I have no idea if anyone on here still cares about my Sam-centric West Wing stuff; it doesn't really get reviews anymore. (The curse of constantly writing for old fandoms, I suppose.) I'll probably just keep on posting it anyway because it makes me happy, but if there's actually anyone else who still likes these I'd love to hear from you!
He's standing in front of your desk, looking down at you with those earnest baby blues, and you know he means every word he says. You also know he's right, much as you wish you could convince him otherwise. You consider it; there's almost certainly something you could say that would change his mind. But you don't. Because he's right.
When you'd heard he was flying back from California, you'd hoped it would be for good. It was sad that he'd lost his election, of course, but hardly unexpected. As soon as the results were final, you'd called him to offer him the new job Toby had suggested the day he hired Will. And until he'd walked into your office today, you'd still been holding out hope that he might take it.
He's stood in this same spot so many times, and he looks the same today as ever: same carefully styled hair, same crisp white shirt, same perfectly tailored suit, same meticulously knotted tie. He looks the same as ever, but you know he's not. Part of you can't help but wonder if that's not somehow your fault, even while the rest of you is certain that there's not much you could have - or would have - done differently. Politics is what it is, and it wouldn't have been possible, or fair, to spare him that.
You wonder how long it will take him to realize what you've known for a long time. You did your best to convey it, told him once that he'd run for president someday, but you're not sure he believed you. That's up to him now. You suspect that it might take a bit longer than you'd like; this boy who's so fiercely loyal to and protective of the people he loves never has been much good at understanding his own heart.
His words are, as always, so carefully chosen. You could have stopped him a long time ago, but that wouldn't be fair to him. He's put time and effort into this, and he deserves the chance to say his piece, his own words for once instead of yours. You'd gotten so used to him writing, speaking, thinking in your voice that you'd almost forgotten he had such a beautiful one of his own. Maybe he had, as well.
It's been a long time since he was the same young man you met all those years ago in New Hampshire. (Or maybe it hasn't really been all that long. Maybe it only feels like a lifetime to you.) You always knew this place would be hard on him, and you can't help but think that you should have seen this coming long ago. For years you'd watched him try, try so damned hard to make his mark on this place. Sometimes he'd succeeded. Sometimes he'd failed. More often than not, though, he'd compromised on his beliefs, his dreams, even when it had killed him to do so. And then one day, this campaign had fallen into his lap in a way that you never would have believed could happen to anyone but him, and he was back. The light in his eyes, the spark that you remembered from the old days had returned. He could fight for the things he believed in and say the things he meant, and he was himself again. And yet, somehow, he didn't seem to notice. Maybe it was because, deep down, he'd always known he'd lose. It had never shown on the outside of course, but somewhere in his heart of hearts, the undeniable lessons of so many years in politics must have told him that this was one race he couldn't win. And that little voice was just enough to keep him from seeing what you'd known all along.
It's silent in the room now. He's said all he has to say, and now he looks to you for an answer, just as he's done so many times before. Once again, the refusal, the argument that would change his mind is right on the tip of your tongue. But you can't do that to him. He deserves better than that.
Because maybe this is your fault, after all. Well, not only yours, but partially, at least. He grew up too fast, and you didn't let yourself see it. If you had, you could have done more to fix all this before it was too late. But you didn't. So now it's time to do something you don't want to, something you don't like at all. Because it's the right thing. And if there's ever been anyone who's taught you the importance of doing the right thing, it's this boy.
You stand and leave your venerable position behind the desk. You bring yourself face to face with this boy who wants so badly to change the world but just hasn't figure out how yet. Someday, he'll see what you see. Someday, he'll realize that he's outgrown the job you gave him. Someday, he'll realize what the problem has been all along: that it's not enough for him to work for The Guy. He needs to be The Guy. And someday, Josh - the guy The Guy counts on - will show up at his door, and get him to where he needs to be.
But not today. Today, you tell him you understand, because you do, even if you don't like it. You tell him that you're proud of him and what he's become, because you are, even if you know he's not finished yet. And you hug him. You've done that before, not very often, but most recently the day you flew out to California to support his campaign. This time is a little tighter, a little longer. This time you say goodbye. You pretend you don't see the dampness in his eyes as he offers you one last smile, one last "Thank you, Mr. President," and turns away. You let him go, because the next step of his journey is one he needs to discover on his own. You watch him walk out the door with a heavy weight in your chest at the thought that you'll never see him walk back through it again - not while this office still belongs to you, at least - and you say a quick prayer that that boy who you love like a son finds himself back home in California.