Waiting in Moments

Chapter: 1


Cappie/Casey post season 2 finale.

"We do not remember days, we remember moments" - Cesare Pavese

A collection of moments in the aftermath of the finale.

"If something anticipated arrives too late it finds us numb, wrung out from waiting, and we feel - nothing at all. The best things arrive on time". – Dorothy Gilman

Fingers tap restlessly at the sticky bar top, left hand clenches and unclenches around the neck of a half empty beer, right leg twitches at furious pace, hair reaches for all corners of the room. Cappie's eyes stay glued to the door.

Right leg stretches, left leg twitches, left hand raises beer, and mouth welcomes it. Cappie's eyes remain glued to the door. Unblinking; he is staring hard enough that it is clear to all who meet his gaze that whatever he is looking at cannot be seen by their eyes.

He is not watching; he is waiting. He is not watching, he is not responding to Beaver's hand on his shoulder for the umpteenth time, he is not reacting to Spitter's stream of consciousness ramble about girls and life and love and polywhatever; he is waiting.

And if he were to be honest with himself, he would admit that he is so tired of waiting. And if he were to be brutally honest, all feelings aside, 'give it to me straight doc', he would admit that this time, the waiting, the beer, is all his own doing. But of course, he's not, so it's not his fault. And really, its not like she's here to prove him wrong anyway.

He knows she won't be coming here tonight, Dobbler's , well any bar really was his turf, the homeland and safety net for him and all his brothers. She won't be coming here tonight and he knows that it's his fault and his fault alone.

He knows she won't be here tonight and that is why he came here; his homeland, his haven – so noisy and full of action that he will not be at risk of slipping into his thoughts, which means slipping into a self pitying hole in a darkness that claws at his mind, whispering that this was his fault, that he could have stopped this, that they both could be happy right now, that he could be getting laid by the one person he thought of every time he came whilst fucking another girl.

So he is here: bar stool confession, idle mind, idle hands, restless mind, restless hands; broken heart. No, he is not thinking about not thinking about it at all.

And that is why he is here.

Because he knows she won't be.

So why is he waiting, eye's fixated on the door?

Eyes closed, the other senses take over touch, taste, smell, sound: fingers are seeing the pillow, soft/lumpy, fingers spot the clicker hard/plastic , fingers spy the half eaten bag of chips, hear the crackle, smell the vinegar – just one more- tongue tastes the salt. Fingers continue to search, feeling for items that appear in her mind and her hands grasp, graze and feel. Finally, soft and papery fingers close on the tissue and she wipes the blur of tears away and opens her eyes.

The evidence of herself imposed imprisonment is astounding , bags of chips and cookies litter the floor, a stack of Reese Witherspoon dvds and two issues of Cosmo are open to the confessions page complete the a pyramid atop piles of dirty clothes, another magazine, a valentines issue from 2001 is crumpled on her duvet. Blinds drawn, lights out and the invisible line which separates her side from Ashleigh's is now discernable as her best friend's side so neat and orderly looks as if it were from another house, another school, another life.

Casey has not left her room for ten hours, and that was for a comfort food restock and a trip to the bathroom. Casey has not left the house in three days.

She looks at the clock on her bedside table: 12:00 am, she frowns at this, or maybe she deepens her frown, there is no mirror in her view but she is pretty certain her lips were pointed downward at begin with.

12:00 am and she is praying that Ashleigh spends the night at Fishers. She loves Ashleigh but all Ash wants to do is talk about IT. And she does not want to talk about IT, she does not want to scream or cry about IT, she does not want to drink IT away, she does not want to think about IT.

What she wants to do now is burrow, to China if possible but the bottom of a blanket cocoon is okay as well.

12:01 am and if she were perfectly honest with herself she would admit that she has been screaming and crying about IT for the past three days and that if she could reach the alcohol on her desk she would be drinking IT away. And if she were to be blunt as a hungover Rebecca, brutally claws out honest, she would admit that not speaking about IT does not discount the fact that IT is all she has thought about since she fled the party. Not that she has given IT any thought, of course.

12:02 am and she hears Ashleigh's drunken stumble through the door.

She closes her eyes and pretends to sleep, because drunken Ash loves to chat, and chatting would lead to the talk, and she most definitely is not interested in talking about IT, which shouldn't even be an issue since she is not thinking about IT.

Eyes closed she hears the snick of the door closing and pitter patter on the carpet as her roommate and (former?) confidant goes through the motions of stripping off and settling down. She finds herself relieved that Fisher is not with her. She has dealt with Ash bringing home boys before, has hummed tunes in her head to mask the sighs and groans from the bed across but she knows nothing could drown out the sounds of contentment and the whispered 'I love you's ' from her best friend and her lover, the cute couple, the perfect match. Fisher had spent the night yesterday and her palms bled as she dug her nails in, trying to ignore the fact that the blissful union across the room made her ache for the one boy she thought of every time she was with another.


Ashleigh's voice cuts through her non thinking, a quiet whisper to see if she is awake.

She clenches her fists tightly, purses her lips, squeezes her eyes, unmoving, unspeaking.

She does not want to speak, does not want to think, does not want to dream about IT.

Her lips remain pursed until she hears Ashleigh shift her covers in resignation.

Because all she wants to do is ask if he was there tonight.


So there have already been 500000 post finale fics ( I have already done two) but hey, inspiration is inspiration and I think that episode was fuel for quite a lot of Cappie/Casey fires.

First off: This is a chaptered story, however it will not read in a linear fashion, I tend not to write cohesive storylines very well, instead I like to elaborate on the details and emotions that take place in moments. So this story will progress as a series of moments that examine Casey, Cappie and perhaps some other characters as they deal with the events of the finale. This will probably end in a Cappie/Casey reunion however who knows where each moment will lead?

Secondly: The second quote by Dorothy Gilman to me sums up why Cappie rejected Casey, and I hope to use that idea throughout the story.

Anyways, enough rambling on my part.

Please review, I really appreciate any form of encouragement and constructive critisism.