Multiple Personas

by:SheilaVR

Character(s): Abbey
Category(s): General
Rating: YTEEN
Disclaimer: Dear Mr. Sorkin - May I remind you that the greatest trailblazers have the most followers, and that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. 'Nuff said...
Summary: If you asked Abbey Bartlet to define herself, what might she say?

"First Lady of the United States." Has a nice ring, don't you think?

Trust me, it can get old fast.

After all, when you boil everything right down, this is a simple honorary appointment. Just so that the wife of the President doesn't feel too neglected, and take it out on *him*. It's not like one has to earn the position through any effort or skill.

Then again... were it anyone else who had married Jed Bartlet, she'd probably take issue with me on the "effort" thing. And win.

Ah, Jed. College professor, Doctorate in Economics, *Nobel Prize* in Economics, and the equivalent of a Masters in trivia. Former Congressman, former Governor, direct descendent from one of the signers of the Declaration, and so on and so forth. Endowed with a heart that never gives up, one of the greatest brains for retaining useless information - which is probably how he won the election in the first place - and an irascible sense of humor. My husband, the father of my children... the other half of my soul.

I have him to thank for this.

Sometimes I do thank him, for what is a tremendous opportunity in *anyone's* books.

And sometimes...

The White House is breathtaking at night, its floodlit walls and pillars like soft gold. I pinched myself repeatedly for the first few months, unable to believe that it was now *ours*. Although it is a pessimistic truth that you can get used to just about anything after awhile. Even living in the premier residence in the Western World.

Then again, when you know your stay is temporary, and when you find that you can never completely relax, then you're not *home*. Besides, it's too much like a museum. The very air breathes history. You want to tiptoe, afraid of disturbing the carpet or even the quiet. Strangers of every conceivable description tour the main level, gawking at the décor, and at you if they get the chance. You're on display every single minute, for the virtual entertainment of the whole world. The prestige, the status and the attention that come with this particular street address do not let you forget exactly where you are and *who* you are.

The prestige is colossal. That building appears in every textbook on American history and every brochure on American travel. Just imagine being free to soak up all those other famous-but-never-open-to-the-public rooms, and even to leave your own contribution and personal stamp behind.

The status in inescapable. Let's be honest: the United States is ruled by the few and powerful, whether that power comes from politics, wealth or pure fame. And there is no better symbol of power than ol' 1600, not in *this* age. The leader of the free world, indeed. Still, one mustn't be fooled by this miasma of supreme authority - the President's role is often curtailed to a ridiculous extent, more restricted than any leader should have to endure.

The attention never ends. Someone is always there to clean rooms, run errands, open doors, spare its residents any such mundane chore. When was the last time I whipped up a quick snack for myself? My memory doesn't go back that far.

Somehow it's the little inconsequentials like that which I miss the most.

This is not what I would call a normal life.

And there are moments when I can feel the ghosts of previous First Families right behind me; no calm voice of reason will ever convince me that I'm just imagining it.

Oh, and don't let us forget the workload. The most critical business in the country goes on right below our living quarters, day and night, in offices that never quite lose their nervous hum. Sleep can be quite a luxury at times.

Of course it is an *honor* to live there, the highest honor in the land. The ultimate fulfillment of the American dream: that all people are created equal and that any boy can grow up to be President. And so many men do strive to reach this pinnacle in our society. And so many women do support their husbands' ambitions, mostly for those same reasons. Desiring the prestige, the status, and the attention. In ignorance of the restrictions, the workload, the sheer stress.

So far, over almost two hundred and thirty years, only forty-two men have accomplished that supreme goal. And my husband is one of them.

And we pay the corresponding tariff. Not even as the wife of a Governor did I face such a lack of privacy. In one political step we went from being servants of the people to be *owned* by the people.

And by the Secret Service, of course. The level of security is staggering. The amount of danger this implies is paralyzing. The degree of apprehension I feel these days, for my children especially, is terrifying. Never before in all my life have I known *fear*. Not until that last election day.

And never before have I truly grasped the concept of frustration. Bad enough to face a medical puzzle that refuses to be cured, but this job takes it to a whole new realm. The demands that duty places upon us, no matter what we ourselves might prefer to do or say. The relentless political red tape and machinations, where common sense rarely if ever applies. The frequent conflicts between two sets of hard-working and gifted staff who seem almost destined to wind up at cross-purposes with each other. The precarious tightrope that each member of our family has to walk before the public eye - and without a safety net.

Zoey finds this fishbowl life hardest, where people follow every move, eavesdrop on every conversation, and criticize every word. Jed is an old hand with the spotlight, and I'm reasonably phlegmatic myself. But my baby girl's happiness is priceless, and sometimes I get the distinct impression that we her parents, who are naturally charged with guaranteeing that happiness, have done the most to prevent it.

And for the next few years, I'm utterly powerless to protect her.

Still, Zoey has a tougher core than most people realize. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, with bloodlines like Jed's and mine. And she is enjoying college, and not just because it gets her out from under our thumb - or so I like to think. I'll never forget the pride I felt when she announced her plan to study medicine, any more than I'll forget when I graduated from med school myself. That was *my* inauguration.

I wish I could see more of our other children. Elizabeth. Kristin. And I desperately miss Annie. I admit, I wasn't prepared for the difference between a daughter and a *grand*daughter. Indeed, she represents all the potential of the future. She is my true legacy, which not even the White House can top.

It's just as well that both of our extended families live out of town, a fact for which they also are grateful. Not that they've completely escaped the specter of the Presidency even then, what with those delightfully subtle black-suited bodyguards forever lingering in the background. The bald truth is that every single one of us could be used as a weapon against the President, and thus against the Government... and thus, against the people.

Why is it that the leaders of a democracy invariably wind up with the least freedom? We have to be constantly protected from harm, from intrusion, from controversy, to the point where freedom has no real meaning anymore. Few people can sympathize with England's Royal Family as well as I can.

In fact, if you step back and look at everything objectively, that parallel is even more pronounced. Despite its relative youth (by European standards, at least) the White House is packed with art treasures from across the country, around the world and throughout the centuries. The luxury and grandeur of the State Chambers are second only to Buckingham Palace itself. Ranking officers in full dress uniform stand stiffly at attention for all to see, as though the whole place weren't guarded closer than Fort Knox. True, our ceremonial is based upon blatant military strength rather than ancient bloodlines and tradition, but I suspect the Royal Court started out much the same way - over a thousand years ago. That sheer weight of history can make even the strongest nation in the world feel humble at times.

Funny how we went to so much trouble to break away from the British, and then ended up copying so many of their ideas.

I'd better keep my voice down on *that* issue around here.

On a curious note of serendipity, one of my Service code names is "Regina".

There's a note in my schedule about a painting session. I've been putting that off for ages now. When someone wants an oil canvas of you, you *have* to be important. One whole corridor in the White House is reserved for portraits of the First Ladies. And yet, even after an entire year, I still don't feel worthy of hanging there myself.

Someday, somehow, some future President will be a woman. What, then, about her husband? What will they call *him* - the First Gentleman? Boy, that sounds odd. And what will his role be like? Different from mine, no doubt; I can address certain issues that most men wouldn't dare touch. Perhaps he'll have to follow Prince Philip's example and carve out a whole new niche in the Constitution. Yet another lesson to be learned from our forebears.

It's bound to happen eventually. Part of me would love to watch, but on the other hand I'm dreading the entire event. An election with a female presidential candidate will be a horror. It'll divide the nation; it'll be based upon gender far more than skills or even promises. And she'll have to be as tough as nails to fend off any attempts at manipulating her like a figurehead. There is one distinct advantage to this predominant male-only syndrome after all.

Don't tell my husband I said that.

Maybe I should run myself. After all, I could tap into my experience here and Jed's as well. What better training could any woman hope for than this?

Nope, not a good idea. No matter what I or anyone else might say or think, people would judge me mostly on *his* image, not mine. And his influence, naturally. I can just see it: Jed Bartlet's *third* term.

His image. His influence. His shadow.

In thirty-two years of marriage, three children and a grandchild, I have never relied upon Jed for anything in the way of accomplishment - except his encouragement. And the same for him. Our professional lives had always been so different, so unrelated. Conversely, I don't want to think about what life could have been like *without* that endless mutual encouragement we've always shared. It's on a whole separate plane from affection, even. Knowing your spouse is behind you wholeheartedly, prepared to leap with you into the cannon mouth if you ask, yet both of you remaining fully confident in your own prowess to meet all challenges unaided. I've cooled him down before he acted too rashly on some inflamed issue, but I always stayed clear of the issue itself. Jed's unswerving support, compassion and irrepressible good humor got me through more than one medical tragedy, but the brilliant economist and dedicated politician in him didn't affect my practice in the least.

Now...

Suddenly, and to my frank amazement, I've been forced to rely upon him for just about *everything*.

I think that's the single most galling aspect of all.

Don't get me wrong: it's not a matter of my self-esteem. Rather, it's the suspension of my liberty in every way you can imagine. Almost without warning I lost my career, the distinction that my hard work has earned, and the use of my proper title - and my first name as well, even with many of my friends. Certainly CJ doesn't dare anymore. Even Leo, who's known Jed longer than I have, can't bring himself to address his Chief Executive like the best friends they've always been. The high office is just too revered to permit it.

And it rubs off on me. Doctor Abigail Bartlet has been effectively mothballed. And isolated, from established friendships and professional relationships both.

Personally, I'd rather deal with a bleeding victim than the gun legislation that didn't prevent his injury in the first place.

I certainly wouldn't wish anyone harm; still, in moments of nostalgia I do miss the comparative simplicity, even the crisis, of private medicine. And if you don't use a skill, you lose it. One more thing to worry about.

I hate being called "Ma'am". Not that I have a choice in the matter. No one wants to risk being too familiar with the First Lady - as though I possessed the power to really make them regret it. The power of a husband in the Oval Office. You'd think I had a direct channel to the wrath of the Almighty.

Actually, whether that power is mine, Jed's, or God's, I can grow to like wielding it. I've bullied people before who wouldn't listen to medical advice; now I can bully people who won't listen to *political* advice. I can beat the bigwigs at their own game, with the full weight of the White House behind me. I get a real charge from watching them try to wiggle out of the problem, then finally capitulate and admit they're wrong.

It can be just a little addictive.

I also feel a bitter amusement at how some people will fawn over me, as though they honestly believe that cultivating my good will is their guarantee of the President's personal favor. And sometimes I'm certain that whatever role I play, whatever contribution I offer, is little more than public appearance-polishing and political maneuvering. I can speak and be heard as never before, but how much of that is really *myself?* My *official* stance on things is only a little less constrained than Jed's own. Thank God for the charities that I can now assist in a big way. They really appreciate my efforts, and I can convince myself that I'm making a concrete difference in the world.

Even so, whatever I do these days, I always know that I'm still confined to the background. I walk beside my husband - but his equal no longer.

The co-operative effort, the tight-knit partnership that we've always treasured, is gone. People listen to me now only because of who *he* is.

Jed misses our close alliance, too. And can't do any more about it than I can.

Old friends have joked before as to who rules the roost in this branch of the Bartlet family tree. For my money it's an ongoing battle of wits. When you have two doctors and two fairly strong personalities, I suppose competitiveness is inevitable. They say competition breeds excellence, and excellence is something we both have always aspired to. Now, of course, Jed has the rank to back up his arguments. He used to have to rely on logic alone - which gave me a more than even chance of winning.

Until we came to Washington, I never dabbled in politics other than as an informed voter. I figured out many years ago that one sure way to cripple my marriage was to get too involved in my husband's newfound hobby. Now, I have an even greater desire to avoid what has in essence become his identity - just when avoiding it is impossible. I'm used to life-and-death battles, not public-lobbyist compromises. I think I've come to understand this cutthroat arena rather well of late... and to dislike it all the more as a result.

Sometimes, though, it can be glorious, and not just in those moments of tangible victory. Jed and I have a lot more in common than the average citizen must think, from what little they see and read. For example, we both thrive on challenge. Few things stir the blood like open combat, which is another reason behind our chosen careers. The differences between my fights for life, one on one, and his fights on a much larger yet more abstract scale, are moot. Over this past year we've both discovered the joy of wrangling with each other and bouncing ideas off each other, and then presenting a unified front to our opponents, knocking sense into stubborn and cynical minds. Neither of us wins all the time, but we always give our very best. And when we *do* win, upholding truth, justice and the American Way, we are literally on top of the world.

Other times... you want to bang your head against the nearest doorframe at some people's unfeeling greed, obstinacy and narrow-mindedness. It's like an epidemic, long since out of control, and you feel that all your hard work won't amount to much in the end.

This job is an enormous privilege, and a crushing responsibility. We're chained to our duty in the public eye - and it won't end with the Bartlet administration, either. I'm often plagued by the knowledge that both fame and fear will follow my family the rest of our lives. Some days I'd give almost anything to make the whole ordeal go away, for all of us, forever.

Is that selfish? Or even cowardly? Many past Presidents have said how glad they were to finally leave the office; now I think I understand.

Another factor of uncertainty is, where we'll go *after* the White House. This has so completely changed us that it's hard to imagine anything else. Certainly Jed has reached the high point of his whole existence, but because my role is so much less prominent I won't be affected in quite the same way. I can resume my practice easily enough. People will soon forget this First Lady nonsense. I can't see him just sliding back into teaching, though.

I'd better watch it or my smugness will creep out. And that isn't fair. The end of his term will be a gigantic letdown. He'll still have years ahead of him, but no realistic future in politics ever again. What can compare to being the most powerful man in the world? No matter what he does later, it'll be anticlimactic - almost futile. And Jed won't be the type to hide from the public and the enduring label of "Mr. President", to retire and vanish into obscurity.

What in creation are we going to do?

It's a major problem, but we'll cross that bridge when it comes. Together. My happiness is cemented to his.

Come to think of it, there must be a *few* places in the world where we wouldn't be recognized...

One considerable fringe benefit to this job is the number of states *and* countries I've visited in less than twelve months. There's always some diplomat or interest group that needs appeasing, and judging from the eagerness with which I'm designated the First Ambassador no one seems to doubt that I can do the job. Which is quite a compliment. Still, there are times when I'm one thin inch from lashing right out at idiots who persist in building barriers rather than bridges. For two cents I'd take off the gloves. The international brouhaha would be worth it.

Ah, well... a girl can dream. Sometimes the mental picture of that scenario is all that's seen me through one more endless formal function without screaming.

It is fun, though, being treated like royalty, getting the first-class tour of exotic places and meeting famous people that I once had to admire from afar like everyone else. Then too, these private flights do allow me some decent reading time - if only I could get involved in a med journal or a good mystery rather than the endless background briefs.

As for the predictable downside, sometimes I don't see Jed for weeks. How often do I return just as he's heading off someplace else, or vice versa? Zoey comes home every weekend, but even my daughter can't always ease the loneliness.

The bottom line is, neither of us *really* knew what we were getting into here. No would-be First Couple does. Bad enough that our public life is so tightly packed, so closely examined, so carefully restricted; work often intrudes on what is supposed to be our private time as well. The stresses that constantly haunt him, and (yes, I will admit it) the resentments that nibble at me, don't help either. What time we do find together we cherish all the more... and yet, there are nights when I just cannot sleep. On occasion I've been sorely tempted to kick Jed awake as well so that he can cheer me up, and so that I don't torture myself alone - except that he needs his sleep even more.

Never doubt this: I absolutely love him to death. Still, I'm afraid that cracks are going to show if this eternal pressure keeps up. The Oval Office is like a poised wedge, with the whole nation hammering against its other end.

I keep telling myself not to blame Jed for any of these inadequacies that come and go in my head. He earned his great wish to be President, and I'm thrilled for him.

But where do *my* concerns and needs fit into the most strenuous job in the world?

*For better or for worse... *

I refuse to think of this as worse. I'll get through the next three years - or seven. I must. I'm going to make sure that Americans remember *this* First Lady. And together, Jed and I will make our nation a better place to live. That's *my* job: to share my husband's burden, to back him up and keep both of us sane. Jed has referred to me as his rock before; I guess I'd better live up to that. And if I provide the firm foundation, then he is the inexhaustible power source. This is very much a joint effort: it takes *both* of us.

If we can survive the White House, we can handle absolutely anything.

And meanwhile, maybe I'll just see if I can stir up some fun tomorrow. The Presidency supports my actions, of course, assuming I don't go *too* far, and I've been careful to learn just where the line is drawn. It's amazing what I get away with sometimes. ("My husband will defend me!" How romantic.) Right now I'm in the perfect mood to exploit that -

"Mrs. Bartlet?"

Here we go again. Not even "*Doctor* Bartlet". Sure, it was both confusing and amusing to have two people with the same title in the same household, but now Jed had I have both been denied that badge of accomplishment. And it rankles. It shouldn't, considering what we received in exchange, yet it persistently does.

Lilli Mays is seated across from me, her back to the limousine driver, the car phone in one hand. I never heard it ring. I swear, I get my best daydreaming done on the road.

"Yes, Lilli?"

At least *my* Chief of Staff is not an old friend who suddenly had to adopt a new and formal address towards me. Still, she lives with the constant irritation that she and her colleagues will forever be eclipsed in their sub-executive roles - even as I am.

At the moment I'm more than ready to *insist* that she call me Abbey. I've had my fill of all this stiffness, and she sure works hard enough to earn that privilege.

The peculiar brand of concern she's wearing kills my words in my throat. Somehow I don't think it's about our conference in New York.

"It's the White House calling."

The first ants of unease begin to stir in my stomach. God knows, last-minute complications are only to be expected in our hectic lives, but that sort of thing generally isn't a cause for *concern* - just exasperation. So what...

"Your husband has taken ill."

Now I know what a car engine feels like when you slam on the brakes. Every nerve in my body clenches, sharply, and every other thought stops dead in its tracks.

Jed. *Ill.*

The words come with no conscious direction on my part. "What's happened to him?"

"The medical officer in charge thinks it's the flu. Apparently the President collapsed in the Oval Office."

He *COLLAPSED?!*

Flu. Fever. Unconsciousness. Dear God, he's had an *ATTACK!*

The words sear my mind like a branding iron.

For most people, even world leaders, a brief fainting spell is no serious thing. Lilli had spoken without undue drama, but her message contains far more import than she'll ever know. I hope.

"He revived a few minutes later," she adds quickly, reassuringly, "and appears to have recovered. He's been sent to bed, just to play it safe."

I am *not* reassured. Not by that professional diagnosis, not by my own direct experience with treating this condition, not by the memory of its successful resolution in the past. There's a ticking time bomb trapped inside that heart I love -

My brain seems to have taken a right turn at high speed and left the rest of me far behind. *Think*, woman!

"When?" Thank heaven for a doctor's thorough training; my voice holds fairly level.

Lilli returns to the phone, while I watch in surging anxiety. "How long ago, please?" Pause. Then: "About twenty-five minutes."

*"WHAT?"* His life is hanging in the balance and he waits almost half an hour to call me?

I'll kill him.

That is, if the MS doesn't first.

And if he dies, so do I...

That line may sound somewhat cliché, but trust me: there's a diamond-hard core in my soul which gives it a crystallized, unyielding truth.

I've seen this happen before. Seen his eyes glaze over, normally so blue and dynamic; seen the life drain from him as though it's never coming back...

*JED - *

Calm down. Can't panic. Must concentrate. And must *not* let any of this show. Lilli knows me well enough to read a lot between the lines.

My decision has already been made. Inexorable. Shelving all else.

"Tell them I'm coming."

Lilli stares. "Uh... ma'am -?"

I'm holding onto myself so tightly I can't even tremble. I have to look controlled on the outside, at least. Regardless of how frantic I am within.

"I'm his doctor." Never have I been more pleased to claim that fact. "He's the President. And right now he's dizzy, feverish and probably nauseous. Fat lot of good he'll do the country in that condition. And the State of the Union is just two days away."

Like the speech or even the constitutional implications worry me right now. But whatever excuses work.

Lilli hesitates another moment; she can tell, though, when I'm not about to be shifted from my course of action. Nodding, she passes on the message and then hangs up. Looking a bit too curious. Yes, she's guessing that I'm more bothered than I've let on so far.

The limo is still headed in the wrong direction. "Well, turn us around!" I order, trying not to snap at the chauffeur. What I really want is to yell at him.

"Yes, ma'am," comes the reply from the far front, and after several hour-long seconds - having relayed through the Secret Service and been preceded by the usual escort - our oversized vehicle makes a ponderous right.

*Faster*, dammit! I don't want to tip everyone off as to just how critical this is, but I can't let appearances delay me from getting to him as soon as humanly possible!

Calm. We've gotten through these spells in the past. We'll get through this one, too. He's going to recover. I'll make sure of that!

"The conference?" Lilli asks uneasily, bringing me back to business.

Both of us had put a lot of effort towards that event tomorrow, but it matters not at all anymore. "We'll go to the next one."

After a pause, watching me the whole while, Lilli picks up the phone again. "I'll cancel the plane, and I'll inform the coordinators."

"Tell them - there was a political upheaval." Now that is misdirection. However, my Chief of Staff has seen me use such a blanket statement to protect my family before. "And give them my sincere regrets."

After all, the First Lady is not immune to the sudden rescheduling that always tends to crop up in government at the least convenient times. I have no compunction about blaming this sudden change of plans on my exalted position. It might as well serve some use.

Our elongated tank is going nowhere near fast enough. Come on, come *on!* Get me there, like twenty-five minutes ago!

I can take consolation in one thing: from Lilli's reaction the caller didn't sound too urgent. If Jed's life-signs were really fluctuating they wouldn't be able to hide it, and they know better than to try around me. A cold comfort, only - how I want to get back on the phone myself and demand every detail. But I'll hear them all as soon as I arrive; knowing any sooner won't make much of a difference.

Except that details might counteract the vivid mental images...

Right in the Oval. Probably his entire staff were witnesses. Jed's going to be embarrassed if nothing else.

I'm praying there will *be* nothing else in the end.

At least help wasn't far away...

At some point I'm going to have to speak with Leo. He'll be the most suspicious of all.

"Are you all right?"

I blink; I'd totally forgotten that I'm not alone here. Lilli's concern has visibly increased. Just how much can she extrapolate from me?

I bluff it out. "What I am is furious. I give him almost every vitamin in the pharmaceutical, I prescribe a flu shot, I lecture him, and he still manages to catch the damned bug. How much do you want to bet he's been carrying those pills around all day? As if his health won't have repercussions nation-wide, for mercy's sake. The man's impossible."

It's a relief to take refuge behind anger. But I'm offering no further excuses. Let everyone think me devoted (which I hope I am), starved for patients (which I certainly am), paranoid, or controlling. Or all of the above. I don't care! Just let me get there in time -

In time for what? No one else around him knows! And *I've* got the betaseron! Sure, it's in my bag in the White House all along, but no responsible doctor would willingly administer an unknown substance for an unidentified condition on only another doctor's say-so. Never mind the trifling fact that we're talking about the President of the United States.

I have to get there in time to take action, not just to say goodbye...

*NO.* I unconditionally refuse to consider *that*. NOT going to happen.

Oh, Jed, you never want to admit to this Achilles heel of yours. Not even to your best friend. But privacy is not worth risking your life!

And by the time you realize that you are your own worst enemy, you may be *unable* to tell anyone the truth!

Lilli's voice sounds strangely soft. "ETA, ten minutes." And it surprises me how two simple words and an acronym can be so soothing.

This time I manage a smile. "Thanks for putting up with me, Lilli."

She shrugs. "Hey, I'm married, too."

I nod, in both gratitude and relief. Just perhaps that empathy has diverted her attention enough. I can't confide in anyone without my patient's permission. And not until I know for a fact that Jed's going to be fine do I want to pursue any conversation at all.

This is one effective motivation for reassessing your priorities. Any whispers of discontent have suddenly diminished in importance.

Of course, I know that later - when this crisis fades - the aftertaste of my recurring dissatisfaction will eventually resurface. I'd be less than human not to second-guess myself on occasion, especially with so much riding on my every move. But right now, the threat of losing my husband - to *anything* - overwhelms all else, and rightly so.

And this memory will dull the sting behind those anxieties in the future. I'm not just window-dressing around here. *He needs me.*

Besides, the First Lady does have a fantastic opportunity to do good in the world. I don't intend to waste it.

After all, how many people get to chew out the American President?

Yes, it must be love. And I have not the slightest doubt that it will see us safely through the White House, and whatever may follow after.

**********

Abbey: I don't care if Canada invaded Michigan, Jed! You call me. - "He Shall, From Time to Time..."

*****

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