Fic challenge!
Title: Fascinating Creature
Fandom: The Faculty
Pairing: Casey/Zeke
Rating: PG-13 for language
Synopsis: Zeke's always been a scientist, but sometimes you shouldn't experiment. Written for the contrelamontre "Someone is sick" challenge.
X-posted to honeyandvinegar
Started: 10:15
It was the first time Casey had come over to Zeke's... and Zeke wasn't sure on having him back at this point. "Casey... Jesus..."
"What?"
Zeke huffed out an impatient breath and shook his head. "I don't normally sit around playing board games. You're making it worse," Zeke told him. Casey looked up from the pile of fake money he was sorting and frowned.
"It's not a big deal. I'm just organizing things," Casey replied. Zeke clenched his jaw; organizing things. It was one thing to sort the play money into the correct groups, piles of ones, fives, whatever-- all put together in it's proper place. But this was ridiculous. This was taking goddamned forever.
"I'm getting something to drink," Zeke said, getting up from the floor. "Want anything?"
"I'll get it myself, in a minute," Casey said. Zeke shrugged and walked out through the archway, down the hall and into the kitchen. He could still hear Casey counting under his breath.
He wasn't just sorting the shit; he was counting it. After getting a glass down and the fridge open, Casey came in through the dining room. "Zeke?"
"Hmm?" Zeke murmured while pouring a soda.
"I can't find one of the houses," Casey said.
"Huh?"
"The box says there's thirty-two houses, but you're one short,"
"Done counting the money finally?" Zeke answered with annoyed-amusement. Casey only looked annoyed, making Zeke sigh. "I probably lost one; the box is all squashed, so it probably fell out in the closet or something."
"Can I look for it?" Casey asked.
"Um... huh?" Zeke uttered, staring at Casey in confusion. "Casey, I highly doubt you'll be able to find it. The closet's a total shit pile. Or I might've lost it when I was a kid, I don't know."
Casey went from looking annoyed to blank. "I just like to make sure everything's set."
"Well, do you want to use like... I dunno, one of the game board pieces for it?"
"No, no," Casey said in a rush. "I just... it's okay, I'll figure something out."
Zeke nodded slowly. "Oh... 'kay then, get a drink and let's play," Zeke said. He almost walked out back to the room, but sudden curiosity hit him. This boy ain't right, he thought, almost smirking. It didn't take a rocket scientist to see that. Casey was always involved in some kind of strange behavior, all the way back in grade school.
Casey was checking the bottle, mumbling something to himself. "Do you..." Casey started; he stopped mid-question, making Zeke furrow his brow.
"What?" Zeke asked. Casey bit his lip-- hard, by the look of it.
"I can only... my doctor said I should only have one cup of soda a day."
"Big surprise there, Mr. Sugar-addict," Zeke teased. "I'm not gonna force you to have more than a glass of soda..."
"No-- no, like one fluid-ounce cup. Eight ounces," Casey interrupted. "Do you have a measuring cup?"
This was getting even weirder. "Um... yea," Zeke said, nodding to the drawer next to Casey's hip. "I never use it."
Casey opened it and stood there a moment, staring into it. "It's a mess," he replied.
"I don't really cook... it's probably how my mom left it."
"Can I fix it?" Casey asked; before Zeke could answer, the boy began rifling through the drawer, pulling out utensils, wooden spoons... "There's only one beater."
"Huh?"
"Like, for an electric mixer," Casey said, holding up the metal object for Zeke to see. "Where's the other one?"
Zeke scoffed. "I don't know. Why are you asking?"
"Because, Zeke-- God, you need to keep better track of this stuff." Casey said, returning to the drawer. "I'll look for it for you."
"Casey, I don't really... okay, yea," Zeke said, interrupting his own sentence. Fine; the kid would sit here wasting time, knowing he had a ten o'clock curfew when it was now 7:50. Zeke turned to the hall, but after a few steps he found his sock slipping on the hard wood flooring, catch into a edge of the grain and almost trip him up. He caught himself before he landed on his face, but his glass had tipped entirely.
"You okay?"
"Yea, I'm fine... can you help me out? Jesus," Zeke grumbled in frustration.
"With what?" Casey asked, coming over. He stopped at the edge of the linoleum and looked. "You spilled the soda?"
"Yea, can you get me some paper towels?" Zeke asked. Casey nodded slowly and went to get them, while Zeke tried to keep the liquid from rushing to the carpet, using just his hands. "Jesus shit..."
"Here,"
"Thanks," Zeke said, reaching up without looking. When his hand found nothing, he turned to see Casey standing a few feet away in the kitchen doorway, holding out the towels. "Can you... bring 'em over? I can't let this puddle go."
Casey's eyes widened slightly. Without a word, he tossed the towels Zeke's way and went back into the kitchen. Zeke stared, wondering what the hell that was about. After a few moments of cleaning the spill, he saw Casey leave the kitchen through the dining room again then return to the couch. Unable to hold back questions, Zeke finally looked at him directly and sighed again. "What's wrong?" he asked.
"Nothing," Casey said, taking a quick sip of his drink; Zeke noticed him press the bottom of the glass into his jeans. He placed it on the table and began sorting through the game pieces again.
He's counting the houses again. He's putting them in little groups of... four, Zeke thought, observing the boy closely and listening to his small mutters. He finally gathered up the spilled soda, went into the kitchen and trashed the towels. He took a small pause, thinking hard. After just a moment, he figured it out-- or at least he had a good hypothesis. Well... only one way to test his new theory.
Zeke walked back into the living room, just as Casey was finished putting the houses and hotels together. "I'll keep the extra house here," Casey told Zeke with a smile, pointing to the small green wooden piece next the the board. Zeke nodded and brushed past the boy to get to the other side; taking a quick look, he made sure his jeans caught on the edge of the box.
~*~
"Casey-- I'm sorry. Let's just forget it, okay?"
Casey wasn't listening. He shook his head, his hands trembling as he placed paper monies into slots erratically. Zeke felt terrible. It'd been a good hour now; this was Casey's third checking and re-checking of the game pieces, money, cards...
"Casey..." Zeke said softly; unable to put up with this any more, Zeke put his hands on Casey's and stopped his manic activity. "Just stop... it's okay. Okay?"
Staring at the meticulously organized game, Casey swallowed hard. "Can you take me home?"
"Yea. Might be best." Zeke said. "I'll put this away. Just leave it."
"Okay," Casey shook out. As Zeke stood up, a worried look came over Casey's face. "Do you think I'm a freak?"
The sudden question made Zeke stop, looking at Casey with a soft look. For years he'd said he was. "No," he finally answered. Casey nodded and stood, carefully stepping around the harfd wood to the rug leading to the front door.
"The wood goes the wrong way," he said, nodding to the floor.
"C'mon, let's get you home," Zeke said, holding Casey's shoulder tight and leading him out.
~*~
Finished: 11:00 exactly! PHEW!
Quick author's NOTE!... this story isn't to say that a person dealing with OCD is "sick", but it's simply to point out how it IS an "illness".
Fandom: The Faculty
Pairing: Casey/Zeke
Rating: PG-13 for language
Synopsis: Zeke's always been a scientist, but sometimes you shouldn't experiment. Written for the contrelamontre "Someone is sick" challenge.
X-posted to honeyandvinegar
Started: 10:15
It was the first time Casey had come over to Zeke's... and Zeke wasn't sure on having him back at this point. "Casey... Jesus..."
"What?"
Zeke huffed out an impatient breath and shook his head. "I don't normally sit around playing board games. You're making it worse," Zeke told him. Casey looked up from the pile of fake money he was sorting and frowned.
"It's not a big deal. I'm just organizing things," Casey replied. Zeke clenched his jaw; organizing things. It was one thing to sort the play money into the correct groups, piles of ones, fives, whatever-- all put together in it's proper place. But this was ridiculous. This was taking goddamned forever.
"I'm getting something to drink," Zeke said, getting up from the floor. "Want anything?"
"I'll get it myself, in a minute," Casey said. Zeke shrugged and walked out through the archway, down the hall and into the kitchen. He could still hear Casey counting under his breath.
He wasn't just sorting the shit; he was counting it. After getting a glass down and the fridge open, Casey came in through the dining room. "Zeke?"
"Hmm?" Zeke murmured while pouring a soda.
"I can't find one of the houses," Casey said.
"Huh?"
"The box says there's thirty-two houses, but you're one short,"
"Done counting the money finally?" Zeke answered with annoyed-amusement. Casey only looked annoyed, making Zeke sigh. "I probably lost one; the box is all squashed, so it probably fell out in the closet or something."
"Can I look for it?" Casey asked.
"Um... huh?" Zeke uttered, staring at Casey in confusion. "Casey, I highly doubt you'll be able to find it. The closet's a total shit pile. Or I might've lost it when I was a kid, I don't know."
Casey went from looking annoyed to blank. "I just like to make sure everything's set."
"Well, do you want to use like... I dunno, one of the game board pieces for it?"
"No, no," Casey said in a rush. "I just... it's okay, I'll figure something out."
Zeke nodded slowly. "Oh... 'kay then, get a drink and let's play," Zeke said. He almost walked out back to the room, but sudden curiosity hit him. This boy ain't right, he thought, almost smirking. It didn't take a rocket scientist to see that. Casey was always involved in some kind of strange behavior, all the way back in grade school.
Casey was checking the bottle, mumbling something to himself. "Do you..." Casey started; he stopped mid-question, making Zeke furrow his brow.
"What?" Zeke asked. Casey bit his lip-- hard, by the look of it.
"I can only... my doctor said I should only have one cup of soda a day."
"Big surprise there, Mr. Sugar-addict," Zeke teased. "I'm not gonna force you to have more than a glass of soda..."
"No-- no, like one fluid-ounce cup. Eight ounces," Casey interrupted. "Do you have a measuring cup?"
This was getting even weirder. "Um... yea," Zeke said, nodding to the drawer next to Casey's hip. "I never use it."
Casey opened it and stood there a moment, staring into it. "It's a mess," he replied.
"I don't really cook... it's probably how my mom left it."
"Can I fix it?" Casey asked; before Zeke could answer, the boy began rifling through the drawer, pulling out utensils, wooden spoons... "There's only one beater."
"Huh?"
"Like, for an electric mixer," Casey said, holding up the metal object for Zeke to see. "Where's the other one?"
Zeke scoffed. "I don't know. Why are you asking?"
"Because, Zeke-- God, you need to keep better track of this stuff." Casey said, returning to the drawer. "I'll look for it for you."
"Casey, I don't really... okay, yea," Zeke said, interrupting his own sentence. Fine; the kid would sit here wasting time, knowing he had a ten o'clock curfew when it was now 7:50. Zeke turned to the hall, but after a few steps he found his sock slipping on the hard wood flooring, catch into a edge of the grain and almost trip him up. He caught himself before he landed on his face, but his glass had tipped entirely.
"You okay?"
"Yea, I'm fine... can you help me out? Jesus," Zeke grumbled in frustration.
"With what?" Casey asked, coming over. He stopped at the edge of the linoleum and looked. "You spilled the soda?"
"Yea, can you get me some paper towels?" Zeke asked. Casey nodded slowly and went to get them, while Zeke tried to keep the liquid from rushing to the carpet, using just his hands. "Jesus shit..."
"Here,"
"Thanks," Zeke said, reaching up without looking. When his hand found nothing, he turned to see Casey standing a few feet away in the kitchen doorway, holding out the towels. "Can you... bring 'em over? I can't let this puddle go."
Casey's eyes widened slightly. Without a word, he tossed the towels Zeke's way and went back into the kitchen. Zeke stared, wondering what the hell that was about. After a few moments of cleaning the spill, he saw Casey leave the kitchen through the dining room again then return to the couch. Unable to hold back questions, Zeke finally looked at him directly and sighed again. "What's wrong?" he asked.
"Nothing," Casey said, taking a quick sip of his drink; Zeke noticed him press the bottom of the glass into his jeans. He placed it on the table and began sorting through the game pieces again.
He's counting the houses again. He's putting them in little groups of... four, Zeke thought, observing the boy closely and listening to his small mutters. He finally gathered up the spilled soda, went into the kitchen and trashed the towels. He took a small pause, thinking hard. After just a moment, he figured it out-- or at least he had a good hypothesis. Well... only one way to test his new theory.
Zeke walked back into the living room, just as Casey was finished putting the houses and hotels together. "I'll keep the extra house here," Casey told Zeke with a smile, pointing to the small green wooden piece next the the board. Zeke nodded and brushed past the boy to get to the other side; taking a quick look, he made sure his jeans caught on the edge of the box.
~*~
"Casey-- I'm sorry. Let's just forget it, okay?"
Casey wasn't listening. He shook his head, his hands trembling as he placed paper monies into slots erratically. Zeke felt terrible. It'd been a good hour now; this was Casey's third checking and re-checking of the game pieces, money, cards...
"Casey..." Zeke said softly; unable to put up with this any more, Zeke put his hands on Casey's and stopped his manic activity. "Just stop... it's okay. Okay?"
Staring at the meticulously organized game, Casey swallowed hard. "Can you take me home?"
"Yea. Might be best." Zeke said. "I'll put this away. Just leave it."
"Okay," Casey shook out. As Zeke stood up, a worried look came over Casey's face. "Do you think I'm a freak?"
The sudden question made Zeke stop, looking at Casey with a soft look. For years he'd said he was. "No," he finally answered. Casey nodded and stood, carefully stepping around the harfd wood to the rug leading to the front door.
"The wood goes the wrong way," he said, nodding to the floor.
"C'mon, let's get you home," Zeke said, holding Casey's shoulder tight and leading him out.
~*~
Finished: 11:00 exactly! PHEW!
Quick author's NOTE!... this story isn't to say that a person dealing with OCD is "sick", but it's simply to point out how it IS an "illness".