A/N: Any shows mentioned are property of their channels. The New York Post is property of its publisher. Anything else mentioned belongs to whomever.
Waking up alone for the second day in a row wasn't any easier than it had been on the first. If anything, it was harder, reality setting in even further, continuing to drive home the fact that Stiles was gone and not coming back.
That whole "time heals all wounds" thing was bullshit really.
Derek ate alone, a NCIS marathon playing on TV, lethargic in his motions. He cleaned up on autopilot, feeling a sharp pang in his chest at the realization that he didn't have enough dishes to start the dishwasher. Because only one person had been eating in that apartment.
Shit had to be bad if he was feeling depressed over dirty dishes.
Hell, everything was making him depressed, his entire apartment full of sights that might as well have been giant flashing signs advertising that "STILES ISN'T HERE!" The half-full dishwasher. The Beacon County Sheriff Department mug not sitting in the sink. The throw pillows on the right places on the couch. The still-made half of the bed. The toothpaste squeezed at the end rather than the middle. The lack of floss hanging over the edge of the trash can because Stiles was running late to class—again—and hadn't bothered trying to put it in the actual bin.
Yeah, staring at that was probably a bad idea. Not to mention a little weird and obsessive.
Although checking out his reflection in the mirror wasn't all that great a plan either. His usually well-kept scruff was in need of a trim. Dark circles were highly visible under his eyes, skin paler than usual and making them stand out even more. His black hair was standing in every possible direction, unstyled and uncombed.
Basically, he looked like shit. His mom would call it "Recently Dumped Not-So-Chic", but that seemed way nicer than he deserved.
Heaving a sigh, he started brushing his teeth, avoiding his reflection. He was halfway done when the buzzer sounded throughout his apartment, alerting him to a guest at the front door of the building. Spitting toothpaste into the sink, he padded barefoot to the door, pressing the button on the intercom when he reached it.
"Hello?"
"Derek" came a slightly timid female voice that seemed vaguely familiar. "It's Allison."
He was glad he'd already spat out the toothpaste, otherwise it would've ended up all over the speaker. "Allison?" he double-checked dubiously. "What're you doing here?"
"I need to talk to you."
Derek frowned in confusion, staring down at the toothbrush he still held. Allison was nice and he liked her, but he wouldn't call her a friend. Casual acquaintance, maybe. He sometimes talked to her at Strawberry's after games, exchanged pleasantries if he ran into her at the Argent Group offices, but they never really spoke outside of that, never really got in contact with each other.
Until that moment, apparently.
And as he kept staring at his toothbrush, the reasoning hit him. His had been the only one in the cup, Stiles having taken his when he left. Judging by McCall's voicemails, it was easy to assume the student was staying with his best friend, who happened to share an apartment with his girlfriend.
Allison.
Swallowing hard and tasting mint, he pressed the talk button and spoke. "If this is about Stiles, then I don't wanna hear it from you either."
"It's not!" she insisted, pausing briefly before rambling. "Not really anyway. I just really need to show you something I found yesterday and it's pretty important and that's why I came here first thing this morning."
His curiosity was getting the better of him, finger hovering over the button to unlock the front door. But the "not really" stopped him short, worry plaguing his mind. It could be translated as her passing on a message from Stiles rather than about and he wasn't sure he could handle that, too afraid to risk it. After recent events, it was hard to know who to trust anymore. And considering how well he didn't know Allison, she was on the list of questionable people.
His finger moved an inch to the right, depressing the talk button again. "Did he put you up to this?" he questioned, grimacing at how his words sounded like an accusation.
"He has no clue I'm here. Scott either. They both think I headed into work early."
Derek nodded, forgetting she couldn't see him. As much as he didn't know her enough to trust her, he also didn't know enough to not trust her. And really, the best way to get over this entire fucking thing was to slowly start putting faith in people, starting with the small things. Like believing someone when they said they just wanted to show him something and talk to him without any prompting from a third party.
With a quick "all right" spoken through the intercom, he buzzed her up.
The toothbrush was rinsed and returned to its usual place before he threw a random white v-neck tee on, deciding to just stay in his sweatpants for the moment. Changing into jeans took time and effort that he wasn't really willing to give. Besides, she was showing up at pro-athlete's place at nine-thirty on a game day. She should be glad he was awake, much less clothed.
By the time he shuffled back to the living room, Allison was knocking on the door. He opened it up and invited her in with a sweep of the arm, using the same gesture to wordlessly tell her to take a seat.
She gave him a weak smile as she passed, dimple forming on each cheek. Her hands clutched tightly at a black leather strap that lay over her shoulder, like whatever was held inside the briefcase pertained to national security or held the crown jewels. And with the tense way she held her muscles and the tightness around her eyes, he wouldn't be surprised if she pulled out the original Declaration of Independence.
"So," he started, sinking down onto the couch as she slowly lowered herself onto the matching loveseat. "What'd you need to show me?"
Allison placed the bag on her lap, hands clasping the top in a white knuckle grip. She pressed her lips together in a hard line, chocolate eyes flitting around the room, like she was trying to find her lines hidden on the walls or the furniture. Apparently, they weren't there, since she turned her focus on him and nodded once.
"Okay. So," she started then stopped, taking a deep breath before continuing. "You know how I intern at my dad's agency, right?"
Derek slouched down, arms folded over his chest in a casual manner, legs splayed. Clearly it was gonna be a long story, so he might as well make himself comfortable. "Yeah. That's how you met McCall."
The mention of her boyfriend brought a small grin to her face, eyes sparkling, a little of the tension leaving her. "Right. Well, yesterday I was in my aunt Kate's office while she was out to lunch and I needed to send an email and I didn't realize until it was too late that I was logged into her account. So I went into her sent mail to delete it, that way she wouldn't think I was snooping, and."
She suddenly stopped, eyes dropping to where her hands were playing with her bag straps. A grimace was on her face, the tension back in all her muscles, appearing reluctant to continue on with her story.
But after another deep breath, she soldier on. "And I saw an email to a Matt Daehler at the New York Post."
Holy. Shit.
Derek felt his stomach drop, rolling and churning, nausea washing over him in waves. Flopping over his knees, he rubbed his temples, mind buzzing with the implications, everything in him screaming theree was no fucking way...
"I know I shouldn't have opened it," Allison quickly pointed out, sounding guilty and upset by her actions, yet still not entirely remorseful about it. "I know it wasn't any of my business, but my curiosity got the best of me because I know that's the newspaper that outed you and the subject line said she had a big scoop for him."
The air was suddenly sucked out of the apartment. It was the only explanation he could think of for why he so quickly found himself unable to breathe. That, plus the boa constrictor that had wrapped itself around his chest and was squeezing the hell out of him.
Dropping his hands, he let them dangle between his spread knees, watching the way they trembled. It really wouldn't have surprised him if his entire body was in a similar state. Not that he could feel it, given the way his blood now ran cold and his skin had numbed out.
"She, uh." He paused, hating the shakiness in his voice. "She set it up, didn't she?"
"Yeah."
One syllable, barely whispered, and Derek felt everything crash around him. His agent, his fucking agent, the person he trusted to handle his career and his future had completely fucking jeopardized both with a single email. He'd been totally blindsided by her actions, his life turned upside down due to inexplicable behavior.
And he'd blamed Stiles for the entire thing.
Oh fuck. Stiles.
Derek buried his face in his hands, eyes stinging from tears he was refusing to let fall. He'd fucked up more than he'd originally thought, was a bigger villain than he'd previously believed. No wonder Stiles had blown up like he had, no wonder he'd gotten so pissed and stormed off, no wonder he'd dumped Derek. The athlete would do the same exact thing if he'd been falsely accused of being a backstabbing liar when he'd been nothing but loyal and supportive.
God, Stiles had to hate him. There was no way he couldn't.
Allison cleared her throat awkwardly, more for herself than to gain his attention. "It was a long back and forth sort of thing," she explained, voice thick with emotion, like she'd been hurt by her aunt's actions, too.
And really, chances were she had been. Derek had often heard the younger Argent praising the elder, heard stories about how they were more like sisters than anything, how much Kate had helped her after the death of her mom, how she aspired to be like the agent. Only to find out that the woman she idolized was deceitful and had betrayed her client.
Not exactly a positive role model.
"She told the guy she knew where he could get a story and to wait at your building after the game," Allison continued in the same emotional voice. "There was talk of money, then she congratulated him on the pics and article and praised him on a job well done."
Derek snorted as he sat back on the couch, scrubbing at his face. The entire thing was so fucking out there that he almost couldn't believe it, almost couldn't wrap his head around the fact that this was his life. Seriously, it had to be a joke, a set-up. There had to be hidden cameras somewhere recording him for some prank show. No way was any of it real.
Slapping his hands on his lap, he turned his head and attention to Allison, eyebrow cocked. "Can you prove any of this?" It was his newly found distrusting nature rearing its ugly head, but it needed to be asked. Taking someone's word for it wasn't something he was prone to do any time soon.
She nodded vehemently, tucking hair behind her ear as she opened up her bag and pulled out a flashdrive. "I saved copies on this," she stated, before reaching back in and slipping out a manila folder. "I also printed out copies, forwarded them to my own email address, and took pictures of her laptop screen with my cell in case anyone tries to argue their authenticity."
Both eyebrows raised at that, Derek impressed at how thorough she'd been. "Smart thinking," he praised, taking the folder she held out to him.
A dimpled grin formed on her face as she dropped the flashdrive back into her bag. And as he skimmed the emails she'd printed, he realized why she'd kept such a death grip on it. What he held was proof of Kate's deception, of actions that could get her fired not just by him, but by the entire company, regardless of her dad owning it.
He read the messages through once, then again, feeling his anger rise with each word. It was like his personal life was just some random object for sale—and to the highest bidder, judging by her implication that she had friends at other papers and websites who'd be just as interested in the info she was offering. The way she spoke showed no regard towards Derek as a person or his feelings. She clearly didn't care that he was closeted and not planning on coming out any time soon, only focused on getting his secret exposed for some ulterior motive he couldn't even begin to figure out.
Because, really, what the hell did she stand to gain? At least Stiles had a motive. Kate on the other hand, not so much.
"I need to talk to her," he sighed out, flipping the folder closed and handing it back to Allison.
She slipped it back into her bag, eyes trained downward as she folded the flap over and buckled it in place. "I helped her go over her schedule yesterday and she has the morning completely free. If you were to call and ask to see her, she'd be able to do it pretty much immediately."
Derek nodded, gritting his jaw while leaning back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest again. "Good," he ground out. "'Cause I need to find out what the fuck she was thinking then fire her. I can't have an agent go behind my back like that. She's supposed to be negotiating a contract extension, not negotiating a price on my biggest secret."
"Agreed," she stated, running a hand through dark curls. "I'll go with you and back you up so she doesn't think you're making it up or putting the blame on me because I'm not there to defend myself."
"Thanks." He gave her a weak smile, one she returned.
"And since you're gonna need a new agent," she pointed out, licking her lips before continuing, face all business. "You should probably meet up with Braeden. She's Scott's agent and a total shark when it comes to negotiations, but she's also completely genuine and has only her client's best interests at heart. She's kinda new and not representing a whole lot of people, but that'll only help you really since she'd be better able to give you and your career a lot more attention."
The shortstop shoved a hand through his hair and tugged at the black strands, blowing out a long breath of air. Her advice sounded pretty good and he remembered hearing about McCall's damn good extension, despite not being in the majors that long. If Braeden had managed to get that deal done, she was obviously great at her job and the person he wanted representing him, too.
Dropping his hand onto his lap, he murmured his assent before giving Allison another small smile. "Thanks. For all of this."
She gave him a friendly grin, shrugging a shoulder to wordlessly say it was no big deal. "I'm also kinda doing this for Stiles," she admitted with a quick apologetic wince. "He's practically Scott's brother and I hate seeing him so depressed."
Derek's gaze lowered to his lap, eyes turning down at the corners, chest getting tight at the mention of his... ex-boyfriend's name. Guilt made him nauseous once again and he still couldn't believe he ever thought Stiles had outed him.
"Plus," Allison went on, tone more cheery than it had been the entire time she'd been in his place. "If this helps you guys work things out and get back together, then I get my apartment back and can make out with my boyfriend whenever I want." A huge grin broke out on her face, dimples as deep as they go. She bit her bottom lip, eyebrows wagging in a suggestive manner, naughty sparkle in brown eyes.
A huff of laughter gusted out his curved lips, knowing all too well what it's like having a house guest and needing to cut back on the PDA-like behavior.
Then again, it probably wasn't exactly the same, considering his guests tended to be his sisters or his cousin Malia, not a recently broken up friend who wouldn't be able to handle witnessing anything even remotely couple-like.
And Stiles had suddenly become single because of Derek's stupidity.
Fuck.
Flopping over his knees, he buried his face in his hands and breathed out a swear, anxiety kicking into high gear over the thought of talking to Stiles. Funny. That used to make him excited and overjoyed, but his stomach was flipping for a totally different reason now.
A slender hand rubbed his shoulder blades in a soothing manner and he let out a shaky breath.
"One step at a time," Allison suggested in a calming tone. "Text Kate, then you and I can go talk to her. Don't worry about anything else until later, okay?"
Derek nodded as he raised his head, giving her a small grateful smile. He muttered that he needed to change, rising to his feet then shuffling to his bedroom. He focused solely on getting jeans, refusing to think about what was missing from the other side of the closet and why. No, he was only gonna think about Kate and what he was gonna say to her.
Weird how the idea of talking to Stiles was more anxiety-inducing than speaking to a woman so scary she'd been dubbed "The Dragon Agent" by her coworkers. Then again, the outcome of that conversation had been decided and was gonna end with her being fired. His talk with Stiles could go a million different ways—assuming the guy would even agree to talk in the first place.
That outcome just might've been the most worrying of them all.
Derek and Allison were let into Kate's office immediately upon arrival, the athlete surprised to see Greenberg still manning the assistant's desk. Kate smiled warmly as she greeted her client, the expression faltering as she caught sight of her niece following him and closing the door.
"Allison," Kate stated, confusion in her voice and in the crease of her brows. She lowered herself onto the leather swivel chair behind her desk, smoothing her sleeveless white blouse. Her chocolate eyes narrowed in an analytical way as she watched Derek and Allison seat themselves across from her, the brunette placing her bag on the floor and settling in. "I gotta say, I'm surprised to see you here."
The younger Argent shrugged a shoulder, dark curls bouncing with the action. "Derek asked me to be here, so I'm here." Not entirely the truth, but it didn't matter, not really.
Blonde hair flew as the agent's head snapped to her client, eyebrow cocked. "Really?" she questioned dubiously, getting another shrug. "I was under the impression that this meeting was about you agreeing to a media tour."
"Nope," Derek replied flatly, keeping his poker face on, hiding his amusement at his agent's still puzzled facial expression, at the easygoing smile she was struggling to keep on her face.
"Then what is it about then?"
He lifted his hips off the chair in order to slip out a piece of paper he'd put in the back pocket of his jeans. Unfolding it, he read the typed words, poker face still perfectly in place. "'I got a lead on a good scoop. If you want to be the first to break a juicy scandal, just wait in the parking deck at this address for Derek Hale after the Mets game. It'll be a career making moment. Just be sure to bring your camera.'"
Kate pursed her lips, narrowed eyes staring down her client. Folding her arms over her chest, she leaned back, chair creaking slightly as it tilted with her. "What is this?"
"This," the shortstop began, refolding the paper and slipping it back where it had been. "Was an email you sent to Matt Daehler at the New York Post. You know, the guy who took the photos of me kissing a guy and in turn, broke the story about my sexuality?" He kept his tone light, playful, before growing serious, brow drawn into a hard line. "You set me up."
Silence descended over the room, heavy, thick. Kate flicked her gaze over to her niece, looking the brunette up and down, jaw working in aggravation. She'd clearly figured out how Derek had gotten hold of that email and was none too pleased with the younger female's actions.
Good. Derek wanted her to be pissed, feel violated, so she'd have an iota of an idea of how shitty he felt after seeing those photos.
Allison didn't look the tiniest bit remorseful for betraying her aunt that way. She simply kicked her chin up and held her head high, quirking an eyebrow as though daring Kate to say or do something.
Kate didn't react to her, instead turning her attention back to Derek. A bored expression formed on her face, brows in a flat line, lips slightly twisted to one side, head tilted. "I did you a favor."
The athlete choked out a disbelieving laugh, mouth gaping as he stammered out a response. "Wha—I—how?"
Brown eyes were rolled, like the answer was totally obvious and he was a huge moron for not getting that. "You were boring, Derek," she pointed out, holding a hand up as she ticked items off on her fingers. "No scandals, no gossip, no rumors outside of your career, nothing. But this?" She leaned forward and tapped a manicured finger against that day's Post, against the headline regarding his official coming out on Twitter. "This put you on the front page. Twice. This made you a household name. This helped you become a trending topic on Twitter and Tumblr and whatever million other social media sites that exist. You went from a somewhat well-known player within baseball to an international celebrity like that." She snapped her fingers before refolding her arms and leaning back in the chair once again.
Derek snorted, shaking his head, barely able to believe what he was hearing. A quick glance at Allison's parted lips and wide eyes proved he wasn't the only one. Which he was more than grateful for, sick of feeling like the bad guy. No, turned out he was a fucking pawn in Kate's scheme. Wonderful.
"So, because I was well-behaved off the field, you outed me in the hopes of creating a huge media scandal and making me popular?" he double-checked, not bothering to hide the skepticism or the total lack of comprehension he was feeling.
"Yeah," Kate chuckled out in a 'duh' manner, shrugging a bare shoulder. "It also helps with upcoming contract negotiations."
Confused looks were exchanged between Derek and Allison, he being the one to voice what they both seemed to be thinking. "How the hell do you figure that?"
The agent sighed in exasperation, once again acting as though the two of them should understand without her having to explain it. "It shows the Mets that they need to keep you, that you can be a public face for their franchise and handle the media well, that you can bring the team some attention and put their name out there for reasons other than how terribly they're playing or how yet another big free agent signing isn't living up to their contract."
A devious smirk slowly grew on her face, making her sharp features twist into something more malicious. It was her evil negotiating face, one that often made Derek glad he'd been seated beside her rather than on the receiving end of it.
He'd been right to be wary of it apparently, even if it still wasn't really being directed at him.
"Not to mention," she continued, still smirking, eyes sparkling in an evil sort of delight. "That if they don't give you a good contract—or even don't offer one at all—it makes them seem homophobic."
Allison was the one to bark out a disbelieving laugh this time, Derek stunned silent. He knew Kate was deceptive, immoral, even manipulative. But this? This was beyond what he believed she was even capable of, beyond what he imagined anyone was capable of. It was a whole new level of fucked up.
"You're emotionally blackmailing an entire franchise?" Allison summed up, porcelain features arranged into an expression that was equal parts disgust, disbelief, hurt, and anger.
Kate simply shrugged, apparently not seeing the big deal. Rocking in her white leather chair, Derek had the fleeting thought that she looked like an evil villain, no remorse for her actions, uncaring as to who she hurt in her efforts to get what she wanted. Or whose lives she ruined.
Like Derek's.
And Stiles'.
Fuck. He knew she was shrewd and her methods were deceitful, but he truly had no idea just how terrible she really was. He'd been young when he'd signed with her, eager to get drafted and get to the bigs, and she'd come in like a beautiful fairy godmother promising to make his every wish come true. He hadn't a clue about how that would happen or that her behavior wasn't typical of how agents conducted business. Young and naïve and totally taken advantage of.
But not anymore. Because now he knew better, now he knew that what she did was beyond inappropriate and not only grounds for possible termination, but for having her entire career taken from her.
Just sucked like hell that it cost Derek his relationship and the most important person to him in order for him to finally realize that.
The athlete nodded repeatedly, mind fully made up as he scrunched his face in disgust. "Wow," he breathed out, hand gripping the back of his neck tightly. "Well, thank you for making the decision to fire you so much easier."
Kate's smirked remained as she snorted. "You can't fire me, sweetie."
"Can and did," he declared before turning to Allison, face and voice softer. Her aunt's actions had no bearing on her or how he viewed her. She was an entirely separate person with an entirely separate personality. Where Kate was devious and manipulative and two-faced, Allison was good and kind and genuine. She grinned rather than smirked, features soft rather than sharp, and she never said a bad word about anyone—trash-talk aimed at the Mets' opponents aside.
So yeah, Derek liked Allison. He just wasn't all that fond of her aunt anymore.
"We should actually wrap this up so we can go talk to Braeden," he pointed out, the younger Argent nodding in agreement. Gripping the metal arms of his chair, he pushed himself up, pausing halfway at his agent's—former agent's voice.
"You're gonna sign with her?" she questioned doubtfully, eyebrow cocked. "There's no way my dad would be okay with that."
"Actually," Allison spoke up, grabbing her bag and placing it on her lap. "I'm pretty sure Gerard would have no issue with one of his most prominent clients choosing to not sign with another company."
Kate leveled hard eyes at her niece, lips pursed. Derek absently wondered how often she'd given the younger Argent that same look because the grown-ups were having a conversation.
"I don't think Gerard wants said prominent client signing with an agent with so little experience and who isn't used to working with the big names," she snarked.
"And I don't think he'll have a problem with it when I forward him and my dad those emails you sent to Matt Daehler," Allison pointed out, chin held high, defiant look in her chocolate eyes. "And show them the hard copies I printed off, the photos of them I took with my phone, the copies I saved on a flashdrive—"
"Basically," Derek interrupted when he felt as though the point had been made. "Don't bother trying to hide the evidence and claim innocence on this one."
The brunette rose to her feet, the other two occupants of the room doing the same. The smile she wore was pure smugness, dimples on full display, bag now hanging off her shoulder. "Really it would be in your best interest to just let Derek out of his contract with you and sign with Braeden, rather than risk this info getting out and you getting fired."
Derek turned to his former agent, eyebrows raised in expectation. A stare-down was occurring between the two Argent women and he felt a rush of pride aimed towards Allison. She wasn't backing down, even when faced with an intimidating expression that had made bigger men cry. The Dragon Agent at her absolute meanest.
After a long minute or two, Kate huffed, arms folded over her chest, hip cocked. Her jaw was jutted out, rolling around, brown eyes focusing on anything but the two people standing on the opposite side of her desk. She was pissed, steam practically rising off her skin, fire in her eyes. Only Derek wasn't sure if it was because they'd managed to back her into a corner, or because she'd actually lost. Either way, she was about three seconds away from grabbing something heavy and hurling it at their heads.
"Fine," Kate ground out, heaving through gritted teeth. "I'll let you out your contract. Just know that you're making a huge mistake."
The athlete shook his head. "No. I've made a ton of mistakes, sure, but this isn't one of 'em."
With nothing left to say, he turned and exited the office, Allison right behind him. Since she knew the layout better than he did, he allowed her to lead the way to Braeden's office, keeping in step with her.
"Thanks for backing me up," he stated lowly as they turned and headed down another corridor. "I owe you."
Allison grinned, all dimples and shining eyes. "You can make it up to me by talking to Stiles after the game."
That stopped him dead in his tracks. Yeah, he'd already somewhat decided he'd do that very thing after he'd figured out who the "anonymous source" was, giving them a clean slate. But being faced with the reality of actually doing it was scary as hell. Stiles had been pissed, hurt, beyond upset, and all because of Derek. And now the source of all that pain was gonna show up and request a conversation?
Derek would be lucky to not get a bat upside the head.
"Hey." Allison's voice was gentle as she called him back to reality. She was now standing in front of him, holding his hands loosely in her's, eyes soft and sweet as they locked onto his. "You okay?"
"No," he whispered the confession, swallowing hard. "Think maybe you can be there to back me up during that convo, too?" His smile was shaky, knowing there was no chance of that happening. Didn't stop him from asking out of sheer hope.
She rolled her eyes fondly and shook her head, moving her hands to his shoulders. This time, when her eyes locked onto his, they were hard with determination, her inner-warrior making itself known. She was gonna make a kickass agent and Derek found himself a little bummed he couldn't just hire her already. He may not be all that trusting anymore, more cautious when it came to putting faith in other people, but after that day and everything she'd shown and done for him, he definitely trusted her now.
"You handled my aunt Kate, the Dragon Agent," she pointed out. "You can handle Stiles."
He nodded because it felt like the thing to do, almost believing her when she said that, if for no other reason than the finality in her tone and the hardness in her eyes. Only he couldn't really buy what she was saying, mainly because she'd never seen Stiles pissed.
Derek would be lucky to make it out alive.
Derek's meeting with Baeden couldn't have gone better even if he'd scripted it himself. She was a shark, just like Allison had said, but that just made him respect her. Her intentions were pure with only his best interests in mind, which made him like her.
She outlined her ideas for handling his career, how she'd go about getting a contract extension, the numbers she'd throw out, confident that she'd be able to attain it. She then discussed how she'd deal with his "scandal", rolling his eyes at the term Kate—and the media—used to describe it, suggesting one interview for exclusivity, just get it over and done with so he wouldn't be answering the same questions five-hundred times and dragging the whole thing out. The idea of teaming with You Can Play was also brought up, another action of exclusivity since working with too many groups would ultimately result in him being spread too thin and appearing insincere about whatever cause he was supposed to be backing.
Derek liked her ideas—especially since it avoided his personal life being invaded countless times by countless people—so much so that he signed with her on the spot.
Still didn't mean he wanted to talk to the press after the game.
He played decently, one hit in four at-bats, striking out once. The Mets had won, leading to a jovial clubhouse. But talking to the media before talking to Stiles just didn't sit right with him. Not that he'd be telling them the same exact things, but the point still remained.
His teammates invited him out for drinks and he turned them down, only halfway lying when he told them he wasn't up to going out. They seemed to understand, nodding and telling him to join them at Strawberry's if he changed his mind. Derek just waved and headed out, knowing he wouldn't. He had a conversation to get through and a promise to Allison to keep.
Although a few beers would definitely help.
No. Knowing Stiles, the guy would just get even more upset at Derek being drunk and wouldn't believe anything the athlete would say, thinking it was all totally disingenuous bullshit created by alcohol and that sober Derek wouldn't dare say any of that shit.
So sober it was. Derek just had to hope he had the balls to say what he needed to say. And that Stiles would listen and believe him.
Thinking about talking to Stiles and actually talking to Stiles were two vastly different things. Standing in front of McCall's apartment door, Derek felt like a little leaguer going up against Justin Verlander during one of his no-hitters.
Basically he was facing the impossible.
He inhaled deeply, holding the air in his lungs and using it to steel his nerves. Then again, he'd probably pass out from oxygen deprivation before he'd manage to find the balls to knock. Really, it'd just be in his best interests to get it over with, to rip the band-aid off, so to speak. He was never one to take the easy route. If he had been, he'd be a history teacher back at his hometown's high school, possibly coaching the baseball team. He wouldn't have worked his ass off, battling his way up through the minor league ranks before finally breaking into the majors, still fighting to that day to keep his spot on the team, to play well, to hopefully get a good contract at the end of the season.
Talking to his... ex-boyfriend should be nothing when compared to that.
But this was Stiles, a guy who still held a grudge against Fox for canceling Firefly, who continuously smack-talked a pitcher who threw a ball a bit too close to Derek's head a year and a half ago, who muttered death threats at some unknown man who ran against his dad for county sheriff when Stiles was ten. He wasn't stubborn only when it came to his loyalty.
And Derek was currently on a very short list of people Stiles didn't like at that moment.
Fuck.
Derek sighed, shoving a hand through his hair. Rip the band-aid off. It was what he needed to do, but for some reason just... wasn't.
Such a pussy.
No. Derek Hale wasn't a pussy. He'd faced the game's toughest pitchers, the angriest crowds, both his sisters on their periods and pissed off...coming out publicly. Not a pussy. He could handle this.
Rip the band-aid off.
Nodding to himself, he yanked his hand out his hair and knocked. Too late to back out now.
Maybe not. He could always turn tail and run to the stairs before the door opened. He had the speed to do it, had stolen thirty bases the previous season.
"Scott, you forget your key again, man?"
Derek froze at the muffled version of Stiles' voice, muscles tensing, heart pounding. Although he wasn't entirely sure if it was due to panic or because he hadn't heard the other man speak in so long and it was fully hitting him just how much he missed the guy. Either way, he was completely entranced by it, unable to move. All he could do was stare, mouth gaping as the door opened and revealed Stiles.
Holy shit. Stiles. Fuck Derek had missed him, had missed that pale skin and those moles and that messy hair and those eyes and... and Stiles. He'd just flat out missed Stiles.
Stiles, who was staring back at Derek with wide eyes, disbelief parting his lips, shock raising his eyebrows. Stiles, who was still gripping the doorknob, other hand raising to hold the door frame and essentially block Derek's entrance. Stiles, who looked adorably rumpled in threadbare flannel PJ pants and Derek's old UC-Irvine baseball tee, "Rip 'Em Eaters" proudly displayed across a lean chest as the gray fabric hung off him.
Stiles, who looked like shit, just as McCall had said.
His pale skin was splotchy, lines across his left cheek, indentations on his skin from laying on something for too long. His eyes were red, lashes clumped together, nose a distinctive crimson hue, all signs he'd been crying—and recently. Dark circles were more noticeable than normal, the usual spark in his whiskey eyes gone, lips chapped. He was obviously upset, not caring about himself, letting his appearance and hygiene fall to the wayside.
All because of Derek.
The athlete swallowed hard, guilt a hard knot in his chest, making it difficult to breathe. He'd done that, had taken the life out the most joyous and energetic person he knew, had dimmed the brightest star in the galaxy. All because he was a dickhead who refused to believe the one person he should trust more than anyone—outside his immediate family, of course.
Not a pussy, but definitely an asshole.
"Derek?" Stiles croaked out, disbelief still audible through a sob-roughened voice. "What're you doing here?"
The older man gripped the back of his neck, wincing, nerves returning. But the door hadn't been slammed in his face and swear words hadn't assaulted his ears, so maybe there was a chance that things would go all right.
"I, uh," he faltered, dropping his hands and shoving both in his jeans pockets. "I wanted to talk to you."
Knuckles went white as Stiles tightened his grip on the door frame, lips pressed into a hard line. He turned his focus away as he nodded, more to himself than as a response, eyes flicking back and forth as he thought things over.
"Talk, huh?" he double-checked, voice still holding that rasp that made Derek's guilt grow until it was constricting his chest.
"Yeah."
More nodding before the student dropped his arm from the door frame and stepped aside, wordlessly inviting the other man in.
A small relieved exhale left Derek, corner of his lips curving up in a barely there smile of gratitude, feet working on automatic as he stepped inside.
McCall and Allison's apartment was a small one-bedroom place, going along with his meager salary and her barely there paycheck. The kitchen and living room were separated by a cluttered counter covered in papers, envelopes, a laptop, various charger chords, and a couple used cups. The living area was in a similar state of disarray, coffee table littered with magazines, another laptop, a baseball glove with a ball stuffed inside as it was broken in. The TV on the right was muted, MLB Tonight showing a live look-in of the Mariners and the As, various video game systems scattered on the floor below with a nest of cables shoved behind them. On the left sat a couch covered by a comforter that'd been thrown aside, a pillow on one end with the telltale concave where someone's head had been laying.
Explained the lines on Stiles' cheek.
Derek pointed to one of the two mismatched armchairs, sitting when Stiles nodded his permission. Elbows on his knees and clasped hands hanging between them, he peered up at the younger man who remained standing in front of the TV. Stiles had his arms wrapped around his torso as though he was holding himself together, shoulders hunched to brace himself for the blows, trying to make himself as small a target as possible. He looked timid, wary, eyes heavily lidded and lips pressed together tightly.
Because of Derek.
Because the last time they'd spoken, the conversation had consisted of false accusations, hurt feelings, utter betrayal, and curse words.
Really, he couldn't blame the smaller man for being nervous and trying to seem even smaller.
"I'm sorry," Derek breathed out, knowing it would probably be in his best interest to just cut to the chase and come out with it. Apologizing right out the gate would set the tone for their convo and help put the other guy more at ease, let him known that he had nothing to be worried about.
But instead of looking comforted and relieved, Stiles' brow furrowed into a confused frown, fingers clutching and releasing the loose fabric of a too big tee at his side. "For sitting?" he questioned earnestly, genuinely puzzled as to the reasons behind the apology.
The athlete shook his head. "For not trusting or believing you."
The confusion left the other guy's face, lips letting out a flat "oh" and remaining in that shape.
"I'm a dumbass," Derek stated, truly believing his insult. Because really, that was the only reason why he hadn't taken Stiles' word when he said he hadn't contacted that photog. Because he was too fucking dumb to recognize the truth when it was staring him right in the face.
"And a jackass," he continued. "And an asshole and, god, did I fuck up." His hands were shaking along with his voice, vision blurring slightly as the weight of everything fully settled in and he finally completely realized what he'd done. "I fucked up so bad and I don't know how to fix it."
Stiles' body language shifted with the other man's confession: arms crossed in a more aggressive manner, jaw tensed up, spine straightened with his shoulders held back. "Insulting yourself is a good start," he snarked in a voice that was as hard and as cold as his eyes.
The corner of Derek's lips quirked up in a vague semblance of an amused smirk. "I'm a shithead."
"Yep." His voice was still flat, almost emotionless save for the pissed off edge. He obviously wasn't in a joking mood, wouldn't be softened by humor, meaning the older man would have to switch tactics.
Green eyes flipped down, staring at his own hands, fingers entwined. It wasn't long ago that they'd been tangled up in Stiles', that they'd been laced together with slimmer ones. God, they ached for that again. Hell, his entire body ached from holding himself in place, every muscle tensed as he resisted the urge to walk over and pull the younger man close, to try and just hug everything better. He knew the embrace wouldn't be welcomed, that it was more likely to result in a punched face than a returned hug. Better to keep his hands to himself and continue talking in the hopes of maybe eventually one day being able to touch the male he was longing to hold.
"Kate was the one who sold me out," Derek blurted out while trying to figure out how to lead the conversation there.
Whoops.
Fuck it. It was out there, too late to take back, and really, he should just roll with it.
Stiles' eyebrows shot up in surprise, head rearing back a bit. "Your agent?" he double-checked, sounding like he believed it but at the same time, couldn't.
A lot like how Derek had felt when Allison had told him.
The athlete nodded, scratching his whisker-covered jaw and looking up at his...ex. "Yeah," he breathed out, clearing his throat before continuing at a louder volume. "Apparently I wasn't grabbing enough headlines so she decided to get some for me." His hands clenched into fists as they hung between his knees again, still unable to comprehend the fact that she'd actually done that. And for such fucked up reasons, too.
Not that outing him and wrecking his world for good reasons would've made it okay.
Did good reasons for that even exist?
The student snorted, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. His lips were pulled back in an angry sneer, disgust clearly evident on his face, and Derek could practically see the wheels turning in his head as he came up with new and creative insults for her.
"Wow, so nice of her," he muttered sarcastically, venom dripping off his every syllable. "Maybe next time she should just take you to a bar, make sure you have a few too many, and get you on DrunkAthletes-dot-com instead."
"Well, she's fired, so she won't have the chance to do that," Derek informed him nonchalantly, not regretting that decision at all. He doubted he ever would.
"Still a better idea though."
"True. Definitely wouldn't jeopardize my relationship or blow it all to shit."
Another snort from the other man, his entire body rocking with the action, jaw working in aggravation. "No, you did that all by yourself."
The older man winced under the blow as the truth whacked him in the face. "Yeah, I know," he admitted meekly, hands clasped, sad eyes peering up at the other guy. "And I am so. Fucking. Sorry. My mind just got so fucked by the shock of being outed so suddenly and against my will that I totally screwed up one of the best things that has ever happened to me. I was pissed and took it out on the wrong person and."
He paused, mouth gaping, struggling to complete his sentence. He genuinely had no clue where he'd been going with that thought, just knew he needed to explain his side.
Only he couldn't. Because even he had no clue why he'd done what he had. There was no excusing it, no explaining it away. He'd fucked up, plain and simple.
"I don't know why I even considered the possibility of you doing that," he confessed, eyes trained on the carpet between his feet. "But I know how idiotic it was."
"Incredibly, unbelievably, so totally fucking beyond idiotic," Stiles clarified, tone still snark-filled and pissed.
"I know." He swallowed hard, looking up with pleading eyes. "And I swear I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you and proving that I do trust you."
The student nodded slowly as he took the words in, teeth digging into a chapped bottom lip for a long moment. "Blow jobs," he replied solemnly, eyes grave as they met the other man's.
The two words had been spoken so seriously that Derek was actually taken aback by them, head jerking, eyes widening briefly. "What?" he sputtered out, not entirely sure he'd heard the guy right.
"Blow jobs," he repeated in the same serious voice. "It'll take a whole lot of 'em to make it up to me. Rim jobs, too."
The shortstop nodded, dumbfounded, wondering how someone could discuss sex acts in the same way someone else might discuss what stocks to invest in or what safety features they want in their new car. But he was. It was Stiles' version of contract negotiations and Derek was willing to pay up if it meant the younger guy wasn't going anywhere.
"Whatever you want," Derek stated, hands outstretched, palms up in offer. "I'll do whatever it takes, I promise."
Stiles twisted his lips, eyes glancing about the room, seeming to be mulling over other options, thinking of other ways to make his ex pay. "Nah. Blowies and rimmies are it," he concluded with a slight shrug of one shoulder. "Just be glad I'm not a chick and I'm not demanding a four-million dollar ring like Kobe's wife."
A small huff of a laugh blew past the darker haired male's lips, amusement turning up the corners of them. Only for his face to grow serious once again as realization sunk in.
"Wait," he requested, scooting forward to the edge of the armchair. "So. You actually forgive me?"
The younger man unfolded his arms and scratched his jaw, nails rasping against the stubble of a couple day's missed shaving. "Not. Fully, no," he clarified, dropping both arms to his sides and adopting a more relaxed stance. "But I am willing to give you a chance to work for it." He tilted his head down, eyes focused on the carpet as he inhaled shakily then let it out more steadily. "I love you," he confessed lowly, fingers of one hand drumming against the clenched ones of the other as he held both in front of his chest. "Still love you. You mean way too much to me for me to just throw away all we had."
Derek inhaled sharply, holding the air in his lungs. Hope had sparked in his chest and he was refusing to give it any oxygen to grow, afraid he'd be incinerated in the flames and left as ashes once again.
Stiles lifted his head and met the other man's eyes with his own shiny ones. "I mean, you know what you did was fucked up, right?" The hope he was feeling was fully evident, from the tone in his voice to the sparkle in his eyes to the way he swallowed hard.
He nodded. "Indescribably fucked up."
"And it's never gonna happen again."
More nodding. "I know you'd never do anything like that so I shouldn't ever accuse you of it. And I also shouldn't take my frustration or anger out on you."
The younger man took a deep breath as he made like a bobblehead, taking it all in and mulling it over. He was silent for a long moment before he finally spoke. "That couch," he began, pointing to the mentioned item and sneering like it'd personally offended him. "Is so fucking uncomfortable. Our bed is so much better."
Derek felt the corner of his lips tug up, hope flaring up and creating a wildfire inside his chest. "Our bed?" he questioned, noting the other man's words.
A similar smirk formed on Stiles' face, faint blush on his cheeks as he shrugged a shoulder in a bashful manner. "Yeah. Assuming I'm still welcome there."
The athlete rose to his feet and took the two steps necessary to close the distance between them. Locking eyes, he held the other man's hands in his, heart pounding in joy and excitement. "Of course," he replied honestly. "It's still ours, everything in our apartment is. And I'm still completely yours for as long as you'll have me."
Stiles' smile grew, releasing the older man's hands to drape his arms over his shoulders, pressing himself closer. "That'll be pretty much forever."
"Forever works for me."
A laugh gusted out against Derek's lips before he pressed them against the other man's in a sweet kiss. He felt his heart beat double its speed, his stomach knotting and flipping, his skin tingling. It was like their first kiss all over again and Derek was barely able to come to grips with the fact that it was real, that it was happening, that Stiles was giving their relationship another shot.
"Saw your tweet, by the way," Stiles informed him once they parted, foreheads pressed together. "Not exactly what I originally said but close enough."
Green eyes were rolled, because of course he'd focus on that rather than the message behind the tweet itself. "Still got the point across though."
"True," the younger man admitted with a thoughtful pout. "So what's up now that you're out and agent-less?"
"Not agent-less," Derek contradicted, wrapping his arms tighter around his boyfriend's—no ex—waist. "I signed with McCall's. She's gonna set up an interview with MLB Network for this weekend and a meeting with You Can Play after the road trip next week. Then it's contract negotiations and a possible extension with the Mets."
A small smile played on Stiles' lips. "Well, I told you before and I still mean it: I'm by your side and I support you no matter what you choose to do."
Derek's grin damn near hurt his face as he kissed his boyfriend again, knowing one-hundred percent without a doubt that Stiles meant what he said.
And he couldn't love the guy any more, even if he tried.
