2

*Hi all—I'm sorry for such a delay in posting. I got a promotion at work and I've taken on quite a bit more than I was doing in the past, so I have not had time to indulge in any writing lately. I'm going to veer this story off a bit to just after Abomination. I'd like to address the kanima issue in a slightly different manner than the show has. Let me know what you think. Oh and sorry for the heavy dialogue in this chapter. More action to follow…

"This sounds about as fun as a wet fart, Scott," said Stiles, sighing as the two young men strolled through the aisles at the grocery store. "You're lucky that I love you. You really are."

"Come on Stiles, it'll be fun. We'd be helping my mom out and she'll pay us," he said, smiling.

He crinkled his nose. "Parking cars and serving drinks to a bunch of hipsters and listening to them talk about the fifty thousand dollar preschool that their kids go to. So. Freaking. Awesome."

Scott chuckled. "Again, we'll be supporting my mom. This is the first big party she's thrown since my dad left. She's trying to get out and be sociable."

"Don't we have enough to worry about with the giant reptile that's rapidly decreasing the population of this town? Can't your mom go to dive bars like everyone else does?" asked Stiles.

Scott shook his head. "Look, Stiles, I know you do me a lot of favors. More than the average best friend does, but this is my mom, okay? I know we spend most of our time lurking in the shadows and trying to save people, but we're still human, you know? Well, you're human, I'm, like, half, I guess," he said shrugging. "But you get my point."

"I know," said Stiles, looking terribly frustrated. "It's just that this is piss poor timing if there ever was piss poor timing. Melissa can't wait until we're all safe from danger?"

"And when do you suppose that will be?" asked Scott. "There will always be danger. That's why we have to have fun when we can."

"Says the guy with the hot girlfriend that he's currently playing hide the potato with…"

"Stiles," said Scott, looking at him sternly.

Stiles sighed. "Okay I take it I'm not winning this one. I guess you're right about having fun and meeting new people. I could use some of that to be honest. I'm starting to admit to myself that I'll be a forty-year-old virgin. Upside? Strong forearms and the most prolific collection of porn on the planet." He smiled. "Hey, I think I may have actually just made myself feel better. See? There's always a silver lining. Although I'd have to be ambidextrous or else one forearm would be WAY TOO…"

"Stiles?" started Scott. "This discussion just took a dark turn. Let's steer it back to something less…ick."

Stiles giggled. "Sorry, okay um…" He looked down at the snacks. "Sour cream and onion or salt and vinegar?" he asked. "Or both? Oh, the choices! Who knew my Saturday night would hold such possibility?" After a few seconds without a response, he looked up at his friend, who appeared to be in deep thought. "Uh oh. Your spidey sense is tingling. What is it?"

"A wolf. A female. I can smell her," said Scott.

"She's in the store?" asked Stiles. "Erica maybe? God, I really hope not. Every time I see that girl, I feel like I got hit by a train, and not in a good way."

"No," said Scott. "She's got a different scent. Not like Derek's pack."

"Wait," said Stiles. "Different packs have different scents?"

Scott nodded. "It's because of the alpha. It's how they recognize each other."

"Cool," said Stiles. "But, wait, so the wolf chick currently wandering around Stop and Shop is from another pack," Stiles determined. "Two wolf packs in Beacon Hills could get dodgy. What do you think she'd be doing here?"

"I don't know," said Scott, looking nervous. "To go after the Argents maybe? Allison," he said, gulping.

Stiles clapped him on the shoulder. "Okay calm down Scott, don't go panicking. First off, if you'll remember, werewolves try to stay as far away from hunters as possible. I highly doubt a pack would seek out the Argents. If I had a guess I'd say it's the kanima. Maybe she's here to hunt it. I mean Derek seems to want it dead badly enough. Look, we don't know anything about her yet. Use that nose of yours to sniff out what aisle she's in and we'll talk to her."

"But she'll know I'm wolf," said Scott. "And that would lead her to Allison. M-Maybe we should just leave well enough alone."

"And risk putting Allison in danger?" asked Stiles. "Besides if she's a wolf she already knows you're here anyway." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "And she probably just heard this entire conversation, now that I think of it. So…hi lady wolf. I'm Stiles and this is Scott and we're currently in aisle six. Come on over and meet us! Maybe you can shed some light on the sour cream and onion versus salt and vinegar conundrum." Stiles smiled proudly at Scott. "She's probably on her way to us right now. Even I'm amazed at my own brilliance."

Scott took a deep breath. He listened for a few moments to the myriad of voices and heartbeats within the store, trying to somehow separate the she-wolf from the crowd. The din was enough to drive a normal person crazy but Scott had grown so used to it. Soon he heard a feminine giggle pierce the air. "Stiles sounds like a real character," she said. "Can't wait to meet you both. Oh, and salt and vinegar for sure."

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

"So, I'm guessing," said Amy as she approached the two young men. "That this one here with the mischievous honey browns…is Stiles," she said, smirking at Stiles.

"You are correct," said Stiles, blushing. "And you are?"

"I'm Amy," she said to both of them.

"I'm Scott," said Scott, always more reserved than his best friend.

They both observed the young woman for a moment, not quite sure what to make of her. She was petite. Downright tiny, in fact. Not at all like the wolf-woman they'd envisioned lurking among the aisles at the grocery store. Her appearance was rather comical due to her small stature. She wore heavy steel-toed boots, ripped, dirty blue jeans and an aging black leather jacket. Her rich, brown hair was still wet and she looked in good need of a hot shower and a visit to the nearest Laundromat. However, despite her road weary appearance, she boasted flawless porcelain skin, plump red lips and enormous, sparkly blue eyes. Stiles felt that she could probably clean up quite well indeed.

She felt both sets of eyes on her and the immediate need to explain. "I just drove on a motorcycle all the way from Washington," she said, blushing. "I don't want you to think I always look like I was rode hard and put away wet. Although I quite literally do right now, I understand."

Stiles moved in closer. "No worries. So Amy, since I'm sure you heard our entire discussion including my remarkably embarrassing virgin slash masturbation commentary, I guess you have a pretty good idea about what we're going to ask you."

"What are you doing here?" asked Scott.

Stiles pointed at Scott. "That would be the question, yes Scott."

Amy giggled and held up her basket. "Me? Buying cans of ravioli," she said, grinning.

"The Chef Boyardee ravioli?" asked Stiles, eyes wide with interest.

Amy nodded.

"That's my favorite," he said. "Did you get the super stuffed ones?"

"Of course," said Amy, laughing.

"Yeah, see I like those the best, too. Hey, have you ever tried the new fancy ones? They're so freaking good. They've got like a mozzarella and basil center and the sauce is kind of sweet. So awesome, oh and the…"

"Stiles," said Scott, sighing. "I meant what is she doing in Beacon Hills."

"I knew that," said Stiles. "We just went off on a ravioli tangent, that's all."

"In Stiles' defense it was an excellent ravioli tangent. Not many people can carry on a conversation about canned foods with so much enthusiasm," said Amy, smiling.

"Thank you," said Stiles, sticking out his tongue at Scott. "You're just mad because you didn't have any input on the topic, and okay, now you're glaring at me so I'll shut up."

"Thank you, " said Scott. "So Amy like I was asking you before…"

"I'm here to find Derek Hale," she said matter-of-factly. "Are you in his pack, Scott?" she asked.

Scott and Stiles looked blankly at each other.

"It's just that you said I didn't smell like Derek's pack. Since I've never met him, I don't know what his scent would be or yours for that matter, so I was just thinking that maybe you were part of his pack, but you also said 'Derek's' pack and not 'our' pack, which would denote that you were possibly from a different pack and…" she started.

"Oh my God, seriously, you and Stiles could win a prize for uncontrollable rambling," said Scott, shaking his head.

"Thank you," said Stiles, looking genuinely proud.

Scott bit his lower lip in frustration. "Technically I'm Derek's beta but, well…"

"They've had some creative differences as of late," interjected Stiles. "So he's less 'technically' Derek's beta and more 'technically' an omega."

Amy's eyes widened. "You prefer to be alone? Scott, that's very dangerous. Look, I, well, I'd have to advise you, even if you and Derek don't get along, you really don't want to resort to being lone. That's a very difficult way to live. Unbearable in fact."

Scott shrugged. "I'm not heartbroken about it, and trust me, I'm not alone," he said, gesturing to Stiles.

Stiles put his arm around his friend and touched his chest. He batted his eyelashes. "You know Scott when you talk like that, it makes me…"

"Stiles!" said Scott, in a hushed whisper.

Amy couldn't help but giggle.

Scott turned back to her and sighed. "You said you never met Derek?"

"No," said Amy.

"Well once you meet him you'll understand why I've gone this route," said Scott.

"Yeah, 'huge douche bag pain in the ass' may only slightly crack the surface of the never-ending string of names Scott and I use to describe him," said Stiles. "I also like to use the words 'wanker' and 'pillock' but only when I'm in one of my British moods."

Amy burst out laughing. Stiles really was a trip. "And how often do you have these British moods, sir?" she asked in an English accent.

He smiled. "Well, my lady, it's usually right after I have a Cotswold cream tea with some scones and a quick putter around the garden. Then I take my bucket and spade to the shore,"

Amy's nose crinkled when she laughed. "Do you make sure to pack your pig snacks?"

"But of course!" said Stiles, tugging on his collar.

Scott looked up at the ceiling. "God? If you're up there, can you PLEASE make this stop?"

"I'm sorry Scott," said Amy, tugging on his sleeve. "Stiles and I will behave. Right Stiles?"

"I make no promises," said Stiles. "But I'll try."

"Thank you," said Scott, setting his jaw. "Why are you looking for Derek?"

She looked down and set her jaw. She'd have to say it sometime. "Simply put? My pack is dead. I'm lone, too."

"Dead?" asked Scott softly. "I'm so sorry."

Amy nodded. "Thank you. I lost my two brothers and three…" she gulped, thinking of her little one. "I'm sorry, four others."

"So you…were looking to join up with Derek or something?" asked Stiles.

"Yeah," said Amy. "I've gone to dozens of different packs in a little over a year and none would take me. Derek's really my last hope. Huge douche bag pain in the ass or not."

"Why wouldn't the other packs take you in?" asked Scott.

Amy stiffened. She didn't want to reveal her alpha status just yet. But she had to come up with something viable. "Remember those creative differences Stiles mentioned before? That's usually my issue, too."

Scott watched her for a moment. "Wow. I…I wish I could help you but,"

Stiles looked at her sympathetically. He suddenly interrupted Scott. "I can introduce you to Derek," he offered. "I can't guarantee anything, though. If he doesn't want to be found then I won't be much help."

"Stiles," said Scott. "What are you doing? You can't just stroll up to Derek and…"

"Come on Scott," said Stiles. "Not all wolves prefer to be without an alpha like you." He shrugged and looked at Amy. "Take it from a future forty-year-old virgin. It's no fun being alone."

"Stiles I would be very grateful if you did that for me," said Amy. "Can we meet tonight? Maybe around seven?" she asked.

"Sure," said Stiles. "And just so you know, I'm not doing this because you're hot. Because you are. But really it's just a goodness of the heart type of thing. And because you're a fellow anglophile."

Amy smiled brightly. "Thank you Stiles. I really appreciate that. And maybe on the way to meet Derek you can fill me in on this kanima." She then looked at Scott warily. "And the Argents."

Scott cringed. "Didn't miss one part of that conversation, did you?"

Amy shook her head and looked at Stiles. "I'm at the roach motel near the DPW building. I have the shakes just thinking about sleeping there. If I had a car I'd sleep in it. The bike doesn't offer much in the way of shelter."

"What kind of bike?" Stiles asked.

Amy smiled. "It's an Aprilia. And besides my clothes, jacket and boots it's the only thing I own outright. I don't even technically own the ravioli yet," she joked.

Stiles folded his arms across his chest. "So, where'd a broke werewolf get her hands on an expensive Italian sport bike?" asked Stiles with raised eyebrows.

"You know your bikes, Stiles. Nice," she said appreciatively. "But I think I'll save that story for tonight if you don't mind."

"Can't wait to hear it," said Stiles, smirking.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%

"Damnit," Amy said, trying to juggle the cans of ravioli in her bag as she extracted the keys to the beautiful yellow and silver bike that sat waiting for her in the parking lot. "Hey baby," she said to the machine, moving to place the bag on one of the handlebars. She thought she'd just about had everything under control when the bag suddenly split open and all three cans took off like a bullets on her, veering their way towards a very expensive looking Porsche. "No, no, no!" she exclaimed, hoping to avoid a confrontation with the driver of such a luxury automobile.

Amy chased the cans, using her excellent reflexes to grab two in mere seconds. However, one moved just a little too fast for her. Luckily, there was a handsome blonde man that caught it just as he was exiting the driver's side of the Porsche. She stopped short upon seeing him. He had the most beautiful eyes and skin she'd ever seen. It was the kind of skin that gave his nose a sprinkling of freckles in the summer and his cheeks a ruddy glow on cold winter days or if he'd had a few drinks. She found herself having to catch her breath, and not because she had been running to chase the cans. He lifted the can up in his hand and regarded it with interest. He smirked at Amy. "This yours?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, giggling breathlessly. "I'm so sorry. It just got away from me."

"No worries," he said, in a deep, satiny voice. "Here you go," he said, handing her the can. He watched her with interest. "Does that happen to you a lot?" he asked.

She tucked her still damp dark hair behind her ear. "What? Runaway cans?"

"No," he said with a silken smooth grin. "Things getting away from you."

She reddened and looked down, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. Of all the days she had to meet such an attractive man was when she certainly wasn't looking her best. She felt like she would have looked better if she had been dipped in mud. "Wouldn't believe me if I told you."

He cocked his head to the side and gestured to the cans. "Your lunch I take it?"

"That was the plan," she said. "I guess the cans felt differently about the idea."

He smiled. "They probably knew they weren't that good for you anyway."

She nodded. "Well, when you're short on resources that's the way it goes."

"It doesn't have to be," he offered. "Not today anyway."

The way he looked at her gave her both an uncomfortable and pleasurable sensation at the same time. As much as she enjoyed the feeling of his eyes upon her, something was bothering her. His scent was wolf, but it was faint and masked with something else. But what? "What did you have in mind?" she asked.

"I was just running in to grab some things myself," he said. "I thought maybe you'd be interested in joining me for lunch."

"Oh?" she asked, suddenly even more interested. "What's on the menu?"

"Lobster macaroni and cheese," he said, grinning. "And some tiramisu for dessert."

Amy's mouth watered. That sounded much better than cold ravioli, which, if history was any indicator, would most likely eaten right out of the can with a plastic fork. "What's the occasion?"

He swallowed hard but recovered quickly with another heart melting smile. "It's my birthday today, believe it or not."

"Oh," she said, brightening. "Happy Birthday! What's the big number?"

"Seventeen," he said.

"And you're making your own birthday meal?" she asked. "You want to be a chef or something someday?"

He nodded and smiled. "Shhh…Don't tell anyone. I have a reputation to protect."

"That's nothing to be ashamed of," she started. "A chef is a perfectly good profession."

"Well, according to my father it's…you know what? Let's not get into that. It's my birthday and I'm determined to stay in a good mood. So I'm hoping you'll leave the ravioli behind and let me cook for you," he said.

She shivered, only partly from the cold weather. "I'm not exactly dressed for it. I wasn't expecting to be invited to be someone's lunch companion, especially on their birthday of all things."

"I wasn't expecting to do the inviting," he said. "Funny how a beautiful blue-eyed girl can change my mind in an instant."

She blushed and chuckled. "Yeah? She must have run off before I showed up." She cleared her throat. Beautiful blue-eyed girl? Was he mentally ill? She caught a glimpse of herself in the Aprilia's driver's side mirror. She'd just driven twelve straight hours in the rain. She sported zero makeup. Her hair was still slightly wet and hung from her shoulders like a wilting spider plant. Her riding jacket was a mess of cracked and peeling leather. In her opinion, she was less 'beautiful blue-eyed girl' and more 'girl that crawled out of a drain'.

She was suddenly entirely grateful to have been lucky enough to sneak into the Beacon Hills Medical Center unnoticed to use the bathroom of an unoccupied room to clean up a little before heading to the market that morning. Otherwise, the situation would be even worse. "You're very sweet, but it's total bullshit. I look like I got hit by a garbage truck."

He laughed heartily. "I wouldn't go that far, honestly. You've just had a ride in the rain, that's all. You still look great to me."

She shrugged. "Thank you," she said, softly.

He placed his hand on the small of her back. "Come back inside with me. You can help me pick out the ingredients and tell me a little about yourself. Starting with your name," he said, looking at her expectantly.

She bit her lower lip nervously. Amy was suddenly aware that she'd never been shy around a guy before. This one was very different, however. She paused, looking at the gorgeous young man warily. Again, the scent of wolf tickled at her nose. She wondered if he could sense her true nature as well. Did he not detect her scent? If he could, he was hiding it well.

"Okay, I'll go first then," he said, benevolently. "I'm Jackson," he said, extending his hand. "And you are…?" he asked again.

She took it. "Jackson. Nice to meet you. I'm Amy."