A.N.: I'd been wondering about the feminine of 'fraternal' for ages. Sororal… So, this is an update for you all, to celebrate my results and my getting a job (gulp!).

Jekyll and Hyde

04

Sororal Bonding

Mary knew the Beacon Hills mall; there were actually two. One just fifteen minutes from the high-school (a prime location for kids who skipped math to go to the movies at the small theatre, play games and have pizza at the arcade) and another tucked downtown, a three-storey plaza in a huge redbrick sky-rise. It was always busy, because there were restaurants, bars and nightclubs leasing the larger venues. Above the three-storey plaza was a parking-lot, with elevators both down to the shops and up, to what Mary guessed were offices and/or lofts. It was here Mary brought Allison.

"This car is seriously…hot," Allison said, eyeing the carefully-treated leather interior of Mary's car. It was a pristinely-restored iridescent-burgundy 1969 GTO. Mary's ex, the one she didn't like to think about, had shown her how to piece it together as a sort of therapy to help her recover from the accident that had killed her boyfriend, best-friend and another friend.

"Thanks," she sighed, turning the key in the ignition so the deep, sexy rumble of the engine quieted. He had helped her put together the car to give her new memories of cars; having sex on nearly every part of this car had certainly helped with her aversion to getting into it, but now, of course, she couldn't look over the bonnet without remembering…

Dick, she thought, his face flickering through her memory.

"So…what're we doing here?" Allison asked, a little warily. Mary yawned, shrugging.

"Haven't got you anything for your birthday yet," she said.

"Oh," Allison said, a tiny half-smile illuminating her pale face. Last year, Mary had given her a really killer vintage leather jacket from the boutique she used to work at part-time. She hadn't thought as far ahead as Allison's seventeenth birthday this year, what with moving, and her own moroseness. But if Dad wanted them to bond so Mary could dish some wise and cautionary advice on her little-sister, she guessed shopping would butter her up and break a little of the ice she'd felt from Allison the last few months. She knew she wasn't the easiest person in the world to approach when she got like this, but she'd never thought Allison would become unnerved by her presence, awkward about starting a conversation with her.

"You don't have to get me anything," Allison flushed, as they entered the plaza. Mary preferred it to the huge mall; there were better stores here, unique boutiques, very few food-chains, an independent bookstore/café, covert doors to a 'speakeasy'-style bar, her favourite club and it was the location of her workplace—Sephora. It was a smaller store than the one at the mall, but did better business and the atmosphere was great. Besides, at one a.m. when Mary had finished restocking the shelves, she could change outfits and saunter into one of the clubs to go on the prowl, and get herself a bottle of Pepto Bismol from the little drugstore and breakfast at the café without having to even leave the building.

Now that was true convenience.

"I mean…I forgot to get you something for your birthday," Allison continued, as Mary kept the door propped open for her into the main gallery. She glanced at her sister. Allison was shorter than her by about six significant inches, even without heels, and with her pouting lower-lip and the fluttering single-falsies she liked to tuck at the outer corners of her eyes, she looked very young.

"That's okay. Your shame gives me prime guilt-tripping material for an entire year," Mary said honestly. Not that she would ever guilt-trip anyone over missing her birthday; she just didn't care that much about it. She'd heard that started to happen when you got older. But having had a blowout eighteenth amongst her pack, which had lasted an entire weekend and of which Mary remembered…only the best parts…well, this year, she had been in the same position as she had every other birthday in her life; alone. Nobody to celebrate it with. After the insane party the pack had thrown for her, well… She could say she resented them for it, for letting her know what she could have, and then taking it all away without mercy.

"Right," Allison smiled embarrassedly. "So, um…where do we start?"

"Well, I have to pick something up over there," Mary said, and Allison trailed after her, eyes wide, hands tucked in her blazer pockets, her cheeks flushing as Mary strode boldly into the lingerie boutique she had fell in lust with on first spotting it. 'Naughty', 'Sweet', 'Slutty' and 'Downright Scary' were the unofficial categories the lingerie was organised into; Mary knew the system because she worked one shift there every week, in between her twenty hours at Sephora and her Track and Field practices after school. One shift a week wasn't much, but it gave one of the owners a shift off to spend time with her kid, and besides, Mary got a discount! She chatted with one of the salesgirls as she picked up her purchase, wrapped beautifully in a pristine box lined with perfumed tissue-paper and boutique bag with a silky ribbon, and wandered around the boutique while Allison blushed but admired some of the lingerie.

Mary eyed her sister, then the racks of beautiful lingerie, reaching for a cute but slightly precocious demi-cup bra in teal lace and silk with tiny turquoise bows, "Okay… Considering I could snap you in half like a Number Two pencil…here, that should fit you," she said, handing it to Allison, with the matching mini-cheekie panties Mary loved, not quite a thong but not cheekie-panties either.

"Um…" Allison blushed, eyeing the underwear.

"What?" Mary said, raising her eyebrows. "Throw Scott a bone!" Allison choked on a laugh, flushing, but Mary shrugged. Allison didn't buy the lingerie, but Mary loved the teal colour and the tiny turquoise bow, so she put it on her mental shopping-list to acquire at a later date, i.e. when she had saved enough from her pay-cheques at Sephora, where they headed next because Allison wanted a new lip-gloss.

"Okay, I know you loved Huntsman, but, seriously, Chris Hemsworth was the best-looking member of that cast, and…chéri, Kristen Stewart is not a girl you want to aspire to be, so, please—just embrace colour and contouring already!" Mary said, wincing as the lighting inside Sephora completely washed her sister's face out.

"What?" Allison laughed, dimpling prettily as her eyelashes fluttered.

"If I ever catch you pouting during photos like you're hardcore, and giving everyone attitude, well…I'll have to take your life. Shortly before my own," Mary said, honestly, and Allison chuckled as Mary handed her a compact of Too Faced 'Tan Without the Twinkle' and a Benefit Cosmetics 'Watts Up'.

"What're these for?"

"Contouring and highlighting…you need something for a bit of warmth, though," Mary said softly, eyeing the displays. She helped stock these shelves, so she knew where everything lived despite having only worked in this store for a month; she had put in for a transfer from her San Francisco boutique, and got twenty hours a week because she was still in high-school. With healthcare benefits, not that she needed them, as well as gratis products, training and a fab discount, Mary loved working there, even with the god-awful new 'designer' uniforms. She liked that she didn't have to hide her tattoo, was encouraged to wear bold looks, and could work nights to do restocking so she didn't have to go home.

"But, Mary, it's winter, nobody expects me to look tanned and…whatever," Allison said, giving her a look.

"Honey, it's California. People expect you not to look like you walked out of an embalmer's," Mary said, and Allison laughed, blushing a little. Mary found the NARS section, honing in on the shimmering apricot 'South Beach' Multiple. "Here, Miss Pale-Face, this'll look great with your skin-tone."

"It's apricot," Allison crinkled her nose.

"I've worked in Sephora for a year; I think I've learned what'll suit different people's skin-tones!" Mary said, raising her eyebrows. "Including yours, now take that stuff to the cashier."

"Why…can't you buy it for me?" Allison smiled coyly. "I mean, don't you get a discount."

"Well, yes, but if I buy for someone else I lose my job," Mary said, shrugging idly. "And a. I like the gratis and 2. You still get an allowance so you can pony up the cash to pay full-price."

"You get an allowance too," Allison smiled. Mary's eyebrows flew up.

"I haven't had an allowance since I was fifteen!" she corrected.

When Mary had walked away from Hunting as her future career, Victoria had put her foot down and declared that if Mary wanted to forge her own path, she could do so by her own steam…with her own finances. In an effort to control Mary's choice, Victoria had assumed that the fear of having to work for what she wanted would intimidate Mary into obedience; it had only spurred Mary to take on two part-time jobs since she was fifteen. So she didn't have to ask her parents for money to buy anything she wanted; that way, it couldn't be taken away from her out of spite. Every pay-cheque she earned was split, two-thirds put into savings and one-third for her to spend. Every pay-cheque, and with two part-time jobs for the last four years, full-time during the summer, extra hours at Christmastime, Mary had put away quite an amazing sum of money already.

In a world of dreams, she would have been able to go to the San Francisco Academy of Art for college. Funding her college education herself meant her choices were severely limited, but she was determined to do it; she figured, if she worked full-time, she could stretch out her college education in night-classes at a local school, instead of trying to juggle a full academic calendar around shifts at work to fund her lifestyle. Admittedly her lifestyle wasn't excessive, but being able to provide for herself was the only reason she hadn't yet moved out. She was still saving, so that if she fell on hard times once she did move out, all was not lost.

She couldn't stand the thought of being beholden to her parents years down the line, coming back to them tail between her legs looking for help. She knew exactly what her mother would say. And because she was a shit-scary she-dragon, Mary's dad would back her up. He always did.

And whatever her relationship had once been with her dad, Mary couldn't get over him cowing to Victoria, rather than stepping in, moderating her crazy.

With the consulting business, their family was very well-off, her dad didn't have to work anymore; he had always said he wanted to retire when Mary was twenty-five, so when she started popping out babies he'd be the kind of grandpa he'd always wanted to be, doting, affectionate, fun. Not the father he'd had, or the father he had now become through his wife's interference and cruelty. He spoiled Allison to compensate for the moves and their mother's vicious personality, but Mary…she no longer indulged in the benefits of having a successful father. He didn't give Mary allowance, but Allison hadn't fucked up in his eyes and he continued to pay her off for being an uncomplaining goody-goody.

Allison rolled her eyes, amused, and eyed the makeup Mary had passed to her. "Okay, so if I buy this, how do I actually use it?"

"Oh my—haven't you learned how to use this stuff yet? There's only about a billion videos on YouTube of amateur makeup-artists using those products," Mary tutted, shaking her head. "Go buy it, later I'll show you how to use it so you look like you, but, y'know…better."

"Nice," Allison laughed softly, but she looked over the three products before glancing up at Mary. "Aren't you getting anything?"

"Well, I was thinking about acquiring a new lip-gloss. I mean, I only have two whole buckets of lip-products," she said playfully, not quite exaggerating the truth; Mary loved lip-products. She and Allison moseyed around the store, sampling the different glosses that caught their eye. While Allison stocked up on a MAC 'Bare Necessity' Dazzleglass, her favourite staple, Mary examined the UrbanDecay Lip Junkie glosses she had spied during her last shift, and as she sampled one, Allison wandered over, gaze mildly curious.

"Hey, that's a really pretty colour on you," she said softly. "What's it called?" Mary glanced at the tube of shimmering purplish-fuchsia gloss.

"'Jilted'," she read off the tube, then rolled her eyes and gave a hollow laugh at the irony. That about summed it up. Jilted. No longer useful, loved or important. Swept aside. Fucked over.

A very apt way to sum up Mary's current situation.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"You can," Mary said, eyeing her sister. "I reserve the right not to answer if I don't like it."

Allison laughed softly, her cheeks dimpling. "Did you have a boyfriend in San Francisco?" Mary glanced at Allison again, as they approached the cashier's counter. She sighed.

"Yeah. I did," she admitted grudgingly. Today was obviously not her day. But their dad had asked her to give Allison some of her hard-earned sage wisdom, and, well, rejection and depression were all just part and parcel of dating. Being in love.

Screw it. She needed a drink.

"Take your leggings off."

"What?!" Allison laughed. They stood in the multi-storey car-park, the trunk of Mary's car open. Stashed inside it were empty bags from boutiques, a few novels, CD cases and unopened bottles of SoBe, cans of Arizona Iced-Tea, packets of printed photographs, random tubes of acrylic paint, Clif bars, a couple apples, a few condoms and several crumpled In N' Out Burger bags. Mary used to work there, and there was nowhere else she would suffer to buy burgers from now. That wasn't all that her trunk contained: a wicker-basket was full of crocheted granny-square blankets, a rolled-up sleeping-bag, even a pillow; a small, battered icebox was pushed to the back of the trunk, full of bottles of water, beer, one of rum, and pots, tubes and palettes of makeup she used after shifts at work to get ready to go out; there was a glossy Cath Kidston tote spilling out an Original Source pineapple shower-gel, Dove conditioner, a beach-towel, two bikini tops and three mismatched bottoms; a flat black artist's portfolio, a few composition-notebooks, and tubes of hair-product were scattered on the mat, still sandy from frequent beach-excursions last summer. A handful of clean panties were tucked into a plastic tub with a few pairs of Mary's favoured high-heels and a load of clean clothes. She had a tendency to get changed out in the parking-lot after work, do her makeup, then head to the bars and clubs, then return, switch outfits, clean her face, redo her makeup and brush her teeth in the restroom of the café she breakfasted in, and head out to school.

She had eyed Allison's outfit, the crinkled curls, her leather jacket, and as she searched through the contents of her trunk, Allison laughed at her in surprised incredulity.

"Take your leggings off—and put these on," Mary said, handing her sister a pair of killer strappy black heels.

"What? Mary—I won't even be able to walk in these," Allison said. "Why do I need to even put these on?"

"Because in those leggings you look sixteen—take them off, put on a pair of heels, I'll do your makeup and you can pass for twenty-two," Mary said, tugging her own wine-red Converses off, perched on the edge of her trunk, and shimmied out of her jeans in favour of a pair of little leather shorts and a pair of cut-out black velvet t-bar heels, added a delicate gold necklace, sprayed product in her hair, and smudged her MAC 'Rich Glance' gold eye-pencil for a smoky look, and eyed Allison.

"Why do I need to look twenty-two?"

"Because I'm taking you for a drink," Mary said, eyeing Allison as she negligently reapplied her Lipstick Queen Sinner 'Natural' lipstick in one practiced sweep.

"What?" Allison laughed. "Why?"

"Because—" Mary blinked at her. Usually a teenager was raring to sneak into a club for a drink; Allison was questioning why Mary would want to drag her into a bar? "Because I want a drink! I've had a bad day."

"So…you've started drinking when you've had a rough time?" Allison said quietly. Wow. Loaded question, sis, very subtle, Mary thought.

"I've started drinking because hot guys usually go to bars, and they're easier to pick up after a few beers," Mary said honestly. "If I don't go out for a few beers and boy, I'll end up going to In N' Out and eating five Double-Double Animal-Style burgers, three trays of fries and two milkshakes, and the shame of that will stay with me a lot longer than sex with a random stranger." Allison laughed, eyes flying wide as she blushed. "Besides, you're nearly seventeen; it's about time I taught you how to do tequila shots."

She did Allison's makeup, giving her smoky eyes from her NAKED2 palette, and frowned. "What is up with your hair these days, anyway?"

"You don't like it?"

"It's just…" She grimaced, eyeing the confused curls tumbling either side of Allison's pale face. "You need more warmth, honey. Something to balance out your pale skin, not turn you into a female Damon Salvatore."

"You love Damon Salvatore," Allison smiled.

"Well, yeah, he's a strikingly handsome man," Mary said, pinning Allison's hair away from her face. "But deathly-pale isn't a healthy beauty-look. You need to keep your hair out of your face." Allison rolled her eyes. Getting her ready to go out, Mary led the way to one of her favourite dive bars, a place with walls papered with concert fliers, old punk posters, a gummy texture to the floor, tall round tables, a stage for nightly acts, a pool-table and random detritus of good nights out. It was already picking up a bit, and the bouncer Mary was on friendly terms with let her and Allison in; Mary got them a pitcher of beer, a couple of tequila shots each, and ordered a big gooey pizza—half meat-feast with olives, half green-peppers for Allison—to make sure she didn't have to carry Allison out of the bar in an hour's time.

"They serve you here, without asking for I.D.?" Allison said, looking incredulously at Mary as she poured them both a glass of beer. Mary shrugged.

"I slept with the bartender a few weeks ago," she said honestly.

"What, here?" Allison said, eyes widening, and she lifted her arm off the bar. "Like on the bar?"

Mary chuckled richly. "The bar, the back-room…it was a long night. Anyways, now I do inventory for him some nights."

Allison frowned, sipping her beer. "Is that where you always are, when you're not home at night? You're working?"

"I've got a lot of odd jobs," Mary sighed, licking salt off her hand and downing her tequila shot without thought, sucking on a lime-wedge and tossing the rind onto a napkin. She did have a lot of odd jobs around Beacon Hills; she was a girl who knew how to put herself out there, and had been taught where to look for people who didn't care about age-restrictions and legal issues. So she could work a couple shifts a month as a bouncer to a strip-club because she was so strong, and made the girls feel safe; helped put together underground raves, taking home a few hundred a night; she could do inventory at bars; she got paid to model nude at the local college during portraiture lessons.

Officially, she worked at Sephora twenty hours a week, one shift at the lingerie boutique, and saved two-thirds of her income. Unofficially, she deposited all of the cash she made under-the-table from lucrative odd jobs here and there into her savings account in small chunks.

She took a sip of beer, then licked more salt off her hand, knocked back her second tequila shot and sucked on another lime-wedge. Sighing, she eyed Allison, who had been watching her curiously, dark eyes skittering apprehensively to her own two little shots of tequila. "Come on. Peer pressure. Just do the one if you want. Lick your hand…" She taught Allison how to do a tequila-shot properly, and took her second, when the pizza arrived.

Pouring a glass of beer for Allison, Mary topped up her own and took a sip. "So, how's your Scott situation going?"

"My Scott situation?" Allison smiled, dimpling, and Mary shrugged.

"C'mon, if Dad came to me to ask me to talk to you, you know it's pretty serious," Mary said, and Allison's eyebrows rose.

"Dad asked you to talk to me?" Allison flushed, her eyes widening.

"It's better than him getting one of his Glocks out at the dinner-table," Mary said, shrugging slightly, and Allison chuckled softly, nodding her agreement. Mary took a sip of beer and sighed, eyeing her little sister. They had never been the closest, strange for two girls who'd never had anybody else growing up, but Mary hadn't realised until now that Allison was almost the same age she had been when she'd started dating Tommy. Glancing at Allison, she asked quietly, "Would you have used the condom?"

"I just…thought that it'd…be good to take precautions," Allison said shyly, flushing.

"You've only just met this boy," Mary observed. They had lived in Beacon Hills a month; Allison was already contemplating taking precautions with a boy she liked.

"You're going to lecture me on having sex with a boy I just met?" Allison laughed, her cheeks dimpling, and Mary rolled her eyes. She wasn't lecturing, she just…wanted to know. "Mary, Stiles has heard the rumours about you."

"What the hell is a Stiles?" Mary asked, and Allison laughed.

"Stiles is Scott's best-friend. He has ADHD. Trust me, if you meet him, you'll know you've met Stiles," Allison chuckled softly. Mary raised an eyebrow.

"Sure… Anyway, I am jaded when it comes to boys and sex. Have Mom threaten your life if you ever dare have sex, then get the beating she promised you when she found your birth-control patches…" Mary trailed off, taking a swig of beer.

Allison was quiet for a minute. "She did that?"

"She had one of her episodes," Mary said casually, trying to wave it aside. "So just think about that—I broke them." She glanced at Allison with a playful smirk. "You've got it so easy as the baby. The favourite."

"I'm not the favourite."

"Yes, you are," Mary corrected, a little sternly. She softened, as she said, "And that's okay. But at least you have the benefit of my experience, so you don't have to go to Mom about this."

Allison gazed into nothingness, then nodded thoughtfully. "I guess…"

"Because it's awkward and scary enough already. And that's just picking out outfits for dates…" Allison laughed. They finished their pizza, topping off their beers, and Mary led her sister over to an empty pool-table. They started shooting pool—Mary started teaching Allison how to shoot pool; her ex had enjoyed teaching her—and talking, not about anything really important, just…hanging out. They talked about Scott, what it was about him Allison liked, and they talked about school, the dour Mr Harris, the odd gym-teacher Coach Finstock (Mary rather enjoyed his eccentricity), Allison's new friends, and just…spent time not being awkward in each other's presence.

"Alright, listen up," Mary said, pausing to drain the last of her beer for a little extra courage. She sighed, setting the empty glass down, and picked up her cue, eyeing Allison across the felted table. "You're nearly seventeen years old; you've got your first boyfriend… Our father thinks it's time I gave you some wise, and sisterly, advice about boys and sex and dating… So here goes." She took a deep breath, frowning, and said what she'd suffered the last four years of dating to learn; "If you're wondering if a boy is thinking about you, he's not. He's thinking about sex, or he's hungry. In my experience those are the only two options."

Allison burst out laughing. She got giggly when she was tipsy; a tray of chilli-cheese fries rested on a nearby table for them to pick at, so Allison didn't tip everybody off that she was a lightweight. "Are you trying to be funny?"

"I'm not finished," Mary said, though she was smiling. She sighed. "Boys think about sex every minute of the day. That's what they do—that is why they lie. They're gonna leave you waiting around for them to call and they won't call. They're gonna be cruel and they're gonna be misleading. By and large, popular high-school athletes are the worst culprits for this behaviour, however, having sampled my way through various cliques at numerous high-schools, I can say with certainty it's pretty much a universal malady suffered by teenage boys."

"You're not really inspiring me with much confidence, Mary," Allison said, her eyes bright as her lashes fluttered, the dimples winking in her cheeks. Mary shrugged.

"Okay, well, maybe this will: They grow out of it," she said. She had learned that, too. "But before that maturity sets in, sometimes, if you want one, you're going to have to take initiative." She fixed Allison with a stern eye. "And don't ever let anybody tell you that you can't take initiative and chase boys, and make the first move, or always be on top, or take what you want without giving anything back, because that's backward, and the girls who tell you that are the ones who spend their nights at home." Allison smiled. "But you've got pretty good instincts, and that you're interested in Scott says a lot about him already."

"He's just…different from a lot of the boys I've known," Allison blushed. Mary watched her sister. The first blush of love… Mary could remember feeling gushy and warm, a bundle of nerves and excitable energy, unable to breathe when she was away from Tommy, hating being away from him, thinking about him all the time… Now the thought of feeling that way again made her physically ill, nauseated, terrified and aware of just how hollow she felt inside…

"So how was it?" she asked, putting on a jaunty smirk to conceal her emotional deprivation.

"How was what?" Allison blushed.

"You had him over to study and stole a condom, and you didn't even give him a sneak-preview?" Mary said, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, we did…make out, just a little bit," Allison blushed, her dimples winking.

"Uh-huh," Mary said, eyeing her sister thoughtfully. She flicked her eyebrows up in a thoughtful expression and nodded. "I know you're a confident enough girl not to get pushed into doing something you're not comfortable with."

"Yeah, I…I know…"

"It's awkward, learning all this new stuff…about your body, and about his, it's going to be unnerving no matter what you do," Mary said quietly. They had been smiling, teasing before; she had given Allison the benefit of her experience about dating teenage boys who only had one thing on their filthy little minds, but she had learned that it wasn't the dating part that was tough, broke hearts… "Letting somebody touch you, giving them that trust. Sex is awkward, it's personal and terrifying and…" she paused, trying to find the right word to describe how she had felt with Tommy, and with…he-who-shall-not-be-named… "Ecstatic." She swallowed, sighing softly, and glanced up at Allison, trying to tell her without words that…sex could be fierce and…and magical, it could be intimidating and exciting… "But, you know, in some ways…sex is the easy part. It's all the other stuff…emotional closeness, letting somebody in, allowing yourself to be vulnerable, and…to need someone."

Maybe he had spotted the huge, gaping hole of emotional vulnerability Mary had been suffering since the accident, and swooped in, taking advantage, but he had both picked up the pieces of her broken soul, melding them together again, only to shatter them again—the original wounds had shattered, along with new ones, because after what she had gone through with the pack, helping to put her together after the worst tragedy of her life, everything they had done for her, helped her rebuild, had been ripped away. And he hadn't done a damn thing.

"Letting yourself be vulnerable, to need somebody else… That's…a pretty incredible power to have over somebody," she said quietly, her throat burning. She winced, feeling a painful incision in the vicinity of her heart. "And…being safe isn't just about condoms…it's about knowing when it's okay to let your guard down and let somebody in. It's about not changing who you are to please somebody who might take advantage of it."

For a minute, Allison was quiet, just gazing back at Mary as she stared into the distance, dwelling on Tommy, and him, the pack, her terror at emotional intimacy with anyone now, in case she was brutalised the same way yet again. Hooking up with strangers to get off was just so much easier.

Then Allison said, "Are you done?" and the mood lifted. Mary gave her a sad smile, gazing at her from the corner of her eye. She set her cue down in the rack, and pulled on her jacket with a lethargy that was more emotional than physical, though three-quarters of a pitcher of beer hadn't helped either. Sighing, she glanced at Allison, looking her right in the eye.

"You are sweet, you are innocent, and I never want to see any guy take advantage of that power over you…" she said honestly. As Allison's features opened up in an expressive look that said more about how much she appreciated Mary's words than anything, Mary added, "How'd I do?"

Allison laughed. "Scrapbook that to tell to your own daughters when they're sixteen." Mary smiled tensely… Daughters. Yeah. And how did she explain to her future baby-daddy that she was a werewolf who could rend him into teeny tiny pieces if he pissed her off?

"I love you, too," she said, rolling her eyes, but she was smiling. She glanced back at the pool-table. "You make a lousy pool-player though."

It hadn't been too painful; the beer had helped, and driving them back to the house, Mary yawned as Allison lectured her on drink-driving.

"If I'd downed three bottles of vodka and chased them with a keg, I'd still have better reflexes than most people," she said honestly, yawning again. She'd had a few very long days strung together, and today had been fun, in a nice, relaxing, no-boys-allowed way, so the beer that would usually have taken a lot more of to get her tipsy was having an effect as she pulled into the driveway. She had to assist Allison inside, not quite the seasoned heavyweight her older-sister was, and got her into her pyjamas, wiped her makeup off, put her hair in a braid, made her drink a big glass of water and refilled it, and left a little bottle of Pepto Bismol and two Advil on her bedside-cabinet, and tucked her into bed.

Allison gave her a sleepy, slightly-buzzed smile, eyes opening and closing like a tired little panda-bear, and sighed, "Thanks…for tonight."

Mary swallowed, tucking the duvet over her sister's frail little chicken-arms. "Yeah," she said softly. Last year she had made the conscious effort to sort of embrace the fact she had a little-sister who was now the age where she could start to be interesting and fun. She had snuck Allison into clubs, introduced her to boys, took her shopping, went to art-galleries, lunched out at cafés, toured the delights of San Francisco, went on day-trips…they had spent time together as if they were friends not strangers who just happened to be sisters.

In the last couple of months, she hadn't wanted anyone near her.

So while Allison had made friends with Lydia Martin and her egocentric boyfriend, had started dating Scott McCall and for once going against their parents' wishes and ignoring the police-enforced curfew, Mary was isolated emotionally and, usually, physically from everyone around her. She didn't know the names of the kids in her class, didn't particularly care because one way or another they would just be gone soon enough. It was early-March; she graduated in June. And, yes, while she had slept with a few boys in the senior class, sneaking down to the boiler-room to have fun with one of them practically every other day, that didn't mean she knew them, or wanted to get to know them. She was sure they were nice guys, but she just didn't care to know them; knowing them meant liking them, and liking them meant her soul would inevitably be crushed when she could no longer spend time with them, for whatever reason.

She turned off Allison's bedside-lamp and crept out of her bedroom, dodging cardboard-boxes and crates full of Allison's things. She wouldn't wish her current lifestyle on anyone, especially not her little-sister.

She still had a shot of growing up somewhat normal.

Making her way to her bedroom, a room as separate from the rest of the house as she could get, Mary stilled, tensing, quietly scenting the air. Her eyes narrowing, she edged toward the bedroom she had claimed. She could smell her. So quiet was her approach, Kate didn't sense her in the doorway; Mary watched her skim through novels, look inside Mary's box covered with a sugar-skull in puff-paint and flower decoupage, search the top drawer of her dresser, the little drawers of her dressing-table.

She always was a weasel. Mary didn't like her aunt whatsoever; but unlike her own mother, Mary wasn't afraid of Kate. She was too disdainful of her, an insincere, manipulative bitch who would die alone because she was too hard for anybody to love. She had the subtlety of dynamite.

"Looking for anything in particular?" Mary asked lightly, and Kate jumped a foot, Mary heard her heartbeat race, and felt a surge of satisfaction. As her aunt whirled around, Mary leaned in the doorway with her arms folded, expression blasé, eyes lingering on her aunt accusingly.

"Uh…No," Kate said, giving a practiced smile that spoke of blamelessness and dripped with insincerity. "Just…waiting for you, I wanted to have a chat—"

"With my jewellery-box?" Mary asked coolly. "Don't insult me; you were snooping."

"I was just interested in your life, sweetie," Kate said. Mary narrowed her eyes, her face falling into a grim expression.

"Don't call me 'sweetie'," she said softly. Kate used to call her that during Mary's training; it oozed of condescension. She frowned. "Why are you here?"

"Not thrilled your aunt came for a visit?"

"Argents don't do casual family visits," Mary said coolly. She knew her father hadn't called; he had announced that Kate was coming for a visit. Unofficially she was here as backup to help capture the Alpha terrorising Scott McCall, responsible for the murder of Laura Hale; officially this was just a casual drop-in from their twenty-something rootless aunt. She had the free-spirit act down but that was all it was; an act. She was a hard bitch who took sadistic pleasure in the torture of werewolves, didn't care about collateral damage and couldn't maintain a lasting relationship with anyone. "I thought you hated small towns. There's nothing for you to do. Especially Beacon Hills; I didn't think you ever revisited old haunts."

Kate shrugged. "You guys are here, thought it was time I dropped in to check on you."

"We lived in San Francisco for sixteen months, you never once came to visit," Mary said quietly. And she knew there was a network of werewolves in that city that outnumbered the total number of packs in some states. Why hadn't Kate come to San Francisco? When another dismembered, mutilated body was just one among a number that turned up daily; a perfect playing-ground for her. "What's special about Beacon Hills?" She glanced at Kate. Then asked lightly, "Have unfinished business here, or something?"

Kate didn't realise she needed to guard her responses or heartbeat around her family; but Mary didn't trust her and never would.

And her heartbeat jumped.

She wasn't here for a casual family visit. She was here to help Mary's dad catch the Alpha who killed Laura Hale, attacked the bus-driver and bit Scott McCall.

When an Argent turned rabid, they were put down, like the 'dogs' they hunted.

And if it turned out Derek Hale's suspicions were correct about Kate's involvement murdering eleven innocent people, there would be consequences for Kate, no matter if she was family.

If Mary's dad found out about the Hale fire, that Kate had been involved, when she was here six years ago…

She was here covering her own ass.

A.N.: Please review. I have three weeks' full-time training before I start work, so I won't have as much time to write, but I'll probably be daydreaming about Teen Wolf while I'm learning all this new stuff!