A/N: Oddly enough, I wrote this before the two new chapters were posted, but now that they're up, I guess I might as well put this one out there, too. If you liked it, review. If you think I shouldn't give up my day job, review. I won't beg, but I'd appreciate the feedback. Thanks!! As for the setting, I guess this would be at the safe house sometime after the little convo Chloe had with Gwen.

Disclaimer: I'm a student. I'm lucky to own a pencil and a binder, never mind Darkest Powers. Yeah, Kelley Armstrong's still got the rights to that locked up tight…

Tori was quiet that night. She didn't even fix herself a plate, just dropped into a chair at the dining room table and tore apart a bun until only the crumbs were left. I ducked my head, trying to catch her eye. When it didn't work, I tried again, which I think had the unfortunate effect of making me look like one of the bobble-head dogs. Andrew and Simon cast a few odd looks my way. Derek just looked mildly curious when he could be bothered to look up from his plate.

She knew I was trying to eye-chat her, and she waited until everyone was busy talking about something else before she'd look at me.

I raised a brow. You ok?

She looked away, her face set. No.

I frowned. What happened?

Her head shook slightly and she pressed her lips together. I don't want to talk about it.

"I hate when girls do that," Simon commented, ripping a chunk off of his own bun. Derek tsked and took it away. Simon shrugged and pulled another bun out from under his napkin with a triumphant look. "You're worse than a grandmother," he grumbled, narrowing his eyes at Derek as he pointedly took a huge bite.

"Hate when we do what?" I widened my eyes innocently, ignoring the mini battle of wills.

"Your eye thingy."

I looked at Derek in mock panic. "What's wrong with my eyes?" He filched two more meatballs out of the serving dish and ignored me. Probably sulking over the grandmother comment, I thought with a petty sense of enjoyment.

"It's like it another language," Simon griped. Andrew forked up a bite of mashed potatoes and smiled.

Tori pushed away from the table, striding through the door with her face averted. Oh, boy. I knew what that meant.

"Tori?" Andrew called after her, but she didn't answer. He looked around at us while he was getting up. "Did anything happen-"

"I'll talk to her." Good job genius. Might as well go play Russian roulette with a fully loaded pistol. I abandoned my delicious-looking plate that I had barely touched with regret. I felt three pairs of clueless male eyes on me as I hung a right and jogged up the stairs, heading for the room next to mine. I heard Simon ranting on in the dining room as I went, something about Rubik's Cubes being easier to figure out than women.

The sun was setting, and the upstairs hallway was all shadows. The door to Tori's room was shut, but something was obviously wrong and if Tori didn't want anyone in her business she would have chucked a lightning bolt at me when I raised my eyebrows at her before. I shuddered at the thought. I liked my eyebrows.

"It's me," I answered after knocking and being told where I could shove it.

The door whooshed open but Tori blocked the doorway. "Why does everyone always say that?"

I shrugged and started walking into the room, figuring that either she'd get out of my way or else someone would have to catch me as I flew over the banister. My gamble paid off; she let me by, closing and locking the door behind me.

"So what's up?" I asked, making myself at home on the foot of her bed. The covers and pillow were wrinkled from where she had been lying.

She didn't move from in front of the door, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

"Tori?" I made my voice as gentle as I could. "What happened?"

A completely incongruous giggle erupted from behind her hand, momentarily stunning me, at least until I realized that she wasn't really laughing. I've seen so many old comedy routines where you have to slap someone to snap them out of hysterics, and it crossed my mind that I wouldn't dare to raise a hand to someone who was taller than I was and could probably incinerate me on the spot if she got too angry.

"S-s-s-sorry," she sputtered, stumbling over to the bed, tears streaming from her eyes as she kept laughing, one arm wrapped around her waist. "I can't- I can't stop."

I made room for her, anxiously wondering what the hell had happened that could so completely unravel Tori like this. Her mother hadn't been around since that episode at the warehouse; as far as I knew there wasn't anyone else that could provoke this kind of reaction from her.

"It's ok," was the only thing I could think of to say at that moment. After a quick deliberation, I put my hand on her shoulder and the sick laughter suddenly morphed into the tears that had been threatening during dinner.

"What's wrong with me?" she choked out, miraculously allowing my hand to stay on her shoulder.

"Did something happen?" I wasn't so afraid of her now; Tori showing fear humanized her. It took a minute, but finally she composed herself enough to tell me what had set her off.

"I checked my e-mail before dinner," she said in a soft voice, staring fixedly at the geometric patterns on the rug. "I had one from my dad."

Which one? I thought reflexively, then got angry at myself for being so dense.

Her voice thickened again and she stopped, swallowing hard once, twice, before she continued. "He said he was worried about me, that he's been worried since I called him. He thinks I've cracked up completely, thinks I'm off my meds and having "an episode"."

She smiled thinly, her eyes roaming the carpet until she seemed to settle on the blue square. "He wants me to call him, tell him where I am so he can help me. He said that he's always thought of me as his daughter-" and her words caught in her throat and she doubled forward, her hands covering her face. "Oh, God."

What is there to say to someone at a time like this? Even Hallmark hasn't figured out a tasteful card to tell your kid you're not really their parent after all. Reaching out to her was not even a conscious thought. I put a cautious arm around her, half expecting to have it returned to me in sections, and she flinched at the contact but didn't pull away.

"So he's not your dad?" Now didn't seem like the time to tell her I'd already known that for a while, thanks to the demi-demon.

Dark hair swung back and forth as she shook her head, her face still in her hands. "No. Apparently he married my mom when I was a baby." A pathetic sniffle. "They never told me, never told my sister."

"What else did he say?"

"That he loves me like he loves Vanessa and that my mom hasn't been the same since I left. He begged me to call, said we'd work this out, that they'd find me the best doctors."

I didn't want to ask, but I had to. "Did you answer?"

She didn't respond, but she finally lifted her face up, tear-stained and flushed. "He doesn't deserve an answer."

Ah. "I'm sorry."

A sardonic smile, a little flash of her usual attitude. "You sound like wolfie now."

I laughed. "I do, don't I?" With a bone-deep sigh she sprawled backwards on the comforter.

"You sound like Derek, my dad isn't my dad and my mom has him convinced that my powers are psychotic episodes. What a mess."

"Are you going to be ok with all of this?"

She didn't answer for a long time and I wondered if she'd fallen asleep. When I twisted to look at her face, she was pondering the ceiling thoughtfully.

"Eventually. My dad betrayed me when he didn't believe me."

"In his defence, he thinks that you're bi-polar."

I expected her to yell or throw something or kill me, or do all three at once, but instead she let her eyes close, her face etched with sadness. "I know. He's trying to save me, but he'll just get me killed."

Someone chose that moment to knock, and I hopped off the bed to unlock the door.

"Everything ok in here?" Derek asked, leaning against the doorframe.

"What you're really asking is if your precious is still in one piece, right, wolfie?"

My blush arrived on cue. "What that translates to is "Thank you, Derek, for being kind enough to check on us to make sure we didn't need anything, right, Tori?"

"Mmfph."

"Right, Tori?" A touch of menace in my tone and she turned her head towards the door, smiling in an alarming sweet way.

"Thanks ever so much," she said with a British accent, and I sighed, giving up. The two of them fought like cats and dogs, or maybe Krakens and velociraptors was more like it. And no, I'm not specifying who's who. Nice try, though.

A grin quirked his lips at her snarky reply. "I left your plate in the microwave," he said to me, abruptly pushing off the doorframe and heading for the stairs.

Once the door was closed again, Tori rolled over and propped her chin on her hands. "So I've got a biological father walking around somewhere," she said pensively, a forefinger tapping her cheek. "That makes sense with what Gwen said, actually."

"What did she say?" Apparently I was cast as the straight man for tonight's comedy hour.

"That I was too strong for a regular witch. I said that they might have done something to my powers, but she said she knows a mixed blood spellcaster whose powers are like mine."

I played dumb. "What's the mix?"

Her look spoke volumes about my hair colour and how it related to my intelligence. "Witch and sorcerer."

"Hmm. Well, that narrows down your suspect list, no?"

The finger tapped against her cheek again. "It does, and I can already exclude Simon's dad."

"Why?"

The look again. "Do I look half-Korean to you?"

If the looks kept up, my self-esteem would suffer. "Right."

"And he'd have to be about my mom's age and reasonably attractive."

I raised a brow and this time, thankfully, she skipped the silent "BLOND!" comment and answered.

"My mom wouldn't sleep with just anyone."

"There's artificial insemination, too, Tori." We were in dangerous territory; discussing parental sex lives is enough to make anyone start to sweat.

"Hmm. Well, dark hair and eyes, then."

I pictured Diane Enright, her blond bob and icy steel eyes and I nodded.

"It's a start."

My dinner was icy cold by the time I got downstairs. Tori had swung around from acceptance to anger to grief a couple more times before I could convince her to get under the covers and take a breather. A minute later she was sleeping like the dead and I crept out of the room, hitting the lights as I went, relieved that all the furniture and my limbs had remained intact.

Andrew looked up from his crossword at the kitchen table. "Oh, good. I was about to go up and check on you two."

"She's sleeping," I said by way of an answer, pushing a few buttons to get my food re-heating. I stretched my neck from side to side, wincing at the knot I felt.

"Everything alright?"

The instinct not to say anything was strong, but I thought he should know. "She got an e-mail from her dad. He wants her to call him so that they can get her back into treatment."

"That's it?"

"He said he wasn't really her dad." The microwave beeped and I retrieved my food and a fork from a drawer.

"I see."

I settled down at the table and dug in. It should be illegal for food to taste this good.

"Did she say…anything else?" The way he asked the question tickled my curiosity and I put the fork down and swallowed my mouthful.

"Are you her father?"