Disclaimer: I don't own LwD, and the only profit I'm making on anything is the husband's change I dig out of his pockets when I'm doing laundry.

~*The Truce*~

The truce, if you could call it a truce, is short-lived and brilliant. Like staring into the sun; you know it more by the after effects than by the actual doing of the thing.

most annoying –brother- ever-

…step-brother…

same difference…

yeah. You're right.

(said with a brutal finality. Begrudgingly, even.)

In credit to you both, the conversation haltingly continues – strained now by the forced understanding so blatantly stated – for what you both silently, mutually agree is "enough" time to discreetly cover the dissatisfaction you both suddenly, inexplicably feel.

The détente marks the final 'Senior Week' activities unfolding before you both like an asphalt path; clearly delineated but slightly sticky with unfinished business.

But it works somehow. And you find yourselves tying a knot in that rope it buys you and hanging on.

~***~

"Case," he smirks, but the edges of his eyes are now guarded, "chocolate chip pancakes? Last hurrah, yeah?"

You smile at his sleep-softened appearance as he enters the kitchen. You refuse to be guarded because he's brought enough armor for both of you – anyway, you threw the glove down, first, and he didn't acknowledge the significance of it and-

"Sure, Der; just remember it's a last hurrah, m'kay?" You fidget with the griddle in a diversionary way before you say the rest: "We'll be in college, in separate quarters; you can't just barge over to my place at all hours and demand breakfast."

"No," he says it v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y, "Because 'breakfast' is in the morning, Case, so 'all hours' doesn't apply."

You snort, and then sing-song, "Wow, you figured that out all by yourself, huh?"

He smirks at you – hardy-har – before shaking his head, "Anyways…does anyone use the word 'quarters' to describe anything other than a drinking game anymore?" You turn and aim your best glare at him. "I mean, other than you, of course?"

The way he says 'you' comes out more affectionate than either of you is prepared for so you drop your eyes, turning awkwardly back to the range. You feel the hair at your neck stand up and suspect he's regarding you closely, so you shove the bowl of chocolate chips his way and, old habits being what they are, admonish, "Only a few Derek, don't spoil-," then you laugh and he's smirking and it's almost like 'old times', "never mind, eat as much as you want," you say.

The uncomfortable moment is diffused, though, so there's that.

~***~

You sit at the dinner table about four days before you're due to take off in the Prince for Kingston, and everyone's talking over everyone else, like always. Edwin cracks jokes and Marti loudly calls for someone to pass the bread and Lizzie grins at your mom as she throws a roll at Marti and you can't bring yourself to do anything but look around at them all with a huge lump in your throat. You turn to look at George but catch Derek instead, eyes fixed and intent on you. He swallows hard, and you think, he's going to miss them too. You smile a little watery, and he looks down quickly at his food. When he looks back up, the moment's gone; he shovels food into his mouth and talks at the same time like always, and you think, Ugh, what a pig.

~***~

"Case," you call from your room and just as she answers back, you surprise her by rounding the corner and peering into her room. You almost always make her come to you. "Can you look at something for me?" you actually ask. Politely.

She glances back down at the list of things she has yet to do preparing for the big move in – god, really? – three days. "Sure," she says and then adds warily, "what is it?"

You make a face, "Uhm…I'd really rather you just take a look," you say.

She sighs, "Uhm – sure, Okay," and extends her hand. You place the torn notebook page into her hand and she glances at it. You've made as similar a list to hers as you can manage and she smiles, then stifles it – she doesn't want to lord it over you or anything, and damn, when did you two become so nice and-, "Derek," she starts, "It's a, well, it's a list – why'd you need me to look at it? It seems straightforward enough."

You take a deep breath and exhale violently, "I'm not exactly used to this sort of …organizational stuff, Case – just," you kick at her chair lightly, "look at it. Tell me if I'm, you know, missing anything?"

She looks up at you and – unbelievable! – lets you off the hook with a light shrug of her shoulders, "Well…okay – just, uhm, leave it here. I'll go over it as I go over mine and make notes on your list, okay?"

You feel more than a little frustrated and start to insult her, but just say, "Thanks," and leave her room.

~***~

You roll over and turn off the alarm clock. Yes, it's break. Yes, you're graduated. But you can't just let bad habits develop! School will start, and you'll need to get up just as early as before… You sit up and stretch before swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, intent on being the first one in the shower. Gathering up your robe and scuffing into slippers, you grab your comb and a hair clip on the way out of your room. Shuffling across the hall you stop short. The bathroom door is closed but you don't hear anyone on the other side – no water running, nothing. You push tentatively and the door swings open. You walk in and there's Derek, a towel wrapped around his waist, peering into the mirror. He looks at your reflection and his razor stops in mid-stroke. "Don't you knock?" he asks mildly.

"Don't you lock?" you shoot back, matching his tone. "Or rather, don't you even latch? Derek, I just pushed that door open – anyone could have-"

"No one's up but you, Casey," he says quietly. He holds your gaze in the mirror until you have to look away.

An involuntary blush creeps up your throat, you feel it and before it can reach your face, you turn around, "Well… let me know when you're out," you say – too brightly! – and walk very quickly back to your room.

~***~

Feel Good Family Time time. Your favorite, you wince. Everyone's slumped comfortably in the living room, though; Sam, Ralph and Emily, included – hell, even the 'rents – watching a movie. The Last Movie, you think. Annnd, you're turning into a chick. Various amounts of popcorn in several mismatched bowls litter the room and the legs and arms of your siblings cross comfortably over and around, everyone tangled together. Quite a comfortable tableau, you think, it only took the deportation of the two oldest sibs – step,step,step – to achieve McDonald-Venturi World Peace. All is comfy and snug…except for the not-very-secret secret glances Emily keeps throwing your way. Because, of course, the sibling you're tangled with – loosely, come on! –If THAT –is Casey and you're not-so-ex Ex-Girlfriend is puzzling the implications out for herself. Let her. Figure it out, Em. She's always been the One In the Know, why should anything change now? He snorts out loud at that. Everything's changing. Too fast maybe.

Em gives up finally – finally! – and starts getting into the movie so you pick a particularly intense part – you've seen it about ten times now, you're not missing anything – and you reach over the back of the couch on the pretense of grabbing the blanket draped on the seat back and 'inadvertently' exhale, very slowly, in Casey's ear.

You don't know why you do it, just going with your gut, but – thankfully? – she must be into the movie too, because she only reaches up and pulls her hair over her ear, but you notice her hand shaking and her arm covered in goose bumps. You swallow hard and pull your own arm down from the back of the couch.

You hook your foot tighter around her ankle, though. And she doesn't move her foot.

~***~

The lists are all made, all but a few items dutifully crossed off, most of your non-necessaries boxed, labeled and ready to be shipped, and very little but your overnight bag to be packed when it hits you: I did it. I am going to college tomorrow, and not just any college, either. To Queen's University. To major in Law. Or Medicine. Or Women's Studies.

Oh well, it doesn't really matter what you state as your degree plan in the beginning, anyway, the point is you are finally going.

Unless, of course, it DOES matter!

Oh, god. What have I DONE?!? You accepted a scholarship at Queen's in – whatever !– and don't know what that 'whatever' even entails!! You glance quickly around your room; the objects you've chosen to leave behind – the leftovers of childhood you can't quite part with but feel equally unable to acknowledge in your new life – swim in an unrecognizable mass in front of your eyes. Your things…are out of place, foreign, absolutely unsettled. Annnd the realization hits. The big prank that you've been anticipating for weeks–

"De-REK!" you pull your door open and run smack into the object of your wrath, already poised at your threshold.

"Case," your name rolls off his tongue syrupy-sweet, fueling your already stoked anger, "I need your shampoo, I've got a date," he pauses and his eyes narrow, a wicked smile curving his lips, "with Em-i-ly."

You plant both hands on his chest and shove, hard, "No!" you say "You can NOT borrow my shampoo!" turn quickly and thrust your hand out, indicating your room, and "I knew it was coming! WHAT have you DONE to my STUFF?!"

Derek's eyebrows shoot up and he looks around the room slowly, "Well I, personally, think it's an improvement," he glances back at you, "whoever the designer is…"

"Oh, stop. Just," you grab his hand and pull him into your disaster of a room, "FIX it. Now."

He crosses his arms over his chest and studies you a moment. "Wow…this is serious," then he flops down on your bed, loosely folding his arms behind his head, "You've really gone off the deep end."

"Derek," you try to get your voice in control, "aren't you a little too old for this kind of behavior?" Sitting on the end of the bed, you shove at his legs with your feet. He brings his legs back up and locks them around yours. You bite your bottom lip to keep it still and roll your eyes. "Seriously. You can't get away with pulling pranks in college." You free one leg and use your foot as leverage to free the other one then pull your knees up tight to your chin.

Derek's lips curve up, as he reaches for your ankle, "Please, you're killing me," he easily – almost leisurely! – grabs your heel, "College is the place to pull pranks." His hand his wrapped tightly around your ankle, "God, Casey, you ever going to loosen up? Ever seen Old School? PCU? How High?" You stare at him, uncomprehending, and his eyes get wider, "Animal House? Oh, for the love of pete – it's a classic."

"Classic what, Derek?" you squirm out of his hand, but he quickly grabs onto your other ankle. "A 'classic' is by definition something timeless…something ageless – not something you can date by the slang the actors use to-"

You kick at his hand but he deftly avoids it and uses your momentum against you to catch your wrist, "Uh-uh-uh, you're the one who said popular culture makes use of the current slang to address many timeless themes."

You momentarily forget to struggle and stare blankly at him, "You actually listened to something I said?"

"Aww, Case," he uses your moment of stupor to loop his legs around yours again, "just because I don't care doesn't mean I don't listen," he says.

You attempt the one-foot-removal one more time but Derek is ready for it – he just tightens his knees. "I think, then, that you are twisting my words." You go limp, "and anyway, Animal House is stupid. I can't think of a single 'timeless' theme in the whole-"

He sits up abruptly loosening his hold on your legs and you pull free. You gather your legs under you out of his reach, but he just grabs both your wrists in his hand instead and you lose your balance, falling over onto your side and pulling him over with you. His head lands on your stomach and you both let out a little grunt. "Move," you gasp.

"No."

"Fine," you say. "I'm going to enumerate all the reasons why this behavior is – perfectly aligned with your taste in movies, by the way – childish and stupid." Derek lets go and holds his hands out – truce! Truce! – and you tuck yours quickly behind your head, "First of all, in the real world Derek – and no I don't mean MTV's version – people work hard to get into college," you try to glare at him, "their parents save for it, and a certain level of responsibil-,"

He rolls over and his chin digs painfully into your diaphragm, making you say, "Oof!" but he doesn't seem to notice. "Look, what planet are you from, Spacey?" He throws his arm over you and pushes up to sitting, "Eighteen year old humans experiencing their first taste of freedom from the parental influence do not, and I repeat, DO NOT all behave like the teen-agers in those 'Fifty's black and white flicks you like to refer to as 'cinema.'" You laugh and smack him on the arm but the corner of his mouth only tilts up slightly. The room gets really quiet and feels stifling; you realize that not only are you horizontal on your bed – together! – but Derek is on top of you. Judging by his rapid breathing and the way he's looking intently into your eyes, he realizes it too. Time drags everything to a crawl and Derek licks his lips and your heart has – honest to god! – ceased beating.

You flash back to last night, during the movie, and Derek blowing in your ear. You ignored him – of course! – and pretended it was an accident. Even after he curled his foot around your ankle. (?!)

This…? Was no accident.

He looks at you, and you see every fleeting indecision jump across his consciousness played out in living color in his eyes. Will I? Will she? What the- then he shakes his head, almost imperceptibly. But you see it.

He jumps up, visibly shaken. "Uhm," he falters.

You sit up quickly and swing your legs over the edge of the bed, "Yeah…" you say.

"Never mind… it's uh, it's not important." He bolts for the door, "Listen," he stops in the doorway, "Uhm…just, uh, yeah." He walks out quickly without a look back.

You stare after him a moment as the realization sinks in that whatever might have just occurred in your room, you've certainly forgotten all about your pre-college nerves, and that's good – right?

Uh, no. This was infinitely worse. Because that glove you threw down? …most annoying – brother – … step- brother… same difference…yeah, right.

Derek just picked it up.

~***~

AN: I should be writing the next chapter of my Thorn-in-my-palm X-Files AU story. But I wanted to write this. I know, I know – there's too much well-written, well-plotted, excellent fic in LwD's fandom to choose from…why'd I go and throw my story on the slush pile, too? Because I couldn't, after that whole last scene in Futuritis, not.

Lookit. Where ever you find yourself falling on the line between Should They or Shouldn't They, basic psychology tells you that Casey and Derek? Are into each other – and not just in a purely competitive, Alpha-Dog kind of I-Must-Win-Or-Die-Trying way. And when that situation exists in real life? Oh, it's so pitiably sad for the two principle players… because you can't help who you're attracted to. I feel for the kids, I really do. ;-)