Spoilers: Commencement,25, 7AWF83429, Dogs of War just to be safe
Feedback: Makes my day
Disclaimer: If it was in the show, it's not mine.
Summary: Donna makes a choice
Author's Note: For the “choice” challenge. As always, michellek gets the blame.
“I’m not in love with Josh.”
Amy’s head flies up, eyes wide behind her glasses, and you take almost a perverse pleasure in watching the colour drain from her cheeks. “Excuse me?” she says, a parry if ever there was one, and you feel a smile cross your lips as you step into her office, closing the heavy double doors behind you. Not that you’re worried about anyone overhearing you; the outer office is empty, everyone else having gone home for the night, relieved that Zoey’s been found, that President Bartlet is once more the President. Any work that needs to be done can wait until people have caught up on their sleep, and the whole West Wing is pretty much deserted, so too the East Wing.
You should be gone home too, but you have unfinished business to attend to.
You’re not sure why Amy’s still here, but you’re kinda glad she is, considering she’s your unfinished business.
“That night,” you say, making your way across the room, stopping on the other side of her desk. “We were in the bullpen… we were drinking beer… and you asked me if I was in love with Josh.” She pushes her chair back, stands so that your eyes are level. You expected that; it’s her way of trying to regain control of the situation, but you’re not about to let her wrest it from your grasp. “I never answered you,” you tell her, and she looks down, removing her glasses. The action dislodges a piece of haphazardly pinned up hair, and your fingers itch with the urge to push it back, or better yet, tug at the coiffure until it falls asunder, a raven river flowing through your fingers.
You check the urge though. There’ll be time enough for that later.
“And you’re doing that now?”
“You’re not in love with Josh?”
She doesn’t sound like she believes you. You don’t care. You know it’s the truth, so you say it again. “I’m not in love with Josh.”
Amy chuckles, looks down at her desk. “You’ll have to forgive me Donna,” she says. “But it’s not like you’ve given me much reason to think otherwise.”
She looks up at you when she’s finished speaking, and you’re sure you can see a hint of challenge in her eyes. It’s just what you expected, and you smile, walking around to the other side of the desk, trailing your fingers idly along the surface, as if inspecting for dust. The wood is cool and smooth against your fingers, anchoring you to reality in an unreal situation, because you can’t believe you’re about to do what you’re doing.
You know Washington gossip. You know that the entire Beltway has you in love with Josh, if not sleeping with him. You’ve just never bothered to correct it, because if people think that you’re looking at him, they’re not noticing where your true attentions lie, and it’s not on Josh Lyman. Rather, for the last year or so, it’s been the woman on his arm.
You used to be content with that, to just stand on the sidelines and look. But then Zoey got kidnapped and it made you realise that life is short, too short not to go after what you really want, and besides, you’re pretty sure you’re not imagining the vibe between the two of you. So tonight, after the insanity of the last few days had faded, you made your choice, to do something about it.
That’s why you’re here, standing in front of her, looking into her eyes, responding to her question. “No,” you tell her. “But I’m about to.”
With that, before you can stop yourself, before she can stop you, you lean forward, pressing your lips against hers. She freezes in place for a second, and you’re afraid that you read the signals wrong, that this isn’t what she wants, but then her mouth opens under yours and you feel her tongue touch yours and you sigh into the kiss. You deepen the kiss as her hands slide around your waist, and yours wander upwards, finding the clip in her hair, letting it loose, letting it tangle in your fingers. It’s as soft and silky as you could have dreamed, as soft as her touch on your hips when her fingers find their way under your shirt, making you gasp.
It’s that touch that makes you stop, because it lights a fire somewhere deep within you, and you know that if you don’t stop things now, you’re going to end up fucking her on the floor in her office, and that’s not how you want your first time to be. So you pull away, breathless, pleased at the flush you see on her cheeks, the need in her eyes. You’re even more pleased when she speaks, voice husky, hoarse with wanting. “Take me home,” she says.
Pulling her close again, you kiss her long and hard, before doing exactly as she asked.