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.