~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

One reviewer called her book "a collegial and intimate look at one of
our most beloved and underappreciated First Ladies." A few
vociferous critics charged that she ignored her subject's flaws in
favor of a good story, and her complicities and foibles in favor of a
pretty fallacy. Many harped on her refusal to name some of her
sources and her propensity for long and complicated sentences. Many,
many people wrote to express their gratitude and joy at having been
let behind the public facade of Abigail Anne Bartlet. All missed
that it was a love letter, and an apology, twenty-five years too
late.

Mandy catches a reflection of herself in the window above the sink as
she fills the copper kettle for tea, and wonders when she got so old,
her hair nearly totally grey, her eyes corralled by tiny lines. She
doesn't remember looking nearly this old yesterday. Seated on the
couch once again, facing out toward the ocean she knows is there but
can not see in the dark of night, she stares at the pristine cover of
the book in front of her, her book: Abbey Bartlet's smiling, sexy
face staring back at her, trapped in time, and her mind wanders back,
as it often does when she can't sleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The first time Mandy saw her she was angry as hell: face flushed,
eyes flashing, her words short and exploding in bursts like gunfire.
Her hands slashed through the air punctuating her statements, and
Mandy envied her ability to command the room while barely raising her
voice. The candidate stood still, accepting her anger and
frustration, almost absorbing it. Two men cowered off to the side,
seemingly embarrassed by the intimacy of her outburst, not yet
familiar with the nuances and negotiations characterizing the
marriage of then-Governor and Dr. Bartlet. Watching her, listening to
her voice rise and fall, laced with sarcasm and wit, Mandy felt her
body heat and quiver, and the lust was born in the moment she turned
those flashing eyes and agile hands in Mandy's direction, not asking
her opinion so much as demanding her attention. In that instant
Mandy put aside her concerns about joining a national campaign that
didn't seem to have any money and even less name recognition or
chance of success. She always did like a challenge, and while the
affection and respect came later, much later, the desire was there
from the start.

In those first few months, before CJ and Janet and Tricia and Pam,
and even largely before Mrs. Landingham joined on full time, it was
just Dr. Bartlet and her to represent the estrogen factor above the
assistant level. The "Boys" who had the candidate's ear were
concerned about the campaign's female image and Mandy's demeanor and
appearance were commented on almost as often as the candidate's wife:
Mandy's hair too short, her clothes too ambiguous, her language too
harsh. They wanted someone who exuded warmth, and even in her early
days, Mandy was never mistaken for warm. She would sit in staff and
they would comment on her pants suits or boots, or wonder aloud why
they had chosen as their sole female senior staffer a woman who
refused to wear a skirt unless absolutely necessary. She took the
comments and the veiled references to her attitude and sexuality
because she knew that the current men in charge wouldn't last if the
campaign was going to make a serious run. She knew enough of Leo
McGarry to trust his instincts and his sense of presence, and had
observed Toby Ziegler long enough to know he was good, if not yet in
control, but the others were worthless and not worth her time.

The early days were uncomfortable for her, caught between nagging
isolation and uncomfortable proximity in her dual campaign roles.
She was hired as the Media Director, which was a prestigious step
slightly up from her last posts. However, there wasn't much money to
buy any media in the beginning and she was the only woman on senior
staff then, so she wore the dual hats of Media Director and body-
woman for Dr. Bartlet. She attended more Junior League, Garden Club,
PTA, and DAR meetings and teas than she'd care to admit alongside the
lovely and complicated candidate's wife. In any other campaign Mandy
would have been infuriated by the suggestion that she shadow the
candidate's wife given her position and how hard she had to fight to
break through to a senior staff position on a national campaign,
fledgling or otherwise, but this was an opportunity to be alone with
Dr. Bartlet, who intrigued her, and who Mandy couldn't resist getting
to know better. And it kept her out of the office and out of danger
of sticking her foot in her mouth until the dead weight of the
candidate's cronies could be trimmed away. She limited her
interaction to Toby and Leo as much as possible, both accepting her
without question or requested modification, and she was able to
juggle her media duties with minimal effort while on the road with
Dr. Bartlet given their limited finances and limited attention.

Dr. Bartlet was only campaigning a few days a week, and largely just
attending fundraisers and small meetings as a chance to get her feet
wet and test her reception, but she and Mandy had a system that made
the days worthwhile. Many of those campaign days fell on Fridays,
and they would plot a shelter or hospital or small business or child-
care center to visit off the schedule instead of lunch where Dr.
Bartlet could meet women who rarely got the attention of a national
campaign, yet alone a Governor's wife. Mandy knew even then that Dr.
Bartlet never thought they would win, and the adventure seemed
pointless to her at times, but she found these meaningful moments in
the mix to justify the time and expense, and she was most herself off
the schedule and away from the scrutiny. Mandy would stand off to
the side watching, mesmerized by her ability to tear down the walls
between her and her audience with a smile. Her hands would linger in
the tousled hair of the children while she listened to their mothers
talk about survival, and she would shake every hand as she left,
lingering far longer than even Mandy sometimes thought necessary.

During those long drives they would talk and debate and laugh,
sometimes about real issues and the people they were meeting,
sometimes about nothing more than the song on the radio, and once in
a while the debate would reach a stalemate and they'd travel several
miles in silence. And there were nights when they would find
themselves trading drinks and stories while waiting for the candidate
or the staff. Sometimes at the end of a long day or an even longer
night, Mandy would lean her head back and close her eyes as she
listened to the velvet voice of Abigail Bartlet, and once in a while
she'd wake up sometime later with Abbey's hand stroking her hair,
almost in time with her breath.

She was always Dr. Bartlet during the day, but at night, and in these
quiet moments, a foreign intimacy between them, she was always Abbey,
and over time, Mandy began to think of her as Abbey all the time, a
dangerous progression. Mandy had been with women before, and men for
that matter, but what she felt for Abbey Bartlet was more elemental
and needy. She made Mandy want things she knew she could never
have. And the need made her cautious.

After Josh came onboard, he and Mandy would clash over almost
everything, including the off-schedule visits she and Abbey continued
to take. And when the campaign got a call one Friday night about the
women's health clinic they had visited that afternoon off the
schedule, asking if this signaled an intention to bring abortion
front and center, Mandy was deemed a bad influence and replaced as
Abbey's traveling companion with Pam, whom they could trust to stick
to the schedule. Shortly thereafter the money started trickling in,
the campaign started to gain some attention, and Mandy was needed to
fulfill her true job full-time again. Once she was relieved of
shadow duty, she missed the time alone with Abbey and the chance to
observe her outside of her defined roles, but it was probably well
timed. She has often wondered if maybe she wasn't as careful with
her stares as she thought, and Leo or Toby suspected her infatuation,
because the silences between Abbey and her had become more frequent,
their touches more casual, and Mandy was losing the ability to
control her feelings around her.

She dreamed of Abbey, and she knew she stared at her, especially her
hands, and the risk of discovery made the infatuation exciting and
dangerous. Mandy made a vow to keep her distance after a very
uncomfortable silence one night when she was huddled on the front
porch swing of the farm with Abbey, a half drunk bottle of brandy
between them, the clouds of breath mingling between them until Mandy
pulled her face away and reminded herself to breathe. Soon thereafter
she began going in search of Josh at the end of every day. She and
Josh had met a few times previously, Washington politics being a
small town in many ways, but they had never worked together, and the
constant aggression of conflict easily translated into sexual tension
and then just sex. They both needed an outlet and neither wanted a
distraction.

And the vow to keep her distance from Abbey held for a while, until
right before the election, when they all became a little desperate
and less than careful. Two days before the election Mandy once again
found herself deep in the moment with Abbey, sprawled out on a couch,
waiting for everyone to return from the field and the office. The
easy chatter had turned to companionable silence and then a lazy
leaning against each other, heads titled in, drunk on exhaustion and
emotion. Mandy had turned her head to find Abbey watching her, a
small smile on her face, and the air between them was once again
filled with things unsaid. From her many imaginings and fantasies,
Mandy could almost feel Abbey's lips on hers, her hands in Mandy's
hair, her elegant fingers inside her, and the awkward drunken silence
that filled the small spaces between them singed where it touched,
making them both a little more unhinged. Mandy leaned subtly toward
her and Abbey mirrored her movement until her hair touched Mandy's
cheek, but just before their lips touched Abbey pulled sharply back
and away, and Mandy felt like the air had been sucked out of the room
and out of her lungs. They avoided each other for the next two days,
but Mandy would catch Abbey staring at her when she didn't think
Mandy could see her, her look less than lustful and almost scared.
And she knew that she couldn't be around Abbey, day in and day out,
without eventually giving herself away. She left before noon on the
day after their great victory, not waiting for the offer she wasn't
sure she was strong enough to decline.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The kettle whistles behind her and she is dragged back to the
present, rushing to silence the shrill sound as it echoes through the
empty house. As she is dragging the tea bag out of her mug, she
flips a few pages deeper into the book before closing it and pushing
it away. She pulls the stack of photos onto her lap and skips
through them one by one. She researched the book off and on for
almost ten years, at times in earnest, at times as comforting hobby,
and during that time she amassed hundreds of photographs of Abbey.
She smiles at one of Abbey from college, the earnest and almost
innocent look ruined by the mischievous twinkle in her eye. She
moves quickly past one of Abbey and Lilli from the second
Inauguration, the similarity in their looks making her slightly
queasy, and unsettling despite her knowledge that they were never
more than colleagues. When one of her and Abbey together rises to
the top of the stack, she carefully puts her mug down with shaking
hands and then cautiously touches the edges of the picture, almost as
if it will disintegrate if she holds it fully in her hand. She
doesn't really remember when it was taken, but from the easy intimacy
between them and their hair styles, she can tell it was early on in
the campaign. They are oblivious to the camera and amused with
themselves and each other, and the look Abbey is giving her almost
makes her believe the lust was mutual. Although Mandy has always
cherished this picture, she didn't dare put it in the book for fear
of exposing herself to prying eyes. There is no denying Mandy's
affection and longing in the look on her younger face.

Mandy had studied her from a far for years, and then, when she
couldn't see Abbey regularly, she began to study her from inside out,
starting with Abigail Anne Ryan, the middle daughter born to
Elizabeth and Peter Ryan, tracing the footsteps of the girl who would
be queen. She was cautious to fly under the radar, to gather her
glimpses incognito. She couldn't risk the confrontation or the
disclosure, and she wasn't sure her subject would welcome her
attention. Once Abbey's health began to decline Mandy doubled her
efforts in panic, working night and day to gather every scrap of
information she could, needing to be doing something to feel closer
to her. She made good use of the nostalgia and sentimentality that
followed Abbey's death to bury herself in research and hide from the
pain.

She spoke with college classmates who remembered the smart and driven
girl, and colleagues who recalled the gifted healer with the tender
touch. News media moguls and then-current politicos and another
First Lady of The United States all spoke warmly of her spirit, her
soul, her humor, her wisdom, and her heart. Former insiders looked
at Mandy with skepticism and caution when they would meet with her at
all. Josh mustered all of Leo's willed strength to make the threat he
would have made: warning her not to besmirch Abbey's name or impugn
her reputation. Toby shared notes from his private collection and a
few letters she had written him over the years, but seemed unwilling
to fully trust Mandy's intentions were pure. Ellie was welcoming,
sharing pictures and stories and insights, meeting with Mandy several
times and calling twice to see how the writing was going once Mandy
locked herself away to write. Ellie even sent a glowing letter after
she had read the final product, and Mandy thinks maybe she understood
more than Mandy intended to impart. Zoey and Elizabeth and their
children were less open, but not exactly hostile. Lilli was
obviously out of the question, despite her long tenure with the First
Lady.

After Mandy had left the administration, and before leaving
Washington, she would hear Abbey's laugh between the edges of
Washington chatter or smell her perfume in a crowded room, and the
bitterness would seep from between the sandbags Mandy had stacked
around her heart until she couldn't risk the proximity for fear of
exposing them both. Even after she had escaped the confines of the
District in favor of a gypsy's existence once again, of one political
battle after another on unfamiliar soil, she would see Abbey's smile
shining from the glossy pages of a magazine or her image reflected in
the nightly news shows, and the pain would be imminent and real,
weighing her down.

Mandy had always been driven and fierce, in almost everything, but
she started out her career in politics as fun-loving and free, if a
little wild. The years of swallowing her desires and diatribes, of
being relegated to secondary status, had taken their toll, making her
anxious and ferocious, and by the time she signed onto the Bartlet
campaign, she was already showing early signs of the coldness and
mercenary spirit that would color her later career. By the end of
her tenure in the administration, her continued frustration and now
self-pitying bitterness were destroying anything that remained of the
smiling girl who showed up occasionally in the early articles and
impromptu shots. She had lived for her work, buried herself in the
hard image she projected, and without it she wasn't sure who she was
or where she belonged. She was an excommunicated warrior without a
homeland to return to at the end of her last fractured and desperate
campaign. More than two years after retiring from campaigns she was
tired of consulting, bored with the lecture circuit, and not nearly
likable enough for CNN. Restless and sullen, Mandy found an outlet
for her buried obsession in research, and the early research quickly
began to form itself into the structure for a book: her last, and
maybe only, measure of devotion.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She carefully places the photos in a large envelope once again and
puts them into the open box beside her on the couch along with the
near-pristine copy of her book. Her fingers hesitate over the stack
of letters, and she bites her lip, unsure if she can face them again,
before swallowing hard and removing them from the box. She strokes
the satiny ribbon binding the letters together, feeling the familiar
anxiety mingled with excitement, as if this time she will find the
answers she has always been looking for. The first few years after
she left the Administration, Mandy would have these moments of
immobilizing loss, unable to move, almost too painful to breathe,
mourning something that never could have been. And the pain would be
real and debilitating and so foreign to anything she had ever
experienced before: more than the loss of her mother, more than any
sickness or professional loss or political stumble, more than her
first broken heart, taunting her. She would find herself alone in
offices and hotel rooms and even public restrooms, breathing deep,
trying to regain control over her body and her pounding heart.

Abbey died eight years ago October, and since then the periods of
paralyzing sadness have become less frequent but more lengthy,
sometimes encompassing whole weeks where she can do little but
remember to breathe. No one had to tell her Abbey was gone: She felt
the shift in her body, as if a part of her had broken off and begun
to rot in the moment Abbey took her last breath. Loving Abbey was
always the best part of her, sucking away the good from every other
facet of her personality, collapsing in on itself and causing a black
hole inside her soul.

Despite many, many charged moments of dangerous proximity, their lips
touched only once, a glimmer of a kiss really, and yet it is that
touch that haunts her. And in the quiet of a morning on the beach or
the noise of a crowded lecture hall, her mind often wanders to what
might have been, if the world had been a different place. She will
never regret her. She knows that Abbey was the best thing she never
did. And if there is a God, and she is merciful, she knows she will
see her again, if only in eternal dreams.

Her eyes stray once again to the letters, and she can't help but
think about the last time she saw Abbey. The almost kiss, which
prompted the only letter in the stack from Abbey, still burns like it
was yesterday.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Will you keep your voice down?" Mandy asks calmly, crossing her
legs and draping her arm across the back of the chair, catching her
image in the picture behind Lilli's desk and making a mental note to
schedule a haircut soon.

"You always do this," Lilli says, her voice almost as loud as before
and more shrill. "Once you have what you want, it's like I don't even
matter, like you don't even see me. You don't give a damn what I
need," Lilli says harshly, standing up from her adjacent chair and
throwing her hands in the air.

Mandy notes once again the lithe way Lilli moves, like a cat, her
limbs and legs graceful, her muscles rippling into place, even in
anger. She's grown bolder, sexier, more confident since the
campaign: her hair less fussy, a little shorter, sleeker; her glasses
gone in favor of contacts, her eyes lined in charcoal; her clothes
less ambiguous, more determined. Mandy'd like to think that the
changes are due to her influence, but she knows it's more likely the
influence of another: Lilli's new mannerisms and speech patterns and
perfume, all seemingly borrowed attributes from her boss and idol.

"You didn't seem to be complaining a few minutes ago," Mandy
challenges, her voice steady despite her irritation, watching Lilli
turn and move quickly back toward her.

"Yeah, sure, but for once I would like to have dinner, light candles,
maybe," Lilli says, her voice frustrated. "Hell, lately I'd settle
for a bed."

"Yeah, well, we both know what this is," Mandy says, narrowing her
eyes and shifting back in her chair, watching Lilli's face tense
further in anger, "and what this isn't."

"Well, maybe I want more," Lilli says, crossing her arms across her
chest in a little-girl's imitation of her mother's stance, another
lifted affectation. "Maybe I'm tired of the constant sneaking
around. I mean, Jesus, Mandy, my office? We used to at least be
careful," Lilli says, more to herself than to Mandy. She roughly
straightens her hair, tangled from Mandy's hands sunk into the silken
strands, kneading her scalp and guiding her, as she looks in the
mirror over Mandy's shoulder, before abandoning her task and staring
at Mandy again.

Mandy holds her stare for a moment before standing up and leaning
against Lilli's cluttered desk, straightening her blouse before
mimicking and improving upon Lilli's position so that she stands
slightly taller, despite the difference in their heights. "Well,
which is it?" Mandy asks, spoiling for a fight.

They hear a dull noise in the outer office and Lilli glances at it
while Mandy looks forward without a break in her concentration.

"Which is what?" Lilli finally asks softly, continually glancing at
the door.

"Are you dissatisfied? The thrill has worn off?" Mandy asks, all
businesslike and reserved despite her agitation.

Lilli flinches and shakes her head, her shoulders tensing as she
pulls her full height to her advantage. "I know there is more to you
than this," Lilli says harshly. "I've seen how warm you can be, how
tender, how needy," she continues with a sudden smile, walking toward
Mandy, reaching out to touch her when she is close. Mandy holds
perfectly still as Lilli's fingers brush her cheek and neck. "Trying
to be oh so tough, acting all big and butch when you don't even have
the guts to admit what you are feeling. That first time, after the
dinner, you were so gentle and sweet, nuzzling my neck and kissing my
shoulder and whispering in my ear," Lilli says in a raspy voice as
she leans forward, her lips brushing against Mandy's cheek. "You
would have done anything I asked, and I loved the feel of you
underneath me, and the sound of your voice, begging for it. You were
beautiful." Mandy closes her eyes and remembers the first time she
took Lilli to bed, the scent of Abbey's perfume lingering on Lilli's
neck, probably from when they hugged at the reception. She recalls
the way she could almost forget she wasn't actually with Abbey when
she closed her eyes, burying her face against Lilli's neck and
shoulder to be closer to Abbey's scent as her release washed over
her, heightening the fantasy. And so many times since that first
night they have repeated the scene, both clinging to each other for
want of Abbey: Lilli wanting to be her, Mandy wanting to know her.
Once the alcohol wears off and the endorphin high fades, she always
finds herself tangled up with Lilli, who although attractive and
attentive, is not Abbey. "Is it just too hard to hide from me? "
Lilli asks slowly.

"Oh, don't be melodramatic," Mandy says with a sneer, pulling
away, "and don't think because we occasionally fuck, that you know
me."

Lilli jerks back as if Mandy's words have slapped her, and then
shakes herself as if to shake Mandy off. "Oh, I know you," Lilli
laughs, advancing after her in a mockery of follow the leader. "I
know you inside and out,"she taunts. Mandy's face flushes at the
reference to how hard Lilli can make her beg for her hand and she
turns and walks toward the far wall, wishing for a cigarette. If
they were anywhere but the East Wing she could have a cigarette.

"You don't know shit, Lilli," Mandy finally says under her breath,
regaining her composure and her indifference. She turns and shakes
her head, looking up and down the woman standing before her, feeling
her blood begin to pound in anger: how dare she analyze her. "You sit
over here, planning these elaborate strategic moves, as if you have
any say in policy or message, as if you are anything more than a hall
monitor," Mandy laughs, gaining momentum. "You are a damn student
body president over here: leashed in by the grownups who let you play
politics once in a while," Mandy says, moving closer with each
swaggering step until she is almost face to face with her. "When was
the last time you got to do anything without running it by Sam?"

"At least no one doubts my loyalty," Lilli retorts, leaning closer.

"Who cares?" Mandy says shrilly. "You are inconsequential," she
says in a laughing voice. "And isn't that your greatest fear?" Mandy
asks, letting out the last of her held breath as Lilli moves quickly
away and then back, almost panting in anger. "That you are nothing?"

"I hate you," Lilli shouts through gritted teeth after several ragged
breaths, her own hands clenched at her side.

"Well, that was inevitable," Mandy sighs as she turns and walks back
toward the couch reaching for her jacket. When it is obvious that
Lilli is not done, Mandy turns back toward her and sighs again,
louder, dropping her hands in defeat after straightening the collar
on her jacket. "Lilli, this wasn't ever going to be a wake-up-
together kind of relationship, and that's what you want, right? So,
maybe this is a good thing. It was fun, but--"

"-- I'm not her," Lilli says harshly. "And you can't have her, so..."
she trails off with a waved hand and raised eyebrow.

Mandy feels her muscles tighten at the observation and struggles not
to show her hand as her jaw tenses in fear.

"You say her name sometimes, during, after," Lilli says simply, aging
before Mandy's eyes and looking suddenly smug. "Not that I can blame
you," she laughs softly, looking down at herself before looking up
again, her eyes showing her hurt under the anger. "But she is
married, you know, and, well, the First Lady," Lilli says, each word
getting louder and sharper. "And she would never, never..." Lilli
trails off again, waving her hand in Mandy's direction.

They maintain their silent standoff, holding each other's stare,
until a knock at the door makes them both jump and look toward the
door. A moment later the door opens and, after an agent has glanced
around the room, Abbey steps in. "Am I interrupting?" She asks with
a smile and Mandy is sure she knows quite well that she is.

"Of course not, Dr. Bartlet," Lilli says, her voice strained but
calm. "Did you need something?"

"Nah, I was just passing by and heard voices in here, wanted to make
sure you weren't planning to work all night," she says with a smile.

"No, no, I was just getting ready to go," Lilli says, walking back
over behind her desk and fiddling with her earring like she does when
she is unnerved.

"How are you Mandy?" Abbey asks, tilting her head in Mandy's
direction.

"Oh, just dandy," Mandy scoffs running her fingers through her hair.

After another uncomfortable silence Abbey laughs softly and looks
between them before finally speaking. "Yeah, well, I think that is
par for the course. Why don't you both head home. It's Saturday
night. Go have some fun, or at least sleep," Abbey says pointedly,
with a raised eyebrow.

"Goodnight, Dr. Bartlet," Lilli says, and Mandy parrots, before they
both slump down on chairs once the door is closed again.

"Well, that was fun," Mandy says, covering her eyes.

"Yeah," Lilli says, letting out her breath. "Do you think--"

"- I doubt she could hear what we were saying, but she definitely
knew something was up," Mandy says before groaning in frustration and
leaning her head back.

"Mandy," Lilli says cautiously after a moment, and Mandy looks at her
hard, silencing whatever was to come next.

"Well, I hope you're happy," Mandy says, getting up and leaving the
office without waiting for a response, not giving her a backward
glance.

For the next few weeks she lives in a dual purgatory, her
professional hell and her personal torment, an outcast in every way
imaginable. She is kept busy with meaningless tasks and resents the
hell out of the ostracism. They plot to make a huge change in drug
enforcement and treatment policy, bringing in several key staffers in
several vulnerable congressional offices, and she has no advance
notice and no input in the strategy. She finds out about Joey Lucas
being hired as internal pollster and analyst when Joey emails her
regarding polling facilities, just before leaving to catch her flight
to Washington. They prep the President for a town hall meeting,
which will likely be a huge media event, and she is only invited to
attend the large prep sessions in the press room, not the private
ones where the answers are actually crafted. She is a the White House
Media Director and the only media event she has had any input in are
four public service announcements regarding education, something a
Communication Office intern could have overseen. During a
particularly sensitive late night staff meeting, two weeks after she
is told by Sam that things should be getting better, she wanders the
halls, not even caring that it is obvious she is the only significant
member of the senior staff not in the Oval Office. She needs to see
Josh and update him on a secondary matter before she can leave for
the night, and she saunters into Josh's office and commandeers one of
his visitor's chairs, lying in wait to have this out, once and for
all.

"Good evening, Mandy," she hears a distinctive, shiver-inducing voice
say from the doorway, and she turns to see Abbey walking into Josh's
office.

"Dr. Bartlet," Mandy forces herself to say, looking at her legs even
as she tells herself not to, swinging her own legs off of Josh's
desk. "Good evening."

"I was supposed to meet up with my husband for a late dinner, but he
seems to be holed up with staff," she says, leaning in the
doorway. "Speaking of which, why aren't you in there?' She asks
curiously.

"Oh, you must not have gotten the memo," Mandy says, laughing
sardonically. "Persona non grata, nice to meet you," she says,
twisting in her chair and extending her hand.

"The memo?" Abbey asks, sliding into Josh's other visitor
chair. "Still?"

"Yeah," Mandy says, leaning forward and taking a gulp of her lukewarm
coffee.

"It was your job," Abbey says, her eyes filling with curiosity and a
hint of humor. "When you wrote the memo, it was part of your job,
right? And besides, I thought the memo had passed and things were
getting back to normal?" Abbey asks. "I was told you were to be let
out of the dog house," Abbey says with a small laugh.

"Yeah, well, not really, not happening as far as I can tell," Mandy
says, shaking her head. When she looks up and Abbey is waiting
calmly for her to continue, she shrugs before continuing. "It was
never meant to be seen by anyone outside," Mandy says, feeling the
need to explain. "It wasn't intentional."
"I know," Abbey says. "And so do they, deep down."

"And it was dead on," Mandy says quickly. "Every word. Especially
the parts about running from yourselves. You always run from
yourselves," Mandy sighs, leaning her head back and closing her eyes,
already not a part of `them'.

"And you don't?" Abbey asks with a laugh.

"Well, maybe, but I don't have to justify myself anymore," she says,
opening her eyes and looking at Abbey again. "I don't think they'll
be too much longer, " Mandy says, looking away, wishing she could say
anything meaningful.

"Is it over?" Abbey asks after a moment and Mandy pulls her head
forward and looks at Abbey, trying to figure out what she is talking
about.

"The meeting?" Mandy asks, shaking her head.

"You, and Lilli, is it over? Or is this a lover's quarrel?" She
asks, getting to the point in her usual fashion, smiling but the
smile doesn't reach her eyes.

Mandy considers denying the leapfrogged question, but after a few
seconds of watching Abbey, she understands the denial is futile. "I
don't really see where this is any of your business. In fact I think
it's illegal for you to ask me anything about my sex life," Mandy
says, picking imaginary lint off her knee.

"Immunity," Abbey says with a swipe of her hand in dismissal, "and
even if not, you wouldn't sue me," she adds with a grin. "Now, my
formerly competent, clever, and efficient Chief of Staff has been
moody and a little preoccupied for the last month, sullen these last
few weeks, and I definitely interrupted something intense the other
night. So, I am wondering if you are done wreaking havoc on my
office."

"As I said, it's really none of--"

"--Why did you seduce Lilli?" she asks, leaning her chin on her hand,
her eyes squinting in question.

"How do you know she didn't seduce me," Mandy asks after a moment of
shared silence, clearing her throat and accepting Abbey's silent
challenge.

"You don't seem very broken up about it. So, I am assuming you
seduced her, and it's over. So, why?" she asks again, leaning closer.

"Does it matter?" Mandy sighs, looking away and willing herself to
stay indifferent.

"Yes, if it was for sport or --"

"-- What say do you have about it?" Mandy asks, her voice betraying
her frustration and anger.

Abbey almost flinches and then recovers quickly, her eyes
flashing. "She's my--"

"-- your assistant, not your child," Mandy says quickly, forcing
herself not to blink or flinch.

"Not the point," Abbey says after a moment, seemingly calm, but Mandy
knows better.

"Then what is the point?" Mandy asks harshly, her calm facade
crumbling as she catches a scent of Abbey's perfume and watches her
fiddle with her necklace.

"Why Lilli? You're hardly compatible, and she's not exactly your
type," Abbey tosses, waving her carefully manicured hand into the air
again in punctuation and turning in her chair toward Mandy so that
their knees almost touch.

"How do you know what my type is?" Mandy asks after a moment, and she
looks away again as Abbey's stare becomes too intense, feeling her
face flush. The proximity and tension makes her lightheaded and she
clenches her hand to keep from fidgeting. When she looks back toward
Abbey, her eyes bore into Mandy's, making her head spin and her body
heat even more. Abbey raises an eyebrow in question or challenge, and
Mandy can almost hear the unasked query. She wonders how much Abbey
heard the other night and whether she remembers the last time they
were alone, the tension between them almost as thick as it is now.
Then it turned into a war of words and drinks that resulted in
laughter, then silent exhaustion, and their faces being inches apart
when the laughter faded. That was two days before the election, and
Mandy left before the press releases on their win were even cold,
knowing she couldn't stay on for the Administration with Abbey so
close, and needing to leave before Abbey felt like discussing the
near kisses.

Abbey's eyes squint in scrutiny, and she seems to study Mandy's face
for a moment before her eyes widen slightly and she takes a deep
breath in apparent understanding. "When you left, after the election,
was it because of that night, just before,--"

"-- No," Mandy says, sitting up straighter and looking away.

"Madeline," Abbey says gently, leaning closer in her chair, touching
Mandy's leg, and the sound of her full given name is reminiscent of
teasing car rides, playful and not-so-playful touches, and charged
silences.

Mandy glances down at the fingers on her leg and then slowly raises
her eyes to Abbey's, fully comprehending for the first time that
Abbey understands her far better than she lets on.

Abbey shakes her head to shake her hair away from her eyes and begins
to speak. "We never did talk about--"

"-nothing to talk about," Mandy says, but her voice sounds distant
and strained, even to her own ears.

"I had intended to let you know that it was fine. We were a little
overwrought and probably a little drunk, and I didn't think anything--
"

"-- there's no need to discuss this," Mandy says quickly , and when
Abbey's fingers move over her leg again in a soothing motion, she
recovers, shrugs, and leans back. "I knew it would be uncomfortable,"
she says, moving a little closer to her.

"It doesn't have to be uncomfortable," Abbey says tenderly, clearing
her throat, inching even closer like she does when she is self-
conscious but intent on continuing. "Nothing happened that we can't
both chalk up to --"

"- Can we not do this?" Mandy says, her resolve finally
crumbling. "There is nothing we have to discuss. Lilli and I are
over, and she will be fine. It wasn't serious," Mandy says in a
rush, pushing her hair away from her face. "And whatever...between
us, it wasn't...it doesn't..." she trails off, unable to voice the
final lie.

Abbey's eyes narrow and then she taps Mandy's leg. "This is why you
left the first time, the day after the election," she says, "to avoid
having to discuss or --"

"-- yes," Mandy says quietly, knowing her eyes are wide and cheeks
flushed, refusing to back down now.

"And now?" Abbey asks softly.

"My work here is done," Mandy says sarcastically, raising an eyebrow
of her own.

Abbey shakes her head and moves even closer still as Mandy tilts
toward her, so that they are both leaning out of their chairs, a
breath apart. "You don't have to leave. It'll pass and then--"

"-- I do, and not because... I haven't had anything significant to do
in weeks," Mandy says, reminding herself not to stare at Abbey's lips
nor allow her eyes to pull her closer.

"Well, then maybe it's time to get back in the game, let them know
how you feel," Abbey says, waving her hand toward the hallway.

"Abbey," Mandy says in exasperation, faltering for a moment at using
her given name before continuing, " it's really not that easy. Not
really, not in the ways that count."

"But the numbers are up, things are balancing out. I thought
everyone was getting back to normal, well, as normal as this place
can be," Abbey says, her eyes squinting in confusion.

"Yeah, the numbers are up, and I'm glad the numbers are up, but I am
the Media Director and I was cut out of the strategy meetings and
media buys that resulted in the recovery," Mandy says, laughing
bitterly. "I mean, CJ ran the strategy, and I'm not saying anything
against CJ, cause it worked, but she's the Press Secretary, not the
Media Director, and if she is going to take the lead in such things,
there really isn't any reason for me to be here. And even this week,
PSA's," she says in exasperation, "I am too old to be doing an
intern's work. Have you seen CJ working her ass off, and they still
question every move she takes," Mandy says, shaking her head, knowing
her voice is rising. "And she and I used to be able to work
together: now, not so much, not since the memo, and maybe before
that," Mandy says, sighing. "Anyway, the midterm elections will be
hotly contested, and it's time to leave if I am going to have the
pick of the litter. I can't keep hanging around here hoping--"

"- Can't you take on other candidates, consult, during the times when-
-" Abbey jumps in, rapidly looking for a way through.

"-- that was our original understanding, but now the Boys want
approval of who I take on. I can't work like that. I'm relegated to
panda bears and Christmas carols and grade school photo-ops around
here, totally ineffectual, so...Time to find a new gig, preferably
one where my skills are utilized for more than surface PR," Mandy
says with a nod of her head, surprised at her own calm.

"Is that all?" Abbey asks with a sarcastic laugh.

"It's never all," Mandy says honestly, looking down at Abbey's hand
still on her leg. After a moment she clears her throat and breaks the
renewed silence. "I've just been waiting for something to leave for,"
Mandy says, shrugging, relaxing toward Abbey's touch.

"And now you have something?" Abbey asks, her face conflicted and
almost sad.

"Yes," Mandy lies without hesitation. She glances up to see Abbey
looking at her hard and she fights the urge to blink or flinch or run
screaming from the room. She needs to face her, face this, stand
down the anxiety and the desire and the desperation, and leave clean.

After a few minutes of silence Abbey smiles and shakes her head,
breaking the staring contest, her fingers moving over Mandy's leg
again. "This isn't--"

"-- Don't," Mandy says roughly.

Abbey smiles a little wider and reaches up, touching the curls around
Mandy's face. "You close yourself off from everyone," she says
sadly. "No wonder you become attached to the only one who can't--"

"-- Just, don't," Mandy says again with a smile and an attempt at
humor, even as she leans slightly toward Abbey's fingers.

She smiles as she watches Abbey stroke her hair and then closes her
eyes, taking a deep breath. When she opens her eyes, they are so
close, both breathing a little hard, and Mandy remembers the other
almost kisses from the campaign trail, and the hugs and touches that
lingered too long, and that Abbey is the only one who has seen her
cry since childhood. Abbey is watching her intently, and Mandy
wonders whether she is feeling some of the heat of the moment, if not
the memories. Her eyes are so deep and luminous, and Mandy resists
the urge to throw her arms around her, to pull her close and never
let her go.

Before she can talk herself out of it, Mandy leans in the final few
inches and brushes her lips against Abbey's, sucking in her shocked
breath and holding her lips just barely over Abbey's, waiting for
Abbey to deepen or break the kiss. Just when her heart quickens under
the delusion that Abbey is leaning closer, allowing their lips to
press fully together, she pushes away hard, almost shoving Mandy off
her chair and succeeding in unsettling her own chair. They stare at
each other in silence for what seems like an eternity before Mandy
feels the breaking apart deep inside her and takes a shuddering
breath.

Once she can breathe without concentrating on the process, Mandy
laughs and wraps arms around herself. "Well, now I am definitely
leaving. And I bet everyone thought it would be my relationship with
Josh that would be the problem," she says, watching the vein pulse
in Abbey's temple as her eyes close in shock, her fingertips drifting
to her lips as if burned. Mandy touches Abbey's lips for the
briefest of moments with her own gentle fingers before she stands and
walks out of the office, no words necessary and none justified.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Her fingers stroke the pale ribbon again, smiling in spite of her
trembling sadness, remembering the drive out of the district, feeling
defiant and angry, the wind in her hair and against her face
preventing her tears from flowing free.

She is sure, from the tone of the letter Abbey sent a few weeks
later, that Abbey believed the kiss was curiosity, and the attraction
just an infatuation and an attraction to power. She didn't seem to
understand that all those moments meant something to Mandy, that she
relived each one over and over in the dark, that the casual touches
were less than casual and the smiles everything. Abbey never seemed
to understand that Mandy saw and loved who she was behind the facade,
and she wonders now if maybe that misconception was deliberate, her
only defense against the pull Mandy always assumed she felt as well,
but was better equipped to fight.

On the morning of Abbey's death Mandy cried for only the second time
since the letter arrived, wishing once again she could have been
other than what she was. She hadn't spoken with Abbey since the
breaking apart of their lips shattered her and, to Mandy's surprise,
the reality of her passing left a greater void than the living
without her had.

She wipes away the single stray tear and places the letters, unread,
back into the box. She has wasted enough strength on regret for one
night. She closes the box, a time capsule of who she really is, and
gently touches the envelope taped to the top of the box, addressed to
the only person she trusts to read its contents, understand their
significance, and not judge her, when she is gone.

The sound of the waves outside heavy in the air around her, Mandy
closes her eyes and remembers how Abbey looked in profile, her hair
wavy around her face, her cheeks and nose and forehead, her lashes
brushing against her skin and curving slightly up, lighter at their
tips, giving the illusion of stardust. So many times she has turned
quickly in a crowded room and thought, for a brief deluded moment,
that Abbey was there. So many nights she has awoken in a sweat,
believing Abbey to be there beside her. Her love for Abbey has been
a sheen of hazy light on her peripheral vision for as long as she can
remember, calling to her, as she assumes the sirens once called weary
sailors to their graves: her own private Leucosia.

She sips at the lukewarm tea and stares out to where she knows the
ocean is. It seems ludicrous to pray at this late stage of the game,
and no god would grant her absolution without repentance, so she puts
her lot in ceremony and devotion instead. In the box next to her on
the couch are the proofs from the book, a first edition copy, and all
of her research: her notes, the extra photographs and clippings, the
sketches and mementoes, all worn with age and handling, including the
small bundle of letters tied with pale blue ribbon. The top letter
is addressed to her, written in Abbey's fluid script, and nearly
transparent with the touch of overly cautious fingers. Between her
words, Mandy once believed was the knowledge that Abbey loved her as
she was loved by her. Now she believes that all there is are words:
acknowledging her sacrifices if not her adoration, dismissing her
attraction, ignoring the kiss. Those below it are in her own careful
handwriting, never sent, all addressed to Abbey, the explanations and
avowals she always knew she would never make. The envelope that is
taped to the lid is addressed to Eleanore Bartlet and will someday
have her address neatly printed below her name. As the middle and
often dismissed daughter of two exceptional people, and often lost to
herself, as Mandy has been, and as Mandy suspects Abbey was, Ellie
will understand what is contained in this box and why she has been
chosen to receive it. She can do as she wishes with its contents and
Mandy trusts her implicitly. She is the best of her mother, the
least objectionable of her father, and a kind woman with an old
soul. Mandy suspects that Ellie knows she loved her mother, and she
deserves to know that it was boundless, and that her mother never
acted on it, if she even allowed herself to comprehend.

As the first light of morning breaks through the haze, painting the
previously dark sky with grey on the horizon, Mandy remembers the
smoky color of Abbey's eyes in sadness and the way her voice would
burst with fury and passion. It seems ironic that she would lust so
godlessly after someone whose belief in the divine was legendary. She
has thought of her as goddess and queen, of savior and temptress, of
heaven and hell, and has often wondered whether her devotion to
Abigail Anne Bartlet was its own religion, complete with ritual and
scripture. Her love for Abbey is real, and it is pure, and maybe
that is all there will be left of her when she is gone, and maybe
that is all there ever was of value.

We all tell ourselves pretty lies to be able to live with the people
we become, and so many times we believe our own deceptions. We're
all victims of our own reconstructionist view of the world, or so she
tells herself, when sleep will not come.

~finis~
suki@ashesofoldlovers.net

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