Disclaimer: I don't own LwD, or the characters in LwD and intend no infringement herein. The only profit I'm making is the money I save by choosing Geico (because that stack of money with the googly eyes scares sh*t out of me).

~***~

The first couple hours of the Trip to College go by uneventfully. Your dad starts out in the Prince with you while Casey and Nora follow in the new car. You know your dad and Nora planned that – she wants her chance to impart last minute "you're an adult now" advice to Casey. George tries too, but you distract him with the latest hockey stats.

At the first fuel stop, you switch passengers; Nora with George and Casey rides with you. "Derek," she sighs, "I have a headache… can we just, will you leave the radio off – just for a little while?" she asks. A glance tells you she ain't looking so hot. Nora must have…talked… a lot.

"Sure, Case," you say, "but we're listening to what I want when our little time out is over…" She smiles half-heartedly and leans her head back, stretching her neck. You catch a glimpse of the long, smooth curve of it, think of vanilla ice cream and force your focus back on the road.

About an hour passes when she yawns, stretches and pulls out some pamphlets on Kingston she sent away for months ago. You sneak glances at her as she bends over them, completely focused. Something about the way her forehead contracts in concentration, the tip of her tongue trapped between her teeth, just visible at the corner of her mouth… The sight is – damn. You don't even have a word for it. Cute? Adorable? Sexy…

She just pops up and starts reading, studying – always, always studying, and so damned concerned with 'Doing Things Right' and… Dammit, Casey… can't you just loosen up and fly by the seat of your pants…does everything have to be by the book?

And, you realize, you're mad. Really, really angry, all of a sudden.

"Hey, Spacey McSelfAbsorbed, think you can, like, drag your attention away from your stupid pamphlets and take a look at the map? I'm not doing this 'transport' thing for pure charity, ya know. You can't just swan around like some indulged princess anymore." It's needlessly mean, you know, but she hasn't said two words to you since the last fuel stop and - And?

She turns to you with a bewildered hurt look on her face, and you're instantly sorry your tone was so…uhm, mean. "Derek…I'm just trying to familiarize myself with the area a little bit…" And she's really hurt.

"Well – there's no radio worth anything for the last twenty miles," you breathe out hard, what was the problem, exactly? "Distract me with your babbling, okay?" It isn't the most gracious apology, but from you? It would count with Casey. She dips her head a little, captures her lips between her teeth, but she can't quite suppress her smile. Forgiven. You smile back, just a little.

"Okay," she takes a deep breath, "there's lots of cultural stuff to do…it's a college town, after all…" She talks on excitedly about – you don't even know what – you're not really listening to what she says…just, well, the sound of her voice is…whatever. It's just…distracting, that's all. The drive is long, and your butt hurts, and she has this…this almost musical quality to her voice that kind of soothes you a little and it's-

She nudges you in the arm, playfully, "…you'll really appreciate this, Derek," and you're tuned back in, now, "There's a lot of pubs geared to the local college crowd, and a couple of them even have regular open mic nights!" Her eyes have gone sparkly and your mouth goes sahara. "There's even some 'slam poetry' – ooh, Derek – you might even like that!" She lightly punches your arm again for emphasis.

You swallow dry and manage a smirk, "Have we met?" you say.

But she's on a roll now, "No – Derek – it's not like-," and she taps her chin in thought, and really, she's – cute? Adorable? Sexy…? NO. Quit it. Concentrate. "It's not like 'shall I compare thee to a summer's day' or anything like that…" She turns in the seat, really excited, "It's more like…uhm, rap – or like, Oh, I don't know. It's more like edgy performance art than a dry reading of some old poem…" She's…really, really uhm, something. "I actually think you'd like it, Derek."

You snort and shrug, "Eh…maybe we'll check it out sometime," you say, surprising you both. You glance at her, startled a little at the collective 'we'll' which pretty much admits that you'd allow her to drag you to something, you know, with her and she's got this speculative look on her face and her smile has faltered just a little, but you take a chance and don't take it back and then her smile relaxes and she reaches over and lightly punches you on the shoulder again and you breathe a little easier.

The rest of the car ride passes quickly with the same lively, uncomplicated conversation – both of you are startled when you pull into the campus. You're here. What now?

~***~

Saying good-bye was odd.

When the last of your neatly packed boxes were unloaded and placed carefully in your new suite room (Derek waived you off when you suggested you all go along and help him unload his…trash bags) and George and and your mom said their fourth and fifth 'good-bye's', he just stands there in your room for a moment. You're fighting the urge to grab him tightly and beg him to stay with you – just for a little while (because, you know, he's familiar and you're real homesick about now) – but the practical side of your brain knows he needs to get his stuff unpacked as it's getting late. But, and this is strange: you suspect he's feeling the same way.

He breaks your peculiar reverie by reaching up and grasping you by the shoulder – not out of the ordinary, he's done it countless times, after all – but the touch feels… different – gentler, more of a… caress.

"Well, Casey, I guess this is it, huh?" he says and your mind casts about – Oh, no! Don't say 'good bye' – not yet! You look up quickly and catch his eye. And…you just stand there.

Then this really bizarre thing happens. He reaches up and quickly rakes his fingers through your hair at the nape of your neck, just behind your ear, leans in and kisses you on the cheek. His face is just a little flushed – you know yours is too, you can feel it – as he straightens, clears his throat and says, "Let's have lunch – day after tomorrow, after we're all registered." He glances quickly at you and rushes on, "We can compare notes, yeah?" You nod dumbly and he walks out giving you another nonchalant wave of his hand.

But he's still a little flushed, you notice. Okay, odd, right?

~***~

"So…" You juggle your tray and shove your wallet back in your pocket while trying to scope a place to sit down, "Where looks good?" you ask and she looks at you in surprise, 'You're asking me?' written all over her face.

She covers well, though, "It's really a nice day – why don't we go sit outside?" Her forehead creases a little, "I saw some benches under the trees and we're only having sandwiches…" she trails off.

You smile a little at her reaction – always on our guard, both of us – and then hold your sandwich out to her, "Here – give me your tray and go pick our bench," the creases deepen, but she smiles hesitantly and takes your sandwich. You hold the trays up, "I'll put these up and find you," you say.

As you saunter through the cafeteria, aware of the interested eyes taking notice of you – really, you've got this part down to a science – you're slightly surprised that you're not really curious just now. So you keep your eyes moving – never landing on anyone – drop the trays on the counter, turn around and head right back to the door. As soon as you push through, you start looking for Casey.

She's sitting at a bench under a huge tree and her face is upturned, lit by bits of filtered sunshine. You're heart bungees in your chest and you remind yourself to breathe. You head over to her and walk up quiet – you don't want her to freak – and she just…opens her eyes slowly and smiles at you. "We're here, Derek. We're actually…here." Your mind flashes quickly – tangled sheets, mussed hair, long legs, smooth skin, bruised lips, soft flesh – and damn, where'd that come from? You manage to mutter, 'yeah,' and try to grin.

She talks on enthusiastically about the fact that you share a math class and begins to spazz about the study schedule she'll make for you both and you sit there, completely stupid because all you can do is repeat, 'yeah' and 'great' while trying not to imagine her naked.

You finish your sandwich and – before you know what you're doing – hold out your hand for her wrapper. She starts to hand it to you but then stops and narrows her eyes. "Alright, Derek," she's searching your face, "what's going on? You're actually being nice and you don't do nice." She huffs a little, "Well, at least not without a heavy dash of 'jerk' in the mix," she adds. "I'm starting to worry you're, like, terminally ill or something."

Snapping out of it, you smirk at her, and toss the balled up sandwich wrappers, hitting her on the shoulder. "Yeah…I'm terminally ill," you say, "it started four years ago, and it's been a wasting, torturing disease."

Her eyes are still narrowed, only now with irritation, not suspicion, "Me? A disease?" she scoffs, "Pfft – you're the plague, then." She shoves your shoulder and stoops to pick up the wrapper-ball, muttering under her breath something about 'typical' and 'known better' and 'jerk' – the last one actually makes you smile.

Balance is restored to the empire.

~***~

Fourth week of classes come and go. You've seen Derek four times a week for the last three weeks, Tuesdays and Thursdays for the shared math class and on Wednesdays and Fridays for the study sessions you planned out. 'One for review and one for preview, Derek', you'd told him. At which point he mocked you, of course – 'They're both after the class, Spacey; wouldn't they both be review?' Uggh.

It's Friday night and you had to decline an offer to go with a group of maybe-new-friends to see the movie, Adam, to keep your study session with him and he calls and tells you he can't make it! You give up the chance to see Hugh Dancy – Hugh Dancy!! – in a romantic comedy and now? You're stuck on your lumpy chair in your tiny suite half-heartedly looking over your review of the week's math notes and the thing that really burns? Derek is actually better at math than you, and he was actually the one grasping the concepts and …helping… you.

There simply is no justice in the world.

~***~

You just…can't do it. Not tonight. She smells incredible and looks incredible all the time, and the suites are so small – there's nowhere to get a little space. It's just you and her sitting on your bed – or hers, on Wednesday nights – the scuffed sixties-era coffee table pulled up to your knees, boxing you in even more… and dammit. Four times a week – two of those times in tiny, little, miniscule, cozy, dimly-lit suite rooms… It's just too much and you need the weekend to get your mind off-

It.

~***~

When he walks through the classroom door, you're prepared. He skipped your Friday study session, didn't call to so much as offer an explanation as to why and you've not seen or heard even a breath from him all weekend. And not on Monday, either, you think. Oh, yeah, you're prepared. When he walks through that door you're going to look right through him to the front and –

Then he walks in, and it's totally not what you'd planned. He's got a black eye and his right wrist is taped and you notice a limp he's trying – badly – to conceal and you're just about to move down to the seat next to him when in walks a very pretty redhead with his book stacked on hers and she takes the seat next to him, leans over and he whispers in her ear as she places his book on his desk and he chuckles and she blushes and, Oh! Why is your heart flipping into your throat like that? It's just Derek.

After class the redhead looks at him and asks if he needs her to help him again and he – finally! – glances up at you and says, "Nah, I can take it from here." His eyes twinkle with mischief – you've seen that look a hundred times – and he turns back to her and says, "But thanks, very much, for the offer."

She gets up and walks toward the door throwing a friendly wave over her shoulder and for some reason you watch her until she disappears from view into the traffic of the hallway. You take your time and then swing your glance back to Derek, and he's just staring at you with that damn smirk on his face. And you're mad all over again.

"Well," you look down and begin gathering your things, "not even a month in, and you're already in a fight," you say without looking at him. "Let me guess – it was her boyfriend…?" you ask.

His jaw gives a little twist, and he drops his gaze, then purses his lips and takes a deep breath, "Would you believe me if I said I fell off my bike?" He raises his eyes, but his chin is still tucked. Oh please – that look may melt other girls, but –

I'm not other girls. You straighten your back, "You don't have a bike," you say. He straightens too, brings his chin up, and his lips tighten, "I do play hockey, though. Remember?" And all of a sudden you're deflated. His hockey game! His FIRST college hockey game last night!!!

"Oh, DEREK – I'm-,"

"Forget about it – it's just pre-season, no bigs," he gestures to his book, "carry this for me, and I'll forget it too." You let out the breath you didn't know you were holding and walk carefullydown the risers and scoop his book up from his desk. Then you look into his eyes and you realize you can't read him right now.

"I really am sorry, Derek. I thought you just blew off our study-," you stop yourself and try a half-smile, "You know what – never mind. I'm carrying your book; you're contractually bound to forgive me, now."

You turn toward the door and glance back to just check his progress. He's moving slowly but moving nonetheless, so you keep going. "So…" you say, "college hockey…brutal, much?"

He snorts and mutters, "Ya think?"

As you round the doorway you stop to wait for him. He catches up and rolls his eyes dramatically, "I'm not an invalid, Spacey, geez."

"Whatever you say, Grumpy McGimperson," you say as you start down the mostly empty hallway. He smirks – 'Nice try, nerd' – but you know he's impressed.

"So," feigning disinterest, you ask, "Who's the redhead?" then crook your elbow out for him to take.

He looks down and rolls his eyes at your arm then puts his hand on the small of your back, "Don't tax your brain, Case – we've got some math to catch up on," he says.

"But it was a fight on the ice, right?" you say. "Just to, you know, clarify…"

He just shakes his head, "Yes, dear…" he snots and you smile in spite of yourself. And like these things usually go, without knowing why, you're thinking 'step-brother' and 'brother' actually aren't the same thing.

Especially not here.

~***~

AN: So, this is the next chapter that I have bled out for anyone reading… And by bleed out, I mean, "Writing is hard!" /Barbie voice. I'm good at vignettes, little scenes that have no beginning and no end…but starting and stopping? Not so much. That's what brings me here: Write a beginning, middle and end that actually, you know, makes sense. Go!

I would be very remiss if I didn't say in a pitiable voice, "Thank you," to everyone taking the time to read this. I'm usually a HORRIBLE updater (re: my Chess Game story; thirty chapters, and three – yes that's THREE – years later + still unfinished = 'nuff said) but I'm trying to fix that woeful weakness, too. I'm aiming for once every two weeks for updates – that's on the outside of realistic – as I'll be juggling that other chapter story, too. Feel free to prod me with a stick (ie, PM me) if I look like I'm asleep but not breathing (ie, I haven't updated in three weeks.) Oh, yeah – and do tell what you like and don't like. Helps a writer, immensely.

~Solard