All characters belong to Aaron Sorkin and ABC. The title's from David Gray. Please send feedback.
Nightblindness
Violet
"Dos Equis," Casey said, and held up two fingers. The waitress nodded and walked away.
"Did you just order two beers?" Dan asked, leaning dangerously back in his chair. "Or were you emphasizing the 'dos'?"
Casey wrinkled his forehead. "Are you drunk already?"
"Be nice, wouldn't it?"
"And since when do you speak Spanish, anyway?"
"I don't, but I've watched Sesame Street," Dan replied, rocking slightly. "I can count."
Casey scoffed. "I should be impressed that your mastery of an international tongue approaches that of a malnourished five-year-old in Chile?"
"Yes."
"Mierda del caballo."
Dan rolled his eyes and tipped forward, catching himself by placing his hands against the edge of the table. "If you're just going to be this guy, I could go home and drink Coors all by my lonesome."
"I could go home, too," Casey said.
"Right." Dan traced the tip of his index finger along the grain of the wood. "And avoid getting a scolding?"
"Lisa doesn't--" Casey paused as the waitress set two tall, brimming glasses on the table. "Thanks," he said, and regarded Dan over the drinks. "Lisa doesn't scold me."
"Mier-de-la-what you said."
"Yeah." Casey frowned fleetingly. "Cowboys win today?"
Dan drank some of his beer. "Don't mess with Texas."
Casey followed suit. "It's a nice night."
"Especially for July."
"Especially for that. Nice and dry."
"Gonna be more humid than this in New York," Dan said glumly, putting his glass down. "If I went home, I'd have to finish packing."
"You're going to have to do that anyway."
"So I'm stalling. Just like you're stalling your scolding."
"We're not like that, and you know it."
"No, I don't know it." Dan reached for his drink again. "But then again, I don't know anything. All I'm going home to are cardboard boxes."
"It's gonna be great, you know," Casey said, licking a fleck of foam off his upper lip. "We're going to be fine. We're going to be famous. We are going to get along famously."
"We're going to get killed in the subway," Dan said.
Casey shook his head. "Burst my bubble, why don't you?"
"That's the plan for tonight."
* * *
"Chrysler building," Dan said, and surrendered his empty glass to the waitress as she brought a fresh round. He squinted to read her nametag. "Thanks, Caridad."
"The last syllable is supposed to rhyme with 'God'," Casey informed him.
Dan tilted his head, watching her walk away. "And well it might."
"You should ask for her number."
"I'm leaving in..." He held up his forearm and studied his watch. "Six and a half hours."
"Exactly." Casey wiggled his eyebrows and grabbed a handful of pretzels. "And God alone knows what fate awaits you."
"It's New York, it's not World War Two."
"God alone knows what fate awaits you, young Daniel."
Dan snorted. "Is this some kind of married-man-living-vicariously thing?"
"You're damn right it is. But that shouldn't stop you."
"Mm. You think they have women who look like that in New York?"
Casey grinned. "I think they have about three million women who look like that in New York."
"Yeah. And the Yankees."
"And Madison Square Garden."
"And as I mentioned, the Chrysler building."
"That's the one with the pretty thing on the top?"
"Yeah."
"Which is all by way of saying, it's going to be great," Casey concluded.
"It's going to be humid." Dan downed some of his beer. "Humid and lonely."
"Lonely? With three million Caridads?"
Dan craned his head to catch a glimpse of her next to the bar. "There can be only one."
"So this is where we get maudlin about the things we're leaving behind?" Casey ate a pretzel and washed it down with his drink.
"Would you rather I just have wild sexual escapades and recount the details for you?"
"And talk about sports," Casey added.
"Goes without saying." He reached for his glass again. "I'm not maudlin. I'm just... you know. I hate packing. I'm not a big fan of heavy lifting. Moving sucks."
"Yeah, well. Thank heaven for Dos Equis, right?"
Dan tilted his chair back and signaled the waitress. "Dos Equis and the seņoritas. Buena, buena."
"You're mangling the pronunciation."
"Won't kill anyone."
* * *
"Dana's sure," Casey said, thumping the table with the side of his hand.
"You've said that," Dan said, underneath the table. "You've said that, and Dana's said that, and the other one's said that--"
"What other one?"
"Natalie."
"You're going to love Natalie," Casey insisted. "Natalie's great. Natalie's stellar."
"You've said that. Dana's said that." Dan hoisted himself back into his chair. "Found my fork."
"That's disgusting."
"I'm not using it anyway. The point is, I believe you." Dan wiped the fork clean on his napkin. "I believe all of you. But just because you're sure, and Dana's sure, and Natalie's..."
"Stellar."
"Whatever. The point is, that doesn't mean I have to be that way too."
"Why don't you trust it?"
Dan blinked. "Huh?"
"Trust me, trust Dana, trust you, trust that we can do this. Why don't you trust it?" Casey frowned. "Why is my glass empty?"
"Beats me." Dan frowned back at him. "I do, though. I mean, I trust you, of course."
"That's more than Lisa does, anyway," Casey muttered.
"Now who's getting maudlin?" Dan asked. "What if we fuck up?"
"How?"
"A dozen different ways." He gestured randomly with the fork. "What if we can't write in New York? What if we're not as funny as we think we are? What if no one watches us? What do we do when we've picked up and planted ourselves in New York and then we get cancelled and forgotten?"
"There's no reason--"
"There's no reason why not. What're we gonna do when the money runs out?"
"We've fucked up before," Casey said simply. "We survived. It's not like we're going to wind up homeless on the cold, mean streets of Harlem."
"You know, I looked up the average temperatures," Dan said. "It's only about five to ten degrees cooler in New York this time of year than Dallas. It's not the Arctic or anything."
"You looked up the temperatures?"
"In my Farmer's Almanac," Dan said with a small, defiant smile.
"You really are an old woman."
"It hasn't steered me wrong so far."
"Neither have I," Casey told him gently.
"No, I'm just saying I have a lot staked on this."
"So do I."
"More than me, even. You're moving your family; I'm just leaving behind a smelly apartment. And, you know, the Rio Grande."
"We can do this."
"And if we can't?"
Casey shrugged. "We've fucked up before."
"Sure." Dan drained the last drops of beer left in his glass. "Like last October."
"Danny." Casey spoke in a warning tone.
"What do we do if that happens in Manhattan?"
"It was a mistake. And we said--"
"That it would never happen again."
"That we wouldn't talk about it," Casey said flatly. "So why the hell are you doing this now?"
"If not now, when?" Dan flung his arms wide. "I don't want it to happen, Casey. I don't even want to talk about it. Forget I said anything."
"No. Why'd you bring it up? Do you think--"
"Forget I said anything." He paused. "Dana's sure?"
Casey took a deep breath and exhaled it through his teeth. "Dana's sure."
"And we're leaving in a little over five hours." Dan rested his head on the back of his chair. "Nothing left to do but stuff my sweaters in a suitcase."
"You're a pain in the ass," Casey said.
"So I've heard. Let's get drunk."
"We are drunk."
"Let's drink more."
* * *
"She's leaving us," Dan slurred, and covered his face with his hands.
Casey stared at him blearily. "Who?"
"That girl. That girl. The woman."
"Dana?"
"No, the other one."
Casey pursed his lips, confused. "Natalie?"
"Caridad."
"Rhymes with 'God'," Casey corrected him automatically.
"She's getting her coat back there. Look, she's getting ready to go home."
"You should've asked for her number."
"I'm never going to see her again."
"That's why you should've asked for her number."
"And we're never going to do Lone Star Sports again," Dan murmured. "We're never..."
"What?"
"Nothing." Dan stared at his watch for a long time before he could decipher it. "We should go anyway. Lisa's going to kill you."
"She is not."
"She's going to kill you with those big long fingernails of hers," Dan insisted. "She's going to skin you like..."
"A cat?" Casey suggested.
"An orange." Dan placed his palms flat on the tabletop and got to his feet. "That the check?"
"Yeah." Casey fumbled for his wallet. "I got it."
"No, I do." Dan reached into his pocket. "I owe you one."
"Bull. Let me."
"Put your money away," Dan ordered.
"Put your money away," Casey countered, standing up.
Dan threw some bills onto the table. "I'm leaving that right there."
"Well, I'm leaving mine right here."
"Stop copying me." Dan stared at the cash and broke into a quiet laugh. "Caridad's getting one hell of a tip."
"She's worth it." Casey chuckled. "Let's get out of here."
"I'm not that drunk," Dan said, reluctantly following him.
Casey pushed the door open and breathed in the evening air. "Nice, dry night. You are that drunk."
"I'm not. And I don't think you are, either." He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the streetlights. "And I don't think you're as sure as you think you are."
"About what? What are you talking about?"
"About everything. You don't know what's going to happen." Dan leaned in close to him, eyes wide and jubilant. "You're scared."
"I'm not--"
"We're going to the big time and you're scared shitless."
"So what?" Casey replied irritably.
"So you're a bad liar."
"And you've long since ceased to make any kind of sense. You do know that, right?"
"New York is this incredible city. There are giants in the earth there, Casey. There are history and crime and art and culture. We're going to this city where there isn't room for us, to try and make it for ourselves. We shouldn't pretend that this is easy, that we can't fail. Your wife scolds you sometimes like she scolds your little boy. And we did something once that we said we'd never do again, and I'm just saying, we're not great at pretending."
"Wow." Casey took a step backward. "You're not that drunk?"
"No."
"Remind me to make you the designated driver next time."
"How're we getting home?" Dan wondered.
Casey held up a quarter. "You know, in New York, you can just hail a cab right off the street and get where you need to go."
"And you can buy pizza by the slice."
"And you can do an hour-long sports show in a national market and make it pretty damn good. I really do think we can do this, you know."
"We're doing it in four hours," Dan said. "Soon as it's light out. Kind of doesn't matter if we're sure or not, does it?"
"Go call us a cab." Casey tossed the quarter at him.
Dan caught it, and began to smile. "Start spreading the news..."
"And don't sing."
"We'll make a brand new start of it," Dan called over his shoulder, heading for the pay phone. "Say goodnight to Texas."
"Buenas noches," Casey answered, and looked up at the sky. "Adios."
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