Derek smelled them instantly, even before he saw the tell-tale matched set of black SUVs taking up space in his driveway. He held back his growl by sheer force of will, but couldn't suppressed his urge to grip Boyd's shoulder as their driver pulled into the garage.

With a few clipped words, he instructed the driver to take Boyd upstairs through the back way, along with their shopping bags. It was a bleak ending to what had been a nice day, just the two of them at Boyd's favourite bookstore, catching Derek up on who Boyd was now.

Pausing at the front door, Derek took a deep breath and put his wolf in check. The last thing any of them needed was for him to lose control before these people left his property. And they would be leaving soon enough.

Any business the Sterling Freedom Party had with Derek wasn't anything he was interested in hearing.

The foyer was empty, but Derek cast his hearing throughout the house. The kids were upstairs, most of them in the common space of Stiles' room. Boyd had already made it back to his own room, and from the sounds of it, was shelving his recent purchases. Derek relaxed a bit, but he could also hear that Jennifer was in the drawing room with them. He hastened toward the sound of their voices and barely restrained his strength when he opened the door to reveal his unwanted guests.

"Derek, there you are!" Jennifer rose from her place on the couch, placing her coffee cup down before she came to Derek's side. "We were expecting you back half an hour ago."

They'd been in his house, on his furniture, for 30 minutes? "We were sidetracked." Shopping for new books takes as long as it takes, Boyd had said.

"Hale." And oily voice interrupted. "Good to finally meet you. We seemed to have passed like ships in the night in New York."

Not by accident. "Argent," Derek bit out, pointedly not extending his hand to shake.

Gerard Argent had burst onto the political scene a little over 10 years ago, starting off using the influence of his wealth to get friendly with the republicans before starting his own mini-party within them. He was supported by his son, Chris, who appealed to the younger crowd, while he, himself, hobnobbed with older generations. They'd achieved a surprising amount of success, considering the vitriol they spewed about the dangers of allowing under-evolved species to mingle with humans. America liked to think it was beyond the days of werewolf oppression, but in reality, they'd barely scratched the surface, and people like the Argents knew that very well.

"We were just catching up with Jennifer, here. Her," Gerard paused and his lip twitched subtly, "partner and I used to do business together."

All successful werewolves within Gerard's reach knew what business was to be done with the Argent family. Keep quiet, don't support the Sterling Party's opposition, and you'll be left in peace. It was barbaric, and completely illegal, but despite their superior strength, werewolves were intensely aware of their disadvantage in numbers and influence.

"Is that so," said Derek, tightly. "Well, I'm happy you've had the chance to chat, but I think you'd better be going."

"I don't know about that," Chris Argent speaks up from the corner, his smirk matching his Gerard's, though Derek thought his eyes lacked the shark-like blankness of his father's. "I thought we might stay for dinner."

"I'm afraid that won't be possible."

"Oh?"

"Yes. There's no room at our table for you. Sorry." Derek pulled the door open, and stood, pointedly to the side. "Besides, we're having sushi. I hear humans prefer their meat cooked."

Gerard let out a soft laugh that set Derek's teeth on edge. "Very well, then, we'll take our leave." Chris and the two silent suit-wearing bodyguards filed out, but Gerard stopped next to Derek and murmured, "We'll talk again soon, Hale."

Derek stood, frozen, until he heard their vehicles turn onto the main road, then he strode to the window, flinging them open to air out the scent of enemy pack.

"Are you alright?" he demanded of Jennifer when fresh air poured into the room.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," she stammered, incredulous. "Why wouldn't I be? I just asked them for coffee, not for full-contact football."

"You…" Derek's brain went blank for a long moment. When it came back online, he asked, incredulous, "You invited them?"

"Of course I did." Jennifer started to collect china and silverware onto the tray on the low coffee table. "What possible reason could they have to come here, otherwise?"

Derek's shoulders tensed at her flippant tone. "It could be that he has his own reasons for wanting to insinuate himself here, in my home, where my children live."

She plunked a mug on the tray with too much force, and whipped around to face him. "Oh, come on, Derek. You're being dramatic. What harm could he do at an afternoon coffee date?"

"I don't know. Why don't you ask him, if you're so friendly?"

Jennifer's laugh was humourless. "I think you overestimate our friendship. No one likes them, Derek." She gave him a look like he was a slow child she pitied for not being able to keep up. "You just have to make nice with them until you're sure they'll lose. It's in your best interest."

"Maybe it's in yours, but not in mine!" Derek snapped, and Jennifer flinched back and sat heavily on the couch behind her. Derek saw his eyes flash in the mirror above the fireplace on the opposite side of the room, and he closed his eyes to calm himself, leaning into the open window. The ticking of the clock on the mantel didn't do much to calm his anger, but the guilt that came rushing over him did. He didn't turn when he heard Jennifer rise from the couch.

"I'm sorry you're upset, Derek," she said, pressing her body against his back and wrapping her arms around his chest. "Kali hated them too, but she acknowledged that keeping on their good side couldn't hurt. I thought you'd feel the same."

"I'm sorry for getting angry. You didn't know." He placed his hand on top of hers, somehow still surprised at it's small size. "Just...don't do it again."

"Of course not." For a moment, Derek thought that might be the end of it. "But, I think you need to consider meeting with them on neutral territory. You'll never be allies, but letting them know you're not an enemy-"

"That's not going to happen." Derek moved her wrists off his chest and stepped away from the window. "This discussion is over." He left her in the drawing room, and jogged up the stairs in search of his children, needing to hear their heartbeats steady against his own.

Stiles didn't put down the third Harry Potter book when Derek came in, he just smiled and kept reading. Derek perched on the edge of the bed, and tugged Erica backward into his arms. He listened to Stiles do all the voices, letting the smell of Erica's hair, and the warmth and safety of his pack calm him. He could feel his phone in his pocket vibrating with texts and emails from Sandra in the New York office, but right then, he didn't want to focus on anything more challenging than Stiles' description of a hippogriff.

When the chapter came to an end, the kids whined with disappointment, but Stiles made them get up and go help Isaac and Erica change from the PJs they'd worn for their nap, as well as roust Scott and Boyd from where ever they were.

"Are they gone?" Stiles asked when the kids filed out of the room. "The Argents?"

Derek nodded, resisting the urge to look out the window, since he knew that he'd see an empty driveway.

Stiles puffed out a sigh of relief. "Thank god. What did they want?"

"You know who they are?" Derek asked.

"I read the news." Stiles tossed the paperback onto his dresser and crossed his arms. "Those scumbags are on the front page every day it seems."

"Can we go downstairs now?" Cora said, poking her head around the door. Isaac nudged past her and raised his arms for Derek to pick him up.

"Yeah, of course, you must be hungry," Stiles said, waving them on from where he was straightening the duvet on his bed. "Snack time half an hour ago."

Derek's arms tightened around Isaac, and he felt a rush of gratitude toward Stiles. He'd made sure the kids were upstairs and in their rooms, rather than a few rooms away, in the kitchen having a snack like they normally would be.

He'd kept them safe.

"Daddy?"

Stiles was grateful for Isaac's interruption, as it turned Derek's attention away from Stiles. He'd been slightly unnerved by the really intense look Derek had been giving him.

"Yes, baby?" Derek still used nicknames with an earnest unease that made Stiles smile.

"Did the bad men go away?"

Both Stiles and Derek stopped breathing for a moment as Isaac's soft question sunk in.

"What bad men, sweetheart?" Stiles tried, hoping denial would work.

"The ones downstairs." Isaac's luminous blue eyes were wide in his face. "Daddy didn't like them and Stiles made us hide, but it wasn't like hide and seek."

Derek hitched Isaac up in his arms and tilted his head so that their foreheads were touching. "Yes, Isaac. They're gone. You're safe."

"Really? The whole pack?"

"The whole pack."

Isaac plucked the collar of Derek's shirt, tugging on the buttons. "Even Stiles?"

"Yes, of course. Stiles too."

"'Cause Stiles is pack, right?"

Derek lifted his head from Isaac's and looked toward Stiles, as if for approval. Stiles could only jerk his head in what he hoped resembled a nod. "Yeah. He's pack."

"But, he doesn't-" he broke off with a frustrated growl. He gripped his father's shirt tighter and stage whispered into Derek's ear. "He doesn't smell like pack."

Derek's eyes widened minutely, and he looked toward Stiles again, speaking slowly, as if testing him out, "Well, with Stiles' permission, you can-"

"You need to do it."

Stiles watched Derek struggle with how to say no, but in the face of Isaac's moist, pleading eyes, Stiles wasn't surprised that Derek crumbled. "Do you mind?"

Stiles had seen it before. Derek touched his children's faces and arms all the time, purposefully dragging his scent on their clothes and skin, and allowing them to do the same. He rubbed his cheek against theirs so often that Lydia and Erica squealed and complained about his scratchy scruff, but leaned in to let him do it, regardless.

"Uh, totally," Stiles stammered. "I mean, yeah, go ahead."

Derek set Isaac down on the floor and approached Stiles cautiously, as he would to avoid spooking a horse. When he was inches away, Stiles sucked in a breath that he couldn't seem to release and held it until Derek leaned in brushed his stubbled cheek against his.

It was rough, but in that good way, like scratching an itch too hard. Derek's warm breath tickled his ear, then felt almost damp on his neck as Derek smoothed his face down Stiles' jaw. There was a moment, before Derek reversed his progress, that his lips touched Stiles' throat, and they were warm. Stiles shivered at their warmth, then at their absence a millisecond later.

Stiles didn't know what to do with his hands. He felt like they should be doing something other than hanging limply at his sides, so he let them hover at the level of Derek's elbows. They weren't stuck there for long, as Derek lifted his own hands to slide them slowly from Stiles' wrists to his forearms, then over the cotton of his T-shirt. Stiles could feel the heat of Derek's hands through the thin material, then the brush of his thumbs at his collarbones.

Then, Derek dragged his face up the side of Stiles', and inhaled deeply next to his temple, where Stiles was sure Derek would feel his pounding pulse. Stiles' mouth dropped open and his stomach swooped. His throat closed and breath caught in his chest.

Then it was over. Derek pulled away, and faced the door, where Jennifer stood, Lydia clutching her hand.

"Lydia needs her hair braided," she said, her smile stiff. "I'm not sure where you keep all the...everything."

"I'll take her. Thanks." Stiles nearly stumbled on his way to the door, his leg muscles weak like he'd run a mile.

Stiles speed-walked Lydia to the bathroom, sat her on the stool in front of the vanity and began pulling her long red hair into a French braid with shaking hands. He was an expert now, thanks to doll hair and YouTube videos. While he worked, he tried to rationalize himself out of his panic.

He'd never denied to himself that Derek was attractive. That would be stupid. He wasn't blind, but he'd never even allowed himself to fantasize, since Derek was so out of his league that he wasn't even in the same sport. That was even without Jennifer on the scene, which she most decidedly was.

The whole thing had been a completely platonic sharing of their scents, Stiles reminded himself, irritated with how unsettled he was feeling. Derek was doing Stiles the honour of making him welcome in the pack, and Stiles was imagining tension where there was none. And if he dreamed that night of stubble burn on places lower than his cheeks, then that was his problem, not Derek's.

"Next time, you'll have to show Jennifer where we keep the elastics and stuff, huh?" Stiles said, to keep his mind from spiraling into the gutter. "Soon, she'll be the one to do this for you."

"No, she won't," Lydia said, matter-of-factly.

Stiles paused in the middle of dragging back another chunk of hair. "Why not?"

"Because Daddy's not going to marry her. He's in love with you." You idiot was implied.

Stiles was floored. "What? No! What?" Lydia raised her strawberry blond eyebrow at him in the mirror. "No."

"Yes, he is. Last week, when we played Apples to Apples, he never took his eyes off you the whole game. Then, today, when he came up to get us, he looked at you like Scott looks when he thinks about his girlfriend."

"I..." Stiles remembered that day. He'd been pointedly not looking at Derek, since his easy smile as he played the ridiculous card game had been doing warm, mushy things to Stiles' insides.

"But it's okay, because I know you're in love with him too."

Stiles' stomach sank. Lydia was so observant. She never missed a thing, and also never missed an opportunity to share her knowledge.

"It's obvious. You like him just as much as you like us, which is a whole lot."

"Lydia."

"You should go for it. He's totally in love with you. He just doesn't know it-"

"Lydia, stop," Stiles said, firmly. His fingers were stalled, pinching pieces of her hair with white knuckles. "Don't...don't say anything about this to your dad, alright?"

"Why not?"

"Just...just because, okay?" Stiles knew how much Lydia hated being placated with non-answers, but Stiles was barely keeping it together. Apparently, Lydia could sense that, because she pouted, but nodded in agreement.

Stiles quickly forced his fingers to plait the rest of her hair, then snap an elastic around the end of the clumsy braid. "Ok. All done. You can go downstairs for your snack."

She hopped off the stool. "Aren't you coming?"

"I'll be down in a minute." For a second, Stiles panicked because she looked right through him like she could hear the lie, but then he remembered that she was human, and he felt bad for using it against her.

After an encouraging smile from Stiles, she flounced away, hair swinging behind her, and his eyes stung as he watched her go around the corner. He waited until she would have made it to the kitchen, then made a beeline to his own room.

He pulled his duffle from the closet, throwing essentials into it while ordering a cab using the app on his phone, so that no one downstairs could hear him making the call.

Stiles sneaked off of the property without a goodbye, like a thief, brazenly robbing the place in broad daylight. Like a coward. As the car rumbled down the long driveway, he didn't look back.

He wouldn't have seen past his stinging eyes anyway.