Chapter Text
“Hey man, I can’t talk too long. I’m about to get on the elevator to go upstairs and start my shift. Is everything okay?”
“Yea, buddy. Everything is fine, it’s just Allison and I were wondering if you were going to make it down here for a little. We miss you, Stiles. We were hoping to see you, if you can swing it.” Scott said on the other end of the line.
Stiles sighed, watching the numbers ascend as the elevator did. “I miss you too, Scotty. I miss both of you, but this is a work trip. I won’t get any time off. They have me glued to Y/n this weekend.”
Scott snickered. “Bummer for us, maybe not for you.”
Stiles groaned. “Oh god, don’t start this again.”
“I’m not starting anything. Nothing at all.” Scott teased. Stiles could practically hear his grin through the phone.
“Yea, alright, McCall, why don’t you leave the coy shit and subtle digs to me, huh?” He heard Scott chuckle again. “I’ll be back out for vacation in about a month. I promise I won’t cancel this time.”
“Alright, alright. Listen, be safe out there, Stiles.”
“I will, Scotty. Say hi to Allison for me.”
They said their goodbyes and hung up the call, as Stiles rounded the corner and was let into your hotel room by another agent.
“Hey Stilinski.” You smiled, turning fully around to greet him.
“Morning, ma’am.” He simply said in reply, before assuming his position of silent monitoring.
You sighed at his professionalism, then turned to the only other person in the room. “So, what is the itinerary for today?” Stiles overheard you say to your social secretary, as he stood with his back against the wall, his eyes glued to the window straight ahead of him.
“Um, so,” The social secretary opened her planner and began looking for that day’s agenda. “you have the interview with Teen Vogue at eight, and they will be following you around for most of the day, snapping pictures, but no questions answered after the interview is over.”
“Okay, what else?” You asked, doing your makeup halfheartedly while reading an article on your computer.
“Then the Planned Parenthood ribbon cutting in Oakland at eleven. Quick speech, a little photo-op, some questions to reporters, maybe five max, and then I carved out an hour and a half for lunch with your friends back in San Francisco.”
“Oh, thank you so much, Tessa. That’s so exciting. I haven’t seen Sam or Ellie since undergrad. It’ll be great to catch up with them.” You beamed from ear-to-ear, catching Agent Stilinski’s gaze in the reflection of the mirror. You smiled and he looked away, pretending to scan the room. You snickered, but continued your conversation. “What time is the rally with my mom?”
“You have a quick meet-and-greet at SFSU at three, and that lasts until about five-”
“I’m in the Student Union, right?” You asked, sweeping the light pink rouge across your cheekbones. Tessa nodded, and you turned with a smirk towards your protection detail, trying to blend in with the wall in the background of your hotel room. “How do you feel about us going to San Francisco State University today, Agent Stilinski?”
“Fine, ma’am.” Stiles spoke quickly, before returning his gaze to a blank part of the wall in front of him.
“Oh come on, Stilinski, that’s so many people that you can’t vet, coming in and out to talk to me for two hours, that doesn’t bother you at all?” You poked at him, trying to get him to crack, always teasing your favorite agent.
Stiles licked his lips, trying to stave off a smirk, and pulled his suit jacket away from his hip, flashing his holster. “I think you’ll be fine, Backpack.”
You rolled your eyes at the Secret Service’s nickname for you and turned back to the mirror to touch up your mascara. You shrugged quickly and turned to Tessa. “Should we have gotten someone to do my makeup for me if I’m getting so many pictures taken of me today?” You grimaced, sweeping a tissue against the black smudges on your top lid.
“You look approachable. It’ll be fine.” Tessa answered, somewhat backhandedly, whether or not she meant to.
You cringed and then sighed, letting the pseudo-insult roll off your shoulders, then grabbed your laptop off the sink counter, bringing it over to the bed and setting it down while you grabbed your shoes. “The rally?”
“Five, and that’s at the baseball park.”
“Which one? There are two in the Bay Area?” You asked, catching a smirk on Agent Stilinski’s mouth out of the corner of your eye.
“There are?” Tessa flipped through her binder, trying to find the information about the rally. “Um…”
“There is Alameda Coliseum, where the shitty A’s play, and AT&T Park, where the less shitty Giants play. Are we in San Francisco for the rally or Oakland, Tessa?” You asked, glancing at the remaining smile on the handsome man’s face in the corner of the room.
“San Francisco, I think.” Tessa answered, half sure, but no longer searching through her binder.
“Okay, so AT&T Park it is. I’ve heard it’s beautiful. It should be fun.” You finished putting your shoes on and stood. “Tess, can I have a minute with Agent Stilinski?” Tessa nodded and you saw his eyebrows perk up as she left the hotel room.
“Everything okay?”
“I’m assuming you know where the rally is today?” You asked.
Stiles smiled softly and nodded. “Yes, ma’am. AT&T Park.”
“Okay, good.” You grabbed your toast off your tray on the desk and took the last bite. “Why’d you smirk before? You’re usually pretty straightfaced.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, that was unprofessional of me.”
You smiled and shook your head. “It’s okay. I’m not complaining. Just wondering.”
“I was just impressed that you knew so much about the baseball parks around here.” Stiles shrugged, staring down at you standing close to him.
“You’ve watched me constantly for a whole year, Stilinski, and you didn’t realize I was a Nat’s fan?”
“The Nationals, really?” Stiles let his professional guard down a little.
You laughed. “Yea, really. Why? You a baseball fan, Agent?” You teasingly straightened his already straight suit jacket.
Stiles grinned and didn't try to back away. He was harboring a massive crush on you and secretly liked when you were close to him. “Mets fan…. Massive, massive Mets fan.”
“Oh, so you’re a masochist?”
“We like to refer to ourselves as hopelessly optimistic, thank you.” He explained jokingly.
“You from New York?” You asked, leaning against the edge of the desk. “You don’t have an accent.”
Stiles shook his head. “Actually from California. My mom was from New York.”
“Oh, so you're home right now?” You beamed up at him, finally getting some personal information from the young and handsome agent who had been your shadow for the past six months.
“Yes, ma’am.” He replied simply.
You sighed at his steely demeanor. “Are you ever going to tell me your first name, Stilinski?” You tilted your head to the side, smirking at him as your hair brushed off your shoulder and you licked your lips.
“That would be inappropriate, Ms. Y/L/N.” He glanced at his watch. “We should get going to the restaurant where your interview is.”
You widened your eyes and smirked, playfully annoyed. “God forbid, Backpack is ever late. Um, Stilinski...” You paused, before walking out of the room, him trailing behind you. “When Tessa said I looked approachable… that wasn’t like a compliment, right?”
Stiles thought about the professional thing to say, but went with the truth instead. “You look beautiful and approachable. That’s what she should have said, because that would’ve been the truth.”
You gently pressed your lips together and smiled at him, a red blush rising to your cheeks. “Thank you.” You whispered, before grabbing your sweater and following him out the door.
INTERVIEW:
“So, I got a list of questions that were off limits from the White House Press Office, but I wanted to ask and make sure that there was nothing that you, in particular, wanted to avoid talking about?”
“Do you have the sheet of off-limits topics that they sent you?” You asked, and the interviewer nodded and handed it to you. You scanned over it, chuckling softly, before crumpling it up. “I’m not an off-limits kind of woman. You can ask me anything. I’ll answer whatever you throw at me.” You promised, a welcoming smile resting on your lips.
“Okay, I’m going to turn on the recorder, everything will be on the record once it’s on then. If you tap the table twice, I’ll turn it off.” You nodded once, and waited patiently, eyeing Agent Stilinski hovering in the corner of the empty restaurant. “This is Elsie Johnson, with Teen Vogue, and I am here with Y/n Y/L/N, oldest daughter to First Female President of the United States, Margaret Y/L/N. Y/n has taken a year off from her graduate studies at Georgetown University in the District of Columbia, to help stump on behalf of her mother on her re-election campaign. Thanks for joining me today, Y/n.”
“Pleasure to be here, Elsie. Thanks for coming up from Los Angeles to spend the day with me on the trail.”
“So, you are on the campaign trail with your mother trying to get young people to care about the upcoming election and trying to advocate for issues on behalf of our generation to the President, correct?”
You nodded with a smile. “Yes.”
“What issues are most important to you?”
You leaned in, and smiled. You liked this question very much. “Right off the bat, eh, Elsie?” You chuckled quietly. “So the way I answer this question really frustrates people because I like to go with the most boring issue ever first-”
“That being?” Elsie interrupted and prompted you.
“Education.”
“Not quite sexy.”
You laughed loudly and genuinely. “No, not very sexy at all. Um, but important nevertheless, and you know, because it isn’t sexy, it doesn’t get talked about as much, but it is incredibly integral to our country’s success. You know, um, the example I always use is the GI Bill. So after World War II ended and all of those soldiers came home, they got to go to college for free because of the GI Bill, and many of those men wouldn’t have gotten that opportunity to partake in higher education in regular circumstances, if not for the bill making it accessible to them. Then you look at all of the things that were built and invented and created and discovered because this massive section of America got a proper education and was able to do something with it.”
“Any examples of people who received the GI Bill?”
You nodded. “This is a very, um, California,” You snickered. “answer but Clint Eastwood, you know, he served in the Korean War and then studied drama at LA City College and then went on to become an Oscar Award winning actor, director and writer. The less Hollywood answer is William Rehnquist who became one of our country’s greatest US Supreme Court Chief Justice’s. He got to go to Stanford on the GI Bill. So, you know, um, I think about the greatness and the potential that is just waiting to be unlocked in these future generations if high education was cheaper, even free, or just more accessible to everyone. The possibilities and the innovations would be endless and I think you don’t have to go to school to be successful, but you should be able to make that choice. The price tag on a university shouldn’t make that choice for you.”
Elsie kind of stared at you like the sun shined out of your mouth and she was blinded by the pure light. You waited with a patient smile, as she shuffled through her cards trying to figure out what her next question would be. You glanced up at Agent Stilinski, who couldn’t help but send you a soft smile in reply when he caught your gaze. You looked down at your hands, folded neatly on the table in front of you, thinking about how he had called you beautiful before and how he had smiled at you just then, only to be pulled from your thoughts when Elsie asked the obvious follow up.
“So, besides education, what other issues are important to you?”
You reconnected your eye contact with Elsie, trying to forget about the handsome Secret Service agent’s watchful stare in the background. “Well, now we get into the divisive stuff…” Elsie laughed and nodded in agreement. “Women’s reproductive rights and healthcare, and just healthcare in general, are incredibly important to me.”
“You’re going to a ribbon cutting ceremony for a brand new Planned Parenthood clinic after this, if I’m not mistaken.”
“I am.” You nodded
The interview with Teen Vogue. (nothing is off the table. I’ll answer anything)
The interviewer asks questions about why young people should care about the election
What the reader is doing to influence her mother and advise her for the issues that matter to youth voters
How she’s in debt cause her parents aren’t paying for Grad School
She’s taking a semester off to work for her mother if they get re-elected
"Okay, to finish up, we let our readers know that we were meeting with you and they sent in some questions through Twitter. Can I ask you some?"
"Absolutely." You said with a grin, settling into your seat like you were getting ready to play a game.
Elsie nodded and started asking you the Twitter questions, rapid fire, just like your answers, until she got to the final one. "Okay, so this was our number one question: are you single?"
You glanced up at Agent Stilinski, so subtle and so quick that if you blinked, you missed it. Stiles didn't miss it though. "Yes."
Elsie missed the exchange but cracked a joke that made you wonder if she had actually caught it after all. "With all these handsome Secret Service agents around, you're a stronger woman than me.
Then the interviewer is like “are you single????”
And she says yes
Interviewer spots Stiles and is like “with all these handsome secret service agents around, you’re stronger than me.”
And she singles stiles out, like “are you single?” and you are like “it’s okay, you can answer” you cant use his name though.
And she looks at Stiles and he’s blushing slightly but remaining professional and stoic and she’s like “yea, some of them are very good looking. It’s a real plight in life. Lololololol *rolls eyes*
“Stilinski, can we listen to some music?” You asked, jiggling your foot in the backseat of the car as you drove in the motorcade to the brand new women’s clinic in Oakland.
“No.”
“Oh come on, do you not like music or something?” You asked sarcastically, scrolling through your phone in the back.
“No.”
“What?!” You raised your voice, unbuckling your seatbelt and leaning over between the driver’s and passenger seat.
Stiles glanced beside him, as your head popped up next to his arm. “Sit back and put your seatbelt on, please, ma’am.” He requested, bordering on exasperated.
“No way, not until you tell me why you don't like music! Honestly, Stilinski, who doesn't like music?” You badgered him, watching him sigh.
“I like music, okay? Now please put your seatbelt back on.” He finally broke and a grin spread across your face.
“Just like?” You pressed.
Stiles rolled his eyes. “I love music. Seatbelt. Please.” He glanced down at you, beaming up at him.
“What kind of music?” Bothering him in particular, was a favorite pastime of yours. You liked how he would scrunch his cute upturned nose whenever he would get frustrated with you trying to push the boundaries of your working relationship.
“Ms. Y/L/N, please sit.”
“You know you're allowed to call me by my first name, right?”
“I know.” Stiles answered, his brow furrowed with worry as you continued leaning over the console separating the front seats from the back.
“Just tell me what music, Stilinski.”
He sighed heavily. “A little bit of everything, I guess. Alternative and indie rock the most, probably. Ma’am..” He took his eyes off the road and all you saw were the genuine worry lines burrowing into his forehead.
“Will it bother you if I play something on my phone?”
Stiles shook his head, then turned slightly in the driver’s seat, about to resort to begging you to put your seatbelt on, but stopped and smiled softly as he saw you already safely back in your seat. “Thank you.” He said, eliciting a smile from you, before turning back around and focusing on the road in front of him. “I thought you did really well in that interview.”
You were stunned by him initiating conversation with you. You turned down the music on your phone and smiled at him through the rearview mirror. “Yea? I thought it went okay too. I felt like I really got my message out there, but I always get nervous about print, you know? They can twist your words and make it seem like you said something different than what you actually did. A comma here and an exclamation mark there, and suddenly, ‘I love Planned Parenthood and all they do.’ becomes ‘I love Planned Parenthood and all they do!!!’ and I am allegedly killing babies in the streets, you know?”
Stiles snickered and nodded. “I get that.” He replied. “I’d vouch for you that I haven’t seen you killing any babies in the streets yet.” He said, staring forward and scrunching his face, suddenly thinking that was the worst joke ever told.
You chuckled, rubbing the backs of your fingers against your smile. “Can I ask you something personal?”
“Depends.”
“What do you think about Planned Parenthood and all that?”
Stiles had an opinion. He had an opinion about everything, but he wasn’t in the right setting to share that. The Secret Service served at the pleasure of the President, regardless of who the President was and what political party they belonged to. They were never meant to be political themselves. “I’m not paid to have an opinion, I’m just paid to take a bullet for you if I have to.”
Have her ask a few more questions and him actually answer
Stiles is in the car with her on the way to the Planned Parenthood ribbon cutting ceremony and she’s like asking him questions. Idk what about.
Then at the ceremony, she’s waiting to go out and he’s on her tail and she is like “what do you think of PP?” and he’s like “im not paid to have an opinion, just paid to take a bullet for you if i have to.”
“How’d you get into this line of work?”
“My dad is a sheriff blah blah blah my friends and i used to help out with cases back home.”
“You’re from California, right?”
Stiles’ like yeee
They do the ribbon cutting and Stiles is on edge as she does the rope line
Stiles followed you, scanning the crowd with the other agents, as you worked your way down the rope line, shaking hands and chatting with the people who came out in support of the new clinic and your mother. He always felt uneasy at open air meet and greets, there was too much that could go wrong, but something was making the hair on the back of his neck stand on edge today especially. He chalked it up to intuition but something was off, someone wasn't where they were supposed to be and he couldn't figure out who. He decided to get you out. Something wasn't right and he didn't want to stick around to find out what.
“Y/n…”
You grinned. “Oh, Stilinski, finally wore you down to call me b-” You paused when you turned around and saw his serious face and eyes darting through faces in the crowd, memorizing who was where in relation to you. “What's wrong?”
“It’s time to go.” He leaned in to whisper while resting his hand on the small of your back. His touch sent shivers up your spine and you nodded, letting him lead you away from the disappointed crowd. “I might have spotted something. Backpack is on the move.” He spoke into the mouthpiece connected to the other agents earpieces, hidden in his sleeve. He loaded you into the back of the black SUV, and then went to close the door. You pressed your palm against the closed, tinted window and looked at him.
“Come on.” You urged him to get in. You felt safer around him.
“You have to go.” He said, simply and seriously.
You shook your head. “You have to come with me..” You whispered, concern seeping through your voice as you watched him shielding the open door with his body.
He pulled your hand off the window, and placed it in your lap, not moving from his hold immediately. “You’ll be okay. You have to go. Please.” He pulled his hand from on top of yours, closed the door, and turned to head back towards the dispersing crowd. You watched him get smaller and stay behind as your car drove away.
“Come in.”
“You asked to see me?” Stiles said, poking his head through the door of your hotel room.
You waved him in and he let the door latch behind him. “So, because you thought you saw something earlier at the Planned Parenthood event, Agent Butterfield decided to tighten my security and canceled my lunch with my friends.”
“Uh, I'm sorry, I didn't-”
You cut him off, with a smirk. “Since, I'm stuck eating room service alone for lunch, because you are an alarmist….” You grinned up at him. “I ordered you a burger, so you can eat with me.”
Stiles’ eyes widened. “I can't do that.”
“Eat a burger? Do you not eat meat? I didn't even think of that.”
“Have lunch with you. I'm not allowed to do that.”
You smiled at him, leaning back on your palms against the carpet underneath you. “I've got you covered, Stilinski. Sit and eat with me in this dark hotel room that I'm stuck in because of you.”
Stiles stuttered and shook his head, glancing around the room for anyone else who might be overhearing the conversation. You were alone. “It really wouldn't be appropriate.”
You genuinely frowned, and it made him frown in response. “Don't make me eat alone.” You leaned forward and spoke softer.
Stiles sighed and pursed his lips, then began walking back over to the door. He quietly put the chain across the doorframe and turned back to where you sat on the floor, watching him intently. “If anyone walked in and saw that I had my jacket off and I was eating with you, I'd be dead.” He explained as he laid his suit jacket on the foot of the bed and began to roll the sleeves of his crisp white dress shirt up his muscular and veiny forearms. He tucked his tie between the buttons of his shirt and smiled at you as you pushed his plate across the rug towards him. “Thanks.”
You grinned and then took a bite of your burger when he dug into his own. "You made a face earlier when the interviewer asked me what my teams were..."
Stiles brought the back of his hand up to his mouth, hiding the food he was chewing, as he quietly chuckled. "Sorry." Stiles sheepishly grinned. "I was hoping you hadn't caught that."
"So you are that big of a Mets fan, huh?"
Stiles swallowed his food fully and shook his head, quirking an eyebrow up and smirking. "'Til I die."
"Just a baseball guy?" You asked, before taking a bite from your burger.
"Pretty much. I like basketball and football, and I played lacrosse in high school, but I don't really watch it. Nothing beats a hot day at Citifield with a hot dog, a beer, and nine innings of the Mets whooping the Phillies up and down the field." Stiles said dreamily, thinking about the pastime that he wished he got to indulge in more.
You grinned as he took a big bite of his almost finished burger. "I literally never thought you'd be this chatty or open. This is kind of fun." You couldn't help but laugh when he tried to smile but his food filled up his cheeks and made him look a bit like a hamster.
Stiles swallowed his food, quietly laughing as he knew he looked ridiculous before, and then smiled at you. "Alright, what else do you want to know? For this lunch, and this lunch only, I am an open book."
You smirked, pushing your plate out of the way and scooting closer so that you were sitting squarely in front of Stiles. "Why don't I ask you the questions they asked me in the interview, since you got to hear all of my answers." Stiles nodded once, pursing his lips in an attempt to wipe the smile off his face. "Okay, what was the first one?" You asked rhetorically, trying to remember. "Oh yea, when you eat cereal, do you pour the cereal first or the milk?"
"Cereal. I'm not a monster. Next question."
"East Coast or West Coast?"
"You didn't answer that one, why do I have to?" Stiles pointed at you, and quirked an eyebrow up.
"Because I'm curious."
Your sheepish smile and poor reasoning were too cute for Stiles to deny. He answered your question. "West Coast. I'm a California boy, always."
"Favorite TV show?" You asked.
Stiles nodded once at you, leaning back against the foot of the bed and relaxing after having finished his burger. He picked at the fries and pickle on the plate while answering. "Same as yours, I was excited to hear you liked Friends too."
"Oh, very good taste, Stilinski." You bit your lip flirtaciously, and glanced up at the ceiling, trying to think of the next question.
What was your biggest fear as a kid?
going blind.
seriously?
yea, always has been just a huge fear.
you're so weird. whats an odd thing you collect?
baseball bats
that makes sense if you're a huge baseball fan
you could say that's why i started that collection.
morning person or night owl?
oh night owl all the way. it's really beneficial for all parties involved that you are always so nice to me in the morning or i'd start shooting people randomly.
do you have any tattoos?
no. im a little squemish with needles... and blood.
you carry a gun, how are you squemish? have you ever fainted?
my best friend got a tattoo in high school and i went with him and as soon as they pulled the gun out and i saw the needle, body met the floor. he watched you laughing. dont ever tell anyone that story. i don't need to get shit for that.
crosses her heart with her finger. promise. your secret is safe with me.
favorite movie?
Star Wars, but I liked your Good Will Hunting answer, that's a great movie.
"Are you single?" You asked with a grin, really pushing the boundaries, trying to see when Stiles would draw the line.
"Yea.. I had a girlfriend through most of college, but she was up in Massachusetts and I was at GW, and it just didn't work out." He gave more information then you asked.
“Do you like me?”
Stiles practically choked on his french fry. “Wha-what? That wasn't one of the questions...” He coughed, causing you to chuckle.
You suddenly got nervous and tried to cover your tracks. “I only mean, I feel like I drive you nuts and you just tolerate me, but today you seemed concerned...”
Stiles gulped down some water and shook his head. “Oh, um..." Stiles clearly thought you meant something else. He tried to hide his disappointment. "You uh, you don't drive me nuts. You're actually a pretty easy protection detail, even easier if your mom wins the election and you start working in the West Wing with her.” He paused. “And I was concerned. I didn’t want anything to happen to you.”
You nodded, maintaining eye contact with him for a prolonged moment. When he broke and looked down at his plate, you decided to change the subject. “So, of all the sisters?”
“Oh, Jenny is the best. Definitely.” Stiles teased with a grin, referring to your youngest sister.
You scoffed and threw a fry at him. “Jackass.”
He picked it off the carpet, dipped it in ketchup and stuck it in his mouth, laughing at the grossed out grimace on your face. “No, I’m kidding. I like being on your detail. You do interesting things and you’re so nice to all of us, except that stunt with your seatbelt this morning.
“What'd you think you saw anyway? Butterfield wouldn't say.”
Stiles wiped his mouth with a napkin and raised his eyebrows, as he finished chewing before he spoke.
“Would you actually take a bullet for me?” You asked, thinking about something he had said earlier.
“Are you planning something?” Stiles quirked his head to the side and smirked.
You chuckled and shook your head. “No, no, no… Just… I don’t know.” You mouth turned down into a lopsided frown, as you pushed a french fry through the honey mustard on your plate. “I see you every day, but we’re strangers. You never talk to me. You won’t even tell me your first name. Why would you take a bullet for me?” You finally caught his intense gaze on you.
“It’s my job.” Stiles replied, seeing your lopsided frown turn into a disappointed grimace. You dropped your eyes back towards the floor, and he decided to speak up. “I wish I could talk to you. I kind of can’t help it since I follow you around all day, every day, but I listen to you talking to people constantly and you are kind and incredibly intelligent and funny.” He smiled to himself and saw you look up with a lightness returning to your eyes. “I’d take a bullet for you because it’s my job, and because I think you’re someone who deserves to be protected.”
You smiled at the handsome man sitting across from you, and you tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, watching his eyes track your every movement. A small blush rose to your cheeks as you said something bold. “You’re sweeter than I would’ve guessed.”
“Thanks..” He mumbled sheepishly. “And um, it’s Stiles..” You gave him a confused look. “My name, my first name, it’s Stiles.”
“Stiles Stilinski? Wait, I saw your file when they were assigning you to me, I thought it said ‘M’ was your first initial?” You were grinning. He finally opened up to you enough to tell you his name.
Stiles groaned. “It does start with an 'M', but, just, Stiles? Please? Okay? That’s what everyone else calls me.” He sent you puppy dog eyes and you melted a little, biting your lip and nodding. Stiles glanced down at his watch. “We should clean up. You have the rally in a bit..”
As Stiles placed the plates back on the tray that they were sent up on, and began putting his jacket back on, and tried to smooth the wrinkles in his pants, you thought of something else you hoped he might answer honestly. “Stiles..” He whipped his head around at the sound of his name being said by your voice. He couldn’t help but smile. “If I ask you something else, will you tell me the truth?” He nodded. “Why has the security been upped for this particular trip? We’re going to win California by double digits. My mom is beloved here. I don’t get why you’ve been so on edge.”
Stiles smoothed his tie down the front of his shirt and then paused to fiddle with the bottom, avoiding looking at you immediately. You sat on the foot of the bed, next to him, putting yourself in his line of sight, as you slipped your shoes back on. “There was reason to believe that one of the threats that we got regarding the trip this weekend was… serious.” He muttered, catching a hint of fear in your eyes.
“Against my mom?” You asked, frightened.
Stiles shook his head. “Against you.”
The meet-and-greet at SFSU went off without a hitch and Stiles was relieved. He didn't get the same nervous feeling in his stomach, that he had earlier. He was relaxed until he got on stage with you at the rally and the sinking feeling returned. It was driving him insane that he couldn't put his finger on what was wrong. He started to wonder if his instincts were off because he had feelings for you and he just constantly wanted to keep you safe.
Stiles stood behind you, a length off to the side, on the stage, barely listening to your introductory speech for your mother at the rally in AT&T Park. He eyed the snipers on the roof and upper decks of the baseball stadium, and wondered what they were seeing in the crowd. That sinking feeling returned to his stomach; something was not right. He subtly placed his fingers on the base of his holstered gun, continuing to scan the cheering crowd for the one person that was off; the one person who was potentially a threat.
His attention was drawn from the crowd when he saw movement from the corner of his eye. “Without further ado, my mother, your President of the United States, Margaret Y/L/N!” He heard you yell into the microphone on the podium. He saw something. He didn’t know what, but he saw something. He tried to ignore the President coming on stage with her own Secret Service protection trailing behind. He tried to ignore the thunderous applause and deafening cheering. He tried to ignore the flashes from the cameras.
That’s when he saw it.
That’s when he lunged.
That was when he heard the gun go off.