Okay, a couple of notes. This piece isn't very detail specific, nor is it particularly refined. I've had some problems with writers block lately and I just started a Creative Writing course at University so I don't have a lot of time. But this did help me push through some of the block that's been keeping me from getting on with the final chapter of Something I need, so hopefully I can get that sorted and finished for you in the next couple of weeks. The wedding scene was added in at the last minute because I'm addicted to Thinking Out Loud by Ed Sheeran at the moment and it just sort of came to me. This whole thing gets a little angsty in places, but its not too bad, and there's a happy ending, sort of. Let me know what you think, and, as always, enjoy.
Deexxx
"When your legs don't work like they used to before; and I can't sweep you off of your feet, will your mouth still remember the taste of my love? Will your eyes still smile from your cheeks? And, darling, I will be loving you, 'til we're 70. And, baby, my heart could still as hard at 23. And I'm thinking 'bout how people fall in love in mysterious ways. Maybe just the touch of a hand, well, me—I fall in love with you every single day, and I just wanna tell you I am. So honey now, take me into your loving arms, kiss me under the light of a thousand stars. Place your head on my beating heart. I'm thinking out loud, that maybe we found love right where we are"
It takes Derek less than a minute to join Stiles outside for a cigarette, and he silently hands him one with a quiet, solemn sigh.
Stiles lives on the top floor, which makes it easier for him to get outside for a fag at three in the morning, as that's what his body usually wakes him up for. Stiles is used to having his coffee alone, taking longer than necessary satisfying his craving because he likes watching the car lights a couple of miles away in the main strip of town and the cats scrapping around the dustbins about fifty meters below him and the noisy silence of the night. Its different today however, as Derek is in town for the week – he only ever turns up when the coffee company he runs in New York can function without him, and for some reason that's always been unfathomable to Stiles, Beacon Hills is the dude's break.
Of course, Derek would pick the most awkward week of the year to come back home, the one week when it's probably the worst time for them to be seeing each other, considering their track record. It's been three years since they were last officially together as a unit, but this week is still the one where they don't have any contact whatsoever.
Well, normally, but like Stiles says, Derek is an awkward asshole sometimes. He couldn't have just gone to fuckin Majorca or the Maldives for his week off, somewhere sunny that didn't mean he had to stay with Stiles in his loft. There are very little quality hotels in town, and the one motel on the way in was absolute bullshit in terms of conditions, and Derek hasn't owned a property here since he packed up and left. So, naturally, whenever he's in town, it's an unspoken agreement that he stays in his own room at Stiles' place, free of charge. As long as he buys the food.
"Sorry if I woke you," Stiles mutters a little groggily as he inhales the fumes of his own cigarette and hands Derek a lighter so he can smoke his.
"I was awake anyway," Derek replies in his tired voice. Bullshit, Stiles knows Derek sleeps through the night now – it's just that he's still a light sleeper, he's always been like that. Stiles remembers rolling over in bed countless times to watch Derek stare at the ceiling because a crow was being obnoxiously loud outside, or the radiators had come on and simply plucked him easily from his dreams.
Stiles' sleeping pattern is more fucked up now than it's ever been – he's plagued at least half the time with nightmares of screaming teenagers and flying shrapnel. Sometimes he wakes up sweating cold buckets to the blurry left over image of the blood covering his hands and the soft whimpering of a dying Scott on the floor in front of him. Four years have passed since the nogitsune had taken a ride in Stiles' meat suit, four years since they'd expelled it by actually stopping Stiles' heart for a few hours.
The combined trauma of helplessly watching your own hands hurt the people you love against your will, and the mark of your own temporary death on your soul, doesn't leave much room for full recovery. But if Stiles is anything, he's fuckin strong as hell (okay maybe not the most suitable terminology, but whatever, he's resilient). So he's working on it in his own way, and really when he thinks about it, he's like any other person with issues – he has good days and bad days, and he sorts through it all as best he can.
In the end, it had been Derek that had come up with the idea of having Deaton gather the most reliable concoction of regenerative herbs and potions that he could on a short time scale, and they'd managed to trap both Stiles and the nogitsune in this special symbol circle thing, and chained him to the ground. Derek had, for better lack of the phrase, ripped his throat out… with his teeth.
Stiles remembers that moment more clearly than any of the other stuff, the nogitsune's final seconds inside his body, how his own consciousness had been able to gain a foothold at the last minute so that, thank fuckin god, he could die his own person. He remembers the look of absolute agony in Derek's eyes as the guy had tried to hold him upright on his knees, the intense apology lingering on a tongue that had simply been too numb to speak it, and he remembers the realisation that Derek Hale actually gave a shit about him, and that he cared about him in return, that he would actually be really fuckin sad to leave the dude behind to deal with this bullshit mess they'd gotten themselves into again. He remembers what that look had meant, what it had been saying 'I'm so sorry, I'm sorry and it hurts'
After that, Stiles remembers a whole lot of PTSD. He remembers waking up alive – what a stupid sentence. Its accurate though, he woke up alive and in Scott's trembling arms and he actually remembers Scott grabbing his face and kissing him hard on the lips and on the forehead and literally everywhere else on his face, before being crushed against his body.
He remembers almost laughing maniacally from the intense euphoria that coming back to life had given him, he remembers clutching Scott back with equal fervour, and feeling the entire pack laughing and sobbing messily around them as all of them sort of ended up group hugging on the floor in the middle of an abandoned fuckin warehouse – Allison, Ethan, Isaac, Lydia, Derek, and for some really confusing reason, Danny.
He remembers intensive therapy, he remembers falling asleep in his father's arms dosed with sedatives like he was five years old again, he remembers randomly breaking into uncontrollable tears half way through the day in really awkward places, he remembers having to count his fingers every five minutes for at least six months before he actually started eating properly again, he remembers panic attacks and random burst of fury and anger.
And then he remembers falling in love. He remembers falling love with Derek Hale like it was yesterday. He remembers silent coffee shop dates and weird early morning running in the preserve because Stiles was really out of shape after so much therapy. He remembers trips to the movies and awkward friendship bonding and strange conversations where Derek had actually been the one giving Stiles advice. And he remembers irritated, passionate kissing, he remembers real dates to real restaurants and he remembers movie nights and pizza nights and then really, really ridiculously hot sex almost every night for weeks on end before they really started getting used to each other's bodies. He remembers sleeping over each other's houses and Derek picking him up from school to go on hikes that lasted hours, and he remembers how fantastic it had all felt, and how horribly he didn't deserve it.
He also remembers his fear, his doubt, his own self-hatred. He remembers shutting himself off, he remembers yelling and throwing things and crying. He remembers long, drawn out silences and he remembers suitcases being packed and zipped up and doors slamming and the zoom of a car starting up and driving away in rage. He remembers unimaginable pain, a loss in his chest that ached more than when fuckin Arthur had died on that last episode the BBC had aired on Christmas day.
And then he remembers quiet, and thoughts and dark stuff. He remembers vegetating and watching a shit load of Orange is the new black on Netflix. He remembers Scott sitting and playing the lord of the rings lego ps3 game – fuckin evil by the way – eating all his food and yabbering away. He remembers feeling slightly better. He remembers actually going outside again, getting a job, moving out of his father's house and living in his own apartment with a nifty fire escape where he could smoke at three o'clock in the morning in just his jeans and watch other insomniacs driving around town, trying to clear their heads.
"I'm… not an asshole for turning up like this, am I?" Derek asks, managing as usual to be both stoic and hesitant at the same time as he leans back against the brick wall. Stiles turns his head sideways a little and gives him a lazy half-smile, shrugging and rolling his eyes up to the sky for a split second, flicking the ash from the fag in a random direction.
"Probably. It's not a new thing though Der," he replies "you've always been a bit of an asshole"
Derek scoffs at that, tipping his head back and taking a long toke, closing his eyes at that unexplainable moment's relief that nicotine allowed, before he breathed it out through his nose and put his hand in the pocket of his jeans.
"Is it okay if I say something though? Because we still have an unhealthy relationship and we probably always will because we're cowards?" Stiles says pensively, keeping his eyes set straight ahead of him. Derek lets out another heavy sigh and nods. There's a long few moments of silence before Stiles says what he wants to say, and very little changes in the atmosphere when he does, because the horrible peaceful pull between them was already there anyway.
"I don't do valentines day," Stiles starts, his voice still exhausted, resigned and quiet as he continues to smoke between pauses "I hate it, its consumerist bullshit and I think that's a little bit of your grumpiness that's rubbed off on me over the years, but I do, I fuckin hate it man. But you're here. Its valentines day," he sighs "and you're here. So yes, you're an asshole for turning up on valentines day weekend, but its not like we help ourselves much because we still spend a hell of a lot of time together despite the fact that we haven't been together in two years and you live two thousand fuckin miles away. It's not like we give ourselves any closure, we don't even try to move on romantically because – well, here's what I want to say," Stiles tries, his voice still on the same level and tone that it's been since they started speaking out here "I want to say that we don't move on because we're stuck. Well, I am anyway. And I'm stuck because regardless of how far away you are or how much I try to get back to square one when I hated you and wanted to kill you, I'm hopelessly, embarrassingly in love with you and I probably always will be"
Stiles doesn't even shift his position when he finishes; he just stays there and waits for Derek to process it, because whilst Derek is intelligent, he can be extremely emotionally stupid sometimes, and Stiles knows he isn't very good with words. So Stiles smokes some more, and even lights another when he's done with the first one, continuing to drink the cold coffee he rests on the balcony wall that is about waist height and bricklaid just like every other wall in the damn building.
They must be stood in silence for around fifteen minutes before Derek draws in a deep, subdued breath and brings his free hand up to scratch at the back of his messy bed hair, bowing his head and sucking one last time on his cigarette.
"Stiles," Derek says very seriously "I don't think you have any idea what you are to me, do you?" he speaks clearly, but still in a low tone. Stiles understands that it's a rhetorical question and waits for him to carry on talking "you're my best friend," he goes on "if I have a problem, I text you. If there's something I need, my first instinct is to dial your fucking number because I'm hopeless and I know your damn number off the top of my head," he curses slightly, and Stiles can't help smirking to himself – okay, Derek has always been an asshole, but he's always been a big sap at the same time "I've never had a healthy relationship, it's like I attract the things that are just going to cause me pain in the long run. Until about three years ago, I just thought the subheading to my life was 'Derek can't have nice things'. I'd given up on even trying to become comfortable with anything, because none of it fucking lasted. We didn't even last. But also, we have lasted, in a way. I probably – I probably shouldn't have come back this weekend," Derek stops talking abruptly, and Stiles knows he's scared.
Derek hates talking about his feelings, he thinks words are stupid and shouldn't be essential. But he doesn't have to talk much more. Stiles knows. He knows it all, the both of them do. But its… kind of nice. It's nice that it's been established that there's still something between them. It's nice because Stiles doesn't feel paranoid that the whole lingering feelings thing is one sided anymore; he knows for a fact that Derek still loves him and vice versa. They probably still won't do anything about it, because as much as being apart hurts, being together again is terrifying.
"But I do," Derek mutters sulkily a few minutes later when Stiles finishes his second cigarette, his breath visible in the night air. Derek's hand catches Stiles' elbow as he moves to go back inside, and he catches his eyes "I do still love you," those last five words are what changes it for Stiles, because coming from Derek, they're somehow much more choking, and they sting in his eyes and make them water a little. When he remembers to breathe, it's shaky and hitched and he has to swallow the lump in his throat. He purses his lips and tries to blink away the tears.
"I know sourwolf," he whispers, resigned again, leaning forward slightly and pressing a kiss between Derek's ridiculous eyebrows "I know" his lips linger there for a moment longer than they should and he can feel Derek closing his eyes and holding his breath "happy valentines day"
He doesn't say anything when Derek comes back inside an hour later and slides into bed behind him; he can't form words anyway, his mind goes blank with the momentary wave of how much he's really fucking missed those strong arms wrapping around his waist and pulling him against his chest. He simply closes his eyes and tries to memorise every part of it, because Derek is scheduled to go home tomorrow, and everything will have to go back to normal.
A year later on valentines day, he's alone again. Derek actually called him the day before and assured him that the three of the shops on the manhattan branch that he was having problems with couldn't be left, and that he wouldn't be coming back to Beacon Hills this year.
Its okay, Stiles thinks - overall, its okay. Nothing's changed really. Derek... he has these stretches of time where he doesn't communicate with Stiles at all. That's okay too, mostly. Stiles just figures that it all gets too much for the guy sometimes, being so close with someone you were supposed to hate or at least be over by now. But he isn't going to deny that he pines like a helpless puppy every time Derek drops off the radar without a seconds warning. He isn't going to deny that he still checks his phone every day for a new text or email from his ex-boyfriend.
So he smokes by himself, just like every night. When he drives to work at the newsagents in town at seven am and people start filing in to buy cards and heart shaped chocolates, he thinks the funk will hit him then, but for now, its... wow, he really needs to find a new word for 'okay'.
One of the juvy spit outs from downtown staggers into the block parking lot after Stiles has been chain smoking for an hour and trips over the dustbin, falls over onto his ass, and simply lies down to sleep. Stiles bends over further to make sure the kid is still breathing every now and again, but after twenty minutes, he forgets he's even there and gets lost in the feel of the February cold on the skin of his face and the brisk smell of the beginnings of spring in the air.
He jumps out of his skin and flails violently when his phone rings in the pocket of his jeans hung loose on his bare hips, and immediately fumbles to get it out. When he does, he swallows a gulp of anxiety at Derek's caller id on his screen. He presses the answer button nonetheless, pressing the phone to his ear.
"You should be asleep," Stiles smiles despite himself, bowing his head a little and leaning his elbows on the waist height wall in front of him, watching a stray kitty start picking at a ribbed garbage bag near the landlord's battered range rover.
"So should you," Derek's voice drawls down the phone - it's not tired, which means he's up early to open one of the baristas, what with it being around 6am New Yorker time. Stiles rolls his eyes and shakes his head.
"You know I'm up for my 3am cig," he replies matter-of-factly "you wouldn't have called otherwise"
"Shut up," Derek sighs, and Stiles chuckles a little, but obliges, guessing Derek has something he wants to say, considering the time and day and the fact that he's been off the map for about five days now and Stiles hasn't talked to him on the phone in two weeks.
"Alright, spit it out sourpuss," Stiles allows "I don't suppose I'm actually gonna get an explanation as to why you've been ignoring me for once?"
"I don't ignore you," Derek fails to defend himself quietly "I... procrastinate. Anyway, that's not my point. I called because I'm a helpless asshole and after last year I felt bad not talking on valentines day," he admits, which is weird because its rare that Derek ever admits anything out loud.
"I would tell you that I have a very hot guy in my bed waiting for me, but it would be a very mean, blatant lie. And also, I'm pretty sure its a fluke that I ever managed to get someone like you to sleep with me anyway, so not only would it be a mean lie because of your weird territorial bullshit, it wouldn't be a believable one" Stiles babbles slightly, unable to stop himself properly once he gets going. He does hear a mini growl when he first starts talking, but it disintegrates into a small breathy laugh when he finally shuts up and does as he's told.
"I've already been over this with you, you complete loser. It was not a fluke, I am perfectly within your league-"
"Buuuullshiiiiit," Stiles sings, interrupting him "I call bullshit," he repeats, and Derek sighs, but its his exasperated sigh which means he's not annoyed with Stiles' blatant attempts at putting off the inevitable conversation that Derek has called to have.
"Whatever, we've had this conversation millions of times, neither of us win. Anyway," Derek directs pointedly, causing Stiles to grimace "I want you to come to New York next week, I can pay for the tickets if you can't manage it, I just need you around for a little while," he says, and its too comfortable for Derek, which means that he's forcing himself to sit still on the other end of the line, and has probably already had three cappuccinos before opening.
Stiles frowns, a little confused.
"Why? You normally do okay without me"
"I don't do okay without you Stiles," Derek says blandly "I get by without you, there's a difference. Either way, I want you around next week because Cora is going to Portugal for nine days and its that time of the year again and-"
"Fuck, I forgot," Stiles curses, his mild confusion dissipating as he realises the motivations behind Derek's invitation "sorry. God, I'm a terrible friend. Okay, it's all good, I can pay for my own tickets, I'll book them for Monday, alright?" Stiles immediately decides, mentally clearing his schedule for the next nine/ten days and making a note to call Cora to make sure she's doing okay too. He hears Derek let out a breath on the other side of the phone, and he wets his chapped lips, closing his eyes. If there's one thing that really gets nogitsune level furious, its Kate fuckin Argent and the fact that after ten years, Derek still can't deal with this time of year by himself.
"Thanks," Derek says curtly, a hint of awkwardness in his tone.
"You know its no problem," Stiles nods to himself "but you didn't just call to talk about that, so get on with it," he pushes, mainly because he's irritable now the fire has been mentioned, but mostly he's angry at the universe for fucking so horribly with someone as secretly compassionate and beautiful as Derek Hale.
"You're an intuitive asshole when you're pissed off-"
"Der, talk," Stiles demands shortly, although he's not really that angry, he just doesn't like it when people are disgustingly bad towards Derek.
"Right, fine. I've basically been a useless butt since last valentines day and it's just getting worse because of what we talked about, so I want you to know that if you want to at least... just - just try to be together again… that would be really great"
There's some of their famous silence again for a little while, in which Stiles has to count his fingers a few times to calm himself down, and remember that this could be the first potentially good thing that's been suggested to him in about a year and a half, the last thing being Scott proposing to Kira, and that it isn't going to be the end of him.
Well, okay, it could probably be the end of him, like an actual proper real end this time – and he probably wouldn't survive it. But… christ its valentines day, and its three in the morning, and the kid sleeping on the curb isn't moving at all so he probably needs to call an ambulance soon, and Derek wants to be together again. After all their ginormous fuck ups and the terrible way they've handled things and how much they love each other, emotionally constipated, socially introverted Derek Hale wants to try again. How the fuck can he bring himself to say no to that?
"Dude," Stiles croaks a moment later, trying to properly process it because two tears spill over and roll down his face, almost hot on his skin against the small chill in the night air "of course," he replies in a slightly broken voice as if his answer is the most obvious thing in the world. He sniffs and wipes the tears away feebly with the back of his hand, cigarette still burning in his left hand. He sighs, flicks it in the ashtray he's invested in, and lets out a soft laugh "we're really messy aren't we?" he adds, smiling again when he hears Derek's returning laugh on the other side of the line.
"Its not like it's a new thing," Derek says, his voice also a little croaky, and Stiles represses the urge to tease him because he's crying too.
"No, it's not. But you just dropped that bombshell on me because that is a total habit of yours, so I'm gonna have to go back inside and book the earliest flight over that I can find, this conversation cannot be fully had over the fuckin phone and it can't wait till Monday, so yeah, I'm gonna be there tomorrow and you better have something to say about all of this otherwise I'm gonna awkwardly stand there until one of us caves and we end up fucking against a wall or something"
"That's actually happened more than once," Derek remarks. Haha. Funny guy. Derek is being funny now.
"Yes I know," Stiles retorts "I was there"
"Yeah you were," Derek says and the bastard is totally grinning over in New York, and Stiles nibbles on his bottom lip and struggles not to imitate the action.
"Shut up and go to work you great big sourwolf," he tuts.
"I'll see you when you get here," Derek speaks and there's more laughter in his voice that makes Stiles realise how drained he is, but also how he wants to squeal and run around his apartment and jump on the furniture and call Scott to squeal some more, and then he wants to call Allison in France and tell her how fuckin stupidly happy he is and how it's embarrassing and it hurts at the same time. And he wants to go for coffee with Lydia so she can fangirl over his new tattoo and tell him how spectacularly gay he is with a knowing grin.
He sort of remembers, when Derek hangs up, that its three in the morning and all his friends will kill him if he wakes them up right now. He texts Allison on the off chance that she sees her phone whilst she's laid out on a beach somewhere, but when he flops down on the sofa, the sudden emotional exhaustion overrules his need to celebrate, and his eyes flutter shut.
He wakes up with his arms out in awkward positions, his butt randomly in the air, face pressed against the interior, and also the screen of his mobile, which is vibrating violently against his cheekbone.
He groans and, not really being in touch with his loose limbs, rolls over when he'd meant to sit up, ending up on the floor with his eyes squinting against the sun streaming through the old windows covering the majority of the breast wall of the fire escape. He finally manages to pull himself into a sitting position, and answers his cell, smacking his tongue against the roof of his mouth and grimacing at the horrible taste left there.
"Whoever you are, I hate you," he grunts, pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead and rubbing firmly, massaging out the small tenseness behind his eye sockets.
"Good morning lover boy," Allison's soft, annoyingly awake voice teases down the line, and for a moment, he's confused, but then he remembers why he's been snapped out of his dreams to find himself on the sofa.
"Ali!" he exclaims, jumping and flailing as he sits up on his knees and clutches the phone to his ear with renewed enthusiasm.
"Stiles!" she repeats in the same tone "so you're back together with the idiot you've been in love with for five years, that's great," she speaks and despite her cynical, mocking voice, he can tell she's grinning on the other side of the line "too bad the nut job slaughtered my mother"
Stiles tuts, rolling his eyes as he calms down slightly, trying to ignore the buzzing in his veins and the overabundance of energy itching at his skin due to the lack of his morning dose of Adderall.
"You're still milking that?"
"No," she replies honestly, revoking her teasing voice "I'm happy for you Stiles," she continued "I'm also happy for me; Scott owes me twenty dollars"
It's been a long day. Derek doesn't think he's cried this much in public since he was five years old. So when there's a quiet called amongst the chatter and he feels a hand on the small of his back, he feels the lump that's been caught in his throat since he said 'I do' at eleven o'clock that morning and he feels a smile breaking out on his lips despite the small spike of anxiety in his gut.
The dance floor, which they've been using mostly for socialising and circulating for the past few hours, clears so that its just them. Stiles grins at him and winks, taking his left hand, the other settling more against his spine as they draw in closer together. Over the years, their height difference has cleared up and now they're both around 6ft 1, which makes it a lot easier to dance like this. Derek feels incredibly uncomfortable and he can't help his breath hitching when Stiles tucks his shoulder under his chin and whispers for him to relax.
The music starts and its like this wave of emotion immediately overtakes him, a haze gradually surrounding them under the lights attached to the ceiling. It had taken them a while to choose what their song would be, but eventually, after being recommended this by Erica, they'd sort of looked at each other, and known that this was it.
They swayed softly to the gentle tempo and jesus fucking christ Derek seriously can't believe that he's doing this. That he's dancing to Ed Sheeran at his wedding with the love of his life in his arms, their faces buried in each other's shoulders. When he glances up now and again through the lazy heat that's surrounding them, he can see Erica and Isaac grinning at him with such overwhelming pride, Boyd stood between them, shooting him a gentle smile and a soft nod. And he thinks, as they start to move more in time with the music, the warmth of Stiles' body against him, breathing him in, this is the happiest day of his whole life. Like, it's unbelievable and impossible how happy he is in this moment.
"When your legs don't work like they used to before," Stiles sings quietly and Derek smiles, nuzzling his neck as they move "and I can't sweep you off of your feet. Will your mouth still remember the taste of my love, will your eyes still smile from your cheeks?"
"And, darling, I will be loving you 'til we're 70, and, baby, my heart could still fall as hard at 23. And I'm thinking 'bout how people fall in love in mysterious ways, maybe just the touch of a hand. Tell, me—I fall in love with you every single day, and I just wanna tell you I am," Derek continues for him. It's so quiet so that only they can hear each other, but it's like there's this ridiculous drug in his system that both relaxes and intoxicates him at the same time. It's heavy and soft and beautiful and he can't remember a time when he's been so content.
As a few other people file onto the dance floor as it hits the chorus, Derek looks over at Allison where she has her head resting on Scott's shoulder. Her eyes are glittering with peace and as she meets his, acceptance and respect. Its taken them a while to get to this point, to build up a shaky comradery. But he realises as she too winks at him, that he actually kind of loves her. She's part of the pack, and therefore a part of every single one of them.
Isaac is dancing with his boyfriend at the other side of the floor, doing this stupid goofy twirl thing every couple of beats and laughing. Boyd is dancing with Erica, who is leading them with a ridiculous grin on her face.
"I love you so much," Stiles breathes against him and Derek blinks through fresh tears welling in his eyes.
"I love you too," he replies quietly. And with everything that he is, he swears it's the most profound truth that he's ever known.
"Daddy?" Ula comes toeing barefoot into the kitchen whilst Derek is typing up some data for the company. It's his weekend off, but he has a shit load of work to do, and his daughter has been doing her own thing all morning anyway, so it's not a big deal really.
"Yeah?" he smiles, looking up from his computer and reaching up to rub his itchy eyes behind his glasses.
"Where's paps?" she replies, shifting from foot to foot, hands out in front of her, fiddling with her own fingers. He frowns, sitting back a little to give her his full attention, looking her up and down for other signs of the unusual.
"He's out grocery shopping, why?"
"He watches a movie with me on – on Saturday at lunch time," she says, nibbling her bottom lip and staring at the ground, tripping over her words again – she doesn't speak very often, but when she does, she struggles to get her words out fast enough to follow her brain, hence the fact that she occasionally repeats some of them. She's obviously been painting again, because she has dried blue smudges on the tips of her small, soft fingers, and there's a hand print on her forehead where she's obviously pushed her messy mass of dark black curls away from her little heart shaped face. Not to mention that there's paint all over her favourite green dress again.
"Ula," Derek sighs, pushing away the hurt panging in his chest at the mention of her schedule with her other dad, and disapprovingly looking her over once more, leaning forward and tucking a curl behind her ear "what have we told you about this? You're supposed to wear your ripped jeans and old nemo t-shirt when you're painting," he huffs, standing from his kitchen island stool and lifting her easily so she's sat up on it, her grazed knees dangling gently over the side. Gently, he takes a hairband from around his wrist and ties her ridiculous hair back, tutting at her but booping the tip of her button nose with his finger before he goes to the sink and wets a tea towel, lathering it with soap.
He gets the paint off of her face in no time, pulling the dress up over her head and going to the washing machine on the other side of the giant kitchen, putting in some powder and liquid, pressing a few buttons and setting it to pressure wash so that her dress won't be ruined and so that Stiles doesn't give him that look like he should have been watching her, the look that makes him want to bash his head against a solid surface to knock himself out so that he doesn't have to feel so shitty.
"Daddy?" Ula's small voice comes from behind him as he presses the start button, and he stands up again, turning with a small smile.
"Yes love?"
"Why do you have to work all – all the time?" she asks, fixing him with her big, innocent brown eyes that shine almost golden with the morning sun streaming through the big windows on the breast wall behind them. For a moment, his world shifts on his axis and its like someone has stabbed him in the chest and left the knife in so that the skin around it is trying and trying to heal, but it can't. A harsh lump gathers in his throat and tears sting sharply in his eyes. He swallows, straightens up as a defence mechanism, and looks right back at her.
"Ula," he says "you know why. I have to make lots of money so that we can keep the house and afford all the nice things for you. Papa works too remember? He sells his art-"
"Yeah," she interrupts, her little mouth puckering, her diminutive brow furrowing "but he lets me help, and he's at home all – all the time and he lets me play with his paints and special worky things and he watches frozen with me on Saturday m-mornings-"
"I know!" Derek snaps and regrets it immediately when she flinches violently and gasps, her miniscule hands clapping over her lips and her eyes, so incredulously like Stiles', fill with tears "I know," he breaths a moment later, taking a step towards her. She instinctively moves back slightly, but he takes her hands away from her mouth gently and soothingly cups her face, his heart pounding horribly beneath his ribs. Oh god he couldn't stand snapping at her.
"Ula," he says softly, pulling the bar stool up so he's sat in front of her on her level, taking her hands again and drawing her attention to his face once more as she hiccups and sniffs, her lips pursed in an attempt not to burst into tears "you know that daddy loves you and papa very, very much, don't you?"
"Y-yes," she lets out a tiny sob, gulping heavily "papa says that you just gets caught up in your numbers sometimes"
Oh fuck that hurts. She's asked Stiles why Derek isn't around very much, then. She's asked about it before and it hurts that she doesn't feel like she can ask him without being told off. Its natural, he knows, that she wonders why her father can't be at home as much as her other one can. He knows its only curiosity. But what hurts more is that Stiles has come up with a response – Stiles has sat and thought about why Derek is never around, and he's had to come up with a way to tell their daughter about it without making him sound like an awful person.
"Papa's right sweetheart," Derek says, nodding, tears still biting at his hazel green eyes as he looks at her. Sometimes she resembles Talia so much that he loses his breath just glancing at her. Sometimes she looks like Stiles; she has more of him in her than she does Derek anyway. But then, sometimes, and now is one of those, she looks the spitting image of Laura, and it kills him slightly "daddy does get caught up in his numbers. I just want you to be happy and safe baby," he says, tutting and blinking away the wetness, reaching out and pulling her into his lap, gathering her against his chest.
"B-but we misses you," she snivels slightly against his shoulder when she buries her face against it, rubbing her cheek along his collar bone, scent marking him for comfort "you make us happy when you're here for us to cuddle and play with," she says, whimpering in little breaths of tufty air that she can't quite pull in properly.
"I miss you too princess," he replies, the breath catching in his throat "I wish I could be at home more, I really do. I love hanging out with you guys. But I have to work otherwise our company will be broken and we won't have any money to pay the bills anymore"
For a moment, his heart stops in his chest as he hears the front door open and close and keys being placed on the coffee table, but Stiles' scent wafting through the house automatically comforts him and he braces himself for the appearance of his other half. Stiles pauses in the doorway, one eyebrow raised when he sees Derek sat away from the laptop with their blubbering child in his arms, meeting Derek's eyes, silently asking about what's wrong.
"Ula," Derek breathes for the third time that morning "I tell you what," he says quietly, pulling his head back slightly so he can look at her reddened face "how about daddy stops work all together today?" he suggests, finally deciding that there's no way he's going to keep putting it ahead of his daughter if she's this upset.
"Really?" her eyes light up straight away and realisation dawns on Stiles' face as it settles into an expression of understanding, and then bitter contempt as he steps into the room properly and places the groceries on the island beside them.
"Really," Derek replies with the biggest grin he can muster, pressing a kiss between her eyebrows and revelling in the way her tiny face screws up at the action, her fingers playfully pushing his face away from her.
"Look at you, mucky pup," Stiles tuts, a big fake smile plastering over his mouth for the sake of their daughter as he takes her from Derek's arms, hoisting her comfortably on his hip and booping her nose in the same way that Derek had earlier "have you been a little minx again, getting into my paints?" he teases, her tears disappearing as she tries not to smile guiltily "I can't leave you two trouble makers alone for more than an hour, can I?" he continues, tickling her stomach and smiling more truthfully when she lets out a loud giggle and squirms against him.
"Her dress is in the washing machine," Derek informs and Stiles simply nods curtly at him, putting Ula back down on her little bare feet and crouching in front of her.
"Hey mucky pup, why don't you go and change into your sweatpants and pick a film whilst I sort all this out and make us lunch, hmm?" he advocates, and she nods once, the smile back on place on her beautiful face, right where it should be.
The moment she runs off down the hall, making for the stairs, Stiles turns abruptly to Derek, glaring at him.
"What are you doing?" he demands "you can't make empty promises to her like that. One time isn't enough Der," he snaps, despite keeping his voice at a level low enough so that Ula won't be able to hear him. That is one thing they're doing right; they manage to keep their voices down when they fight so that she never has any idea that they're pretty much at loggerheads. It's sort of a second nature really – Derek and Stiles just argue, that's one of their trademarks. They have always been passionate, they never just stopped getting angry at each other because they were in a relationship. It was just that lately, Derek is lousy as fuck. He's a lousy husband, a lousy father, and a lousy friend. Just about the only thing he's good at of late is work.
"It's not an empty promise," Derek insists, shaking his head "I swear. I – fuck, I know, alright?" he half-growls "I know that I've been shitty this past year. I know she probably thinks that I don't love her or something, and it probably doesn't seem like I love you either-"
"Derek you fucking dumbass," Stiles interrupts him, shaking his head incredulously, anger buzzing in his stance as he steps closer "that's not what this is about. I know that you love that little girl more than anything in the universe," he says harshly, his syllables pointed and clear "I know that you love me just as much, regardless of how much we seem to yell at each other all the fucking time now. That is the problem," he says, closer now still, gesturing with his hands in the way that he always does when he's pissed off "you love us, but you just don't seem to hold to it. I get it," he says, his voice getting louder now than it has been in a long time "I get that you work a lot to keep us above water. But this is a shared household Derek. There are three of us living here; not me, Ula and our fucking sourpuss lodger – why are you looking at me like that?" Stiles suddenly deadpans, hands on his hips now, panting slightly with pent up anger.
Derek simply sits there smiling, eyes wide and slightly shocked, head tilted to the side a little as he tries to process the situation.
"Why the fuck are you smiling? I'm trying to tell you how much I don't like you anymore!"
"You called me sourpuss," he replies, breaking out of his happy stupor. Stiles rears his head back slightly, irritation and confusion covering his features.
"I call you that all the time," he replies, bemused and annoyed.
"No," says Derek with a small breathy laugh "you don't. You haven't called me sourpuss in over a year"
Then there's silence as Stiles realises the gravity of it. The sounds of Ula climbing on the sofa in the front room to pick a dvd is the only thing that can be heard between them.
"I'm sorry," Derek says weakly, drawing in a deep breath and taking one more step towards Stiles, looking him in the eyes "I get it, and I'm sorry. I – I need to make some changes, I know that. I'll take a new person on in the office to sift through the stray paperwork, I'll draw the application forms up tomorrow and put them on the internet. I promise Stiles," he takes another step forwards as Stiles lifts his head to the ceiling and then turns it towards the window, not looking him in the eye, scared that if he does, he'll believe the promise. Derek understands; Stiles just doesn't want to believe in empty promises anymore "do you still – do you still believe in us?" Derek asks a moment later and he watches Stiles' eyelids flicker as he darts his tongue out to wet his lips, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.
"Fuck you," Stiles shakes his head, swallowing and finally forcing himself to meet Derek's eyes "how can you even ask me that?" he breathes "how can you even doubt for a fucking second that I don't still believe in us? You know me, asshole. I would have left a long time ago if I didn't," he said incredulously "and fuck you for thinking that I would just give up on you so easily"
Derek has to stop himself from smiling because it's such a relief. Lately he's been terrified that he's running on borrowed time, that Stiles has been internally debating whether to leave. But he mentally kicks himself because Stiles is right, there's no way that he would just give up on this. They have worked so hard to make it work for so long because at the foundation of it all, they love each other a lot. Like, crazy amounts. And Derek remembers then, what it's like to really know Stiles Stilinski, to know the way he thinks and the way that he makes decisions. Derek remembers what it's like to be close to him – he's just… forgotten a little bit along the way. But it's okay. It's okay because he really can do it. He can make the changes and he can be better. He knows he can.
Eventually, Stiles sniffs and determinedly wipes the wetness from his eyes, tutting and reaching forward, cradling the back of Derek's scalp and bringing him in for a hug. It feels like a breath of sunshine and warmth, spreading all the way through his body, tingling comfortably at the tips of his fingers. He closes his eyes and wraps his arms around Stiles' waist, the feeling of his slender, yet muscled form a fond memory that his limbs barely recall. They have had contact of course – they still sleep in the same bed and occasionally Stiles huffs and presses kisses to his cheekbones before leaving to run errands or see to their daughter. They still have sex; maybe twice a week – but that's nowhere near what it had been just a year previous, and it's usually angry or sorry sex.
Every embrace and touch has felt tainted with resentment for so long now, that Derek can't help burying his face in Stiles' neck and breathing in deeply because this feels a lot better. This feels like home. Like he's being welcomed fully into something what he used to be such a regular part of.
"You're an idiot," Stiles sighs, his hand bunching in the hair at the back of Derek's neck.
"I know," Derek replies softly "I know"
"If you keep saying that I'm going to throw your laptop in the bin," he scolds dully, pulling away and taking Derek's face in his hands.
"Look," he says directly "relationships are hard. You don't just work for them for a little bit and then stop having to deal with this shit when it gets to a certain point. We're going to be making this kind of effort for the rest of our lives. But you gotta know Der," he smiles a little crookedly, his brown eyes full of understanding and fondness "I knew what I was doing when I got into this with you. I knew what I was doing when I decided to have a kid with you. I'm always going to want you. I wouldn't be with you if I didn't think that all the good shit outweighs the bad"
"You gonna kick me in the balls if I say 'I know' again?" Derek remarks, quirking the side of his mouth up slightly, his eyes tired but resolutely happy. Stiles smirks, letting out a breathy laugh and pressing a kiss to Derek's forehead between his ridiculous eyebrows.
"Don't push your luck honey," he replies, tapping his cheek with his hand before brushing past him, heading towards the living room to help Ula. Derek smiles to himself for a minute, feeling as though a large, crushing weight has been lifted from his shoulders. He takes a moment to gather himself, before swiping his cell phone off of the kitchen island, dialling his assistant's number.
"I'm going to send some work over to you, can you call Isaac in and give it to him? Tell him I'll pay him over time if he gets it all done by tomorrow. I'm writing up some application forms for some new staff tomorrow as well and I'm going to direct all the applicants to you for setting up interviews, is that okay?"
"You finally got your shit together and realised what you've been doing to your family then?" Erica says on the other side of the line, and he can practically see the smirk on her painted red lips.
"Shut up," he drawls, rolling his eyes but smiling all the same "can you look at the accounts and see what we can afford to pay people?" he asks and she agrees to everything before telling him to have fun and to give Ula and Stiles big kisses from her before hanging up.
He spends the day with Stiles and his daughter, gets covered in an all manner of paints and crayons and sticky stuff, and ends it tired but elated with happiness, flopping out on his side of the bed after reading Ula a bedtime story, figuring out that he's forgotten how it feels to let work go for a while and enjoy his family.
"Do you mean it?" Stiles asks, a slightly troubled expression on his face as he lays out beside Derek, facing him.
"Yeah," he says seriously "I set the process going this morning, Erica's seeing most of it through for me when she's sorted all of her work out"
"Because you can't let her down again," Stiles says firmly "I'll survive it Der, but she's just a kid and we can't have her growing up with abandonment and trust issues. You know how that fucked you up"
"I won't," he insists, pulling Stiles against him and pressing a kiss to his nose "I promise"
"If you fuck up again, I'll have to punch you in the throat, and we all know I've got a mean right hook"