Looking out the window, Stiles saw Lydia walking up to their door. Before she could get there, though, Argent came up through the hallway.
"Derek, pack business."
Derek kissed the top of Stiles's head lightly and hurried off after Argent, leaving Stiles to see what Lydia was here for.
She didn't even pause for social niceties when he opened the door.
"I have that information you were looking for. About the matches." The redhead handed over an old notebook. "It's Alan's code, which I'm certain you could figure out eventually if you wished. But essentially it says that he only one order that year for that particular item. It didn't come through any suspicious channels. That's the odd part. It was a government order, out of New York, with funds originating in the Bureau of Unnatural Registry."
Stiles's mouth opened slightly, then snapped shut. He sighed. "Well, I suppose that puts the old Alpha at the top of my suspect list. He would have held my husband's position at the time."
Lydia looked entirely uninterested in Stiles's musing. Her present concerns must be outweighing any curiosity over the past. "I hope this will be helpful. When you're finished, can I have those back? I want to keep everything in order."
"Of course."
"Well, I hate to be so abrupt, but I need to get back."
"Of course. Please get some sleep, would you?"
"I'll rest when the souls do," quipped the scientist with a shrug before taking off.
Not a moment later, someone came rushing in crying, "Stiles! Come quick!"
The intrusion turned out to be Isaac, one of Laura's drones. He was overwrought and disheveled – conditions highly out of character for any of Laura's drones. One sleeve of Isaac's favorite jacket was torn.
"What's wrong?"
"We're under attack from a werewolf."
Stiles grabbed his bat. "Of course. Where is he?"
As quickly as possible, Stiles and Isaac raced next door.
The hallway in Laura's place was packed with concerned-looking men and women, several of them looking much worse than Isaac. They were milling about and talking in obvious trepidation, at a loss but eager to do something.
"Where is he?" Stiles asked over the noise.
"It's Laura! She's locked herself in!"
The group continued in a chorus of explanations and objections.
"She's gone and locked herself in the drawing room."
"What that monster."
"I don't mean to question, but really!"
"Said she could handle it."
"For our own good, she said. Not to let anyone in."
"I'm not anyone." Stiles pushed his way through the throng of people. Finally he was faced with the door that led to Laura's favorite sitting room. He took a deep breath and knocked loudly with his baseball bat.
"Laura? It's Stiles. Can I come in?"
From behind the door came the sound of scuffling and possibly Laura's voice, but he couldn't hear anything specifically. Then he heard a loud crash. That was good enough for him and he went inside.
Stiles had witnessed a fight between a vampire and a werewolf before, but it had been inside a car and had rather rapidly relocated from carriage to road. Also, the opponents had genuinely been trying to kill each other. This was different.
Laura was locked in single combat with a werewolf. The wolf was definitely trying to kill her, jaws snapping and all his supernatural strength bent on the vampire's destruction. But Laura, while fighting the wolf off, did not seem to be enthusiastic about killing him. She seemed to be employing most evasive strategies, which only served to frustrate and anger the wolf.
The beast lunged for the vampire's neck and Laura dodged to the side, flicking out one arm in a blasé manner, as if flapping a handkerchief. It was a gesture that, for all its casualness, still lifted the werewolf up and entirely over the vampire's head to land on his back.
Stiles had never had the chance to observe Laura fight before. Of course, he knew Laura must be able to fight. She was fairly old and, as such, must be at least capable of combat. But this was like knowing, academically, that Laura's fat cat was capable of hunting mice—the actual execution of the task always seemed highly improbable and possible embarrassing for everyone involved.
Far from any awkwardness, though, Laura fought with a nonchalant lazy efficiency, as though she had all the time in the world on her side. Which, Stiles supposed she did. Her advantage was speed, eyesight, and dexterity. The wolf had strength, smell, and sound to rely on, but he was inexperienced. The werewolf didn't have an Alpha's skill, either, which Derek had once described as fighting with soul. No, this wolf was moon mad. His jaws snapped and his claws speared surfaces.
It would have been an entirely uneven match except that Laura was really trying not to hurt Scott.
Because that was who it was: Scott, deep chocolate brown fur and all.
"How did you get out of the dungeon?"
No one answered him, of course.
Scott charged Laura. The vampire seemed to flash spontaneously from one side of the room to the other, leaving the werewolf to complete his leap with no victim at the end of it. Scott landed on a chair, overturning it so that its legs stuck up.
The werewolf noticed Stiles's presence first. His nostrils flared. His hairy head swiveled around to cast a yellow-eyed glare in her direction. There was none of Scott's gentleness in those eyes, only the need to maim, feast, and kill.
Laura was only second behind noticing that they had company. "Why, Stiles, dear, how nice of you to drop by."
Stiles played along. "Well, I had nothing better to do and I did hear you needed help entertaining an unexpected guest."
The vampire gave a low chuckle. "As you see. Our company is a tad overwrought. I think he could use some help."
While this was taking pace, Scott charged at Stiles. He barely had time to arm the dart on his bat before Laura interceded, protecting him gallantly.
She took the brunt of the attack. Scott's claws scraped down the vampire's legs, gouging deep into muscle. Old black blood seeped out. At the same time, the werewolf's jaws locked around Laura's upper arm, biting clean through the meatiest part. The pain must have been phenomenal, but the vampire merely shook the wolf off. Even as Stiles watched, Laura's wounds began to heal.
Scott launched himself at the vampire once more, and together the grappled. Laura was always just one second faster and much craftier so that even with all the predatory advantages afforded by the werewolf state, Scott could not break the vampire's hold.
The vampire managed to use grip and speed to lever the wolf off of her and hurl him across the room, away from Stiles. Scott landed against the wall and slid down, taking several painting with him. He crashed to the floor, the painting now lying amidst shards of glass and gilt frames. He shook himself and stumbled dizzily to his feet.
Stiles fired one of his darts. It struck home and the werewolf collapsed back. He seemed to wobble, losing control of bits of himself, but then, quicker than any vampire Stiles had shot, fought against the effects of the drug and regained his feet. He wondered if Lydia's last batch of poison wasn't as effective or if it simply didn't work as well against werewolves.
Laura flitted to one side, catching the wolf's attention and directing his next charge away from Stiles.
Stiles said, deciding on a new tactic, "If you think you can hold him steady, I may be able to grab hold."
"Of course, darling."
Scott hit Laura broadside, and in the same movement, the vampire wrapped bother her arms and legs around the wolf. Laura used the wolf's momentum to tumble them both to the carpet. She got one elbow around Scott's muzzle, her hand closing firmly over the nose.
Stiles knew the vampire would not be able to pin the werewolf for very long. In the end, Scott was stronger and would break free, but Laura did have him momentarily confused.
Stiles made to lean over them both, but in an effort to avoid Scott's flailing limbs, lost his balance. He landed atop both supernatural creatures, ensuring they both turned mortal.
It was a very odd sensation and Stiles was uncomfortably aware of Scott's body changing from wolf to human. Scott howled with the pain of it, directly into Stiles's ear. A howl that turned into a scream of agony, then a whimper of remembered suffering, and finally a small snuffle.
After Laura had extracted herself and Stiles and Scott stood and sat on a couch, a blanket covering Scott, Stiles gave Scott a long look.
Before he could say anything, though, Derek walked in.
He strode across the room and bent to give Stiles a light kiss on the top of the head. "I thought I might find you here. And Scott too. Are you both okay?"
Stiles looked to his husband's Beta, who came trailing in behind. "The pack business that took you away?"
Argent nodded. "He led us on a chase before we traced him here." He tapped his nose, indicating the method of tracking.
"How did he get out?"
Argent tilted his head, which was as good as he would get to admitting that he had no idea.
Stiles nudged his husband in Scott's direction. He shot Stiles a brief glance and then crouched down in front of a half-naked man. It was a very servile position for an Alpha.
"Why did you run here?"
Scott looked up at the ceiling and then back down again. He swallowed, nervous. "I don't know. Some instinct. I'm sorry, but this is still home to me."
Derek looked at his sister, predator to predator. Then he turned back to his pack member.
"It has been months and still you're not settling. I know this was not the end you wanted, but it is the end you have been given. Somehow we must make this work." Derek took a deep breath. "How can we make this easier?"
Scott looked startled to be asked. "Maybe," he ventured, "maybe I could stay in town? Permanently?"
Derek frowned, glancing at Laura. "Is that a good idea?"
Laura stood as thought totally disinterested in the entire conversation. She walked to the other side of the room and started down at her torn paintings.
Argent stepped in. "Maybe he'd benefit from a distraction."
Derek nodded. "What about BUR? After all, you have contacts around the city that could prove useful."
Scott looked intrigued.
Argent came around to stand by Stiles, next to his crouching husband. His normally passive face showed genuine concern for the new pack member, and it was clear that he had put thought into how Scott might be better integrated.
"We could come up with a suitable range of duties. Plus, Erica will be on desk duty, so we'll need someone to help out."
Stiles looked, really looked, at his husband's second for the first time in their acquaintance. At the way he stood, shoulders not too straight, gaze not too direct. At the way he dressed, with studied carelessness, but not too careless. There was just enough not perfect about his appearance as to make him forgettable. Chris Argent was the type of man who could stand in the center of a group and no one would remember he was there, except that the group would stay together because of him.
And then, right there, holding on the hand of a half-naked werewolf, Stiles discovered the piece of the puzzle he'd been missing.