Fic: The Pacific Rim, Chapter 11

[melyanna]

When Elizabeth woke, she was confronted with two things that seemed oddly out of place. The winter sunrise was already filling the room through gossamer curtains, and a scent that was not hers occupied the space. It was deep and musky, and utterly unlike the light in the room, which cast shadows and prisms all at once. Then as cognitive function developed again, she began to realize that it was not just the scent and the light in the room with her.

There was something soothing in the way John was wrapped around her. She’d never been one to feel comfortable with another body in bed with her, but this morning she didn’t mind so much. Waking up alone to remember the mortification of the night before, when the Bartlets had walked in on them making out in a conference room, would have been worse. Now mortification had companionship, and it didn’t seem so bad.

He was snoring lightly, a sound that made her smile despite herself. Trying not to wake him, she reached over and ran her fingers through his hair, which for the first time seemed appropriately messy. But he was frowning, too, and Elizabeth said, in a voice thick from a few hours of rest, “Are you dreaming, John?”

He didn’t react to her voice or her touch, except to move himself impossibly closer. She smiled, suspecting he was a heavy sleeper, like she was. And it had been a long night for them both. After retreating from the conference room, they’d spent a very long time talking about the myriad of ways in which this could go wrong. They both knew that they had to be able to separate personal from professional, waging war and keeping peace in the right arenas. After they had talked and only come to a conclusion that it would be difficult, it had begun with a kiss, rich, deep, and intoxicating, and ended in each other’s arms.

Elizabeth wanted to waste the morning away in bed, letting the sunrise bathe her in the peaceful light she’d been too long without. She wanted to stay with John more than was strictly reasonable. It was Sunday - not quite the day of rest, but close enough. It was too bad she had to meet with C. J.

She sat up carefully, hoping not to wake John. The crisp air of the room greeted her skin, and while she thought about lying down to stay in the warmth under the blankets for a few more minutes, she heard a muffled groan from John as he moved into part of the space she’d just vacated, like he was looking for her. Elizabeth ruffled his hair. “I’m over here, John,” she said.

He didn’t open his eyes, but he touched her back lightly, as though confirming her presence. “Why’d you move?” he asked, sounding very groggy. “I was comfortable.”

“It’s six-thirty,” she replied. “Little after, actually.”

“And it’s Sunday,” he said. “Close the drapes and go back to sleep.” Then, to Elizabeth’s surprise, he moved toward her somehow and pressed a soft kiss to her back, just above her waist. She looked over her shoulder at him to see him putting his head back down on his pillow, staring up at her. “I didn’t think you’d be here when I woke up.”

She shook her head, a little confused. He must have still been half-asleep to make that confession. “It’s my room.”

Two fingers began tracing lazy patterns on her back. “I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d left, or kicked me out.”

“John,” she said, turning away from him and looking down at her hands, “if I’d had a problem with waking up next to you, we wouldn’t have gone this far in the first place.”

There was a longer silence before she looked at him again, but in the interim his fingers never left her skin. It was a little strange. Elizabeth knew that John always wanted desperately to be doing something, but she had never considered that that might extend to his personal relationships. It was like he needed to touch her to prove to himself that he hadn’t dreamed it all. And the feeling of his fingertips against her skin was starting to get addictive.

“Why are you up so early?” he finally asked.

“I have to meet C. J., remember?”

“Well, this is a first,” he said, flattening his hand against her back. “Don’t think I’ve ever had a woman leave me for another woman.”

Laughing, Elizabeth leaned over and kissed him lightly on the nose. “I’m sure it won’t take long.”

Before she could move away, he held her in place with one hand on the back of her neck. “Tease.” With that, he pulled her down for a kiss that didn’t taste particularly good, but made up for it in other ways.

Elizabeth pulled away and got out of bed before John could get any ideas and act on them. Then she heard a knock at the suite door, so she grabbed the robe provided by the hotel, slipped it on, and answered the door.

On the other side was C. J. Cregg, newspaper in hand. “Did I wake you?” the woman asked.

“No,” Elizabeth replied. “I woke up about ten minutes ago. I was just getting ready to come see you.”

“Well, I decided I really needed to talk to both you and Major Sheppard, so the mountain came to Mohammed for a minute.”

She smiled. “I’ll get him up.”

Leaving C. J. in the sitting room, Elizabeth went back into her bedroom and closed the door. “John,” she said, “C. J.’s here.”

He rolled over and buried his face in her pillow, mumbling something. “John,” she repeated, coming arond the bed. “John, get up so C. J. can talk to us.”

“Five more minutes,” he said.

In response, Elizabeth picked his jeans up from the floor and smacked him across the back with them. “Up,” she ordered.

She headed to the door, and John turned over, sitting up in bed. “Mean.”

“Only when I have to be.”

Elizabeth stepped out into the sitting room again, where C. J. was leaning against the back of the sofa. “He’ll be out in a minute.”

“No rush,” C. J. replied. She waited a beat before saying anything else. “Listen, I didn’t get a chance to tell you yesterday, but you did very well at the panel. I admit, my hesitations about it were unfounded.”

“I didn’t think you wanted me to do it,” Elizabeth said.

C. J. seemed surprised, but didn’t answer to that directly. “Occasionally the President gets a crazy idea he won’t shake,” she said. “It’s not usually apparent that it’s not just something he thinks would be cool.”

Elizabeth laughed. “I’ve known him for almost fifteen years now,” she replied. “I don’t think he’s changed much.”

“I’ll tell you, the learning curve with this man is pretty incredible,” C. J. said. “I’ve worked for him for almost seven years now, through two national campaigns, and I’m still catching up.”

“I don’t think anyone other than Abbey really keeps up.” Elizabeth sighed and walked to the kitchen area to start some coffee. “He must trust you, though, to have named you Chief of Staff. Leo McGarry must be quite the act to follow.”

C. J. smiled and shook her head. “You have no idea.”

“I might,” said Elizabeth. “I stepped in for a general whose staff loved him. I was just a political appointee. I had no business being there - didn’t know anything, didn’t have any appreciation for the history.”

“And your position on the military didn’t help matters.”

“Not so much. Daniel Jackson had to hold my hand through practically everything.”

“At least I have the benefit of knowing these people already,” C. J. said. “Even if they are all twelve years old.”

Elizabeth laughed again. “I work with twelve-year-olds too,” she replied. “Only some of mine have built nuclear weapons in their spare time.”

C. J. pointed at her. “You definitely win.”

As she spoke, the bedroom door opened, and John entered, pulling his shirt down over his torso as he came in. “Win what?”

“Worst office conditions,” said C. J.

“Well, I don’t know about that,” John replied. “Elizabeth has an ocean view. Nice little balcony just outside her office.”

“What have you got?” Elizabeth asked.

“A bush, I think?” she replied. “It’s been a while since I’ve had time to look out my window.”

John ran both hands through his hair, making it messier than it already was. “So what did you need, Ms. Cregg?” he asked.

“Please, it’s C. J.,” said the Chief of Staff. “I’ve got a few things. First of all, Doctor Weir, I’m canceling Danny’s interview.”

“Good,” John said.

Elizabeth shot him an odd look, but didn’t say anything to him. “Why?” she asked.

“I had Donna do some spying for me,” C. J. replied. “She didn’t know anything about the Stargate, but she saw that Danny had enough information to be able to lead you into confirming something.” She set the newspaper aside and folded her hands. “He doesn’t have it yet, but we’re going to need to keep the both of you away from him today.”

“What about McKay and Carter and Teyla?” John asked.

“They’re meeting with Hammond and Alexander for most of the day,” said C. J. “They’ll be talking about science and the Pegasus galaxy.”

“Why aren’t we being included?” Elizabeth asked.

C. J picked up the newspaper again and held up the front page. Below the fold was a picture of Elizabeth at the panel the day before, smiling at a questioner while running her finger around the rim of her glass of water. “I’ve got a dozen more where this came from,” C. J. said. “Le Monde’s was actually quite flattering. Or at least Zoey Bartlet’s translation was. The New York Times has a black-and-white picture of the two of you arriving at the site. It’s back a few pages, but it’s still in there.”

“So what’s this got to do with. . . anything?” John asked.

“You’ve never been much involved with politics, Major, have you?” When John shook his head, C. J. looked over at Elizabeth. “If you’re going to be spending your time on Earth with him, you’re going to need to teach him a thing or two.”

Elizabeth smiled. “I can’t go underground for a day,” she explained. “It’ll raise more questions than it suppresses.”

“We just have to keep you away from Danny,” C. J. continued, “not the press in general. So the President has invited you to join him and his family for mass. You’ll accompany him for the rest of the day, and then attend the dinner tonight.”

“And this is going to work?” John asked.

“Well, right now it’s the only plan I’ve got,” C. J. said. “About half an hour before you’re supposed to meet Danny, I’m going to have Donna pull him aside and tell him it’s cancelled. He’ll fume at her for a while, at which point she’ll tell him to call his publisher. His publisher will explain to him the story I told her last night. Then he’ll come and yell at me for obstructing his story, and hopefully by then I’ll be able to lock him in a suitcase on Air Force One.”

“He really hasn’t changed, has he?” Elizabeth asked.

“Doesn’t seem like it.” C. J. set the paper aside. “But speaking of cover stories-”

“Tell me we’re not using the cover about radar.”

“We’re not. I’ve got a new one for you that’ll work only because Danny hasn’t met Teyla yet,” C. J. replied. “You’re on a high-security mission, code-named Prometheus.”

Mass wasn’t quite as excruciating as John was expecting, though he was apparently squirming enough that at one point Elizabeth laid her hand on his leg to still him, not even looking away from the priest as she did so. Then, almost absentmindedly, he traced a circle on the back of her hand with his index finger before slipping his hand under hers to grasp it. Thus they sat through the rest of the service, and when they followed the First Family out of St. Mary’s Cathedral, his fingers were still laced through hers.

They stepped out into the sunlight, and John squinted as he put his hat on. “Elizabeth, you didn’t get my sunglasses, did you?” he asked.

In response, she reached into her purse and pulled them out. “Don’t get used to this,” she said. He smiled, and though she rolled her eyes, she didn’t object when he hesitantly kissed her cheek.

A few feet away, the President cleared his throat. A faint, rosy blush appeared on Elizabeth’s cheeks, and John released her hand to put on his sunglasses. “I like having you around, Elizabeth,” Bartlet said. “It’s like having an easily embarrassed daughter around again.”

“As long as you’re enjoying yourself, sir,” she said.

“Are you sassing me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you hear that?” he said, looking at Abbey. “She’s sassing me. Here we are on the steps of a cathedral, and she’s sassing me.”

“Sir,” Elizabeth said, “we’re not on U. S. soil, so I figured I could claim diplomatic immunity or something.”

“We’ll see about that. You have no idea how easy it is to lose U. S. citizenship when I have a say in the matter,” he replied, pointing at her. “Come on, let’s get some lunch.”

The press corps wasn’t following the President on Sunday - they rarely did if the President was actually going to make it to mass - so Danny spent the morning preparing. He wasn’t exactly nervous about this interview, as it wasn’t going to make or break his career, but there was something big going on. He’d become a journalist because he wanted to be right and to tell the truth. This was huge.

Every once in a while, since the moment C. J. had announced that Elizabeth was on the trip, Danny had wondered if this desire was heightened at all by the fact that things had not ended well between them. He’d used her, but that had probably only made things worse. When they first started seeing each other, she’d confessed some amount of discomfort at being that close to a man who might want information from her. But that kind of rejection seemed to be a common theme in his life. Just because he was interested in women who shared his passions.

And then there was a part of him that just wanted to see her again and talk with her. She had one of the finest minds of her generation, and he’d give anything to have a long, leisurely conversation with her. Unfortunately, he suspected that she was sitting atop the biggest story of his life, if he could just find what held all these pieces together.

It was their warmest day thus far in Sydney, beautiful, cloudless, and crisp. Soon after they’d finished lunch in a restaurant which had been cleared by the Secret Service with impressive efficiency, Zoey Bartlet grabbed John by the arm and dragged him off for a few hours of shopping (which John would probably term torture later). Elizabeth thought it was rather amusing, but she wasn’t about to say that in front of a frowning father who also happened to be the President.

So they and Abbey headed back to the beautiful park near St. Mary’s. With Secret Service agents in various places on Hyde Park’s Avenue of Figs, Elizabeth and the Bartlets walked along the tree-lined path. For a little while, the clicking of the two women’s heels against the tiles was all they heard, but then the President spoke. “Elizabeth,” he said, “I noticed Major Sheppard didn’t take the Eucharist this morning.”

“He’s not Catholic, sir,” she replied, “but he thought it would look bad if he stayed in the pew while everyone else with the President went up.”

“In other words, you told him.”

Elizabeth smiled. Jed Bartlet had always been able to read her well. “Yes, sir,” she said. “He told me he wasn’t Catholic before we left the hotel, so I told him what to do.”

“Well,” said Abbey, “it’s good to know you haven’t lost your touch.”

“Speaking of that,” the President added, “you did very well yesterday at the panel. C. J. didn’t want me to let you do it, but you proved her wrong.”

“Thank you, sir,” Elizabeth replied. “It was my honor.”

“I was particularly impressed with the part where you answered the reporter from Le Monde in French,” he continued. “Though for all I know, you were saying that I’m a frumpy old man who fell off a turnip truck in Idaho yesterday.”

Elizabeth laughed. “I thought you spoke French, sir.”

“Are you kidding?” Abbey said. “He once called me his little cheese. I have no ungodly idea what he meant to say.”

“Abigail,” Bartlet said, “I thought we weren’t going to mention that again.”

“Oh, shut up.”

As they neared the War Memorial at one end of the lane, Elizabeth smiled and shook her head. Around Washington there had been rumors about this couple during difficult times, but she had never believed them. They adored each other, and the arguments were only testament to that.

It had been almost ten years since Elizabeth, then working on her doctorate, had had to place her ailing father in a nursing home in upstate New York. Jed Bartlet, then Governor of New Hampshire, found out about it somehow, and he had invited her to Manchester for part of the Christmas holidays. Having no family left but a father who didn’t remember her, she had made the decision easily. Late one night she had wandered into the kitchen and heard Jed and Abbey arguing in the next room. At the end of it, Jed had found her, and Elizabeth hadn’t been able to deny that she’d heard it all. When she’d tried to apologized, he merely shook his head and said, “You’ll get it someday.”

Elizabeth wasn’t quite sure, but she thought she understood that now. They loved each other enough to challenge each other, and the strength of these two never interfered with their loyalty.

Jed and Abbey were holding hands at the pool in front of Anzac memorial, and Elizabeth almost felt as though she were intruding. But then the President said, “Elizabeth, would you be up to a game of chess?”

“I haven’t gotten much better since the last time we played, sir.”

“That’s okay. I like winning,” he replied. “Besides, we can talk over chess.”

“Zoey,” John was saying, “I’m really starting to regret not kicking you out of the staff cabin a few days ago.”

“Why?” the girl asked, walking up to the register. John followed, carrying the purchases of the last two stores with one hand and his hat and sunglasses with the other. “Because I made you come shopping, or because I think you should get flowers for Doctor Weir?”

“Does it have to be one or the other?”

She gave him a sweet smile as she handed her credit card to the cashier. “I heard you were being a jerk to her yesterday. You ought to make up for it.”

“I wasn’t - hey, where’d you hear that?”

“Word travels fast, John,” she said. “If you’d wanted it to be private, you should have had that argument outside.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he replied. The cashier thanked Zoey for the purchase, and they headed out.

“I gotta say, though, it’s weird talking about an old professor like this.” Zoey waited at the exit for John to put his sunglasses and hat back on. “It’s one of those rules never to think about your professors dating people.”

“I don’t know about that,” John replied as they continued their walk. “I had a sociology professor when I was an undergrad - never mind. You don’t want to know.”

Zoey laughed. “Seems like there’s an awful lot you won’t tell me.”

“Well, some of it I can’t tell you without risking court-martial.” They kept walking for a bit, and then John asked, “Zoey, did your father tell your agents to kill me if I move too quickly?”

“Not that I know of,” she said, “but you never know with Dad.”

“It’s kind of weird having armed guards around.”

She looked pensive for a moment. “I’m still not used to it,” she said, quietly. She took a deep breath. “I don’t think I’ll ever like it or get used to it, but. . .”

As she trailed off, she looked down at her feet. John had to take her gently by the arm to guide her around a small sign that had been placed outside a shop entrance. “But?” he prompted.

It was a long time before she looked up. “An agent died because of me,” she finally said. “I didn’t even know her that well. It was her first day on my detail.”

“Would it have been easier if you’d known her?” he asked.

Zoey shook her head. “I don’t think anything would,” she replied. “But I don’t complain about them being there any more. Not when they’re doing their job.” She looked up at him and smiled briefly. “But that’s how it’s supposed to be. Sorry if I’m ruining the mood.”

“It’s okay,” said John. “It’s not like that’s really an easy thing to deal with.”

“You’ve been in battles before,” Zoey replied. “Have you ever had to see something like-”

“Not quite like that,” he said, “but. . . There’s this movie. I’ve been trying to remember the name of it for months. This guy’s flying a plane in an air show, and it catches fire on the runway. His friend runs up and tries to save him, but he can’t get him out of the cockpit. So he kills the pilot to save him from burning to death.”

“What are you saying, John?”

“I had to do that once.” Now it was his turn to stare at the ground. “I had to kill a man to save him from a horrible death.”

They stopped walking, and Zoey quietly said, “I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s hard to live with,” John replied. “It gets easier, but. . . I think that might be what it’s like for you.”

They walked in silence for a while, until they reached a florist. “Oh, look,” Zoey said, “a flower shop.”

“I am not getting her flowers.”

“You could get me flowers.”

“Zoey. . .”

One of the State Department officials who had come on the trip was scheduled to give the press briefing that afternoon. He was expected to get continued questions on the President’s speech the night before, and likely a few on Doctor Weir’s comments. There were also some anti-Japanese riots going on in China, so the official had his hands full. In the meantime, Donna stood in the back and desperately wished that C. J. had given this assignment to anyone else.

Danny was uncharacteristically quiet during the briefing, whch was making Donna more nervous. She had information Danny didn’t have, but he also had a brilliant investigative mind. He was going to figure it out eventually, and she knew that he was sitting quietly in the briefing because he was at the precipice of a much bigger story. She could only hope that this would work.

The man from State called a full lid, and the reporters thanked him, slowly dispersing. Donna started walking through the crowd. “Danny?” she called.

He turned around at the sound her voice. “What can I do for you, Donnatella?”

She took a deep breath. It was showtime.

Elizabeth was not the world’s greatest chess player, and it was entirely possible that she was facing off against the world’s greatest chess player, so it really wasn’t helpful when she saw the chess set the President intended to use. On the west side of Hyde Park was a giant chess board, complete with pieces that almost came up to her knees. She hazarded a glance at Bartlet, and when she saw the eager, almost boyish grin on his face, she couldn’t help but laugh.

“Are you laughing at me, Doctor?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” Elizabeth replied, still laughing. “This is your chess set?”

“I’d get the agents in here to be the chess pieces, but they’ve got some crazy rules about how they need to be looking for people trying to kill me.”

“Jed,” Abbey said, “you won’t mind if I head back to the hotel, do you? I’d rather not watch Elizabeth get crushed.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence, ma’am,” Elizabeth said dryly.

“Any time.”

“It’s fine with me,” Bartlet replied. Abbey came over and kissed his cheek. “I wanted to talk to her about some stuff anyway.”

“Well, I’ll just find Zoey and steal John back from her,” said Abbey. “That’s if you don’t mind, Elizabeth.”

“As long as I get him back after business hours.”

Abbey waved to them as she walked off, an agent speaking into a microphone at his wrist as he followed her. Elizabeth looked at the President, and they stepped down from the path to the chess board. They spent the next few minutes rearranging the pieces, as they’d just been left in the middle of a game. Then, after flipping a coin, Elizabeth took the white side. From across the board, Bartlet said, “You know getting involved with him is dangerous.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied. “But I think ignoring it is just as dangerous.”

“What do you mean?”

She thought about how to answer him while lifting a giant pawn and moving it forward two spaces. “He was upset about what happened to me with Kolya,” she replied.

“When the - the Genii tried to take the city?”

Elizabeth nodded. “He was angry with himself for not being able to stop Kolya when he thought I was dead,” she continued. “It just got worse from there. After it was all over, he wanted me to start carrying a gun, but I absolutely refused.”

“Do you even know how to fire a gun?”

“Yes, actually.” She watched as he moved a pawn with his foot. “When I started talking about wanting to be a diplomat, my father made me learn.” She shook her head. “But a gun wouldn’t have done me any good with Kolya.”

“But the major didn’t like you being so helpless,” the President said.

“Not at all.” Elizabeth picked up her king’s-side knight and carried it across the row of pawns. “I wasn’t going to back down about carrying a gun, and John was frustrated with that. But the only way he could act out his frustrations-”

“Was by defying an order.” He walked forward, moving a pawn before stepping back to his place on the other side. Elizabeth watched, unsurprised that he knew of Kavanaugh’s report. “He couldn’t make you carry a gun, but he could force you to let him take action.”

“Yes, Mr. President,” she replied. “That’s exactly what happened.”

Bartlet shook his head as Elizabeth moved another pawn. “You really shouldn’t try to psychoanalyze your boyfriend, Doctor,” he said. “It only leads to all manner of unpleasantness.”

“Sir, he’s not-”

“Don’t even try that on me, Elizabeth.” He tried looking stern, but she wanted to laugh at the attempt. “I lost twenty bucks because of you, and while I suspect my wife’s interference, I’m not going to question it. However, you ought to call it what it is.”

“For the record, sir,” she replied, watching him move a bishop, “I would have lost that bet too.”

Bartlet chuckled. “I figured as much.” Then he grew somber, and Elizabeth was struck for the thousandth time at the great presence his small frame commanded. “Hammond and Alexander spoke to me yesterday,” he said.

She closed her eyes but said nothing, letting him continue. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Alexander would like very much for me to pull you and Major Sheppard both from the expedition, but he’s the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, not overlord of the armed forces. I picked you to head the most important mission in the history of mankind, Elizabeth. I stand by my decision, and I stand by you.”

“So you’re going to come back with me to Atlantis?” she asked, a small smile forming.

“To meet the life-sucking aliens? No,” he said, drawing out his last word. “I’ve got Congress to deal with, and that’s quite enough.” As Elizabeth nudged a rook forward, he continued, “I would, however, like to talk to you about Major Sheppard.”

“Mr. President, I know my opinion on the matter is somewhat biased,” she said, “but we really can’t lose him. To the expedition, it would be like having both arms cut off. There is no one else more necessary to the city and to the people in it.”

“Relax, Doctor,” Bartlet replied, waving one hand. “I’m not pulling him back to Earth. I’ve got something different in mind.”

Donna led Danny into a little-used room a few feet away from the impromptu press briefing room and closed the door behind them. “Danny,” she said, “we have to cancel your interview with Doctor Weir.”

For a minute, Donna thought he was going to take this pretty well. Extraordinarily well, even. But then she saw the subtle change in his expression, and braced herself for impact.

“Why?” he demanded.

“Because-”

“C. J.’s toying with me, isn’t she?” he interrupted. “She’s the one who set this up in the first place! You know what, I didn’t want an interview with the President. I want to interview Doctor Elizabeth Weir, and I’m going to.”

“Danny,” Donna began, but Danny was into a full-blown rant.

“What the hell makes her think she can do this?” he yelled. “What makes her think I was even going to ask about anything sensitive?”

“Because she knows you,” Donna replied. “Doctor Weir’s been out of touch for months, and C. J. knows you want to know why.”

“Damn right I want to know why.” Danny almost looked like his nostrils were flaring. “She’s had people spying on me, hasn’t she? You and Larry and the phone call-”

“It was Ed, but yes,” she said. “You’ve got a lot of information that you’re not supposed to have access to at all, so I think you’re lucky C. J. isn’t tracking down your sources.”

“How do I know she isn’t?”

“Because she isn’t, Danny,” Donna said, starting to get a little frustrated herself. “This is C. J. She knows you can’t control leaks. And this is me telling you she’s not.”

“She can’t cancel the interview.”

“Call your publisher,” she finally said, showing the last card in her hand.

“You mean my editor.”

“No, your publisher,” Donna repeated. “C. J. talked to her. She’ll explain this.”

“Donna,” Danny said, shaking his head, “what the hell is going on?”

“Call your publisher.” With that, Donna turned and left.

Abbey caught up to Zoey and John as they were coming out of a touristy gift shop, and she smiled to see the major carrying most of her daughter’s purchases for her. For all his complaining, he really was a gentleman.

She stepped out of the limo and waved to the pair. “Mom, what are you doing here?” Zoey asked.

“Well, hello to you too,” Abbey replied. “Your father was using Doctor Weir as a sacrificial lamb, so I decided to find you two instead of watch.”

“He’s doing what?” John asked, a look of alarm on his face.

“They’re playing chess,” Abbey said, quite nonchalantly. “Elizabeth isn’t exactly a match for Jed.”

“She’s a terrible chess player.” He frowned. “Why would they bother?”

“Because my husband likes to win.” She smiled. “He also wanted to talk about some things with her.”

Abbey reached up then and straightened his hat. “Hey!” he said, backing away from her. “You’re as bad as my mother.”

“Excuse me?”

It took him a beat to figure out what he was supposed to say. “You’re much worse than my mother, ma’am.”

“Thank you.” She smiled at them, and they moved toward the limousine. Once they were all settled inside and an agent thumped the roof, Abbey asked, “So did you two have a good time?”

“It was shopping, Mrs. Bartlet,” John replied.

“Yes, we did,” Zoey said, giving John a look. “Even if he wouldn’t take my advice and get Doctor Weir flowers.”

“I got you a flower,” he countered, waving at the bright orange flower currently tucked behind Zoey’s ear.

“You did,” she said, “but you should have gotten her flowers to apologize for being a jerk last night.”

“I think they made up for it last night, Zoey,” Abbey said.

“Well, he didn’t tell me that!”

“You said there were things you didn’t want to know about old professors,” he said.

“Then why did you just tell me?”

John let his head hit the headrest. “Is there any way I can get out of this conversation?”

Abbey reached over and patted his knee. “Not in this lifetime.”

Danny had had stories killed by the White House before. They were good at hiding things, almost too good. C. J. had done her best to get him off the Shareef story, and if it hadn’t been for a couple lucky breaks on his side, she probably would have succeeded. But this was just outrageous. There was no way Elizabeth was off selling Girl Scout cookies in Mozambique. The secrecy engulfing her had to be proportional to the size of the story.

Once he was back in his hotel room, he was feeling a little less like strangling C. J., but he was sure that feeling was going to return as soon as he saw her again. It was too early in the day to start drinking (even for him), so he settled instead on watching soccer. Then, a few minutes later, he picked up the phone and dialed.

Chapter Ten | Chapter Twelve