Part 2


She ignored him, reaching over for his hand, almost unconsciously, and just as instinctively he pulled away, winching.

"Derek," she whispered.

"It's fine," he mumbled. "It's healing."

"Well, let me see it," she said softly.

"No."

"Why not?'

"Because it's my life," he said, voice rising now, "And, I'd prefer if you didn't try to force yourself into every crevice of it."

Casey winched.

When she felt her back press back into leather, she realized she'd recoiled, too. She stared studiously at the salsa jaw, swallowing. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

Derek was silent for a moment, but she could see his torso shifting uncomfortably in her periphery. Finally, he sighed. "Let's just eat."

*

"You gonna eat?" Derek asked, "Or just stare at the salsa?"

When Casey simply sat there, staring at the salsa, Derek rolled his eyes. "I'll take that as a 'no'."

Casey ignored him, trying to pretend salsa was just that riveting, that she wasn't stung. Because, as much as she hated to admit it, as much time as they'd spent apart over the last two years, his words still had a way of kicking her in the gut. It wasn't that his last rant was particularly venomous—she'd heard him tell her to 'leave him alone' about as much as she'd heard the word "the". But, after weeks of arguing with him nonstop, weeks of him telling her he didn't want her near him for the holidays—or period, perhaps—after literally having to fight him to get him to eat a meal with her, the weight of rejection was weighing a little heavy on her.

There was also that pesky, tiny, miniscule part of her that hadn't been dreading spending the holiday with him—that part her brain swore didn't exist.

She sighed and dipped the same uneaten chip in the salsa again.

Derek offered his own sigh. "Well, you sure know how to show a guy a good time. I mean seriously, it's like the sun's brighter with you here, the sky bluer."

His voice was sharpening, and when she finally looked up she could see his tense shoulders. Whatever she was doing—which, she'd thought was nothing—was apparently agitating him.

"What?" she finally grumbled. "Is my breathing annoying you now?"

"More like your presence," he answered instantly, although his shoulders relaxed slightly. "But if you have to be here, you could at least try not to suck all the life out of the room."

She huffed, hand smacking the table so the salsa jar shook slightly. "Ugh, what do you want from me? You've done nothing but complain about me since I've gotten here. And, then, when I finally 'shut up' like you've been begging me, you complain about that, too."

Derek bit into a taco, completely lounging in his seat again now as she ranted, "Okay. Now try that once more; with feeling."

She jammed her heel into his shin and he cried out, nearly choking on his taco.

"That enough 'feeling' for you, Der?"

"Perfect," he grit out, grimacing as he rubbed his leg.

Casey sent him a steely grin before reaching over and plucking food from his plate.

*

Twenty minutes and more than twenty insults later, they were exiting Tommy Taco's. This time Casey was not attached to his torso, but she did send a lovely swinging door into his face.

"Finally," Derek sang, rubbing his face.

Casey spun back around at that, squinted at the smile threatening his lips.

"Finally what?"

"Finally you're as pissed off about you being here as I am."

She huffed, folding her arms. "So what? You just want to make us both miserable? That's your plan for Christmas?"

"That's my dream for Christmas," he said in her face.

He smelled like winter and cologne and she wasn't sure why she was thinking about that as they began wrestling again, Casey aiming for his chest and Derek gripping her forearms.

"Why. Are you. So. Difficult?" Derek grumbled.

"I thought you liked it difficult," she hissed back.

Casey grunted and tugged harder from his grasp, but, damnit, he was trying harder now—almost like they were struggling for real—and, damnit, he had gotten a lot stronger since grade school.

He started moving her backwards, their bodies moving in a weird, jerky sort of dance.

"Let me hit you," she finally whined.

"Um, let me think about that." He pinned her arms behind her back, almost like a hug, but not, and smirked. "Nope."

"Ugh."

"I let you win the first time…" He'd leant in, for whatever reason, and was speaking so closely it was a little distracting. "…because I was still marginally unaggravated by you."

"Oh, no," she cried sarcastically, "Keep talking like that and it might sound like you were actually happy to see me."

"The only time I'll be happy to see you is in your coffin."

"Pfft. You'll so die before me, all those tacos you eat—ugh, Derek." Her back pressed against metal and she realized he'd managed to forcefully escort her to the passenger side.

"Get in," he said, releasing her, and jerking the car door open.

"Whatever you say, 'Master.'"

She glared at him and the shut door in his face. Again.

He smirked at her through the glass, and when she finished buckling herself in, she'd finally convinced herself she was flushed because of the exercise, and nothing else.

*

It was hard to stay so angry when the cabin was so beautiful.

After driving through literally miles of snow, they'd taken a turn past a lake, and there it was: the opposite of the dusty, broke down shack she'd pictured. It was more like a cottage ,or a house even; with a quaint cobblestone fence enclosing the front, red trimming that was as endearing as it was cheesy, and a porch that already had her daydreaming about hot chocolate on a snowy night.

"You awake over there, Spacey?"

Spacey.

She'd missed hearing him say that.

"And, now you're staring at me," Derek mumbled, "Are you high?"

"Oh-no, sorry. I'm just 'spacin', I guess."

She offered him an awkward smile and Derek's brows bunched in bemusement. She glanced back out the window and Derek took his turn watching her. "I'm waiting," he finally said.

She turned back to him. "Waiting for what?"

He gestured vaguely to the cabin that was charming her more and more by the second. "You know, your inaugural whining. 'Der-ek! I can't believe you picked this ewwie cabin. Outside! In the woods! Der-ek, you're so irresponsible; I hate you!'"

Her lips thinned. She tucked hair behind her ear. "It…doesn't suck."

"Well, of course you…" he trailed off and then blinked. "Oh."

When he just sat there for a moment, eyes wide and unreadable, she shrugged and slipped out the side door. She headed for the trunk and heard Derek's door close soon after, his boots crunching the snow. She reached to open the trunk when his gloved hands covered hers. "I got it."

Her brows spiked.

Derek rolled his eyes. "You barely managed to get these in the jeep without losing your limbs; no way you get them up the steps." His eyes didn't meet hers as he lifted them both easily from the trunk. "And, the last thing I need is angry mama-bear phones calls from Nora when you injure yourself."

Casey closed the trunk. Regarded him for a moment. Then said softly, "Thank you."

"Don't say thank you. I'm not being nice."

She raised both hands as if in surrender, and followed him silently towards the cabin steps.

*

The inside of the cabin was warm, toasty—which automatically won Casey over. After a few blissful moments of sighing and stripping off her scarf, hat, and boots, she took a moment to look around. There were two levels, with a long narrow staircase greeting them in the foyer. The downstairs, from what she gathered, was plain, but classic with wood paneling, two small couches—of course a T.V.—and…

"A fire place!" she chirped, leaving Derek and her bags in the foyer.

Derek sighed and followed after her. "And, I can see your keen observational skills are still intact."

"I love fire places," she said, spinning back towards him.

"I know. That's why I didn't tell you I had one."

"Maybe we could roast marshmallows."

"That's a campfire," Derek said, slipping off his cap with a sigh. Messy, brown curls sprung free and she found her soft eyes lingering on them for a moment. "And, could you be any lamer?"

Casey ignored him, her smile widening as she turned slowly, taking in the cabin. "This is surprisingly tasteful." She turned back to him. "How'd you find it?"

Derek let out an impatient noise. "A friend of my agent," he mumbled.

"Right, how could I forget? Mr. Rock star has his own agent now."

She rolled her eyes at him and he offered a small, satisfied smirk.

"And, probably girls hanging all over you nonstop," she said without thinking.

"Heh. Wouldn't you like to know."

For some reason, in that moment, she really did want to know—which was beyond disconcerting.

"And, Richard?"

She jumped slightly from where'd she'd been musing by the fire place. Somehow, he'd ended up right behind her. She craned her neck to catch his questioning gaze, and frowned. "We broke up. You know that."

"Yeah, well you guys are the dictionary definition of 'on and off again'," he said with an eye roll.

"Pfft. Well, believe me, the off-switch has been permanently flipped." She folded her arms instinctively across her chest. "I caught him frenching one of his 'study partners'."

She actually heard him stiffening behind her; the intake of breath, the rustle of fabric, before she turned to see it. She watched his jaw flex.

"Asshole."

"Thanks," she said dryly. She knew that that was Derek's version of sweet words and condolences. "But, the saddest part was that…I honestly wasn't that crushed."

His forehead creased with confusion and she sighed.

"There was just never that…"

She gestured her hand in front of her, between them, searching in frustration for the word. Spark? Connection? Chemistry?

But, Derek nodded slightly, his eyes flickering with comprehension, so she simply ended the thought with a shrug.

"He was too vanilla for you," he said quietly.

She arched a brow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Derek shrugged slightly, his head tilting toward her like he was sharing a secret. "Polite. Responsible…boring."

"He didn't seem too 'polite' when he was shoving his tongue down Melanie's throat."

Derek smirked, but not meanly. "He's an idiot."

Her eye lashes fluttered with surprise, her face softened. "Because he let me go?"

"Nah, he's just an idiot."

She blinked. And, then squinted as Derek headed back to the foyer.

*

"Here's your room," he said, dropping her bags to the floor with an unceremonious thud.

Casey pursed her lips, nodding as she accessed it. It was a little small and dim, but homey nonetheless.

"The master suite's much larger."

She narrowed her eyes. "And, let me guess: that's where you'll be residing?"

"Well, I am the Master, aren't I?"

Great, she thought dryly; so that comment wasn't going away.

She was scowling until her eyes fell on a rolled up comforter atop the bed. It was pink and fuzzy. Her eyes instantly darted to Derek. He shifted uncomfortably.

"The blankets are scratchy here and I knew you'd just keep bitching and moaning about it if I didn't change them, so, whatever."

"Yeah… 'whatever'."

She sent him a soft smirk and he glowered.

"I am not being nice."

"Pfft." She waved a dismissive hand. "Like I'd ever accuse you of that."

*

After exchanging a few more light hearted insults with Derek, he'd left her to settle in while he—predictably—grabbed a beer and watched T.V. She'd rolled her eyes at him and muttered something about beer bellies and baldness. But, secretly, there was something strangely soothing about them being in the same cabin, her being responsible and productive, him being a lazy ass. There was that pull in her chest again, and she wondered if it were possible to be homesick for something even after you got it back.

*

"Please," Casey said sarcastically as she joined Derek by the T.V., "Don't exert yourself on my account."

She pulled a face at him as she plopped on the couch beside him and Derek simply smirked. She scrunched her nose as someone dunked a basketball on the screen. "Is there anything else besides sports on?"

"Plenty."

When he just sat there, not changing the channel, she rolled her eyes and pushed herself up from the couch.

"Where ya going?" he mumbled, eyes still on the screen.

"To go plot your horrifying death."

" 'kay, just checking."

She sneaked up behind him then and whispered, "And, cook you dinner."

That got his attention. Derek spun around in his seat, and she had to pull back to keep their foreheads from knocking.

"What are you playing at, woman?"

She huffed. "Um, you're welcome?"

"This is part of your plot, isn't it?"

"What plot?"

Okay, so she knew exactly what plot. She was going to make him have a merry Christmas if it killed them both. She didn't reveal any of that on her face, though. Just smiled innocently, unblinking.

Derek watched warily for a moment, before sighing. "Fine. Whatever. There's some frozen meals in the freezer."

"I brought some food," she said casually.

His eyes narrowed.

"You know, in one of those one ton bags of mine?"

His eyes flickered, and she could see the conflicting emotions running through them. "What you'd bring?"

"I don't know." She shrugged and propped herself up on the back of the couch. "What's your favorite thing that I cook?"

His mouth twitched. She was breaking him; she knew it. "That linguini stuff," he mumbled.

"Good." She flashed a perky smiled. "Because—and I doubt it was legal—but, that's what I brought."

His jaw dropped. "You smuggled pasta?"

"I smuggled pasta."

*

Derek watched, stunned, as Casey unpacked her smuggled cooking supplies. First the jars of homemade sauce wrapped in towels, then the pasta noodles and various seasonings. He scrubbed the back of his head, regarding her with tilted lips.

"And, just when I thought you couldn't be any more whacko."

"I don't know," Casey said, shooting a smile over her shoulder, "It was kind of fun. I felt so…rebellious."

Derek snorted. "Sneak some pot over the border; then we'll talk rebellious."

She sent him a stern look and Derek rolled his eyes. He made a sweeping gesture across his body. "Obviously I wouldn't pollute this Adonis-like temple; it was a joke."

"Okay…" Casey said, eyes skimming her ingredient list, "Pinch of delusion: check."

She sent him a sideways glance and he scowled at her.

"And just so we're clear…"

Casey started slightly, Derek having once again managed to slip behind her, his chest bumping her back. "…this still doesn't change anything."

Why was he speaking into her ear? Not that it, like, tingled or anything.

Casey huffed and poked her elbow into his abs, making him step back a little. Then she turned to him, arms folded protectively across her chest, "Why can't you just admit that it's not completely dreadful having me here?"

"Because that would be a lie," he said breezily, "And, we all know how much you hate lying."

His lips curved up into a devilish smirk as he finished, "About as much as you hate me."

She glared at him. And, wondered if he'd ever uttered a sincere sentence in his life.

*