b o x i n g . c l e v e r

Boxing Clever
[by victoria p.]

Rating: G

Summary: "Don't open that box."

Notes: Thanks to Dot, Meg, Jen, and Pete'n'Melissa.

Written for contrelamontre's same dialogue, two different scenes challenge, but 1. I am not a member, and 2. I went over by about 10 minutes (I'm at work! I get interrupted!), so I'm not posting it there. Also, that's a slash-only community, and these are both gen with het subtext. *g*

Dialogue by Halrloprillalar, everything else by me.

Date: October 10, 2003

(West Wing)

There was a box on Josh's desk when he walked into his office. It was white with light pink stripes. It reminded him of his mother's hatboxes, or the kind of box in which Abbey Bartlet gave the administrative assistants their birthday presents.

Donna bustled in behind him as he was about to take the top off the box.

"Don't open that," she said.

"What? This?" He grinned, picked up the box, and shook it. It didn't rattle; whatever it contained was smooth and slithery, if sound was anything to go by.

"Yes,” she replied, reaching for it. “Leave it alone."

He held it above his head, as far out of her reach as he could. She stretched toward him, faced set in determined lines, and he noticed how nicely her red sweater pulled across her chest. They stood at an impasse for a moment or two, and then she lunged.

He jumped, startled, banged into his chair and sat down with a thump. The box went flying, sending a rain of lacy underwear down on the office. Bras, panties, and teddies in black, red, pink, a deep blue that would look really good on Donna

Donna's face twisted in consternation, a blush suffusing her cheeks. She opened her mouth to say something when Toby appeared in the doorway.

He took in the situation in one dark, sweeping glance -- Josh sprawled in his chair, Donna leaning over him, her face a mixture of embarrassment and anger, and enough lingerie strewn across the desk and floor to open a Victoria's Secret franchise.

Josh felt his ears burn.

Toby shook his head and walked away without a word.

He grinned sheepishly. "Oops."

"Now what are we going to do?" Donna wailed.

He shrugged. It was only Toby. They'd get a lecture on the propriety of boss/assistant interaction, and CJ might threaten his kneecaps. It wasn't as if the press was around.

So Josh did what he did best. He turned it around on her. "You could have warned me."

She grunted in frustration. "I did warn you! I said, 'Don't open that.'"

"You could have said why." He grinned again, imagining how she would have managed that.

She looked skeptical. "Would that have done any good?"

"You should know by now that if you tell me not to do something, I'm going to do it." It was true; they both knew it.

"So, I should have said, 'Open that now!'"

He shook his head. "I still would have opened it."

Donna finally smiled. "If that's the case, then it's hardly my fault, is it?" she said, slipping into the rhythm of their banter.

"You shouldn't have shown it to me, then." He grinned back. The power of the dimples was enormous, and he knew it.

"Oh, like you would have missed it." She began picking her lingerie up and putting it back in the box. He wasn't sure if he should help or not, then decided that if she left her underwear in his office, she couldn't be too offended if he handled it. At least this time it was clean.

"If you hadn't drawn attention to it, I would have let it alone," he said, grabbing a turquoise bra and throwing it into the box.

"I didn't think that was an option." She dropped a handful of panties into the box and knelt, crawling under the desk.

"This is all your fault."

Voice muffled by the desk, Donna replied, "You say that every time."

"Because it's true." He was distracted by the way her hair slid against the leg of his trousers, gold against gray. He knew it was softer than the silk in his hand; it smelled fresh and slightly floral. She raised her head, almost slamming it against the underside of the desk. "Watch out!" he exclaimed, putting a hand on top of her head to shield her. Definitely softer than silk, he thought vaguely.

In his distraction, he didn't notice CJ and Danny outside his door until he heard CJ gasp.

"Look," he muttered.

"I don't see--" Donna turned her head just in time to see CJ hustling Danny away. "Oh." She looked at him, dismay warring with amusement on her face. "What are we going to do now?"

He had to choke back laughter himself. He shrugged and stood, raising her to her feet at the same time. It was just Danny. It'd be fine.

They studiously avoided looking at each other as they finished putting the lingerie in the box. Josh knew neither of them would be able to stop laughing once they started.

***

(Buffy the Vampire Slayer, sometime in Season 5)

Taking inventory always gave Anya a feeling of deep satisfaction. Taking inventory was a way of knowing exactly where you stood in the world, and since she'd become human again, she needed that desperately. Plus, she could pretend it was all hers. In a way, it was. And counting her possessions always gave her a happy.

She checked off things on her list, noting they'd need to order more black pillar candles and another case of aconite, when she came across a small wooden casket, overlaid with delicate beaten gold scrollwork.

"Don't open that." She jumped, startled. She'd been so wrapped up in her task she'd forgotten Giles was in there with her,.

"What? This?" She tapped the box.

"Yes, leave it alone."

He was always telling her what to do. Never mind that technically, she worked for him. She opened the lid. "Oops," she said, mock-apologetic, not even looking at what she was doing, focused more on defying Giles than what was actually in the box.

The mummy's hand skittered over her arm before leaping to the floor. She shrieked and dropped the box. The hand scuttled away, disappearing into the shadows under the shelves.

She turned to Giles, still shaken, who said, "Now what are we going to do?" in that supercilious way of his.

"You could have warned me," she accused.

He crossed his arms over his chest. "I *did* warn you. I said, 'Don't open that.'"

It was only through a massive effort of will that she didn't stamp her foot. "You could have said why."

He snorted. "Would that have done any good?"

"You should know by now that if you tell me not to do something, I'm going to do it."

He pushed past her, moving deeper into the narrow room, bending to look under the shelves for the hand. She didn't even *have* sentient mummy hands on her inventory list.

He looked back over his shoulder at her and said, "So, I should have said, 'Open that now!'"

"I still would have opened it," she said mulishly, sticking out her lower lip in a pout that never failed to move Xander.

Giles was not Xander. "If that's the case, then it's hardly my fault, is it?" he snapped, rising to his feet and turning to face her.

"You shouldn't have shown it to me, then," she persisted, completely ignoring the fact that he hadn't, that she'd found it on her own.

"Oh, like you would have missed it." Sometimes she hated the crisp British precision of his diction. It lent withering sarcasm to the even most banal utterances.

"If you hadn't drawn attention to it, I would have let it alone."

"I didn't think that was an option." He glared at her, and gestured toward the shelves. She got down on the floor and began looking underneath the shelves and cabinets for the hand that seemed bent on freedom even more than violence.

They spent a good fifteen minutes shuffling around on the floor in the dust, bumping into each other, muttering curses and sneezing.

Giles sat back on his heels. He removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, leaving a smudge of gray on his face in the process, before replacing them.

"This is all your fault," he said finally.

Anya pushed sweaty hair behind her ears. "You say that every time." She could hear the hurt in her voice, beneath the anger.

"Because it's true," Giles said with damning certainty.

She swallowed hard, trying to think of a denial, when she saw the hand poised at the edge of a shelf behind him.

"Watch out!"

Giles and the hand jumped at the same time. The hand grabbed at his throat, but managed only to get a handful of sweater. He swatted at it ineffectually. Anya picked up a ceremonial stone dagger from a shelf and lunged. Giles's eyes widened in fear, but she slid the knife cleanly through the wool, and the hand dropped to the floor, skittering toward the open doorway.

"Look!" she cried.

Giles spun wildly, one hand pressed to his chest where she'd cut open his sweater. "I don't see -- oh."

The hand was making its way onto the shop floor.

Anya looked at him, anger and hurt replaced now by exasperation. He was the brains of the outfit. Let him come up with a solution.

"What are we going to do now?" she asked. He sighed and pushed his way back out into the shop, muttering curses.

Anya shrugged and picked up her clipboard. She still had inventory to count.

End

~*~

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Disclaimer: All Buffy the Vampire Slayer characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Sand Dollar, and the Kuzuis. All West Wing characters belong to Aaron Sorkin, John Wells and various other corporate entities. I do not own them and do not intend any infringement on any copyrights.