A/N: And now for the surprise double-chapter. To recap, this is what we know:
1. Derek left Casey. We don't know why.
2. When Derek left, he headed for Vancouver. Why, we don't know, but we can assume to see Sally.
3. When Derek left, he kind of went off into the deep end in terms of morality.
4. Casey is having trouble seeing Derek again, presumably because he left her without explanation.
5. Casey either is short on cash or lives somewhere far enough away that it makes traveling back to Ontario expensive.
6. Casey is not marrying Sam.
7. Derek and Casey obviously both still have feelings for each other, but are having trouble dealing with them because of whatever happened.
8. When Derek left, Casey really buckled down and studied her ass off.
9. In the present, Derek and Casey have now reconnected on some level. It's awesome.
Derek tightened his grip around Casey, breathing in her mango shampoo and delighting in her familiar form. She was softer now, a little less rigid, but her body still fit into his perfectly. He kept his eyes closed, shutting out the disapproving glares from his family and the shocked looks from his high school friends.
I guess they would be a little surprised, eh? Derek mused, gently leading Casey in small, slow circles. They only knew us as stepsiblings who fought all the time, not as the couple we once were.
They continued their slow trip around the dance floor, absentmindedly playing with the ends of Casey's hair with his right hand. His left hand completely encased her right, and he positioned them on his chest right above his heart. It was beating wildly, erratically, and he was sure that she could feel it. He could feel hers beating through the thin satin of her dress, and he was immediately comforted and turned on by it.
It's just like old times, he ruminated, stiffening up. That is, before everything happened.
"Derek, what are you doing here?" Sally asked, opening the door to her small, off-campus apartment.
"Oh, I just came by to say hi," Derek answered, scratching the back of his shaggy head with his right hand. He had been driving for three days, only stopping for gas, food, and trysts with local girls in seedy motels. His eyes were red-rimmed and he smelled like smoke.
"'Hi.' In Vancouver. From London." Disparagement crept into Sally's voice.
"Kingston, actually. I left a few days ago."
"Kingston? Really? What were you doing there?"
"I was in school, at Queen's," Derek answered, beginning to get annoyed. Are you going to invite me in or what?
"Really? Wow, that's great, Derek!" Sally exclaimed. "But, what are you doing here? School's not done for another two weeks … or are you out already?"
"I left. And now I'm here. Saying hi." Derek set his mouth into a hard, straight line and crossed his arms across his chest. "Now, are you going to invite me in or just make me stand out here in the sun?"
"Oh, um"—Sally glanced over her shoulder into the apartment—"I guess you could come in for a little bit …"
"Thanks, Sally," Derek said, reaching to the left of the doorframe and picking up his duffel bag, "I'll be out of your way before you know it." He pushed past her into the foyer.
"Well, if you need a place to stay, by all means," Sally muttered under her breath, closing the door and following him into the apartment.
Derek stayed in Vancouver with Sally for more than a little bit. A displaced roommate, a few drinks, and a stroll down memory lane later, Derek had convinced Sally to "just let him crash in her bed for the night." One thing led to another, and before the two knew it, they were living in a tenuous arrangement in Sally's collegiate apartment, fighting constantly but always making up in the most gymnastic of ways. Derek was satiated, if not happy—he had a place to live, regular exercise, and someone to do the chores that he didn't feel like doing.
Despite Sally's insistence, he didn't try to enroll in the University of British Columbia in the fall. Instead, he worked odd jobs that kept him out and about during the afternoons and evenings, only coming home to drink and relieve his ever-present tension. Their lives fell into a predictable routine of tempered hedonism.
For several weeks in October, Derek worked as a bicycle courier. For another couple weeks in November, he worked as a janitor at UBC. In December, he played one of Santa's elves in the mall Christmas display. And in January, he got a part-time job as a lumber runner for a small construction company.
That small construction company had just landed one of the biggest gigs in its short life: constructing the sets for a high-dollar Hollywood production. Part of Derek's job was checking the orders with the stage crew and set dressers to verify that the company could fill requisitions with the appropriate wood; in return, the crew gave him an all-access pass to the sets as they were being constructed.
A little flicker of interest sparked in him. For several months, Derek meticulously checked order after order, ensuring that each piece of cheap pine was cut to specification and the Brazilian cherry floorboards were shined to perfection. By the time April rolled around, the production crews began bringing their equipment, setting up lighting, cameras, special effects machines, and the like. Derek's job was coming to an end.
The sets were finished in May, exactly a year after Derek left Kingston. He woke up in a bad mood, completely immersed in tainted thoughts of Casey. He felt Sally stir next to him and he briefly thought about using her to suffocate his memories; he almost immediately dismissed the thought and rolled out of bed.
But for what? he thought, groggily going to the kitchen and putting on a pot of coffee. I no longer have a job. I no longer have a purpose. Screw this, I'm going out.
Although it was only 10:00am, Derek found the closest off-sale and picked up a bottle of cheap whiskey. The cashier looked at him with pity and boredom on her weathered face; he ignored her and left the store.
Derek meandered down to the water, bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag, and sat down on a park bench. For the next several hours, he sat, watching people go by and swigging from his bottle. No one paid him any mind, and for that, he was glad. He just wanted to wallow in his misery.
Half a bottle down, Derek got a brilliant idea. He got up from the bench and stumbled back out into the city. By the time he got to his destination, he had sobered up slightly, just enough to really appreciate why he was there. He was intoxicated by the smell of the freshly-built sets, the sight of the industrial cameras. If he was going to be let go, he wanted to enjoy these final moments of being within reach of part of his former dreams.
He sidled up to one of the cameras and peered through the lens, seeing nothing, but painting a picture with his mind's hazy eye. He imagined a spoiled princess that sauntered down the hand-crafted staircase and rejected suitor after suitor. He imagined that one man that came to the door that she didn't reject, but that rejected her. He imagined her parents begging him to stay and become part of the family, and the obstacles that ensued. Getting into his professional fantasy, he started shouting out stage directions and camera shots …
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING ON MY SET?!" A bodiless voice bellowed from somewhere to Derek's left—off-screen, he thought. He jumped off the camera stand and darted into the shadows.
"I ASKED YOU A QUESTION, BOY. WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING ON MY SET?" The owner of the voice appeared in the form of a tall, skinny man with wildly curly hair and fire in his eyes.
"Um, nothing, just … visiting," Derek answered meekly, slowly coming out of the shadows.
"Just visiting? A set. For a movie. I should call security." The man made a motion for his pocket.
"No! Please, don't, I'll just go," Derek answered, grabbing the man's arm. He let go when the man glared at Derek, but the man didn't begin to dial.
"What are you doing in here?" the man asked again, a little more calmly this time. "You obviously knew where we were, so you must be part of the pre-production crew. Right?"
"Well, actually," Derek said, sticking his hands in his front pockets and rocking, "I used to work for the construction firm that did your sets."
"'Used to'?"
"Yeah, used to. I got laid off this morning."
"And you were going to come in and smash up the sets, huh?" The man began dialing again.
"No! Don't!" Derek grabbed the man's arm again. And dropped it again. "No, I wasn't. I just wanted to pretend to be something I'm not, just for a little bit. Look, man, I just got laid off, I live with a woman that I don't really like that much anymore, and I lost the woman of my dreams a year ago today. Can you cut me a break and just let me go? Please?"
"Damn." The man gave Derek a sympathetic stare and put the phone back in his pocket. "Sounds like your life sucks. Why don't you tell me about it?"
The two of them sat on the set, swapping swigs from the whiskey bottle and swapping stories of their lives. They had a lot in common, despite their age differences—they both attended prestigious universities, Queen's and Notre Dame—they both had their hearts broken—Derek's by Casey and the man's by an Irish woman named Katie—and they both loved film from an early age.
The man turned out to be the director of the movie and was swinging by the set to check everything before filming began the next day. This was his second film—his first was a documentary about his Army brothers and their service in Iraq—and he was really looking to prove himself. He needed a directing assistant.
"Look, Derek, I can offer you the job," the man—Jake—said, swigging the last bit of whiskey, "but it's not going to pay much. The hours are shitty, the work is taxing, and you probably won't even get credited. You'll probably have to wait tables or something to make ends meet. But hey, if you're willing to do it, I'll have you."
Derek agreed, and he spent the next year and a half splitting his time between waiting tables at posh restaurants on the coast and working various assistant jobs on the movie and television shows that came through Vancouver. His relationship with Sally dwindled to almost nothing, but it had ceased to matter—he was completely immersed in this new world.
Derek received a job offer in Los Angeles that Christmas, on his brother's third birthday. He was asked to become a junior executive assistant at Columbia Pictures, and it was a job that he couldn't turn down. He would still be waiting tables at night, of course, but for him, it was worth it.
He left Vancouver in January, packing up the now-decrepit Prince and driving south. South through Washington, south through Oregon, south through the vineyards of California and to the ubiquitous Hollywood.
Derek felt Casey stiffen up, as if battling some memory of her own, and she began to pull away. Derek relaxed his body and held onto her tighter, willing her to stay until the song ended. They continued that way for several more minutes, imperceptibly fighting for control and fighting against their pasts. Finally, as the song came to a close, Derek couldn't stand it anymore. He had to be alone with her.
"Casey, meet me in the park. Thirty minutes."
He felt her nod faintly.
A/N: Now, to add to the list, we know that Derek did, in fact, go to Vancouver to see Sally, and ended up living with her/dating her/using her for two and a half years. He got a job in Hollywood and left Canada/Sally/Casey behind. We also know that Derek still LOVES Casey, no matter what happened in the past. Which, by the way, we still don't know why he left in the first place (and no, we're not going to know that until the very end of the story)!