A/N: I had to put Stiles in a bowtie after seeing this picture: .

Derek stands outside of the building where glamorously dressed individuals file in the building while having their pictures taken for entertainment section in the papers. He had made an arrangement to meet Stiles here instead of traveling together for the two men to prepare for the night's festivities.

In a manner of minutes of Derek's arrival, Stiles was escorted out of a black vehicle Derek recognized from the night. "Thanks, Akemi."

"You sure you're fine handling this on your own? I can take a later flight." Danny tried to offer, already shot down during the drive. Stiles needed to look the part so he asked Danny to drive him. The thief's blue banged up Jeep was not up to the standards for the high profile event.

"No need, dude, I've got Derek. Plus, it's only Jackson." There was a reason Danny and Stiles were the ones to carry out the heists while Jackson kept to the business side of their operation - arranging jobs, meeting with clients. "Go on and soak up that warm Hawaiian sun up for me."

"No prob, God knows you need it, Fox." Commenting on Stiles' rather pale skin with a big smile and receiving a middle finger in response. The thief may have shed the infamy of his accident prone nature he was known for as a young teen but his fair tone would forever be his trademark.

"Do me one last favor and give Jackson a firm kick in the ass for me."

"Will do." Stiles was seriously considering delivering more than a kick. Stiles would have liked to have his friend providing a supportive ear but the event had a strict no phones allowed rule. Their earpieces were small but not discreet enough to avoid being detected by security.

Stiles does his best to strut confidently, feeling anything but, towards Derek when he spots the finely tailored man waiting for him. He drinks in the statuesque form of the werewolf with discretion, appreciating the view and hoping to look like believable date for the stunning man.

"A red bowtie, really?" The greeting doesn't exactly raise Stiles' confidence level, but he notices the tone isn't malicious or disapproving.

"I wouldn't be Crimson Fox without some red." Stiles says as the adjusts the accessory with panache. "And you should talk, do you wear anything other than black?"

"The shirt is dark gray." Derek says matter-of-factly, adjusting his charcoal suit jacket with the same flair.

"The fact you think you're making a valid point terrifies me more than the wolf thing." Stiles says as he passes Derek to the well dressed security guards inspecting guests in front of the Beacon City Center, a crowning jewel set in the center of the city.

Stiles notices Derek's tense posture as they move closer to the door and leans in close.

"Unclench yourself, dude. I don't carry guns, never could stand them."

The werewolf visibly loosened from Stiles' assurance. In hastiness of the situation, Derek had forgotten to tell Stiles about the security check. The werewolf was fearful that the thief had an arsenal of gadgets like on the roof. Or worse - a weapon.

"Derek Hale, and this is my plus one for the evening." Falls out of Derek's mouth smoothly with practiced ease when he is asked for his name to gain entry into the exclusive event.

"Sir, what is this?" One of the bouncers interrogated, patting on a pocket of Stiles' pants.

"Sorry, you are a handsome guy feeling me up, what'd ya expect?" Stiles winked as Derek rolled his eyes and stifled a groan. The bouncer stood silent and unimpressed, most likely not the first time during the night someone has made a similar joke. Stiles pulled the object in question out of his pocket to present. "Just a flashlight." Shining the object, small enough to fit in the palm of his hand, in the squinting guard's face for proof.

"Please put that away, sir. You are free to step inside. Enjoy your evening." The guard said as he moved on to another guest awaiting inspection and entrance.

"I'm guessing that's not just a flashlight." Derek tipped close as he commented, Stiles pantomimed zipping his lips as an answer.

Barely in the open hall leading to the festivities, Derek's name is called to his right by a man with a camera strapped around his neck.

"Did I hear right that you have a date for the evening?" Not bothering to let Derek answer the rhetorical question, the camera man introduces himself, "Matt Daehler for the Beacon Press. Can I get a quick picture?" Once again steamrolling over his own question, the photographer starts snapping multiple shots.

Derek places a guiding hand around Stiles' hips to pose them in a flattering position for the camera. The two were cozied close together as Stiles made a brazen effort to follow Derek's lead and draped an possessive arm over the chest of his companion for the night, who squeezed them closer together in response.

"Great shots. Can I get a name of your handsome date?" Matt, the photographer, replaced the camera in his hands for a notepad.

"Stiles Stilinski." Derek provides.

As Matt began to scrawl the information down, Stiles waved his hands over the pad in disapproval. "You do not have my consent to use my name." Stiles snatches the notepad paper, drawing the attention of bypassers heading in the ballroom. Derek apologizes to Matt and drags Stiles away with his hand still gripping Stiles' hip from the photo op, quickly leaving before security takes notice.

"Hey, names to the press is a big no-no in my line of business. Why do you think I use codenames? I'd like to stay anonymous thank you." Stiles whispers fiercely.

"It's a small blurb in the local paper that will be forgotten as soon as it's read. Besides, I usually have someone different on my arm every event. No one is keeping up."

"Bit of playboy, huh?" Stiles elbowed Derek in the ribs in a joking gesture - maybe hitting a little harder than necessary if the thief was being honest. It's not like he had a right to be jealous, which he isn't, after his final farewell with Jackson. A farewell that caused him to be at this event, he thought with self-deprecation.

Stiles and Derek about to enter the threshold of the ballroom when Stiles plants his heels to the floor to halt the pair's progress asking for a brief pause before heading in.

"You reek of anxiety, Stiles." Derek observes.

"You can smell that?" The surprising fact momentarily breaks Stiles' self induced worry.

"I can. What gives, is something wrong?"

"It's nothing. I'm fine. I'll be fine." Stiles walks forward to avoid any act of closer questioning on Derek's part.

The ballroom they enter has a minimalistic look of blues, blacks, and whites. The countertops at the two open bars, placed on opposite sides of the room are a black marble with a dark shade of blue glowing around the edges and the stools are white, matching the lower bottom of the bar. The largest collection of people are centered in the middle of the room on a checkered dance floor overlooked by a large screen display various images of the accomplishments made by the honorees of the night. One additional floor above acts as a balcony populated by lounge seats and intimate table settings for two to three people.

Stiles had shown the werewolf a picture of the man they were in search of back at the thief's home once Derek promised no harm would come to his friend, begrudgingly still considered as a friend.

"Jackson never arrives to a party on time. So, we should have time to stake out the place and look for somewhere he won't notice us...or me specifically. With the size of this place it's best to split up."

Derek gives an understanding nod, sets a time limit and a rendezvous point then moves at an easy pace around the expansive room holding hundreds of people on the two floors. Stiles watched the werewolf walk away, purely to study the man's gait to blend in more fittingly. At least that is the story he told himself.

By the time goes to meet back up with Derek, Stiles has an idea of the layout of this place, the security activities, and best possible exits. His findings weren't as thoroughly assessed as he would've been comfortable with but time wasn't on his side which meant he had to be fast and sloppy. He was ready to share his report with Derek - the small crowd surrounding Derek, however, had things they wanted to share with the werewolf.

"Mr. Hale, in just a few short months you've already proven that we made the right decision selling to your company. My sincerest gratitude, sir, for all of your hard work." The enthusiastic mustachioed man gushed as he shook Derek's hand with hero worship evident on his face.

"Yes, it's been years since we merged with Hale Enterprises and I still can't believe how our profits have tripled." A bespectacled woman concurs.

"Well, I can't take all of the credits have a great team backed by great partners such as yours." Derek says with a benevolent tone.

Stiles gazes deep in thought at how Derek manages to keep his double life so well hidden. Stiles had only a few people in his personal life that he needed to be kept in the dark. His dad, Scott, and Scott's mom. Not even close to Derek's scope of being a public figure, a highly regarded one to boot.

"And modest, too." The bespectacled woman adds, seemingly reading Stiles' mind. "How are you still single, Mr. Hale? If you want, I have a two kids looking for love." Stiles took the change in topic to step out of the shadows and sidled by Derek to introduce himself into the conversation.

"Ah, this is my date tonight. Mister…" Derek stopped himself to respect Stiles' wish to remain anonymous.

"Theodore Aferny Kreznik. The third. As in the youngest of the famous Kreznik triplets." Stiles made a over exaggerated bow as Derek nearly had a stroke to keep himself from rolling his eyes. "Perhaps you've heard of us, the Krezniks?" Stiles pauses as he looks around at the crowd of stumped faces, including a bemused Derek. "No? We're a family of authors with a very niche audience writing erotic romance about...liches. Not the fruit. Corpses."

"You mean like zombies?" The mustachioed man inquires. "No, that's a general misconception. The liches in our series have decomposing bodies like zombies, yes. But they are actually souls wait listed for a spot in heaven and are completely cognitive. You know, when there's no room in hell, well in this case - heaven, the dead shall walk the earth. And search for love."

The group nods and stares at Stiles in contemplation while he struggles to keep from snickering, unable to verify the story due to the restriction of phones at the event.

"So, is it decomposing bodies having...relations with each other? Or with living humans?" Derek saves Stiles, or himself, by politely excusing them and extending another polite gratitude for their continued services. The mustachioed man tries giving Stiles his name for a copy.

The thief hijacks the direction he's being dragged by Derek to a pair of stools by the bar hidden behind a large pillar with a good vantage to see any new arrivals coming through the entrance.

"I knew a guy with facial hair like that couldn't be quite right in the head, dude."

"Stiles, what the hell was that? A corpse romance novelist?" Derek places his hands on his hips as he glares at Stiles, who is currently preoccupied by the serving trays sitting tauntingly in front of him. "All you had to do was give them a name. I'm not sure what I expected from someone who used 'Beau Linski' as an alias."

Stiles wears an amused expression on his face despite the sour look of his companion. "Right, right. Remind me again who fell for that alias."

"Shut up, Stiles."

"Hey, it's Theodore. Mr Kresnik, if you're nasty." Stiles smiles at his own dated reference. Derek couldn't help but think how is this the guy who broke through his security defenses.

"Yeah, I'll admit I may have tried a little hard. I'm used to sticking to the background." Stiles sniffs an odd looking, brightly colored ball of food. "It's not like they'll remember me. I'm just one in a long line of many you parade around, right?" Instead of a small bite to test the appetizer, Stiles shoves the whole ball in his mouth and chomps down, living life on the edge.

"Are you by any chance jealous?" Stiles scoffs as an answer, accidently spewing bits of crumbs from his lips.

"I'm not." He answers, wiping at his chin.

"If you were," Derek appeases, "you don't need to be. The people I bring out on dates are just for appearances. Need to keep up the 'playboy' appearance to throw off any..." He looks around for any eavesdroppers, "suspicions."

"Didja sleep wiff any ov 'em?" The thief's words muffled by a full mouth of food, unimpressed with the mystery appetizer he took a chance on.

"Well, I'm still human...partially. Keeping up a one night kind of lifestyle makes me look normal, without…"

"Anyone getting too close and finding out your secret? Yeah, I get that." Stiles chuckles, more so to himself understanding the burden of living a double life.

"Yeah," Derek says softly, placing his hands in his pockets. He never thought he'd feel such camaraderie with the thief.

The guests have been trickling in slowly for the past half hour making it easy to spot any newcomers. Stiles after scans the people entering at the door, he returns to the tray and samples another treat. "Holy mother of God!" Stiles exclaims finding the square brown treat to be astounding. Derek reaches out to try one but is promptly slapped on the hand for his action. "Sorry, bud. All of these are heading straight for my mouth." And pops another one in his mouth, making a mental note to find out what it was.

Derek leans in close to Stiles' ear and whispers huskily. "Only if you promise I can head straight for your mouth later." Stiles chokes at the entendre and Derek takes the opportunity to nab a treat out of the clutches of his partner for the night, humming pleasantly at the taste and the reaction. Stiles glared with no real heat at Derek's downright devious tactic.

As the night continues, there is still no sight of Jackson or the Argents. To pass the time Stiles pigs out on the appetizers at the party while playing a game with Derek where he tries to guess, wrongly every time, about who at the party is a werewolf.

"Stiles, you're about to get a large payday. Calm down on the food." Derek says exasperatedly, tired of seeing the thief munch effortlessly on tray after tray of treats.

"Hey, free food is my kind of food."

"Go easy on the appetizers." Derek repeats.

"Why don't you go easy on the champagne, big guy, we're on the clock." Stiles waves a hand at the couple of empty bottles Derek finished by himself. "I don't need you sloshing all over the place once Jackson is here."

"Werewolves can't get drunk. Not on normal alcohol, anyway."

"Like you need 400% proof rum or something to gain a buzz?"

"Not exactly. A small dose of wolfsbane in the drink to lower your supernatural defenses."

"Huh. Very interesting, I know a fun way to celebrate once we're done here."

Stiles eyes leave Derek's hopeful look when he sees the handlebar mustachioed man was coming back with a plaid covered friend in tow, the weirdo probably wanted the name of the book series or tips for romancing the dead.

"This is the man I was telling you about. Mr Kreznik, could you go into more detail about the book series you're known for."

"I'd love to but I promised Derek a dance...or three."

"Any plans on what you'll tell them when we're done dancing?" Derek was amused at Stiles' elaborate, over the top backstory coming back to bite him.

"I'll try to worry about as I figure out how to dance without making an ass of myself."

"You mean more of an ass. Give me your hand, place your other on my shoulder, and follow my lead." Derek instructed as they joined the other couple enjoying the easy atmosphere.

Stiles felt flushed and embarrassed on the dance floor as the couple began to sway tentatively, easing the thief in the unfamiliar ways of slow dancing.

"I usually disguise myself as...invisible people, you know - janitors, guards, waiters. People who aren't too noticeable. I'm not used to being out in the open like this. It was why I was nervous when we first entered." Stiles explained.

"Well, I noticed you in the lobby." Throwing a wrench in Stiles' logic.

"Yeah, I noticed you noticing me when I was...noticing you. Ugh, I'm gonna shut up now and focus on not stepping on your feet if you don't mind."

Derek smiles warmly at Stiles' awkwardness. "You're more like the guy I met in the lobby than the one on the roof."

"That a bad thing? Prefer me as the flirty, hands on guy?" Stiles circles his arms around Derek's neck, feeling more confident in his footwork.

Derek inches closer as they continue moving to the music in sync, staring into honey colored eyes. He can feel warm breath tickling his freshly licked lips as Stiles leans his mouth closer to Derek's at an unrushed pace. A wandering hand creeps down Stiles' spine to the ass taunting Derek all night. Expecting to feel the firm, suppleness from the night before Derek comes across something different.

"I don't recall you having a wallet during the security check...or a bracelet."

Stiles tilts to the side, close to Derek's ear. "Oops, how did that get there?" The thief was surrounded by the elite residents of Beacon City, could he really be blamed for pilfering a pocket or two.

Derek wondered which was the real Stiles - the hooded thief who flirted unabashedly or the self conscious guy afraid to dance in public; if they were even indistinguishable from the other. "You're giving it back as soon as we're done." He instructed firmly, expanding the closed space between them and placing his hands to a tamer location above Stiles' waist.

"You're such a sour...wolf." Stiles says sullenly, pouting his lip, but nonetheless enjoying the company.

"This whole dancing thing ain't half bad, big guy. You could've used those talented feet when you fell off the ledge last night." Derek squeezes his hand as retaliation for the insensitive remark. "Ah! It was a joke, big guy."

"An unfunny joke."

"Too soon?"

"Too soon." Derek confirms. "Stiles, have you been paying attention to the door?

"Shit. I may have had my eyes on something else." His burns at the implication that he was too lost on Derek to focus on the task at hand. "I-uh, I-It's kinda hard to look out for Jackson and keep my eyes on my feet, dude."

Derek twirls Stiles around to have Stiles' back against his front. "Better?" The new position allows Stiles the luxury of not worrying about crushing the werewolf's toes by accident but now a new problem arises.

"Not really, now everyone thinks I'm the girl in the dance."

Stiles' eyes begin to drift close as the comfort of Derek's heat in close proximity begins to take its toll. He was amazed how much more intimate and enticing this felt than the sex he had with Jackson earlier. There was nothing overtly sexual about their simple swaying of bodies, but feeling Derek - his heart beat on his back, arms entwining his mid section, and the stubble on his neck - caused a stirring in Stiles.

"Stiles." Derek whispers huskily in Stiles' ear canal, sending spikes of arousal straight to his crotch.

"Yes, Derek." In that moment, Stiles felt he could answer yes to almost anything Derek asked.

"Do you see him yet?"

Having the bubble burst Stiles created in his lust filled mind allowed him to resume his objective. "Wha..oh um no not yet. Try the west."

Stiles spins back to face Derek, keeping his back to Jackson to cloak his presence at the party. "Behind me, sitting at the lounge up top. I don't think he saw me."

"Who's the blonde girl he's with?" Stiles didn't recall seeing a woman with Jackson, but it was a quick glance.

"Is that one of the Argents? Are they saying anything?"

"No, I don't recognize her. Wait, I think I heard your friend yell about someone being late."

"Okay, good. So you ready to get your list back?"

Stiles watches from afar as Jackson sits carefree on the lounge with the blonde Derek mentioned, talking in close proximity. The thief's mouth drops open when he gets a good look at Jackson's date for the night. "Oh hell no." The thief whispers with anger. "Stealing from me is one thing but hiring Erica Reyes…"

"Do we need to be worried?" Derek asks.

Stiles sees Erica in dress pants causing concern to flash on his face. "She's prepared for a fight. But we the advantage of a big, bad wolf on our team."

"Stiles, how did you get here?" Jackson rises from his seat along with Erica, both shocked to see him at the party.

"Hi, we apparently haven't met before. Stiles Stilinski, master thief nice to meet you. Actually, if anyone asks it's Theodore Kreznik," ignoring the confused look from Jackson, Stiles continues. "This is strapping fellow here is my new friend, Derek Hale. You know, the guy you stole from. Technically you stole from me and I stole from him but when you stole from me that became you stealing from him in essence."

"Stiles, I only..." Jackson's justification was cut off.

"Don't bother, Jackson..." Stiles shakes his head in irritation, seeing Jackson resurfaced his feelings of betrayal.

"Wait, you're Derek Hale of Hale Enterprises?" Receiving an affirmation, Erica turns the table on Jackson unexpectedly. "Sorry, Jackson there are very few people I have limits on stealing from...and this man is one of them."

"Un-fucking-believable. Do you have everyone under your thumb?" The rhetorical question directed at Derek.

Erica steps away from Jackson, both her spot and their arrangement, to stand in front of Derek. "Mr. Hale, I'd like to apologize - I was only signed on at the last minute as backup. Thank you, my friends owe their lives to you."

Derek nods respectfully and shakes Erica's hand.

"Erica, you're a…" Stiles shifts his brows up. He takes Erica's shrug as an answer, leaving Jackson out of the know. "I knew no one could survive a drop or scale a wall like that. And I still beat your ass!" Stiles pats Derek's chest with the back of his hand, grinning with self satisfaction - trying to relay his achievement of, not once but twice, outwitting supernaturally enhanced creatures.

Erica rolls her eyes. "I believe you only have the advantage of 3 to my 2. So don't get too smug. Do you need any assistance here?" Erica directed her question to Derek Hale.

Derek looked to Stiles for a confirmation and answered. "No, we have this handled now. Thank you, Miss Reyes."

"Please, it's Erica." She purred as she stroked down Derek's tailored bicep. "You still owe me a rematch, Fox. And now I know you're name." She singsongs teasingly while striding away, "Catch you later, Stiles."

Stiles wiggles the fingers of his extended hand waiting for the USB, his tone icy. "Today, Jackson, while I'm still in a nice mood." Jackson takes his time assessing Derek and quickly squashes any plan to try and run, his odds were grossly unfair. "I can't believe you Jackson."

"What did you always say, Stiles? What's yours is mine." Jackson shrugs. "Just following your lead."

"Yeah, because I always lied and stole...used…"Stiles clenched his jaw in anger, "my friends."

"No honor among thieves, right." Jackson quipped.

"We were more than a group of thieves. I thought you knew that." Jackson stares at the dance floor to avoid the disappointment and hurt on Stiles' face. Handing the device and its contents back to the rightful owner.

"We also need the Argents' contact info to track them down. And don't worry about them finding out, I'm sure the big guy here has plans for them."

"I'm kinda disappointed I didn't get to show you what my flashlight really does." Stiles jokingly griped as the two travelled down the stairs ready to exit.

"You always use it on yourself, if you're that upset over the missed opportunity." Derek retorts, sending a small smirk in Stiles' direction.

"Stiles, watch out!" Jackson yells, bent over the balcony railing.

Stiles and Derek turn to see two men rushing towards them body checking any unlucky person in their path. Suddenly, guns were focused on the thief and werewolf. "Me and my stupid big mouth."

"Stiles!" Derek shoved him out of the way of the incoming shots fired, a gun wound sent the werewolf to the floor. Panic on the dance floor erupted and sent the evening's guests scattering wildly and screaming in terror. Derek was clutching at his shoulder unable to see the gunmen or a ridiculous red bowtie with the pandemonium going on. In his quest to find Stiles, Derek hadn't seen Jackson coming beside him as supportive crutch to lean, the two scurrying away cloaked by the crowd.

"What about Stiles?" Turning his head around as he limped forward clutching his shoulder, Derek saw Stiles sneaking behind the armed men and quickly take them out with a blue electric burst from his flashlight. The armed men convulsed in pain, incapacitated on what used to be the dance floor. Stiles ran forward and joined Jackson and Derek, easier to spot with the thinning herd of party goers, to help move them escape the danger more speedily.

Outside of the event the glamorously dressed guests, who expected a night of carefree fun, were running in terror. Once the trio are out of harm's way on the street, Jackson offers his car to reach safety.

Derek protested with labored breathing. "No...we need to take...my car."

"Derek, now's not the time to be picky about a getaway car." Stiles argued.

"I need...the bullet was laced with something...my car has what I need."

"Please tell me you parked close by." Derek nods down the street.

As Stiles digs in Derek's pocket for the keys when they get to the vehicle. "Stiles, I didn't mean…"

"I know. Go, get to somewhere safe." Jackson nodded and ran off. "Alright, just me and you, buddy. Derek?" Stiles looks at the closed eyes and ghostly skin of the man cradled between him and the car, looking worse by the minute. Stiles tries again to acquire a response from the werewolf to no effect. "Derek!"

A/N: For Stiles' dumb alias I didn't know what to do so I hit the random button on and was given 'our liches are different' and thus his ridiculous backstory was born.