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Derek Hale swallowed a sigh and tried very hard not to pinch the bridge of his nose and groan. Instead he plastered a smile onto his face and tried, again, to hold out the card reader. “That’ll be 2839.95.”
“I’m in town pretty often,” the man said. “Used to work at the high school. You know, before my inheritance.” He let a short and stubby finger that seemed at odds with his otherwise tall and wiry frame lovingly stroke the hood of the bright yellow Lambo Huracan. “I bet you’ve never gotten to drive a beauty like this before. I’d love to show you what my baby could do, and then afterwards, maybe dinner at Alfredo’s–”
“I don’t like Italian,” Derek said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. It wasn’t the first time this guy couldn’t take a hint. He wore far too much cologne too; Derek was pretty sure he’d not only noticed an expensive bottle in the glove compartment of the car when he’d worked on it, but also seen the guy reach into the car to spray some extra on himself before this conversation. The stench was over-powering. Derek checked his watch. They’d said ten minutes to three, and it was now only 12 minutes to. The asshole was going to make him late. “Like I said, that’ll be 2839.95.”
Nearby, Boyd’s clanging on the engine he worked on became a rhythmic three short, three long and three short and he cast a meaningful look over to Derek, who tried to shake his head without the customer noticing. He was a grown man, and he didn’t need to be rescued. Not yet anyway. Further away, Isaac rolled out on the creeper from a broken down Chevy they’d been struggling with for weeks and looked pointedly at the cat clock on the wall. As if Derek needed a reminder.
“Yeah, fine, fine, but we wouldn’t need to have Italian. Alfredo is a personal friend of mine, I’m sure he’d whip us up something good.”
Okay, now Derek couldn’t keep his eyes from rolling anyway. “Alfredo isn’t the name of the owner or the chef. The woman who runs the place is named Aurelia, and she named the restaurant after her grandfather who taught her to cook. So I don’t know who your friend is, but your friend is a liar.” Or you are, more likely, Derek thought. “And that’ll be 2839.95, but if you’d rather I send you an invoice, you can just step into the office and talk to Erica.”
The man in front of him paled. He was tall and thin, and shiny like a leaking bottle of oil from top to toe, and very much not Derek’s type. No one was Derek’s type these days. Well, almost no one, but he’d never even seen a certain someone’s face, so who knew? A slight smile played on his lips at the thought, and he checked his watch again. Damn, now he was officially late.
The guy pulled out a black AmEx – of course he had a black AmEx – and flashed his Rolex before swiping. “Alright, then. Thank you for the work. I’ll come back again, and maybe by then you’ll have reconsidered?”
Derek very much doubted that, but didn’t say so. As much as he didn’t enjoy being hit on repeatedly, he couldn’t afford to piss off a guy willing to have a Lamborghini serviced at Derek’s garage too much. He handed off the pay slip and the paperwork.
“Thank you, sir. The keys are in the ignition. Drive safely.”
He quickly bolted into his own small office in the back and dialed the number he’d been given. He was three minutes late, and the woman on the other end – Derek thought her name was Kira – sounded relieved to hear from him.
“We thought you’d forgotten! We were just about to dig up your contact information. Emily is already on the line and Stiles is about to finish the news segment. Do you need me to give you the rules? Got your radio turned off?”
“I’m good,” Derek said, digging out the empty tin can and the screw driver from their hiding place among old receipts and secret candy wrappers in the top drawer and clanged the them together. “And my buzzer is ready.”
“That’s a truly horrible sound,” Kira told him, like she always did. “Alright, stay on the line, and Stiles will be right with you.”
Derek leaned back in his tattered and squeaky chair, threw his long legs up on the mess he called his desk and sighed. He’d made it. His heart was beating a little quicker in anticipation. It was the first semi-final, after all, it was fine to be nervous. The contest was why his heart was beating quicker. No other reason whatsoever.
A minute or two later, there were three short beeps on the line and then –
“Alright, listeners, let’s give a warm welcome back to Emily, the baker who so far has completely floored us with her knowledge of chemistry, and 12th century China, and in the other corner, Derek, our expert on topics as varied as Latin names for flowers, Russian authors, and African capitals.”
Derek shivered despite the warmth of his windowless office. On the radio, the voice sounded lighter, but on the phone it was deep and rich, like honey, and it slid down his spine in a way he could only describe as deeply pleasant.
“Hello again, Stiles, and hello, Derek, I look forward to beating you today,” a strange woman’s voice said.
“Hello, Emily, I promise not to hold it against you if you do. And hi, Stiles, hope you had a good week.”
“Thank you, I did. Derek, I know last time you managed to win even though you were distracted about your sister being sick, so how is she doing?”
“Things took a turn for the worse,” Derek, a quick glance at the photo of him and Cora he kept on his desk, “and they had to take her appendix out, but she’s on the mend and listening right now, I hope.”
“In that case, Cora, I hope you’ll feel better soon and that your brother will take you out for ice cream if he wins. I had my appendix out when I was a kid and I got to eat so much ice cream I think I gained five pounds. Emily, have you had your appendix out?”
“I haven’t, no,” Emily said. “but was close, once, I think. Luckily as adults, we can have ice cream whenever we want to, surgery or no surgery.”
“Ice cream is the best,” Stiles agreed. “Do you like ice cream, Derek?”
“I do, but this reminds me I’ve got a bone to pick with you, Stiles.”
“A bone? But I’m a disembodied voice on the radio! I have no bones! What’s on your mind?”
Usually the no windows to the outside world was a plague, but today he thought it a blessing. What if someone passed by and happened to glance inside to see Derek smiling stupidly to himself while on the phone with a local radio host?
“Last week, you recommended a new Ben & Jerry flavor on your show, and I’m not saying you’re a liar, but I have to question your taste when you don’t include the infinitely superior Impretzible Fudged. Yes, the PB S’more tasted like a summer campfire, but that can’t beat salty pretzels and fudge on chocolate ice cream, I’m sorry, but it just can’t.”
Stiles made a shocked sound that soon drowned in a chuckle. “How very dare you, sir? Salt has no business being on ice cream, and I think we need to have Derek come into the studio some time so we can have a blind test of all the new Ben & Jerry flavors, because I think he’s just being contrarian.”
“You’re on.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Derek caught the sight of Erica in the little window his office did have in the door, her face in astonishment and her hand gesturing wildly in apparent confusion. Yes, Derek was aware. It wasn’t like him to talk this much. It wasn’t like him to banter. Stiles just brought it out in him, he supposed, and turned his attention back to the call, where Emily was saying she hadn’t tried any of the new flavors because she was allergic to dairy, but she did enjoy their Lights! Caramel! Action! just as much as their PB & Cookies.
“You’re both such weirdos,” Stiles concluded with an affectionate note in his voice, “but you’re smart weirdos, and that’s why we’re here. Ladies and gentlemen and non-binary folk, it’s time for our weekly quiz show! You know the rules by now, eleven questions on a specific topic, three each to start with, where the other one of you needs to sit down and be quiet – I know, it’s my worst nightmare – and the last five are up for grabs using your homemade buzzers. Emily, can we hear yours?”
It was a shrill sound, like an egg-timer, and Derek could picture her in his head, maybe in her late forties, a housewife perhaps, sitting at home baking in her spare time with a collection of cat shaped egg-timers, in a kitchen that would always smell like cinnamon rolls. Oh, he was picturing one of his aunts. For all he knew Emily was an old lady, or a college student.
“Excellent, just don’t confuse it for your cookies being done. Derek?”
Derek clanged the screw driver against the tin again.
“Ouch,” Stiles laughed. “That sure is some sound and one day you’ll have to reveal what you do for a living so we can figure out what that is.”
“I like being a man of mystery, sorry.”
“See I like that about you, but I still think that means you must be a spy hiding in Beacon Hills for some reason having to do with trees, somehow. But let’s move on then, friends. The topic of the day is… the 90’s!”
Emily hummed and Derek groaned. What did he even know about the 90’s? A lot of the decade quizzes were about pop culture and celebrities, and that just wasn’t his thing. He understood it though, the quizzes were meant to be easy and accessible, and made so people could follow along at home. Most people didn’t live in a cultural cave, like Derek did, with his old movies and even older books.
“That’s right,” Stiles chatted on, “The 90’s, that means Monica Lewinsky, Spice Girls, and of course, probably too many questions about Ross and Rachel. Speaking of which, were they on a break? Emily, what do you think?”
“I think yes, but Ross still should have waited more than a few hours before moving on and sleeping with someone else.”
“Ooh, that’s a fair point, actually. Derek?”
“I… have no idea what you’re talking about, sorry.”
That earned him a hearty laugh from Stiles and Derek again failed not to shiver in his seat from the sound of it reverberating down his spine.
“Sorry, Derek, I’m not laughing at you, I’m only laughing in your general direction. Emily, are you starting to feel confident?”
She laughed too. “A little bit, but I never know about you, Stiles, some of your questions always surprise me.”
“Good, they’re supposed to, and this is our first semi final, so I have increased the difficulty a bit, I hope. Let’s jump right into the first question, shall we? And this one is for Derek. Derek, 1996 saw the first ever cloning of a sheep. What was her name?”
“Oh,” Derek let out a sigh of relief. “Her name was Dolly.”
“That is correct, one point for Derek, good job, Derek!”
Okay, Derek could do this.
Emily got her question right, and then they both failed one, and got one right, and that was the end of the individual questions.
“Okay, guys, this is incredibly exciting now, because we only have five questions left and our contestants are tied with two points each. How are you feeling, Emily?”
“Oh, I think I’m doing fine. But damn, that Tarantino question really got me.”
“Hopefully it didn’t make you too nervous for the future. Derek? Sitting tight?”
“I’d feel better if I had ice cream.”
“Man after my own heart. Cora, if you’re still listening, give your brother some of your ice cream”
Derek was calling from his work phone, but his cell chirped next to him on the desk and he glanced at it to see a text from Cora;
[Ask him out for ice cream, pls, I beg you.]
He ignored it. His heart didn’t, it liked the suggestion.
“Now is time to have your buzzers ready, as we move onto the last few questions. First off, in 1991, the volcano Mount Pinatubo erupted and caused huge amounts of devastation to the country where it’s located, what-“
Derek clanged his screw driver so quickly he accidentally hit himself on the knee, but the egg timer was faster. He was too busy holding back a string of curses not suitable for local afternoon radio to care too much about it, and Stiles wouldn’t like Derek threatening his family friendly rating.
“The Philippines.”
“Correct, one point to Emily. Step up your game, Derek, or at least your reflexes. Next, the Los Angeles riots in 1992 are thought to have been caused by the not guilty conviction of-“
The egg timer sounded. “Rodney King.”
“Ouch, Emily, I see why you’d think that was the answer to the question, but you were too quick there, so now Derek gets this all on his own. Derek, the Los Angeles riots in 1992 are thought to have been caused by the not guilty conviction of the officers who assaulted Rodney King. What’s the name of the man who filmed the assault?
“Oh, I know this, I watched a documentary about it not that long ago.” It was on the tip of Derek’s tongue, but damn, Stiles hadn’t been kidding about making it harder now. “It was… Holiday?”
“Amazing, Derek, that is correct!” Stiles sounded genuinely excited, and Derek could easily picture a faceless, formless person bouncing in his seat behind the mic in the studio. “Sorry about that, Emily, your impatience cost you a point and Derek got it instead, and the score is once again tied. Question number three, what European country famously and peacefully split into two in 1992?”
There! The egg timer went off, but Derek’s screw driver was faster.
“Czechoslovakia.”
“Good job, Derek, but maybe that was an easy one for you. Emily, this is your chance to even out the score again: David Fincher directed this famous 90’s movie starring Brad Pitt, Gwyneth Paltrow and-“
Derek had no idea, but Emily clearly did. “Seven.”
Oh, Derek had seen that, now that the thought of it. Erica liked it, she’d made him. Derek had found it discomforting.
“Great job! And listeners, Emily and Derek are tied again for the last point! Starting from Jan 1, 1990 and up until Dec 31, 1999, how many prime ministers did the UK have during the 90s, and what were their names?”
The buzzers sounded roughly at the same time, but Derek accepted that Emily was a fraction faster. He wondered if he should’ve used a car horn instead, the clanging wasn’t as quick.
“Two. John Major and Tony Blair.”
“I’m sorry, Emily, but that is incorrect. Derek?”
“Three. Margaret Thatcher was still prime minister at the beginning of 1990. And then John Major and Tony Blair.”
“That is correct, and we have a winner! Congratulations, Derek, and I’m so sorry this is the end for you, Emily. You’ve been a wonderful contestant to have on the show and I’m sure all our listeners will miss you terribly.”
“Oh well, I have only my impatience to blame, I suppose,” Emily replied. “Congratulations, Derek. Well-deserved.”
“Thank you. And thank you Stiles. I enjoyed this a lot.”
“I live to please.” He let the last word drag out and Derek wondered if Stiles knew what that was doing to his crotch. Erica appeared in the door window again with a sign saying “Ask him out!!!”
“That’s the end of today’s quiz, everyone. There’ll be no quiz next week due to the fact that I’m having root canal, and my wonderful producer, Kira, will be keeping you company along with our resident veterinarian, Scott, to answer all your pet questions, but the week after that we’re doing our second semi final between Mark and Lydia, and in three weeks we’ll have Derek with us again for the final, so remember to tune in for that. Bye Emily, and thank you for participating, and Derek, hang back to chat with Kira before you hang up, okay?”
“Okay.”
The three beeps sounded again, and Kira was on the line. “Congrats Derek, I just need to double check I have all your correct information, okay?”
Derek gave her his name, number and address again, and confirmed the date and time for the next call, including what number he should be calling to get through right away, and then it was done. Derek turned on the radio. Stiles voice was still pleasant to listen to, just not quite as pleasant with layers of recording equipment to interfere. Derek wondered what the other man sounded like in real life, with no technology between them.
Stiles was now talking about appendectomies again – Stiles could make any topic interesting, Derek felt sure about that – delving into the difference between appendix length in carnivores, omnivores and herbivores.
Erica knocked and entered. “Seriously, I think he’s flirting with you.”
“I think he’s hired to be pleasant on the radio.”
“Yeah, but he remembered Cora’s name, Derek. From two weeks ago?”
“That’s just considerate. And for all you know, Kira, the producer, takes notes and just hands them to him so he can fake being interested in people. And besides, I don’t even know what he looks like.”
“I do.” She grinned mischievously while twisting her engagement ring. “And you’ll get to find out.”
She suddenly had his full attention. “What?”
“Boyd went to high school with Stiles. And he’s been invited to our wedding, and as of yesterday has RSVP’d yes and will not be bringing a plus one.”
“Since when is he invited to your wedding?”
“Since the first quiz, when I thought he was flirting with you and you seemed to enjoy it.”
She walked back out and Derek had no choice but to follow her out into the garage. “Did you seriously–”
“Of course I did. I’m all for getting my oldest friend and best boss laid.”
“That’s inappropriate in the work place,” Isaac called from underneath the Chevy.
“It is, Erica. Watch it.”
“That’s fine. I’ll just tell you after work instead. Are we still on for dinner?”
He nodded. “Sure. But you, get back to work, and stop trying to meddle in my love life.”
“Ah, so you admit the topic of Stiles is the same topic as your love life.”
“Fuck you, Erica.”
“No, thank you, Boyd exclusive.”
Derek shook his head and turned his attention to the garage. The radio was on here in the hall too. Of course it was. Who in town didn’t listen to Around Beacon Hills, the local afternoon radio show with Stiles? Anyone who couldn’t, that was who, he supposed, but Derek was in charge of the radio because it was his garage.
There were four cars inside at the moment, now that the Lambo had left – leaving behind the guy’s phone number, of course, because Derek’s admirers were always just on the wrong side of the border to appropriate. Derek popped the hood of the blue Volvo 240 and sighed. This would take the rest of his afternoon.
As he worked, his thoughts kept drifting to whatever Stiles was talking about at the moment. He had a guest on from the local hospital talking about the importance of hand hygiene, and then read some social media comments. Some of the comments he got were… well, Derek thought they were inappropriate, but Stiles would always laugh them off as if they didn’t bother him.
He thought about his own ridiculous little crush on the man he’d never met or even seen, and only knew through the persona he used during his daily show, but at least Derek had never gone online to tell Stiles what his voice did to him, like it seemed other people had. Who even knew what Stiles looked like? Well, Erica and Boyd, of course, but it wasn’t like Stiles used a real name, or a last name. Derek didn’t know him, and he always reminded himself of that. Parasocial relationships were a thing and it was so easy to delude oneself into believing that a local semi-celebrity knew or cared who you were.
Like Derek had told Erica, it might just be Kira keeping track of what Derek had mentioned last time he had been on the air and reminding Stiles of it beforehand. There was absolutely nothing that said Stiles even remembered Derek existed outside of the now five times he’d been on the show for the quiz. And as long as Derek remembered that, he was free to feel or think however he wanted about Stiles.
“…well, folks, it’s two o’clock on a Wednesday, and that means we take a look at what’s been going on around town in the past few days and see if there’s anything our awesome community can help out with. First of all, I want to say a big thank you to long time listener, Sandra, who was able to get in contact with Jamie who called in last week with the issue he was having with his grandmother’s estate. I’ve been told that Sandra lost her own gran a few years ago and she had some ideas about where Jamie’s grandmother might have stored those papers he needed to find for the lawyer, and lo and behold, they were indeed stored behind the washing powders in the laundry room in her basement, which I have to say is a pretty genius idea, because what burglar would look there for important stuff? Except I guess it’s not anymore now that I’ve said so on the air, so oops, tell all your little old ladies to move their papers to a safe or give them to a lawyer instead. Good job, Sandra, and James asked me to tell you he’s been able to sort things out and he won’t be losing the house to his cousins thanks to you.”
Derek smiled to himself, his face far into the Chevy’s engine where no one would notice. This was one of his favorite segments of Stiles’ show. People would call in about all kinds of problems, and sometimes Stiles would be able to answer, sometimes he called up a friend – he had so many friends for so many different areas of expertise that Derek sometimes wondered if they weren’t all paid actors – and sometimes other listeners would call in and offer help, advice or even services.
He listened to Stiles help put an older man in touch with a younger guy who could help him figure out how to Skype with his grandkids, and then talk a college freshman out of dropping out from too much stress over her grades – he suggested a lower course load first, and then he did a little roundup on crimes that had been committed. A house had been burgled and Stiles asked the community to be on the lookout for a pink bike belonging to a seven year old girl and he’d offer a reward. There had been an assault in the park and Stiles asked listeners to be careful and walk together if they could. He also suggested people contact city hall to ask them to improve the lights in and around the park since many of the street lights there were broken.
“And now I need to bring up something very sad. Early last night, one of our regular listeners, Jenny, who called in a few weeks ago and was helped with her Spanish homework, and as I understand it made a new friend at the elderly care facility as a result, was in a hit and run. She was on her bike, and her mom told me she wasn’t far from home when a car hit her. Jenny is in critical condition, but we’re all rooting for her to pull through and, I want to say, personally, to Angela, Jenny’s mother, that I am so very sorry about what happened to your wonderful daughter, and I’ve spoken to Daisy’s, and they’re sending over some food for you so you don’t have to leave her side until she’s at least stable.”
The sounds around Derek had stopped, and he realized he’d stopped working too. Isaac and Boyd had all looked up, and Erica was in the door to the office, looking furious. Beacon Hills was a peaceful little town, and Derek couldn’t remember there ever having been a hit and run before. He even remembered the time Jenny had called in for help with her homework, and he remembered the segment where Stiles had joined her to visit Sunset Acres to find the elderly couple who had helped her out. Stiles had devoted lots of time that week to the value of learning from different generations, and treating the elderly as the wealth of knowledge and experience they could be, and also on the importance of conversations for learning languages.
“I also have some information from the sheriff’s department that I want to share with all of my listeners now. The car that hit Jenny has been described as a yellow sports car by some younger kids who were playing basketball nearby. The car took off very fast and police are of course interested in finding out who the driver is. No one caught the license plate, but one of the kids saw one of those stickers like ‘the only difference between men and boys is the price of the toys’, you know? So if anyone knows of or sees a car matching that description, I want to make sure you understand that’s not in any way proof of guilt, because there can be many cars like it, but please do contact the sheriff’s department about any information you have so they can investigate. If nothing else, process of elimination can be helpful. Jenny lives near Birch Avenue and the car in question took off towards the preserve, which is pretty close. Again, this happened last night. I hope Andrea will keep us posted about how Jenny is doing, and also tell us her favorite cookies and, well, I’m not saying I will bake them for her, because I don’t want Jenny to die of food poisoning, but hey, maybe we can ask Emily, our contestant from last week, to help us out? Emily, get in contact with us if you want to give us a hand.”
“See?” Erica said softly behind him, her chin on Derek’s shoulder. “He’s not faking anything at all, that one.”
“That doesn’t mean-“
“No, I know, that doesn’t mean he’s actually flirting with you, but there’s a tone, okay? There’s a tone he gets whenever you push back on something he says, that he doesn’t get with other people. He likes you, and I’m going to be best woman at your wedding or you’re dead meat.”
“Must be a lot of yellow sports cars with stickers like that,” Isaac said, rummaging around a box of screws and bolts for the one he needed. “Pretty typical, isn’t it?”
“Classic,” Erica said. “Big car, tiny dick, doesn’t care about other people than himself. God, I’m glad I never dated a guy who loved his car that much!”
“Lots of people love their cars, and still don’t think they’re toys, and it has nothing to do with their dick size,” Derek objected, the object of most of his own affections being parked outside, safely tucked underneath a tarp to protect her from the rain that had been in the forecast for later that day. But Erica’s words set something off in his brain.
He’d seen such a sticker before, hadn’t he? Against a yellow coat too. He snapped his fingers. That guy from Friday! It was less than a week ago, but that had been it! A yellow sports car, driven by just the type of guy Erica was talking about. Yes, Derek had no problem seeing the guy who couldn’t hear the word no, as being just the type to hit a bike with his car and then panic and drive off. And what had he said? He lived in Sacramento now, but he drove by here a lot. Visiting parents, Derek thought he’d said. What was his name again?
He shrugged Erica off of him and she went to chat with her fiance instead as Boyd and Isaac returned to their work. Derek sat down in her chair in the front-office and dug through the filing cabinet. Most their data were stored on the computer now, but Erica had a system, that she’d explained to Derek several times. She wouldn’t file something properly until at least ten days had passed, because if the client came back unhappy before then, she’d just have to redo the work. As a result, the file with the work Derek had done on that guy’s car was still in the cabinet. It took him a few minutes to find it, but there it was. Lamborghini Huracan. It had needed some heavy maintenance and a couple parts had to be replaced. And there was the registration number. And the name. Adrian Harris.
Derek had almost dialed the number to the radio station before realizing he was being silly. He wasn’t doing this for Stiles. It was the right thing to do, that was all. He called the sheriff’s station.
“We’ve heard again from Angela today. Jenny is doing better and has been conscious for a little bit. She hasn’t been able to eat all the almond cookies you wonderful people have made her, and Angela promises that all the extra food she was sent from you all, and that she can’t eat herself, was donated to the homeless shelter on Nelson, so yay. I’m so happy to hear Jenny sounds like she’s going to do better. I’ve also heard from the sheriff’s station!”
Derek perked up and then cursed as his socket wrench hit one of his fingers.
But maybe he’d been right?
“Turns out, one of you called the sheriff yesterday with information about a car matching the description of the hit and run, and it turns to be the right one! The driver has been arrested. My da- I mean the sheriff says the man is very sorry he hurt someone, but well, I’m sure that’s true? Wouldn’t most of us be? But some of us maybe wouldn’t just run off like that? Maybe some of us would’ve stayed and accepted our responsibility, and made sure the person we hurt was okay? And some us, apparently, are the type of people to keep track of cars and also takes the time out of our day to call in about it. I have the name of the caller from the sheriff, and if he’d like to call in to the station today, we can chat about it, if he feels comfortable? I think he’s got the number, since he’s called in before.”
Boyd shoved his shoulder with his own. “You should call him. Stiles is cool, he wants to thank you, or he wouldn’t have suggested you call.”
“I don’t need to be thanked,” Derek insisted.
“It’s nice being thanked sometimes.”
Boyd’s fingers were suddenly in Derek’s pocket and he dug out Derek’s phone. Derek dove after it, but Boyd held it out of his reach and quickly tossed it to Isaac who unlocked it and dug through numbers. “Oh, the radio station’s number is saaaved, under Stiles. Heart eyes, Derek, heart eyes.”
“Oh that’s even better,” Boyd laughed and held Derek back from lunging at Isaac who pressed the dial button and waited. Derek struggled free and got his hands on it right as Kira answered on the other end.
“Hi, yeah, it’s Derek Hale.”
“Oh, Derek, hello! Stiles said you were going to call, let me put you through right away!”
“No, no, wait, I-”
The three beeps Derek had become used to sounded in his ear and then he was on the air.
“Derek, our local genius!” Stiles exclaimed. “Listen, turn off your radio or go somewhere where you can’t hear it, okay, or we’re going to get a feedback loop.”
Derek sighed and hurried into his own office. “Yeah, I’m alone now. Sorry about that. My friend made me call.”
“Now why would you need to be forced into calling your old pal Stiles? Guys, Derek is actually the person who reported the car from the hit-and-run. Why don’t you tell us how you saw it, Derek?”
Derek fell down into his desk chair and ran his hand through his hair.
“Fine, I guess. You know how you always ask me what I do for a living? Well, I run a garage, and it’s as simple as I worked on that car not that long ago. Remembered that sticker you mentioned, and I checked my files. Gave the sheriff a name. That’s it. Didn’t even know if it really was the same person until you told us just now.”
“Still,” Stiles insisted. “Not everyone would’ve bothered. I know Angela and Jenny will appreciate it, and I personally thank you so much too. She’s such a great girl, and she didn’t deserve what happened to her.”
“I remember the time she called in. I… I listen to your show every day, you know, it’s all we play here at the garage after lunch.”
Stiles toned lightened. “Aw, how awesome. I’m glad you do, you know. I pictured you being a librarian or something, since you know so much random stuff.”
Derek smiled to himself, his hopes rising like a wave. Maybe he really did exist to Stiles outside the show after all? “I do like reading. In the mornings I listen to audiobooks when I work. And I guess I just like learning stuff.”
“Me too! And there’s so much to learn out there too! I swear sometimes I get into a subject and I’ll just spend hours and hours going deeper and deeper into a Wikipedia rabbit hole, and then I emerge half a day later with my stomach empty and my head full and I don’t know what in the world happened.”
“I like that about you though,” Derek chuckled. “I get most of my information from documentaries and podcasts, I suppose.”
“Oh, podcasts are another great source of information, that’s true. I should listen to more podcasts. They’re a slower form of information, but that might be good for me. So tell us about your garage, Derek. This show is ad free, but you’re welcome to plug your business if you want.”
“I like to rely on word of mouth usually.”
“Oh, but if you tell me, I can help with that, I give excellent mouth!”
Derek blinked. He adjusted his seat.
“Er… I’m being told by my excellent producer, Kira, that what I just said was deeply inappropriate and she threatens to add an earlier song break if we don’t move the topic to safer areas and–”
“Hale’s Auto,” Derek said quickly. “We’re on Aspen Road, not far from the library and we’ll fix anything with or on wheels. Including Jenny’s bike if there’s anything that can be saved of it, once she feels better.”
“Oh yes, Jenny, yes, poor Jenny. Poor Jenny’s bike. I’ll pass it onto Angela, Jenny’s mom, who I’m sure will want to thank you herself eventually. Well, folks, we’re on with local hero genius Derek, and now you get to feast your ears on the actual planned song I was going to play for you today, which is by Fleetwood Mac, Silver Springs, enjoy it!”
Derek hadn’t been on air during a song break before so he wasn’t sure what he should do, but he couldn’t hear any music. Instead Stiles chatted on with him, asked again how Cora was doing, and they talked about podcasts Derek thought Stiles might like. Stiles’ earlier words kept playing in his ears though. Derek was sure it had been an honest mistake though, but maybe… maybe Erica or Cora weren’t as off as he’d thought. Maybe… maybe Derek should dare ask Stiles out after all? Just for coffee? Chat more about trivia, or Stiles’ mouth, or whatever. The song ended before he could get a chance to bring up the subject.
“I hope you enjoyed that one, my friends. I still have Derek on with me, from Hale’s Auto, the best garage in town I hear, and definitely where I’ll be taking my beloved Roscoe next time, but let’s not start talking about my precious baby, or I’ll never stop, and Kira already has her hands full with me. Derek, you deserve a reward.”
“No, I don’t need a reward.”
“You’re getting one anyway. I just decided. We already have your address from the quiz, so we’ll be sending you a gift card for… yeah let’s make it the book store, because you like books. Expect it in the mail within a week, but you’ve gotta promise to let me know on one of our social media channels what book you got, because I love knowing that stuff. Okay?”
“Fine.”
“Listen to him, huh, guys? Fine, like I just asked him for a piggyback. You’re adorable, Derek. We should let you get back to work now though, because we’re about to get into the news in a minute. It’s been great chatting with you outside the quiz! I hope you have a great day!”
“Thank you. And good luck on your root canal tomorrow.”
“Aw, Derek, you rem-“
Three beeps and then it was cut off. “Sorry, I cut him off!” Kira said in his ear. “I’m sorry, Derek, Stiles is just thanking you again. We’ll have that gift card sent off today. He’s not kidding about telling him what you bought with it though. He gave me one to Sephora once and I left it in my purse for a month and he got real pissy about it.”
“I will,” Derek promised, and hung up.
Derek stared at the book in his hand. “Do I have to get twitter now?”
Erica slammed the appointment book close and shook her head. “No. No one uses twitter anymore except racists.”
“Facebook?”
“Again, racists. And old people I guess.”
He sighed. “Can’t I just send him an e-mail?”
“You have e-mail?” She raised a carefully plucked eyebrow at him.
“I do. I mean, the garage has one.”
“Right, and when you give that out as your private e-mail, I’m the one who has to deal with it, so no. Come on, give me your phone.”
Derek sighed again and handed it over. He’d stopped trying to win against Erica when she was this determined back when they were 12. “Don’t install something that will spy on me.”
“Okay, so not Instagram. Let’s see. Oh, I bet the show has tumblr or Bluesky or something. Let me check their website… yes, they have a tumblr. I’m downloading that for you. And stop sighing at me, this isn’t a hardship, it’s a communication channel to a cute boy that you like for his personality and who clearly thinks about blowing you.”
Derek blushed. “That’s not- you don’t know that!”
“Derek, it was hilarious, and he obviously forgot he was on the air when you were talking. There. I’ve downloaded you the app, and made you an account, and look, here’s their tumblr account. You can click that little face icon when you’re ready to say hi and show him the book.”
“Show? I was just going to tell him the title.”
“No, no, you’ve gotta take a picture. The point is how pretty the book is!”
Derek glared at her. “That is not the point of buying a book at all.”
“Oh come on, as if you couldn’t have bought a book you hadn’t already read. You got that one because you liked the edition.”
“It has a ribbon,” Derek said quietly, fingering it gently. It was a pleasant dark green and matched the spine of the book. “I like books with ribbons. I always lose my bookmarks.”
Erica smiled at him. “You should tell him that, it’s cute. But still, take a picture. You do know how to do that at least, right?”
“Yes, Erica, I am not completely technologically handicapped.”
“If you say so.”
Derek went into his office so he could be alone, but he did take a picture of the book, enjoying the feel of it in his hands. The ribbon was nice and silky, and he wanted to dig in and do a proper reread right away. But it would have to wait until he came home. He opened the new app on his phone and looked at the page Erica had found for him. Around Beacon Hills Radio, it said, and there were posts upon posts about stuff that Stiles had talked about on the show, some of it with additional information. He even found comment sections, and wow, it seemed to be a popular account.
Derek clicked the icon Erica had pointed out and was taken to a page for direct messages. It didn’t look that much different from the messaging app Cora had made him get, so at least this was familiar territory.
He wasn’t as technologically inept as his friends and family liked to joke he was, and had no problem finding the button for uploading the picture he had just taken.
DerekHale91
[Hi Stiles, this is the Derek to whom you sent the book shop gift card. Just wanted to let you know I spent it on this edition of Richard Adam’s Watership Down because my mother read it to me when I was a kid. Also, it has a ribbon, and I like books with ribbons.]
There. He’d done what he’d promised. If Stiles wanted to, he could write back. Or maybe Kira would, pretending to be Stiles? How would Derek know? By the amount of words used, probably, but maybe Stiles was a different person in writing. He dropped his phone into his pocket and went back out to work.
There had been no response by the time he was done for the day and Derek tried not to be disappointed. Stiles was busy in the afternoon. He worked. He would just be coming off the air about now.
“Oh, Derek, me and Boyd are going to try out wedding cakes at that adorable bakery just down the street, you have to come!” Erica called as she saw him about to leave.
“Do I have to?”
“Yes. Please?”
“That’s better.”
He’d passed that bakery a few times, but Derek was not the type to visit bakeries. Too much sweet (his secret candy bar stash not-withstanding, Derek didn’t like too much sweet). He was fine with desserts in diners, but bakeries were for birthdays and special occasions. Like weddings, he supposed. Boyd and Erica looked nauseatingly in love as they fed each other spoons of red velvet, green princess, coconut and Derek’s favorite, chocolate raspberry. The girl who made them went back and forth fetching more cakes and then stopped by his chair.
“Hey. It’s Derek, right?”
“Yeah?” Her voice sounded familiar to him, but he couldn’t place it. “Do I know you?”
“I’m Emily. From the radio quiz. Whom you beat in the quiz, despite my best efforts.”
Derek stared at her. This was Emily? She was tall, mid to late twenties, and covered in tattoos. Her t-shirt announced her as a fan of veggies and pussy, and her hair had more colors than a toddler’s crayon box. Her face and ears had more metal than Derek’s Big Box of Random Screws. She was grinning, as if knowing exactly what he was thinking.
“I’m so sorry,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean to-”
“It’s okay, I know. I don’t look like the typical baker. Or the typical girl who makes it to the semifinal of a quiz show on local radio.”
“No I didn’t- I mean, people don’t usually look at me and assume I like to read, you know. I get it. I just thought you were older, I guess? This your place?”
“It’s my aunt’s, but I’m supposed to take it over once I prove to her I’ve got what it takes. How are you enjoying the cakes?”
“The chocolate raspberry is delicious.”
“If I’d known you were coming, I’d have made you something with salty caramel in it.”
“That sounds good for ice cream and cookies,” Erica said, “but keep it out of my wedding cake please. Boyd, babe, I think the red velvet is our winner.”
Boyd nodded, his mouth too full to respond.
“I'll get you a good deal on it,” Emily smiled. “Will you be getting your own cake topper or shall I bring you some to choose from?”
“We've got a ceramic one from my grandma,” Boyd said. “Well-preserved too, it's only chipped in one place and Erica thinks that's part of its charm.”
“Alright then, I'll get you an order form!” Emily bounced away into a backroom and Derek returned to his single piece of chocolate raspberry cake. The cake had just the right texture and had a layer of melted chocolate over the raspberry layer as well as on top, ensuring that every spoonful came with sweet, gooey deliciousness.
Raspberries were in season, Derek remembered, and promised himself he would get some. Much healthier than chocolate.
(He ordered a large cake to go, to share with his sister. And maybe there’d be some left for him to bring to work the next day.)
Derek’s phone pinged in his pocket as he made it up the two flights of stairs to the apartment he shared with Cora, but he didn't check it until he'd settled into his comfy reading chair in the corner of his living room, the new book on the table next to him (and next to a sizable piece of the cake). He didn't recognize the notification icon but quickly realized it was tumblr – Stiles could have responded!
His hand shook as he opened the message and put a forkful of cake into his mouth.
AroundBeaconHillsRadio
[Hey! That's a great choice, I love that nautical stuff too!]
Derek's heart sank in his chest. Stiles didn't know about one of Derek's favorite books, and such a classic too. If this even was Stiles responding from this account of course. And even if it was – how did Derek know the smart and funny guy on the radio didn't have all of his lines prepared for him? Sure, it sounded quick and witty on air, and their banter always felt real, but how would Derek really know?
Another message from the account -
[And if you didn't get that joke, you're not as cool as I thought you were]
[Then I guess I'm not as cool as you thought I was?]
[Aw, Derek, that's disappointing, didn't you ever watch Flight of the Conchords?]
Flight of the- what?
[I don't watch much TV. Unless that's a movie. In which case I don't watch much modern movies. Sorry, old fogey.]
[You're not old! I looked you up and you're just a few years older than me. I love that book! That's such a coincidence, I read it in high school after I found it at my grandpa's and he said it was about rabbits and like it is, sure but it's also about an entire world hidden away from human perspectives, isn't it? And the rabbits are still rabbits, you know? It's not like cartoons where they're humans who just look like rabbits, like in Disney. Not that I dislike Disney, they own Star Wars now after all so I have to suck up so they let me be an extra some day. Sorry, I ramble.]
Derek smiled at the screen. This couldn't be anyone else but Stiles.
He got himself another slice of the cake and leaned back in his chair, his book forgotten.
There was no cake left the next day (and Cora was both furious and disgusted with her brother for having eaten the entire thing himself).
What there was, was a red-faced blushing Derek anytime his phone pinged and a knowing, leering Erica laughing at him through the window to the office every time she caught him replying. Responses came less frequently when Stiles was on the air, but there were usually a few messages whenever a song or a pre-recorded segment played.
Stiles told him about his favorite books. Stiles told him about movies Derek had never heard of because he lived under a rock and liked it that way. Stiles told him jokes. Stiles told him about his favorite thing to get at his favorite diner.
Derek told Stiles about his favorite older movies. Derek told Stiles about his love of cars, and how much he loved the Camaro he'd inherited from Laura. Derek told Stiles a short version about what had happened to Laura and Stiles told him a short version of what had happened to his mother.
And then Stiles and Derek told each other about what they'd done that day, and their plans for the weekend, and what they thought the best part of Watership Down was, and how pissed they both were about what the mayor's office was planning with the field that had been intended for a dog park but now the plan seemed to have changed to a parking lot.
And then Derek told Stiles he was looking forward to competing in the quiz finale on Friday and he never should have done that because-
[Oh crap, I forgot about all that! Actually, Derek, it might be against some kind of rule that friends of mine aren't allowed to compete, so we should probably stop talking for now. At least until after the final, you know?]
Derek quickly cycled through the many messages he'd composed in his head where he asked Stiles out on a date but came up short.
[Oh, okay. I understand. I'll talk to you on Friday then. Enjoy that pizza you ordered (even if you put pineapple on it, you monster.]
[It makes my breath smell really great]
That could've been an opening, Derek supposed. But it could also just be a joke like any other joke Stiles made.
It was Tuesday, and at least Friday was only a few days away.
By Wednesday, Derek considered dropping out of the contest. The quiz was fun, and it felt great to have advanced to the final, but he was already missing getting to talk to Stiles. If he dropped out, he could ask Stiles out for coffee, and put some feelers out on if a date was on the table if it seemed like they had good chemistry in person.
It would be worth it.
Except that Derek hadn't gone to college, and a lot of people expected a mechanic like him to be generally ignorant and uninterested in things outside of engines. A lot of people looked at him and thought he'd be just a pretty face with muscles, who never picked up a book or knew anything about anything important. He wanted to prove them wrong.
(He wanted to prove to Stiles he could win)
On Friday, Derek was prepared. He'd set aside a whole hour before he was due to make the call to the radio station to read up on current events to see if there was anything that might have sparked a topic (he'd noticed that happening before) and related background information. He scrolled through Wikipedia entries on specific decades while listening to music playlists in case he'd be expected to know what was popular. He didn't know if Stiles made the questions himself, but just in case, he'd watched several episodes of Flight of The Conchords the night before. He'd put a sign on his door to say “Do not disturb” and had growled at his employees to stay out. Just in case.
“Hello, hello, hello, to Derek and Lydia!” Stiles' smooth voice rumbled in Derek's ear. “How are you doing today? Lydia? Any luck finding that rare tome you needed for your dissertation?”
Lydia was going to beat Derek today, he felt sure of it; she'd crushed the competition every time, while he had just scraped by more than once. She also sounded so sure of herself every time. He pictured her at a desk covered in text books, a librarian perhaps? Always had the answers to everything, glasses halfway down her nose, ready to shush you if you were too loud – but he'd been so wrong about Emily, so he shook his head at himself. So silly. Also, Derek was a regular at the library and he knew all the librarians (he also knew how all of them took their coffee or tea. The librarians loved Derek.)
“I did find a copy, yes, but it was the wrong edition, again!”
“You'd think the world would be full of first editions of Newton's Principia, wouldn't you?” Stiles commiserated. “Again, I ask of our viewers, if anyone's holding, let us know. I'm sure Lydia will be very careful and not spill crumbs or coffee on it”
“I've never destroyed a book in my life, Stiles, don't tell me you have?”
“Well... let's say I read like I live my life, hard, fast and take no prisoners. Derek, our local hero and car mechanic, have you ever ruined a book?”
“Only once, and I volunteered at the library for a month to make up for it, but in my defense it was my cousin who'd dragged in all the mud, and it was one of my sisters who spooked me and made me drop the book in it.”
“Siblings sounds so much fun, I'm so glad I never had any. All book destruction in my house was accidental but possibly avoidable by someone whose name was not Stiles and I own that. But I digress. I'm sure you're both eager to take your place as Beacon Hills quiz king or queen, so let's begin, Lydia, can I hear your buzzer?”
The sound was unmistakably a chew toy being squeezed, followed by a tiny yap. “I'm set.”
“My producer would insist, I'm sure, on you clarifying that you are not squeezing your actual dog to produce that sound.”
Lydia giggled. “Prada is just fine, he just doesn't like it when I borrow his toys.”
“Poor little Prada. Derek?”
“I'm ready.” He clanged the wrench against the tin can and leaned back in his chair. He had a candy bar ready to celebrate if he won (and to console himself if he lost), and had already unwrapped it.
“Ah, and now that we know that Derek is a mechanic, we can assume that was some sort of tool against metal, is that correct?”
Derek decided to take a leap. “You are indeed correct, Stiles, but if you want to learn more about my tool you've gotta come down to my garage sometime.”
There was a moment's pause before Stiles continued.
“Sweet-talking the judge will unfortunately not get you any extra points. In this contest at least. Let's dive in, you know the rules, three questions each at first, and then it's buzzer time. And the topic of the week iiiiiis.... The Olympics!”
Derek sighed. Another topic he was far from an expert in. But Lydia sighed too and his hopes were raised.
“Uh-oh, I can hear you both,” Stiles said. “Not the topic you were hoping for, Lydia?”
“Hardly. I only watch a few events each time. Sports in general are not my forte.”
“My, my, we finally found a topic Lydia is unsure of. How about you, Derek?”
“Same here I'm afraid. I know the origin story, I think, but I didn't watch most of it last time, although we did have it broadcast on the radio in the background.”
Stiles gasped. “Listeners, are you hearing what I'm hearing? Derek listens to radio shows that aren't mine! The betrayal! Maybe he deserves to have a difficult topic.”
Lydia laughed. “I'm sorry to tell you this, Stiles, but I also listen to other radio shows. Occasionally.”
“I am so hurt. So hurt in fact that I'm just going to dive into the first question, which is for Derek. Are you ready, Derek?”
“Yes, I am.” Alright. This was it. Win, impress Stiles, ask him out. Derek could do this.
“Ouch, sorry Lydia, that was wrong too, ancient athletes actually completed in the nude. That sounds uncomfortable to me, and, I'm sure, to anyone else with hanging appendages of any kind – aaand producer Kira is giving me the stink eye for once again threatening this radio show’s family friendly rating. That was the end of the first round, and well, folks, our two geniuses are tied with zero points each. Isn't that a real shame?”
Derek gritted his teeth. Damn it. He’d known this wouldn't be the right topic for him, but he didn't think he knew this little about the Olympics. Had he even watched it last time? He felt he must have seen at least something. He remembered a pole vaulter and googling why the guy didn't compete for the US anymore. He felt he might have watched the opening ceremonies. There'd been something about a female boxer? Or wrestler maybe? There'd been something about a guy with a gun. Thus ended Derek Hale's impression of the last Olympics.
At least Lydia was equally bad today.
“We'll move onto the buzzer portion of the contest, so keep them ready. You know, if you know the answer, which is starting to seem unlikely.”
“I bet I could come up with eleven questions on a topic that you can't answer either, Stiles,” Derek interjected, making sure to keep his voice teasing and not blaming. Maybe car engines?
“I'm sure you could, and I look forward to having you drill me for answers some day. But now, question seven, be ready. What was so special about the 2020 Olympic games?”
The dog toy squeaked.
“Lydia?”
“It was canceled due to the pandemic, and held in 2021 instead.”
“Oh thank god, someone got a point! Sorry, Derek, but you might know the next one. These days, the winner gets a medal, but before that-”
Derek slammed his wrench against the can as quick as he could. “They got laurels!”
“Look at you getting all excited. That is indeed correct, before the winners received a nice medal they could melt down in hard times, they got a nice twig to wear on their head. And I bet they all looked really pretty.”
Neither of them got the next two questions and Derek drew a long breath as Stiles readied himself for the final question. The stakes were high – so high.
“Alright you two, this is it. The final question of this quiz season. At 28 medals, who is the most decorated Olympian of all-”
The toy squeaked a fraction of a second after Derek's wrench banged against the tin can – at least he thought so.
“Oh, that was close,” Stiles exclaimed with excitement. “We're gonna have to hear from Kira, who’s got your sound input on individual channels and can check who was first. Kira?”
“That was close, yes, but Derek was first, so he's got first shot at this answer.”
“Got it, Derek, who is it?”
Derek smiled to himself. “It's Michael Phelps.”
“Oh, are you sure?”
His smile faded. “I... no, but I think so?”
“Just asking since you said you don't know much about sports.”
“No but... isn't it Michael Phelps?”
Stiles laughed, a sound Derek thoroughly enjoyed and hoped to be given a chance to elicit in real life at some point. “I'm just teasing you, Derek, yes, you're right, and with an astoundingly abysmal two points, you are the winner of this season's quiz show! Congratulations!”
Suddenly, Derek's brain was empty. He'd won. So now he had to ask Stiles out for a date. That was the plan. But had he – had he planned how to ask him out?
Shit, he hadn't.
And Stiles was talking. “It's for Daisy's and it's for a hundred dollars so hopefully that will mean more than one meal for you, and we'll be sending it to your address within a week. I hope you enjoy it, Derek. Lydia, it's been lovely having you on, but Derek beat you fair and square. But let's keep in touch about your research, it sounds fascinating and I want to read your dissertation one day, okay?”
“Thank you, Stiles. And congratulations, Derek. Not many people can beat me at this sort of thing.”
“Thank you, Lydia, it's been a pleasure.” Stop talking to her, talk to Stiles! “I too would like to read your dissertation when it's done by the way.”
“I'll send you both a copy.”
“Thank you, Lydia, and again, congratulations Derek, enjoy that gift card and don't forget to tell me what you used it on. But if you didn't get their cheese burger for at least part of it, I'm going to stop liking you.”
“Wouldn't want that.” In fact, why don't you join me? It would be such an easy thing to throw out now, just say it quick, just to see what Stiles would say, but Derek felt tongue-tied. What if Stiles said no? What if there was no rule that had kept them from chatting on tumblr, what if it was just Stiles not being interested? Maybe he thought Derek was really boring. Derek could be boring. He worked and read and didn't do much else.
“It's been great having you on, Derek, and remember folks, that's Hale Auto if you need to fix up your car, local hero genius Derek Hale is there for you. Thank you Derek, have a great day!”
“Thank you-” Derek said to the tone that told him he'd been cut off. He confirmed his information with Kira again, who congratulated him too and then hung up.
Damn it. That was his last chance and he'd spoiled it.
“He was sooo flirting with you,” Erica insisted, shoving chocolate raspberry cake into Derek's mouth. “There were so many innuendos I can't believe you kept your face straight.”
“I messed up.”
“You didn't mess up,” Isaac grinned, pointing to the banner that had waited for Derek when he'd come out of his office. “You won! And I went to school with that Lydia, she's a real genius, not a fake one like you. No offense.”
“I didn't ask him out.” Sure, he'd won. But he didn't have the real price, did he? He'd get a gift card to Daisy's, and he'd use it to buy himself lunch for a few days, but he'd be going there alone. Or more likely, Erica or Cora would invite themselves along and spend it all on dessert. Daisy's made good food, but they should hire Emily to bake their cakes, Derek thought. Erica had gotten him one of hers, having full faith in him deserving it by the end of the contest.
“You can ask him out on tumblr. Or hit on him at our wedding, which is in just two months and you still haven't RSVP'd with a plus one or not.”
“You can't bring a plus one if you're going there to meet someone,” Boyd interjected. “Now leave the poor man alone, Erica, can't you see winning a contest is deeply depressing to him?”
There was tumblr, yes. Derek stared at his last messages with Stiles all evening. Stiles might be too busy to get back to their conversation right now, but surely he would? If he really wanted to keep talking, he'd make the first move, wouldn't he?
Derek wanted to keep talking.
Derek wouldn't make the first move. Stiles might think he was annoying.
Derek did not want Stiles to think he was annoying. But he did want Stiles to think about him.
Stiles didn't do radio during weekends except for special occasions, but on Monday there was another local crime Stiles asked for help with. Derek spent longer than he should have trying to find someone he knew who had information so he could call in and chat with Stiles again, but some guy named Theo got there first. Theo was definitely flirting with Stiles and it made Derek deeply uncomfortable. Did he sound like that too? Was Beacon Hills full of people who thought Derek was ridiculous and bad at flirting.
(Derek knew he was bad at flirting)
“Am I bad flirting?” he asked of his friends.
“Kinda,” Isaac said. “But like, in a way that's really obvious and it makes the people you hit on know for sure you like them enough to flirt and they feel touched and a little honored, and so they kinda take over from there and save you from being too awkward. You’re lucky you’re cute, is what I’m saying.”
“No,” Boyd said. “You do fine when you want to flirt. But you don't want to flirt with Stiles, you want to date Stiles, and that's not the same thing.”
“Yes,” Erica said. “You're terrible. It's adorable. Never change.”
“None of you are helping,” he told them, and went back to his office to mope. At least Stiles wasn't encouraging Theo. Stiles had been encouraging Derek, Erica kept saying so (Erica might be wrong!).
On Tuesday, Stiles was busy talking about the local dog shelter and an event he was planning with one of the vets, his friend Scott (Derek checked with Boyd, and Scott was straight, and not a threat to Derek's future marital bliss).
On Wednesday, Derek didn't listen to the show at all because he had to take Cora to the doctor for a checkup. He felt weird all evening and almost listened to the recording on the radio channel's website, but it wouldn't be the same, and in any case, he couldn't call in for some reason if it wasn't live. He scrolled through the radio show's tumblr and stared at the last messages he'd exchanged with Stiles for an hour. Surely, Stiles would contact him soon if he was interested?
On Thursday, a girl in her lower to mid teens came by the garage around lunch. She led a beat up bike by a bandaged arm and moved very slowly and laboriously inside and looked around before giving Derek a wane smile.
“Excuse me, sir, I'm looking for Derek?”
“That's me. What can I help you with?”
“I'm Jane.”
“Jane?” It took Derek a minute to remember. “Oh, that Jane! How are you doing?”
Stupid question, she was clearly in lots of pain. He couldn't see any other injury than her arm, but he knew there'd been plenty. Looking closer, he could see a scar by her hairline underneath bangs of auburn hair held back by a bright red ribbon. Bruises would have healed by now.
“I'm doing a lot better. Stiles, from the radio show, checked in on me yesterday and told me you'd promised to help me fix my bike?” She chewed on a fingernail and looked down on the dirty garage floor. “If it can be fixed at all.”
Derek leaned by the bike to inspect it. New wheels, that wouldn't be a problem, he might have some already. The frame was a little crooked, but he could manage that. The bike was purple with an intricate design in white on the frame. Looking closer, it spelled the name “Jane” surrounded by fanciful cats.
“Custom paint job?”
She nodded. “My uncle did that for me. He's dead now.”
Derek managed a smile. “Alright. Then I'll have to be extra careful so I don't mess it up. I'll get this done in a week, okay? You just leave me your mom's number and I'll give her a call when you can come and pick it up.”
She chewed harder on her fingernail. “My mom wondered if we could pay you next month? She promises she will! She’s not the type not to pay her debts-”
Oh, it was like that. He'd wondered why she hadn't come by sooner.
“Nah, us friends of Stiles got to stick together, don't we? If he found out I charged you anything he'd be so disappointed in me, wouldn't he? You just tell your mom not to worry about it at all, it's free this time.”
The relief lit up her face like the sun. “Are you sure?”
“I'm sure.”
Suddenly there were arms around Derek's waist and her face was buried in his chest. “Thank you. My mom's lawyer said she's gonna make that asshole pay a lot of money, but it's gonna take a long time, and then we'll come by with your favorite ice cream every day for a week.”
Derek grinned. “I'll get cavities for sure, but it'll be worth it.”
On Friday, Derek worked late. He didn't like working late. Stiles' radio show ended at five, and there was never anything good on in the early evening, especially not on Fridays. There should be, Derek thought. What about weekly commuters, on their way home after a long week away from their families? Give them some good music at least! It was seven o'clock and he'd dropped into the employee room in the back to fill up his coffee cup when he had to double-check the time. That was... Stiles' voice? Out in the garage? He hadn't said anything about being on the radio again that evening, had he? But it didn't sound like on radio, it sounded.... it sounded like it was coming from the garage itself.
He pulled the door open quickly in time to see Boyd throw his head back and laugh at something someone had said. A male someone. An attractive male someone.
Derek had never looked up what Stiles looked like. He could've. His face would be on the website. It might be somewhere on the social media accounts too, he supposed, but his face had never been on any post on tumblr and Derek... didn't get social media at all. Erica sometimes took pictures for some account for the garage, but Derek just smiled for the camera when asked and left her to it.
He could have found out what Stiles looked like though. But it hadn't mattered, had it? He knew enough about Stiles; he was smart, and funny, and he could say Derek's name like a purr, sending shivers down his spine and landing at his groin, so Stiles could be ugly like an orc and Derek would still want to take him out for coffee.
The man standing there with Stiles' voice being buddies with Boyd and glancing over as Derek approached was not an orc. A smile played at the corner of his mouth, a slightly upturned nose and big brown eyes that lit up when Derek reached him; average height, average build, yet an above average whole package (it was hard to tell from baggy jeans and an over-sized flannel over a graphic t-shirt but his sleeves were rolled up and no one worked out just their arms).
Derek felt like pinching himself. This wasn't good for his fantasies of a long term relationship with the only man in the past six months that had held his interest for more than a day. It would just be much worse now when he asked Stiles out and got rejected, wouldn't it? The dreams would never stop.
“Hi,” probably-Stiles said. Derek had wondered about what his voice would sound like in real life compared to on the phone. He was not disappointed. “I was told this was the best garage in town? I usually take Roscoe, that's my baby over there,” he pointed to a truly ancient blue jeep parked just outside the one open garage door, “to Welch and sons, but now they say she's unfixable. I keep telling them all she needs is a bit of love and some duct tape, but well, maybe you've got some other ideas on keeping her running?”
Probably-Stiles was definitely-Stiles, because Derek remembered him talking about Roscoe, the car he'd inherited from his mother. Derek thought of Laura's Camaro. He'd never let anyone tell him the Camaro was unfixable.
“I'd give it a shot, yeah. I'm Derek.”
“Hello Derek. I'm Stiles.”
“Hi.”
Derek's face hurt from the wide smile and he caught Boyd rolling his eyes at him.
“It's gonna be a lot of work,” Derek was vaguely sure he heard his friend say. “Derek might need a break first, refill his energy with some food. He usually goes to Daisy's for late night meals, isn't that right, Derek?”
“U-huh?”
Stiles face lit up. “Oh, would you like some company, Derek?”
Did Boyd just... get Derek a date with Stiles? Derek was going to give him a raise. And a basket of his favorite of Emily's mini muffins. And a puppy. Maybe not a puppy; Erica would dress it in sweaters and no pup needed that. Derek would give Boyd a hug. As soon as he came back (he wouldn’t hurry back).
“That'd be great. My treat.”
“You wouldn't need to do that!” Stiles objected.
“I insist. After all, someone sent me a gift card.”