triskehale | twas the night before christmas (set on 12/24)

This version smells a little better than the last one to my rather mundane nose. I'd tried a slightly different mix of spices than the recipe calls for and I can only hope I'd chosen correctly as I set it out on the counter to cool.

Turning back, I notice Derek watching intently, his eyes wide and dark and I want to believe it's me he's staring at so hungrily, but I know it's the pie. Either way, it feels nice to be the focus of that attention and I smile sheepishly as I hang the oven mitt and wander back to the couch.

"Soon as it's cool, it's all yours," I tell him, tucking my legs up beneath me, elbow propped on the back of the couch so I can watch him open his present.

"Huh? Oh, right," Derek says, shaking himself a little and giving Bitty a self-conscious smile as he sits down. He forces himself to ignore the pie and then, just because Bitty seems a little down, Derek reaches over to stick the bow on top of his head.

He peels all the wrapping paper off and opens the box, letting out an amused huff when he pulls the helmet out. "And here I thought I was hard-headed enough."

It means a lot that Bitty would give him this, to try to bring Derek further into his world. Holding the helmet feels a little like high school, and he remembers carrying his beloved lacrosse helmet around everywhere. It must have melted in the fire, and he hasn't really held anything like it since.

He smiles and pulls it onto his head before turning to Bitty for inspection. "How's it look?"

Derek sticks the red bow on my head and I laugh, reaching up to touch it lightly, but otherwise leaving it there as I watch him unwrap the helmet.

"Speaking as someone who's had a concussion once already, no one is ever hard-headed enough," I tell him, reaching out to adjust the straps a little once he has it on. "Here, did you notice this?" I ask, slipping the helmet carefully off his head to show him the writing on the back, the little number 3 in white block font with 'HALE' right below it.

"I was number 15 back home. Our captain, of course, was 1. I chose 3 for you because, uhm. Well. Because of the triskele, honestly. Is that weird?" I ask, feeling suddenly unsure, suddenly a little bit like I shouldn't have done it or said anything about it at all. Maybe I should've kept my reasoning a secret instead of reminding Derek, once again, just how much I know about his past. I can't imagine how weird that must be for him.

Derek's eyes light up when he sees his name, and he reaches up to lightly slide his fingers over the letters. Memories wash over him, good memories, and he has to swallow hard. "It's been a long time since I've seen my name like this."

He listens to Bitty's reasoning and smiles, eyes shining bright as he looks over at him. Of course Bitty knows how much the triskele means to him. "No, it's very thoughtful. I was actually 4 back home, so you're not far off."

He smiles down at the lettering again, and then turns to pull Bitty into a one armed hug, kissing the side of his head before sitting back and holding the helmet in his lap. "Okay, now you go."

Of course, as soon as he mentions his actual high school number I feel a little dumb. I really had tried to remember but it's not like I can really search here and my memory just isn't good enough. I'm glad he doesn't find the number I chose weird or creepy in any way, at least, and when he slings his arm over my shoulders and kisses the side of my head, I feel my entire body go warm.

Goodness.

I don't really want to lean away from him but I do it anyway to reach for the smaller of the two boxes he's brought. Carefully, I unwrap it, lifting the lid of the box to find a beautiful leather jacket inside.

"Oh, wow," I breathe, laughing a little as I pull it out and hold it up to look at it. It's gorgeous, of course. Sleek and stylish and, well... sexy. The sort of jacket someone like me probably looks silly in, not that I won't wear it anyway. "Is this a pack jacket?" I ask, grinning over at him.

"It just might be," Derek replies, pleased by his reaction. The buttery leather looks good with Bitty's coloring, just like Derek was hoping that it would. "I picked that one out just for you, though. I thought you would look good in it. Try it on."

He leaves Bitty to do that while he opens the larger of his own boxes, brows lifting as he pulls out one of the bottles to inspect the labels. "Oh wow, Bitty. This is great."

It's cooking wine, and a good one at that. Derek smiles to himself because Bitty's gifts are so thoughtful and personal, and he swipes his thumb across the label before setting it carefully on the table. "I'll have to make something special."

He looks over at Bitty in the jacket and blinks before he breaks out into a wide smile. "Like a glove. I knew it'd look good."

Somehow, the thought of Derek picking this out just for me makes my stomach flip right on over and I use his encouragement to try it on as a good excuse to hide the flush of my cheeks, turning away slightly to shrug into the heavy leather and tugging it around my torso.

"I met a guy who just got here who's really into wine," I explain, glancing over briefly as Derek inspects the label of one of the bottles. "He helped me choose a few. He'd actually love to meet you himself so I'll try to introduce you sometime."

The jacket feels incredible and I hold my arms out in front of me, admiring the way it clings, how it makes me look almost sexy. When I look up again, Derek's smiling and, despite myself, I feel my cheeks go warm again. "I don't just look stupid in it?" I ask, feeling dumb the second the words are out.

"Sounds good," Derek replies as he looks at the other two labels. He's been trying to branch out from barbecue to more complicated dishes, and this is just perfect.

"Of course not," Derek assures him sincerely, reaching out to smooth down the lapels of the coat. "It looks great on you."

He resists the urge to turn Bitty around and see how it makes his ass look, but only just. He smiles and then pats his shoulders before nudging the other box towards Bitty excitedly. "Come on, this one now."

Derek straightens the lapels of the jacket and I take the opportunity to look at him so close up, the line of his jaw and dusting of stubble and it hits me again that breaking it off with Simon was definitely the right thing to do. As wonderful as he had been, so sweet and kind and interesting, I'd never once looked at him or wanted him the way I do Derek. And even though nothing will ever come of it, that's not fair on Simon.

Still, the thought makes something heavy drop in my stomach again, but it's easy enough to ignore as Derek steps back and nudges the last box my way.

Tossing him a smile, I leave the jacket on and sit on the couch again to carefully unwrap it. This one's bigger and heavier and as soon as the wrapping has been peeled away, I see why.

For a moment, all I can do is stare, my breath completely gone.

"Oh my God," I manage finally, grazing my fingers over the picture for a moment before taking off the lid to see the figure skates inside. They're black and utterly gorgeous. Nicer even than the pair I have back home, the ones I'd left in Madison because I knew I'd never have the courage to wear them at Samwell. "Derek."

I can feel my throat closing up and I have to blink a few times before I finally lift my head. "Derek, this is... this is so much."

Derek watches Bitty with rapt attention, waiting for him to reveal what's inside. He hears Bitty's breath catch, heart stuttering a bit before it starts beating faster, and he gives him a smile.

"You mentioned how badly you wanted a pair," Derek tells him, scooting in a bit closer. "I hope they're good. I don't really know anything about skating, but I talked to the girl at the store and she recommended these."

He wants Bitty to able to do what he loves here. If he's passionate about something, if it'll make him happy, Derek wants to make sure that he can do it.

It's still all I can do to stare at them, taking in the gleam of the boots, clean and unscuffed, the blades shining in the light. I can already picture them wearing them, cutting through the ice, kicking up into a spin and landing clean and smooth.

I want to touch them, but I don't yet, afraid the oil on my skin will blemish them too soon.

Instead, I turn to Derek. He's grinning, clearly pleased with himself and I don't even think before launching myself at him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and burying my face against his neck. "Thank you. Oh my God, thank you. They're amazing. I can't even imagine how much you spent, but God, Derek."

Derek laughs fondly as Bitty is suddenly hugging him, and he cups the back of his head as he holds him close. "It doesn't matter. I'm just glad that you like them."

They were expensive, but Derek is doing well. He makes decent money with the bar and the truck, and he's still getting his allowance from the city. He doesn't spend too much on a regular basis, so he has a decent nest egg built up in his savings account. It was all to easy to make a dent in it for gifts for his friends.

He squeezes the back of Bitty's neck and lets out a breath, feeling a sense of peace and satisfaction that can only come from making someone important to him, someone in his pack, so happy. "You'll have to let me know when you try them out. I'll come watch."

"Oh goodness, no you will not," I tell him, wiping a hand furiously across my eye as I pull away to drop down onto the couch again, staring at the box. "I haven't been able to really practice in over a year. You can see me when I might not make an absolute fool of myself. I'm not sure my muscles even work properly any more and I'm not nearly as flexible as I used to be."

It's occurred to me that here, in this place, I could start practicing again. There's no scholarship to worry about, no Coach. I really could just... take up figure skating again. There's nothing to stop me.

Nothing but me.

I rub at my face again, rough as I suck in a breath, and quickly push up to my feet. "Do you want your last one now?" I ask, heading for the kitchen. There's still a part of me that wants to cry, but I'm not gonna do it here. Not in front of Derek of all people. "It obviously won't come even close to being as amazing as what you've given me, but I hope you like it. It's a special recipe."

"Okay," Derek agrees, chuckling deeply. "You can get some practice in first, but I want to see you use them, if you'll let me."

He can smell the tears rimming Bitty's eyes, but he doesn't draw attention to it. It's an emotional gift, and Derek doesn't want to embarrass him. He just nods when Bitty gets up, turning to watch as he heads for the kitchen. "God, yeah. What's in that? It smells incredible."

"Maybe someday," I tell him, purposefully vague. I'm not sure if he actually wants to see me skate or if he's just saying it to be nice and I honestly have no idea if I'll ever feel good enough to show him anyway. I hadn't been lying to him; it's been well over a year since I last even tried practicing in actual skates. I almost never do stretching exercises anymore and I don't have Katya here to coach me. Even if I practice every single day, it's going to take months and months before I feel like I'm even half as good as I used to be, I think.

But maybe that's not the point.

Whatever the case, I can't think about it now. Right now I need to focus on serving up pie for Derek and that's exactly what I do, carefully cutting out a slice and setting it on a plate before carrying it back into the other room.

"I found it in a cookbook while I was researching pies for your Thanksgiving dinner. It's supposed to be just for werewolves. It's mostly various meats and veggies and some interesting spices. I've been experimenting with it a little, trying to hone it to your tastes, but if anything is off, tell me and I can try it again later."

"A werewolf pie," Derek repeats, raising a curious eyebrow as Bitty hands him the plate. He has no idea what all would be in a werewolf pie, but it doesn't smell like anything that could hurt him. In fact, it smells delicious. The crust is crumbly and flaky and the meat looks juicy and tender, and Derek's pupils dilate slightly as he takes the fork and cuts himself off a bite.

And then he eats it, and it's like his mouth has a tiny orgasm. His eyes flare red for a moment, and he shows a hint of fang as he chews. This is amazing, possibly the best thing he's ever tasted, and he looks up at Bitty in awe. "Oh my god."

Derek's eyes flash red for just a second, just long enough for me to feel that familiar thrill under my skin and know that he really does like it, that his reaction is genuine and not to spare my feelings. I think I even see his fangs drop a little.

"It's good then?" I ask, though I'm pretty sure I already know the answer. "The whole pie is yours, but it comes with the promise of me baking another one later if you ever want it. Just say the word."

"The word," Derek says instantly, curling his arm protectively around the plate like someone might try to take it from him. The meat is delicious, and he can't identify all the spices but they're incredible. Eating this pie makes him feel relaxed, and a little like he wants to roll over and get a belly rub.

He looks up to give Bitty a wide, easy smile, licking sauce from his fangs before he digs in for another bite. He doesn't really stop until the slice is all gone, and then he gives the plate a sad little whine that he would probably be embarrassed about if he hadn't just eaten such delicious werewolf pie.

It's hard not to laugh at his reaction. He curls his arm around the plate even, like a puppy trying to protect his food. He finishes in record speed, almost looks sad when it's all gone and I just. Goodness. This boy.

Right now, right in this second, that smile is almost enough to convince me I stand a chance.

I disappear into the kitchen before I let it get out of hand, grabbing the rest of the pie off the counter and, settling it down in front of him. "I honestly didn't think you'd eat the whole thing in one sitting, but you absolutely can if you want. I'm so glad you like it! I was a little afraid it'd just taste like a mess. I mean, I tried a little myself and it didn't seem all that special. I suppose that recipe knew what it was talkin' about though."

"I suppose it did. Between whatever the hell is in this and you making it, I never stood a chance," Derek tells him, eyes widening when Bitty brings out the rest of the pie. "I want to eat it all, but I also don't want it to be gone."

He settles for cutting himself another (big) slice, and curls up on the sofa with the plate against his chest as he eats. "Want to try the skates on and make sure that they fit as well as that jacket?"

I'm absolutely reading way too much into that statement, I know that much even when it hits my ears and makes everything inside me go warm. I know he's just complimenting my cooking, but it feels like so much more.

Get ahold of yourself, Bittle. Goodness.

My eyes fall back to the box on the table, skates gleaming and I let out a shaky breath before nodding. "I'm a little afraid to mess 'em up already," I confess, but I take a seat on the couch beside him all the same and reach out to pull the right skate out, my fingers reverent over the leather of the boot. Carefully balancing the blade in my lap, I pull the laces aside enough to slip my foot in, completely unsurprised to find it fits like a glove. It's still, of course, from lack of use, but I can already tell it fits perfectly. "Did you steal my skates when I wasn't lookin' to find out the size?" I ask, glancing over at him with a small grin.

"They're meant to be worn," Derek assures him, watching him as he takes them out of the box. He smiles at the way that Bitty touches the skates, and he knows that he made the right decision in getting them. It seems to fit so well and Derek grins, cutting a sly look over at Bitty. "I might have. So you like them?"

It's a dumb question. It's obvious that he likes them, and Derek is glad to have made him so happy. Worth every penny.

Slipping my left foot into the other skate, I glance up at Derek with a smirk. "That, Mr. Hale, is possibly the dumbest question anyone has ever asked me, and someone once asked if I'd ever heard of Beyonce. Of course I like them, you sill wolf. I love them."

Once both skates are laced up, I stretch out my legs, admiring how they look, all sleek and gorgeous, the blades sticking out proudly. I don't stand, afraid of dulling them too soon, but they sure do look nice.

"And they fit perfectly," I say, giving him a small smile. There's still a weight in my gut, still an ache from missing my family and from dinner yesterday with Simon, but it feels a little less overbearing now. I feel warm.

twas the night before christmas (set on 12/24)

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