Chapter 14

When Chris woke up, he was on his back and someone on top of him was patting him down for weapons. He flipped the assailant over, his hand closing around the throat and was beginning to squeeze. He stopped because three of his senses warned him at the same time about the identity of his opponent. Her throat was delicate and her skin was smooth. Her scent was a mix of hospital disinfectant and the perfume she left on his pillow that morning. And from somewhere behind him he heard the cocking of a gun and an amused male voice.

"I told you I should handcuff him," the Sheriff said.

Chris pulled his hands away from Melissa's neck and rolled off her.

"Sorry," he said.

He got up while his friend was helping Melissa, and soon both his friends were supporting him. He hadn't felt so tired since… since Peter Hale had fixed him to the wall with a metal rod through the torso.

"Chris, are you ok?" she asked.

"You know you're using my name only when you want something?" he asked leaning into the sheriff, who started shaking with laughter but concealed any sounds, wisely fearing Melissa's anger.

"Yeah, like every time I have to check if your brain's intact!" she barked back. "And it shouldn't have to be so often!" she added under her breath.

Chris held his tongue about other things she wanted from him when she used his name. There were more serious concerns.

"I have a few scratches. Not sure how deep. I… can't feel much right now."

"Any from the Alpha?" she asked.

"I'd say… no…"

"What's the difference?" the Sheriff asked.

Melissa and Chris looked at him shocked.

"What?" Stiles Sr. asked.

"You still haven't read your books?!" Melissa and Chris exclaimed.

The Sheriff was the least engaged member of their "book club". He usually learned more about what he should have read from Chris's books when they met than actually read the book at home as he should have.

"We can't take him to the hospital like this," the Sheriff said. "There's no way he can pass unnoticed."

"Let's go to my place. I have a few essential supplies there."

He could guess from Melissa's tone that she was not happy about this. Not about helping him, Chris was sure that the could always count on her for help, but she was not happy that she had had to be prepared for treating wounds.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, so softly that his friends didn't even hear him.

A few hours later Chris woke up from a fitful sleep. He looked around at the room, trying to remember how he got there. He saw Melissa asleep on an armchair at the other side of the small room. There was a photo of Scott on the dresser. He looked so serious, even in that picture which Chris guessed was taken before the change. His look went back and forth between the boy in the photo and his mother. Melissa's face looked angelic in her sleep. The lines of worry he got to see so often while she was taking care of his wounds were gone. He needed to get out of bed, out of HER bed. It felt wrong to be there, in her bedroom, bleeding on her sheets, sullying what was supposed to be the safest place in her life with his presence.

Melissa was awake before he could even stand up.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she asked.

Chris was sitting on the edge of the bed, willing himself to stand up. He didn't answer. What could he tell her? That it felt wrong to be there?

She came and sat on the bed, next to him.

"You need to rest," she said, without any trace of disapproval or command. "Some of the wounds were quite deep, and you lost blood. I'm worried out of my mind that I didn't take you to the hospital. Please, rest."

His angel of mercy. Her kindness shook him to his core. This woman, this beacon of goodness and safety, was worried about him. Like he was a human being, not just a shield against the darkness. He wished he could respect her request, but he had little time for resting. He would try to stay in bed and allow his body to recover, but his mind could not rest. He had to find the witch before the full moon. Just in case one of the deep scratches was from the Alpha. The Alpha he had killed. He wondered if this would turn him into an Alpha. One without a pack.

He looked down at what he was wearing. Those were definitely not his clothes. He was wearing a Beacon Hills t-shirt and pair of track suit pants. He looked at her with a raised eyebrow and a crooked smile. She smiled back, a little flustered.

"They're Scott's," she said and stood up. "I'll bring you something to eat. Do you want anything in particular?"

He took her hand and placed a chaste kiss on the inside of her wrist. She gasped and pulled away. Even in the dimness, Chris could see her reaction was a sort of panicked recognition. He had just felt the need to thank her and he was fighting strenuously to ignore the baser urges he always had around her. They would have to talk about what she meant with "it should never have happened". All the more now that she saw her pulling away from intimacy.

"I'm not hungry," he said, and lay back in bed knowing that she was going to bring him something to eat anyway.

She came back a few minutes later with a plate of sandwiches on a tray. He smiled. Breakfast in bed. At midnight. He looked at the window. Almost dawn.

Melissa sat next to him and reached for a sandwich. They ate in silence, their shoulders touching, their arms brushing against each other. When the plate was empty, she put the tray away and turned to look at him. Her expression was painfully serious.

"If… if you are a…" her voice trailed off.

"Werewolf," he helped her.

"Yeah. If you are… will you follow the Code?"

His mind flashed back at night Victoria died. The night he killed her. Now that emotions were no longer influencing him, Chris admitted to himself that he had killed his wife. There was no such thing as helping someone to die. His hands had pressed the blade into her heart. Hers had just been on the hilt. He shook away the memory.

All he had was the Code.

"You already know the answer," he said.

Her breathing stopped for a moment, then came out in a quiet sigh. In silence, tears rolled from her eyes. Chris watched them glisten on her cheeks in the reddish dawn light. He cupped her face with hands and wiped the tears with his thumbs. She pulled away, again running away from his touch. She took the tray and he knew she was trying to keep her mind occupied with mundane things to avoid thinking about his death.

"You were right. I shouldn't put my trust in you," she said before she left.