A/N: So sorry for the long delay in getting this up! I promise I have good reasons, one of which is why I'm hurrying right now...it's late and my eyes are closing on their own, so please ignore typos. :D Good news for those of you who like these one-shots; my cousin has finally consented (thanks!) to do a multi-chapter fic with me, so hopefully we'll be seeing some chapters going up soon, yay!

So the setting for this little beauty is at the safe house during The Reckoning, just a little bit of Chloe anger. :D Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I can wish that I was Kelley Armstrong and that I owned Darkest Powers, but I'm not and I don't. Life's a bitch. And then you die.

Andrew intercepted me with my foot still on the first step.

"Chloe, could I talk to you for a minute?" I hate questions that aren't really a question.

I abandoned my intentions of talking a walk, released the banister and followed him into the dim and musty-smelling library he had taken as a sort of office. He shifted some old files and a cordless phone off a visitor's armchair for me. I let myself sink into the ratty old thing. If you ignored the cloud of dust that rose, it was actually pretty comfortable.

The heavy-armed leather captain's chair sighed gustily as Andrew seated himself and plucked up a pen to twirl in his fingers. "So how are you doing?"

I thought that was a stupid question; I was warm, fed and wearing clean clothes for the first time in too long. "Good, thanks." He seemed to be expecting me to say more. I cleared my throat and crossed my legs. "It's very nice here." Lame, Chloe.

When he still didn't say anything I shifted to the edge of my seat. Maybe if I didn't look like I was planning on staying he'd get on with this. "Was there something in particular you wanted to know?"

He gave me a knowing smile. "I'm that obvious, huh?" I thought it would be rude to nod, so I settled for a noncommittal smile. "You're right." He leaned forward now, linking his fingers together loosely, "I wanted to talk to you about Derek." His tone told me exactly where this was headed.

There's something truly terrible inside

It's a beast

He's got fangs

Razor sharp ones

Massive paws

Killer claws for the feast

Hear him roar

See him foam

But we're not coming home

'Til he's dead

Good and dead

Kill the Beast! - The Mob Song (Beauty and Beast)

"Gaston, no!" I whispered under my breath, wishing this was some really terrible joke. Funny, most days I couldn't remember what I ate for breakfast, but I could remember that song from a cartoon I hadn't seen in years.

"Do you know anything about werewolves?"

I buried the sarcastic response that had jumped to my lips. "I didn't know they existed until I came across Derek Changing," I answered truthfully, itching to throw the stapler at him, business end first. What's happening to me? I wondered idly, surprised at myself.

Andrew fidgeted uncomfortably. "I see. Well, from what I've been able to find out over the years, werewolves are incredibly dangerous individuals."

Only to incredibly stupid people, I thought nastily. Tori would be proud. When I didn't answer, he continued.

"The gene that causes lycanthropic manifestations is found only on the Y chromosome," he lectured, seeming to take comfort in facts. How ironic. I could name someone who had that in common with him. Take a wild guess.

"So only males can be born werewolves?" I asked, dredging up what felt like ancient memories from Biology.

He nodded, pleased that I was following. "Exactly. When a werewolf is interested in passing down his genes, he will, well-"

I refused to help him with this. He was the one who had insisted on this stupid conversation.

"Suffice it to say that he impregnates a human female," he said in a rush, his ruddy cheeks darkening a little. "He may or may not stay around through the pregnancy, but if the baby that is born is a male, he will take it and vanish, raising the boy to know what he is and what will happen when he comes of age."

"I see," I said, but I didn't see at all. What was the purpose of this? Andrew just stared at me. "So…Derek didn't have anyone to tell him what to expect?"

With a frustrated sigh, Andrew shook his head. "Well, yes, but that wasn't my point. You see, Chloe, the werewolf instinct is truly the wild instinct one would find in a wolf. They can't be expected to act with the reasoning a human would show." He paused, trying, I think, to see if I was on board with this. I must be getting better at hiding my thoughts, because he continued. "Human laws and common decency don't mean anything to them. Many of the mutts that the Pack keeps tabs on are known criminals in the human world, and the ones that aren't known to police are lawless men who wouldn't think twice about raping, stealing and generally pushing the boundaries of violence as far as they can without drawing Clayton's attention."

"Liam," I whispered, the toxic blend of fury and terror rising in my throat again. I shuddered. "You think Derek is like that?" The fury started to win out and I was surprised I didn't start to stutter.

He blinked a few times and I saw his gaze dart to two pictures lying off to the side of the desk. They showed a younger Simon, his cheerful smile showing a missing front tooth and Derek, both maybe seven or eight years old. Derek was looking solemnly at the camera, his eyes cautious even then. I don't know if Andrew realized he had reached to touch them until he had straightened them. He snatched his hand back and looked at me seriously.

"I don't know. No one knows how much of the behavior is learned and how much is innate."

"Nature versus nurture," I said, terminology I remembered from Ethics. Amazing what I had so quickly forgotten from my pre-raising-dead-things life.

"Yes."

It was my turn to lean forward intently. "Why are you telling me this? Why not Simon? Or Derek?"

"It's pretty clear to me that Derek has no interest in Victoria, to say the least, and a marked preference for you. I want to make sure that you knew about this in case anything happens." He pushed out of the chair and paced to a shelf, carefully aligning several spines. "Do you understand what I'm saying here?"

"You think Derek might rape someone?" I remembered the standoff with Liam and Ramon in the park, how horrified he had been. It took an effort, but I resisted the urge to yell. "I know you haven't seen them since they were much younger, but I can promise you that I'm in far more danger from Tori than I am from Derek." It was a little odd discussing this with a complete stranger, but I couldn't let this go without saying something. "Derek has saved all of us, more times than I think any of us really want to think about. He's still the same person you knew, Mr. Carson. We'd be dead or with the Edison Group if it wasn't for him."

I decided that I'd let him stew on that. I wanted to be angry with him, to defend Derek against this prejudice that everyone laid against him, but I had to grudgingly admit that Andrew was just trying to look out for all of us. I had seen something when he looked at the pictures that made me think that the thought of Derek being capable of that depravity had truly hurt him. I made sure to close the door quietly on my way out.

After my carefully executed exit, I tripped over something invisible in the hall and staggered wildly around the corner of the staircase and into the kitchen.

Simon looked up from his task of building an open-faced sandwich. Derek didn't.

"Hey, you. Nice entrance."

"I like drama, what can I say?" Simon chuckled at my flippant tone.

"Would the drama queen like a tuna melt?"

I nodded and nabbed a stool on the other side of the black granite slab that covered the island and propped my chin in my hands while I supervised my sandwich being made. "What happened to the movie?"

The can opener buzzed, and I realized that Simon was studying my face. "It's on pause. Derek was hungry and I needed to eat, too. Is everything ok? Sounded like Andrew was giving you shit."

I had a sinking feeling in my stomach when I realized that if Simon had heard our voices…Derek studiously avoided my gaze and slid the cookie sheet of sandwiches under the broiler.

"We were discussing nature versus nurture." Eyeing the container of milk, I decided some would be nice with my lunch. I started to slide off the stool to get a glass when one appeared in front of me. Derek left his hand on it even when I closed my fingers around it, waiting for me to look at him.

Simon chattered in the background about these chicken-or-the-egg theories. Derek studied me with a faintly puzzled look, and I don't know if he found what he was looking for. Either way, he let the glass go and I poured the milk while trying to answer a question from Simon, who hadn't noticed our silent exchange.

Derek retreated quietly to crouch down and babysit the sandwiches, and Simon leaned on the other side of the counter and made some pretty good arguments about nurture being more important than biology. I didn't feel like getting into again, so I mostly nodded.

The cheese melted quickly under the intense heat of the broiler, and soon Derek was sliding a couple of slices of bread onto a plate. Simon carried it ceremoniously around the counter and bowed.

"This isn't scrambled eggs, but I'm pretty sure eternal servitude covers tuna melts, too." He grinned at me and I had to laugh as I took the plate. We ate in silence for a few minutes, all of us enjoying the hot food that didn't come from a fast food restaurant or a shiny foil wrapper.

I heard footsteps cross the hall from the family room.

"Smells good." Tori poked her head in, saw food and helped herself to a sandwich.

"Come and sit here," I offered, climbing down with my empty plate. "I'm done."

After she was settled, I ended up staying in the kitchen, getting drawn into a conversation about the graphic novel.

"You're making a graphic novel about this whole mess?" Tori seemed surprised.

"I thought it would be interesting to see our story from a different perspective," Simon said defensively.

"That's really awesome. Is there an omniscient narrator?" she asked, obviously intrigued by the idea. Simon launched into an animated diatribe about the effects of different narration styles in comics. I watched like a spectator at a tennis match, my head swiveling as Tori got into describing a new computer program that would "learn" the artist's drawing style and would work with them to create a digital database of images that could be manipulated, instead of having to manually draw and scan all the work.

"That's amazing. Can I try it out somewhere for free?"

She nodded, swallowing her last mouthful before speaking. "Yeah, I can show you the website."

I started collecting plates, but Derek took them from me. "I'll clean up. You guys go check out the software."

"I'll help you," I offered. Simon flashed me a disappointed glance, but the idea of the software was too tempting, and he followed Tori back to the family room and the vast glory of the Internet.

I started rinsing the dishes, handing them to Derek who stuck them in the dishwasher. I waited for him to say something about what he must have overheard. Supersensory hearing must really suck sometimes.

"Andrew's right."

I fumbled the cookie sheet, but caught it before it crashed into the sink.

"You must be joking." I stared at him incredulously. He closed the dishwasher carefully and crossed his arms over his chest.

"You don't know anything about mutts," he said. "I'm pretty sure Liam and Ramon are closer to the norm than anything else."

"Aren't you offended?" I scrubbed fiercely at a baked-on piece of cheese. "How can you even compare yourself to them?"

"I almost killed that other kid. I almost killed that girl. I left bruises on you, Chloe." His self-hatred scared me and I shut the tap off with an impatient slap of my hand. This was more important than the stupid cookie sheet. "I'm capable of anything."

I planted myself in front of him and glared up at his shuttered eyes. "Ok. Prove it."

"What?"

"Prove that you're capable of anything. I'm standing right here. You heard what Andrew said. Do your worst."

He looked so shocked that I nearly laughed, except this wasn't funny at all.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm serious." I shoved him, hard. "Hurt me." He tried to move away, but I trapped him in the corner by the dishwasher. "I'm serious. Hit me. Bite me. Tear me limb from limb." Ok, maybe a little too dramatic, but I was trying to make a point.

"Stop it." I knew I was playing with fire; as much as I trusted Derek, it was still risky to goad him like this. "Dammit, Chloe, stop."

Feet planted, I shoved him again and got right up into his face. "Make me."

He stood, hands clenching by his sides.

"I'm upsetting you, aren't I? You won't even shove me out of your way?" I taunted, praying that I was doing the right thing by pushing him like this.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said without thinking, looking edgily for an escape route.

"Ah."

"That doesn't mean anything." He scowled briefly down at me. "I've still hurt people before."

"Yeah, a guy that pulled a knife on your brother and a girl that pulled a knife on me." I crossed my arms, refusing to allow his self-hatred anymore. Apparently I had a really low tolerance for bullshit today.

He reached suddenly for my arm and yanked up the sleeve of my sweater. Faint yellowish bruises still showed where he had grabbed me. "And these? Where was the knife that day?" He was nearly shaking my own arm under my nose.

I rolled my eyes. "You didn't grab me with the intention of flinging me across the room. It's a bruise, not a shattered ulna."

"You won't give up, will you?"

"Nope. Listen to me. No, don't stare at the wall, look at me." I waited until his eyes met mine. It took a while. "You are a good brother. You are a good son. You are a good friend. You heard what I said before. Without you, we'd be in danger or dead."

Green eyes searched mine intently. He was genuinely confused. "Why are you so determined to make me into some nice person?"

"You've gotten such a crap deal for so long, and I'm getting sick of it. We're in this together. You deserve to be protected, too." He hadn't let go of my wrist, so my arm was still hanging in mid-air between us, but I looked around it. "You deserve to be treated like a human being."

"About damn time," Simon seconded from the doorway. He sauntered in, his eyes solemn as he looked at his brother. "What did Andrew say?" He directed the question at me, even though his intent gaze never left Derek.

I took a deep breath, hoping to head off the stuttering that accompanies my lies, but Simon flicked his eyes at me sharply. "Tell me the truth."

Sighing, I gave Derek some breathing room and went back to the sink. "H-h-he thought Derek might be c-capable of hurting people."

Simon dogged my heels, hovering behind me. "The rest of it, too, Chloe. I'm not stupid."

Fuck. "He said that I shouldn't be alone with him in case he rapes me. Happy now?" I snatched up the steel wool and scrubbed the cookie sheet furiously.

"What?"

Simon's explosion wasn't a request for clarification. I rubbed harder at the spot, the scratching sound very loud in the silent kitchen.

"What did you say?"

"I told him the truth," I said simply, my calm tone at odds with my angry movements.

Derek took advantage of the moment and disappeared into the hall without a word. I gave up and just left the sheet to soak, drying my hands. Simon stood next to me, tense lines drawn around his mouth.

"I can't protect him," he said suddenly, his eyes beseeching. "My whole life he's watched over me and I can't even protect him from someone we used to consider family."

"Simon-"

"I can't find our dad, either." He took a shuddering breath, and I touched his arm, offering what little comfort I could. We were all worried about our parents, wondering what would be left of our lives when this was over. At times like this there wasn't much that could be said.