dream, and it freaked me."
Abbey sat down at the little island with her treasured ice cream in front of her. "Well, tell your old mom about it," she said, savoring the first bite of her treat.
"I'm not sure I even understand it, Mom." Zoey said as she grabbed a spoon and went over to Abbey.
Abbey watched her, and growled, "Don't even think about it. There's a pint of banana ripple in there for you, back behind the leftover spaghetti sauce from last Tuesday's staff dinner." Zoey merely pouted and went to fetch her ice cream. "Now, just tell me about it. You don't have to understand it."
"Something to do with the rose garden and -- a -- ghost maybe."
"You've been listening to your mother too much, young lady," Jed said as he came into the room. At Abbey's dirty look, he said, "What? You think I didn't notice when you left?"
"Well, you were snoring so loudly..." She trailed off.
Zoey snorted. "Mom, please. He only snores like that when he's faking it."
"How would you know?" Jed asked, curiously as he grabbed a spoon and headed over for his wife's ice cream.
Zoey stuck her tongue out at him. "I have my ways," she said mysteriously.
"Charlie," Abbey said with a smirk.
"Yeah, so?" Zoey replied defensively.
"I'm just saying, your ways aren't that secretive." Abbey said as she moved her ice cream away from her husband's spoon.
"Hey," Jed yelped.
"Move the hand or I will bludgeon it off with my spoon," Abbey growled.
Zoey giggled at her father's look of "yeah right" and her mother's answering stare of "just try me". "Daddy, you can have some of mine," she volunteered sweetly. "I won't do anything evil to you."
"Thank you." Jed said in a childish tone as he stuck his tongue out at his wife.
"Oh, how very mature for a man of your age," Abbey sniped, looking incredulous as Jed flung a spoonful of banana ripple ice cream at her. "You're asking for it." Abbey warned as she scooped up some of her ice cream and flung it at him, hitting him right in the middle of the forehead.