Faux Pas

Pairing/Characters: Dan/Casey, Hillary Clinton
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1000
Summary: Dan comes home and catches up on some TV.
Notes: Set after Sports Night ends, when Casey has his own show. Written for picfor1000, with this picture as the prompt.


"You know," said Dan as he opened the door.

"I love it when your stories begin that way." Casey folded his newspaper, placed it on the coffee table and slid his glasses up his nose. If he left them Dan would make fun of him for wearing them like his—Dan's—eighth grade English teacher.

Dan noticed and smiled anyway. "Dan," said Casey warningly.

"I can't help it. Mr. Rosenblatt was an attractive man."

"Wait, you said his name was Mr. Kennedy—"

Dan tried to look innocent and succeeded only in looking smug.

Casey stood up and walked toward Dan, shaking his finger accusingly. "You never even had an eighth grade English teacher who wore glasses, did you? You—"

"Can I tell my story?"

Casey made a face. "By all means."

"You know—"

"You already did that part."

"Are you going to let me do this?"

"I don't know. This seems like more fun." He stepped in close and kissed Dan's mouth, which was curved up in an expression of amused tolerance. "Welcome home. Now you can tell your story."

"Thank you." His forehead wrinkled. "I've lost the thread."

Casey rolled his eyes. "Oh, please."

"Wait . . . no. You've totally derailed me. I had a good story, too. Where was I?"

"‘You know' . . ."

"Oh, right. You know, you can't really call yourself a New Yorker unless you've heard the Hava Nagila played on steel drums in a subway station."

"That guy at Penn station?"

Dan smiled and nodded. "That guy."

"I heard him play the Harry Potter theme once."

"That's a good one."

"Got stuck in my head for days. Wait. Sorry. What's the rest of your story?"

"That's it."

"That's it? You heard a guy playing Hava Nagila in a subway station?"

"It was just going to be a toss off line—I felt like I was back at Cousin Marcie's wedding—but you—you had to step all over it with your glasses and your—" He smiled fondly, and kissed Casey back. "It's good to be home."

Dan hung up his coat on the hook behind the door and sat down on the couch. "I was so busy while I was gone," he said, "that I didn't get to see your show, not once."

"Wait a minute, you're not going to—"

"Yes, my friend, I have a whole week of The Casey McCall Show to watch, and I want nothing more than to watch it right now."

"Oh, God, really?"

"I missed you."

"I'm right here."

"I love watching you on TV."

"I hate it."

"You hate that I love watching you on TV? Or you hate watching you—watching yourself on TV?"

"You know what I mean."

"I really don't, Casey. It's a brilliant programme."

Casey looked away, out the picture window.

"What . . . ?" An expression of comprehension crept slowly over Dan's face. Often Casey liked that look, like when Dan had finally realized that Casey was making a pass at him, but now it couldn't have been less welcome.

"You were mean to Hillary, weren't you?"

"I—"

"You were. You were mean to Ms. Clinton. Ms. Rodham-Clinton."

"She dropped the Rodham."

"Doesn't matter. You were mean to her. On national television. And you waited until I was gone to do it."

"Danny. That's when she was on."

"What?"

"Just . . . don't watch," said Casey helplessly.

Dan sat down on the couch and cued up the show. On TV, Casey sat at his news desk next to Hillary. His green tie clashed with her red suit. They exchanged pleasantries for a moment then Casey said, "It was a while ago, you may not remember this, but my good friend Dan Rydell went to a fundraiser of yours when you were running for Senator."

"Don't be silly, Casey. I remember every person who's ever gone to one of my fundraisers."

Casey smiled. "Well, he made a bit of a faux pas when discussing funding for non-secular charities, and . . . well, I don't think he's ever really gotten over it.

Hillary put her hand on her chin. "What faux pas was that?"

"He . . . it's not important. But it would be great if you said you remembered him as a smart guy, irregardless of whether he said ‘secular' or ‘non-secular.'"

"I do, Casey. You two were wonderful on Sports Night. Bill and I miss it."

Dan pressed the pause button, freezing Casey with his mouth half open. "Casey," he said.

"I know."

"That was really bad TV."

"I know."

"I can't believe you did that for me. It was very sweet."

"Well . . . I know how it bothered you."

"Thank you." Dan nodded firmly, but he didn't sound quite finished.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"No, you have that look. What?"

"I'm not sure if I should tell you this."

"Tell me what?"

"You said ‘irregardless.'"

"When? Just now?"

"No, when you were talking with Hillary."

"I said ‘irregardless'? That's not even a word."

"Don't I know it."

"I said ‘irregardless' to Hillary Rodham Clinton."

Dan resumed play on Casey's show. Casey thought his voice sounded nasal, but at this moment that bothered him a lot less than the possibility that—"I said ‘irregardless'?"

"Now it begins."

"I'm not you. I'm not going to freak out about this." Casey looked around the apartment. The walls seemed very close. "I am totally freaking out about this. I'm turning into you."

"Everyone should be so lucky." Dan patted the seat next to him. Casey sat down gingerly. "Here's what we're going to do."

"You're going to talk to her?"

"No. That wouldn't end well. Here's what we're going to do. We're going to not worry about it."

"This is your solution? A split infinitive?"

"She probably wasn't listening to you."

Casey crossed his arms. "I didn't miss you at all."

Dan looked at him sidelong and smiled. "I didn't miss you either."


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