TITLE: Some Pretty Nasty Mimes
AUTHOR: Julian Lee
EMAIL: thwarted1066@yahoo.com
URL: http://geocities.com/thwarted1066/index.html
CATEGORY: Sam/Will, post-"Commencement"
Rating: CHILD
SERIES: The New Guy; http://geocities.com/thwarted1066/westwing/newguy.html
DISCLAIMER: I own not the characters herein. I make not money off the characters herein.
ARCHIVE: Yeah, sure. If you want it, take it. Just let me know where you're putting it, please.
SUMMARY: Now is not the time for self-doubt.
NOTES: I know; the title has *nothing* to do with the fic. But, damn; Fitz made that crack about the mimes in France, and how could I pass that up?


Some Pretty Nasty Mimes by Julian Lee

"So, Sam, remember when I promised I'd be at your place by midnight?"

"No, wait, let me guess--"

"I'm not sure I'll be there at all tonight."

"Will! What the hell?"

"There's this thing going on...I can't talk about it, but believe me when I say that, when you hear about it, you'll understand."

"Are you okay?"

"One of the few who is."


"I can't talk about it, Sam. The other thing, though, is that Andy's in labor."

"What? Since when?"

"A couple hours ago. One of the kids might even be born by now. Or even both of them. But Bonnie told Toby that if he so much as showed his face in the office again today she'd knock him unconscious and stick him in a cab back to the hospital."

"So it's just you."

"And Elsie. And the Laurens."

"So it's just you."



"I'm really sorry about this, Sam."

"Don't forget: that was my job for four years. I understand. Hey, I heard the President's speech."

"Really? How?"

"There's this new-fangled invention called the Internet--"

"Very funny. I didn't know anyone was streaming it."

"The President was giving his youngest daughter's commencement address. *Everyone* was streaming it."

"What did you think?"

"I think you helped him write it."

"You could tell?"

"Hey, come on, Will--"

"You could tell? *Damn* it."

"It was an excellent speech, Will."

"Nobody's supposed to be able to tell."

"Nobody could."

"You could."

"Again, I did this job for four years. I've also read pretty much everything you've ever written. No one who can't claim both of those things is going to be able to spot it."

"Now is a *very* bad time for me to be having a self-confidence crisis, Sam."

"So don't have one. You helped the President write a fantastic speech; that's all that matters."

"But if it sounded like me, and not him--"

"It *did* sound like him. Trust me."

"When I took this job, I knew I didn't fully grasp what I was getting into. Now I'm thinking I didn't even fully grasp how fully I didn't grasp it."

"The scary thing is, that sentence made sense to me."

"I would really like to be with you right now."

"I would really like you to be here."

"Listen, Sam, I should go. If Ron catches me making an outside call, he's going to lock me in a small closet or something."

"Ron? Ron Butterfield? Will, what the hell is going on over there?"

"I can't say, Sam. Just keep your eye on the news."

"All right. Just...be careful, please."

"I am. I promise."

"Hey, Will? It was the Eudora Welty."

"I beg your pardon?"

"The President quoted Eudora Welty in his speech. Toby would never have given permission for that. He hates her."

"The President doesn't need his speechwriters' permission to--"

"That's what you *do,* Will. That's your job."

"I'm in so far over my head I can't even *see* the waterline anymore."

"You did a very good job. And you'll keep on doing a good job."

"I don't know what I'd do without you, Sam."

"Neither do I. Get home as soon as you can."


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