Salieri to the world's Mozart

a gift of green

bexatious — Tue, 27 May 2014 06:37:46 GMT

Title: A Gift of Green
Rating: Child
A/N: A drabble for she in Canberra aboard the Farawyn ship, written by me with no knowledge of the world at all.

"Upon our return to Ithilien, if it pleases you, I shall plant a garden."

"For what purpose?"

"Need there be a purpose?"

"No. There need not."

"Then I implore, my wife, you grant me my desire."

"Do you intend to seek my permission for such simple matters?"

"I wish to consult with you in all I do. You are far wiser than I."

"Your respect, my Lord, flatters. I would seek to advise with grace and justice."

"And?"

"A garden would please."

"Then we shall have one. On the east slopes of Emyn Arnen where the morning sun rises golden."

on the amusement of perfection

bexatious — Fri, 23 May 2014 01:12:48 GMT

Title: On The Amusement of Perfection
Rating: YTeen
A/N: I am still going down with the Sherlolly ship but I quite like the Lestrolly boat sometimes.

She giggles, a half snort, half splutter. He thinks it's adorable, although why she's laughing when his hand is inching up her thigh he doesn't know.

"Stop it." He tries to sound cross.

"I can't!" she exclaims, smothering another snuffle. "Sorry."

"Are you ticklish?"

"No! At least I don't think so? No one's ever touched me like this before."

"Like what?" He feels confused but it doesn't stop his fingers from tracing patterns over her tights.

"Like you are. Your hand there."

"But you're not a virgin."

The grin on her face dissolves as a blush sweeps her cheeks. "No, I'm not. You know that."

"Then?" His hand meanders higher as he waits patiently for her answer.

She wrinkles her nose in thought. And then, amidst another uneven snort, chokes out an answer "I don't know. It feels different."

"How?" He stills his hand and leans in to brush his mouth over her neck. She tips her head back and he can feel the tremble of laughter in her throat.

"You're killing me here," he whispers against her soft skin.

"Sorry!" she gasps. "Sorry. It's just, well it's you. Touching me. There. You."

"Yes, it's me."

"And me."

"Yes. Greg and Molly."

"Right." A tiny smiles twitches at her lips and he leans in to kiss it, twisting his body to cover hers more fully. Her legs shift in response to his weight, allowing him to settle between the thighs he’s spent the last few minutes caressing.

He props his elbows on either side of her shoulders and tangles his fingers in the loose ends of her hair spread over the couch cushions. "So we're Greg and Molly, and that's funny to you."

She wrinkles her nose again and stares at him for a long silent moment. "No. It's different. You're different. You touching me is different than anyone else who's... well, you know."

"And that's funny?"

"No," she shakes her head slowly, and then smiles. "No, it's not funny. It's this... thing." She frowns lightly. "The thing we have. You know. Us."

"Us."

"You and I. Together. It's... you know." She takes a deep breath. "I mean, I think it's really good."

"Well, I wouldn't say really good," he teases, "but-"

"Hush," she commands, her hands pulling his head down so she can kiss him. She tastes of everything he needs. She tastes of Molly, perfect and warm and soft.

She breaks the kiss with a pleased sigh and stares up at him, eyes dark and brown. He loves those eyes. He loves her. And now he's going to say it aloud. For the first time. Ever. He takes a deep breath, opens his mouth and then... chickens out.

"Greg."

"Molly."

"Say it," she urges, but her voice is quiet and gentle. "Say it now."

"I'm too old for you," he sighs. "This is madness."

"We've had this conversation before. You're not. You're perfect."

"I'm-"

"I chose you," she says firmly. "I want you. I need-"

"I love you."

Her face fills with a bright grin, almost dazzling him. "Do you?"

"Yes, I do."

"Well." She continues to smile, her eyes now twinkling with delight, and possibly torturous teasing.

"Well?" He can't keep the questioning tone from his voice.

"Wellllllll," she drags out and then the smile vanishes from her face. "Thank you?"

He laughs. "You're driving me mental, woman."

"Am I?"

"Yes, and you're doing it on purpose!"

She presses her lips together to stop another smile, and he bends his head to kiss her so thoroughly and so firmly that he can barely hold himself aloft and his arms give way to send him crashing down upon her.

"Oof," she groans amidst laughter. "Maybe you are too old for me!"

"Told you," he insists, and then in a serious voice asks, "Are you okay?"

"Fine. I like this so much better." Their noses are almost touching, bodies pressed top to toe. "Although I might need some more air in a minute."

"Sorry." He rolls to the side, and she wiggles to make room for him to lie beside her on the sofa.

"Comfy?" she asks as her knee curls over his hip, pulling him firm against her again.

He nods. "You?"

"I feel very, very good."

"Me too." His throat feels like it's strangling him as she wiggles a little more and his body responds in the style of a much younger, much fitter man.

"Greg?"

"Molly."

"You're perfect," she whispers. "You're what I want."

He kisses the tip of her nose. "Yes, I know, you told me that. What you didn't say was-"

"I love you."

He lets out a whoosh of air and closes his eyes. "Maddening woman."

"I know."

He runs a hand over her hip and up her waist, pausing before it goes too high. "As your punishment I'm going to touch you in a lot more places than your thigh and you cannot laugh or I'll stop."

"I'll try not to."

"Good."

She bites her lip as his fingers brush the side of her breast. "Oh!"

"Molly."

"Don't stop."

"I won't."

Her laughter dissolves into contented sighs of pleasure as the moonlight streaming through the windowpanes dissolves into early morning rays of sunlight.

hold me tight

bexatious — Mon, 28 Apr 2014 01:06:22 GMT

Title: Hold Me Tight
Rating: Child
A/N: Short ficlet because Christine told me to write about squishy pillows, and Molly spoke to me.

"I was thinking about getting a friend for Toby," Molly says idly.

He looks down at the warm ball of fur in his lap, purring contentedly. "Another cat?"

"No, a fish. For him to watch. I think he gets bored sometimes." She runs her fingers over yet another rip in one of the sofa's cushions. "It might stop him shredding these."

"Fish aren't friends," he laughs. "But they are perfect cat food."

"Oh!" She thumps his shoulder with a gentle fist and exclaims, "Toby would never!"

"Yes he would. You'd come home one day to an empty tank and Toby sopping wet, looking pleased as punch."

"Then a hamster."

He laughs again at her optimistic expression. "Empty cage, pleased as punch."

"Noooo," she shakes her head. "How would he get into the cage?"

"Knock it over, headbutt the side, door pops open. Lunchtime."

"You're putting a lot of faith in my cat. He's not exactly the sharpest feline in the box."

He rubs Toby's head affectionately, setting off a fresh bout of purring. "Toby, don't listen to your Mum. You're the smartest cat I know. And the sweetest. Yes, you are. You are!"

"He's the only cat you know," Molly points out, repressing a laugh. "And even then it took you months before you even let him jump into your lap."

"Hey, I loved him from the start!"

"You did not!" she exclaims.

"Did too."

She punches his shoulder again, slightly harder, but still fairly pathetic. "I can't believe you're lying to me, Greg Lestrade. Why would you do that?"

"Because it makes you cranky," he grins. "And you're really pretty when you're cranky."

"Stop trying to sweet talk me."

"Why?"

"I don't like it."

"You do too. And it's working."

"Is not." She folds her arms and tries to glare at him but the frown keeps slipping from her face.

"Is."

"Not!"

He gently places Toby on the floor and is given reproachful cat eyes in return. "Sorry, mate. I've got someone else I need to pat."

"Oh!" she exclaims, with a laugh. "The nerve you-"

"Come here," he invites, but doesn't wait for an answer, pulling her closer until she leans against his side. "My lap is cold."

"You just chucked Toby away."

"To make room. He was just a substitute. Rather have you warm me up."

She presses her lips together to hide her smile. "I'll squash you."

"Come on," he pats his thigh. "I can take it."

"It?"

"You," he amends, his voice low. He walks his fingers up her arm and over her shoulder. "I can and will take you."

"You're so romantic." Her eyes are shining in the lamplight, and he feels his chest tighten with contentment when she finally gives him a huge grin.

"Ah, now I sense you're teasing me, Molly Hooper."

"Noooo." She shakes her head, her smile widening. "Never!"

"Come here," he requests again. His fingers slip into her hair and his other arm curls around her waist to drag her into his lap. "There. Better."

She closes her eyes, resting her head on his shoulder, and sighs against his neck. "You're very comfortable to sit on, you know."

"I know." He squeezes her tighter. "Molly?"

"Greg."

"I love you."

"I know. You tell me every night."

"Just want to make sure you don't forget." He kisses her forehead softly.

"Mmm. As long as you don't forget I love you too. Lips please."

He obliges, kissing her again and again as they snuggle down into the squashy, half cat-shredded sofa cushions.

Toby slinks off to warm himself in front of the fire.

tomorrow I'll miss you

bexatious — Fri, 14 Feb 2014 01:42:45 GMT

Title: Tomorrow, I'll Miss You
Rating: Child
A/N: My first Sherlock fic, starring Molly and Sherlock with a guest appearance by Graham Gavin Geoff Greg Lestrade. With love to Court for the beta.

"So you see when the sample turns that pale blue colour it indicates-"

"He doesn't understand," Sherlock singsongs from the workbench behind her. "Just give him the answer and he can go away."

"Now wait a minute, I do understand," Lestrade insists. "It means..." he looks sheepishly at Molly, "that..."

She smiles. "It's positive."

"Great! So the tosser was there at the scene."

"At least his clothes were."

"The clothes he was wearing when we picked him up."

"Guilty then?"

"CPS will try for a conviction based on this." He touches her arm and smiles broadly. "Thanks, Molly. You're always faster than our lab. Nicer too."

She shrugs. "It wasn't hard. It's just simple chemistry."

"Don't you have someone to charge, Lestrade?" Sherlock interrupts. "Or someone to arrest? You know, actual police work?"

"This is police work!"

"Standing around chatting with Molly isn't police work."

"You're right. As usual." Lestrade smiles again. "Although I shouldn't say that. Don't need a bigger ego, do you."

"Well-" Sherlock begins.

"Drinks again tonight, Molly?"

"Of course." She nods enthusiastically. "About seven?"

"Great!" He tips his head to her in a mock bow and she grins, then he raises his voice. "Bye, Sherlock."

"I thought you'd gone," Sherlock mutters, eyes pressed against a microscope.

"Apparently not," Lestrade shrugs. "Bye, Molly."

"Bye." She wriggles her fingers in parting then returns to her petri dish, poking the glass with a pipette.

The lab is silent for a few moments, just the sounds of gently whirring machines, then: "Do you drink every night?"

She looks up at Sherlock in surprise. "Sorry, what?"

"With him. Do you go out every night, drinking?"

"You make me sound like a lush," she laughs, then in response to his raised eyebrows, shakes her head. "Of course we don't. Just a few times a week."

"Spend a lot of time with him while I was dead?"

"Does it matter?"

"Nope. Why should it?" He clears his throat. "Do you have the control sample ready yet?"

"Yes." She leans across the bench to hand him a test tube and then focuses on her own experiment. She carefully adds acid to the dish one drop at a time, waiting for the colour to change-

"He likes you."

She looks up and frowns, confused. "What... who?"

"Lestrade."

"Of course he does, we're friends, Sherlock. Friends like-"

"No," he interrupts. "Not friends."

"Yes we are!" she insists, the frown deepening. "I am capable of having friends, you know."

"Well-"

"Human friends, not cats." She reaches for a new tube of acid and waves her spare hand dismissively at him. "Go back to your microscope."

"I didn't-"

"You were going to say it. We both know it." He's silent and she whips her head up again to glare at him. "What?"

"You like him too."

"Of course I do. He's nice, and kind, really funny, and he has never been dead."

"Unfair, Molly."

"Sorry, yes. Being dead has nothing to do with being nice does it?"

"You're in a bad mood," he states, matter-of-factly.

"Oh, you could tell."

"You're not that good at hiding emotions."

"Whereas you have no emo- sorry, that was unfair." She sighs. "You're really annoying, sometimes."

"Only sometimes?" He quirks a tiny smile.

She matches his smile with a much wider grin. "Mostly."

"But you do like him."

"Yes, I just told you that."

"No, Molly," Sherlock says with as much patience as he can muster. "You like him."

She stares at him and then rolls her eyes. "I do not."

"Let me count the ways."

She frowns again. "I'd really rather you didn't."

"Fine, then I'll tell you why he likes you. One, he always smiles when he talks to you. Two-"

"I'm not doing this with you."

"Two," Sherlock continues, "he always touches you, your arm, hand, shoulder."

"And that means he likes me?"

"Oh, it's a lot more than that. And you don't stop him."

"Just because you don't like being touched doesn't mean other people-"

"So you like it when he touches you."

"I didn't say that."

"Three, he's always asking you about your day, your cat, what you had for lunch, what you thought about whatever was on television last night which, mind you, is always rubbish."

"You certainly do pay a lot of attention to us," she observes, dryly. "Anyone would think you were jealous."

"Careful, Molly, your claws are out."

"I've had experience with horrible people."

"Stop it. It doesn't suit you."

She opens her mouth to reply then snaps it shut. "I don't want to talk about Greg."

"Greg?"

"Lestrade. Greg Lestrade."

"His name is Greg?" he sounds surprised and she rolls her eyes with irritation.

"You know very well it is and now you're being obnoxious."

"Thank you."

Molly grits her teeth. "It wasn't-"

"A compliment, yes, I did understand your intention there."

"Might I remind you I'm engaged."

"Means nothing." Sherlock waves a hand in the air. "Even being married means nothing."

"To you, maybe, not to me."

"I see." He stares pointedly at her. "Set a date yet?"

"Not yet."

"Why?"

Her face flushes. "We've been... there's, um... because."

"Because. The answer of those without imagination to lie."

"Oh!" she huffs. "Oh, OH JUST-"

"Yes?"

"Shut UP!" she exclaims. "Or leave my lab and work in your kitchen at home."

"Don't be silly."

"Leave." She folds her arms and glares at him. "Now!"

He dips his head in deference to her rage. "I apologise. And I thank you for the space you choose to share with me."

"And now you're mocking me."

"No. I am truly thankful." He flashes a small, quick smile as she sighs.

"Fine. Let's return to work and no more will be said about Greg and me."

"Good. That conversation was tediously dreary."

"You started it!"

"I was just making an observation. That's what I do."

"Then do it in your head next time," she pleads. "Don't... don't interfere."

"I won't. Love whomever you want to love, Molly. Marry whomever you want. Whether it be whatshisname in the coat, or the good Inspector."

"It's not going to be Greg."

"If you say so."

"I do say so," she insists. "I don't like him that way."

"Mmm, right. Except you do."

"Why?" she snaps angrily, "why do you say I like him? You were gone for two years. You don't know me anymore! You think you do but you don't!"

"Bored now!"

"There has to be a reason!" she presses. "Unless you're being you, trying to make trouble, trying to-"

"Your eyes light up when he's in the room, Molly. You smile when he talks to you."

"That proves nothing," she scoffs. "I just like being with him. He's a good friend."

"And you want more."

"That's not true!" she exclaims.

"You want more. You're either lying to yourself or you haven't realised it yet."

"How do you know it then?"

He pauses and then says quietly, "Because you look at him the way you used to look at me."

"What?" Her voice is strangled.

He doesn't look at her as he pulls the slide from the microscope and locks a new one into place.

"Sherlock?"

He fiddles with the dial, and leans in to peer into the eyepieces. "You heard me."

"Sherlock!"

"You have your answer."

"But-"

"Bored now," he mutters.

and that's just what she'll do

bexatious — Mon, 10 Feb 2014 01:10:37 GMT

Title: And That's Just What She'll Do
Rating: Child
A/N: First West Wing fic in years, although it's been simmering for almost as long. Donna and her thoughts.

It's nothing at all, really.

No huge fight, no screaming match like so many times before, no arguing about money or lack of time together or housework left uncompleted. All the things you're supposed to fight over when you're in a relationship. They've fought too many times and now there's an uneasy truce.

She doesn't think she's happy anymore. She isn't happy. Sometimes she thinks he's been cheating on her and she asks him in those stupid moments of paranoia but he laughs her off.

How could he cheat on her? He never has time – between his residency and his nights out with the boys. You're being stupid, Donna.

Sometimes she wonders why she's stuck it out this long but there isn't that much more to get through. Everything will be fine once he's done, and he can pick where he wants to practice and the money won't be such an issue.

Her feet hurt.

It's nothing big, really. She wants to watch Letterman. She wants to sit on the sofa with her feet soaking in a mixing bowl from the kitchen, filled with hot water and some of the lavender gel her mother gave her for Christmas.

She wants to sit down and not talk to anyone, not even him. She's too tired.

He won't let her change the channel. There's a game on, but it's not really a game, it's a rehash of a game played last week; a game he went to with his brother while she worked twelve hours straight at the diner.

The remote flies across the room as she tries again to ask if she might, possibly, just watch her show for a couple minutes because there's-

Jeez, Donna, let me finish this in peace. I have to be on shift soon.

She loves him. She thinks she does. She thought she did. How can she love someone who treats her like this. Only, it's not that bad, he's under a lot of pressure and…

She sighs.

Donna, come on, I don't ask for much!

She hasn't even dipped her toes into the fragrant water but the mood is spoiled and she takes the bowl back to the kitchen sink and drains away her attempt at relaxation.

She gets a soda and sits back on the sofa.

He looks at the can in her hand and then at her face, with a smile. She lets him take a sip, then another, then he's drained it and she's left with an inch for herself. He slings an arm around her shoulders.

You're so good to me, babe. What would I do without you.

She loves him, of course. He can be so sweet when he's not tired. She can't remember when he wasn't tired. She has to love him. He needs her.

She wonders what she would do without him. Who she is without someone to take care of. She likes to be needed. She wants to be loved. She doesn't want to be taken for granted.

He leaves for the hospital. He kisses her goodbye on the cheek. He does that every time he leaves the house. It's routine.

She doesn't remember the last time he stared into her eyes like she was the only thing in his universe and it was nothing without her.

She sits on their bed and stares at herself in the dresser mirror. This isn't who she is. This isn't who she wants to be. She sits for hours, still and staring. Her face doesn't look right.

She's smart. Capable. She can do anything. She can be good at anything she wants. She knows it. She doesn't exactly know what it is she wants but she knows, she knows it's not this.

She gathers what she needs and turns the lights off. The front door is locked behind her. The windshield of her car has iced over. It's winter and cold, and why is she doing this now?

She scrapes everything down and climbs in, adjusting the vents to blast the hot engine air onto her hands to defrost them.

The clock on the dash reads four in the morning. Not exactly a midnight flit, but dramatic enough that it makes her smile. She likes to smile.

She doesn't know where she's going but hasn't that always been her problem? She's packed enough to hold her over until she figures it out and she will to figure it out.

The road ahead is dark, spotted briefly with yellow streetlights. Everyone's asleep and she's not. She's doing a stupid thing. What the hell is she doing?

She grips the steering wheel tightly and takes a couple steady, calming breaths. She knows what she's doing. She rests a hand on the gearstick and shifts into first.

Her toes flex in her boots. She hums a little. Nancy Sinatra fills her mind, telling her to start walking.

She drives instead.

Just before nine she's already out of Wisconsin. She finds a branch of her bank and closes her account, withdrawing everything. She wants a clean break. It's her money. She calls her parents, leaving a message when the machine clicks on.

She drives east, towards the sun. New York. She can make it there, she thinks. Frank, in her head, agrees.

The local radio signals fade and crackle into silence the further she drives and she turns the knob to find something new. The hourly news update starts with a missing cat. Local news first in the little towns she passes through. Then region, state, country.

She doesn't take the interstate, instead she takes her time driving. She's in no hurry. She expects he'll have called her parents by now and they'll have relayed the message. The sun is directly overhead and she's starving.

A sign for a local diner looms in the distance and she pulls into the lot, stomping the ice off her boots as she hurries inside. She orders a full breakfast, and a gallon of much needed coffee.

It's small and cozy, and the windows are frosted over, and the waitresses greet the customers with a familiarity born of years on the job.

As much as it warms her heart to see such camaraderie, and as much as she was just like them not one day ago, it all seems so foreign now. That isn't who she is. She doesn't want to be there in twenty years time.

Her breakfast arrives, the heavenly smell of bacon making her stomach rumble. The waitress gives her a paper as well, calling her honey as she refills the empty mug.

She doesn't think about anything in particular. The food fills the emptiness inside her. Less hunger; more yearning for something. She reads the comics first, then the entertainment, then leafs back to the headlines.

Outside, snow starts tumbling down.

She might make a roundabout pit stop in Buffalo. Her college RA lives there, and they were such good friends, even though she'd only made it through the first year and a bit. But an open invitation had been offered when they'd parted company years ago.

The warmth of the diner, combined with the food, the lack of sleep and the road-weariness, settles upon her in a haze of exhaustion.

She drops a couple notes on the table for a tip, and then adds a couple more. Waiting on someone hand and foot deserves more than is ever given in return.

She hurries back to her car, dusted with fresh snow, and drives to the nearest gas station. While the tank fills, she purchases a map of the eastern states and plans the trip to Buffalo.

Deciding a logical approach is called for, she huddles in her car and carefully marks out a route over the pages, then checks the index for interesting tourist sites along the way. If she's going to have a roadtrip, she might as well enjoy it, despite it being February and below freezing.

She throws her car into gear and splutters back onto the road. The radio crackles in and out of range and she twirls the dial until a clear station can be heard. A man is outlining his views on education. He's forceful and emphatic in the gentlest way she ever thought possible. She likes the sound of his voice.

Her skin tingles as she listens. He believes what he says. She likes what he says. She wants to believe it's possible.

The speech lasts only another minute and she learns his name. She knows where he is. What he's planning to do.

She pulls her car off the road and consults her map. Redraws her route. She feels good about this. She feels like she can help. She wants to help.

She smiles and hums a little as she jams her foot on the gas and speeds towards New Hampshire.

It's nothing at all, really. Just a little bit of hope.

locked

bexatious — Sun, 03 Feb 2013 22:55:16 GMT

This journal is friends locked. (I would say SHER-locked but I'm not that ridiculous. Dumbest code ever.) Fics are unlocked.

New people: comment why you think we should be friends. Please note that if I don't know you, or there is no one to vouch for you, you're not getting into my thoughts.

If you're already on my friends list, no need to comment. You're staying there. Mostly.

tacos and stars

bexatious — Mon, 02 Feb 2009 00:12:21 GMT

Title: Tacos And Stars
Rating: YTeen
A/N: First thing I've properly written in months. Fluff. Christine made it better.

"Hello? DONNA?"

"Kitchen!" floats back the reply and he dumps his backpack by the front door and jogs through the hall to the kitchen at the back of the townhouse to find her wrist deep in a bowl of raw meat.

"Hello there," he grins and drops a kiss on her upturned cheek.

"Hi. Did you remember the shells?"

He holds up a plastic bag and grins again. "Yup!"

Donna returns his smile. "Soft or hard?"

"You asked for both; I got you both," he replies, pulling out two separate packages.

"You're a prince among men."

"There are many who'll agree with that statement," he confirms. "Although I'm not sure Emilio would be part of that majority tomorrow."

Donna sighs. "You didn't steal them from his kitchen again?"

"This is the first time I've taken taco shells from him!"

"And if you'd remembered to buy them when you went to the store the other day then you wouldn't have to have resorted to sneaking into the White House kitchen under the cover of darkness tonight!"

"You didn't put it on the list!" he exclaims, grinning at her exasperated expression. "I can't be responsible for forgetting items that I know nothing about."

Donna rolls her eyes. "Fine. I accept responsibility for failing to list taco shells on the grocery list." She pulls stray meat bits from her fingers and goes to wash her hands.

"And I accept responsibility for the petty thievery," Josh acknowledges. "Teamwork."

"I like it," she smiles, before adding sternly,. "Remember to replace them on Monday."

"Put it on the list!"

"Hold on." Donna dries her hands on a dishcloth and then grabs Josh's hand, pulling him over to the fridge. "Taco shells," she says slowly as she writes the words on the back of his hand with the Sharpie, normally reserved for writing the list on the magnetized notepad stuck on the fridge door. "There."

He rolls his eyes. "Thanks for washing your hands before you touched me."

"No problem." She kisses his palm. "Now you won't forget. You're on topping duty. Wash your hands first."

"Right." Josh shrugs off his jacket and rolls up his sleeves. He quickly scrubs his hands under the facet and pulls a chopping board from the cabinet over her head."The usual?"

"Of course. Be careful with the cheese this time. Grated skin isn't so appetizing," she teases. "But if you do manage to slice something off, I'll make it up to you."

"Like what?" he teases back. "Something naughty?"

"You'll have to wait and see. Dinner first."

"Mmm," he drops a quick kiss on the back of her neck as she dodges him on the way to the stove. "I can't wait."

"Get off me," she scolds. "I'm starving and you were late." She fires up the burner and dumps a pan on top to heat up.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"How was the meeting? Problems?"

Josh sighs, "Nothing at all! Same old updates. Troop movements. Interceptions. Sat imagery."

"Peacetime can be so boring," she quips, then points to the bag of vegetables he's removing from the crisper. "Make sure you wash everything, darlin'."

"Thank you, I do believe I've made taco fixin's before, Paula."

"Southern lovin' not to your taste?"

"I prefer Northern lovin'." He grabs her waist on the way back from the sink with the dripping tomatoes. "Especially your kind."

"You're getting me wet," she complains after he finishes kissing her, and then laughs at his pleased expression. "The tomatoes, big boy."

"Sorry." He slings them back onto the counter and then wraps her in his arms again for another kiss. "Better?"

"Mmm, much, except my pan is smoking now."

"Damn, I'm good."

"For the meat!" she exclaims, wriggling from his grip. "Crazy, crazy man."

He laughs again and returns to his assigned vegetable task while she unwraps the tacos shells and places them in the oven to warm up. "I missed you today."

"I missed you too," she admits. "I can't believe neither of us had five minutes free for even a phone call. When did Fridays become so busy?"

"When the world got more complicated."

"It's peacetime!" she exclaims, smashing the ground meat into the pan where it sizzles quickly. "It's summer and it's pretty peaceful out there – as peaceful as it can be, that is. We averted the Russian-Chinese conflict pretty damn well, and everyone else in the world is behaving themselves for once."

"Yeah," he admits. "But who knows how long they're all going to sit on their hands."

"True."

"We're going to try to make the meeting sooner in the day though," he adds. "And if not, at least make it shorter. Since it's so quiet right now, the President doesn't need to attend so we can run though things pretty quickly every night."

"You still have to be there, though?"

"Well, yeah, but it'll be faster without the many, many questions and what ifs."

"I want a President that asks what ifs!" she exclaims.

"We can knock off twenty minutes without him."

"Do it," she encourages, and then sighs heavily, poking at the meat in the pan with a wooden spoon. "There are never enough hours anymore."

"Were there ever enough hours?"

"We're leaders of the free world! Let's just change the length of the day," she suggests.

"I'll get right on that," he nods. He scoops the pile of tomatoes into one of the bowls she'd already laid out for him. "Tomatoes done."

Donna looks over from the stove to inspect his handiwork. "That's good."

"Lettuce next."

"Cheese, sour cream," she ticks off her fingers. "I'll open the beans."

"Thank you, I believe I know what we have on Taco Night."

"Just trying to help!"

"I love when you help."

"I know you do."

He turns back to the lettuce, tearing it into smaller shreds. "Well, I need your help on something."

"Sure." She sets the burner to low, letting the meat cook slowly, and leans against the counter next to him. "What's up?"

"Well, it's a little... I know how much you love to offer you opinion on–"

"I do not!" she slaps his arm lightly and he raises his eyebrows. "Fine."

"So... I have this friend–"

"Who?" she interrupts.

"Uh... Bob."

She cocks her head in query. "Um... okay. Bob who? Wait, are you talking about Toby?"

"Uh... no, this is a different Bob," Josh corrects her. "You don't know this one."

"How do you know who I know?" Donna chides. "I know a lot of people! Oh, I'm done!" she rescues the pan from the burner and dumps the steaming meat into a bowl then stirs in the refried beans.

"I just... look, do you want me to continue or not? I can ask elsewhere."

"I want to know who we're talking about," she defends herself. "Because if I don't know who it is how can I be sure I'm giving my best opinion?"

"His name is Bob Smith."

Donna looks at him and frowns thoughtfully. "Well the only Bob Smith I know is the Senator from Oregon. Is it him?"

"No. Forget about his last name. It's not important."

"Okay, okay, Smith is a fake name, fine, I can live with that. Bob–no–last–name needs... what?"

Josh finishes with the lettuce and starts the cheese under her hawk–like gaze. "He needs help."

Donna expression changes from gleeful curiosity to grave concern. "Is Bob okay?" She lowers her voice, "Is he sick?"

"Bob is fine."

"Oh, good."

"Everyone is fine," he assures her, and hands her the finished bowl of grated cheddar. "Look, no knuckles!"

"You're a star."

Josh indicates the bowl of cooked meat. "Are you ready?"

"Done," she confirms and in practised tandem, they finish preparing their newly established weekly taco dinner, laying the table with the bowls of beans and meat, cheese, tomatoes, lettuce and sour cream, then pull out chairs and tuck in.

"So..." Donna begins, after wrapping her soft taco shell like a burrito and taking a huge bite.

"So?"

"Bob!" She takes another bite and chews quickly. "Let's talk about Bob who I don't know but who wants helps from me anyway."

"It's me who needs the help," Josh corrects her. "Bob needs help from me, but I hit a brick wall and so I'm asking you, since you're so clever, for advice on the matter."

"I am clever."

"I just said you were."

"And I'm agreeing with you." She shrugs and pops the last chunk of food in her mouth.

Josh crunches down on his dinner, chews thoughtfully and then swallows with a smile. "Which is why I'm asking for your help, oh Great One."

"Go for it." Donna starts piling another soft shell with meat. "So Bob needs help but Bob's not in trouble, right?" Josh nods. "And he's not sick either?"

"Right," he pauses. "But Bob is seeing this woman."

"Ohhh," Donna nods, "she's in trouble."

"No!" he exclaims. "Let me finish a sentence, will you?"

"You know that's never going to happen, unless you tell me everything."

"I can tell you as much as I can... tell you, if you'll just shut up for once."

Donna nods. "Shutting up." She zips a finger across her lips and mimes throwing away the invisible key.

"Why can't it be that simple all the time," he grumbles in mock irritation and she frowns, but with a twinkle in her eye. "Yeah, I'm going to pay for that." He finishes his last bite and loads another one. "Okay, Bob. Bob is seeing a woman. She's not in any trouble at all. Both of them are in perfect health, nothing bad is happening. Got it?"

Donna nods silently.

"Bob does, however, have a problem which is very easy to solve, but it's giving him somewhat of a headache it seems." She nods again and he continues. "Bob wants to ask this woman to marry him."

"Oh!" Donna exclaims. "That's–" At his annoyed glare she finishes instead with "– sorry, shutting up again."

"Thank you. Bob doesn't, however, know quite exactly... how to do it. He wants to make it perfect for her but he's afraid of screwing it up big time." Josh takes a fresh bite of his new taco, the hard shell crumbling under his teeth. He chews for a moment, swallows then continues again. "Bob has asked me to help him plan the perfect proposal, something that'll make her fall over from... uh, romantic–like... shock."

Donna's eyes widen and she nods eagerly.

"You may talk now since I think you're about to–"

"He asked you?" she bursts out with a laugh. "Really?"

"Yes! What's wrong with that?"

"Well, you're not exactly known for–"

"For what?" he snaps irritably.

"Well," she wrinkles her nose. "I mean..."

"I can't do romantic?" he sighs. "Yeah, I know."

"Oh, precious, of course you can." Donna drops her taco and pats his hand reassuringly. "You've done a pretty good job with me so far." He brightens slightly, until she adds, "Once you got your head out of your ass, that is."

"Oh, thanks. You just love insulting me."

"It comes from my heart, truly it does." She smiles. "But, seriously, why did he ask you for help?"

Josh shrugs. "I guess if he doesn't think I'm romantic, then he thinks I'm clever enough to plan something awesome."

"You are pretty awesome," she agrees.

"I know. But all jokes and insults aside... I know I'm not that good at this kind of thing as you've so sweetly pointed out, which is why I'm asking for your help."

"To plan a proposal for Bob–No–Last–Name, and Soon–To–Be–Mrs–Bob–No–Last–Name."

"Right."

"Sure..." she ponders thoughtfully, "I could help, but I'd need to know more information about the happy couple... Well, I assume they're happy if he's planning marriage."

"They're definitely happy," Josh declares. "I can guarantee it."

"So it's a strong relationship, unless, of course, he's afraid to lose her which is why he rushing to tie her down."

"Nope, no, that's definitely not it. He's been thinking about this for a long time."

"Well he might have been thinking about it, but who's to say she has been?" Donna argues. "Maybe for her this is just–"

"No," Josh says firmly. "Trust me on this."

"I do trust you, but if you'd tell me who they are maybe I could decide for myself!" she exclaims, standing up and stacking the empty toppings bowls. "Are you done?"

"Yes. Don't be mad at me." He helps cart the remains of the used dishes to the sink.

"I'm not mad at you."

"I can't tell you," he repeats.

"Okay, I won't ask again. But we're partners, Josh, and we should share things."

"I do share with you, Donna, just not this."

"Who ate the last of the Chunky Monkey?" she challenges.

"It wasn't me!" he exclaims.

"There was half a tub left the other night," Donna insists. "I looked in the freezer earlier this evening and it was mysteriously gone." She waves her fingers in the air. "Just like that!"

Josh shrugs. "Ice cream thief. Probably the same person who stole the rest of the Cherry Garcia, too." He stares at her challengingly.

"Ah. Yes, well that'd be about right," she nods, crossing her arms and staring back at him. "I guess we have a problem."

"You know, I didn't realize there was an epidemic of ice cream banditry in these here parts."

"It's an established organization," Donna explains.

"Oh I know," he agrees. "In fact, we were discussing it tonight in the Sit Room. Something needs to be done. It's getting way out of control."

Donna starts laughing. "Then they better start here."

"We're first on the list of protectees," he assures her.

"Guess we should padlock the freezer, although I'm sure the gang would get pretty desperate if they couldn't access their midnight snack."

Josh nods, "Who knows what could happen at 3am."

"Perhaps we should get a couple Secret Services guys to watch the place the next time we're in stock?" she suggests. "Set a trap for them."

Josh holds up the hand not marked with her previous grocery note. "Put a couple tubs on the list and I'll set it up."

Donna grabs the Sharpie from beside the fridge again and obliges, scribbling 'Ice Cream' on the back of his offered hand. "Done. Good thing it's a permanent marker, otherwise it'll wash off when you rinse the dishes."

"You're always thinking ahead. I like that," he admires, running the faucet to rinse the dishes. "Although I guess there's nothing for dessert?"

"You should have appropriated something along with the taco shells."

"You're endorsing my petty thievery now?"

"Of course. A girl needs ice cream. But I believe we have some pudding in the fridge."

"Excellent idea," he endorses. "Dishes, then pudding?"

"Dishes, then Bob–talk with the pudding."

"Right, that is the topic du jour," he agrees and begins to stack the dishwasher.

"Poor, pathetic Bob," Donna muses.

"He's not that pathetic!"

"Maybe not, but if Bob's unable to propose to his girlfriend without help..." She trails off and raises her eyebrows at him.

Josh frowns. "He not unable, Donna, he just wants to make it perfect for her. He wants to blow her away. He wants it to be... something so special that's she'll never forget it."

Donna smiles. "Most women don't forget proposals, Josh, no matter how bad."

"Yeah, well, he wants it to be something she'll remember in a positive way," he corrects. "So she can look back and not be disappointed for the rest of her life."

"So she'll have a great story to tell her children and grandchildren?" Josh pauses in his dish stacking, and then looks up at Donna, who smiles gently. "That's right... right?"

He nods after another pause. "Exactly."

Donna bounces up to perch on the edge of the countertop next to the sink. "So tell me something, then. Bob is sure he wants to spend the rest of his life with this woman?"

"Bob is absolutely positive. This is the one for Bob."

She smiles. "I think I can help you then."

"Bob. You're helping Bob."

"I can help Bob. Has he got any ideas so far?"

"He's got a few. I wrote them down." Josh starts the dishwasher then wipes his hands on a cloth and pulls a few scraps of paper from his pants pocket. "Here."

He leans against the counter next to her as she shuffles through the papers, and then raises her eyebrows. "Flowers and chocolate?"

Josh nods. "The standard, right?"

"Oh, no, bubby," Donna says gently, "not for a marriage proposal. Flowers and chocolate are when you have to say sorry for something stupid you've done."

"Not always! It could work."

"Let me ask you something, Josh. Why did you last buy me flowers and chocolates?"

"It was... oh."

"And they might work for someone's birthday, butnot the someone he's about to be married to."

"Right. So... no flowers?"

Donna rubs his shoulder soothingly to alleviate the disappointed look on his face. "Not on their own. Not when you're asking someone to marry you. Scratch it, unless it's attached to something bigger."

"See, this is good, this is helping now," he says gratefully. "We can do this."

"It would help if I knew more about this woman, Josh. What if you told him to propose to her in a hot air balloon and it turns out she's afraid of heights?"

"She's not."

Donna shrugs. "I don't know that!"

"I do!"

"So you're going to yay or nay my suggestions if you don't think it'll work? You get final say?"

"Well... yes."

"How do you know her so well?" she asks suspiciously. "And I don't know either of them?"

Josh sighs heavily. "You don't know who I know," he replies, repeating her own, earlier, claim. "Bob told me some stuff and I'm just going to hit him with a bunch of ideas and he'll choose the best one for him and... her."

"Are you going to take all the credit?"

"No, nooo, everything I say will be with your approval."

"So if he gets it wrong, then I'm to blame?"

"Something like that." Josh runs his hand over her knee and she slaps him gently away. "Fine. I'll take full responsibility if it's wrong, but you can have all the credit if it's right?"

"Deal!" They shake on it and then she starts shuffling through his scraps of paper again. "Hmm, okay, I've got some things that might work."

"Great!"

"But you have to do all the housework for a week," she bargains.

"Fine!"

"That was very quick there, Josh. You must be desperate to help him."

"Somewhat," Josh agrees. "He's floundering."

"Nix the flowers and chocolate unless they're part of something bigger, like I said."

"Done."

"Does she like grand, showy displays of affection?" Donna asks.

"Uh..." Josh screws up his face for a second and then shrugs. "You know... I think it would depend on the display? Give me an example."

"Marine Corps Band serenading her in front of hundreds of witnesses?"

"Yeah," Josh says, somewhat faintly. "That's an... idea."

"Should I put it on the list?"

"Uh... sure."

"Great! Pass me the grocery pad on the fridge door please; I don't think you'll have enough body parts for the ideas I'm going to come up with."

"Okay." Josh obliges and she scribbles a couple sentences on a fresh sheet of paper.

"Then again..." she sucks the top of the Sharpie thoughtfully.

"What?"

"What if he proposes in front of hundreds of people and she turns him down? Pretty embarrassing blow to his ego."

"She won't say no," he says confidently.

Donna raises her eyebrows. "You know this for sure?"

"Certain," he nods. "I mean, Bob is certain. She's going to say yes."

"How does he know?"

"He knows."

Donna stares at him for a moment and then shrugs. "Okay, Marine Corps is a good way to go. Very romantic. He could have them play Pachelbel or something." She thinks again. "Bit clichéd, though."

"Which one's that?" he asks and Donna hums a few bars until he nods in recognition. "Ah, yes, that one."

"You know, we're making a good start though!" she says happily.

"Thank you for this."

"No problem." She smiles down at him. "I do like the hot air balloon if she's not afraid of heights. It would be really romantic, flying up there."

"You're sure?"

"He could rent a balloon, take a sightseeing tour of the city from above, champagne, caviar, the whole works!"

"When does he ask her to marry him?"

"Oh, whenever he wants," Donna says, waving her hand dismissively. "But before they land, though, otherwise the ambience is gone, obviously."

"Obviously."

"But there'll also be the Pilot up there with them. Unless Bob can steer a hundred foot canvas ball of gas and fire by himself?"

"I... don't think that's something he's able to do. But if you think it's a good idea?"

"I should write it down for him," Donna decides. "I like it."

"Great, go for it."

"Unless Bob is worried about the expense? Those things are never cheap."

"He's not worried about that," Josh shakes his head. "He just wants to know if she'll like it."

Donna shrugs. "It's up to him to decide. We're just giving him ideas."

"Right."

She flips the page and makes the note. "Hmm... oh! Skywriter!"

"A skywriter?"

"Yeah! He could hire a skywriter to spell out 'Will you marry me?'. It's summertime – assuming he's going to propose soon, that is – so he could take her on a picnic and at the right time, tell her to look up."

Josh nods, considering the idea. "Picnic and a skywriter?"

"I think it's sweet," Donna coos. "It's grandiose but no one will know if she turns him down unless the plane writes her full name."

"She's not turning him down."

"You know best."

"I do," he smiles. "About this, anyway, before you jump in and correct me."

"Smug," she smiles back.

"Ah, you love me that way."

"I'm a masochist that way." Donna indicates the counter where he'd chopped his way through the dinner preparations. "You never wiped that."

"My bad," he apologizes, running a sponge under the faucet before rectifying his error. "Anything else, my lady?"

"Thanks for making me a part of the process. Table too," she points.

"I appreciate your input in all things." He finishes up, drops the sponge back in the sink and washes his hands again. "I'm done, except for that part under your butt."

She laughs and says challengingly, "Move me then!"

"If you insist." He steps in front of her and scoops his hands under her thighs, pulling her up and off the counter.

"Hey there," she wraps her legs around his waist to steady herself and teases, "you're pretty strong for an old guy."

"I've had a lot of practice lifting heavy things lately," he waggles his eyebrow at her and she grins and bends her head forward, kissing him long and hard.

"You know you're going to pay for that remark," she observes when she takes a breath, resting her forehead on his.

"Oh, I know."

"I love you," she whispers in his ear.

"You better or I'll drop you."

She kisses him again, pressing herself firmly against him, wrapping her arms around his neck to steady herself. "Mmm," she murmurs into his mouth. "Maybe we should forget about Bob for tonight and do other things."

Reluctantly he pulls his face away from hers. "I really need to get this done."

"You sure? You're giving up sex with me for Bob?"

"Who said anything about giving up? Let's deal with Bob now and then deal with other things later."

"Deal with having sex?"

"You know what I mean."

She stares at him for a moment. "This must be pretty important to both you and Bob that it can't wait a day or two."

Josh shrugs and readjusts his grip to keep from dropping her. "It's not that, Donna. I just... it just needs to be done. It's time for him. It's the rest of his life and it has to be as soon as possible I think."

"And it has to be perfect for him, right?"

"Perfect for her."

"Especially for her."

"Well then I need pudding to think. Fridge please!" she commands and he waddles them over to the fridge where she awkwardly retrieves two cups of chocolate pudding over his shoulder, then kicks the door shut with her toes.

"Spoons!"

"At your service, as always."

"You're the best, have I ever told you that?"

"Not enough," he responds. "Say it again."

"Best!" She gives him a fast kiss, and after another awkward juggling act with the cutlery drawer, she directs him through the small sunroom at the rear of their townhouse to open the door to the back yard.

"Okay, I'm not going to make it down these steps without some sort of mishap to one or both of us; holding you is so much easier when there's a wall behind you," he comments.

"That's because there's movement," Donna argues as she slips out of his arms and back onto the floor. "And not a lot of time to complain about how heavy I obviously am."

"Yup... and I'm paying for that too?"

"I'll let you off the hook if you get the notepad." She holds up the cups of chocolate pudding and the spoons. "Not easy to juggle dessert and marriage proposals."

"Got it." He turns and jogs back to the kitchen for the notepad and Sharpie left beside the sink.

"And a throw! The one from the sofa!" she calls out so he makes a detour to the living room to snatch the large throw from the back of the sofa before joining her at the back door again.

"Hey, do you know what else we need?" she asks cheerfully.

"I'm sure you're about to tell me."

"Come on." She motions him down the steps and onto the grass, and then turns around to face the house. "We need a deck of some sort. Right here. We can move these steps forward a bit, and have a little deck right outside the door."

"We've been living here for a month and you're already ready to renovate?"

"Just thinking of the future," she shrugs. "Like Bob. I like to plan ahead, you know."

"For what?" he follows her to the only piece of furniture, a single chaise, positioned partway down the yard.

Donna shrugs again as they squash together on the small seat. "Who knows. Life, Josh."

"Life wants a deck on our townhouse?"

"Yes, it does." She settles herself against the backrest of the chaise, swinging her feet up off the grass. "Then we could have this chair and a couple more up there and the yard can be for... whatever other things that life needs room for."

Josh smiles as he stretches out beside her, tucking the throw around their legs and over their laps. "I think... that I like that idea."

"Something to... maybe talk about once we square away Bob," she suggests slowly and he nods.

"I'm not opposed to that conversation." His confirmation produces a smile from her in the dusky light and she nudges her hip against his.

"Here, swap you." She hands him his pudding cup and one of the spoons and he passes over the notepad and Sharpie.

"Dessert and then let's talk about Bob."

"Deal," he agrees and they both slurp down the chocolate pudding, cuddling together under the throw as the sky darkens to almost black and the temperature begins to drop.

"That was good," Donna comments, as she sucks the last bit from her spoon and drops it and the empty cup onto the grass. She sighs in contentment. "I love this time of the night."

"When everything's done for the day," he adds.

"When it's just you and me and silence."

"There's never been silence with us," he laughs softly. "I think we'd die if we stopped making noise."

She elbows him. "You know what I mean."

"I do."

"I love you."

"I love you," Josh says quietly and slides his arm around her shoulders as they lie back to stare up at the sky. "Are you happy?"

"Always. You think Bob and his woman are happy?" She picks up his free hand with hers and links their fingers together.

"Yes."

"You think they're going to last?"

Josh nods. "Yes."

"I'm happy for them."

"Me too."

"Let's make them happy forever." She drops his hand and picks up the notepad. "Although now I think it's too dark to see what I'm writing."

"Cell phone?" he asks, shoving his hand beneath the blanket and wriggling it around before emerging holding the phone retrieved from his pocket.

"My hero."

"Always," he smiles and holds it upside down over the notepad so she can see. "You will decipher those chicken scratches for me, right?"

"Shush, I'm deep in thought," she chides.

"Do you need the light while you're thinking?"

"Not so much, no."

"Thanks for telling me." He drops it on his lap and rests the side of his head against hers.

"I'll need it eventually."

"You'll get it eventually. What are you thinking about?"

"Shh."

"Okay." He runs his free hand up and down her arm, stroking her skin lightly.

"Potomac?"

"What?"

"Bob's in D.C., right? He could rent a rowboat and have a romantic picnic lunch on the river."

"No. Bob would fall in," Josh says quickly. "I'm sure of it. Bob is most definitely not a boatman."

"Okay, scratch that. Picnic in the one of the National Parks around here? Sun filtering though the trees, babbling stream nearby, birds twittering? Red and white checkered blanket, wicker basket filled with deliciously expensive food?"

"Bob is not an outdoorsman."

"So this is about what Bob wants and not what Bob's woman wants?"

"No, but if he's not comfortable in the situation, then it's not really going to be a good proposal, is it?" Josh counters. "It needs to be right for him as well and if he's in the middle of the woods I think that he's going to be too concerned about bears to be able to propose."

"Oh my!" Donna exclaims. "And lions and tigers too?"

"Don't insult Bob," he grumbles. "What did Bob ever do to you?"

"I'm sorry," she apologizes. "Yes, he should be happy with the set-up as well, you're right about that."

"Sometimes," he agrees. "Scratch the woods."

"Done." Donna strikes out the last note in the pad.

"You seem pretty eager to have some sort of picnic–like proposal, though."

"She might like picnics."

Josh nods. "Well, she does like to eat."

"Because food is always good. Oh! What about an expensive restaurant? Put the ring in the chocolate pudding."

"Do you like that idea?"

"Well it's been done before but it could work. As long as he's not concerned with one of the waiters running off with it. Or her accidentally choking on it."

"That wouldn't be a good start to their life together."

"Well, I'm at a loss right now." Donna touches his hand. "Will you tell me about her so I can figure out the best thing for her? Please?"

"I've told you all I can," he sighs. "Honestly, Donna, this is the best I can do. Please just trust me on this."

"What would he do for her?"

"Bob?"

"Yes. Who else are we talking about?" she laughs. "Is there a limit on how far he'd go?"

Josh pauses and then shakes his head. "No, there's no limit."

"Would he die for her?"

"Yes."

"Would he... kill for her?"

"Yes."

"Romantic," Donna muses. "Even though I apparently have no idea who he is you seem know him pretty well. You didn't even have to think about it."

"I believe he'd give her the moon if she asked."

"He must love her very much."

"More than he thought possible."

"Wow," she comments softly. "Does she know he loves her that much?"

He squeezes her shoulders tightly, drawing her closer against his chest. "Yes. She knows."

"They're pretty lucky to have found each other then. It's not easy, you know."

Josh laughs. "Oh, I know." He kisses the top of her head and she sighs happily, then cuddles against him in silence as the temperature drops.

Eventually she says, "He could buy her a star."

"A star in the sky?"

"Yes. Buy her a star and name it after her. That way she'll be around for eternity."

"Until it burns out."

"Nope, those things are billions of miles away, you know that. Even if it does go supernova, her light will shine for millennia."

"That's very prosaic," Josh laughs.

"Also, romantic. If he puts it just like that to her. 'My love for you will go on like the light from your star'!"

"You like that idea?"

"It has its merits."

"Which one should he pick for her?"

"Well... I don't know about her, but I like that one there." She raises her arm and points upwards.

"Where?"

"There!" She tucks her head under his chin and guides his outstretched finger upwards to a tiny, barely visible spot of light in the black sky. "That's the one."

"Why that one?" he asks and she makes a noncommittal–like noise.

"It speaks to me, I guess."

"What does it say?"

"You're mocking me."

"I would nev– okay, but not this time." She stays silent and he leans over to kiss her softly. "Promise. Tell me."

"That one is the last one to appear at night, when it's truly night, like right now. And it's the first one to disappear in the morning. But I know it's still always there."

"When did you get so enamored with heavenly bodies?"

"When someone I knew was given a telescope, asked me to study the sky with him so he has some impressive information at hand, and then lost all interest once he stopped seeing the woman who was so generous."

"Aha, I knew you were jealous!" he exclaims. "I knew it."

"Hardly," Donna laughs. "Jealous of the telescope, maybe, but not her. I knew it wouldn't last."

"I was busy running the country," he defends himself. "I didn't have time for relationships or telescopes."

"Don't ever use that excuse with me," she laughs. "Or I swear I'll kick your ass so far down the Beltway that–"

"I won't."

She smiles. "I know you won't."

"Then why the threat?"

"Keeping you on your toes." She smiles wider. "I feel pretty secure in your commitment to me."

"I admire your confidence."

"Do I have a reason not to be?" She shifts her head from beneath his chin to look up at his face in the moonlight. "Tell me the truth."

"Donna Moss, number one," he whispers with a smile, then leans down and kiss her softly. "Promise."

She smiles back and re–tucks her head under his chin. "I've had a lot of time to stare at this particular sky the past few years without too much to do at night."

"You have things to do now," he teases, and rubs his cheek against the top of her head.

"I still love my star. Bob's woman can't have it."

"I'll make a note of that."

"Oh! I have another genius idea!" she exclaims. "What about a poem? 'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day.' Can he write?"

"He can draft policy. He hasn't had much practice with sonnets."

"He could crib from the Bard if not literature–ally gifted."

"Literature–ally?"

"Do you have point there?"

"No. But I doubt he can pen something up to Shakespearean standards."

"Strike off a poem then. What about music?"

"You're lovely, with your smile so warm..." he singsongs softly.

"Exactly."

"And your cheeks so soft..." He rubs a finger across her chin.

"That's not my cheek," she laughs.

"There is nothing for me but to love you," he continues. "And the way you look tonight."

He falls silent and Donna sighs with pleasure. "Yeah, she might like that."

"If he sings her another man's words? Wouldn't she like something better if it came from his own heart?" he wonders and she shakes her head.

"If he wanted something to come from the heart then he wouldn't be asking someone else to help him."

"I guess. So that song isn't too clichéd?"

"Oh no," she says quickly. "It's painfully clichéd. It would do the trick sometimes, I think."

"But it's not really good enough on its own for a proposal?"

"No, but sometimes he could whisper stuff like that in her ear when she's not expecting it. Out of the blue, for no reason at all, other than he loves her and wants to make her smile. I'm sure she'd like that."

"I'll make a note for him."

"As clichéd as that song is now, Sinatra did have a good way with words."

"He was quite the ladies' man."

"Is Bob a ladies' man?"

"Bob is definitely not a ladies' man," Josh denies.

"He likes to think he is?" she presses.

"No. Bob knows the score now. He sucks."

"Just like you, then."

"Yeah," he sighs heavily. "Bob is just like me."

"Don't be so hard on him, Josh. I'm sure Bob has quite a few women eager for a shot with him if this girl turns him down."

"You are?" Josh splutters.

"What are you getting so excited for?" Donna laughs. "You have no chance with anyone else!"

"Hey, I'm not that bad."

"No, you're not," she reassures him, shifting her body to cuddle even more tightly against him under the throw. "How about this?" She hums softly, "Just remember, Darling, all the while..."

"That's not Sinatra."

"Nope, Ol' Blue Eyes never sang that. Dean Martin did, though."

"Keeping it in the Pack?"

"I'm keeping you in my pack," Donna says firmly, "Because I'm not done with you yet." She tilts her head up to kiss him possessively and he responds enthusiastically, matching her desire with his own.

"Damn, you're good at that," he gasps, when she eventually breaks away, breathing just as heavily as him.

"I know," she murmurs. "But so are you. Oh, tell Bob not to propose during sex, okay?"

"That's bad?"

"Very. Not during and not immediately before – not after either. He needs to steer clear of sex related proposals. Everyone wants to know how someone proposes after the fact and that's never a good story to tell – especially to the kids," Donna laughs, finally catching her breath. "Your Dad proposed to me while we were doing it."

"That could scar them for life," he agrees, laughing with her. "I don't think it's something anyone wants to hear."

"Definitely a no–no."

"I'm with you there." He squeezes her tightly again, pulling the throw further up their bodies and they fall silent again; the leaves of the trees at the bottom of the yard rustling in the breeze and their combined breathing the only sounds.

"It's such a beautiful night," Donna eventually says. "I'm almost comfortable enough that I could fall asleep right here." She curls her body against his, tucking her head under his chin.

"I like that idea," Josh says softly.

"Sleep in tomorrow," she yawns and tiredly rubs her hand over his chest. "I love it when we have a weekend off at the same time."

"Me too."

"We should make the most of it."

"Breakfast with the papers in bed. Pajamas all day?" he suggests. "Ignore the phones for a few hours?"

"You read my mind. But don't forget a bit of fun thrown in there too."

"Oh, goes without saying," he agrees. "Lots of fun for both of us."

She nuzzles her head under his chin and lightly strokes his chest with her fingers. "I think he should ask her when he wants to."

"What?"

"Bob," Donna clarifies. "He should just ask her when it feels right. It doesn't have to be big, you know. Or expensive."

"You mean when he looks at her and realizes that he has to ask her to spend the rest of her life with him, right at that moment?"

"Yeah. When he looks down at her and thinks now. Now is the time. Now is right for us."

"Right now?"

"Yeah." She tips her head back again to look up at him. "Now."

"What if he doesn't have the ring with him when he's looking at her, thinking that?"

"Has he bought one yet?"

"No."

"Good. She's going to want to pick it out herself."

"You're sure? That's not really–"

"She wants to pick it out with him."

"Okay, I'll pass that information along to him with the rest of your notes."

"Oh." Donna looks down at the notepad resting on top of the blanket. "Do you need me to type them up?"

"No, I got the gist." Josh shakes his head. "I think he'll be fine with what I suggest."

"Oh, well, glad I could help then," she says quietly.

"Thank you."

"No problem." She waves it off and adds, "Glad to do it."

"You said that."

"Yeah, well..." she trails off.

"I really appreciate it," he insists.

"Good. Listen, Josh, I like the last idea," she says firmly and then stares up at him again. "I really think he needs to do that one. No mess, no fuss. Everything is quiet and still and it's just the two of them and he knows it's the right time and so he picks up her hand, looks deep into her eyes and says–"

"Will you marry me?"

"Yes. Just like that."

"Will you marry me?" he repeats.

"Yes."

"No, I'm asking–"

"And I'm answering," she interrupts. "Yes. I. Will."

"Really?"

"Although you forgot to take my hand," she complains, but with a huge smile on her face, and he smiles back and links his fingers through hers resting their joined hands on his chest.

"It's also a little too dark for the deep eye stare," he adds. "Even with the moon out."

"I'm sure you know where my eyes are," she says encouragingly and he bends his head to lightly kiss one eyelid, then the other. "Mmm, very nice."

"This is okay? Should I have gotten down on one knee?" he asks worriedly. "It might–"

"If I wanted you to do that I would have said so," she reassures him. "This was perfect."

"Really?"

"Really," she says firmly. "Kiss me."

"Your wish..." He obeys, kissing her long and deep, cradling her face with both his hands as she rolls fully on top of him.

"Mmm, also very nice," she whispers against his mouth when they break apart.

"You knew, didn't you?" he asks.

Donna slides her fingers through his hair and kisses him again, before admitting, "I knew."

"When?"

"Bob," she murmurs, a hint of laughter in her voice.

"It's a good codename!" he exclaims.

She props herself up on his chest. "Maybe."

"Damn."

"Maybe I just know you too well."

"Damn," he repeats and runs his hands up her back and to her neck to pull her back down for another kiss . "I'm never going to get away with anything."

She smiles. "But isn't it better that way?"

"Better for you, maybe... okay I guess it's not so bad," he concedes.

"Bob." She laughs for real now, loudly and full of joy.

He watches her laugh, so beautiful and happy, and he wraps his arms tightly around her, keeping her pressed against him. "I love you so much," he says when her laughter finally subsides into a few helpless giggles. "You're–"

"Yes?"

"Amazing," he finishes. "Truly outstanding."

"So are you," she replies, and then bumps her hips against his. "Come on; let's do those things we talked about earlier."

"What happened to no proposals right before sex?" he reminds her. "You were very clear on that point."

"You asked me to marry you under the stars. That's perfect for me, perfect for whatever kids or grandkids we may end up having down the road, and for everyone else in our lives who desperately want to know the details of how it happened."

"Works for me," he agrees.

"This part of the evening will be our secret," Donna laughs, and proceeds to pull the throw over their heads to get down to business, trying hard not to draw attention to themselves in the moonlight with too much noise.