FicWad

A/N: Just like I was on a Paige/Mac kick last week, I was on a Keefe/Casey thing this week. I love those two so much...they're almost as cute as Paige and Mac. This is a good one, I think; Keefe is cooler from the other characters' points of view.

Disclaimer: I do not own the lyrics to "Beautiful Disaster"

Song Used: Kelly Clarkson's "Beautiful Disaster"


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Sixty-One: Beautiful Disaster
Puppet: Casey Thane


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He drowns in his dreams,
An exquisite extreme I know,
He's as damned as he seems,
And more Heaven than a heart could hold,
And if I try to save him,
My whole world could cave in,
It just ain't right,
It just ain't right...

I couldn't sleep.

It was late (or maybe I should say it was early; 2:30am early) and the room was terribly dark, the moon choosing to shed its light in other places. Of course, it would never come here; my Keefe would never have chosen the room if it was light. Never in a million years. It was in his nature to gravitate to the darkest places and dwell in the shadows; it was the only place no one could ever discover anything about him without him wanting them to, after all.

It also made it that much more haunting, listening to him mumble in his sleep.

I couldn't make out what he was saying, but I knew him, and had an imagination and knew how to use it rather well. He was in pain, whatever it was; I could tell by the way his voice pinched and how his muscles twitched now and then.

I wanted to wake him up, save him from his attacker whatever it may be, stop the hurt, the pain he was experiencing. But I knew from experience that he would be unbelievably angry should I do that.

I wasn't even supposed to be here, actually. I was supposed to be in my room in the big ranch house, not in the hands' quarters, and most certainly not in my beau's bedroom. I shouldn't have been huddled under the covers, listening to him grumble or feeling him toss and turn. I hadn't done anything wrong, we hadn't done anything wrong, but I shouldn't have been here.

But I wanted to be with him. His body, trembling as it was, was warm and alive, with a heart beating and two lungs taking in air at a quickened rate. His clothes smelled so nice and his presence, though weaker than I was accustomed to, was comforting in the dark. This was the boy I loved, regardless of how broken he was.

“Please don't...”

I bit my lip and gasped softly, startled by the fact that I could actually make out a few words. With dreadful eagerness I strained my ears to listen, hoping perhaps I could learn more. After all, the boy had been through so much in his young life, so I could only guess as to what his horror was this time around.

However, I wasn't quite ready for what I heard.

“Please don't take her...not Casey...please...”

Oh and I don't know,
I don't know what he's after,
But he's so beautiful,
Such a beautiful disaster,
And if I could hold on,
Through the tears and the laughter,
Would it be beautiful?
Or just a beautiful disaster?

Me? What could he possibly be dreaming about this time? I had never been a part of his nightmares, as far as I knew (even though I really couldn't count on that). Now it was more tempting than ever to wake him up, but I held myself back; I mustn't give myself away that easily. Maybe I could hear a little more first.

So engrossed was I in the task of hearing more that it didn't register right away when his eyes were suddenly open and seeing; I was, however, aware of the start he suddenly gave. I jumped too, unwittingly only giving myself away even more.

As soon as I realized that he was looking at me with those burning, hungry eyes, I cowered away in fright. I was in for it now. He was going to be so angry that I'd listened in on his nighttime illusions, so furious that I'd had the gall to come in here and see if I could cheat him out of telling me about it himself. Keefe was not a physically abusive boy (his stepfather had beat both Keefe and his twin brother when they were younger and he'd vowed never to strike someone out of anger because of it), but his tongue was as sharp as a knife's edge. To the boys around the field, his cutting insults were something of a legend.

But to both my relief and puzzlement, he didn't sound angry when he found his voice. In fact, call me crazy, but I was sure I heard joy in his tone. “Casey?” he whispered disbelievingly, “What're you doing here?”

How was I supposed to answer? How was I supposed to react? I had no idea what he wanted, obviously, for a moment ago I'd thought he was ready to hiss a wrathful goodbye and kick me out of his room. “I...I was just...”

“Shh. Never mind.” He mumbled, more to himself than me. Before I knew what was happening he'd wrapped his arms securely around my body, clutching me to him with such force that I almost whimpered out loud. It was almost as if he wasn't sure I was really there and had to make sure.

“It doesn't matter now,” he murmured, his fingers combing soothingly through my hair, “you're here, and you're safe.”

“I always have been,” I assured him softly, all fear banished from my mind already, “you were just having a nightmare, Keefe.”

He said nothing. Instead, I felt his strong shoulders give a terrific shudder, as if he'd been carrying a huge load on them and had suddenly been allowed a rest. A sniffle followed, and with a shot of horror I realized that my beautiful boy had started to cry. Doubt shot through my heart like a bullet; could I handle this?

He's magic and myth,
As strong as what I believe,
A tragedy with,
More damage than a soul should see,
And do I try to change him?
So hard not to blame him,
Hold on tight,
Hold on tight...

Nothing more was said that night. The two of us drifted back to sleep, and when I awoke the next morning he was gone. Yawning, I climbed out of his bed, feeling very cold and alone without him. It was early still; earlier than he usually got up. Where was he?

Sleep tugging at my eyelids and exhaustion dragging at my feet, I wandered outside hoping to find him. I didn't have to look very far; I found him sitting up on the north pasture's rutted fence, fully dressed and ready for the day.

He looked like a brooding king, or even a god, overlooking his bothersome subjects as they destroyed what he'd so graciously given him. A very light springtime breeze tugged at his thick, soft curls underneath his cowboy hat, all of which framed that handsomely strong, gentle face that looked as if it'd been carved by God Himself. Dark eyebrows, hooding those piercing chocolate eyes, were knitted in a troubled expression. His lips, full, well-shaped, and screaming to be kissed under most circumstances, were set in a grim straight line. Big, square feet clad in cowboy boots, attached to a runner's legs (hidden by dark, tough denim), rested on the second rut. His burly arms trailed down into meaty hands, which were rested on the wood at his sides and a deep, chiseled chest rose and fell slightly under his white shirt (which contrasted with his olive-toned skin) as he breathed slowly, as if meditating deeply on some matter.

Knowing him, he was.

I bit my lip uncertainly, not wanting to disturb him but wanting to ease his pain all the same. Could I comfort him? What could I say to a young man who had lost his true father to a drunken bastard at a ridiculously young age? What could I do to soothe the scars left on his heart by that man's hands and words? All I could think to do was admire him for his courage and strength, but to fix him?

Mentally I cursed him for meaning so much to me, but instantly felt guilty for it. It was all too easy to say that his thorny nature was his own fault. It was easy to think that he hid things from me because he was just trying to irk me. I took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, then turned and started the other way. I couldn't help him.

“Don't go,” his voice, thick and husky with emotion, made me stop short, however, though when I stopped and turned I was surprised to see that he hadn't moved at all, “please.”

How had he known I was there? How had he known that I was about to leave? Shaking the eerie chill that had crept down my spine away, I cautiously climbed up onto the fence and sat beside him. He didn't move. He hardly even blinked.

Hoping and praying, I quietly slipped my hand into one of his. “I love you.” I reminded him gently.

Oh 'cause I don't know,
I don't know what he's after,
But he's so beautiful,
Such a beautiful disaster,
And if I could hold on,
Through the tears and the laughter,
Would it be beautiful?
Or just a beautiful disaster?

Nothing, not even a single muscle twitched for just a moment and I thought he might not have heard me. Then, his warm, roughly-textured hand enclosed tightly around mine in a brief squeeze to let me know that he had heard. His eyes, sunken from lack of sleep but hungry all the same, flickered around to peer steadily at mine, his expression never changing. “I'm sorry.” He murmured.

My heart went out to him, even though I had a feeling that his was going to drag mine down and would be the death of me. “There's nothing to be sorry about,” I replied, “you just had a nightmare, that's all. It happens.”

“No, it's not just the nightmares, Case. It's...” he shook his head and paused a moment there, “it's me. I'm sorry I have so much baggage.”

“I...” such indescribable pain flashed in his eyes as he recalled a past love that had ended so horribly over this very reason, “I know it's not easy to love me. You'd think that after all this time that all of it would go away...”

So touched was I by his words that I felt tears prick the back of my eyes, and I was surprised to say that he too, went glassy-eyed. “But it hasn't,” he finished in a hoarse whisper, “and I...I need you...”

I'm longing for love and the logical,
But he's only happy hysterical,
I'm searchin' for some kind of miracle,
Waited so long,
So long...

I'd heard him say that before, but with a bitter pang I remembered that the first time, he'd whispered it affectionately in my ear. It had been sweet and lighthearted then, and had made me feel warm and fuzzy inside. But this time, he was on the verge of tears as if I were about to leave him; a lonely, injured soul begging to be accompanied by someone other then himself as he hobbled along through life.

So serious, so desperate was he that it made me yearn for the times when he would say that and not expect me to commit to anything. But then again, Keefe O'Kane was not one who took love lightly. It was either all or nothing in his eyes. I should've known that by now.

How long was it going to be until this all passed and he would be himself again? Or was this who he really was? Could I handle that?

He leaned in and pressed those silken lips against mine, the hand that wasn't in my own brushing softly against my cheek. Warmth rippled quickly and completely through my body, and I kissed him back.

He's soft to the touch,
But frayed at the end he breaks,
He's never enough,
And still he's more than I can take,
Oh 'cause I don't know,
I don't know what he's after,
But he's so beautiful,
Such a beautiful disaster,
And if I could hold on,
Through the tears and the laughter,
Would it be beautiful?
Or just a beautiful disaster?

There was something different in the way he kissed me, something that set him apart from the other boys I'd kissed before in my lifetime. There was something about just how slowly his tongue slid against my lips when he asked for an entrance, how delicately he used it to explore, that made me feel...well, special. Like he wanted to know every inch of me.

He was such a beautiful boy. He loved with every inch of his heart and soul, and I could tell that when he told a girl he loved her, he meant it from the very bottom of his heart upward. It wasn't fair that such a rare part of the passionate, genuine breed of boy had gone through all he had.

Slowly we drifted apart again, but he still had his hand cupped around my cheek. My eyes fluttered open and peered back at him, anxious to see his eyes were burning with such an intense passion, an ardent love...what was I going to do? Even if I was scared, I couldn't leave him. I refused to hurt him as deeply as that other girl. He'd been caused so much pain already.

“I love you,” he whispered urgently, his face still close and his eyes pleading in a way I'd never seen before, “I love you so much, Casey.”

It was then and only then did I realize that he was begging for me to tell him what he wanted to hear, praying that I would say that I loved him too, hoping that I would never abandon him. I did love him, though, and I'd thought that was fairly obvious. Yes, I had my doubts; I wasn't sure if I could handle it if he never went back to his normal self. I wasn't sure if I was ready to tie myself down like that.

But I knew how I felt about him. And I knew that Keefe never begged unless he truly couldn't live without whatever it was he was asking for. To leave him would most certainly kill him, and if he were to die, I would shortly follow. I needed him, just as he needed me.

“I love you.” I replied, giving his hand a squeeze and smiling encouragingly up at him. Nothing more needed to be said; that was all I knew for sure, anyway.

He looked at me dubiously. “But I'm such a disaster,” he said miserably, “are you...are you sure?”

I actually found myself smiling. “Positive. You're my disaster.”

He's beautiful,
Such a beautiful disaster.


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A/N: Keefe is such a sweetheart. He's not cute not Mac, but he's definitely got his own brand of sweetness. This piece was just of one of those rare moments when he stops acting like such a tough guy.