A.N.: IT'S THE WEEKEND! Who else would hire out a Kanima do get rid of some of their work-colleagues? I'll make some calls - non-traceable, of course.

Oh, to update y'all, I have a new Pinterest board - uniquely named 'Mary' under my Pinterest I.D. mellowukgal.

So, I used to have Phoebe Tonkin as my inspiration for Mary's looks - now I've just watched a video of Emma Watson doing an interview whilst playing with kittens, and - she's just my ultimate girl-crush. So combine Emma Watson's smile with Phoebe Tonkin's eyes, a great bod and voilà: Mary.

Jekyll and Hyde

10

Straight Shooter

The library was a high-ceilinged place with a mezzanine balcony wrapping around, and a huge window overlooking the sports fields - the baseball diamonds and the soccer/lacrosse pitch, and the woods beyond. She caught a scent, and smiled to herself as the sunlight glinted off familiar golden curls - Isaac sat with his back to the door, books spread out in front of him, already waiting for her. She could scent his frustration - his…hopelessness. And she frowned, biting her lip, as he launched a pencil across the desk in frustration, his shoulders slumping as he dropped his head in his hands.

She rummaged around in the front-pocket of her backpack, and the candy clacked softly against the table-top as she set it down in front of Isaac. "You look like you need a Jolly Rancher."

Isaac jumped, but recovered as he glanced up and saw her standing over him. He frowned bemusedly. "I do?"

"Violent pencil-tossing usually signals the need for a sugar-rush."

"What if I'd thrown a pen?"

"I'd pour you a shot," Mary shrugged. "I don't make the rules. So what's got you practicing for the mini-javelin in the table-top Olympics?" She stooped to pick up the pencil, handing it back to him, and eyed his notebooks, textbooks and scruffy organiser.

"Shakespeare," Isaac said hollowly. She frowned down at the fresh bruise around his eye, the pain radiating from him, the desperation. "I suck."

Mary frowned down at Isaac, sighing, and slung her backpack down. She sat beside him, catching his eye. "You don't suck."

"I can't do it," Isaac mumbled. Mary eyed the messy notes and teacher's annotations on assignments handed back.

"Do you really believe that, Isaac?" she asked gently. She knew the bad things were easier to believe, and if she was right - and she trusted her senses - Isaac was being conditioned to believe in someone else's worst thoughts. "Hey, look at me… Mentally, you're always capable of twenty per-cent more than you think you are. What's twenty percent better than a D?" she asked, smiling. Isaac bit his lip. "…It's a B. We'll get back to Math a little later." Isaac gave her a tremulous, embarrassed little smile. "You can do this, and I'll help you." Isaac's eyes didn't leave her face, gazing at her as if he was desperate to hear what she had to say. She picked up an assignment marked with a big red 'D' and heavily annotated, waving it delicately. "This is all behind you. So what're we doing today?"

Isaac sighed softly, his shoulders crumpling, his cut-up fingers trembling as he pushed his curls back from his forehead. "I have more Geometry homework, and I have to write an essay on King Lear and a stupid poem and there's a test on Friday on Shakespeare's sonnets and I don't understand them and next week there's another Chemistry test and I - I - I have to go to weight-training and work and I have to play Lacrosse and…"

Mary smiled, resting a hand on Isaac's. "Take a breath, sweet-pea, alright, it's all manageable. We'll make a plan of attack, and you'll conquer. Let me see your organiser…" Isaac bit his lip and handed her his tatty organiser, and Mary flicked through it. "Maybe we'll get you a new organiser. So the essay's due last, on the same day as your Chemistry test. You've got your weekly Geometry test on Friday, I have Ms Smith too and she only tests you on the week's material. So we'll work on your daily assignments and I'll write a mini-test for you on Thursday. Hey…I might be good at this tutoring thing! So we'll work on a little bit of Chemistry each time we meet up. What about Econ?"

"That's pretty easy, Coach's homework comes out of a workbook, you just find the answers in the textbook," Isaac said softly, clearing his throat.

"And French?"

"There's a test next Tuesday, I have to translate a paragraph from a French novel," Isaac said. There was a touch of confidence in his voice as he added, "But I'm pretty good at French."

"Okay. So it's Chemistry, Geometry and English," Mary said, nodding. "Well, King Lear is, in my humble opinion, fucking amazing. Your Chemistry test will cover the last fortnight's reading and assignments, so we can go over them all."

"But I didn't do any good on those and my notes are…" Isaac stammered, getting flustered, his cheeks heating in agitation.

"Isaac… Look at me," Mary said, her voice warm and stern at the same time. Somehow she found herself kind of emulating her dad whenever she spoke to Isaac. They had only had a few tutoring sessions but she thought they had a good rapport, her and Isaac. She scented his relief whenever they got to the end of the sessions and he had completed work he hadn't believed he could do. "You can do this. And you want to; you've won half the battle already. Now pull yourself together; and let's get to work. First thing's first, your English assignments. The poem; does it have to be very stupid?"

"No," Isaac murmured, his eyes twinkling as he fought a smile, his shyness starting to melt away. "I have to pick one from the list my teacher gave me."

"Okay. And what's the assignment?"

"I have to read it, and write about how I relate to it."

"We'll get back to that. What about the sonnets?"

"The test is gonna be on the pen - the pentacle…"

"Iambic pentameter?" Mary smiled, and Isaac nodded.

"Yeah, that… Just on the sonnets in general, I guess," Isaac shrugged. "I just don't understand poetry."

"Well, nobody understands poetry, Isaac. But know it now, learn it now, and you can understand it…whenever," Mary sniffed, and Isaac smiled. "What about the essay?"

"It has to be two-thousand words or more, on one of the questions provided by the teacher, or one I make up myself," Isaac sighed heavily. "But… I don't really get it."

"The play? I'm not surprised - Shakespeare is supposed to be watched, not read," Mary tutted, shaking her head. Living in San Francisco, she had become addicted to the livestreamed productions of Shakespeare, ballets and operas broadcasted live from the National Theatre and Royal Opera House in London. There was no better way to experience Shakespeare than watching it being performed, as it should be. "You know what, I have a copy of the National Theatre's production of King Lear that my friend in England sent me. Simon Russell Beale is King Lear; it's phenomenal. I'll lend it to you. It'll just click into place, trust me."

"I… I don't think that's such a good idea…I mean…" Isaac swallowed, his eyes downcast. "I don't have much time to watch movies at home."

Mary suspected it had little to do with the time and more to do with his father's disinclination to let him, if what she had picked up from Isaac's hints about his home-life were accurate. "What if you came over to my house, we can do a big study-session?" she suggested gently. "Think about it… Do you have any previous Chemistry tests?"

"Yeah…"

"Hand them over," Mary said, and after helping Isaac through the first few Geometry problems, let him work through the rest while she examined his previous Chemistry tests, using the same style of questions to construct a practice-test on the material he would be tested on.

"We've still got a little time," Mary said, checking her watch, as Isaac handed his notebook to her to check his homework answers. "You can tidy up your notes on the sonnets and we can get you going on the basics before I see you next."

"'Kay," Isaac said softly, licking his lips thoughtfully as he rearranged his notebooks, and they chatted quietly about the sonnets, as Mary checked Isaac's Geometry homework, lightly marking the ones he needed to re-do with a small 'x'.

"The sonnets are 154 poems of 14 lines," Isaac narrowed his eyes at the balcony, thinking.

"Except?"

"Except for 126, which is 12 lines."

"Good."

"They're written in iambic pentameter."

"Except?"

"Except for 145, which is in…tet…tetris - tetrameter!" Isaac grinned.

"Rock on, sweet-pea."

"That's right?"

"Not one mistake, you've got the basics covered," Mary smiled. "We can go into more detail after school. But maybe, you can still pray to Tom Hiddleston that Shakespeare smiles down on you the day of your quiz." The bell rang, signalling the end of the period, and Mary watched Isaac head off to his next class with a slightly more confident gait, his shoulders raised more than usual.

After swim-practice, Mary met Isaac in the library again; he was smiling, energised from lacrosse practice. He was one of the few sophomores on the Varsity team, was talented but meek off the pitch. But he was a Varsity player and was proud of that. His eyes were sparkling and he sat down with a breathless smile, pulling out his things to get to work. At first tentative, she thought Isaac looked forward to their study-sessions. He left her feeling less lonely.

"I have another assignment," he said, glancing at Mary.

"Don't these teachers have home-lives?" Mary sighed, shaking her head. "Alright, lay it on me."

"We just finished To Kill a Mockingbird. Now we're starting on The Great Gatsby," Isaac said, pulling out a very old paperback with a Property of Beacon Hills HS sticker on the back.

"Ugh."

"You don't like it? I thought all girls liked Gatsby."

"Gatsby's delusional and Daisy's a whore - don't title your essay that!" Mary grimaced guiltily as Isaac chuckled under his breath. "I had to do Gatsby for part of my GCSEs when we lived in England - I still have my copy, full of annotations; I'll lend it to you."

"I thought the movie was really popular."

"It's Leo DiCaprio, of course it's popular," Mary laughed. "People say it's a love-story but I read it as a tragedy - it was a bathtub-gin cocktail of the worst flaws of human-nature. Grasping social-climbing, contempt, hints of racism, narcissists, the still-pervasive double-standards around sex and extra-marital affairs, self-serving, thoughtless - it just frustrates me!"

"I guess I won't be writing an essay on the epic love-story of Daisy and Gatsby," Isaac said, smiling softly. "I'm glad we're not still doing Romeo & Juliet."

"Don't get me started on that warning against filial disobedience - Shakespeare should've subtitled it, 'If You Have Sex Against Your Parents' Consent, You Will Die'. Seriously," Mary sighed, shaking her head. She caught Isaac's eye; he was staring at her, eyebrows raised. "I had an excellent English teacher when I was fifteen. Alright, come on - let's go over those Geometry equations from earlier…"

For an hour, Mary sat with Isaac in the emptying library, going over his Geometry homework until he had all his equations correct and could do some more practice ones without her help. They went over the sonnets in more detail; and completed his Econ assignment out of the workbook he had been given at the beginning of the school-year; and Isaac looked tired but happier than she had seen him in a while.

"Are you sure you don't mind tutoring me?" Isaac asked quietly.

"Of course not," Mary said honestly. He was a quiet kid, but he was sweet and wanted to learn, he appreciated her help. "To be honest, you're helping me take my mind off something I'd rather not have to do." The longer she postponed talking to her dad, Ms Morrell had advised, the more she would overthink and get herself wound up over it, become more emotional, irrational. It was good she was going to the range with her dad tonight; less time to actually lose sleep over the conversation she didn't want to have.

"What's that?" Isaac asked curiously.

Mary sighed heavily. "I'm gonna be telling my dad that I'm moving out."

"Out of the house - like living on your own? Can you do that?" Isaac asked.

"Yeah," Mary said softly, nodding. "But doing it, and telling my dad I'm going to be doing it, are very different things."

"Why're you moving out?" Isaac asked, in a small voice.

"My…mother and I don't get along," Mary said honestly, glancing at Isaac. If what she thought about his home-situation was true, maybe her example could show Isaac that it was possible to escape. "I just need to get out. But I respect my dad, and I don't want to abandon my sister, so it's…awkward." She shrugged. It was what it was; she was doing what little she could to change things. "I don't think people would believe my mother could be vicious, but she's very good at hiding who she is."

Isaac nodded, internalising what she had said. He jumped a mile as someone hit him round the head with their backpack as they swaggered past; the kid smirked over his shoulder, as if he had done it intentionally, and enjoyed Isaac's reaction as he cowered in his chair, his hands shaking and his cheeks leaching of colour, a ghost flitting across his eyes.

"Uh - !" Mary glanced up, catching Allison's eye. She glanced from her friend to Isaac. Allison winced guiltily, flushing slightly as Isaac caught her eye. He was a pretty boy, there was no denying it, but Mary picked up on the sense of unease Allison got when she saw the bruises. "Sorry." Isaac ducked his head meekly.

"Hey, why're you still at school?"

"Gymnastics," Allison said, and Mary nodded. Allison dimpled shyly at Isaac. "Who's this?"

"Allison, this is Isaac - Isaac, my sister Allison," Mary said, frowning past her sister to the kid from whom aggression seeped off in tidal-waves. "Who's the jerk?" Allison glanced over her shoulder.

"Oh. That's…Jackson. He's… I don't know," Allison shrugged, glancing at Isaac. "I'm sorry he hit you." Isaac nodded.

"Do you know that kid?"

"He, uh… Jackson lives across the street from me," Isaac mumbled, not meeting her eye.

"Has he always been a bully?" Mary asked, her eyes narrowed as she watched Jackson saunter around as if he owned the place. Hair styled with pomade, wearing too much cologne, his clothing was ostentatiously designer and his pristine sneakers were the newest, unattainable style all the cool kids wanted. He bore the appearance of someone who was used to having the very best - and treating other people as if they were not equal to the shit he had scraped off his designer sneaker.

Isaac shrugged a shoulder. "I guess… His mom's really nice." A shadow of something flickered across Isaac's face, but he hitched a tremulous smile onto his face and packed up his things.

"Hey, do you have a ride home?"

"Uh…"

"Come on. Hey, we'll stop by the store on the way, get you some new notebooks and things," Mary suggested.

"You don't have to…"

"I know; I offered," Mary said, smiling.

"Oh, hey, I need to grab some things, too," Allison said, looking thoughtful.

"I thought all assets have been frozen until your grounding is lifted," Mary said, and Allison dimpled at her, beaming, fluttering her eyelashes. "Dude, you owe me. And I charge interest."

"Thank you," Allison cooed. Ten minutes later, they were climbing out of her car, dashing into the store to avoid the light February drizzle. Allison darted off with a basket, and met them five minutes later, Isaac having followed Mary as she zoomed around the aisles, ticking off more items on her budgeted list of things to obtain, collecting dusters and Swiffer wipes and furniture-polish, car air-fresheners, pink dish-gloves, pretty hand-soap, an amazing-quality small roasting tray she couldn't believe was on sale, baking parchment, Chex-Mix, sour candies, mini-marshmallows, sprinkles and Nerds candy, and to top it all off, sensitive toothpaste with fluoride. Safety was sexy.

"Hey," Allison said softly, reappearing, dimpling, her basket rattling with several items.

"Hey. Find the condoms okay?" Mary asked, and Allison's cheeks flooded with colour as Isaac swallowed and glanced away, as embarrassed as her sister.

"Mary!" Mary gave her sister a wicked grin, knowing Allison was wishing right now that a great chasm would appear in the earth to swallow her, pointedly avoiding looking at Isaac, who had become very interested in the purple candles.

"Oh, fine, I'll quit torturing you. Come on, we'll get Isaac's stuff." She lugged her basket to the stationery aisle. "Okay, we'll get you some flashcards, some new notebooks, a ton of pens and some mechanical pencils, three highlighters, some folders…"

"Why three highlighters?" Isaac asked, looking embarrassed that Mary was adding things to her basket for him.

"One dries up; one gets lost; you have one left…" Mary said, eyeing the shelves. She sighed heavily, shaking her head, picking a notebook up with her thumb and forefinger like it was contaminated. "You know, you have to wonder what kind of atrocities this tree committed to come back in its next life as a Justin Bieber notebook. Did it keep dropping branches where baby birds and macaws were nesting, or was it one of those trees where all the birds perched and shit on your new car? Or maybe it didn't reach its photosynthesising quota. I mean, this is a great life-lesson; no matter how bad we think things are, they can always get so, so much worse. Imagine coming back as Bratz merchandise; I think I'd commit stationery suicide."

"How would you do that?" Isaac asked softly, his eyes glowing with amusement.

"Flap my way over to the shredder," Mary said. "Maybe I'd come back as a filthy birthday card. This tree must've really pissed off the Lorax. Maybe the Lorax has like a malevolent opposite, you know, like the Krampus to his Saint Nicholas, yeah, like, he decides which trees are struck down in a storm? Only true evil could decide to bring something so pure back as…a OneDirection folder." She sneered at the vivid, cartoonish or boyband merchandise. "I need to move away from the notebooks, they're making me maudlin. I think if I came back as stationery I'd like to be a TARDIS diary - or hedgehog paperclips. Not a Post-It, 'flattering' is not in Neon's vocabulary." She added some pens, mechanical pencils, erasers and Post It notes to the basket. She eyed Allison, smiling as she teased her long glossy curls. "I think you'd be a sleek, shiny Bic."

"I'm never coming to the store with you again," Allison said under her breath as they wandered along the aisle, reaching out to pinch the back of her hand. "You're embarrassing."

"Rude," Mary smirked. "But did you get some?"

"No, I didn't." Mary rolled her eyes, blushing.

"Safety is sexy, Allison," Mary said, and Isaac's lips twitched, blushing softly as he traipsed behind them toward the checkout. She separated Isaac's things into a separate bag and carried her stuff out to the car, wondering why Isaac wasn't wearing a coat in the cold. It was California, not Minnesota, but it was still chilly. She drove off, following Isaac's instructions to his house. He pointed out Jackson Whittemore's house - his silver Porsche sat in the driveway beside a huge 'Cayenne' and a sleek Mercedes convertible - a very modern building full of glass, incongruous amongst the older, mission-style homes prevalent in southern California, and this neighbourhood in particular.

"I'll see you at school tomorrow," Mary smiled, and Isaac nodded, thanked her shyly, and bit his lip before climbing out of the car. Mary frowned, watching him go, observing the subtle differences in his body-language, almost…cowering as he fumbled with his key to get in. As Allison opened the door to climb in the front seat, Mary scented his dread and apprehension, even this far away.

"He's quiet," Allison said, biting her lip thoughtfully.

"Yeah," Mary agreed, and drove them home.

"But cute," Allison added, and Mary nodded in agreement. Isaac was freaking adorable.

"Hi, girls," Dad said, glancing up from his work in the study. "How was school?"

"Pretty good," Allison smiled. She had started to forgive him for imposing her most rigid punishment yet. But she still pouted and sighed as she handed her cell-phone over.

"You and Mom are on your own for dinner tonight, Kate's out too." Dad smiled at her. "Mary, you ready to go?" Mary nodded.

She drove them to the range; her dad had never been in her car before. One afternoon she had driven back to the house in it, and that was it; it was her car. She had paid for it, built it, insured it, maintained it. Not like Allison, who drove the little Toyota they had given her, sort of a bribe, sort of an apology for moving them to Beacon Hills.

"Car sounded beautiful," her dad said, checking his box of ammo. "Do I want to ask where you got it - or how much it cost you?"

"My…boyfriend," Mary sighed, "he helped me build it up."

"Your boyfriend?"

"Mm. I met him through friends in San Francisco," Mary said. She shook her head, draping the soundproof headphones around her neck. "Former friends. What do you call someone who becomes the best part of your life, and then…isn't. 'Ex' just isn't strong enough."

"What do I call someone like that? Poorer for not having you in their life," Dad said. "And I know that from experience." Mary flushed gently, glancing at her dad. He sighed heavily. "But judging by how you've been recently…I'm guessing you're feeling their loss. We took you away from your friends. Again." Mary shook her head.

"I thought they were my friends. They didn't want me," she said plainly, shrugging a shoulder, as if her heart wasn't shattered into ten-billion pieces. "Come on, let's shoot."

She took her gun, a sleek Beretta 92FS, the very first she had learned to shoot, and took her position; Dad set up next to her, they put their headphones over their ears, and started to shoot. Two boxes of ammunition later, Mary was combing over her paper targets, riddled with bullets.

"Still as sharp a shooter as ever," Dad smiled proudly.

"I blame genetics," Mary said. The weight of the gun in her hand, the tang of the gunpowder in the air, the eardrum-splitting bangs… She had never graduated as a Hunter, never forged that silver bullet, had only ever gone out on a few hunts with her dad; she hadn't forgotten how to use her weapons. But she was a weapon now. And she felt more natural using her claws and fangs than she ever had holding a gun. The gun was intrinsically linked with the Silver Wolf, with fear, desperation - she didn't want the association, but it was there, and it always would be.

She had trained with all kinds of weapons during her Hunter training. She had learned how to hunt, to fight. But the weapon she had become deadliest with - was herself. She was the most lethal weapon she had ever been trained to utilise. And it had been months of exhaustive training with different members of the Pack, learning different fighting techniques, finding her own natural style, on top of the Hunter training she had survived.

When their family were inducted into Hunter training, they were kidnapped and bound to a chair, abandoned to find their way out. For some, it took hours to get free. For Christopher Argent, it had taken seconds; and Mary was very much her father's daughter. Instead of unknotting the rope, they had both destroyed the chair they were bound to. She'd had to dig out the splinters herself. She didn't have to, now, but she still remembered; there was always cause and effect. There was always a way out.

There was a reason she didn't like guns. Why she hadn't completed her training. Why she had walked away from the family tradition. Had no interest in Argent Arms. Was leaving the family. Her beliefs were not her family's.

After shooting, Mary suggested dinner: she had found the best barbecue joint in Beacon Hills, and knew her dad would love it. Ribs were his favourite.

"What?"

"There was a time you would've only eaten the mashed potatoes," Dad said, and Mary shrugged, giving him a little smile.

"It's your favourite. Anyway, I find in my decrepitude my taste-buds are evolving," she said thoughtfully. Her Alpha's wife had been a phenomenal cook; Mary had spent a lot of time in the kitchen with her friends. Her dad scoffed.

"Decrepitude. You're nineteen," Dad chuckled.

"Nineteen's nearly twenty-five, which is a good third of my life over already," Mary pointed out. Dad shook his head, smiling.

"So, what's going on, Mary?"

Mary sighed softly, biting her lip, and stared at her dad. What had Ms Morrell said - tell him, as quickly as possible, when she was least emotional. Before they left the range, they both set to cleaning their guns, taking them apart to clean every single part, something her dad had always taught her from Day One. A clean gun was life; neglecting it ensured death. Yours.

She fiddled with the pieces of her gun, meticulously cleaning each part in order. She licked her lips, put the last piece in place. She kept the magazine separate; she never kept her guns loaded, even in the locker, though the magazine was always full and within reach. Just in case. Just like Dad had taught her. Especially after the incident with the pistol, Dad had never left his guns loaded in the house, even in the gun-lockers. She eyed the sleek lines of her Beretta as the light flashed off it, taking care never to point it anywhere but at the floor, away from her dad or anyone else, even though it wasn't loaded.

"I'm leaving, Dad," she said, forcing herself to look at him.

Her dad sighed, his eyes downcast, and he nodded slowly. "I figured," he said quietly, glancing at her.

"I'm not happy," she said softly.

"I know."

"And I don't know how to fix it besides doing this," she said, her throat burning.

"You know, I've been hunting for nearly thirty years," Dad said quietly. "I strap on my guns, grab my crossbow and head out to hunt every dark creature that haunts our nightmares. I've been scared out of my mind before, more times than I can count… But it's nothing compared to how I feel worrying about you… As a parent it's the worst thing in the world to know your child isn't happy - and be powerless to help."

"Are you saying I'm scarier than an Aswang or a Keres or a Joro-Gumo?" she teased lightly, but she wasn't laughing. And he thought she was still human. Her dad's lips twitched.

"I've got a book to handle all the things that go bump in the night," he said warmly. "Nobody gave me an instruction manual for fatherhood."

"You do a pretty good job," Mary said quietly. "If I'm stubborn and hard-working, it's 'cuz I learned it from you." Her dad smiled sadly. "I just…need to break away. I know it's affecting everyone else."

"So this is it, huh? Beacon Hills is your 'forever-home'?"

"Figured it's as good a place as any," Mary sighed. "It's not England, but at least it's California… Beacon Hills has a few things going for it; the local economy's pretty strong. The cost-of-living is relatively low. And, you know, Mexico's only a few hours' drive away for long-weekends at the beach."

"When are you planning to leave?" Dad asked.

"I…found a place. The landlord wants to renovate a little before I move in; I can get the keys around spring-break time," Mary said, and her dad stared at her, startled. She gazed down at the table, not sure what to say next.

"You've found a place… And you can afford it?"

"Yeah. I negotiated," Mary said, clearing her throat. "Went full Chris Argent on the landlord."

"And what about school?"

"I have to finish my community-service hours, then I can graduate early," Mary said, shrugging.

"You don't want to graduate with the rest of your class, in June?" Dad asked.

"Dad, I'm not the one who's going to be excited for high-school reunions," Mary said, shrugging.

"And what about college?"

"I've looked into the local community-college. I want to get settled with full-time hours at work before I look into classes, but it'll give me time to save so I can pay for it," Mary said, licking her lips. "I've got time; I don't mind taking night-classes for as long as it takes, if it'll keep me from being bored while I work."

"You didn't apply to any four-year schools?"

"I'm not going to let you pay for college, there would be too many strings; and I'm not going to take a scholarship away from someone who really wants it," Mary said quietly, biting her lip. "I'm not unambitious, Dad, I just… Want different things. I want to take my time and do things on my own, I want…a home…" She tilted her head thoughtfully. "An anchor… I know that I'm a disappointment."

Dad sighed heavily. "You've never been a disappointment, Mary."

"I walked away from Hunting; I know I let you down," Mary said, clearing her throat softly. She was an irreverent badass, slowly waking up and warming up to the world she had been trying to shut out, protect herself from; but she still cared what her daddy thought of her. She hated and feared her mother; she respected and adored her daddy. He mattered.

"You made a choice that would define the person you're going to be," Dad said, and he shook his head. "I could never be disappointed in that, Mary… You didn't quit because you didn't think you could do it. You stepped back because you saw what Hunting had done to Kate. What Gerard had done to Kate."

"Did you let me walk away because you didn't want to be Gerard, and force me to continue doing something I didn't respect?" Mary asked.

"That's part of it. But like you just said, you didn't agree with what we were doing. It would've been more dangerous to continue forcing you into something you were morally opposed to," Dad sighed heavily.

"I'm not… I don't disagree with all of it. I just don't respect the lack of distinction," Mary said, shrugging. "You remember the fights Mom and I got into over Harambe?"

"I remember," Dad said, his eyes widening. The execution of the gorilla had set Mary's bones out of joint. Dad had dedicated his entire life to protecting humans; did they deserve it? Humans were thoughtless, selfish, egotistical…monstrous. She was sometimes glad she no longer was one.

"Humans are the reason Harambe was in a zoo in the first place. Humans are the reason there are fewer than one-thousand silverback gorillas left in the world," Mary sighed passionately; it still made her angry. "A three-year-old little brat - one of billions of his species - invaded his territory. Of course he investigated; of course he got agitated by the screams… I don't want to Hunt because you…collectively, Hunters don't care to make the distinction. There's a difference between supernatural and evil. And there's only so long you can tolerate being antagonised before you will bite back. Even the most laidback person has their breaking-point. The decisions that have been made in the past don't take account for that. It's just prejudice and ego and I can't condone that… Everything you've seen in thirty years of Hunting, can you tell me that human beings aren't the only animal that hunts for sport, because they can?"

Dad sighed heavily, and slowly shook his head. Mary was fundamentally different from the Hunters she had descended from: she had been born in a new age, part of a new world. She saw things from a viewpoint her parents couldn't see, and her mother didn't respect. Dad was different; he respected that Mary was her own person, with her own moral code and ideas, and had learned a lot about the person she wanted to be from observing him, just giving things her own tweak. Her dad was calm, wise and fair-minded; he just happened to be married to a vicious harpy of a woman.

"What do you think, about me…staying here?" Mary asked quietly.

"I think it's your choice. And to be honest, I'd figured you'd be leaving," Dad sighed. "I actually thought it'd be sooner than this."

"Freedom costs," Mary murmured, and a flicker of hurt flashed across her dad's face. "You know I don't hate you, don't you? And I love Allison. I don't want to leave the two of you behind. But I just…can't. I just can't."

"I understand," Dad mumbled, fiddling with a bullet. It was his silver bullet, the last one left from the six he had made for his graduation ceremony. It was over thirty years old, embossed with the fleur-de-lis. "There's a reason I haven't spoken to your grandfather in decades."

"But he always knows where you are," Mary said softly. "I don't want to just…disappear from your life. I respect you, and I love you. And I don't want to abandon Allison. I am who I am from learning from you, you know." She sighed. "Dad…why are you antagonising Derek Hale?"

Dad's eyebrows drew together, a subtle frown appearing. Now that she knew, she could never not know. As removed from Hunting as she was, even without him knowing she was a werewolf, her dad knew there was no way she could stay truly out of the supernatural. She knew about it; she would always notice it.

"One day there'll be no silverback gorillas left," she said softly. "And every time a species goes extinct, it affects the entire ecosystem… Who knows what the Hale family protected the humans of Beacon Hills from, just from their presence alone."

"We didn't have anything to do with the Hale fire," Dad told her softly.

"You know you didn't," Mary corrected. She shook her head. "Can you say with absolute certainty that you trust Kate when she says she had nothing to do with it?" She licked her lips. "She's worried, Dad. That's why she's here; she's scared you'll get too close."

"You think she had something to do with it?"

"I think she's capable of anything," Mary said. "I would not be surprised that she lit the match herself."

Dad sighed heavily, looking far more tired, more worried, than he had let himself show until now. "I really wish you'd graduated, lamb-chop. You'll always be a force to be reckoned with; I just wish that force was going to drive us."

Mary nodded, her throat tight and hot from emotion prickling the back of her eyes. He'd never say it, but her dad was disappointed that she wasn't going to continue the family tradition, the family business. Take her place as a future leader of the Hunters; his legacy.

"I just don't want to look in the mirror and realise I'm more monstrous than the creatures we hunt," Mary said softly, thinking of her mother, of Kate. "Or not even realise it… I never want to enjoy cruelty."

"You want to know something, Mary? I wish I had half your courage," Dad said, and Mary blinked, stunned.

"What?"

"You've never been afraid to be exactly who you are - to guide your own fate," Dad said. "When I was a teenager it never occurred to me to go my own way; that I could have any life I was prepared to fight for. I was born and bred for this life; Hunting was all I was raised to do. I was told it was the only thing I was made for."

"Well, your father's a dick," Mary said scornfully.

"That's your grandpa you're talking about… But yes, he is a dick," Dad said, his lips twitching, and Mary smiled.

"What did you want to be, when you were younger?" she asked, curious. Dad was so good at his job - at selling guns, at Hunting - she wondered if there was anything he had ever wanted to do, for himself.

"Me? I wanted to play left-field for the New York Yankees," Dad said, and Mary laughed. "In fact, it's the pursuit of that dream that still gets me through every Hunt." Mary chuckled softly. "What do you want, Mary?"

"I want to be happy."

Dad nodded slowly. "And that's all I really want for you. For you and for your sister… Do I get to see the place, at least, before you move in?"

"Maybe. And maybe you'd like to come over for dinner sometimes?" Mary suggested shyly. She cleared her throat. "Just…just you. I might give Allison a key - so she can come and chill whenever she likes." Dad chuckled.

"My little girls alone in their own place," he grimaced, shaking his head, ignoring the subtle hint that Mary hadn't said a word about Victoria, and he knew better than to comment on it. "I'm too young for my little girl to be moving out on her own."

"You are young," Mary assured him, laughing, "and you're much more attractive than most of the dads at school, so you've got that going for you, too." Dad laughed, his eyes twinkling. His eyes fell to the Beretta on the table between them.

"It's not a condition…but if you're set on moving out, I'd feel happier knowing you at least had your guns with you," he said. "I know you know how to use them, respect them. Are you gonna take them with you?"

Mary glanced down at the Beretta. If that was all it took to have his blessing, she would take her Beretta, and the beautiful Colt 1911 he had gifted her on her eighteenth birthday, and lock them away in her home. She was her deadliest weapon; the guns were superfluous. But he didn't know that.

"I'll take the guns," Mary said.

"And a decent security-system," Dad added, and she fought the urge to roll her eyes. "You can get cameras and sensors set up to feed to an App on your phone. A young woman living on her own with access to guns - just as a precaution."

"I don't need a gun to take down someone who invades my home," Mary said, pulling a face, and Dad nodded, drawing her into a one-armed hug, kissing her hair.

"I taught you well."

Mary smiled, hugging her dad back, savouring the moment. "You did. You didn't mess up with me, Dad. You did good."

And his heart would break if he ever found out she was one of the monsters he had devoted his life to protecting her from.

A.N.: I just love Chris Argent. D'you know - I could sort of see Chris and Melissa McCall together - she'd be the one to show him that you can be a strong and tough woman without being a hellacious, vicious bitch. Although 'bitch' isn't strong enough for Victoria Argent.