Chapter 56: The Dinner
"Isn't that the dress you wore to Kate Argent's funeral?"
In the midst of tying back her hair, Joe glared at Jimmy who stood in the bathroom door. It was the dress she'd worn to Kate Argent's funeral, but she had a limited number of dresses and it was by all designations a modest black cocktail-dress appropriate for a number of occasions. She'd worn it to networking functions and Christmas parties alike. 'When a little black dress is right, there is nothing else to wear in its place' was a quote from somewhere and had for some reason stuck with her.
"Kate Argent's fake funeral," she countered and tried to twist some of her curls to a half-up, half-down hairstyle. Not even the thought of that psycho bitch was enough to distract from her nerves about tonight. "And I washed it since then."
"Hm. You need some large earrings if you're wearing your hair like that."
She nearly yanked a full square inch of hair out from its roots as she spun around to look at him. No mocking on his face, just patiently scrutinizing her. "Okay, Carson Kressley?" At his dumbfounded look, she sighed. "Queer Eye, Fab Five? Carson was the fashion- you know what, nevermind. Poor joke. Playing into stupid stereotypes that only gay men know female fashion."
Finished with the hair, she studied herself in the mirror and came to the same conclusion as Jimmy. With the high neckline of the dress and her conservative hairstyle, she needed hoops.
Growing up with a single dad, she had relied on Aunt Mel to make sure she wasn't the only girl starting first grade without a pair of studs in her ears. The studs stayed in, even when she was by all definitions a tomboy and worse, a not-like-other-girls-girl. After she spent a year surrounded by other-girls-girls and shed some of that internalized misogyny, she discovered there was nothing weak about being feminine, and somehow that lead to gold hoop earrings.
Her dad had been reluctant, mostly because of his own issues with his heritage in his line of work — even though her dad and uncle had initially bonded in the academy for being the only Latino NATs (new agent trainees), she'd never heard them speak Spanish to each other. White-washed, cookie-cutter FBI-agents, one worse than the other. Her dad had made a point of not talking exclusively in Spanish at home, but Rafael had simply stopped speaking Spanish at home altogether, leading to Scott's embarrassing grasp of the language.
Finally, like when she got her ears pierced in the first place, Aunt Mel had stepped in: "Let the girl be a girl, Rob. They're just earrings."
Except they weren't. Now hoops represented something more. Joe had done a whole paper on them as an undergrad. Now hoops represented decolonization to her because they were viewed negatively by the non-colored communities. A silent form of activism when worn in the right setting.
And yet, Joe thought as she held up one of the thinner golden hoops to her ears, she only wore them now when she played down her original Bronx-accent or wore somber outfits like this. After she moved to Berkeley, she'd been so afraid of being too much, of playing into the stereotype of a loud Latina. So, in many ways, she was just like her dad.
At least she could recognize that she still had some ways to go before being fully confident with her heritage. It didn't help that she only knew half of it; she had no idea what ethnicity her birth mother was, but considering Joe was darker than her dad, it probably wasn't Caucasian.
"You should go for thicker ones," Jimmy commented with narrowed eyes and she jolted out of her private musings. "Those almost disappear in your hair." Without waiting for an invitation, he came inside the bathroom and rummaged in the small tote that held her modest collection of jewelry. "These."
Quarter-inch thick, but hollow so they would be comfortable. She hadn't worn them in a few years. Joe held them up and realized Jimmy was right — again. "Are ya gonna help me pick out shoes as well?"
"Based on what you told me about your last date, you might opt for flats?" He did not take the bait of her teasing and left her alone in the bathroom with an admonishment that Derek would be here any minute now.
"Thank you, Jimmy!" she called after him as she fastened the earrings. As she'd planned to wear the denim jacket over her dress, the earrings really brought together the look. Smart casual, she supposed, and she could easily get away with ballet slippers instead of heels.
It was easier to focus on her appearance than to prepare mentally for the night. There were a lot of potential pitfalls, but at least now she supposed she and Derek were actually dating. If you could say that after one date.
Of course, she'd told Derek to be himself, so she could not count on his easy versions of the truth if asked any uncomfortable questions. To avoid any awkwardness, they should probably have agreed on a cover story. Then again, her dad already knew too much about Derek for it to be comfortable anyway. What had she told the FBI-agents when interviewed about the night at the Hale house? What had been her reasons why she went looking for Derek? That whole night and day after was a blur. What had Derek said when they interviewed him?
Oh, this was bad. She should have considered it before. Her dad, an actual and trained FBI-agent, sat on transcripts of those interviews with both her and Derek. He would spot any discrepancies in an instant. Why had she agreed to this dinner? She knew why — they were in this mess just because she had wanted an excuse to see Derek.
The buzzer rang out, meaning someone was at the main door downstairs.
Shouting a generic goodbye over her shoulder, Joe darted out of the apartment. Half of her wanted to cancel the dinner, it would be easiest, but Derek's mocking from earlier prevented her from that.
"Hi," Derek said when she pushed through the door and stepped out on the curb. The sun had set by now and an overhead streetlight illuminated him where he waited outside the building. His hands were in the pockets of the jacket he wore over the not-blue shirt and he gave her a quick, close-lipped smile with raised eyebrows. "You look great."
The door closed slowly behind her and she narrowed her eyes at him. "Thanks?"
"What?"
Without thinking, Joe glanced down at her attire. It was the closest she could come to comfortable while still wearing a dress. "Is it that bad?"
Derek's eyebrows were not coming down, but the smile faltered. "I just said it looked great."
"Yeah, but you're not usually dishing out compliments free-handed." Joe folded her arms and studied him. "And if you give them, they come at the end of the night, maybe with some prompting. So either I'm not looking great or something else's going on."
"That went well for a total of ten seconds," Derek muttered and rolled his eyes with another sigh. "You look great, Joe, you always look great." As her eyes continued to narrow, because she knew how she normally looked, he huffed. "I just realized I'm not always good at letting you know I think that. Can you stop making that face?"
"How," she started, noting just how suspicious she sounded, "did you come to realize that? Exactly?"
Jackpot, she thought as Derek's jaw tightened. At least she stopped making 'that face' when her eyes widened. "Does this have something to do with the trio of werewolves overhearing our discussion?" Derek looked so thoroughly done now that she laughed. "Who told you to compliment me? Peter?"
His eyes closed briefly before they flared open again. "Jackson." That did not make her stop laughing and he ground his teeth together. For someone who claimed he was not angry around her, he was definitely annoyed. "Shut up. He was also the one who told me to go after you earlier."
"I know," she said, still giggling and pressed her finger to underneath her eyes so no tears could smudge her mascara, "I heard. It's good advice, just surreal. Kid seems like a total douche." Composing herself, she cleared her throat. "You look great too, Derek."
"Mm," he made a dismissive sound, hands still in his jacket as he started to walk. "You coming?"
"I mean it," Joe laughed and hurried to catch up with him. Without thinking, she slipped her hand into his pocket and dragged his hand out of it, trying to ignore the tingles at touching his skin. "It's a good shade of gray on you."
Where she expected a quick rebuttal on how it was blue, he kept quiet. He'd paused at her ministrations and stared transfixed at how they were now holding hands.
"You walk way too fast," she offered as an explanation, even if she knew he could hear her elevated heartbeat. As his expression remained unreadable, she wondered if she'd overstepped his boundaries. "You mind?"
"No," he said quickly and his shoulder went down slightly as he relaxed. Or at least tried to relax. His grip shifted to hold her hand better and she could feel the squeeze he gave her all the way up her arm, into her core, and spreading out into every part of her body. They continued down the street and it seemed like he made an effort to slow down his pace.
"When did I walk too fast?"
"Dude, you nearly left me in the dust at Berkeley last time," she explained and smiled to show she was over it. He glanced at her with a raised eyebrow, but otherwise no discernable emotion she could interpret. "I know I'm wearing flats now, but I can't jog to keep up with you, they're too flat for that."
Nighttime Beacon Hills was quiet on a weekday, just like him, and they passed the closed shops on the main street.
She cleared her throat, knowing this was a risk, but couldn't help herself. "Can I ask you something? And I'm only asking because of your unfair advantage, but," she inhaled briefly to steel herself, "did you nearly abandon me in the campus parking lot because you were nervous that night?"
With every step they took and he refrained from answering, she worried again if she had ruined things. Just as she was about to apologize for even suggesting he could be capable of such a silly emotion like that, he glanced over at her.
"Yes," he said simply and she could breathe again. Walking next to him made it difficult to read any of his minuscule expressions, but his voice was neutral at least. "I was."
"Because I was really nervous?" she asked, thinking of how he said they responded to each other's strong emotions.
Again, the answer took a while. "No, it was just me." Something glittered in his eyes when he looked at her. "And by then you were pissed off."
"Well, you were sulking in the car the entire way there," she countered without hesitation. "I started to worry you had changed your mind about the whole thing."
He sighed at her words as if realizing he had to explain. "The alternative would've been to drive us into a ditch." Again, he squeezed her hand and subsequently made her heart skip. "You were," he shrugged, "distracting."
"Distracting?"
Cue the eye roll, but she saw the smile tugging at his lips. "Hot."
If it hadn't been for his hand, she would have stopped dead in her tracks. Now she nearly tripped when forced to follow along as he kept walking.
"Attractive. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Was that what you wanted to hear?"
Each word sent a new spin into her core. Delivered with his usual indifference, but no trace of sarcasm yet.
Questions bubbled up, fueled by her own insecurity. Did he really think that? Was he just humoring her? Or worse, mocking her? Was it an objective opinion or clouded by the mate-bond?
"I wasn't fishing for compliments," she tried to defend while simultaneously making sure her legs were moving forward to keep up with him. "I just-" She cut herself off. She just what? To answer her own question, she finished lamely with: "Didn't think it was that."
"I'm realizing the whole world has an unfair advantage in picking up signs compared to you," Derek commented drily and stopped this time when she did, their hands hanging like a pendulum between them. He looked somewhat amused, one eyebrow lifted. "It's a bit of a hit or miss with these compliments. Now you smell anxious and I have no idea why."
Joe tried to sort out her thoughts and that required too much of her focus to be walking at the same time. "Is it just because of the bond?"
The casual shrug from him did not exactly ease her nerves. Instead of asking the many insecure questions swirling around, she allowed him to tug her along to keep walking.
"Does it matter?" he asked eventually. Somehow his pace had slowed down further and Joe realized they were getting close to the restaurant and he was stalling. There it was again, that slight uncertainty in his tone, disguised as indifference or detachment. When she just blinked at him, he shrugged too casually for it to be real. "The reason I find you attractive. Does it matter?"
"Kinda." Her brows furrowed, confused by the question itself. Of course it mattered. "I want you to like me because of who I am, not because you're forced to just accept that this is what you get. You're objectively hot, so-"
"And you're not?"
She hesitated at his blunt question. That wasn't the point anyway. Instead of answering, she clarified: "I just don't want you to like me because of the bond."
"How you're liking me despite it?" Derek asked, only a crease to his eyes telling her he was joking, at least partially. They could see the restaurant now across the street and Joe guessed that was why Derek slowed down to a full stop. He sighed and spoke at a careful pace: "Maybe it's easier if you think of the bond as the how and not the why."
It was easier to get lost in those eyes, she thought before answering: "I have no idea what that means."
"Maybe we should talk about this after we get through dinner with your dad?"
"Maybe," she agreed as she realized she had nearly forgotten all about the dinner. "Uh, another favor. If this ends in an argument, don't intervene. It probably won't," she added as he looked mildly put off, "things have been good so far, but just to be on the safe side. Uh, and also," she switched seamlessly:"¿Qué tan bueno es tu español?" How good is your Spanish?
Her dad had seemed to be on some kind of Spanish-kick after returning from Mexico and it wasn't impossible he would want to test Derek.
Derek shrugged. "No sé, díme tú." I don't know, you tell me. He rolled his eyes when she kept looking at him expectantly. "No sé qué es lo que quieres que diga. ¿Esto es suficiente? ¿O quieres que le siga?"
"Okay, you should be fine," she said quickly to cover up from the rising heat at hearing 'her' language from his mouth. It was so hot, especially because it sounded like California-Spanish where she admittedly was more used to the New York-variant. "Just stay away from most slang, because Argentina's got their own spin so don't use the word seashell in Spanish if it should come up. Or coger as it means," she cleared her throat, "something else."
Realizing they were already running late, she talked fast. "Other than that it's just the regular awkward questions that come from meeting the in-laws. Nothing to worry about." Something occurred to her and she hesitantly asked: "Have you...met in-laws before?"
The question remained unanswered as a familiar booming voice cut over the street and they both turned towards Rob Delgado. Dressed in a darker, not rumpled suit, he waved at them from the restaurant entrance with a half-smoked cigarillo in one hand.
Automatically, she waved back and felt a tight smile line her lips. Half of her wanted to repeat her earlier question to Derek because she just realized Derek might not actually have dated so much after what happened with Kate and Paige.
"Relax," Derek said instead and draped his arm around her to cross the street. "I've met your dad before."
"I am so not worried about you right now," Joe mumbled, but tried to smile when they reached her dad who apparently seemed intent to wait for them. "Hi! Sorry we're late. We were...walking."
"Hey, what's twenty minutes in a long life, eh?" her dad said with a short laugh and extended his hand to Derek. "Good to see you again, Derek. More pleasant occasion now, thank God."
"Agent Delgado," Derek said in greeting while Joe pondered if this could in any way be classified as pleasant. They shook hands, but before she could worry about Derek utilizing his super strength to crush her dad's hand, they'd released each other and her dad looked happy enough.
"Call me Rob," he said and opened the door for them. "Or at least use the full title, it's Special Agent Delgado." He laughed easily. "I'm kiddin'. Come on, we're in here."
This was gonna be a long night, Joe thought as she plastered on a smile.
Beacon Hills didn't have too many restaurants, but this place was one of the more popular ones. Probably one of the few who had long white tablecloths on all the tables with tasteful flower decorations in the windows. It was the kind of place where you kept your voice down when talking to maintain the relaxed ambiance. Carpeted floor muffled most sounds when they walked and waiters glided between the tables dressed in immaculate black shirts. A large glass wall separated them from the inside of the kitchen without blasting them with the sound of people cooking frantically at different stations.
Unlike last time, they were seated at a round table near a window. Her dad gestured to the chairs that allowed Derek and Joe to sit closest to each other with her dad at the point of the triangle on the other side.
"Took the liberty of ordering a bottle of red wine for the table," her dad said as Joe tried to ignore his wide smile at the sight of Derek pulling out her chair. Instead of waiting for the waiter, her dad also took the liberty of pouring their glasses. "A nice Malbec from Mendoza. You like red wine, Derek?"
"It's fine," Derek said with a nod and accepted the glass. "Not a connoisseur, but Mendoza is in Argentina, right?"
"It's where our family's from," Joe intercepted and snatched her own glass. Her dad was not a typical wine drinker, but she was. Argentine Malbecs were more fruity than its French cousin, but it was a deeply saturated color all the same. Also high in alcohol percent. "It's his way of leading up to the question if you've ever been to the great Land of Silver."
She froze, as she had never made that connection before. Argent was French for silver, but it had a Latin origin and used to mean the same in Spanish.
"No, I haven't," Derek answered both of them, seemingly unbothered by her reference to the word 'silver' in any language. "Only spent some time in Venezuela when I was younger, my mother had friends there."
"At least it's the right continent," her dad said with a smile and lifted his glass, waiting for them to mimic him. Joe gave him a suspicious look at where all this newfound patriotism came from. "Salud!"
"Salud," she and Derek chorused and Joe took a large sip of the rich wine. It was a good one, she would have to give her dad credit there. Tasted of husky black fruits and oak, a hint of acidity, but paired nicely with something akin to vanilla. Her brows furrowed as she took another smaller sip. Kind of tasted like Derek.
"Approved?" her dad asked and she shrugged to indicate that it was okay. They were spared any further conversation as the waiter arrived with their menus and made a big show of both filling their water glasses and top off their wine glasses. This was just the kind of high-end restaurant where they frowned upon patrons serving themselves.
One of the skills her dad had cultivated during his years as an agent was the ability to small-talk about absolutely everything to everyone. He did not seem affected the slightest by his companions' lackluster responses and had some sort of comment to make upon everything available on the menu. Somehow, he worked in that they just had to go for three courses when they were already here and to order whatever they wanted as he would foot the bill.
Not even remembering if she had eaten today, Joe still found herself without a real appetite. So far things had gone okay, but she realized she was just waiting for the ball to drop. Some offhanded comment that would set her off, some rebuttal to a question that would aggravate her father — she wondered if Derek realized he was the one at the table with the least anger issues at the moment.
"So, Derek, what do you do when you're not out with my daughter?" her dad asked once the waiter had taken their orders. It seemed like an innocent question, but this was not her college friends that she saw once or twice a year. This was not only her dad, but also a man who had every opportunity to fact-check whatever statement Derek could give to that question. "You go to school or?"
"I'm between projects at the moment," Derek answered slowly, "but I've done some extensive restorations of vintage sportscars in the past."
And like that, the conversation was about cars again.
As far as Joe knew, her dad was not a typical car-guy, but he had that enthusiastic interest in cars that all guys seemed to have on some basic level. She got the impression he wanted to be a car-guy or he at least acted interested enough for Derek to elaborate on some of the earlier projects. Projects that Derek explained with such detail they had to have actually happened.
"...we coated the SSI's and the exhaust with ceramic to get the same finish from the factory. It's got better heat dissipation and it's longer-lasting even with stainless steel," Derek said and leaned back when the waiters arrived with their appetizers. "You can redo just about any mechanical job, but redoing bodywork is basically starting over."
"This was the 1974 911S?" her dad clarified as Joe absentmindedly thanked the waiter for both their food and topping her wine glass again. Derek and her dad were too busy talking to drink, which suited her fine.
Derek nodded. "Restored to factory state, except the new AC."
"Back when I was fresh out of the Academy," her dad started and laughed, "I had this old-school Dodge Diplomat, 84-model. I say old-school, but back then switching to four-barrel V8s was like driving a rocket ship."
"You got it through your job then?" Derek asked and Joe watched him while trying to eat her own food at the same time. She did not even hear her dad answering before Derek continued: "The 360-engine was only available to the police; civilians got the 318 CID."
And like that, Joe realized she could listen to Derek talk about anything — even cars — for the rest of her life.
There was something about the alertness in his eyes as he talked. Something about how he did not seem to waste any movement of his body; every glance, every expression, every shift served a function. His voice lost the hard edge though and his shoulders were down. Not tense, just attentive.
Just as her dad took the last bite of his crispy fried pacific oysters, his phone rang and he excused himself from the table. "Sorry, guys, gotta take this. Go ahead without me."
Used to this at least, Joe just nodded and watched him head out the restaurant's front doors, already changing to his work-mode. She leaned her elbow next to her plate, done with her appetizer as well, and took a slow sip of wine while studying Derek.
"What?" he asked with raised eyebrows.
"You're not acting, are you?"
He was not behaving as he had at that reunion dinner. As easy as the conversation flowed now, he was not laughing or smiling more than he did with her. He was...normal. Not stoic or closed off or suspicious. Derek Hale seemed genuinely interested in the subject.
"No," he replied to her question and made a slight head tilt to challenge her opinion on the matter. She just smiled, both at him and at the waiter who came to take their plates. Joe accepted the offer of a new bottle of wine, as they — mostly she — had finished the previous one. Derek shrugged and Joe found herself deeply captivated by how snug the shirt was over his shoulders. "I like cars."
"I noticed," she said, but still smiling. It made her wonder how much of his behavior at the reunion dinner had been genuine. If he had actually appreciated the opportunity to talk about cars with Caleb and Kyle. He had said she needed some normal in her life and she wondered if that applied to him too. Their lives had been dominated by one emergency after the other lately.
"You okay?"
"Surprisingly, yes." She raised her glass and took another sip. "Wine's helping."
That made him smile. "Might wanna slow down just for your dad's sake. If your healing's anything like ours, you won't be able to get more than a buzz anyway."
"I know, Erica told me." The smile fell away at the mention of the name. Joe swallowed and put the glass down, something cold and dead filling her veins instead of blood. She tilted her head in the direction her dad went. "Can you hear the call?"
Apparently, he was not going to question the morals of listening in on the phone conversation. He got that faraway look in his eyes. "His supervisor wants him down to Orange County. Your dad's bargaining for a few more days here." He focused on her again. "He has a gut feeling about this."
"Well, he's not wrong is he?" Joe mumbled and tried to straighten up on the chair. "He got any leads?"
"No that I can hear," Derek said and reached over to grab her hand again. The warmth of his fingers counteracted some of the chill that had just run through her body. "We'll find them, Joe."
As her dad returned to the table, Derek released her hand and she tried to smile to indicate she'd heard him. If she believed him was another story. It had been so long already — and Derek was still keeping secrets.
"So, Derek," her dad said as he sat back down. "Mets or Yankees?"
"Lakers," was Derek's instant reply and her dad laughed loudly.
Joe took another generous sip of wine. Sports were only marginally better than cars. "We're Yankees," she told Derek with a roll of her eyes. Of all the sports, she abhorred baseball the most. The games took forever.
"A basketball fan then?" Rob Delgado seemed to approve just on the notion of Derek liking sports at all. "You play?"
Derek nodded slowly. "I did. In high school." He shrugged. "Some neighborhood games in Brooklyn. Not much these days."
"High school, right," her dad said with a feigned nonchalance that made Joe narrow her eyes. "You went to Beacon High, right? Same as Scott? Thought lacrosse was the big thing here."
"Not when I went," Derek replied and Joe saw his jaw tighten. High school was not a particularly good topic. "I left before senior year."
Without commenting on that, her dad nodded. "Never got lacrosse myself. How about football, you a fan?"
"Not really. Too violent," Derek said and Joe choked on her wine.
As she coughed and sputtered, Derek reached over absentmindedly to pat her back. The liquid dislodged and she grabbed the napkin to wipe her running eyes. Derek kept his hand on her back, rubbing gently until she gave him a thumbs up that she was okay. It was hard to catch, but there was a flicker of a smirk on his lips and she knew he'd definitely said that for her benefit.
"You okay, kid?"
"Fine," she said and downed a half glass of water instead. Their main course arrived and forced Derek to take his hand off her, but he seemed to trail his fingers along the back of her ribcage longer than strictly necessary. Someone was getting a bit too comfortable.
Derek and her dad discussed some basketball that she didn't really bother to pay attention to. Her dad glanced at her when the waiter refilled her glass, but didn't comment. Somehow they got back onto the subject of high school basketball where Derek revealed they'd won some kind of championship when he was a Sophomore.
"You know," her dad said in a tone that told Joe it meant trouble, "Joe played soccer in high school."
"I didn't really play soccer in high school," she protested, glancing between him and Derek. "I was on the team."
"You played a few seasons," her dad said with a shrug and she rolled her eyes.
"I was stuck in defense because I was useless anywhere else," she informed Derek. "Soccer's not my high school success story, believe me. My debate team, however, did win the William Woods Tate, Jr. Team Excellence Award twice."
"You were in defense," her dad corrected her as if he hadn't heard the comment about the debate team, "because you weren't afraid to get your hands dirty. That old Delgado-check came in handy as well."
"Uncle Raf says it's the McCall-check," Joe countered immediately, "and he was the one who taught it to me. You were working, remember?"
Like he had been during every single game she ever got to play.
"Your Uncle Raf has high thoughts of himself just because he's seven feet tall." Her dad gestured to himself using his fork. "I taught him the tackle in the first place. I hit them with the old," he did a swift shoulder motion, mimicking the tackle, "and they'd drop like rain."
Joe groaned at the inevitable dad joke.
As expected, her dad grinned. "Get it, because of 'raindrop'?"
"I wish I didn't," she murmured and had more wine, which paired well with the steak she had apparently ordered. For once, Derek's stoicism came in handy as he focused solely on the food as if he hadn't heard either of them. "Can we change the subject?"
"Anyway, Josie's team would definitely have qualified for the city championship," her dad commented as he ate, again ignoring what she said, "if they hadn't lost their key player."
The name could just as well have been a pair of claws raking down her neck. Not made better how he seemingly didn't even notice. "They never lost their key player, I was kicked off the team because I lost so many practices."
"Well, I still think you had potential," her dad said in a disarming manner that grated on her nerves. He addressed Derek, who looked as uncomfortable as he could without showing much emotion: "They were bookie's favorites for the 03/04-season."
"No one cares, Dad."
"Could've been your best season yet, all I'm saying."
"Oh, you mean the season I was unavailable?" The knife skidded across the porcelain as she stabbed her meat a bit harder than necessary. "They got lucky getting rid of me before end of term."
Again he shrugged, not even looking up from his plate. "Had every chance to make a comeback your Senior-year."
"Oh my God, Dad, varsity soccer's not the highlight of my high school career!" Joe slammed her cutlery down onto the plate. "If you don't remember, I was kinda busy my Senior-year. Or maybe you don't remember since you spent most of it out of state?"
"Because I was working-"
"And you were always working."
"You wanna do this here?" her dad asked, gesturing to the restaurant at large. "Again?"
"Why not? Pick up where we left off." She took a sharp sip of wine and gestured to him. "You want to brag about me in high school, brag about that! I graduated with my original class in the top five percentile after losing an entire year, that's not good enough for you?"
He muttered under his breath, not even looking at her: "Losing an entire year's a nice way of puttin' it."
"Sorry, sorry," she corrected with sarcasm dripping, "after spending my entire Junior-year in juvie. That's your shame, Dad, not mine."
Her dad's nostrils flared, but he kept his voice low. "You still think that was my fault?"
"You still think it was mine?"
"Goddamnit, kid," her dad said and now put down his own cutlery. "At some point, you gotta start takin' some responsibility for your actions."
"Right back at ya," Joe said and leaned back in her chair with the wine glass still in hand. Even through her anger, she could hear how her accent crept back. "What? They don't teach causation at the Academy? You don't think any of the choices you made played a part?"
"You know damn well that it was your own actions that landed you in there, Josie. I'd been covering for ya for too long already-"
"It's Joe," she snapped back in a hiss. "Not Josie, not Josefina, but Joe. And I do take full responsibility for all my actions, but all those actions could have been avoided if you'd acted like a parent instead of a warden."
"The end doesn't justify the means, kid. Action and state of mind are both elements of guilt."
"Exactly! At least I can stand for both of mine! What's your excuse?"
Her dad's phone rang as they both glared at each other, neither willing to back down an inch. Grumbling, he checked the display and his stern mask became even harder.
"I gotta take this," her dad bit out and tore away from the table.
The other people in the restaurant turned to watch him leave, but quickly averted their gazes when they noticed her staring at them. She did not even realize she'd half-risen in her chair before Derek's hand on her wrist gently coaxed her back down.
"Shit," she hissed and shoved the plate further in on the table, appetite completely gone. So angry with her dad, she'd nearly forgotten Derek was even there. "Sorry."
Without saying a word, Derek shifted his grip to hold her hand in his.
"I knew this was gonna happen," she said, not sure if she was talking to herself or him. "This always happens. We can act civil for a while and then-" Her free hand mimicked an explosion. "I don't even know why he pushed that soccer-stuff so hard! I hated soccer, if you couldn't tell, and I only started it in the first place because of his stupid love for Diego Maradona, the only part of Argentine culture he didn't try to suppress when I grew up. That and the wine, I guess."
Not thinking, she let go of Derek's hand to pour herself more of the aforementioned wine, but he reached over to tilt the bottle up. Much like he had done with the shotgun when she tried to shoot Peter, but this was somehow worse.
"You won't get more than a buzz no matter how much you drink," he said and held eye contact while putting the bottle at his end of the table. "You'll only get sick."
"Oh Jesus Christ," she mumbled and slumped back in her chair as she rubbed her face. Humiliation trumped the anger and she bit her lip in thought. "I hate when you're being all rational."
Derek saw right through that. "Really?"
"No," she admitted, "I hate when I'm being all irrational."
"You're not irrational, you're hurt. It's kay, Joe, it's human."
She glanced at her non-human companion, who was again acting way too considerate. "Can't you turn off your senses and live in ignorance for a bit?"
"Not when it comes to you." A slight smile lingered on his lips despite her sour mood. "Our hearing's selective, our sense of smell is less so."
"Sounds exhausting." Joe drew in a deep breath herself. "I don't know why I thought it'd be different this time. He's been acting weird since he came back. Only tonight he was back to his normal self, so I guess I shouldn't worry. Seriously, the soccer blindsided me, I'd been mentally preparing for the story on how we had permanent stains in the ceiling after I tried making cocoa like Grandma did. But instead, no, soccer." She gestured at the front doors of the restaurant where her dad had gone outside to talk. "And this! He always does this! I think I can count on one hand how many dinners we've had without interruption."
The waiter came fluttering to ask if they needed anything else, obviously unsure of how to interpret the three unfinished plates, one of the patrons missing and the other two obviously not eating.
"We're fine, thank you," Derek told them and they fluttered away again. With a short glance to the main doors, obviously determining that Rob Delgado was not about to storm back in, Derek turned in his chair so he faced her. "Do you want me to ask or back off?"
Joe had covered her face with her hand in thought, but now peered at him through her fingers. "Ask about what? Juvie?" At his slight nod, she shrugged. "I've told you I was in juvie before. It's not that big of a deal."
"Not sure if overhearing while you tried to twist Kate's knee out of socket counts as being told," Derek said in his neutral tone that might have been considered harsh if she didn't know him. Joe frowned at that memory — she hadn't twisted hard enough. "Never told me why."
Lacking a wine glass all of a sudden, Joe grabbed the water instead. "Technically because I pulled the fire alarm at the Montefiore Medical Center." She gulped down half the glass of water before continuing. "I pulled the fire alarm because I was currently breaking into their archives and wanted to buy time." Now empty, she rolled the glass around in her hand. "I was breaking into their archives because I wanted to find my birth records."
"Your mom," Derek said, not even guessing as it was pretty obvious. She still shook her head.
"I wasn't even looking for her back then. I just wanted a name, you know? I never even questioned that I didn't have a mom when I was growing up. Pretty much everyone else on the block only had one parent, a lot of single moms, divorces, stuff like that. It wasn't until I was seven or maybe eight that I realized that you're still supposed to have two sets of grandparents. Aunts, uncles, cousins on both sides. And Dad wouldn't even tell me her name."
Staring out into the air, she did her best to avoid crying. The wine buzz was more obvious the longer she refrained from drinking. "No name, no pictures, no backstory — nothin'. And I was a kid and had a good imagination, so I had all of these scenarios for why he would hide it."
As Derek still watched her without saying anything, she laughed bitterly. "You ever see the movie 'Princess Diaries'? It's about this ordinary girl that learns she's the heir to the throne of some obscure little country in Europe." The wine made it easier to talk and she just let it all out without overthinking it for once. "Suddenly her grandmother, the current queen, shows up and it's, you know, the classic makeover scene and she has to learn all this stuff- it's stupid, I know, and I wasn't expecting to find out I was royalty, but by then I'd lost both my grandparents on Dad's side and it was just the two of us in New York because Aunt Mel, Raf, and Scott had already moved to Cali years earlier and..."
"Anyway," Joe blinked away the treacherous tears, "I found a name, probably fake," she cast a weary look to the wine bottle out of her reach, "and also that she didn't die in labor like my dad told me."
That was the kicker, wasn't it? How her life derailed completely.
Swallowing the heavy lump in her throat, she put the water glass back on the table just to have something to distract herself with. "Which meant that my dad had essentially lied to me every day for fifteen years because that's what he told me had happened."
"I know I wasn't perfect," she continued, staring at the table with their unfinished plates, "and that I did a lot of stupid shit for attention or whatever because he worked so much, but the hospital-stuff..." She shrugged with a sad shake of her head. "Could have been avoided if he'd just told me her goddamn name. Or just told me she was alive, because I'm not stupid, ya know? No way a single dad gets full custody unless there's some stuff goin' on with the mom. He's a federal agent, but he's not omnipotent. If she wanted to be in my life, she would've been."
Realizing that she was definitely the culprit of the bad mood around the table, she rubbed her face again. "Is he comin' back?"
"No," Derek said softly after a few seconds' concentration. "He's still on his phone."
Something about his tone made her look up at him. Neutral expression, but soft eyes and she hated seeing the pity in them.
"SSA?"
His hesitation became even more obvious and she narrowed her eyes.
"No? Who then?"
"San Francisco-office called him," Derek said slowly as he studied her face. She could only imagine the angry frown lingering there, but at least she hadn't actually cried yet.
"And?"
"And then he called someone else," Derek relented with a sigh. Before she could ask who, he gave her a resigned look. As if he didn't actually want to tell her, but also knew she would not let this go until he did. "He's on his phone with his therapist."
"Oh shit," Joe blurted out and pushed her chair back from the table so she could lean forwards on her knees. She was seated closest to the window with Derek between her and the rest of the restaurant, but it would still look stupid if people were paying attention. Not very ladylike either in her dress, but she didn't care. The anger had been replaced by sadness and now by guilt. All this because he'd started talking about soccer?
"Don't tell me what he's saying, I don't want to-"
Derek shook his head. "I'm not listening to him. You okay?"
"I am really sorry for all of this," she whispered in the direction of her own hands clasped in front of her. "I don't know why I thought this was a good idea. I told him no twice and then..."
then I just wanted an excuse to see you. Which had turned into an opportunity to humiliate herself in front of him instead. Karma was a solid bitch.
"Maybe we're lucky we don't have to do this with your in-laws," Derek said in a completely straight tone and Joe looked up at him in horror only to see a slight tilt to his mouth. He reached over to put his hand on top of both of hers. "Or do you want to have dinner with me and Peter?"
"Oh God, I'm sorry," she whispered, unable to help the slightly breathless laugh at the really dark humor. It did not help with her guilt the slightest — here she was whining about her dad while Derek had lost literally his entire family. He would probably kill for a chance to even talk to his parents. "Derek, I'm-"
"Don't apologize for that," Derek said, quoting himself from their date. He squeezed her hands, the tingles going straight from his fingertips and up her arms like a reverse pain-siphoning effect. "It was a joke. At least I hope so; I can't make any promises about Peter."
"As much as I despise your uncle, I'm not sure I can picture anything going worse than this."
Sick to her stomach, not sure if the wine or her own feelings was the culprit, she straightened back up in her chair. As Derek did not make any moves to pull away, she held his hand in her lap, soaking up the warmth and good feelings from just touching him.
"Thanks for not intervening. It's enough that he's angry with me, I still want him to like you and yes, I know how stupid that sounds."
Derek cast another glance at the door before he scooted his chair a bit closer to her so that their knees touched when he leaned forward. As he'd done in the car, Derek rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb as he sighed. "Joe, he's not angry with you."
She only gave him a skeptical frown.
"There's some anger, but..." Derek hesitated, probably realizing he shouldn't tell her. He shrugged as if that would make it easier to digest. "Mostly he's sad." His hands tightened around hers. "Just like you."
It took a lot to stop the tears. She bit her teeth together, closed her eyes, and focused only on Derek's hands, his scent, and where his knee still touched hers. The restaurant kept churning on around them, but they were as relevant as the almost empty wine bottle.
Eventually, Derek sighed. "Like I said, not always an advantage. I didn't mean to-"
"No, no, it's fine," she said after finding her voice. "I'm preaching honesty, I should be able to handle the truth." Her eyes opened to look at Derek, the awkward bystander to her and her dad's mess. "I should go talk to him. Right? Do you want to leave? I totally understand, I'm so, so sorry about all of this."
"I'm not leaving unless you are. If you want to talk to him, it's up to you."
"Okay," Joe breathed out and tightened her grip on his hand before managing to get up from her chair. As she automatically straightened out her dress, she winced as she looked at Derek. "Uhm, can I ask you to not-"
"I won't." As she must have looked skeptical, Derek sighed. "Even if you don't trust me on anything else, trust me on this: I promise I won't listen." He gave her a small smile. "I'm on your side here, remember?"
They looked at each other for a few seconds before Joe whispered: "Thank you."
Derek got up and let her past him with a small touch on her back. "He's in the alley behind the restaurant. I'll wait here." As she passed him, he leaned down to the side of her ear and whispered: "Howl if you need me."
"Wise-ass," she mumbled, but smiled at him to show her appreciation and forced her legs to move.
A major sense of deja vu came over her as she saw her dad in the alley, smoking a cigarillo as he had a personal vendetta against it while talking on the phone in a low voice. So close to summer, the warmer air gave no relief this time, but she still hugged herself automatically. She had no idea what she was going to say — apologize? Explain? Give him a chance to apologize?
The second he clicked off his phone and turned around, she knew what was going on.
"You're leaving." Not even a question. The expression on his face — part preoccupied, part apologetic — was one she was used to. Trying not to sound too vexed, she asked: "Now?"
"Your uncle called," was his only explanation, but he heaved a great sigh and snuffed out his cigarillo. "They got a situation in San Francisco, they're sendin' a cab. I'm sorry, mijita, you know I wouldn't leave if it wasn't-"
"Life or death," Joe finished for him, the initial tension of coming out here in the first place deflating. She'd heard this before at least. "Is he okay?"
"Yeah, yeah, don't worry 'bout him," her dad said and checked his watch. His brows pulled together as did his mouth — he both looked and sounded genuinely apologetic. When he spoke, the words came slow and unsure. "It's not that you're not," he gestured in her direction, "the most important thing in my life, mija. You've always been and you'll always be more important than any job-"
"Dad, are you dying?" The question blurted out before she could stop it and the tears she had fought to hold back inside the restaurant now threatened to make an appearance again. "Like, do you have cancer or a heart condition or something? Why are you talking like this? You haven't called me mijita since I was eight."
To her surprise, her dad laughed. "Aw, baby, mija, no." He must have seen the genuine fear on her face as his features softened. "No, I'm just...I'm trying to fix things before it's too late. A lot of things."
"Why would it be too late? What happened in Mexico, Dad?"
Shaking his head, he checked his watch again. Apparently, he still had time as he put both hands on his hips. The movement pushed his jacket back and she saw the contours of the gun-holster under his arm. "We lost a guy."
"Oh shit," Joe hissed and her face twisted in a grimace. "Dad, I'm so sorry."
"Yeah, well, you know, it happens. Sometimes the good guys don't come out on top. He was, uh, one of the local ones. A good guy, helluva an agent. And he had a kid, a son, who he talked about non-stop. All the time, how proud he was of him. He talked about him as he was bleeding out too like it was literally the only thing he could think about and you know what he told me?"
Tears ran freely down her cheeks; she bit her teeth together and shook her head.
"He told me," her dad swallowed, rubbed a hand over his chin, "he hadn't seen him in ten years. They'd fallen out over, I dunno, something, not sure if even he remembered. All he remembered was that it wasn't worth it. Biggest regret of his life, he begged me to tell this to his son." Joe shivered when her dad looked at her, tears evident in his own eyes. "And not even twenty-four hours later I get the call that you've been shot."
A chill ran through her chest, like phantom pain of scars long healed.
"You almost died, Josefina," Dad said in an anguished tone. "You, not me." He took a deep breath. "And I want to make things right and I don't expect us to work things out right away, I don't, but what happened in there just now? I'm sorry. That one was on me. I just wanted to," he shook his head with a small scoff, "you know, I don't know what I wanted."
"Couldn't you," Joe wiped carefully around the eyes, not wanting to look like a raccoon, "just have changed the damned subject?" A sound between a laugh and a sob erupted. "Soccer, Dad? Why? Where did that come from?"
Shaking his phone in his hand, he sighed again. "If I gotta be honest, and I got some advice to be honest just now, I wasn't there for you like I was supposed to be after Tryon. Soccer's all I know about your high school days."
It had been something Alex had called him out on that New Year's Even where everything went from bad to worse. It still didn't make sense though and Joe shook her head. "You went to what, one game?"
"Yeah," her dad said with a sad smile. "I did. But, uh, you remember Rita Sanchez? Emily's mom? She used to tape the matches with that," he held his hand up like he was holding a camera, "little Sony Handycam? After every game, when I got back in town, I paid her five bucks for a copy and then ten bucks not to tell you."
"Oh my God," Joe laughed, but it sounded more like a cry and her shoulders shook. "Are you serious? You asshole. You absolute asshole, why couldn't you just have told me that, I don't know," her voice cracked and she openly cried, "eight years ago?"
Before she could think, her dad threw away his cigarillo and wrapped his arms around her. Already hugging herself, her arms were trapped between them, but she leaned her head on his shoulder as he enveloped her in a solid bearhug, stroking her hair carefully.
"I don't know." He sounded as tired as she felt. "I honestly don't. We're hardheaded people, mija. Both of us." She could smell the cigarillo in the fabric of his jacket. "Why didn't you tell me what you found at Montefiore?" His voice was muffled to the side of her head. "Why didn't you tell me that eight years ago?"
"Because I was so angry," she admitted and knew her makeup would smudge against his shoulder. "And I knew you'd be angry too."
Like he had been when he did find out. When Alex had screamed it in his face, on how Joe was slowly killing herself because of his lies. The memory chilled some of her sadness, but they were spared any deeper conversation on that subject.
A cab pulled up at the end of the alley, outside the restaurant.
Her dad's sigh transferred into her and she closed her eyes as he released her. To her surprise, he planted a kiss on her forehead and she felt fifteen years old again. Only this time, he was leaving and not her.
"I'm sorry, mijita, I gotta go." His hands rested on her shoulders and she felt the tears dry on her cheeks. "Give me a sec, I gotta tell the driver to wait."
As he hurried over to the cab, Joe ran a finger underneath both eyes, hoping to catch any fallout. All this crying — she was not cut out for these kinds of conversations. Her dad came back and wordlessly handed her both his handkerchief and his phone to use as a makeshift mirror and she tried to fix the most obvious damage.
"Take a few deep breaths."
"Shut up." She did as told though and realized her healing made the puffiness around her eyes go away faster than usual. Handing him back both the mascara-smudged handkerchief and his phone, she took another deep breath. "This isn't enough, Dad, you realize that, right? Fixing things is gonna take more."
He hesitated for a second before gesturing her closer. "I know, baby. Come on, let's get you back inside."
Short on time, he steered her back inside the restaurant where people glanced at them and quickly looked away. Already, Joe could see the signs of her dad's pragmatism. Bigger fish to fry somewhere — Uncle Raf wouldn't call if it wasn't important and Joe knew she would have done the same in her dad's position. Personal wasn't the same as important, not always. Not when people were dying.
The table had been cleared at least and Derek somehow did not look out of place sitting alone in the crowded restaurant.
"Sorry, Derek. Duty calls and I'm afraid I'll have to leave you two," her dad said and shrugged on the coat hanging on the back of his chair. Already with his mind at work, he managed to give a big smile, as if the conversation earlier hadn't happened. She saw sweat gather in his thinning hairline as he tried to take stock of the table and Derek before he extended his hand. "Really good to meet you, sorry this got cut short. Take care of my girl here, would you?"
"Don't worry about it," Derek said as he rose to shake his hand with only a short questioning glance at Joe, who gave a half-shrug in return.
"Hope we get another opportunity," her dad said in the quick voice of someone who's just going through the motions. His eyes fell on her where she stood next to the table, not sure if she really wanted to sit down or just bolt out of there. "¿Puedo hablarte mañana, por favor? Hablaremos entonces."
He'd call her tomorrow to talk. Her eyebrows rose at both his words and the language. Aunt Mel was the only one he regularly talked to in Spanish.
"Ta bien," she said and tried to smile a bit, "pero antes de hacer el ridiculo deberías saber que Derek habla español." Fine, but before you make a fool of yourself, know that Derek speaks Spanish.
"Really?" her dad asked, still in Spanish, with a surprised smile at Derek. "Okay, then I am even more sorry I have to leave." He reached over to pat Joe on the shoulder, recognizing her statement as a temporary peace-offering. "Please, stay, enjoy your evening. Mija, my card is with the waiter, everything is on me. Again, sorry!"
The cab outside honked once, making the entire restaurant look towards the windows, but Special Agent Delgado seemingly didn't notice. He waved over his shoulder, his head already in work-mode the second he turned around.
Deflating, Joe sank down in her dad's chair opposite Derek and didn't know if she wanted to laugh, cry or just disappear. Before either she or Derek could say anything, the distressed waiter returned to their table and asked if they wanted their desserts now. By the way they posed the question, it wasn't the first time and Joe realized it was probably the kitchen antsy to finish up their service so they could start cleaning.
"Can I have a cappuccino as well, please?" Joe asked after Derek confirmed they would only need two desserts. The waiter flourished away with promises of a cappuccino for Joe and a regular coffee for Derek. Alone at their table, Joe inhaled through her nose to get as much of Derek's scent as possible. "I'm so sor-"
"Stop apologizing." Derek straightened up in his chair to lean over the table, laying out his hand palm up halfway over to her side. "Please."
She found herself studying his face for any clues if he'd heard the heartbreaking conversation out in the alley. Even if he probably hadn't, she would never know for sure. He was too good at keeping secrets to ever let anything slip. Eventually, she placed her hand in his and watched it almost disappear in his grip.
"You want me to ask or back off?" He accompanied his words by lightly rubbing her fingers. "Up to you."
"I want you to be different," she said as an answer, staring at their hands more than his face. The waiter came with their coffees and she thanked them on autopilot before finding the nerve to establish eye contact with Derek. "Different from him. I want you to not keep things from me, Derek. I can't, I literally can't invest anything more into this if that's gonna be the case. Do you get that?"
Eyes flickering to the side — more a sign of hesitance than deception — before he nodded while looking at her.
"Because just now," Joe tapped her fingers into Derek's palm, "my dad apologized and said he wanted to fix things and he told me something, sure, but not all of it." Joe looked at Derek's blank face. "Which is the exact same thing you did earlier, when you apologized for not telling me everything, but then you didn't really tell me anything."
Diversion techniques came in many forms and even if her dad had been honest about Mexico, he had a whole list of other lies he'd told. Derek had told her about anchors, but not about Erica and Boyd.
With a sigh, Derek nodded again. "I've been taught to keep secrets my whole life." Voice flat and neutral, no readable emotion in his face. "It's how we're raised. Hidden equals safe."
"I'm not going to tell my dad about you. It's not about that."
"I know," Derek said with a slight smile to her, "and I appreciate it and if it helps, I don't think he'd be able to find Erica or Boyd even if you did." Her eyes narrowed, but Derek wasn't done. "I wasn't lying when you asked what I found at the gas station. I didn't find anything. Neither did Peter. Not even a trace of scent of anyone but Erica." A brief pause. " Only Alphas are strong enough to mask their scent like that."
"So the Alphas took them?"
Derek tilted his head in something between a nod and a shrug. "Or they went willingly."
Neither glanced up when the waiter arrived with their desserts. She watched Derek intently as his eyes unfocused slightly, but then he was back with her, apparently safe to continue.
"Everything points to Erica and Boyd still being alive and," Derek picked up the fork to dig into the Italian coffee cake dessert, "Peter says we should be careful if they suddenly come back."
It took her a few seconds to get what he meant. "You think they're trying to turn them into moles?" At Derek's shrug, Joe ignored her own dessert in favor of the cappuccino. "To what end? What's their motive?"
"That's the part we don't know yet. We don't know where they're keeping them or if they're even in California anymore. We're still trying to find them," he reassured her and she realized her chemosignals must have given her instant panic away, "but if they wanted to just intimidate us, they would have killed them already. So whatever it is, it's something else."
Both kept quiet — Joe wordlessly pushed her dessert over to his side in case he wanted it — and she sipped her cappuccino while running her fingertips over Derek's rough palm.
"Thank you," she said after a while, ready to return the favor. "Uhm, Dad got some stills from the CC-TV at the gas station, but it was too blurry to make out any faces or distinguishing features. One looked to have long dark hair. As far as I know, Dad hasn't found anything else. I'll tell you if he does."
Derek nodded and did indeed eat her dessert too.
After paying with her father's card and ensuring the waiter over and over again that everything had been lovely, they finally trudged out into the fresh spring night. Another table had left at the same time and was standing outside the restaurant waiting for a taxi, laughing and smoking cigarettes.
"Sorry," she said to Derek for the tenth time that evening as she reached up to shake her curls out as if airing out her hair would help with her thoughts. They walked lazily down the street with no particular direction in mind, Joe a few steps ahead of him. "I am so sorry for dragging you to this. I don't know what I was thinking. Can this not count as a date?"
"At least your ex didn't announce her wedding plans tonight," Derek said with a wry smile and held his hand out to her. "I'm starting to think dress shirts are bad luck."
"Definitely not," Joe said quickly.
Trying not to read too much into it, she accepted his hand and let him pull her closer. Like at the reunion dinner, just touching him made things bearable. Was it getting easier to touch him now or had she just gotten used to it? The slight tingle, the intense warmth, the strange comfort it brought? If she had interpreted Derek (and Peter) correctly, their bond had grown stronger the more time they spent together. Surely it had a certain saturation point, but she was not sure if they had reached it yet.
Derek had only pulled her close enough for them to walk side-by-side and now she felt like a teenager again. Technically, they had barely made it to first base in the baseball-centric metaphor for sexual acts. Two kisses and holding hands — no, they had definitely not reached the saturation point of a relationship.
He seemed content to just wander the sparsely populated streets of downtown Beacon Hills only illuminated by the stars and streetlights. It struck her that he'd basically been hiding from the Argents since he came back to Beacon Hills and he might not have done this since he was a teenager.
Above them, the moon was still a few days shy of full. She wondered how Jackson Whittemore, their impromptu love doctor, would fare. She wondered what would happen with Erica and Boyd, wherever they were, for their second full moon. She wondered how long Derek's willpower would last him on the night of the full moon based on how he'd dug his claws into the wall earlier today. Probably not something she should think about with him right next to her.
"How does the pack bond work?" she asked, still looking at the moon. "Can you feel..."
"Not like you." Derek tugged at her hand again so she came close enough for him to slip his arm around her waist, a move so familiar she found herself leaning into it. "I can't feel their pain, I can't smell them from a mile away, I can't feel the bond like I can with you."
"You can smell me-"
"A slight exaggeration," Derek said and squeezed his arm around her. "At least I think so. Guess it depends on how much you want me to smell you."
"What does that mean?"
He cleared his throat. "Like at the rave."
So close to him, it was hard to tilt her head enough to see his expression, but she thought she saw a smile. "Are you trying to distract me from the fact that I took you on the worst dinner in the history of time?"
"Maybe," he admitted and now he definitely smiled. "Is it working?"
"Kinda. Next time I'll just ask you out for coffee or something. Tonight was a mess. I'm sorry you had to see that. I promise I'm not usually such a bitch, I-"
"Joe, I know you. I don't know everything about you, but I know you. This doesn't make me think any differently about you. I'm slightly concerned you were able to break into a hospital when you were in high school," he squeezed her again as she laughed, "but if you're worried about scaring me away-"
"I literally can't? You're stuck with me anyway?"
They had somehow reached an alley without streetlights and he stopped, guiding her so she stood in front of him. In the soft illumination of the night sky and the still visible main street, she studied his face like so many times before. Chiseled jawline, sharp cheekbones, perfectly sculpted eyebrows, and the shadow of the stubble she had come to appreciate so much instead of the constant attempt to be clean-shaven as when she first met him. There was something so unnervingly authentic about him sometimes.
She realized he was watching her in turn and her stomach tingled at the thought. It was easy to feel inferior compared to him, but the way his eyes moved over her features did not exactly signal disgust or resignation. Quite the opposite, if she had to be honest. Still, she would give a lot to peer into his mind like he seemingly did with hers. To hear exactly what he thought. There was no comparing him with Alex. Joe had long since accepted that Derek would be different than her. A man of few words. Like his movements, used only with purpose and when necessary. Alex, on the other hand, was good at expressing every thought that crept into her mind and could paint a picture of Joe with her words, a picture that admittedly made Joe feel wanted and attractive.
"There," he said and she blinked at him, thrown off by the sudden introduction of his voice. His eyes narrowed as he smiled down at her. "That's the exact moment you started overthinking things."
As he did not look annoyed or smug, she shrugged in return. "My chemosignals?"
Derek shook his head. "Your eyes too."
She hadn't even noticed how both his hands were on her waist until he lifted one of them to brush back a wayward curl that had escaped earlier.
The tips of his fingers left a fire in their wake over her temple. His words left a fire in her very soul. "Joe," he said slowly, still staring into her eyes, "I don't feel like I'm stuck with you, in any way. And I think you're beautiful, but I can't explain why more than I can explain why a sunset's beautiful. You just are."
If her heart beat any harder or faster she worried it would give him tinnitus. Or that it would climb up through her chest so she could just give it physically to Derek for safekeeping. Metaphorically she supposed he already had it.
Had he really just said that? Was she dreaming? No, she realized, not even in her dreams was he this sweet.
"Is this part of the new honesty-package or another advice from Jackson?"
"Did you really need to bring up Jackson right now?"
"What, he doesn't do it for you?" She faltered at Derek's unimpressed expression and looked down. "Sorry. I just, uhm, you know," she blew air out her mouth, "thank you?"
With her head bent, she only felt when Derek leaned down next to her ear and whispered: "I'm being honest."
It was hard to tell what came first: the blush, the goosebumps, or the smile. When she finally looked up to see him still watching her, she didn't try to hide her happiness. To be fair, he could probably smell it on her anyway.
"Can I- can I see your eyes?" she whispered, without really knowing why. Seeing them earlier today had made her curious.
If the request surprised him, he hid it well. Instead, he just closed his eyes for a fraction too long for it to be a normal blink. The red glow replacing the natural green made her breathless all over again. As much as she had been around the werewolves lately, she was still not used to seeing it up close. No natural explanation. No science to explain it.
She swallowed before asking: "Can I see your whole face?"
He cast a short glance to the end of the alleyway, but there was no one here. With his hearing, she supposed he would be hard to ambush anyway. The transformation took longer than usual, he might have slowed it down for her benefit. Sideburns sprouted from his cheeks; his whole skull shifted to make room for more teeth and a broader nose; forehead pulled together to remind of a snout; his ears grew long and pointed.
As she trailed her fingers over this slightly less familiar face, he remained completely still. So many questions, but they would have to wait. Now she just wanted to study him. This was the first time she had seen this part of him when there was no immediate threat to their lives. No Peter, no hunters, and no kanima. She wanted this, she realized. Time with him, like this. There was still the overhanging concerns about Erica and Boyd, Kate Argent on the loose, the mate-bond and its practicalities...
"I know," she said before he could comment on it. "Overthinking."
"Seen enough?" he asked and even his voice sounded more guttural in this form. Animalistic. It was a form designed for intimidation, but she could not find it in herself to be scared. If she paid attention, she could feel how his hands on her waist had moved to not scratch her with his claws. He would never hurt her.
It was not a form made for expressions either, but there was something almost self-conscious about the way he looked at her. As she studied him, he was studying her in return.
Had she seen enough? No. Never enough. Could spend the rest of her life looking at him, in either of his forms. He was beautiful.
"Mm. Thank you," she said anyway.
The change back went faster, even though she could see the coarse hair of the sideburns pull back into his face. Instinctually, she tried to poke his cheeks to see if she could feel anything under there. Realistically there should be hair follicles or something.
"It's not science," Derek told her as he had probably understood exactly what she was doing. Or he was amused by her prodding. "Don't try and force logic where it doesn't belong."
"There's logic," she said and stood on her toes to kiss him gently on the lips for a short second, loving how warm he felt as she pressed her whole body into his, "just a different kind."
His arms around her tightened as the kiss deepened.
She quickly found herself hating that both of them had roommates.
One long-ass dinner, ladies and gentlemen and everyone in between.
First of all, a big, huge, gigantic thank you to Lunaflores10 for the Spanish translation and advice (and music recommendations!). Much love to you!
I have mixed feelings about this chapter. Bittersweet tension, Derek as an awkward bystander to some family drama, some answers to questions posed long ago... and yet, I dunno, maybe I've just read it too many times and it stopped making sense. Maybe it's just my own daddy issues making it a hard read. I do not know.
So please let me know what you guys think! Thank you for reading - I promise we're soon back with some action beyond the relationship-drama. (And Joe, my girl, you gotta see your aunt and cousin soon - it's been so long!)
Hope you all are staying safe and healthy!
btw: Twitter finally growing a pair and disabling a certain account is ah-ma-zing!
1st Guest: You might be able to break into Area 51 if you wear a MAGA-hat at least. And oh my God, you guys are so worried for Joe's dad it's making me all warm and fuzzy here :)
Moonys: Jackson is a lot of things and he hasn't gotten much screentime in this fic, so I wanted to let him shine a bit. Also, he might be slightly sentimental because of how Lydia saved him, but mostly I guess he just wanted to show off in front of Derek. Now that you saw how dinner panned out, I guess it was more awkward tales of Joe's youth than any kind of trap. You have a nice day too!
JoyDG: Fun fact, I have not seen or read Twilight either, so here I'm more like Joe than her dad. No spoilers, but there might be a reason there's been so many easygoing chapters now. Season 3 is coming up soon.
2nd Guest: I've gotten several requests to do the first chapter from Derek's POV, so… not making any promises, but it's quite possible I'll do that sometime in the future.
sunrisekisses: Not gonna spoil anything about S3, but rest assured, I hate the Darach as much as you :)