Chapter 35: The Gap

Professor Walker displayed a muted optimism about Joe's paper, which despite all the other activities, was coming along now. She read aloud while the sun glinting through the window highlighted the deep shine of her sleek hair: "It is evident that rural environments are distinct from urban environments in ways that affect policing, crime, and public policy. Not the most groundbreaking conclusion, Miss Delgado, but it'll do."

"We can identify at least four basic dimensions of meaning when it comes to rural environments: demographic, economic, social structural, and cultural. Add a few sentences here on each dimension to explain what is meant. Remember that most of our papers should be readily available to the layman in law enforcement, not just academicals."

She had a few other comments and then put the draft to the side. "Not bad. Missing the actual research part here though. Have you not been able to secure an interview with the local chief of police?"

"Uh, they're still busy with ongoing murder investigations."

Professor Walker raised an immaculate eyebrow at the plurality of Joe's statement. "Very well. I daresay that your use of the national crime database supports your findings thoroughly already, although the case study would hold more weight with interviews. The Sheriff, deputies, state police, conservation officers, judges, attorneys, coroners...there's a long list of people to talk to."

"I'll keep trying, Professor."

Knowing Professor Kane was in a lecture, Joe hung around the edges of the hall waiting for her to wrap up after leaving Walker's office. The midterms were this week and this had mostly been a Q&A by the sound of it. The Professor turned the lights back on when she finished her presentation and the hall filled with the sound of students getting up, talking amongst themselves and rushing to the next class. Joe watched them detachedly. With the courseload she had the first few years, she had always been rushing to the next class. Scott's comment from the other night came back to haunt her, about the reasons why she had tried to cram three year's worth of study into one.

"Miss Delgado, how can I help you?" Professor Kane asked when Joe stepped forwards through the mass of exiting students. After Joe had focused on Criminology, Professor Kane's attitude had shifted to not quite as friendly as before. "No assignments for the next week, so I assume this is about something else?"

They made small-talk about Joe's paper, before Joe found the nerve to ask what she wanted. Not that she had any specific question, but she said the keyword. "Kanima."

"South American vengeance spirit," Professor Kane replied instantly. Her hair stood around her face in a light halo of unruly strands. "As claimed by the colonists." When Joe did not say anything, Professor Kane gave her a wry smile. "I note that the attacks in Beacon Hills have not stopped after the death of the alleged murderer."

Joe shrugged. "These aren't regular animal attacks."

"No, but the similarities are there, yes? Seemingly random, but really just a pattern ready to emerge." Professor Kane leaned onto the lectern and crossed her legs, now wearing loafers instead of her pointy-toed boots. "Ask your questions plainly, Miss Delgado, if you want plain answers."

Talking with this woman gave her a headache at times. "Does the kanima only attack murderers?"

Professor Kane sighed and took off her glasses with familiar movements. "Yes and no." So much for plain answers. "A murder is the most intense form of blood revenge available, but in reality, the kanima can be made to attack anyone its master has a deep holding grudge against." Professor Kane raised her eyebrows at Joe's disturbed expression. "Remember what I said about magic?"

"That just because you can't explain something, it doesn't mean it's magic?"

"More or less," Professor Kane acknowledged her paraphrasing. "The werecreatures are not subject to any more black and white laws of nature than ourselves. There are nuances, just like with people."

"How does a kanima choose its master?" Joe asked, remembering the quip about plain questions.

The professor gave her a thin smile. "How does anyone choose its companion? Opportunity, compatibility, attraction..." She fiddled with the wedding band on her hand. "The kanima interestingly always finds a master." The glasses back on her face, she raised her eyebrows at Joe. "Is this related to your paper or are you playing detective again?"

"A little bit of both," Joe breathed and crossed her arms desolately. Someone was using Jackson Whittemore to do their personal bidding, and according to Scott and Stiles, the boy wasn't even aware of it himself. It made it marginally worse than Derek, who used three other teenagers as his lackeys, but they at least remembered everything.

"Word of advice, Miss Delgado," Professor Kane said and put the hemp basket she used instead of a backpack onto her shoulder, "leave this to the hunters. Don't give me that look, of course I know about the hunters. Know thy enemy and all." Professor Kane gave her a nod before she left the lecture hall. "If you will excuse me, I have to get to a faculty meeting."

Joe closed her mouth eventually. Of course Professor Kane knew about the hunters, like she said herself, but why hadn't she mentioned them before? A lot of things could have gone drastically different if Professor Kane had been forthcoming from the get-go. She did not know Scott was a werewolf though, maybe Professor Kane did not know how deeply involved Joe was whether she wanted to be or not.

Because of the midterms, Joe had gotten some requests for intensive tutoring sessions and agreed to meet up with them in the library. Like always, she found the sessions mind-numbingly boring, but now with the added fascination that these people had no idea what the world was really like. Most of her students were in Professor Kane's class and they were lapping up the so-called facts on how people just create monsters to explain why they're afraid of the dark. It bothered her more than she would like to admit and felt herself smiling stiffly whenever they touched upon subjects that hit too close to home. She tried to not let the relief show when she had to excuse herself for another appointment.

"Hii, Joe!" The always smiling Kelly Brooks waved from one of the corner tables in the coffee shop and it looked like she had already ordered for both of them. Not just coffee, but also a pair of sandwiches. "Hope you didn't mind," Kelly said, probably noticing Joe's glances to the food. "My treat. I'm starving and I didn't want to eat alone."

This was probably a white lie. When they were taking the same classes, Kelly had made it her responsibilty to make sure Joe both ate and slept adequately. She did it to everyone, but Joe was an especially hopeless case and got extra attention because of it. As always, Kelly looked radiant with a fresh glow to her dark skin and immaculate tight curls ending at her collar bones.

"No, it's great," Joe said to stave any of Kelly's concerns. Brushing aside the initial annoyance at being infantilized, it was a nice gesture and she could use the food. "Thanks for inviting me, but I didn't think you'd get into town this early. The reunion dinner's not until next week, right, during spring break?"

Kelly took a quick sip of something iced that probably contained less than two percent of coffee. "Mm, no, I'm here for work. You know Professor Walker, right? Sorry, that was stupid, I know you know her. She mentioned she's mentoring your paper. I'm working as a liasion for some research project she wants to perform at the California crime labs this summer."

Before Joe could latch onto the familiar and safe topic of work, Kelly waved her hand. "No, no. No work talk when we're eating! Alex told me she invited you to the rave on Friday since it's in your town and all, so I want to talk outfits. And before we can talk outfits, we have to talk relationships, more precisely status. Are you and Derek exclusive?"

The cappucino Kelly had bought for her went down the wrong pipe and Joe coughed so tears ran, but at least it saved her the pain of answering. There was nothing that could have prepared Joe for that question to ever arise and she could not get a single word out that would make sense. It went on repeat in her head. Was she and Derek anything? Last time she saw him left her all kinds of confused and combined with Lydia's translation of the bestiary she had no idea what to think anymore.

"Only asking because if you are, I might have to tone down the outfit I'm planning. There's something so obvious with the one single girl in a group, you know? I still want to look available, but not desperate." Kelly took a large bite of her sandwich, but kept talking while winking at Joe. "But if you're not exclusive, you can tone it up a bit, right, and balance me out?"

Now Kelly gave her the silence to answer and Joe scrambled for any kind of response. "Uh, Derek and I haven't really had that talk yet." Which was a truth, if not the truth. She tried to consider it as a viable question, but it still did not make sense. "We're sort of not labeling it," she cleared her throat, "keeping it casual and all."

"Your choice or his?" asked Kelly easily, apparently not catching the myriad of emotions crossing over Joe's face as her stomach lurched.

An easy question with a less easy answer. This was not some random person she had caught the eye of at a bar, this was a guy who was intertwined in her increasingly complicated life and claimed he was there to stay. And yet, he hadn't actually...done anything. Apart from that initial conversation he wanted to have, every other encounter initiated from his side had been a rescue or check-up. Except for the car engine, although he had claimed that was out of necessity as well.

Even though she found him incredibly attractive and the compatible pheromones messed with her head at times, had he actually made any attempt to flirt with her or anything else that could indicate he wanted to be with her? No, was the solid conclusion. The car engine came back to memory for some reason. Had that been his way of flirting? No way. Right? He hadn't flirted with her, ever, at least nothing that couldn't be explained by her own hormonal reactions to completely platonic gestures. And yet he had explicitely asked if he should back off or not, so at least he was under the impression that he was doing something.

At the hospital, when she asked if it was real — and she wasn't sure what she even meant by that, if she wanted to know if the mate-bond was real or her feelings — he had held out his hand to her, passing the ball over to her side. Or back to her side, maybe, as he hadn't even been there to talk about that. She had been the one to instigate that particular topic to distract him from smelling Jimmy. He'd just been there because he felt guilty about paralyzing her. Then he came to check on her at the house because he felt her get hurt, which was just part of his nature. And the incidence at the railroad depot, he had definitely sensed where her mind had wandered, giving him ample opportunity to act on it and yet he hadn't.

"Wow, you really haven't had that talk, huh?" Kelly's voice brought Joe back from her confused thoughts about the man named Derek Hale. "But hey, no judgment. As long as you're happy." Her tone changed, switching gears to something lighter. "So I was thinking a dress, but maybe with wedges instead of actual heels as it is in this abandoned warehouse-"

In the end, Joe had to race to get back into her car to avoid the afternoon rush. She loved Kelly, but she could talk for hours on any given topic.

Her phone rang just when she passed the border to Beacon Hills and even though the display said Scott, it was Stiles' voice that came out of the speaker. He talked as if both his breath and time were limited.

"Hi this is Stiles and Scott and Erica and she's having a seizure because the kanima got her and she won't go to a hospital and is only saying Derek's name over and over again and his phone's not working and we don't know where he lives and Erica is too out of it to-"

"Jesus Christ, Stiles, slow down!" Joe barked to interrupt the word vomit. "Erica's having seizures? What kind of seizures?"

"I don't know! She used to be epileptic and then the bite sort of cured it and now I guess it didn't or the kanima poison triggered it," Stiles yelled into the phone and she heard them get into a car in the background. "We need Derek's location! Do you have it?"

"Epileptic?" Joe repeated but Stiles only let out a frustrated noise on the other end. "Okay, okay, uh... Derek's at the old Beacon Hills Railroad Depot! Underground, there's a staircas-"

"I don't know where that is!"

Joe swore and tried to think. "Okay, hold on, where are you? I'm five minutes out of Beacon Hills. Meet me in the warehouse district!"

She sped up and was waiting for Stiles' Jeep after four minutes. It came bounding around a corner and was not even fully parked before Scott tore out of the side-door with Erica in his arms. Her usually shiny hair hung limp across her sweaty forehead and her whole body jerked uncontrollably. She let out short-breathed whimpers, eyes rolling backwards, unable to focus.

Joe tried to take stock of her situation and put two fingers on Erica's neck. "Guys, this is- we should get her to the ER!"

"No, Derek. Only Derek," Erica whimpered even in her near-unconscious state.

"Erica, are you sure?" she tried to ask and Erica nodded weakly. Swearing under her breath, Joe yelled at them to follow her. She walked next to Scott, keeping two fingers on Erica's neck. Pulse was going haywire, not just speeding up, but erratic. This was more than a seizure. Joe hoped Derek could do more for Erica than the hospital.

Stiles went ahead to open the doors and they burst through into the underground warehouse with Erica slipping in and out of consciousness.

"Derek!" Joe shouted and watched for movements among the abandoned subway carts. "Derek!"

Her heart swelled at the sight of him. He came out of the reinforced cart and was by Scott's side in an instant, taking Erica's limp body in his arms instead. "What happened?"

The boys stumbled over each other to explain as Derek rushed into another cart and laid Erica down gently. From what Joe could gather, Jackson — the kanima — had shifted in the library during detention and attacked them all. One other guy, Matt Daehler in fact, was unconscious, while Erica had started spasming on the floor after being scratched by the venom.

Joe still had her fingers on Erica's pulse. "Derek, it's bad-"

"I know."

"She's going into shock!"

"I know!"

"We should call an ambulance!"

"No."

"Damn it, Derek, she needs a hospital!"

Derek's face shot up: "How many times have you said that now and been wrong, Joe?"

Joe's face blanked and she used her free hand to give him the finger.

"Hold her up!" Derek ordered Stiles who slipped down to the floor, holding Erica's upper body against his own. Joe, now both angry and scared, shrugged out of her sweatshirt and put it under Erica's neck so she wouldn't throw it out. She kept making these involuntary gasping sounds, clear signs of her whole system going haywire.

"Is she gonna die?" asked Stiles and Derek hesitated just a second too long. He met Joe's eyes briefly over the twitching teenage girl and she felt sick to her stomach at the thought.

"She might," said Derek and seemed to steel himself. "I-" He closed his eyes, as if making a hard call. "Which is why this is gonna hurt."

"Oh my God," Joe whimpered when Derek grabbed Erica's underarm and snapped it. The crunch of bone breaking made her gag and Scott flopped down on a seat, looking sick himself. How was this better than a goddamn hospital? Erica screamed and writhed in Stiles' arms and Joe found herself supporting the girl's head, afraid she was gonna slam into the floor.

"It'll trigger the healing process!" Derek breathed hard, watching how Erica moved and sounded, obviously using more than his human senses. His mouth went in a straight line. "I still gotta get the venom out. This is where it's really gonna hurt."

She couldn't watch. She couldn't! Joe turned away, but the sound of crushing bones still penetrated even through Erica's harsh and intense screams. Derek twisted the already broken arm around and blood scattered onto the floor. Erica kicked her feet out, slammed her head back and Joe tried to steady it, tried to soothe her, to tell her it was going to be okay, it would be okay.

Derek gritted his teeth and kept the bone in her arm broken, even though it seemed to shift under his fingers, fighting to align and heal itself. Out of breath, Erica stopped screaming and panted hard, face and chest dripping with sweat. Her eyes fluttered open and she focused on Stiles, who still held her.

"Stiles." She sounded delirious and Joe could see how her eyes dilated in and out, out of control. Erica put her fingers onto Stiles' shirt. "You make a good Batman."

That was as far as she got before her head slumped fully back into Joe's hands. Devoid of her screams, the cart filled with the desperate gasps of air from the other occupants. Joe risked a look at Derek, who had his head bent forward while keeping his hands — claws — embedded into Erica's arm. Bile rose in Joe's throat when Derek's claws slipped out of her flesh with a sick wet sound. The blood running down Erica's arm was now bright red, while the stains on the cardboard-covered floor were closer to black. Infected.

Stroking Erica's hair without thinking, Joe put two fingers to her neck again. "Pulse steady."

Derek nodded without a word and without looking at her. Scott still hung on his knees, watching Erica's healing arm intently, lost in deep thought or just paralyzed in fear. They all shifted aside when Derek scooped up Erica. He carried her to the next cart over and put her in a camp bed, making sure her head laid on the pillow.

"She needs to rest," he said quietly, as if to answer Joe's unspoken question from where she stood in the doorway. She hadn't even noticed she'd followed them; Scott and Stiles still sat out of breath in the other cart. "She's healing, but it's gonna take a lot from her."

"I'll stay with her," Joe volunteered without thinking, her voice sounded rough and hollow. She moved to let Derek leave through the doorway. He paused next to her, but didn't say anything, just gave her a solemn nod. His fingers were still coated in Erica's blood.

This was a far cry from a sterile hospital room, but Joe managed to find a bottle of water and a rag. She cleaned the blood from Erica's arm first, careful not to disturb the healing flesh, and marveled at how the bones moved under her fingers to heal themselves. Next she wiped the sweat off of Erica's face, now careful not to disturb the meticulous eye makeup the girl put on. Heavy eyeshadow, mascara now running down her cheeks, combined with made-up hair and a seriously deep-cut top that revealed more than it concealed.

Sixteen years old and no time to wait to grow up.

Out in the warehouse, Scott and Derek talked amongst themselves, but Joe tried not to listen. She checked Erica's forehead and while it ran hotter than normal, it might be within the range of werewolves for all she knew.

"Is she okay?"

Stiles lingered in the doorway, arms folded tightly across his chest. Forehead furrowed in a deep-set frown and shirt clinging to the spots where sweat seeped through his t-shirt underneath.

"I think so," Joe whispered, as Erica stirred at their words. Stiles nodded and ran his hands over his buzzcut as he stalked away from the cart, obviously not comfortable staring at Erica while she was unconscious. Joe sat down on the floor with her back to the bed; the tingling in her arms and legs after the adrenaline rush making her flex her fingers.

Eventually the conversation out in the warehouse subsided too and Joe only heard Erica's now steady breathing behind her. Her head buzzed with questions. Had the kanima tried to kill Erica or just temporarily disable her? What would a supernatural creature of vengeance know about real-life consquences of epilepsy anyway?

Erica moaned softly behind Joe on the bed and stirred further, obviously breaking through to consciousness again. There was a small fridge by the end of the bed and Joe found a can of soda that she popped open and offered Erica when her eyes fluttered awake. She gave Joe a disintered stare and Joe rolled her eyes.

"Drink, you need the sugar," Joe said with expert knowledge and the girl accepted the soda with a grudge. Supernatural or not, losing blood could make your brain crash and the body would welcome the added sucrose. Erica sat up a bit in the bed to avoid spilling soda all over her and flexed the hand Derek broke with a grimace.

"You okay?" Joe asked eventually and Erica rolled her eyes.

"Why are you being nice to me?" she demanded in a raw voice. She sipped the soda and glared at Joe, as if proving some sort of petulant teenage point.

"I don't know." Joe sighed and sat down ontop of the empty space available in the bed after Erica pulled her feet up. She rested her head against the wall of the cart and closed her eyes. "Maybe because I used to be you, Erica."

No response except a scoff that told Joe all she needed to know about Erica's interpretation of her words.

"I get it, no, I do. I was mature for my age in high school too. Never fit in. Dressed older than I was. Dated guys in their twenties who I thought were sooo cool because they had money and a car and could buy us beer..." Joe's lip curled at the memory, of groping hands in the backseat of a car and a mouth that tasted of cheap alcohol. She had thought she was so cool. Erica kept quiet while Joe continued.

"And I thought they liked me because I was, y'know, mature." Joe turned to Erica and gave her a lopsided smile. "Turns out they were just massive losers. The technical term is emotionally abusive, but it's easier to just call them assholes."

Erica had lost some of her scowl and had an uncertain and, above all, vulnerable look in her eyes.

"I know it's not what you want to hear," Joe continued and turned back to stare at the far wall again, "but a guy in his twenties don't — or shouldn't at least — have anything in common with a sixteen-year-old. They only go after high school girls because it's easy or because they can't get girls their own age." Joe picked at her nails.

"I'm not easy," Erica bit out, large bright eyes watching Joe intensely.

"No," Joe said as if agreeing, "I wasn't either. But you'll find yourself going to some extreme lengths just to fit in." She turned back to Erica with a raised eyebrow and at least the girl had the decency to look down in contemplation.

"I did what you did when I was a Senior. Had a growth spurt when I was in juvie and gave myself a makeover before coming back, thinking that no one would bully me if I looked good. Got a push-up bra, tight jeans, red lipstick. It worked too. A lot of the guys started paying me more attention."

The covers on the bed shifted as Erica unconsciously tried to cover herself a bit more. Joe shook her head, it was not about that.

"And instead of calling me Nosy Josie," Joe grimaced just by saying the name out loud, "they started calling me Ho-So-Fina." She dared Erica to laugh at the nicknames, this was the first she had talked about it in years outside of therapy. Erica kept quiet though, eyes locked on her own hands instead of Joe now. "Kids are mean, Erica, they're always gonna want to bring others down to mask their own insecurities. The only bright side is that high school's not gonna last forever."

Erica sucked in a sharp breath. "I just..." She rubbed the underarm, now fully healed, but obviously still tender. "I just wanted the seizures to stop. I mean the rest," she gestured to herself, "is a bonus, you know, but being able to walk down the hallway at school, knowing that I could just live like a normal person without worrying about falling over or choking myself or pissing my pants-"

She broke off, voice too tight and hurting. Her long blonde hair hung across her head like a curtain, but Joe could hear the gentle drips of tears hitting the covers. "I thought it was supposed to make it stop."

It. The bite.

"It's gonna be okay," Joe said in lack of anything smarter or kinder. She took Erica's unhurt hand and squeezed it, not sure of how to provide comfort in any other way. She had no way of knowing how far the lycanthrope's self-healing went. If it could cure epilepsy or, in worst case, enhance it. The seizures Erica had when Scott brought her here was worse than normal epileptic attacks. It could be from the venom or the werewolf in her enhanced the attacks when they were first brought on.

The lack of windows down here made it hard to tell how late it was, but Joe stayed until Erica eventually fell asleep again, after talking softly about other things than their individual traumas. Erica turned out to be half Mexican, last name of Reyes, and knew basic Spanish that she stuttered in when answering Joe's questions about what she wanted to do after high school. Not surprisingly, Scott and Stiles had left when Joe emerged from the cart as she'd probably been in there for hours.

On a crate nearby his own cart, Derek sat reading a book with his legs pulled up towards him. He let the paperback drop to the side when Joe walked up to him. Soft expression on his face, but wary. It took some getting used to that he would be able to hear every conversation she had within a mile's radius from him. No sign of Isaac or Boyd though, but they might be at lacrosse practice or something.

"Everything okay?" Derek asked without getting out of his seated position.

Joe shrugged. The slow-burning anger inside of her wanted to both flare up and die down when looking at him. Good looking guy in his twenties with a car and half-fulfilled promises — she supposed she would have been after him too if she was Erica. His jaw tightened as if he could sense her emotions.

"Me and Scott are gonna work together," he said when she gave no response to his initial question. "Capture Jackson, not kill him."

She nodded slowly, hoping it wouldn't end in more bloodshed or collateral damage like Erica. "You got a plan?"

Derek shrugged, the color of his sweater matching his bright green eyes. "Scott's working on it. I'll...I'll look out for him."

"All of them, please." Joe's voice was thin and she folded her arms even tighter, as if to stave of the coldness inside. She looked around the empty warehouse; Boyd and Erica both had homes with their parents, but seemed to spend a lot of time here. Isaac and Derek lived here full-time and no matter the effort, the conditions weren't luxurious. Finally mustering up the courage to look directly at Derek, she cocked her head to the side. "They're all your responsibility now."

"I know."

"Did you bite Jackson?"

Derek took a deep breath and put the book to the side. He rested his arms on his upturned knees, shielding himself, defensive. "He didn't ask for it as much as he demanded it."

"So that's a yes?"

He nodded and Joe did too, a worried frown on her forehead.

"And Paige?"

You could hear a pin drop at the silence that followed, even without enhanced hearing. Derek had stopped breathing and she kept her head down, unable to look at him. His voice was harder than she had ever heard it. "Who told you?"

Something hurt in his voice, like an injured animal, made her look up. A thin sheen of water in his eyes, watching her intently, more scared of her than she was of him. He guessed: "Was it Kate?"

"N-no," Joe stuttered and took an automatic step back at the mention of Kate Argent. "No, God no, it was Jimmy."

Whatever vulnerable that had been in Derek's face disappeared in an instant. His nostrils flared. "You found him?"

"Sort of," Joe admitted, but was not willing to let Derek shift the focus onto her. "Who is she?"

"No one." The reply came instantly, without hesitation, a complete lie. Derek's eyes were hard and turned away from her, as if she disgusted him so much he was unable to look at her.

An apology sat on her lips, ready to be delivered so they could move past this. That was not how it worked however. They were far enough away from each other not to be affected by scent, at least in Joe's case, so no supernatural means to aide them along. This was real. And Joe, with all her credits in psychology and sociology, had no idea how she could find out more. If both Jimmy and Derek knew the girl, she had to have been someone from high school.

"If she was no one, can you tell me about her?" she asked, internally cringing at the crass question. No tact. No bedside manners. She would have made a terrible doctor.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Why do you want to know?" he countered and scoffed when she failed to find an answer that sounded satisfactory to even her own ears.

"Because-"

"Because you want to know? That's it, right? Well, sometimes, Joe, you don't get what you want." He drew in a sharp breath, as if stealing it from Joe. "You don't get to ask questions just for the sake of asking them."

Her voice failed her as she whispered: "I just thought I should know."

"Did you?" Derek's voice cut like steel into her. "Why? I'll tell you if you give me one good reason why you should know."

At her stunned silence, head filled with what Kelly had prompted earlier, he snorted. "You wanna know what happened last time someone thought they should know? My whole family died."

No comeback in the world could bridge that gap opening between them. He had told Kate then, at some point, but he would not tell her. Joe's throat was too clogged up to speak and she nodded instead, mostly to herself. Nosy Josie. Why had she wanted to know?

Leaving Derek on his crate where he stared pointedly away from her, Joe turned around and walked to the stairwell. He did not call her name or ask her to stop; she did not blame him.

By the time she was in her car, she wiped silent tears away from her eyes.

Thursday rolled around and Joe pulled into the rifle and pistol shooting range near the interstate, a huge squat building that sort of looked like the ice rink. The favored vehicle type in the parking lot seemed to be pickups and SUVs, but she recognized Chris Argent's from the plates alone. Earmuffs on, she went inside and quickly determined herself to be the only one representing two X-chromosomes.

Most of the lanes were occupied by either rednecks or crewcuts and she walked slowly until she found the back of Chris Argent. Her eyebrows rose when he emptied a magazine at a faraway paper cutout of a human silhouette. Joe only gave him a nod when he peered over his shoulder, obviously sensing her presence.

He flipped a switch on the wall and the cutout pulled closer to them. All shots had landed right in the head. The walls separating the lanes were soundproofed and when he took off his earmuffs, she deemed it safe to follow suit — around them, shots still rang out at various intervals.

"Nice shooting," she said, in lack of anything else, where she leaned against the wall.

"In my line of work, you can get a perfect headshot every time and still lose," Chris commented drily. He opened the slide and put the pistol, looking like almost the same make her dad used, on the bench. "What's your caliber?"

Joe blew air out of her mouth. "Uh, my dad got me a .22 once for protection when our neighborhood had a lot of muggings."

"A .22 is good for hitting beer cans in the backyard." Chris bent down to open a gun case with an arraignment of handguns. "But it's a place to start for beginners and small enough to keep hidden, in a state that doesn't allow concealed carrying for anyone under twenty-one." He did not sound like he was about to report her dad for the infraction, but rather came back up with a slightly smaller handgun than he'd used himself. "This is a 9mm. I prefer the .45 for the bullet size, but it's got more of a kick."

The sleek pistol felt heavy in her hands and Joe made sure to angle it downwards all the time. Always treat a gun like it's loaded and always, always keep the finger off the trigger until you're ready to fire.

"When it comes to pistols, where you hit is more important than what you're hitting with," Chris explained as Joe took up stance with the empty gun, just aiming at the cutout. "Nothing trumps shot placement."

"Except when you hit someone with a poisoned bullet," Joe said without looking at him, thinking of Derek in the clinic. How physically ill she felt when he almost died — now that she thought of it, it might have been his pain transferring to her already back then.

Chris gave a low, humourless laugh. "Yeah, if you want to take down a werewolf, can't go wrong with Nordic Blue Monkshood. Can hit them in their left pinky and it'll get to their heart eventually." He took her place, leaning against the wall. "Haven't seen Derek around lately. Hope nothing's happened to him?"

He doesn't know, Joe told herself. He doesn't know. He can't know. He would not be this friendly with her if he knew all of it.

"Is that why you guys are following me?" Joe asked, trying to keep her voice steady, and put the gun down — it was severely heavy. She turned to him, holding the gun angled away. "Because you think I know where Derek is?"

It was hard to tell, because Chris was an Argent, but his face did betray mostly surprise. "Despite what you might think, Joe, we are not in the habit of stalking people."

"You sure? It seems I can't turn around without some SUV in my rearview mirror."

He sucked his teeth a bit and his voice came, if posssible, even more gravellier than usual. "With the trauma you went through, it's not uncommon to get a bit paranoid. We see it all the time with our long-time hunters. Start seeing shadows in broad daylight."

"That's usually when you get most shadows."

"All right," he said with a wry smile and he took the gun from her hands. "Let's say you're not being paranoid. Other than the make of the cars, what makes you suspect us?" At her silence, he sighed. "Kate is dead, Joe. She won't be back to hurt you."

"She wasn't trying to hurt me," Joe countered, her mind back to Kate holding a gun, ready to shoot Scott. "She did hurt me, but that's just because I got in the way." She watched Chris load bullets into the magazine of the 9mm. "How can I be sure no one else of your guys are breaking this Code of yours?"

"You can't," Chris said and took up stance, aiming at the cutout. "But I'll take them out before you have to worry about them." He put on his earmuffs and Joe followed suit.

Six shots. All in the head again.

Confusing chapter, but I can pretend it's to symbolize Joe's confusion. As I've said, one step forward, two steps back...
Keep in mind that in the show, Derek never told anyone about Paige - we only ever heard about it from Peter (and Ms Blake).
And Joe does not know any of what actually happened, she's only heard the name and is, perhaps, a little jealous?

Anyway, not gonna spoil stuff, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it :)
Please let me know what you think as your reviews keep me motivated to keep writing. Have a nice weekend and stay safe, guys!