Archive of Our Own ^beta

Everyone is there to pick him up from the airport. Even the Sheriff. Even his dad. He doesn't particularly want to see his dad, but he's happy to be home and that's what matters.

He can see them through the partition glass and he waves at them, sees them cheer silently and wave their posters and balloons. The crowd is thick in this area and there are flags waving everywhere. Scott just wants to go home.

He almost tramples on a little girl, probably no older than 5. She has dark eyes and dark hair in pigtails and there are small flowers in her hands.

"Thank you for your service," she giggles, obviously proud of remembering the right words.

He kneels down and grins at her. "Don't worry about it."

She gives him a flower and runs over to the next guy behind him.

His mom doesn't let him breathe for a good while, he doesn't mind. He loves the way her hair smells like their house, it even helps him ignore his dad's pat on the back and his words. He laughs when Stiles climbs on his back and when the Sheriff pats his cheek and tells him how proud he is and how happy he is to have him home. Lydia hugs him close and doesn't say anything at all.

"Where's your friend?"  His mom smiles.  "We got a room ready for him."

"He's stuck in baggage claim," Scott says through the biggest grin of his life.  "He told me to go ahead and meet up with you guys first."

Stiles clings to his side eagerly.  They haven’t seen each other in nearly a year.  Distance has never been so hard.

"His name is Derek," Scott tells them.

"We remember," Melissa says, stroking his cheek.  "Does he need help?"

"He doesn’t like asking other people for help."

That’s true.  Derek was in the squadron Scott served with, always brash and forceful, but incredibly intelligent.  He’s the best friend Scott’s made over the last few years as an army medic.

"I don’t mind," the Sheriff says.  "I’ll help him with his bags."

"Don’t mention the leg," Scott says.

The Sheriff nods. "Noted."

"Scott," his dad says and Scott takes a breath.  "I'm gonna have to go, I--"

"Thanks for coming."  He smiles pleasantly.  "See ya around."

Rafael nods without another word and waves goodbye. Scott sighs in relief.

"Did he have to be here?"

"He just wanted to see you home safe."  His mom shrugs.  "I think he's leaving in a couple of days so don't worry about it too much, okay?"

"Yeah," Scott sighs.  He looks to Stiles.  "I know your tendency to freak out over things."

Stiles rolls his eyes.  "Shut up."

"No, dude, I’m serious.  You have to promise me you won’t make a big deal out of Derek."

"Why?  Is he hot?"

Scott blinks.  "Well, yes, but that’s not the point."

"Dude, I know why he's coming," he sighs. When Scott keeps staring Stiles rolls his eyes. "I'm not going to say anything about the leg!"

"Don't, just--don't mention anything about anything.  Let him tell you stuff."

Stiles nods. "Okay, fine. I promise. No gawking or interrogating."

His mom hugs him again.  It’s good, being back around family.  He sees other people coming to greet their families, friends.  Another children stumbles around, racing into his mother’s arms.  There are pets and flowers and lots of crying.  Scott wipes away a tear before it shows, wrapping his arms around his mother again.

Derek comes through the airport with a crutch under his left arm, a bag clutched in his right hand.  The Sheriff is walking close to him, but it’s obvious that Derek declined his help.  From the knee of his left leg down, there’s nothing but air, and Derek walks forward with purpose, his face showing nothing but joy.

"Hey," Scott says, going to hug him.  "Come meet my family."

"Mrs. McCall," he says with a pleasant smile.  "Thank you for having me."

"It's Melissa," she tells him, "and I'm happy to have any of Scott's friends in our home."

Scott lays a hand on his shoulder. "This is Stiles, my brother for all intents."

Scott can actually see Stiles holding back with everything he's got. He only waves. "Hey, man."

Derek nods at him. "It's nice to meet you."

"And you've met the Sheriff," Scott continues.  "He's Stiles' dad, and this is Lydia."

She shakes his hand.  "Scott's told us a lot about you.  It's nice to finally meet you."

His mom claps her hands together. "You both need to be fed."

"Mom--"

"No, shut up, you’re wrong," she says quickly, ushering them towards the door.  "Let’s get out to the cars, it’s still an hour drive home and I have food all ready to be warmed up for you.  I made a roast beef and I have your favorite cheesy potatoes, and--"

She goes through the whole menu on the way to the car, and Scott can’t stop smiling.  He and Derek ride with Melissa and the Sheriff while Stiles and Lydia take the Jeep back.  Scott may or may not make a disparaging remark about the car still working, and Stiles may or may not give him a noogie because of it.

When they get into the house, Scott takes his bag and Derek’s before the other guy can even protest.  He shows Derek his room, on the first floor of the house back towards the kitchen.

"There’s a bathroom across the hall and you can eat anything you want in the fridge any time you want it."

Stiles and Lydia arrive shortly after they do and they’re already setting the table when Derek and Scott return from the far end of the house.

"Anyone want a beer?" the Sheriff asks.

"I’d love one," Derek says.

"I’ll get them," Stiles offers.  "Have a seat, Dad.  Enjoy the fact that you get to eat red meat."

Scott asks about how everyone is. It's not like a vacation when you can get home and talk about all the great things you saw and did. He can only try to breathe through it and not think about it.

There’s a lot of things that he wants to forget.  It was an eight-month mission in South America.  Before that, four and a half years off and on in Iraq, doing different things, keeping the peace, helping people.  He hasn’t been home for a long period of time since between those two changes of scenery, and a lot has changed since then.

"When did you two meet?" the Sheriff asks as he cuts through his food.

"I was assigned to Derek’s unit three years ago in Afghanistan," Scott says.  "We both requested to stay on together for this assignment."

"Like Kindergarten," Melissa says with a smirk.  "Always hoping they make friends."

Derek takes a sip of his beer, looks for a second like he’s having a godly experience.  "Your son’s a great man, Mrs. McCall.  I was lucky to have him around."

"It's pretty much all on Derek that I've never used my side arm," Scott says.

"Well I'm glad you had each other," his mom says with a smile. It falters and she rests her face on her hands. "God, Scott, I've been so worried."

He goes through the ropes of telling his mother how he’s been, how he’s handling everything, how he’s okay.  There was never a lot of danger of him being attacked.  The Geneva Convention played a large part in that, but he also had good men and women around, helping him out.

When lunch is over, his mother corrales him up into the upstairs bathroom to take a shower.  She says he can do whatever he wants with his day, but he smells like airplane and he could use a good wash.  Derek does the same, downstairs, and Lydia leaves.

Derek is sitting on the couch with the Sheriff when Scott emerges.

"Hey," Stiles greets him.  He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, drinking another beer.  "So, listen, I was gonna wait to talk to you, but--Mr. Argent wanted to see you.  And I wasn’t sure when you were gonna be up for that."

"I'm not," Scott says.

Stiles nods. "I get that."

"I'm never going to be up for it," he continues, "but I have to do it anyway. I have something of hers."

Stiles slaps a hand on his shoulder and pulls him into a hug. "Well you don't have to do it right away."

"I know," Scott sighs.  "I’ll--breathe for a couple days.  Try to get back in the swing of things."

This is technically only leave for him.  Derek has been honorably discharged because of his leg, but Scott--he has the option to go back if he wants to.  He has two months to think it over before he has to let his SO know, but for now--for now he just wants to be home.

"Out of curiosity," Stiles mutters, "what is it you have?"

Scott pulls it out from under his shirt.  It’s hanging on his neck, the same way it had on hers.  A necklace of a silver arrowhead, given to him by Allison days before--

"That’s nice, man."  Stiles throws an arm over his shoulder.  "C’mon, I bet you missed crappy TV.  Let’s watch some TV."

The Sheriff has to head to work, so the three of them--Scott, Stiles, and Derek--sit and watch some really bad TV. Stiles tells them he'll share the good stuff when they're both well rested.

After an hour or so, Derek reaches for his crutches and stands. "I'll be in my room."

Scott looks at him for a moment and makes a small noise to himself. "Okay, man."

Once he's gone Stiles turns to Scott. "What was that?" he whispers.

Scott looks over his shoulder. "Sometimes Derek gets stuck in his head," he whispers, "then he needs to be alone before he can do people again."

Stiles nods slowly.  "Okay.  I get that."

"I get like that too sometimes.  Not as much as Derek, but he--"  Scott takes a deep breath.  "You know, it wasn’t supposed to be a big deal, the mission we went on."

"Scott, you don’t have to--"

"It was supposed to be some clean up.  I can’t--I can’t tell you everything, not yet, but it wasn’t supposed to be like this."  He drags a hand through his hair.  "Derek wasn’t the only one who got screwed.  Everyone’s pissed."

"We’ll write letters to our Congress reps."

"Stiles."

"Sorry."

Scott leans back, tilting his head up to the ceiling.  "I don’t want to go back."

Stiles actually wraps himself around Scott. He doesn't joke or say anything at all until Scott lays a hand on the back of his neck.

Stiles relaxes and sighs.  "Good. I can't take much more of walking in on your mom crying."

Scott closes his eyes.

"And that I couldn't be there," he continues.  "You needed me and everyone who loves you, you needed us and we couldn't fucking hug you when everything went to shit."  Stiles pushes his face into Scott’s shoulder.  "And," he adds breathlessly, sounding like he’s about to start crying, "that no amount of letters or emails we sent, no amount of presents and blankets and shit like that--nothing would bring you home to us faster.  And I’m sorry but I don’t want you to go again.  I want you to get a boring job and order pizza at night and just stay here."

Scott exhales.  "Yeah.  Yeah, Stiles, I’m going to stay."

Scott leans his head against Stiles' for a long time, until the idiot starts to snore in his ear. He watches TV over his shoulder until his mom gets home.

She walks over to them and runs her hands over their heads, through their hair. "It's good to have my boys back."

"Stiles was here the whole time."

"Yeah, but you know he’s never the same unless he has you."  She drops a kiss on Scott’s head and goes into the kitchen.  "Dinner?"

"Pizza?"

"Sure thing, hon."

It takes a week to finally build up the courage to meet with Christopher Argent and even then, he can't stand the thought of being in Allison's house. They meet at Chris's office in the elementary school.

"It was good of you to meet with me," Chris says as he ushers Scott inside.

"Of course." Scott nods. "I'm sure you... You've been wanting to talk to me about her."

The man looks over his shoulder for a moment before shaking his head. "No, Scott, I…  I have my own time and my own way of dealing with it. My own mourning process. I don't need to make you a pawn in it."

Scott blinks. "Oh. So, uh, what can I do for you?"

Chris folds his hands in front of him on the desk. "Some of the older kids have been having a lot of questions about the situation both overseas and in the south. A lot of them have parents or siblings that are deployed. I--I myself can't speak with experience and I think it would be good of you to speak on what you do. I know you're mainly out of the direct conflict. You're a healer. You have a strong moral stone to stand up and talk about your service to small children."

Scott licks his lips. "You mean cause I'm a glorified nurse and I've never shot anyone."

Chris snorts. "You're lucky never to have had to."

Scott looks down at his hands.  "Yeah," he says.  "I am lucky.  I’ll--yeah, I’d do it.  I’m not sure what I would say, though."

"You could just talk about your experiences, that you keep people safe.  That’s the main message here, that everyone’s okay."

Scott doesn’t say what they’re both thinking, that everyone is not okay, that there was someone who was a huge part of both of their lives who is very much not okay.  Scott remembers being asked if he wanted leave for Allison’s funeral.  It was going to be in D.C. instead of in Beacon Hills.  Her and several others who had died on the same task force, they were being honored by the President.  He hadn’t attended.

"Okay," Scott says.  "Sure.  When would you like?"

"We can have an assembly next week," Chris tells him.  "Or if you'd rather speak in smaller crowds to separate classrooms..."

"I would," Scott says quickly.

"Well either way, next week would be good, if you're available."

Scott nods. "That's fine, I can do it then."

Chris leans over to shake his hand. "Thank you, Scott. I really appreciate it."

He takes some time to ponder things outside in the hall.  There’s a little bench across from the office.  He remembers sitting there with Stiles, the day they met.  They had been in the playground, and Stiles had--well, there had been some public indecency and Scott’s sandcastle had been ruined.  But that moment had solidified their friendship forever, and here Scott is, more than twenty years later, on that same bench.  He takes up significantly more of it now than he did then.

It’s hard to sit there and think about everything that’s changed, but he doesn’t want to go back.  He took his mom’s car, and he has to bring it back before her shift starts.  He isn’t going to be late.  But he just doesn’t want to leave yet.  He wants to remember.

He’s still in his thoughts when he hears a squeak and a gasp and then he’s lunging forward, all instinct, and catching a body.  The woman in his arms is petite, pretty eyes, thin nose.  She looks absolutely shocked, and there are papers everywhere, but she has one hand on his shoulder and she’s gazing up at him.

"They just waxed the floor," Scott says.  "I saw them do it."

She blinks.  "Yeah.  Thursdays.  Waxing.  I forgot."

He sets her back up on her feet carefully and goes to pick up the papers she dropped.  They’re worksheets of some kind, he’s not paying attention.  She’s wearing a faculty badge.

"Here you go," he says, handing them over.

"Thank you.  So much.  Really.  You, uh, saved me."  She’s blushing, and Scott smiles.

"No problem."

She stares at him a little like she's still startled. She's blushing. He must be staring too.

"Are you okay?"

She blinks and hugs her papers to herself. "Yes. Sorry! I'm... I'm just going to go. Now. See ya."

He smiles after her, the way she walks away too quickly and turns into a room he knows is a women's bathroom. He shakes his head and decides to go home after all.

"I think that’s a great idea," the Sheriff says at the dinner table that night.

He and Derek are over at the Stilinski’s since his mom is working until midnight.  Derek is frowning at his salad when Stiles puts down a cheeseburger in front of him instead.

"How come I don’t get a cheeseburger?" Stiles’ dad asks grumpily.

"Did you go to war?"

Derek laughs.  Scott grins.

"I'm gonna go take Mom some dinner after this," Scott says.

Derek glances up from his food. "Should I come with you?"

Scott shrugs. "Don't think Stiles will mind if you stay."

"We still need to catch this man up on Marvel," Stiles says, still chewing.

Scott laughs. "Looks like you're staying."

His mom is happy to hear that he’s getting out and doing things, even if those things involve Chris Argent.  She doesn’t say it, but Scott knows he’s worried, been worried since he wrote home that Allison had died.  He gives her some food, hugs her tight, and tell her that he’ll cook her breakfast in the morning, the way he used to.

When he gets back to Stiles' house to pick up Derek, he finds that Stiles is full into his commentary, right in Derek's ear. Stiles is half turned to Derek, his hands moving and flailing all over. Derek's shoulders are relaxed, arms stretched around the back of the sofa. He hears a small noise from the kitchen and finds the Sheriff there.

"Did you see that?"

Scott raises his eyebrows. "What." He points towards the living room. "That?"

"Mmmhm."

Scott smirks and whispers.  "Sheriff, don't be a gossip."

The man raises his hands in defence. "I'm just calling 'em like I see 'em."

Scott looks back over to the bit of the couch he can see.  Stiles’ and Derek’s heads are very, very close.  And Derek doesn’t look at all uncomfortable or nervous.  He frowns, sitting down at the table across from Stiles’ dad.

"Does it bother you?" he asks.

Scott tilts his head.  "No.  The possibility of it doesn’t."

"But if it were a fact?"

"They’ve been around each other for over a week.  That’s more than enough time for a crush to develop."  Scott shrugs.  "Derek can do what he wants.  So can Stiles."

The Sheriff takes a sip of his coffee.  It’s decaf.  "Stiles doesn’t live here anymore," he reminds Scott.  "Remember?  He has an apartment?"

Scott waves him off.  "I said I’m fine with it."

"Okay.  Sure.  How’s your mom?"

They launch into a conversation on Melissa, how she’s been doing over the past few months.  The Sheriff is careful not to say anything that would make Scott feel like a bad son, like he’s failed because he wasn’t there to take care of her, but Scott knows it’s been hard.  He knows.

"I’m gonna head back to the house," Scott announces at half past eleven.  "Mom will be back soon and I don’t want her to worry."

"I can drive Derek back when the movie’s over," Stiles offers.  "Or," he adds, looking at Derek now, "you can go with Scott now.  It’s cool."

Derek looks torn but only for a moment. "I'll go now," he says.  "I'll see you later, Stiles."

Stiles nods. "Yeah, I'll see you."

Derek gets tense in the car. Scott wants to reassure him like he did the Sheriff, he does. It's just hard. Everything is harder for them.

"I don't want to make things weird," he finally says, "and you're both like grown ass men who can do whatever you want. But that's my brother."

Derek blinks and then nods. "I understand."

Scott shakes his head. "I'm not saying anything, like. You guys can do what you want. Just - Stiles cares fiercely. Loves fiercely. If he cares about you, he'll try to protect you from everything that hurts. And you and I know he can't do that for you."

Derek tenses his jaw. "Like I said, I understand."

"Not saying you don't," he insists.  "Just be careful with him."  He glances at Derek out the corner of his eye. "That being said, you deserve some happiness too."

Derek doesn't respond.

Scott goes to bed that night and doesn't have a nightmare. For the first time in months, he doesn't wake up afraid. He knows that's not a promise that the next night will be the same, but it's not a bad way to start the day anyway.

He makes breakfast for his mom as promised. Derek cooks a mean pancake and he adds walnuts for Melissa, which makes her grin into her coffee happily.

"Anything I can do to thank my host," Derek tells her.

They talk a little bit, Scott and Derek, about how to tell Scott's SO he's not coming back, about how to get on with their lives. Scott wants to stay. He went to college, he's qualified to work with his mom at the hospital, but he's seen enough trauma for a lifetime. He's going to just--stay, he says, and see what comes of that.

"I'll get an apartment," Derek says, "when my check comes through. When they find me a rehab program."

"As far as we're concerned, you can say forever."

Derek looks down at his food. "I'll be fine on my own."

"Derek," his mom says softly, "has the money not come through for…?"

"Not yet," Derek interjects, "but I'm doing just fine without it. Besides, I can afford it on my own."

She frowns. "That isn't right."

Scott squeezes his mom's hand. Scott knows the request was put in to fund Derek's prosthetic months ago. It should have been ready for Derek when they stopped over in Mexico on their way home and it wasn't. Now Derek's home and Scott knows that Derek has the money to get it for himself but he shouldn't have to.

"It’s fine," Derek says with a shrug.  "If it happens, it’ll happen.  If not, I’ll--figure it out."

"Well, you can stay as long as you like, sweetheart," Melissa says, reaching over to pat Derek’s hand.  "I mean it."

Derek smiles.  "Thank you.  I appreciate that."

"Do you want me to come with you?" Stiles asks, brushing down Scott’s uniform.  His hands are shaking a little bit.

"I would offer," Derek says gruffly, "but I think I might scare them a little bit."

Scott shakes his head.  "No, I’ll be fine on my own.  You guys stay here."

He's not afraid of the eight-year-olds, he's really not. He's already done this in a couple of classrooms now. It's just these are the oldest he's talked to yet and the 1st graders already asked him about missing eyeballs.

When he does walk in behind Chris he notices the girl from the hallway with the papers and the staring. She's adorable. She's blushing. She looks like she's trying to hide behind a potted plant.

"This is Miss Yukimura's class," he says.  "Everyone, this is First Lieutenant Scott McCall. He's giving us some of his time to talk about being in the armed forces. Do any of you have family that are serving?"

Most of the kids seem confused by the question but enough of them raise their hands to break Scott's heart. About seven, more than any class yet.

A little boy raises his hand. "Sir, sir! Why have you got a plus sign on your arm?"

"Oh, uh, that means I’m a medic," he says.  "I help people who are injured.  And you all can call me Scott."

He goes up and shakes the teacher’s, smiling brightly at her as she introduces herself as Kira to him.  She’s little, even compared to him.  "Nice to meet you," she says. "Um.  Thank you for your service."

"My pleasure," he says, and it seems like the first time he’s said it that he really means it. "Glad to see you on your feet."

She blushes deeper.

The questions he gets in her classroom are pretty similar to the questions he got in other ones.  He talks about the plane ride down there, how he felt.  He talks about healing.  He doesn’t talk about death and none of them ask.

This is the last class he has to visit before lunch and Chris tells him that he can keep going for the rest of the day after lunch or come back the next day.

"I don't mind coming in tomorrow," Scott answers. He remembers how completely done he was with school after the lunch hour.

Chris thanks him again and shakes his hand.

"Thank for coming to talk to them," Kira says as Chris leaves them.

"It was no problem." He smiles at her. "I should let you get to your lunch before they're back."

"They have music," she says quickly. "I mean, I usually go over to the café on the next block for lunch. Would you like to join me?"

Scott licks his lips.  "Yeah.  Yeah, that sounds great."

It’s October, so it’s actually relatively nice out.  They stroll down the block, and everyone who sees Scott tries to thank him or shake his hand.  It’s the strangest feeling.

"This is why I hate wearing my uniform out," he mutters to Kira.

When they sit to lunch she doesn't ask him about his time serving. She asks about growing up in Beacon Hills, shares that she just moved here a the start of the school year, that her parents are college professors but she likes children better, and that she thinks the kids liked him very much.

"Sorry, I talk a lot when I'm nervous," she says, pressing her lips closed.

He smiles, maybe smirks a little. "Nervous?"

Her eyes go a little wide. "Oh. Oh I just meant--I don't know what I meant. I'm sorry, this is embarrassing."

"No reason to be embarrassed," he says, waving her off, but he’s secretly pleased.  "I’m glad the kids liked me.  I tried to be--likable."

"You succeeded."

Their waitress brings them their food.  Shepherd’s pie for Scott, piping hot and covered in the best mashed potatoes he’s ever had, and a sandwich for Kira stuffed with turkey and avocados and cheese. She doesn’t eat like any civilian girl Scott has ever had a formal meal with.  She doesn’t seem the slightest bit embarrassed about eating like a real person, a lot like the girls he’d eaten with down south, and Scott enjoys her bluntness, the way she talks to him.  It’s great.  It’s the best meal Scott’s had in months.

When their plates are cleared and Scott is asking Kira about her family, their waitress comes over a drops a piece of apple pie with ice cream in the middle.

"On the house," she says brightly, and walks away.

"The uniform gets you pie," Kira says.

He laughs. "It does! Oh, look, two spoons, awesome."

She grins. "Can I?"

"Yeah! Come on."

They share the pie and Scott starts to feel like he's on a date. It's a strange feeling. He's just met this girl and he hasn't been on a real date since before he was first deployed. Before Allison.

She must notice the look on his face because she sets her spoon down. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. I'm fine, I just--remembered someone."

Kira looks down at the table for a moment.  "Someone from before you deployed?"

"Uh, no."  He scratches the back of his neck.  "During.  It’s--if it’s all right with you, I’d rather not talk about it."

"Yeah.  Yeah, of course."  She seems to make herself smaller then, her shoulders shrinking, her arms moving to her sides.  It’s quiet for a long moment before she glances at her watch.  "I should, uh, get back to the classroom."

"I’ll walk you back," Scott says, and he slips out of the booth to head up to the front and pay the bill.

They won’t let him pay, but he leaves a big tip and they get out into the crisp, fresh air to start the trek back to the school.  He leaves Kira in her classroom, shakes her hand again and tells her he had a great time and maybe, when he was back again tomorrow, he’d drop in and see her.

"I’d like that," she says, and she waves as he goes.

"Jesus Christ," Scott grumbles, closing his eyes as soon as he’s walked in the door.  He sighs heavily, trying not to listen as Stiles moves off the couch, grabbing his shirt to pull it back on.  "That’s my couch," he says.  "You have a bedroom."

Derek, who’s entirely dressed and still seated on the couch, waves.  "Sorry," he says.

"Yeah," Stiles says.  "Sorry.  Uh."  He looks Scott up and down and must notice something is off.  He nods towards the kitchen.  "C’mon.  I’ll get you a drink."

If they were younger, Scott would need a little more time to get over what he was about to walk in on. As it is, he sort of needs a drink.

"I accidentally went on a date with a second grade teacher," he sighs.

Derek leans his head back on the couch. "How'd you manage that?"

Scott sighs.  "She asked me to have lunch with her. She was adorable. Before I knew it we were sharing pie."

Stiles looks at him and shakes his head dejectedly. "For shame, Scott. Preying on a schoolteacher, throwing her into the temptations of warm pie."

"I can’t date her."

Neither of them ask why not.  They share a look, though, Derek and Stiles, and Scott knows they’ve been talking about him, talking about Allison, behind his back.

"I’m not ready."

"That’s fine," Stiles says, clapping him on the back.  He brings a beer to Scott, one to Derek.  "It’s fine.  You get to take your time.  However much time you want."

"I don’t want to lead her on."

"So you tell her that," Derek suggests.  "Just--say you like her, and you want to spend time with her, but you’re not ready to date anyone."

Stiles smiles over his drink.  "Did she swoon when you walked in in uniform?  I bet you looked good, striding in there like a hero, talking to a bunch of tots about the army.  Man, I probably would’ve kissed you."

The next day he goes to visit Kira at lunch time just as he said he would. She smiles when he knocks on her door, in his uniform again.

"Hey."

"Hi," she says as she stands from her desk. She has a neat white dress dotted in cherries and when he sees her it's hard to remember the endless dirt and blood.  Her smile blocks everything else out.  "I wasn’t sure if you were coming by."

Scott nods, holds his hands behind his back.  "I told you I would."

"I believe your exact word was ‘maybe’," she says, packing away a folder.  "The kids don’t have music today, so I, uh, brought my lunch.  But I--I packed extra.  I thought--maybe."

Scott feels blown away.  "Maybe," he repeats.

He grabs a chair that's just a bit too small and sits across from her. The whole thing makes her laugh.

"This should be better," she says as she grabs a chair from behind her and sets it down for him. Everything about her seems graceful sometimes, even though he's seen her trip over her own feet enough times in just one afternoon.

"It's just sandwiches and, um, potato salad."

"I love potato salad," Scott says with a huge grin.  "Is this the kind from the market on Main?"

"No, I make my own."  She lays out a sandwich on a little paper plate, hands him a paper bowl, covered in saran wrap.

He sits at the side of her desk and eats slowly, listening to her talk, talking to her.  A lot like the day before, it’s slow and simple and interesting.  She talks about how her dad was a professor at Yale and got an offer for tenure at Stanford.  She talks about her mom’s passion for education and they live just a little ways south, but she was attracted to the position in a small town because she liked feeling needed.

"I know that feeling," Scott tells her.

"I’m sure you do."

She's about to launch into another story or question when he stops her.

"Kira, I... I think you're fun and so smart and... I just I'm not in a place..."

She casts her eyes down. "I understand. I'm--I should have known after what you told me yesterday."

"I think you’re--great.  Really, and I…"  Scott swallows tightly and looks at her, really, really looks at her.  He’s known her for exactly two days and he’s already fucking gone on her.  No one’s made him feel that way before, no one except Allison.  She’s still looking at him with the slightest bit of hope in her big, brown eyes, and Scott’s heart thumps in his chest.  "Do you wanna have dinner?" he says before he can stop himself.  "With me?  Saturday night?"

She squirms in her seat, hand tapping against her desk.  "Just as friends?"

"No," he says.  "Not as friends."

Kira’s smile is thrilling and she nods.  "Yeah.  Yes.  Sure.  I’d love to."

They exchange phone numbers and when lunch is finished Scott kisses her cheek on the way out the door.  When he looks back at her, her hand is on her cheek and Scott beams with pride.

Her face is still in his mind for the rest of the day.  He does some grocery shopping for his mom, picks up dinner.  He sits around with Stiles and Derek, plays Monopoly and just laughs when Stiles tosses the board when they’re coming up on the third hour and Derek owns almost every property.  When the sun starts to set and his mom comes home, he sets the table and brings everyone drinks and he sits down feeling almost renewed.

"Derek’s gonna come over to mine," Stiles says when they’re sitting around with drinks after dinner.  "Lots of pop culture stuff to catch him up on."

The Sheriff sighs heavily, ignoring his son, and Derek is blushing to his ears.  They leave, though, and Scott sits around while his mother and the Sheriff do the dishes--at their insistence--and contemplates.

He’s been doing that a lot, lately.  Contemplating.  He’s informed his CO that he won’t be returning for another tour.  They’re going to send him everything in the mail, commendations, the flag, a framed picture of his unit with the President after their first deployment into the Middle East.  It’s all going to be delivered to his house in a big box, and Scott is going to have to look at it and know that he’s moving on.

When he's getting ready to go pick up Kira, he realizes this will be the first time she'll see him out of uniform for more than two seconds. He spends another few minutes on his hair, tucks in his shirt.

She almost laughs when she sees him.  He’s standing outside her apartment door, holding daisies.  She takes them, thanks him, and invites him in.

"Nice place," he says, wandering around slightly.

"Thanks," she calls from the kitchen, putting the flowers in a vase. "I--"  She rounds the corner, leans against the wall.  "You look nice."

"You sure?  I thought you were gonna laugh at me."

"No, it’s just--you did your hair."  She tilts her head.  "It’s cute.  How much you’re trying."

"Yeah, well.  I haven’t had to try for a long time, so."

"You don't have to try," she says quietly.

He grins at her and offers her his arm.

She laughs. "How gallant."

They go eat at this pretty Italian restaurant towards the center of town.  It’s quaint and has lights strung up everywhere.  There’s a candle in the middle of their table.  They drink wine and laugh and Scott is already half in love with her when she reaches over to wipe spaghetti sauce off his face.

It’s not the first date of fairy tales.  It’s not perfect.  It’s not like they don’t have occasional silences and awkward moments of miscommunication.  But it’s nothing they can’t ignore. And it’s nothing that ruins a date.  It’s just--a date.  And maybe that’s why Scott finds it so reassuring.

They’re walking back out to Scott’s car when he asks her out again.

"We just finished a date," she says, but she’s grinning.

"Yeah.  But.  You know."  They’re standing next to the passenger’s side door.  "How about tomorrow?"

"Sunday."

Scott laughs, droops his head to the side.  "School night," he says.

"I’m afraid so."

"Next Friday then."

She clutches her opposite arm, folding herself smaller.  He steps forward, takes her hand.

"Hey, if you don’t want to--"

"I do," she says.  "I absolutely do."

"So--"

"I’m visiting my parents for the weekend."

"A lunch date on Wednesday? Kids have music right?"

She grins. "Yes. Yes, Wednesday is great."

"Great," he agrees.  "I'll bring lunch this time."

He drives her home and can't help but glance over her at every stop, every red light.  She has to notice; he’s being obvious about it, just drinking her in, and when he pulls up next to her apartment, he’s already out the car and set to walk her in before she undoes her seatbelt.

He opens up her door for her, helps her out, and just--stops.  Stares.

"What?" she asks, eyes wide.  Her hand flies up to her mouth.  "Do I have something in my teeth?"

"No," he says.  "You’re just--beautiful."

She laughs. "Come on."

"What." Scott tucks her hair behind her ear. "You are."

"Are you sure you're--I know you were hesitant before."

He nods. "Yeah I was," he says, "but then you were there and I wasn't anymore."

She smiles. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah," she says as she leans up on her tip toes.  "Okay."

He brushes his lips against hers softly, chastely. It's Kira who puts forward the slightest pressure.

It’s like a high school kiss, which Scott finds incredibly charming.  It’s sweet, singular, a pure moment, and he wants to wrap it up and protect it from everything.  He wants to protect her from everything.

She has a hand on his face when they break apart.  She’s stroking her fingertips gently against the skin of his cheekbone, his jaw, eventually his lips.  He thinks maybe she’s going to kiss him again, but she just sets herself back down on flat feet and smiles up at him.

"I’ll walk you up," he says, and Kira nods.

"I’d love that."

He kisses her at the door, her inside of her apartment, him outside.  He kisses her quickly, just as a goodbye, and Kira smiles into it, waves at him from her window when he’s back down at the car.

He smiles the whole way home and that night he doesn't hear shots or screams or smell blood and dirt.  He just sleeps.

Stiles and Derek are there when he wakes up the next day, sitting at the table with the Sheriff and his mom. It makes his morning, will probably make his whole day.

His mom hands him a plate of eggs and toast. "Finally with us?"

"I slept really well last night," he says, smiling.

"And in his own bed too," the Sheriff mutters. Scott looks up just in time to see Derek choke on his toast.

Stiles slams his forehead on the breakfast table.  "Don’t tell me.  I don’t want to know.  Jesus Christ, I don’t want to know."

Melissa is flushing fairly pink and the Sheriff looks a little embarrassed as well, like he wasn’t supposed to know that.

Scott clears his throat.  "Right.  Anyway.  The date was fine, thanks for asking."

Stiles throws a piece of toast across the table at him. "Come on, tell us!"

He smiles. "It was good.  It was great actually."

"I'm happy to hear that, sweetheart," Melissa says as she kisses him on top of his head.

Derek smiles at him. "So where'd you take her?"

He tells them about the date and eats and feels oddly at peace. He hopes it will last.  It’s not a feeling he’s had the opportunity to enjoy much over the past few years, even when Allison was around.  He feels--easy.  Life feels easy.  For once.  And he’s gonna count the days so he remembers it when times get tough again.

He wakes up at the crack of dawn on Wednesday, like he does most days, and starts planning what he'll make for lunch.

"Oh God yes, that's creamy mac and cheese," Stiles says as he follows his nose into the kitchen.

Scott looks over his shoulder. "Dude, it's eight in the morning, how the fuck are you here?  Where are your pants?"

He waves him off.  "In Derek’s room.  It’s fine, don’t worry, we only cuddled."  He jumps to sit on the counter, feet dangling.  "He’s a good cuddler.  He, uh, wakes up sometimes, though.  The nightmares."

Scott nods.  "Yeah, I know."

Stiles licks his lips.  "So.  You’re making her your mom’s creamy macaroni?"

"I’m meeting her for lunch today, I said I’d bring the food."  He stirs the beginnings of the sauce in the pot, turns down the heat.  "It needs to simmer a bit, I’ll start grating the cheeses.  You wanna help?"

"Am I allowed to eat a large amount of the grated cheese?"

"No."

Stiles shrugs.  "Yeah, I’ll help anyway."

By ten in the morning he has Derek sitting at the table making cold sandwiches and Stiles making his grilled cheese. He had wondered if it was too much cheese but then Derek had suggested he come in with a joke about cheesy lunch dates and now a man that Scott has seen tear a small steel structure down with his bare hands is chuckling at his own dad joke.

At eleven, he has everything packed up in a bag.  The Sheriff comes in through the door shortly afterwards, when all of them are sitting in the front of the TV, waiting for it to be time to Scott to go.  Melissa is up, drinking coffee, and they share a brief kiss while Scott stands, gathering up everything.

"It’s a little early, dude," Stiles mentions.  "You’re gonna get there with like a half hour to spare."

Scott shrugs.  "I’ll sit in the office and talk to Miss Judy.  Or, I don’t know, do a lap or something."  He kisses his mom’s cheek, waves goodbye.  "Wish me luck."

"As if you need it."

Lunch does go remarkably well.  Kira brings up Netflix on the screen at the front of the classroom and they sit on the carpet in the middle of the room, watching Modern Family while they eat.  Kira praises his cooking and they talk about their days and they kiss, after, for a little while, which is nice.

"Kind of unprofessional," Kira laughs, blushing.

"I don’t mind if you don’t."

The next two weeks are like that.  Back-to-back with Kira and his family.  He doesn’t even try to find a job, doesn’t try to go out, doesn’t do anything.  And he doesn’t care.  He’s enjoying a little bit of civilian life, a little slice of Heaven that he didn’t think could possibly be waiting for him back at Beacon Hills but is.  And he’s going to milk it for all that it’s worth.

He gets the email on a Sunday evening.  He’s just getting back from seeing Kira.  He drove over to her apartment, watched a movie with her, kissed her goodnight.  He likes that they’re taking it slow, that they’re bonding.  Eventually he’s going to introduce her to his mom, to Stiles, to everyone else.  But that’s eventually.  And this is now.

He sits down at the computer, just checking, just to see.  Usually there’s nothing.  Facebook notifications, but that’s it.

Today, there’s an email from a guy in Derek’s former unit who was with them in Afghanistan and in South America.

He sees that there are attachments before he even reads the guy’s words.  They’re images, he knows, but they’re just saved with a bunch of numbers.  He doesn’t click on them yet.

Scott--

I was glad to hear that you were back home and that Major Hale was with you.  I heard from Corporal Stringer that you’re not planning on returning and I understand, but I have to say I’ll miss you.  One day, in a couple years, if you’re ever in Chicago we should meet up.

I was looking through some of my things the other day.  I’m about to ship out to training camp with a couple of fresh ones and so I can packing up, cleaning things out.  When we first met overseas, we had that big dinner and I remembered that I had a bunch of pictures.  There are some from the ball we went to on leave last year, too, in Washington.  But mostly I had some from down south, a couple from right before we lost Ally.  I thought maybe you’d want them.  I don’t know her family, but if you wanted to share these with whoever she’s got left, that would be wonderful. I’d like to know they got to the important people. Tell Hale there’s a couple of him in here too.

It was really hard, losing her, same as everyone else.  I hope I get to see you soon.  Keep in touch.

He doesn't remember opening the pictures but he does. He stares and stares at each one. She's smiling in all of them, every single one. She's looks at the camera like in each one she's really looking at the person taking it. He feels the way he loses himself in her eyes, loses touch with the fact that she's gone, finds that he has to remind himself every other second like he's forgetting over and over again, remembering at the same pace.

He doesn't know why Derek is there, how he even got there. He knows he came in the door and dragged him away from the desk with one arm, keeping himself up on one crutch.

"Come back, Scott," he says as he presses his hand splayed wide over his chest.  "You gotta count and breathe with me."

It isn't until then that he realizes he's been gasping, loud gulping gasps that bring him no oxygen--must have been loud enough to bring Derek upstairs. There are things all over his floor like he dropped them or threw them and there's no air in his lungs.

"McCall," Derek says firmly in his ear, giving his chair a shake, "you can breathe. You have to get a hold of yourself and let yourself breathe."

He can’t--can’t think, can’t breath, can’t feel anything.  He can’t feel his own movements or his own lungs except to know that they’re burning, and then he can hear Derek again, practically shouting.

"McCall!  Lieutenant McCall, this is your superior officer--breathe, McCall, that’s a fucking order.  Count with me.  Breathe with me."

He doesn’t know why, but it works.  It should send him deeper.  It should send him back to war, back to tragedy, but it drags him out of it.  It drags him to where he is, in his bedroom, with Derek in front of him, at his side, breathing with him.

He blinks into Derek’s eyes as he takes deep, shuddering breaths.  He sits there, on the floor, just breathing for long, aggravated moments, until Derek gets a hand on the side of his face.

"Scott?" he asks.

Scott nods.  "I’m okay.  I’m okay, I’m here.  I’m okay."

Derek struggles to get around him without removing the hand from his chest, but he manages it. He looks down at him and shuts his eyes. "I wish I could kneel."

"It's okay," Scott breathes out, moving a hand to rest over Derek's. "It's okay, you got me."

He takes another moment before he stands and Derek pulls him to his chest with one arm.

"Derek, sit," Scott manages to mutter after a minute.

Derek doesn't budge and Scott can see it now, the way his arm is shaking with the effort to keep him up. "Derek--"

"Scott, please," Derek says softly, not meeting his eyes.

Scott tries to subtly hold him up and when Derek refuses he hisses, "We keep each other going, Major, this isn’t a one-way street."

After another moment Derek finally lets him sit them both on the bed.  They sit there, together, in silence, for a long time.  Minutes pass, maybe a full hour.  They just sit there, with their hands on each other.

"How do you handle it?" Scott asks eventually, voice quiet in the darkness.

Derek’s hand tightens on Scott’s arm.  "Stiles helps.  Keeps me grounded.  Is there whenever I wake up.  When I panic."

"Stiles is good at handling panic attacks.  He used to get them."

"Yeah.  He told me."  Derek looks at Scott intently.  "I’ve heard it gets easier."

"Yeah.  Me too."

"Counting the days."

Scott closes his eyes.  "I’m tired," he says.  "I’ll help you back downstairs.  I just--I just want to go to sleep."

"I can stay.  I’ll sleep on the floor, I don’t mind."

"No, man."  It’s his turn to squeeze Derek now.  "Seriously, let’s get you into a real bed.  We both need some rest."

He gets Derek into his own bed and trudges back up the stairs.  He takes a piss, washes his face, stands staring at his own reflection for a long time before he climbs into bed.  It was a lie, that he was tired. He just wanted to be alone, knew Derek wasn’t going to let him be.  But it’s what he wants right now, just solitude, just the slim chance that he could fall asleep.

Scott can’t sleep, though, even hours later.  There’s still that leftover anxiety thrumming through his body, and he gets up to go downstairs and watch TV or something--he isn’t sure yet--but he knows he doesn't want to sit around.

He gets out of the house as fast as he can, dressed and heading straight to the car.  He wants to go to Stiles’ apartment, knows Derek isn’t there at least, could have some time with him.  But he also--he also wants to see Kira.  And at the same time he wants to see nobody.

He sits outside of Kira’s apartment for a full twenty minutes in the rain before he dials.

It’s four o’clock in the morning.

"Sorry," he says immediately when Kira picks up.  "I--I’m so sorry I didn’t realize how early it was."

She quiet for a moment.  Scott can hear movement, like sheets rustling.  "It’s fine," she says eventually.  "Is something wrong?"

"I wanted to see you.  I’m not--I just want to see you."

"I can meet you for breakfast?  In an hour or so?"

Scott looks at his steering wheel.  "I’m parked outside your apartment.  But I--if you want to meet later, I can--"

"No," Kira interrupts.  "C’mon up.  I’ll buzz you in."

He doesn’t really know what he’s doing.  He steps out into the heavy November rain and takes measured steps up under the awning, buzzes on Kira’s number and pushes through the door when the door unlocks.

He’s dripping in the halls.  Kira is wearing a large T-shirt and some pajama shorts when she opens up the door, and she ushers him in, taking his jacket from his shoulders and hanging it up over a wiry chair in the kitchen.

"Sorry," he says.  "I’m getting everything wet."

"It’s fine," she says.  "Here, let me."  She puts his shoes on a towel, takes his socks and his sweater and throws them in the dryer she has tucked behind a little door near the kitchen.  "Do you want--I can--your shirt."

He strips it off, tosses it to her.  And, for good measure, his jeans as well.  She doesn’t say anything, just accepts his clothes and tucks them away, pressing the start button.  Then she wanders off into what must be her bedroom and comes back wearing a tank top, handing the T-shirt she had been wearing to Scott, along with a pair of sweats.

"Those are my dad’s," she says.  "Not--someone else’s."

"That’s fine," he says, and he slips them on.  He smiles at her.  "The shirt smells like your perfume."

She blushes, looking down at her feet. "Um.  Do you wanna sit down?"

They move to the couch and Kira looks nervous, like she’s ready to pounce.  Like she’s ready to throw herself on a grenade.  He winces against the thought, clenching his hands into fists.  Kira lays a hand over his, fingertips warm against his cold skin.

"Hey," she mutters.  "What’s wrong?"

He tells her.  It’s slow, and careful, but he explains the pictures, the email.  He explains that Allison was on leave when they met, that he fell in love with her instantly and never looked back.  They deployed together for two years, first in Iraq, then Afghanistan, then on the mission in South America.  They talked about what they would do when they were done, that they would come back and get married, have a couple kids.  Scott had thought, for sure, that Allison had been it for him.

"She died," he says, looking down at Kira’s coffee table.  "Six months ago today.  Eight month mission, she died about three months in.  And, uh, I haven’t really talked to anyone about her since then."  He recognizes Kira laying a hand on his back.  He pushes forward.  "I was a mess.  I wasn’t there, not when she was killed, but I--I was on the medic team that went to the wounded, and I was dealing with Derek, a friend of mine.  He lost half of his leg, and I thought that was the worst of it, that no one could possibly be dead, but it was--a mess.  Six people died, dozens more injured, and when I finally got to Allison, she--"  She had died in his arms, told him with her last breath that she loved him, perfectly movie-esque.  "Anyway."  Scott huffs out a breath.  "It’s--just been bothering me a lot.  And I couldn’t sleep tonight, and I wanted.  I wanted to see you."

He isn’t sure if Kira is speechless.  Either way, she looks like she’s deep, deep in thought when Scott glances up at her.  "I’m glad you’re here," she tells him.

"Me too."

She swallows.  "It’s--I don’t know what to say, honestly.  I figured--that something happened.  But I didn’t want to assume."  She averts her gaze again.  "Allison was Dr. Argent’s daughter, wasn’t she."

"Yes."

"Okay."  She takes her hand off of his back, and Scott immediately reacts.

"Wait.  I don’t--I like you.  I want to see you.  I want to keep seeing you.  I don’t--just because Allison--"

"I’m not going to break up with you because your girlfriend died, Scott," she says softly.  "That’d be ridiculous.  I’m just--I’m just going to be here to help you.  However you want.  However you need me to."

Scott kisses her.  Not soft and sweet and delicate like their first kiss, nothing like their first kiss.  It’s all desperation, need, the irrevocable, unquantifiable distress that manifests itself as want, desire.  And Scott does want Kira, always, and right now he’s losing it, and Kira is the one keeping him grounded.

She pulls away. "Scott," she whispers against his lips, "you're upset."

He brushes his lips against her jaw. "You make it better. You make it quiet."

She closes her eyes and leans even closer into him.

"You stop the screams," he continues in hushed tones, "and everything smells clean and right. And you make it better."

She kisses him, takes possession of his lips and grips his face in her hands.  She brushes her fingers through his hair, keeps him close, keeps him there.  As if there were any other place that he wanted to be.

"It’s okay," she says eventually, and she takes his hands.  "It’s okay."  She keeps kissing him, peppers his face with kisses, his forehead, his jaw, all the way down his neck.  Her hands move to pull Scott’s closer, to lay them on her sides.  "You can--whatever."

He smiles. "Whatever?"

She blushes and nods. "Yeah, anything."

He leans in to brush his lips against her ear and whispers, "Then we can't stay on your couch."

She bites her lip and kisses him one more time before tugging him up from the couch and leading him to her bedroom. It's small, the bed pressed up to a corner with a square window over it.

"I just."  She pauses and motions to a little door that must be a bathroom.  "Just need a minute."

She hurries over and slips in the door and the separation gives Scott a minute to think. He's upset, he is--and he doesn't want to be unfair and make this about anything other than them. He doesn't want to use Kira like an eraser, to make a messy blur of his feelings for Allison. But then she opens the door and in the darkness she's backlit and he loves her. She isn't an eraser or a blank slate, she's a second chance, the ideals he went into the midsts of battle for, a chance for peace.

"Hey," he says, standing from the edge of her bed.

"Hi."  She comes forward.  She hasn’t changed anything as far as Scott can tell, but she brandishes a condom, appearing the slightest bit nervous.  Scott takes it from her, sets it on the bedside table.

"We don’t have to," Scott says, settling his hands on her waist.  "If you--are uncomfortable or--"

"No," she says, and in that she sounds confident.  "I’m not uncomfortable at all."

She kisses him then, throwing her arms around his neck, and it’s good.  It’s nice.  It’s perfect.  She kisses him and gets close to him and he just wants.  He wants to be with her right now, wants that second chance.

He sits on the edge of the bed, pulling Kira into his lap.  She goes easily, straddling him, and she gets her hands on the hem of Scott’s shirt, pulling it up over his head.  He's still got scars. Some will heal, others won't, he really doesn't pay them any mind. When Kira runs her fingertips over them it makes him shiver. The way she's straddling him, her breasts are at the level of his face, but instead he peels her shirt off slowly. He stops to mouth at her stomach, appreciate the way it makes her shiver and the little gasps that escape her.

She’s not wearing a bra, and he wraps his arms around her, keeping her close against him while he kisses across her skin.  She tangles her fingers in his hair, making soft, sweet noises, guiding his mouth.

"Beautiful," he whispers into the round of her breast, hands flat on her back.  "You’re beautiful.  But you know you’re more than that, too.  You’re intelligent and funny and charming--"

"Scott."

"Yeah."

"Just--kiss me."

Scott does. He holds her as he moves her to lay out on the bed and then kisses down her throat before he finally runs his tongue slowly over her nipples. She grasps at his hair like she's holding on for dear life from just that and it makes him smile against the skin of her stomach. He tries it again and she mewls, actually cries out when he mouths at one of her breasts and moves his hand gently over the other. He pulls away and kisses her lips once more. "You're sensitive," he breathes out, nosing at her throat and feeling triumphant.

"Don’t make fun of me," she says, hands tight on his shoulders.

"I would never."  He kisses her again, tugging on her bottom lip.  He pulls his fingers through her hair, fanning it out against the pillow.  "I like it," he adds.  "I like the way your body reacts to me."

He pulls her shorts down off of her legs then, dragging them against her skin.  She’s wearing yellow, cotton underwear, well-worn and soft, and she looks gorgeous like this, spread out for him.

She's blushing all over her body and he doesn't know if maybe she's just flushed and heated or if she's genuinely embarrassed. He searches her eyes as he moves his fingers over the waistband of her underwear. "Talk to me," he whispers, "tell me what you want."

"Whatever you--"

"No," he says softly, leaning in to mouth at her neck where she shivers and squirms. He takes her hand and lays it on his waist, moves it along up and down over the side of his body. "Tell me what you want to feel, Kira."

Her exhale is shaky at best, and she strokes her hands over his chest, his arms.  "You."

He laughs quietly, kissing her again.  "C’mon."

"I mean it," she says.  She hooks her fingers over the elastic of his waistband, tucks them down towards his underwear.  "Off.  Take these off now."

He shoves them off with her help and hisses when she wraps her hand around him. He's almost fully hard and it doesn't take more than a few moments of her touch.

"Slow down," he says as he takes her hand in one of his and moves his other over her thigh. He dips his hand between her legs and rubs gently over her underwear right where it's warm and damp.

She squirms, spreads her legs wider, and he can see the pleasant curls of hair, the lip of her, wet and waiting.  He gets the panties off of her with one finger hooked over the waistband, drags them away off, tosses them to the other side of the room.

Kira kisses him immediately, one hand still very present around him, tugging on his cock slowly but surely.

"I’m not gonna last like this," Scott tells her, pressing his face against the side of her head.  "Seriously, Kira, it’s been too long."

"You want to be inside me?" she asks, and Scott closes his eyes, breathes her in.

"If that’s what you want."

She nods, shaky but certain and reaches around for the condom he set on the bedside table. He reaches over with her and steadies her hand. He smiles at the way her tongue slips out of the corner of her mouth as she watches him put it on.  It seems an almost curious expression.

When he moves forward to cover her again he moves his hand back between her legs and touches her unreservedly. He savors the stuttering breaths and little cries she's making in his ear as he slips his fingers inside her. She breathes in sharply and it takes her a moment to release the breath.

Scott noses at her shoulder. "You're tight. Nervous tight."

She nods. "I am nervous and I do want you. Can I be both?"

Scott smiles against her skin and nods. "Of course you can. I've got you, okay?"

She nods again and he can feel her eyes on him as he kisses his way down her body, can see the way her hand grasps the sheets beside her when she realizes what he's aiming for.  It’s a shame, he thinks, that he can’t see her face when he does this, when he spreads her open and eats her out.  He thinks she would beautiful, eyes closed, eyebrows drawn close together, like trying to remember something important.  As it is, he has to live off of the sounds she makes, savor the way she tastes, take thrill in the way her body moves, rolling and arching and her hips making tiny, aborted thrusting movements, like she just wants more and she doesn’t know how to get it.

"I’m gonna--Scott, I swear--"

He doesn’t stop.  He thrusts his tongue deep inside of her, fucks into her with all of the gentle grace he knows how, slipping a finger in too.  And she moans, rocks down against him, shaking.  He clings to her thighs with his free hand, pushing forward, eating her out sloppily, hungrily, taking everything he can get and still demanding more.

When she comes, she cries out, making a beautiful, high noise like she’s breaking apart into a million little pieces.  Scott just keeps going, helping her through it, and when she tugs on his hair he lifts his head to look at her, finally.

She looks incredible. She's like liquid, warm and open to him. He climbs and covers her body with his, grinning at the way she rests her fingers on his chin and stares as they come away wet. He can't get enough of the awe in her expression, but he gives it up in order to kiss her. Her tongue is probing, exploring his mouth and tasting herself with a confidence that wasn't there before. This time, when he slips his fingers inside her, it's perfect. Still tight, but nothing that will hurt her if he's gentle.

"Yeah," she says, wrapping her legs around his waist.  "C’mon."

He kisses her as he pushes inside of her, slipping into her wet heat.  He groans immediately, dropping his forehead against her shoulder.  "Fuck."  He looks down between them, where their bodies are meeting, becoming one, and he’s so deep inside of her, and she’s so fucking perfect.

She’s breathing heavily already, hands dragging across his shoulder blades.  She tips her head back against the pillows.  "You can--move.  God, move."

She's so warm and perfect that he could lose it right now, fuck into her with all he has and not last more than two minutes, but he has to take this slow, has to make her feel him all day like an ache of what's missing and he has to make her feel as perfectly as he does, and maybe he won't last long enough for her to come again and God he's muttering all of this out loud.

"It's okay," she moans. "God, you feel so right inside me, Scott."

He grunts and can't help it when he thrusts a little harder on the next one.

"It's okay," she says again, raking her fingers over his back.  "It’s okay if you do--I wanna feel that."

He kisses her.  Even though it’s sloppy and open-mouthed and barely contained, he kisses her as much as he can.  He kisses her mouth and her jaw and her throat, kisses her over and over and over again because he’s in love with this girl and she’s giving him everything.  Even though he doesn’t deserve her, doesn’t deserve everything, he has her, and he’s going to lose his mind.

She makes pleasant, satisfied noises.  She squirms against him and kisses him, touches herself where it counts and doesn’t make him feel inadequate in the important ways.  It’s good, just like this.  It’s not over-complicated, nothing elaborate and silly, just--just them, together, being.  It’s everything he wants and nothing he knew he needed.

He makes his fingers follow her movements, determined to last long enough. She guides him, shows him the way she likes to be touched and grabs for his ass when he makes a particularly right move and just the right thrust. Her whole body clenches and this time she's got her mouth hot on his ear, telling him how much she wants, how badly she needs to feel him come apart while he's in her.

That does him in.  He knows it’s not a long, drawn-out session of lovemaking, knows that it’s hilariously short for the first sexual experience of their relationship, but it’s been months and he hasn’t slept and--and, honestly, Kira’s just perfect, hot, sensual, right.  And that’s the only excuse he needs.

She doesn’t seem to mind.  In fact, when he collapses half on top of her and nuzzles into her warmth, come-dumb and comfortable, she laughs, grins, holds onto him firmly, doesn’t want him to go anywhere.  He feels the same way.

He slips out of her after a moment and ties off the condom, dropping it, for lack of a better place, beside the bed. He curls himself over and beside her, the feeling of her sweat-damp and naked beside him making it impossible to stop smiling.

"You’re thinking really loudly," Kira says in a low hum.

"My friend Derek says that about me."

"Well he’s right."  She turns to him so they’re facing each other, pressed front-to-front again.  She wraps an arm around his middle, smiling calmly.  "What are you thinking?"

"How happy I am," he tells her honestly.  "How grateful I am.  For you.  That I met you.  That I was lucky enough to be let into your life."

"Good."  She smiles.  "Good thoughts."

He leans up on his elbow, leans his chin on his hand.  "What did you think I was thinking about?"

She glances up to the ceiling. "Something else."

Scott can hear the implicit "someone else" in her words and refuses, he refuses to let her consider that even for a second.

"Kira," he says as he leans over her, "I could never think of anyone else, compare you to anyone else. The things I felt before, they were good and right and they were love but they didn't feel like this. Only you can make me feel like this. You need to know that. Here, there's no one in the world but me and you."  He grabs her hand, squeezes it tight.  "Tell me you know that."

"I do," she says softly.

"Really?"

"Really."  She leans up, kisses him.  "I believe you.  Just you and me."

"Just you and me," Scott echoes.  He closes his eyes, tips his forehead against hers.  He can understand, now, what Derek said about how it helped, to sleep next to Stiles.  He understands the closeness, the intimacy, how it would affect him, ground him.  And Scott wants that.  He wants to stay here with Kira every night, to hold her, be held by her, and just--live, just like that.  But she hasn’t signed up for nightmares and panic attacks.  She hasn’t signed up for anything.

"Don’t," she says, touching his face.

"What?"

"You look--sad."

He shakes his head.  "Just thinking."

"Go back to the good thoughts."  She opens her arms.  "C’mere.  It’s a Monday.  I have to teach today."

He frowns.  She'll only have a couple of hours left to sleep.

"Hey, I've stayed up all night watching TV before," she says when she notices his frown.  "I'll be okay."

He wraps himself around her properly and tucks her into his body. "Sleep. At least a little."

She mumbles against his neck but he can feel her nod.

He’s still awake, staring up at her ceiling, when she drifts off to sleep.  She’s lying half on top of him, arm slung across his stomach, leg thrown over his, and he’s comfortable like this, with the pressure of her body against his.  It keeps him focused.  It keeps him aware.

His eyelids feel heavy.  From pleasure.  From comfort.  From the heady awareness of safety.  He feels safe here, right here, and it’s a good feeling.  It was always easier to fall asleep when he felt safe.

So maybe he drifts too, nose pressed into her hair, heart thudding away in his chest.  He feels good.  Happy.  In love.

The best feeling in the world.