"But only of his Prince", TWW, Sam Seaborn & Will Bailey
Posted with 30 minutes to spare! Happy birthday, Kait! *hugs*
Title: But only of his Prince
Author: scrollgirl
Fandom: The West Wing
Characters: Sam Seaborn, Will Bailey
Warnings: G
Words: 1,103
Author's Note: Set in my Two Roads Diverged universe in which Sam is president, Will is chief of staff, Elsie is the first lady, Toby is still Toby, and Leo is an inspiration. Written for pocky_slash on the occasion of her 23rd birthday. *g*
But only of his Prince
by Scroll
Sam found him down in the Situation Room reviewing satellite images of troop movements along the Indian-Pakistani border. "Will, it's three o'clock in the morning," he said, collapsing into the seat next to him. "Can't this wait until morning?"
"It's not three o'clock in the morning in Pakistan, sir," said Will, barely glancing up from the report Kate's new Deputy NSA had put together for him only two hours ago. Will admired the young man's intelligence and he trusted Kate's judgment in choosing him as deputy -- but that didn't mean Will wasn't going to examine every line of this report until he was absolutely satisfied with its conclusions.
Sam laid a hand over the top page. "Will, they're in negotiations and it'll be a couple more hours before we get an update. Go to bed already. I need you sharp for tomorrow." When Will just waved absently at him, Sam sighed and made a grab for the report.
"Hey! Sam, come on!" Will protested, grabbing it back. They had a brief tug-of-war until Will finally released his hold on the report with a huff and a scowl. "Look, I'll come up in a minute. I just need to finish going over this and then I'll go to bed like a good little boy, I promise."
"No. Not good enough." Sam shoved the papers across the table, out of reach. When the other man made to get up, he grabbed his arm and pushed him back into his chair. "Okay, that's it," he said, exasperated and worried. "Are you going to tell me what's going on here? Because I don't think this is about troop movements in Pakistan."
The two of them glared at each other for a few silent minutes, but once again Will surrendered first, too exhausted to keep Sam at bay. He pushed up his glasses and scrubbed at his face, hating the rasp of his beard and the tension between his eyes. "It is about troop movements in Pakistan," he exhaled noisily. "It's about two countries poised to start shooting at each other, again, for the stupidest, flimsiest excuse they can find. It's about not wanting to get stuck policing the rest of the world and having them hate us for doing it."
"No." Sam shook his head decisively. "That's not why you're down here at three in the morning."
Will looked at him askance, then snorted. "Sir, with all due respect, predicting that the Mets would win against the Yankees doesn't mean you've actually become omniscient. It just means you'll be in Toby's bad books for the next decade or two."
But Sam only looked at him with soft concern. "Is this about what happened with Meltzer? Because I told you then and I'll tell you now: it wasn't your fault, Will. And I'll keep telling you that as many times as you need to hear it to believe it."
"What? Sir, no." Will held up his hands. "That was -- this has nothing to do with Meltzer."
"Are you sure?" asked Sam. "Because for the past two weeks you've been killing yourself, reading every damn report this office puts out. Every paragraph and sentence. For God's sake, you quoted footnotes to me at the last budget meeting. Even Nadine doesn't quote footnotes, and she's got an eidetic memory." Sam's steady gaze pressed on him until it seemed he couldn't breathe. "You're my brother, Will. Please tell me what's going on."
Feeling worn and utterly exposed, Will hunched over, glasses pushed up, face buried in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. "It never should've happened," he whispered.
Sam leaned forward, mimicking his posture. "You trusted Meltzer's report. So did I. There was no reason we shouldn't have."
"You trusted his report because I told you to!" Will burst out, his head coming up. "I hired him and I trusted his judgment, and you trusted mine. And it cost us an important vote." He pounded a fist on his knee. "Not to mention it made us look like absolute idiots. God!"
Startled by his anger, it took Sam a moment to come up with a coherent reply. "Okay, yes, it cost us a vote. Unfortunate, but not the end of the world." He laid a gentle hand on Will's fist. "Looking like idiots -- well, that comes with the territory. Working yourself into an early grave isn't going to help our approval rating."
"Worked for Leo," Will muttered, then cringed. He glanced over apologetically. "I -- I didn't mean that."
Sam's mouth was a thin line. "Leo was a good man. A great man. Who died way too soon." When Will nodded, and loosened his fist to grasp Sam's hand, he let out a slow breath and added quietly: "WWLD aside, let's keep death as the one thing in which you don't follow Leo. Okay? Because my wife would never forgive me if I let anything happen to her favourite brother."
Will nodded, acquiescing. "Yeah, I know how she gets." He grinned a little.
"It's not just Elsie." Sam squeezed his hand, then pulled him into a fierce hug. "I need you with me, Will. There's nobody in the world I trust more than you. Don't think for a minute that that'll ever change."
Frowning, he pulled back enough to study Sam's face. "But what about Stein?"
Now Sam was frowning too. "What about her?"
Will hesitated, but said cautiously, "I sort of heard a rumour that you're -- that maybe you were considering her." He coughed once. "You know. For chief of staff." At Sam's incredulous expression, he shrugged. "Or maybe not?"
Sam reached out and cuffed him upside the head. "Yeah, we may have to revisit that 'absolute idiot' thing."
"Yeah, maybe we do," Will half-laughed, half-sighed. "I've been reading Machiavelli."
"Will," said Sam, with the patience of a thousand saints. "I never thought I'd ever say this to anyone, and if you quote me to the press -- or Toby -- I will deny it with my last breath: stop reading books. Seriously."
Stretching his arms over his head, Will yawned and felt the sleep debt kick in with a vengeance. "Just a little --" he yawned again. "-- little bedside reading. Y'know, to take a break from all those reports."
Sam rose to his feet and grasped Will under the arm to help him up. "Uh-huh. I think that was your first mistake, right there." Side by side they shuffled out of the sit room, Will's report forgotten on the table. "The Prince, right?"
"How'd you guess?" asked Will, wry.
Sam smiled. "Idiot."
* * *
The Prince - XXII. Of the Secretaries of Princes
by Niccolò Machiavelli
THE CHOICE of Ministers is a matter of no small moment to a Prince. Whether they shall be good or no depends on his prudence, so that the readiest conjecture we can form of the character and sagacity of a Prince, is from seeing what sort of men he has about him. When they are at once capable and faithful, we may always account him wise, since he has known to recognize their merit and to retain their fidelity. But if they be otherwise, we must pronounce unfavourably of him, since he has committed a first fault in making this selection.
* * *
Feedback would be awesome.
Title: But only of his Prince
Author: scrollgirl
Fandom: The West Wing
Characters: Sam Seaborn, Will Bailey
Warnings: G
Words: 1,103
Author's Note: Set in my Two Roads Diverged universe in which Sam is president, Will is chief of staff, Elsie is the first lady, Toby is still Toby, and Leo is an inspiration. Written for pocky_slash on the occasion of her 23rd birthday. *g*
But only of his Prince
by Scroll
Sam found him down in the Situation Room reviewing satellite images of troop movements along the Indian-Pakistani border. "Will, it's three o'clock in the morning," he said, collapsing into the seat next to him. "Can't this wait until morning?"
"It's not three o'clock in the morning in Pakistan, sir," said Will, barely glancing up from the report Kate's new Deputy NSA had put together for him only two hours ago. Will admired the young man's intelligence and he trusted Kate's judgment in choosing him as deputy -- but that didn't mean Will wasn't going to examine every line of this report until he was absolutely satisfied with its conclusions.
Sam laid a hand over the top page. "Will, they're in negotiations and it'll be a couple more hours before we get an update. Go to bed already. I need you sharp for tomorrow." When Will just waved absently at him, Sam sighed and made a grab for the report.
"Hey! Sam, come on!" Will protested, grabbing it back. They had a brief tug-of-war until Will finally released his hold on the report with a huff and a scowl. "Look, I'll come up in a minute. I just need to finish going over this and then I'll go to bed like a good little boy, I promise."
"No. Not good enough." Sam shoved the papers across the table, out of reach. When the other man made to get up, he grabbed his arm and pushed him back into his chair. "Okay, that's it," he said, exasperated and worried. "Are you going to tell me what's going on here? Because I don't think this is about troop movements in Pakistan."
The two of them glared at each other for a few silent minutes, but once again Will surrendered first, too exhausted to keep Sam at bay. He pushed up his glasses and scrubbed at his face, hating the rasp of his beard and the tension between his eyes. "It is about troop movements in Pakistan," he exhaled noisily. "It's about two countries poised to start shooting at each other, again, for the stupidest, flimsiest excuse they can find. It's about not wanting to get stuck policing the rest of the world and having them hate us for doing it."
"No." Sam shook his head decisively. "That's not why you're down here at three in the morning."
Will looked at him askance, then snorted. "Sir, with all due respect, predicting that the Mets would win against the Yankees doesn't mean you've actually become omniscient. It just means you'll be in Toby's bad books for the next decade or two."
But Sam only looked at him with soft concern. "Is this about what happened with Meltzer? Because I told you then and I'll tell you now: it wasn't your fault, Will. And I'll keep telling you that as many times as you need to hear it to believe it."
"What? Sir, no." Will held up his hands. "That was -- this has nothing to do with Meltzer."
"Are you sure?" asked Sam. "Because for the past two weeks you've been killing yourself, reading every damn report this office puts out. Every paragraph and sentence. For God's sake, you quoted footnotes to me at the last budget meeting. Even Nadine doesn't quote footnotes, and she's got an eidetic memory." Sam's steady gaze pressed on him until it seemed he couldn't breathe. "You're my brother, Will. Please tell me what's going on."
Feeling worn and utterly exposed, Will hunched over, glasses pushed up, face buried in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. "It never should've happened," he whispered.
Sam leaned forward, mimicking his posture. "You trusted Meltzer's report. So did I. There was no reason we shouldn't have."
"You trusted his report because I told you to!" Will burst out, his head coming up. "I hired him and I trusted his judgment, and you trusted mine. And it cost us an important vote." He pounded a fist on his knee. "Not to mention it made us look like absolute idiots. God!"
Startled by his anger, it took Sam a moment to come up with a coherent reply. "Okay, yes, it cost us a vote. Unfortunate, but not the end of the world." He laid a gentle hand on Will's fist. "Looking like idiots -- well, that comes with the territory. Working yourself into an early grave isn't going to help our approval rating."
"Worked for Leo," Will muttered, then cringed. He glanced over apologetically. "I -- I didn't mean that."
Sam's mouth was a thin line. "Leo was a good man. A great man. Who died way too soon." When Will nodded, and loosened his fist to grasp Sam's hand, he let out a slow breath and added quietly: "WWLD aside, let's keep death as the one thing in which you don't follow Leo. Okay? Because my wife would never forgive me if I let anything happen to her favourite brother."
Will nodded, acquiescing. "Yeah, I know how she gets." He grinned a little.
"It's not just Elsie." Sam squeezed his hand, then pulled him into a fierce hug. "I need you with me, Will. There's nobody in the world I trust more than you. Don't think for a minute that that'll ever change."
Frowning, he pulled back enough to study Sam's face. "But what about Stein?"
Now Sam was frowning too. "What about her?"
Will hesitated, but said cautiously, "I sort of heard a rumour that you're -- that maybe you were considering her." He coughed once. "You know. For chief of staff." At Sam's incredulous expression, he shrugged. "Or maybe not?"
Sam reached out and cuffed him upside the head. "Yeah, we may have to revisit that 'absolute idiot' thing."
"Yeah, maybe we do," Will half-laughed, half-sighed. "I've been reading Machiavelli."
"Will," said Sam, with the patience of a thousand saints. "I never thought I'd ever say this to anyone, and if you quote me to the press -- or Toby -- I will deny it with my last breath: stop reading books. Seriously."
Stretching his arms over his head, Will yawned and felt the sleep debt kick in with a vengeance. "Just a little --" he yawned again. "-- little bedside reading. Y'know, to take a break from all those reports."
Sam rose to his feet and grasped Will under the arm to help him up. "Uh-huh. I think that was your first mistake, right there." Side by side they shuffled out of the sit room, Will's report forgotten on the table. "The Prince, right?"
"How'd you guess?" asked Will, wry.
Sam smiled. "Idiot."
* * *
The Prince - XXII. Of the Secretaries of Princes
by Niccolò Machiavelli
THE CHOICE of Ministers is a matter of no small moment to a Prince. Whether they shall be good or no depends on his prudence, so that the readiest conjecture we can form of the character and sagacity of a Prince, is from seeing what sort of men he has about him. When they are at once capable and faithful, we may always account him wise, since he has known to recognize their merit and to retain their fidelity. But if they be otherwise, we must pronounce unfavourably of him, since he has committed a first fault in making this selection.
* * *
Feedback would be awesome.