Warning: Slightly angsty.

Chapter 58: The Trigger

Living with Jimmy meant that the hour of the day stopped mattering completely to Joe. At least in the McCall house, even with Aunt Mel working the strangest shift combination possible, Scott still had school to attend. This meant they sort of banded together to make the routines revolve around his schedule. Not with Jimmy.

Joe could come back in the early afternoon to a dark apartment, which meant he was asleep in his room, or wake up in the middle of the night to see him hard at work, pouring over news articles from around the world. Apparently, he spoke three languages and relied on his fans to translate the rest before sending the material over to him.

Not sure if they were feeding each other's bad habits, but it made for a less lonely existence at least.

Unfortunately, it also meant Jimmy was up working when she finally came home. Not the most socially adept, she guessed something in her scent gave her away as Jimmy took off his headphones and gave her a questioning glance when she entered.

"I saw a picture of my mom," she said simply, hoping it would stave off any other questions. Without turning back, she went straight to her bedroom, falling face-first into the bed.

Maybe if she just kept her head down she would suffocate on her pillowcase. It beat trying to process...everything. God, she just wanted to curl up in a ball and disappear. This was supposed to have been cathartic, closure, and instead, she just felt numb and angry and stupid.

No, she didn't feel anything, at least not if she tried hard enough.

It had started off as expected, as her therapist had gently coaxed her into realizing, that it was not her dad's fault her mom wasn't in her life — it was an active choice from her mother. She left them. Despite the happy smile in the polaroid, she had wanted nothing to do with Joe after the first few months. Dad called it postpartum mania, but they never got it diagnosed. The end result was the same. She left.

And when Joe's dad tried to find her, he learned some things he wished he hadn't. Some things that made him realize she should not be let anywhere near a child.

So he filed for full custody. Did everything by the book and made sure she had due chance to respond or fight him for it, so she could never fight him on it at a later time. Never happened anyway. Joe's mom had made it abundantly clear she wanted nothing to do with him or Joe and at that point, he felt nothing but relief.

Then instead of explaining to a two-year-old that Mama was a bad person, he told Joe her mom had died in labor. It was easier than to admit the truth. That her mom just didn't want anything to do with them. And he never wanted Joe to have that hanging over her head; he never wanted her to doubt how much she mattered or was loved.

A soft knock on the door, but Joe did not raise her head or respond. It creaked open a few moments later anyway, a steaming cup followed by Jimmy back in his bathrobe.

"It's decaf," he said and put it on her nightstand. "I would have suggested chamomile for calming purposes, but..." Jimmy crouched down by her bed. "How are you faring?"

Joe recognized the cheap attempt of humor, but snorted either way. Her voice came muffled through the pillowcase and the mass of her own hair hanging over her face. "Thanks for the coffee."

"Do you need to talk about it?" he asked, uncharacteristically gentle. He paused and added: "Do you want me to call Derek?"

"No!"

She said it too fast, too hard and of course, Jimmy caught on.

He used his senses, smelled the air, and said: "You've already been there..."

Of course, she had already been there. Stupid as she was, she'd gone straight to his loft, pushing the button in the elevator without thinking, trying not to think, doing everything she could to stop thinking. Some sort of alarm sounded when she pulled the sliding door open and Derek, her beautiful and stoic Derek, looked up. He was in the middle of setting up the werewolf equivalent of a home security system just inside the doorway.

His face cleared at the sight of her, obviously catching on that something was not as it was supposed to be, her tear-streaked face probably a solid clue. She said something, couldn't remember, maybe asking to talk in private, and he led her over to his bedroom. She heard him close the door, shutting everything out, everything but her thoughts that still churned on despite him, despite his scent.

"What's wrong?" he had asked and she clutched the polaroid in her hand, wanting to show him, wanting to tell him everything. That was why she was there, to tell him, to talk to him, to make him understand so he could tell her it was not that bad and everything was going to be okay and it wasn't her fault. Except they never talked like that, they never talked about feelings or anything deep; only practical, only superficial.

And her head was so full of noise and thoughts and she just wanted to make it stop and he stood in front of her with a worried frown, worried for her, waiting for her to make her stupid brain work and get the words out.

So instead of telling him, she tried to make the noise in her head shut up, for just a little while, to have it stop and be erased by the scent of him. Joe closed the small distance between them and kissed him.

She had to reach up to pull him down and he relented willingly, letting her open his mouth with hers, trying to get all of him at once. His scent, his taste, his heat — all of him. And her hands wrapped in his hair, tugging him even closer, closer, closer. This was what she wanted, right then, right there. He met her equally, pulling her tight to him by her waist, his large hands on the small of her back.

And for a while, it worked. Her mind stopped, it was only her and Derek.

It was not until she ran her hands up his torso, underneath his t-shirt, trying to get it off of him that she realized he was pulling away. His hands grabbed her wrists, forced them away from him, and his lips parted from her the last as if that pained him as much as it pained her.

"Joe, Joe, wait."

She hardly heard him, trying to close the distance again, trying to feel him again. Kiss him again. Touch him again. Make the noise go away.

"Joe, stop!"

The harsh tone made her open her eyes. He still held her wrists away from them as she breathed heavily, still tasting him on her lips, and his lips were swollen as well, where she kissed him. But the look on his face was not of happiness or joy or lust, it was of-

The bubble burst.

"Oh my God," Joe breathed and stepped back. He let go of her wrists and she covered her mouth with her hands. His hair and t-shirt ruffled and his face locked in confusion and anger and- what had she done? "Oh my God, Derek, I'm so sorry. I didn't-"

She didn't mean it? So why had she done it? Why had she tried to force him? Him, whose track record with women was not exactly the best? Whose last sexual experience might very well have been forced by a lunatic not taking no for an answer, chaining him up in a basement, and doing who knows what. Like she had done with Joe, chaining her up in the cavern, running her hands over her again and again and again, except Joe could not make her stop, tied up, helpless and gagged. Joe almost retched at the thought of using him like that.

She was turning into Kate. No better than Kate. Kate Kate Kate.

Derek shrugged hastily to get his t-shirt fully back on, taking a step towards her, hand already out to calm her, but she pulled away now. "Joe, it's okay, it's not that-"

"I'm so sorry!" she gasped, now crying even harder, taking more steps away from him. The excuses flew past her lips as if that would make things okay. "I just wanted to make the noise stop, for just a little while, and I thought- I didn't think- I didn't."

"Joe? Joe, wait." Derek rushed to intercept her where her body moved on its own, wanting to leave, wanting to get out, wanting to curl into a ball of shame never to emerge into daylight ever again. "Joe, what's wrong? What happened?"

But she just shook her head, too far gone to speak, too far gone to tell him. That her mom was a bad person and so was Joe apparently as she'd just tried to use him. Just like Kate. Just like Peter. Just like Scott.

"Listen to me, Joe, it's okay-"

"No, it's not okay!" she bit out, the anguish crushing her voice into a shrill replicate of her own. She gestured to him: "I just thought- but I was wrong, like I've been wrong about absolutely everything all along and- and I've never made the right call, not once, and I'm so sorry!"

Unable to look at him, unable to take whatever angry expression he gave her, unable to even think about him, she turned and nearly ran back where she had come. Out to the hallway, into the elevator. He didn't follow, just called her name.

"Joe!"

"Joe?"

Jimmy's voice cut through her memory with Derek, who she intended to never see ever again if she could help it. God, what had she done? Even if he didn't have hang-ups regarding physical contact, which he very well might have, she wasn't there to kiss or have sex with him for any other reason than her own selfish frustration, using him as a distraction. Using him, like he didn't deserve better. Like he wasn't a person at all.

"I-I don't wanna talk about it," Joe whispered, curling up further in the bed. The look on his face when he broke off the kiss — the hurt and anger and confusion, she didn't ever want to think about it. Her lips still felt swollen, but wrong. She felt wrong. Disgusting. No better than Kate.

Joe sat up to sip the coffee, hoping to get rid of the taste of herself, to numb her own mouth down. It scolded her tongue, but she deserved it. Except Derek didn't and he'd probably felt that and-

She'd ruined everything.

And on top of it all, the news about her mother still lingered in the back of her head. Joe wanted to thump her skull against the wall just to make her mind stop, but couldn't because Derek would feel that too and she'd done enough damage there already. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting her own thoughts, fighting to find another thing to focus on.

"Did you get anywhere with that geo-tag?" Work, distraction. "Your script."

Jimmy kept quiet for a while, she could feel his eyes on her and she sipped the coffee intently, not looking up. Eventually, he sighed.

"I have the coordinates. Script is running, but the probability analysis will take a while," Jimmy said and she felt the bed dip as he sat down near her feet. "What are your father's current theories?"

Joe spoke directly into the half-empty coffee cup: "Human trafficking, random abduction, wrong place, and wrong time."

Jimmy made a small noise of amusement. "It would indeed be interesting to see a human trafficker choose a werewolf as a victim of opportunity." He sighed and now he leaned back on her bed, lying horizontally across it and her legs. "My script might not lead anywhere, Joe. Don't get your hopes up." A second of hesitation. "You really want to find them, huh?"

Them. Sometimes Joe had to remind herself that it wasn't just Erica missing.

"I do. It just, I don't know, Jimmy, it feels wrong that she's missing. It's like this tight twist inside of me that doesn't let up. It feels like," she faltered and searched for a wording, "like I'm missing a limb or something."

A long silence followed. "Have you talked to Derek about this?"

Joe snorted, but it sounded halfway like a sob. "No. We don't," she shrugged, "talk like that. The deep stuff. We just scratch the surface. And not even that."

But it wasn't like she could claim ignorance — she knew what he'd been through. And she knew the feeling of helplessness and she had tried to take advantage of it and she hated herself for it.

Joe forced her mind back to the present. "You don't have to either, Jimmy, my problems aren't automatically yours."

"You know, for the last five years, I've had a project," Jimmy said conversationally and he shuffled as he put his arms under his head. "A mission and a plan. This book stuff? It feels like olds now, not news. Tracking down two missing werewolves and an Alpha pack? That feels important, especially if I can help a friend at the same time." He sighed lightly and Joe felt his reassuring mass move on top of her legs. "Do you want to hear something sad to distract from your pain?"

"Okay."

She doubted Jimmy could say anything that topped what her dad had dropped on her tonight. The contrast with the indescribable happiness at seeing a picture — an actual picture! — for the first time, filling in that blank hole that had evolved to look like Aunt Mel over the years and then learning that her mother had left, because of Joe. Her dad never said it outright, but it was there between the lines. They had been happy, before Joe. The pregnancy wasn't planned, it was hard on her mom, she threw up every day for nine months — a lot of risk factors for postpartum psychosis and apparently it had made her snap.

Joe wondered if she had any genetic dispositions for manic behavior; if she could claim insanity for trying to force herself onto Derek.

No, stop. No more Derek, not now.

"My mother," Jimmy began in that same tone of voice he had used when he told her about his suicide-attempt, that tone that indicated he had talked about it extensively in a safe setting, "the lovely prestigious Elisabeth Carter, was the one who suggested this so-called book-contract for me. It sounds like a good deal, yes? I know you are under the impression they are to leave me alone, but the fine-print states in no uncertain terms that it goes both ways. It's my mother's approach to life, I'm afraid, to pay herself out of problems. She could never fully look at me the same way again after what I did."

Not knowing what to say, Joe shifted around on her bed so she could touch Jimmy's shoulder in the dark.

"My father is heavily medicated," he continued in that neutral tone of his, "early-stage Alzheimers, a genetic condition I have hopefully cured myself of. He is happy to stay at home, go to homeowner's association meetings, complain about drought killing his petunias," Jimmy snorted at the thought, sounding more amused than bitter, "and my mom works a lot. I take after her, you see, personality-wise." He sighed deeply, moving around so she felt him looking at her. "I don't have many friends, Joe, by choice. I'm not good at keeping them anyway, but you-"

She sniffled and jolted a bit when Jimmy patted her hand.

"-you're worth keeping. So I'll help you and listen to you, Delgado, because that's what friends do."

Hoping to keep her mind fixated on Jimmy instead of how sick she felt with herself, Joe choked out: "Ride or die?"

"Let's not get carried away."

Another half-snort, half-sob. "Thank you for telling me. That's so messed up, Jimmy. I'm sorry that happened to you." She changed her grip to squeeze his hand, a pitiful display of sympathy. "For what it's worth, I'm glad you're my friend."

"Mm, the rest is between me and my therapist." Jimmy adjusted his arm again, but didn't push Joe's hand away, which she appreciated. He wasn't overly fond of physical contact, but she needed some right now. "Did it help?"

"A little," she admitted.

"Are you gonna be able to get some sleep?"

"No."

"Wanna try to do some work?"

"Yes."

Joe opted for a shower first, hoping to scrub away the top layer of her skin and feel less disgusted with herself. When she emerged in a wifebeater and gray sweatpants she suspected might actually be Jimmy's, the man in question was busy updating the large map on the wall with the new coordinates.

"We're missing forty hours between the Argent captivity and the gas station phone call," Jimmy said and handed her another cup of coffee, this one probably not decaf. "The known data points with geo-tag and timestamps are her last call to you," he tapped the map where they found the cell-phone, "where Chris Argent let them go, presumably within minutes of us getting there," he glanced at Joe for a reaction, but she had already carried that guilt for so long and shrugged, "and lastly her phone call to your father."

With the coffee mug warming her hands, Joe just nodded to show she was paying attention.

"We have the claw marks here," Jimmy tapped the map again, "without a timestamp. Based on the indentation depths," which was a nice way of saying how desperate Erica must have been, "they happened after her phone call to your father. The interesting thing is," Jimmy took a step sideways to allow Joe to see the full map, "they are on the opposite side of the gas station than expected."

"She knew someone was after her at the gas station," Joe mumbled and came closer to study the map. The claw marks were in the forest line that led to the Preserve with the Argent's house on the other side. "She wouldn't have gone back in the same direction she came from."

"Which means she did not come straight from the Argent's basement to the gas station. That fits because it's a relatively short distance. If you account for the average speed a werewolf can maintain comfortably, give or take twenty percent depending on adrenaline level or fatigue," Joe had an image of Jimmy with a stopwatch in the forest, running around to time himself, "Erica should have been able to cross the forest in only a few hours. We're missing forty."

"You're thinking she was held somewhere, got away, and was recaptured?" Joe asked and decided to skip creamer for her coffee, almost relishing how it burned down her throat. She hoped it would quench some of that coldness inside of her. "Or that she was hiding out before they snagged her?" A new image floated past her imagination. "Or did they toy with her, making her run in circles?"

Jimmy shrugged as he stepped back to survey the board. "Wolves typically wear down their prey. A hunt can last for days."

They both kept quiet for a while. Joe tried to dispel the memory of Erica from the CC-TV footage, how desperate she must have been to go for the donation bucket. Was she caught because she made that phone call or did she make that phone call because she knew she'd be caught anyway? Twenty seconds. That was all she got. She had the time to give her name, tell him she was a friend of Joe's, that she needed help, but she didn't know where she was, and could he please help her?

"If they held her somewhere, can we figure out where based on your calculations?"

"We can," Jimmy confirmed and got up again, uncapped a marker, and drew a large circle that mostly covered the north side of Beacon Hills. "And I have already run the crude numbers. Most likely, somewhere in this area. Used to be a suburb, mostly abandoned buildings now after the paper factory shut down."

"That's a lot of ground to cover." Joe sat down in the armchair, letting Jimmy do the writing and pinning. Another sip of coffee, not even tasting it on her burnt tongue. "How do we find them? I mean, if the Argents who literally did this for a living couldn't find Derek when he was in relatively bad hiding right in this town for a couple of months...do we even stand a chance?"

"We might tonight. They'll find it harder to lay low."

Joe was about to ask why, but remembered. "The full moon." A chill went through her when she realized one day's difference would have made her assault on Derek downright cruel instead of stupid. Forcing him to lose control. "How are you gonna be holding up tonight?"

Jimmy gave a short dismissive shrug. "Oh, I'm not affected by the full moon."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I know language isn't your strongest suit, but remind me, what does Demi mean?"

"Half," Joe answered automatically. Her mind connected the dots. "You're affected by the half-moon?"

"Mm, it's a steeper price to pay considering it happens twice a month. Better payoff though. Why am I smelling a surge of anger in you now?"

"Because it was a half-moon during the reunion dinner!" Joe snapped, remembering only because she had worried Derek was affected by it during their drive to Berkeley. It hadn't been the moon though. She suppressed that memory, focusing on Jimmy. "When you went out with Kelly! No wonder you acted like an ass."

"I'll admit the half-moon might have affected my pre-existing bias towards Derek, but I assure you, Kelly was in absolutely no danger. I took her back to her hotel without any incidents and then spent the rest of the night meditating in private."

"You are so weird, Jimmy," Joe muttered, but without much venom.

A sigh passed through her at seeing the sun creep over the neighboring building into the living room. Joe could feel the tug on her mind, the first sign of too little sleep. It had been a while, she had been careful the last few years, forcing herself to shut off her mind at times. No use now. The manic buzzing continued even though she tried to slump down in the chair, listening to Jimmy explain something akin to a plan.

Both the Alphas and the missing kids would be easier to find during the full moon. They'd be reckless, using half their focus on remaining in control at all times — Boyd and Erica might be out of control and difficult to subdue — and their urges would make it hard for them to resist a chase. Joe thought it sounded like a shit plan and if Derek found out she even contemplated leaving the apartment on the night of the full moon, she was dead.

Derek.

Nope. Not gonna go there, she thought and swallowed the heavy lump. Her treacherous mind was just that, treacherous, and prodded at thoughts that should be kept under lock and key. Like how she knew what she was doing all the time when going there, how she knew — or at least hoped — he would not be able to control himself if she just made the first move, made her wants explicit and-

Disgusting. She was as bad as Kate. The shotgun was in her room, but it wasn't really Joe's shotgun, was it? It was like Joe was morphing into Kate instead of a werewolf. Like Batman becoming what he feared the most. Or more like the Joker, mayb-

She jolted when Jimmy's phone buzzed. Seeing the slight smile on his lips, she determined it was probably Kelly who had texted him good-morning and not Derek.

"Have you decided if you're still doing the fieldwork? Kelly tried calling you. Wants me to remind you about the missing approval forms and says she's flying north the day after tomorrow. She's looking forward to seeing you." Jimmy looked up from where he was typing an answer. "Where's your phone?"

Picking at the upholstery of the armchair, Joe admitted: "I turned it off."

"Because of Derek?"

"Mm." Joe sighed and stretched out perpendicular to the way you were supposed to sit in an armchair. "If I don't do the fieldwork, I'll lose my position with Walker, but..."

Jimmy talked slowly, obviously trying to soften the blow. "Maybe some time away from Beacon Hills would do you good?"

Shaking her head, Joe got up to get more coffee. "Not without Erica."

Out of everyone she had expected — or feared — when the buzzer for the main door downstairs rang, it hadn't been Aunt Mel. Dressed in street clothes for once, and holding two paper cups of coffee almost as a shield when Joe trudged downstairs.

Aunt Mel gave her a tight-lipped smile with wide hopeful eyes as Joe pushed the door open and stepped outside. She offered one cup."Double oatmilk mocha cappuccino, extra foam?"

"Uh, hi?"

"Sorry," her aunt's face split in an embarrassed grin and sighed, "hi. Sorry, I can't remember the last time I had to order at a real coffee shop and to be honest, I'm still feeling the adrenaline. I think I got your order right, I have no idea what I got for myself, so that'll be a fun little mystery to figure out." She talked fast like she did when she was nervous and stressed. "So, uh, double oatmilk mocha cappuccino, extra foam?"

"Thanks," Joe said with twisted brows, Aunt Mel's awkward behavior making her nervous now. She numbly accepted the coffee. "Something wrong?"

"I am really, really, really, really sorry for last night," Aunt Mel rushed to explain and it took Joe several seconds to remember everything that had happened before Derek. "You're right, it was a cheap shot, too soon and if I had had any idea that Rob was finally gonna pull his head out of his ass and talk to you, I would've never," she shook her head rapidly, "never tried to force you into an argument with Scott." Aunt Mel let out a puff of air. "It got a little much for you last night, huh?"

Not sure where to look, Joe just nodded and let the door shut behind her as this was obviously going to take a while.

"Yeah, yeah," Aunt Mel nodded alongside Joe in clear compassion, "did you get any sleep last night?" Her face fell slightly at Joe's half-hearted shrug. "Yeah, okay, I probably shouldn't have brought you coffee, but I did also," she stuffed her hand into her pocket and brought out a small pill bottle, "bring you Zolpidem. So, coffee now, stay awake until sundown at least, then take one pill if you need it, try to get back into a good rhythm, you know the drill. It's just, you've been doing so good for so long, I don't want you to slip up again. Okay?"

"Okay," Joe said and accepted the pill bottle. She guessed Scott hadn't come clean to his mom about what he'd done to Joe. Hopefully, she could manage to fall asleep on her own and didn't need to take any more pills. "Dad send you here?"

"Uh, no, but he did tell me what you guys talked about. We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, that's a hundred percent up to you, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Uhm..." Aunt Mel hesitated and she took a hasty sip of her own coffee, making a face. "Okay, that was not, uh, anyway, Derek stopped by this morning."

Joe couldn't help herself. "Shit."

"Don't worry, your dad didn't see him and he just wanted to know if I had talked to you," Aunt Mel immediately tried to diffuse, "because he was worried. You turned off your phone?"

More nodding, Aunt Mel subconsciously copying the movement.

"Okay, he thought something had happened, but he didn't know what. Said something that he couldn't see you today? Because of the full moon? He also asked me to ask you to please, please stay indoors tonight for the full moon and to warn you that things might get a little rough, but he had more help this time? I don't know, really, what he was talking about, but I assume you do?"

With a heavy sigh, Joe nodded again and tried to not think of Derek for five seconds so she could breathe. He had so many things to worry about and now Joe was wasting more of his time with her bullshit.

Aunt Mel's face drew into a sad frown. "Was it bad?"

As Joe froze, wondering how Aunt Mel knew what she had done, if she could see it on her face somehow, Aunt Mel continued:

"Rob just said he told you the truth. Was it bad? Are you okay?"

"I'm not a hundred percent okay," Joe admitted with a relieved sigh and realized she still hadn't tried her coffee. She did and it was a perfect cappuccino, but tasted like nothing in her mouth. "But I'll be fine. Eventually."

"Again, you don't have to tell me anything, I just- I know Rob, okay? And you and me, we talked about this before, that he should not have kept things from you no matter what reason he cooked up, but I can't imagine him not telling you unless it was bad. So...was it?"

Letting out a slow breath, willing her tears to keep away for the time being, Joe nodded. Her dad had held her hand the entire time as he talked last night, even when she tried to pull away in disgust.

"My mom, uh, did some bad things. Leaving me and dad was actually not the worst one by far."

"Oh honey," Aunt Mel said and wrapped one arm around Joe's shoulder in a side-hug. "I'm so sorry. I can't imagine..." Aunt Mel pulled back and gave her a worried frown: "Do you want to talk about it or not? I'm fine either way. I can talk about my life, if you want, how there's suddenly werewolves existing and my son is one and you're dating one-"

Aunt Mel stopped; Joe's face was not a good liar.

"I'm getting the sense you don't really want to talk about Derek right now," Aunt Mel said with another nervous smile. "Okay, uh, fine. I gotta get to work now, but how about we do another girl's night soon? I'll kick Scott out and it'll be just the two of us, some wine, a bad romantic comedy we can make fun of, and all the tortilla chips and salsa we can eat? How's that sound?"

"Doesn't sound half-bad," Joe mumbled, smiling despite everything. She was so, so lucky to have Aunt Mel in her life. "You know if Dad's at the station?"

"Yeah," Aunt Mel said slowly, with that same puzzled expression from yesterday when Joe had told her she was late for dinner with her dad. In a hopeful voice, she asked: "Yeah, he left at first light. Am I interpreting it correctly that you're asking because you want to see him and not because you want to avoid him? Because, I gotta tell ya, that's more progress than I expected after one night."

With a scoff, Joe shook her head, hating to get Aunt Mel's hopes up. "It's a bit more complicated than that. He's using his vacation days to help me look for Erica and," Joe blew air out her mouth, "he's getting absolutely nowhere because he doesn't know everything. And I can't tell him, either, it's not that simple."

Before she had been honoring Derek's request out of respect, now she could add guilt on top of that. When did everything get so messed up?

With a promise to make an honest attempt to get back into a good sleep rhythm, Joe hugged Aunt Mel before she left. Pushing down all conflicted and confusing feelings, Joe let her weird roommate know she was heading out. From what she could gather of Jimmy's lackluster goodbye, he was still working on improving the script if they were going to take advantage of the full moon tonight, narrow the scope somewhat.

But Derek had asked her to stay indoors tonight, which did not really make sense unless he knew more than what he told her. She hated that she was thinking like this. It was hard to tell if she was projecting her dad onto Derek or vice versa anymore and she wished she could sleep just to stop dealing with all the noise for a short while.

Dead ends. They kept hitting dead ends from every direction. Jimmy needed more data points, her dad needed the full story, Derek needed fewer distractions. Joe had no idea what she needed. She just wanted to find Erica.

"Hey," she said softly, knocking on the open door to her dad's temporary office. After logging so many hours here lately the front desk had waved her through without protest. A surge of guilt flared at her dad's relieved face — he'd probably tried to call her and it was well past noon now. "Sorry I'm late, I, uh, forgot to charge my phone."

"Yeah, all right," her dad said and she trudged inside the office, leaning on the wall instead of sitting down. His brows wrinkled as he studied her. "You get any sleep last night, kid?"

"Mmyes," Joe said, lying through her teeth. But this was her dad who'd heard her lie before and she faltered. "Almost."

"All right," her dad repeated, as it would somehow make it true, and he pulled out a chair in front of his laptop. "Work?"

"Work."

Grateful for his ability to recognize she did not come here to talk — after the talk-and-cry-session last night she did not have it in her for another round — Joe sank down in the chair and pulled up the remaining traffic cam footage.

Dull, tedious, repetitive work — exactly what she needed. It would probably not lead anywhere, but at least she felt like she was doing something.

Her dad disappeared out of the office for a short while. When he came back, a bottle of water and a sandwich wrap appeared in front of her on the table. She looked up at him a bit confused, but before she could ask, he leaned over and placed a kiss on the top of her head. A soft, tender, father-like gesture she did not know she had missed.

Joe closed her eyes and inhaled his smell of cigarillos and the same aftershave he'd used her whole life. Neither said anything and eventually Dad released her and patted her shoulder in affection.

"Thank you," Joe mumbled, giving him a thin smile, hoping he caught on she was thanking him for more than the food. He nodded in return before focusing on the other laptop.

Several hours passed before either of them said anything, both managing to lose themselves in the work and for once, her dad's cell phone remained silent. It was a slow day at the station as well and Joe vaguely remembered it was the weekend.

"You got plans tonight, kid?"

"Dad, I already ate the sandwich," Joe gestured to the empty paper wrapper now on the table, "you don't need to force-feed me dinner every night."

"Going out with Derek?"

She forced herself not to react, but glanced over at him to check for any clues Aunt Mel had told him anything. Or worse, that Derek had stopped by here as well.

"No," she said eventually when she deemed it safe.

"No? He's not takin' you out on some romantic star-gazing picnic? Full moon tonight," a chill went down her spine, "and a clear sky..." Her dad trailed off, probably seeing how her shoulders rose up to her ears with each new word he uttered. "Uh, yeah, nevermind. I wasn't thinkin' dinner this time, unless you want some of course." He rubbed his eyes as he put down the notebook. "I, uh, got ya somethin', to make up for a few birthday and Christmas presents you missed."

"Presents that I sent back," Joe corrected and unconsciously mimicked him by rubbing her own eyes. She was just glad he'd stopped talking about Derek. "Dad, I'm still digesting everything from last night, I don't- I don't have it in me for another round of heart-to-heart right now. Half of me is still so angry with you for not telling me the truth in the first place, the other half is happy that you finally told me and I'm still not sure how to feel about what you told me." Joe blew air out of her mouth. "Just give me a sec to deal with things. You don't need to bribe me, I'm-"

The words died in her mouth as her dad reached down to grab a small black hard case. From the size and the design, it looked like a handgun case. So it did not come as a surprise when it opened to reveal a sleek pistol tucked into some dark gray foam insert.

"The case is TSA-approved," her dad explained slowly, showing her how to operate the heavy latches on the front. "Means it's safe for air travel and it counts as the locked container necessary for legal transport by motor vehicles. This," he held up the handgun, "is a Glock 19. It takes 9mm bullets, any sporting goods store in the country's gonna carry 9mm bullets. The Glock is a classic for a reason. Well-made, accurate, extremely reliable."

It was almost an exact copy of the gun Kate had used. The gun Joe had stolen from her, and Kate subsequently reclaimed.

"Want to take it for a test spin?"

Somehow, that ended up with them driving to the gun range. She remained quiet in the car, trying to sort out her mixed feelings. She wanted a gun, but hated that she wanted one right now. The name Kate Kate Kate went on repeat inside her skull and she hated that too. Up until January this year, Joe would not have considered herself a violent person. Not a pacifist by any means and she'd hit back if pushed too far, but there had been a time she had to utilize everything she had to pull the trigger even when Scott's life was on the line.

At the range, it looked like her dad had called in another favor, as they were the only ones there. Either that or he'd paid off the owner. Either way, she donned the pair of earmuffs and safety glasses her dad gave her. Going through the motions as her dad showed her what made the Glock tick. How to load, how to chamber, how to unload — no manual safety lever, which her dad called a false sense of security anyway. He checked her stance — Joe made sure to not lock out her elbows — and asked her to aim at the cardboard cutout on the other side of the range.

It wasn't a heavy gun, probably weighing the same as a large water bottle, and it fit nicely in the two-hand grip her dad had her using. And when she looked down the front and back sights, taking aim at the cardboard cutout, she could feel how easy it was to handle.

Except when she looked down the sights, her hands began to tremble.

Instead of the cardboard cutout, she saw everyone else. She saw Matt, smirking while aiming the gun at her, then at Scott, then at Derek. She saw Allison, wild-eyed with knives, Isaac already bleeding on the floor, Derek next. She saw Kate, swinging the shotgun around with a manic expression, not caring if it was Joe or Derek she hit.

And she saw herself in the same second she pulled the trigger — first at the Hale house, hitting Peter's Alpha-form in the flank; at the pool where she landed a single hit on the kanima who really was a teenage boy; in the locker room, where ceiling and floor took the brunt of the damage instead of Peter; outside their house, where Derek managed to dodge a furious headshot; in the warehouse, a soft fwop leaving Allison helpless.

Helpless, tied up, and gagged.

Joe's entire body flinched when something clamped over her hands — her dad was coaxing the unloaded gun from her tight grip, whispering: "Okay, kid, it's okay, come on."

With a sharp gasp, she relented the weapon and now felt the wetness on her cheeks from silent tears. Her chest heaved to get enough oxygen and the second the gun left her hands, she became limp and fell against her dad's chest.

"Okay, kid, that was too soon, I get it," he murmured into her hair as he stroked it like she was ten years old again and scrubbed her knee on the pavement outside. "It's okay, mija. Just breathe."

"I'm sorry," she croaked, but could feel him shaking his head. "I'm fu-"

"My fault, baby. I'm sorry, I didn't think. It's okay, it's fine. You'll get there. You're okay, you're safe."

"Get off me," she snapped and shoved herself away. Still closer to hyperventilating, she put a hand against the wall to steady herself. "Sorry."

When her breathing turned to normal, she pushed the safety glasses up and tore off the earmuffs. The thin skin under her eyes burned as she wiped her face with the heel of her hand, feeling so goddamn weak, and gestured to the gun back in its case. "That for Kate or my mom?"

"Josefina," her dad sounded tired, "I didn't tell you that last night to scare you. You wanted the truth, you got it. But do you think, even for a second, that I'd let you move cross-country if I thought you were in any kind of danger?"

"Guess not," she mumbled, the fire dying as suddenly as it had erupted. If her mom never tried to find her in twenty-three years, it made no sense she should suddenly pop up now. Hell, Joe hadn't even managed to find out what the woman looked like even when she was actively searching for her. Huffing, Joe crossed her arms. Her emotions were all over the place today. "So it's for Kate then?"

"It's for self-defense. Do we need to have the gun-talk again?"

"I hate the gun-talk." The only thing worse than her dad's gun-talk was her aunt's sex-talks. Joe leaned against the side of the small booth where she had stood a few weeks ago with Chris Argent delivering perfect headshots by the dozen. It was almost like she was PMS-ing and she blamed the lack of sleep and excess caffeine. Forcing herself to calm down, she said: "I know it's not a toy, Dad. And I know it's a last resort only."

"Normally yes," her dad agreed with a concerned nod. She got the feeling he was keeping tabs on her tells, if she was going to break down again. "But if someone who's come after you twice before comes after you again, you don't try and talk 'em down. You take 'em down."

"That the official standpoint of the Federal Bureau of Investigations?"

"It's the heartfelt order of a father who has legitimately considered lockin' up his daughter somewhere to keep her safe from the world. And since I'd have my work cut out for me persuadin' you to change your name and go into hidin', the gun's what I got. As I said, anything to help you feel safe."

Joe wanted to try again, but her father brushed it off with some vague comment on how it was getting dark soon. Not sure if he was trying to distract her or cheer her up, but he re-told old war stories from his and Uncle Raf's days at the Academy on their way back. Most of Joe's attention focused on the darkening sky and the bright glittering moon up there.

Her dad dropped her off at the laundromat. "Go catch some Z's, kid. See ya in the mornin'."

Feet, heart, and mind heavy, she trudged upstairs. As expected, Jimmy was up and seemed to have been waiting for her. In-between all the rest, she had nearly forgotten about his plan to check out the abandoned suburbs tonight.

"We can't," she said with a sigh and leaned her elbows on the kitchen island. "We can't go out tonight. We can't rush into this without any reconnaissance, backup, or even a solid plan. It's too risky and I am not getting kidnapped again. I can't do that to..." She broke off before saying the name because that still sent a twang of guilt into her stomach. "Sorry, Jimmy, but there's too many unknown variables."

Jimmy sat back on his computer chair. "I agree. I'm glad you came to that conclusion yourself."

"Oh shut up."

"Not to mention you're practically going cross-eyed from trying to stay awake." He had a point and she automatically cast a glance at the coffee machine, but Jimmy cleared his throat. "If you even think about it, I'll crush it with my bare hands. Go to bed, Joe. The world's still gonna be here tomorrow."

"I'm just so worried about," Joe huffed and rubbed her stinging eyelids, "everyone."

Erica, Boyd, Isaac, Derek, Scott, Jackson — the list was long. Not to mention, this would be Kate's first full moon as well, wherever or whatever she was. And if Joe had to be honest, she worried mostly about Derek, but also because he seemed to be worried about her too according to Aunt Mel's testimony and that led to a whole train of uncomfortable thoughts because she hadn't taken his feelings into considerations for a second when she rushed up there last night and-

"Well, I'm worried about you, Delgado. Because you," Jimmy got up from his chair and resorted to physically steering her towards her bedroom, "haven't slept in at least thirty hours. You can either go voluntarily or," his eyes flashed purple in the darkness, "I'll stuff a sleeping pill down your throat." There were canines present in his grin. "Don't say I never gave you a choice."

Before she could respond, he pushed her lightly into the room and shut the door behind her.

He had a point and she hated it.

The dark room felt empty and it left her alone with her thoughts. Fortunately, she had now been up for so long that her thoughts resembled a gooey mess and not coherent structured sentences. Okay, she knew the drill — if she wanted to sleep without pills, she needed to at least try.

Joe did not even undress, just got straight under the covers and tried to pass out from the exhaustion instead of letting her mind wander an inch.

It worked, somewhat, even if she woke sometime later to voices. Joe's room was closest to the apartment door and she barely heard the conversation through the walls.

"Hale. Do you know what time it is?"

She realized she could see faint lines of sunshine pushing through the heavy curtains of her window. Dawn. It felt like she had slept one hour instead of ten.

"Carter. "Derek sounded impatient. "I'd ask if she was here, but I already know she is. How is she?"

"Fascinating. She's sleeping. I'll let her know you stopped by." The sound of a door shutting, but stopping with a small bang. "Remove your foot, Hale. I'm not waking a sleeping insomniac on your bidding."

"Her phone's been off for almost two days. Is she okay? What happened?"

"I'm sure she will tell you herself when she's ready, just like you are going to tell her everything before I will have to do so myself. Not sure if it's your self-obsession or if you're too clouded with pheromones to recognize that she's spiraling — and it's partially your fault. She deserves the full truth."

"You're going to tell her what happened in the warehouse too?"

"I'm not sure you should be making threats about what happened in that warehouse. You're underestimating her, Derek. The high school romance is sweet, but there are bigger things at stake here. We both know it and I'm not lying to her on your behalf."

"You have the choice of letting me in," there was a growl in Derek's voice, "or I'm letting myself in."

A short laugh from Jimmy. "I think you will find that more troublesome than you expect."

A small interlude, no one speaking.

"Mountain ash. Really?"

"Custom-made. By now it should have occurred to you that I am much smarter than you. Now leave, Hale, before I make you leave. Tell your uncle I said hello."

By the sound of it, Derek did leave. Joe waited for a while, heart thumping hard in her chest, expecting him to suddenly crash through her bedroom window. Nothing. Grateful for Jimmy, her head slumped back on her pillow and she crashed down into restless sleep again.

She'd talk to Derek when she figured out what to say and how to apologize. He deserved better.

Hi, my name is alvfr and I like to write long depressing chapters for no reason. You guys didn't really think we'd find out about her mom so easily, did you?

(And sorry for the angst, guys, but Joe's been through some stuff and she's is definitely projecting her own trauma onto poor Derek. Thank goodness she's got a support system to help her.)

This is the first time I've fallen for the temptation to split a chapter in half, because it just became too long and choppy. To compensate, I'll upload the next chapter tomorrow :)

As always, thank you so much for reading! Please let me know what you think, your support fuels my frequent updates! Much love to everyone who reviews ^^

1st Guest: Yes, I've realized Stiles might have had a little crush on Joe in his younger days :)

Moonys: You're right about Scott not realizing how close Joe and Derek are because neither Joe nor Derek is very vocal about it. Both Joe and Scott have valid points and reasons for feeling like they do - like in a real-life argument, it's not always clear who's right or not. And as you probably read in this chapter, we're not getting all the details on her mom just yet :)

JoyDG: So I'll admit I did a very limited amount of research before I chose the ancestry here. The only thing we really know about Scott's ancestry is that his dad speaks Spanish and his mother's maiden name is Delgado. So I looked up that surname, found that it was most common in Argentina (and Spain), and went: "Eh, why not? Argentina sounds nice." Now I know it's just as common in Mexico, Venezuela, Cuba, Ecuador, (literally any Latin American country) but those weren't listed on that first website I searched for some reason.

For reference, I'm claiming Rafael McCall to be Irish-Mexican to explain Scott's surname. Scott's actor (Tyler Posey) is half-Mexican, half-British if I remember correctly (although both actors who play his parents are really of Italian descent, which kind of works for Melissa at least because Argentina had a lot of Italian immigrants earlier and 62% of the population have some sort of Italian ancestry today.)

As with most of my backstory, it's kind of a result of chance google searches before I start writing. Literally, the only reason Joe grew up in the Bronx is because of AOC, J-Lo, and Cardi B. Some parts of the plot are thoughtfully planned out, somethings just happen, haha, sorry! Learning a lot about Latin American culture and language lately, so it's been very educational writing this story in a lot of ways!

Guest 2.0: Happy to see your name in my inbox again! Hope you're staying safe over there and fingers crossed US politics will go back to be boring and predictable soon :)

Edit: Guys, FFN is glitching -again- and I've posted chapter 59, but it doesn't show up. I'll try to pay attention to their official twitter when the matter's resolved and upload again. Sorry, nothing more I can do :/