The pot on the stove began to scream, protesting how long it had been sitting to simmer. Hope was glad for it. She pulled away from Derek and forced herself off the couch as quickly as possible, like ripping off a band-aid.

Quickly retreating into the kitchen, she picked up another stirring spoon from the carousel and took the pot off the burner, stirring the contents. The spicy steam smacked her face, helping bring her back to earth.

Distraction. Hope needed a distraction.

Hope could feel him standing in the doorway, and she was terrified to turn and face him.

"I'm sorry..." his faint voice came from the doorway. She didn't have to look to know he was leaning against the door jam, eyes cast down to the floor with his arms crossed. She was beginning to pick up what his habitual mannerisms were. She could picture it.

Hope sighed softly and shook her head, glancing over her shoulder to see if her suspicions were correct. They were. Eyes downcast in a brooding manner. Incredibly hot but brooding all the same.

"Derek, I don't want to hear apologies. It is what it is. Don't feel ashamed for something that comes so naturally...a lot of people would kill for that kind of connection." She bit her lip and tapped the edge of the pot with her spoon, removing the excess liquid, so it didn't drip as she set it on a placemat.

"It's just going to be a little more difficult staying friends than I thought, but it's not the end of the world. We just need to be careful with our...instincts. We can't put ourselves in a position where that can happen."

Not yet, anyway.

"Although I really thought Die Hard was a safe bet" she glanced his way with a playful smile, seeing a hint of his creep up. It fell quickly when a familiar voice sounded from the front door.

"Oh my God, what is that smell? Whatever it is, I need it...."

Stiles.

Hope nodded slowly. "I think I'm really starting to regret my home choice."

"That's hurtful," Stiles said as he entered the kitchen, stopping short at the sight of Derek. "You invited him? I thought we were friends." The sound of his betrayal nearly made her chortle.

"He spent the night," Hope said with a shrug, letting Stiles latch onto the bait. But, judging by his expression, he was onto the same track she assumed he'd be.

"Nice..." Stiles started but quickly ducked away from Derek. Hope was confident it wouldn't be the first time he'd be hit by the Alpha.

Hope bit her lip and began taking down bowls. "Would you like to stay for dinner, Stiles?" she asked. She may as well put the invitation out. Having Stiles there would be a nice distraction. What better way to keep their hormones under control?

"Hell yeah. That stuff smells amazing. What is it?" he asked, moving closer to the pot and catching a big whiff.

"Gumbo," Hope answered, "Authentic to New Orleans, of course."

"You cook a lot then?" Stiles asked, helping himself to a heaping bowl.

"When I can," she smiled, "It relaxes me."

The sudden blare of a car horn made Hope nearly jump out of her skin. Images of the nightmare came flooding back. The green pickup, the silver pistol, Derek's lifeless body.

"Hey, you okay?" Stiles asked, a hand on her arm, eyes filled with worry and surprise.

Hope quickly shoved the fearful images to the back of her mind. "I'm fine. Just...hungry" she nodded, turning back to the stove, feeling a hand rest on the small of her back. She looked up, meeting Derek's troubled gaze. She knew he was suspicious. She knew she should unload and tell him everything that was going on, but whenever she dragged people into her problems, she always felt horribly guilty. She couldn't do that to him.

"I'm fine."

"And if you weren't, you'd tell me?" Derek asked, eyes searching for a hint of a lie behind hers.

"Of course, I would."

Liar, she thought.

The rest of the evening came and went. Hope spent most of the time talking to Stiles; he was growing on her. Poor awkward thing. Derek remained silent for most of the night. Unless she spoke of home and her family. Then he'd ask questions, but mostly he listened.

Occasionally they would lock eyes with one another. It was like they'd have full-length conversations in those small moments. And each time Hope's thoughts drifted to the green pickup, he somehow knew she was troubled and would help calm her nerves.

They were little things he did to make her feel safe, but they worked. Better than she'd like to admit. Like shifting his position to sit a little closer to her. Or letting the side of his hand brush against her knee.

If she started to think about their little make-out session, she could just focus intently on Stiles and let the mood be killed. Using him to extinguish sexual desire. That's something to never mention to him.

At the end of the night, Hope stood in the kitchen at the sink, washing dishes and setting them on the drying rack. Stiles had left for the night, saying he had a test to study for, and that left her and Derek alone in the kitchen.

"Here," she turned and tossed him a towel from his position on the island, "Make yourself useful," she said with a slight smile. She heard his chuckle and footsteps moving to stand next to her, drying the dishes she handed off. There weren't too many, but she liked to be thorough.

Hope swallowed hard, hating herself for what she was about to say.

"So, I don't think you should stay again tonight..." she nodded, glancing his way, measuring his expression.

He stayed silent.

She continued. "I think if we're going to just be friends, for now, we need boundaries because staying in the same place really just isn't going to work, ya know?"

Derek nodded in response, "I know."

It was an obvious fix. One must remove the cause of temptation to avoid temptation, and Derek tempted Hope even now. The scalding hot water in the sink was the only thing keeping her grounded.

"But that doesn't mean we can't, I don't know, go to lunches and hang out. I mean, you said it yourself. You're not in a place right now for something like that."

"I know."

Was that all he could say? I know? Why did it bother her so much? Hope resisted the urge to huff out a sigh.

"Will I see you tomorrow, then?"

"Not tomorrow. I'll be out of town for...something."

Looking over at him, she raised an eyebrow at him. "Business again?" she asked, raising a brow. "Do I get to know what that something is?"

"Maybe," he shrugged, looking down at her, "If you tell me what had you on edge all evening."

Hope paused, her heart dropping below her stomach. "What?" she asked, shaking her head. Maybe if she pretended to not understand, he'd drop the subject.

"You know what," Derek said, voice getting a bit above his usual volume, "You kept looking out the window like you're expecting someone. Are you expecting someone?"

"No. I'm not expecting anyone. I just..." She could tell him, but what if she did and he decided he didn't want to leave her? She could not say no to him again if the opportunity presented itself.

"You just what?" he asked, bringing her from her thoughts.

"I'm just adjusting. You, of all people, should know how hard it is to adjust to new surroundings," she shrugged, "I mean, I like being here, but I can't say I don't miss home. This is my first time being out on my own without my protective detail of a family, and it's hard to get used to that."

Hope set the last dish into the cupboard and turned to him. "I'm always on guard because I know anything can happen at any time. I always need to be prepared. For anything. Even if nothing is there."

Derek was quiet for a moment, and she thought for a split second he might just storm out and leave. But instead, he nodded and leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss against her forehead. She didn't protest as he let it linger for over half a second.

"I'll see you Saturday."

She nodded, biting her lip. Was it really only Thursday? Her stomach twisted. A lot could change in twenty-four hours.

"Saturday," she agreed.

Hope rolled over in bed, tossing and turning as she tried to find a comfortable position, but every time she closed her eyes, she could see Derek on his knees with a pistol to his head. The amount of anxiety that entered her chest each time she pictured the scene sent her body into a flurry of emotion.

By 3 A.M., she had crawled out of bed and went downstairs to ease her mind with a bit of numbing television. Was this her life now? Constantly worried and paranoid about what might happen? Dear God, she was turning into her father. That was not an option. She refused to live her life, fearing what was to come like he always had.

So what could she do? She had a few options.

Hope flipped the tv onto HGTV.

She could call her family, probably Freya or Rebekah, and ask for their advice while begging not to tell her father and Elijah.

She could move back home...and remain the girl in the bubble for the rest of her life. Hope wrinkled her nose at that idea.

She could tell Derek and let him help her make a decision, but wasn't that the same as going back into a bubble? This entire experience was based on the idea that she could handle situations alone. If she told Derek, he certainly wouldn't just stand back and let the hunters harass her. That sounded horribly arrogant, but it was how she felt.

She could just sit back and let what happens, happens and she'd just have to roll with the punches. That seemed to be a style their family had built over the years. Let their enemies come to their doorstep if they are willing to pick a fight, then deal with it when it comes.

Although, that would mean her being holed up just waiting like a worm on a hook to see if they'd take a bite.

There was always the last option. One where the hunters become the hunted. Hope was a predator by nature...couldn't she take them out before they have a chance to do the same to her? But, just because this was a game to them didn't mean she had to play by their rules. Strike first and strike hard. That was the first thing Elijah taught her when teaching her self-defense. Put your opponent on their knees before they know what's hit them.

She was Hope Mikaelson - tribrid - daughter of the original hybrid. She could do this; she had to do this.

This was survival of the fittest. No time for sleep now. Hope had to work out her plans.

The man with the tattooed knuckles would be dead before Saturday.