the one where Stiles is an actor and Derek is his bodyguard

Jessica

"I—I," Derek says. He won't look at Stiles directly. "I never thanked you," he tells the air around Stiles' shoulder. "For pulling me out of the fire. I, I'm—" he says, blinking hard, "I'm supposed to be the one protecting you. Or I was, before. And you should've been out of there at the first sign of smoke. And I should've been the one carrying you out. But that's not what happened. So. Thank you." He's too quiet, those last two words. He lets out a careful breath. "You're always," he says, when he's regained some control of himself, "You've always been... more. Than I could ever—" He stops again, shakes his head. "I didn't... Before I met you. Actually, really met you. I thought... You're just some kid. Some lucky kid who everyone loses their minds over just because you know how to lie well. That's what I thought of all of this. It's just people getting paid to lie to everyone, you know? And look good. I just thought... That's what I needed, then. I thought... I can look good, I can lie, that's all I can do." He exhales shakily, an almost-laugh, trying to laugh, failing. "So I. I tried to get representation. Go to open calls. It's a lot harder than it looks."

He tries for a smile again, can't quite manage it.

"This job always made a lot more sense to me. Protecting people. Maybe 'cause I couldn't—" He shakes his head. "So when Scott fired me, I—That made sense to me. 'Cause I knew you. Not like I know you now, but... I knew you. You were like Scott. And a little bit like—And seeing you," Derek's voice goes rough, angry, "like that, seeing you hurt like that—" His hands form fists at his sides; he has to work to stay somewhat calm. "I wanted you safe."

He looks at Stiles, at his unwavering stare. "I wanted you to have someone who would take a bullet for you. And I wanted—I wanted it to be me, because I didn't trust anyone else to be careful enough with you."

That almost-laugh forces itself out again, the irony hitting him too hard.

Stiles just stares.

There's nothing funny about it.

Derek looks away again.

"You didn't have to pull me out of that fire," he says, forcing his voice casual. "It was your dad's house. You were sick. That was my job. I should've pulled you out. If you fired me for that—" This time he manages a tiny upwards facial tic. "I wouldn't question it. But you said it was because—You said you," he stops, takes a deep breath, forces out: "love me." It's awkward on his tongue. "And you don't want me getting hurt."

He glares at the air around Stiles' shoulder like it has personally offended him. "Well why do you think I—I wouldn't just walk into a bullet, Stiles, if there was a safer option I'd take it. I know you know that. I'm not suicidal. I just—You turned around and went deeper into a burning house for me. You risked your life for me. So why don't you get that I'd risk my life for you? That just standing on the sidelines, watching some smug asshole do my job, hoping he doesn't make some stupid mistake that gets you—" He ducks his head, glares at his interlocked fists. When he looks up again, his eyes are glittering.

"I know I've never said—" He swallows hard. "Those three words. I've never actually said—You know I mean it. You know I do. You know I have. I can't even remember not being—" He tries; the words stick to the roof of his mouth, the back of his throat. "Like that. Not feeling... like that. It's stupid that I don't just say it. But I haven't said those—I haven't said that since I was fifteen, and it wasn't—I didn't know what it meant. I didn't know this, or you."

He dares a glance at Stiles, again, still unresponsive, unseeing.

"But now I do. I've known for years. I've known you for years. And you—you're the best thing that ever happened to me. You know that. You have to know that. I need you to know that." His voice dips low. "And I need you to know that I would do anything to protect you. I would do anything. And I'd be grateful to be able to do anything. If I did it to protect you." His tone is urgent, painfully honest. "Because—" He takes a deep breath and looks right into the camera's flashing eye. "Because I love you, Stiles. And I have your back. You know that."