A.N.: So I'm at the scene in S05Pt02 Episode 2 where Chris Argent shows up - my reaction was literally "Daddy's home!" Oh, I like Chris Argent, I really do.
So, I've finished S05 - as I've no access to the new season, it's back to the beginning for me! Yay! I'm sort of canvasing for opinion on whether you care for the Dread Doctors/Ghost Riders story-arcs, as I didn't like most of season five - Corey was adorable; Hayden bugged the hell out of me; and I felt Kira's characterisation and Malia's interaction with the Desert Wolf were very rushed and overlooked - you want terror and awkward family-reunions, look to Isobel and Katherine's manipulation of and terrorisation of Elena on The Vampire Diaries (back when it was good!)
Jekyll and Hyde
09
Bubbly Baby Unicorns
"Did you hear about the mountain-lion?"
"I did. I also heard a rumour that Little Miss Perfect GPA skipped an entire day of school."
Allison winced. "I mean…I don't regret doing it. It was…Scott's birthday-present to me."
"Forget the mountain-lion, he should be wary of cougars. Does he know he's dating an older-woman?" Mary smirked.
"He's literally the only person who's ever guessed I had to be held back because of our moves," Allison said. "No 'do you ride the short-bus', no 'did you have a baby'? He understood."
"Guess he's smarter than he looks. And he looks pretty dopey," Mary sniffed. "Oh, by the way, I overheard Dad talking on the phone. They've scheduled your chastity-belt fitting for Tuesday."
"Very funny."
"Uh, I wouldn't be laughing," Mary said, deadpan, and Allison gave her a half-amused look, rolling her eyes. "So, while I was earning credits toward community-service, you were off romping in the woods with your boyfriend. Did you hear the call of the wild? I don't like this role-reversal; I think it's a sure sign of evil to come. Pretty soon I'll be staying home to play Uno with Mom and Daddy and Kate. Ugh."
"We missed you for Games Night."
"Yeah, well, I'm not interested in any game Kate thinks she's playing," Mary sighed, focusing on the pendant resting on Allison's chest, where the light glinted off it. She went cold, a frisson of anger and dread shivering through her. If she was in shift, her fur would be standing on end. "Where did you get that?"
Allison frowned warily at her abrupt change in tone. "Kate gave it to me. She says it's some family heirloom…"
"She shouldn't have given it to you," Mary frowned, staring intensely at the pendant. Allison had no idea of the blood that pendant was drenched in. Centuries of bloodshed, murder, torture and cruelty. Victoria used to wear it; Kate had tried to gift it to Mary as part of some sociopathic bonding thing. To Allison, it was just a pendant. To Mary, it was a reminder.
"Did…did you want it?" Allison asked hesitantly, glancing at Mary looking guilty. "I mean - you're the eldest. Shouldn't it go to you first?"
"I don't want anything to do with that," Mary said quietly, staring at the pendant, the clumsy wolf, the moon set into silver. Ancient, drenched in blood. "Do you know how many Argents killed themselves wearing that thing?"
"What?" Allison blanched.
"That pendant…that's a part of the family legacy nobody talks about. That thing's covered in blood. Look, I'll show you…" She took Allison's hand, leading her downstairs to the study, where she pulled vintage photograph-albums from one of the shelves. Allison pulled up a chair, frowning, as Mary opened the heaviest book to the first page. A once-sprawling family-tree had been pruned down to the single remaining branch, their own. The earliest names and birthdates went all the way back to the Seventeenth Century.
"See this? This little crescent symbol?" Mary said, glancing at Allison, who peered closer. A tiny crescent was inscribed on several names, each generation, scattered throughout the tree. A lot of the time, the crescent appeared at the very last name in different branches of the Argent family-tree, indicating its extinction. "This is the way our family kept note of suicides."
HenriꜤ b. 1732 - Marie-Jeanne b. 1741
OlivierꜤ - Sophie - Fabian b. 1769
Auguste b.1797 - Minette - ChristopheꜤ - FrancoiseꜤ - ClaudineꜤ
Louis b. 1835
Jean-Paul b. 1866
Francois - JeanꜤ - ReneꜤ - CamilleꜤ - Guillaume b. 1908
ꜤAlexander - Gerard b. 1936
Christopher b. 1969 - Katherine - Alexander
Mary Olivia b. 18 Aug, 1997- Allison Elizabeth b. 31 Jan, 1999
"I never noticed that before," Allison said softly.
"Yeah," Mary sighed. "I mean, traditionally, nobody spoke about suicide. It was too shameful, back when religion had a stronger hold on the world. And our family was historically baptised Catholic. But look at these…" She started going through photographs - the very oldest ones of their family-members, photographs taken of long-lost portraits painted of their ancestors, grim mid-Victorian photographs of women in billowing skirts and ringlets, men in top-hats and mutton-chop beards, grainy 1930s photographs, eventually coming into the coloured photographs of the Sixties and Seventies, and all the awful fashion-choices that went along with them. She pointed out the pendant, draped around the necks of or pinned to the clothing of their ancestors.
"This is Alexander, Dad's uncle. Did you ever wonder why Uncle Alec hates his name? In the Seventies, Alexander Argent tried to eat both barrels of a shotgun…" Mary said, flipping back to the picture of two unknown men who vaguely resembled her dad and Alec, their grandfather Gerard and his older-brother Alexander. She pointed to the pendant draped around his neck. "Look."
"And… This is Olivia, Daddy's mother," Mary said softly, turning another page.
"I don't remember her," Allison said softly, gazing at the picture of their grandmother. She was a beautiful woman with long, silvery and steel-grey hair, timelessly elegant, with a smiling-faced, frankly adorable baby grinning in her lap; Mary. And around her neck, the Argent pendant.
"No, you wouldn't; she died when I was a little over a year old, in an accident on the highway; steel piping on a truck in front of her car got loose, pierced straight through her chest-cavity. Dad told me his father gave her the pendant on their wedding-day, as a gift," Mary said.
"Why didn't Dad keep it - or give it to Mom when they got married?" Allison wondered aloud.
"After your grandmother passed, I looked after it," a voice said softly, and Mary glanced up as Allison jumped. Victoria stood in the doorway, arms folded loosely over her chest, her eyes alighting on the open photograph albums. "Your father gave it to Kate on her eighteenth birthday." Mary glanced at her mother; Kate would have been around that age when she had lived in Beacon Hills last time. Around the time of the Hale fire.
"Plus, it's a gaudy, clumsy-looking thing," Mary sniffed, lifting the pendant so it twisted and swung from the chain, catching the light. She glanced darkly at Victoria, knowing it was a venomous look Allison couldn't see. But Victoria did.
"That, too," Victoria said.
"I can't believe Kate would give me such a morbid gift," Allison said, wincing, as Mary set the pendant down on their dad's leather-topped desk.
"Kate has always had her own way of doing things," Victoria said, and Mary glanced up sharply. They exchanged a dark look, and Mary knew in that instant that Victoria had not given the order to start training Allison. Mary could think what she wanted to about Victoria, but deep down she knew, there was no more lethal weapon in Chris Argent's arsenal than his wife - especially if her daughters were threatened from the outside. And Allison was still her sweet girl.
The pendant, the veiled hint about a family legacy entwined with a folklore tale from the Dordogne region of France to research as a History project… Kate was playing a dangerous game; this was Victoria's daughter, her territory. Her decision.
Victoria glanced at Allison. "Don't you have homework to finish, Allison?" Allison nodded mutely, climbing off the chair and putting it back in its proper place; she shuffled out of the study, her shoulders downturned, still meek from her punishment for ditching school. Victoria turned to Mary, staring grimly down at the faces of the suicide-victims littering their family-tree.
"She's doesn't remember the pendant," Mary said quietly. Mary remembered it. The Silver Wolf. The "Wolf Hunt". Scenting Isaac's fear, her talks with Ms Morrell, brought things to the surface that she would have preferred stayed buried - but to move on, harness them, she had to face them. The Silver Wolf was the monster from her childhood. Her mother wore that pendant every day, had worn it as she terrorised her young daughters. Kate had worn it every day, had worn it as she tortured an innocent kid with a sadistic grin on her face and a throaty laugh like she didn't have a care in the world. That pendant had become a physical manifestation inside Mary's mind - of her fractured childhood, of her terror - everything she feared.
Victoria didn't say anything; what could she say?
"Why did Dad ask Kate here?" Mary asked. "You know how they get when they're locked in a cage together."
"Your father didn't call Kate," Victoria said quietly. Mary glanced back down at one of the most recent photographs in the album - Dad, with his years-younger sister and brother. Kate and Alexander - Alec.
"You didn't give the order, did you?"
"No."
"Kate's overstepping."
"Perhaps it's time. We've waited longer than we did with you."
"Allison is not me," Mary said coolly, glancing up at her mother, levelling her with a look. "Don't ruin her."
She closed the photograph-album, lifting it into her arms, and snatched the pendant from the desk before leaving the room. Her stomach twisted, settling on her bed, reopening the album, to the last photograph. Each generation of Argents since the invention of the photograph had been immortalised inside it; and she was absurdly upset by the fact the photograph of her and Allison was so outdated. They were children - beaming, twinkly-eyed, summer-tanned children, giggling and delighted in each other's company, arms wrapped around each other.
Had they seriously not had a more recent photograph taken together? She gazed at the picture - and couldn't recognise the little Mary grinning back at her, hazel eyes alight with happiness, her smile imperfect from missing teeth. A swell of grief swept over her, gazing at the little girl lost.
A soft knock sounded on the door, and Mary glanced up. Her dad walked in. "Mom told me about the pendant." Mary lifted it off the bed by the chain. She let go, and it fell back onto the duvet.
"Can I melt it down?"
"What would you do with the silver?"
"While it's still molten? I have a few ideas." Her dad gave her a look; it was an empty threat, but it was still a nasty thought. "Why's she here?"
"Kate?" Dad said, then sighed heavily, sitting down at the edge of her bed. "I'm not sure. But I intend to find out." Mary glanced at the pendant, thinking of Derek's accusation, Kate appearing unasked. She intended to find out.
"You can't let her spoil Allison," Mary said softly. "Don't you want her world to be full of wonder - not weird?" Her dad chuckled softly, but there was little humour in it; she scented his solemnity on the air, his…sadness.
"There's some wonder left amongst the weird."
"Not after you've killed it all," Mary said quietly, her eyes on the pendant. "No rain, no flowers, Dad. You're trying to eradicate one; but you can't have one without the other."
"That's very true," Dad sighed.
Mary fiddled with the pendant. "Do you remember the Silver Wolf?"
Her dad sighed heavily, and when he spoke, his voice was weary, "I remember the pistol."
"Dad… Will you go to the range with me?" she asked quietly.
"You want to shoot?" There was a flicker of something - anticipation? Joy? - and Mary glanced at her gruff but loving dad.
"We're here for a reason," Mary said wearily. "If Kate's coaxing Allison into harm's way blind, I don't want to have a rusty trigger-finger."
"You'll join the Hunt for the Alpha?"
"The Alpha? I was actually referring to Kate," Mary said darkly, and her dad gave her a look. "We both know she's capable of anything."
"That's also very true," Dad sighed, looking suddenly very tired. "Alright. Let's go the range. How about tomorrow, after school."
"I can't go right after school," Mary said.
"I thought it's one of your afternoons off," Dad said.
"I've just started tutoring this kid," Mary said. "It's going toward my community-service, you know, otherwise they won't let me graduate." She pulled a face.
"What kid?"
"Some sophomore," Mary said, shrugging. "He's kinda sweet."
"Alright. After tutoring, then," Dad nodded, with a tiny smile. "We haven't been in ages."
"I know."
School passed uneventfully; she sketched through most of her morning-lessons, fidgeting, agitated, by her overactive brain. She hadn't slept well, thinking about Derek, and her dad, and going to the range, had woken herself up at three a.m. to finally plug her dead phone into the charger. She hadn't kept it charged for weeks, hadn't checked to see if she had received any texts, pokes, emails, Tweets or whatever… She couldn't bear to look at Facebook, and find her feed, either barren of any updates because she had been blocked, or chock full of status-updates, pokes and messages from the Pack.
She still hadn't had the heart to unlock it, take a look at her messages, her emails. If she didn't check, she couldn't know; she could go on, believing one way or another. The dread that nobody wanted to stay in contact; the heartbreak that some of her ex-friends had made overtures after their betrayal. That they may have contacted her after staying mute while she was forced out.
And she was trying to psych herself up to being adult about it.
Mary hadn't made a scene when she was expelled from the Pack. Numb. She had been numb.
But there was a difference between acknowledging her life may be potentially too long and eventful to burn bridges, and actually take a step to cross them again. There was no telling how rickety or mined with IEDs they were, if she would lose her footing…
Whatever she decided, she knew she couldn't keep focusing on the past. She and Ms Morrell had spoken at length about her tendency to withdraw into her own mind, her own grief and anger. She had held on to Tommy and Candice and Nate for months; psychodynamic therapy, consuming friendships and a lot of angry art and smashing windscreens had helped, but she would never be the same. She knew that. Acknowledged it. Would never forget them, or what she had done.
One of her Pack-mates, Lincoln, had told her she owed it to her friends to live, and thrive, to have the world on its knees begging for mercy. Or begging for more.
She was working on things, to corral the world at her feet, but other things had her reluctant. Still, she knew it was all a matter of taking things a step at a time. And if she couldn't bring herself to forgive her old friends, there was no harm in trying to make new ones. Derek was the first; and he was special.
Mary cleared her throat as she climbed into a chair, and Stiles stared owlishly at her, cheek pouched out full of bagel.
"Mary," he blurted, blinking frantically at her, eyes darting around the cafeteria as Mary pulled her lunch out of her backpack.
"Stiles. How's your dad?" The irony of someone getting into a hit-and-run with the County Sheriff was not lost on anyone; he had been taken to the E.R. with some pretty heavy bruising.
"Bruised."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Mary said honestly. "I assume someone caught the licence-plate?"
"Yeah," Stiles grumbled. He sighed heavily. "Scott's crap has officially infiltrated my life."
Mary arched an eyebrow, not buying his belligerent tone. "Mm-hmm. And aren't you titillated by it?" She smirked, chuckling. She could scent his eagerness and curiosity. "Come on - the fairy-tales are true. Most of them. Variations. Speaking of - where's your life-partner?" Mary asked lightly, aware and amused by Stiles' heartbeat skipping several beats as he tried to mentally process her sitting with him, unannounced and uninvited.
"Oh, I'm not talking to Scott," Stiles said, scowling, and Mary glanced around, finding Scott by scent; he was digging out the last of his pocket-change from his wallet at the counter, grimacing as he put a chocolate-chip cookie back in the box.
"I'm sorry you and Scott are having a boy-fight," Mary sighed. "Do you want to tell me about it?"
"I don't want to talk about him, either," Stiles said coolly.
"Well, if you were talking to Scott, or about him, you might've liked to hear that Derek's going to start his training soon, if he hasn't already," Mary said offhandedly, aware that there was no way Stiles wasn't going to take a nibble at that bait. She eyed his vintage Star Wars t-shirt under his plaid shirt. "By the way, have you seen Rogue One? I can't bring myself to watch the new ones. Strictly the originals, you know, you can't beat them."
Stiles stared. "You've seen Star Wars? See, I think I'd make a way better Yoda than Derek." He grumbled, shaking his head.
"But talking to Scott, you are not," Mary said, unfastening the lid of her lunch-bowl.
"Why is Derek starting to train Scott and not you - you know what, no, I'm not talking to Scott and I'm not interested in hearing about what he's getting up to in his Lycanthropy 101 classes," Stiles declared, giving her a furtive look. "I don't trust him."
"Scott? After skipping school for one day?" Mary asked, blinking at Stiles. "Usually it's the parents who use the loss-of-trust card."
"Not Scott - Derek!" Mary glanced at Stiles, raising her eyebrows, thinking, and shrugged a shoulder delicately.
"It's his chemo-signals," Mary sighed, shaking her head.
"His what-now?"
"Your emotions, your body-language, even just your sweat - everything about you communicates emotion, whether you mean to or not," Mary explained, getting her fork out of her backpack. "Your scent is unique to you, but overlying that core…you - is your emotions. Chemo-signals. Very strong emotion leaves an imprint. And people pick up on chemo-signals, not just werewolves. You can feel it."
"They can?"
"Of course. Humans think they're the apex predator; millennia of honed instincts, human-beings know when something's off," Mary shrugged. "You are defensive toward and distrustful of Derek Hale in part because those are two of the strongest signals he's giving off…and if your entire family died in a fire and…you returned to your hometown to find your only-surviving sister cut in half… Well, I don't know how he's able to maintain those arms let along drag himself out of bed every morning." She sighed, shaking her head, and quirked an eyebrow at Stiles as he scribbled hastily inside a composition-notebook, staring at her open-mouthed as if she would continue to feed him secrets of the werewolf-universe. "So, wait, hold on, if you're Yoda - does that make me Han Solo?" She grinned so suddenly, Stiles jumped.
"Why would you be Han Solo?"
"Because Derek Hale's way furrier than I am," Mary said, and Stiles pulled a thoughtful face, then nodded in agreement. "He's totally Chewie."
"You really have seen Star Wars!" he grinned. "I thought it was like a werewolf rule."
"What about werewolves?" a voice asked, and Stiles choked on his apple.
"Turns out Stiles is a big fan of Supernatural," Mary said, as Allison pulled a chair out beside her, setting down a tray of food.
"The TV show?" Allison smiled breathlessly, her curls glistening in the sunshine filtering through the twenty-foot wall of windows. It was a surprisingly bright day, and Mary relished the signs that spring was approaching. She hated short days - full-moons during the winter were the worst.
"Uh, yeah - Jensen Ackles is offensively attractive," Stiles said, staring at Allison as if she was mentally incapacitated. "Those candy-apple green eyes!"
"I'd wreck that," Mary deadpanned.
"Mary, you look nice," Allison smiled, dimpling. "Red is so your colour."
"Thank you," Mary beamed. She glanced at her sister, frowning at her cowering in her threadbare cream top and denim mini-skirt over tights and boots. "What's wrong with you?"
"It's freezing."
"Well, you wore that cosy little outfit," Mary pointed out with a disapproving look.
"Shut up, it's cute," Allison grinned.
"Frostbite isn't. Anyway, you're on lockdown, you should be thankful you have clean underwear," Mary pointed out. "You remember the time Mom took literally everything out of my room? For a month I had a mattress and my textbooks."
"That explains why you're so comfortable going commando," Allison said, raising her eyebrows accusingly, as Mary wriggled around in her chair.
"Here." She handed Allison her fluffy new Cyclones sweatshirt.
"What about you?"
"I run naturally smouldering," Mary said, smirking at Stiles, who blushed. She glanced back at Allison. "What else do you need, honey-pie? Hot-chocolate, coffee?"
"Lip gloss. I left my favourite in my other purse," Allison pouted, crinkling her nose in that adorable way she did when she was annoyed at herself. Mary unzipped her backpack and pulled out one, two - five cosmetics bags. One was glossy, a powder-blue Ted Baker with a bow, a gift from her English friend; another was clear, plastic, printed with dinosaurs; there was a larger canvas one custom-printed by Mary herself with cacti and pineapples and peaches and forget-me-nots; there was a little striped Victoria's Secret bag and the fifth, more of a sack than a bag, printed with words to live by: "Don't Let Anyone With Bad Eyebrows Tell You Shit About Life".
Allison's lips parted, and Stiles stared as if she was unveiling torture devices, unzipping the bags and rummaging around. "Do you really need to bring this many cosmetics-bags to school with you?"
"This one is all blushers and bronzers; this is just colour-correcting and concealers and creams; this one is all about eyes; this has brushes, eyelash curlers, tweezers, nail-clippers and my glass nail-file; and this one is all about cleansers, wipes, blotting papers, gels and moisturisers. Okay, it's my job, you know, I do work at Sephora!" Mary sniffed. Stiles had this glazed look on his face like she was talking Wookie. Mary caught his eye. "To quote Louisa May Alcott; 'Over the mysteries of female life there is drawn a veil - best left undisturbed'." Stiles pulled a face, but watched, intrigued, as Mary set tube after tube of lip-gloss, balm, stain, crayons and lipsticks between their lunches, from the different bags.
"Here. I have…an Yves Saint Laurent lip-stain, a glorious Lancôme pink favoured by the goddess Emma Watson herself, a handful of NARS, Lorac, OCC, Milani, Pixi, LimeCrime - oh, hey, this is where that ColourPop eyeshadow went! I was in mourning for its loss! There's Revlon, Kat Von D, NYX, L'Oréal and TooFaced shades," Mary said, grimacing as her little-sister's wide eyes rested on the ever-growing collection, reaching for MAC tubes. "Unfortunately I don't have a nude to match your UV-deprived Snow White complexion. But this peachy-pink one would look really pretty." Allison rolled her eyes, smiling.
"I don't think I can wear such vivid lipsticks at school."
"Okay. The junior collection," Mary said, shrugged, beaming, and rooted around her other cosmetics bags, bringing out the good old-fashioned lip-balms and Philosophy glosses. "I have lime-curd, Airheads, watermelon, peaches n' cream - ooh, daiquiri - Dr Pepper, salted dark-chocolate and butter popcorn."
"Anything in there not resembling a snack?" Allison asked, shaking her head and laughing.
"Yes," Mary grinned, snatching up one innocuous tube. "It's not flavoured, but your natural pH levels change its colour to your perfect pink."
"Kylie Jenner doesn't own this much makeup," Allison told her, and Mary gasped, horrified and insulted, grabbing a handful of Allison's long hair.
"I will pull your hair out, you trollop!" she screeched playfully. "Take that back!"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Allison chuckled tiredly, and Mary released her. Allison fluffed her curls, flicking her hair over her slim shoulders, hiding a yawn. "I didn't get as good a grade on my Pre-Calc test as I'd hoped; I think Mom confiscated my iPod; and I need something with bubbles."
"Oh, I have your iPod," Mary said, snapping her fingers, and unzipped the front pouch of her backpack, where her phone-screen lit up as she rooted around. She brought out the sweet little pink iPod Nano that she had swiped from Allison's desk.
"Thief!" Allison gasped, frowning.
"I took it so Mom couldn't take it!"
"Goddess!" Allison purred, clasping her iPod to her chest and beaming before giving Mary a kiss on the cheek. She eyed Mary's fingers, rings glittering in the sunlight and flashing off her fresh manicure, as she dug around in her wallet.
"Here are some quarters," Mary said, placing them in Allison's palm. "Get yourself a soda. Oh, and say bubbles a few more times."
"Why?"
"Because it's impossible to say 'bubbles' in a grumpy tone," Mary chuckled, adding thoughtfully, "Same with 'baby' and 'unicorns', actually."
"Bubbly baby unicorns," Allison dimpled thoughtfully, holding the quarters aloft as she wiggled through the chairs toward the vending machines.
"Bubbly baby unicorns," Stiles repeated, his eyes narrowed as his lips twitched toward a smile.
"Bubbly baby unicorns," Mary nodded, tucking into her salad - a fresh, zingy Asian noodle and spinach salad with a sesame-miso-lime dressing and grilled peach slices. Awesome salads made from leftovers were definitely in her budget; she loved 'if-its' salads - "If it's in the refrigerator and needs using up, it's lunch", her former best-friend Lincoln used to say. He fed his child off that philosophy; it was good enough for Mary.
"What pills did you two pop?" With a flourish and a waft of hair-product and Nina Ricci perfume and scented lip-gloss, the vivacious Lydia Martin sat down next to Stiles, sending him into swallow-your-own-tongue shock. "And are there leftovers?" She flashed them a charming smile.
"Bubbl-ydia," he blurted, staring. "Lydia. You're sitting - she's sitting - why're you sitting here? Scott's not here."
"Uh. No. But my best-friend Allison is sitting here. And my best-friend Allison's sister who has the best taste in this school is sitting here," Lydia beamed at Mary, her eyes lowering to the cosmetics boutique on their lunch-table, as Mary started to tidy everything back into her bags. She picked one runaway tube up, smiling as she handed it over to Mary. "Ah. 'Ruby Woo'! It's a classic." She beamed as Allison slipped into her chair, opening her ginger-ale Hansen's soda. Allison took a sip, then handed it to Mary to take a swig. They had always only ever been allowed to share a soda growing up, and the habit had stuck. "You should try it, Allison. 'Hair black as ebony. Skin white as snow… Lips red as the rose.' Like the fairy-tale."
"Go on, it's not crystal-meth," Mary purred, taunting Allison with the lipstick, twisted up to reveal the ultra-flattering matte red lipstick. "Try it."
"Okay - okay!" Allison laughed, fending Mary away. "After I finish my lunch."
"How did we go from Star Wars to makeup?" Stiles frowned.
"A deluge of the X chromosome," Mary smirked. "Are you missing your boyfriend?"
"No," Stiles pouted defensively, his eyes flitting somewhere behind Mary. She glanced over her shoulder, and sighed at the sight of Scott sitting alone, staring grimly at an open textbook. She could scent his regret and agitation.
"Go and make up," she coaxed, giving him a look.
"Did you and Scott break up?" Lydia asked Stiles, who looked like he'd choked on his apple again.
"They're in a snit," Mary sighed, shaking her head. She gave Stiles a look. "It's pathetic."
"We're not in a snit. I'm legitimately pissed off. Okay, my dad got hurt because Scott couldn't answer his goddamned phone," Stiles grumbled.
"You let it out, lamp-chop," Mary said, reaching over to pat his hand with hers. "That's healthy." She finished her salad, snapped the lid on the container and brought out a lip-pencil and brush to do Allison's lipstick. She fixed Stiles with a look. "R2D2 and C3PO always stuck together, you know, no matter what, and they shaped the Galaxy together. Just saying. Unlimited, your potential is."
"I can't believe I'm spending my lunch-break talking about Star Wars and boy-breakups," Lydia chimed in, rolling her eyes.
"Oh, and BTW, R2, next time Chewie convinces you to cut his arm off with a bone-saw - call me first," Mary said lightly, glancing at Stiles, whose eyes widened.
"Yes. Yes, I will definitely do that. Yes," Stiles nodded fiercely. He caught Allison's eye, froze, and his eyes darted back and forth as he stammered. "Er… We have a code. We gangsta like that."
"Actually, you do have the brains and weirdness to run a massive underground crime syndicate," Mary murmured.
"Thanks, Mary," Stiles grinned. Allison huffed lightly, smiling, and had to fight not to smile as Mary lined her lips and filled them with 'Ruby Woo'.
"Oh, and I made a mental Post-It to remind you that there is a sale on at Victoria's Secret," Mary remembered. "So give me your sizes and I'll get what you flagged in the catalogue tonight, you can pay me back."
"'Kay," Allison breathed, her lips parted slightly so Mary could fill them.
"How did I not know there's a sale on?!" Lydia raised her eyebrows, digging out her phone to scan her alerts. "And why are we not going to the mall together, Miss Allison?"
"She's grounded until they come to take her away to the all-girls boarding-school," Mary told her. "I negotiated down on her behalf from the closed convent in Spain; I mean, your Spanish is hilarious."
"Your parents are seriously that mad about you ditching school for one day?" Lydia scoffed. "Haven't you had perfect attendance literally your whole life?"
"Their argument was, in a time of mass-shootings, abductions and the recent murders, they, as my parents and legal guardians responsible for my emotional and physical safety, have the right to know where I am every waking moment of the day." Allison pouted, frowning, but there was no animosity in the gesture.
"That birthday-present kind of backfired. Like a lot," Lydia sighed, shaking her head, her eyes on Scott across the cafeteria. "Sweet - but misguided."
"That's usually my niche - misguided but sweet," Stiles grinned jauntily. Lydia rolled her eyes, picking delicately at her fruit-cup.
"That reminds me, I have to get going," Mary frowned, getting Allison to blot with her napkin before putting all of her things in her backpack and zipping up. "Tutoring in the library." She climbed out of her chair, and twirled on the spot, remembering something. "Oh, I finally charged my phone - Allison, give 'em both my number." She bent down to kiss the top of Allison's head, getting a lungful of hair-product and curling-ironed hair. "Bubbly baby unicorns."
Allison chuckled, raising her soda in a mock-toast, "Bubbly baby unicorns."
A.N.: A bit of fluff to counter the heavy of the family-history lesson and the 'Silver Wolf'. Oh, and did you pick up the hint about Chris's younger-brother Alec? Envision Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Luke Mitchell as the twenty-something Alec Argent. He'll appear later on. Like a lot later. Maybe not that much later. I'm thinking garudas, nāga, Valkyrie and berserkers; the Sheriff finds out earlier on; Cora Hale has ulterior motives; Peter's resurrection is hijacked by La Bête; Jackson is written out; and Mary is the mama-wolf.
I'm thinking I'm going to treat Jekyll and Hyde like my Giulia Salvatore series, giving each 'season' its own story, just so it doesn't end up 3,000 chapters long! Let me know your thoughts.