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Chris Argent was a haunted man. His mind was like a graveyard for the ghosts of the bad decisions he had had to make throughout his life, and while the spectres of his past were numerous, he knew that this moment would never be a shadow to fear. Leaving his father behind to be torn apart by Kate left no taste of regret in his mouth, and his steps didn't halt until the brutal sounds of vengeance faded from his ears. Even then, there was only one thing floating around in his mind - a comment Gerard had made right before Chris disappeared from his sight:
I see you're still on that wolf's side
Chris's first thought was that his father was talking about Scott. It was a reasonable assumption, even if a bit ill-fitting, but the words bounced around his post-war mind until he realized that Gerard never referred to Scott by anything but his name, and even if he did, something about his father's phrasing alluded to a longer time of bitterness than just the past two years. No, it had to be a kind of spite that went way back in time.
He then thought it was Derek. Their bond was even fresher, though, only having formed a bit over a year ago, and such a newly developed alliance wouldn't anger Gerard enough to spit it into his face at the gates of death. But Gerard had known the Hales for a long time, and if he was going to waste his final words by throwing accusations at his own son, then he would certainly do it over none other than a Hale.
Still, he wasn't sure why he was standing outside Peter Hale's apartment. The scheming man was the last person to give him answers or ever care about something as trivial as Gerard Argent's nonsensical last words. Chris should just forget about them.
"Didn't know we had arrangements for post-battle celebrations."
Peter was leaning against the doorframe, dressed like he was on his way out to a fancy restaurant even though Chris could smell the chicken cooking in his oven. Peter somehow also managed to look smug and annoyed, like eating alone in his forties and robing himself like he had a dinner date with the president wasn't pathetic at all.
Chris pushed past him until he was standing in the open space of the living room, ignoring the shock of Peter even letting him enter his place. While they weren't exactly enemies anymore, the memory of being impaled on a rebar deep in the tunnels was still vivid enough for Chris to keep a gun loaded with wolfsbane bullets hidden in his boots. Not that Peter wouldn't be able to smell it, and that made the werewolf's hospitality even more puzzling.
"Did Scott send you?" Peter asked, his heavy sigh still audible despite the closing of the door.
Chris didn't have a solid idea of how to put his feelings of unease into something not reminiscent of the patients of Eichen House, but there was a high chance that Peter would ignore his query or outright lie to him if he beat around the bush, so he decided to just go for it with the type of straightforwardness the other man would hopefully appreciate.
"Have you ever had a feeling that there was something you're supposed to remember but you just can't find the memory? Not that you forgot about it, but there's a kind of hollowness, like a void where the memory is supposed to be and you have absolutely no idea what's missing?"
Peter's face was a mask of disinterest as he regarded Chris, but the hunter had spent enough time analyzing people's microexpressions to notice the flash of surprise across the werewolf's features. "You came all the way here to talk about the everyday human struggles of early dementia?"
Chris was prepared for this, the avoidance and the stubbornness, he just needed to apply a bit more pressure.
"You should know better, Peter. If I recall correctly, your memories were once stolen by your sister."
"So?"
"How do I get them back?"
"You think somebody has stolen memories from you?"
Peter laughed like the whole concept was ridiculous but there was a slight edge to his voice that Chris hang onto as proof that he was on the right path.
"You know something."
"I know a lot of things. It's called being educated."
"Did your sister steal from me, too?"
A pause - short enough to be telling. Chris smirked.
"How shall I know?" Peter finally retorted, but it was too late. He was most definitely guilty. "Maybe she did. But I have to burst your bubble. My sister never trusted me so even if she did something like that, she likely stole my memories of that, too."
"You're lying," Chris stated, although there was a lilt of confusion to his words. "Why?"
"I think you're becoming paranoid with age, Christopher."
And Chris couldn't explain what happened next, but his heart suddenly made a forceful jump in his ribcage, like an instinctual reaction to something Peter had said. Chris was beyond flummoxed, but from Peter's downwards-shifting eyes, he knew the werewolf had heard it, too. And Peter seemed just as bemused.
"You can tell me now, or I can go to Derek. I'm sure he'd be much more helpful." Chris said to ward off the inexplicable feeling that churned in his stomach, even if Peter was probably a witness to all his internal turmoil.
"Why didn't you go to him in the first place?"
"Our families had known each other way before he was born," Chris explained, going for casual, "I thought now that you're part of the pack..."
"Who said I'm part of Scott's pack?"
Once again, with the pretence of indifference. Chris started to ponder if Peter was just really bad at hiding his emotions or if it was the hunter who could read him so well.
"I don't think that the pack would be really thrilled if I showed up for their - what did Stiles call it? - pack nights." Peter's smile was a strange mix of mockery, hurt and condescension. He still thought he had the upper hand.
"I could just shoot you."
"Ooh, keep talking dirty to me."
And Chris's heart should really stop doing that! He never had problems like this around the other man - was it fear? - and he would probably do something about it, right after he dialled Derek's number with his gun pointed straight at Peter. It was a small delight, but watching the smile immediately wash off of the werewolf's face was simply too good.
"Derek? I want to ask you a favour," Chris said into the phone, never breaking eye contact with Peter.
By the time they hang up, Derek was already on his way to retrieve Talia's claws from the Hale vault with Lydia, and Chris felt a surge of exhilaration upon the prospect of finally shedding light on a part of his life that he hadn't even known was filled with mystery up until now.
"You don't want those memories back."
Peter sounded uncharacteristically serious as his voice burst through Chris's excitement. It was awfully all-knowing, too, that had Chris's jaw tightening in an instant.
"Maybe," Chris conceded, "But I don't like when people steal from me."
Chris only lowered his gun when the phone buzzed with an incoming call from Derek, and he listened to the cautious jingle of Lydia's voice as Peter went to retrieve the chicken from the oven. After agreeing to meet up with the duo in person, Chris exited Peter's apartment with an air of victory around him and not a single glance back.
The bowstring was pulled back with skilled fingers as Chris's focus narrowed on the target, his mind blank and heart rate steady. As he was ready to let the arrow pierce through the air with fast precision, the outline of a figure disrupted him in his peripheral vision, and Chris's body turned automatically to direct the weapon towards the intruder. The arrow flew straight for the person's heart before quick hands came up to stop it right before impact. Peter gave the arrow an unamused glance.
"Rude, I thought we moved past this."
Chris scoffed, reaching for a new arrow. "You act like it would hurt more than a mosquito bite to you."
Peter threw the arrow carelessly to the forest ground, his eyes shifting to the target secured on the tree and then back to the hunter. Chris couldn't grasp what, but there was something unsettling in the way Peter took him in. It was the kind of look that you only get when you're unsure whether someone is about to cry or maul you to death, and honestly, it didn't make Chris feel any less vulnerable.
"Did you track me down?"
"I knew you would be here," Peter said with an ease that Chris surely hadn't seen before, and he instantly averted his eyes as he remembered what might be the reason for that. "I also knew you would be too strong-headed and childish to talk about what you've just learnt, and I don't really feel like awkwardly tiptoeing around each other the next I-don't-know-how-many pack meetings so here I am!"
Chris felt his whole body seize up as if preparing for another fight and he almost hated how Peter was forcing them into this situation. It was his fault, after all, and Chris might have been angrier with him if he hadn't known the cost Peter had to pay for his choice.
"So you're admitting you're pack?" Chris tried for some nonchalance but Peter only arched a single eyebrow that was so judgemental in its simplicity, Chris was sure it had to run in the family.
And Chris was angry, justifiably. Peter had convinced Talia to remove Chris's memories of them - whatever that one word included, and Chris didn't want to dwell too much on it yet - and then purposefully kept everything a secret for more than two decades(!), and now he was also responsible for the feeling of grief and disorientedness weighing down on Chris's heart, and perhaps what Chris hated the most was the fact that he still wished he could remember it all.
How could Peter Hale ruin him like this?
"It doesn't matter."
Peter was silent for a few seconds, and then: "Really?"
"I can't get the memories back," Chris gritted out what Peter must have also known, "I only know what Lydia told me and that wasn't a conversation any of us was very comfortable with. So as you can figure, I don't really have the details. Or anything."
Peter seemed to mull his answer over before settling on a look that could only be described as anxious.
"And... do you have any questions? I'm sure an Argent like you wouldn't give up just like that. Not before shooting an arrow through me, at least."
Chris wanted to both laugh and punch him in the face. This guy had kept his mouth sealed for two decades and now he was suddenly initiating a chat about the "good old days". And as horrible as it was, Chris did want to know. Badly. But he wasn't sure if it would change anything, and there was a low-simmering dread in the pit of his stomach at the idea that it would only make things worse. After all, Peter chose to lose him so that Chris's life would be spared and there would be no war between their families. Chris couldn't blame the man for his naivety, but he could sure resent him.
It was too much, in all honesty, and the best Chris could do at the moment was give Peter a resigned sigh. "I don't... I lost a part of my life." I lost a future - Chris stopped himself from saying, "And I can't get it back."
Peter nodded, his smile weak and burdened with everything Chris would never understand. "If it's any consolation, I don't think you'd miss it."
"You don't understand." Chris shook his head and reached for a new arrow instead to prepare his next shot. He rolled his shoulders back to somehow relieve the tenseness in his muscles, but nothing helped the ache until warm hands settled protectively over his neck, bringing comfort so unexpectedly profound that it had Chris's body shuddering traitorously.
"Christopher."
Come on! Aim at me!
The sound was so sudden Chris recoiled from Peter's touch. The hunter lowered his bow abruptly, frantic eyes searching for the juvenile voice.
You won't shoot me.
There was no one in the clearing but the two of them, and yet, the voice swept through his mind like a faceless ghost, and Chris had a hunch that this one he should follow.
You know why? Because you can't. I mean too much to you, Christopher.
"Chris?" Peter snapped his fingers in front of his face a few times until the only thing Chris could hear was the light breeze as it gently shook the leaves around them. "Jeez, I didn't know this whole thing would fry your brain. I guess I have to count that as a personal achievement."
Chris was searching now, seeking truth so close to Peter's face, and for the first time, he noticed an uncanny familiarity in their shade of blue.
"I want to know," Chris breathed out with novel conviction, letting his arms go boneless as the bow and arrow dropped to the ground, "I want to remember."
"Um, we've just established that it's not a possibility-"
"No, I-" On a strange impulse, Chris took hold of Peter's wrist, thumb stroking loosely over the skin, and while the werewolf flinched at the contact, he did not show his astonishment otherwise, "I want to remember the feeling. Help me, please."
Peter's eyebrows rose at once to showcase his incredulity, but there was no fooling Chris about the deep uncertainty creasing his forehead. Chris might have been pathetic and his plea just a product of all the loss in his life, but he wouldn't believe for a second that he was the only one desperate for connection here. Peter was just as, if not more, broken than him, and Chris could read the blatant want from his eyes.
"Too much time has passed-"
"But you kept the memories," Chris pushed, knowing if he weathered this storm, they might just find peace and return to something Chris wasn't even sure he was ready for but ached to have, "You didn't ask Talia to take your memories."
Peter shook his head, ineptly hiding his smile, "Guess you got me there."
"So what do you say?" Chris asked, his feet pulling him closer to the werewolf.
"I'm not the same boy anymore."
"Neither am I." The woe within Peter's eyes resurrected a phantom need for Chris to step even closer, to protect the other man and prove to him that perhaps not all things were lost. "But maybe we can learn to love each other again."
Peter's lips stretched into a smile - fonder than Chris thought he was capable of - and led Chris's hand upwards until it rested firmly over his fast-beating heart. "I never forgot how, Christopher."
The brush of their lips was like an echo from the past, and Chris knew that this was a ghost he wouldn't let go of. Ever.