(A/N. So, thanks for giving this a chance. Trying to get into writing again after losing my inspiration. This is my first Teen Wolf fanfic. I genuinely kept picturing this and it wouldn't leave my head, so I hope you guys like this as much as my brain seems to. Also, Teen Wolf and its characters do not belong to me. I only own the girl. Enjoy!)

They were wrong. Time does not take it all away. The pain of loss remains in the soul long after the goodbyes have been given. It creeps into the bones slowly, painfully, and only increases with time. It wreaks havoc upon even the strongest of minds and leaves the host lost, broken and inconsolable. And in no amount of time can one get over the loss of a child, not when you have already lost so much.

Chris Argent could attest to that.

He had never prided himself on indulging excessively in alcohol. He enjoyed a nice glass of wine every now and then. He even allowed himself to share a few beers every few months with the guys. However, these last two months after burying his only child were filled with more than two bottles of beer every three hours. He hardly found the desire to leave his apartment save for getting the bare minimum of nourishment. He didn't answer phone calls. He rarely checked on his upstairs neighbor also known as his father. All in all, Chris wasn't living anymore.

However, leaving had never become an option. Despite seeing Isaac off on a leave to New York with a promise of checking in occasionally, Chris himself never gathered the will to leave Beacon Hills indefinitely. There were still other supernatural creatures roaming around town. The citizens needed protecting and no matter how strong Scott was, he was still a teenager. They all were. Even with Derek's guiding, they still would need help. And Chris knew that Allison would never forgive him for allowing the weight of all that darkness to fall on a group of teenagers, her friends. Besides, he wasn't the only one grieving. They all were.

To some, two months could feel like a lifetime. The holidays had passed, the New Year had begun, and people were still feeling the jolly spirits of their time off. Some were dreading the beginning of their new semester. But burying his baby felt like it was yesterday. Long pale fingers clasped together on a flat abdomen; her skin glowing like smooth alabaster against the darkness of her clothing. Chestnut brown hair fanned out across the small pillow, lashes brushing against high cheekbones that would never redden when caught in the embrace of a boy nor showcase those precious dimples that he loved. The memory haunted him like a bad record; it replayed constantly and remained permanently plastered to the back of his eyes, torturing him even when he drowned himself in the sweet bliss of alcoholic slumber.

He was cursed. The Argent name had caused him to lose too many too soon. Before, when death came knocking, Chris could remain self-controlled. He would be able to attend a funeral, console fellow hunters or family members, and then lift a beer in their name to keep it pushing. This time, however, this time hit him harder than any loss ever had. He had to bury his mother, lose family members in between, and bury his sister, his wife, and now his daughter. It was all too much too soon.

"Chris," a gravelly voice called from the front door followed by a few knocks. Chris sighed deeply, the breath expelling from him slowly and reluctantly, and set down the bottle of Guinness. He didn't, however, move from his seat. Another set of knocks, harder this time, came followed by, "Open the door. I can your heart beating." After two minutes, Chris stood and walked over. The lock clicked and he turned the handle, just barely opening the door before turning back to enter into his kitchen. A second later, Derek shoved his way through the door, tenseness in his shoulders and a tick in his jaw that would otherwise be considered permanent. The only source of lighting in the otherwise dark apartment came from the kitchen.

Chris didn't notice the paleness of Derek's skin nor the still slightly stunned expression on his otherwise mainly stoic face.

"What do you want?" Chris asked and slumped down heavily into his chair. He picked up his beer and took a swig. "Can't you see that I'm grieving?" Derek didn't reply immediately. Hazel eyes took in the unclean dishes in the sink, the scent of spoiled milk that he detected from the refrigerator, and a plate with a half-eaten sandwich sat on the counter. And Chris himself looked worse for wear; the barely-there stubble from two months ago had thickened and the dark circles under his eyes were prominent.

"I can see," Derek replied solemnly. Chris didn't look at the other male. Instead, he drank the rest of his beer, willing the werewolf to leave so that he could be left to his lonely silence. But Derek didn't move from his position and wasn't going to any time soon. "It's been two months, Chris, and this is important." Chris turned to him steely gray eyes.

"And what is more important than losing the majority of my family?" He inquired, a threat behind the nonchalant tone as if he were daring Derek to say the wrong thing. His skin itched with the sudden burst of adrenaline in his veins, body ready for a brawl, not because he had an actual issue with Hale but for the hell of it. Derek didn't take the bait.

"It's Kate." There was a slight pause. Chris idly wondered if there was another family arson she was involved with. Another mass murder? Perhaps she seduced another teen somewhere? He really could expect anything at this point. "She's alive." Silence was his only response. Chris' hand, which held onto the bottle he was ready to throw away, stopped. His fingers loosened and the glass object plummeted to the wooden floor, shattering.

Chris didn't expect that.

When the Argents held Kate's funeral, they didn't view the body. They didn't even see her at the morgue. There was too much shame on the face of the woman who broke the Hunter Code. She nearly tarnished the Argent family name. She killed an entire family, children included. That was not on the Argent's agenda whenever they decided to settle in a town. So, when they buried her, it never occurred to Chris that perhaps he wouldn't to take that final look of the woman he grew up with – the one who was his first hunting partner as a young adult, the one he taught, the one he watched out for. It wasn't necessary. Only now that seemed like the worst idea.

"How?"

The question posed didn't have an immediate answer. Derek himself was still perplexed, mind still wrapping around the concept. He had carried the knowledge of her still being alive for two weeks, not sure what to do or how to say it. Until two months ago, he had never believed that a person could be changed by a scratch from a werewolf let alone the fact that Kate lived. Peter told him how deeply he had cut into Kate's throat; she choked on her own blood. She should be still dead and yet, here she was lurking around in Beacon Hills. And that wasn't the only thing he had to toss on Chris' plate.

"I don't know. But she's…she's different," Derek told him. "She's not human, not anymore." Another pause passed between the two of them before Derek fully met Chris' eyes. "And there's more."

"Wow, your silence says so much," Kate Argent jested lightly, green-flecked golden eyes glowing in the darkness of the room. The only light in the room came from the moon which bathed the room in a dim, ominous light. But Derek still could not say a word. Her skin, marked by strange black symbols, was blue, causing her eyes to stick out more. Her claws were long and sharp, canines jutting out just slightly from her thin lips. "Come on, Derek. Talia taught you better than that, right?" The mention of his mother caused the ever-present scowl to return to his countenance.

"How…how is this possible?" Kate frowned, more like pouted. She sighed very deeply as if disappointed by his choice of words. She placed her hands on her jean-clad hips, shaking her head in mock dissatisfaction. She took a few steps forward and Derek stepped backwards, stance defensive and wary. She stopped and there was no doubt that this was a pout, though amusement danced in her eyes.

"You're asking all the wrong questions, Derek. Let's make this a game." Her faux cheerfulness resulted in an annoyed growl from Derek that broke through his haze of confusion. "And, sweetie, if I wanted to attack you, I would already have your ass flat out on your back already. You're not on my agenda just yet." He glowered.

"And what should I be asking?" Kate shrugged, a pensive expression on her face as her left forefinger tapped her chin thoughtfully.

"I don't know, 'what do I want?' 'Why am I here?' 'What do I know?' You know, the smart questions." She grinned at the dark look on Derek's face. "Come on, have a little adventurous side." Derek flexed his claws, his eyes becoming that perfect cerulean blue shade that was illuminated by the moonlight.

"How about I just rip your throat out with my teeth?" Kate laughed.

"Kinky," she purred gently, eyes glinting wickedly. "But I believe Peter tried that and well, here we are!" As always, Kate wanted to play a game and it appeared as though succumbing to her wishes was the only way he was going to get what he wanted. With a sigh, Derek closed his eyes and when he opened them, his claws were gone and his eyes were back to normal.

"Fine. What do you know?" Kate gave out a near childish squeal, clapping her hands in glee.

"There ya go!" She chuckled at the obvious distaste on Derek's face. "And here I thought that the stick was permanently stuck up your ass." Another growl made its way from Derek's chest; it was a warning. He would play along for now. If she pushed him further, he would not hesitate in attacking and then her fun would be all over. "Let's just say, I'm not the only thing you have to worry about." Derek rolled his eyes.

"Could you be any more vague?" Her grin never faded.

"That's the fun part," she exclaimed. "Besides, you'll understand in due time. After all, I'm not the only long lost Argent coming home."

"Hello, I'm looking for Sheriff Stilinski," a polite, honeyed voice said over the desk and Deputy Parrish looked up to meet with very pale blue eyes, heavily-lidded and near electric as they caught some wayward beam from the sun's rays that crept through the blinds. He smiled back stupidly.

"Um, he's…uh, he's…in his office…t-t-to the left…" The woman smiled and stood up straight, her svelte form hugged by the beige fitted knee-length dress she wore.

"Thank you very much," she replied and turned away, heels clicking on the hardwood floor. Eyes followed her as she walked over to the sheriff's office, taking in the way the polished curls of her honey-colored hair swung behind her. She tapped lightly on the door before opening it, eyes trained on the man at the desk who appeared rather surprised by her presence. "Sheriff Stilinski?"

"Uh, that's me." The smile on the woman's face faded somewhat and she stood in the doorway, hands clasped over a file in front of her.

"ADA Shaw, I'm from the District Attorney's Office of San Francisco." John's face fell as she spoke and he glanced back at the computer screen. He had been looking over the case evidence of the most recent murder. So far, Stiles hadn't been able to come up with anything.

"R-right, you guys. And they sent you all the way over here?" She full-out frowned.

"Well, when you dodge calls for two weeks, the DA becomes concerned with how you are conducting business here, especially with the latest string of 'animal attacks' in the area." She put great emphasis on "animal attacks," raising her delicately-arched eyebrow as if daring him to say something unintelligent. John sighed.

"I believe that's why the FBI was sent here before, correct? Didn't you receive paperwork from them?" Shaw sighed again, stepping further into the office and closing the door behind her. Her angular jaw, softened only slightly by her short yet slightly rounded chin, was tense.

"Well, we would take that paperwork into account if yours had followed it," she said. "And let's not pretend that Agent McCall was here for just professional reasons." John averted his gaze from those speculative eyes. The attractive young woman before him was a familiar stranger; those eyes reminded him of someone he couldn't place at the moment, but those eyes were enough to have him unable to maintain eye contact. "I believe there was questioning on whether or not your son was involved?"

That had him staring back at her, defenses up immediately.

"Now, those kids are grieving – "

"Right, the Argent child, correct?" She inquired, almost unaffected. "She died in what you wrote as an 'attempted robbery?'" Sheriff Stilinski only glared in response. Shaw nodded, a small smile on her face at his inability to say anything. "Sounds a little peculiar that each murder or scandal in this small town seems connected with a bunch of teenagers, huh? I'd like to conduct a few interviews."

"I don't think that's necessary, ma'am." She frowned.

"Please, call me Avery. And it wouldn't be necessary if you weren't a part of the Contra Costa County, which is under the jurisdiction of the San Francisco District Attorney's office." John stood, stepping away from the desk and towards the leggy woman.

"What exactly are you aiming to do?" She only stared back levelly, face betraying nothing but a chilling calm that appeared impenetrable despite the close quarters.

"My job, Sherrif, and hopefully, you won't get in my way and we can get to the bottom of all of this," she replied. "You'll have me out of your hair as soon as you fully cooperate." Smiling, she opened the office door. "I'll be staying in Beacon Hills for a few weeks to conduct my research. I'll be seeing you soon, Sheriff." Begrudgingly, Sheriff Stilinski replied in kind and she walked out, smiling at a few officers.

Once outside, Avery Shaw made her way over to her black Mazda. Unlocking the driver's side door, she tossed in the file. Her ringtone called to her a moment before she could get into the car. She reached into her purse and would have answered the call until she felt the barrel of a gun press into the back of her head. She tensed automatically.

"Don't move," the male behind her growled, his angry gaze burning the back of her skull. She sighed, hands in the air. They both glanced around them idly, making sure that no one saw them. They were on the side of the building, not near a camera. "Now, who the hell do you think you are?"

"A human, preferably female, who is hungry and in dire need of a burger and a nap." His answering swears made her grin and not sensing a threat, Avery turned around, pushing the gun away from her face. But Chris Argent was relentless and held the weapon up, aiming directly at her chest.

"Don't play games with me. Do us a favor, get back in your car, and get the hell out of this town." Avery stared at him for a long time, face expressionless and lips set in a line. A few moments later and the hurt bled through, lips pulled down by the gravity of the situation.

"I don't think Mom would appreciate you being so rude," she told him softly. "Is that any way to treat your baby sister?"