Work Text:
It’s a Thursday lunchtime and they’re sitting in his office. Ten minutes have passed since she turned up unannounced, declared she was stopping by for lunch, pulled his visitor’s chair around to the side of his desk and plonked herself in it, angling herself so she’s facing both him and the window behind him. He has the desk the same way Leo had it, of course. The clouds are drifting lazily across the spring sunshine, casting the two of them alternately in light and shadow every minute or so but, and she would be the first to admit it if asked, the weather is not really the focus of her attention.
Another five minutes into their working lunch (his working, her lunch) he pauses, eyes lingering over a word on the page as he speaks so as not to lose his place in his Very Important Memo.
‘Donna,’ he mumbles without looking up.
‘What?’
‘I thought you said you would sit there quietly.’
‘I haven’t said a word, Joshua.’
‘I can feel you staring at me.’
‘Now at no point did I say I wouldn’t do that.’
‘It’s distracting.’
A pause.
‘Is it?’
‘Yes.’
‘OK.’
She tears her gaze away from his face somewhat mournfully, and stabs her fork into her salad, pouting slightly. He resumes his reading, head resting heavily in his left hand, elbow on his desk.
The only puncturing of the silence in the office in the next ten minutes is a pit stop from Sam to add an updated briefing paper to Josh’s pile before leaving with an only vaguely coherent mutter about going back to his office to start the next. Donna finishes her salad and puts the box on the edge of Josh’s desk.
She crosses her legs and tucks her loose hair back behind her ears. She reaches for a stray pen on the desk and examines the entirely unremarkable lid with extraordinary interest. She puts it down again, interlocks her fingers and folds her hands in her lap.
Josh glances across at her, not entirely oblivious and somewhat amused by her display, but refrains from commenting, wary as he is of the inevitable sharp retort. There’s no other word for her behaviour; she’s antsy. He smiles gently to himself, returning his focus back to the page in front of him.
She uncrosses her legs again and kicks off her shoes, tapping her toes against the carpet. It’s in her peripheral vision that she sees Josh’s head turn a fraction, eyes trained on the floor this time.
‘Donna.’
‘Joshua.’
‘Don’t you have work to do or… something?’
‘Strict East Wing policy of taking lunch breaks whenever the opportunities arise. We like our staff to have a healthy work-life balance. I have to lead by example.’
‘OK but you’re here distracting the Chief of Staff to the President from his work instead. That’s maybe not the best example.’
‘You should try for a work-life balance too.’
‘The only way I get to come home to you at night is if I get my work done in the day.’
‘Well, that hasn’t exactly happened much of late, has it? But I’m not stopping you from doing your work. I’m just sitting here, observing you.’
He catches her eye and stops short of speaking at the look in her eyes. He nods once and turns his gaze back to the memo directly in front of him, the one that he should have finished twenty minutes ago. Another minute or so passes before he feels her brush the edge of his thigh as she moves one foot from the floor to the edge of his chair, adjusting in her seat so she can comfortably put both feet in his lap. He freezes, eyes fluttering shut.
‘Donna.’
'Yes?'
‘You know exactly what you’re doing.’
‘I’m only speaking when spoken to. I’m sitting here quietly, as agreed when I showed up here.’
‘Your thoughts are getting increasingly loud.’
‘You normally like it when I get loud.’
He groans quietly, turning his head to look at her fully through lidded eyes, moving his free hand to press his thumb into the arch of one of her feet.
‘It’s not the long hours that are going to finish me off, it’s you,’ he whispers. She smirks, holding his gaze, but saying nothing. After a long moment she pulls her feet out of his grasp, slides them back into her heels and stands up, running her fingers through his hair and across his scalp, relishing in the shiver she elicits from him.
She feels his eyes follow her every move as she drags the chair back around, repositioning it on the opposite side of the desk from him. He stands abruptly and leans across the gap between them, pulling her closer to him by the lapel of her blazer, mouth hot against hers and free hand in her hair. She sighs contentedly, pressing her lips harder against his, bringing one hand to his jaw and the other to his chest.
It lasts only a few languid moments, the desk between them slightly awkward. The winding of her arms around his neck and his sudden urge to slip a hand under her jacket to pull her onto the desk (memo be damned) force him into recovering a sense of propriety about their current location, with two of its three doors still open, sooner than he would like. Reluctantly he pulls away from her, hand still fisted in her jacket. It takes her an extra beat to open her eyes, heart racing over the fact they get to do this now without consequences, and finds him smirking ever so slightly at her, upper hand regained. She recovers quickly enough to smack him in the arm before she turns for the door to the corridor.
‘See you tonight?’ he calls after her, voice laced with amusement.
She pauses, hand on the doorframe.
‘Get home before 8 and I’ll teach you a bit more about that work-life balance.’