|Title: Invitations (Epilogue)
Synopsis: Four years after Zeke breaks Casey's heart, Casey get an invitation.
Disclaimer: I own nothing--all fantasy on my end.
Author's Notes: Inspired by a prompt I did for naemi, in my "28 Ways-Zeke" post on livejournal.
Epilogue--October 27, 2004
“I told you... fucking told you,” Casey hissed. Zeke chuckled; Casey's hand was holding his arm tight, his eyes set on the screen. The entire bar was quiet, waiting for the moment to explode. “This would make eight... no one has ever made eight in a row...”
“Two out in the ninth inning!”
Everyone yelled, the chants starting up; Casey clapped and hollered along loudly. Zeke put his finger into his ear, still chuckling. Casey saw this and slapped his arm, laughing loudly. “Don't you fuck this up, you're fine,” Casey called in his ear.
“Best not get too hopeful... remember Buckner,” Zeke hissed, making Casey immediately clap his hand over Zeke's mouth.
“Don't DARE say that, not here, not now,” he hissed back, winking. The bar calmed again in an instant, watching the last chance the Cardinals had. Casey leaned forward in his seat in anticipation. “You're praying, right?” he asked Zeke, his stare on the television unwavering.
“Yes, Case--I am,” Zeke said.
“Good... good,” Casey muttered back. Everyone was either clasping hands with each other, clenching bottles and glasses, or folded at the chin all in wait. “C'mon, Foulke. C'mon, I love you, man, I LOVE you...” Casey muttered. Zeke's lips curled at his bottle.
“Should I worry?”
“Pssh...” Zeke hissed, chuckling.
“One-O pitch, here it is...”
Casey's grip tightened on Zeke's arm, this time getting it returned. His breath hitched as the bat swung; everyone stood up and hushed prayers started turning to excited yells.
“BACK to Foulke... Red Sox fans have LONGED to hear it; Boston Red Sox are world champions!”
Casey stood, arms in the air, as the entire bar seemed to explode; he began jumping up and down in the pulse of the crowd, grabbing Zeke's shoulders, still hooting and hollering. “FUCK yes! YES! FUCK YES!” he screamed. Zeke sat, seemingly unaffected except for the amused smile, still sipping his beer. Casey didn't care as he threw his arms around Zeke from behind, getting bumped into by mounds of people behind him. “I TOLD you!! I fucking told everyone!”
“Yeees, you did,” Zeke drawled. A guy Casey didn't know was suddenly grabbing him up, obviously a bit gone on drinks.
“WE WON!! DUDE, WE WON!!” he yelled, hopping up and down with Casey in tow. Zeke turned and cocked an eyebrow, chuckling again as Casey whooped along.
“The Rooters gave the other team a dreadful fright, Boston's tenth man could not be wrong! Up from Third Base to Huntington, they sang another victory song--Two! Three! Four!--”
“Are they gonna sing that song all night?”
Casey turned away from singing in a yell along with the large group on the street, a wide-eyed look cast Zeke's way as he danced down the sidewalk. “You bet your ass they're gonna!” Casey told him.
Zeke laughed out loud and shook his head. “I guess I came at the right time.”
“You're one lucky bitch, yes. Fuckin' complain and I kick your ass,” Casey warned. It was then that Casey's cell rang; he plucked it from his pocket and pressed 'talk'. “HEY!” he called into it.
“Fuck, we wish we were there!”
Casey laughed hearing Stan's lament. “Wish you were here too, man! Listen to this shit!” Casey said, holding the phone up. The many crowds, cars blaring horns and cheers rang out in celebration. Casey put it back to his ear, eying Zeke who had hopped up to a sit onto a 'Boston Globe' newspaper dispenser. “It's unbelievable!”
“We fuckin' saw you on TV, man!” Stan yelled with laughter. Casey's eyes went wide.
“In the bar!”
“Holy shit--Zeke! We were on TV!”
“Hey Stan!” Zeke called out.
“Tell him I said 'FUCK YOU' for being out there; and fuck you too, man!” Stan said.
“Yea... hey, someone needs to apologize.”
Casey's grin grew. “Uh huh; Put 'im on.”
“Do I have to?” Ben said in the background. Casey tapped his foot impatiently. Finally a groan came on the other line. “Yea, yea... SORRY.”
“Hah! That's what you fucking get, callin' my ass the night of the fourth game,” Casey said. Ben moaned out louder.
“How did I know the Yanks would puss out like that?”
“C'mon man, nooo...”
“You HAVE to,” Casey chided.
“FINE. You're my 'Papi'.”
“Damn straight, Ben. Damn straight.”
“Can I stop talking to you now? Please?” Ben said with a laugh.
“Yes, put Stan back on.”
Ben grumbled a 'congrats' before Stan returned, chuckling heartily. “He's SO sore... but I can tell he's happy,” Stan said.
“I know I am,” Casey said with a deep sigh. He fanned himself with his baseball cap, shaking his head. “Too fucking much; it's too good.”
“Must be—-just wanted to call and say my 'grats; you told us,”
“I did. Our fucking year,” Casey said, watching Zeke smile at a group passing by singing 'Tessie' again. “Hope you can come visit again; we miss you guys.”
“Maybe after Christmas--that would be fun,” Stan wistfully replied. “You guys enjoy. We're having a ball all the way out here in Ohio, too!”
“Good!” Casey said. “Tell Stokes I said 'hi'!”
“Will do. Have fun, tell Zeke the same!”
“Bye!” Casey said, hanging up. He stuck it back in his pocket and sighed; crossing his arms he walked over to Zeke, smiling like a Cheshire cat. “Sooo...”
“So,” Zeke said, bowing his head a little.
Casey saw the blush on his face and the small smile. He cocked his head down to look at him, clucking his tongue. “You say 'I was kidding' and I hurt you,” Casey warned with a cocked eyebrow. Zeke sighed long and hard.
“No, no--I wasn't kidding. I just didn't think... y'now...”
“That they'd win. I know,” Casey said, waggling his eyebrows. “But they did, didn't they?”
“Uh huh,” Zeke said, chuckling. He now looked up, shaking his head. “What?”
“You want me to do it now? Here?” Zeke said, laughing with an incredulous expression.
“What better time and place TO do it? It's in your pocket, I KNOW it is. You're no good at being covert.”
“Saw that, huh?”
“Well... had to be ready for it,” Zeke replied.
“Then do it,” Casey told him, another smile growing on his lips.
Zeke groaned and hopped off the dispenser, then reached into his pocket. Casey began hopping on the balls of his feet in excitement; Zeke looked up at him through his lashes. “The hell are you excited for? You KNEW it was gonna happen,” Zeke said, smiling back at him. Casey almost glared his way; Zeke waggled his eyebrows and opened the box, groaning. “Last time I make a bet on the Sox, man.”
“Uh huh,” Casey said, voice expectant. Zeke pulled the small gold band from the velvet and went to put it on Casey's finger. Casey stepped back, frowning. “The FUCK you say, get on your goddamned knee!”
“Shit, you're joking.”
Zeke complied, letting one knee hit the cement. Casey stepped forward, nodding. “Uh huh; good.”
“So, Connor,” Zeke started. “Gonna marry me or what?”
“Whatta way to ask.”
“I'm incredibly fucking romantic,” Zeke replied. Casey wiggled his fingers Zeke's way, who then placed the ring on his finger as expected.
“Yea, I think so.”
“Mr. Romance yourself,” Zeke said, standing again. “Okay. I need more beer now.”
Casey laughed out loud, bringing the ring to his eyes. He sighed happily as Zeke took Casey's shoulders and pulled him in for a hug. Casey closed his eyes, one ear listening to the crazed celebrations, the other hearing Zeke's rapid heartbeat. “Our fucking year,” he whispered, smiling wide.
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