Rating: PG-13 (one bad word -- used a couple of times)

Summary: On a late night, Josh works through the thoughts in his head.

Spoilers: State Dinner, The Fall's Gonna Kill You

Feedback: Please?

Archive: Just ask unless I've already said yes.

Notes: Well, I've been bit by the post-ep bug :)
This would not get out of my head, so, here is a short post-ep for
TFGKY and a mini-Quiet Time sequel all rolled into one. (Although,
I am still planning another sequel using the QT AU..)

***

He sits staring at his wall, willing himself to feel anything other
than what he does. He's mad at himself, mad at focusing on something
so entirely trivial in light of the serious situation at hand. He
shouldn't feel bad about this -- she's just his assistant, for god's
sake -- his under-educated, subordinate *assistant*.

He wonders when his mood turned so mean...he figures about six days
ago.

He tries to remember when keeping something from her began to feel
dishonest and shifty instead of just a normal boss/assistant
dynamic.

He knows she's out at her desk working on something. A year ago,
Donna would have been in here a half a dozen times already bugging
him about how late it was or even, in one of her more entertaining
moves, she had flown a paper airplane into his office before running
for the door.

When he had gotten it unfolded it had the words:

"Leaving now, deal with it..
PS: That's okay right?"

scribbled out in her near-illegible handwriting.

He stifles a smile at the memory.

He had called and left a message on her machine saying that is was
fine but that he expected her early -- with coffee for him --
in the morning.

Tonight she just sits out there waiting for him to leave. He finally
told her about the fax, about it's frequency and it's unimportance.
Happens all the time -- no one ever gets hit. Instead of
yelling at him or even glaring in that familiar way of hers she just
said, "was I amusing?"

When he answered that she was, Donna had replied "good" quietly and
turned on her heel.

That was two hours ago.

He gets up and walks quietly out to her. She has her back turned
and is staring intently at her computer screen, he recognizes a memo
on the tobacco suit. A year ago she would have been buying shorts
at gap.com.

He wants to joke about the satellite, to tug her into his office and
run his fingers through her hair, to pull her back against him and
loose himself in her as he's done so many times. He wants to make her
moan softly against him and pretend that she wants him to do more.

He definitely wants to touch more than her hair tonight.

The last time he had sex was over a year ago and it was strangely
parallel to his thoughts now. Except he hadn't been the
aggressor. Mandy had showed up at his place at 2:00 AM, after just
hearing that the FBI negotiator had taken a turn for the worse and
wasn't expected to make it.

She had showed up at his place and f***ed him. No pleasantries and
hardly any foreplay.

He had let it happen because he knew it wasn't about them, there was
no longer any 'them' at that point. It was about Mandy and her pain
and guilt and he had let her use him to forget about it for a while.
When he woke up she wasn't there and they had never talked about
it -- it was as if it had never happened.

It's not like it meant anything.

He's a guy, so he feels equipped to separate f***ing from sex from
making love but he's pretty sure the lines aren't so easy to
categorize or interchange for Donna. He would be disappointed
in her if she could accommodate him as easily as he accommodated
Mandy. He knows she's better than that, better than him -- she has
to be.

Besides, this time there's a 'them' in the equation and he knows
pounding into her while he's trying to hold off 'the fall' is not an
option. It would mean something even if he didn't want it to --
something that he doesn't have the energy or care to give right
now -- two elements that he knows this thing starting between them
deserves.

Instead, he walks quietly behind her and puts his hand gently on her
head, runs it down the length of her hair. He feels something pull
deep inside his chest at the fact she didn't jump at his touch --
she shouldn't be that trusting, the sudden feel of someone's hand
should have made her flinch.

"I saw your reflection in the monitor," Donna replies quietly, not
bothering to stop typing.

He sighs behind her and continues to touch her scalp lightly, amusing
himself with the symbolism of this new position. Instead of Donna
leaning back against his body, his hips are pressed into the hard,
impervious back of her chair. He finds the luck of being able to
weave the word impervious into his thoughts tonight even more
amusing.

"I can't tell you.." he starts.

"It's okay.."

"You'll find out soon.."

"It's bad isn't it?" She asks, removing her hands from the keyboard,
lacing them together, and resting them in her lap.

"It's definitely not good," he replies, running his fingertips along
her temple.

"Can I do anything to help you?"

"No, just let me do this.." he responds, winding his hands in her
hair so that he can't see them anymore.

"It feels nice," she says, leaning back slightly to his touch, glad
for the conversation, so she doesn't have to dwell on how 'off' this
really feels.

"That's ironic because I don't feel very nice right now.."

She doesn't say anything, just closes her eyes.

"I know I should be nice to you but instead I think about how I
shouldn't feel guilty that I can't tell you everything. How you're
just my assistant and I don't have to tell you the details
if for no other reason than just because I don't have the time."

"I'm not very nice either.." she starts, trying in vain to
lighten the mood.

He finds himself smiling ruefully, "you, Donnatella Moss, are nothing
but nice."

"Today, I had them put soy mayonnaise on your sandwich, I do that a
lot...is that nice?"

He laughs quietly before answering, "okay, so that's pretty mean.."

"Josh, the fact that you're even here talking to me proves that
you're nice."

He leans down, suddenly needing to disprove her statement, and
whispers in her ear, "would you let me f*** you if I told you it
would make me feel better?"

He was going to say 'have sex with'; at the last minute he used the
harsher phrasing, wanting to see how she'd react. Half hoping she'd
turn around and take a swing at him.

She swallows hard before answering, "no," she replies softly.

"Good," he answers, trying to use extra gentle hands to buffer
somewhat against his abrasive words.

"Would you let me?"

"Let you what?" he asks, taken aback from where he thinks she's
going with this.

"Would you let me...f*** you if I was hurting?"

"Probably," he answers sadly, "that's why you're the better person."

"Better or nicer?"

"Both."

Neither speaks for a few minutes -- he thinks about how he can even
begin to try to make this conversation up to her and she thinks
about what could possibly be about to happen to make everyone this
distraught.

"You should go home," he says, placing his hand on her shoulder and
giving what he hopes is a reassuring, apologetic squeeze.

"Are you going home?" she asks, as he steps back so she can spin her
chair around.

"Yes," he lies, meeting her eyes.

"I know it's not..the other thing, but I could give you a hug.."

Not waiting for permission, she tentatively molds her body against
his and wraps her arms around his waist. He hesitates for only a
second before wrapping his arms around her tightly.

"I'm sorry.." he starts, his voice dangerously close to cracking.

"I know, it's okay.."

"It's not really, but it's going to have to be -- I can't do
anything..."

She rubs her hands against his back in a comforting gesture as he
breathes her in, trying to drown all of the other thoughts in
his head with her scent.

"Donna?"

"Yeah?" She answers, not lifting her head from his shoulder.

"This is better...than the other thing."

"Yeah," she agrees, as she hangs on tightly.

***

The End.