He knew since the hotel. Knew since the party, maybe, that there was someone in Tate's life who would - ruin him. Attempt to, at least. That's what people do - they ruin, they burn, they shatter. They fucking hurt. Derek's still, for a second, staring at Tate with every nerve in his body standing to attention. He feels this sick, rancid bile boiling in in his stomach, his throat, and he sees Kate. He sees the worst of her. ]
Tate...
[ Every assumption he made about Kavinsky, about his contract with Tate, it's all - in his head, making him dizzy. He feels like he needs some fresh air. Feels like he needs to slip back in time to a fucking hour ago, when he and Tate were sitting with their legs over the edge of the platform and just - talking. Fuck, no, even that makes him feel sick, now. Tate's been hurt and Derek didn't know. How could he have known? Ghosts leave no marks.
But he can't confront Kavinsky. He knows he can't confront Kavinsky. He - will, in July, when he has Tate signed with him, hidden away in the den where he'll be safe. He can't do a thing before then. Derek shakes his head, laying back down, right on his back. Not all that hard anymore. ]
Fuck. I - okay. I won't talk to him. Thank you for telling me. This is the shit I need to know.
[ ... but. He turns, again, rolling his skull over the wood. He feels like he's been shocked. Chained to a wall in the Argent's basement and flooded with electricity. Every part of him feels fuzzy and disconnected from itself. Derek wets his lips, stares up at Tate, and - makes the offer he has to make, as his Alpha. As someone supposed to keep him safe. ]
If... if you need... help, with your quota, or... if you're ever - fucked over again, by something like the hotel, or...
[ Or - fuck, who knows what else. Derek shakes his head. Not willing to think about the shit that this city's going to put Tate through. Not on top of everything else. ]
no subject
He knew since the hotel. Knew since the party, maybe, that there was someone in Tate's life who would - ruin him. Attempt to, at least. That's what people do - they ruin, they burn, they shatter. They fucking hurt. Derek's still, for a second, staring at Tate with every nerve in his body standing to attention. He feels this sick, rancid bile boiling in in his stomach, his throat, and he sees Kate. He sees the worst of her. ]
Tate...
[ Every assumption he made about Kavinsky, about his contract with Tate, it's all - in his head, making him dizzy. He feels like he needs some fresh air. Feels like he needs to slip back in time to a fucking hour ago, when he and Tate were sitting with their legs over the edge of the platform and just - talking. Fuck, no, even that makes him feel sick, now. Tate's been hurt and Derek didn't know. How could he have known? Ghosts leave no marks.
But he can't confront Kavinsky. He knows he can't confront Kavinsky. He - will, in July, when he has Tate signed with him, hidden away in the den where he'll be safe. He can't do a thing before then. Derek shakes his head, laying back down, right on his back. Not all that hard anymore. ]
Fuck. I - okay. I won't talk to him. Thank you for telling me. This is the shit I need to know.
[ ... but. He turns, again, rolling his skull over the wood. He feels like he's been shocked. Chained to a wall in the Argent's basement and flooded with electricity. Every part of him feels fuzzy and disconnected from itself. Derek wets his lips, stares up at Tate, and - makes the offer he has to make, as his Alpha. As someone supposed to keep him safe. ]
If... if you need... help, with your quota, or... if you're ever - fucked over again, by something like the hotel, or...
[ Or - fuck, who knows what else. Derek shakes his head. Not willing to think about the shit that this city's going to put Tate through. Not on top of everything else. ]
Just - it's - I can do that. If you need me.