Action Is Its Own Language

Derek doesn't have fun shopping, the sheriff has a hard time with the politics of being sheriff, and Allison is starting to hate family dinner.

Derek could hear them whispering even over the hum of the dairy coolers: customers and staff who recognized him as "that" Derek Hale: the man who'd been tortured; the boy who'd survived the fire that had killed his whole family, the guy that woman said was a werewolf.

They whispered, "He looks perfectly normal"; "He does look dangerous"; "Didn't he inherit everything?"

All he wanted was some goddamned milk.

-o0o-

Chris didn't like being stared at. Part of being a successful hunter was being inconspicuous. However, thanks to his selfish sister blabbing about werewolves, inconspicuous was out of his reach.

He tried to ignore all of it—the staring, the behind the hand whispering. All he needed was eggs, because his ultra-efficient wife hadn't accounted for three of his father's men stopping by for breakfast every freaking day and they'd run out.

Gerard had managed to make Victoria doubt herself, when she hadn't doubted herself for nearly 15 years.

He stopped in front of the eggs, and resented the hell out of them.

It took him a moment to realize the store around him had gone silent. The only sound was from the dairy cooler. Then there was a soft "thwuck" as the cooler door sealed shut.

Chris turned.

Of course, it was Derek Hale in front of the milk. He wondered how many shoppers had stopped to watch them, hoping for a confrontation they could upload to YouTube.

"Derek," he said with a nod.

"Chris." Derek matched his own careful tone.

A quick glance over his shoulder proved that they had an avid audience, which meant there was no easy way out of this. Chris sighed. He hated confrontations where he had to be polite.

"I'm sorry about what happened to you." He hoped that was good enough to let him grab the eggs and get out of here. From Derek's raised eyebrows, Chris didn't think he was leaving yet.

"Which time? And for what?" Derek growled.

Damn it! This really wasn't a discussion to have in the grocery store. He leaned closer, and kept his voice low. "For what happened when you were fifteen. For the fire." He didn't apologize for his sister torturing him, because as a werewolf there'd been no permanent damage done. Derek would've already shrugged that off.

"We have a Code, and there's no doubt that Kate violat—"

"You hunt those who hunt humans, right?" Derek asked, voice mild.

At first, Chris was startled: why would Derek Hale know his family's code? Then he realized that, just as hunters studied supernatural creatures, those creatures—the sentient ones at least—had probably been studying hunters.

Chris nodded. "It's important to us—"

"Is it?" Derek snapped. "Really? Because I hadn't been hunting anything when you had your men break my window at the gas station. Not even a fluffy bunny as a snack."

He'd moved closer, but Chris forced his posture to stay relaxed. "We had questions—"

"My sister wasn't hunting you when one of you sliced her in half."

Chris looked around and then lowered his voice. "It was a precaution. She was already dead."

"My family wasn't. Dead, I mean. Kate trapped them in our house and burned them alive." Derek leaned in. "No one in my family had done anything that justified that."

"I already said that," Chris argued.

Derek wasn't listening. "I bet you didn't even care." Derek didn't sound angry, just baffled. Like a survivor of violence trying to understand why.

"If it had been any other family," Derek continued. "A 'normal' family—you'd've been horrified at the loss of life. But I bet you just shrugged—you and your psychotic relatives. I bet you thought the fire saved you from killing us later." Derek finally sneered. "And you call us animals."

He didn't wait for Chris to respond before striding away, milk in hand.

Not that Chris had a response, because Derek was right. He'd mourned the dead babies, but for every other Hale, he had thought exactly what Derek accused him of.

Chris stared at the eggs on display: white, brown, large, extra-large, pumped up with Omega-3s, and free-range organic. Chickens that would never be.

He turned around and walked through the still-gawking crowd. His father's men could buy their own damn breakfasts.

-o0o-

Noah had a morning meeting with the county council. It was early enough there was no point in going to the station, so he had enough time to make a proper breakfast for him and Stiles. He looked up from the hash browns he was spreading on the tray, (baked, not deep-fried, because Stiles still thought his arteries were delicate.)

Noah sensed movement, sensed Stiles. When he looked up, his son was standing in the doorway with a gleaming, big smile.

"No."

Stiles' smile dropped away. "I haven't even asked yet."

"It's something dangerous or illegal. Or some combination of the two," the sheriff said. "If Scott's with you, add stupid."

"Hey," Stiles protested. "That's not fair."

The sheriff pretended to think. "You're right. You don't need Scott around to do something stupid." He heard an odd tick in his son's heartbeat; saw a quick flash of hurt. He would've missed the signs before, but not now. It made his own heart jump. He hadn't meant to hurt Stiles…

He crossed over to his son, and squeezed his shoulder gently. "You just have to think it's a good idea. Or that it's the right thing to do. Or that it'll protect your friends. You're a good kid, Stiles, but you don't always think."

Embarrassed, Stiles looked away. The uncertainty with which his son viewed himself was enough to cause Noah to gather Stiles into his arms.

"We're hugging now? It's hugging time?" The tone was caustic, but Stiles returned the hug fiercely. "You used your wolfy powers on me, didn't you? I think that's, like, against the law or something."

"Parents are allowed to cheat. It says so in the handbook." It took six minutes for Stiles to twitch with the need to move. Sheriff Stilinski allowed himself to enjoy every second before stepping away. He kept his hands-on Stiles' shoulders, looked him in the eyes, and made sure to keep his tone light. "The answer's still no." The sheriff went back to preparing breakfast.

Stiles, of course, followed him. "Can I ask the question first? It's about Malia Tate."

"What about her?" Had Stiles discovered something that made her a danger to herself or others?

"It's just..." Stiles fidgeted with the eggs until Noah took them away from him. "She's gonna come to school eventually, and, and—given the famously bad relationship between coyotes and wolves—I was thinking that it'd be a good idea if she met Scott outside of school. That way—if it turns into a fight—it won't be around a bunch of squishy humans."

It was a pretty good idea, except; "Scott can fight?" the sheriff asked in disbelief.

Stiles shrugged, fidgeting. "Well... He'd defend himself. Or me."

"Oh. You're going to be there?" Of course, Stiles planned to be there.

"Well, yeah! I may be 100% human, but I hang with Scott and I live with you! I probably reek of wolf."

He should resist. He really should resist...

Screw it. He was allowed to tease his only child.

"Actually, you smell like a normal teenage boy. Post-pubescent." Noah winced dramatically. "All those hormones making you..." Noah pumped his hand a couple times. "Active."

Color rose in Stiles' cheeks. His eyes opened wide, and his mouth dropped in horror. "Oh my god! Why would you say that?" Stiles dug his fingers into his hair, and he practically blurred he was hopping so fast.

It was funny, Noah thought. Stiles used to do the same thing when he was a kid. It had made Claudia laugh—watching her Little Mischief. The sheriff couldn't keep the smile off his face.

Stiles froze when he saw the sheriff's smile. "You are evil," Stiles announced, looking like a dropped cat.

Noah laughed outright. "Gotcha."

When Stiles didn't stop his muttering or his circling, it occurred to the sheriff that Stiles might not be consider it harmless teasing. That, like his earlier joke that Stiles made stupid decisions, his words might cause his son pain. That it would somehow make Stiles feel like he couldn't 'relax' in his own home…

That wasn't what he wanted at all.

The sheriff made his voice so very gentle. "No need to be embarrassed, Stiles. Sex–"

"AHH!" Stiles shouted, hands over his ears.

"–especially masturbation–"

"AaaAAHHhh!"

"—is completely normal, and completely okay." Noah's eyes narrowed. "As long as you put everything in the wash or the garbage afterwards," he clarified. "Please don't hide it under the bed."

Stiles stared at him, eyes wide in horror. "Why can't you be like other parents? They pretend their kids don't have sex until there are actual grandkids on the way."

"I'm not that old, Stiles," the sheriff reminded his son. "I know there are many ways to become a parent that don't require intercourse–"

"Oh my god!"

The sheriff hesitated. He knew Stiles had problems with acceptance at school, just as he'd had problems with acceptance at camp, and Boy Scouts. It meant Stiles shouldn't have to worry about acceptance at home, and Noah could give that to his son. It was an opening if he made it one.

He took a breath, and let it out. He said, "There are lots of options for couples. No matter what their gender or sexual preference. Like in vitro, or adoption, if your partner is also male."

Once again, Stiles stopped to stare at him. This time it was shock, not horror. The moment stretched, but the sheriff had all the patience in the world for this.

Stiles swallowed. "What do you mean?"

"It means I love you, no matter who you choose to love."

There was nothing, just blinking, until Stiles closed his mouth.

The sheriff waited.

"So…" Stiles swallowed. "So, you know…"

"I know," the sheriff admitted. "Thanks to my freaky new werewolf powers, I know. And I don't care."

Stiles' eyes were suspiciously shiny, and the sheriff's eyes itched with the same emotion, but whatever emotionally-charged action might have happened next was blocked by the puff of smoke from the oven and the subsequent fire alarm.

By the time they'd stopped the alarm and cleared the smoke, the serious moment had passed, but Noah noticed the more relaxed set to his son's shoulders and back and thought that, just maybe, this was another way his unwanted werewolf senses could be used for good.

-o0o-

The meeting with the county council had been more annoying than usual, or maybe he had less patience. Either way, he'd sat through the posturing discussion about planning the new law enforcement building wanting to roar at the County Supervisor to just stop being an idiot!

Shay Hardwicke was a hard-nosed woman about his age. She'd been Chair of the Appropriations Committee since before Noah became sheriff, and she hadn't given it up when she'd been elected County Supervisor (though she probably should have). They would never be friends and he didn't respect her enough to think it a shame, but he'd at least thought they'd built a decent professional relationship over the years.

Hardwicke had spent the whole hour sniping at him, dismissing half of what he said before he'd even finished saying it. It was like they'd gone back to his first days as sheriff, when the councilwoman had blamed him for beating her cousin in the election.

And no decision had been made.

Noah was barely out the door of city hall, when Rita called him. There'd been an attack on an ambulance out on the Hi-way 5 "by something very hairy."

-o0o-

Sheriff Stilinski stared into the back of the ambulance. There was blood everywhere. Probably because whatever had attacked, had ripped open the chest and stomach of the 50-year-old male patient being transported. His liver was gone, just like at the cemetery. However, the creature hadn't killed the EMT or the driver.

The EMT was sitting in the back of the squad car. Astiago had given the woman tea from her thermos. She'd been closest to the attacker, and had provided the "very hairy" description. Noah and Haigh were standing near the engine with the driver. He kept looking through the windshield, making sure she was okay.

"Linda, my partner?" the driver said shakily. Astiago nodded encouragingly. "She'd just told me that she couldn't get his heart started again. It had already stopped twice," he reminded them. "So I was slowing down, because… no rush, you know?"

"And that's when you were attacked," the sheriff prompted.

"He tore the back door off. Just… rip!" The driver waved his hands. "The truck shook. I thought we'd been rear-ended. Then Linda screamed." He looked at them. "I looked back and this hairy guy, dirty hair. Greasy, you know?" They nodded. "He had a hand in the guy's stomach. And Linda." He stopped. His head jerked. "She was trying to drag him off. She had his free hand in some wrestler's hold—she likes that stuff—but he just flicked her off. Sent her into the shelving. She's okay, right?" He looked through the window.

"Bruises. A few contusions," Haigh answered. "Another ambulance is on its way."

"I don't think I want to ride in an ambulance," the driver said. "I don't think Linda will either." The sheriff could understand that. He watched as Haigh completed the interview.

Haigh was a decent officer, Careful and calm, he'd go back over the event. His demeanor calmed the driver enough that more details could be remembered, impressions glimpsed and recorded in the driver's mind, were teased out. Noah didn't think he'd never get much above sergeant, so he hoped the guy could be happy at that rank. He was good at this though.

The description the driver gave didn't sound promising for the perpetrator to be a regular human: hairy cheeks, distorted mouth, and long pointed fingernails.

The sheriff moved closer to the ambulance's back end and sniffed. His neck hair rose when he recognized the scent—the same werewolf who'd dug up the grave just three days ago.

He took his wolfy nose and his alpha senses to the edge of the pavement, and tried to find the trail of the stray werewolf. No luck. Noah still wasn't a very good werewolf, though. He couldn't smell anything over the diesel stink and the blood—not enough to commit to a direction, at least.

Noah stuck around to talk to the supervisor the ambulance company sent. He let Haigh and Astiago leave with the Linda and the EMT while he supervised the transfer of the body into a coroner's van. He signed the work order for the ambulance to be towed to the police lab. He did everything he needed to, and when he could finally climb back into his own vehicle, he pulled out his cell phone.

"Derek. Who in town knows the most about the supernatural?"

-o0o-

Allison had grown to hate family dinners. They only pointed out that they weren't really a family. Victoria always seemed to agree with Gerard, and he was a blood-thirsty lunatic so what did that make her mother? Dad argued for restraint and caution since Kate had put a spotlight on them, but Gerard didn't seem to care, and her mother had a hard time telling him no. Allison had heard enough of her parents' arguing to know her mother's deference was because she and Gerard were from the Mather clan, descendants of the Salem witch hunter, (and if there was a famous ancestor nobody sane would want, Cotton Mather was right up there with Josef Mengele and John Wayne Gacy.)

They were speculating (again) on who had informed Sheriff Stilinski of Derek's location. Apparently, her mother had arranged for people to talk to Kate's henchmen while they were in jail.

It was like they were discussing an episode of Oz, but they weren't. Those were real guards her parents had bribed.

"And you believe them?" Victoria asked.

"I do," Dad confirmed.

"So it was somebody local," Gerard cut in. "Somebody Kate wouldn't suspect."

"Not a long list," her mother said dryly.

Allison felt like all her follicles had just opened up, and she could feel their breathing on her skin. She needed to get them off this subject.

Swallowing her nerves, Allison cocked her head to the side and widened her eyes (a pose she'd picked up from Lydia). "Have you been to see Kate yet?"

Gerard gave her the same smarmy smile Mr. Harris used on them in class. "My lawyers are working on her case, never you fear."

A bite of sawdust potatoes to prove she wasn't afraid then wide, wide eyes. "But if your lawyers are doing all the work then why do you need to be here?"

Her father choked on his food, her mother growled her name in reproof, but at least Gerard dropped the patronizing smirk.

"Can't I want to visit my family?" Gerard said.

"Never have before," Dad muttered.

"Chris! That's very rude." It sounded like Dad was in trouble with Victoria, but he just shrugged.

Gerard had puffed up as well. "It's not like I can just waltz into the jail and demand to see my daughter!"

Dad put down his fork and stared at his father. "That has never stopped you before. Why is it stopping you now?" Allison glanced at her mother, but her mother was quiet, watching, letting Dad do the work. Allison's eyes narrowed.

"You've been here over a week," her father continued. "You've talked about my family—"

"Your lack of effectiveness," Gerard muttered."

"—about the second beta. The school. Lots about the sheriff—"

"The alpha," Gerard sneered.

"—and just a moment ago, you were ranting about some omega who is attacking dead people."

"The one in the ambulance—"

"Had already coded," Chris interrupted. "You read the same report I did, so you know that. However, in all your various expressions of concern, you haven't talked about Kate even once."

"I most certainly have," Gerard protested.

Dad shook his head. "You've talked about locating the person who reported her to the cops. You've discussed the effect her arrest will have on the Argent name. How her statement will impact the wider hunter community, but you have never once asked if she was okay. Just..." He stopped, took a breath. "She's in prison, Dad. She's tough, but one of the charges is statutory rape. Prison isn't kind to child abusers."

Allison had to swallow bile. She known (of course she'd known) that Derek had been young when Kate had— When she'd had sex with him. Somehow it hadn't registered that Derek being under the age of consent meant Aunt Kate had raped him. But, of course, that's exactly what it meant.

Gerard shrugged it off. "I assume she's in segregation. Protective custody."

Her father looked at her mother. After a moment of them staring at each other, her mother nodded. "You would know a detail like that, if your purpose here was to assist Kate," she said. "So why are you really in Beacon Hills?"

The three of them sat at the dinner table, not eating their roast beef and potatoes, and waited for Gerard to explain.

It was awkward and uncomfortable (no matter how at ease her mother looked), but Allison was determined to not be the first one to break. Allison shoved another forkful of potatoes in her mouth and chewed with determination.

"There are too many things happening here." Gerard finally caved. "The bizarre murders. Kate's arrest and the sheriff becoming the alpha! And now a Hale is back in Beacon Hills."

"Technically, there was always a Hale here since the uncle..." Allison forced herself to stop speaking.

"He's the one who killed all those people, and yet Kate's getting blamed for it." Gerard sneered. "It wouldn't have happened if you two had cleaned out your territory the way you should have!"

Allison peeked as her mother dabbed non-existent gravy from her lips. Always very proper, her mother.

"If only Kate had listened more closely she wouldn't be in jail." Victoria gave Gerard her own tight, mocking smile. "She, too, had her own agenda when she arrived. I explained the strategy we were following, and I advised her to put her own concerns aside for now, but she ignored me. She should have known I don't speak just to hear my own voice."

Victoria's eyes never wavered from Gerard's. "Now she's in jail and we're left to clean up her mess while in a media spotlight. I will do whatever necessary to make sure that we're not put into that situation again." The room fell quiet—heavy, oppressive.

Allison's mother lifted the platter of roast beef. She gave a tight smile. "More meat?"

Gerard did take another slice. Allison figured it more as way of saying he wasn't cowed by his daughter-in-law than out of actual hunger.

She watched him through the rest of the meal. He kept his head down, barely looking at any of them when he spoke. He looked suitably chastised, but for some reason Allison was convinced that that's all it was—a look. Gerard hadn't given up on anything.

-o0o-