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Chris watches the boys disappear in three different directions, just managing to restrain his eye roll at their acrobatics. He slings the duffel over one shoulder in preparation to trek to his car; he got over his need to be showy at about the same time he put a bullet through his best friend's brain.
He's barely taken half a dozen steps when he drops the bag and spins, simultaneously pulling his gun as he goes. From his position – leaning against a tree with both arms and ankles crossed - Peter Hale seems singularly unimpressed. Chris does not lower his gun. He hasn't seen Peter since the ill-fated confrontation with Gerard, and it's been plenty of time for him to get over the shock of being faced with a ghost.
Peter raises one eyebrow at the barrel still aimed at his forehead, but otherwise remains silent on the subject. “What are you doing here, Christopher? Mixing with the riff raff? The grapevine said you'd retired...not that I'd ever believe that, of course. France not quite to your liking then?”
Chris ignores everything but Peter's real question. “Your job, apparently.” He finally holsters his weapon, shoves his hands in his jacket pockets and rests a foot on the fallen duffel. “Why is that, Peter? Why aren't you the one here doing this? Why am I teaching those boys things they should already know?”
One shoulder rises and falls as Peter pushes himself upright. “Because you're a bleeding heart. As usual.” His face turns up to the moon, casting his profile half into light. “Relax, Christopher, I'm here to do you a favor. Give you a valuable piece of advice, as it were.
“Go home. This is one fight that can do without us. Collect your daughter from her sin eating, go home, and leave this to Derek. You're right, it's not your job to teach werewolves anything, or give any help to a Hale. Do try to remember Derek's the reason your wife is dead.”
He's unsure whether Peter assumes his parting shot is brutal enough that Chris will be too paralyzed to do more than stare as he melts away into the forest, but if so, he'll be disappointed. Chris has spent too many years controlling his emotions to let a jab from a sociopathic werewolf find a home, and he moves directly into Peter's path. It gives Peter the choice between stopping or retreating, and Chris already knows which one Peter will choose.
Peter halts,of course, the corners of his mouth tipping up in amusement. “Why Christopher, someone might think you're sad to see me go. I'm flattered, really.”
“Why are you sitting this out, Peter? What's the game? And don't give me that bullshit I heard from Scott. We both know any consequences of your...actions...wore off months ago. Why are you lying to Derek?”
Peter narrows his eyes and Chris stares back coolly. Precious minutes tick by while both of them refuse to back down, but something in Chris' gut tells him whatever Peter is hiding is just as important as corralling the two rogue members of Derek's pack. Finally Peter shrugs, loose and devil-may-care, and the smirk returns to his face.
“For the same reason you willfully ignored every sign that I was the monster you were hunting. The same reason you still weren't the one to strike the killing blow, even after I ripped your little sister's throat out. Please, Christopher-” Peter holds up a hand when Chris opens his mouth to interrupt. “-let's not belabor the point. Rather sloppy work not to leave me in halves, just to be on the safe side. Especially for a hunter as capable as you are. The past though -” he opens his hand with a flick, as if releasing something into the night air, “-is a funny thing, isn't it? It's binding in the most surprising ways.
“Oh, don't misunderstand me, Christopher. I'm not judging.” Peter takes a step back. “Well, maybe a little. But I'll let you in on a secret. I had half a dozen opportunities to kill you, and yet, you're still breathing. See? We're all susceptible.”
Chris knows better than to give Peter anything to work with and he refuses to rise to the bait. “Hmm. I'd say your propensity to talk and talk and never say a goddamn thing certainly hasn't changed. So get to the point. I have things to do.”
A switch flicks and the game is over. Peter sobers instantly. “It's Lee, Christopher,” he says simply. “Lee is leading the alphas.”
Chris sneers, all teeth and condescension, the trickle of ice a distracting presence down his spine “Try again. Lee is dead.”
Peter hums and holds up a finger. “Not so much, it turns out. Which I guess shouldn't be so surprising, considering myself. Bullet to the brain...you should probably mark that out of your little hunter's handbook of effective ways to put a rabid dog down. You did however, manage to permanently sever his optic nerves. Oh, yes -” he says in response to the furrow in Chris' brow, “- Lee's as blind as a bat. Or rather Deucalion, as he's going by these days.” He snorts delicately. “Guess he finally grew into all that pretension his parents gifted him with.”
Chris studies Peter, looking for any sign or tell that he's lying - hoping for any sign or tell he's lying - and comes up empty. It doesn't mean he's not lying, of course not, but there's that gut feeling again. Chris really hates that feeling sometimes.
“How the hell did -”
“I have no idea. Maybe the better question would be why your sword happy father didn't neatly bisect him after he shooed you off to the homestead. And no, I don't have that answer either. Not yet.”
There are other considerations, ones more immediate and personal. “Does Alan know?”
Another hum and a nod. “He's been helping Derek.”
“And?”
Peter rolls his eyes. “And Alan is Alan. Still holding his cards close. The man didn't flinch when I threw a chair at him. An old lover resurrected and back in town? Probably not a blip on his radar.”
It's not true and they both know it; still waters run deep had been invented for Alan, and Chris doesn't have to dig to hear echoes of heartbroken sobs.
Peter's expression has turned thoughtful, and just a little sly. “So many parallels. It does seem odd, doesn't it? The four of us all back in town? All at the same time?”
A howl breaks through the night. A reminder. Chris stoops to reclaim the bag. “There's no such thing as fate.”
“Inevitability, then? All roads leading to this? We certainly proved the existence of that well enough. You have to admit, Christopher, it's a little amusing. Watching them.” He jerks his chin toward the town. “Your child. My family. Poor Scott and Stiles and Isaac and Boyd. So eager to play all the same roles. And so convinced of their heartbreaking originality. If only Allison knew daddy dearest -”
“Christ, you really don't ever shut up, do you? Those must have been a hard nine years for you.” He hoists the bag securely over his shoulder and turns to go. “Thanks for the tip. But make no mistake, Peter. I don't care if it is Lee out there. If he's killing innocents, I'll put him down again. In halves. You, too, if you get in my way.”
“We'll see.” Peter tips his head. “Better run to save the day, then.” He sniffs deep and grins at the moon. “Because there's blood flowing all over this town tonight.” He takes off at a dead run into the forest, vanishing from view in seconds.
Chris doesn't look back as he heads in the opposite direction, car keys already in hand.