Chapter Text
The first thing Stiles does when he wakes is stretch out languidly, sigh in bliss, pop his muscles and burrow his face deeper into the warmth of his pillow. Then he twists around in bed and reaches over to see the time.
And sees the time.
"Oh. My. God, ohmygodohmygod he's going to kill me he's going— dead, dead, I'm dead."
He jumps about wildly, flinging on his suit and pushing on his shoes and rushing out the door.
He makes it to the coffee shop in less than the nick of time, and almost bursts into tears when he sees the queue.
"Stiles!" Isaac shouts. Stiles rushes up to the counter as Isaac hands him over two coffees.
"You're a life saver you have saved my life such great deptitude— "
"Uh, Stiles? Don't you have somewhere to be?"
"Always," He shoots Isaac a smile and is off again.
He rushes past rush hour traffic and rushing people with rushing lives and JE-SUS FUCK someone has just crashed into him and spilt his boss' coffee all over him. Everywhere.
"Oh shit ohshitohshitohshit damn damn damn damn burning," He mutters as he finally makes it into Hale Publications.
He rushes up to Boyd in his cubicle and gestures around wildly to get his attention before saying, "I need the shirt off your back. Literally."
Boyd takes one long look at him before he says, "You own me."
"Everything. Anything. Magical unicorns. Flying pigs. Hurry!"
They swap briskly and Stiles just, just, just makes it into his boss' office: sees Derek walk up the aisle and straightens, getting into position with his coffee and his papers held out. Derek brushes past him.
"Good morning, Mr. Hale, you have a conference call in thirty minutes— "
"I know," Derek replies as he grabs his cup with one hand and picks the papers Stiles is holding with the other.
He flicks through them distractedly and sips his coffee. He settles into his chair.
"Staff meeting at nine," Stiles says belatedly.
"Did you call. What's her name. The one with the, uh, the smell. Smelly perfume?"
"Janet?"
"Yes."
"I did. I told her if she didn't get her manuscript in on time, you wouldn't give her a release date. Also the Department of Supernatural Forces called, they said that it was imperative you speak with them— "
"Cancel the call, push the staff meeting to tomorrow, also get a hold of PR and get them to start drafting a press release, Frank is doing Oprah."
"Wow." Stiles says, surprised. "Nicely done." They've been tailing this guy for months.
"If I wanted your praise I would have asked for it," Something ticks in Derek's clenched jaw and he turns around in his chair to go to his computer.
Stiles takes that as his cue to leave. And he's walking. He's walking. He's nearly there. So close.
"Who is Isaac, and why does he want me to 'call him'?"
Stiles stops.
Derek looks down at his cup and back to Stiles, frowning, tilting his head and raising an eyebrow.
Stiles freezes. Derek watches, one brow staying perfectly perched.
"Because uh. that," He point, "Was originally my cup." Stiles explains, grimacing.
"And I'm drinking your coffee why?"
"Because yours spilled," Stiles winces.
Derek takes a considering sip. "So you drink, cinnamon chai decaf latte with low fat whipped cream?"
Stiles falters. "It's like Christmas," He says weakly.
"Or — you drink the same coffee as your boss so that if you spill it, you'll have a replacement?"
"Pretty smart," Stiles replies.
"Or pathetic."
"Or smart."
Derek frowns again, making a face as if tasting sour lemon.
"Right. Come with me."
Stiles trips trying to catch up. They pass by the main section, and Boyd glances up to Stiles sharply. Stiles waves a hand at his throat, and Derek turns around in his walking and flashes Stiles another eyebrow, looking pointedly at Boyd's shirt.
"Ha ha ha," Stiles laughs nervously.
Derek turns back around and enters an office. Stiles is hot on his heels.
"Harris, you're fired," Derek starts as soon as the door is closed.
Harris looks up from his computer with an expression of pure shock, "Excuse me?"
"I asked you a dozen time to get Frank to do Oprah, and you didn't do it."
"I told you that was impossible, Frank hasn't done an interview in twenty years."
"Funny. I just got off the phone with him. Frank's in."
Harris splutters.
"You didn't even call him, did you?"
Harris glares, teeth grinding, but otherwise stays silent.
"Well, then. I'll give you two months to find another job, and then you can tell everybody you resigned."
Stiles rushes after Derek, shell shocked as usual. This is just an average morning as Derek Hale's assistant.
"Uh." Stiles says.
"Keep up, I need you to pick up my lunch at three, I need you to make an appointment with a potential client, also I need my dry cleaning delivered to my apartmen— "
"You ASSHOLE!" Harris storms out of his office, waving a finger towards them.
Stiles stops, absolutely horrified. Derek lets out a little bored sigh, stops walking and crosses his arms.
"You can't do this, you can't! I'll revoke your rights! I'll fire you."
Everyone in the building is turning to look at them. Derek stands, aloof and indifferent.
"Just wait! Just you wait!" He stalks back around and barges into his office.
Derek stands for a second, waiting, before moving on. "Okay, so did you get all that? Stiles?" He clicks his fingers. Stiles rushes up.
*
Stiles has worked at Hale Publications for three years. His original career plan was to be promoted to editor and then hopefully publish a few books of his own. He's wrote a few articles for magazines and newspapers, but his ultimate dream is a solid, real book in his hands, something he can hold and think, I did that.
He was almost finished his first novel.
Until he met Derek Hale, executive editor in chief. His first day here, Stiles was assigned as his assistant and was told that he would soon move up. Three years later, no such luck.
It's alright some days. He's come to know the people in the office, and become really good friends with them; Erica and Boyd in PR, Scott at the reception, Allison in journalism and Lydia in marketing and finance. They really are like a second family unit.
And then there are other days, when Derek will come in and not speak at all, is closed off, stoic, and dismissive.
What's sometimes worse, is when Derek does talk, however. Derek doesn't understand human emotion. He is sometimes so harsh, so unsympathetic, so utterly robotic, that it boils Stiles' blood and gets his heart pounding.
Really, sometimes Stiles believes he must have the worst boss in the world. It couldn't get any worse. Really.
*
Stiles knocks politely on the door.
"Just give me a few days, I'll call some people —" Derek is saying calmly.
"We can't give you anymore time, Mr. Hale. You said last year you would find an anchor, and now you've resorted to irrational actions, firing staff without— "
"Look - "
"Sir. Mrs Rowling is on the line—"
"Can't you see I'm busy, Stiles?" Derek turns and shoots Stiles a polite look. Stiles knows that look. It's his closest to being pissed off look.
"I know, I know, I've told her that you're otherwise engaged, but. She insisted. So," He bows out.
Derek seems to get this manic glint in his eye. "Stiles," He says pleasantly. Dread coils in Stiles' spine.
"Could you, come," He beckons with his head.
Stiles stalls, blinking.
"Come here," Derek hisses. Stiles creeps up, one wary foot over the other. As soon as he's close enough, Derek reaches out and wraps an arm around his shoulders.
"Well, gentlemen. I do understand the predicament, I do, uh. But I think there's something... You might like to know," He pats Stiles on the chest with one hand, the other gripped around his shoulder.
“We are ... getting married.”
All three men at the desk blink.
Stiles frowns, “Who’s getting—”
“Me and Stiles are getting married,” Derek says forcefully.
“We ...”
“We’re getting married.”
“Getting ...”
"We're engaged," Derek smiles.
"Isn't he your secretary?" The man sitting in the middle of the desk asks.
"Assistant," Stiles corrects, although he's not even sure why.
"Executive assistant, secretary — titles," Derek laughs, "But you know ... Wouldn’t be the first time, one of us, uh, fell for our assistant, right Edwin?"
One of the men turns to give an inquisitive look to the other, who is gaping at Derek.
"So, yeah. The, uh, the truth is," Derek starts, "The truth is. You know, Stiles and I. We, we're just two people. Who weren't meant to fall in love. But did," He says simply, "We did."
"No. No."
"We fell in love."
"Nuh," Stiles repeats dumbly.
"But for how long? Since when?"
Derek just smiles pleasantly, and answers after a minute of clear thinking.
"All those. Late nights at the office. Weekend book fairs."
"Nu-nu."
"Just. Something happened."
"Something.. Something is happening," Stiles mumbles.
"Tried to fight it. Tried. But can't, uh, can't fight a love like ours."
Derek leans in and pats him again. Stiles misjudges and purses his lips. They both miss and bump into each other. They straighten quickly.
The two men look bewildered.
Derek continues. "So are we good? With this? Are you happy? Because," Derek gestures to himself and Stiles, "We are. Happy. So happy."
"Hah —”
"Derek," A man says, "It's terrific. Just make it legal." He holds up a hand, and his wedding band glints.
"Oh, right! Yeah," Derek points to his own finger, "Well then, we both need to get ourselves down to the, uh, D.S.F office, so we can, work this little mess out."
He jabs Stiles chest to get him to move. "So. Thank you very much gentleman. Thank you," Derek does his teeth clacking thing that he thinks is a smile, and then drags Stiles out the room.
"Gentleman," Stiles repeats, and stumblingly follows.
The walk down the aisle to Derek's office is brisk, yet Stiles receives a lot of odd looks, bro fists in the air, knowing winks and disapproving tuts. How on Earth did the news spread so quickly? He glances back into the window of the office they were in and sees both men typing on their phones.
He follows Derek bemusedly.
Stiles is oddly quiet before they get to Derek's office. Derek calmly sits down. Stiles calmly, calmly stands. And then. Stiles waits.
"What?" Derek asks.
"So that was. Not. I don't understand what's happening."
"They were going to fire me."
"So naturally I would have to marry you," Stiles states.
Derek sighs. He pinches the bridge of his nose.
"When I turned eighteen, like every other werewolf in the state of New York, I was given rights that enabled me to open any business in the world, and run that business. Most werewolves don't take this option, as it comes with a stipulation. You have to marry before twenty-one. I'm twenty six. Thus you can see my dilemma. So we'll get married for the required allotment of time, get a quick divorce and then things will go back to normal."
"One question. Why?"
"So that the rest of society can feel that werewolves are stable and settled in a loving relationship and less likely to - "
"No. Why me?"
"Because if you don't do this, your dreams of touching the lives of millions with the written word are dead."
Stiles blinks. Derek's gaze is unflinching. He raises an eyebrow, as if 'problem?' And this. This is seriously his life.
*
Derek and Stiles both amble into the room. It's small, cramped, and dank. "Hello, boys. Take a seat."
They do.
A women with long blonde hair and a pretty face smiles at them. Her badge reads: Kate Argent, D.S.F. agent.
"So. I hear you two are getting engaged!" She claps.
"Excuse me, ma'am? What is this about?" Derek cuts to the chase.
"Oh, just a routine check," She flicks her hair smoothly.
"I only need to file — "
"Congratulations are in order," She winks knowingly.
"Ma’am— "
"So, Stiles! Tell me a bit about yourself?"
"Ma— "
"I hear, you're quite the writer. Left me in stitches."
"Are you deliberately trying to piss me off?" Derek shouts.
"Oh, I don't know, are you deliberately trying to turn me on?" She drops her voice low.
"That could be classed as sexual assault."
"I won't tell if you don't." She whispers.
"Oh-kay! So this is turning into one of the weirdest, no, the weirdest morning of my whole life, can we please get this over with so I can go home and eat?" Stiles bursts out with as he jumps to his feet.
"Stiles, my lunch is at —"
"I'm GOING HOME, Derek. I am GOING. HOME."
They blink for a moment at his outburst.
He lowers himself down quietly.
"Right." Kate shuffles some papers. "So I've been told to interview you in case you two are both thinking about committing fraud in order to allow Mr. Hale to continue working, for he is an unmarried beta werewolf over the age of. Twenty. One."
She finishes, smiling sweetly.
Derek and Stiles blink.
"We received a phone call from a man -"
"That person," Derek interrupts, "Wouldn't be a Mr. Harris, would it?"
"Harris, yes," She replies.
Derek nods. "Ah. Yes. I do apologise for that. Harris is merely a disgruntled former employee, and I can see you are clearly busy, so if you would just give us our next step, well be out your hair and on our way."
"Mr. Hale," Kate starts, "Let me explain to you the process that's about to unfold. The next step is a scheduled interview. I'll put you both in a room, and I'll ask you every little question that a real couple would know about each other.
Step two; I dig deeper. I look through your phone records. I talk to your neighbours. I interview your co-workers. And if your answers don't match up at every point, then you, Mr. Hale, will have your rights revoked indefinitely, and you, Mr. Stillinski, will have committed a felony punishable of a fine worth $25,000 and a stay of five years in federal prison."
"So," She turns to Stiles, "Anything you want to," She nods as if she's already won.
He's silent.
"Tell me?" She finishes.
Stiles looks over to Derek. Derek resolutely doesn't look at him, but his hands are clenched, and the muscles in his jaw twitch in a familiar manner.
"The truth is, uh, miss. The truth is. We're just," He begins with a sigh.
Derek clenches his knuckles harder.
"Two people. Who weren't supposed to fall in love. But did."
He grins and pats Derek on the shoulder slowly.
"We couldn't tell anyone we worked with because we thought it would be deeply inappropriate. And Derek is going up to his family's house in Beacon Hills for the weekend."
A spark of genius hits him. "We were going to tell them this weekend, actually. Yeah, we thought we would surprise them. We've only been dating for about four months, but because we've known each other for three years, we just wanted to go for it."
Derek is staring at him. Stiles ignores it for smiling genially at Kate.
"Okay," She laughs, "I see how this is going to go. Well then! I'll see you both, eleven o'clock on Monday morning for your scheduled interview. And your answers better match."
She grins wickedly.
"I'll be checking up on you."
*
They walk out of the room quietly. Once they're in the street, however, the adrenaline leaves Stiles in a rush.
"That was clever," Derek says distractedly, already on his phone, "The whole, my parents thing, genius. You know you're not actually coming right? Stiles?"
"I'm not doing this," Stiles says and walks away.
"Wh! Stiles!" Derek rushes after him. For once.
"No, Derek. There's not enough money in the world, or threats of firing, that's going to make me risk five years in jail."
"Oh, don't be so dramatic. They won't actually take in a human. You've got. Immunity."
"No, Derek, again, I don't. My Dad's a Sheriff. Everything she said is legit."
"Okay, so— "
"I'm done, Derek! I'm so done! I'm not doing this anymore!" He storms off.
And he's nearly all the way down the street.
He's doing it.
"I'll make you editor!" Derek shouts behind him.
Stiles pauses. He rewinds his feet.
"I'll make you editor," Derek says again. Stiles stares at him. "Just after— "
"No!" Stiles yells, "Make me editor, immediately," He states, then adds;
"And publish my manuscript; twenty thousand copies, first run."
"Fifteen."
"Twenty or I walk."
"Fine," Derek growls.
"Oh, and one more thing."
"What?" Derek snaps.
"Propose to me," Stiles says sweetly.
"Excuse me?" Derek croaks, and it comes out a little high-pitched. It's intensely satisfying.
"Don't expect me to marry you without a proper proposal."
Derek grinds his teeth, "Will you marry me," He states.
"Uh-uh-uh," Stiles wags a finger, "Down on one knee."
Derek sighs explosively from his nostrils. Then he bends down kneeling, and pulls a leg up from beneath him, resting his elbow on it.
"Marry me," He sighs, annoyed.
"Mmm," Stiles purses his lips in concentration, "I'm just not...feeling it."
"Stiles I swear to God—”
"Hey, this was your idea. I don't need to do this. So. Nicely, please."
Derek growls. Then he takes Stiles' hand.
"Stiles, my sweet, sweet love," He says. Stiles throws a hand to forehead.
"Would you please, with cherries on top, do me the honour of becoming my husband?"
"Okay," He answers simply, "I don't appreciate the sarcasm, but I'll do it. See you tomorrow."
Then he whips his hand out of Derek's grip and walk away.
Derek stumbles and falls flat on his face.