Stiles was sprawled over his side of the bed and sleeping so soundly that Derek wondered if the fire alarm would wake him. Derek was exhausted, which didn't make sense the length of time he'd been sleeping the day before, but his… sex marathon with Stiles had taken its toll. They'd had sex on the floor, the couch, against the wall and (at which point Derek thought his body was about to kill him) lazy handjobs on the bed.

They'd tried to share a shower – never again – and Stiles was crashed out with a towel still wrapped around him before Derek had even managed to get to the bedroom.

Derek had forgotten that Stiles had been at work all day before they'd started, and felt a little guilty when he'd walked in and saw the pale (not so pale now, with bruises forming on his white skin) body sound asleep.

Derek though, couldn't close his eyes. His body was exhausted, but his mind was wide awake, so he leaned down and pulled his duffle towards the bed – grabbing Laura's letter and a notepad.

Hey Lolly, I didn't get your letter till yesterday – sorry. I'm glad to hear that you're painting again – if you can, why don't you send me a few sketches? I could put them up on my desk at work, you know? It's been a long time since you were drawing. You don't ever need to say you're sorry to me. I love you. I know it wasn't easy and no – I'm not making excuses! I don't know how you did it and you're the strongest, best person I know. Things are good here, thanks for asking. I'm kinda seeing dating this guy. He's called Stiles, and I think you'd really like him. I didn't mention him before, but I really like him. He's dorky and cute funny. I keep thinking you'd tell me to slow down, but he's a bit like a hurricane and just sweeps me along. I'm staying at his place. I want to move in with him, but then I'm worried he'll think I'm that guy an I just think he's cool. I want you to like him. I met his dad. I think he's got trouble with drink. Maybe when you come here, after your retreat, you might talk to him? Share the stuff you learned? Maybe you could take him to your meetings. I looked around. There are three different meetings on three different nights, so you might find one that you feel comfortable with. I'm still working at Jungle, yeah. I like it. Isaac does sound pretty interesting, I think you'd like him too. You probably would want to paint him or something, he's got that whole cheekbone thing you like to draw going on. There is a market here on Sundays. We went and had a look around, loads of fresh food and handcrafts. Maybe when you get here you could try setting up a stall for your art? Get some commissions. Only if you want to though. Stiles is a supervisor at Tardis (it still sucks, by the way) but he works nights so it's pretty hard to get any time with him. I've asked to change to the night shift – not just because of him! – because working two full shifts in a row was killing me between Jungle on Sundays and Tardis on Mondays. Stiles thinks it'd be a good idea, although he did say that the money was better during the day because you get more calls. It's a little hard to think you'll be here so soon! Weeks now, not months. I'm still in the smaller apartment, but I've been looking at sofa beds…

Stiles woke up hurting and feeling like he'd been wrung out twice and put away wet. Which was pretty much exactly what happened. He could hear the steady scrape of a pen over paper, and when he twisted his head to get a look. Derek was sitting up, leaning against the headboard, writing what looked like War and Peace.

"I didn't think you were an author." Stiles mumbled, checking the time. Still ages to go before he had to force himself to work. Oh, the joys!

"I'm writing to Laura." Derek said, eyes not leaving the page. "I'll be finished soon."

"Take your time, I think I might be paralysed."

"I think you probably weren't up for round 4 as you liked to admit." Derek smirked.

"Shut up. I rocked your world."

"You did."

"I did?"

"Yes."

"Damn." He grinned. "I am good." He rolled over, back to Derek, and let out a contented sigh. "I am never leaving this bed."

"I told Jackson I'd be resting all day." Derek said. "I can't believe you convinced me to call in sick."

"I can't believe you were able to hold me against a fucking wall." Stiles shrugged, yawning. "We're both impressive in different fields." He paused. "Speaking of fields – outside. We need outside sex and car sex."

"Not in the Jeep." Derek shuddered.

"What the hell is wrong with my baby?"

"My car has a bigger back seat."

"Point taken." Stiles grinned, letting out another yawn and a stretch, which caused his overused muscles to twitch and complain. "Oooft." He let out, "I think you might have broken me."

"I broke you?" Derek scoffed. "I'm not a damn teenager. I think I might have done my back in."

"I'm not the one who thought it was a good idea to fuck me up against the wall."

"I think you were."

Stiles paused, thinking back. "Yeah, I think I was. Sorry."

"It's not every day I get my world rocked. I'll forgive you this time."

Stiles laughed, and rolled out of bed, bare feet padding on the floor as he grabbed a pair of jeans that were laying on the floor. "I thought you weren't ever leaving bed." Derek said, looking up from his writing.

"That was the plan, and then I remembered." He smirked. "Food. So much food requires to be eaten. I'm thinking Dominos."

They ate it while playing Mario Kart. Derek's ribs hurt from laughing and at one point he was sure Stiles might have actually inhaled a jalapeño he was laughing so hard. Derek, who'd never taken a fake sick day in his life, couldn't imagine spending a better day off – and he found himself wondering if it would be like this if they managed to get their work schedules to match. Would they spend hours just doing nothing in their pyjama pants, eating pizza and playing video games – and was a little worried at just how much he wanted that.

"So… I was thinking." Stiles said, after a while. "You know I've got this 2nd bedroom that costs a fortune and you've got a place you really aren't using…"

"Are you asking me to move in with you?"

"I'm asking if you'd like to be my roommate, not offering for your hand." Stiles cut in. "And you've already got a key and a toothbrush."

"I've known you for 2 weeks."

"It was just a suggestion."

"I'd need to give a months' notice to my landlord." Derek found himself saying. "How much is the rent?"

Stiles sat at his desk and frowned. There was something seriously wrong with Jackson's end of day report and he just couldn't work out what it was. The numbers were right, the calls all tallied up… but there was something about the totals that didn't make sense. It was almost $2500 out.

It wasn't a lot, compared to the amount that they made through the day, but there was two and a half grand missing from the logs and Stiles was damned sure he wasn't going to let Jackson take the fall for some wonky numbers.

Dude, Stiles. End of Day Repts r off. ?

He text Jackson, printing off the figures and doing it the old fashioned way with a pen and calculator. He was almost glad he had something like this to occupy his mind other than the fact that he'd just asked Derek to move in with him after only knowing him for a week. Was he making a serious mistake? Fuck.

His phone buzzed beside him as he sat on the floor. All figures come through finance, Lydia sys chk formula? J

It took him almost four hours of pure concentration till he found it. The money was there, but it was being routed through the Drainer's – customer relations and complaints - figures pulling through from another part of the report – and merging through the IT and Payroll books.

Stiles blinked, and checked again.

The workbook had locked sections, so that each manager could input the end of day figures in for their own department without affecting any other team – put in place because years ago a manager accidentally deleted the entire years' worth of Drainer pension payments while he pressed the wrong key.

So the formulas used were not able to be changed by anyone without permission from higher up the food chain.

And there was a formula in there that was wrong.

Stiles frowned. First thing, he printed off another copy, made his scrawling notes neater, and then typed it all up in an email.

It wasn't just $2500 from the Droners, it was accumulating from all departments, and it was all being put into a separate section that Stiles passcode wouldn't let him into.

He sent the email to Fowler, head of Finance, and filed the email and notes on his PC, smiling to himself. He'd probably just saved Jacksons job, as well as 10's of thousands of dollars for Tardis. He was so getting employee of the month.

Once he was finished, he picked up all the paperwork he'd had scattered all over his floor and desk and almost threw it away, until he remembered Lydia and her insistence to keep a copy of everything. She probably didn't mean his own notes, but he shuffled them into order and stapled them together, threw them in a spare binder and took them to the filing cabinet he'd been using down the hall because his were bursting at the seams.

He filed it along with everything else he'd been doing and felt a little stupid for thinking it might be necessary – after all, he was working in a low level management job in a town he'd lived in all his life.

Nothing ever happened in Beacon Hills.

Shorter chapter today because if it was legal to own a gun in this country today would have seen me plastered all over the news as the girl who shot up her entire work place 'just so she could work in peace'. There would be a little picture of me, covered in the blood of my office workers, sitting at my computer, typing away.

What is going on with Tardis, huh? Some weird crap...

Of course, I actually know (kinda) being the writer, but I do like to tease.

I'll write more tomorrow.

Let me know how you're doing!

-Robyn