SquidgeWorld Archive

Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me. No copyright infringement is intended.
Other Notes: This story takes place shortly after the end of the series. Casey's etymological explanation comes primarily from Dictionary.com. Eliza was a great beta; all mistakes are mine. I love feedback.

On Thursday, the world is normal. The network is safe again. Sports Night is safe. Dan and Casey's friendship is nothing but safe.

On Friday afternoon, Dan is running late as usual. He's opening the front door of the CSC building when Casey catches up and stops him with a hand on his shoulder. Pulling Dan along, he steps out of the way and earshot of passersby.

They stand beside a marble pillar streaked with bright rays of sunshine that splinter Casey's face. Expression indecipherable, he leans in close. "Hey."

"Hey."

Casey's hand slides down, loosely clasping Dan's fingers before dropping away. "I have to tell you something."

He squints against the light and frowns as Casey winces. "What is it, Case? Just tell me."

"I --" Casey leans even closer. Although that blocks the sun, Dan still can't relax, waiting for a complete sentence. "I love you."

He's almost thrown for a second. Then he smiles easily. "I love you, too, man, but don't you think it's a little early in the day to be drinking?"

Now at least part of the expression is clearly frustration. "That's not -- Danny, I'm completely sober, okay?"

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Dan turns away, tugging his arm free. "We have to get inside. I'll see you in there."

They ride the same elevator, but he pushes to the back of the ascending crowd while Casey stays at the front. In something like shock, Dan stares past him at the doors, opening and closing on every floor like missed opportunities. He tells himself he's reading too much into everything.

On Friday evening, he's not reading anything. He's sitting at his computer and pretending to type changes into his script. He glances at Casey, who is hunched over the other desk and tapping an uncapped pen against a yellow steno pad.

"So I have to ask."

Casey looks up, pen tapping out a nonverbal response.

"About what you said earlier. What prompted that? I mean, what made you tell me all of a sudden?"

The pen goes flying through the air and hits the floor. Casey's gaze falls back to his notepad. "I just woke up and finally realized, and I felt like I needed you to know, too. It -- I had -- it was epiphanic."

"'It was epiphanic'? Is that even a word?"

"It is a word. It's a word derived from epiphany --"

"I could have figured out that part."

"-- Which has Indo-European roots but comes mainly from the Greek epiphaneia, 'manifestation,' and epiphainesthai, 'to appear' --"

"Ah, I see. Some old, dead Greek guy came up with it hundreds of years ago for your convenient use today." Leaning back, he props his feet up on the desk.

"We have no idea whether the person was old or even a guy when he or she originated the term, Danny."

"But we can be fairly certain that he's -- he or she is dead, right? Because a centuries-old Greek person could probably deliver a hell of a lot more than one epiphany, you know what I'm saying?"

Casey pushes his chair back and crosses his arms. "Is this really pertinent to our discussion?"

Natalie pops her head into their office. "What discussion?"

"Nothing," Casey says.

"Possibly undead Greeks."

Her face lights up. "Like Thespis?"

Dan tilts his head. "Wasn't he Roman?"

"I don't think so. Casey, was he Roman or Greek? Or I can ask Jeremy --"

"Thespis was a Greek ghost. Can we stop talking about this?"

Natalie squints at them individually. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

This time Dan responds in the negative, which makes Natalie look even more suspicious.

"Because you know what happens when you don't tell me things."

In unison, they say, "We know."

She doesn't look convinced, but she says, "Rundown's in five. Be there, and be prepared to talk."

They study each other after she's gone. Casey shakes his head. "We'd better be prepared to do another show in our underwear."

"No kidding." He forces away the unbidden image of spending a half-naked hour next to Casey. "Why do people constantly remind us when the meetings are?"

"Probably because they know we tend to be somewhat delayed."

"That can't be it. I'm a very prompt man."

Casey makes a face.

Dan turns to his computer again. "Look, I just need some time to think. Can you give me a couple days?"

Casey doesn't say anything else, only nods. He walks around his desk, picks up his pen, and settles back into tap mode in his chair.

On Friday night, Natalie tries to steal their pants, but Dana, apparently feeling magnanimous, compels her to return them before the broadcast. Dan expresses immense gratitude. He avoids meeting Casey's eyes in case regret will be visible -- to either of them. After the show, he goes home and drinks himself into a stupor completely devoid of thought.

On Saturday, Dan feels like he's been keelhauled but drags himself out of bed anyway. His thinking time is running out. He goes to the bathroom, chugs several cups of microwave coffee, and returns to the bathroom. Then, sitting on the couch, he drops his aching head into his hands and contemplates for the rest of the day.

On Sunday afternoon, Casey's opening the front door of his apartment building when Dan catches up and stops him with a hand on his shoulder. Thunder booms overhead, and lightning flashes through the air, splintering Casey's face again even though it already looks broken. Dan doesn't move aside. Dan stands right there and lets his hand slide down to Casey's wrist while the first droplets hit and people shove past them. He stands there and watches the rain falling, watches Casey waiting for him without complaint.

Casey is pixelated by raindrops; Dan looks at him and sees what he's made of. He sees the man who has been his best friend for years, who gave up a great job and ultimately a wife for him, who woke up two days ago and decided to admit something it's taken Danny those extra two days to recognize and accept.

"I have to tell you something."

The sun doesn't break through the clouds. The rain keeps coming, soaking their hair and clothes -- dress clothes in Casey's case, probably from church. Dan is pretty sure they'll later agree on the cold rain as being responsible for Casey's shiver right then.

"Just tell me," Casey says. If the beats in his wrist are at all accurate, his heart rate is a little wild. So are his eyes, and his hair will be, too, once it dries from its current matted state.

Dan leans in close and only pauses long enough to say, "I love you," before leaning even closer and kissing Casey.

He runs his tongue over Casey's lips and becomes a very smart man. Cold water is between them, but he knows there's an appropriate saying about water and structures connecting above it. He knows Casey tastes like Blistex and wintergreen and some frothy coffee drink like a double-caf, non-fat mocha latte. He knows this is a very public kiss, and he knows how much he doesn't care about anything except the way Casey is wide open for him.

They both have to open their mouths wide for breath when they finally release from the kiss. Casey gasps and appears very much like a fish, blinking fast against the wet drops streaming down his face and into his mouth. "I guess you mean it."

Once again Dan is smiling easily. "I certainly do."

"Was your realization epiphanic?"

"It had nothing to do with a possibly old, possibly male, presumably dead Greek person, if that's what you're asking."

Casey's expression also starts to relax into a smile. "Not exactly, but you can tell me what it did have to do with."

"Mostly it had to do with you."

"Well, that's good, because I was getting tired of waiting."

"Oh, you were, were you?"

"I was, indeed. I've been waiting a pretty long time, Danny."

"Well, that's good, because my epiphany was centuries and two days later than yours." He steps forward and through the door without letting go of Casey's hand.

Casey follows him. "And here I thought you were a very prompt man."

"Let's just say I have good timing." Leering, he leads Casey to the elevator.

On Sunday evening, after a very long, very naked shower together, Casey leads him to the bedroom. They take their time with everything for once because no one is waiting anymore. They take their time, and Dan becomes even smarter. He knows they'll eventually have to discuss living situations, network ratings, and the difference between consequences and punishment when faced with Natalie Hurley. He knows that not all of Casey tastes the same as his mouth but also that there's a hint of wintergreen everywhere. He knows he, himself, makes an embarrassing sound when Casey does almost anything to him, and he knows how quickly he could get used to that.

"This is crazy." Dan licks his name into Casey's chest. "Totally insane."

Casey has one hand in his hair and can't seem to decide whether to push or pull. "Are you saying that's unusual for us?"

"Nope."

"Are you saying we should be doing something else?"

"Not in the least."

"I'm glad you cleared that up for me." Finally Casey just pulls him up and kisses him.

Dan says, "Me, too," into his mouth. He starts thinking of ways to get Casey to make embarrassing sounds -- just so they're really on the same page.

On Sunday night, he's too busy to think.

On Monday afternoon, the world is better than normal. The network is still safe. Sports Night is probably safe. Dan and Casey's friendship is a whole new ballgame.

Their pants will be forfeit. Casey says that's a chance he's willing to take; Dan isn't inclined to disagree. Besides, he's formulated a plan to effect if they find themselves stuck in their boxers during the show.

They're arriving late again, but they amble into CSC and ride the elevator side-by-side.