SN WIP: Danny in therapy fic - Part 8
Oct. 24th, 2004 02:59 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
out_therePart One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six and Part Seven.
***
"Hey," Dan said as he answered the phone, "did you know Sugar Ray Leonard was the only boxer who won titles in five different weight classes?"
Abby let out a short, amused snort. "I can safely say I didn't know that."
"Over a decade, he won titles from welterweight to light heavyweight. Mind you, two of those titles were won for the same fight, but it's still impressive."
"If you're a boxing fan."
Dan rolled his eyes, flicking through the book in his hands. "You've heard of Muhammad Ali, right?"
"Yeah," Abby said, "but that doesn't change the fact that boxing's an exercise in violence."
"See, that's what I don't get. Everyone's heard of Ali, everyone will nod and say he's a great athlete, and then they add this little disclaimer that boxing is too violent."
"It is violent. The entire sport revolves around beating someone else up."
"It's an Olympic sport."
"It's still violent."
"It's a *practical* sport."
"Practical?" Abby asked doubtfully.
"Practical, useful. How many times do people actually use hockey sticks or javelins in real life? Not to mention the total uselessness of synchronized diving." Dan closed the book, running his fingers over the creased paper cover. "Using your fists to defend yourself? That's a skill that goes back centuries."
Abby sighed. "If you say so, Dan."
"There's quite a bit of skill to the sport. People generalize it, as if it's a bunch of idiots who only care about how hard they can hit something. There's more to it than that," Dan said, warming to his subject. "There's strategy and psyching out your opponent and... other stuff."
"Other stuff?"
"Stuff that involves thinking and planning as well as good instincts," Dan tried hopefully, waving his free hand as he spoke. "Stuff, that someone who knows more than I do about boxing, would be able to explain to you."
"So right now I just have to take your word for it?"
Dan grinned. "Yes, you do."
"Fine," Abby conceded. "Do you want to tell me why we're debating the merits of boxing?"
"Because you don't appreciate the nuances of the sport?"
"Why did you bring it up?"
"I'm reading Leonard's biography. I thought it was an interesting and little known fact."
"That he won five weight titles?"
"Light heavyweight, super middleweight, middleweight, junior middleweight and welterweight. It's impressive."
"Okay," Abby said slowly. "Is this something you usually do?"
"What?"
"Sit around reading athlete's biographies?"
"Not really." Dan shrugged. "But I'm bored and there's a lack of interesting stuff to read in Mom's place. Unless, you know, I want to learn the lost arts of cooking and knitting."
"Those aren't lost arts."
"They are to most guys, and there's a good reason for that," Dan replied.
Abby laughed. "Okay, so to escape the dire fate of learning basic housekeeping skills, you bought a book on a famous boxer?"
"I'll have you know I *can* cook. I'm not world-standard, but I can cook a lot more than Casey."
"Okay."
"And I didn't buy the book. I spotted it sitting at the back of the bookshelf." Dan looked over at the book sitting beside him. It had obviously been read many times. "I think Dad's had it almost as long as Charlie's been alive."
"Your dad's a boxing fan, isn't he?" Abby asked, knowing full-well that he was. Dan tried not to let that bother him.
"I've already told you that he was."
"How is your father?"
"He's doing fine." Dan craned his neck back, taking in the plain white ceiling. He wasn't surprised. He'd traveled across a lot of states and he'd never found a hotel that didn't believe in white ceiling paint. "If he's not sleeping, he's surrounded by half a dozen people all wanting to catch up."
"Have you talked to him?"
Dan grimaced. "I was around when Dad got home and I've been around since, but... There's a lot of people around that he actually enjoys talking to. It seems like a waste of time for me to sit there awkwardly."
"That isn't a reason to avoid talking to him," Abby rebuked softly.
"I've got nothing to say to the guy."
"I don't believe in the Easter Bunny or Santa Claus. I'm not going to believe that."
"I'm sure Santa must be sad to hear that," Dan joked.
"What about the things you never told him?" Abby asked. Dan snorted. "You said that there were all these things you'd never told him."
"Doesn't mean I'm going to tell him. It just means there's stuff I *haven't* told him."
"Dan--"
"Look, I tried, okay? I tried to tell him and nothing came out." Running a hand over his hair, Dan sighed. "I'm not about to repeat that experience."
***
Dan leaned against the open doorway, watching his father sleep. Away from the machines that went 'ping!' and 'beeeep', the sight was far less frightening. His father still looked pale and old, but he'd lost the frightening sheen he'd gained under the harsh hospital lights. Of course, it was also reassuring that the man in question was snoring loudly and tucked under a floral bedspread.
In his childhood, Dan had been able to hear his father snoring at night. He could remember listening to the regular pattern as it grew louder and louder, and then suddenly stopped. Sometimes, it was so loud that it even woke his father up. His father would grumble "What, what is it?" and he and Sam would try not to giggle too loudly.
Dan stood up, ready to go back downstairs, but his father's snores grew suddenly silent. "Danny?" his father asked grumpily, rubbing at his eyes. "Why are you skulking in the doorway? Either step into the room or don't."
"I was just checking if you were awake," Dan said, stepping inside the room. A couple of chairs had been dragged over to the bedside, but Dan didn't want to sit down.
His father started to pull himself into a sitting position and then winced and lay back down. "Why?"
"Mom asked me to keep an eye on you."
"Oh."
Dan looked around the room, eyes skimming over the solid wooden furniture, the matching floral curtains and bedspread, the old black and white television that had been moved up here while Dad recovered. "So..."
"Yeah?"
"Are you feeling alright?" Dan asked lamely. There was so much he should say, but he had no idea how to say it.
"Apart from my whole chest area," his dad replied tersely, "I'm fine."
"Ah." Dan noticed that he was starting to fidget, starting to wring his hands nervously. He hid his arms behind his back.
"You really had nothing to say?"
Keeping his hands behind his back, Dan shrugged. "Yeah."
His father was quiet for a long moment. "You know, Danny..." His dad looked like he was about to say something, and then changed his mind. "Is David around?"
"He got here about half an hour ago," Dan said, relieved to be able to have a sensible answer. "He's downstairs. I could get him, if you want."
His father nodded. "Thanks, Danny."
***
"It was so awkward," Dan said with a shake of his head. "A few days ago I was thinking about all this stuff that I had to tell him, that he had to know, and then I'm standing there, and wishing I was miles away. Wondering why I came down there in the first place."
"You know why you did."
"Yeah, because Mom sounded like she needed the support. I mean, not my support, specifically," Dan added quickly, "but a show of family support."
"You only came down because your mom needed you?" Abby asked carefully.
"Dad's fine, he's recovering well. Mom's fine, she's got David and Susie." Dan shrugged. "I don't need to be here."
"You're there because people gather together in a crisis."
"The crisis has come and gone, Abby. People have gathered and now it's time for them to un-gather and go their separate ways."
"You don't want to be there anymore?"
"I don't like... It's not that I don't like my family," Dan said, staring at the boxing paperback, "I just don't like spending time with them. I don't like the way it makes me feel."
"Which is?"
"It makes me feel... I don't know, okay?" He drew in a shuddering breath and stopped talking. Raising a hand to rub at his temples, Dan covered his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was far too pleading for comfort. "Abby, I don't want to talk about this."
"Okay. Let's talk about something else."
That sounded easier. "Like what?"
"Like Casey," Abby suggested.
"Abby--" Dan started, feeling himself panic at the thought. Grabbing at the bottle of water sitting on the table, he downed it in rushed gulps. He didn't fool himself into thinking she wasn't noticing his over-reaction to that idea.
"Tell me about Lisa."
He finished swallowing and gained some semblance of self-control. "What about her?"
"When you fought with Casey, you told him you weren't like Lisa," Abby said calmly. "What did you mean by that?"
"For a start, we don't share shoe sizes."
"What's the real story?"
"This happened years ago," Dan said, sitting down and screwing the lid back on the bottle of water. "When I first met Casey, he was working at a station in Boston. I was at Dartmouth, and I did an internship at his station."
He'd told Abby this before. Apparently, she remembered. "And then he got the job in LA, right?"
"Yeah. He got me a couple summer internships over there too, which was how I met Dana."
"Okay."
"Anyway, he'd been married to Lisa for about four years when her father died."
"Was it unexpected?"
"Not really." Dan shrugged. "He'd been diagnosed with cancer so it was sort of a long, slow affair. I mean, the way Lisa reacted, you'd think none of them had known about it."
"She took it badly?"
"She didn't just take it badly, she crumpled." Dan let out a slow sigh, almost feeling bad about badmouthing Lisa to someone who didn't know her. It was different with Dana and Casey: they'd had first hand knowledge of the icy cow. "You need to understand about Lisa. Anyone who thinks Casey is self-contained and standoff-ish, hasn't met Lisa. She didn't just keep her distance, she put up walls."
"You weren't on friendly terms with her, were you?"
"She divided the world into 'us' and 'them', which isn't a crime in and of itself. But she only confided, only relaxed, around other 'us's." Dan scowled at the window. "She made it very clear that I was always going to be part of 'them'."
"What do you mean?"
"I was at their wedding," Dan said, "and never once did she relax around me. She always kept the conversation polite and impersonal. She never relaxed, she never laughed; she'd just do this weird smile thing and half-nod."
"Maybe she just wasn't demonstrative?"
"No," Dan said firmly, "she was, she just kept it hidden from the world at large."
"How do you know?"
"I used to spot her and Casey, when they thought they were out of sight. She'd laugh and she'd beam at him, and I swear you wouldn't have realized it was the same person." Dan paused, remembering one particular party in Boston. "There was one party where the pair of them had snuck into the study. I got lost looking for the bathroom and spotted them."
***
He'd turned left when he should have turned right, he was sure of it. He just needed to go back this corridor and the bathroom should be somewhere on the left, Dan thought as he retraced his steps. Then he heard the sound of a woman laughing and noticed the door to his right was ajar.
Rolling his eyes to himself, Dan started to walk again. Then he heard a familiar male voice and his curiosity got the better of him.
He eased the door open silently and peered around the softly lit room. Casey was standing, facing the desk, head ducked down to talk in some girl's ear. Casey started to sway, shifting his weight from foot to foot, and held his hands up as if he was waltzing. Dan watched with a sinking feeling, then Casey turned around, girl in arm, and Dan recognised Lisa.
From the wide smile on her pretty face, she must have been pretty tipsy. In typical Lisa fashion, her hair was still curl-perfect, her make-up not at all smudged, and the simple linen dress she wore seemed unbelievably wrinkle-free. Dan was sure it required a pact with the devil to always look that well-groomed.
Dan was too far away to hear what they were murmuring to each other, but he could hear Lisa laugh, a sound Dan was certain he'd never heard her make before. Casey started dusting light kisses against her forehead, her cheeks and one on her nose, which made her laugh again. Their dancing slowed as Lisa wrapped her arms around Casey's neck. Then they were kissing, like any happy couple in love, and Casey's hands were sliding over her hips.
Lisa murmured something in Casey's ear and his eyes shot across to the door. He spotted Dan.
"Hey," Dan said, trying to sound casual.
Casey's back straightened, but Lisa was the one that pulled away fast. She took two quick steps away from Casey and turned to face Dan. "Hi, Dan," she said and Dan couldn't see any trace of the former smile.
Casey was blushing, like the overgrown Midwestern boy that he was. "We were just..."
"Taking a break from the crowds?" Dan suggested.
"Yeah." Casey nodded and looked to Lisa. "But I think we'll be heading home, right?"
"I think so," she replied coolly. "You don't need a ride back, do you, Dan?"
"Nah, I'm good," Dan said with a casual wave.
***
"She didn't know you very well," Abby said. "Maybe she was just shy."
"She knew me ten years," Dan replied. "Lisa's known me longer than Natalie has, and Natalie knows me ten times better."
"So how does this relate to her losing her father?"
"You get that she was very self-contained, right? Well groomed and so impossible to touch," Dan said in a tone so bitter it surprised him. "When she lost her father, she got really depressed. And I mean, *really* depressed. For a woman who was always so well-presented, she stopped caring about how she looked. She stopped caring about the house. From what Casey said, the only thing she seemed to care about was Charlie, who was about three at the time."
"How did you find out about this?" Abby asked.
"I used to talk to Casey regularly. I'd call, I'd sometimes write. This was before Casey gave up on writing letters," Dan added as an afterthought. "He mentioned that Lisa was 'having a hard time' dealing with her dad's death but he didn't say how bad it was. In fact, he didn't let much slip about it at all."
"Hmm?"
"But that summer, I interned in LA, staying at a college friend's place." Dan stood up and walked over to the bed. Sitting down, he continued. "So, I saw first hand how little effort Casey was putting into work."
"What was happening?"
"Casey was coming in late in the mornings. He was taking long lunches. He was leaving as early as he could. Dana told me what was going on."
***
After the fifth day of Casey not showing up on time, Dan decided to track down someone who knew what was going on -- in other words, Dana. He spotted her, holding an armful of tapes and talking to the executive producer.
He waited until they were done and then fell into step beside her. "Can I talk to you?"
"I've got a busy day, Dan. Make it quick." Dana huffed up at her fringe, trying to blow it out of her eyes. It was a stylish cut, but the fringe hung below her eyebrows. She seemed to spend a lot of time pushing it out of the way.
"What's going on with Casey?"
She stopped. "What?"
"Fifth day in a row he hasn't turned up. Casey's middle name is conscientious. What's going on?"
Dana started walking again, leading him to the sound recording room. "Casey Conscientious McCall? I guess it isn't any worse than James."
"Dana, you've known him longer than anyone," Dan said as she closed the door behind them.
Sighing, she nodded. "Lisa's... She's going through a bad time."
Dan stared at her. "So why is Casey late?"
"He's spending time with Lisa." Dana crossed her arms, giving a strange shrug. "He won't tell me much, but from what he's said, she's not coping. She's not coping with looking after Charlie and running the house, so Casey's trying to do more. If you have any idea of Casey's domestic talents, you understand why he's putting in fewer hours at the office."
Dan chuckled despite himself. "Casey's far from being the domestic ideal."
"Yeah, but he's worried about her and he's trying to help," Dana said, scowling at the tapes in her hand. "I can't fault him for that."
Dan nodded slowly. "Is there anything we can do to help?"
Shooting him a grateful look, Dana thrust two tapes into his hands. "You could do the shot sheets that Casey was supposed to get done this morning."
***
"It continued like that for weeks. Casey worked hard, when he was there," Dan said, stretching back on the bed, "but he was putting in minimum hours while Dana and I covered for him. Eventually, I got sick of it. I thought he was overreacting."
"Yeah?"
Dan winced. "I pretty much forced him to prove it to me."
"How?"
"He was going home every day for lunch, so I started bothering him to have lunch with me. I'd been there for about a month and I only saw him around the office, usually when he was too busy to chat." Dan sighed tiredly. "So I bugged him to come out to lunch."
"But he said he was going home?"
"Yeah, so I suggested going home with him for lunch."
"Was it as bad as Casey said?"
"It was worse. Lisa kept the house spotless -- freakishly, clinically spotless. The place was a mess. Take out cartons on the floor, a pile of washing on the couch, and the ironing board sitting in the middle of the living room with a tower of shirts on it. Casey had warned me that it was Friday, so he'd clean everything up on the weekend, but still."
Dan paused, remembering his pure shock at the sight. "Middle of the day and the curtains were closed. And Lisa was sitting on the couch watching TV, wearing sweats and no make up. It was very possible she hadn't even brushed her hair. Seriously, it was like stepping into Bizarro World."
"Comic reference?" Abby asked cautiously.
"Yeah," Dan replied, "universe of opposites kind of thing."
"Ah," Abby said, understanding the allusion.
"The real warning was in the car. Casey stopped in his driveway, flipped down the mirror and fussed with his hair."
"That was a warning?"
"It is for Casey. It's this thing he does when he's nervous, when he wants to make a good impression. If he's worried about an upcoming segment, he'll do it during the C-break. He'll go out the back and try to flick the front of his hair up," Dan explained, mimicking the gesture as he tried to figure out how to explain it. "He brushes his hand across his forehead, and up, like it makes any difference to his hair. But if he's nervous, if he needs to get his game-face on, he'll stand in front of a mirror and fuss."
"And he did that before seeing Lisa?"
"You shouldn't need your game-face to talk to your wife. If you're sharing the same bed, you shouldn't need to prepare yourself just to talk to the person," Dan said forcefully. "They should know you well enough to give you a little leeway."
Abby was quiet for a moment, and then she asked, "Did Casey frequently worry about what Lisa would think of him?"
"Yeah, but..." Dan bobbed his head from side to side as he thought. "Not to that extent. I have a feeling Casey guessed how Lisa would react to me being there."
"She didn't appreciate it?"
"She was *furious*. Absolutely furious that Casey had brought someone home, that Casey had allowed anyone to see her and the house like that. Casey was in the doghouse for about a week over that one. Sleeping on the couch and everything." Breathing deeply, Dan fingered the bed covers. "I've got to say one thing for Lisa. She's one of the few people who can hold a grudge better than Casey. She really knew how to dole out the emotional punishment."
"What did she do?"
"About a week and a half later, she went to stay with her mother. In Texas."
***
Dan looked up as someone dropped a bag on the desk. Casey was blinking at him. "Why are you sitting at my desk?"
"Because I'm an intern and my desk is tiny. In fact, it's non-existent," Dan replied. "Besides, you're never in at this time of morning."
Casey nodded. "Fair enough."
"Hey, why are you in early?"
"Technically, I'm on time."
"Which, these days, *is* early for you."
Casey smiled weakly. "Yeah, well. A change is as good as a holiday, right?"
Narrowing his eyes, Dan watched Casey avoid eye contact. "What's up?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"What's up?"
"Danny, let's not do this," Casey said, rubbing hard at the back of his neck. "I just want to get through today."
That was a warning sign. A big one. Dan stood up and stepped closer to Casey. "What happened? Is Lisa still holding a grudge about me coming over?"
Casey's face went through an uncomfortable series of expressions, stopping halfway between a sneer and a grimace. "Not really."
"Talk," Dan ordered, not caring that Casey was five years older and a supposed professional.
Casey opened his mouth and closed it again.
"Talk, Casey." Dan settled back on his heels and crossed his arms. "You know I'm not going to let you get any work done until you do, so you might as well make this easy on both of us."
Casey was silent for a long moment, then he spoke softly. "Lisa's going to stay at her mom's."
Dan felt his eyes go wide. "You two are splitting up?"
"No," Casey said hastily, shaking his head. "It's temporary. Short-term only."
"How short?"
"I don't know," Casey replied, sounding helpless. Shrugging, Casey leaned back against the plaster wall. "Lisa didn't say."
"What happened?"
Staring at the carpet, Casey recited, "Lisa said that she needs her family. That she's not getting a grip on what happened and she's sick of it. She's sick of feeling like a bad wife and a bad mother. She thinks that with a bit of family support, she'll get over it."
Dan rolled his neck, trying to understand what was going on. "When is she going down?"
"She organized a flight for tomorrow."
"Okay," Dan said, nodding. Then he thought of Charlie and frowned. "What are you going to do about childcare? Charlie can't come into the office with you."
Casey's face fell. "She's taking Charlie with her."
***
"That was the real kicker," Dan said. "Casey wasn't earning that much in LA. He didn't earn much in Lone Star, either, because it was a small show on a small network. It wasn't until he got Sports Night that his salary really jumped. And it did jump considerably."
"How does that relate to Lisa?" Abby asked, trying to get him back on topic.
"Casey didn't have the money to spare to fly down every weekend. He was providing for Lisa's living expenses in Austin, as well as his expenses in LA, and he ended up only flying down every two or three weeks. It killed him not to see Charlie."
"But they didn't break up?"
"No. She returned," Dan said lowly, "but everyone could see things weren't the same."
"How had things changed?"
"She spent three months swanning around in Austin. Casey spent three months being almost single, going out with the crew because there was no one waiting for him at home. Staying out drinking, making friends with the people he worked with. Even flirting with Dana," Dan said.
"That started in LA?" Abby asked curiously.
"And reared its ugly head in Dallas, too. Casey would flirt with her for a week or so, and then apologize. He'd be ashamed for about a month, and then it would start again." Dan sat up on the bed, shifting restlessly. He didn't want to talk about Dana and Casey. "If you ask me, the real problem was that Casey became a 'them'."
"What?"
"I think Lisa redefined the 'us' team, with her and Charlie and her family on one side, and Casey and everyone else on the other. She was colder than ever when she came back."
"Do you think that was the start of their divorce?"
Dan shook his head. "Casey said it started when he chose Lone Star over Late Night. Which would have been, oh, about six months after she came back. It might have contributed, but I don't think it was the reason."
"Huh."
"What?"
"So when you said you weren't like Lisa," Abby said, and Dan could just picture her leaning forward in her chair, about to spring a question on him, "what did you mean?"
"Didn't I just explain that?"
"Did you mean that you weren't going to be depressed for months?" she pushed. "Because that's not really something you can promise."
"I meant he shouldn't feel that he has to do everything for me," Dan said.
"Are you sure?"
"Pretty sure."
"You didn't possibly mean that you wouldn't act like Lisa, that you wouldn't leave when things got difficult?"
Dan snorted. "Casey knows I wouldn't abandon him like she did."
"Abandon?" Abby asked archly. "Interesting word choice."
"Look, I meant that he doesn't need to pussyfoot around me," Dan said clearly. "I'm not going to suddenly up and disappear. I don't need him to put his life on hold. I'm not Lisa."
"Huh."
"You know that's really irritating when you do that," Dan complained.
"Do what?"
"Go 'huh' as if you know exactly what's going on inside my head."
"I don't know *exactly* what's going on, but I am getting a rough idea." Abby paused. "I'm going to have to go soon. When are you back in the city?"
"I'm driving back tomorrow. I'm sick of standing around like the spare son," Dan said dryly.
"Do you want to meet me on Sunday?"
"Gee. Therapy. On a day-off." Dan couldn't help the sarcasm. "How can I resist?"
"I'll buy you a pretzel. You must have missed those."
Dan almost grinned. "You'll need to offer more than a pretzel to tempt me."
"What about two?"
Snorting in amusement, Dan gave in. "Okay. I'll see you Sunday. But you're buying me two pretzels. And a hot dog."
Abby laughed. "It's a deal. Meet me at my office, at midday."
"I'll see you then."
***
***
"Hey," Dan said as he answered the phone, "did you know Sugar Ray Leonard was the only boxer who won titles in five different weight classes?"
Abby let out a short, amused snort. "I can safely say I didn't know that."
"Over a decade, he won titles from welterweight to light heavyweight. Mind you, two of those titles were won for the same fight, but it's still impressive."
"If you're a boxing fan."
Dan rolled his eyes, flicking through the book in his hands. "You've heard of Muhammad Ali, right?"
"Yeah," Abby said, "but that doesn't change the fact that boxing's an exercise in violence."
"See, that's what I don't get. Everyone's heard of Ali, everyone will nod and say he's a great athlete, and then they add this little disclaimer that boxing is too violent."
"It is violent. The entire sport revolves around beating someone else up."
"It's an Olympic sport."
"It's still violent."
"It's a *practical* sport."
"Practical?" Abby asked doubtfully.
"Practical, useful. How many times do people actually use hockey sticks or javelins in real life? Not to mention the total uselessness of synchronized diving." Dan closed the book, running his fingers over the creased paper cover. "Using your fists to defend yourself? That's a skill that goes back centuries."
Abby sighed. "If you say so, Dan."
"There's quite a bit of skill to the sport. People generalize it, as if it's a bunch of idiots who only care about how hard they can hit something. There's more to it than that," Dan said, warming to his subject. "There's strategy and psyching out your opponent and... other stuff."
"Other stuff?"
"Stuff that involves thinking and planning as well as good instincts," Dan tried hopefully, waving his free hand as he spoke. "Stuff, that someone who knows more than I do about boxing, would be able to explain to you."
"So right now I just have to take your word for it?"
Dan grinned. "Yes, you do."
"Fine," Abby conceded. "Do you want to tell me why we're debating the merits of boxing?"
"Because you don't appreciate the nuances of the sport?"
"Why did you bring it up?"
"I'm reading Leonard's biography. I thought it was an interesting and little known fact."
"That he won five weight titles?"
"Light heavyweight, super middleweight, middleweight, junior middleweight and welterweight. It's impressive."
"Okay," Abby said slowly. "Is this something you usually do?"
"What?"
"Sit around reading athlete's biographies?"
"Not really." Dan shrugged. "But I'm bored and there's a lack of interesting stuff to read in Mom's place. Unless, you know, I want to learn the lost arts of cooking and knitting."
"Those aren't lost arts."
"They are to most guys, and there's a good reason for that," Dan replied.
Abby laughed. "Okay, so to escape the dire fate of learning basic housekeeping skills, you bought a book on a famous boxer?"
"I'll have you know I *can* cook. I'm not world-standard, but I can cook a lot more than Casey."
"Okay."
"And I didn't buy the book. I spotted it sitting at the back of the bookshelf." Dan looked over at the book sitting beside him. It had obviously been read many times. "I think Dad's had it almost as long as Charlie's been alive."
"Your dad's a boxing fan, isn't he?" Abby asked, knowing full-well that he was. Dan tried not to let that bother him.
"I've already told you that he was."
"How is your father?"
"He's doing fine." Dan craned his neck back, taking in the plain white ceiling. He wasn't surprised. He'd traveled across a lot of states and he'd never found a hotel that didn't believe in white ceiling paint. "If he's not sleeping, he's surrounded by half a dozen people all wanting to catch up."
"Have you talked to him?"
Dan grimaced. "I was around when Dad got home and I've been around since, but... There's a lot of people around that he actually enjoys talking to. It seems like a waste of time for me to sit there awkwardly."
"That isn't a reason to avoid talking to him," Abby rebuked softly.
"I've got nothing to say to the guy."
"I don't believe in the Easter Bunny or Santa Claus. I'm not going to believe that."
"I'm sure Santa must be sad to hear that," Dan joked.
"What about the things you never told him?" Abby asked. Dan snorted. "You said that there were all these things you'd never told him."
"Doesn't mean I'm going to tell him. It just means there's stuff I *haven't* told him."
"Dan--"
"Look, I tried, okay? I tried to tell him and nothing came out." Running a hand over his hair, Dan sighed. "I'm not about to repeat that experience."
***
Dan leaned against the open doorway, watching his father sleep. Away from the machines that went 'ping!' and 'beeeep', the sight was far less frightening. His father still looked pale and old, but he'd lost the frightening sheen he'd gained under the harsh hospital lights. Of course, it was also reassuring that the man in question was snoring loudly and tucked under a floral bedspread.
In his childhood, Dan had been able to hear his father snoring at night. He could remember listening to the regular pattern as it grew louder and louder, and then suddenly stopped. Sometimes, it was so loud that it even woke his father up. His father would grumble "What, what is it?" and he and Sam would try not to giggle too loudly.
Dan stood up, ready to go back downstairs, but his father's snores grew suddenly silent. "Danny?" his father asked grumpily, rubbing at his eyes. "Why are you skulking in the doorway? Either step into the room or don't."
"I was just checking if you were awake," Dan said, stepping inside the room. A couple of chairs had been dragged over to the bedside, but Dan didn't want to sit down.
His father started to pull himself into a sitting position and then winced and lay back down. "Why?"
"Mom asked me to keep an eye on you."
"Oh."
Dan looked around the room, eyes skimming over the solid wooden furniture, the matching floral curtains and bedspread, the old black and white television that had been moved up here while Dad recovered. "So..."
"Yeah?"
"Are you feeling alright?" Dan asked lamely. There was so much he should say, but he had no idea how to say it.
"Apart from my whole chest area," his dad replied tersely, "I'm fine."
"Ah." Dan noticed that he was starting to fidget, starting to wring his hands nervously. He hid his arms behind his back.
"You really had nothing to say?"
Keeping his hands behind his back, Dan shrugged. "Yeah."
His father was quiet for a long moment. "You know, Danny..." His dad looked like he was about to say something, and then changed his mind. "Is David around?"
"He got here about half an hour ago," Dan said, relieved to be able to have a sensible answer. "He's downstairs. I could get him, if you want."
His father nodded. "Thanks, Danny."
***
"It was so awkward," Dan said with a shake of his head. "A few days ago I was thinking about all this stuff that I had to tell him, that he had to know, and then I'm standing there, and wishing I was miles away. Wondering why I came down there in the first place."
"You know why you did."
"Yeah, because Mom sounded like she needed the support. I mean, not my support, specifically," Dan added quickly, "but a show of family support."
"You only came down because your mom needed you?" Abby asked carefully.
"Dad's fine, he's recovering well. Mom's fine, she's got David and Susie." Dan shrugged. "I don't need to be here."
"You're there because people gather together in a crisis."
"The crisis has come and gone, Abby. People have gathered and now it's time for them to un-gather and go their separate ways."
"You don't want to be there anymore?"
"I don't like... It's not that I don't like my family," Dan said, staring at the boxing paperback, "I just don't like spending time with them. I don't like the way it makes me feel."
"Which is?"
"It makes me feel... I don't know, okay?" He drew in a shuddering breath and stopped talking. Raising a hand to rub at his temples, Dan covered his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was far too pleading for comfort. "Abby, I don't want to talk about this."
"Okay. Let's talk about something else."
That sounded easier. "Like what?"
"Like Casey," Abby suggested.
"Abby--" Dan started, feeling himself panic at the thought. Grabbing at the bottle of water sitting on the table, he downed it in rushed gulps. He didn't fool himself into thinking she wasn't noticing his over-reaction to that idea.
"Tell me about Lisa."
He finished swallowing and gained some semblance of self-control. "What about her?"
"When you fought with Casey, you told him you weren't like Lisa," Abby said calmly. "What did you mean by that?"
"For a start, we don't share shoe sizes."
"What's the real story?"
"This happened years ago," Dan said, sitting down and screwing the lid back on the bottle of water. "When I first met Casey, he was working at a station in Boston. I was at Dartmouth, and I did an internship at his station."
He'd told Abby this before. Apparently, she remembered. "And then he got the job in LA, right?"
"Yeah. He got me a couple summer internships over there too, which was how I met Dana."
"Okay."
"Anyway, he'd been married to Lisa for about four years when her father died."
"Was it unexpected?"
"Not really." Dan shrugged. "He'd been diagnosed with cancer so it was sort of a long, slow affair. I mean, the way Lisa reacted, you'd think none of them had known about it."
"She took it badly?"
"She didn't just take it badly, she crumpled." Dan let out a slow sigh, almost feeling bad about badmouthing Lisa to someone who didn't know her. It was different with Dana and Casey: they'd had first hand knowledge of the icy cow. "You need to understand about Lisa. Anyone who thinks Casey is self-contained and standoff-ish, hasn't met Lisa. She didn't just keep her distance, she put up walls."
"You weren't on friendly terms with her, were you?"
"She divided the world into 'us' and 'them', which isn't a crime in and of itself. But she only confided, only relaxed, around other 'us's." Dan scowled at the window. "She made it very clear that I was always going to be part of 'them'."
"What do you mean?"
"I was at their wedding," Dan said, "and never once did she relax around me. She always kept the conversation polite and impersonal. She never relaxed, she never laughed; she'd just do this weird smile thing and half-nod."
"Maybe she just wasn't demonstrative?"
"No," Dan said firmly, "she was, she just kept it hidden from the world at large."
"How do you know?"
"I used to spot her and Casey, when they thought they were out of sight. She'd laugh and she'd beam at him, and I swear you wouldn't have realized it was the same person." Dan paused, remembering one particular party in Boston. "There was one party where the pair of them had snuck into the study. I got lost looking for the bathroom and spotted them."
***
He'd turned left when he should have turned right, he was sure of it. He just needed to go back this corridor and the bathroom should be somewhere on the left, Dan thought as he retraced his steps. Then he heard the sound of a woman laughing and noticed the door to his right was ajar.
Rolling his eyes to himself, Dan started to walk again. Then he heard a familiar male voice and his curiosity got the better of him.
He eased the door open silently and peered around the softly lit room. Casey was standing, facing the desk, head ducked down to talk in some girl's ear. Casey started to sway, shifting his weight from foot to foot, and held his hands up as if he was waltzing. Dan watched with a sinking feeling, then Casey turned around, girl in arm, and Dan recognised Lisa.
From the wide smile on her pretty face, she must have been pretty tipsy. In typical Lisa fashion, her hair was still curl-perfect, her make-up not at all smudged, and the simple linen dress she wore seemed unbelievably wrinkle-free. Dan was sure it required a pact with the devil to always look that well-groomed.
Dan was too far away to hear what they were murmuring to each other, but he could hear Lisa laugh, a sound Dan was certain he'd never heard her make before. Casey started dusting light kisses against her forehead, her cheeks and one on her nose, which made her laugh again. Their dancing slowed as Lisa wrapped her arms around Casey's neck. Then they were kissing, like any happy couple in love, and Casey's hands were sliding over her hips.
Lisa murmured something in Casey's ear and his eyes shot across to the door. He spotted Dan.
"Hey," Dan said, trying to sound casual.
Casey's back straightened, but Lisa was the one that pulled away fast. She took two quick steps away from Casey and turned to face Dan. "Hi, Dan," she said and Dan couldn't see any trace of the former smile.
Casey was blushing, like the overgrown Midwestern boy that he was. "We were just..."
"Taking a break from the crowds?" Dan suggested.
"Yeah." Casey nodded and looked to Lisa. "But I think we'll be heading home, right?"
"I think so," she replied coolly. "You don't need a ride back, do you, Dan?"
"Nah, I'm good," Dan said with a casual wave.
***
"She didn't know you very well," Abby said. "Maybe she was just shy."
"She knew me ten years," Dan replied. "Lisa's known me longer than Natalie has, and Natalie knows me ten times better."
"So how does this relate to her losing her father?"
"You get that she was very self-contained, right? Well groomed and so impossible to touch," Dan said in a tone so bitter it surprised him. "When she lost her father, she got really depressed. And I mean, *really* depressed. For a woman who was always so well-presented, she stopped caring about how she looked. She stopped caring about the house. From what Casey said, the only thing she seemed to care about was Charlie, who was about three at the time."
"How did you find out about this?" Abby asked.
"I used to talk to Casey regularly. I'd call, I'd sometimes write. This was before Casey gave up on writing letters," Dan added as an afterthought. "He mentioned that Lisa was 'having a hard time' dealing with her dad's death but he didn't say how bad it was. In fact, he didn't let much slip about it at all."
"Hmm?"
"But that summer, I interned in LA, staying at a college friend's place." Dan stood up and walked over to the bed. Sitting down, he continued. "So, I saw first hand how little effort Casey was putting into work."
"What was happening?"
"Casey was coming in late in the mornings. He was taking long lunches. He was leaving as early as he could. Dana told me what was going on."
***
After the fifth day of Casey not showing up on time, Dan decided to track down someone who knew what was going on -- in other words, Dana. He spotted her, holding an armful of tapes and talking to the executive producer.
He waited until they were done and then fell into step beside her. "Can I talk to you?"
"I've got a busy day, Dan. Make it quick." Dana huffed up at her fringe, trying to blow it out of her eyes. It was a stylish cut, but the fringe hung below her eyebrows. She seemed to spend a lot of time pushing it out of the way.
"What's going on with Casey?"
She stopped. "What?"
"Fifth day in a row he hasn't turned up. Casey's middle name is conscientious. What's going on?"
Dana started walking again, leading him to the sound recording room. "Casey Conscientious McCall? I guess it isn't any worse than James."
"Dana, you've known him longer than anyone," Dan said as she closed the door behind them.
Sighing, she nodded. "Lisa's... She's going through a bad time."
Dan stared at her. "So why is Casey late?"
"He's spending time with Lisa." Dana crossed her arms, giving a strange shrug. "He won't tell me much, but from what he's said, she's not coping. She's not coping with looking after Charlie and running the house, so Casey's trying to do more. If you have any idea of Casey's domestic talents, you understand why he's putting in fewer hours at the office."
Dan chuckled despite himself. "Casey's far from being the domestic ideal."
"Yeah, but he's worried about her and he's trying to help," Dana said, scowling at the tapes in her hand. "I can't fault him for that."
Dan nodded slowly. "Is there anything we can do to help?"
Shooting him a grateful look, Dana thrust two tapes into his hands. "You could do the shot sheets that Casey was supposed to get done this morning."
***
"It continued like that for weeks. Casey worked hard, when he was there," Dan said, stretching back on the bed, "but he was putting in minimum hours while Dana and I covered for him. Eventually, I got sick of it. I thought he was overreacting."
"Yeah?"
Dan winced. "I pretty much forced him to prove it to me."
"How?"
"He was going home every day for lunch, so I started bothering him to have lunch with me. I'd been there for about a month and I only saw him around the office, usually when he was too busy to chat." Dan sighed tiredly. "So I bugged him to come out to lunch."
"But he said he was going home?"
"Yeah, so I suggested going home with him for lunch."
"Was it as bad as Casey said?"
"It was worse. Lisa kept the house spotless -- freakishly, clinically spotless. The place was a mess. Take out cartons on the floor, a pile of washing on the couch, and the ironing board sitting in the middle of the living room with a tower of shirts on it. Casey had warned me that it was Friday, so he'd clean everything up on the weekend, but still."
Dan paused, remembering his pure shock at the sight. "Middle of the day and the curtains were closed. And Lisa was sitting on the couch watching TV, wearing sweats and no make up. It was very possible she hadn't even brushed her hair. Seriously, it was like stepping into Bizarro World."
"Comic reference?" Abby asked cautiously.
"Yeah," Dan replied, "universe of opposites kind of thing."
"Ah," Abby said, understanding the allusion.
"The real warning was in the car. Casey stopped in his driveway, flipped down the mirror and fussed with his hair."
"That was a warning?"
"It is for Casey. It's this thing he does when he's nervous, when he wants to make a good impression. If he's worried about an upcoming segment, he'll do it during the C-break. He'll go out the back and try to flick the front of his hair up," Dan explained, mimicking the gesture as he tried to figure out how to explain it. "He brushes his hand across his forehead, and up, like it makes any difference to his hair. But if he's nervous, if he needs to get his game-face on, he'll stand in front of a mirror and fuss."
"And he did that before seeing Lisa?"
"You shouldn't need your game-face to talk to your wife. If you're sharing the same bed, you shouldn't need to prepare yourself just to talk to the person," Dan said forcefully. "They should know you well enough to give you a little leeway."
Abby was quiet for a moment, and then she asked, "Did Casey frequently worry about what Lisa would think of him?"
"Yeah, but..." Dan bobbed his head from side to side as he thought. "Not to that extent. I have a feeling Casey guessed how Lisa would react to me being there."
"She didn't appreciate it?"
"She was *furious*. Absolutely furious that Casey had brought someone home, that Casey had allowed anyone to see her and the house like that. Casey was in the doghouse for about a week over that one. Sleeping on the couch and everything." Breathing deeply, Dan fingered the bed covers. "I've got to say one thing for Lisa. She's one of the few people who can hold a grudge better than Casey. She really knew how to dole out the emotional punishment."
"What did she do?"
"About a week and a half later, she went to stay with her mother. In Texas."
***
Dan looked up as someone dropped a bag on the desk. Casey was blinking at him. "Why are you sitting at my desk?"
"Because I'm an intern and my desk is tiny. In fact, it's non-existent," Dan replied. "Besides, you're never in at this time of morning."
Casey nodded. "Fair enough."
"Hey, why are you in early?"
"Technically, I'm on time."
"Which, these days, *is* early for you."
Casey smiled weakly. "Yeah, well. A change is as good as a holiday, right?"
Narrowing his eyes, Dan watched Casey avoid eye contact. "What's up?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"What's up?"
"Danny, let's not do this," Casey said, rubbing hard at the back of his neck. "I just want to get through today."
That was a warning sign. A big one. Dan stood up and stepped closer to Casey. "What happened? Is Lisa still holding a grudge about me coming over?"
Casey's face went through an uncomfortable series of expressions, stopping halfway between a sneer and a grimace. "Not really."
"Talk," Dan ordered, not caring that Casey was five years older and a supposed professional.
Casey opened his mouth and closed it again.
"Talk, Casey." Dan settled back on his heels and crossed his arms. "You know I'm not going to let you get any work done until you do, so you might as well make this easy on both of us."
Casey was silent for a long moment, then he spoke softly. "Lisa's going to stay at her mom's."
Dan felt his eyes go wide. "You two are splitting up?"
"No," Casey said hastily, shaking his head. "It's temporary. Short-term only."
"How short?"
"I don't know," Casey replied, sounding helpless. Shrugging, Casey leaned back against the plaster wall. "Lisa didn't say."
"What happened?"
Staring at the carpet, Casey recited, "Lisa said that she needs her family. That she's not getting a grip on what happened and she's sick of it. She's sick of feeling like a bad wife and a bad mother. She thinks that with a bit of family support, she'll get over it."
Dan rolled his neck, trying to understand what was going on. "When is she going down?"
"She organized a flight for tomorrow."
"Okay," Dan said, nodding. Then he thought of Charlie and frowned. "What are you going to do about childcare? Charlie can't come into the office with you."
Casey's face fell. "She's taking Charlie with her."
***
"That was the real kicker," Dan said. "Casey wasn't earning that much in LA. He didn't earn much in Lone Star, either, because it was a small show on a small network. It wasn't until he got Sports Night that his salary really jumped. And it did jump considerably."
"How does that relate to Lisa?" Abby asked, trying to get him back on topic.
"Casey didn't have the money to spare to fly down every weekend. He was providing for Lisa's living expenses in Austin, as well as his expenses in LA, and he ended up only flying down every two or three weeks. It killed him not to see Charlie."
"But they didn't break up?"
"No. She returned," Dan said lowly, "but everyone could see things weren't the same."
"How had things changed?"
"She spent three months swanning around in Austin. Casey spent three months being almost single, going out with the crew because there was no one waiting for him at home. Staying out drinking, making friends with the people he worked with. Even flirting with Dana," Dan said.
"That started in LA?" Abby asked curiously.
"And reared its ugly head in Dallas, too. Casey would flirt with her for a week or so, and then apologize. He'd be ashamed for about a month, and then it would start again." Dan sat up on the bed, shifting restlessly. He didn't want to talk about Dana and Casey. "If you ask me, the real problem was that Casey became a 'them'."
"What?"
"I think Lisa redefined the 'us' team, with her and Charlie and her family on one side, and Casey and everyone else on the other. She was colder than ever when she came back."
"Do you think that was the start of their divorce?"
Dan shook his head. "Casey said it started when he chose Lone Star over Late Night. Which would have been, oh, about six months after she came back. It might have contributed, but I don't think it was the reason."
"Huh."
"What?"
"So when you said you weren't like Lisa," Abby said, and Dan could just picture her leaning forward in her chair, about to spring a question on him, "what did you mean?"
"Didn't I just explain that?"
"Did you mean that you weren't going to be depressed for months?" she pushed. "Because that's not really something you can promise."
"I meant he shouldn't feel that he has to do everything for me," Dan said.
"Are you sure?"
"Pretty sure."
"You didn't possibly mean that you wouldn't act like Lisa, that you wouldn't leave when things got difficult?"
Dan snorted. "Casey knows I wouldn't abandon him like she did."
"Abandon?" Abby asked archly. "Interesting word choice."
"Look, I meant that he doesn't need to pussyfoot around me," Dan said clearly. "I'm not going to suddenly up and disappear. I don't need him to put his life on hold. I'm not Lisa."
"Huh."
"You know that's really irritating when you do that," Dan complained.
"Do what?"
"Go 'huh' as if you know exactly what's going on inside my head."
"I don't know *exactly* what's going on, but I am getting a rough idea." Abby paused. "I'm going to have to go soon. When are you back in the city?"
"I'm driving back tomorrow. I'm sick of standing around like the spare son," Dan said dryly.
"Do you want to meet me on Sunday?"
"Gee. Therapy. On a day-off." Dan couldn't help the sarcasm. "How can I resist?"
"I'll buy you a pretzel. You must have missed those."
Dan almost grinned. "You'll need to offer more than a pretzel to tempt me."
"What about two?"
Snorting in amusement, Dan gave in. "Okay. I'll see you Sunday. But you're buying me two pretzels. And a hot dog."
Abby laughed. "It's a deal. Meet me at my office, at midday."
"I'll see you then."
***
no subject
Date: 2004-10-23 09:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-10-24 02:49 pm (UTC)*nods* I tend to recite stuff inside my head, and practice it, and then totally lose my nerve when the occasion strikes. Of course, it always seems to work out in the long run.