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