Chapter 55: The Anchor
As far as roommates go, Jimmy was pretty decent. He would do most of the housework if she could do the grocery shopping. In fact, if he could avoid leaving the apartment at all, he seemed happy enough to do all of the housework. He kept strange hours, like herself, and preferred to wear a headset to avoid distraction and she sometimes forgot he was even there when he huddled in the corner of the living room, only his fingers flying over the keyboard indicating any vital signs. And like herself, he had only a moderate need for conversation, referencing that he preferred to leave his problems to the professionals.
And as easy as he was to live with, she missed Aunt Mel and Scott. Not so much that she had plans to move back, but enough for her stomach to churn a little bit when she made coffee in the evening and didn't have to set the timer for Aunt Mel so she had fresh coffee before her next shift. A small twinge in her heart when she did not have an appetite and wanted that sugary cereal Scott always put on the grocery list, but Joe never could justify buying for herself. Small stuff.
It was a five-minute drive over to the McCall house. It would take less than ten seconds to dial Aunt Mel's number. Even if she used her dad staying there as an excuse — a fact that made her suspect he was not handling the missing person case in a completely official manner — she could still just pick up food and bring it to her aunt at the hospital. That could actually work, Joe thought as she waited for Jimmy's tea water to boil. They'd fell into a routine of fixing each other's drink whenever they got one for themselves.
Leaning against the counter, she sipped her own coffee with a heavy dose of creamer. She'd do that tonight, she thought. Pick up some Chinese and-
Immediately her mind went to the Chinese restaurant she and Derek had gone to. It had been so nice! So nice she had almost forgotten about her actually crying at the table at one point. They had been talking like normal people, without any hidden agendas or ulterior motives. At least not from her side and she could not see any scenario where Derek knowing she went to an Alicia Keys-concert in 2005 would benefit him. Joe wanted more of that and less of everything else. Erica and Boyd missing, this apparent rival pack who might have taken them, Kate...
Her phone buzzed just as she poured water into Jimmy's tea mug and she sloshed half of it over the counter. Swearing, she hastily mopped up the spill, rushed over to Jimmy with his tea, and then nearly threw herself over her phone.
The air left her body.
"Not Derek then?" Jimmy asked behind her where he fished out the tag from the teabag that had slipped into the mug. She only huffed in response, wondering if he could smell the disappointment or just guessed.
"No," she mumbled after a while. "My dad. He's gotten Erica's laptop from her house and's getting their computer guys to unlock it."
With a sigh, she put the phone back on the desk, got her coffee, and tried to focus on the revision Walker wanted for her paper. As her dad had gently reminded her, she was not on the county's payroll and he wouldn't let her spend every waking hour investigating the disappearance. Focus. Sure, she could focus, on literally everything else but the paper.
There was no denying she was waiting for a text from Derek. After the date, she'd gone to see him twice and he hadn't made any obvious effort to see her. He had texted her his address, which she had interpreted as an invitation, but it was not exactly that either. Of course, she practically itched to text him. Not even about the important stuff, but also about mundane things. Tell him about the paper at least, the research project, stuff like that. It had been two days since she last saw him and even if she could not realistically expect him to apologize, at least contacting her would be nice.
Okay, so, yes, she was the one who actually left last time. Not sure what kind of pheromones he'd been emitting, but it distracted too much from the otherwise serious topic and she did not like it. Okay, so, yes, she liked it in a purely physical and pleasurably sense, but she was not happy about her body doing its own thing detached from her rational mind. Not that she felt rational now, pining over her phone in hopes of him reaching out to her.
What had Aunt Mel said? Communicate. Be explicit. Use your words. Sounded easy in theory, but whenever she tried talking to him about stuff like that, she either stuttered like a shy schoolgirl or went on a long incoherent rambling. He was actually pretty good at expressing himself whenever she gave him the opportunity. Which was the problem, wasn't it?
From what he said at the Hale house, she could read between the lines that he found her interesting, cared about her, and enjoyed her company. Just the thought made her skin tingle. Then again, he'd phrased it as questions and not exactly answered them. He was good at telling a version of the truth without lying. Guess she needed him to be explicit. He had said he liked her and found her attractive, that had not been up for interpretation so-
"Can you please go take a cold shower or go pine in your own room?" Jimmy snapped as he tore off his headset. They were easily six feet apart, each in their own corner of the long desk under the large window. "You smell desperate."
"I do not!"
"Maybe not," he admitted with raised brows, "but you look desperate."
"Focus on your writing, Claudius," Joe bit back as the open screen behind him only held a half paragraph of words he'd spent the last hour on. "Not so funny trying to expose the truth when you're a part of it, right?"
"I can't focus," Jimmy said calmly, not rising to the bait, "because your fidgeting is distracting. Can you please just send him a text message and explain what you want?"
"No."
He sighed and tilted his head while studying her. "Why not?" Before she could respond, he raised a lazy eyebrow again. "Please tell me it's for an actual reason and not some absurd women's magazine 'rule' about who should text first and when and whatnot?"
Joe slowly spun on the computer chair so she faced her screen more and Jimmy less. His sigh was laced with sarcasm. Steaming, Joe mumbled: "He's been weird since the date."
"Have you considered that he's nervous?" Jimmy asked, sounding as interested in the conversation as he was in discussing sports results. "Or that because he asked you out, he believes the ball is in your court?" He sniffed. "Personally I never understood all those unspoken 'rules' about dating. I texted Kelly first thing after the dinner and she responded well to that."
"Yeah, well, I didn't get a text first thing, so it's different." She spun around again. "Okay, my phone was lying in a bag of rice." One more twirl. "And he did send me his address, so I guess that counts as something." The chair squeaked when she pushed around once more. "And he's probably been busy looking for Erica and Boyd too."
"You'll get sick if you keep that up."
She stopped the chair, already feeling her stomach protest. "No, I won't." Glaring at Jimmy, because he was giving her a knowing look, she tried to distract. "I don't know what to say to him." An idea struck her. "What did you say to Kelly?"
"I thanked her for a good time at the dinner and said I hoped we could stay in touch because talking with her had been the highlight of the last few months. You can wipe that smile off your face, Delgado, I was only being honest. A tactic you might want to adopt."
"That is seriously so sweet," Joe said with heartfelt sincerity — because it was! — and Jimmy rolled his eyes. His phone was buzzing constantly with all the texting he and Kelly did back and forth, so it had obviously worked in his favor. "But it doesn't help me because I've seen him twice since then, it'd be weird thanking him now." She threw her head back with a sigh. "Also, you're texting with Kelly who is actually a sociable human being. Not a stubborn Alpha werewolf."
"Maybe you should focus less on the Alpha werewolf part," Jimmy suggested, "and more on the stubborn? If both of you are sitting on the fence waiting for the other to text first, I'm sure we will see another ice age before either of you cave."
Just as she opened her mouth to snap back, her phone vibrated again and she nearly toppled off her chair to get to it. Ignoring Jimmy's eye-rolling, she bit her lip to try and hide her disappointment.
"Not Derek then?"
"Shut up."
It wasn't Derek. Just another text from her dad asking if she wanted to get coffee from the shop and meet him at the station. Groaning, she slumped out of the living room to put on jeans instead of sweatpants. She had no idea if or how she was going to get her dad to drop the case. Part of her hoped he would find something that could lead to Erica and Boyd, the other part hoped he would continue barking up the wrong tree so he didn't get caught in any werewolf-crossfire.
After the little cry-session at the diner, they'd worked together the last few days following up on any potential leads. It had been the most time spent together in probably a decade and still no shouting. And no real leads either for that matter. At least he was not trying to dissuade her from being part of the investigation, quite the opposite in fact. Hard to tell if this was to ease his own guilt or if it was connected to whatever had happened down in Mexico. He had somehow changed the subject every time she tried to ask or sprouted something about confidentiality.
In a final act of desperation, she'd even called Uncle Raf to pry and had to listen to him make jokes for fifteen minutes.
"You sure you got the right number here, miss? Joe? No, I don't know anyone named Joe. Delgado? Joe Delgado? Oh, you mean Josie? Five-seven, dark hair, smart mouth, and a mean shoulder tackle? Yeah, yeah, no, I think I'm remembering now. Vaguely. I mean, it's only been what, a few years since last time you called?"
When he finally shut up for more than two seconds and she got to ask him about her dad, Raf just confirmed that yeah, he'd talked to Rob. Yeah, he'd heard what happened. No, he wasn't gonna tell her. No, she could ask her dad. Well, then her dad would tell her when he was ready. Not the one for sentimentalities, it surprised her when he tacked on a vague statement of missing her — and Scott — before he hung up.
"Put on a jacket, there's a chill in the air."
Joe froze near the door and pivoted slowly towards Jimmy. "Excuse me?"
"There's a chill in the air," Jimmy repeated, seemingly unbothered. "You're only wearing a t-shirt. Put on a jacket or you'll get cold."
"Okay?" she said slowly and grabbed her denim jacket. "You wanna come with me, by the way?"
Jimmy didn't even turn around from his computer, but then again, she'd asked him the same thing every day. "To meet your father, the FBI-agent? I would not."
"I don't get why you're so hung up on police. Do you have a secret identity or something? Because I know you've never even been arrested as James Carter."
"But you have been arrested, Delgado, so do I really need to explain the shortcomings of the US justice system to you?"
"Not all cops are bad..."
"You mean your dad and the Sheriff aren't inherently bad," Jimmy said, looking over his shoulder at her. "But a few bad apples spoil the barrel. I'll send you a link to a good article."
"Okay," Joe said again in the voice of someone not going to argue anymore and so without a word, she gave him a salute, and left.
By the time she reached the coffee shop, she realized he had been right — it was an unusually cold day this late in spring. So he was not only an easy roommate but also a considerate one. She should dedicate time later to help him with his blog, she owed him that at least.
With one oatmilk cappuccino and one double americano with extra sugar in one of those cardboard drink holders, she walked the few blocks to the sheriff's station. Some construction workers were outside and one of them whistled while she passed them, but she figured it was just on the general basis of her gender. It could not be her enticing combo of black jeans, high necked gray t-shirt, and denim jacket paired with yesterday's hair bun.
"There she is," Rob Delgado said loudly as she entered and handed him the americano. He had been leaning on the front desk, obviously waiting for her. There were not that many new post-its on the map in the spare office, but a glaringly pink laptop stood at one end of the table with the cursor moving across the screen. Her dad must have noticed it caught her attention as he commented: "Remote connection to our computer lab."
"Don't you need a warrant for that?" Joe asked, uneasy at the prospect of invading Erica's private life.
"Not when she's a minor and the parents gave their consent." Her dad made a noise of approval after sipping his coffee. "Relax, mija, we're not reading her diary here. There's filters in place screening for specific content that might be relevant." Erica's search history opened up on the screen and Joe made a mental note to delete her own when she got back. "Which reminds me..."
Fascinated by the computer working seemingly by itself, she'd missed that her dad pulled out a chair for her. He gestured for her to sit and she did, watching him flip through his notebook.
"Stretched my legs today," he informed her casually and she tried not to react. The last few days where he'd humored her by focusing on hard evidence alone hadn't led anywhere. "Talked to people at the school. Seems like both Erica and Vernon-"
"He usually just went by Boyd."
Her dad raised an eyebrow at her, but corrected himself. "Erica and Boyd were somewhat lone wolves- you okay, mija?"
Joe had choked on her coffee. She waved her hand while she tried to dislodge the liquid. "Fine."
Another raised eyebrow, but still no comment. "Loners at the school. Talked to Scott and Noah's kid and this other one, what's his name," he flipped through his notes, "Isaac, that's it, but no one could remember seeing them the day of disappearance and they did not know of any plans of runnin' away, anyone who would want to hurt them or if they had friends out of town they might be staying with."
He furrowed his brows. "At least I think that's what Noah's kid was trying to say, he was talking a lot. Gotta be honest, he didn't seem to like me all that much and was somehow asking me more questions than I was askin' him."
That sounded like Stiles at least.
"Stiles is, uh, kinda loyal, Dad. He might just have an issue with you because of me. Don't take it personally."
"Right. You know these kids, Joe?"
"Uh, only through Scott. Why?"
More flipping through his notes. "I've been wanting to speak to this other kid, Jackson Whittemore. His dad's pulled him out of school for a few weeks now, some health issues or whatever, and won't let me near him without a warrant. Didn't help that I'm Scott's uncle." He put the notebook down and peered at Joe. "What's this 'bout a restraining order and kidnapping?"
With a shrug, Joe just said: "High school prank gone wrong." She sighed and wondered how to redirect her dad from his current line of investigation — if he talked to Jackson, the kid might be petty enough to give up Derek's name and that'd make it awkward for everyone involved. "Uhm, Dad, as much as I appreciate you looking into this, aren't you breaking some confidentiality clause just by telling me all this stuff?"
"If anyone asks, you've signed an NDA," her dad said absentmindedly. "Erica's trail is cold, but this Boyd-kid didn't even have a trail before he went missing. No personal computer, few if any belongings, no living relatives — he had a part-time job at an ice rink, was in the ROTC-programme, cross-country team, yet no real friends that anyone could remember, except for Erica." He looked up from his notes again. "You called him a sweetheart. Know him well?"
"No," Joe admitted. Had she ever talked with the guy except for the ice rink? No, she hadn't. He was just there, in the background, but not lurking either, just observing. "He's quiet. What's ROTC?"
"Reserve officers' training corps. It's an, uh, easy way to get a scholarship, in return for an active-duty service obligation after graduation." The awkwardness in her dad's voice came from talking about money again. He'd paid for her tuition until two years ago when she cut him out of her life and he cut her off financially. He cleared his throat before asking: "How you doin' money-wise, kid?"
"Fine," Joe said, focusing on her half-finished coffee. Compared to many others, she had it easy without too much student loan to worry about. Her academic record left her eligible for a lot of scholarships and she had gotten pretty good at applying for them. "Thought we agreed the other night you weren't trying to buy me back."
"All right," her dad said, holding up his hands in surrender. "But can I at least buy you dinner? Not more junk food, but maybe that restaurant we went to last time I was in town?" She wondered if he was just pretending to act casual for her sake. "Could ask Derek to join."
"Dad!" she groaned and slumped in the chair.
"What? It's so bad I want to meet my daughter's new..." He trailed off with a gesture, obviously looking at her for the correct word. Since she only glared at him, he settled for: "Special someone?"
Her eyes closed on their own, almost feeling a headache coming on. "Oh God. You already met him!"
"That was an official interview!" her dad protested as she shot up from the chair to pace around. He grinned. "This'll be more like an interrogation- I'm jokin, kid, relax!" He ignored her exaggerated eye-roll and shrugged. "He seems like a good guy. Compared to some of the other lowlives you've dated, he's a solid catch. Not talkin' about Alex, kid, you know that. I meant those guys you used to hang around with back in the city."
She'd been about to blow up on him for calling Alex a low-life. If anything, Joe had been the low-life in that relationship. The more she analyzed that night where everything unraveled, the more she realized both Alex and her dad had Joe's best interest in mind but had really bad ways of showing it and Joe had even worse ways of reacting to it.
"No," she said automatically and folded her arms. "No dinner."
"Because you feel you can't take a night off or because of Derek?"
"Both."
With a resigned smile, her dad shrugged again. "All right. Can't blame a guy for askin'. Hang on, I gotta take this." His phone had started ringing and he answered as he left her alone in the office.
Still angry without really knowing why Joe plopped back onto the chair. Why did she feel bad? Probably related to her dad's behavior when they went to that diner the other night. He'd been looking at something and had this melancholic expression. And told her he loved her, which had been a few years since last time.
Joe knew she did not owe him anything, this was an official case even though he seemed to be working it somewhat unofficially. Maybe it was just the thought of going out again while Erica and Boyd were still missing? Or was it just the thought of going out with her dad and Derek?
There was only one bright side she could think of — it was a convenient excuse to text Derek. Not that she needed an excuse. But it was one.
The office door opened and shut as her dad came back. "Lab got nothing from her laptop except that she was apparently Team Jacob." At her confused look, he winked. "Googled werewolves more than vampires." He mistook her expression for something else as he added: "Twilight? Big hit novel that came out a few years back, turned into a movie with that pale guy from- okay, nevermind."
Not having a single clue what he was talking about beyond the mentioning of werewolves, she let out a quiet breath of relief when there seemed to be a plausible explanation. He went to the pink laptop and shut it with a click before he unplugged it, apparently intent on returning it to her parents.
"I can check with Derek if he has time," she found herself saying without thinking and tried to not read too much into the surprised and happy smile flickering over her dad's face. "What did you have in mind?"
Tonight, eight o'clock at that same restaurant they'd gone to last time. With a promise to let her dad know right away of Derek's answer, she left the station to get another coffee at the coffee shop. Not that she had a particular need for more coffee, but she did not want to go back to the apartment just for Jimmy to comment on how nervous she smelled just from sending a simple text to Derek.
Without a laptop, she sat down in one of the plush armchairs by the window instead of a table and tried to think of a non-desperate, cute way to ask him to dinner with her and her dad.
It didn't take long before she started regretting the whole thing. She should have just asked him out for coffee. She'd almost done that several weeks ago when he showed up at her house the same night Scott got arrested. Knowing what she knew now, was she relieved or disappointed that never happened? Would things have played out differently?
No point dwelling on it, she supposed and tried to write the quite simple straightforward question to Derek. They could have one night off, for her dad's sake. Yeah, that's it. For her dad.
'Do you want to have dinner with me and Dad tonight?' No, that sounded lame. 'You got plans tonight? How about dinner, with me and Dad?' Better, but still not good enough. 'Have you been to The Westwood Grill? Dad and I are going tonight, want to join?'
Sighing, she slumped back in the chair. She needed something that made it sound like it was not her idea and she was simply forced to ask him. Okay, she would just have to jump into this or the opportunity would pass.
Joe Delgado: Dad wants to take us out to dinner.
To her surprise, the reply came almost instantly.
Lobito: When?
Joe Delgado: Tonight at 8. Westwood Grill.
Lobito: Dress shirt?
Oh God, yes please, she thought and tried to drown the butterflies with her now lukewarm coffee. Of course, that meant she had to wear a dress. A different one from the reunion dinner as he hadn't seem to approve of that — she was running out of clothes fast, but it was worth it to see Derek in a dress shirt again.
Joe Delgado: Sure.
Lobito: What kind?
Lobito: Do you have time to come by?
Okay, so, apparently he was a double-texter. Interesting. It kind of made up for the lack of emojis or any other kind of emotions in his texts. Not that she showed any more in her texts to him, she found herself unconsciously mimicking how he wrote to not seem juvenile.
And that last text was a definite invitation, right? He wanted her to come over. What for? To pick out a shirt? Was there more than one kind of dress shirt? She had to put the phone down for a few seconds when her imagination tried to convince her he would try on the different shirts for her, which meant that he would be shirtless in between. Not what she could be thinking about right now. It was not that far to his apartment building, who knew how far his sense of smell reached.
Joe Delgado: Now?
Lobito: If you have time.
Joe definitely had time, but first she took some time in the coffee shop restroom to salvage her hair. One advantage with curls, they sprang back by just applying some water. A bit frizzy, but better than the bun and why was she so worried about how she looked now all of a sudden? He had seen her in literally every state of distress imaginable. Get over yourself, Delgado. Even while mentally berating herself, she did a full twirl in front of the mirror in case she had accidentally sat in gum or something and then gave herself the finger in the mirror before getting out of there.
All her worries about Derek smelling her bodily reactions disappeared when she stepped out of the elevator at the loft. He was not alone in there and she felt her lip curl up at the sight.
On the couch sat Jackson Whittemore, who had both his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised in obvious contempt of the man sitting in front of him. Joe thought she would have had that same expression if she was forced to be that close to Peter Hale, of all people, who was leaning forwards on a chair in front of Jackson, staring at him.
Behind them by the long table stood Derek with his arms crossed while Isaac slouched on one of the chairs. If he slouched any further, he would end up on the floor and Joe found it hard to tell if it was Jackson or Peter who left him most unimpressed.
Derek gave her a nod when she entered, but she felt her eyes drawn to Jackson, whose jaw had squared at the sight of her.
"Focus, please," Peter berated and the teenager in front of him sighed loudly, feigning interest. Joe could not blame him, her skin crawled just by the sound of Peter's voice.
"Hey, Joe," Isaac greeted her without taking his eyes off Jackson and Peter. He looked at unimpressed as she felt.
With her arms crossed, unsure of what to make out of the situation, she took a few tentative steps into the loft. "Hey, Isaac."
Peter sent her a quick and almost-not-sarcastic smile over his shoulder. Her eyes narrowed, but she had not brought any weapons along.
"Keep going," Derek told Jackson, who rolled his eyes, and Peter, who seemed to bite in a reply.
With a last glance at the pair, Derek came over to her and led her to a heavy steel door on the far side of the loft. She had thought it opened to a utility room, but it was instead another spacious part of the loft separated by a thick wall. Instead of utilities, there was a large bed by the wall with a familiar-looking bedspread and another window overlooking the city. His bedroom.
"What's going on?" she asked him when her brain recovered from the sudden introduction of his scent. "Why's Uncle Creeper staring at the former homicidal snake monster?"
A large pipe running at eye height served as Derek's closet apparently and Derek was in the midst of taking down some of the hangers, most of them still covered in the plastic wrap from a dry cleaner. "Peter's helping me teach Jackson control."
"Uh-huh?" There was no hiding the skepticism in her voice. With nowhere to sit beside his bed, and she did not trust herself there, she went to peer out of the window. "Maybe I'll ask Jimmy to donate some of his meditation tapes. That sounds more viable than your current solution."
"I know you're not Peter's biggest fan," Derek said and laid out several shirts on his bed, "but he's the one who taught me control."
The satire disappeared from her voice. "Really?"
"Yeah, when I was in high school. Our family's got this kind of symbol we use for focus, but it never worked for me. He was the one who taught me how to find a different anchor."
Interest piqued, she studied Derek as he went through the motions of sorting his shirts in what at least appeared to be a random order. There was something endearingly mundane watching him do it and it sent tingles through her stomach again. And again she hated being in a confined space with no less than four werewolves where at least two would pick up on any chemosignals from her.
"What'd you mean by anchor?" she asked, not even realizing it was a question, anything to distract from the fact that she was in Derek's bedroom with an actual bed that looked a lot comfier than what he had used in the subway cart. "You've mentioned it before, when-"
Her brain caught up to exactly when he had mentioned it before. The same subway cart she had just thought about where she had practically dissolved in sexual fantasies and he claimed he had an anchor to not be as affected.
"It's something to concentrate on," he said without looking at her. Speaking slowly, the most tell-tale clue she could get of him choosing his words. It was not because he was being dishonest, she had realized, maybe more to make sure she understood him correctly on the first go. "Something to focus on to stay in control, to keep us 'anchored' to our human side."
She leaned against the windowsill. "I thought you said the wolf wasn't a separate entity?"
"I said I didn't have an inner wolf," he corrected and gave her a brief smile. "As a werewolf, I have both a human and a wolf side. They're both me." Something must have given away how her butterflies soared in her stomach as he glanced at her. "Now you're doing it."
The blush was instant. "What?"
"Pheromones," he said simply, obviously not intending to embarrass her. Not that it worked, because just the sight of him — drop-dead gorgeous as he was — made her duck her head down.
"Yeah, well, you already know I like you," she mumbled, already analyzing her own emotions. Was it just him talking or was it him actually answering her questions? She cleared her throat to distract herself. "Is it a physical anchor?"
With just another glance at her, as if he was tempted to push the previous statement, he shrugged. "Can be. Can be an object, a feeling, a person... Scott's anchor is Allison. Isaac's his dad." Something dark crossed over his face, but only briefly. "My sister used the triskele."
"And yours?" she prompted when he remained quiet.
His bright eyes were open and honest. "Anger."
"Guess I don't have to wonder why you're always in control then," she said without thinking, a smile pulling at her lip. Derek was almost always angry. Something fell into place and the smile dropped. "Wait. When you say anger, do you mean that you literally get angry to stay in control?"
Her mind went back to at least two previous occasions where she had not for the life of her been able to find out why he had suddenly been so pissed off — two car rides, to be precise. Of course, that led to a whole new set of implications and she cleared her throat to clear her mind, remembering they weren't alone in the loft.
"You're like the reversed Hulk."
"Funny. Shirt?" He held up the same light gray he'd used at the reunion dinner.
Joe could recognize a diversion technique when she saw one, but considering how much he had let her get away with she dropped the matter for now. She stepped away from the window and surveyed the collection of dress shirts on his bed.
"It's like five different shades of gray," she commented, seeing how his color palette ranged from light gray to dark gray. They all looked expensive, but she was not well versed enough in tailoring to tell exactly what made them look expensive. Finely made, she supposed, and definitely not polyester as proven when she ran her fingers over one of them.
Derek held up one of them. "This one's blue."
"At best, it's blueish gray," she corrected, picked it out of his hands without thinking, and held it against him. It was a shade lighter than the bedspread in fact. "I guess it's fine? Or just wear the one you wore last time, that was," her brain searched for a word that wasn't too thirsty, "appropriate." Something about his expression bothered her and she was suddenly afraid she'd insulted him. "What?"
He took the shirt hanger back from her and shook his head. "Erica helped me pick last time."
"You asked Erica for help?" She couldn't help the smile now — something about that image made her warm inside, although it died out when reality caught up with her. Erica was missing. Suddenly she remembered how she had stormed out of the loft just a few days ago as well.
"I didn't ask. She just insisted on helping," Derek said in a low voice and then gave her a concerned glance. "Isaac told me your dad was at the school today."
The guilt crept back into Joe and she went back to the window. "Yeah, I know. Standard protocol."
"So there's no leads?"
"Two-way street, Derek," she reminded him. "I'll share if you will. But Isaac's got nothing to worry about."
"And this dinner..."
"Was my dad's idea." It took Joe a few seconds to catch up when Derek didn't say anything. "You think he's trying to trap you?" At his non-existent expression, she just laughed. "Believe me, I got more to worry about regarding this dinner than you. He just wants to meet you because-" She waved her hand out in a vague gesture.
"Because of you," Derek said, not even asking. "Are you okay with that?"
"If you are."
"So you haven't told him?"
"Told you that was your decision," she mumbled, avoiding looking at him. "So no."
"Thank you." A few seconds of hesitation, before Derek sighed. "Thought that maybe with the way things went last time-"
"That I would be petty enough to go behind your back?" she asked, raising an eyebrow to turn around and look at him. "That's not my style." Running her eyes over him, she told him: "You need a shave."
For some reason, that made his eyes crinkle in a small smile. "Yes, ma'am."
"Shut up."
Another exasperated sigh, but sounding laced with some amusement. "Joe, I'm not trying to go behind your back here. I'm just trying to get all the facts confirmed before I tell you, I don't want to worry you unnecessarily."
"The only thing you're accomplishing is that I'm making up stuff to worry about instead. Do I have to remind you that every time one of us pushes the other away, it ends up with the other getting kidnapped?"
"I'm not pushing you away."
It was tempting to call him on that. His words made her remember just how cold Derek had been the last time she was here. Before she had to leave at least, then he'd been anything but cold. Then again she had been pretty frustrated, but keeping at least ten feet distance between them had only made her more frustrated. And now the thought of it made her frustrated all over again.
"But you do have a tendency for rushing ahead on the smallest of leads," Derek continued and her eyebrows rose up to meet her hairline. His hands came up, probably meant to be disarming, but achieving the opposite. "And last time, I wasn't sure how to handle it. I don't want to lie to you."
"Rushing where? You have any leads?" She scoffed at his raised eyebrow, conveying that she had just proven his point. "How is withholding things different from lying?"
"It's keeping the truth a secret versus corrupting it." Crossing his arms over his chest, he gave her a specific look and she realized her face was scrunched up in a frown. "What?"
"You write poetry in your spare time or somethin'?"
"Are you asking because you want me to write you a poem?"
Not going to fall for his attempt at making her blush, she bit back: "I'm asking because you obviously think I'm okay with dealbreakers if you just dress them up in pretty words."
"You don't seem particularly okay with it," Derek commented drily and she hated how her body kept betraying her. He glanced at the door and she remembered how he had probably hundreds of things more important to do than choosing shirts for a dinner. With a sigh, he focused back on her: "Is it because of your dad or me you're getting upset now?"
"I'm not upset," she protested. "But it's both of you. This was a dumb idea. I'm canceling." For some reason, that made him smile even though he did try and hide it by turning away. Her voice could cut through steel when she asked: "What?"
He shook his head. "When there's a good possibility you could actually die, your instinct is to dive in headfirst. When there's a slight chance it can get awkward, your first instinct is to run away." As her face twisted to protest, he listed: "The reunion. This dinner. How close were you to cancel on me last week?"
Too close, she realized, but refused to back down. "That was because you sent the vaguest text in history. Not even a question mark. What if I had plans?"
"Did you?"
"Not the point, Derek!" She straightened up from where she had leaned against the window. "It's common courtesy. You could have told me what we were doing as well — I never would have worn heels if I'd known we were gonna be walking all night."
"You could have asked," he pointed out with an infuriating calm smile, eyebrows slightly raised in a challenge. "You could have just called me. We know each other well enough by now, Joe."
"No, we don't." She shrugged excessively, not releasing her arms from where they laid crossed across her ribs. "Not...like this!"
"It's not any different."
"Yes, it is!" Joe waved her arms around now, unable to find appropriate words. "Maybe not for you, but for me it is. I know more about how you're going to react if a homicidal monster drops down from the ceiling than I know what you like to talk about. This isn't life-or-death scenarios or running around trying to save each other, this is," she made a face, "frickin' courtship or whatever. I don't know, okay? It's different! It's like we're friends and then we're also kind of not and-"
His eyebrows were still raised, but the smile had gone. "You want me to court you? Again, didn't take you for a romantic."
"Screw romantic, maybe I just want you to make an effort too?" she shot back immediately and gestured at him. "And not act so damn entitled just-"
A heavy knock on the door and she snapped her mouth shut. Frowning, Derek opened the door to reveal Peter's smirking mug, one that Joe could feel her fists clenching just by seeing.
"As entertaining as this is," Peter said with glee where he stood wearing a too-tight v-neck sweater, mostly addressing Derek, "I'll have you know that these walls are not, in fact, thick enough to be soundproof."
As Derek closed his eyes in defeat, apparently equally unaware of that fact as Joe, she just tried to breathe evenly.
"And for the record," Peter added and nodded at her, "I agree with Joe. You need to make more of an effort here, Derek." His arms came up in lazy gestures, each spiking through her spine with humiliation. "Court her. Woo her. Go the extra mile. Flowers, chocolate and jewelry, the whole shebang."
"Oh God," she muttered, cheeks flushed with heat now. It did not help that Derek scowled at Peter for interrupting, she was too pissed off herself to take any pleasure in it. Of course, they had overheard. Exactly what she needed. Raising her hands in surrender to the situation, she said: "I'm not doing this."
"That glare doesn't work on me," Peter happily informed Derek when Joe stalked past both of them. At least she was spared having to physically push Peter aside as he made room for her to exit without any comment.
"Wow," Jackson supplied from the couch with a shit-eating grin on his face, "that was pathetic." It would have been easier if he had been laughing, but he looked completely serious with that same raised eyebrow from before. "That was pathetic to even listen to. Here's an idea, why don't you call your ex-girlfriend to make your argument for you like last time?"
His words made her freeze on her way to the loft exit. There were a lot of immediate questions related to his statement, but all she could think of saying was: "I am not discussing any of this with any of you."
She did a full spin, indicating Peter first. "You're a literal psychopath who went on a killing spree all over Beacon Hills," her Bronx-hand gestured to Jackson, "you used to be the host of a mass-murdering snake spirit," and then to Isaac, who looked panicked, "and you," she faltered, "you've done absolutely nothing wrong, so you're okay I guess."
Isaac relaxed back on his chair.
"I did not go on a killing spree," Peter corrected with infuriating calm, gesturing lazily. "It was a targeted revenge mission with little, if any, collateral damage."
"You are not denying the psychopath-part," she pointed out and threw her hands up. "Not that it matters. I'm not having this conversation." Talking to herself, she headed for the elevator again: "Not happening."
"I said I was on your side!" Peter called after her, but she just stomped inside the elevator, where she pushed the close door-button several times.
Without super hearing, she was spared to hear the exact conversation from the loft, but something managed to seep through:
"Why are you still standing there?" the smarming voice of Jackson drifted from the loft just as the elevator doors closed. His voice rose in exasperation as if whoever he was talking to was the stupidest guy alive. "Oh my God, look, I know women, okay? She's just like Lydia. Are you seriously this- Go after her, you idiot!"
With the doors closed and the elevator heading down, she could at least breathe without inhaling Derek's pheromone-induced scent. How did Jackson even know that Alex was her ex-girlfriend? Oh shit, what if he'd talked to Scott about it? Urrgh. What if Scott knew about her and Derek's issues, whatever they were? When was she going to learn to keep her big mouth shut around super hearing shapeshifting assholes?
Oh God, and Peter offering advice? Ugh. Her skin crawled with goosebumps just at the thought. Flowers and chocolate, just like all women were the same — simple machines you put goodwill into and got affection in return. Not that there was anything wrong with flowers or chocolate — or being like other women, no internalized misogyny in this house — but it was the principle of things. Derek claimed they knew each other, he claimed he knew her, so he could very well prove it if that was the case.
Hot and cold, hot and cold — he was infuriating! Not helped by how she seemed to shift between being angry with him and utterly infatuated with him every two seconds. God, maybe she should just ask him to wait with this whole business until they had found Erica and Boyd?
Was that what she wanted? No, definitely not, but it would save them both a lot of frustration. And guilt, because even though she spent most of her time looking for Erica and Boyd and she knew her dad spent almost all his time doing the same, she still felt the gnawing in her stomach whenever she was trying to do literally anything else. Including this dinner. She was definitely canceling the second she got outside and could breathe again.
The doors opened and she stepped out, still deep in thought and-
She let out a sharp gasp as something grabbed onto her arm and spun her around. It happened too fast to even think about fighting back and she found herself firmly pressed against the wall next to the elevator, staring up at her assailant in shock.
"What the hell, Derek?" she whispered, realizing he must have run down here as he was breathing heavily, supporting himself on the wall next to her head. "It's like thirty flights of stairs!"
No answer.
His bright eyes roamed her face and she found herself raising her eyebrows in return. The masculine scent she had stopped trying to interpret as anything other than delicious filled her nostrils and the way his sweater stretched over his firm stomach when his arm was up like that did not help either. No use in denying it, Derek Hale was incredibly hot and she was getting warmer by the second.
Not sure how long the elevator had used, she estimated he could barely have made it in time if he jumped down the side of the building. To distract from her rising blush, she questioned: "Jesus Christ, how fast are you?"
"Very," he said, still out of breath. His eyes flickered down to her lips and back to her eyes. The muscles in his throat worked as he swallowed. "It's not bullshit."
"What?"
"What I told you. Equals. It's not bullshit."
She realized he was leaning closer by the second and she wondered if he was even aware of it. He swallowed again, eyebrows coming up, like he struggled to focus.
"And I'm sorry," every exhale fanned over her face, "for not telling you," he still leaned down, so slow it could be considered torture and his words came even slower, "everything."
Before she could even begin to interpret or respond to that, he seemed to have made up his mind. His gaze shifted between her mouth and eyes constantly.
All the time in the world to pull away, but her heart put a definite veto over her constantly second-guessing brain. With an inch of space left between them, she closed the gap, catching him slightly off guard and she loved it.
The second her lips met his she found herself equally breathless. Soft at first, building gradually — he parted her lips with his own, deepening the kiss while his arm on the wall bent to push himself closer.
A tremor in her chest, she was barely aware of her own hands remembering they could function, could touch him and she pulled on his slim hips to make him come even closer. His free arm curved around her waist, gently persuading her to arch her back, molding her body to fit into his, never breaking the kiss even once.
There was a direct link to her nerves from everywhere they touched. She visibly shuddered when his teeth gently nipped at her bottom lip, tip of his tongue swiping over the same spot just after. Her fingers curled into the soft material of his sweater, causing it to ride up slightly as she felt the added heat seep from his bare skin through her own clothes. Both of them were on fire and the scent, the taste, everything set off fireworks in her mind every time he moved against her. She could stay like this forever, glued to him, tasting him, feeling his hand dig into her hip.
Head spinning, she tried to breathe when he relented a mere inch, resting his forehead against hers. She swallowed heavily and, out of habit, bit her own lip trying to suppress the urge to just jump up and straddle her legs around his waist. A shiver passed through her when Derek let out a small growling sigh.
"Careful," he whispered, his voice darker than she'd ever heard it.
Her eyes widened, even though his were still closed. "You can feel that?"
Breathing heavy, he just nodded. They remained flush against each other; knees interlocked, hips pushing together and his head still lingering on hers. It took several seconds, neither of them catching their breaths fully before he opened his eyes. "You okay?"
"Uh-huh," she nearly whimpered, not sure how to adequately express how way beyond okay she was. The heat from his body added to the hot rush of blood in hers, she could feel small droplets of sweat gather in her hairline. Neither of them said anything and she wondered if his mind was as blank as hers. Had he even meant to do that or had it just happened?
Derek's chest expanded as he inhaled through his nose. His face rested so close to hers that his exhale went straight into her own lungs. "I'm sorry."
"For what?" she asked, fully thinking that the only thing she could be angry at him for was if he never kissed her again or never touched her again.
"Not sure," Derek admitted with his eyebrows up high and stared into her eyes. He inhaled again, his eyes sliding shut. "My anchor is anger, Joe, and around you..."
She laughed in disbelief, not failing to notice how the movement pushed her chest into his. "You're not angry?"
"I'm frustrated," his eyes remained closed, but the hand on her waist tightened slightly, "and irritated and exasperated, but I'm not angry." Now his eyes opened and she forced herself to look back, meeting the intense stare. "I'm trying to be angry and you're making it-"
Another heatwave flushed through her body. He'd cut himself off, the word hitting too close to something else at the moment. Half of her wanted to whisper it; jump up and lace her thighs around his hips, like at the rave, pressing herself against him while she said it, but just knowing the word made it difficult to breathe. Hard — to breathe.
"-complicated," he growled instead and she saw the muscles on his arm tighten as he apparently made an effort to show more restraint.
Somehow he knew, she realized; he knew that she knew that was not the word he had intended to use. As his eyes opened to a glowing red, she also realized how little it would take to push him over the edge. It was tempting, but...she had a feeling it was not what he wanted. Not how he wanted it.
And she realized it was not how she wanted it either.
"Your eyes," she said without recognizing her voice.
He nodded, taking deep breaths in and out, eyes closing again. "I know."
What had he said back at the house? Not usually overpowered by his instincts? It could happen, she knew that much. One time with a clawed up doorframe, the other with a spontaneous slumber party in the forest. The first had been the full moon, the second she hit him with the wolfsbane-stuff. What was it now? Just her?
"What happened," she had to stop to breathe, "last time I was here? What..."
His body vibrated with a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "Same thing that happened now."
"I have no idea what that means."
"I have no idea how to explain it to you." Another long inhale, chest expanding against hers. "You're not anxious around me anymore." Before she could protest, he shook his head. "Nervous maybe, but not anxious. Not like before and... now it's like I'm losing my anchor around you."
Losing anchor meant losing control apparently. She suppressed all fantasies on how hot it could be, of him letting loose and just taking her here and now. Maybe later, but it would not be fair for him.
Joe cleared her throat as to not get stuck on the 'maybe later'-part of her thoughts. "So, uh, dinner at eight?"
"Dinner at eight," he repeated and nodded his head, forehead still resting against hers. "I'll pick you up seven forty-five."
"Dude," it was hard not to smile at the slightly annoyed tightening of his mouth at the term of address, "it's walking distance."
"Then I'll walk you there." He sighed deeply and the hand on her waist released as he straightened up. Eyes dark, but not glowing when he opened them.
As he withdrew his hand on the wall, dust and bits of dried cement rained down and she turned instinctually. He'd dug his claws into the brick wall.
"Sure," she said and tried not to sound weirded out — but he'd dug his claws into the brick wall. "Uh, you okay there, buddy?"
"I came down here to apologize," he said and pinched the bridge of his nose. Joe realized she still had her hands on his torso and let him go so he could take a step back. Derek fighting so hard to restrain himself was seriously hot to watch, but she was not trying to complicate things for him on purpose. "I didn't mean to-"
"You don't need to apologize for that," she said breathlessly, meaning the kiss, and let out a nervous laugh. She remained leaning against the wall, not too sure she was able to stand on her own. "Or anything else right now." Not that she remembered the slightest what they had been talking about. "Uh, about the dinner, can I ask you a favor?"
Obviously not completely up to par yet, Derek just nodded.
"Can you leave your super nice regular guy-persona back here?" She shrugged when he looked up from his hand with a puzzled expression. "It's bad enough that my dad might put his on, I'm not sure I'm gonna survive the dinner if you both do it." With a sigh, she added: "Besides, I like you better, you know, as... you."
His eyes flickered to the side in uncertainty, before he nodded slowly. "Sure."
"Great," Joe said and tried to actually have control of her limbs as she pushed off the wall. It felt like someone had replaced all her muscles with jello. "Then I'll see you later?"
"Seven forty-five," Derek repeated, his eyes back to open and bright again. "I'll wear the blue shirt."
"It's barely blue."
"It's blue."
Feeling like an idiot for smiling so wide, she walked backwards to the front doors of the building. "Bye, Derek."
"Bye, Joe," he said and she felt his eyes trail over her body when she turned towards the doors.
The mood changes from hot to dangerously hot to teasing happened almost instantaneously. She forgot herself and bit her lip to avoid grinning and nearly tripped when she heard him clear his throat.
Busted, she thought and pushed through the doors with a wave over her shoulder. "Sorry! Bye!"
A little bit of this, a little bit of that. Sorry, did I say communication before? I probably meant kissing. I mean, there's some communication, but there's not a whole lot.
Anyway, thank you guys so much for reading and please let me know what you think! Sounding like a broken record, but yes, the view-counter is still busted. This is for the whole site, by the way, it's not just me and there's no mention on the official twitter when or if it's gonna be fixed, so I'm just gonna keep posting.
Side-note: My American readers and friends, are you guys okay over there? 2021 is off with a bang, that's for sure...
Hope you're staying safe and healthy, all of you!
Guest: No Scott/Joe showdown just yet. Genetically stubborn cousins - maybe Mama McCall has to step in eventually.
Moonys: First of all, there is absolutely no such thing as a too long review. Trust me on this. I adore and appreciate every single word you write and I think most writers will agree with me that the longer the better. As usual, you hit the nail on the head here - Derek's unwillingness to communicate and, the "trigger" when things got a little too hot there. As much as I also adore Chris, he kind of let things get out of control at the end of season 2 and Joe's trust in him diminished. We'll see what happens when season 3 starts. And I hear you about her dad, we'll find out what happened there too.
JoyDG: Kane has been shady for a while and now Walker entered the spotlight as well. Joe sure knows how to choose 'em :)
Sara: Sorry to disappoint, but even I would run out of chapters too fast if I post two at a time. So glad you like the story though and I have around 20 chapters written already (that needs editing, but still...) Hopefully, I can keep up a quite frequent update schedule for a while now.