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
Hours later, Abbey's parents found her curled up on the floor in a puddle of blood and rushed her to the hospital.
The light burned the inside of Abbey's eyelids as she gradually wound her way back to consciousness. A breathless groan pushed past her throat, twisting itself into a rasp as it passed her lips.
"She's awake," she heard someone say. "Bring in her parents."
"Baby?" Denise moved into the room. "Baby, Jed's on his way over."
Abbey could only close her eyes and moan in response. She suddenly knew why she was having such a difficult time speaking -- they had her on a breathing tube. She moved to tug it out, but Denise restrained her. "No, sweetie, just leave it for now," she whispered.
"My baby?" Abbey tried to say, but it came out a gurgling, "Yyy abyyy?"
"Sweetie, just go to sleep." her father spoke up.
Abbey looked at them, panicked. Something was wrong -- she could sense it. She fought her mother and ripped out her breathing tube, coughing up blood for a minute until her throat managed to reclot. "My baby," she gasped. "My baby..."
"You lost him, Abbey." Her father answered.
The words barely penetrated her system. All she really caught was "him". "It was a boy?" she sniffled, rubbing her belly. "What..... I mean.... What happened?" she rasped.
"No. I mean... This just isn't...." Abbey began to cough, and her mother gently laid her back down and covered her up again.
"Be quiet and rest, angel mine," Denise whispered, kissing Abbey on the cheek. "Things will look better in the morning...."
"Nucking futs," Abbey whispered as she drifted off to sleep.
A soft, familiar snore woke Abbey later. She looked around, and her gaze alighted upon a sleeping Jed, whose head was even with her hip on the bed. He looked so peaceful....
"Jed?" Abbey's weak voice sounded.
He came awake immediately. "Abbey, baby," he whispered, pulling her close. "I'm so sorry, honey..."
"You were right. It was a boy."
"Is that all you have to say? 'You were right. It was a boy.'????"
"I'm so sorry."
"Hey, it wasn't just you, honey," Jed murmured. "We both have behaved like horse's asses the last week or so.... It's both our faults."
"Gallantry never was one of your strong suits," Abbey sniffled with a half-felt smile.
"They call me 'Honest Jed' -- hell no," Jed said, holding her tighter.
"Shut up, and put this back on." She handed him his wedding ring.
"Don't even ask what I did to get it back, Josiah Bartlet. It probably caused the death of our son."
"No, Abbey -- that was going to happen anyway, the doctor said. It was not your fault."
"It was not your fault, Abbey -- just let it be."
He sighed, then patiently asked, "But what, dear?"
"I lost him... I lost Josiah Junior..."
"There was nothing you could have done, Abbey," Jed patiently whispered, kissing her cheek. "I love you so much for being so brave, baby..."
Abbey began to cry as Jed said baby.
"Honey, we'll work through this, I promise. And for the record, Josiah Junior was kind of a dopey name."
"No. I loved it. Just as much as I love you and your name."
"I thought you hated it," he said, totally confuzzled by his wife's changing moods.
"I didn't mean it."
"Why did you say it, then?"
"Why do I say anything?"
"To drive me insane?"
Abbey smiled, "You bet your ass."
"Well, at least there's that problem solved."
"I love you."
"Abigail Bartlet, I love you now more than I ever have before. You are the bravest, smartest, most beautiful woman I know, and I won't let anything come between us ever again," Jed promised. Just then, two SS agents came into the room. "Well, maybe not just *anything*...."
"Sir?" One of them stepped forward.
"Wha-at?" Jed asked testily.
"We have a situation."
"What kind of situation?" Jed closed his eyes.
"There was an earthquake in Los Angeles this morning. You are being asked to return to the United States, to declare disaster areas, sir."
"Why can't I do that from here?"
"I don't know, sir. Call and ask Mr. McGarry."
"I hate this job. I really do," Jed sighed, kissing Abbey and pulling his cellphone out of the pocket of his suit jacket. "Leo, why the hell can't I declare Los Angeles a disaster area from here?" he asked a few moments later. "Yeah. Well, fuck LA, anyway. My son just died, my wife almost died… Yeah. Yeah. Sure, I'll be there, but I sure as hell won't be happy about it. And did you get rid of my mother, by the way? NO?! Well, I *am* the President of the United States… Yes, I know she's my mother, but I want her back in Manchester tomorrow." He hung up and rolled his eyes in his wife's direction. "Mom won't leave."