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Second Time Around

Jackson Whittemore was an asshole.

The only thing was, Stiles Stilinski, hired P.I., couldn't say it to his face. Looking your boss in the eyes and outing him as an asshole is not advised. Mainly because that asshole has a history of docking pay or finding other ways of slow torture. Unfortunately, no school yard knock-outs for Jackson Whittemore, no sir. That would be stooping too close to the low standards of his minions. He preferred to get even the calm, infuriatingly "I'm better than you, see my 3 piece Armani suit" way. A way that included a high nose and aforementioned payment docking. Because Stiles' life was in his hands. Or at least his very important income was.

It's not that Stiles hated his job, because he didn't. It was long hours, sure, but the majority were spent researching and Stiles loved researching. Stiles loved snooping. Stiles loved when long, arduous nights of stalking culminated in ruining the assholes who cheated on their wives, putting assholes in jail for skimming off the top, and on the low down, setting free the innocent supernatural folks that assholes put in cages. This job was very lucrative and beneficial for any hero complex he might have.

Except, while he might like helping people almost as much as he loved information, he wasn't the one with the hero complex. No sir, that position, friends, belonged to his ex, Derek Hale. A really scary, scowly, scraggly eyebrowed, terrifying man-pain-angsting deadly werewolf who remained intimidating until you realized he would give his left kidney with gusto to a stranger-grandma if she needed one. And then he became a really scary, scowly, scraggly eyebrowed, terrifying man-pain-angsting cuddly werewolf-except without the actual cuddles part unless you were pack, because while secretly a softywolf, he will still maul you for that offense. (Not that Stiles ever dreamed of re-attempting the cuddles in years. Nope.)

He also happened to be his partner on this case.

Because yes-mr.-Jackson-Whittemore-sir! is, was, and always will be an asshole.

Especially since this particular plan has probably been in the works the entire three years since the Breakup. Derek Hale lasted 6 months of successfully avoiding Stiles, during the job and in the real outside world, until all 3 of Derek's betas decided New York City was the place to be, leaving Derek no choice but to high tail it out of there follow. That is where they have all been hiding for the last 2 years, until Isaac met Allison whose roots were strongly tied to her hometown and moved back to Beacon Hills to be with her. Derek and his 2 remaining betas (a happy pair themselves) moved home with him. Whittemore practically shoved Derek’s job back at him and after 3 months of awkward, stilted "hellos" and "I've got work" and “yeah, of course” and "I'm busy, what do you want" amid even more glares and grunts and awkward, stilted, unhappy silences, Whittemore finally managed to do The Thing. He sniffed out a case where the need for Derek's werewolf abilities (read: connections, alpha status, general supernatural knowledge) coincided with the need for Stiles' expertise in…. surveying. With no way out, Stiles got paired with Derek and Jackson laughed all the way to the bank. Metaphorically but probably also literally, bastard.

So here they are in Stiles' jeep, making the night trip two towns over because some grade A douchebags decided they'd make it rich selling mermaid scales on the black market to buyers wanting to sell "extra special, ultra-colorful and unique" blush and eye shadow pigments at a jacked up market price. And they probably would have gotten away with it too, but what they didn't know was Maurice loved his cousin so much they had weekly lunches (because the myth that mermaids had to stay in the ocean is bullshit, they're kind of like Selkies) and when Annabelle hadn't shown up one week or given a warning, he knew something was wrong. Annabelle would never miss a lunch without warning me, because we know that mermaid tails are prime rib. It's my fault, we both knew it was dangerous, but she-she wouldn't-all those risks to see me-

And of course, they had taken the case right away because Mr. Grouchybrows can't stand to see loving families separated.

Now they're on the road in Stiles' no, we have to take my jeep! We gotta blend in, it's a coastal town on Spring Break, Derek. Spring. Break. Please tell me you have vacation clothes, preferably college frat boy like? where Stiles had proceeded to flick through the radio stations, restless, because the tension in the air with his ex is mega awkward and you can't just growl every time I change the station Derek until final Stiles was forced to suffer in silence as he gritted his teeth and directed his glare forward so he could drive safely, quietly plotting Derek's immediate demise because then I guess we just won't have any music before he promptly slapped the radio into silent submission.

So now he was on a prolonged car ride with his ex that was tense, quiet, and torture.

Jackson Whittemore was. an. asshole.

Stiles only lasted 20 minutes before the silence got to him and he turned the radio back on anyway. Derek could smolder at him all he wanted, Stiles was not budging, no sir!

Derek gave him two whole seconds before he calmly uttered no, and turned the radio back off. He pretended not to notice Stiles tense up with agitation.

Par for course, the two men had been content to stew in their negative emotions-the whole time but especially since the radio power play thing-when Roscoe gave a stutter, a groan, and a worrying clang.

"No, no, NO! Come on, baby, not now!" Stiles pleaded.

Beside him Derek gave a quiet snort, and nothing else.

"What?" Stiles snapped, sparing only a second to look at Derek before turning his gaze back to the road, freaking out as the car swiftly decelerated, choked, and died. He managed to steer the jeep to the side of the road before it gave out completely. Just barely.

"Nothing," Derek answered as Stiles gave his own groan and banged his head against the steering wheel, momentarily overcome.

This answer, however, caused Stiles to snap back up and look into Derek's soul with all the ire he had. (He probably wasn't very successful though.)

"No, it's not nothing. Everything single thing you do has a reason, you are a very calculated person. What do you want to say to me?"

Derek rolled his eyes. "Your car died and I expected nothing less, that’s all."

"Of course my car died, asshole! You're feeding it your negative vibes!"

Derek snorted and raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Is that so?"

"Yes, that is so." Stiles spits back. "Roscoe here is very delicate." To prove his point, he reached out to lovingly caress the dashboard.

TLC would not bring Roscoe back. Stiles gave his car key a few twists, but Roscoe couldn't even be bothered except to give the occasional whiiir as it tried uselessly to start up. With a manly whine, Stiles decided, in his desperation, that pressing all available buttons was obviously the next step.

Derek was just sitting there bored and judgy and Stiles had had enough. Derek Hale and his Holier Than Thou high-horse. Jesus.

"Apologize. You insulted Roscoe, this is your fault." he pouted.

Derek made a show of rolling his eyes again and giving the heaviest sigh yet, but he knew in his heart of hearts he could never deny Stiles anything, not when the man was in honest distress. And despite that fake pout, he was in honest distress. The only reason Stiles didn’t love his jeep more than anything in the world is because that was how he loved his dad.

Put upon, he forced out "I'm sorry Roscoe."

"For?" Stiles urged.

Another irritated sigh left Derek's body, because what was his life. Seriously. Apologizing like a kindergartner to an inanimate object. "For sending my negative emotions your way and clogging your beloved Roscoe with my man pain." At this Derek swiveled his head around to look at Stiles with his best look that was a mixture of kill me now, I'm so over this you're a giant pain in my ass and are we done here?

Before Stiles had a chance to reply with his own facial expressions the car radio revved to life, chugging back to life with an eerie whine. Button pressing for the win!

"HA. Told you it was you fault!" Stiles cheered smugly. He lovingly stroked the dashboard of his jeep as he muttered his frustration under his breathe "see, I told you it was your fault. Mr. Negative emotions. Mister slam my radio off, well HA. My radio slammed itself back on. SUCK IT." but of course, Derek, with his werewolf hearing, heard all of it. Clearly. Now he wanted to bang his own head against the dashboard.

And, because everything with Stiles could only get worse, the road they had headed on was actual quite abandoned. It was more of a backroad, actually, and it didn't see any traffic. It probably didn't even know what a car was. But Stiles just kicked his feet up on the dashboard in front of Derek ("Sorry dude, but I can't rest my feet on the steering wheel now can I?" but it was said too happily to be truly apologetic) and was humming along with pretty much every song that the radio station played.

"God bless radio stations that will play out in the middle of nowhere with little to no commercial interruption, am I right?" Stiles said eventually, nudging his elbows into Derek's stomach and waggling his eyebrows, ecstatic.

Derek couldn't stop his irritated growl, because while they could receive radio transmission, they couldn't receive cell phone coverage and even though they had a job to do, Stiles seemed way too happy to be stuck. He looked like there was no place else he'd rather be which was stupid because, hello, ex’s! They were fighting maybe 20 minutes ago. Over a car radio. For starters.

Stiles, for his part, was torn between secretly enjoying being stranded with the ex he was still not-so-secretly in love with and not-so-secretly enjoying poking the wolf with a silver-tipped stick because Derek was still irritated as hell. Wolves can be grizzly, too. It had always been Stiles’ mission in life to make Derek take life less seriously before he gave himself an ulcer that no amount of werewolf mojo would heal.

Derek, however, doesn’t do emotions. He does gruff, he does scowly, he does quiet and he does kind. But he avoids emotions like the plague, hides them behind anger or stoicism. The bigger the emotion the more it’s locked away.

So, naturally, after about 15 more minutes-and Stiles is surprised he lasted that long, Derek bangs out of his jeep with a growl. A full on, deeply agitated, please-god-take-me-anywhere-but-here, growl.

“Aw, come on, Derbear! That was weak! Try again, once more with feeling!” Stiles giggled, throwing his hands up before he too, exited the jeep. All he received was a flash of red eyes for his trouble.

“Come on Sourwolf, don’t be such a downer-wolf!”

“Stiles.” he barked. “We are stranded in the middle of nowhere with no cell, crappy music, and a god damn job to do. For the person who claims to take this job more seriously than anyone else, you’re not taking your commitments very seriously. Or has that changed in the last few years?”

Stiles stopped short and his grin slid off his face. “Wha-no. No, my job’s just as important to me as ever-“

“Right. So instead of focusing on annoying me to an early grave why don’t you focus on finding a solution to our problems?”

The intense rage on Derek’s face didn’t do anything but help the newly built-up rage in Stiles. Fire does, after all, just tend to grow larger.

“I don’t think it’d be an early gave at this point, love. Sorry to disappoint!” he shot back nastily. Low blow, Stilinski, he thought to himself. Derek had always been sensitive about his age after he realized he would out-age his older sister. A tragedy he still feels responsible for. But Stiles was too mad to care.

In the end, all Stiles and Derek ever did was fight. It looked like years couldn’t wipe that history away. He had thought those first few hours of painful tension and awkward silence were bad, but he’d take them back now, please, because he was sorely mistaken. Excuse him for trying to diffuse the situation with music and levity.

But then, levity was never Derek’s thing. That’s why he balanced Stiles out, the Earth to his Air.

"Well it's not like I can do anything about our phones or my car! It's not physically possible to do anything else. Do you see any tools lying around? Can you conjure up a spare telephone wire? I'm making the best with our situation! Jesus."

Derek just grunted and looked away, likely because he didn't know how to express what he was feeling. Stiles sighed up to the Heavens to help him.

"Derek, I'm trying. What more do you want from me? We ended badly, you ran away-”

“I didn’t run away.”

“-you eagerly sprinted off without hesitation with your tail between your legs, you made a new life in the big city and I… reassembled my life here. You were forced by your canine teeth to came back and now we got stuck together on a job neither of us wanted and both are feeling the pain from. I'm just trying to make it better."

"By annoying me to death?"

"By not focusing on the negative. You were flashing murder-brows at me every five seconds-"

"I was not-"

"Yes, you were. I saw the side-eyeing, Mister. Then when I tried to be nice, you insulted my car and stalled her out."

"Stiles, I did not-"

"And then, when I'm sitting there peacefully, minding my own business enjoying our surroundings, with no alternative motives whats-so-ever except to pass the time, thinking maybe be stranded with my ex wouldn't be so bad after all-or maybe I was just successfully trying to distract myself until help arrived-you snarl out of the car."

"I did not snarl!"

"Dude, you're snarling right now."

In reaction to his words, but also proving Stiles' point, Derek, whose eyes had been practically glued on Stiles with agitation, ripped himself away with yet another snarl. He stood towards the trees, desperately trying to control his heaving. While a great many werewolves struggled for control, Derek had always been particularly adept at it. He had trained his betas with his no-nonsense hand, he had brought together a rag-tag group of misfit children and helped them thrive, he had gone toe-to-toe with the most infuriating pompous, arrogant assholes he had wanted to rip limb from limb and eviscerate the heads of, but he had never once so much as slipped a too-sharp tooth. He met those puffy, red-faced spitters forehead to forehead and never once flashed a colorful eye.

Stiles was his god damn weakness.

Stiles was a kryptonite tower. Around Stiles, Derek was weak-knees shaking, breathing labored, unable to move, never more exposed than when he gave himself to the man. Stiles was also his only vulnerability. Hurt Stiles, kill Stiles and Derek would be reduced to nothing; to a suffering, agonized mess. Even after all this time. Stiles was, in all senses, the only way to hurt Derek. The only thing to break his stoic facade and the only thing that could hurt him.

And it made Derek so. fucking. angry.

Stiles was his ex, for God's sake! They parted on screams and hate and anger and pain and tears. On sore throats and regretful words and empty tear ducks. But God help him, Derek still loved the man. He hated him, he felt angry and wounded and sad at him, but he still loved the man. In New York, it had been easy to ignore. It was a messy break, but Derek was numbing and with no chance to talk to Stiles the wound was messily stitched together. But stitches pop.

Really, though, nothing made him angrier than looking at this man and knowing he cared nothing for, no longer loved Derek. It was there in the tension, the uncomfortable silence that permeated the air whenever they accidentally ended up alone in the same space, in the way Stiles could stand to look at him but simply passed over Derek's face without so much as a flicker of something, anything. Then, there was Stiles, sitting with his feet carelessly plopped practically on top of him, singing off-beat, off-tune, but drumming happily along anyway-he was still so fucking Stiles, it hurt. Derek was blood, oozing through the tear his ripped stitches could no longer hold together.

Stiles, Stiles, Stiles.

Stiles surrounded him. His smell, his taste on the air, his sounds. The feel of him, so close to Derek, yet tauntingly far, off-limits to his wolf. To him.

Derek stood there and without intending to, honed in on a sound he had been so determined never to actively hear again, his wolf had desperately sought it out.

lub-DUB. lub-DUB. lub-DUB. lub-DUB. lub-DUB. went his breathing, slowing down.

lub-DUB. lub-DUB. lub-DUB. went his slowing heart-rate.

lub-DUB. lub-DUB. went his glowing eyes, the beginnings of his fangs.

lub-DUB. went his claws.

lub-DUB. lub-DUB. before his sense of smell came back down, no longer seeking overtime for threats.

lub-DUB. lub-DUB. lub-DUB. lub-DUB. went his hearing, opening back up to the birds in the trees, and the spooked dear in the forest, the horrible techno beat of a song, nearly overwhelming now that Derek could sense it again.

lub-DUB. lub-DUB. lub-DUB. went the heart so familiar to him, he could practically feel it beating within his own chest.

Derek breathed ou, expelling the tension that held his body taught. It was that kind of exhale that feels amazing, but only comes when you didn't even realize you had been holding your breath. The kind that grounds you.

Slowly Derek turned around to face Stiles, quiet and brooding, but no longer searing.

"Hey, big guy. Glad to see you made it back." In accordance with his words, Derek noted that Stiles smirk, easy and playful, showed no signs of distress, fear, or patronizing, just genuine relief. "I was worried there for a second, you know." he continued gently.

Derek snorted, looked away for a second, but looked back again because Stiles was a magnet and the only thing Derek wanted to get lost in.

"No really. I guess I didn't realize how you were feeling. I thought-I didn't know-I'm sorry." he ended. And he was. He had known Derek years before they dated, since childhood nearly (because teenagers were still children, Jesus Christ), and he had never seen him come close to losing control. Derek had once backed him up against scum-bags and slimy-haired corrupt executives, even dealt with annoying co-workers that tried to be babied-the kind that require a million answers and repetition, who were low-key lazy shits, and not once did Derek even come close to wolfing out without his own conscious consent. But then, Derek always did everything harder around Stiles. It's just that besides the aggravation of being saddled with an ex-boyfriend, Stiles thought Derek didn't feel anything for him anymore. Nothing more than disdain anyway, since Stiles was convinced Derek had fled to New York, excuses be damned.

He had been ready to mark his grave-stone "Here lies Stiles Stilinski, an ornery old cat-man who managed to disgust the only serious boyfriend he had ever had so bad the man fled to New York to escape him."

Still, the sight of this man losing control over Stiles and his careless words caused something to warm in his belly. He still meant enough to Derek to get under his skin. Anger gave over to gratification that Derek must feel something , irritation gave over to the patience and understanding in their shared history. Derek was an alpha and Derek was a werewolf. It didn't matter that they had once dated, once shared a bed. It didn't matter that they had once both claimed to be in love. It doesn't matter that Derek would never outright abuse his power. If Derek had wanted to punish Stiles or force him to cower in submission, Derek could have-even something as small as snapping fangs in his face, pushing him into the side of the jeep, holding him up like a rag doll. But he didn't. He lost control and he fought for it back. He didn't put Stiles into his cross-hairs until he had calmed down. Derek Hale is a good man.

And the sick, hopeless romantic part of Stiles yearns for Derek to still care about him. So Stiles gave Derek a moment to chew it over, to find the words he needed to express.

It took a while, because Derek didn't know what to respond with. He didn't want to say it was okay, but he didn't want to yell at Stiles and he sure as hell didn't want to start another argument. He was so. tired. If they could prove to be civil, maybe they would come out of this friends.

"What gave my loss of control away, my eyebrows?" he said finally, walking towards Stiles to lean beside him on the jeep. Eyebrows were a safe topic. Stiles loved his eyebrows. Both men faced the road, lounging lazily.

Stiles snorted. "Yeah, big guy. It was your eyebrows of doom. Real harbinger, there." he waggled his own eyebrows to demonstrate, but it looked more like he was trying to seductively waggle them.

Derek chuckled and gently prodded Stiles with his elbow. "Knock it off, Stiles. Try your cellphone again."

"Okay, okay. Slave-driver, geese!" But this time Derek wasn't offended because Stiles had a doofy smile on his face and his exaggerated eye roll held no malice or irritation. He gladly watched the comedy that was Stiles.

"How about now?" tried Stiles, holding his phone up to the air, taking an abrupt step every few seconds. "Now? What about now? How aboooout....now? No. Okay, now! No."

In the end, he amused himself into circles trying to find that elusive, phantom signal. Derek watched from his comfy perch, fond. And the fondness filled him with warmth because it was his first positive feeling towards Stiles’ actions in a very long time. Derek indulged, silently laughing but not quite managing to hide the smile from his face. His dork. No. Stiles was a dork. And not his. But still a dork.

Eventually, though, Stiles exhausted himself and trudged wearily to Derek in defeat.

"It's no use man, there's nothing. Not even a flicker of the teeniest bar. What the hell kind of boonies-hell are we in! Spring Break should be filled with travelers, yes?"

Derek opened his mouth to reply but at that second his ears caught a far-off noise.

Roaring, engine, crackling, dirt, getting higher, accelerating, getting louder, coming closer. He stood at attention and Stiles wanted to laugh because he looked just like a dog poised to go after a ball.

"What's wrong? Hear a wittul wabbit?" Stiles teased.

Derek shook his head. "No, there’s a bogie coming in hot."

"What?"

With an eye roll, Derek clarified "Car, coming his way."

"I know what you meant, Derek." Stiles sighed out. "I mean, 'what are you doing, speaking spy?’ You suave man, you! Look at you, being all cultural."

Please Lord, give me patience, pleaded Derek internally. "You made me watch enough action movies."

"Only cause if it was up to you we'd watch nothing but documentaries. Don't get me wrong, I love learning. But a man needs variety in his life, Derek." he was chided.

"Well then you'll be happy to know that in New York, I was not only dragged to non-documentary movies, I was also cultured with Broadway."

Stiles squealed gleefully. Derek glared at him.

"Do I want to know if that squeal was because you're excited I'm expanding my horizons or because you're excited to have new teasing material?"

"Probably not." Biting his lip, Stiles tried his best to emanate innocence with his eyes. But judging by Derek's increasingly withering stare, he guessed he was failing.

By now, the car had become visible to Stiles, so it couldn't be more than half a mile out. From where they both stood it looked like a small dot on the horizon between the trees, faint growl steadily getting louder until even Stiles could hear it with ease.

"Oh thank God. The car is coming our way. We're saved, Derek, we're saved!" In his joy, Stiles jumped on Derek, clinging to him arm. Despite the way Derek went with the tugging and didn't stiffen, Stiles felt awkward. Mourning the loss of the firm warmth from under his hands, Stiles detached himself with a clearing of his throat. "Anyway, guess this means I can get out of your hair huh? No sense doing anything else today."

But Derek wasn't listening. His nostrils were high in the air, scenting. He smelled salt and dead fish, among other things. It was as unpleasant as it was distinct. Stiles watched with growing dread at the urgency exuded by Derek’s moving nostrils.

“Derek? What’s going on?”

Instead of a verbal answer, Stiles listened to the increased breathing, the shifting into slightly red eyes. Derek smelled something he didn’t like and that meant Stiles didn’t like it either. By this time, he could see the car’s color-black, shiny, intimidating.

“Derek-“

“Come on!” He grabbed Stiles’ arm and dragged him into the tree-line. Confused, Stiles let himself be dragged and tried not to trip and slow them down. Derek meant business. Even if Derek still hated Stiles he’d never risk his safety.

“Who are they? What’s wrong?” With a not-so-gentle tug, Derek pulled him down by his shirt sleeve once they rounded a particularly large bush-big enough to hide two fully grown men, in a position where they still had clear sightline of their vehicle.

Derek’s eyes were full blown red but it was his body that put Stiles on alert-instead of overt aggression he was still, silent, not even breathing.

“Derek-“

“Shut up. It’s those eggheads. If they catch us now, we’re dead.”

“Egghe-Martin and Dudley?” he said anyway, switching to a whisper. Martin and Dudley were selling mermaid scales, 5K for about only 20 scales total a pop, real expensive merchandise, and the duo had laboriously conned the two men into thinking they were legit buyers. They had references, a backstory, and everything. Tomorrow was supposed to be D-Day and that’s why the overnight trip was necessary. “But they’re not supposed to be-”

“I know.” Derek grit out, teeth clenched. Neither pair actually lived in the safe haven town that had been selected. Stiles and Derek had made the trip early to scope out the area, but there was no reason for Dumb and Dumber to there so early, busy businessmen as they were.

“The meet-up was scheduled for-”

“I know. ” he bit out.

“Do you think it was a-“

“Yes. Now shut. Up. Stiles.”

“Right, shutting up.” He whispered in affirmative, but he didn’t mime it because now was not the time to accidently rustle some ill-located twigs.

Five pounding heartbeats and a slamming sound later, “Hey, Martin look! It’s a car!” called an idiot with an annoying New Jersey accent-even more so because they were nowhere near New Jersey. “What’s a car doing on the side of this dumpy road?”

“Careful, Dudley, ya idiot. It could be a trap.”

“Nah. I swear Martin, sometimes you’re too paranoid. Ain’t nobody gonna be hiding in no car to get us. ‘Sides, what chum would leave his car out here? Keys in the ignition, radio on and not a soul in sight? I reckon they’s a gonner.”

“Yeah? Remember what happened the last time you just “reckoned” something? We spent two days kissin’ boots, trying to explain why Mr. Louie shouldn’t grind our bones into powder and sell it in place of them mermaids.”

Carefully, Stiles turned his head to Derek so they could share an eye-roll together. In this line of work, the two ran into a lot of assholes but there was also the fair share of pure unadulterated idiots, like the bozo twins.

“Well then, if you’re so worried, why don’ you check first, huh.”

“Laugh it up. Just remember that only one o’ us has been shot in the ass.”

What a freakshow. These two lugs were so stupid they could throw themselves to the ground and miss.

“Do something, please.” Stiles was in emotional agony-he did not have a high tolerance for stupid.

“Like what?” Derek hissed back through the corner of his mouth.

“You’re a scary wolf. Scare.”

Unfortunately, Stiles hissed that too loud and Martin paused from where the two had been examining the abandoned car, guns settled back in their holsters, after deeming it empty, indeed. “What was that?”

“I dunno.” Dudley said, but his cracking voice gave away his nerves.

“Ya ain’t scared are ya?”

“NO.” Dudley smacked Martin’s arm, offended.

“Well then. I guess ya wouldn’t mind going to see what it was. Don’t worry, I’ll wait right here.”

Stiles turned away from the man’s smug toothy grin, acknowledged the fact that slowly Derek had in fact been losing as many layers as he silently could-basically he was now only in danger of ruining his pants-and urged “go now.”

Derek clenched his teeth in aggravation and gave a put-upon sigh, but before Stiles could say anything else, before either Dudley Do-Wrong or Martin Scorfailse could take another step, Derek sacrificed his expensive, perfect form-fitting, ass-hugging jeans and launched out of the bushes all wolf and no man.

With a fierce snarl alone, he probably had the two shitting their pants. Derek popped out of the bushes, without even the curtesy of rustling a bush in warning (damn, maybe he could have saved his jeans) and the shock value had the two boys tripping away from the edge, whimpering.

Gee, Mr. Louie. Real tough enforcers you got there. They might be pretty tasty though-if Derek ate pork.

After that, it was all a matter of hunching low to the ground and growling deeply, hackles raised. Maybe taking a step or two forward in warning, teeth barred to maximum level.

“Martin, let’s get o’ here!” Dudley panicked. “Whosever care this was, they’re dead now. There ain’t no way that thing didn’t get them. Let’s go.”

“Don’t be so scared,” Martin replied, trying to play it cool. But he was sweating so hard Derek could almost taste it with his heightened senses and his voice was raised higher than a soprano. “It’s just a wolf.” Still, the two men backed away slowly, eyes trained on the feral animal.

Derek barked one last time, gnashing his teeth extra hard and the two goons skittered off.

Stiles stayed behind the bushes, listening to the engine rev and the tires spin uselessly on the unkempt asphalt, before watching their getaway car shoot away, leaving behind nothing but smoke. And a horrible burning smell. Yuck.

He felt a soft nudge and looked down to find that Derek had made his way back to him. When Derek obtained his attention he pulled at the hem of Stiles’ shirt, herding him to the car. Quickly, Stiles gathered up all of Derek’s wayward clothing.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry, Der. I the trunk with a spare set of clothes for you, just like I used to. I didn’t forget.”

Derek barked again, but this time it was a happy yip of thanks. He was almost prancing as he made his way to sit beside the trunk, tail wagging solid thunks on the ground.

“You were great, Der.” Stiles opened the trunk, rummaging around for the spare clothes. “I swear to God. I’m probably biased because I hate those two, but I’ve never seen grown men look so scared in my life! I thought they were going to die of fright before you ever took a chunk of their skin.” Derek yipped again, proud, chest all puffed up and Stiles stuck the spare pants into his muzzle with a smile.

Here turned back to the trunk to close it and stayed facing away from Derek for privacy’s sake. In the background, calmer music was playing. “I hadn’t had that much fun in so long. Quality entertainment. And it serves them right. Those assholes- their entire schedule-they were gonna double cross us at the meeting for sure. Probably ambush us before it could start. And I thought our covers were golden.” He tutted.

A hand pressed gently into his lower back and his breath caught. Slowly, that hand turned into to arms which turned into a full circling of his waist and a stomach pressed against him. His heart stuttered, sped up. His eyelids floated together, squeezed tight. Slowly, he let his hands drift to lay atop the ones holding him securely, safe. The body heat warmed his shivering body even though the sun was still out and baring down upon them. Nothing beat being in Derek’s arms and if he was dreaming he didn’t want to wake up.

Please God, don’t let me be dreaming. he prayed.

“We used to be good together.” a whisper accompanied hot breath in his ear. Stiles exhaled shakily. “I almost forgot. But now that I remember, I miss it.” That was a lie, he had never forgotten, had craved it through the cavern in his chest every day. Stiles didn’t need to know that, though.

“I miss it too,” Stiles confessed. But if he leaned into Derek a little more, neither one was going to mention it. “All chapters have to end sometime, Derek. Our ending just came a bit early.”

“I always thought we’d grow old together.”

“I did too, at certain points, that wasn’t the problem. Kids weren’t a part of the future I saw for us. Our job is too dangerous, Derek, it’s not an environment to raise a family. Even if we kept our work from coming home, one day our work could keep us from coming home, too. I stand by what I said back then.”

“Do you still stand by the statement that your job is everything for you? Three years later, are do you still live and breathe your work? Does it still put that extra pep in your step?”

“What do you want me to say, Derek?” Stiles whirled around to face him, head on. “Are you seriously still bitter about a relationship that failed 3 years ago?”

“I’m bitter that you didn’t try-”

Stiles pushed away from Derek, angry. “Didn’t try? You were the one that told me to quit my job.”

“Because I thought we were on the same page. I was desperate to keep you. I was desperate to start a family with you. Because we were both right. This job and a family cannot be co-existent.”

“But you knew how much my job meant to me, Derek.”

“Well, forgive me for thinking a future with me meant more. I’m sorry I assumed you wanted kids too. I’m sorry that I wanted a life for us beyond these four walls. Beyond this prison. Beyond this constant danger, where I’m always watching my back.”

“If this job is a such a prison, then why did you take it back? You returned from New York, but you didn’t have to return to this job. You were already free from this life.”

“Why do you think, Stiles.”

In frustration, Stiles threw his hands up. “I don’t know what to think, Derek. ”

“ You, you idiot. . You giant, obtuse fool. I came back for you. My wolf wants you. I want you. You tore my heart out, but I still needed you. Even if you hated me, I needed you. You are my instincts. You are my pack. You are-”

Derek cut himself off and looked away. Fucking kryptonite. He hated vulnerability. He hated mushy feelings. But he belonged to Stiles. He was Stiles’ to destroy.

“I’m your what, Derek.”

Moments passed, and the words wouldn’t leave Derek’s throat. Everything was bubbling inside him; his loneliness, his anger, his fear of rejection, his embarrassment at his vulnerability, his misery, his tired hope. He didn’t know what to feel, so he grabbed the strongest thing he could in his maelstrom.

“I’m bitter that you didn’t try to save our relationship.” He admitted. But though he felt the simmering agitation, he said it calmly. If those were tears pricking his eyes, he refused to let them fall. He was an alpha, dammit!

“And I already told you, I did try. I was the one that tired. I was the one that said we should go to couple’s therapy. You were the one that said werewolves aren’t general knowledge. I was the one that said there are supernaturally inclined therapists and you were the one that said you don’t trust non-pack. So don’t give me that bullshit. I tried. Your only solution was to quit our jobs!”

“Well I’m sorry that my desire for a family got in your way.” Derek spit back.

“And I’m sorry that the only future you could dream of was so streamlined to a family, you couldn’t see us together without one!”

Stiles nearly cried, because rehashing this might scare Derek away again. This was almost a direct mirror of the fights leading up to The End. Stiles couldn’t stop the sob that escaped him. The last time he said that Derek froze, got real quiet, and said “okay.”

“No, Derek. Derek, I didn’t mean it like that, I didn’t mean-”

“No, I know what you meant. And I get it. Job. Derek. A family. Or maybe it’s job, Roscoe, Derek, a family, it doesn’t really matter. I understand.”

“Derek, please. My words came out wrong-“

“No, they came out right. I should have seen the signs, my fault.”

“Derek, please.” Stiles had begged. In the final moments, the anger was gone. Weeks of fighting, spitting, frothing at each other and the worst had happened. Stiles had touched the line and crossed it, and fear remained. Everything Stiles wanted was slipping from his grasp and it was his fault.

Silence persisted, until Derek turned on his heel and left without another word. There was no stomping of angry footsteps, no slammed doors. Just the echo of a man who had thrown in the towel, worn thin.

Both men seemed to be thinking the same thing, and the tension fled their weighted shoulders, because both men were too tired to hold them taught. The fight sapped out of them, as if leeched away by a hungry parasite. Stiles bit back his tears of frustration.

"What happened to us?" he whispered.

Derek snorted sadly. "What happens to a lot of young couples. We were too intense, too fast. We loved each other but we loved our jobs more. And then one day our priorities shifted and we wanted two different things." he shrugged, defeated. "And then-"

"And then we broke." Stiles finished for him, muttering to the ground, where he kicked loose pebbles around the ground, morosely.

"And then we broke." Derek affirmed.

They lapsed into silence again, all the anger gone.

But now that the animosity had left the building, Derek’s wolf was prowling. It was huffing and snorting like a bull. It wanted its target and its target was its mate. Derek no longer had the energy to fight back his wolf, and within seconds, overtaken by instinct, he found himself pressed up against a firm back, nose-first into a delicious smelling neck.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you,” Derek spoke into his collar bone. “You didn’t want kids. I should have respected that. I’d rather it just be the two of us than not have you at all and I can tell you that from experience.”

Stiles snorted. “I do want kids. It was never that I didn’t want to raise munchkins with you, because I did. It’s just that it’s not safe Derek. We uncover drug lords, we deal with raging hormones and sticky situations. We make enemies. And I couldn’t give up my job.”

“I’m not going to rehash this. I could repeat that’s why I wanted us to leave this world, that I don’t understand- but I’m not going to lose you again. I’m not going to choose family life over you again. If you’ll have me, if you let us try again. Give us one more chance.”

“Derek.” Stiles sighed, aggrieved. “I know you want kids more than anything-”

“Except you.” He insisted.

“Except me.” Stiles amended. “Look, I just want you to be happy. And, maybe you were right. These last two years royally fucking sucked. I love the adrenaline, I do. But there are other ways to save lives. I used to want to be a police man, maybe I could do that.”

“Right, because a police man is so much safer.”

“Shut up. It’s called a compromise, dude.”

Derek hummed in agreement and kissed Stiles’ neck. He bit back his retort to not be called dude, because now was not the time. It was hard to suppress his urge, but if Stiles was willing to accommodate Derek, Derek was willing to let it go-especially if things ended in his favor.

“Besides, our boss is an asshole. If I have to spend another year, even, smoozing to Jackson’s face, I might lose my mind.”

Derek removed his body and Stiles mourned the loss of his steel abs. However, being manhandled was a little bit of a kink so he didn’t complain when Derek whipped him around.

“You mean it? You’d quit for me?”

“No,” Stiles answered, but before Derek could have a heart attack he finished, “but I’d do it for our family.”

With a relieved, loud, mirthful laugh and pulled Stiles into a tight hug. Stiles had changed his mind! Willingly, Stiles sunk into it. He had missed this man and his woodsy scent and his firm abs and his muscular arms and his reading glasses and bunny teeth and thumb-holed sweaters and-

He shut his mind off so he could enjoy the hug. He’d missed this.

Breathless, Stiles leaned into Derek for support. “So, what would you do anyway? If we quit?”

Derek smirked. “Well, in New York I didn’t really find much to do. It never felt right trying to start as a P.I. there or anything, so I started writing and I liked it. It turns out that after years solving mysteries and closing cases, there’s a lot of good shit I could write about.”

“Ooo, writer huh? How sexy!” he laughed joyfully. “I bet you secretly write all the kink, am I right?” he said, just to enjoy the way Derek’s entire face turned red. Stiles wanted to badly to follow his urge to finish his teasing with a light kiss, but he didn’t know if he’d be welcomed. Things sounded promising, but there was still a lot of water between their bridges and a mountain of lost time to make up for. Anyone could make plans and promises, it was keeping them that was the hard part.

Slowly, Stiles started to reach for Derek’s hand. If he could just reach it, maybe-

“Um, sorry to interrupt but-”

Stiles did not shriek. He did not. He might have made a waaah sound but it was very deep. Knowing his heart was racing, his hand shot out to placate Derek who would was react to his heart rate and think “threat”. He hoped his touch would calm his wolfy counter-part and convey startled.

“Eh, sorry about that.” Said a man in sad vintage clothing, looking not very sorry at all. More like gleefully amused, an expression that made Derek shift uncomfortably because it reminded him of his no-good creepy uncle. He knew suspicious character when he saw it. The man before them wore a tweed jacket (“seriously, who wears tweed anymore” Stiles later confided, flabbergasted) that was just a little too worn on the elbows and a ridiculous bow tie. “I’m all for your little reunion; it's truly beautiful, really! Tears in my eyes, a sniffle, the whole shebang. I just wanted to thank you both for saving my ass earlier. Man, I was almost fish food!"

"Uh. You're welcome?" Stiles replied, confused.

"Ah, Marlowe's the name. Jimmy Marlowe. Man, I owe ya! Those men are nasty." he shivered. "I was just minding my own business, I own a real honest shop you see, real over the table work, all top quality on the up and up! But there I was, locking up for the night and these two baboons appeared out of nowhere and jumped me! Stuffed me into their trunk and took off." He gave an appraising whistle. "They probably thought I was still passed out on account of that right powerful blow to my noggin." He tsked and gave a judgmental shake of his head.

"Right. No offense, but then how the hell did you get out?"

"That was easy!" Marlowe scoffed, waving his hand. "Practice. I mean luck. I meant skill. Luck and skill."

Stiles and Derek exchanged looks, confused but more mostly suspicious and wary. For the most part, Jimmy Marlowe looked like he could be a decent guy but in their line of business, who the hell really knows.

Marlowe sighed and rolled his eyes, irritated. "What, maybe I'm just real kinky in the bedroom okay. No need to judge boys. We've all been there."

"Mhmm." replied Derek, still not completely buying it. You don't live in this business by playing stupid or believing even honest people. Stiles, for his part, just gave a little cough trying to smother any lingering traces of entertainment he might feel.

" Anyway, " Marlowe emphasized, "when those idiots were distracted, I popped the trunk and slipped outta there, ya feel me." he grinned like a Cheshire. "All thanks to you boys, though. If your car hadn't needed checkin’ out, I'd have never had the opportunity, and if your feller there" he looked at Stiles but pointed to Derek, "hadn't gone all growly, I'da never been able to cover the sound of the trunk closing. And I don’t like the taste of swiss cheese much less want to be swiss cheese. So, really boys, I owe ya one."

"I think we're okay." Derek started to negate, but Stiles elbowed him because even being owed a favor by a shady person could come into handy sometime. "We didn't really do it for you." he finished anyway.

Marlowe shrugged carelessly. "All the same, you twos saved my life. Though, I wish I could see what happens to those two goons when their boss finds out they lost me. Can't be good-I'm worth a pretty penny you know!" he asserted, then laughed gleefully.

Stiles and Derek just exchanged another look.

“I mean, my business is worth a lot. Very successful.”

"Right." Stiles drew out. They lapsed into a silence but Marlowe didn't seem to mind how awkward it felt or take it personally. He just stood there, in his own little world, happy, pleased, smug. Eventually, when no one proceeded to say anything, he clapped his hands together.

"So! I don't know about you lads, but I'm ready to skidaddle and"- he made a big show of looking around - "it looks like you're my ride."

"About that" Stiles began, scratching his head. "Normally I'd say okay but-"

"Even though technically we're on the job and our job is not a taxi service-" Derek interjected gruffly.

"Even though even more technically they've seen my jeep and we can no longer use it anyway. They'd recognize it and we'd be goners. No time to pretend we’re not serving up Justice for lunch." Stiles raised to the bait.

"Unless it was a trap, in which case we've already been outed and our car doesn't matter, so technically we can still get the jump on them and get the job done." Derek continued on.

"Okay, true." Stiles conceded. "But we can't sneak up on them in a car that's been outed. Actually we can't sneak up on them at all because my car is dead. "

"Guys-" tried Marlowe.

"There'd be no sneaking up on them anyway, even if your car wasn't dead. For one thing, it’s loud. For another, they’d be ready for us. If they had already set a trap to jump us, the only option is to go in on the offensive, a sneak attack wouldn't work."

"You do love to use force." Admitted Stiles. Derek grinned.

"You know me so well, babe."

Stiles grinned back but quickly came back to himself and got serious again. "But that's why you need me. We have to use plans, we can't charge in blindly."

"Hey guys-" Marlowe tried again.

"I don't see why not." Derek said over him.

“Why not? Someone’s gotta keep you safe! You can’t regrow a head, you know.”

"Well we don't have any other options. They know we're coming, if we don't go now they'll jump ship and set up somewhere we won't find them. Our surveillance window has closed, Stiles."

“GUYS.” Marlowe tried again, desperately.

Stiles let out a harsh breath. "But the last time I let you goad me into impulsive action, you almost died." He jabbed at Derek's chest. Derek swatted his hand away.

"I was fine. I know the dangers of the job."

"I'm well aware of that." Stiles sneered.

At this point, tensions were rising and both men we're progressively getting louder and more heated. And Marlowe didn't like being ignored.

" Excuse me. " he nearly bellowed.

"What?" They shouted back at him, in unison.

Marlowe breathed out. "I'm sorry to interrupt your little lovers spat-" Stiles tried to interject his refusal, but Marlowe held up his hand to silence the man. "But I really want to get home. And I'm into a lot of things, but voyeurism isn't one of them so you two just need to lock yourselves in a private bedroom. In exchange for a ride home, I'll fix your car, how does that sound? It sounds great because I don't want to owe you two things. Imma one and done kind of guy." he snarked.

Stiles snorted "Good luck. I just got her tuned up and she's already on the fritz. I have no idea what it could be this time."

Derek sighed on a shrug and added, "his jeep is always breaking down. It's annoying."

Stiles growled back. "That's not the only annoying thing-" he tried to begin, but Marlowe held up a hand and spoke sharply "Lucky for you I'm good with cars. That's my business, all on the up and up of course!" he reaffirmed.

Stiles stared at him for a few seconds and then shrugged. "Whatever you say man, good luck. You're gonna need it. Don't get me wrong, I love my jeep but sometimes-"

"It's more hassle than it’s worth." finished Derek. Stiles gave a wistful sigh of partial agreement. “Hassle” yes, “than it’s worth”, no. Loyal till the end, baby.

Marlowe felt like he head was spinning from their interaction. The two men were driving him crazy and it'd barely been 10 minutes in their company. Vaguely, he was regretful to have gotten in the middle of whatever the hell thing the two had going. As it was, he just walked to the hood of the jeep, trying to shake his head and clear himself of the jumbled, negative energy. Without further ado, he popped the hood and started working.

At first while they waited, Stiles just stood there beside Derek, silent. Couldn't figure out what to say, couldn't figure out if he wanted to say anything, and Derek seemed to be in the same position. However, they stood close to each other, hands nearly touching but not quite. Every so often, to the background noise of car parts clinking, whatever song was still playing on the goddamn radio, their hands would barely brush, though neither man moved to form a connection.

Both men felt smothered by the need to say something, but the fear that something would be lost forever if they did. They were so close, but so close didn’t mend a gap. So close was almost, and “almost” was the saddest word in the dictionary. So they stood there, praying for courage.

Until the tension broke with 5 brave words.

"What if we tried again?" Stiles asked softly, scared of rejection.

"What?" Derek choked, surprised.

"What if we tried again?" he repeated, finally taking Derek's hand.

Derek breathed, squeezed his eyes real tight, wanting so badly but trying to kill the burgeoning hope before it killed him.

"Stiles, I don't-"

"I know. We parted ways in different places. You wanted us both to retire our deerstalkers, because you wanted kids and you wanted our kids to be safe. And I refused to budge, because this job is- was - my life. But Derek, we can start slow. Obviously, we can start slow. You already know I love you, I can't get rid of that and I'm not going to hide it because with our history I'm allowed to still be in love with you." He heard Derek suck in a breath like he'd been punched. "But we can still start slow. We’ve already voiced alternate options. We’ve managed communication. We can start with a date. Curly fries and a chocolate shake. We'll go to our diner over on Queen St. and you'll make a show of keeping your confection away from me, but in the end because you love me, you'll let me drench my nasty curly fries and get the seasoning all over your shake, until you finally give up and just pass me the entire shake and order a boring old water. And then we can go home and catch up on whatever masterpiece you have denied yourself. And we can rinse and repeat as many times as needed and we can build something, Derek. Please. "

Derek didn't want to give in. He wanted to cry, honestly. Curl up in a ball. But he loved this man, and this man knew it and the man knew it and the man loved him too. He didn’t need to hear Stiles’ heartbeat, his smell was immersed in affection. The truth of the matter was Derek always was and would always be a goner to the Wonder that was Stiles Stilinski. He never had a choice, not about Stiles.

Still, ability to say 'no' to Stiles or not, he had no problem messing with him. Derek Hale was a lot of things when it came to Stiles Stilinski, and a push-over was exactly all of them-but that didn't mean torturing him wasn't just as fun, especially when he was assured in the man’s mutual affection. So he stood looking out to the trees over Stiles shoulder, trying to school his face to look conflicted.

“I don’t know,” he pretended to hedge. Stiles frowned, but instead of drawing back, hurt, he became more impassioned with determination.

"This Saturday." Stiles tried again, stepping into Derek's space and grabbing at him. "If we haven’t quit by then, we’ll both have Saturday night off anyway. We always have a day off to ourselves when we finish a hard-fought case. We'll definitely be done by then. Mermaid hunters are easy prey. They’re cocky idiots." He squeezed his grip on Derek's arm in desperation. "Come on, there's a booth with our name on it. I can practically hear it calling us. Sttiilllles. Deeeereeeekk. I'm loooonneeellly." he focused his big, glazed doe eyes right at Derek, sealing the fate he had already surrendered himself over to.

The thing was, Stiles didn't lose much control anymore, he was an efficient sleuthing machine. He didn't let on when something was important to him, he didn't show desperation, he sure as hell didn’t beg. Sure, he's friends brought out his happy, excited side on the rare break he got to see them. But having a strong attachment, like love or protectiveness, in this business was a liability-despite how gung-ho they were to ignore this fact the first time around. Stiles was a master at controlling his projected emotions. No one else could bring out his vulnerability. Only Derek did that. Just like Stiles did for Derek.

"You’ve made a decent proposal." He took care to look extra pensive. Stiles frowned and tried to draw back, knowing he’d said all he could possibly say and thinking he’d been defeated, so Derek tightened his grasp on the man's hand, trying to fight back a grin. "I mean theoretically we could wait until this weekend like a normal-paced couple, but you were right. Today is ruined, and tomorrow Whittemore will be shitting bricks and call for our heads before we will be forced to relocate Egghead and Associates, which will no doubt be a long, arduous process and frankly I'm eager to have you now. And it’s only Tuesday. Are you sure tonight wouldn't be okay for our first date? We can have Saturday too, I promise." he said through a straight face, as if he had not just tried to dupe Stiles.

Stiles just looked at him, wide eyes getting impossibly wider. "YOU ASSHOLE." he shrieked, swinging his arm at Derek with a solid thump. "I thought you were going to break up with me and we weren't even dating again. Yes. Yes I will spend tonight with you." Derek grinned and laughed, moved to encircle Stiles in his arms, and embrace to which Stiles went happily.

"I'll introduce you to Stranger Things, because I know your theatrically challenged ass hasn't seen it and we can have popcorn and chocolate, but water. No coke. Coke's bad for you." he said, muffled into Derek's shirt.

Derek chuckled. "Popcorn's bad for you too." He rubbed his face into the top of Stiles' head, inhaled the beautiful scent he had denied himself for years. He was so, so happy. His wolf was finally settled, no longer pawing anxiously through his chest, fighting for control to run back to its mate. Instead, his mate was safe here in his fore-paws, practically crushed into him. Safe. His. Warm. Content. Smelled so content. Delicious. Home.

"I know," Stiles thumped Derek again, but it wasn't very hard because he was too busy melding himself to his boyfriend. No regrets. Derek accepted a date, they were practically married again. Everything but legally. Stiles would never let him go again. 3 years estranged from this man was 5 eons too many. "Mine." he growled, without conscious thought. Derek purred. Relaxed fingers made their way into Stiles' messy mop and scritched. Stiles, of course, was a goner and melted into the affection immediately. He moaned in boneless pleasure and forced Derek to take practically all of his weight. That's okay, though. Derek didn't mind.

A loud clanking noise startled them from their own little world, sending waves of irritation through them both as they were forced to separate. Again. Goddammit, Marlowe. Their own little world was peaceful, cozy, warm, where time could pass and they wouldn't feel it, too wrapped up in each other. Instead, they breathed and focused on the not-quite-intruder.

"Found it!" their third-wheel cheered. "Found the problem!" He looked up at the two men and grinned, didn't let him expression drop a millimeter even though the two men didn't exactly look happy to see him. Nothing phased Marlowe, cue internal eye-roll.

When he didn't go on, Derek sighed harshly. "And?" he prompted in exasperation.

"Woah, woah, put your claws back, Mr. Lovewolf." he teased, and Stiles felt a surge of pleasure. This man was on the same page as him, how wonderful. Lovewolf, that was good. He'd have to remember to use that one. "It's the battery." the man shrugged, bored.

"The battery!?" Stiles squawked in surprise. "You mean the battery I just replaced? Then how the hell is that music playing?" he gestured to the offending object.

Marlowe shrugged again. "Guess it wasn't dead enough to kill the radio, just the everything else. Don't worry, I can fix it. Then we can all go home and you two can go do whatever until your loins content."

Stiles outraged protest was drowned out by the sight and sound of Marlowe sending waves of powerful energy into the battery himself. Thick ropes of golden light flowed from his fingertips to the offending object, almost too bright to look at.

Holy shit, Jimmy Marlowe, ol' bastard, was a Thunder Kitsune. This is the third time Derek and Stiles exchanged a look because of that man. In the background, the radio paused for a second as the rest of the engine functions caught up, but as the engine turned over and started, the music came back with a soft, wistful melody.

Derek, ever the planner, ever the responsible one, was ten steps ahead of Stiles. In the background, the movie music to their life, Stiles noted the softer chords of a Frank Sinatra song. As Derek tuned out the words to focus on business, Stiles listened to phrases that resonated him through a melancholy voice. He could not agree more. They would be better this second time around, because Stiles had found Derek once more and this time, he would not let him go. Would not push him away. This was It.

Derek knew there was a promise between both men to make things work, but he was worried because he could not lose Stiles again. He was a shell for three years, he'd be nothing if it happened a second time. He'd be the sand on a beach because his shell had disintegrated. But Marlowe. Marlowe was a Kitsune. Marlowe could take the cases at Headquarters that they tried to keep from most humans in their small employment. This meant he was a suitable replacement. And most importantly, Marlowe-

"You know that your job is gone right?" Derek ventured. "If they took you, there's no way they didn't destroy your life's work, whatever the hell that was."

Marlowe sighed almost angrily, saddened by this though. "I told you, I worked with cars. And yeah, I know. I figured I'd have to find a new place to go, maybe even a new identity, but I was hoping we could take down those bastards first." It was sad that this is what finally wiped the too-charming grin off Marlowe's face, but Derek hoped he had a way to fix that.

"You know, the agency we work for. Well, I won't lie. Jackson Whittemore's a bastard, but he's a decent boss. Hours can be shit, pay is good, work is dangerous. But you'd get the chance to take down the asshole who did this to you and many more. It's a good outlet, you get to take down smug bastards and help people as a byproduct."

Marlowe considered. "Can't say much for justice, but I do love taking people down. And you say I could help you get these bastards back? The ones who took me?"

Derek nodded. "We're after the same guys. We gotta couple of missing mermaids, real shady business. Tails for sale."

“Scales for sale,” corrected Stiles. No one laughed at the rhyming that Stiles secretly amused himself with. Joke, party of one.

"Meremaids you say?" Derek nodded and Marlowe let out a long whistle. "Haven't seen any of those in decades. Didn't know they still existed, not here anyway." He grew quiet for a few moments and neither man rushed him. Derek, though, was growing more tense with each passing second. This could be it. This could be their way out. If Derek showed Whittemore a thunder Kitsune, it would at soften their exit, at the least. Thunder Kitsune were rare and useful. While their job wasn't the mafia, it also wasn't easy to leave for any variety of reasons.

"And you sure there'll be room for me?" he hesitated. “I mean, I do need a place to go, on account a’ my home being gone and all.”

"Positive. I happen to know two key employees are planning to leave the business, and you'd be like icing on the cake for their resignation." His heart accelerated because no, he had not checked that statement out with Stiles, but Stiles simply smiled, and stood closer to Derek.

"Is that so?" A light ignited in Marlowe's eyes, his features once again filling with joy. "Well, boys. How do I start?"

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