Disclaimer:
If they belonged to me, you think Josh and Donna would be in separate beds?Author's Notes:
Two songs inspired this sap. "For My Wedding" by Don Henley, and "Thank You For Loving Me" by Bon Jovi. Listen to them, you'll understand.Romantic
By Gayle F. Cox-Moffet
They never say anything when they want to dance together. At the society parties, it irks the hell out of people. Someone could be in a completely content conversation with one of them, and the other could walk over, slip their hand into the other's arm and lead towards the dance floor.
It irks the hell out of people, but no one says anything because it's so romantic. There's a heart-stopping beauty in the simple touch that starts their dancing. They don't even look each other in the eyes until they're dancing.
No one says anything, because the two of them aren't a couple, not in the formal sense of things. She's his assistant. He's the Deputy Chief of Staff. They're not supposed to be a couple.
They're so romantic.
When they do get on the floor, he holds her like porcelain. Firm enough to feel the smoothness of her skin, soft enough not to break her. He smiles at her, and the crowd who watches the dancing just knows those two are involved.
She smiles back at him and allows herself to hold him just a little closer. The hand on his shoulder slides up to his neck, and she lets her fingers stroke his neck just once. Anymore than that, and she would let it lead elsewhere.
They're so romantic.
He's talking to an ambassador, complimenting him on the medals on the sash. She is across the room on a cell phone, putting a call through for him.
"Donna!" His bellow surprises a few people, mostly persons who have never attended a party with Josh Lyman in a crowd. It sounds harsh, but to those who have attended parties with him, it is a reassurance to himself that she can hear him. If she can hear him, he can protect her.
"Yes, Josh?" She is quieter than him, and her voice sounds stand-offish to those who don't know them. There are people appalled at their lack of manners. She should be polite and professional. He should not be yelling. Neither of them notice the disapproving looks as she hands him the phone. As the conversation catches his attention, she straightens his tie, adjusts his lapels, and then pulls the phone from his hand when his voice gets an edge. "You'll have to pardon Mr. Lyman, he's in the middle of an important meeting." She shuts the phone.
He beams at her.
She beams at him.
They're so romantic.