US Open:

Stiles expected it this time. With him being Number 2 in the world he was destined to meet Derek in the final should they both make it there. And if the newspaper articles were anything to go by, apparently they now were the two titans of the sport, unbeatable apart from by each other. The master and his apprentice, untouchable by the rest of the tennis world. The press was having a field day.

His last couple of months had seen him win a string of highly ranked tournaments, actually managing to beat Derek for the first time in a final. Should Stiles win here he would become the youngest ever World Number 1 at 17 years and 10 months of age. Comparison to other all time greats and the way he was changing the face of tennis were daily and Stiles tried as best as he could to escape the frenzy. His team was doing their best to keep any headlines and stories about him away from him. Unfortunately that also meant that by default they also kept the rest of the world (read Derek Hale) as far away from him as possible.

In fact Stiles could probably count on one hand the amount of times they had actually spoken to each other since that fateful night in London. Derek seemed to keep his distance, and even when they met in the locker rooms he only briefly and politely congratulated him on his match/victory or anything else tennis related he could think off. He still would give him the occasional smile but by and large that was it. Even when they had been shaking hands at the net after a match Derek would keep his physical distance, not pulling him into one of his hugs like he used to in the past. This resulted in the press pooh-poohing on Derek for allegedly being a bad sport and not being able to handle the threat of impending loss of his number 1 spot. This in turn drove Stiles mad as really he didn't believe that that was in Derek's character, and obviously knowing the real reason for his distance, and he wanted nothing more than to put them straight on that one, if only he could without fear of his own words being twisted and turned on him.

Stiles wondered more and more whether whatever it was that had taken place between them in London had been a fluke, a spur of the moment thing, or whether Derek just regretted having told Stiles about his situation and what it might insinuate. Of course, there was the possibility that Stiles was reading way too much into Derek's little confession. Whatever it was there was really nothing Stiles could do about it, not if Derek didn't even want to talk to him. That didn't stop them though from throwing some poignant looks each other's way whenever they had a chance and thought themselves unobserved. And it were these small gestures that still gave Stiles some hope, foolishly as it might be, that things would sort themselves out sooner or later and he would be able to make sense of this all.

Despite his better judgment he had attended most of Derek's matches in his run to the finals, under the pretence of research and 'learning about his competition' and had been shocked when he had spotted Derek at his semi final match. Derek had seemed genuinely pleased to see him win and gave him the thumbs up before quickly making his way to the exit.

And now here they were again. So close and yet so far, literally and figuratively. At present a net was separating them as the coin was tossed. Derek's very much surprising touch on his arm together with the "may the best one win" was still hot on his skin and the words were ringing in his ears. Derek was smiling at him confidently from across the net. Stiles smiled back, jumping up and down, psyching himself up. The crowd was mumbling and cheering in the background. Derek won the toss and decided to serve first. Then the warm up. Stiles' could feel the adrenaline start to course through his body. Focussing on the way the ball felt against his skin as he bounced it, before tossing it up and swinging through with it racket, warming up his serve. This was it. This Stiles loved. Nothing mattered but him and the ball and the court and the guy across from him. The noise of the crowd long blended out.

It was a gruelling match. Both playing like it was the last match they would ever play. Neither willing to give the other one as much as an inch. And four and a half hours later they found themselves in the middle of a fifth set. The crowd around them set alight by the drama that was taking place on court and having long abandoned the usual etiquette of not interrupting or cheering while points were being played. Gasping and applauding as again and again either player managed to return seemingly impossible balls and each game seemed to last longer than the last one as they fought for every point.

And then it happened, Derek was 5-3 up in the fifth set having just broken Stiles' serve but Stiles was 40-15 up on Derek's serve which gave him two chances to break back. Stiles returned Derek's second serve superbly whipping it across the net and placing it perfectly in the corner and Derek was running and scrambling to get to it, determined not to let this point go to Stiles. Derek managed to get there in time to return the ball and tried to stop himself to get his footing back and race back to the centre of the court. All Stiles could see was Derek going down as he hit the ball down the line, winning the point. Derek was clutching his knee and screaming out in agony. The crowd was gasping out as one in shock and Stiles without thinking flung his racket to the floor and ran over to Derek's side of the court, not giving a shit about tennis etiquette and rules, bending down and asking Derek whether he was ok.

He could see the agony written all over Derek's face, as tears of pain were falling and he was holding on to his knee and when Stiles looked at it he gasped out a "Shit, Derek." Derek's knee had already started to swell up to quite a considerable size. The umpire was already calling for the coach and Derek was grabbing hold of one of Stiles' hand squeezing it hard and cursing under his breath.

"Just … help me up, please…" he said through gritted teeth, and Stiles shook his head while simultaneously putting his hands round Derek's waist to try and help him get upright.

"Dude, I don't know if that is such a good idea …" he said in protest but Derek insisted and asked Stiles to help him over to his bench.

He flung his arm over Stiles shoulder and Stiles supported his weight by holding on to his waist as Derek hobbled back to the bench on one leg to the cheers and applause of the crowd, who were clearly hoping that Derek would be ok and be able to carry on playing.

Then the coach was there and Stiles had to let go of Derek and go over to his own bench, sitting down, waiting, that was all he could do. Derek asked for his allowed medical time and had his physio come on court taking a good look at the knee.

Stiles had his head buried in his towel and felt like crying. This was not how he had wanted to win his first grand slam title, and furthermore Derek's knee really looked fucked up and a worry settled into Stiles stomach. What if that was it for Derek? It wouldn't be the first time that a career had to be cut short due to injury. Stiles hated this waiting game. He had to get out of his own head so he got up and jogged around a bit, trying to stay loose and warm.

He looked over at Derek who was lying on the floor, biting his lip in pain as the physio manhandled and probed the knee before shaking his head and informing the coach of the inevitable. The coach informed the umpire that Derek Hale would have to retire due to injury. The umpire informed the crowd as it held its breath before bursting out into cheers and applause, first saluting Derek and then Stiles as he was announced the winner and champion of the 2013 US Open.

Stiles jogged over to shake Derek's hand and tried to convey how sorry he was for this to have happened to Derek but what was there to say really. Derek being the man he was congratulated him and promised him that he would be back next year to challenge him. Stiles so wanted to believe that, and he could only watch on as the stretcher was brought in to carry Derek away for an immediate scan of his knee.

X

The rest of the day was just a blur. Holding the trophy, smiling despite feeling like crying. Answering all the questions politely. Not trying to get pissed off when reporter after reporter asked him about whether he could enjoy his victory and how he thought Derek Hale's chances of returning were. Was he a freaking psychic? Did no one understand that he was just concerned and worried for Derek? And that he did not want to spend hour after hour focussing on the title or him now officially being world number 1? And then he felt bad for acting like a spoilt little ungrateful brat, as really he should be feeling happy and grateful to his family and everyone else involved for having helped him made it this far in such a short amount of time.

X

That night, after a long ice bath and a good massage he laid in his hotel room, trying to get to sleep but really just surfing sports channel after sports channel trying desperately to get some news on Derek's health. He had asked his coach to keep an ear out as well and to let him know should he hear anything. All under the pretence of just needing to know so he could plan what to tell the press should they ask him his opinion.

It was morning by the time news had spread that Derek had torn two ligaments in his knee and had undergone immediate surgery and was now recovering at hospital. The good news was that the operation had gone well and that Derek would be able to return to playing, no one was sure yet about the time frame though.

Stiles had managed to wheedle out of his coach which hospital Derek was staying at and had insisted on paying him a 'courtesy' visit to which his parents initially objected, only giving in when their PR manager agreed saying it would shed a good light on Stiles and certainly lead to some more positive headlines. The papers had been full of pictures of Stiles rushing to Derek's aid and had been singing his praises for being such a good sport. As well as now officially declaring the previous rivals friends and generally just making up stuff as they went along. Stiles couldn't really give a crap about that though, he just wanted to see Derek and make sure for himself that he would be ok.

Of course the press was there outside the hospital when Stiles arrived and Stiles had been 'ordered' to let them take all the pictures they wanted as well as being available to answer some questions. Naturally the reporters were very interested as to his reason for being here and Stiles went through his rehearsed lines of this being a courtesy visit and to just pay a great player his respect and at large the reports seems to be satisfied with his answers and commended him for being a great sport. That over with he was finally able to head inside and make his way up to Derek's room. His coach waiting outside in the car.

His hand came up to the door but he hesitated for a second taking a deep breath. Suddenly this didn't feel like such a good idea anymore. What would he even say? What could he say? But the need to see that Derek was ok with his own eyes won and so he tentatively knocked on the door announcing his presence before slowly opening the door and stepping through.

Derek looked up from his bed, where he was slightly propped up on a couple of pillows and after an initial shock at seeing Stiles, his face turned into a small but tired smile.

"Stiles!" he croaked out.

"Hi!" Stiles replied as he took a few more steps into the room trying to smile confident but failing miserably as he in fact was about to chew off his own bottom lip.

"How's the knee?"

"I'll walk again." Derek said shrugging his shoulders.

"You know … I'm just so sorry that …"

"Stiles, it's not your fault, these things happen, you know. In any performance sport all it takes is one unfortunate move and that can be it."

Stiles nodded in understanding and continued to look at Derek.

They both went back to just looking at one another, Stiles unsure as to what kind of behaviour would be appropriate as really he just wanted to head over there and give Derek one massive hug; he was so relieved that he would be ok. But the fear of overstepping their unspoken boundaries had him frozen to the spot instead.

"You're just going to stand there?" Derek joked after what felt like an eternity, trying to lift the heaviness that was in the air, patting the space next to his bed, inviting him in.

Stiles shook his head, smiled coyly at Derek and grabbed hold of one of the chairs in the corner dragging it up to Derek's bed and sitting down next to him.

"You should be proud, you know. Having achieved what you have at your age. That reminds me congratulations on your Number 1 spot." he added, grinning at Stiles.

Stiles blushed. "No … don't … for one thing I didn't deserve to win yesterday, not like that anyway and …"

"Stiles stop!" Derek interrupted. He smiled at Stiles reaching out his hand, palm open and looking at Stiles' hand and then back up at Stiles. Stiles let his own hand come up trembling and placed in on top of Derek's who immediately clamped around it and gave Stiles hand a squeeze and Stiles chest was about to explode at the touch.

"Promise me, you won't let this stop you from enjoying what you worked so hard for. You deserve every bit of it. You are the most talented tennis player I have ever met as well as being an amazing person." Stiles could swear Derek was actually blushing at those words and had to stop talking to catch his breath.

"I'd say you will be going places … but you already are! And I feel honoured to be the one being around to challenge you and hopefully make you an even better player than you already are … and on top of that you're just so damn … well … distracting … and… Stiles …" Stiles watched Derek stall again, and taking another clearly needed breath. Stiles was shell-shocked, trying to pay attention to Derek's' words while desperately trying to get his rapid heartbeat back under control, as his stomach was doing some acrobatics and he could feel his hands get clammy.

"… Just so we're clear. I will be back to challenge you. Make you wish you had never met me!" Derek added with a smirk, clearly eager to change the subject and lighten the mood.

"Derek…" Stiles let out a breath he had been holding all throughout Derek's speech. He didn't know whether he wanted to laugh or cry or lean in and kiss Derek senseless. All this time Derek was still holding on to his hand and tracing little circles on his palm with his thumb.

"Derek … I…you… oh god … I " Stiles tried again.

Suddenly a noise from behind got their attention. Derek looked up and let go of Stiles' hand at lightning speed bringing it up and ruffling his hair. Stiles' head whipped round and he was met with the stare of Mr and Mrs Hale.

"Mr Stilinski!"

"Mr and Mrs Hale." Stiles stood up, remembering his manners and walking over to shake their hands.

"How nice of you to come and check in on our son." The saccharine sweet voice continued. Stiles knew that tone of voice well. Years of practised politeness lay behind it, false but efficient and Stiles nodded his head in acknowledgement.

"And may I say congratulations on your victory, despite the unfortunate circumstances. You truly played a great match."

"Thank you for saying so. I was very sad to see Derek have to retire before we could finish the match."

The parents nodded in polite acknowledgement. "Yes, rather tragic, but it happens in tennis. But now I'm afraid, we will have to ask you to leave. Derek is still worn out from the operation and will need all the rest he can get."

Stiles considered himself metaphorically shoved out of the door so he agreed, said his goodbyes and wished Derek a speedy recovery before leaving the room. He rested himself against the wall, needing a moment to collect himself before no doubt having to face the hyenas that were the press again.

He could hear muffled but elevated voices coming from Derek's room. Words like 'scandal', 'what are you thinking?' and 'the blooming door was wide open, for goodness sake' drifted out to him and Stiles chose that moment to hightail it out of there as the cogs started to turn in his head. Why it took him so long to connect the dots he had no idea. 'Forest and Trees' he assumed. But suddenly it all made sense and clicked into place. About Derek's pretend relationship, about being so guarded about his private life, about the threat of scandal that was in danger of surrounding him. Hadn't Stiles heard the exact same words and arguments from his own team again and again? Could it really be? Oh god, Stiles couldn't breathe, feeling a panic attack coming on. He hadn't had one of those since he was a kid, when tough training and tournament schedules were taking its toll, but he still knew what it felt like. The shortness of breath, the tightness in his chest. He just about managed to call his coach and tell him to get him from the back as he was in no position to deal with any more reporters. He just needed some time to think. But even as he was trying to calm down and catch his breath he already knew he wouldn't' have time for that. A gruelling schedule of media commitments was ahead of him before he would have to head off to the next tournament, now as the new Number 1 and suddenly he felt like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.