"A splash quite unnoticed", TWW, Sam/Will, PG
It's, like, 1:30am and I should be asleep. I have to get to work early tomorrow. But I wrote fic, mostly to cheer up pocky_slash because she was having a bad morning. (And, after all, she was so kind as to write Sam/Will for me.) Fortunately, things have improved for her since this morning, I believe :)
Anyway, I wrote a Sam/Will phone conversation, set during "Inauguration: Over There" (4x15), which has some of my favourite Will and Will+Toby scenes ever. Even though we don't see Sam on screen, I'm quite willing to believe he's only a phone call away. It's the only explanation for some of the things Will says/knows in this episode.
Title: A splash quite unnoticed
Fandom: The West Wing
Pairing: Sam Seaborn/Will Bailey
Spoilers: "Inauguration: Over There" (4x15), AU for "The California 47th" (4x16) and "Red Haven's on Fire" (4x17)
Words: ~1,280
Author's Note: For Kait. Title from the poem Landscape with the Fall of Icarus by William Carlos Williams. I may end up cannibalising this fic for NaNo.
unsignificantly
off the coast
there was
a splash quite unnoticed
this was
Icarus drowning
A splash quite unnoticed
by Scroll
Washington DC, 8am, Saturday, January 19
Bonnie's voice finally penetrated Will's sleep deprived haze. He cleared his throat, wincing at the stale coffee taste souring his mouth. "Sorry, I missed that."
"You got a phone call while you were in with the president." She hesitated, then added carefully, "From California." Something in her face (pity) told him the news wasn't anything that'd brighten up his morning, and Will swallowed, hard. "You want the message, or do you want to just call him yourself?"
Moving slowly, creakily, Will got up out of his chair and took the two steps toward her to take the slip of paper from her hand. Bonnie gave him a kind smile as he stood there, staring blankly at her and not at Sam's message.
In his few weeks in the White House, he'd quickly learned that Bonnie and Ginger's efficiency were rivalled only by their fierce loyalty to Sam and Toby. And Will may have scored some points by becoming Toby's new, favourite punching bag, but he still wasn't One Of Them and they didn't quite trust his mostly under-the-radar friendship with Sam. Will suspected the only reason they didn't sharpen their nails to deadly points every time he called California was because Toby had given his tacit approval by not verbally shredding the meat from Will's bones after that first, pathetically unsubtle round of phone tag.
Finally Will unfolded the slip of paper and read Sam's message.
"You want me to tell Toby?" asked Bonnie, turning to go.
"No, I'll tell him." Head down, Will refolded the paper along the original seam, scoring it with his fingernails to make the crease (razor) sharp and straight-edged. "After I call." He glanced back up. "Thanks. I'm going to make a call now."
"Sure," she said, and closed the door behind her.
Will tossed the message on his desk, then sat down and picked up the phone, tapping out the digits by heart. It was barely five am in California. He listened to the rings, vaguely wondering about Aristotle and long plane rides and Nice and what his dad and Gabriela might be doing right then. He counted four rings before he hung up.
Don't pout, big brother, he could hear Elsie say. What if your face freezes?
He took a deep breath, held for a ten count, and let it out. Took another deep breath, relaxing his neck, then his shoulders. Breathed out.
He hit redial.
"Sam Seaborn."
"Hey, it's me," said Will, reaching for the excitement and genuine delight (dismay) that was only next door. "I just got your message." He huffed a laugh, and added, "You better not be pulling my leg, Sam, or I swear I'll fly down there right now and beat your ass, I don't even care what's happening at noon tomorrow."
Sam's amusement rang across the distance. "You'll beat my ass? You and what army?"
"Are you maligning my skills in hand-to-hand combat?" Will couldn't help grinning a little at that. "You're the guy who trips over his own shadow. I'm the guy who had a Navy SEAL as his boxing coach."
Sam laughed again, bright and honest and beautiful, and on the spot Will forgave him for being so... Sam. "Okay, okay! I suppose there's a chance -- a slim chance -- that if it was you and me in the ring, you'd be more likely to emerge the victor."
Will nodded. "A slim chance. Right."
"Hey, I've got skills," said Sam, modest as ever.
"Oh, I believe you," said Will, reaching out to touch the edge of Sam's message with his fingertips. Just paper and ink. A few words in Bonnie's neat cursive. "So what kind of scandal are we talking about?" He shrugged to himself, to Sam on the other end of the line. "I mean, I assume it's a scandal of some sort. It's the only thing that would do this kind of damage so late in the game."
Sam was quiet for a minute, his breathing even and deep. Still close to sleep. Will wondered which of his campaign staff had woken him with the news.
"Sam?"
Finally there was a heartfelt sigh, and Sam said quietly, "I almost feel sorry for the guy. If it weren't for the fact that he is truly -- I mean, seriously -- the most despicable man with whom I've ever had the displeasure of shaking hands, I could almost feel sorry for what he's about to face."
Will clutched the receiver tight in one hand and reached blindly for the rubber ball he'd absconded from Toby with the other. "Sam."
"You know that Newport embezzlement story I emailed you about on Tuesday? Yeah, turns out Webb and several key members of his staff had been covering it up for months, getting paid to keep it off the FEC's radar."
If Will hadn't been sitting down, he would've fallen down. "You're not serious. God, Sam. You're not serious."
"As a heart-attack. Knowing Webb, he'll try to minimise his involvement, maybe claim he was being blackmailed or something ridiculous like that."
"Don't let him." Will clenched his fist around the ball, then threw it hard against the door. The ball ricocheted into the guest chair and bounced harmlessly a few times before rolling under the desk. Everything was clear. "Don't let him, Sam, you can't let him win. You can't. Chuck Webb needs to be taken out of politics, and I mean for good, and you're the guy to do it."
Sam's sharp intake of breath was something like agreement, though he still protested. "I can't push too hard, Will, I'll look opportunistic. People's livelihoods are gone. I'm not sure I can make political hay out of it."
"You're not giving yourself enough credit, Sam, and you're not giving your staff enough credit," Will admonished, warming to the coming fight. Wishing he could be there (with him) to help. "Make sure the local press stays on the story. It'll be tough to keep front page after tomorrow --"
"Have I mentioned lately how amazing you are?" Sam interrupted, sounding proud and overwhelmed at the same time.
Will felt his face flush. "I shouldn't have called you last night. I don't know what I was thinking."
"You have a gift, Will. I knew you'd get Toby and the president to listen to you --"
"Sam."
"I'm serious, Will. I knew you could do it." He sighed, a quiet gust through phone lines. "Don't worry about Webb, okay? I've got it covered. I've got bright, energetic people handpicked by you and Leo and the president, and no, I don't think Scott Holcomb is ever going to forgive you, and I've got Orange County's love of investment portfolios on my side --"
"That's true enough," Will conceded.
"-- but you've got twenty-four hours to create foreign policy --"
"I told you, I'm not creating it, the president --"
"I want to win, Will. I want to win." An urgent whisper, a dream unvoiced till now. "Will, I didn't even know I wanted it until I tried, and now I'm so afraid of failing, I'm so afraid of disappointing you and the president and everybody else that I can hardly breathe."
Will swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat, tasting stale coffee, sour. "I know, Sam," he whispered back. "I want this for you, too. I know you can do it. You stood up, and I knew." He cradled the receiver to his ear. "You could never disappoint me, Sam, never." Will closed his eyes, touched the (sky) scrap of paper. "Okay?"
"Okay."
They didn't speak, just breathed together.
"I'm sorry. That we can't."
"Don't be. Just win."
* * *
Feedback would be most welcome.
Anyway, I wrote a Sam/Will phone conversation, set during "Inauguration: Over There" (4x15), which has some of my favourite Will and Will+Toby scenes ever. Even though we don't see Sam on screen, I'm quite willing to believe he's only a phone call away. It's the only explanation for some of the things Will says/knows in this episode.
Title: A splash quite unnoticed
Fandom: The West Wing
Pairing: Sam Seaborn/Will Bailey
Spoilers: "Inauguration: Over There" (4x15), AU for "The California 47th" (4x16) and "Red Haven's on Fire" (4x17)
Words: ~1,280
Author's Note: For Kait. Title from the poem Landscape with the Fall of Icarus by William Carlos Williams. I may end up cannibalising this fic for NaNo.
unsignificantly
off the coast
there was
a splash quite unnoticed
this was
Icarus drowning
A splash quite unnoticed
by Scroll
Washington DC, 8am, Saturday, January 19
Bonnie's voice finally penetrated Will's sleep deprived haze. He cleared his throat, wincing at the stale coffee taste souring his mouth. "Sorry, I missed that."
"You got a phone call while you were in with the president." She hesitated, then added carefully, "From California." Something in her face (pity) told him the news wasn't anything that'd brighten up his morning, and Will swallowed, hard. "You want the message, or do you want to just call him yourself?"
Moving slowly, creakily, Will got up out of his chair and took the two steps toward her to take the slip of paper from her hand. Bonnie gave him a kind smile as he stood there, staring blankly at her and not at Sam's message.
In his few weeks in the White House, he'd quickly learned that Bonnie and Ginger's efficiency were rivalled only by their fierce loyalty to Sam and Toby. And Will may have scored some points by becoming Toby's new, favourite punching bag, but he still wasn't One Of Them and they didn't quite trust his mostly under-the-radar friendship with Sam. Will suspected the only reason they didn't sharpen their nails to deadly points every time he called California was because Toby had given his tacit approval by not verbally shredding the meat from Will's bones after that first, pathetically unsubtle round of phone tag.
Finally Will unfolded the slip of paper and read Sam's message.
"You want me to tell Toby?" asked Bonnie, turning to go.
"No, I'll tell him." Head down, Will refolded the paper along the original seam, scoring it with his fingernails to make the crease (razor) sharp and straight-edged. "After I call." He glanced back up. "Thanks. I'm going to make a call now."
"Sure," she said, and closed the door behind her.
Will tossed the message on his desk, then sat down and picked up the phone, tapping out the digits by heart. It was barely five am in California. He listened to the rings, vaguely wondering about Aristotle and long plane rides and Nice and what his dad and Gabriela might be doing right then. He counted four rings before he hung up.
Don't pout, big brother, he could hear Elsie say. What if your face freezes?
He took a deep breath, held for a ten count, and let it out. Took another deep breath, relaxing his neck, then his shoulders. Breathed out.
He hit redial.
"Sam Seaborn."
"Hey, it's me," said Will, reaching for the excitement and genuine delight (dismay) that was only next door. "I just got your message." He huffed a laugh, and added, "You better not be pulling my leg, Sam, or I swear I'll fly down there right now and beat your ass, I don't even care what's happening at noon tomorrow."
Sam's amusement rang across the distance. "You'll beat my ass? You and what army?"
"Are you maligning my skills in hand-to-hand combat?" Will couldn't help grinning a little at that. "You're the guy who trips over his own shadow. I'm the guy who had a Navy SEAL as his boxing coach."
Sam laughed again, bright and honest and beautiful, and on the spot Will forgave him for being so... Sam. "Okay, okay! I suppose there's a chance -- a slim chance -- that if it was you and me in the ring, you'd be more likely to emerge the victor."
Will nodded. "A slim chance. Right."
"Hey, I've got skills," said Sam, modest as ever.
"Oh, I believe you," said Will, reaching out to touch the edge of Sam's message with his fingertips. Just paper and ink. A few words in Bonnie's neat cursive. "So what kind of scandal are we talking about?" He shrugged to himself, to Sam on the other end of the line. "I mean, I assume it's a scandal of some sort. It's the only thing that would do this kind of damage so late in the game."
Sam was quiet for a minute, his breathing even and deep. Still close to sleep. Will wondered which of his campaign staff had woken him with the news.
"Sam?"
Finally there was a heartfelt sigh, and Sam said quietly, "I almost feel sorry for the guy. If it weren't for the fact that he is truly -- I mean, seriously -- the most despicable man with whom I've ever had the displeasure of shaking hands, I could almost feel sorry for what he's about to face."
Will clutched the receiver tight in one hand and reached blindly for the rubber ball he'd absconded from Toby with the other. "Sam."
"You know that Newport embezzlement story I emailed you about on Tuesday? Yeah, turns out Webb and several key members of his staff had been covering it up for months, getting paid to keep it off the FEC's radar."
If Will hadn't been sitting down, he would've fallen down. "You're not serious. God, Sam. You're not serious."
"As a heart-attack. Knowing Webb, he'll try to minimise his involvement, maybe claim he was being blackmailed or something ridiculous like that."
"Don't let him." Will clenched his fist around the ball, then threw it hard against the door. The ball ricocheted into the guest chair and bounced harmlessly a few times before rolling under the desk. Everything was clear. "Don't let him, Sam, you can't let him win. You can't. Chuck Webb needs to be taken out of politics, and I mean for good, and you're the guy to do it."
Sam's sharp intake of breath was something like agreement, though he still protested. "I can't push too hard, Will, I'll look opportunistic. People's livelihoods are gone. I'm not sure I can make political hay out of it."
"You're not giving yourself enough credit, Sam, and you're not giving your staff enough credit," Will admonished, warming to the coming fight. Wishing he could be there (with him) to help. "Make sure the local press stays on the story. It'll be tough to keep front page after tomorrow --"
"Have I mentioned lately how amazing you are?" Sam interrupted, sounding proud and overwhelmed at the same time.
Will felt his face flush. "I shouldn't have called you last night. I don't know what I was thinking."
"You have a gift, Will. I knew you'd get Toby and the president to listen to you --"
"Sam."
"I'm serious, Will. I knew you could do it." He sighed, a quiet gust through phone lines. "Don't worry about Webb, okay? I've got it covered. I've got bright, energetic people handpicked by you and Leo and the president, and no, I don't think Scott Holcomb is ever going to forgive you, and I've got Orange County's love of investment portfolios on my side --"
"That's true enough," Will conceded.
"-- but you've got twenty-four hours to create foreign policy --"
"I told you, I'm not creating it, the president --"
"I want to win, Will. I want to win." An urgent whisper, a dream unvoiced till now. "Will, I didn't even know I wanted it until I tried, and now I'm so afraid of failing, I'm so afraid of disappointing you and the president and everybody else that I can hardly breathe."
Will swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat, tasting stale coffee, sour. "I know, Sam," he whispered back. "I want this for you, too. I know you can do it. You stood up, and I knew." He cradled the receiver to his ear. "You could never disappoint me, Sam, never." Will closed his eyes, touched the (sky) scrap of paper. "Okay?"
"Okay."
They didn't speak, just breathed together.
"I'm sorry. That we can't."
"Don't be. Just win."
* * *
Feedback would be most welcome.