Waiting in Moments

Chapter: 8 All This Time Spent Waiting In Moments pt 2

Summary:

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.


It feels sort of surreal and ridiculous and if it weren't so important to him it would be exciting, but he is hell bent on catching her and he is hell bent on making her feel loved again. The party and the people are blurring past him and he is dodging cups and couples left and right. She's at the bottom of the stairs now, walking in some kind of sad daze and this hurts him more than any of her rejections.

He catches her in the hallway, his hand around her arm a little too tight, a little too needy. People are looking and talking and pointing and he needs her alone because she deserves more than this. At the same time he feels a little too close to a romantic comedy cliché and part of him wants to scream to hell with this and they can figure the rest out over a bottle of gin. There needs to be some sort of common ground and he really doesn't want anyone watching; he panics, she runs.

He pulls her into the closet before he can really register the magnitude of the action. So many things had happened in that cramped space. He remembers making out with her in there, the night they first got together. She had been shy and he'd been kind of drunk but none of it mattered because he had her pressed against the wall and she had kissed him with surprising confidence and control. He remembers that one drunken night when they came home to find Wade passed out in his bed. He had been cursing his friend when she had pulled him in there with a smile. It took an hour for them to find her bra afterward but the smile never left her face. All those kisses and memories hazy with lust and need and giddy smiles and tangled hands and legs: he had ruined it that night. Rejecting her in there. It makes sense now that they do this here. That they get this right.

She looks conflicted and he just wants to kiss it away. But he can't do that yet. So he holds her as close as he can get because they're going to get it right this time. They need to.

It's too tempting, the idea of wallowing in self pity – she wants to play the victim because she wants to be saved. She's on some sort of ledge and is trying so hard to fall over. She's trying to slip and push her self that last centimetre back into that lovely little abyss pooling with regret and a life lived through photographs in retrospect. She's trying too hard to jump and something is holding her back. Something is holding her back with a ferocity, an almost violence and through her blindness she opens her eyes just in time to see his face - in pain and impassioned - before her face is pressed against his chest.

He pulls her in shuts the door. She can tell by the sheer feel of the space that they're in the closet. There are so many memories tucked away in the small space, it's overwhelming. She thinks it could be suffocating, the pressure of this place. But he clutches her closer, and closer, so close that each breath she takes pushes against him and so he squeezes her tighter and she remembers how much she loves the feel of his arms around her.

He can feel her trembling and shaking, and he's certain there are tears and in some sick way he is happy because that is the most raw and exposed she has ever been in front of him and he wants that Casey, he wants her as close as she can physically be, and then even closer still.

"Don't run away Case, don't run away on me"

His words slide through her with a shiver that she knows he felt, and they both know he was not speaking in a literal sense.

She breathes and pulls far enough away that she can see his face, knowing somehow he would have stopped her had she gone any farther.

She breathes and the last few tears trickle down her face.

He sees this and he crumbles; his breath a sharp inhale, his face conflicted.

The timing was never right. And she's spent the last year or so ignoring the "what ifs" and the "maybes" because she was certain they were too damaged to ever work again. The timing was never right because when she was ready, he was too hard and too callous and too cold to be hers. Their timing was always wrong, and they were always reading the signals wrong. And now she feels stupid and embarrassed and sad and still she's wondering when and if the right time will ever present itself.

And then suddenly, a smile slips smoothly onto her mouth, as if it hadn't been missing for the last while. And like a trigger pulled a smile shoots across his face before he has time to register the change. Then there is laughter: at first embarrassed and quiet, then loud and forgiving; it dances between the two of them and dissolving any remnants of the intensity and severity of their almost reunion.

Then the laughter having run its course fell to the wayside and it its place an acceptance; the quiet promise of future excitement and for once, clarity.

She speaks first.

"So it's safe to say we're both idiots"

He laughs, and removes one hand from her waist to touch her cheek.

" Yeah, you know, considering we're both supposed to be these sanguine, easy going, happy people ...we sure crash hard"

" I know...I think I should be embarrassed at how .....down and out...I got but" She laughs and trails off, looking up at him through her lashes. "But only for you"

He smiles.

" I know"

A small squeak is head from beyond the closet door. They both turn to watch the light and shadow play in the crack between the door and the floorboards, shifting for a moment before settling on shadow.

She eyes the door knowingly.

" So I'm pretty sure Ashleigh has everyone waiting outside the door"

He rolls his eyes, his smile so endearingly large she has half a mind to take a picture, but at this moment she is tired of living in remembered moments, and at this moment, leaving the comfort of his arms sounds the like worst idea, ever. Seriously.

He grabs her arm and turns her toward him again, this guilty, giddy smile on his face and for some reason she's blushing like crazy.

"Aaaaand I'm pretty sure they won't leave until they hear us hooking up"

She bites her lip and does her best not to focus on his mouth, his face, his eyes. The tension, which before had been sitting comfortably at low since their bout of laughter suddenly hit overdrive. And she starts to notice his proximity; she is all too aware of his hands on her back, the line of his jaw and the look in his eye.

He feels it too and there is a moment of sheer elation that he is feeling this in the right moment with the right girl; the girl. Now all he needs is the closure of her mouth on his, because he is all too aware of her lips as she bites at them nervously; of her hands around his neck; of the rise and fall of her chest and most of all, the openness in her face.

He leans in and she pauses, stalling for time because suddenly she's thirteen and screw their history, screw the fact she's kissed him more times than she can count, right now she's thirteen and doesn't know where the fuck to put her mouth.

"Don't we need to talk Cappie, I mean, obviously there's stuff we need to sort out before..."

He shakes his head, endeared, knowing and turned on all at once.

"Do we really?"

Her fingers tap nervously on his neck.

"I don't know, shouldn't we at least like, sort out where we stand?"

He laughs and something in her relaxes.

"I know exactly where I'm standing Casey, I'm with you"

And his lips are on hers without further protest.

He pulls her closer toward him, feeling at once as if the weight of the world had been lifted but also as if he is wound tighter then he had ever been in his life. Suddenly all the things he wanted to do, he can, and this realization is so exciting he literally doesn't know where to start. So he goes by feel, the feel of her body guides his hands to his favourite places, the feel of her mouth has him pressing her closer and closer with both impatience and indulgence. It's so strange to go from wanting to having. Some have folded under the sensation, some have found a sense of regret, of nostalgia for the chase, but he has never relished something as much as he is now. The sting of rejection which he was so familiar with has somehow made the reunion that much sweeter. Fuck the drama, fuck the words, the friends, the fights, he wants her. He wants her, and now, he has her.

She has never been one for dramatics but there was something about their relationship, stunted and epic all at once that deserved, no, needed all the fanfare. They needed all the fireworks and music and tears, because each moment with them had always been a long time coming. And she is tired of waiting, and most importantly so is he. She presses herself closer to him, her lips moulding to his, her body melting in response to his touch. This moment, she decides, is worth all the waiting in the world.

And as if answering her need for fireworks and drama, there is the sound of clapping from beyond the closet door.

She sort of hears Ashleigh telling people to "go away and let them make out in peace"

He kind of hears Beaver shout a loud, "be safe"

There is shuffling and cheering and noise from beyond the closet door.

She doesn't really notice because she's too busy trying to tangle herself in him, and he's smiling against her lips and she can't stop smiling back.

Fin.


WoW!

I've never finished a story before this feels amazing, and I want to thank everyone who put up with my spastic style and random updates and reviewedddddd thank you!

It's a little sappy and corny but I think those two deserve it. I'm sketching out the rough draft of another one, not sure if it's gonna be a multichap or a onesie we'll see.

Wanna make my world and give an early ( or on time or late, depending on when you read this) christmas prezzie by reviewing?

XOXO