This is Agent Hale

"Shit."

Cora propped herself up on the bed she remained bound to, the tangle of wires keeping track of her vitals. Apparently working in the same office diminished all traces of privacy. Just great.

The majority of her internal injuries were healed but the progress was slow enough to keep doctors worried. Give it another night and she could have gotten away with it too. Toying with the phone, she finally crafted a reply with a heavy sigh.

[Text] I don’t think Director Deaton would appreciate hearing about screwing protocol.

[Text] Don’t pull that shit on me again. 

Still, she couldn’t argue. He was her brother and Alpha. Cora didn’t know why she didn’t expect him to find out. Agent Lahey mentioned he tried to get in contact with Derek she should have expected someone letting it slip about her hospitalization. For a much of secret agents, they were all shit at keeping secrets.

[Text] Beacon Hills Memorial. Third Floor. Room 317. 

Doesn't in fact doubt that he man would, he'd been present for more than enough of the fall out that he was likely to have a unique understanding for Derek's view. And not that it mattered, it had been a decoy and they both knew it. There was no protocol against seeing family in a sickbed - there may be visiting hours, but breaking those seemed like the least of Derek's concerns. He hadn't known.

He was about to send an infuriated reply when the third text made the phone buzz in his hand. Exhaling slowly, he gathered himself and made a beeline for the car - leaving paperwork in messy piles on his desk. He replies as he walks:

[text:] Likewise, Cora.

[text:] See you in 10.

[Not this case, perhaps, never this case, but sometimes - other times.]

Just checking in. 

Takes one to know one. And it might be better to skip the heroics, get more things done that way.

I’m not in this to save the world nor do I fucking care about over a billion of its occupants.

The crooked smile doesn't help, or perhaps serves it's purpose very well, because Derek is suddenly glad his hands are gathered together. Could easily reach over and grab a handful of that shirt, pull Stiles closer as he himself leans further over the table and, well, screw propriety. Because Stiles smells like he doesn't mind, like encouragement, and it's as distracting now as it was right at the start. But he doesn't, only licks his lips absentmindedly and forces himself to lean back again, as if the slight re-establishment of space will truly make some kind of difference. It won't. But there are boxes to pack back up, a computer to shut down, and surely a bunch of papers and reports he should remember to bring with him home and won't. 

"Shit."

Cora propped herself up on the bed she remained bound to, the tangle of wires keeping track of her vitals. Apparently working in the same office diminished all traces of privacy. Just great.

The majority of her internal injuries were healed but the progress was slow enough to keep doctors worried. Give it another night and she could have gotten away with it too. Toying with the phone, she finally crafted a reply with a heavy sigh.

That should be enough to convince him to stop. Derek was a stickler for rules and she could only hope he valued those principles over her well being. On top of it all, she was fine. It was taking a long time but she’d be alright soon enough. The whole scene made her seem far worse than she was.

[Text] Tomorrow. Alright?

Perhaps it should have been enough, Derek had always been one for rules, had always known that they served a purpose, that they were there for the greater good. To minimize overall damage, to effectivize, to limit losses. But there was a skittering across his skin, a a restless, relentless worry. That and the jumbled guilt of having not known, of not having asked. 

[text:] Today.

 He'd already checked the infirmary, and she clearly hadn't been home. Which meant that she was healing slow, slow enough that she'd needed to stay, slow enough that it might not be suspicious. Derek just needed to see her.

"Shit."

Cora propped herself up on the bed she remained bound to, the tangle of wires keeping track of her vitals. Apparently working in the same office diminished all traces of privacy. Just great.

The majority of her internal injuries were healed but the progress was slow enough to keep doctors worried. Give it another night and she could have gotten away with it too. Toying with the phone, she finally crafted a reply with a heavy sigh.

[Text] I’m not eleven.

No, she wasn’t some little pup who needed her big brother to fix her messes and stay by her side after a serious of boo-boos. Missions had gone wrong when she was in New York and she didn’t report back to Derek. Cora had no intention of starting now, especially when able to forsee his reaction.

[Text] I’ll see you tomorrow.

Hopefully. 

[text:] You will see me -now-.

He’s moments away from calling, the only thing stopping him being that he knows it’s only going to make a possibly volatile situation worse, and they're only just starting to find their way back. In an attempt to acquiesce he concedes and sends of another text.

"Shit."

Cora propped herself up on the bed she remained bound to, the tangle of wires keeping track of her vitals. Apparently working in the same office diminished all traces of privacy. Just great.

The majority of her internal injuries were healed but the progress was slow enough to keep doctors worried. Give it another night and she could have gotten away with it too. Toying with the phone, she finally crafted a reply with a heavy sigh.

Derek isn’t pleased, and while most of it is a skittering nervousness and worry that’s been buzzing in his skin ever since he read the report - dropped on his desk by a colleague with nothing more than the words ‘might want to read this, Hale’ - some of it is anger directed at his younger sister. He knew she liked her privacy, so when she’d gone out on a mission Derek had let it be, hadn’t checked up on it’s progress because it would have felt intrusive, not even when it dragged out longer than he would have expected - but he expected her to let him know when she returned. Especially in such a state.

He looks back at Stiles, who holds his attention exclusively now. Sees that mischievous glint in the other agent's eyes and knows well enough what that means, and the least of it is that he'll be heading home. Soon. His eyes shift down, follow Stiles' still almost restless hands to his thighs - wants to replace them with his own - as he recounts what frankly sounds like a great idea. Derek's not above being persuaded by a great idea. He's also feeling more tempted than he should be by terrible ideas, like how the two options shouldn't necessarily have to be mutually exclusive, that both was always an option. He hitches a foot around the leg of Stiles' chair and pulls it ever so slowly closer - desk still between them, Stiles' leg still leaning against it.