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The crash and the swearing is what wakes me, and I stumble out of bed, charging down the stairs and into the garage. Fortunately, years of experience and muscle-memory cause me to grab my crossbow as I move through the house.
I fling open the door in time to hear Allison snap, “Great job, you guys. I told you we should’ve found the beach umbrellas last night!”
I scrub a hand across my face because, “What the hell?”
The scene before me would be hilarious if I were awake enough to appreciate it: Scott McCall and Stiles both climbing out from a beneath a pile of camping gear, Allison glaring down at them, and…
“Is Derek wearing floral shorts?”
Dear Lord, it’s finally happened. Too much time spent with the Hale pack and my brain has turned to mush. But nonetheless, I cannot stop staring at the young man before me. The Alpha – normally decked out in black leather, and scowling – is actually wearing board shorts, a tank top, and flip flops. He looks the same age as the rest of the kids, especially since he’s wearing the same embarrassed expression as the rest of them.
“I think they make his legs look good,” Stiles chimes in, pushing a sleeping bag off of his chest. “Hi, Mr. Argent. So, we didn’t exactly plan to wake you up.”
“What time is it?” I ask, then glance at the clock on the wall. “Christ, kids. It’s five in the morning.”
“I know!” Allison says. “I told them we should’ve done this yesterday, but no, being men, they know so much better than I do…”
“To be fair, it’s not like we expected the closet to have everything stuffed into it,” Scott says. “We thought we could just grab the gear and go.”
“And by the way, that’s sexist,” Stiles says. “If you remember, I agreed with you when you brought it up.”
“Actually, Stiles, that just makes you a girl.”
Stiles whacks his best friend in the arm. “You’re such a dick.”
I clear my throat. “As much as I’m sure to be amused by this when I’m awake, why exactly are the four of you in my garage at this hour? And why are you going through our shelving, looking for beach umbrellas?”
“The Hales are driving us down to Santa Cruz and teaching us how to surf!” Stiles says, pushing himself to his feet. He beams a smile at me. “It’s a field trip, we’re only going to be gone today, though, no worries, Allison’s in good hands with the three of us.”
It surprises me how honest I’m being when I say, “I actually don’t worry as much when I know Allison’s around the three of you.”
The three boys (no, no, no, one boy and two werewolves, bad brain!) blink at me in various shades of shock. “You don’t?”
I shake my head no and put the crossbow down. “No.”
I shove my hands through my hair and yawn, step over the pile of crap on the floor to reach into the closet. “I don’t even know why we still have these,” I say, finding the coveted beach gear and handing it to Allison. “We haven’t used them in years.”
“Because you’re a packrat, Dad.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine, fine. You four are cleaning this up before you get to leave, however.”
“I can take care of that,” Stiles says. He rubs his palms together like a cartoon villain. “No problem.”
“When Deaton told you to practice, this is not what he had in mind.”
“Shush. This is totally acceptable practice for teleportation.”
Stiles closes his eyes and concentrates, and within minutes the contents of the closet are back in their appropriate places. The boy blinks his eyes open. “Oh. That worked! See, Mr. Smarty-Wolf? I told you so.”
“I will never fail to find your magic impressive, even though I still want to rip your throat out with my teeth,” Derek says. But he’s smiling, and I must be missing an inside joke, because he leans over to plant a kiss on Stiles’ cheek and Stiles lets him. “Nicely done.”
“You think I’m awesome,” Stiles says, grinning. He smacks the Alpha on the ass and walks out the bay door toward his jeep. “Come on, guys! Those waves won’t wait for us. And if I have to crawl out of my nice warm bed at the crack of dawn so I can fall on my face all day, we’re at least going to see the sunrise together first.”
Scott laughs and takes my daughter’s hand, walking toward the jeep where the others wait. In my half-delirious state this morning, it seems I’d missed the part where Stiles pointed out the Hales were teaching them to surf. My mind somehow connected ‘Hales’ to ‘Hale pack’, being Scott and Derek.
I’m not so thrilled when I see Peter leaning on the tailgate of the jeep, checking the ties holding the surfboards to the roof. “Come along, children, the ocean waits for no one,” he says, sing-songs. He turns back to face us. “I…”
He’s utterly shameless in the way he stops, takes a look at me up and down, and wow. I haven’t been so blatantly ogled by a man since college. I suddenly long for something a little more substantial than the thin sleep-pants I’m wearing. Or wishing I was at least wearing a shirt. “Hello,” he rumbles, the word a filthy sound echoing from his chest. “No one mentioned we were getting a plus-one?”
“You are the plus-one, Peter,” Stiles says, and pokes the half-mad werewolf in the ribs. “Leave Mr. Argent alone before we leave you here and let him use your furry ass for target practice.”
“You ruin all my fun,” Peter… Peter pouts, for lack of a better word. He leers at me. “I’m sure Mr. Argent would make easy work of… keeping me in line.”
I cross my arms over my chest and glare the wolf down. “I’m not sure which is worse: listening to the words coming out of your mouth, or watching Stiles attempt to preserve my virtue.”
Stiles makes a choking sound while Peter cackles. “Oh, you are a fun one,” the man says, winking at me. “We’ll see you later, won’t we?”
“You will.”
I shift my weight, uncross my arms and… yeah. He takes one last lingering gaze at my stomach, and gets in the car. “Allison…”
“Don’t worry, Dad, I’ll keep an eye on him. He’s really not so bad, though… I think…”
“That’s not reassuring,” I complain, though she blows me a kiss when she piles into the seat next to Scott. The jeep pulls out of my driveway, tail lights vanishing into the distance, and I sigh, turning to go back into the house.
So much for a pleasant night’s sleep.
~FIN~