Sep. 3rd, 2037 02:17 am
so_catholic: (Default)


This is Dan. I'm busy. Call me back.


Sep. 3rd, 2037 02:16 am
so_catholic: (Default)
Leave mail for Dr Dan here!
so_catholic: (staten calling)
The last person Danny expects to spot walking away from Mindy's door is Luke-Aren't-I-Amazing-With-Balls-Garroway. Instinct makes him pause around the corner of the corridor until he has disappeared in the opposite direction, then he peeks round the wall, brows furrowing.

He hadn't looked like he'd just come out of a hot 'n steamy make-out session but then why would he have been there? Danny has remained friends with exactly zero of his exes on account of them being his exes, so it is with a hint of trepidation that he crooks a finger and knocks on Mindy's door. He hasn't called or texted because he doesn't think he needs to but maybe he ought to have.

"Min?" His voice is smaller than he intends it to be, so he clears his throat. "Min?"

[for Mindy]

Jul. 5th, 2015 01:25 am
so_catholic: (okay i'm nervous)

"Oh boy..."

The tie just won't sit straight. Why is he even wearing one? His Ma is nowhere to be seen and it's not like he's at a funeral. Though staring at himself in the bathroom's mirror and failing in the simple task of even straightening his own tie does kind of make him want to throw himself in front of the nearest moving vehicle.

He's wearing it for Mindy, he tells himself, passing the heel of his hand across his forehead to stave off the sweat. Shirt, tie, smart blazer, dark jeans. Nothing too fancy, so she knows there's room for improvement, but nice enough for her to realize he's made an effort.

They have been on hundreds of dates before, he can see that now, but back then, neither of them had acknowledged the time spent together as that. A date. Suddenly they slap a name on what they're doing and Danny finds himself heading straight for the bathroom almost as soon as they'd sat down at their table. He had brought Mindy somewhere a little upmarket because surely that's the way to make this thing they've started, this new aspect of their relationship, official? Judging by the way his stomach is twisted in knots, however, he would much rather be chilling on the couch with her in scrubs, eating dry chicken nuggets and watching whatever crap she'd chosen to torture him with on any given night.

Taking a deep breath, he checks his watch, mentally calculating how long he's been in here. Fingers that are usually so nimble tug at the loop around his neck with renewed speed, undoing it for the third time just so he can retie it again.
so_catholic: (pic#8651067)
Father’s Day is the worst. If someone’s lucky enough to have a good dad, they should celebrate that privately instead of rubbing it in everyone else’s faces. That is exactly what Danny is thinking as he gives the envelope an agitated lick before sticking it down, turning it over and scrawling Mindy’s name on the front in handwriting unlike his own.

He had woken up in a hell of a mood and the self-loathing has only grown during the day. He’s a jerk—no, he’s worse, he’s an asshole. The letters he’d written to Mindy might have worked had he not lost his nerve after Valentine’s Day, the moment he’d actually gotten what he was looking for; a sign that Mindy was open to exploring something with him.

Except not with him. With some made up guy whom neither of them has ever met before. He might have been able to convince himself that it was that guy that had hurt Mindy, made her feel like she wasn’t enough, like she wasn’t beautiful, but he remembers writing every single word of that letter. He remembers meaning every single word too, which makes him all the more angry that he screwed it up.

But this letter, it’ll help. It has to. Mindy needs closure just as much as he does and the letter symbolises a gentle end. Mystery Guy has been deported, without the ability to communicate for months on end, but oh, how he’d wanted to write sooner, but he didn’t have anything on his person to exchange with the other inmates for pen and paper. Until now. Sure, he won’t have any toilet paper for the next fortnight but Mindy is worth it. Even if they can never be together. Yadda yadda yadda.

Written through the haze of suppressed rage and resentment, Danny hasn’t noticed how different this letter sounds to the rest. Grabbing his keys from the chest beside his door, he hears a crunch underfoot as he steps out, looking down to find a DVD in a newly cracked case. Kicking it away, he disappears into the city.

Danny Castellano: A Ken Burns Style Documentary )
so_catholic: (wanna have some sex tonight?)

"But baby!" Danny throws his head back against the couch, letting his eyes slip shut briefly as the music takes over. "Baby, I loooove iiit." He tends to tune out at the very end of the movie, and the fact that he has a stomach full of Chinese take-out and it's past his usual bedtime means he's not got the energy to do much else this time either. It's maybe the hundredth time he's seen the film, so he doesn't feel too bad about it.

Bring back that lovin' feelin'...

Rolling his head to the side, Danny gives Kevin a knowing smile, anticipation in his eyes. "Was that awesome or was that awesome?"
so_catholic: (pic#8390176)
"Can you doooo..." Danny tucks his chin into the bit of scarf peaking out from his peacoat, bracing against the cold wind as he contemplates his next request. The buttons on his coat are slightly strained due to the extra layers he's got on underneath and as he walks, he wriggles his pocketed hands in a futile attempt to get the clothes to sit more comfortably. It's only fitting, he guesses, that his spiritual unease manifest itself physically too. Right now he ought to be coming home from Mass, not shopping for a neck massager. Every stray gust of wind that threatens to knock him off his feet feels like a call to repent. Blows of judgment.

Not blows. Blows are what got him into this mess.

Dammit, why is he so light.

"I'll give you a hard one," he says, voice muffled until he lifts is head back up, running a tongue over his lips to stop them doing dry. "Brando. You do that?" He looks over at Hedwig, offering a prompt in the unfortunate event that he's just as clueless as Mindy. "The Godfather. Marlon Brando. People think that he's easy but he's not, you gotta, you don't just mumble. He's difficult to get right."
so_catholic: (holey cannoli)
There's no denying it. It's been one hell of a Christmas. Considering this is Danny's second in the space of four months, he really could have done with a quiet, uneventful few days where all he did was sleep in, tidy up and go to church. Sleeping had been hit and miss, his apartment looks like a bombsite with day-old laundry lying around (in a basket, tucked away, but still) and church is a word best left unspoken.

Today, he had planned on cooking pasta fazool while he and Father Anthony dissected the complexities of Daniel Alan Castellano's life, starting with his childhood and ending with the impure thoughts he'd had last week when he'd inadvertently walked in on the end of Mary Poppins in the doctors' lounge. Was it the accent or the flying or the talking umbrella? Now he'll never know.

Instead, Danny's fresh from the shower after a session at the gym, legs stretched out on his couch, cool flannel resting over his eyes. He has the tv on in the background as company, some show about the fifty funniest moments in the history of Darrow, and Mindy's neck massager pressed to the tense muscles just above his shoulder, the constant buzz a comforting substitute for his old white noise machine back home.
so_catholic: (i'm smarter than you)
"The best thing about Darrow is the variety of hot people. Hot astrophysicists, hot bakers, superheroes like Captain America and the Ironman. All these dreamy mountains of white muscle, all ripe for the picking."

“But all of that is crap,” Danny concludes definitively, lifting a finger when Amelia opens her mouth to reply. “I told her: variety is not the spice of life. She’s Indian, so she’s biased. Her people are all about sexy zests and erotic aromas. I mean, cumin? C’mon.”

“Dr Lahiri is with a patient, Dr Castellano.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ll wait. Do you know what variety is?” At Amelia’s wide-eyed look, Danny leans closer, lowering his head as well as his voice. “Dangerous. It’s dangerous! Especially in a place like Darrow. Variety means you never know who’s gonna do what. Variety means change. Constantly. Take you, for example. You just—poof—up and disappeared for what, two weeks without a trace and—"


“You and Dr Fowler and all my patients and—"

“I don’t understand. I haven’t taken any vacation time in…” She swivels in her chair to look at the wall calendar, several vials of unlabelled blood in each hand, still waiting to be dealt with since his interruption.

“Oh boy. Y’know what! I’m thinking of someone else. Definitely, definitely someone else.” He hears the door to Mindy’s office spring open and pokes his head out of phlebotomy. “Hey!” He greets with forced cheer. “Did you know Amelia hasn’t taken any vacation time in—"

“Six months.”

“Six whole months! How about that. Great chat, Ames.” He sends Mindy a pointed look – they’re surrounded by crazy – as he passes her into her office.

“I actually prefer Amelia.”

“She prefers Amelia, Mindy," he accuses. "Jeez.”
so_catholic: (i'm the boss)
"Why do you have green flamingos on your bra?"

Danny never finds out. Before he knows it, he's lifting Mindy onto her desk, paperwork floating to the floor, stationary clattering around them, computer screen flickering in his peripheral vision as he mouths down her neck, fingers scrabbling roughly with the rest of the buttons on her blouse.

She doesn't say anything. Doesn't answer any of his questions but she has this hungry look in her eyes and it drives him on. He helps her with his belt, pushes her skirt out of the way and gives her what she's begging him, over and over, for. When he captures her lips, it's like the whole world starts to shake.

Woah )
so_catholic: (frog porn)
It's overdue, Danny knows that. Like a lot of things in his life right now, he's put it off for too long. He's made half-hearted attempts to apologize but nothing that has made him properly face up to what he did and admit he was wrong to do it.

As much as he's used to people thinking he's cold, mean and hating him, it's not something that naturally sits well with Danny, even when he finds himself doing or saying things that perpetuate that perception of him. Over time he's learnt to ignore the desire to fix it, come to believe that it's out of his control. Inevitable. What's the point of trying to be a better version of himself if the end result is the same every time? People leave. All the more reason to give them absolutely no cause to stay in the first place.

When he knocks on Kevin's door, he's not trying to improve himself. He's going back to basics instead, starting at the bottom. Just trying to be a decent guy.

"Hey...Kevin? Are you in?" He knocks again, wondering if he's calling too late. "It's Danny. Castellano. Subway guy."
so_catholic: (stress sweat)
No citizens mean no cabs and no cabs mean Danny is sweaty and out of breath by the time he reaches their building. He knows better than to risk the elevator, so he takes the stairs two at a time up to their floor, bursting through Fowler and Associate's doors like he's interrupting a gross miscarriage of justice in a court room or stopping the wedding of his unrequited love in one of those movies that he hates.

There's no Dr Fowler or Amelia in sight but that's no surprise. She's already told him they're gone. She also told him that she's here but Danny's not going to believe it until he sees her with his own eyes. Words on his cellphone screen aren't enough.

"Mindy? Mindy!"
so_catholic: (Default)

Danny Castellano


The end.

general )

mindy )

his future )

my future )
so_catholic: (talk to the hand)
Danny Castellano dislikes a lot of things. Philosophical graffiti. Flyers written in the second person. Videos of kittens. That photo of Sting playing the lute while his wife does yoga. Contrary to popular belief, however, it does actually take much more for him to actively dislike a human being. Wearing a Mellencamp t-shirt to a Springsteen show, for example, will get you on his list. Not adhering to proper laundry room etiquette, that'll put you right up there too. Treating those he cares about badly? Sure, write your own name at the top.

Being a Mormon? The jury's still out.

"Oh, come on, I said Dan," he gripes, taking his first look at the so-called name scrawled along the side of his takeaway coffee cup. The word MAN peeks out between his fingertips. "How hard is that to get right?" He grabs a hold of the carriage's pole to steady himself as the train rattles past a station. "This could be anybody's."

He might not actively dislike Kevin but he's definitely avoiding eye contact. After Kate's wedding and the almost-plague of locusts, Danny's being extra respectful of God these days.

It's not doing him much good this morning though. When he takes a sip of his drink, it's strawberry frappuccino that assaults his taste buds and the 6'4'' gentleman he's currently pressed up against really doesn't appreciate the way Danny spits it out over him.

"Sir," he holds up his hands, trying not to gag as the guy looms closer. "I apologize. I apologize, that was rude of me. I should have asked first."
so_catholic: (Default)
It's a good thing Danny had found a gym so soon after arriving in Darrow. Without one, he's pretty sure he'd have had trouble even lifting Mindy's purse from her desk, let alone lugging it down a few flights of stairs, her coat slung over one arm. He's not sure what she carries in there and he has no desire to find out, but if it means she'll follow him downstairs faster, an aching bicep is a price he's willing to pay.

She had been with a patient when he'd left, so Amelia is tasked with ensuring Mindy not only gets the message but gets a move on too. She doesn't really know what's going on but there's been no doctor drama or slamming of doors, so she's counting today as a good day. So far, anyway.

She's a little tentative as she catches Mindy leaving phlebotomy.

"Doctor Castellano said to tell you he's waiting for you downstairs." She checks her notepad in her hands. "Also that he-- I'm quoting-- has your bag and will donate an item from it to a homeless person every thirty seconds that you're not there. He also said you have to use the stairs..."
so_catholic: (are you even listening?)
It’s nearing 6pm and thanks to a surprisingly discreet Amelia, Danny knows Mindy isn’t scheduled to be at the hospital tonight. So aside from a couple of sentences in the break room, that would mean they had gone a whole day without speaking to each other, even at work, and knowing that gives him an uneasy feeling that he can’t shake off.

It’s amazing how quickly Mindy can move when she really wants to. Danny’s been busying himself with paperwork for the past half hour, waiting for the sound of her office door closing, and as soon as he hears it, he’s up and out of his chair, satchel slung across his chest. He’s surprised that he gets out only just in time to catch a glimpse of her leaving the lobby. Usually she stops to regale the entire practice with stories from her day – the patient who she’s 99.9% confident will take her advice and name their son Thor, the injustice of receiving her lunch delivery addressed to Mr Lahiri simply because she’d ordered the 16oz steak, picketing Dr Fowler to change their wifi password to something she finds easier to remember (what’s wrong with taylor4harry4ever?! It has NUMBERS, Danny!) or her futile attempts to sell on whatever weird object she couldn’t say no to at the latest flea market she never meant to go to.

He misses it, all of it, and it’s why he races after her, calling out before she can disappear.

“Hey, hold the elevator.”

[for Elle]

Sep. 26th, 2014 01:18 am
so_catholic: (is that right)
It’s not the first time Danny’s faked a medical emergency to escape a date but it’s definitely the only time said date has turned up at the same bar as him when he’s supposed to be elbow-deep in placenta.

He doesn’t not like Amanda. He just likes foreign places, the Latino Grammies and low cal muffins more, which doesn’t exactly bode well for any kind of future with her. Maybe if that future involved a permanent white noise machine and separate cities they’d stand a chance. Right now, Danny would settle for separate drinking establishments but it’s clearly too late for that. She’s clocked him not far from the dance floor, a look of surprise, then confusion, then fury on her face, and in the heat of the moment, he chooses more lies over honesty or an apology.

He makes a beeline towards the bar, only stopping when she yells out his name over the music in the same tone she’d used to send back five different appetisers a few nights before on their first (second? third? they all run into one) date.

“Breathe! Breathe!” He latches onto the arm of the nearest woman to him, a lithe blond but that’s all he notices. He’s too busy Lamaze breathing at her, which irritates him no end because it makes him sound like Deslaurier. Only medical intervention truly aids a woman during childbirth but desperate times… “Oh boy, this baby’s coming! Amanda, hey!” The forced cheer is overshadowed by the dramatic gesturing at the blond (clearly-not-pregnant) woman. “Just dealing with this medical emergency. Don’t worry, ma’am, I’ll have this child out of you in no time.” He turns his body in towards her, lowering his voice. “Please help me.”
so_catholic: (city livin')

There is one fundamental flaw in Darrow.

Scratch that, there are plenty of things wrong in Darrow and Danny's figured that out in less than a week, but there's only one that is currently at the centre of his most recent tirade.

"They're supposed to put the sauce on the bun first, Mindy, first, then add the meatballs. Then more sauce. Then a sprinkle of provolone cheese, not a pinch, not a scattering, a sprinkle. Then back under the heat for another sixty seconds. I mean, how hard is that?"

Incredibly so, if the last-but-one sandwich shop is anything to go by. The 'sandwich technician' - don't even get him started - had burst into floods of tears the fourth or fifth time Danny had been kind enough to offer some words of constructive criticism regarding her sauce-slathering skills. If you could even call it sauce. Both he and Mindy had been escorted (slash manhandled) off the premises when Danny had started complaining rather vocally about how dry his balls were.

"I feel like a jackass for paying ten bucks for that sandwich. But this? This one looks like the real deal," he says with a passion, unwrapping another meatball sub as they leave the latest shop, this time of their own accord. It had taken fifteen minutes from ordering to receiving but Danny doesn't mind waiting for the genuine article.

He's barely out on the sidewalk when he practically stuffs half the sub in his mouth. "This could be it, Min." The words are muffled from the food rolling around. It's only taken six stops to get here. "This could--nope." 

Half-chewed sandwich is propelled into his hand and he moves immediately to the nearest trash can, relieving Mindy of her sub on the way.

Yelp has nothing on Danny.
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