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Disclaimer: The characters do not belong to me; no copyright infrigement is intended. Pairings: Toby/Andrea Rating: PG-13 Synopsis: Stream of consciousness from Congresswoman Wyatt during an awkward meeting. Archive: Yes, just let me know where. Letting Go I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry when Leo McGarry called me. Not that talking to Leo is either a heartrending or hilarious experience, but the reason for his call might have been. He wanted to set up a meeting about soft money. With you. With the guy I used to be married to. I hadn't seen you in a while. We're both so damned busy and there aren't a lot of reasons for us to meet. Okay, I'll admit it; I've been avoiding any contact with you, you exasperating man, ever since the divorce became final. The last thing I need in my life right now is to have you look at me with those big, brown, puppy dog eyes, asking silently why we can't go back the way we were. Oh, Toby, love, we can't. I know you still love me; I wonder sometimes why you still do after all we went through. I never minded the fights. You were always such a satisfactory opponent. Passionate, intelligent and so very sure that you were right. Okay, most of the time you were; I just liked to get you going. And, eventually, you would concede a well made point and admit you were wrong. It took a few hours, usually, but you did come around in time. I loved you, Toby. I really did. I loved you enough to marry you despite the way your family treated me. You gave them up for me, didn't you? They didn't like you marrying a Protestant girl from Ann Arbor, Michigan, did they? They wanted you to marry a nice Jewish girl, who would raise another generation of Zieglers. But, in marrying me, those Zieglers would not be Jewish, would they? So you told them all to go to hell, even if it was hard for you to turn you back on your close knit family. You chose me over them and, for that, I still love you. We had such fun at first, didn't we? You didn't just encourage me to go into politics; you yelled at me to put my money where my mouth was and go for it. You forced me to put up or shut up and now I am where I want to be. In Congress, where I can try to realise those ideals I have always had. Yet, somewhere along the way, we lost each other. I still don't know how, entirely. Was it my success when all you had was failure? You're a brilliant man, and I never minded that none of the campaigns you worked on were successful. You did, but I didn't. If sheer willpower could have gotten those candidates elected, they would have won in a landslide. Politics is like that, though. The electorate is fickle, with long memories for grudges and short ones for praise. You taught me that. You're a proud man, Toby. Too proud sometimes. Too proud to admit to me - and I suspect to yourself - that you were hurt by being Andrea Wyatt's husband. You rejoiced in my success, but did it eat at you when we never celebrated yours? Or was it the exhaustion of this crazy world we live in? We both love politics. We both live and breathe it and each of us would die a little inside if we ever had to leave. Still, it takes a lot out of us. We had scarcely any time to ourselves from the moment we got married in front of the Justice of the Peace. When we were young, we had all the energy in the world. Now, older and wiser, we are also more tired. At least I am; I don't know if being on the President's staff rejuvenated you. I hope so. I know it wasn't sex that drove us apart. Or maybe it was. Even in those last, painful days, the nights were good. Sniping at each other all day, then making love all night sapped both of us of badly needed strength and perspective. I could never understand how I could be so angry with you that I couldn't bear to have you touch me, then, when you did, I couldn't get enough of you. I was asked the other day by someone in Payne's office what you were like. If I had chosen to answer truthfully, you'd have a fan club to rival Josh Lyman's. I could have told him about your hands, or your kisses, or your passion. I nearly blushed at the thoughts going through my head and the aide would have thought I was crazy. Maybe I am. I let you go. I had to let you go, Toby. You were starting to scare me. You drank too much, for one, and with your temper and my childhood, I just couldn't deal with it. I know you would never lay a hand on me, but knowing that didn't stop the instictive flinch. You were getting more and more depressed with the way your life was going and you shut me out. I couldn't deal with that, either. When it got to the point that I didn't know what you were thinking, it was time to leave. Well, time to gird my loins for the fray. I hope I have enough weapons in my arsenal; you are a worthy opponent and I have a battle to win against you. *** I chose to have a picnic lunch specifically to annoy you. Petty? Childish? Perhaps, but anything is better than sentiment. If I had planned on a restaurant, with real chairs and a roof over our heads, I don't think we could have talked business. Too many memories. Do you remember the time we went to that fancy place in New York? We scrimped and saved for it and it was the most magical night of my life. We danced and there was no one else there, just you and me. Do you still dance, Toby? I don't. Too many memeories of being in your arms, I guess. You look good. A little heavier, a little less hair. I'm glad you still have the beard, though. It just wouldn't be you without it. Besides, it gives me an advantage; scratch under your beard in a particular way and you purr like a cat. I've discovered that all bearded men do, actually. It's quite amazing. I'm proud of you, Toby. You've done so well after so many disappointments. But you're wrong not to fight against manditory minimums. They are racist, and you know it. I would think that you, of all people, understand about policies that are, on the surface, reasonable, yet unwittingly or not, target a particualr ethnic group. I realise you have a lot of other fights on your hands and that you won't make any commitments to battles you can't win, but you can win this one. Manditory minimums, Toby. They should be abolished. Give judges the leeway they need to be just. If there's a problem with their judgements, get better judges. I can't believe you refused the pie. You love pie. Not my pie, of course; I can't cook. I do understand why you'd be reluctant to put anything I put under a pie crust into your mouth, but please don't insult Mrs. Jennings' cooking. She's the reason I haven't starved yet. She sees me on television or at the district office and brings me food. She thinks I'm too skinny. I admit, I'm thinner than I used to be, but that's just because you aren't around to make those fabulous dinners you used to make. How did you ever find the time to cook like that? Of all the mysteries in the world, that's the one I want to know. Well, that and why I can never find my keys when they get dropped in the smaller section of my purse. Do you still cook, Toby? Or do you have the time to do anything but work? I know you work hard; there is a growing segment of the House that prefers to talk to you than to Josh. Josh can charm them out of their socks, but you tell them the truth. No matter how rude you are, they know where they stand. And, as I know from experience, when you praise an idea, it feels like I just one the Nobel or something. Josh is a good guy and I like him, but for sheer integrity, I'd rather talk to you. I mean, look at this meeting. Josh could have talked to me about the campaign finance reforms, but he sent you. He thought that our personal relationship would give a bargaining chip in your favour. You knew better, didn't you? Still, you put your feelings in your pocket and showed up on time and ready for this meeting. You didn't even flinch much at eating outdoors. Not that any of it matters. You knew that the President has my full support on the issue anyway. I hesitated when Leo called only because I wanted to see what he'd offer. Admittedly, a lunch with you don't exactly make my constituants' hearts beat faster, but I'll take what I can get. Actually, lunch with you might get Mrs. Jennings' heart going. She thinks the divorce was a huge mistake. Even if you are Jewish. Southern Baptist fundamentalist that she is, she's not too sure whether you're responsible for Christ's crucifiction or not. I don't think she thinks you're personally accountable and she does say that you seem to be a nice young man. And, unenlightened wretch that you are, I should be grateful to have a man to take care of me and give me children. Any port in a storm, I guess. I shouldn't say such things about Mrs. Jennings. She's a sweet old soul and has such a good heart. She tries so hard to be tolerant of concepts that just don't appear on her event horizon. I'm not sure whether you'd like her or not. She'd probably frustrate you with her narrow mind and touch you with her wide open heart. Now that I think of it, she's quite your opposite. You, with your wide open mind and your closed, well protected heart. I think that's why I love you both. Okay, I've had enough of annoying you. You really do get awfully cranky in the great outdoors. We can go in now. I've made my point. ** I like your office. It's really nice. Did you decorate it yourself? Of course you did. It reflects your taste. You have good taste, I'll give you that. In music, in art, in books and - dare I say it? - in women. CJ Cregg is looking magnificent as usual. I was jealous of her once, you know. She's funny and approachable as well as elegant. If she wasn't so nice, I'd hate her. She makes me feel... short. I mean, I know I'm not; I'm as tall as you are, but she's got that elegance about her. Did you ever really look at CJ, Toby? She's been your friend forever, but I wonder if you ever saw her as anything else. No, I guess not. You're looking at me with that look. As long as you look at me like that, you aren't looking at anyone else. I wish you would, though. I'm over you. Mostly. And you should be over me. But you're not, are you? You've forgiven me for what I said to you at that last attempt at mediation. I'll bet you haven't forgiven me for what I said when I left you, though. I'll pay for that one for the rest of my life. Deservedly so; I was a real bitch to you. I wanted to hurt you and it hurt me more than anything when you refused to pay me back in kind. Did you know that, Toby? Did you know how much that restraint on your part hurt me? Is that why you did it, or did were you genuinely being kind? Or did I render you speechless? After all, it was the first time I ever got personal in a fight. I meant what I said, though. I was just too angry and frustrated not to put in the most hurtful way possible. You could drive a saint to murder sometimes. You are relentless. ** Did you really say you'd pick me up after a date? Yes, of course you did. And you would. Blowing my chances of a second date, sure, but you would. It's sweet to think that you'd do that for me. I bet less than fifty percent of the reason would be to check out the guy. I think your concern for me would outweigh any jealousy on your part. Come to think of it, you never were particularly jealous, which is a bit surprising. You like to be first, but on your own merits. If you aren't, it isn't like you to compare yourself to the competition. It's far more likely that you'll find a way to make your position more attractive, more reasonable, more rational. You'd simply present your position in such a way that I'd be an idiot to refuse. Am I an idiot to refuse what you carefully haven't offered me since I left? No, Toby, I'm not, no matter how you feel. I can't live with you anymore. I'm not a gawky twenty year old, impressed with your education and intelligence. I'm not a twenty two year old who promised forever to you. I'm not looking back to the girl I used to be. Well, not much. Only when I see you, rumpled and tired, with the fire in your eyes for what is right and what is just. Today, here, now, in your office, if you had asked me flatly to come back, I'd have been tempted. So tempted to drag you off to whatever passes for privacy in this place and have my way with you. You didn't. You knew what I would do and you knew that we'd both regret it. I'd break your heart and I would rather cut off my arm than do that again. So it's better - safer - for us to dance awkwardly around each other, not quite saying what we feel or want, not quite falling into that incredible rapport we used to have. After all, those things that drove us apart are still there, no matter how much you want to forget about them. We can't even be friends, can we? Not while you look at me with eyes that belong on my husband, not while you still wear my ring on your finger. Still, it was good to see you. I'm glad you asked for the pie. I'm glad you can ask me for anything, and not for everything. I love you, Toby. Be well. Find the woman who can pry that ring off your finger and be happy. Let me go. Maybe then, I can finally let go of you. END -- Adrienne ar895@freenet.carleton.ca
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