The schedule was thus: Derek ate with the Argents for breakfast, half the time including Stiles and the other scribes; then one of the Mr. Argents stole him away to a study for the whole of the morning to learn about business and economics; lunch did not include Stiles, but Derek often asked to eat alone so he could find Stiles in the garden – Sir Argent disapproved and Lady Katherine was anxious to eat alone with him, but Derek's brooding eyebrows and general reluctance to talk made it easy for him to claim he needed the time to himself. Kate still tried to follow him a few times, but Caitlyn would enlist other servants to delay or distract her. They probably didn't even know what they were helping with, but it was glorious.

In the afternoon, Derek read letters from his family and associates that were aware of his current accommodations, then he'd request to see some part of the county with Allison. They always arrived back in time for supper, and then it was off to bed.

At lunch, Stiles and Derek often forgot about their ages and would play with some part of their meal – little sword fights with thin sliced cheese or building houses with bread and fruit, for example. They discussed business, but not the same way Derek discussed it with the Argents. Derek described running his county with a passion Stiles had seen only once before in his life – in his father. It warmed his heart and kept him listening attentively for longer than he normally gave attention to anything. He even commented back to encourage more from Derek.

Discussions about his county were not the only thing Derek was passionate about, but it was one of only two subjects he put extra effort into. Most of the time, he was content to let Stiles do all the talking. Stiles would rant about a novel or other book he'd read, and then afterward they would debate about it. Stiles used a lot of words to make his point, whereas Derek was so succinct that it was hard to argue with him. Which was aggravating and amazing at the same time. It was also totally unfair.

Stiles was lost in a haze of happiness he'd long forgotten. Sneaking around under the nose of two people he loathed gave him a rush of exhilaration, and it was coupled with the excitement of a new affair. Sure, he and Derek could never be public or official, but for the short time he'd have Derek to himself, Stiles would enjoy every moment. And there was something irresistible in that kind of secret as well.

In fact, Stiles was so distracted by his secrets and his stolen moments and his infatuation that he entirely forgot about his mistress's own secrets. Kate was so quiet those first few days that it was easy to forget about her. She threw no fits, sent no letters, and generally stayed out of the way. Her father gave her stern looks whenever she opened her mouth at the dining table, giving Stiles the impression that he'd threatened her with disinheritance should she say or do anything wild or embarrassing or even particularly flirtatious. She still tried to strike up conversation whenever possible, but those often went nowhere important.

Only three days into Stiles' affair, a letter came for her that changed everything. Stiles accepted the letter from a disgruntled Reddick and walked it back to the study with no concern. The letter itself was a bit heavier and bulkier than a normal letter, even more so than when Derek used to hide secondary letters in his. There was something besides paper hidden inside.

Without being summoned, Lady Katherine Argent showed up just behind him. That's too mellow of a description, actually. She burst into the room in her hunting gear, clearly caught on her way to kill something, and yet still had the gall to look seductive as she stalked her way across the room to Stiles. She was like a feral cat, and her intense eyes startled him even when they were set above a sickeningly sweet smile.

"Stiles," she cooed when she reached him. She tapped a finger to his cheek. "My sweet boy. I feel we never see each other these days." Her eyes dragged slowly to the envelope, like she was analyzing his jugular on the way down. "I see we have business to attend to. Be a dear and open that missive, would you?"

"Are you feeling alright?" Stiles asked, cautious, as he slid the letter opener along the lip of the envelope and procured the letter.

"Never mind that," Kate said, one hand on her hip. "Just read."

'Lady Katherine Argent,

My name is Marin Morrell. I run an apothecary in Gévaudan. A mutual acquaintance, Mr. Adrian Harris, wrote to me about a less than fortunate situation you find yourself in. Mr. Harris says you solved your last problem with a heavy dosage of moringa root. Unfortunately, I do not deal in moringa. The root is too easy to mistake with the bark, and I cannot risk poisoning one of my customers when all they desire is a rejuvenating tea.

However, I do keep in stock a healthy selection of aconitum. You may know this herb better by another name – Leopard's or Wolf's Bane. It has a few medicinal uses, and one of them may better suit your desires than the moringa root. I have enclosed a small sample of the plant. It will not be enough to rid you of your problem, but should give you an idea of its potency. Simply grind it up and flavor your drink or food of choice with it. Don't worry. If you eat it straight, it has a harsh, bitter tang, but if you grind it fine enough, you won't taste it over the flavor of your food.

If you desire a more potent sampling or a concentrated dose, send a return missive or visit me at my shop. We can discuss payment and delivery then.

Ms. Marin Morell

Stiles frowned and folded the letter. He'd never heard of moringa root, but something told him he'd heard or read something about this aconitum before. He'd been slightly remiss in his Latin studies, but even that probably wouldn't have helped him. Knowing Latin and knowing the names of medicinal plants were two totally different things.

Setting the letter aside, Stiles reached for the envelope, but Kate snatched it up first. From inside she slid out a tiny flower. It had rounded, bright yellow petals and a deep green stem. This particular sample was so small that the spread petals were barely the size of Kate's smallest fingertip.

She didn't seem to mind. Her smile was broad and wicked.

"Magnificent," she murmured. Her eyes flickered to Stiles and caught him staring at the flower. She quickly slipped the herb into the pocket of her hunting vest and frowned at him. "Well, I won't require your services after all, scribe," she said, not even deigning to use his name. "But I do have other business with you."

"If you don't need me to write, I don't know what you want." Not that Stiles was meant to be writing. The doctor had told him not to attempt the activity for another four days.

Kate swayed a little closer and returned her lips to a seductive smile. "Stiles. Poor, lowly Stiles. I told you, I feel like I never see you anymore. Allison keeps stealing you away to be her guard with Lord Hale, and you never seem to be around otherwise. I'm just so curious where it is you keep running off to." She reached up and tapped him on the nose, like toying with a child.

Frowning, Stiles wrinkled his nose. "Funny. You never seemed to care much where I was before."

Her eyes went cold, and she slapped him, sending his head snapping to the side. "Do not give me your sass today, scribe. I don't give a damn what you've been doing in the woods. I want to know what's happening between my dear niece and Lord Hale every afternoon."

Cheek burning, Stiles set his gaze into as impassive a look as possible. He faced her head on and shrugged. "Nothing is happening between them," he said. Then he couldn't help it. His forehead knit and he was nearly glaring at her. "Not that it's any business of yours what Lord Hale does. It's not like he's ever going to marry you."

He expected the slap that time, but he let it happen. Defending his face would only have made her reaction worse. It stung even worse the second time, and his eyes almost began to tear. Blinking the desire away, he looked up toward the door and felt his stomach drop.

The door was still open from when Kate had barged in. Down the hall, just far enough away that he probably hadn't been able to hear what they were saying, was Lord Derek Hale. Earshot was one thing, but he'd definitely been able to see Kate slap Stiles.

"Do you need to go to the Den? What are you looking a-" Kate turned her glare on whatever Stiles was staring at and gasped. Her expression instantly softened and she covered her mouth like some sort of dainty lady.

Embarrassment and shame welled up in Stiles' chest and he sucked in a heavy, shaking breath.

"Derek!" she exclaimed in shock. The lord moved swiftly to the doorway, his eyes jumping between the two of them, like he didn't know what was more important – staring in disgust at Kate or in horror at Stiles. It was downright unbearable.

"What on earth-," Derek began.

"Don't be alarmed," Kate said, her sweetness dripping over the words. "He was being excessively rude. Sometimes servants get difficult. You just have to show a little strength and they straighten right up."

She kept going with her excuses, but Stiles didn't hear it. All he could hear was his own heavy breathing. Derek had seen him get hit. Derek had been right there. It was one thing for Derek to know it was happening, for him to fret over Stiles' hand. It was another thing entirely for Derek to witness it.

He couldn't stand the humiliation. Without asking for leave, Stiles shoved past both of them and into the hall. His clouded ears heard Derek call for him as though from a great distance away, but he didn't stop. He had to get out of there, out of the room and out of this house and definitely out from under Derek's pitying eyes.

He walked as fast as he could, as far as he could, until he was sure he was alone and his jelly legs refused to carry him any further. He crumpled to the dirt without really knowing where he was and sucked in a heaving gasp of air. Pressing his back to the wood of the stables, he bent forward until his head was between his knees, and tried to breathe. Just breathe, damn it!

But his mind was on that threat of going to the Den and Derek seeing him get abused and- and Kate trying to convince Derek that Stiles had deserved it. Some irrational part of his mind had called out and convinced the rest of Stiles that it was right – what if Derek believed her? What if he thought the hand breaking was too far but bought into Kate's rationale of why smacking Stiles was acceptable?

And what if he didn't? Even if he knew that the smack was unacceptable, he'd still seen it happen. He'd seen Stiles being weak. He'd seen Stiles stand there and take it and not even attempt to defend himself! But if he had tried to defend himself, Kate would have hit him even harder somewhere else, and then Derek would have seen him really beaten and truly weak. There was no winning the situation! And God, what if Derek found out about the Den? What if he found out that Stiles had regularly been taken into a room and LET himself get beaten until something broke?!

His mind spiraled until he was too dizzy to focus even on what was making him panic. The logical part of his brain had been smothered under the self-deprecating and destructive thoughts that lingered, constantly, at the back of his mind. But now those thoughts were in the forefront and he couldn't stop them. He pressed his hands over his ears and didn't even notice that he'd begun to rock slightly, trying to rid himself of the nervous, panicky energy.

He couldn't breathe. His breaths were harried and unhelpful. He couldn't see. His eyes were closed tight, like blinding himself might make his thoughts stop racing. He no longer knew if he was truly alone, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He just wanted the panic to pass.

Someone grabbed him by the wrists and he startled, his head snapping up from between his knees. The accompanying gasp left him feeling light headed, and it took a moment for his blurred vision to focus.

"D-" He was still breathless, but his heartbeat was calming and his lungs were slowly remembering how to function. There was a slight, distant ring in his ears, but he could now hear the soft call of birdsong in the trees around him. His eyes had cleared first and did not change, and so he saw very clearly that Derek had been the one to find him.

Intense, quiet Derek Hale. He was crouched in front of Stiles, his strong hands around both of Stiles' wrists. He said nothing in response to Stiles' attempt to speak. Instead he waited, as though he knew Stiles needed the time to regain his faculties. Only when Stiles finally, finally tried to tug his arms away did Derek release him and move.

The lord shifted to sit on the ground beside him, his attentive gaze never leaving Stiles. His pants would get a bit dirty, but it would be nothing compared to the dirt Stiles could now see all over his own pants. He'd ruined both knees and most of his shins when he'd hit the dirt. The maids were going to hate him.

Derek let the silence continue for another minute or two, the only close sound being the birds. Behind them, a few horse knickers could be heard, but there was no human movement. Finally, the lord took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Are you alright?"

Stiles snorted, a very impolite thing. The panic had become an undertone to his thoughts again, but was he alright? "I'm fine."

Derek pulled a face, as though he wanted very much to contest that statement, but he refrained. Instead he said, "Do you have these anxiety attacks often?"

It was, perhaps, the first time anyone had ever asked him that question. Stiles resisted the urge to look at Derek and instead focused on the leaves of the brush twenty feet in front of him. "No?" He frowned. "I- I had a few when I was young. After my mother passed, I fell into a fit maybe… four times in the first month? The, um…" He hated this. "Sorry. I must sound so pathetic."

Derek shook his head. "My brother used to have them," he said. "He has no title, no real requirements of him, so he always felt ashamed of the attacks. But his anxiety came from a fear of disappointing society as a whole. I had a set course in life – a future in business, carrying on my family's name and responsibilities. He had nothing. He could choose a profession, a life that he wanted, but what if he chose wrong? What if his choices embarrassed the family?"

Stiles understood that. His father's title had been far less impressive, but Stiles had still worried. He'd covered his worry in jokes and insults and sass, but he understood the anxiety of it.

"Every time he was faced with a major decision, he'd collapse in a fit. Eventually he was collapsing even when given small decisions. It was embarrassing for our father, but my mother understood the seriousness of it. She invited a specialist into our home. She got Peter the help and care he needed to function. At first, he had medication because he had the fits so often. Nowadays, he gets on fine without it." Derek shifted, stretched one leg out in front of him. "It was a scary time for all of us. At first we didn't know what was wrong with him. The first time I witnessed a fit, I thought- I thought he was dying. He would grab on so tightly to my arm… He was only twelve when they started. Twelve."

He cleared his throat, waking from an unpleasant memory. "But he's fine now. He got counseling. He discussed a lot with our father. Now he's on a path of his choosing, doing something he hopes will make a difference in the world."

"A lawyer," Stiles murmured, nodding. "You told me in your letters. He's working with your uncle. Must be odd for them – both being named Peter."

At that, Derek almost snorted. "Yes, it is difficult sometimes. I'm sure that didn't help him either – being named after a crazy uncle who was already kind of a family embarrassment. But he's a Hale. He adapted. He rose above."

Silence fell between them again, and Stiles hazarded a glance at Derek. The lord was no longer watching him, instead looking off into the trees where a pair of birds were jumping around, arguing over some kind of treat they'd found.

Stiles let out a slow breath. Maybe… Maybe Derek wouldn't judge him. "I had to be medicated too," he admitted. "After my mother passed, I was so bad that my father quietly got me a medical remedy. It was some kind of sedative. It took a year, but I finally seemed to get over my attacks too. I no longer panicked when I couldn't find my mother in the house. I thought I was alright. I stopped taking the medicine."

"But they came back?" Derek asked, quiet.

Stiles shrugged. "Not a lot. This was… I've only had three in the past five years. Once right after my father-" He cleared his throat. "Twice since coming to work here. Not a bad record, I think."

Derek shook his head. "None would be a better record." He slowly put a hand on Stiles' knee, and it felt so intimate that Stiles almost went dizzy all over again. "As would be a record of how many times you have been hit."

Stiles let out a loud ironic laugh at that statement, but he quickly covered his mouth to silence himself. "Sorry. That was badly timed." He relaxed his back against the stable wall and quickly put his hand over Derek's on his knee when it felt like the lord might be pulling away. "I just need a moment. Just- Just don't go anywhere, alright?"

"Alright," Derek agreed in his low, rumbling voice. It made Stiles shiver, but he was too tired from the anxiety attack to put much thought into it

Derek let them sit in silence, their hands layered together, for several minutes. Stiles kept his eyes closed and concentrated on his breathing, soaking up every sensation of Derek's skin on his for as long as the lord would allow it.

Eventually, though, the silence had to be broken. Derek shifted so he could properly hold Stiles' hand and brought them to rest between the two of them instead of on Stiles' knee. He closed his other hand around them and nodded.

"Stiles, I know from your letters that your name isn't actually Stiles; that you let everyone address you by the nickname your father gave you. I also know that you have always felt uncomfortable discussing your true name, but-" He paused and frowned, looking down at their hands as though he were losing his grip, though Stiles was holding on tight. "Stiles, if I am to write to my uncle, I need to know your name."

Part of Stiles was touched that Derek remembered where his moniker came from. The rest of him knotted up. "You understand that hiding my name has nothing to do with trusting you, right?" If he hadn't trusted Derek, he wouldn't have admitted all that information about his anxiety.

"It was hard to understand at first, but I think I've had enough time to realize it wasn't a personal jab," Derek admitted. "Especially since even everyone here calls you that."

Stiles nodded and picked at the grass by his feet. It was true that the Argents all knew his real name, but the servants did not. The servants all believed him to be some nephew-in-law of a third son of a Baron, or something of the sort – untitled and almost common. They'd never believe it if Stiles told them the truth.

"My name-" He stopped, the words trapped in his throat.

Derek wanted to help him. Stiles should let Derek and Allison help him. They could find out how much he owed Kate. That way he could figure out how much longer he'd be trapped here and if he really needed Derek's help at all. Maybe the sum was almost paid in full. But to find out, he'd have to put a claim to his name, and it still stung to think of the time in his life when he'd called himself anything but Stiles.

"My father's name was Noah Stilinski," he said. Taking a deep breath for courage, he hesitated only a moment before adding, "Lord Noah Stilinski, Baron of Goodwater."

He couldn't bring himself to look at Derek, but the silence was telling enough. Waiting for Derek's reaction, he unconsciously held his breath. How would the future Earl take such news?

"I expected you were more than a mere scribe," Derek finally said, voice calm and quiet. "Your education was clear in your writings. Yet… Stiles, you're titled?"

Stiles shook his head, still not looking over. "The title was lost when my father… when he died. Kate has it now. I didn't believe her at first, but she had the papers to prove it – by royal decree and everything." He let out a long sigh. "Don't worry yourself about it. You knew me to be untitled before I confirmed it. This doesn't change anything."

There was a sudden hand upon his shoulder, and he startled. Derek was staring intently at him when Stiles finally turned in his direction. Derek looked serious and slightly hurt. It was not a look Stiles had ever seen on him. He didn't particularly like it.

"I'm sorry for your loss," he said, and whether he meant the loss of Lord Stilinski or the loss of the title, Stiles wasn't certain.

Either way, he said, "Thank you."

With a nod, Derek slipped his hand away. "I will write to my uncle and see what we can find out about dealings between your father and Lady Katherine. With any luck, you'll be out of here before the new year."

The news should be exciting, but instead Stiles felt unusually wary. He frowned. "Why?" he asked. "Why do you care so much what happens to me? Before now, you knew me only as a scribe, just some well written words on paper. Yet you show up and want to rescue me from my circumstances. If I'm just some charity to you, I'd rather you not write to your uncle. I'm fine where I-"

But Derek stopped him with a look and a single word. "Don't."

The clouds overhead moved slowly over the sun and cast them into a shadow, and Stiles was stuck, speechless under Derek's gaze. His chest ached, but he wasn't sure why.

"Until I began corresponding with you, I was… I had sealed myself away with my work. My every moment was business and politics, and then I had this sudden outlet. Somehow we were talking about nothing… about everything. I've never had a friend to discuss literature and culture with before. Everyone I normally associate with expects my discussions to be politically important or with a hidden meaning behind my words. But with you, I was able to open up, talk about things without worrying you'd misinterpret them or use them against me." He squeezed Stiles' shoulder gently. "You were the first real friend I had in ten years. I came to care about you in a way I didn't care about… about anyone outside of my family. You were always honest with me, apart from your name, and I respected that. I… I care about you, Stiles. Is it so odd for me to want to help you?"

Oh. That ache in Stiles was the desire to kiss Derek. And it was the desire to never hear the word 'friend' out of his mouth again.

"I suppose not," he admitted with a lazy roll of his shoulders. He squinted as the clouds moved out of the way of the sun once more. Then he sighed. "My own personal issues aside, I think you're expected back at the house. Aren't you and Allison meant to tour the countryside this afternoon?"

With a nod, Derek stood, and then he offered a hand down to help Stiles to his feet. "Don't forget to add yourself to this party, Lord Stilinski. You're the lovely lady's bodyguard."

Stiles groaned and winced. "Please. Don't."

Frowning, Derek murmured, "Sorry."

They walked back to the house in silence, not touching. Inside, they both returned to their rooms to change clothes, almost without a word to the other. It was a strange, strained sort of silence they'd never experienced before. It was Stiles' fault, he knew. He'd revealed his heritage and his greatest sign of weakness all in the course of half an hour. Now he had to find a way to move beyond the strain of that and get back to kissing Derek Hale while he had the chance… but it wouldn't be done in half a day.

"Damn it," he cursed silently in his room. "Why are you like this, Stiles?"

He refused to answer himself.