Dear Derek,

I don't know if you've heard about my leaving the Argent's. I'd hope you'd know – that you came back to see me or that Allison wrote to you, but I know that sometimes life can get in the way of information being conveyed. I won't bore you with the grim details of my departure, but suffice it to say that I don't remember it at all. Lord Christopher Argent is, to my understanding, almost entirely to thank for my recovery, so… you know, there's that surprise.

I am currently living with a lovely family on the edge of Gévaudan. You may have heard of them – the McCalls. Baron Posey has been a constant and true friend through my recovery, and I think you'd like him too, although your personalities are extremely different. He's sort of bubbly underneath the surface, like a dog that's itching to go outside. Whereas you're more like the dog that's ready to come in and rest for awhile. Understand that I love you and your tired dog ways, so that isn't an insult.

Oh God, I've just written that I love you. I've just done it again! This whole letter will have to be scrapped! Or I could just send it. It's not like I haven't considered the thought before. I think the positive attitude in this household is infecting me. I'm going to send this letter out without alterations and throw caution to the wind!

I know the life of an Earl-in-training is a busy one, but if you have the time to spare, please come see me. I think that would give me all the energy I'd need to kick this entire situation in the rear and move on with life.

Love, (I've written it again!)

Stiles

The letter went out with the morning post. Now all Stiles could do was wait.

But the next day came and went with no letters. As did the next one, and the next. Three days with no response. Stiles couldn't account for it. Even if Derek was busy, surely he could pen a quick reply. They'd- They'd become almost as intimate as two people could be!

Surely Derek would come see him.

Every day, Stiles wheeled himself to the entryway in preparation for the post, and every day there was no letter for him. He did, however, finally meet the McCall scribe – Liam Dunbar. Liam was a lithe and agile young man who seemed constantly on the fence about whether he needed to run rapidly from the room. It wasn't that he was twitchy or nervous, but Stiles was certain that Liam's mind was always in two places and his body wasn't sure which it needed to be in attendance for.

"Hiyah! I'm Liam, Liam Dunbar. I'm the McCall scribe," the young man said as introduction the first time they met. He didn't have to bend down as far as Scott to shake Stiles' hand properly. "My father is a gentleman, but he has no title. We don't, um, actually have that large of a fortune either. I mean, I wouldn't be here if we did, right? Heh. I mean, that wasn't very nice to my father. He's a great man! He's actually a lot like Lady McCall! They both like helping out at hospitals. My father especially likes helping out wounded soldiers. Oh, God. I'm rambling."

Stiles blinked rapidly at the small but kinetic teen before him. He thought HE talked a lot, but this kid took the cake when he was nervous, didn't he?

"Well, Scott did say you had flare," Stiles managed.

Liam flushed with embarrassment. "Sorry. I'm just nervous, I guess. Scott- I mean, Baron Posey told me about you. I mean, you were a scribe too, right?"

"Yeah," Stiles said slowly, nervously.

"So you probably have more experience than I do. I barely passed the test last year, and I really got lucky when I landed this job. I just can't afford to lose it, you know?" In Liam's eyes, Stiles could see the worry of disappointing a father and the anxiety of letting his family down.

He pushed his wheelchair forward and pat the boy on the arm. "Calm down, kid. You're too young for this kind of anxiety. I'm not here to steal your job."

"Oh? Oh. Of course not." Liam nodded, trying to pretend the thought hadn't crossed his mind. "So then… why are you here?"

Frowning, Stiles stared at the door that refused to produce a letter from Derek. That was a great question, actually. Certainly he'd needed to get out of the Argent household, but he was still indebted to Lady Katherine, and it wasn't like he was versed in any job beyond being a scribe.

"I don't know," he admitted. Then he cleared his throat, trying to banish the heavy thoughts about his future – at least for now. "Let me know if a letter ever arrives from Earl Beacon or any of the Hales, would you? I- I'm going to find something to eat."

And he left the room before he could become more disappointed by the lack of post or more confused about why he was even there.

He found Lady McCall and Scott at the dinner table, though it wasn't time for a meal. A platter of fruit sat between them and each held a large book. As far as Stiles could see, it appeared to be the same book.

"Ah, Stiles. Perfect timing," Lady McCall said with a smile. "Please. Join us at the table. Scott and I are brushing up on the modern peerage."

Stiles did join them, but not because he was particularly interested. Mostly he was after the fruit. He reached forward, stretching far out of his wheelchair, and grabbed a honeydew slice, but Lady McCall gave him an intense look so he dropped it and sat back in his wheelchair. "What?"

"We're still nobility, Stiles, even if we don't rank very high. Don't lean across the table for food. Sit like a gentleman and reach normally." Though it was an order, and a scolding to boot, Stiles didn't feel very scolded. It sounded more like an earnest request.

Sitting with his butt firmly in the chair, Stiles used a small fork to reach forward, nabbed the same piece of honeydew, and earned a smile in return for his efforts. A mother's praise was always awesome, and he ate with pride. "So. Who are we studying?" he asked when his mouth was empty, correctly guessing that Lady McCall would have said something if he'd started any sooner.

"Well, we were looking at the peerage of our own county first, then we were planning to move to the surrounding counties – like Beacon and La Iglesia. Then we'll move up and up until we hit the Queen," Scott explained. He beamed. "Did you hear? The second princess gave birth to her new baby girl."

"Which is what gave us the idea to review. So many families have had recent additions in the last few years. It's important to keep up, and there are plenty to memorize." Lady McCall motioned to the fruit. "Can I bribe you with more honeydew to sit with us and help quiz my son?"

"You can always bribe me with more honeydew, Lady McCall," Stiles assured, nabbing another piece. He held his hands out for Scott's book and then flipped through it when he had his curious hands on it. "How updated are these names?"

"This printing is from last year, unfortunately, but the new one is not due for another two months. That's fine, though, because between myself and Scott, I'm sure we'll remember the two families who gained heirs and the two who got married." Lady McCall smiled at her son in a way that accentuated the lines around her eyes, and her son sent them right back at her. Stiles envied their relationship.

"Alright. Let's do this!" Stiles said like a battle cry.

He spent an hour with the McCalls, going over all the old and new peerage. Despite his best efforts, he too learned new things. Several families had expanded since his last attempt to memorize anyone. He and Allison had only ever gone over the main family information – crests, location, and the like. It was pretty interesting to learn how many children had been born since Stiles held a title, how many people had earned titles or lost fortunes, how many had been disinherited, and how many had married into peerage families.

So much had changed, but by the end of the tutoring session for Scott, Stiles too had figured much of it out. Teaching someone else really had a way of making the teacher learn the information. They celebrated finishing the session with a meal fit for a visiting Earl. They were joined by several of the servants, including Liam. Stiles couldn't remember the last fancy meal he'd had that didn't include a visiting noble of high standard. Even back when he'd lived with his father, they'd saved the larger meals for special events. But the McCalls were treating Stiles to a fanciful meal, as though he were the notable party. They made jokes about the grandeur and laughed whenever Stiles was scolded into better manners. It was a fantastic meal, both the food and the company.

Stiles went to bed stuffed with delicious food and with a heart so full it could burst. And yet his mind flashed to his unanswered letter just before he drifted into sleep, and thus his night was filled with dreams of Derek's hands and their many secret messages.

Derek continued his silent treatment of Stiles, which was honestly crushing him. Scott did his best to distract his new friend every day, but every lull in activity was a chance for Stiles' mind to wander to the absent Earl. Almost Earl. Earl in remainder. Whatever.

Scott liked getting Stiles' opinions on things – it was his favorite way of distracting Stiles. Basically, he took Stiles around with him during his daily duties and asked Stiles to do his job for him.

Stiles would be staring forlornly out a window and hear, "Can you help me pick out where to place the guests at our dinner party next week?" He'd be minding his own business, holding a book and waiting for the wall paint to peel and be met with a, "Stiles, can you help me balance the budget?" This took all of Stiles' attention and most of the day and was generally a terrible thing to ask a friend to help you with, but Stiles did it to keep his brain from having time to mope.

Most of the distractions Scott came up with, however, were the same – go over the submitted requests and concerns of the people. Every morning, the postman delivered letters of concern. These were business disputes, requests for loans, and property assessments mostly. Major changes had to be cleared through the Baron, and the Baron was the final judge on most disputes. He would also be the one to dip into the bank's coffers to distribute funds for improvements in public buildings and lands. There were usually several letters every morning, which gave Scott several options for distracting Stiles every day.

Still, there was only so much time Scott could fill. He couldn't bring Stiles everywhere, because Stiles was still in a wheelchair and easily exhausted. He couldn't let Stiles do his whole job either, as that wouldn't be very honest of him. So Stiles still found himself with several hours each day to sit or lie about and wonder why the man he probably loved wasn't writing back to him.

Not that it stopped Stiles from writing his own letters.

After the initial two day period of silence, Stiles had written a new letter. Perhaps his first one had gotten lost on the way, he'd thought. But the second one went unanswered as well. After that, Stiles wrote a new letter every other day. He often began it the same – asking Derek why he didn't write and reminding him that he was allowed to visit – and he soon realized that he sounded disgustingly like Lady Katherine Argent.

But it was different. Right? Derek didn't like Kate but he liked Stiles. Right? But then… why wasn't he writing back?

He continued to write the letters for two weeks, sending out seven follow-up messages to his original posting. Not one received a response – not even from a disgruntled servant or relative or postal worker.

After two weeks, Stiles stopped writing. He sat at the scribe's desk in the McCall manor and stared at a blank sheet of paper and wondered what he'd done wrong. Everything with Derek had felt so right, so wrong but so perfect. He'd enjoyed every moment of it, and he'd thought Derek had too. Derek had made promises to him – to rescue him and protect him. He'd kissed Stiles so passionately and touched him so tenderly. It had felt so real. And yet Stiles was sitting in this room alone, facing the silent judgment of a man he'd thought he knew.

Stuck in the wheelchair, Stiles couldn't pace, but his leg bounced in place. He'd trusted Derek. He'd told Derek his real last name. Derek would know everything about him now. He would have heard all the rumors, found out all about the money the Stilinski's owed to the Argents. Had it been such a large amount that Derek was ashamed to have offered to pay it? Surely he should know Stiles didn't expect him to. Surely he knew Stiles better than that.

Stiles had trusted him. Why didn't Derek trust him back?!

Growling angrily, Stiles slammed his hand down on the papers and flung them from the table. Light as feathers, they fluttered gently and uselessly to the floor. He'd wanted to hear the crash, so this was annoying, but at least they had scattered into an unappealing mess. He growled again and ran his hands through his hair.

He didn't understand, and that confusion made him angry. Why? He wanted to scream. Why had the fire started? Why had Kate been so eager for him to work for her? Why had the Argents abused him so forcefully and so often when they rarely abused the other servants? Why had Derek taken such an interest in him to begin with? Why start a romantic tryst with no intention to see it through or at least to end it? Why had the McCalls so eagerly let a stranger like him into their lives? Was it all a ploy somehow? Why wasn't Derek writing back?

The amazing thing about being in a downward spiral is that everything, every thought, casts a shadow. In the silence of the study, Stiles felt the truths of his life blur into uncertain shapes, and he didn't feel safe anywhere in the world. He tugged on his hair and bounced his good leg and tried to breathe normal. The swirling emotions in him did not feel like a panic attack, but they gave off a ghostly sibling feeling akin to hopelessness. Everything felt like some demented extension of the abuse he'd experienced for the past five years, and he couldn't logic his way back to solid ground.

Before he understood what was happening, he'd begun to weep. Hiccups shook him, and he couldn't get a solid breath. For the first time in five years, he openly cried. It felt like he'd reached some kind of precipice, some turning point in his life. He couldn't hold onto anything he'd known – not his profession, not the place he'd lived, not the people he'd known and worked with, and now he couldn't even hold on to the person he'd loved.

Letting go was murder, but he'd fought for possession for two weeks and gained no ground. It was time to let his fingers slide off. The ache tore at him, and he couldn't stop the tears. Several minutes passed in the stuttered rhythm of his sobs before he started to regain control.

He was dizzy and drained in the aftermath and cursed himself for crying at all. What use was crying over Derek Hale anyhow? It wouldn't magically bring a letter to the door. Slowly, he rolled himself back to his room, sloppily pulled himself onto the bed, and laid there in silence.

What use was there in crying now, when his fortunes had taken such a positive turn? He was away from the abusive household of Gerard Argent. He was in a room easily three times the size of his previous one, with furniture that wasn't broken or flaking or speckled with his blood. He was eating better meals than many he'd had at the Argent Estate. And he was receiving the best medical care he'd experienced since the intensive care he'd needed after the fire.

He closed his eyes, prepared for sleep to overtake him despite the midday sun out the window. He was tired and sore and just wanted to nap in this gorgeous bedroom in this generous house in this peaceful county.

Why waste time crying over Derek Hale?

At the end of his initial recovery period, Stiles was reexamined and declared fit to use crutches. Dr. Deaton could find no signs of further internal trauma. Without the encumbrance of a wheelchair, Scott was able to take Stiles outside to see his animals.

And WOW did he have animals.

Stiles had been in the McCall estate for a month, but no view from the windows had prepared him for the menagerie outside. Scott had horses, enough for five people to ride together, but that was far from the extent. Scott had three old mares, too old to produce foals and probably too old to be ridden very much by the looks of them. He had a large, fenced in area for old dogs as well, of which he had a good dozen. Though most seemed to be going blind or were missing a limb, they all barked with excitement and came to greet Scott when the two men came to visit.

Despite their disabilities, they all attempted to play fetch as well, which was the truly surprising bit for Stiles. One sort of tripped over itself because it only had one front leg, but it still ran after that ball like a puppy.

There was a pen with the pig Scott had brought to visit in the hospital, along with its lovely mate, and a large chicken coop attached on the side. A special, shaded cage was home to the notorious ferret of Scott's slightly younger days, and its extended ferret family. A nearby cage housed a few rodent-like animals, including rabbits and hamsters.

"Brother, what do you not own?" Stiles asked as Scott pulled a docile little bunny out to say hi.

"Plenty, I'm sure. But most of these animals are rescues, or the offspring of rescues," Scott explained. He scratched behind the rabbit's ears and its little nose went crazy with happiness. "When I was little, I saw this dog chained up outside one of our resident's homes. It was underfed and developing mange. I asked to take the animal off their hands. My dad originally said no, but mom convinced him, and the family agreed. We nursed him back to health, and that's him, the old gray one in the middle there."

He pointed back toward the dogs, where the old dog in question was laid out in the sun, happy as a clam in the midst of the other excited dogs.

"It sort of started there. My mother is interested in fixing people, and I'm interested in fixing animals. And people, I suppose, but animals I think are easier. There's no chance an animal can hate you for trying to help it." He set the rabbit back in its cage and closed the latch. "But like I said, almost all of these are animals I've rescued across the county from neglectful homes."

"A pet's true hero," Stiles joked. "But honestly, how do you afford the upkeep? It must cost a small fortune to feed them, and then you have to pay the people who care for them while you work."

"Actually, a lot of people hear what I'm doing and donate food. And all the people caring for them are volunteers." Scott waved to a woman across the way who was in the middle of giving a dog a bath. She waved back and the dog got excited, knocking over the bucket of soapy water. Scott winced and waved again, this time apologetically. The woman didn't seem too upset, though.

"Are the cats rescued too?" Stiles asked, motioning around at the lazy balls of fur that rested around the yard and on top of fences and cages.

Scott laughed at that. "No. These are all strays that just wandered in for the food and the attention." He reached up to pet one nearby. It jerked away suspiciously at first but then let him reach forward to pet it gently for a few seconds. "The only cat here on purpose is Luna inside, and you've already met her. La luna negra."

"Yeah, who names a black cat after the moon?" Stiles asked as they made their way back toward the house.

"Oh, come on, Stiles! The moon appears in a black sky! Besides, it was better than naming her 'Blackie'," Scott said with a laugh.

"Very true."

As soon as they were back inside, Lady McCall cornered them. "Aha! There you two are."

"Um. Yes, mother?" Scott asked, concern and wariness mixing in his voice.

"I have a tailor here who needs to measure the both of you." She held up her hand when Stiles began to protest. "None of that, Sir. My son and I have plans for an outing next week, and I will not let you stay home to sulk by yourself. You will come out with us. No arguments, understood?"

"But- I- Uh-" Stiles stammered, but Lady McCall's expression only grew more determined with each sound that escaped his lips. Finally, Stiles just sighed. "Yes, Lady McCall."

"Wonderful! Follow me to the sitting room, please."

It had been a long, long, looong time since Stiles had been measured for a suit, but he had not forgotten how arduous the process was. Arms up. Arms down. Don't move. I'm just going to strangle you with this tape measure. No worries. Feet slightly apart, if you don't mind.

It turned out that the tailor wasn't Lady McCall's only plan though. Two days before the proposed outing, a woman arrived to cut Scott's hair, and she got her strong beautician nails into Stiles as well. They were both trimmed on top and their faces professionally shaven. Stiles looked younger than he normally preferred, but he couldn't deny he looked rather handsome. In the new suit and with a new haircut, he looked rather like he had before his father died. In fact, Stiles could pointedly see all the features on himself that were reminiscent of his father – the nose and the arch of the eyebrows. The older he got, the more like his father he became. He wondered if one day he'd look in the mirror and see only his father.

Lady McCall had to ask him three times if he was alright before he heard her over the cotton in his ears. It was only then that he'd noticed he'd started to cry a few soft tears. He quickly wiped the tears away with the handkerchief from the pocket of his new suit. God, he'd never used that silly bit of fabric before, but he didn't want to ruin the fine new suit.

"Thank you," Stiles said when he was back under control. "You really didn't need to spend this kind of money on me. I'm not- I'm just a -"

"You're worth every penny," Lady McCall assured him, hands on his shoulders. "We may have only become acquainted just over a month ago, but trust me, Stiles. No one deserves this fine suit the way you do. You've been through so much you didn't deserve. It's the least I can do for you."

He almost started crying all over again. How strange.