Stiles walked into their townhouse with Derek, but had barely remarked on the furnishing that Erica had picked out (he certainly knew better than to do it himself) when a ghost materialized up through the carpet next to him.

Under ordinary circumstances, ghosts were too polite to simply appear in the middle of a conversation. The better-behaved took pains to drift into front hallways at the very least. This one wafted into existence out of the center of the new rug.

Derek jumped back. Stiles let out a gasp. Finstock, who had come in behind them – and despite Stiles's assurances that the vampire death threats were over, refused to leave him – raised an eyebrow.

"Do we know if this house came with a ghost?"

"I don't think so," said Derek.

The ghost in question was fuzzy around the edges and not altogether in the middle. She must be close to poltergeist state. When she began speaking, it became very clear that this was the case, because her mental faculties had degenerated and her voice was high and breathy, sounding as though it emanated from some distance away.

"Hale? Or was it fail? I used to think I was going to fail school all the time. I didn't study much." The ghost paused and twirled around, trailing misty tendrils through the air. "Message. Missive. Meatloaf. Didn't like meatloaf much. Wait! Urgent. Or was that pungent? Important. Impossible. Information."

Stiles looked at his husband curiously. "One of BUR's?"

The Bureau of Unnatural Registry kept a number of mobile ghost agents – exhumed and preserved bodies with tethered specters that could be placed in select locales or near key public institutions for information-gathering purposes. They took pains to have a noncorporeal communication network in place, where each ghost's tether crossed over the limites of at least one other's. This stretched the length and breadth of Manhattan, although it was not able to cover all of New York City. Of course, it had to be updated as its members went insane, but such maintenance was routine.

The werewolf shook his head. "Not that I know of. I'd have to look at the registry to be sure. I've met most of our ghosts at least once, though. Don't think this one is under contract at all, or someone would be taking far better care of the body." He braced himself in front of the ghost, arms stiff by his side. "Hello? Listen up. Where are you tethered? This house? Where is your corpse? You are drifting."

The ghost looked at him in puzzled annoyance and floated up and down. "Not important. Not important at all. Message, that's what's important. What was it?" She paused in her speech a moment, still twirling. "Oh yes. Are you Stiles Whale?"

Stiles didn't know how to respond to that, so he nodded.

Derek, useless as he was, snorted.

Both Stiles and the ghost ignored him. All of the ghost's wavering attention was now focused on Stiles. "Bilinski? Stilinski. Son of? Dead. Effervescent. Problem?"

Stiles wondered whether all of this was related to his mother or to himself, but he supposed in either context it was accurate enough. "Yes."

The ghost twirled again, pleased with herself. "Message for you." She paused, worried and confused. "Custard. No. Conscription. No. Conspiracy. To kill, to kill . . ."

"Me?" Stiles guessed. He thought it might be a safe bet – someone was usually trying to kill him.

The ghost became agitated, straining at her invisible tether and vibrating slightly. "No, no, no. Not you. But someone. Something?" She brightened suddenly. "The queen? The king?" She paused again. "No, wait. We don't have royalty in America, do we? Well, we kind of do." She started spinning again, this time faster. "The kind of royalty! The leader! Kill the leader!" The specter began to sing. "Kill the leader! Kill the leader! Kill the leeeader!"

Derek stopped smiling.

"Good. Yes? That's all. Bye-bye, living people." The ghost then sank down through the floor of their new house and vanished, presumably back the way she had come.

Stiles turned to Derek, who was already grabbing his car keys. "She should be in tether radius of this house. There has to be a record of it somewhere in BUR's files. Scott is next door setting up our things and I think Argent is around. I'll figure it out."

Stiles nodded. "I'll get Connor from my dad's. Don't be out too late."

Derek nodded and took off.

"You really think she meant the President?"

The sun had just set and they were awake in their own house, next door to Laura's. The conversation had not changed from that of the night before; it had only paused for Derek to conduct a short investigation and catch half a day's sleep.

Derek glanced up. "Why else would she come to you? 'Kind of royalty'? He's the closest we have. Even if it was a ghost, we can't disregard it."

"You don't think I'm concerned? I've alerted the Shadow Council. We have a special meeting called tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Is there a problem?" Stiles dared Derek to say anything.

Derek, although prone to arguing, was still rather subdued with Stiles since their abrupt trip to Europe months previously. He wasn't quite sure Stiles trusted him yet, although Stiles rarely brought it up anymore. "No – just – I'd rather you bring someone with you. It's dangerous. We don't know if the vampires are done going after you."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Are you kidding me? Fine. If I have to bring someone, I want it to be Scott."

Derek did not approve at all. "Scott! He's a new wolf. He can't even control the change. What good could he possibly be?"

"It's Scott or nobody." Typical of Derek to see only Scott's limitations as a werewolf and not his abilities as a human.

"It's not a good choice." Derek's jaw was set. Stiles's safety was a subject Derek was willing to argue about.

"Scott has had Laura's training. That is a skill set that branches away from a normal wolf."

Derek snorted.

"I'm not just thinking of me. He needs some kind of distraction, Derek. Haven't you noticed? He's not settled."

Derek had noticed. Of course he had. He noticed everything about his wolves. It was part of his most essential being, to hold the pack together as a single cohesive entity.

"How will him following you around help him?"

"Am I not also a part of the pack?" Stiles retorted.

Derek grunted sheepishly. Stiles couldn't explain in so many words how he knew it was a sheepish grunt, but somehow, he did.

"If you ask me, it's not that Scott can't find his place in the pack, so much as you aren't giving him the right place. You're thinking of him as you would any new wolf, but he's not. He's different."

Derek, remarkably, didn't jump immediately to the defensive. "I know. Chris and I were discussing it recently. There aren't many women around, though."

Stiles made a disgusted noise. "Scott doesn't need a girlfriend, he needs a purpose. This is a matter of culture. Scott has come out of vampire culture. Laura's vampire culture."

"So what do you suggest?"

"You all have accepted me and I'm not exactly normal werewolf material."

"But you're my husband!"

"Exactly!"

"You want us to make him marry someone?"

Stiles almost threw his hands up in exasperation. "No, you idiot. Just think of him as if he married in from the outside."

Derek paused a moment, thoughtful. Then he nodded slowly.

Stiles realized he must be very troubled by Scott to listen without protesting much. Werewolf and pack nature was so ingrained into him and having to think of a new way to do something – and to take suggestions from someone who was not a werewolf – must be very difficult for him, indeed.

"You think there's a chance you might lose him, don't you?"

Derek did not answer, but that was an admission in and of itself. Stiles chose his next words carefully. "How quickly can omega status be established?"

"They can go solitary at any time, but it is usually for a specific reason and occurs within the first few years of metamorphosis."

"You don't think he would survive, do you?"

"Omegas are unstable. They fight constantly. He's not a fighter, not like that." Derek's eyes were pained and guilty. This mess with Scott was his fault. Unintentionally his fault, but Derek Hale was not the kind of man who shifted blame merely because they were all victims of circumstance.

Stiles took a deep breath. "Then you should leave him with me for a while. I'll see what I can do. Remember, I can change him back if he loses control." Stiles wriggled a few fingers at his husband.

"Find, but check in with me or Chris."

As Derek said this, Chris Argent wandered into the room, pulling the mostly unread newspaper out from under Derek's arms.

Now that he had both of them in front of him, Stiles directed the two werewolves back onto the matter at hand. "So, anything come out of BUR on the threat?"

"Not that we could find," answered Argent.

"Must be the vampires," said Derek.

"Why would you say that?" asked Stiles.

"Isn't it always?"

"No, sometimes it's scientists." Stiles was referring to his old colleagues. "And sometimes it's religious zealots." Now he was thinking of the Templars. "And sometimes it's the werewolves."

"Are you really defending the vampires? They've been trying to kill you for months."

Before Stiles could continue, Laura wafted in with a cry of "Stiles!"

The vampire, dressed a bright yellow sundress, paused in the doorway. "Isn't this delightful. I can just pop next door and visit the family."

"And how nice that you are not a hive queen to be confined to your own home," replied Stiles. He gestured for the vampire to draw up a chair.

She got right down to business. "So, what do you think about this new threat?"

Derek looked with shock at his Beta. "Chris, really?"

Argent didn't flinch. "Of course not."

"Stiles?"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "She knows because it's Laura. You're going to have to get used to it."

Laura laughed almost daintily. "Thank you, darling, for your faith in my meager resources."

"Of course. So?"

"I haven't formed an opinion as to the nature and origin of these rumors quite yet."

Derek snorted. "You haven't lacked for an opinion in your entire life."

Laura arched an eyebrow. "Yes, but Dere-bear, those usually involve fashion, not politics."

Scott appeared in the doorway moments later with Finstock.

"Oh right, I have that meeting tonight."

Finstock handed Stiles his briefcase. "You'd make a really good, butler, you know," Stiles said. Finstock just glared.

Scott stood at Stiles's side. "I'm staying with you tonight?"

"Yea. How did you know?"

Scott have him a look remarkably similar to the one Laura usually gave when she was asked such a question.

"Would you like to share a car, Laura? Apparently I've got bodyguards to spare tonight. Might as well make use of them."

"Why not?" Laura bounced up and swept from the room, Scott trailing faithfully after.

As they left, Stiles heard his husband say to Argent, "How long do you think we're going to have to keep this up?"

"Until Connor's an adult, I suppose," responded the Beta.

"It's going to be a long 14 years."

"You'll be fine."

Stiles and Laura exchanged smiles.

"Did you tell him?" asked the first ghost, stretched as far as he cold, shimmering in and out of existence with the strain of his extended tether.

"I told him." The second ghost bobbed up and down in the air above the street. She was a little more substantial, a little closer to home. "I told him what I could remember. I told him to put a stop to it. Are we done now?"

They were both lucid, strangely lucid, for two so near the end. It was as though the afterlife were given them this one chance to fix things.

"We're done," said the first ghost. Both of them knew he wasn't referring to their plan or their relationship but to their inevitable demise. "Now only I must wait."