Current mood:	creative
Current music:	A and B song
Entry tags:	joan of arcadia fanfic, sports night fanfic

Fanfic. Weird.
If the point of these Secret Santa stories is to make you stretch, than this did an excellent job. I'm not very comfortable writing in the Sports Night universe to begin with, and out of all the characters, Dana's the one who drives me the craziest.

So this was a struggle from the start. Especially since my characters tend to be depressed and somewhat understated rather than neurotic. Nevertheless, it's done, and it's not as terrible as it could have been.

I think I should start working on that Will one *now*, to avoid the dead-line panic.

Title: Shoot the Lights Out
Author: Anna S.
Summary: "Our show is on," she says, and those words don’t carry any less weight than they did the first time she said them.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Set immediately following Quo Vadimus, the show’s finale.
Notes: Thanks to Shaye, for her sharp eyes and encouragement, and Ria for her honesty.

A very happy, belated Christmas to the wonderful Stylus, who deserved a more timely gift.


The cameras turn off and the room explodes into movement. Natalie gives Dana a quick squeeze before flinging herself into Jeremy’s arms. Behind her, Kim and Elliot are leaping up and down, bouncing like six-year-olds on Christmas day.

Dana reaches Danny and Casey first, laughing to see the matching grins on their faces.

"Our show is on," she says, and those words don’t carry any less weight than they did the first time she said them. Danny throws an arm around both of them, and whoops.

The set quickly turns into a party. Cold champagne and vodka appear from nowhere, along with a slightly stale cake. Danny runs off to find Rebecca as Dana drags Casey into the congo line snaking around the room.

Two hours later people are finally starting to leave and head home. A smart few choose comfortable corners and pass out, saving themselves commuting time.

Dana sags into Casey’s chest, closing her eyes. It seems right somehow to wrap her arms around him, and equally right to have his hands tighten around her waist.

They stand like that for awhile, swaying in a warm haze of alcohol. His hand traces a pattern through the thin fabric of her skirt. When she looks up, he’s gazing down at her and their lips meet half way.

The kiss is sloppy, but gentle. When she pulls away, her feet slip and she falls against him, almost knocking him over.

Between giggles, she asks him to come home with her. In the cab ride, Casey composes a long, incoherent speech to Quo Vadimus and even after she kisses him, she can hear the mumbled words trying to escape.

"There really isn’t a way to get you to shut up, is there?" she asks and he waggles his eyebrows.

By the time they’re actually in her apartment, her sweater’s half off, and he’s working on her bra. As they stumble into her bedroom, she tugs on his shirt, laughing as it catches on his head.

"I told you your head was too big," she says and in mock anger he pulls her onto the bed. She reaches for the waistband of his pants, trying to concentrate on his belt buckle.

It surprises her how well they fit together, how easy all of this is. With a moment of self-loathing, she realizes that if it weren’t for the ill-fated dating plan, she could have had this a long time ago.

"Do you ever think about how close we came?" she asks him as he leaves a line of soft kisses down her stomach. "If I’d moved a little faster, or if you’d changed your mind a little slower…" she trails off as he lifts his head up, expecting him to agree, or make an offer of a second chance.

Her haze has only worn off slightly, but his expression is surprisingly clear. "It was more than just the timing, Dana," he says.

Either she’s drunker than she thought, or hornier or both, because she lets him return to her body without complaint, and when he comes, she calls his name.


*


When Dana wakes up, he’s not there. She’s not sure whether she’s relieved or hurt, but she’s not entirely surprised.

She dresses slowly, meticulously, and puts on his favorite blue sweater first, but when she looks into the mirror, it infuriates her so much that she flings it off and changes into a loose blouse. When she walks into her kitchen, Casey’s standing by the counter with a coffee mug in his hand.

He meets her eyes and the color in his cheeks rises, as she feels her face turn hot. "I thought you left," she says.

"I’m not that kind of guy, Dana." She raises her eyebrows, and after a second he admits that he couldn’t find his wallet for taxi money.

Dana searches around the room for a few minutes, feeling her face growing redder and redder until she finally finds her jacket in a pool behind the coat rack. She pulls a twenty dollar bill out of its pocket and hands it to him. Wrinkling her nose, she says, "Don’t show up at my show until you’ve taken a shower."

"Look, about last night, should we, maybe, talk—?"

"I don’t think it’s necessary, Casey," she says, glancing away from him.

He continues anyway, "It’s not that I don’t love you Dana, you know I do. But we’re bad for each other. I married Lisa once, and that was enough."

Her chest tightens and her voice is strained when she answers, "You’re mistaken, Casey if you think I’d ever treat you the way Lisa treated you. But maybe that just means that you’re right."

He nods and leaves. His cup of coffee is cool to the touch and she wonders how long he was up, waiting for her. She drinks it slowly, staring out the window at the tops of buildings.


*


"Natalie, I’m going to tell you something, and I need you to keep it to yourself. And this time, Jeremy doesn’t count as an extension of yourself."

Natalie nods. Dana takes a deep breath before she takes the plunge.

"I slept with Casey last night."

Natalie’s eyes widen, and a huge smile breaks across her face. "I knew it. I knew you two would eventually—"

Dana cuts her off. "It won’t happen again."

"And you’re okay with that?" Natalie asks, searching her face for clues.

"Why wouldn’t I be?" she asks, but even she can hear the fake cheer in her voice, stretched so far it’s in danger of cracking.

She’s had almost exactly this conversation before. First about Bill, then Gordan, then Casey, and finally Sam.

Change comes to her slowly. Her closest friend from college has long since stopped sending her Christmas cards, but Dana dutifully calls her once or twice a month. Gordon has yet to be erased from her speed dial, and even now when she looks at Casey, all she can think of is their infinite potential.

The young, fresh faced girl from San Francisco with the germ of a dream is mostly gone, but her confidence still has the feel of false bravado.


*


She assumes that Casey has told Dan, since it’s hard to imagine Casey doing anything without telling his other half. More and more in her head, she finds herself thinking of them as CaseynDanny, like some new species of creature; the previously unknown, wise-cracking sports anchor.

Between the two yentas of the set, she supposes she should be relieved that Dan and Natalie manage to keep their secret for a whole two days.

Kim stops her in the hallway to give her a hug, and when she escapes to Isaac’s office, searching for some wisdom, the expression on his face is so deeply sympathetic that she stammers a lame excuse and slips out again.

Casey pulls her aside after the show to ask her if she’s okay. "Everyone keeps treating me like I broke your heart," he confides. But where there should be sympathy, she only sees cockiness.

"Do I look like you broke my heart?" she asks.

"No."

"Then let’s go ahead and assume you didn’t."


*


Dana finds Isaac flipping through a science magazine at his desk.

"I guess you heard," she says. He nods and she jokes, "Sports Night. The only place in the world where sound travels faster than light."

"Dana," Isaac begins, and the gentleness in his voice is so comfortable that she feels her features start to unfreeze. The ache in her jaw disappears as tears begin to stream down her face.

"Am I just completely unloveable?" she asks. "Maybe my mother was right about women and sports. Maybe we don’t mix. God, I’m so pathetic. So completely, utterly pathetic."

"Do you remember the first time we met?" he asks, unexpectedly. Trying to wipe her face with her sleeve, she nods.

"You were just another twenty-something with a tan, and then you walked up to me and introduced yourself, swearing that you wanted to work in sports. You told me there was nothing you loved more. I doubted you, but the second you started to talk I knew you were one of the last members of a dying breed," he paused, giving her a smile.

"When CSC started looking for producers, I refused to consider anyone but you. I knew you would be the only one who could do the job we needed done. And you have. And everything else is nonsense.

"Look around, Dana. Look what you’ve done here."

She glances around the office, spotting the glass Excellence in Broadcasting trophy on his shelf, and the words come back to her. Our show is on.

All of her other loves have failed her in one way or another: Gordan, who never could have loved her any way, Casey, who fell in love with the wrong woman first, and then Sam, who wasn’t strong enough to stay.

Sports were her first love, and she’s starting to think they’ll be her last. And for the first time, that doesn’t fill her with despair.

Giving Isaac a quick hug, she heads home and falls asleep to the sound of a taped football game. In her dreams, the crowds lift her away, and she wraps her arms around herself for warmth.




*

And here's another break from my usual routine. I hadn't intended to write for Joan of Arcadia, but this popped into my head and it had to be exorcised. It's somewhat scattered and only semi-finished, but since I'm not sure what to do with it anyway, it'll do.

Title: Share of Days
Author: Anna S.
Summary: "He’s like your younger brother, except you make out occasionally." Grace/Luke, Adam/Joan, with Joan/Grace subtext.



He initiates the second kiss. You were too angry to really pay attention during the first attempt, but this time you’re surprised by how gentle his lips are.

Your hands find their way to his face, and it feels like what you imagined a girl’s skin would feel like, soft and hairless. Under your callused fingers, even his bones seem fragile.

When you pull away, his eyes are still closed and he’s smiling. You remember Joan that morning, saying, "So, you and my brother. That’s so weird. I mean, it’s cool, but weird."

She gave you a warm smile and you said, "I wasn’t asking for your blessing, Girardi."

A cold resentment rises in your chest and you lean in to kiss Luke again.


*


You never wanted a boyfriend. Not that Luke is one, exactly, since you’d never give him a title and he’d never dare start that conversation.

Instead he slowly works his way into your life. It’s rare that you find people that you have a difficult time getting angry with. Of course you snap at him occasionally, but as with Adam, your automatic reaction to him is sympathetic.

He’s like your younger brother, except you make out occasionally. And maybe Joan was right, because that’s just too weird to even think about.

It continues anyway. And by the time the Science Fair rolls around, he’s comfortable enough around you that he no longer stutters or sweats.

"Isn’t your family coming? I thought that you were like the Brady Bunch," you ask.

"Yeah, right. Maybe if this was Kevin’s football game, but they don’t care about geek stuff." The lack of resentment in his voice amazes you. You’re capable of hating your father for much less.

There’s a long silence as Luke surveys the other projects. Across the room, Joan walks in alone and waves to both of you and then hesitantly nods at Adam, who’s slumped by the door. Luke waves back before turning to you with a frown.

"I’ve been thinking that we should try to help Adam and Joan. This stupid argument of theirs really has been going on for way too long. We could—"

You cut him off. "They have some weird Romeo and Juliet thing going on. It’s not worth getting involved."

"Fair point," he agrees, unperturbed. "Look what happened to Mercutio."


*


Joan asks you once if Adam ever mentions her. You pause before telling her no, not for awhile now.

Her entire face drops and guilt squeezes your chest. When lunch comes around, you pass Adam your untouched bag of chips as an apology, and he takes it with a small smile and a quiet thanks.


*


You find them together in the Girardi living room, curled up on the couch. Joan looks up with a smile, and Adam looks embarrassed, but not guilty. Not that they should be; not that they have any reason to feel guilty.

Luke’s standing behind you and he knows you too well not to notice how your body tenses and your hands curl tightly against your sides.

When Adam gets angry, he spends hours twisting coils of tinfoil. Luke loses himself in labs and math problems without definite answers. You’re less sure about Joan, but she probably does something girlish, like brushing her hair or watching bad teen movies.

You smash things.

You kicked through your door once, and your boot’s tread is still clearly marked on several of your walls. Your fist has the scars from the day your mother disappeared from your life.

This time, plaster and flesh don’t seem to meet your needs.

"I guess I should’ve known," Luke says in a quiet voice as you turn into the kitchen.

You don’t meet his eyes when he says that. The front door is beckoning and all you want it to walk away, escape of this mess.

"I won’t tell her," he says to your back, and then you’re running. Out the door and down the block, leather coat flapping ridiculously.

You go home and stare at the ceiling, and try to pretend that it’ll be better to go back to being your own island, untouched and untouchable.

The evening goes on and Luke doesn’t call. Neither do Adam or Joan. You remember all over again that nobody breaks things better than you do.


*