The hours had droned on and Eleanor remained awake, watching as the room slowly but surely started to flood with sunlight, an orange glow filtering under the curtains that Thomas had shut at three am, fighting his own tiredness and succumbing to the fight, retiring to his room.

Her eyes felt heavy, but her body fought every sign of it. The TV stayed on, silent and showing long viewings of overpriced fake jewellery on the shopping channel, and under the hum of general human life, she kept a keen ear out for Derek's heart, training herself to notice every tic and strained beat. He was ill – although his condition had improved greatly since she had scraped him off her back porch – and so it was easy to convince herself that it wasn't inherently creepy.

She was so entuned to the inner workings of Derek's body, that when her phone chimed on the coffee table she flinched so hard she nearly catapulted herself from the arm chair, and several paperweights on the shelves above her flew to opposite sides of the room. She stilled for a second, watching Derek's face tentatively, a little eager, but he showed no signs of awakening and she was able to relax her tense shoulders.

It was an automated text, titled with DEAR STUDENT, and gave a very brief statement that school would be closed for the foreseeable future due to "unforeseen" circumstances. It didn't have much of an effect on Eleanor, who had decided as the clock neared on 4am that she would be gifting herself time off until Derek was better (or dead, a dull, macabre voice intoned in the back of her mind).

She pressed the corner of her cell to her chin and tilted her head back, staring up at the ceiling light. She thought again about Scott McCall, hoped desperately that he belonged to one of the five, although she was near certain that if his body had been recovered his face would be plastered over every inch of every screen within a 40-mile radius of Beacon Hills. She didn't know when she'd have the time to call in past his house (never mind how she'd manage to find him), but she put it near the top of her internal to-do list, just under make sure Derek lives.

/ / /

She wasn't sure when she fell asleep, all she knew was that she did, and did so waking up with a very prominent crick at the back of her neck. She could distinctly remember feeling as if she had been watching Derek breathe without struggling long enough to know that he was out of the danger zone and therefore deserved to fill the room with something other than his soft breaths and steady heartbeat. The drone of the early morning news channels (that showed Derek's picture at regular intervals, declaring him an ongoing threat and active serial killer) had been enough to carry her into a restless sleep.

Yawning and stretching out her limbs, unbundling them from underneath her and pointing her toes towards the coffee table, Eleanor cast a weary glance over Derek's way. He was still resting, his eyes closed and face lax with dreamless sleep, and he looked like he hadn't moved since she had pushed and tugged him into position the night before. That was a good sign, she conceded, watching as his chest would rise and then fell in equal intervals, it meant he was healing.

She wiped under her eyes, sniffling a little, her mouth feeling like it was stuffed full of cotton balls. She could feel the dull ache of hunger stabbing at her stomach, reminding her that it had been nearing on 20 full hours since the last time she had eaten anything, and even longer since she had last had a full meal. But her body ached with the desire to fall into bed, and the thought of needing to stand at the stove for anything longer than three minutes seemed impossible.

Eleanor sat there for several more minutes, mentally rummaging through the cupboards, keeping half an eye out for any emerging details. Scott McCall was still at the back of her mind still, and she worried for his current state, but her plate was already overwhelmed with the wellbeing of one local werewolf, she couldn't handle the strain of another.

Abruptly, Eleanor's stomach growled loudly, surprising herself into low-levelled shame as she was certain that even in his sleep Derek would have been able to pick on the noise just as keenly. It provided her the motivation to push herself off of the armchair and direct herself towards the kitchen, dragging her feet along the ground.

She rummaged through cupboards, pulling out old cans (some she was certain had been in the house longer than she had been) until she could hear the front door shudder and the handle press down. Armed with a rusting can of tomato soup, she edged towards the kitchen door where she had a clear view of the shadow cast over the frosted window.

She stilled, poised and on edge. Rationally, Eleanor knew that the Alpha had no need for front doors. If the Alpha so desired, they could smash through the walls. Suddenly and very overwhelmingly, she started to despise the flimsy materials in which Californian houses were built with.

In a haze of confusion, she managed to identify the dull, metallic clicking and scraping as something entirely different than taunting claws, but instead keys trying to find the lock. The anxiety rushed out from her body at once in one relieved breath, and Eleanor was able to lower the soup, dropping her hand down to her side. Right enough, the door handle shook again, this time opening just enough to let Thomas slip inside.

A quick glance towards the clock told Eleanor that it wasn't his usual home time. It had barely passed one in the afternoon. She wasn't sure she had ever seen him home so early.

"Hello," he greeted in a low mumble, oddly formal and tense. He jerked his head upwards in a nod, looking like he was overflowing with nervous energy (and feeling like it too), and dropped his keys into the dish. "How's our fugitive?"

Eleanor bristled. She didn't think Derek knew about his new criminal status, and she was certain that he wouldn't take to the news very kindly. When he found out, she planned to minimise the blow – and that meant not letting him overhear it in a weak quip.

"Fine. You're early."

Thomas smiled, looking like he was on the verge of grimacing. "Yeah," muttered Thomas, scratching at the back of his head and fiddling with his jacket, struggling to pull it down off his shoulders. "Got sent home."

Eleanor quirked an eyebrow. "You sick?"

Shaking his head, he won the battle with his outer-layer and pulled it off, draping it over the bottom of the bannister. "No," he answered after a short pause, "no, nothing like that I –" Thomas broke off, smiling madly, "they're concerned. About the whole school thing last night – they know you're a student… they thought I was worrying about you," he trailed off, gesturing to the living room door as if to say but really, I'm worrying about the werewolf laying unconscious on our couch. "Oh!" he added, loudly and erratically, "and I might be getting questioned. Not definitely, but I have a feeling."

Eleanor frowned, folding her arms across her chest, can still in hand. "Questioned? About the attack?"

Thomas smiled again, a perfectly normal smile that made her shiver ever so slightly. "I – uh, I drove Hale's car into our garage in broad daylight. It was sitting on the street. So I –"

"Oh God!"

"And we both know what Mr Reid's like – nothing moves in this street without him making note of it, the creepy bastard."

Pressing her fingers to her forehead, Eleanor drew a short breath. "What – what possessed you to do that? Idiocy? Self-sabotage? Were you bored at just being plain old boring human? You – God, you have to let me know, Tom, because I'm really struggling here!"

Thomas bristled, his sense of inferiority kicking in and raising his temper ever so slightly. "What was I supposed to do?" he countered, taking a sharp turn into the living room. "Let it sit there?" he asked over his shoulder, and Eleanor felt compelled to follow. "The Sheriff's department probably already have an APB out on his car – they'll know everything by now. Model, make, tickets, where he goes for gas –" Eleanor shifted uncomfortably, forced back to the very public time she and Derek had stopped at a gas station, wondered how many cameras had caught her, "– it was the only thing I could do."

Eleanor scoffed quietly, glancing down at Derek, thankful to see he hadn't stirred and was just as peaceful as when she had left him. "What about me, huh? I could have done something!"

"Eleanor," Thomas chastised, "you were so freaked out last night that you dragged him from the kitchen floor with nothing but pure muscle – and you've not got a lot!" As if he was serving a reminder, her arms ached. "If they come 'round with a warrant, do something then."

Eleanor remained silent. She sunk back into the armchair and watched wordlessly as Thomas rearranged a few things to dispel his nervous tension, picking up trinkets and photo frames, putting them down and swapping them around, just to have something to do with his hands.

Once he had muddled up everything that was small enough to hold, Thomas moved out of the living room and she could hear him climb up the stairs. She made a mental not to put everything back in its correct place.

"Why is my lawyer here?"

Eleanor flinched violently at the sound of Derek's raspy voice. His throat sounded dry, possibly even cut, and it must have hurt to talk. He didn't move much, she could only imagine that his entire body felt weighted down by the extent of his injuries.

She moved closer, getting down on her knees and crouching down by his chest. "Derek?" she asked softly, yearning to reach out and touch him but not daring to. "What did you say?"

He was quiet for a long moment, and Eleanor would have assumed he had gone back to sleep had she not been able to see his eyelashes flutter and brush against his brows.

"Why –" he coughed throatily with great effort, "why is my lawyer… here, in your house?"

Eleanor stilled. She had forgotten that Thomas, in his valiant effort to gain information on her behalf about Derek before she had made contact, had volunteered very brightly to act as his defence when Derek had been questioned for Laura Hale's murder. Now, under Derek's scrutiny, it seemed like a very stupid thing not to be upfront about. In all seriousness, she had enjoyed the air of mystique that came with knowing so much about him when Derek, in all likelihood, couldn't remember her at all. In Eleanor's eyes, it was the thing she knew that had kept him so interested and unable to leave without getting his own answers.

"He's my uncle." She couldn't tell if the look that followed on Derek's face was a painful wince or an annoyed grimace. Seconds past with no retort, a true testament to his physical and mental state. "Sleep," she murmured, watching as he fought to keep his eyes opened, straining against the soft evening light that filtered in through the slight gap in the curtains, droopy and exhausted.

His body shuddered and Eleanor froze still, mind flashing back to the same convulsions he gave in the Vet clinic weeks previous that led to him vomiting black tar all over the vet's floor.

He continued to thrust under her, his skin glistening, jaw clenching and his breathing becoming laboured. "Hey," she fussed, pressing the back of her hand to Derek's forehead, but he rejected her touch entirely, lashing out and pushing at her wrist weakly. She thanked her lucky stars for the extent of his injuries and the toll that was taking on his strength. If he had tried that at full health she would have likely gone crashing through the wall and into her neighbour's house.

"Dude," Eleanor chastised. Against her better judgement she reached out again, hand flat and eager to press her palm over his skin, numerous incantations whirring around her head. She was met with much of the same reaction as she had previously, except this time Derek's fingers curled around her wrist in a tight grip.

She tried to back up, taken aback by his sudden vigour, but was ultimately trapped into place. His grip got tighter, and Eleanor was suddenly very aware of his supernatural capabilities: the fast healing, super-human speed, intense strength. If he really wanted to, on some of his worst days he could probably rip her into two clean pieces.

Derek squirmed. His hold was solid on her, his eyes screwed shut and his teeth – still miraculously human – bared and clenched. He was in pain, that much was obvious, but there was very little she could do other than watch.

"McCall!" he spluttered abruptly. His eyes opened, fierce and that inhuman shade of piercing blue. They stared into her soul, desperate and so very lonely. He was begging with just a simple look and it was weighted enough to make her legs weak, and she wondered if he knew what he was doing.

"Scott – Sc – McCall, he's –"His words were hallow and winded, creaking like footsteps on old wood floor boards. His desperation was palpable, thick in the air, strife with the worry he'd beat out of himself if he was in anyway his usual self.

"He's fine!" Eleanor hissed, frantic and sore, sensing this was the only type of answer that could possibly allow her to retrieve her arm in one piece. It wasn't a whole truth, but it was a half-lie she was comfortable with telling. "He's fine, Derek," she repeated in a calmer tone and it seemed to work, his fingers loosened, sliding up from her wrist to only a few centimetres above her elbow. "Scott's okay!"

He gulped in a breath of air as if he were desperate for it (quite honestly, Eleanor thought he probably was), and his eyes slid shut. His forehead still sparkled with sweat, his hairline now damp, and his chest still heaved. He licked at his drying lips and pried open an eye. It was back to its regular colour, muted, dull, and so very human. His hand went limp around her arm before she had a chance to process his words and the implication. His eyes slid shut losing the battle against his fight against sleep, giving into his own bodies wishes.

/ / /

The days past and slowly, Derek regained his strength; the scars in his back were nothing more than white marks that would disappear in a matter of days, and he was back up and moving, much to Eleanor's delight. He had taken the news of his new fugitive status with as much grace as Eleanor expected him to – that is to say, he stared at her with empty eyes, unblinking and still, before hmm'ing under his breath, leaving it at that.

He hadn't said anything else on the matter, but Eleanor was hard pressed to find anything he had said at all. He stowed himself away in the spare room that Thomas had shown him awkwardly to, and he'd only let Eleanor in for check-ups, quick to pretend she didn't exist when she ceased to be of use to his health. Several times she had been tempted to do some sort of trick to catch his attention but had ultimately decided that she wasn't that desperate.

Instead, she tended to him like some sort of feral animal. She put hot meals outside his door at the appropriate times, made a small basket of toilet paper, towels, soaps and other necessities that he had accepted, although she was unsure if it went used. She had given him several books from her own shelves as well as some from Thomas', selecting novels from all walks of life and genres. If Derek was to waste away, it certainly wouldn't be from boredom.

Eleanor sighed to herself. Her arm strained with the weight of the dumbbell Thomas had pushed onto her with a very penetrating look that said give this to Derek without actually saying it out loud. She felt only a little ridiculous, it was very clear that Derek could likely bench-press Thomas' body weight for fun and not break a sweat, but it was the only passing gift she had that was a feasible excuse to talk with him, to see him.

The full moon was edging closer, now only a single night away, and the effects were already starting to wear on her. It was the consequence that came for her particular kind when cosying up with a werewolf, one that her family had taken burden with for many years out of loyalty to the Hale family, and one she was destined to carry on. Her bones ached, her sinuses pulsed like she was suffering from the flu, and it felt like her brain was melting. There was an uncomfortable loneliness that had re-awakened within her, one that couldn't be quenched by the presence of her current friends or family. There was nothing she could do to help it, it's the gift of knowledge, power and great responsibility, her great grandmother used to tell her, but Eleanor thought it was a bunch of crap.

Raising her fist, she knocked thrice on the bedroom door and waited patiently. It was unlikely he would open the door, not if he knew there was no need for him to be looked over or prodded at, but there was a part of Eleanor that hoped, almost desperately, that he wanted her company just as much as she wanted his.

Just as she was about to resign, the few seconds of waiting so humiliating that she wanted to dissolve herself into the ground, the door knob twisted and opened. Derek stood behind the crack, eyeing her with contempt, although she could detect slight curiosity.

"Hey," she greeted, overly bright and in such a way that she'd definitely think about it late into the night and cringe, "I, uh – Thomas thought I should bring this to you…" Eleanor lifted the weight awkwardly. Whilst it was child's play for a man of Derek's strength, it was a little heavier than she was used to. "I tried telling him no, but –"

Derek took the weight from her hands, handling it with an insulting level of ease. He stared down at it, brows pinched together and mouth in a thin straight line. "Thanks." The word sounded awkward coming from him, like hearing a meow from a goose.

The air between them went stagnant, and Eleanor's mind buzzed, urgently trying to find something to say to keep his interest. "Have – have you got everything you need? For tomorrow I mean… I don't think I've given you anything yet."

Derek pinned her with a strange look, one that was almost insulted. "I have everything I need," he replied, measured and concise.

Eleanor nodded. "Okay," she twisted her fingers together in front of her, "alright then. Well… if you need anything last minute, you know where to find –"

"Eleanor," he cut in. She stopped immediately. Her name sounded like honey on his tongue, a rarity to be said, and she savoured it, feeling just a little foolish. "What are you really here for?" His words were loaded with implications that made her cheeks burn crimson.

She scoffed indignantly, "I –"

"Don't sound so offended," he was playful, a side to Derek Eleanor wasn't sure she had ever seen, his eyes bright and an odd smile was pulling at his lips. It's shameful, she reflected to herself, how little Derek smiled. Even smiles filled with bitterness and sarcasm were too few and far between. "I can feel what you feel towards me…" he stepped closer, and it took everything in her not to take a retreating step back. Without even noticing any moment, his hand was suddenly on her face. His thumb swiped across her bottom lip slowly. Her breath hitched at the back of her throat and she was rendered frozen, staring up at him with wide eyes.

Her body tingled, in the way he probably had already anticipated, and slowly, he cocked his head to the side. "Do you want me?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Eleanor huffed, embarrassed when the seconds ticked by and he stayed silent, waiting for an answer. "You already know the –"

"I want you to say it."

She sighed, infuriated at her own stubbornness and at Derek's apparent inability to take hints that weren't verbal. He seemed perfectly content to wait her out, like it was a game to him. His hands started to move, his fingertips tracing from her lips to her jaw line, up to her ear and down again. She can feel the exact path that he made, his almost ingrained into her skin, hot and electrifying.

"I –" Eleanor choked down her words, her stomach burning when Derek quirked his brow, expectant. "I want –" swallowing thickly, she dampened her lips with her tongue. In a spur of confidence that was quite possibly ridiculous, Eleanor grasped at the front of Derek's shirt and backed herself up into the hallway until she hit the wall opposite the door of the spare room. "I want you to get over yourself."

Derek smiled slightly, an unexpected half-laugh escaping his mouth, taking even himself by surprise. He looked down at her as if he was considering his next move carefully, and Eleanor squirmed with annoyance. Honest with herself, there was very little he could do that would set her in any other direction. She watched as his eyes took in every detail of her face, taking their time over her mouth and her cheek. Feeling a little uncomfortable under his scrutiny and not wanting him to look too close, she used the leverage she still had on his shirt to pull him up against her.

It seemed to be the go-ahead he wanted. His free hand went to her hip, finding the hem of her t-shirt and nudging his fingers underneath the fabric, touching the bare curve of her skin. It sent white hot sparks down her spine that settled in the pit of her stomach.

Eleanor turned her head and Derek ducked down so slightly, leaning in close enough that she could feel each breath he took. Her eyes fluttered shut in anticipation for a touch that didn't come. "Do you think of me?" he asked quietly, his voice a mere rumble over the frantic beating of her heart. Eleanor bit down hard on the inside of her bottom lip and she could practically hear the pleased smile that stretched across his face.

"I think of you," he continued, and her stomach erupted with butterflies. His hand on her face drifted down until it came to her throat. With precision, he gently stroked his thumb over her jugular, as if he were telling her through his touch that he could hear the rapid pulsing of her heart.

His mouth ghosted across the side of her jaw and Eleanor had to bite down on the tip of her tongue to stop herself from making noise, embarrassed to be reminded of how long it had been since she had felt this good at the hands of someone else. "Open your eyes," he mouthed quietly, breath ghosting against her ear.

She complied with very little thought, looking just in time to see him move back so slightly. He stared at her with the intensity that Eleanor had only ever read of. It was an overwhelming feeling, to realise that you would in all likelihood do anything for a person. In that moment, pressed up against the wall with his body flush against hers, staring into his eyes that were flooded with the want she knew she was conveying just as bad, she knew there was nothing she wouldn't do for Derek Hale.

It was almost as if They could read her exact thoughts, her body thrummed with electricity, tingling from the tips of her fingers and toes and settling heavily in her chest. Hastily, Eleanor took her hands from his shirt and pressed them back against the wall, grounding herself before she blew a fuse or something much more sinister.

She wasn't sure who kissed who first, and it was a moment that felt entirely cliché, but they came together and as their lips touched, the feeling of tension and anticipation expelling out from her body. She didn't realise just how much and how long she had been waiting for that exact moment. It was a stress she hadn't noticed she'd been harbouring.

It was gone in an instant. Just as Derek's hand disappeared under the material of her shirt and towards the bottom of her back, luring her further into his touch, the front door slammed. The cheery whistles of Thomas Richards lulled through the house.

Eleanor gasped, turning towards the stairs, wide-eyed and alert. In the split second it had taken her to do so, Derek's touch was removed from her and he disappeared back into his room, like he had never been there to begin with.