AN: I do not own Teen Wolf or the Bourne movies.

David Cross didn't like to work on the weekends. He much preferred to spend it with his family, since he saw them so infrequently because of his job. However, after the disturbing news that Peter Hale and another unknown beta had been murdered in Beacon Hills and Alpha 1 was nowhere to be found, working on a Saturday was the least of his problems.

He settled himself in his office early that morning and pressed the intercom. Frances answered cheerfully, "Do you need a coffee, Mr. Cross?"

"Yes, Frances. The usual." The intercom crackled when he removed his fingers from the red button.

The Puppeteer reached into a drawer in his desk and pulled out Alpha 1's file. It was noticeably thicker than it had been only a few days before. Photographs of new crime scenes, documentations and a lengthy psychiatric evaluation describing his defection were all crammed inside. He also grabbed the new manila folder with the name "Jarogniew Stilinski" on the top. It too was surprisingly bulky, even though the name on the top had only been written there ten days previous. It contained everything they knew about Derek Hale's new packmate.

The door to his office creaked open. "Thank you, Frances," he said absently, without looking up.

"M-M-Mr. Cross, y-you have some v-visitors." The Puppeteer slowly lifted his head from his desk.

Alpha 1 had his secretary by the throat. His eyes were bright red in the early morning gloom of the office and his lips were curled up in a snarl. Stiles Stilinski was right behind them, holding a Sig Sauer in his steady hands and aiming directly for him.

"Mr. Hale," Mr. Cross said in a clipped voice. He gestured at the chairs in front of them. "Please sit down."

Slowly Derek released the secretary. She stumbled into a chair in the corner and rubbed her bruised neck. She was shaking uncontrollably. Neither Derek nor Stiles followed suit. Stiles kept the gun trained on Mr. Cross.

"I'm here to formally give my resignation from this organization." Derek loomed over the mahogany desk.

"I got your call two weeks ago, Alpha 1," the Puppeteer sneered. He leaned back in his chair, his hands folded sedately on his chest. "I didn't need a formal exit interview with you."

"Fuck you," Stiles growled. His finger creeped imperceptibly towards the trigger. A warning grumble from Derek, a minute glance, and Stiles took one step back. The Puppeteer smiled coldly at their dynamic.

"I prefer my wife to do the work, thank you Mr. Stilinski." The Puppeteer opened their folders and presented them on top of his desk. "What is it you two want, exactly?"

Derek stepped closer. His eyes were still red. "I want to be left alone," he growled. "I am done with your organization. And Stiles and his family, they're out of it. Forever."

Mr. Cross shook his head. His smile was still cold as he explained, "You can't expect to walk away without some consequences, Alpha 1. There are rules. You signed your life away to me when you were seventeen. You can't have it back." His smile changed to something dangerous and predatory. "I am, and will always be, your alpha."

Derek roared. The secretary shrieked and cowered further into her chair. Neither Stiles nor the Puppeteer flinched at the impressive display.

"We are done here," Derek hissed through his elongated fangs. He slammed his fists down on the desk and felt a swell of satisfaction when the Puppeteer's eyes widened. "If I even think you're coming after Stiles, his family, or me, there is no measure to how fast and how hard I will destroy everything you care about. I will burn this place to the ground, do you understand me?"

Mr. Cross slowly removed his glasses from his face. He wiped them deliberately on his silk tie. "Interesting metaphor, considering your history, Derek," he murmured, checking the glass for spots. "And don't think I didn't notice how you put Mr. Stilinski's happiness before your own. Very interesting, indeed."

A shot rang out in the office. Frances screamed again. Derek and the Puppeteer looked up to see a perfect, crumbling circle in the wall just a foot above their heads. They looked at Stiles, whose face was lined and serious.

"Trust me when I tell you we are not fucking around," Stiles threatened. "You don't want to mess with a brand new alpha and his pack."

Mr. Cross looked between them. "You're not a werewolf yet, Mr. Stilinski. You're nothing but a weak -"

Derek was across the desk in a flash, his clawed hand tightening around the Puppeteer's throat. "Finish that sentence, Mr. Cross. I dare you." His voice was a deadly whisper.

The secretary panted in fear as the three men stood in a dangerous stand off.

Derek finally let him go. He backed up to stand with Stiles. "We're leaving now," he said. He picked up the files with their names on them and handed them to Stiles. Stiles took them one-handed, not taking his eyes off the Puppeteer. "Remember what I said. Don't even think about coming after us." They backed slowly out of the office, with Stiles still keeping the gun pointed directly at the Puppeteer's head. The door closed with an audible click.

Frances broke first. She burst into furious, terrified tears and fumbled for her cell phone.

"What are you doing, Frances?"

"I-I have to call the FBI, sir," she stammered, her fingers poised over the buttons.

Mr. Cross stood and gently took her phone. "You should go home. Have a cup of tea, watch daytime TV."

"But Mr. Cross -"

The phone sailed across the room and shattered against the wall with impressive force. Frances covered her head and looked at her boss in horror.

"Go home, Frances," he said softly. "That's an order."

As she fled the office, papers flying in her wake, the Puppeteer settled himself back behind his desk. He pulled out an older black cell phone from a drawer and dialed a number from memory.

"This had better be important, David." The voice at the other end was strangled with tiredness. "I just got in three hours ago."

"We need a meeting today. By 0930 hours."

"That's – Jesus, that's only two hours from now. What for?"

"Alpha 1 and his... mate."

"I thought they were taken care of?" The voice sounded much more alert now.

Mr. Cross shook his head and rubbed his eyes. "Apparently not. We need to re-evaluate our contingency protocols. Get a new team ready. I'll get started on that before you get here."

"What are you going to do now?"

"I have to make a few calls, and then I'm going to destroy the evidence here at base," Mr. Cross sighed. "We'll start from scratch, brand new team, brand new everything. No fuck ups this time."

"Keep the science, would you? That stuff – the loss – it couldn't be quantified."

Rolling his eyes, the Puppeteer said, "I know what I'm doing. Just get the team here by 0930."

"Will do. And David? What are we going to do about Alpha 1?"

"I have ideas. Just get here, will you? We can discuss the Beta strategy when you're here."

AN part two: Just the epilogue next and that'll be that!