Afghanistan - 24 months earlier.
To smooth their transit through the country she was travelling as Casey Venturi, his wife. After her initial hissy fit at the idea, they had laughed rather a lot when he had bought the "cheap" wedding ring at the airport. Actually, it had cost him a couple of thousand US dollars. But Casey didn't need to know that. (There had been cheaper rings but he just couldn't bring himself to buy her one.) And on the plane she had donned the Burkha for her own safety. The dark folds of cloth which exposed only her eyes, hiding her youth, shape and attractiveness so that she could pass freely on the streets. (Derek's response at seeing so much of her covered up was unrepeatable.)
The standard of accommodation they were given in Afghanistan had deteriorated the further away from the airport they got: Three star hotel the first night, one star room for the second night and the back room of a friend of their interpreter for the third night. Currently they were in a tent somewhere in the desert less than five miles from a hot zone with lots of insurgent activity nearby. It was basic but Casey had coped. Derek was impressed. Considering her intolerance towards dirt and disorder as a teenager, she'd grown more accepting, but then they had both changed a lot since school. They were more tolerant of each other for a start. Hence, due to their cover and lack of space they had slept beside each other for three nights now. Access to washing facilities was limited, and it amused him no end to think what a fifteen year old Casey would have made of this. He hoped she'd be proud of herself - he was proud of her. That amused him too. Hell! They had grown up!
Then he thought back to the "sand in her bra" stunt this morning and her scream of "Der-ek!" He smirked. Okay. Maybe they hadn't grown up that much.
He looked at Casey silhouetted against the setting sun. They hadn't seen a bath or a shower in five days. They'd been shot at, had two flat tyres and had to part with a large sum in US dollars to escape bandits.
She looked fantastic. She'd shed the Burkha, resorting to shorts and a t-shirt, and she had let down her hair. Now she looked hot but her eyes were intelligent, trusting, loving and he was reminded yet again why he was here, with her.
Because until she told him there was never a chance, he would always be here - and maybe even then he wouldn't go far.
He finished his "ablutions" - whatever they were- said good night to their translator, entered their tent and slid into the makeshift bed beside her.
"God Derek, you reek!"
"Hate to tell you this honey, but so do you."
Her eyes had widened. "Oh No! Really?"
He nodded. She blushed.
"Sorry." She moved away from him.
"Casey. We're in the middle of a desert with no running water. Do you, seriously, think I care about how you smell?" He reached out and pulled her into his arms. It was the closest they had ever been – and completely against his no PDA rule.
"What are you doing, Derek?" But she didn't move away.
"Holding my "wife", what does it look like?" He grinned at her.
"Ha bloody ha."
He switched to an evil grin and his voice turned creepily seductive. "Come on Casey. It's a relief to remind myself that women have bodies. Out here you all wear those tent things."
"You can remove your hand from there RIGHT now, Venturi! I'm your sister."
Derek laughed. "Step-sister. There's a world of difference.
"You are unbelievable! In the absence of any other female in the vicinity you decide to molest me."
"Hey! If it's molestation you want…"
"DER-EK!"
She turned and looked at him. Then realisation dawned on her.
"You're winding me up aren't you?"
He smiled at her and let her go. "Of course. You smell too much for me to find you attractive."
"Jeez Thanks, bro." Derek chuckled to himself.
They lay beside each other for a while, listening to the sounds of the desert at night. In the distance, the popping of gunfire began. They had been in the country a few days so it wasn't a new sound to them, but it always made them uneasy. Derek reached out for Casey again, and pulled her back into his arms. No joking this time.
"You're missing home, aren't you?" He murmured into her hair.
"A bit. I could murder a shower right now."
"I bet you'd even wait in line behind your asshole of a brother too."
Casey had snickered against his arm. "I wouldn't go that far."
"I miss home too. Especially, Marti. Hell I even miss Edweirdo."
"God! You must be desperate. Well stop panicking. At least one of your siblings is here."
"Do you have to use that word?" He complained.
"What? "God"?"
"No. "Sibling"."
Casey turned her head round to look at him. There was a brief pause and his arms tightened around her. The moment passed and she turned back.
"I need some sleep. Are you comfortable like this?" She liked the feel of his arms around her.
"Yeah." So did Derek.
"Cool. Night Bro."
"Night Sis."
The Sis/bro nicknames had started in university. Derek wasn't exactly sure why. He guessed it has something to do with them reminding themselves that there was complicated baggage between them. Casey had noticed they only ever resorted to it when they were at their closest. Like a warning shot across the bows.
That trip to Afghanistan had resulted in a powerful documentary (his pictures, her words), which had been picked up by every major news outlet in the Western world. It won them their second award.
At the black tie award ceremony, Casey, in a close fitting designer dress which had temporarily, stopped his heart, had mistakenly let him have a moment at the podium during their acceptance speech. He told an off-colour joke about Casey and a camel. The joke and the resulting "Der-ek!" was broadcast to twenty countries and had been uploaded to Youtube before they had even got back to their hotel - a fun-filled cab journey where Nora had screamed down the phone, alternating between congratulating them both and berating him for showing her daughter up.
Casey, surprisingly, had forgiven him almost immediately - or so he thought until a friend from Reuters pointed out the companion Youtube of him vomiting after the same camel ride.