Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of this work of fiction and am making no profit, monetary or otherwise, through this.

A/N: Written for J.F.C., for the GGE Gift Exchange. Responses to a series of prompts.

A/N2: These loosely connected chapters will be of various lengths from drabbles to one-shots.

Prompt 1: Holding Hands

Stiles glanced sidelong at Derek in an effort to judge his reaction to what was unfolding in front of them, if he was even noticing what was happening, that is, and the why of it.

They were in the middle of a long line of people, waiting for their turn on the Ferris Wheel, which, well, for their second official date, the carnival was kind of a cool idea, even if it did come from his dad. Maybe Derek would even hold his hand, like the men three people ahead of them in the line were doing, in spite of the rude comments that the act was garnering from those closest to the couple.

Derek was frowning, which could mean any of about a million different things: someone's wearing too much cologne; there's imminent danger; he's bored; the corn-dog that he shared with Stiles is giving him a sour stomach...

There was also no help for Stiles in determining whether or not the wolf was aware of what was happening, almost directly in front of them, in the way that Derek was holding himself - tense, shoulders hunched like he was waiting to be attacked - or in the way that his eyes were narrowed,as though the sun was too bright, though it was dusk, and it was starting to get dark, or in the stern lines around his mouth, which were almost ever present. He looked like he always looked - stern, broody, serious, deadly.

The only thing that clued Stiles in on Derek, not only being aware of what was happening, and being upset about it (a very good sign, considering that they were dating now, and he'd kind of like to hold the wolf's hand, in public, every once in awhile, or maybe all the time), was the hand that groped, blindly for his own, and held on tightly. The slight, upward quirk of the corner of his mouth was the only response that Derek gave Stiles when he beamed at the other man, squeezing his hand in return. Though the smile was much more reserved, and almost not there, it could have, in Stiles' mind, eclipsed the moon.