AN: Hello Peter Peoples!
I recently started writing a teen wolf story for Derek/OC/Peter, but ultimately the story will be Derek/OC, so I figured Peter needed some loving as well right? Plus I have the perfect character in mind that will rile him up and make him laugh all the same, and I can get some much needed character development for a fiction story that she will be in.
Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf or anything related to it, I only own my character and any other people I have added to the story.
Reviews: As I stated in my other Teen Wolf story all my fics are competing with each other in terms of what gets written first, the story with the most reviews gets more attention.
Anyway, I hope you like it.
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Chapter One
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The first time he saw her was at the library, she was looking through an older looking book with a dark blue cover that was worn at the corners. She'd reached for it on her tip toes before huffing at her height and glancing around her before standing on the lower shelf in order to reach the darkly colored material. Smiling brightly in triumph she opened it slowly, bringing it up to her face so she could smell the pages, and then making a disgusted face when she discovered it smelled like dirty shoes.
Peter had only gone into the library to get some books for Derek, at first he'd grumbled about the errand; couldn't he get Boyd or Erica to pick it up? Then he saw her in one of the aisles, desperately trying to get something that was far above her height. He didn't care for a moment, she was just another woman in the library that he would ignore, but for some reason she piqued his interest. Perhaps it was the way she grinned so easily after something had gone her way, or the small comments she made under her breath that only he could hear.
Instead of just grabbing the books he needed and leaving he hung around for a while, observing the woman calmly as she progressed through searching for different books to read.
He liked the way her black shoulder length hair was messy and unkempt, almost matching her personality as she walked this way and that. Her soft brown eyes darted this way and that as she held up a small slip of paper with an author's name written on it. Peter almost chuckled when it slipped through her fingers and she scrambled to catch it in mid air only for it to fall to the ground. She grumbled lowly when she picked it up.
When she finally settled down to read one of her selections was the moment that Peter decided to leave, he'd most likely never see Ms. Brown Eyes again, though he silently thanked her for an entertaining visit to the library.
The next time she popped up was at the grocery store, he was checking to see what aisle canned soup was on and passed the cereal and breakfast area to see her looking blandly at boxes of poptarts. Her hair was pulled up into a messy pony tail, exposing her smooth looking neck for all to see as she picked up a box of strawberry rectangles. A sweater leaned off one of her shoulders and intensified to feeling of uncovered skin, while the bottom half of her outfit sported baggy sweatpants.
She was staring suspiciously at the nutrition facts while Peter pretended to look at granola bars not ten feet away from her. A growl surprised him and he turned to see her frowning deeply as she placed the box back into its place on the shelf, mumbling something about too much salt.
"Too much sugar for you?" Peter asked simply.
It didn't seem to surprise her that some random person was talking to her; in fact her face was relaxed when she finally glanced over at him with a friendly expression on her face. The way her eyes almost lit up at the chance to talk to someone made Peter want to smile as well, she didn't seem like a lonely person.
"I could eat sugar for days," she commented with a grin. He liked the way she smiled so blatantly unlike his nephew who he hadn't seen smile since he came back to life. "It's the sodium," she said shaking her head and looking back at the box with hatred. "If I have too much it's bad for me," she explained eyeing what he was looking at carefully.
"Isn't it bad for everyone?" He said matter of fact. She gave him a odd sort of expression, twisting her lips into an almost pout and scrunching her eyes up at him.
"Worse for me," her expression changed considerably. She nodded as if someone had made a comment she agreed with. Taking a few wary steps towards him the girl's eyes jumped around to different products in front of him before they landed on what she was looking for. "These are good, you bite 'em and they shed everywhere, but they're really good," she muttered before sneaking away from him. "Have a nice day," he heard her call out to him.
He looked to follow her form with his eyes until she turned the corner and disappeared from his vision, it was an odd sort of encounter, and he had to at least admit that. But it seemed like she was used to talking to people, her free way of expression was welcoming to him, and her scent was strange. It was one of the reasons he had been interested in her in the first place, it was a clean sort of smell, where others might smell of panic, fear, and worry. It was as if she had rubbed herself with dryer sheets.
He'd wanted to follow her when she walked by, follow that fresh smell until he found out what it was, what emotion caused that sort of scent to linger for so long? He'd certainly never scented something like her before.
After they had spoken to each other Peter caught himself thinking about the weird grocery store girl, she was cute in her own sort of way. How she had wandered into his mind was beyond him but it was nice to think about something that had nothing to do with werewolves and the pack for once. He wondered faintly where she was now, what expression was she making?
She started to show up more and more often as the days went by making Peter wonder why he had never seen her before, perhaps she had just moved here or she was visiting a friend. He hoped that the first one was true over the second; it meant that he would continue to see her.
Peter started to notice little things about her, besides smelling like fresh laundry she smelled of paint and charcoal, which were sometimes smeared on her face and dotted on her clothing. Sometimes she would be walking quickly the opposite direction on him on the street and he would see her hands covered in black. He'd seen her scratch her cheek and then remember that her hand was still dirty and all she'd done was create a dark smudge on her face. Usually after something unexpected like that happened she'd grumble about misfortune and frown deeply.
He noticed that she had a lot of different sweaters and for some reason always seemed to be cold, even when she was indoors she never pulled up her sleeves to cool down. Whenever he saw her she was alone, carting around a huge black folder that smelled strongly of charcoal and led, he figured she was an art student. It wasn't like he was stalking her or anything, he was just curious, intrigued by the odd behavior that was this woman.
He'd always thought of himself as a man who could easily get women to like him, to begin with he was actually very handsome and he knew his way around words. If you told a woman she was beautiful she would either melt in your arms or turn her back on you, after a few minutes of observation Peter usually knew which was which. He would continue accordingly, commenting on their clothing and praising a part of their body, most of the time it was their eyes. Women's eyes were always beautiful to Peter, even when they were a dull shade that housed the entire person's insecurities; the word that left his mouth was still flattering. That was how he wasted his time when Derek and the rest of the pack didn't need him.
For example, Lydia was the type of girl that would frown at a boy if they called her beautiful, immediately sensing their ulterior motives and sneering at them in response. In the end they only had eyes for one man anyway, in which case it would be Jackson. In comparison Allison, who was currently gone, would definitely fawn over a man who complimented her, it had worked for Scott anyway. It kept him busy to think of everything in this way, to figure everything out.
Peter started to seek the girl out, it was almost like she was one of his projects for the moment, except that every time he saw her and observed he found that she was unpredictable. The one time he saw her with anyone it had been an older man with lazy, exhausted eyes, they were getting lunch at the mall. The man sat down at a table while she got food for them, he caught a new expression in her eyes that day, for a moment, just a second, her eyes were sad. Then it changed, almost as if she knew someone was watching her it shifted back into the bored expression that Peter had grown used to over countless times of seeing her.
The man was her father, she'd heard him mutter that her dad was far too demanding for his own good, Peter had only wished that her father had muttered her name in return but it was never brought up. They ate their food, the girl got a salad and Peter was reminded of her complaints about salt, the knowledge made him smile, but he wanted to know more. For one, her name would be a good place to start.
Finally there was a time when they managed to talk to each other. Peter was walking through the woods when he heard the faint voice of someone singing, the sound wafted through the trees until it found him. He followed the voice until he came across her sitting on an old log with a sketch pad in her lap, he could smell the familiar scent of charcoal as she blew the powder off her paper. He wanted to ask her why she was in the forest drawing when she could be in a park and draw the same trees, but he didn't.
Instead he listened to her sing softly but not hearing the words or even caring what they said, his thoughts too caught up in paying attention to her form as she worked. This time she was wearing tan jacket that looked a couple sizes too big for her with a grey tank top underneath, her hair pulled into a dark turquoise beanie. Again her neck was exposed, almost inviting him to bury his nose into and breathe in her clean scent.
Almost as if she felt someone watching her the girl reached back to scratch at her neck, leaving a black smudge of charcoal in her wake, though it didn't seem like she remembered. Peter wanted to chuckle at her actions, if he'd seen this routine enough he knew what would happen next.
"Oh," she muttered looking down at her blackened hand blandly before her eyes widened. "Crrraaap," she said loudly wiping her hands on her already black pants. "Always," her voice was dark as she muttered. "Always, always, radda, rdsdgfgh," she mumbled letting her words turn into nonsense. Suddenly angry with herself she snapped her sketchbook closed and stuffed it into her bag before dropping the charcoal in as well.
Starting to walk again Peter met her just as she got back onto the path, her eyes were skeptical for a moment before they widened slightly as she recognized him.
"You're granola bar man," she said with a cheerful grin on her face. He was happy that she remembered their small, l chat at the store, even if his name was granola bar.
"Peter," he corrected her with a smirk on his face.
"I would shake your hand but, mines black right now," she laughed shortly showing him her charcoal covered fingers. Peter noticed the way she didn't give her own name in return and almost growled in annoyance, he'd been waiting for a while to hear what it was. What sort of name matched such a woman as this?
"Are you going this way? We can walk together," he suggested watching her expressions change. She glanced around the forest her eyes darting this way and that as she opened her lips to speak.
"I think I'm lost anyway, so if you know the way out," she stopped and turned to look at him with an ashamed smile. "That'd be great," she said shortly. He chuckled at her blunt confession; this was one of the reasons why he liked this girl, she wasn't afraid to say what she was thinking.
"Are you not used to forests?" He started walking slowly until she began to follow him.
"Not this one," her laugh carried through the trees. "When I was a kid I lived in Michigan, then moved to a place with almost no trees. So this is something I missed, but uh, didn't think I would get lost. I mean, there's even a trail and I feel like I could be stuck in here forever," she explained with a laugh.
"I've lived here for a long time, I know the way out," he reassured her.
"Cool," she muttered looking in front of her. "So how are you today?" She glanced at him warily. If she thought it was at all strange for a man she'd spoken to at the grocery store to be the only person she saw in the forest she kept it to herself, keeping her scent the same fresh smell that he liked.
"I'm fine, why do you sound like you're working somewhere," he mused watching her face fall in embarrassment.
"Old habits, too many jobs where I have to be nice to people," she hummed. "What else would we talk about?" She muttered under her breath.
"Are you an art student?" He asked her with a grin on his face. She gave him an accusing expression, letting her eyes contort into a worried glare before she smiled to confirm that she was joking with him. Reaching up to fiddle with her hat she scratched her ear before letting her fingers fall onto her neck again, leaving a trail of black smudge that made her eyes bug out as she realized what she'd done. He couldn't help but laugh at her, chuckling softly he earned a glare from her before stuffing her hands into her pockets.
"I always seem to do that," she murmured gently. "Yes, I'm going for my Masters in Studio Art, don't know what I'm going to do with it, but oh well," she huffed licking her lips.
"Is that why you moved here?" He questioned her. "Earlier you mentioned that you weren't used to the forest, but everyone that's lived he knows their way around it," he explained trying to make it sound like he wasn't following her around.
"Really now?" She scoffed at him. "I moved here to take care of my mom, she's sick and my dad can only offer so much help," her voice was soft when she spoke of her mother's condition.
"Is she going to get better, or can I expect you to be leaving soon?" he asked with a playful frown on his face.
"Oh please," she chortled. "You don't even know my name," she jested with him before her face lost its cheerfulness. Her eyes clouded over for a moment before they cleared again and she gave him a sad sort of smile, at once he knew that her mother would probably die before she showed any signs of recovery. "She won't get better," her voice was kind and gentle when she spoke.
"So what is it?" He asked her softly. It was a little strange to talk to someone who was supposed to be a stranger as if they had always spoken to each other; such was the way of how this woman worked though. He'd seen her speak to other cashiers kindly, as if they had been friends for a while and they were telling jokes.
"Huh? What's what?" She recovered very quickly from her solemn attitude.
"Your name," he answered making her smirk at him mischievously. "I told you mine," he glowered lowly at her.
"If I make it out of this forest alive I'll tell you it," she said with a laugh. Peter smiled at her tricky answer, he wasn't going to kidnap her or anything, he was just curious of the way she always acted.
They spoke scarcely for a little while, though the silence between them never felt like it was too awkward, they were simply enjoying the others company even without words. It gave Peter time to observe her further; now that they were walking next to each other he saw that she was skinny beneath the baggy clothes that he frequently saw her wearing. He noticed the way she bit her lip as she gazed around at the trees as they walked past at a slow pace, her eyes calculating which angle would be the best for drawing.
Faintly he wondered what she would think if he suddenly shifted forms and picked her up to run with through the leaves, would she scream. Would she beat against him with her blackened fingers in a feeble attempt to make him let go? He didn't know what to expect with her, most of the time women talking to him didn't hesitate to give their name; it was easy to get them to trust him. With this girl it wasn't about trusting, or was it? At the moment he didn't know, it seemed like she trusted people enough to tell them information about herself, or perhaps it was that she thought what she was telling them wasn't important. Surely what she said about her mother could be considered as valuable information.
The top of her head came up to his nose, he could easily gaze over the top of her head and probably tease her about being short. Whenever he caught sight of the black smudges on her pale skin it made him smile as he remembered her moment of realization and the expression that followed it.
When they finally did make it to the end of the trail and the end of the forest the girl smiled and glanced over at him before frantically reaching into her pocket to grab at her phone. She whistled in relief when she saw that she wasn't late yet, it was almost time to go home and take care of her mother when her father went to work. As it turned out the trail went in a big loop, not that she had cared to look at the sign when she had started her trek into the trees.
"True to your word, Mr. Peter, I think you've earned yourself a name," she took a few steps to get in front of him before she turned with a smile.
"Have I?" He asked in wonder.
"My names Marlow," she muttered glancing away from him. "I know it's weird but, I like it."
Unique was the word that popped into Peter's mind, he'd surely never heard the name before, though he knew that it was a city somewhere overseas. Marlow, for some reason he felt that no other name suited her better; certainly a name like Ashley would just feel off on her. It was much too common a name for someone like Marlow who made silly expressions and mumbled to herself bitterly when she did things incorrectly.
"I think it fits," he commented making her light up in front of him. The way she smiled when he said that made him want to smile as well, the childish attitude that she had made him feel like he had to watch her constantly else he might miss something. "Possibly because you're weird," he muttered making her frown deeply at him.
"We don't even know each other right now, you can't call me weird just yet," her voice was cold but sounded odd against her expression.
"Yet?" He questioned catching the word before she could take it back. "Are we planning another outing together?" He watched her curiously.
"Maybe?" It sounded like she was questioning herself. "Does this mean I'm not weird enough to avoid?" She asked skeptically. Peter only smiled at her in response, making her glower at him disappointingly. "That means I have to be weirder when I talk to people in order to scare them away," she mused reaching into her bag.
"Do I get your number?" He asked slyly making her gape at him abashed.
"What?" She asked showing pure shock in her eyes towards him. "Why would you want it?" Her voice was soft until she caught herself. "I thought I was too strange," she stated blandly.
"Maybe I need a little weirdness in my life," he said. She offered him a suspicious grin before shaking her head and turning to walk away from him.
"Oh Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter," she ripped a small piece of paper out of her sketchbook before pulling out a piece of charcoal. Writing something down and folding the piece of paper a few times she reached out to hand it to him, retracting her hand quickly when he took it from her. "No," her voice was breathless as she turned away from him.
"What?" He asked amused. Quickly he opened the paper and saw the words were slightly smudged due to the charcoal but he could still read it making him laugh as he watched her go.
Maybe if we meet again.
She waved at him and shouted a goodbye while getting into her car and starting the engine, Peter turned to go back into the forest.
He liked her.
=0=0=
Looking up at her mother and father's house Marlow sighed before getting out of the car and going up to the front door, her thoughts were momentarily invaded by a certain man named Peter making her smile faintly. Then the front door opened before she could get to it, her father walked out briskly, barely glancing at her he went straight for his car and sped off in the direction of work. Marlow looked after him solemnly, when was the last time he spoke to her like a father and a daughter should?
Finally she walked into the house to be met with a lukewarm temperature that she had grown used to after a few weeks of living with her parents again. It was a temperature that made her mother comfortable as she tried to walk around the house and get her strength back up. To Marlow the temperature was only sickening, reminding her of the muggy days that she had always hated in Michigan.
"Mom I'm home," she called out into the house.
When she was a child it was common for she and her brothers to simply yell into the house and announce their arrival and departure, somewhere in the building a voice would call out in return to them. Always it was her mother telling her that she loved her and to be safe, also to call if anything happened and they were going to be late. It was something that Marlow had always taken for granted because now her mother was too weak to lift her voice to such a level.
Walking into the living room she saw her mother sitting on the couch, watching a movie with the volume turned down so low she almost couldn't hear it.
"Marlow," her mom smiled at her softly. "Welcome home," the comment made her calm down considerably.
When it came to being at home there was only one thing that was keeping her there, the fact that her mom still recognized her and smiled whenever she was in the room. If it had been her father that was sick, there would have been nothing in the world that would make her want to come home and take care of him.
"Did you get any good sketches?" She asked gently. Marlow pulled out her sketchbook to show her mother the trees she had drawn out before she and Peter began to walk and talk about random things. It was perhaps the first conversation she had held with someone outside of work and outside of her house since she had moved to Beacon Hills to take care of her mother.
While her mother continued to flip through the drawings she had done not hours before Marlow sighed before taking off her jacket, it was far too warm in the house, but she wasn't going to complain. There was no reason to keep her sleeves down at home because her mother knew everything about her and what had happened in her life. There was nothing to hide, not the bruises from a few days ago, the healing scabs and marks on her skin, her mother was there to take everything in.
"You have something black on your face," she said reaching her shaking hand up to touch Marlow's cheek.
"It's just charcoal," she laughed when her mom grinned at her. "Oh sweetie," her whispered voice brushed against Marlow. Her mother's trembling fingers tracing lightly over a green and purple bruise on her left arm, her weary eyes searching the rest of her body for injuries.
"You know how clumsy I am," the girl laughed making her mother frown darkly. There was a pained expression on the older woman's face as she gazed at her daughter, she remembered all the times she'd fallen down the stairs as a child and cried until someone hugged her. The times that her brother would push or take her toys and she would run after him only to stumble and hurt herself, in the end there was always a big grin on her face despite scabbed knees or band aids.
"I know it's painful for you to be here," she murmured rubbing her arms gently. "Marlow you don't-."
"Remember when Carson pushed me down the sledding hill that one winter?" Marlow ignored her mother and continued speaking. "I fell in the river and dad had to get me out, my socks froze on the way home," she mused recalling how she screamed in the shallow river.
"You didn't have to come home to take care of me," she said as Marlow kneelt in front of the older woman.
"Yes I did," Marlow said sternly. "You're my mother, and I love you," she stated as if that was the only thing in the world that mattered.
"I have my friends, and your aunt lives close by, you don't have to be here," she insisted. Marlow's eyes thinned before she turned away from her mother angrily; there was a hurt and bitter look that passed through her eyes. Her expression twisted into one of agony as she looked at the woman in front of her, disbelief clear on her face.
"Of course I do," she bit out making her mother's eyes harden at her stubbornness. "What kind of daughter would I be if I let my mother be sick all by herself?" She questioned looking into the hazel eyes in front of her.
"I can't protect you like I used to," she spoke as if her actions had failed. Marlow frowned before growling in response.
"It's my turn now, I'm strong enough to shield both of us," her voice was powerful. Her mother smiled at Marlow fondly, trying to recall the days when she had been the one to take the full brunt of damage. "Do you want some water, because I'm thirsty," she brushed off the serious tone of the conversation without blinking. There was nothing the woman could say that would change Marlow's mind, she already made her decisions, and everything was going according to plan.
The front door was slammed shut at around eleven, meaning that her father had needed to stay late and work overtime at his job. It meant that he would be grumpier than usual and would probably need to blow off some steam, how very convenient it was for Marlow to be walking up the stairs at the very moment he came home.
She stopped short when their eyes locked, her expression changing into a blank stare as he approached her slowly, as if he was a cat staring down at a helpless mouse. It had been this way since her brother died, he was only twenty one when he left the world and it'd killed their father, leaving an empty shell of a man. It was one of the reasons why Marlow had left home so quickly after turning eighteen, she wasn't her brother that her father had been so proud of, the son he had always wanted and loved.
How many times had he told her that it would've been much better if she had died instead?
If Carson was still here his life would have been much better, he was the favorite of the family anyway, Marlow had been an afterthought, the younger sibling who could never quite measure up. So when he passed away her father took out all his rage on her, sometimes while he was gripping her skin tight enough for his fingernails to break skin he started crying. After a while Marlow understood that he was simply overcome with such great sadness that he had to get it out, it didn't matter how.
At first her mother had been there to push her father away, urging Marlow to leave the house unless she wanted another bruise she would have to hide at school. It lasted until the day she moved out, her only regret was that she couldn't take her mother with her, even though the woman assured her that he would not harm her. He never did, but Marlow couldn't help but feel like she'd abandoned her mother to someone who would never be the same.
He advanced on her painfully, taking each stair as if his legs were made of led and he was pulling them up the steps like a bag of sand. After all she had left her mother to, all the years of just the two of them; this was the least she could do to pay her back. All the yelling that she had escaped because her mother was there, the threats, and drunken slurred words that pierced the soul in agony, her mother had saved her from those until she was able to leave.
His fingers closed around her arm tightly, holding her arm strong enough to leave a bruise that would surely show on her pale skin the next day. He almost grinned at her as she showed no emotion to him, it was like he enjoyed this now, and all the years she had been gone and trying to live her own life. This was payback; he was only making up for all the time they had missed together.
Just upstairs her mother was sleeping, or perhaps she wasn't. For all Marlow knew she could be leaning against the door and holding her breath, hoping that her husband didn't go too far, praying that when she woke up the next morning her daughter would still be able to smile. Of course she would still smile the next day, bruises were nothing to fret over, and she'd been living with what happened in their family her whole life. She'd already made her decision.
"Welcome home dad," she smiled at him softly, offering the smallest bit of cheerfulness. He wretched her body closer to his before releasing her down the stairs and watching her body knock against the wall painfully.
"This isn't your home," he bit out at her hatefully.
This was the least she could do.
=0=0=
"How about that number now?" A soft voice asked her. Looking up at the sound of a chair being pulled out only to be shuffled back near the table with a body Marlow found Peter smirking slyly in front of her. "What do you say Marlow?" He mused with a glint in his eyes.
It had been a few days since they had walked and talked together in the forest, she started to wonder if she would ever see the man again. He was handsome and not unwanted company, since she didn't know anyone in town; it had been nice talking to someone besides her mother for a change. It didn't matter that he was almost completely a stranger that she knew nothing about, in her first years of college that was how she made all her friends.
She couldn't help the grin that melted onto her face as the man took a seat at her table; he even took care to lower his voice since they were in the library. His expression said that he was experienced, especially since he'd assumed that she'd given him her number when they had been outside. The arrogant man!
"Peter," she greeted him placing her book on the table. "Are you stalking me?" She countered his question with another question.
"I like to call it following very closely," he chuckled when she frowned at him. Her eyes darted around the area quickly, only seeing two other people in their vicinity she leaned forward to whisper nearer to him.
"Is a number really this important? What will you do with it?" She asked with a smirk on her face. Peter liked the way that she wasn't afraid to turn his attitude right back around and onto himself, it was like they were playing a game.
"To call you, what else would I do with it?" He questioned making her smile mischievously at him.
"You know I rarely have it on," she spoke lazily as Peter listened for her heart to give her away. She wasn't lying. "We could do it the old fashioned way and send mail to each other," she suggested gaining a growl from him. Her expression changed into one of humor at his response, Marlow thought she was the only person that made that noise when she was angry or irritated.
"I'm afraid I don't have the patience for that," he explained gaining a grin from the girl in front of him. "Maybe if we lived right next to each other," he muttered making her laugh loudly before covering her mouth. She glanced around to make sure that no one was glaring at her from her outburst. He gave her a surprised glance before checking the area with her, his lips twisting up into a wicked smirk that she glared at.
"We could yell at each other faster than our hands would be able to write," she said trying to hide a blush that crept onto her cheeks.
"You would yell at me?" He faked hurt.
"Who wouldn't?" She muttered keeping a straight face when he gave her a crestfallen expression.
It continued on like that for another hour, Peter had never thought he would be able to keep a conversation going that long, especially with a woman. Most of the time they only spoke to each other long enough to learn the basics and make sure they called out the rights names during bed time. It was strange for him to be sitting down and talking to someone whom he had an interest in, and yet while they spoke he paid no attention to time.
Nothing seemed to matter except for listening to each other's voices as they whispered in the ever passing appearance of people in the library. The once in a while shush from an employee who decided they were being too loud, the not sorry at all grin that was always plastered on Marlow's face as the worker walked away. She was fun to talk to, he realized in the middle of one of her stories that she brought comments out of him and it got to the point where he was telling stories of his own.
Describing how he and his siblings would go crazy some nights and fight each other for no reason only to wake up the next morning and cry as they apologized repeatedly. She would counter with a story of her own about her older brother who once locked a bike chain around the belt loop in her pants, she'd cried for an hour until her father finally cut it off. He found out that it was very hard to keep her quiet, that she was animated when she spoke and was almost as excited as he was when he found another story to tell.
He felt comforted when she chuckled softly and let certain comments hang in the air for a few moments before they journeyed down another path of silly stories and getting to know each other better. He was sure that he'd never see all the expression and faces that she had to offer because whenever he made a snarky comment there was a new one twisting her features around.
It made him forget about being a wolf and all the troubles that came with it again, and he felt like spending the rest of the day sitting in the library and talking to Marlow about random idiotic things. She felt much the same way, going back to the times in high school where as long as her friends were smiling she was smiling. If they were happy she could be happy and forget about everything that was going on at home, she could pretend that nothing had happened to her father and pretend everything was okay.
Except this time there was no need for her to lie to her friends faces because she was okay, even with the bruises that were healing beneath the sleeves of her jacket and the knowledge that there might be more tonight. She felt free a while, Peter was kind and jumped into her way of conversing without too much trouble, she liked hearing about his family because it sounded so normal. Of course hers sounded normal as well; there was no telling what might be happening to him right now, or how much his family had changed.
But it didn't matter, as long as Peter was willing to listen to her run her mouth Marlow would continue to talk about how her family used to be, and hide the fact that she missed it greatly.
Finally looking down at her phone Marlow muttered something under her breath that made Peter chuckle lightly. Taking out a piece of paper she wrote something quickly before standing up and making Peter frown at her in response.
"Sorry, I have to go take care of my mom after my dad goes to work," she explained making Peter nod his head understandingly. This was the family member that she had moved back here to take care of; the one she knew wasn't going to get better. "It was nice talking to you Mr. Arrogant," she teased making him smirk at her.
"Does this mean you won't give me your number?" He asked blandly making Marlow laugh softly.
"What do you think I was writing down?" She muttered giving him her number on the paper she had been writing on.
"Will you keep your phone on?" His voice was doubtful. But for all the right reasons, she'd told him a story about how her old friends always complained because she never answered their texts. She simply told them that she hadn't gotten anything, then she turned her phone on and there would be at least ten new messages.
"Maybe," she grinned at him before turning away quickly. His eyes followed her until she walked out of sight, looking down at the number written on the piece of paper with a soft smile on his face. Marlow was wearing much the same expression as she walked to her car.
Moving out of her house had been a hard thing to do; she'd gotten a job and rented an apartment with low rates in order to be able to stay away from her father. Going to school and working at the same time was hard at first and she couldn't find time to make any news friends at the local community college, her high school friends had moved away.
Then when she finally made friends they were only around for a few years before they all went off to different universities, scarcely talking to each other again. Marlow hadn't heard from some of those people in a long time, a few years perhaps. There was no one waiting for her to get back after taking care of her mother, she really didn't have a home to go home to, or one that she considered comforting anyway.
But this was nice, talking to someone that she was starting to consider a friend. She was sure that Peter was more of the type to meet girls and bring them home in the same night, all the while complimenting them. Was she happy that he was taking the time to get to know her? Yes, she made up her mind that she didn't need a relationship at the moment, just a good friend to stay with her until the end. Everyone wishes for a friend like that right?
Pulling up in the driveway to her mother's house Marlow sighed when she saw her father coming out of the house and getting into his own car. He didn't glance her way or even acknowledge that she was there, she could've been a squirrel and he would pay more attention to her.
A buzz in her pocket made Marlow a little excited, perhaps it was someone from back home wondering if everything was going okay, she'd told a couple people what was happening. It wasn't, but it made her smile all the same, it was safe to say that Peter was someone she liked.
This is Peter; did you make it home okay?
AN: If you can't tell already this story is going to be a slow builder that will tear your heart open slowly along the way, I wanted to write a lazy story as a way to take a break from my other more action focused ones. I'm trying to stick to Peter's character but if it's a little off I apologize, I'm also sorry for any typos or mistakes that you may have found, I hate editing.
I don't expect too much from this story, and at the same time I want to make people hurt, so this story could be fun if you like Peter enough to wait on this abomination of a fanfic. I don't usually write like this, so it should be fun.
Anyway, tell me what you think?