Pieces
I don't know where this story came from. Okay, I know where it started, which was a certain someone talking about how stupid Valentine's Day is, which I kind of agree with, in a mild sort of way.
But then I was bored at work, and I felt like writing, so I thought that I'd write a little Angsty!Danny tidbit to cheer phoebesmum up. It morphed into this, whatever this is... and I really don't want to think about where the whole Dana and Lisa thing came from. As she's probably already asleep, she won't see this on the day in question, so no cheering up, but it might give her something to wonder about (in the 'wonder what kind of drugs the author's on' kind of way) tomorrow.
Fandom: Sports Night
Title: Pieces
Author: micehell
Category: Casey/Danny UST; angst and oddness
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none
Feedback: Sure, if you want.
Disclaimer: The only thing that belongs to me is a little effort and a lot of debt. Everything else belongs to not me.
When Casey comes into the office, there are pieces of foil spread across the floor. They're red, flat, and kind of surrealistically heart-shaped. The real, 4-valve, bloody kind, not the Valentine's special. He's pretty sure that they had been more the latter, not to mention in just one piece, both fuller and floating, when he'd left to go to Editing.
Casually, because Casey is all about subtle, he asks, "Say, Danny, you wouldn't know what happened to my balloon, would you?"
"It attacked me."
"It attacked you?"
"Yeah, it attacked me."
Casey nods, the picture of sage understanding. "Oh, I believe you. Millions wouldn't."
Danny's lips draw up into one of his irritated, irritating smiles. "Dude, it was floating around like some kind of poltergeist, doing this demonic, helium-induced dance of death, and it kept hitting me. So I hit it back. It was self-defense. No jury would convict me."
"And this has nothing to do with the fact that someone sent me a Valentine's balloon, and you didn't get one."
Since Danny's hunched over his computer, Casey can't see him roll his eyes, but he knows he does. He knows Danny.
"Is this going to be one of your things? Like The List?"
Casey gives it the capitals it so richly deserves, considering how much grief he took over it.
The words have barely left his mouth when the tiny little version of Dana that he usually only sees when he's drunk - or really screwing up - appears on his shoulder, arms crossed and foot tapping. She doesn't say a word, but the look on her face is eloquent, and the memory of the grief he gave back is in both their heads. Or really just Casey's, considering that Little Dana is a figment of his imagination. And even though amazingly life-like, miniature versions of his boss are probably a sign that he's going to turn out just like his Uncle Albert, he doesn't want to consider what it would mean if she isn't.
Danny's lips are doing that thing that's sort of a pout, sort of a frown, and all of it makes him look like he's about to cry. At his worst, Casey's never been able to let that pass.
"Hey, man, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that, really."
"It's all right. I shouldn't have burst your balloon. Spawn of Satan that it was."
Like always, Danny forgives him. By tomorrow, he won't even remember it; not that he'll ever mention, anyway. The day they first met, the day of their first broadcast together, the day Casey stubbed his toe while they were playing racquetball, all of this Danny will remember and talk about. He never talks about the times that Casey hurts him.
Like always, Casey says the words, and eventually they might even be true.
"But you'll bring it up again, won't you? Probably the next time he mentions one of your anniversaries."
That's the thing he hates about Little Dana, and often the bigger version, too. They both know his flaws and aren't in the least hesitant about pointing them out.
Go away. He doesn't say it out loud, because he might be crazy, but he's not crazy. He can tell from the dismissive flapping of her hands that she's heard him, though.
She's looking at Danny, who's looking at Casey, and he's almost smiling again. All's right with their world.
"Right. Because we both know that Danny usually goes around destroying your gifts, so there couldn't be anything wrong that your half-hearted apology didn't fix." Her diminished size doesn't dilute the sting of Dana's sarcasm, and Casey wishes that his subconscious were as happy with denial as the rest of him is, because he really has no idea what to do about Danny.
If there's something Danny wants to talk about, why doesn't he just say so? Not that Casey asks this out loud, because, again, not crazy, but it's obvious from the irritated expression on her face that Little Dana heard that, too.
That expression reminds him of someone else, and he somehow knows what's coming even before it does. Even though she usually only shows up when he's screwing up professionally - or screwing up with Charlie - she takes her cues well, and in a flash, a tiny version of his ex-wife is on his other shoulder, the irritation plain on her face, too. He wonders for a moment if his apparent preference for blonde and irritated women comes from some kind of mother fixation, but then Little Lisa's talking, and long experience tells him he'd better listen.
"Please. Danny's just acting out, trying to get attention. He always has to be at the center of things. And it doesn't matter if he screws things up for everyone else, it's still got to be all about Danny."
Little Dana turns to her tiny nemesis. "Great description, Lisa… of you."
Before things can get more heated, Danny's voice breaks in. "Really, Casey, I'm sorry. I should have tried negotiation first before resorting to aggression. I blame the President. But I'll get you a new balloon to make up for it."
Danny's all good cheer, Mr. Happy Guy, with just a smidgen of remorse added for slaying demonically possessed balloons. It's a good act, and some people might buy it, but it's obvious to Casey that Danny's read the silence as real anger, and that he's about to launch into the usual Danny overkill to try to make things better.
Casey sighs, wishing he could go back in time and not start this conversation. But if wishing got him anything, there wouldn't be two tiny illusions arguing on his shoulder… and he would have won that $350 million dollar jackpot last week… so he grins. "No big deal, man. It would have just hung around, getting flatter and lower every day, depressing everyone until the cleaning people finally took pity on it and put it out of its misery."
Danny's happy face is realer now, if still a little off. He looks like he wants to say something else, but they have a show to do, and Casey still has no good ideas about any of this, so he brushes non-existent dandruff and women off his shoulders, and gets back to work.
He's manages to write about ten words in ten minutes, though several of them are spelled wrong, and one of them might not even be a real word. The brush-off had worked better on the fake dandruff than it had on the fake women, and a tiny World War has broke out on his shoulder, which is distracting him. He sighs, resigned to another not so great show.
"I always hated Valentine's Day."
And though Casey's never been all that bothered by the holiday, today he can really sympathize with the feeling. He thinks about pretending he hasn't heard, but the sting of Little Dana's heels and the look in Danny's eyes won't let him.
"Why?"
Danny answers with a question. "When you were young, did they let you give Valentines to anyone you wanted, or did they make you give one to everyone?"
"We had to give one to everyone."
"Yeah, me too. Until fifth grade. My teacher thought that we were too coddled, that we needed to learn to deal with the real world, so she told us that we could do whatever we liked. Which, of course, meant it turned into one big popularity contest."
Casey hears the sad echo to the voice, but he knows that Dan's always been the 'cool' one. He'd probably come out of the womb knowing how to be cool. "What, did all the little girls give you a Valentine, and then their boyfriends all beat you up?"
Danny laughs, but it doesn't sound humorous. "We were in elementary school, Casey. Not that many people going steady there. No, that was the year… well, that was the year the gloves really came off."
"What, you're saying you didn't get any cards? Danny, you're not going to make me believe you were unpopular."
"Casey, people do change as they grow up. For one thing, they grow into their noses."
"A little."
Danny grins. "Yeah, a little. They also manage to gain a little weight, a little muscle."
"A little."
Danny ignores him this time, his eyes looking somewhere that Casey can't see. "They start buying their own clothes so they can fit in."
There's a pause, and Casey steels himself, because he can feel what's coming.
"They start taking drugs so they can fit in."
He'd known it was coming, after all, and regardless of what Little Dana's whispering in his ear, he knows Danny. What he doesn't know is what to say. "Danny…"
"I'm not saying that's the only reason I did drugs. Hell, I probably don’t know all of the reasons even now. But I learned to fit in, Casey, learned to be popular. Cool. I learned to fake it, 'cause that's what it took sometimes."
There's another pause, but Casey doesn't even try to fill it.
"I'd go to parties, get right in the middle of the largest group there. Made a fool of myself often as not, but I was the life of the party. Everyone liked me. Of course, they didn't see me 30 minutes later when I was in the bathroom throwing my guts up, but in between those times I was popular." Danny looks wistful, the smile on his face nowhere near his eyes. "Everybody loved me then."
The irony in loved is so heavy it sinks like a stone between them.
Casey thinks for a moment, wondering what to say.
He could say, I know what it is to be a fake. I've always known, because I was never unpopular. I made sure of that. Oh, the slacker kids made fun of my crowd, but we were still the group that everyone really wanted to be in. We were the athletic stars. The cheerleaders. We made good grades and did what our parents expected us to. Mostly, anyway. But our rebellions were expected, too, and they never went too far.
He could say, I dressed like a preppy. Acted like one. Dated one. I never had to worry about getting any Valentines. And if on the inside I wanted to be something else, I made sure I never said that out loud. If I saw my friends giving someone outside the group a hard time just because they could, I never joined in… but I never objected, either. And if I sometimes wanted to look at my male teammates with something more than friendship, I definitely kept that to myself, too. Because I knew what would happen if I didn't do those things.
He could then say, and I couldn't have stood that.
And then it could come pouring out of him, all the things he's been denying for years. All the things he thinks that Lisa might have seen, and he almost asks Little Lisa about it, which, crazy, but he can't stop the flow of what he almost wishes he was actually saying. I love you, Danny. I have for years. And I'm tired of living my life like other people expect me to. I'm tired of not being able to show you how fucking special you are.
He could grab Danny, kiss him, whisper, I see what your father should have. That your brother wasn't the only smart one in the family, and that even if he had been, that it didn't mean that he was the only one who should have been protected, cared for. Loved. I see what Rebecca couldn't, that when you give yourself, you give it all, and that you'd never cheat on someone you loved. That if you sometimes hurt them, it would be by accident. That you'd be sorry for it, and that you'd always apologize. That you'd try to make amends, which you'd probably screw up, but that you'd keep trying, because you'd do anything for people you care about, even when it causes you harm.
He could wipe away the tears he knows Danny would be crying, that he knows Danny would be trying to hide, because he knows Danny, and he could say, I feel that it's long past time that someone did those same things for you. And I want that person to be me.
He could say all of that and make Little Dana happy, and maybe she'd stop with the heels already. He could say all of that and make the normal size Danny happy, because Casey knows him, and he knows Danny wants to hear it. He could say all of that and he might even make himself happy, because except for the denial, and the crazy visions of tiny women on his shoulder, he's usually pretty familiar with himself, and he's been in love with Danny since the first day he met him.
But the hateful smirk on Little Lisa's face reminds him that there are consequences to not doing what's expected, and he knows another thing about himself, too.
So he says, "Hey, I love you, man," and gives a manly pat to Danny's shoulder, diffusing the emotions in the room, because it's the kind of thing he does.
Danny gives him another smile, shifting nervously as he puts himself away, pretending like he hadn't just opened up to Casey only to be shut down, because that's the kind of thing Danny does.
And everything's back to normal.
After a couple of minutes of very normal, incredibly awkward silence, Danny leaves, muttering something about needing to check with Isaac on a story. Casey knows that he'll be in Isaac's office for a while. Danny will talk too much about something that doesn't really matter, and Isaac will pretend to be mad and act like he wishes that Danny would go away, and all the while, Isaac will be better for Danny than his father ever had been. Or Casey, for that matter.
Little Dana watches Danny leave, and then pinches Casey's ear, but her usual energy is gone, and it barely hurts. Casey thinks about asking her to stop with the hitting, but he decides that it smacks a little too much of his Uncle Albert, and just stares at Danny's empty chair instead.
"It would ruin our careers… and Charlie, he' s so young still, and Lisa… the real Lisa… I just couldn't say any of that." And Casey doesn't know why he's explaining himself to a figment of his imagination, but he does it anyway.
Little Dana's frown is every bit as potent as the larger version. "No. You're not that brave, are you?"
That hurts, and it was meant to. But they both know it's true, and there's no point in arguing with himself.
Casey pretends to work then, refusing to get involved in the argument that's resumed across his bent neck, though he can't help the smile when Little Dana knocks Little Lisa off her perch with a flourish of tiny little shoes. He's just happy she's using them on someone else for once.
Then Danny comes back in, griping about Isaac kicking him out of his office, but he has a smudge of chocolate on his face from the Kiss that Isaac gave him, and the look in his eyes matches the smile on his face. Casey's silence doesn't stop the flow of words, and it's so truly normal, so much like too many times before, that Casey feels like crying.
Instead he pretends to listen to Danny while he tries to write, and ignores the continuing abuse of imaginary little heels. It's just another day in the office, and he has a show to put on.
/story
But then I was bored at work, and I felt like writing, so I thought that I'd write a little Angsty!Danny tidbit to cheer phoebesmum up. It morphed into this, whatever this is... and I really don't want to think about where the whole Dana and Lisa thing came from. As she's probably already asleep, she won't see this on the day in question, so no cheering up, but it might give her something to wonder about (in the 'wonder what kind of drugs the author's on' kind of way) tomorrow.
Fandom: Sports Night
Title: Pieces
Author: micehell
Category: Casey/Danny UST; angst and oddness
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none
Feedback: Sure, if you want.
Disclaimer: The only thing that belongs to me is a little effort and a lot of debt. Everything else belongs to not me.
When Casey comes into the office, there are pieces of foil spread across the floor. They're red, flat, and kind of surrealistically heart-shaped. The real, 4-valve, bloody kind, not the Valentine's special. He's pretty sure that they had been more the latter, not to mention in just one piece, both fuller and floating, when he'd left to go to Editing.
Casually, because Casey is all about subtle, he asks, "Say, Danny, you wouldn't know what happened to my balloon, would you?"
"It attacked me."
"It attacked you?"
"Yeah, it attacked me."
Casey nods, the picture of sage understanding. "Oh, I believe you. Millions wouldn't."
Danny's lips draw up into one of his irritated, irritating smiles. "Dude, it was floating around like some kind of poltergeist, doing this demonic, helium-induced dance of death, and it kept hitting me. So I hit it back. It was self-defense. No jury would convict me."
"And this has nothing to do with the fact that someone sent me a Valentine's balloon, and you didn't get one."
Since Danny's hunched over his computer, Casey can't see him roll his eyes, but he knows he does. He knows Danny.
"Is this going to be one of your things? Like The List?"
Casey gives it the capitals it so richly deserves, considering how much grief he took over it.
The words have barely left his mouth when the tiny little version of Dana that he usually only sees when he's drunk - or really screwing up - appears on his shoulder, arms crossed and foot tapping. She doesn't say a word, but the look on her face is eloquent, and the memory of the grief he gave back is in both their heads. Or really just Casey's, considering that Little Dana is a figment of his imagination. And even though amazingly life-like, miniature versions of his boss are probably a sign that he's going to turn out just like his Uncle Albert, he doesn't want to consider what it would mean if she isn't.
Danny's lips are doing that thing that's sort of a pout, sort of a frown, and all of it makes him look like he's about to cry. At his worst, Casey's never been able to let that pass.
"Hey, man, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that, really."
"It's all right. I shouldn't have burst your balloon. Spawn of Satan that it was."
Like always, Danny forgives him. By tomorrow, he won't even remember it; not that he'll ever mention, anyway. The day they first met, the day of their first broadcast together, the day Casey stubbed his toe while they were playing racquetball, all of this Danny will remember and talk about. He never talks about the times that Casey hurts him.
Like always, Casey says the words, and eventually they might even be true.
"But you'll bring it up again, won't you? Probably the next time he mentions one of your anniversaries."
That's the thing he hates about Little Dana, and often the bigger version, too. They both know his flaws and aren't in the least hesitant about pointing them out.
Go away. He doesn't say it out loud, because he might be crazy, but he's not crazy. He can tell from the dismissive flapping of her hands that she's heard him, though.
She's looking at Danny, who's looking at Casey, and he's almost smiling again. All's right with their world.
"Right. Because we both know that Danny usually goes around destroying your gifts, so there couldn't be anything wrong that your half-hearted apology didn't fix." Her diminished size doesn't dilute the sting of Dana's sarcasm, and Casey wishes that his subconscious were as happy with denial as the rest of him is, because he really has no idea what to do about Danny.
If there's something Danny wants to talk about, why doesn't he just say so? Not that Casey asks this out loud, because, again, not crazy, but it's obvious from the irritated expression on her face that Little Dana heard that, too.
That expression reminds him of someone else, and he somehow knows what's coming even before it does. Even though she usually only shows up when he's screwing up professionally - or screwing up with Charlie - she takes her cues well, and in a flash, a tiny version of his ex-wife is on his other shoulder, the irritation plain on her face, too. He wonders for a moment if his apparent preference for blonde and irritated women comes from some kind of mother fixation, but then Little Lisa's talking, and long experience tells him he'd better listen.
"Please. Danny's just acting out, trying to get attention. He always has to be at the center of things. And it doesn't matter if he screws things up for everyone else, it's still got to be all about Danny."
Little Dana turns to her tiny nemesis. "Great description, Lisa… of you."
Before things can get more heated, Danny's voice breaks in. "Really, Casey, I'm sorry. I should have tried negotiation first before resorting to aggression. I blame the President. But I'll get you a new balloon to make up for it."
Danny's all good cheer, Mr. Happy Guy, with just a smidgen of remorse added for slaying demonically possessed balloons. It's a good act, and some people might buy it, but it's obvious to Casey that Danny's read the silence as real anger, and that he's about to launch into the usual Danny overkill to try to make things better.
Casey sighs, wishing he could go back in time and not start this conversation. But if wishing got him anything, there wouldn't be two tiny illusions arguing on his shoulder… and he would have won that $350 million dollar jackpot last week… so he grins. "No big deal, man. It would have just hung around, getting flatter and lower every day, depressing everyone until the cleaning people finally took pity on it and put it out of its misery."
Danny's happy face is realer now, if still a little off. He looks like he wants to say something else, but they have a show to do, and Casey still has no good ideas about any of this, so he brushes non-existent dandruff and women off his shoulders, and gets back to work.
He's manages to write about ten words in ten minutes, though several of them are spelled wrong, and one of them might not even be a real word. The brush-off had worked better on the fake dandruff than it had on the fake women, and a tiny World War has broke out on his shoulder, which is distracting him. He sighs, resigned to another not so great show.
"I always hated Valentine's Day."
And though Casey's never been all that bothered by the holiday, today he can really sympathize with the feeling. He thinks about pretending he hasn't heard, but the sting of Little Dana's heels and the look in Danny's eyes won't let him.
"Why?"
Danny answers with a question. "When you were young, did they let you give Valentines to anyone you wanted, or did they make you give one to everyone?"
"We had to give one to everyone."
"Yeah, me too. Until fifth grade. My teacher thought that we were too coddled, that we needed to learn to deal with the real world, so she told us that we could do whatever we liked. Which, of course, meant it turned into one big popularity contest."
Casey hears the sad echo to the voice, but he knows that Dan's always been the 'cool' one. He'd probably come out of the womb knowing how to be cool. "What, did all the little girls give you a Valentine, and then their boyfriends all beat you up?"
Danny laughs, but it doesn't sound humorous. "We were in elementary school, Casey. Not that many people going steady there. No, that was the year… well, that was the year the gloves really came off."
"What, you're saying you didn't get any cards? Danny, you're not going to make me believe you were unpopular."
"Casey, people do change as they grow up. For one thing, they grow into their noses."
"A little."
Danny grins. "Yeah, a little. They also manage to gain a little weight, a little muscle."
"A little."
Danny ignores him this time, his eyes looking somewhere that Casey can't see. "They start buying their own clothes so they can fit in."
There's a pause, and Casey steels himself, because he can feel what's coming.
"They start taking drugs so they can fit in."
He'd known it was coming, after all, and regardless of what Little Dana's whispering in his ear, he knows Danny. What he doesn't know is what to say. "Danny…"
"I'm not saying that's the only reason I did drugs. Hell, I probably don’t know all of the reasons even now. But I learned to fit in, Casey, learned to be popular. Cool. I learned to fake it, 'cause that's what it took sometimes."
There's another pause, but Casey doesn't even try to fill it.
"I'd go to parties, get right in the middle of the largest group there. Made a fool of myself often as not, but I was the life of the party. Everyone liked me. Of course, they didn't see me 30 minutes later when I was in the bathroom throwing my guts up, but in between those times I was popular." Danny looks wistful, the smile on his face nowhere near his eyes. "Everybody loved me then."
The irony in loved is so heavy it sinks like a stone between them.
Casey thinks for a moment, wondering what to say.
He could say, I know what it is to be a fake. I've always known, because I was never unpopular. I made sure of that. Oh, the slacker kids made fun of my crowd, but we were still the group that everyone really wanted to be in. We were the athletic stars. The cheerleaders. We made good grades and did what our parents expected us to. Mostly, anyway. But our rebellions were expected, too, and they never went too far.
He could say, I dressed like a preppy. Acted like one. Dated one. I never had to worry about getting any Valentines. And if on the inside I wanted to be something else, I made sure I never said that out loud. If I saw my friends giving someone outside the group a hard time just because they could, I never joined in… but I never objected, either. And if I sometimes wanted to look at my male teammates with something more than friendship, I definitely kept that to myself, too. Because I knew what would happen if I didn't do those things.
He could then say, and I couldn't have stood that.
And then it could come pouring out of him, all the things he's been denying for years. All the things he thinks that Lisa might have seen, and he almost asks Little Lisa about it, which, crazy, but he can't stop the flow of what he almost wishes he was actually saying. I love you, Danny. I have for years. And I'm tired of living my life like other people expect me to. I'm tired of not being able to show you how fucking special you are.
He could grab Danny, kiss him, whisper, I see what your father should have. That your brother wasn't the only smart one in the family, and that even if he had been, that it didn't mean that he was the only one who should have been protected, cared for. Loved. I see what Rebecca couldn't, that when you give yourself, you give it all, and that you'd never cheat on someone you loved. That if you sometimes hurt them, it would be by accident. That you'd be sorry for it, and that you'd always apologize. That you'd try to make amends, which you'd probably screw up, but that you'd keep trying, because you'd do anything for people you care about, even when it causes you harm.
He could wipe away the tears he knows Danny would be crying, that he knows Danny would be trying to hide, because he knows Danny, and he could say, I feel that it's long past time that someone did those same things for you. And I want that person to be me.
He could say all of that and make Little Dana happy, and maybe she'd stop with the heels already. He could say all of that and make the normal size Danny happy, because Casey knows him, and he knows Danny wants to hear it. He could say all of that and he might even make himself happy, because except for the denial, and the crazy visions of tiny women on his shoulder, he's usually pretty familiar with himself, and he's been in love with Danny since the first day he met him.
But the hateful smirk on Little Lisa's face reminds him that there are consequences to not doing what's expected, and he knows another thing about himself, too.
So he says, "Hey, I love you, man," and gives a manly pat to Danny's shoulder, diffusing the emotions in the room, because it's the kind of thing he does.
Danny gives him another smile, shifting nervously as he puts himself away, pretending like he hadn't just opened up to Casey only to be shut down, because that's the kind of thing Danny does.
And everything's back to normal.
After a couple of minutes of very normal, incredibly awkward silence, Danny leaves, muttering something about needing to check with Isaac on a story. Casey knows that he'll be in Isaac's office for a while. Danny will talk too much about something that doesn't really matter, and Isaac will pretend to be mad and act like he wishes that Danny would go away, and all the while, Isaac will be better for Danny than his father ever had been. Or Casey, for that matter.
Little Dana watches Danny leave, and then pinches Casey's ear, but her usual energy is gone, and it barely hurts. Casey thinks about asking her to stop with the hitting, but he decides that it smacks a little too much of his Uncle Albert, and just stares at Danny's empty chair instead.
"It would ruin our careers… and Charlie, he' s so young still, and Lisa… the real Lisa… I just couldn't say any of that." And Casey doesn't know why he's explaining himself to a figment of his imagination, but he does it anyway.
Little Dana's frown is every bit as potent as the larger version. "No. You're not that brave, are you?"
That hurts, and it was meant to. But they both know it's true, and there's no point in arguing with himself.
Casey pretends to work then, refusing to get involved in the argument that's resumed across his bent neck, though he can't help the smile when Little Dana knocks Little Lisa off her perch with a flourish of tiny little shoes. He's just happy she's using them on someone else for once.
Then Danny comes back in, griping about Isaac kicking him out of his office, but he has a smudge of chocolate on his face from the Kiss that Isaac gave him, and the look in his eyes matches the smile on his face. Casey's silence doesn't stop the flow of words, and it's so truly normal, so much like too many times before, that Casey feels like crying.
Instead he pretends to listen to Danny while he tries to write, and ignores the continuing abuse of imaginary little heels. It's just another day in the office, and he has a show to put on.
/story