Author's note: Russian translations at the end again.

The shower trip ended up being entirely anticlimactic. Mikhail called a guard after the 'lights out' and quietly talked to him through the door. Stiles heard numbers being thrown around and figured the two were bargaining the price.

Apparently the Russian felt more comfortable paying the guard some extra for a private shower time than to risk doing it during the day. Stiles didn't think that anyone would try anything when such a badass con was watching his back, but what did he know, really? Not like he was going to complain about extra privacy.

The downside was that there was no chance he would see Derek cause everyone was securely locked in their cells. But since Mishka caved to the shower, perhaps he would cave to at least one meal at the dining hall too.

Stiles let the water caress his face and moaned in pleasure. Who would have thought that something so basic could be so satisfying once withheld for a couple of days? There was another thing that was completely neglected since Stiles got in prison. Not that it was a surprise, since this was the first time Stiles was alone, even if the solitude was artificial behind the privacy curtain of the shower stall. Stiles's thoughts immediately turned to his hot boyfriend and the blood rushed to his lower regions. He had needs, ok? He was young and sexually active and, God, he missed Derek. Stiles palmed his rapidly enlarging cock and…

"Tooool'ko! Ryumka vodkiii na stoleee," he heard Mishka's roar echoing in the bathroom. The Russian was one of those 'shower singers'. He wasn't entirely off tune (not that Stiles knew what the correct tune was) but he was too loud for Stiles' liking. Stiles cringed through the over the top chorus and was quite happy to hear the song end.

Now, where was I? Right, Derek's hands on my…

"Ya svobodeeeen, slovno ptitsa v nebesakh," Big-R started another song. Stiles tried to purge the infuriating singing from his focus, but Mishka's strident voice kept invading his masturbation fantasies. He gave up completely when Mikhail changed his repertoire to Cranberries - Zombie, botching the majority of the lyrics, making up words, and slowly pushing Stiles to commit murder. Or at least to gag the pestiferous Russian.

His mood killed, his erection gone, the shower didn't feel as wonderful anymore.

...

It took an entire day of whining, bargaining, and pleading to get Mishka to allow Stiles to attend dinner outside. After a gazillion of "no", three threats of "big punishment" and a couple curse words which Stiles was (as any gamer) actually familiar with, the Russian finally gave in.

It was the first time Stiles was outside among other inmates. Having Mikhail by his side made him feel much more comfortable and secure than he otherwise would. The Russian commanded respect with his presence alone. Nobody tried to approach or speak to Stiles. Mikhail got a couple of polite greetings but mostly, people tried to avoid making eye contact with him. Stiles figured it meant the giant wasn't as friendly as he appeared to be with him. Peter must have been paying him really well.

The dining hall was full of people, Stiles automatically started scanning the crowd in search for Derek, but couldn't see him anywhere. Mishka kept issuing quiet orders of mixed Russian and English to move here or there, but he refrained from openly manhandling him, which Stiles was grateful for.

They sat down at the empty table and no one attempted to join them. Mikhail reprimanded Stiles several times to stop looking around, claiming that "this no zoo". Stiles obeyed but only because he finally spotted the object of his interest.

Orange was not Derek's color, but who the hell cared? He looked like he was there to make a prison commercial or something. Stiles was not the only one with eyes glued to Derek's handsome face. Many (in fact - too many) guys were checking him out. And not just warily trying to assess the danger. No, this was a very different kind of interest that Derek apparently inspired everywhere he went. Even prison.

Oh well… that's what you get when you date an obnoxiously good-looking Alpha.

Derek was his usual unamused grumpy I-hate-everyone self, which was probably the only reason no one was groping him yet. He was sitting on the other side of the hall and clearly hadn't noticed Stiles. At least Stiles hoped that was the reason why he kept ignoring him, his eyes never even grazing him, despite Stiles' subtle (and some not-so-subtle) attempts to be spotted. Here he was, missing Derek like crazy and Derek didn't even bother to check if Stiles was there. They haven't seen each other in so long! The longest ever since they met!

Come on. Notice me senpai!

However as if on purpose Derek didn't look in his direction whatsoever. Instead, he did something completely inexcusable that made Stiles' stomach twist unpleasantly - he smiled. And now he laughed?! At some lowlife convict, that he had no business smiling at! If it was anyone else, Stiles wouldn't have placed any importance on it. But this was Derek - Derek didn't smile, and he most certainly didn't laugh unless he was relaxed and among people, he felt comfortable with. Stiles always prided himself to be the main cause the Alpha started to let himself loose more often.

And now Derek acted this way towards somebody that wasn't Stiles. It stung. Stiles got off his chair and went to stake his claim like an insecure jealous boyfriend (that he totally was at the moment). His mission was cut short before he made as much as a step in Derek's direction.

"Kuda!" Mishka growled, catching him by the shoulder and forcibly planting him back to the chair.

"I… uhm," Stiles pointed towards Derek and hoped that it explained everything. He flushed realizing that he shouldn't be drawing attention to himself. Sure he wanted Derek to see him, but he knew he was not allowed to approach him even if he didn't have a babysitter breathing down his neck.

"Sit and eat or we go back," Mikhail said sternly. "Look in plate!" he added when Stiles glanced around to see if Derek was watching him. He wasn't and Stiles felt hurt by Derek's lack of interest. The next time he raised his gaze to check on him, the Alpha wasn't there anymore.

And he wasn't there for any of the following meals Stiles took at the dining hall.

xxx

The days dragged at the snail speed. Even though Stiles had two events to look forward to each day - the meal and the shower, they became just as mundane by the third day. Mishka didn't cave to any other out-of-the-cell activity no matter how much Stiles begged. The only thing it got Stiles was some quality time in the corner, which after an hour became a considerably worse alternative to lying quietly in his bed (as he was told to do) and after two hours Stiles learned to keep his mouth shut.

Stiles wasn't exactly despairing, but the lack of news and outside contact was gnawing at him with each passing day (if not hour). Finally, on the 7th day, the guard announced that he had a visitor.

About fucking time!

Stiles fought a mild irritation when he saw that it was Peter again. However, Peter's joyful expression filled him with hope.

"We got them!" Peter cheered instead of hello. He opened his arms and Stiles didn't think twice before falling in his embrace. Peter might not have been the person he would want to celebrate with, but after spending every day with a taciturn Russian convict, he could definitely use a hug.

"It worked?!" Stiles exclaimed happily.

"We got Douglas, and the bastard turned on the big fish to save his own ass. He is being interrogated as we speak. If everything goes fast we should be able to get you out tomorrow!"

"Fuck YES! Oh my God, I love you!" Stiles jumped, fisting the air enthusiastically. "Have you spoken to Derek? Is everyone ok? Dad? Liam? Why did no one come to visit?!"

"You are in prison, genius. You can't have visitations every day." Ye, okay, that was kinda obvious. Stiles felt stupid for not realizing it. Peter pulled him in another one-armed hug. "Everyone is fine. I'm meeting Derek right after. All you have to do is hang in there for a bit longer. Sit tight and don't get into any trouble and you will be out before you know it."

"Sure," Stiles said sheepishly, too busy being happy to dwell on his stupidity. He was so excited to see everyone again. He didn't expect to miss them so much. After all, he only spent a week here, but it felt like ages. He couldn't wait to kiss Derek, hang out with Liam or cuddle Ruby... oh fuck! "Oh my God! Ruby! I totally forgot about her!"

Peter raised his palms before Stiles went into full-blown hysteria. "Relax, your cat is fine. I got the whole lecture from Derek on dry and wet food, her favorite cat litter, and the importance of daily brushing," Peter reassured him, rolling his eyes in the process. "Yukimura is taking care of her."

Uf. At least Derek was responsible enough to remember about their pet. Well, not like Stiles went to prison every day, he had other stuff on his mind at the time - he was too busy freaking out. "How did they get us arrested so fast?"

"Apparently they didn't even bother with planting the actual drugs, just did some quick photoshop work and presented it to the judge to put you two away. I got another offer from Blast Pharmaceuticals 2 days ago. My guess is that the information of collaboration with Mason Palmer leaked and somebody pressed them to tie all the loose ends, so they needed to quickly get Derek out of the picture for the acquisition. But we will see what Douglas gives us. There's FBI involved now, so he is being milked like a cow."

"I hope he accidentally falls on somebody's fist a couple times for everything he's done to Liam," Stiles grumbled. Douglas was a sleazy self-serving motherfucker. Stiles was not even surprised that he turned on Deucalion and Palmer as soon as things went south.

"The boy has been taken by the Child Protective Services," Peter said with an apologetic expression.

Stiles knew that this outcome was inevitable. Liam must have known it too. His uncle was the only living relative he had. He might have been toxic, abusive, and neglectful, but he was family. And now Liam was orphaned anew. Stiles hoped that he would be there to soften the fall but… oh well. The boy was tough. Soon to be Alpha. However mean the kids in the system could be, they had nothing on Deucalion's gang. Liam will be fine.

"He is a smart kid, he will be fine," Peter said, reading his mind. "Look, I have to go talk to Derek now. Just hold on for a little longer, ok?"

"It's fine. Now that I know that we got them, I might as well start enjoying my prison stay," Stiles quipped.

"Knock yourself out." Peter patted him on the shoulder. "In your cell," he added, giving Stiles a pointed look.

"Yeah, yeah," Stiles waved his hand at the Alpha, "As if your babysitter would let me go anywhere anyway."

"Good. I'll see you soon."

...

As Stiles walked back to his cell, he enjoyed a rare moment of being alone without the overbearing presence of the Russian. He played around with the idea of trailing off to the yard to at least get a glimpse of what it looked like but then decided that he was not curious enough to prance around without protection.

A stray sunbeam hit his eyes, blinding him for a split second and catching his attention. He glanced at the cell it came from and couldn't mistake the metallic surface of a blade that reflected the light.

The words he overheard got stuck in his head - "a present for a pretty boy". Stiles kept going, but his pulse jumped unpleasantly. Could they have been talking about Derek? I mean, who else could be called a 'pretty boy'? There was no way to know for sure. Hell, he couldn't even be sure if the "present" was literal or figurative. Maybe Derek made friends and asked to get him some kind of protection?

Yeah. Unlikely.

Fuck.

Stiles made an effort not to break into a jog and walk back to his cell without calling attention to himself. He might have been imagining it. Surely there were plenty of pretty boys in prison. He could be called one himself!

Ok, that's not better. At all.

As luck would have it, Mikhail wasn't in the cell when Stiles got there. Where was the stupid Russian when he needed him?! Stiles could be totally overthinking it. He needed somebody rational to tell him if his fears were substantiated.

"Wait, man, now?" Stiles heard a harsh whisper coming from the staircase.

"No, in 30 minutes, just before the lights out," the other voice replied. Stiles had heard his fair share of muted conversations under the stairs. He rarely understood what they were about though. "Has to be today, he is getting out tomorrow."

Stiles's blood turned cold.

"Which one was it?"

"305."

Alright. Stiles was officially freaking out. He took a couple of shallow breaths and peaked out of the room, but couldn't tell anymore who was the pair that he'd overheard.

He wasn't imagining this. They were going to ambush Derek. How many fucking people could be getting out tomorrow? Stiles had to warn him! Right now! He rushed out and ran smack into Mikhail's torso in the doorway.

"Oy, Slav, ty che?" Big-R chuckled and helped to steady Stiles by the shoulders.

"Thank fucking God. Mishka, we need to go!" Stiles croaked, fighting to keep his volume low. "They are after Derek. We need to warn him!" He pulled at the Russian's hand and then tried to squeeze past him but as usual, his way was unceremoniously blocked.

"Kuda sobralsya? Otboy skoro." Mikhail patted his wrist. "Lights out soon."

"Exactly! We need to go now! My boyfriend is in danger!"

"No."

"Mishka, I'm not fucking around! This is serious! They have a knife and they are going to ambush him. We have to go. Or at least you go and I'll wait here. It's cell 305."

"No."

Stiles felt the approaching panic starting to suffocate him. "Please, please, please. For once in your life, don't do this to me! I… I.." he started gasping for air, his vision blurred.

"Tak, syad' i uspokoysya," Mikhail ordered firmly, pressing Stiles to sit on the bed. "Calm down, I keep you safe,"

That's when Stiles realized what he had to do. The clarity helped curb the approaching panic attack. He hugged his chest and squeezed it tightly, at the same time holding his breath and increasing arterial pressure to redden his face he croaked, "I can't breathe." He started wheezing and rocking his body back and forth as if in pain. "Hurts… I think I'm having a heart attack, or a panic attack, or something. Get help!" he rasped, tearing through the bedsheet with his hands.

"Blyad'," Mikhail cursed and ran out of the cell.

And the Oscar goes to…

Stiles didn't have time to congratulate himself on his convincing performance. He had to get out and warn Derek. He made sure Mikhail was out of sight and then quickly slipped out of his cell. He walked up the staircase to the third floor, keeping his pace slow enough not to attract unnecessary attention.

Since Stiles spent next to no time outside of his cell, navigating to the correct one took him longer than it normally would, but finally, he found the cell 305 and exhaled with relief when he saw Derek lying on the bed, reading a magazine.

The Alpha's eyes flicked to Stiles and his expression changed to a deep frown. "Stiles?! What the hell are you doing here?"

Stiles would have been hurt by such a cold welcome, but he was too anxious to care about it right now. "Derek! They are after you. They have a…"

"Get the fuck out of here!" Derek jumped off the bed pushing Stiles out of the cell none too gently.

"But…" Stiles tried to protest but Derek wouldn't hear it.

"Get back to your cell! NOW!" he barked, visibly pissed.

The reaction was not what Stiles expected. Sure, he promised Derek not to seek him out, but this was an emergency. Derek didn't even let him finish speaking, which was not only hurtful but also kinda odd. Unless Derek already knew about it and wanted to get Stiles out of the harm's way asap? Ok, that made sense.

Stiles nodded in understanding and with a last glance at Derek, he turned around to go back. He didn't make it far though. Four men walked out of the next cell and blocked his way. Before he could even peep he had a knife pressed against his throat.

"I knew the little bitch would fall for it," one of them said, leading Stiles back towards Derek's cell.

TBC

(Stiles, you moron)

Translations:

Tooool'ko! Ryumka vodkiii na stoleee - Just a shot of vodka on the table (Grigory Leps - Ryumka vodki - one of the most popular karaoke songs when everyone gets drunk;))

Ya svobodeeeen, slovno ptitsa v nebesakh - I'm free, like a bird in the sky (Aria - Ya svoboden - kinda fitting lyrics for prison;))

Kuda - Where (here used as in "where do you think you are going?")

Oy, Slav, ty che? - Oops, Slava (=Stiles), what are you doing?

Kuda sobralsya? Otboy skoro - Where are you going? It's lights out soon.

Tak, syad' i uspokoysya - Sit down and calm yourself.

Blyad' - literal translation is "whore". In here used as "oh fuck/shit" kind of exclamation.