The Adoption of Laura and Derek Hale

At first, Melissa found herself scared of Jackson – not that there was anything scary about the lithe little boy in the top bunk. Maybe she wasn't scared of him, rather scared for him, scared she'd ruin the future his parents had planned out for him, scared she'd mess him up, scared she'd do something that would make Rachel and David roll in their graves. She was just scared. In her opinion, Melissa had done alright by Scott so far, but Jackson? The little boy was sodden in grief. She had no idea if she'd fix him, or break him.

It was there in his beautiful moon-blue eyes: desperation. She just couldn't figure out what he was desperate for, was it attention or comfort or space? That was a lie. Melissa did know what he was desperate for. Home – the warm swirling cloud of Rachel's flora perfume and the rich scent of spilt ink on David's hands. She missed it too.

Jackson and Scott had always been close; it was heart-warming and heart-breaking at the same time to watch Scott and Jackson cuddle closer than usual on the couch. Scott was so tuned in to Jackson's feelings. He was so gentle, and Jackson so breakable, and Melissa was so worried. Every odd while though, Scott would smile at Jackson and Jackson would smile back and then they'd both grin even wider and Melissa could sense the vibrations of mischief in the air – it was rejuvenating.

They were only seven and yet Melissa was feeling old. Weary, like little ants had burrowed into her feet and hollowed out her bones from the bottom up, ants like the swarms that blitzed furniture into sawdust in Scott's cartoons. One swift blow and she'd crumble away. Between the extra shifts she took to pay for Scott's inhalers and Jackson's grief therapy, and Rafael's constant onslaught of custodial dispute lawyers (he didn't even want Scott, he was just trying to rile her up), Melissa was in no place for a dog let alone two more kids. Yet it was in such a situation she found herself.

It started with Peter Hale. They met at the hospital when his niece Cora broke her wrist on her swing-set. The poor man was in pieces because he'd been charged with looking after her so Melissa, ridden with pity (having been in a similar situation with one of Scott's friends before), passed by the man and gave him a chamomile tea from the vending machine. "For the nerves," she said, "Doctor's orders." And with a smile she carried on with her rounds, her mind occasionally flitting back to the man and his niece and wondering how they got on. She was in the cafeteria having her lunch when he stopped at her table with the little girl, her arm in a pink cast, and he slid a Styrofoam cup across the blue surface with an almost shy smile. "Thought I'd return the favour. I'm Peter by the way, and this is my favourite nuisance, Cora." Her giggle as she clung to his forearm trickled across the cafeteria sweetly, like little fairies fluttering through long grass. He adoringly smiled down at her, and then shifted his mirthful blue eyes to Melissa. Wow.

Peter wasn't like Rafael. He listened. Melissa found herself reminded of mulled wine at Christmas, or sunflowers over the fence, or the glow-in-the-dark stars on Jackson and Scott's ceiling. She didn't really want a relationship, she had her boys to think of and she worked too much anyway, and it was a hassle she didn't particularly need and – and Peter. Every time she tried to convince herself she didn't want to get involved with him, her mind always circled back to that word. Peter. It was a confession and a proclamation. Peter. A whisper and a scream. Peter. A lullaby and a battle cry. There was no sensible reason to encourage a relationship with Peter Hale, she'd only really had coffee with him twice, and his niece had been there the first time, and he was probably just being nice. But she was getting old. Perhaps, she thought, perhaps. Perhaps just once, she could throw caution to the wind for old time's sake, after all she wasn't getting any younger. Peter.

So she cast away her iron chains like the rusted weights they were, plunged into the icy water, and let the sand squeeze between her toes. She called him.

Other than her occupation as 'mother', Melissa's job as an ER nurse was the most important thing to her. Peter, her angel Peter, understood that, more so, told her he loved that. Loved that she was so strong. As Melissa feared with most men, Peter wasn't a jerk – he'd deliver elaborate bouquets to the house every month in all her favourite arrangements from all her favourite shops, and he'd take her out for dinner every Friday night when Scott and Jackson were at sleepovers. If she couldn't get away from work, he'd bring her takeout to share at their table in the cafeteria. A gent, her grandmother would say. A slimy perv, her mother would say (but that old bint's opinion never mattered anyway).

"Meet my family." He said.

"Okay." She said.

Once Melissa had been hit in the face with a soccer ball – that's what it felt like when she stepped down from the enormous Hale house's patio doors into the back garden, seeing children running around with their aunts and uncles and mums and dads and brothers and sisters and seconds cousins first removed. She was suddenly very aware of how alone she was. Then Peter's strong hand slipped around her waist like the tree supporting the river bank, and she didn't feel so alone anymore. Peter.

It was difficult remembering everyone's names at first but Melissa eventually found Peter was closest with his older sister Thalia, and her children. Laura was fourteen – she wanted to be grown up so badly. Laura was like crashing waves on the rocks and sea salt on the wind. While she traded books with Melissa regularly, Peter told her that Laura still slept with her teddy bear, but don't tell Derek because he's sly. Derek was ten and if Laura was the ocean, he was the forest. Quiet, and yet Melissa still saw the little spark of fire in his eyes. He had a sweet smile, and she knew he'd grow up to be as charming as his uncle. Melissa taught him how to play the piano that sat unused in the corner of the living room. Cora was neither the ocean nor the woods; she was the fields. She was the flowers. She was the balm that soothed the occasional grating between Laura and Derek and her little smile elated Melissa's day, like a hot air balloon taking off for the horizon. They'd make daisy chains when it was sunny, and press tulips and lavender when it was rainy.

Thalia would sit with her on the back patio when neither of them were working and they'd drink teas and ponder motherhood and sometimes they'd talk about Peter; but more than anything else, Thalia wanted to hear about Scott and Jackson. Melissa hadn't quite plucked up the courage to introduce boyfriend to sons yet. She didn't know why. Maybe if she did, it would mean that this was real. Scared of commitment, Thalia had said. Don't worry, she'd smile, you love Peter; you'll find your way. It stuck with Melissa – scared of commitment. She knew, she just knew, it Rafael's fault. The bastard was still ruining her life but it was okay, because Peter – Peter, Peter – was worth every second of the struggle.

It would turn out the struggle wasn't a struggle she was struggling with alone. "Her name was Malia," he said, "And she was beautiful."

"Wife?" Melissa asked.

"Daughter." He replied.

"Tell me about her." She said.

And he did. Through the humid night he painted Sistine chapels with sonnets of her eyes and sculpted David's with his whispers of her grin. Whoever it was must have had an angel in mind when they sculpted her face, he said. Her soul was bathed in moonlight, her heart in starlight, and in his drowning darkness she shone brighter than both. Truly, he said, I had never been worthy of such a blessing. Melissa wiped the tears from their faces with gentle fingers, and she told him about Rafael.

If Malia was Peter's angel, Rafael was Melissa's demon. She began crying for an entirely different reason and Peter held her even closer, and stroked her wild hair, and whispered in her ear sweet nothings. The sweet nothings that meant everything.

"I love you." He said.

She was already asleep.

"I want you to meet my kids." She said.

"Are you sure?" He asked.

"I've never felt surer of anything."

Jackson was suspicious – that was just his nature these days. Scott was too, but in far more endearing a way, with much more innocence. Peter liked Jackson's scepticism, said it built good character; he liked Scott's honesty, it reminded him of Malia. By the end of the week Scott and Peter were best friends.

("I want to be a vet when I'm big."

"Well I'm friends with a vet! Maybe he'd let you come over and meet his patients some time.")

They were sitting in the living room, Scott hunched over a game of Operation on the floor with Jackson. Peter was reading the local newspaper – another mountain lion – and Melissa was lounging with her feet in his lap and a cup of coffee to her lips, when she noticed Jackson was no longer interested in the game and was instead scrutinising Peter.

"How fast can your car go?" Peter folded his paper, and turned to meet the blonde's well-structured stare. Melissa scolded her lips on the black burning beverage, almost spilling it down herself.

"Very fast."

"Do you drive fast when Melissa's in the car too?"

"Only if we're running late."

"That's dangerous."

"It is, but I like to think I know my car well enough."

"You should think again."

"Do fast cars scare you Jackson?"

"Nothing scares me."

"It's only a machine."

"I said I'm not scared."

"Well that's good! Because cars aren't scary, really. The only scary thing about cars is that sometimes silly people drive them – people who don't understand how they work. It's those people that do damage. Cars are only dangerous if you don't use them right." Jackson had been through three therapists so far, none able to quell his anxiety surrounding automobiles, and here all he'd needed was Peter. She could see the contemplative look in Jackson's eye.

"Do you know how use a car right?"

"Of course."

"… Could you teach me?"

"It would be my honour."

"Thank you." She said.

"For what?" He asked.

"For offering to teach Jackson about cars."

"Oh." He said.

"And for taking Scott to the vet clinic today. I've never seen him grin that wide before."

"No problem." He said.

"I love you." She said.

He was already asleep.

Peter asked if she wanted to go over to Thalia's at the weekend. They could stay the night in his reserved guest room and Scott and Jackson could meet Laura, Derek, and Cora. She wanted to, God she wanted to, because ever since that first time Peter popped the hood of his Camaro and set Jackson up a footstool to stand on, Melissa had been sure that this was the man she wanted to spend her future with. Except Scott was ill – he had suffered a severe asthma attack and hadn't been able to find an inhaler, so after a terrifying trip to the ER, Scott was on bed rest for a few days. Next weekend, she promised. Peter kissed her nose, and she blushed like a school girl. He gave Scott a parting hug, gave Jackson a tousle of the hair – because Jackson was a big boy and would only hug Melissa, and maybe Scott if he's upset because he gets upset sometimes you know – and left with a suggestion he'd take them all to the new Italian next Friday. God, that man.

It would come to be called The Hale Fire.

Peter was alive.

Peter was in surgery.

Peter was in a coma.

Peter, Peter, Peter, a mantra in her head. Peter, Peter, Peter, like a Hail Mary. Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter. She saw the sign on the wall for the morgue; she threw up because it was undoubtedly filled with the bodies of people she knew, people she came to love. Then again, was it? Was there even enough left to put in body bags? Oh god, she didn't even know who had been in the house, who was staying, who was there, because the Hale clan often gathered unannounced at Thalia's house for no reason other than wanting to be there. She needed to know who made it out, who was alive, who-

Derek stood amidst the frantic rhythm of the ER like a lost child in a train station. He was dazed, detached, his body was there, but his mind – Melissa didn't even know if it was elsewhere, it was just gone. Ten years old. Derek was always cheeky and sly but quiet and thoughtful but now, now it seemed like even he didn't know what he was anymore.

Laura. She saw Laura. The girl had just been escorted through the doors by the Sherriff but she broke free of his supportive hand on her back, to tackle Derek into an unyielding grasp. Her hair was wispy around her face, her eyes swollen and red, and her lips puffy. She had clamped her arms around the back of her younger brother who was still – where Laura kept readjusting her booted feet and tightening her grip, Derek was lax. His face was pale and shell-shocked. Only after Laura's sobs started wracking his body too, did he begin to cry. She'd never heard such anguished howls of suffering. Then Laura's eyes snagged onto Melissa and in an instant she was melded into the girl's embrace.

She didn't realise she had been sobbing too.

He was on life support. They weren't sure he'd make it. Peter had always been so full of flowing, graceful life – now before her, bandaged and damaged, he was still. It scared her. "Peter, please! Peter, I love you! Peter! I love you! I love you, I love you Peter…"

She hoped he loved her too, because now she'd never hear it. She tried to imagine it in her head: he'd said 'I' and 'love' and 'you' before, so she tried to merge the snippets together but every time she came close, the echo was leached away by the heat still exuding from his skin. I love you. I love you.

Laura had never been so silent. Derek had never been so empty. It was like they were dead too; they might as well be in the coma patient wing with Peter. It was a surreal experience, the pen was heavy and sluggish between her fingers, and as Melissa leant across the desk she prayed it didn't slip from her hand. Her loopy signature occupied the empty dotted line of the official custodial form. She had been 'Aunt Melissa', Laura even choked out that Peter was going to propose. Now she was 'Official Parent/Guardian Melissa'. The Hale family lawyer said that even though the family's assets were technically Laura and Derek's when they turn eighteen (with the exclusion of Peter's) he'd work something out for a small amount to be set aside each month in child support. Melissa protested but the suited man promised it would barely make a dent in the Hale fortune.

While Melissa was clearing out the storage room filled with the junk Rafael had yet to collect (she doubted he ever would), Derek shared the guest room with Laura. Yet even a week after she'd found a bed and dresser and wardrobe to fill the now empty storage room, Derek was still sleeping in Laura's bed. She wanted to talk to Laura about it, but she didn't want to push. She understood. It had been a painful week of soul-sucking police interviews and draining statements and crushing headlines. Melissa felt like she was being crushed by an avalanche, trying to protect her new charges from it all. She even called her local news subscription office and asked them to hold the paper delivery for a few weeks until it all blew over – Laura and Derek didn't need to see their dead family on the doorstep.

Eventually she had to do something – Derek couldn't even get out of bed most days, and Laura was having breakdowns in the shower. Casually seemed the best way to go about it, so as Melissa was bashing away at the coffee maker on a Saturday morning and Laura was poking fizzing bacon in attempt to lure out Derek, she said something. "I think, we should maybe take Derek to talk to someone." Laura's prodding stilled.

"I thought the same thing." Thank God. That was good. Progress. She had to remember Laura was the most logical of her countless cousins.

"I could maybe take him to Jackson's therapist? She's very good with him." Laura resumed her exploration of pig cuttings, so Melissa carried on. "Jackson's a lot like Derek I think."

"Needs a gentle touch."

"Yeah." Laura was so full of surprises. Then again, this was Thalia Hale's daughter, the tsunami in a desert.

Jackson was always a suspicious boy, as was the sweetheart's nature, but he was blatantly scared of Derek. Derek was sullen and rarely spoke, and Laura had the tense shoulders of a teenage girl trying to keep it all together. Scott wasn't particularly fond of him either, so Melissa had to have a Big Boy Discussion with them. "They're Peter's nephew and niece. There was an accident and now their family…" She was going to say can't take care of them anymore, but before she could Jackson swept in with a monotone; "They're dead aren't they?" Melissa and Jackson's eyes locked and she was startled at the stark realist she saw in them. Scott flounder next to the blond boy.

"Dead? Even Uncle Peter?" Both of her boy's eyes filled with tears, Jackson's stubbornly, and Melissa just didn't know how to tell them without crying herself. She needed to hold it together because God knows the fourteen year old girl upstairs was doing enough of it herself.

"No, Peter's not dead."

"So why can't he take care of Derek and Laura?" Scott would have sounded petulant to anyone else but Melissa knew her children. Scott was worried something was wrong with Peter. How did she tell them there was?

"Uncle Peter-" She breathed deeply, "Uncle Peter was hurt. The accident was a fire, and Peter got very badly hurt."

"Is he going to be okay?" Jackson, her little Jackson, who death had touched far too soon, sounded so very soft and so very far away.

"Physically, he's going to be fine." She never believed in lying to children. Children always knew when they were being lied to. "But- he's just in a very deep sleep."

"When's he going to wake up? He was s-supposed to take Jackson to th-the the mechanic shop to watch the car be fixed, and he was going to – to take us to Dr Deaton's to s-see the new puppies and, and-" Jackson hugged Scott so tightly she thought he might burst, and he pushed the inhaler into Scott's hand. Melissa walked around the end of the table to hold them both against her.

"We've got to be strong, okay? Peter wouldn't want you to cry, yeah? He might wake up one day but until then we have to look after Laura and Derek for him."

That night when Melissa was making the bedroom rounds to make sure the sleeping children were okay, she found all four of them in the double bed of the guest room, sleeping peacefully. She returned to her own cold empty bed, and cried. They weren't tears of sorrow, nor were the tears of joy; all she could really say was that there was something warm in her chest, like a tiny seed had just begun to grow under a ray of sunlight.