[fic] course of a lifetime
Title: Course of a Lifetime
Author: pocky_slash
Characters: Will, Gen. Thomas Bailey
Pairing: Gen (although it might be slightly suggestive of Sam/Will)
Rating: PG
Word Count: 5,500
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Aaron Sorkin and co. I'm just playing around.
Summary: Thomas Bailey watches his son grow up.
Notes: Written for thecolourclear for the Will Bailey round of tww_minis, who requested Will and his dad (and/or Leo) with flashbacks, set the summer after S4. There are many more flashbacks than Leo, but I hope it's still acceptable. Sorry it's a couple days late--I've been wrapped up in finishing my senior thesis.
Thanks to scrollgirl for audiencing an early draft and sillyg for looking over this draft. This may be expanded to include some other scenes that take place post-S4 that I've written. Who knows. (Title, by the way, comes from Paul Simon's "Mother and Child Reunion.")
course of a lifetime
***
Thomas' youngest son is five years old and he's alone with his nanny in the house when Thomas returns from the hospital. William is asleep in his bed room, curled around the security blanket he claims he doesn't need anymore, dark hair in stark contrast with the crisp white pillowcase. His fist rests just below his mouth, the only reminder of the three solid years he spent sucking on his thumb. Thomas would say he looks angelic, but after five years of chasing Will around the house, the estate, Brussels as a whole, he knows better. He does look peaceful, though. Serene.
Thomas sits on the edge of William's bed and very gently strokes his hair. William twitches, just barely, but he doesn't wake. Good. That's good. It's what Thomas wants. Because as soon as William wakes up, Thomas will have to tell him. He'll have to tell him that his mother has died, that the doctors couldn't do anything more. He'll have to shatter the last of the serenity that he is now witness to, hold William as he cries, struggle to remain stoic and collected. He's already made calls to his older sons, and in a few hours they'll begin to arrive, but until then it's Thomas and William and the nanny who is softly weeping in the sitting room across the hall, but mostly Thomas and William.
He stays there until he gets the first call--from Tom Junior, of course. (H-hi Dad. I'm at the airport. I'll be home soon.) He stays there until that first call, and then he gently shakes William awake, lifts the sleep-befuddled child onto his lap.
"William," he says. "Will. Son. There's something I need to tell you..."
***
"I'm not going to like her!" Will says to anyone who will listen. No one does, really, because they've been hearing it all week. Still, he thinks it's important they know because he doesn't like girls and he especially doesn't like babies and it's not fair that his Dad has to go and have a girlfriend with a kid who's a girl AND a baby. Not fair at all. Especially because now his Dad is busy all the time and they don't get to play the way they used to when it was just the two of them (and his nanny and the maids and the rest of the staff) alone in the house all the time.
Not that Barbara isn't nice. She's actually pretty neat, although she'll never replace his mother. She makes him cookies sometimes and buys him books. She calls him William, but not like his Dad does when he's mad. Not like his Dad does when he's being silly, either. She has a special way of saying it, a way that no one else does. He likes her a lot, but he's never met her daughter and now he's supposed to spend all day with her.
No one seems to realize that she's a baby. He's nine years old! He's going to be ten soon, and ten year olds do not hang around and babysit three year olds. Especially not three-year-old girls.
"Daaaad!" he whines as his father pats the top of his head absently. "Why do I have to stay with the baby?"
"Because this is an adult party, William," his father says. "You can't come with us, and neither can Barbara's daughter, so both of you need to stay here."
Will sighs and pouts, but, as usual, his father ignores him with a small chuckle. It isn't long until the doorbell rings. His father excuses himself to answer it and Will follows after a moment's hesitation.
Barbara is there, of course, in a nice dress with the nice necklace his dad gave her and her hair all nice, too. But there's also her little girl, who holds onto Barbara's leg and doesn't turn around long enough for Will to get a good look at her.
"Hello, William," Barbara says when she sees him peering around the edge of the staircase. "Why don't you come over here and meet Elsie?"
He crosses the room somewhat apprehensively, stopping next to his father. Elsie still won't turn around.
"Mommy!" she cries. "Don't go! Don't want you to!"
Barbara kneels down, prying Elsie's fingers off of her skirt. "I have to go, honey. We already talked about this in the car, remember? Mommy is going to go out tonight, and you're going to stay here with Miss Mia and William."
"No!"
"Will is going to take good care of you," Barbara says. "He's a very brave boy. He'll make sure you're alright while I'm gone, won't you, Will?"
Both Elsie and Barbara are looking at him expectantly. His father, however, is standing there and smiling like he already knows the answer Will is going to give.
"Sure," Will says. He holds his hand out to Elsie, who still seems skeptical. "I'll watch over you. I'm almost ten, so I can take care of you."
Elsie starts to reach for his hand and then pulls back. "Promise?" she asks.
"Promise," Will says. Elsie smiles at him hesitantly and takes his hand, finally stepping away from her mother.
Barbara says goodbye to them both, and his father kisses Elsie's cheek and then leans over to kiss Will's as well.
"I'm very proud of you, William," he says softly before he straightens up.
Will feels his cheeks turn red as he smiles, deciding not to remind his dad that ten year olds didn't need to be kissed goodbye. After all, he thinks as he leads Elsie to the playroom where his dinosaur armies are set up, he still has a little bit of time before he turns ten for real.
***
Will looks properly remorseful when Thomas picks him up from school. He can tell it's an act, but only because he knows William well enough to know that he doesn't pick fights unless there's a reason behind it. William Bailey just doesn't expend that much energy on something he's not passionate about.
"So," he says to Will once they're both seated in the back of the car, Elsie nestled in the front next to the driver (A special treat, okay, Princess? Just for today, because I need to talk to Will. Don't tell Mommy about this.).
"I had a good reason," Will says, and Thomas fights hard to hold back a smile. His glasses are bent and his shirt is ripped, but he still manages to look righteously indignant.
"You always do," Thomas says. It's not patronizing, merely the statement of a fact.
"They were picking on Elsie," Will says. "Two of them. They were making fun of her name and because she's so small and they didn't know I was her brother so I just..." He trails off and gestures vaguely. Thomas nods, slowly, encouraging Will to continue. "They made her cry, and I shoved them and... well... it didn't end quite the way I would have wanted."
"I'm proud of you for sticking up for your sister, William, but I'd rather you didn't resort to violence."
"But if it's all your opponent will understand, sometimes you have to," Will says. "These weren't the type of guys who'd listen to logic, Dad." It's a little startling how bright William is, sometimes.
"The other thing you have to realize is that Elsie needs to learn to take care of herself," Thomas continues, and it hits a sore spot, talking about how his baby girl is growing up. "At the end of the summer, you'll be going away to school and you won't be able to protect her all the time anymore." Will looks remorsefully at the front seat and sighs.
"I know," he says. "But I might as well do it while I still can."
With the furrow in his brow and the graveness of his voice, he seems years older than he is. Thomas is torn between laughing at the absurdity of his thirteen year old son taking on the persona of a thirty-year-old man and mourning the loss of his youngest boy as he begins to prepare himself for the real world.
He settles for asking the driver to stop for ice cream on the way back to the house. Barbara chastises them for spoiling their dinner, but Thomas can tell from the look in her eyes that she understands.
***
"So you're a homosexual?"
The way his father says it makes it sound so matter-of-fact. So concise and normal. It sounds as casual as, 'So you wear glasses?'
"I... sort of. I mean..." Will suddenly feels immensely stupid. Here is his father, standing here having clearly figured the whole thing out, while he hems and haws and stutters like a child. "Yes. Basically. I am."
"'Basically' is nothing but filler, William," his father says. "If you mean yes, just say yes. Stand firm in your beliefs. Don't huddle there with your shoulders slumped. Sit up straight, look me in the eye, and answer the question like a man."
Will's head is spinning. This is a game. It has to be. Some complex game his father is playing with him. Yes. This is definitely not the way that his coming out to his father, one of the most powerful military figures in the free world, is supposed to go.
"Yes, sir?" he says. The question is evident in his voice.
"You're going to have to be more firm in your beliefs than that, especially if you're going to go around being a homosexual. There are going to be a lot of people in the world trying to shout you down."
Will is beginning to get irritated. "It's not exactly a choice, Dad," he snaps.
"Much better," his father says, engrossed in some sort of report. "That sounds more like the co-captain of the debate team."
"Shouldn't you be beating me senseless or something?" Will asks. He is finally starting to relax, his muscles untensing one by one. He isn't exactly sure what's going on, why his father is reacting this way, or what this means for his future, but he isn't being punished tonight. That's abundantly clear.
"Ruin another pair of good pants and you can count on it." His father still hasn't looked up. "Next time you climb out your bedroom window, wear a pair of jeans."
"Dad!" Will starts to say, but he stops, abruptly, when his father looks up. He's not quite sure what to say. Hell, he's not even sure what's going on.
"Yes, William?"
"I just... um..." He pauses, looks at his feet, looks around the room at the awards and accolades on the wall, at the pictures and military merits. Looks at the picture of himself, barely five years old, sandwiched between his parents with his father in dress blues and his mother in a beautiful red dress. "I'm sorry," he says quietly. Sorry for being gay, sorry for ruining his dad's perfect family, sorry for being unable to follow in his father's footsteps. He keeps his eyes focused on the picture sitting on the bookcase in the back corner, even when he hears his father sigh and the wheels of his chair squeak as it's pushed back along the floor. He doesn't look away until he feels a gentle hand on his shoulder, and even then his eye contact with his father is tentative at best.
"William," his father says gently, "we can get you another pair of pants."
Will swallows, numbly, and nods. He gets it.
"Come on, now," his father continues, putting a comforting arm around his shoulders. "I'm sure dinner's just about ready. Why don't we go get your sister?" Will nods again and allows his father to pull him into an awkward half-hug before he drops his arm away and leads Will down the hall to collect Elsie for dinner.
***
William is a lawyer, officially. He has a piece of paper that says as much and just spoke eloquently to his peers about progress and politics. He has a job lined up in Washington, DC. William is finished with his institutional education, and Thomas tries to swallow past the suspicious lump in his throat.
His wife, god bless her, pats his arm knowingly, squeezes his hand. She's taken Elsie's growth with the same poise and strength she uses to tackle everything else in her life. He supposes it's just another part of being a father--trying to hold on for as long as you can before learning to let go.
He and Barbara glide absently through the reception, greeting the people they vaguely know and smiling patiently at the people who seem to know them. He doesn't want to crowd Will--he's no longer a little boy, after all--but he does feel as though he should be allowed one last day of being a doting father before his youngest son leaves for a job an entire ocean away.
He's not sure why he feels so deeply sentimental. He doesn't remember being this conflicted and emotional when his other boys moved on with their lives. This proud, yes, and this triumphant, but not this emotional. He attributes it to the fact that Will is the youngest, the last of his children to go, the last of Miriam's children to go, but he knows that it's something else, as well. Will has been gone a long time. He hasn't lived at home since his second summer at Carnegie Mellon. And yet, this, this event, this ceremony, really seems to mark the end of it all. It's not just that it's the last of his children to go, it's that it's William. He loves all his boys (all his children, really, because although his blood does not run through Elsie's veins, she is undoubtedly his), but there is something between Will and himself that he doesn't share with the others. Perhaps it was the years they spent together, after his other sons were away at school, or perhaps it was something else, but he and Will are bonded in a way that the others aren't. It's not that he has the most in common with Will (that would be Tom), or that Will is the most mature (David), the most perplexing (Dean), or even the son he has the least in common with (Christopher). Will, he muses, is the son that he understands the best. The son that understands him the best. And what, really, could it be, aside from those long days spent together in the house, after Miriam, before Barbara?
He thinks, feeling a little bittersweet, that perhaps something good did come out of Miriam's death after all.
Thomas doesn't know what's next for William. His other children, Elsie included, have very clear career paths. Thomas Junior and Dean jumped right into military service. David's goal since he could walk had been medical school. Even Christopher, who no one could ever truly wrap their minds around, settled into his accounting firm in Connecticut with no hesitation at all. Elsie's graduation from university is imminent, and she's already secured a summer internship with a playwright in New York that could very well lead to something more.
If you ask William what he wants to do, he gets a dreamy look on his face.
"There's something really beautiful about bureaucracy," he'll say. "I know it sounds crazy. I know the system doesn't always work. But when it does? When you can make the system work for you? It's incredible. You can't give up on the system. It has its flaws, but the government hasn't come crashing down yet, so we must be doing something right."
The short answer, of course, to what William is doing, is politics. The long answer is less clear. There are a million cogs in the federal system, and William seems as though he'd like to try them all before he settles on one thing. Advocacy, campaigning, candidacy... he's not sure what he wants to do, but he's starting with the first and making his way down the list.
Thomas isn't worried. William is remarkably bright--smarter than he is, at the very least, and he knows that Will has the power to succeed in whatever he attempts. All he wants for any of his children is happiness, and his only fear is that William's restlessness, his impatience with the system he loves so dearly, will make him miserable, in the end. That's why he pressures him so often to settle down. If he's still trying to fit into a profession, the least he can do is have someone to share his frustration with.
That's why he feels more than a little spite when Nicholas Myers avoids his eyes when they pass each other at the bar.
"Dad, don't," Will says softly, clearly anticipating the intimidating comments on the tip of Thomas' tongue.
"What's the use of being one of the most powerful men in the world if you can't strike fear into the hearts and minds of your children's ex-boyfriends?" Thomas asks. Will rolls his eyes rather spectacularly, a childhood habit he, unfortunately, never grew out of. "You think that's bad, you should have been at dinner the summer that Elsie brought her beau home from school."
"She's very upset that she can't be here," Barbara says, deftly changing the subject. "She was trying to work something out with her professor so she could take her final on a different day, but he wouldn't budge."
"I know," Will says. "She called this morning. I told her it's not a big deal--this whole thing is more to prove that the money we've been pouring into this place is going to use than anything else. I'll see her when she's done with finals. I'll drive up to visit her in New York if I have to."
Before long, Barbara excuses herself to use the restroom, leaving Will and Thomas alone on the patio. The reception is wrapping up, and although William is returning to Brussels for a few weeks before he begins his work in Washington, Thomas knows that this is really it. This conversation in this room at this moment is the last chance he has to say what he needs to say before he can't anymore. After this, the time won't be right.
"William," he says. Will is staring out at the setting sun, clutching his drink. He turns, slowly to Thomas, and smiles at him curiously. "I'm probably supposed to say something profound to you right now."
"Yeah," Will says, grinning. "This is your chance to give me the advice that will shape the rest of my life. If it's bad advice, I'm going to blame my inevitable downward spiral on you."
Thomas laughs and squeezes Will's shoulder. "Well, than I suppose I'm in rather a lot of trouble. I can give you some good advice about treaty negotiations, but I'm afraid I don't know all that much about real life." It was true. He rose through the military ranks quickly, ending up in Brussels before long, and SACEUR for the past nine years. It afforded him a very nice lifestyle, as did his marriage to Miriam, but left him with little knowledge of sticky real world problems. He is a decorated war hero, but it's been over twenty years since he balanced his own checkbook.
"I'll tell you the same thing I told your brothers," he says, although it's a lie. "You're a brilliant man, William. You can do whatever you want and do it well. But you need to remember that equally important to your professional aspirations are your personal aspirations. I want you to be successful, but moreover, I want you to be happy. If you can be happy, the rest won't matter as much. Not to me, and not to you."
William looks both touched and unsure of what to say. He likes to think that Will has known since that fateful day that he fell out of a tree while trying to meet Peter Mertens that Thomas has no issue with his homosexuality, but it's not something they've ever really talked about. Not directly. Thomas has made discreet inquiries into who Will is dating, has invited his boyfriends to visit with him on holidays, but they've never actually discussed it. The look of relief on Will's face is unmistakable, and Thomas suddenly feels awful that after all this time, Will never knew.
"Thanks, Dad," he says, his eyes still shining. "I'll do my best. I know how much you hate politicians, so I'll try really hard not to become one."
"You do that, William. Make me proud."
Barbara returns from the restroom before they have time to extend the conversation, but Thomas knows there's nothing else to say.
***
It's been a long day, a hard day, Will's first as both campaign manager and candidate. Wilde has been buried less than twenty-four hours, but his wife insisted that he wouldn't want the campaign to be abandoned in his absence. She had held Will's hand at the hospital, looked him in the eye, begged him to continue in her husband's stead.
He couldn't say no to that.
It would be easy for him to relax, to campaign halfheartedly and save his strength. It would be easy to treat this as the abysmal failure it's going to be, but the look in Kay Wilde's eyes...
William Bailey isn't a quitter.
It's tempting, though, seeing as how it's midnight and he's only just getting back to his hotel room. Both beds are covered in campaign materials he has to review before tomorrow's latest round of meetings and press appearances, but he's bone tired and starting to think that sleeping now and waking up at four to deal with the mess is a wonderful idea. He wonders, distantly, if he can convince Elsie to let him sleep in her room for the night. Even the idea of clearing off one of the beds is making the floor seem like a decent prospect.
As if summoned by his thoughts, Elsie appears in the doorway between their adjacent rooms. She's holding her cellphone and giving him the sort of look that she usually saves for kicked puppies and starving orphans. He tries to offer her a smile to assuage her anxiety, but he knows it falls flat.
"Daddy's on the phone," she says in a patient, soothing voice. "He wants to talk to you." The gentleness of her voice is startling. This is a girl who used to revel in taunting him in front of foreign dignitaries. The amount of concern she's showing means he must look ten times worse than he thinks he does, which means that he, roughly, looks as exhausted as he feels.
"Thanks," Will says. He crosses the room and takes the phone from her. "Can I sleep on your spare bed tonight?" He gestures uselessly towards his own and Elsie nods quickly, biting her lip. He holds the phone to his ear before she does something stupid, like burst into tears or ask him why he's doing this. "Hey, dad, what's up?"
"Oh, you know, the usual," Thomas says. His voice sounds distant and tinny and just enforces the fact that his father is a continent and an ocean away. It makes Will's stomach hurt. If there's ever been a time, in all of his years since childhood, when he's wanted his father, it's now, this moment, this painful, exhausting evening. "Just got finished watching my son on television. That was fun."
"Well, I'm glad it was fun for someone," Will replies, waving his hand to shoo Elsie out of the room. She ducks back into her own room, but leaves the adjoining door open just a crack. It reminds him of his mother, of the way she would ward off his fears with a tiny sliver of light that led into the hallway of their house in Brussels.
He takes a deep steadying breath before he speaks again. "Things going all right at home?" he asks.
"Things are fine," his father says. "Boring. Mundane. Advising NATO isn't half as fun as running it, it turns out, and there's only so much time in each meeting I can spend bragging about my children. I'm more worried about you. You're remembering to use sunscreen out in California, right?"
"I don't have much time to spend in the sun."
"Still, Barbara and I saw a story last night about melanoma. You wouldn't want to come away from the worst job of your life with skin cancer."
"It would certainly help to cement this as the worst job in my life, though." This is nice. Easy. Calming him down, despite how tired he is and how bleak the world is looking, mostly because it's all so normal he can barely stand it. "I'm seriously considering running away to join the circus."
"Now, there's a thought," his father says. "The only problem is that you don't have any circus skills. Unless you've learned to juggle while riding a horse since we last spoke, you'd probably end up shoveling elephant dung in between shows."
"Sounds a lot like what I'm doing now."
There's a short pause. "William, really," his father says, "are you okay?"
No, he wants to say. No, I'm not. I can't run the campaign and be the candidate, I can't win this, but I can't stop trying. I can't keep everyone together and united and enthusiastic when things look so bleak. I can't keep putting on a brave face for Kay Wilde. I can't even keep my own mind in order. He wants to say, I just want to come home and be eight years old again and play dinosaurs and Spider-man and space explorers in the den with you. I want someone to take care of me and tell me this is going to be okay.
Instead he says, "Who knows, dad?"
"You're going to be fine, William," his father replies. "You can do this. You've handled worse in your life and I know this seems hard, but it's the sort of underdog fight that has William Bailey written all over it. You don't have too much longer to go and afterwards you can take a nice, long vacation."
Will exhales and relaxes, just slightly.
"It's hard, dad. It's just... the whole thing is so hard."
"But if it were easy, it wouldn't be half as fun."
Will smiles, just a little, because there's some truth to that. There's a part of Will that is thriving with this, that wants to embrace it wholeheartedly, that truly believes in the things he's saying, the things Wilde stood for. There's a part of him that wants to do this every day for the rest of his life, even if it means taking breaks in the middle of meetings so he can press his face against the cool tiles in the bathroom and try to remember to breathe deeply and evenly. There's a part of him that's been preparing for this his entire life.
"Get some sleep, William," his father says. "You can do this. I have faith. I'll talk to you soon."
"Thanks, dad," Will says. "I'll try my best."
"That's all I've ever asked of you, son."
The click of disconnection makes him shudder, but he realizes, even as he closes Elsie's phone, that his muscles aren't as tense and he can no longer feel the sharp fingers of panic wrapping themselves around him. He takes a few deep, even breaths and quickly gets changed for bed. His work will be there in the morning. For the moment, he's going to take his father's advice and try to sleep.
***
"Tom!"
Thomas turns from studying a portrait in the hallway and can't help but smile. He knows Leo McGarry, of course, from numerous functions over the years, but William's stories about the man from the past six months have been nothing short of delightful.
"Leo," Thomas says. "This is a surprise."
"Will's tied up on the phone," McGarry answers, grinning as he shakes Thomas' hand. "I heard from him that you'd be here this afternoon and thought I'd swing by and say hello. How have you been? Where's Barbara?"
"She's having lunch with Elsie," Thomas explains. "William and I are going to meet them for dessert if I can drag him away from the office for a few moments." McGarry nods, the shadow of a smile still on his face, and Thomas continues. "As for how we've been, my oldest boy was just promoted to Brigadier General and my youngest seems to be thriving in his new job."
"He definitely knows how to make things interesting around here," McGarry agrees. He gestures for Thomas to follow him down the hallway. "I have to admit, I didn't know how he was going to fill Sam Seaborn's shoes, but he's managed to make the position his own. He's a fine writer and a brilliant advisor. If you had told me that back when the President was running for the first time I would have pulled him onto the staff from the start."
Thomas smiles at the compliment, storing it away to share with Will the next time writer's block drives him to insomnia. He's thrilled that Will has ended up with Bartlet, but he's almost more proud of the fact that McGarry thinks so highly of him. If there's ever been a man who's understood perseverance and hard work it's Leo McGarry.
"I've tried to raise him right," Thomas says.
"You've done a remarkable job." McGarry looks him straight in the eye when he says it, and Thomas nods in response. This one, he thinks, he'll keep to himself for a while. "Anyway, I just thought I'd stop by and say hello before you get caught up in the chaos of tonight. You'll be sitting at the President's table with me, but knowing the President's penchant for boring his dinner guests with arcane knowledge, I probably won't be able to get a word in edgewise." They share a smile, stopping in front of William's office. "Anyway, I'll leave you to your son. Have a nice visit, General."
"It's nice to see you, Colonel," Thomas says, shaking his hand firmly. "And I look forward to tonight." Leo retreats, and Thomas finds himself standing in front of a closed door. He can hear William inside, chattering into the phone at a pace that can only mean this is a personal call. The door to the office next door is open, and just as Thomas is about to knock, two people come stumbling out of it, deep in conversation.
"Oh," says the man who can only be Toby Ziegler. "General Bailey." His sudden stop causes Josh Lyman to ram right into him and Thomas has to bite back a smile.
"You must be Toby Ziegler," he says. "I've heard quite a bit about you from William." He offers his hand, which Ziegler takes, offering Thomas a sarcastic smile in return.
"I'd believe about half of it," he replies.
"General Bailey," Lyman greets, offering his hand as well. "I'm--"
"I know who you are, son," Thomas says with a smile as he releases Lyman's hand. "We've met twice before. It's good to see you, but if you'll excuse me..." He gestures towards the door.
"He's on the phone with Sam," Ziegler says blandly. "Feel free to interrupt."
Thomas nods. "Thank you," he says, "I'll see you both tonight at the reception, I'm sure." They both nod, and Thomas finally pushes his way into William's office.
"--am not!" Will looks up from the phone, ready to dismiss whoever's just entered his office, but freezes when he sees Thomas. A smile slowly spreads across his face, the same smile that Thomas remembers from the bubbling little boy who used to try and climb trees in the backyard and wanted to play space explorers and dinosaurs whenever Thomas got home from work.
"Sam," he says into the phone. "Sam... I have to go, my dad just got here. I'll talk to you later." He smiles fondly at the phone before hanging up and glancing at Thomas with a half smirk. "Hey dad," he says, coming around from behind his desk and hugging Thomas without hesitation.
Thomas is struck for a moment by just how much of William's life has gone by, just how much of Thomas' own has past. It feels as though it was just yesterday he was shaking Will awake, telling him about his mother's passing, holding him while he cried. He can remember William's graduation from Eaton, Carnegie Mellon, and Cambridge. All of the milestones of William's life seem to be coming together, and for just a moment, Thomas allows himself to feel like the old man he really is.
He pulls himself together and takes Will by the shoulders, looking him over critically.
"How are you, dad?" Will asks.
"Old," Thomas replies. "How are you?"
Will seems to mull the question over for a moment. "I'm good."
"That's good to hear." He smiles, feeling his heart constrict a little at the sight of the softness in his son's eyes. "Now, get your coat. We're meeting Barbara and Elsie for lunch and we're already late." Will grins and grabs his jacket from the back of his chair, hurrying to join Thomas in the bullpen. "Now, what's this about phone calls to Sam Seaborn?"
"Dad," Will hisses, the tips of his ears going red. "It's just work."
"Sure it is, son," Thomas says. "As long as you're happy."
For a moment, Will's step falters. He pauses for the space of a breath and than says, "I am."
Thomas smiles and squeezes his shoulder. "Then I am, too."
Author: pocky_slash
Characters: Will, Gen. Thomas Bailey
Pairing: Gen (although it might be slightly suggestive of Sam/Will)
Rating: PG
Word Count: 5,500
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Aaron Sorkin and co. I'm just playing around.
Summary: Thomas Bailey watches his son grow up.
Notes: Written for thecolourclear for the Will Bailey round of tww_minis, who requested Will and his dad (and/or Leo) with flashbacks, set the summer after S4. There are many more flashbacks than Leo, but I hope it's still acceptable. Sorry it's a couple days late--I've been wrapped up in finishing my senior thesis.
Thanks to scrollgirl for audiencing an early draft and sillyg for looking over this draft. This may be expanded to include some other scenes that take place post-S4 that I've written. Who knows. (Title, by the way, comes from Paul Simon's "Mother and Child Reunion.")
course of a lifetime
***
Thomas' youngest son is five years old and he's alone with his nanny in the house when Thomas returns from the hospital. William is asleep in his bed room, curled around the security blanket he claims he doesn't need anymore, dark hair in stark contrast with the crisp white pillowcase. His fist rests just below his mouth, the only reminder of the three solid years he spent sucking on his thumb. Thomas would say he looks angelic, but after five years of chasing Will around the house, the estate, Brussels as a whole, he knows better. He does look peaceful, though. Serene.
Thomas sits on the edge of William's bed and very gently strokes his hair. William twitches, just barely, but he doesn't wake. Good. That's good. It's what Thomas wants. Because as soon as William wakes up, Thomas will have to tell him. He'll have to tell him that his mother has died, that the doctors couldn't do anything more. He'll have to shatter the last of the serenity that he is now witness to, hold William as he cries, struggle to remain stoic and collected. He's already made calls to his older sons, and in a few hours they'll begin to arrive, but until then it's Thomas and William and the nanny who is softly weeping in the sitting room across the hall, but mostly Thomas and William.
He stays there until he gets the first call--from Tom Junior, of course. (H-hi Dad. I'm at the airport. I'll be home soon.) He stays there until that first call, and then he gently shakes William awake, lifts the sleep-befuddled child onto his lap.
"William," he says. "Will. Son. There's something I need to tell you..."
***
"I'm not going to like her!" Will says to anyone who will listen. No one does, really, because they've been hearing it all week. Still, he thinks it's important they know because he doesn't like girls and he especially doesn't like babies and it's not fair that his Dad has to go and have a girlfriend with a kid who's a girl AND a baby. Not fair at all. Especially because now his Dad is busy all the time and they don't get to play the way they used to when it was just the two of them (and his nanny and the maids and the rest of the staff) alone in the house all the time.
Not that Barbara isn't nice. She's actually pretty neat, although she'll never replace his mother. She makes him cookies sometimes and buys him books. She calls him William, but not like his Dad does when he's mad. Not like his Dad does when he's being silly, either. She has a special way of saying it, a way that no one else does. He likes her a lot, but he's never met her daughter and now he's supposed to spend all day with her.
No one seems to realize that she's a baby. He's nine years old! He's going to be ten soon, and ten year olds do not hang around and babysit three year olds. Especially not three-year-old girls.
"Daaaad!" he whines as his father pats the top of his head absently. "Why do I have to stay with the baby?"
"Because this is an adult party, William," his father says. "You can't come with us, and neither can Barbara's daughter, so both of you need to stay here."
Will sighs and pouts, but, as usual, his father ignores him with a small chuckle. It isn't long until the doorbell rings. His father excuses himself to answer it and Will follows after a moment's hesitation.
Barbara is there, of course, in a nice dress with the nice necklace his dad gave her and her hair all nice, too. But there's also her little girl, who holds onto Barbara's leg and doesn't turn around long enough for Will to get a good look at her.
"Hello, William," Barbara says when she sees him peering around the edge of the staircase. "Why don't you come over here and meet Elsie?"
He crosses the room somewhat apprehensively, stopping next to his father. Elsie still won't turn around.
"Mommy!" she cries. "Don't go! Don't want you to!"
Barbara kneels down, prying Elsie's fingers off of her skirt. "I have to go, honey. We already talked about this in the car, remember? Mommy is going to go out tonight, and you're going to stay here with Miss Mia and William."
"No!"
"Will is going to take good care of you," Barbara says. "He's a very brave boy. He'll make sure you're alright while I'm gone, won't you, Will?"
Both Elsie and Barbara are looking at him expectantly. His father, however, is standing there and smiling like he already knows the answer Will is going to give.
"Sure," Will says. He holds his hand out to Elsie, who still seems skeptical. "I'll watch over you. I'm almost ten, so I can take care of you."
Elsie starts to reach for his hand and then pulls back. "Promise?" she asks.
"Promise," Will says. Elsie smiles at him hesitantly and takes his hand, finally stepping away from her mother.
Barbara says goodbye to them both, and his father kisses Elsie's cheek and then leans over to kiss Will's as well.
"I'm very proud of you, William," he says softly before he straightens up.
Will feels his cheeks turn red as he smiles, deciding not to remind his dad that ten year olds didn't need to be kissed goodbye. After all, he thinks as he leads Elsie to the playroom where his dinosaur armies are set up, he still has a little bit of time before he turns ten for real.
***
Will looks properly remorseful when Thomas picks him up from school. He can tell it's an act, but only because he knows William well enough to know that he doesn't pick fights unless there's a reason behind it. William Bailey just doesn't expend that much energy on something he's not passionate about.
"So," he says to Will once they're both seated in the back of the car, Elsie nestled in the front next to the driver (A special treat, okay, Princess? Just for today, because I need to talk to Will. Don't tell Mommy about this.).
"I had a good reason," Will says, and Thomas fights hard to hold back a smile. His glasses are bent and his shirt is ripped, but he still manages to look righteously indignant.
"You always do," Thomas says. It's not patronizing, merely the statement of a fact.
"They were picking on Elsie," Will says. "Two of them. They were making fun of her name and because she's so small and they didn't know I was her brother so I just..." He trails off and gestures vaguely. Thomas nods, slowly, encouraging Will to continue. "They made her cry, and I shoved them and... well... it didn't end quite the way I would have wanted."
"I'm proud of you for sticking up for your sister, William, but I'd rather you didn't resort to violence."
"But if it's all your opponent will understand, sometimes you have to," Will says. "These weren't the type of guys who'd listen to logic, Dad." It's a little startling how bright William is, sometimes.
"The other thing you have to realize is that Elsie needs to learn to take care of herself," Thomas continues, and it hits a sore spot, talking about how his baby girl is growing up. "At the end of the summer, you'll be going away to school and you won't be able to protect her all the time anymore." Will looks remorsefully at the front seat and sighs.
"I know," he says. "But I might as well do it while I still can."
With the furrow in his brow and the graveness of his voice, he seems years older than he is. Thomas is torn between laughing at the absurdity of his thirteen year old son taking on the persona of a thirty-year-old man and mourning the loss of his youngest boy as he begins to prepare himself for the real world.
He settles for asking the driver to stop for ice cream on the way back to the house. Barbara chastises them for spoiling their dinner, but Thomas can tell from the look in her eyes that she understands.
***
"So you're a homosexual?"
The way his father says it makes it sound so matter-of-fact. So concise and normal. It sounds as casual as, 'So you wear glasses?'
"I... sort of. I mean..." Will suddenly feels immensely stupid. Here is his father, standing here having clearly figured the whole thing out, while he hems and haws and stutters like a child. "Yes. Basically. I am."
"'Basically' is nothing but filler, William," his father says. "If you mean yes, just say yes. Stand firm in your beliefs. Don't huddle there with your shoulders slumped. Sit up straight, look me in the eye, and answer the question like a man."
Will's head is spinning. This is a game. It has to be. Some complex game his father is playing with him. Yes. This is definitely not the way that his coming out to his father, one of the most powerful military figures in the free world, is supposed to go.
"Yes, sir?" he says. The question is evident in his voice.
"You're going to have to be more firm in your beliefs than that, especially if you're going to go around being a homosexual. There are going to be a lot of people in the world trying to shout you down."
Will is beginning to get irritated. "It's not exactly a choice, Dad," he snaps.
"Much better," his father says, engrossed in some sort of report. "That sounds more like the co-captain of the debate team."
"Shouldn't you be beating me senseless or something?" Will asks. He is finally starting to relax, his muscles untensing one by one. He isn't exactly sure what's going on, why his father is reacting this way, or what this means for his future, but he isn't being punished tonight. That's abundantly clear.
"Ruin another pair of good pants and you can count on it." His father still hasn't looked up. "Next time you climb out your bedroom window, wear a pair of jeans."
"Dad!" Will starts to say, but he stops, abruptly, when his father looks up. He's not quite sure what to say. Hell, he's not even sure what's going on.
"Yes, William?"
"I just... um..." He pauses, looks at his feet, looks around the room at the awards and accolades on the wall, at the pictures and military merits. Looks at the picture of himself, barely five years old, sandwiched between his parents with his father in dress blues and his mother in a beautiful red dress. "I'm sorry," he says quietly. Sorry for being gay, sorry for ruining his dad's perfect family, sorry for being unable to follow in his father's footsteps. He keeps his eyes focused on the picture sitting on the bookcase in the back corner, even when he hears his father sigh and the wheels of his chair squeak as it's pushed back along the floor. He doesn't look away until he feels a gentle hand on his shoulder, and even then his eye contact with his father is tentative at best.
"William," his father says gently, "we can get you another pair of pants."
Will swallows, numbly, and nods. He gets it.
"Come on, now," his father continues, putting a comforting arm around his shoulders. "I'm sure dinner's just about ready. Why don't we go get your sister?" Will nods again and allows his father to pull him into an awkward half-hug before he drops his arm away and leads Will down the hall to collect Elsie for dinner.
***
William is a lawyer, officially. He has a piece of paper that says as much and just spoke eloquently to his peers about progress and politics. He has a job lined up in Washington, DC. William is finished with his institutional education, and Thomas tries to swallow past the suspicious lump in his throat.
His wife, god bless her, pats his arm knowingly, squeezes his hand. She's taken Elsie's growth with the same poise and strength she uses to tackle everything else in her life. He supposes it's just another part of being a father--trying to hold on for as long as you can before learning to let go.
He and Barbara glide absently through the reception, greeting the people they vaguely know and smiling patiently at the people who seem to know them. He doesn't want to crowd Will--he's no longer a little boy, after all--but he does feel as though he should be allowed one last day of being a doting father before his youngest son leaves for a job an entire ocean away.
He's not sure why he feels so deeply sentimental. He doesn't remember being this conflicted and emotional when his other boys moved on with their lives. This proud, yes, and this triumphant, but not this emotional. He attributes it to the fact that Will is the youngest, the last of his children to go, the last of Miriam's children to go, but he knows that it's something else, as well. Will has been gone a long time. He hasn't lived at home since his second summer at Carnegie Mellon. And yet, this, this event, this ceremony, really seems to mark the end of it all. It's not just that it's the last of his children to go, it's that it's William. He loves all his boys (all his children, really, because although his blood does not run through Elsie's veins, she is undoubtedly his), but there is something between Will and himself that he doesn't share with the others. Perhaps it was the years they spent together, after his other sons were away at school, or perhaps it was something else, but he and Will are bonded in a way that the others aren't. It's not that he has the most in common with Will (that would be Tom), or that Will is the most mature (David), the most perplexing (Dean), or even the son he has the least in common with (Christopher). Will, he muses, is the son that he understands the best. The son that understands him the best. And what, really, could it be, aside from those long days spent together in the house, after Miriam, before Barbara?
He thinks, feeling a little bittersweet, that perhaps something good did come out of Miriam's death after all.
Thomas doesn't know what's next for William. His other children, Elsie included, have very clear career paths. Thomas Junior and Dean jumped right into military service. David's goal since he could walk had been medical school. Even Christopher, who no one could ever truly wrap their minds around, settled into his accounting firm in Connecticut with no hesitation at all. Elsie's graduation from university is imminent, and she's already secured a summer internship with a playwright in New York that could very well lead to something more.
If you ask William what he wants to do, he gets a dreamy look on his face.
"There's something really beautiful about bureaucracy," he'll say. "I know it sounds crazy. I know the system doesn't always work. But when it does? When you can make the system work for you? It's incredible. You can't give up on the system. It has its flaws, but the government hasn't come crashing down yet, so we must be doing something right."
The short answer, of course, to what William is doing, is politics. The long answer is less clear. There are a million cogs in the federal system, and William seems as though he'd like to try them all before he settles on one thing. Advocacy, campaigning, candidacy... he's not sure what he wants to do, but he's starting with the first and making his way down the list.
Thomas isn't worried. William is remarkably bright--smarter than he is, at the very least, and he knows that Will has the power to succeed in whatever he attempts. All he wants for any of his children is happiness, and his only fear is that William's restlessness, his impatience with the system he loves so dearly, will make him miserable, in the end. That's why he pressures him so often to settle down. If he's still trying to fit into a profession, the least he can do is have someone to share his frustration with.
That's why he feels more than a little spite when Nicholas Myers avoids his eyes when they pass each other at the bar.
"Dad, don't," Will says softly, clearly anticipating the intimidating comments on the tip of Thomas' tongue.
"What's the use of being one of the most powerful men in the world if you can't strike fear into the hearts and minds of your children's ex-boyfriends?" Thomas asks. Will rolls his eyes rather spectacularly, a childhood habit he, unfortunately, never grew out of. "You think that's bad, you should have been at dinner the summer that Elsie brought her beau home from school."
"She's very upset that she can't be here," Barbara says, deftly changing the subject. "She was trying to work something out with her professor so she could take her final on a different day, but he wouldn't budge."
"I know," Will says. "She called this morning. I told her it's not a big deal--this whole thing is more to prove that the money we've been pouring into this place is going to use than anything else. I'll see her when she's done with finals. I'll drive up to visit her in New York if I have to."
Before long, Barbara excuses herself to use the restroom, leaving Will and Thomas alone on the patio. The reception is wrapping up, and although William is returning to Brussels for a few weeks before he begins his work in Washington, Thomas knows that this is really it. This conversation in this room at this moment is the last chance he has to say what he needs to say before he can't anymore. After this, the time won't be right.
"William," he says. Will is staring out at the setting sun, clutching his drink. He turns, slowly to Thomas, and smiles at him curiously. "I'm probably supposed to say something profound to you right now."
"Yeah," Will says, grinning. "This is your chance to give me the advice that will shape the rest of my life. If it's bad advice, I'm going to blame my inevitable downward spiral on you."
Thomas laughs and squeezes Will's shoulder. "Well, than I suppose I'm in rather a lot of trouble. I can give you some good advice about treaty negotiations, but I'm afraid I don't know all that much about real life." It was true. He rose through the military ranks quickly, ending up in Brussels before long, and SACEUR for the past nine years. It afforded him a very nice lifestyle, as did his marriage to Miriam, but left him with little knowledge of sticky real world problems. He is a decorated war hero, but it's been over twenty years since he balanced his own checkbook.
"I'll tell you the same thing I told your brothers," he says, although it's a lie. "You're a brilliant man, William. You can do whatever you want and do it well. But you need to remember that equally important to your professional aspirations are your personal aspirations. I want you to be successful, but moreover, I want you to be happy. If you can be happy, the rest won't matter as much. Not to me, and not to you."
William looks both touched and unsure of what to say. He likes to think that Will has known since that fateful day that he fell out of a tree while trying to meet Peter Mertens that Thomas has no issue with his homosexuality, but it's not something they've ever really talked about. Not directly. Thomas has made discreet inquiries into who Will is dating, has invited his boyfriends to visit with him on holidays, but they've never actually discussed it. The look of relief on Will's face is unmistakable, and Thomas suddenly feels awful that after all this time, Will never knew.
"Thanks, Dad," he says, his eyes still shining. "I'll do my best. I know how much you hate politicians, so I'll try really hard not to become one."
"You do that, William. Make me proud."
Barbara returns from the restroom before they have time to extend the conversation, but Thomas knows there's nothing else to say.
***
It's been a long day, a hard day, Will's first as both campaign manager and candidate. Wilde has been buried less than twenty-four hours, but his wife insisted that he wouldn't want the campaign to be abandoned in his absence. She had held Will's hand at the hospital, looked him in the eye, begged him to continue in her husband's stead.
He couldn't say no to that.
It would be easy for him to relax, to campaign halfheartedly and save his strength. It would be easy to treat this as the abysmal failure it's going to be, but the look in Kay Wilde's eyes...
William Bailey isn't a quitter.
It's tempting, though, seeing as how it's midnight and he's only just getting back to his hotel room. Both beds are covered in campaign materials he has to review before tomorrow's latest round of meetings and press appearances, but he's bone tired and starting to think that sleeping now and waking up at four to deal with the mess is a wonderful idea. He wonders, distantly, if he can convince Elsie to let him sleep in her room for the night. Even the idea of clearing off one of the beds is making the floor seem like a decent prospect.
As if summoned by his thoughts, Elsie appears in the doorway between their adjacent rooms. She's holding her cellphone and giving him the sort of look that she usually saves for kicked puppies and starving orphans. He tries to offer her a smile to assuage her anxiety, but he knows it falls flat.
"Daddy's on the phone," she says in a patient, soothing voice. "He wants to talk to you." The gentleness of her voice is startling. This is a girl who used to revel in taunting him in front of foreign dignitaries. The amount of concern she's showing means he must look ten times worse than he thinks he does, which means that he, roughly, looks as exhausted as he feels.
"Thanks," Will says. He crosses the room and takes the phone from her. "Can I sleep on your spare bed tonight?" He gestures uselessly towards his own and Elsie nods quickly, biting her lip. He holds the phone to his ear before she does something stupid, like burst into tears or ask him why he's doing this. "Hey, dad, what's up?"
"Oh, you know, the usual," Thomas says. His voice sounds distant and tinny and just enforces the fact that his father is a continent and an ocean away. It makes Will's stomach hurt. If there's ever been a time, in all of his years since childhood, when he's wanted his father, it's now, this moment, this painful, exhausting evening. "Just got finished watching my son on television. That was fun."
"Well, I'm glad it was fun for someone," Will replies, waving his hand to shoo Elsie out of the room. She ducks back into her own room, but leaves the adjoining door open just a crack. It reminds him of his mother, of the way she would ward off his fears with a tiny sliver of light that led into the hallway of their house in Brussels.
He takes a deep steadying breath before he speaks again. "Things going all right at home?" he asks.
"Things are fine," his father says. "Boring. Mundane. Advising NATO isn't half as fun as running it, it turns out, and there's only so much time in each meeting I can spend bragging about my children. I'm more worried about you. You're remembering to use sunscreen out in California, right?"
"I don't have much time to spend in the sun."
"Still, Barbara and I saw a story last night about melanoma. You wouldn't want to come away from the worst job of your life with skin cancer."
"It would certainly help to cement this as the worst job in my life, though." This is nice. Easy. Calming him down, despite how tired he is and how bleak the world is looking, mostly because it's all so normal he can barely stand it. "I'm seriously considering running away to join the circus."
"Now, there's a thought," his father says. "The only problem is that you don't have any circus skills. Unless you've learned to juggle while riding a horse since we last spoke, you'd probably end up shoveling elephant dung in between shows."
"Sounds a lot like what I'm doing now."
There's a short pause. "William, really," his father says, "are you okay?"
No, he wants to say. No, I'm not. I can't run the campaign and be the candidate, I can't win this, but I can't stop trying. I can't keep everyone together and united and enthusiastic when things look so bleak. I can't keep putting on a brave face for Kay Wilde. I can't even keep my own mind in order. He wants to say, I just want to come home and be eight years old again and play dinosaurs and Spider-man and space explorers in the den with you. I want someone to take care of me and tell me this is going to be okay.
Instead he says, "Who knows, dad?"
"You're going to be fine, William," his father replies. "You can do this. You've handled worse in your life and I know this seems hard, but it's the sort of underdog fight that has William Bailey written all over it. You don't have too much longer to go and afterwards you can take a nice, long vacation."
Will exhales and relaxes, just slightly.
"It's hard, dad. It's just... the whole thing is so hard."
"But if it were easy, it wouldn't be half as fun."
Will smiles, just a little, because there's some truth to that. There's a part of Will that is thriving with this, that wants to embrace it wholeheartedly, that truly believes in the things he's saying, the things Wilde stood for. There's a part of him that wants to do this every day for the rest of his life, even if it means taking breaks in the middle of meetings so he can press his face against the cool tiles in the bathroom and try to remember to breathe deeply and evenly. There's a part of him that's been preparing for this his entire life.
"Get some sleep, William," his father says. "You can do this. I have faith. I'll talk to you soon."
"Thanks, dad," Will says. "I'll try my best."
"That's all I've ever asked of you, son."
The click of disconnection makes him shudder, but he realizes, even as he closes Elsie's phone, that his muscles aren't as tense and he can no longer feel the sharp fingers of panic wrapping themselves around him. He takes a few deep, even breaths and quickly gets changed for bed. His work will be there in the morning. For the moment, he's going to take his father's advice and try to sleep.
***
"Tom!"
Thomas turns from studying a portrait in the hallway and can't help but smile. He knows Leo McGarry, of course, from numerous functions over the years, but William's stories about the man from the past six months have been nothing short of delightful.
"Leo," Thomas says. "This is a surprise."
"Will's tied up on the phone," McGarry answers, grinning as he shakes Thomas' hand. "I heard from him that you'd be here this afternoon and thought I'd swing by and say hello. How have you been? Where's Barbara?"
"She's having lunch with Elsie," Thomas explains. "William and I are going to meet them for dessert if I can drag him away from the office for a few moments." McGarry nods, the shadow of a smile still on his face, and Thomas continues. "As for how we've been, my oldest boy was just promoted to Brigadier General and my youngest seems to be thriving in his new job."
"He definitely knows how to make things interesting around here," McGarry agrees. He gestures for Thomas to follow him down the hallway. "I have to admit, I didn't know how he was going to fill Sam Seaborn's shoes, but he's managed to make the position his own. He's a fine writer and a brilliant advisor. If you had told me that back when the President was running for the first time I would have pulled him onto the staff from the start."
Thomas smiles at the compliment, storing it away to share with Will the next time writer's block drives him to insomnia. He's thrilled that Will has ended up with Bartlet, but he's almost more proud of the fact that McGarry thinks so highly of him. If there's ever been a man who's understood perseverance and hard work it's Leo McGarry.
"I've tried to raise him right," Thomas says.
"You've done a remarkable job." McGarry looks him straight in the eye when he says it, and Thomas nods in response. This one, he thinks, he'll keep to himself for a while. "Anyway, I just thought I'd stop by and say hello before you get caught up in the chaos of tonight. You'll be sitting at the President's table with me, but knowing the President's penchant for boring his dinner guests with arcane knowledge, I probably won't be able to get a word in edgewise." They share a smile, stopping in front of William's office. "Anyway, I'll leave you to your son. Have a nice visit, General."
"It's nice to see you, Colonel," Thomas says, shaking his hand firmly. "And I look forward to tonight." Leo retreats, and Thomas finds himself standing in front of a closed door. He can hear William inside, chattering into the phone at a pace that can only mean this is a personal call. The door to the office next door is open, and just as Thomas is about to knock, two people come stumbling out of it, deep in conversation.
"Oh," says the man who can only be Toby Ziegler. "General Bailey." His sudden stop causes Josh Lyman to ram right into him and Thomas has to bite back a smile.
"You must be Toby Ziegler," he says. "I've heard quite a bit about you from William." He offers his hand, which Ziegler takes, offering Thomas a sarcastic smile in return.
"I'd believe about half of it," he replies.
"General Bailey," Lyman greets, offering his hand as well. "I'm--"
"I know who you are, son," Thomas says with a smile as he releases Lyman's hand. "We've met twice before. It's good to see you, but if you'll excuse me..." He gestures towards the door.
"He's on the phone with Sam," Ziegler says blandly. "Feel free to interrupt."
Thomas nods. "Thank you," he says, "I'll see you both tonight at the reception, I'm sure." They both nod, and Thomas finally pushes his way into William's office.
"--am not!" Will looks up from the phone, ready to dismiss whoever's just entered his office, but freezes when he sees Thomas. A smile slowly spreads across his face, the same smile that Thomas remembers from the bubbling little boy who used to try and climb trees in the backyard and wanted to play space explorers and dinosaurs whenever Thomas got home from work.
"Sam," he says into the phone. "Sam... I have to go, my dad just got here. I'll talk to you later." He smiles fondly at the phone before hanging up and glancing at Thomas with a half smirk. "Hey dad," he says, coming around from behind his desk and hugging Thomas without hesitation.
Thomas is struck for a moment by just how much of William's life has gone by, just how much of Thomas' own has past. It feels as though it was just yesterday he was shaking Will awake, telling him about his mother's passing, holding him while he cried. He can remember William's graduation from Eaton, Carnegie Mellon, and Cambridge. All of the milestones of William's life seem to be coming together, and for just a moment, Thomas allows himself to feel like the old man he really is.
He pulls himself together and takes Will by the shoulders, looking him over critically.
"How are you, dad?" Will asks.
"Old," Thomas replies. "How are you?"
Will seems to mull the question over for a moment. "I'm good."
"That's good to hear." He smiles, feeling his heart constrict a little at the sight of the softness in his son's eyes. "Now, get your coat. We're meeting Barbara and Elsie for lunch and we're already late." Will grins and grabs his jacket from the back of his chair, hurrying to join Thomas in the bullpen. "Now, what's this about phone calls to Sam Seaborn?"
"Dad," Will hisses, the tips of his ears going red. "It's just work."
"Sure it is, son," Thomas says. "As long as you're happy."
For a moment, Will's step falters. He pauses for the space of a breath and than says, "I am."
Thomas smiles and squeezes his shoulder. "Then I am, too."