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Pulling up to the Westfield City Centre Mall, Stiles sighed, pulling into the reserved SFPD space and cutting the engine. It was just his luck, as the rookie, that he’d get the call when security found a child without their parent. These calls always resulted in boring, teary reunions between the terrified child and horrified parent, and then Stiles had to go back to the station to write up a report that would only take him an hour before he was sent back out for some menial call.
But, Stiles was good with kids, and as much as he usually thought the calls were boring, he had an impressive record of figuring out where the kids belonged and getting them back safely, usually before anyone panicked. Officer Stilinski the kid whisperer.
“‘Go into law enforcement,’ Dad said.” Stiles mused as he walked in, “‘Saving lives will make you feel better,’ he said.”
The head of mall security for the 9-story disaster of a shopping centre was waiting at the entrance for Stiles as he walked up. “We have the kid inside. One of the guards finally got a first name out of her.”
“How old is she?” Stiles asked, frowning.
“Your guess is as good as ours. Better probably.” The guard said, shrugging. He led Stiles through the throng of people and into the security offices where a small, blond-haired girl sat on a too-big chair, her little legs sticking straight out, arms crossed over her chest, bottom lip jutted out in the most adorable, ridiculous looking pout. “She said her name was Mags.”
She was dressed neatly, in a t-shirt with magenta flowers and a pair of baby jeans, baby fat belly protruding out slightly. Her hair, still soft and fine, was tugged up into a pair of reasonably even pigtails. Her eyes, narrowed at Stiles, were blue-grey and tickled something in the back of Stiles’ mind. Judging from her features, Stiles would guess she couldn’t be more than three. “Hey, little one.” Stiles said, squatting down in front of the chair. “Your name is Mags? Mine’s Stiles.”
She was unmoved, her face fixed in the perpetual pout. “Want daddy.” She babbled. “Mags it more.”
Stiles blinked a few times. “I don’t know what that means.”
The little girl leaned forward, and growled . Stiles looked around, but the security guards had left the office. “Mags it more. My name.”
Stiles studied the small child closely. She didn’t like that, and growled again, and Stiles caught a glimpse of an eye-flash, and reached forward instinctually to wrap the little girl against his chest before anyone saw what he was seeing. The little girl -- the little werewolf -- relaxed into Stiles’ chest immediately, her little face pressed into Stiles’ throat. This was fine. Just your average everyday lost werewolf child .
“Mags it more. ” The little girl said, her tone taking on a hysterical edge, tears bubbling over in her eyes.
Stiles cradled her close for a minute, rocking like he would if he was holding Dominic, Scott and Malia’s son. He hadn’t seen them in a while, he should make a trip up to Beacon Hills before too long.
Beacon Hills. Werewolves. Tiny werewolf child. Blond, blue-grey eyes. Freckles. It more . What were the chances?
“Whittemore?” Stiles said, and Mags pulled back from Stiles throat with a bright smile. “Of course.” He said, chuckling to himself. “Today just keeps getting better and better.”
Having finally acquired a specific enough name to safely page over the PA, the bored security secretary pages the father of Mags Whittemore to the Security office on the ground level. It takes about five minutes, but sure enough, bursting through the door of the security office is a frazzled looking Jackson Whittemore.
He freezes when he sees Stiles, sat in a chair with his tiny child babbling at him, waving her hands around animatedly. Stiles watches as the little werewolf child scents the air and turns, waving excitedly at her father. Jackson visibly relaxes, and strides over to grab her, Mags burying her face in Jackson’s neck as the relieved father holds her close, one arm around her legs and the other pressing against the back of her head.
“Well, my job here is done.” Stiles said, standing up. “This mall is pretty big, kids get lost all the time. I’m not even kidding when I say I suggest kiddie leashes. Welcome back to California, I guess.” He gives Jackson a terse nod and heads for the door.
“Stiles.”
He stops at the door, turning around. Jackson looked sad, “I’m not a bad father, I promise. I just...she’s fast. Maggie’s…”
“I noticed. She growled at me.” Stiles smirked. “Flashed her eyes too. She’s a cheeky little thing.”
Jackson faintly blushed, murmuring something into the little girl. Mags -- Maggie -- turned to Stiles with her face back in its little pout. “Sorry ‘bout growlin’.”
Stiles smiled. “You’re not the first uh…” Stiles glanced around, “ werewolf ,” He whispered conspiratorially, drawing a giggle from the girl, “to growl at me, don’t worry.” He reached out to touch one of her little wisps of hair. “Stay with your dad. But, if anyone ever tries to grab you that isn’t dressed like me or the security guys? Bite ‘em.”
Jackson looked fondly amused, “Don’t give my daughter bad advice, Stilinski.”
“Hey, it’s perfectly sound advice.” Jackson shrugged “She’s cute. And I promise, one day her mom will think of this story as cute. It just may take...years.”
“Oh she doesn’t…” Jackson looked….sad? “It’s just me.”
Stiles’ eyes widened, “Oh. Shit, uh, Shoot. Sorry.” He grabbed behind his head to rub nervously at his neck. “I should get back to the station.”
“Would you like to get dinner sometime? I know we weren’t exactly friends --”
“Understatement.”
“But, you did just get my daughter back to me in one piece without revealing our uh, family secrets to the entire world.”
Stiles considered, studying the man before him. A lot had changed since Jackson had left after the kanima debacle. Somehow, he wasstanding before him looking both fond and exasperated with the no-more-than three year old in his arm that apparently did not have a mom. The little werewolf girl was smiling brightly at Stiles, mesmerized by this human who seemed to know her secret and not mind.
Stiles wondered if he still smelled like a pack even after weeks away.
“Sure.” He said, finally, grinning widely. “I’d like that.”