Casey always had a perfection complex, and it hadn't taken Derek long to understand why. After living with her for about a year, he had developed a fine attunement to the infinitesimal shifts in her personality. Personalities, really. There was Casey Unperturbed, who was almost eerily serene, an appeased faerie who'd given up mischief for the time being. She became a different person when she was reading a book or writing in her journal, dancing in the kitchen or singing to herself in the shower, in a world apart. Whenever she thought she was alone. The problem, he realized, was that she was in a world so separate and idyllic that she was continuously and minutely unsatisfied with reality. Thus originated the checklists and obsessive planning, the nagging and attention to detail, which were all telltale signs that you were dealing with Commander Casey. She thought that if she did everything to the highest standard, maybe she could change her reality to favor her ideals. In a small and silent way — and despite his own annoyance — Derek admired her militant optimism, inspiring action and thought.
Casey, in turn, noticed that Derek shared her dissatisfaction. He avoided expressing it the way she did; he adopted the image of a slacker. It was one of many roles that he could play, but it was the role that everyone accepted and expected most. None of his friends at school had ever thought to look beneath the perfectly crafted persona of Slacker Derek. But Casey could see, in small glimpses, Dreamer Derek (the descriptors she chose for him were decidedly cornier than the ones he chose for her, but alas). Dreamer Derek resided behind the lens of a camera, jotting down dialogue between two characters in a notepad, or scratching rough panel sketches of a comic idea on a napkin at work. In a small and silent way, Casey admired his ability to create quietly, protecting his true self by keeping precious secrets.
Slowly, unbeknownst to either of them, they developed an understanding of each other's facades and habits. In this stage of their strange relationship, the easiest way to recognize the mutual understanding they shared involved a lot of subtextual communication between quarrels. Derek, the filmmaker, was all-too-familiar with subtext — a trait that he should have anticipated sharing with Casey, the avid literary geek — and it quickly became their main mode of communication. In any interaction, they never paid too much attention to words, for the definite truth was always in the actions.
"You're just doing this because you like the power play. Well, I won't give you the satisfaction this time, Derek. Do your worst."
"Bold words for someone who's about to lose their favorite day planner to the infernal maw of the wood stove."
The whole family had taken vacation at a ski lodge.
"Good idea! I am feeling a little chilly. The paper will make good kindling for a fire. While we're at it, why don't we add the latest installment of that comic you've been reading?" Casey taunted, using one of his true weaknesses: the sticky-sweet good girl voice. Feigned innocence.
"If only I could find it," Derek bit back, his expression betraying his stoic air for a second, "what a shame."
"Oh, here it is! What was it doing in my suitcase? Hmm, now there's something to ponder."
"I knew you had it! Now fair's fair, Case. Do we have a trade?"
"Trade? Why? I'm cold, Derek," she grinned, her sweet and innocent tone the farthest thing from her malicious grin as she crept over to him and held the comic inches from the flames. He could think of other ways to warm her, but he was far from voicing them.
"Casey, you may want to consider the line you're about to cross," he spoke low, dangerously, successfully conveying his threat.
"Considering… and yep, still cold. On the count of three?"
"One," she whispered.
"Two," a hush. Derek shook his head.
"Thr-" she was on her back, the air leaving her lungs and falling against the concave place between Derek's neck and shoulder.
He wasted no time in restraining her, throwing his comic safely to the side and taking her wrists in his hands. He wore a triumphant grin, as usual, but there was a difference.
Casey was quiet. She was watching him. Watching, not kicking or screaming or promising retribution. Her blue eyes - damn those eyes, why couldn't she have grey eyes, green eyes, brown eyes, anything else but that deep and complex blue? - questioned and challenged him. She was otherwise expressionless, save her parted lips, but those wide eyes betrayed her. She'd never speak aloud what they told him without breath, without words.
"There's a storm coming," Casey said in an uncharacteristically serious, un-shrill tone.
He just looked at her, cocking his head to the side and furrowing his brow. Now that was a new one, not what he had expected.
"A blizzard. It's on the TV. We should join the others in the main cabin before it gets here."
He let go of her, helped her up, even. They both knew they shouldn't have been so close. It was an unspoken boundary that they usually respected, each for their own reasons, but there was something about the snow outside and the warmth between them that made them push at familiar restrictions.
Soon, it was forgotten. On the way to the big cabin, Derek made snowballs to throw at her back and Casey tried to push him in the snow. The usual push and pull re-established.
Really, their whole relationship could be summed up by a handy tug-o-war analogy. Casey and Derek stood, decidedly, on opposite ends of the rope in every possible situation. They rarely shared the same goal, and in the occasion that they wanted the same thing, working together wasn't an option until it became absolutely necessary.
"Edwin," Casey said after some deliberation, glaring at Derek, "wanna make a trade? Your sheep for my ore." Derek smirked back at her, unaffected. The moment she pulled Settlers of Catan from the game chest, he had a feeling for how this night was going to go. Casey always played with the traditional family loyalties when it came to board game night. She was good at it, too, sweet-talking Edwin and dancing around the unspoken McDonald-Venturi borders. But Derek knew her weak points. He nudged Ed's knee under the table. Ed shook his head apologetically.
"De-rek! I saw that! There are no alliances in this game; you can't manipulate Edwin into withholding deals!" Casey erupted from across the table, indignant.
"I don't know what you're talking about, princess."
"Yes, you most definitely do. This game is only fair when everyone makes trades with each other. No. Teams!"
"Then why don't you ever ask me to trade, Case, if you're so concerned about fairness?"
"Because you don't have what I want," Casey bit back, losing momentum as she realized what she was saying. Derek smirked at her blush. He'd caught her.
"That's where you're wrong," He spread his cards out over the table, if only to prove his point, "I've got it all." The devilish smile was what caught her off guard, maybe, or perhaps it was the way he leaned back in his chair upon the delivery of those last couple words, but for some reason, Casey couldn't find a reply.
"Fine," she finally assented, making the trade with him, "But don't think this means you can encroach on my territory now, Derek."
"Hey, it's all free game. What's mine is yours, what's yours is mine." He winked, she sneered, they both shifted in their seats.