[Tate thinks of all the things he could be doing - that he would be, if Derek wasn't there to curb him. It's just that still raw promise he made, to not lie to Derek and to try and make him proud that has Tate by the metaphorical collar and is pulling him along. He doesn't feel secure enough yet to test Derek, to defy him or try to hide anything from him. He's too selfish to risk it, but just selfish enough to be put into a bad mood because of it.
He comes out into the woods soon enough, pale in tattered jeans and an oversized sweater - every movement he makes energized with anger, focused inward and ready to explode. Bean approaches him and while he doesn't outright kick her, he freezes for a moment - tensing with anger before walking around her rather than let her or her siblings brush up against him. Pissy teen behavior. He just climbs up to the treehouse, heartbeat absent. The charm no longer works as he remembered it to.]
[ Honestly, there's a part of Derek - a pretty big part of him, honestly - who didn't expect Tate to come. All he'd need is one distraction to ghost him, and until Derek hears the slightly stomping footfalls of an angsting teenage boy walking through the woods, he's not convinced that that distraction won't find him.
Tate climbs into the tree house and Derek doesn't comment on the lack of a heartbeat. He... expected it wouldn't be there. He's still up in the loft, looking down at the entrance, and he gets to his feet without saying hello, nodding upwards. ]
[Tate says that in the typical way a broody teen would, emphasis on the fact he's already doing that, thanks even if his anger toward Derek is misguided. He's pissy. He's a pissy, shitty teen. And after shucking down his bag he's heading up the stairs to the loft - eyes dark and hair in his face. When he gets to the landing, he sort of hesitates there, eyeing Derek with a soft curiosity he tries not to let show because, yeah, still pissy.]
[ Derek's not offended by Tate's tone of voice, really. The kid's angry, justifiably so. He let Stiles lash out on him back home when he was worried about his dad, and he'll let Tate lash out on him now that he's worried about Peter. It's not a big deal. He doesn't mind being the sponge for people's anger, typically, it's just - hard, with Tate, who is so often limitless and quick to hurt himself when he's feeling too much. That's the only thing Derek's worried about right now.
He leads Tate through the window at the back of the loft, hopping onto the balcony outside, overlooking the long drop through the woods that snakes towards the beach. He's got a crate of empty bottles he cleaned out from the den sitting close to the wall, and he's propped up a new, wooden baseball bat beside it. His own - not Stiles'. He couldn't bring himself to touch Stiles'. That's still under his bed. ]
[When out on the balcony, Tate's still skeptical - but Derek does a good job in leading him into curiosity that he doesn't do more than fidget once they're there. He looks at the bottles and the bat, not quite putting it together yet but - does as instructed. He faces where the beach is beyond the trees, facing out with his arm crossed over his chest, tugging on his other sleeve.]
[ Derek picks up the bat by the tip of it, holding it handle-first towards Tate. When he takes it, Derek will stand behind him, manipulating his hands with his own and showing him how to hold a bat the right way. ]
Take this. One hand here - the other here. No gaps between your fingers or your fists. Hold on tight.
[ He'll take a few steps back, fish around in the crate for an empty beer bottle, and without any real warning, he'll just - toss it softly in front of Tate, falling towards the edge of the balcony. ]
[Tate takes direction well, his initial grip just being instinctive and clumsy. Derek corrects him and Tate holds the bat up, getting flashbacks toward little league - decades in the past. It's not enough to dissuade him from feeling shitty but it does make things feel weirdly distracting. Derek chucks a bottle and Tate almost hesitates too long, but he swings - clipping the bottle off center, with a distinct clunk against the glass. It flies off, but doesn't smash from impact - at least not until it lands.
He looks to Derek, clearly puzzled but - a keen eye sees that his plan is working. Tate's focusing on what Derek wants him to do, hands still tight on the bat and his shoulders squared but overly tense. As if to explain that lousy hit:]
Really? Could've fooled me. Pretty nice hit for your first try - I thought you were going to miss.
[ That's not a lie. Besides, there's plenty of bottles here - all those months of keeping them in the kitchen because he didn't know the proper way to recycle them seems to have worked out well. He's gonna have to spend days cleaning the woods of little shards of broken glass, but the cats don't tend to go back this way, as far as he can smell. Only one getting inconvenienced here is him.
Derek takes another bottle, tossing it from one hand to the other, then throws it Tate's way. A little higher, this time, like he's trying to compensate for Tate's aim. ]
[Tate cuts himself off because he sees the way the bottle flips between Derek's hands, and his stomach tightens the second that he sees it get tossed his way. It's higher this time and Tate's more aware of it coming, so when he hits it - it cracks immediately, splintering off into the woods. Glass rains down and Tate's messy with the follow through on his swing, because he's not into this a hundred percent.
That hit, however, was satisfying. He just doesn't want to admit it yet.]
[ It's like Derek doesn't even hear Tate talking, at first. The bat makes contact with the bottle with a resounding, high pitched shatter, and the glass sprinkles like brilliant green rain over the woods, catching the light as it goes. Derek talks over Tate's I don't want to do this right now with a happy, proud noise, this heyyyy as he shields his eyes from the sun. ]
Did you see how hard you hit that? That was awesome, dude.
[ He seems - proud, when he claps his hand on Tate's shoulder, looking at him with a genuine, honest smile. He heads back to the crate, grabs another bottle, and when he holds it up, he makes his expression a little more sympathetic. Just a little. ]
C'mon. Indulge me. One more, then we can stop, okay?
[ Here we go - he throws the bottle to Tate again, another perfect, high arc to give him time to see it coming. ]
[Tate sighs. The sigh of a kid when their parent doesn't give in the way they want - when they're forced to slick down their hair for church or told hey, no Mc D's for lunch today get in the car. Tate looks annoyed, but he drags the bat over the balcony floor board and picks it up again. Waves it as if to say fine, and gets ready. This time, out of all three attempts - he's more focused. Expectant and anticipating what's to come.]
C'mon, then.
[Derek throws it, Tate tracks it - and then he swings. It's not as angrily raw as earlier hits, it's more focused and honed. It connects, hitting the bottle higher into the treeline so that it rains down glass with the most satisfying of cracks so far. Tate, who was ready to call it quits, stares silently in the wake of it, watching as what looks like diamond dust rains down from the pine trees.
He swallows hard, and is silent for a long beat. If his heartbeat was present, it'd be thrumming in his chest - every other sign on his body points to something being thrilling instead of jaw-tensingly irksome. He exhales hard, then looks to Derek.]
[ There was almost a spin to that one - fragments of glass pinwheeled out from Tate's bat, full and satisfying, and Derek watches it go, genuinely impressed. He's got his hands in his pockets, giving Tate a second or two to breathe, and when he leans into this just a little, just enough to say that one went pretty far, Derek feels himself smiling again. This is - going okay. As good as it can. ]
Hell yeah, it did. Would've loved to play with you in high school. Probably would've kicked my ass at baseball, but... still would've had you beat on the court.
[ For a second or two, he just... watches Tate, takes in the sight of him, lit by the sun and starting to sweat. Derek still doesn't really know what to make of him. Still doesn't really know how much of a future they have together - still doesn't know if he's making a fucking fool of himself, taking care of someone who, deep down, maybe wouldn't take care of him the same way. Still - the mood is good. He's not going to let his doubts ruin what they have.
Derek heads back to the crate, taking out another bottle by the neck. He taps his fingernails against it, makes light, soft noises against the side. ]
You wanna go back inside? Still got a full case here. Thirty bottles, maybe more.
[Derek's giving him an out, and Tate's a little bit thrown off by the praise to take it like he would've only a few minutes ago. Derek's praising him and Tate doesn't know what to do with that, and it shows on his face. He likes it, he questions it, he wants more of it and he wants Derek to shut the fuck up about it - it can't be sincere. Derek's got another bottle in his hand and Tate's eyes look to it, before dropping away. Thinking.]
You want to break the whole case? I don't have the arm for that.
[ He's not getting Stiles', so - only one bat. If Tate's offering, though, Derek doesn't mind swapping out for a while. He throws the bottle in the air, just so he can catch the bottom of it, holding it out neck-first towards Tate. He'll hold his other hand out for the bat, but - only half way. This is all for Tate, after all, and he just wants to follow his lead. He'll do as he's guided. ]
[Tate'll hand Derek the bat, exchanging it for the bottle - looking more and more on board with this idea. In fact, he's actually kind of stoked to see how hard Derek could hit a bottle? Is it going to shatter more violently than the rest? There's something clearly behind Tate's eyes that's enamored, slowly being peeled away from previous frustration. He steps away, putting himself out of the line of being hit and readying the bottle.]
Heads up.
[He tosses the bottle in an upward arc toward Derek.]
[ Derek only has a split second to decide if he wants to go full throttle on this, or if he wants to miss on purpose so as to not... lessen the compliments he's been giving Tate. The last thing he wants to do is make him doubt the authenticity of all those shoulder touches and good job, mans, but at the same time - he doesn't want to look patronizing, either? Sport was Derek's thing, in high school. Tate already knows that.
Besides - no more lies. That's a two way street. Derek's kept things from Tate, once or twice, in the near year they've known each other. He can't ask for honesty if he's not going to give it back, even for something like this.
When Derek swings at the bottle, he throws all his werewolf strength into the swing - the glass doesn't just shatter, it explodes. Glass barely manages to miss the two of them, as the sprinkling of green dust and tiny, imperceptible fragments are jettisoned out towards the beach, the reverberating noise of bottle meeting bat echoing incredibly loudly through the trees. The bat's got a bit of a crack in the middle, after that - Derek's pretty proud of himself. He's kinda smug, kinda boyish, when he leans on the bat and raises his eyebrows at Tate. ]
[Tate wasn't expecting that. He was expecting a brilliant swing, sure, but that was something else. Derek obliterated that bottle - and sent it off in sparkling dust, tiny shards raining away and glittering the whole way down. Tate's pretty sure the fucking trees rustled, and a bird took flight. He's turned to watch, raising an arm protectively - lest anything go in his eyes - but then he lowers it to stare off into the distance.
Lips parted, for a second he's silent, wide eyed and in awe. Then, suddenly, he laughs.]
[ He lifts the bat and pokes Tate in the chest with it, a fond little nudge to the ribs. He didn't think he'd get Tate to laugh today. A part of him wants to take advantage of his good mood to bring up Peter again - ask him to talk out his feelings now that he's less likely to overwhelm himself with grief and anger - but it's Tate. Derek's seen how quickly his moods can change, and maybe it's just... better to keep doing this for a while, drag out the good feelings as much as possible. Tate'll bring up Peter when he's ready. For now, they have this. ]
You wanna have another swing? I can show you how to put more power into your arms, really knock this shit out of the park. You're a pretty skinny guy, so I'm not promising to make you a pro fucking athlete, or anything, but.
[ Derek shrugs, dusting off some of the excess glass still stuck to the bat, decently mindful about hurting himself, but. Not worrying all that much. ]
Could be a fun way to spend the day together.
[ Because - Derek, for good or bad, is still here. ]
[Tate turns, looking to the trees and the woods - and it's like he's seeing them again with a film taken off his eyes. Crisper, greener, easier to enjoy now that he's not simmering with this rage that usually boils over. Derek turned down the heat, and Tate's just adjusting to that. He leans to pick up another bottle, holding it by the neck and just simply throwing it overhand out into the woods. It cracks on landing, a muted noise he listens for. He doesn't feel like swinging anymore, but he instead gives a shrug to Derek.]
This is fine. Do you... have any bottles that still have beer in them? I see you got the power running.
[ Okay. They don't have to keep doing this. Derek shrugs one shoulder, trying to wear the expression of... a friend who was indulged, so that Tate doesn't have to feel like Derek did all of this for him. The bottles in the crate are all empty, but if Tate wants to drink, there's power in the tree house, now, too - whatever he had in the kitchen's minifridge is probably pretty cold by now, instead of miserably room temperature like it usually is, and Derek's fine with giving Tate a second or two alone to go see what he's got in stock.
He leaves the bat in the corner of the balcony, ducking back through the window to the loft and heading down to the kitchen. A few minutes later, he's back with a six pack, one of the cans already missing. He holds it out to Tate, lets him take the first beer. Ice cold, just like Derek thought it would be. ]
[While Derek was fetching beer, Tate had thrown another bottle off into the woods - it's not quite as satisfying, but there are a lot of bottles and nothing to keep him from not doing this with them. He turns back to Derek when he's back, taking the beer and lifting his brows - cold, that's nice. He cracks it open while leaning back against the railing, looking at Derek.]
I figured you'd be against littering in the woods.
[ The tone of Derek's voice is probably enough to give away that yeah, he's not entirely psyched about all the broken glass he's going to scour the woods for and clean up over the next few weeks - but he's obviously not annoyed enough by this whole ordeal to care. As far as he's concerned, this was a good idea.
He takes a drink of his own beer, just to be social, despite the fact that it tastes like piss. Ugh. Beer. ]
Wanted to help you. Like I said before, you're...
[ ... all that he really has, here in Duplicity. Derek gestures vaguely, not finishing the thought. Point is - despite how complicated things might be between them right now, Derek wasn't willing to let Tate suffer. Trust issues, feelings of doubt, feelings of betrayal, they're all there - but though this bridge might be catching a few sparks, it hasn't burned down just yet. Derek's still got a lot of good will for Tate. ]
[Tate takes a hearty swig of beer, which does taste like piss, and moves to set down his can - before taking a second swig first. He balances it on the balcony away from where they are, going back to the crate of bottles; he picks two up by the neck and just boredly clinks them together a few times - while staring off into the woods. He was going to throw them, but now he's not so sure.]
I was really angry, coming here. I feel... better now.
[ That's all he's got to give. Tate might not feel like throwing bottles, but Derek still kind of does. While he clinks two of them together, Derek picks up a third, grabbing it by the neck - he reels back, he throws, and it doesn't make it all the way down to the beach before it breaks, but it gets close. Derek narrows his eyes, vaguely annoyed, then picks up another. ]
It was either this or taking you to the den and putting you in front of my punching bag. Figured this was more your speed.
I like this. Would've liked to go to the den, too, though.
[Derek throws a bottle and Tate watches, before he mimics and does the same. He realizes after he throws one bottle, that it's a lot akin to the idea of skipping stones - at least for a second or two. He chucks the second bottle soon after, but it's rapidly losing it's appeal to him now that his anger's mostly subsided. What he doesn't like, however, is this sudden lack of a barrier between what he feels inside and how it can ebb outward.
His throat feels thick, and he swallows hard.]
I don't like this feeling. How do I... how do you keep it from making you just want to... to hurt somebody. The way it hurts to feel?
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He comes out into the woods soon enough, pale in tattered jeans and an oversized sweater - every movement he makes energized with anger, focused inward and ready to explode. Bean approaches him and while he doesn't outright kick her, he freezes for a moment - tensing with anger before walking around her rather than let her or her siblings brush up against him. Pissy teen behavior. He just climbs up to the treehouse, heartbeat absent. The charm no longer works as he remembered it to.]
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Tate climbs into the tree house and Derek doesn't comment on the lack of a heartbeat. He... expected it wouldn't be there. He's still up in the loft, looking down at the entrance, and he gets to his feet without saying hello, nodding upwards. ]
... C'mon. Up here. I've got something for you.
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[Tate says that in the typical way a broody teen would, emphasis on the fact he's already doing that, thanks even if his anger toward Derek is misguided. He's pissy. He's a pissy, shitty teen. And after shucking down his bag he's heading up the stairs to the loft - eyes dark and hair in his face. When he gets to the landing, he sort of hesitates there, eyeing Derek with a soft curiosity he tries not to let show because, yeah, still pissy.]
What is it?
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He leads Tate through the window at the back of the loft, hopping onto the balcony outside, overlooking the long drop through the woods that snakes towards the beach. He's got a crate of empty bottles he cleaned out from the den sitting close to the wall, and he's propped up a new, wooden baseball bat beside it. His own - not Stiles'. He couldn't bring himself to touch Stiles'. That's still under his bed. ]
C'mere. Stand in front of me. Face the water.
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And?
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Take this. One hand here - the other here. No gaps between your fingers or your fists. Hold on tight.
[ He'll take a few steps back, fish around in the crate for an empty beer bottle, and without any real warning, he'll just - toss it softly in front of Tate, falling towards the edge of the balcony. ]
Swing.
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He looks to Derek, clearly puzzled but - a keen eye sees that his plan is working. Tate's focusing on what Derek wants him to do, hands still tight on the bat and his shoulders squared but overly tense. As if to explain that lousy hit:]
I wasn't prepared for that.
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[ That's not a lie. Besides, there's plenty of bottles here - all those months of keeping them in the kitchen because he didn't know the proper way to recycle them seems to have worked out well. He's gonna have to spend days cleaning the woods of little shards of broken glass, but the cats don't tend to go back this way, as far as he can smell. Only one getting inconvenienced here is him.
Derek takes another bottle, tossing it from one hand to the other, then throws it Tate's way. A little higher, this time, like he's trying to compensate for Tate's aim. ]
Again.
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[Tate cuts himself off because he sees the way the bottle flips between Derek's hands, and his stomach tightens the second that he sees it get tossed his way. It's higher this time and Tate's more aware of it coming, so when he hits it - it cracks immediately, splintering off into the woods. Glass rains down and Tate's messy with the follow through on his swing, because he's not into this a hundred percent.
That hit, however, was satisfying. He just doesn't want to admit it yet.]
Happy? C'mon, I don't want to do this right now.
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Did you see how hard you hit that? That was awesome, dude.
[ He seems - proud, when he claps his hand on Tate's shoulder, looking at him with a genuine, honest smile. He heads back to the crate, grabs another bottle, and when he holds it up, he makes his expression a little more sympathetic. Just a little. ]
C'mon. Indulge me. One more, then we can stop, okay?
[ Here we go - he throws the bottle to Tate again, another perfect, high arc to give him time to see it coming. ]
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C'mon, then.
[Derek throws it, Tate tracks it - and then he swings. It's not as angrily raw as earlier hits, it's more focused and honed. It connects, hitting the bottle higher into the treeline so that it rains down glass with the most satisfying of cracks so far. Tate, who was ready to call it quits, stares silently in the wake of it, watching as what looks like diamond dust rains down from the pine trees.
He swallows hard, and is silent for a long beat. If his heartbeat was present, it'd be thrumming in his chest - every other sign on his body points to something being thrilling instead of jaw-tensingly irksome. He exhales hard, then looks to Derek.]
... That one went pretty far.
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Hell yeah, it did. Would've loved to play with you in high school. Probably would've kicked my ass at baseball, but... still would've had you beat on the court.
[ For a second or two, he just... watches Tate, takes in the sight of him, lit by the sun and starting to sweat. Derek still doesn't really know what to make of him. Still doesn't really know how much of a future they have together - still doesn't know if he's making a fucking fool of himself, taking care of someone who, deep down, maybe wouldn't take care of him the same way. Still - the mood is good. He's not going to let his doubts ruin what they have.
Derek heads back to the crate, taking out another bottle by the neck. He taps his fingernails against it, makes light, soft noises against the side. ]
You wanna go back inside? Still got a full case here. Thirty bottles, maybe more.
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You want to break the whole case? I don't have the arm for that.
[He looks back to Derek, slowly.]
Do you have another bat?
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[ He's not getting Stiles', so - only one bat. If Tate's offering, though, Derek doesn't mind swapping out for a while. He throws the bottle in the air, just so he can catch the bottom of it, holding it out neck-first towards Tate. He'll hold his other hand out for the bat, but - only half way. This is all for Tate, after all, and he just wants to follow his lead. He'll do as he's guided. ]
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[Tate'll hand Derek the bat, exchanging it for the bottle - looking more and more on board with this idea. In fact, he's actually kind of stoked to see how hard Derek could hit a bottle? Is it going to shatter more violently than the rest? There's something clearly behind Tate's eyes that's enamored, slowly being peeled away from previous frustration. He steps away, putting himself out of the line of being hit and readying the bottle.]
Heads up.
[He tosses the bottle in an upward arc toward Derek.]
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Besides - no more lies. That's a two way street. Derek's kept things from Tate, once or twice, in the near year they've known each other. He can't ask for honesty if he's not going to give it back, even for something like this.
When Derek swings at the bottle, he throws all his werewolf strength into the swing - the glass doesn't just shatter, it explodes. Glass barely manages to miss the two of them, as the sprinkling of green dust and tiny, imperceptible fragments are jettisoned out towards the beach, the reverberating noise of bottle meeting bat echoing incredibly loudly through the trees. The bat's got a bit of a crack in the middle, after that - Derek's pretty proud of himself. He's kinda smug, kinda boyish, when he leans on the bat and raises his eyebrows at Tate. ]
Feel free to compliment me however you like.
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Lips parted, for a second he's silent, wide eyed and in awe. Then, suddenly, he laughs.]
Jesus Christ, that was kinda cool.
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[ He lifts the bat and pokes Tate in the chest with it, a fond little nudge to the ribs. He didn't think he'd get Tate to laugh today. A part of him wants to take advantage of his good mood to bring up Peter again - ask him to talk out his feelings now that he's less likely to overwhelm himself with grief and anger - but it's Tate. Derek's seen how quickly his moods can change, and maybe it's just... better to keep doing this for a while, drag out the good feelings as much as possible. Tate'll bring up Peter when he's ready. For now, they have this. ]
You wanna have another swing? I can show you how to put more power into your arms, really knock this shit out of the park. You're a pretty skinny guy, so I'm not promising to make you a pro fucking athlete, or anything, but.
[ Derek shrugs, dusting off some of the excess glass still stuck to the bat, decently mindful about hurting himself, but. Not worrying all that much. ]
Could be a fun way to spend the day together.
[ Because - Derek, for good or bad, is still here. ]
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[Tate turns, looking to the trees and the woods - and it's like he's seeing them again with a film taken off his eyes. Crisper, greener, easier to enjoy now that he's not simmering with this rage that usually boils over. Derek turned down the heat, and Tate's just adjusting to that. He leans to pick up another bottle, holding it by the neck and just simply throwing it overhand out into the woods. It cracks on landing, a muted noise he listens for. He doesn't feel like swinging anymore, but he instead gives a shrug to Derek.]
This is fine. Do you... have any bottles that still have beer in them? I see you got the power running.
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He leaves the bat in the corner of the balcony, ducking back through the window to the loft and heading down to the kitchen. A few minutes later, he's back with a six pack, one of the cans already missing. He holds it out to Tate, lets him take the first beer. Ice cold, just like Derek thought it would be. ]
... You wanna stay out here or head back inside?
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[While Derek was fetching beer, Tate had thrown another bottle off into the woods - it's not quite as satisfying, but there are a lot of bottles and nothing to keep him from not doing this with them. He turns back to Derek when he's back, taking the beer and lifting his brows - cold, that's nice. He cracks it open while leaning back against the railing, looking at Derek.]
I figured you'd be against littering in the woods.
[A joke; just something to talk about.]
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[ The tone of Derek's voice is probably enough to give away that yeah, he's not entirely psyched about all the broken glass he's going to scour the woods for and clean up over the next few weeks - but he's obviously not annoyed enough by this whole ordeal to care. As far as he's concerned, this was a good idea.
He takes a drink of his own beer, just to be social, despite the fact that it tastes like piss. Ugh. Beer. ]
Wanted to help you. Like I said before, you're...
[ ... all that he really has, here in Duplicity. Derek gestures vaguely, not finishing the thought. Point is - despite how complicated things might be between them right now, Derek wasn't willing to let Tate suffer. Trust issues, feelings of doubt, feelings of betrayal, they're all there - but though this bridge might be catching a few sparks, it hasn't burned down just yet. Derek's still got a lot of good will for Tate. ]
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[Tate takes a hearty swig of beer, which does taste like piss, and moves to set down his can - before taking a second swig first. He balances it on the balcony away from where they are, going back to the crate of bottles; he picks two up by the neck and just boredly clinks them together a few times - while staring off into the woods. He was going to throw them, but now he's not so sure.]
I was really angry, coming here. I feel... better now.
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[ That's all he's got to give. Tate might not feel like throwing bottles, but Derek still kind of does. While he clinks two of them together, Derek picks up a third, grabbing it by the neck - he reels back, he throws, and it doesn't make it all the way down to the beach before it breaks, but it gets close. Derek narrows his eyes, vaguely annoyed, then picks up another. ]
It was either this or taking you to the den and putting you in front of my punching bag. Figured this was more your speed.
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[Derek throws a bottle and Tate watches, before he mimics and does the same. He realizes after he throws one bottle, that it's a lot akin to the idea of skipping stones - at least for a second or two. He chucks the second bottle soon after, but it's rapidly losing it's appeal to him now that his anger's mostly subsided. What he doesn't like, however, is this sudden lack of a barrier between what he feels inside and how it can ebb outward.
His throat feels thick, and he swallows hard.]
I don't like this feeling. How do I... how do you keep it from making you just want to... to hurt somebody. The way it hurts to feel?
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