|
It's almost seven in the morning on November 24th. It's not their anniversary
anymore.
Casey squints into the sun. It's particularly red. He can't remember if that
means rain or extra pollution or what, but he can't be bothered to look it up
right now.
They don't see too many sunrises in their line of work.
Five years.
You're too tangled up with Dan. It's as clear as if Lisa said it a second
ago, not five years...five years and two days. I can't believe you! If you're
that attached, ask him to come to New York with us! He can be Ed McMahon or
whatever.
"He's my partner, dammit," he tells the empty air, "not my
sidekick. And he's more of a partner in any given five minutes than you
were--"
But he stops himself, just like he always does. He has to be fair. He can't dump
it all on Lisa; their marriage was a disaster because both of them failed it.
Something suspiciously like a headache is building between his eyes, and he rubs
them, agitated.
What has fairness ever gotten him?
Shared custody and his lawyer on speed-dial.
He spends so much time being fair and unthreatening, someone his ex-wife won't
argue with and his son won't be ashamed of and his viewers won't switch channels
on, that the important things get left behind. He has two landmark moments in
his life: the day Charlie was born and the day he and Dan began their on-air
partnership.
"Asshole," he tells his red-tinged reflection.
"Huh?"
He spins around. "Danny!"
"Was that directed at anyone in particular?" Dan squints out the
window. "Did some random cabbie irritate you?"
"No. Just arguing with myself. Dan, I'm sorry I forgot."
Dan's eyes light up. "So you were calling yourself an asshole?"
Casey shrugs.
"In that case, then, you're forgiven." Dan claps him on the shoulder.
For just a second, his grin slips and his eyes look serious. "You're always
much better at torturing yourself than any of the rest of us could hope to
be."
You have no idea, Casey thinks. And you never will. "What are
you doing here, anyway?"
"Couldn't sleep. Called you. You weren't home. I figured you were still
here, brooding."
"I never brood." Casey pointedly ignores Dan's snort. "I was just
watching the sunrise."
"And brooding."
"Shut up, Rydell."
Dan snorts again. "I'll grant you that it's a nice sunrise." He
narrows his eyes against the sun, and Casey narrows his against the effect Dan
has on him. Standing shoulder to shoulder with Casey, slightly distracted and
watching the sun rise, Dan is--he's--
There aren't any words. Just an ache in his chest to match the one in his head.
Casey deliberately looks away, before he's tempted to do something incredibly
stupid like admit what he's feeling and ruin a decade-old friendship.
"Happy anniversary," he says instead, and Dan's laugh goes a long way
towards making today better than yesterday.
"Happy anniversary, partner."
--the end--