Sports Night fic: Five Times Casey Made Dan Smile (and one more)
Title: Five Times Casey Made Dan Smile (and one more)
Fandom: Sports Night
Characters: Casey McCall, Dan Rydell
Rating: PG
Category: Gen, slash subtext, pre-canon; six linked drabbles, 600 words
Summary: One way Casey and Dan first might have met; five ways it could have carried on from there.
Written: For out_there, Christmas, 2006.
1.
The first time Dan met Casey, he couldn't help but smile. In a newsroom full of über-cool, trendy media types, Casey was a refugee from another decade: neat side parting, heavy black-rimmed spectacles, sports coat and tie over immaculate jeans. Ironed jeans.
Casey's mom probably still dressed him. Maybe washed behind his ears and made sure he had a clean handkerchief, too.
Or he might be a superhero in disguise. A really good disguise.
Then they were introduced; they shook hands, and Casey looked up and met his eyes. And suddenly, none of that other stuff mattered worth a damn.
***
2.
"This is ridiculous!"
Dan's seen Casey angry before - irritated, grouchy, pissed-off - but never like this: a blaze of white-hot fury fuelled by absolute outrage.
"It's amateur - cowardly - it's bush league journalism! We're supposed to be a professional news service!"
"Sit down, Casey." The editor keeps his own voice quiet. "I agree with you. Everyone at this table agrees with you. But it's out of our hands. If we go ahead and publish, it'll mean our jobs. All of them."
"Then let it!" Casey snaps, and storms out the door.
Dan watches him go, and smiles. That's the man he loves.
***
3.
"Family stuff?" is all Casey says, when Dan tells him he's taking a personal day. Casey knows there are issues there. That's all he knows.
Dan nods. He has no words to explain that they're setting his brother's headstone. How Sam died. Why this ceremony's months late. That his father will turn away from him at the graveside, distant, cold, while his mother weeps ceaselessly.
How can he share that with this almost-stranger?
Who touches a hand to his sleeve. "You know, when you're ready to tell me … I'll listen?"
Dan does know. And, in spite of everything, he smiles.
***
4.
Everyone says the first year of marriage is the hardest. Dan understands that. But surely that alone can't account for the shadows under Casey's eyes, the lines of strain etched into his forehead, the wretched, defeated slump to his shoulders each morning?
When he meets Casey's wife, Dan realises that perhaps, after all, it does.
And when, after a late night brainstorming session, wrapped up with a celebratory pizza and several beers, Casey falls asleep on Dan's sofa - on Dan's lap - Dan can't help the small, triumphant smile that curves his lips.
He knows it's only a matter of time.
***
5.
It's a great job offer. Casey would be crazy to turn it down. Everyone says so. Lisa says so loudest of all.
Lisa's loudest, but Dan's the most emphatic. He wants to say, Don't go, don't leave me, I don't know how I can live without you, but life's not like that. Is it?
Besides, he knows now that, in fact, a person can stand almost anything: any grief, any loss.
So he smiles when he hears the news; while he helps Casey pack; driving him to the airport. Smiles, and keeps on smiling until Casey's safely out of sight.
*
Weeks pass, months. The phone calls become rarer, briefer; occasionally there'll be a letter, a wad of neatly written pages that detail everything, tell him nothing.
School keeps him busy, too busy to think. That's good. He spends vacations on campus - where's he gonna go? - does a little tutoring, tends bar sometimes, fending off wolves and other menaces.
Sometimes he goes to bed hungry, but seldom alone.
Christmas Eve comes a knock.
"I was just in the neighbourhood," Casey mutters, face burning red as Christmas holly, as it always does when he lies. Dan laughs, and doesn't care.
Merry Christmas.
***
Fandom: Sports Night
Characters: Casey McCall, Dan Rydell
Rating: PG
Category: Gen, slash subtext, pre-canon; six linked drabbles, 600 words
Summary: One way Casey and Dan first might have met; five ways it could have carried on from there.
Written: For out_there, Christmas, 2006.
1.
The first time Dan met Casey, he couldn't help but smile. In a newsroom full of über-cool, trendy media types, Casey was a refugee from another decade: neat side parting, heavy black-rimmed spectacles, sports coat and tie over immaculate jeans. Ironed jeans.
Casey's mom probably still dressed him. Maybe washed behind his ears and made sure he had a clean handkerchief, too.
Or he might be a superhero in disguise. A really good disguise.
Then they were introduced; they shook hands, and Casey looked up and met his eyes. And suddenly, none of that other stuff mattered worth a damn.
***
2.
"This is ridiculous!"
Dan's seen Casey angry before - irritated, grouchy, pissed-off - but never like this: a blaze of white-hot fury fuelled by absolute outrage.
"It's amateur - cowardly - it's bush league journalism! We're supposed to be a professional news service!"
"Sit down, Casey." The editor keeps his own voice quiet. "I agree with you. Everyone at this table agrees with you. But it's out of our hands. If we go ahead and publish, it'll mean our jobs. All of them."
"Then let it!" Casey snaps, and storms out the door.
Dan watches him go, and smiles. That's the man he loves.
***
3.
"Family stuff?" is all Casey says, when Dan tells him he's taking a personal day. Casey knows there are issues there. That's all he knows.
Dan nods. He has no words to explain that they're setting his brother's headstone. How Sam died. Why this ceremony's months late. That his father will turn away from him at the graveside, distant, cold, while his mother weeps ceaselessly.
How can he share that with this almost-stranger?
Who touches a hand to his sleeve. "You know, when you're ready to tell me … I'll listen?"
Dan does know. And, in spite of everything, he smiles.
***
4.
Everyone says the first year of marriage is the hardest. Dan understands that. But surely that alone can't account for the shadows under Casey's eyes, the lines of strain etched into his forehead, the wretched, defeated slump to his shoulders each morning?
When he meets Casey's wife, Dan realises that perhaps, after all, it does.
And when, after a late night brainstorming session, wrapped up with a celebratory pizza and several beers, Casey falls asleep on Dan's sofa - on Dan's lap - Dan can't help the small, triumphant smile that curves his lips.
He knows it's only a matter of time.
***
5.
It's a great job offer. Casey would be crazy to turn it down. Everyone says so. Lisa says so loudest of all.
Lisa's loudest, but Dan's the most emphatic. He wants to say, Don't go, don't leave me, I don't know how I can live without you, but life's not like that. Is it?
Besides, he knows now that, in fact, a person can stand almost anything: any grief, any loss.
So he smiles when he hears the news; while he helps Casey pack; driving him to the airport. Smiles, and keeps on smiling until Casey's safely out of sight.
*
Weeks pass, months. The phone calls become rarer, briefer; occasionally there'll be a letter, a wad of neatly written pages that detail everything, tell him nothing.
School keeps him busy, too busy to think. That's good. He spends vacations on campus - where's he gonna go? - does a little tutoring, tends bar sometimes, fending off wolves and other menaces.
Sometimes he goes to bed hungry, but seldom alone.
Christmas Eve comes a knock.
"I was just in the neighbourhood," Casey mutters, face burning red as Christmas holly, as it always does when he lies. Dan laughs, and doesn't care.
Merry Christmas.
***