Chapter 57: The Mother (or The Truth)
Coffee dripped morosely onto the tarp-covered floor of the sheriff's station.
Restorations were in full swing now and she had side-stepped one construction worker up in a ladder when she'd heard a fast pattern of running feet. As someone called her name, she turned around — because what else were you supposed to do? — which caused Stiles Stilinski to run smack into her. Not that he ran into her on purpose, his foot had caught in the tarp and he tripped headfirst into her chest.
It could have been worse, she supposed, because his flailing hand had been dangerously close to a sexual harassment claim. Instead of her chest, however, it found the cardboard tray of coffees and in his attempt to regain balance, he pushed the whole tray up, emptying the content over her torso.
For a few seconds they — she, Stiles, and the construction worker still on top of the ladder — just stared.
"Hot!" Joe hissed and dropped the cardboard tray with three now empty cups to the floor so she could pull her t-shirt away from her skin. The coffee probably held around 180 degrees Fahrenheit now after the short walk from the coffee shop and cooled rapidly just from being flung at her, but it scolded her skin like it had been boiling. "Really hot! Oh shit, crap, that burns!"
Panic-stricken, Stiles grabbed a clipboard from a nearby desk and fanned her frantically with it. "Aah, sorry, so sorry!"
In the midst of swearing, Joe cared less about modesty and more about not getting second-degree burns and she wrenched off her jacket and t-shirt in a swift movement. "Uuaa! Hot, hot, hot-"
The sudden on-rush of cold air when the wet fabric left her skin nearly burned as much as the coffee had in the first place. Apologizing, Stiles kept fanning her with the clipboard while she tried to blow air down her chest to alleviate the burns.
Of course, that was when Sheriff Stilinski and Agent Delgado walked into the station.
They all froze. Stiles with the clipboard mid-air, Joe only in jeans and a coffee-soaked bra with her fingers splayed in jazz hands, and the poor construction worker still up in the ladder.
"Everything okay here?" Sheriff Stilinski asked as if he didn't really want to know the answer.
"It's not what it looks like!" Joe and Stiles chorused and Joe only made a face when Stiles turned to her with a wink, obviously satisfied with the unified thinking. Winking was not what they needed right now.
"Joe was carrying coffee and you ran into her?" the Sheriff asked tiredly. In response, Stiles tilted his head to indicate that was kind of accurate and Joe just shifted her jazz hands into thumbs up. The Sheriff sighed and nodded at the construction worker. "You seen enough, buddy?"
Joe's head shot up to see the construction worker hanging out from his ladder to get a better view of her. Thumbs-up turned to middle fingers up.
The Sheriff turned a bit sideways to address his companion. "Special Agent Delgado, if you go 'round back there should be a spare t-shirt for your daughter."
The ladder shook as the worker snapped himself back.
"Let's go, kid," her dad said, obviously concealing a grin to appear stern. He had both hands in his pockets. "Come on."
With his hands up in surrender, Stiles still somehow managed to be more in the way than humanly possible when Joe picked up her wet clothes and went to follow her dad. Could be because Stiles was looking distinctly up at the ceiling instead of her and she rolled her eyes.
"Jesus Christ, Stiles, you've seen me in a bikini," she muttered when passing him, dodging his spastic movements.
"Yeah, when I was twelve!" Stiles squeaked, referencing when Joe had just moved to Berkeley and took Scott and him to the water park in Concord. Not that he had been less spazzy then.
With a last glare to both the construction worker and Stiles, she trudged after her dad, whose shoulders shook from holding in laughter. The Sheriff just gave her a tired nod, obviously not the first half-naked female in distress he'd encountered. He admonished Stiles to pick his jaw up from the floor and go get a mop.
"You okay, kid?" her dad asked when they reached the locker rooms and she had adorned a fetching gray t-shirt with the Beacon County-logo. At least it smelled clean. "No burns?"
"No," she bit out and groaned when she realized her wet bra would leave marks under the shirt. With her back to her dad, she slipped out of it and pulled it through the sleeve of the t-shirt. "Just soaked and smelling like espresso."
"You love espresso."
Joe made a face as she tested how obvious her new bra-less existence was. "Not as a perfume. Your card's in my jacket, by the way." She nodded towards where she'd slung the soaked garments and her dad went to pick it up while Joe hunted the locker room for a hairdryer to dry up her bra at least. "Used it for the coffee too, but-"
"We'll go get new coffee, kid," her dad commented as he managed to pry her card loose from the wet denim. "Looks like your phone's survived at least. You got three missed calls from... Lobito?"
Realizing equality had not reached Beacon County Sheriff's department and there was no hairdryer, Joe glanced up at the screen her dad held up.
"Oh, uhm, that's Derek," she said slowly. "It's, uh, a nickname. A stupid one, he hates it. It's because, uh-"
"Yeah, well, he's callin' again. Can I answer?" her dad asked and became temporarily deaf when she loudly told him no. "¡Hola, hola! Rob Delgado speaking. ¡Hey mi buen Derek! ¿Qué onda, cuate? ¿Con que no pudiste poner a prueba tu español la otra vez, eh? ¿Cómo has estado?"
"Tell him I'm fine!" Joe yelled at her dad who'd wandered back into the hall, talking Spanish like he was working undercover as someone way younger. He had just asked Derek the Spanish equivalent of 'What's up, dude?' for Christ's sake and Joe could feel herself getting warm all over again at the second-hand embarrassment. Great that her dad was finally accepting his heritage, bad that he insisted on taking it out on Derek. She made a mental note to apologize later, her dad was trying way too hard here.
Of course, Derek would have felt that coffee on her skin. She definitely felt that. With no hairdryer and no extra bra in sight, Joe sighed and stole two band-aids from the medicine cabinet as impromptu nipple covers. It made things less obvious, if not completely inconspicuous. Joe was all about body positivity and free the nipple, but would have liked to ease more into it than this. Goddamnit, Stiles.
"Josefina? No, no, she's fine. A little mishap with some spilled coffee. We're headin' out to get some new ones, you wanna jo-"
"Dad, no!" Joe yelled again, hoping Derek would hear. "I said no!"
"Ah, right, I see. Listen, sorry I had to leave so suddenly last night, it was nice meetin' ya. Would love to get the chance to tell you exactly why the Knicks are superior to the Lakers in person."
Her dad walked slowly back into the locker room without a hurry. Joe rolled her eyes at him, even with the butterflies soaring from thinking about Derek. After the mildly disastrous dinner, it had turned out kind of nice, just walking slowly back to the laundromat while talking about mundane stuff. Apparently, Derek was not only a car nerd, but also a literary omnivore. Joe rarely read fiction, but could listen to Derek talk about it all night.
"And if I ever come across someone lookin' for vintage sportscar restorations, I'll send 'em your way. You wanna talk to Joe, she's right here?"
"Give me the damn phone," Joe hissed and snatched it from her dad's hand. "Hi."
"You okay?"
Hearing his voice made her feel more than okay and she was glad of the makeshift nipple covers. God, Delgado, you got it bad for this guy.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Joe said, turning her back on her dad who had begun to whistle innocently. If he saw the lovesick smile on her face she'd never live it down. "You?"
"I'm fine." It was hard to tell, but it sounded like he was smiling too. "Guess you don't want me to join for coffee?"
"Uh, no, don't take it personally, it's just that my clothes got soaked in the last coffee I bought and I'm currently without a bra at the sheriff's station so I could do with as few witnesses as possible," she muttered under her breath so her dad wouldn't hear. The phone went so quiet she had to check the call was still active. "Derek? Still there?"
He cleared his throat. "Yeah, I'm here." A tingle went down her spine when she realized he sounded strained. "And-" He groaned and that noise definitely caused a reaction in her body. "And now Jackson and Peter are heading up. I gotta go. Talk later."
Hanging up, she unconsciously pushed the phone into her heart. So many highlights from last night. Holding hands, him calling her beautiful, walking the streets at night- oh my God, she was sounding like a high school romance novel from the 50s. After the tiny kiss she'd given him in the alley, they had kissed good night as well outside the laundromat. He'd even asked her if that was okay and just that question alone made it more than okay. It had been a toe-curling, arms around his neck, his hands on her waist, standing on her tip-toes, open-mouthed kiss that left her warm in her entire body, so much that she almost floated upstairs.
Still well within PG-13 and she was beginning to worry if her body would be able to withstand it if they ever progressed. As Derek did not seem to mind the current pace, she was not going to rush into anything. There was a real possibility he would not be comfortable going further anytime soon because of past traumas, and she wanted him to be okay with everything they did. Besides, both of them had roommates with super hearing — you'd need more than a sock on the door handle.
It was surreal though, counting the number of kisses like she was in junior high, but she just wanted more. Good morning-kisses and good night-kisses and welcome back-kisses and I lov-
"Hey, kid, you okay?"
She snapped to attention when she realized she was still clutching the phone to her heart like a lovesick schoolgirl. Her dad was watching her with an expression eerily similar to Aunt Mel, with eyebrows raised and a secretive smirk.
"You gotta little," he gestured to her chin, "drool right there."
"Shut up," Joe bit back and dropped the hand that she'd automatically used to check. Her frown only deepened when her dad laughed. Of all the things he was, at least he wasn't overprotective when it came to her love interests. "Jesus, Dad, you look like shit."
When she managed to stop thinking about Derek for two seconds, she was surprised she hadn't noticed it before. Still in the same suit he'd worn to dinner last night, he had large bags under his eyes and a thick cover of gray stubble covering his jaw. It made a sandpaper-scratching noise when he rubbed his face tiredly.
"You know your uncle," he said drily and found a plastic bag to stuff her wet clothes in, "he doesn't call for nothin'. Spent all night negotiating a hostage-situation until the guy finally caved. Their office's still two men down from a shooting earlier this year — sick leave, no funerals, thank God — and he knew I was nearby, so..."
"You okay?" she asked, noting how skeptical she sounded. He gave her a curt nod and then waved at her to get out of the locker rooms. Apparently, a deputy was waiting to be allowed in. "Uncle Raf?"
"Yeah, yeah, we're okay, kid, we got this one," her dad said and put a hand on her back to steer her out of the station. Behind them, Stiles was still mopping up the coffee, but she thought he was trying to get her attention. "Sorry again I had to leave, you know I wouldn't have unless it was important."
"Dad, it's fine," she mumbled. Hard to compete with a hostage-situation. He'd called her this morning, asking her to pick up coffees to meet at him the station at noon. "You just got back? Did you sleep at all tonight?"
With a wry smile, he shook his head. "No, which is why we're going back to get more coffee." He shrugged off his jacket when they came outside and handed it to her. "Your slouchin's making me uncomfortable. Wear it or not, kid, or go home and change. You know," he got a wistful smile, "when I was younger-"
Joe groaned and put on the jacket. "I don't want to hear about what women did in the good old days, Dad! I'm uncomfortable enough as it is."
He laughed and shook his head. "Kid, I'm sorry about the dinner last night. We-"
"We're hopeless," she interjected as they pushed into the doors of the coffee shop. "I'd like to blame the restaurant for bad luck, but I think it's just us." A slight second of hesitation, before she added: "For what it's worth, I'm sorry too."
As tempting as it was to blame him, she was equally at fault and the two fun-facts Derek disclosed still lingered in her mind. Dad had called his therapist and was more sad than angry when they argued — it was enough to take the edge off any sharp reply Joe wanted to lash out at him. It was the thing with Alex all over again. Just because Joe cut them out of her life didn't mean they stopped living. And just because Joe tried to stop thinking about them, didn't mean she stopped caring. Alex was one thing, but this was her dad.
"They're out of oatmilk, kid," her dad let her know when they were in front of the register. The barista behind the counter smiled apologetically while her dad waited for her to decide. "Soy, almond, or rice?"
Joe largely preferred oat because of the round flavor. Both soy and rice milk left it all kind of watery, but almond had an aftertaste that clashed with the cappuccino. "Can I get a double soy hazelnut latte instead?"
It was not until she sipped it she realized this had been what Kate brought her all the way back when Joe still didn't believe in werewolves. There had been some red flags to Kate's behavior even then, but Joe never would have suspected Kate to be a full-blown sociopath. Not sure what was worst — the fact that Joe had definitely been attracted to Kate at some point or the fact that Kate knew about it too.
The only consolation — and it was a small one — was that Kate had seemed to shift her fixation from Derek to Joe. It might be because she viewed Joe as an extension of Derek, but Joe was still convinced Kate would target Joe first if (when) she came back. Separate the mates and Joe was definitely the weakest link.
Erica and Boyd were one thing — they would have to find them at some point — but Joe was not sure if Derek could fully move past everything until Kate was stopped. Could you ever move past something like he had been through? Again, Joe considered her dad. What would she have done if something like that happened to Dad, Aunt Mel, and Scott? Would she blame herself like Derek or go on a killing spree like Peter?
"Okay, kid, talk to me," her dad said and she realized they had already returned to the station with her being lost in her own mind. Without going inside, he was in the midst of lighting up a cigarillo and peered at her through heavy-set eyes, obviously feeling the lack of sleep — a feeling she knew just as well. "Derek didn't sound too upset and you didn't look upset at all after talking with him, so as bad as dinner went — and again I'm sorry, all right? — I'm guessing it's somethin' else that's got you lookin' like you ate a lemon."
When Joe didn't say anything, because she was not sure where to even begin, her dad sighed.
"Raf asked about you. When you're going on tour to the crime labs," Joe had told her dad of Walker's research, "you should drop by him. He said something about missing his sushi-buddy."
It was funny how Joe had a better relationship with Scott's dad than he did — and vice versa. Funny as in not really funny at all.
"I'm not sure I'm going," Joe admitted slowly and noted how her dad angled his smoke away from her, seemingly without needing to think about it. "With Erica and Boyd still missing, it just feels like I can't."
Her dad knew her pretty well, as proven again by his next question: "Why all this guilt, kid?"
"She told me she was leaving. They were running away, that's why I gave her your number in the first place, in case they got into trouble and-" Joe used the heel of her hand to rub at her eyes. "And I just know I should have done more to stop them."
"What should you have done?" Her dad shrugged and took another drag of his cigarillo. "She'd made up her mind, right? And I assume you're not her legal guardian — in that case, I'd want a word with whatever social worker approved of that arrangement — so it's not your job to teach her what the world can be like. You can't keep people from makin' their own mistakes." He glanced over at her. "No matter how much you care 'bout them."
Joe sighed and leaned against the outer wall of the sheriff's station. She wondered if her dad might have thought a bit differently if he knew the whole story. She also wondered if they were still talking about Erica.
"You gotta prepare yourself that this might not have a happy ending," her dad said slowly and reached over to rub her shoulder. "You might not like what you find."
"Not that good at finding people anyway," Joe muttered without thinking and saw the guilt pass over her dad's face. "So I'll cross that bridge if I ever get there." Not in the mood to get into all of that, she asked instead: "How do you do this? This job? How do you not do what Uncle Raf did?"
Which had been the same thing that Alex did.
He kept quiet for some time, smoking his cigarillo while he thought. "You know what I always told ya, that you win some and you lose some. You just gotta let the wins weigh more than the losses. Sometimes, no matter how much you try, work, and want things to be okay, they still won't. That's life. And sometimes," he sounded a tad more hopeful, "they will, because you made a difference, because you actively tried to help and succeeded. It's the same thing that keeps Mel goin'."
"However," he reached over to squeeze her shoulder again, "there's also a reason you're kept away from certain cases. There's a reason my SSA's doin' everything she can to keep me away from the Argent-hunt. The personal cases," he heaved a great sigh, "they're the ones that consume you. You work them harder than anythin' else, but your mind's clouded, and you refuse to acknowledge that it is just another case, one that doesn't necessarily have a happy endin'."
Joe nudged her toe into the pavement. "You can't ask me to stop looking for Erica and Boyd."
"I know and I'm not. But I can ask you to stop feeling guilty for keepin' on livin'. That's how you don't get consumed. Ya gotta treat it as a job and ya gotta clock out sometimes."
"Says the man with a seventy-hour average workweek."
"Considerin' you were pulling twenty-four-hour workdays, I'm not fully sure what point you're tryin' to make there, mija."
Knowing there was some truth to that, Joe ducked her head down to look at her shoes again. "I didn't mean to make this your problem, Dad. That's not why I gave her your number, I just felt I had to something and..."
"Joe, baby, this is my job."
"But you're not here because your SSA assigned you to the case, Dad. You're here because you feel guilty too. Because this is my personal case. Right?" She saw him nod beside her and she sighed. "How long are they gonna let you stay here?"
"Last time I checked I'm allowed to spend my vacation days anyway I see fit."
Joe groaned. "Dad... I'm pretty sure that not how this is supposed to work. In fact, I'm not entirely sure it's not illegal in some way."
"Something's worth bendin' the rules a little," he quipped, but then sounded serious again. "My SSA gave me a few more days and then it depends on what we find. Blurred shapes from an outdated CCTV-system, unfortunately didn't cut it, especially since we couldn't even get an official ID on Erica."
Neither made any move to go back inside, her dad smoking in silence.
Finally, she sighed. "Why are you feeling guilty?"
"You mean besides the fact that my daughter was caught in a shootout," he nodded towards the scaffolding outside the station, "and got gunned down by a high schooler with a Glock 22," something had caught in his throat as he gruffly cleared it, "and I couldn't even come to see her in the hospital?"
"Yeah, well, you forgot the part where I was kidnapped and tortured by Kate Argent first."
Joe tried to keep her poker face intact at his expression. They stared at each other for a second before they both laughed, although her dad was rolling his eyes at the same time.
"Dad, you know I suck at these kinds of talks. I swear to God, I'm fine. If anything, I had too many visitors at that hospital."
"You're tenacious, I'll give you that." Dad shook his head, but she could see the smile lingering. "Jesus Christ, kid." Another gruff laugh as he snuffed out the last of his cigarillo. "And you're asking me how I keep going? Hell, I'd been swamped in debriefs, group therapy, psych assessments, and all that other crap if I'd been through half the shit you've endured the last few months." Now another concerned look. "You talked to anyone about it? Really talked, I mean, to someone on the outside?"
"Not really," Joe admitted. She'd told bits and pieces here and there — most to Jimmy, now that she thought about it, and then with Derek and Aunt Mel on a respective second and third place.
With a nod, like he'd expected that, her dad straightened up. "How 'bout we give that dinner another go, just you and me? Mel's got the late shift and Scott's workin' overtime at the clinic. Why don't you come over and I'll make asopao, just like Mrs. Diaz used to and we can talk. Both of us, all of it, and I promise, no soccer."
She hesitated. "There is no way you're gonna be able to make asopao like Mrs. Diaz."
"I'll give it my best shot. Eh? Come on, whaddaya say?" Her dad scuffed his shoe into her sneaker to make her look up and he gave her a big smile. Unable to stop smiling back, she still rolled her eyes before she nodded. "There she is. Now, if you wanna go bury some of that guilt in work, I got a lot of traffic cam footage to comb through."
"Like father, like daughter."
The construction worker made it very obvious he wasn't looking at her when they went back inside, which she saw her dad found hilarious. Of all the Latino father stereotypes, he did not fit the bill on that one.
No evidence remained of the coffee-mishap, but before Joe could follow her dad into the conference room, Stiles poked his head out of the interrogation room and tried to get her attention.
"Psst."
"Stiles, I am looking right at you," Joe pointed out while her dad continued down the hall without noticing she had stopped. "What?"
Stiles tilted his head to make her come into the interrogation room and rolling her eyes, she did just that. It was just a small room without windows or any other furniture than a table and four chairs, somehow feeling smaller with the spazzy Stiles Stilinski practically buzzing in front of her.
"Hi!" he said with a wide, close-lipped smile. "Are you okay? Like, okay-okay, not just coffee-okay, but generally okay?" When she took more than a second to answer, he smiled even wider, his whole body doing some sort of gesture. "Just, you know, haven't seen you since the whole thing with Kate and Gerard and Jackson and," his eyebrows went up, like he was gauging her reaction, "Scott...?"
"I'm fine."
"Like," Stiles shrugged and held out his hands, palms up, "fine-fine or just regular fine or totally fine?" His face twisted into a worried frown. "With your dad in town and you moving out and not talking to Scott, I just, you know, wanted to check in!"
He ended his statement with a fraternal slap to her shoulder and a happy nod.
"Are you okay, Stiles?" she asked, not sure whether or not she appreciated his concern. There was a good chance he was just on a mission from Scott to find how much of a grudge she still held.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine!" he said, again with too much conviction as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Just, two of my friends are missing and there's a psycho mass-murderer on the loose and my dad is working himself half to death trying to solve all of this with half of his staff slaughtered by another psycho mass-murderer who also happened to shoot my best friend's cousin, who's no longer talking to said best friend." Stiles gasped in a large breath. "So, yeah, fine."
It reminded her that it had been less than a month since everything happened at the station. Less than two weeks since the kanima. Time had moved differently since Christmas — more events crammed into a few months than into the previous two years.
Joe studied the faint remnants of bruises on Stiles' cheek. "Does the school have a mental health counselor? Psychologist? Someone you can talk to?"
"Uh, well, there's a French teacher slash guidance counselor and Lydia says she's got a master's in psychology and like three hundred hours of supervised training, so..."
"And are you talking to her?"
"Yeah, after Matt it was sort of, uh, suggested in a way that meant it was mandatory. I'm also sort of talking to Lydia. She's been kind of down after Allison left. And now Jackson's leaving too and..."
"You're friend-zoned?" Joe guessed and Stiles nodded.
"Oh yes. Definitely. Speaking of friend though," Stiles for some godawful reason shot her a pair of finger guns, "are you going to talk to Scott?"
"I don't know, is he gonna apologize?" she shot back with a raised eyebrow. No answer, finger guns wavering. Rolling her eyes, she studied Stiles' nervous smile. "Did you know what he was doing?"
At that, his smile faded and he rubbed his neck, studying the floor more than her. "Uh, no. I don't think anyone knew besides maybe Deaton. Which, you know, is disconcerting because Scott's not usually good at keeping secrets. I mean, at least I don't think he is, now he's got me wondering if maybe he has this whole secret identity I don't know anything about and-"
Worrisome, Joe thought as Stiles rattled on, if Scott hadn't even confided in his best friend. And Aunt Mel said Joe was pushing people away? Scott was lucky Stiles was a loyal friend.
Scott was lucky Stiles had shown up at all. As devious as Scott's plan had been, the shortsightedness made Joe's insides tighten with anger all over again. If Jimmy hadn't been there and if Stiles hadn't shown up with Lydia, what would have stopped the kanima from tearing them all to shreds? Half-paralyzed Derek, gravely wounded Isaac, sedated Allison, or out-of-bullets Chris? Not half-crazy Joe, that's for sure.
"-this whole thing with Allison, things would have gone completely different and," Stiles waved his hand in front of her face, "you're not listening to a word I'm saying, are you?"
"Sorry," Joe said and rubbed her face. "Shit, sorry, Stiles. I didn't, uh, sleep too much last night. Between school and Erica and Boyd missing, I don't have enough hours in a day it feels like. I'm so ready to be done with this paper it's ridiculous."
After getting back to the apartment, she had buckled down on all the neglected schoolwork. She had been too wired from the dinner and subsequent kissing to even contemplate sleeping anyway. Now she told Stiles about the paper, the research project this summer, and tried to keep up with his sporadic questions about absolutely everything ever so loosely related to criminology. Stiles was a cop kid, just like her.
Both jumped when the door to the interrogation door swung open to reveal a tired-looking Sheriff Stilinski. He gave his son an exasperated look and Joe a worn smile.
"Your dad's looking for you," he informed her and then nodded at Stiles. "You're with me. Come on."
"I, uh, actually thought that maybe I could help Joe and Agent Delgado today?" Stiles pitched, using his hands to indicate Joe and a vague gesture of helping.
The Sheriff didn't hesitate. "Absolutely not. Let's go." When Stiles did hesitate, the Sheriff sighed. "There is absolutely no way you're weaseling your way into a federal investigation, Stiles. You said you wanted to hang out today, fine, but then you're coming with me."
Stiles sputtered in disbelief. "But Joe-"
"Is Rob's kid and his responsibility. Also, not a minor. Let's go, Stiles." The Sheriff left the door open as he retreated. "If you're not in the car in two minutes I'm impounding the Jeep. Again."
Joe and Stiles watched the Sheriff walk away. Stiles' chest went up high as he sighed. "Yeah, so, my dad's been kinda overprotective since the whole Hale house stuff," a short shrug, "and after I witnessed that mechanic dying," he nodded awkwardly, "and was caught here in the shootout," Joe's eyebrows rose as Stiles continued, "and then got kidnapped and beaten after the lacrosse game."
"Not sure overprotective is the right word," Joe said sarcastically, but without too much venom as she considered her own history and dad. Worst of all, the Sheriff only knew half of what Stiles had been through. "Can I ask you something? Why haven't you told him what's going on?"
"Because he'd want to do something about it," Stiles said as he looked in the direction the Sheriff had gone, "and if he gets thrown into a brick wall, he's not gonna get back up." His slim shoulders rose as he shrugged theatrically and looked at her, obviously trying to lighten the mood. "And there's a good chance he'll just call me crazy and make me take a drug test."
"Ha-ha." Joe rolled her eyes, but watched Stiles' otherwise animated face contort into a solemn expression. "Is it helping, talking to this guidance counselor?" In a standard Joe-tries-to-be-caring move, she patted his shoulder awkwardly. "You sure you're doing okay?"
Before he could answer, the Sheriff's voice echoed through the hallway: "Thirty seconds!"
"Okay, I gotta go," Stiles hurried to say. Apparently the Sheriff's threat hadn't been an empty one.
Joe's eyebrows rose again as Stiles looked contemplative at her. "What?"
In some spastic movements, he opened up his arms, making a few false starts, gauging her expression before he seemed to make up his mind and enveloped her in a tight bearhug. All angles and lean muscles, he squeezed her across her upper back and she patted his shoulder awkwardly again, wondering where this was coming from.
"You okay, Stiles?"
"Yeah, I just, I- you know, I missed you," Stiles stumbled through the statement, but sounded sincere. He made a weird noise and she felt his body freeze up a bit. "You're- you're not wearing a bra, are you?"
"Nope."
"Okay," he said hastily and untangled from her while rubbing the back of his neck. For some godforsaken reason, he clapped her shoulder in a fraternal manner. "Okay, uh," he retracted his hand, "okay. Sorry."
Still wearing her dad's jacket, she tightened it around her chest to save him the trouble of averting his gaze everywhere else. "Don't make this weird, Stiles."
"What do you mean? I'm sooo not making this weird," Stiles told the ceiling and she had a front view of how his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. "Nothing weird about you not wearing a bra, it's totally," he coughed, "natural and I guess sort of my fault, which sounded way creepier than I intended it-"
The tension left her and she laughed at his stupid expression. "Stiles! Dude. Don't."
The Sheriff boomed: "Stiles!"
"I gotta, uh-" Stiles gestured to the door and almost tripped on his own feet on the way out. "Yeah, bye."
The second he left, Joe opened the jacket to look down at her own chest. It wasn't that obvious, but she found herself wondering how Derek would react if she somehow managed to find an excuse to hug him. And on that warm and tingly thought, she made her way into her dad's makeshift office and failed to see he wasn't even in there.
Blinking her way out of the inappropriate daydream, she could hear him talking on his phone down the hall. His laptop was already set up, placed haphazardly on top of the large map with all the post-its, and she took his chair to make some headway with the traffic cam footage. Except it wasn't traffic cam footage up on his screen.
It took her a few seconds to figure out what she was looking at. It was a close-up of a tree trunk with deep furrows in the bark. Joe went through the picture-series, seeing the same tree from different angles. They looked like claw marks, on either side of the trunk, as if someone had held onto it for dear life and been dragged backward. Joe could feel her insides grow cold.
"Mountain lion."
Her dad's sudden voice made her jump in her chair — he had come back inside the office and stood over her shoulder looking at the screen.
"Pretty cool, right?" Dad continued and gestured at the laptop. "One of the Sheriff's guys found it when they searched the tree-lines around the gas station. Mountain lions use trees like their scratchin' posts," he held up his fingers, bending them slightly to look like a paw, "keeps their claws sharp."
"Mountain lion," Joe repeated breathlessly. Her gaze was dragged back to the screen. "Yeah, cool."
Heart still hammering, she changed the file to the traffic cam footage and got to work. The second her dad got his next call and left the office to talk, she connected her phone to the laptop and imported the images. Easiest would have been forwarding them through e-mail, but that left a paper trail, one she could do without.
Those claw marks did not look like they were from a mountain lion.
After several hours of scanning the grainy pictures from the few traffic cams posted in Beacon Hills looking for anything out of the ordinary or anyone resembling Erica, Boyd, or the two blurry figures from the CC-TV, Joe could feel herself going crosseyed. Her dad had brought in a second laptop with the police logs for the days before and after Erica's call to him, but he was more on the phone out in the hallway than he was in the office. Derek had said her dad's supervising agent wanted him down to Orange County and she wondered if all the calls were related to that. He wasn't sharing anything new with her related to this case at least.
At some point, Sheriff Stilinski must have returned to the station, because he popped his head in to wish them a good night before leaving again. Joe groaned as she checked the time and stretched her stiff neck out, wondering briefly if Derek could feel that. Another day wasted.
"Gotta clock out at some point," her dad commented from where he sat leaned back in his chair, scribbling in his small notebook. His phone rang again and now he groaned. "These guys are somet- oh." He cut himself off as he answered. "¿Qué quieres?" What do you want?
The rapid Spanish exchange that followed revealed the caller had been Aunt Mel. Mostly because it was only when they two talked to each other you could hear the full extent of the admittedly weird — to Joe's ears at least — Argentine accent. It was the same way her Grandma had talked and it almost sounded Italian.
"Can you do me a favor?" her dad asked after he hung up. "Your aunt forgot her cell phone charger." He held up his own with a critical glance. "She accused me of takin' it, but I'm pretty sure this one's mine. Anyway, can you swing by the hospital with it? I still need to go by the store to get chicken and some fresh cilantro."
"You're making enough for leftovers right?" Joe asked, but got up from the computer, rolling her neck around. Proper homecooked meals were a rarity in the McCall-household and Scott would at least appreciate it. As her dad confirmed he was, pre-occupied by packing up his own stuff, she took the charger. "I gotta go home and change first anyway."
They agreed to meet up later and Joe walked back to the laundromat, not surprised to see Jimmy hunched over his computer. A short detour to her room to put on a bra and a normal t-shirt before she leaned over his shoulder to see his screen. It did not look like a blog-post, but rather some kind of code?
"You smell strongly of espresso," he commented, not turning around to look at her. "Have your caffeine addiction finally done permanent damage?"
"Hello to you too," Joe said and gave a brief recap of the coffee mishap. "What are you working on?"
"A script."
She waited a beat for any more elaborate explanation, but it never came. "A computer script?"
"Yes, it's not done yet," Jimmy said and scooted his chair away from her. "You really do smell strongly of espresso." A sour glance over his shoulder at her. "Did you want anything?"
In response, Joe held up her phone with the pictures of the tree trunk. "This was taken not far from that gas station where Erica made her call to Dad. Mountain lion?"
Jimmy immediately snatched the phone out of her hands and she could see him swipe through the photos, zooming in on the claw marks. "It could be, I suppose. Except," Jimmy held his own hand out and claws extended from each fingertip, "cats and mountain lions will typically only scrape down vertically, not horizontally."
"Werewolf?"
"Most likely, though I'm not an expert." Jimmy turned in his chair again and did a quick search on the internet. "Says here that mountain lion scratches will be four to eight feet off the ground."
Both looked at the picture on Joe's phone again — the scratches were hardly two feet from the forest floor. Joe felt the churning of guilt in her stomach. So much for Derek's theory of Erica and Boyd going willingly with the Alphas.
Jimmy did something else on Joe's phone and made a contemplative noise.
"What?"
"Good thing you transferred the files themselves instead of taking a screenshot. There's a geo-tag to these photos. It's in code, but I'll be able to crack it in a few hours. Another set of coordinates will help with my script." Jimmy sighed at her confused look. "I'm working on extracting the most likely routes your two runaways would have taken. Hard math combined with your," he gestured to her criminology-textbooks that took up half the desk, "soft theories." An eyebrow rose on his face. "What? You thought I had stopped the search?"
"No, I just-" That was exactly what Joe had thought. "You never even met these kids."
"No," Jimmy said in agreement and changed his computer window to the script again. "But considering I've hit a dead-end at every attempt of obtaining more information on this Alpha pack, they do not seem like someone we should underestimate. Run along now, Delgado, you're only hindering my process."
Feeling thoroughly dismissed, Joe did just that. On her way to the hospital, she tried calling Derek with the new update, but only met a busy-signal. A text ticked in that he would call her later and Joe focused on finding Aunt Mel, immediately feeling guilty for not stopping somewhere to pick up some food for her.
"Room 215," the busy nurse at the station told her after just glancing at Joe's face. Well, Joe was a regular, so she didn't question it and trudged up to the second level of the hospital and located the room in question. Vacant, according to the sign on the door, and Joe wandered in expecting to find Aunt Mel knee-deep in inventory.
Instead, she found Scott.
The only consolation was that he looked equally surprised to see her. As she spotted the phone-charger in his hand, she realized what was going on.
Joe swung around to the door, but it slammed shut before she reached it. Even she heard the lock slide in. "Oh come on! Aunt Mel! Are you serious?"
Aunt Mel's stern face appeared in the small window in the door. She pointed her finger between Joe and Scott, mouthing the word-
"She says 'talk'," Scott supplied behind Joe. He groaned. "This was a setup, wasn't it?"
"Ya think?" Joe rolled her eyes as Aunt Mel left them. For good measure, Joe tried the door handle, but it was thoroughly locked. "Jesus."
"I can probably break through," Scott said and Joe turned to look at him. His voice was flat and hard — this was a setup for both of them.
"Really, we're going straight for the property damage?" Joe bit out as she got her phone out to call Aunt Mel. It went straight to voicemail. "Shit." Not beaten yet, Joe tried something else.
"Who are you calling?"
"Hospital security." Joe held her finger out to silence him. "Now shh. Hi, this is Joe Delgado. We're locked in room 215 at Beacon Mem- son of a bitch!" She glared at her phone. They hung up on her. "Okay, Aunt Mel's covered her bases." Now she glared at Scott. "Thought you were working overtime tonight?"
"I am," Scott mumbled, having brought out his own phone. "Which is why I gotta call Deaton and tell him I'll be late."
Fuming, because she suspected her dad had been in on the ploy, Joe watched Scott as he called Deaton to explain the 'situation'. She took stock of her cousin. He looked like shit. Unkempt hair getting a bit too long, oily skin around his nose, and dark circles under his eyes. Kind of like during Spring Break when Allison had stopped talking to him and Joe realized it was probably a repeat of the same now. Allison had literally left the country after all. It did nothing for Joe's anger — it wasn't hard to tell where Scott's priorities and loyalties laid
"Is she listening to us?" Joe asked and leaned against the wall next to the door. "Aunt Mel?"
He shrugged. "How should I know?"
"Oh my God, you are a literal werewolf, Scott. Focus your hearing and listen for her heartbeat or something."
"Derek teach you that?"
"Pretty sure he tried to teach you at some point. Can't you just do it?" She crossed her arms, making a point of waiting on him. With a roll of his eyes, he glared at the door. If possible, Scott looked even more stupid when he tried to concentrate. "Well?"
"I think she's right outside."
"This is a low blow, Aunt Mel!" Joe called out loudly in the direction of the door. "I don't have time for this, so can you please just open the door?" She thumped the door blade with the palm of her hand. "Hey!"
Scott ignored Joe's outburst and let out a long breath. He took a few steps to the side, rubbing his hand through his hair. "You wanna talk?"
"No."
"Shocker," Scott mumbled and slumped down in the chair next to the empty hospital bed. "Let me know when you want me to break down the door."
"Leave the poor door out of it, it's not like this place isn't underfunded already."
Joe entertained the idea of calling Derek, but she suspected Aunt Mel would be able to persuade him that this was a necessary evil. After all, everyone seemed to think it was up to her to forgive Scott, regardless if Scott apologized or not. Sucked being the adult sometimes.
"Let me know when you're ready to admit what you did was wrong," Joe added to Scott and pushed her back firm against the wall, ready to wait both him and Aunt Mel out. Stubbornness ran in their family; she could do this all night. When Scott didn't respond, Joe couldn't help but follow up with: "You had absolutely no right to do what you did-"
"Trying to keep you alive? To keep you from getting hurt? How is that wrong?"
"Okay, I am so incredibly sick and tired of you guys trying to keep me safe," Joe snapped and pushed off the wall to accentuate her words with a pointed finger. "Every time you or Derek or anyone else tries to keep me safe, it backfires. You lied to me, Scott! And you know — I told you what Dad did — you know how much that hurt me. I can take a bullet, Scott, better than I thought even, but I can't take you lying to me!"
"What was I supposed to do?" Scott asked, quoting himself from that night and not getting up from his chair. "Do you know what Gerard did? Did Mom tell you that he broke into our house? That he used Jackson to strangle her half to death to make me follow his orders? That after we stole the Bestiary, he showed up here outside the hospital and stabbed me, threatening both you and Mom?"
Joe stared at Scott, her mind painting vivid images of his words. "He what? Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because he knew about you and Derek!" Now Scott shot up, voice gaining volume. "He knew from the beginning and he said that either I helped him get what he wanted, or he'd go after you."
"That doesn't change anything." Her own voice felt foreign in her mouth, dry and molded. Joe knew this now, that Kate and Gerard conspired from the start, that he knew what she knew. Things could have been different if Joe knew back then. "You should have told me, Scott, that was not your burden to bear, not your decisions to make."
"What? So you could tell Derek and he'd go after Allison again?"
"Maybe if he had Erica and Boyd wouldn't be missing!" Joe shouted before she could think it through. Scott's jaw flexed, but she did not back down. "You know we found Erica's cell-phone with an arrow through it? Do you have any idea how many arrows were on the ground?"
"Derek was the one to bite them in the first place! Just like with Jackson! Jesus Christ, Joe, you said it yourself back in the locker room, remember? Derek doesn't care if anyone gets hurt, he only cares about himself."
"That's not true," Joe whispered, biting back tears the best she could.
"Then why would he kill Peter? Why would he take away my only chance of a cure-"
"There is no cure, Scott! Are you-" Joe tore at her hair. "Oh my God, you're such a child sometimes! If killing the one who bit you was a cure, don't you think Kate would have gone after Jimmy? Don't you think she would have torn the whole city to shreds looking for him instead of going after me? Derek killed Peter because he knew he had to. Because the only thing that would happen if you killed him, is that you would have become an Alpha instead of Derek. And-"
"Would that be so bad?" Scott protested weakly, arms flying out to the side. "I wouldn't have bitten anyone! Not Isaac, not Erica, not Boyd, especially not Jackson, and then he wouldn't have turned into a kanima and killed so many people and-"
Joe made a loud noise of frustration. "Scott, do you know how you become an Alpha? There's only two ways — you inherit it or you steal it. Rumors spread, Scott, how many down-on-their-luck werewolves do you think would crawl into town if they heard there was a sixteen years old Alpha in Beacon Hills, barely able to control his powers, without a pack to protect him? You wouldn't have lasted a week! Derek was protecting you!"
"Then why would he tell me there was a cure in the first place?"
"I don't know!" Joe yelled and messed up her hair again. "Because he's an idiot with a minimum of social skills, probably? Because he needed your help to stop Peter and it was the only way to get you to listen? Because you were too busy giving the real enemy yeast infections from strawberry-flavored condoms? Jesus Christ, Scott, you're lucky he didn't do worse than lie to you. You made him the most wanted man in the state! You got him arrested for his sister's death! I'm not excusing what he did, but I can at least try to see his point of view."
Scott fell completely silent. There was a hard edge to his mouth she did not usually see. "You think Allison's the real enemy?"
"No," Joe said and crossed her arms that had been waving around. Of course that would be the only thing he could focus on. "But I think her family is. You didn't feel what I felt, Scott, when Kate had him. She was electrocuting him over and over again. I would rather take a bullet to my chest a thousand times than to go through that again."
"I know, you told me," Scott said and rubbed his hair again, "and okay, maybe I shouldn't have lied to you, but why should you get hurt because of Derek? It doesn't make any sense!"
"No, you shouldn't have lied to me! You took away my choice-"
"What choice?"
Her voice failed her for a few seconds, mouth opening and shutting without any sound. Eventually, she recovered.
"Scott, the mate-bond is like the bite, okay? Except you get to blame a delirious Peter Hale, I get to blame the stupid moon or universe or whatever. And I have a feeling that if someone came in here now, held you down, and injected you with what they called a cure, you'd feel pretty pissed off too. Like they took away your choice."
"That's different, Joe, you know it is. Okay, the bite sucks sometimes, but at least I get powers. Healing, strength-"
"Glowstick eyes and heightened senses, fine, whatever." Joe shrugged, not sure how to explain exactly why she did not want the bond gone anymore. "I got healing too. I could've died from that gunshot wound if it wasn't for it."
He scoffed and his head rolled backward along with his eyes. "You wouldn't have needed healing in the first place if it wasn't for Derek. He's the only reason Kate's after you."
"You don't know that. Okay, you don't! You don't get to play the 'what if'-game, because there's no way of knowing. I was knocking on Jimmy's door before I even knew about any sort of connection to Derek. Hell, I was having fucking coffee with Kate before I even knew about werewolves! And what if there wasn't any bond and we still hooked up? What would you have done then? Locked me in a prisoner transport van for twenty-four hours and hoping for the best?"
Joe squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to cry. She was so done crying it was ridiculous.
"Scott, I love you like my brother, but what you did made you no better than Peter or Gerard and I'm not sure you even see that yet. I haven't even started on what you did to Derek or how I'm terrified that you gave me those pills in the first place because you thought something could go wrong and Derek might die. But if you're ready to apologize, or even begin to admit what you did was messed up, I'll listen. Until then, I got nothing more to say to you."
Without waiting for a reply, Joe went back to the door and slammed her hand against it twice.
"Either let me out or I'm pulling the emergency cord!" she yelled, muttering under breath something about pulling the fire alarm. Sure enough, the door clicked open and Joe stalked outside. Scott never followed, which suited her fine.
Aunt Mel's mouth was pulled in a tight frown where she held the door ajar. "Joe, can you hold on-"
"No!" Joe snapped and threw the phone-charger at Aunt Mel. "No, why are we like this? Why do we need to trick each other to do stuff? I told you I'd talk to Scott when I was ready."
"I'm just worried that if you keep pushing people away, you're gonna end up alone," Aunt Mel interrupted with infuriating calm. She glanced sideways in uncertainty. "And I still don't understand what Scott did other than it was apparently very wrong and I'm sorry, I think I underestimated just how wrong it was."
Joe snorted. "Really?"
"Joe," Aunt Mel chastised with folded arms, "it's not that I thought you moved out on a whim. It's just that you can hold a grudge, just like the rest of this family." Before Joe could even begin to answer that, Aunt Mel continued: "What exactly is a mate-bond?"
"Ask Scott!" Faced with Aunt Mel's unimpressed frown, Joe faltered. It was hard to stay angry at Aunt Mel, who'd done so much for her already. "It's, y'know, complicated and I'd rather not get into it right now. I'm late for dinner with Dad," Aunt Mel's eyebrows rose in honest surprise and Joe shrugged, "he's making asopao and I gotta get over there before he burns down the kitchen."
"Wait, my kitchen? Okay, sure, but-" Aunt Mel drew a deep breath. "Promise you'll talk to me, please. Not right now, not tomorrow, but when you're ready. Okay?"
"Fine," Joe said and tore around to head for the exit. Everyone wanted to talk all of a sudden, like she did not have more important things to worry about. Like Erica and Boyd weren't still missing, like Kate Argent hadn't escaped to Mexico, like Scott hadn't betrayed her and-
In the safety of her own car, she took five minutes to cry. Five minutes to just get it over with because it hurt. She'd read somewhere that the reason your stomach hurt when in deep emotional distress was because the body knew something was wrong, but it couldn't pinpoint the location of the injury. And she wanted to call Derek, but he still hadn't called her back and besides, he had his own set of problems with the full moon just a few days away and a new werewolf to train. And Jimmy was busy with the script and she'd just left the two people she thought she could depend on more than anyone back in that stupid hospital.
It was a sad day indeed, Joe thought and started the car, when she had to rely on her dad for moral support. Mood soured long before she reached her aunt's house, it only helped marginally that she couldn't smell smoke when she got out. In fact, when she locked herself in — she still had a house key — it did not smell like anything at all. No chicken, no tomatoes, no cilantro.
"Dad?" she called, as she heard him in the kitchen, and wandered into the living room. There were several plastic boxes on the table and her eyebrows rose. "Where the hell did you get sushi?"
"I called in a favor," her dad said as he emerged from the kitchen, two beers in hand. Suit jacket off, his pants were rumpled like he'd taken a short power nap on the couch. She remembered he hadn't slept all night. He handed her a beer and gestured for them to sit. "Raf owed me after interruptin' last night. And let's face it, I'd never be able to make asopao like Mrs. Diaz anyway."
Joe hadn't had sushi since she moved to Beacon Hills, but the argument with Scott still lingered in her veins and she could feel her guard was still up. "Did you know?"
Her dad was unboxing the trays of sushi — mostly rolls, which showed that Uncle Raf had been the one placing the order. "Know what?" With a huff, Joe sat down on the couch and explained what had just happened. Dad let out a low whistle. "Would you believe me if I said no?"
"Not really."
"I'm gonna say no anyway. Here ya go," he handed her a pair of chopsticks, "but I did know she's worried about you. What happened with you and Scott anyway?"
"He lied to me," Joe said tersely, stabbing her chopsticks into the small container of soy sauce to mix out the wasabi. "About something important. Kind of a sore point with me."
"Okay, we're gettin' into this claws out, huh?"
Joe nearly stabbed herself now with the chopsticks. "What?"
He raised an eyebrow at her spazziness. "Figure of speech, kid, relax. Can ya blame Mel? Even I know you wouldn't have voluntarily talked to Scott before the next ice age rolled around. Christ's sake, kid, you didn't even call me until you had no other choice." Without dwelling on that, he continued: "She loves you, you know that. It's comin' from a good place."
"Why can't people just show their love for me with unbridled honesty?"
"Truth isn't always pretty, kid."
"Rather the ugly truth than a pretty lie."
"That's cute. Should put that on a bumper sticker. Come on, eat."
Not hungry, not even for sushi, Joe picked at one of the rolls. "You said we were gonna talk, right? Then talk." Losing her edge, she squirmed under the careful stare of her father. "What?"
"How you sleepin' these days?"
"Oh come on-"
"Don't roll your eyes at me, kid. You're my daughter and I'll always think you're the most beautiful girl in the world, but I gotta tell you, you're lookin' rough. Not enough food, not enough sleep, too much coffee, too much stress. You wanna work this missing person's case with me? Great, you got talent and I appreciate the time with ya, but not if it's gonna wear you down like this. So you eat and I'll talk, how's that sound?"
"Fine," she grumbled, picked up a piece, and watched her dad expectantly, letting it hover in the air.
"What are ya, five years old? Want me to do the airplane-thing with ya? Jesus Christ," he said and rolled his eyes while Joe finally popped the piece in her mouth. "Okay, so, as usual, all of this is confidential. We were on a three-week stakeout in the Golden Triangle down south. The local federales and we have been tracking this illegal gun shipment originating from the Midwest and-"
She ate while listening to her dad re-telling his latest assignment. It was hard to pinpoint exactly what her dad did in the FBI. He was a special agent, part of a Special Crimes Unit, but that was all she knew. He was called in for everything from serial killers to hostage situations to illegal gun trades. Since he obviously couldn't tell her all the confidential details, she had yet to find the common denominator. She had a feeling he was just good with people in the same way that Aunt Mel was, somehow only failing at it when it came to his own daughter.
She also got the feeling her dad told the story with as much emotional detachment as possible. Whoever this Mexican agent had been, the one they lost, he must have made an impression on her dad. From what she gathered, it sounded like her dad felt he still had unfinished business down there, but he mentioned something about Kate Argent making it impossible for him to get posted to Mexico anytime soon.
"Fearin' I'll go rogue agent on them. You ever seen Taken?"
Joe hadn't, but he gave her the gist of the plot. This was the cue for her turn to talk and her dad seemed pleased about the mostly empty trays of sushi.
Choosing her words carefully, trying for the same kind of detachment, Joe told him what happened with Kate. She told him as much as possible, leaving out the crucial details, but the supernatural part wasn't the worst anyway. The feeling of helplessness, of being tied up, gagged and subject to psychological torture — because it was the only real terminology that fit — while watching Jimmy on the ground, thinking he would die, unable to do anything about it... that was the worst part.
"Remember what I asked you when you moved to Berkeley?" Her dad had finished off his beer and nursed a second one with a deep furrow in his brow. Even if he had tried to remain calm when she talked about Kate, she could recognize the deep-set anger on his face. "About a gun? Any chance I can change your mind about that?"
She hesitated. "California's not technically a stand-your-ground-state."
"No, but there's something called self-defense. It's either that or I'm postin' a twenty-four-hour guard outside your door. You still got a permit, right?"
And a shotgun, Joe thought, but didn't say it out loud. Besides, her dad used to have her walk around New York with an illegal .22, so he wasn't black-and-white when it came to gun laws like that. "Yeah."
With a firm nod, her dad seemed to make a mental note of it. "I know this wasn't easy, tellin' me about it, but I promise you'll feel better for it. Just like I can promise you we'll catch this broad before she can ever touch you again. I swear on my life, mijita."
It was the same kind of anger she saw in Derek sometimes. Dormant and simmering with no easy outlet just yet. Joe just shrugged, still feeling cold in her bones from living through that night again. She thought of Stiles — their dads still didn't know all of it.
Eventually, Dad took a deep breath, as if to steel himself. Checked his watch, muttered something about Scott coming home soon, got up to clear the table of sushi (Aunt Mel hated sushi and the smell of it), came back with a new beer and a resolute line to his mouth. He seemed nervous, and again, like with Derek, it wasn't something she was used to seeing.
"You okay, Dad?"
"Hm?" He looked up at her, almost like he had zoned out for a second, before he took another deep breath. "Yeah, I'm okay. I, uh, I wanted to show you something."
"Okay," she said, thinking it was about the case, "what?"
Almost on auto-pilot, he patted his chest, only then realizing he wasn't wearing his jacket. Excusing himself, muttering under his breath still, he got up to where it hung on the back of a kitchen chair. After some rustling inside the inner pockets, he brought out something, a small square object.
Tapping it against his hand, he stared at it with a mixture of emotions on his face. "Probably should have shown you a long time ago."
It was a polaroid, Joe noticed, only seeing the back of it. She straightened up on the couch, breath hitching at the suspicion — no, at the hope — of what it was.
"I was gonna show it to you back at the diner, but... I lost my nerve, I guess." He kept tapping it against his hand. "It's the only one I got."
It was hard to talk through the painful lump in her throat. "Is it..."
Without another word, he handed it to her. "Twenty years too late, but better than never, eh?"
Joe could only glance at it before she had to look away, pulling in a short and harsh gasp of breath. Looking up to the ceiling, trying to get the tears to stay back, to wait, to just hold on a little while longer so she could actually look at it. Blowing air out of her mouth, she steeled herself and took another look.
A polaroid picture, faded a bit with age. Definitely from the late 80s judging by her dad's hair. He was not in the center of the picture though. That was a woman. In a hospital bed, holding a bundle of cloth where just a tiny baby hand peeked up from. A woman, with her skin tone, and her mouth, and her eyes. Exhausted, but smiling at whoever took the picture.
Another white woman with mousy brown hair stood on the opposite side of the bed, half of her out of the frame. That was all Joe could see before the tears flooded so hard she only saw blurred shapes. Hard to breathe, hard to think, hard to just exist. Joe, still holding the picture, put her elbows onto her knees and leaned into her hands, trying to get her breathing under control, forcing herself to take long inhales.
"Is it...?" She had to ask, had to know, and nearly broke down when she saw her dad having tears in his eyes as well from where he stood next to the couch. He nodded, but she already knew, didn't she? Who else could it be, in a hospital bed, with Joe's dad by her side, holding what had to be little baby Joe herself?
Still crying, she looked again at the picture and so many years of emotions just flooded back to her. The woman was pretty, with a darker skin-tone than her dad, and a large wide smile. Sharp pointed nose, not like Joe's more button-nose she got from her dad. Straightened hair, but curly where the sweat had seeped into the strands.
Her mom. It had to be.
"Why-" Joe tried, but her voice failed, coming out as a sob instead and she pushed her tears in, not really wanting to cry, only wanting to stare at the picture for as long as she lived. Long breath, a silent hiss. "I didn't think there was- why haven't you shown me this before?"
She hadn't even noticed that her dad had reached down to grasp her hand, squeezing it hard.
"Joe, there are some things I never wanted to tell you," he mumbled, faltering, but gaining strength, still squeezing her hand. "Never could tell you. Cowardice, selfishness, call it what you want. But you're right, you deserve to know. It's the ugly truth, mija, but I'll tell it to you."
Another deep sigh and Special Agent Rob Delgado, her dad, began to talk.
And Joe, for once, only listened.
I swear, we're back to some good ol' action in the next chapter. Also, first chapter in forever without any actual Derek (does over phone count?). Weird.
I don't know what's happening with the word-count in my chapters either. There's just so much to say and again, I've heard of killing my darlings, I just...don't. (And to be fair, if I wasn't lazy, I would have split this into a series, but, y'know, I am lazy...)
Thank you to the lovely Lunaflores10 and TenebrisSagittarius for the help with Spanish :)
Moonys: I hear what you're saying about Derek's trio of confidantes, but who else does he really have? He can't always run along to Melissa (no matter how cute that would be)... :) And glad you picked up the point about Alex. She's not a two-dimensional bitch; Joe was together with her for a reason. (Don't worry, guys, Alex is set to be happily married and won't bring down the Halegado-ship)
Thank you to everyone who's reading and hanging in there with this slowest burn of the century. Please let me know what you think of this chapter! Stay safe and healthy, guys and gals and non-binary pals!
Side-note: If you get more than one update e-mail about this, it's the site glitching again. I'm only updating once, but I'm getting seven e-mails for every PM today...