#professional distance

[seaaitchgetalife]

Research Log #001 - Current research staff

Status: somehow making progress

Personnel File: Tony

• Has reached the point where every scientific breakthrough comes with an emotional crisis.

• Coffee counts as a food group.

• Accidentally became everyone’s supervisor.

• Claims he is “not emotionally invested.” (no one believes him)

Personnel File: Thor

• Believes every problem can be solved with optimism…or food …or introducing two people who would “get along wonderfully.”

→ Disturbingly successful.

• Somehow remembers history nobody bothered writing down.

Personnel File: Loki

• Collects knowledge the way dragons collect gold.

• Can identify a historical artifact from across the room.

• Will absolutely explain ancient symbolism if someone asks nicely enough.

→ Pretends he didn’t enjoy doing so.

• Refuses to admit that research is more fun when someone keeps asking questions.

[ahumanfemale]

Professional Distance - V

Summary:  Donna tortures Dean.  

Author:  (A)HumanFemale

Pairing:  Dean Winchester x Donna Hanscum

Warnings:  Smutty language, smutty thoughts.  

Notes:  Donna’s messages are in italics and Dean’s are in bold italics.  

Don’t know what’s going on?  Catch up here:

Part I 

Part II 

Part III

Part IV

Professional Distance

V

When the sun rose the next day, Dean woke up with the itch of anticipation under his skin.  It was palpable in every breath he took and every thought in his head.  It was perfect and it was torture.  Euphoria and sweet agony, twined around every thought until he couldn’t distinguish them anymore.

Donna was coming back today.

Euphoria.

They had a date.

Ecstasy.

He wouldn’t see her until that night.

Agony.

The day crawled by at a snail’s pace, the sinking sun teasing him as the afternoon wore on.  He tried to work, tried to think, but it wouldn’t happen.  His brain wasn’t capable of processing anything other than Donna’s face behind his eyes and the memory of her skin under his fingers.  The knowledge that he would see her in a few hours only made the anticipation worse until it was all he could do to keep from running out of his office and across the city to her hotel.  He’d run through the halls, screaming her name until he found her room and she had no choice but to let him in.  It was a good way to get a restraining order but he couldn't help but entertain the thought.

Finally his alarm went off, telling him it was time to go home and get ready.

Dean had laid out his suit that morning, pressing the wrinkles out of the deep black fabric and starching his white shirt.  His best black tie was set aside.  He’d stopped just short of picking every individual piece of lint off the damn thing, but only just.  The nervous energy made him very detail-oriented, apparently.  Now, he smoothed the jacket down and looked in the mirror for the dozenth time in the last half hour.  It fit him the same as it always did, tight across his shoulders but otherwise fine.  His hair had smoothed into place evenly and he’d shaved, trying very hard to look like someone who belonged with Donna.  He’d even gone so far as to dress in neutral black, not knowing what she was wearing and not wanting to clash with her.  Even if he hadn’t quite realized his motivations, subconsciously he wanted it too look like they belonged together.

He was ready too soon, he realized with a groan when he was ready and putting on his watch.  He wouldn’t have to leave for another hour.  Sighing and loosening his tie, Dean headed to the kitchen.  He’d drink a beer, eat some leftovers.  Pretend this wouldn’t be the longest damn hour of his life, dragging on and on until he felt like screaming.  Luckily the beer was cold and smooth on his tongue, sliding easily down his throat.  It settled warm in his stomach and he sighed again, this time in satisfaction.  He tossed a tupperware container in the microwave and took another long pull from the bottle.  

Only fifty-three minutes left to go.

The microwave dinged to let him know his food was edible and at his phone beeped simultaneously, his inbox letting him know that a new message had popped up.  Faced with very little else to do, he opened his email to find that the new message was from Donna.  He frowned first in confusion, then in concern that she was cancelling, only to find that it was a work email.  The message contained the next three chapters in the saga of Chloe and Dan.  

Dean pored over it, reading in between bites of leftover lasagna.  Chloe and Dan managed to kill the wendigo and make it out of the forest, although only barely.  Chloe was sporting some cracked ribs and Dan was spiking a fever, weak enough now that Chloe was almost carrying him down the trail.  She was able to radio for help as they got closer to civilization, the ambulance meeting them at the entrance to the forest just as she was ready to collapse.  They both got loaded up and taken in, Dan jokingly telling her not to run off before the pain pills kicked in and he passed out.

Chloe stayed.

Even after they taped up her ribs and she was cleared to leave, even after she learned that Dan would be fine, she stayed.  

This was a new MO for Chloe, who prided herself on her ability to avoid attachments.  She had her dad and her sister - everyone else was optional.  Except, suddenly, for Dan.  For Dan she stayed in that waiting room and worried herself sick, imagining the swollen and angry red edges of the wound as the EMTs ripped his shirt apart to treat him.  

A nurse came out and asked for her, shaking Chloe out of her brooding and down to something deeper than bone.  Maybe to her soul.  She hadn’t realized how scared she was that she might not see him again until the moment it was a possibility.  

“Detective Ransom?”

She nodded.  “That’s me.”

Ahem.  Sort of.

“He wants you.”

The words struck her completely mute.  She realized that the nurse meant he wanted to see her, but Chloe had been scared philosophical and she felt the burn of tears behind her eyes.  

“Do you need a minute?” the nurse asked, clearly making an effort to be accommodating.  In reality, she had a whole other wing of patients to worry about and mopping Chloe up off the waiting room floor was not a priority.  

“I’m good,” Chloe said, easing her sore torso up out of the chair.  “Lead the way.”

He wasn’t in the ICU, which she considered a good sign.  She was led to his room and then abandoned as the nurse took off for the next room, the next tower of paperwork.  Fine by her.  Dan was staring out the window, watching the sun as it sank behind dark storm clouds building on the horizon.  The light filtered through as a dark, bloody red that splashed over the floor and the blanket on his bed.  A reminder of what could have happened.  It made bile rise up in Chloe’s throat even as she studied him, appreciating the strong jaw and the half-week of beard growth.  He was gorgeous.  And smart.  And kind.  And resourceful.  Maybe even perfect, even if her logical brain balked at the word.

The nurse’s words rang in her ears.

He wants you.

She wanted him, too.

Finally Dan noticed her there and turned to face her with a big dopey grin, taking ten years off his face while still making those wrinkles at the corners of his eyes appear.  Damn him.  This wasn’t supposed to happen.  Chloe was supposed to show up, kill the monster, and leave.  Maybe have a few laughs and a roll in the hay if a pretty face was in the area.  She wasn’t supposed to let herself get tied into a knot over some park ranger, even one with glittering emerald eyes and a voice that made every cell in her body hum.  

He was going to hurt her.

“Hey, detective,” he greeted, speech slurred by morphine, and patted the bed next to him.  “Come sit with me.”

And goddamn it, she was going to let him.  

Dean closed the document and looked at the wall in front of him, his dinner forgotten next to him.  His beer sat neglected on the counter.

This was the closest he’d gotten to a window into Donna’s thoughts, he realized.  

She was a master of deflection, avoiding topics like Doug with ease.  A bright smile and a quick shift of the conversation was all it took to put the unpleasantness in the rearview mirror.  She may have narrated her adventures with Jody and opinions on bobby pins, may have confessed to having thoughts about him that made his heart race, but she’d never told him much more than that.  Certainly had never hinted on what all this was about, even with Chloe and Dan racing inevitably toward each other.

Now he knew.  

Now he knew that she was just as torn up over him as he was over her.  Dean could relate - he craved her like sunlight, like air, even as he held himself back from initiating anything for fear of rejection.  It might have killed him, he realized now, and she must be feeling something close to that if Chloe’s inner dialogue was to be trusted.  He knew now that Donna was opening herself up to him, to whatever it was they were cultivating between them.  Even after a divorce, even after being hurt.  

She was giving him a chance.

And goddamn it, he was going to take it.

-- X --

Donna’s release party was in one of the big executive’s penthouses, an entire two floors perched atop a skyscraper in the densest part of the city.  Deciding against taking the chance that someone would scratch Baby in a public parking lot, Dean called for a cab and anxiously kept an eye on his phone the entire ride.  He’d started a new message roughly a dozen times, only to erase it and groan in frustration.  Even now he stared at his phone, willing himself to find the perfect words to convince her that she was safe with him.

She was perfect.

He wouldn’t hurt her.

She drove him crazy.

He wanted her so much that it was a physical presence in his veins, incinerating him with every beat of his heart.

As always, Donna beat him to the punch.  Her message popped up a block from the party, simple and somehow managing to convey every bit of her anxiety.  He could feel her tensing up from his place in the cab, worrying about speaking in front of people and then worrying about how personal she’d gotten with Chloe and Dan.

You still gonna make it?

Dean sent his reply and tucked the phone into his breast pocket, hoping he’d said enough to put her at ease.

Wouldn’t miss this for the world.

The cab dropped him off and the doorman checked his name against the guest list, letting him in with a smile and a general encouragement to have a nice time.  Dean smiled in thanks and headed for the elevator, pleased when it was occupied with people he knew.  Making polite small talk spared him from getting himself worked up over this going well.  It was all he could do to keep his head in the conversation instead of wondering where Donna would be when they got to the penthouse.  Would she be mingling?  Would she be waiting for him at the elevator?  Would she be cornered by another agent, pitching the newest movie deal?

The elevator opened and they all exited, greeted by catering staff with pressed white shirts and slim flutes of champagne.  Dean turned his down, wishing instead for another beer.  Hell, maybe whiskey. His eyes scanned the party, looking for Donna and coming up empty.  She was probably hyperventilating in a spare bedroom.  The thought made him grimace.  He wanted to help if she was nervous, which she almost certainly was.  He kept half of his attention on his phone in case she needed him, doing his best to stay at the edges of the crowd to keep a better eye out for her.

She didn’t show.

He didn’t catch a hint of her blonde hair or the fabric of her undoubtedly bright dress against the dark formal wear everyone else had donned.  Her bubbly laughter never rose above the murmur of the crowd or the faint beat of the music.  Dean circled the main room one more time, exchanged words with a few people he knew, and made his way back to the kitchen to peek inside.  The food was all vampire-themed to match Chloe’s latest baddie and while he was interested in the fang-marked cupcakes, they weren’t what he was looking for.  His mind turned traitor, suggesting that maybe Donna had changed her mind.

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he grabbed for it a little too quickly, leaning against a bookshelf to keep anyone from reading over his shoulder.  His first thought was to go into interrogation mode - where are you? - but her message stopped him.  

Donna watched Dean move through the throng of people, stone-faced and single-minded in his pursuit.  At first she thought he might have been looking for something a little stronger than champagne, she couldn’t blame him for that, but then she noticed that his eyes popped up whenever a blonde head passed by.  Was he looking for her?

Dean scowled.   You know I am.

Waiting was torture, Donna thought to herself as she readjusted her dress for the hundredth time in the last hour.  She’d spent the day agonizing over seeing him, counting down the seconds until she could get an eyeful of the man who made her feel like an idiot teenager with hormonal problems.

You and me both.   He sighed, looking around the room again in hopes of catching a glance.  If she could see him, he could undoubtedly find her.   You know we could skip this, right?  Just get out of here?

God, how she wanted to.  She wanted to climb down the fire escape and get a taxi out of there, especially if Dean was offering to escape with her.  But she made a commitment and had every intention of sticking to it, even if it meant waiting that much longer to touch him.  Donna stared at him, the pouting jut of his lower lip as he frowned at his phone, and remembered dragging her tongue over that plump swell of flesh.  She wanted another taste more than she wanted her next breath.  

Dean didn’t know what she’d been doing all day, in between makeup and hair appointments and looking longingly at food that she wasn’t allowed to have.  Devoid of all other human satisfaction she’d been forced to write, pushing Chloe and Dan ever further toward completion.  Narrative completion as well as physical, she thought as she recalled scribbling filthy words on a hotel notepad.  Her skin had superheated in minutes, thinking less of the Dan’s character than she had the man who inspired him.

Dean’s brow furrowed and he snuck glances over his shoulders, making sure no one was behind him to read his phone.  

There was only so much you could do with your imagination but Donna did her best, imagining planes of muscle covered in lightly tanned skin.  She suspected the light dusting of freckles across his nose and cheekbones might appear elsewhere along the length of his body, a constellation to guide her intrepid fingers as they committed him to memory.  She would read him like braille before letting herself have a taste, Donna thought to herself.  If it took her all night, she would memorize every inch of muscle and bone and skin that made him whole.  Dean was an oasis and she’d been stranded in the desert a very long time - she would drink him in as though her life depended on it.

Dean’s eyes closed and he took a deep breath in through his nose, only barely holding it together.  The air passed back through his slightly parted lips but did nothing to calm his pounding heart.  

Maybe her life did depend on it, she mused to herself.  She’d spent the day fantasizing about what she’d do to him once they were in the same room and now it felt like she would die if she didn’t touch him.  Her imagination supplied all the details, from the fabric of his suit to the softness of his hair as it carded through her fingers.  The smell of his aftershave.  It was hell.  Sweet hell that made her every breath sizzle in her lungs.  They were a few scant feet away and heat had pooled mercilessly between her thighs, the slick flesh desperate for attention she couldn’t give.  Even if she could, her own fingers would only be a disappointment knowing Dean’s were in reach.

Jesus, Donna.   They were the only words his overwrought brain could process, most of his blood in the process of rushing elsewhere.

She couldn’t help but wonder if Dean was experiencing his own personal hell in that suit, flesh hardening against his zipper as Donna’s words scrolled across his mind.  Could he feel how much she wanted him through the phone?  She felt like everyone who passed her could tell that she was burning up, aching and wet.  How he was tolerating all this she would never know.

I’m going crazy here, he told her honestly.   I need to see you.  Please.

He never got the chance to plead his case.  The executive responsible for the party - Gabriel something or other - had stepped into the middle of the room, tapping his fork on his glass to get everyone’s attention.  He gave a charismatic introduction that got plenty of laughs and applause, smiling smugly at the attention even as he was talking up Donna’s success and the work she’d put into it.  Goddamn it, this was lasting forever.  Dean was considering giving up his place at the back of the room in favor of searching every room for his date but then he heard Donna’s pseudonym and he stood at attention again.  

The healthy smattering of applause faded into the roar of blood in his ears as Donna emerged from a dark hallway onto the landing above them, overlooking the party.  Her hair was pulled into an intricate knot at the base of her neck and her eyes had been lined in dark makeup, turning her warm eyes into something closer to sultry.  Gold earrings dangled from her ears, drawing his eyes to the smooth line of her neck and then to the bare expanse of her collarbones.  Gold bracelets dangled on her wrists as she grasped the banister, grounding herself.  

She was wearing the tightest dress he’d ever seen, the smooth black leather stretching over her waist and hips before transforming into dense black lace that brushed against the floor.  It was strapless, the neckline dipping low between her breasts before converging into a solid gold zipper that trailed down her front to stop at the apex of her thighs.   Dean felt like his every daydream had been picked apart and put on display, exposing the depth of his desire to a room full of people.  He watched helplessly as Donna’s eyes surveyed the crowd and found his.  Her gaze hit him like a crack of lightning, shooting straight down his spine to the insistent throb of his erection.

Wanting her was going to kill him.

[seaaitchgetalife]

Observation log #001

Subject: Thor Odinson

Objective: Assistant demonstrated a Midgardian gesture directed at Tony Stark.

The subject immediately attempted to replicate the gesture, interpreting it as a positive social custom.

Efforts to correct this misunderstanding were unsuccessful.

Explanations provided only reinforced his belief that Midgardians possess "very confusing customs."

Thor has subsequently used this gesture on the following individuals:

• Tony Stark

• Two palace guards

• An unnamed nobleman

• Loki (once)

Further intervention may no longer be feasible.

Status: Ongoing.

[ahumanfemale]

Professional Distance IV

Summary:  Dean and Donna pass a week of separation.

Author:  (A)HumanFemale

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Donna Hanscum

Warning:  Slightly adult themes.

IV

Donna texted him just before midnight, letting him know that they’d made it back to the hotel.  Her sister-in-law was wasted and had to be poured into bed, so Donna was going to stick around in case she got sick.  She was a good friend - kind and caring.  Dean couldn’t fault her for that.  The downside was that her plane was leaving early the next morning to take them back to Minnesota - she was dropping off her sister-in-law and hanging out with family for a week before she came back to the city for her release party.  

Dean told her to get some rest - he’d see her next week.

He dragged himself into bed late that night but couldn’t force himself to go to sleep.  His head was still buzzing, drunk with the memories of Donna pressed so close to him.  He thought of their kiss and his head spun, taking him right back to the moment he’d first tasted the sweetness of her lips and felt her hands on him.  She’d never done anything but shake his hand before that moment but kissed him like she’d been thinking about it for years.

Donna wanted him.

The thought was a drug and he was hooked, riding the high.  

At this rate he’d never sleep again.

-- X --

Work was harder than he thought it would be the next morning, which wasn't improved by the fact that it was a Saturday.  Dean still forced himself to sit down with his laptop, making peace with his lot.  An alarming number of chapters had piled up in his queue while he was pining over Donna the last few weeks.  None of his authors were making a fuss but he felt bad about it anyway, knowing they were too polite to give him hell.  It was his only task of the morning to try and get to his longest-neglected works.  

Dean worked through the morning and ate lunch at his computer, straining his eyes until he had a roaring headache.  He once again contemplated the need for reading glasses.  The thought made him grimace - he was too young for that, damn it.  He wasn’t even forty yet.

He was popping some painkillers and bemoaning his age when his phone buzzed from his desk.  Distracted, he perked up only when he realized that it was a message from Donna.  He pulled up the message and one eyebrow quirked up in confusion.  

It was a short excerpt of prose but it wasn’t Chloe or Dan.  

Donna dragged herself across the airport, tired to the point of falling over.  The early morning flight had seemed like a good idea until her idiot sister-in-law decided to go clubbing and fall off the wagon.  Donna was up holding her hair out of the toilet until two in the morning.  Their flight left at seven.  There was a chance she was in Hell.  The real one - not that vegan bakery she found in California.

Dean smirked and another message appeared.

The only thing propelling her tired behind through the crowd was her memories of the night before, her brain occupied with thoughts of candy apple green eyes and long legs.  Scruff the color of cinnamon, flecked with gold.  Mmm, cinnamon sounded good.  Every airport had a Cinnabon, right?  Hold on.

This time he laughed aloud, collapsing back into his chair and looking at the ceiling.  It was a few minutes before another message appeared.  

They totally had a Cinnabon.  

Donna was pleased at this turn of events.  With enough carbs she would be able to refrain from strangling the walking hangover next to her.  She had no intention of going down for murder - not today, anyway - so she ate the doughy roll of sugar in a few bites.  If she got an extra one in a to-go box it was a public service, thank you very much.  

Dean snorted.

Anyway, Donna was thinking about Dean.  About the way his full lips caressed the rim of his coffee cup and the way his tongue darted out in concentration while they spoke.  Watching him think was nothing short of pornographic.  Brows drawn, bottom lip between his teeth.  She was a few seconds away from fanning herself even now, with just the memory to keep her company.  Watching those lips in action was a burlesque show - feeling them on hers was another matter entirely.  The taste of him on her tongue turned her inside out.

Dean cleared his throat, shifting in his chair.  

Leaving was the last thing she’d wanted to do that night.  What she wanted was to pay the check, drag him out of there, and pin him against the side of that shiny black car in the parking lot.  She’d kiss him silly, until she couldn’t breathe and her head spun.  If her hands happened to wander, who could blame her?  And if the two of them happened to fall into the backseat, everyone would understand.  Really, just look at the guy.

She had no idea what he would have given for that.  Even now his hands itched to touch her again.  The image of Donna getting handsy with him against his beloved Baby was a daydream he would have to file away for future use.

When her phone rang she wanted to chuck it across the restaurant because she knew what it meant.  It meant walking away from the hunk of beefcake she’d been lusting after for years, just when she got her first taste.  The injustice of it all rendered her breathless.  Surely the universe wasn’t so cruel as to deprive her of him completely.  

Like hell, he thought to himself.  He typed a quick reply, not worrying about interrupting her train of thought.  

The next time I see you, you’re mine.  Hell or high water, sweetheart.

It was several long minutes before Donna replied, making him sweat.  Maybe he should have thought of something better.  He dove as soon as her name popped up on the screen.  

Donna read Dean’s message, the words making her swoon.  She had no choice but to collapse into a puddle in the middle of the airport.  Maintenance en route.  

Dean chuckled and put the phone aside, mouth stretched into a bright smile.  Donna wanted him.  Donna had wanted him for years, apparently.  The knowledge felt miraculous - too good to be true.  Chest tight, he read over her messages again.  Laughed harder, smile hurting his cheeks, wishing he could live in that moment for just a little while longer.  Then reality seeped back in the cracks and it was okay.  His headache had lessened and his work no longer seemed so oppressive.  Things were good.  

His world was better with Donna in it.  

-- X --

Donna sent more of the same messages over the next few days, all in the same narrative format.  They told him about her day, what she was thinking at any particular time.  She didn’t seem to require responses from him, which was good because he rarely knew what to say.  He would comment every so often just so she would keep going.  Mostly he was afraid that he would break the spell that had wound around him, keeping him walking on air.  Those texts had gone from amusing to a lifeline in a matter of days.  If he couldn’t have Donna, they were the next best thing.  

Donna woke with a smile on her face and the smell of breakfast in her nose.  The former because of a certain editor, and the latter because… wait.  Who was in her house?!

...

It was fine.  Donna’s mother had snuck in through the back door to surprise her with food.  Which was normal.  Mothers did that.  Right?

Not mine, Dean thought.  Though she did pick the lock on his front door once when she left her cell phone in his couch.

Donna told herself she wasn’t going to go hang out with Jody this trip.  It was a short one and she didn’t have time to do a five-day hangover recovery program.  But gosh, did she miss Jody.  They’d been best friends since middle school and Jody had a taste for trouble that Donna didn’t.  Drinking and getting matching tattoos kind of trouble.  She’d barely escaped last time, just before she’d drunkenly inked “party girl” into her thigh.  

Dean couldn’t imagine her with a tattoo.  At all.  But then he really wondered if she had one and filed that question away for later.  

The next day Donna was determined to work.

The blank page stared, mocking.  Chloe and Dan were in serious need of resolution but their creator was distracted.  Something to do with her editor, but they didn’t know that.  They only knew that Dan’s wound was infected and they needed to kill the monster and get him to a hospital. He might get sepsis and die at this point.

Poor Dan, he thought.  Tough break.

This was all Dean’s fault.  It might be his fault that Dan existed at all, so when her characters came to life as vengeful fictional spirits they could haunt him first.  

Dean scoffed and replied, Is that a confession?  

A few minutes later she replied, Donna had to go sorry bye.

They spent the week that way, Donna sending prose and Dean sending back snarky comments to keep her going.  He read her messages in between edits, using them as rewards for getting actual work done.  Donna bought books with her mother.  Cooked with her dad.  Got caught texting him under the dinner table, after which her phone was taken away because they didn't buy her telling them it was for work.  It didn’t seem to matter that she was in her thirties.  

She did, in fact, go out with Jody.  

She was, in fact, hung over afterwards.  

It must have been pretty bad because the only thing she sent him the next day was:

Diagnosis: Acute alcohol poisoning.

Cause: Jody effing Mills.

Prognosis: Leave me here to die.

She must have been down for the count because he didn't hear anything else until the next afternoon, when she narrated making travel plans to come back for her release party.  Chloe Ransom’s fifth adventure had hit the shelves the week before and was already a success, leading her publisher to throw her a party to celebrate.  Any other author would have basked and preened but not Donna.  Donna had to take good news and turn it into a death sentence.

Donna finished an email to her stylist and sighed, nerves already mounting.  Her skin prickled in anxiety and all her worst nightmares started springing up in her mind, all in excruciating detail.  Writing was one thing but those people might want her to talk. Out loud. In front of an audience.  What the heck was that about?  

Her fear of public speaking wasn't news to him. Donna had been actively avoiding speaking engagements for years.  She personally felt as though they should just hire an actress to be Chloe so she could come and speak in character, leaving Donna out of it completely.

What if she stuttered?  Or passed out?  Or got sick!  Mary and Joseph, she'd never live that down.  It would wind up on YouTube and that would be it.  End of story.  There goes that writer lady - she tossed her cookies all over her publishers and never wrote again.  

Dean smirked as he walked to his car, finally done for the night.  He replied, That's not going to happen.

Dean didn't know.  He wasn't psychic, but the gesture was appreciated.  

I could be psychic.  You never know.

She did know.  If Dean were psychic all these years it wouldn’t have taken such drastic measures to get his attention.  He would have heard her every depraved thought through a megaphone, straight into his brain.  Donna would have seen the smoke coming from his ears, because she really did have a terrific imagination.

Dean’s eyes crinkled as he smirked. Were you having unprofessional thoughts about me?

Donna would confess to nothing, but the images sprouted up behind her eyes anyway.  Would he ever know the kinds of thoughts she’s had about him over the years?  The sheer number would probably horrify him.  Climbing into his lap on the couch along the back wall of his office, praying no one walked in as she ran her fingers through his tousled hair.  Or looking up at him through her lashes from under his desk as her fingers found the clasp of his belt.

He cleared his throat.  Those are definitely not professional.

You asked, she replied, dispensing with the narration for the first time since they started texting a few days ago.  Dean laughed and sent his reply before putting his phone down and pulling into traffic.

I did.  

Are you coming to the release party?

I always do.  

Maybe don’t bring a date tomorrow?

Dean stopped at a light, smile threatening to break across his face.  If he didn’t know any better Donna was asking him out.  What she didn’t know was that he’d never brought a date to one of her events.  He’d always been afraid that whatever woman he brought would take one look at him near her and figure it out.  The fact that he was crazy about her would have been written across his face.

Maybe I don’t.  What if I find one there?

That’s the idea, handsome.

Dean drove the rest of the way home with a smile on his face and happy anticipation buzzing in his ears.  

He wanted Donna.

Donna wanted him.

They had a date tomorrow night.  

He whistled through dinner, sang while he did the dishes, and still couldn’t bring himself to go to sleep until after midnight.  

[true-awesomeness]

I will not consider the possibility with someone any farther than they will with me.

[chrisabraham]

The character of Cary Agos on The Good Wife always has a Cheshire Cat grin on his face. No matter how dire the situation, the character always seems bemused -- even amused. I would love to have that level of professional distance, detachment, insouciance. I admire it very much.