Work Text:
“C’mon Derek, don’t be a Grinch.”
Derek stares from Erica - dressed in an elf costume that is way too pornographic for a mall display - to Isaac and Boyd - in identical reindeer outfits and identical defeated expressions - to the enormous red Santa suit on the desk in front of him.
“Shockingly, my answer is still no,” Derek says with a deadpan expression that makes Erica roll her eyes.
“Shockingly, I wasn’t asking.” Erica grins and waves a mass of white fluff in his face. “You’ll look so distinguished in a beard!”
“Shockingly, you aren’t fired yet,” Derek shoots back.
Hale and Associates always spent one Saturday in December doing volunteer work. It was a tradition that Laura had started, that very first year, when it was just them sharing a tiny shit-tastic office, working all the time. Laura had said “fuck it,” thrown the still-half-full coffee machine out the window, and dragged Derek outside into the snow.
Laura had always picked the event. This year, Derek had told Erica to just deal with it. Clearly, that had been a mistake.
“You wouldn’t dare fire me,” Erica grins evilly. “How would you remember any of your account passwords?”
That, unfortunately, is true. Derek shoots a desperate glance at Isaac and Boyd, but they’ve already accepted their fate and just shake their heads at him. He’s opening his mouth to argue anyway, but Erica stuffs a Santa hat over his eyes, chirps “We’re supposed to be there in twenty minutes” and sashays off, Isaac and Boyd her reluctant entourage.
Derek stares down at the Santa suit on his desk. It’s about five sizes too big, itchy, and trimmed with matted, musty-smelling fur. Derek never asked how Erica got the costume. In all likelihood, he doesn’t want to.
Erica’s blond curls bounce back into view, and Derek gets something soft thrown at his face. “You forgot the padding. You know, for your bowl full of jelly.” She’s snickering as she leaves his office.
Derek stares at the pillow in his hands, sighs, and repeats, “It’s for a good cause. It’s for a good cause.”
***
Two hours later, only the thought of the money they’re raising for Beacon Hills Memorial keeps Derek in his seat. He’s been sneezed on, slimed on, cried on, and, memorably, barfed on. Sticky toddlers have violated his personal space in every imaginable way, and Derek’s shift isn’t even half over.
Erica is having the time of her life, lifting every new kid onto Derek’s lap with a grin that widens the more he glares at her. Even Isaac and Boyd are getting into it, Isaac holding the donation bucket and talking earnestly about the new pediatrics ward to charmed parents, and Boyd reluctantly singing “Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer” for a gaggle of delighted children.
Erica’s flirtiest laugh cuts through Derek’s thoughts, and he looks down at the next kid in line. She looks like she’s in about first grade, with her hair in messy pigtails, a snub nose, and brown eyes staring up at him in awe. But Erica’s attention is focused wholly on the girl’s dad, and when Derek glances over, he understands why. The guy is gorgeous. He’s lanky and tall, about Derek’s height, and his whole body is animated as he talks, saying something that makes Erica laugh again. Derek has a bizarrely jealous desire to know what it was.
The guy’s own laugh is loud and expressive, his face showing everything he’s thinking in rapid-fire as Derek watches, a little dumbstruck. He and his daughter share the same wide, observant brown eyes, but his are partially hidden behind a pair of thick-framed glasses, which he fiddles with incessantly. Erica inches a little closer to him, tossing her hair, and that’s when Derek remembers the long line of waiting kids.
“Erica,” he prompts, and she looks away from the dad with one last suggestive wink, to bend down and set the little girl in Derek’s lap. Close up, he can see she’s wearing an Avengers T-shirt and a puffy pink tulle skirt.
“Ho ho ho. What’s your name?” Derek asks obligingly, in his deepest voice.
“Are you really Santa?” the girl asks bluntly instead. Derek recovers quickly; he’s dealt with worse today.
“Yes, really.”
Her eyes light up. “My dad says there are polar bears at the North Pole. Have you ever seen a polar bear? Has a polar bear ever tried to eat you? Did you have to hurt them? Have you ever ridden a polar bear?” The questions come rapid-fire, tumbling over each other. Derek can’t help a glance up at Erica for help - he sees the dad next to her catch Derek’s panicked expression and struggle not to laugh. Derek rolls his eyes and looks back down at the kid, who is staring up at him, waiting breathlessly for his answer.
“I’ll tell you a secret,” Derek says, lowering his voice conspiratorially. The girl looks like she might burst with excitement. “I have ridden a polar bear, but only once. My reindeer got jealous, and I had to promise I wouldn’t ride polar bears any more. So you have to promise not to tell; their feelings get hurt really easily.”
“I promise,” the girl says solemnly, bouncing on his knee and miming zipping her lips. When Derek glances surreptitiously up at her dad again, he’s giving Derek an assessing look.
“Do you know what you want for Christmas?” Derek asks her, trying not to get distracted.
“I wanna Batman action figure with punchy arms an’ Lego Hogwarts an’ purple mittens,” the girl recites, like she’d been practicing the list for a long time.
“And have you been good this year?”
The girl looks suddenly shifty, glancing over at her dad and squirming a little on Derek’s lap.
“Yes,” she decides finally, beaming up at Derek like the picture of innocence.
It’s then that the girl’s dad steps forward, reaching for his daughter and giving Derek an apologetic smile.
“Come on, Claudia. Santa has a lot of other kids to talk to today.”
“Bye Santa!” the girl - Claudia - bellows as she clambers down from his lap.
“Hey, thank you, by the way,” the dad says, lingering a little longer next to Derek. “For collecting donations. My stepmom works at the hospital. It’s a great cause.” He slips what looks like a pretty large bill into Derek’s donation bucket, directs a blinding smile at Derek that leaves him feeling a little dazed, and disappears into the crowd of the mall with his daughter.
The next kid gets a candy cane stuck in Derek’s fake beard, but somehow he doesn’t mind it as much as he did before.
***
It’s hours later. The mall display has finally shut down for the day, they’d collected a ton of money for the hospital, and Derek has thankfully shed his horrible Santa outfit. He’s wandering the mall a little bit before he heads home. He doesn’t have that many people to buy gifts for - he’s already mailed a package to Cora in Boston, but he figures Erica will probably whine if he doesn’t get her something. So he’s lingering in front of window displays when he hears a deafening shriek of “SANTA!” behind him, and a small weight comes hurtling into his legs.
Derek turns around and the girl from before - Claudia, he remembers - is beaming up at him.
“How come you shaved your beard?”
“Um.” Derek says intelligently. Just then, her dad rushes up, all attention on his daughter.
“Claud, we hold hands in the mall, remember? I am so sorry-” he looks up with a vague smile of apology at Derek. At first, Derek is a little taken aback at the distant look on the dad’s face, like he doesn’t recognize Derek. And then he remembers that he was wearing a huge fake beard last time they saw each other, and feels a little better. And then he starts wondering why he would even expect this guy to recognize him, considering they talked for like two seconds. And why is it bothering him so much?
By the time he gets to that point, he realizes that he hasn’t said anything in response, and instead is just staring blankly.
“O-kay,” the guy says, his face shutting down a little more. “C’mon Claud.”
“But it’s Santa,” Claudia insists, pointing up at Derek’s face.
“No, honey, Santa wears a beard and a red suit, remember? We saw him earlier today.” The dad is trying to drag Claudia away now, but she’s digging her heels in - literally.
“That is Santa. His eyes are the same. Aren’t you?” She directs an accusing glare up at Derek.
“Um, actually I was the Santa. From earlier,” Derek says gruffly to the dad, who looks taken aback, but he’s finally succeeded in dragging his daughter far enough away that she waves, “Bye Santa!” before they’re swallowed up in the crowd again.
***
Stiles’ whole face is burning with embarrassment. He’d let go of Claudia for one second to rearrange the horrible mess of shopping bags dangling off his arms, and she’d managed to find the hottest, rudest stranger in the whole mall.
Stiles couldn’t believe that this guy, with his Danny Zuko leather jacket and angry stubble, was the same person who was playing Santa earlier. Stiles had thought that guy was sweet, both inexpert with kids and totally charming at the same time. Stiles had donated half his wallet to him, and now the same guy had stared at him like he was the worst parent ever.
It’s not like it was easy, having a casual relationship in college that ended in a baby - and ended for good with a spectacular, furniture-destroying argument six months later. Emily had left, and Stiles had dropped out of school and taken Claudia back home, because he may know crap about being a parent, but he’s always had trouble letting go of the ones he loves.
Claudia was tiny and terrifying. Stiles’ panic attacks had come back, and he’d started having nightmares. He would wake up gasping for breath, but his dad would always be there, a quiet presence in the dark, saying, “She’s alright. It’s OK, Stiles. She’s safe.”
Stiles got a job at a bookstore owned by a tall, pointy-nosed old lady named Amelia, who criticized both his shelving and his taste in fiction. Regularly. But she loved Claudia. She always said if it wasn’t for Claudia, she’d get rid of Stiles in an instant, and he’d roll his eyes and stack the latest Harry Potter crooked on purpose.
Claudia is six now. She asks constant questions, and runs into walls on a startlingly regular basis, and pitches a fit if she can’t bring her Power Rangers action figures to school. Whenever Stiles complains about her talkativeness or her clumsiness, his dad quirks an eyebrow at him and says, “Your kid? I’m shocked,” in a deadpan voice that never fails to make Stiles knock something over in righteous indignation.
Claudia is perfect, and Stiles still knows crap about being a parent. But it would be nice if he didn’t have to be reminded of that fact by unbearably hot, unnecessarily judgmental strangers at the mall.
Well fuck you, Sexy Santa, Stiles thinks, as Claudia talks about her Santa all the way home.
***
“Derek, this place looks like a fucking scene from Office Space. Can we at least put some poinsettias around before someone blows it up?”
It’s Erica, of course, everyone else is too scared of him to burst into Derek’s office unannounced. Derek carefully cultivates this attitude in his employees, but Erica seems immune to both fear and all common decency.
“I’m sure you can manage without holiday cheer for a couple hours a day,” Derek says drily, not looking up from the brief he’s proofing.
“True. But I don’t want to,” Erica whines.
“I thought I might bring in some garlands for the front lobby,” Isaac offers, and Derek looks up at that. He and Boyd are standing a little behind Erica, like she’s a human shield for when Derek goes berserk. Derek rolls his eyes.
“Do what you want, just don’t expect me to waste my own time on it.”
“Oh come on, Derek,” Erica wheedles. “You didn’t mind wasting your time bringing joy to hundreds of children, you could at least do the same for your employees.”
“Was that the reason for that whole thing? To coerce me into having more Christmas spirit? Subtle.” Derek is annoyed, but not entirely surprised. He’s had the sneaking suspicion, for a while now, that his associates are conspiring against him.
Erica scoffs. “I know you had fun playing Santa, don’t even try to pretend.”
“It was for a good cause,” Derek repeats stubbornly. Erica’s smile turns sly.
“Oh yeah? And when you were blatantly checking out Hot Dad, while totally sucking up to his kid, was that for a good cause too?”
Derek frowns at her. “I honestly have no idea who you’re talking about.”
“He owns a bookstore; he told me so in line. You should go visit.”
“Yes, because I’m really going to search through every bookstore in Beacon Hills until I find a guy who spent our whole 5-minute interaction staring at you.”
“So you did know who Erica was talking about?” Isaac asks, as Erica smirks triumphantly.
“Duh. Derek stared after him like a soppy teenager,” Boyd offers, and Derek seriously contemplates firing all of them and starting again from scratch, because apparently he was the only one here with any sanity.
“Don’t any of you have work to do?”
“Depends. Are you gonna stop being all Scroogey and help us put up decorations?” Erica asks.
Derek sighs. “You make it sound like I hate Christmas. I don’t. I just don’t see the point.”
“You used to see the point,” Boyd points out, ever reasonable, and Derek glares at him.
“Laura was crazy obsessed with Christmas. I never was,” Derek snaps, suddenly done with this whole conversation. Isaac looks sad, Erica pouts, and Boyd gives him an ever-so-slight frown, but they do leave after that.
Derek hears them later, putting up lights around the windows. He’s pretty sure Isaac falls off a ladder at one point, and they all laugh, but Derek has to finish ten things before he goes home tonight, there’s no way he has time to go outside and join in.
***
It’s on a whim that Derek goes into Pequod Books; it has absolutely nothing to do with what Erica said about Hot Dad (and why is Derek even calling him that now?) Derek has a completely legitimate reason to be there. He’s trying to find a gift for Isaac, and he’s never liked Amazon. Derek likes being able to browse the shelves, likes the possibility of happening across something by accident - and he’s forgotten his Amazon password. He has too much pride to ask Erica again, so needless to say, he’s doing a lot of physical shopping this year.
Derek looks around for Hot Dad - Jesus, he needs to find out this guy’s real name - and while there are plenty of people in the store with ridiculous hair and hipster glasses, Derek somehow knows that none of them are Hot Dad. Derek totally ignores the swoop of disappointment in his stomach, and heads to the Paranormal Romance section (because he knows Isaac too well). And that’s where Claudia finds him.
“Santa, wanna read a story with me?” She’s wearing a Darth Vader T-shirt today, but the pink skirt is the same. Derek scans the aisles again, but her dad is still nowhere in sight. But without waiting for an answer, Claudia has plopped down on the floor and given him an expectant look. Derek shrugs, a little helpless in the face of her own certainty.
“Sure,” Derek says, because what else can he say? Claudia came prepared - she holds out a somewhat battered copy of The Polar Express. Derek swallows, his throat suddenly feeling thick.
He remembers his dad reading this book to him and Cora on Christmas Eve every year, his deep voice gentle as he narrated. Derek remembers Laura, pretending she was too cool for kid books, but lingering anyway to listen. Cora always wanted their dad to flip the page as soon as he’d finished it - she always wanted to get to the North Pole as fast as possible. Derek liked lingering on the scenes of soft light and snow. He’d always wanted to be one of the kids chosen for the Polar Express. Sometimes, on Christmas Eve when he was too excited to sleep, he’d imagine the clack of the train and his bed rushing through the forest.
He takes the book from Claudia’s small hands, and starts to read.
***
Stiles is shelving books when he hears a voice reading aloud in the stacks: “Though I’ve grown old, the bell still rings for me, as it does for all who truly believe.” And then a small, familiar voice pipes up.
“If I had one of your bells, I would always hear it.” Her voice is so content, so convinced of her own unchanging belief that Stiles’ heart clenches a little. He can’t imagine her ever being old enough to stop believing in Santa. Santa? Oh crap.
Sexy Santa is sprawled in the aisle with Claudia as Stiles whirls around the corner. He’s looking down at the book in his hands with a funny expression on his face.
“You’d hear it? I don’t think I would.” His voice is distant and somewhat sad, and then he looks up and sees Stiles and his face closes off.
“Of course you would, you’re Santa,” Claudia is giggling at him.
“I am really sorry that she keeps bothering you,” Stiles babbles, wondering nervously if Sexy Santa is going to glower him to death. “I try to keep an eye on her, but Christmas season is really busy, and--”
“It’s fine,” Sexy Santa grumbles, standing up abruptly and shoving the book into Stiles’ chest. His jaw clenches and - yep - there’s that charming glare again.
“OK, well...let me know if you need anything?” Stiles tries again, putting on his best Rude Customer Smile - fake and a little condescending. And then, for the first time, he looks up and sees what section they’re in, and nearly chokes on his laugh. OK, so Sexy Santa may have a few hidden depths.
“We have a couple new vampire novels just in, there’s a display by the door,” Stiles offers. Sexy Santa looks confused, and then he looks around and his face flushes in a way that - if Stiles wasn’t so convinced he was about to go all Hulk Smash - Stiles would call adorable.
“What?” Sexy Santa asks, voice clipped, his ears still tinged pink.
“Y’know, cuz this is my store? Hence Claudia accosting customers? Unless you think I regularly let my kid run around in strange places unsupervised.”
“No, but I did think you might need a leash,” Sexy Santa says rudely, and Stiles swears he rolls his eyes. Stiles’ temper snaps.
“Listen dude -”
“Do you wanna hear Daddy read? He does funny voices,” Claudia interrupts, staring up at Asshole Santa in adoration. They really need to work on her situational awareness. This guy looks like he destroys the dreams of children for fun! Would his daughter also climb blithely into a black van if some skeevy dude offered candy?
Claudia grabs Asshole Santa’s hand and starts tugging at it, and Stiles runs a hand over his eyes. Yep, it’s official. His daughter has zero survival instincts.
But to Stiles’ eternal shock, all Asshole Santa does is gently disentangle his hand from Claudia’s and say, “I bet he does. But my elves are actually waiting for me back at the North Pole, so I’d better go.”
“But you’ll come back, right?” she asks, hopping up and down excitedly. “You can play with my Katniss. I got her from Aunt Allison for my birthday! She has a bow ‘n’ arrow and a pretty dress, she’s the best toy.”
“Uh.” Asshole Santa gives Stiles an awkward look. “Maybe.” And then he bolts.
Claudia looks after him with a judgmental look on her face.
“I don’t think he likes you,” she offers, screwing her face into an annoyed glare at Stiles. “Don’t be mean to Santa, Dad. You don’t wanna get coal.”
What? How is this guy’s personality problem my fault?
Claudia pointedly refuses to let him play with Katniss for the rest of the day, saying passive-aggressive things about the Christmas Spirit that Stiles thinks is way too manipulative for a six-year-old.
She’s still moping when Stiles heads over to his dad’s house for Family Friday dinner. Melissa asks what’s wrong, and since Claudia’s answer is “Dad hates Santa,” Stiles is forced to spill the whole awkward story.
“Aw, I wish we’d gone to see Santa with you, this guy sounds adorable,” Allison coos, deftly grabbing the forkful of mashed potatoes that one of her twins was about to send hurtling at the other.
Stiles squawks indignantly. “He is not adorable. You didn’t see him, Ally, he clearly thought I was incompetent and like we weren’t even worth his time. A little kid makes a mistake, and he has to get all affronted about my parenting, and -”
“Doesn’t really sound like he did, dude,” Scott offers from the other end of the table, where he’s distracting the second twin with a smiley face made out of carrots and peas.
“Ugh, you guys, you weren’t there, you’re twisting everything around. Just because he’s pretty doesn’t give him a pass on being a jerk.” Stiles is fully aware that he’s whining. And that he’s an adult with a school-aged child. But sometimes his family is just the worst.
“Oh so he’s pretty?” Stiles’ dad drawls, winking at Melissa. “Please, son, tell me more about this attractive stranger who likes your kid and gets tongue-tied around you.”
“He does sound like a terrible person,” Melissa agrees serenely.
“I hate you guys,” Stiles insists darkly, pointing at each of their laughing faces in turn.
***
It doesn’t bother Stiles, exactly, what his family had said about Sexy Santa. And it’s not like he thinks about Sexy Santa a lot or anything.
Sometimes, when the store is empty, Stiles remembers about Sexy Santa reading, quietly, like the words were too important for him to say loudly. And about what he’d said afterwards about hearing Santa’s bell - I don’t think I would - like there was something heavy and sad behind it.
Stiles wonders if he’ll ever find out what it is, and then he laughs and makes himself focus on arranging the children’s displays, because of course Stiles will never find out. Sexy Santa is practically a stranger. It’s hard to remember it sometimes, because he doesn’t feel that way somehow. But Stiles gets attached too easily. Sexy Santa would probably be totally creeped out, if he knew how much Stiles was obsessing about a couple chance encounters.
But really, Stiles probably thinks about Sexy Santa less than he might, considering that Claudia talks about him All. The. Time. About how he’s a good reader, but of course Santa’s a good reader. And don’t you think he’s really nice? He listens to people, even kids. Right, Dad?
So with Claudia always asking if Stiles thinks Santa will come back to the store like he promised, it’s no wonder that sometimes, when the little buzzer on the door rings, Stiles looks up and thinks for a second -
It is actually him this time. Claudia is at school, or else she’d probably be going crazy right now, and Stiles would have to apologize again for his weird kid. No idea where she gets it, really, Hot Stranger! Because her dad is totally normal and well-socialized, honest!
Sexy Santa is sidling up to the register like he’s not totally sure he’s allowed, and Stiles feels a stupid smile bloom over his face. He has no idea what the hell his expression is doing, but it actually seems to make some part of Sexy Santa relax, because he clears his throat and says: “I actually really do need a present for a friend.”
“Don’t worry, this is a safe space,” Stiles says brightly. Sexy Santa’s mouth quirks, and Stiles gets tangled in the movement of his lips.
“So I can confess all my deepest, darkest reading sins to you?”
Stiles’ arm slips off the counter, sending him sprawling forward. “Um, well, I don't actually offer confession, just book recommendations, sooo...” Stiles coughs, trying desperately to hide the flush that’s rising on his neck.
“Of course,” says Sexy Santa, looking down at the ground, his own ears turning pink.
There’s an awkward pause where Sexy Santa is glaring off at something behind Stiles, and Stiles is desperately trying not to find his angry eyebrows attractive, before Sexy Santa says kind of abruptly, “Isn’t Pequod an ill-fated name for a store? Everyone on the ship died.”
“You’ve read Moby-Dick?” Stiles has a sudden image of Sexy Santa in a coffee shop or something, reading a huge cloth-bound book, and it’s an image that may forever haunt his fantasies. Hey, reading is attractive; there’s a reason he runs a bookstore, okay?
But Sexy Santa looks vaguely insulted. “Twice, actually.”
“I salute your devotion to the topic of harpooning,” Stiles grins. Sexy Santa’s ears turn even redder, and shit when did harpoons become a euphemism? Fuck, harpoons have always been a euphemism. Get it together, Stiles. He swallows.
“Um. I mean...the previous owner had a weird sense of humor. I think she liked the idea of people coming in here, searching for things that might not be good for them.”
Sexy Santa gives him an odd, surprised look at that, but Stiles can’t see anything particularly objectionable in what he just said, so he changes the subject and asks about the “friend” (He even does the finger-quotes. He’s not proud.) that Sexy Santa is buying books for.
“Oh. Um, I think he likes things with supernatural monsters. And damsels,” Sexy Santa shrugs. Stiles goes to pull a few titles off the shelf, Sexy Santa picks one seemingly at random, and he’s about to pay for it when Stiles says, a little desperately, “So any other friends I can help you find gifts for?” He is nothing if not subtle.
“Not really. I’m not a big Christmas person,” Sexy Santa says, like that’s a totally normal thing to say. Stiles stares at him.
“But you’re Santa,” he blurts out stupidly. Sexy Santa sighs.
“It was for a good cause,” he mutters, like this is a phrase he recites a lot. But Stiles thinks, that can’t be right. He’d been so natural and patient with the kids, and Stiles swears, under all that crazy white beard, he’d seen him smile. Stiles is only realizing now how rare that must be.
“I like Christmas,” Stiles says, which may be the most inane thing he’s ever uttered. He rushes to follow up: “You know, the lights and snow and the Starbucks peppermint mochas are great. But really, it’s all just an excuse to do stupid shit with your family, you know? Claudia and I -” But he stutters to a stop when he sees the way Sexy Santa’s shoulders have hunched and he’s stopped looking directly at Stiles.
“I’ll just take this,” he bites out, and Stiles rings up the book in uncomfortable silence.
***
The next time Derek sees Claudia, it’s snowing. She’s hanging onto the hand of gorgeous redhead talking nonstop, and something in Derek’s chest - that he didn’t even know was there in the first place - cracks.
Of course he’s taken, Derek thinks first. The second thing he thinks is: I don’t even know his name. What the hell am I doing?
Anyway, it’s very clear that Hot Dad thinks Derek is a douchey idiot who shouldn’t be allowed within ten miles of his kid, no matter how polite he’d been when Derek had come back as a customer. So it’s not like Derek would’ve had a chance anyway. Even if he had managed to find out Hot Dad’s real name.
Derek is staring despondently at them when Claudia turns around and catches sight of him. She starts talking even faster, pointing at Derek. He turns away a little, but something keeps him stuck there, slouching on the street corner even after the light has changed. The redhead turns too, eyes Derek like he’s for sale, and lets herself be dragged over to where he’s desperately pretending not to see them.
“So. You’re Santa,” the redhead says crisply, with another assessing stare.
“Uh, yeah,” Derek says awkwardly, shifting from one foot to another.
“Hi!” Claudia waves. Derek waves back, a little hesitantly, still watching the redhead watch him.
“Who are you really?” she asks, her eyes narrowing, and Derek wonders if she can see it all - can see all the times Derek checked out her boyfriend/husband. All the times when he thought about this guy he barely knows, had to convince himself not to stop by the bookstore on his way home from work, just to find out what Hot Dad’s favorite book is, and whether he reads graphic novels. All the times he thought about the way the guy’s hands make shapes in the air when he gets annoyed, and the way his smile lights up his face when he looks at Claudia, and the way his chin juts out just a little when he thinks Derek has said something dumb.
“I’m -” Nobody. Derek clears his throat. “I’m Derek. Hale.”
“Well Derek Hale, I’m Lydia Martin.” She’s beautiful and sharp, and they probably make the perfect couple.
Lydia’s mouth quirks a little. “I’m the free babysitting labor.” Derek blinks at her, not understanding.
“I’m not a baby, Aunt Lydia,” Claudia interjects, offended.
“Of course not,” Lydia says breezily. “Babies make terrible shopping buddies.”
“O-oh,” Derek says, and internally winces at the complete lack of subtlety in his tone. But Lydia just smirks at him.
“You should come to our Christmas party,” she says abruptly, and Derek must give her a funny look, because she tosses her hair and says, “It’s not a Christmas party without a Santa, right? What’s your number? I’ll text you the details.”
And Derek found that, before he’d even agreed to do anything, he was being texted an address and time, and Claudia was hanging on his arm jumping up and down, crowing that she was “SO EXCITED,” and Lydia was giving him an inscrutable look and saying, “yes, so excited” in a way that made Derek distinctly uncomfortable.
And then they were gone, and Derek was left standing on the street corner in the snow, holding his phone and saying to empty air: “But what’s his name?”
***
To: Stiles -
So I met your Santa today. Very hot, definitely approve.
To: Lydia -
How???????? also he’s not MINE
To: Stiles -
You sure about that? You should have seen his face when he thought I was your girlfriend. Like a kicked puppy.
To: Lydia -
Shut up, he did not
To: Stiles -
I invited him to the xmas party
To: Lydia -
NO YOU’RE JOKING
To: Lydia -
Why would you do this to me???
To: Lydia -
You’re awful. I hate you. Why are you my friend?
To: Stiles -
Don’t you want to know what he said?
To: Lydia -
He said no! Obviously! God, could our nonexistent relationship get any more embarrassing?
To: Stiles -
Idiot. He said yes. Claudia is excited. Don’t screw it up.
To: Lydia -
Screw it up??? I don’t even know his name!!!
To: Stiles -
Oh really? How interesting. I do.
***
“You got us Christmas presents.” Boyd’s voice is flat and disbelieving, holding the brightly wrapped package out in front of him like a bomb.
Derek flushes. “I figured if I got you presents, you might stop passive-aggressively hiding those penguin statues around the office.”
“My niece makes those,” Boyd says pointedly.
“Their eyes watch you everywhere,” Derek shudders.
“Hey, it’s a book!” Isaac says delightedly - the mangled wrapping paper already in a pile at his feet.
“A book, huh?” Erica smirks, shaking her own gift experimentally. “Wow, you must’ve spent a lot of time in a bookstore, picking these out.”
“Shut up, Erica.”
***
The next time Derek sees Claudia, it’s at the police station on December 23rd. He’s there to collect the last of Laura’s effects from evidence. It was ruled an accident, but they kept some things. But today has been a year, and it’s time to get them back.
The fluorescent lights of the police station are dizzying, just like Derek remembers. Every time he’s been in here, it’s felt like drowning, the lights casting everyone in an unnatural sickliness, police officers looming suddenly into view like Derek is in a hall of mirrors.
He’s sitting in one of the uncomfortable lobby chairs, clutching a paper cup full of tar-like coffee and trying to not to be sick, when Sheriff Stilinksi spots him. The Sheriff had been one of the first on the scene of Laura’s car crash. He’d been the one to stand next to Derek while he identified the body. Today, he looks at Derek with sad eyes and says, “Come and wait in my office, son.”
Derek stares up at the Sheriff blankly for a moment, until the Sheriff comes over and puts a steadying hand on Derek’s shoulder.
“Trust me, anniversaries are easier when you’re not alone. Anyway, my wife just sent over some Christmas cookies, and my son’ll kill me if I eat them all myself.”
Derek feels like he’s waking up, the words making sense only slowly. But he stands and gives the Sheriff a small smile. “Your son’s a worrier, huh?”
“The worrying champion.” The Sheriff smiles back, steering them firmly into his office. Someone has put up a string of Christmas lights. They’re casting a warm, multicolored glow on a small person playing with crayons at the Sheriff’s desk.
“Grandad -- oh, hey Santa-Derek. How come you haven’t come back to the store?”
“You’re Stiles’ Santa?” the Sheriff blurts out from behind him. Derek turns around to stare.
“I’m what?”
“Stiles, my son. He owns a bookstore,” the Sheriff says, his look of surprise becoming tinged with suppressed laughter.
“Oh,” Derek says, and suddenly his face is turning hot. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m Stiles’ Santa.” Derek feels a swoop of warmth in his stomach as he tries the name out silently on his tongue. Stiles. Stiles Stilinski. Stiles.
“Well. That explains a lot of things,” the Sheriff mutters, and when Derek gives him a confused look, he innocently holds out a plate. “Cookie?”
***
Derek sits on the floor of the Sheriff’s office and eats a truly obscene number of Christmas cookies. Claudia sits with him, narrating gruesome fates for their gingerbread men, while the Sheriff fills out paperwork at his desk. Laura’s forms arrive sometime in the middle, but the Sheriff gives him a sidelong look and says, “We can leave them for now.”
Claudia, whom Derek is starting to learn is entirely devious when it comes to stealing the attention of others, has masterfully coaxed the Sheriff away from his work, and has somehow roped them both into acting out the Gingerbread Family’s sordid dramas.
“...And then the mom pushes the dad off a cliff, and says ‘that’ll teach you to eat my children!’ Say it, Santa-Derek!”
“Uh.” Derek wiggles his gingerbread lady experimentally. “That’ll teach you to eat my children?”
“Oh come on, Derek, I think you need more emotion than that,” the Sheriff offers helpfully. “Your children have been horribly devoured before your very eyes! Where’s the pathos?” Derek gives him an evil look, and takes a breath.
“Okay, well...Take that, you cannibalistic fiend!” Derek declares in a truly ridiculous falsetto, knocking the gingerbread dad off the table, crumbs flying everywhere. The Sheriff bursts out laughing, Claudia giggles delightedly, and that’s when Derek notices a shadow in the doorway.
It’s Stiles. Derek tries out the name again, fitting it to the person he knows it belongs to. He has on a truly ridiculous hat with earflaps, his cheeks are red, and Derek has a sudden urge to pull Stiles down next to him and kiss away the cold. And then he notices the expression on Stiles’ face which is, actually, kind of pissed.
“Oh my god, is everyone in my family in love with you?” Stiles bursts out. Derek feels his stomach twist, and some of his shock must show in his expression, because Stiles’ face floods with color and he stumbles out, “Um, I meant...just them -” pointing accusingly at his dad and Claudia.
Derek surges up into a standing position immediately. Stiles is right. This isn’t his. He doesn’t get to stay. He doesn’t get Stiles.
“No, I’m sorry. I keep bothering your family. I didn’t mean - I’m sorry,” Derek says hastily, gathering up his coat as quickly as possible. “I can just - I’ll come back for Laura’s stuff tomorrow,” he tells the Sheriff.
“No you won’t. Sit down,” the Sheriff says in a steely tone he must use on recalcitrant criminals, because Derek finds himself plopping back down on the floor instantly. And then the Sheriff turns on his son, who looks startled and a little offended. “Stiles will get Laura’s things from the evidence locker. Here, son, take these forms over for me, will you?”
Both Stiles and Derek stare at the Sheriff in shock.
“What did I do?” Stiles asks, wounded.
“It’s really fine,” Derek offers weakly, but the Sheriff just shakes his head and says, “Eat some more cookies” and gives Stiles pointed glares until Stiles leaves the room grumbling.
***
Of course Stiles reads the forms the minute he’s out of the office. His dad knows him well enough to know, that’s the first thing he’ll do. So, Stiles rationalizes, his dad probably meant him to.
Stiles scans the forms quickly - Laura Hale, car accident, DOA, cause of accident unknown. Died December 23rd. Effects to be released into the care of her brother, Derek Hale.
...And feels like an even bigger asshole than he already did. Which, he knows, was exactly his dad’s goal.
Why does it feel like every time he tries to talk to Sexy Santa - Derek, Stiles has to remind himself - things come out wrong? He’d only spent the last several weeks obsessing, but the minute he actually sees Derek, it feels like everything falls apart.
He’d watched them, for a second, before stepping fully in the room - his dad and Claudia laughing, and Derek smiling while doing...well, whatever the hell he was doing - but Derek never looked like that when he talked to Stiles, even when Stiles was trying his best to be charming and not an asshole. And the minute Stiles walked into his dad’s office, Derek had gone stiff and awkward again. It bothers him, although Stiles still isn’t totally sure why.
But he does know that he acted like a complete jerk to a guy on the anniversary of his sister’s death, so when he comes back into the room with Derek’s box, and Derek takes it and prepares to go, and Stiles’ dad shoots him a pointed look, and Claudia announces, “Dad, you hurt Santa-Derek’s feelings again,” Stiles says, “I know.”
Derek looks up at him in surprise.
“I’m sorry. What I said - it came out wrong. You should stay. Here.” Stiles flushes and stares at the ground, suddenly aware of both his dad and his daughter watching him with interest.
“Yeah. OK,” Derek says, and sits down again cautiously. Stiles plops down next to him, and tries his best to make Derek smile.
***
Derek is pretty sure the Sheriff has no illusions about getting any more work done today, but none of them seem to want to just give up and go home. It’s something about the lights in the small office, the way they paint watercolor patterns on Stiles’ face as Stiles teases him about his taste in books, and Derek mumbles again that the werewolf books were a present for a friend (and privately vows never to get Isaac another Christmas gift again).
Claudia plays with crayons in the corner, as Derek tells Stiles about his encounter with his scary friend Lydia, and Stiles doubles over laughing. And Stiles asks how Derek even got to be Santa - because no offense but if they were going for “jolly old elf,” he was kinda miscast. Derek rolls his eyes and says, “Power-mad subordinates,” and for some reason that makes Stiles start laughing again.
The Christmas lights make it seem later than it is, like they’re in a private universe. They remind him of Laura, suddenly - of how she’d buy garish Christmas decorations, the uglier the better, and let herself into his apartment and decorate the whole thing while he was out. He would come home to a thousand watts of caroling snow men, and Laura’s devious laugh.
Derek doesn’t realize he’s said it out loud, until Claudia says, “She sounds funny!” and Stiles says softly “She sounds like a great sister.” And Derek says “yes” to both, but it doesn’t hurt as much as he thought it would.
***
When Derek leaves the police station with them, much later, Stiles is able to say, “I know Lydia inviting you to our Christmas party must’ve been kinda weird. Sometimes she gets way too Puppetmaster-y, but, um...I hope you do. Come, I mean. I would...” Stiles can feel his face flush. “I’d be glad if you did.”
Derek smiles at him, a small pleased smile that makes Stiles’ stomach swoop, and says, “OK. I will.” He sways a little into Stiles’ personal space, like he can’t help it, before seeming to remember himself and back off awkwardly. But Stiles reaches out a mittened hand and grabs Derek’s, for just a second, and Derek smiles again.
But even remembering all that, it’s still hard, on the day of the party, to convince himself that Derek is truly coming. Stiles tells everyone it’s because of Claudia - she’s so excited to see Derek that she’s been shooting around the house like a cat on speed - but Melissa gives him condescending pats on the head while his dad just laughs at him. Sometimes, Stiles wishes he had a slightly more obtuse family.
Stiles has been watching the door for an hour now, giving dazed responses to Lydia until she stormed off in a huff to commiserate with Allison, and he’s almost ready to give up hope when the doorbell rings. Stiles and Claudia race to the door. Claudia - the dirty cheater - gets there first, throwing open the door and leaping into the arms of the person standing there.
“Santa-Derek!” Claudia shouts into his ear. Derek winces.
“I didn’t think you’d show,” Stiles says, striving for (and not remotely attaining) casual, and Derek answers seriously, “Well, every Christmas party does need a Santa.”
“Did you bring presents?” Claudia asks, peering around Derek’s back. “Where’s your reindeer? Can I ride in your sleigh?”
“I did bring presents. But my reindeer are actually on a coffee break right now,” Derek says, but Claudia barely waits for his answer before ricocheting off to share the news with Allison and Scott.
“One of these days, we’re gonna have to explain this Santa thing to her,” Derek says with a somewhat bemused glance at the now-empty doorway.
“What, you don’t wanna be on the hook for sleigh rides and constant presents?” Stiles teases, stepping closer to Derek, enough that their chests are almost touching. Derek looks at him stupidly.
“Um,” Derek says, an intent look coming over his face. Stiles‘ breath catches.
“Close the door, will you!” Scott yells from the living room. Stiles laughs self-consciously, shuts the front door, and turns back to Derek.
“I actually, um...I got you something, for if you - I mean, for when you came - I mean, I just wasn’t - I didn’t - “ Stiles gets himself hopelessly ensnarled in his own words, and all he can do is hold out the small box and hope Derek takes it. Derek, looking confused, does.
He unwraps it slowly, looking at Stiles like he’s not sure what to expect. Stiles tries to think of things to do with his hands that don’t look awkward, and ends up flailing a little helplessly as Derek opens the box and pulls out a single bell.
Derek looks down at it in his hand, dumbstruck.
“I just, it’s not -” Stiles starts, feeling suddenly like this was a terrible idea. “Because you were reading the book, and -” But he’s cut off by Derek ringing the bell, once, and sending a peal throughout the room.
“How did you -” Derek breathes, and suddenly he’s kissing him, hot and desperate, hands moving up Stiles’ back as Stiles melts into him, kissing back for all he’s worth.
A wolf-whistle stops them, and they break apart to see Scott cackling at them. But Derek still hovers close to Stiles like he can’t quite bear to pull away completely.
“You must be Stiles’ Santa,” Allison says, breezing through the room with a platter in her hands. “We’ve heard a lot about you. Cookie?”