Disclaimer: I do not own TDA/I.
Okay, guys, this is pretty much the last chapter. But apparently I've got a little more time now, thanks to the producers. APPARENTLY the winner will be chosen by audience vote, and of course we know who's gonna win it THAT way. Definitely not the one who deserves it.
But whatever. Not like it's in my power to change it. So I'll just have to make do with this little chappie here and just move on with it.
Courtney leaned onto the wall for support as she tried to haul herself up on one leg. Hopefully she was in obvious enough view that DJ would be able to spot her and come with the paramedic.
Still, her head was spinning with the circumstances she had finally come to realize were hers. Duncan was getting that check. She wasn't. This was his party. His night.
Not hers. Never 'theirs,' either.
His.
Not hers.
Ever.
She blinked back the tears that had begun to sting her eyes. Angrily wiping them away, she turned to see if DJ had shown up yet.
"Courtney?"
Well, that answered her question.
"What happened?" the tall Jamaican teen asked as he caught sight of her slightly red, swollen eyes. He had a first aid kit and ice pack in hand.
She breathed in sharply, reprimanding herself mentally for having someone catch her crying. It was one of her pet peeves, right up there with green jelly.
"Nothing," she sobbed lightly but coherently. "It just... hurts."
DJ tossed her arm around his shoulder and started directing her back to her seat. She was silently grateful for having an excuse like that one available, or she might never have been able to explain herself.
The melody had slowly started to melt into the drumline of Kiss' 'I Was Made For Loving You.' Everyone had started to converge on the dance floor, while a scattered few such as Harold and Cody were out on the side, pouring punch into red party cups.
Dropping violently into her seat, Courtney stretched out her leg for DJ to inspect. Panting slightly, she looked down at her ankle and saw that it had swollen to about twice its normal size now.
As DJ lifted her leg onto the chair next to her and pulled out a strip of guaze from the kit, Courtney looked over and saw the top of Duncan's head amidst the crowd. As he took a few steps back, he was in Courtney's complete view, as was she in his.
Forgetting the revelation she had had a few minutes ago, Courtney hissed loudly and dramatically as she put her hand on her leg and directed DJ's hand to her ankle, ignoring the shooting pain.
Making sure her makeshift sound effects had captured Duncan's attention, she cooed sweetly to DJ as she leaned in closer to him.
"Ow," she winced. "DJ, don't you think I should go to the medical tent, or something? It really hurts!"
She batted her eyelashes flirtatiously at him, glancing back at Duncan to make sure he was still watching. DJ, unaware what her ulterior motive really was at the moment, answered it like she really wanted to know.
"Nah, my momma told me when I was little how to take care of this myself. Put your hand down, you'll make it worse."
"But..." Courtney stammered, looking for another way to keep up the charade. She held onto DJ's shoulder suddenly, still keeping Duncan's attention.
DJ, however, not knowing what was going on (and getting sick of Courtney continually hanging on to him), threw Courtney's hand down impatiently and started to reprimand her.
"Court, enough. I'll be done in a minute."
Courtney drew back, slightly stunned. She refused to look back up at Duncan, sure that while he might not have known exactly what they were saying, DJ's actions had fooled her little attempt at garnering a shred of jealousy from him.
Scoffing, Courtney rested her cheek in her hand on the table and waited for DJ to finish wrapping up her ankle. He attached the ice pack with the guaze, presumably so she wouldn't have to hold onto it the entire night.
Resting his hand on his knee after he finished, DJ looked up at Courtney for her approval.
"Well?" he asked, seeing Courtney's signature pout pasted onto her face.
She looked down at her mummified ankle and contemplated her options. She had almost forgotten DJ was there until he grabbed her attention again, waiting for her answer.
"...I should probably get going. I need your help."
DJ rolled his eyes, but stood up nonetheless. Offering his hand to her, he once again had to support her weight as Courtney staggered along to the front door of the building. Courtney kept her head down, ashamed at upsetting DJ, who was not one to easily grow impatient.
There was a loud, ringing sound prominent over the slowly dying music that gathered everyone's attention. Gesturing for the group to sit down, Chris stood up again at the podium, champaign refilled and microphone poised.
"How many of you having a great time tonight?"
The majority of the crowd applauded and whooped in excitement. Duncan smirked, sitting back up at the stage, Heather to his right.
"Well, then I hope you haven't forgotten the reason you're all here!" Chris continued, beaming. "To honor our winner with his check for one! Million!"
"DOLLARS!" the crowd finished, shouting in excitement.
LeShawna looked to her right as Gwen and Trent sauntered into the room silently, the audience distracted by the check's recipient. Gwen sat down in the second seat, Trent indifferently dropping down next to her, despite the fact that his own seat was halfway across the room. LeShawna grinned at Gwen in realization of this, the latter blushing and gesturing her friend to direct her attention elsewhere.
Up on stage, Duncan glanced around the crowd for Courtney. Not that he cared, or anything, but... still. Just out of curiosity. But it was hard to look for her with all these damn lights in his face.
Regardless, he continued to grin for the sake of his watchers.
"So now, we are proud to present our victor his pretty little sum of a well-deserved..."
Chris was cut off by a loud, purposeful scoff. Everyone's head whirled around to face Harold, his expression unusually stern. And it didn't look like he'd be taking back his rude interruption anytime soon.
Chris' smile seem strained.
"Yes, Harold? Is there something you'd like to add?" Chris asked, hoping he wouldn't have to stick around long enough for an answer.
Harold smirked humorlessly.
"Nah, I just thought it was funny."
Duncan's brow furrowed. Figured the little stringbean would try to worm his way into the spotlight tonight.
"Thought what was funny?" Duncan spat out, Chris rolling his eyes and slapping his card on the podium as he realized the ball had started to roll.
Harold rose from his seat.
"You think you deserve that money? You think that your life is so bad? What're you gonna use it for, anyway?" Harold challenged.
"Whatever the hell I want!" Duncan rose his voice, also standing up from his chair. Heather didn't seem the least bit concerned.
"Come on, Duncan. Yeah, you could rip off bail a couple of times. Then what?"
Duncan started fuming.
"I don't think that's any of your damn business!" he shouted.
Harold fought the urge to grin, knowing that he might as well be taunting Duncan with a matador costume and red sheet. No thank you. But he continued to prod him with questions nonetheless.
"But you know what else, Duncan? You've always been spoiled, but you never wanted to admit it."
There was a collective gasp, many waiting for Duncan's reaction.
The delinquent narrowed his eyes dangerously and scoffed.
"Yeah, that must be it. Guess the Mercedes outside gave it away," Duncan retorted, loosely reminding everyone how he came from a big family in Pembroke that got by on a small, law enforcement yearly salary.
"Cut the crap, Duncan," Harold snapped. "Sure, you might not have a big house, or a butler that serves you hand and foot all day. But you're spoiled rotten."
Duncan rolled his eyes, waiting for the little geek to justify himself before he went down there and handed his ass to him on a silver platter.
"You come from whatever place gave you the impression that you can snap your fingers and either someone does as they're told, or your little possey shows and backs you up," Harold accused.
"Bull!" Duncan bellowed. "And if you're gonna stay here just to whine at me, how 'bout I show you the door? It's been dying to meet you."
"So this is how you prove your point?" came another voice from the crowd. All turned in their chairs to see this new challenger.
Trent's expression was stony, although there hid a hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.
"You throw a temper tantrum?"
Duncan steamed, seeing Gwen try to dissuade her acquaintance from getting involved, but to no avail.
"You talking to me, buddy?" Duncan threatened, eyes bulging in rage as Trent's expression went from stern to slightly bemused at his expense. Chris placed a hand on the punk's shoulder, reminding him to remain calm.
"No, he's right!" Harold shouted, causing Duncan to lurch forward, fists clenched. The rest of the crowd had started to murmur nervously, gasping a little as the winner almost came down off the stage, had he not been held in place by the combined forces of Chris and Chef.
"Why do you think Courtney isn't backing you up right now?"
Duncan was silent for a minute as he skimmed the room again, wondering where the girl had vanished to.
"She left early," DJ called out from the back of the room to clarify.
Stunned, Duncan couldn't stop his shoulders from visibly drooping as he took in the news.
Harold snorted as he silently let Duncan know there was little else he could do.
"Come on, LeShawna," Harold spat out, grabbing his coat from the back of his chair and heading towards the exit.
At first LeShawna seemed shocked, holding her spoon in the air for a few seconds before noticing Harold walk away.
Glancing down at her plate, she made up her mind and dropped the cutlery, bringing the entire dish with her as she followed the scraggly boy, shouting "Hold on, sugar baby!"
Gwen buried her face in her hands, realizing that she was not going to just get through the night like she had planned. She heard the seat next to her scoot back, looking up to see Trent about to follow the other two out the door.
He looked down at her almost sorrowfully, knowing that Gwen was, by some loose definition, friends with Duncan, understanding that she didn't have to leave if she didn't want to.
Shaking her head in exhaustion and looking down at the table, she grabbed his hand as she stood up, following him out to the Lame-o-sine that sat outside, waiting for early departures.
Duncan was almost beside himself at this point.
"Yeah, good riddance! The lot o' ya!"
"Duncan," Chris hissed before regaining his own composure. "Why don't we just get on with this?"
Pasting back on his best fake smile, Chris ushered Duncan back to his seat next to Heather, who visibly rolled her eyes at the little display of drama that had just taken place.
"Well," Chris said, throwing in an obviously forced chuckle (Air time didn't come cheap). "I can see we hit a little snag there. But let's just make the best of the rest of the evening that we can, huh?"
There was no reply from the crowd. A few muffled coughs were heard from the back seats.
Face dropping, Chris decided he had had enough of playing up his little charade.
"So I'm proud to announce Duncan the winner of his One! Million! Dollars!"
Streamers and confetti flew pathetically around the stage as Chef handed the winner a large cardboard cutout of his check.
Light applause arose from the crowd as cameras flashed to capture the face of the reality show's winner. Smiling and holding the check with Heather at his side, Duncan stood thinking to himself as the bulbs flashed away.
...'Who needs Courtney anyway? And besides, now I don't have to keep that damn 50-50 deal with that overbearing drama queen.
...Yeah, this was for the best.'
So it was a bit of a surprise when Chris ended up prying the flashy prop from his arms and returning to the mike.
"And now if you'll just give us our little sum here back..."
Shocked, Duncan hastily snatched back the cardboard.
"Excuse me?"
Chris looked around uncertainly, seeing that the attention they were now garnering was certainly not the kind he had hoped for.
"Well, Duncan, the agreement was that after receiving the check, you would return it and hopefully point out your charity of choice..."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Duncan cut him off, holding his hand up. "What charity? What agreement?"
"It was in the fine print, Dunk. 'After signing his or her signature in the space below, the mentioned participant hereby assents to the amount of one million dollars being redirected to the charity of his or her choice.'"
Duncan stared back at him as if he had grown a second head.
Glancing around insecurely, Chris leaned in and hissed, "What's the big deal, man? So you walk outta here one million dollars less, the same way you walked in."
"Oh no," Duncan snapped, angrily snatching back the check. "I've worked my butt off here long enough. I'm not just walking out without my reward."
Chris' eyes narrowed.
"It's really not like you have a choice, Duncan. It's the law."
"Do I strike you as someone that gives a crap what the law says?"
Chris drew back angrily, looking suddenly to the cameras and gesturing madly to cut off the feeds.
"Hey, what gives?" Duncan almost shouted as the lights directed at the stage dimmed slightly.
Whirling around in anger to face Duncan, Chris caught him square in the eye, looking like a father that had lost his patience with a toddler.
"So you're willing to let money that would be used to help people incapable of helping themselves be blown on something like... whatever. Bail."
"Don't twist my words around. I didn't know about any of this until now."
"Guys, just calm down," Heather rationalized, trying to mediate between the two (a first for all). "There's got to be some kind of legal agreement that you can work out here."
It appeared neither had heard her in their little staring contest.
"...That's a shame, Duncan," Chris finally broke the silence. "And for some reason I expected better from you."
Turning back to the podium, Chris stole one last glance at the winner.
"Don't know why."
The lights brightened as the cameras started rolling again, causing both Duncan and Heather to reflexively shield their eyes.
"Welcome back, viewers!" Chris smiled jubilantly, adapting his former facade. "Well, it looks like that's it for tonight. Sorry, but we have to wrap up early..."
"Wait."
Chris spun around, seeing Duncan look down at his feet, check still in hand.
Heather seemed mildly surprised as well, gingerly touching Duncan's arm as she awaited his statement.
Duncan took a deep breath.
...Courtney, I hope you're watching this somewhere on cable.
"Chris?"
The host raised his eyebrows.
"...Here's the check."
Placing the cardboard on the podium, Duncan sauntered off defeatedly to the edge of the stage.
Monstrous applause filled the room.
Snapping his head up, Duncan looked at the faces that brightly greeted him off the stage for his Samaritan deed.
And he smiled.
Seeing the footage on the small, ten-by-ten television in the room, Courtney stopped packing her clothes as she held a folded t-shirt to her chest.
"...Duncan?"
Many continued to pat Duncan on the back for his change of heart. There were whoops of congratulation on his way to the punch table, Heather at his side.
"Nice move there, tough guy," she prodded sarcastically. "Courtney would be proud."
Duncan snorted again.
"Please. Like I care. And even then, so what? She ditched me."
"True. But it doesn't change the fact that you still care about her."
"No I don't."
"Yes, you do, Duncan," Heather retorted, lifting her glass to her lips. "Trust me, I've had men lie to me before."
She sauntered away, leaving Duncan to pour himself another cup of punch, pondering how the night could've ended so drastically different than the way he had planned.
"...Duncan?" a voice came, interrupting his thoughts.
He whirled around and found a familiar freckled princess standing next to a table for support behind him.
Duncan was too stunned to speak for a minute. She smirked.
"That was very... philanthropic of you," she murmured.
He looked down at a spot of spilled juice on the ground.
"Yeah, well..." he trailed off. "Like Chris said, it's the same million I didn't have when I walked in."
He kept his eyes on the floor. Smiling warmly, Courtney slowly hobbled her way over and tried to balance herself on his shoulders.
Catching her balance, Duncan had not been prepared for what she did next.
He found himself wrapped in a tight bear hug of approval. There were coos and 'awws' coming from all directions, encouraging him to return the gesture.
Smiling awkwardly, and then less strained, he silently wrapped his arms back around her as well, receiving even more applause.
Chris smiled and took the microphone.
"That's it everybody. Good night!"
A/N: I made the deadline! :D *confetti strewn about*
Thanks for sticking through the story, everybody. Hope you liked it!