Bruno leaned forward with his elbows on his knees as he scrutinized the TV in front of him. He was trying to dispassionately watch Abigail Bartlet give a speech to the cheering crowd at the University of Virginia. She was a good speaker; he had to give her credit for that. She was loose, self-deprecating and obviously comfortable in front of a crowd. Still, there was something there that bothered him. He clicked over to Janet Ritchie greeting voters in America's heartland. In her nondescript pastel shin length dress, sensible flats and with her gray streaked brown hair cut short and held stiff with what looked like an entire bottle of hairspray, Janet melded into the crowd as Abbey never would. Despite her small stature, Abbey would always stand out in that type of crowd.

"It's too bad that she has red hair," he said, almost to himself.

"What has that got to do with anything?" CJ asked with exasperation. She had not wanted to be part of this "pick Abbey Bartlet apart session".

"Whether the reputation is deserved or not redheads are known to be tempestuous, temperamental, and just hot stuff in general. Blond can be demure, brown can be average, but red is sexy with a capital S, especially when it's long and soft and curly."

"Well you're not going to get her to change her hair color. Besides I thought you liked her looking soft and feminine. You don't like her looking too professional, too east coast."

"I do like her looking good, but she's almost TOO pretty."

"A woman can never be TOO pretty," CJ smirked. "And, for the record, if you're planning on confronting her I'd drop that one out of your lists of complaints."

"Will you please take this seriously." Bruno glared at her. "Look at her! Her heels are too high, her skirts should be two inches longer and her blouse should be buttoned two buttons higher."

"Bruno, look at me." CJ stood. "Is my skirt too short?"

"No"

"It's the same length as Abbey's. Is my blouse buttoned too low?"

Bruno rolled his eyes and leaned back crossing his arms over his chest. "No" he admitted.

"It's not buttoned any lower than Abbey's."

"It's different."

"Why, because I don't have her legs or her curves? Because I don't have her tits?"

CJ had been hoping to knock him off balance with that one, but nonplussed Bruno calmly retorted, "No, because YOUR husband isn't running for the Presidency of the United States."

"Look, we've been through all of this before," Josh warned wearily. "We all know that Abbey is too smart, too sexy, too liberal, too opinionated, and too old money eastern establishment. We tried to tone that down the first time around. We didn't succeed then, and now that she is so well known and universally admired you won't change it now."

"We'll see about that." Bruno stood abruptly and left the room.

"That man is in for one rude awakening," Josh shook his head. Toby nodded with agreement. In the beginning they'd all been as cocky as Bruno when it came to dealing with the First Couple. It hadn't taken them long to be stripped of their illusions of control and they were sure it wouldn't take long with Bruno either.

****

Abbey stepped into the shower closing her eyes as the refreshing warm water hit the tense muscles of her shoulders. It had been a hellishly long and grueling day that had started at 8:00 a.m. in Manhattan and ended long after midnight in D.C. The pictures that she'd had taken for Jed's eyes only had exploded onto the covers of all the major tabloids and magazine covers and had been flashed over and over on news and entertainment news programs. Everywhere Abbey turned she was seeing one of those photos or listening to somebody give their pro or con comment on them, and, as much as she tried, she was unable to ignore the brouhaha that had been created.

She had returned to Washington late that morning and been taken straight to a speaking engagement at the University of Virginia. Her speech was supposed to be about the need for affordable healthcare but that wasn't what the reporters wanted to ask her about. She was frustrated and disgusted to find that all anyone wanted to question her about were the pictures and the magazine article, how she felt about them, who she blamed for releasing them, what the President's reaction was. The fact that she was refusing to comment and was sticking to the one statement she'd made on the issue only seemed to raise the frenzy.

The last thing that she'd felt like doing after a long day was to attend a party but that was the next event on her agenda. She'd hoped to have time to get back to the White House and see Jed and the kids before he left for Michigan and they were put to bed, but it was not to be. Thanks to the media circus they'd been behind schedule all day, and with no time to return to the White House to change, she'd had to go directly to the National Gallery of Art. One of her aides had gone to the White House to get her the dress that she had planned to wear for the evening and Abbey had to lock herself into the ladies room where she proceeded to sponge bathe the grime of the day off her body and change out of her professional First Lady campaign suit into something more suitably glamorous. Sitting on the edge of the counter she'd slid on thigh high black stockings and strappy heels, then slipped into a Christian Dior cocktail dress. With Lily's help she'd quickly pinned her hair up into a French twist, twisted diamond drop earrings into her ears and made it just in time to play First Lady and hostess for the special showing of Spanish art that was being attended by members of the Spanish royal family.

Nobody would have known that she was exhausted and less than happy to be at the gathering. Well aware that, as was the case since Jed had started to run for political office, she was being watched and scrutinized she shook hands with the guests, made small talk with the Spanish delegation and smiled until she thought her cheeks would crack. Life in a goldfish bowl was certainly not easy. She was never allowed to have an off day, never allowed to be tired or cranky or PMS'y or even to have a bad hair day. She was always expected to be flawless, impeccable, and gracious. Always expected to be "on". Nothing but perfect would ever do. She had truly never expected the frenzy of adulation and interest that she had received since becoming First Lady.

She'd been just a kid when Jacqueline Kennedy had the job and while she remembered her mother getting a Jackie "bob" and the interest that the entire Kennedy family generated she hadn't been prepared for all of that to happen to her. Since Jackie, First Ladies were rarely discussed with much interest. One saw them on the news at summit meetings, or in receiving lines for state dinners but that was primarily it. She and the rest of the American public didn't know how they spent their days or what their interests were and really nobody seemed to care. Oh, there were the obligatory magazine covers every once in a while but nothing compared to the colossal interest that Abbey had generated when she burst on the scene.

Abbey hadn't considered herself much different from the women who preceded her; she was a wife, a mother, a doctor, and a teacher, not a moviestar. But the American public thought differently. They were fascinated with her; they wanted to know every little thing about her. They copied her hairstyles, her clothes, her shoes, and her jewelry. They wanted to read what she read, to shop where she shopped. She had become a genuine icon in a very short period of time and at first Abbey had been overwhelmed by that. For Jed's first year in office she had shuttled back and forth between New Hampshire and D.C. Zoey was still in high school and they hadn't wanted to disrupt her senior year. Once Zoey graduated and Abbey had the hang of the First Lady thing she had planned to continue on in a professional capacity. She knew she couldn't continue her surgical practice, but she had thought to continue on as a lecturer at Johns Hopkins. But, before that could happen she had gotten pregnant and Jed had been shot. In that year nothing truly had mattered to her but getting him well and carrying and delivering two healthy babies. She'd thought once the babies had arrived things would calm down, but they had not. If anything, the furor had grown even more intense. She wondered if anyone knew just what a strain it was to be always afraid of putting the wrong foot forward, afraid of saying the wrong thing, afraid of appearing bored or tired when all she wanted to do was crawl into bed and pull the covers up over her head.

Campaigning could at times be invigorating but most of the time it was just a chore, today had been a chore. Her hand was sore and swollen from all the handshakes throughout the day, and after being in heels since 8:00 a.m., her feet and her back hurt. To top all of that off her head had begun to pound and throb. But, she had never let on to any discomfort or irritation, at least not until she had flopped back into the sedan, kicked her shoes off and pulled the clips out of her elegant twist, running her fingers through the lengthy strands and massaging her scalp.

She snapped on the small TV they had in the sedan and had been just in time to watch her husband land in Michigan giving the same stock answers he'd given over and over to reporters all over D.C. They'd decided for nonchalance, not finger pointing, at least until they had more information. He merely told reporters that he loved the photos and that as they could see he was a very lucky man, the gleam in his eye unmistakable. When it came to the "People" article he told them that "People" magazine voting his wife one of the sexiest women in the world only confirmed something that he'd known since the day he first met her.

He looked tired she automatically noticed as she popped a couple of Advil for her headache. His left eye was twitching a bit as it always did when he was tired and there was a slight hunch to his shoulders. Most people would never notice it, not even his staff, but for Abbey, who was just as in tune to her husband's body as she was to her own, it had been like seeing a red flag. "Get some sleep, baby" she whispered to herself as she placed her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes. She knew that it would be much too late by the time she got back to the residence to call him and give him that advice so she was hoping telepathy just might work.

Abbey toweled off after her shower, smoothed moisturizer into her skin and slipped into her silk bathrobe. Bed beckoned her but there was something more important she needed to do first. Barefooted, she made her way next door to the nursery. The room was dark save for the soft glow of the Winnie the Pooh night-lights. Abbey made her way to each child's crib adjusting blankets and allowing her hand to rest gently on Nicholas and Aislinn's backs to feel the rise and fall of their breathing. She stood for a long moment inhaling their sweet baby scent and relaxing in the peaceful tranquility of the moment. She was home.

Finally, her eyes getting too heavy to keep open, she went back to her bedroom, slipped into one of Jed's T-shirts and crawled beneath the cool sheets. It was 2:00 a.m. and Abbey was finally getting to sleep.

****

"Is Mrs. Bartlet up?" Bruno asked one of the agents up in the residence.

"She's in the kitchen having breakfast with the children."

Bruno nodded and with an air of supreme authority he made his way toward the kitchen. He did not want to take a chance at being announced and having Abbey turn him away.

The kitchen door was open. Bruno could hear the First Lady's voice as she talked to her children and he had to grin at their babbling, giggling reponses. He stood for a moment in the doorway watching the family breakfast together. Abbey wore a deep emerald silk bathrobe; somehow he knew it would have to be silk for her. Her young son sat on her lap tugging at a lock of her hair for attention while she tried to spread strawberry jam onto a croissant. Before he had the chance to make his presence known Abbey had taken a bite of the croissant and was unconsciously licking the buttery jam from her fingers.

Bruno had been around many beautiful, sexy women but the fact that Abbey Bartlet's sensuality was completely natural and totally uncalculated was even more appealing. She took her looks and her image for granted and she didn't see herself the way that other people did. He supposed that was why she didn't understand what they expected of her. She wasn't TRYING to be sexy, she just WAS sexy.

"Bed, Mama." Aislinn reached out a hand for her mother's croissant.

"You want a bite of my croissant?"

Aislinn nodded. "Cussant…cussant…"

Abbey broke off a piece and slipped it into between her daughter's lips. "You like it?" She asked. Aislinn nodded her approval.

Abbey laughed as she moved to take another bite and saw Nicholas looking up at her with his mouth wide open.

"You want a bite too, little bird?"

"Me bite." Nicholas nodded and accepted a bite of the croissant.

"You two are going to eat all of my breakfast if I don't watch out."

Nicholas grabbed a fistful of the sticky French toast that sat on his plate and held it up to Abbey's lips gazing up at her with serious blue eyes.

"You want to share your breakfast with me?" Abbey asked.

Nicholas nodded thrusting his fingers into Abbey's lips. Abbey accepted her son's offering making a big production over how good it was. She licked the syrup off her lips then kissed the top of Nicky's head.

"Thank you, little man. That was delicious."

Bruno tried not to let a sigh slip from his lips. God, how he'd love to have a camera crew here. How he would love for all of America to watch Abbey Bartlet in Mama Mode. She truly was a loving completely natural mother, and while the country got glimpses of that, it was far more titillating to gossip about her shopping at a place called "Trashy Diva's", dancing at a place called "The Funky Butt" and posing half naked as a gift for her husband.

"BRUNO." Her tone had changed from complete warmth to one of icy coolness. "What are you doing just standing there?"

She'd caught him daydreaming. Oh well, better to be honest than try to make up some lie she'd see through.

"I was just thinking how perfect this little scene would be on camera. You know, "A Day in the Life".

"Not on your life." The finality of her words was reflected in her tone.

"It's not exactly unprecedented."

"No, we did it for their birthday, and we'll probably do something similar again on their next birthday, but I'm not going to use them as part of a campaign. What exactly are you doing here? Who let you in?

"Nobody let me in. I asked where you were and the kitchen door was open."

"Let's get something straight. This is my HOME, Bruno. I know everyone seems to think they can just come and go as they please here but I'd like you to remember that this is where my family and I live, I'd appreciate it if you would respect that."

"There are some things that I want to discuss with you."

"I have a chief of staff, make an appointment."

"Mrs. Bartlet, this is important."'

"MR. Campanelli, I have been on the campaign trail for over a week, that means a week away from my children and it's been well over two since I've seen my husband. I can't do anything about Jed, but I can and do intend to spend the day with my children, the ENTIRE day."

"I'll only take a few minutes of your time."

"Call Lily, set up an appointment for tomorrow. I'll have office hours in the afternoon."

Bruno felt his blood pressure rise, nobody put him off like that. He started to open his mouth to argue then thought the better of it seeing the steely look in Abbey's eyes. She wasn't going to cave in on this.

"Mama…more?" Nicholas held a piece of French toast up to Abbey's lips.

Bruno was amazed to see how fast Abbey's features softened, the coldness in her eyes replaced with tenderness as she took the bite. He stood for a moment longer but realized that he had been dismissed.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he said tightly, then turned on his heels to leave.

Abbey gave a sigh of relief at his departure and turned her attention back to her children. She didn't want to make an enemy of Bruno, she knew he was just doing his job but she was sick to death of political consultants. They had been a part of her life ever since Jed had started running for serious office. There had been several different people doing the job but they all had one thing in common. None of them had seen her as a person, a wife, a mother, a doctor, she was simply the candidate's wife and as such they had tried to change her, manipulate her, mold her, and force her to use her family to their advantage. And, right from the beginning they'd all had one hell of a fight on their hands. Bruno Campanelli was just one in a long line of campaign staffers who was going to discover that Abigail Bartlet was no pushover.

****

"Mrs. Bartlet?"

Abbey looked up from the paperwork on her desk. "Yes, Lily?"

"Mr-------"

"I believe I have an appointment." Ron strode through the door past Lily.

Abbey nodded her acquiescence to Lily and bit her lip to keep from grinning. Bruno had obviously not taken being put off well at all.

"So you do." She closed the manila folder, pushed her glasses off her nose and leaned back in her chair. She liked having the upper hand that meeting in her office gave her. Photographs of her family surrounded her and there were scribbled drawings by the twins on her walls. This was her turf through and through.

Determined not to let Abbey feel that she was in control of this meeting, Ron looked for a way to ruffle her feathers. Instead of directly sitting in front of her desk he walked along it's length picking up pictures and putting them back down without comment until he got to the one of she and Jed standing in front of the Taj Mahal. She was wearing a gauzy white sundress, Jed was in shirtsleeves and she was gazing up at him with loving eyes as he kissed the back of her hand.

"India, eh?" He asked, flashing the picture her way.

"I believe that's where the Taj Mahal is, " Abbey retorted sarcastically.

"It's where you got pregnant, isn't it? At least that's what all the papers said."

Abbey's eyes narrowed and she pulled the picture from his hand to set it back down gently in its center position on her desk. "Where I conceived my children is of no concern to you."

"No, I suppose it isn't. But it was a brilliant political move. The President was struggling in the polls, he was finding out that his idealistic agenda was not going to be so easy to get through a jaded, cynical, entrenched congress. Then, BAM, he gets shot, you get knocked up and suddenly the country is in love with you again, they can't get enough of your pregnancy or the Presidents recuperation. And I don't have to tell you what happened once those babies were born, you became Saint Abigail."

"That's enough, Bruno!" Abbey snapped, her eyes flashing green fire. "I did NOT get "knocked up" as you so eloquently put it to save my husband's faltering agenda. I got drunk one night in India, we had an accident. Does that surprise you?"

"No," Bruno smiled, his eyes moving to where Abbey's chest was rising and falling with emotion. He was a man who truly appreciated beautiful women, especially when they were all riled up. "It doesn't surprise me at all."

"What's that supposed to mean? You think I'm a drunk or something?"

"No, I think you're a very sexy woman, and I think you are probably very hard to resist. I meant that I could understand the "accident". I'm sure the President couldn't help himself."

"What if it was me who couldn't help myself."

"That wouldn't surprise me either. You're a very passionate woman. Which brings me to why I'm here. Your image."

"My image is fine."

"In some circles it is, but what about the south? The heartland?"

"What about those areas?"

"When you go out dressed the way that you are those women don't relate to you. You aren't ONE of them."

"What's wrong with the way that I dress?"

"Your clothes are too expensive looking, too sleek, too Fifth Avenue stylish and your heels are too high."

"I'm from New Hampshire for Chrissake, not Manhattan."

"But you don't look New Hampshire, you look Manhattan."

"You want me to dress like I did when I lived in New Hampshire? I'll be campaigning in jeans or riding pants from now on."

"Come on, ma'am, you may have lived on a farm but you've never been some Daisy Duke hayseed. You were a professional career woman in a big city."

"Yes, I was, and guess what, Bruno?" She leaned forward as if she were telling him a secret. "Sometimes I actually wore leather skirts for office hours."

Bruno sighed, trying to hold on to his patience. "I'm just saying that image is very important. There is a lot that you have to take into account and one of those things is the jealousy factor."

"The jealousy factor?"

"Yes. Right now young girls look up to you, they want to be you, older women that aren't upset by the fact that you have a tattoo on your ass can be swayed by the fact that you have young children."

"Did you actually look at those pictures, Bruno?" Abbey asked, coldly. "The tattoo is on my HIP not my ASS."

"I beg your pardon, the tattoo on your HIP. It's the women 25-55 that we have to worry about, your contemporaries."

"Why, I'm most like them, juggling husband, work, and children."

"Yes, and you're doing it all looking spectacular in designer clothes and jewels. After five children your figure is amazing, you look as great in a bikini as you do in a low cut ballgown or even jeans. You have expensive beautiful clothes, you have beautiful children, and you have a handsome husband who worships the ground that you walk on. Hell, I'm even jealous of you."

"My life isn't perfect. It's not easy trying to juggle everything, even for me."

"I'm sure it isn't. So let's hear about that in "Ladies Home Journal." Tell American women you are just like them, trying to please your husband, your children, your work, and still have enough time to be true to yourself. Don't make it look so damn easy. Men are not a problem, Abbey, young, old, dead, they all think you're one hot number, it's their wives that we need to worry about. We can change them from being jealously catty about you to admiring and sympathizing with you very easily. We need you to be more like the soccer moms."

Abbey's jaw dropped open with shock. "I AM a soccer mom!" She exploded with frustration. "Do you even know what it means to be a soccer mom? How many times did YOU pace up and down a soccer field with a crying nursing baby in your arms knowing that you had to find a quiet place to sit and nurse her but trying to put her off with your finger or a pacifier because her sister, your eldest daughter, is in the game and if you leave, even for a few minutes it will just have to be the moment that she scores the winning goal and she will never forgive you for missing it and you would never forgive yourself. How many times did you spend half your night up with a colicky baby then have to go into work and spend the entire morning in surgery only to turn around and have to drive 40 minutes back to your middle daughter's school for a parent teacher conference, after which you get to go home and try deal with the cranky baby and 10 little girls who are coming over for a Girl Scouts meeting? How many times did you have to stand in a receiving line, your body still tired, aching and sore from giving birth to twins and have to smile and shake the hands of two hundred people at a White House gala?" Abbey's chest was heaving with emotion and she glared at him waiting for a typical smart-ass remark. She didn't get it.

"Never. I've never had to experience anything like that. I'm sorry Abbey. I didn't mean for it to come off like I think that your life is easy, or that you haven't had to struggle or balance, it's a perception thing. You're a strong woman, you like to come across as a strong woman, all I'm asking is that you let people know that you aren't superwoman and that no woman should be expected to be a superwoman."

"No."

"No?" He looked surprised. He wasn't asking for much, hadn't asked her to use the children as props as he'd planned.

"I think that every woman is a superwoman, no matter what she does."

"Okay, fine. But, just let them know it all doesn't come as easy as they think to you."

"You aren't going to ask me to wear flats, or start wearing caftans?" Abbey grinned.

"Would I have a chance?" He grinned back.

"Hell no."

"That's why I didn't ask." Bruno got to his feet and extended his hand. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you."

Abbey nodded and shook her head, but just as he reached the door she stopped him.

"Bruno, can I ask you for some advice?"

"Really?" Bruno's eyes widened.

"Don't let it go to your head. I was just wondering. Jed is still down in the polls in New Hampshire, isn't he?"

"Yes. It's not that they don't like him. You know how much they love him up there, but that's the problem. They feel even more betrayed by his keeping the MS a secret. He was their favorite son, he should have told them first, at least that's what they think."

Abbey nodded, she understood that people in their home state were upset. "What can I do to help? It's going to hurt him a lot if he loses that state."

"You sure you want to hear what I have to say?"

"I asked, didn't I?"

"Go up there as much as you can. Spend time on the farm, let yourself be photographed on the farm with the kids. Take them to their New Hampshire pediatrician. Just let the people know that you haven't gotten full of yourselves, that you are still just Jed and Abbey Bartlet of New Hampshire and you haven't forgotten your roots."

Abbey absorbed his advice then nodded. "Thank you. I'll think about it."

"Your welcome. See ya in Texas." He turned to leave.

"See you in Texas." She said softly, but her eyes had fallen to that picture of she and Jed at the Taj Mahal and she ran a loving finger over the glass that covered her husband's jaw. It had been much, much too long since she had last seen him. "I'll see YOU in Texas" she smiled and kissed the tip of her finger pressing it to the picture of her husband's face.

TBC...