"The Passing of the Spaldeen", TWW, Will & Toby
Title: The Passing of the Spaldeen
Author: scrollgirl
Fandom: The West Wing
Characters: Will Bailey, Toby Ziegler, OFC
Warnings: G, futurefic, no spoilers
Words: 340
Author's Note: I once commented to pocky_slash that I loved the image of Will playing with Toby's balls (not like that! get your mind out of the gutter!) and the idea of Toby passing on the torch to Will, however inadvertently or indirectly, in Season 7.
I said: And Will's secretary is all "wtf I don't even wanna know" and Sam's laughing and laughing and laughing. And Will just makes sure he doesn't aim for any windows.
The Passing of the Spaldeen
by Scroll
Will is sleep-deprived and cranky when he comes into the office at five the next morning, and the coffee hasn't really had time to hit his system yet, so he goes into panic mode for a minute because he can't remember what he's supposed to do with the Nike shoebox that's sitting on his desk.
"It's from Professor Ziegler," Adrienne tells him, handing him the scrap of paper that is Toby's accompanying note.
'Will', it says. 'Stop worrying about every tiny mistake. You're never going to be perfect. He's never going to be perfect -- though God knows we sometimes like to believe otherwise. You're doing fine, you both are. Keep your eye on the ball and try not to get an ulcer. Toby.'
When Will opens the shoebox to find exactly what he expects, he starts laughing and laughing and laughing, and he can't seem to stop, not even when he's wheezing for air. "Toby, you old dog," he gasps, wiping his eyes. "For you, this is practically sentimental." He takes out one of the half dozen pink rubber balls nestled in yellowed newspaper.
"Oh, for heaven's sake," says Adrienne, backing out of his office out of sheer self-preservation. "Just -- just don't break anything, okay? That lamp probably costs more than I make in three months."
"I make no promises," Will tells her with a cocky grin, throwing the ball across the room without looking. The ball slaps against the door leading to the Oval Office and bounces straight back into his palm. "Oh, nice," he says, eyes shining like a boy's.
Adrienne escapes his office before she can witness any further eccentricities from her already pretty eccentric boss. But when the deputy counsel tries to get in to see him, she tells the woman that he's on an important call. Another ten minutes of insanity can't hurt much, she justifies to herself, and he's more than earned the right to be a little weird. Besides -- she winces at a particularly rattling thud -- the White House must have some kind of insurance, right?
* * *
The Spaldeen is "a pink rubber ball, a tennis ball without the fuzz, that was ubiquitously available to children in the 1950s, 60s, and 70s." I wouldn't be surprised if Toby had grown up playing with these.
eta: geez, I gotta stop fiddling with this thing...
Author: scrollgirl
Fandom: The West Wing
Characters: Will Bailey, Toby Ziegler, OFC
Warnings: G, futurefic, no spoilers
Words: 340
Author's Note: I once commented to pocky_slash that I loved the image of Will playing with Toby's balls (not like that! get your mind out of the gutter!) and the idea of Toby passing on the torch to Will, however inadvertently or indirectly, in Season 7.
I said: And Will's secretary is all "wtf I don't even wanna know" and Sam's laughing and laughing and laughing. And Will just makes sure he doesn't aim for any windows.
The Passing of the Spaldeen
by Scroll
Will is sleep-deprived and cranky when he comes into the office at five the next morning, and the coffee hasn't really had time to hit his system yet, so he goes into panic mode for a minute because he can't remember what he's supposed to do with the Nike shoebox that's sitting on his desk.
"It's from Professor Ziegler," Adrienne tells him, handing him the scrap of paper that is Toby's accompanying note.
'Will', it says. 'Stop worrying about every tiny mistake. You're never going to be perfect. He's never going to be perfect -- though God knows we sometimes like to believe otherwise. You're doing fine, you both are. Keep your eye on the ball and try not to get an ulcer. Toby.'
When Will opens the shoebox to find exactly what he expects, he starts laughing and laughing and laughing, and he can't seem to stop, not even when he's wheezing for air. "Toby, you old dog," he gasps, wiping his eyes. "For you, this is practically sentimental." He takes out one of the half dozen pink rubber balls nestled in yellowed newspaper.
"Oh, for heaven's sake," says Adrienne, backing out of his office out of sheer self-preservation. "Just -- just don't break anything, okay? That lamp probably costs more than I make in three months."
"I make no promises," Will tells her with a cocky grin, throwing the ball across the room without looking. The ball slaps against the door leading to the Oval Office and bounces straight back into his palm. "Oh, nice," he says, eyes shining like a boy's.
Adrienne escapes his office before she can witness any further eccentricities from her already pretty eccentric boss. But when the deputy counsel tries to get in to see him, she tells the woman that he's on an important call. Another ten minutes of insanity can't hurt much, she justifies to herself, and he's more than earned the right to be a little weird. Besides -- she winces at a particularly rattling thud -- the White House must have some kind of insurance, right?
* * *
The Spaldeen is "a pink rubber ball, a tennis ball without the fuzz, that was ubiquitously available to children in the 1950s, 60s, and 70s." I wouldn't be surprised if Toby had grown up playing with these.
eta: geez, I gotta stop fiddling with this thing...