The walk up to the Residence is a relatively short journey that takes the traveler from the bustling hallways of the West Wing to quieter, museum-like sections of the mansion seen more by tour groups than employees, to the inner sanctum above it all — holy, silent, lived-in, populated mostly by longstanding and faithful wait staff. The Residence is where the First Family makes their home in Washington, not far, but protected, from the glare of the city outside and the aura of the Office below.

It’s not unusual for the President, the First Lady or any of their children to frequently entertain guests in the Residence. Senior staff and high-ranking officials have been known to confer with the President after hours here. But to Donna, entering the Residence by invitation, being announced upon arrival by the Secret Service over the radio, and stepping through the guarded doors had always seemed like an almost...religious experience. A moment that makes the person living it feel special, inspired, reverent, and even a little fearful at the enormity of the lives these people around them lead.

Donna had never worked for another administration, so she couldn’t say for sure that it was the same with other First Families. But in her experience, the feeling of reverence always remains, as does the inspiration and sense of specialness, but the fear tends to dissipate the second one of the Bartlets welcomes you into their home away from home.

“So I hear if I’m looking for adventure on an idle Friday evening, you’re a girl who really knows how to party down,” Abbey Bartlet said from the bedroom door.

“The adventure...is guaranteed, but whether you’ll have fun is a little bit of a crap shoot,” Donna said, turning toward the First Lady. “And I can’t promise the Secret Service would be wild about it.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Abbey pretended to feel dejected.

Donna shook her head a little in amusement. “Good afternoon, ma’am.”

“Good afternoon, Donna,” the First Lady tilted a little in a mock bow, signaling that she didn’t give a damn about the formalities today. “You wanna give me a hug and then get your ass in here so I can take a look at you?”

She would never find the courage to tell her so, but Abbey Bartlet was the mother Donna wished she’d had. After her phone conversation this morning, the hint of an invitation was all it took for her to close the distance between them and grip Abbey as tightly as her sore arm would allow.

Abbey reciprocated with all the expertise of an experienced mother, stroking Donna’s back in a way that comforted, keeping the embrace soft enough to be personal but not so soft as to melt away the last of Donna’s resolve to keep it together. A gentle squeeze signaled the end of the hug, and Donna pulled back, just a little misty-eyed, which Abbey considered a success.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to cover up a hickey with that turtleneck,” Abbey said as she ushered Donna into the bedroom.

“No such luck,” Donna said.

“But you’re hiding something, aren’t you, Miss Moss?” Abbey said as she guided Donna into a seated position on the sofa. “The doctor is in. Let me see.”

Donna pulled the side of the turtleneck away obediently. “It’s just a graze. Needed a couple stitches.”

“Actually, it was a flesh wound that required nine stitches,” Abbey said without lifting the bandage. “I talked to Dr. Bennett this morning.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh,’ you big liar. Have you changed the bandage since the hospital?” Abbey asked, gently probing the tender area around Donna’s shoulder and neck with her fingertips.

“I don’t...no, I don’t think so.”

“You’re supposed to change it twice a day,” Abbey admonished. “It’s been more than 12 hours already. I’m gonna get you a shirt of Zoey’s, I can’t see anything with this damn thing on,” she pinched at the fabric on Donna’s bicep and tugged on the turtleneck a little. “Then I’ll change the dressing and I can get a good look at it.”

“No, Mrs. Bart—”

“Not First Lady right now and you know it.”

“Abbey,” Donna acquiesced. “It’s fine. Josh or CJ, somebody will help me change it later. We’re not going to be here long anyway.”

“You wanna bet me your paycheck Josh isn’t gonna wait here as long as I ask him to?”

“No ma’am.”

“No ma’am,” Abbey echoed. “You don’t have to worry. I’m a doctor. I’m a surgeon. I’m not gonna pass out when I see the sutures. An event which is not out of the realm of possibility if you bring Josh Lyman into the mix.” With a cocky little smile, she disappeared back out into the hallway, returning seconds later with gray tank top that had “Georgetown” silk-screened across the chest.

Donna was able to slip into the tank top with a tolerable amount of pain as Abbey busied herself in the living area getting her doctor’s bag. She returned wearing her glasses and a serious expression.

Turning Donna’s shoulder toward the window so it was illuminated by the afternoon sunlight, she gently and expertly peeled off the bandage. “It bled a little overnight,” she said to herself as much as to Donna, who nodded mutely. Abbey was also silent for a few moments as she shifted around Donna’s shoulder, getting different vantage points.

“Ouch,” she said sympathetically. “I’ll bet that smarted.”

“It did,” Donna said, voice a little faraway. “It doesn’t anymore.”

“The sutures look good, especially to have been done in the ER,” Abbey said, still peering at the wound. “I think you’ll have a decent scar. Nothing distracting, except maybe to you. Once it’s healed completely, if it bothers you terribly I can recommend a plastic surgeon who’d be able to make it virtually invisible.”

“Yeah, I’m not there yet,” Donna said.

“No, not yet. Right now we’ve got to work on getting full range of motion back in your arm and shoulder.”

“It is pretty sore. I don’t really understand it, it wasn’t that bad last night.”

“The muscles seized up overnight in response to the injury,” Abbey said, taking Donna’s elbow and moving her arm slightly, watching to see how the sutures were effected by the motion. Donna winced. “Sorry. Believe it or not, it will probably be worse tomorrow, but then it should start to loosen back up. The stiffness is mostly in your shoulder?”

“And in the last couple of hours, I’ve started to have some pain in my neck.”

“I’ll bet. I want you to stay on the Vicodin at least through the end of tomorrow. It will be easier on you, and easier on your system.” Abbey gingerly applied Neosporin to the wound without hurting Donna at all and began to tape a fresh bandage in place.

“Yeah, I didn’t take one this morning, because the one I took last night put me straight under, but I’m going to take another one as soon as the Advil has worn off,” Donna admitted.

“My God, girl, no wonder you seem so lucid,” Abbey said, standing up straight and puling her glasses off. “Here’s a tip for you. When a doctor gives you pain medication it’s because you’re about to be in some pain and he or she is trying to help you out.”

“Well, I know, but I just didn’t like feeling so—”

“Drugged?”

“Yeah.”

“Know why you felt that way?” Abbey asked. “Because you were. And you were supposed to be, too. Dr. Bennett sent you home with two prescriptions,” she said, walking back over to her bag, which she’d left on the bed. “One is for a few days’ worth of Vicodin and the other is an antibiotic to prevent infection. ‘Why, Abbey, however do you know this?’ you ask. Because when you’re both a doctor and the First Lady, people tend to be very forthcoming when you ask them questions. I took the liberty of having them filled and sent over for you. Saved you a trip to the drugstore.” She held a small white bag in front of her.

Donna just gaped at her, then finally managed, “Didn’t mind being First Lady with Dr. Bennett, huh?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, girl, it’s not like I had to get the FBI involved. Take one Vicodin every 8 hours, at least until when?”

“The end of tomorrow,” Donna answered dutifully.

“Yes. They might make you a little drowsy, but you probably slept so hard last night because you needed it, so I don’t think it will be as bad as all that. The antibiotic needs to be taken every 12 hours with food. Finish the whole prescription, which is 10 days’ worth. Change the shoulder bandage every time you take the antibiotic, it will make it easier to remember. It’s a nasty business when a wound like this becomes infected, and easily avoidable, so unless you want me to box your ears you’ll stay on top of it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Donna smiled a little.

“Good girl.” Donna rolled her eyes a little. Why did people call her that? Just the other day she had to tell...who was it that had called her that? Not Josh, he knew better. Somebody, Toby maybe...that she wasn’t a dog to be praised for doing something it should.

Abbey, still holding the bag, rattled it at Donna a little. Donna, who’d been sitting until this time with her hands folded palms-up under her sweater, which she’d held in her lap, reached for the bag without thinking. Abbey caught her gently by the forearm.

“Well,” she said softly, a hint of sadness in her voice. “What else are you hiding, Donna?”

Donna looked at her wrist and wished she could sink into the floor. “Th-they’re superficial,” she almost whispered. “I just need to keep them bandaged until they start to heal, so there’s no...infection.”

Abbey nodded, but slowly, gently, she was peeling the single piece of tape back off the bandage and unwrapping Donna’s right wrist. She blanched a little at the sight of the telltale cuts but recovered quickly.

“Those do look painful,” she said very softly, cradling Donna’s forearm and hand.

“Really only when I flex my wrists a lot, which I’m trying not to do with the left one right now, anyway.” Donna looked at her lap.

“Donna,” Abbey said softly. Donna blinked a couple times before looking at the First Lady.

“You wanna tell me why you weren’t too keen on my seeing the bandages?” Abbey squeezed her hand gently as she said it.

“I...” Donna breathed. “I don’t really know.”

“They’re not that bad, Donna,” she said, still softly. “I mean, I know it looks bad because it, you know, obviously you can tell what it’s...but they really aren’t as bad as you think.”

“I just don’t want to have to go through the explanation 50 times a day,” Donna said, trying to ignore the burn in her cheeks. “The shoulder is bad enough.”

“Of course you don’t. But this is different than the shoulder. It’s embarrassing, even though it shouldn’t be, because it drives home a detail of what you went through that you’d rather not share with the world. Takes an intimate thing and shoves it right out there in the spotlight. It serves as a reminder of how helpless you were in the situation.”

Donna started to answer, but her voice caught in her throat, so she only nodded.

“Zoey was the same way,” Abbey almost whispered. “Hers weren’t this bad, just some bruising and the skin was rubbed a little raw, but she was very self-conscious about them.” Abbey began to rewrap the bandage. “I’m going to tell you what her therapist told her...and me after I got it together enough to look at is as a person instead of as her mother. Helplessness is a matter of circumstance, not a state of existence. What happened had nothing to do with you and everything to do with timing, coincidence, and just plain bad luck.” She put the index finger of Donna’s left hand gently on the loose end of the bandage and went back to her bag, pulling out a roll of medical tape. “I understand why you feel the way  you do, but...oh, I don’t know. What I’m trying to say is you don’t have to. Be embarrassed, I mean.”

She taped the end of the bandage back down. “They’ll heal just fine. Don’t forget to keep Neosporin on them every day, and change the bandages after your shower every day.”

Donna drew a slightly ragged breath and exhaled. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Okay,” Abbey smiled. “The doctor says you may get dressed.” She waved toward the bathroom as she went back to digging in her medical bag.

When Donna came back out of the bathroom, Abbey was in the walk-in closet, digging in drawers. “Aha!” she said triumphantly, pulling a small shopping bag out of the bottom drawer. “Knew I had one around here somewhere.”

“What’s that?” Donna asked, placing Zoey’s folded shirt at the foot of the bed.

“Oh, I just didn’t want you to have your hands full,” Abbey said, coming back over to the small pile of things she’d assembled beside her doctor’s bag. “Your prescriptions are in here,” she said as she dropped the bag from the drugstore into the small shopping bag. “I had some of the 3-inch pads they used on you shoulder, so they’re in here, too. Oh, and I found some of that roller gauze, too, for your wrists.” Abbey dropped the items in the bag.

“Abbey, you don’t have to—”

“Well, what’s the point in saving you a trip to the drugstore to pick up your prescriptions when you don’t have the bandages you need?” Abbey said matter-of-factly. “Do you have medical tape?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What about Neosporin?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Donna nodded, genuinely touched by the attention the First Lady was giving her.

“And you’re going to take the meds as prescribed, and keep those bandages changed?” Abbey said, with only a hint of chastisement in her tone.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jed Bartlet chirped as he came through the bedroom doors, hands in his pockets. “Grown woman, Abbey. She’s a grown woman is all I’m saying.”

“I don’t believe anyone was talking to you,” Abbey said sarcastically as she packed up her bag.

“Yeah, but it’s my house, so you know, I figure I can jump in on any conversation I want,” Bartlet said, turning toward Donna. “Wouldn’t you say so, Donna?”

“I might, Mr. President, but I’m feeling sort of caught between a rock and a hard place at the moment, so...”

“Eh, OK,” Bartlet said, rocking on his feet a little. “If Abbey’s done pestering you, I might get you to walk me back downstairs.”

“There was no pestering of any kind being done, and I’ll thank you to change your attitude and not poison the mind of this girl against me,” Abbey said.

“There really wasn’t any pestering, sir,” Donna felt the need to show her appreciation for the First Lady’s kindness.

“Methinks that’s just the rock and the hard place talking,” Bartlet said with a dismissive wave. “Is your patient discharged, Dr. Bothersome?”

“I’m ignoring you,” Abbey said lightly. She held the bag out to Donna. “We’re done, Donna. So long as you promise to call me if you have any trouble.”

“Oh for God’s sake,” Jed moaned quietly as he rolled his eyes.

Donna took the bag like it was priceless treasure. “Thank you, Abbey.”

“You’re welcome. Be sure you don’t thank him,” she called as her husband escorted Donna out the door.

“I’ll deal with you later, Dr. Crabapple,” Jed called back in mock frustration.

*************

Bartlet filled the walk back from the Residence with stories of Abbey’s overprotectiveness peppered with the occasional joke. He and Donna walked along somewhat slowly, Donna swinging the care package from Abbey loosely in her right hand.

“I don’t understand this wish everyone has to see their children marry doctors. I married a doctor and she lauds it over me every moment of my life. If she’s feeling particularly vindictive, I can so much as sneeze and she practically confines me to bed,” Jed pretended to grouse.

“It’s like being an adult and still having to live with your mother,” Donna pretended to commiserate.

“Exactly,” Bartlet said. “Speaking of mothers, Leo said your folks took the news kind of hard.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, don’t be too hard on them. I don’t know the particular biological cause, but something happens to us when we become parents, Donna,” Jed said as they walked down the portico. “I mean there we were, living our lives, normal carefree adults. The world revolves around you. Then all of a sudden you’re responsible for these little people and the world doesn’t revolve around you any more, it revolves around them. No matter how old they get, the world continues to revolve around them. So if your parents act like the world is coming to an end, just tolerate them a little, because from their perspective, it might have. Tolerate them, because they’re getting old and foolish and they worry needlessly. And, you know, because you’re their whole reason for living.”

Donna stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes glued to the President. Slowly, she nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“OK,” Jed nodded back and continued toward the Oval Office doors. “Although there are times I still think I would have rather had my sanity.”

“Me, too,” Donna sighed.

Jed smirked at her sideways as they passed through glass doors from the portico into the Oval.

“Tell me the truth, now that it’s just us,” Jed said as he walked Donna toward the door to the outer office. “The First Lady was pestering you, wasn’t she?”

Donna leaned forward and said in a stage whisper, “Maybe just a little.” She stood straight again. “But to be honest with you, I didn’t really mind. Oh, I wanted to say...thank you...for the statement.”

Jed waved away the thanks with his hand. “That’s the other thing about being a parent, Donna. When God or fate or whatever it is brings one of your family back from the brink, you get a little over-emotional and start thanking people like it’s the Academy Awards.”

Donna stood mutely, trying to blink back the tears that threatened her eyes yet again.

“I’ve got a briefing,” Jed said after a beat, as he opened the door for Donna. “And if you don’t get back soon, Josh is going to send out a search party.”

Donna smiled, just a little, as she stepped into the outer office. “Thank you, Mr. President.”

“Thank you, Donna. Charlie, what’s next?”

Charlie took a beat to smile at Donna and lightly tap her elbow as he followed the President into the Oval, and Donna was grateful for his understated nature, which was sensitive enough to spare her the usual barrage of questions.

She took a minute in the empty outer office to close her eyes and take a deep, cleansing breath. She’d had a bad night and a rocky start this morning, but things were getting better. She took a mental inventory. Her wrists stung a little, and her neck pain was increasing. She could almost feel it getting stiff already. She assumed Abbey was right and it would be worse in the morning. But, after all, that’s what the Vicodin was for. She still felt like she was forgetting to do something, but Josh was right. It had been a weird day. And there was something else…was it…yeah. She was a little hungry. Her eyes flew open as she remembered the muffin she’d yet to eat. She crept around Charlie’s desk to the door, and saw Leo’s office door was still closed. One corner of her mouth quirked slightly and she headed back toward the bullpen, intent on eating the muffin before Josh got out of his meeting with Leo and went berserk. After all, she really wanted it now.