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The sun started coming up at 5:30, and Stiles had never been happier for the long days of summer lighting the walk he normally took in darkness. He was exhausted, having taken two clients in the same night against his better judgement, and just needed a damn bagel and latte before he headed home. He wove through the streets of downtown Hardbrook--the more expensive area within Beacon County--and completed his usual circuit.
It starts at the City Center Marriott, his preferred meeting place. The night shift all know him by name (well, his working alias Zeke anyway) and are happy to look out for him. Once, when an older man started to trample over Stiles’ rules before they’d even left the check-in desk, and he’d made panicked eye contact with the woman sitting behind the computer, her gaze had sharpened in response and she’d picked up the phone to start an inane conversation about “Mr Gray”. Security descended just outside the elevators and escorted the dickhole out, and Stiles had spent the hour he suddenly had free chatting with her about all their secret phone codes and jargon. Apparently hookers are known as “extra pillows” and some guests will call the front desk asking around for them. It sounded stupid to him--he’s not staying the night, thanks, and won’t be needing the accommodations--but he added his name and phone number to the unofficial list they keep in the back all the same.
After that he stopped in at Beacon Credit Union to deposit his cash in the 24/7 ATM, made a pass through Einstein Bagels to soothe the growling beast in his stomach, and finally stopped at the little plastic awning set up by the entrance to the bus tunnel. A few card tables were covered in condoms, lubricant, dental dams, and pamphlets on working in groups and Sister Peg stood in her usual spot, a maternal smile on her face and her hair in soft twists held back by a lavender headband. He wondered for the hundredth time why she wasn’t required to wear a habit, and decided for the hundredth time that it would be rude to ask.
“Hard night, honey?”
“Yeah, but it was worth it. Made a bit more than my usual rate for working past 2:00 AM,” he pressed his fingers against his eyes. The caffeine was just beginning to make a dent in the dehydration headache he’d been nursing, but only a dent, “Got any advil in those overnight kits? The 215 bus isn’t going to start running for another half hour and it’s going to be a long ride home.”
Sister Peg turned away to sort through one of the wheeled carts against the wall. Stiles knew the local church provided the kits but he could never quite reconcile the image of blue haired old ladies putting together ziploc bags full of protein bars, dry shampoo, and mace.
“Thought you had a car. Independent transportation keeps you safe, I hope you aren’t letting johns drive you around.”
He snorted, “Don’t worry, I’m not. No, the stupid timing belt crapped out on me. Hence the extra jobs lately. I don’t want to even think about it but the Jeep might finally be dead for good.”
“Well if you need a line on something cheap to replace it I can always make some calls for you,” she still hadn’t turned back around, her hands now sunk to the bottom of the cart.
“No, that’s okay. I should probably get a loan for something newer. Something that won’t break down every five minutes. Not that I need more debt but...” he made a sweeping gesture and coffee slopped out of the spout of the cup.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I know I bought more Advil. Hold on, Zeke,” Sister Peg stuck her head out from under the awning and shouted at the panel van parked by the curb, “Hey Derek! Wanna unload the medications first, I’m out of painkillers!”
From inside the van there came a shuffle, the thud of a dropped box, the squeal of tape being ripped off. Then a voice Stiles knew better than most.
“I see it, no worries. I don’t know how the last guy missed it, it was right on...top.”
Derek Hale hopped down from the van and came up short. If Stiles wanted to he could probably bounce the last piece of bagel off his face he was so close. Part of him did want to, just to verify that he wasn’t hallucinating.
“Hey now, I’ll have you know I was the ‘last guy’. Been here alone since three this morning,” Sister Peg grabbed the white box out of his hand and started taking out pill packs and sorting them into bags.
That snapped Derek out of his shock, and he hustled after her, taking his share of bags out of the cart.
“Why were you alone? Peg, I could have come earlier,” his voice was harsh and scolding but Peg only chuckled and knocked shoulders with him. She knew him then, pretty well by the looks of it.
“Jared couldn’t come and it’s not like I can skip a night. Too many people counting on us. Maybe if you got a reliable phone number instead of those shady burner phones I could have called you.”
Derek swore softly.
“Here you go Zeke, two Advil. Can you take them with coffee or do you need water?”
“No, I’m good. Thank you,” he tipped his head back and swallowed the tablets, then went to step around them to the bus tunnel with his head tucked down..
“Hey, uh, Zeke?” Derek’s hand was gentle but firm when it closed around his arm and he jerked to a stop. Peg smacked Derek’s shoulder and he let go, looking sheepish.
“Don’t touch people without asking, Derek. Consent matters in small ways as well as big.”
“Sorry Sister,” he murmured, “And sorry Zeke. Listen, could we talk for a minute? I could buy you coffee.”
Well, Stiles though, if the jig is well and truly up there’s no point acting guilty. He lifted the cup in his hand up to take a last long drink and raised an eyebrow at Derek over the rim.
“Right, not coffee. Um...we could go to the bakery? A block up? I just want to talk before you go home and it gets too awkward to ever bring up again.”
Stiles looked over at Peg, who was pointedly not watching the exchange, and then back at Derek. He stuffed his fist into his pocket and then nodded sharply and started walking. Derek had to trot to keep up.
The bakery had just opened when they arrived a few minutes after 6:00. The older man behind the counter mumbled a hello and continued puttering around the back work area while Stiles and Derek browsed the glass cases that lined the walls. Stiles popped open a cardboard box and started picking out donuts to take home to his dad.
“So you work with Peg?”
Derek nodded, “Volunteer.”
“I didn’t know you were Catholic.”
“I’m not. She lets anyone help out, you don’t have to be from her parish. We met through a friend.”
Stiles snorted.
“You know I have friends, Stiles, you’re one of them.”
He finished filling the box and taped it shut with the bakery’s stickers. He did know that Derek had friends, but it was odd to think of Derek having this kind of social life. He’d always pictured either nightclubs and meetings with supervillains, or else quiet skulking in the back aisles of a used book store. Not standing in a pink and white striped bakery in a worn-out “Take Back The Night” t-shirt.
“So you...go to Peg often?”
“Ask what you really want to ask, Derek,” he spun around and braced his hand against the counter behind him, “Yes, I’m a hooker. No, I’m not being abused or...or pimped out by some douchebag. And no, you can’t convince me to stop. If you’re going to tell the rest of the pack, I can’t stop you, but just say what you actually mean instead of dancing around it.”
Derek was quiet for a long time while Stiles stared at his shoes. They were the expensive sneakers he’d bought uptown specifically to wear out on jobs. He hated them, if he was honest. They were so padded and cut so high it made his feet sweat like crazy, but with his looks and build he did best presenting himself as a college frat type and the obnoxious sneakers helped sell it. He hated most of what he had to wear out to sell the look, from the bright red jeans to the stupid short sleeve button-up. But, then, he didn’t keep most of it on for very long.
“Sex worker.”
“What?” he looked up and caught Derek’s small smile.
“Hooker is what johns call you. Helps reinforce the stigma, just like trick or whore. You’re a sex worker.”
Derek glanced around the bakery for a moment, his shoulders rolled back and his fingers dancing along the backs of his thighs. It occurred to Stiles that this was him trying to look non-threatening, a tall order with someone as broad as he was. It was probably something Sister Peg had taught him to do.
“Look, Stiles. I don’t care. Really, I don’t. I want to know that you’re safe because we’re pack, but it doesn’t matter to me what you do to make a living. I just didn’t want you to cut me off or start avoiding me just because I saw you walking home and you caught me passing out condoms.”
Stiles narrowed his eyes.
“You’re not going to ask me to stop?”
“Peg might. Probably has at some point. I don’t really think it’s my job to tell you how to make money. I mean, I assume you enjoy it?”
“I do. Well,” he finally broke eye contact and laughed a little at the memory of last night, “most weekends. Some clients are terrible company.”
“But you’re not being abused.”
“I’m not being abused. And you aren’t going to ask me if I need money? If I’m really that hard up?”
“ Do you need money? You know I have plenty, and I’d be more than happy to help you out if there’s something serious going on. But if it’s just regular income...no, it’s none of my business.”
“Well, you can buy me these donuts,” he grabbed the box and shoved it into Derek’s chest with just barely enough warning for him to catch it with his hands, “and if you’re feeling really generous you can buy me a fancy Camaro like yours. But I won’t hold you to that second one.”
He punched Derek in the arm and headed to the register, grinning now and feeling just a little less tired.
“So are these all for you?” Derek asked. He signalled the man in the back room and he came out to ring them up.
“They’re for my dad. A peace offering since he doesn’t like me going out ‘dancing’ every weekend and coming back so late.”
He crooked his fingers into air quotes and then dropped his hands again.
“But, he thinks it’s good that I’m out having fun like a normal nineteen year old,” he said, “so he gives me the minimum required parental hassle and I bring donuts in the morning. It works for us.”
The air was biting cold when they finally left and headed back towards the bus tunnel, and Stiles burrowed further into his jacket.
“What does he think you do for money?” Derek asked.
“Tutoring, mostly, and he thinks my internship during the week is paid.”
Derek barked out a laugh and Stiles grinned back.
“Keeps him happy, though, and this way he lets me contribute to paying off some of the medical debt on top of my tuition. If he knew it came from something illegal he’d probably pull some high and noble crap and refuse to touch it.”
“Well, then we better not tell him.”
Sister Peg was going over one of her pamphlets with Chaya, a girl Stiles recognized from late nights in the Marriott’s lobby, and he raised a hand to wave as they passed by. Just before ducking into the bus tunnel he stopped, one hand on the corner to brace himself.
“Thanks for...being so cool about this. I don’t mean to be a dick but I really didn’t expect it. Figured when someone inevitably found out it’d be a lot more painful.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t hurt people without consent,” Derek smirked.
Stiles raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything else. He hopped down the escalator steps, too impatient to wait for them to carry him down. The sooner he got there, the sooner he could doze off on the bus.