He definitely could not do this.

They had planned for every possibility, they'd thought. They brought two or three extra of every item that hadn't been provided by the network. They'd assigned tasks and created timelines prior to even knowing what the theme was, or what the cake would looked like. Derek had tested his recipe so many times, he was sick to death of cinnamon cake and caramel icing.

The start of the second hour on the countdown clock was when the problems started. All the cake they needed was finished and out of the oven, since they'd been allowed to bring the batter pre-mixed, but it was taking longer than Derek had expected for them to cool. The temperature in the place was skyrocketing from the masses of people, the warm lights and equipment and the multiple ovens on both teams were churning out heat.

It wasn't that large an issue, since they were running well enough on time that they could juggle a few things around and still be on target. But, it threw Derek, made him nervous that they were already hitting snags and they were only an hour in.

Next, one of the plastic tubes Boyd had been preparing to attach to their base rolled off the table and was kicked by a clumsy camera man. The resulting crack in the upper half wasn't as bad as it could have been, but it was one more thing to worry about. Even as he told Boyd it would be fine, he cursed himself for not bringing more extras. He'd been sure that his cake wouldn't be stout enough to need all six supporting poles, but, of course, he'd been proven wrong.

Derek's only consolation was that he could hear Lydia's voice across the divide becoming more and more shrill, and the occasional glance over had revealed that her perfectly coiffed appearance had become a bit frazzled.

Derek took a deep breath, opened his eyes and looked down at Erica, who'd just been the bearer of more bad news. The block of fondant they'd brought to use was being stubborn, too cold from the powerful, state of the art fridge to be coloured or rolled out. Erica was no delicate flower, and she had the upper body strength that her career required of her, but she was still slight, and would wear herself out if she continued to try to work the block.

"Here, take over," Derek said, and slapped the sketch he'd been working from into her hand. It pained him to leave such a large, important job as sculpting the top of the cake to someone else, but Derek reminded himself that he'd chosen Erica for a reason. She was perfectly capable, and had good instincts that often lined up with his own.

The fondant was as tough as Erica had promised, and Derek set about breaking it up so that it would thaw faster, or at the very least, be small enough to toss in the microwave. It was hard work, and he was grateful for the time he put in at the tiny, ill-equipped gym in the basement of his apartment. The muscles in his arms and shoulders bunched and burned as he wielded his knife and shoved the unmalleable sugar into smaller squares.

He wasn't sure which he noticed first: The feeling that he was being watched, or the tittering from one of the judges and a female crew member. He couldn't make out the words, but he recognized the appreciative tone of their voices. He felt his face heating up at what he imagined they were saying. It was nothing he hadn't heard before, but he didn't like being the focus of that kind of gaze. He tried his best to ignore it, but he wasn't very successful, especially after he heard the director lean over to a cameraman and joke, "hey, do you think I get some 'Bow Chicka Wow' music past the execs?"

Derek viciously stabbed his knife into the remaining block and was just about to tell him what he could do with his porno soundtrack when a loud, echoing clang from the other kitchen made all heads(and a number of camera lenses) swivel toward the noise.

Stiles stood next to a gigantic tin bowl that was still spinning on its rim, and ringing obnoxiously. From the looks of the clean floor, the bowl had been empty, but that didn't stop Lydia from rounding the counter with eyes like hellfire.

"Stiles, pull yourself together," she demanded. "If we get behind schedule because you are too busy being jealous of a piece of fondant, I will disembowel you with a palette knife. It will hurt."

"Sir, yes, sir. No disemboweling, please."

They both went back to their jobs right away, Lydia using her knife to shape a block of dark reddish-brown cake, and Stiles working cooling sugar into blocky shapes, with his tongue caught at the side of his mouth between his teeth. Derek wondered what it would be like to be the sole focus of such an intense stare, and didn't realize he'd been staring himself until Stiles looked up and their eyes met.

Derek recovered quickly from the shock of being caught out, then pointedly looked at the tin bowl that stood, freshly washed, at Stiles' elbow and raised his eyebrows. Lydia's tirade had implied that Stiles' had been one of the pairs of eyes making Derek so uncomfortable, but Stiles' unapologetic shrug and cheeky grin made him wonder if Stiles had really been ogling him, or...

Derek shook himself and went back to his task. The last, most frozen section of the fondant was small enough now to go into their microwave, so he gave it to Boyd to blast in short bursts while he took over sculpting the cake from Erica. As he worked, he did some calculating of the time they had left. They were in good time, he thought, as long as they kept going at the speed they were at. As he hacked away at the cake, and saw his vision start to take shape, he allowed himself to hope, just a little bit, that they might come out on top.

"Alright, competitors. Please send someone from your team to the front! It can be your team leader, or an assistant, it's up to you, but make your decision quickly, because the clock will not be stopped."

Derek looked around, swearing under his breath. He'd forgotten about this part. They'd discussed it, had agreed that Erica worked best under pressure, but she had started tempering her chocolate, a very time sensitive job. Isaac was stacking their completed cake on the base, a job that had to be complete before Erica could start using the chocolate she was making. Boyd met his eyes with a stare so cold that Derek didn't dare suggest that he be the one to go up.

Derek put down his knife and let his head hang between his shoulders. Just for a second. Then, he wiped his hands on a towel and walked to the open space where the toothy host was waiting, with Stiles by his side, bouncing on his heels in anticipation.

The crew brought out two small tables, each draped in a cloth that Derek could see covered a variety of shapes. The toy shop owner came out with the host, and the cameras flitted around them while he told the contestants that he wanted to put their skills to the test by having them make his favourite dessert.

With dramatic flair that made Derek want to roll his eyes, they removed the cloths from the tables, and revealed a few small glass bowls, filled with what looked to be ricotta cheese, heavy cream, cinnamon and-Cannoli shells. Pre-baked and ready to be filled, according to the host, who explained that the first of them to place the last cannoli on the plate won the challenge.

Derek could hear Laura cackling in his mind as he set to his task, almost on autopilot, measuring, mixing and piping feverishly. He'd done this a million times, had done it when he was falling asleep on his feet, or sick from grief on an anniversary or a birthday of one of the many people in his family who were gone. All he had to do was finish-he had ten left to go-and he could go back to what he was here for. He was closing in on it, five left and he'd-

"Done."

The shell Derek was filling crumbled in his hand as he looked over at Stiles' table. 15 perfect confections sat, completed, on the plate. He'd lost. Derek wasn't even angry, at first, just shocked. This kid(not a kid, his libido reminded him) had left Derek in his dust, and now he had to face the consequences.

This show was a bit different from many others of its type, in that they had a few different options to choose from when it came to rewards for winning these challenges, and they ran from benching the other team for half an hour, to taking away equipment, to simply making the losing team wear embarrassing hats. It was bizarre, but Derek had liked listening to Laura laugh on their couch while they'd marathoned the series. It had taken a long time after their family had died for her to be able to giggle like that. It still didn't happen very often, so when it did, Derek treasured it.

"Congratulations, Yellow Team!" The host exclaimed, as the tables were whisked away, but he sobered quickly. "Derek. Because the Yellow Team won the challenge, you'll have to sit out for the next half hour. But, don't worry, you can still instruct your team from the sidelines."

Derek nodded, equal parts relieved and anxious. There would be no funny hat wearing in his future, but they were about to lose time they didn't have to spare. Derek sat on the stool that had appeared like magic at the edge of their kitchen and took in Erica and Isaac's grim faces. (Boyd's was implacable as always.) He'd never been much for gushing praise or rousing speeches, but he felt, as the leader of the team, he should say something encouraging.

"You've all done well so far," he started, and clenched his hands awkwardly in front of him. "I think we can do this, if we keep going."

"Jeez, don't strain yourself, Derek," Erica drawled, and threw a damp towel at him, but she and Isaac were grinning. They went back to the jobs they'd been completing before Derek had been put in time out, and he started watching the clock.