Caput Mortuum
Title: Caput Mortuum
Author: Cherry Vanilla
Fandom: The West Wing
Category: Sam, Vignette
Rating: PG
Archive: yes, let me know where.
Spoilers: Up to and including Two Cathedrals
Summary: "The balance had shifted and Sam was back at the shore while everyone else had boarded the ship."
* * * * *
He can remember times when he felt needed, wanted, important. A few from his college days, many when he was with Lisa, and even the occasional occurrence at Gage Whitney. On the campaign trail he felt lost at first, out of place. Josh often reassured him that he was needed, that he was here for a reason, but he couldn't believe it just yet. When the President used his speech, it finally sunk in that he mattered.
Then they went to the white house and he didn't have to keep reminding himself that they needed him. It went on like this for a while, and he felt like one of them. These were his friends, his colleagues, and Sam Seaborn had finally found his place in life. Working for Gage Whitney was like being half awake. Josh coming to get him like a savoir out of the rain, he realized, had been the turning point in his life. And leaving Lisa was the smartest thing he'd ever done.
And then, a sudden, unexpected shift was all it took. The drop-in. It was the second turning point in his life, the moment when all his insecurities returned. And he'd begun questioning again.
And ever since that night, he felt he was slipping. The balance had shifted and Sam was back at the shore while everyone else had boarded the ship. He'd talk, he'd counter, he'd even occasionally raise his voice and still, it was like he wasn't there. Often, he felt like he was no longer on the same level as them. Josh was his best friend and he'd never felt further away. Toby was his boss and he felt like a stranger.
So he'd think to himself: it was his beliefs, his idealism that made him different. But standing there, yelling about the President's press conference, he realized that wasn't the case. It wasn't his beliefs or even his ideas; it was simply he. The way they saw him. He was the youngest and the most naive. He was the least important. He was good for a speech every now and a meeting with people who would rather deal with Toby, but really, what other purpose did he serve?
When he talks, they don't listen. He fears that behind his back they laugh.
Sometimes, he feels he's invisible. He wonders if he hadn't stopped at Josh's door before the press conference, would he have just kept going. He wonders if he'd be missed at all.
Standing next to his colleagues listening to the president speak, he feels like an outsider. A year ago, or even a few months, they had felt like family to him. Now, the balance has shifted, and he's not sure he can ever get it back.
Afterward, in the Limo, he should feel a sense of peace; the president is going to run again. He should feel some solace. But all he can think of are the things to come. The amount of meetings and spinning that would soon take place to keep them in their positions.
These people are all he knows. But they don't listen to him much anymore. And he's becoming numb inside as his stomach clenches and the anger swells.
* * * * * *
END
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