A/N: Here you go! There's some tension and a few melancholy moments, but it leads up to some nice, sweet feels at the end. :) Enjoy your respite from the angst and pain! (Oh, and don't forget last chapter I warned that things would move a little faster than I thought was truly realistic, because of the crunched timeline. Suspension of disbelief, remember.)

Derek was honestly surprised when Stiles showed up on his doorstep the next night, as if nothing had changed at all. He knew they were going to try to, somehow, make their way back to where they had been, but he hadn't anticipated it would start so soon.

"No time like the present, right?" Stiles joked awkwardly when Derek mentioned it. He stared at Stiles until the younger man deflated. "Look, if we're really going to do this, we have to, y'know, do it. If we wait until it's comfortable, we'll keep coming up with excuses for why we should keep waiting, and then before you know it a month will have passed, and then two, and then the semester will be over, and we'll be strangers." He paused. "And I'm suddenly feeling the strangest sense of déjà vu."

He couldn't help it, he laughed. "Because we've had this conversation more than once," he reminded Stiles, trying to erase the spontaneous grin and smother it under a serious expression. "We haven't been very good at not screwing things up."

"But this time'll be different, right?" Stiles countered as he flopped onto Derek's couch, picking up the remote and turning the TV on, then proceeding to start flipping channels. "I mean, you don't love me anymore. It won't be awkward and tense. At least, not eventually."

Right. His brilliant idea to tell Stiles he didn't love him anymore. He wondered how long he'd be able to pull that act off convincingly; he sure as hell hadn't been able to convince himself, though he'd spent all of Thanksgiving break trying. Not a single person in his family had believed him when he'd insisted that he couldn't love anyone who would do something so horrible to him. Not that he'd told them the truth, of course, but his cover story was almost as bad.

The first time he saw Stiles after break was over, he'd sworn it felt like someone was trying to yank his guts out through his throat. His only satisfaction came from the look of devastation on Stiles' face when their gazes had landed on each other and Derek somehow managed to freeze him out, walking past him as if he didn't exist.

Derek had been haunted the rest of the day by the pain in Stiles' eyes.

He still didn't know if he could forgive Stiles, but he was willing to admit that he understood the motives behind his actions. He would have tried to convince Stiles to stay, to give their relationship a chance. They would have been happy, at least temporarily, and Derek absolutely would have played to that to get Stiles to give in, and Stiles knew it. He wasn't stupid. Avoiding Derek clearly was his only chance at not getting sucked into betraying the promise he'd made to his mother.

If Derek privately thought it was an unfair promise for her to have extracted from Stiles, he would never breathe a word of it.

So Stiles sat on his couch and they watched a movie together. They didn't say much, but it was something. It was a start. The next night when Stiles showed up again, Derek ordered delivery online and they sat quietly while they studied for finals, each of them occasionally bitching about something they were reading. The following night was a Friday and when Stiles arrived at his apartment he suggested, without quite meeting Derek's eyes, that they go out and get a beer. Derek had hesitated, then with a shrug, "Yeah, okay." They went to a place known for being relatively blind to their patrons' ages, Derek bought them two beers, and they sat beside each other and watched the game on the TV without really talking, but both were comforted in just being there with the other.

It was less of a struggle than Derek had imagined it would be. He was still hurt, still angry, and he recognized that both emotions were justified. But it was Stiles. From the moment he started trying to convince himself he wasn't in love with him anymore he knew he'd been lying, and now there was no point in even pretending. He still loved the idiot, and for as much as it hurt to be around him, it hurt more not to be. There was no way to know if they'd ever be okay with each other again, but it was worth it to him to at least try.

Just over a week after Lydia had forced them to talk, they were almost in a place where hanging out was comfortable. The underlying tension was still there, but it wasn't hovering over them like a cloud anymore. Derek was still a little on the quiet side, but that wasn't unusual even under the best of circumstances. Stiles, on the other hand, had resumed his normal chatty demeanor.

"Dude, I got it!" Stiles crowed one day as he swung the apartment door open, dropping his backpack on the floor by the dining room table with a loud thump. Another three steps had him in the living room where he flopped on the couch and sprawled out, taking up half the space, as usual. Derek lifted one eyebrow.

"Herpes?" he surmised with a smirk, knowing it would annoy Stiles. They'd both dropped the pretense of dating and neither one of them was sleeping around. Derek was pretty sure neither of them had even so much as looked at another person with interest since That Night. Still, it was fun to taunt him just a little.

Stiles, predictably, made a face at him. "No, you asshole. Class signups for next semester were today. I got Law and Development, no issues. Not even wait-listed."

Derek blinked. They'd decided about a month and a half earlier that they would try to take the class together, as it was required for Derek's degree and it was an elective for Stiles' Criminal Justice program. He was surprised Stiles still wanted to take it. Then again, Stiles was all about throwing himself into getting things back to normal. "With Decker? Tuesdays at noon?"

Stiles nodded in the affirmative. "Which is fucking horrible, I can't believe these assholes scheduled a two-hour class right at lunchtime," he grumbled.

"You didn't have to take it, it's not a required part of your program," Derek pointed out quietly, and Stiles shrugged, the discomfort evident on his face.

"I'd already planned out my entire schedule," he muttered. "If I'd gone for something else, I would have had to Rubik's cube the whole thing again."

Derek gave him a strained smile. "Then I'm glad it all worked out."

Most days were like that. They talked, they hung out, they settled back into being in each other's spaces, but there was still just that… edge. The sense that they were walking on a tight rope and they were doing a reasonably good job of maintaining their balance, but if they shifted even just a little bit, the whole thing would come toppling down.

Given all of that, Derek was somewhat in disbelief the day they were sitting in Bean Scene for a study session coffee break, talking about Christmas vacation, and he suddenly blurted out, "Do you want to drive back to Beacon Hills with me?"

Stiles stared at him, stunned. It wasn't that it was a completely incomprehensible concept, but up to this point, it had been Stiles who was putting in the lion's share of effort in restoring their friendship. It was fair, considering he'd been the one to fuck it all up, but it was a huge leap of faith on Derek's part, considering it meant spending hours together in a car, just the two of them. He couldn't kick Stiles' ass out if it became too difficult to cope with his presence. Not that he'd kicked Stiles out of his apartment yet, but still, it was the knowledge that he at least had that option that gave him comfort.

"We're both going back to Beacon Hills for break, right?" he continued uncomfortably. "It doesn't make sense for us to both drive our own vehicles back."

"Except for then one of us is left without a ride for the entirety of their vacation," Stiles pointed out.

Derek shrugged. "You can borrow the Camaro. We have other cars at my house," he replied nonchalantly, though his brow furrowed when Stiles gaped at him.

"You'd let me borrow your baby for three whole weeks?" he gasped.

"Sure. I trust you."

The words came out unbidden, but they were undoubtedly true. For as much of a roller-coaster ride as their relationship had been, Derek trusted Stiles unequivocally. The look on Stiles' face caused something in Derek's chest to tighten until he was breathing shallowly.

"Yeah. Yeah, I, uh, I think I could do that," Stiles answered finally, almost shyly, and Derek's chest loosened, and he breathed a little easier.

The four days between then and the morning of their departure were so chaotic with finals and last-minute studying that they didn't get to see much of each other. They texted, which Derek found easier and easier to do automatically instead of carefully considering every reply, and Stiles came over one night to help Derek construct the note cards he was allowed to use for his Econ final, but other than that they had some time apart. Derek figured it was for the best; it kept him from stressing too much about their impending road trip.

Then came Friday morning. Both of them had finished with finals the day before and they'd planned on heading out at the crack of dawn. Stiles had whined about it, of course, and Derek had countered with a roll of his eyes and the observation that he could sleep until noon every damn day of break if he wanted to. Stiles had grudgingly capitulated and agreed to meet at Derek's apartment at eight am. That way he could stow his Jeep in the garage Derek paid an extra hundred and fifty dollars a month for instead of leaving it in the dorm parking lot for three weeks.

Derek would be lying if he said he wasn't riddled with anxiety from the time he woke up until 8:03, when the unmistakable sound of the Jeep in the parking lot below settled him and he breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He leaned out the window and aimed his garage door opener at the small stall, watching as the door opened and Stiles eased inside. The Camaro was already parked right next to it, moved half an hour earlier and packed with everything they'd need for the trip up the coast.

When Stiles came stumbling in through his apartment door a minute later, Derek couldn't even begin to suppress his smile. He wouldn't deny that he was still hurt, which had continued to linger even after his anger had faded, but he had forgiven Stiles because he knew the younger man's decision to leave had been made rashly and without malice. Derek loved him and he knew Stiles loved him, too, and he wasn't willing to destroy that.

So Derek smiled, and laughed, and grabbed Stiles' shoulder to hold him upright when he tripped over the edge of the rug in the entryway. "How many times are you going to do that before you remember the rug is there?" he asked, amused, and Stiles grinned sheepishly.

"Until you get rid of it?" he offered. "Your next place needs to be carpeted. I mean, the hardwood floors are gorgeous and all, but they're hazardous to my health."

"You realize I don't plan on moving until after I'm done with grad school, right?" Derek returned, smirking.

Stiles shrugged as he pushed past Derek into the kitchen, reaching into one of the cupboards for his mug, a black one with the face of Darth Vader on it and the caption, "Sith happens". Derek had gotten it several months earlier, thoroughly pleased at the thought of how huge Stiles' smile would be when Derek presented it to him. Stiles had responded by getting him one with the words, "You're the Obi-Wan for me," and they both pretended it was a gag gift and not the truth.

"You're going to have to move eventually," Stiles responded as he pulled down the mug, and Derek was about to tell him to use one of the travel mugs instead so they could leave sooner, but Stiles' next words stopped him. "I figure I'll be there as often as I am here."

The casually-spoken words were like a punch to the stomach. Derek honestly hadn't thought much about life beyond school, but somewhere in the back of his mind he'd assumed that Stiles would be his other half for the rest of their lives, even if it wasn't necessarily romantic. Logistics, however, might not allow them that constant companionship. "Are you planning on moving back to Beacon Hills?" Derek responded quietly, and Stiles studied him with guileless eyes.

"Aren't you?"

Derek couldn't keep looking into that wide-open gaze. He focused his attention on grabbing their travel mugs out of the cupboard, both of them with Admiral Akbar's face emblazoned over the words, "It's a frap!" They never failed to make Stiles laugh, although apparently right now the best they could evoke was a distracted half-smile as he glanced at them. "You know I have to," he replied finally. "I'm the heir-apparent for mayor of Beacon Hills. But I don't want you following me back because you feel like that's your only choice."

He could feel Stiles' hand land on his arm, and he steadfastly refused to look down at it. The warmth seeping through his skin and into his blood like fire was proof enough of how viscerally he reacted to Stiles. "I always knew I'd return anyway," Stiles confessed softly. "I don't want to be away from my dad my whole life. I love that town. I always assumed I'd go back, sign on as a deputy, maybe become Sheriff one day like my dad. I wouldn't be following you. That would just be a bonus," he added cheekily, and Derek allowed a small smile to cross his face. Then Stiles lifted the mug, took a long swallow, and promptly spit it out. "Hot! Hot! Fuck, that's hot," and Derek half-snorted, half-choked on his laughter.

"Here, pour that in one of the travel mugs," Derek suggested, whacking not-so-gently on Stiles' back as he coughed and sputtered. "We're already fifteen minutes late getting on the road."

"Slave driver," Stiles muttered as he carefully poured the liquid from one mug to the other, taking care not to spill any of it on his fingers. "You have breakfast in the car?" he asked as he stuck the used mug in the dishwasher.

Derek rolled his eyes. "Yes, Stiles. There are s'mores and chocolate strawberry Pop-Tarts in the top of the grocery bag, just for you."

"Dude, you are literally the best ever," Stiles enthused gratefully, and Derek went for a smirk and settled on a gentle, fond smile. "I'd hug you and all, but my hands are kind of full." He held up both of their coffee cups with a grin.

"Probably for the best," Derek said as he opened the front door for Stiles, following him out and pausing to lock it firmly. "I'd like to avoid bodily harm before sitting in the driver's seat for the next three to four hours."

"Fuck you," Stiles sassed.

Before Derek could even think about the words coming out of his mouth, he was retorting, "Been there, done that, don't need a replay," and the two of them stared at each other for a full five seconds. Derek was horrified that he'd been the one to bring up That Night, but after Stiles' initial shock, he burst into laughter.

"You are such an asshole!" he snorted, continuing down the hall to the elevator. Derek blew out a breath of relief and followed behind, arriving just as the doors opened. They stepped inside, but the silence was surprisingly comfortable and companionable instead of awkward.

Derek was honestly looking forward to the trip. He'd argued when Stiles had suggested they drive up the coast, reminding him it would be quicker to go north through Richmond and Vallejo. His thought was to follow I-80 to Vacaville, take I-505 north and connect with I-5 and take it straight up to Red Bluff. He conceded they were going to have to backtrack west along Route 36 a little bit once they hit Red Bluff, but it would keep their road trip to a reasonable four and a half hours.

Stiles, however, had whined and pleaded until he got his way. He wanted to take the bridge over to San Francisco, follow Route 1 up the Pacific Coast until they hit Capetown, then head back east. It lengthened their trip to seven and a half hours. It should be longer, with the inevitable stops for food, gas, bathroom breaks, and a little bit of sight-seeing, but Derek was confident the Camaro would easily beat Google Maps' projected times.

It really wasn't a hardship to take the scenic route. It was beautiful, he hadn't done it in a long time, and he couldn't have asked for a more perfect traveling companion. If he struggled not to just reach over and take Stiles' hand, interlocking their fingers and driving in silence while Stiles chattered about the water dashing against the cliff rocks and the smell of the ocean air and what he wanted to see at their next stop, well, that was the only thing marring the perfection of the journey.

The first two hours of the trip played out almost like that, minus the holding hands part. Stiles couldn't stop talking and Derek stayed silent, watching him out of the corner of his eye, amusement firmly entrenched on his face in the form of a wide grin. He didn't have to say much because most of Stiles' conversation didn't actually require responses, just an occasional head nod, grin, or an "mmhmm". Every once in awhile Stiles would pick something horrendous on the radio and Derek would have to raise an eyebrow, prompting Stiles to turn it back to whatever had been on with a grumble under his breath about how he couldn't appreciate decent music.

"Taylor Swift, Stiles? Really? That's your definition of good music?" he responded with a scoff of disbelief.

"There are like five people in the whole world who genuinely don't like her music, and everyone else who complains about it secretly loves it, they just want to look hipster by trashing her," Stiles argued, and Derek bit his lip. He might not necessarily be trying for hipster, but he did have a thing against publically praising the trendy artists of the day.

"Look at the boats," he said instead, pointing out the colorful sails off the coastline.

Stiles side-eyed him. "Are you really pulling the 'distract the five-year-old' technique on me?" he snorted disdainfully. "I'll have you know it takes a lot more than some boats to take my attention away from the fact that I'm being insulted."

"They're catamarans," Derek added hopefully, and Stiles side-eyed him for another few seconds before giving up and looking in their direction. Derek could see the wistfulness in his eyes, and before he could think (which was becoming a habit around Stiles, unfortunately), he offered, "After the spring semester is over, we can spend a week or two on Catalina. We can take a catamaran out for a few days if we want."

It was too close to sounding like them spending summer vacation together, which wouldn't be a problem except for the fact that it didn't sound like they were going to be spending it together platonically. Stiles focused his gaze on his lap and Derek fell silent, uncertain if he should retract the offer or if that would just make things worse.

"I have to ask a question," Stiles said finally, and Derek flinched away from the heaviness of his voice. "What did you tell your family?"

"About?"

"Thanksgiving."

The car could have become a vacuum for the way the sound suddenly got sucked out of it. They were both holding their breath, so there weren't even the sounds of breathing. Finally, Derek exhaled slowly. "Almost the truth. I didn't tell them we slept together, but they saw the, um, the…" He blushed.

Stiles filled in wryly, "The hickeys?" and Derek nodded.

"Yeah. I couldn't really hide it, so I told them we made out for awhile after you told me you were tired of denying us what we both wanted, then you went home. The next morning, you ghosted."

They were quiet again until Stiles asked in a small voice, "Do they hate me?"

Derek sighed heavily. "They can't, Stiles. They know how important you are to me. My sisters were heartbroken and my parents were disappointed, but they kept insisting there had to be some kind of mistake. They encouraged me to talk to you when we came back."

"Is that why you gave me another chance?" The words were nearly a whisper and Derek swallowed painfully.

"I gave you another chance because the idea of you not being in my life hurt me more than what you had done."

Stiles studied him remorsefully. "I know I've said it before, Derek, but you'll never know how sorry I am that I did that."

He waved it away, as much to avoid continuing the conversation as to indicate that it was water under the bridge. The water might be touching the bottom of that bridge, ready to rise up over, but for now it was still under it. He would just do his best to not submerge back into it and let the undertow pull him down.

They managed to slip back into contemplative silence for another hour and a half. Derek had to check a couple times that Stiles hadn't somehow died in his passenger seat, because he'd never known his friend to be so quiet for such a long period of time. Every time he glanced over he saw Stiles staring out the passenger window, forehead pressed to the glass as his eyes tracked the gorgeous landscape they were passing through without really seeing it.

He was tempted half a dozen times to break the silence, but it was comfortable, and he didn't want to be the one to end it. So he kept his eyes on the endless road in front of him, flicking glances out his window at the vast expanse of blue-green to his left from time to time, and settling into the comfort of being in the presence of the one man he loved more than anyone. It was unusual for Stiles to focus his thoughts inward rather than outward, but it said something that he was comfortable getting lost in his own thoughts around Derek. There was no need to constantly entertain the other.

Derek had a sudden vision of the two of them, years from now, curled up on the couch in their living room. Stiles was poring over file notes from one of his cold cases, glasses slipping down his nose as he chewed on a pen, and Derek was reading a speech for his next public appearance. Stiles' feet bumped up against his and neither paid it any mind because it was such a common occurrence.

The heartache punched him in the chest, reaching into his throat and grabbing hold, and he blindly swung to the side of the road as he slammed on the brakes. Stiles clutched the overhead handle, swinging wide, alarmed eyes in Derek's direction. "Jesus, Derek, what the hell was that?" he yelped. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

Derek didn't answer. He was too busy leaning his forehead against his arms, which were wrapped over the steering wheel, as he took in deep, shuddering gasps. Stiles watched him worriedly, no longer concerned for his own well-being, but for Derek's. He swung the door open, bolting out of the car and walking around, breathing in the ocean air until he calmed down a little.

When he turned back around to face the car, he saw Stiles leaning against the passenger side, chest pressed to the window and arms splayed across the roof, just watching him. "You okay?" he asked finally, and Derek nodded, face sheepish.

"I had a, kind of a…"

"Panic attack?" Stiles supplied, and he nodded again. Stiles softened in sympathy. "Been there, done that, my friend. They blow monkey dick."

Derek snorted, giggling until he nearly broke down again. Stiles moved away from the car and closed the distance between them, wordlessly wrapping his arms around Derek's waist and letting him clutch Stiles impossibly close. His head dropped, his face burrowing into the crook of Stiles' neck where it was soft and warm and slightly musky, and they clung to each other silently for what seemed a never-ending expanse of time.

When Derek finally pulled back, breathing steadier than it had been in awhile, Stiles smiled in understanding. "You good?" Derek nodded again, feeling like an emotionally-drained puppet. "Let's go home, then."

Derek exhaled slowly. "Home sounds good. Let's go home, Stiles."