14. Correspondence

Stiles chewed on the end of his pen, trying to put aside the wild tumble of his thoughts and emotions.  A simple thank you, that was all he needed to accomplish, and he could do it without embarrassing himself.  Possibly.

To Mr. Hale; he wrote.  He stared at the words, before inserting one between.  To Mr. Derek Hale; the letter now read.  Stiles chewed on the end of his pen some more, before finally crossing out the To and adding a word before it.  Dear Mr. Derek Hale; the letter now read.

“You are ridiculous,” Stiles told himself, and then pushed onwards, writing quickly so that he could not second-guess himself.

There are many things I wish to tell you, but before I begin, I have strict instructions that the first communication be relayed from Scott, who quite maturely says, “I told you so.”  And, from that, you might correctly deduce that Scott is, in fact, as abominable a liar as he told you he would be, and that he was unable to keep the truth of the circumstances of my rescue from Kate Argent secret from me for hardly more than a few moments.

 I do not fully understand why you wished for your involvement to remain a secret — if it was, in fact, simply a result of your natural modesty, which in the past I have been so grossly mistaken as to interpret as pride — or, if you simply wish to ensure that I do not read more into your actions than was intended.  

Please be at peace on either account — I have no wish to intrude further upon your kindness, and if you wish for your actions to remain secret from all else, they will not hear a word of it from me or any of my family.  My father, as Sheriff of this county, has been able to cloak the events of that day in the guise of a lawful investigation, and as Peter turns out to be, in fact, affiliated with the werewolf authorities (and I will withhold my own opinion on the wisdom of that appointment) Kate’s demise was recorded as a justified execution of someone engaged in the act of attempting to kill a werewolf.

It grieves me considerably that it was under these circumstances that your fears of Kate’s involvement in your family’s murder was confirmed, and I can only hope that her death, while bringing you no satisfaction, may at least give you some sense of justice having been served.  I know I, for one, will sleep more soundly knowing that she is no longer of this world, and based on her actions I take comfort in knowing that I am equally unlikely to encounter her in the next.

 In any case, I digress from the purpose of this letter, which is to express my sincere and heartfelt thanks for the providence of your arrival in Beacon at such a crucial moment, and your assistance to my family — nay, your single-handed accomplishment — in effecting my rescue from that horrible woman.  

Regards,

Stiles Stilinski

Stiles started to chew on his lip, and then winced as the still-healing cut re-opened.  He transferred his nervous chewing back to the quill as he contemplated that closing phrase.  So distant, so far from what he would truly wish to write!  Affectionately, he longed to sign it.  Ever yours, he only wished he could say.  Perhaps even With love.

“Aargh!” Stiles quickly crossed out the closing.  Your friend, he wrote instead, and quickly sanded, folded, and sealed the letter before he could change his mind.

Stiles spent the next two days both convincing himself that Derek would never reply and yet anxiously awaiting any response.  Still confined to his bed by his convalescence, he nonetheless hobbled to the window any time a horse arrived, hoping for the post and some word.

Fortunately for his ragged nerves, a reply was swiftly forthcoming.  Scott brought it upstairs with a knowing smile and Stiles snatched it out of his hand, fingers trembling with eagerness to read its contents.

Dear Stiles Stilinski; the letter began, and Stiles squinted intently at a blot which preceded this opening.  Was that the shape of an M and a y which had been meticulously cancelled out?  

I received your letter, Derek continued, and find myself astonished at the graciousness with which it was written.  How you can thank me at all, when I brought such pain and misfortune into your life, is beyond my understanding.  I would not be at all surprised to hear that you blame and revile me for the anguish Kate Argent caused you, as she only did so because of your connection to me.  Nonetheless, I will accept your kind forgiveness in any manner in which it can be obtained…

“Oh!” Stiles said aloud.  “Stupid, stupid man!  How could he possibly consider himself to be responsible for the actions of that madwoman?”

Well, there was nothing for it but to write back, informing Derek of the error in his thinking in no uncertain terms, so that he would have no choice but to be convinced of the truth of it.

It was thus that the exchange of letters between Derek and Stiles began.  Hardly a day passed that a letter was not sent or received by one or the other, and often Stiles would fold and stamp a letter only to remember some other point he had wished to make, and would begin another, filling yet another quarto within the same day and posting them both at once.

Stiles would almost be embarrassed by the frequency and length of his communications with Derek, if Derek did not write back so promptly as well.  Although his letters were shorter — his style more concise and restrained than Stiles’ own ramblings, especially at first — he wrote just as frequently.  Stiles had only to ask a question in a letter and it was answered in another dated on the day of its receipt, and as their exchange continued, Derek became more forthcoming, speaking not only of his current interests and engagements, but also of his past, and even the family he had lost.

Through these letters Stiles became familiar with a side of Derek he had only seen glimmers of previously — a thoughtful, just, and kind man with a dry sense of humor.  Derek’s ease in writing, in comparison to speaking, allowed him to drop the facade of coldness that he used to mask his shyness.  The warm, engaging personality that was exposed through his missives would have ensured Stiles’ falling in love with him if he hadn’t already been so lost to that emotion before they even began.

And yet, Stiles tried to cast thoughts like that from his mind, because in all the words exchanged, and all the growing familiarity of their greetings and closings (Stiles could open a letter with My Dear Derek without a qualm now, in comparison to the painful indecision of that first attempt), Derek had never once indicated that he felt anything for Stiles beyond friendship.  

Stiles tried to focus on the positives.  He told himself, over and over again, that his friendship with Derek and the joy he took in their correspondence was sufficient.  It was only understandable if the admiration Derek had once felt had been extinguished forever by Stiles’ heartless refusal of his proposal.  It was ludicrous to hope that after such a disgraceful reception of his first proposal, Derek would ever be willing to proffer another.  And yet — Stiles, in his most secret heart, still hoped.