Easter Eggs

By Tori Morris

Summary: A Josh and Donna Easter fic.

Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me. They actually belong to the Mighty Aaron Sorkien, and his wingmen, NBC and WB.

Author's Note: Pure fluff. I don't think you have any angst here.

***

The ravishing blonde assistant popped her head into his office. She was wearing her coat.

"Um, I'm gonna go early." She said, to try to provoke response from the man clearly not paying attention to her. He looked up from the papers he was working on, and the pencil in his mouth fell with an audible clatter.

"You're leaving early?"

"Yes, Josh. Cindy wanted to dye eggs, so..."

"You're leaving me to go practice pagan rituals."

"It's not-well, actually, yes, egg-dying does have it's historical roots in paganism, but that's not the point."

"What is the point?"

"It's a beautiful tradition that reminds us of the rebirth of the human soul."

"How does dipping a chicken egg remind us of the rebirth of the human soul? I thought that's what the whole, you know, Jesus dying and coming back thing was about."

"Josh-"

"Donna."

She blew her exasperation out in the form of a little breeze that slightly moved her hairs. A pause, and then, "You know, Margaret Atwood thinks eggs are the perfect representation of women."

"Who's she?"

"Josh, really, when was the last time you read a book. Margaret Atwood is a very famous Canadian author. She wrote the Edible Woman and The Handmaid's Tale."

"She's Canadian?"

"So? So is Robert Sawyer."

"Who?"

"Never mind."

"When do you find time to read books?"

"I make time. Bye Josh."

He gave her a little wave, and she left. She stopped and turned around and went right back.

"She was wrong though. Eggs are actually the perfect representation of people. Period."

"You're back."

"I am. Listen to me, Josh."

"You are talking about eggs." He said, not looking up this time.

"Eggs are like people, Josh."

"No they aren't. Eggs are spherical and round, and people are...people shaped."

"Brilliant Josh. It's a metaphor."

"It's a metaphor that makes no sense whatsoever."

"It does, Josh. Because, eggs hold life. That's where Margaret Atwood got her eggs are like women thing, but really, she was wrong."

He made no response, for a while. "Eggs are not like people. They are so...fragile. They crack."

"Yes, sometimes they do. And then you just stick them back in the dip. Because sometimes the crack isn't as bad as it looks. You can ignore it. And the cracked ones always come out with the brightest colors."

He looked up, and into her eyes. She sighed.

"And, anyways, that's why eggs are like people. Because some of them have cracks, and you just learn to ignore them, because they are the most unique, and the most special. The ones that you treasure."

"Donna."

She turned to go again. "Night Josh." She walked away, and he sat and thought. Then he decided to do something about it, and he got his coat.

"Donna, wait for me." He said, half jogging through the bullpen to meet up with her.

"Josh?" she said, confused.

"I've never dyed eggs before. It sounds fun."

"Josh..."

"You're gonna show me how, right?"

"Yeah, Josh, I'll show you how to dye eggs."

"Good, but what if I crack one?"

"They're hard-boiled, Josh."

"Donna, what if I crack...one?"

"You won't Josh. And if you do, we'll just dye it anyways."

And the two of them walked out to their cars, talking about eggs, books, and the holidays.

***

Happy Easter!