Notes: Oh God. I'm sorry I ever apologized for any previous chapters. Clearly, I should have been saving it for this chapter. Warning - Here Be Dragons (...and OCs).
Disclaimer: Read this chapter. Then you won't even need to ask.
So, in this dream, he's with Casey. And then he's not.
(And how lame is it that even his subconscious is following her stupid stage directions?)
Then he's walking, hockey stick in one hand and his bag in the other, and there's nothing to stop him when he stumbles and starts to fall.
It's a typical dream-fall, slow motion – he's tumbling through dense, soft air, but powerless to stop. Usually, the anticipation's the worst – because even though the impact jars, the pain is conspicuously absent.
This time though, his hockey stick smacks him in the face, hard, as he goes down. His hand comes up to cup his mouth, and when he takes it away (he doesn't want to, but he can't stop himself), the mess is worse than he imagined.
He stares numbly down at the jumble of teeth in his palm (stomach-heavingly white and small, and so many) and feels his mouth start to fill with blood. He's frozen – he doesn't want to have to open his lips (...oh fuck, his gums...) to spit, and there's no way he can swallow it. Except it's flooding into his mouth, so much blood that he can't hold it, and it starts to slip down his throat, choking him, making him cough and jerk and...
He wakes to find his mouth filling with saliva, and he makes a mad dash for the bathroom. He's just in time, clutching the toilet seat as he retches and the contents of his stomach turn out to be...not-so-content (and also, not so much inside his stomach anymore).
Afterwards, he closes his eyes and takes short, fast breaths, until his stomach unclenches, and he can get up. He rinses his mouth and splashes his face (and does his best to avoid meeting the eyes of the guy in the mirror).
He staggers out of the bathroom – and suddenly he's the star of a gross out comedy.
There's a girl on the couch busily buttoning up her shirt, while Jerry stares soulfully at her chest and says, "Please – don't feel like you have to" –
" – should go," she says firmly, speaking over him. She looks up and catches Derek's eye, and grimaces.
(...that seems about right).
"So, uh, this is Derek. My room-mate," Jerry says, scrambling off the couch, as the girl slings her handbag over her shoulder.
She aims a tight smile in his direction and holds up her palm in a half hearted wave, obviously to avoid having to make physical contact of any kind with him.
(Yeah. He gets that a lot lately).
" – and this is Natalie."
"I've heard a lot about you," Natalie says, standing up and brushing at her jeans. "Actually, I think I might have heard...a little too much, so, if you don't mind...?" she gestures at Jerry to move out of her way.
"No! Look – Derek's totally done puking! Isn't that right, D?" he swings around and nods frantically at Derek (as whatever remains of the romantic moment begins whimpering in a corner).
He has to hand it to Jerry – even though he doesn't stand a chance in hell of turning it around. The guy is focused.
He flaps his hands urgently until Derek says, finally, "Yeah. I'm...good." (The romantic moment begins bleeding from the eyes).
"See?"
Natalie stares at him in disbelief. "Okay," she says slowly. "Well, relieved as that makes me – and I'm sure, Derek – feel...I'm still leaving."
She turns and marches away.
"Can I call you?" Jerry calls after her. His shoulders slump as she exits with the ever-popular door slam.
The silence is broken when he throws himself back onto the couch with a half-groan, half-sigh. He looks up at Derek with wounded eyes.
"Dude – nothing personal...but right now, there are no words for how much you suck."
(Try telling him something he doesn't already know).
The next day...happens. Not that he thought it wouldn't or anything.
(Turns out the world actually doesn't revolve around him).
It's strange – it's nothing like a flashback. Because he's there, on the couch, in his bed, Casey in front of him and underneath him and avoiding his eyes while he's staring (freaked out doesn't begin to describe it) at the seams of her pink t-shirt.
He's there, and it's still happening, over and over in not-so-glorious Technicolor...while in real time, his lecture crawls by, sepia-tinted.
He's still there, and he can hear Casey loud and clear in surround sound ("You can untie me now"), but when Laura (right next to him), asks him something – it's like her words are out of sync, badly dubbed, and he has to strain to hear her.
He feels weird, hot and cold at the same time, and when he finally understands that Laura's inviting him for something to eat, his stomach mounts an immediate protest (he can practically feel the tiny pickets digging into his stomach lining).
" – wrong?" she says faintly.
Even though he gives a half-truthful explanation ('stress' is totally his new pet name for Casey), she looks at him in disbelief.
"Stress?" she repeats. "So coasting on charm is harder than it looks? Yeah. That makes perfect sense. You and stress, you go together like peanut butter and jelly" –
(To her credit, she immediately realizes that the food-metaphor is a mistake).
" – really green. Wow. I'm completely the opposite – show me a crisis and I go carb-loading." She regards him with interest. "I wish that would happen to me whenever I get stressed."
"No. You don't," he says flatly. (A stomach full of battery acid is no way to start the day).
She looks at him for a long moment. "Maybe not," she agrees.
She fades out at this point, leaving Derek to hop into his mental De Lorean and reverse all the way back to...
(...skin. His skin touching Casey's bare skin all over – too much and still nowhere near enough. Her wrists in one hand, and the cool smoothness of the tie in the other, and his mouth just beginning to shape the word 'please'...)
...before he's yanked back to the future again.
" – kind of peace offering it'll be if you puke on her... Are you even listening to me?"
(It's not his fault – the sound guy's messing with the audio).
She sighs, then says, without waiting for an answer, "You look like crap. Go home."
Usually, everything – however great, or boring, or in-between – at least happens smoothly, fluidly (at the normal rate of 24 frames per second).
Not this time. (There's a glitch in his equipment, or some major scratching on the DVD, because the day keeps stuttering and skipping).
He lurches from freeze-frame to freeze-frame until eventually, (in a shocking plot untwist) he ends up in front of Casey's door.
He looks at it for a minute, before he reaches out and rings the bell. And time snaps back to not-exactly-normal.
He can hear her as she unlocks the door. "...told you both already – I'm fine. I don't need any...Derek!" she finishes, trailing off as she comes face to face with him.
(Yeah – he's kind of getting that impression).
She folds her arms. "What do you want?" she asks. She sounds subdued but she aims a hard stare at his...shoes.
He blinks.
"Well?" (Her eyes don't lift from the ground).
"...your book," he blurts into the silence. "You forgot your book. Yesterday."
As statements go, it's completely true (...but that doesn't make it the Truth).
Her head jerks up and she looks at him. "Oh," she says.
There's a fidget-filled silence, broken by, "Did – do you have it?"
He stares blankly at her. (Recent events would suggest that he's lost It...if he ever even had It where Casey was concerned).
"My book," she says, eventually. Expectantly.
He glances down at his empty hands. (Oh. That). "I...didn't bring it."
"You didn't bring it," she repeats, back to giving his shoes the third degree. She closes her eyes and shakes her head a little, disbelievingly, before saying, "Okay, well if that's all, I really have to" –
Her hand is already coming up to the door handle when the words force themselves out.
"About...what happened last night" –
She goes very still.
He jams his hands into his pockets, but he keeps going. "Look – I know things got a little...intense" –
He swallows, and Casey makes this short sharp noise– a snort of laughter, but with all the humor amputated (without anaesthetic, by the sound of it). Her eyes whip-flick to his for a moment before she focuses on something in the distance.
"Okay," she says. "Fine." She clears her throat, and says flatly, "Derek Venturi, you are a sex-god. You blew my repressed little mind. Obviously, you're just...too wild for a plain- vanilla girl like me to handle. Satisfied?"
She doesn't give him a chance to reply. Before he can even take a breath, her eyes meet his.
She looks at him (really looks at him) and says in a small voice, "I didn't like it."
(... ... ...)
The thing is, okay, he's Derek Venturi...but he has lost things before – contests, hockey games, arguments. (Funny though – he doesn't remember defeat ever feeling like this).
(He doesn't remember anything feeling like this).
This time, it's the visuals that cause the problem. He keeps zooming in jerkily, for these weird, out of context close-ups. A section of her hair, her left shoulder, the design on the right pocket of her sweatpants. Then without warning, he zooms out, into an extreme long shot (he's pulled so far back, he's filming from grade one).
"...okay," he hears himself say, while he's pretending that this is exactly as humiliating as failing grade one and not (...worse...), "...that's – um...that's..."
It's hard to speak (when his chest feels like a squeezed out concertina, and he knows that she didn't...doesn't...)
"We're not taking any of the same classes," she says suddenly, eyes glued to the door jamb. "We...don't really have to see each other at all."
Before he can think of anything to say (just add improv to the growing list of things he sucks at), she steps back and closes the door. Softly, but definitely.
And he gets it.
(This is closure).
When he gets home, Jerry's poring over Casey's break-up box, a confused look on his face (good to know that some things never change).
"Seriously, D," he calls out as Derek hangs up his jacket, "She returned a napkin. Who returns a napkin?"
(...Casey).
"Who keeps a napkin as a – a souvenir in the first place?"
(...still Casey. Unless she's hanging out with Derek, of course. No souvenirs required then).
"Some of this stuff though...I don't think it's mine. I don't remember it, anyway," Jerry continues, squinting at...a brochure for office supplies. He looks up as a thought strikes him. "Hey – you don't think she was seeing someone else, do you?"
So, he has this fantasy.
It's pretty tame (PG-13 at the most).
There are no bells or whistles.
No costumes, or dirty talk, or ties.
Just him. And Casey. And a bed. And sometimes there's sex, and sometimes it doesn't even get that far, but the one thing that's always the same is that he never asks her to stay. (Why would he need to ask...when it's a given that she will?)
(Yeah. He knows exactly how unrealistic it is).
Derek's reached the finish line of enough relationships to know how the next part goes. And there's no reason for this one to be any different.
Yeah, usually he's the one running flat out, trying to top his best (worst) times (gold medallist Derek Venturi setting yet another relationship wreck-ord) – but it's not like Casey's the first girl to ever outstrip him on the field.
Though, usually when girls break up with him it's for a whole jumble of reasons (" – a voucher?! My eighty year old grand-aunt who lives in Birmingham, and who I haven't seen since I was three gave me a more personal present!"/" – can't believe you didn't remember...I've only been talking about it all week!"/" – if you were listening, you'd be able to tell me the last thing I said") that ultimately all boil down to Derek not trying hard enough. Like if he cared enough, put a little more effort in, he'd stop hating gift-shopping, and he wouldn't forget concert dates for crappy bands, and he'd stop zoning out in the middle of conversations about...(yeah, he still can't remember that one). Like 'trying harder' was the rope needed to bind Derek and 'Insert Name Here' forever in a three-legged marathon of togetherness.
This time, he practically turned himself inside out trying and ("I didn't like it") it didn't change anything. (It didn't even prolong the race). That's maybe a little different – but not much, not when the end result is the same. And since the end result is the same, he knows what happens next.
He gets over it.
(He doesn't expect it to take that long. It never has before).
It's the one where Casey shows up at his door, breathless, and the first thing she says is –
"You're here. Good!" (Yeah, it's a dream). She tosses her coat onto the couch and starts unbuttoning her shirt, businesslike. "I've been thinking about the routine."
He watches her fingers moving quickly, exposing more and more skin. She shrugs off the shirt, then frowns at his lack of movement and says, "How do you expect to impress the judges if you don't nail me?"
(Even his subconscious knows that this is a really bad idea).
"...Okay," he says. Well, it's not like he's known for his good judgment in the waking world (hey, at least he's in character).
Even though the editing is full of jump cuts, it's hazily good. His mouth on her collarbone, his hands gripping her thighs – Casey moaning breathily in his ear and the tingling rush as he arches his back and just...explodes...
He wakes up panting, with a familiar churning in his gut. He throws off the covers.
As he's...finishing up, Jerry appears and leans against the door frame.
"So...the daily prayer to the porcelain god," he muses, "a disgusting, but effective wake-up call."
Derek spits one last time. (Casey might not have broken his heart, but she's definitely lacerated his stomach).
"Seriously, dude – it's been a week. You should get that checked out."
"M'fine," he mumbles. Which is almost true. It's creepy and gross to be getting off on dreams of Casey, who ("I didn't like it") isn't interested – but he's pretty sure that the new association of hot-Casey-dream with subsequent dry-heaving will take care of that problem. Eventually. (He's even going to name the inevitable stomach ulcer Casey, in her honor).
Plus, it's not like she's the only person he's having sex-dreams about. Two nights ago he dreamt that he was in Smelly Nelly's with Laura, who spent a long time examining her menu before announcing that she wanted to try a number five. "Isn't that your specialty, Derek?" she asked, shimmying out of her jeans.
"I don't think" – he began.
She frowned. "I thought the customer was always right?" She folded her arms and sliced him with a look. "Now are you going to give me what I asked for, or am I going to have to call the owner?"
(...he never said the other dreams were good sex dreams).
Anyway, most of the time he doesn't remember his dreams, not even the ones where he wakes up aching.
(It's progress).
To an audience, it probably looks like Casey's the reason behind his sudden, perpetual pissiness. But that's not true – his bad mood is only related to Casey in the smallest of ways. Mainly, he's pissed about the fact that his life is stalled at the crappy montage segment. See, he's going about his normal, non-Casey related activities – not-listening during lectures (it's a random coincidence that all his lecturers have voices that sound like Nyquil), pouring his half-finished cereal down the sink (the milk tastes weird. Not sour, just...weird), tossing Jerry's stupid play under the couch when he sees it on the coffee table (who wants to be reminded of some guy who's got a Saddle Club fixation?)...but despite the fact that none of these things has anything to do with her, the accompanying soundtrack is stuck on 'Angsty Breakup'.
His life is currently set to 'She Said It Was Over'. The Casey version. (Is it any wonder he's borderline homicidal?)
It makes him do stupid things. Like...
" – thought you were going to be, you know, out this evening. Like we talked about earlier?" Jerry says, raising his eyebrows significantly, and gesturing between Derek, the door, and the girl sitting on the couch, hands clasped around her knees. (The only possible way Jerry could be less subtle is if he was wearing a sandwich board with 'Hoping to score tonight!' written across it).
"Yeah – change of plans," Derek says.
"Again," Jerry notes.
Derek shrugs, then plops down onto the couch next to the girl-whose-pants-Jerry-finds-so-interesting.
"Is this a bad time?" she asks, looking at Jerry. "I mean, I can go – I'd hate to intrude" –
"No! No!" Jerry reassures her. "You're not intruding, Fi! I'm sure Derek will be going to his room any second now." He stares at Derek. "Need a hand getting up, dude?"
"Nah – I'm good," Derek says at the same time that Fi jumps in with – "Oh, you don't have to leave...if you don't want to. We're just going to watch a movie – nothing heavy...I mean, you're welcome to join us. Only if you want, of course," she hastily clarifies.
"I'm sure Derek has other things to do – right D?"
Derek considers. "Actually no." He turns to Fi and smiles widely, insincerely. "A movie sounds – great."
"Oh. Well – good!" she says.
He slumps back on the couch and folds his arms. "So, what're we watching?"
It turns out they're watching an action movie – heavy on the martial arts. "I love all that Jackie Chang stuff," Fi lies. She winces as a guy slams through a glass coffee table. "It's like...art. But with sticks and really really unnecessary violence." She pastes on a smile (and Derek thinks maybe Jerry would have gotten lucky tonight after all).
After the movie finishes though, she only stays for a few minutes of awkward silence before she makes her excuses.
"Are you sure? Because you're totally welcome to stay," Jerry says.
Her eyes dart from Jerry to Derek, and back. She shakes her head. "No, I really should go. Early start tomorrow. Another time, maybe?" She smiles hopefully.
"Yeah, definitely," Jerry agrees, as he walks her out.
A few minutes later he's back, and –
"Dude – what is your problem?"
Derek keeps channel hopping. "What'd I do this time?"
"You mean, what did you do again. I was kind of banking on having the place to myself."
"Yeah, well, it's my place too," Derek points out.
"I was trying to spend some quality time with Fiona – and you just, like, barged in and made everything awkward."
"You could have gone to your room."
Jerry stares at him. "Dude...you were right there, and you can't just ask..."
"But hey – if she's the kind of girl you can't even ask a simple question without being afraid she's going to freak out and go all female on you, and not even give you a chance to explain" – he lowers his suddenly too-loud voice, and continues more calmly. "You should be thanking me."
"Thanking you?" Jerry repeats. He shakes his head slightly, and his voice isn't friendly as he says, "Dude, I gotta warn you – this isn't funny anymore."
(Really? Because Derek sure feels like a punchline).
Jerry's breathing hard and his fingers keep clenching and unclenching.
(Obviously, it would be in his best interests to back down)
"Well, what are you going to do about it?" Derek asks, balling his hands into fists at his sides. After all, he's scrappy (...and Jerry's Scooby-freakin'-Doo on steroids).
Jerry closes his eyes for a long second (Derek uses this time to mentally write his will). When he opens them, he stares right at Derek and says grimly, "You know what, man? You are really lucky that I am a pacificist."
Then he stomps past, and grabs his jacket. He doesn't even pause to put it on, just keeps going, slamming the door on his way out.
(Yeah, he's lucky all right).
Derek kicks the couch, hard.
Despite the fact that Jerry's still mad a few days later (he's using the 'freeze-out' technique so effectively Derek's half-convinced their place has relocated from Toronto to Alaska), it's something totally different that finally makes him snap.
He's already sitting when Laura slides in next to him, slightly out of breath and already pulling out her notebook and a pen.
"And how's the cute mess today?" she asks absently.
The question throws him – but that's because he doesn't expect her to ask about Casey. (Which means that he isn't thinking about Casey. Which is a sign of progress). He bends over, and starts rooting in his bag. He keeps his face averted as he says, casually, "I haven't seen her in a while."
When he does look up, she's got her head tilted to the side and is scrutinising him carefully. "Actually, I was talking about you," she says.
She drags him to the cafeteria afterwards. "Come on," she insists, "It'll be fun."
Weirdly, it almost does sound like fun. More fun than any of Derek's latest activities of choice (not-listening to lectures, not-eating cereal, hiding horse porn, not-not-pissing off his room-mate) anyway.
It all goes okay until –
"Miranda – hey!" Laura smiles up, while the other girl offers a cooler, "Hello."
"You – uh, you know Derek," Laura says, gesturing across the table to him. He raises a hand in half-assed greeting.
"Yeah. I remember." She smiles too-widely at him.
"Hey – why don't you join us?" Laura asks.
Miranda examines her watch. "Oh...actually, I can't. I'm meeting someone in a few minutes."
"Pity. Okay. Well, I was thinking maybe we could do something later – catch a movie, or go out for coffee or something?"
"I don't know if I'm ready for that yet. I don't know whether the trust has been sufficiently rebuilt. Have you even written in that truth-journal I gave you?"
Laura rolls her eyes. Very slowly she says, "Why don't you swing by later and you can find out for yourself?"
Miranda considers it. "Okay," she agrees. Then she turns to Derek. "You're probably wondering what that's about."
(...depends on how loose her definition of 'wondering' is).
"There's a perfectly simple explanation" –
"No, there isn't," Laura mutters, and makes a face at Derek.
" – tension lately. So Laura's working on repairing the damage and reshoring the trust walls she destroyed with her actions. If she does a good job I just might forgive her for stealing that...sweater...I wanted."
She stares at Derek for a long uncomfortable moment.
"Aren't you meeting someone?" he hints.
She starts. "Oh. Yeah. Well...I guess I'll...see you around then?" She nods and takes two steps backwards before turning around properly and leaving.
"Truth-journal," Laura says, and shakes her head in exasperation. Then she focuses on Derek. "But, on the bright side – she still totally wants to try you on for size. So how about I arrange a changing room for you two and you can start...hugging her curves." She raises her eyebrows at him.
"What?" (There's no way she's trying to hook him up with crazy cheese girl)
"Okay – I know she comes off a little psycho...fine, she is a little psycho – but she's also kind of hot. Plus, you'd really be helping me out – otherwise, I'm going to be doing stupid trust exercises for the rest of my natural life. And believe me, I'm not exaggerating – when I was six, I broke one of her dolls, and she still brings it up every once in a while."
He just stares at her as she takes a bite of her sandwich and chews, totally unconcerned. "So? What do you say?"
He doesn't know what to say. (Though "I'm not a fucking sweater" comes to mind).
He's spared from having to say anything though, because suddenly –
"Fasten your seatbelts, it's going to be a bumpy" –
She flicks her phone open. "Hey there!" she says warmly into it. "How are you?"
There's a moment of silence before she smiles and says, "That is so great, hun!"
She winks at Derek and holds up a finger to show she'll only be a minute...and it's then that he figures it out.
It's different for girls, he realizes, as he watches Laura talk unconcernedly to her boyfriend while smiling across the table at the guy she cheated on him with. (Like none of it – boyfriend, one night stand, means anything at all).
It's different for girls – it must be. They're able to hold back, keep their feelings all tidy and manageable. (He has a sudden vision of Casey as a girl-shaped jewellery box, opening up into all these separate, orderly compartments).
Meanwhile, he's still totally hung up on her. (He's so hung up on her he practically hears a dial tone every time he thinks about her).
Laura puts her phone down on the table, and turns all her attention to Derek. "So," she says. "About you and Miranda" –
It's different for girls. He gets it. (That doesn't mean he has to be happy about it).
"Did you tell him yet?" he asks suddenly.
Laura blinks. "Um...what?"
"Your boyfriend. Did you tell him about us?"
"No," she says. "No – I, uh, didn't get around to it." She looks down at the table.
He looks interested. "Really?" he says, maybe overdoing the surprise a little (a lot). "Because I thought you guys had some kind of pact or something."
She bites her lip, and he feels meanly victorious, but that only lasts for a moment, before she faces him head on, and says, "Okay, Derek – maybe you'd like to tell me what this is really about – since the one thing I'm willing to bet on? Is that this hissy has got nothing to do with me."
She stares at him for a minute, and even though he's got his best poker face on, she has to have seen something, because she folds her arms and sits back, totally in control. "Hey, if you want to try and make me feel bad about something that clearly doesn't matter to you – feel free. Take your best shot." She spreads her arms wide, and he has to bite down on his tongue to stop himself from doing just that. "I mean, if I were you, I'd be trying to fix whatever the hell's been bugging you for the past two weeks. But that's just the perspective of a normal, rational person. Feel free to disregard it and roll with your own coping mechanism. Because that's obviously working out so well for you."
He gets to his feet, stonewalling her, concentrating on not snapping back, not letting loose (his cork's in way too tight, and if it pops, the whole bottle's going to blow).
That doesn't stop Laura, who calls after him as he walks away, "Oh, and in case I forget to say it later – thanks. I mean, obviously I'd heard it, but I never really got it until you showed me. The view from complicated? Way over-rated."
Later (a lot later), he's lying on his bed, still fizzing with suppressed temper, when he hears the door open and close. (Which is good, because if he has to spend another minute in tooth-grinding silence, he's almost certain his head will explode).
He listens as the shower starts up, and waits until he hears it shut off. Then he pads to the door of his bedroom and opens it. He waits until Jerry emerges in a mushroom cloud of body spray.
"Hey," he offers.
Jerry grunts.
"You going out tonight?"
"Yeah," he says coolly. Derek doesn't move – instead, he instigates a stare-down.
Jerry cracks first (He should call Lizzie – he's sure she'd be interested in finding out just how fast Arctic ice melts). "Yeah," he says again, sounding defeated – actually, Derek's surprised he's managed to hold onto his grudge this long (for a novice, he's got potential). "Baz wants to go to this party – he wants to meet up with some girl. Me and Zim said what the hell."
"Sounds like fun," Derek says. "What time do we leave?"
Jerry wrinkles his forehead. "You want to come?"
(He doesn't want to stay here).
"Hey, it's been a while since we hung out," he says, aiming a punch at Jerry's shoulder. "What time?"
He knows from Jerry's narrowed eyes that this isn't the best way to fix things (he's stomping over the recently singed bridge with a can of gasoline in one hand and a match in the other) – but Derek's gambling on Jerry being a pacificist (plus he's not feeling picky. Fight/party...either way, it'll get him out of his head).
Jerry examines him for a long second, then runs a hand through his hair before he says, reluctantly, "Yeah. Okay."
They go to this party, him, and Jerry, and Baz (who drives), and Zimmer – who brings along his new girlfriend, who happens to be a friend of the girl Jerry didn't hook up with on the night ("You can untie me now") that Derek is definitely not thinking about.
(The party's already off to an awesome start!).
It doesn't help that the girl would rather be anywhere else. " – just so loud...maybe we could find a quieter party?"
"Great idea. Let's go where the action isn't," Derek mutters. Jerry shoots an annoyed glance at him, before turning to Zimmer's girlfriend.
"Hey, uh, I'm just wondering...does Natalie ever talk about me?"
Zimmer's girlfriend's eyes flick over him. "Yeah," she says, pityingly.
It gets worse. Zimmer's girlfriend keeps making noises about wanting to leave and go back to her place. Zimmer's down with the idea and Jerry –
"Will Natalie be there?" he asks hopefully.
– Jerry's open to being persuaded. Baz digs his heels in, although the girl he's shadowing hasn't even looked at him, but the general feeling is shifting towards making an early exit. Derek finds a seat and pretends not to notice.
The whole thing with Zimmer's girlfriend doesn't help his mood. Or Jerry's. Plus Baz and Zimmer keep introducing him to all these people he has no interest in talking to.
Like this guy who, like Jerry, is into martial arts, and takes the opportunity to Tae-bore the pants off Derek.
"Yeah, I'm not really into the whole..." he makes kung-fu gestures with his hands, "schtick," he says when the guy pauses for breath.
"Oh," he says. "I guess I figured a friend of Jerry's would – "
"I've told Derek he should try it – but I guess he's not that kind of guy," Jerry interrupts. He pauses for a second, as if a thought is just occurring to him, and Derek tenses, waiting for the blow he knows is coming.
"Although," and Jerry keeps up the amiable facade, smiling as he pile-drives him, "between the permanent PMS, and the morning sickness...I'm kind of starting to doubt his credentials. Hey, D," he slaps him on the back, causing Derek's drink to slosh out of the glass and over his fingers, "Why don't you get back in touch when you locate your balls?"
(...and the cork pops, and all this frustration just comes frothing out).
Derek gets to his feet, hands already clenching in readiness, but Jerry shakes his head. "Dude – you're not serious."
(...and yeah, most of it's got nothing to do with Jerry, but he makes a great target. For a suicide mission).
He takes a step towards him. "Oh God," Zimmer's girlfriend complains (obviously annoyed that she's going to have to watch Derek get beaten to a bloody pulp).
"And even if you are," Jerry continues, "I don't usually fight. And I definitely won't be making an exception for a chick like you."
"Nice excuse," Derek says. He reaches out with a finger and pokes Jerry in the chest (his finger bends backwards. This is going to hurt). "Because I'd hate for you to get your ass kicked."
(He wonders how many teeth he's going to have left after this).
Zimmer puts a hand on Jerry's arm. "Dude," he says in a low voice. "Come on."
Jerry looks at Derek for a long moment before he turns. "You know what?" he says to Zimmer's girlfriend, "You're right. This party...sucks. Let's get out of here." He looks at Baz. "You coming?"
Baz shakes his head. "Staying."
"Suit yourself, man," Jerry shrugs, already walking away.
" – not choosing sides, okay?" Baz says, fifteen minutes later, steering Derek towards the centre of the room. "Hey – why don't we stand over here?"
He pulls his cuffs down, and stares intently over Derek's shoulder. "I mean – yeah, Jerry's my friend, but you – you seem like a cool guy too."
Derek looks at him sceptically.
" – seem like the kind of guy who would hook up a friend with that totally hot girl who keeps looking at you. Or that other totally hot girl you're ignoring. I'm not fussy." He sighs. "Just – stand there and be bait, okay?"
Be bait. He can do that. (Good to know his experience of dangling on someone else's hook will come in useful).
So Baz scopes out girls while standing next to him (like Derek's the bargain rail in a clothing store). But maybe there's a flaw in his plan, because it isn't until Baz goes to the bathroom that the girl standing nearby strikes up a conversation.
"Okay, you've got my attention," she says suddenly.
He glances over at her.
"The ignoring me thing? I'm intrigued. So...you can drop the act."
She's tiny, with shiny hair and an air of self-confidence. (He suddenly feels tired).
"And what if I said it wasn't an act?"
She blinks for a second, thrown. But she recovers quickly. "Then...I guess I'd say I know a great guy called Ethan you might hit it off with."
He smiles, almost in spite of himself. She's looking back at him, head tilted, and all the bubbling discontent and frustration and need to do something come together in a simmering mess, and make him snap all his attention onto her.
She's not anything like Casey (but this isn't supposed to be about Casey, anyway).
Baz returns and puts an arm on his shoulder. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?" he asks.
"Christina Li," she says, immediately. "And you are...?"
"Baz," he replies, but she's not looking at him. "And that's Derek," he says, with a sigh and a jerk of his thumb.
It's at this point that someone stumbles against Derek, causing him to lurch forward and spill his drink down Christina's top. She yelps and pushes him back, hands coming up to clutch at her dripping (and now transparent) white top.
"Oh, this is just perfect," she says, sounding supremely pissed off.
Derek opens his mouth to apologize, but before he has a chance to say anything, she suddenly morphs into a nine foot tall guy with fair hair.
Derek blinks.
"I saw that," the guy says accusingly, and shoves him backwards.
(Just to set the scene, there's a table behind him)
His head makes a dull smacking sound when it whacks against the corner.
So there's pain followed by floor (Derek's mostly focused on the feeling that someone's shaken his brain like a rattle though).
Suddenly, this girl's in front of him and saying something about fingers...but it's kind of hard to concentrate on her when the soundtrack to his life is playing at high volume.
" – trying to do you a favor!"
"So ruining my life counts as a favor now?"
(Oh, wait – that's that girl and the guy who shoved him).
" – just trying to help out!"
"Well next time you want to help, why don't you pour gasoline over yourself and set yourself on fire!" she says, voice going shrill and wobbly towards the end of the sentence.
(Harsh).
"I didn't mean to..." the guy says, trailing off.
(Maybe it's just a side effect of the head injury, but Derek gets a sympathetic twinge in his stomach for the guy. He sounds like he's been gut-punched when he says "I didn't mean to...").
" – fingers am I holding up?" the girl leaning over him asks. She looks up at someone (oh, there's Baz...and a whole bunch of other people). " – seems confused. We should probably take him to the emergency department."
"I'm fine," he protests, struggling upwards.
"Take it easy," she cautions. "You banged your head really hard."
(No shit).
"Yeah, but I'm fine now," he says, speaking over the squeaks of pain inside his head.
She presses her lips together. "You should really get it checked out."
Derek opens his mouth.
"Dude," Baz says firmly, "We're taking you to the hospital. I'll get your jacket." He strides off purposefully, only to double back to the girl's side a second later.
"Uh – Baz, by the way."
"Gemma," she says, holding out her hand.
"Cool," he says, taking it.
(The pain in Derek's head intensifies).
In spite of his protests, he's hustled out of the house and in the direction of Baz' car.
" – sure you're okay to drive?" the girl asks.
"Oh yeah," Baz says. "Soft drinks only – designated driver, here."
"Great!" she smiles.
"Hey!" comes a voice from behind them. They turn, and it's the screaming girl. She comes to a stop a few feet away from Derek.
"Are you okay?" she asks.
(He just got humiliated in front of a crowd, by an inanimate object. He's the opposite of okay).
"I'm fine," he says.
"Oh, good," she says, and fidgets on her high heels. "Um. So Andy's an asshole. Obviously. And I shouldn't even..." she blows out an exasperated breath. "You're not going to get him into trouble, are you? He's an asshole, but he didn't mean it."
She looks tense, and her eye makeup is all smeared (and maybe, just maybe, there's more to the story).
"It was a misunderstanding," he says.
"Thanks." She smiles at him for a second, before producing a piece of paper. "So, you could call me. Let me know how it goes in the hospital. And, um, I could buy you a drink sometime. If you promise to bring a sippy cup." She smiles again, and presses the paper into his hand.
(Or maybe it's just...different for girls).
He lets the paper fall to the ground as soon as she turns her back.
"Dude – you must've hit your head really, really hard," Baz says in concern. "Come on, the car's over here."
The condensed version of the hospital visit goes –
1) Attempted flirting as Baz crunches the gears and Gemma pretends not to wince at the sound.
2) Waiting on hard hospital chairs. Attempted flirting over Derek's possibly concussed body.
"I'm going to be sick," he mutters (after Baz says something about girls who are quick-thinking as well as...um, pretty).
"Oh – that's a bad sign," Gemma says worriedly, attention snapping back to Derek
3) Stupid questions –
"What's your name?"
"Where are you?"
"Three things – cat, ball, flower – can you remember that?"
"I'm going to say some numbers – do you think you can repeat them backwards?"
4) Stupid tests –
"...pupils are the same size..."
"...close your eyes and touch your nose with your finger..."
"...want you to walk in a straight line for me..."
5) Diagnosis –
"...possible concussion...rest...paracetamol...monitor for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours."
And then it happens.
"Dude, I was thinking maybe I should take Gemma, and get her a non-alcoholic beverage of her choice to thank her on your behalf."
"You really don't have to..." she says.
"No, I totally want to," he insists, before turning to Derek. "But don't worry...want you to know...arranged everything and called..."
Derek's heart starts thumping hard as Baz hands over his cell phone (...that was inside his jacket pocket...). His lips are numb as he says, "Tell me, tell me you did not call Casey!"
Baz blinks at him. "No, man, I called Jerry."
He closes his eyes in relief, only to snap them open when –
"You should see the look on your face! I mean – Jerry?" he laughs. "The doctor said a responsible person. Of course I called Casey!"
Oh...fuck.
(Is it too late to rewind to the musical montage?)
