For the next hour and a half, the phone lines out of the Stilinski house were locked. The Sheriff retreated upstairs to his office to call the station, reassuring his colleagues that he was indeed still alive and would be back to work by the end of the week, as well as to give his young deputies a thorough tongue lashing in advance of any slacking to be performed in his absence. After he hung up he was careful to close the door before dialing the local Alpha in Charge of Wolves, his sense of obligation warring with his desire to spare his son any more pain. He had worked with Derek in the past when he had to, civilly if coldly, and he vaguely remembered the dark young man half-dragging him into the hospital's emergency bay in a haze of blood and pain, so he put that call through as well.

Phee too had disappeared upstairs, closing himself into Stiles bedroom to touch base with his own responsibilities. Stiles knew without asking that he would call and check in with his grandmother, his mom and dad too, and wouldn't be surprised if his business partner in Wales made the list. The wolf certainly didn't need to work, not with the family money, but he had gone halves on a series of investments funding the study of the rehoming of wolf packs that were now being used to repopulate and save endangered breeds. It had ended up turning a pretty penny for him but the big softy was far more interested in the success of the program and the well-being of the animals it moved, requesting frequent photos and updates of the involved packs and mated pairs.

For his part, Stiles called his overseas 'office' and got pushed through to his contractor Shawna, a fearsome blonde who reminded him of Lydia even though he had never met her in real time. Through a careful choreography she had set up a sort of black market review for Stiles' services, getting him work that capitalized on his skills. If he had to label himself, something he put a lot of effort into avoiding, he might call himself a supernatural private investigator. At least, that was the nice way of putting it. He wasn't a mercenary, but he cleaned up a lot of messes. Shawna ended up giving him hell for not calling sooner, but she also gave him a clear schedule for two weeks, assuring him that the only job he had lined up could wait that long without repercussion. After hanging up he debated calling Lydia like he'd promised, but something in him still wasn't ready to put in the effort, though he wasn't sure exactly why, didn't understand what made the thought of him reaching out to her rankle. So instead he waited, moving into the kitchen to snag the last of the coffee from breakfast and sitting at the dining table until Phee came tromping down the stairs and joined him.

"Stiles if you don't want to call them…" he began, but he waved his hand carelessly, dismissing the wolf's hesitancy.

"No, you're right," he confessed, "I don't want to leave my dad yet. And contrary to the popular opinion of some, I can't be in two places at once. So." Pulling out his phone, he turned it on speaker and set it dialing the number he'd had Shawna txt him. "I guess this is my next best option."

It only rang twice.

The phone clicked and then a familiar voice spoke words that were clearly said by rote.

"Argent Firearms."

Stiles huffed a laugh and smirked across the table at Phee. "Hello Chris. Thought you were out of the biz."

"Stiles?"

"Yep. Surprised to hear from me?"

Chris chuckled, low and rough, as though he'd surprised himself by doing so. "Not as much as you might think," he replied. "You've made quite a name for yourself in my world."

"Hmm. And here I thought I was keeping a low profile."

"I wish you the best with that. When you're as good a hunter as you apparently are, people notice."

A chill flooded Stiles' stomach and he glared down at the phone. "I'm not a hunter," he growled, and gold flickered in Phee's eye as he glanced up at Stiles' face. A cold silence followed and for a second Stiles wondered if something in his tone had scared the ex-hunter but he quickly shrugged the idea off. Chris Argent was hardened and experienced, both personally and professionally, and there was no way he could be scared of Stiles, not when he still knew him as the pale, lanky, sarcastic teenager of five years ago. Everything else was just rumors.

"I'm not a hunter," he repeated into the silent phone, more… tactfully this time. "That's… actually why I'm calling."

"I… I can probably give you a recommendation and a phone number then, if you'd like. That is, if you're… comfortable telling me where you are, what country at the very least."

"Actually, I'm um," Stiles muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, "I'm back in Beacon Hills."

"What? You're… Allison didn't…"

"Well she wouldn't would she?" he stated coldly, soldiering quickly on to prevent further discussion on the topic. "You heard my father was bitten by an alpha?"

"I did. And Stiles I am sorry. If I'd known there was a rogue in the territory…"

"It wasn't you I was expecting to keep him safe," Stiles replied. "Though I appreciate the… sentiment, I suppose. Anyway, I've taken care of things on this end; my dad's going to be fine. But I was hoping you and yours might help me tie up my last loose end."

"The Alpha. I have some trackers out already, but they lost him at the county line."

"He's up in Sanilac," Stiles stated, hoping he wouldn't have to get in to how he knew. "I was looking forward to dealing with him myself…"

"But you're not a hunter."

"No. And my father is still recuperating. I won't leave him again so soon. So. Got family up that way?"

"I know a few I could point in that direction."

"Excellent. You'll keep me posted then?"

"Of course. Though a description might help. We're not so much with the 'shoot first, questions later' as we once were."

"Good to hear," Stiles responded icily. "As for the rest, you'll have to ask your daughter's pack."

Stiles reached out to tap the end button on his phone and disconnect the call, but Chris's voice stopped him.

"Stiles! Jesus. What happened five years ago, kid? None of them would talk about it, no one knew where you were. I… I had to wonder for a while if one of them had accidentally… Are you all right?"

Stiles just sneered.

"Thanks for the help Chris."

And then he hung up.

XXX

Lydia Martin knew that Stiles Stilinski had been in love with her for a long time, ever since he'd knocked into her and caused her to spill her juice box all over her dress in the third grade and she had calmly told him exactly what she thought of his awkwardness before stealing his in retaliation. It was infatuation really; he was in love with the idea of her, not her. Still, as the years passed and they got older, she had to be impressed by his resolve if nothing else. At times his devotion had even been endearing. Then Allison had forced her to go to the prom with him and he had shown her that he knew her better than almost anyone else, and after that it was easy, easy to grow closer and closer to the boy she had never spent more than half a second's thought on.

She didn't love him, and by then she wasn't sure that he thought he loved her anymore, but she had lost a lot, changed a lot, and Stiles and his loyalty were constant.

Unwavering.

And then he'd left, and it had broken something inside of her.

He had left, just like Jackson, gone without a word or a real goodbye, and it cut so deep that she, with all her knowledge, didn't know if she would ever heal, didn't know how to fix what had gone so wrong.

She did eventually, heal that is, and not completely, because there was a Stiles' shaped hole in her heart alongside that of the pretentious, arrogant blonde she had loved for so long, but those years and that pain had molded her, burned away her edges until her true self was finally able to shine through – the strong, intelligent woman whose independence and fierceness went untainted by pride, conceit, and cruelty.

Most of the time anyway.

This afternoon would be the first time that she dressed specifically for Stiles.

As she went about her morning, shaving her legs smooth, conditioning her hair with peach scented creams, she realized that she wasn't doing it because she thought that he deserved it, wasn't doing it because she thought she could… bribe him into staying in Beacon Hills. No, she was doing it because she wanted to, because she was happy to have him back, to be able to spend time with him again, and because even though it was just a lunch date it was going to be special. Just because it was Stiles. Just because he was home.

Selecting a flirty white sundress from her closet that was edged in eyelet lace, she stepped into it and wrapped a wide, navy blue belt around her waist. She added a few bangles to each wrist, silver with bits of jade, slipped diamond drops into her ears and touched a bit of perfume behind her ears and on her pulse-points. Wrapping golden, gladiator-style sandals around her ankles, she sat down at her vanity and began to apply her make-up, giving herself huge, dark eyes and a blood red smile. It was a little hard in contrast to the light, rather summery outfit, but it showed a bit of her inner Banshee, the power hidden behind the pretty smile. From their brief interaction in the Preserve, Stiles seemed to have found his inner badass as well, and she suspected that he would appreciate it.

Freeing her red tresses from their pins and tousling the heavy curls down around her face, Lydia smiled.

She was happy for him.

He had grown, changed, found himself, and she was happy for him.

She was.

Now if only she… they… might get to keep him.

A short but necessary chapter - hopefully another will be up soon to make up for it (: Send me reviews to encourage me!