Roswell, Ontario - Part Two

--

Derek was a man on a mission. In-between panic attacks, anyway.

He'd seen Casey in the halls a total of four times now, walking and talking to Sam, her hair curled perfectly and her clothes matched and – just – like everything was normal! Like she hadn't done some sort of weird voodoo on him on Saturday night, turning everything he thought was true completely and totally upside down.

And, she was like…really pretty. He'd never noticed that about her before.

Leaning down, he splashed cold water on his face, trying to remember the game plan that he'd finally hammered out in the shower that morning. Step one – confirm that he wasn't losing his marbles. Step two – confirm that she wasn't losing her marbles. Step three – demand – firmly! – to know just what the hell was going on, goddammit.

Well. It was a good game plan. He just forgot to add the 'actually talk to Casey without freaking out' step.

He checked his watch with a groan. Chemistry started in five minutes – he was gonna face her whether he was ready or not. He took a deep breath, turned towards the door, set his jaw, and promptly…chickened out, turning back to the sink.

"Damn it!" He looked his reflection in the eye. "You are Derek Venturi. Stop acting like a girl." He eyed the bathroom door in the mirror again and a wave of nausea washed over him. He moaned and leaned forward to press his forehead against the cool glass mirror.

He was such a pussy.

--

Casey leaned against a row of lockers, intently studying the door to the men's bathroom.

"You trying to set it on fire or what?"

Casey jumped slightly, hugging her binder to her chest. "Sam," she greeted, then sighed. "He's in there."

Sam leaned back next to her. "Oh?"

Casey smiled faintly. That's what she loved most about Sam – he wasn't really the most talkative person on earth, but somehow he always knew when someone needed to talk, and the things to say to get them to open up. Of course, that was partly because of his powers, but there was also a natural intuitiveness present in his personality. "I don't know what to do," she confessed.

"What do you want to do?" he countered.

"What do I want?" Casey laughed bitterly. "I want to go in there and tell him everything that I've always imagined telling him. And I want him to be immediately okay with it and I want him to tell me that it's okay and that I'm not alone anymore and I want him to just – just touch me." Casey closed her eyes briefly. "Yeah. That's what I want the most. For him to reach out and hold me, like I'm actually real."

Sam sighed heavily. "Oh, Nutcase." He bumped her shoulder with his own, eliciting a small smile from her as a result of the childhood nickname. "I wish I knew what I could say."

"I know." Casey leaned her head back against the lockers. "I want him not to hate me."

Sam smiled. "Now that's just impossible." He tapped her nose.

She scrunched it up at him. "Go on. You're gonna be late."

"You're gonna be later," he replied. The bell rang then and he saluted. "Good luck."

"Thanks." She watched him walk off resignedly. No more back up.

She turned back to stare at the door. "Now or never, McDonald," she told herself, glancing furtively up and down the hallway. Seeing no one, she took a fortifying breath and walked quickly to the men's bathroom, pushing inside before she could change her mind.

Derek was leaning over the sink, his head hanging down between his shoulders. At her entrance, he started slightly, raising his head high enough to catch sight of her in the mirror, at which point he immediately jumped back about a foot. "You! It – it's you. Casey. Hi."

"Hi, Derek." She turned and stuck the rubber stop beneath the door with her foot, kicking it in firmly. "We need to talk."

Derek nodded. His collar and parts of his hair were slightly damp and he looked…well, he looked freaked out. But at least he didn't seem angry. Or scared. Or nervous because she'd blocked the door. That was a start.

She took a breath, making sure to look him in the eye. "I'm sure you're…wondering about what happened. On Saturday, I mean." She instantly chastised herself – of course he remembers what day it was, sheesh – but he was nodding, and looking her in the eye right back, so there was that.

"Yeah. I mean – what did you…do?" Derek put his hand to his ribs almost involuntarily. "I got shot. At least I think I did, I remember pain, and blood, and my shirt has this hole in it – " he shook his head. "And this – "

Without hesitation, he pulled his shirt up over his head, causing Casey to suck in a sharp breath. Cripes, he's hot, she thought. Then she looked closer.

There, her handprint, splashed across his ribcage in bright silver. Eyes wide, she took a step forward and studied it closely, face open with wonder. "Whoa," she breathed.

Derek studied her, brow furrowed. "'Whoa'?" He repeated. "I thought you were supposed to have the answers."

"I – " she looked up at him sheepishly. "Well, I've sort of…never done that before."

"What?" He gestured to his chest. "Tattooed someone at random?"

"Well, yeah." She shrugged. "In the process of…healing them." She cracked a weak smile and attempted a joke, "I do moonlight at the tat parlor on weekends, though."

He didn't smile. "Healed," he repeated flatly.

"Yeah." She swallowed. "Um. Ta-da?"

"You – " he broke off and sighed. "How? How did you…"

"I'm sort of…not from around here," she said slowly. Suddenly unable to look him in the eye, she crossed her arms across her chest tightly, clutching her sides tightly.

"What do you mean…not from around here?" he asked warily. "Where are you from?"

"Well…" she shrugged and motioned to the ceiling.

"What?" He frowned. "North?"

"…um, I guess you could say that."

"Like…what, the North Pole?"

Casey grimaced. "A little higher. And maybe less North, and more…vertical."

Derek stared at her for a second before bursting into nervous laughter. "You're shitting me. Like…you're pranking me or something, right?" He sobered. "Right? Who put you up to it? Ralph?"

"It's not a prank, Derek," Casey said seriously. He stared at her, eyes squinted and closed off. "I swear."

"I – " He shook his head and laughed again. "You're not a fucking alien."

"Yes, I am."

He laughed again, stuttered and frantic. "You – oh. Oh my God." He staggered, falling against the sink. "You…"

"I…" Casey's heart was fluttering in her chest, and her hands itched to hug him or comfort him or something, but she still wasn't sure if he was going to run away or attack her or whatever yet. "I realize that you need time to process this and everything, but I'm sort of obligated to impress upon you the need for, um, secrecy?" He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. "I mean, it's not just me. Or it's not just my secret. And it's serious, like really serious – like we could get captured or arrested or something, and thrown into some weird government jail, and we don't want that – obviously – and now I'm rambling…" she worried her lip. "But you can't tell anyone, okay? Ever. Not Ralph or Marti or Edwin or anyone – anyone at all. It would be really, really bad. Okay?"

He took another deep breath. "How do you know my sister's name?" he asked.

Casey stumbled a bit. "Um. What?"

"Marti. How do you know…I mean, you can't like, read my mind or something, can you?"

"No! God no!" She shook her head. "No, no. I just…I heal. I knew Marti's name because I volunteer at her daycare." She shrugged. "Also you, um. You come to this park that's nearby my house with her sometimes, and…you know, I overhear you guys playing, and…"

"You live near Kentwood Park?"

"Yeah," she said eagerly, then stopped, realizing what he'd be able to conclude from knowing that bit of information. "Um, yeah."

"Oh."

Casey's face burned. Great, way to come off like a stalker and a trailer-park loser.

"Who's the little girl, then?"

She started slightly. "Huh?"

"The – " he took a breath and turned around, hopping up on the counter. "When you – you know, healed me or whatever – I got like, this flash of something. Like I could see this little girl, and she was watching some kids play outside of a window."

Casey stilled. "Um. A flash?"

"Yeah," he replied. "But…it wasn't just that I could see her, I could like…feel her? I dunno." He tilted his head slightly. "It felt lonely."

"Oh," she said. "That…that was me."

"Really?"

"Yeah, well. If it felt lonely then yeah, chances are that it was most likely me." He trailed his eyes up to her face, and she turned away, gazing at the floor. "It's – it's something else I can do. Make connections with people. I guess…I did it subconsciously, when I was healing you."

"Oh." He was silent a moment. "So you heal people, and you can do the Vulcan Mind Meld – " she snorted. "Is there anything else? Can you…turn water into wine? Fly?"

She smiled, shaking her head. "No. No flying or…anything Jesus-like at all. Sorry."

"Right." She could feel his eyes on her face, but couldn't bring herself to look at his expression. "So you could do this mind meld thing with anyone?"

"Um…I guess so. I've only ever tried it with Lizzie. And now you, I guess."

"Lizzie?"

"My sister." She cleared her throat. "She's, um. You know."

"Oh. Oh." He paused. "Are there…any more of…you?"

"No. I mean, yes. I mean, Sam." She tucked her hair behind her ear nervously. "Lizzie, Sam and I. And that's it."

"Okay," he said slowly. "Where did you…come from?"

She shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine."

"You don't know?" he asked, surprised.

"Well – " she broke off, sneaking a look at his face. No fear, just…curiosity. Huh. "Well, there was a crash," she said slowly. "In the 40s, somewhere in the States. But…beyond that, we have no idea."

"None at all?"

"No. Somebody found us wandering around downtown Toronto about twelve years ago. Sam and I were six, and Lizzie was four." She hugged herself, feeling the same chill that settled down upon her whenever she remembered those first few years. "They assigned us foster parents out here, and well…the rest is history. Sam got adopted almost right away, but Lizzie and I moved around a bit before we settled down here. Thank God it was close to Sam."

"Oh." He looked thoughtful. "So, you have no idea like, who you are, or why you're here?"

"No." She sighed. "But then again, what's so different about not knowing that? Nobody knows that." She shrugged, feeling awkward.

"Right." He chuckled. "That's…actually a really good point."

Their eyes met, and overcome with a strange sense of relief and pleasure, mirth rose up in her throat and bubbled over into laughter, her soft giggles joining Derek's deeper laugh.

"I'm sorry," he said, gasping. "This – this is so absurd. You – you're a fucking alien."

"Yeah. Yeah, it is absurd." She hopped up on the counter next to him. "But you know – you can't tell anyone, right? I mean, seriously." He turned to study her. "I'm basically putting my life – and my family's lives – in your hands."

He paused and seemed to be forming his words carefully. "You saved my life Saturday night," he said. "That bullet – it would've killed me." She was silent, not disputing the fact. "I figure…turnabout's fair play."

She nodded, wanting to cry all of a sudden. "Thank you," she said, voice wavering.

He nodded, clearing his throat. "So…you said you could do the mind meld with anyone?"

"…yeah."

"Could you do it with me?" He shifted, tilting his head again. "I mean, it's like – you healed me and I stole a memory from you or something. So it's only fair. I mean, if you want to."

She stared at him for a moment, slightly stunned. "Um," she said, coming back to herself. "It – it goes both ways."

He nodded, catching her eye. "Okay."

"Okay," she repeated, her voice in a whisper.

Biting her lip, she reached out one shaky hand and lightly touched the silver handprint that marred his torso, gasping slightly as a shock of electricity raced down her arm at the brief contact. She felt him tense up as well, and matching his gaze with hers, she carefully aligned her hand to the handprint until it perfectly matched up with the silver mark.

Closing her eyes, she let the connection snap open, letting her mind reach out and touch his. Doing this had always been a struggle for Casey, especially with someone like Lizzie who had enough mental defenses built up to keep out Professor X. But Derek's mind lay open and undefended, like a wide, cool path spreading out before her feet.

Then, a volt of electricity captured her in its grip and she gasped, arching into it, letting it take her away on a wave of images, both from her own life and from his. Derek at seven or eight, sitting in a hospital room with his dad, holding a newborn Marti, Casey at twelve, holding Lizzie's hand as they moved into the trailer in Kentwood Estates, Derek fighting with Sally over someone named…Patrick? Casey making the honor roll and celebrating with Lizzie and Sam, Derek listening to his parents fighting while trying to reassure his brother, Casey watching Derek in class, longing to reach out and make a connection more than anything else she'd ever wanted in the world. More and more images flashed behind her eyes until all she saw was a blur of color, a mishmash of her life and his until she couldn't tell them apart.

She finally wrenched her hand away from Derek's chest and broke the link, gasping for air. Shaking, she blindly let herself fall sideways, eyes clenched shut against the onslaught of information, and felt hands catch her, her cheek pressed against smooth skin.

She took deep breath after deep breath, waiting for the images to subside. She slowly came back to reality, head still spinning, only to realize that she was pressed up against Derek, her arms twined around his waist and her cheek pressed to his shoulder. His forehead was resting on her shoulder, his shoulders heaving as he breathed heavily himself.

Painfully aware that he was still shirtless, Casey scarcely dared to breathe as his breath slowly calmed, his hands slowly loosening their grip on her forearms. "Whoa," he said finally, words muffled slightly by her t-shirt.

"I know," she replied, just as softly. Neither one of them moved.

Or, at least, until the bathroom door opened.

"What the – " The math teacher, Mr. Krohn struggled the open the door against the doorstop that Casey had wedged beneath it. Frowning, he looked up just in time to see Derek and Casey break apart, looking decidedly guilty.

Scrambling for his shirt, Derek covered up the handprint hastily, hopping off the counter. "Mr. Krohn! Just the man I was hoping to see. I lost my day planner, see, and I forgot what the page numbers were for Friday's assignment." He grinned, gesturing to his temple. "I had a bit of a head injury over the weekend, so it seems to have slipped my mind."

Mr. Krohn, arms crossed, was stone faced. "Why don't I fill you in on that on the way to the principal's office?" He looked to Casey, who was trying her best to become invisible. "Both of you."

--

Derek shut his door firmly and collapsed against it with a sigh, feeling the beginnings of a migraine forming behind his temples. No matter how he and Casey had tried to deny it, neither the principal nor his parents would believe that what they'd been doing in the bathroom had been innocent.

Of course, I did have my shirt off. And we were hugging. Sorta.

Although they'd gotten off pretty easily, they'd both still been suspended for the rest of the day, with detention for the rest of the week for their 'inappropriate behavior.' Considering his past track record, Derek figured he should be pretty lucky that that was the extent of the punishment.

But since the incident as a whole had only confirmed his mother's suspicions that he was dealing with some kind of deep-set trauma from the robbery, he couldn't really bring himself to feel very grateful. His dad had managed to keep Abby from sending him straight to a shrink's office, but no doubt they fighting about it at that very moment.

And sure enough, Derek could hear the faint strain of angry voices from the first floor – they'd stopped trying to hide their fights from him a while back. He closed his eyes tiredly, trying to block it out.

Running the past few hours over in his mind, he tried to make sense of all the new information that had suddenly been introduced in such a short time. Casey was an alien. Aliens were real. And they…healed people. And possibly other things.

There were so many things to think about, so many possibilities that would only inevitably freak him out that he forced the issue out of his head, trying to distance himself from it. He shut his eyes and took a breath, trying to look at it from an unbiased, logical perspective, like his mom was always telling him to do.

It wasn't Casey's fault she was different, right? It was just like somebody who happened to be born black, or Jewish or Muslim. He couldn't hold a grudge because of who she was.

And it wasn't like she was…mean, or something. He was pretty sure she wasn't planning to take over the world, at any rate. He didn't know her that well, but – well, wait. He did know her, sorta. The little girl with the stuffed bear popped into his head again and his eyes flew open. She'd looked like Marti when she was little, sorta.

But it was more than just the images, really, it was the emotions that'd come with them. He'd felt lonely for her, scared and angry and delighted and insecure with every flash of memory she'd given him. And her face, when she'd looked up at him. He felt short of breath again, just at the memory, the pull of the tide threatening to tug him under.

The trill of his cell phone pierced the silence and Derek rolled his eyes, flipping it open and bringing it to his ear. "Ralph, Hilary Duff sucks and I'm changing your ring tone."

"Dude, don't hate."

"Is there something you wanted?"

"Um, not really. Is there something you wanted?" Ralph tried unsuccessfully to mask the laughter threatening to break free, and his guffaws stuttered through the phone line.

Derek sighed. "Okay, what."

"Like you don't know what."

"Why don't we pretend that I don't?"

"Man!" Ralph laughed loudly. "You and that chick! The one from your Chemistry class?" He whistled. "She's cute. When did you dump Sally, though? Gotta say, about time."

"What?" Something cold dropped into Derek's stomach. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you and Casey McDonald." Ralph laughed again. "I heard you got caught in the teacher's lounge. That's bold, man, but I respect it."

"I did not – who the hell did you hear that from?"

"Tinker," Ralph replied. "And Emily Davis, too."

"Oh, great." Derek pinched the bridge of his nose. If Emily Davis knew, then everyone knew. "Ralph, nothing happened."

"Hey, you don't have to lie to me, man," Ralph said brightly. "How far'd you get? I heard third base, but – "

"I didn't get anywhere!" Derek felt the earlier frustration he'd felt in the principal's office roaring back. "We're just friends, and we were just talking. And it was the bathroom, not the teacher's lounge, for God's sake."

"Riiiiight," Ralph drawled, then fell silent.

"Ralph. Are you winking?"

"Nooooo," Ralph replied knowingly.

"Ralph – " Derek broke off and shut his cell phone with a snap, glaring at it accusingly. When the mechanical sounds of Hilary Duff reached his ears again, he huffed and threw it across the room.

"Yeah, you're right. That song totally sucks."

Derek yelped and turned around quickly, effectively throwing himself off the bed and onto the floor. "What the fu – "

Lizzie McDonald was leaning calmly against his dresser, pinning him with a look powerful enough to peel paint. "Smooth."

"What the hell are you doing here?" Derek backed up against his desk, looking at Lizzie as if she'd grown a second head. "How did you get in?"

"How do you think?" Lizzie asked dryly. "I mean, Casey gave you our entire history, didn't she?" Derek's mouth opened and closed, no sound escaping. Sighing, she straightened up and melted into nothing before his very eyes, leaving him staring dumbly at his dresser. "Ta da," came her deadpan voice, echoing from the very spot that she wasn't standing.

"Holy shit," Derek replied.

Shimmering back into existence, Lizzie crossed her arms. "So let's be real for a second."

Derek swallowed and tried not to freak out. "Um. Okay."

"Here's the thing. This is our lives that are at stake here, not yours," she said firmly. "And you can be as freaked out as you want, but I need to know that you're not going to ruin everything we've worked for just because you're a little wigged." She raised an eyebrow expectantly. "So, are you?"

Derek paused. "Am I what?"

"Going to ruin our freaking lives, you idiot," Lizzie snapped. "This isn't a hockey game, sport. This is serious."

"I know," Derek shot back, snapped out of his semi-daze by her anger. "I was the one who got shot, in case you didn't know."

"Oh, I know," Lizzie said, almost resignedly. "Which is what started this whole mess in the first place. Who robs a café, anyway?"

"I…wouldn't know." Derek frowned. "Look, I'm not going to…out you, or whatever. Okay?"

Lizzie looked unimpressed. "Oh, yeah. That's really reassuring."

"What do you want from me, then?" Derek asked. "Sorry if I'm not more eloquent, I just had my entire world turned upside down this weekend. But I'll be sure to write a speech for the next time I see you."

"Oh yeah. And that's the other thing." Lizzie stepped forward and her expression turned menacing. "If you hurt my sister, I will kill you."

Derek stared at her incredulously for a second. "Are you serious? Yeah, okay. That's great. Thanks for that."

Lizzie huffed, rolling her eyes. "Oh, what am I gonna do, invisible you to death? That's not what I meant." She glared at him. "Casey's really nice, okay? She believes the best in people, and if you do something to change that, I will hunt you down and inflict the kind of harm that only a very angry soccer sister can achieve."

"Oh." Derek blinked. "Oh. No, we weren't – "

"I know you weren't. But still."

A loud rapping of knuckles on Derek's door saved him from having to respond. "Derek?"

"It's my dad." Derek waved his arms at Lizzie frantically. "Do your thing again. At this rate he'll probably think I'm sleeping with you, too."

"Ew." Lizzie wrinkled her nose and disappeared.

Doing a slight double take, Derek shook his head and swung the door open, revealing a less-than-pleased George. "Derek."

"Dad." Derek scrunched his eyebrows together, trying to imitate his father's expression.

"Don't start." A slight twitch of his lips gave him away. "Sally's here. You get ten minutes. And the Sheriff wants to see you at the station in a half an hour."

Derek felt a nasty jolt. "What? Why?"

"To follow up on Saturday night? I guess." George shrugged and pointed a finger at Derek. "The door stays open."

Derek saluted. "Sir."

George shook his head. "Runt."

"Hey, now. Too far." Derek let out a grin, which dimmed slightly when a less-than-pleased Sally appeared from around the corner. "Hey, Sal," he said warily. "What's up?"

"'What's up'?" she hissed. "Is that all you can say to me?"

"Uh, what's up, sweetheart?"

Sally emitted a sound not unlike a growl and shoved him viciously, propelling him backwards into his room. "Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to hear from a freaking freshman that your boyfriend is apparently cheating on you?"

"What?" Derek blinked. "Sally – "

"I knew you were lying when you told me you didn't know her. I should've dumped you then." Sally started pacing the length of his room angrily. "I can't believe I fell for it. I can't believe I slept with you!"

"Whoa, whoa." Derek held up his hands, intensely aware that an invisible Lizzie was somewhere in the room, watching the proceedings. "Slow down. Nothing happened with Casey, okay? I swear."

"Oh, right. Like I'm supposed to believe that?" Sally scoffed. "Because you're so freaking trustworthy."

"Hey," Derek said, a bit wounded. "When have I ever given you a reason not to trust me? Just because you're paranoid about every girl I've ever talked to – "

"Paranoid for a good reason, obviously!" Sally glared at him. "So how long has this been going on? Were you just stringing us both along, waiting for one of us to do the dirty work and dump you?"

"This is ridiculous." Derek turned away, rifling through his desk as an excuse not to look at her. "I need to leave soon."

"What, you're not even going to explain yourself?"

"You've obviously made up your mind about what happened. Why should I?" Anger that'd been festering for months suddenly boiled over and he whirled around, hands clenched. "I'm sorry I don't fit into the picture you've got in your head, sweetheart, but you know what? I'm really sick and tired of trying. I'm done."

"Are – " Sally's eyes widened. "Are you breaking up with me?"

Derek didn't pause. "Yeah. I am."

Sally opened her mouth but Derek grabbed his jacket before the storm could erupt. "I've gotta go," he said shortly, leaving her gaping in the middle of his room. Jogging downstairs, he practically flew past George and Marti in the living room, shoving his feet in his shoes with jerky movements. "I'm going down to the station."

"They don't need you there until – "

"I'm going now." He didn't wait for an answer, pushing out the front door and slamming it for good measure.

As he ducked into the front seat of his car, he caught sight of a slight shimmer in the air behind his right shoulder and remembered Lizzie with a jolt. Sighing, he opened the backseat wordlessly, watching as a phantom gust of air ruffled his lapels as the door swung shut on its own.

As he pulled out of the driveway, hands clenched on the steering wheel, he could see the shimmer in the rearview mirror, undetectable unless one was looking for it, and the slight sound of her breath and the rustle of her clothes as she moved. He relaxed slightly, almost…comforted.

Huh.

--