Author's Note: This is it guys, one day left on the Fic-a-Day and I'm finally deploying the Emergency Backup Fic! I wrote this one back in October against the inevitable day when I just wasn't going to have a fic in me, and today is that day. Still sick, and I spent all day packing up the car and driving across four states to get home from our protracted holiday visits. I cannot even describe how tired I am right now. So here's the Emergency Backup Fic, which is also the start to yet another multi-parter, but this one should be pretty light and fun compared to some of the heavy stuff in my other WIPs. We'll see how it goes, hope you enjoy this little taste!

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"Okay, so Annabeth will be coordinating with Lou in the Communications Office to come up with a joint strategy for publicizing the youth music initiative, but right now we've got feelers out to symphony orchestras in DC, New York City, Chicago and Los Angeles to expand their field trip programs with underserved youths and to promote instrumental music in schools." Donna checked off that item on her list and glanced around at the other staffers in the East Wing sitting room. "I think that's all on the agenda right now. Has anybody got anything else?"

Sandy, the First Lady's personal secretary, opened her mouth to add something. She was preempted by Helen Santos herself, who'd been watching the entire meeting in near silence from her perch in one of the uncomfortable wingback chairs. "So what y'all are telling me," Helen drawled, "is that my agenda this week consists of dinner with the prime minister of Belgium and his wife, six appearances for photo-ops at various school summer programs, a really horrible party in Chicago to help Matt talk up the budget bill, three dressy luncheons to do the same thing, and a visit to church on Sunday where we're the last ones in and the first ones out?"

"Miranda also has a dentist appointment on Tuesday," Sandy said in a small voice, "and you're meeting with the historic preservation office on Friday morning to get an update on mold remediation efforts under the press room and the third floor bedroom rehab project."

"Of course," Helen said crisply, "I wouldn't want to forget any of that. Good job everybody, keep on truckin'!"

"Thank you, Mrs. Santos," Donna said as all the staffers rose to their feet. Helen gave her a somewhat cool look, then swept out towards the living quarters. Donna frowned for just a second, then turned to her team. Besides Sandy, there was Otto, the gifted young speechwriter she'd shamelessly poached from Josh during transition, Miri, who'd been Donna's favorite assistant deputy chief of staff in the last administration, and Annabeth, who'd been offered Deputy Press Secretary but didn't want that side of the building anymore. Not exactly the most experienced team, but running the East Wing was a lot different than running the West Wing. They'd made it through the first six months in office with no major disasters, knock on wood.

"All right everybody, we've got plenty of work to do this week. Otto, get me drafts on the school speeches by the end of the day, then start working ahead for the Congressional Women's Dinner in two weeks," she instructed crisply. "Annabeth, you're with Lou, Miri, you're harassing Sam and/or Congress till they give that extra ten million for music programs." She thought a second. "Sandy, can you see about freeing up another two or three days for the Santos' trip to Houston next month? Even if the President can't come, maybe we can get the family a few extra days." They all walked out of the sitting room together, heading back to the East Wing office block. Normally Donna held staff meetings in her office, which was more than big enough, but it got awkward trying to sit at her desk with the First Lady sitting in.

As everyone broke off to their various jobs, Annabeth followed Donna into her office and sat down neatly on the edge of her chair, looking like a pixie in squared-off glasses and a neatly pressed business suit. "Something's wrong with the First Lady," she announced without preamble.

Donna took her own seat and began looking through a pile of folders. Her own assistant, Jacelyn, still had a long way to go in terms of mastering index cards and post-it notes. "It's allergies," she agreed without looking up. "The White House doctor prescribed Claritin and silk flowers."

"That's not what I meant," Annabeth countered, "though my sinuses are already singing a tiny little hallelujah chorus about the flowers." She side-eyed the large bouquet on Donna's side table, one of dozens in the East Wing at any given time. "I think she's about to start a prison riot."

"Do what?" Donna looked up, furrowed her brow. "We're not going to any prisons, and we haven't got anything on our agenda." Her eyes widened a little. "You don't think she's going to want to go after sufferage for felons again, do you?"

Annabeth rolled her eyes. "There was a time," she told Donna, "long, long ago in the days when you got enough sleep, that you were able to understand figurative language."

Donna glared at her without any real anger. "That's a lie. I've never gotten enough sleep." She considered Annabeth's words a little harder, finally putting down the pile of folders. "You think she's feeling trapped in the White House," she surmised. "And that's what the little thing in staff today was about."

"I think she's ready to find herself a tin cup and start banging it against the windows," Annabeth said dryly. "And I don't really blame her. She had a life back in Houston. She had friends and she was on the PTA, and she probably had a book club or one of those groups where they pretend to sew or knit and just drink wine and gossip all evening. What's she got now? This place is just a big ol' white cage for the First Family, and she hasn't even got days at school or the weight of the free world to distract her. Not everyone's built for the monklike lives of austerity that staff members around here seem to prefer. Present company excepted," she added, tongue-in-cheek.

Donna flushed, her alabaster skin going pink all the way down her neck. "I wouldn't exactly call it monastic," she said with great delicacy.

"You had a hickey last week," Annabeth reminded her gleefully.

Donna gave Annabeth a slightly more pointed glare, but inwardly she was feeling rather pleased. Not just because of the hickey thing, which had been fun enough to make the embarrassment nearly worth it, but because Annabeth was joking about relationships again. Optics were Annabeth's stock in trade and she covered her emotions very well most of the time, but Donna had seen how undone she'd been after Leo's death. It hadn't taken too long to suss out why. At this point there was nothing to be said about whether a relationship would've been wise or appropriate, what did it even matter?

Annabeth was completely unwilling to talk about it, so all Donna had was her own speculation, but if she and Leo had been a thing, it couldn't have been for very long. That really didn't matter either, she supposed. She wondered, when she could bear to think about it, what she herself might have done if something had happened to Josh at the end of the campaign trail, back in late 1998. She'd have been devastated by the loss, of course, but not completely destroyed the way she would've been a few years later at Rosslyn, or any time after that. Today seemed like a good sign that maybe Annabeth was starting to bounce back. "Aren't we talking about the First Lady here?"

"She hasn't had many hickies lately," Annabeth commented, raising a quelling hand at Donna's sputter. "What I mean to say, she doesn't seem very satisfied on any level lately, and that's not usual for her. And you know what they say, if Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy. If the President's not happy, the entire country suffers. We have an obligation."

Donna massaged her temples delicately, suspecting she was about to have a headache. "I'm not sure there's anything we can do about the fact that her friends and her life are all back in Houston and this place is secured like a bunker most of the time. But at least she's got the trip coming up."

"Which will probably make things worse," Annabeth pointed out, swinging her legs idly off the edge of the desk. "She's just starting to get strung out now, craving her old life. Let her go to Houston and give her a quick hit of what she's missing, then send her back to the methadone clinic of blue-hair luncheons and boring fundraisers with professional brown-nosers, all she's going to be thinking about is what she doesn't have."

"I think you rode that metaphor way out of the pasture there, but I see what you mean." Donna replied dryly. "What do you suggest we do about it?"

"She needs friends here. People, ideally women, close to her own age, who she doesn't have to be so formal with all the time," Annabeth said decisively.

Donna cocked her head. "Are you suggesting we set up a playdate for the First Lady?"

"If by playdate you mean 'you and I take her a bottle of wine and try to remember to call her Helen for a couple of hours,' it's not a bad place to start," Annabeth offered. "I don't know about you, but I don't have any friends in DC who don't work here. And vetting anybody is going to be a serious hassle. At least if we can get her to open up a little, maybe we can find out some of what she'd like to do."

"That could work," Donna agreed, resting her chin on her fist thoughtfully. "The president is out of town Thursday night and the nanny's on duty. I'll ask her about it tomorrow and see if she's interested."

"DAR's Thurday lunch," Annabeth pointed out. "We might need a couple bottles."