undergrounds | CLOSED; Heiji & Derek; 6/16

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CLOSED; Heiji & Derek; 6/16

Early afternoon has set over London when Stiles arrives at Hall Place & Gardens, the location he chose for Heiji and Derek to discuss alliances. The tourist attraction is in Bexley, which is near enough to pack territory that Derek shouldn’t feel too out of his element. And the museum itself should be of interest to Heiji, if the meeting goes horribly awry. Which it very well could. God knows what the hell goes on behind Derek Hale’s broody, angry brow. Stiles suspects not an awful lot, to be honest.

Hanging around the entrance to the gardens, by the parking lot, he waits for the two men to arrive. Maybe he can convince one or both of them to help pay for his ticket… After all, he’s just the third party organizing all this. They should be grateful. Grateful enough to buy him admission, and maybe a souvenir he can ship home to his old man or Scott. Derek is probably loaded with money, right? What’s sixty pounds to him, or six hundred…?

With a restless sigh, he digs out his cell to double check his messages. By the time one of them approaches him, he’s totally absorbed in a game of Angry Birds.

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He snorts again, but his expression is serious when he nods. Whatever consequences might come from alerting Daybreak or others, Derek doesn't intend to find out. Would Stiles say the same? He shoots him a considering look, but is ever quick to keep his attention on Heiji. It's less out of suspicion than even he'd expected. Instead, he finds himself wondering.

The terms, as Heiji puts them forward, are good. More than fair, in fact. Derek is tempted to take them as they are, but maybe it's his sense of honour that has him deigning to speak.

"I'm not going to force my pack to get involved in other people's fights. You'll get me. You'll get whoever wants to come with me. But don't expect every wolf to fight for you."

Stiles has abandoned all pretenses of inattention. Arms folded over his chest, he walks backwards slowly so that he can study Heiji and Derek in turn. There’s a rapt, hungry interest sharpening his normally relaxed features. Right before his very eyes, he’s witnessing a tenuous alliance being forged. The convoluted politics of a foreign world are drawing him in like a moth to the flame, and a fever starts to burn him up from the inside. He’s reminded of the chess game he played against Derek, of capturing the black pieces one by one.

“What about Havering?”

Head tilted, he glances at Derek briefly and then focuses on Heiji. He’s not entirely sure why he’s asking, because this is the type of question that might put his friend on the spot. But Stiles invited Derek here; he feels a strange sense of responsibility for determining the details of the unofficial alliance. After all, Stiles knows from firsthand experience that Derek is terrible at negotiating.

“It’s not pack territory, but it’s on the outskirts. Would the fae eventually want to claim that too?”

Edited 2015-06-30 20:38 (UTC)

Heiji's smile was one of keen interest, the very same expression he got when working through a particularly challenging puzzle. "One of the others mentioned wanting to pursue it. It's a fae thing, the river. But I thought that might be a little too provocative. You've already got Islington, plus Redbright expanding on the other side."

Well, that and he thought Bromley would be the better bet for containing Daybreak. Havering would have been a retreat in his eyes: too timid. Of course he'd avoided bringing up any concern for East End among the other fae, who he figured were not all inclined to factor in the feelings of another faction when making their plans. Especially not a faction that hadn't agreed to help yet.

He looked at Stiles, then Derek. "If you want, I can ask the others to leave it alone. I can't make any guarantees, but the request would have more weight coming from you. Plus, you guys might wanna expand at some point. Am I wrong?"

When Stiles speaks up, Derek stares at him. He isn't seeing him in a new light, so to speak. He has already known that Stiles is clever, calculating, capable, so evidence of it - he hadn't even thought about Havering - isn't so striking. What draws his focus is, instead, the fact that Stiles is putting it to use for the benefit of him, of his pack. He doesn't get it. Their relationship has been, at best, tense. Despite his own suspicion, there seems little conclusion to be drawn but Stiles acting in his interests. And despite his own suspicion, he almost made a potentially grievous error.

Slowly, he drags his gaze back to meet Heiji's. Focusing again on the matter at hand, he shakes his head. "Havering is the first place we'd look. The fae will be free in our territory, provided they're not trying to toy with my pack. Fair?"

Eyes bright and warm, Stiles quirks a lopsided grin at Heiji. He’s inordinately pleased with the answer, even though he trusts the kitsune implicitly. The honesty just hammers home what he already knows. Still beaming, he glances over at Derek to check how the alpha is reacting—only to be startled by the intense look levelled in his direction. Stiles doesn’t have the faintest idea how to interpret that frown. Did he step on some werewolfy toes or something? While the guy doesn’t seem pissed, per se, it can be difficult to get a read on Derek at times. Probably because Derek expresses himself through a spectrum of frowns and scowls.

Distracted, it doesn’t take long for Stiles’ to lose his balance as he walks backwards. Which is how, seconds following the werewolf’s response, he trips over a loose flagstone, rolls down a hill, and ends up in a pond.

"Fair -- " started Heiji, and then Stiles fell in the pond what even. He ran down the hill and down to the pond, giving Stiles a look of naked disbelief. How did this happen. Why.

Nevertheless, he stretched out his hand for Stiles to grab as a goose (possibly the same one from before) glided up and decided Stiles's shirt looked pretty tasty. It grabbed for a beakful of sleeve because it was a terrible dinogoose and it needed to hurt someone.

Fair, indeed. Derek barely hears; Stiles tumbles backwards and he snaps around, pulled taut and tense by readiness, his world narrowing down to every infinitesimal moment of the anticipated fight. It doesn't come. His eyes fall to Heiji hurrying away down to the bank before they reach Stiles, floundering amidst algae and waterlilies. Ridiculous as the sight is, Derek looks around, still expecting something to happen. Gradually, he unclenches his hands, straightens up.

For a few long moments, punctuated by Stiles' thrashing, Derek lingers on the path, gaze resting on the fae. Eventually, he decides to head down the hill after them. He doesn't think they need the help, and he's not intending to wade in himself, but Heiji - he just can't be sure about him, and while he doesn't expect him to drown Stiles here in the park, doesn't really expect him to do anything like that, suspicion makes him keen to keep close to the two of them.

He does offer some measure of assistance, however. The goose honks at him in protest as he draws near, feathers and water sprayed up into the air as it struggles to maintain a hold on its quarry. Thankfully, Derek wins, and the bird releases Stiles and flaps away. As Stiles rises from the water, looking like a sopping wet idiot, Derek gives him a once over. It's less scathing than he'd like.

Welcome to the life of one Stiles Stilinski.

When the teen resurfaces (resembling a particularly ungraceful whale in its death throes), he immediately spits out a mouthful of water. Unfortunately, that mouthful of water—scummy, algae-thickened, pond water—sprays directly in Heiji’s direction. In Stiles’ defense, he has no idea; his eyes are still closed.

“I seriously—oh my god!” he sputters, jerking wildly as a saw-like teeth seize his arm. It’s the goose! It’s going in for the kill! This is how he’s going to die! Except the goose releases him abruptly, leaving him to wonder why—

Well, being in the company of a werewolf has its perks, he supposes.

“I think I swallowed a lily pad.”

Once he’s back on land, Stiles holds his arms out to his sides and stares down at himself in misery.

Heiji gave Stiles a Look as he stood there, partially covered in algae. Water dripped down his face and onto his shirt. Really, Stiles? Really?

He resisted the incredibly strong urge to turn back into a fox and shake himself off and instead nudged at Stiles's shoulder. "You ain't leave a change of clothes at the visitor's, did ya? Probably a bench around here where you can dry off."

As soon as Heiji was reasonably sure that no one was looking, little blue flames appeared on his shoulders and in his hair. They dried his clothing and licked at the algae that remained on him, reducing them to ashes that he could then brush away.

Derek's first thought, after being assured that yeah, Stiles is fine, is thank God it doesn't reflect on him. But then he considers that and wonders how true it really is. After all, he wouldn't be here if not for Stiles. Would Heiji? It's hard to say, and Derek looks between them but can't figure it out. There's a give and take here, a coordination and negotiation that goes beyond and below what they're discussing.

Toeing algae off his boot, Derek glances sidelong at Heiji in commiseration before the fire sparks along his frame. His eyes widen in surprise, though it's a reaction that doesn't last. Fae. So far, his alliances - a word he uses loosely and with no small amount of paranoia - have been in some of the places he least expected, but then, he hardly expected them at all.

"Up here," he says, inclining his head back up the hill and down the path, to where a free row of benches sit in the sun. He looks at Stiles, and sighs. Heavily. "I keep a change in my car."

It's an offer, even if he does his best to make it sound otherwise.

The werewolf’s offer stalls Stiles; blinking, he pauses in the midst of reaching for one of the blue flames. Really, it’s probably for the best that he never learns whether or not fae fire will burn him. With a longsuffering sigh, he bunches up his shirt to a side and wrings the excess water out. Now that the adrenaline rush is wearing off, he’s become increasingly aware of how uncomfortably cold he is. God does he miss California.

“What is it with you people and keeping spare clothes in your car?” he grumbles, reminded of the incident with Apollo only a few days prior.

Stiles starts to trek up the hill, but is quickly stopped by the current uselessness of his sneakers. Toeing out of them, he ties the laces together before hanging them over his shoulder.

“Did you guys finish your…whatever it is?”

Stiles, no, fire bad. Heiji gave Derek a quick smile; he kept forgetting that the people here might be a little unnerved by such casual use of magic. But it was second nature to him, and anyway, the alternative was trying to lick himself clean or something. He wasn't a cat.

"Yeah, I'd say we're about done. I don't think there's any contracts to be drawn up or anything." He clapped Stiles on the back.

"Anyhow, let's not look a gift horse in the mouth! You can just change real quick and by the time it's time to leave, your clothes'll be dry! No sweat." Of course, there was a question of whether Derek's clothes would fit Stiles, or if this spare clothing included an embarrassing printed T-shirt. But that probably didn't matter.

Although Stiles' wandering hands draws Derek's eyes - and ire - he doesn't do anything beyond sigh in his direction, trusting either that intelligence will kick in or experience will be a good teacher. Once again, he's forced to wonder about the relationship between he and Heiji. Stiles had vouched for the fae, which definitely said something in his favour, but it still begged the question of how well they knew each other, or how well Stiles thought he knew him. When it came down to it, Heiji still seems straight-forward, refreshingly so, but Derek isn't about to set paranoia aside for first impressions. Suspicion has served him well over the years.

Is he held in the same high regard? He doubts it.

"We tend to need them," he says, drily. Even if Derek's never had to worry about shifting ruining his clothes, he's still got a bad track record when it comes to fights, and the London Met don't take kindly to guys wandering around covered in blood.

Glancing at Heiji, he nods, decisive. Yeah, it's done. An undercurrent of anxiety makes Derek wonder if he'll regret it, but he forces himself to keep his head up, to think of this decision as the right one.

"Come on."

Pleased by how readily the alliance was agreed upon, Stiles shoots both men a quirked grin before hustling up the hill and back to the main path. He’s really starting to become aware of how cold it is, soaking wet on a breezy spring day in London. California can get cool too, especially closer to the coast, but Beacon Hills typically boasted mid to high 80°Fs every day with the sun burning hot and fierce above. Maybe that’s why Derek moved to the UK specifically; better weather for wearing leather. Clasping either bicep in a caricature of a self-hug, Stiles books it past the werewolf to reach the parking lot. Without needing to be told, he makes a beeline straight for a dark, sleek camaro once he spots it. Clearly Stiles is familiar with Derek’s ride.

“Heeeijiii,” he whines, shivering. “How about waving a hand and doing some hocus pocus? Help a brother out?”

Because he’s freezing and wet and slowly realizing he’ll likely need to strip outside in a parking lot in front of two supernatural creatures who probably have ungodly perfect bodies.

Derek glances between them, at once curious and dubious. He's not sure that hocus pocus is something they should be indulging. Thankfully, a family meander past at that point, just as Derek catches up to the car and the human - who happens to be studied with no small amount of wonder. Or sympathy. Or amusement.

"Oh my god," he mutters, opening the trunk and pulling out a shirt and a pair of jeans. He hands them to Stiles. "You can change in the back. Or, you know, the bathrooms. If you soak the inside of my car, you're going in the Thames."

Is he in decent spirits? It just might be so.

"Whatcha getting all shy about?" asked Heiji, grinning. "We're all guys here, right?"

What was wrong, Stiles, didn't you want to be seen and judged by two other dudes on your abs or lack of? Nevertheless, the windows of the Camaro darkened, so Stiles could have his very own privacy chamber.

Inspecting the shirt and jeans dubiously, he glances between the car and the visitor’s center in the distance. Then he glances between Heiji and Derek. And then he glances at his socked feet and the gravelly road. Choices.

When he notices that the windows have all darkened, he whoops gratefully and launches himself at the kitsune, spinning Heiji around (and probably getting him wet again).

“You’re the best, dude! I could kiss you.”

Oh. Well. They’ve kind of already covered that though, haven’t they. Turning bright red, he throws open the car door to the backseat and disappears inside.

"The Thames, Stiles," Derek repeats, pointedly, just to hammer in the message. His gaze slides, for what feels like the thousandth time, between the human and the fae in the moments before the door closes, because it's not hard to see Stiles' blush or miss the fact his heart rate just spiked. Assuring himself that it's definitely weird and that he neither wants to know nor cares to, he huffs a sigh and folds his arms. Once again, he resumes eying Heiji but, social creature that he is, he says nothing.

O-oh, Mr Stiles. Heiji dripped for a moment, sighed resignedly as he found himself wet again, then turned to Derek. At least this time there wasn't any pond crud on him.

"So, there any good beaches around here?"

The way his eyebrows furrow in answer ask, quite clearly, are you serious - funny, how gifted both Stiles and Heiji are in earning such a reaction - but he's coming to understand that the answer is yes. For the sake of politics, he attempts not to look too put upon.

"The nearest are about an hour away. Kent or Essex are probably easiest." He pauses, then tacks on; "You'd prefer Kent."

"Oh? What makes ya say that?" Did you have some kind of insight into Heiji's character, Derek. Did you know how much he liked babes.

An hour away. That wasn't too bad. He wondered if he might be able to crash someone's beach party...

Nonchalantly, Derek shrugs. Other than keeping in Heiji's good graces, it's not particularly the usual for him to make such an observation. Out loud, at least.

"It gets called the 'garden of England'. Figured that would appeal to you."

"I do like my green spaces." He laughed. "But you don't go to the beach to look at a garden, yeah?"

Unless Derek did, but then that was weird. In any case, he was sure that Stiles, at least, agreed with him. "So did you and Stiles meet over in the U.S.? Seems like you guys go back a bit."

The answering expression is both disparaging and confused. He's not the type to hang out in beaches, or gardens, and he assumes that much is clear about him. Sliding his hands into his pockets, he remains quiet, but at relative ease - at least, until the question comes. Minutely, his stance shifts, stiffens, his shoulders drawing into a hard line.

"No," he answers, plainly. There's no harm in this, even if he doesn't necessarily like talking, thinking about Beacon Hills. Stiles would probably be forthright anyway. "I left there when Stiles was in elementary school."

At this point, Heiji was starting to wonder where Derek did spend his time. He now had the distinct image of Derek returning home, hanging up his coat, and backing slowly into a small closet, frowning intensely at the rest of the room while he pulled the door shut from the inside and blanketed himself in the enclosing darkness until it was once again time to emerge.

Also, how old WAS Derek, anyway?

"Yeah? We met a few months ago." Heiji stopped because he figured Stiles wouldn't appreciate him telling Derek the story of how they'd met, but the way he left it hanging like that made it sound kind of ambiguous.

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