--A Word From The Author - 9.18.07-- Please read this before reading this chapter!
It seems to me that what's happening with this story is that people check out the first chapter and decide they don't like it based on that. My assumption is based on the fact that about 70 percent of the story views are for Chapter One, with the other 30 percent being spread out amongst the other chapters. I'm going to attempt to change that...
CHAPTER ONE IS A PROLOGUE!
It doesn't really give away a main plot or anything, but it does provide you with some vital background information and sets up a little of the story. It is strictly Mr. Derek Venturi getting some insight from Mr. Boone Carlisle. That's all. I'll be the first to admit that it's not the best written chapter ever, so BY ALL MEANS, SKIP IT. Especially if you want to get straight to the Derek/Casey interaction. She doesn't come in until next chapter because, originally, this was a one shot.
All I'm asking is that you PLEASE DON'T JUDGE THIS STORY BY THE FIRST CHAPTER. It gets better. At least, I think it does.
Thank you for reading and taking this into consideration!

AN: I've always thought these two to be very similar, so when I was rewatching some season one Lost episodes, I decided to write this. I've got some more of it planned out, but I'm not sure if I'd like to keep it going. So, if you like it, tell me, and I'll put the rest up. I apologize for Derek being kind of OOC, but mainly it's because he's much older now and he's matured, which I assume he would do as it's what most people do. I also know that there's a huge time/age difference between the two characters. Just for the sake of the story, I ask that you forget it. Assume Derek and said character from Lost can just meet randomly and have this conversation and the whole time space continuum whatever would not collapse. Cool? Thanks. Besides, it's only going to be for this chapter, a little bit in future chapters.

Oh, and for all you Dasey fans, if it keeps going, there will DEFINITELY be some of that in the future.

Disclaimer: I don't own Lost or Life with Derek. I can only dream.

As the TV flickered each time I changed the channel, I began to realize something. I was bored. No, not just bored, I was miserable, sitting in a hotel room, in Sydney, Australia. Of all the places, Sydney fucking Australia. I had been so adamant about coming a day early so I could "get to know the place", and here I was, lying on my super comfy bed, in my super amazing hotel room, which gave me a super awesome view of the Opera House and Port Jackson, anxious about the super day I was going to have tomorrow. Something about this situation was just a little bit too…super.

Finding nothing worthy of watching, I got up and went to the bathroom, splashing some cold water on my face. I stared at my reflection in the mirror. What the hell was I doing wasting my time in here, I thought. If I was going to be in Sydney for only one night, I may as well find some kind of bar or club or something. The face that was staring back at me grinned and I recognized a familiar smirk forming on my lips. With that, I hurriedly put on my sneakers and grabbed my leather jacket, waltzing out the door.

After about fifteen minutes of walking, it began to rain. And not the type of rain where it's light and if you walk faster to reach your destination, you'll make it just fine. Oh, no. It poured. Rained cats and dogs, if you will.

"Perfect, just fucking perfect," I muttered under my breath, ducking into the very next door I saw. To my delight, I realized after scanning the place that it was somewhat of a pool hall. There weren't but about eight or nine people in there, so I assumed it must be some well kept secret. I sat myself down on a barstool.

"What's your poison?" the bartender asked, his accent heavy.

I gaped at him, momentarily forgetting the location I was in. After I had regained my composure, I reached into my back pocket for my wallet. "Just gimme a bottle of your most popular beer." I requested, slapping a bill down on the counter. The bartender smirked and walked off, returning a few seconds later with an opened bottle, which he set before me.

"You look like the shit just hit the fan."

I smirked. In a sense, he was right. Hell, they say bartenders are the best therapists. I nodded my head and was about to elaborate, when a guy, not much older than me, sat two stools away from me. We both looked at him as he complained rather loudly.

"Fifteen God damned hours, and for what?" he muttered bitterly, acting as if the whole place couldn't hear him.

Now, normally, I don't care about other peoples' business. I never have. But this man intrigued me. So, I eavesdropped a little bit, listening as he ordered his drink. Hard liquor. This struck me as ironic.

Don't get me wrong; I'm not a professional when it comes to alcoholic beverages or anything, contrary to popular belief. I drink, but not nearly as much as used to be rumored. But I do know some certain unspoken male rules that happened to apply to alcohol. Beer was for when you were stressed. Wine was ONLY on special occasions and ONLY when you were with a very special woman. Hard liquor was for celebrations. Hence why this man's drink struck me as odd. By his whispering and muttering, I could tell he did not have any occasions to be celebrating.

He noticed me looking at him and raised his glass to my bottle. "Cheers." I raised mine back and took a swig. I'm not a huge fan of beer, but this…this was some good beer. I was debating getting myself another when the guy slid to the stool next to me. I assume I gave him a completely confused and annoyed look because he spoke immediately. "Do you ever just want to kill a member of your family?"

I thought about it. Why yes, in fact, every day for about three years growing up, I wanted to kill my stepsister. Three years. That's roughly one thousand, ninety-five days if you don't count the time we didn't see each other.

I guess he could tell I had someone in mind. What, was he a mind reader? "Who?" he asked, curiously.

"My…sister. She was really quite annoying growing up."

At this, he smirked. "You and I, this meeting right now, this is fate." I looked at him quizzically. "I want to kill my sister, too." I nodded, keeping silent. "Well, stepsister. It sounds wrong in my head calling her my sister considering I've been in love with her since I was about fourteen." This made me raise an eyebrow, but he didn't notice because he was downing the last of his drink. He signaled the bartender for another. "I'm Boone." He stuck out his hand and I shook it.

"Derek."

"I have a feeling she knows." I was about to ask whether he meant she knew he wanted to kill her or that he was in love with her, but…"I suspect she's wanted to kill me a time or two, too. You know, I've paid men to stop dating her."

"What?" That sounded a bit extreme to me.

"She has this way of getting herself into the worst relationships. And I bribe them to leave her. In fact, just this morning, I offered the guy she was with twenty-five thousand American dollars to leave without telling her. He refused, said his love for her was more worth fifty thousand. So I paid him. And you know what happened?" I just looked at him. I had a bunch of possibilities running through my head, none of which were the correct answer. "The bitch tricked me. She knew I'd give him the money, and she was planning to run away with him…and my money. Then he beat me up." Now was the first time I noticed a huge bruise on his cheek, and his cut lip and eye.

"Shit." I took a swig of my beer, listening intently as this man poured his heart out to me, a complete stranger. Ironically, I felt connected to him in some way.

"So, what brings you to Sydney, Derek?"

I was taken aback for a minute, thinking he was going to just keep telling me his life's story until he was too drunk to remember his name. I didn't expect the question. "I, um…well, I'm meeting my sister at the airport tomorrow, and we're flying home to Canada."

"And do you still want to kill her?"

I thought for a moment about how the last few years had managed to transpire. We'd been busy, the whole family had. It was just hard to get together. God, why was I rationalizing this? "I haven't really seen her in eight years. We talk, I guess. But for more than five minutes at a time, I haven't really been face to face with her in eight years."

Surprisingly, Boone didn't seem the least bit affected by this. He just nodded. "I can understand that. Growing up with someone in close quarters and being so close to their age, I can definitely understand."

I shook my head, holding my bottle almost to my lips, but not drinking it. "No, it's not that, really. We're just…busy. Incredibly busy. I mean, I don't know about her, but I hardly ever get to go home."

"Not even for holidays?"

I shrugged. "Well, occasionally. But it's usually only for a day or two. And the same with her. She'll go for a few days and then leave on the day I happen to come into town. Or vice versa."

"On purpose?"

"I don't know. I wouldn't doubt it."

Boone nodded his agreement. "Why is it that you can't go home?"

What was this, an interview? "My job. I'm in advertising. I've been living in New Zealand the past few years and it gets pretty crazy around the holidays. It's hard enough to get back to Canada anyway."

Boone nodded again, though whether he was agreeing or approving, I didn't know. "I work for my mom, I'm CEO of her wedding business back in the States."

"Sounds interesting. I can't imagine working for my mother." Did I just call Nora my mother? Stepmother, you idiot. Don't get me wrong, I love Nora. And she makes my dad so happy. But she really can't replace my mom, you know? Not that I could imagine working for Abby, either, especially considering the last time I saw her…what was I? Eighteen? Nineteen?

"She hates Shannon. And no one knows why. She screwed her over, big time. And I didn't do anything about it. Nothing. Not one thing." He finished another drink, in a long, swift motion. "Shannon's dad was rich. Really, really rich. And my mother took all the money. It should've gone to Shannon."

"What could you have done?" And I honestly meant it. If Nora had been rich and my dad cheated Casey and Lizzie out of their share, I seriously doubt I could've talked him into giving it to them. But my dad's not a heartless bitch, so I doubt he would do that. Wait, I didn't even know this guy's mom, and I just called her a heartless bitch. Who's heartless?

"I don't know. Nothing, probably. My mother is a stubborn, heartless bitch. She only gave me the job I have now so I would move out of New York and not help Shannon."

Wow, this guy wasn't kidding. The more he talked about her, said her name, the more I believed he was in love with this Shannon girl. It made me think, to say the least.

"Can I ask you something?" I was tentative when I spoke, which was an uncommon trait for me. He nodded. "How did you know you were in love with her? I mean, she's your stepsister after all. Don't you just think it could've been because you were a teenage boy, spending so much time with a teenage girl, that you just thought you were in love with her?"

He smirked, knowingly. "Until today, I hadn't seen her in three years and I still get butterflies when she calls, even though I know it's only to tell me about her recent break up or ask for my help. I'm hopeful, I suppose. Tell me that's infatuation."

This guy really is a mind reader. I nodded and looked at the bottle in my hands, finishing it off and realizing that I had been through two others before that. Shit, walking home was not going to be fun, especially if it was still raining.

We sat in a very comfortable silence for a few moments, both of us staring at the wall across the bar.

"Say, if you rarely get to go home, why is it you're going back now? If you don't mind me being so nosy…" Boone asked, after we had been quiet for three or four minutes.

"My dad wrote a book."

He nodded and smiled. "Ah, I see. Well congratulations are in order, then." He raised his glass to mine again and I clinked my bottle against it.

"Thanks. He's a lawyer. Not an amazing one, but exceptional for the town we lived in. Apparently, his talents inspired him to write a book. And it's being released next week. They're throwing him a huge release party at his firm and Nora wants Casey and I, and the other chitlins, to come home. But especially Casey and me. It's going to suck."

"What's that?"

"Being with her all damn day tomorrow. She used to be such a bitch, you know? And she didn't ever mean to, she was just being Casey. I wasn't used to it. So I was a jerk to her all the time and she was a bitch. And that's how we grew up. I never meant for it to be like that. It just was. And it didn't help that we're both control freaks and stubborn as hell. She was little Miss Perfect and was the screw up. That's how it was. At the time, I actually thought it would've been cool to have a sister. And it would have! I really wish we had been close back then. Now I'm not entirely sure if I want her as a sister because then I couldn't want her the way that I do. And you know, she always tried to change me. That's probably why I annoyed her so much, because I didn't want a girl to change me, especially not my totally uncool stepsister. Trust me on that, she was definitely not cool." I paused a moment, sipping my drink. "I'm worried though, because since we rarely talk, it's going to be incredibly awkward between us tomorrow and I'm not sure I can handle awkward. I mean, it would've cost my dad the same amount of money had we flown on separate flights. But, oh, no. 'You two should come down together since you never even talk.' If it wasn't for that, I wouldn't have been stuck in my hotel room for most of the day today because I don't know one damn thing about Sydney except for it's in Australia."

Judging by the look on Boone's face, I imagine I had finally succeeded in surprising him, although that was not my intent. I also figured that everything I had just said came out of my mouth way too fast for him to comprehend it all. I was rambling anyway. It was about time those beers started kicking in.

Oh shit. Did I just say I wanted Casey?

"And I was concerned because I thought you were going to say the release party wouldn't be fun." He smirked. So I smirked. And then we laughed, for probably five minutes.

After our laughter died, he stood up and reached into his pocket. "Look, I've got a flight to catch in the morning at about 8:30, so I probably stayed longer than I should have anyway. But here's my card. If you ever need a wedding planned, or if you're ever in the States, you should give me a call." I took the card as he held it out to me and smiled.

"Sounds good. I don't have a card, but if you're ever in New Zealand, look me up." He tipped his invisible hat and turned to leave. "Hey, Boone?"

"Yep?"

"Good luck with your stepsister."

He smirked. "Good luck with your stepsister." And he was gone. I stared at the card for a minute, with its flashy lettering and sparkly outline, and noticed a cell number scrawled in red ink in the upper corner. I smiled, his words ringing in my ear. Hm. Fate.

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