Chapter Text
Lydia felt someone looking at her. It was about four in the afternoon, and to be put simply, Lydia was bored. She didn’t have any missions or anything to do, so she had spent the morning trying to hack the firewall, and bought mediocre coffee from the cafe outside the agency. But she was utterly bored, and she had been sitting in this same slumped position at her desk for the past hour.
She continued staring at her laptop, pretending to be intensely focused with a Buzzfeed article about the pros and cons of wearing fuzzy socks. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and after a moment, whipped around.
Deaton stood behind her, wearing blue scrubs and a calm expression like always. “Are you busy?” He said. “I really need to find out about if I need fuzzy socks,” Lydia replied, trying to crack his stone-cold expression. Deaton’s lips twitched, barely a smile. His dark skin looked green in the florescent lights. "Would you mind coming with me? It'll only take a few moments.”
“Is something wrong?” She asked as she stood up and tucked her chair in. He placed his hand on the small of Lydia's back and led her out. “No, no. I just need to discuss something with you.” As they walked through the lab, Lydia saw Parrish sitting at his desk twiddling a pencil between his fingers and chewing gum. He gave Lydia a confused look when he spotted her, and Lydia replied with a sheepish shrug and a tilt of her chin.
As they walked down the hallway, agents walked by, uniform in their crisp white shirts and black bottoms, hair gelled and combed to perfection. Briefcases no doubt containing confidential government information hung in their manicured fingers. Deaton led her into his office, a small, nondescript space containing simply a desk, two chairs and an incredibly high-tech super laptop. The one way mirror walls gave them a flawless view of everyone outside, but made it impossible for anyone to look in.
“Take a seat, Lydia," Deaton sat behind his desk. He steepled his fingers and stared her down. "I have something to show you." He turned his laptop towards her to show a picture of a twenty-something year old man in a leather jacket and v-neck T shirt exiting a warehouse. It was obviously taken without his knowing, as it was slightly blurred and far off. He zoomed in and Lydia squinted her eyes.
"Is that Derek Hale?" Lydia asked, confused. "I thought he had died in the Hale fire years ago."
"Apparently not," Deaton said darkly. "This picture was taken a week ago outside an abandoned warehouse in Sacramento."
"How did you find out about it?"
"Anonymous report. Someone sent us these a few weeks ago. There's more, too." He clicked to the next image of Derek getting into a beat up pickup truck, the back containing piles of boxes. Lydia frowned. "What's in them?"
"The Lab reported that about the same time that picture was taken a banking account under the name Brett Talbott had just bought five thousand dollars worth of guns and grenades from that warehouse," Deaton replied. "There's a high possibility that Derek had used the account, being as Derek was friends with someone named Brett Talbot in college. It's not unlikely he used the fake name to get the weapons.”
"But why would he need them? After all these years, he returns one day and decides he needs some guns?"
"Remember what happened a week ago to the Stilinski family?" Deaton said, clicking on a newspaper clicking. "Of course," Lydia scanned the article. "I saw it all over the news. Someone tried to shoot him and his son at the Annual Gala a few days ago.”
“The police report said that the same gun used to try and kill Stilinski and his family was the same Derek purchased recently," Deaton said, and the image on the computer changed to a picture of a small shotgun. "The Deucalion ‘96. Rare, extremely expensive, and very distinct. The bullets are made from pure silver. This is either a funny coincidence, or-"
"Derek was trying to kill the Stilinski's." Lydia finished.
"Exactly," Deaton said, rubbing his temples. He leaned forward in the chair, focusing hard on Lydia. “Would you be willing to do me a favor?”
“Do I have a choice?” She asked warily. Deaton smiled. “You always have a choice Lydia.” Lydia rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”
“If you want to hear the truth, I have a mission for you.” Deaton said. Even though she knew it shouldn't, it still sent shivers up her spine. "What is it?" she said, cautiously
"I need you to protect Stilinski's son for a while. We'll relocate you to his school. You'll act as a normal student-be his friend. Protect him. Do whatever it takes to make sure he stays safe-and away from anyone who could hurt him," Deaton told her.
"So I'm basically going back to high school?"
Nat
"You are only seventeen, Lydia. The same age as Stiles," Deaton reminded her. Sometimes Lydia forgot how early she had dropped out of school and started working for the agency. Of course, she was still tutored and everything, but it had been years since she had been to an actual public school.
"You can't be serious. This is a joke-a hackneyed cliche in spy movies.” Lydia scoffed.
“This hackneyed cliche could save someone’s life,” Deaton reminded her gently. “It would only be a year maximum. By then we would have found the suspect. And you would be payed handsomely, by the way.”
“Fine.” Lydia nodded. “I’ll take it.”
“Perfect,” Deaton grinned. “You start school Monday. I’ve emailed you your class schedule and locker combination.”
Lydia shook her head as she walked out. “It’ll be fun!” he called after her. Lydia forced a smile, but her stomach twisted as she walked away.