Shack #27 (Sports Night)
by julad


"Cold.  Tired.  Miserable."

"Ice hockey.  Sled racing.  Curling."  Casey throws
his suitcase on the bed next to Danny's and flips it open.  "What's
a little frostbite in the service of sport? Toughen up, this is why we
make the big money."

Danny goes to fiddle with the thermostat.  "It's not the weather,
it's the two freaking AM!"

"Um, no. New York time, it's 6:19 AM. If you wanna get technical."

"Yeah, and my point is, I got up at four freaking AM yesterday morning."

Casey finishes with his own clothing and starts hanging Danny's. 
"I know. I was there, remember?"

"That's different. You're younger!"

"Again, you lose on technical point. I am four years older, and you
are just wrong, wrong and wrong."

Danny rolls his eyes.  "For certain values of 30, I am older."

Casey laughs.  "Oh, yeah, great, we're in a fucking shack in the
fucking Yukon, doing experimental mathematics.  That's wonderful..."

"It's not a shack, it's a three-star cabin, and I am older in base twelve!"

"Again, alas no. It has wooden walls and dirty windows--it's definitely
a shack, and in base twelve, you are 36, and I am 37."

"No, no. See, you read ahead."

"I know math better than you know math, so don't fuck with me."

"My age, in base twelve, is more than your age in base ten.  So
there."

Casey thinks about this. "True. Yes."

"Thank you."

"You are admittedly older in base twelve than I am in base ten."

"And I feel every year of it.  Your problem, Casey, is that you
don't listen to me."

"Not when you're making inaccurate comparisons in base mathematics,
no."

"I hadn't even made the comparison before you deemed it inaccurate."

"I didn't need the comparison. I knew, from the fact that I am always
right and you are always wrong, that I was right and you were wrong."

"My point exactly."

"What point, exactly?"

Danny finishes with the suitcases and puts them in the closet. 
"The point that I am right and you are wrong about."  A pair of hands
creep around his waist, and Casey's chin digs into his shoulder.

"Hey, Danny?"

"Mhmm?" Danny says, eyeing the bed.

"All your base are belong to me."

Danny thinks for a minute.  "Can't argue with that, no."




Casey puts aside Danny's drafted rendering of the bus trip from Yellowknife.

"Well?"

"Every word drips malice, pettiness and spite.  If I didn't know
you better, I'd think you had plans to be a travel writer in your dotage."

"You know me too well, my friend; I do have plans."

"You?  Who pukes on planes?  Who pukes on trains?  Who
pukes on--"

Danny held up his hands.  "So I get a little queasy in rough weather,
who--"

"Who complains about the beds in the Bangkok Hilton?  Who speaks
not two, not one, but zero foreign languages?"

"Casey,"

"You, who does nothing but complain once I start packing your suitcases
for you
?"

"Casey."

"You have plans to be a travel writer?"

Dan rolls Casey over and presses his face in the pillow.  "Your
problem, Casey, is that you don't listen to me."

Casey mffff's his disagreement.

"I have plans," Dan announces happily, "for us to be travel writers."

Released, Casey flops onto his back, and studies his surroundings. 
"Well. Can't argue with that."

"You will, though."

Casey looks over and grins.  "Need to pass time between beds somehow."

"And yet here we are, in bed, arg--"

(574 words)


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