This fic sponsored by Insomnia --the number one doctor-recommended remedy for sleep!

Seriously, though? Speed-written in about two hours (while I was trying to write my research paper...which is actually a lie, since I was instead trying to write an entirely different one-shot for this collection, but this one kept interrupting), so it's probably a big jumble of George-style 'wha?,' but I'm fond enough of it as it is not to care. Not really a point or a theme, per se, but I so rarely bother with either of those I suppose that's really more of a moot point than anything else.

Meanwhile.

Everyone who has commented thus far has my sincerest thanks --I feed on your reviews, like some disgusting, bottom-feeding parasite. Hearts n' sh*t, chums.

Pertaining to the story: Casey's got an on-campus job at the library, and Derek uses this knowledge to his advantage.

[i own the Nameless Neanderthal. otherwise? nada.]

::in which Casey saves Derek's life, and then promptly endangers it again::

Casey's sending out overdue notices to students via e-mail when he comes sprinting into the library, out-of-breath, panicked-looking, and frantic.

"So I'm gonna make this real fast, Case, as I may have only a few seconds left to live."

"What've you done now?" She wonders, immediately reproving.

"What haven't I done? Look, that's not the point!" His eyes keep flashing to the doors of the library, and he seems very much on edge. "I need you to use that Casey-fabulous imagination of yours and pretend we're back in Opposite Land –remember, that freaky place where I actually need your—" His eyes flick to the doors, "—help? Hide me. Now."

"Who is she?" He doesn't miss the censure on her face.

"She's not the problem. He is. Cas-ey." She stares at him blankly for a moment, digesting the new rift in her name. Then, finally,

"Over the counter, under my desk." He starts to raise an eyebrow at her, peripherally taking in the skirt wrapped around her thighs (and what this may potentially mean for his Virgin Eyes if she happens to need to sit down at her desk while he's beneath it), when the library door smacks open and he teleports (not jumps or vaults or climbs; he is simply suddenly) over the partition separating him from Casey, and he wastes no time rounding and then ducking under the desk she'd just indicated as hers.

He hears Casey shuffling papers somewhere nearby and starts breathing into the sleeve of his jacket to stifle the noise of it. Then,

"Hey, girl—" Comes the voice of the Disgruntled Male.

"Excuse me, but I have a name. It's Casey." She says primly.

"Listen, have you seen a skinny little skeeze of a guy come by? He was probably running." Derek starts to pray for the sort of phenomenon that will enable a girl like Casey McDonald to lie convincingly: a miracle.

"There is no running permitted in the library." She says with decided authority, and Derek tries not to snigger. Oh, Casey. Couldn't fib to save her life, but give her the opportunity to tout The Rules and herald their Indelible Importance and she's suddenly a natural at the Dodge-the-Question game.

"That's nice. Look, was there any guy who came in just like, a minute before I did? People outside saw him run into the building."

"You're clearly upset about something. I'm not sure I could, in good conscience, point you in his direction, even if I had seen someone like that come through here. I'll have you know that I do not condone violence." Derek rolls his eyes under the desk.

"Know what? Never mind. I'll go look for him myself." There's a half-a-second's worth of silence before,

"There's no running in the library!"

"Wanna tell me what that was all about?" She sinks to kneeling before him, one eyebrow arched.

"Not even a little." He says pleasantly, and starts to push himself forward to leave the small space until her arms appear abruptly on either side of the tiny cubbyhole, effectively boxing him in (for the moment, at least, until he decides it's not worth it and shoves her aside). He's suddenly much closer to Casey's consternation than he's used to (or ready for), and he retreats slightly, instinctively.

"Well, that's too bad. I think you owe it to me, as your reluctant accomplice, to know if I've just aided and abetted a felon."

"No felony here, Library." She doesn't look convinced. Or very happy about the improvised epithet. "Just a good ol' fashioned game of Hide-n-Seek. We've been having a running game all week. The guy's undefeated and I have the Venturi honor to uphold, after all." Now she just looks annoyed.

"De-rek."

"Alright, so it might've been a private, one-time game of Strip Poker at a party, and I may've accidentally won a hand against his girlfriend, and the rest may indeed be history, but in my defense, Case, it was just the luck of the draw!" He smirks, winks at her while her nose wrinkles in disgust. "My luck of the draw, anyway. She. Was. Smokin'. Used to be a gymnast, and had this body—" He is genuinely surprised when she gives his shoulder a hard shove.

"How could you? I can't believe I helped you avoid your comeuppance!" He blinks past the look on her face that tells him she's disappointed in him, the one that indicates she expected more of him.

"I helped the poor schmuck, Casey. I was just trying to demonstrate that Lacy, or Larissa? Lisa. Laney…? Whatever. I was trying to show him how untrustworthy she was. Us men have to look out for each other." She seems truly appalled now and leans dangerously into his darkened space. He swallows wrong and starts choking –and Casey ignores his duress in favor of glaring at him until he's sufficiently recovered.

"If you were so keen on helping him, you should definitely have been willing to stand your ground and own up to what you did. Maybe he'd even have thanked you." Derek stares at her in stupefaction because he's beginning to believe she really does want him dead.

"Did you see the guy? He's three of me on steroids. I said I was scrappy, Casey, not suicidal. In any case, you've gotta give the man a little time to warm to the enlightened, free-love philosophies of Derokrates." He sees humor twinkle in her eyes, the latent want to find him funny, but then she's recovering from her lapse in record time and he watches the impulse smother as she instead scowls at him. "He'll come around in time, and we'll laugh about it. I'll buy him a drink, we'll swap war stories. We'll eventually be good enough buddies that he'll tell me when the 'roids start to shrink his…Canadian Pride." He reaffirms his knowledge that Casey has absolutely zero sense of humor when she doesn't even almost crack a grin.

"Or you'll have to go into hiding. Because I'm sure to run into him at some point on campus and –actually, he's gotta come back this way eventually to leave the building, so whenever he comes back down I'll go ahead and let him know you're here…or better yet, I'll just tell him where you live so I don't have to clean up the mess! Perfect." Derek adopts the traditional Deer-in-the-Headlights expression and decides to change tactics.

"What happened to you being a pacifist? Be like Ghandry, Case. Let all be forgiven and forgotten." She trades up in expression for one both insulted and incredulous.

"'Ghandi,' you big stupid idiot. And remember, Derek, that you're the exception to every rule. Mine included. If some guy wants to break your face for ruining an important relationship with a girl you were just killing time with, I'm just going to have to let him do it—" He holds up a hand for silence and pastes on a more somber façade.

Okay, new strategy, this time without any names he's not absolutely sure about.

"Look, Case." He meets her gaze and holds it. "The truth is that I…that I really like this girl—"

"Whose name you can't even remember?" Damn it! He keeps forgetting about Casey's freakish memory. (He's convinced she has a separate area of her brain devoted entirely to retaining information she can later use against him. She does this with everyone else, too, surely, but Derek likes to think he has his very own little subdivision in her mind, his every breach of character filed away in her compartment-like brain alphabetically by date, severity of infraction, persons involved, number of 'De-rek!'s uttered, etc.)

"I'm telling you, we had a connection. It was like…it was like I was…I haven't felt that way since…" He looks away, affects Wounded Nostalgia, and he watches out of the corner of his eye as she falls headlong into the deception. She's just too easy. "Since…Sally." He manages to make his voice waver a little, closes his eyes briefly as if to stave off the pain of her memory, and then peeks cautiously at Casey. She's clearly bought into it hook, line, and sinker. She's wearing the big, watery eyes, doing the photogenic head-cocked-just-so, pouting-lip bit, and he almost can't stand how simple this is. He wishes that he could say it's all a reflection of how good he is at lying, but he knows that it's mostly only working because Casey is the Most Gullible Person on the face of the planet.

"Oh, Derek, I'm…I had no idea." And then she's leaning forward to do That Thing he has made frequently and explicitly clear he has a RULE against (and she's supposed to be All About the rules!), and why didn't he see this coming and stick with the harmless snark? How can he not have taken into account the fact that he has no avenue for ESCAPE under this desk and that this woman has a history of Assaulting with the Intent to Be Affectionate?

Still, he makes an effort and throws himself against the back panel of the desk, understandably horrified when she follows him and manages to sling her arms around his neck before the task is made impossible by him wedging himself solidly against the paneling.

There's a moment where the only thing happening is breathing, Casey's whisper-soft and warm as it glides over the back of his neck, but it's followed shortly thereafter by the cool-smooth pressure of her cheek against his jaw, and he holds himself very still, willing the moment to be over because her hair smells like vanilla and cream. (There is entirely too much Casey in this tiny a space.) He doesn't say anything because there seems to have been some sort of major communication breakdown between his brain and his mouth.

Then she's pulling away, he remembers suddenly to breathe, and he's about to ask her why she smells like a bakery puked in her hair, but then the Angry Male has suddenly returned and announces himself with a somewhat wary,

"Um, Miss…?" To which Derek automatically (re-)stiffens (he's as good as set in stone by this point) and Casey reacts in surprise and smashes her head against the underside of the desk with a sharp cry of pain. He does not forget to smile sardonically at her when she's finally able to open her eyes past the agony. "You need any help?" Comes a second summons, and Casey glares at him for another few seconds before her eyes drop to his chest,

"Eyes above the neck, McDonald." He can't resist whispering, and then, what looks like inspiration shines in her eyes (he's fairly certain he's seen himself wearing that expression before…) and she darts a –remarkably adept—hand out to pluck the wallet from his shirt pocket before she scoots out and stands, smoothing her clothes while Derek's field of vision fills with a pair of legs encased in a skirt. Then the legs are gone and the indignation of Casey's theft sets in.

"Sorry," comes Casey's tenor somewhere beyond him (the reverb under the desk makes her voice all tinny), and his eyes are clamping shut because, of course, her poor lying skills are about to blow his cover. And then he's going to be pulled apart by a real, live cave troll. "I dropped my wallet, and then, klutz that I am, when I tried to reach for it I ended up kicking it under the desk. One Indiana Jones expedition and a bump on the noggin' later and here I am." Actually, that was…passable. Casey-brand cheese, for sure, but compelling cheese nevertheless. Derek pinches himself to verify that he's awake.

"Oh, uh…'kay. Well, hey, I…just wanted to say I'm sorry for –earlier. I—I didn't find the guy, just to let you know. I was just…my girlfriend –or my ex-girlfriend now, I guess—just cheated on me with him and I guess I just…I got kinda…emotional."

Wait. Is this guy using the situation as a line? And Casey thought he was scum? (Truth be told, however, he'd be impressed if he weren't already pissed.)

"She was just…really important to me." Derek wonders if he should start counting the number of 'just's that pop out of this guy's mouth to kill the time. "And I suppose I just…I needed someone to blame, you know?"

"I do know." She says, sympathy squishing sickeningly out of every word. He can't believe she's buying this. Although, he supposes he can't expect her to be selectively naive. As with everything involving Casey, it seems to be an all-or-nothing sort of deficiency. "And don't worry about it. I'm sorry, too, for being so sharp with you. And…" She sighs heavily, he suspects largely for effect. "I…I did see the boy in question." Derek's posture is suddenly better than it has ever been –his back is ramrod straight. Casey is about to rat him out! "He came running through the doors and used the elevator to go upstairs, and then he came back down and ran out shortly after you went upstairs to check for him." There's an unnaturally extended pause between when she finishes and when the Hulk starts talking again, but he's too relieved that she hasn't thrown him to the wolves to really notice.

"I can't tell you how big a help you've been, um…"

"Casey, remember?" The half-man, half-primordial beast guffaws and Derek winces at how like the sound of a jackhammer it is.

"Right, Casey. Thank you." A pause. "Well, I should be going. I'll definitely be back, though. For…books. And possibly your phone number?" Derek is outraged. Casey will certainly not be giving her digits to the tiny giant who had only moments ago been out to bash in his skull.

"Tell you what. Promise not to hurt the heartless bastard–much—when you find him, and the next time you come in to…find books, I'll help you out." He hears the smile in her voice. Meanwhile, his jaw has fallen open in shock. What the hell just happened?

"It's a promise."

Ten, maybe fifteen seconds later, Casey's back, hand out-stretched to return his wallet. He grabs it before she has the chance to jerk it away.

"Casey."

"Derek." She looks rather proud of herself. He won't be honest and say that he's proud of her, too. (For getting better at the lying thing, not for the probably-going-out-with-Stretch-Armstrong thing.)

"You're going to 'help out' the guy who wants to dismember me?"

"Well, I know he doesn't have a girlfriend anymore. And the dismembering thing does give us some common ground."

"He says 'just' every other word!" Derek is grasping at straws because this should be obvious.

"Probably 'just' nervous." It's the sort of pun his dad would make, making it both disturbing and unfunny. "He had just been very rude to me."

"I remember that. You are going out with that."

"Why the heck do you even care?"

A beat –their eyes meet, spring apart —never happened.

"Do you really need me to go over the 'he wants to make a necklace of my teeth' all over again?" She huffs exasperatedly (she's always doing that and he wonders idly if it's a habit she picked up before she met him or if it's another one of those Derek-inspired compulsive behaviors she's adopted over the years) and grabs the edges of the desk above him, clearly about to stand up again. "Didn't think ya' had it in ya', Book Case. Betrayal? Can't trust anyone these days…" She flips him a glance and hunkers back down onto her knees.

"Derek, I can't betray you if I've never been on your side. And anyway, I asked him not to hurt you when he saw you, if you recall."

"And that is so going to keep him from punching straight through my stomach and out my spine. Casey, you're going to be going out with the baby gorilla who murdered me." She laughs at him. She laughs at him, the Dead Man Crouched Under the Desk.

"Guess you'd better watch your back, then, bro." She claps him once on the shoulder –for which she receives the most menacing glare he can muster—and starts to stand again. "And maybe stay away from other boys' girlfriends while you're at it." She leans down, hands on her knees, and oh, he can see right down that blouse. His eyes don't linger, but the image is seared (dreadfully, of course) into his brain. "Hang tight here for ten or so minutes and then leave out the staff entrance. It's by the water fountains on the left." She points in some direction that he misses. His mind is not functioning at full capacity at the moment, apparently. He doesn't guess why. "My code is 6888. Easy enough that even you should be able to memorize it."

"Six-triple-eight. Got it." He's going to smell like a damned pastry if she doesn't get the hell out of his bubble.

"I've got books to re-shelve." She starts to rise, stops. "Oh. And, uh, maybe find somewhere to stay tonight." His face twists in confusion, but she only smiles amiably and (finally) leaves his immediate vicinity.

She's completely out-of-sight before he connects her parting words to the underlying malicious intent, and then he's turning his wallet inside-out looking for…his student info and ID cards, which are now mysteriously and conspicuously missing.

He doesn't know how to feel about the sudden realization that Casey has given Meathead McStone Age all his pertinent information (name, student number, photograph, on-campus address), and that she has not only deceived him, but that she had apparently seen through his lie, and also! She evidently has no problems with having him killed.

He's furious at first, then vaguely terrified, and eventually, just impressed.

And then he decides that since Casey is finally playing by his rules and has –it seems—graduated to Conspiring to Commit Murder (it's always the crazy, neurotic ones that you never suspect…), he is going to have to start upping the ante.

This makes two bullies Casey's had to stand up to for Derek. It must be love, ne?

That, or Casey's been dipping into Derek's peanut butter.