Chapter Text
Stiles has never liked February. February sucks major ass. It’s not just that the weather has no idea what it’s doing (though that does make getting a whole days work in almost impossible when it starts pouring down mid-morning and doesn’t let up, even though the sun was out two minutes before). It’s more that February is the month his father will close off completely from the world, no matter how many years it’s been, no matter how much healthier he looks and how much less he drinks. There’s the almost heavy scent in the air, the way winter clings selfishly to everything, trying to prevent the new bursts of life from carpeting the previously dead earth.
He buries himself in the bog garden at the bottom of his dad’s yard. When he was a kid his parents wrestled with the dampness, tried to fight it with drains that never lasted. Now it’s Stiles who takes care of it.
Stiles actually has very little garden space of his own which, ironic he knows, but his and Scott’s apartment block wasn’t made for people who like the outdoors. He likes the place well enough but he yearns for his own lawn, his own borders with a pond at the bottom. He’s already drawn out exactly how his dream garden would look. The plan is crumpled underneath a mountain of books in his bedside cabinet.
He prunes the Lycesteria Formosoa right back to the base, checks the Weigela Looymansii Aurea for eelworms and mulches the white painted plantain lilies. By the time he’s done, he’s sweating and sits back to watch the waterfall gush foam into the pond. This is his own version of spring cleaning and pretty much the only kind he’ll willingly do. The only time he or Scott ever get the vacuum cleaner out is when they trek mud into the apartment. And even then there are generally two rounds of rock, paper, scissors for who has to actually do it.
Digging his hands into the mud around him he kneads at it for a minute, biting his lip against a wave of sadness. He always misses his mom but the pain feels fresher around the week she died. That he’s sitting here without her beside him trying to pull up precious plants, mistaking them for weeds and him carefully, fondly correcting her; or that his dad’s not trying to make the mower work in the background before giving up and declaring he likes the grass longer anyway. It all hurts a little more.
The back door squeaks and he looks up to see his dad heading down the lawn.
“You ok, kiddo?”
He squints up at him, nodding wordlessly and shifting to make space as his father sits down beside him.
“Christ, look at the state of your hands.”
“It’s a new look,” he wiggles his fingers in his dad’s face. “Whaddya think?”
“I think you’re not to touch the new wallpaper in the bathroom when you wash your hands.”
Stiles sighs dramatically. “Some fathers would encourage their kids when they try new things.”
“They do? That sounds like a terrible way to parent.”
The grin they share is crooked and they both fall silent for a moment, staring at the pond.
“You’re doing a good job down here, she’d be so happy to know you’re keeping it alive. She wasn’t the best gardener, but she sure loved this place.”
Stiles swallows, staring at his hands. His dad’s hand falls on his shoulder as he stands up again. “She’d be proud.”
“Yeah, thanks, hey,” Stiles scrambles to his feet. “Dad?”
“Mmm?”
“You’re—I just—you wanna come dinner at mine and Scott’s tonight?”
The sheriff narrows his eyes. “I don’t know… who’s cooking?”
“Oh ha ha.”
*
“So I’m thinking of going up to Batsford on Thursday night.”
Everyone’s crowded round the picnic table on the Shephard’s patio, inhaling their food and only Scott bothers to look up.
“Yeah? For inspiration?”
“Kind of,” he shrugs. “That and everything they’ve been propagating over the winter will be ready for cutting and selling. I’m thinking we can line the West wall with Crocuses, get the Gelanthus going for next year too.”
“You and your Irises, man.”
“Hey, shut up, they’re pretty.”
He sits down on the bench next to Derek, pleasantly warmed by the way their knees jostle together underneath the table. He tries to write it off as it being that there are seven of them squished around a table that could fit four snugly, but he can feel Derek actually pushing his leg against Stiles’ own so he’s not sure he can.
“Anyway,” he continues as he pulls his sandwich out. “If anyone wants to tag along and see the nice pretty flowers, they’re welcome.”
To his utter surprise, Jackson nods, screwing up his paper bag as he does. “Yeah I’m up for it.”
“What. Did you mishear me, man? I said flowers. Pretty things. Girl things.”
Jackson shoots him a withering look. “I heard you, but Lydia’s into all that shit and I know next to nothing about, plants,” he waves his hand around. “I gotta bone up on it all.”
“Just as long as you don’t actually bone up on any of the trees,” Stiles says drily.
“Ha. Ha ha ha. Ha.”
He winks at Jackson and then looks around the table. “Anyone else?”
Boyd shrugs. “I guess it’d be pretty cool to see an Arboretum. I’ve never been before.”
“I’ll go,” Erica adds. “But only if I can drive—I need the practise.”
“You can’t drive the Jeep,” Stiles says hastily. “She’s not as young as she was and she needs a gentle hand.”
Erica rolls her eyes and then looks expectantly at Derek. He’s about to take a bite of his sandwich when he notices her fierce stare and pauses. “What.”
“Can I drive the Camaro?”
“Up to the Arboretum?”
“Yeah.”
“No.”
“Can I drive it at any other point?”
“No.”
“You’re not a nice person.”
“I know,” Derek smirks nastily at her. She flicks a tomato at him and it hits him in the face. Stiles cracks up at his look of utter shock and then ducks his head when Derek turns to glare at him.
“Come on Derek pleeease?”
Derek sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’ll borrow my sister’s truck, you can drive it up there but I am driving down—it’ll be dark by then and I don’t trust you not to run over a sheep.”
Erica looks torn between preening and snapping something back about her night time driving skills. Stiles cuts across her quickly. “Wait, so you’re gonna come to the Arboretum, too?”
Derek glances at him, shrugging. “Sure. I think it could be pretty educational right?”
“Yeah,” Stiles says, his mouth suddenly dry as Derek meets his eye over their lunches, opening his yogurt and casually licking the lid clean. “Right.”
Derek’s eyes are dancing but he doesn’t say anything else just sticks his spoon in his mouth and pulls it out again with relish. Stiles resists the urge to bash his head against the table.
Scott kicks at his foot and he yelps. “I’m gonna eat in the car,” he says crossly as he stands. “Can’t fit my damn legs under there anyway.”
“They’re damn fine legs though,” Erica calls after him. He flips her off, turning just in time to see Isaac drop his head to stare determinedly at his salad and then half runs to the Jeep. He sits with his head against the steering wheel for ten minutes, remonstrating with his rouge dick that getting a boner over somebody licking a spoon is for thirteen year olds and that they’re totally better than that.
They’re so not.
*
They trample through thick muddy grass that’s damp from rain and Stiles breathes in happily. Up ahead, Erica and Isaac are jumping in and out of the streams gleefully like excited little puppies. Boyd and Derek are silent beside him, quietly reverent of such a luscious hide away and Stiles is bizarrely proud everyone seems to understand what a special kind of place this is.
“What’s that one?”
He snorts and looks to see where Jackson’s pointing. “That’s a Blue Gum Tree.
“It smells funny.” Jackson leans forward, sniffing at the bark. “Nice, though.”
“Yeah,” Stiles says faintly, not able to avoid grinning at the guy who was previously too good to be seen in a garden now smelling a tree.
“They’re fucking giants!”
“They can hit like, one hundred and seventy, maybe hundred and eighty feet.”
Jackson’s eyes boggle. “Can you put one in the garden?”
“Nah, man, one wouldn’t suit and it would take forever to get to a decent height.”
“They’re pretty quick to grow though aren’t they?”
He starts and turns to look curiously at Derek. Derek’s resolutely not looking at him, staring instead up at the Gum Tree and Stiles sucks air through his teeth loudly. Huh.
“Yeah, but we’re talking years for a good height—besides their garden isn’t half big enough for one of these beasts. We’re looking at Maples because the red’ll contrast nicely with the Star Jasmine, and they’re not giants that’ll eat the whole garden up.”
Derek snorts, but nods like he gets it. Stiles narrows his eyes because up until this moment he had no idea Derek knew anything about plantation at all other than how to chop it down.
Erica comes flying past them shrieking, her golden hair streaking out behind her. “Trip him! Somebody trip him!”
She keeps running as Scott bursts through the hedges completely soaked. “I’m going to kill you!” He screeches as he barrels past.
Erica’s laugh echoes through the arboretum and Stiles groans, dropping his head into his hands. “We’re going to be the first people to ever be thrown out of an arboretum.”
“I doubt that,” Derek says lightly as he brushes past Stiles. “I’m sure people have been asked to leave for having sex in the bushes before.”
Stiles chokes on his tongue.
Isaac appears rosy faced and smiling sheepishly. “Erica sort of pushed Scott in the big pond.”
“We figured,” Boyd says drily.
Stiles manages to find his voice and grins at Isaac, avoiding even looking at Derek even though he can feel the guy staring at him. “I’ve been there man, fell in when I was eight—I was trying to catch one of the big Koi fish they keep in there.”
“When you were eight?” Jackson’s voice is filled with disbelief and Stiles can’t believe he was feeling vaguely fond of the guy ten minutes ago.
“Fine, I was maybe closer to ten. But the fish were so cool and—”
“GET OFF ME, SCOTT!”
“GIVE ME YOUR JACKET!”
“OH MY GOD, GET YOUR HANDS OUT OF THERE; YOU’RE FREEZING!”
Oh god.
Erica and Scott are tumbling around on one of the grass lawns when they make it over to them. Erica manages to wiggle her way on top and crows triumphantly before Scott starts tickling her and she shrieks, writhing back down onto the ground.
“Give me your coat!”
“It’s a girl’s coat, McCall you don’t want it.”
“I’m freezing, oh my god, Erica please.”
“Scott!” Stiles jogs up to him and tugs his friend away. “You aren’t allowed to sit on top of girls that aren’t Allison anymore!”
“But I didn’t want anything like that!” Scott says with a disgusted face. “Fair is fair though,” he continues petulantly. “She pushed me in the pond, Stiles. She should give me her coat.”
“I’m sorry, ok? I didn’t think it through,” Erica huffs crossly. “But you can’t have my jacket, you’ll stretch it.”
“You can have mine,” Stiles declares before Scott can start trying to strip people in public again. “But please, please no more… wrestling!”
He tugs off his jacket and, as an afterthought, his shirt and t-shirt, passing the tee to Scott and then yanking his shirt back on quickly.
Scott shirks his wet t-shirt and throws it in Erica’s face. Stiles prevents him from sending his jumper and soaked through jacket the same way because he’s pretty sure Erica’s contrition will only stretch so far.
Jackson films the whole thing, emails it to everyone they know and Scott isn’t allowed to Allison’s for a week.
Stiles can’t give Scott’s complaining his whole attention because he’s busy continuously re-playing the brief moment Jackson’s hand wobbles and the camera pans to Derek who is watching Stiles remove his shirt.
*
The soil firming up means a trip to Harris’ is required because Doc Harris is the best turf specialist in the area. To his surprise, Derek actually offers to go with him. Stiles is shocked, but not averse to spending any time at all with Derek so nods dumbly and ignores the pained faces Scott is making behind Derek.
He’s actually kind of in favour of taking a hulking, scary looking type with him because Doc. Harris has scared the crap out of him since he was a teenager.
Derek eyes his Jeep warily as they head out onto the sidewalk. “Really, Stiles?”
“Shut up, she’s my baby. We’ve been through a lot together.” He runs a fond hand along her side and Derek snorts.
“Quit feeling up your damn car.”
“Hey, you wish you had a car as sweet as mine. The stories she could tell,” he says wistfully.
“Of you and Scott going out into the woods, getting drunk and talking about your feelings?”
He squawks in protest. “No! Of awesome hook ups. Lots of them. In the back seat.”
Derek raises an eyebrow as he turns to look at aforementioned back seat. It’s cluttered with papers, a trowel, four Tupperware boxes of seed cuttings and a mountain of takeout wrappers.
“Alluring,” he says drily.
Stiles pulls a face at him and starts the car, muttering about how his car understands him more than people and no one will ever love him like she does.
“Maybe you’ve not been getting any action because people are convinced you have a disturbingly close relationship to your car.”
“Maybe you’re just jealous because you don’t have such an awesome car.”
“Right,” Derek glances at his beaten up dashboard, the mud Scott is forever trailing into the well of the passenger side, and then again into the back of the car. “I’m jealous.”
Harris is as terrifying as ever, but Stiles tries to ignore him, focuses on the warm presence of Derek lingering behind him. He seems to impress the Doc with his 'good' behavior for once, as he's allowed to follow Harris into the Herbarium. Stiles is in heaven for forty five minutes. He whispers out the Latin names to Derek and Derek nods along like he's impressed. Stiles catches him staring at his mouth once or twice, but it could always have been a trick of the light.
It’s getting dark as they leave. Stiles clucks his tongue in concern. “Dude, I’m really sorry—I didn’t realise how late it had gotten.”
Derek shrugs, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “S’cool, I didn’t have plans tonight anyway. Besides it was worth it to see you nerd out over that Herbarium.”
“Cute,” Stiles snipes and tugs Derek’s hat over his eyes as they head towards the Jeep. Derek’s feet stutter behind him and he yanks his hat back up looking annoyed. Stiles fixes him with big wide eyes. “Hand slipped.”
“Sure.”
“Seriously, though,” he continues as they clamber inside and he tries to immediately blast the heat. “I’ve never seen a collection like that before.”
Derek’s giving him this soft, almost fond look and Stiles rolls his eyes. “What?”
“What do you mean, what?”
“You’re looking at me funny.”
“No, I’m not; I’m looking at you how I normally do.”
“No, you normally have this—” Stiles squeezes his eyebrows together and pushes his lips out before speaking again. “Going on.”
Derek stares at him, wide eyed. “I do not pout like that—and you look ridiculous.”
Stiles grins, reversing out of the drive. “S’your face not mine.”
Derek actively sulks for over ten minutes. Stiles knows he’s sulking and not just sitting in his usual brooding silence because he’s got his arms crossed over his chest and every once in a while he huffs.
“Alright, stop that.”
“M’not talking to you.”
“Oh my god, what are you, twelve?”
“Shut up.”
“Derek—you have a totally normal looking face ok? A nice one even. I’m sorry if I offended you with my duck face impression—you totally don’t look like that when you pout.”
“I do not pout!”
Stiles is about to answer when his Jeep gives a disheartened wheeze and abruptly cuts out.
“Noooooo!” Stiles looks at Derek in horror. “Did you do this to my car? Is this revenge?!”
“I didn’t do anything.” Derek says, rolling his eyes and climbing out of the car. “It might just be overheated.”
Stiles scrambles after him, hissing when Derek pops the hood. “Oh my god don’t hurt her.”
Derek snorts and shakes his head. “Would you relax? It’s probably nothing.”
Steam issues out into the air around them and Stiles fixes him with a disdainful look. “Oh sure, this looks like nothing.”
Derek ignores him, ducks his head to examine the insides of Stiles’ car. Stiles tries not to panic about his poor baby dying on him by distracting himself with all the dirty Derek mechanic scenarios he can come up with. They all end in Derek fixing his car in less than five seconds and them having celebratory sex up against the door or on the hood or inside or all three and—
Sighing, Derek pulls out his phone and dials a number. “Will you stop hyperventilating? It’s just your radiator.”
“You stop hyperventilating,” Stiles snarks under his breath, relieved Derek thinks his breathing’s sped up due to car related worries.
Derek rolls his eyes again, and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “drama queen” before turning away.
“Yeah, I’m the drama queen here,” Stiles says loudly. “Like I was the one crying about insults to my face five minutes ago.”
“Shut up, Stiles. Hey Laura, yeah fine,” Derek shoots a look at Stiles over his shoulder. “I’m not talking about that with you right now. No, look, Stiles’ piece of crap Jeep—”
“Hey!”
“—broke down up by the Harris place, can you come and pick us up?”
There’s the tinny sound of laughter coming from the phone. Stiles kicks a rock at Derek’s leg because it sounds like the older Hale is mocking him and it’s totally Derek’s fault.
“Ow fuck. What? No, Stiles is just being childish I’m fine,” Derek kicks dusty dirt back at him and Stiles splutters as it accosts his lungs. “For fuck’s sake, fine I’ll do the washing up for a month!” There’s another pause and Derek suddenly looks ridiculously pained. “Fine,” he says through gritted teeth. “Please.”
His eyebrows are doing something incredibly shifty and he drops his voice so that it’s barely audible. “I’m not doing that. No. Would you please just, fine don’t!”
It sounds worryingly like Derek’s about to talk his way out of their lift home and Stiles kicks a clump of dried mud at him. It hits him all down the back and Derek stills before slowly turning to stare at him. There’s mud falling out of his hair and clouding up behind him. It’s actually kind of hilarious but not. Really really not.
Stiles would never laugh at Derek. Honestly he wouldn’t.
Terrifying, hot Derek.
Stiles suddenly feels a little bit afraid, but swallows and lifts his chin. “What? I need you to be nice to the kind lady who’s going to come and collect us if my piece of shit Jeep isn’t working.”
“Laura,” and Derek’s voice is deathly quiet, clipped and collected. “Get up here, as soon as possible, before I kill Stiles.” And then he hangs up.
“Uh, I’m kind of hoping that was a ploy to play on Laura’s deep fondness for my being alive rather than an actual threat of, oh shit, Derek, what are you—” Derek’s slowly walking towards him, every muscle tense.
“My you er, you got total serial killer eyes going on right now man I mean it’s a little—” Stiles decides talking is not his best option here and legs it around to the other side of his Jeep. “I’m sorry about your jacket, man really I am.”
Derek hasn’t even picked up his pace, still calmly rounding the Jeep, stalking towards him. “Woah there, you could definitely play the next Jason with that murderous stride of yours and, oh my god, stop with the whole silent but deadly thing you have going on you’re freaking me out!”
Derek smirks and Stiles breaks out into a run down the road. “I’m really sorry,” he yells behind him, barely daring to glance over his shoulder before he feels a heavy weight land on top of him and then he’s face down in the dirt. “Mppph.” He groans and tries to squirm out of Derek’s hold. “Ouch. Dude, not that I don’t enjoy being—never mind look can you get off me?”
“I’m trying to decide the fastest, quietest way to kill you,” Derek says right in his ear. And Stiles just kind of wants to die because Derek is lying right on top of him and covering his body in all the right places. He groans and shifts his hips ever so slightly, pushing them into the mud which pulls an interesting noise from Derek.
As quick as humanly possible Stiles bucks up, putting all of his strength in his elbows so he can lift himself up and knock Derek off his back. He lets out a yelp, half triumph, half strangled arousal as he rolls on top of Derek. Beaming down at the now pinned Derek he quirks an eyebrow. “Not as strong as you think you are huh?”
Derek grunts and then suddenly Stiles is on his back again and Derek is smiling down at him looking for all the world like a cat who’s gotten the cream.
“I always win at this game.”
“No one said it was a game,” Stiles grits out. “It’s war, man.” He shoves a handful of mud in Derek’s face and scampers away when Derek loosens his hold of him to wipe dirt from his eyes.
“Are you kidding me?”
“You were making it hard to breathe; I had to resort to fighting dirty.”
“Stiles, you were the one who kicked dirt all down my fucking back.”
Derek actually growls and there’s nothing slow about the way he moves towards Stiles this time. Stiles does the only thing he can think of and leaps back inside the Jeep, snapping the door shut just as Derek reaches him.
“Stiles.”
“I can’t hear you,” he sing songs.
“Stiles, open the door.”
“And let you kill me? No thanks, I’m good.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“Nope, really, really not. I’m just trying to keep myself in one piece.”
“I’m fucking cold out here.”
“That is such a blatant lie considering you walk around perpetually half naked.”
“I don’t do it on purpose,” Derek says scowling, his face flushing up slightly in an adorable fashion.
“Sure, sure.”
“Stiles, this is immature and beneath you.”
“How do you know it’s beneath me? I could be this childish. You just might not know it.”
Derek scoffs and kicks at the road. “I wouldn’t work for someone I thought was an idiot.”
“Why are you working for me?” Stiles asks, suddenly curious.
Derek shrugs, face turned away so Stiles can’t even get a read on him. “Let me in and I’ll tell you.”
“And you swear not to kill me?”
Derek swings to face the window again and smiles widely. It’s not a friendly or genuine smile though; it’s one that promises imminent danger and bodily harm. “You’ll just have to take the risk.”
Stiles hesitates for a minute before curiosity gets the better of him and he slowly cracks open the door. Derek grabs him by the jacket and pulls him close, there’s barely an inch between them and Stiles squeezes his eyes shut silently saying goodbye to his father.
“Don’t do that again,” Derek mutters.
His breath is warm against Stiles’ nose and Stiles opens one eye, nods mutely before Derek pushes him backwards and clambers into the Jeep.
“So, no hard feelings?”
Derek glares at him from where he’s sitting on his hands and Stiles holds up both of his quickly. “Never mind.”
Stiles peers out the window to look up at the stars. He’s always liked that Beacon Hills is nicely tucked between two green belts. That there’s very little pollution or the haze of city lights blocking up the clear view up to the sky.
“I played baseball.” Derek says suddenly and Stiles jumps. Derek raises an eyebrow as if to say, well you asked, before shifting in his seat and staring determinedly out the window. “Went to college on full scholarship and did two seasons professionally before I fucked my knee up. I didn’t know what else to do, hadn’t even thought about what I might do if I wasn’t playing. So I sort of, drifted for a while,” his eyes flicker briefly at Stiles as if he’s afraid to see the expression on Stiles’ face. He holds his breath and keeps his look neutral. “Then Laura came and dragged me home. Made me let her look after me for a while I guess.”
“And now?” Stiles asks softly.
“I like being outside. I’m good with my hands.” Stiles resists making a strained noise because yeah, he bets he is. “Allison told Laura about your business with Scott, practically signed me up for the damn job and here I am.”
“Here you are,” Stiles says, trying not to sound too grateful about it. Derek shoots him a small smile and Stiles feels his insides clench up.
“Do you wanna do something else eventually?”
“As opposed to working for a smartass for the rest of my life?”
He grins, suddenly they’re back on safe ground, banter like this he can handle. “You know I’m a good boss, I could totally be a hundred times worse.”
Derek raises an eyebrow. “I guess you’re alright.”
“Alright? Fine praise coming from you, the model employee.”
“I show up, I do what you tell me to, and I can lift heavy things you can’t. I’m your best worker, admit it.”
“No, you bitch at me with your eyebrows—”
“My what.”
“You know,” Stiles waves his hands at aforementioned eyebrows that raise to Derek’s hairline.
“You have a weird fascination with my face.”
“’S’not like that’s a surprise,” Stiles scoffs. Derek looks at him, shocked and Stiles raises his own eyebrows. “What?”
“Nothing,” Derek says finally, before turning to look out the window. “You need to call a tow truck.”
“Naw,” Stiles shoots off a text to Danny. “I have contacts, you know.”
Derek snorts. “Contacts?”
“Yeah, my boy Danny’ll sort it out. He has friends in high places.”
“How lucky for you,” Derek says a little sourly.
Stiles blinks at him in confusion but before he can ask, Laura arrives. “Well, well,” she says, beaming at them as she saunters over. “What have we got here?”
Derek sighs and clambers out of the Jeep, heads towards Laura's car. “Why are we related?”
“I ask myself that every day,” Laura says, eyeing Stiles. “You boys roll around in the mud or something?”
Derek makes a choking sound and slams the door of Laura’s car, hard.
Stiles holds up his hands apologetically. “I, uh, may or may not have woken the beast within?”
“I bet you did,” she says smirking.
Derek blares the horn at them.
*
“Holy shit I’m going to be poor for the rest of my life.”
Stiles makes a sympathetic noise as he stares at the shiny glass cases full of engagement rings. Ooh sparkly. Stiles likes sparkly things.
“Maybe you could pull a Roxeanne, sell your body at night?”
Scott glowers at him from where his nose is squashed right up against the next cabinet over. The effect is less threatening and more humorous. Stiles smirks and then points at one of the pretty gold bands. “This one?”
“No, she wants silver.”
“You asked? I thought this was a surprise!”
“Lydia told me,” Stiles can almost hear the duh. “I got her to find out when we were like, seventeen.”
“And you never told me? Dude I’m hurt.”
Scott rolls his eyes and goes back to staring at the ring. “I knew you’d get drunk at some point or another and blurt it out.”
“Huh, surprisingly astute of you my friend.”
Scott doesn’t even need to look as he reaches out and cuffs Stiles across the head.
“Ouch hey!”
The assistant notices them and smiles brightly as she makes her way over. “You boys find something you like?”
Stiles straightens with a start. “No! I mean, he has, we are not—we are not getting married ugh can you even imagine? Gross.”
Scott winces as the assistant glares at him and Stiles realises his mistake. “Not that I’m against two dudes getting married, oh my god I’m bi. I’m like, yeah I’m into guys so, I would be marrying a dude or a chick if I was getting married at all. Which I’m not! Thank god, right? Because who needs commitment and baggage and like, a lifetime of waking up next to the same person, day after day after—” he trails off when he realises the entire shop is staring at him. Flushing scarlet he gestures to the wall. “I’m just gonna—wait over here.”
“Do that,” the assistant says in a brittle tone, before turning to smile predatorily at Scott.
“Who needs commitment?” Scott echoes as they leave the shop.
“It just came out!”
“Well, thanks buddy, she’s going to charge me full price purely to spite my dumbass best friend now.”
“Let me talk to her, dude, I can straighten things out.” Scott raises an eyebrow at him and Stiles rolls his eyes. “Don’t even go there. It would be way too easy for you.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were—” Stiles is too busy pointing an accusing finger at his best friend to notice when he walks into someone holding an ice cream. He jumps in shock at the cold as the frozen ice drips down the front of his shirt. “What the hell?!”
Erica’s in front of him biting her lip in amusement and Isaac’s looking down at his squished ice cream cone, face heartbroken.
“Dude! I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you.”
“It’s ok,” Isaac says sadly. “I can go get another one.”
“No, dude, I totally insist.” He tugs off his shirt, thankful he’s wearing a tee shirt underneath and Erica whistles her approval.
“It’s not even my birthday and you’re stripping for me?”
“Shut up,” he snaps crossly as he stuffs his shirt into the window of the Jeep parked just two feet away on the side of the road. “Come on, you get it from Laney’s?”
Isaac nods cheeks pink with embarrassment. “I know it’s stupid but—”
“I totally understand, ice cream is important.”
The bell chimes in a satisfactory manner as they head inside the ice cream shop and Stiles breathes in happily. Ice cream really is the best.
“So you putting a ring on it, Scott?” Erica turns to lift an eyebrow quizzically at Scott and his eyes widen in horror.
“You can’t tell her, Erica, you can’t tell anyone, ok? It’s a surprise for Valentine’s Day.”
“That’s really sweet,” Isaac says softly.
Erica snorts but holds up her hands. “I promise I won’t say a word.”
“Just for that I’m gonna buy you one with sprinkles,” Stiles breezes feeling generous.
“Hmm, Scott’s buying Allison a big diamond ring, you’re buying me an ice cream with sprinkles,” Erica taps her chin. “I wonder how I got so lucky.”
“Babe, don’t be like that, if we were together you know I’d treat you like a Queen.”
Something in the way Erica’s eyes flash warns Stiles that was possibly the wrong thing to say and he back tracks as fast as humanly possible. “I mean but, seeing as how I'm way too old for you we won't be dating, so.” He throws an arm around Isaac. “Maybe Isaac can make an honest woman out of you huh?”
Erica rolls her eyes. “Don’t panic so hard, idiot. I’m not planning weddings in my head. I know you’ve only got eyes for one of your employee’s anyway.”
This time it’s Stiles who looks at her in horror. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he manages finally.
“Oh, so you think we’re all blind?”
“Erica,” Isaac says quietly, soft reprimand in his voice.
She huffs and crosses her arms. “Fine, fine. Ugh, it’s so uncool of the universe to stick me with such a hot group of guys and all of them are taken.”
Isaac looks briefly pained, and then mournfully orders his ice cream.
Stiles thinks maybe Erica’s missing the neon flashboard sign over Isaac’s head that says I’m not taken because all she sees is the best friend one. But he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to say that as their boss.
Then again he did just buy them ice cream.
February is so weird.
He sighs and digs his spoon into his own sweet strawberry delight, casually wondering what flavour Derek would like best.
*
“Ok, so just a little to the left—dammit, careful, Jackson!” Stiles hears Jackson mutter something that sounds distinctly like a threat about shoving a branch up his tight ass and ignores him. “It has to be in the shade guys.”
“It can handle some sunlight,” Derek groans from the strain of holding the tree up almost by himself. Jackson looks like he’s about to give up altogether.
“Yeah, but if it’s not exactly in position the rest of the trees won’t be in perfect symmetry!”
“Fuck this,” Jackson declares, dropping the side he’s supposedly holding up and it narrowly misses landing on Derek’s feet.
Derek growls at him. “Watch what you’re doing.”
“Symmetrical trees?” Jackson ignores Derek in favour of turning to scowl at Stiles. “What does it matter if they’re at right angles with each other? They’re fucking trees!”
“Because that’s how I designed it and technically, despite whatever you think in your head, I’m still your boss so just shut the fuck up and get on with it!”
Jackson snarls at him and then stalks up the garden without a backwards glance.
“Why the fuck is he even here, man?” Stiles cries exasperatedly as he watches him go.
“His dad made him get a job,” Derek supplies.
“What? Why? They seem like they’re loaded.”
Derek shrugs. “Guess they thought he could do with a little lesson in hard labour.”
“He’s not exactly catching on quick,” Stiles says sulkily, kicking at the hole he’s dug out for the damn Fjellheim to go in.
“Some thing’s take longer than others,” Derek replies softly.
Stiles snorts and sits down, sticking his feet in the dirt. “Yeah, well I didn’t sign on to be the dude’s teacher.”
“You’re better with him than you think.”
“Dude,” Stiles tips his head up to look at him grinning. “Was that a compliment?”
“No. I was just stating a fact. Jackson’s been a little shit since he was about eight—you’ve had more patience with him than most.”
“I’m still taking it as a compliment.” Derek shrugs like he’s ok with that and fixes Stiles with a long look. Stiles stares back at him. “How do you even know Jackson anyway?” he asks when he can’t stand the intensity anymore.
“We were at the same school—he was a few years below me but my parents knew his parents, he joined the lacrosse team the year before I finished.”
“You played lacrosse too?”
“Not really, baseball was always my thing but my Coach sort of insisted I play lacrosse too.”
“You must have been very popular in the sports department,” Stiles muses. “Put fear into all those poor souls who dared cross your path with your terrifying face an all.”
“I do not have a terrifying face!”
Derek actually looks put out and Stiles laughs. “The first time we met you looked like you were going to murder me with one of my own spades.”
“I did not,” Derek says vehemently. “It was just a little overwhelming. You talk a lot.”
“S’ok sourpuss, I know you don’t want to kill me now,” Stiles says gently, reaching out to pat his ankle.
Derek glares down at him. “How do you know for sure?”
Stiles retracts his hand quickly but catches Derek’s barely there grin as he does. “Asshole.”
Derek smiles faintly again and then squints up at the sky. Stiles stares at the long expanse of tanned neck on display for him, yearns to rasp his tongue against the scruff shadowing the hinge of his jaw, to slide his tongue inside Derek’s mouth and—
“Stiles!”
Stiles jumps a foot in the air, slipping around Derek’s legs and—when did he even get that close? “What? What?! I wasn’t doing anything!” He struggles to stand up, feeling a little wobbly on his feet and Derek places a hand on his back to steady him. It doesn’t really help.
Erica smirks at him from where she’s appeared holding a pair of shears. She looks far too comfortable with them, swinging them easily around her body like a deadly sharp hula hoop.
“Right,” she drawls. “Look we just wanted to know if you want to come and place the Abigail Roses yourself, or let Scott do it.”
“God, no! Don’t let him touch anything yet.”
*
“Fucking Valentine’s Day man," Stiles sighs into his beer.
“I like Valentine’s Day," Danny says casually.
“You like Valentine’s Day because you get showered with gifts, I, on the other hand used to get a card from my mom which although totally sweet didn’t exactly mean very much, other than that she was biased.”
“I’ll buy you a damn card next year if you promise to shut up.”
“Aw Danny,” Stiles drapes an arm around his friend’s neck. “This is why you’re my favourite.”
“Excuse me?”
“I love you too, Lyds! I love you both. Maybe we should like—have like a three way marriage where I love you both? Lydia you can bear the—the children and Danny you can bring home the bacon! I’ll be the good little wife who stays home and tends to the herb garden.” Stiles begins to giggle hysterically, looking down at his glass and then up at them sadly when he sees it's empty.
“Oh my god, it’s like watching Bambi,” Lydia mutters. Besides her Danny sniggers, jumping up to cross over to the bar.
Stiles sinks his head onto Lydia’s lap, preening when she absentmindedly begins playing with his hair. “We should totally get married Lyds.”
“Just because Scott and Allison are going to get married doesn’t mean we should all start pairing off Stiles. Besides, I’m keeping my options open for another ten years at least.”
The door to the bar opens and Laura Hale walks in; followed by her surly looking brother. Stiles lets out a loud noise of horror and promptly drops under the table. Laura catches Lydia’s eye and waves, smirking as she makes her way over.
“Alone tonight, Lydia?”
“Yes,” Stiles can hear the amusement in Lydia’s tone. “It seems they’ve all quite deserted me.”
“I don’t know about that,” Derek’s voice comes through sounding remarkably cheerful. “Pretty sure if we looked hard enough we could find—” he pushes the toe of his boot against Stiles’ calf. “—One of them.”
Stiles lets out a pained yelp and rolls from under the table. “Ouch!”
“Sorry,” Derek says lightly, eyes widening innocently. “I wasn’t expecting there to be a twenty four year old hiding under the table.”
“I wasn’t hiding! I was—looking for my shoe!”
He bends to tug at one of his shoes and loses his balance, flailing for a second before practically nose diving into Derek. “Whoops!”
Derek catches at his shoulders; breath warm in his ear for a second before Stiles straightens up. He lurches and jabs a finger at Derek. “You’re great, dude.”
“Thank you,” Derek says looking far too amused for Stiles’ liking. Stiles beams up at him and for a split second, Derek smiles back. Actually smiles, at Stiles.
It’s like basking in the sun.
He wants to lean forward, bathe in the glow of the warmth of Derek’s perfect face and feel those perfect, strong hands lift him up onto the table and strip him naked and—
“Stiles!” Danny reappears and shoves a beer at him. “And the illustrious Hale siblings.”
“Well, hello,” Laura says, smiling impishly. “You are cute.”
“Of course he’s cute,” Stiles scoffs, throwing an arm over Danny’s shoulders. “We’re getting married and no husband of mine is gonna be un- cute.”
“Really?” Derek is suddenly looking less and less amused as Stiles drapes himself over Danny, smiling at nothing.
“Yup, he’s the other boss, Scott isn’t really boss material,” he adds in a theatrical whisper.
Danny peels Stiles off his shoulder and shoots Derek an apologetic look. “I think he’s a little hung up on the idea of his best friend proposing and flying the nest.”
“I am not,” Stiles declares looking outraged. “I’m all for everyone getting married. ‘S’why you and me should get married, baby.”
“I’m gonna go get a beer,” Derek says flatly before disappearing.
“Stiles,” Danny hisses as soon as he’s out of earshot. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Stiles smiles benignly back at Danny. “How are you doing?”
“She said yes!” Scott bursts into the bar and everyone bursts into cheers, Allison standing looking ecstatic behind Scott.
“Dude!” Stiles climbs over Danny, eager to hug his best friend and trips, falling through the air. He looks up at Scott from the floor, both of them beaming at each other. “That’s awesome,” he says faintly before passing out.
When Stiles comes round he’s in an unfamiliar car and for a split second he panics. “What—”
“You’re the least responsible boss I’ve ever had,” Derek’s voice cuts in and Stiles relaxes, rests his head against the glass of Derek’s car.
“Mmmm, sorry.”
“You’re not at all.”
“Where are we going?”
“The dump, I’m going to leave you for the gulls.”
“They wouldn’t want me,” he says sleepily. “Too stringy.”
He hears Derek take a breath, when he cracks open an eye his knuckles are white where he’s clutching the steering wheel. “You’ll probably taste too much like beer anyway.”
“Hah. Seriously,” he squirms around, trying to look at Derek without the fog in the way. “Why am I here?”
“I’m taking you home, your friend Danny was… otherwise occupied.”
“If I’m not much mistaken, you don’t sound like you approve. You should let me out if you’re gonna get homophobic on my bi ass.”
Derek frowns at him. “No, not at all. I just thought—maybe you two had a thing?”
Stiles snorts. “With Danny? Gross, man, no,” he shudders to emphasize his point.
“He’s a good looking guy,” Derek says faintly and it makes Stiles want to laugh hysterically because two minutes ago Derek was being all pissed on behalf of Stiles’ dignity; now he’s calling Danny hot.
“Not hot,” Derek says suddenly and Stiles realizes he’s said all that aloud. “He’s not entirely my type.”
“What is your type?”
Derek pulls up outside of Stiles’ apartment building. “I like it when they can at least handle their liquor.”
“Huh, pretty low maintenance request.”
“One that not many people manage,” Derek says flashing a grin at him.
“So, that’s it?”
Derek leans over him to open the door, pauses and looks up at him. “I have a thing for nice hands and brown eyes,” he murmurs before shoving open the door and practically kicking Stiles out of the car.
Stiles stands on the sidewalk in shock. “You think I won’t remember that but I will!”
Derek drives off with no indication of whether he heard Stiles or not.
He’s pretty sure Derek was saying nice things about him. Was he? Where are his keys? Hey—
“Hey, how did you know where I lived?!” He yells after Derek’s exhaust fumes.
*
Scott is useless for the next week, smiling at nothing, delivering Holly bushes to the wrong garden, walking into Stiles first thing in the morning whilst he's trying to eat his Cheerios and argue with Lydia about prices for shrubbery.
Derek keeps giving him these long, puzzling looks as they work in the grass, arrange the borders. Stiles is beginning to wonder if he's got something on his face. Isaac keeps getting cross at him when Erica flirts, Jackson still thinks he's too good for hard labour and eventually, Stiles snaps and tells them they're on their own for the week.
He spends the last week in February working on the Craydon's place, going through bills, avoiding everyone. He hopes nobody gives Danny crap, but there's a reason he can rely on the dude to take charge when Stiles isn't around; he takes shit from no one and he does it all with a dimpled smile. He gets home, weary and dirty on the last day of the month to find a pressed purple Iris taped to his door. Carefully, he peels it off, looks at it consideringly. It's pretty, simple, exactly why he loves them best. He has no idea where it came from, however.
February is so weird.