fic - tww - a vaulable test - sam/will - pg
So, today there was a writing chat and I went insane and spent three prompt (+ extra time at the end) writing one story.
Title: A Valuable Test
Fandom: The West Wing, Sam/Will
Rating: PG
Summary: He wonders if he's feeling for Sam or if he's just afraid that he and Sam can't exist outside of their tiny town, that once they leave, the spell will be broken and they'll never be the same.
Notes: Takes place in the Iowa sequence, sometime after the third yet-to-be-written story, and about fifteen years after canon. Title from In Love But Not At Peace by Dar Williams
Will's still not sure where they are in their relationship, if they're at this point yet, if it's okay for him to say this, if Sam will even say yes. He wants Sam to come, but will understand if he doesn't want to, even if it hurts. It's more complicated than that, too, because this is Chicago, because Sam's been good out here in the middle of nowhere, miles away from his past failures, but he might not be okay when confronted with those familiar places face to face.
He's not sure if he's more afraid that Sam will decide he misses that kind of life or that Sam will decide he can never leave Iowa again, but he's certainly filled with trepidation as he says, as casually as he can muster, "I have to present a paper in Chicago over the long weekend next month."
Sam stirs his cereal and then looks up. "Okay," he finally says. "When do we leave?"
***
It's a long, winding drive. Sam sleeps most of the way, head pressed against the glass of the passenger window as Will hums along with the intermittent radio and swears that he'll remember to charge his MP3 player for the drive back. They stop along the way at several gas stations and rest stops, the perils of drinking five cups of coffee a piece before getting on the road. They have lunch at a little diner, where they take their lunch to the weathered picnic tables on the side of the building. Sam surprises him by sitting next to him instead of across. They eat in close quarters, and when they're through, Sam takes his hand.
"Why are you scared?" he asks softly.
"I'm not," Will says, though they both know it's a lie.
"Is it okay if I am?" Sam asks.
Will doesn't respond out loud, but he interlocks their fingers. They sit like that until the waitress comes to bring them their check.
***
When they go through the suburbs, Will feels himself start to relax. It's not that bad in the suburbs, it's not that different from where they live. Well, no, really, it's vastly different, but there's the same sense of quiet and community. He sees kids playing on lawns. He sees neighbors chatting over hedges. He sees pretty middle-aged women walking dogs.
He also sees the city on the horizon. His hands tighten on the steering wheel again.
***
Some of the tension drains away once they enter the city itself, replaced by tension of a different kind, by the stress of driving between too-tall building when you're used to wide, empty fields. Will curses softly under his breath as he inches through the traffic, muttering to himself and straining to read the street signs in the distance.
Sam has been awake since they crossed over into Chicago proper, but his open eyes are the only sign of it. He keeps his head against the window, eyes flicking across the busy streets, the crowded corners. He doesn't offer any driving advice, which doesn't surprise Will. He hadn't offered advice about where to stay or eat or how to drive, either. Not that Will had asked; they both seem desperate to hold onto the illusion that Chicago Sam never existed, that they've been living this faux idyllic life for as long as they can remember.
***
They make it to the hotel eventually, though Will loses track of time between long red lights and miles of slowly moving taxis. The woman at the desk who checks them in seems gaudily fake, forcing the kind of wry charm and goodwill that Will is used to seeing naturally exude from the people around him. She makes them two room keys, gives them directions to the elevator, and tells them to enjoy the conference. She smells like stale cigarette smoke, and Will wonders how much of her enthusiasm is to set them at ease and how much of it is to hurry them along so she can sneak outside for a smoke.
Their room is on the twelfth floor, tucked into a corner across from the ice machine. Sam lets them in, and they sit down on the bed side by side, leaving their suitcases by the door.
The room has the kind of foreign familiarity that all hotel rooms manage to project. It looks like every other hotel room he's ever been in, but instead of feeling relaxed, being happy to spend a night in a new place with new surroundings, the sight of it all makes him itchy.
"I should go check into the conference," Will says. "You can come with me, or you can--"
Sam takes his hand before he can finish speaking, without even looking at him. Will's certain that it's more for Sam's reassurance than Will's own. Sam doesn't say, please, don't leave me here, but Will can hear it nonetheless.
***
Sam comes with him wherever he goes.
He doesn't think he's ever seen Sam this unsure of himself. Even those first few weeks in Iowa weren't like this. Sam was lost, yes, but not frightened. At least, not outright.
People occasionally recognize him at these things, but less so as the years go on. He was only press secretary for a few months, and Bob Russell and his ill-fated campaign have faded into obscurity. He's surprised, though, by how many people recognize Sam. Sam was in the spotlight for an even shorter amount of time than Will was, but something about him seems to have stuck with these people.
Something about him seems to stick with everyone he meets, so Will probably shouldn't be surprised after all.
He can tell it makes Sam uncomfortable, though. He's not lying when he tells people he's writing after they ask what he's up to, but he stiffens a little as he says it, rolls his shoulders to release the tension after those conversations.
By the end of the second day, Will sees dark circles popping up under Sam's eyes, the kind that even his Dorian Gray good looks can't seem to hide.
"Do you want to sleep in tomorrow?" Will asks him as they get into bed.
Sam nods in relief, grateful, but so brittle and tired that Will hates himself for suggesting this trip in the first place.
***
He doesn't know why he thought this was a good idea. Rather, he does, but he's kicking himself for not thinking it through. Neither of them is comfortable here. Sam is stuck in the memories that come with big cities--losing jobs and relationships, losing his drive, losing his mind. Will, who's never had a problem with cities before, who has always preferred them to the type of nowhere he lives now, feels suddenly suffocated. He wonders if he's feeling for Sam or if he's just afraid that he and Sam can't exist outside of their tiny town, that once they leave, the spell will be broken and they'll never be the same.
Either way, he's taken to drinking an extra shot of whatever he's having at the bar each night and counting down the hours until they'll be back in their familiar landscape.
***
He presents his paper late on Sunday afternoon. It's nothing ground breaking, nothing new, even, but he's never delivered it at this particular conference and the lack of historical insights into US foreign policy as it relates to academics makes him the regional expert. It's not his best work, but it's rather good, and he'd like for Sam to be there. That's the whole reason he mentioned the trip in the first place.
He knows that handing a copy of the journal article to Sam would be easier than lugging him to Chicago, he's starting to wish he had done just that, but when it comes down to it, having Sam watch him present it to an auditorium of his peers is different than discussing it over coffee. He knows he doesn't need to prove himself to Sam anymore, but he'd like to show that he's good at this, that he can do this, that he's not only made a life for himself out here, but made a good life.
The problem is, Sam is nowhere to be found.
Will leaves him sleeping in the morning. He calls up at lunch to an empty room, then runs up himself between two panels he's vaguely interested in. The room is empty. There's a note on the bedside table:
Gone exploring.
x,
S
Will folds it up and puts it in his pocket. He glances at his watch and runs back downstairs.
The afternoon drags on. He sits in on other lectures, but doesn't absorb anything. He glances at his watch, checks his cellphone for missed calls, and slowly rips his program to shreds without paying any attention to it. A colleague laughs and calls it stage fright, and Will gives him a strained smile as he watches the hands of the clock inch closer to 5pm.
***
He tries to stall as much as he can while still remaining professional, but at 5:10, he takes his place at the podium, arranges his notes, and opens his mouth to speak.
He stutters when he sees Sam slip in the back and take a seat in the last row. He's smiling and the circles are gone from underneath his eyes.
Will smiles back, something loosening in his stomach, and then begins.
***
After the lecture and the questions, as Will is trying to make his way through the well-wishers and those with one more point they'd like to ask him about, Sam appears at his elbow.
He excuses himself, and before he can say anything, Sam kisses him right there, in front of everyone.
They're not like this, normally. Sometimes they hold hands, like the silly old couple they're becoming, but more often than not, the only signs of their relationship are the way they look at each other, the way they hover just a little too close. Everyone in the room knows about them, inferred from the way Sam's been following him around for the past two days, from comments and stories about "our house," "our cat," "our trip."
There's knowing, though, and then there's Sam kissing him, however chastely, in front of an entire room of scholars.
When Sam pulls away, Will hugs him impulsively.
"Thanks," he says quietly.
"You're so... you're so smart," Sam replies.
"Um, thanks," Will says. He knows he's blushing, and it's not just from the bemused looks his colleagues are giving him. "You're pretty smart yourself, Princeton."
"I want to--" Sam looks away, suddenly shy. "Can I take you somewhere for dinner tonight?"
"Why, Sam Seaborn!" Will says, feeling like himself again for the first time since they left Iowa, "Are you asking me out on a date?"
"Shut up," Sam says, but when he smiles, it reaches his eyes.
***
They go back upstairs to change and waste only a few minutes kissing feverishly, tucked into the corner between the closet and the bathroom. It's like something has snapped inside of Will, relieved the tension and the fear and turned this into a real vacation.
"Later, okay?" Sam says, smoothing Will's rumpled hair and ducking away from another kiss. "We have a reservation."
"How did you know I was going to say yes?" Will asks. He literally has Sam backed into a corner and he's finding that he likes that very much.
"I know things," Sam says mischievously. Will grudgingly steps back to let Sam out and is rewarded by a tender kiss to the temple.
"Let's go," Sam says. "I want to talk."
In past relationships, that line has filled him with dread. In fact, just a few months ago, just a few hours ago, Will would have been positive that Sam was ready to move on. But Sam just kissed him in a room full of strangers, and Will still feels invincible.
"Okay," Will says, and he takes Sam's hand as they head out the door.
***
Sam takes him out to a tiny Italian place hidden down an out of the way street. It's a blatant reminder that this used to be Sam's life, and while that makes Will a little restless, he takes his cues from Sam, who's smiling and at ease. They order wine and dinner and Will smooths his napkin over his lap, waiting for Sam to start. He's feeling less invincible as time creeps by, and he needs Sam to start talking soon, before the apprehension settles back in between his shoulders.
"I went to my old firm today," Sam says.
Will nods slowly.
"I had... I don't know. I can't--" He makes a complicated gesture with his hands and then shrugs. "Nothing feels right here. Not the way it feels at home. And I wondered if it was because of how I left. I don't--Will, I'm so--I'm happy. Here. There, I mean. The house, the town, the cat... it all makes me happy." He takes a breath. "You make me happy. But I've been wondering about Chicago, about what I left behind. No, that's not right. Not just in Chicago, in every city I've ever left. I've left everything, Will, my entire life, and I wanted to see--I mean, what if I had been happy here and I just left because it was time to leave? I don't want it to be time to leave Iowa, so I wanted to--"
"Explore," Will finishes for him. He's calm. He's calmer than he probably should be during this conversation. The wine is probably helping with that. He can tell what Sam isn't saying--that when he was in Chicago, LA, New York, DC, he had a job, he had a life, he was a productive member of society. In Iowa, he sits on the porch and works on his book, takes the cat to the vet, and sleeps in the sun. He's afraid he'll get bored. He's afraid he'll move on.
Like Will hasn't been afraid of that since the day he showed up.
"Yes," Sam says. "Exactly. So I called up an old friend and I dropped by the office and said hi and--" He stops. Shakes his head. "My god, Will, they're just--day in and day out, they're--I don't know how they can do it and be happy. I don't know how I did it for so long. I don't know if I was ever happy here. I looked around and I saw them and I thought, 'My god, I can't be that person anymore. Never again.' I don't know if I ever was to begin with."
He's smiling at Will. Will slowly starts to smile back.
"It doesn't feel right," he says. "It never felt right. Not except Washington, and that was--that was different. But this, here, LA, New York... none of that was right. These cities didn't beat me, Will. We were never playing the same game to begin with."
Will's throat is tight. He tries to swallow and kicks Sam under the table.
"You're pretty smart," he manages to say.
"You already established that," Sam replies. He looks down, suddenly, at his empty bread plate. He adds, haltingly, "I just... I wanted you to know. This isn't perfect. It's not what I expected. It's not what was expected of me. But I think I can let myself be happy without being..." He gestures around the room. "This," he says. "And I'm okay with that."
"Good," Will says, firmly. "You should be. You're brilliant, Sam. And you shouldn't have to prove yourself to anyone. You'll never have to prove yourself to me."
"I know," Sam says. "I never have. I think that's why I drove to Iowa in the first place."
Will doesn't have anything to say that wouldn't be embarrassing or emotional, so he settles for kicking Sam under the table again. He smiles when Sam kicks back.
***
When they get into the hotel bed that night, the entire city feels a little less oppressive, and Will can almost hear the wind whistling through the Iowa landscape as he drifts off to sleep.
Title: A Valuable Test
Fandom: The West Wing, Sam/Will
Rating: PG
Summary: He wonders if he's feeling for Sam or if he's just afraid that he and Sam can't exist outside of their tiny town, that once they leave, the spell will be broken and they'll never be the same.
Notes: Takes place in the Iowa sequence, sometime after the third yet-to-be-written story, and about fifteen years after canon. Title from In Love But Not At Peace by Dar Williams
Will's still not sure where they are in their relationship, if they're at this point yet, if it's okay for him to say this, if Sam will even say yes. He wants Sam to come, but will understand if he doesn't want to, even if it hurts. It's more complicated than that, too, because this is Chicago, because Sam's been good out here in the middle of nowhere, miles away from his past failures, but he might not be okay when confronted with those familiar places face to face.
He's not sure if he's more afraid that Sam will decide he misses that kind of life or that Sam will decide he can never leave Iowa again, but he's certainly filled with trepidation as he says, as casually as he can muster, "I have to present a paper in Chicago over the long weekend next month."
Sam stirs his cereal and then looks up. "Okay," he finally says. "When do we leave?"
***
It's a long, winding drive. Sam sleeps most of the way, head pressed against the glass of the passenger window as Will hums along with the intermittent radio and swears that he'll remember to charge his MP3 player for the drive back. They stop along the way at several gas stations and rest stops, the perils of drinking five cups of coffee a piece before getting on the road. They have lunch at a little diner, where they take their lunch to the weathered picnic tables on the side of the building. Sam surprises him by sitting next to him instead of across. They eat in close quarters, and when they're through, Sam takes his hand.
"Why are you scared?" he asks softly.
"I'm not," Will says, though they both know it's a lie.
"Is it okay if I am?" Sam asks.
Will doesn't respond out loud, but he interlocks their fingers. They sit like that until the waitress comes to bring them their check.
***
When they go through the suburbs, Will feels himself start to relax. It's not that bad in the suburbs, it's not that different from where they live. Well, no, really, it's vastly different, but there's the same sense of quiet and community. He sees kids playing on lawns. He sees neighbors chatting over hedges. He sees pretty middle-aged women walking dogs.
He also sees the city on the horizon. His hands tighten on the steering wheel again.
***
Some of the tension drains away once they enter the city itself, replaced by tension of a different kind, by the stress of driving between too-tall building when you're used to wide, empty fields. Will curses softly under his breath as he inches through the traffic, muttering to himself and straining to read the street signs in the distance.
Sam has been awake since they crossed over into Chicago proper, but his open eyes are the only sign of it. He keeps his head against the window, eyes flicking across the busy streets, the crowded corners. He doesn't offer any driving advice, which doesn't surprise Will. He hadn't offered advice about where to stay or eat or how to drive, either. Not that Will had asked; they both seem desperate to hold onto the illusion that Chicago Sam never existed, that they've been living this faux idyllic life for as long as they can remember.
***
They make it to the hotel eventually, though Will loses track of time between long red lights and miles of slowly moving taxis. The woman at the desk who checks them in seems gaudily fake, forcing the kind of wry charm and goodwill that Will is used to seeing naturally exude from the people around him. She makes them two room keys, gives them directions to the elevator, and tells them to enjoy the conference. She smells like stale cigarette smoke, and Will wonders how much of her enthusiasm is to set them at ease and how much of it is to hurry them along so she can sneak outside for a smoke.
Their room is on the twelfth floor, tucked into a corner across from the ice machine. Sam lets them in, and they sit down on the bed side by side, leaving their suitcases by the door.
The room has the kind of foreign familiarity that all hotel rooms manage to project. It looks like every other hotel room he's ever been in, but instead of feeling relaxed, being happy to spend a night in a new place with new surroundings, the sight of it all makes him itchy.
"I should go check into the conference," Will says. "You can come with me, or you can--"
Sam takes his hand before he can finish speaking, without even looking at him. Will's certain that it's more for Sam's reassurance than Will's own. Sam doesn't say, please, don't leave me here, but Will can hear it nonetheless.
***
Sam comes with him wherever he goes.
He doesn't think he's ever seen Sam this unsure of himself. Even those first few weeks in Iowa weren't like this. Sam was lost, yes, but not frightened. At least, not outright.
People occasionally recognize him at these things, but less so as the years go on. He was only press secretary for a few months, and Bob Russell and his ill-fated campaign have faded into obscurity. He's surprised, though, by how many people recognize Sam. Sam was in the spotlight for an even shorter amount of time than Will was, but something about him seems to have stuck with these people.
Something about him seems to stick with everyone he meets, so Will probably shouldn't be surprised after all.
He can tell it makes Sam uncomfortable, though. He's not lying when he tells people he's writing after they ask what he's up to, but he stiffens a little as he says it, rolls his shoulders to release the tension after those conversations.
By the end of the second day, Will sees dark circles popping up under Sam's eyes, the kind that even his Dorian Gray good looks can't seem to hide.
"Do you want to sleep in tomorrow?" Will asks him as they get into bed.
Sam nods in relief, grateful, but so brittle and tired that Will hates himself for suggesting this trip in the first place.
***
He doesn't know why he thought this was a good idea. Rather, he does, but he's kicking himself for not thinking it through. Neither of them is comfortable here. Sam is stuck in the memories that come with big cities--losing jobs and relationships, losing his drive, losing his mind. Will, who's never had a problem with cities before, who has always preferred them to the type of nowhere he lives now, feels suddenly suffocated. He wonders if he's feeling for Sam or if he's just afraid that he and Sam can't exist outside of their tiny town, that once they leave, the spell will be broken and they'll never be the same.
Either way, he's taken to drinking an extra shot of whatever he's having at the bar each night and counting down the hours until they'll be back in their familiar landscape.
***
He presents his paper late on Sunday afternoon. It's nothing ground breaking, nothing new, even, but he's never delivered it at this particular conference and the lack of historical insights into US foreign policy as it relates to academics makes him the regional expert. It's not his best work, but it's rather good, and he'd like for Sam to be there. That's the whole reason he mentioned the trip in the first place.
He knows that handing a copy of the journal article to Sam would be easier than lugging him to Chicago, he's starting to wish he had done just that, but when it comes down to it, having Sam watch him present it to an auditorium of his peers is different than discussing it over coffee. He knows he doesn't need to prove himself to Sam anymore, but he'd like to show that he's good at this, that he can do this, that he's not only made a life for himself out here, but made a good life.
The problem is, Sam is nowhere to be found.
Will leaves him sleeping in the morning. He calls up at lunch to an empty room, then runs up himself between two panels he's vaguely interested in. The room is empty. There's a note on the bedside table:
Gone exploring.
x,
S
Will folds it up and puts it in his pocket. He glances at his watch and runs back downstairs.
The afternoon drags on. He sits in on other lectures, but doesn't absorb anything. He glances at his watch, checks his cellphone for missed calls, and slowly rips his program to shreds without paying any attention to it. A colleague laughs and calls it stage fright, and Will gives him a strained smile as he watches the hands of the clock inch closer to 5pm.
***
He tries to stall as much as he can while still remaining professional, but at 5:10, he takes his place at the podium, arranges his notes, and opens his mouth to speak.
He stutters when he sees Sam slip in the back and take a seat in the last row. He's smiling and the circles are gone from underneath his eyes.
Will smiles back, something loosening in his stomach, and then begins.
***
After the lecture and the questions, as Will is trying to make his way through the well-wishers and those with one more point they'd like to ask him about, Sam appears at his elbow.
He excuses himself, and before he can say anything, Sam kisses him right there, in front of everyone.
They're not like this, normally. Sometimes they hold hands, like the silly old couple they're becoming, but more often than not, the only signs of their relationship are the way they look at each other, the way they hover just a little too close. Everyone in the room knows about them, inferred from the way Sam's been following him around for the past two days, from comments and stories about "our house," "our cat," "our trip."
There's knowing, though, and then there's Sam kissing him, however chastely, in front of an entire room of scholars.
When Sam pulls away, Will hugs him impulsively.
"Thanks," he says quietly.
"You're so... you're so smart," Sam replies.
"Um, thanks," Will says. He knows he's blushing, and it's not just from the bemused looks his colleagues are giving him. "You're pretty smart yourself, Princeton."
"I want to--" Sam looks away, suddenly shy. "Can I take you somewhere for dinner tonight?"
"Why, Sam Seaborn!" Will says, feeling like himself again for the first time since they left Iowa, "Are you asking me out on a date?"
"Shut up," Sam says, but when he smiles, it reaches his eyes.
***
They go back upstairs to change and waste only a few minutes kissing feverishly, tucked into the corner between the closet and the bathroom. It's like something has snapped inside of Will, relieved the tension and the fear and turned this into a real vacation.
"Later, okay?" Sam says, smoothing Will's rumpled hair and ducking away from another kiss. "We have a reservation."
"How did you know I was going to say yes?" Will asks. He literally has Sam backed into a corner and he's finding that he likes that very much.
"I know things," Sam says mischievously. Will grudgingly steps back to let Sam out and is rewarded by a tender kiss to the temple.
"Let's go," Sam says. "I want to talk."
In past relationships, that line has filled him with dread. In fact, just a few months ago, just a few hours ago, Will would have been positive that Sam was ready to move on. But Sam just kissed him in a room full of strangers, and Will still feels invincible.
"Okay," Will says, and he takes Sam's hand as they head out the door.
***
Sam takes him out to a tiny Italian place hidden down an out of the way street. It's a blatant reminder that this used to be Sam's life, and while that makes Will a little restless, he takes his cues from Sam, who's smiling and at ease. They order wine and dinner and Will smooths his napkin over his lap, waiting for Sam to start. He's feeling less invincible as time creeps by, and he needs Sam to start talking soon, before the apprehension settles back in between his shoulders.
"I went to my old firm today," Sam says.
Will nods slowly.
"I had... I don't know. I can't--" He makes a complicated gesture with his hands and then shrugs. "Nothing feels right here. Not the way it feels at home. And I wondered if it was because of how I left. I don't--Will, I'm so--I'm happy. Here. There, I mean. The house, the town, the cat... it all makes me happy." He takes a breath. "You make me happy. But I've been wondering about Chicago, about what I left behind. No, that's not right. Not just in Chicago, in every city I've ever left. I've left everything, Will, my entire life, and I wanted to see--I mean, what if I had been happy here and I just left because it was time to leave? I don't want it to be time to leave Iowa, so I wanted to--"
"Explore," Will finishes for him. He's calm. He's calmer than he probably should be during this conversation. The wine is probably helping with that. He can tell what Sam isn't saying--that when he was in Chicago, LA, New York, DC, he had a job, he had a life, he was a productive member of society. In Iowa, he sits on the porch and works on his book, takes the cat to the vet, and sleeps in the sun. He's afraid he'll get bored. He's afraid he'll move on.
Like Will hasn't been afraid of that since the day he showed up.
"Yes," Sam says. "Exactly. So I called up an old friend and I dropped by the office and said hi and--" He stops. Shakes his head. "My god, Will, they're just--day in and day out, they're--I don't know how they can do it and be happy. I don't know how I did it for so long. I don't know if I was ever happy here. I looked around and I saw them and I thought, 'My god, I can't be that person anymore. Never again.' I don't know if I ever was to begin with."
He's smiling at Will. Will slowly starts to smile back.
"It doesn't feel right," he says. "It never felt right. Not except Washington, and that was--that was different. But this, here, LA, New York... none of that was right. These cities didn't beat me, Will. We were never playing the same game to begin with."
Will's throat is tight. He tries to swallow and kicks Sam under the table.
"You're pretty smart," he manages to say.
"You already established that," Sam replies. He looks down, suddenly, at his empty bread plate. He adds, haltingly, "I just... I wanted you to know. This isn't perfect. It's not what I expected. It's not what was expected of me. But I think I can let myself be happy without being..." He gestures around the room. "This," he says. "And I'm okay with that."
"Good," Will says, firmly. "You should be. You're brilliant, Sam. And you shouldn't have to prove yourself to anyone. You'll never have to prove yourself to me."
"I know," Sam says. "I never have. I think that's why I drove to Iowa in the first place."
Will doesn't have anything to say that wouldn't be embarrassing or emotional, so he settles for kicking Sam under the table again. He smiles when Sam kicks back.
***
When they get into the hotel bed that night, the entire city feels a little less oppressive, and Will can almost hear the wind whistling through the Iowa landscape as he drifts off to sleep.