Fic: When in Rome
Title: When in Rome
Author: MissAnnThropic
Livejournal: miss_annthropic
Summary: Stiles gets stuck in an elevator with Derek Hale, his favorite actor from the television show Wolf’s Blood.
Disclaimer: None of it’s mine. I’m just a sad little fangirl that spends her days writing fanfic and watching DVDs of her favorite shows :(
Author's Note: I’ve never written an AU fic before. Honestly, I don’t care for them much, so of course the Muse went ‘oh yeah? Well, we’re going to try it anyway’. This is just a fun little piece about the type of scenario all of us have imagined (don’t lie, you’re just as much fangirl as I am ;)
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The thing was, Stiles was not one of those batcrap crazy fans. Scott was, totally, but Stiles? Not so much. He’d watched the show, sure. Part of being Scott’s best friend was seeing every single episode of Wolf’s Blood. But he wasn’t nuts for it.
It was decent enough. The actors were hot. But Stiles just didn’t get into it on the zen level.
But that was okay, because he was totally supportive of Scott being an utter flailing fangirl, and if it meant he ended up in Rome for a Wolf’s Blood convention? Then all Stiles had to say to that was ‘hell yes, Rome, bitches!’
Scott and Stiles had never been out of the country before, and while Scott intended to sit every Wolf’s Blood panel, trivia contest, and cosplay competition on the schedule, Stiles planned on just dropping into the convention hall when the really hot guys were on stage (he did watch the show, he had his favorites) then ditching Scott for the rest and check out Rome.
It was a win-win for everybody.
“You sure you don’t want to come see the All Hale Women panel? Talia, Laura, and Cora Hale are all going to be there,” Scott said from the hotel bed where he was sitting with legs crossed reading the convention schedule.
One of the most unique things about Wolf’s Blood was that the on-screen family was also a real-life family. They found some ridiculously genetically blessed family and over half of them starred on the show.
Stiles appreciated that on a fundamental level. He hated how often people were cast to play family members who looked absolutely nothing like each other. It was a credibility thing, you know?
“Much as I love the Hale ladies, they can’t beat the rich cultural history of Rome,” Stiles answered. “I have to get my culture on. Got to get some culture all up in this,” he made a waving gesture at his body.
Scott smirked. “But you’ll be here for the Derek panel, right?”
“What a stupid question… fuck yes, I’ll be at Derek’s.” Stiles didn’t have to be a die-hard Wolf’s Blood fan to be enormously appreciative of the gorgeousness that was Derek Hale.
“So much for culture,” Scott sniggered.
Stiles held up a finger in protest. “I contend Derek Hale is a cultural treasure.”
“He’s American.”
“Of the world. Global cultural treasure. That supersedes any and all local treasures. The Colosseum will just have to wait its turn.”
Scott snorted, to which Stiles threw a pair of rolled-up socks at him. “Don’t even pretend like you don’t agree. You have a poster.”
“That poster has all the Hales, thank you very much.”
“Still… raging hypocrite,” Stiles mock-snarled.
“When you say it like that, sounds like hemorrhoids.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“Says the guy who sat on a Reese’s cup and still ate it.”
“Those jeans were clean! At least they were before they had chocolate peanut-buttery goodness all over them. One does not simply waste Reese’s.” Stiles said the last with his index finger and thumb touching, ala Lord of the Rings.
Scott mimicked the gesture and tone. “One does not simply eat candy off the ass of their pants.”
“It’s completely socially acceptable as long as I don’t eat candy off the ass of someone else’s pants.”
“You had to have been raised by wolves,” Scott teased. “It’s the only explanation.”
“Right… wait a minute! Wolf’s Blood superfan, accusing me of being raised by wolves… I’m starting to see why you’re my friend now. It’s just my wolfish manners, isn’t it? Do you have a mancrush on me, Scott? Do you? I can take it if you do, just tell me the truth.”
“Whatever, dude,” Scott laughed. “You wish. You’re not Greek god enough to pass for werewolf.”
Stiles put a hand over his heart theatrically. “That hurts, dude. You wound me.”
“Suck it up, buttercup. Let me make it up to you. How about in the autograph line for Derek, I fake an asthma attack when we get to the front to buy you some more time up close and personal to ogle him?”
Stiles pointed at Scott with a tongue-cluck and wink. “That’s why we’re friends. Right there. You’re awesome.”
“Course that will paint you the horrible friend, because how could you just stand there and eye-bang a celebrity while your own best friend is dying?”
“Meh, we’ll say I’m a sociopath. It’s an image I can live with,” Stiles shrugged dismissively.
“Why do I put up with you?”
“Because no one else is lame enough to fly to another country with your stupid ass for a tv show convention?”
“Oh… right. Damn, guess I’ll just have to make do, then.”
Stiles rolled his eyes and pocketed his wallet, room key, snacks, and phone. “Well, I’m off to see the sights. Don’t get arrested for molesting any Hales while I’m gone.”
“No promises,” Scott said with a cheeky grin.
Stiles smirked. “Guess it’s a good thing we put an international package on my phone, so at least you can call me to come bail you out.”
“Do they even do that in Rome? Or would I just rot in jail for goosing an actor?”
“Is it such a bad way to end up in a foreign prison for life?” Stiles joked.
“Not in the least. See you later, dude.”
Stiles gave a wave and stepped out of their hotel room.
On the way to the elevator, he fiddled with his phone. For some reason, it hadn’t updated time zones and was still displaying California time. Which was fine, until he needed to set an alarm for tomorrow morning. No way he could work out the math on that one and get it right - he needed it to show the correct time to have a prayer of being awake before noon.
And what should have been intuitive to find? Totally wasn’t.
“Damnit, how the hell…” Stiles grumbled as he stepped on the elevator, swiping screens trying to find the settings for time zones.
He was scowling down at his device (the bars had dropped to zero the second the doors closed, which should not have done jack shit to his ability to change settings, but it was acting like it mattered) when the elevator lurched to a stop and the doors opened.
Stiles started to step out just as someone else moved to step in. He drew up short and came face-to-face with none other than Derek Hale.
Stiles gawked a second (he deserved to be cut some slack for that, because one second he was alone on an elevator then the next, boom!, Derek Hale), then he looked past Derek into what was definitely not the lobby. He looked up at the illuminated floor numbers and found they were on the top floor.
“You look confused,” Derek finally broke the awkward silence.
“Uh… yeah, no… I must have gotten on and forgot to press the button.” Smooth, Stiles. Real smooth.
Derek’s eyebrows rose in an unspoken ‘are you a moron?’ look, then he stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the lobby with his free hand, the other holding a bottle of water. As the doors began to close, Derek took a step to the side to put some distance between himself and Stiles.
Who could blame him?
“My phone’s acting up,” Stiles waved the device. “I was just trying to fix it.”
Derek glanced side-long at him, his face saying ‘good for you’ that was anything but sincere but did also kind of suggest Stiles could stop talking now.
Stiles sighed and stuffed his phone into his pocket, cursing himself for being a goober in front of Derek Hale. Everyone imagined running into their favorite celebrity, and in those daydreams one was always witty, charming, and delightful.
So far, Stiles had nailed absent-minded, random, and goofy. What a trifecta.
Still, Scott would not believe this story when he told him. He might just leave out the ‘I was an idiot’ part, though.
It promised to be the most uncomfortable, awkward elevator ride of Stiles’ life.
So he couldn’t say he was all that surprised when the elevator gave another lurch. Then bucked. For a fraction of a second, Stiles felt like there was nothing under his feet; the next second he was slammed back down and his knees said ‘fuck that shit’ and gave out. He crashed to the floor of the elevator with a yelp.
Derek staggered but remained upright.
The elevator bobbed and groaned, an ominous sound of metal-on-metal. Stiles imagined every movie he’d ever seen where the elevator plummeted to the ground and ended in a car full of person soup. He was going to die in an elevator in Rome with Derek Hale. ‘Just like that old gypsy woman said!’ he thought hysterically, because even in impending death his brain was a sarcastic shit.
Then the elevator just stopped doing anything.
For a second, neither of them dared to move.
“Are you all right?” Derek asked in a low voice… as if the malfunctioning elevator were a velociraptor they dare not agitate.
“Yeah, I’m fine… what was that?”
“I don’t know.” Derek moved to the button panel and pressed lobby. Then a random floor. Then he tried the button to open the doors.
Nothing.
Stiles watched Derek try everything, then just kind of gaped when Derek… sighed. Instead of flying into a panic or a rage, he just hung his head and sighed like this was just about right for his day.
Stiles got to his feet and looked around the car. “Are we stuck?”
Derek grunted. “I’d say so.”
“Oh… well, could be worse.”
Derek glanced over at him, puzzled.
Stiles shrugged. “Neither of us is pregnant.”
Derek’s face screwed at the non sequitur.
“You know,” Stiles hastened to explain, “in television, there’s always some pregnant lady on the elevator when it gets stuck and she goes into labor and the mailman or the weirdo in Apartment 4 has to deliver the baby.”
Derek huffed out a breath that might have almost been a laugh, but Stiles wasn’t going to assume anything. He had been a spectacular spaz for the entirety that Derek Hale had known him, after all.
Stiles spotted the emergency phone on his side of the elevator. He’d always wanted to use one of those - as a kid, his dad was slapping his hand away from the emergency phone on every elevator he’d ever been on. This was like a dream come true.
He opened the little gold door, picked up the phone, and pressed the receiver to his ear, not sure if he was supposed to talk or wait. “Um… hello?”
“Front desk, do you have an emergency?”
“Sort of… the elevator’s stuck.”
“Is it responding to any commands?”
“It’s doing a pretty good ‘stay’ at the moment.” He spotted Derek giving him a sour look and amended, “No, we’ve pushed a bunch of buttons but it isn’t doing anything.”
“We’ll place a call to the maintenance company. How many people are on the elevator with you?”
“Just me and one other guy.”
“Are either of you injured?”
“No.”
“Do either of you have a medical condition that could become an emergency anytime soon?”
Stiles glanced over at Derek, who shook his head.
“No.”
“All right, I apologize for the inconvenience, sir. We will get someone to repair the elevator and get you both out as soon as possible.”
“Great. Thanks. Um… bye.” Stiles put the phone back and turned to see Derek scowling at his cell phone. “I couldn’t get any service in here. Earlier, I mean.”
He assumed Derek couldn’t either when he gave a put-upon sigh shoved the phone back into his pocket.
“Soooo…” Stiles rocked on his heels. “Wanna play I Spy?”
Derek gave him a pointed look - one that said ‘if it wasn’t my job to be at least cordial to my fans I would be rolling my eyes right now’ - and gave the lobby button another try.
Right then. Message received.
Stiles sat down on the floor to the right of the doors, his back against the elevator wall. “Well, maybe we won’t be in here too long. I hope you peed before you left your room.”
Derek looked ready to dismiss him again, froze, then he looked down at the water bottle in his hand. He bent over and put it down on the floor like it might betray him at any moment.
Stiles chuckled.
Derek pinched the bridge of his nose, and Stiles liked to think that this was just an overall shitty day for him and that it wasn’t necessarily being stuck with Stiles in particular that was so heinous.
He tried to keep his mouth shut - at least give Derek some peace and quiet - but there was basically next to zero chance of that happening.
“I’m Stiles, by the way.”
Derek looked over at him. “Stiles?”
“Yeah. My name.” Derek opened his mouth to speak, and Stiles bulled over him, “It’s a nickname, actually, and yes, it is worlds better than my given name. Stilinski.”
Derek frowned. “Stilinski is your given name?”
“No, that’s my last name. Wait, let me do that better: I’m Stiles Stilinski. How was that?”
Derek made a classic ‘bit into a lemon’ face.
“And you’re Derek Hale,” Stiles rambled. “I mean, you knew that. Just wanted you to know that I knew that. Which was supposed to make this less awkward, but I think it just made things worse.”
Derek’s shoulders were tense. “So you’re a fan of the show.” He said it almost with dread, like Stiles was going to full-on Misery the guy now that he had him alone and trapped.
“Sort of. I’m here with my friend Scott. He’s the one who’s really into the show. I just couldn’t pass up a trip to Rome. It was a graduation present from our parents. Not our parents collectively; we’re not brothers. By blood, at any rate. My dad, Scott’s mom. Well, half a present, technically. See, Scott and I had been saving up for a trip after we graduated from high school, but we were just thinking New York or something, then Dad and Scott’s mom surprised us with half the money we’d need to come here, our savings covered the rest, and tada… here I am. Stuck on an elevator with Derek Hale. Though I can’t say that was on my Italy must-do list.”
Almost reluctantly, Derek sat down on the opposite side of the elevator facing Stiles. For such a hot guy, he wasn’t looking so hot.
“Hey, are you okay?” Stiles asked in concern. “You’re not claustrophobic or anything, are you?”
“No. I’m fine.” Which sounded like a lie, but it wasn’t like he would tell some random fan if there was something wrong.
“Sorry you had to get stuck in here with me. I’m sure there’s a long list of things you’d rather be stuck in an elevator with than a fan. Wolverine and honey badger are probably on the top of that list.”
Derek’s shrugged. “You didn’t faint. That’s a plus.”
“Well, I did take a nose-dive, but that was totally the elevator’s fault. That was in no way, shape, or form a swoon.”
“At least you’re not a screamer,” Derek muttered.
He was speaking of shrieking fans, of course, but Stiles could not leave that one alone. “I wouldn’t say that,” he countered, and when Derek gave him a startled look Stiles risked a wink. Might as well, right? Bet big or go home.
Derek blinked a moment… then he chuckled. “Guess I walked into that one.”
Stiles snickered. “Sorry, man… if I weird you out, just say so. I promise I’m not a creep, I just have a problem keeping my mouth shut.”
Derek gave him an impassive look. “You’re that person on the plane, aren’t you?”
Stiles rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. “Guilty. And that person on the subway. And the buffet line. And the check-out at Walmart. I’m that person everywhere. Honestly, I just need to be gagged at all times.”
Derek lifted a brow.
“Nope, that one’s too easy,” Stiles chided. “You don’t get points for that one.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“No, but you were thinking it.”
Derek lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender.
An awkward silence descended. Stiles tapped out a rhythm with his fingers against his thighs while Derek leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.
Damn Stiles and his ADHD. “Animal, vegetable, or mineral?”
Derek opened one eye and looked at him. “Really? Twenty questions?”
“Sure, I’d love to play! Me first. Are you an animal?”
Derek lifted his head off the wall and looked pointedly at Stiles. “Is that a joke about the show?”
Stiles opened his mouth, no words came out, then he barked out a laugh. “Dude, that’s awesome! Scott isn’t going to believe you out-witted me on twenty questions on the first question.”
“I take it your friend Scott isn’t very bright, then.”
It would have been an insult if there wasn’t a telling uptick on the left side of Derek’s mouth.
“I am totally telling him you said that.”
“That’s all taken from how you describe him, so he might be angry you make him sound dim.” Derek looked down at his watch. “Looks like you’ll be missing the Twin Talk.”
“The what?”
“Aidan and Ethan are supposed to be on stage in five minutes.”
Stiles blinked for a second, baffled, before it hit him. “Oh, right. You mean the twins on Wolf’s Blood.” When Derek gave him that look again that said he was brain damaged, Stiles shook his head. “I actually wasn’t planning on going to anything today.”
Derek looked confused. “You came for the convention, though, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, but like I said - not a dye-in-the-wool fan. Um… no offense. I’m not saying I don’t enjoy you on the show or anything. Or, you know, that I’m not a Hale fan in general, since a whole bunch of your relatives are on the show, too. Shit, this is sounding more like an insult the more I talk.” Stiles took a breath and took a new approach. “I was going to spend the day checking out Rome. My first time overseas and all; I felt like it would be a… more meaningful use of my time?”
Derek nodded like that made total sense.
“Besides, I’m getting one-on-one time with Derek Hale right now. When they get the elevators fixed, the convention people will probably charge me.”
That got a laugh out of Derek, and Stiles kind of felt like rainbows and sunshine for a second. So maybe it was more of an enthusiastic chuckle than ‘laugh’, but Stiles was taking liberties. When the story got to Scott, Derek would graduate to side-splitting peels.
The next sound to fill the elevator was an angry rumble.
Stiles’ and Derek’s eyes both went to Derek’s stomach.
“I was on my way out to lunch,” Derek explained.
Stiles cocked his head thoughtfully. “Are you allergic to peanuts?”
Derek looked baffled again. “Umm… no? Is this twenty questions again? Or do you try to work that into every conversation you have with people you’ve just met?”
Stiles rolled his eyes. “No.” He fished his hands in his hoodie pockets. “I stashed some snacks in my pockets earlier to sustain me through Operation Explore Rome, but it’s pretty much all peanut butter, so if you have an allergy all I’m really going to be doing is flaunting that I have food and you don’t, very Tantalus-like.” Stiles pulled his goodies out of his pockets. Two packages of peanut butter crackers and a packet of Reese’s cups.
After a moment’s contemplation, Stiles held the crackers out to Derek in one hand. He staked claimed to the Reese’s with the other.
Derek’s eyes lit on the crackers in something like pleasant surprise. “Thanks,” he reached out to take them. His eyes flicked to the candy Stiles was hoarding close to his chest. “Not a man to be parted from your sweets, I take it?”
“Sweets… meh, I’m easy on that. Peanut butter cups are a different story. If I share my cups with you, I’m basically trying to date you. And I just don’t think we’re there yet.”
Derek shook his head ruefully and tore into the first package of crackers. Stiles considered breaking into the cups just because if Derek was eating it seemed rude not to join him, but he wasn’t actually hungry. Instead, he turned the package over and over in his hands.
“Is this your first time in Rome?” Stiles asked.
Derek chewed and swallowed. “No. I’ve been to…” he tried to finger-count then gave up, “there have been conventions here before.”
“Wow… must be cool to get to travel so much.”
Derek shrugged. “It has its good things and bad things. I do love Rome, though.”
“I can see why. I mean, all I’ve seen of it so far was what I saw from the cab on the way from the airport, but just that much was amazing. I’m thinking of staying. You know, just not getting on the plane when our tickets have us going back. Live on the streets like a cat or a hobo.”
“I’m sure your parents will be proud.”
“Dad might enjoy the break from my madness.” Stiles shook his head when the fantasy crumbled. “Nah, my dad would fly all the way over here to drag me back by the scruff of my neck.”
Derek plucked a cracker from the package and gave Stiles a look. “More werewolf jokes?”
“Quit reading lycanthropy into everything I say… just for that, I’m not telling you about the time he actually came after me with a rolled-up newspaper.”
Derek sputtered, cracker crumbs flying everywhere.
Stiles grinned. “To be fair, I was five and into the sharp and pointy gardening tools and it was the least offensive weapon on hand,” Stiles gave a ‘what can you do’ shrug. “I’ve been told I was an exhausting child to parent.”
“I can imagine.”
Well well, look who had some snark in them. Stiles liked it. Not just a pretty body and face, then. “I’m still trying to decide what kind of medal he deserves for getting me to eighteen. I’m thinking either purple heart or the congressional medal of honor.”
“I was kind of a handful, too.”
That surprised Stiles. “Really? You?”
Derek nodded. “We Hales are headstrong and stubborn to beat all get out. Throw in a couple of middle children with a wild streak and it wasn’t pretty. Cora and I used to fight like cats and dogs when we were kids.”
“Wow… that’s… you all seem to get along so well, though.”
“Keyword ‘seem’.” Derek chuckled. “We get along better now, but it’s definitely not easy working with your family members all day every day.”
“Makes for tense days on set, I take it?”
“Sometimes. Plus it’s hard to find a way to have you own life when your job has long hours and you work with most of your relatives. How am I supposed to meet someone - let alone date - when I spend almost all of my waking hours with my mother?”
“Huh… never thought about it like that.” Stiles repositioned himself on the elevator floor when his ass started to go numb. “But that’s your own fault, you Hales.”
Derek lifted a brow. “How’s that?”
“If a few of you would have the decency to look utterly average, maybe you wouldn’t all end up on television.” When Derek didn’t seem offended, Stiles continued his playful tirade. “Good-looking people like you piss me off. I mean, god damnit, you know? How are regular guys supposed to compete with that?” Stiles gestured at Derek and his Greek godliness.
Derek considered Stiles a moment. “I can’t decide if you’re jealous of me or attracted to me.”
“The two need not be mutually exclusive,” Stiles replied with a shrug, pretending like his heart wasn’t hammering because he’d just kind of told Derek Hale that he was into guys. Specifically, into him. But it shouldn’t really be a shock, because look at Derek and look at Stiles. The latter was going to crush on the former. That was pretty much a given.
“If it makes you feel better,” Derek said at length, “you’ve got a lot more freedom than I do.”
Stiles snorted. “You don’t know my dad, aka the sheriff.”
Derek’s eyebrows went up. “Okay, you may have a point.”
“I want to fist pump, but somehow this doesn’t feel like a victory for me.”
Derek smirked and ripped open the second package of crackers. “Tell you what, I’ll trade you my family for your dad for a day and we’ll compare notes.”
“Oh, no… no, no, no. You couldn’t pay me to be in your shoes.”
That seemed to surprise Derek. “Really? If someone offered you the chance to be a star, you’d turn them down?”
“Dude, we’ve been in this elevator what - fifteen minutes? - and even you could attest to the fact I am awkward and a half. And that’s just with an audience of one. Can you imagine me in front of millions of people? I’m not sure who it would be more painful for, me or them.”
Derek tilted his head like a dog catching a sound (Stiles was all kinds of mature for not pulling out yet another werewolf joke). “You may be the strangest fan I’ve ever met.”
That could be taken in a good way or a bad way, and Stiles was feeling optimistic. “Flattery will not get you my Reese’s cups.”
Derek laughed, and this time it wasn’t mostly Stiles’ imagination building it up into something it mostly wasn’t. He watched Derek chew on another cracker and sort of dreaded the elevator being repaired. He was enjoying himself. And he thought maybe Derek was, too. He’d gotten on the elevator looking like the world was out to personally insult him, but already he seemed kind of lighter.
Then again, Stiles did have an active imagination. He wouldn’t rule out that Derek was just being nice and the second he was off the elevator and hanging out with his ridiculously hot family, he’d be griping about the nutjob he’d been stuck with.
Stiles supposed as long as that version didn’t end up in any magazines or youtube clips, he could deal. He’d live happily in the land of delusion where he’d had a moment with Derek Hale. That they’d been friendly to one another.
“What were you planning to see in Rome?” Derek asked, jarring Stiles out of his ruminations.
“Hmmm? Oh! Well, the typical tourist stuff, I guess. This is my first time out of the country, so I’m probably going to just reinforce every negative stereotype about Americans that foreigners have. And since you travel a lot and all, you’re welcome.”
Derek chuckled, finishing off the last of the crackers.
“Why, do you have any suggestions?” Stiles asked. “I mean, not that you have any obligation to tell me or anything, but you just said you’ve been here a whole bunch of times before, and I’m not too proud to admit I could use a Roman Sacajawea.”
“There are so many things wrong with that sentence,” Derek complained light-heartedly, then he stopped and considered Stiles intently for a moment.
Stiles sat back, puzzled at the scrutiny. “What? What’s that face? Are you trying to decide which seedy establishment to send me to for shits and giggles? If you are, please opt for the S&M club versus the bare-knuckles fight club.”
“You’d be a menace in either,” Derek countered, then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. “Give me your number. I know a few places you might like, but I’ll have to look up their addresses once we’re out and I can get some service.”
“Oh… oh!” Stiles exclaimed, then he rattled off his phone number while Derek saved it into his phone. Stiles watched Derek put in his contact information, chewing his lip anxiously. If Derek messaged him with those addresses, he would also be giving Stiles his phone number. He could just imagine how many cardinal rules of the celebrity that was breaking.
Which made him say, “Hey, look… if you don’t text me, it’s cool.”
Derek looked up, puzzled. “I just said I would.”
“Yeah, I know you said, but… you probably don’t want a fan to have your phone number. And I totally get that. I mean, even if I swore on my Jeep that I’d delete it right away and not let another living soul - not even Scott - see it, that’s still probably crossing some kind of line. Celebrity 101. For all you know, I could be a serial killer.”
Derek quirked a brow. “Are you?”
“Well, no. But a serial killer wouldn’t admit to it, now would they?” Stiles huffed. “I appreciate the thought, and if you want to tell me some places to check out then great, but don’t feel bad or anything if you decide not to. It’s totally cool.”
At length, Derek gave a thoughtful nod and slipped his phone back into his pocket. “For the record, I don’t think you’re a serial killer.” Derek smirked. “And I think if you tried to murder me, I could break you in half.”
Stiles laughed. “Dude, no shit!” And what a way to go. Stiles would totally want that cause of death written on his tombstone. “But seriously, you don’t have to fear me. I’m a lover, not a fighter.” He winked and beamed at Derek to prove just how harmless he was.
Derek peered intently at him. “I can’t tell if you’re flirting with me or not.”
“I might be,” Stiles shrugged casually, amazed at how not-awkward this part actually felt. “But it’s pointless, so what’s the harm?”
“Pointless,” Derek parroted, and for the life of him Stiles could not read that tone of voice.
“Completely. Let’s not pretend you and I don’t both know that if we hadn’t been stuck in here together, you never would have given me the time of day.”
An unpleasant expression clouded Derek’s face. “You make me sound like an asshole.”
“That’s not what I was saying at all! I just meant that, you know, water seeks its own level.”
Derek’s face was an utter blank, which was kind of distressing in its own right.
Stiles groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. “Geez, Derek, that was a compliment. We’re a 10 and a 5 here,” he waved between them with one hand, “I know that. No delusions on that front. That statement was all about you being so painfully out of my league it’s not even funny. So, just… take the compliment, damnit.”
“Are all your compliments so self-abasing?” Derek asked, clearly not impressed.
Stiles pretended to give that serious thought. “Only when the recipient is being difficult.”
“I’m difficult?”
“Absolutely. But I’m no picnic either, so there’s that. Hey, look! Something we finally have in common.”
That won a chuckle and eye-roll.
“If it bothers you so much, I promise I won’t flirt anymore.” It was probably a promise he could keep. Maybe. If his mouth didn’t engage before his brain did… which was unlikely, in all honesty, but hey, he could dream. There was always the chance the elevator would be fixed in the next thirty seconds.
There was a moment’s silence, then Derek replied, “I didn’t say it bothers me.”
Stiles smiled. That made sense, because who doesn’t like an ego stroke? If people were lining up to tell him how good-looking he was, he figured he’d enjoy the shit out of it, too. Of course, that would be a novelty to him. To Derek, not so much.
“I’m sure you’re sick of fans being all flirty with you, anyway.”
“When it’s teenage girls and soccer moms, yes. That’s pretty creepy.”
Stiles guffawed.
“But I don’t mind if hot guys flirt with me.”
Stiles snickered. “Man, if you did, I would really question your sanity. Or, er… I guess your sexuality. I mean, if you were strictly into chicks then dudes hitting on you would probably be uncomfortable.”
“Probably. But I’m not, so it isn’t.”
Fuck… like Stiles needed another reason to be into Derek Hale. “Oh, that’s… good to know.”
A look came over Derek’s face that Stiles could only classify as dangerous. His internal alarms were screaming ‘uh oh’ before he really even understood the danger.
“Why?” Derek asked, voice gone husky and intoxicating, “you plan to do something with that knowledge?”
Stiles’ jaw dropped open and for the life of him he could not think of a single word. English went bye-bye. Hello gray matter pudding now residing in Stiles’ skull, you were once a loved and snarky brain. You will probably not be missed.
Derek laughed. “Do you always shut down when someone flirts with you?”
“Uh… um…”
Derek was grinning. Stiles was having an existential crisis. Up was down and down was up and Derek Hale was flirting with him.
Or just fucking with him.
Stiles wrested back control of his face and coughed. “Dude, not cool. You can’t toy with a guy like that. From someone like you, that could do some serious damage. I’m talking life-long consequences. I would probably be on my death-bed when I was eighty thinking about how Derek Hale made fun of me that one time in an elevator. Do you want to be responsible for that kind of emotional scar?” He kept his tone joking, because that was how he handled everything, but there was a very real fear at the core. Because yes, as pathetic as it sounded, Derek making fun of his crush on him like that would be beyond humiliating.
While Stiles was talking, Derek’s smile kept slipping until he was left watching Stiles with a serious expression on his face. After Stiles stopped talking, Derek looked down at his lap, brushing invisible crumbs off his jeans.
Stiles held his tongue. If Derek wanted to pretend he hadn’t said anything because he hadn’t known it would cause this reaction, that was cool. Stiles was fine with that. But he wasn’t okay with Derek making him think he had a shot when it was fucking obvious he didn’t. That was just cruel and unusual.
“I wasn’t messing with you,” Derek mumbled.
Stiles just gaped, torn between wanting to believe that so badly and knowing down to his bones it was a lie. He had basically a lifetime of trying to win Lydia Martin’s affection and not even getting so much as an acknowledgment of his existence as proof, and she’d just been the hometown beauty. This was Derek Fucking Hale.
Derek scowled like suddenly the situation had become vexing. “Look… I said I’d text you some places to go in Rome, right?”
Stiles nodded.
“I’ll give you the name and directions for a local restaurant - my favorite - and if you show up at seven, I’ll be there waiting.” Derek made a placating gesture. “So it’s all on you. You’re free to join me for dinner or stand me up. Your call.”
The idea of him, Stiles Stilinski, standing up Derek Hale was ludicrous. “You… are you serious?”
Derek nodded.
“Why?” Stiles stammered.
“Like I said… it’s hard for me to meet people. And when I got on this elevator, I was having a pretty shitty day.”
“You did look kind of butt-hurt about life,” Stiles muttered.
“I don’t think I’d phrase it quite like that,” Derek said with a sour look. “But just a few minutes talking with you turned that around. I’d say that’s worth exploring. And maybe it won’t turn into anything. That’s fine. But what if?”
“Yeah… what if,” Stiles all but whispered.
As if on cue, there was a mechanized groan and the elevator lurched.
Stiles braced himself, one hand on the elevator wall and the other on the carpet, and he held his breath until the elevator chugged, stuttered, then started to move. With a strange yelp noise, he got to his feet.
Derek was a few seconds behind, stuffing empty cracker wrappers in his pocket.
The ride down was tensely quiet. Stiles felt like he was about to vibrate right out of his skin or spontaneously combust. Derek was a fucking presence beside him, like a man-shaped storm causing the hair on Stiles’ arms to stand on end.
Far too long after they’d stepped on to the elevator, it stopped at the ground floor and the doors opened. They were greeted first by the faces of the repair technicians and hotel staff. Beyond them were Wolf’s Blood fans walking by who spotted Derek and let out various variations of shrieks.
Derek let out a half-sigh next to Stiles.
“Are you two all right?” the repair guy asked. Behind his shoulder, one of the hotel workers looked horrified that the ‘one other guy’ on the elevator was one of their celebrity guests. Stiles imagined if he’d told the phone lady exactly who was on the stuck elevator, it would have been unstuck much faster.
“Yeah, we’re good,” Stiles replied, then he chanced a look over at Derek.
Derek was looking at him expectantly, eyebrows high. “So…”
Stiles swallowed thickly, tried to calm his racing heart, then he reached into his pocket. He pulled out the package of Reese’s peanut butter cups and held them out to Derek.
Derek looked down at them a second, confused, then it clicked and he smiled. He took the cups like they were treasures (they were Reese’s, they were), eyes never leaving Stiles’ face.
Stiles smiled back.
There were no ifs, ands, or buts about it this time… this was a moment.
Then Stiles ducked out of the elevator and made for the front doors, because fangirls were starting to take pictures, and he wasn’t ready to deal with more than one thing at a time right now.
Once he was outside in the fresh air, Stiles leaned against the façade of the hotel and braced himself with his hands on his knees. He sucked in air like he’d been holding his breath the whole time in the elevator. The holyshit feeling was almost like a panic attack looming, but it wasn’t the right flavor.
It wasn’t terror making him shaky, it was elation. He’d never been this near to pure joy in his life.
Oh my god. Derek Hale. Derek Hale.
Stiles jumped when his phone buzzed in his pocket. Fumbling, he pulled it out and found a text message from an unfamiliar number.
See you at 7.
Stiles laughed like a loon and added Derek’s number to his contact list.
Scott was never going to believe this.
END
Author: MissAnnThropic
Livejournal: miss_annthropic
Summary: Stiles gets stuck in an elevator with Derek Hale, his favorite actor from the television show Wolf’s Blood.
Disclaimer: None of it’s mine. I’m just a sad little fangirl that spends her days writing fanfic and watching DVDs of her favorite shows :(
Author's Note: I’ve never written an AU fic before. Honestly, I don’t care for them much, so of course the Muse went ‘oh yeah? Well, we’re going to try it anyway’. This is just a fun little piece about the type of scenario all of us have imagined (don’t lie, you’re just as much fangirl as I am ;)
*************************
The thing was, Stiles was not one of those batcrap crazy fans. Scott was, totally, but Stiles? Not so much. He’d watched the show, sure. Part of being Scott’s best friend was seeing every single episode of Wolf’s Blood. But he wasn’t nuts for it.
It was decent enough. The actors were hot. But Stiles just didn’t get into it on the zen level.
But that was okay, because he was totally supportive of Scott being an utter flailing fangirl, and if it meant he ended up in Rome for a Wolf’s Blood convention? Then all Stiles had to say to that was ‘hell yes, Rome, bitches!’
Scott and Stiles had never been out of the country before, and while Scott intended to sit every Wolf’s Blood panel, trivia contest, and cosplay competition on the schedule, Stiles planned on just dropping into the convention hall when the really hot guys were on stage (he did watch the show, he had his favorites) then ditching Scott for the rest and check out Rome.
It was a win-win for everybody.
“You sure you don’t want to come see the All Hale Women panel? Talia, Laura, and Cora Hale are all going to be there,” Scott said from the hotel bed where he was sitting with legs crossed reading the convention schedule.
One of the most unique things about Wolf’s Blood was that the on-screen family was also a real-life family. They found some ridiculously genetically blessed family and over half of them starred on the show.
Stiles appreciated that on a fundamental level. He hated how often people were cast to play family members who looked absolutely nothing like each other. It was a credibility thing, you know?
“Much as I love the Hale ladies, they can’t beat the rich cultural history of Rome,” Stiles answered. “I have to get my culture on. Got to get some culture all up in this,” he made a waving gesture at his body.
Scott smirked. “But you’ll be here for the Derek panel, right?”
“What a stupid question… fuck yes, I’ll be at Derek’s.” Stiles didn’t have to be a die-hard Wolf’s Blood fan to be enormously appreciative of the gorgeousness that was Derek Hale.
“So much for culture,” Scott sniggered.
Stiles held up a finger in protest. “I contend Derek Hale is a cultural treasure.”
“He’s American.”
“Of the world. Global cultural treasure. That supersedes any and all local treasures. The Colosseum will just have to wait its turn.”
Scott snorted, to which Stiles threw a pair of rolled-up socks at him. “Don’t even pretend like you don’t agree. You have a poster.”
“That poster has all the Hales, thank you very much.”
“Still… raging hypocrite,” Stiles mock-snarled.
“When you say it like that, sounds like hemorrhoids.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“Says the guy who sat on a Reese’s cup and still ate it.”
“Those jeans were clean! At least they were before they had chocolate peanut-buttery goodness all over them. One does not simply waste Reese’s.” Stiles said the last with his index finger and thumb touching, ala Lord of the Rings.
Scott mimicked the gesture and tone. “One does not simply eat candy off the ass of their pants.”
“It’s completely socially acceptable as long as I don’t eat candy off the ass of someone else’s pants.”
“You had to have been raised by wolves,” Scott teased. “It’s the only explanation.”
“Right… wait a minute! Wolf’s Blood superfan, accusing me of being raised by wolves… I’m starting to see why you’re my friend now. It’s just my wolfish manners, isn’t it? Do you have a mancrush on me, Scott? Do you? I can take it if you do, just tell me the truth.”
“Whatever, dude,” Scott laughed. “You wish. You’re not Greek god enough to pass for werewolf.”
Stiles put a hand over his heart theatrically. “That hurts, dude. You wound me.”
“Suck it up, buttercup. Let me make it up to you. How about in the autograph line for Derek, I fake an asthma attack when we get to the front to buy you some more time up close and personal to ogle him?”
Stiles pointed at Scott with a tongue-cluck and wink. “That’s why we’re friends. Right there. You’re awesome.”
“Course that will paint you the horrible friend, because how could you just stand there and eye-bang a celebrity while your own best friend is dying?”
“Meh, we’ll say I’m a sociopath. It’s an image I can live with,” Stiles shrugged dismissively.
“Why do I put up with you?”
“Because no one else is lame enough to fly to another country with your stupid ass for a tv show convention?”
“Oh… right. Damn, guess I’ll just have to make do, then.”
Stiles rolled his eyes and pocketed his wallet, room key, snacks, and phone. “Well, I’m off to see the sights. Don’t get arrested for molesting any Hales while I’m gone.”
“No promises,” Scott said with a cheeky grin.
Stiles smirked. “Guess it’s a good thing we put an international package on my phone, so at least you can call me to come bail you out.”
“Do they even do that in Rome? Or would I just rot in jail for goosing an actor?”
“Is it such a bad way to end up in a foreign prison for life?” Stiles joked.
“Not in the least. See you later, dude.”
Stiles gave a wave and stepped out of their hotel room.
On the way to the elevator, he fiddled with his phone. For some reason, it hadn’t updated time zones and was still displaying California time. Which was fine, until he needed to set an alarm for tomorrow morning. No way he could work out the math on that one and get it right - he needed it to show the correct time to have a prayer of being awake before noon.
And what should have been intuitive to find? Totally wasn’t.
“Damnit, how the hell…” Stiles grumbled as he stepped on the elevator, swiping screens trying to find the settings for time zones.
He was scowling down at his device (the bars had dropped to zero the second the doors closed, which should not have done jack shit to his ability to change settings, but it was acting like it mattered) when the elevator lurched to a stop and the doors opened.
Stiles started to step out just as someone else moved to step in. He drew up short and came face-to-face with none other than Derek Hale.
Stiles gawked a second (he deserved to be cut some slack for that, because one second he was alone on an elevator then the next, boom!, Derek Hale), then he looked past Derek into what was definitely not the lobby. He looked up at the illuminated floor numbers and found they were on the top floor.
“You look confused,” Derek finally broke the awkward silence.
“Uh… yeah, no… I must have gotten on and forgot to press the button.” Smooth, Stiles. Real smooth.
Derek’s eyebrows rose in an unspoken ‘are you a moron?’ look, then he stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the lobby with his free hand, the other holding a bottle of water. As the doors began to close, Derek took a step to the side to put some distance between himself and Stiles.
Who could blame him?
“My phone’s acting up,” Stiles waved the device. “I was just trying to fix it.”
Derek glanced side-long at him, his face saying ‘good for you’ that was anything but sincere but did also kind of suggest Stiles could stop talking now.
Stiles sighed and stuffed his phone into his pocket, cursing himself for being a goober in front of Derek Hale. Everyone imagined running into their favorite celebrity, and in those daydreams one was always witty, charming, and delightful.
So far, Stiles had nailed absent-minded, random, and goofy. What a trifecta.
Still, Scott would not believe this story when he told him. He might just leave out the ‘I was an idiot’ part, though.
It promised to be the most uncomfortable, awkward elevator ride of Stiles’ life.
So he couldn’t say he was all that surprised when the elevator gave another lurch. Then bucked. For a fraction of a second, Stiles felt like there was nothing under his feet; the next second he was slammed back down and his knees said ‘fuck that shit’ and gave out. He crashed to the floor of the elevator with a yelp.
Derek staggered but remained upright.
The elevator bobbed and groaned, an ominous sound of metal-on-metal. Stiles imagined every movie he’d ever seen where the elevator plummeted to the ground and ended in a car full of person soup. He was going to die in an elevator in Rome with Derek Hale. ‘Just like that old gypsy woman said!’ he thought hysterically, because even in impending death his brain was a sarcastic shit.
Then the elevator just stopped doing anything.
For a second, neither of them dared to move.
“Are you all right?” Derek asked in a low voice… as if the malfunctioning elevator were a velociraptor they dare not agitate.
“Yeah, I’m fine… what was that?”
“I don’t know.” Derek moved to the button panel and pressed lobby. Then a random floor. Then he tried the button to open the doors.
Nothing.
Stiles watched Derek try everything, then just kind of gaped when Derek… sighed. Instead of flying into a panic or a rage, he just hung his head and sighed like this was just about right for his day.
Stiles got to his feet and looked around the car. “Are we stuck?”
Derek grunted. “I’d say so.”
“Oh… well, could be worse.”
Derek glanced over at him, puzzled.
Stiles shrugged. “Neither of us is pregnant.”
Derek’s face screwed at the non sequitur.
“You know,” Stiles hastened to explain, “in television, there’s always some pregnant lady on the elevator when it gets stuck and she goes into labor and the mailman or the weirdo in Apartment 4 has to deliver the baby.”
Derek huffed out a breath that might have almost been a laugh, but Stiles wasn’t going to assume anything. He had been a spectacular spaz for the entirety that Derek Hale had known him, after all.
Stiles spotted the emergency phone on his side of the elevator. He’d always wanted to use one of those - as a kid, his dad was slapping his hand away from the emergency phone on every elevator he’d ever been on. This was like a dream come true.
He opened the little gold door, picked up the phone, and pressed the receiver to his ear, not sure if he was supposed to talk or wait. “Um… hello?”
“Front desk, do you have an emergency?”
“Sort of… the elevator’s stuck.”
“Is it responding to any commands?”
“It’s doing a pretty good ‘stay’ at the moment.” He spotted Derek giving him a sour look and amended, “No, we’ve pushed a bunch of buttons but it isn’t doing anything.”
“We’ll place a call to the maintenance company. How many people are on the elevator with you?”
“Just me and one other guy.”
“Are either of you injured?”
“No.”
“Do either of you have a medical condition that could become an emergency anytime soon?”
Stiles glanced over at Derek, who shook his head.
“No.”
“All right, I apologize for the inconvenience, sir. We will get someone to repair the elevator and get you both out as soon as possible.”
“Great. Thanks. Um… bye.” Stiles put the phone back and turned to see Derek scowling at his cell phone. “I couldn’t get any service in here. Earlier, I mean.”
He assumed Derek couldn’t either when he gave a put-upon sigh shoved the phone back into his pocket.
“Soooo…” Stiles rocked on his heels. “Wanna play I Spy?”
Derek gave him a pointed look - one that said ‘if it wasn’t my job to be at least cordial to my fans I would be rolling my eyes right now’ - and gave the lobby button another try.
Right then. Message received.
Stiles sat down on the floor to the right of the doors, his back against the elevator wall. “Well, maybe we won’t be in here too long. I hope you peed before you left your room.”
Derek looked ready to dismiss him again, froze, then he looked down at the water bottle in his hand. He bent over and put it down on the floor like it might betray him at any moment.
Stiles chuckled.
Derek pinched the bridge of his nose, and Stiles liked to think that this was just an overall shitty day for him and that it wasn’t necessarily being stuck with Stiles in particular that was so heinous.
He tried to keep his mouth shut - at least give Derek some peace and quiet - but there was basically next to zero chance of that happening.
“I’m Stiles, by the way.”
Derek looked over at him. “Stiles?”
“Yeah. My name.” Derek opened his mouth to speak, and Stiles bulled over him, “It’s a nickname, actually, and yes, it is worlds better than my given name. Stilinski.”
Derek frowned. “Stilinski is your given name?”
“No, that’s my last name. Wait, let me do that better: I’m Stiles Stilinski. How was that?”
Derek made a classic ‘bit into a lemon’ face.
“And you’re Derek Hale,” Stiles rambled. “I mean, you knew that. Just wanted you to know that I knew that. Which was supposed to make this less awkward, but I think it just made things worse.”
Derek’s shoulders were tense. “So you’re a fan of the show.” He said it almost with dread, like Stiles was going to full-on Misery the guy now that he had him alone and trapped.
“Sort of. I’m here with my friend Scott. He’s the one who’s really into the show. I just couldn’t pass up a trip to Rome. It was a graduation present from our parents. Not our parents collectively; we’re not brothers. By blood, at any rate. My dad, Scott’s mom. Well, half a present, technically. See, Scott and I had been saving up for a trip after we graduated from high school, but we were just thinking New York or something, then Dad and Scott’s mom surprised us with half the money we’d need to come here, our savings covered the rest, and tada… here I am. Stuck on an elevator with Derek Hale. Though I can’t say that was on my Italy must-do list.”
Almost reluctantly, Derek sat down on the opposite side of the elevator facing Stiles. For such a hot guy, he wasn’t looking so hot.
“Hey, are you okay?” Stiles asked in concern. “You’re not claustrophobic or anything, are you?”
“No. I’m fine.” Which sounded like a lie, but it wasn’t like he would tell some random fan if there was something wrong.
“Sorry you had to get stuck in here with me. I’m sure there’s a long list of things you’d rather be stuck in an elevator with than a fan. Wolverine and honey badger are probably on the top of that list.”
Derek’s shrugged. “You didn’t faint. That’s a plus.”
“Well, I did take a nose-dive, but that was totally the elevator’s fault. That was in no way, shape, or form a swoon.”
“At least you’re not a screamer,” Derek muttered.
He was speaking of shrieking fans, of course, but Stiles could not leave that one alone. “I wouldn’t say that,” he countered, and when Derek gave him a startled look Stiles risked a wink. Might as well, right? Bet big or go home.
Derek blinked a moment… then he chuckled. “Guess I walked into that one.”
Stiles snickered. “Sorry, man… if I weird you out, just say so. I promise I’m not a creep, I just have a problem keeping my mouth shut.”
Derek gave him an impassive look. “You’re that person on the plane, aren’t you?”
Stiles rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. “Guilty. And that person on the subway. And the buffet line. And the check-out at Walmart. I’m that person everywhere. Honestly, I just need to be gagged at all times.”
Derek lifted a brow.
“Nope, that one’s too easy,” Stiles chided. “You don’t get points for that one.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“No, but you were thinking it.”
Derek lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender.
An awkward silence descended. Stiles tapped out a rhythm with his fingers against his thighs while Derek leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.
Damn Stiles and his ADHD. “Animal, vegetable, or mineral?”
Derek opened one eye and looked at him. “Really? Twenty questions?”
“Sure, I’d love to play! Me first. Are you an animal?”
Derek lifted his head off the wall and looked pointedly at Stiles. “Is that a joke about the show?”
Stiles opened his mouth, no words came out, then he barked out a laugh. “Dude, that’s awesome! Scott isn’t going to believe you out-witted me on twenty questions on the first question.”
“I take it your friend Scott isn’t very bright, then.”
It would have been an insult if there wasn’t a telling uptick on the left side of Derek’s mouth.
“I am totally telling him you said that.”
“That’s all taken from how you describe him, so he might be angry you make him sound dim.” Derek looked down at his watch. “Looks like you’ll be missing the Twin Talk.”
“The what?”
“Aidan and Ethan are supposed to be on stage in five minutes.”
Stiles blinked for a second, baffled, before it hit him. “Oh, right. You mean the twins on Wolf’s Blood.” When Derek gave him that look again that said he was brain damaged, Stiles shook his head. “I actually wasn’t planning on going to anything today.”
Derek looked confused. “You came for the convention, though, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, but like I said - not a dye-in-the-wool fan. Um… no offense. I’m not saying I don’t enjoy you on the show or anything. Or, you know, that I’m not a Hale fan in general, since a whole bunch of your relatives are on the show, too. Shit, this is sounding more like an insult the more I talk.” Stiles took a breath and took a new approach. “I was going to spend the day checking out Rome. My first time overseas and all; I felt like it would be a… more meaningful use of my time?”
Derek nodded like that made total sense.
“Besides, I’m getting one-on-one time with Derek Hale right now. When they get the elevators fixed, the convention people will probably charge me.”
That got a laugh out of Derek, and Stiles kind of felt like rainbows and sunshine for a second. So maybe it was more of an enthusiastic chuckle than ‘laugh’, but Stiles was taking liberties. When the story got to Scott, Derek would graduate to side-splitting peels.
The next sound to fill the elevator was an angry rumble.
Stiles’ and Derek’s eyes both went to Derek’s stomach.
“I was on my way out to lunch,” Derek explained.
Stiles cocked his head thoughtfully. “Are you allergic to peanuts?”
Derek looked baffled again. “Umm… no? Is this twenty questions again? Or do you try to work that into every conversation you have with people you’ve just met?”
Stiles rolled his eyes. “No.” He fished his hands in his hoodie pockets. “I stashed some snacks in my pockets earlier to sustain me through Operation Explore Rome, but it’s pretty much all peanut butter, so if you have an allergy all I’m really going to be doing is flaunting that I have food and you don’t, very Tantalus-like.” Stiles pulled his goodies out of his pockets. Two packages of peanut butter crackers and a packet of Reese’s cups.
After a moment’s contemplation, Stiles held the crackers out to Derek in one hand. He staked claimed to the Reese’s with the other.
Derek’s eyes lit on the crackers in something like pleasant surprise. “Thanks,” he reached out to take them. His eyes flicked to the candy Stiles was hoarding close to his chest. “Not a man to be parted from your sweets, I take it?”
“Sweets… meh, I’m easy on that. Peanut butter cups are a different story. If I share my cups with you, I’m basically trying to date you. And I just don’t think we’re there yet.”
Derek shook his head ruefully and tore into the first package of crackers. Stiles considered breaking into the cups just because if Derek was eating it seemed rude not to join him, but he wasn’t actually hungry. Instead, he turned the package over and over in his hands.
“Is this your first time in Rome?” Stiles asked.
Derek chewed and swallowed. “No. I’ve been to…” he tried to finger-count then gave up, “there have been conventions here before.”
“Wow… must be cool to get to travel so much.”
Derek shrugged. “It has its good things and bad things. I do love Rome, though.”
“I can see why. I mean, all I’ve seen of it so far was what I saw from the cab on the way from the airport, but just that much was amazing. I’m thinking of staying. You know, just not getting on the plane when our tickets have us going back. Live on the streets like a cat or a hobo.”
“I’m sure your parents will be proud.”
“Dad might enjoy the break from my madness.” Stiles shook his head when the fantasy crumbled. “Nah, my dad would fly all the way over here to drag me back by the scruff of my neck.”
Derek plucked a cracker from the package and gave Stiles a look. “More werewolf jokes?”
“Quit reading lycanthropy into everything I say… just for that, I’m not telling you about the time he actually came after me with a rolled-up newspaper.”
Derek sputtered, cracker crumbs flying everywhere.
Stiles grinned. “To be fair, I was five and into the sharp and pointy gardening tools and it was the least offensive weapon on hand,” Stiles gave a ‘what can you do’ shrug. “I’ve been told I was an exhausting child to parent.”
“I can imagine.”
Well well, look who had some snark in them. Stiles liked it. Not just a pretty body and face, then. “I’m still trying to decide what kind of medal he deserves for getting me to eighteen. I’m thinking either purple heart or the congressional medal of honor.”
“I was kind of a handful, too.”
That surprised Stiles. “Really? You?”
Derek nodded. “We Hales are headstrong and stubborn to beat all get out. Throw in a couple of middle children with a wild streak and it wasn’t pretty. Cora and I used to fight like cats and dogs when we were kids.”
“Wow… that’s… you all seem to get along so well, though.”
“Keyword ‘seem’.” Derek chuckled. “We get along better now, but it’s definitely not easy working with your family members all day every day.”
“Makes for tense days on set, I take it?”
“Sometimes. Plus it’s hard to find a way to have you own life when your job has long hours and you work with most of your relatives. How am I supposed to meet someone - let alone date - when I spend almost all of my waking hours with my mother?”
“Huh… never thought about it like that.” Stiles repositioned himself on the elevator floor when his ass started to go numb. “But that’s your own fault, you Hales.”
Derek lifted a brow. “How’s that?”
“If a few of you would have the decency to look utterly average, maybe you wouldn’t all end up on television.” When Derek didn’t seem offended, Stiles continued his playful tirade. “Good-looking people like you piss me off. I mean, god damnit, you know? How are regular guys supposed to compete with that?” Stiles gestured at Derek and his Greek godliness.
Derek considered Stiles a moment. “I can’t decide if you’re jealous of me or attracted to me.”
“The two need not be mutually exclusive,” Stiles replied with a shrug, pretending like his heart wasn’t hammering because he’d just kind of told Derek Hale that he was into guys. Specifically, into him. But it shouldn’t really be a shock, because look at Derek and look at Stiles. The latter was going to crush on the former. That was pretty much a given.
“If it makes you feel better,” Derek said at length, “you’ve got a lot more freedom than I do.”
Stiles snorted. “You don’t know my dad, aka the sheriff.”
Derek’s eyebrows went up. “Okay, you may have a point.”
“I want to fist pump, but somehow this doesn’t feel like a victory for me.”
Derek smirked and ripped open the second package of crackers. “Tell you what, I’ll trade you my family for your dad for a day and we’ll compare notes.”
“Oh, no… no, no, no. You couldn’t pay me to be in your shoes.”
That seemed to surprise Derek. “Really? If someone offered you the chance to be a star, you’d turn them down?”
“Dude, we’ve been in this elevator what - fifteen minutes? - and even you could attest to the fact I am awkward and a half. And that’s just with an audience of one. Can you imagine me in front of millions of people? I’m not sure who it would be more painful for, me or them.”
Derek tilted his head like a dog catching a sound (Stiles was all kinds of mature for not pulling out yet another werewolf joke). “You may be the strangest fan I’ve ever met.”
That could be taken in a good way or a bad way, and Stiles was feeling optimistic. “Flattery will not get you my Reese’s cups.”
Derek laughed, and this time it wasn’t mostly Stiles’ imagination building it up into something it mostly wasn’t. He watched Derek chew on another cracker and sort of dreaded the elevator being repaired. He was enjoying himself. And he thought maybe Derek was, too. He’d gotten on the elevator looking like the world was out to personally insult him, but already he seemed kind of lighter.
Then again, Stiles did have an active imagination. He wouldn’t rule out that Derek was just being nice and the second he was off the elevator and hanging out with his ridiculously hot family, he’d be griping about the nutjob he’d been stuck with.
Stiles supposed as long as that version didn’t end up in any magazines or youtube clips, he could deal. He’d live happily in the land of delusion where he’d had a moment with Derek Hale. That they’d been friendly to one another.
“What were you planning to see in Rome?” Derek asked, jarring Stiles out of his ruminations.
“Hmmm? Oh! Well, the typical tourist stuff, I guess. This is my first time out of the country, so I’m probably going to just reinforce every negative stereotype about Americans that foreigners have. And since you travel a lot and all, you’re welcome.”
Derek chuckled, finishing off the last of the crackers.
“Why, do you have any suggestions?” Stiles asked. “I mean, not that you have any obligation to tell me or anything, but you just said you’ve been here a whole bunch of times before, and I’m not too proud to admit I could use a Roman Sacajawea.”
“There are so many things wrong with that sentence,” Derek complained light-heartedly, then he stopped and considered Stiles intently for a moment.
Stiles sat back, puzzled at the scrutiny. “What? What’s that face? Are you trying to decide which seedy establishment to send me to for shits and giggles? If you are, please opt for the S&M club versus the bare-knuckles fight club.”
“You’d be a menace in either,” Derek countered, then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. “Give me your number. I know a few places you might like, but I’ll have to look up their addresses once we’re out and I can get some service.”
“Oh… oh!” Stiles exclaimed, then he rattled off his phone number while Derek saved it into his phone. Stiles watched Derek put in his contact information, chewing his lip anxiously. If Derek messaged him with those addresses, he would also be giving Stiles his phone number. He could just imagine how many cardinal rules of the celebrity that was breaking.
Which made him say, “Hey, look… if you don’t text me, it’s cool.”
Derek looked up, puzzled. “I just said I would.”
“Yeah, I know you said, but… you probably don’t want a fan to have your phone number. And I totally get that. I mean, even if I swore on my Jeep that I’d delete it right away and not let another living soul - not even Scott - see it, that’s still probably crossing some kind of line. Celebrity 101. For all you know, I could be a serial killer.”
Derek quirked a brow. “Are you?”
“Well, no. But a serial killer wouldn’t admit to it, now would they?” Stiles huffed. “I appreciate the thought, and if you want to tell me some places to check out then great, but don’t feel bad or anything if you decide not to. It’s totally cool.”
At length, Derek gave a thoughtful nod and slipped his phone back into his pocket. “For the record, I don’t think you’re a serial killer.” Derek smirked. “And I think if you tried to murder me, I could break you in half.”
Stiles laughed. “Dude, no shit!” And what a way to go. Stiles would totally want that cause of death written on his tombstone. “But seriously, you don’t have to fear me. I’m a lover, not a fighter.” He winked and beamed at Derek to prove just how harmless he was.
Derek peered intently at him. “I can’t tell if you’re flirting with me or not.”
“I might be,” Stiles shrugged casually, amazed at how not-awkward this part actually felt. “But it’s pointless, so what’s the harm?”
“Pointless,” Derek parroted, and for the life of him Stiles could not read that tone of voice.
“Completely. Let’s not pretend you and I don’t both know that if we hadn’t been stuck in here together, you never would have given me the time of day.”
An unpleasant expression clouded Derek’s face. “You make me sound like an asshole.”
“That’s not what I was saying at all! I just meant that, you know, water seeks its own level.”
Derek’s face was an utter blank, which was kind of distressing in its own right.
Stiles groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. “Geez, Derek, that was a compliment. We’re a 10 and a 5 here,” he waved between them with one hand, “I know that. No delusions on that front. That statement was all about you being so painfully out of my league it’s not even funny. So, just… take the compliment, damnit.”
“Are all your compliments so self-abasing?” Derek asked, clearly not impressed.
Stiles pretended to give that serious thought. “Only when the recipient is being difficult.”
“I’m difficult?”
“Absolutely. But I’m no picnic either, so there’s that. Hey, look! Something we finally have in common.”
That won a chuckle and eye-roll.
“If it bothers you so much, I promise I won’t flirt anymore.” It was probably a promise he could keep. Maybe. If his mouth didn’t engage before his brain did… which was unlikely, in all honesty, but hey, he could dream. There was always the chance the elevator would be fixed in the next thirty seconds.
There was a moment’s silence, then Derek replied, “I didn’t say it bothers me.”
Stiles smiled. That made sense, because who doesn’t like an ego stroke? If people were lining up to tell him how good-looking he was, he figured he’d enjoy the shit out of it, too. Of course, that would be a novelty to him. To Derek, not so much.
“I’m sure you’re sick of fans being all flirty with you, anyway.”
“When it’s teenage girls and soccer moms, yes. That’s pretty creepy.”
Stiles guffawed.
“But I don’t mind if hot guys flirt with me.”
Stiles snickered. “Man, if you did, I would really question your sanity. Or, er… I guess your sexuality. I mean, if you were strictly into chicks then dudes hitting on you would probably be uncomfortable.”
“Probably. But I’m not, so it isn’t.”
Fuck… like Stiles needed another reason to be into Derek Hale. “Oh, that’s… good to know.”
A look came over Derek’s face that Stiles could only classify as dangerous. His internal alarms were screaming ‘uh oh’ before he really even understood the danger.
“Why?” Derek asked, voice gone husky and intoxicating, “you plan to do something with that knowledge?”
Stiles’ jaw dropped open and for the life of him he could not think of a single word. English went bye-bye. Hello gray matter pudding now residing in Stiles’ skull, you were once a loved and snarky brain. You will probably not be missed.
Derek laughed. “Do you always shut down when someone flirts with you?”
“Uh… um…”
Derek was grinning. Stiles was having an existential crisis. Up was down and down was up and Derek Hale was flirting with him.
Or just fucking with him.
Stiles wrested back control of his face and coughed. “Dude, not cool. You can’t toy with a guy like that. From someone like you, that could do some serious damage. I’m talking life-long consequences. I would probably be on my death-bed when I was eighty thinking about how Derek Hale made fun of me that one time in an elevator. Do you want to be responsible for that kind of emotional scar?” He kept his tone joking, because that was how he handled everything, but there was a very real fear at the core. Because yes, as pathetic as it sounded, Derek making fun of his crush on him like that would be beyond humiliating.
While Stiles was talking, Derek’s smile kept slipping until he was left watching Stiles with a serious expression on his face. After Stiles stopped talking, Derek looked down at his lap, brushing invisible crumbs off his jeans.
Stiles held his tongue. If Derek wanted to pretend he hadn’t said anything because he hadn’t known it would cause this reaction, that was cool. Stiles was fine with that. But he wasn’t okay with Derek making him think he had a shot when it was fucking obvious he didn’t. That was just cruel and unusual.
“I wasn’t messing with you,” Derek mumbled.
Stiles just gaped, torn between wanting to believe that so badly and knowing down to his bones it was a lie. He had basically a lifetime of trying to win Lydia Martin’s affection and not even getting so much as an acknowledgment of his existence as proof, and she’d just been the hometown beauty. This was Derek Fucking Hale.
Derek scowled like suddenly the situation had become vexing. “Look… I said I’d text you some places to go in Rome, right?”
Stiles nodded.
“I’ll give you the name and directions for a local restaurant - my favorite - and if you show up at seven, I’ll be there waiting.” Derek made a placating gesture. “So it’s all on you. You’re free to join me for dinner or stand me up. Your call.”
The idea of him, Stiles Stilinski, standing up Derek Hale was ludicrous. “You… are you serious?”
Derek nodded.
“Why?” Stiles stammered.
“Like I said… it’s hard for me to meet people. And when I got on this elevator, I was having a pretty shitty day.”
“You did look kind of butt-hurt about life,” Stiles muttered.
“I don’t think I’d phrase it quite like that,” Derek said with a sour look. “But just a few minutes talking with you turned that around. I’d say that’s worth exploring. And maybe it won’t turn into anything. That’s fine. But what if?”
“Yeah… what if,” Stiles all but whispered.
As if on cue, there was a mechanized groan and the elevator lurched.
Stiles braced himself, one hand on the elevator wall and the other on the carpet, and he held his breath until the elevator chugged, stuttered, then started to move. With a strange yelp noise, he got to his feet.
Derek was a few seconds behind, stuffing empty cracker wrappers in his pocket.
The ride down was tensely quiet. Stiles felt like he was about to vibrate right out of his skin or spontaneously combust. Derek was a fucking presence beside him, like a man-shaped storm causing the hair on Stiles’ arms to stand on end.
Far too long after they’d stepped on to the elevator, it stopped at the ground floor and the doors opened. They were greeted first by the faces of the repair technicians and hotel staff. Beyond them were Wolf’s Blood fans walking by who spotted Derek and let out various variations of shrieks.
Derek let out a half-sigh next to Stiles.
“Are you two all right?” the repair guy asked. Behind his shoulder, one of the hotel workers looked horrified that the ‘one other guy’ on the elevator was one of their celebrity guests. Stiles imagined if he’d told the phone lady exactly who was on the stuck elevator, it would have been unstuck much faster.
“Yeah, we’re good,” Stiles replied, then he chanced a look over at Derek.
Derek was looking at him expectantly, eyebrows high. “So…”
Stiles swallowed thickly, tried to calm his racing heart, then he reached into his pocket. He pulled out the package of Reese’s peanut butter cups and held them out to Derek.
Derek looked down at them a second, confused, then it clicked and he smiled. He took the cups like they were treasures (they were Reese’s, they were), eyes never leaving Stiles’ face.
Stiles smiled back.
There were no ifs, ands, or buts about it this time… this was a moment.
Then Stiles ducked out of the elevator and made for the front doors, because fangirls were starting to take pictures, and he wasn’t ready to deal with more than one thing at a time right now.
Once he was outside in the fresh air, Stiles leaned against the façade of the hotel and braced himself with his hands on his knees. He sucked in air like he’d been holding his breath the whole time in the elevator. The holyshit feeling was almost like a panic attack looming, but it wasn’t the right flavor.
It wasn’t terror making him shaky, it was elation. He’d never been this near to pure joy in his life.
Oh my god. Derek Hale. Derek Hale.
Stiles jumped when his phone buzzed in his pocket. Fumbling, he pulled it out and found a text message from an unfamiliar number.
See you at 7.
Stiles laughed like a loon and added Derek’s number to his contact list.
Scott was never going to believe this.
END