Author: Regency

Title: Long Live the Thrill

Spoilers: mid to post-ep for Tomorrow

Pairing: Jed/Abbey

Rating: TEEN or something like that.

Summary: The thrill is alive and well.

Disclaimer: I wish I owned them. If I did, they’d still be on the air.

~~~

On the drive to Andrews, she started to think he’d lost interest in her. He hadn’t said anything to her “You made it,” only nodding gravely and looking out the windows. He had been this way since Leo. She knew deep down that some part of that wound would never heal, no matter how much longer he lived. She simply hoped that the spirit she knew could battle through the darkness and find her again. She missed him.

They waved at the blurry masses of citizens come to see them off and gave them their brightest smiles, though they were sad to leave. In spite of herself, Abbey would miss the East Wing and her Residence.

Inside of the plane, now entitled Special Air Mission One, she walked ahead of Jed, past the many attendants who used to work for them. They paused in their duties to nod at their former First Couple respectfully. She touched a few in passing, Jed shook hands and shared brief memories with many of them. He stayed behind in the cabin as they prepared to take off. She went into his office to wait for him and heard his wistful laughter behind her as she shut the door.

She was sipping a drink when the plane leveled off at 30,000 feet. She had taken off her pumps, so her toes only just scraped the tastefully tan carpet. She waited for Jed because there was nothing else to do, besides sit and reminisce. She wasn’t partial to looking back on times that had made her cry and those occasions with the opposite affect were so incredibly distant now that thinking about them was like remembering a favorite television show in its golden years. Quite depressing. All in all, she preferred to wait and drink.

He came in a few minutes later, his eyes pensively downcast, and removed his jacket without acknowledging her. He sat down behind the desk at the other end of the office and beheld the setting sun without awe. He rubbed his handsome face and sat back in the dependable chair, closing his eyes in soulful tiredness.

She told him that a steward had left something for him in the desk drawer, something from Mallory. He took it out and held it with apprehension towards whatever was concealed beneath the wrapping paper. He placed it on the desktop and didn’t touch it for a long while. He clasped his hands together and watched it. It didn’t grow legs and leave his sight. If it was human it might’ve squirmed, but it wasn’t and so it sat and waited. She was beginning to feel a certain kinship with the inanimate object.

She leaned sideways, idly tucking herself in the comfortable seat and observed her husband’s unnatural stillness. His subtle, constant mannerisms had ceased, leaving a breathing still-life in their place.

He lifted the square parcel and tested its solid weight between his hands. With careful strokes, he sought out the folds of the decorative covering and loosened them until the delicate paper fell gracefully into his lap. Finally viewing the thing unwrapped , it seemed as if the entire world shuddered and only he remained unmoved.

She came to attention at the bright haze descending over his eyes. Just as she was about to go to him, he stood and came, frame in hand, to her. He relinquished the cherished relic and sat in the next seat over, looking out to the horizon once again.

She traced the words written with no little consequence on the hotel napkin and felt a white-hot laceration burn just beneath the surface of her chest. She quickly blinked away her own blinding haze and asked Jed what he was thinking about.

Now, enamored with the universe’s very own sun, he told her. Tomorrow was on his mind. From her place at his side, she saw his eyes take on a halo cast in the hyper daylight and dance off the ocean’s reflection. She held the remembrance to heart and squeezed Jed’s hand. He turned from things out of reach to kiss the tips of her fingers. If his eyes danced before, they positively tangoed at the sight of her.

He rose from the existential dark and tugged her into his arms, grasping his personal handholds at her waist. She gave him a curious look and raised her eyebrow infamously. Slow as a burning candlewick, he beamed and drew her lips to his. She felt as searing heat low in her stomach as one heavy hand dropped down to stroke her backside. She looped her arms around his neck and meshed their chests together.

He squeezed her rear in both hands, informing her well of his renewed interest in her. It had never deserted him, it had simply gone into a dormant state. She ran her fingers through his hair, nose wrinkling with her grin as he purred contentedly. She wound his tie around her hand, peering up at him from behind long lashes and a feigned innocence.

“Who’s my Commander-in-Chief?”

He gave a valiant half smile, wrapped in the dangerous pleasure of James Dean and Kit Carruthers and with the same shattering orbs for eyes.

“I am.”

She scoffed, thoroughly amused and adoring. She had married a handsome devil with crushed velvet lips and a stiff upper lip. She had married a rebel and inside of him she saw that precious rebellion come back to life, not to be snuffed out by untimely loss and the fresh demise of purpose. She held the unforgotten trophy in her hand and his tie in the other and she was reminded of many days gone by.

They were no longer newlyweds or new politicians or new parents. Their friends were not the young idealists of another decade, their children were grown, they had come closer to falling apart than coming together the way midlife was said to bring them. And yet, they’re here now, the two of them. Alone in matrimony, the way it began and the way it would end, in his eyes, in her heart, in his hands.

“I missed you.”

His brow creased in confusion.

“I didn’t go anywhere.”

She smoothed down his immaculate shirt and rumpled tie.

“You did. You disappeared into the 43^rd President and you didn’t come home on weekends. I missed having you to myself, all the time.” She smiled, not without some guilt. He was hers, yes, he had been all their adult life, and yet, America had owned him and she was somewhat resentful towards them for it. Those were years they could’ve spent traveling or making love late into the morning. Not -- not that they’d put off the repeated consummation of their marital para-bliss. It had happened, happened in a planned and timed manner. She resented that. She wanted the spontaneity of their teenage lust to wake the nerves in her fingertips that hungered for his naked skin, which had gone too long covered by well-tailored suits and conservative dress ties.

The intimacy wasn’t all she wanted. She demanded the shared glances over the breakfast table, the tender gestures when he caught in the hallway between checking on Zoey and climbing into bed after dinner, the elaborate plans cooked up with mutual friends to top each other on their anniversary. She would like those years lost to the history books returned to her with a bow on top. Unfortunately, they weren’t coming back, and she knew that even given the option Jed wouldn’t take them. She loved him so much. Besides, what was, simply was.

“If you want me,” he said in a voice of utter calm, “I am yours everyday. Even the bad days. I can’t go back, but I can try again. No more Situation Room or national crises, no more summits with powerful men who won’t keep their eyes on their own wives. It’s just you and me, now, kid. What do ya say?”

She pulled playfully on his tie again.

“Depends.”

He appealed to her with that gently glowering brow.

“On what?”

“Do I get to wear your ties at the end of the day?” She continued to fondle the silk accessory with her sleek fingers, capturing it and sliding her hand up and down its length.

“Sweet Knees,” he watched her beguiling motions with a nearly gaping mouth, “at the end of the day, you get to wear me. Consolation enough?” She paused in her ministrations, knowing that he was thoroughly entranced. She narrowed her eyes at him critically.

“We make all decisions together from now on?”

He nodded wisely. He wasn’t a dense enough man to cross her again and expect to keep her in his arms. If the hard times had taught him anything, it had taught him to never cross his Abigail. Her sharp eyes warned him and aroused him and he leaned towards her mouth, which beckoned unintentionally.

“All of ‘em.”

Her satisfaction was immediately apparent. Her lips turned into her customary smile.

“Then, I suppose you’ll do.” She let a beat go by . “I really do love this tie, though.”

He reached up between them and began to jerk the restraining ribbon free. It was just glorified gift wrapping anyway. Abbey watched him, surprised and had to stop him before he strangled himself trying to get it off.

“Let me, honey. I’m not trying lose you to a damned shirt tie.”

He let her, taking the gift she still held. He thought he saw Leo in the glass’s reflection, grinning impishly and shaking his head at his youthful friends’ never ending exuberance. It never goes away, Leo had said to his old pal once. Jed prayed to God that it never did.

She removed the tie and draped it over her own shoulders.

“I think we’re gonna be okay,” she nodded sagely.

He brushed back her velvety curls and pressed his lips against hers. She moaned faintly, holding his face between her hands and refusing, by right of spousal privilege, to let go. He sucked in a dizzy breath when she did release him.

“We will be okay. I think we have time for the all other stuff later.”

She scoffed for a second time, and looked harmless, having retreated to her guileless disguise. She was best at seducing him in that form.

“It seems that we have plenty of time.”

“Why do you say that?”

She lifted her chin towards the windows behind him.

“Since when do we have to cross the ocean to get to Manchester?”

He looked back over his shoulder, then, looked back at her.

“As far as I know, since never. But, I do know you have to cross it to get to Maui. So, that’s convenient.”

“Maui?” She looked out the curved rectangular panes. He touched her chin tenderly, turning her face towards his again.

“Welcome to Our Life, Hot Pants. Volume II.” He gazed at her and the words of Jonathon Edwards came to mind, “Grace is but glory begun, and glory is but grace perfected.” She had walked onto this international scene with poise and had withstood its tribulations with him. What more could he ask? The only thanks left to give her were his next twenty years and they were already hers.

Her grace would be remembered on the pages of eminent fashion magazines, but her glory, she would carry with her and he would touch it as he held her hand. He would bask in it as he kissed her.

The thrill was alive and well.