Little Epiphanies

Rating: R

Summary: fights, flights, and make-up sex. This takes place at some point in the future and presumes that Donna has joined the Santos camp.

Notes: This was written as thanks to Anya.

Disclaimer: Only John Wells gets paid to write fanfic in Sorkin's universe – too bad he doesn't do it better.

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"I'm still mad at you, you know." He said it without preamble once they were airborn.

She met his eyes significantly and then turned her attention back to the magazine. Without looking up, she asked, "Are you mad because I was right, or are you mad that I corrected you?"

"You just have to make this about my being an idiot, don't you?" He sighed, and turned to look out the window.

"You're not an idiot, Josh." She said it under her breath and he wasn’t certain that he'd heard her.

"What did you say?" It was rare these days for her to compliment him.

"You're not an idiot. You just have an overwhelming need to be right in the face of all evidence to the contrary."

"I do not!"

"Josh . . ." Donna slid the magazine back into the seat pocket, and turned again to face him. "How long did it take you to talk about our future?"

"I didn't . . ." he protested

She looked at him again, significantly. "Exactly, you didn't."

He sighed and studied her face, wondering just where she was going with this. She remained, as ever, inscrutable and unreadable. "Donna . . ."

"We never did talk," she said, turning to face him as much as the narrow seat would allow. "You just kept acting like everything was the same and I was just taking a long vacation and one of these days I'd come back to you, like . . ." Her words – and the full force of meaning behind them hit him as surely as if she'd slapped him in the face.

"Donna, I didn't mean . . . I never thought. . ."

He reached for her hand, but she pulled away and turned from him. He heard her sigh and brush her hand over her face.

The Fasten Seat Belt sign went out just then, and she bolted from her seat to the lavatory.

Josh was barely a step behind her, and pushed his way into the tiny restroom with her before she had a chance to lock it. He paid no attention to the knowing, and somewhat disapproving look the stewardess gave him as he did so.

"Josh!" Donna took a step back and bumped up against the sink. She glared at him and placed her hands on her hips.

He reached behind himself to lock the bathroom door. "Let's talk."

"No!" She leaned further against the sink. "Josh, leave me alone."

He took a step back and held up his hands, trying to calm her. "Donna, please."

She sighed and relaxed slightly. "What?"

He licked his lips and looked around the tiny room – avoiding her impatient scrutiny. "What??" she asked again.

"You were right," he admitted. "I should've talked to you sooner. I'm sorry."

She ran a fingernail along the edge of the paper towel dispenser. "That's twice in one day."

"What do you mean?" He found the simple movement of her hands captivating.

"Twice in one day that you were wrong," she said, now tracing invisible patterns on the Formica.

"Ahhh," he chuckled softly. "I should've known."

He looked from her hands to the floor, and a heavy silence filled the room. He felt a trickle of sweat run between his shoulder blades. "I . . . I need you to know," he began, "I need you to know that I respect you."

"You respect me." She repeated the words passionlessly and somewhat confused.

He licked his lips again, and looked up at the ceiling in a search for words. "Why you left, what you did."

"You mean that?" She had pushed up to perch on the narrow countertop, her feet swinging.

"Yeah, Donna." He reached out to still her legs. "I mean it." His hand lingered there, and he continued talking. "I hated you for it," he admitted, and felt her stiffen, "but I didn't blame you."

The small room fell once more into silence, and he knew she was waiting for him to continue, to lay bare more of himself as she had already done. "Every time I saw you it was a reminder of what an ass I'd been – how much I'd taken you for granted. I didn't think you'd come back, but I used to hope you would . . . give me a second chance."

"I didn't come back for you," she said, unable to meet his eyes. "I came for the campaign; I don't work for you anymore."

"I know that." He studied her face carefully, trying to gain any potential insight to her.

"Do you?" she asked, and before he could answer, she added, "I'm my own woman, Josh."

The sentiment would've made him chuckle were it not uttered with such sincerity. Instead, he could only meet her eyes and tell her, "I know."

She licked her lips and looked at the ground, shyly, and he reached out to run a hand along her jaw. "You're still so beautiful."

"Josh, please," she whispered it against his hand, and he took it as an invitation to move in closer.

"So beautiful," he repeated, and ran his fingers down the nape of her neck, hovering over her pulse point, and marveling at how quick her heartbeat was, the way she kept licking her lips, how wide her pupils were.

She was her own woman, but she wanted this as much as he did.

"You're wearing your hair different," she commented, and fussed with the ends of it. "I like it better long and messy like this."

He kissed her then, or she kissed him. Looking back he would never be able to accurately say how it began. They moved together, deepening the kiss, slowly exploring one another's mouths. Her hair tickled his cheeks and he brushed it back, planting a soft kiss on each of her eyelids.

"I've missed you," he whispered against her cheek. "So much . . ."

He sat on the closed lid of the toilet, and pulled her down on top of him. "Josh!" she hissed, "What will they think?"

"Donna . . ." He grinned, and slid a hand under the hem of her blouse. "They already thought it when they saw me follow you in."

She tilted her head to the side as she considered the truth in that statement, and he took the opportunity to kiss her again. As she sighed into his open mouth, he began to tease her breast through the fabric of her bra.

He eased his hand underneath it, and began to roll her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. She stifled a groan, and began to nibble gently at his lower lip.

He shifted, and his erection pushed against his chinos. She reached for the zipper and freed it.

She stood to pull her thin cotton panties down, and then repositioned herself back on his lap. "Maybe . . ." he grunted, as she tried from another angle, "maybe . . . we should . . . stand."

"Hmmm. . . yeah . . ." she moved back to brace herself against the sink, and wrapped her legs around his waist.

He moved slowly inside her, ever aware of their surroundings, and ran a thumb over her clit to match his thrusts. She moaned against his shoulder still struggling to muffle any noises in the tiny, echoing confines of the room.

It was over soon – the furtive, hushed encounter – and yet to their mutual satisfaction. They were both flushed and breathing quickly.

As they came down from their climax, he kissed her again, slowly, with a note of apology – whether for the nature of their recent conjugation, or the earlier argument – he wasn't sure. "So . . ." he said as they broke apart.

"Sooo . . ." she echoed.

"That was . . ." he began.

"Nice," she concluded, picking up her panties and tucking them in her pocket. "Really nice."

"Yes," he agreed. "But next time . . ."

"Who said there would be a next time?" she asked, and reached for the door handle.

"Donna!" he stilled her hand, preventing an exit. "What do you mean?"

"I told you, Josh. I'm my own woman."

He could feel her hand shaking under his, and wondered just what it was that had led to the sudden shift in mood.

"And that means you can't be with me?" He pulled her hand back from the doorknob.

"I don't know, Josh!" She wrenched her hand away from him, and turned to face him. "This was great, but this doesn't fix everything."

He rubbed a hand over his eyes in frustration. "What do you want?"

"I want to know that this isn't just some way for you to somehow assert your control over me. That this isn't some alpha-male, marking his territory thing."

"Donna . . ." He sat back down. "You do realize that you're asking a man who just had sex to not act like a man who just had sex."

"This isn't a joke, Josh!" Her face had lost it's post-coital flush and was now pale.

He held up his hands in again, trying to calm her. "Okay, okay, I know." He sighed, searching for words as he seemed so often to be doing where she was concerned. "Donna, I just . . . where you're concerned, I do get a little 'alpha-male like.' I hate the idea that you might . . . you know . . . with anyone else."

She didn't say anything, and he kept talking trying, again, to fill the crushing silence. "I think it's always been about that – even when you were working for . . . working in my office. You did really good work, but . . . there was something else, and even though I couldn't have it, I wanted it."

She continued to watch him, expressionless, her back stiff. "You wanted it?"

He nodded with unquestioning sincerity. "Yeah. . . " He studied her face, as if memorizing every quirk, every color, and every angle. "Yeah, for a long time."

She shook her head. "You really are stupid."

He looked down at his feet. "Sometimes I think so." He noticed her watching him, and looked back up.

"You mean well, though," she admitted with a smile almost imperceptibly tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Thanks . . ." he leaned back, bumping into the flush button, the subsequent whoosh made them both giggle somewhat self-consciously.

"I guess that's our cue to leave," Donna noted.

"Yeah . . ." he felt awkward again, as though there was something still unfinished between them. "Why don't you go first?"

She balked at that idea, and he urged her forward again with a mad rush of his hands. "It's okay. None of them are going to remember you once we land."

He watched her leave, her skirt swishing against her hips. She was back, and he was determined that she wouldn't leave again.

After a moment, he, too, departed from the small room.

He had to crawl over her to get back to his seat, and squeezed her hand gently as he did so.

There was still something undone, something unsaid, and he needed to find a way to bridge it. "Do you have any plans for dinner?" he finally asked.

"I figured I'd see what the hotel offered – why?"

"Have it with me." He felt as if he were wearing his heart on his sleeve. "I thought we could . . . talk. . . about the future."

"That sounds like a good idea." She reached for his hand this time. "Thank you."

The fasten seat belt sign began to glow again and was accompanied by a ding.

"Ladies and gentleman," the flight attendant announced, "we are now beginning our decent to Cleveland. Please fasten your seatbelts and ensure that your seat backs and tray tables are in their lucked and upright positions."

Cleveland. He pulled his folder out to review the background on the city and the people with whom he'd be meeting. It was time to get back to business.

At the same time though, in the back of his mind, he was reviewing another plan of action. In both cases, he had a feeling this was going to become one of his favorite cities.

The End

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