Derek didn't know how he had ever slept without Casey. What even was sleep without her? A series of hours where he tossed and turned? A set of times when bad dreams just wouldn't leave him alone? But with her…With her, he had a reason to step away from the endless hours of work and end his day the right way. Her touch, all that soft warm skin against his relaxed him better than any drug ever could. And their extracurricular activities, well, yeah. Those helped too.
They hadn't gone much further than stolen kisses in the dark. But her nails left half-moon kisses painted across his skin like a promise every night. He was pretty sure Casey was healing his battered soul bit by bit. But he wouldn't tell her that. He wouldn't scare her off so soon.
Although nights with Casey were akin to magic, a day's events could dim its shine.
He had fucked up. He grew too comfortable, too happy in their little bubble of champagne and laughter. So when Sam called him up and asked he show up to Ed's office immediately, Derek knew that bubble had popped.
Truman had sent him a message.
Derek's fingers ached to destroy every piece of tech in Ed's office when Truman's stupid face showed up on the monitor. It had come through via an encrypted file that had gone through several layers of security to cover up its origins. Ed was still working on decoding it, but they knew it would lead to a dead-end, burner IP address anyway.
In the meantime, Derek had to watch the video.
The video started with a close-up of French sitting in a blank room. He wasn't going to give them an inch of information about his whereabouts.
"Derek Michael Venturi," Truman chuckled darkly like the name itself was a punch line of a joke. That was enough to make Derek start a war. "Derek, Derek, Derek," Truman sighed like he was reprimanded as a disobedient child.
Derek gritted his teeth, his molar aching under the pressure.
"You do realize, that you were the whole point, right?" French went on to ask, shaking his head. "I knew who she was. I knew who her mom had married. And I knew exactly who had taken over the Venturi enterprise," he explained, like a villain at the end of a movie. And Derek couldn't wait to destroy him as such.
"It was never about her, Derek," he went on. "No it was always about you," French grinned like a madman. "So," he clapped like he was wrapping it up, but he was far from it. "Please feel free to keep her in your gated mansion like a princess. I'm not after her," he lied.
If French knew about Derek, then he knew about Casey. And if he knew about Casey... then he knew she was Derek's weakness. Derek's mind was already whirling on how to amp up security. How the team needed to randomize their shift changes for a while. How he would send a new second set of guards to watch over Marti, Lizzie, and Nora. Shit, even his dad needed new guards. When was the last time he had checked in on him?
French went on and on, but it all became background noise and Derek's mind clicked into processing.
"Sam, you're with me," Derek declared, stopping the video mid-sentence. "Ed, you're on this," Derek added as if it was even a question.
He stormed out of Ed's office with a fire burning through his veins, and a counterattack crawling its way into existence.
It was time to send a message of his own.
In his mood, Derek thought it was best to stay away from Casey. From anyone really. He needed to isolate, till the anger watered itself down for the general public. Sure, Sam could take it. But he didn't want to put his feelings on anyone else if he could avoid it.
After Sam disappeared with his marching orders, Derek tucked himself into his office resigned to stay put for a few hours. He was sprawled out in his favorite velvet armchair; one hand curled around a glass of whiskey, and the other held a cigar. He was convinced he could chase the demons away in his solitude if he tried hard enough.
But Casey wasn't going to allow him to distance himself. Not after all the progress they had made. He should have known as much. He should have picked a better hiding spot.
He felt her before he heard her. Like the molecules in the air shifted in recognition of her existence.
Like he was pulled in by a magnet, his eyes dragged themself up towards his doorway where she was peeking in.
"There you are," she smiled, her face looking all soft and sweet. Everything that he wasn't. "Come to bed," she teased from her spot half in and half out of his office. It was like she hadn't decided if he needed her to go in there and pull him out or not.
Come to bed.
God, those words sunk into his chest like fire. He use to dream of those words slipping off her lips. But he had to deny her request. At least for a bit longer.
"In a bit," he replied, trying to hide the bitterness in his mood and distract her with something else. Anything else.
"Der," she sighed, resigned, stepping into his office, not letting it go as easy as he would have wanted.
"What's up, princess? Can't sleep without me anymore?" he tried to tease, but his heart wasn't in it. He just wanted to throw his head back and let it out; inflict a little well-deserved violence. That would help. But he was working on being better, turning over a new leaf and all that. Maybe he should see a therapist…
Casey didn't buy it. She must have noticed the shift in the air between them and needed to push for more. "What's going on?" she asked, taking the seat closest to him without invading his personal space. Funny that. She could be as close as she wanted as far as he was concerned. He was always too weak to stay away. It was why she was in this mess, to begin with.
Derek debated not telling her, but that wouldn't be fair. Instead of lying, he offered her the glass he'd been nursing that evening. It wasn't his first or his second. And yet, it still wasn't enough to numb the voice of French in his head.
It was always about you.
It was always about you.
It was always about you.
Casey eyed it carefully before taking the smallest sip. It was one of his favorites. A bottle of it ran for well over $10,000, and yet Casey winced as if it were bottom-shelf quality. That just wouldn't do. He'd pay good money to have his own distillery, one to make a whiskey so smooth even Casey could enjoy, just he could drink it off her lips. Maybe he'd look into it…
"Truman sent a message," he admitted in a breath like he was ripping off a bandaid and exposing a wound. That's what it felt like anyway.
Casey froze, paling a little in the dim office light. She quickly shook herself out of it, faster than he would have expected. "What did he say," she asked gently.
"Case … " he groaned, closing his eyes for just a second. Fuck. He had already given more than what he was comfortable with. She didn't need to hear all the nitty-gritty details. He could spare her from it. He wanted to anyway.
"Derek," she replied firmly this time, meaning business and he knew it. She wouldn't let it go.
He pinched his nose, hating having to share this with her. And then he told her. He condensed the version, of course. Most of it was a blur anyway.
Casey took it all in. To his surprise, she didn't respond with fear or tears. She simply nodded, looking at the glass still in her hand. Decided, she tilted her head back, exposing the delicate column of her throat, bringing the glass back to her lips. He watch as she gulped once then twice, finishing the last of it. This time it looked smooth like the bite of the alcohol hadn't phased her at all. Slowly she licked her lips, not missing a drop. And then she said two words he was not expecting. "I know."
"You… know ?" he echoed, confused.
Casey simply gave him a one-shoulder shrug. "I know, Der. I think I've known for a while," she admitted, putting the glass down on the coffee table in front of her. "It took a second for the puzzle pieces to click. But, it made sense. Of course, I was just a pawn. Nancy had me work through every possible scenario," she explained. "It helped to understand what happened to me." Nancy was her therapist. And shit, maybe she should be Derek's therapist too.
But the fact that Caey knew that it was all Derek's fault… almost made things worse. She knew that he was to blame for everything she had gone through…
He sucked in a breath, eyes going a little unfocused, turning away from Casey as his mind started to buzz with noise.
"Hey," came her voice, softer this time. She curled her fingers around his chin, directing him to look at her. "I'm ok," she promised. "We're good," she added, her eyes not leaving his like she was pressing trust into him one way or another.
"Ok?" she asked him after a few breaths. Her voice was steady, grounding his runaway mind into the moment where all he could see was the blue of her eyes and all he could feel was the touch of her skin.
"Yeah," he responded, his voice a little gravely like it got stuck in his throat somewhere. "We're good," he replied, hoping to make it true.
A slow smile pulled across her lips. "Do you trust me?" she asked, and there was mischief in those twinkling eyes.
He nodded once, unsure of where she was going, but willing to follow anyway.
"Then let me take care of you," she explained. "Your bedroom. Twenty minutes," was all she said with a smirk before releasing him and disappearing.