Chapter Text
It seemed impossible, when he thought back on it, that as the Bartlet Administration’s Communications Director, he hadn’t been able to come up with a better retort than, “Am not!” Granted, Will reasoned, staring into his Scotch, the entire job of being Communications Director was basically just screaming “Am not!” at regular intervals. But he was also a speechwriter, for Christ’s sake. He’d made a career out of figuring out how to say what had to be said, but apparently, when it really mattered, his words deserted him. He’d just stood there, wordless, struck dumb by the raw exhilaration of Kate admitting that she wanted to see where their relationship was going and – he’d admit it – the allure of his own Congressional campaign. And then Kate had given him one of those looks she got when she was seeing the whole picture on a really big plan, and she told him he was moving to Oregon. More specifically, he was moving to Oregon and she wasn’t. Kate had decided, and he hadn’t said a damn word.
Alone in her office, Kate replayed the conversation in her head. He had to do it, she thought, nails biting into her palms. Not just because he’d made a great Congressman – although he would. A small smile crossed her face, but didn’t stay. He was fucking made for the job. He had to do it now – this race, this election – because if he passed it up for her, lingering in DC in a job he wouldn’t have chosen otherwise, it would always hang over them. Kate Harper could handle a hell of a lot, but she didn’t think she could handle waiting around, watching another relationship turn poisonous and painful. Especially not this one. Will was kind and brave; he was thoughtful and unexpectedly (but once you noticed it, blindingly) sexy. Even before they’d started dating, he had somehow understood everything she was while still seeing the best in her. Now, facing down a life without him, Kate had to admit that, most of all, she was going to miss that best, truest self – that she was more than a little afraid she would discover that, without Will Bailey, that Kate Harper didn’t exist. Stop it, she ordered herself harshly, as her chest tightened. Just fucking stop.
She took a deep breath and tried to picture the future. Not her future, not yet. Oregon. Oregon would suit him, she decided, smiling sadly. California had never quite fit, but Oregon – mists and forests and bleakly beautiful beaches – could work for Will Bailey. And Congress would suit him, she acknowledged, even as she forced herself to blink back visions of herself fixing a flag pin to his lapel, or straightening his tie before his first floor speech, or taking the tie off, and the suit off, and… Just fucking stop it, Harper, hissed her brain, as images of the life she’d just refused pooled behind her eyes like tears. You were never the tie-straightening kind, she reminded herself, straightening her spine against her own maudlin fantasies. Be realistic. That didn’t help, though, she realized as a choked sob wracked her body. In fact, the reality of what she’d passed up was worse. It was her, laughingly battling Will over his policy positions; Will offering her first date entrée-switching privileges long after their hundredth consecutive date; Will rehearsing his stump speeches until she could quote them back to him; her, tearing Will’s suit off (in a new office, this time) - and she was back where she’d started.
It wasn’t a sure thing, though, she reminded herself. No relationship ever was. And actually, as much as she’d treated this version of the future as a definite, none of it was a sure thing. There was a campaign to get through. The thought of the months ahead had a frown settling between her brows. He was a campaign operator, part of her brain argued, slick and committed enough to literally get a corpse elected. He was in his element on the campaign trail. Gnawing on her lower lip, Kate acknowledged the obvious counterpoint: in his past campaigns, he’d been running other candidates. He’d never had to sell himself to the public that way – his ideas, his values, his experience. Would he be good at it? Could Will Bailey, man of the people, and Will Bailey, creature of the campaign, co-exist? And what would happen to just-plain Will Bailey – the man who had asked her out for the end of the world? The man who’d just laughed when she came out as a Republican; the only man whose arms she could sleep in without feeling trapped? Protective anxiety rippled through her at the thought of that Will, her Will being suppressed and sublimated by the grind of the campaign, stifled beneath the glossy veneer of the political gladiator. If she were with him, she thought frantically, she could shoulder some of that burden. She could show people who he was – be a character witness. She could show Oregon what there was to love about him. What she loved about him. That jolted her back to reality. Loved about him? Jesus fucking Christ. Sternly, Kate pulled her emotions back, making a conscious effort to relax her muscles. He was going to run, she was sure of it. And she wasn’t going to be there. Her heart clutched a little at the finality of it. That didn’t mean she wasn’t allowed to care, though, she rationalized. She could keep an eye on things – stay apprised of how it was going. It wasn’t like she hadn’t cared about politics before, although maybe house races in Oregon hadn’t really been on her radar. He’d never know – she’d keep the break clean – but she wouldn’t have to face the hardscrabble panic of being completely and totally without him.