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It's really kind of funny when you think about it. No, it is.
She's late leaving work because of a CI. Deaton's a sketchy sort, seriously, but he knows from weird shit. Like, really, really knows from weird shit and Stiles is the field office's go-to-girl for weird. She's not sure why, but highly suspects it's because of that time she wore a Batwoman t-shirt to the office.
Either way, she's late getting back to the apartment and that means she's late leaving to drive home. She ends up throwing a bunch of things into a bag with the stuff she'd packed the night before, grabs the dog, and books it for Beacon Hills.
Signal's shit in the car so the one time she can get through, Dad's out on a call and it's bad so they can't put her through.
Which, yeah, she gets, but complicates matters like, well, a whole hell of a lot. "Uh, by any chance, did he happen to leave anything at the front desk for his daughter?"
She knows the answer even before she asks, but, whatever, she's an optimist sometimes. (None of the time, but fuck it, she's giving it a shot)
"Sorry, honey, but no. Did you want him to call when he gets back?"
Stiles agrees, taps her headset, and keeps right on driving. Over her shoulder, Frankie is making the 'gotta pee now Mom' face.
"I know, I know," she says, reaching back to pet him. He takes about two seconds to duck beneath her arm, scrambling up into the front seat where he can put his head on her thigh. "Are you sure you're a pitbull?" she teases, rubbing his ears. "Because, seriously, dude, you are killing the rep right now. All the other pit bulls? They're embarrassed."
Frankie, for the record, doesn't give a fuck. Stiles gives the best ear scritchies known to dogkind and fuck'em if they don't understand.
Okay, maybe she's elaborating on that one, but whatever, Frankie's leaning into it and he is loving it.
"We're almost home anyway," she says, "and the way it's going; you're going to have plenty of time to pee." Because it's Friday and Dad's working a double and—due to an unfortunate incident involving a suspect, a fence, and a badly placed sewer—Stiles doesn't have a house key anymore.
Which is how she gets arrested by the hottest cop she's ever seen and Frankie pees in the backseat of her car.
Yeah. Her life, right?
*
"Seriously," Stiles says, pointing at Big Bertha, grinning wide as she says it, "How many people get arrested for burgling their own houses?"
Bertha doesn't really answer, but that's not any kind of surprise. Bertha's the latest town drunk since Alleyway Al got sober and Bertha is completely passed out. In fact, right when Stiles finishes her question, Bertha tips sideways and ends up face down on the holding cell bench.
Ow.
Her hoodie doesn't make much of a pillow, but Stiles strips it off anyway and folds it up. It's kind of a challenge, getting it under Bertha's head , but that helps pass twenty minutes or so. Bertha rolling over and puking all over the floor takes up another.
Doesn't take much to persuade the staff to get her a mop and bucket. She cleans that up first, then trades for a cloth and a new bucket. She cleans up Bertha with the cloth and puts the bucket by her head just in case.
She's just finished easing Bertha over onto her back when Officer Hale approaches the cell with her paperwork in hand.
God, that man is hot.
Stiles used to complain about the severe lack of hot cops in town. Growing up around cops, she'd always thought she'd end up with one, but seriously? Beacon Hills? Not exactly overflowing with hot cops. In fact, when she'd left for college there was pretty much one cop in town that set hearts of both genders to fluttering.
And that, for those who haven't guessed the obvious, would be her dad.
Now there was Officer Derek Hale. Stiles was almost tempted to believe this was her Dad's idea of an Academy graduation gift.
Almost. Her Dad's not going to be caught bribing a federal agent after all.
Giving Bertha a pat on the shoulder, Stiles gets up with a smile. "So, are you ready to believe me yet?"
Hale looks at her. No, glares. Definitely glares. Oh yeah, somebody decided to let him in on the joke and he is so not happy.
"It was Sally, wasn't it?" Stiles asks, leaning on the bars. She folds her arms beneath her breasts and tips her head back so she can savor the muted horror of his expression with all the appreciation it deserves. Hale's looking down at the paperwork in his hands, white-knuckled on the clipboard, and she bites down her laughter. Poor guy. "Yeah, I'm guessing Sally. Did she tell you they pulled the same thing with her? She thought I was high and locked me in the tank." Turning around, she hooks her arms through the bars and relaxes. "She's not the only one, actually. Arresting the Sheriff's daughter is kind of tradition around here."
Her Dad certainly encourages it. She's reasonably sure it was his way of keeping her on the straight and narrow.
She managed the narrow part at least. Straight, not so much.
"So I'm hearing," Hale mutters, waving her away from the door so he can open it.
Stiles, obedient just this once, steps back as requested. While she waits, she looks at the deputy behind Officer Hale and beams. "Hey Phil, how're the kids?"
"Doing great, Stiles," Phil says, grinning like an idiot. Oh, yeah, they're getting mileage out of this one. She can just imagine the kind of hilarity in the break room right now. "I hear you graduated top of the class?"
"Oh yeah," Stiles shrugs. "Turns out spending your teen years honing your late night Google skills? Totally guaranteed to get you top spot at Quantico."
Stiles looks at Officer Hale and his too-pink ears. She probably shouldn't be enjoying this as much as she is, but she's got the upper hand for once and she's definitely not a saint. He's cute when he's handcuffing, but he's fucking adorable when he blushes.
And he's fire engine red right now.
She is a cruel, cruel woman.
"You know, technically this is my Dad's fault," she says, following Hale out to pick up her personal effects. Frankie's sitting by Hale's desk and gives him the kind of adoring look that speaks of so much bribery. "He promised to send me a key when he changed the locks."
"Somehow, I don't think he's going to see it that way," Hale mutters, handing them over. Frankie nudge against his leg and he bends down to scratch his ears.
Stiles snorts. "Fuck, no. He'll promote you to detective." She nudges him with her hip. "For the record, revenge will be sweet."
He finally meets her eyes, curiosity getting the better of him, "Do I dare ask?"
She grins. "Pick me up at 8."
Hale falls over.
It's a damn good look on him.