So of COURSE Derek Hale is waiting for her when Stiles staggers back into her bedroom somewhere around ten o’clock in the evening with torn stockings, smudged lipstick, and a furious blush still lingering on her face.
Her dad took look at the look on her face when she got home, ducked for the couch, and turned on the sports channel for a protective smoke screen. There are going to be questions later, but since she is clearly angrier than she is upset she likes to think that her dad knows better than to get out the gun just yet.
Derek isn’t that smart. He’s lingering in the shadows behind her door where her dad won’t see him if he notices the open window and he’s got that look on his face that boys get when they’ve suddenly been reminded that their female friends are actually girls –in the worst possible way.
“Oh hell no.” She says and stomps towards her wardrobe in search of her yoga pants. Stiles started out the evening feeling cute and sexy in the pencil skirt and knee socks that Allison (bless her patient soul) helped her pick out, but she is so over that shit right now. “Whatever it is you want; it is going to have to wait. If it can’t then feel free to Google it yourself.”
“What happened to you?” He asks, which is something even Scott knows not to do. Stiles knows Derek grew up with siblings and was pretty close to his sister, so really he should know better.
“Can you just not right now?” Stiles asks and hauls a t-shirt out of her chest of drawers. Thank god for the en suite in her bedroom. This is not going to be the first conversation she’s had with Derek through a bathroom door thanks to the week or so he spent crashing on her floor and she’s pretty sure it won’t be the last. “I had a bad date and I don’t want to talk about it yet.”
The wall by her bathroom door creaks a little as Derek leans against it and it’s really sad that this is a familiar sound. Stiles can almost see him there with his crossed arms and his scowl and his cool gray eyes and stupid chiseled jaw that is pretty much the reason she let her standards slip so far as to accept an invitation to the movies from one of her WoW guildmates.
He’s still standing there exactly as she’d pictured when she emerges from the bathroom with her make-up washed off and her hair in braids. She takes a breath and says, “Okay, the Research Desk is now open. What do you need?”
Derek cocks an eyebrow and for a few seconds she thinks maybe he’s going to press the issue, but instead he just says; “What do you know about Kelpies?” instead.
“We are really too far from the water for Kelpies,” She cracks her knuckles and goes for the growing collection of manuscripts, bestiaries, and grimoires under her bed, “… but when has that ever stopped anything?”
Derek stays quiet beyond the occasional pointed question as Stiles gives him the abbreviated version of Things in Celtic Mythology That Like to Drown You 101. They kill, like, an hour that way and by the time she’s packing up her books Stiles feels a lot better; more like herself and less like an angry stranger.
“Hey, uh…” The words slip out when Derek is halfway out the window with one leg still inside her room. He glances at her with one eyebrow raised in mute query. Stiles fights the urge to blush and leans over to say, “Thanks.” She’s not even really sure what she’s thanking him for; treating her like normal, maybe, and not like a ticking time-bomb.
“No problem.” He grunts and then pauses for a minute before he reaches out and tugs on one of her braids.
Stiles heartbeat might stutter to a halt. It’s the first time she can ever remember Derek voluntarily touching her for reasons that have nothing to do with pushing her into a wall or imminent scaly death.
“You looked good earlier.” He tells her softly. “… but you look better like this.”
Then he’s gone, leaving Stiles behind clutching at her stupid horn-rimmed reading glasses and blushing like a mofo.
It’s official, ladies and gentlewolves, Plan ‘Get Over Freaking Derek Hale’ is a complete and utter failure.
Other drabbles in this series:
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