Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Hey,” Cam says as he walks over to stand next to Derek, bumping their shoulders together briefly, “what’s with the face?”

“I have made a grave mistake,” Derek says, watching with horror as the consequences of his hubris unfold before him.

Cam makes a small confused noise. “What do you—” he cuts off as he follows Derek’s line of sight. “Oh.” He hisses in sympathy and gives Derek a firm pat on the shoulder. “Yikes. Yeah. Sorry, buddy, but I think you’re doomed.”

Derek sighs heavily. “Yeah. Figured as much.” He’d hoped Cora would get along with everyone on the team, but he hadn’t expected them to get along this well. And now she and Vala are sitting close and snickering with each other as they plot out a prank campaign against him. He’ll never know another moment’s peace, he’s fairly certain.

Cam nods grimly. “My condolences. Hey, but, it could be worse, y’know. At least it’s just the two of them—” he stops abruptly again as Stiles walks over to join the scheming. “Ah crap.”

Derek throws his hands up in despair, then thwacks Cam’s arm with the back of his hand. “You jinxed it. Thanks a lot.”

Cam tries and fails to hide a laugh by faking a coughing fit. “Sorry! I’m sorry. This totally isn’t funny. I am definitely not laughing at you.”

Derek drops his head into his hands with a groan. “I have the worst friends ever,” he laments. “That’s it—I’m moving to the Pegasus Galaxy. Goodbye forever, my life here is over.”

“That is unfortunate to hear,” Teal’c says as he walks over to join them, standing at Derek’s other side. He raises an eyebrow and hums thoughtfully as he watches the schemers. “Though, given the circumstances, it may be the wisest course of action.”

Cam crosses his arms and tilts his head skeptically. “I dunno, man, are you sure Pegasus is far enough? Maybe you should try another universe.”

Derek scrubs both hands down his face and exhales slowly. “They torment me because they love me,” he reminds himself through gritted teeth.

Cam snorts and claps him on the back. “That’s the spirit, buddy.”

Derek casts his eyes beseechingly up at the sky as he huffs another breath, then decides to abandon his efforts to pretend he doesn’t actually love every second of this. Because, sure, the combined mischief of Cora, Stiles, and Vala will be a nigh-unstoppable force that may rip holes in the fabric of reality, but he knows it’s all in good fun. This won’t be like the prank wars Peter had inflicted on them when they were young, so often resulting in actual bodily harm or permanent psychological trauma. These three will torment him without mercy, but they’ll never hurt him just to please themselves. They’ll pull the types of pranks that will leave him laughing, not the ones that would make him cry. And besides, the very fact that Cora is here to pull these pranks on him makes it all worthwhile.

Derek takes another breath to brace himself, straightens up a little, and crosses his arms defiantly. “So, how much trouble am I in for leaving you all like that?”

Cam waves a hand in dismissal. “Don’t even worry about it. We get it, and we were all totally fine. And Landry’s cleared all our schedules for the next few days—we’re at your disposal. Anything you need, just let us know.”

Derek uncrosses his arms and briefly flicks his gaze over to Stiles. “Actually, we have the names of the rest of the people involved in this. If you could help us take down their network so we never have to go through all this again—”

“Absolutely,” Cam agrees enthusiastically. “We are on it.” He perks up as he looks across the yard, then gives Derek a friendly clap on the back. “Starting tomorrow, though, because I need in on that second round of burgers coming off the grill, and I’m sure I’ll have a hell of a food coma to recover from tonight.” He grins at Derek and heads off toward the grill, where the Sheriff is already swarmed with eager teens waiting to be fed.

Derek casts a curious glance over at Teal’c. “You aren’t going to join?”

“I shall wait for the crowd to subside,” Teal’c says, voice low, watching the rowdy group of teens with a wary eye. “I need not do battle with these young warriors for food when supplies are so plentiful.”

“Understandable,” Derek concedes with a nod—Derek had similar thoughts for himself, after all—and the conversation lulls into companionable silence for a few moments. But, eventually, he does feel like he has to say something. “Hey—thanks,” he says quietly, “for coming out here. I hope Ry’ac wasn’t too upset about you cutting your visit short.” Unlike the rest of the team, Teal’c hadn’t been on their last mission—he’d been offworld visiting his son. But, still, he’d rushed back to Earth when he’d heard what happened and followed the team out to Beacon Hills, only half a day behind.

Teal’c inclines his head in acknowledgement. “Ry’ac understands,” he says. “You are family, as well, Derek Hale, and I am honored to now officially be part of your pack.”

Derek looks back over at Cora, now trailing slightly behind Vala and Stiles as they make their way over to the grill. “You’ve already saved her life once,” he tells Teal’c softly, and the older man raises a curious eyebrow at him. “Indirectly, but still. She was shot with a wolfsbane bullet, and she entered a deep state of Kelno’reem to slow the poisoning until she could be healed. So, thank you, for giving us the tools we need to help keep her safe.”

Teal’c turns his gaze onto Cora, watching her with interest. “She is an impressive young woman. I am beginning to understand how she has managed to assemble such a devoted following, even despite all your differences.”

“She loves us all and asks for nothing in return,” Derek says. “Of course we’d do anything for her, if only she’d let us.”

Teal’c tilts his head thoughtfully. “I believe that may be one of the most defining differences between a leader and a ruler. Too often, those who seek power will attempt to rule through fear or force. But true leadership requires humility and a generosity of spirit that those who seek power will never understand, much less achieve. Your sister yearns for peace, not power, and in so doing, she has inspired exactly the type of devotion that most rulers would kill for.”

Derek watches Cora—his last living blood relative, but no longer the last of his family—and knows that everything Teal’c has said about her is true. “She’s so much like our father,” he says softly, “and if everyone in the Littlefield line of inheritance has been like this, then I think I understand why this conspiracy fought so hard to destroy us. They were afraid; they couldn’t believe that anyone in power would not eventually turn around and abuse it—the concept is just incomprehensible to them.”

“We are quite fortunate, then,” Teal’c says, “to still have her with us.”

Derek shakes his head. “It wasn’t fortune that brought her back to us. She fought to get back, because this is where she belongs.”

Teal’c raises an eyebrow in interest. “Indeed.”

The crowd around the grill has started to disperse, so Derek nudges Teal’c in the side with an elbow. “C’mon, before the kids all come back for thirds and leave us with nothing.” Teal’c inclines his head in agreement and follows Derek over, both to get more food and to rescue the poor beleaguered Sheriff from the gaggle of teens still lingering around waiting for more.

Derek knows he’s only speculating on the motives of the conspiracy—he never did get a straight answer out of Deaton, and after what Stiles had done to the man, he doubts he ever will—but maybe it doesn’t matter anymore. The rest of their organization will be dismantled in short order, and Cora will outlast them all.

Chapter Text

Stiles startles and almost drops his plate when a clawed hand grips his shoulder tightly from behind him as he makes his way back from the dessert table to join Derek. “Jesus f—”

“How sure are you,” Jackson growls low in his ear, “that the person who did this to her is dead?”

Stiles scowls over his shoulder at Jackson, clenches his jaw, then glances quickly around to see who’s nearby—too many werewolves within earshot, Cora included. He huffs a frustrated sigh, sets his plate down in the grass, and grabs Jackson’s arm in a too-tight grip. “Not where she can hear,” he growls back as he drags Jackson to the edge of the yard and into the woods.

He keeps going until Jackson finally yanks his arm free and comes to an abrupt halt. “Stop pussyfooting around, Stilinski. How do you know—”

“Because I killed her,” Stiles snaps, and Jackson flinches back a little, blinking in surprise.

Jackson pauses and narrows his eyes. “You—”

“—Left her body where it would be found so Cora could have proof that the woman who killed her could never do it again,” Stiles continues grimly. “Also got rid of a few others in town that we didn’t know about yet, but didn’t leave any of their bodies behind. As far as anyone will know, they simply vanished.”

Jackson stares at him for a moment, clenching his jaw. “And Deaton—”

“—Is technically still alive, but he’ll never be able to hurt her again,” Stiles reports with a satisfied smirk.

Jackson closes his hands into fists in an attempt to hide the way they’re trembling. “So she really is—”

“—Safe,” Stiles confirms, placing a hand on Jackson’s shoulder, letting the hard edge melt out of his voice into something almost gentle. “Yeah. It’s over.”

“She’s safe,” Jackson echoes, gasping in a shaky breath and bringing one hand up to clutch at Stiles’ elbow. “She–she’s—” he gasps again.

Stiles grabs Jackson’s other hand and uncurls the fist to place the other teen’s hand flat against his own chest, keeping his hand on top as he takes deliberate slow breaths in and out. “She’s alive, and she’s safe,” Stiles repeats softly on an exhale. “Breathe with me, Jackson. Like this.” He takes several more deliberate breaths, until Jackson finally starts to match his rhythm and tension slowly drains from his shoulders.

Jackson takes another breath to match Stiles, then pulls his hands away so he can scrub at his face. “She’s safe,” he repeats once more, still a little shaky, but calming down now.

“Yeah,” Stiles confirms, squeezing Jackson’s shoulder in emphasis, “she is. They can’t hurt her anymore.”

Jackson nods, takes another slow breath, and steps away so he can lean back against a nearby tree with one hand splayed over his chest and the other pinching the bridge of his nose. “I thought I’d lost her for good this time,” he says quietly.

Stiles nods grimly, watching Jackson with a wary eye. “I know. We all did.”

“She promised she wouldn’t leave again, and then she was dead, and I couldn’t—” Jackson cuts himself off, pausing for a harsh breath, then turning his gaze up to meet Stiles’ eyes. “I can’t go through that again, Stiles.”

Stiles sighs heavily and scrubs a hand across the back of his neck. “I know.”

“You could’ve acted sooner,” Jackson says, voice low and harsh, expression dark. “You could’ve taken Deaton apart and destroyed them all before any of this could happen, but you held back, and it killed her.”

“I know,” Stiles snaps again. He’s been beating himself up over this since it happened—he could have stopped it. And he knows Derek doesn’t blame him, and Cora would never even think it, but none of this had to happen. He won’t be making that mistake again.

Jackson lets his head fall back against the trunk of the tree, taking a few more steadying breaths, then eventually lifts his head to look at Stiles again. “If this happens again—”

“It won’t,” Stiles says sharply, closing his hands into tight fists and glaring at Jackson.

Jackson raises an eyebrow and glares back at Stiles, lifting one hand level with his chest in a silent request to not be interrupted again. “If we lose her again,” he continues grimly, “you’ll need to kill me, too. I won’t be safe to be around. None of you will be safe from me. Promise me, Stiles.”

Stiles squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. He has no doubt that Jackson means what he’s saying, and is probably accurately assessing the threat he would become if they lost Cora again. Stiles also knows that, if that did happen, he would have no trouble honoring such a request. There wouldn’t be enough good left in the world to hold him back. “I promise.”

Jackson nods sharply in thanks. “Now, I very much hope it never comes to that—”

“You know you aren’t alone in that hope,” Stiles says, holding his gaze steadily. He’d do as requested, but he wouldn’t enjoy it—there would be no satisfaction for him in ending Jackson’s life, even for the protection of all the others. Cora’s his best friend, but Jackson is his friend, too, and losing them both would be devastating. Unrecoverable.

“Then you’d damn well better make sure that never happens,” Jackson growls, glaring hard at him again. “You won’t be holding back anymore, when it matters, will you?”

“Never again,” Stiles promises darkly. He’s already made this promise to himself, after all.

Jackson holds his gaze a moment longer, then nods and relaxes, apparently satisfied. “Fine. Just so we’re clear.”

“Exceptionally clear,” Stiles confirms. They lull into silence for a moment, with Jackson continuing to focus on breathing steadily and Stiles continuing to watch Jackson warily. “We all good now?” Stiles eventually says, keeping his tone soft and even, allowing Jackson the space to lash out again if he needs it but providing a steady, non-judgemental presence if he feels safe coming back from the edge.

There’s a brief lag to Jackson’s response as he slowly blinks back to the present moment. “Yeah,” he answers eventually, voice rough as he pushes himself off of the tree, “we’re good.” He shakes himself a little, then straightens up and nods once in reassurance. “I’m good.”

Stiles takes a breath to release some of the tension from his own body, then steps forward to place a hand on Jackson’s shoulder again. “C’mon, let’s get back to her. Don’t want to make her worry.”

“Right, yeah,” Jackson agrees quietly, but he hesitates, resisting slightly as Stiles attempts to steer him back toward the yard. “Stiles—”

Stiles shakes his head sharply. “Don’t. I know.” He knows Jackson doesn’t actually blame him for what happened to Cora; he knows Jackson would never ask any of this of him if it wasn’t all so fresh, but that he nevertheless meant every word; he knows Jackson never wants him to mention any of this again, especially the almost-panic-attack.

Jackson studies his face for a moment, then nods once more. “Okay. Good.” He takes another breath and allows Stiles to lead him back to the yard, to rejoin the gathering.

Stiles pats his shoulder once at the edge of the yard and removes his hand so they can part ways; Jackson heads over toward where Parrish is chatting with Lydia and Allison, and Stiles rushes over to reclaim his plate of cookies before the ants can find it.

He’ll have to keep an eye on Jackson for a while—on all of them, honestly, but Jackson is particularly fragile right now. Stiles thinks for a moment as he collects his plate, then nods assuredly to himself and redirects to find Teal’c. The Jaffa’s serene presence and expertise in navigating a way through life during the dark times might be just what Jackson needs.

Chapter Text

Cora can feel herself pushing past her limit and knows she needs to get away. She’s spent time with each of her pack members, including Derek’s team; she has had more conversations in this one day than she had in the entire past month; she even let most of them hug her, for far longer than she was comfortable with. And she knows they all needed this, needed to be able to see for themselves that she’s alive, but being the center of attention like this is too much.

The sun is setting, but the party is showing no signs of stopping anytime soon. If she can just take a few minutes to recharge, maybe she’ll be able to jump back in.

She slips away while the rest of them are distracted so she can hide in the house for a bit. Going to her room is certainly an option, but that feels a lot more final than she wants to commit to right now—she has every intention of rejoining the party, once she gets her brain to settle. She finds a quiet corner of the kitchen instead and curls into a seat on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest and tucking her face into her arms, feeling the cool tile underneath her and a solid wall at her back, letting the familiar scents of home settle over her. She can still hear everyone outside, but being removed from the action like this is allowing it to fade into pleasant background noise instead of yet another assault on her senses.

She gets a few minutes of peace before someone comes in—the Sheriff, with an armload of dirty dishes for the sink—and she cringes, emitting a small involuntary sound as he turns on the lights.

The Sheriff startles at the sound, fumbling his armload of dishes, and Cora cringes again as they clatter into the sink. “Ah, crap—what—Cora?”

Cora huffs a frustrated sigh and tightens her grip on her knees, tucking her face into the crook of her elbow. She probably should’ve gone to her room after all. “Too bright,” she grumbles.

“Oh,” he says, hissing in sympathy. “Right, yeah. Let me just—” the lights flick off, and she relaxes again. “You okay, kid?” he asks gently.

Cora squeezes her knees tighter again. “Need a minute,” she says, her voice muffled into her arms.

There’s a brief pause before he speaks again. “Want me to leave you alone?”

She frowns but doesn’t lift her head. Does she want that? Is alone actually what she needs right now, or would isolation actually make this worse? She honestly doesn’t know. She shrugs—maybe he can figure it out.

He sighs, and she hears him take a few steps closer and crouch down in front of her. “Okay if I join you?”

Cora hesitates, then shrugs again. If it was anyone else asking—except, perhaps, O’Neill—the answer right now would be a definitive no. But the Sheriff is a steady, calming presence, and she can probably tolerate him sticking around for a bit.

“Okay,” he says quietly, and he settles in next to her with a soft grunt.

She takes a few more breaths to center herself, then tilts her head to look over at him. “Sorry,” she says softly, watching him carefully.

He lifts his head from where he’d been leaning back against the wall, blinks his eyes open to meet hers, and frowns slightly in confusion. “For what?”

“For—” she pauses, frowning back at him. She’s supposed to have a reason to apologize? Her mother had never wanted excuses, only apologies, and she’d let Cora know any time the apology wasn’t sincere enough, even if she didn’t know what the apology was for. “I don’t know.”

He hums thoughtfully, studying her for a moment, until she shifts uncomfortably under the scrutiny. “I think,” he starts quietly, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back again, “if anyone here should be apologizing, it should be me.”

Cora blinks and furrows her brow. “You?”

“Me,” he repeats with a grim expression and a firm nod. “I should’ve done a better job of protecting you.”

“Protecting all of you is my job as Alpha,” Cora says, shaking her head.

“Well, it’s my job as Sheriff,” he counters, leaning over to bump his shoulder against hers lightly. “I’m sorry I didn’t stop them before they could get to you.”

She sighs and hugs her knees tighter again. “They would’ve found a way, no matter what you did. At least this way, I was the only one who got hurt.”

“The only—” he starts incredulously, stopping himself when she flinches a bit. He pinches the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh. “Jesus Christ. Okay,” he mutters, scrubbing at his eyes. “I guess it makes sense—you weren’t there to witness any of the aftermath.”

Cora frowns—had Sarah hurt someone else? But no, Derek had said Cora was alone when they found her. Had something else happened? No one is injured today, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t yesterday—most of them heal exceptionally fast, after all. “Did someone else get hurt?” she asks tentatively.

He looks at her with a strange expression on his face. “You died, Cora. We were all hurt.”

“Oh.” Right. Her death hadn’t only happened to her; the pack had felt it, too, and she’d left them without an Alpha. “Everyone is okay, though,” she says, her voice coming out soft and uncertain, “aren’t they?”

“We are now,” he says, voice rough, “because you’re back with us.”

Cora takes a slow, shaky breath and lets her head fall back to bang against the wall, wincing slightly from the jolt. “I’ve tried to prepare all of you for a time when I might not be around. If I haven’t done a good enough job at that, there’s no way I can go to school in just a few—”

“No, don’t you dare,” he says firmly with a stern frown. “Losing some time with you because you’re away for a few months is completely different from losing you forever. We can handle the first one.”

Cora unwraps one arm from around her knees so she can wrap her hand around her amulet instead. “But what if—”

“You’ll come back to us,” he says, his voice determined. “We can get through anything, as long as you come back.”

She runs her thumb across the carving on the amulet. “That’s always the plan,” she says softly. Coming back home to the people she loves, no matter what. It’s what Ernest had held on to, for over fifty years, stranded alone on another planet. It’s what brought her back to Beacon Hills, despite the danger, after all those years safely hidden away.

The Sheriff leans over to bump shoulders with her again. “Want me to send everyone home so you can get some rest?” he offers gently.

She takes another slow breath, closing her eyes for a moment, then shakes her head. “I’ll be fine. Just need a few more minutes.”

He hesitates, then asks, “Okay if I turn on a light now, so I can get started on some of the dishes?”

She nods and tucks her face into her arm again. “‘S’fine.”

But he doesn’t get up just yet; he leans over to bump shoulders with her again, this time not pulling away. “Hey,” he says softly, pausing until she looks over to meet his eyes. “Love you, kiddo.”

She blinks away a sudden blurriness that starts to cloud her vision and a prickliness behind her eyes. “Love you, too,” she whispers.

His expression softens into something unbearably fond, and she turns her head away again to hide from it, squeezing her arm around her knees, gripping her amulet tightly, and pressing her face into the crook of her elbow. Luckily, he takes the hint and pulls away, groaning a little as he pushes himself to his feet. “’M too old to be sitting on the floor like that,” he grumbles quietly to himself, and she hears a few of his joints pop as he gets his body moving again and shuffles over to the sink.

The light is still a bit too bright when he flicks it on, but it’s not as bad as before—she’ll adapt to it quickly enough. Really, the only sense she has that’s still overloaded is the one that apparently no one else has. Magic permeates the town, at least half of her pack contributes to the overwhelm, and she never did get to escape it yesterday, rudely interrupted as she was by getting murdered. She can probably get through the rest of tonight, now that her brain is starting to settle, but she’ll need to try again soon.

She peeks up at the Sheriff, watching him work for a moment. She’ll probably need to tell him, sometime soon, that he’s part of the problem. He has just as much potential as Stiles and O’Neill, after all; he has a level of perceptiveness far beyond the norm—it’s part of what makes him such a good sheriff, honestly—and he can nurture that, if he wants. All Cora has to do is tell him.

The problem with that, though, is that it’ll make existing near him so much more exhausting for Cora. Stiles is practically explosive and O’Neill is steadfast and passionate, and both of them glow brighter every day as they expand their capabilities—the Sheriff will almost certainly be the same, as soon as he starts to explore his own abilities. And Cora knows it’s selfish to keep this from him, knows she can’t do it forever, but surely it can’t hurt to just wait a while longer. She’ll tell him soon; just not tonight.

Chapter Text

Cora feels like she should have known that retreating to her room wouldn’t be effective tonight. She’d tried going back out, but apparently she needed more than just a few minutes to recharge—she’d barely gotten back out there when it all became too much again. She can usually handle this so much better, though; maybe spending time in another plane of existence has side effects she hadn’t known to expect. But, whatever the case, she gave up and ran off to hide in her room. She should’ve known she’d be followed.

She barely gets a minute to herself this time before she hears Jackson’s footsteps coming up the stairs after her. She groans and bangs her head against her desk, and she tries to remind herself that he’s extra clingy right now because he’s scared. He would never admit that, but he is, and she knows it. She knows why, too—he lost her once before at an exceptionally vulnerable time in his life and never properly recovered, and then she’d just gone and died again, right in front of him. His worst fear had manifested before his very eyes, and it’ll take time for him to get over that. So, fine. She wants to be alone, but he needs to know that he isn’t. She can give him that, for a little while. It’ll be easier to tolerate just him than it was to be around all of them.

Jackson lets himself in and walks over to lean his hip against the edge of her desk, craning his neck to see what she’s doing. “What are we looking for?”

Cora rolls her eyes and marks another spot on the map. “We aren’t looking for anything.”

Jackson hums skeptically. “Pretty sure we are, though. What are those?” he asks, pointing at the marked spots.

Cora sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “I am looking for the nearest magical dead zone in town that isn’t the burnt-out husk of my childhood home.”

“Ew, why the hell would we want that?” Jackson asks, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

Cora squeezes her eyes shut and rubs her forehead. “Okay, first of all—and I mean this with all the love in my heart—not everything is about you.”

Jackson snorts and claps her on the shoulder. “You’re hilarious. Seriously, though, why are we looking for the anti-Nemeton?”

“The—” Cora blinks a few times and looks at her map again. “Huh. Actually. I guess that kind of is what I’m looking for.”

“See?” he says with a smirk, lightly thwacking he shoulder with the back of his hand. “I’m helping already. You should check there, too,” he adds, pointing at another spot on the map.

Cora narrows her eyes at him, then looks back at the map. The location he pointed to fits her criteria perfectly, actually; she sighs heavily and circles it. “Alright, fine. I guess you can help. And anyway, this’ll go quicker if you drive. But, Jackson, if I do find what I’m looking for, you have to promise me one thing.”

Jackson raises an eyebrow. “Just one? Easy. Name it.”

Cora sets down her pencil and swivels her chair so she can grab both of his hands. “Once I find the right spot, you have to leave me alone. I can’t do what I need to do with you around.”

He flinches back a little and blinks at her a few times, looking offended. “What the hell are you planning to do?”

“None of your business,” she says firmly, squeezing his hands. “That’s the whole point. This is for me and only me.” She can’t tell him that he’s part of the problem; he’ll take it personally, and he’ll think it’s his fault. It’s no one’s fault, though, it’s just her weird brain.

He stares at her suspiciously for a moment, then scowls. “I don’t like this,” he grumbles.

Cora swivels her chair around, tugging Jackson along with her until the backs of his knees hit the edge of her bed, and she pushes him lightly back so he’ll sit, still keeping her grip on both of his hands. “I know,” she says quietly, “but I’ll be okay. I think this will help me, actually.”

He narrows his eyes skeptically. “Whatever you’re planning to do will make you feel better?”

“That’s the plan, anyway,” she says with a shrug. “And I need to do the final bit alone, but you can help me with the search.”

“You aren’t going out to look at all these sites tonight, though, are you?” he asks, raising a judgemental eyebrow, then glancing over at the map. “That’s a pretty long list, and it’s getting late.”

She shakes her head. “Just planning tonight. Too tired for much else.”

He closes his eyes for a breath and grimaces. “Should I leave you alone so you can sleep?” he offers begrudgingly.

She feels her face soften into a fond smile, and she lets go of one of his hands so she can reach up to cradle his face instead. “You probably should,” she tells him gently, pulling him forward and leaning in herself so she can rest their foreheads together for a few breaths, “but you can stay a few more minutes.”

He reaches his free hand up to wrap around her wrist, resting his fingers on her pulse point. “You broke your promise,” he says quietly after a slow breath in and out. “You said you were here to stay.”

She sighs heavily and nods slightly without breaking contact. “I know; I’m sorry. But I came back as fast as I could.”

He tightens his grip on her wrist. “Just never do it again, okay?”

She gives him a wry half-smile. “I certainly don’t plan to.” Not that dying was ever part of the plan, but she definitely never wants to repeat the experience.

She pulls away to return to her map, and he lets her go with only mild annoyed grumbling. He pushes himself further onto her bed so he can lounge against her headboard, closing his eyes and looking for all the world as if he’s fast asleep. She knows he isn’t asleep, though—he’s listening to her heartbeat and matching the rhythm of his breath to hers. Clinging to the reminders that she’s alive again, just as Derek has been doing.

She won’t let him stay too long tonight; he’ll need to go home to get actual sleep, and she’ll need to make another attempt at that, herself. She hadn’t had much luck last night, even after her time with O’Neill, but surely exhaustion will win out eventually. And, she hopes, finding a dead zone where she can let her brain reset should make everything easier.