Chapter 54: The Secret

"Median time between submission and acceptance is one hundred days. I expect you to fix the highlighted issues by Friday, so if accepted, you can expect publication in August. I will be conducting 'field' interviews throughout the California crime labs from May to Mid-July. Your accommodations will be paid and any other expenses reimbursed, the standard hourly rate applied to the actual 'work', traveling time not included. You are acquainted with Miss Brooks, a former student of mine? Good. She is our liaison to the Attorney General's office. Any questions?"

Joe had her hands filled with her own redmarked paper, a stack of interview questions and background material, the university's fieldwork checklist, and Kelly's official contact information. All handed to her by Professor Walker who now watched her, waiting for a response. "Uhh..."

"Don't be shy, Miss Delgado, you may 'spit it out'."

"Not about the work," Joe admitted and tried to fold the large stack of paper so it would fit in her backpack. "I, uh, have a question about motives."

"Broadly speaking, motives can be categorized as either expressive or instrumental. Can you tell me the difference?"

Why were all professors like this?

"Expressive motives are expressions of emotions, like anger, jealousy, or sexual gratification. Instrumental is directed at some goal, like financial gain or elimination of an enemy. There are gray zones in-between." Joe nearly quoted the textbook word-for-word, but Professor Walker seemed satisfied.

"Can you have motive without intent?"

Joe sighed, scrambling to remember. "Generally, no, but if there is intent to commit a crime precursor, there would also be a motive." Knowing Professor Walker's follow-up question, she just kept talking: "If there is intent to commit index offense, it would be premeditation. Lacking the intent to index offense, there can be either unintended consequence, escalation or multiple intents, not to be confused with escalation as the latter pertains developing a new separate intent in the execution of the first one."

"Top marks, Miss Delgado. You have earned your question. Please go ahead."

"It's not exactly straightforward." Joe started with the excuse, wondering how she wanted to phrase it. "It's a kidnapping case. High-risk victims taken from high-risk location."

What's more high-risk to kidnap than a werewolf, right?

"No direct communication from abductors, but possible 'signature' left on prominent location." The Triskelion on the door of the Hale house. "Excluding sexual gratification, what other motives strike you as a possibility?"

Professor Walker regarded her for a while. "If this is concerning an active case, I will have to let you know that my consultant fee is triple digits." She gave a thin smile at Joe's shocked expression. "A joke, Miss Delgado, but I can see that it missed its mark. Very well. Why the exclusion of the sexual gratification motive?"

"Uh, the victims are of different genders and races."

"Aha, I see. Well, this one falls between two chairs at least. Expressive kidnappers not fixated on a certain victim type rarely bother with high-risk victims or locations when there is plenty of low-risk available. Instrumental will always try to establish some sort of communication to bargain what they see as their tangible benefit, be it money or some other form of gain. Expressive kidnappers' real motive will always be in the possession of the person or persons kidnapped, maybe not for sexual means, but definitely for power."

"This can seem like a gray zone between the generalizations. The kidnappers can be trying to gain power over a third-party, hence the signature, but not be interested in anything tangible..." The Professor trailed of her sentence and instead looked up, focusing intently on the door.

Joe twisted her brows together and tried to find what Professor Walker was looking for, but the door looked the same as ever. Until a few seconds later when it opened and a familiar mane of hair popped in.

"If we leave now-" Professor Kane froze at the sight of Joe. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Sarah, I didn't realize you were with a student. Hello, Josefina. Sorry, sorry."

"I will be right there, Bridget," Professor Walker said evenly and watched the door intently again as Professor Kane excused herself and pulled the door shut after her. "Sorry about that. We do lunch every Tuesday at this time. As for your question, I think I need more specifics about the victims and their relationship network to establish any solid 'foundation' for a theory. It is a vast difference between, say, members of organized crime or tourists happening to pass by."

"Right," said Joe, deciding not to comment that she was surprised Kane and Walker were friendly enough to have lunch together by the way they talked about each other. She got up, having stuffed all her paperwork into her backpack. "Excuse me, Professor Walker, but do you think I could get a minute with Professor Kane? It will be quick, I promise."

Professor Walker paused in tidying up her desk, obviously ready to leave. She nodded towards the door. "Go ahead, she's right outside."

Professor Kane was right outside, and Joe realized they might know each other better than she first thought. Kane perked up at the sight of Joe. "Hello, Miss Delgado. Good to see you in good health."

"Yeah, thanks," Joe said, thinking about the strange visit to the hospital. "How was Europe?"

"Largely uneventful. Flight was terrible and the jetlag worse."

"Right," Joe said, not really paying attention. "Uh, can I ask you a few questions? It's about, uhm, less conventional academics."

"I do prefer to take those conversations in the office, Miss Delgado." Professor Kane checked her watch, always hanging around her neck, and sighed. "Be quick about it, please."

There were a lot of loose ends Joe wanted to tie up. With Erica and Boyd still on her mind, Joe first asked: "Have you ever heard about an Alpha pack?"

Instead of answering, the Professor paled and cast worried glances at the door Joe just emerged from. "Pardon?"

"An Alpha pack," Joe repeated. "I don't know if there's more than one, but this one has this symbol with a sharp-legged triskelion."

Again, the herbal smell of Kane's hair assaulted Joe's senses as she leaned in. Her voice came in a tense whisper. "Now you listen to me and you listen to me carefully, girl. You will stay-"

Her words died as the door opened and Professor Walker stepped out with a long gray coat over her arm.

"Sorry," Professor Walker said, obviously noticing both Joe and Kane frozen in the hallway. Hand still on handle, she looked prepared to return back to the office. "Did you need more time, Miss Delgado?"

Several seconds passed where everyone just stared at each other. Eventually, Professor Kane gave Joe a warning glance and said: "No, I think we're done for now. Just let the matter go, Miss Delgado and we can continue this conversation in my office at a later time. Sarah and I have a reservation, you see."

"Okay?" Joe said, looking between her two professors. "Uh, enjoy your lunch?"

"Thank you," Professor Walker said and addressed her colleague. "Shall we?"

"Let's," Professor Kane said with a tight smile and the two professors bid Joe goodbye and walked down the hall. Professor Walker towered over Kane and seeing them side by side made their differences stand out even more.

What had that been about? Before Professor Walker came out, Kane had seemed almost scared and there was no misinterpreting her telling Joe to let the matters go. Whatever this Alpha pack wanted, it was probably not good. It only sealed the deal, didn't it? Erica and Boyd needed help.

Werewolves or not, Alphas or not, kidnapping was kidnapping. There was a lot of academic interest in kidnappings because as opposed to straight-up murder, there was still a chance of a happy outcome. She agreed with Professor Walker's assessment, this one did seem to fall between two chairs. If it was this Alpha pack, if they wanted Erica and Boyd for simply 'expressive' purposes, as their personal playthings or torture subjects, why bother with the sign on the door? Even if that was just to taunt Derek, like a werewolf graffiti saying 'I WAS HERE', they would still stick around to get his reaction, the same way a serial killer would read newspaper articles about his own murders.

It did not fit with 'instrumental' motives either, because that implied a gain and that required communication. A sign on a door was a specific one-way form of communicating. Unless they knew Derek had a way of contacting them. Or...Derek already knew what they wanted. No bargaining needed. We have your betas, you know what we want, now give it to us.

With that in mind, she headed for the loft apartment downtown. Still no other people in the building, so she was starting to suspect it either wasn't ready to be inhabited or Beacon Hills' recent murder statistics affected the housing market somewhat. Already before the elevator reached the top floor, she could hear shouting.

"...don't think I need help from someone who has currently lost two-thirds of his small teenage.."

"...if you don't, you're gonna end up killing..."

"...not all of us have tempers, Hale, I'm more level-headed..."

Her pulling the heavy sliding door open into the loft did not even make the two shouters pause and she took a tentative step inside, wondering if she should have brought her shotgun this time. What she saw was Derek looking seconds away from strangling none other than Jackson Whittemore who stood inches from Derek while arguing.

"What's going on?" she asked Isaac, who sat on the steps by the doorway.

"Uh, Jackson's parents are moving him to London and Lydia asked Stiles to ask Derek to help Jackson get control of his shifting before they leave."

"Oh."

Derek's nostrils flared and his arms flexed, obviously restraining himself, as Jackson berated him for downright murdering him after Lydia expelled the kanima. He did kind of have a point there. Somehow, Derek explaining that they could not take the chance of the kanima materializing again if Jackson did not get over his issues did not calm his adversary. The more Jackson talked — well, yelled — it became obvious why Scott and Isaac had seemed hesitant in forming a confirmation circle.

This looked like it could take a while and Joe slid down on the floor next to Isaac.

"Finished moving in?" she asked him. The apartment still looked Spartan, but it might be the look Derek was going for.

Isaac nodded and looked at the loft — it was kind of cool, Joe guessed, if you liked that kind of style. "Yeah, pretty much. Still trying to persuade Derek to get an actual TV, at least for upstairs."

"Last time you tried to 'help' me, you just left me in the school bathroom, coughing up black goo!"

"You had just told me you were 'not part of my pack', making you 'not my problem'."

Joe grimaced; staring at these bare brick walls would make you lose your mind. "No TV? What kind of Scientology bullshit is that? What, is he gonna home-school you too?"

"No, actually, he's been pretty strict on the school attendance policy lately." Isaac studied his hands, almost embarrassed to say anything positive about himself. "All my grades are up."

"What can you possibly teach me that I don't already know?"

"Apparently, you don't know how to not go around killing people."

"Oh, really? That's good," Joe said with a smile. "So, uh, about that thing we talked about," she held her hand up when Isaac looked at her with wide eyes, "that I'm not gonna mention specifically right now, relax," his shoulders sagged down again, "but I've been meaning to tell you that the offer still stands. Should you need it."

It looked like he had trouble finding the right words, but he just nodded and mumbled: "Thanks." Both of them turned back to watch the shouters.

"You need to find an anchor, to control the shifts."

"How about you anchor yourself on this?"

"Uh-oh," Isaac said as he must have been able to tell that Jackson giving Derek the finger was not going to end well. It didn't. Too fast for Joe's eyes to follow, Derek grabbed Jackson around the throat and marched him over to the thick concrete column, holding him up against it.

"See that?" Derek asked gruffly as Jackson's face morphed while trying to get loose. "That's panic. That's not control. And unless you find control, you're either gonna kill someone you love or get yourself killed by some London-hunter."

"Are you serious?" Jackson wheezed, still petulant to the last. "English cops don't even carry guns."

With a roll of his eyes, Derek dropped him and Jackson slid to the floor.

"Always this violent?" Joe asked Isaac, a bit disturbed, even if Jackson seemed to recover fast enough.

Isaac winced as they watched Jackson get off the floor and immediately storm Derek, who had to be expecting it as he tore around and slammed Jackson down into the concrete floor. "Tough love."

"Sheesh. Kid needs therapy more than he needs a beating," Joe commented drily.

Too late, she remembered the super hearing — Jackson nearly catapulted himself off the floor. His face went back to normal as he stalked over to them, fixing the white Ralph Lauren-sweater that had ridden up at Derek's attack.

"You're McCall's cousin right?" he demanded and Joe tried to catch Derek's eyes, but he remained impassive back on the middle of the floor.

"Yeah, we've met, but you were kinda not yourself," Joe said slowly, realizing the only interaction she'd had with him was in his kanima-form. "I'm Joe Del-"

"Whatever. Therapy?" He let out a rude snort. "You think a therapist is going to be able to help me?" Jackson gestured to himself. "What am I supposed to say? 'Oh, hey, my childhood trauma was getting bitten by the most useless Alpha werewolf in town, turned into the kanima instead, and was reborn as a werewolf after the same Alpha killed me'. Do you hear how that sounds?"

"Well, uh, I was kinda talking about the underlying issues to why you became a kanima," she stressed the indefinite article, "in the first place."

"I don't have underlying issues, okay?" Jackson claimed, his chiseled face twisted in a patronizing glare. "I drive a Porsche, is the captain of the lacrosse team-"

"Co-captain," Isaac supplied lazily, studying his own fingers.

"-and is due to an insurance settlement worth more than this entire building when I turn eighteen." Jackson didn't even pay Isaac any attention. "What kind of issues could I possibly have? Besides, I'm unique, okay? There's no other case like mine."

This child...

"Hold that thought," Joe said and got out her phone. She put it on speaker mode.

"Hello? Joe?"

Joe smiled at Jackson as she spoke into the phone: "Hey, Alex, it's me. Listen, issues among adopted adolescents. Short version, fifty words or less, go."

"Uh..." Alex hesitated, but only briefly. This used to be their game. "Adopted adolescents face special challenges in the development of identity, as aspects of their histories may be unknown, making it difficult to construct a coherent narrative linking past, present, and future. Extensive literature on adjustment outcomes for adopted adolescents indicates an elevated risk for adjustment problems." Brief pause. "How'd I do? I counted forty-six."

"Amazing. Thank you," Joe said slowly, enjoying the smug expression disappearing from Jackson's face. "Just to check, that's practically textbook, right?"

"Yeah, that's basic for adoptees. Anything else?"

"Nope. Thank you. Say hi to Maddy, bye," Joe said and ended the call.

She gave Jackson a sweet smile. "Hear that, Jackson? You're textbook." Taking some care to form the word, she added: "Basic."

She could live long on Jackson's face right there. Not that long though, as she saw his claws extend with a faint snip.

"Oh no," Isaac said and moved to shield her with his body. His own claws out, he stared down Jackson. "Not cool."

Derek came walking up behind Jackson, not particularly worried about him clawing Joe's face off by the looks of it. He clamped his hand on the boy's shoulder. "What was that about a level head, Jackson?"

With a violent shudder, Jackson tore himself loose from Derek. "Get off me!"

Before anyone could say anything else, he was in the outside hall, glaring at them over his shoulder as he pulled the door shut.

Isaac retracted his own claws, a fascinating thing Joe hadn't seen that close before, and looked up at Derek. "That went well."

"He still got a full moon coming before he leaves," Derek said drily and went over to the kitchen area on the far side of the loft. "Even if I'm not sure that's gonna be enough."

He got out what looked like a beer from the fridge and Joe wondered why he bothered drinking them since werewolves couldn't even get drunk. He couldn't possibly like the taste, could he?

Apparently, he could, as he popped the bottle open with his thumb. "Thank you for your contribution, Joe, very helpful to make him flip out like that."

The sarcasm dripped and Joe rolled her eyes. "Like you were doing any better? Physically assaulting a teenager?"

Isaac got off the floor with a sigh. "I'm gonna go and, uh, be somewhere else. And keep my mouth shut."

She stared at Derek, who stared right back as Isaac scrambled up the spiral staircase. Maybe they had soundproofed the place, as she thought she saw Derek relax a bit when Isaac disappeared from sight. He went back to the fridge, all stainless steel, of course, to go with the rest of the place, and emerged with-

"Iced coffee?" she asked with a raised eyebrow after he handed it to her.

"Still waiting for the coffee maker." Instead of using a chair like a normal person, or the floor like Joe, Derek perched himself onto the same heavy table he had put in place last time she was here. "What do you want?"

That was a nice way to greet the girl he claimed to be his true mate, Joe thought and struggled to keep her expression neutral. What was this? After the date, it seemed like his interest had vanished. Had he got his quota filled? Like, he did not even sit down next to her, he went to sit ten feet over on that stupid table.

"Erica and Boyd," she said to answer his question. It was an honest answer, if only partial. The full answer was 'Erica and Boyd and you, asshole!'. Admitting she had also just wanted to see him felt humiliating, especially now. Aware of how little he watched her, how utterly fascinating that beer bottle was, she sighed to make him look at her. "Did you find anything at the gas station?"

A small shake of his head before he sipped the beer, averting his gaze again. He had definitely found something, but maybe not at the gas station.

Her eyes narrowed and she followed up on her hunch. "This isn't Kate, is it?"

"Probably not."

"Is it the Alpha pack?"

"Maybe."

"And you know what this Alpha pack wants, don't you?"

"No."

She clicked her tongue. "But you have a theory." Not a question, a statement. "Derek?"

"Leave Erica and Boyd to me. Get your dad to drop the case." That was not an answer and he probably knew it. He kept studying the bottle, not even looking at her, still talking in a flat voice. "I mean it, Joe."

"Can you tell me why?" No answer and she blew air out of her mouth to stay calm. "Look, this has all the trademarks of an instrumental abduction, which means they want something. First rule is establishing contact, which they did with the sign. That means they know that you know what they want. So just tell me."

When he did not say anything, she dropped her head back in defeat. "This whole spiel about equals, was that just bullshit? What's going on here, Derek? Why are you not letting me help?"

"Erica and Boyd are my Betas, Joe," he said, still keeping his voice slightly down and he glanced at her for a split second before his focus returned to the bottle. "Not yours."

She bit the inside of her lip to avoid lashing out, even though he probably heard how she inhaled sharply. "And Erica's my friend, so what's your point? I know I'm not an expert on werewolf-dynamics, but have you forgotten how regular people work?"

"I need you to trust me on this, Joe."

"Trust is earned, Derek," she threw back immediately. "Why? Give me one good reason and so help me God, if you start with the 'just trying to protect you'-crap, I'm leaving."

The silence revealed that had probably been exactly what he had planned. After another annoyed sigh, he said: "You were the one who was worried your dad could get hurt yesterday."

She let out a short laugh of disbelief. "You're trying to protect Dad now? Special Agent Robert Delgado, who's been a fed as long as I can remember? Risking his life is basically in his job description and I'm always worried he could get hurt, but I've never, not once, asked him to quit a job because of it."

"This is different."

"It doesn't have to be."

Even from this distance, she saw his nostrils flare as he shoved himself off the table to stalk over to the windows. "You want to tell him."

It had been in the back of her mind since yesterday and especially after talking with Walker. Kidnapping was kidnapping and all her dad needed was all the facts.

"He's living at Aunt Mel's, with Scott, who's not the best at keeping secrets in any case, especially not from a literal FBI-agent who uncovers things for a living." With a shake of her head, Joe shrugged. "Way I see it, he's gonna find out soon anyway and he could help, you know. It's his job."

"No."

Not an unexpected answer, but he could at least have pretended to consider it. What had he said the other night? Secrecy was their main advantage. Telling the truth to an FBI-agent probably sounded like a literal nightmare to him.

"It's too risky."

"Fine." Joe shrugged again when Derek threw her a slightly surprised glance over his shoulder. He had probably expected further arguments. "I'm not the werewolf here, so it's your decision. It was just a suggestion and I still think it's a good one and I'd ask you to think about it if I thought it'd make a difference, but..." She trailed off and leaned back on her arms on the top step. "Believe it or not, I'm on your side here."

With his back to her, it was hard to make out any expressions, but she thought she saw a slight tilt in his head. "Can you get him to drop the case?"

"No," she said and had to laugh at how his shoulders tightened, "I'm not even trying to be difficult. I can't." Another thing she had realized since yesterday. "Apple doesn't fall far from the tree, you know? Besides, you still haven't given me any other reason than 'you said so' and in case you forgot, Derek, I'm not your Beta."

If possible, the muscles on his shoulders flexed even further as he crossed his arms, looking out the window instead of her. "I know."

"So whats's the point of running two parallel investigations when we both want the same thing?"

"It's not that simple."

"Only because you're making it complicated." Joe stretched out her legs on the steps, picked up the iced coffee, but put it down again with a sigh. These kinds of talks were getting so old. "Trust is a two-way street, Derek."

Still no answer.

Taking a note out of Jimmy's book, Joe tried for a long and meditative breath. This was more than the awkward talking-stage; something had happened and she was starting to wonder if it was worth it if she was the only one trying. Okay, so, Derek was definitely worth it, but maybe not now when they both had so much on their plates? Then again, they always had a lot on their plates.

"Why do you feel that it's your job to protect everyone all the time?"

"I don't' know." His voice was snappish and he did not turn back around to face her. "Why don't you call Alex and ask for her professional opinion?"

Eyebrows up, she cleared her throat in a pointed manner and blurted: "Is that why you've been pissy since I walked in?"

He didn't answer, just followed up with questions of his own. "She didn't sound too surprised you called. Do it a lot?"

"Yo, Derek 'Not The Jealous Type' Hale, you need to practice what you preach here."

Truth was, Joe had only checked up on Alex twice after she got out of the hospital, but they had been more of the 'Hey, hope you're not drinking again'-kind of checkups than anything else. She'd tell Derek this if he hadn't done literally everything to lose his rights to know stuff now.

Joe recalled Alex's comments from her visit, how she claimed Derek's body language couldn't have been more possessive at the reunion dinner.

A nibbling thought came of how Joe kind of liked the idea of him being jealous. Not too jealous, just a little, just enough to make it clear he wasn't okay with sharing. Joe definitely wasn't and she wondered if he knew that, if he could smell that too somehow. She remembered the panic Kelly's question from a long while back had brought: Are you guys exclusive? Of course, Kelly was the one she had been jealous of as well.

The downside of being paranoid was that it raised another question:

"Are you just pretending to be jealous to change the topic?" Joe swallowed at how raw she sounded, heat building for some inexplicable reason.

At least her words made Derek forsake the window to come back sit on the table, both feet still on the floor. He picked up the beer bottle and took a slow sip. "I don't usually pretend to be anything with you."

"Usually," she repeated and tried not to falter at the deadpanned look he gave her. Her eyes narrowed as she tried to read him. "Are you jealous?"

"Do you want me to be?"

The immediate denial died on her lips. He was a walking lie detector and would call her bluff. It was not a yes or no answer either and she found she was not going to even try to explain.

"You didn't answer my question," she noted and tried to shift around without it being too obvious, a warmth spreading in her chest.

A half shrug, obviously tense. "You didn't answer mine."

She had to stay focused. There was no reason he couldn't be both jealous and use it as a diversion technique. Biting her lip, she asked: "What did you find at the gas station?"

He swallowed heavily and sounded gruff. "Joe..."

"What does the Alpha pack want?"

The only answer was a tightening in his jaw, gaze focused on the beer bottle. And he called her frustrating?

Joe dropped her head back with a moan. "Oh my God, Derek!"

Somehow, that changed something. Something, not sure what, changed. A shift in the air, in the current, something.

When she looked back up, everything looked the same, except it wasn't. She could feel it somehow, the hair on her arms rising.

Derek hadn't moved, hadn't said anything, but he looked different. Eyes, she thought. Dark eyes. Watching her now. Definitely watching her. Clutching the beer bottle so hard she only waited for it to break, like at the reunion dinner.

"Derek?" she asked, almost scared of the answer. No distance in the world would be enough to mask his scent now. Rolling off him, calling to her. What had he said about those instincts? Mask her scent with his? Did she have the same instinct? That would explain her sudden need to go up to him, straddle him, rub herself all over him and-

No. Down, girl.

"Stop that," Joe said and tried to discreetly cover her nose.

His voice was as dark as his eyes. "I didn't start it."

He was breathing heavy, she noticed. Definitely doing what he could to remain in control. Joe tried to just notice his heavy breathing, but noticing that also meant noticing how broad his shoulders became with each inhale, how his body language seemed relaxed, but was that of a predator, waiting to pounce, luring in the prey.

"This conversation is obviously not going anywhere, so I am," Joe muttered, using what little self-control she had left to get up from the floor, leaving the iced coffee behind.

Looking back at him before she went into the hall, she swallowed at the sight of him, all but physically pulling her towards him. She shrugged, resisting it the best she could, anchoring in the frustration. "I told you, Derek. Dealbreaker."

His eyes closed. "Joe-"

"And my review went fine, by the way, thank you for asking!" she called over her shoulder and willed herself to keep going.

Walking away from him into the elevator hall had to be the hardest thing she had ever done. She could feel his eyes bore into her back, studying her movements, assessing her. Or just watching her ass, like a normal guy.

When the elevator doors closed behind her, she took a deep breath, inhaling all the way to her core, and let it out while dropping forwards, hands on her knees. Whooeee. That was intense.

Her clothes felt several sizes too small and she pulled her t-shirt off her chest, trying to air it out. The movement made her aware of her body giving of every signal that she was, uh, ready. Some of that evidence noticeable through her t-shirt and soft bra underneath and she looked down at her traitorous nipples. Wondering both how long they had been like that and if Derek had noticed. Joe hunched her back a little, making it less obvious, but the damage had probably been done.

Hell, he could probably smell her arousal. She could at least feel it.

What had that been about? Okay, so, maybe she had started it at the thought of him being jealous, but he'd seemed far more on edge now than before. Had he done it on purpose to make her stop asking? Or was it all her?

One kiss — okay, technically two — but still. One date, one kiss. Mentally, she was not ready to just jump in the sack with him. Well, maybe if she wasn't so pissed at him, which she was so there was no point in entertaining that idea anymore. Especially not within a few miles from him. It was not fair. Usually, it was the guys who gave away obvious, physical signs of being turned on.

On the ground floor, she stalked out into the fresh air and shook out her curls, wanting as much of the chill as possible hitting her skin. He seemed to like her curls, she thought, twice now running his hand through them the first chance he got. Which was not what she was thinking about, she was thinking about getting in her car and going down to the station, hearing what her dad had found out.

Usually not something she would look forward to, but at least thinking about her dad made her daydreams about Derek crash and burn. She glanced up towards the top of the building, but at this distance, any shadows moving were imaginary and only in her head. Just wishful thinking that she somehow felt his eyes on her, watching her leave.

The afternoon shift was just heading out as she pulled up to the station. The Sheriff gave her a solemn nod, telling the front desk to let her through, and then said something about going home, presumably to have dinner with his son.

She'd barely seen Stiles since that night, knew through word of mouth that Gerard had beaten him thoroughly before sending him home, hoping to elicit more response from Scott. It explained his appearance when he and Lydia burst through the wall in his Jeep, how rough he looked. A consequence of moving out of Aunt Mel's house and not talking to Scott was less frequent interactions with Stiles, something she did kind of miss.

It was a bit strange that Stiles wasn't injecting himself into the investigation of Erica's and Boyd's disappearance if only to make sure the Sheriff wasn't caught in the crossfire. If Derek was pushing her away, who was to say he had told Scott and Stiles anything though? Not like she could ask him now. Communication, trust, relationships — everything was a two-way street.

As expected, her dad was still working even though the rest of the station seemed empty. He was leaning over the conference table when she entered and she saw the map had been embroidered with different colored post-it notes. The same suit as yesterday, she noted. Still rumpled.

"How ya doin', kid?" he asked, almost on autopilot, when she knocked on the office door. Not expecting or waiting for an answer, he waved her inside. "Missed an excitin' day of talkin' to truck drivers. Pro-tip, if you ever want to get them talkin', just show them a picture and don't mention the age of the girl, because then they'll clam up on pure instinct."

"Any luck?" Joe asked, grimacing at the thought of truck-drivers preying on young girls.

Her dad shook his head. "Nah, but got her picture out there. Speaking of, parents couldn't positively ID her from the gas station footage. You were sure, though?" As she nodded, he did too. "The lab must be in some kind of slump because I got this back already."

This referred to some printouts, stills from the security cameras at the gas station by the looks of it. No Erica in the frame here, but instead there were-

"Blurs?" she asked with a raised eyebrow, after studying the printouts.

He shook his head. "People. Okay, blurred people, but still. Here." He used a bright marker to trace the outline of what looked to be a humanoid figure, moving across the gas station lot. "Two of them. One looks to be female."

"Could just have long hair." Joe squinted because that was the only justification he could have to determine gender. They were really just blurs, but at least no one looked to be blond. She looked up at him. "Running?"

He shrugged. "Movin' fast, but with five frames a second, don't have to be that fast. Called the lady, Janet, again, but she could not remember seeing anyone else than Erica that night. She admitted she wasn't always paying attention to the outside though."

"A duo of male and female perp does make more sense," Joe mumbled, now wondering if she had been too fast excluding that sexual gratification motive. Alphas could be sexual deviants as well, right? Not that she had that much to go on regarding the sexualities of Alphas, but Peter at least was a downright creep. Putting the pictures down, she noticed her dad's slight smile and she sighed heavily. "What?"

"You got a knack for this," he said and it seemed like honest praise, probably was. Not really knowing how to respond, her dad took advantage of her silence to get something out of his briefcase on the floor. "Noah, he, uh, showed me this." Her heart sank as she recognized the title — her paper, given to the Sheriff for approval regarding his quotes and the case details. "Didn't know you were interested in criminology, but this is good, Joe. It's really good."

Half of her wanted to shout at him, but could not find any reason to do so. He hadn't gone behind her back; the Sheriff had probably thought he knew all about it already. So instead of shouting, she shrugged. "Thanks."

"You know, uh, we teach criminal profiling at the academy," her dad said, almost suggestively, still holding onto the paper as he leaned on the table. "A lot more hands-on than the universities, no offense."

She knew the risk when she changed fields. Knew her dad would read more into it than there was if he found out. And now he had. Before she could find an appropriate answer, he laughed a little.

"Academy brings in guest lecturers from all over the world, the best in their fields. Who knows, maybe one day I'll see you there?" he said and smiled at her, a proud smile.

It tore at her insides. His acknowledgment of her academic career was somehow worse than him pushing the law enforcement route.

Her dad tapped his knee with the paper, now rolled up in a tube. "Noah especially liked your conclusion on how rural police forces might be better equipped to recognize criminal patterns than their big-city counterparts because of the off-the-job social connections between the departments or agencies. Good job, kid."

When she did not say anything, because her throat was clammed up completely, he sighed and threw the paper on the table, landing in the middle of the map. "Come on, let's get outta here. I haven't eaten since breakfast." Noticing her hesitation, he continued: "You think better with a full stomach, kid. Let's go."

"That's not true," Joe said, even though she did follow him because she didn't have the right to be in here without an escort. "Studies show that we have more focus with a higher dosage of the hunger-hormone. After you eat, a higher percentage of your blood is involved in the digestive process, so less for your brain."

"Sounds fine in theory," her dad said as he killed the lights and locked up his office. "But it doesn't help when the only thing I'm focusing on is that I'm hungry." He cast her a knowing glance as they walked out of the station. "Have you eaten anything today? Coffee doesn't count."

"I had breakfast," Joe said, but with furrowed brows, not really sure if that had been today or yesterday.

"Yeah, I know that look," her dad said, but not unkindly. "Come on. Greasy hamburgers and fries, every cop's go-to when trying to crack a hard case."

"I'm not a cop."

He shrugged and unlocked his car. "Would've made a good one."

With no response to that, she figured a hamburger did not sound directly unappealing and got in the car. They drove in silence, leaving Joe time to think. Going no contact with her dad had been her own idea following the disastrous New Year's Eve when Alex and her dad went toe-to-toe. Her therapist had supported it, but only for the sake of giving Joe enough emotional space and distance to heal on her own.

On average, estrangement between close family members lasted around five years. The advice was that Joe should have a clear image of when she was ready to establish contact again: she had to understand why she wanted to reconnect, why now, what her expectations were, and set clear boundaries. Look out for red flags such as defensive behavior, gaslighting, guilt-tripping, and other emotional abusive tactics.

Her therapist's main piece of advice to Joe was to also be on the lookout for green flags. With Joe's personality type, she could easily fixate on just the negatives. A delicate line to walk.

She wondered what her dad's therapist had told him.

At the diner, he gave her his card and told her to order something while he found them a table. Joe had a flashback to the same exact scenario when she was fifteen. When her dad took her to their local fast-food place, told her to order whatever she wanted only to sit her down afterward explaining why he couldn't protect her anymore and she was going to get charged with the hospital break-in. It almost made Joe's words stick in her throat when it was her turn at the register.

"Uh, hi, yeah. Two bacon cheese, please. One side with fries, one with onion rings, blue cheese dressing and, uh, two large cokes."

Like Derek, her dad preferred a corner table. Or booth, in this instance, and she carried the drinks over and sat down. She slid his card over the table, which he caught easily.

"I thought you were doin' your thesis on this folklore-thing," her dad said and she recognized it as an opening for a conversation. Joe ran the checklist of red flags, but couldn't see anything other than genuine interest. She squashed her initial reaction of rolling her eyes.

"I was," she admitted and twirled the straw in her glass around, clinking the ice cubes. It took some time for her to find her voice, and for once her dad waited for her to do so. "I guess it's a reason you call trauma life-changing."

"You know," her dad said slowly, looking into his own drink, "you can be granted witness protection."

"I'm not going into hiding for that bitch." Her voice came harder than intended, but no less honest for it. "She's tried twice and still hasn't killed me. When she comes again, I'll be ready."

Joe flinched as her dad reached over and put his hands over hers where they clutched the glass harder than she realized. He only pried her fingers apart and then retracted his arm slowly.

"Can I ask you somethin', kid?"

With a snort, Joe leaned back in the booth. "That's usually my line. Hit me."

"You said somethin' about wanting to know Kate Argent didn't have somethin' to do with Erica's disappearance." Dad talked slowly, obviously watching her and she willed herself to stay immobile. "Any particular reason you think Kate might have somethin' to do with it? Did she know Erica? Or Boyd? She got a motive?"

Shit. Shit shit shit.

"No," she said, not sure how to pitch her voice to make it believable. "Just, Kate obviously has a history of abducting people and there's a limit to how many psychos there can be in a town this size, right? But that woman in the photo had dark hair, so it's obviously more than one."

"There's such a thing as hair dye," her dad said casually and it felt like someone had dropped an ice cube down Joe's back. "But we got eye-witnesses placing Kate just shy of the Mexican border, so you're probably right."

"Oh," Joe said non-committally.

Her dad looked at her for a while, probably gauging her emotional state. "You know, one of my guys in the California-office runs a side-business with home security systems. I've offered Aunt Mel to get their house upgraded and if you want, we can take a look at that apartment of yours too."

"I don't want your money, Dad."

"Joesefina, mija," her dad said with a tired sigh. His eyes were heavy and his shoulder slumped. "I'm not tryin' to buy you back, kid. I just want you to be safe."

Joe had heard that too many times lately.

"I just want you to feel safe," her dad continued. "Everything I do, everything I've always done, I want you to feel safe."

Looking down, she muttered: "I can take care of myself." She bit the insides of her cheek and added with a nervous smile: "You taught me how, remember? It's saved my life a couple'a times already."

Saved by the bell now, Joe thought, as the food arrived and cut through the high emotional talk. She was spared to see her dad's expression by focusing solely on the cheeseburger and side of onion rings. Stuffing her face beat having to deal with her own conflicted thoughts and they ate in silence, albeit a more comfortable one than they had had in years.

Cheeseburger devoured and onion rings gone, she had no choice but to look up at her dad who had finished eating as well. He sat with his back against the booth wall, looking at something in his hands that she couldn't see, probably his phone or something. He barely glanced up when the server came to take away their plates, but Joe ordered two cups of coffee, not caring that it was after nine. She knew her dad's coffee habits mirrored her own.

"Thanks," her dad said gruffly when the server came back with two cups.

She added creamer to her coffee, he added two packets of sugar. It looked like he had something on his mind and Joe tried to wait him out, curious despite her best efforts.

The diner buzzed around them, busy even though it was late. Some deputies came in dressed in their uniforms, picking up coffees and pie, greeting her dad with a nod. Truckers also pulled up, ordering full meals that they ate while watching the small TV in the corner showing some kind of sports game — Joe found herself wondering how many of them picked up underaged hitch-hikers with a don't ask-policy. High school kids swarmed in, looking like they came from band practice judging by the cases they carried — they ordered hot chocolate and talked loudly from the opposite side of the diner, just like normal teenagers were supposed to do.

"Dad?" Joe asked eventually, as they had finished both their initial cup and a refill of coffee without saying a word.

"Hm?"

"Did something happen on your last assignment?" she asked carefully. Those were usually the times he got this melancholic expression — when a job ended badly. "Dad?"

He let out a deep breath that he seemed to have been holding. Then he laughed and shook his head. "No, kid. Nothin' happened. Got close, but it didn't happen."

"Close? How close?" She couldn't help the worry that shone through in her voice. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he said, a bit too fast, a bit too rough. He cleared his throat and stuffed whatever had been in his hands back into his inner pocket. Now she noticed his phone had been on the table all along. "Yeah, I'm okay." The smile he gave her seemed both sad and proud at the same time. "We're okay. It's, uh, just real good to see you again, kiddo. Wasn't sure I would."

"Dad?"

"You know I love you, right?" His words sent a shockwave into her stomach and his serious look only adding fuel to the fire. "Despite everythin', if I didn't make it back, you'd know that, right? That I never stopped?"

Blinking to clear her eyes from sudden tears, she couldn't even answer. "Dad, what happened?"

He just shook his head. His mouth was drawn tight like he was biting his lips together. "I love you, kid, always have and always will. Never doubt that. Promise me."

"Dad, I love you too, but what-" Wet streaks of tears ran down her cheek and this time when her dad reached over to clutch her hand, she didn't flinch or pull back. "What's going on?"

"It's okay, mija." His eyes were wet with tears too, but he smiled. "I just missed you."

Everybody with latent daddy issues let me hear you say: "Heeeyoo!" (In the distance, a faint: "Heeeeyyyooooo.")

Also, communication, Derek! Com-mu-ni-ca-tion! (It gets better next chapter, I promise, he's under a lot of pressure, because when is he not?)

As a side-note: I am currently battling a plot bunny for a Peter/OC/Chris-story that I hope will be satisfied if I just do the rough outline for now. Want to finish up "The Skeptic" and then my Stranger Things-story before I start anything else. Haven't seen that many Peter/OC or Chris/OC-stories out there, so it might not be that interesting to post either.

Disclaimer: Claiming artistic license for the pseudo-psychology/criminology in this story. It's not all 100% there because I'm a STEM-major, unfortunately.

Anywho, thank you for reading and reviewing the last chapter. Looking forward to hearing your thoughts on this one as well! Almost didn't post today because the view-counter is still broken, but I'll just have to live with the 0 views on these latest chapters. So please let me know what you think at least! Much love and stay safe, guys!

Edit: OMG, Moonys, I can't believe I forgot to answer you here! (Is it bad I really want all of you lovely guest-reviewers to have accounts so I can PM you a super-long response? Yes/no/maybe?):

I agree with everything you said and I am so glad you liked the hand-touch. I did actually plan to write an awkward kiss between them, but I was overwhelmed with too much second-hand embarrassment and Derek's not the kind for PDA (Isaac, precious baby, was nearby after all)). And I obviously completely understand the bit about her dad, as is probably pretty obvious by this chapter :) Thank you for reviewing!