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Summary
Donna watches, hands sunk deep in her coat pockets, as Josh trots back over to Cliff.
Moon glow intersects with street lamp to back-light the fountain, lending it a strange halo. Beyond it, all she can really grasp are two hazy silhouettes, both coiled with tension, paused there in the gloom of the night park for longer than she expects.
Her own pulse thrums, rabbity, in her fingers, and her guts sink at the prospect of her innermost thoughts being read out before a court or before Congress, let alone before an entire nation.
A gust of wind tosses her hair into her eyes, and she pulls her trench coat tighter around herself as she waits.
Josh was right — it is getting colder — but that’s not why she shivers.
Prompt: War Crimes angst + hooking up