A.N.: After six months, two updates in one week! I'm spoiling you all. Luckily, being inspired by Isaac's delectable baby-blue eyes, the Gatsby soundtrack and Charbonnel et Walker chocolates, I have been writing for Jekyll.

Jekyll and Hyde

03

Family Dynamics

Kate hadn't expected Mary to slug her. During one of Mary's "training" sessions, Kate had been in town, and decided to take over the 'information extraction' portion of Mary's education. Except, Mary had recognised in her aunt something so deeply warped, sociopathic, sadistic, enjoying the pain of the werewolf she was torturing, Mary hadn't been able to take it. When Kate had laughed and kept doing it, Mary had hit her. Hard.

Since then, four years ago, Mary's relationship with her father's sister had been pretty much nonexistent. Not even a birthday-card. Mary didn't complain; she already had too much family she would rather be without. The fact that Kate didn't visit often, and stuck to treating Allison to manicures and shopping-sprees when she did, was fine with her. Kate's behaviour, and worse, her attitude towards it, was one of the many reasons Mary had walked away from her Hunter training.

Her dad knew about the torture, about Mary breaking Kate's nose. He may not fully appreciate why Mary didn't want to share her family's long heritage of wholesale genocide, but he had accepted that she didn't want a Hunter's life for herself, and respected Mary's choice. But he was also Kate's brother, and Mary's father, and when Kate came to visit, he expected Mary to at least be polite. Or…around.

Mary guessed, anyway; Kate hadn't visited since the early days in San Francisco.

Why Kate had come here, to Beacon Hills, was beyond Mary. She knew the way the Hunter network operated; her father and grandfather, the terrifying bogeyman of the werewolf world, were kind of like a Mafia Don and his heir. Their family had been doing this so long, how could they not be the absolute leaders? Kate went wherever the most action was, where she could get away with being as brutal as she liked to be, and nobody would ask questions because she was an Argent. But Mary's father hadn't called Kate to come into town and provide backup against the Alpha threat Mary had heard about from Derek Hale.

Why was Kate here? She just didn't come for casual family-visits. There was no such thing as cosy white Christmases in the Argent family; they didn't have big Thanksgiving get-togethers to watch the game and gorge themselves on turkey. Their approach to holidays and birthdays was…that they didn't approach them. Her parents spoiled Allison on birthdays to compensate for such a tumultuous upbringing, but Christmases were always just normal days of the week, just with a pretty tree and a couple presents thrown in, sometimes surrounded by cardboard-boxes from the most recent move.

Mary had never made a big deal of her birthday; just after Valentine's Day, she had the disadvantage of having her birthday just after Christmas season, and growing up, her family's constant upheaval so her daddy could go hunting monsters, she had usually just started a new school and barely had time to make friends before her birthday approached. Her parents would have a cake, she'd perhaps get a present she would never have bought for herself, pretending to appreciate it while wondering why they had even bothered, and she'd go to bed. The sun would rise the next morning, as if nothing had happened. Maybe she didn't feel like her birthday was anything special because, if Allison did well on a test or one of her archery tournaments, Dad would make his famous four-tier Black Forest Gateau and Mom would buy her something pretty. Mary's birthday only had a few candles to differentiate it. And a few less presents.

As a younger girl, this had bothered Mary. She'd never truly envied Allison for being the favourite, particularly; now she just appreciated having a sister on whom her parents could lavish all their affection—and attention.

She absolutely did not need their scrutiny.

They could give Allison the attention and spoil her with clothes and pretty things, because they constantly smothered her with their expectations of her. Controlling her every moment. Mary was probably a lost cause in their eyes. And she was fine with that.

But she did have to remind herself that these were her parents…and she was stuck with them until she could afford to get away…

She was almost there.

But until then she had to make nice…as nice as she had been since the Pack had decided she should leave the city with her parents, rather than encourage her to stay with her family. Her parents had fucked her life over so many times, directly through their own interference, and indirectly, through others' fear of them, but the fact her pack-mates had believed she would ever side with her mother and father over them…

Mary had always had a vicious relationship with her mother. Growing up with the constant moves, the dependability of her father's sure, constant nobility, Allison snuggling up tight at bed-time when they had still shared a bedroom, upset about another move, those were the good parts of Mary's childhood. The bad parts were her mother's episodes. Those episodes were what resonated in Mary's memory, what still held her in the iron grip of debilitating fear. The past year, she had lived in constant terror of her parents—her psychotic, violent mother especially. Hiding what she was, becoming a completely different person they barely recognised as their own firstborn daughter because she wasn't that girl any more, and when she was around, they had no clue who she was.

They didn't recognise anything of themselves in Mary; truth be told, the people who had had the most influence over her recently hadn't been her parents. They had been her family… Her Pack. Her pack had protected and nurtured her, encouraged her and showed her the affection and complete and utter loyalty she had never truly known from her parents. Her pack had helped her through the worst trauma in her life, while her parents had brushed it off and called her weak for feeling her grief so profoundly.

The last year had made her unrecognisable to her parents in a way that meant they wondered more about bad influences and the chances of her contracting an STD or doing drugs, than ever entertain the thought she might be one of the monsters they made a habit of cutting in half at the waist.

Christopher and Victoria Argent had their own secrets they kept from their daughters: Mary kept an even darker secret from them in turn, and was far better at it.

Over the last nineteen years of her life, Mary had learned to hide things so they stayed hidden. Everything she had gotten up to last year—the best year of her life, hectic, full of parties and friends, laughter, really hot sex, road-trips, the baby, the inextinguishable feeling of belonging—she had documented in photographs, in artwork, in mementos she had kept—and all of which, she had kept hidden. The things in her bedroom were the sorts of things people placed out in show-homes to entice potential buyers to envision their own stuff littered around, making it their home. The Classics, some of her art, the memory-jars she had put together to commemorate vacations past, when she still liked her family. But everything else, everything precious to her, had to be hidden.

She was nineteen years old; in the past year she had opened up safety-deposit boxes at banks, rented out a storage-unit, worked part-time jobs to save up money so she could get out.

But she couldn't, not yet.

She had a feeling, whatever Derek Hale was trying to do, find the Alpha that had killed his sister for her power, whatever Kate was in town for, especially since she knew it was Derek Hale the Hunters were looking into…Mary guessed it was all connected… And at some point, the various sparks and gunpowder would collide and ignite in a big way.

Scott, the new Beta, would be caught in the middle of it; and because of her growing affection for him, and her complete cluelessness to their parents' double-life, so would an unwitting Allison.

Mary may loathe and fear her mother, but she had always had a lot of respect for her father. And as for her little-sister, the fact that Allison got all the attention was a godsend for Mary. Despite all their differences, the disconnect between Mary and their parents, she still did…like Allison. Love was a complicated subject, especially within the domineering, psychotic Argent clan, but in the last year, being part of a pack that revolved around family as the source of its strength, Mary had discovered that even if Allison was a meek little goody-goody…it was just her way of dealing with their parents. Never disappointing them; Mary took a completely different approach. But she respected Allison for doing what she had to, to survive their parents.

She sighed, eyeing the contents of the enormous industrial refrigerator in the new kitchen. They'd lived in an old Victorian in San Francisco, a beautiful place with bay-windows, antique chandeliers and character. This house, for all its size and grandeur, was very new. She hated it. Large rooms with high ceilings and minimalist furniture, barely any personal trinkets… It was like nearly every other house she had ever lived in. Her stomach ached as she thought of her Alpha's home, a big sprawling Victorian full of laughter, the baby's gurgles, the boys roughhousing playfully, music, the mingled aura of nail-polish, hair-spray and perfume that caused her sneezing-fits in the girls' rooms, the scent of cooking meals drifting from the airy kitchen where they somehow always ended up gathering, playing cards, reading magazines, doing homework… The silence seemed to buzz in her ears just to make a point of how soulless this place was.

She wrinkled her nose, scanned the refrigerator shelves, and took out an apple and a bottle of water. To go from nirvana to this place was…intolerable.

As she unscrewed the cap on the bottle of water, she tilted her head, gently scenting the air, and glanced over as someone shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing the heel of her palm into her eyes sleepily, hair dragged into a sloppy bun mussed from sleep, yawning. She jumped when she glanced up and saw Mary standing, illuminated by the open refrigerator doors, in the darkness.

"Hey," she croaked.

"Can't sleep?" Mary asked. Since childhood, she and Allison had never been close. They weren't exactly Roseanne and Jackie—they were acquaintances who happened to share a bloodline. And a very warped family tradition.

"Yeah, I, uh…have a lot on my mind," Allison mumbled, eyeing her blearily. "Did you just get in?" Mary shrugged.

"I had a lot on my mind," she sighed.

"Did you try to run all the way back to San Francisco?" Allison teased, and Mary gave her a sad smile.

"How was the family reunion?" she asked, instead of dwelling on Allison's comment about San Francisco. With her own car, Mary had pondered loading up her stuff when her parents packed up the house to move, and leaving. Then the pack had made its decision, and she'd had nowhere to actually go to…nobody who wanted her.

"Oh," Allison sighed, her long eyelashes fluttering as she pursed her lips, climbing up onto one of the stools at the island. She fiddled with the ends of her sleeves. "Aunt Kate invited Scott to stay for dinner."

"Right away, bad," Mary knew. "You brought Scott over to study and he got a full Argent family ambush. Nice work."

"Yeah," Allison sighed, with a twisted smile. "Dad told him about the rabid dog in the cage." Mary, who had taken a glug of water, chuckled low and swallowed, smiling.

"Of course he did," she shook her head. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, her dad was an Alpha-male. And there was a reason she had never brought a boy home—a. because she wouldn't want his bits lopped off by her psychotic mother, and 2. because her father had his own brand of terrorization. The rabid-dog story was one they knew well.

"It gets better," Allison said, her dimples winking as she pursed her lips, eyes widening. "Aunt Kate realised I'd been in her bag… And she accused Scott of stealing from her…" Mary raised her eyebrows.

"You're gonna be lucky if you get a second date," she remarked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Well, since I went into Kate's bag…and stole a condom…" Allison said, a blush warming her pale cheeks. Mary's eyes widened as she turned fully toward Allison, instead of leaning back against the counter, glancing over her shoulder; she raised her eyebrows at her sister, disbelieving but amused.

"You did not!" she laughed. Snow White, steal a condom? When the blush continued, and Allison pulled a face, Mary laughed richly. "Wow. Looks like I missed out on some prime entertainment tonight. Did Dad freak?"

"No, not yet," Allison said, sighing.

"They're probably waiting for you to fall asleep so they can transport you to the closed-convent," Mary said sagely, and Allison's lips twitched.

"I felt so sorry for Scott," Allison moaned, rubbing her face. "It was horrible."

"At least you'll know whether he's worth chasing if he comes back for a second date," Mary shrugged. Allison's lips twitched.

"Yeah…I guess," she said softly. "Hey…did you hear about Kate's car-trouble?"

"No, they try and stop her at the border and turn her car around?"

"No… Dad said he went out to meet her the other night, when she got into town…because she had a flat tire…but when I talked to Kate about her car trouble, she said she needed a jump-start," Allison said quietly, frowning. Mary glanced at her from the corner of her eye.

"It's no secret the Argents have incurably flawed communication skills," she sighed softly, and Allison's lips twitched.

"Yeah," she said quietly. "Anyway…I just came down for juice." Mary nodded, and her sister grabbed the bottle of apple-juice from the refrigerator door, pouring herself a glass. Mary munched quietly on her apple—it was sweet, sharp and crunchy, delicious—and stood in the darkness as Allison closed the refrigerator and wandered upstairs with a mumbled, "Goodnight."

Mary was stuck in a terrible situation; a werewolf in a family of werewolf-hunters. She lived in unadulterated terror of her mother finding out, and put all her energy into deceiving her, and her father. She had been pushed out of the one family Mary had ever truly loved, adored, respected…and the open wounds from that betrayal, and so many others, combining with the grief she still felt debilitating flares of over the accident, all combined to make her reluctant to now form any friendships.

The past two years had been the best and also the most brutal of her life, and they…had left her broken. She couldn't face yet another rejection, another person ripped from her before she realised it; the wounds she had received before were by no means healing. To add to them sent her into an emotional tailspin at the very idea.

She had been part of the best pack she could ever have envisioned. They had been a family, trusting, ecstatic in each other's company, protective and encouraging. They had been everything her parents were not and everything Mary had ever wanted for her own family: the idea of joining another pack made her insides squirm and writhe in a discomfort she didn't quite know how to explain. Whoever the Alpha was in this area, they were alone; they had only Scott McCall, and the poor kid had no clue.

He had only Derek Hale, a born-werewolf and one whose every cell was saturated with grief, self-loathing and quiet, simmering anger, to try and teach him everything he needed to know how to survive. To survive Mary's parents.

If Scott McCall's survival was paramount to Derek Hale's plan to discover the Alpha's identity, thus allowing him to seek retribution for Laura's murder, it was dependent on Scott's ability to learn and adapt. And Scott's survival, not just from the Alpha but from the Hunters who would surely be going after him every full-moon, was also intrinsic to Allison's happiness.

If Allison had been bold enough to have stolen a condom as a precaution, after only a month of being in town and actually knowing this kid, there was definitely something special about Scott. And while, for herself, Mary had turned her back on emotional attachments to protect herself, trying to convince herself it didn't matter that she felt hollow inside, she didn't want Allison to end up like her.

"Damn," she muttered, sighing, and made her way upstairs, because if she didn't want Allison's boyfriend to end up with a hemicorporectomy, courtesy of their mother, Mary, who hadn't wanted anything to do with the supernatural before her bite, or werewolves and their packs now, found herself being teased in. Keep Allison from becoming detached and jaded like herself; keep Scott alive.

Easy.

Yeah. Right, she thought.

Chris managed to corral his eldest daughter first thing in the morning. Unusual; she was almost always gone for the day before even he woke, no note to tell them where she was going or when she would be back—punishment for him and Victoria after all their years of smothering control of her every thought and action—but she was sitting in her armchair, already dressed for the day, her backpack ready to go, with one of her artist's boards propped in her lap, frowning as her arm moved, probably creating another warped piece of art he would never understand.

He had realised a while ago that he would never get it. And he had to let that go, and let her go.

They could only push so far, before she broke, and Chris knew she had reached that limit many times in the last few years, her shrieking arguments with Victoria that had often led to physical confrontation from Victoria when one of her episodes was triggered. Arguments and fights that had shaken the foundations of their house, and once prompted his seventeen-year-old daughter to run away. Without saying goodbye.

But she had returned—and when she had done so, Chris had warned Victoria. No fights, no confrontation, none of her episodes. Mary was his little girl, and if they had continued to treat her the way they had in the past—utterly controlling, vicious, making sure she lived in terror of them… That wasn't what he'd wanted for his children, to grow up the way he had.

As a young teenager, Mary had started to push back. She was rebellious, yes, but not just for the sake of it; she knew her own mind, something Chris respected and wished he could just talk to her about and encourage her more… But they had crossed lines, as parents, several years ago, and there was no going back. Not with Mary. Too much had happened, too much that had fundamentally affected the person Mary was, and now Chris recognised that, because of their previous treatment of her, they didn't have a chance in hell of her letting them in to know the person she had become in the last two years.

She hadn't wanted anything to do with the Argent legacy. That was her choice; Chris just wished he knew a little about what her life was about now. He probably always would wonder; as a child, Mary would open up to him, until Victoria entered the room, and she would clam up, eyes wary, watching her mother's every move, gauging whether it was safe…

But she had always protected Allison during Victoria's episodes. And he was counting on the fact that sisterly affection lingered, despite the complete dissolution of her love and respect for her parents.

After what had happened with Kate a few years ago, Chris didn't wonder Mary hadn't been rushing to the door to greet her aunt at three a.m. And he had explained to Kate that they were lucky to see Mary to make sure she was still alive, let alone sit down for family-dinner and Skip-Bo and hot-chocolate. He doubted even his famous quadruple-tier Black Forest Gateau would tempt her now. She was counting the hours to her escape from under her parents' Iron Fist.

She had always looked like his mother. The staggeringly-beautiful heart-shaped face, the dramatic eyebrows…of course, his mother would never have tattooed herself or had her ears pierced so many times they could drain spaghetti, but she would have appreciated Mary's striking beauty and her toughness. Of course, his mother would have smacked Chris for allowing Victoria to emotionally and physically brutalise Mary when she was younger, for the both of them running her out of their home because their controlling, intolerant behaviour towards her had become just too much, almost broken her.

Chris missed his mother…and he missed his little girl. His first child. With Allison everything had become easier; but with Mary, she had been the first. Everything with her had been so precious because she had been utterly unique. Amid a life of chaos, violence and tension, she had been a tiny, warm bundle of affection and contentment; she had rarely cried out for them, even as a baby, but she used to fall asleep curled up on Chris's stomach, had always used to follow him with her eyes when she had learned to sit up and recognise faces.

She had always been his little sweetheart…and because of the way he and Victoria had treated her, he had lost her.

She didn't look up from her artist's-board as she scratched away with a pen, but her blinds were drawn up, he could smell a rich rose perfume on the air and coconut-steam dissipating in the en-suite bathroom from her shower, and she was already dressed, her hair done, wearing pretty jewellery. While he gave Allison everything she wanted to compensate for his guilt over moving her around so much, Mary never asked for anything; she went out and got a part-time job so she never had to. That way, whatever she bought for herself couldn't be taken away as punishment, the way Allison no longer had a television in her bedroom.

"Hey, kiddo," he said softly, rapping his knuckles gently on the open door before entering—Allison gave him so much attitude about entering her room without knocking, though she was lucky he didn't take the door off after last night. Mary gave a nod. He sighed to himself, "That was almost a hello… We had company for dinner last night."

"I heard," Mary said, with one of her detached, irreverent smiles that made her cheekbones pop. "I heard you gave him the old rabid-dog speech. That's one sure-fire way to make sure Allison grows old alone and unloved." She arched one of her dramatic eyebrows and gave him a distinctive look. "Did you want grandchildren?"

Chris waved that comment aside. "There's special banks for that."

"Oh, gross," Mary half-laughed, cringing. She gave him another look. "Would you pick out the donor, too?"

Chris paused, pretending to ponder the idea. "D'you think she'd let me?" Mary gave him a little smile, almost like the one she used to when she was little. Genuinely amused by his cluelessness and discomfort.

"Why didn't you just hold him down on the dining-table and have Kate sterilise him?" she asked, her intense hazel gaze returning to her artist's-board. "That's the kind of guy you want for Allison, right? Neutered."

"You have a smart mouth," Chris remarked.

"And the attitude to go with it," Mary shrugged a shoulder idly, still drawing. "So, to what dubious honour do I owe this visit?"

"I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess Allison may have talked to you about what happened last night?" Chris said, stifling a shiver of discomfort.

"You mean she stole a condom from Kate's stash just in case things got steamy between her and Scott during their study-session?" Mary said unconcernedly, her lips twitching with amusement, making her cheekbones pop.

"So that's a yes." He fought a twitch.

"At least she's taking responsibility. Risking leaving it up to the guy is what gets you on 16 & Pregnant," Mary said; considering the fact their relationship had been so strained since she was fifteen, they had never been comfortable discussing the awkward subjects, like sex, and they never teased each other, especially about that. Mary glanced up, when her comment fell flat. Chris didn't understand pop-culture references; everything changed too damn quickly these days. "MTV reality-show, Dad."

"Right," he said. "So you approve of Allison stealing condoms?"

Mary frowned thoughtfully at the foot of her dresser, then glanced up and said, "From the store?" She chuckled, shaking her head as she turned back to her artwork. "You're not mad she stole one. It's given you the heebie-jeebies she'd even know what one is used for. She's nearly seventeen… Time to cut the cord."

"You're my little girls; I'll never stop looking at you and see you running around the yard when you were five, wearing that little navy dress with the white polka-dots, giggling uncontrollably as you chased after Avery," Chris said, and it was true. He couldn't stop remembering how his daughters were before he had messed everything up. And Avery had been his favourite dog of all time, a beautiful Labrador-retriever they'd gotten as a puppy when Victoria was six months pregnant with Mary. Avery had adored Mary, protecting her everywhere they went.

"You've got to let her grow up some time," Mary said quietly, eyes still on her work, a subtle frown between her brows, her nose with a dainty little crinkle to it.

Chris frowned. "Do I have to?"

"You've seen how effectively trying to control my every moment has worked out for you," Mary said, and this time she looked up. She stared him right in the eyes as she said, "Want your relationship with her to deteriorate to the same point ours has?"

"Well, given how effective it was when your mom and I tried to talk to you about sex—" Mary let out a deep, throaty chuckle that resonated through the room, and, for a second, touched Chris's heart "—that's my point exactly! And not wanting Kate and her opinions anywhere near Allison on the subject, your mom and I were hoping that perhaps you'd…talk to her."

"Mom wants me to talk to Allison about sex?" Mary shot him a dangerous look. "She told me she'd beat the shit out of me if I even touched a boy, you know that sure as hell didn't have the intended outcome… The threat or the beating." She scratched away rather hard at her board; he could hear each pass of the pen.

"I would like you to talk to Allison," Chris sighed. "Talk to her about sex, about boys, dating. I know Allison always blamed us as the reason she'd never have a boyfriend in high-school—"

"Which you love—"

"Which your mom and I love, yes, but something about this kid…" Chris sighed, and Mary glanced up, eyeing him thoughtfully, gauging his expression, his tells, as he observed the delicate twinkle of her dangly gold earring, the pretty lip-colour she was wearing, even her outfit. Used to be, he could tell what kind of mood she was in, what she was dealing with emotionally, by what she wore. Now, he had no clue. He sighed, then grudgingly admitted, "She likes him."

"Wow," Mary gasped, eyes widening in incredulous delight, even smiling. "You hate him!"

"I don't hate him."

"You twitched," she observed, with a delighted smile he saw too rarely. "You hate him."

"Alright, I hate him," Chris muttered.

"You never got like this with me with any of the boys I dated," Mary observed idly.

"That's because you never brought any of them home," Chris shot back.

"Maybe I didn't want you scaring them off with your rabid-dog story," Mary said, raising her eyebrows, giving him a pointed expression. "Face it, Dad, you're scary."

"I'm not scary," he said, in a deadpan tone that made Mary chuckle.

"You are. You're intimidating. You're a terrifying Alpha-male," she said, then chuckled softly, shaking her head. She licked her lips, and sighed, "Poor kid."

"Whatever. I'm your dad," Chris said. "It's my job."

"Right."

"But you're Allison's big-sister, so would you just… She'll listen to you. What you say to her does have an influence on her."

"Right." Mary laughed.

"You remember when you started going to parties, one night you took Allison along," Chris said. Much as he had been loathe to do it, when Mary had started being asked out to parties and on dates, it had become more dangerous not to allow her to go, when she had spent her entire life training to evade detection and capture by him. Now that she was trained with Hunter tactics, she could get away from him even easier.

"When?"

"When we were living in Minnesota."

"You're lucky we're not still living in Minnesota. Having sex's basically the only thing to do." Chris stifled a twitch. Talking about sex with his eldest daughter wasn't on his To-Do list for the day. And her talking about sex in such a blasé tone really unnerved him.

"But you took her to a party, and you came home and, you remember, you were still sharing a bedroom?" Chris said. Back when things were easier, simpler…they had been kind to Mary.

"I remember," Mary mumbled, her eyes downcast, her features…incredibly sad. Chris flicked his eyes over his daughter's lax face. There weren't many times in the last two years when that irreverent, accusing smile had slipped, but when it had, it had revealed emotions Chris didn't want to even contemplate his daughter having to hide. Because of them. "I made popcorn, we sat up talking about boys and kissing…"

"And when she got invited to her first dance, you took her shopping, taught her how to do her makeup," Chris reminded her. No matter her relationship with Chris and Victoria, Mary had always taken care of Allison, being the big-sister, the motherly figure Victoria had never been, full of advice and compassion, kindness.

"Yeah, well, she couldn't go to Mom about that stuff," Mary said, and a harsh, bitter edge crept into her tone, her eyes sharpening with a glare as she scratched away with her pen.

"Well, exactly," Chris sighed.

"Alright, fine," Mary yawned, capping her pen. "I'll give her some sisterly, and wise, advice."

"Thank you," Chris smiled. Then he frowned, aghast and panicky. "But don't let her think we're telling her to go and have sex!"

"She's nearly seventeen, Dad," Mary sighed, then she laughed, "She's not looking for permission. I'm sure as hell not gonna do to her what you let Mom do to me."

"Well… I appreciate you being such a good big-sister to Allison," Chris sighed.

"Uh-huh."

She had been asked to talk to her sister about sex. All day, as she sat through her AP classes, becoming more and more bored and morose, doodling in the sketchbook she brought to class with her texts and composition-notebooks exactly for the purpose, Mary had been dwelling on her own sexual experiences, with whom, and, more terrifyingly, her mother's reaction to finding her birth-control patches. Mary would never forget her mother's episode that night. It had been the worst ever, and she had had to try to explain to…to Tommy…exactly where she had gotten the bruises and the split-lip.

He'd been ready to take someone's head off for hurting her, fearing she'd been mugged, or worse. In English, the teacher discussing Measure for Measure and their forthcoming study of the Shakespearean History King John, Mary had sat, head tucked down on her arm, gazing at the small photograph she had kept tucked in her wallet, of her and Tommy, in a blistering afternoon on the beach at Santa Cruz. She could still taste the fresh saltwater-taffy, could feel the rickety old wooden rollercoaster, the warm sand between her toes, Tommy's strong hand between her thighs, wrapped up in a towel so no-one saw…could remember how happy they had been, so in love with each other… Her big strong bear, intimidating as shit to other guys, six-foot-five and ripped, but the definition of protective, comforting and affectionate, warm…she had always felt safe in his arms.

She hadn't been happy for weeks—but today was a new low. She was utterly miserable.

The only good thing was that being miserable meant her body felt too lethargic to be unbearably horny. Which meant she could function like a regular person without pining and whimpering for the guy in her History class with the great ass and firm biceps to take her down to the boiler-room again like he had last week, just to take the edge off. She couldn't face the idea of doing that today, not in her present mood; today she was liberated from her hungry honey-pot making all her decisions for her, but only because she was spiralling into a depressive mood that would culminate in her hitting the nearest bar after Track and Field. And wallowing.

She'd made a promise to somebody in the past year not to introspect. To live her life, as if her friends were living vicariously through her. To be the life of the party. But the douche she had made the promise to had ended up carving out what little remained unscathed of her mutilated heart, serving it up to the rest of the Pack to take a stab at.

She sighed deeply, eyeing her locker-door, muttered, "Damn," and smacked her forehead against the cool metal, resisting the burn in her eyes threatening to overwhelm her. She raised a fist to pump the side of it lightly against the locker beside hers, eyes closed, and sighed again. Thinking about Tommy, then about him, and the Pack…damn it, if she wanted to introspect like a bitch, and wallow and drink herself into a stupor because today she couldn't handle it, she would! She had endured personal tragedy after tragedy, devastated and…alone. And it was hard. It hurt. If she wanted to get shit-faced because today, she couldn't cope with her heart being eviscerated, well, she'd earned the right to deal with her pain any way she wanted.

She wanted to get legless and cry.

She bumped her forehead gently against the cool metal of her locker again, taking a shaky breath, and as she subtly inhaled, she recognised a familiar scent amongst the chaotic perfume of a high-school corridor. Allison.

She couldn't go out and get wasted to drown her annihilated emotions, and fill up the endless, gaping chasm that had once been the location of her heart, because she had to be the big-sister and do something unselfish and give the benefit of her experience to a little-sister who'd never suffered their mother's psychotic viciousness. Mary had always tried to protect Allison from it.

She certainly wasn't going to leave it up to Johnny Hormones to teach Allison about safety, and she would never want Allison to go to their mother. If Allison wanted to go on the pill, as an eighteen-year-old and legal adult, Mary could do a lot for her that she'd had to do in secret so she didn't get caught and pistol-whipped by her mother.

Sisterly bonding… How precious, she thought, miserable, tired and definitely ready to go and curl up under a feather duvet and never come out, unless it was to poke her head out to suck at a bendy straw sticking out of a bottle of rum.

She was miserable all day.

And nobody noticed.

It was the new reality of her life; that nobody noticed.

But she noticed everything; she had to focus on not noticing that she heard everything, saw things other people didn't, smelled everything, felt people's emotions as keenly as her own sometimes. She had to work at pretending she didn't feel everything.

But for the first time in weeks, she was curious. There were aspects of her personality that had been heightened by the Bite, and some that had developed because of it; curiosity, wiliness, a love of rough play and touch had become part and parcel of her gift. The fact she had been so miserable lately, with intermittent bouts of unendurable lust, had quelled a lot of her other emotions, tamped down her heightened senses… Because she just hadn't cared. But now she was curious.

In the library during her afternoon free-period (when she would usually be in the boiler-room having sex or getting stoned, or cutting out early) she set up a search page on a free computer, and looked into the Hale family… One article she found had featured a family photograph. It was a completely different Derek Hale in that picture than the one she had met in the woods. He had such a breathtaking smile; in the photograph, he had been grinning, his eyes sparkling, his expression open and jovial, happy. He'd still had the same ripped arms, though.

He looked like his mother. Talia. Pretty name, she thought, the heart she had thought already too battered to have any sensitivity left squeezing at the sight of the photograph. There was a young girl propped on Derek's hip; she had full lips, warm brunette hair pulled into a sloppy ballerina-bun, and wore high-tops and a plain denim-coloured shift dress. Studying the caption beneath the photograph, Mary read, 'Cora Hale, aged eleven'.

The Hunter Code was that they never went after anyone unless they had absolute, irrefutable proof that the werewolf being targeted had spilt human blood. Of course, when Hunters trawled the woods just looking for an opportunity to shoot werewolves full of arrows, there would always be casualties when said werewolves defended themselves against a vicious, no-mercy attack.

But they never went after anyone but adult werewolves.

At least…that was the rule. And gazing at the gentle, affectionate smile emanating from Cora Hale's soft, guileless face as she gazed at the photographer, she couldn't imagine how anyone would want to see her suffer such a horrific death. Mary only hoped the smoke and fumes killed her before the flames reached her.

She read the articles on the internet, written about the fire six years ago; the family had been stuck in the basement of their old Victorian house in the woods, where the Hale family still owned most of the land. Whether they had been trapped there, investigators couldn't ascertain due to the damage, though there was speculation it hadn't been an accident, rather, arson. Fire destroyed as much as water in crime-scenes; Mary had learned that from Criminal Minds. Taking notes, on how to commit matricide and get away with it.

Reading about the fire, seeing the faces of the ten people who had died—four beautiful children with sweet, precocious, dimpled smiles—and the sole survivor, Peter Hale, who had survived with burns to seventy-five percent of his body, Mary felt a swell of sorrow that threatened to overspill with tears, and remembering what Derek Hale had said to her in the woods, knowing that Kate had lived here in Beacon Hills six years ago… Having seen what she had of her aunt's sadistic pleasure in torturing an innocent werewolf for information on his pack…Derek's accusation hit hard and…didn't surprise her that she agreed with his belief in her aunt's part in the fire.

She had seen what Kate was capable of. So Mary had no trouble believing she could have done this. But an entire family?

Kate was even more messed up than she had guessed.

Even more reason for Mary to keep herself as distanced from the Argent family career-path. And to make sure Kate didn't start pouring poison in Allison's ear.

After years of Krav Maga, Israeli martial-arts, making sure she could defend herself against any attacker, her dad had ambushed her with her first training session; she had been abducted. Hunters close to her father who had orchestrated it had been surprised and impressed by her levelheadedness about the whole thing…after one of them had bandaged a broken rib and another, his fractured fingers; another had to have his nose re-set because Mary had broken it so beautifully. She had been fifteen at the time. And after she had learned all she wanted, and seen Kate's behaviour, she had walked away. After the lack of success with her, their parents had probably decided to stave off getting Allison started on her training.

Mary had trained in Krav Maga, horse-riding and shooting. Her dad used to take her to the range. She had liked the horses, grudgingly accepted (but vocally objected) to her Krav Maga training, because having once broken her knuckle during a training session, she couldn't hold a paintbrush for a month, and she loved to paint. But the guns? She had a hat-box full of them; one of the only things she had ever done with her dad in the past two years had been going to the gun-range.

Her family's cover for their extra-curricular double-life as werewolf-Hunters had always been selling firearms to law-enforcement. It followed that a. they were always surrounded by guns and 2. they learned how to use them properly so there weren't any accidental shootings… And the gun-cabinets in the garage were always locked so there couldn't be any pre-meditated matricides.

At the end of the school day, Allison finished with her gymnastics training, Mary dawdling in, yawning, from her Track and Field practice, it was unusual to see so many teenagers lingering, but with Allison's best-friend being the most academically-gifted student in the school, with a GPA higher than even Mary's, the B-Period class after school let out at the same time as most of the sports practices, and with her face fresh and glowing from exercise, Mary saw Allison giggling with her friend.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the little strumpet," she said, on an irreverent sigh, propping her hip against the lockers, idly holding on to her backpack strap. Allison blushed, and her friend's lips twitched, eyes sparkling. Mary beckoned a curled finger at Allison. She'd been wondering how to broach the subject of Allison's impending womanhood, and figured cosmetics and tequila might help her get through it without shuddering. Too much. "Come along, we're going to have a little chat. About biology."

"I thought you're taking AP Physics," Allison said, with a bemused frown. Mary grabbed her by the scruff of the neck, and Allison laughed and waved over her shoulder to Lydia as Mary pushed her playfully toward the door. Oh, dear.

A.N.: I kind of wish either I'd had an older-sister, or a younger sister. I only have a brother who's completely opposite to me in personality, so we pretty much find each other intolerable. But I'd like Mary to be like…the epitome of the cool older-sister. Any help on how to achieve that through my writing would be helpful!

I finally managed to download episode five from IsoHunt, which had been out for thirteen hours and I—was—not—impressed, so I've watched "Frayed"… If you've got an hour, I'll tell you my problems with it, and I'll also cast my vote to sacrifice Jennifer. I saw the promo for next week's episode, screamed "NOOOOOOO" at the screen and burst into tears.

In the words of Gollum, "It's—OURS."