Out Of Milk

31

Last Goodbye

Scott buckled on his holster and looked at himself in the mirror. Yeah, he looked good. A real officer of the law. Around him, the bedroom was a mess, sheets and pillows on the floor, the headboard crookedly hanging to one side – he really needed to get that fixed – and in the middle, watching him with an amused expression: Alison.

The gold band on her finger glinted in the morning light that peeked through a gap in the curtains, her hair messed and sleep tussled.

"You look so handsome."

"You look better." He said, immediately, causing her to giggle.

They had been married for 2 years, and still Scott couldn't believe that this stunning woman was his wife. Her father still wasn't thrilled at the elopement, but the love he had for his daughter more than outweighed his dislike of Scott's… Lunar issues.

It didn't help that Derek had gone postal after the kidnapping of Samantha by hunters, threatening to kill anything that even looked like an Argent.

"We had nothing to do with this!" Chris had yelled, as Derek had him by the throat.

"How convenient." The Alpha hissed. "As soon as something like this goes down, you know nothing. This is Gerard all over again!"

"Those bastards nearly killed my daughter!" Isaac roared.

"We had nothing to do with it!" Chris had gasped, Derek cutting off the oxygen to his lungs. "I swear on my word as a father – they were not Argents."

Only one had escaped. He got as far as the Mexican border before Reever and Isaac caught him. They didn't bother bringing the body back. The one who had tried to outrun the growing forest was found, or parts of him at least, hanging from trees that looked as though they had grown through his limbs. No one asked where the others were, and Stiles didn't bring it up in conversation.

They had wonderful rosebushes though.

Stiles walked around the brightly lit supermarket snuggled deep into the black leather jacket that he'd been thrown before leaving the house. His sunglasses didn't do anything to stop the glare from the fluorescent lighting, not that Derek seemed to care as he walked through the aisles with a slow purpose.

"Can we hurry this along?" Stiles grumbled, trying to pull more of the jacket around him.

"Nope." Derek said, before picking up two brands of olive oil and studying them carefully. Stiles groaned.

"Derek, my head is about to fall off here."

"I told you last night," Derek said, turning to face him, and Stiles wanted to punch that self-satisfied look right off his perfect face. "That you'd regret the shots in the morning."

"I don't regret the shots." Stiles grumbled. "I regret the fact I let you drag me to this bright and shiny level of hell at 8am on a Sunday." He lowered his glasses to glare at Derek, knowing that his gold eyes were red rimmed, bleary and bloodshot. "I was perfectly okay with staying in bed."

"We're out of food."

"I can grow what we need."