To Build a Home

Chapter 20

Stiles tapped his foot and bit his nail as he waited for his father to come through on the line. He knew that if he called dispatch directly they'd give him the "leave the line open for emergency calls only" warning and dismiss him, so he'd settled for his father's cell, hoping he wasn't in the middle of a call.

"This better be important," John sighed into the phone.

"Dad," he exhaled, thankful to finally hear his voice. "Okay, really quick, have there been any accidents reported for a black Chevy Camaro in the last twelve hours? Or John Doe's matching a scarily accurate description of Derek?"

"I don't really have time for this," his father groaned into the phone. "But the answer is no, to both questions. Can I go now?"

"Yeah, I just...don't know where Derek is and it's after nine and I'm starting to panic a little and-" Stiles admitted, emotion balling up in his throat at the thought that even the Sheriff of Beacon Hills hadn't overheard anything.

"Did you call him?"

"Of course I called him," Stiles huffed into the phone, annoyed. "Five times, with voicemails. And I sent at least six texts."

"Did he say anything about working late?"

"I don't think so."

"You don't think so?" his father asked, irritated.

"I don't know," he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Maybe he did. Things have been a little crazy around here lately and-" Stiles explained, stopping when he heard the front door open. "Oh, thank the Lord Jesus," he sighed in relief, ending the phone call after the Sheriff realized Derek wasn't, in fact, missing.

"Everything okay?" Derek asked as he rushed into the living room, eyes questioning the harried look on Stiles' face. He'd sensed his husband's wheezing from down the block, had stepped heavily on the gas pedal after the last stop sign off of Hemlock Street and ran up the steps as his fingers fiddled with the keys to get the front door open.

"No!" Stiles yelled angrily as he shoved his phone into his pocket, Derek slightly relieved at the fact that his husband wasn't in the middle of the attack he'd been expecting. "Where the hell have you been?!"

"I told you last weekend that I was going to work late on Friday so that I could go to Isaac's game tomorrow because you said you'd be busy with the plant sale," Derek explained, annoyed that his husband had exploded on him after such a long day.

The conversation, which had taken place as Derek stirred sauce on the stovetop and Stiles drained pasta in the sink, was suddenly vivid in Stiles' mind. He closed his eyes and began to grind his teeth together, angry with himself for forgetting something that had been so stupidly obvious. "We were supposed to have date night at seven," he fumed, even though he knew the mix-up had been his fault. "We talked about it on Wednesday, remember?" They had, but even he couldn't remember anything beyond mentioning it as possible plans; had they even picked a restaurant or movie?

"Stiles-" Derek tried, but his husband was already talking.

"I had to tell Lydia to go home after she'd already driven over here in rush-hour traffic," he shook his head, trying to get his mouth to stop. The stress was taking over though, prices and names of potted plants filling his head as he continued. "And instead of making dinner and getting the rest of the stuff together for the sale tomorrow I've been trying to contact you to make sure you hadn't ended up in a ditch somewhere on your way home from work!"

"My phone died at the office and I didn't have the-"

"You could have called from your desk!"

"I assumed you'd remember I was staying late because someone needs to be with Isaac tomorrow morning," Derek argued.