The New Guy

by: Baked Goldfish

Category: Charlie
Rating: CHILD
Summary: Bicycles. Goats. Will. And Charlie. A post-ep.
Spoilers: Guns Not Butter, and Shibboleth
Disclaimer: None of this is mine. I don't even own a goat. I'm not making money here. Don't sue me.

He stopped reading from his legal pad and peered over the rims of his glasses, hopeful and wary. "So what do you think?"

Ron the Goat condescendingly sniffled at him and went back to his oats.

Dropping his glasses to the desk - not his desk, it wasn't his desk - Will sighed and nodded and mumbled, "Yeah." He had no idea what the goat was still doing in the office; it was at least half an hour since the photo shoot. His handler should have been by, but-

"Guy's chatting with the President, lucky bastard," some junior staffer said outside Sam's - not his - door. Well, that explained why Ron the Goat was still in the office.

Will Bailey knew all about hazing. He'd gone to private schools his entire life, sometimes more than one per school year, and had always been the one outside the circle. The one who was nice and all, and smart, and funny, but never really fit in. The new kid, ad infinitum. Ad nauseum, more like it. He knew what it was like to prove oneself just to get a decent seat at the lunch table. He knew what it was like to run the crucible.

However, he'd never seen a crucible that included a goat. This was definitely a first.

He leaned back in the chair, propped his feet up on the desk, and regarded Ron the Goat thoughtfully; the goat, in turn, scuffed his back hooves against the carpet, almost as if he thought he had more rights to this office than Will did. "Probably does," Will muttered.

"Probably does what?"

"Jesus-" He sat upright, stared at the young man standing in his doorway, and took a moment to compose himself. "I was thinking the goat has more rights here than me."

Charlie frowned, slightly disturbed. "Has the goat grown speech-writing abilities that we don't know about?"

"No?" Will replied, shrinking into the chair.

"Because if he did, I'd like to think he can do better than the office bike rack-" Off Will's slightly depressed look, he added, "Though, at least he's not two turkeys."

Will's frown turned into one of confusion. "Weh?"

"A couple years ago around Thanksgiving, the guys put two full-grown turkeys into CJ's office. Both turkeys, I might add, lived," Charlie said.

"Presidential pardons?" Will asked, nodding knowingly.

"Well, one got pardoned," Charlie said. "And the other, if I'm not mistaken, got drafted."

Will stared at him, expressionless for a moment. "This is some kind of test, right? Like, a joke to see how far I'll go before I stab myself in the neck with a spork."

"Actually, no. The turkey really did get drafted. But if you want to do that thing with the spork, feel free," Charlie added encouragingly.

Will chuckled, possibly for the first time since setting foot in this office. "I know it's because I'm the new guy," he said. "It's not that big a deal, really."

"I don't know," Charlie said. "They never did this when I was the new guy."

"That's probably because your office is pretty much the Oval Office, and if someone put a goat there, they'd have to answer to the President."

"True." Charlie finally stepped into the office, and put a folder on the desk. "Josh said you were working on a legislative section, sent this over."

Will picked up the folder and looked at it like it was a foreign object. "Why didn't his assistant send it over?"

"She was gonna, but she looked a little tired, so I offered." Charlie nodded at the folder. "Having fun with that?"

"I think I'd have more fun with the spork," Will sighed. He knew he was lying; the simple idea of working on a Presidential address was inherently exhilarating, and actually working on one was sending him through the roof. Still, there was that goat-in-office aspect that seemed intent on drawing him down. "Charlie, I'm walking a thin line here. You guys are so tightly knit, you know? And everywhere I look, someone or, or something reminds me that I'm not Sam Seaborn."

Charlie looked at him like he was crazy. "Like what?"

Will pointed to the Sam Seaborn posters that adorned the windows.

"Okay, so there's that," Charlie said. "But, look. I know I'm not as politically wise as anyone in this building, but I do know Sam. And he wouldn't have sent you here if he didn't think you were up for the job. All you gotta do is prove yourself, man."

Will ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. "I know I'm up for it. It's the proving part that gets me."

"How did you prove it in California?"

"I didn't," Will said. "I just - I did my job."

"Well there you go," Charlie said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Trust me on this. I dated the man's youngest daughter, and I'm still standing."

Will looked at him with a mixture of awe, understanding, and a little nervousness. "Point. I just... I guess I kinda wish someone here stuck up for the new guy."

"That was usually Sam."

"Hmm." Will cracked a smile at that. "So I guess what you're saying is I've got nobody at all in my corner?"

Charlie shrugged. "You got me." He checked his watch. "I gotta go get Mike."

"Mike?"

"The goat handler."

"Ah." Will watched him go, and the smile continued to play on his lips. He opened the folder, forgot his surroundings, and began to do his job again.

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