AN: I do not own Teen Wolf, or the Bourne movies.

Derek Hale was twenty-eight years old. He was currently sitting in a tiny, small town diner somewhere deep in the Canadian woods. The only real customers here were loggers and the few people who lived in the area. And government assassins, of course. That's what he was now. Had been for a long time, after Kate – but it was a long time ago. It tasted bitter on his tongue, worse than the sludge of coffee the diner served. But he needed to be seen as a human here; assassins don't typically let themselves be seen. Unless their method of killing involved turning into a gigantic wolf and ripping people to shreds.

The matronly waitress, Dolores, refilled his coffee with a smile. Derek grimaced back, hoping she'd understand he didn't know how to smile to people who were kind to him.

His target walked in then. Derek knew without glancing around; he'd smelled him from a mile away. The man was some defected defense program writer, a CIA operative, a fucking dog walker, fuck, he had no idea. He had no idea why he had to kill this man. All he knew was that he was supposed to.

"Coffee, black, to go," the man muttered to Dolores, who obliged with an air of motherly kindness.

"That all I can get for you, dear?"

He didn't answer but left in a flurry. Derek poured his coffee down his throat and followed him.

The man's cabin was isolated, to put it mildly. There were no satellites but a generator chugged methodically in a shed to provide a single lightbulb's radiance and powered the outside lights, currently off. Derek breathed deeply from his post behind a tree and picked up the ozone smell of a computer being heavily used. He glanced up. The perimeter was snaked with tripwires connected to large floodlights. He cracked his neck and sighed again. It was too cold for this. Snow was starting to fall lightly in the night. Werewolves ran hot, sure, and he wasn't in the least worried about frostbite or hypothermia, but what man didn't want a warm bed on a cold night?

He shook his head again like a dog shaking off irritating flies. Thoughts about a lack of warmth in his bed. Thoughts about not having a bed for years. He shook his head harder and began shrugging off his clothing, hanging it with care on a branch just at his reach. When he was naked, he allowed his bones to crack and elongate, transforming into a large, black and silver wolf. He was hungry.

The floodlights ignited and the target, wearing only long johns and clutching a double barreled shotgun, rushed outside. He pointed the gun wildly into the woods and screamed, "I don't want to go back! I'm not going back, d'you hear me?! I'll blow your fucking head off!"

His breath fogged in the night air, snow blowing around him like bits of ash. He gestured around again, scanning the tree line frantically. Derek stepped forward, his padded feet making no noise upon the ground. "Fuck," breathed the man. He backed up towards the door, but his face showed relief more than fear. Pointing the gun into the air, he fired once, trusting in the animal instincts of a normal, hungry wolf.

Derek wasn't normal. He stepped forward again, fully visible under the glaring light, a low, threatening growl just discernible over the pounding heartbeat of his soon-to-be-victim.

"Fuck," the man said again. His back was pressed against the door. With shaking hands he lowered the shotgun and fired the second round at Derek. It was point blank range. He missed. But not for lack of trying.

Derek had sprung out of the way too quickly to see and landed impressively several feet away, growling even louder. He stepped forward once more, disgusting strings of drool hanging from his jowls. Then, with a mighty leap, he pounced on his target and landed squarely on his chest. Underneath his paws, Derek felt several ribs crack, and beneath that, the man's wildly beating heart.

"Please, please God -"

Derek was not God.

And yet, he felt something in his brain turn on. Like a light switch.

"Why do they want you dead?" His whole body creaked as he transformed back into a man. His target writhed in pain, smelling of terror and, Derek noted, a hit of embarrassment. It wasn't every day a large, naked man pinned you to the ground in the dark.

"Fucking why should I tell you? You're my murderer, why do you care?"

"Why the fuck do they want you dead?!" His fingernails, morphing into claws, clutched the man's neck, sprouting pinpricks of blood against his pale flesh.

"Be-because I wouldn't do what they wanted! I – and then they killed her! I wouldn't give in to them!"

Derek sat up on his haunches, eyes bright blue. He cocked his head to the side in confusion, in a very wolf-like fashion. "The hell are you talking about?" He gave the man time to regain a modicum of composure. He was impatient though, and soon another low, annoyed growl filled the air. The man eventually sat up, wincing horribly, and clutched his chest. He looked at Derek, glancing at his naked body, and began to speak.

"I was a programmer for a defense contractor. I developed weapons guidance systems."

"Did you sell them to a foreign government?" Derek stopped growling. He was curious.

"No! I'm – I'm not a traitor!"

Derek waited.

The man took a deep breath and continued. "I – I met a woman. A beautiful, amazing... she was everything to me. Her name was Karishma. And she... she was." His eyes glazed over in a sad remembrance.

"Was what?" Derek was growing somewhat impatient again.

His target shook his head, reminiscent of Derek not five minutes before. He sighed and murmured, "She was a miracle. Karishma means -"

"Miracle. I know."

The man mustered up one of the dirtiest looks he'd ever seen.

"We were so in love. I loved her so – but the defense department, because she was Pakistani, they wanted her out of the way. They thought she was a spy, or something, but – she wasn't! She loved me. They told me they were going to get rid of here. So I told her to run."

Tears traced down his cheeks. Derek's mouth hardened into a thin line. "She was dealt with."

"Yes."

"Then what happened?"

"I was pulled into a white room. They kept me there for days until they were... were sure I hadn't spilled any secrets. As soon as they let me go, I ran."

Derek pinched the bridge of his nose. "You ran, even though you were innocent. Human stupidity continually astounds."

He stared into Derek's glowing blue eyes, resigned. "I loved her. They didn't deserve me anymore."

They stood together in the rapidly gathering snow.

Finally Derek stood and stretched, muscles rippling. The man began to panic. He whimpered, "Are you going to kill me now?"

Derek shook his head. "I didn't find you." He began walking back into the tree line.

"The fuck!" The man struggled to stand up, still clutching at his cracked ribs. He wheezed with the effort. "Why did you – why – fucking why would you make me tell you all this?! And now you're just leaving?!"

"Yes," Derek said shortly. He was almost out of the perimeter. The floodlights shot back on, making him wince. Still he could hear his target wheezing and panting behind him.

"Others will come looking for me."

Derek found his jeans just on the edge of the forest. They had fallen off the branch and were piled in a heap with a dusting of snow on top. He growled, almost too low to hear, "Yes, they will."

"So what the hell are you going to do about it?" The target was shouting now, and his voice was rasping with pain and fear.

He shrugged his henley over his head. "I don't plan on doing anything."

The world was silent for a moment. Then, a round of birdshot hit Derek in the shoulder and face. He hadn't realized the man was reloading his shotgun. He rounded back to him, baring his fangs and roaring. Already the birdshot pebbles were being pushed out of his skin and newly healed scar tissue pushed into their place. A clawed hand wrapped around the target's soft throat. He didn't realize he was back in front of his target until he was already there, the pinpricks Derek had left a few minutes earlier bleeding anew as his claws pressed harder into the flesh.

"I have been doing this for too damn long," Derek snarled. The man choked and gasped, almost unable to breathe. "I have been killing people for a living since I was sixteen years old. I have maimed and killed so many people I can't remember all their names and that destroys me. I don't remember what it's like to have a family, or friends, or a lover. Hell, I haven't had one in ten years.

"So I'm letting you live, because I am done. I am done with this life and everything that goes with it." Derek threw the man nearly across the yard in his anger. He yelped and hit the ground with a muffled thump. They existed together in the cold, one huddled into himself in pain, and the other writhing on the ground, screaming for his lost love.

Derek shook his head one last time, wringing out the last of the birdshot from his face. His former target gasped as he walked away, "Why?"

Just one simple word.

"No one's ever loved me like someone loved you," Derek finally growled. "It gets old." He left silently, without a backwards glance.

Dolores was still at the diner when he stumbled back in. She took one look at him and poured him a coffee. "Anything to eat, dear?" But she asked like she wasn't expecting a response.

Derek settled himself at the counter. He looked into her face and his mouth split into a real, if small, smile.

"I'll have the steak and eggs too."

Somewhere in Virginia, a nervous young man approached his superior officer with distressing news. He clutched the satellite pictures to his chest before handing them off. His superior took one look and grabbed his subordinate by the scruff of the neck. "You saw nothing," he hissed.

The uniformed man walked quickly in the opposite direction, his hands desperate on the information he held. He walked through the mazelike corridors and eventually ended up in a small, but impeccably neat office. Another man, older, balding, but with a self-contained air of extraordinary power, sat behind the mahogany desk.

"Sir, we have a very serious problem." He laid the papers on the desk and stood back nervously. The older man reached out and plucked the papers up. He reviewed them studiously, looking at the satellite pictures and the other printouts.

"Well," he murmured, "we did know this would happen to our boy eventually. Send out Alpha 2 to finish the job. And start the cleaning procedures. We have to reduce contact."

"What about the medical office?"

"I have the utmost confidence you can handle one medical unit," the older man chuckled. It was a cold sound. "We have the procedures in place. And how difficult is it to rehire medical staff? We've done this before."

The uniformed man saluted and rushed out the door. In the silence, the older man chuckled again. "Derek Hale," he whispered. "I'm sorry to see you go."