Changeless AU by Gail Carriger. Requires zero knowledge of the book (and may be better without such knowledge).

"They are what?"

Derek Hale was yelling. Loudly. This was not new.

Stiles Stilinski-Hale, shah to the President, America's secret preternatural weapon extraordinaire, blinked awake slowly.

"Wasn't me," he immediately said, without having the barest hint of an idea as to what his husband was yelling about. Of course, it usually was him, but he didn't want to confess right away. Stiles pressed a pillow over his head and squirmed down under the blankets.

"What do you mean gone?"

"Well, I didn't tell them to go. Can't you argue outside?" Stiles whined into his pillow. He wondered who 'they' were for a moment, before realizing that Derek wasn't yelling at him at all.

Stiles sighed heavily and rolled toward the yelling. He cracked an eyelid open only to have his husband's naked back fill his field of vision. He contemplated levering himself up to see more, but as Derek was distracted and the air outside the covers cold, Stiles thought better of it.

"How wide of a radius? It can't have extended this far."

Stiles finally noticed that Derek had a phone pressed to his ear. "All of Manhattan? Well, have the consulted all the daylight agents?"

Derek sighed and hung up the phone. He tossed the blankets aside and climbed out of bed.

Stiles took a moment to appreciate his husband's backside. It may be far too early to be awake, but it was never too early to admire something of that caliber.

Derek began to get ready for the day – or at least Stiles assumed, as he could hear splashing noises coming from the bathroom – and yelled orders at Boyd, his head claviger.

Derek finally reappeared in Stiles's sight wearing only a long coat.

Derek seemed to remember his husband for the first time. Stiles feigned sleep.

Derek shook him gently till Stiles finally pretend to wake up.

"Stiles, sorry to wake you up."

Stiles glared at his husband. This early evening wakeup wouldn't have been so horrible if he hadn't been kept up half the day by exuberant and lengthy – although very pleasant – exertions. However, Stiles hated it when Derek apologized for anything. It meant he was up to something.

"I have to run to the office early. Something happened." From the coat and no shoes, Stiles assumed Derek would actually be running – in wolf form. It must be urgent.

"Are you meeting with the Shadow Council tonight?" Derek asked.

Stiles paused for a moment to remember what day it was. Was it Sunday? "Yes."

"It will be interesting," Derek goaded, but would say no more. Stiles glared. He hated waiting for information.

Derek kissed him thoroughly and turned to leave.

"Pack!" Derek bellowed into the hallway.

Derek and Stiles's bedroom took up a good portion of the top floor of Newark Castle. Despite this, Derek's yell could be heard throughout most of the manor, even to the kitchen where the clavigers were drinking their evening coffee.

The Newark clavigers worked hard during the day, looking after sleeping werewolves. Many also had other jobs, some even with BUR. Their coffee break was often a much needed respite. Despite this, Derek's yell had them up and moving quickly. The house quickly became a hub of activity.

Sighing heavily, Stiles rolled out of bed and picked up a pair of boxers that had been flung across the room. He and Derek had negotiated a temporal relationship with most clothes in that Stiles could really only wear them out of bed. Derek could be very persuasive when he wanted to be. Stiles had never been one to sleep in the nude every night, but was slowly getting used to it. This may be because he lived with a pack of werewolves and was adapting to their constant nudity – by necessity, if not preference. Half the pack was actually away in the Middle East somewhere fighting for the military. Stiles supposed one day there would be even more naked men wandering about. He'd never be able to invite his dad over. Erica would like it, though.

A knock sounded on the door. After a long pause, the door was slowly pushed open and a dark haired girl peered in. Noting Derek's absence (having interrupted him and Stiles one too many times), she walked in.

"Hello, Stiles."

"Hi, Allison. Anything new on the schedule today?"

Allison had been an unexpected wedding gift from the Manhattan Hive. Stiles initially tried to protest at the "gifting" of a human, but Allison just smiled sardonically and said, "I told you they would try to get rid of me." She had immediately petitioned Derek to become a new claviger, figuring immortality was immortality, whether after vampire's bite or a werewolf's. Derek acquiesced. Not even he wanted to refuse a gift from the Manhattan Hive. He still had to deal with them on a regular basis, after all.

Allison, being the only female claviger and despite her strength, too slight to actually deal with a werewolf on the full moon, became Stiles's personal assistant instead.

"Nope. It's a Sunday. Nothing ever happens on a Sunday."

Allison was going through his closet at this point. Despite Stiles's protests that he had been dressing himself for years, the minute Allison started as his personal assistant, she began picking out his clothes each day. Stiles did have to admit he looked a lot more put together. Even Laura had complimented him once or twice.

Stiles went downstairs to grab coffee and breakfast. The school semester had ended the week before and Stiles was suddenly fully on a supernatural schedule – breakfast at twilight and dinner a few hours before dawn. It was the summer break and he had no classes to teach for a few months, so at least he wouldn't have to try waking up earlier in the day for a while.

He finished in bagel and made his way to the front of the house to leave.

Only to discover what all the noise had been about this morning. Outside on the front law there were a number of camping tents. They all looked very sturdy and Stiles was sure they were top of the line – although having never done the camping thing himself, he really didn't know what to look for. Everyone milling about the tents had the air of military about them, although none were dressed in uniform.

Stiles walked back inside and yelled, "Boyd!" He was not quite as loud as his husband, but knew Boyd would come all the same. He did.

"Boyd," Stiles was trying to be calm. "why are there tents in the front yard?"

Boyd, as always, looked calm. As the lead claviger, it was part of his job description, Stiles supposed.

"He didn't warn you?"

"No, he did not." Stiles was irritated.

"Well, the rest of the pack has returned." Boyd gestured to the tents in front of them.

"Boyd, this would indicate the Newark pack was enormous. No pack in the world is quite this large." Stiles said this very slowly, as if to a dim child. Boyd didn't seem to notice – or more likely – to care.

"Well, the pack brought their units with them." Boyd also said this slowly, in the same sort of tone. Stiles was not amused.

"Don't they need to all go home to their families or whatever?"

"Well, you know we have a lot more of our pack volunteer for duty that normal packs. They have to split us up. So each pack member brings their unit back for a week or two before they go home. Builds camaraderie."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Does this camaraderie have to occur in the front yard?"

"Of course."

"But why?" Stiles was starting to sound petulant, he knew, but he could barely get to his car – to any car – there were so many tents out front.

"This is where we have always camped," said a new voice.

Stiles whirled to glare at the man who interrupted them. The man was tall and muscled, although not exceptionally big. He wore formal clothes, rather than the casual tshirts of the rest of the group on the front lawn. His blonde hair was expertly gelled and he had piercing blue eyes. Stiles new the type: educated, money, and blue blood.

"Well, not anymore. We can't even get out of the front." Stiles said, turning back to Boyd.

"Unacceptable," said the blonde man, moving closer.

Boyd seemed unable to decide whom to obey.

Stiles ignored the man. "If they must camp here, have them move around back."

Boyd turned to inform those in the yard, but the man stopped him.

"This is ridiculous." The man almost snapped at Stiles. "The units always camp in the front yard. It's much easier than the grounds."

"Now," Stiles snapped at Boyd.

"Stay were you are, Boyd," instructed the man.

They glared at each other.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Major Jackson Whittemore."

Stiles snorted. What a douchy name.

"Well, Major Whittemore, do not interfere with this. Boyd knows to follow my instructions."

"Oh, are you a new butler? I was not informed that Derek's new husband – Stiles, I think – had changed anything like that. You're a little young, aren't you?"

Stiles was going to correct his assumption, but it was apparent that Whittemore liked the sound of his own voice and he continued speaking.

"Don't worry about this. It is all very normal. Neither Derek nor Stiles will be upset about the camping arrangements." Stiles knew he was being dismissed.

"Everything that occurs around here does concern me." Stiles really didn't have time for this, but he needed these men off the front lawn.

Major Jackson Whittemore gave a blinding smile. And a leer. "Not this. I really don't have time for this, but if you'd like to 'talk' later, maybe that can be arranged."

That. That was definitely a leer.

"Are you flirting with me?" Stiles couldn't believe this asshole. Boyd looked worried. Stiles, who really wished he had a baseball bat, pulled his arm back and punched Whittemore in the nose. The brief touch was not enough to turn Whittemore human for long and the shock of being punched made him completely ignore the half-second he was given a little extra life. It did nothing to Whittemore, but Stiles thought he might have broken his hand.

Everyone in the front of the house stopped what they were doing and turned to look at the man who had just punched their third in command, Newark Pack Gamma.

Whittemore's eyes shifted and flashed a wholly supernatural blue color. He made to punch back, but Boyd jumped on his back, wrapping his arms and legs around Whittemore's limbs and trapping them to his sides.

The newcomers looked on in shock. For a claviger to attack a member of the pack was unheard of – it was grounds for instant expulsion. Those pack members who had been around though, immediately came to help Stiles, who was defenseless against a werewolf.

Whittemore shook Boyd off and tossed him across the front porch. Stiles glared and went to check on Boyd, noting that he was unconscious, but still breathing. "I would stop, Jackson." Stiles spat out in icily.

"Or not." The man began stripping and then quickly changed. It was much quicker and quieter than Stiles had expected, which meant this man was older and more experienced than he acted. Even if Stiles was able to touch him and turn him back, he was stronger than Stiles was. Stiles did pause a moment to recognize that he was a beautiful wolf: large and pure white with glowing blue eyes.

Just as the white wolf charged, another wolf leapt forward. The newer wolf was smaller than Whittemore and sandy colored. Despite his size, the sandy colored wolf was much quicker and it only took moments before he had Whittemore's throat in a death grip.

The white wolf rolled to present his stomach in submission. Both wolves changed back to human.

"What the hell? I didn't challenge you. We settled that years ago. I am within my right to discipline misbehaving clavigers." Whittemore started yelling. Stiles was going to have a talk with Derek about what constituted "discipline" for clavigers. They were only human after all, even if they did want to become werewolves.

"Unless one of them is not a claviger," replied Chris Argent, long-suffering Beta of the Newark Pack.

Whittemore looked nervous. His face lost most of its arrogance. Stiles thought he was much more attractive this way.

"Major Whittemore, Newark Pack Gamma, allow me to introduce you to Dr. Stiles Stilinski-Hale, curse-breaker, and your Alpha's mate." Argent said very formally.

Stiles disliked just about every way he had to be introduced formally. He only liked to be called "doctor" when he was teaching, if only to give him some credibility, as he was sure he still looked like he was 20. He was not a huge fan of the term "curse-breaker", although that was mostly because it made him sound like Indiana Jones and he never got to do anything that fun. He especially hated "Alpha's mate". He was just fine being introduced on his own merits, rather than on the merits of who he married, thank you. At least nobody other than Derek new his real name. Well, Argent probably did, but new better than to use it.

Whittemore looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry – er – Dr. Stilinski-Hale."

Stiles's anger had subsided quite a bit by this point. "Oh god, please don't call me that. Stiles. Stiles is fine."

Whittemore stuck his hand out formally and Stiles shook it, feeling rather silly. That done, Whittemore turned to Argent.

"Why wasn't Derek here to meet us? I have urgent business to discuss."

Argent shrugged, but his face and demeanor indicated that it was better not to push on this subject. It was the nature of the Gamma to criticize, but the Beta's to support. "Urgent BUR matters. What happened?"

"We experienced something odd on our way back. I'll have to explain it to him later. I will get the units started moving everything to the back." Without another look in his direction, Whittemore turned towards the men on the front lawn and started issuing orders.

Stiles smiled, pleased that he had won that battle at least.

Argent turned to leave, but Stiles stopped him. "Thank you for intervening. I really didn't expect him to attack, although I guess I should have after I punched him."

Argent looked at him puzzled. "Did you think I couldn't protect you in Derek's place?"

It was true Stiles hadn't really expected that either, but it was more that he hadn't expected Argent to be there at all. "No, I just thought you'd be at BUR for whatever is going on."

"No, Derek sent me to meet the units." Argent replied.

"He did? And he didn't bother to tell me they were coming?"

Argent realized he might have gotten Derek in a bit of trouble. "The dewan ordered the return of all units with werewolves. I guess he thought you knew."

Stiles suddenly remembered something about that be discussed during a Shadow Council meeting a few weeks before. Oops.

Boyd had finally woken up and seemed to be okay. Stiles was going to take him by an emergency room on the way to his meeting anyway. He had been knocked unconscious, after all.

Loading Boyd into his car, Stiles was finally on his way to New York City.