Go Thy Way, Daniel

by Marguerite1

Dan's delicate spiral, seen through the eyes of his closest friend. Possible Season 3 opener.

GO THY WAY, DANIEL

Classification: D/C friendship, some C/Dana but not really, angst.
Summary: Dan's delicate spiral, through the eyes of his closest friend.
Spoilers: All 45 beautiful episodes. Our story begins some six weeks after "Quo
Vadimus."

Thanks to Ryo, Anna, and Ria for the kind of beta you only get from people who
love you enough to tell the truth. I love you, too.



*
Go thy way, Daniel; for the words are shut up and sealed till the time of the
end.
*

"Take your time, organize your thoughts. I know this is difficult."

Casey couldn't decide if Abby's eyes were blue or green. He knew Dan liked her,
which was good enough for him, and that Dan trusted her, which would be good
enough for any ten people. In spite of that, he still had a gut-level uneasiness
about having called her, something that made him want to watch his step, to ask
questions.

"I'm just saying, couldn't this be seen as some sort of violation of
doctor-patient privilege?" Casey tapped his fingertips on the polished wood of
Abby's desk, watching her slowly swivel back and forth as she considered her
reply.

"Not under these circumstances. You came to me because you wanted to tell me
some things that might help me evaluate Dan's condition. I'm just getting
additional insight from someone who cares about him enough to take the risk."

"You're good," Casey said, pointing at Abby until he realized his finger was
trembling. He smacked one fist into the palm of the other hand for emphasis.
"You can tell."

Abby stilled her chair and leaned forward. "I don't have to be a genius to
figure it out. You called me, remember? You said you were worried and you wanted
to help. That's quite a risk to take, and it's a sign of a very deep
friendship."

He hoped it was. The sick feeling that was moving from his stomach to his throat
felt more like the aftermath of a double-cross.

"You're not betraying him," Abby continued, confirming Casey's suspicion that
she could read minds. "Not helping, not calling me - now, that would be a
betrayal."

"I suppose." Casey decided Abby's eyes were blue. Decided he really liked her,
after all. She kept that blue gaze focused on him. He was going to have to come
up with something, to put in words what had only been intuition born of a
long-standing camaraderie. "He was coming out of it right around the time
Continental Corp was sold," Casey began, slowly. "Then, after a few weeks, it
seemed like he got a lot worse. Very fast, as if now that he didn't have to
worry about the whole job situation, he actually had the time to be depressed.
Does that make any sense?"

He was relieved when Abby smiled at him. "It makes perfect sense. I think you're
reading exactly what's been going on in his head. Can you remember how it
started? What brought it to your attention first?"

"I'm not sure where to start." He paused to steady his voice. "I mean, I'm not
sure what the actual beginning was."

"It's not a basketball game, Casey. There's not a coin toss."

"That's football. Basketball, it's a tip-off."

"That's why they pay you to report sports and they pay me to listen to people.
Just find something you think is relevant and tell me about it."

This was it, then. Finding a place in a story and jumping off from there. It was
what he did every day when he came in to write the show.

"There was something about a week ago," he said, closing his eyes. He needed to
visualize the memory so that he could narrate it, like videotaped highlights.
"Dan did this thing when Jeremy came with me into the office."

*
As for me, Daniel, my spirit was pained in the midst of my body, and the
visions of my head affrighted me.
*

Calvin Trager and Quo Vadimus had been the owners of Continental Corporation -
and, by extension, Continental Sports Channel and "Sports Night" itself - for
six weeks. These were the dream times, Dana often told her team, the times when
their only limits were their imaginations and the stupid crap that professional
athletes kept pulling.

No more J.J., no more Luther Sachs. No more notes from suits, asking Casey and
Dan to dumb-down the writing. Paradise.

After the first couple of weeks, "Sports Night" had become nothing short of
miraculous. Article after article called the show witty and incisive,
thought-provoking and informational. Critics praised the brilliance of Dan and
Casey's writing, using the differences between Luther Sachs and Calvin Trager as
an example of how to help talented people produce their very best work.

"Do you even know how to spell laissez-faire, Jeremy?"

"Ouch. You really know how to wound a guy." Jeremy kept walking beside Casey,
putting his hand over his heart as he grinned. "I'm just saying that Quo Vadimus
has adopted a laissez-faire management style, and that it seems to suit you
well."

"I'm enjoying it."

"Dana's enjoying it, too."

In fact, Dana's productions were becoming baroque, now that she had the budget
to experiment and expand. Other benefits were also coming their way. Jeremy and
Natalie had once again found one another, not only increasing their productivity
and making them a lot easier to be around, but also reducing the stress level on
the rest of the team. Even further behind the scenes, Casey and Dana were
warming to one another again after the vicissitudes of the Dating Plan.

Casey and Jeremy rounded the corner and headed for the writing team's office.
"And when Dana enjoys something, we all tend to enjoy it." Casey opened the door
and peered inside. "Well, except Dan."

Dan sat hunched over on the couch, his face in his hands. Wadded-up pieces of
paper surrounded him like a flock of pigeons. Dan's hair was standing on end as
if he had spent hours running his hands through it, and a day's worth of stubble
shadowed his sharp features.

"Calvin Trager's laissez-faire isn't working for you too well, Dan?" Jeremy
inquired with a raised eyebrow.

"It's not laissez-faire if you're in here every ten minutes checking on the work
I've done, especially since I haven't done any, of which I'm sure you'll remind
me sometime in the very near future."

The words rocketed across the room. Caustic, dripping with venom. Far angrier
than the innocuous question warranted, they were enough to make Jeremy
backpedal, hands raised in the air. "Dan, honestly, I didn't--"

Casey glanced at Jeremy, hoping his face registered sympathy, and nodded in the
direction of the door. "Can we have the room?"

"Hey, it's your office." Jeremy departed, ghostlike, letting the door close
behind him.

"It's actually my office," Dan shouted at the glass partition. "Casey's office
is in an undisclosed location. If someone would care to disclose it, then maybe
I could have some peace and quiet around here!"

The sourness in Casey's stomach started to spread. He placed his sweaty palm
against his abdomen, willing the acidity to dissipate. "I just want to write my
part of the show, Danny. I can do it here, or I can do it in the middle of Sixth
Avenue if you prefer, but it's easier to do it here and better if I can do it
with you."

Dan rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, and when he looked up there was, just for
a second, a spark of the old Danny. He didn't speak. His hands shook a little as
he unclasped them. He picked up the legal pad and a pencil and started tapping
the point against the paper.

It was neither first time nor the first day that Dan had been moody and
unreasonable, and Casey's annoyance was simmering, refining itself into anxiety.
Taking his seat at the desk with a deep sigh, Casey typed a few sentences at the
keyboard while stealing glances at his partner. Dan, for his part, was drawing
concentric circles on the paper and filling in alternate layers with the side of
the pencil lead.

Somewhere, in the midst of the rebirth of CSC, Dan had disappeared. Not the
physical presence of the man, but his soul, the joie de vivre that made working
with him for thirteen-hour days a delight.

All that was left of Dan was...this shell.

"Danny?" Casey said softly. An opening.

"Let it go." Terse. Morose. "It's fine. I'll have my segments before the 6:00
rundown. I just need..."

Tell me what you need. Please. Please, Danny, anything but this silence and this
anger. But Casey couldn't say it aloud. Instead, he sat with his hands folded on
the desk, watching as Dan worked through whatever was going on in his head.

"I need some air," Dan said at last. His mouth formed a pale ghost of his usual
smile. "Stretch my legs."

"Okay." Casey spoke slowly. "Listen, we can go grab lunch if you want--"

"I'm not really hungry," Dan cut in. He rocked forward on the couch.
"But...thanks." He got up, lurching a little, and steadied himself on the table.

"Danny." Casey looked over at him, his heart beating far too quickly, far too
loudly, threatening to drown out what was left of his intelligence. "Is
there...can I...?"

Dan paused with his hand on the door. His head was bowed, his face shadowed.
"It's not you, Case," he murmured. "It's me. It's just...me."

An arrow through the heart, burning, tearing, destroying.

"Okay - see you later," he said to Dan's back, to his slumped shoulders.

Casey tried to shake it off. He started to type something about how no one
should be surprised when a 325-pound football player, pumped up by coaches
telling him to "kill" since he was a teenager, was arrested for beating up his
girlfriend. It was normally the sort of story that brought out his most
impassioned writing, but not today. Not when Dan was struggling like this.
Casey's fingers were leaden and his brain foggy. Gray, everywhere. He pushed
away from the desk and went in search of Dan.

It didn't take long to find him stretched out on the sofa in Editing, one arm
flung over his eyes. Elliott was there, too, arguing with Natalie about a couple
of extra seconds of basketball footage, but they clammed up when Casey came in.

"We can do this later," Natalie said, almost shoving Elliott out the door. "See
you guys at the rundown."

"Yeah," Casey said, watching them retreat. He perched on the arm of the sofa and
looked down at Dan's pale, impassive face. "What the hell did I do to you?" he
asked. Brilliant, he scolded himself. Take your frustration out on Danny when
he's hurting. You're such a big man, McCall.

Dan squirmed and turned away, burying his face in the sofa cushions. "Nothing,
Casey."

"Well, then, what the hell did Jeremy do to you? 'Cause you rained pretty hard
on him."

That made Dan sit up and actually look at Casey. No wonder he'd been hiding his
face. Those dark circles under his eyes were really going to challenge Allyson's
skills. "What're you talking about?" Dan asked in a low rumble.

"You unloaded on Jeremy. He made a joke about Trager, and you got a little
unhinged, there."

"What did I say?"

He looked so confounded that Casey had to take a steadying breath before he gave
a recap. "You insinuated that he was checking up on you. That he thinks you're
not doing your job."

The confounded look was replaced by one of painful remorse. "I did that?"

"You don't remember?" Casey asked. Fear was winning out over his anger, making
his hands sweat and his mouth go dry.

Dan groaned.

"Danny, you don't remember? It was, like, ten minutes ago, and you don't
remember?"

"I honestly don't."

They looked at each other, shuddering as if in a sudden chill, trying to read
each other's eyes.

"I have to apologize to him," Dan said as he tottered to his feet.

"That's not all you have to do," Casey added.

"I'm sorry, Casey."

"I didn't mean you had to apologize to me." There it was again, the fear
masquerading as anger, seeping into his tone. Casey counted to three while Dan
stared at him with those dark, anxious eyes. "That's not what I meant, not at
all."

"Then what--?"

"Danny!" Casey spun around and passed Dan, blocking the door with his body.
"Talk to me, man."

"I don't know what you want me to say. My memory's a little fuzzy, sure, but--"

"Cut the crap!" Panic. Grabbing Dan's arms, Casey held tightly, willing him to
feel the desperate pounding of his blood.

"Ow," Dan protested. "What's the matter with you?"

"What's the matter with me? With me?" Casey barked out a humorless, jittery
laugh. He loosened his grip, freeing one hand to touch Dan's shoulder gently.
"It's me. I'm right here."

"I know that," Dan said, shifting, letting a little of his weight rest against
Casey's palm. "You always are."

"Then could you, for the love of God, let me help you?"

It came out louder, more desperate, more terrified than he had wanted. It made
him wince. It made Dan's face crumble.

"Casey," he whispered. He lowered his head, touching it to Casey's shoulder for
a moment. "If I had the faintest damn clue what was going on in my head, then
you'd be the one person I could tell."

Casey patted Dan's back. "Okay."

"I'm going to..." Dan pulled away, ducking under Casey's arm to make his way to
the door. Casey followed a few steps behind. and tried to be comforted when Dan
clasped Jeremy's shoulder and spoke softly to him, making him smile.

Tried to be comforted.

It wasn't working too well.

*
I will read the writing unto the king, and make known to him the
interpretation.
*

"He's gotten better since then."

It had been two weeks since his first visit to Abby's office, and Casey was back
to give her an update "from the foxhole," as it were.

"There were lot of people helping him. He had you, right?"

Casey sighed and shifted in the chair. "I...tried." Still replaying Abby's words
in his head, he brightened. "So you see some improvement?"

Abby shook her head. "You know I can't tell you that, right?"

"Right." Damn. "Well, he seems more willing to talk, and that's a start. And his
writing is on fire, and by that I mean with flames like an Olympic torch."

"I've been watching the show. It's very, very good, Casey."

"But there's this thing. It's not the writing, or the talking. He's..." It hurt
too much to say the words. "He's lost some weight."

"I've been watching the show," Abby said again, only softer. "And Dan comes in
to see me twice a week. I've noticed. It was only a matter of time before you
did, too."

His newest emotion, shame, caught him around the throat. Thickened his tongue.
"I didn't really want to see it," he mumbled. "That sounds incredibly pathetic."

"Not at all. I understand, Casey." So much compassion in those blue eyes, in
that measured, soft-spoken tone. "None of us wants to see it. When did it first
hit you?"

As he had done the first time, Casey closed his eyes. Today he let his fingers
wander over imaginary keys, as if he were writing the story instead of narrating
it aloud. "We have a wardrobe assistant. Her name's Monica Brazelton." Monica
Brazelton, who was not to be trifled with, had made him look.

*
And I set my face unto the Lord God, to seek by prayer and supplication, with
fasting, and sackcloth, and ashes.
*

"We're at the limit on Mr. Rydell's pants."

Casey looked up, startled by the voice and bewildered at the non sequitur. "Hey,
Monica. What is it, exactly, that you're trying to tell me?"

Monica's mouth quivered and turned down at the corners. "There's a limit on how
much we can take clothes in before they lose their structural integrity, Mr.
McCall. And we're at the limit on Mr. Rydell's pants." She held up two leather
belts. "I put new holes in with an awl, but he's going to need clothes from a
boy's department if this keeps up."

Leaning forward with his elbows on the desk, Casey steadied himself. "He's lost
that much weight?"

"You haven't noticed? You're kidding me."

"I'm really not." Casey opened his hands and spread them apart. "He's not a
jockey. I don't do a weigh-in before the 10:00 rundown." Too harsh. She's trying
to help. Change the tone. "Tell me what you've noticed, Monica."

She tucked her hair behind her ears, and Casey could see a pale streak through
her makeup. A tear track. "He's skin and bones," she declared. Casey admired her
for looking him in the eye even though her voice was tremulous. "You can count
his ribs. If he were a dog, the SPCA would file charges against his owner."

"Hey, it's okay..." Casey got up, banging his knee on the desk and hissing
softly at the sharp stab of pain. He put his arm around Monica's shoulders just
as she began to lose control, making hiccuping noises as she sobbed into his
shirt. "When it's cold like this, he wears sweaters a lot. And he doesn't change
clothes in here anymore," he said, half to himself and half to Monica. "He comes
in, already dressed."

"That's because Maureen and I can't keep up with the changes far enough in
advance to get him clothes. Every night we're still taking in his clothes twenty
minutes before air - moving buttons on his jackets, putting more padding in the
shoulders so the sleeves hang right."

"And the thing with the pants," Casey sighed.

Monica nodded, sniffling. "I shouldn't put this on you, Mr. McCall. I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He tightened his embrace. Why hadn't he seen this? What had he
missed, how had he not known, how had he not realized that Dan wasn't just
avoiding eating dinner with him - Dan was avoiding eating at all. "I'll talk to
him."

"Don't tell him I..."

"I'll find another way."

Pulling back from Casey's arms, Monica gave him a watery smile that didn't
register in her blue eyes. "Maureen would kill me."

"I suspect that you may be the power behind Maureen's throne." Monica had
certainly made some home truths known, back when Casey was going through what
Dana called his "emperor phase." It was Casey's turn to force a smile. He hoped
Monica wouldn't call him on the despair behind the expression. "I appreciate
your going out on a limb like this," he said.

Monica shrugged. "I...like him," she whispered. "He's a good man."

"He is, indeed. And a lucky one, having you to look out for him." Casey patted
Monica on the shoulder. "Don't worry. It'll pass."

If only he could believe his own words. But Casey watched out of the corner of
his eye when Dan came into the office and changed into the clothes Monica had
"accidentally" left behind. Dan's skin was waxy and sallow, almost too fragile a
cover for the sharpness of his ribs, the points of his collarbones and shoulder
blades, the steep rise of his hip.

The walking dead.

Danny.

Casey tipped his head back, blinking away the heat and moisture.

Oblivious, Dan buttoned up his shirt, talking offhandedly about a women's
amateur hockey team from Montreal scoring a record number of goals. He stuffed
the shirttail into his pants, which were still big enough to allow a lot of room
for that sort of thing, and zipped himself up. He turned around faster than
Casey expected, before there was time for Casey put on a fake smile instead of
whatever expression was on his face, the one that made Dan stop in mid-sentence.

"Casey?" Dan cocked his head. "You okay, there?"

His laughter felt like dry heaves. "Am I okay?"

"That would be what I asked you, yes." Dan stared at him with dark and sunken
eyes.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

The words hung in the air, frozen. Neither man moved for several agonizing
seconds.

"Casey..."

"When was the last time you ate? Or slept, for that matter?"

"I'm busy," Dan shrugged, lowering his head the way Charlie did when he had a
secret. "I lead a busy life. Sometimes I forget to eat."

"What about sleeping?"

"I sleep just fine, Mom!" Dan slammed his fist down on the table. "I enjoy
sleeping. I wish I could do more of it."

"Isn't there anything you still enjoy, Danny?"

"I really, really enjoy sleeping."

"Do you enjoy Sports Night?" Casey could hardly hear himself talking above the
rush of blood in his ears, and while he couldn't really hear Dan's response he
saw the moué, the slump of his shoulders.

Oh, God, Dan didn't enjoy the show. Dan, who'd once said that anyone who didn't
enjoy Sports Night was probably dead.

*
O my lord, by reason of the vision my pains are come upon me, and I retain no
strength.
*

"Anhedonia."

"I'm sorry?"

"It's called anhedonia," Abby clarified. "It's when a person loses interest in
everything that had formerly been meaningful."

Casey snapped back to attention. He rolled the word around in his mouth, the way
he did when trying to commit new information to memory. "Anhedonia. Sounds like
a country in a Marx Brothers movie."

"Only not so funny."

"Not funny at all, no."

"Does Dan think that anything is funny these days?"

He had to think about it for a moment. "He laughs. Sometimes it even, you
know..." Casey pointed to his own eyes. "We've gone to some movies, and he's
coming out with us to Anthony's after the show most nights."

"So you think he's starting to feel better?"

"I'm seeing some improvement. He's making plans to go to Paris next June for the
Tour de France, even if Trager doesn't pony up. He kids around with Natalie and
Kim. I think he's gone on a few dates, even. So, yeah, I think he's feeling
better." He smiled, feeling the release of the tension in his face. "He's doing
very well. Maybe on his way out of the woods."

Abby's expression wasn't what Casey expected to see. Her mouth was tightly set
and the worry-lines around her eyes were deepening.

"You're not going to like what I have to say to you, Casey."

"The hell--?"

"You need to understand something, and it's a hard thing to explain. It's when
they start to feel better that you have to be most careful with certain
depression patients."

"Most careful, meaning...?"

"That's when, if they're so inclined, they finally have enough energy to kill
themselves. Before, it was too much trouble."

Oh, God.

"You think Danny's going to..." He couldn't make himself finish the sentence.
Resting his arms on the desk, he let his head droop, feeling his breath coming
out in rapid puffs.

"Casey." Abby patted his back. "I just think you need to watch out for him. Make
sure he's got something to occupy himself, something he enjoys. Keep reminding
him that tomorrow's going to be better."

Yes. Absolutely. Tomorrow would be good. Casey bit his lower lip for a moment
and nodded. "We get the advance copy of our GQ interview tomorrow. Danny
was...really on that day. He was smart and hilarious. This will perk him up.
It's going to be a good one."

*

It did not turn out to be a good one. They sat in their office, each with his
own copy. Dan began to read aloud. His voice caught on some of the words.

"'Rydell went on the air one night and told the world that he'd been a poor role
model for his younger brother, Sam, who idolized him, and that Rydell's lapse of
character had been the indirect cause of Sam's death. Looking at Rydell now, a
lanky man with an endearing gawkiness about him, it's easy to think that he's
playing the role of the younger brother he lost.'"

Casey shook his head and took over. "'Sometimes, that part of their relationship
bleeds into their on-screen personas. Rydell's introduction of his partner
borders on hero-worship, while McCall introduces Rydell with the gentle, almost
patronizing tone of the older sibling. Rydell asks questions wide-eyed, leaning
forward to hear the answers, whereas when McCall questions his counterpart, he
reclines in his chair as if he already knows what the response will be, as if
he's taught Rydell the words.' Wow." Casey folded the magazine and looked up at
Dan over the glossy cover. "That's weird. I'm patronizing? Seriously?"

Dan shrugged. "Don't ask me. I'm so blinded by hero-worship that I wouldn't know
if you were." His head was buried in the magazine, his eyes hidden from Casey's
concerned gaze. "Did you get to the part where he talks about your cheeks?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Right here. 'In stark contrast to Rydell's brooding, quirky good looks--'"

"You're making that up!"

"Just below the photo on the second page. 'In stark contrast to Rydell's
brooding, quirky good looks, McCall is the sandy-haired, apple-cheeked boy next
door.' You're apple-cheeked, my friend."

"You're a pain in the ass, Danny."

"Do you think they meant, you know, those cheeks?"

Casey gave him a sour look. Dan started to laugh, chuckling at first, then
breaking out into a full baritone roar. It was infectious, just like everything
about him, and Casey laughed along until there were tears coming out of his
eyes. Suddenly Dan was on his feet, rushing up to Casey and throwing his arms
around him.

"I'm not ashamed to be your 'brother,'" he whispered. "I'm ashamed of myself.
For being an ass. It's not the first time, either."

"And it won't be the last." Casey patted his back, then pulled away, holding
Dan's shoulders. "Know what? I'm okay with that."

"Thank God." Dan pulled away, his face reddening a little. "Pizza?"

It was so...normal.

Dan paused with his finger above the numbers on the phone, looking at Casey with
one eyebrow raised. "Case? You with me, bro?"

So normal, demanding that the anchovies be only on Dan's side and not touching
any of his own slices, and Dan's eye roll as he placed the order, and the
best-two-out-of-three card cut to determine who would pay. So normal, the shared
cab ride, watching as Dan got out first and bounded up the stairs to his
apartment, two at a time.

So normal.

Oh, thank God. Thank God.

*
Then the king, when he heard these words, was sore displeased, and set his
heart on Daniel to deliver him; and he labored till the going down of the sun to
rescue him.
*

"I've been watching him, like you said. I think you're wrong."

"I'm not," Abby said, pushing her bangs out of her eyes. She needed a haircut,
Casey determined, but she was still a pretty woman.

"I don't see any signals," he insisted. "He's joking around, he's gained back
whatever weight he lost, he's writing - well, I've never seen him do better. I
don't see anything like suicidal behavior."

"You have, but you haven't processed it yet. How many of your metaphors about
Dan are about death? 'The walking dead,' 'dead on his feet.' Your subconscious
is trying to tell you something, Casey. You have to pay attention."

"No." He punched the arm of the chair with his fist. "Those are just figures of
speech. I know Danny better than anyone else in the world, and he's not showing
me any signs of...of what you're talking about."

"Of course he hasn't. People who send out signals want to be stopped. They leave
a trail leading to their bed and the bottle of pills they didn't take all of.
People like Dan, people in that much pain - they just want to die. That's what
makes them dangerous to themselves, because the methods they choose aren't the
ones where someone has time to intervene."

He had a sudden vision of Dan in a pool of his own blood. Gray, lifeless. Cold.

"It's done before you can have time to react," Abby continued. "People like Dan
pull out a gun at home, alone, a gun no one knew had been bought. People like
Dan throw themselves under subway trains late at night when the platforms are
empty. They're determined and they use foolproof, permanent methods. That's
where Dan is right now. He can't be alone, and you can't stay with him 24 hours
a day."

"I can damn well try!"

"He needs to be hospitalized."

"He needs me."

"He has you. He needs to be hospitalized."

Casey unclenched his fists and brought his palms to his forehead, leaning on the
desk. His vision was swimming.

"You want me to have Dan committed," he gasped. Could he actually be saying
those words? They sounded distant. Muffled. Illusory.

"Unless you have medical power of attorney, you actually can't." Abby's voice
was measured, but beneath the professional veneer there was an undercurrent of
sorrow. Casey recognized the sound - he hadn't spent a lifetime in broadcast
journalism without hearing below the surface of the spoken word. "But I think
he'll go along with it if you tell him it's a good idea."

"A...a good idea?" he had trouble articulating the concept. "You think telling
my best friend that he needs to put himself in the loony bin is a good idea?"

"It's not like that, Casey. It's a quiet place where he'll get round-the-clock
care and intensive therapy."

"It's where you send crazy people!" He wiped sweat off his forehead. Why was it
so hot in here? Why was the room tilting wildly to the right?

Abby got up and poured Casey a glass of water. She placed it on the desk, then
sat down again with her hands folded in her lap. "If Dan had a car accident and
broke his leg, wouldn't you take him to the emergency room? If he were a
diabetic, wouldn't you want him to get insulin?"

Casey knew where she was going with this. He took a sip of water - he'd
forgotten how metallic and malodorous tap water was after all the years of
bottled water on the set - and shook his head. "It's not the same thing."

"It's exactly the same thing. Dan's sick. It's not a value judgment, it's not
character assassination."

"It is character assassination when you have a public persona," Casey argued,
and Abby nodded in agreement.

"You're right about that part - but the most important thing isn't Dan's image,
it's Dan. He has an illness that needs to be treated."

"He's getting treatment," Casey protested, gesturing around the office.

"I've done everything I can do. Dan's not getting better, Casey, and he's not
going to unless he gets intensive help."

Not going to get better. Casey fought back the shudder that threatened to wrack
his entire body.

"He's lived with this for a long, long time," Abby continued. "He's suffered far
too long. When you and I started college, we didn't have this tragedy hanging
over our heads. Imagine if you'd known the kind of pain he's been living with."

Dan had been nineteen when Casey met him at the podunk station where they'd
covered third-string sports. Their salad days. Late night movies, and Lisa being
so sure she'd married the Next Big Thing, and cheap beer, and Danny with the
girl du jour, always wisecracking, always making everyone laugh. Just a kid, but
something on fire behind his eyes, something melancholy and desperate behind the
jokes. Pain, too much pain for someone that young, and when Casey found out why,
it was the first time in his twenty-four years on the planet that he had cared
that much about someone else's affliction.

The salad days were gone, and Lisa was gone, and most of the time even his
beloved Charlie was gone, and there was only Danny.

Danny, who would never forgive him if he did what Abby was telling him to do.

Danny, who was going to die if he didn't.

"We have a thing tonight, a photo shoot," Casey said softly. "I'll be with him
the whole time. I'll try and talk to him, after." He took a deep breath and let
it out again, slowly. "I'll call you tomorrow if he agrees to go to the
hospital."

"Call me no matter what. If he doesn't go, then we'll--"

"I know." The certainty of what was to come bore down on him, made his chest
tighten, made his throat ache. "I don't think I can take it," he whispered.

Abby put her hand on his forearm. "Remember how much more pain Dan's in, and how
long he's been like this. Keep thinking about him. That's how you'll get through
it."

Photographers, champagne, a view from the rooftop garden of the Metropolitan
Museum of Art. All the things Dan used to love, like the last meal of a
condemned man, placed before him. Let me give you this, Danny, and you'll be
whole again.

*

"The Burghers of Calais. Not, as some would have you believe, a monument to the
McDonald's in Paris."

Dan was showing the impressive bronzes to a cute young redhead, who giggled a
little at his attention. Over the years Casey had come to realize that what
seemed like effortless charm was actually Dan's desperate attempt to get people
to like him.

He wished Dan understood that they'd like him anyway, even with the bumps and
flaws in his personality. Dan was the genuine article, a nice man, a mensch. The
only person who didn't know that was Dan.

"Excuse me," Dan said to the young woman, "but I'm actually here to get my
picture taken with that guy over there. In case the backdrop of the city wasn't
good enough."

"Nice meeting you," said the redhead, who finished her glass of wine and went
back into the museum.

Casey walked up to the group of statues and cocked his head at Dan. "McDonald's
in Paris?"

"Hey, I do what I can to make the women of America laugh." Dan was holding his
second glass of champagne in his fingers. "I haven't had a drink in a couple of
weeks. This stuff's going straight to my head."

"Good thing we took a cab, then."

"Mmm." Dan continued gazing up at the tormented bronze faces. "They all died
together, you know. Jean de Brienne, all of them. Martyrs to the cause."

Casey wasn't sure he liked the tone of that remark. "We're martyrs to the cause
of Quo Vadimus tonight, so we'd better let those guys take some pictures. When
Calvin gets the bar bill..."

"He'd better have something to show for it. Right." Dan straightened his tie and
walked with Casey to where the producers and the PR people were waiting. "Do me
a favor and shoot me," he said.

Casey's mouth went dry. He looked at Jeremy, and over Jeremy's shoulder at
Isaac. They stared back at him as if trying to read answers in the set of his
mouth or the lines around his eyes.

"Danny?" Natalie asked in a small voice. Always sharper than the rest of them,
always the first to intuit something.

"Metaphorically speaking," Dan amended. "Bad choice of words. I'm sorry. Someone
get these people some champagne, okay?"

"We don't have to do the pictures right now," Casey began, but Dan cut him off.

"Let's go have fun, Case." Dan gave him an impish smile. I'm overreacting, Casey
thought as he fixed his tie and went through his paces in front of the
photographers.

He and Dan posed in front of a version of "The Thinker," mimicking the
contortion of the massive limbs. They stood back-to-back with Central Park
behind them. They held up their champagne glasses in toasts to one another. They
were two handsome men, basking in the attention, making grand gestures when Dana
or Natalie blew wolf whistles at them. They were laughing the whole time,
laughing so hard that tears welled up in Dan's eyes. "Are we finished?" he
gasped.

"Yeah, we got plenty, thanks," said the lead photographer.

"Let's get a cab," Casey said, faster than he'd meant to. There was something in
the way the glow of the sunset hit Dan's face that brought out the sharpness.
Something in the reflection in his eyes just wasn't right.

The photographers were packing up their gear and moving it inside while Dana was
quizzing one of them about his camera. Natalie and Jeremy ushered Isaac inside
as well, out of the chilly autumn air. The bar was closed now, the glasses
cleared away, and it was just Dan and Casey on the terrace overlooking Central
Park. Dan's tie was loose, flapping a little in the breeze, and he was looking
not at Casey but beyond him, at something only Dan could see.

"You look tired," Casey observed. "It's tough, doing all the publicity stuff,
isn't it?"

"Lots of acting," Dan agreed. "I'm tired of it, Casey."

"Then let's go home. We're done here."

"Right. I'm done," Dan said softly. "I'm sorry, Casey." He turned around and
leaned far, far over the balcony. Too far. A casual observer might think he was
looking down, or even being sick, but Casey saw his center of gravity shift.

He grabbed what he could reach, which was Dan's shoulder, and slid his hand down
to Dan's upper arm. He grabbed at the hard, sinewy bicep, not getting enough
purchase for his fingers, and felt the soft material of the jacket give way.
"Shit! Danny!" he cried, scrabbling for something else and finding Dan's hand.

Dan's lesser weight was still enough to propel them both forward, almost over
the edge.

"Let me go, man," Dan whispered.

"I'm not letting go."

Dan turned to look at him, and Casey's heart felt as if it were going to burst
out of his chest. There was nothing of Dan in those eyes. Nothing. Just an
abyss.

"You can take me with you," Casey declared, not knowing how he managed to sound
so brave when he was actually frightened out of his wits, "or you can let me
pull you back. But no way in hell am I letting you fall alone."

Out of nowhere, someone grabbed Casey around the waist. Jeremy tugged hard
enough at Casey that their combined weights were sufficient to counterbalance
Dan. Casey kept hold of Dan's arm while Jeremy pulled them all to safety, and
the three of them ended up sitting at the feet of Jean de Brienne, gulping
breathlessly.

Had Natalie been screaming the whole time?

Casey winced at the pain lancing upward from his wrist, and exchanged a quick
glance with Jeremy. He'd guessed, or Natalie had guessed, and somehow he'd been
able to move fast enough. Jeremy's glasses had fallen off in the struggle and he
was reaching behind himself, blindly searching for Natalie's hands.

The only sounds on the terrace were their ragged gasps and the tap of Isaac's
cane, faster than they'd ever heard it.

"What the hell happened?" Isaac demanded. Casey had never heard such fear in his
voice. Dan looked up, bewildered, and Casey followed his line of sight. Natalie
was peering at them from behind Jeremy, her arms clasped tightly around his
waist. Isaac had made his way over to them, wide-eyed, leaning over on his cane.
Beyond him was Dana. Her mouth was open and she touched three fingers to her
lips. She was shaking.

"Oh. God." Dan ran his hand through his hair. "I haven't had a drink in..." His
gaze dropped to Casey's arm, which he was cradling against his chest. "Did I
hurt you?"

"Yeah, Danny." Casey could barely speak. "You hurt me."

Jeremy leaned over to retrieve his glasses. His hands were trembling so much
that Natalie had to put the glasses on for him.

"Casey...Jeremy, I'm..." Dan looked at Isaac. "I'm sorry."

"All right, then. Let's get moving. There are four photographers still in this
museum and the last thing we need is art." Isaac's words were sharp but his
expression was one of deep sadness. They went slowly, allowing Isaac to move at
his own dignified pace, using the elevator down to street level instead of the
grand marble staircases.

The photographers had scattered, which was fine with Casey. He turned his
attention to Dan, who seemed to be fading like the sunlight. "Share a cab?" he
offered.

"Nah. I'm okay."

"Dan. C'mon." It was Jeremy, hands on his hips. "We don't have to come in
tomorrow. You can stay with Nat and me. I promise we won't have sex in front of
you or anything, and she'll make you breakfast. Waffles. Whatever."

"Well, if you're throwing in waffles," Dan said, his mouth set in a tremulous
smile. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Dana whispered. "Let's put Isaac in a cab, then you and Jeremy and
Natalie go back to your place. I'm going to walk home from here. I need...some
air."

Fresh stab of realization - Dana hadn't seen this coming.

"I'll walk you." Casey put his hand on Dana's shoulder. Gentle, this time.

Dan glanced at Casey's wrist. Only Dan could convey such emotion with a deadpan
expression. "Put some ice on that."

"I will. Get some sleep, Danny." He and Dana watched as Isaac got into one taxi
and Jeremy, Natalie, and Dan into the other. Fearing what he was about to see,
he allowed himself to look at Dana.

"God, Casey," she murmured, her blue eyes wet with tears. "He...he wanted..."

"I know, I know." He put his arm around her as they started walking down Fifth
Avenue. "I've been talking with Abby - his therapist - for a couple of months.
She says..." It was so hard, saying the words aloud. "...she says he needs to be
hospitalized."

"Yeah," Dana sighed, pressing closer to Casey as a cool breeze wafted around
them from the park. It was new for her, so much for her to process all at once.
"What're we going to do, Casey?"

"We're going to get him into the office tomorrow morning - we'll call Jeremy,
and he'll tell Dan we're having a meeting. I'll get Abby to meet us. We'll
convince him, somehow."

"Okay." Strange, to hear Dana be so acquiescent. She paused, and Casey stopped
with her. A carriage went by them, smelling of grass and horse dung. "Casey, how
long has Danny been like this?"

"A long, long time," he said, linking Dana's arm through his and walking her
down the street.

"Since Sam died?" Dana asked.

They both knew the answer, and it was yes, and Dan had been this way for the
twelve years they'd known him.

*
Now as he was speaking with me, I fell into a deep sleep with my face toward
the ground; but he touched me, and set me upright.
*

"Abby's waiting in my office," Dana said as she hung up Isaac's phone. Natalie
was alternating between jumpiness and weeping, leaning into Jeremy's side, but
his eyes were lackluster and he looked as if he barely had the strength to stand
up, much less hold her.

"Tell me about Dan," Isaac said.

"He had a good night. I mean, I kind of poured him on the sofa and he stayed
there, and either he was sleeping or he fakes snoring really well." Jeremy
reached under his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "He just stopped off for a
second...men's room."

"Okay." Isaac leaned against the window. He held his left hand against his body,
and it was trembling. He probably hadn't slept. None of them had. Not last
night, when Dan had nearly fallen. The fall of Daniel Rydell, Casey thought, and
for a moment he wondered if there might be an extra room at the hospital for
him. He rubbed his wrist, which was black and blue, like a hospital bracelet
made of bruises.

Dan strolled into the office, hands in his pockets. Of all of them, he looked
the most rested. "I got your call - what's going on?"

How the hell could he not know?

Everyone looked at Isaac. "Danny, why don't you sit down for a minute?"

"Isaac, if this is about last night, I wasn't used to the alcohol - I haven't
had a drink in weeks and it just hit me weird. I'm sorry."

"I'm sure you mean that, Dan," Jeremy said softly. "But I'm also sure you meant
what you did last night."

Dan's mouth tightened into a straight line. It looked like a bloody slash
against his pale skin. "Uh-oh. I get it - the gang's all here. Ganging up on
me."

"We're worried about you, Danny," Isaac said. "You scared us last night, and we
think you're scaring yourself, and we think you need some help."

"I'm getting help. I'm seeing Abby twice a week, and--"

Abby walked into Isaac's office just as Dan said her name. He squinted at her as
if she were radiating light. "I should've known that a roomful of television
producers could get a moment like that to work on cue," he whispered. He turned
toward Abby, his eyes narrowed. "Have you been talking to Casey?"

"That's not important--"

"It is important!" Dan turned on his heel and strode over to Casey. With one
accusing finger, Dan pointed at Casey's chest. "What the hell do you think
you're doing?"

If Dan had dealt him an actual blow, Casey couldn't have been any less steady on
his feet. "I'm trying to help you, Danny."

"By bringing Abby into this?" His voice sounded unnaturally bright in the room.
Tight. High-pitched.

"I was asked to intervene," Abby said before Casey had a chance to explain
himself. "Dan, we've been trying to help you for so long, and it's just not
working. We need another way."

"Such as?" He raised an eyebrow at Casey.

Casey swallowed, and when he spoke his voice sounded thick and foreign.
"Somewhere you can be looked after. A hospital."

Dan choked out a bitter laugh. "I knew it was going to come to this. One drunken
incident, and...and..."

"Danny," Isaac whispered.

"You're going to put me away! You're going to fucking put me away!"

"We're going to get you the help you need so you can get better. Don't be angry
with them, Dan," Abby said softly. "They called me because they love you, and
they're afraid of losing you. Look at their faces."

Dana and Natalie were crying, and Jeremy's face was paper-white. Isaac's
expression was grave, the left side of his face falling as it always did when he
was tired or worried. Then Casey saw himself reflected in the window - pale,
with dark-ringed eyes, and tears he didn't know he was shedding because he was
so numb with grief.

From there he met Dan's gaze. Dan's eyes watered. "Oh, God," he murmured. "Look
what I've done."

"You didn't..." Natalie began, running up to Dan and throwing her arms around
him. "You didn't do anything, Danny, it's not your fault, oh, God, it's not your
fault..."

"Natalie." Dan stroked her hair, looking over her shoulder at each of his
friends in turn. Stricken. Aghast. Lost. Finally, his wild eyes settled on
Casey. "What do you think I should do?"

Casey's heart shattered into a million sharp fragments that lodged themselves in
his throat and in his eyes. "I think you should go with her, Danny," he said
with a firmness he didn't actually feel.

Dan nodded and he gave Natalie a kiss on top of her head, then he put his hands
down at his sides. "Okay, then," he murmured. "Let's go, Abby."

"Want me to ride with you?" Casey asked. He wasn't sure what he wanted the
answer to be.

As if he could read Casey's indecision, Dan shook his head. He took a moment to
look at everyone in the room, his gaze lingering longest on Casey, then turned
around and followed Abby out the door.

"Someone should call his parents," Jeremy said to break the horrible silence.

"I'll take care of it," Isaac responded, but Casey cut him off.

"You're exhausted - you should go home. I've met his parents, I know them. I'll
do it when I get back to my place."

Dana lifted her chin. "I'm going with you. No way should you call that guy
without a stiff drink in your hand and someone watching your back."

*

He had both when he picked up the phone and dialed. He took a long sip of the
scotch as he waited for someone to pick up. Please, let it be his mom, not his
dad, not...

Dammit. A man's gravelly voice, nothing like Dan's, said hello.

"Jacob? It's Casey McCall. I'm sorry to call out of the blue like this, but
something's happened to Danny."

The response was measured. "Was he in an accident of some kind?"

Casey couldn't imagine ever, ever being that calm about Charlie.

"No, no, it's nothing like that. But he's been having problems - uh, emotional
problems - for a while now, and we thought he was getting better but really
he's not. He's seeing a doctor, and she's hospitalizing him."

"Does his insurance cover this?"

"I'm...I'm pretty sure it does."

"Then everything's going to be okay. I have to go now. Thanks for calling,
Casey."

He stared at the receiver. Pressing his lips together against the curses that
wanted to spill out, he put the phone down with more force than was strictly
necessary, and the instrument chimed its displeasure.

"That didn't take long," Dana said. Her eyes were wide, and wet, and she was
wrapping her arms around herself the way she did when she was about to lose it.
"What did he say?"

"He asked if Dan had insurance, then pretty much hung up on me." Casey slammed
his balled-up fists on his hips and glanced down. If he looked Dana in the eye,
then he'd start to cry, or she would, or maybe that was going to happen anyway
because she was pressed up against him, her arms wrapped around his waist.

"We're not going to lose him, Casey," she said, but she was weeping as she
spoke. "Not Dan, not like this, not...oh, my God, oh, my God..."

"I know," Casey managed to choke out, but he could go no further, only clasp
Dana tighter against his body. His hands searched out the tender skin at her
nape, his fingers tangling in her uncombed hair.

She tilted her head up to look at him, and he was undone.

Not like that first kiss in his office, the one that had been so full of love
and unrequited passion and amazement. This time it was about fear and loss, the
need to feel connected to life in the midst of disaster. Dana's response was
quick, too quick, her lithe body undulating against his until he could scarcely
breathe through the sharp stab of arousal.

He knew why they were going to do this, and he could tell that she knew, and
suddenly none of that mattered because they were grinding against one another
and gasping as if they'd nearly drowned. Their fingers fumbled with buttons and
zippers and sweaters and intimate things like bra clasps and boxer shorts.

It had been nearly twenty years since Casey had first longed to see Dana naked.
All that gold, from her hair to her skin to the polish on her toenails,
glimmering. Treasure. Casey wanted to take inventory of it all, but his view of
Dana was obscured by his tears.

Mascara pooled under Dana's eyes, making them look even larger. She was crying,
too, in gulping sobs. "Casey," she whimpered. "Casey."

He led her to the bedroom, holding her hand every step of the way, feeling not
the least ridiculous that he was naked except for his socks. Feeling nothing,
really, but his own version of oblivion. Whatever it would take to erase the
shared vision of Dan on the edge of the roof, of Dan breaking down in Casey's
arms, of Dan being led away by Abby.

He had to keep his eyes open. Focused on Dana. Beautiful, beautiful Dana, who
was trying to hide her tears as she kissed him over and over. "Casey, please..."

Dana stretched out on top of the covers, letting Casey hold her wrists above her
head. She watched as he slipped into her, watched as the muscles in his arms
bulged with the strain of holding his weight, watched as he tried so, so hard to
take her with him.

He was trying. And failing, utterly. At last Dana made some noises and tightened
around him, and he let himself go with a strangled groan. Bad, unspeakably bad,
and the buzz wasn't even going to last long enough to make him stop imagining
Dan's funeral.

Silently Dana watched as he pulled out, then she tugged at his hands and turned
over on her side, her back to his chest, tugging his arm around her waist.

"I'm sorry," Casey muttered.

"No, no, I wanted it, too."

"Not that I did you any good in that regard."

"You were fine," Dana assured him gently.

He rested his palm on her abdomen. "You faked it, didn't you?"

"No, no, Casey, it was good, really--"

"Dana."

"Okay, yes, I did. I'm sorry. You weren't going to be...able...unless I...so I
faked it."

He snaked his hand lower. "I'm sorry," he said again.

Dana turned over and cupped his face in her hands. "What you're sorry about
isn't my lack of an orgasm, is it?"

Sucker punch.

"No," he admitted. "Although I really do regret that, for a number of reasons."

"We shouldn't have done this, full stop. At least, not because of this. And it
was my fault, really," Dana said softly, then she kissed Casey's shoulder.
"Listen...I should go."

He couldn't remember reaching for her hand, couldn't figure out why he was
clasping it and tugging at it. He couldn't figure out why he was shaking his
head, but he was. "Please don't leave, Dana."

For a few moments she sat still on the bed with her forehead crinkled the way it
did when she was making a decision. "Okay," she said after what felt like
forever. "But just to sleep. And, you know, talk."

Casey was finally able to inhale. Taking in oxygen felt better than sex. Dammit.

"I've got some stuff you can sleep in," he began, but Dana was already halfway
back in bed and pulling the covers over them.

"I need to feel your skin, Casey," she whispered.

He understood. He wrapped his arms around this golden idol and held her while
they both struggled with the black hole where Dan had been.

*
O man greatly beloved, fear not! Peace be unto thee, be strong, yea, be
strong.
*

The next morning dawned far too quickly, leaving Casey with dark shadows beneath
his eyes and a tremor in his hands. Dana went home to her own apartment while
Casey was showering. They hadn't spoken. When Casey got to work, Dana was not
there.

She appeared at the station just before the noon rundown and she looked so
weary, so inelegant, that Casey felt even worse about what had happened. "I'm
sorry," he started, but Dana cut him off.

"Did Abby call?" She patted Casey on the arm and smiled up at him, her lips set
tight against the trembling.

He felt weak, shaky, not just from lack of sleep but also from genuine pain at
what Dan was going through. "She said he 'went quietly,' which sounds more like
someone who's been arrested than someone who's having a breakdown."

"When can we see him?"

"It's going to be a while." He hated having to say it, because that made it
real. "Abby said they want to keep him...not isolated, but in private, where he
can think."

"Like a retreat." Dana nodded as she spoke, as if trying to convince herself.
The corners of her mouth were turned down and she was fighting tears. "Casey,
listen. Two of the photographers at the Met last night - they saw what happened.
They're not bad people. But they have this story, and they held off on it until
we could do something for Dan, out of respect for him, but...it's going to get
out pretty soon. You'll have to deal with it on-air."

"I figured that was going to happen. Besides, I can only be 'Casey McCall,
alongside an empty chair' for so long before people start to talk."

Dana closed her eyes. "I called Bobbi Bernstein. She can't do tonight, but
she'll start tomorrow."

"Did you tell her--"

"I did, yes, and she's worried about Dan - and you. She loves the show, Casey,
and she wants to help out. It's not forever. Just until Danny gets better."

"It's okay," Casey said, fooling neither of them.

*

Casey wrote the rest of the script, attended the rundown meetings, went over
changes with Dana and Isaac. Just like when Dan was on vacation, only this
wasn't a vacation. This was a place from which Dan might never return..

Now, in the fifties, with the cameras on him, he had two minutes. Two minutes to
explain the empty place by his side, the empty place in his heart. The director
pointed at him, signing the seconds left.

Casey took a deep breath, praying that the camera would stay tight on his face
so the audience wouldn't see how much his hands were trembling.

"I'm going to take a moment to talk to you about Dan Rydell," he began. "As many
of you have heard, Dan has been hospitalized following a long - probably
lifelong - battle with depression. Those of you who were watching the night Dan
talked about his younger brother, Sam...well, that was just the tip of the
iceberg in terms of the burdens he's borne in his heart."

He glanced at the control room. Dana's palms were pressed to the window, and she
was smiling through her tears, encouraging him.

"Danny and I have worked together for seven years, and we've been friends for a
dozen. He's the most devoted colleague I've ever known, and he's such a good
man..." His voice, his instrument, began to give out and he struggled against
the pressure in his chest, desperate to speak, desperate to be heard. "You can't
imagine how much...his friendship has meant..."

In his earpiece, he heard Natalie's voice. "Casey, it's okay if you need to
stop. Push your script aside and go to commercial if you want Isaac to finish
for you afterwards."

Swallowing convulsively, Casey shoved the pile of papers away. "We're going to
take a moment or two to pay some bills, then we'll be back. You're watching
Sports Night on CSC..."

"We're back in two," Dave said from the control room before Casey could finish
the sentence.

Casey didn't even see Isaac's swift entrance, barely registering the techs who
wired him and the makeup woman who put a quick dusting of powder on his face. He
heard the soothing tones of Isaac's voice. "It's going to be okay, Casey. I've
got your back."

"I'm so sorry," Casey whispered. "I didn't think I was going to implode like
that."

"I'm impressed that you made it that long without imploding," Isaac's voice was
compassionate. "Seriously, it's going to be fine, you did fine. I'm just adding
a few words." He sat quietly as he waited to be counted in, then spoke into the
camera.

"My name is Isaac Jaffe, and I'm the managing editor of Sports Night. On behalf
of Casey McCall and the entire crew of our show, I am going to say a few words
about our show's co-anchor, Daniel Rydell.

"There is not, on the face of God's earth, a man of more integrity. There is not
a man with a more affectionate heart or a nobler spirit. There is not a man
about whom I'd be prouder to say 'this is my son.' I love Dan with all my heart,
and he is in my prayers every waking moment. I ask for the prayers and good
wishes of all who know him, and all who watch him on television. And I want to
say this to this man who is my friend, my associate, and my son."

Isaac paused, and his left arm began to twitch. Casey scooted his chair closer,
near enough so he could take Isaac's hand and squeeze it.

"'O Daniel, thou man greatly beloved, give heed unto the words that I speak unto
thee, and stand upright, for now am I sent to thee.' I'm here for you, whenever
and wherever you ask. God speed, Danny. God speed."

"And...we're out," Dave said.

The studio was silent, although Casey could hear Natalie's soft sobbing through
his earpiece. He turned to Isaac, lightheaded and sorrowful and a million other
things for which he knew no words. "That was beautiful, Isaac."

"Thank you," Isaac replied with a solemn nod. "That means everything, coming
from you." He waited patiently as the techs unhooked him, then he rose and held
his arms open to Casey. "I know, I know," he murmured as Casey finally allowed
himself to be supported, to be comforted. "We'll go to the hospital first thing
tomorrow, okay?"

"They won't let us see him."

"Then we'll see his doctor. We'll see the nurses. We'll see whoever will talk to
us, and we'll gather information. That's what we do." Isaac patted his back.
"Casey, do me a favor, would you?"

Unable to speak past the painful tightness in his throat, Casey nodded.

"I'm wiped out. There's no way I want to sit in a car for an hour and a half
tonight. May I spend the night at your apartment?"

Casey glanced at Dana, who inclined her head toward Isaac. There wasn't going to
be a repeat of last night. There probably wasn't going to be a second time for
them, ever - the first had been for all the wrong reasons, anyway.

"Won't Esther be worried?" Casey asked, shaking the image of Dana's shoulder
blades out of his mind.

"I'll give her a call. She knows I'll feel better if I can keep an eye on you,"
was Isaac's quick reply.

Too quick, and the look in his eyes said something deeper. Oh. Isaac was worried
about both "his boys." Casey smiled and patted his arm. "Thank you - I
appreciate the company. I'll feel better if you can keep an eye on me, too."

Isaac's exhaustion took a toll on his mobility. It was a good twenty minutes
before he got a change of clothes from the office and met Casey in the lobby.
The cab had been waiting, the driver impatient and a little surly until Casey
promised him a good tip. Isaac made his way into the back seat and handed his
cane to Casey as the car went off into the night.

"This was a hell of a day, son. A hell of a day."

"Definitely goes in my book as one of the worst, ever," Casey agreed, staring
sightlessly at the deserted streets.

"You did an incredible job tonight. Not too many people could get back in the
saddle the way you did. I'm proud of you."

Those weren't words Isaac bandied about. Casey swallowed tears, again, and
rested his cheek against the cool window.

He hoped Dana was going to be all right. But by the time he got to the
apartment, drank a glass brandy with Isaac, and shucked his clothes in favor of
the pajamas Charlie had given him for Christmas, all he could think about was
Danny, lying alone in the dark in a strange place.

*
...for as for me, straightway there remained no strength in me, neither was
there breath left in me.
*

Casey tried to work over the next two weeks, but something about Bobbi's perfume
made his skin itch, and the sound of her fingernails on the keyboard set his
teeth on edge. Eventually he took a laptop into the unadorned room that was
supposed to have been his office from the beginning and started over.

Bobbi had protested, feeling terrible about it, saying Casey should work in his
own office. She didn't mean to drive him out of the room. Casey had explained,
politely but wearily, that he was better off in a place that didn't hold any
reminders of Dan. That was something Bobbi could understand.

Natalie and Jeremy brought him lunch every day, from places he'd never gone with
Dan, and often stayed for an impromptu picnic on the floor. Natalie never said
if Dana had told her about that night, although Casey suspected the women had
discussed it thoroughly.

For her part, Dana was behaving as if nothing had happened between them. It was
probably for the best.

At the end of the third week, Isaac called Casey and Dana into his office. He
motioned for them to sit in the chairs, which almost never happened. "Are you
feeling okay?" Dana asked, running a hand over her upswept hair.

"I'm feeling fine, thanks," Isaac replied. "Would either of you like a drink?"

"Now you're really scaring me," Casey mumbled. He looked at Isaac, who was
studiously avoiding his gaze. "What's going on?"

"I just got off the phone with Danny."

The rush of oxygen was exhilarating. "That's...that's wonderful! How did he
sound?"

"Much, much better. Still pretty quiet, though. He said he's up to having a
visitor - just one person, just to see how it goes."

Dana reached for Casey's hand. "I can get someone to sit in for you--"

"He asked to see me," Isaac interrupted.

So that's why Isaac had been looking at his blotter.

Casey didn't trust his voice. He nodded abruptly, wincing as Dana's hand
tightened around his and her nails dug into his skin.

"Casey," Isaac said gently, "he's confused, and probably very embarrassed. At a
time like this, no matter his age, a man wants to talk to his father. And since
his father's not what you'd call available--"

"Or human," Dana muttered.

"I get it," Casey said. He did, too, in some recess of his brain, somewhere near
whatever part let him stand up and walk toward the door. Somewhere near the part
that let him say, "Tell Danny I miss him" as he left the room.

Dana didn't follow him. He didn't hear the click of her heels on the floor,
didn't smell her perfume. Whether she had enough sense to leave him alone, or
whether Isaac had barred the door with his body, Casey didn't know. But he was
grateful that no one saw him shut the door to the spare office, relieved to be
alone to sort out this new, raw grief.

After the show, when he'd said goodnight to Bobbi and was washing the last of
the makeup off, Isaac came in to see him.

"Hey, Casey. That was a good show."

Casey kept his eyes on the mirror as he dabbed at a spot on the left side of his
jaw. "I'm glad. Who knew that Mark Cuban could actually give a good interview?"

"Only you could've made him sound like anything but a Neanderthal." Isaac
perched on the edge of the other sink, the one Danny usually occupied. "Dan
looked good, Casey."

"Good." There was another spot somewhere, something he'd missed. He kept
looking.

"He's put on some weight, and he looks rested. No dark circles under his eyes.
And he's smiling the way he used to, you know, that crooked smile he had when he
made really bad jokes?"

"That's good."

"It's not a bad place. It's not the cuckoo's nest. It's neat and quiet, and
there are big chairs by a window that overlooks a park. Danny's got them all
eating out of his hand - the nurses, the doctors, the patients, all of them."

"Good for him."

"Casey." It was a different tone, the one that brooked no objection. "Put down
the damn washcloth and look at me."

"I can see you just fine," Casey said defensively, although he let the washcloth
fall into the sink with a wet plop.

"Look at me."

Casey turned, pressing his hip against the sink, and looked into Isaac's eyes.
"Okay. I'm looking at you."

"And I'm looking at a selfish little boy. You haven't asked me one thing about
Danny, and you're not listening when I try to tell you. I know you wanted to go
to the hospital. I tried to talk Dan into seeing you instead of me."

Shifting uncomfortably, Casey continued to listen. He could feel blood rising in
his face.

"Even when I got there, I offered three times to turn around and get your ass
down there in my place, but he said no. And you know why he said no, Casey?"

"Because he needed his father, not his brother."

Isaac rapped Casey's knee with his cane.

"Ow."

"He said no because he didn't want you to see him in a mental hospital. He also
figured - and I can't imagine why - that I could make you understand what it
feels like to be incapacitated and not want the people you love to have to
watch."

The prickle of heat spread as Casey blushed crimson. He hung his head. "Ah."

"Yeah." This time the cane just tapped lightly against Casey's leg. "Anyway,
he's being released for the weekend. I'm bringing him to stay with Esther and me
in Connecticut."

Esther was a retired algebra teacher, sleek and precise, and she let Isaac think
he ruled the house with an iron fist. Dan adored her. "That'll be good."

"Know what'll be better?" Isaac stood up straight, smiling up at Casey. "You
come, too."

Finally, a break in the clouds. "He said it's okay?"

"He suggested it. In fact, the only way he agreed to let Esther fuss over him is
if he could divide her attention by having you there."

For once, Casey decided to shut up when he didn't know what to say.

*
So Daniel was taken up out of the den, and no manner of hurt was found upon
him.
*

"My father said, the day of Sam's funeral, that it should've been me in the
coffin."

It wasn't the first time he'd heard Dan tell that story. But somehow, sitting on
Isaac's lawn with the cool breeze and the smell of new-mown grass, and with Dan
looking better than he ever had, the story felt as if it might have a different
ending just this once.

"You don't get over that, ever," Dan continued. "But you get to a place where it
doesn't consume you. That's where I'm trying to go."

"I'm glad you're going to be at peace with Sam's death," Casey said softly.

"And with my family. David called me - not studio Dave, my brother David. He
wants me to visit him in San Francisco, and he's even going to fly my sister in
for the same weekend." Dan flicked some grass off the leg of his jeans.
"Rochelle was only six when Sam...and David had been in college her whole life,
so she really didn't know any of us all that well. We haven't talked in years,
not really, just a 'how are you doing' on big occasions. But I guess being put
away is a big occasion, huh?"

"Danny..."

"I'm just saying. I know I wasn't put away. In fact, they always said I could
leave whenever I want to. I didn't want to, at first. But now I do."

"You want to come home?" God, could he sound any more childishly hopeful?

Dan met his gaze and smiled. "I really do. I'm not quite there yet, mentally,
but the desire...it's very strong."

Casey bit his lip. Blinked hard.

"I've been watching the show," Dan commented, looking away from Casey, giving
him a moment to collect himself. "Bobbi kicked your ass for about a week, then
you finally got it together." He cleared his throat. "Isaac sent me a tape. From
the first night, because I hadn't seen that one. You were...what you said, and
Isaac..."

"Honestly, I don't remember anything about that night," Casey said. He realized
that he'd wrapped his arms around his knees, drawing them to his chest, and that
he was shivering a little.

"I'm sorry, man." Dan reached out for the first time - they hadn't even embraced
when Casey first showed up at the house, they had been so awkward around each
other - and put his arm around Casey's shoulders. "I went away. I'm sorry."

That did it, unleashing the pent-up emotions that had been battering Casey for
the past months. He wasn't some guy who cried, dammit, he was a strong man, but
he found himself shedding tears on Dan's leather jacket while Dan held him.
Beyond words, beyond anything but relief.

"I know, I know," Dan whispered, tightening his arms around Casey. Comforting
him, consoling him. And hadn't that been something Abby had said, not too long
ago, that the realization that others were in pain was a sign that the patient
was healing?

"I should've realized," Casey said, the words choked and strained. "Abby tried
to warn me--"

"Stop. Stop that." Dan held Casey at arms' length, staring him down. "This isn't
anyone's fault, and even if it were, you'd be so far down the list that they'd
have to express the number in, I don't know, exponents or something." He let go
of Casey and sat back on the grass, his head tipped backwards with the sun on
his face. "Big brothers can't fix everything, Casey. That's some free advice
from someone who's been there." Dan paused, glancing at Casey out of the corner
of his eye. "Speaking of big brothers, does Charlie know?"

Charlie was Danny's biggest fan. He loved how Dan never talked down to him,
always treated him as if he were every bit as intelligent and mature as an
adult. It had broken Casey's heart all over again to have the talk with his son,
to have to explain how Danny was sick and had to go to a hospital, just like
when Charlie had to have his tonsils out.

"Yeah," Casey said. "I didn't want him to hear the details on television or from
his friends at school. He's okay with it, Danny. He's worried, sure - he's quite
like you, in that sense - but he understands that you're going to get well and
come home."

"Yeah, but will Lisa ever let me see him again?" Dan's eyes were pained.

"She doesn't have any choice in the matter." Truth be told, Lisa had just rolled
her eyes and said she'd seen this coming a decade ago, but beyond that she
hadn't demonstrated enough concern for Dan even to consider refusing to let her
son be in his presence. "Your first night back will be a boy's night out - you,
me, Charlie, whatever sports event is live in the city, and as much pizza as any
three manly men can consume."

"You have no idea how good that sounds," Dan sighed. "You can't exactly call for
pizza, where I am."

"You've tried calling for pizza?" Casey leaned back on his hands.

"Yep. Between the address and my name...well, let's just say I know how
telemarketers feel." He laughed, a welcome sound. "You should come out and see
me - there's a basketball court, and not one other patient has a freaking clue
how to guard. I need an opponent so badly that I almost asked Jeremy to visit,
or Dana. How is Dana, anyway?"

Casey's hands slipped and he landed flat on his back in the grass.

"Casey? Did something happen, something that must be shared?" Dan's eyes were
wide and eager. He was on the scent. Nothing but the truth would mollify him.

"Oh, God." Casey brushed his hands off longer than he really needed to, then
cleared his throat. "There was an incident."

"An incident?"

"An incident with Dana."

"Of an intimate nature?" Dan's eyebrows were practically in his hairline.

"It happened the night you went away." He expected a scowl, some form of
punishment for his indiscretion at Dan's darkest hour, but instead Dan chuckled
low in his throat, grinning.

"You were looking for the little death while I was looking for the big one?
That's real synergy, my friend."

"I think, all in all, that you were more successful than I was." Casey stopped
himself and winced. "Oh, wait, that wasn't a good thing to say, was it?"

"Hey, if I can make the joke, you can make the joke. So, after seventeen years,
the love was requited?"

"Not so much. More like...quenched. Only badly."

"Ah." Dan lowered his head. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." It really was. He and Dana were still incredibly close, except
that... "She's dating Sam Donovan. It looks like it's getting pretty serious."

"Ah." Dan nodded sagely. "I got a letter from Sam Donovan, in the hospital."

Casey smirked. "An e-mail?"

"No, an actual, honest-to-God letter, in handwriting and everything. He said
that the only way to survive something like this was to take it one day at a
time. It...it made a lot of sense. And it helped."

"Do you..." He didn't know how to phrase it. "Do you still..."

"Want to end it? Sometimes." Dan sat up straight, tailor-fashion, and looked
Casey directly in the eye. "But I can promise you this - I won't do it today. I
can make it through this day without dying."

"That's a start," Casey said. He wished he could be satisfied with the answer.
But he was an incorrigible big brother who wanted to fix everything. He'd give
Sports Night, and everything that went with it, to protect Dan from another
moment's suffering.

Dan watched him, his eyes soft and concerned, the dark brown flecked with gold
from the evening light. "Esther made eggplant parmesan. She'll kick our asses if
it gets cold." He rose, stretched, dusted the grass off his jeans, and held his
hand out to Casey. Smiled again, surely seeing the irony. Spoke gently, and from
his loving heart.

"C'mon, Case. Let me help you up."

*
END
*

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