Stiles woke before his alarm clock went off the next morning. He fell out of his bed and pushed the curtain aside. The weather was of irritating importance when you painted a house, and today was a cloudy day, with glimpses of sun streams here and there; kind of perfect actually. His bedroom was at the back of the house, the side against the forest, and he opened the window to get the fresh forest air into his room, but as he took a deep breath in, a strong smell of paint attacked his nose, concealing everything else in the air.
Stuffing her mouth with breakfast, Talia couldn't get out of the house fast enough this morning, and Stiles had to call her back for the lunch box she forgot in her haste. She eagerly rolled down the road, impatient to meet up with Nate a few blocks away. They had secret plans to play police officers or detectives or something. Stiles wasn't sure, well, since their plans were secret.
Stiles sipped at his second cup of coffee when the doorbell rang. On his way to the door, he passed his father who sat in the living room watching the news on TV.
Derek stood outside, face marred with anxiety.
Butterflies appeared in Stiles' stomach like a whip. His father could hear anything they said, so he chose his words carefully. "You wanna come inside for coffee, or are you here to help me out with the house?"
Derek jerked his thumb to the garden. "Come outside?"
"Sure," Stiles agreed immediately, already closing the door between them. "You go back, and I'll be there in a second."
Derek nodded, striding towards the back.
Stiles refilled his own cup and poured one for Derek, too, before letting his dad know he'd be outside. Stiles was already dressed in his work clothes, and he hurried to get his shoes and paint-stained jacket on, slipping his phone in his pocket.
Rounding the corner, he found Derek slumped in the fragile-looking garden chair, which threatened to break when Derek shifted to accept his cup.
"Thanks."
Stiles tried to smile, but it probably came out a little stiff, and sat down on the stack of planks, which was significantly lower than merely a couple of days ago. "So, did you take the picture with you?" He dried his sweaty hands on his jeans.
Derek took a sip of his coffee, staring down at the grass. "Yeah," he said slowly, like he was reluctant to talk about it.
"Let me see?" Stiles was at the point where he just wanted it over with; tired of the uncertainty and needed to start dealing with the result, but Derek seemed to have all the time in the world.
Derek took a deep breath in and fished the paper out of his pocket on the outbreath, almost hitting Stiles as he jerked his hand towards him, like he had to force himself to show it.
Stiles set his cup down and turned the picture. Long, straight dark hair, milky white skin, huge brown eyes, and red, plump lips. It was a girl in her late teens, looking into the camera from the corner of her eye, about half the age of the Cora that Stiles had known. It was undeniably his Cora, though. Or Talia's Cora, really. Cora had never belonged to Stiles, and he hadn't wished for it either.
Derek must have watched him like a hawk, because suddenly he was there, on his knees before Stiles, clutching at his thighs with frightened eyes. "Is it her, Stiles? Is it her?" Derek shook him, frantic.
"Yes!" Stiles said gruffly, wiping at the tears streaming from his eyes and down his face with irritation, needing to have a clear vision of the picture. Shit! This was Talia's mother: Cora Hale, Derek's sister! His kid's mother happened to be Derek's sibling. What was the probability of such a coincidence? Scientifically extremely low.
"It's her," he cried as Derek threw his arms around Stiles, squeezing hard, as tight as possible, like Stiles made him closer to Cora.
Derek pressed his face to Stiles' neck, clinging to him. "Fuck, Stiles! Thank you!"
Stiles fell over Derek on the grass, rolled to the side and held the picture up in the air for them both to look at. "I can't believe it. I just can't." He pressed his hand to his mouth, his head swimming.
Derek bombarded Stiles with questions, his voice gruff. "How did she look as an adult? Was she happy? You said she was a workaholic; Was she stressed? Did she make any time for Talia? Did she ever say anything about her family?" His hand shook as he took the picture from Stiles, tracing the contours of his sister's face with his fingertip.
Stiles turned over to his side, resting his head in his hand, looking at Derek's profile. He had so many things to tell him, all of his memories of Cora related to their daughter. "Well," he started, and Derek turned his face to him, his eyes searching Stiles'. "She was pretty, just like in this picture."
Derek's mouth twitched, his nostrils flaring as if fighting back tears. Stiles reached out his hand, and stroked the man's cheek. "She was always busy with her work, spent day and night at the lab, so Talia mostly lived with me, but my impression was that Cora used every spare moment with her daughter." He dropped his hand to the grass between them, trying to think back.
He smiled, and the corner of Derek's mouth trembled, like he wanted to smile, but couldn't yet. "Talia says she remembers her, but I don't know if she really does or if it's through my stories."
Derek studied Stiles' face intently. "What have you told her about her mother's disappearance?"
Stiles frowned. "I've told her the truth, of course: That I don't know what's happened to her." He sighed, rubbing his forehead. "She used to fantasize about her mother suddenly coming to knock on our door, or if anything really bad happened, her mother would finally show herself and come to her rescue. I can't blame her since we don't know anything. I mean, the last year I've felt so sure she was dead, but I haven't had the heart to take away Talia's hope."
Derek nodded solemnly. "So how's she been able to live with this?"
"As I told you, Cora spent a lot of time at work, so Talia was used to her mother not being around much." Stiles sat up, aware that the ground was wet, his jeans muddy. "She asked for Cora a lot in the beginning anyway, and I've always answered that she's not here anymore and that I don't know where she is. Talia wasn't even three years old when it happened, so it's normal for her to have just me around."
Derek sat up too, brushing the back of his hand over his eyes.
Stiles felt goosebumps tingling his arms when he thought of something. "Derek, we have photo albums!" He sat up. "So many pictures to show you!" But then he remembered, deflating. "But they're back in San Francisco. Dammit!"
Derek sat up too, drying his eyes. "That's all right. You'll show them to me sometime." Derek placed his picture in the inside pocket of his jacket, holding his hand over it, covering his heart.
Stiles jumped up. "But Talia's own album's here!" He was inside, running up the stairs to his daughter's room before he knew it, snatching the album from her nightstand, and racing back down.
In the backyard with Derek again, he gasped, pressing it to Derek's chest. "Here!" He gestured to the house. "I don't want to go inside, if that's all right? My dad's here and I really don't feel like telling him yet." This had to be a secret between him and Derek until they'd talked more about it, and when they first told anyone else, it had to be his father, and then Talia and Melissa. If Derek had anyone he was close to, they had to be next.
Watching the expressions on Derek's face when he opened the album, Stiles waited as the man read the stories and comments Stiles had written in there. It contained the story of Talia and her mother, from Stiles' point of view. Derek laughed and cried interchangeably, and Stiles thought about how Talia now had an uncle and that Derek probably needed her as much as Talia needed him.
Two days later, Stiles, his father and Talia were on their way to Scott's house for dinner. Stiles drummed his fingers against the steering wheel before Talia placed her hand over his hand, stopping him.
"Don't be nervous, Dad," she told precociously. "They're all nice, I promise."
His father grunted from the backseat.
Stiles took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I know, baby. I haven't talked to them for five years, but I know they're nice, or else we wouldn't be on our way to them." He threw a tight-lipped smile her way, but she was already looking out the window on her side.
At Scott's house, Nate ran down the stairs to meet them, pulling Talia inside after him while Stiles helped his dad out of the car. Melissa came down the stairs to help out and when they were finally inside the front door, Scott and Allison were there.
"I'm so glad you could come!" Scott shook Stiles' hand eagerly before he even had time to take off his shoes.
Stiles glanced over to Allison, who stood with her arms crossed in front of her chest, not looking as ready to be friends again as Scott seemed. "Thanks for inviting us?" It came out more like a question than Stiles had intended.
Scott threw his arm around his girlfriend. "We're happy to have you."
Finally, Allison grabbed Stiles' outstretched hand, gripping it firmly. "It is nice to see you again, Stiles. We've missed you alot. Both of us."
Stiles swallowed hard. Fuck, this afternoon wouldn't be easy, for any of them. They had a lot of things to talk about, but what he really wanted to tell them was that he'd found Talia an uncle. It felt like too big of a deal to go on carrying it alone, but he pressed his lips firmly together. "I've missed you so much." He pulled Allison to him, hugging her tight. He felt Scott beside them, as he patted Stiles' back.
"Me too," Allison muttered. "Me too, Stiles. We need each other."
Stiles let her go, looking at her face. "Yeah, we really do," he sighed, smiling at her. "So what're you doing these days?"
She smiled back. "I'm still working at the FBI center downtown with my dad. Now I'm teaching them all about firearms." She was full on grinning now.
"Wow!" Stiles breathed, a little put out by the images pressing their way into his brain. Allison like Lara Croft popped up before he caught himself. He cleared his voice. "Awesome!"
The doorbell rang, making Stiles jump, and he finally got rid of the unwanted image. Melissa strode into the hall, opening the door. Chris Argent's sunburned face appeared, all smiles and friendliness. "Hello, sweetheart," he said, kissing Melissa's chin.
Stiles raised his eyebrows in question to Scott, who shrugged uncomfortably, mouthing, "Old news."
"Right," Melissa sang. "Now that we're finally all here, can we please eat? The food's getting cold."
Allison gave Stiles her dimpled smile, and he grinned back at her. Maybe it would be easier than he'd feared.
Talia and Nate played together up in Nate's room after dinner, and Melissa, Chris, and the older sheriff sat on the couch watching TV. Stiles stuck his nose in the air, smelling sweet coffee aroma as he reached the kitchen, carrying dirty dishes.
"Aah!" He breathed out, placing everything on the counter, and grabbed the cup of coffee Scott pressed into his hand. "Thanks!" He grinned. It was much easier to relax than he'd thought it would be.
Scott gestured to a chair. "Sit down. I'll clean up here later."
"So . . . " Allison sat nursing her cup with both hands, looking between the two men.
"Yeah." Stiles sighed. "Where do we begin?"
"I know," Scott said, swallowing visibly. "I am so sorry, Stiles. I hate that your dad got shot, and I still don't know how it happened."
"Tell me about it, please?"
Scott looked at him cautious, but honest. "I think you've heard it all before."
"Let's just go over it one more time, okay?" Allison said. "So we're sure."
Stiles agreed. He'd heard—or read, more precisely—his father's version of the night, and he'd been to the hearing, but a lot was classified information that was never made public. It had been a highly unsatisfying experience.
Stiles had never let Scott explain himself face to face. Stiles had placed the blame on Scott because he'd needed to place it somewhere, he knew that, and he'd buried himself in a downward spiral since. It was easier to have somewhere to place his anger than to carry it around inside. "Yeah, let's go over it together."
Scott nodded. "Okay, I was on night shift at the station, it was quiet and I dozed off. Then I got the call from my dad. Working on a case for the Bureau, he had inside information about a drug lair downtown, and he gave me the address. He got wind that they were supposed to receive a new shipment that night and he needed us to help him out immediately."
Stiles was already familiar with this. "And then you called my dad."
"Yeah, unfortunately I did." Scott looked miserable, his knee jumping.
Allison placed her hand on his knee. "But it was according to protocol to call your boss."
"But still! It was Stiles' dad!"
Stiles scraped his chair closer to the table. "Yes, it was my dad, and when you called him, you were doing your job, weren't you?"
Scott's gaze snapped up to Stiles', surprised. "Fuck, Stiles. Yeah, I was."
It felt so good to say those words to Scott. Stiles had thought about saying them many times. When he was in a good mood, he thought that if he was a better man, he'd say those words to his best friend.
Scott cleared his voice, sloshing his coffee around in his cup. "The sheriff, me, and two other officers met up with my dad a block away from the exit to the house. It was right on the border of the preserve, its backyard facing it. My dad had it all planned out, and we spent an hour talking it all over, rehearsing, but when we were in place by the house, it all went to shit.
"We shouldn't have done what my dad told us." Scott threw himself back in his chair. "I don't know."
"No, you had to follow his orders," Allison said. "This was an FBI case. You know this. You had to do as he said."
Scott groaned, looking as sad and frustrated as Stiles felt. "Anyway. Your dad was shot in the head in the turmoil when we attacked the house."
"Yes, but what I don't get is how he could get shot? When you entered the house there was only one man there!"
"I know!" Scott groaned frustrated. "And we had to set him free, because how can a blind man shoot anyone?"
Stiles didn't get any new information that night, and he probably had to live with the uncertainty for the rest of his life. He was done blaming Scott though. So done with it.
It hadn't been easy coming to terms with Scott getting the sheriff's badge. After the investigation was over and the hearing ended, Scott not only kept his job, he also was promoted—to be the boss the old sheriff couldn't be anymore, as he floated between life and death at the hospital for weeks. Stiles' father had contracted pneumonia and sepsis, and he had to be in induced coma for a month before he slowly came back to life, half his body partially paralyzed and his speech taken away from him.
Stiles was forever grateful for all the salad he'd forced into his dad instead of letting him eat the red meat he'd really wanted, and being persistent with his healthy living. The cardiologist told them both that his father could thank his perfect blood pressure, the lack of fat in his arteries, and routine morning runs for his life.
Many nights lying in bed, trying to sleep, and thinking his most secret and darkest thoughts, Stiles wondered if his father wished he hadn't followed Stiles' advice, and had died from the shot instead of living a life as a handicapped man, unable to work or take fully care of himself. Stiles' therapist told Stiles again and again the same thing Stiles would have told his own patients; having a handicap doesn't say anything about the quality of your life. The way his dad had fought and still fought every day was an achievement to respect him for, and that respect included not feeling sorry for him, but focusing on all the good in their lives.
Monday morning the rain poured down, and Stiles drove Talia to school so she didn't have to take her bike and get soaking wet before the school day had even begun. It was definitely not a day for painting outside, but Stiles had time, and he had other things needing to be done instead. He planned to take some phone calls, and find out the possibilities of getting internet at the house. He also needed to follow the local news in San Francisco in case there was something concerning Lahey's case in them.
On a whim, he drove a longer route home, passing the forest, and turned onto the dirt road, leading to the address Lydia had given him to the supposedly delusional man who believed he was a werewolf.
A car came towards him, and the road was not wide enough to let them pass each other, but the other car stopped in a indent so Stiles could pass him. It was Derek's truck, Stiles realized as he came up beside him. He rolled down his window and leaned his elbow on the door.
"On your way to work?"
"Yeah. Not a day for painting, is it?" Derek smiled, looking up at the heavy clouds, rain dripping down his face. The trees were thick over the road, keeping it from pouring on their spot. "Anyway, I have some paperwork waiting." Derek sat back in his seat. "What're you doing here? Coming to visit me?"
Stiles laughed. "No, I didn't know where you lived. I'm here because of my friend Lydia, actually."
Derek frowned at him. "Lydia?"
"Yeah, Lydia Martin," Stiles explained. "She's a doctor at the hospital. Do you know her?"
Derek's frown deepened. "Yes, I'm familiar with her." His voice was tight.
It didn't seem like Derek liked Lydia much, but Stiles knew from his younger days that she could be a bit too much sometimes, until you got to know her. "I guess you'd know your neighbour living in the huge wooden house at the end?"
"Why are you here really?" Derek spat angrily.
Stiles felt like he was missing a big piece of the puzzle until it dawned on him. "Oh!"
Derek hit his steering wheel, making the horn honk loudly. "Fuck! What has she told you?" He muttered something sounding like: How could she?
Stiles slapped his forehead. "Shit!"
Derek raced his engine, passing Stiles, spraying gravel all over his car. Stiles shook it off from his arm outside of the window before he closed it and drove carefully to the clearing where Derek's house was, his heart pounding. He sat, trying to calm down and to get his unwilling brain to cooperate while rain hammered on the roof of his car.
What the hell! Was Derek delusional? That couldn't be right. He seemed as grounded in reality as he should be, from what Stiles could tell.
Derek's truck came screeching to a halt beside Stiles' car. Derek jumped out, strode over and ripped Stiles' door open.
"What the hell, Derek!" Stiles got out of the car at a normal pace. "You need to calm down!"
"Not until you tell me exactly why you're here!" Derek roared. "I'm so fed up with that meddling woman, and it turns out you of all people are one of her lackeys?" Derek deflated right in front of Stiles' eyes, and he groaned deeply, dragging his hands over his face.
"We need to talk." Stiles locked the door to his car and walked over to stand under the roof covering the front porch before looking back to the other man. Derek stared after him, standing at the same spot.
"What?" Stiles flung up his palms. "You still going to work, or are we going inside?"
Derek took a hesitant step towards the house, unlocked the door, and held it open for Stiles to enter. Inside the hall, Stiles took off his shoes and hung up his wet jacket, which dripped water down on the wooden floor. Stiles looked to Derek when he was done. "Coffee?"
Derek came to life, and led the way to the kitchen.
Stiles went after Derek, admiring left and right as he approached the heart of the house. It looked as much as a family home on the inside as it did from outside. Wood was the main material used from what Stiles saw, but instead of giving a heavy feeling to the dark rooms, he felt close to nature and like the house had a soul, history.
Large windows directed towards the forest let green light flow into the kitchen onto a huge wood slab table. Stiles pulled out a chair beside it and sat down as Derek busied himself with the coffeemaker at the counter.
"You have a very impressive house here!" Stiles looked around, leaning an elbow on the table. "Have you done all this yourself?" He threw out his hand to the wall they had come through. It was made of reclaimed stones, ending up in a fireplace in the corner.
Derek reached for cups from the upper cupboard, his sweater riding up to expose a strip of his lower back, his dark jeans hugging his behind.
Stiles' snapped his gaze up to Derek's as he turned to look at Stiles. "Yes, I spent years rebuilding my family's home." He walked over to the table, placing the cups down a little harder than strictly necessary as he sat down.
"Oh, no, this was your family's house? I remember seeing it burned to the ground many years ago."
Derek watched him over his cup, assessing. "Haven't you asked your father about me?"
"No!" Stiles felt confused, pulling at his wet jeans. "Should I?"
Derek shrugged, not elaborating.
"You mean since we're now kind of related?"
Derek set his cup down, nursing it with his hand. "I'd think you'd want to know more about me before you let me meet Talia as her uncle and let it become public knowledge."
Stiles nodded. "Fair enough." He took a sip from his coffee and hummed as he saluted Derek with his cup. "This is good!"
"I was going ask Dad about you," he admitted after a pause. "I want to know what you were doing in the forest when they were looking for half a woman. How did you came to know my dad so well that you knew he'd love to have a cane decorated with art inspired by the preserve. I wanted to ask my dad why he didn't know Cora was your sister when he met her in his early visits to San Francisco.
"I haven't talked to him about any of this yet because I wanted for us to get to know each other more first, and I'd prefer to get the answers from you instead." He looked up at Derek, who was staring at him intently.
"I have answers to all of your questions, but first I'd like to know what made Dr. Martin ask you precisely to come here."
"Thank you!" Stiles said sincerely, leaning back in his chair. "When Talia and I came back here, I went to Lydia to get help to sort out my problems with work. I was too overwhelmed and confused to think clearly all by myself, and she's an old friend of mine from school, highly intelligent and capable of making me see the essence of things. As a favour, Lydia asked me if I could talk to a man that her nurse heard saying he was a werewolf. She was hoping . . . " he leaned forward, putting emphasis to what he was saying next, "to prevent you from being forced to become a patient."
"Right," Derek said. "Okay. Your friend has been here a couple of times, demanding that I come to the hospital to talk to someone, get committed or medicated or I don't know. She seems to think she can do what she wants."
"So, Derek." Stiles leaned forward. "Why would someone claim you believed you were a werewolf? If the nurse lied about you, what would make a person think of such a specific lie?"
Derek hesitated. "Look," he said finally. "We have a lot of things to talk about, and it's all related. All the questions you have for me have basically one answer, but it will not be easy for you to accept, so it will take a lot of trust." Derek looked him in the eye. "I'm not sure you're ready yet."
Stiles stared at him for a minute, silent, collecting his thoughts. "Okay, I should tell you that Lydia asked me for help because I'm a psychiatrist working with acute psychotic patients back home. Many of the things I've seen and heard might shock people not familiar with patients, but it's inevitable to develop other limits when you in daily life are dealing with anything the human mind can come up with.
"What I'm trying to say is, I like to believe I can handle something out of the norm. There isn't much I want more than for you to be a part of Talia's life, and for that I do need to trust you, and I need to know what you're dealing with."
Derek went over to stand in front of the window, his hands behind his back. "I would have been sceptic, had I been in your situation. I'd need to protect my kid. But for what it's worth, I can promise you I'll never be a threat to Talia."
Stiles watched Derek's back, feeling like Derek was waiting for his decision. Stiles wanted the answers, and he needed to know if Derek was as stable as he seemed to be.
What would he do if Derek told him the nurse had heard right? If Derek truly believed he was a werewolf, how would it affect them all?
"Derek."
Derek turned around, his gaze cautious, fear seeping through.
Stiles went over to look out of the window too, the rain still whipping against the glass. "I don't think it matters if you believe you're a werewolf or not. I know it's possible to have an approximately normal life while dealing with even the more severe mental diseases. If all you have to deal with is thinking you're a werewolf, then I'd say: Okay, so you're a werewolf. I won't treat you like one, and never believe it myself, but I can accept that you think so." He paused, glancing at the other man. "But in my experience there are very few people with delusional disorder, with delusions as the only symptom."
Derek turned abruptly to him, face frustrated, fists tight by his thighs, but he didn't say anything.
"Okay." Stiles decided to let it go for now, and would rather focus on getting to know Derek more. "Are you going in to work now, or do you want to hang out with me?"
"I want to be with you," Derek said immediately. "We could have gone for a walk in the preserve back here, but it's better to see after lunch if the rain eases up some. Come on, I'll show you the house."
Stiles smiled at him. "I'd like that." He followed Derek out in the hall. "Did you go to school to learn all this?" He laughed. "You know I have no idea about this. But then I'd be easy to impress."
"Yeah," Derek smiled, opening the door to the living room. "I studied to be a carpenter in New York. A few years after I came back here, I started my own business while I took business classes, and then I opened the store."
Like the kitchen, the outer wall of the living room was covered in windows, letting the verdant light dominate the room.
"Store?" Stiles asked when he finally focused back on Derek's words.
Derek looked at him, puzzled. "Yeah, the hardware store?"
Oh.
Stiles went to pick up Talia from school on his way back home. She came rushing out of school, Nate at her heels, and she threw her backpack into the backseat.
"Dad! Can I please go with Nate to his place? Please! Please!" She held her hands folded up in front of Stiles' face, and he chuckled at her antics, grabbing her in for a hug.
"Please, Stiles!" Nate was beside them, and Stiles grabbed him too, hugging them both before Talia slapped his chest.
"Dad! You're so silly!"
Stiles pretended to look stern at her. "Hm, first you beg me to let you go to Nate's and then you call me silly?"
She rolled her eyes. "That's because you are silly. It's not name-calling when I'm telling the truth."
Stiles ruffled her hair, laughing. "I'll show you silly!" He got out of the car, but Talia sprinted giggling from him to the other side of the car.
"Dad, now you're embarrassing me!" She opened the door and slipped in quickly. "Here, Nate, come on. Dad won't say no."
Talia had her dad so wrapped around her little finger, it wasn't even funny. He sighed, but got into the car himself, turning to face the kids, his arm on the headrest of the passenger seat. "It's okay with me, but we have to talk to your parents first, Nate."
Nate grinned at him. "They're at work. Grandma's there. You know she won't say no."
Stiles smiled back at him. "No, I guess not." He turned around to start the car, hearing Talia and Nate high five, whispering, Yes!
It was merely a light drizzle in the air, like an afterthought from the previous massive downpour. After lunch, Derek had taken him to the forest paths in the area of the preserve that bordered his house. Stiles felt tired both from the socializing and all the tension of their serious conversation, and his muscles ached from working on his own house earlier in the week. It felt good to let Talia stay at Nate's for the afternoon. Perhaps Stiles could take a nap.
Melissa was all smiles when Stiles came over with the kids. "Hold on a minute, Stiles! I have dinner that I planned to bring you later, but now you're here, you can take it with you."
Stiles smelled the air, the scents making his mouth water. Talia and Nate were already inside, busy with their playing.
Soon Melissa came out again, a casserole in her hands, which she pushed into Stiles' willing arms. "Tell the sheriff I'll come over later, all right?"
"Thank you. I will." He started walking down the stairs.
"Oh, Stiles! I can take Talia with me when I come over. I'll make sure they do their homework and she can eat supper here, so she just has to brush her teeth before bed."
Stiles went up the stairs again, held the casserole to the side as he kissed the woman's cheek. "Thanks!"
He hummed in the car on his way back home, his mind tired, but unwilling to rest yet. Turning onto his street, a black car stood in their front yard, tinted windows and polish shining. He rolled up beside it, looking around for signs of who it could be, but there was no one to be seen.
He strode up to the house, worried there was something wrong with his dad. The door opened before he could reach for the handle, and it had to be the visitor since his father would never spend all the time it'd take him to go open the door for him.
"Hello, Stiles!" Agent McCall stood right inside the door, holding it open. "We've been waiting for your return."
Thank you for reading! :)