a/n- I love playing around with Drunk!Casey and Sober!Derek. Casey's thoughts being confined to basic sentences, and being all over the place in the first half is deliberate.
DISCLAIMER: Mike not mine. Which is almost sadder than the fact that LWD is also not mine.
(She'd never been good at faking. She could lie a little, but never when she actually needed to. She would scrunch up her face, and blush and stammer and she was so goddamned obvious. He used to look at her and laugh at her pathetic attempts to try and lie. But now she knows, there's something to be said about living with the 'Lord of The Lies' himself.
You learn from the best.)
He's picking up his stupid leather jacket.
(Here's the thing: She used to like leather jackets. They spelt danger and chivalry and James Dean. A glamorous world in which she could imagine she was one of those temptresses from the old movies, playing mind games –not being played-. But now…now they only spell De-rek.)
He turns around and she forgets she's supposed to be asleep (it's the alcohol, it slows down your thinking process and she wasn't thinking a lot to begin with. Just Trumanmirrorsdresses) and gasps.
He looks around immediately, and spots her open door. He's just standing there, and she wants him to come inside because what the hell happened to his face? He hesitates for a moment, and just when she thinks he's about to leave, he comes inside right beside her bed.
"You're awake?"
She doesn't answer, she reaches out and puts her hand on his face, watching him flinch automatically. "Your face. It's all dark and hurt and you're so stupid. What did you do?"
He smiles slightly, "Still drunk, I see. The Casey I know would've never used the word stupid. She'd have wanted to thoroughly confuse me with every single synonym the dictionary listed."
(The Casey he knows. Which Casey does he know? The old one whom he used to fight with –and occasionally for- or the new one whom he left for four months.)
"I'm not drunk. I'm…mad. Why are you hurt?"
His face darkens and for a moment she can't breathe (he's too close, he's cutting off her circulation. Stupid boy.) "Are you fucking insane?"
She pouts, since when does he get to talk like that to her? She's his st…sister and he should be nice. Except he's Derek and he isn't ever nice. "What?"
He leans in closer (awaygetaway) "Accepting a drink from a guy you didn't know. What the fuck is wrong with you? Did all those feelings you keep repressed finally explode and short circuit your brain or something?"
He's very angry. She's never seen him this angry, and certainly not for her. But she's fine, isn't she? She's not even hurt and he's hurt. Why's he hurt?
"Why are you hurt?"
He groans, "Forget that, and next time…you're delusional if you think there's going to be a next time. You have no idea what Paul's like."
"He's nice. He thinks I'm gorgeous."
He looks at her again. (Except not. Because he isn't looking at her and she's so drunk, even that makes perfect sense.)
"He has eyes, doesn't he?"
"But he was nice to me, he listened and…"
His hands clench in fists, "He was touching you, Case. How can you be fucking fine with that?"
She remembers Paul's hand drawing slow, lazy circles on her thigh, moving up every time. And she…did like it. It was different. It brought an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach. One that she liked. A sort of…fulfillment. A crazy beating of her heart, and just a strange anticipation. She's never felt it before.
"I liked it."
His body stills and he's openly glaring at her, "What?"
"I liked it." Her hand moves of its own accord, mimicking the slow wanderings of Paul's hands. And it's back, that strange feeling. She looks up, and Derek is staring at her. He obviously doesn't understand, so she tries to explain. "It feels like…like you've just got this book you've been dying to read. But there's this feeling you get before you've read the book. When you're holding it in your hands. It's almost better than the book itself. It feels like that."
It tickles a little, and it hurts in a way, but a good hurt. Her skin is very sensitive to touch; odd she never realized it before. (He's still staring at her and she's thinking of adding a clause in the McDonald-Venturi Rulebook forbidding him to ever stare at her like that. It makes her lose her train of thought.)
"Casey," he clears his throat. "Stop that."
"Stop what."
"Whatever you're doing."
"I'm showing you what Paul did. He made me feel good, so you shouldn't be angry."
He stills her hand with his, and for a moment she feels like she's been burned.
"I know it feels good." He's whispering, and she's glad because for some reason it feels like he understands. Even though he doesn't. He never did. "But you're not going to let any guy touch you like that, okay?"
("No eating strange berries, okay Smarti?")
"Okay, Smerek." She whispers obediently. Almost automatically.
("…annoying brother." "Step-brother." "Same difference.")
He recoils like she's hit him. (And aren't they breathing too loud? It hurts her head, their breathing.)
It draws attention to the discolored bruise on his cheek, and she gets up. Or tries to. (Which counts surely?)
In the end he's holding helping her up, muttering about stupid princesses who can't handle alcohol. She wants to tell him she can hear. (But that was the whole point probably.)
She comes back with an ice pack, wet and shivering.
"What the hell? Did you just shower or something?"
She flushes and decides not to mention that the ice just didn't want to stay in the pack and kept falling into the most unbelievable parts of her body (andfuckitwascold.)
His eyes lighten, "You're sloshed and you tried to make an icepack."
(Stupid boy.)
She sits with him and gently puts it on his face. The only sound she can hear is the ticking of her (goditsloud) clock. (And wasn't Derek supposed to be in his dorm? Wasn't there the 'No boys after ten' rule? "I'm the exception to all the rules.")
She shivers slightly, and then catches his amused gaze.
"What's so hilarious?" She doesn't mean to snap but (he's right here and she's still thinking about him) he makes her so mad.
"Nothing." He smirks and she's so irritated, she slams the icepack on his face, harder than necessary and then winces.
"This," he points at her vaguely, "You do realize you're the one flinching, right?"
(And he's right. Because every time the cold makes contact with his bruised skin, and he sits stoically, she feels the pain. He doesn't wince and for once she'd like him to stop pretending to be superman and just hurt. Feel. Whatever. He doesn't always have to be the jerky, cool guy. She doesn't want to keep hurting for him. Ryan, anybody?)
"Yeah." And she shouldn't be angry, but she is, "Because to hurt you need feelings. So I'm trying to make up for you here."
This time he does flinch, "What the hell is that supposed to mean."
(She doesn't know.)
"You hurt Sally." It's the first thing she thinks of to blame him for (the first thing she can blame him for.)
(And she's drunk but she knows she just messed up royally. Because now he knows how long she's been awake for.)
"I didn't," he says quietly, "She was jumping to ridiculous conclusions. Every single thing she said was wrong, Casey. Every. Single. Thing."
(This time it brings out a different feeling. Something like falling down. Losing.)
"What did he mean?"
They're both lying on her bed at opposite ends, the odd, unnatural stiffness of her body probably overriding her pretence of being alseep.
She wants to say something sharp about his belief that she can read his mind, but her head hurts. A lot.
"Who?"
"Paul." He says briefly, still facing the wall. "About…not being there for you."
(She blames his voice. She's known it since months, but it's only hearing it from him that makes it real. Like always.)
She's not crying (she's not. She's not. She's not.)
The flashes of memory are so vivid, she feels all over again. The days she spent missing everybody so much it'd almost hurt (he hadn't been there.) The days she walked and tripped and nobody made fun of her (he wasn't there.) The days she studied through the night and there was nobody to taunt her about how she really needed her beauty sleep because otherwise she'd become a national eyesore (he wasn't there.) Days she spent in the stands, hiding under a stupid hat, because he'd never told her about any of his games (because –fun fact– he wasn't there.)
"I didn't desert you." His voice is rough.
"Oh." She says politely, because she can't fake hate but she can fake indifference, and that would have to do.
"Look at me."
She doesn't.
He turns her around himself, and his hands are harsh, punishing. Their silent truce is over. This is endgame.
"God, Casey. You were the one who said you never wanted to speak to me in college. Every single minute of every day, all I used to hear was 'De-rek you're ruining my life.' 'De-rek, I hate you. 'De-rek, I wish we'd never met.'"
She wants to say he's got it all wrong. (He hasn't, but she wants to say something). Because he's right.
"So this was it, Casey. Your freedom from my constant presence. Somewhere nobody knew us, and you could pretend I didn't exist, like you so obviously wanted. I fucking did it for you. So you could be whoever you so desperately wanted to be without me. Pretend to your heart's content, without anyone calling you on it. It was college. A new beginning. You could be Casey McDonald. No slacker, jerk of a brother in the scenario."
("…annoying brother." "Step-brother." "Same difference.")
She tries to move away. Because she doesn't have an answer. And she hates him for doing this to her. For making her say that she'd missed him. For having clear, logical reasoning, while she was half delusional. But he's pinned her down in a nanosecond, his body heavy on hers. (And this is wrongwrongwrong.)
"No," his voice is grim and she's reminded of his fight with Sally. Sally who's probably cried herself to sleep in the other room. "You don't get to do this every single fucking time, okay? Call the shots and run. I thought you wanted me to stay away, I did. Didn't you?"
She tries to move again, but the sensations running through her make her stop immediately. His eyes have darkened to the deepest shade she's ever seen on him, and it makes her catch her breath sharply.
(She can't even fake indifference. Hold the applause.)
She's watching him with something akin to panic as he looks directly at her, "What's the matter, Case? Not so much fun on the other side? Where you actually have to deal with consequences of your words instead of just running away."
He bends down, and whispers in her ear, and she's shuddering without even realizing it, "Did you want me to stay?"
"No." It's drawn out from her in a strangled sob. "No. I didn't. I hate having you around."
"Yeah," he says, and his voice is back to normal, the tense line of his body the only give-away. "It would've been even less fun to have you around."
He gets off her, and she's just too cold. Moving towards her door, he turns with his hand on her knob. "I stayed away, Case. But you know what?"
(What?)
"You didn't call me back."
Then he's gone, and she's left staring at the ceiling, her dress crushed beyond recognition.
(Just like her morals.)
a/n- Directly from the show, because we all know whenever they fight, he just LOVES pinning her down...'The Party', remote fights, etc. (talk about restraint! Or a lack thereof)