I wrote this a while back and it's unbeta'd.

This is my tribute to the soldiers who give their lives every day for their country, and to the others who have to come back home and attempt to fit into normal society while fighting the demons of their past. Thank you for what you do for us.

I don't own Teen Wolf.

It's a bit angsty and gory, let me know what you think.

Stiles couldn't help but groan as the water washed over his scalp and down his back. His body was aching, had been for months. He'd longed for a proper hot shower, thought about hot water washing over his dry skin as much as he thought about sliding into a wet pussy or knifed through a tender steak. He stood with his head bowed, eyes closed, water dripping off his nose. He had one arm straight out, bracing himself against the wall. The other hand worked the muscles at the back of his neck, doing a poor job of massaging the tension away. He heard the bathroom door open then close, and a puff of cold air touched him as the stall door opened and closed. The bigger body stood behind him warm and comforting. An arm reached around, fingers paused before lifting the shower gel then it disappeared again. Hot slippery fingers touched the back of his neck, brushing his hand away and working the muscles there and down his back.

'Room service will be about an hour.' Derek said, voice quiet behind him, thumbs digging into his back. Stiles groaned again and shifted, couldn't help but notice the half hard cock behind him, brushing against his ass.

The first time he went to Derek Hale's office he was looking for bourbon he knew the man kept there. Derek was there of course, sitting at his desk looking weary with a pile of paper. Stiles never understood why the army needed so much god damned paper. Shoot to kill, that was his motto. Trouble was, Stiles stupidly volunteered for medic training. He was always trying to look after those around him. Used to wonder if one day it would get him killed. Now, sometimes, when the heat was blistering and the noise was loud, gunshots firing off everywhere, deep down Stiles hoped a bullet would find his heart.

Stiles had only been there three weeks when come across a skirmish; he was the first on the scene. That itself was bad. No medic wanted to be first on the scene, they wanted someone there already, someone competent enough to tell them the basics of what was wrong with each fallen man so the medic could assess who to attend to first. Stiles had to do it himself, went for the quiet guy. He found a gunshot wound to the chest, blood bubbling through the man's fingers as his skin paled. He didn't speak, tried to wet his lips with a dry tongue. He died as Stiles pressed into the wound. Stiles moved on quickly.

The second soldier Stiles recognised. He was bleeding from the thigh, wound to the artery. Stiles tore out a tourniquet from his bag and immediately wrapped it around the leg. The soldier was trying to speak but Stiles was babbling the way he usually did, talking about holding on and getting better and this doesn't look this bad all the while demanding the soldier look at him. He tied off the knot and turned to the soldiers face. Blue glassy eyes stared at the cloudless sky. Stiles wondered briefly what he would do with the Terry Pratchett novel he'd borrowed from the dead man before he closed the eyes and twisted in his position to the next victim.

There were others on the ground now around him, checking the dead bodies and shouting orders. Bullets flew overhead as an enemy tried to move forward before the fire fight pushed him back. The soldier in Stiles forced him to check his position for a second before the medic looked at the man lying at Stiles knees. He was watching the fight with a detached interest, as if he were at home looking through a television screen. 'Hey.' Stiles tapped his cheek with bloody hands leaving a nasty smear. 'You ok.'

'Ok?' He asked like it was a question. Stiles found the entry wound, shoulder. With some good attention this guy should live. He turned him slightly to find an exit wound. That was a good sign. There was blood on the sand but he ignored it, washing the wound with water and placing a quick field dressing on it. The soldier started to jerk and twist, his eyes bugled as his mouth frothed slightly. Stiles scrambled backwards, he was having a fit. He shook his head and tried to make him comfortable. It didn't work. His eyes rolled back in his head and his body went limp. Stiles checked his pulse. It was still. He was dead.

The last guy was sitting against the wheel of a jeep trying to reload his weapon. His arm was busted, blood and bone everywhere but he went on regardless. Stiles removed the weapon from his hand and went to work attaching a splint to the guys arm.

'Get down!' Someone was shouting. Stiles heard a quick shot and looked up. Half the soldiers head was missing. He wondered when the guys helmet had come off and noticed it clutched in his hand. He picked up his bag and moved on.

He didn't think about the bodies that piled up on him that afternoon. Didn't think what would have happened if he took a different route, he followed protocol, went to the worst man first. He forced all thoughts of those men who died from his mind. Stiles knew them all in some way, had shared a meal or a joke, with them, they had passed titty magazines back and forward between them. Stiles couldn't remember his name, not yet. He didn't want to try, instead settling for staring at the horizon until darkness fell like a thick blanket.

Then he went to Captain Hale's tent. Derek Hale had been a senior in Beacon Hills High School when Stiles was a freshman. He remembered a handsome boy who could have any girl, or boy, he wanted. He was on the school football team and the lacrosse team and had fucked half the cheerleaders. Hell he probably fucked half the school. He was a grumpy kind of guy though and Stiles often wondered how he got any action.

He was still grumpy in the army but that suited him. Stiles had also learned, over the last couple of weeks, that he was a decent human being. They bonded over their mutual hometown and Stiles was shocked to find Derek remembered him. He didn't think he made that much of an impression.

'Come in.' Hale shouted when he tapped the office door. He liked Hale's office back at camp. It had what the man needed to survive. 'You ok?' Derek asked nodding to the seat opposite him.

'Yeah, hard day.' Stiles said.

'I heard.' Derek said pouring two glasses of amber liquid. He paused one towards Stiles. 'Think you should drink that.' He said.

'Think I should.' Stiles agreed. He knocked back the liquid and it burned his throat as it went down but he ignored it. They sat in comfortable silence for a while, before Derek poured another glass then went back to his paperwork. Stiles picked up a paperback Derek had been reading and thumbed through it. He went to his own tent about midnight. Lying down he thought about his pregnant wife back home. He did not think about the four men who died this afternoon, and if he did he would deny it.

XXX

Derek's thumbs were at the small of Stiles back when he finally allowed the thoughts of her into his head. She was less than thirty miles away, in Beacon Hills with his little girl. Maybe. With the little girl who was maybe his. He thought about the pictures, the ones she emailed. They were burned into his skull, when he closed his eyes he could picture the scrunched up little face, still read from screaming. There was a white blanket around her and her fist was screwed into it.

'What are you thinking about?' Derek asked pulling his hands up Stiles back and washing him in earnest with long broad strokes of his hand.

'Them.' Stiles said. Derek knew who he was talking about.

He took the call that day. Stiles was out on patrol when his phone buzzed. 'We can't get hold of Stilinski.' The voice said.

'Who is it?' Derek asked.

'Wife.' The guy told him.

'Patch her through.' Derek said. 'Hello?'

'Hi, this isn't Stiles.'

'No its Captain Hale. His unit's comms device doesn't seem to be working at the minute. Can I do anything for you?'

'I had a baby. Just wanted to let him know.' She said. Her voice sounded detached.

'Ok. Tell me, I'll personally make sure he gets the message.'

'It's a girl. Six pounds three ounces. I gave birth two hours ago.'

'Ok.' Derek said. 'I'll let him call you next chance he gets. I promise.'

'Thank you.' She said and cut the call.

Derek kept the information to himself until he tracked Stilinski down. Since they made friends he had often wondered at Stiles being with Lydia. Cruelly the girl was out of his league. Derek had the feeling that all wasn't well with them, even with a baby on the way.

'Stilinski. My office. Now.' He said. Stiles followed him. When he closed the door he smiled. 'Congratulations.'

'Sir?' Stiles asked.

'It's a girl. Born this morning.' Derek said. He expected more excitement from the man in front of him. Instead all he got was a scowl.

'I don't think the baby's mine sir.' He said, turning on his heel and leaving the office. It was three days before Derek seen him again.

'Lydia called her Eloise.' Stiles said.

'Nice name.' Derek said. Stiles shrugged his shoulders.

'What makes you think she's not yours?' Derek asked.

'Lydia's been having an affair for a while now.' Stiles said.

'You got proof.'

'She confessed on our wedding night that she slept with him the night before.' Stiles said. He remembered the hurt and the pain when she told him. She had still wanted to make love, to consummate their wedding. Told him she needed to get it off her chest. Stiles was furious but he fucked her anyway. She curled against him in the dark room while he lay and thought about leaving her. He didn't. He needed her comfort, even if it was half given.

XXX

Stiles finally turned and pulled Derek against him, licking into his mouth. Derek kissed him back, hands pulling Stiles closer and grinding his cock against Stiles' own.

'Want you.' Stiles whined as his fingers laced through Derek's wet hair. This was what they'd been waiting for. Stiles had wanted to climb under Derek's skin that day he crawled around looking for living breathing people. The army had drained him of his drive to live. He needed to get that back. He blamed it on the dead bodies he couldn't save. On the people's lives ruined at home. Mothers and fathers, husbands and wives, sons and daughters. All bereaved, all lost and alone. It was over for them.

It was only beginning for Stiles. As they lay in bed that night tangled together, tension finally washed away, Stiles thought about the future. Derek had been there for him all though his tour of duty, all through his heartache about his child. Derek had given up his career with Stiles, and finally, tonight they had given in to the desires they ignored and pushed aside.

They were lovers now, Derek had confessed to feelings. He wanted to protect Stiles, understood why Stiles would wake in the middle of the night in a cold sweat thrashing about the bed. Would hold him until the darkness faded and daylight crept through the window and Stiles could finally sleep. Would remember those faces, faces that Stiles pretended he didn't remember. Names burned into Stiles brain that he purposefully forgot.

Stiles loved Derek, pure and simple. That would never change. They would make a life and a future together. Derek would be there to hold him, and to be held. They fell asleep, tangled together in the small bed thirty miles from Beacon Hills.

Jackson Whitmore opened the door when Stiles knocked. He was wearing dress pants and a fresh ironed shirt. His tie hung around his neck, waiting to be knotted. He had no shoes on.

'You didn't call to let us know you were coming!' Jackson said, panic in his eyes.

'My house. My family.' Stiles said. Derek was standing behind him, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. Jackson left the door open and went to get Lydia. Lydia came to the door with the little girl in her arms.

'She looks like Jackson.' Stiles said immediately. He could tell from the blush that he was one hundred per cent correct in his assumption. 'Is he making you happy?'

'Yes.' Lydia said, eyes filling with tears.

'If he hurts you I'll rip him to shreds.' Stiles said.

'I'll let him know.' She said. Stiles turned and tugged Derek by the hand back to the car.

'Where to?' Derek asked.

'Let's head south. I hear there's a party going on in Mexico.' Stiles said slouching in his seat and sliding a hand across to Derek's thigh. Derek started the engine and did a u turn in the road. His hand pressed into Stiles as he pulled on to the freeway and didn't let go until he reached his next off ramp.