dianora2 | ww leo ficlet

christinekh made a half-serious comment about hankering for a Leo piece, and I decided I wanted to write a little somethin'-somethin' to make her happy. I hope this does. Just a bit of fun, 1400 words.

Title: The Hazards of Eating at Your Desk
Rating: G
Spoilers: None
A/N: I love Leo the foodie, so that's what you get. Also, I don't buy what Margaret said in "Requiem," that Leo ate the same lunch every day. Someone who loves food as much as Leo does, doesn't eat the same thing every day. Whatever, Wells.

Leo took off his glasses and gazed lovingly at the delectable culinary creation on the desk in front of him. He'd had an insatiable hankering for Pierre Legrand's duck cassoulet on this grey, wintry day in January, but his busy schedule meant there was no way he was going to have time to sneak off to Trois Canards for lunch, so he'd called Pierre himself and begged the Gallic despot to please for the love of god send him over a dish of the sublime comfort food. Legrand had grudgingly acquiesced once Leo agreed to give the chef's visiting Parisian aunt a private tour of the White House, and as a result Leo was now breathing in the unmistakable aroma of bacon, garlic and thyme and dreamily eyeing the golden brown layer of bread crumbs that crowned the flavorful wonders beneath. Oh, this was going to be good.

He took a sip of water to cleanse his palate, placed his napkin on his lap, and picked up his fork. He poked the tines through the delicate coating of crumbs --

"Leo." It was Toby, barreling into his office with a sheaf of paper in his hands and a thunderous expression on his face.

Leo suppressed a sigh and put down his fork. "What is it, Toby?"

"Why did you cut the twelfth paragraph from the education speech?"

"I'm supposed to remember which paragraph was the twelfth?"

Toby glared at him, threw a sheet of paper down on the desk. Leo reaffixed his eyeglasses and picked it up. "Twelfth paragraph, right." He handed the paper back to Toby. "You can't say that about affirmative action."

"Leo --"

"You can't say it, Toby," Leo said firmly. "I already promised the leadership I'd save that battle for the next term. We can't have it mucking up the works on this one."

"Mucking up the works –" Toby gave an incredulous laugh. "Affirmative action is a cornerstone of the party platform, the, the bedrock upon which half of the other proposals in this speech rests, and you want me to throw it out the window – not to mention completely disrupt the carefully crafted rhythm of this speech -- because you want to make nice with a bunch of spineless hacks who don't even deserve to be taking up space on the Senate floor!"

Leo stared impassively at him, refusing to engage. Better to let Toby blow up first – it made it that much easier for him to then let it go. "You can't say it, Toby," Leo repeated, his voice even.

"Yeah," Toby said, deflating, running his thumb over his forehead. "But for the record, I think it's a mistake."

"So noted," Leo said.

Toby shook his head and stormed out before Leo could say anything more.

Just as well. Leo turned his attention back to the still-warm cassoulet. He tenderly broke through the bread crumb crust, scooped up just the right amount of duck meat, sausage, and beans, brought the fork to his mouth, savoring the aroma wafting to his nostrils, and --

"Hey."

Damn. "I'm trying to eat lunch here, Josh," Leo said, fork hovering in front of his mouth.

"Sorry. This'll just take a minute," Josh said, walking into the office. He gestured with his chin in the direction of the plastic dish. (Pierre refused to package his cuisine in aluminum; it interfered with the flavor of the food.) "What the hell is that?"

"Cassoulet from Trois Canards," Leo said.

Josh nodded as if he knew what that meant. "Any good?" he asked.

Leo looked at the fork, then back up at Josh. "I wouldn't know."

"Right." Josh put his hands on the edge of Leo's desk and leaned. "I need the go-ahead to approach Wellington about the Alaska bill."

"This has to be done delicately, Josh," Leo said warningly.

"Nothing but the most feather-light of touches," Josh said with an innocent look.

"All right. Do it. But don't make me have to clean up after you," he called after Josh's retreating form.

Josh hit the doorjamb with his fist on the way out. "You got it."

Finally. Leo placed the fork in his mouth and closed his eyes as he rolled the duck meat over his tongue before chewing carefully, releasing the full flavor of the food, and swallowing. Transcendent. For this, he'd show Pierre's aunt the time of her life.

He was in the process of gathering a second forkful when CJ barged in.

"Oh for --" Leo put down his fork, again, and looked up at CJ wearily. "Can't a man get any eating done around here?"

"You're eating lunch now? It's 4:00," CJ said, checking her watch.

"I'm sorry, I should have had Secretary Hutchinson reschedule his emergency sit room briefing this afternoon so that I could eat my peanut butter and jelly sandwich and drink chocolate milk out of a cardboard box," Leo said.

"You know, you probably wouldn't be this snippy if you ate lunch earlier in the day," CJ said.

"Yeah." Leo sat back in his chair. "Tell me what you need and make it quick," he said.

"I have to do a briefing on the new FB-22 flyers that the military is using for offensive strikes in Syria."

"So what's the problem?"

"I have no idea what makes an FB-22 different from an F-22. Or from anything else, for that matter."

"Didn't someone from DoD brief you?"

"They sent a memo, which appears to have been written by a rocket scientist under the assumption that he was speaking to a fellow rocket scientist, which he most definitely was not."

"CJ."

"I just need you to -- just explain it to me like I'm an idiot."

"Right now? That's not feeling like much of a stretch."

"Leo!"

He smothered a grin. "The FB-22 has greater fuel capacity and a larger internal weapons bay, both of which make it better suited than the F-15E -- which is what it's replacing, by the way, not the F-22, the F-22 is completely different but we won't even get into that -- anyway, it's better suited for long range attack missions. Think of it as being able to hit ground targets from way down the block instead of right across the street."

CJ's arms flapped. "Now why didn't rocket scientist guy just write that in the first place?"

"Military jargon," Leo said with a shrug. "Without it, people might actually understand what they're saying half the time."

CJ smiled. "Thank you," she said, tilting her head. "And enjoy your lunch."

"I'm trying, believe me," Leo said as CJ left his office. He stared down at his rapidly cooling dish. "Three out of four," he muttered. "That means –"

"Hi, Leo."

"Hi Sam," Leo said tiredly. "What do you need?"

"Nothing. I was just taking a walk, thought I'd say hi." He wandered in and peered over Leo's desk. "Cassoulet?"

"Yeah."

"Trois Canards?"

"Yeah."

Sam pushed up his glasses. "Nice."

"Yeah."

They looked at each other for a moment.

"Sam, if you don't mind, I'm – you know," Leo said, gesturing at his food.

"Of course," Sam said. "Sorry." He started for the door, then stopped and turned back around. "I just – if you hear something about me and a woman from the Olympic bobsled team, ignore it. It's not true, and even if it were, it's not anything to be ashamed --"

"For the love of god, Sam," Leo said, his voice raising.

"Right." Sam nodded. "You know what? I'll be going now."

"Yes, you will," Leo said. He waited for Sam to leave, then: "Margaret!" he bellowed.

She poked her head through the side door. "Yeah."

"Close that other door and do not let anyone in here for the next fifteen minutes," Leo said. "I don't care if the east wing is on fire, I'm going to eat Pierre Legrand's world-renowned duck cassoulet and I am going to do it without interruption, or else my vengeance will be a thing that is swift and terrible to behold."

Margaret looked at him. "You wouldn't be this cranky if you ate lunch earlier in the day," she said.

"Terrible to behold!" he yelled. Margaret scurried over to the other door and closed it, then retreated back to her desk, closing the side door behind her.

Blissful silence. Leo sat back in his chair, picked up his fork, and began to eat.

End.

Current Mood: nostalgic

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

soaked-in-stars.livejournal.com

Oh my. Love it. LOVE. The dialogue is perfect; everything is - CJ flapping, Toby running his thumb over his forehead, Margaret scurrying. I can see it all. Fantastic.

From:

ww leo ficlet

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