This is Agent Hale

The eyebrow arched up at the screen. “I’m the Alpha?” she repeated out loud. Instinctively, her eyes flashed gold. That escalated quickly. Derek rarely ever threw in his status as her alpha to get his way. She couldn’t help but note how it read off a bit childish. I’m the Alpha.

[Text] I don’t think Director Deaton would appreciate hearing about screwing protocol.

[Text] Don’t pull that shit on me again.

Still, she couldn’t argue. He was her brother and Alpha. Cora didn’t know why she didn’t expect him to find out. Agent Lahey mentioned he tried to get in contact with Derek she should have expected someone letting it slip about her hospitalization. For a much of secret agents, they were all shit at keeping secrets.

[Text] Beacon Hills Memorial. Third Floor. Room 317.

Cora yanked the blanket higher to conceal most of the wires extending from her arm and the bandages around her torso. He wasn’t going to be happy and the more damage control she could muster, the better.

#Cora #Texts - Cora #Damage

[text:] I think Deaton might understand a certain temporary dismissal.

Doesn't in fact doubt that he man would, he'd been present for more than enough of the fall out that he was likely to have a unique understanding for Derek's view. And not that it mattered, it had been a decoy and they both knew it. There was no protocol against seeing family in a sickbed - there may be visiting hours, but breaking those seemed like the least of Derek's concerns. He hadn't known.

He was about to send an infuriated reply when the third text made the phone buzz in his hand. Exhaling slowly, he gathered himself and made a beeline for the car - leaving paperwork in messy piles on his desk. He replies as he walks:

[text:] Likewise, Cora.

[text:] See you in 10.

Beacon Hills Memorial was at least a 15 minute mostly-legal drive away, but Derek still thought it an honest estimation.

agentlahey

Here [Open]

agentlahey

Sometimes one is too much.

[Not this case, perhaps, never this case, but sometimes - other times.]

What are you doing here, Hale? You’re not trying to play hero. You’d be terrible at it.

[Derek wants to disagree, but doesn't. Because Derek's been starting to find the protocol a little stifling sometimes, needing to put people in front of the objective - but that's not what Isaac means, and it took Derek too long to learn it for the implication to be anything but damaging.]

Just checking in.

Takes one to know one. And it might be better to skip the heroics, get more things done that way.

[He shrugs, dismissive. Penance is an ugly thing.]

#Isaac #Here

agentlahey

Here [Open]

I’m not in this to save the world nor do I fucking care about over a billion of its occupants.

#Derek #Snapshot #The Loft

Most of us don't.

Sometimes one is enough.

#Isaac #Here

tl-hoechlin

It's a sneaky thing

The grin is fun. Derek’s grins are always fun and they’re still new. He kind of thinks they’ll always feel a little new, which he’s cool with. He’s also cool with Derek calling him on something so true. “I’ve never pretended to play fair,” he says, his voice threaded with laughter. Stiles’ laughing? That’s not a new thing. This kind of laughter is, though. It’s easy and not designed for any purpose. It’s just enjoyment. He watches Derek’s eyes, sees the play of color in them, and he doesn’t really have to wonder what’s going on in the wolf’s head when he’s pulled closer. Admittedly, he’s silently cursing the desk between them and propriety and rules. He’s going to respect them because Derek’s got that whole ‘I don’t dig being suspended' thing, but there's little he wants to do more than just climb over — or under — that desk and just touch. He just wants to touch him. Is that so wrong? No, definitely not wrong to want to touch. The closer Derek gets, the more crooked Stiles’ smile becomes. He knows Derek can hear his heart, can only imagine what he’s throwing off as far as pheromones go, but he likes being known like that. “I have no doubt we can improvise,” Stiles agrees. “If we put our heads together, I’m pretty sure we can come up with something.” He rests the tip of his tongue in the corner of his mouth and just breathes. He’s not trying, not right now. The harder he tries to go for sexy, the sillier he looks. He’s just reacting and that makes it very simple. Derek speaks, and something shifts, a shade warmer than warm and pushing it’s way through his limbs. “Who needs dinner, really? We can eat at home.” He pushes the food away and presses his palms flat on the desk. “Anything I can do to speed things along? I’m so willing, you don’t even know, Derek.”

And that's true too, and isn't that one of the reasons Derek never minded Stiles in his space, even when he insisted that he did. Because there's a strange sort of honest bluntness there, hidden behind sarcasm and mockery but continuously discernible to anyone who looked closely enough. And Derek, Derek didn't quite know how to stop looking, decided a while ago to not even try. Stiles made him want to be greedy.

The crooked smile doesn't help, or perhaps serves it's purpose very well, because Derek is suddenly glad his hands are gathered together. Could easily reach over and grab a handful of that shirt, pull Stiles closer as he himself leans further over the table and, well, screw propriety. Because Stiles smells like he doesn't mind, like encouragement, and it's as distracting now as it was right at the start. But he doesn't, only licks his lips absentmindedly and forces himself to lean back again, as if the slight re-establishment of space will truly make some kind of difference. It won't. But there are boxes to pack back up, a computer to shut down, and surely a bunch of papers and reports he should remember to bring with him home and won't.

Derek grins as Stiles is spurred back into motion, and gestures to the food. "I feel like I know." He says, and there's something in the tone that indicates a complete lack of patience. He turns the computer screen back on and starts the process of saving documents an extra time because no one wants to rewrite reports and then closes everything down. Knows he should check his email again, but as his eyes slide across the inbox nothing stands out and it's not like either of them should technically still be at work. And if Derek's movements are just a little faster than human reflexes should allow, that's okay. His fingers tap the desk as the desktop logs out, glancing over to Stiles for the third time in only a few moments, and feels sheepish about it, but is surprisingly okay with that.

#Stiles #Sneaky Thing

[text:] Guess who's mission report just landed on my desk. Where the hell are you?

"Shit."

Cora propped herself up on the bed she remained bound to, the tangle of wires keeping track of her vitals. Apparently working in the same office diminished all traces of privacy. Just great.

[Text] Currently occupied. Talk later?

[Text] You aren’t the boss and there’s protocol to follow.

That should be enough to convince him to stop. Derek was a stickler for rules and she could only hope he valued those principles over her well being. On top of it all, she was fine. It was taking a long time but she’d be alright soon enough. The whole scene made her seem far worse than she was.

[Text] Tomorrow. Alright?

Flopping onto the bed, she dragged her arm across her eyes to shield it from the soft rays of sunlight that shone into the room. It was a private bedroom in the local hospital that sponsored the Bureau. The medical bay was equipped to treat all injured and she figured her healing would recover soon enough.

#Cora #Damage #Texts - Cora

[text:] I'm the Alpha. To hell with protocol.

Perhaps it should have been enough, Derek had always been one for rules, had always known that they served a purpose, that they were there for the greater good. To minimize overall damage, to effectivize, to limit losses. But there was a skittering across his skin, a a restless, relentless worry. That and the jumbled guilt of having not known, of not having asked.

[text:] Today.

He'd already checked the infirmary, and she clearly hadn't been home. Which meant that she was healing slow, slow enough that she'd needed to stay, slow enough that it might not be suspicious. Derek just needed to see her.

[text:] I mean it, Cora.

zljghfdjhzljgdfi-deactivated201

50 favourite actors [2013] | 27. Tyler Hoechlin

#snapshot

Sarin

Sarin: What annoys you the most?

Incompetence is pretty high on the list.

Dog jokes aren't too far behind.

Diazomethane

Diazomethane: If you could learn to do anything, what would it be?

How to always make the right choice when standing on a knife point.

How to keep the people he needs safe

[text:] Guess who's mission report just landed on my desk. Where the hell are you?

"Shit."

Cora propped herself up on the bed she remained bound to, the tangle of wires keeping track of her vitals. Apparently working in the same office diminished all traces of privacy. Just great.

[Text] Currently occupied. Talk later?

littlepupcoraline

Running her slender fingers around the cell, she turned it about between her fingers, watching the screen, waiting for it to blink with a new message. God, he wasn’t going to be happy. Not that she was particularly glad to be stuck with healing as slow as a snail and considering the earlier incident with the Truth Serum allergy, Derek wasn’t going to let this go.

[Text] I’m not eleven.

No, she wasn’t some little pup who needed her big brother to fix her messes and stay by her side after a serious of boo-boos. Missions had gone wrong when she was in New York and she didn’t report back to Derek. Cora had no intention of starting now, especially when able to forsee his reaction.

[Text] I’ll see you tomorrow.

Hopefully.

[Text] We can talk then.

#Cora #Texts - Cora #Damage

Derek sighs, exasperated as the first reply lights up his screen. And no, she’s not eleven, back when she was she wasn’t likely to go getting herself into this kind of trouble. That report had been badly lacking in detail, but there had been enough to make his stomach turn.

[text:] You will see me -now-.

He’s moments away from calling, the only thing stopping him being that he knows it’s only going to make a possibly volatile situation worse, and they're only just starting to find their way back. In an attempt to acquiesce he concedes and sends of another text.

[text:] Talking can wait.

Pentaborane

Pentaborane: What is one habit of yours that no one knows about?

Derek thinks of nights where everything got to him too badly and his head was a bigger mess than he knew what to do with, when he finds his way down to that bar that sentimentality once forced him to stumble into and the friendly bartender he found there, the unlikely combination of friend and psychiatrist that he became.

Shrugs and in a tone laced with more than the usual sarcasm says:I'm an open book.

Acetaldehyde

Acetaldehyde: What did you used to have that you are happier without?

An empty apartment.

Methacrylaldehyde

Methacrylaldehyde: Would you rather be really attractive or really smart?

Smart. Looks are a poor excuse for incompetence.

[text:] Guess who's mission report just landed on my desk. Where the hell are you?

"Shit."

Cora propped herself up on the bed she remained bound to, the tangle of wires keeping track of her vitals. Apparently working in the same office diminished all traces of privacy. Just great.

[Text] Currently occupied. Talk later?

#Cora #Texts - Cora #Damage

[text:] Make time.

Derek isn’t pleased, and while most of it is a skittering nervousness and worry that’s been buzzing in his skin ever since he read the report - dropped on his desk by a colleague with nothing more than the words ‘might want to read this, Hale’ - some of it is anger directed at his younger sister. He knew she liked her privacy, so when she’d gone out on a mission Derek had let it be, hadn’t checked up on it’s progress because it would have felt intrusive, not even when it dragged out longer than he would have expected - but he expected her to let him know when she returned. Especially in such a state.

[text:] Don’t make me hunt you down.

Oleum

Oleum: If one song were to describe your life, what song would it be?

Some days this, others this.

And some nights.

It's a sneaky thing

Oh. Well, okay. The eyebrow isn’t fair. He’s really fond of that eyebrow, and everything else attached to it. The container he’s been reaching for is forgotten, even after Derek finally breaks the gaze. He watches Derek go back to eating and huffs out a breath, grinning all the while. “You know me well enough to know playing fair is not something I excel at. Also, I’m more than willing to be stuck here —” There’s a small pause. “I mean, as long as you agree to take breaks. Breaks are important for the mind and body.” He slouches down a little more and spreads his legs, seemingly just getting comfortable. His eyes are locked onto Derek, though, and his eyes are entirely mischievous. And to think, Stiles started out so well-behaved that evening. “You asked about my ideas, right?” Both hands move to rest on his legs, fingers whispering almost silently over the smooth fabric of his pants. He taps a little, never looking away from Derek’s face. “I had thought we’d get out of here. I kinda thought the second we were out of the building I’d be getting my kissage on with you, which would be the best. Always a good idea. Then, I thought we’d go home, chock full of energy from dinner —” Said dinner gets a nod, as though to show just how great Stiles’ ideas can be. “Then I’d do my very best, against all odds, to wear you out in every imaginable way.” He shrugs and moves his fingers to the edge of Derek’s desk, finally looking away to glance at the surface. His mouth stays parted, tongue moving to the corner. “If we’re gonna be here, though, I’m willing to improvise.” This is, of course, all part of a plan to get Derek out of the office for smooching and nudity. And, he’d kinda like to do the couch-and-a-movie thing.