Can't Hide Anymore
Author: tryslora
Title: Can’t Hide Anymore
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: Stiles/Jackson
Character/s: Stiles, Jackson (sort of), OFC
Summary: The bathroom seems like a great place to hide except for the fact that Jackson’s Amanda doesn’t respect barriers any better than Jackson does.
Warnings: future fic, past divorce, angst
Word Count: 1071
Prompt: #26 - Hiding
Author's Notes: Are these prompts being chosen for their perfect segue into the next story? Because Hiding was a definite “must write” here. This is part of the series All Our Yesterdays. As always, I do not own the characters or world of Teen Wolf, but I love to play with them.
Stiles is in the stall, leaning with his back against the door, staring at the back wall of the bathroom when the main door opens. He ignores it until a voice says quietly, “Stiles.”
A female voice.
Not Allison.
Probably her.
“You do realize you’re in the men’s room,” he replies, shifting his gaze to the ceiling. “Generally not a place a woman’s meant to be. What if some poor desperate guy comes in to pee?”
“If you’re going to hide in here, then this is apparently where we’re going to talk. Do you have the guts to do it face to face?”
Stiles can take a lot of things, but having his courage maligned is not one of them. He turns and yanks open the door. “You have no idea about what kind of guts I have. Other than the usual red, squishy and human kind.” Sarcasm. Even when he’s not trying, it’s right there as a built-in protection.
“I know you’re human,” she says. “And I know Jackson’s not. Have we covered the basics?” She crosses her arms and leans back against the door to the outside.
Stiles knows that stance. He’s seen that stance, and is intimately familiar with it, usually as a prelude to Jackson grabbing him and pushing him against a wall. “Are you?” He has to ask, because there is something in the way she holds her body, some strange grace.
“Not the topic right now.” Her eyes are blue and sharp, her hair blond and perfectly straight. Her cheekbones are sculpted, a very classic beauty, and she reminds him so much of Jackson with the way she’s dressed, right down to the way her silk blouse and jacket are rumpled, as if she rushed from the airport to the hospital. “Jackson said you could be an asshole.”
“He’s right.” His gaze drops to her left hand, noting the plain gold ring and the simple, small diamond next to it.
“Then we’ll start with introductions. I’m Amanda Beaury.” She holds her other hand out and waits.
“I know your name.” Stiles takes her hand, squeezes slightly, then lets it go. “And you already know I’m Stiles. Wait.” He laughs sharply. “Married, but you didn’t take his name?”
“I did.” Her voice is just as sharp, two quick words dropped like stones. “I took my husband’s name. Stiles, Jackson is my brother.”
He folds then, like he’s been punched in the gut, all the air leaving his body in a heavy whoosh as he falls to sit on the floor. His hands tingle and his chest aches, because that was not what he knew. Stiles has known for so long what was going on, known exactly what was happening, and Jackson never said anything different. “Impossible,” he whispers. “Jackson was hiding you. He was going out to New York for his new job and he kept hiding the fact that he was meeting with you. In hotels. Sharing rooms. Eating out. Spending every moment there with you.”
“You had us watched.”
He glances up at her. “Well, yeah. You spent the night with him.”
“We stayed up all night talking.” She crouches slowly, bringing herself down to the level where he sits, her trousers wrinkling with the motion. “We’d never met before his trip out for his second interview. I was thirty-three years old and I had just found out I had a brother, and it was completely accidental that we even found each other. A mutual friend introduced us, amused because we look alike. Enough that we could be twins, she said.”
Stiles looks for it, stares at her features and takes them apart with his mind. There are similarities, yes, even the way she tilts her head under his regard. There are differences as well. Her build is lighter, her frame narrower, although he can see the similarities even there. Her hair is paler than his, more blonde than dark sand. Her eyes are a different shade. But the cheekbones, and the attitude… he can see family in her.
He wonders if Allison knows. If Scott knows, and Caleb. If Nikki knows. If they’ve all been hiding this from him for years, laughing at him.
And Jackson… Jackson left. This doesn’t change that simple fact, that rather than explain, Jackson walked out and never came back.
Until now.
He shakes his head. He can’t assimilate it; it’s too much information and too big to understand. “I need to go check on Nikki.” He pushes past her, using his shoulder to edge between her and the door.
“I see what Jackson means,” she says quietly. “You do run away when you don’t want to listen. You pushed him out, Stiles. You refused to wait until he was ready, and you pushed him right out that door. If I had been a potential lover, you would have delivered him-wrapped up in a pretty bow-you were trying so hard to get rid of him.”
“You do not get to weigh in on what happened here.” He jabs a finger at her, stopping just short of poking her collarbone. “You were not here, and you’ve only got one side of the story.”
She smiles thinly. “So do you.”
Another rap against the door, and a voice calling from outside. “Stiles. Dr. Mayhew wants to talk to you.”
Nikki takes all precedence. Over Jackson, over Amanda, over this insanity that his life has suddenly become. “My daughter needs me,” he snaps, and he yanks open the door and stalks out. He ignores the crowd that stands there, knowing damned well that Scott and Jackson could hear every word of that supposedly private conversation that just happened. He ignores them all and joins Dr. Mayhew at the end of the hall.
“She’s doing much better than expected,” the doctor explains. “We’re going to stop forcing her body into a coma, and with that release, she should wake up naturally soon. We’ll have to re-evaluate her condition then.”
It’s the best news Stiles has had since the accident.
He goes to sit by her side, and when Jackson joins him in that small room, Stiles refuses to look at him. He can’t, not now. Nikki is all he can see.
He raises her hand to his lips, brushing a kiss across her fingertips.
Then he waits for something to change, because it will. It has to.
Title: Can’t Hide Anymore
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: Stiles/Jackson
Character/s: Stiles, Jackson (sort of), OFC
Summary: The bathroom seems like a great place to hide except for the fact that Jackson’s Amanda doesn’t respect barriers any better than Jackson does.
Warnings: future fic, past divorce, angst
Word Count: 1071
Prompt: #26 - Hiding
Author's Notes: Are these prompts being chosen for their perfect segue into the next story? Because Hiding was a definite “must write” here. This is part of the series All Our Yesterdays. As always, I do not own the characters or world of Teen Wolf, but I love to play with them.
Stiles is in the stall, leaning with his back against the door, staring at the back wall of the bathroom when the main door opens. He ignores it until a voice says quietly, “Stiles.”
A female voice.
Not Allison.
Probably her.
“You do realize you’re in the men’s room,” he replies, shifting his gaze to the ceiling. “Generally not a place a woman’s meant to be. What if some poor desperate guy comes in to pee?”
“If you’re going to hide in here, then this is apparently where we’re going to talk. Do you have the guts to do it face to face?”
Stiles can take a lot of things, but having his courage maligned is not one of them. He turns and yanks open the door. “You have no idea about what kind of guts I have. Other than the usual red, squishy and human kind.” Sarcasm. Even when he’s not trying, it’s right there as a built-in protection.
“I know you’re human,” she says. “And I know Jackson’s not. Have we covered the basics?” She crosses her arms and leans back against the door to the outside.
Stiles knows that stance. He’s seen that stance, and is intimately familiar with it, usually as a prelude to Jackson grabbing him and pushing him against a wall. “Are you?” He has to ask, because there is something in the way she holds her body, some strange grace.
“Not the topic right now.” Her eyes are blue and sharp, her hair blond and perfectly straight. Her cheekbones are sculpted, a very classic beauty, and she reminds him so much of Jackson with the way she’s dressed, right down to the way her silk blouse and jacket are rumpled, as if she rushed from the airport to the hospital. “Jackson said you could be an asshole.”
“He’s right.” His gaze drops to her left hand, noting the plain gold ring and the simple, small diamond next to it.
“Then we’ll start with introductions. I’m Amanda Beaury.” She holds her other hand out and waits.
“I know your name.” Stiles takes her hand, squeezes slightly, then lets it go. “And you already know I’m Stiles. Wait.” He laughs sharply. “Married, but you didn’t take his name?”
“I did.” Her voice is just as sharp, two quick words dropped like stones. “I took my husband’s name. Stiles, Jackson is my brother.”
He folds then, like he’s been punched in the gut, all the air leaving his body in a heavy whoosh as he falls to sit on the floor. His hands tingle and his chest aches, because that was not what he knew. Stiles has known for so long what was going on, known exactly what was happening, and Jackson never said anything different. “Impossible,” he whispers. “Jackson was hiding you. He was going out to New York for his new job and he kept hiding the fact that he was meeting with you. In hotels. Sharing rooms. Eating out. Spending every moment there with you.”
“You had us watched.”
He glances up at her. “Well, yeah. You spent the night with him.”
“We stayed up all night talking.” She crouches slowly, bringing herself down to the level where he sits, her trousers wrinkling with the motion. “We’d never met before his trip out for his second interview. I was thirty-three years old and I had just found out I had a brother, and it was completely accidental that we even found each other. A mutual friend introduced us, amused because we look alike. Enough that we could be twins, she said.”
Stiles looks for it, stares at her features and takes them apart with his mind. There are similarities, yes, even the way she tilts her head under his regard. There are differences as well. Her build is lighter, her frame narrower, although he can see the similarities even there. Her hair is paler than his, more blonde than dark sand. Her eyes are a different shade. But the cheekbones, and the attitude… he can see family in her.
He wonders if Allison knows. If Scott knows, and Caleb. If Nikki knows. If they’ve all been hiding this from him for years, laughing at him.
And Jackson… Jackson left. This doesn’t change that simple fact, that rather than explain, Jackson walked out and never came back.
Until now.
He shakes his head. He can’t assimilate it; it’s too much information and too big to understand. “I need to go check on Nikki.” He pushes past her, using his shoulder to edge between her and the door.
“I see what Jackson means,” she says quietly. “You do run away when you don’t want to listen. You pushed him out, Stiles. You refused to wait until he was ready, and you pushed him right out that door. If I had been a potential lover, you would have delivered him-wrapped up in a pretty bow-you were trying so hard to get rid of him.”
“You do not get to weigh in on what happened here.” He jabs a finger at her, stopping just short of poking her collarbone. “You were not here, and you’ve only got one side of the story.”
She smiles thinly. “So do you.”
Another rap against the door, and a voice calling from outside. “Stiles. Dr. Mayhew wants to talk to you.”
Nikki takes all precedence. Over Jackson, over Amanda, over this insanity that his life has suddenly become. “My daughter needs me,” he snaps, and he yanks open the door and stalks out. He ignores the crowd that stands there, knowing damned well that Scott and Jackson could hear every word of that supposedly private conversation that just happened. He ignores them all and joins Dr. Mayhew at the end of the hall.
“She’s doing much better than expected,” the doctor explains. “We’re going to stop forcing her body into a coma, and with that release, she should wake up naturally soon. We’ll have to re-evaluate her condition then.”
It’s the best news Stiles has had since the accident.
He goes to sit by her side, and when Jackson joins him in that small room, Stiles refuses to look at him. He can’t, not now. Nikki is all he can see.
He raises her hand to his lips, brushing a kiss across her fingertips.
Then he waits for something to change, because it will. It has to.