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.

 

"Nucking Futs" 

by Rebecca A. Anderson 

BeckyAnneA@aol.com 

October 2000

 

Much later, they were well-sated with each other. "Mr. Bartlet, why do we always have to hide away to get a moment to ourselves?" Abbey murmured drowsily as the phone rang.

"You call this a moment to ourselves?" Jed asked in an annoyed manner as he picked the phone up. "Whoever you are, you've already lost your job. So what do you want?"

"Nice way to speak to your dying mother, Josiah."

"Mother, how many times do I have to tell you that you're not dying?" Jed sighed. Abbey groaned and buried her head under the pillow.

"What would you know, Josiah? Are you a doctor?" Katherine Joan DiPaulo Bartlet questioned.

"No, but Abbey is, and she says that you're not dying. Don't you, Abbey?" he said to his wife.

"No comment. I'm sleeping," Abbey mumbled in reply.

"Meanie." He muttered to Abbey, but also into the phone.

"What was that Josiah Thomas?"

"Nothing, Mother. Look, how did you know we were here, anyway?"

"Leo is a good boy, Josiah. He always tells me what I need to know."

"Mother, I don't need you badgering Leo all the time."

"I don't 'badger' Leo!"

"Yes you do. Now, what did you want?"

"I wanted to talk to my boy. Is there anything wrong with a dying mother wanting to talk to her boy?"

"Mother!" Jed let out an exasperated sigh.

"Fine. Is it true that Abigail is pregnant?"

"Abbey, is it true you're pregnant?" Jed asked.

"Yes, now let me go back to sleep," Abbey whined, re-covering her head.

"Yes, mother, it is. And what the hell ever happened to tight security on things like this?"

"Don't use language like that with me, Josiah! I have half a mind to come to Washington to wash your mouth out!"

"Sorry, Ma'am."

"And don't you 'sorry, ma'am' me, either!" Katherine said. "Now, put Abigail on the phone, would you?"

"Abbey, Mother wants to speak with you."

"I'm sleeping."

"She's sleeping."

"No she's not. I heard her voice."

"She heard you."

"Damn." Abbey removed the pillow from her face and picked the phone up. "Hello Mrs. Bartlet. What a pleasure it is to speak with you today."

"Now, dear, I know you're a bit old to be having children..."

"A BIT OLD?" Abbey yelped. "Now, see here..."

"No, Abigail, dear, you see here. I'm going to come to Washington for a long visit until the baby is born. I haven't seen any of you for a while, and I'm just *dying* to have a new grandbaby to love!"

"Katherine, you can't come right now," Abbey said frankly.

"My mother wants to visit?" Jed hissed in agony.

"And why can't I come?"

"The is no plumbing in the White House." Abbey was finally happy to be able to say that.

"No plumbing in the White House? What on Earth? Abigail, I think you're insulting my intelligence! You and I both know that the White House has pipes, running water, and fully-functional bathrooms," Katherine said.

"Ummm.... No, it doesn't," Abbey said. "If you don't believe me, ask Jed."

"I do believe I'll do that, dear."

"Jed, darling, your mother wants to speak with you," Abbey grinned wickedly.

Giving out a very loud sigh, Jed apprehensively took the phone from his wife. "Yes Mother?"

"Is it true that there is no plumbing in the White House?"

"Yes, it is. And if you don't believe me, you can ask Leo, or better yet, go down to the corner store and buy a newspaper."

"Is that why you're in the hotel?"

"Yes, Mother."

"Well, this puts a new spin on things. How soon will you be back in the White House, dear?"

Jed's eyes widened. How he wished he could say "6 weeks" or even "a year". "In about 4 days, Mother."

"Well, then, I'll be there in a week."

When Jed finally was able to get off the phone, he soon found a hand smack him upside the head. "Why the hell did you tell her the truth?"

"Oh, gee, it must be the new Jed Bartlet emerging again," Jed said sarcastically. "I can't lie to my mother!"

"Why not? You did when we were going out."

"That's different! I was 20-something then, not 50-something!"

"20-something?" Abbey frowned. "You don't remember how old you were when we were dating?"

"Oh, right now, does it make a difference? And anyway, we dated for a long time."

"You are simply...." she was at a loss for a word, so she flopped over on her side, facing away from him.

"Hey..."

"Off my bed, damnit. Sleep on the couch in the sitting room," she growled.

"Oh come on, Abbey. You can't be serious."

"I can be, and I am. Now get off of my bed, and take your rose petals with you."

"If I admitted that the reason I can't remember how old we were when we were dating is because I'm so tired I can't hardly see straight, much less think?"

"No. Get these rose petals off my bed, damnit."

"I can call Mother and tell her something's come up and she can't come."

"She'll come anyway." Abbey looked him straight in the eye as she said, "I can't stand her. We'll kill each other!"

"No you won't. You haven't killed her in the 35 years, 7 months, 18 days, 2 hours, 33 seconds that we've known each other. I doubt that you'll start now."

"You don't know how very close I've come to it, though, Jed," Abbey said seriously. "Your mother has never liked me. Especially not after that fiasco in ' 75 at Christmas time when I had to run all the way home to take care of a patient."

"Are you going to acknowledge that I remember, to the second, how long we've known each other?"

"No, hadn't planned on it."

"And why not?"

"Because I like being mad at you."

"And why is that?"

"Because I like making up with you. Now, I'm serious, I'm gonna end up killing her, especially if she tries to tell me that I'm t-" Abbey was silenced by Jed's lips.

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.

"Nucking Futs" by Rebecca A. Anderson BeckyAnneA@aol.com October 2000

"Mmmmmm" was her only verbalization for a long time.

Breathing in her heavenly sent, Jed moved in for another kiss, but she cried out, "Jed!"

"What?"

"Give me your hand."

"Okay." He said, giving her hand.

She placed it on the right side of her stomach. "You feel?"

A tiny flutter rippled beneath his hand, and he breathed in a tiny sound of wonder at the feeling of his child moving. "Sweetie pie, you're gonna be just a wonderful baby, boy or girl," Jed said softly.

"Oh, so now you concede that it could be a girl."

"I concede that I will love it no matter what it is."

"But it's going to be a girl, Jed, and you know it as well as I do," Abbey said with a narrow-eyed glare.

"Yeah, whatever," Jed grinned. He grabbed the phone, "Bartlet."

Leo said, "Mr. President, where the hell are you? It's almost 10 AM!"

TBC....

 

Nucking Futs - 5

 

 

 

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