TWW FIC :: "Christmas Traditions" [Jed/Abbey, PG]
Title: Christmas Traditions
Author: A. Magiluna Stormwriter
Author’s Email: stormwriter@shatterstorm.net
Pairing: Jed/Abbey
Rating: PG
Date: 11-12 January 2009
Word Count: 1230
Written for: tww_minis Secret Santa Exchange 2008
Recipient: melanie_anne
Prompt: tinsel, laughter and something broken
Summary: Jed's thoughts on Bartlet family Christmas traditions.
Spoilers (if any): Post-series. About 4 years post-series, give or take.
Disclaimer: “The West Wing”, the characters and situations depicted are the property of Warner Bros. Television, John Wells Productions, NBC, etc. They are borrowed without permission, but without the intent of infringement. This site is in no way affiliated with "The West Wing", NBC, or any representatives of the actors.
Author’s Notes: So my original idea for this story got… well, it disappeared. And at the last minute, I had to redo the story. Which is okay, because I think this is a much better concept, over all. And this is the very first time I've written from Jed's POV. Very kewl.
Dedication: My muses, for always having another option…
Beta: shatterpath, as usual
"Christmas Traditions"
by A. Magiluna Stormwriter
"Mom? The boxes are all downstairs now."
Liz's carefully modulated voice drifts through the cracks in the sturdy oak door of our bedroom. I'm loathe to move from the warmth of our bed, but I know there's a whole houseful of family waiting to decorate the tree. The holiday season is never officially underway in the Bartlet household until the tree's up and decorated. I, of all people, should know that by now. It was my damned tradition to start with.
"We'll be out in a few minutes, Liz," I call out. The sound of my voice is what finally begins to pull Abbey up from the depths of the dreams she succumbed to earlier. "Make sure Charlie and Vic don't do anything stupid like setting up that tree without me!"
Her laughter echoes down the hall, a telltale sign my request has already been ignored, and I can't help the scowl forming on my face. Sometimes I want to take my oldest daughter over my knee for being an insufferable pain in my ass, just like I did when she was a young girl.
"You don't honestly think they'll wait for you to put up the tree, do you, Jethro?" Abbey's sleep-laced voice is music to my ears, and I can only snort derisively in reply. "You should feel lucky that they're waiting for us to actually decorate the tree, you know."
"It's not right to do these things without me, Abbey," I grumble, feeling every inch the petulant little boy. "There are traditions, stories to be told for every single step of creating a Bartlet Christmas. If they continue without me, who's going to make sure all of my grandchildren know what to do?"
"You're being an ass, Jed," she tosses back airily and stretches languidly. I rest my hand on her stomach, trying to will the shaking to stop, and smile when she intertwines her fingers with mine. "You know they wouldn't start the actual decorating without us, but you're no spring chick to tackle setting up the tree itself."
I scowl again and pull my hand back from hers. "Now who's being the ass, Abigail?"
Abbey's delighted, knowing laughter warms my heart, effectively chasing off the latest of the MS ennui plaguing my mind. "I learned from the best, you know," she teases and leans over to press a gentle kiss to my lips. I revel in the sensation of her nearness, knowing one day it won't be there. "One holiday at a time, right?" she murmurs, correctly guessing my thoughts.
My hand actually moves up to tweak the tip of her nose on the first try, and I soak up the delight in her eyes. "I'm good with that." My words are soft, heavily laced with the uncertainty of my future, but I do my best to put on that brave Bartlet face that I've always been known for.
In less time than I'd have thought, we're dressed again, and I'm debating the wheelchair. Perversely, I choose to use the cane instead and feel Abbey's unspoken support and love wrap around me like a cloak. She takes my hand and we head out into the living room. I have to stop for a long moment in the doorway, caught up in the nostalgia as we watch my family bustling around. There's a shadow marring that nostalgia, knowing that one year I won't be here for this, but the sight of my youngest granddaughter squealing and barreling toward me chases off that melancholy.
She skids to a stop as soon as she registers my cane and waits as patiently as any three-year -old could while I settle on the couch next to Abbey. A simple nod is all it takes for young Josiane to clamber up in my lap and snuggle close. "Almost Kissmuss, Pappy," she giggles and pats my cheek. "Stories?"
"Josiane Marie, don't you bother your pappy," Ellie warns, but I can see the glimmer in her own eyes at the request for the stories. "He's only just gotten up from his nap with Grammy."
I roll my eyes at Ellie, smirking. "Do you see this, Abbey? She treats her own father like a child. She always was your daughter."
"I'm only her daughter when I'm right, Dad," Ellie teases back. "And you wonder why I won't give you a grandson."
I wave her off with a grin and study the tree. "Who on earth picked out this Charlie Brown tree?" Vic looks positively terrified that I've forgotten that I did it, but Charlie just snorts and shakes his head. I never could put one past that boy. Well, not easily. "Charlie, did you put it up? It's crooked as he-- heck." I catch myself at the last second, amused by Josiane's delighted giggle. "Do I have to do everything around here?"
"No, I do," comes the quick retort from my favorite son-in-law. "Just like I had to do everything for you in the Oval Office. And the tree's straight. You're the one that's crooked, sir."
Laughing, I shake my finger at him. "I may not be your boss anymore, young man, but I can still boss you around."
"Are you two going to do this every Christmas, Dad?" Zoey asks in that mock-disgusted tone she perfected as a teenager. She stands in front of me, holding my youngest grandson in her arms. That he was born on Election Day still amuses me greatly, and annoys his mother completely. "Here, you and Josi can be lazy bums and hold Eddie while the rest of us actually do some work and get this tree decorated."
I won't turn down a chance to spend time with any of my grandchildren and eagerly hold out my arms for him. Josi shifts to share lap space with her cousin, grinning broadly. "Well, of course, we'll watch all of you work. I need to teach these youngsters all the stories and traditions. Just like I did with you girls and Annie and Gus." Abbey snorts and rolls her eyes at me, but grabs for the box of ornaments. "Abbey, you can’t put up the ornaments before the lights. You know that! You might as well just throw the damned tinsel on first if you're going to mess it all up like that!"
"Are you done yet, Jethro?" she asks, setting the box aside to reach for the box of lights, and I can't help cringing at the thought of something irreplaceable being broken. Thankfully, I’m wrong and watch as she hands the box to Charlie. "I can send you back to bed and just do this my own way, you know."
"And that, kids, is what's called strong-arming," I say conspiratorially, chuckling when Abbey scowls at me. "And that's also what's called Pappy sleeping on the couch tonight, but we'll take care of that later."
Another dirty look from my lovely wife has me smirking and beginning to tell the stories to the kids. Before long, the entire family joins in on telling the stories until I can only sit back and listen to what they have to say. This is what I want to remember, what I want my family to remember down the line. Nothing sad, nothing depressing. Just the happy moments that truly define us as a family.
This is what I want as my legacy.
Author: A. Magiluna Stormwriter
Author’s Email: stormwriter@shatterstorm.net
Pairing: Jed/Abbey
Rating: PG
Date: 11-12 January 2009
Word Count: 1230
Written for: tww_minis Secret Santa Exchange 2008
Recipient: melanie_anne
Prompt: tinsel, laughter and something broken
Summary: Jed's thoughts on Bartlet family Christmas traditions.
Spoilers (if any): Post-series. About 4 years post-series, give or take.
Disclaimer: “The West Wing”, the characters and situations depicted are the property of Warner Bros. Television, John Wells Productions, NBC, etc. They are borrowed without permission, but without the intent of infringement. This site is in no way affiliated with "The West Wing", NBC, or any representatives of the actors.
Author’s Notes: So my original idea for this story got… well, it disappeared. And at the last minute, I had to redo the story. Which is okay, because I think this is a much better concept, over all. And this is the very first time I've written from Jed's POV. Very kewl.
Dedication: My muses, for always having another option…
Beta: shatterpath, as usual
"Christmas Traditions"
by A. Magiluna Stormwriter
"Mom? The boxes are all downstairs now."
Liz's carefully modulated voice drifts through the cracks in the sturdy oak door of our bedroom. I'm loathe to move from the warmth of our bed, but I know there's a whole houseful of family waiting to decorate the tree. The holiday season is never officially underway in the Bartlet household until the tree's up and decorated. I, of all people, should know that by now. It was my damned tradition to start with.
"We'll be out in a few minutes, Liz," I call out. The sound of my voice is what finally begins to pull Abbey up from the depths of the dreams she succumbed to earlier. "Make sure Charlie and Vic don't do anything stupid like setting up that tree without me!"
Her laughter echoes down the hall, a telltale sign my request has already been ignored, and I can't help the scowl forming on my face. Sometimes I want to take my oldest daughter over my knee for being an insufferable pain in my ass, just like I did when she was a young girl.
"You don't honestly think they'll wait for you to put up the tree, do you, Jethro?" Abbey's sleep-laced voice is music to my ears, and I can only snort derisively in reply. "You should feel lucky that they're waiting for us to actually decorate the tree, you know."
"It's not right to do these things without me, Abbey," I grumble, feeling every inch the petulant little boy. "There are traditions, stories to be told for every single step of creating a Bartlet Christmas. If they continue without me, who's going to make sure all of my grandchildren know what to do?"
"You're being an ass, Jed," she tosses back airily and stretches languidly. I rest my hand on her stomach, trying to will the shaking to stop, and smile when she intertwines her fingers with mine. "You know they wouldn't start the actual decorating without us, but you're no spring chick to tackle setting up the tree itself."
I scowl again and pull my hand back from hers. "Now who's being the ass, Abigail?"
Abbey's delighted, knowing laughter warms my heart, effectively chasing off the latest of the MS ennui plaguing my mind. "I learned from the best, you know," she teases and leans over to press a gentle kiss to my lips. I revel in the sensation of her nearness, knowing one day it won't be there. "One holiday at a time, right?" she murmurs, correctly guessing my thoughts.
My hand actually moves up to tweak the tip of her nose on the first try, and I soak up the delight in her eyes. "I'm good with that." My words are soft, heavily laced with the uncertainty of my future, but I do my best to put on that brave Bartlet face that I've always been known for.
In less time than I'd have thought, we're dressed again, and I'm debating the wheelchair. Perversely, I choose to use the cane instead and feel Abbey's unspoken support and love wrap around me like a cloak. She takes my hand and we head out into the living room. I have to stop for a long moment in the doorway, caught up in the nostalgia as we watch my family bustling around. There's a shadow marring that nostalgia, knowing that one year I won't be here for this, but the sight of my youngest granddaughter squealing and barreling toward me chases off that melancholy.
She skids to a stop as soon as she registers my cane and waits as patiently as any three-year -old could while I settle on the couch next to Abbey. A simple nod is all it takes for young Josiane to clamber up in my lap and snuggle close. "Almost Kissmuss, Pappy," she giggles and pats my cheek. "Stories?"
"Josiane Marie, don't you bother your pappy," Ellie warns, but I can see the glimmer in her own eyes at the request for the stories. "He's only just gotten up from his nap with Grammy."
I roll my eyes at Ellie, smirking. "Do you see this, Abbey? She treats her own father like a child. She always was your daughter."
"I'm only her daughter when I'm right, Dad," Ellie teases back. "And you wonder why I won't give you a grandson."
I wave her off with a grin and study the tree. "Who on earth picked out this Charlie Brown tree?" Vic looks positively terrified that I've forgotten that I did it, but Charlie just snorts and shakes his head. I never could put one past that boy. Well, not easily. "Charlie, did you put it up? It's crooked as he-- heck." I catch myself at the last second, amused by Josiane's delighted giggle. "Do I have to do everything around here?"
"No, I do," comes the quick retort from my favorite son-in-law. "Just like I had to do everything for you in the Oval Office. And the tree's straight. You're the one that's crooked, sir."
Laughing, I shake my finger at him. "I may not be your boss anymore, young man, but I can still boss you around."
"Are you two going to do this every Christmas, Dad?" Zoey asks in that mock-disgusted tone she perfected as a teenager. She stands in front of me, holding my youngest grandson in her arms. That he was born on Election Day still amuses me greatly, and annoys his mother completely. "Here, you and Josi can be lazy bums and hold Eddie while the rest of us actually do some work and get this tree decorated."
I won't turn down a chance to spend time with any of my grandchildren and eagerly hold out my arms for him. Josi shifts to share lap space with her cousin, grinning broadly. "Well, of course, we'll watch all of you work. I need to teach these youngsters all the stories and traditions. Just like I did with you girls and Annie and Gus." Abbey snorts and rolls her eyes at me, but grabs for the box of ornaments. "Abbey, you can’t put up the ornaments before the lights. You know that! You might as well just throw the damned tinsel on first if you're going to mess it all up like that!"
"Are you done yet, Jethro?" she asks, setting the box aside to reach for the box of lights, and I can't help cringing at the thought of something irreplaceable being broken. Thankfully, I’m wrong and watch as she hands the box to Charlie. "I can send you back to bed and just do this my own way, you know."
"And that, kids, is what's called strong-arming," I say conspiratorially, chuckling when Abbey scowls at me. "And that's also what's called Pappy sleeping on the couch tonight, but we'll take care of that later."
Another dirty look from my lovely wife has me smirking and beginning to tell the stories to the kids. Before long, the entire family joins in on telling the stories until I can only sit back and listen to what they have to say. This is what I want to remember, what I want my family to remember down the line. Nothing sad, nothing depressing. Just the happy moments that truly define us as a family.
This is what I want as my legacy.