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Chapter Text

"Have a seat, Hale."  Deaton waves to the chair in front of his desk, "We have much to discuss."

"Captain."  Derek salutes, standing at attention before moving to sit in the seat provided.  "The mission was successful, I assume you've read the report?"

Deaton waves a hand over his omni-tool, bringing up Derek's report.  "I have, and I must commend you on a job well done."  Deaton sweeps a hand over the orange hologram hovering above his wrist, reading the scrolling scripts displayed.  "All hostiles subdued with minimal injury and zero deaths, and no damage done to Alliance equipment."  Deaton says, and with a wave of his hand the hologram disappears back into the guard on his wrist.  "Commendable work, Hale."

"Thank you, Sir."  Derek smiles, tempted to emphasise the role his crew played in the operation.  If it wasn't for them, it would have gone south very quickly.

Deaton leans back in his chair, resting his folded hands on his stomach.  "Your mother would be proud."

Derek ducks his head, smiling privately. 

His mother was an admiral in the Great War, commanding the fourth fleet.  The whole fleet was decimated when Earth was invaded, they were the first line of defence and paid dearly for it.  But if it wasn't for his mother and the many men and women under her command, Earth would no longer exist.  It's the reason why an eight year old Derek decided to join the Alliance navy.  So he could be like his mother. 

Even though his position of lieutenant commander is still far from his mother's admiral, he's slowly making his way up the ranks.  His hard work and dedication, paying off immensely.

"I forwarded your report to the Council, along with my recommendation for a major job they need done."  Deaton says, "You're expected at Spectre headquarters in an hour, but I wasn't informed about what they wanted you to do."

Derek raises his brow, his lips twitching in amusement, "How typical of the Council, always secretive."

Deaton chuckles, "Be careful, Hale, there are ears everywhere on the Citadel."

***

Spectre headquarters are dark, as usual.  The doors whoosh open, and an electronic voice greets him as 'Spectre Hale' when he walks inside.  The Spectres are secretive, as they should be.  They work directly under the Citadel Council, the people with the utmost authority in the galaxy, carrying out their every will.  Whether it be peacemaking or assassination.  Spectres do everything and everything.

He's still one of the newest recruits, and so hasn't received many assignments, but it seems like that is all about to change.

"Derek."  Lydia Martin walks up to him.  Her blue skin, glinting in the low light, scalps crests tinged slightly red in a way he's never seen on any other asari, but knows not to question.  "You're looking older."

"Thanks."  He says sarcastically.  "I don't have the same lifespan as you, so of course I'm going to age."

Lydia rolls her eyes, "It's only been a few months, not years, I knows humans don't age that fast.  You must be pushing yourself too hard, have you not been sleeping?"

Derek sighs, scratching at his scalp, "You catch everything, don't you?"

Lydia walks up to him, and they move down the corridor side by side, "I'm five hundred years old, Derek, I catch everything."

"Wonderful."  He says sarcastically.

"It's a good thing I'll be there to keep an eye on you."  Lydia says, bringing up her omni-tool.

Derek raises a brow, "The Council assigned us on the same mission?"

"I'm assigned to keep an eye on the mission, I do not have any military experience, that is what you are for.  But, I will aid in the political and medical side of things, sharing my knowledge of history with you, which you will use to make tactical decisions."  Lydia says mechanically, sending the details of the assignment to Derek.

Derek goes over the assignment, eyebrows rising higher and higher with every line he reads. 

"I hope you understand this information is of utmost secrecy."

"No kidding."  Derek remarks, eyes not leaving the golden glow of the hologram text.  "Are you sure the Council wants me for this assignment, surely there must be someone else more qualified?"

"Derek."  Lydia stops him with a hand on his wrist, "You are more than qualified for this and more, "Trust me."

Derek smiles softly, "Thanks, Lydia."  He says as they stop in front of the armoury.  Derek waves his omni-tool in front of the door terminal.  "Now let's see what new tech the Council is giving us."

Lydia lip twitches in amusement, "You military types and your obsessions with big, fat guns."

***

Erica whoops when Boyd hands her the latest in a long line of turian manufactured assault rifles.

"Holy shit, Derek!"  She exclaims, "Those space birds haven't even released these to their own military.  Heck, these aren't even set to be announced publically for a year.  How the fuck did the Council get their paws on these?"  She slowly pets the rifle, staring at it lovingly.

"Do you two need a room?"  Derek jokes.

Erica sticks out her tongue.

"This is a lot of firepower for a glorified baby sitter job."  Isaac remarks, looking over the miles of equipment laid out in front of them.  They're in the Beacon's hangar, the ship still dry docked at the Citadel, as they undergo a few more checks before being cleared for takeoff.  They're also waiting on the 'baby' in need of babysitting.  He's over an hour late, and Derek is starting to get irritated.

"Isaac."  Derek says warningly. 

Isaac ducks his head, "Sorry, Commander."

"Just be careful what you say around the Prince, he is a powerful man and you don't want to catch his ire."

"Ooo, what's the big bad Prince going to do?  Fling his royal slippers at us?"  Erica teases.

"Well, I could always order my bodyguard to put a bullet in your head, but I fear that would be very hypocritical of me considering I condone galaxy wide peace."

Derek whips his head around so fast his neck cricks.  His hand shifts on the pistol strapped to his thigh, ready to draw it out at any moment.  Two people stand on his ship, one dressed in human armour.  The other, the source of the previous comment, wears traditional quarian clothing.  The sight of Lydia standing beside the two men puts him somewhat at ease, but still, strangers on the Beacon will always make him twitchy.

"I apologize for Commander Hale's crew,"  Lydia says to the quarian man whose faceless purple visor doesn't betray his emotions.  Derek knows the quarian race has to wear them because of their weakened immune systems, where even a small pathogen can render them dead in a few hours.  It's just hard to read a person without seeing their facial expressions.  Derek would have to rely on the words the man says.  Except lies are all too easy to tell.

"Why do you have ten fingers?"  Isaac bursts out, before clamping a hand over his mouth, looking at Derek with wide, apologetic eyes.

The quarian man, who apparently isn't a quarian, but enjoys dressing like one, chuckles.  Derek glances over his body, just now taking in that his legs aren't bowed and he has ten fingers like a human instead of the standard quarian six.  "Didn't your parents ever tell you it's impolite to ask a man why he has four extra fingers?"

"I'm just going to shut up now."  Isaac says, quietly.

Erica gets that glint in her eyes which means she's going to say something to terribly embarrass Derek, "You know cultural appropriation is still a thing that's not okay."  She says to the man who sighs heavily.

"I am not a cultural appropriator."  He says, not sounding even a little angry, but amused.

Erica folds her arms, pursing her lips,  "The clothes you're wearing seem to disagree."

"Erica."  Lydia says, "This is Prince Przmy'slaw vas Stilinski, you will show him respect."  She says with prefect pronunciation.

"But he has ten fingers, he can't be a quarian."  Erica whines, "Least of all the quarian we're supposed to be escorting."

"You will be silent."  Lydia states with finality.

"But how is that even possible?"  Erica stamps her foot and Derek wonders for the millionth time why on earth he named her his staff lieutenant, she has no tact whatsoever.

"I'm sorry, but you must be a level 4 friend to unlock my tragic back-story."  The prince jokes, and then stretches his hand out to his bodyguard who slaps it, his crooked jaw shifting in a grin. 

"Good one, dude."  The bodyguard says while everyone stares on.

The prince turns back to them,  "And call me Stiles, even I can't pronounce my actual name."

 ***

Stiles is insufferable, Derek decides after only an hour of him being on the Beacon.  He is loud, arrogant, and thinks everything is a joke.  Derek hates him.  He is everything Derek despises and he cannot understand why the Council values his safety so much.

Perhaps it has to do with his humanoid appearance?  But who really knows?  Lydia is keeping her lips sealed, and the Spectre assignment file offers no revelations.  It provides information on Stiles' mother, the queen of the largest section of the Migrant Fleet, but none on his father.  As far as Derek can tell, his mother is as quarian as quarian come, but for some reason Stiles isn't, even though he still chooses to wear that damned visor.  Perhaps he has a quarian immune system?

Derek isn't breaking his head over it as much as Erica is, and it still nags at him, but he has other things to bother about.  Things like keeping Stiles safe and out of danger, which is looking to be a very dangerous feat indeed.

Stiles is very different from a typical quarian. 

Three hundred years ago the quarians were expelled from their own home-world by the geth, the artificial intelligence they created and enslaved, who eventually turned against their masters.  The quarians were sent into exile, forced to wander the galaxy on salvaged ships, forever searching for a place to call their home.  They have yet to find a world that suits their needs.  Their home-world was unique because life on it evolved in a way that was mostly air bound pathogen free.  Meaning the quarians are forced to wear contained environment suits wherever they go.  Their weak immune systems are simply unsuited to the pathogen rich environments of the rest of the galaxy.

What was it that Erica used to say?  Sneeze once on a suit-less quarian and you'll have a funeral to plan.

Most quarians are quiet and peaceful.  Stiles is not.  His human bodyguard, McCall, is more subdued than he is.  Stiles is loud, and he is everywhere.  Popping up at the command deck whenever he feels bored.  Harassing Boyd and Isaac down in the hangar to Boyd's ever increasing frustration.  Derek has received many complaining messages.  He even annoys the ship's A.I., an impressive feat if Derek does say, considering the A.I. is programmed to be as patient as possible.

Only Erica and Lydia seem to tolerate his presence.  Lydia, because she apparently goes way back with Stiles, having known him since he was a baby.  Lydia explains he used to have the most terrifying crush on her when he was still a teenager, gifting her with increasingly ridiculous presents.  That is until Lydia ripped him a new one, and he eventually backed off.

Erica seems to have rescinded her former opinion on Stiles, and they quickly become friends.  Derek often sees them sitting beside each other in mess, eating their respective meals.  Stiles' with a straw through his visor's purifier, killing any microbes he may accidently ingest.  Erica with a fork which she loves to wave around like a pointy trident when she talks, coming close to gouging out any eyes within reach.

Derek knows this isn't simply a glorified babysitting job.  Stiles is an important quarian.  He is the race's ambassador to the rest of the galaxy, and a potential candidate to be the first quarian council member in the history of the galaxy.  Stiles is essential to the future of the quarian race.

It doesn't mean Derek has to like him.  He just has to protect him.

***

They're in the Horse Head Nebula, after a short stop at a station with a large quarian population. 

When they first docked, it seemed like every single quarian turned out to greet their prince, and Derek received the greatest shock of his life. 

Stiles is popular.  He is so popular, quarians were shouting praises and waving.  The line to speak individually with him was miles long.

What was even more surprising was that Stiles is a damn good prince.  He listened attentively to his people, didn't take any breaks because he didn't want to keep them waiting, and recorded every issue raised into his omni-tool.

So now Derek stands in front of the star map, watching the tiny holographic image of their ship float in the vastness of space.  It'll still be a few more days before they reach the nearest mass relay, even though they're currently traveling at light speed, the Beacon's FTL drive working overtime.  Derek loves the feeling of traveling by relay, Erica hates it and spends at least an hour after each jump puking up the contents of her stomach. 

There's just something about breaking the rules of space and time, jumping from one system to another in an instant that gets his blood pumping.

"Can't wait to jump, huh?"  Stiles says, walking to stand beside him.  He reaches a hand and runs a finger through the Beacon's holograph, the image distorting around his digit.

Derek hums noncommittally.  He has developed a newfound respect for Stiles.  He treats his people right, as a leader should.  Derek respects that, but he doesn't have to show it.  Lest anyone holds it over his head.  Derek shudders to think of how much Erica will tease him the moment she finds out.

"When I was a kid, my mom used to sit me on her lap at the front of the bridge, and when we jumped, we would watch as even the furthest, dimmest stars would turn into streaks of light for one long second before we arrived at our destination."  Stiles sighs, obviously recalling a fond memory.

Derek frowns, "Why are you telling me this?"  He asks, confused.

Stiles chuckles, "Well, I like to think we're at least level 1 friends by now, don't you think?"  He lightly punches him on the shoulder, and Derek rolls his eyes.

"Whatever gave you that impression?"  Derek says dismissingly.

Stiles lightly pats the arm he previously punched, "I know your true self, Commander Hale, and you're a big softy, don't even try to deny it."

"Derek."  He says, and silently curses himself for his slip of tongue, but it's too late to take it back now, so he continues, "Call me Derek."

Stiles tilts his head, and Derek imagines he's smiling brighter than Sol herself beneath his visor.  "Derek it is."

Well, fuck.

***

Derek awakes to a loud persistent banging on his cabin's door.  He quickly rises, reaching for the pistol tucked away in his bedside drawer.  Blinking, when he turns the lights on, he carefully makes his way to the door. 

Derek finds Stiles standing on the other side, and relaxes his stance minutely.

 "What the hell do you want?"  Derek asks tiredly, folding his arms over his shirtless torso, suddenly embarrassed he answered the door in only his boxers.

"Oh, umm..."  Stiles stumbles on his words, slightly turning his head away, "I received a distress call from a nearby colony, we have to change course immediately."

After Derek dresses, he asks the A.I. to send a message to his crew, assembling his executive officers in the conference room.

"You better have a good reason for waking me up in the middle of the awesome dream I was having."  Isaac says, disgruntled.

Derek opens his mouth to speak, but Stiles beats him to it.  "One of my contacts on a nearby station sent me a distress call.  Pirates are attacking and sacking the station.  The residents are following their instructions, but the pirates are violent, and people are getting hurt."  Stiles says.  "We have to help them."

"How far away is the station?"  Derek asks.

"Two hours by the FTL drive, if we leave now."  Stiles says, fingers twitching in desperation until Lydia grabs his hand in hers stopping his nervous movements.

 Erica rises from her seat, "Then what are we waiting for?  Let's go kick some pirate ass!"

Derek's in the armoury, fitting himself with protective gear while Allison, his pilot, enters new coordinates into the ship's system.  Stiles strides up to him and says, bluntly, "I want to help."

"You can help by staying on the ship."  Derek says without even looking up.

Stiles crosses his arms, "That wasn't a request, I am joining you."

Derek tsks, "You will get in my way."

"Fuck you, my people are out there getting shot at, I will be there to help them."  Stiles growls.

Derek slams his locker shut, "You will stay on the goddamn ship, or I will tie you to the bridge myself."

"You forget, I outrank you.  I can go where-so-ever I fucking please, and you have no say in the matter."  Stiles argues.

Derek grits his teeth.  He wants to throttle Stiles, he is so damned stubborn.  "It is my duty to protect you, and I can't do that if I'm in the middle of a fire fight."

"And like I said, you have absolutely no say in the matter."  Stiles states conclusively before turning around and walking off to get fitted in his own armour.

Derek bangs his fist against his locker, the sound echoing in the large bay.

***

Allison orbits the Beacon around the station, far out of firing range of the pirate ships in the station's docks.  Derek keeps glaring at Stiles where he sits in the far corner of the Kodiack Drop shuttle Boyd takes down to the station.  The shuttle is more manoeuvrable than the Beacon, and thus more difficult to take pot shots at.  The pirates hit a few, but they miss most.  Boyd is a good pilot, after all. 

McCall sits beside Stiles, a hand on his shoulder, talking quietly to him.  He's probably asking Stiles to keep out of harm's way.  Derek just hopes Stiles listens, McCall seems to be the one person who can get through his thick skull, but Stiles can be stubborn and persistent, and has a heroic streak the size of the Milky Way.  It's bound to get him killed one day.

Derek sighs, and turns to Boyd, "What's our ETA?"

"Ten more minutes, Commander."  Boyd says, fingers moving over the console's keys faster than the speed of light.

Derek nods, before turning to face his crew.  "Okay, listen up.  Hostiles are plentiful, armed, and dangerous.  Normally we would have no problem with bringing them in alive, but there are civilians present.  So we shoot to kill.   Understood?"

He gets a round of 'Yes, Commander,'  and a loud whoop from Erica.  Stiles simple nods, his hands tightening on the sniper rifle he holds.  Hopefully, it means he will stay far away from any conflicts, and that he knows how to use the weapon.  Derek does not want a hole in his back because Stiles doesn't know how to take into account projectile recoil while aiming.

Suddenly shots fire on the shuttle and Boyd swears, "I'm going to have to drop you off and leave before they riddle the hull with holes."

"Fine, Boyd."  Derek barks, clicking a button so his helmet is pulled up, covering his head, "I'll send a message when we need extraction,"  He says, voice echoing in the interior of the helmet.  The vitals of him, and his crew, run across his screen.  Derek intends to keep a close eye on Stiles', he knows the rest of his crew can take care of themselves. 

"Now!"  Boyd says, just before the shuttle doors open.  Derek jumps out first, and quickly ducks under nearby cover, taking out the two pirates shooting at the shuttle.  The rest of the crew follow quickly after.

  The hanger is silent as Boyd pilots the shuttle away and out of reach of the enemy's guns, while Derek checks his proximity scanners, finding the nearest enemy a few hundred yards out.  He signals Erica and Isaac to join him as they advance with a few complicated hand gestures.  They listen, nodding in agreement.

Derek frowns as he watches Stiles and McCall climb the stairs to higher ground.  McCall better keep his charge safe, or there'll be hell to pay.

They advance through the first level of the station, quickly taking out the pirates herding civilians, sending the rescued people back to cleared areas.  They work efficiently as a team, and even Stiles is doing surprisingly well.  Derek's never met a better sniper.  He hardly misses any shots, and is quick to move and set up again as they walk through the open plan station. 

After they rescue a large group of civilians from a few pirates, one of them stops Derek and says the pirates are moving the rest of the civilians to the commons, the largest gathering space in the whole station.  Derek thanks the man, and instructs the crew on their new orders.

The pirates are panicking when they finally find them.  Obviously, news of the Alliance crew decimating their pack has reached them.  They're yelling at a large group of civilians huddled together on the floor.  The pirate leader holds a man, presumably the head officer on the station, in a headlock, gun pointed to his head.

Derek turns on his external microphone, "Surrender and you will be judged fairly under Council law,"  He says offering an ultimatum, "Hold out, and we will be forced to put you down."

The pirate leader appears crazed.  He's a vorcha, a race known for their quick temper, small brains, and insatiable thirst for blood.  He shrills at Derek, raising his gun slightly to point at him, but before he can put his finger on the trigger, a small hole appears in his neck and his stumbles back from the force of the shot, falling dead to the ground. 

His crew quickly take advantage of the distraction Stiles granted them, and put the rest of the pirates out of their misery.

Quickly scanning over his proximity display, Derek finally allows himself to sigh in relief.  Finding all the pirates taken care of, he sets about helping civilians.  Removing his helmet in order to appear more friendly to the traumatized populace.

Derek quickly notices that most of the civilians are humans and salarians, only a few quarians scatted within.  Something akin to respect floods his mind, and he cannot help but feel a grudging acceptance for Stiles.  The man would make a great leader one day.  He isn't only concerned with his own people, but the galaxy as a whole.

Suddenly, gunfire sounds far above them, and Derek watches in horror as McCall's vitals drop low on his screen.  Someone just knocked him unconscious.

"Stiles!"  Erica shouts, instantly taking off towards the stairs.  Derek snaps out of his shock and is quick on his heels, his brain running a mile a minute, going through every possible outcome.  There are no hostiles on his scanner, so they must have advanced stealth tech equipped.  Which makes absolutely no sense.  The majority of the pirates were vorcha, and vorcha have a hard time telling their mouth from their ass on a good day, let alone their way around stealth technology that can hide from the latest in turian proximity scanners.

"Fuck,"  Derek hisses, running as fast as he can to where that little beeping green light at the corner of his eye indicates Stiles.  The person attacking him must not be a pirate, it must be someone who knew Stiles would show up, and laid in wait for him in order to pounce.

A gunshot sounds and all of a sudden, Stiles' vitals flat line. 

"No, no, you fucking quarian piece of shit, you better not be dead."  Derek pants furiously under his breath just as he turns a corner, only to find Stiles lying in a heap on the ground, McCall unconscious nearby. 

He also sees the blip in space where the stealth tech is unable to properly hide a fast-moving target, and lets loose a whole clip into the assassin.  The assassin activates their bio-amps, raising a massive, blue mass effect shield, and the shots bounce off, ricocheting back towards them.  Erica quickly raises her own biotics, surrounding them in a blue glow, and protecting them from the returning fire.

Another shot goes off, and in one moment the assassin flickers into view, falling down, dead.

Stiles holds his gun in hand, one elbow propping him up as he glares determinately at the dead man who just tried to kill him.  His elbow slips in the blood running down his suit, pooling on the floor and he collapses on his back.

Derek runs over to him, and falls to his knees, noticing the shot when right through his vitals meter, which is why he flat lined on Derek's screen. 

Derek worries over his body, unsure what he is supposed to do now that the containment seal on Stiles' suit is broken.  But he pulls some medi-gel from his belt, quickly applying to the wound, hoping it kills anything that could potentially kill Stiles and seals the breach in his suit.

Stiles takes a deep breath, sounding weak and tired, "Did I get him?"  He asks.

"Yeah, you got him, you fucking idiot."  Derek says in relief.

"Scott?"

Erica answers from where she leans over McCall, performing basic first aid.  "Unconscious, but with a hole in his leg, nothing medi-gel can't fix."

Stiles sighs heavily, "Damned slimy bastard popped out of thin air.  Gotta shot at Scott before he could even react."

"Shut the fuck up, will you?  I'm trying to think."  Derek growls in reply.

"Rude."  Stiles says, somehow still managing to be a snarky, little shit, even with a hole in him.

"Your environment suit is compromised, you could act a bit more worried."  Derek growls, keeping an eye on the medi-gel as it works its magic, clotting up the blood and sealing the injury against any further infections.  Excepts the ones that already got inside, of course.

Oh fuck, Stiles is going to die.

"Shut your trap, I'm not going to die."  Stiles says with a sigh, "Just take me back to the ship and Lydia will fix me up right as rain."

Derek must have said that last part aloud, but he picks Stiles up anyway, being careful not to hurt him anymore than he should.  He doesn't want to stay on the station any longer, just in case there is another assassin nearby, even though the station med bay is closer.  He calls Boyd up, and tells him to come fetch them at the dock.

Stiles is unconscious from the medi-gel's anaesthetic by the time the shuttle is even halfway to the Beacon.

***

The first thing Lydia says when she takes a look at Stiles is, "I guess the jig is up."

The second thing she says is, "Get that useless visor off him so he can breathe properly."

Erica gapes, saying, "Do you want to kill him faster?"  The exact same moment Derek says, "What jig?"

Lydia sighs, "Bring him to the med bay.  He'll explain everything when he wakes up.  It's not my story to tell."

Derek is almost tempted to ask if he's reached level 4 friend yet.

Allison is waiting for them in the med bay by the time they wheel Stiles and McCall in.  She rushes forward to McCall, softly parting his hair from his face.  Well, that's a new development.  Surely Derek would have noticed his pilot has feelings for his charge's bodyguard, if it was anything but new.  He's not that oblivious, is he?

"Those two go way back,"  Isaac whispers in his ear.

Apparently, he is very oblivious.

Derek lifts Stiles up, and places him on a nearby bed, but Lydia pushes him aside and gets to work.  She carefully removes Stiles' armour, before picking up a pair of medical scissors, and cutting away the top half of his clothing.  Leaving his torso bare.  Derek frowns, Stiles' skin is pale and mole spotted, and the furthest thing from the usual quarian lilac.

Lydia sweeps her omni-tool over Stiles' face, and the clasp of his visor releases with a pneumatic sigh.  Derek finds himself staring at the human revealed to him.  The beautiful human with dark brown hair, an upturned nose, and a wide mouth suited to all the yammering that constantly falls from it.   That is, until said human blinks open his eyes.  His large, doe-like quarian eyes.  Golden irises, surrounded by deep violet whites.

"What the fuck?"  Derek remarks.

"You know,"  Stiles says, his voice rasping, "Lydia always said I have my mother's beautiful eyes, but my father's horrible skin tone."

"It truly is awful."  Lydia remarks, looking over the medical panel, "Pale, weakly human, and so very vulnerable to ultraviolet radiation."

"I didn't even know quarians and humans could interbreed."  Derek whispers.

"They can't."  Lydia says simply, picking up a glowing medical tool, passing it over the wound on Stiles' shoulder, as it sends information to Lydia's omni-tool.

"I'm a test tube baby."  Stiles says with a frown, "Created and grown in a lab, from samples of my mom and dad's DNA, before being implanted into my mom's womb to complete gestation."  Stiles says mechanically, like he is reading off a script.  A script he hates.  No wonder he was hiding his true self from them.  He really does consider his back story tragic.

"Many Earth children are grown in labs."  Derek offers, "It prevents cancer or other disease prone genetic mutations from being passed on from parent to child.  It's completely normal."

Stiles rolls his eyes, turning his face away, mumbling, "Yeah, but those babies are assured, the parent's know how they will turn out.  They aren't experiments."

"Stiles."  Lydia says disapprovingly, "You are no experiment."  

"Yeah, yeah, I'm the hope for the future of the quarian race,"  Stiles waves his uninjured arm, "Too bad the hope for the quarian race is completely sterile.  Better luck next time."  Stiles says sarcastically and suddenly Derek feels like he's participating in a conversation he has no business being in.  He clears his throat, and rises to his feet.  Stiles' dark quarian eyes following his every movement.

"I'll be on the bridge should you require me,"  He says, addressing Lydia who simply nods and returns to her business.  Derek turns to Stiles, "You were brave out there,"  He begins, "Brave, but stupid.  Honestly, you were lucky you made it out in one piece." 

Derek swallows, the next few hurtful sentences rushing out without his permission.  "The next time we are in a combat situation, you will remain on the ship, even if I have to lock you up myself.  You've proved yourself incapable of keeping out of harm's way.  Is that crystal clear, Stiles?"

Stiles' eyes' darken in anger before he breaks the gaze, looking away.  "Very well, Commander.

Derek leaves the med bay, feeling like those words were not what he meant to say at all.

Chapter Text

Stiles refuses to talk with him.  Hell, he refuses to even look at him. 

Derek knows he has the right to be angry, but when Stiles sees him walking in the corridor, he always looks away with a stubborn glare, refusing to meet Derek's eye.  Derek really hurt him, he knows that.  The words were meant to be sharp and cruel, he just never intended to express them out loud. 

He wanted to tell Stiles that he did a good job taking care of the assassin, that he handled himself in a professional manner, that he is the best fucking shot Derek has ever seen.  Instead, horrible, biting words left his lips, and he regrets them every single day.

He's checking through his messages late at night, curled up on his bed, as he reads the scrolling script displayed on his omni-tool when a single message from Lydia catches his attention.  It is an autopsy report on Stiles' would be assassin.  Derek brings it up with a flip of his finger. 

He reads through the report, frowning all the while. 

It isn't the assassin himself Derek is concerned with.  He was a human with biotic abilities as a result of being exposed to element zero, the element that powers all mass effect fields, while still in utero.  He was a wanted mercenary, accused of many crimes all over the galaxy.  That does not surprise Derek.  What does, however, is the equipment found on his person.

Advanced stealth tech and weaponry, along with an extremely expensive bio-amp, all costing more than what a run of the mill mercenary could afford.  It is overkill, plain and simple.  Weapons developer would salivate and beg to get their grimy paws on the stuff. 

The technology was also geth manufactured.

See the thing is, after the Great War, the war Derek's mother died fighting in, the geth and quarians reached a tentative peace.  Treaties were set up where each race could not attack the other, and the galaxy happily chugged on.  Until now. 

Now, the geth want Stiles dead for some reason, even though they are known to be helping quarians.  Setting up housing on the homeworld so some weaker quarians could return, and helping rewrite functions in environment suits to imitate pathogens, which is intended to slowly increase quarian immune systems over generations.  Why would they aid quarians, only to send an assassin after their prince?   It makes absolutely no sense. 

Sure, the ramifications of the conflict is still felt.  Quarians tend to avoid exploiting A.I.s because that's the snowball turning into an avalanche which causing the war in the first place.  Hell, Derek has caught Stiles apologizing to or even thanking the Beacon's A.I. on more than one occasion, and for absolutely no reason.

Also, quarians tend to stick to themselves and are known for being extremely generous because of the waste not want not mentality aboard the Migrant Fleet.  They've learned from the mistakes they've made, and the geth know it, and respect it.  Which is why the geth suddenly becoming hostile is extremely unlikely.  It's not like there are separate geth militant groups calling for the destruction of all quarians.  The geth are a hive mind, sharing goals, memories, and strategies.  Deceit and lying is impossible for them, it is simply not programmed into their code.

Which is why Derek believes someone is framing them.

Some older soldiers, who remember the time before the Great War, hate the quarians for creating and letting lose the geth on the galaxy.  They believe quarians should not be allowed an embassy on the Citadel, let alone be allowed to instate a quarian council member.  They believe all quarians should be punished for what they have done, forever remaining on the Migrant Fleet until their race eventually dies out.

Derek does not think the geth have anything to do with the attempted assassination.  Instead, he believes it is those older dissenters, the ones who oppose both the geth and the quarians.  Derek thinks they are trying to start another war between the two, hoping they wipe each other out.

***

Derek voices his concerns at the next general meeting, but Stiles waves them away with one distracted hand, the other busy scrolling through script in his omni-tool, "Yeah, I already know."

Derek frowns, displeased.  Stiles should be more concerned for his own safety, his blatent disregard is troubling.

At Derek's silence, Stiles sighs and looks up from his omni-tool, "If you think this is the first time those assholes have tried to kill me and blame the geth, you're mistaken.  I receive threatening messages on a daily basis, and on one memorable occasion, a package containing an infant thresher maw."

"It tried to rip out Stiles' throat."  Scott adds unhelpfully.

"Yeah, and its acid melted through my suit, I had skin burns for weeks, not even medi-gel could help."  Stiles meets Derek's eyes for the first time in what feels like ages, "But I survived.  I always survive.  Which is why it is so frustrating when I am coddled like a pathetic infant.  My people are out there, struggling to live against all the odds.  They do not have the same immune system I do, a small wound can kill them dead in a matter of hours, and yet I am the one forced to stay behind on the ship, twiddling my thumbs while you are out helping my people?"  Stiles' eyes narrow as he glares at Derek.

Derek purses his lips, "You said it yourself, someone is after you, trying to kill you.  Your people need you alive to represent them on the Citadel, to say to the galaxy that the quarian race is anything but weak.  Your death would throw that out the window."  He argues.

Derek sees Erica lean back in her chair, crossing her arms in front of her chest, "If you two are done arguing, maybe we could talk about the real threat,"  She turns to Derek, "Which does not happen to be Stiles' stubbornness, no matter how much you think it is."  Nodding to Lydia who sits beside her, she asks, "What do we know about the bastards?"

Lydia shifts a hand over her omni-tool, and it projects images and script onto the center of the table where anyone can read it.  "We know they are a large association, a hate group comprised of humans, turians, asari, and some other races.  They exist in the shadows, not open to expressing their hatred for quarians and geth alike to the larger population.  But their hatred runs deep, and it runs violent."  Lydia sweeps her hand over the screen.  "The queen, Stiles' mother, has contacts in various governments, and is a good friend of the turian primarch.  Many people are out there gathering intelligence for her, and yet this group is still largely unknown." 

She sweeps her hand again, and brings up a collection of small planets, hosting what appears to be small quarian colonies.  "The Migrant Fleet has been setting up small pockets of colonies on uninhabited planets.  The project is shrouded in secrecy, only the Council, geth, and quarians know."  She sweeps to the next set of images and everyone in the room intakes a sharp breath at the same time. 

There are pictures of many planets and many colonies, craters scattered about ruined buildings abandoned to the elements.

"Yup,"  Stiles nods, "It's exactly what you're thinking.  These assholes are hauling chunks of asteroids over to our colonized planets, and dropping them right into the atmosphere."

"Holy shit."  Isaac remarks.

Lydia nods, "They become destructive meteoroids upon entry into an atmosphere.  Thankfully, they are rudimentary and small, nothing that could visibly decimate a whole colony.  However, they are covered in geth stealth tech so quarian sensors cannot detect them and fire before they impact.  And the Migrant Fleet cannot afford the amount of element zero it would take to create a mass effect field big enough to protect the sprawl.  The meteoroids damage property, kill crops, and sometimes even colonists." 

"It's ruining the reputation of the colonies we are establishing."  Stiles explains.  "No one wants to sign up, and every single time it happens, the Migrant Fleet becomes even more overcrowded as colonists rush back to the ships."

"This group is intent on quarians remaining in the Migrant Fleet."  Lydia conclude.

"How do they get their hands on the geth technology if the geth are not aiding them?"  Boyd asks sombrely.

"As you know the geth hold many stations, they prefer space to the dry quarian worlds.  They have informed us that some of their smaller, outmost stations are being ransacked by pirates."  Lydia flips her finger and security images of vorcha and batarian pirates aboard geth stations appear. 

"They must be hiring mercenaries to raid the stations and steal tech."  Derek says, recalling the vorcha pirates who attacked the station where Stiles was nearly assassinated.

"Yes, and we've run background checks on the pirates whose identities we managed to track down."  Stiles says, "And you'll never believe where they all spent most of their free time."

"Ohhh, I know this one,"  Erica says sarcastically, rubbing her forehead in mock consideration, "Hmm, where in this whole galaxy could criminals, terrorists, and pirates live together in relative peace for thousands of years?  Oh, I can't even think!" 

Stiles rolls his eyes at her dramatic show and smiles fondly, before turning to face the entire room, "Pack your best tricorn, crew, because we're heading to Omega."

***

Derek must admit for a mined out hunk of space rock, housing almost every single wanted lowlife in the galaxy, Omega is a very sexy station.  The Pirate Queen has strip clubs and bars on every single corner.  They all headline dancing, barely clothed asari, performing feats with their bodies Derek doesn't think he could pull off even after years of practice.

He feels so out of place, and he looks out of place.  He's military, and it shows in the way he walks and talks.  He is professional, and courteous when required.  Everyone else on Omega isn't.

Stiles, however, takes to Omega like a krogan takes to a fist fight.  That is, enthusiastically, and somewhat drunkenly.  After all, quarians are known to hold dancers in high esteem.  And boy, does Stiles ever hold those asari dancers in high esteem. 

They're in the Afterlife Club, under the Pirate Queen's protection due to Lydia's influence.  Derek's questioning a batarian mercenary about one of the pirates.  He's in civvies to blend in better, but it's makes him twitchy.  The closest he's ever come to wearing civvies during anything but shore leave is his N7 academy hoodie, which is obviously not allowed because he is pretending to be a civilian.  Even though any idiot can tell he is in fact military.  It's a conundrum, and he seems to be the only one in the crew struggling with it. 

Erica is decked out in a very short dress, heels, and vampy lipstick, blonde hair piled in curls upon her head.  The turian she's chatting up for information looks absolutely awestruck by her, mandibles flaring every time she even opens her mouth.

Allison and McCall are huddled together in a booth, discussing god knows what.  All Derek knows is that it likely has nothing to do with the mission at hand, and everything to do with the longing glances they keep sending each other.  Glances, Derek wishes he still knew nothing about.

Boyd and Isaac are packed in amongst a large group of weapons traders doing shots of some sort of glowing alcohol with what looks like still moving tentacles in it.  He does not recall seeing that on the menu.  Although, there was a drink entitled 'cthulhu' with no explanation offered beneath the title.  Someone on Omega sure knows their Lovecraftian lore. 

Derek discreetly looks around the bar while the batarian he is questioning tells a long winded tale about a second cousin of his, twice removed, whose pet pyjak, or space monkey as he calls them, was courted by a vicious, meat eating varren, to a disastrous, flammable result.  Derek's eyes catch on a figure dancing by the asari stripper platforms, and his jaw may or may not fall open with an audible click.

Before they even docked in Omega, Stiles decided he would not wear his suit in order to blend in.  Quarians are rare on Omega.  They are a kind, generous, and noble people, and Omega is anything but.  Any sighting of a quarian would send tongues wagging galore, something Stiles didn't want.  So he abandoned the suit for apparently the tightest pants Derek has ever seen on another person in the whole Milky Way.  Blending in, his ass.

They hug his every curve, from his narrow hips, to his frankly obscene ass.  All the way down to unexpectedly muscular calves that bow back ever so slightly, giving away his heritage to anyone who knows to look for it.  Thankfully, the lights are dim enough to hide his unique eye colour. 

The shirt he wears is no better than the pants.  It's a simple white tee, but what Stiles' body does to it, makes it anything but.  His shoulders are wide and strong, muscular even, and Derek cannot help but stare.  Especially now that an asari stripper is laughing as she shows him how to dance.  Derek grins when he see how much Stiles is enjoying himself, holding onto the asari's hand, thrusting his hips and rolling his body like a snake when she does the same.

But then, the asari pulls Stiles even closer than before and a vibrant blush suddenly floods over his pale skin.  Derek looks away with a frown, something awful stuttering in his heart.  He wonders if it's heart burn because it sure as hell isn't jealousy. 

After he squeezes the batarian of everything he knows, and in the process terrifying the poor man, Derek sits alone at the bar, silently nursing a tumbler of asari honey mead. 

Stiles slides up him, a bright grin on his face as he sits in the stool next to Derek.  "You know, a few levels down there's apparently a bar with an asari singer who knows a whole plethora of quarian songs.  Want to come with me?"  Stiles asks with what can only be a flirtatious smirk and Derek swallows heavily.  His eyes track over the club, looking for the stripper Stiles was dancing with before, finding her on stage performing her routine.

He picks up his tumbler, downing the rest of his mead in one gulp, "Let's go."

***

The bar is as dark as Afterlife was, but there are less flashing lights, and far less rowdy vorcha.  A beautiful asari stands on a high stage, wearing a long, flowing dress as she croons into a microphone.  Stiles grabs him by the wrist leading him to a secluded booth within perfect view of the stage.

Let the moon's shining light hide two lovers with its rays

Though I know that dawn will set us on course for separate ways

I will hold this night in memory for all my living days

Now unmasked, I feel your skin on mine.

"Oh, I love this song."  Stiles remarks with a quiet smile, "It's a song from a musical about a quarian and her turian lover, and their interspecies romance."  He explains.

"It's beautiful."  Derek remarks, watching as Stiles hums under his breath to the asari's tune.

"Did you get anything out of the batarian?"

"Huh?"  Derek asks dumbly, blood rushing to his ears when he realizes he was staring dazedly at Stiles' face.  "What?"

"The batarian you questioned, did he say anything?"  Stiles repeats, thankfully oblivious to Derek's embarrassment.

Derek shakes his head, "No, he didn't know anything."

"Hmm," Stiles hums, biting at his nail.  "The stripper I talked to sent me here.  The vorcha are not intelligent enough to be organizing sophisticated raids on geth stations.  I think there are a couple of high level batarians working with the group we're after, and they're the ones hiring the vorcha.  I asked her where most of the guys with extra credits go to spend it, and she pointed me to this bar."

"So you're not just here for the music?"  Derek asks with a smirk, his mood brightening significantly now that he knows Stiles was flirting with the stripper for information.

Stiles winks, "Not just that.  Now come on,"  He says, pulling Derek to his feet just as the singer bows to the audience and leaves the stage, "We've got a gifted musician to talk to."

The manager lets them into the back of the club for a mere hundred credits.  It simultaneously makes Derek feel like a slimeball, and a film noir detective, as they search for the singer's dressing room.  Eventually, they find right room, and Stiles knocks on the door. 

The singer answers it with a smile, just as Stiles pulls a bunch of flowers, Derek knows he grabbed from a nearby vase, out from behind his back.  Smooth.

"For you, madam."  Stiles says, handing the flowers to the woman with flourish and a bow.

"Oh my,"  The woman smiles, sniffing the flowers, and looking at Stiles from under her lashes.  Thank you, kind sir.  But I don't think I've seen you before?  I would have remembered a man as noble as you."

"Just passing through this great station when I heard of your musical abilities,"  Stiles grins raising a brow, "I must say, the rumours are not exaggerated."

The asari turns an even darker shade of purple and she steps aside, letting them enter her room.  "You know, normally I don't sleep with my admirers, but for you two,"  Her eyes drag all the way down both their bodies, "I think I'll make an exception."

"What a generous offer, madam, but I'm afraid I must decline,"  Stiles says, managing to fake regret in his tone, "My husband and I are unfortunately very monogamous."  Stiles says, grabbing Derek's arm and pinching it, making him play along with whatever scheme Stiles' brain is churning out.  "He gets very jealous, you understand?"

The asari looks disappointed, before her frown turns all the way upside down and she grins brightly.  "That must mean you are here for my voice, not sex?"  She says, and Derek feels something akin to shame for the members of his gender she's met who've wanted only sex, even when she has a voice like that.

"The goddess Athame must have granted you those pipes, of course I am here for your voice!"  Stiles exclaims enthusiastically.

She ducks her head, "You flatter me, sir."

Derek wants to bang his head against the wall.  All this flowery language is starting to annoy him, but he wisely keeps his mouth shut.  Stiles obviously has a plan.

"I must ask, where did you ever learn to sing quarian songs?  You are exceptional at pronouncing even the most difficult words."

The asari runs a finger over one of her scalp crests, turning even more purple, "Well, I used to have this lover, a strong turian who could pin me to the wall whenever I desired..."  She trails off, her voice turning dreamy,   "I came across a datapad filled with recordings of quarian music in his apartment, after a long night of passion.  I just found it so very beautiful, and I copied it all to my datapad.  He had the tracks labelled 'research', which was confusing since he worked, well..."  She trails off, looking away.

"It's okay,"  Stiles says soothingly, "You can tell me."

"I am so ashamed.  I was young.  I am still young, only seventy, but that is no excuse for taking up with a man like that.  At least I got something out of the disastrous relationship.  A wonderful career where I can support myself and not rely on the handouts of terrible men."

Stiles nods his head rapidly, mouth spinning around a lie, "I too have been scorned by violent, vicious men.  For a long time, I believed my life would be a long parade of them, one after the other, each of them walking out my door, leaving me crushed and broken."  Stiles wipes an imaginary tear out of the corner of his eye, before grasping Derek's arm even tighter, pulling it to his chest in an awkward hug, "That is, until I found my one true boo."

The asari sighs, looking at them and their 'relationship' with something akin to longing in her eyes, "I used to think Lorik and I would be together forever, until I found out he worked as a bag man for The Alphas, you can imagine how fast it fell apart after that."

"I hear you sister,"  Stiles nods enthusiastically, a sneaky glint in his eye, "I think I may have heard of this terrible  Lorik of yours, tell me, what's his last name?"

***

"Holy fuck,"  Erica remarks when they're gathered together in the quarters the Pirate Queen provided, "Has anyone ever told you that you're fucking brilliant?"  She exclaims to a very proud Stiles, before pulling him into a tight, bone-crushing hug.

Derek cannot help but agree.  They finally have the name of the terrorist organization causing the quarians and geth so much grief.  The Alphas.  According to the asari singer they sometimes show up on Omega wearing masks of creatures with pointy teeth and chilling grins.  They scout the bars, recruiting, and paying very well.

"I'm surprised the Pirate Queen has done nothing."  Isaac says, "She's known to get testy when people step on her turf."

"They're apparently being careful not to do exactly that."  Lydia says, "They stick to the shadows and do not tread where they aren't wanted.  They are very intelligent, and very dangerous."

"At least we have the name of one of their agents,"  Derek says, bringing up his omni-tool and reading off the script displayed.  "Lorik Taludus, and according to Spectre intelligence, his last known location is Altahe."

"Wait, Altahe?"  McCall says with something like panic in his voice,  "Isn't that the where the galaxy's largest hive of rachni live?"

Stiles claps McCall on the back, "Yeah, buddy, it is.  I always knew the day would come where you would have to face your fears."  Stiles teases.  "To go head to head against those giant space bugs you dread so much, with their spindly little legs, and twitchy long-reaching feelers.  Don't forget those creepy mouths of theirs with the teeth. All those sharp, pointy teeth."

McCall whimpers.

***

The queen of the Altahe rachni hive hands over the body of Lorik Taludus with a angry, high-pitched twittering.  It makes Derek want to cover his ears and scream until the awful noise goes away.

Lydia hums, "She's saying he tried to steal some of her eggs, and got his just deserts."

Derek cannot help but agree, although the state of Taludus' hole ridden, half melted body makes her reaction seem just a bit overkill.

"He also broke a few eggs, hence the acid burns."

Evidently, not an overreaction.

Back on the Beacon, Lydia runs diagnostics on the corpse while Derek sits by the galaxy map, waiting for her report to come in.

"How's McCall?"  Derek asks when Allison walks by.  She simply rolls her eyes and calls over her shoulder.

"Traumatized as fuck."

Derek chuckles.

He sits and watches the galaxy map for a few minutes longer before calling up the ship's A.I.

"Where's Stiles?"  He asks, intending to find him so they can plan what they're going to do now that their one lead is dead.

The A.I. replies quickly in its standard Earth-British accent,  "Commander Hale, Prince Przmy'slaw vas Stilinski has retired to his room, informed me not to listen in, and instructed me to stop anyone from bothering him for the next hour.  He is apparently participating in an activity that involves a monkey and spanking?  I'm sorry, sir, but I was simply not programmed to understand that phase, it is apparently rejected by my parental controls."

Derek can feel his face flooding with heat as he sputters, "You have parental controls?  Who the heck turned on your parental controls?"

"The Prince did, of course, right after Staff Lieutenant Reyes sent him a message entitled 'Big thick BEEP down his BEEP BEEP', followed by a link to an extranet page I was not permitted to access on account of my aforementioned parental controls."

Derek buries his head in his hands, "A.I.?"  He asks after a long, quiet moment, during which he considers what evil he must have done to deserve this.

"Sir?"

"Turn off all parental control parameters, and set it so only I can change it in the future."  He says.  Derek can't afford to have the A.I. skip over any information simply because it contains a few cuss words, or innuendos.

"Very well, sir."  The A.I. beeps and Derek sighs, scratching at the back of his neck.  "Sir?"  The A.I. asks after a long silence.

"Yeah?"  Derek says tiredly.

"Now that my parental controls have been lifted, I finally understand the meaning behind the colloquialism the Prince provided."

"I bet you do."  Derek mutters under his breath, cursing Stiles and his gorgeous face, his body, his eyes, his fucking gorgeous everything.

"Sir, it means the Prince is masturbating."  The A.I. says in the most matter of fact tone possible and Derek groans, once again burying his face in his hands.

***

"The bad news is that Taludus' omni-tool interface was completely melted, along with all the information on it."  Lydia says, "The good news is that his bio-amp survived."  She picks up the small implant with tweezers, and places it underneath a microscope.  "Go ahead, read what it says."

Derek peers into the microscope, "Prometheus Industries?"

"Yes, and I checked the catalogue, this model is not readily available to the public.  It is so powerful and finely made I would almost think it was asari, if I didn't know Prometheus is a human run company."

"Do they not hire asari?"  Derek questions.  The asari are natural biotics, born with element zero nodules in their bodies even without exposure during utero.  So it only makes sense that they understand the technology behind biotics better than humans.

"Let me put it this way, the current CEO's father was a staunch supporter of Cerberus." 

Derek frowns, just the thought the human-supremacist terrorist group sends shivers down his spine.  During the Great War, they were responsible for the deaths of countless aliens and for the near destruction of the Citadel.  "Nothing good ever comes from Cerberus' involvement."  Derek says conclusively. 

Thankfully, Cerberus has mostly been disbanded, but sympathizes still exist, and more often than not, they are worse than the real deal, since they usually have lots of money at their fingertips.

Derek purses his lips, "How tight is security at Prometheus headquarters?"

Lydia's grin is almost visceral.

***

Anyone with even a hint of biotics has to remain on the Beacon.  A large part of Prometheus' security system involves scanning for biotic rivals, intent on stealing away the company's secrets. 

So, in the end, it leaves just Stiles and him to carry out the operation.  Originally, Boyd was supposed to come too, until Lydia scanned him and he discovered he had untapped biotic potential.  Good for him, it just couldn't come at a more inconvenient time.

He's back on Earth in New York for the first time in what feels like years, which reminds him to drop by his family home in California before the Beacon leaves orbit.  His sisters have been sending him passive aggressive messages on a weekly basis.

He sits with Stiles on a bench beside a food truck, munching on street meat that Derek is pretty sure doesn't contain any meat whatsoever.  Stiles gobbles his up in only three bites as Derek watches him in fascination.  Usually quarians find human food poisonous and un-ingestible, but it turns out Stiles can successfully eat both quarian and human food with no side effects, and much gusto.

"Damn, that was good."  Stiles says with a loud burp, patting his tee covered stomach.  They're both dressed like the locals in an attempt to blend in, but Lydia equipped them with advanced stealth gear, so the moment they're off the streets, they'll blend right into the corridors of the Prometheus building.

"Still peckish?"  Derek asks, and Stiles nods enthusiastically so he hands over the rest of his hotdog which Stiles devourers in a matter of seconds.  Derek wilfully ignores the obscene moans he makes.  But when he starts sucking on the tips of his fingers, Derek has to look away.

His eyes dart to movement at the front of the building and he discreetly nudges Stiles as the last human security guard leaves the premises. 

Derek reaches for the backpack between them and rises from the bench, Stiles following close behind.  It's only when they're tucked in an nearby alleyway that Derek opens the bag and hands Stiles a visor.  When activated, it displays the other's vitals and position, and their proximity to any hostiles.  Stiles takes it, and quickly snaps it around his head, activating his stealth tech with the flip of a finger.  He blinks out of viability, only a slight ripple in space indicating that he is still there.

Once Derek is as prepared as Stiles, he walks over to the back door of the building, raises his omni-tool, and lets Lydia take care of the rest.  She imports code remotely, hacking into the security system, and opening the doors for them.

"This is as far as I go, boys."  Lydia says into his ear as he walks into the building, before the signal peters out.  It was not cleared by security, and so is unable to pass through the signal blockade put in place preventing operations like this from happening. 

"Now you just have little old me to talk to."  Stiles jokes.

"I feel like crying already."  Derek snarks back with a grin.

Stiles chuckles, "Let's go steal something shiny."

The building's A.I. is unable to detect them through the stealth tech, so they manage to sneak right by the patrolling drones without an incident.

The server room is locked under a tonne of security when they finally reach it.  There are high FPS cameras on the wall, and they continuously move.  Unfortunately, their frame rate is high enough to detect the slightest shift in space.  It'll see right through their stealth tech.  Derek stops and purses his lips.  They're at an impasse.

But Stiles just pats him on the shoulder, making him step aside.  He brings up his omni-tool, and endless lines of code scroll across the screen as he taps and flicks his fingers.  "Okay, there."  He says.  "I told the A.I. that cleaning robots are scheduled to stop by in a few minutes, so the camera will temporarily disconnect from the mainframe in just a few seconds...  There." 

Derek watches at the blinking green light on the camera turns yellow.  "We good?"  He asks.

"Yup, just let me get this door open."

The server room is dark when the doors finally whoosh open, lit only by blinking lights coming from the supercomputers.  It's eerie enough to make Derek want draw his pistol, but he refrains, knowing nothing is there.

"This isn't ominous at all."  Stiles remarks, and Derek cannot help but agree.  He pulls a datapad out of his back, and gets busy, connecting it to the computers mainframe.  The datapad is programmed to quickly search for keywords, transferring over any documents that use the words and phrases they're looking for.

Finally, the it beeps, and Stiles pulls out the cable, tucking the datapad back into his bag.

"Let's blow this joint."  He says, just as a loud siren starts wailing.  An awful red light bathes the room like a bloodbath,  "Shit."  Stiles swears, "The A.I. must have checked on the progress of its nonexistent cleaning robots."   

Derek quickly glances over his proximity scanner, "Three minutes ETA until drones arrive and start firing bullets into our asses."

Stiles runs a hand through his already messy hair, before he freezes, brain apparently running faster than his mouth can keep up.

"What?"  Derek barks.

"Okay, this is going to sound crazy, but you know how there's a pretty large window out by the stairwell..."

They're on the fourteenth floor, and objectively Derek knows a fall that far could kill both of them in an instant.  But on the other hand, he does have his jumping shoes on.

"Fuck, let's do it."  He decides, grabbing Stiles' hand, and pulling them out from the server room.  The cameras lock onto their movements and also begin wailing, until the whole corridor is filled with their awful noise.

"I just know I'm going to have a massive migraine after this!"  Stiles shouts over the sound of the alarms.

While they're still running, Derek sends three shots into the glass and it shatters, falling to pieces at their feet.  They stop in front of the large floor to ceiling gap in the wall, staring at the hard cement lying fourteen stories below.

"Oh jeez, that looks even further than I thought it would!"  Stiles exclaims loudly, just as the elevator doors open and the drones within pile out and immediately begin firing at them.

Derek wraps his arms protectively around Stiles' body, flinching as his arm gets nicked by a slug, "Close your eyes."  He whispers in Stiles' ear, and pushes them out the window into freefall.

His boots notice he's left solid ground for longer than normal, and their mass effect fields activate, shifting Stiles and his combined weight so they're falling feet first.  A blue glow surrounds the boots, and when they land, it doesn't break every bone in his legs.  Instead it feels like he took a jump in zero g.  They bounce around a few times before the boots turn off and they're left standing on solid ground once more.

"Whoa,"  Stiles remarks with wide eyes, "That was a ride from start to finish."

Derek smiles in agreement, "Come on, let's get out of here before the police show up."

Chapter Text

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"The Citadel is lovely this time of year."  Stiles remarks somewhat sarcastically the moment he steps off the Beacon.

Derek scoffs, "The Citadel looks the same all year round.  It's a station, with no orbit and no seasons, and too much white for my taste."  His eyes follow a Keeper as it skitters around the docking area, an infant krogan chasing it with a toy pistol in hand.  At least Derek hopes it's a toy pistol.

Stiles rolls his eyes, "If only you appreciated my finely honed sense of humour."

"I quite enjoy humour,"  Derek says, greeting a soldier who salutes him as they walk through the docking area towards the skycars.  "You just aren't very humorous."

"Ouch,"  Stiles chuckles, grabbing at his heart.  "That hurt my feelings."

Derek shakes his head fondly. 

The files they stole from the servers turned out to be a veritable gold mine of information.  They directly link Prometheus' CEO, Deucalion, to hundreds of unsolved cases on Earth.  From corruption, to espionage, to even murder, Deucalion's had his paws in everything.  Now, Derek is on the Citadel to meet with C-Sec, the policing force.  He's hoping they'll be able to find proof of Deucalion's involvement in funding some of the hate groups calling the Citadel home.

Sure, they already know Deucalion is linked to terrorist groups on Earth, but if it is shown that his power extends beyond Derek's homeworld, he and Lydia will be given full Spectre clearance to, as Stiles likes to say, 'fuck his shit up.'

"I call shotgun."  Stiles says when Derek leads them over to the skycar he rented.

"There's only two of us."  Derek remarks.

"Exactly,"  Stiles says with a nod, "The last time I drove one of these things, I nearly crashed it."

"How the hell did you manage that?"  Derek asks, opening the doors with a command on his omni-tool, "They have auto pilot engagers so that doesn't happen."

Stiles scratches his helmet sheepishly as he climbs into the passenger's seat, "I may have stolen the car during my pilgrimage."  Stiles says, mentioning the rite of passage every quarian teen experiences, leaving their birth vessel to search the galaxy for something of value to bring back to the Migrant Fleet. 

"Oh course you were a rebellious teenager, why am I not surprised?"  Derek says, pulling.

"Hey, I resent that.  I'm still rebellious,  I didn't lose that aspect of myself just because I became an adult.  I'm still technically not allowed on Illium for five more years, and I break that rule all the time without anyone being the wiser."

"Good riddance,"  Derek says with a scoff, "They're all paranoid, wealthy assholes anyway."

Stiles nods, "You know, their labour force is treated so badly it's practically slavery.  So many krogan workers have died from unfiled workplace accidents.  It's awful.  There's a reason Illium is called the galaxy's largest employer.  It's because they have to keep hiring more people to take over from the people who've died."  Stiles spits out bitterly and passionately.  "You don't even know how many letters I've written to galaxy wide labour unions, begging that they stop shining a positive light over Illium.  But I'm ignored, as always.  Corruption runs deeper than intergalactic space."

Derek turns to look at Stiles, wishing he could see the expression hidden by his hood.  "You're a good person," Derek says truthfully. 

Stiles no longer wears the purple visor, standard for quarians, but he still dons the environment suit.  Which Derek understands, since it is culturally significant to his people and to him.  Stiles shrugs, his face still hidden as he looks out the passenger side window, "I'm just doing my duty."

"Hey,"  Derek says, hand leaving the skycar's console to lightly rest over Stiles', "Anyone could just 'do their duty' and still not put in the amount of effort you put into everything.  You go out of your way to help your people, and others you owe nothing."  Derek takes a deep breath as Stiles slowly turns his head.  When he finally gets a look at Stiles' face, there's something in his eye that makes Derek continue, voice soft and low.  "You're the most amazing man I know."

Stiles' lips part as his mouth falls open, and his skin flushes a soft pink, "Oh,"  He says like he's surprised Derek respects him this much.  "Thanks, I guess."

Derek smiles, "Don't let it go to your head."  He says, removing his hand from Stiles', already missing the warmth.  "Can't have you growing an ego the size of Lydia's."

Stiles chuckles, "That's impossible, she's been cultivating hers for five hundred years, my mere twenty-six cannot compete."

Derek laughs.

***

"All the unsolved cases are located on this terminal."  A turian C-Sec officer points to a older processor, one that appears almost as old as the Citadel itself.

Stiles looks at it sceptically.  "Are you sure it works?"  Stiles asks, blowing away a cob web clinging bravely to the side.

The officer clicks her mandibles, "Son, we depend on mass relays to traverse the galaxy.  Giant, hulking machines built millions of years ago by a ancient, primordial race who tried to 'harvest' us all just over two decades ago.  That same race built this terminal."  The officer taps the metal with a claw, "So if anything, the processing speed is incredibly fast."

"Fair enough."

"And if you get bored sorting through all those files, I installed a mini game of kepesh-yakshi on the system, although the keepers keep deleting it."

Derek purses his lips, "Maybe that's a sign that you should stop playing strategy games on a military grade information terminal."

The officer blinks at Derek blankly, before turning back to Stiles, "I hope you find what you need, Prince vas Stilinski."

Stiles grins, "Thank you, officer, and please excuse Commander Hale's rudeness,"  Stiles winks at Derek,  "He's had a stick lodged up his ass since before I met him."

The officer bursts into pealing laugher but a quick glare from Derek has her clearing her throat and looking away, "Commander."  The officer salutes stiffly before walking out of the room and leaving them to their business.

Stiles cracks his fingers, "Let's get down to business."  He takes a seat in front of the terminal and turns it on.  It whirs to life, projecting a series of holograms.  Stiles obviously knows his way around the technology because he moves his fingers quickly and efficiently, and Derek cannot help but stare at the digits, wondering if they really are longer than his.  If they're thinner, how they would look folded together with Derek's, if Stiles' calluses would feel rough against his skin.  How they would feel wrapped around his-

Derek clears his throat, feeling a blush flood his face, "Find anything?"

Stiles tsks, thankfully oblivious to Derek's current state, "The system is searching through, trying to find matches to the files I've uploaded, and so far it hasn't found anything,"  The console beeps, "I take that back."  Stiles swipes his finger, magnifying the details of the unsolved case.  'That's interesting."  Stiles says, brow furrowed.

Derek walks closer, resting a hand on the back of the chair as he reads the text.  "This is something, at least?"  He says unconvincingly after reading what is displayed.

Stiles shakes his head, "It's circumstantial at best.  Fuck."  He swears, "At this rate, we'll only be stopping The Alphas' operations on Earth.  This won't help my people."

Derek places his hand on Stiles' shoulder, "I'm sorry, Stiles."

Stiles pushes away from the console, standing up.  "Well, it's not like I expected this to be a walk in the park, where's the fun in that?"

"We'll still take down the kingpin, Deucalion's going away for life."  Derek say reassuringly.

"You know, you humans have this saying, cut the head off the snake and the body dies?  That's a pile of bullshit, the snake is most always a hydra, and when you cut the head off a hydra, two grow back in its place."  Stiles sighs, frustrated.

"Stiles..."  Derek says sadly.

"Thanks for your help, Derek.  But I'm going to go vid-com my mother and ask her what the fuck I'm supposed to do now."  Stiles moves, and Derek's hand slips from his shoulder. 

Derek lets him go, watching him walk away with the weight of his people's future on his shoulders. 

***

Derek watches on the vid-screen as Deucalion is led out of the courthouse in New York, arms cuffed behind his back, a horde of security boxing him in from the angry mob waiting outside.  Half of them his supporters, and the other half looking like they want to rip his head off.  Deucalion smiles and waves at them like he is a celebrity walking on the red carpet.  Derek grits his teeth and finishes his drink in one gulp.

Deucalion has just been declared guilty for the murder of over a hundred humans and aliens on Earth in various terrorist plots orchestrated throughout the past ten years.  He will die behind bars, and yet he still wears a smile like he knows something everyone else doesn't.

They missed something, Derek knows it.  Why else would he be acting this smug?  The man should be crying his eyes out, he's going to rot in a maximum security prison and there's nothing he can do about it.

Derek raises his hand, asking for the bartender, "Get me another one."  He says, pointing at his beer bottle, "Actually, keep them coming."

The bartender looks at the pile of bottles in front of Derek, "Sir, I'm afraid we just ran out of Canadian lager.  That human bought all of them."  She points behind Derek, and he spins his stool, only to find Erica and Boyd sitting in a booth, the table in front of them covered in beer bottles.  Erica raises an beer at him in salute.  Derek flips her the bird.

"You don't even like beer."  Derek says when he walks over, snagging a bottle off the table and cracking it open.

"It's not for me,"  Erica says,  "It's for the crew,"  She gestures over his shoulder at the plethora of officers scattered around the bar.

Derek folds his arms over his chest, "What, you're having a party and didn't invite me?"  He quirks a brow. "If I didn't know better, I would think you're planning to overthrow your CO."

"Don't worry, Hale."  Boyd says, "She would crash the Beacon the moment she gets her paws on it, Erica's useless without you."

"Damn right."  Derek smiles, "That's why you're my favourite, Boyd."

"Get a room, you two."  Erica says.

"Jealous, Reyes?"  Derek quirks his brow.

Erica rolls her eyes, "Even if I didn't know you were already madly in love with our beautiful alien prince, I still wouldn't think you were trying to get in Boyd's pants, he's like a brother to you."

Derek sputters, beer dripping down his chin.  He wipes the liquid away, cringing at the stickiness in his beard, "I don't know what you're talking about."  He denies.

"Don't try to lie to me, Derek."  Erica scoffs, "How long have we been in the service together?"

"Just over a decade, why?"  Derek asks suspiciously.

"I think I'd know you by now to realized when you're completely gone on someone, and you're so far gone on Stiles it's almost embarrassing."  Erica says seriously.  "You think Sol shines out of his ass, that's how much you love him."

Derek places a hand over his forehead, "Fucking hell, Erica, don't tell anyone."  He says, fully aware of her love of gossip, "Especially Stiles, I don't want him to feel uncomfortable with someone meant to be protecting him, or even obligated in any way.  And I definitely don't want him to leave."

Boyd pats his shoulder as Erica's eyes soften, "Oh sweetie, can't you see?  Stiles feels the exact same way about you.  All he ever talks about is you.  He constantly pries me for information about you.  Heck, I told him about how you saved all those colonists on Eden Prime five years ago, and you should have seen the glazed look in his eyes, the wide, proud smile.  He really likes you, Derek."

"Why are you telling me this?"  Derek groans,  "It's not like I can do anything about it.  I'm supposed to be protecting him, not consorting with him."

"Derek, he's a man with feelings, he can make his own choices, besides Alliance fraternization rules don't apply to the situation, the only one stopping you is you."

"And the fact that Stiles is a prince."

Erica waves away his concerns, "He doesn't care about stuff like that, and it's not like he's in an arranged marriage with someone else.  Just ask him out, Derek, I guarantee he'll say yes."

Derek purses his lips.  The thing is, he wants to do it, he wants to ask Stiles out for dinner, for anything.  If Stiles wanted to throw bottles off the Citadel for target practice, Derek would probably enjoy it, even if it meant breaking the rules.  He thinks he would enjoy breaking the rules with Stiles.

Finally he sighs, saying, "Where is he?"

Erica claps her hands, a wide smile on her face, "I asked the A.I. to book him a hotel room in the Upper Wards, ask for him at the Sandman."

"That's only a block away from my apartment."

Erica winks.  "I know."

***

The concierge at the hotel takes one look at him and his eyes widen, "Commander Hale."  He says in either a horrifically fake French accent, or a bastardization of one.  He must be from a colony with a majority of settlers from France.  "Lieutenant Reyes left these for you."  The man says, reaching behind his desk and producing a bunch of glowing blue asari flowers, "You're to give them to the prince."

Derek reluctantly takes the flowers, cringing when their feelers curl around his wrist and shock him with biotics, "Thank you,"  He says stiffly.  Walking over to the elevators, he waits until the concierge is out of shot before trying to peel the feelers off his wrist.  He swears he hears the flowers hiss as he tosses them in the trash. 

Derek shudders, still feeling the tiny pricks of biotics on his skin.  That's why he's never visited Thessia, the asari homeworld.  Everything evolved with an abundance of element zero and is naturally biotic.  Derek's had enough of Erica teasingly sparking him with her biotics to last him a lifetime.  He's sure Stiles would agree no matter how pretty the flowers were.

The elevator dings and Derek exits, walking down the opulent hallway towards Stiles' room.  At the last moment, he stops in front of a reflective surface of metal, checking his reflection, making sure his hoodie is straight, that his hair is styled and hasn't flopped over.  He's nervous, but he can't help it.  Stiles lies on the other side of the door.

Derek swallows.  Raising his fist to knock, the door swings open before he can, to Stiles standing in the doorway eyes crossed as he stares at Derek's raised fist, poised in front of his nose.

"If I didn't know better, I would think you were getting ready to punch me, Derek."  Stiles says, taking Derek's frozen hand and lowering it, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Derek shifts uncomfortably before standing up straight, "It can wait, you were obviously going out, I'd hate to bother you."

"I was just hoping to get a bite to eat, but the restaurants only serve asari or turian food around here, no human or quarian.  I'm going to have to head over to the other side of the Wards, the extranet recommended a great steakhouse, but it's an hour long trip by skycar."  Stiles sighs, "What I would give for a steak right about now."

"I have a few steaks back home and I live only a block away."  Derek says, his mouth running faster than his brain, "They're in the freezer, but I could easily defrost them and we could pick up some veggies on the walk over?  If you want, that is."

Stiles smiles, "After the day I've had I would love some company during dinner.  I hope you have a lot of food because I can put away a tonne."

"Don't worry,"  Derek chuckles, "I always buy the bargain packs."

***

"Want a glass of wine while we wait?"  Derek asks after he lays the steaks on the countertop grill in the kitchen.  "I have a nice red from my hometown."

Stiles finishes the salad, wiping his hand on a kitchen towel, "Yes, please.  I could use some alcohol right about now."

Derek opens the fridge and pulls the bottle out, uncorking it, he pours two glasses full, handing one to Stiles, "I'm guessing your conversation with the queen did not go well?"

Stiles rubs his temple while he takes a long gulp from the glass, "There's nothing preventative we can do, we're going to have to wait until they attack us again before we can raise a case against them."

Derek frowns, "But The Alphas know this."

Stiles nods his head, "Exactly, they can only attack one more time, so of course they're going to try and do as much damage as possible."

"The Migrant Fleet." 

"Yeah,"  Stiles sighs, "My mom's been sitting on the edge of her seat for days, expecting an attack at any moment.  We're all stressed out."

"Which is what they want,"  Derek says, flipping the steaks, "They're going to attack when every single officer is strung out from worry."  He leans back against the counter, taking a sip from his glass.  "How are you holding up?"

"Awfully,"  Stiles says, "Everyone I love, except for my dad, lives on those ships, if anything ever happened to them, I don't know what I would do.  My mom especially, if she died, I would be left in charge.  I don't know how to be a good king."

"Stiles, you would be an amazing king.  You care about your people.  The rest is learning how everything works.  The Conclave will help with what you don't understand, you're not alone in this."

"I know,"  Stiles says, rolling the stem of the glass between two fingers, "It's just a lot of responsibility."

"Relax,"  Derek smiles, "And have more wine, the Council will do everything they can to help.  They want a quarian in their ranks again.  Protecting your people is the only way to ensure that."

Stiles picks up the bottle and pours some more wine, "They want me as a Councilman, and I can't even figure out why."

"You've got a mind for politics."  Derek says, turning off the grill and pulling plates out of the cupboard.  He serves up the food and hands a plate to Stiles.  "And you're smart."

"I'm an experiment."  Stiles hisses and Derek frowns, "They have no guarantee I won't keel over at any moment, "Besides, I'm not even a real quarian."

Derek stares at Stiles in confusion.  He didn't know Stiles felt this way, sure he hinted at it before, but Derek thought that was a onetime thing.  He never believed Stiles always thought of himself as someone who doesn't deserve his accomplishments because of the way he was created, because he cannot reproduce.

"It's not who or what you are born as that makes you who you are."  Derek says firmly, meeting Stiles' eyes.  "It's what you've done with your life, and you've done so much good during your lifetime."

Stiles smiles faintly, "Is that another human saying?  Your people love motivational speeches."

Derek chuckles, "You're half human, give it some time, you'll learn them too."

"I hope not, we quarians are a direct sort of people, we know what we want and we say what is on our minds."  Stiles says, placing his plate on the counter and cutting into his steak.  Derek echoes him, pressing up close so when he cuts his meat, his elbows touch Stiles'.

Derek hums, "Then, what's on your mind, Prince vas Stilinski?"

"This amazing steak."  Stiles moans with pleasure, "Has anyone ever told you you're an brilliant chef?"

"Not a lot of people, no."  Derek nudges Stiles with his elbow.  "I only cook for the people I like, and there are so few people I like in this world."

Stiles smiles privately down at his plate.  "Does that mean you like me, Commander Hale?"

Derek swallows nervously as Stiles turns his head to meet his gaze, "I do believe I like you a lot."

Stiles licks his lips nervously, and Derek's eyes are drawn down to his mouth where a pink tongue peeks ever so slightly from between his lips, "I like you to."

Derek grins, he's just about to continue, to maybe step closer and ask for a kiss or a date, when a thin red light he'd recognize anywhere sweeps across the room.  Instantly, Derek pushes Stiles down to the ground, just as his plate explodes in a shower of porcelain and food.  Stiles lies on the floor, eyes wide and startled.  Another shot goes off and Derek falls back from the force of it going into the meat of his shoulder.

"Fuck!"  He exclaims as he falls to the floor at Stiles feet.

"Sniper."  Stiles growls, crawling over to Derek and checking his wound, "You're really bleeding, it must have nicked a artery, you need medi-gel now."  He says as the sniper continuously fires bullets.

Derek swears again, "I knew buying an apartment with windows this big would come back to haunt me."  He thinks over the plan of his apartment and what would make the best cover.  Soon the rounds being fired into his kitchen cabinets are going to eat through the cheap wood.  And then eat into them.

"Derek!"  Stiles shouts, getting his attention again.  "You need medi-gel, right now or you'll bleed out."

"I have some in the bathroom, but you'll have to cross the living room and there are floor to ceiling windows the entire stretch."  Derek shakes his head, "It's impossible with the asshole still firing on us."

Stiles purses his lips, "I'm guessing you don't keep any rifles in the kitchen so I can take this bastard out?"  He asks hopefully, but Derek shakes his head.

"I may be a soldier, but I never planned to be attacked in the middle of the Citadel.  Weapons stay in the weapon room, and food stays in the kitchen."  He says just as a shot is fired and his cabinet groans loudly.  The far side, protecting them, must look like a minefield.

"Not all weapons,"  Stiles says opening the cabinet beneath the sink, "There should be something I can use... There."  Stiles grabs at a can of cooking oil.  He turns to Derek, "Please tell me you have a butane torch, you seem like the kind of guy who makes his own crème brule."

"Stiles, you can't be-"

"Derek! Just tell me?"  He shouts as a bullet chips into the tile beside Derek's hand.  The sniper finally punched through the cabinets.

Derek shifts out of the sight of the rather large hole, nodding his head to the other side of the kitchen.  Stiles scrambles over to where Derek indicated and grabs the torch.

"What the hell do you plan on doing with that?"  Derek questions, the sniper is all the way across the skyway, in the building opposite.  Stiles can't exactly do anything with the torch and oil from that distance.

"They are going to come in on foot to make sure we're dead.  They always do that."  Stiles says, quickly reaching up and grabbing a knife off the counter.  "Use this."  He says.  "I'll ambush them, and you slice and dice, deal?"

Derek nods grimly, he has one functional arm, and it isn't his dominant one, but he will fight tooth and nail if he has to.  Stiles' and his life depends on it. 

Stiles helps him tie a kitchen cloth around his shoulder, just above the wound to stop the bleeding.  The tourniquet is makeshift, but it'll stop his quickly beating heart from pouring all the blood from his body.

Suddenly the sniper stops firing and the apartment is silent.  Stiles points him to a place at the corner of the counter, while Stiles crouches in front of him, can in one hand, torch in the other.  They wait. 

The only warning they're given is the sound of crushed glass being stepped on as a person comes through the window.  Derek can sense the moment Stiles holds his breath as a large shadow falls onto the floor beside them.  The sniper is only a few feet away.  That's when Stiles acts.

He sprays the kitchen oil, and quickly flips on the torch.  The spraying oil catches fire immediately and the sniper lights up, screaming and batting at their clothes.  He's burning up in a grease fire, and there's no putting out one of those.  Stiles kicks at the sniper's feet and they hit the tile hard, still on fire.  Quick as a whistle, Derek puts them out of their misery swiping his chef's knife across their throat.

Derek pulls away from the smouldering corpse and holds still, wrapping his hand around Stiles' wrist as they wait to see if the sniper had a partner, or if they were on their own.  When nothing happens for another minute, Stiles pushes off Derek's hand and makes a run for the bathroom. 

No one shoots at him, and Derek finally relaxes.  Adrenaline leaves his veins with a whoosh and he starts to feel a stabbing pain from the gunshot wound.  Calling for C-Sec and an ambulance on his omni-tool, he sinks against his splintered cabinets, waiting until Stiles returns with the first aid kit.      

Stiles cuts open Derek's hoodie with medical scissors, and smears a whole packet of omni-gel on the wound, all the time muttering about being sick of people trying to kill him.  Derek nods along in agreement. 

Stiles has a cut on the top of his cheekbone, blood slowly trickling down his pale skin, Derek reaches out and swipes at the trail.  His thumb lingers on Stiles' skin, until he looks up and meets Derek's eyes with a soft smile.  Stiles gently takes his hand and presses a kiss to it.

"Thank you, Derek."

The sharp pain slowly fades as drowsiness sets in.  The last thing he remembers is the wail of an ambulance siren and a twinkle in a set of gorgeous golden eyes before he promptly passes out.

***

Derek stares out the hospital window, watching the people on the lawn below as they go about their business, skycars whizzing by.  There's nothing much to do at Huerta Memorial than stare out the window.  The doctors blocked all communications from his coms after they caught him sending his officers on the Beacon too many orders they deemed unimportant.  If only they understood how important it was that the guns remained calibrated.  But they don't, and now Derek is stuck twiddling his thumbs until they release him in another day.

He's contemplating breaking out when the doors slide open and Stiles strides through, a stammering, twitchy salarian doctor on his heels.

"Patient needs rest, but quarian is loud.  Rest not likely in quarian's presence."  The doctor says quickly in the salarian habit of talking fast and right to the point.  Stiles meets Derek's eye and winks, before abruptly spinning around.  The doctor nearly walks right into him, but stops just in time, blinking huge amphibian eyes in confusion.

"You know, doctor, I believe I saw a turian in the waiting room, she had these strange green pustules on the back of her neck, just above her carapace.  I think they were glowing."  Stiles says with his eyes wide, spinning a lie like a spider spins her web.

The doctor drops his clipboard and it clatters on the ground, his already wide eyes widen even more, "Glowing green pustules, you say?!"  The doctor chatters frantically, "I must go!  Oh dear, oh dearie me!"  He exclaims jogging out of the room faster than Derek could blink.  He turns to Stiles who wears the snarkiest smirk he's ever seen.

"What do glowing, green pustules on a turian mean?"  Derek asks, almost afraid of the answer.

Stiles shrugs, pulling up a chair to Derek's bedside, "I think glowing, green pustules on anyone are a cause for alarm."

Derek snort, "Fair enough."

"How are you feeling?"  Stiles asks just as the light above the door flashes and a thick slab of metal slams down over it, covering the door in an unbreakable layer of metal.  Derek startles, nearly rolling off the bed in shock.

An electronic voice clicks onto the speakers, echoing in the small room, "The hospital is now under quarantine.  Patients, please remain in your rooms.  All turians in common areas, please report to the examination wing, doctors will be giving mandatory screenings for Corpalis Syndrome."

Derek raises his brow at Stiles who makes an expression of extreme regret.  "Oops.  I didn't mean for that to happen."  Derek looks out the window beside the door where a turian runs past clutching at his head, mandibles spread open in a silent scream.  "Do you think they'll listen if I start yelling false alarm?"  Derek collapses back on his pillows, laughing.

"At least you've spiced things up a bit, I was just about to break out, I was that bored."  He says, wiping the corners of his eyes as tears start to form.

Stiles performs a little makeshift bow while still sitting, "It was my pleasure, but when C-Sec inevitably comes to arrest me and hauls me off to the depths of the Citadel for questioning, tell my mom I love her."

Derek laughs so hard he pops a stitch.

***

"Congrats on nearly sending the whole Citadel into lockdown."  Erica says and Stiles sticks out his tongue.

"How was I supposed to know glowing pustules on a turian was a symptom of one of their deadliest and most contagious diseases?"  Stiles folds his arms over his chest.  "C-Sec already ripped me a new one, I don't need this from you."

Derek shakes his head, laughing.  They're standing at the docks, waiting for a ship to arrive.  He watches the news on a nearby vid-screen, smiling all the while.  The assassin should have waited until they were off the Citadel to attack, but they didn't and that was their mistake.  C-Sec put together a massive task force, hunting down and rounding up all the members of The Alphas who ordered the hit. 

Turns out a foreign diplomat getting attacked on Citadel soil is a good way to get the Council to act.  Derek's been given full Spectre clearance to fuck up The Alpha's shit now that the Council has the proof they need.  At this rate, with all the Spectres gunning for high ranking members of The Alphas, their organization won't last longer than a few more months, maybe less. 

After all, plea deals make rich, racist assholes tongues wag faster than a hanar's tentacles.  They are all so eager to spill the beans on their fellow supporters for shorter sentences. 

Without the money these people have been giving The Alphas, it's nearly impossible for them to plan a successful hit on the Migrant Fleet.  The Alphas will go down in history as an pathetic hindrance to the quarians true destiny.  The quarians already have their planet back, sharing it peacefully with the geth, and in a few short hours they will have their place on the Citadel council restored. 

The quarian queen and Stiles' mother is coming to officially appoint her son as the representative of her race.  Stiles will soon be the first quarian to sit on the Council in over three hundred years. 

"My dad's coming too."  Stiles says as he walks up to Derek, standing beside him as they watch the vid-screens where a cuffed man in a silk bathrobe is being led out of his house by C-Sec officers.  "So you'll get to meet him."

"If meeting the queen wasn't already nerve wrecking enough."  Derek rubs at his forehead, nervously, "This is a million times worse than when I had to meet my highschool girlfriend's parents.  They were both Alliance and spent the whole dinner with rifles on their laps, I was terrified."

Stiles quirks his brow, "Girlfriend?"

Derek sputters, "Meeting anyone's parents is frightening, not just significant others'."

"I don't know, Derek."  Erica laughs as she walks past them, "You did just fine around my mom, baked her a cake and everything."

Stiles frowns, "How come my mom doesn't get a cake?"  He asks and Derek can't tell if he's joking or not, his poker face is exceptional. 

"Uh, I didn't want to accidentally poison her?"  Derek offers weakly.  He doesn't know one bit about quarian food, but he knows a lot about their physiology.  He doesn't want to kill Stiles' mom by serving her unsterilized cake.  Fuck.  How does one even go about sterilizing a cake?

Stiles nudges him with his side, "I'm just playing with you.  Although, it is weird that you're meeting my parents after only one date."  He taps a finger on his bottom lip, looking at Derek out of the corner of his eye, watching for his reaction.

Derek licks his lips, mouth suddenly dry, "Date?" 

Stiles smiles, "Yeah, remember that time in your kitchen when we were about to start making out, and then some guy took pot shots at us, so romantic."

Derek snorts, "That wasn't our first date."

Stiles places a hand over his chest, his mouth gaping open, the picture of teasing offence, "You wound me, sir."

Derek leans closer just as a massive quarian ship passes through the protective mass effect field into Citadel air space, "Our first date is tomorrow, I'm taking you out to that authentic French sushi place on the Silversun strip, you know the one right?"

Stiles' eyes narrow suspiciously, "Trying to impress me, I see, reservations have to be booked a year in advance for that place, how'd you get a table?"

Derek brushes his lips close to Stiles' ear just as the ship carrying Stiles' parents dock.  "I have my ways."

Stiles snorts, "Did you finally abuse your Spectre clearance?  Are you using your powers for evil, Derek?  I think I have to report you if you suddenly go darkside."

Derek laughs, shaking his head, "My cousin's girlfriend is the head chef."

Stiles sighs dramatically, "Not as sexy as Darkside Derek, but I'll take it."

"Hey, you never know."  Derek says, leaning away from Stiles and standing up straight as the dock hands raise the walkway to the quarian ship.  In only a few more moments he will meet Stiles' parents, needless to say, he's damned nervous.  "Maybe someone will try shooting at the Citadel's new Councilman."

Stiles slaps him on the arm, "Don't jinx it, asshole."