Author's note: set in 1x011.

Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf. No financial gain is made from this. This is for entertainment purposes only.


Find Derek.

I read again the text message. It showed the same two words.

Find Derek.

Nothing else.

I had tried calling back the sender, I had sent several messages myself. But it was clearly meant to be a one way conversation. Also, the sender knew that I would obey. Not because the message was scary or intimidating, but because of curiosity, and to some small degree, because I started to despise the idea of Derek Hale being in trouble.

I had deduced the sender to be Peter Hale, for the simple reason that it was his style. I had also deduced that my first step would be to investigate Chris Argent. Before, I had phoned Derek himself, but his phone was out; also Scott, who did not answer his mobile, and after Stiles, who had briefly informed me that they were busy with the upcoming school party.

Now, as I laced my converse to play detective again, I realized I had not a clear plan. And the first problem arose when I realized that I could not let my mother see me leaving the house or she would oppose. That is why I decided to try other escape routes and after some reflecting, there was only one option: the window of my room.

In a similar fashion as that night that seemed so far away, I stumbled my way down (fall in my derriere included). This time I didn't have the pressure of Derek barking at me, and it was daylight, and I had the previous experience, so I guessed my landing was a bit less ungraceful.

"Don't go for Chris Argent," a voice said at my back. My mother had taken a chair outside and read a magazine just under my window. I gaped. "Go for Kate Argent instead."

"What?"

She put down her maxi sunglasses. "You know I told you we could not act in this conflict." I nodded. "Well, 'we' does not include you. You are not initiated… yet." She was giving me green light. "Just be careful."

"Thank you," I said, but she didn't paid attention. Or didn't let it show.


Despite my mother's consent, my plan still stunk. I rode my bicycle around the Argent's house, but I didn't see Kate Argent. After some hours of riding in the sun, I went back home.

I slumped in the couch, sunburned and fatigued. My father raised an eyebrow over a newspaper. Since the break in the bookstore he spent his time at home, while reparations were being made, included the installation of an expensive security system.

"Are you okay?" Despite the complicated of our family situation, he had accepted that this was the family he had married into and my mother's circumstances didn't change the woman he fell in love with. I had also apologized extensively to him.

"I don't know," I confessed.

"Can I help you?" he offered.

"Unless you know how to track down someone in this town…" I said humorlessly. He took out his reading glasses and left over the coffee table the daily newspaper.

"Maybe I know."

I raised my eyebrows and sat properly in the couch. "What?"

"Well, nowadays everybody is using these mobiles with so many functions and applications. Once I was talking with Bernard, the computer technician, the one who always buys patisserie books… Well, he was telling me one day that he sometimes collaborated with the police department tracking down mobile phones," my father explained.

I was now completely immersed in our conversation. "But, I would need the phone number for that, right?"

"Yes, I think so…"

We fell into a comfortable silence once again, and although he picked up the newspaper, I knew his thoughts were in the same direction than mine.

"Who is this person you want to find?" my father quietly asked.

I doubted a second if to tangle him in this. "Kate Argent."

My father didn't pry into my intentions. "Mmmhh… Kate Argent. Used to live here a few years ago. Went to your same school… She didn't buy many books. I guess she was more a library girl."

Silence.

"If we worked in the library, then maybe we could find her number. They always ask it for the registration…," I said absently.

"You don't have to work on the library for that. You just need to know someone that works there." I looked up and saw my father smirking widely. He suddenly looked younger.

He sat up and grabbed my hand, dragging me. "Come on."


"So, you think this Tom guy is going to help us?" I asked my father.

He was driving us to the local library.

"Tom? Of course! He is a good friend. I always like to donate the books that we didn't sell to the library," my father said. "That's how we met. I would call him and say 'hey, Tom, I have some books for you', then he would pass by the bookstore to pick them up and we would have a coffee together. Speak about literature. He is a smart boy, this Tommy…"

I laughed at my father nostalgia.

And indeed, Tom was glad to be of help. 'I owe you a lot', he said. He was only working part-time now in the library, due to heart problems, but he still moved as a feline between cabinets and folders.

"Ah-ha!" he exclaimed. "Here it is!" He slapped a folder on the library table. "Kate Argent."

A fourteen year old girl looked back at us in a yellowing picture. Her golden tresses made her look angelic. I prayed there was a phone number. There was. Then, back in the car and after thanking Tom, I prayed she had still the same phone number, so I called.

"Hello?" a woman's voice replied my call. I wanted to laugh hysterically. My father was by my side, mouthing questions, as excited as I was. "Hello?" I hung up.

"It was her," I said. "I think." I looked down at the phone in my trembling hand. "What now?"

"I say," my father smiled, "now we go get some fast-food and after we ask Bernard to track the number."

"You think he would do that?" I asked.

My father snorted. "Of course!"


I forgot how much I enjoyed spending time with my father. He had been the person always by my side. My mother was generally busy, so my father had taken it up upon himself to fill the void.

We were full with hamburgers and French fries when we rang the bell of Bernard Miles' house. A bald man slightly overweight welcomed us to a house equally full of technological devices as well as patisserie books. He offered us some freshly baked cookies, and despite our fullness, we ate them out of courtesy.

The things I do for you, Derek Hale, I thought, as I stuffed my mouth with another chocolate sprinkled cookie.

"So you can track it?" my father asked, after some explaining.

"Yes, in theory, yes. It would depend on the mobile and I would need it to be on and connected to the net," the man said, eating a cookie himself. "We can try."

"Thank you very much," my father said.

"Yes, thank you," I chorused.

"Oh, keep your 'thank yous'," Bernard said, with a hand gesture. "You just have to promise to pass by more often and to put that bookstore back again and running."

"Promise," my father said.

"It just might take me some time, so I will cook quickly some pies." Bernard left for the kitchen and my father and I laughed.

After five hours of non-stop eating and recipe exchange, Bernard called us to his computer. "I found the location of the mobile."

The screen showed the address of the Argents. But I had not seen Kate around. And I even dared to peek inside. "Are you sure?"

"The computer doesn't lie. But there is something interesting. It took me some time to track it because the signal was very week. At some intervals, it turned stronger, so it helped us, but most of the time it seemed it was having some trouble to connect. As if it was underground, you know, like when you go on the metro and your signal goes weak or you lose it," Bernard explained.

"Underground…" I muttered.

"Thank you again, Bernard, you were very helpful," my father said, hugging the huge man.

"I hope you find your friend's lost mobile," Bernard said and accompanied us to the door. Before we left, he gave us a box with a batch of homemade 'macaroon'.

Back in the car, my father said, "What Bernard said makes me think of some kind of basement… Do you want to check the house's blue print?"

I gasped. "You can have access to that?"

He smirked, "Never underestimate the power of a bookstore owner."


Natasha Polanski was an elderly woman who worked for the city register, in the city hall. Her hobby was crime novels and I felt an instant liking for the civil servant. At a call of my father, she agreed to wait for us to take a look at 'some documents'. It was a huge favor, because it was past the closing time.

"I think this is the one you are looking for," she said, handing us quite old documents. "I remember… there was some bureaucratic trouble when the Argent family decided to build these underground tunnels, but in the end they allowed them, because they owned the territory.

"Can I take a picture?" I asked sheepishly.

The woman frowned. "Well, I shouldn't allow, but because it's just for writing purposes, and nobody will know, go ahead."

I took several pictures with my mobile.

We said our thanks and goodbyes to the kind lady.

"And send me a copy of your novel when it is finished!" she screamed at our car.

Back at home, I studied the blue prints. There, somewhere in those dungeons, was Derek Hale.

"You are still here?" my mother asked.

"Sorry?"

"I thought you would have already gone to check the Argent's house… I thought you were going to rescue Derek Hale."

"How do you know…?" I chucked. "I cannot. I am just a human. They are killers and… and supernatural killers."

My mother smiled and left me alone in the kitchen. I drank the last of my tea and grabbed my jacket. It was a cold night and I had a long way to ride.