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The alarm went off and Yacky McYackerson wouldn't shut up. He had already showed up ten minutes early and Derek had to invite him in. He was still talking about some guy in his office who talks about his Porsche and how he wants a Porsche too.
“We can’t put unrealistic expectations on our lives.” Derek answered when there was finally a break in the rambling. “Because when they’re inevitably unfulfilled we let the disappointment of that run our lives sometimes. Also your time is up and I have another appointment.”
Maybe he was being just a little too snappy but this guy was pissing him off.
“Oh, so it is! Thanks again Dr. Hale.” He said with a tight smile, not happy about getting cut off of his rant. Derek followed him out, jotting things down on his clipboard. “Okay, Stiles.” He said, frowning as he looked up to see the awkward teen scrambling to get up from one of the plush chairs he had sunk into.
Stiles followed Derek into the nicely lit room, making it feel comfortable and cozy. The place was set up to help the patient feel more at home. Derek even made a point to hang a picture of he and his sister on vacation on the wall, just to make it seem like an open environment. It usually worked. He watched Stiles collapse on the couch, immediately assuming the laying down position he usually did. This was not a requirement for therapy. However, Stiles Stilinski always seemed to prefer this position. Whether it was because he saw it in some stupid movie or he just wanted to bug Derek, he wasn’t sure. Those dirty-ass sneakers were resting on the thrift store applique pillows nonetheless.
“So, what’s new?” Derek asked, rubbing his forehead and turning his clipboard to a new page. Some therapists preferred to take notes after the session to make themselves look more engaged. Derek didn’t care enough for that. He got into therapy for a reason -- to help people. However, he didn’t feel like he had to be actively and emotionally involved in his patients to help them.
Stiles chuckled low, flinging an arm over his eyes. “Oh boy.” He said under his breath. “Um, so Lydia got back together with Jackson and... I don’t care.” Derek looked up at this, eyebrows raised high on his forehead. “Really?” He asked, his shock evident in his voice. Stiles sighed, turning his head towards the therapist, an odd look on his face. “Yeah. I don’t think I’ve really cared for months. I’ve just been so caught up in the routine that I pushed the idea to the back of my mind and forgot about it.” He shrugged as well as he could laying down, a frown on his lips. Derek cleared his throat and jotted down ‘progress in delusions’.
“So, what are you doing about that? Anything? Has anything changed?” He asked, giving the boy an inquisitive look. Stiles just shook his head. “I guess it’s just easier to focus on things. I’ve noticed how shit of a friend Scott is. I mean, he’s a dear, trust me,” He made a hand gesture as if to calm Derek down. “But he’s just so caught up in Allison. I think that might have been a motive in my ignoring my change in heart. Just wanting someone to fill the Scott-void that’s been building ever since he met that girl.” He balled up his fist and bumped it against his forehead. “Not that I don’t like Allison, she’s amazing, I just... I’m just lonely, I guess.” He was frowning again and Derek found himself thrown off. Usually, in Stiles’ sessions, the boy was grinning as he explained the way Lydia smelled. How when she walked she did this little swish of her hips. How he could tell when she wanted to make an extra impression because her hair was always just a little shinier. Now, though, he was frowning. There were creases in his forehead where he pushed his eyebrow together and Derek just... it annoyed him.
“Have you ever thought about meeting new people? Making new friends?” He suggested, jotting down ‘needs encouragement to open up socially’. Stiles just shrugged again. “It’s hard, y’know? When you’ve been friends with someone since you slipped from the womb, it’s just hard to break away from that. We’ve been so close, it’s just... weird. Everything feels different.” He raised a hand to rub at his temples. “It’s just so uncomfortable. I’ve been trying to open up, I guess. Lydia and Jackson have been sitting with us at lunch because of Allison and I’ve been talking to Lydia on a not-stalker level. She’s actually really cool. Jackson’s an asshole but he makes for a good debate partner. I dunno, it’s still not the same. I don’t feel like I’m close to anyone anymore.”
Now Derek was frowning as he wrote ‘feelings of isolation’. Stiles had always been this ecstatic ball of energy, constantly smiling and constantly annoying. Now he was angsty and sad and aware of the bad things in his life instead of just pushing them to the back of his mind like he usually did. They spent the rest of the session talking about Stiles’ relationship with his father and his school issues. Derek dismissed him with a feeling of awe, walking him to the door of his office and waving goodbye. The kid stuffed his hands in his hoodie pockets and stalked off looking contemplative.
It was like a total 180 in personality. It was... disappointing. Derek had expected a celebration on his part, but he was lacking in enthusiasm. Stiles wasn’t supposed to be like this, depressed and quiet. He was the kid with ADHD who never stopped moving, he made obnoxious snide remarks and he was clever as hell. This didn’t even feel natural.
Derek made a phone call.
“Um, wow. You seem legitimately upset about this.” Boyd’s surprised tone threw Derek off for a moment. “No, I’m not upset, I’m just concerned about a patient’s well being. He could be suicidal! He’s not communicating as well as he had been and he seems to be losing the momentum he had before. It’s unsettling.”
There was a sigh from Boyd’s end and a scratch of a pencil. Derek had this paranoia that Boyd was conducting a secret study of Derek’s behavior, keeping it in a creepy little file for when Derek inevitably snaps.
“He’s a teenager, Hale. He has shit going on. Just be more encouraging and don’t glower at him as much.”
Derek glowered at that, his eyebrows pushed together dramatically. “Thanks, Boyd. You never fail to give me the most profound advice.”
“I’m still not sure why you don’t just call Lahey about this. He deals with this more than I do. You do know that I work with mental ward patients, right? If this Stilinski kid starts saying that voices are telling him to kill his dad or the weather lady informs him that blood will fall from the skies or some shit, then you can call me. Leave the normal teenaged bullshit to someone who actually knows what they’re talking about.”
He chuckled at that, leaning back in his chair. “Eloquently put. Alright, I’ll give him a call. Thanks, Boyd.”
“Don’t call me about this again. I mean it.” And the line was dead.
Derek huffed at the dial tone, frowning. Lahey always kinda freaked him out. Not that the kid was creepy or weird or even bad in any way, he was just... there was something off. Like he wasn’t all there or he just wasn’t showing much of anything. Maybe that’s his whole therapist schtick. It’s still kind of unsettling. Still, Derek found him in his contacts and hit the call button, holding the phone up to his ear.
“Dr. Isaac Lahey, how can I help you?” The guy’s voice was distant, like he’d been pulled from an engaging activity and his mind was still drifting. Derek took in a breath through his nose.
“Lahey? This is Hale. I just need to ask you something about a teenaged patient of mine.” He chewed the inside of his cheek, not exactly sure why he was nervous.
“Oh, Derek! Hello!” Lahey sounded like he was smiling and he used Derek’s first name and it made him relax a little. “Sure, ask away.”
Derek didn’t get much out of the conversation. Lahey's main advice was, “just encourage him to find new friends” or something along those lines. Isaac was a therapist but he explained things like a psychiatrist. Derek left the conversation more frustrated than anything. He was dreading the next appointment he had with Stiles.
As it were, the next time he spoke to the boy was not in an appointment. It was at 11pm on a Tuesday night. Derek was reading in bed in his underwear, immersed in his fiction when his cell phone started buzzing on the nightstand beside him. He ignored it, at first, but by the third call he could tell it was an emergency and he was fucking tired of hearing the dull vibrations. He picked up the phone.
“--ohthankgod you finally picked up.”
Derek’s eyebrows shot up at the voice. It was wrecked, but it was distinctly Stiles’. He couldn’t even find words for a moment. “Stiles! What’s going on? It’s eleven AM.” His eyes flickered to the digital clock shining underneath the lamp perched on the nightstand.
“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry it’s just super important. Um, so wow this is a lot harder now that I’m not just talking to myself.” Derek’s heart skipped a beat and he hoped he didn’t have to call Boyd again, but for a completely different reason than before.
“What’s happening, Stiles?” He leveled his voice and made it as calm as possible. He heard Stiles take a deliberate breath.
“Nothing... happened exactly? I just... Scott didn’t even talk to me today and then I got home and my dad snapped at me about dinner because I was making veggie lasagna and he wanted meat or something and then he didn’t eat and the lasagna is still sitting on the counter getting cold. Like I seriously spent like three hours on that shit! But then I went to my room and Scott called and it was the most awkward conversation I’ve ever had. WITH SCOTT. Like, how was that even possible? And then I was getting frustrated because I couldn’t focus on my homework at all and I was thinking about how shitty my life is and then I started crying and... um.” He stopped the sentence abruptly, his voice shaking and his breath coming out in audible, harried puffs. Derek’s mouth was a little dry because he knew where this was heading.
“And?” He prompted, his own voice soft and low. Stiles’ breath kept coming and it was getting shallow and Derek realized the boy was having a panic attack.
“Shit... Stiles, go get to a safe place. Your bed, your closet, anywhere.”
There was shuffling and whimpers and the squeak of springs. “Now relax your body, lay down, get into a ball, whatever helps you relax.” He was trying to keep his voice even and calm, but panic attacks are scary. He should know. And he was getting residual feelings from coaching Stiles. He tried to keep his heartbeat to a quiet pounding.
“Breathe, Stiles. Breathe slowly. In through the nose, out through the mouth. You’ll be fine. It’s going to be okay.”
It took a good fifteen minutes before Stiles spoke again. He sounded tired and weak. “Thanks.”
“Anytime. We can wait until your next appointment to talk about the thing--”
“I burned myself.”
The words were abrupt and shallow and Derek’s stomach clenched. He never burned himself (the heat was too close to tragedy for comfort) but he had a pretty set of scars on his thighs from the time after the fire. He wasn’t good at dealing with emotion then, so he did what felt right. He took out his frustration and his anger and his sadness on himself so he didn’t hurt others any more than he already had. It was an addiction that took a long time for him to break and he still gets urges to relapse, but that’s part of the reason he became a therapist. He wanted to help anyone who felt the same as he had. He wanted to keep them from making the same mistakes.
“How bad?” Was the first thing Derek thought of. There was hesitation and the shift of bedsheets. “It’s blistering.” Stiles’ voice was hushed, ashamed almost. “It was... on the fucking oven rack. I thought I could pull off saying it was accidental, but jeez... I don’t think so, at this point.”
Derek closed his eyes, his hands starting to shake. “Stiles--”
“Don’t worry about me doing it again. I already regret it like three hundred percent. Please don’t tell my dad or anything. Shit you’re like bound by some therapist pact or something to tell my dad, right? Fuck I never should have called--”
“No, it’s okay. I won’t tell your dad. If you were experiencing suicidal thoughts, I’d have to tell your dad, but self harm isn’t part of the therapist blood oath.”
There was a croak of a laugh at that. “Wow bold move, joking in my time of need.” Stiles said, but there was humour in his voice.
“You sounded like you needed it.”
Stiles sighed and there was a slick sound like saliva popping. Derek could imagine the kid licking his lips like he does every five seconds, and for some reason it gets him to blush. He pushes that weird reaction to the back of his head and tells himself he’ll evaluate that later, but knows he’s not going to.
“Okay, I think I’m good. Thanks, Dr. Hale. You... really helped.” Stiles’ voice was small again and Derek decided that he hated it and wanted to make it go away as best he could.
“Of course. I’m glad you called me. Get some sleep, Stiles.”
“Goodnight.”
And the line went dead.
Setting the phone on the nightstand, Derek let himself deflate against the headboard, eyes wide. None of his patients had used the number before. At the beginning of a client’s first session, he would give them his personal cellphone number for emergencies. No one had used it... except Stiles.
Derek tried hard not to internalize a patient’s issues and for the most part he did a pretty good job of it. Sometimes he’ll catch himself thinking about a more difficult case during his more vapid moments, but it’s always procedural in nature and never longer than brief. Now, though, he’s unable to lift himself out of Stiles. When he zones out he thinks of Stiles and his ragged breath and imagines the scared, glassy amber eyes. He thinks about before when Stiles was still happy-go-lucky. When he never had more of a complaint than, “Lydia didn’t smile at me today, but it’s okay because she smiled at someone else and I saw and that’s good enough for me.”
When Stiles’ appointment rolled back around he felt himself getting nervous. He considered this weird and uncalled-for and pretty unprofessional.
“Stiles.” Derek called, but his voice caught and his throat was hoarse and it just sounded awful. Stiles looked up, jolted from a thought. “Oh.” He said, quietly, picking himself up off the awful floral couch and dragging himself into the office. He looked even worse than before, his eyes shadowed and frown-lines making his face look too old.
He laid on the couch.
“I don’t know what to do, Dr. Hale.” He said, his voice quiet and shaky, so fragile sounding. Derek didn’t know what to do, either. He shivered. “What do you mean?” is all he could say and he felt like an idiot.
“I just feel awful all the time. It’s like I woke up and now I’m realizing everything I’ve been doing wrong. Or like, how awful people are and how little I matter to anyone.”
Derek felt like he was going to cry, but he doesn’t. He’d had too much experience with holding back tears.
“You matter, Stiles.”
The kid narrowed his eyes at him.
“No, hear me out. Scott is, what, seventeen?”
“Eighteen.” Stiles corrected, still looking skeptical.
“Right, so he found this girl that he thinks is the love of his life and, from what I can tell, he’s never had a relationship like this before. He’s new to it, he’s not sure how to balance his other relationships with his romantic one. Talk to him. I know it’s hard, and it might take a while for you to figure out how, but you need to talk to him and tell him how you feel about this. I can almost guarantee you that he doesn’t realize what he’s doing.”
Stiles nodded, eyes averted to the ceiling. “I kinda know that, but a part of me is wondering if he’s been trying to separate himself from me for a while. If this was just the perfect excuse or something. I mean, I’m not stupid. I know I’m trouble and I know I’m kind of a handful -- lord knows my dad won’t let me forget.”
Derek’s heart hurt at that. He knew Stiles’ dad loved him, but even the best parents have their flaws.
“But I’ve been trying. I’ve been keeping an eye on how much I talk, on my energy level. But Scott just keeps backing off even more. I can’t help but feel like I’m fucking this up over and over. I can’t do anything right.”
Derek wanted to grab Stiles’ by the shoulders and shake him and tell him how amazing he is. But he can’t. There’s this professional integrity that keeps him from being able to express those disturbing feelings. He’s not supposed to react that way. He’s not supposed to care that much.
“Communication is the best thing for you right now. If you’re having trouble, you need to vocalize that. You need to inform the people that care about you--”
“WHO? Who cares about me right now?!”
Derek recoiled because Stiles suddenly was sitting upright, tears streaming down his face, looking like a complete mess. The words just sort of slipped out.
“I care about you.”
In an effort to backpedal, Derek threw himself into a passionate rant. “I know your dad cares about you. If you could see the look on his face when he talks about you, it’s more telling than I think either of you would like to think. And Scott almost definitely cares about you. You can’t know someone for that long and just decide to stop being their friend. He’s confused and he’s nervous he’s fucking this up, too, I bet you. You have support, Stiles. You just need to let them in.”
Stiles’ expression only changed the smallest amount since Derek’s outburst. Derek couldn't tell if it was shocked or disturbed
“Aren’t you not supposed to say that?” he asked.
“Say what?” Derek asked, trying to make the “dumb” act work.
“Say that you care about me. Isn’t it in your therapist blood oath to not play favorites or get attached or something?”
Derek tried to hide his pained look behind his hand as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Yes, I guess it might be. I just… I mean, it’s true, and you seem like you need someone-- some people -- that care about you right now. I’m happy to be that for you. It’s my job, afterall.”
Stiles opened and closed his mouth a few times before shaking his head and laying back down on the couch. The action soothed Derek and he felt like he can breathe again. “Well… thanks.” Stiles said, finally, gaze drifting back to Derek. Derek swallowed and nodded, looking down at his clipboard and pretending to write something just to get that normalcy back.
“Do you want to talk about what happened the other night?” Derek asked, finally. Stiles’ breath hitched and he made sure not make eye contact. “Yeah. I guess I should.” He said and closed his eyes as he lifted an arm up and started to roll down the sleeve.
“I don’t need to see it.” Derek said quickly. Part of him wanted to tell Stiles that it is against his policy to visually assess a self harm wound. For liability reasons. But another part - the same part that seems to have been acting up so much - let Stiles shrug and continue pulling down his sleeve.
The burn wasn’t that bad. It’s a little red and there are a few small bubbles along the straight line of it, but all Stiles would need is some burn ointment and a band-aid. Even so, Derek understood the thought process behind hurting yourself. Even so small of a hurt. It takes a lot to put yourself on the level where you feel you need to take control of your own punishment.
“Stiles,” he breathed, forcing his eyes away from the mark and instead resting them on Stiles’ reddening face. He pulled the sleeve back down and looked back to the ceiling. “I looked up burning. Like, why people do it. I’m not trying to punish myself. I don’t want to die… necessarily,” that word hurt even Derek. “I just… wanted to feel outside what I was feeling inside, I guess? Make it more real? It didn’t feel at all like how I was feeling inside. I would need a bulldozer for that.”
Derek almost called off the meeting right then and there. He was in too deep. That much was obvious. His empathy had always been difficult to tap into. That was part of the reason why he’d had any success as a therapist. He was able to listen to the most horrific of stories without internalizing it and letting it get to him on a personal level. He wasn’t exactly sure how to handle something so opposite.
He took a deep breath.
“I’m going to give you some resources. Just a book and a few websites. I’m not a psychologist so I’m not completely comfortable diagnosing you with anything. However, there’s a good chance you have enough symptoms to qualify as depressive. If you like, I can refer you to someone who can prescribe medication--”
“I don’t want more medication.” Stiles said, his voice venomous. “Sorry I got a little too high maintenance for you, Dr. Hale.”
Derek recoiled, blinking at the sudden change in tone. “You’re not being high maintenance, Stiles. I just want you to get the help you need.”
“You’re the only help I want!”
There was a beat of silence where Stiles was breathing too heavily and Derek worried about another panic attack before the kid deflated a little into the seat.
“I just… I don’t usually get along with mental health professionals. You’re the only one I’ve been able to stand.”
Derek nodded, hands shaking a little as he set his pen down. “Okay.” He said, breathing in deep. “That’s fine. I never said we had to cancel our sessions, though. I just thought you might want to look into medication. At least for the meantime to help with some of these feelings. To be quite honest, I don’t usually work with teenagers so I’m not sure exactly what is normal and what isn’t.”
Stiles smirked a little at that. “Weren’t you a teenager once?”
“Only in age.” Derek said in reply, only realizing how inappropriate that was to say after the fact. Stiles gave him an odd look before glancing up at the clock on the wall beside him. “My hour is almost up.” He said, matter-of-fact. Derek nodded, looking down at the blank piece of notebook paper. “I’ll leave you with this, then.” He said. “Being young is tough. No one knows who they are or why they feel the way they do. No one communicates, everyone lies. But the truth is, being an adult is just the same. The only difference is that you find people that defy that and you learn the skills to defy it yourself. You, Stiles,” he looked at Stiles, deathly serious. “You are so far ahead of the pack. You’re going to make it. You’re going to thrive.”
Stiles stared at Derek, nose reddened and eyes glassy. “Thanks.” He said, voice hoarse. Derek nodded, allowing a small, hopeful smile.
“I know that your ethical psychiatry blood oath forbodes physical contact, but can I hug you?” Stiles asked, suddenly nervous. Derek took a moment to respond before nodding, standing and opening his arms. Stiles stumbled out of his seat and across the room until he fell -- almost literally -- into Derek. They closed around each other at the same time. Derek could feel Stiles’ warm breath against his shoulder. He refrained from making this any more unprofessional by burying his face in the boy’s unkempt hair. After a moment, they parted and Stiles was crying. His smile was unsteady and his fingers contracted against Derek’s arms before he turned and left. Derek stood, shocked, before rushing over to his desk and picking up his phone.
“Dr. Isaac--”
“Lahey, I need your advice.”
“Derek! Is it your one patient?”
“Yeah, something weird is happening. Don’t take this the wrong way but have any of your teenaged patients formed crushes on you?”
Lahey laughed long and loud.
“Yes. I have had many teenaged patients admit that they thought I was attractive or that they’d had sexual dreams about me. I even had one patient ask me to her prom. Derek, teenagers have so many hormones rushing around. They would become attracted to anyone if paid attention to long enough.”
Derek’s heart started pounding as he prepared to ask his next question.
“Okay, so what… do you do when you start to find them attractive?”
Lahey didn’t respond for several long moments.
“Derek--”
“Nothing happened! Nothing happened. I just-- I may be compromised.”
Lahey snorted. “Have you tried referring him to someone else?”
“Of course! I made the suggestion of referring him and he threw a fit. I don’t know what to do.”
There was a short pause, though this time it didn’t feel as monumental as the last.
“Would you meet me for lunch, Derek? It would be easier to talk about this in person.”
Derek glanced at the clock on his desk. 11:34.
“Yeah, twelve thirty?” “See you then.”
Seated in a corner booth at a local deli that he knew Lahey liked, Derek drummed his fingers against the table while he obsessively checked the time. He was fifteen minutes early. Just enough time to plan exactly how he was going to explain this without getting reported.
Twelve thirty happened too soon and Isaac Lahey walked into the shop. His pristine curled hair was tucked against his head, and grey pea coat complimenting his lithe figure. It was no wonder his patients found him so attractive.
When he spotted Derek, he grinned and walked elegantly towards the booth before taking a seat.
“Hey, Derek! You look great!” He seemed happy and enthusiastic despite the very illegal nature of their planned conversation.
Derek smiled, good-natured, just as a server came over to their table and took their orders.
“So.” Lahey started, folding his hands on the table. Derek shifted and averted his eyes to the ketchup bottles. “So.” He echoed.
“Derek, you do understand the weight of this, right? Not only have you developed feelings for your client,” Derek winced at this, “but your client is also a teenager.”
“He’s nineteen. That has to count for something?”
Lahey chuckled and shook his head. “It does not. This is serious. You need to figure out what you’re going to do about it. This is unfair to your client if you continue your professional relationship with him. It's also unfair to you if you’re smart enough to attempt to compartmentalize your feelings. Prevent things from getting any more serious.”
Derek closed his eyes, processing this information. “I took a look at the ADA ethics guidelines. As long as I don’t engage in any relationship outside of our meetings, it should be okay. I can… I can compartmentalize very well.”
Lahey sighed. “That does nothing to help your client. Can you tell me what happened?”
Derek leaned back in his seat, keeping his mouth shut as the server approached and placed their sandwiches in front of them. Once the server left, he occupied himself with picking at the sub.
“I guess… I’ve always been a little attached to him. The kid’s had a hard life. He just seemed to accept it and move on so well. The only thing I was really working on with him was his obsession with this girl and his negative feelings about his ADHD. It wasn’t until he… he started evolving. He got more fleshed out as a person in a blink of an eye and I… started seeing him as more than a project. Maybe. This is just speculation.”
Lahey nodded sagely.
“Then, today, he asked for a hug. I know the line is a little watery there and maybe, in retrospect, I shouldn’t have let him. But I did. And it’s bad. I didn’t realize how bad it was until…” He didn’t finish the sentence. He couldn’t think of a way to make it seem any less creepy than it was. Lahey just looked at him, non judgmental expression a trademark therapist move. Derek sighed. “I need to end it.”
“You do.” Lahey conceded, finally picking up his sandwich and taking a bite.
“I’d be happy to take him on if you are able to get him to transfer.”
A completely nauseating wave of jealousy washed over Derek and he had to shake himself from it to respond. “Thank you.” He said, though his voice was strained. Lahey nodded, giving him an odd look. “Derek, do you need to see a therapist?”
Derek barked a laugh.
“Yeah, I think I do.”
The next few meetings with Stiles were rough. The kid wasn’t getting a whole lot better. Derek finally settled on the excuse that he couldn’t help Stiles anymore than he already has. He didn’t work with youths. He wanted Stiles to get the best help he could.
Finally, Stiles parted on their last meeting with a cold shoulder and no more than a grumbled “bye”. He started going to Lahey - or so Lahey said. The guy was such a professional. He wouldn’t say anything past that. Just, “I started seeing that kid.” and nothing else. Not that Derek blamed him, but God if he wasn’t having a hard time with this.
He became aware of how deep he’d gotten the moment Stiles stepped out of his office. There was a hole there now. It felt all wrong no matter how many other patients he had come through. He was off his game. He lost three more patients in the following two months until he finally decided to move his practice. California wasn’t for him anymore.
His sister lived in New York and knew a few psych professionals there. He made connections. He networked. He ended up joining a practice with five other therapists. The pay was good. He didn’t have to see the phantom reminders of Stiles everywhere he went. He was getting better.
After a year spent in New York, he walked in on his sister, Laura, bent over a notepad.
“What are you looking at?” He asked, dropping his bag onto the floor. She jumped and scrambled to put the notebook back into… his filing box.
“What is that? Laura, have you been snooping in my things?” He tried to keep the panic down the best he could.
Laura finally paused in her red-handed fumbling before turning to face Derek. “Did you get reported in Cali?”
Derek’s heart th-thumped too loud, the pace picking up. “No! I left because--”
“Yeah, you told me you needed a ‘change of scenery’ like that isn’t the biggest pile of shit. Derek, did you get reported? Did you fuck a client?”
“God, Laura, no! Jesus Christ, do you even understand--” He clutched at his hair, the panic continuing to rise at a dangerous pace.
“I just-- there was a client. I may have…” He stopped talking the moment his breathing did. He fell to the floor in what he felt like was slow motion, but he knew must have been more violent than that. Laura was at his side in an instant and even just her hands on the skin of his arms started to ground him.
It took about fifteen minutes for him to begin to breathe again. Laura had a glass of water ready, concern clear on her face.
“You haven’t had an attack like that in a while.”
Derek just smiled, unable to form full sentences yet.
“I want to know about that client, but take your time. I don’t have to know right now.”
Derek nodded and allowed himself to be helped down the hall and into his bed where he fell asleep the moment his head touched the pillow.
It was three days later that found him in the kitchen, a cup of coffee clutched in his hands and an admission on his tongue.
“He was a client. I started to… fall for him, I guess. I had to terminate our meetings and that’s why I left California.”
The words came out in a rush, pulling Laura immediately away from the clicking on her computer.
“What?” She asked.
Derek sighed and went to sit next to her on the couch.
“I had a client. He was young. I developed feelings for him. He may have also had feelings for me although I’m not sure. I had to end our professional relationship to prevent myself from doing anything stupid. It was too difficult to stay in California after that. I… I think I really liked him.”
Laura looked as if she was torn between sympathy and disgust. Finally, she settled on fond and set her laptop aside to hug her brother.
“That’s weird, but I’m glad nothing happened. How young was he?”
Derek swallowed a lump in his throat.
“Nineteen.”
“Jesus, Derek.”
“I know.”
They sat like that for a while before Laura pulled away. “He’d be about twenty now, right?”
Derek nodded.
“Most likely off to college.”
He eyed her, suspicious.
“So?”
“What’s the ethics stuff on post-client relationships?”
Derek’s eyes shot wide open. In a split second he was off to his room, grabbing his laptop and typing up “past patient therapist relationships”.
It took some digging and rewording until he got his answer.
Two years.
Two years from the cut-off point before he could pursue anything. Stiles would be twenty one at that point. He caught that little hope and he sealed it away, opened only when one whole year had passed.
Derek occupied his time with work. He didn’t go out much, only to a bar with Laura every now and then. He wrote papers and drank coffee and started reading a lot. He refrained from looking Stiles up on the internet, from asking anything about him. He would spend significant effort trying not to think about the boy. After a while, it worked.
---
A year came and went since his Two Year Discovery. He had made friends with another therapist in New York, a nice girl named Erica who knew Lahey and Boyd. He went to parties and bars, he started online dating (to no avail, but it had been a valiant attempt) and he got laid every so often. It wasn’t until a February three years from when he left California that he even thought about Stiles again.
Less thought about and more literally ran into.
At first, Derek didn’t recognize him. Stiles was older, broader, more angular. When the sour look and confident hand gesture registered, it all started flooding back.
All the feelings, the admissions, the smiles and that one, tragic hug. It all came back in an instant and he was struck wordless.
“Dr. Hale?” Stiles asked, his own recognition blooming over his face. Derek was silent for a few beats before, “It’s Derek.”
Stiles’ eyebrows flew up, blinking in confusion. “I’m not… I’m not your therapist anymore. You can call me Derek.”
It took a moment before a smile spread over Stiles’ lips. “Derek.” He said warmly and every butterfly Derek had been suppressing for over three years erupted in his stomach.
“Stiles.” He said because he didn’t know what else to say.
“Wanna come-- I was heading over to the coffee shop around the corner. Do you wanna come with?”
A residual panicked warning told him to say no and keep walking, but there was no reason he shouldn’t. He remembered the two years. It had been more than that. There was nothing stopping him.
“I would love to.”
They walked in mutual awkward silence and Derek attempted to ignore it by sneaking glances at Stiles to see how he’d changed.
He was taller, that was for sure. He seemed bigger -- more adult in stature, though his ratty coat was hiding most of the real shape of his body. His jaw was more defined and he was so much more handsome than Derek remembered. He was clutching at a backpack sitting against his shoulders. Was he a student now? How would he have graduated already? Derek had so many questions.
They entered the coffee shop and immediately Stiles sat down, claiming prime real estate right by the huge wall of windows. He shed his bag and layers of jackets until he was wearing nothing but a t-shirt and a pair of slim jeans. Derek tried not to stare at the boy’s defined arms and the strain of his shirt against his chest. Time had treated Stiles well. He only hoped the same for himself.
In a smooth and unexpected move, Stiles paid for both of their drinks and grinned at Derek as they made their way back to the table. Once they were situated, Derek realized how surreal this all was.
“God, it’s been forever.” Stiles said in a breath as he eyed Derek up and down. “I heard you were in NYC but I wasn’t sure where. You sort of left without warning.”
Derek shrugged and tried to keep his expression masked, although it was proving difficult to hide how excited he was.
“I just… I had to get out of there.”
Stiles cocked his head before sipping at his coffee. “Why?”
Derek was prepared to lie, but the words caught in his throat. He thought of different ways to lie, different inflations or edits of the truth until he said:
“Honestly, I developed feelings for you while we were still having meetings. That’s why I transferred you to Lahey. I wasn’t fit to help you anymore. When we stopped having meetings, I couldn’t stop thinking about you so I moved. It was working pretty well until now.”
Stiles stared at him, fingers digging creases into his paper cup.
“Holy shit.” He breathed, finally. “You left because of me?”
Derek shook his head, averting his eyes. “No, I left because of me. Because I couldn’t control my feelings for you. None of this is on you.”
Suddenly, Stiles laughed.
“I mean, some of it has to be.”
Derek looked at him in confusion.
“If I hadn’t had the worlds most inappropriate crush on you, maybe you wouldn’t have started thinking of me in that way. I don’t know, it’s definitely at least a little bit my fault.”
They were silent for a long moment. Derek stared at him, mouth fallen open, coffee going cold in his hands.
“What?”
“Oh, yeah. I definitely liked you. At first I thought you were just like… unfairly hot. After a while, though, it got worse. You seemed to care about me. I mean, I know it was all sort of stupid because you were my therapist so of course you seemed that way, but to me it meant a lot. It’s nice to know it wasn’t all delusions, though.”
Derek tried to distract himself by throwing back his coffee, only succeeding in making himself cough on the stuff. After getting himself under control, he looked back to Stiles.
“Why are you here?”
“I’m in grad school. I graduated early from BHCC and decided to go to NYU for my masters in History of Women and Gender. It was a good fit and Beacon Hills is nice but I wanted somewhere bigger, more people.”
Derek shook his head, a smile spreading over his face. “So you didn’t come here to chase me?”
Stiles laughed, kicking Derek’s leg playfully. “No, though the thought that you’d be here did cross my mind. It’s been three years, though. I wasn’t banking on your wanting to see me again.”
In a rush of bravery, Derek leaned across the table, smile turning sly. “Well I did. And I do. How would you feel about going to get drinks with me sometime?”
Stiles shone like the sun, almost vibrating with happy excitement when he answered, “I’d feel very good about that, Dr. Hale.”
They laughed and spent the rest of their time at the coffee shop with their ankles hooked together. Later, Derek walked Stiles back to campus hand in hand.