all you have is your fire

five

Three weeks. Twenty-one days.

Stiles never thought he'd last three days, let alone three weeks with Derek. Yet here he was.

After their first day together and their encounter in the hallway, part of him expected Derek to quit - to grab all his things, walk out of the firehouse and never come back.
That would have been too easy, though.

Instead, Derek stayed, but avoided Stiles like the plague. When they were forced together on ambulance rides, Derek would always dash up front to the cab, to sit with Liam, Scott, or Lydia as they drove to their next call.

To be honest, Stiles wasn't complaining. He appreciated the peaceful solitude when he could get it, the break from Derek's annoying voice. There was only one time that Derek had to join him in the back of the ambulance, and Derek stood back as if separated by an invisible force field, only involving himself when Stiles asked him to.

And Stiles was fine with it all. More than fine, really. Not having Derek around made it easier to keep that moment in the hallway from playing in his mind.

It was as if the black haired man somehow knew, providing that first week of distance to help them both clear their minds. That is, if the attraction was mutual. Which it wasn't. It couldn't be. If he gave in to any feelings he had, what kind of person would Stiles be? If he abandoned his principles to not only date a coworker, but an amateurish buffoon at that, then he wouldn't be any better than the countless others he'd seen fall into the same trap.

Kiss. Date. Heartbreak.

It wouldn't be worth it.

So Stiles took solace in the distance, allowing his mind to settle. To breathe.

Then, one morning two weeks ago, something changed.

Instead of avoiding him, Derek had started to speak to Stiles again. A simple hello in the hallway accompanied by a shy smile led to pleasant morning greetings. Before Stiles knew it, they were watching movies together (separated by several chairs, of course). Derek even started to teach Stiles how to cook, insisting that he didn't want Isaac or the other firefighters to die from malnourishment in his eventual absence, eating nothing but frozen pizza and ramen.

And if Stiles offered to switch bunks when was woken by a gasp one morning, followed by Derek's panicked scrambling to pull his leg back onto the mattress above him, it definitely wasn't because he cared. Anyone would have done the same thing.

"Are you sure?" Derek had clutched a pillow to his chest, back pressed against the wall.

"I mean, it's obvious that you're a bottom, so you kind of belong down here."

"What?!" Derek sputtered, eyes wide.

"I'm kidding," Stiles smirked. "Now get down here before I change my mind."

Now, three weeks into Derek's training, Stiles stood in the kitchen, scrubbing spaghetti sauce off the countertop while raindrops splattered against the window. He should have known that Isaac would shirk his duties yet again, especially after making a colossal mess with Scott. At this rate, by the time he finished cleaning the kitchen, it would be midnight.

That is, unless Derek came in here to help.

"Hey," The tall black haired man strode through the doorway as if on cue. "Cleaning up after Isaac again?"

"Yeah." Stiles scrubbed at a particularly stubborn spot on the stove. "He's your best friend. Can't you talk to him about this?"

Derek raised his hands in surrender. "I've tried. If anything, you should probably ask Scott. Those two are inseparable lately. And besides, isn't Scott your best friend?"