"I said no such thing," grumbled Derek, begrudgingly shrugging into a jacket.
"Yes, you did." Stiles was one of the few people in New York who dared contradict Derek Hale. Being his husband, he rather specialized in it. "I remember it quite distinctly. I said we should show our support and you grunted at me."
"Well, that explains everything. That was a grunt of displeasure." Derek wrinkled his nose like a petulant child.
"No, it was not. It was definitely one of your affirmative grunts."
Derek paused and gave his husband a startled look. "How can you possibly tell?"
"Years of marriage. Regardless, I told her we'd be there. We will be there."
Derek sighed, giving in. Which was a good thing, as his husband and one of his sister's drones had managed to strap him into a suit and there was no way to escape from that.
Well, maybe one way, Derek thought to himself and he grabbed his husband, pulling him against his side and snuffling at his neck. Stiles suppressed a smile and pretended to struggle away.
"You look good. I like that suit."
Stiles gave his husband a chaste kiss on the cheek for his compliment. "Thank you. However, you ought to know the most interesting thing about this suit is how it doesn't wrinkle. You can get up to the most remarkable things in it and no one would notice."
Derek growled, deep in his chest. "I intend to put that to the test at some point. I don't think Erica would appreciate it much at this party, though."
Stiles pulled away from Derek, patting his arm. "You're right. We'd better get going."
Clearly summoned by Stiles's desire to leave, a knock sounded at Laura's third closet door.
How Derek and Stiles had come to reside in Laura Hale's third closet in the first place was a matter of debate among those who knew about it. However, the arrangement seemed to work and as long as the vampire hives didn't find out, it was likely to remain that way. Laura Hale now had a preternatural in her closet and a werewolf pack next door, but she and her drones had had much worse neighbors and she'd had worse things in her closet, if the paparazzi were to be believed. For two years, Derek and Stiles had maintained the appearance of actually living next door, Laura maintained the appearance of actually using all her closets, and her drones maintained the appearance of not having full control over everyone's attire. Stiles had never had so many students with crushes, much to Derek's displeasure.
Stiles opened the door and took in the panicked expression of the drone in front of him.
"What's wrong?"
"Laura touched Connor."
Stiles stared at him blankly. As Stiles's son had technically been fully adopted by Laura, who was also the child's mother (you needed flow charts to understand the family, honestly), Connor was often held by Laura. And despite being Stiles's son, even if he inherited Stiles's preternatural tendencies, he wouldn't manifest those until he was at least seven. He was only five now. There was no reason that Laura shouldn't be touching Connor or if she did, it should cause a concern.
"Please," the drone continued. "Just come quickly."
Taking in the panicked expression and the general disarray of the normally impeccably neat drone, Stiles grabbed his gun – one could never be too careful – and charged down the stairs after the drone.
Stiles's husband anxiously followed.
Downstairs, Laura had converted a side room into a large bathroom for her adopted son. Although a quiet child, he, like most small boys, didn't particularly care for bathing. It required several of Laura's most capable drones. Still, this being Laura, even a child's bathroom was not allowed to be simple. A thick rug lay on the floor, the walls were painted pale blue and white, and the ceiling had been frescoed with ships and lighthouses.
In the center of the room stood a large, gold claw-footed bathtub. It was far too large for the boy – even Derek would have plenty of room in it – but Laura never did anything on a small scale, especially if she could double it for three or four times the expense.
By the time Stiles got there, eight drones were already in the room, as well as Laura.
The tub was overturned, saturating the rug with soapy water. Several of the drones were drenched. One was nursing a bruised knee and another a split lip. Laura had soapy handprints all over her.
The only person who seemed neither injured nor anxious seemed to be Connor himself. He was sitting on a chair near the wall glaring angrily at Laura. "Noth, Laura. Noth bath. Noth." He lisped around fangs.
Stiles stood in the doorway, transfixed.
His son had fangs.
Laura straightened where she stood. "My darlings," she said, "circle and enclose, I think. Brace yourselves. I'm going in."
All the drones straightened and took up wide boxer's stances, forming a loose circle around the small child.
The female vampire launched herself at her son. She could move fast, possibly faster than any other creature Stiles had ever observed, and he had been the unfortunate victim of more than one vampire attack. However, in this particular instance, Laura moved no quicker than any ordinary mortal woman. Which was, of course, the current problem – she was an ordinary mortal. Her face was no longer deathless perfection but slightly sulky. Her movements were still graceful, but they were mortally graceful and, unfortunately, mortally slow.
Connor leaped away and zipped about looking for a break in the circle of drones. Unaware of his own supernatural strength, he managed to bash his way between a drone's legs, making for the open doorway.
Except the doorway was not, in fact, open.
"Daddy!" came his delighted cry, and then, "Dad!" as Derek's head loomed up from behind his husband.
Stiles held out his arms and Connor barreled into them with all the supernatural a toddler vampire could manage. Stiles let out a grunt at the impact and stumbled back into Derek's embrace.
The moment he came into contact with Stiles's bare arms, Connor became no more dangerous than any squirming child.
Laura came over, looking apologetic, but once more pale, and her movements quick and sharp. "Well, I know we weren't expecting this quite so soon, but it seems at least one of my theories was right. Connor can literally steal my vampirism with a touch. It seems your touch, Stiles, gives it back."
Stiles nodded. "I wonder if it works with wolves as well. Derek?"
Stiles held out the squirming child to his husband.
Derek took him gingerly and was suddenly holding a small wolf cub. Before he could escape, though, Stiles already grabbed a hold and turned him back into a small child.
"Well, I guess that settles that. I guess we should cancel with Erica tonight."
Laura was aghast at the mere suggestion. "Oh, dear me no, darling, never that! We'll be fine here. We don't need to study Connor all tonight. He'll be just fine here with my drones and I'm sure not less than a few of your clavigers. I won't let him touch me."
Stiles looked at her incredulously. "You're sure you'll be okay?"
Laura smiled. "Of course. I admit I hadn't anticipated such a challenge with Argent suggested the adoption, but we'll be fine."
They finally escaped and once in the car, Stiles sighed. "Poor Laura."
Derek grinned. "Oh, she loves it. Hasn't had this much excitement in a hundred years."
"And they'll be okay? We don't know the extent of Connor's ability yet."
Derek patted Stiles's hand reassuringly. "Laura and Argent have been researching this for a long time. They thought this might happen and so already have an idea of what it could be for Connor. It's probably limited by the night, or by distance, and clearly by you. It will be fine. We'll be back in only a few hours. How bad can it get?"
"Don't tempt fate."
"Better worry about our own survival."
"Why? What's happened?" Stiles straightened and looked out the window suspiciously. It had been quite some time since someone tried to kill him in a car, but it had happened with startling regularity for a period of time, and he had never quite gotten over his suspicion as a result.
"No, no. I meant to imply being dragged to Erica's."
"Oh really. Like I could drag you anywhere. You're twice my size."
Derek gave him a look of a man who knows when to hold his tongue.
"It's for Erica's twins. We need to go! It will be fine."
His husband's expression hinted strongly at a preference for, perhaps, death or a least a fight, rather than the next few hours.
Just outside Erica and Boyd's apartment building, Stiles and Derek ran into a familiar red-head.
"Lydia, how unexpected. How are you?"
"Fine. How is Connor?"
"Difficult, but well. And Liam?"
"The same."
They shared a small smile. Stiles, despite himself, like Lydia Martin. There was just something about her that appealed. Nevertheless, Stiles didn't trust her. Lydia always promoted her own agenda first, even as a drone, with the Order of Ouroboros second. What little loyalty and affection for Stiles she still had, therefore, was probably a low priority.
Stiles moved on from small talk in a direct manner. "And how is the queen?"
Lydia gave a small shrug. "She is herself, unchanging, as ever. It is on her behalf that I am here. I've been directed to bring you a message."
Stiles put out his hand.
"Uh, no, we have learned not to do that again. The message is a verbal one. She has received instructions and would like to see you."
"Instructions? Instructions from who?"
Lydia shrugged again. "I have no idea."
Stiles turned to his husband, "Who on earth would order around the Newark Hive queen?"
"Oh, no, Stiles. The instructions came to her, but they are for you."
"Me? Me! Why…," Stiles almost sputtered out.
"I don't really know. Are you available to drop by this evening?"
Stiles, whose curiosity was peaked, nodded.