Chapter 1 – And He Goes To Work At Nine

"Dude, go to sleep."

"What?" Stiles glanced up from his book, blinking as his gaze landed on his roommate. He frowned when he realised he could only just make out Luke's slender outline and a faint gleam of dirty blonde hair through the darkness. "What time is it?"

There was a soft snort from Luke's direction, and Stiles narrowed his eyes at him before reaching for his phone. The screen was almost blinding when it lit up, and Stiles' eyes widened as he shot up from the couch. "Four o'clock? Jesus Christ, is that for real?"

"Yep," Luke said, sounding far too amused for Stiles' liking. "You've got to stop doing this."

"I know," Stiles groaned in reply, carefully marking his page before closing the book and setting it on the counter. "I just got caught up in reading."

"Yeah, tell me about it. Adderall's a wonderful invention, isn't it?"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "It's not the Adderall, douche. It's interesting, that's all."

"You have some strange ideas about what's interesting."

"Yeah, yeah." Now that he was out of his zone, Stiles could feel the edges of tiredness pulling at his eyelids, and didn't bother trying to hold back a yawn. Still, the awareness that he had to up in less than three hours was tugging at him, making him frustratingly jazzed, and Stiles realised with a sinking sensation that despite his fatigue he wouldn't be able to sleep. Goddamnit.

Maybe all he needed was something to help him relax. Stiles eyed Luke curiously. "What are you doing up, anyway?"

Luke lifted an empty glass toward Stiles in a mock-salute. "Just getting some water."

"Want to get something else?" Stiles waggled his eyebrows, mouth quirking in a small grin.

Luke made a noise that was a strange cross between a laugh and a groan. "Seriously? Its four a.m., dude."

"And?"

For a moment Luke hesitated, lips parted as he tried to come up with a reply. Stiles could almost see the moment that he gave up, before he finally rolled his eyes and set his glass down on the table. "Alright, but only because I'm up."

"Yeah, you are," Stiles quipped, and Luke laughed.

"Shut up and put that mouth to good use."

So Stiles did.


Sure enough, the rest of the morning was hell.

Stiles fortunately had desk duty, so – wait, did he just think that? Stiles shook his head, incredulous. No matter how hard he tried, he never seemed to be able to get on top of his paperwork, so whenever he had an admin day he always ended up buried to his eyeballs in unfiled reports and request forms. He had a strong suspicion that someone else in the station had devised a way of landing all of their work on his desk, but try as he might Stiles had never been able to prove his theory. So once a fortnight he ended up hunched over a cramped desk, fighting off papercuts and a throbbing headache and wondering why the hell no one ever thought to mention this in the cop shows.

Today, though, Stiles was grateful for the work. At the very least, it was quiet, and if he was making his way through the piles of paper slower than he should be, no one was around to notice. He pulled the latest report in front of him, hiding a yawn behind a hand and struggling to focus on the letters on the page. They swam, and Stiles frowned. Coffee. Coffee would fix everything.

Pushing back his chair, Stiles grabbed his mug and made his way out toward the kitchen. The station was in the middle of renovations, and the main door to the tea room was currently out of action. As a result, anyone wanting food or drink had to awkwardly edge their way past the front desk, avoiding the eyes of all the locals waiting at reception for their crimes to be solved, and pretend as though they were on their way to hunt down an important lead rather than a cup of coffee. It had been that way for all of a day and half, and already there had been four complaints put in by deputies. There were no plans to change it, though, with the word from above being that the situation was temporary and everyone would have to deal with it until the renovations were done.

Stiles made it into the tea room without incident, and sighed with pleasure as he filled his cup and inhaled deeply. He was feeling more energised already, and he smiled a little as his thoughts drifted back to the events of the morning. It had been more than satisfying, and he had come with an intensity he hadn't felt since he was a teenager. There was something different about Luke lately, and Stiles couldn't quite put his finger on it. Sex with him had always been fun, but lately there was a certain thrill to it that Stiles hadn't felt in a long time. He couldn't stop smiling afterward, and Luke had a certain gentleness to his touch that hadn't been there before. It was interesting. Maybe Luke was getting in a bit of practice with someone else.

The thought jarred, and Stiles frowned. For some reason, the idea of Luke with someone else didn't sit right with him. It was strange, since they'd both broken off their arrangement for other relationships in the past. Hell, there had been a whole year there where Luke had fallen head over heels for a girl named Eliza and Stiles had suffered through the worst case of blue balls he had had since he lost his virginity. It had sucked, but he had been happy for them, and in the end that mattered more than his libido. So why was he suddenly feeling upset at the thought of Luke sleeping with someone else?

Stiles inhaled sharply. Oh no, he thought, eyes wide as he shook his head erratically. Fuck no. Stiles had always congratulated himself on being able to separate sex from emotion – hell, he and Luke were living proof of that. Four years of casual sex and still going strong – beat that, Romeo.

His heart was thudding in his chest, and Stiles tried to calm himself down without success. Everyone had always told them that it would come crashing down eventually, and Stiles and Luke had always laughed it off. They were convinced, for some stupid reason that Stiles couldn't for the life of him remember, that they were going to beat the odds. But now that he thought about it, Stiles' thoughts lately were constantly drifting back to Luke, and when he saw him a warmth would unfold in his chest that definitely wasn't there for anyone else.

Shit. He was developing feelings for his roommate-slash-best friend-slash-fuck buddy. What the hell was he supposed to do with that?

The door swung open and Johnson entered, a tall, rail-thin brunette in uniform. He gave Stiles a brief nod before heading to the fridge and taking out something that smelled like it died a week ago. Stiles nodded jerkily in return, trying to calm his pounding heart and steady his breathing before the other cop noticed. Of course he would have a fucking romantic revelation in the middle of the half-torn-apart tea room at work. Real smart, Stilinski, well done.

Johnson popped his lunch in the microwave and the smell intensified, so Stiles took that as his cue to leave. He had barely started his coffee, so he took his mug with him, making his way out the small side-door and carefully keeping his eyes on his feet as he headed back to the bullpen.

He was almost there when he heard it.

"Stiles? Stiles?"

Stiles blinked, frowning as he turned. No one called him Stiles at the station, it was always Stilinski. And that voice was oddly familiar.

A woman was standing before the counter, eyes wide with surprise, and Stiles froze.

"Lydia?"

Lydia's hair was a slightly darker shade of red, but otherwise she looked the same. The same small stature, green eyes, and slight curl to her hair that had made Stiles fall in love with her all those years ago.

The moment stretched out to eternity, and Stiles stared at her in shock, fumbling for something to say. Unfortunately, Lydia beat him to it.

"Let me guess, your phone died and you forgot your email password?"

Stiles recoiled as though he had been slapped, mouth dropping open in shock. He was acutely aware that the two deputies at the front desk were watching him intently, just waiting for him to give the word to have Lydia removed. In his periphery, he could see a few other bystanders watching the interaction with unbridled curiosity on their faces.

There was a sharp pain in his chest that Stiles hadn't felt in years, and he swallowed past a lump in his throat. Fuck. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, holding Lydia's gaze. Fuck you, he thought, suddenly furious. I had the sense to get out. You don't get to be mad at me for that.

He couldn't say that, though, not without causing a fuss and creating an office rumour that would circulate for years. Hell, he would already be the talk of the station for weeks, he just knew it.

Reigning himself in, Stiles nodded to Lydia and turned away.

"Stiles, wait," he heard, and the pain in his chest increased, but Stiles kept walking, stepping though the door to bullpen and closing it firmly behind him.

Lydia had no right to show up in his life again, and he had work to do.

Picking up the report he had abandoned earlier, Stiles took a shaky swallow of his coffee and forced Lydia out of his mind, focussing instead on the inky letters. For once, his body worked with him and he actually managed to work steadily for three hours straight. He even made a noticeable dent in the pile of papers on his left, and Stiles felt himself relax as he lost himself in the job.

He was so caught up in what he was doing, in fact, that when a hand touched his shoulder Stiles jumped out of his seat with a shout, biting off a swear word as papers went flying. Spinning, he noticed Johnson standing behind him, raising an eyebrow at his reaction.

"Calm down, Stilinski, the war ended years ago."

Stiles rolled his eyes, focussing on calming his pounding heart. "What do you want, Johnson?"

"Boss wants to see you in his office."

Stiles frowned, forehead wrinkling even as his pulse gradually slowed. "Why?"

Johnson shrugged rather than replying, walking across the room to where his desk was situated without another word. Stiles stamped down on the annoyance building within him, smoothing his features before he said something that would get him into trouble. Johnson wasn't a bad cop or a bad partner, he just wasn't the friendliest guy in the world. Stiles could deal with that, usually. Some days, though, he really wanted to throw the nearest heavy object at Johnson's head.

Pushing the thought out of his mind, Stiles paused to replace the papers that had blown off of his desk before making his way to the back of the bullpen. The Sheriff was seated in his usual chair, the lines on his face deeper than usual and his expression grave as he spoke with the two people standing before him. Their backs were to him, but even so Stiles recognised Detectives Coulson and Brady.

Coulson was large enough to loom over most people in the station, and the first time Stiles had met him he had swallowed nervously, absolutely dwarfed by the man. His looks were deceiving, though, and Stiles had witnessed Coulson show a kindness to strangers that was rarely seen amongst cops who had been working long enough to have optimism burned out by cynicism. He had come to consider Coulson a friend, and they had shared a few quiet drinks together where Stiles had opened up to a degree that he would have regretted had he been with anyone less dependable. But Coulson was a man of his word, and Stiles trusted him with his life.

Brady made a stark contrast to the man, being a petite auburn-haired woman with delicate features that made her unanimously win the award of sexiest cop in the county. When she had found out about the poll, she had raised an eyebrow, hunted down the deputy who created it, and sweetly offered to show him what she was really worth in the gym. Then she had kicked his ass to hell and back in front of half a dozen of his buddies, which had done nothing to lessen her appeal but had at least stopped people from discussing it in a place where she could overhear.

That the detectives were in town made this meeting all the more unusual. Stiles couldn't help the curiosity burning in him as he knocked on the door and entered the room. Coulson greeted him with a smile, Brady frowned in his general direction and the Sheriff just looked tired. "You wanted to see me?"

"Have a seat, Stilinski."

Glancing at the standing detectives, Stiles' heart fluttered a little as he made his way to the empty chair in front of the desk. "Has something happened?"

"Not yet." The Sheriff sighed before continuing. "There's been two murders that have taken place in neighbouring towns, which Detectives Coulson and Brady have been investigating."

"I remember," Stiles replied. "It was in the news. A teenage girl was found locked inside her house with her eyes gauged out, and a twenty-year old man had his liver stolen."

Brady shifted beside him, and her expression was pinched when she spoke. "There's a little more to it than that. We've been doing some digging, and it looks like this guy's been stealing body parts from people for a while now. He started out with isolated people, homeless people, those who wouldn't be missed. God knows how many people he's killed at this point."

Stiles' stomach roiled in disgust, and he worked to smooth his features as his lip reflexively curled. "Don't tell me he's made his way here."

Coulson's deep voice was soft when he spoke. "We received an anonymous tip a week ago that the next victim would be from this town. The informant was surprisingly helpful, she even gave us a name – Katie Warren."

"Katie?" Stiles repeated. He could feel a surge of adrenaline flow through him, and his heart started pounding as he stared at Coulson with wide eyes. "I know her. She's a barista at one of the coffee shops in town, trying to save up enough money to go to college next year."

The Sherriff grunted, and his voice was grim when he spoke. "We couldn't verify the informant and I didn't want to start a panic in town, so I've been keeping quiet. I let Katie know, and I've had two deputies tailing her since the call came in. So far, nothing."

"Okay," Stiles said slowly. "How quickly does this guy move from one victim to the next?"

"That's the question, isn't it?" Brady said, frustration coming through in her voice. "We were having that exact discussion a few days ago. The last two victims were killed within a day of each other. How long do we keep tailing her when we don't even know if the tip is real?"

"We eventually decided that the best solution would be for Katie to just leave town for a month or two," the Sheriff concluded. "She left on a bus this morning."

Okay. Stiles frowned, trying to figure out where he fit into this story, but none of this seemed to be making sense. Instead, he asked, "So the informant was just making things up?"

"Or the informant was telling the truth, but our security detail discouraged the killer from attacking," Brady countered.

"Either way, Katie's safe, now, right?" Stiles responded. "So, everyone goes home and has a few drinks and calls it a day?"

Brady snorted, and the Sheriff raised his eyebrow, looking at Stiles disapprovingly. Stiles winced, hoping he could convey an apology with his eyes. The Sheriff was a great boss, and Stiles didn't want to make him look bad in front of the detectives. Stiles might consider them friends, but they were still outsiders to the station and reputation is everything in the world of law enforcement.

It was Coulson who responded, however. "The problem is that we got another anonymous tip yesterday. The same informant as last time. She congratulated us on saving Katie and then told us a new name of an apparent next victim. Ross Dalby."

Stiles clenched his teeth in frustration. Somehow, he knew that the sentiment was shared by everyone else in the room. "This is ridiculous. We can't just tail everyone that this person tells us to."

"Exactly," the Sheriff agreed. "So we told her to verify her identity if she wanted us to listen to her. She didn't even need to give us a reason to believe her, but we need to know who she is. She showed up at the station this morning."

There was a pause, and finally the pieces clicked together. Stiles could almost see his world fracturing around him. Pushing back a wave of dread, he instead groaned and buried his face in his hands.

There was silence from the room, and finally Stiles lowered his hands, peeking out at the three inquisitive faces watching him. "Let me guess: Lydia Martin."

Brady aimed a finger-gun at him, miming pulling a trigger. "Got it in one."

"Word around the station is that she's a jilted lover of yours." Coulson didn't even try to keep the amusement out of his voice, and Stiles glared at him as he flushed.

"Sheriff, you need to give your deputies more work to do. They obviously have way too much time to gossip."

The Sheriff sighed. "Stilinski, this woman is making claims that could potentially save a man's life if we take them seriously. You clearly know her, and I don't care what's happened between you two. We need to know what you know about her."

Stiles hesitated, thinking through his possible answers. He couldn't possibly tell them the truth. Coulson would think he was joking, Brady would probably try to have him committed and the Sheriff would give him that disappointed-Dad look that always made Stiles squirm in his boots. But at the same time, if Lydia was predicting a man's death, Stiles couldn't let the Sheriff think she was a prankster.

So, a partial truth, then. He chose his words carefully when he finally spoke. "Honestly, I haven't seen Lydia in nearly a decade," he began. "We went to high school together, that's all. I moved out of town in my senior year and I lost contact with her after that."

"What was she like?" Brady asked.

"She was…" Jesus, where to even start? Stiles bit his lip, considering. "She was – is – the smartest person I've ever met. And she would happily put her life on the line if it meant saving someone else, even if that person was a stranger. She's not the type to send us on a wild goose chase."

"So you're saying we should trust her?" The Sheriff was quiet when he spoke, and when Stiles met his eyes he held his gaze steadily.

"Yes."

There was a moment of silence, and the Sheriff nodded. Then he looked toward the detectives. "You heard him. I'll send Mendez and Poole to tail Ross Dalby. Did you want to have the talk with him, or should I?"

"We will," Brady said. Her eyes were still on Stiles' face though, and her gaze was piercing. "One question, Stilinski. Any idea where she's getting her information?"

It took everything he had for Stiles to stop himself from shifting uncomfortably under her stare, and he forced himself to meet her eyes blandly. "Not a clue," he said, voice steady. "Haven't seen her in years, remember?"

Brady narrowed her eyes, and Stiles couldn't shake the feeling that she didn't believe him. There was a long moment, then she thankfully shook her head and stepped toward the door, and the detectives made their way out of the room.

Stiles collapsed back into his seat, limbs like jelly. Shit. What had Lydia gotten herself into?