A Better Writer For It

- amj

In the morning, he woke to the smell of coffee and the ringing of his phone. He charged out of bed to find the receiver, eventually finding it on the bathroom counter. It had already rung for a while, though, so Dan had to wait for the machine to roll through before speaking. "Hello?"

"Hey, Danny."

"Melinda," he said, smiling and leaning against the counter. He swung the door shut with one foot. "Good morning."

"I just thought I'd call while there was a chance I'd catch you in bed," she purred.

He smiled. "I was."

"I wish I was there."

"Me, too," he said. "Though I may have an opening in this same venue this evening."

She laughed. "Sounds like a date."

"Good."

"Did you get Casey fixed?"

In his bleary, half-awake state, Dan suddenly wondered why his girlfriend would be asking about sterilizing Casey. "Huh?"

"You were worried about him, last night. Is everything okay now?"

"Ah. Yeah. I don't know. I think it's just - just summer." He sighed. "He stayed over, since his A/C's broken."

"Oo, should I be jealous?" she teased.

Dan smiled. "Well, I am a very attractive man, Melinda. You leave me alone for a night and there's just no telling."

He heard her laugh, pictured her pretty smile and smiled himself. "Danny, I'll see you tonight."

"Yeah. Tonight."

He hung up, used the bathroom, then pushed the door open, padding toward the kitchen. His answering machine was blinking in the hallway, and he realized he'd probably just broadcast his whole conversation over it. _Shit,_ he thought, searching his memory for whether he'd said anything Casey shouldn't hear.

Casey opened the kitchen door, then, and gave him a lopsided grin. "She has a nice voice," he said.

Dan smiled, realizing he hadn't said anything too inflammatory if Casey could smile at him. "She has many, many nice things, my friend," he said, sitting at the table and accepting the coffee Casey handed him.

"She likes you."

"I hope so," Dan said.

"You really like her, too, don't you?"

Dan took a sip of the coffee - strong, like Casey always made it, just like he liked it - and smirked. "What, did you really take bets on this?"

"I just want to know if I've invested wisely," Casey returned with mock seriousness.

"She's pretty great, Casey."

Casey flinched a little as he sipped the hot coffee. "Good to hear," he said, setting the cup down. "I'm going to take a shower."

"First time for everything," Dan teased, and Casey shot him a look. "What?"

"With jokes like that, you really must be in love."

"I must be," Dan mused, turning back to the table. "I must be."

By four o'clock, Dan's script was in pieces. It felt like the whole show was on the tip of his tongue. "He ran into a wall," he said to Casey in the middle of the afternoon.

Casey sighed. He was getting tired of Dan asking him stupid things, he could tell. "Yes, he did."

"I mean, he ran into a wall *in the locker room,* Casey. The man finished a full game that required balance and precision and speed on ice skates, then got onto solid, unfrozen ground and, wearing regular shoes, and, while not being pursued by anyone with a face mask or scythe-like stick, ran into a cement wall and broke his wrist."

"Well, no one ever said Rick Hodges was the most coordinated land-traveler," Casey said.

"I'm just saying, if I can't get something funny out of this."

"Danny!" Casey put his hands flat on his desk and stared at him. "Stop talking about how much you can't write and just try and write, okay?"

"What if I can't?"

Casey rolled his eyes and turned back to the computer. "Figure it out quickly, okay? So I can get to work on your part if needed."

Dan nodded and turned back to his computer. Casey was annoyed again - though, maybe he had reason today. Dan was paralyzed by the fear that he wouldn't be able to write. It wasn't that he couldn't write - he'd penned the teaser for the afternoon ads, and even Dana had said it was sharp work - it was simply that, if he started to write and then discovered he was off, well, the prophecy of his failure would be fulfilled. And now that he was conscious of the detriment love had on his writing, he felt he might be forced to choose.

"Casey?"

"For the love of God, Danny."

"Who do you write for?"

Casey looked back at his desk. "Whom," Casey corrected absently.

"Whom do you write for?" Dan stood, pulling the rolling chair to the front of Casey's desk. "Last night, you said it was all about finding someone to write for. That once you did, you could write through anything. So, whom do you write for?"

Casey stared at him for a moment, and Dan knew that look. It was Casey's struggling-with-the-truth look. "Charlie," he said finally.

"Ah." The not-quite-honest look didn't leave his eyes, but the answer rang true enough. "That works?"

"Every time."

Dan nodded. "Okay."

Dana darted in then and asked Casey something about a stretch in the 30s - Casey was doing the racing update. Dan stood and walked past her, deciding what he really needed was a soda. On the way, he ran into Natalie. "Is Casey still annoyed?" she asked.

"Annoyed?" Dan asked vaguely.

"Danny. You know what I mean."

"Okay, stop," he said, holding his hand out. She turned and faced him. "Can everyone just stop believing that my falling in love somehow throws me into some kind of writing coma?"

"What are you talking about?" Natalie asked.

Dan rubbed his forehead. "Dana thinks Casey is annoyed because he has to write my script."

"But you've been writing your script."

"I have indeed."

"You have, in fact, written a large part of Casey's script."

"Also true," Dan said.

"I can tell. You always misspell Jason Isringhausen."

"I - the point being, I'm not the reason Casey's in a bad mood!"

Natalie grinned. "I didn't say you were."

"Thank you. That's all I'm asking." He turned, and they started to walk again.

"I think it has more to do with Melinda than with you," Natalie chirped.

"Huh?" Dan stopped again, pulling Natalie to a halt with him.

"Danny. every time you fall for a girl, Casey loses you. So he gets grumpy."

"Natalie, what are you talking about?"

"He needs your attention, Dan, and when you're in love, you don't notice him as much anymore."

Dan felt a headache building behind his eyes. "But."

"Just think about it."

This time, Dan took the films and the scripts to editing and spread out there. He picked up the tape from the week before Rebecca, this time - when he'd been flirting with her, and Casey knew it, but she was still coy and hard to get. While the voice over rolled, he flipped through to a script draft, and that was when he remembered. The fight. Oh, man, the fight.

He'd been sitting in the office, eating Cheetos and debating whether to get a Coke, an hour and a half to airtime, because there was a chance it'd make him burp on-air. Casey had blown into the office holding his script, and Dan had asked him about the Coke. Casey had shrugged, so Dan had phoned Rebecca and asked her what she thought.

"Danny? Should I care about this for some reason?"

"Well, it's just that, since the whole park-covered-in-cheese incident was, I believe we've established, your fault, I thought you might kind of, you know, want to help me regain my composure and reputation as a master of the airwaves." He heard Casey snort in the background but ignored it.

"I have a lot of work to do, Dan," she said reasonably.

"You know what I think? I think it makes no sense for you to be doing any kind of work in your office at 9:30 at night. You're obviously just waiting for me to call."

"Skip the Coke, Dan. Okay? Now just. go do your show. And stop bothering me at work!"

"Okay," he said, and hung up smiling.

Casey, however, was scowling. "You should stop bothering her at work," he grumbled, turning to his own script.

Dan shrugged. "She doesn't seem to mind."

"Whatever."

Dan cocked an eyebrow, then stood, planting himself on the edge of Casey's desk. "You got a problem, man?" he asked gently.

"No problem," Casey said, his voice tight and decidedly problem-full.

"Your script was fine," Dan said soothingly, remembering Casey's outburst at the rundown over his own inability to put a sentence together.

"Yes, Dan, I know. But thank you for your inspirational guidance and approval," he said snidely, standing swiftly and walking to their video rack. Dan turned his head, following Casey physically while he tried to play brain catch-up.

"Hey, I'm just saying." Dan said, wishing he could back out of this conversation, no harm done.

"You're just saying," Casey snapped. "I know what you're saying. Just - just don't, okay?"

"I'm not - I'm not even sure what I was just saying."

"It's fine."

"What's fine?" he asked. It was as though they were speaking two different languages, with some kind of demented translator between them. Casey said, "O Captain, my Captain," and Dan was hearing, "Tractor."

Casey turned, with an expression that Dan knew meant he should damn well know what was going on. "I know your brain is all tied up in stalking this woman downstairs for the moment, and all, but can you try and stay with me for just five minutes? I mean, I know it's hard for you to keep your mind on things that won't eventually result in sex for you, but."

"Hey, that's not fair," Dan said, realizing even as it happened that Casey was pulling him into an argument. "What's your deal, man?"

"My deal, Danny?" Casey turned to face him now, full-on. "My deal is that you've been mooning over this woman all day instead of doing what you're supposed to be doing. You missed the Cincinnati game, you fucked up the intro recording, you couldn't even spell Derrick Cunningham's name right -"

"Well, God, Casey, I'm sorry, maybe I was too busy rewriting *your half of the show* to worry about the little details today!" Dan yelled, swinging to his feet. "What the fuck is your problem, man?"

"I don't have a problem," Casey snarled, then walked out of the office.

Dan remembered how he'd felt, then: Alone, a little frightened, and completely confused. His heart was thundering in his chest and adrenaline was surging through his veins as he stood there, fists clenched, wondering what in the hell had just happened. Casey had been tense all day - tense for a few days, maybe - but the fight has just come out of nowhere. He could remember Casey apologizing that night, haltingly, rubbing his face and looking sort of soft and breakable in the office just before the show. He remembered him saying, "Please, Danny, just - just forget what I said. I didn't mean any of it. I - you're doing great, I'm just. fuck, it's frustrating when you can't write, you know?"

Dan knew.

Later, when Rebecca finally agreed that they were dating, when she finally called Dan "the man I'm seeing" to her friends, Dan's own writing had suffered. Thinking back, though, he started to wonder if that had had more to do with falling for Rebecca or with the sudden tension in their office.

He spent the six hours until the show observing Casey very carefully, with an eye to detail and an ear for, well, tension. Then, in the post-show shadow of their office, he found Casey sitting on the couch, his head back and his eyes closed. He had yet to loosen his tie, but Dan knew Casey didn't mind ties. Casey liked formality, dress-up, routine. It was why he wore slacks on the set when Dan could get away with shorts or jeans, as he had tonight.

He sat on the couch next to him slowly, and Casey looked over, one eye open. "Hey," he said, surprised.

"Hey."

"Don't you have a date?" Casey asked. Dan picked up the false lightness in his voice. He wondered why he never had before.

He shrugged. Casey shrugged back and moved his head back. "Case?"

"Hmm?"

"I was thinking, about what we talked about earlier."

"Uhhh, Jeter's chances at."

"No, the writing thing." Casey didn't move. "You said you write for Charlie." Casey nodded again, though his eyes shifted a little uncomfortably. "I've been thinking, Casey, that maybe that's not completely true."

"What do you mean?" he asked, turning his head again and opening both eyes.

"The - thing is, Case, I looked at the scripts. It's not that I can't write when I'm in love - it's that I can't write when you're mad at me," Dan said, the words working their way out just as he'd planned, just as he'd decided they would during the third commercial break, when Casey laughed at something he said and Dan started writing this script in his head. "And you get mad at me every time I fall in love."

Casey's mouth formed a perfect 'o,' and he stared at Dan for a minute before rolling his head back around and staring at the ceiling.

"Talk to me, Casey," Dan said, staring at his friend's cheek.

"What do you want me to say?" Casey asked, his jaw jutting slightly as he spoke, making his face move in interesting ways, sideways to Dan's point of view.

"I want you to - I don't know," Dan said, wishing Casey would sit up, if just so that he wouldn't be sideways anymore. "I want to know whether I'm crazy."

"You are crazy," Casey said slowly.

"Casey..."

"You're a little bit right, too."

"Oh." Dan swallowed, noting the deviation from the script. "I am?"

Casey shrugged, the gesture cut short by the back of the couch.

"Casey."

Casey rolled his head away from Dan. "Look, this isn't - it doesn't have to be a thing."

Dan felt light-headed, standing on the edge of reality. "It doesn't. you can't write when I fall in love." Casey didn't move. "But it only lasts for. it never lasts for more than a day." Casey's chest rose, a deep, staggering breath, and he raised a hand to rub his forehead. "Because you know it won't work. You're sure it won't work. But, for a day, you hate them, and you can't write."

"That's not true," he said, but it was soft and breathy. "I liked Rebecca."

"You only liked Rebecca for a while, and you liked Rebecca because she could never come between us." Dan took a deep breath. "Casey."

"Stop saying my name like that."

"Like what?"

"Like. like this is a soap opera and I'm dying."

"This feels like a soap opera," Dan said, not realizing until he said it that he'd said it out loud.

"That's what I'm saying, Dan." Casey looked over. His face was more certain now, but Dan knew his eyes, could see the fear there. "This doesn't have to be a thing."

"What doesn't have to be a thing?" Dan asked. "Casey - I want to know what this is."

"What this is?"

"What this means," Dan pressed. "What does this mean?"

"That I write thinking about you? I don't know." Casey looked over, very slowly, and Dan saw he was pale now, shockingly so. He looked sort of ready to cry. "That I'm in love with you?"

"You are?" Dan squeaked.

"Feels like it," Casey said softly. "It's - it's felt like this for a while, though. Nothing new." He gave a ghost of a smile, eyes a little squinty. He looked viciously young, Dan thought, watching Casey sit up a little. "Though I think it's going to hurt in a minute."

Dan opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn't. So instead he closed his mouth and stared at Casey for a minute, Casey sitting up and moving closer, putting one hand on the other side of Dan, and then, Casey coming toward him. It wasn't a particularly great kiss - too surprising to be great or even representative, Dan thought. And, really, too weird, to see Casey looming in toward him, still freakishly pale, his eyes fluttering nervously shut after a moment's hesitation.

Then his lips were there, just barely, sliding against Dan's, hardly the kind of kiss Dan would have expected from Casey, or, really, from any man, if he'd ever thought about kissing a man before. Dan was pulled by instinct to respond, but he forced it down. When Casey asked a question moment later with a gentle touch of his tongue, Dan answered by pulling, slowly, away.

Casey's whole face shifted, lost the quiet, desperate nervousness of a moment before and melted, instead, into something much sadder. He laughed, a quick, humiliated chuff, then lay his head back on the couch and stared at the ceiling. Dan couldn't move, couldn't do anything but sit there and gawk and listen to his heartbeat for a moment.

As he watched, a tear slid sideways out of the corner of Casey's eye. That stirred Dan into action, and he moved closer, wanting to comfort him but suddenly aware of the awkward space between them. "Casey."

"Don't," his friend said weakly but sharply, holding up one hand. "I think - I think you have a date."

"I don't want to leave you if."

"Dan," he said, his voice throaty and deep and horribly, horribly emotional. "Leave."

Dan nodded sharply and stood, alarmed to find himself a little shaky.

"Casey..."

"Just go, Dan," he said, his voice firmer this time, and Dan realized he'd known Casey was going to say it. As though it was scripted.

Dan went.

"Where the hell are you?"

Dan groaned at the voice in his head - in his head? In his head by way of the cell phone in his hand. The cell phone that sounded like Dana in his head. "Hello?" he said back, wishing Dana would crawl out of his head and back into the phone, so that he could throw them both out the window.

Wait, the window? His bedroom didn't have a window on this. oh, yeah. He was at Melinda's. "Danny!"

That had to be Dana again, because he could vaguely remember Mel leaving for work about an hour ago. Maybe. maybe longer ago than that? Hard to tell, at this point.

"Dana?" he said, his voice gravelly.

"Dan, where are you? It's noon, and you aren't here."

"I'm. not?" he asked, blinking harshly against the light seeping in through Melinda's blinds.

"You aren't here, and I'm supposed to have a rundown. Natalie's on-site, producing the segment on the Knicks recruitment because Jessica has the flu. oh, God, Danny, do you have the flu?"

"If I say I do," he grumbled, sitting up slowly and holding his head in his hands, "will you talk more quietly at a lower pitch?"

"Danny!" she screeched.

"So, I guess not," he mumbled weakly.

"Natalie's gone, Jeremy's trying to get the editing computer realigned, and Casey's - God, I don't know what his problem is, but I swear to God, Danny, if you two are fighting, I'm not above kicking both your asses in front of the entire staff, and possibly on air."

"We're - what's wrong with Casey?"

"I don't know. Just, just you need to be here. Danny? Okay? You need to get here, and fix Casey, and then I can yell at you."

"Sure," he mumbled, then dropped the phone on the floor and fell back on to Melinda's bed.

Fix Casey? He'd certainly helped break him, the night before. The kiss haunted him, but not half as much as the intensity of Casey's desire, the density of his pain when Dan pulled away. He'd showed up at Melinda's door in tiny, hopeless pieces, and she'd consoled him, listened to the whole story, and then sewn him back together with wine and sex.

He groaned as he stumbled out of bed to the shower. He felt horrible, now - hungover and anxious, failing to feel any better than when he'd showed up last night. God, but Melinda had been understanding. He felt ridiculous at first, telling her how he'd just realized that Casey was in love with him, how he'd pulled away from his kiss, how he was afraid he'd hurt him, and, in general, just how afraid he was. She'd put her arms around him and said, "He's your friend, and he needs you, and you're not going to lose him over this, no matter what, okay?"

In the night, in the dark, in her arms that had made sense. Being with Melinda, with a woman he liked and maybe-might-could love, made sense. It was what he was supposed to do. It was part of the script.

Now, facing the light of day and Dana's screeches and Casey being broken, Dan wasn't sure anything made sense.

He cleaned himself up and wandered out to the street, glad he didn't need to worry about his car. In the cab, he started to call the office out of habit, then stopped, realizing Casey would answer the phone, and that their first contact shouldn't be by telephone, maybe. He thought of trying to call Dana, instead, but he still had a headache, so he nixed the idea in favor of staring out the window and listening to the cab driver comment on the mayoral race.

When he stepped off the elevator, things were quiet. Not just office-on-the-move quiet: Things were tense, and dark, and quiet. Dan would've laughed at the somber mood if he wasn't so certain what was causing it. Kim shot him a "good luck" look as he pushed open the door to his office.

Casey was sitting at his desk, looking at the computer. He didn't look over as Dan walked in, which gave him time to shut the door and then study Casey for a moment. He looked terrible. Staring at him, Dan felt guilty for his shower and shave and for the almost fresh clothes he'd pulled from Melinda's floor. "You didn't sleep," he said softly, sitting on the edge of his own desk and facing Casey.

Casey looked over, not up, just so that Dan could see his face in profile. Suddenly, Dan felt guilty for the sex he'd had the night before, too. "Oh, hey," he said distractedly.

"Casey."

"I was just, uh," and he looked down again, and Dan had no idea how hard this was going to be.

"You should take a nap, man," he said.

Casey looked straight out, and Dan wanted to duck, to catch his eyes, but he knew Casey would just turn away. "Maybe," he said vaguely.

"Did you stay here?"

Casey shrugged.

The confusion faded into concern. "A few hours, Casey."

Casey rolled his eyes. "I have a script to write."

"Let me do it," he said, just as gently.

"I can write," Casey said defensively, but his voice was weak and wavered.

"I don't think you can," Dan said flatly.

Casey looked up, finally, and his eyes were red-rimmed and shining. Dan met the gaze, not sure what else to say. Casey finally nodded. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"I could sleep."

Dan nodded slowly, and Casey stood, looking uncertainly at the couch. "Stay in here. I'll - I'll go out."

"You don't have to," Casey protested, sitting on the couch.

"I think I do."

Casey nodded, still not looking at him, and sat back on the couch. He leaned his head against the back, not lying down but just resting his head. Dan wondered if he'd actually sleep like that, not lying down. Then he realized that stretching out would make him a little more vulnerable, and there was nothing Casey hated more than that.

The thought made Dan swallow hard, and he hustled out the door.

"Dana?" He caught her in mid-stride, a flash of white silk and snug black pants.

"There you are," she snapped, looking back at him.

Dan sighed and turned to follow her. "Spare me the lecture. I was late. I'm sorry. I've seen to Casey."

"You've seen to Casey?"

"Yes."

"Seen to him?"

"I have."

Dana turned at her door. "How exactly does one see to Casey?"

Dan sighed impatiently and shifted his weight. "He's taking a nap."

"A nap." She nodded shortly. "Uh-huh. Okay. Well, he's seen to, then. except shouldn't he be writing a script for, I don't know, a show tonight?"

"I'm doing that," Dan said, spreading his hands. "But I need a computer."

"Ah-ha." Dana nodded sharply. "Do I want to know what's going on?"

"Not in the least."

"Okay. Use mine, I'm going to run around for a while."

"Okay." Dan nodded, waiting for Dana to move away. She did, finally, with a little nervous laugh. Dan started to step through her door when she turned. "He's sleeping?"

"Yeah."

She was scowling, pouting, almost, in the way she did when people knew more about Casey than she did. Dan knew she wasn't - didn't love him, not like that, anymore, but the habit stood. "Is he going to be okay?" she asked.

It was strange, suddenly, that Dana should be consulting him on Casey. Trusting him to get Casey through, instead of trying to do it herself. And then, he couldn't remember when she hadn't done that, and his face fell. "Danny?" she said, her voice squeaky and unbalanced.

"He'll be fine," he said hollowly.

"You're sure?"

"I've seen to him," Dan murmured, then he stepped into the office and closed the door.

He wrote the whole script by 5:30, without taking a break, just leaving holes for the big games he didn't know yet, and then stepped out of Dana's office. Natalie whisked by and he started to tell her the script was finished, but she knew. "I nabbed it off the server," she said, holding a sheaf in her hands. "It's really good, Danny."

"Thanks."

"No, seriously. The thing about Ricky Hodges was dynamite."

"Well, second-day injury, what're you gonna do?" he asked.

"It sounded just like Casey," she said, and then quickly, "Speaking of Casey."

"I knew that was coming," Dan said, rubbing his forehead and pulling away from the wall. He started toward their office.

"He's still sleeping. Or something. No one's been in there for a while."

"Yeah." Dan stopped just outside their door. Casey had slumped a little sideways during his nap, he noticed. He was balled up, defending himself against the world. Dan had to go in, to leave Natalie staring up at him outside the door. He had to sit on the couch, and touch Casey on the arm, just to know he could still do it.

Casey barely woke, just jerked up a little and groaned. Dan could only imagine how sore he was, looking at his posture. "Case," he said, almost whispering.

His friend was groggy, rubbing his face. "What time's it?" he asked.

"It's." Dan paused, then said, "It's one o'clock, Casey. You haven't slept much yet. Come on. Stretch out, you'll feel better."

Casey nodded and slumped a bit more toward Dan. Dan stood, then squatted before the couch and pushed Casey over, settling him against the cushions. He didn't resist, just let Dan mold him, turn him so he was facing up, uncurled, open. Casey made a snuffling noise, and Dan fought an urge to ruffle his hair.

He turned, instead, and sat at his desk. Natalie was still outside, though a few feet away, trying not to look like she was watching. He waved at her, brushing her away, and then leaned back in his own chair. He turned the television on, lowering the volume, and started watching the day's games. If Casey could sleep through this, all the better.

Casey woke up at 7:30 - after Dan went to another rundown alone, with only a quick sideways stare from Natalie and a snark from Dana - he sat at his desk, filling in numbers on the script and occasionally answering the phone. Dan was on fire across the way, too engulfed in his own brilliant writing to be distracted by the awkwardness. The show, that night, was fantastic, and Casey didn't write a word.

"Danny!" Dana rushed up to him after the show, while Casey was still fumbling with the mic cord next to him. She leaned over the desk and smiled up at him. "Danny!" she said again, breathlessly.

"Yes, Dana?"

"Marry this woman!"

Dan shook his head. "What?"

She shook the script pages at him. "This - she - whoever did this, Danny, this was brilliant. We'll be on the wire tomorrow with this!" She leaned forward, hovering and inch from his face. "I could kiss you!" she cried. "But I'll save that for Melinda!"

"Wouldn't want to throw off my stride," he joked back, turning with a smirk to Casey.

But Casey had already dropped the $200 mic onto the floor and walked away.

"Oh," Dan said, as Dana flitted away to talk to Natalie and he realized what had just happened.

He could write. And Casey could not.

The next day was Saturday, and it was also his day off. Dan slept late, but poorly for the 10 hours he was in bed. Upon waking, he stumbled to the bathroom, then checked his machine en route to the coffee he needed. There were two messages - one from GEICO, and one from Melinda.

"Danny, hey, I know you'll be back late, so call me tomorrow, but. I thought, since you have the afternoon down, we could, you know, see a show. Maybe? Let me know. We can try normal for once, what do you think? See you later, babe."

The beep was too high next to her perfect, rounded alto voice, and he snatched the phone up to call her back. "Mel? How about 5 at the Crowne Twin? Sure, whatever's showing. I'll meet you."

The thing he loved most about movies was the distraction. It was always fascinating to wander in and let the voices from someone else's head entertain him for an hour or two. When he'd first met Casey, they'd gone to a movie almost every Tuesday night. It was just a thing they did. It was the nineties, when there were sports movies always coming out - girls playing football, Charlie Sheen playing baseball - and they saw them and laughed and said, "We can do that." And now they did it, for a living, and they didn't go to movies anymore because they could make sports fun with writing and get paid for it and buy the popcorn later.

Instead of the movies, now, they went for drinks, and sat around and talked and saw to each other in their moments of need. Like today. Today, Casey needed him, and Dan had seen to him. Dan had taken over, taken care. It was what they did, an even, back-and-forth trade.

Only today, he couldn't really fix Casey. He hadn't seen Casey broken like this since his divorce, and even then, he'd kept coming to work. He'd kept trying. Maybe, Dan thought, because then, at least, Casey had Dan to help him get through.

Which was why, so long ago, when Casey was thinking of leaving the show, Dan had stopped him. Very quickly and simply, with a flash of anger, stopped him. Because he had that power over Casey. Always had. He could take and shake the man, make him vulnerable, read him like a book and slam the cover down when he was certain the next chapter would be bad. God knows, Casey had done it to him. They saw to each other. Always had.

When Dan fell in love, it hurt. Every time. It was like trying to find someone to do that job, trying to find someone that might be able to do this thing that Casey did every day. He needed someone that could fill in the gaps in the story that the little voices in his head were telling - someone that could sort out his thoughts when they got too jumbled.

It hurt to see that no one could do it, and he always fell back to Casey to be fixed, to be seen to and reassembled. Casey could write him when he fell apart, could make the words sound like they'd fallen right from Dan's lips, just as he could do for Casey, because he wrote thinking of him. Thinking like him.

The realization made Dan gasp and sit up straight in his seat. He felt dizzy, trapped, walled in by the smell of popcorn and someone else's story on the screen. He gripped Melinda's arm. "I think I need to leave," he said very lowly. And she nodded, looking unsurprised, and followed him outside.

It was misting outside, and Dan leaned against the theater wall, turning his face up and closing his eyes and just feeling it. Melinda stood in front of him - he could hear the shuffle of her sneakers, the quiet in-and-out of her breath.

"I don't know what to do," he said shortly. "I wrote the whole show last night, and I - he can always write, usually, but I." He took a deep breath and choked a little. "He was so lost, and all I could think, all day, was how much he wants me. And God, I wrote for him. I _was_ him." He dropped his head back against the wall, thoughts swirling and the mist barely penetrating.

"Danny," she said softly after a moment, putting her hand just below his cheek. "Come on. I'll buy you a drink."

He nodded, and took the hand she offered as they walked down the street.

The nearest restaurant had a bar and not much of a crowd for 6:00 on a Saturday. They were tucked into a booth within minutes, and Melinda ordered him a scotch, and a glass of wine for herself. For a moment he just stared at her. She looked beautiful, glistening from the light rain almost like an angel. Her face was slack but not unhappy - just resting, eyes sensitive and lit but not too emotional. He had no idea what she'd say next.

"It's okay," she said very softly before the drinks arrived, "to want him back."

"I'm not sure - " he started, then stopped. He closed his eyes, and Melinda touched his hand above the table. He tried again. "I'm not sure I can be me without him."

She smiled, a bit sadly. "I think you're right. I just wish you could be you, with him, and with me." She squeezed his hand. "You were for a while."

"But now. he needs more," Dan said. "I've never said no to him in my life, Mel."

She nodded slowly. "Sometimes, though, it isn't up to you to decide whether you say yes or no. You've gotta. you've gotta think this through, okay? Because we could be good, Danny. We are good. But I can't compete with Casey this way. I can't - if you're attracted to him, then that's it."

Dan looked up slowly. The waiter set their drinks between them, and he sighed in the pause. "So I have to choose."

She shrugged. "No. You just have to figure out. what you feel."

He rolled his eyes and leaned forward on the table. "How do I do that?"

She took a sip of her wine. "Like anyone does, Dan. Go find him. Figure this out."

"Talk to him?"

Now her eyes slid down, and for the first time, he caught how much this might hurt. "Do whatever you need to."

He reached across and touched her face, knowing he couldn't promise her anything. Then he slid out of the booth, drink untouched, and started for the studio.

It was just after eight when he arrived, but the rundown was already over. Natalie caught him first, coming off the elevators, and her eyes went wide. "Thank God you're here!" she said, flying at him with a clipboard clutched to her.

"Where's Casey?" he asked, not even slowing his stride.

"You have to fix him."

"First, I have to find him," Dan said, walking past their office. A man with dark hair and a wide chin was sitting at his desk, and Dan didn't stop to comment.

"He wanted to be alone," Natalie said, one step behind him. She caught his arm. "Seriously, Dan, you have to fix him."

"Nat, I'm trying. Just tell me where he is."

"If I knew."

Dan nodded gravely and saw Dana across the room. "Dana!" he yelled, and she whirled at his call.

"Danny! Thank God!"

He searched the whole room with his eyes while she walked over. As soon as she was near, he was walking again. "Where's Casey?"

"If I knew where he was, I'd probably be a little less excited to see you. As of right now, though, I don't think I've ever been happier to see -"

"Stop. Casey?"

She shook her head slowly. "You said you'd fix him."

"And I will, but first. I need to know where he is, and what's happened."

"What's happened," Dana said quickly, taking Dan by the elbow and leading him down the corridor, "is that he came to the rundown meeting, had some kind of meltdown, scared poor Kevin half to death and then stormed out, saying he needed to be alone. Which is to say nothing -" she said, pulling out a few green pages "- of the fact that it's 8:18 and I have in my hands 24 written minutes of a show we'd like to air for an hour, and so far, the best stuff has been written by a guy who probably can't find studio B on a map!"

Dan put his hands on Dana's shoulders. "I can fix this. But you've got to help me find him."

Dana jerked her head. "Try the studio?"

"Of course," Dan said, fairly sprinting toward the space.

Casey was sitting at their desk, staring at a few spread out pages. He didn't look up as Dan crossed; instead, he kept scratching through his already thin script with a black ballpoint, sighing now and then. Dan waited. He knew what came next.

Casey looked up to try a word out on his tongue, and that was when he saw Dan, just as Dan knew he would. "Dan!" he said, clearly startled.

"Casey," he said softly.

"It's your day off," he murmured, and his eyes were wide and almost frightened.

"Yeah," Dan said, stepping up and sitting in his own chair. Casey turned back to his script, but he looked flustered. There was color creeping up his neck. "So, I thought we should talk."

Casey shrugged. "I have a script to write."

"You - you can't write it, though, can you?"

Casey took a sharp breath. "I'll get through it."

"Not this time." Casey didn't say anything.

"Casey."

"Dan, it's just."

They were talking at the same time. Casey sighed and lifted one hand to rub his jaw. "I'll fix it."

"No, you won't," Dan said softly, turning in his chair to face Casey. "That's my job."

Casey looked up, and he was trembling, God, shaking when Dan touched his hand. "I don't know what's going to happen," Dan murmured. "I don't, okay? But for now, I'm here, and you're here. And there's a script." Casey didn't look over, but Dan knew he was listening. "Let's do this - the part we know how to do, okay? And after - after the show, we can worry about the rest."

Dan put his hand on Casey's shoulder, a move he'd made a million times, something they just did with each other. When he squeezed, he felt the tension shaking his friend, and he couldn't help moving closer. It was what he was supposed to do.

He rested his forehead on Casey's shoulder and said, "We'll figure this out."

"Yeah."

"It's what we do."

"No, Danny," Casey said, pulling away gently and fighting, Dan could tell, to keep his voice light. "We write."

"That, too," Dan said, swiping the script from Casey. He looked at it grimly. "This sucks, man."

"You try working with Kevin 'hey, it's my first time on the show and wow the lights are bright and gosh you're all so cool' Fast."

Dan laughed. "Shall we tell Mr. Fast that his big shot is over? Because, seriously, unless we're both at full steam tonight this just isn't getting done."

Casey smiled. "Let's get started."

The show wasn't bad. It wasn't brilliant - couldn't be, with two hours prep time - but it was believable. They laughed on air, and they laughed in the breaks, and Dan only saw Casey's eyes waver once or twice - once when Kim brought Dan a phone message from Melinda, and once when Dana made a comment about marrying Melinda again.

But it was okay, because the words coming from their mouths matched, mostly, and the jokes got better as the show went on, and Dana kept smiling and even Kevin, sitting to the side, looked a little psyched when things wrapped.

Dan shook off offers of drinks and heard Casey give Natalie a gentle no on going to Anthony's. Instead, they wound up in their office again, alone, Casey still fully dressed, Dan already shedding his tie and coat.

"So," Casey said, leaning against the door after it closed.

It was an unnatural pose for him, Dan realized as he sat on the couch. Casey never stood against the door. "Have a seat, Case," he said, gently.

Casey shrugged and picked his desk chair, kicking it forward before he sat.

Dan rolled his eyes at the tension. "Casey, this isn't us."

"I know," Casey said, and Dan was completely shocked by the tears.

"That's not - that's not what I meant!" he said quickly, flying off the couch. He wanted to fall in front of him, to catch Casey's hunched over body in his arms and hold him, but he couldn't. Not without tipping the balance, not without. going there.

"Oh, fuck," Dan said, and he sat on the edge of Casey's desk, starting to feel broken himself.

Casey took a deep breath, sitting up and wiping his face. "I'll get over this," he said firmly. His words were undermined by the shaking, the pain.

"Are you sure?"

"No," Casey whispered, and he lay his head on Dan's knee and started to cry again.

Dan rubbed his fingers through Casey's hair. Casey didn't cry. He'd seen him cry once, maybe, and that time, he'd seen it coming. It was the weekend Lisa had decided they should go to court over custody of Charlie. Dan had never seen Casey destroyed like that.

Not until now.

"Casey," he said softly, rubbing his neck. Casey's hands were clenched on the edge of the desk. "Case."

Casey's skin felt warm under his fingers, and Casey close to him felt natural, felt right and real and comfortable. Then Casey pulled back, sniffling and standing, and it was almost physically painful to be separated.

"I'm sorry," Casey said, and his voice was more solid now.

"No," Dan said hollowly.

Casey turned his back to wipe his face again, then crossed his arms, keeping his back to Dan. Dan looked at him, profiled in the window. He was tall and thin, all pale points and jags against the dark sky. All points lead to Casey, Dan thought, realizing the pathetic joke and snickering at himself.

Jokes like that, you must be in love, he remembered. Suddenly, it was hard to breathe.

"Case - Casey?" he asked.

"What?" Casey sighed, turning slowly. He looked tired, and sad, and scared, and Dan had never seen him more vulnerable or beautiful. I did this, he thought to himself.

"I did this," Dan said aloud. Casey looked at him blankly. "Casey, you're broken."

"No," Casey said softly, looking down.

"You aren't you, Casey."

"I'm."

"No," Dan said, standing himself. "You aren't you. You know how I know? Because I can write for you. I know you, Casey. I live you. And this - you aren't you."

Casey didn't say anything now, just looked down. Dan took another step closer, until he was right there, right with Casey. "I can fix this," Dan said, touching Casey's face and drawing him up.

"Don't do this," Casey said slowly. His eyes were wide, and he wasn't looking at Dan.

"Do what?"

"This." Now his eyes flashed. "Don't pity me, Danny."

"I shouldn't have pulled away," Dan said, and he kissed him as an apology.

This time, the hesitation was Casey's. Dan didn't watch him, instead let himself be swept away into a world of sensation, of tactile Casey and nothing, nothing else. When he asked the question, Casey made a tiny, broken noise in the back of his throat and, this time, the answer was yes. And when Dan pulled back, he left his hand on Casey's face, letting his eyes wander slowly from his friend's lips to his eyes, because Casey was smiling.

That smile.

"You're fixed," Dan said slowly, not certain what to say to post-kiss Casey, knowing he'd failed spectacularly the first time.

"You'd better hope not," Casey said, and they both laughed at that.

Dan smiled. "So this is a thing."

"It is," Casey said.

Dan took a step back. "I know you."

"Yeah."

"This is you."

"This is us," Casey corrected.

4/21/2001

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