Use Those Same Excuses
or Four Times Derek Should Have Listened To Casey (And The One Time He Did)
by: amoenavi
A/N: I should be working on Or Aphrodite. Or Story of a Girl. Or my promptfics. I have problems with commitment, clearly. Pure, nonsensical fluff. Merry (Almost) Christmas and Happy Hanukkah, everyone!
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ONE.
Derek fell back against the wall, letting out a long sigh of relief.
Casey looked up from her book. "What are you doing home so early?" she asked, eyebrow raised. He waved a hand at her to be quiet and she looked slightly put out. "I will not be silenced!"
"Shut up, will you?" He pressed his ear to the wooden door, breathing heavily. "They might still be out there."
Curious, she put aside her book and gathered her blanket around her, padding over to look out their front window. The streetlights illuminated everything until the end of the block and she could see right into their across the street neighbor's house. Apparently they had just gotten a new flatscreen. Sweet. "Where?"
"There," he whispered urgently, pointing into the depths of their landscaping. "Don't you see them?"
Seeing no one and nothing but plants, she frowned. "Are these people taking a page out of Macduff's book?" At his blank stare she sighed. "Right, Macbeth reference. You wouldn't get it. Are they pretending to be bushes, Derek?"
Surprisingly, he didn't roll his eyes at her sarcasm. "Honestly? I wouldn't put it past them."
At that moment, Casey heard a splat against the window, quickly followed by three more splats in succession. "What the hell? Who is it?"
"Sheldon and the Schlepplosers." He flinched as another chorus of splats was heard, this time against the door. "Great, they're egging the house now." He opened the yolk-covered door and shouted out, "I'm sorry! But, in my defense, it was a year after you guys broke up!" Another splat was heard. "She talked about you a lot!" Splat. "C'mon, it's Christmastime!"
"Does the Male Code stop for Christmas?" Sheldon's voice, completely unchanged in the year and a half since she had heard it last, rang loud and clear throughout the house and Casey fought back the urge to laugh. "I think not!" Splat splat. "Vengeance will be mine, Derek Venturi! Just you wait!" A squelching sound as, presumably, the remainder of the carton of eggs hit her stepbrother in the stomach.
She watched, barely holding in her laughter as he closed the door and shook his hands free of the goo. "Who knew Schlepper had such good aim?" he grumbled, expression somewhere between impressed and annoyed.
Casey snorted. "I told you dating Emily was a bad idea."
TWO.
"Turn left, Derek!"
Okay, but that exit 13 sign definitely wasn't there before.
THREE.
Casey blinked at the blinding neon lights. "I'm… actually not quite sure what to make of this."
"Here, let me make it simple for you," Derek smiled, gesturing toward the casinos and hotels and strip clubs. "It's Vegas, baby!"
She nodded slowly. "I'm getting that… I just don't understand what we're doing in Vegas when I'm supposed to be visiting Emily." He smirked. "De-rek! You said we were visiting Emily!"
"We are visiting Emily… right after we make a few pit stops," he explained, tossing an arm around her shoulder and steering her toward the action. "Don't you ever want to live a little dangerously?" he said, clearly proud of himself.
She turned her head to look at him skeptically as she allowed him to drag her into a club. "Fine, but you seriously need a new catchphrase. You're like a broken record."
Five hours, six beers, four casinos, three tequila shots, and a strip club (yeah, he didn't know how he talked her into that one either) later, they collapsed onto the beds in their hotel room, Casey complaining a little drunkenly about not having done anything worthwhile and Derek about ready to strangle her.
"Worthwhile? Worthwhile!" he fumed, also a little drunkenly. "I take you out to the place that never sleeps, drag you around to the best joints in town, and still you complain about not seeing anything! We went to the Bellagio, the MGM Grand! We saw a magic show and strippers!" She opened her mouth to protest. "Exotic dancers, whatever." She closed her mouth. "What exactly do you want to do in Vegas that we haven't already done?"
She stared at her boyfriend, blue eyes wide and expression suspiciously subdued. "Would you do anything?" she asked, assessing his expression.
He nodded, exhausted. "Anything, anything at all. Just pick something for God's sake."
"Propose."
"What?"
"Ask me to marry you."
"Ask you to marry me…" he repeated, dumbfounded. "What?"
"I want you to ask me to marry you," she said slowly, eyes sparkling. A smile appeared on his face, growing larger with every word she said. "You did say anything, Derek."
He laughed. "I did, didn't I?" Flipping over onto his stomach, he looked her in the eye, grinning like a fool. "Will you, Casey McDonald, marry me, Derek Venturi?"
She rolled her eyes playfully. "No! You have to do it right. Get down on one knee and ask me, you idiot."
And for once, he listened.
FOUR.
"Derek," Casey said quietly, tiptoeing around the various neon toys Will had left on the floor, "I'm not sure this is a good idea." She joined her husband at the doorway to her son's room, eyeing the birthday cake in his hand. "Actually, I'm pretty sure this is the antithesis of a good idea. It is, in fact, a bad idea."
Derek glanced over at her for a moment before looking back down at the seven lit candles on the birthday cake. "No, this is a fun idea." He paused. "Which explains why you don't like it."
She huffed and crossed her arms, offended. "I'm fun. I'm really fun. In fact, I'm the fun parent!" she declared loudly, clamping her mouth shut when he shot her a 'will you please shut up?' look. "Oops."
He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, oops. Now could you open the door, 'fun parent'? I think this cake is melting." He dipped his head to look at the liquid wax oozing down into the chocolate frosting. "Ew."
Casey put her hand on the knob of the door and began to turn it. "Fine, fine. But when this ends badly, I'm blaming you in the police department." She leveled him with a steady, no-nonsense glare. "Got it?"
"Whatever, drama queen." She turned the rest of the doorknob and he opened the door with his shoulder, jumping into his son's room "SURPRISE! HAPPY SIXTH BITRHDAY!"
Derek lurched forward, tripping on an unseen Bob the Builder truck and dropping the cake onto the carpeted floor. Will curiously stared at the crumpled heap that was his father and Casey sighed.
"You know, he gets this messy streak from you. Like father, like son."
FIVE.
It was his son's night game and typical Canadian spring cold and, yup, he should have worn a sweatshirt.
His wife laughing at his makeshift blanket ("Oh. My. God. Is that Marti's old 'dress up cape'?") did nothing for his bruised ego. Especially when she added the "I told you so"s.
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