Review/like/subscribe, I hope you are all enjoying it! Thanks x

Chapter 10

"What the?" Stiles said, not shy in expressing her confusion. Derek had never knocked at her front door; he had always just mythically appeared in her bedroom, which she had recently meant he had been climbing in through her window. So seeing Derek standing at her door was quite a surprise for Stiles. And to be honest, Derek always took her by surprise. He was such an intoxicating sight. Everything about him was perfect, from his build to his gorgeous green eyes and his hair and his jaw and his rare smile and… everything. Even the clothes he wore were perfect. Jeans, grey t-shirt, leather jacket. Stiles hated that she was so attracted to him, but how could she not be? He was undeniably hot.

"What are you doing here and not in my bedroom?" Stiles asked before realizing how suss her words sounded. "I mean, what – why didn't you just climb in my window?"

"I thought I'd be polite and use the front door," he said. Stiles blinked. What was his angle? Was he trying to get something out of her? Ask her for another favour?

"You've decided to be polite, now? It's a couple of years too late for that don't you think?" she scoffed.

"Better late than never," he shrugged. "So can I come in?"

"Since when have you needed my permission? You're a werewolf, not a vampire," she laughed. Derek didn't think it was funny. He waited.

"Fine," she said. "Come in, geez."

She stepped aside and allowed Derek to enter. He subtly looked around the place before standing still in the middle of the hallway.

"Should we… go upstairs? I have to start some homework," she said. She didn't allow him to answer and instead went upstairs, leaving him to follow.

Derek had been in her bedroom a dozen times before but somehow this felt different. It wasn't an invasion of privacy this time. She sat on edge of her desk and watched him look around her room. He spotted her college pile next to her on the desk and carefully touched the top piece of paper, which also happened to be her Beacon County Community College acceptance letter.

"Congratulations," he said.

"I haven't accepted it yet," she told him, for some reason.

"Why not?"

"It's complicated," she sighed. He stared at her, blinking, waiting for an explanation.

"I got into UCLA as well," she admitted. "My Mom went there and I know my Dad wants me to move away from here," she explained.

"What do you want?"

"I want to be a cop, like him. I don't exactly have high academic aspirations, and I want to stay here, to be near him. The thought of him being alone scares the hell out of me," she blurted out. WHY WAS SHE TELLING HIM THIS? She could barely say this stuff to Scott. He was so pure and wise it made her sick sometimes.

"You can't take care of him forever, Stiles," Derek said.

"Yes I can," she snapped, perhaps too harshly.

"Well, I think you should do what you want," Derek advised. "If you want to be a cop, a Community College education will be fine. You get to stay here and be with your Dad. He'll get over it."

"I just hate disappointing him, I've done a lot of that," she looked at her feet to avoid her eyes.

"Your Dad's proud of you, anyone can see that. And he'll be proud of you no matter what."

Stiles looked at him. Somehow, Derek was comforting her.

"Thanks."

There was a pause. It wasn't awkward but Stiles felt she needed to keep the conversation going. Being on good terms with Derek was strange.

"Anyway, why are you here? You didn't come to listen to my problems, unless you think this counts towards all those favours you owe me, which it doesn't," she said. Derek smiled, one of those rare smiles that warms up his eyes. Remember to breathe, Stiles, she told herself.

Derek reached his hand into his jacket and pulled out a jar of purple ointment.

"I'm here to give you this," he said, handing it over to her. She unscrewed the lid and was insulted with a putrid smell.

"Ugh that's disgusting! What is it?"

"It's for your arm."

"Gross! I'm not getting that stuff anywhere near me!" she protested.

"Look, Scott told me about the scars. This will help," he informed her. She sat there hesitantly, and then slowly peeled off the bandage on her arm to reveal her scars. She held out her arm to Derek. He seemed unfazed by the sight of them.

"You do it," she said. She could barely look at the scars; she certainly was not going to rub that purple filth on them. Derek went and washed his hands then came back and started applying the ointment to her arm. He was very gentle, cautious not to press too hard, spreading the cream bit by bit instead of slapping a lump on. She soon discovered that he was doing this because it stung, no BURNED. She began to squirm and twist, so Derek used his free hand and grabbed on to her thigh to help ease her pain.

"I'm also here because I wanted to apologize again," he said, clearly trying to distract her.

"What?"

"The things I said to you," he continued. "I only said them because I was angry with you. I've been angry with you for a long time."

"Angry? What the hell did I do now?"

"More frustrated than angry I guess," he said. "You're just a normal human being. There's nothing supernatural about you whatsoever and yet you've dealt with all this better than most of us."

Stiles could not believe what she was hearing, so she kept listening, there had to be a catch. He kept talking.

"When Scott became a werewolf, I kept waiting for you to abandon or reject or turn him in, but you never did. Even when he tried to kill you when he was first getting the hang of it. I didn't understand why you didn't back out, that would have scared anyone off. I thought maybe you wanted the bite for yourself, yet you've rejected it every time it's been offered. Everything you've been through because of your friends, when you could have left at any time and led a perfectly normal life. You've broken the law, been beaten, possessed by a Nogistune, almost lost your father, nearly been killed a dozen times in a dozen different ways… and you're still here. Then I realized something."

"What?"

"You're not supernatural… but you're special. You've always had a good sense of right and wrong, you've shown that you're willing to die for a cause and the people you love. You're smart, inquisitive, light-hearted, strong, loyal, determined, and brave. I've just been frustrated with you because after everything… you shouldn't be like this. The things I went through hardened me, but they only seemed to make you stronger. You're one of the very few humans I've met that can handle my world and not have it destroy them."

Stiles didn't know what to say, even though there was so much going through her head. Mainly, she was flattered. But, Stiles was also a humble person, so she was reluctant to accept his words.

"Did you rehearse that?" she joked, though her heart wasn't in it.

"I'll admit, I've been thinking about what to say for the past week," he smiled. Stiles could feel a grin spreading across her face and she struggled to contain it, as well as the red blush that was certainly swelling her in cheeks. She felt as if everything she had ever thought about Derek was wrong. She thought she hated him, but maybe that was because they had not got along very well up until this point. They had either flat hated or tolerated one another for Scott's sake. But maybe all they needed was to be honest and open up a bit, though Stiles knew Derek wasn't exactly the opening-up-and-sharing-your-feelings kind of person.

"I'm not as great as you make me out to be," she said. "I don't know what I'm doing half the time."

"Maybe. But you do it with the best intentions."

Stiles noticed that her arm was no longer burning. It wasn't tender anymore. She looked at it just as Derek applied the last drop of ointment. She couldn't see the actual scars because they were covered in the putrid-smelling purple sludge, yet her armed felt a lot better already, and the red swelling around the wounds had all but disappeared.

"What is that stuff?" she asked in amazement.

"Family recipe. I don't think even Deaton has it," he explained. "I had to get it out of the vault. It's what Braeden used to help her scars heal so quickly."

"Oh," Stiles said, the mention of Derek's ex-girlfriend and reformed U.S. Marshall was unexpected. She hadn't seen or heard from Braeden in a long time. "Thank-you."

"You just need to keep it bandaged for another day or so, do you have any?"

Stiles directed him to the bathroom, where all the medical supplies were, and instructed him to wash his filthy hands while he was at it. Normally, Derek would have growled at Stiles for a comment such as that, though not this time. She was incredibly alarmed by how much she liked this new Derek. She attempted to compose herself before he came back to the room, she felt so vulnerable, and with their history, it was unlikely that they would keep up the camaraderie, she didn't want to get hurt again.

He expertly bandaged her arm up and took a step back to look at his work.

"Done," he said, a genuine smile on his face. He actually appeared to be happy, perhaps because his conscious was clear now that he had confessed to Stiles. He looked at her with those eyes – eyes made even more beautiful by the contrast to his dark brows. She couldn't stop staring at him.

He was so… irresistible.

Stiles wasn't sure why she did what she did next. Maybe it was because she hadn't felt so flattered in a long time, or her arm felt a million times better, or Derek was probably the hottest person she had laid on eyes on. It was most likely the fact that she was a horny teenager whose sex life had been about as exciting as watching paint dry and she was having a burst of her so-called bravery. She reached out and grabbed a handful of Derek's shirt and pulled – no, yanked – him towards her. Still sitting on the edge of her desk, she leaned forward, and before he could protest or back away, she planted her lips softly on his, just to see how it felt.

He somehow smelt better than he looked, and his lips were unexpectedly soft. It only lasted a few seconds before they both pulled back slightly, their foreheads still pressed gently together.

"Sorry," she said immediately. She started to panic. What if he didn't think of her in that way? Why would he? She wasn't exactly the typical attractive woman he went for. What if he thought she had misinterpreted their conversation as him hitting on her? She was already regretting her move. "I just wanted to try that. I – I didn't think you were coming on to me or anything – I think – it's not like I have a crush on you – oh god, I mean you're just really hot…"

"Shut up, Stiles," Derek whispered. He grabbed her face in his hands and pressed their lips together once again. It felt so natural, so easy, as if they had done it before a million times. To them, it was two years' worth of averted and denied sexual tension being released. It was admitting that they had a connection, albeit an unusual one. They had always been so wary and unsure of each other, continually sussing them out, and now they had inaudibly, and finally, admitted that they trusted and admired one another. Neither was sure of what was happening between them, was this passion? Lust? A moment of vulnerability and weakness? Was this going to become something more? At that time, neither cared.

There was something new between them and it felt good, so they didn't stop.