poly_chromatic | (no subject)

[Thank god she didn't pack a lot of stuff. Really, she didn't. Likely, she won't even change until someone with a sensitive nose tells her she reeks because there are more important matters. There's that tension and panic that comes with apparently every time Stiles comes back to the City, and it chews her up.

It gets worse when Derek says those things, because it must mean it's bad. Pushing the panic aside, she hurries up to get inside, dropping the bag on the floor and not paying Derek any attention.]

Where?

My room.

[It's the larger bedroom, and Stiles is asleep in the bed, but Derek grabs Mae by the shoulder]

Don't go in there. He really needs sleep.

[She flinches at that, still uneasy, and with a glance his way she shrugs his hand away and just settles of sitting down on the couch. Her shoulder's warm where he grabbed it but it's not a pleasant warmth right now, and she keeps having to resist the urge to roll it.]

Okay, I'll just wait. [Frustrating as it is. It's not the first time Stiles returned and headed straight to Derek - it's strange, though, she's pretty sure she remembers a furious, livid Stiles saying I'm done in regards to him.]

When did he get back?

[He lets go, then, quickly enough that it's clearly not an act of aggression, and crosses his arms]

An hour.

[See, he did good. He contacted her quick.]

[Not the time for monosyllabic answers, but it's Derek and what else is she expecting. She runs her fingers through her hair.]

What's happened?

[He looks worried, to be honest.]

He showed up at my door, and told me that he went home. Told me I left. It was obvious he needed sleep, so I put him to bed, and he asked me not to send him away.

Something's wrong with him.

[If Derek looks worried, it's serious. And Mae follows, resisting the impulse to bite her nails.]

What makes you say that?

He's terrified.

Not of you, I imagine.

Not of me.

[She makes a face that would in another moment mean I would be, before looking towards the door to the room where Stiles is in. Quietly, at last,]

I don't trust you around him.

Not my problem.

[He does not care.]

No, it is. [Turns to pin him under a hard glare.] It's your problem, like it's your doing.

You don't trust me? That's your problem. Because he does. And that's what matters.

[Oh, this is so not just her problem. He makes her snappish - in under twenty minutes, record.] I don't trust you two around each other.

[Because Stiles keeps coming back and that's on him and she can't knock him out for being stupid this time, but Derek acts like a total tool anyway, not just in her imagination.] For some reason you keep drifting together, then drifting apart, and every time I've seen it happened it's been with one consequence - you mess with his head, Derek. Tell me you aren't completely aware of it.

This is still not your problem, Mae. Why does everyone in this place think that it's any of their business. If I hurt you? I'm sorry. But you know what? Stiles and I are complicated enough without anyone else in the middle.

[Holds her hands up like For fuck's sake and I give up mixed up in one.] Do you not think I know that? I had bruises the last time I got in the middle. And no apology starts with 'If I hurt you', because if you don't know, you're not genuinely sorry.

[He growls, but takes a step back]

This is ridiculous. I'm not going to grovel-

[Oh, so now there's growling? The second he growls, she is jumping up to her feet, defensive.]

It's not grovelling, Derek - it's not apologizing just because you think that'll get me off your back. Don't give me your pity sorries, I don't need or want them. If you don't like me, fine. If you don't want me around, tough. I'm not going to stop calling you out just because it grates you when I speak.

Get off your high horse, Mae.

[That's it. That's all he's going to say, because he's walking away now, to his bedroom where Stiles is asleep, curling around a pillow, and closing the door.]

Get fucked, Derek.

[See, this is bad. Visceral and mean and angry, and he leaves her in the middle of the room, panting practically because she's angry, and unable to barge in because that would wake Stiles up. She crashes down on the couch, drags her hands against her face, and tries to get back to breathing normally, rather than thinking of why exactly he bothers her so much and so often.]