Stiles was incredibly grateful that the competition for the Google internship was not 24/7. He would probably shoot himself if he had to deal with his team—team used loosely, of course—on a daily basis. If the first task was any indication, he was not getting a job. It was a shame, but he knew that an internship at Google was a long shot anyway.

His goals now consisted of learning as much as he could from Googlers and their seminars. Hopefully, he could find a Googler who would write him a letter of recommendation. Lyle might be willing to write a letter, but he doubted it would reflect well on him. His participation and general attitude since arriving at Google had been subpar at best. Stiles went in deciding that he would not be friends with all his potential competition. Unfortunately, his team annoyed the hell out of him. Awkward leader, abused Asian who brought back flashbacks of Isaac (and he never knew how to deal with sad Isaac), horny nerd girl, and the two old guys who knew nothing about Google and less about technology. He was still trying to figure out how they squeezed in.

Stiles grimaced as he glanced outside again. He would feel absurd for missing the pack this much, but if their constant stream of texts were any indication, the feelings were hardly one-sided. Of course, his dad struggled with texting even simple messages. A quick glance told Stiles that no one was in his team's cubicle area—no one that cared, at least.

The phone rang twice before Stiles heard his father pick up the phone. A fond smile overtook his face when he heard his father promptly drop his phone.

"Stiles!"

"Hey, Dad."

"How's Google?"

"Same old, same old."

"Don't give me that. Ramble like I know you want to."

Stiles let out a small laugh. "You realize I'm going to constantly remind you that you told me that, right? Google is…so, so different than I expected. It's awesome. I already told you about the free food, which Scott would devour all of and make me look bad, by the way, and this whole place is like a kid's museum for adults. Plus it conveniently comes, to no one's surprise, with the latest technology. Don't worry. I've been going to their educational seminars. I'm going to try to try to find someone to write me a letter of recommendation—"

"What about the Googler in charge of you Nooglers? Liam?"

"Dad, Nooglers is the worst word. I told you how I felt about it."

"I must have forgotten."

"I'm sure."

"Stiles—"

"Plus you never interrupt a rant. How are you supposed to get information from me?"

"Why won't Liam work?" Of course his dad had to be a cop about it and not be distracted by pleasant conversation.

"Um…" Stiles scratched his head awkwardly. How did his dad's disapproving stare travel through cell phones? Unfairness. Well, he was a grown man-ish. He could tell his dad the truth. How to phrase this nicely… "I haven't been…a positive group member?"

"Stiles."

Shit. His dad's disapproving stare was growing stronger. He was using his exasperated cop voice that Scott insisted he only used for Stiles. "We've only done one activity. And the two old guys in my group are useless! The other two are fine but one is mentally scarred and the other is mentally scarring us!"

"Stiles…"

"Don't say it! I did what I could! I helped distract the two older guys while the rest of us actually attempted to find a way to break the code."

"Stiles, I raised you better."

Stiles shrank down in his seat.

"Google is a once in a lifetime opportunity! And I'm not letting you throw it down the drain! The fact you made it into their summer program proves you're meant for bigger and better things than Beacon Hills. But you choose to squander this opportunity because you don't like your group? Stiles, you are the most talkative person I know. Surely you can find some common ground. You're already friends with werewolves, banshees, and whatever the hell else so it's not like you're not an accepting person."

"Dad—"

"You're going to get off your high horse and apologize to anyone you offended. And don't defend yourself." Stiles snapped his mouth shut. "Your quips get out of hand sometimes. Also, these two 'old guys' made it into the same exclusive program you did. So they obviously have some skill to bring to the table. You want to learn? Those men have more life experience than you have years of being alive. Even if you don't get the Google internship, I want to know you tried your hardest. Don't blame your team. You are a big factor in your success or failure."

Stiles swung back in forth in his chair, pulling the beanie over his eyes.

"Son?"

"…You're right," Stiles mumbled. "Just I came in not wanting to ally with the enemy and then my group was the 'leftovers' and I was pissed then the first challenge only made it worse. My group can't function."

"It only takes a leader."

"Lyle is new at this. Not really an inspiring leader."

"You know that's not what I meant."

"I doubt they'll listen to me, but I guess I can try."

"Such spirit."

Stiles grumbled.

"…So how did the older men handle the code bit thing?"

Stiles snickered, mostly relieved that his dad was attempting to change to more light-hearted conversation. "Well, they might be equipped with your technology skillset."

"Hey!"

"They treated it like a riddle. We finally distracted them by telling them to find the professor who made the code: Professor Charles Xavier."

"Stiles…" his dad tried to admonish. It was too late. Stiles already heard him choke back laughter.

"We were actually making progress on the code, but British Jackson's team beat us."

"So you were working as a unit?"

"I see what you're doing. So sure, Dad. We were all in this together."

"Good."

Stiles snorted.

"And how's the whole going by Stuart thing?"

"Why is it so hard to respond to?" Stiles groaned. "I accidentally ignore so many people who read my name tag."

"Well, you didn't have to go by that."

"Kinda had to, Dad. Stiles Stilinski doesn't sound like a real name and there's no way I'm registering with my first name—no offense—so middle name is all that's left."

"Alright, Stuart."

"Ugh. No. Stop! It's like I'm not your child anymore."

"I promise I don't love Stuart more than you, Stiles."

"I'm displeased with you."

"Where do you think you got your wit from?"

"I already know Mom. Stop trying to steal her legacy."

"That reminds me, your mom's sister is visiting this weekend."

"That's great…Wait, which one? You don't sound happy. Is it Betsy?"

"Cathy."

"Dad, we like Aunt Cathy, remember?"

"No, it's great to see her again. It's been awhile since the last time we met."

"What's the problem? She likes football. You can still watch your team lose this weekend."

"…She's going to be watching me."

"I'm sure she'll give you privacy if you ask nicely."

"Stiles," the sheriff reprimanded. "She always nitpicks what I eat."

"…You poor baby."

"It's unnecessary!"

"Are you whining?" Stiles asked with glee, sitting up and yanking his beanie off his head. Amused eyes greeted him. Stiles flushed and gave a small nod to Lyle. He waved back. "Eating healthy is good for you."

"I do eat healthy."

"Mhmm." Stiles continued to spin back and forth in his chair, debating on whether he should make an awkward escape. He eyed Lyle. His Google team leader appeared to be finishing a project or report on the computer, but, most importantly, did not look overly interested in what he was saying. Staying it is. "We both know you only eat healthy because I make you."

"I've been eating healthy when you were at Stanford and over the summer."

"We both know I have plenty of resources to help me keep you from an early grave."

"Scott is only here during the summer."

"Not too shabby, Dad. Nice to know your detective skills aren't going to waste. Clearly, Scott is only a reinforcement during the summer when we found out I wouldn't be there."

"Then who—"

"Do I really need to mention the trump card that is the wonderful Melissa McCall?"

"…"

"You didn't know? Score one for Mama McCall."

"She always wanted to meet for lunch a few times a week…"

"Add two more for consistency."

"She always chose the place and talked about a certain food item…"

"And times four for my amusement. It was always one of their healthy items that you actually deem 'real food,' wasn't it?"

"Huh."

"Should I tell Scott his mom is changing careers?"

"I'm glad you're pleased with yourself, Stuart."

"What was that? I couldn't hear it over my laughter."

"You're lucky I love you because sometimes I want to kill you."

"Aww, stop it."

"And I know how to cover my tracks."

"I feel vaguely threatened."

"Typical that that hardly fazes you. Listen, Stiles, I have to go. Duty calls. Love you. Remember what I said."

"Yeah, yeah. Love you too."

"Oh! And your contacts finally came in! So I can mail them to you or you can wait to get them at the end of the summer…?"

"I can wait till the end of the summer," Stiles reassured, knowing his dad's deep and misguided distrust in the postal service. "Bye!"

Lyle sneaked a glance at Stiles when he put down his phone. Stiles refrained from texting victory of Mama McCall's sleuth-iness to Scott.

"Just talking to my dad," Stiles told Lyle, turning to face him in his chair. Open body language and all that.

Lyle turned to Stiles in interest. He felt a pang of guilt that this was probably his friendliest interaction with his team leader. "You both seem really close."

"It happens." Way to be snippy, Stiles. Maybe he should name his anti-social, and apparently "cool" alter ego, Stuart, his douche side. He forced himself to share more information. "He was the only one raising me and I was an only child so…"

Lyle's eyes widened in understanding. "Oh, gotcha. Lyles had—er I had three older sisters."

"Sounds like hell."

"It was," Lyle said with an answering smirk. "But it got me major game with the ladies."

"Definitely paid off," Stiles laughed. Was Lyle joking? Oh, yep. Doesn't look offended and is laughing too. Not being a dick is so much better. He had no idea how Jackson and British Jackson managed it. Speaking of not being a dick… "So, I just wanted to apologize."

Lyle raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"I've been a douche lately and haven't really been helping the team like I could…"

"It's coolio, man," Lyle said. "Lyle is very forgiving."

Stiles studied him for a second before hesitantly smiling. "Are you accepting my apology by being a little shit?"

"Would Lyle do that?"

"Sti-uart thinks Lyle is definitely a little shit. If Lyle keeps going, maybe he'll eventually be a moderate shit."

"Lyle thinks that's extreme, but, on a slightly more serious note, actions speak louder than words so do you think you can help us out at Quidditch?"

"Quidditch?"

"It's the next event."

"Ugh. Never played Quidditch and I don't see what it has to do with Google so…maybe? I'll definitely help with the computer and technology events."

"Ha ha, Lyle can deal with that."