FBI (For Basic Idiots) [FemStiles&Derek]

My Dear

“Stiles... my dear...”

“What?!” Stiles jumps awake, voice barely above a sleepy mumble, but screaming out in her head just as she wakes. She blinks the sleep away, realises the car has stopped moving, and glances to the driver’s seat to find Logan staring at her with wide and slightly concerned eyes.

“I said we’re here.” Logan says, voice slow and clear. “You good, Stilinski? You were fidgeting in your sleep.” He grins fondly at her as he adds, “Well, more so than usual.”

Stiles puffs out a groggy little chuckle, tries to smooth her ever wild locks as she scrapes them back into a loose ponytail. “Sorry. Must be getting the horrors from coming back to Beacon Hills.”

She jokes, but nobody needs to know just how serious she is. That must be what it is, she thinks – being back in the place where all of the bad things that ever happened to her and her family and friends. Although, it’s not as if she doesn’t visit as often as she can – at least three times a year – and she hasn’t even thought of Him for almost 10 years now...

Fuck, maybe it’s not just a dream...

No, Stiles defiantly thinks, shoves away all of those negative thoughts and notions, instead, slaps on a bright smile when her partner only continues to stare at her with slight concern. “I’m fine. It was just a stupid nightmare. Seeing the things people like us see, it’s bound to happen every now and then.”

Logan sighs, but nods, leaves it there. “Looks like we’re the last to arrive.” He notes as he glances out of the front screen.

Stiles glances over, follows his line of sight and grins. “Those are all Lydia’s.” She chuckles when he turns to her with his jaw half dropped. “The Merc, the two BMWs and the Aston Martin are all Red’s, and the Cruiser is obviously Jordan’s. The cute little pink Beetle is Kira’s, and the ratty little Mustang is Malia’s. She refuses to get rid of the thing... although, I still have my Jeep, so, I don’t think I have the audacity to talk on such matters.”

Logan chuckles, then, smirks at her as he points over to the slick black shiny number parked up right opposite his Plymouth (GTX, 1967, because he’s a classy bitch, of course.) “And what about this one?”

Stiles is already shooting him a withering look, because she knows he hangs onto her every word whenever she’s talking about “the sour wolf.”

Logan’s smirk only widens as he says, “I sense drama.”

Stiles rolls her eyes at him as he wiggles his perfectly micro-bladed brows at her. “There’s no drama. Why would there be drama?”

She’s explained the situation with Derek to him – the situation where she’s always been helplessly in love with the miserable bastard, but said miserable bastard is either too oblivious to notice or just doesn’t feel the same and doesn’t know how to tell her... or doesn’t care to.

But whatever...

It’s all good...

Ugh. Her heart is already racing at the thought of merely knowing he’s just a few yards away from her now.

“Oh, there’s gonna be drama when I pretend that I’m also in love with you.” Logan grins mischievously, looks all too pleased with himself.

“And what would that accomplish?” Stiles snootily asks, raises a clear unimpressed brow.

Logan rolls his eyes at her, looks positively done with her. “You really are oblivious, girl. Come on, lets get our drink on. I am parched.” He shakes his head as he finally opens the door and pulls himself out of his car.