The room was a generic motel room with two twin beds and nightstands that were matched to the plain wooden headboards on the beds. Across from them was a dresser with a TV sat on top. The only other thing in the room was a door that presumably led to the bathroom, and a wardrobe in the far corner.
"I'm glad you came." His mother sat on the bed farthest from the door, the edge of her suitcase peeking out from underneath it. She ran her hands nervously along her thighs, exactly like Stiles had outside the door.
"Like I had much choice," he glared, folding his arms against his chest. "My mother shows up after nearly a decade of being supposedly dead. It piques the curiosity."
She let out a sigh, scrubbing her hands through her hair and ruffling the long strands. Stiles had never noticed when he was younger, but now he was realizing that many of his nervous habits stemmed from her. Maybe that was why his father would stare at him with misty eyes and then go get a beer, or a glass of Bourbon, before digging out the photo albums and heading to his room to reminisce. Not that his father thought Stiles noticed. Being an aloof teenager had its benefits – he could surveil stealthily and it provided him the luxury of letting his father keep up the façade that he was alright, which they both needed to believe.
"There's so much to tell you," she admitted while rising from the bed. She took a couple of hesitant steps towards her son who tensed at the movement. "I don't even know where to being. I always pictured this moment in my head but none of what I came up with seems adequate now."
He supposed it was a good thing that she'd been planning to return at some point, but it didn't make any of this easier or hurt any less. "How about you start with why?" He requested, voice breaking on the inquiry.
"There's…" she paused to take another deep breath. Stiles did that himself to buy time in a conversation where he needed to think up the way to properly word something or figure out a convincing lie. "No simple explanation for that. To tell you the full reason of why right now would take a lot of time that we don't have and just bring up more questions than answers."
He huffed a breath out in annoyance, shaking his head. "Try giving me the cliff notes version."
She eyed him at his tone, her gaze berating like when he'd acted up in public as a child. "Someone very bad and twice as dangerous was out to hurt me, and was posing a threat to you and your father. I left to protect you."
Now he understood about the more questions than answers. "Who would be after you? You were on the PTA, volunteered at animal shelters and the vet's office, you worked in a bakery! Did you spit in the batter or something?"
"More questions," she reiterated. "I need you to believe that I left to protect you." She sounded earnest, desperate.
"Alright, here should be an easy one: where have you been all this time?" He needed to know, but the potential answers scared him, the doors it could open.
"Everywhere. I moved to big cities every six months or so. I was in Washington, New York, Texas, Virginia. I was all over the place." She smiled as if she was reliving a beautiful vacation. She caught herself upon seeing her son's face. He looked betrayed. "Everywhere I lived, before I left, I would always buy a postcard. I would fill it out and tell you about the new places, talk about what I thought you'd like. I…" She held up a finger and went to a nightstand. She tilted it back and forth, rocking it side to side while pulling until it was far enough out on the carpet so she could grope blindly along the back panel. After several beats, she pulled an envelope out that had been taped back there. It was thick and weathered, like it'd been handled frequently.
She seemed hesitant to reach out again towards him, and opted to put the envelope on the bed closest to Stiles, who stood staunchly by the door.
He wanted to reach out and grab it, the naturally curious side of him eager to dig through it all. It could even give him insight into what she'd been doing, maybe clues that could answer questions. He held fast though, tensing to keep from impulsively grabbing for it.
"I wanted to send them but there wasn't any way I could without coming to show you I've been alive. I couldn't do that until now."
"Did you… do you have another family?" The thought that she'd remarried, that he might have step- or half-siblings out there made him sick and feel inadequate in the beats it took for her to answer.
"Of course not, honey. You and your father are the loves of my life. No one could ever measure up to that." She pulled at a chain around her neck, yanking it from beneath her shirt. On the chain were a locket and her wedding ring clinking together with movement. He'd given the locket to her when he was eight as a Mother's Day present. Their last before she 'died'. "There hasn't been a day where I haven't thought of you or missed you or wanted to come home."
"Have you been back at all since you left?" There was a moment of considering silence. Not quite a pause, but more than a hesitation. It caused Stiles to clench his jaw. "Don't even think about lying to me anymore than you already have. If you do, I walk out of here and I will never speak to you again."
"I was in town eight months ago." She admitted quietly, bowing her head as she nervously twined her fingers.
The anger was back full force. He'd come for answers and got ten more questions for each one he received. He was naïve to think this could be cut and dry. "Did you–"
"Yes." She interrupted smoothly, "I saw you briefly before I left again. I wanted to make sure you were safe with the… developments in your life since I left you."
"Abandoned." Stiles corrected angrily. "You abandonedus. No amount of reasoning or excuses or lies will rewrite the historic fact that you abandoned your husband and son."
"I had no choice!" Their tempers flared identically. "I honestly shouldn't have to explain myself to you. I'm your mother. You should respect that there are things I can't, and alternatively won't, tell you and leave it at that."
"You can't honestly believe that you don't owe me an in depth explanation into your death. Faked death at that." Her silence spoke volumes – she wasn't going to explain anymore than she already had. "You know who I respect? My father. He gave up a lot, sacrificed, to give me everything I needed or wanted. He put up with me when the Adderall wasn't working and I was insane. He's put up with a lot in the last year especially. That's what I respect. That no matter what I've done or said or will do, he'll still love me and be there for me and never leave me. I… I don't even know what to think of you."
There was a tense moment when the son glared at his estranged mother before he turned and left the motel room without another word.
Natalie watched her son climb into his Jeep, ignoring Scott calling out to him as he peeled out of the parking lot. Turning her attention to Scott, she watched him sigh, hands full of vending machine snacks.
His nostrils flared before he went rigid. Pivoting slowly, Scott swallowed a bite of candy and simply stared at the ghost standing eight feet from him. "Hi, Missus Stilinski." He greeted shakily.
"Hello, Scott." Natalie responded kindly. She smiled sweetly, looking over the teen who she still remembered as being a gangly, awkward little boy. "How's your mother doing?"
"Fine, fine. Still working at the hospital, still kicking my butt. She's been great for Stiles and Sheriff Stilinski too, over the years."
She chuckled, wondering if Scott was still relatively clueless or if that was an intentional dig. Perhaps a little of both. "So, Scott." He looked up expectantly, taking a healthy bite out of the Snickers in his hand. "How long have you been a werewolf?"
I just got back from a dentist visit with bad news, so make me feel better and review? Let me know what you're thinking!