fic - tww: sam/will - change of plans
Wheeee! Fic!
Title: Change of Plans
Fandom: The West Wing
Characters/Pairing: Sam/Will, Josh
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: The characters belong to Aaron Sorkin, Sam's shitty new canon belongs to John Wells.
Spoilers: Through "Transition"
Summary: Sam questions his career decisions with a gentle push from Will.
Notes: Gratuitous newscaster name-dropping (Sanjay Gupta IS very calming!), walking all over John Wells' decisions, and a deliciously cheesy joke about Congress. Written for raedbard's Rareathon and submitted early because I'll be away for the deadline.
Huge thanks to scrollgirl for beta-reading and being a general sounding board. ::huge hugs::
Sam is on beer number three when Will drops to the steps next to him. He spares him half a glance before returning his eyes to the sidewalk.
"Hey," he says, not looking up from the ground. He's counting cracks, or he was counting cracks. That game got old towards the end of beer number one, and most of beer number two had been spent trying to think of new games, of better games. Beer number three he had reverted back to cracks, and the half glance at Will, at Will's open collar visible through his open coat, at the curve of Will's neck, was enough to remind him that counting cracks was going to get him through the night unscathed.
"Nice party," Will says by way of greeting. Sam shrugs and looks over his shoulder, offering Will a half smile.
"Not really," he says. "I mean, it's not really my thing. Not anymore. I don't know any of these people. I know you and... Donna. Josh. Practically no one."
"To be honest, I don't know anyone either. I mean, I know of them from when I was running against them but they're not really my crowd."
"But I don't even know that much," Sam says. "They're all so young and new and completely different from the people I left behind." He sighs quietly. "Josh wants me to be their boss and I can't even keep their names straight."
"Deputy Chief of Staff," Will says. So. He had heard, then.
"Right," says Sam. "You know, I never actually said I'd take the job. People seem to keep forgetting that."
"Right," says Will. "Josh Lyman asks you to work for him and you don't scramble at the chance?"
Sam glares at him and clutches the bottle close to his chest. "We don't have that kind of a relationship anymore," he insists, and immediately regrets his choice of words. Heh. Not that what he and Josh had could ever be called a relationship.
"Right," Will says again, and Sam wants to strangle him, although he's pretty sure he's just looking for an excuse to touch Will's neck.
"Shut up," he mutters, but it's a half-hearted objection and he rests his head against the railing on the steps. Amy's steps. Amy's party. "I didn't know you knew Amy Gardner," he says after a moment.
"You can't work in this city and not know Amy," Will says. A pause. "She helped with the Wilde campaign. She liked me because I was scared of her."
"She finds that appealing," Sam says. He hardly takes a breath before quickly adding, "I didn't want to take the job."
Sam's expecting Will to scoff or roll his eyes or blink at him in shock. He's not expecting the way that Will calmly sips his beer and says, "I know."
"You know?"
"Yeah."
Will slides closer to him on the step, and Sam has to curb the urge to reach out and do something he'll regret in the morning.
"You're not the guy who pulls the strings," Will says. "You're not the guy who runs around behind the scenes. You're the guy who crafts the language and nearly kills himself making sure that everyone hears it. You're the guy who wants to change the world, and puts himself out there at the mercy of the people to do it. You're the guy who trusts that the public is going to do what's right, and even when they prove you wrong, you get right out there and try again because this time you're doing it a little bit differently and maybe they'll like that better. You are, if you'll forgive the cliché, a man of the people, Sam." Sam closes his eyes. "At least, I think you are. I thought you were. I mean, at least... god, Sam, back to corporate law?"
Will is accusing where Josh had only been impatient and unsurprised. Sam hadn't been thrilled by Josh's reaction. He was surprised. He followed the Santos campaign. He read the polling numbers as soon as they went public. He poured his money into donations and events. He woke up every morning and looked in the mirror, disgusted with the path he had chosen. He wasn't made for that. He was made for this, for writing and sparkling oratory and the rapid-fire pace of the Beltway. This is where he was supposed to be, but Josh had walked into the board meeting and acted like that was where Sam belonged.
That alone made him want to stay there. That alone made him wonder what in the world going back to DC would be worth, especially if Josh, if Josh of all people, didn't seem to realize what he had done to himself.
But Will had.
"I don't know," he says to Will. "I just... I didn't know what else to do." He pauses and adds, "I'm sorry. That I didn't win for you."
"You could have come back here," Will says. "You could have... Leo had a job all lined up for you. Or if you didn't want to work in the White House there were a dozen other choices. You could have come back here."
"I moved on," Sam says weakly.
"You gave up." It probably wouldn't hurt so much if it weren't true. Still, he flinches, wounded, and looks at Will, who softens slightly. He moves closer. Sam's starting to get cold and he appreciates the added warmth of Will sitting next to him. His stomach flutters and it's hard to swallow, but he does appreciate it.
"The thing is," Sam says, looking away from Will and out into the street, "that to Josh, this is the golden opportunity. To Josh, this is perfect. To Josh, Deputy Chief of Staff is the ticket to Chief of Staff, and to Josh that means everything. It's not something I would ever choose for myself, and he doesn't get that. You're right. You were right about that, at least. This isn't what I want."
"It isn't what we wanted, either," Will says. He kicks a pebble off the step and Sam watches it skitter out into the middle of the street.
"It's what Josh wanted," Sam says. "Josh wanted to play the hero again. He got his chance."
"Oh please!" Will says. It's so derisive, so filled with contempt, that Sam looks over at him again. "If you catered to every single thing that Joshua Lyman wanted... Josh has got his head so far up his ass when it comes to other people that I'm surprised he thought to call you at all. It doesn't matter what Josh wants. He doesn't know you and he doesn't understand what he means to you, not really. This shouldn't be about what Josh Lyman wants, Sam, this should be about what you want."
Sam stares for a moment. He's knows it's true, he knows it should be true, at least, but no one's ever put it quite that way before. Not recently. Not since his disastrous run in the 47th. It's been a long time since he's done something for himself, and for some reason, he's not all that surprised that Will is the one who's reminding him of that.
He kisses Will softly on the mouth, as if thanking him for the kind words. It takes less than a second for him to kiss again, harder, pulling Will closer by the lapels of his jacket and sighing soundlessly when Will begins to kiss back.
"I know what I want," Sam breathes, his face so close he can feel Will's eyelashes fluttering. "I want speeches and rallies and talking to people. I want to make a mark. I want to get things done." He pauses and opens his eyes, which have been closed since the moment he pressed his lips to Will's. "I want you to come back to my hotel room with me. I've wanted that since that first day on the beach."
Will kisses him again, letting his beer bottle slide from his hands. Sam can hear it rolling down the steps, but it seems far away, unimportant. Will's hands are in his hair and on his face, but they're touching him delicately, tender in a way that Josh's frantic gropings never were. He slips his hands under Will's coat and smiles to himself when Will's breath hitches.
"Okay," Will says in between short, excited kisses. "Um...right. Okay. I was seeing this woman. I just broke up with her today. So I'm just warning you that this maybe isn't the greatest idea right now." He doesn't stop the tiny, urgent kisses, though, and he pulls Sam closer, turning so that he's almost straddling Sam, hands under his coat, his suit jacket, right up against the thin fabric of his shirt.
"I'm engaged," Sam says, kissing back and breathing long and deep, savoring the taste, the smell, the feel of someone against him like this, of Will against him, of Will touching him with the sort of enthusiasm and curiosity that Sam has always wanted but never felt.
"Then this is a really bad idea," Will murmurs, but he slides his lips down to Sam's throat nonetheless. Sam's not sure exactly when Will Bailey became the answer to all of his questions, but he's whispering Will's name over and over again as they inch closer together and it feels like the only thing he'll ever need to say again to remain happy.
It's cold, but it doesn't feel cold, not anymore, not once Will is nearly on top of him and they're both huddled under the other's jacket.
"This is so stupid," Will says. He's laughing as he says it, laughing and whispering into Sam's neck and pulling them both to their feet. His cheeks are flushed, warm against Sam's skin. "This is so stupid," he says again, "but I was just thinking about this. About you, I mean. Kate said goodbye to me, today, and I really wanted things to work out. I did. But she said goodbye and I thought, 'Jesus, I hope Sam's at Amy's party tonight.' I thought I was clinging to a hopeless... whatever this is. Was. Whatever." He laughs again and pulls Sam down the stairs. Sam isn't protesting, not at all, because he's feeling an overwhelming need to get Will naked, to keep touching him, to keep being touched. Will's fingers are loosening his tie as they haltingly walk down the sidewalk. Sam doesn't even think to ask where they're going. A dark alley sounds good, although somewhere warmer would be better, somewhere he could take his time removing Will's clothing, touching him, watching him.
Will backs him up against something, some sort of car, and kisses him again, hands sliding against his face. It's the kind of kiss that forces Sam to close his eyes and leaves him breathless. Will lets go of him before he can fully recover, opening the door and sliding into the driver's seat of the car.
"Whoa," Sam says, blinking, panting, trying to regain his bearings.
"Get in the car," Will says. He tilts his head with a tiny smile. It's endearing. It parts his collar again, brings his neck to prominence, as if the image of Will Bailey's neck could ever really leave his mind.
"You're drunk," Sam says, eyes lingering on Will's face and throat and fingers.
"Not really," he says. Sam stumbles around to the passenger door. "I'm good to drive. Better than you, at least."
Sam freezes. "This isn't--I mean, I'm not...Even if I were sober--"
"I know." Will smiles affectionately, invitingly. "I just want us to get back to the hotel in one piece. This is something I've been thinking about for four years. I'm not going to fuck it up with a car accident."
"Right," Sam says. He smiles back and gets in the car, blood humming through his veins, hands shaking. He reaches across the front seat and fixes the collar of Will's coat, fingers lingering on his neck. Will's eyes slip shut.
"Right," Will repeats. He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes. "Right. Let's go."
"Let's," Sam says. He leans against the door watching Will, relaxing as Will pulls away from the curb and starts down the street. For the first time in three and a half years, his future seems truly uncertain, but at the moment, he can't bring himself to care.
It's Sunday morning, and Sam's not sure why that's the first thing he thinks of when he opens his eyes. Sunday morning means he can sleep in. Sunday morning in early December and no one's doing much of anything, no one's expecting much of anything, and Sam has all day to lie in bed with Will's arm draped over his waist.
Except, no, because that banging, that's what woke him up. Knocking. Someone is knocking on the door to his hotel room.
He gingerly lifts Will's arm up and places it on the bed, taking a moment to stare at the other man. Thinking about last night leaves him somewhere between wide-eyed awe and stunned disbelief. He's not sure how he went from engaged to Ellen and working in California to getting out of bed with Will Bailey and taking the plunge back into politics, but he can't say he's regretting his choices, especially not now. He smiles and pulls the blankets back over Will's shoulders. He has to hunt in order to find his own clothes in the mess of pants and shirts and ties strewn between the bedroom and the outer room of the suite, but he manages to make himself presentable before he opens the door.
He shouldn't be shocked to see Josh standing outside--Josh is the only person who would not only wake him at nine on a Sunday, but would be irritated that he wasn't already awake--but he's slightly distressed once he realizes that if Josh spends more then a few seconds studying the inside of the room, what went on the night before will become very clear. He needs to get rid of Josh as soon as possible.
He pulls the door open just enough so that he can lean on the doorframe.
"Good morning," he says, rubbing his eyes absently.
"Morning," Josh says. He's dressed for the office and carrying his backpack and an armful of folders. Sam sighs. He knows exactly what's coming. "Look, I need you to take a few meetings for me today."
"Josh, it's Sunday," he says, scratching his forehead. "You said today was an off-day. You only just got back from your trip." He's known Josh too long to think that any of these excuses will work on him.
"For everyone else, not for us." Josh is starting to intrude on his personal space. It's clear he wants to go inside and sit down, but Sam's not quite ready to have the fight that he needs to have with Josh. Just a few more hours. If he could only sit with Will for a few more hours, force Will's confidence to become his own, feed off of his enthusiasm and conviction.
"No one even expects you to go back to the office until tomorrow," Sam says. "It can wait. Relax. Spend some time with Donna." He pulls the door over against the side of his body, but Josh doesn't get the hint or, more likely, chooses to ignore it.
"I've spent my entire vacation with Donna," he says. "Donna's asleep. I'm trying to get back into things. What's going on? Did what'shername fly in last night? Is that why you left Amy's party early?" He raises an eyebrow and Sam shifts around, refusing to make eye contact.
"Ellen," he says, "and no, she didn't. I left Amy's party early for many reasons and one of them is that I'd like some time to think about what working for this administration will mean for me. I still haven't said yes, Josh." Josh rolls his eyes and pushes inside before Sam can stop him. Sam stands by the door, rubbing the back of his neck, holding in another sigh and praying that Josh doesn't decide to start counting socks and pants.
"Okay," Josh says, placing his files on the desk and his backpack on the ground, "here's what I need you to do today."
"Josh, I'm serious." Josh ignores him, continues to rifle through his papers. "Josh." He looks up. Sam takes a deep breath before he continues. "I'm honored that you came to me for this. I really am. It means a lot to me that you think I'm ready for this, that you think I can handle this. I've always looked up to you when it comes to politics, I've always relied on you. But I can't... Josh this isn't me. This is you. This is what you would have wanted but I'm not..." He tries, desperately, to remember how Will put it the night before. "I'm not the guy behind the scenes, pulling the strings. That's not who I want to be. You and I work brilliantly together, but it's not because we think the same way and want the same things, Josh. It's the opposite of that. This is your arena. It's not mine." He bites his lip when he's finished and stares at Josh, who's giving him a very peculiar look. The silence stretches, and just as Sam is about to prompt him for a reaction, Josh laughs.
"Yeah, okay, whatever," he says. "I don't really have time for--"
"I'm serious."
"You can't be," Josh says flatly. "Look, Sam, you already said--"
"I never said," he insists. He crosses the room, stands in front of Josh, and looks him in the eye. "Josh, I said I'd think about it. And I have. This isn't what I want. I'm touched that you hold my abilities in such high regard. I know how important this position is to you. But it's not what I want to be doing. I'm a writer, Josh, I'm not a political power player."
"You're crazy," Josh says, laughing again. "You're nuts! There's no way... what do you even mean, this isn't what you want? This is the White House, Sam! This trumps anything else anyone could offer you! What, did your firm offer you more money? A better position? This blows that out of the water."
"No one offered me anything," Sam says. "This is what I want. This is what's important to me. I'm not going back to law. I want to... I want to run for office." Josh snorts and Sam can feel the color rising in his cheeks. He's not ready for this argument. He needs time to work out the details, to prepare himself for this self-righteous, self-absorbed behavior from Josh. He knows that Josh doesn't mean to hurt him, but he also knows that Josh isn't going to realize he's being unreasonable unless someone points it out to him explicitly.
"You tried that once before, remember? It didn't work out too well."
"Josh!"
"Why did you even come here if you don't want the job?" Josh asks. His voice is starting to take on the slightly high-pitched, hysterical quality it gets when he's reached the end of his rope. Sam grits his teeth. He's not backing down now, no matter how much he'd like to pause this and save it for another day.
"I came here because... I came here because you asked me to. Because I'm so used to doing what you tell me to do that I don't even question it anymore. I came here because I thought it was what I was supposed to do, follow your example, do as I'm told." Sam takes a deep breath and straightens his shoulders, but he knows that after nearly twenty years it's impossible to intimidate Josh. "I'm not a green little intern working on the Hill anymore, Josh. I've had experience. I know what I want to do and I don't need you to show me."
"That's great! That's just great." Josh turns away abruptly and paces around the room, refusing to even look in Sam's direction. Sam slumps into the desk chair and rests his head in his hands, but he looks up when he hears Josh stop moving. He's standing over the couch, where two black overcoats are pooled on the floor, next to a dress shirt in a dark purple color that Sam has never and will never own. Sam swallows hard and stands up.
"Maybe you should--"
"Why did you leave the party early?" Josh asks, still not looking up.
"Josh," Sam says quickly, walking over to the other side of the room, "we can finish this conversation later, but you should probably--"
"Will Bailey ducked out early too," Josh continues. "You didn't happen to bump into him on your way out, did you?"
There's really nothing left for Sam to say. He crosses his arms and looks at Josh, waiting for the glares, the questions, the accusations that he had given up his right to make a long time ago.
"You slept with Will Bailey," he says, looking up at Sam. Sam sets his jaw and nods. "You slept with Will Bailey?" Sam nods again. "Sam!"
"Oh, what does it matter to you?" Sam snaps.
"What about your fiancée?"
"What about her? It didn't matter to you that I was engaged to Lisa. It's okay for me to cheat on my fiancée as long as it's with you?"
"That was different," Josh says in an urgent, accusing whisper. "That was a completely different--you and I... you can't compare this to that! I mean, it's Will Bailey!"
"Would you stop saying his name like that?" It might be Josh's attitude or maybe the condescending tone he keeps taking, but Sam is finished dealing with Josh's bullshit. "You're acting like it's... beneath me or something. He's smart, he's funny, he's an amazing writer, and he actually seems to understand me. He knows what I'm like, which is more than I can say for you, lately."
"I have no idea what you're talking about!" Josh says.
"I'm talking about how it took Will three seconds to notice that I was unhappy and to understand why," Sam hisses. "I'm talking about how he was disappointed in my choices, how he expected better for me. I'm talking about how he thinks I can make it on my own. He thought I was worth more than this. He was actually surprised that I failed."
Josh stares at him and Sam, for once, is unnerved by his ability to render people speechless. Josh should be yelling or making a ruckus. He shouldn't be standing in stunned silence. Josh is never silent, especially not in the middle of an argument.
Before he can say anything more, though, he hears the door to the bedroom creak open. Both he and Josh turn towards the sound, and once Will sees that he's been spotted, he sheepishly steps out into the room. He's wearing boxers and a t-shirt and his hair is in complete disarray. Sam's hand twitches, but he manages to subdue the urge to reach out and smooth it down. Josh, he notices, has pursed his lips but said nothing.
"Sorry," Will says, "but I think, uh, I left some things..." He trails off and shrugs. "There's not really a subtle way to say I'm missing my pants, is there?"
"Not really, no," Sam says, hiding a smile. He knows that Will has probably heard most of his argument with Josh. He's actually hoping for it. He was drunk last night, he knows that, and Will was too. He doesn't want Will to think this was a mistake. It wasn't. It was probably the first thing he's done that's felt right in... four years. "Josh is just leaving. I'll be back inside in a minute," he says to Will. "We can talk about pants then. I mean, it's early yet."
Will raises his eyebrows. "Too early for pants?" There's a clear question in his eyes. Sam holds his gaze and nods.
"They'd make things significantly more difficult." Will looks at him like he's speaking in tongues, but it slowly fades into a tiny, pleased smile.
"Okay," he says. "I'll see if there's anything good on teevee in the meantime." Sam takes hold of his wrist before he can leave and they stare at each other. Sam wants to kiss him--really, truly wants to kiss him and linger against him for just a second before he goes back to his argument with Josh, but it's a bad idea and he knows it. Kissing Will now would be manipulative. It would only serve to make Josh angrier, to make him jealous, and as much as Sam wants to kiss Will for all the right reasons, he knows that he wouldn't mind doing it for all the wrong ones, either.
Before he can spend any more time debating his course of action, Will leans forward and does it himself. It's a chaste kiss, gentle and inviting, but Sam can feel Josh's eyes on them, which multiplies the intensity. Despite all the time that's passed, Sam still feels a vague sense of guilt, a lingering uneasiness. It's not hard, though, to push it to the back of his mind and focus on Will's mouth. Will smiles at Sam when he pulls away, dragging his thumb across Sam's cheek, but his eyes drift over to Josh for a moment and harden, challenging Josh to comment.
"Morning," Josh says tersely.
"Good morning," Will replies. It's not until Sam squeezes his wrist that he looks away and ducks back into the bedroom with an apologetic smile, murmuring about Meet the Press. Sam watches him go and then turns back to Josh. There's a strange, strained silence. Sam isn't sure he can come up with an appropriate way to break it.
"I wasn't..." Josh says quietly, looking away. "I mean, it wasn't that I wasn't surprised that you failed. Or I guess... I didn't think that you failed. I never thought that."
"I did."
"I just didn't look at it that way," Josh says. "I mean, I guess you're right. Looking at it now, knowing how you feel, I can see why you would think that." He rubs the back of his neck, eyes still cast downward. "But the reason I acted the way I did... it wasn't because you failed. It wasn't me trying to swoop in and... I dunno, rescue you from your mistakes." Josh looks up again, running a hand through his hair. He looks tired, suddenly. "I wanted you on board. I wanted to work with you again. I wanted things to go back to how they were back when we first started in DC. I thought you'd need your arm twisted."
Sam rubs at his face with his hands, leaving his eyes covered and tries to push back the headache that is attempting to break through. Of course Josh had good intentions. Josh always has good intentions. He just never pauses to wonder if the intentions are good for anyone other than himself.
"You were my best friend," Sam says. "I know that sounds like something a fourteen year old girl would say, but I can't think of any other way to put it. We were more than friends, we were more than brothers, and I got three phone calls in four years. I know you were busy, but I felt... abandoned. I talked to Toby more than I talked to you. I talked to Will more than I talked to you. And then you came out to get me, finally, and you just... you got it all wrong, Josh." He drops his hands to his sides in defeat. "Ten years ago you pulled me from a boardroom in the pouring rain to help someone who ended up meaning the world to us. I thought I loved you that day. I really, truly did." He laughs somewhat sadly and Josh flinches. "You can't replicate that, Josh. It happened. We worked for the greatest president in the last fifty years and it was incredible. It was breathtaking. It's something that I'll hold onto for the rest of my life, but it's over and it's been over for years. I want different things now. It can't be like it was back then, and you can't walk back into my life after four years and expect us to pick up where we left off."
He feels guilty saying it, just a little, because isn't that exactly what he did with Will? One conversation, one drink together, and off to give into the sexual tension that had existed between them for four years? Still, it's different. Will had grown and changed and he had grown and they had acknowledged that. They understand what the other wants. They understand each other. Josh doesn't understand him, not anymore, and maybe he never did. It hurts a little to think that, to stand there and realize that maybe Josh spent all those years without absorbing anything at all. It's the truth, though, and Sam can't bend reality. He can't pretend that things will be all right. He can't make Josh into something that he isn't, especially now that Josh has Donna. Especially now that Will is sitting in the other room, waiting for him.
"I'm sorry," Josh says, and Sam can tell he means it.
"I know," Sam says. "It's in the past. It all is. You have this great opportunity opening in front of you. You have the job you've worked your whole life for and you have the woman you've loved for the past ten years. You're doing okay, Josh."
"It's not the job I've been working my whole life for," Josh admits. "I mean, it is. White House chief of Staff. And I do believe in Matt, I really do. But it was never... I had always hoped... when we talked..." Josh's expression is pained, and Sam bites his lip. It hurts Sam, too, thinking what he'd lost, what he'd been so close to having. He knows what Josh is trying to say. When they used to talk, it was never Matt Santos in the Oval Office. It was always Sam.
"I know," he says, sparing Josh from saying it out loud. "But there's still time. We're young, yet. Think of this as your practice run." That gets a smile out of Josh, even though it's a shallow, clumsy one.
"I should go," Josh says. He starts to cross the room, back to the desk where his papers and backpack are still sitting untouched. "I should let you... do whatever." Sam nods. "You two probably have... you know, things." He gathers up his folders and grabs his backpack. It's clear this conversation isn't over, but Sam knows that the most difficult parts are out of the way.
"You should get back to Donna," Sam says. "You still have a whole day of vacation left, you know."
"Yeah," Josh says. "I guess you're right." He stands in front of the door uncertainly, his fingers tightening around his papers. "Listen, Sam, I know you don't want this job, but--"
"We'll talk," Sam assures him. "I'll stop by tomorrow morning and we'll figure something out." Josh nods.
"It was good seeing you," he says.
"You too," Sam says, and he's a little surprised to find that he means it.
"Tell Will I said... you know, whatever." Sam smiles and nods. Josh lingers for another moment, and Sam's not sure who initiates the hug, but in a split second they're holding onto each other again. He can feel Josh take a shaky breath as they pull away. He offers Sam a resigned smile, which he returns as Josh pulls the door open and disappears out into the hallway.
Sam closes the door behind him, but doesn't move at first. He stands with his hand on the knob, chewing on his lower lip as he stares at the back of the door. He's just ended a chapter of his life. He feels like he should be mourning or questioning or at least pausing to reflect, but really he's just ready to move on. It occurs to him that this part of his life probably ended a long time ago. A recognition of the conclusion is long overdue, and now that's he's said it out loud, now that ten years have gone by and he knows that this is it... it's very easy to open the door again, slip the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the handle, and retreat into the bedroom.
Will is sitting cross-legged on the bed, trying very hard to look casual. He's watching NBC with the volume off, his eyes not quite focused on Tim Russert and his guests. When Sam opens the door, he turns a little too quickly and offers Sam a weak smile.
"They're talking about the end of the Bartlet era," Will says. "Speculating about pardons, whether Santos can ride on Bartlet's popularity." Sam carefully sits on the edge of the bed, eyes on the television.
"The sound's off," he says.
"I read the guest list and projected topics," Will says. "One of the perks to being basically the only senior staff in Communications. I get to read all the memos and information myself."
"Yeah," Sam says, picking at the bedspread, suddenly and illogically shy.
"I guess we should talk about some things," Will says. "Like Oregon."
That non sequitur is enough to make Sam look up again. "Oregon?" he asks.
"Yeah. As in the place I'll be moving to shortly."
Sam blinks. "Oregon."
"Yeah."
Sam has always seen Will's natural state as being completely immersed in politics and he can't understand what Oregon of all places would--
"Oh," Sam says quietly. "Oh! Oh, wow." Will shrugs. "Wow, Will, that's... which district?"
"The fourth," Will says. Sam raises his eyebrows. The Oregon 4th would be almost as interesting a battle for a Democrat as the California 47th. "I know. It's going to be tough, but the more I think about it, the more I really want to do it. I never saw myself as a candidate before. I always thought I was better behind the scenes, but I have to admit, the idea is really appealing. I think I could be good at it."
"I know you could be good at it," Sam says. "I just... wow, Will. That's amazing. And if anyone can secure a Democratic victory in the Oregon 4th, it's you. Hands down. I don't know how you do it, but you really reach out to the electorate. You inspire them. I sometimes think that if I kept you on as my campaign manager, I would have won the 47th."
"You're plenty inspiring yourself, Sam," Will says, but his cheeks are going slightly pink. Sam swings his legs onto the bed and slides over, resting against the headboard a few inches away from Will.
"Oregon," he says again, ignoring the compliment. "That would make things... interesting."
"Complicated," Will says. He leans back too, his shoulder just brushing Sam's. He looks tired and distant. Sam has the urge to hold his hand and tell him that everything will be all right, even if he knows it's not necessarily true.
"Will," he says quietly, instead, "I... really like you. I can't tell you why. I don't know the reasoning behind it. All I know is that I stood in the back of a press conference back in 2002 and watched you talk to the press and... I can't even find the words for it. I felt inspired in a way I hadn't been in a long time. I know I said I ran that race for Kay Wilde, but if it hadn't been for you, I would have walked away and never looked back."
"I've got you beat," Will replies. "You walked in and said my name. When I looked up at you, my stomach bottomed out. You're a very attractive man, Sam Seaborn."
Sam laughs and looks away. "Thank you," he says. "But let me finish. I'm not sure what I'm doing out here, Will. A month ago I was working in Los Angeles and engaged to Ellen. Now... I'm not sure what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm going to do when I get out of bed tomorrow morning, but you're the first person I've seen since I've come back who's made sense to me. I trust you and I like you and things are going to be crazy around me for the next few weeks but... I think you'd be a nice kind of crazy."
"A nice kind of crazy?" Will says. He's smiling. "Are you questioning my mental caliber?"
"Well, you are running in the Oregon 4th."
"That's a point well taken." They sit in silence for a moment and Sam finally gives in, casually taking Will's hand in his own. "I like you too," Will finally continues, "and I think I'd like to be part of the insanity surrounding you."
"Good," Sam says. He squeezes Will's hand and Will squeezes back. It's been a long time since he's really felt this way about someone else. Mallory, maybe. Or Ainsley, and even with them there was always the lingering presence of Josh in the background, even though he and Josh had been over for months, years by that point. Ellen is nice; she's pretty and tiny and sweet. She keeps tropical fish and reads mystery novels and works in family law. She is a wonderful woman and a devoted fiancée, but he has never been completely in love with her. She's charming and, most of all, she's safe, and that was enough. She isn't interested in politics, not really. She thought his past was fascinating when they met, but she didn't completely understand it. She knows he misses it and doesn't mind moving out here for him, but he knows she isn't ready for what that really means. Ellen likes having him home at six o'clock every day, just in time for dinner, and she likes having time to go sailing on the weekends. There's no way she would adjust to forty-eight hours straight of work, to him coming home at one am, only to get up and leave for work again at six. She couldn't handle the Beltway, and he knows that, deep down.
He sighs.
"I'm really bad at this," he says. "I always have been. Before Ellen, I hadn't been in a real relationship since... not counting Ainsley or Mallory, I guess it was Josh, probably. If you could even call it a relationship." Will tries hard to hide his grimace, but it doesn't work. "You really don't like him, do you?"
"He's a great political mind," Will says. "He seems like a nice guy. But he's... he's not right for you." Sam studies Will's face, the way the corner of his mouth turns down just a little, the strange, sulky look in his eyes...
"You're jealous!" Sam exclaims. "You're jealous of my relationship with Josh." He's perhaps a little more gleeful than he should be. Jealousy. That's new. Josh had never been anything more than dismissive of the women who came between them and Lisa's discovery of exactly what would be waiting for him in Washington had been more anger than envy. It's a terrible thing to admit to, but Will's jealousy is making him feel pretty good. Plus, green is a very appealing color on Will Bailey.
"No," Will says quickly. "No. No, I'm not--except yes, I am, a little." It's cute, it's really adorable, but Sam doesn't say that, he just smiles a little self-satisfied grin that only widens when Will drops his head to Sam's shoulder in embarrassment. "It's just that you were always-- He was never--" Sam chuckles as Will continues to stutter, trying to find words to match his obvious unease. Sam remembers, distantly, a conversation with Toby near the end of his campaign in the 47th.
You were right, although I think he's more one of you than one of us. He gets a little googly-eyed whenever he talks about your writing and he's already picked up your unfortunate aptitude for imagery. It's possible he's got a little hero-worship thing happening, but I honestly don't give a rat's ass as long as he keeps doing what he's doing.
"Josh has everything at his fingertips," Will finally manages to say. "All the time. The career he's dreamed of. A really great, funny, amazing woman who's crazy about him. Enough clout to get away with almost anything he could want. And you. It didn't take me long to realize you guys used to have something going on, but it wasn't until I worked with Donna every day that I really saw how easily he just casts everything aside. My career's important to me, too, and I get that having a relationship and working in Washington is nearly impossible, but I won't let that stop me from trying. I'm not any better at this than you are or than he is, but I'm not going to let it get away if I really want it."
"The thing you have to understand about Josh," Sam says gently, "is that... he's spent his entire life watching the people he loves get hurt or taken away from him or... whatever. He's a mess. He's afraid of people. It makes him act carelessly and thoughtlessly and stupidly but..." He shrugs, and the motion causes Will's head to slip down into the crook of his neck. He has to suppress a shiver. "It's hard to understand if you don't know him." He raises his hand to comb through Will's hair, surprised at how easily this comes, sitting and touching and talking without any snappy debates or complicated rules. He turns his head just as Will looks up and he's suddenly breathless and very nearly dizzy. He feels Will exhale softly, soft brown eyes widening at the sudden closeness and then slipping shut altogether. Sam tightens the hand still in Will's hair and uses the other to slide his glasses to the top of his head.
"Still too early for pants?" Will says casually with only the slightest tremor in his voice.
"Of course," Sam said. "Meet the Press is still on." He pulls Will closer, and Will responds by swinging a leg around so that he's straddling Sam's lap.
"Turn off the teevee," he orders. "Tim Russert in the background is just going to ruin my performance." Sam is incredibly flustered and breathless at Will's sudden initiative, but he does manage to grope around in the sheets until he can find the remote and click off the teevee.
"Tim Russert's a turn-off, huh?"
"Are you kidding?" Will's raising his eyebrows in disbelief, but Sam doesn't have much time to contemplate that, as he leans in and kisses Sam quickly before adding, "Now if it were Anderson Cooper..."
Sam kisses him back. "What about Dan Abrams?"
"Abrams works," Will says. "Cooper, Abrams, Mark Gottfried, maybe Brian Williams, Chris Matthews--"
"Chris Matthews?" Sam bites back a laugh at Will's sheepish smile.
"Yeah," he says. "I don't know what it is about him." He pauses. "Sanjay Gupta."
"He has a very soothing personality," Sam agrees. "I would definitely trust him in a health crisis." Before Will can reply, Sam pushes him forward, flipping them both and pinning Will to the bed, kissing him quiet. The next few minutes are spent in near silence, only the muted sounds of kissing and hoarse breathing, the creaking of the bedsprings, only the whispers of clothing dropping to the floor to interrupt the hush.
At least, until Sam overestimates the length of the bed and they both tumble onto the floor in a heap.
"Ow," says Will, rubbing the back of his head and trying to untangle himself from Sam's limbs.
"Sorry," Sam says. His cheeks are going red as he stumbles to his feet and offers Will a hand up. "Like I said, I'm pretty bad at this."
"Me too," Will says, shrugging. "It's not a big deal. My last relationship was... Well, you get better. And sometimes you don't, but it's okay because at least you're both idiots."
"Right," Sam says. He loops his arms around Will's waist and pulls them closer together. It's been a long week, a long day, even, despite the early hour. There would be time to worry about all of this later, time to work out the logistics of jobs and relationships, of breaking it off with Ellen, of managing to have sex without spraining something. It will come in time, and time is something that he suddenly has a lot more of than he would have thought. "We'll work on it?" he asks Will hopefully. "I mean, we will. We have a lot of time to work on it. We have years to work on it. We have as much time as we need." He likes the idea, likes turning it over in his head. Doing things at his own speed. Taking the things that he wants as opposed to following others blindly. The era of Jed Bartlet is over, or will be over soon, and Sam's starting to realize that as much as it hurts him to think of it that way, it's the opening he's been looking for over the past four years. He doesn't have to be working off an agenda anymore--it's time to make his own. "There's so much to do. So much for us to do, I mean, if we're going to do this and... everything. If we're going to do it right."
He pauses, frowning at the unreadable look on Will's face. "Did that sound like a proposal? No offense, but 'proposal' wasn't what I was going for."
Will shakes his head slowly as a smile creeps out. "No, it didn't sound like a proposal. At least, not like the kind that would be likely to sway me to marry someone."
"What would that sound like?" Sam asks. Off of Will's confused look he adds, "Out of curiosity, not out of a future master plan for a white picket fence and a house in the suburbs."
"Coming from you? Something along the lines of, 'Congressman Bailey, I want to work with you to pass a joint resolution publicly condemning the Marriage Recognition Act.'" There's a slight pause before they both crack up, clinging to each other as they try to catch their breath.
"A joint resolution?" Sam asks once they've calmed down.
"Of course," Will says, as though the answer is obvious. "I'm going to get you back into the game, Sam. I'm not sure how and I'm not sure when I'll find time to do it when I'm running myself, but you're going to be on the Hill soon. Bet on it." Sam rests his forehead against Will's and lets out a tiny, contented sigh.
"I believe you," he says. "And I believe you about the other thing too, about getting better at this." He nudges Will back towards the bed, kissing him again and reveling in the way Will's hands tighten compulsively around his shoulders. They will get good at this. They'll get good at this and at governing and at winning people over. They'll manage to pull it all together because that's what they do, and hopefully the world will be better for it.
Sam smiles to himself as Will tugs him back onto the mattress. It's been a long time since he's felt this idealism, this overwhelming desire to change the world, but he had been capable of it then and he's sure he's capable of it now, no matter what had happened in the past, no matter how badly he had lost his last election. He thinks of the old adage about falling off the horse, and then stops thinking about the future at all in favor of concentrating on Will's hands and lips and tongue. Things are going to be different this time. He's going to do his best to take what he wants, starting with the man in front of him. There's no doubt in his mind that candidacy, Congress and even, maybe, the White House are still to come.
Title: Change of Plans
Fandom: The West Wing
Characters/Pairing: Sam/Will, Josh
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: The characters belong to Aaron Sorkin, Sam's shitty new canon belongs to John Wells.
Spoilers: Through "Transition"
Summary: Sam questions his career decisions with a gentle push from Will.
Notes: Gratuitous newscaster name-dropping (Sanjay Gupta IS very calming!), walking all over John Wells' decisions, and a deliciously cheesy joke about Congress. Written for raedbard's Rareathon and submitted early because I'll be away for the deadline.
Huge thanks to scrollgirl for beta-reading and being a general sounding board. ::huge hugs::
Sam is on beer number three when Will drops to the steps next to him. He spares him half a glance before returning his eyes to the sidewalk.
"Hey," he says, not looking up from the ground. He's counting cracks, or he was counting cracks. That game got old towards the end of beer number one, and most of beer number two had been spent trying to think of new games, of better games. Beer number three he had reverted back to cracks, and the half glance at Will, at Will's open collar visible through his open coat, at the curve of Will's neck, was enough to remind him that counting cracks was going to get him through the night unscathed.
"Nice party," Will says by way of greeting. Sam shrugs and looks over his shoulder, offering Will a half smile.
"Not really," he says. "I mean, it's not really my thing. Not anymore. I don't know any of these people. I know you and... Donna. Josh. Practically no one."
"To be honest, I don't know anyone either. I mean, I know of them from when I was running against them but they're not really my crowd."
"But I don't even know that much," Sam says. "They're all so young and new and completely different from the people I left behind." He sighs quietly. "Josh wants me to be their boss and I can't even keep their names straight."
"Deputy Chief of Staff," Will says. So. He had heard, then.
"Right," says Sam. "You know, I never actually said I'd take the job. People seem to keep forgetting that."
"Right," says Will. "Josh Lyman asks you to work for him and you don't scramble at the chance?"
Sam glares at him and clutches the bottle close to his chest. "We don't have that kind of a relationship anymore," he insists, and immediately regrets his choice of words. Heh. Not that what he and Josh had could ever be called a relationship.
"Right," Will says again, and Sam wants to strangle him, although he's pretty sure he's just looking for an excuse to touch Will's neck.
"Shut up," he mutters, but it's a half-hearted objection and he rests his head against the railing on the steps. Amy's steps. Amy's party. "I didn't know you knew Amy Gardner," he says after a moment.
"You can't work in this city and not know Amy," Will says. A pause. "She helped with the Wilde campaign. She liked me because I was scared of her."
"She finds that appealing," Sam says. He hardly takes a breath before quickly adding, "I didn't want to take the job."
Sam's expecting Will to scoff or roll his eyes or blink at him in shock. He's not expecting the way that Will calmly sips his beer and says, "I know."
"You know?"
"Yeah."
Will slides closer to him on the step, and Sam has to curb the urge to reach out and do something he'll regret in the morning.
"You're not the guy who pulls the strings," Will says. "You're not the guy who runs around behind the scenes. You're the guy who crafts the language and nearly kills himself making sure that everyone hears it. You're the guy who wants to change the world, and puts himself out there at the mercy of the people to do it. You're the guy who trusts that the public is going to do what's right, and even when they prove you wrong, you get right out there and try again because this time you're doing it a little bit differently and maybe they'll like that better. You are, if you'll forgive the cliché, a man of the people, Sam." Sam closes his eyes. "At least, I think you are. I thought you were. I mean, at least... god, Sam, back to corporate law?"
Will is accusing where Josh had only been impatient and unsurprised. Sam hadn't been thrilled by Josh's reaction. He was surprised. He followed the Santos campaign. He read the polling numbers as soon as they went public. He poured his money into donations and events. He woke up every morning and looked in the mirror, disgusted with the path he had chosen. He wasn't made for that. He was made for this, for writing and sparkling oratory and the rapid-fire pace of the Beltway. This is where he was supposed to be, but Josh had walked into the board meeting and acted like that was where Sam belonged.
That alone made him want to stay there. That alone made him wonder what in the world going back to DC would be worth, especially if Josh, if Josh of all people, didn't seem to realize what he had done to himself.
But Will had.
"I don't know," he says to Will. "I just... I didn't know what else to do." He pauses and adds, "I'm sorry. That I didn't win for you."
"You could have come back here," Will says. "You could have... Leo had a job all lined up for you. Or if you didn't want to work in the White House there were a dozen other choices. You could have come back here."
"I moved on," Sam says weakly.
"You gave up." It probably wouldn't hurt so much if it weren't true. Still, he flinches, wounded, and looks at Will, who softens slightly. He moves closer. Sam's starting to get cold and he appreciates the added warmth of Will sitting next to him. His stomach flutters and it's hard to swallow, but he does appreciate it.
"The thing is," Sam says, looking away from Will and out into the street, "that to Josh, this is the golden opportunity. To Josh, this is perfect. To Josh, Deputy Chief of Staff is the ticket to Chief of Staff, and to Josh that means everything. It's not something I would ever choose for myself, and he doesn't get that. You're right. You were right about that, at least. This isn't what I want."
"It isn't what we wanted, either," Will says. He kicks a pebble off the step and Sam watches it skitter out into the middle of the street.
"It's what Josh wanted," Sam says. "Josh wanted to play the hero again. He got his chance."
"Oh please!" Will says. It's so derisive, so filled with contempt, that Sam looks over at him again. "If you catered to every single thing that Joshua Lyman wanted... Josh has got his head so far up his ass when it comes to other people that I'm surprised he thought to call you at all. It doesn't matter what Josh wants. He doesn't know you and he doesn't understand what he means to you, not really. This shouldn't be about what Josh Lyman wants, Sam, this should be about what you want."
Sam stares for a moment. He's knows it's true, he knows it should be true, at least, but no one's ever put it quite that way before. Not recently. Not since his disastrous run in the 47th. It's been a long time since he's done something for himself, and for some reason, he's not all that surprised that Will is the one who's reminding him of that.
He kisses Will softly on the mouth, as if thanking him for the kind words. It takes less than a second for him to kiss again, harder, pulling Will closer by the lapels of his jacket and sighing soundlessly when Will begins to kiss back.
"I know what I want," Sam breathes, his face so close he can feel Will's eyelashes fluttering. "I want speeches and rallies and talking to people. I want to make a mark. I want to get things done." He pauses and opens his eyes, which have been closed since the moment he pressed his lips to Will's. "I want you to come back to my hotel room with me. I've wanted that since that first day on the beach."
Will kisses him again, letting his beer bottle slide from his hands. Sam can hear it rolling down the steps, but it seems far away, unimportant. Will's hands are in his hair and on his face, but they're touching him delicately, tender in a way that Josh's frantic gropings never were. He slips his hands under Will's coat and smiles to himself when Will's breath hitches.
"Okay," Will says in between short, excited kisses. "Um...right. Okay. I was seeing this woman. I just broke up with her today. So I'm just warning you that this maybe isn't the greatest idea right now." He doesn't stop the tiny, urgent kisses, though, and he pulls Sam closer, turning so that he's almost straddling Sam, hands under his coat, his suit jacket, right up against the thin fabric of his shirt.
"I'm engaged," Sam says, kissing back and breathing long and deep, savoring the taste, the smell, the feel of someone against him like this, of Will against him, of Will touching him with the sort of enthusiasm and curiosity that Sam has always wanted but never felt.
"Then this is a really bad idea," Will murmurs, but he slides his lips down to Sam's throat nonetheless. Sam's not sure exactly when Will Bailey became the answer to all of his questions, but he's whispering Will's name over and over again as they inch closer together and it feels like the only thing he'll ever need to say again to remain happy.
It's cold, but it doesn't feel cold, not anymore, not once Will is nearly on top of him and they're both huddled under the other's jacket.
"This is so stupid," Will says. He's laughing as he says it, laughing and whispering into Sam's neck and pulling them both to their feet. His cheeks are flushed, warm against Sam's skin. "This is so stupid," he says again, "but I was just thinking about this. About you, I mean. Kate said goodbye to me, today, and I really wanted things to work out. I did. But she said goodbye and I thought, 'Jesus, I hope Sam's at Amy's party tonight.' I thought I was clinging to a hopeless... whatever this is. Was. Whatever." He laughs again and pulls Sam down the stairs. Sam isn't protesting, not at all, because he's feeling an overwhelming need to get Will naked, to keep touching him, to keep being touched. Will's fingers are loosening his tie as they haltingly walk down the sidewalk. Sam doesn't even think to ask where they're going. A dark alley sounds good, although somewhere warmer would be better, somewhere he could take his time removing Will's clothing, touching him, watching him.
Will backs him up against something, some sort of car, and kisses him again, hands sliding against his face. It's the kind of kiss that forces Sam to close his eyes and leaves him breathless. Will lets go of him before he can fully recover, opening the door and sliding into the driver's seat of the car.
"Whoa," Sam says, blinking, panting, trying to regain his bearings.
"Get in the car," Will says. He tilts his head with a tiny smile. It's endearing. It parts his collar again, brings his neck to prominence, as if the image of Will Bailey's neck could ever really leave his mind.
"You're drunk," Sam says, eyes lingering on Will's face and throat and fingers.
"Not really," he says. Sam stumbles around to the passenger door. "I'm good to drive. Better than you, at least."
Sam freezes. "This isn't--I mean, I'm not...Even if I were sober--"
"I know." Will smiles affectionately, invitingly. "I just want us to get back to the hotel in one piece. This is something I've been thinking about for four years. I'm not going to fuck it up with a car accident."
"Right," Sam says. He smiles back and gets in the car, blood humming through his veins, hands shaking. He reaches across the front seat and fixes the collar of Will's coat, fingers lingering on his neck. Will's eyes slip shut.
"Right," Will repeats. He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes. "Right. Let's go."
"Let's," Sam says. He leans against the door watching Will, relaxing as Will pulls away from the curb and starts down the street. For the first time in three and a half years, his future seems truly uncertain, but at the moment, he can't bring himself to care.
It's Sunday morning, and Sam's not sure why that's the first thing he thinks of when he opens his eyes. Sunday morning means he can sleep in. Sunday morning in early December and no one's doing much of anything, no one's expecting much of anything, and Sam has all day to lie in bed with Will's arm draped over his waist.
Except, no, because that banging, that's what woke him up. Knocking. Someone is knocking on the door to his hotel room.
He gingerly lifts Will's arm up and places it on the bed, taking a moment to stare at the other man. Thinking about last night leaves him somewhere between wide-eyed awe and stunned disbelief. He's not sure how he went from engaged to Ellen and working in California to getting out of bed with Will Bailey and taking the plunge back into politics, but he can't say he's regretting his choices, especially not now. He smiles and pulls the blankets back over Will's shoulders. He has to hunt in order to find his own clothes in the mess of pants and shirts and ties strewn between the bedroom and the outer room of the suite, but he manages to make himself presentable before he opens the door.
He shouldn't be shocked to see Josh standing outside--Josh is the only person who would not only wake him at nine on a Sunday, but would be irritated that he wasn't already awake--but he's slightly distressed once he realizes that if Josh spends more then a few seconds studying the inside of the room, what went on the night before will become very clear. He needs to get rid of Josh as soon as possible.
He pulls the door open just enough so that he can lean on the doorframe.
"Good morning," he says, rubbing his eyes absently.
"Morning," Josh says. He's dressed for the office and carrying his backpack and an armful of folders. Sam sighs. He knows exactly what's coming. "Look, I need you to take a few meetings for me today."
"Josh, it's Sunday," he says, scratching his forehead. "You said today was an off-day. You only just got back from your trip." He's known Josh too long to think that any of these excuses will work on him.
"For everyone else, not for us." Josh is starting to intrude on his personal space. It's clear he wants to go inside and sit down, but Sam's not quite ready to have the fight that he needs to have with Josh. Just a few more hours. If he could only sit with Will for a few more hours, force Will's confidence to become his own, feed off of his enthusiasm and conviction.
"No one even expects you to go back to the office until tomorrow," Sam says. "It can wait. Relax. Spend some time with Donna." He pulls the door over against the side of his body, but Josh doesn't get the hint or, more likely, chooses to ignore it.
"I've spent my entire vacation with Donna," he says. "Donna's asleep. I'm trying to get back into things. What's going on? Did what'shername fly in last night? Is that why you left Amy's party early?" He raises an eyebrow and Sam shifts around, refusing to make eye contact.
"Ellen," he says, "and no, she didn't. I left Amy's party early for many reasons and one of them is that I'd like some time to think about what working for this administration will mean for me. I still haven't said yes, Josh." Josh rolls his eyes and pushes inside before Sam can stop him. Sam stands by the door, rubbing the back of his neck, holding in another sigh and praying that Josh doesn't decide to start counting socks and pants.
"Okay," Josh says, placing his files on the desk and his backpack on the ground, "here's what I need you to do today."
"Josh, I'm serious." Josh ignores him, continues to rifle through his papers. "Josh." He looks up. Sam takes a deep breath before he continues. "I'm honored that you came to me for this. I really am. It means a lot to me that you think I'm ready for this, that you think I can handle this. I've always looked up to you when it comes to politics, I've always relied on you. But I can't... Josh this isn't me. This is you. This is what you would have wanted but I'm not..." He tries, desperately, to remember how Will put it the night before. "I'm not the guy behind the scenes, pulling the strings. That's not who I want to be. You and I work brilliantly together, but it's not because we think the same way and want the same things, Josh. It's the opposite of that. This is your arena. It's not mine." He bites his lip when he's finished and stares at Josh, who's giving him a very peculiar look. The silence stretches, and just as Sam is about to prompt him for a reaction, Josh laughs.
"Yeah, okay, whatever," he says. "I don't really have time for--"
"I'm serious."
"You can't be," Josh says flatly. "Look, Sam, you already said--"
"I never said," he insists. He crosses the room, stands in front of Josh, and looks him in the eye. "Josh, I said I'd think about it. And I have. This isn't what I want. I'm touched that you hold my abilities in such high regard. I know how important this position is to you. But it's not what I want to be doing. I'm a writer, Josh, I'm not a political power player."
"You're crazy," Josh says, laughing again. "You're nuts! There's no way... what do you even mean, this isn't what you want? This is the White House, Sam! This trumps anything else anyone could offer you! What, did your firm offer you more money? A better position? This blows that out of the water."
"No one offered me anything," Sam says. "This is what I want. This is what's important to me. I'm not going back to law. I want to... I want to run for office." Josh snorts and Sam can feel the color rising in his cheeks. He's not ready for this argument. He needs time to work out the details, to prepare himself for this self-righteous, self-absorbed behavior from Josh. He knows that Josh doesn't mean to hurt him, but he also knows that Josh isn't going to realize he's being unreasonable unless someone points it out to him explicitly.
"You tried that once before, remember? It didn't work out too well."
"Josh!"
"Why did you even come here if you don't want the job?" Josh asks. His voice is starting to take on the slightly high-pitched, hysterical quality it gets when he's reached the end of his rope. Sam grits his teeth. He's not backing down now, no matter how much he'd like to pause this and save it for another day.
"I came here because... I came here because you asked me to. Because I'm so used to doing what you tell me to do that I don't even question it anymore. I came here because I thought it was what I was supposed to do, follow your example, do as I'm told." Sam takes a deep breath and straightens his shoulders, but he knows that after nearly twenty years it's impossible to intimidate Josh. "I'm not a green little intern working on the Hill anymore, Josh. I've had experience. I know what I want to do and I don't need you to show me."
"That's great! That's just great." Josh turns away abruptly and paces around the room, refusing to even look in Sam's direction. Sam slumps into the desk chair and rests his head in his hands, but he looks up when he hears Josh stop moving. He's standing over the couch, where two black overcoats are pooled on the floor, next to a dress shirt in a dark purple color that Sam has never and will never own. Sam swallows hard and stands up.
"Maybe you should--"
"Why did you leave the party early?" Josh asks, still not looking up.
"Josh," Sam says quickly, walking over to the other side of the room, "we can finish this conversation later, but you should probably--"
"Will Bailey ducked out early too," Josh continues. "You didn't happen to bump into him on your way out, did you?"
There's really nothing left for Sam to say. He crosses his arms and looks at Josh, waiting for the glares, the questions, the accusations that he had given up his right to make a long time ago.
"You slept with Will Bailey," he says, looking up at Sam. Sam sets his jaw and nods. "You slept with Will Bailey?" Sam nods again. "Sam!"
"Oh, what does it matter to you?" Sam snaps.
"What about your fiancée?"
"What about her? It didn't matter to you that I was engaged to Lisa. It's okay for me to cheat on my fiancée as long as it's with you?"
"That was different," Josh says in an urgent, accusing whisper. "That was a completely different--you and I... you can't compare this to that! I mean, it's Will Bailey!"
"Would you stop saying his name like that?" It might be Josh's attitude or maybe the condescending tone he keeps taking, but Sam is finished dealing with Josh's bullshit. "You're acting like it's... beneath me or something. He's smart, he's funny, he's an amazing writer, and he actually seems to understand me. He knows what I'm like, which is more than I can say for you, lately."
"I have no idea what you're talking about!" Josh says.
"I'm talking about how it took Will three seconds to notice that I was unhappy and to understand why," Sam hisses. "I'm talking about how he was disappointed in my choices, how he expected better for me. I'm talking about how he thinks I can make it on my own. He thought I was worth more than this. He was actually surprised that I failed."
Josh stares at him and Sam, for once, is unnerved by his ability to render people speechless. Josh should be yelling or making a ruckus. He shouldn't be standing in stunned silence. Josh is never silent, especially not in the middle of an argument.
Before he can say anything more, though, he hears the door to the bedroom creak open. Both he and Josh turn towards the sound, and once Will sees that he's been spotted, he sheepishly steps out into the room. He's wearing boxers and a t-shirt and his hair is in complete disarray. Sam's hand twitches, but he manages to subdue the urge to reach out and smooth it down. Josh, he notices, has pursed his lips but said nothing.
"Sorry," Will says, "but I think, uh, I left some things..." He trails off and shrugs. "There's not really a subtle way to say I'm missing my pants, is there?"
"Not really, no," Sam says, hiding a smile. He knows that Will has probably heard most of his argument with Josh. He's actually hoping for it. He was drunk last night, he knows that, and Will was too. He doesn't want Will to think this was a mistake. It wasn't. It was probably the first thing he's done that's felt right in... four years. "Josh is just leaving. I'll be back inside in a minute," he says to Will. "We can talk about pants then. I mean, it's early yet."
Will raises his eyebrows. "Too early for pants?" There's a clear question in his eyes. Sam holds his gaze and nods.
"They'd make things significantly more difficult." Will looks at him like he's speaking in tongues, but it slowly fades into a tiny, pleased smile.
"Okay," he says. "I'll see if there's anything good on teevee in the meantime." Sam takes hold of his wrist before he can leave and they stare at each other. Sam wants to kiss him--really, truly wants to kiss him and linger against him for just a second before he goes back to his argument with Josh, but it's a bad idea and he knows it. Kissing Will now would be manipulative. It would only serve to make Josh angrier, to make him jealous, and as much as Sam wants to kiss Will for all the right reasons, he knows that he wouldn't mind doing it for all the wrong ones, either.
Before he can spend any more time debating his course of action, Will leans forward and does it himself. It's a chaste kiss, gentle and inviting, but Sam can feel Josh's eyes on them, which multiplies the intensity. Despite all the time that's passed, Sam still feels a vague sense of guilt, a lingering uneasiness. It's not hard, though, to push it to the back of his mind and focus on Will's mouth. Will smiles at Sam when he pulls away, dragging his thumb across Sam's cheek, but his eyes drift over to Josh for a moment and harden, challenging Josh to comment.
"Morning," Josh says tersely.
"Good morning," Will replies. It's not until Sam squeezes his wrist that he looks away and ducks back into the bedroom with an apologetic smile, murmuring about Meet the Press. Sam watches him go and then turns back to Josh. There's a strange, strained silence. Sam isn't sure he can come up with an appropriate way to break it.
"I wasn't..." Josh says quietly, looking away. "I mean, it wasn't that I wasn't surprised that you failed. Or I guess... I didn't think that you failed. I never thought that."
"I did."
"I just didn't look at it that way," Josh says. "I mean, I guess you're right. Looking at it now, knowing how you feel, I can see why you would think that." He rubs the back of his neck, eyes still cast downward. "But the reason I acted the way I did... it wasn't because you failed. It wasn't me trying to swoop in and... I dunno, rescue you from your mistakes." Josh looks up again, running a hand through his hair. He looks tired, suddenly. "I wanted you on board. I wanted to work with you again. I wanted things to go back to how they were back when we first started in DC. I thought you'd need your arm twisted."
Sam rubs at his face with his hands, leaving his eyes covered and tries to push back the headache that is attempting to break through. Of course Josh had good intentions. Josh always has good intentions. He just never pauses to wonder if the intentions are good for anyone other than himself.
"You were my best friend," Sam says. "I know that sounds like something a fourteen year old girl would say, but I can't think of any other way to put it. We were more than friends, we were more than brothers, and I got three phone calls in four years. I know you were busy, but I felt... abandoned. I talked to Toby more than I talked to you. I talked to Will more than I talked to you. And then you came out to get me, finally, and you just... you got it all wrong, Josh." He drops his hands to his sides in defeat. "Ten years ago you pulled me from a boardroom in the pouring rain to help someone who ended up meaning the world to us. I thought I loved you that day. I really, truly did." He laughs somewhat sadly and Josh flinches. "You can't replicate that, Josh. It happened. We worked for the greatest president in the last fifty years and it was incredible. It was breathtaking. It's something that I'll hold onto for the rest of my life, but it's over and it's been over for years. I want different things now. It can't be like it was back then, and you can't walk back into my life after four years and expect us to pick up where we left off."
He feels guilty saying it, just a little, because isn't that exactly what he did with Will? One conversation, one drink together, and off to give into the sexual tension that had existed between them for four years? Still, it's different. Will had grown and changed and he had grown and they had acknowledged that. They understand what the other wants. They understand each other. Josh doesn't understand him, not anymore, and maybe he never did. It hurts a little to think that, to stand there and realize that maybe Josh spent all those years without absorbing anything at all. It's the truth, though, and Sam can't bend reality. He can't pretend that things will be all right. He can't make Josh into something that he isn't, especially now that Josh has Donna. Especially now that Will is sitting in the other room, waiting for him.
"I'm sorry," Josh says, and Sam can tell he means it.
"I know," Sam says. "It's in the past. It all is. You have this great opportunity opening in front of you. You have the job you've worked your whole life for and you have the woman you've loved for the past ten years. You're doing okay, Josh."
"It's not the job I've been working my whole life for," Josh admits. "I mean, it is. White House chief of Staff. And I do believe in Matt, I really do. But it was never... I had always hoped... when we talked..." Josh's expression is pained, and Sam bites his lip. It hurts Sam, too, thinking what he'd lost, what he'd been so close to having. He knows what Josh is trying to say. When they used to talk, it was never Matt Santos in the Oval Office. It was always Sam.
"I know," he says, sparing Josh from saying it out loud. "But there's still time. We're young, yet. Think of this as your practice run." That gets a smile out of Josh, even though it's a shallow, clumsy one.
"I should go," Josh says. He starts to cross the room, back to the desk where his papers and backpack are still sitting untouched. "I should let you... do whatever." Sam nods. "You two probably have... you know, things." He gathers up his folders and grabs his backpack. It's clear this conversation isn't over, but Sam knows that the most difficult parts are out of the way.
"You should get back to Donna," Sam says. "You still have a whole day of vacation left, you know."
"Yeah," Josh says. "I guess you're right." He stands in front of the door uncertainly, his fingers tightening around his papers. "Listen, Sam, I know you don't want this job, but--"
"We'll talk," Sam assures him. "I'll stop by tomorrow morning and we'll figure something out." Josh nods.
"It was good seeing you," he says.
"You too," Sam says, and he's a little surprised to find that he means it.
"Tell Will I said... you know, whatever." Sam smiles and nods. Josh lingers for another moment, and Sam's not sure who initiates the hug, but in a split second they're holding onto each other again. He can feel Josh take a shaky breath as they pull away. He offers Sam a resigned smile, which he returns as Josh pulls the door open and disappears out into the hallway.
Sam closes the door behind him, but doesn't move at first. He stands with his hand on the knob, chewing on his lower lip as he stares at the back of the door. He's just ended a chapter of his life. He feels like he should be mourning or questioning or at least pausing to reflect, but really he's just ready to move on. It occurs to him that this part of his life probably ended a long time ago. A recognition of the conclusion is long overdue, and now that's he's said it out loud, now that ten years have gone by and he knows that this is it... it's very easy to open the door again, slip the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the handle, and retreat into the bedroom.
Will is sitting cross-legged on the bed, trying very hard to look casual. He's watching NBC with the volume off, his eyes not quite focused on Tim Russert and his guests. When Sam opens the door, he turns a little too quickly and offers Sam a weak smile.
"They're talking about the end of the Bartlet era," Will says. "Speculating about pardons, whether Santos can ride on Bartlet's popularity." Sam carefully sits on the edge of the bed, eyes on the television.
"The sound's off," he says.
"I read the guest list and projected topics," Will says. "One of the perks to being basically the only senior staff in Communications. I get to read all the memos and information myself."
"Yeah," Sam says, picking at the bedspread, suddenly and illogically shy.
"I guess we should talk about some things," Will says. "Like Oregon."
That non sequitur is enough to make Sam look up again. "Oregon?" he asks.
"Yeah. As in the place I'll be moving to shortly."
Sam blinks. "Oregon."
"Yeah."
Sam has always seen Will's natural state as being completely immersed in politics and he can't understand what Oregon of all places would--
"Oh," Sam says quietly. "Oh! Oh, wow." Will shrugs. "Wow, Will, that's... which district?"
"The fourth," Will says. Sam raises his eyebrows. The Oregon 4th would be almost as interesting a battle for a Democrat as the California 47th. "I know. It's going to be tough, but the more I think about it, the more I really want to do it. I never saw myself as a candidate before. I always thought I was better behind the scenes, but I have to admit, the idea is really appealing. I think I could be good at it."
"I know you could be good at it," Sam says. "I just... wow, Will. That's amazing. And if anyone can secure a Democratic victory in the Oregon 4th, it's you. Hands down. I don't know how you do it, but you really reach out to the electorate. You inspire them. I sometimes think that if I kept you on as my campaign manager, I would have won the 47th."
"You're plenty inspiring yourself, Sam," Will says, but his cheeks are going slightly pink. Sam swings his legs onto the bed and slides over, resting against the headboard a few inches away from Will.
"Oregon," he says again, ignoring the compliment. "That would make things... interesting."
"Complicated," Will says. He leans back too, his shoulder just brushing Sam's. He looks tired and distant. Sam has the urge to hold his hand and tell him that everything will be all right, even if he knows it's not necessarily true.
"Will," he says quietly, instead, "I... really like you. I can't tell you why. I don't know the reasoning behind it. All I know is that I stood in the back of a press conference back in 2002 and watched you talk to the press and... I can't even find the words for it. I felt inspired in a way I hadn't been in a long time. I know I said I ran that race for Kay Wilde, but if it hadn't been for you, I would have walked away and never looked back."
"I've got you beat," Will replies. "You walked in and said my name. When I looked up at you, my stomach bottomed out. You're a very attractive man, Sam Seaborn."
Sam laughs and looks away. "Thank you," he says. "But let me finish. I'm not sure what I'm doing out here, Will. A month ago I was working in Los Angeles and engaged to Ellen. Now... I'm not sure what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm going to do when I get out of bed tomorrow morning, but you're the first person I've seen since I've come back who's made sense to me. I trust you and I like you and things are going to be crazy around me for the next few weeks but... I think you'd be a nice kind of crazy."
"A nice kind of crazy?" Will says. He's smiling. "Are you questioning my mental caliber?"
"Well, you are running in the Oregon 4th."
"That's a point well taken." They sit in silence for a moment and Sam finally gives in, casually taking Will's hand in his own. "I like you too," Will finally continues, "and I think I'd like to be part of the insanity surrounding you."
"Good," Sam says. He squeezes Will's hand and Will squeezes back. It's been a long time since he's really felt this way about someone else. Mallory, maybe. Or Ainsley, and even with them there was always the lingering presence of Josh in the background, even though he and Josh had been over for months, years by that point. Ellen is nice; she's pretty and tiny and sweet. She keeps tropical fish and reads mystery novels and works in family law. She is a wonderful woman and a devoted fiancée, but he has never been completely in love with her. She's charming and, most of all, she's safe, and that was enough. She isn't interested in politics, not really. She thought his past was fascinating when they met, but she didn't completely understand it. She knows he misses it and doesn't mind moving out here for him, but he knows she isn't ready for what that really means. Ellen likes having him home at six o'clock every day, just in time for dinner, and she likes having time to go sailing on the weekends. There's no way she would adjust to forty-eight hours straight of work, to him coming home at one am, only to get up and leave for work again at six. She couldn't handle the Beltway, and he knows that, deep down.
He sighs.
"I'm really bad at this," he says. "I always have been. Before Ellen, I hadn't been in a real relationship since... not counting Ainsley or Mallory, I guess it was Josh, probably. If you could even call it a relationship." Will tries hard to hide his grimace, but it doesn't work. "You really don't like him, do you?"
"He's a great political mind," Will says. "He seems like a nice guy. But he's... he's not right for you." Sam studies Will's face, the way the corner of his mouth turns down just a little, the strange, sulky look in his eyes...
"You're jealous!" Sam exclaims. "You're jealous of my relationship with Josh." He's perhaps a little more gleeful than he should be. Jealousy. That's new. Josh had never been anything more than dismissive of the women who came between them and Lisa's discovery of exactly what would be waiting for him in Washington had been more anger than envy. It's a terrible thing to admit to, but Will's jealousy is making him feel pretty good. Plus, green is a very appealing color on Will Bailey.
"No," Will says quickly. "No. No, I'm not--except yes, I am, a little." It's cute, it's really adorable, but Sam doesn't say that, he just smiles a little self-satisfied grin that only widens when Will drops his head to Sam's shoulder in embarrassment. "It's just that you were always-- He was never--" Sam chuckles as Will continues to stutter, trying to find words to match his obvious unease. Sam remembers, distantly, a conversation with Toby near the end of his campaign in the 47th.
You were right, although I think he's more one of you than one of us. He gets a little googly-eyed whenever he talks about your writing and he's already picked up your unfortunate aptitude for imagery. It's possible he's got a little hero-worship thing happening, but I honestly don't give a rat's ass as long as he keeps doing what he's doing.
"Josh has everything at his fingertips," Will finally manages to say. "All the time. The career he's dreamed of. A really great, funny, amazing woman who's crazy about him. Enough clout to get away with almost anything he could want. And you. It didn't take me long to realize you guys used to have something going on, but it wasn't until I worked with Donna every day that I really saw how easily he just casts everything aside. My career's important to me, too, and I get that having a relationship and working in Washington is nearly impossible, but I won't let that stop me from trying. I'm not any better at this than you are or than he is, but I'm not going to let it get away if I really want it."
"The thing you have to understand about Josh," Sam says gently, "is that... he's spent his entire life watching the people he loves get hurt or taken away from him or... whatever. He's a mess. He's afraid of people. It makes him act carelessly and thoughtlessly and stupidly but..." He shrugs, and the motion causes Will's head to slip down into the crook of his neck. He has to suppress a shiver. "It's hard to understand if you don't know him." He raises his hand to comb through Will's hair, surprised at how easily this comes, sitting and touching and talking without any snappy debates or complicated rules. He turns his head just as Will looks up and he's suddenly breathless and very nearly dizzy. He feels Will exhale softly, soft brown eyes widening at the sudden closeness and then slipping shut altogether. Sam tightens the hand still in Will's hair and uses the other to slide his glasses to the top of his head.
"Still too early for pants?" Will says casually with only the slightest tremor in his voice.
"Of course," Sam said. "Meet the Press is still on." He pulls Will closer, and Will responds by swinging a leg around so that he's straddling Sam's lap.
"Turn off the teevee," he orders. "Tim Russert in the background is just going to ruin my performance." Sam is incredibly flustered and breathless at Will's sudden initiative, but he does manage to grope around in the sheets until he can find the remote and click off the teevee.
"Tim Russert's a turn-off, huh?"
"Are you kidding?" Will's raising his eyebrows in disbelief, but Sam doesn't have much time to contemplate that, as he leans in and kisses Sam quickly before adding, "Now if it were Anderson Cooper..."
Sam kisses him back. "What about Dan Abrams?"
"Abrams works," Will says. "Cooper, Abrams, Mark Gottfried, maybe Brian Williams, Chris Matthews--"
"Chris Matthews?" Sam bites back a laugh at Will's sheepish smile.
"Yeah," he says. "I don't know what it is about him." He pauses. "Sanjay Gupta."
"He has a very soothing personality," Sam agrees. "I would definitely trust him in a health crisis." Before Will can reply, Sam pushes him forward, flipping them both and pinning Will to the bed, kissing him quiet. The next few minutes are spent in near silence, only the muted sounds of kissing and hoarse breathing, the creaking of the bedsprings, only the whispers of clothing dropping to the floor to interrupt the hush.
At least, until Sam overestimates the length of the bed and they both tumble onto the floor in a heap.
"Ow," says Will, rubbing the back of his head and trying to untangle himself from Sam's limbs.
"Sorry," Sam says. His cheeks are going red as he stumbles to his feet and offers Will a hand up. "Like I said, I'm pretty bad at this."
"Me too," Will says, shrugging. "It's not a big deal. My last relationship was... Well, you get better. And sometimes you don't, but it's okay because at least you're both idiots."
"Right," Sam says. He loops his arms around Will's waist and pulls them closer together. It's been a long week, a long day, even, despite the early hour. There would be time to worry about all of this later, time to work out the logistics of jobs and relationships, of breaking it off with Ellen, of managing to have sex without spraining something. It will come in time, and time is something that he suddenly has a lot more of than he would have thought. "We'll work on it?" he asks Will hopefully. "I mean, we will. We have a lot of time to work on it. We have years to work on it. We have as much time as we need." He likes the idea, likes turning it over in his head. Doing things at his own speed. Taking the things that he wants as opposed to following others blindly. The era of Jed Bartlet is over, or will be over soon, and Sam's starting to realize that as much as it hurts him to think of it that way, it's the opening he's been looking for over the past four years. He doesn't have to be working off an agenda anymore--it's time to make his own. "There's so much to do. So much for us to do, I mean, if we're going to do this and... everything. If we're going to do it right."
He pauses, frowning at the unreadable look on Will's face. "Did that sound like a proposal? No offense, but 'proposal' wasn't what I was going for."
Will shakes his head slowly as a smile creeps out. "No, it didn't sound like a proposal. At least, not like the kind that would be likely to sway me to marry someone."
"What would that sound like?" Sam asks. Off of Will's confused look he adds, "Out of curiosity, not out of a future master plan for a white picket fence and a house in the suburbs."
"Coming from you? Something along the lines of, 'Congressman Bailey, I want to work with you to pass a joint resolution publicly condemning the Marriage Recognition Act.'" There's a slight pause before they both crack up, clinging to each other as they try to catch their breath.
"A joint resolution?" Sam asks once they've calmed down.
"Of course," Will says, as though the answer is obvious. "I'm going to get you back into the game, Sam. I'm not sure how and I'm not sure when I'll find time to do it when I'm running myself, but you're going to be on the Hill soon. Bet on it." Sam rests his forehead against Will's and lets out a tiny, contented sigh.
"I believe you," he says. "And I believe you about the other thing too, about getting better at this." He nudges Will back towards the bed, kissing him again and reveling in the way Will's hands tighten compulsively around his shoulders. They will get good at this. They'll get good at this and at governing and at winning people over. They'll manage to pull it all together because that's what they do, and hopefully the world will be better for it.
Sam smiles to himself as Will tugs him back onto the mattress. It's been a long time since he's felt this idealism, this overwhelming desire to change the world, but he had been capable of it then and he's sure he's capable of it now, no matter what had happened in the past, no matter how badly he had lost his last election. He thinks of the old adage about falling off the horse, and then stops thinking about the future at all in favor of concentrating on Will's hands and lips and tongue. Things are going to be different this time. He's going to do his best to take what he wants, starting with the man in front of him. There's no doubt in his mind that candidacy, Congress and even, maybe, the White House are still to come.