I apologize PROFUSELY for the delay. Life kind of got in the way and I just got momentarily sidetracked from the story. For anyone who has stuck with me and this story, a million thank you are being sent your way. I just want to let everyone know that, if ever there is a gap between updates, it doesn't mean I've abandoned the story. It means a lot to me that people have taken the time to read this and I don't want to waste your time writing a story just to leave it with no definitive ending. So bear with me, I'm not giving up on this sucker, I'm just trying to plan/write something that will keep you interested! Thank you AGAIN for all of the reads/reviews/favorite etc. I am eternally appreciative to everyone. Again, all mistakes are mine and I don't own Teen Wolf. Read/Review and enjoy!

The second the word leaves his mouth Scott becomes rigid. Chris watches as the boy's face slips into a stoic mask, completely devoid of any emotion. His daughter's reaction is the complete opposite of her boyfriend's. She sucks in a breath and her eyes immediately flit over every inch of Scott's face. She takes a second to shoot Chris a glare before her gaze returns to Scott's unchanging face. Her eyes become tentative as she takes in Scott's appearance, afraid that her father's question will somehow cause the boy to physically crumble. Chris inwardly rolls his eyes. Geeze. You'd think someone died.

He focuses on the two teens and takes note of the sudden tension that surrounds them. Their joined hands are lying innocuously on the table, an obvious juxtaposition to his loaded gun, and he watches as Scott's grip momentarily tightens around his daughter. While most would classify the action as a mere muscle spasm, Chris is well aware that it's one of Scott's many tells. He is attempting to reign in the beast, to control himself. There is an undercurrent of anxiety beneath the deafening silence that surrounds the group. Chris allows his gaze to shift between the teens and he does his best to categorize every breath, movement, and sound.

Scott is staring pointedly at an invisible dot on the table, and Chris can practically see the boy attempting to find a way to explain himself. He'd never been the brightest boy in the shed, and Chris thinks Scott's mind may just explode from the concentration. Scott's breaths are quickening and Chris can see that his grip on Allison isn't enough. He is one painful memory away from shifting and allowing the beast to take control. Chris's hand twitches towards his gun before he realizes that his daughter is already a step ahead of him. She grabs Scott's hand, kissing each knuckle, and presses their entwined hands to the base of her neck. She's letting the kid feel her heartbeat. Apparently Allison understands better than anyone the impact she has on the young wolf. Chris, though slightly wary of the proximity of Scott's hands to his daughter's chest, is impressed to see the effect of Allison's ingenuity.

Scott's eyes are closed and his breathing steadies with each passing second. As Allison takes her free hand to gently stroke his cheek Scott visibly relaxes, shoulders dropping, seemingly melting into Allison's warmth. Scott's eyes open, and while he looks utterly hopeless and exhausted, he also looks entirely human. No trace of the wolf. A small smile appears on Scott's face, almost tentative, and an identical grin appears on Allison simultaneously. Chris is somewhat awestruck as he watches the silent conversation that the two have, their eyes never leaving one another. Every breath and movement taken by the teens is done in tandem as though controlled by a magnetic field. Allison gives Scott an encouraging pat on the cheek and Chris understands it to be the end of their unspoken conversation.

With a resigned look Scott forces his eyes to meet Chris's. He looks wary and his eyes frequently flit towards Allison, as if assuring himself of her presence. While aware that Scott is only sixteen, looking at him now Chris can't help but think that Scott's age is a mere deception. The boy's experiences outweigh those of most adults. He's just a kid, sitting in front of him, and Chris doesn't think he's ever seen anyone look so haggard. Now entirely rid of blood and mud, Scott is completely exposed to the calculating gaze of Chris Argent. Chris takes note of the deep bags under the boy's eyes and finds himself pitying the young werewolf. Damn it. He's just a kid.

Scott's sixteen and Chris is forty-two. Scott's a werewolf and Chris is a werewolf hunter. Scott is below average in most classes and Chris was valedictorian. Chris lists their differences in his mind but it's not enough to prevent him from noticing their greatest similarity.

He sees it immediately when their gazes meet. There is a glint in Scott's eyes that wasn't present before. It's a glint that Chris acquired the day he met his old partner. A glint that is representative of the pain and nightmares that result from witnessing or experiencing death.

Flashback

He checks the map again to make sure he's heading in the right direction. He'd barely had his college diploma five minutes before his father had him driving to the middle of nowhere to chase a rogue beta. The forest is getting denser by the second and Chris is beginning to seriously think that this is just another one of his father's sadistic tests. He'd completed his hunter training at the tender age of eighteen, far earlier than most hunters, but that hadn't stopped his father from springing the occasional "assessment," on him. Protocol, he'd told him. A means of ensuring that Chris's skills stayed as sharp as the daggers strapped to his body.

He grabs the yellow post-it from the dashboard of the car and confirms that the coordinates he had hastily scribbled down were meant to lead him into the abandoned preserve. His fellow graduates are probably celebrating their foray into the real world with endless rounds of drinks and frivolity. He lets out a harsh laugh when thinking of the "real world." The consensus was that the definition of, "the real world," included a family, a steady nine-to-five job, and the idyllic home, white picket fence and all. Hell, maybe even a dog. What a load of bullshit.

His collegiate friends, walking around in drunken stupors, had no knowledge of the real world. They allow themselves a naivety that Chris had never been privy to. People were perfectly content allowing themselves to disregard their surroundings, more than happy to conform to society's definition of reality. Chris knows better though. He knows that while, yes, his future will most likely consist of a wife and children, it most definitely won't involve the typical job. Sure, he and his family can have the white picket fence, but they won't have it long enough to unpack their boxes before the next move. What he knows for sure is that there will be no dog in his future. Because, he has a feeling, after hunting them down every day, he sure as hell won't want to come home to a mutt.

For Chris Argent, the only truly consistent reality, involves the existence of werewolves. And most deserve to die. Which is why, instead of celebrating his graduation of college with honors, he is alone in the woods on his way to help kill a rabid animal.

The road ends and Chris realizes that the rest of his journey will have to be on foot. He grabs the worn map and shoves it in his pocket while reaching for the gun that was resting on top of his discarded graduation robes. He can feel the adrenaline slowly make its way into his veins and begins to feel the familiar wave of excitement that comes with the danger of the hunt. Casting a quick glance into the mirror, Chris schools his eagerness, expertly putting on the mask that his father had trained him to wear. He exits the car, closing the door with his foot, and cocks his gun. He's ready.

The trek through the woods is done with ease. He had spent countless summers with Kate exploring the various forests near their temporary homes. Often not by choice. He thinks it's a little disconcerting how many times he had woken up blindfolded in the middle of the woods, removed from his bed while sleeping, and timed to see how quickly he could find his way home. He still won't ever admit it, but the barbaric tests designed by his father allowed him to become the hunter he is today, always a slight step ahead of the rest.

He hears something to his right and his gun is out in an instant. The familiar weight is reassuring to him, and the fear he had felt as a child lost in the woods is now non-existent. Whatever he heard is far enough away, but with each passing second Chris can hear that they -or it- is fast approaching. He holds his ground, gun never wavering, eyes constantly flicking between the trees that are encompassing him. Twigs are snapping left and right and Chris realizes too late that he's surrounded. He doesn't change his stance, but quickly grabs the second gun tucked into his jeans.

He may be surrounded but he sure as hell isn't about to go down without a fight.

A bark of laughter echoes in the forest and Chris inwardly groans. A dozen men, dressed and armed identically, appear simultaneously from the shadows of the trees and Chris instantly seeks out the face of the man behind the laughter. He can feel a presence behind him and Chris slowly turns to meet the condescending gaze of his father.

"Well, now that my son has finally decided to show up… Let's go kill a werewolf." Gerard is addressing all of the hunters, but his cold stare never leaves Chris's face. Chris lets out a resigned sigh as his father barks orders to the men. Gerard begins to pair them off and Chris has a sinking feeling that he'll draw the short straw and once again get stuck with his father. When he sees Gerard branch off with another hunter into the woods, haphazardly turning to yell, "The two of you head northeast," Chris realizes that tonight's hunt will not involve the father-son team of Argent. He'd be lying if he said he was disappointed.

Turning his head, Chris sees that he and another boy, maybe a year or two his senior, are the only hunters left. He extends his hand and feels a sudden wave of uneasiness when the other boy grasps his hand in his own. "Chris." His voice is steady when he introduces himself. He knows it's unnecessary since he is in fact an Argent, and every hunter in the U.S. is aware of the Argent bloodline, but he does it nonetheless. This is his new partner after all, who knows how long they'll work together. The boy nods as he responds, "Andrew. I'm Andrew."

The conversation is surprisingly easy between the two. There is an instantaneous feeling of camaraderie and by the time they stumble across the rogue beta, Chris has pushed aside is initial uneasiness towards Andrew, accepting the boy as a new friend and confidant. Watching the boy unload an entire round of ammo into the beta's head without blinking was more than enough to bring back Chris's apprehension. He had been taught at an early age the importance of the code and watching a beta, no older than himself, get gunned downed without having spoken a word cemented Chris's belief that the code exists for a reason. Killing in such a brutal fashion, Chris feels, highlighted the true animal of the night. The wolf isn't the animal, Chris knows this, but the other hunters don't share his opinion.

When the entire hunting party regroups, he and Andrew receive congratulatory pats on the back and firm handshakes of respect. His father pats him on the cheek and praises him for a job well done. He thinks it's the first time Gerard has been openly proud of him. Andrew is all smiles as he slings an arm around Chris's shoulders and speaks of the years to come, a dynamic duo that will be revered by hunters across the nation. Chris doesn't let his mask slip once in front of his colleagues. Not even for a second. But the second he slides into his customary SUV, the smile leaves his face. The glance in the mirror tells him what he already knew. He's a different person now. The excited glint present in his eyes mere hours before has been replaced by a look he never wanted to see in himself. It's a look that he had grown familiar with after years of learning the family business. He forces his eyes in front of him and pointedly ignores the man in the mirror. He's no longer Chris. He's Argent now. An accomplice. A hunter. A killer.

End Flashback

He looks at Scott now and is suddenly overcome with a feeling of sadness. Chris had chosen his path at an early age, he knew what was in store for him and had continued to establish himself as the perfect hunter. It isn't until right now that Chris truly understands how much had been unwillingly forced upon Scott's shoulders. The boy hadn't asked for the bite in fact, he had vocalized on numerous occasions his wish for normalcy. And yet, here he is, sitting in front of him with a look that was completely haunting to Chris.

He glances to his left and picks up his gun, blatantly ignoring Allison's widening eyes and protests of, "Dad!" The weapon has only increased in familiarity over the years, which means that Chris is able to disarm it in seconds. He is entirely focused on his task and finds solace in the routine. The cartridge drops into his hands and he makes a show of removing every bullet. They fall from his hands onto the floor in quick succession and he replaces the now empty gun in its designated place on the table.

Looking up for the first time he almost laughs at the comical looks on Scott's face. It's face is pinched in utter confusion as he looks quizzically between Chris and the gun, scrutinizing the two with a look of slight distrust. It takes a moment for the boy to fully register the implications behind Chris's actions and the elder Argent can see the exact second Scott puts all of the pieces together. His slightly gaping mouth snaps shut and he gazes at Chris with new resolve. Chris thinks Scott's unwavering gaze could give Gerard's a run for its money, he doesn't think he's ever felt so vulnerable and uncomfortable under another person's stare.

Scott's face suddenly transforms, it's almost imperceptible but Chris sees it. The hardness in the boy's eyes dissipates and his lips quirk in what Chris assumes his supposed to be an attempt at a smile. There is a mutual respect present between the two and Chris nods in affirmation to Scott. He doesn't even hesitate to firmly shake Scott's hand when the boy tentatively extends it across the table. The exchange is quick but the previously palpable tension in the room dissipates immediately. The two share another nod before simultaneously turning their heads to face Allison.

This time he does laugh. Her mouth is agape and her eyes are rounder than he's ever seen them. Her hand is raised and her finger is moving on its own accord between Scott and himself. Her head is in constant motion and she quickly switches her gaze between the two men. "What… You… What just happened?" She is completely incredulous and Chris can do nothing but shrug in her direction while explaining himself. "We came to an understanding." Her brows furrow and her mouth drops another millimeter. "You… You came to a… What?" Scott rolls his eyes at her, crossing his arms in response while motioning for her to look at Scott.

Her eyes move to her boyfriend and she does a double take when she sees that he id red in the face from laughing at her. Allison's eyebrows shoot up in surprise as her face quickly morphs into one of indignation. She turns her head and stares forward, crossing her arms like her father while pointedly avoiding looking at him. "You… Your face… Oh my god… Allison…" Scott can barely breath and Chris is grateful that, this time, the lack of breath has been caused by laughter rather than a bullet to the lungs. He chances a glance at his daughter, still trying to be mad at the men in her life, and notices that there is a light in her eyes that hadn't been present since Scott had stumbled across their threshold. He realizes that it's a light that is only ever present when Scott is with her.

Scott seems to finally realize that Allison is silently fuming beside him, and quickly does his best to compose himself, wiping his eyes while letting out the occasional chuckle. He peers at Allison, coughs awkwardly, and places his hand between them on the table palm-up. A wry smile crosses face when, with a small huff of annoyance that doesn't really fool anyone, Allison reaches out and entwines her fingers with Scott's. Scott smiles at the contact but quickly sobers when he realizes why the three of them are sitting at the table. His eyes meet Chris's and he takes a deep breath.