Using the information Laura had provided, and with the assistance of a nice young man the vampire referred to only as Scotty, Chris Argent set up an operation. "Ennis has been meeting with various soldiers coming back from deployment," Laura had informed them over aged scotch – a warm fire in the grate and a plump black cat on her knee. "At first I thought it was simply drugs or something, but now I think it's more than that. The hive is not only using its vampire contacts, but common soldiers. I can't figure out what they're buying up. You want to find out what Manhattan is up to? Tap into those werewolf military connections of yours, darling, and set up an offer. Scotty can take you to a good place."

Which is why, on the information provided by a rove vampire, that Argent now sat in a very seedy bar, it didn't even have a name, accompanied by a well-dressed drone and Jackson Whittemore. A few wobbly tables away sat one of Jackson's most trusted soldiers, clutching several suspicious packages and looking nervous.

Argent slouched down and nursed his beer. He would have preferred whiskey.

Jackson was twitchy. He shifted long legs, jostling the table and sloshing their drinks.

"Stop that," his Beta instructed. "No one's come yet. Be patient."

Jackson glared at him.

Scott offered them both a cigarette. Both werewolves declined with thinly veiled horror. Imagine messing with one's sense of smell. Such a vampiric affectation.

Some while later, with Argent's beer barely touched but Jackson on his third, the vampire entered the bar.

Ennis made his way straight to the soldier's table and sat down without introduction. The place was loud enough that they only caught every few words.

The exchange moved rapidly and the soldier showed the vampire his collection of goods. The vampire looked them overly carefully and then shook his head. Finally he left.

They immediately surrounded the solder's table.

"What did he say? What are they looking for?"

"The weirdest things. Artifacts."

"What?"

The soldier bit his bottom lip. "Yea. I know there's all of those laws and things, but you know how soldiers get – especially some of the wolves. They don't really pay attention to modern laws and they'll just take artifacts if it strikes their fancy. But the vampire didn't want weapons or objects or anything. He was looking for scrolls."

"Really?"

The soldier nodded. "With some kind of image on it. I think its Egyptian. Something called an ankh. But they want it broken – like cut in half?"

Argent and Scott looked at each other. "Interesting," they both said at the same time.

Stiles left his husband soundly asleep. After centuries as an immortal, he had forgotten how a mortal body sought slumber when it had injuries to deal with. Despite the excitement, the night was young and most of the manor was awake. Stiles decided to go find Lydia, hoping to find out how long it would be before the electricity came on. It took her some time to track them down. The manor was very large, with a propensity for confusing itself with additional rooms, towers, and gratuitous staircases. After a good hour watching her and a claviger repair, well, something (mechanics wasn't really Stiles's strong area), the lights flickered on in the room.

Finally Stiles drug himself back to the room he was sharing with Derek. He was exhausted by the time he sought his bed. It was not a small bed by any means, her his husband seemed to be occupying the entirety of it. He was sprawled, snoring softly, wrapped every which way in a ragged and much-abused quilt.

Stiles climbed in and shoved him over. He managed to clear enough space to worm his way into before Derek sprawled once more. He supposed Derek had spent years sleeping alone; it would take some time to retrain him.

Derek growled at him slightly but seemed pleased enough to find Stiles next to him one he snuggled against Derek's side. Derek rolled towards Stiles, nuzzled the back of his neck, and wrapped a heavy arm around him.

Stiles tugged hard at the quilt, which would not budge, and settled for arranging Derek's arm around him instead of the blanket. It was nice to be able to sleep touching him for once, with no worries he might cause Derek to age.

And on that note, Stiles drifted off.

He awoke still warm. But his husband's affection, or possibly his hidden murderous tendencies, had shoved Stiles so far toward the edge of the bed that he was partly suspended in midair. Without Derek's arm about his waist, Stiles would probably have fallen off the side. The tshirt he had worn to bed was, of course, gone. How did Derek always manage to do that? Stiles was pleased to note that he had somehow managed to keep his boxers on. The nuzzling on the back of his neck and turned into nibbling.

Stiles cracked an eyelid: it was just about dawn.

Derek's nibbles turned into slightly more insistent bites. He was fond of a bite here or there. He turned his attention towards Stiles's ear. He then moved his arm to better position himself. Unfortunately, Derek did not realize his arm was all that was holding Stiles in the bed.

With an undignified cry, Stiles fell to the floor.

"Stiles?" asked Derek, both confused and slightly worried.

Stiles checked to see that everything was unbroken and then stood, angry. He was about to start yelling, when he realized he was only wearing boxers in a very cold room. The electricity working meant so was the air conditioning. Cursing at his husband, he grabbed the covers off Derek and launched himself at him, burrowing in his warmth.

Seeing as how this put Stiles's almost naked body plastered on top of him, Derek had no objection, although it did make him laugh. Stiles was still annoyed though and that made him twitchy. This did not go well with Derek's bruises from the previous night's fight.

"I am going to find out what is going on with this pack of yours today if it is the last thing I do," Stiles said, swatting at Derek's hand when they attempted to make interesting forays. "The longer I spend in bed, the less time I have to investigate."

"I wasn't planning on being lazy," Derek growled.

Stiles decided that, in the interest of economy, he would have to face the cold or Derek would probably carry on for hours.

"It will have to wait until later," Stiles said, extracting himself from Derek's embrace. In a swift movement, he rolled off of him to one side, spinning the quilt around himself. He shuffled across the floor to get dressed.

Derek had finally gotten up as well and took much less time to get ready for the day. Grabbing Stiles waist as they left the room, he said, "So, I think we should probably figure out exactly why the supernatural isn't working properly here."

Stiles rolled his eyes, but leaned into to him as they made their way down to breakfast.