Let it Snow

It all started when Braeden didn't call.

She always called. At rest stops, in the middle of investigations, after (and sometimes before) particularly strenuous chases or fights – she had always called to check in. Sometimes Derek was able to answer, and other times a single ring finished before she ended the call.

The point wasn't to talk. The point was to let him know that she was alive.

But this time, she hadn't called.

And Derek was getting restless. He hated feeling helpless, especially when it came to Braeden. She gave vague hints as to where she was and what she was doing and who she was looking for.

Confidential, she had always said when he asked.

But she also always came home: exhausted with a duffel bag full of cash, a few new nicks and bruises, yes, but alive. Maybe it was the relief that she was okay, or maybe it was just her, but Derek always slept best when she was tucked into his arms.

But this time, she hadn't called.

At first, he thought it might be the reception – the winds were high, and it had been snowing all day. There was over two feet of it on the ground, and even more of it whipping about in the air.

But then the doubt started.

By ten o'clock, he couldn't wait any longer. When his fully charged, high-volume phone didn't so much as buzz, he shifted to wolf form and followed her scent all the way to a ditch off the side of a country road, a few towns over, in the middle of nowhere.

Where the snow was pink with blood, and a glint of metal sparkled beneath it. Where Braeden lay, half-frozen, like a tragic sleeping beauty, flakes in her hair and a dark red wound on the side of her head.

He saw her, almost dead in the snow, but what he caught in the wind was the scent of fire and smoke.

"Found you," Derek said, to no one. He shifted back into a man, bare feet crunching against ice and snow. He gathered her into his arms, carefully.

Derek knew he was in the rich part of town by the spaces between the houses. Each had a large yard wrapping around it, each was decorated by a new arrangement of sparkling lights, and some had multiple Christmas trees lining driveways packed with cars. Most were inhabited.

But one, lonely house, dark and secluded, had an empty driveway and a few newspapers stacked on the porch. And though the lights sparkled outside, there were none on inside except for a string wrapped around a tree.

Derek entered, quietly, Braeden in hand.

His feet cycled between numb and frostbitten to warm and comfortable every few seconds as his healing powers kicked in. Though he was cold and naked, he wasn't as cold as Braeden, even wrapped up in her leather jacket and pants and boots. Her finds felt like tiny icicles where they against his chest.

Sensors, he could hear Braeden warning him. Alarms. Trips.

Derek set her down, carefully, under an evergreen, hidden from the street's view. Then he got to work. What had Braeden said about disarming electronic alarms?

He couldn't remember. Something about wires and colors and clips.

Derek frowned. He shifted again and stayed close to the house as he ran through deep snow. When he found a basement window, he dug it up, shifted again, and smashed it open. The sensor that would ding if the window was opened remained, perfectly, in place.

Then he shifted again, squeezed through the hole, and shut off every fuse.

When he brought Braeden in, it was under the threshold of the front door.

Braeden woke up, dizzy and disoriented. She knew she had a head injury immediately – not just from the gauze taped to her forehead, but also from the delusion that she was in a candle-lit living room, covered by a designer quilt on a couch, across from her half-naked boyfriend whose sweat pants were a little too tight and a little too low over his sharp hip bones. Oh, and she was apparently wearing pink satin. Pink. Satin.

"You're up," Derek's voice drifted towards her. He sat on the armchair, staring at her.

"Derek? What are you doing here?" Her voice was raspy and sore. He handed her a glass of water and two aspirin, which she accepted with a nod. "What am I doing here?"

"You crashed. You didn't call," Derek explained with a wave of his fingers. "The house was empty, so we're staying here until morning."

"No," Braeden swung her legs over the edge of the couch. "I have to get back out there. The trail's going to get cold."

"Literally," Derek joked, but Braeden didn't laugh. He held out a hand between them. "It's freezing out there…"

"I'm sure the owners of this house own winter clothes."

"Your bike is buried…"

"I can hotwire a car, Derek."

"Whoever you're chasing," he insisted, "is probably long gone by now."

"All the more reason," Braeden brushed his hand away, "To get a move on."

She moved to stand, and faltered. Maybe the head injury was worse than she thought. She was suddenly grateful for the strong arms holding her up, then holding her close.

"Braeden," he began, his voice gliding over her skin. He was louder than her pounding head, and her thudding heart. His lips grazed her forehead, beside the gauze. "Please stay."

She blinked, and her lashes fluttered against his skin. She sighed and her breath was hot against his skin. "Okay," she said, "But only until I can stand on my own."

"Okay," he agreed. He reached out to touch her head tentatively, and ended up cradling her face in his palm. "Does it hurt?"

"Just a bit," she admitted. "I'll survive."

When Braeden's stomach growled, Derek raided the fridge. There was a gas stove, so the no-electricity thing was not a problem. Derek threw together a bunch of vegetables and rice and leftover chicken into a weirdly delicious fried rice. He even cracked an egg on top and served it with about-to-expire cartons of yogurt and a carton of strawberries for dessert.

They ate by candlelight.

"What am I wearing," Braeden's voice was almost laughing as she lifted a brow in his direction.

He grinned, "I like it."

"You would."

"You could put a shirt on, too, you know." Braeden said pointedly. But she wasn't serious, because her eyes were teasing and her lips were parted, like they tended to be, when she wanted to kiss him.

"Nothing fit me," Derek shrugged, with a bit too much pride. "You could always take yours off."

Braeden flung some rice at him. They laughed and her head throbbed. "Maybe later."

"Promises, promises."

When Braeden shivered, Derek dragged her to the couch and wrapped her up in blankets. He lit more candles. He joined her, and the sat together, watching the snow out of the living room window. He kissed her neck, and she ran her hands up and down his legs. There, tangled up together, in a stranger's home, Derek felt more at peace than he had in weeks.

Derek slept, for almost two hours, with her wrapped up in his arms. Then she got up, and began looking for her clothes. With her body so far from his, Derek's senses went on high alert. He felt cold all over, and his eyes snapped open.

"Where do you think you're going?" Derek said, hating how angry his voice sounded. How controlling.

"I can stand," Braeden said, extending her arms. She turned on the spot for good measure.

"It's still snowing." Derek said, getting up from his place on the couch. He stalked over to her, and grabbed her hand.

"Derek, we agreed." She watched as he linked their fingers together.

"I change my mind." He took her to the kitchen again and sat her down. He pushed two more pills and a glass of water in her direction.

"We can't keep fighting about this." Braeden sounded exhausted.

"We have to," Derek took a deep breath. "Talk about it."

"What's there to talk about? You don't want me to go," she glanced out the kitchen window. It was still dark out. Maybe nearing 3am? "But I have to."

"I just want you to be safe," Derek insisted.

She downed the pills before responding: "There are no guarantees in my line of work."

"Don't be angry," Derek asked quietly, his voice softening. He rubbed his thumb against the side of her face.

Then his eyes dropped to her lips and he leaned, very slowly, towards her. He paused just before reaching her mouth, giving her the opportunity to pull away. She closed the gap instead, gently pressing her lips against his. Her fingers grazed against his stubble, and his traced the outline of her scars. The sweetness of her tongue shifted something inside him.

When he pulled away, he knew there was no turning back. This was it.

Braeden's heart was trembling inside her chest. She wanted to know what he was thinking, but she was scared of what those thoughts might be, and what they might mean – for her, for them.

"My entire family," Derek barely got the words out. When he was forced to relay the story, he usually did so with nonchalance and distance. He had years to build walls upon walls upon walls. But with Braeden, he needed her to know. He needed her to see him. That part of him was scared, would always be scared, that he wouldn't be able to save her, either. "Died, because of me."

"Derek," Braeden began, but he silenced her by grabbed and squeezing her hand. His jaw was tense and his eyes were welling up. He looked away from her and blinked them dry. Then he took a deep breath and met her wide, brown eyes again. They were so soft, so open.

You know I'm not okay with that, she had said, when he thought he was heading to his death.

"You've saved me so many times since we met," Derek said.

"You've saved me, too," Braeden reminded him. She locked their fingers together. There was something tentative here, happening between them. She felt like she was approaching a wounded wolf on high alert, bracing herself for it to run away.

"So I know how strong and clever you are. But not knowing where you're going, or who you're chasing…" He shook his head. "Look, I don't have the best track record with women," he said, suddenly, "I guess, part of me, has been waiting for the other boot to fall."

Braeden swallowed her words. She tried to retract her hand, stung by his admission, but he only held her tighter.

"Derek," she said his name in a huff of breath, as if they had had this conversation a hundred times before, "I can't always tell you those things. You have to trust me. If you can't trust me, even now…"

"What?" Derek's eyes snapped to hers then. There was the wounded wolf. He blinked at her, his eyes sharp as they scanned hers. "Braeden, I trust you. With my life."

"Then what is this about?" Braeden felt her own eyes welling up.

"I don't know how to…" Derek fumbled for words. He grabbed her hands again. He leaned forward, so she could hear his low whisper. "I don't know how to not protect you. I know you think I'm… overbearing, or I don't trust your abilities. But it's not that. I just… I can't lose you. And when you're gone, and you don't call, all I can think of the horrible things that might have happened to you, and I can't, I just can't not do anything."

"Derek," Braeden's voice was softer now. Her eyes flicked up to his. "You're not going to lose me."

"I better not," He pulled her hands to his lips.

She couldn't help her smile. "You're worried about me."

"Yeah," he nodded, brows up and eyes light, like it was obvious.

She shrugged gently. "I've never had anyone worry about me before."

"You're my family, Brae."

"I'm not going to let anything happen to me," she promised. "I wouldn't do that to you, and I wouldn't do that to us."

Then she leaned forward and kissed him.

"It's cute that you think I need protection," she whispered against his mouth.

"Yeah, well, cut me some slack. I've never been with someone who's tougher than me."

Braeden laughed. "And I've never been with a werewolf."

Derek cleared his throat. "You mean, an Alpha."

"Oh, I think I'm the Alpha in this pack," she teased.

Derek didn't disagree.

Braeden hadn't been in love in a long time. Since before Desert Wolf. Since before she knew about werewolves, even. Sure, she had flings and hook ups, and had made some bad decisions in the heat of the moment, right before yet another dangerous mission. But she hadn't been in love.

And the way she was feeling right now, about Derek, and the way he was looking at her, like he couldn't see enough of her; and touching her, like she was something precious, was awfully, dangerously close.

Suddenly, with his warm, open mouth against hers, and his heart pounding under her hands, the mission she was on didn't seem quite as urgent.

It could wait, she thought. Just one more kiss, she promised.

"You're in less of a hurry to leave," Derek noted, very carefully, from his position on the couch. He was sitting behind her, legs on either side of her, as she curled up into his chest. The candles flickered in the dark, but the streetlights revealed snow was still falling outside.

"She's not going to get far," Braeden mumbled into his embrace. But really, she didn't think she could get up now. Not when Derek was so warm, his arms so tight around her, his skin eliciting sparks everywhere it touched hers.

"She, huh?" Derek couldn't help it. "Your clients won't mind? Not missing a deadline?" He felt Braeden tense in his arms. "If you need to go now," his mouth felt suddenly dry, so he licked his lips before continuing: "I can help you."

Braeden considered his words. She turned them over in her mind, then turned her response over, several times, on her tongue, before uttering them. "There is no client."

"What?" Derek tried to shift so he could look her in the face, but she stubbornly refused to move, even an inch.

"There's no client." Braeden said again.

Derek sat up, pulling Braeden up with him. He waited until she met his eyes. "Desert Wolf?"

"No, I'm…" Braeden shook her head slightly. "looking for Kate."

She could practically hear his brow furrow. "But I thought Chris and the Calaveras-"

"My sources tell me they haven't had much luck, and I can't let her get away."

Derek's next words were slow: "So you put off finding the Desert Wolf to find her?"

Braeden's was even slower, held up on each end by a deep breath: "To find her first."

"Why?"

"You know why."

"She's not worth it," Derek said. His low, smooth voice was suddenly tinged with anger. He held her tighter.

"She is if you can get justice for your family," Braeden responded, just as hotly.

"She isn't," Derek said again. His eyes were heated as they held hers. "If I lose you."

"You know," Derek said, later, tugging gently on Braeden's hair. He bit his lip at the sensation of the silk of her borrowed camisole sliding against his skin. "Two wolves don't really make a pack."

Braeden's lips pulled into an odd smile. "I think I'm more alpha than Scott and Liam, too."

"Yeah," Derek said, rubbing his hands up and down her bare arms. "I was kind of referring to another way to make a pack."

Please stay, he had asked.

Okay, but only until I can stand on my own.

So, Derek made it his mission to make sure that was the last thing she could do. And the last thing she would want to do.

He started by pulling that pink top off, and unhooking the lacy black bra underneath. Then he settled her on his lap and took his sweet time tugging on every inch of skin revealed to him. He didn't stop until she had thrown her head back, hips pressing dangerously into his. Then, he made his way to her scars, her sensitive neck, and her delicate ears. When he finally sampled her mouth, she was scrambling to tug his sweat pants off.

Derek smiled into their kisses as he flipped her and removed the pyjama bottoms, along with the black panties. Then he open-mouthed kissed his way up her impossibly long legs as she squirmed happily beneath him.

Even after she had shuddered against him, crying out his name, he didn't stop. He gave her a moment to breath, while he kicked off his sweats. Then he settled himself on top of her and shuddered as her breath, and teeth and nails found his skin. Her hands against his body was like a drug.

This time, he thought about what if he hadn't found her. What if she wasn't in his arms. He was overwhelmed with gratitude, and then with awe, and then with love. And he threw each one of those emotions, in turn, into each one of his kisses, his moans, his thrusts.

I love you, Derek muttered against her neck, Brae, I love you.

Braeden didn't know if he knew he was saying it. She didn't know if she should take him seriously, or believe him, when they were twined up like this. All she knew was that those words, in that voice, while wrapped in those arms, and pinned with his desperate, stroking hips, was the last string tying her to any semblance of a human world.

If her last orgasm had been fireworks, this one was a cresting dawn.

Derek paused as she whimpered against him. Then she was standing on her knees, hands braced on the back of the couch, with him behind her, practically howling into her ear, his fingers leave imprints on her ass, and his tongue becoming familiar with his spine. And then she was underneath him again, controlling each thrust herself, with her legs locked around his waist. Then he flipped them over, with her on top, and they started all over again. And then she wasn't sure where she was, except beside him, moaning between his moans, sweating his sweat, and breathing out his name.

The ratio was his best ever: seven for Brae, and two for him. The recovery time in between was also record-breaking. He was pretty smug, but Braeden was humming with too much pleasure to notice.

"You know that was cheating, right?" Braeden pointed out, her voice dreamy.

"What," she feels his chest lift in a shrug under her head, she hears the grin in his voice: "I was teaching you how to bend."

She whacked him with a pillow.