Chapter Text
Talia ripped the paper off the notepad, crumbling up the scribbles she couldn’t make work. She tossed the balled up paper towards the trashcan, unable to care when it missed and landed on the floor. She tapped her pen against the paper, trying to think of what to say. She had started the letter more times than she could count, knowing she should have typed a draft first. She sighed as she fell back into her chair, her hand idly playing with the cap of her fountain pen. She turned her gaze towards the frames that lined her office walls.
Decorative frames housed Talia’s diplomas and certificates, the elegant scripture building the public persona Talia projected to the public. There were many pictures, but few of the fond and familiar ones. There was more than one photo taken at the various fundraisers throughout her political career, all with significant individuals who helped progress her political run.
There were only a handful of photos depicting the Hale family.
On the long decorative table by the entrance to her office there was a series of photographs that displayed the Hale family—but they weren’t family photographs.
There was Cora’s graduating senior photo, one that had been taken professionally on campus. Talia remembered how Cora protested, wishing to just make the boring scheduled photo like everyone else in her class. As always, Talia prevailed in getting her way. She remembered how none of the photos caught Cora’s smile just right, the smile forced and void of the playfulness Cora used to show.
Laura’s engagement photos were paired with her wedding photos in a bi-folded frame. In the engagement photo, Dale was sitting on the fence of a horse paddock with his arms wrapped around Laura’s shoulders, pressing a fond kiss to her temple. Laura’s smile was bright and loving, an expression of pure joy. In their wedding photo, Laura’s smile looked somewhat strained, affected by the events that unfolded that day.
Talia’s favorite photo was Derek’s.
It wasn’t an updated photo of Derek. It was difficult for her to get a photo of him, regardless of her attempts. Derek avoided cameras like they were a plague, particularly when it meant that Talia was going to be the one in possession of the photos. It was strange to know that Derek resented his photo being taken—as if it was a punishment—when he landed his first contract modeling while working through his graduate program.
The photo was a candid shot of Derek. It was taken towards the end of high school, when he started to fall out of his awkward phase and act as if he was too cool for his family. He was sitting on a rock in the Preserve, close to the campfire pit Peter had installed a near decade previously. His father’s arm was wrapped around Derek’s shoulders, pulling him to the side. Their fondness of the moment was caught in their matching smiles.
It was only a few weeks before the accident—the car accident that landed Derek in the hospital and Samuel in the ICU. Talia had barely been in the room with Samuel for less than an hour when he passed. Peter held her as she sobbed, hysterical with grief and the fear that she was going to lose her son now, too.
In the end, it was easier to push it away and hide it like Scarlett had taught her.
You’re a woman—you can handle pain better than men.
You show weakness in this moment, it will be what you’re remembered for.
Use your grief—your pain—to your advantage. Use it.
That was the beginning of the end. That was the moment Scarlett won.
Talia wondered how someone could argue against how telling it was to see her children miserable in the photos. She failed them.
~*~
Of all the things Peter expected to hear that night, it was not “Talia Hale is here to see you?” coming as a question from Isaac.
Peter stared at him, slowly leaning his way through the doorway to spot none other than his sister sitting prim and proper at the bar. He scrubbed at his eyes, convinced his insomnia was getting the better of him. But despite how much he tried to rub away the image of Talia sitting there, he couldn’t seem to make her vanish. “Huh,” was all Peter offered as an answer, decidedly making his way over to the bar.
“I’ll say, I never expected this,” Peter started as he moved behind the bar, coming to a resting spot across from Talia.
Talia turned in her stool, slipping her jacket off her shoulders as she observed the club surrounding her. “Can I get a drink?” She asked, looking back at Peter.
Peter carefully eyed Talia, as if there was a hidden catch to her question. “I suppose,” he answered, moving to grab a clean glass. “Is it still straight vodka, or have you started mixing it with anything?”
Talia eyed the bottle of vodka in Peter’s hand. “A Vesper would be nice,” she answered.
Peter smirked at the memory of Talia helping him study for his bartending license, both of them getting drunker than they should have as they taste-tested more than half of the drinks he now knew how to mix by heart. He easily started to mix the drink, his gaze looking over at Talia. “I know this isn’t a social visit, Talia,” he offered as he started to pour the drink into the martini glass. He peeled a spiral of orange, dropping it into the glass for garnish. He pushed the martini towards Talia, leaning against the bar as he looked up at his sister. “So, what’s eating you?”
Talia touched her fingertips to the glass’s stemmed foundation, pulling it towards herself. Her fingers twisted around the stem, lifting the glass to her lips as she took a large sip. She allowed a fond expression to pull at her lips, unsurprised that Peter’s bartending skills only improved with time and countless practice. “You think it’s not a social visit, yet you believe I came to complain,” she softly commented.
“You always come to me to complain,” Peter stated, his gaze still on Talia.
Talia briefly looked at Peter, looking away as she swallowed down the growing lump in her throat. “I do, don’t I?”
Peter remained silent as he watched his sister.
“I guess I wanted to hear the truth,” Talia finally confessed. “You’ve never been afraid to be truthful with me—even if it hurts.” She guiltily looked at Peter. “Everyone else it too scared to say it … Sam’s not here to say it.”
Peter’s features softened some as he looked down at the drink between them. “I’m tired, Talia,” he softly uttered, his voice almost lost under the music. “I’m just … tired. So what is this?”
Talia couldn’t look at Peter—it hurt too much. She reached an unsure hand out, her fingers trembling as she touched Peter’s arm. “Tell me— tell me the truth. Tell me that I’m a terrible person—that I’m the one that tore this family apart,” she nearly begged, daring to look up at Peter.
Peter’s expression offered nothing, his gaze closed off and calculating. It was the same expression he had often given Scarlett whenever they were forced to speak. “No,” Peter uttered.
Talia closed her eyes, mostly nodding to herself as she started to slip off the barstool.
“I won’t tell you that—because that’s what you want to hear,” Peter explained, holding onto Talia’s arm with a sure grip, knowing she could get out of it if she wanted. “You’re a terrible mother.” He plainly stated, catching the flinch in Talia’s expression. “You’re a worse sister.”
Talia’s fingers curled into a fist, her fingernails biting into her palm.
“You let our mother crucify me because it took her attentions away from you,” Peter continued. “You used your own son as a puppet in your political circus.”
Talia tried to pull away, only to have Peter pull her back. She asked for this, but she didn’t know it was going to hurt like it did.
“I don’t know why you did it—if you thought in some twisted way it would protect Derek from Scarlett, but good intentions don’t excuse actions, Talia,” Peter stated. “So what happened? You realized that you shoved your children away, so you thought you’d come down here and have me help you with your sobfest?”
“I don’t know,” Talia roughly uttered, wanting to pry her arm out of Peter’s grip.
“Who does?” Peter asked. “If you want to hear you’re a terrible person, go to one of your political opponents. I’m not going to tell you that.”
“That’s not how you feel?” Talia countered. “That I’m the reason for your misery?”
“I’m the reason for my own misery,” Peter nearly snapped. “You don’t get to add that to the pity you want people to show you. I was stubborn and thought my family would come around. I let my husband argue with me, to the point he cheated on me before divorcing.”
“He didn’t—” Talia cut herself off as she looked at Peter. “Who told you Chris cheated on you?”
Peter glared at Talia. “I’m not doing this, Talia. My life isn’t on display for you to play with.” He released his hold on Talia, taking a step back.
“Peter,” Talia started. “Who told you that?”
Peter’s features barely softened as he stared at his sister. He shook his head. “Don’t. Don’t you dare say it—after years of this.”
“I thought you knew,” Talia stated earnestly. “We never talked about it—”
“Talia—”
“Chris adopted Allison,” Talia firmly stated. She moved to follow Peter, cutting him off the moment he stepped out from behind the bar. She grabbed his arm, pulling him close, despite his weakened effort to get away from her. “I didn’t know— I thought he told you, that he didn’t just let you think …” She shook her head. “This is a mess. Like everything else.”
Peter turned to look at Talia. “Did Scarlett know?” He thought about the day he packaged everything up—the day the divorce papers finalized and he overheard about Chris’ intent to marry. He remembered how smug Scarlett had been about the whole thing—how she joyfully smiled at watching her son fail at the one thing she hated him for. He remembered her throwing it in his face—that Chris was going to have a normal family. He couldn’t even bring himself to counter such a claim—he couldn’t let her know that he and Chris spoke, so many times, about adopting.
Talia swallowed the lump in her throat. She knew Scarlett had known about Allison—that the Hale matriarch helped Victoria and Chris with the adoption papers to keep things quiet.
“Talia,” Peter’s voice softly begged, on the verge of breaking.
Talia closed her eyes and nodded.
“That hateful bitch,” Peter weakly uttered.
~*~
Chris touched his hand to his jaw, gently massaging the spot where Peter’s fist landed the punch. He turned to look at Peter, watching the way Peter nursed his hand. “I suppose that was called for.”
“It’s the least that is called for,” Peter angrily huffed at him. “You asshole.”
“That, too,” Chris accepted.
“You were never going to tell me, were you?” Peter demanded to know.
“I was letting things lay as they were,” Chris countered. “I wasn’t going to go crawling back to you, begging for forgiveness when I really don’t deserve it.”
“Oh, stop with the pity speech,” Peter scoffed. “I already had to deal with my sister’s, I don’t need to deal with another one.”
Chris pointedly crossed his arms over his chest. “Peter, what are you doing here?”
“Doing the one thing you seemed to be incapable of actually doing,” Peter snapped. He pushed his hand against the door, shoving it open and out of his way completely. He reached out, his hands moving to hold Chris’ face in his hands, steadily guiding their lips together in a hurried kiss.
Chris momentarily stiffened beneath Peter’s hands, his arms falling away from his chest. His hands hesitantly moved to touch Peter’s arms, a touch so gingerly that he almost didn’t know if he was losing his balance or not—if he could really use Peter to steady his swirling thoughts and swaying body.
“Peter,” Chris uttered his name in a near plea, a pale reminder that they weren’t what they used to be.
“Shut up, Christopher,” Peter uttered, pressing his forehead against Chris’ as he closed his eyes. “For once, shut up and let the both of us be happy.”
Chris allowed his hands to gently travel down from Peter’s arms, moving to rest on the top of Peter’s hips. He had forgotten how familiar Peter’s body was—how intimately they still knew each other despite it all. “I don’t deserve this.”
“Well I do,” Peter defiantly uttered as he pulled back to look at Chris’ face. His thumb brushed over the spot on Chris’ jaw that was likely to bruise a shade paler than his fist would. “I thought you would have realized by now that nobody gets to tell me who I love.”
Chris’ brow creased, a sign that he was about to argue against Peter’s confession. “Peter—”
“You’re still home to me,” Peter stated, forcing Chris to keep silent. He looked at Chris, instantly knowing Chris remembered their vows too. “And if you’re ready to come home, then so am I.”
Chris pulled Peter into a tight embrace, wrapping his arms around him. He pressed his face into the crook of Peter’s neck, closing his eyes as he just held on to the one thing that mattered—Peter.
~*~
Derek tried to focus on his work, going through the folders that had been left there since his absence. He took his time, knowing that the paperwork was going to take a chunk of his workday no matter how fast he read through it.
Derek wanted Stiles and James to feel unhindered with meeting up with the Sheriff. He was hoping that they’d spend some time together, overjoyed when Stiles informed him that he planned on meeting his dad at the diner the next day. He promised that he’d be distracted with paperwork, forcing himself to come into the hospital for the first time since the incident.
He reclined in his chair, taking in a deep breath as he tried to calm himself. He turned his head to look at his computer screen, a smile pulling at his lips as he looked at his computer’s desktop.
Derek’s computer’s background was a photo of Stiles and James, a photo Peter managed to take during James’ birthday. Derek felt a small sense of joy whenever he looked at the photograph, knowing that he had a family waiting for him at home. He couldn’t help the soft smile that always pulled at his lips when a patient’s parents would comment on the photo, telling him that he had a lovely family.
A soft knock on the door caught Derek’s attention. “Come in,” he called out as he looked down at the paperwork.
“Are you busy?”
Derek’s head jerked up to look at his mother standing in the doorway of his office. “What are you doing here?” He faintly asked.
Talia frowned as she shuffled the straps of her purse into the crook of her arm. “If you want me to leave, I’ll leave.”
Derek leaned back in his chair. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
Talia nodded. “I wanted to sit down and talk.”
Derek sighed, leaning forward against his desk as he placed the papers into their folder. “If you’ve come to chastise me about … anything, I don’t want to hear it.”
“I wanted to apologize,” Talia stated, frowning as she took a small step forward. “For everything.”
Derek looked down at his paperwork, rubbing a hand over his furrowed brow. “You’ve done this before, mom,” he faintly countered.
“I know,” Talia replied. “But this time, I’m saying my peace, and then leaving. I’m not going to push and pry anymore.”
Derek looked up at Talia.
“I wanted to let you know that Stiles is a wonderful person,” Talia started, looking down at her hands as she twisted her rings around her fingers. “And that you make a lovely couple. His son adores you, as most children do,” she commented, her soft smile evident in her tone. “No matter what apology I make will ever make up for what’s happened between us. I allowed my own selfish ambitions to cloud what mattered—and I wasn’t the mother you deserved.” Tears welled in her eyes as she shook her head. “Your father would be ashamed of me,” she faintly confessed.
Derek’s features twisted at the mention of his father.
“I am sorry, Derek,” Talia stated, knowing that it couldn’t fix anything. She drew in a heavy breath, turning to take her leave.
“I never thought you were a terrible mother,” Derek finally stated before Talia could open the door.
Talia turned to look at Derek, her body still angled towards the door.
“I thought you were punishing me,” Derek confessed as he looked at his mother. “For living when dad didn’t.”
Talia’s features grew wide with surprise at such an utterance. She hadn’t thought for the slightest moment how it must have looked from the other side of her grief. All she felt was the pain of realizing that she lost Samuel, and the dreaded hate she had for her own happiness in having Derek survive. It warped everything, twisting her bereavement into something worse—indifference. She thought it was easier to push everything away.
“I just thought biphobia was easier to accept than you hating me for being alive,” Derek weakly explained.
Talia placed a shaking hand over her mouth, the feel of bile rising as her stomach churned and soured. Peter had been wrong about her. She was far worse than a terrible mother—she was a monster. A sharp sob cracked through her chest as her shoulders shook. “I didn’t—” The words were too hard to speak as she cried instead.
“Mom,” Derek softly spoke as he stood, moving around his desk to get to her as he watched her sway.
Talia cried harder when Derek held onto her, turning to look at him. She shook her head. “How could I let you think that—”
“You didn’t know,” Derek rationalized.
“I should have known,” Talia argued through tears. “I’m your mother, I’m supposed to know these things— I’m supposed to protect you, even from myself.”
“I don’t blame you,” Derek stated with certainty.
~*~
Stiles watched James spinning on the stool at the counter, a small smile on his lips as James excitedly accepted the milkshake from Barbara.
“He looks so much like you did at that age,” John uttered.
Stiles looked at his dad, seeing the way John’s attention was focused on James. “I think it’s hard for me to see some times,” he answered. “How something that perfect could really be from me.”
“I understand the feeling,” John replied as he settled into his seat, looking to Stiles.
Stiles looked down at his mug of coffee, unsure what to say. He had run through this moment in his mind countless times. He never knew how to start. He was glad his dad agreed to meet in a neutral place. “I don’t know what to say,” he finally admitted.
“Neither do I,” John agreed. “Maybe an apology is the first step.”
Stiles looked up at his dad, almost taken aback by the suggestion. He was prepared to argue when his dad raised a hand.
“I meant from me,” John clarified.
Stiles closed his mouth, shaking his head. “No, dad, if anything it was both of us.”
“Communication is a two way street, Stiles,” John started.
“And I never really answered back,” Stiles argued as he spun the coffee mug in his hands.
“James did,” John replied.
Stiles looked up at John, a look of confusion on his face.
“James sent me a letter a while back,” John explained. “Told me you were both okay—mostly. He said that you were sad, and pretended not to be.”
Stiles blinked his tears away, turning to look out the window as he placed his chin in his hand. “I know he knew some stuff, but … I never thought he’d reach out to tell someone.”
“He loves you and cares about you,” John offered as he leaned back into the booth’s cushion.
“He’s the only thing that made my life bearable,” Stiles softly confessed. “For so long, he was all I had.” He small smile pulled at his lips as he turned to look at James. “And he could make the whole world seem brighter just because he thinks I’m his everything.”
John mirrored a similar smile as he watched Stiles watching James.
“He’s so smart, dad,” Stiles commented. “He’s smarter than the rest of his class—he’s smarter than me.”
“Every parent feels that their child is smarter than them,” John countered.
Stiles shook his head, tears prickling his eyes once more.
“Dad,” James excitedly exclaimed as he hopped off the stool and ran over to their booth. “Barbara said that they still have some pumpkin ice cream! Can I get some?”
Stiles smiled at James, catching the way James’ smile faltered some at seeing the barest presence of tears. “Well, if Barbara offered, I guess it has to be okay,” he quickly stated.
“Only because she’s your Batgirl,” James replied with a laugh as he ran back to the counter to tell Barbara the good news.
John looked after James, smiling when he saw the waitress playfully nodding to James’ instructions on how to serve the ice cream. “They really seem taken with him here.”
“He’s their regular,” Stiles replied. “I worked here for a while,” he offered in explanation when his dad looked back at him. “The hours were hell, but it was the only place I could manage to juggle with another job.”
John shook his head. “I drive by here so often,” he commented. “To think that I could have been driving by, just missing you both.”
A lump grew in Stiles’ throat as he steeled his nerves. His leg started to bounce as a panic rose in his stomach. “James knows that I used to dance—at the academy. He’s even seen me practice ballet,” he started, running a hand through his hair. “He and Mrs. Kay—the woman that used to babysit him … they both thought I taught ballroom dancing.” He looked at his dad, unsure what he expected to see. He hated how open and patient his father’s expression was, knowing that he was about to drop a bombshell on him.
Stiles looked down at his hands, anxiously picking at his fingernails as he ignored his long forgotten coffee. “If you look behind you, out the window, you’re going to see a club.” He gestured his head towards the window.
John turned in his seat, looking to see the building across the street. He saw the neon sign that was currently shut off, but recognized the logo and name. He turned his attention back to Stiles. His brow pinched with uncertainty about where Stiles was going with the conversation.
“Peter Hale owns it,” Stiles stated, knowing his dad knew.
“Some of the deputies frequent there,” John offered. “I hear it’s not a cesspool like some of the places.”
Stiles shook his head. “It’s a higher caliber, but it’s still a strip club.”
John leaned his forearms against the table.
“I was running out of money and time,” Stiles pressed on. “The hours and pay here weren’t enough for me to live on my own, let alone with a toddler. I must have walked passed that neon sign for weeks before the hunger pangs were enough of a reminder that I needed the money more than I needed my pride.” He shook his head, releasing a hollow laugh. “Peter gave me a job, and it helped—for a time.”
“Stiles,” John started, his voice calm but gentle as he reached a hand out to cover Stiles’ own.
“I should have come home,” Stiles weakly uttered, unable to look at his dad. “I knew you’d let me—I was scared of admitting that I was wrong, or that you’d still be mad.”
“Stiles, I don’t care what happened,” John pushed. “I care that I was the one that let this happen. I was the one that put you in this situation.”
“Dad,” Stiles started in protest, his voice cracking some. “Conversation is a two way street, you just said that. I could have come home.”
“I shouldn’t have put my son and grandson in the situation to ask for permission to come home,” John firmly stated.
Stiles reached out a hand to hold onto his dad’s trembling one. It somehow made every little concern plaguing Stiles’ mind suddenly seem insignificant. He had his family back.
~*~
“Are you excited for tonight?” James asked, hopping behind Stiles as he followed his dad through the kitchen.
“It’s an audition, James, not a show,” Stiles explained again.
“But still,” James countered. “It’s ballet.”
Stiles looked at James as he left the cabinet door hanging open. “I know that.”
“You’ve been practicing your ballet for so long,” James elaborated. “You’re going to be too good.”
“Being too good isn’t a problem,” Stiles replied, ruffling James’ curls some. “Being old is.”
“You’re not old,” Derek sounded from the house’s entrance.
“No one asked you,” Stiles answered.
“I’m older than you,” Derek replied as he walked over to the kitchen’s doorway. “If you’re old, that makes me old. So, you’re not old.”
Stiles snorted, turning back to the cabinet.
“And if dad’s old, that makes grandpa really old,” James supplied.
“Stop making everyone so old, Stiles,” Derek teased.
“Okay, stop ganging up on me,” Stiles countered as he turned to look at both Derek and James.
“You’re going to be great, dad,” James confidently stated, ducking in close to wrap his arms around Stiles’ waist.
Stiles wrapped his arms around James. “Thanks, buddy.” He looked up at Derek as James pulled back. “Are you both going to be okay for the night?”
“We’re going to watch Lego Batman,” James nonchalantly stated, as if he was a cool kid for staying up late enough for a movie night.
“Jealous,” Stiles countered. “How can you contain your joy?” He asked as he looked at Derek.
“I have to brush up for Halloween,” Derek commented with a shrug of his shoulders. “Apparently I make a good Batman.”
James nodded. “He makes a great Bruce Wayne, too.”
“It’s the curse he must bare,” Stiles sighed with a small chuckle, unable to hide his laughter. “No wonder he’s always busy.”
“Well, we’ll both be here when you get back,” James started as he spun around. “So we’ll want all the details.”
Stiles nodded in agreement.
Though, Stiles wasn’t shocked to find them snoozing on the couch, the television still streaming Netflix in the background. He smiled to himself as he walked over to the coffee table, picking up the remote. He turned off the television, looking over at the couch to see James curled up against Derek’s side.
James had practically curled his whole body around Derek’s arm, his head nuzzled into Derek’s shoulder as he slept tucked beneath Derek’s arm.
Stiles reached a hand out, touching Derek’s other arm in hopes of stirring him awake.
Derek woke some, opening his eyes to see who tried to wake him. He offered a faint smile, remaining still when he realized that the pins and needles he felt in his arm were from the weight of a sleeping James.
“Hey,” Stiles softly spoke, leaning in to press a kiss to Derek’s lips.
“Hi,” Derek tiredly mumbled.
“Long night, huh?” Stiles stated with a smile. He moved to the side, easily scooping James up into his arms.
James mumbled something about the Bat family as his limbs dangled through the air.
“Is he always boneless?” Derek softly questioned as he moved to stand, stretching his own limbs as the feeling started rushing back to his arm.
“When he’s out like a light, yeah,” Stiles answered as he started to carry James up the stairs.
Stiles managed to get James tucked away in bed, having changed James into his pajamas with little struggle. He pressed a kiss to James’ forehead, whispering his goodnight before slipping out of the room. He practically collapsed onto Derek when he got into the bedroom, wrapping his arms around Derek’s shoulders as he straddled him.
“Hi,” Derek softly stated in somewhat surprise.
“You’re too perfect,” Stiles mumbled against Derek’s shoulder.
Derek snorted. “Remember that when we have a fight,” he offered, his hands settling on Stiles’ hips.
“I mean it,” Stiles pressed, pulling back to look at Derek. “I just landed the role of a lifetime, and I didn’t have to worry for a second about James. I know I never have to worry again, and it’s all because of you.”
“You got the role?” Derek uttered in surprise.
Stiles didn’t realize he had let the news slip. “Yeah,” he nodded, his smile slowly growing. “Yeah, I got the role.”
Derek smiled at that. “James told you that you’d be fine.”
“Going in there,” Stiles started, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath. “I had been terrified. There were so many people. But if this goes well … I could be a teacher in a dance studio. I could be helping people reach their dreams—but doing it healthily.”
Derek nodded, his hands traveling up Stiles’ back in a comforting manner.
“You’re stupidly perfect,” Stiles huffed, slumping into Derek.
Derek smiled at Stiles’ exasperated breath.
“Am I allowed to have a happily ever after?” Stiles questioned.
Derek paused for a moment, as if to consider the question. “After all the trauma we’ve been through? I think a Hallmark moment is overdue.”
~*~
Christmas came sooner than anyone expected.
James had been telling anyone that would listen about how he was going to spend Christmas with his grandfather this year. He was vibrating with joy all throughout the last day of school before Christmas break. He excitedly listed off all the things they could do over the course of the vacation, highlighting what he was most excited about as he packed up his bag.
Stiles tried to hide his laughter as Derek sent James back into his room to unpack half of the things he packed, having to explain that it was only three days.
“It’s times like these you can really tell he’s your son,” Derek commented as he carried their bags down the steps.
“Haha,” Stiles dryly laughed at Derek, smacking Derek’s ass as he walked by him. “Just be useful and pack the car,” he ordered.
“Yes, dear,” Derek answered as he walked out the door.
Stiles smiled to himself as he sat down on the step to watch after Derek. He felt blessed to have his life falling together instead of falling apart like it was last year.
James ran down and jumped onto Stiles’ back, laughing when his father let out a huff of air. “Did you get Derek’s birthday present?” He hurriedly asked as he wrapped his arms around Stiles’ neck.
“Of course,” Stiles answered as he stood up, giving James a piggyback ride. He thought about the picture frame James had decorated before his dad put the finishing coat on it to guarantee that it didn’t fade. The frame had a picture of Stiles, James, and Derek in it—one that Stiles had managed to take on Thanksgiving before James passed out into a turkey coma. “Grandpa has it.”
“Grandpa has what?” Derek asked as he walked back into the house, moving to take the bag James had brought down.
“Nothing!” Stiles and James both announced at the same time as Stiles hurried out the door and towards the car.
“Hey!” Derek called after them. He smiled when he heard their simultaneous laughter. He took his opportunity to cut back to his office, knowing that Stiles would be getting James into the car. He looked back at the door to the house to make sure that Stiles wasn’t coming back in. He moved to his desk, unlocking the bottom drawer in order to fish out the small leather box he had hidden there. He opened the box, smiling at the slender golden ring embedded inside the box’s velvet lining.
“You coming?” Stiles called into the house after Derek.
“Just grabbing something,” Derek called back, quickly pocketing the leather box. He knew that this Christmas—his birthday—was going to be better than the rest.
Part of Derek was scared to think about asking Stiles. He thought about it being too soon, that maybe Stiles wasn’t ready to think about staying. But he couldn’t think of something else he wanted more than to have Stiles and James here always. He wondered if Stiles would even entertain the idea of marriage.
Derek could wait years if it meant that he could one day call himself Stiles and James’ family. Regardless, he knew that this was more than just a good time for both of them—what they had was real, and that meant everything.