packpapa | (no subject)

Entry tags:

( c ) brigid finn ➜ bostonhowler

(no subject)

Summer is truly starting to set in as the sun rises slowly in the blue, cloudless sky, and the birds outside are chirping merrily. But with the large window covering most of the wall in the main living space and the sunlight above, Derek stirs with a groan, burying his face further into the warm pillow and the covers surrounding him to shield his sensitive eyes.

He feels a little groggy as he starts to pull himself out from the depths of sleep, not that far from what it feels like after experiencing wolfsbane in his system, and, what he can only assume, it feels like to have a hangover.

It doesn't take long for him to fully come to his senses and when he does he jolts up with a start. Brigid. He looks to his right where she's still lying beside him, but thankfully he doesn't appear to have disturbed her. She looks peaceful in slumber, he thinks, unable to remove his eyes from her sleeping form, and he reaches out without thinking about it, carefully brushing the wild strands of red hair away from her face. He finds himself smiling, almost as if nothing's changed and they're still teenagers without a care in the world, but the weight of the darkness around his heart doesn't let him forget for long.

He's glad she's here, he realises, even though he still can't let himself believe it's going to last; he wants to, but he can't. The second he starts to let himself hope, he knows everything can only go downhill from there, it always does. But maybe if she sticks around long enough, if she manages to settle without bolting as soon as she discovers every single sordid detail, and he knows she's going to have to meet the others at some point.

Derek carefully manoeuvres himself into a sitting position, back against the head of the bed and covers hanging over his clothed lap. He didn't plan to sleep through the entire night and half of the morning as well, but he needed it, and he knows that Brigid did as well. And he can already feel a lot of the weariness gone from the solid night of sleep. He catches the fresh scent of Isaac, but he can't hear his heartbeat from within the loft, so he knows he must have been and gone, always trying to stay out of his way to make sure he's not a nuisance. He doesn't mind having him around, though, and it's not as if either of them have anyone else, but he can't help feeling relief that he can hold off on introductions a while longer until he can catch her up with the recent going-ons.

He doesn't know how long he sits there, watching as the sun fully rises in the sky and glancing down to the woman beside him, a woman he never thought he would get to meet and the memories of the girl she used to be faded from the hard years that followed. He's an alpha, yes, but he knows he's far from perfect, that he wasn't born to the role, and that he's going to make a lot more mistakes before he finds his feet. And he's still got a long way to go before he can be anything to anyone beyond that, but if she's at his side then he thinks he can learn to try that much harder to discover who he was supposed to be before he got thrown off course.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The book draws his attention several times while he flips through old, battered ones of his own, but he resists the temptation; he'll get a look at it at some point, but he would rather do it beneath her watchful eye since it seems to be that important to her. He doesn't really need to see its contents to understand why, and it no doubt holds many of the answers that he's been seeking, things he wishes he could remember in full or that he was taught, but he was never meant to be an alpha, and even Laura hadn't learned as much as she should have being given the status far too soon.

He turns a page as he hears it, though, the racing heartbeat that he would know anywhere, and if he weren't suddenly struck by something he can't quite name, he might question why he recognises everything that is her so easily after all these years, why it feels so right in doing so.

He glances over to Isaac, which confirms his own quiet panic: something is wrong. They're both up and over to the door in seconds.

Derek throws it open, a loud sliding and a bang as he does so, and then he's racing out into the hall and down the stairs, making his way to her.

He looks openly concerned, anxious and panicked, senses on full alert as he tries to locate the threat. But then he hears it, the voice on the other end of the phone calling her name in a way that appears calm, but obviously carries warn and a lack of patience. He's got his arms around her before he knows what he's doing, trying to reach for the phone as he does so.

Brigid grabs onto Derek like a lifeline, her face buries into his shoulder. Shaking fingers offer him the bluetooth, because she wants that voice out of her ear and away from her. It makes her worry for her friend and his mother, but she can't stop her own shaking.

Isaac looks at the two of them, not knowing what to do. Tentatively, he reaches out to touch Brigid's shoulder and finds his hand caught by hers, fingers tangling together. Her eyes are closed, and he looks at Derek, confusion and a little fear warring on his face.

"Brigid!"

She flinches at the growl, more out of habit than anything else. He might not know where she is; there might still be time. But there's a compulsion in that tone that she's been conditioned to follow for a long time.

"Brigid, I can hear you breathing. You're coming back to Boston, immediately." Markus isn't asking; he's telling. "You have translations to do and there's two Alphas that are coming in to meet you."

Squeezing her eyes shut, she curses her heightened senses. She can hear every word he says and knows what he's talking about.

Holding onto Brigid and offering her comfort is the main priority, but as he hears the voice coming from the phone held awkwardly in his hand from where it's wrapped around her, he can hear the angry, demanding voice on the other end of the line.

He loosens his hold a little, releasing her with his right arm so he can bring the phone up to his ear.

"Brigid has a new alpha now," he reports, voice calm but stern, a steeliness to it that's blander than his usual grumpiness, as if he's holding so much back that he would love to let rip. If she notices that his left hand is in a tight fist around her back, well, it's the only thing keeping him in control. "A new pack. She won't be leaving for Boston, not now, not ever." He tries not to lie, even if the technology is no where near good enough to carry his heartbeat, he's still cautious. "Don't call this number again, and don't try to find her. If you do, I'll be waiting."

He presses the end call button and slips it into a pocket; if he calls back, he's got no intention of answering, and he doubts Brigid would want to hear that voice again either.

He nods to Isaac, praising as much as reassuring, even if it does fall short; she might have a new alpha, a new pack, but they're not a complete one, even with Peter they're still weak, and he knows creating more betas at this point will only draw more attention to them. If word travels too quickly, Markus won't need to search for her.

"Let's get you upstairs," he encourages softly, sliding an arm around her back and letting her lean into him, taking her wait as he turns them to head upwards. "Isaac, take her things."

Isaac grabs the bags and heads up without a word; he takes no longer than a few seconds to have a moment of pride in his beta for taking the order, even if it's a small, simple one, it's one more closer to rebuilding what bond they had before the summer.

The nausea rises in the back of her throat. She hadn't thought that Markus would find her so quickly. Leaning on Derek, she lets him lead her upstairs. Collapsing on the couch, she buries her face in her hands. Markus is an asshole on his good days. If he's hurt Senora Montoya... or any of the children. Carlos still has four siblings at home.

Brigid doesn't look up. "There's more in the car. Isaac, would you mind?" She needs something to focus on. Going outside hurts right now and she needs to contact Carlos and his mother.

"No, of course not." He carefully closes the door behind him.

Her hand reaches out and rests on the top of the book. "It's not going to be long before his Emissary contacts the one here." It'll probably be in an email, maybe a phone call, maybe some... mysterious druid way that she doesn't know about. "I know the vet knew about the arrangement between us, and it probably won't take long before word gets back to him that I'm here, anyway." Druids had weird ways of finding things out. She wouldn't be surprised if there is something surrounding the city... now she's just making things up to panic herself.

Brigid swallows and tears well in her eyes. She hadn't meant to bring trouble to Derek's door. Her only thought had been to get to him, to find out if it was true. Nothing else. "I'm sorry, Derek. I didn't mean to bring trouble. I just..." No, there's no excuse, no reasoning. "I'm so sorry. If you don't want to deal with the trouble..." She looks up at him. "I understand." An easy out for him. Brigid doesn't want to leave. Her heartbeat tells that truth. But if he can't, if he doesn't want to, she'll go, and she'll understand.

He reaches out to Isaac as he passes back through the loft and puts a hand upon his shoulder, squeezing comfortingly; he's glad that the others have gone, because as much as he wishes for them to be pack (or, more precisely, Scott, and Stiles as a package deal), they're not, and he knows Brigid needs nothing more or less than pack right now. Isaac is still a stranger, but one is easier to deal with than three, and he doesn't doubt that they will get on well enough.

"I'll speak to him," he tries to assure her, but even if he does and Deaton chooses to protect them, it won't last; sooner or later, Markus will find out where she's gone, and if Peter tipped her off, it's not a difficult assumption to come to that he might have done the same to the alpha. Sometimes, on days like this, he wishes he would let Stiles have his wish and kill Peter again. "He told me that he made a promise to my mother," he swallows, as if the words on this topic are all filled with razors cutting their way out of his throat, "He said he would protect me, do what he could to keep me safe. For her." He doesn't point out that he doesn't exactly like Derek, and he's certainly not his biggest fan, but maybe with a little help, an excuse to seek him out that doesn't involve a fly-by visit in the middle of an attack, he could become the alpha he should be, the one he was never born to be. With Brigid here, he wants to, as much as he wants to find his missing betas and stitch his pack back together in order to do so.

"You're pack," he says simply, and maybe some alphas kick their betas out or worse when they do something to anger them, but Derek doesn't intend to be that kind of an alpha; he's got enough guilt to last him a lifetime, he doesn't need more. "As your alpha, I'll do what I can to protect you." And if Markus finds his way here, he'll die trying to take him down if he so much as touches Brigid.

Brigid doesn't know half of what Derek has been through here. She isn't sure she wants to know. But she'd brought more issues to his doorstep, for no reason than she'd just...

She'd been selfish. She had admitted that in Confession. For once, she hadn't thought of the pack, or of others, and she had just taken what she wanted. And what she wants is Derek. She wants to be his wife, and his Beta, and his helper, throughout their lives. Brigid wants to be here and even if that is selfish, she knows that it's the best thing for everyone.

Her hand slides off the book and she tangles her fingers together. Tension leaves her shoulders for just a moment, and her heartbeat steadies. He's calling her pack and that's almost better than anything else.

"I still don't want you hurt." She whispers. Because seeing Derek hurt just makes her stomach churn. "I can help. The Chronicle... it has a lot of things, a lot of laws that are half-remembered, or only known to a few. There are passages on Alphas, Emissaries, everything."

Brigid bites her lip. There's other things in there. "There's also a copy of the agreement between your mother and Markus and my Da in there."

She'd found it, buried in the back of the book, several years ago, when she'd taken it to Ireland with her. It's the only night she's ever contemplated trying to get drunk.

"It could be useful."

He thinks that Stiles and Lydia could be of use translating the book, but he's seen Brigid with it, how protective she is of it, and he knows how important it is, or, at least, he's starting to. If it helps, though, if it moves things along, gives them something to work with outside of violence, it's worth a shot. Deaton, if no one else, would probably be happy.

"He signed it. If we plan to follow through with the agreement, prove it to him, then it might get him out of the way." If he doesn't go for it, though, if he decides the book is more important then an agreement, well, it'll buy them time at the very least. "Get anything that might be helpful from it, I'll deal with Deaton."

He perches himself on the arm of the sofa, close, but not close enough to touch just from that. It's been a while since he's been in a position where actual comfort like this has been needed, so he's awkward about it, rusty, and the last person he did it for was Laura; she was family, it was different. Brigid is family, in a way, but it's different, their bond isn't the same, and he's cautious of it, even without intending to be, but he's close if she wants to take from him what's there to offer.

"Stiles has a friend, she can read Latin. If it'll help get more out of the book, I could see if she'll be willing to help." The more prepared they are, the better, and the quicker they have something, the more confident he will feel if they day ever comes.

Brigid looks up at him. Tentatively, she reaches for his hand. Hers are cold, the stress from Markus - as little as it seems - having made them chilly. His are warm, alive. Slowly, she pushes herself up and stands in front of him. Her brown eyes search his face, looking for something she isn't even sure of.

"I..." She stops, looking down at where her hand rests on his. "I don't want you to feel like you have to, Derek." Her cheeks pinken. Again. She hates her pale complexion sometimes. "I am more than willing, but I don't want you to be trapped into this because of Markus." She wants him to do it because he has feelings for her.

Brigid wants the fairy tale. She wants the prince that is promised to her, but falls in love with her. She's selfish in only this way. Brigid doesn't look at him when she turns away and flips open the book. Her fingers ghost over the pages, turning them until she finds one with a pocket. Flipping it open, Brigid takes a deep breath. She unfolds the paper within. At the bottom are the signatures of her Da, his mother, and Markus as her Alpha.

"I don't want this, or Markus, to be the only reasons you want to marry me, Derek." She whispers the words, because he can hear her. Her fingers smooth out the paper on the open book. It's an old movement. She's done this many, many times.

Brigid turns from the book and looks at him. Uncertainty is written on her face. Her bottom lip is swollen from her gnawing on it with her teeth. Brigid isn't even sure what to say. "No matter what, I'm staying. I told you I won't go back to Markus and I won't." He's lining up Alphas to auction her off to, and she knows it. "I just don't want you to feel obligated to do anything more than deal with the trouble I brought here." Her fingers ghost over his cheek and she leans in, her lips brushing against his scruff. "Is breá liom tú. I love you."

Brigid slips away from him just as Isaac comes back in, carrying boxes and a few more bags. She walks over to help him.

"What is in here?" Isaac grunts, carrying the boxes toward the kitchen.

"Supplies. I noticed you guys don't bake, or cook, the way I do, so I bought a few things." She frowns. "There's two more? If you get those, I'll start putting everything away, and then start cooking."

Isaac smiles, almost tentatively and walks back out to get the rest of the stuff.

It's automatically as he takes hold of her hands firmly, both of them, and rubs warmth back where it belongs, willing to give up his own to do so. It's natural, as if they were made for it, for each other, and they fit so perfectly.

It takes him aback, then, when she confesses her feelings on the matter as if she thought he would agree to it on any other terms himself, but rather than rushing to speak, to jump into an explanation, he frowns, the expression deeply etching itself into his features, and he remains quiet as he lets her go on.

He watches her with the book, knowing the exact page without thinking, and the way she touches the agreement as if it's an old gesture she's done thousands of times. It hits him, then, more than anything so far of how much this means to her, that it's truly been something she's held onto. It's something he's held onto, too, but not in quite the same way. He kept her as a happy place, somewhere safe and warm where he could go when he needed it, when he felt he could allow himself the luxury, trust himself with it. But he accepted a long time ago he could never have her, not like that, not after everything.

It's different, now, though, and he can feel that, the change, the way he knows he's already accepted the terms of the agreement, but not because they exist in writing, or because his mother signed the dotted line. It's because he never stopped caring for her, never stopped thinking about her, wondering where she was or what she was doing, and if she had someone there to go through everything with besides her father. A part of him sometimes, selfishly, hoped she didn't, that there was still room for him, but the rest of the time he really hoped she did; he knew he was too broken for her, not good enough, not anymore, and the last thing he ever wanted was for her to be alone, to lose out on a family because of a promise he couldn't keep.

She's here, now, and that thought, that thought is slowly coming back to the surface and twisting into a different shape; he's seen the woman she's become, even if he doesn't quite know her properly yet, but he thinks - no, he knows - that he's never stopped loving her, that from what he's seen and heard so far, he only wants her more than he ever did because it's here and it's now, and she's the last good thing he's really got left outside of his new pack and their allies, and those, well, they were out of necessity, a way in which to survive.

His frown grows that much deeper, though, when Isaac returns and interrupts them, his mouth closing after he had been about to speak. He can't do it with the beta here, and it's not as if he yet knows exactly how to say what it is that he needs to, so it's probably for the best. But he needs to set her straight, to make her realise he meant to agree whether or not her previous alpha came looking. If she had never come here, it would have been different, but she's here, and he can't lose her again. He's lost everyone else, but not her.

"You don't have to," he says, watching Isaac as he leaves again, and then to the boxes he brought in. "Cook, I mean. We get by, even if what you could make would be healthier. But the responsibility, it doesn't fall to you. Not unless you actually want it to." The last thing he wants is for her to feel as if she has to do things because it's what she's used to or what she thinks would be expected of her; if there's one thing he knows how to do and do well it's survive, and whether she stays or not, she doesn't have to put herself out for anyone but herself.

Her fingers are already unpacking the bags, moving things around, and putting them away. Bowls go onto the counter, along with other tools that she's going to be using. A new set of knives, three slow cookers, a rolling pin and pans for various dishes that she plans on putting together.

There's measuring spoons and cups, in plastic, metal and glass. Whisks are hung up behind the counter, ready to be used for a variety of things. Parchment paper, aluminum foil, waxed paper, cling wrap, and tupperware suddenly find places among his cupboards. A blender that looks like it could probably run the kitchen itself is tucked into a corner of the counter.

The freezer quickly becomes a tetris puzzle of fruits and meats. She tucks the juice in there as well. Then she smiles at Derek. There's a slight worry to her eyes, but she doesn't let it out. She'd said her piece and the decision is his.

Boxes pile up as she unpacks and plans to clean everything before it gets used. "I like cooking. I especially like cooking for people I know will appreciate it."

She glances back at Isaac. "That's all baking supplies, just tuck it in the corner over there and I'll organize it. Thanks."

"No problem." Isaac isn't stupid, though. He can smell the emotions in the air, even if he isn't sure what they are. "I'm going over to the clinic. Deaton's got some work for me. Do you want me to tell him anything?"

Brigid stops her nervous fluttering around, her hands buried in the warm, soapy water. She looks at Derek. It's his call. She can translate while things cook. Having the knowledge will help them all.

He stands to one side with loosely folded arms, out of the way, as she sorts through the things she's brought into the loft, and if the look on his face expresses anything, then it's definitely impressed.

He knows he's not an expert in this area, but he's almost certain that she's nesting right now, even if half of the things she's putting away into places he's trying to take stock of are desperately needed around the place, especially if he's sticking around for a while.

"Tell him that we have a new member in our pack, but nothing more. I'll pay him a visit personally to fill him in on the rest later." Because there are things he needs to ask him, anyway, and he wants to do it directly without involving anyone else until he's got a better grasp on things.

"Okay. I'll probably head over to Scott's after, so don't wait up."

Derek merely nods in acknowledgement, but he takes it to mean he probably won't be back at all tonight, and for once he doesn't mind all that much.

He turns back to Brigid, leaning against the nearest wall, watching her as she moves around the kitchen and making herself at home.

"I don't," he offers, frowning at his own pathetic attempt at words; he can practically hear Stiles mocking him. "Feel trapped by the situation."

She listens to Isaac leave and puts the washed dishes to the side. She doesn't look at Derek, because this is the part she's not good at. The part that involves living, breathing people and not those that have been dead for a few hundred years. Those she knows how to deal with.

Brigid bites her lip. She finishes washing the new dishes and pans that she's bought, setting up the crockpots, because those will definitely be getting a workout. The freezer has plenty of food in it, but nothing prepared and that makes her twitch. She likes being able to walk in and grab something to munch on without too much work.

She's not an idiot; if Isaac is anything like the teenage boys of her former pack, he'll take to being able to grab meals like a duck to water soon enough. And it's one thing that she loves doing. She'd learned out of self-defense for the food budget, but she'd come to enjoy and revel in being able to create in such a way.

Brigid hadn't been lying when she said she'd bake cookies and not allow Stiles to have any.

"Markus started shopping for others to marry me off to." Brigid whispers, staring at the chopping board. She reaches for the vegetables after lining the crockpot. "Alphas, mostly. I've met more than one, the last year or so, since I got back from Ireland." Her fingers start chopping vegetables with delicate, practiced movements. She wants Derek to understand everything that she knows, even if she's really not good at this. "I told him I was holding to the agreement."

Brigid licks her lips, finally looking up at Derek. "The priest said he'd marry us, if that's what we want. It's... I promised Da. I don't care about a big wedding, or fancy clothes, but in a church, with a priest. None of the rest of it matters." Now she is just rambling and isn't even sure of what she's saying.

For all that she worries about her approach, Derek knows that his is by far the worst, and it doesn't help as he stands there, watching, listening, without so much as a sound escaping him until he knows that she's finished speaking and he's had a moment to absorb what it is that she's telling him.

"You don't need to worry about Markus anymore," he assures her, and he means it, even though he knows he can't promise, he's going to do everything within his power to ensure that he stays away whether he finds her or not; she's not a prize to be fought over and won, but she's clearly made her choice, so he intends to respect that. "If he comes, I'll see to it that he gets the message."

There's another long moment before he speaks again, but he unfolds his arms and pushes away from where he's leaning, stepping closer to her, slowly, as if he's unsure of himself, but when he brushes a hand to her arm, it's firm, confident.

"I'm not agreeing to marry you because of the document," he admits, sighing in frustrating as he tries to find the right words, taking a minute to try and put them in order in his head first. "I never intended to do it for that reason, even when we were young. But knowing that was a binding contact, it... I selfishly liked that, knowing that you would be mine, no matter who else came along." He's grown up a lot since, then, though, and, now, if she chose someone else, even later on down the line, he would never stand in her way, he would let her do whatever she needed to in order to be happy.

"I thought there was someone else, once, but I was young and stupid, and I paid for my mistake the same way I always do." He paid with his entire world burning to a crisp, but he still has one good thing left, he still has her. "But even before I saw her for what she really was, Brigid, I always knew she could never compare to you. When you came back, when you tracked me back here, I didn't want you because I wanted you to be happy, to be safe. I can't promise you either of those things, but I-- I want to try."

The touch of his hand sings along her nerves. They strain under his skin, craving, hungering for more. The priest had pointed out that her wanting and having lustful thoughts about the man she wants to marry is natural, and a good thing. It's just something that Brigid had never really thought of.

"I don't want you hurt because of Markus, Derek." She whispers the words. Markus terrifies her in a way that Derek will never be able to. It's a fundamental childhood fear; something she's never grown out of, despite her adulthood and her travel away from him.

Brigid believes everything Derek says. There's no reason not to. She can read a lie as easily as he can, and neither of them have reason to lie. Not about this, not about anything.

"There's never been anyone else." The admission softly echoes around them. She raises her eyes to his. "I just... didn't want anyone else." It's a truth that she's realized about herself in the last couple of weeks. "Being here with you? That makes me happy, Derek. I'm safer here than I'd ever have been in Boston." Which is another sad truth about her life.

Her Da had approved of Derek. Whatever has happened to him since they were kids, she thinks her Da would still have approved of the man, the Alpha that Derek is right now. Young, unsure - obviously - and still trying to find his feet, but not many would have simply taken her in after all this time; nor stood up to Markus the way he had.

There will never be anyone else for her. Brigid believes in only marrying once. "If you are willing, I am, Derek." Her own fingers curl over his.

She wants to grab him and yank him toward the county offices - get the marriage license and then run to the priest before he can change his mind. But she doesn't. Brigid knows that there are other things that probably should be worked out.

"But you get to be happy too, Derek. You do know that, right?" She holds onto his hand and fully turns to face him. "No matter what, you do get to be happy. It's something I'm willing to teach you, if you'd like?"

Changing is mind is the last thing he's ever going to do, he knows that, he feels confident in it in a way he's not felt about anything for a very long time. She's barely been back in his life for a whole twenty-four hours, but he doesn't plan to back out, not now that she's here, that he has her back. He always knew Kate was never the one, he was young and she was experienced, and it was fun, sneaking around, but he always thought about Brigid, wondered what it would be like if that were them, if it would feel the same or different. He knows now that with Kate it was wrong, it felt wrong, but he was foolish and impressionable. But with her, here and now, it feels right in a way that never could have, even before the fire.

"I can't make you a promise that it's going to work out," he tells her, voice shaky, but honest, lacking the usual blunt harshness he tends to deliver facts with. She deserves to know that much, though, that he won't make promises he isn't sure he can keep. "But I want to. I want to be with you, to marry you, to have a family with you." He craves it like nothing else, the bond that comes with family, but the kind that also comes along with pack; he misses it, because as much as he cares for his betas, they're not blood, and it's not the same, it could never be the same.

"I want to try to be the man I should have been," he admits, and he feels naked, like he's been ripped open out of no where and he's spilling his insides everywhere, not sure how to stop them or if he even wants to, or even how it happened. "I've been so lost since..." The fire, he thinks, but can't quite manage the words. "But with you, I know I can do it. I want to try."

Brigid curls their fingers together. He mentions a family and the blush rises on her cheeks. She can't help it. She's always imagined red haired children with his eyes, chasing after each other and filling halls with their laughter and voices. Just a couple, one of each maybe.

Looking up at him, she steps closer, wanting his body warmth. She listens to his heartbeat, able to hear the truth in his words. Brigid wonders when he lost all confidence in himself. He's not as bad as he thinks. Sure, he needs a break and some help, but from what she's seen, he's dealing with a deck stacked against him and at least one teenager that knows nothing of respect.

Brigid licks her lips, hoping she says this right. "I want the fairy tale, Derek. But I'm willing to work for it." Her lips twitch just a little bit. "A dream is meant to be worked for." She's put in the work to learn Gaelic, to get her PhD, to do what she'd dreamed of doing. This dream? This is one she's willing to work harder for, to run herself ragged in helping him find his feet and become the Alpha he wants to be.

Her fingers ghost along his jaw, feeling the scruff. It makes him look older, harder. She wonders what he would look like without it. "I will help you do anything you want, Derek. Pick a direction and I will follow you and help you reach whatever it is you want." Her tongue darts out, wetting her bottom lip. the blush rises again. "And I want to give you a family. I always dreamed of having children with you." Another dream she's willing to work for.

"You shouldn't have to," he whispers, the words broken and tinged with a defeated sadness that runs deep, and if she weren't of the werewolf variety, it might be too quiet for her to even pick up. But she shouldn't have to, she should be with someone where it's easy and enjoyable as opposed to with him where everything will be hard and frustrating, and he knows it'll take its toll; he hopes she doesn't learn to resent him, if she doesn't change her mind first, if things don't work out quite as smoothly as they ought to.

He takes her comfort, though, giving her hand a squeeze, because he's grateful that she's choosing to stay, and beyond flattered that she believes him to be worth it, but there's still that part of him that's waiting on the other shoe to drop and he knows if it does it'll be his own fault from something catching up down the line.

But he meets her gaze when she confesses she's dreamed of having a family, and not just any family, but one with him, one with their children. It brings out a small smile, but it touches his eyes, and the overwhelming feeling behind it is genuine.

"I miss family," he confesses himself, the smile turning sad, but he's learning to think of everyone he's lost without breaking beneath it; it's a work in progress, but at least he's trying. "And I thought I'd never get the chance to have one of my own, not with the trouble I always find myself in the middle of." And he didn't think he deserved one, couldn't stand the thought of anything happen to anyone else he loves, but with her, with them both, and a pack that holds potential - well, he feels more secure in that thought than he has in any other since the night of the fire.

"Anything truly worth something is worth working for, Derek." It's something she's always believed. She worked hard for her degree, to keep her head above water, even when Markus was being his worst. Brigid knows that when it comes to betas, she tends to be submissive and bows her head to most others. But, she is the one that will work, that will put in the time. Just look at everything she's done with the chronicle so far.

Brigid smiles, her own eyes meeting his. "I can't promise trouble-free futures for anyone. And I can't promise that you won't find me slumped over translations, even after you've ordered me to go to bed five or six times." Brigid knows herself. She's had that happen more than once even before her Da had been killed. "I won't promise you a huge Irish Catholic family." One of the reasons Markus had such a huge pack was that almost all of them were Irish Catholics that followed Rome's teachings about birth control. Something Brigid didn't follow.

"I can promise, though, to bore you with history reciting of some of the most obscure facts ever. And slipping into Gaelic, because I don't swear, but Gaelic has a few phrases that just sound good." Her favorite one involves a sheep. "And, after we marry, I can promise you children. Probably loud ones that would make our parents smirk and point out that we were the exact same way."

To be honest, she's looking forward to it. Loud children, loud pack members, Sunday dinners, arguing over football and hockey.

So many dreams, so many thoughts about the future that she could share. But there's food to start cooking. Rubbing her thumb along his jaw, she turns and starts chopping vegetables again, after washing her hands. "If it's with you, I'm willing to work for a lot. I always have been."

He leans into her touch before it disappears, her warmth lingering long after, and he knows it's something he's never going to stop craving, but it's also something no one else can offer him in quite the same way. It feels right with her in a way it never has with anyone else, and deep down, he's always known it never would.

"You don't need to promise me anything." He means it, she doesn't, and he doesn't expert her to. "But when you paint it like that, I can't deny the fact that I'm tempted by it."

He's beyond tempted. He's not there yet, but in time he thinks he'll show her the letters he kept, every last one that she sent him, safely stored away in a small box with their envelopes still encasing them. After the fire, he missed waiting for the next to come, eagerly waiting for the mailman to leave what was for the Hales and to sift through them to find her handwriting staring back at him. He smiles at the memory, a stupid kid with foolish dream, but here he is - here they are - and it suddenly feels incredibly real. But he's letting it sink in a little bit at a time, not sure if he can withstand to break the dam all at once.

"I was never loud, though," he teases, a smile playing aruond his lips in spite of himself, and they both know it's a lie.

She'd still be holding onto him, but there is food to cook. And she wants to have an actual full meal tonight. She's been living on fast food and gas station stuff. This is real food. With spices and meat that's identifiable and vegetables.

Her stomach is pretty sure her throat has been sealed off from real food.

"I had all sorts of dreams about us." Brigid admits softly. "They never stopped. It's part of why I was so ready to believe a stranger's voice on my phone."

And why she'd thrown everything away and bolted out here. She hadn't lost many dreams in her life - she's one of the privileged few - but losing him had just made her more determined to make everything else come true.

His tease, though draws an inelegant snort from her as she tosses vegetables into the crockpot. "No, I'm sure you were the model of patience and silence when I wasn't around." Brigid looks at him, cleaning off the carrots. "Was it just my innocent presence that made you lose all decorum?"

She'd been just as loud as him when she'd been out here. It was around Markus's pack that she'd been subdued. Markus didn't like noise; she obeyed.

He tries to hide the full-blown smile that creeps up on him, head dipping down, cheeks reddening ever-so-slightly.

"If anything, I was more behaved when you were around." He can imagine his mother, now, giving him an amused look of disapproval at the lie, but lacking any real heat behind it; he couldn't even recall the amount of times the rest of the family complained about the basket ball bouncing at all hours and the laughter that often escaped him. It still hurts to think about, but it comes easier in her presence somehow, and he hopes he can reminisce this easily from now on because one of his fears is forgetting them, even if the boy he remembers feels like someone else now.

"Tell me about them?" It's a question, not a demand, but he's curious, and although he can't say he's had too many in recent times, he never stopped wondering, letting himself have a little light in the dead of night when he couldn't take much more of his own depressing thoughts. "Your dreams."

She chuckles. Brigid can't help it. She remembers how loud they'd been together, when he'd been dragging her out of her corner with a book - usually by taking it after trying other methods - and tapping at her window, even though his bedroom had been down the hall. They'd been terrors.

It's part of the reason, she thinks, that her Da always approved of Derek. Someone to draw her out of self-imposed silence and make her see more of life.

His question startles her and she stops scraping the carrot for a moment, while she thinks. Her cheeks pinken, again, and she takes a moment to gather her thoughts.

"I never thought we'd live in the big house, with the entire pack. We'd have something smaller, on the edge of the reserve. It'd still be on Hale land, but separate enough that we had our own household, and we didn't bother your mother." The house had been nice in her dreams. Hardwood floors, warm colors on the walls, with pictures of the family lining up next to each other. "It wasn't huge, but it was ours. My Da would have left Markus and come out here when I came, on the premise that he can't spoil grandchildren across the country."

Brigid is a natural storyteller. Her voice takes on a lilting quality that storytellers of old had used to teach.

"Our kids would constantly run between the two places." She'd often been over to her grandmother's place as a child. Even after her mother had died. "I'd be a professor, probably of history, and while every once in a while, there'd be an issue or trouble, it wasn't anything we couldn't handle. Our daughter would have these deep, black curls with green eyes and she'd constantly try to run away whenever someone chased her with a comb. But she'd sit for you, even if you were terrible at doing hair."

The carrots drop into the crockpots, making soft thunking sounds.

It's hard not to notice the colour that fills her cheeks, but he finds himself enjoying it each and every time the warmth rises to the surface, and he decides, now, that he's going to find as many ways as possible to always bring it out in her. It takes everything he has not to reach out and run the back of his hand over it, to feel the heat coming from the blotches.

He pulls and slides himself up onto an empty counter instead, hands curling around the edge, as he makes himself comfortable to watch her, to listen to the voice he thought he would never hear again, and his memories never quite did her justice.

As she speaks, Derek watches her unseeing, imagining the picture she paints so vividly, and he smiles as he does, even picturing their daughter and feeling something pull tight inside of him that he didn't realise was even there at the thought of her being a daddy's girl. It's almost as if there's a void there on top of the one where his family should be that he hoped to fill once upon a time, but didn't realise just how much he craved it.

"Mom would have liked that," he adds, because he knows she would; she would have loved for him to be happy, to have found someone to settle with, to create a family of his own, but also to have stayed closer. He knows all too well if he had been given the choice, he would never have strayed far from his family, he couldn't have, so when she says her father would have joined them, he starts to feel the weight of a dream they could have lived if things had been different. But they can still have that, even if it's not quite the way it should be. "Laura always said if one of us were having children, it wasn't her, but she'd spoil mine rotten. She would have been someone they could turn to when they didn't feel they could come to us. And Cora someone they could have looked up to." He barely got to know his younger sister, but she was a character someone would have to see to believe.

"It won't be the same, but we can still do it." He spent the previous night lying awake for a time, thinking about how the Hale land is going to be taken from him if he doesn't take any action. But he has a reason to, now, a purpose worthy of it, something to rekindle the family name and make it mean something again. "There's still time."

"Da would have too. He loved roughhousing with the younger members of the pack." She remembers more than once finding her Da on the floor, surrounded by the children. Some would be asleep, some dozing and some stupid movie would be on TV. Most of the time, Brigid had just joined them.

She tosses the last of the vegetables in the crockpots and flips over the cutting board, pulling out the meat. Chicken for one; pork for another. The last will be just a vegetable soup.

"I want to still do it." Brigid admits, looking up at him. "I want to come home and find you collapsed on the floor with the kids, watching some inane cartoon we've seen a million times." Her attention goes back to the meat she's chopping for the crockpots. "Or get up in the morning to one of the kids giggling and saying your pancakes don't look anything like mine." Because hers are the best of course. "I want to argue over the colors to paint the living room, and which kitchen appliances we should invest in."

A deep breath. "And I'd love to stay on Hale land. It's beautiful and there's a peacefulness to it that Boston never had." Brigid looks up at him again. "We can build new dreams, a new home. From the ground up."

She knows nothing about construction, but building the house can't be that hard, right?

He doesn't know how long he perches there on the edge of the counter top, watching her, partly seeing, but partly picturing something so distance, and something that doesn't feel as if it could be his, hasn't for a long time. But, now, there's a hint of hope covering it, making it a little brighter, a little easier to put together and watch play out in his mind's eye.

The woman before him is offering him a path to walk that he thought was long cut off, lost to every mistake he's made to lead him where he is today, and he knows if he decides to take it, to follow through on it, nothing will ever be quite the same as it's been ever since his world was burned down to the ground around him; he fears the thought, the change, but most of all he's terrified of not being able to live up to it, of stepping across the line and ending up somewhere worse, and, even more so, taking everyone else with him.

But he knows he's already make the decision, he made it as soon as he clapped eyes on her and it dawned on him who she was; he hadn't wanted to believe, at first, told himself it wasn't possible, and it's all happened so suddenly. But he knows.

Using the strength of his arms, he lowers himself back down until his feet are firmly on the ground, and he takes a tentative step closer, standing behind her and hesitantly lifting his arms up to wrap aruond her slight waist. He lowers his chin to her shoulder and closes his eyes, nuzzling his face into the spot where her neck meets her should and breathes in her comforting scent.

"Marry me," he whispers, throat dry around the broken words, and he sounds as vulnerable as he feels, which is far from the image of what an alpha should be. "Marry me, and I'll find a way to give you it all. Whatever you need, anything you want."