Fic: "Cillian Murphy's Law," 1/1, PG-13, Greek/MM x-over.
Title: "Cillian Murphy's Law" 1/1
Author: monimala
Fandom: GREEK/The Middleman
Rating: PG-13 for mild language and implied sexual situations
Word count: 2900
Disclaimer: Not my characters. They all belong to ABC Family and their respective creators.
Summary: Dubby/MM and Evan/Casey/Cappie. "Dawn of the dead, Ladies!" the man gasped. Serves the dual purpose of being birthday fic for angel_grace and answering my incredibly silly Let's have a threesome!" Pornathon challenge.
"Oh my God, Cappie, it's a zombie!" Rusty cried, with an inordinate amount of panic.
However, since he tended to have inordinate amounts of panic frequently, Cap didn't even bother looking up. "Just an Omega Chi. I promise it won't hurt you," he murmured, drowsily, trying to resume his nap on the makeshift hammock Spitter had strung between two trees on the lawn of the KT house.
"No, I mean it. It's a zombie." He was rudely shaken, pointed towards a lurching figure on the sidewalk. Green. A tad pus-y. Slow-moving. Definite signs of zombification. Or too much time spent in the theatre department's makeup shop after too much time in the art department sniffing turpentine.
He was still tempted to go back to sleep.
At least until a fetching girl in a dark suit appeared, *following* the zombie. Since she was faster than it, he had no doubts she'd catch up.
Cappie swung his legs over the side of the hammock, watching with utter fascination as the girl did exactly that. Yes, right before him was a sight that would make George Romero weep with the poetry of it. She pulled out a giant, silver handgun of some kind, flipping a lever at the top of the barrel, and blasted the zombie's head apart like someone kicking through a Jack-o-lantern on Halloween.
He almost got chills. Or a hard-on. Or both.
The dueling sensations were both quashed by the sound of Spitter retching.
On the bright side, it caught the girl's attention, and she strode over, stowing the giant silver weapon somewhere in her impossibly tight black waistcoat. "Sorry about that," she said, briskly. "Overzealous theatre prop. I'm with the National Academy of Television Arts and Sciences. Emphasis on sciences." There was the flash of a badge that he could've sworn said, "Dorothy Dandridge."
"I'm Cappie, with the Kappa Tau Gamma fraternity house. Emphasis on 'we have beer.'" He smiled, winsomely. "Would you like some?"
She glanced down at a giant watch on her wrist that she'd surely gotten out of a cereal box. Captain Crunch. It looked familiar, and, let's face it, he knew his cereals. After frowning with speculation for a moment, her pretty face broke into a grin and she said, "Sure! Why not?"
They stepped around Rusty, who was now past the vomitous stage and was actually studying the "prop" remains with something like scientific glee, and commenced to have a drink. Over which Cappie complimented his guest's Oscar-nominated performance in Carmen Jones. He'd always known the three weeks as a film major would come in handy.
--Simultaneously, in a house full of nubile women of the Pan-Hellenic persuasion--
Casey was trying to stay calm. As president of Zeta Beta Zeta, it was her *duty* to remain calm. Unfortunately, with a zombie lurching around the living room and chasing Rebecca like she was dinner special of the week at the dining hall, that was really, really hard to do. On the one hand, the thing *was* chasing Rebecca and not a sister she actually liked. On the other… hello!
Ashleigh had taken to standing on a chair and shrieking. Casey didn't have the heart to tell her that avoiding a flesh-eating monster wasn't quite the same as avoiding mice. Not that they had mice. God no. ZBZ was the best house on the CRU campus and they most certainly did not have mice!
She took a deep breath, grabbed a pledge paddle, and smartly whacked the zombie upside the head. Long enough for Rebecca to run into the foyer and give her the obligatory dirty look. Oh, yeah, like *she'd* let it loose in here? Please. The girl had no sisterly spirit whatsoever.
Suddenly, the front door burst open and a man in a dark suit skidded in. A man who was in no way Evan or Cappie. Though she didn't know why she'd even think of either of them right now. They couldn't be counted on in a crisis. Usually, they *were* the crisis. And Evan would kill to look this good in a fitted jacket. "Dawn of the Dead, Ladies!" the man gasped, pulling a giant silver gun from the depths of said fitted jacket. "It looks like I got here just in time."
Yeah, he definitely had. Especially since she was two seconds away from climbing on a chair and shrieking, just like Ash. And she actually did shriek (just a little, totally non-embarrassing one) when the man shot the zombie point blank in the head. God, how were they ever going to get the stains out of the couch?
"I'm sorry, Ladies," the man said again, voice booming like a TV announcer's. "I'm Agent Poitier of the National Academy of Television Arts and Sciences. Overzealous theatre prop. It happens."
Just when Casey was composed enough to stick out her hand and make the polite introduction, Rebecca slithered back into the room, pasting on the smile that totally screamed, "I'm a big, giant whore!" and slipped her arm through Agent Poitier's. "Hi," she trilled. "We're the Zeta Beta Zetas. You can call me Rebecca."
"Everybody calls you Rebecca, Rebecca," Casey eye-rolled.
"And I'm Ashleigh!" Ash offered, helpfully, climbing down off the chair and almost killing herself in the process. "Thank you so much for totally saving our lives! Oh my God, that was *so* 28 Days Later, except you're way hotter than that Cillian Murphy guy."
She pronounced it 'Sillian.' Casey had to wince. Come on, it's not like she was a rocket scientist or something, but when it came to knowing the names of hottie Irish actors, she was all up on the hard 'C.'
All of a sudden, the agent glanced down at the giant watch on his wrist and frowned. He said something like, "Darn it, Dubby!" which didn't make sense at all, but neither did a zombie in the ZBZ living room so Casey wasn't about to question it.
She was, however, about to ask her hero to stay for a Coke.
He had fantastic arms. Even if one had Rebecca attached to it.
--Twenty minutes later, in between the house full of nubile Pan-Hellenic women and the house full of slovenly Pan-Hellenic men and one Middle sidekick--
There were few things the Middleman liked better than a frosty cold Coca Cola on a hot summer's day. And few things he liked less than zombie corpse removal on a hot summer's day. Dubby had even left him her own tag to dispose of, which was frankly quite rude. He'd had to disabuse the young man hovering over the specimen of the notion to haul it off to the biology building. When the "theatre prop" excuse hadn't worked, he'd sedated him. The lad was now curled up in a nearby hammock.
MM worked efficiently (as if he ever did any other way?) and then moved on to a vastly more important task: tracking down his partner inside the very fraternity house he now stood in front of. It was a prospect not without its perils. See, he understood brotherhood quite well, thanks to his tenure in the Navy, but a fraternal order devoted solely to beer pong and tie dates was where he was completely out of his element.
Still, it had to be done.
Dubby was in there. Surrounded by hedonists.
That was, quite possibly, worse than zombies.
He girded his loins, set his jaw, and marched into the Kappa Tau Gamma house.
As the foyer and front rooms were suspiciously empty, he *continued* to march.
Then, he soon came to the back doors, realizing with alarm that there was a startling amount of noise. Good *god*, could there have been more than the two threats that Ida had picked up on the H.E.Y.D.A.R.? He drew his weapon and burst through the barrier, much as he'd done at the sorority house… only to find himself in a festively decorated back yard.
"Hawaii Five Oh!" he gasped. Was that a *Tiki bar*?
Worse yet, was that *Dubby* in a grass skirt?
Her eyes were bit glazed from her Mai-Tai (with extra Mai and Tai, evidently), and she was perched precariously on the edge of the makeshift bar, but even so, it was obvious to her that the approaching Middleman was not a happy one. His eyebrows were furrowed and his lips were a flat line of disapproval. What? He didn't like her skirt? She thought it went well with her shirt and waistcoat, and her host, Cappie, agreed.
"We have to celebrate our liberation from imminent zombiehood," the KT president had told her while pouring the first shot of Jager. Now, some 20 minutes and three shots later, she wasn't sure how they'd graduated to a Hawaiian theme, but she couldn't deny that it felt kind of fantastic.
"Dubby, you're still on duty!" MM gasped, ignoring Cappie and his very nice friends Beaver and Wade entirely.
"Weren't you on duty when you were fondling that tiny little puta with the bitchface and the dark tan?" she countered. Hoo boy, apparently too much Mai and Tai got her Cuban up.
"Wait… would that be *my* little puta with the bitchface and the dark tan?" Cappie interrupted, his face going noticeably pale. "Because I'm pretty sure mine's the only one on campus. About yea high…?" He illustrated with a palm hovering right around Dubby's head. "Goes by the name of Rebecca?"
"I was at the Zeta Beta Zeta house. There was an incident," the Middleman confirmed, which was a tactful way of getting around the old 'theatre prop' dead horse. "Fortunately, the president of the house was a great help. She's got quite an arm."
"*Casey*?! Oh my God…"
Dubby was shocked to realize that the laid-back frat brother who had invited her in for debauchery was now officially at Defcon Five. He stumbled back from them, set his shot glass down blindly in the general direction of Beaver's outstretched hand, and then turned around and headed back through the house without another word.
Beaver just shrugged and downed the shot. "Casey's the ex," he explained as he hauled Wade towards what seemed to be a large-scale science project volcano. "We like her."
As long as she wasn't fondling MM, Dubby liked her, too.
Which reminded her… she turned back to her boss with a scowl. "Are you accusing me of dereliction of duty?" Only because of the Jagermeister, it came out more like "erection of duty," and she ended up blushing and spilling the rest of her drink down her skirt. Damn.
The Middleman felt his ears go red at the word "erection," which was silly, really, because he knew exactly what they were, perfectly natural, and even had them on occasion. "You haven't been derelict, Wendy, but you could have waited long enough to help me dispose of the evidence before… celebrating."
"We're in Ohio, Boss," she pointed out, wondering exactly what Cappie had done with her pants. "I have to get my celebrating in when I can. What about you…? Didn't you lavaliere any grateful ZBZs…? And by 'lavaliere' I mean {CENSORED]…"
"Wendy!" He goggled at her. "I would *never*." Not to mention that there simply hadn't been enough time. He was an old fashioned man that way. He enjoyed taking his time, even while [CENSORED].
He watched her slide from the bar, trying to wring out her sodden skirt. She was frowning at him, muttering the word "puta" again. Apparently too much Mai and Tai got her Cuban up. He glanced down at his Middlewatch, seeing that Ida had finally turned off the Real Time Situation Recorder feed. Wait… Dubby had *seen* Rebecca thanking him for saving her. And, judging by his approximation, headed into the fraternity house directly *afterwards*.
It was his turn to pale. And then become imbued with a decidedly warm glow. "Why, Dubby… are you jealous?"
"No. I am not jealous." She found her pants. She was going to put on her pants. "I am not jealous, Boss, that we iced two big, freaking zombies, and you were thanked by a pretty girl. You're perfectly entitled to that, okay? It should be a perk of your job. Superheroes get the girl… it's in the by-laws, and--"
There were few things the Middleman liked better than a frosty cold Coca Cola on a hot summer's day. One of them was kissing women mid-tirade and feeling their mouths stop shaping the words and drop open in shock. "*I* was jealous," he said, simply, before doing it all over again.
--Five minutes earlier, back in a house full of nubile women of the Pan-Hellenic persuasion--
Casey sat wearily on the stairs, cradling her head in her hands. Rebecca had gone off for a massage to "help reduce my stress levels," and Ash had vanished the minute she realized that Agent Hottier wasn't interested in her. "Gay," she'd mouthed discreetly, making the "I'm going to go get Calvin" motion. Only, instead of getting Calvin, she'd managed to say the words "attack" and "Casey" to Evan… sending *him* straight over from the Omega Chi house.
"Are you okay? Seriously, Casey…"
"I'm *fine*," she said, for the umpteenth time.
Like, seriously. The last thing she needed right now was Evan looking at her all worried and boyfriend-like. In fact, with his sleeves pushed up and his shirt buttoned wrong, he looked like he had the time she got mono last year. That time, he'd even brought her *soup* he'd try to make himself in the house's kitchen. Fortunately, there was no soup-related protocol for something like this.
She whimpered, burying her head in her arms again. God, she almost wanted the theatre prop zombie whatever thing back.
That wish doubled when the door flew open for the fourth time that day and Cappie skidded to a breathless stop in front of her. "Casey… are you okay?"
What was this, Surround Sound or something? But she didn't have to wait long for both his concern and Evan's to get doused in testosterone. God, they couldn't help themselves. Get them in the same room and it was automatically a competition. Cap elbowed Evan, who elbowed him back. There was "Hello, Crappie," and then "Hi, Eva." Then more jostling. And Casey didn't want to deal with it because there was suspicious green goo all over the couches just a few feet away, and in no way did any of it look like it came from the theatre department's production of Rocky Horror or whatever.
Rebecca could've *died*. In this *house*.
Tears sprang to her eyes, and not so much for the Rebecca part.
Almost immediately, she had two boys sitting on the stairs with her, one on each side.
"Case?" they asked, in creepy unison.
Evan's hand curled around hers and Cappie leaned into her shoulder.
So, she clutched Evan's fingers, and she took Cappie's weight, and she haltingly told them all about how the zombie thingy had lurched into the house, chasing Rebecca in circles until she hit it with the pledge paddle. She told then how scared she'd been, not for herself but for all the ZBZs. And they actually listened for once.
Cappie's lips brushed her forehead and he whispered, "Way to go, Buffy." Evan kissed her behind her ear, murmuring, "You were so brave."
This… this was *exactly* what she needed. Both of them. Together. Being there for her.
"You want to do the honors, Eva?" Cap murmured, as they slowly stood with Casey, and she looked at them both with her big, expressive, 'take me upstairs' eyes. "Wouldn't want to throw out my back."
Evan smirked and then swept Casey up just like Rhett Butler and Scarlett O'Hara. Repeat viewings of Gone With the Wind had apparently made him an expert. And a pansy. Cappie was content to follow at a sedate pace, keeping lookout for any ZBZs who might correctly assume that Casey was about to have two men in her boudoir.
Once safely behind locked doors, with a sock hanging off the handle to keep Ashleigh away, Cappie bent to kiss Casey while she was still wrapped in Evan's arms. Her mouth tasted like he'd never stopped kissing her. Like she still cared about him. Funny, but when he kissed Evan, it tasted the exact same way… except with an edge of penis envy. Cappie dug his hand into Evan's annoyingly perfect hair, kissing him harder, feeling Casey's hand snake up between them to stroke his jaw. She made a whimpering noise, as if to say "what about me?" and he and Evan both chuckled, dropping her unceremoniously onto her bed.
They'd done this a handful of times over the years. When Evan's grandmother died. When Cap thought he might be failing out of CRU once and for all. It was one of those "let us never speak of this again" things, at least until zombies (theatre props!) attacked and Casey needed them. And now it was their bodies doing all the relevant speaking.
Well, most of it.
"Love you," Casey whispered, nuzzling his chest, her hand wrapping around Evan's (smaller!) cock.
"Love you, too," he and Evan said at the same time.
They proved it to the best of their respective abilities, and it was a sight that would make Jenna Jameson weep with the poetry of it.
--end--
August 16, 2008
Author: monimala
Fandom: GREEK/The Middleman
Rating: PG-13 for mild language and implied sexual situations
Word count: 2900
Disclaimer: Not my characters. They all belong to ABC Family and their respective creators.
Summary: Dubby/MM and Evan/Casey/Cappie. "Dawn of the dead, Ladies!" the man gasped. Serves the dual purpose of being birthday fic for angel_grace and answering my incredibly silly Let's have a threesome!" Pornathon challenge.
"Oh my God, Cappie, it's a zombie!" Rusty cried, with an inordinate amount of panic.
However, since he tended to have inordinate amounts of panic frequently, Cap didn't even bother looking up. "Just an Omega Chi. I promise it won't hurt you," he murmured, drowsily, trying to resume his nap on the makeshift hammock Spitter had strung between two trees on the lawn of the KT house.
"No, I mean it. It's a zombie." He was rudely shaken, pointed towards a lurching figure on the sidewalk. Green. A tad pus-y. Slow-moving. Definite signs of zombification. Or too much time spent in the theatre department's makeup shop after too much time in the art department sniffing turpentine.
He was still tempted to go back to sleep.
At least until a fetching girl in a dark suit appeared, *following* the zombie. Since she was faster than it, he had no doubts she'd catch up.
Cappie swung his legs over the side of the hammock, watching with utter fascination as the girl did exactly that. Yes, right before him was a sight that would make George Romero weep with the poetry of it. She pulled out a giant, silver handgun of some kind, flipping a lever at the top of the barrel, and blasted the zombie's head apart like someone kicking through a Jack-o-lantern on Halloween.
He almost got chills. Or a hard-on. Or both.
The dueling sensations were both quashed by the sound of Spitter retching.
On the bright side, it caught the girl's attention, and she strode over, stowing the giant silver weapon somewhere in her impossibly tight black waistcoat. "Sorry about that," she said, briskly. "Overzealous theatre prop. I'm with the National Academy of Television Arts and Sciences. Emphasis on sciences." There was the flash of a badge that he could've sworn said, "Dorothy Dandridge."
"I'm Cappie, with the Kappa Tau Gamma fraternity house. Emphasis on 'we have beer.'" He smiled, winsomely. "Would you like some?"
She glanced down at a giant watch on her wrist that she'd surely gotten out of a cereal box. Captain Crunch. It looked familiar, and, let's face it, he knew his cereals. After frowning with speculation for a moment, her pretty face broke into a grin and she said, "Sure! Why not?"
They stepped around Rusty, who was now past the vomitous stage and was actually studying the "prop" remains with something like scientific glee, and commenced to have a drink. Over which Cappie complimented his guest's Oscar-nominated performance in Carmen Jones. He'd always known the three weeks as a film major would come in handy.
--Simultaneously, in a house full of nubile women of the Pan-Hellenic persuasion--
Casey was trying to stay calm. As president of Zeta Beta Zeta, it was her *duty* to remain calm. Unfortunately, with a zombie lurching around the living room and chasing Rebecca like she was dinner special of the week at the dining hall, that was really, really hard to do. On the one hand, the thing *was* chasing Rebecca and not a sister she actually liked. On the other… hello!
Ashleigh had taken to standing on a chair and shrieking. Casey didn't have the heart to tell her that avoiding a flesh-eating monster wasn't quite the same as avoiding mice. Not that they had mice. God no. ZBZ was the best house on the CRU campus and they most certainly did not have mice!
She took a deep breath, grabbed a pledge paddle, and smartly whacked the zombie upside the head. Long enough for Rebecca to run into the foyer and give her the obligatory dirty look. Oh, yeah, like *she'd* let it loose in here? Please. The girl had no sisterly spirit whatsoever.
Suddenly, the front door burst open and a man in a dark suit skidded in. A man who was in no way Evan or Cappie. Though she didn't know why she'd even think of either of them right now. They couldn't be counted on in a crisis. Usually, they *were* the crisis. And Evan would kill to look this good in a fitted jacket. "Dawn of the Dead, Ladies!" the man gasped, pulling a giant silver gun from the depths of said fitted jacket. "It looks like I got here just in time."
Yeah, he definitely had. Especially since she was two seconds away from climbing on a chair and shrieking, just like Ash. And she actually did shriek (just a little, totally non-embarrassing one) when the man shot the zombie point blank in the head. God, how were they ever going to get the stains out of the couch?
"I'm sorry, Ladies," the man said again, voice booming like a TV announcer's. "I'm Agent Poitier of the National Academy of Television Arts and Sciences. Overzealous theatre prop. It happens."
Just when Casey was composed enough to stick out her hand and make the polite introduction, Rebecca slithered back into the room, pasting on the smile that totally screamed, "I'm a big, giant whore!" and slipped her arm through Agent Poitier's. "Hi," she trilled. "We're the Zeta Beta Zetas. You can call me Rebecca."
"Everybody calls you Rebecca, Rebecca," Casey eye-rolled.
"And I'm Ashleigh!" Ash offered, helpfully, climbing down off the chair and almost killing herself in the process. "Thank you so much for totally saving our lives! Oh my God, that was *so* 28 Days Later, except you're way hotter than that Cillian Murphy guy."
She pronounced it 'Sillian.' Casey had to wince. Come on, it's not like she was a rocket scientist or something, but when it came to knowing the names of hottie Irish actors, she was all up on the hard 'C.'
All of a sudden, the agent glanced down at the giant watch on his wrist and frowned. He said something like, "Darn it, Dubby!" which didn't make sense at all, but neither did a zombie in the ZBZ living room so Casey wasn't about to question it.
She was, however, about to ask her hero to stay for a Coke.
He had fantastic arms. Even if one had Rebecca attached to it.
--Twenty minutes later, in between the house full of nubile Pan-Hellenic women and the house full of slovenly Pan-Hellenic men and one Middle sidekick--
There were few things the Middleman liked better than a frosty cold Coca Cola on a hot summer's day. And few things he liked less than zombie corpse removal on a hot summer's day. Dubby had even left him her own tag to dispose of, which was frankly quite rude. He'd had to disabuse the young man hovering over the specimen of the notion to haul it off to the biology building. When the "theatre prop" excuse hadn't worked, he'd sedated him. The lad was now curled up in a nearby hammock.
MM worked efficiently (as if he ever did any other way?) and then moved on to a vastly more important task: tracking down his partner inside the very fraternity house he now stood in front of. It was a prospect not without its perils. See, he understood brotherhood quite well, thanks to his tenure in the Navy, but a fraternal order devoted solely to beer pong and tie dates was where he was completely out of his element.
Still, it had to be done.
Dubby was in there. Surrounded by hedonists.
That was, quite possibly, worse than zombies.
He girded his loins, set his jaw, and marched into the Kappa Tau Gamma house.
As the foyer and front rooms were suspiciously empty, he *continued* to march.
Then, he soon came to the back doors, realizing with alarm that there was a startling amount of noise. Good *god*, could there have been more than the two threats that Ida had picked up on the H.E.Y.D.A.R.? He drew his weapon and burst through the barrier, much as he'd done at the sorority house… only to find himself in a festively decorated back yard.
"Hawaii Five Oh!" he gasped. Was that a *Tiki bar*?
Worse yet, was that *Dubby* in a grass skirt?
Her eyes were bit glazed from her Mai-Tai (with extra Mai and Tai, evidently), and she was perched precariously on the edge of the makeshift bar, but even so, it was obvious to her that the approaching Middleman was not a happy one. His eyebrows were furrowed and his lips were a flat line of disapproval. What? He didn't like her skirt? She thought it went well with her shirt and waistcoat, and her host, Cappie, agreed.
"We have to celebrate our liberation from imminent zombiehood," the KT president had told her while pouring the first shot of Jager. Now, some 20 minutes and three shots later, she wasn't sure how they'd graduated to a Hawaiian theme, but she couldn't deny that it felt kind of fantastic.
"Dubby, you're still on duty!" MM gasped, ignoring Cappie and his very nice friends Beaver and Wade entirely.
"Weren't you on duty when you were fondling that tiny little puta with the bitchface and the dark tan?" she countered. Hoo boy, apparently too much Mai and Tai got her Cuban up.
"Wait… would that be *my* little puta with the bitchface and the dark tan?" Cappie interrupted, his face going noticeably pale. "Because I'm pretty sure mine's the only one on campus. About yea high…?" He illustrated with a palm hovering right around Dubby's head. "Goes by the name of Rebecca?"
"I was at the Zeta Beta Zeta house. There was an incident," the Middleman confirmed, which was a tactful way of getting around the old 'theatre prop' dead horse. "Fortunately, the president of the house was a great help. She's got quite an arm."
"*Casey*?! Oh my God…"
Dubby was shocked to realize that the laid-back frat brother who had invited her in for debauchery was now officially at Defcon Five. He stumbled back from them, set his shot glass down blindly in the general direction of Beaver's outstretched hand, and then turned around and headed back through the house without another word.
Beaver just shrugged and downed the shot. "Casey's the ex," he explained as he hauled Wade towards what seemed to be a large-scale science project volcano. "We like her."
As long as she wasn't fondling MM, Dubby liked her, too.
Which reminded her… she turned back to her boss with a scowl. "Are you accusing me of dereliction of duty?" Only because of the Jagermeister, it came out more like "erection of duty," and she ended up blushing and spilling the rest of her drink down her skirt. Damn.
The Middleman felt his ears go red at the word "erection," which was silly, really, because he knew exactly what they were, perfectly natural, and even had them on occasion. "You haven't been derelict, Wendy, but you could have waited long enough to help me dispose of the evidence before… celebrating."
"We're in Ohio, Boss," she pointed out, wondering exactly what Cappie had done with her pants. "I have to get my celebrating in when I can. What about you…? Didn't you lavaliere any grateful ZBZs…? And by 'lavaliere' I mean {CENSORED]…"
"Wendy!" He goggled at her. "I would *never*." Not to mention that there simply hadn't been enough time. He was an old fashioned man that way. He enjoyed taking his time, even while [CENSORED].
He watched her slide from the bar, trying to wring out her sodden skirt. She was frowning at him, muttering the word "puta" again. Apparently too much Mai and Tai got her Cuban up. He glanced down at his Middlewatch, seeing that Ida had finally turned off the Real Time Situation Recorder feed. Wait… Dubby had *seen* Rebecca thanking him for saving her. And, judging by his approximation, headed into the fraternity house directly *afterwards*.
It was his turn to pale. And then become imbued with a decidedly warm glow. "Why, Dubby… are you jealous?"
"No. I am not jealous." She found her pants. She was going to put on her pants. "I am not jealous, Boss, that we iced two big, freaking zombies, and you were thanked by a pretty girl. You're perfectly entitled to that, okay? It should be a perk of your job. Superheroes get the girl… it's in the by-laws, and--"
There were few things the Middleman liked better than a frosty cold Coca Cola on a hot summer's day. One of them was kissing women mid-tirade and feeling their mouths stop shaping the words and drop open in shock. "*I* was jealous," he said, simply, before doing it all over again.
--Five minutes earlier, back in a house full of nubile women of the Pan-Hellenic persuasion--
Casey sat wearily on the stairs, cradling her head in her hands. Rebecca had gone off for a massage to "help reduce my stress levels," and Ash had vanished the minute she realized that Agent Hottier wasn't interested in her. "Gay," she'd mouthed discreetly, making the "I'm going to go get Calvin" motion. Only, instead of getting Calvin, she'd managed to say the words "attack" and "Casey" to Evan… sending *him* straight over from the Omega Chi house.
"Are you okay? Seriously, Casey…"
"I'm *fine*," she said, for the umpteenth time.
Like, seriously. The last thing she needed right now was Evan looking at her all worried and boyfriend-like. In fact, with his sleeves pushed up and his shirt buttoned wrong, he looked like he had the time she got mono last year. That time, he'd even brought her *soup* he'd try to make himself in the house's kitchen. Fortunately, there was no soup-related protocol for something like this.
She whimpered, burying her head in her arms again. God, she almost wanted the theatre prop zombie whatever thing back.
That wish doubled when the door flew open for the fourth time that day and Cappie skidded to a breathless stop in front of her. "Casey… are you okay?"
What was this, Surround Sound or something? But she didn't have to wait long for both his concern and Evan's to get doused in testosterone. God, they couldn't help themselves. Get them in the same room and it was automatically a competition. Cap elbowed Evan, who elbowed him back. There was "Hello, Crappie," and then "Hi, Eva." Then more jostling. And Casey didn't want to deal with it because there was suspicious green goo all over the couches just a few feet away, and in no way did any of it look like it came from the theatre department's production of Rocky Horror or whatever.
Rebecca could've *died*. In this *house*.
Tears sprang to her eyes, and not so much for the Rebecca part.
Almost immediately, she had two boys sitting on the stairs with her, one on each side.
"Case?" they asked, in creepy unison.
Evan's hand curled around hers and Cappie leaned into her shoulder.
So, she clutched Evan's fingers, and she took Cappie's weight, and she haltingly told them all about how the zombie thingy had lurched into the house, chasing Rebecca in circles until she hit it with the pledge paddle. She told then how scared she'd been, not for herself but for all the ZBZs. And they actually listened for once.
Cappie's lips brushed her forehead and he whispered, "Way to go, Buffy." Evan kissed her behind her ear, murmuring, "You were so brave."
This… this was *exactly* what she needed. Both of them. Together. Being there for her.
"You want to do the honors, Eva?" Cap murmured, as they slowly stood with Casey, and she looked at them both with her big, expressive, 'take me upstairs' eyes. "Wouldn't want to throw out my back."
Evan smirked and then swept Casey up just like Rhett Butler and Scarlett O'Hara. Repeat viewings of Gone With the Wind had apparently made him an expert. And a pansy. Cappie was content to follow at a sedate pace, keeping lookout for any ZBZs who might correctly assume that Casey was about to have two men in her boudoir.
Once safely behind locked doors, with a sock hanging off the handle to keep Ashleigh away, Cappie bent to kiss Casey while she was still wrapped in Evan's arms. Her mouth tasted like he'd never stopped kissing her. Like she still cared about him. Funny, but when he kissed Evan, it tasted the exact same way… except with an edge of penis envy. Cappie dug his hand into Evan's annoyingly perfect hair, kissing him harder, feeling Casey's hand snake up between them to stroke his jaw. She made a whimpering noise, as if to say "what about me?" and he and Evan both chuckled, dropping her unceremoniously onto her bed.
They'd done this a handful of times over the years. When Evan's grandmother died. When Cap thought he might be failing out of CRU once and for all. It was one of those "let us never speak of this again" things, at least until zombies (theatre props!) attacked and Casey needed them. And now it was their bodies doing all the relevant speaking.
Well, most of it.
"Love you," Casey whispered, nuzzling his chest, her hand wrapping around Evan's (smaller!) cock.
"Love you, too," he and Evan said at the same time.
They proved it to the best of their respective abilities, and it was a sight that would make Jenna Jameson weep with the poetry of it.
--end--
August 16, 2008