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Studio 60
Matt has a spectacular failure to cope when his subconcious decides to catch him up on the last decade and a half. Set after The Christmas Show.
"'Matt, have you hit your head at any point tonight? Do I need to call you an ambulance?'"



Matt is very, very drunk. His liver is probably going to gutpunch him in the morning and, unlike Harrie's punches earlier, it's going to hurt like a bitch. He doesn't care very much right now, though, because he is attempting to forget something he realised at the wrap party tonight. It's something he's spent well over a decade ignoring successfully and he's not entirely sure why *now*.

Harrie accused him of being homophobic during the Nevada catastrophe because he was uncomfortable with other men's bodies.

Matt isn't. He very, very much isn't. Not exactly.

The reason, apparently, that he is uncomfortable with men's bodies is because he's been repressing like *hell* about his feelings for Danny and his body for a long time.

It was for a good fucking reason, too.

He loves Harrie, god fucking help him. But he *needs* Danny. And Matt's been able to deal with how much he needs Danny but he's worried he can't deal with this. This is... Danny is his ability to *breathe*.

So he's drunk as hell and getting drunker. He hasn't managed to forget, which means he needs to try harder.

And the universe has a sick, sick sense of humour, because Harrie is now looking at him, big wide eyes full of concern. "Matt," she says. "*Why* are you attempting to drink your own body weight in vodka?"

"Because my subconscious decided to share something with me that it really could have kept to itself," he says without much slurring. "Reeeaaaally could've kept it to itself."

Harrie rolls her eyes. "You don't *have* a subconscious, Matthew. Everything in your brain comes tumbling out of your mouth."

"Yeah, you would think that," Matt says and contemplates his drink. "Apparently not. Hey, you know what though? I really don't want to talk to you right now," he says and walks away.

Harrie watches him leave. "Will someone tell me *why* I dated him for five years? Someone?" she asks.

Matt slams the rest of his drink and contemplates finding a gun. Or a wall. Something to introduce his head to.

Oh, look. The universe isn't just sick, it also hates him because he has managed to wander past his partner. Danny looks up at Matt and startles. "You look like a truck hit you, Matt."

"...oh my god, seriously, what did I ever do to the universe?" Matt asks. "Why do I deserve this?"

Danny blinks. "Matt?"

"No, really, I want to know. *What* did I *do*?" Matt gestures.

"How much have you had to drink?"

"I... don't really remember," Matt says and collapses into the chair next to Danny. "Shoot me, Danny. Please, just shoot me."

"Then *I'd* have to do the writing and we both know that is a terrible, terrible idea," Danny says and snags Matt's drink out of his hands. He sniffs it. "What the hell are you doing drinking straight vodka?"

"Attempting to become even more drunk than I currently am."

"...yes, I got that. But *vodka*? Straight?"

"It gets me drunk faster. Now can we get back to the thing where you shoot me?"

"Matt I am not going to shoot you," Danny says and lets his glasses fall down onto his nose. "*Why* do you want me to shoot you?"

Matt steals his drink back and downs the rest of it. "Because my subconscious hates me and decided to share privileged information with my conscious that it wasn't supposed to." He signals a girl in a slutty Santa's Helper costume over and grabs something neon pink off her tray. He eyes it warily before sipping. "What the hell is this?" he asks the girl.

"Strawberry melon martini," she says, snapping her gum.

"Is there actually any gin or vermouth *in* that thing?" Danny asks, curious. "Because if there isn't it's not actually a martini."

"I have no idea," she says, bored. Matt waves her off.

"Seriously, Matt, what the hell is up with you? You don't drink like this," Danny says.

Matt puts down the pink thing and looks at Danny. "I am, apparently, in love with you."

"Did you miss the part where I'm serious, Matt?"

"I *am* serious," Matt says. "Drunk off my ass and as serious as a fucking heart attack."

Danny blinks. "What?"

"I apparently love you. In the gay, completely not platonic, sort of way."

"*What*?"

Matt scrubs his eyes. "This isn't me trying to stop you from going after Jordan, by the way, because you should. She's great, you're great, you'll be great together."

"Matt, have you hit your head at any point tonight? Do I need to call you an ambulance?"

"No, Danny! I have not hit my head. I contemplated it an awful lot, though."

Danny pulls his glasses back off and rubs his temples. "Matt."

"I should... go," Matt says. "And I absolutely would if I could get up. Fuck."

"Matt."

"Okay, since when are you incapable of saying anything but 'what' and my name? You're the eloquent one."

Danny blinks. "Matt, you just declared your undying love for me or something very like it. What did you *expect* from me?" he asks, gesturing wildly.

"I really don't know. Did I mention that I'm drunk? Because, yeah. I am. I was actually trying to forget this problem by drinking and sadly failed utterly. It would have saved us both a whole lot of embarrasment. So here we are. ...are you going to punch me?"

"No, Matt, I am not going to punch you!"

Matt picks up the strawberry melon not-actually-a-martini and eyes it sadly before tipping it back. "Is this going to be a problem?"

"I don't know! Is it?"

"Well I already made peace with the fact that I need you a bit like I need air to keep breathing years ago, so not for me. Unless, you know. You're going to have a problem with it and I have to cope without you."

Danny pinches the bridge of his nose and looks just a little bit crazy. "I. Jesus Christ, Matt."

"I kissed Harrie before she went out on News 60," Matt said.

"...what?"

"Well, since we're having a fun little heart-to-heart, I thought I should mention that too."

"Jesus Christ on a fucking pogostick, Matt."

Matt laughs a little hysterically. Or, okay, possibly a lot hysterically. "Danny?"

"Do you have any *other* bombs to drop?" Danny says. "And are you *trying* to give me a heart attack?"

Matt manages to get up out of the chair. He's swaying but he is at least mostly upright under his own power. "No, I think we're good," he says, stumbling.

Danny catches his arm to steady him. All it does is redirect Matt's stumble towards Danny and land him in Danny's lap.

"...When did my life become a sitcom?" Matt wonders aloud. "Not just a sitcom but a bad sitcom."

"Well, when you figure it out, let me know, because you're making my life one too," Danny says and fails at an attempt to get Matt back up on his feet and out of his lap.

"I'll be sure to shoot the writer when I find him," Matt says while debating killing himself after the party so that he won't have to face Danny tomorrow morning in the cold, sober light of day.

"Jesus, Matt, how are you this heavy?"

"Abs of steel, baby," Matt says. "Twice as heavy as abs of muscle. ...are we okay?"

"Well, I'm losing feeling in my legs," Danny says.

Matt punches him. "Jackass. Are we okay?"

"You won't be in the morning. You're going to have a killer hangover."

Matt glares. "If you don't give me a straight answer, asshole, I'm going to kiss you and this is going to get even more embarrasing for us both because given how somehow we're in a sitcom now, someone will take a picture of it and it will be in morning paper."

"I don't know, Matt. Probably. Ask me in the morning when I'm actually awake," Danny says. "Christ, I am not kidding here, I am losing feeling in my legs; could you get up?"

Matt manages it, barely. "I am going to call a car around and go home and hate myself. It'll be fun. Have fun with the," he pauses in concentration and gestures vaguely around them. "Thing with the people. Party! That's it. Party."

Danny stumbles to his feet as well and winces as blood rushes back to his feet. "Ow. You're not going to go home and hate yourself."

"I'm not?"

"No, because you're a comedian and a writer which means you're damaged enough already. I can't leave you alone to brood and end up short a writer/producer and a partner."

Matt blinks at him. "Danny?"

"I think I'm falling in love with Jordan but you're my partner. I don't really care if you want to do the horizontal tango with me, okay? You're my partner."

"So we're okay," Matt says.

"We're okay," Danny says.

Matt leans into Danny while he calls a car around and tries to ignore how warm Danny is. Danny doesn't hate him, he can breathe, and that's got to be enough.

Danny steers him through the party towards the doors.

Funny, though, Matt can't actually quite breathe when Danny pours him into the car and climbs in beside him. "Home, Jeeves!" Danny says to the driver. "Matt's place."

Matt tries very hard not to curl up into a ball and start crying because he is a grown man and because Danny would never stop mocking him for it.

Danny looks over at him and sighs. "God, Matt, could you try to be a little less of a cliche? Just once? Breathe for me, buddy. Deep breaths."

Matt takes a shaky breath.

"That's... well, not actually better, but thank you for trying."

"Danny! What do you expect out of me? I'm coping with a personal identity crisis and the very real fear that despite the fact that he's said we're okay, I'm going to lose my best friend. I've never been the stable one, you know that!"

Danny rubs his forehead. "Christ, Matt, we are going to have to get you into therapy for these abandonment issues of yours. I'm not going to leave you. You've stood by me through everything."

Matt shivers. "I love you."

"Yeah, I caught that part," Danny says.

Matt presses the heels of his palms against his eyes. "I did mention the part where I could have lived with my subconscious never sharing that fact with me?"

"Yeah, y'did."

"Okay," Matt says. "Just checking."

Danny hauls him back out of the car because, apparently, they're at Matt's place. Danny shepherds him in and shoves him towards his bedroom.

Matt looks at Danny for a long, long time. He's tired and wrung out and mostly he's drunk and doesn't care because he's going to hate himself in the morning anyway even if Danny isn't lying to him because things are going to be *different* now.

Which is why he leans in and kisses Danny when he really should leave well enough alone. But he may never have the guts to do it again and he wants to know what it's like, just once.

Danny blinks at him but doesn't push him away which really doesn't mean anything other than that he's tired and his reflexes are probably shot.

But Matt clutches at Danny and for some reason Danny's holding him tight.

And then Matt finally passes out and Danny's holding him up and dragging him to bed.

"What the hell am I going to do with you, Matt?" he asks and pulls his glasses off after pulling off Matt's shoes.

Danny shucks his own and wanders back out to the living room and collapses on the couch.
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