the other fic that kept me up until 5:30 am the other night...
Told you 'West Wing' had eaten my brain.
Very short little future-fic of what I'd like to see happen with J/D.
An Interlude
Josh had not been having a good day.
He looked around his office, wondering how Leo had managed to do this for so many years without going crazy.
He’d been here for all of two weeks now and already he felt as if his office was practically a jail-although that may have had something to do with the endless meetings he’d had today. The President’s Council of Economic Advisors had met that morning after the Quick Sheet Briefing in the Sit Room. The economic advisors had made gloomy predictions of a recession in the next year and had taken a good half-hour of economic jargon to say what should have taken a couple minutes. There had been a coup d’etat in Liberia; the Sudanese government had authorized the murder of civilians in the first sign of state support for the genocide going on there; and there were foreboding rumblings of trouble with Iran.
To top all that off, the Legislative Affairs office had been in a mess all day today with the new Congress in session; one of the legislative liaisons had somehow managed to piss off the House Majority Leader who was now threatening to drop his support from the health care bill they were planning to propose in a few weeks (which had led to him treating Sam to a prolonged grumble about the lack of party loyalty in the world and in the Majority Leader in particular).
And, of course, because all that wasn’t enough, there was still the aftermath of the whole Kazakhstan mess to deal with.
All in all, Josh had been more than tempted at times to bang his head repeatedly against his desk.
So when there was a knock on his door, he looked up with a tired sigh. “What, Margaret?” he almost-snapped.
And then felt guilty at the look she gave him. He had asked her to stay on as his assistant since she knew how the CoS office should be run and he trusted her and she’d agreed after some thought and he was grateful.
“It’s Donna.”
Just her name brightened his mood.
He managed a half-smile. “Send her in. And thank you, Margaret.”
She nodded, her expression clearing, and in another minute, Donna came in, holding some paper bags.
He barely waited before Margaret tactfully closed the door of his office, before he’d stood up and closed his arms around her, closing his eyes as he breathed in the familiar scent of her shampoo. He could feel himself relax, the stress and tension from the day leaving him just from the comfort of her presence.
She hugged him back and then drew back to look at him, a half-teasing smile curving her lips. “Why, Mr. Lyman, I’m shocked. Whatever happened to your strict rule of no unprofessional behavior in the West Wing?”
As always, he felt his lips curve in response to her humor. God, he loved this woman. “I’m sorry. Have I offended you, Ms. Moss?” he asked, using her work name, although he kept his arms around her.
“No, I wouldn’t say I’m offended,” she responded, pretending to need to consider the question as she stepped back, sitting down on the couch.
“Very well, then, how can the White House Chief of Staff help the First Lady’s Chief of Staff today?” he asked in an exaggeratedly formal tone, deliberately using both their full titles, as he sat down beside her.
She laughed softly. “The First Lady’s Chief of Staff decided that the White House Chief of Staff needed to take a break and brought him some dinner.”
He perked up, looking at the paper bags. “You ordered food?”
She nodded. “Yes, I did. And it’s not Chinese take-out either.”
He managed a grin. “I knew I loved you for a reason.”
She gave him a knowing smile as she handed him a covered container which he opened to find his favorite pasta inside. “Here,” she said, handing him a fork.
He settled back into the couch, with a sigh of contentment this time, as she settled back as well.
“How was your day?” he asked her.
“It’s actually been quite pleasant. Yours?”
He grimaced. “Excruciating, unfortunately.”
She sobered, immediately understanding that this was why he had broken one of his own rules to greet her with a hug and why she had been able to sense the tension in him when she had come in. “I’m sorry. Anything I can help you with?”
“No, but thanks for asking.”
She returned his tired smile with one of her own as they finished eating in silence.
She was leaving, taking the remains of their meal with her, when she paused at his door to glance back at him, already back behind his desk about to return to the memo he’d been reading when she came in.
“What time do you think you’ll be home tonight?” she asked softly.
He looked up, glancing at the clock to see it was already past 8. “I’ll try to be home before midnight.”
She nodded. “Okay. I’ll see you later then.”
He smiled. “See you.”
And his smile still lingered on his lips as he picked up the memo he’d been reading on agriculture subsidies, amazed yet again at how replenished he felt just after a short visit from his wife. Just 20 minutes ago he’d been feeling about ready to put his fist through a wall; now he was feeling quite restored to his usual self and ready to face whatever the rest of the evening would hold.
He was, also, looking forward to getting home, back to his apartment, his bed-and his wife…
Very short little future-fic of what I'd like to see happen with J/D.
An Interlude
Josh had not been having a good day.
He looked around his office, wondering how Leo had managed to do this for so many years without going crazy.
He’d been here for all of two weeks now and already he felt as if his office was practically a jail-although that may have had something to do with the endless meetings he’d had today. The President’s Council of Economic Advisors had met that morning after the Quick Sheet Briefing in the Sit Room. The economic advisors had made gloomy predictions of a recession in the next year and had taken a good half-hour of economic jargon to say what should have taken a couple minutes. There had been a coup d’etat in Liberia; the Sudanese government had authorized the murder of civilians in the first sign of state support for the genocide going on there; and there were foreboding rumblings of trouble with Iran.
To top all that off, the Legislative Affairs office had been in a mess all day today with the new Congress in session; one of the legislative liaisons had somehow managed to piss off the House Majority Leader who was now threatening to drop his support from the health care bill they were planning to propose in a few weeks (which had led to him treating Sam to a prolonged grumble about the lack of party loyalty in the world and in the Majority Leader in particular).
And, of course, because all that wasn’t enough, there was still the aftermath of the whole Kazakhstan mess to deal with.
All in all, Josh had been more than tempted at times to bang his head repeatedly against his desk.
So when there was a knock on his door, he looked up with a tired sigh. “What, Margaret?” he almost-snapped.
And then felt guilty at the look she gave him. He had asked her to stay on as his assistant since she knew how the CoS office should be run and he trusted her and she’d agreed after some thought and he was grateful.
“It’s Donna.”
Just her name brightened his mood.
He managed a half-smile. “Send her in. And thank you, Margaret.”
She nodded, her expression clearing, and in another minute, Donna came in, holding some paper bags.
He barely waited before Margaret tactfully closed the door of his office, before he’d stood up and closed his arms around her, closing his eyes as he breathed in the familiar scent of her shampoo. He could feel himself relax, the stress and tension from the day leaving him just from the comfort of her presence.
She hugged him back and then drew back to look at him, a half-teasing smile curving her lips. “Why, Mr. Lyman, I’m shocked. Whatever happened to your strict rule of no unprofessional behavior in the West Wing?”
As always, he felt his lips curve in response to her humor. God, he loved this woman. “I’m sorry. Have I offended you, Ms. Moss?” he asked, using her work name, although he kept his arms around her.
“No, I wouldn’t say I’m offended,” she responded, pretending to need to consider the question as she stepped back, sitting down on the couch.
“Very well, then, how can the White House Chief of Staff help the First Lady’s Chief of Staff today?” he asked in an exaggeratedly formal tone, deliberately using both their full titles, as he sat down beside her.
She laughed softly. “The First Lady’s Chief of Staff decided that the White House Chief of Staff needed to take a break and brought him some dinner.”
He perked up, looking at the paper bags. “You ordered food?”
She nodded. “Yes, I did. And it’s not Chinese take-out either.”
He managed a grin. “I knew I loved you for a reason.”
She gave him a knowing smile as she handed him a covered container which he opened to find his favorite pasta inside. “Here,” she said, handing him a fork.
He settled back into the couch, with a sigh of contentment this time, as she settled back as well.
“How was your day?” he asked her.
“It’s actually been quite pleasant. Yours?”
He grimaced. “Excruciating, unfortunately.”
She sobered, immediately understanding that this was why he had broken one of his own rules to greet her with a hug and why she had been able to sense the tension in him when she had come in. “I’m sorry. Anything I can help you with?”
“No, but thanks for asking.”
She returned his tired smile with one of her own as they finished eating in silence.
She was leaving, taking the remains of their meal with her, when she paused at his door to glance back at him, already back behind his desk about to return to the memo he’d been reading when she came in.
“What time do you think you’ll be home tonight?” she asked softly.
He looked up, glancing at the clock to see it was already past 8. “I’ll try to be home before midnight.”
She nodded. “Okay. I’ll see you later then.”
He smiled. “See you.”
And his smile still lingered on his lips as he picked up the memo he’d been reading on agriculture subsidies, amazed yet again at how replenished he felt just after a short visit from his wife. Just 20 minutes ago he’d been feeling about ready to put his fist through a wall; now he was feeling quite restored to his usual self and ready to face whatever the rest of the evening would hold.
He was, also, looking forward to getting home, back to his apartment, his bed-and his wife…