FBI (For Basic Idiots)

My Dear

“Stiles... my dear...”

“What?!” Stiles jumps awake, voice barely above a sleepy mumble, but screaming out in her head just as she wakes. She blinks the sleep away, realises the car has stopped moving, and glances to the driver’s seat to find Logan staring at her with wide and slightly concerned eyes.

“I said we’re here.” Logan says, voice slow and clear. “You good, Stilinski? You were fidgeting in your sleep.” He grins fondly at her as he adds, “Well, more so than usual.”

Stiles puffs out a groggy little chuckle, tries to smooth her ever wild locks as she scrapes them back into a loose ponytail. “Sorry. Must be getting the horrors from coming back to Beacon Hills.”

She jokes, but nobody needs to know just how serious she is. That must be what it is, she thinks – being back in the place where all of the bad things that ever happened to her and her family and friends. Although, it’s not as if she doesn’t visit as often as she can – at least three times a year – and she hasn’t even thought of Him for almost 10 years now...

Fuck, maybe it’s not just a dream...

No, Stiles defiantly thinks, shoves away all of those negative thoughts and notions, instead, slaps on a bright smile when her partner only continues to stare at her with slight concern. “I’m fine. It was just a stupid nightmare. Seeing the things people like us see, it’s bound to happen every now and then.”

Logan sighs, but nods, leaves it there. “Looks like we’re the last to arrive.” He notes as he glances out of the front screen.

Stiles glances over, follows his line of sight and grins. “Those are all Lydia’s.” She chuckles when he turns to her with his jaw half dropped. “The Merc, the two BMWs and the Aston Martin are all Red’s, and the Cruiser is obviously Jordan’s. The cute little pink Beetle is Kira’s, and the ratty little Mustang is Malia’s. She refuses to get rid of the thing... although, I still have my Jeep, so, I don’t think I have the audacity to talk on such matters.”

Logan chuckles, then, smirks at her as he points over to the slick black shiny number parked up right opposite his Plymouth (GTX, 1967, because he’s a classy b***h, of course.) “And what about this one?”

Stiles is already shooting him a withering look, because she knows he hangs onto her every word whenever she’s talking about “the sour wolf.”

Logan’s smirk only widens as he says, “I sense drama.”

Stiles rolls her eyes at him as he wiggles his perfectly micro-bladed brows at her. “There’s no drama. Why would there be drama?”

She’s explained the situation with Derek to him – the situation where she’s always been helplessly in love with the miserable bastard, but said miserable bastard is either too oblivious to notice or just doesn’t feel the same and doesn’t know how to tell her... or doesn’t care to.

But whatever...

It’s all good...

Ugh. Her heart is already racing at the thought of merely knowing he’s just a few yards away from her now.

“Oh, there’s gonna be drama when I pretend that I’m also in love with you.” Logan grins mischievously, looks all too pleased with himself.

“And what would that accomplish?” Stiles snootily asks, raises a clear unimpressed brow.

Logan rolls his eyes at her, looks positively done with her. “You really are oblivious, girl. Come on, lets get our drink on. I am parched.” He shakes his head as he finally opens the door and pulls himself out of his car.

Stiles chuckles as she follows him out of the car, closes the door behind her before telling him, “You’re always parched.” She shoots him a sweet grin when he only shoots her a withering glare, then follows him to the trunk of his car. “Seriously, you’d celebrate the opening of a letter box just to get your drink on.”

Logan’s glare somehow withers even more as he snootily replies with, “I’ll take our luggage. You’re on gift and booze duty, so you better not break anything.”

Stiles grins, but snootily snaps back with, “Don’t pretend you care about the gifts.”

[5 Minutes Later.]

“Ohh-la-la! Stiles is wearing a skirt! Can you believe it, Scott?”

As soon as Parrish leads them both into the large marble kitchen, Stiles is met with almost all of the people that matter the most to her. Her eyes roll at Malia’s little taunts, though, she can feel herself grinning from ear to ear.

“Lemme take your bags to your rooms.”

“Thanks, Jordan.” Logan shoots the hunky young Sheriff a grateful smile.

“Stiles?” Jordan arches a brow, motions to her two plastic bags.

“You can take the gifts, but I’m keeping the booze.” Stiles grins when he chuckles, hands him the bag of Christmas gifts.

Jordan goes over to the living room, places the bag of gifts underneath the tree – that’s almost touching the tall ceiling – with gifts already piling all the way around it, almost like a pretty gift wrapped moat. He then slips off to take their luggage to their rooms.

Stiles places the bag of booze carefully on the kitchen counter as Malia comes up from behind, slips her arms around Stiles’ waist and sighs contently.

“Pack’s all back together now.” Malia happily mumbles into the skin at the back of her best friend’s neck.

“Is the scenting really necessary? I’ve literally only been gone for a few months.” Stiles taunts back in retaliation for bringing the skirt to everyone’s attention, though, she still feels her heart swell like it usually does when she realises just how much she means to these people – her second family (her father being her first, of course.) She turns in the coyote’s arms, smiles brightly as she wraps her arms around her waist and gives her a solid hug. “Missed you, Mimi.”

“Ugh. Stop. You’re gonna ruin my makeup.” Lydia sniffs quietly, quickly pours herself another glass of wine.

Both Stiles and Malia smirk their amusement, pulling away as Stiles then turns and tells them, “I missed you all. I always miss you guys.” She grins as Scott comes up to hug her, presses the usual peck to her cheek and then, annoyingly, ruffles her already f****d on hair (though, to be fair, she’s rarely ever been able to tame her stupid mane.)

“Then, why don’t you just move back here?” Malia asks, blunt as ever, though, looking slightly confused also. “Beacon Hills doesn’t even have an FBI department, so, why not just set up your business here?”

Stiles chuckles in time with Derek, feels her heart race as their eyes briefly meet and hopes to God that he’s not listening to her pulse. She distracts herself, tears her eyes away and plants them back on Malia.

“I already do that. Beacon Hills falls under Cali, which is the State I work for.” Stiles shoots her a sweet grin as Malia blinks, clearly still a little confused... and slightly annoyed looking now.

Malia huffs. “Well, I still think you should move back here. It’s ridiculous that a part of our pack is so goddamn far away from the rest of us. I mean, I know your a witch or whatever, and you can more than handle yourself and blah, blah, blah –“

Stiles smirks, clearly amused.

”– but a pack should be together. For safety.” Malia ends with another huff.

“Oh, stop bitching.” Lydia tells her, takes a large sip of her second wine. “We literally have to fight harder to find time to spend together than we ever do when we’re fighting things that go bump in the night.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m still just trying to get over the fact that Stiles is wearing a skirt... a... a pencil skirt. And my God, your hair’s like a lion’s mane.” Kira finally chimes in, standing idly with her half drunk bottle of beer. She smiles that ever sweet and infectious smile of hers when the other women all glance her way. “What? She looks damn good, that’s all I’m saying. Have you been working out more, too?”

“Don’t you have a girlfriend?” Malia snaps.

“Don’t you have a boyfriend?” Scott narrows his eyes, because she sounded a little too jealous for his liking.

Malia shoots him a withering look, Kira rolls her eyes, and Stiles tells him, “She’s just pouting ‘cause she missed me so much. And ‘cause her bestie-westie lives so far away, all the way in New York.”

Malia lets out a low snarl when they all goddamn laugh at her. “You’re about to be my ex-boyfriend.” She glares at Scott, who shuts his mouth almost instantly.

Jordan huffs his way back into the kitchen, and Lydia sighs, because she already knows why he was taking so damn long to join them before he even opens his mouth. “Robbery. Hopefully shouldn’t take too long.” He tells her, because at least there’s that – and at least it isn’t another murder.

Lydia nods, presses a kiss to his cheek as he presses one to hers. “Be safe.”

Jordan smiles, nods. “See you soon, folks.”

Stiles chooses to wave over the chorus of goodbyes, then, quickly finds herself a mug from the cupboard, and absolutely uses her magic to mask her scent and heartbeat as her eyes catch Derek’s again. This time, she shoots him a small smile, and absolutely feels her heart (and other parts of her) flutter in response to the small, but (bunny) toothy smile he gives her in return.

She slips back over to the counter after grabbing a large tumbler instead, takes a seat at the island beside Scotty. She chuckles when Malia quickly slips off her stool next to Scott’s and takes the one next to Stiles instead.

Malia grins mischievously over at him, and even while she’s side-hugging Stiles, she tells him, “Don’t be jealous, Alpha Daddy, I still love you the most.”

Scott’s eyes widen, his cheeks flushing before he can stop them. Damn it.

Logan lets go of a snort before he can stop himself, slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes wide in mortification just as Lydia almost chokes on her wine. Meanwhile Kira turns her smirk away from them and into the fridge in search of another beer.

Derek arches a brow, then glances at Stiles – because he admitted to himself a long time ago that he can barely look away from her whenever she’s near him – and has to hold onto a smirk, because Stiles is Stiles, and she never lets anything go, and is rather loud about it.

“I’m sorry – ‘Alpha Daddy’?” Stiles’ grin is positively gleaming with utter joy and amusement. “Oh, Scotty, I am neh-verrrr letting you live that little beauty down.”

Scott blinks, eyes wide as he stares back at his best friend with goddamn lava in his cheeks as he tries to think of a good enough lie. He fails, miserably, instead, glares at his so-called girlfriend. “That was supposed to be private!” He hisses quietly, as if somehow, a room full of supernatural beings won’t hear him...

Malia simply shoots him an all too pleasantly sweet smile.

Derek pours himself another glass of wine... as he slowly loses the will to live.

Although, it really is good to see Stiles again. And f**k, he thinks, how is it possible that she looks even more gorgeous every time he sees her? And damn, she really does look good in that tight black skirt.

God, he is so fucked...