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“You are an unholy Nordic god of mischief, you know that?” Stiles said with a sigh, hefting the baby in his arm a little higher on his hip as he tried to adjust her outfit while simultaneously stirring a pot of something on the stove. “Aren’t you, Maxa?”
“Watch whose child you’re calling unholy there, Stiles, or I’ll use your entrails for my next spell,” Lydia said from the door to the kitchen. Stiles jumped about four feet in the air with a sharp gasp of shock. The child in his arms giggled. Or possibly cackled. She was Lydia’s daughter after all. “And while you’re at it, her name is Max. Stop trying to undermine my attempts to free my child of society’s arbitrary gender binary.”
“I’m not! I wouldn’t” Stiles exclaimed, turning to face Lydia so fast that the little girl in his arms let out another amused giggle. And wonders of wonders, he actually looked hurt. Lydia sighed, pushing herself off the door jam and clicking into the room in her high heels. She offered Stiles a small smile.
“I know, I know,” Lydia soothed. Max giggled as she reached out to grab some of her mother’s hair. “You’re really good with her you know. Even if you do insist on dressing her up in the strangest outfits.”
Stiles tugged the hood of the costume up over Max’s head, just as the little girl put up her hands like claws and let out the world’s most adorable growl. “She’s dressed like her namesake!” Stiles insisted. “And tonight we’re going to wild rumpus like no one’s business.”
“How can some character from a children’s book be her namesake if I’ve never read it before, hmm?” Lydia asked, but her expression was soft and alight with a bright smile as her daughter pressed her little hands to her mother’s face. Lydia brushed her nose against Max’s much smaller, much cuter one and Stiles felt his heart melt, just a little bit.
“Lydia, is this okay? Jackson and Allison are already in the car.” Scott walked into the room, tugging at his bow tie and the sleeves of his tux jacket. Stiles wolf whistled.
“You clean up nice, Scotty,” he added as Lydia kissed her daughter on the forehead and then turned to face Scott.
“He’ll do, I suppose,” Lydia corrected, reaching out to tug several items of Scott’s clothing into place. It was just a standard black tux, but it fit really well, and the use of a grey shirt instead of a white one made the whole look come together. Lydia’s own pale pink sheath dress was a bit more eye catching, with its sequins and gold thread accents, but the both of them looked quite classy. Stiles sighed dramatically.
“Remember when a double date for you all was bowling?” he said wistfully. “My babies are all grown up, heading out to charity functions and dressing like grownups and abandoning their less attractive friends to babysitting duty.”
“Oh shush,” Lydia demanded. “You were invited to join us and you turned it down. And then you volunteered for babysitting duty. So no complaints from you.”
“Maxa is much better company than a bunch of stodgy old rich folks, aren’t you?”
Max obviously thought that this was a brilliant observation, and responded with a wide baby smile and a lot of excited wiggling. With some impressive maneuvering, Stiles twisted her around until he was holding her with her back against his chest, so that she could reach out and grab whatever her little heart desired. Which turned out to be mama’s earring.
“You guys better head out before her plans for world domination take effect,” Stiles said as Lydia tried to disentangle her child’s hands from her ear. “The next casualty will probably be Scott’s tie and I know from personal experience that once untied, that bow tie will never be the same again.”
Scott let out an amusing little whimper and backed up slowly toward the kitchen door. Max was 18 months old and in that time, Scott had held her and babysat her and amused her with his wolf face but sometimes she still took him by surprise and his first instinct was always to back away slowly. Lydia rolled her eyes, and then bent down to kiss her daughter on the forehead.
“Be good for Stiles, Max,” she said softly. “Mama loves you.”
“Bye bye!” Max yelled, giggling as Lydia waved to her and then disappeared out the kitchen door. That would have been an appropriate time for any other child to start screaming. But Max Whitmore was a werewolf baby, and this was pack, so instead she started squirming in Stiles’ arms, reaching out to something that wasn’t quite there yet.
“You can come out, now,” Stiles called out, his tone wry and affectionate. “They’re gone.” There was a moment or two of aggrieved silence and then Derek poked his head into the kitchen.
“I wasn’t avoiding anyone,” he said gruffly.
“Affa, affa!” Max caught sight of him and she started wiggling even more violently. Derek looked startled for a moment, but then he pulled himself up straight and came to take the squirmy werewolf baby out of Stiles’ arms. Immediately, Max leaned forward to rub her cheek against Derek’s before settling down with her nose pressed against his neck.
“Be still my heart,” Stiles said softly, taking in Derek in all of his evening rumpledness, barefoot in old sweat pants and a raggedy Stanford t-shirt, with a tiny baby in a Where the Wild Things Are costume pressed up against his chest. Derek’s expression got all warm and soft, and he leaned forward to press a sweet, small kiss to the corner of Stiles’ mouth.
“She’s been fed and everything. You missed all the fun bits while you were hiding from Lydia and her hatred of that t-shirt.” It was the first t-shirt Stiles had brought Derek home from college, so it was old and had holes in weird places and the lettering was faded. But what really drove Lydia nuts was that Stiles chose Stanford over MIT and Lydia had to go face the east coast and her first time seeing Jackson in a year alone.
“It’s irrational is what it is,” Derek grumbled. When the noise vibrated through his throat, Max shifted and let out a small huff of air through her nose. But it was clear she was about ready to fall asleep.
“I dare you to tell Lydia that next time instead of hiding in our bedroom.”
Judging from Derek’s glare, he didn’t think much of that idea. “How about I go put this one to bed, and you finish making…whatever it is that you’re making?”
“Don’t pretend like you can’t sniff out the subtle notes of red wine and bacon. Beef Bourguignon with mashed potatoes. As soon as Maxa has gone to sleep, and I’ll even let you have a beer with it like the heathen you are.”
Derek grinned, a wide, wolfy grin that showed his teeth and started to make his way out of the kitchen, but Stiles tripped forward before he could turn all the way around. With Derek’s hand on his elbow to steady him, he leaned forward and pressed his palm to the back of Max’s head and his lips to her tiny, perfect ear. She reached out one little hand and patted him on the eye. If anyone asked, that’s where the slight burn of tears came from. Not from emotions, no siree.
“Good night, Maxa,” he called as Derek finally made his way out of the room. “Sweet dreams!”
When Derek came back down, the table was set, the candles were lit, and Stiles was spooning piping hot French beef stew over roasted garlic mashed potatoes in two chipped, mismatched pasta bowls. He liked contrast, so sue him. Derek grabbed a beer and the wine bottle from the fridge (a white, because Stiles was a heathen too) and was sitting at the table when Stiles brought in the plates. Strong winter winds were blowing sleet against the window and in the quick second after Stiles put the plates down on their appropriate placemats, Derek grabbed his wrist and pulled him into his lap.
“But, dinner!” Stiles tried to say, but before he could finish, Derek was kissing him, strong and heady. By the time he pulled back, Stiles was panting and wishing for werewolf breath control. “What was that for?” he asked, breathless.
Derek didn’t answer. He still had trouble with words sometimes. But Stiles could read it in the set of his eyes. Because I love you.
Dinner passed as it usually did, with Stiles rambling about his kindergarteners, the new text on elemental magic he’d found, his and Scott’s plans for their annual rafting trip in the spring, the new tattoo he was thinking of getting, if only he could find the proper herbs to seal the magic into his skin. Derek nodded and smiled at the appropriate moments, asked all the right questions. When Stiles moved on to Max, though, and how he thought she was probably smarter than even Lydia and how he looked forward to watching her run circles around Jackson, Derek got a pinched sort of look on his face.
“What’s up?” Stiles asked, interrupting himself in the middle of a sentence. “You’ve got that look on your face.” Derek’s frown intensified.
“What look?”
“That look that says that you’re having emotions and you’re not sure how to deal with them,” Stiles said. And because they’d been doing this for long enough now, he just took another bite of his dinner, scooping up mashed potatoes and a mushroom and a couple of bits of bacon onto his spoon while he waited for Derek to get his thoughts together or change the subject.
“I just never thought we’d get here,” Derek said finally, quiet but sure. It’d taken him a long time to learn to express emotions without immediately jumping up to leave the room, or tacking a question mark onto the end, as if he wasn’t sure what he was allowed to feel and who he was allowed to tell. “The pack, and Max and you. I just, it never even occurred to me that we’d get this far.”
“It is a little unnerving, I’ll admit,” Stiles said quietly. “We used to have to run for our lives a lot more than this. And even though there was that incident with hunters last month, and even though you keep making me train better ways to mix magic and hand to hand combat, we did still manage to get somewhere pretty nice, didn’t we?”
“Yeah,” Derek agreed, reaching out to take Stiles by the hand and swiping his thumb across his boyfriend’s palm. Stiles smiled at him, wide and honest.
The next morning, they woke up to Max yelling from her crib which had been set up in the guest bedroom, her voice scared and shrill. “Affa! Affa!”
Derek was out of bed like a shot. By the time Stiles had managed to untangle himself from the blankets, Derek and Max were coming back into their bedroom, Max in her penguin pajamas with her face buried in Derek’s naked chest.
“Someone had a nightmare, I think,” Derek said quietly, as Max shook her head back and forth, her forehead rubbing against Derek’s collarbone. Derek climbed gingerly back into bed, rolling over until he was on his side, his head propped up on his hand as he laid Max in between him and Stiles’. She took a breath like she was going to start yelling again, but Stiles put his hand on her belly and Derek brushed his finger down the side of her neck and she quieted, her face shifting back to her human one.
“She might just not have liked waking up alone,” Stiles said carefully. “But she could sense you, so she did what all good werewolf babies do, and yelled for help, didn’t you Maxa.”
The previous day’s winter storm had dissipated during the night and the bright early morning sun was poking through the shades. Stiles settled down further under his blankets, closing his eyes and letting the sounds of Derek talking quietly to Max wash over him. Soon he was asleep again in his warm cocoon.
When he woke up a little while later it was to Lydia standing in the doorway while Max sat right in front of his face, tugging on his ear.
“Hey, when did you get here,” he said roughly, pulling himself into a sitting position. Max protested the change in position by crawling into Stiles lap and using her baby werewolf strength to pull herself up his arm and over his shoulder.
“Tile!” she insisted, from where she balanced precariously her tummy pressed into Stiles shoulder. He reached out to steady her, letting her use his arm for balance while she squirmed into a sitting position. Lydia laughed as Max grabbed onto Stiles hair for more balance and he winced.
“Just a few minutes ago. I think your boyfriend is using breakfast as a ploy to get more time with my daughter. There’s a spread down there that could rival most hotel buffets. It’s a good thing that I brought Jackson, and Allison and Scott showed up earlier, and I think Isaac, Boyd and Erica are on their way.”
“So what you’re saying is,” Stiles said, pulling Max down into his lap. “Is that if I don’t get downstairs in the next four and a half seconds, I won’t get any breakfast.”
“As if Derek would let that happen,” Lydia scoffed. “Max, come back to mama, so Stiles can get dressed and we can all eat breakfast, okay?” And Max, because she was perfect, just patted Stiles on the nose and then crawled back across the mountains of sheets and blankets on the bed toward her mom. Stiles rubbed a hand over his face and then as soon as he heard the door shut, he let out a little, tiny whimper of pain. Max had clipped him with one of her claws, leaving a deep cut over his shoulder blade. Just as he was trying to figure out how he was going to reach it, the door to their bedroom opened again and Derek stepped in with a mutinous look on his face.
“Stiles.”
“I know, I know. I’m getting blood all over the bed. Can you get over here so I can use your super strength to close it? I can’t use only my own energy to heal myself.”
Derek wavered by the door for a moment. Stiles knew that there was a conversation that Derek wanted to have, but he eventually decided that it was more important that Stiles stop bleeding in the immediate future. He sat down with his back to Stiles, who put a hand up under his shirt to press against Derek’s tattoo. With a sharp burst of energy and a short trance state on Stiles’ part, the gash on his back closed off. When Stiles pulled his hand away from Derek’s back, Derek turned around just in time for Stiles’ head to land against his collar bone, as though it was too heavy for Stiles to hold up anymore.
“Stiles,” Derek said again once Stiles was able to pick his head up. He still looked a little pale, but he was steady as he pulled himself off the bed and started to get dressed. “You have to tell us if she hurts you. She’s never going to learn to control her strength around you if you don’t.”
Stiles heaved an irritated sigh, but didn’t respond. The line of his back as he pulled on a pair of jeans was tense and unhappy. The dresser drawer rattled when he pulled it out too hard. Derek pulled himself off of the bed to rest his chin on Stiles’ bare shoulder before Stiles could wrestle himself into a t-shirt, and wrap his arms around Stiles’ waist. Stiles tensed for a moment, and then sagged back against Derek.
“We were having fun, I didn’t want to turn it into something,” he said quietly. “I don’t like being something she has to be careful around.” He sounded so unhappy. Derek took a deep breath and let it out slowly against Stiles’ neck.
“Just this once, we can let it go,” he said quietly, pressing his nose to Stiles temple, a quick kiss to his ear. “But next time you have to tell me. It’s not just about you, it’s about her knowing how to be safe around other humans too.”
“I know,” Stiles sighed, grumpy and pulling away from Derek. “Now let me get a shirt on so I can eat breakfast before the wolves get it all. I’m starving.”
Breakfast was delicious – eggs and bacon and potato hash with fruit salad and orange juice and coffee. The pack was loud and boisterous and Max made her way around the table, climbing over people and wolves alike, pulling Allison’s hair and feeding Scott bacon and hanging off of Boyd’s arm with high pitched, beautiful giggles. It made the whole apartment seem quieter when they all left. And if in an effort to distract them both Stiles pounced on Derek that afternoon, naked too even though Derek was the only one to have just gotten out of the shower, no one really needed to know.
A few nights later, after a long day that involved one too many rude parents and a big awkward werewolf fight and shitty pizza for dinner, Stiles yelled something rude and Derek stormed out of their bedroom and made a show of trying to settle in for a night of sleeping on the couch. He woke up with Stiles on top of him, clinging to him like a limpet, and breathing evenly enough that one could almost believe he was asleep. Derek put a hand on the back of his neck and waited for him to speak.
“I want one,” Stiles said quietly. Derek’s thumb stopped where it had been stroking the side of his neck. Stiles felt him tense. “It doesn’t have to be right now, but I want a kid, or two, or three. And I want them with you.”
The quiet that followed was pervasive and heavy. Anxiety scuttled along Stiles skin like electricity, crowded up his lungs and made it hard to breathe. It was too dark and Derek’s hand was tight on the back of his neck, so Stiles couldn’t look up and see his expression.
And then, quite suddenly, Derek relaxed. He brought his thumb up to brush against Stiles’ lips and then said quietly, lovingly: “Okay.”