Stiles woke up with a start. He looked around in his small apartement to ensure that he was actually safe and took a deep breath to calm himself. The nightmares weren't as frequent or as detailed as they used to be, but they could still make his heart race as if it was about to jump out of his chest and choke of his breath until he felt like he was going to die without being able to call for help.
Get fucking over yourself, Stilinski, he thought with a listless smile on his face as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
Next to his bed, the alarm clock bleeped in a fast rhythm. Stiles leaned over and turned it off and sat up on his bed. Tiredly, he rubbed his face, trying to clear his foggy head. He could already hear the soft morning sounds from New York swifting upwards from the already busy streets, while his cat sat impatiently outside his window, meowing loudly. The ring of his cellphone contributed to the noise and filled the small room with a commotion that Stiles was not willing to have before his first cup of coffee.
„Yay yay yay yay yay, I'm up", he bellowed at the world and finally tumbled out of bed. „Alright, I'm up. God!"
After turning on the lights in his one-room flat, he started the coffee machine with one hand and picked up his phone with the other.
„Yes?", he snarled into the mic as he opened the window to let the snow white cat inside. She easily jumped into the room and immediately started to rub herself against his legs, loudly begging for food.
„Hey Stiles, Danny here", came the for this early hour way to cheery voice over the line.
„Hey, sweety."
„I love you, too, Stilinski, but we already declared in High school that you're not my type."
„I was talking to the cat."
„Oh, yeah, I forgot. You still prefer your cat to the real thing."
„At least, the cat comes back."
„You're still pining after that son of a bitch? Forget about him, man, there are a million hot people out there."
He pulled on a pair of rugged jeans, then turned towards the kitchen counter and started to search for a clean mug between all the sad leftovers from several dinners alone.
„I don't want a million", Stiles mumbled, not really interested in discussing his past wrecked relationships with his high school friend slash direct supervisor right now. „Just want one. The perfect one."
„Don't exist, Stilinski."
„Yeah, I know." He let out a sound of disgust, as he checked a cup and found a furry growth of mold inside.
„What?", Danny asked over the phone.
„Just found a picture of you."
„Uhh, how do I look?"
„Like shit!", he answered smugly and hastily threw the cup back into the sink, telling himself once again, that he really needed to take care of the dishes.
„Like the hottest shit", his old friend said unfazed.
Finally, Stiles found a clean bowl and after deciding that it would be good enough to contain his coffee, he poured some of the black liquid into it. He tried to take a sip from the bowl, but he burned his lips before he could even take a sip and he dropped it back onto the counter, it's content spilling over the sides.
„Listen, you gotta bring me your hack for the 6 month overhaul", Danny started in his supervisor voice.
„Negative."
Thinking, he could as well make some breakfast as long as his coffee cooled down, he grabbed a matchbox and turned on the ancient gas stove. He put the box into the back pocket of his faded out jeans and put a pan on the open flame.
„A.S.A.P."
„I don't need one!", Stiles insisted and cracked his egges with more force than intented, some of the shell mixing up with the beginning of his scrambled eggs.
„Hey, you forget I sat next to you a thousand times in that crap you used to call a jeep. I know how you drive."
„Danny, I'm a taxi driver for over a year now, I know how to drive!", he sighed.
„Last week, you ran over a bike courier."
„Hey, he ran into me!" Actually, Stiles had barely grazed that biker and it wasn't his fault at all, those suicidal maniacs where always coming out of nowhere. It was only a matter of time before one landed on his hood.
„You know what, you need to learn how to lie better", Danny deadpanned. „See you tonight!"
Stiles hung up and finally started to concentrade on his cookings, before everything started to burn.
When he was full from bacon and eggs, a meal that he would never have cooked back when he still lived with his from a heart condition suffering father, he threw the dishes onto the last free space on the kitchen counter and got dressed properly.
On the radio, the disc jockey was babbling on about some contest sponsored by some brand of cereals. Stiles snorted at the grand prize, which were holidays in California. He never understood peoples obsession with the golden state. He grew up in California and it wasn''t always sunshine and rainbows. It had it's rainy days, just like every other state, but most of all it had it's incredibly hot, close to apocolyptic scenery days that Stiles could easily live without.
Dressed in old jeans, a dirty t-shirt and hoodie, he turned off the radio and left his flat. He skipped down the stairs and stepped outside into the warm sun. This was what Stiles liked the most about New York. The temperatures may climb high during the summer season, but no matter how stuffy it became between the cities large buildings, the weather never turned into the hell-like heat, that could melt his sensitive pale skin right off of his bones and turn him into a revival of the thrilling final of Raiders of the Lost Ark.
He turned towards the direction in which he had parked his taxi just one block away, when suddenly a man jumped out of the shadows between the brick walls and blocked his way. The first thing Stiles noticed was the gun pointed at his face, before the guy behind it started to talk.
„Gimme your cash", the foul-smelling man said with a maniac smile through gritted teeth.
Stiles took in his dirty clothes and anxious appereance. The man licked his lip in a nervous manner and his hands kept shaking, no matter how much he tried to will them not to, while one of his bloodshot eyes twitched frantically.
He must be a drug addict, desperately trying to get hold of some money to buy his next shot, Stiles seduced within seconds. His dad would be proud of him for being off duty for two years and still remembering all the knacks. No matter how much time went by, he was just like his father, once a cop, always a cop. Only that he probably wouldn't be proud at all right now, he would probably tell him, that he warned him this would happen, that he always knew that New York was a dangerous place full of murderers and thieves and that if Stiles wanted to get a break from all those violent crimes, he should not move to New York. At least, that's what he said when Stiles bid his goodbyes.
„You've been here long?", Stiles asked calmly with another look at the gun dangerously trembling in the muggers hands.
„Yeah, long enough, now gimme the cash!"
„Is that a Smith and Wesson? What, did you kill a cop to get that or is the NYPD even more corrupt than they let on? That's the 5906, right?"
„Yeah! Yeah!", the guy stuttered.
„The safety catch is still on."
The man laughed nervously as he looked down at his weapon. „What do you mean 'the safety catch is still on'?"
„You have to release the safety catch before you can shoot anyone."
He let out another laugh, as if this all was just one big joke they both were in on, and started to tremble even more. One of his hands frantically stroke over the glossy steel, as he lowered the gun and tried to find the switch.
„Take your time." Pointing one finger towards the weapon, Stiles tried to guide him. „You want me to-" In a blink of an eye, the barrel was back pointing at his face. He slowly pulled back his hands. „Okay, okay."
The guy looked again at his gun and finally found the safety catch.
„There you go", Stiles commended and they maniac grin came back to the muggers face.
„Gimme the cash!"
Rushing forward, Stiles grabbed the man's arms and pushing them to the right, turning the gunpoint away from the open space towards the building. In a swift motion, he stepped to the left and brought his foot behind his attackers leg, forcing the man to get down to his knees, and snatched the gun out of the drug addicts grasp. He weighed it shortly in his hands, instantly remembering the feeling of holding his own police weapon, before he whipped the grip against the mugger's temple. The guy crumpled down onto the dirty pavement.
Straightening his clothes, Stiles looked up and down the street, but couldn't see any witnesses. Typical for New York, he thought. And even if there had been anyone, they probably had turned instantly around and taken another route to not get into any trouble. For a moment, he contemplated calling the police, but then remembered the hours of waiting he would have to spend at the station. Making his mind up, he put the safety of the weapon back on and put it into the waistband of his jeans, his baggy hoddie hiding it easily. He would have to get rid of it later. Stiles took one more pitying look at the drug addict, who knelt babbling with his hands over his head on the concrete, then continued his walk to his taxi.