Chapter Text
“If you were stranded on a deserted island and could choose any person in the world to be stranded with you, who would it be?” Annabeth asks before taking another sip of her drink.
Everyone takes a moment to consider the question, the ambient sounds of the bar filtering into the quiet of their table.
“I would choose the President,” Lou says. “Because I know they’re gonna send out a search party for him. I give it two days tops before they find us”
Otto answers next. “I’d go with Tom Hanks, he’s already gotten off a deserted island once.”
They continue around the circle, everyone sharing increasingly creative answers. Donna is doing her best to listen, but she’s just the right side of tipsy and Josh has his hand on her thigh beneath the table so her focus is wavering. He must be distracted too, because Sam has to say his name twice before he realizes it’s his turn.
“Donna,” he replies without hesitation, which simultaneously catches her by surprise and sets off a shower of fireworks in her chest. “She’s the smartest person I know, so if there’s anyone I trust to get me off the island it’s her. And if we don’t get off, I’m stranded with my favorite person.”
Beneath the table, she covers his hand with hers. It might be the alcohol, but she feels giddy with affection for him, the thrill of openly acknowledging their love for one another having yet to wear off. She hopes it never does.
“Man, you really are whipped,” Bram says while everyone else nods in agreement. Josh is unperturbed.
“Donna?” Annabeth asks. “What about you?”
Donna smiles and shrugs, an unspoken ditto. Everyone groans in disgust and she laughs, letting her head fall onto Josh’s shoulder.
Knowing that they won’t get a rise out of either of them, the group’s attention shifts away. Otto asks another question, a convoluted would you rather? that Donna doesn’t hear the second scenario for because Josh’s hand is sliding higher up her thigh.
“You wanna get outta here?” he murmurs, just loud enough for her.
She nods, the top of her head brushing against his jaw. That’s all the prompting he needs; he slides out of the booth, offering her his hand to help her to her feet.
“We’re gonna head out,” he announces, which is met with a mixture of wolf whistles and fake retching. Donna waves goodbye to everyone, knowing full well Annabeth will never let her hear the end of this come Monday morning.
Still she lets him lead her out of the bar, holding tight to his hand as he weaves them through the crowd. When he pushes open the door, she can’t help but feel a smug sense of satisfaction that everyone here knows she’s going home with her favorite person.