Title: Crazy
Summary: "Zoe sits down at the table closest to the bar, tugging on Zach's hand when he wants to cozy up in the corner instead. Wade breathes through his nose—there's no subtlety in what she's doing. Whatever caused this, it's absolutely about Wade."
Setting: Rewrite of 2x04
Author's note: Stumbled upon this in my files the other day and really liked it. Just to refresh your memory, this is when Wade and Zoe are casually hooking up and Zoe gets upset because she thinks Wade is sleeping with other girls. Hijinks ensue! C'mon, you know you want to take a break from Joel drama. Also, if you catch the subtle "Girls" reference, it means you and I have the same wacky tastes. Enjoy!

"We're the kind of crazy
people wish that they could be."

He undresses her every night and watches her dress every morning, and he thinks he might be the luckiest sonuva bitch in Alabama.

She's not always graceful. Sometimes her top gets stuck at her shoulders and she has to tug and wiggle it down. Sometimes she hobbles on one leg when she pulls up her jeans, and it always takes her three tries to get on those skyscraper heels she wears. He never helps her. He just watches her piece herself together, slowly, fumblingly, getting down on her hands and knees to find her earring and then realizing both of them are in her back pocket.

She used to be shy. She used to hold the sheet tight around her, one hand occupied with fabric and the other searching around for her clothes, jewelry, shoes, purse. Now she's casual bordering on bold; sometimes when she bends down, he thinks she knows her earrings are in her back pocket and there's no reason for her to get on her hands and knees.

"I'll be by later," she says, almost as a throwaway as she heads for the door.

"Good, because I just got this splittin' pain," he answers, sliding out of bed and catching her before she can flutter out the door. "I think I might need a doctor."

She raises an eyebrow. "Where's it hurt?"

He takes the hand he's holding, starts at his chest and slides down, hitting every ridge until she's at the waistband of his sweatpants. Her fingers stretch and start moving on their own—and then she pulls away.

"Work! Patients. I have to go," her voice rushes out like air through a busted tire. Then she kisses him, lips pressing hard against his, her teeth catching his lower lip as she pulls back.

"Alright, go," he says, stepping back to release her. She gives him a quick wave and bolts out the door.

He walks toward the bathroom and his foot catches on something hard and sharp. He hisses and reaches down, scooping up the crumbled remains of a gold hoop earring.

Wade has worked up a good sweat by the time she gets home. He's stripped the bathroom floor and started putting the new tile in, and he's done it in about a third of the time he expected. Usually, he'd take breaks and drink beer, maybe turn on her TV and watch some Cops reruns. Usually he's not stood up by a girl he wants so much it's like a constant ache under his skin, making him tender and raw like a new wound.

When she walks in, he wants to rush at her, but he keeps laying down the grout. He doesn't move until she calls his name.

"Oh, hey," she says, all casual. She's wearing this frilly shirt his mother would have called demure, except the fabric's about as thick as a spider web and he can see straight through it.

He breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth. "Hey," he answers, all casual. He leans against the archway of her bedroom. "Your bathroom's about finished."

"Oh, perfect," she answers, and starts unbuttoning her blouse. He wants to move forward, to rip through the lacy fabric, but something in the way she's standing stops him. He can read on her that it's not appropriate—it's not what she wants. "I may have a guest tonight."

His shoulder butts into the wood of the doorframe. "A guest?"

"Yeah, I have a date."

She starts pulling at her shirt and it gapes open, so that the suggestion under transparent fabric is now a statement, right out in the open. He throat works. "A date."

"With Ruby's cousin," she answers, and there's a smugness to her that's out of character and a little mean. It clues him in that the date isn't about Ruby's cousin at all and is much more about Wade. He resists dragging his hands through his hair, keeps them casually tucked into the front pockets of his jeans. He must have done something to set off this reaction, but he can't think of what.

"I remember him," Wade says. "Lousy quarterback."

"But apparently a good businessman," she answers, a touch defensive now. Wade really tries to think of what he's done, because she's already defending this new guy. "Anyway, he's taking me to a new restaurant in Mobile."

She says it like she's announcing a prize. She tugs on the bottom of her shirt and pulls it up over her head, and the movement's pretty fluid this time. "So feel free to show yourself out. I've got a lot of preparation to do, if you know what I mean."

He doesn't. He doesn't have any clue what the hell she's doing. The only thing he knows is that she made this date as some sort of punishment for him. He nods but catches her arm as she walks by, pulling her into him. He kisses her, and though her hands make half-hearted attempts to push him away, her mouth is hot and open.

"Have your date," he says, barely pulling away, and his words get sucked into her mouth. "But don't expect much. Rumor has it football's not the only thing he's lousy at, if you know what I mean."

"Get out," she says, cracking like ice. For a second, he can see that she's hurt. He doesn't understand how he could have hurt her.

He steps away, heads for the door. "I'll be back tomorrow to check on the floor," he says. She doesn't answer, and the door slams closed.

"Wade Kinsella, can you make me a margarita real fast?"

"I thought you stopped drinking, Missy-Lou."

"Only on special occasions," she answers with a grin that's tired at the edges. "Nicky's been sick and so has her daddy. I thought one baby was hard, but two is exhausting."

He starts assembling her margarita and she flips her blonde hair over her shoulder. He tries to think of her husband's name and fails; never cared much about him. He pours her drink and has a wisecrack on his lips when Zoe Hart walks through the door. A tall, good-looking man follows along behind her, and Wade has to admit Zach isn't the beanpole he remembers from high school.

Zoe catches his eye and turns back to her date, laughing wide.

"That Zoe Hart," Missy-Lou says, shaking her head. Wade hands her the drink and she takes a nice long sip. "She's always strollin' in here with a different hunky guy."

"Not that often," Wade protests.

"Often enough," Missy answers. "I oughta be friends with her. Live vicariously, y'know?"

"Uhuh," Wade says, but he doesn't know what it's like to live vicariously through Zoe Hart. He only knows what's it like to live vicariously above her, imagining as the waves start building that she might love him for a second when they crash.

Zoe sits down at the table closest to the bar, tugging on her date's hand when he wants to cozy up in the corner instead. Wade breathes through his nose—there's no subtlety in what she's doing. Whatever caused this, it's absolutely about Wade. That should take away the bee string of it, but he still feels the stinger setting in.

He moves down the bar to take care of more customers. He does a pretty good job of avoiding Zoe and her loud laughing all night, but when he works his way back over to the beer taps, she's standing there waiting for him.

"Can we get some service?" she asks, leaning her ribcage into the bar. She's got on this lacy black thing that looks so much like lingerie he wants to ask why she's out in public.

"Alright, but you better get rid of your date first," Wade says, leaning up against the bar too.

Her eyebrows swoop low over her eyes. "I want more wine," she emphasizes. He can smell the alcohol on her breath.

"I think you've had enough."

"What?" She sneers at him. "Are you cutting me off?"

"Maybe I am," he retorts, his jaw working.

"Why?"

"Because you're drunk, Zoe. And I don't think bein' drunk on a first date is a good idea."

"Why do you care? You're not my boyfriend."

And just like that, it clicks. She looks really angry—not the drunk kind and not the playful kind. The kind that comes from a hurt buried somewhere deep.

"You never wanted me to be," he answers. His head starts pounding—working her out is going to be the death of him.

"You never wanted to be."

"Zoe—"

"Hey, Zoe?" It's her date, who sidles up to the bar like he's aware it's a battleground. "I think I need to get going. Do you want a ride back?"

"She's fine," Wade tells him. "I've got her."

Zach raises up his hands in surrender, and Zoe doesn't say anything as he leaves. Wade expects the storm as soon as Zach's out the door, but she stays quiet—eerily quiet.

"C'mon, doc," Wade says finally, coming around the bar and taking her wrist. "Let's get you home."

She's stays silent as a cemetery on the drive back, so Wade puts on some soft country music to fill space. She angles her whole body away from him, knees and face pointed toward the window. He drops her off at her place, and she gets out of the car without a word. After a second's debate, he pulls the keys out of the ignition and hurries after her.

"What's going on, Zoe?"

She stares down at her own door, fitting her key into the lock. "Can we not do this now? I'm really drunk and I—"

"I think now is the perfect time," he interrupts, walking closer to her. She still doesn't turn, so he comes closer until he's right behind her. "You might actually say something you mean."

"What do you want me to tell you?" she asks, half glancing over her shoulder. He can smell the fancy sweet shampoo she uses in her hair. "That I want you to be my boyfriend?"

"If that's the truth."

She finally turns, leaning back against her door. He usually loves her like this, backed up into a hard surface and pliant, but he realizes that's not what this is. "I don't want you to be my boyfriend. I just want you to be nice to me and take care of me and not have sex with anybody else."

He laughs before he realizes it's the worst thing to do. Her face goes dark and she shrinks back into the door.

"Out of curiosity, who else did you think I was having sex with?" he says.

"If you're going to make fun of me—"

"I'm not," he says. She doesn't look at him, so he puts his hand under her chin and nudges her face up. "I'm not. I just want to know what the hell happened, Zoe. You give a man whiplash."

"I saw that blonde going into your house."

He feels like laughing again for the sheer relief of finally figuring her out, but he holds it back. "That blonde was dropping off the tiles for your bathroom. Nothing else."

"Really?"

"Yeah." He leans down and kisses her lightly. He keeps his face close to hers, their foreheads touching. "You really are crazy."

"Don't say that!" She sighs and pulls back. "You give me whiplash too. I never know what side of you I'm going to get."

"You're crazy if you think I want anybody else," he clarifies.

"So we agree then? Monogamous casual sex."

He wants to explain it to her—that casual sex by its very nature can't be casual if the participants care enough to make it monogamous. He sees more clearly now where their road is heading, but he knows to let her lead. If he doesn't, he'll just run her off, and he can't risk that.

"Sure thing, doc."

She lights up from the inside. "Okay. Good."

"Listen," he says, resting his hand flat on the door and leaning his weight into it. She arches her back and trails a hand over his chest. "I guess I made you real sad this week. How about you let me make you happy?"

She smiles, and he hopes right then and there that he can always be the one to make her smile like that. She opens her door, and he walks her backwards into the Carriage House.

"I don't want easy, I want crazy..."