This is my first Teen Wolf fanfiction! It is an AU, in case you didn't catch that. I hope that I can continue this story. And I trust that you all enjoy my little story!

Reviews are helpful and-in-fact they are wanted!

Thanks to Tamnation for Beta-ing this story! I couldn't have done it without your ideas and corrections! :)

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Teen Wolf or any of its characters, etc.

Table for Two, Spaghetti for One

Fuck! Where the hell is he? Stiles frowned as he stared at the phone in his hand. He was sitting at a table for two at The Amethyst, New York's premier restaurant on his wedding anniversary. The problem? His husband was nowhere to be seen or found. Stiles was waiting for a call, text, or anything from Jackson.

Nope, the rich guy couldn't even trouble himself to call or even send a text saying, "I'm running late, but I'll be there," "Stuck in traffic," "I'm too busy cheating on you." Stiles chuckled at that last one. Well, at least my sense of humor isn't affected. He set his phone on the table as his mind went racing back to the main issue, the whereabouts of his husband.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, a young waiter stared at this young gentleman through the door. This gentleman seemed to intrigue him. Maybe it was the fact that he arrived two hours ago and hadn't ordered anything, not even a breadbasket. Or maybe it was the pensive and agitated look that swept over his face while glancing at his phone every ten seconds. He didn't know what to do. So he finally made up his mind to ask his manager about the situation.

"Linda, there is a guest who has been here alone for two hours and hasn't ordered anything. I've been occasionally asking if he wants anything, but he wants nothing."

"Derek, where is the guest?" The manager was a fragile woman, in her sixties, who governed her restaurant with the highest standards. She had built her restaurant with her own hands and saw it prosper. And although she was fragile, she had the spirit and energy to match that of a twenty-year-old.

"Over there," Derek, the young waiter, guided his finger to where Stiles was nervously biting his napkin.

"Oh, that's Stiles Whittemore," replied the elderly woman.

"Who?" was all Derek could say.

"My dear, that man is husband to Jackson Whittemore, CEO of Whittemore Corporations," Every word seemed to be filled with such pride. "One of the largest and most successful oil companies in the world! I'm shocked you don't even know this."

"Oh, but-" Derek was about to explain that he had just recently moved to New York, but her voice carried over his.

"But it seems that Mr. Jackson is nowhere to be found on this special night. Work! That's all that man ever has time for these days. He's simply forgotten that he has a husband to care for!"

"What's special about tonight?" Derek asked. He knew he shouldn't pry so much, but he was too curious to even care.

"Why, tonight is their one-year anniversary! Imagine that, your own husband forgetting his first wedding anniversary. That is such a shame." She turned around, shaking her head and was about to walk away.

"Wait!" Derek shouted. "What should I do?"

"Send him one of our finest champagne with congratulations from me and the restaurant," replied the old woman.

"Don't you think you should be the one?" Derek asked and immediately regretted ever asking that question.

The woman's facial expression morphed into someone Derek had never seen before. Her eyebrows furrowed and the kind smile quickly turned to a sarcastic smirk. "Derek, I am running one of the top restaurants in all the state of New York. I have angry guests, incompetent waiters and $10,000 I'm shelling out for a divorce. I gave you a task and I expect it to be fulfilled if you wish to remain an employee at my restaurant."

"Yes, of course," Derek hashed out a quick apology. Even after that, he felt like he should have bowed down when she stormed off to criticize another waiter.

"Rough day?" asked the cook, who was whipping up an apricot glaze.

"Yeah, and it just gets better and better," Derek put his face into his palms. He was starting to regret his decision to accept this position, but he desperately needed the money. "Hey, where is the finest champagne we have? I have a guest here on his anniversary."

"You'll have to ask Ryan. He knows what to give you."

"Where is he?"

"You'll find at the bar. Most likely showing off to anything that walks!" the cook chuckling as he went back to his work.

Derek walked towards the only person at the bar, who was always busy improving his craft by inventing new concoctions, or so he was told. He automatically looked like a model pulled from the latest Gucci photo shoot. He must've been around 5' 11" and of a strong built with muscles that were obviously constrained by the black uniform. He had a very tan complexion, He had that look on his face that screamed "I'm a douche-bag and I'm what you dream of at night." Already Derek was beginning to dislike him.

"Hi, I'm in need a bottle of the finest champagne." Derek leaned on the bar table, hoping to just get the bottle and go.

"I'm sorry. No can do. Linda has to approve it. If she doesn't approve, I don't either," replied the arrogant bartender.

"Linda was the one who sent me. I have a guest who is celebrating his wedding anniversary and-" Once again, Derek was cut off again.

"Look just because you work here, don't think that you deserve any special treatment. Linda keeps an accurate list of everything, including alcohol. So don't think that I'm just gonna let you have your way," he retorts.

What a douche-bag! I think this bartender is asking me to shove one of these bottles into that hole he calls a mouth, Derek thought. He actually considered it, but he backed down. His job was too important to lose over some stupid bartender.

"Hey dickhead," Derek motioned for Ryan to come closer and whispered, "I was told by Linda to give a bottle of the finest champagne to the table of Mr. Whittemore. If you don't believe me, ask her yourself. But, either way, I'm getting that bottle." He pulled away and gave a pat on Ryan's shoulder. "Got that, Ryan?"

"You said Mr. Whittemore, right?" A wide-eyed Ryan asked.

"Yes, I did." He slowly spoke to emphasize his point that this whole conversation was totally unnecessary.

"Here you go then," handing over a bottle that was simply labeled Amethyst. Derek grabbed the bottle and walked off.

I can't believe that jerk. He's really asking for it. How am I going to be able to put up with that! With that thought running through his head, he approached the table that was reserved for two but was only for one instead.

Stiles' mind was off somewhere trying to conceive an idea of what was so fucking important that his husband would miss their first wedding anniversary. Too occupied by his own thoughts, he didn't notice the waiter standing in front of him.

"Excuse me, sir?" Derek asked in his most professional tone.

Most likely, he's probably sitting in a cloudy room, boasting his achievements to wealthy old geezers, discussing "business" and smoking cigars. Stiles never knew exactly what his husband did except the fact that Jackson was CEO of his own company and #3 on Forbes' Top 100 List, even though he'd asked on numerous occasions. But every single time, the replies were always the same, "It's too complicated to explain to you," or "You wouldn't understand." Of course, Stiles was hurt by these words, but over the course of their relationship, he had grown a thick skin and was used to such comments.

*Ahem* "Sir," Derek had cleared his throat, hoping to gain the attention of his customer who was clearly somewhere else.

"Yes?" Stiles snapped out of his world and found himself suddenly towered over by a waiter holding a bottle of champagne.

"On behalf of The Amethyst and the manager, we would like to present a bottle of our finest champagne to celebrate your one-year anniversary." Derek wanted to sound genuinely happy, but he couldn't after seeing this sight.

"Oh, well, thank you." Stiles managed to look up and give a half-smile. He didn't know what to say, so he began to stare at the door, hoping to see his husband rush in. But thankfully, he didn't have to say anything more.

"Are you sure there isn't anything I can get you?" Derek decided to give it one last try.

"No, I'm fi-" Stiles was cut-off by Derek, who kindly offered a suggestion.

"How about I tell the cook to whip up some spaghetti? You can never go wrong with spaghetti?" he offered in his most cheerful voice and this time he forced a smile.

Stiles was ready to say no, until the waiter smiled. When he saw that smile appear, everything just seemed to be better. He was rather hungry and spaghetti did sound delicious.

"Sure, why not?" replied Stiles, managing to crack a full and genuine smile.

"Alright, I'll have that out to you right away." Derek turned back to the kitchen and was grinning ear-to-ear. He actually made him smile on what should be one of the happiest days of his life. He felt very proud of himself.

After this encounter, Stiles smiled and chuckled to himself. Well, there's no need to waste a perfectly gorgeous evening. Jackson must be having the time of his life by now, whatever he is doing. So, why can't I do the same?

What almost seemed like seconds later, Derek was carrying out a plate of spaghetti to his guest, "Here you go, hot and fresh! Enjoy."

"Thank you." Stiles said as he pulled the napkin over his lap and began to dig in. He never realized how good spaghetti tasted till now. And it was absolutely superb. He enjoyed every bite. When Stiles was finished, Derek cleared his plate from the table.

"I'll be right back with the bill." Carrying the tray into the kitchen and setting it down, Derek looked over his shoulder and saw his guest smiling to himself. Yes! He had done well tonight. But, he continued to sympathize with his guest. It was his anniversary, after all. And no one should have to be alone on their own anniversary, in his opinion, it was just tragic.

"You got him to eat something?" Linda exclaimed.

"I guess you could say I did," chuckled Derek, inside he was happy that he'd helped make someone's terrible evening somewhat better.

"I'm surprised, but delighted. Now if you'll excuse me, I have more pressing matters to attend to," quickly she began shouting at one of the cooks. But Derek didn't pay any attention. Somewhere deep inside him, this guest struck a chord with him.