Work Text:
Chris wished he could say he was surprised when he found Isaac lying in Allison’s bed a week after it happened, curled on his side with his back to the door. There was no way the boy didn’t know Chris was there. His back and shoulders were tense and too still. Maybe he was anticipating Chris would be angry, would tell him to get out. To be fair, Chris wasn’t sure himself if he was angry; he certainly wasn’t happy about it. But he also couldn’t forget the open vulnerability on the boy’s face right after Allison’s death, when Chris had locked his grief so tightly inside himself that he hadn’t even been capable of stopping and realising that Isaac mightn’t be doing the same.
It was against his better judgement to give the boy a long hug, trying not to choke on his anger and disbelief, the utter despair that his daughter was dead, and it was against his better judgement now that he stepped in to the room and sank down on the edge of the bed in the space left by Isaac’s bent knees. Isaac drew his legs up even further into his body, stiffly avoiding contact, a thick-sounding sniff giving away the fact that he had been crying.
Chris didn’t want to be responsible for this kid right now. He didn’t want to open himself up to the grief, his own or someone else’s. He wanted to stay detached and mechanical. But he also couldn’t really, truly let himself do that, not when Isaac was hurting so openly in front of him.
Cautiously, he reached out his hand and placed it on the boy’s side, ignoring the jolt of surprise and the way his body tensed up even further. Isaac heaved in a shuddering breath and held it. Chris waited, not moving his hand until finally, a moment or an eternity later, the breath shuddered out of him again and he started to quietly cry.
Chris swallowed around the hard lump in his throat, feeling like his mind was scrabbling desperately to clutch all the pieces of him before he shattered. He felt almost frozen in his indecision on how to further comfort the crying boy, aching to pat him where his hand rested; to do something, anything that might be useful.
“I’m sorry,” Isaac gasped out suddenly. He took a few gulping gasps of air, his body shifting under Chris’ hand. “I’m sorry.” Chris shook his head even though the boy couldn’t see him.
“Isaac.” It came out sounding thick and grating. Chris cleared his throat and tried again. “It’s okay.” Isaac shook his head, his face pressed into the bed. Chris felt even more stuck, not sure what to do or say. “It’s okay.” He uselessly repeated, and gave in to the urge to rub his thumb across the boy’s back, pressing his palm down a little more firmly onto his side.
He sat there long enough for Isaac to calm, his breathing evening out and his body finally relaxing as he fell asleep.
Later, after he spent too long sipping a steadily warming beer and eating handfuls of dry cereal from the box – the milk in the fridge had gone bad, and the leftover Chinese he and Allison had eaten a day or two before she died stank and was growing a grey fuzz - Chris took a shower and simply stood with his face bowed under the hot water for a long time. He felt tired and numb by the time he turned the taps to shut the water off.
As he towelled off, he steadfastly did not look at his reflection in the mirror. Just as he was pulling on a pair of sweatpants, he heard the scrape of feet against carpet in the hall. He hastily pulled a t-shirt over his head, and opened the door to poke his head out in time to see Isaac by the front door.
“Hey,” Chris said. Isaac looked reluctantly over his shoulder. “You okay?”
“Yeah, sure.” Isaac replied. “I, uh… I’m sorry. For… you know.” He motioned vaguely back down the hall to Allison’s room.
Chris cleared his throat awkwardly. “It’s okay. I mean – it’s… she…” He closed his mouth and grit his teeth, giving up.
They stood there staring awkwardly for a moment, before Isaac turned back to the door, saying, “I’m just gonna go.” He reached out for the door handle and Chris took a step forward despite himself.
“Are you hungry?”
Isaac whipped his head back around quickly, eyes wide and startled. He didn’t say anything, just stared, mouth open slightly. Chris wondered if he looked as surprised as Isaac, as surprised as he felt.
“I might have something. I can at least make a sandwich, if you’re hungry.”
Isaac stood for a moment longer, and Chris found himself somewhat anxiously hoping the boy would say yes.
“Okay.” Isaac finally said, and Chris huffed a sigh out through his nose, crooking the corner of his lips up in an attempt at a smile.
In the kitchen, he spread peanut butter on the slightly stale bread left in the fridge as Isaac sat at the table, looking uncomfortable and guilty. He ate the sandwich silently as Chris tried not to stare, arms crossed as he leaned on the counter. When Isaac flicked a glance at the loaf of bread left on the counter, Chris simply asked, “another?”
“Okay. I mean, yes please.” Isaac corrected himself hastily.
He ate four more. Chris was out of bread.
The next day, Chris worked alone in the study, responding to email queries for Argent Arms that had piled up. It was quiet, methodical, and numbing.
At five, he resolutely shut down his laptop and left the study for the kitchen. He wasn’t looking forward to trying to find something to eat – he’d gotten so caught up in work that he didn’t make it to the store – and was already considering what kind of takeout he would order, when he heard a thump from the kitchen.
Chris froze briefly, then drew his handgun from his back and crept forward silently, listening to the rustling noises coming from the kitchen. He paused again outside the doorway before smoothly stepping in, raising the handgun in the same motion and immediately training it on the figure there.
The figure that was… bent over in front of the open fridge. The trashcan was dragged next to the fridge, the lid removed. There was a bag of groceries on the counter.
Chris lowered his gun with a sigh. “Isaac, what are you doing?”
“Cleaning out the fridge,” Isaac replied from inside the fridge. Chris set his jaw, feeling more irritated; it didn’t help that Isaac had heard him coming and wasn’t caught off guard in the slightest.
“The old food in here reeks, and you didn’t even have any bread left.” Isaac sat back on his heels, the old Chinese food containers in his hands. He glanced up at Chris as he tossed them into the trash with another ‘thump’. His eyes cut down to the gun still in Chris’ hands, and Chris belatedly holstered it. Isaac gave him a rather grim looking smile, then looked away before saying, “I brought some food. I… I can cook, if you want. I used to cook for my dad all the time.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Chris told him immediately. He didn’t want to think of Isaac’s father. All of a sudden he wanted to get out of the apartment. That only served to make him even more annoyed. It was his home; Isaac should be the one to leave if Chris didn’t want him there.
“I don’t mind,” Isaac said simply. Chris just stared back at him for a moment. “It’s pork chops. And I got potatoes to mash.” He didn’t move. In fact, Chris thought to himself, he was holding very, very still. Chris wondered again if Isaac expected him to get angry.
“How did you even get in?” Is what he eventually settled on saying. Isaac cracked a game-looking smile, though he still stayed very still.
“You still haven’t fixed Alli – the bedroom windows.” The smartass look is wiped suddenly and entirely from his face as he realised the slip he almost made.
Now Chris did feel angry. Coming in his daughter’s window uninvited made him angry while she was alive, and that memory made him much angrier about it now. He opened his mouth to tell Isaac to get out, to tell him that he didn’t want him coming around and making a nuisance of himself, but somehow managed to bite back the words as he remembered Isaac saying “I’m not” when Chris told him he was good at compartmentalising.
Isaac watched him quietly as they both waited to see if Chris was going to tell him to go. Chris looked at the bag of groceries, and at the trashcan full of spoiled food by the fridge, and back to Isaac.
“Thanks,” he said. “For the food.” Isaac looked taken aback for a moment, then smiled and got back to his feet.
“Are you hungry now? I can start. Just show me where your pans are.”
After that, Isaac started coming around more and more. He always used the front door now, knocking politely and waiting for Chris to answer. Sometimes he cooked, or sometimes Chris did. One night, Chris made a chocolate Bavarian cake for dessert, and cut Isaac a large second helping after the boy practically inhaled the first. “This is amazing,” Isaac moaned. “I’m not great at desserts. Apple crumble, maybe, with apples from a can. Nothing really fancy from scratch or anything.”
“Well,” Chris told him with a half-smile, “everybody needs a hobby.”
Isaac nodded slowly, a thoughtful look on his face. Neither of them mentioned hunting, though it hung in the air between them. When Chris couldn’t stand it any longer, he pushed back from the table, scraping his chair noisily. He gathered the empty plates and started stacking the dishwasher.
“I can help,” Isaac offered, standing up. “I don’t mind helping to clean up.”
Chris shook his head, not looking up from the cutlery basket. “That’s okay, I’ve got it. Are you…?” For a moment, he couldn’t stand the easy familiarity that had been developing. It still became awkward and uncomfortable whenever he looked at it too hard. He couldn’t bring himself to ask if Isaac was sticking around, couldn’t even admit to himself that a part of him wanted that.
Isaac saved him from needing to by saying, “I brought my homework. If that’s okay.”
Chris nodded woodenly and scraped out, “That’s fine.”’
He still refused to look up until after he heard Isaac leave the room.
Chris glanced in to the living room on his way down the hall, to see Isaac sitting on the floor with his homework spread out on the coffee table. Not wanting to interrupt – not knowing what to say even if he did – Chris went to gather the dirty laundry he’d let pile up, starting a wash before going and taking a long shower.
When he came back to the living room, Isaac had changed and was lying on the couch with a book. He had gathered all his books and papers into a neat pile on the coffee table.
Allison had never been neat with her schoolwork. She had liked to spread everything out on her bed and sit in the middle of it. Chris found he couldn’t take his eyes off the books, feeling stuck in that thought for a few moments, aware of Isaac watching him. He met the boy’s gaze and tried hard not to see the uncertainty underneath the relaxed front.
Chris wasn’t good at small talk with teenagers or werewolves. He still wasn’t entirely comfortable or happy with whatever this was, whatever reason Isaac had for continuing to come over all the time. He wasn’t entirely comfortable examining his own reasons for letting Isaac do so. He kept reminding himself that if he couldn’t have his family, his girls, then he wanted to be alone. He didn’t want some smartass kid hanging around all the time. And yet, Chris still couldn’t make himself tell Isaac to go.
“I’ll be in my study,” he said instead, and barely waited for Isaac’s response before going.
Chris puttered about in the study, checking weapons, straightening the items on his desk, twitching the curtains so they closed more tightly. Little things to do to keep his mind blank, or at least under control. He wasn’t entirely afraid to admit that he was hiding from Isaac.
Later, Chris went to check on the laundry and found it already tumbling in the dryer. That twisted his stomach, irritation and a grudging kind of fondness warring within him. By the time he came back down the hall to the living room, Isaac was asleep on the couch, his legs curled up.
Chris didn’t know where Isaac usually spent his nights. He had heard that he was staying with the McCalls before… before, but he had no idea if that was still the case. Chris thought he should probably shake him awake and send him on his way. He tried not to think too carefully about what he was doing as he covered Isaac with a blanket instead. He tried not to think too carefully about turning the reading lamp on and the fact that even if Isaac woke during the night he wouldn’t exactly need the lamp to see by.
He definitely didn’t look back as he stood in the doorway, hand on the light switch, because checking on a sleeping child as the final course of the night before turning in wasn’t a thing he needed to do anymore.
And in the morning when he found Isaac still sleeping soundly, feet kicked out from under the blanket and dangling off the end of the couch, Chris definitely wasn’t relieved to find that he had stayed.
Time passed. Chris spent his days tending to Argent Arms, or running monotonous errands around town and exchanging awkward nods with the people he recognised. He increasingly found himself being sure to be home after school hours, trying to occupy himself with little things, listening for Isaac’s knock on the door. The door to Allison’s bedroom stayed shut.
The afternoons that Isaac didn’t come stretched on into melancholic evenings. Sometimes Chris sat at his dining table alone, drinking beer. Sometimes he went for a drive around town and to the preserve, aimlessly patrolling and watching for threats.
One evening, there was a heavier knock on the door. When Chris looked through the peephole, he was taken aback to see Derek Hale standing in the hall outside. They saw each other around town sometimes, but since the nogitsune had been contained, there was little reason to keep in touch. If Derek was here at the apartment now, it couldn’t mean anything good.
“Derek,” Chris said when he opened the door.
“Chris,” Derek said agreeably. He watched Chris silently until Chris stepped aside from the door with a sigh.
“Can I help you with something, Derek?” Chris asked after he had shut the door behind the younger man. He couldn’t help but cross his arms.
“Scott told me that you’ve been spending a lot of time with Isaac,” Derek said, affecting a loose and easy stance, hands in his pockets, not fooling Chris for a second. Chris stared at him for a moment; that was certainly the last thing he would have imagined Derek seeking him out for.
It also answered a lot of Chris’ questions - like where Isaac went when he wasn’t at Chris’ apartment, and whether they knew where Isaac went when he wasn’t with them.
When Derek’s eyebrow arched sharply, Chris realised he still hadn’t offered a reply. “Yes,” he said simply. “I have. So what?”
“’So what?’ So, I was wondering if you’d mind telling me why?” Derek said.
“I don’t really see how it’s any of your business,” Chris grit out, annoyed by that arching eyebrow, that smug face.
“Well,” Derek’s arms crossed now, “I don’t think I really like it. What’re you guys doing when he comes around here?” He paced a few steps, still affecting a casual air. Chris let his arms drop, hyperaware of the werewolf’s movements, and of the gun holstered at his back. His fingers itched with the desire to move, but he didn’t reach for the weapon just yet.
“Oh, you don’t like it? What’s the matter, Derek? You don’t trust me with your precious Beta? But wait, I forgot – Isaac’s not your Beta anymore, is he?”
Derek scowled now, his mouth a tight, downward line. His easy air was disappearing fast. “No, I don’t trust you. All this time you’ve been hunting us, and now I’m supposed to believe that you – what? That you’re gonna take care of him?”
“Like you took care of him?” Chris snapped, glaring back at the younger man. Derek looked caught off guard and mad about it. “I know how you treated your Betas, Derek. I know what kind of Alpha you were. You come here and suggest I’m going to, what? Draw Isaac in, gain his trust, then hurt him? I think we both know he’s been hurt enough already.”
“I didn’t want to hurt Isaac.” Derek spat out. “I had to send him away. I had to make him think – it was the only way to keep him safe.”
“I don’t want to hurt him either. Do you really believe I could, after everything? He was Allison’s –“ Chris cut himself off, suddenly feeling like he was going to choke. He was Allison’s what? Chris sure as hell didn’t know, and he didn’t especially want to know, either. But Isaac had been Allison’s something, anyway, and Chris was finding it increasingly difficult to deny that that meant something to him now, even if it didn’t then.
Chris sighed, feeling defeated and tired all of a sudden, and gave a shrug. “We eat dinner. He does his homework. He gets clean laundry. Sometimes he sleeps here.” He sighed again. “You don’t have to worry. I’m not going to hurt him.”
Derek’s jaw worked silently for a long moment. Chris kept silent. He didn’t know what else he could say, even if he felt he had to, which he didn’t particularly.
“Just,” Derek started; stopped; tried again, “make sure you don’t.” Then he turned and left the apartment.
Chris felt his shoulders slump when he heard the front door close behind Derek. He rubbed a hand over his face, groaning out another sigh.
What the hell had he gotten himself into?
It wasn’t until Isaac mentioned school starting back over dinner one night that Chris realised just how much time had passed already. Two months. It felt like an eternity, and it felt like a day. Chris hadn’t even really registered that school had been out for the holidays. He had seen holiday decorations around town, he realised suddenly, but he hadn’t noticed them.
His first Christmas without Victoria and Allison, and he didn’t even know. That was… not necessarily a bad thing, if the level of despair and panic he felt just realising it was any indicator. He wondered if Isaac had company for Christmas, remembering with a pang that it was the boy’s first Christmas alone, too.
Maybe, Chris thought to himself, they could have been alone together on Christmas day. He was surprised by the flash of longing, and of disappointment that he had let that opportunity go without even knowing it existed. That hurt - he didn’t know if he wanted to let himself want things.
But if he didn’t want things for himself, he realised that maybe he wanted things for Isaac, that maybe Isaac needed Chris to want things for him. That hurt, too, and Chris was faintly terrified that he was considering it at all.
He cleared his throat, watching Isaac stacking the dishwasher. “Do you… need anything? For school? The new term?”
Isaac looked over at him, eyes wide, obviously surprised. “Oh. Uh. No, I’m good… thanks.”
Chris nodded, silent and polite, thinking. Isaac returned to what he was doing. He cleared his throat and said, “I’m going to try out for the lacrosse team again this year.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah,” Isaac said. He seemed kind of nervous. “Scott and Stiles are trying out, too. Scott’ll probably be captain, since Jackson is gone.”
“The supernatural speed and strength would help, I suppose,” Chris said, trying to make it into a warning without sounding too stern or disapproving.
Isaac looked over at him nervously, and shook his head. “We try not to use… them. We… uh, we’ve been practicing.”
“Oh,” Chris said again. “That’s good, then.”
The next day, Chris drove to a sporting goods store and bought a lacrosse stick.
The next time Isaac came over, and saw the crosse left in the living room for him, he froze. Chris quietly waited, leaning in the doorway with arms crossed.
“Is that…?” Isaac tried to ask. He just kept staring.
Chris cleared his throat. “Yours. Yeah.”
Isaac looked over at him, eyes wide, before he moved across the room, lowering his school bag to the floor. He picked up the crosse and turned it in his hands, examined the net.
“I didn’t think you had your own.” Chris told him, voice carefully neutral.
“I didn’t. This is… a good one. A really good one. You didn’t need – you shouldn’t have spent – why would you do that?” He looked up at Chris, crosse held across the front of his body, almost like a barrier.
Chris struggled to reply for a moment.
Because public schools didn’t always have the funding for decent sporting equipment. Because Isaac wanted to play. Because Chris hadn’t even realised about Christmas. Because he had liked buying Allison things; he and Victoria had had the money and she was their only child. Because no one else was going to buy things for Isaac. Because Chris didn’t have anyone to buy things for anymore, but maybe he wanted to buy things for Isaac.
“You didn’t have your own.” He basically repeated himself. His throat locked down and he couldn’t say anything else.
Isaac admired the crosse again. “Thanks,” he said quietly. He looked up at Chris again, eyes maybe a little bright. “Thank you.”
Chris swallowed thickly, and gave a tight nod. “You’re welcome.” He pushed off the door frame and turned to get away from the room and from the look on Isaac’s face. “Dinner’s on in ten!” He called back hastily as he hurried down the hall.
Isaac volunteered stories about his day at school, about how try outs had gone, about how Stiles was still a hopeless player and was pissed about the stocky little freshman who showed him up badly. Scott had predictably made captain, and he and Isaac had been put in the position of attackers.
It was the most Isaac had talked at once. Chris found himself enjoying it. It was like buying the lacrosse stick had broken down a little more of the hesitancy between them, and Isaac seemed surprised but pleased that Chris wanted to hear about his ordinary day. Chris was quietly relieved to know he had bought the right kind of stick, having guessed that Isaac would play an offensive role on the team.
After dinner, Isaac stacked the dishwasher and Chris settled in to an armchair in the living room with a beer, flicking through channels on the TV without any real intent of watching. Mostly it was just a reason to be in the room when Isaac came in to start his homework.
Isaac set himself up as he did most nights he was there; cross-legged on the floor, using the coffee table to work on. Every so often his eyes would cut to the TV, or to his new lacrosse stick leaning in the corner. They didn’t talk much, but Chris didn’t mind. The quiet was easy and companionable – when Chris realised this, it didn’t make him as uncomfortable as it once did.
It was becoming impossible to tell himself that he didn’t want Isaac around, that the random clothing and belongings that littered the apartment when Isaac was gone helped Chris feel less crushingly alone, even as they annoyed him.
They sat like that for a time as Isaac worked his way through his homework. When the movie on TV finished, Chris sat forward in his chair, rubbing his face with a sigh.
“I’m going to go to bed,” he told the teenager, bracing on his knees as he stood up. “Are you staying here tonight?” He didn’t really think about the fact that he didn’t usually ask Isaac outright – he just didn’t give himself the chance to talk himself out of asking this time.
“Uh. Yeah. If that’s… okay.” Isaac replied.
“Of course it’s okay,” Chris told him, and even to his own ears he sounded surprised. “I thought…”
Thought Isaac knew. That he could stay as often as he liked.
But how could he know, if Chris hadn’t told him? He shook his head at himself with a rueful tilt of his lips. Not telling Isaac to go away wasn’t the same as telling him he was welcome.
“You can stay,” he said, eventually. It sounded inadequate and too big all at once.
Isaac hadn’t looked up at him at all during this. He rolled his pen back and forth between his index fingers and thumbs, staring at it intently. He nodded jerkily and said, “Okay. Thanks.”
Chris watched him for a moment longer before moving to the coffee table and reaching down, letting his hand clap down on Isaac’s shoulder. “Well -”
He’d only meant to say goodnight, but Isaac’s reaction stopped him in his tracks. The teenager flinched and curled his body just slightly away from Chris, his arms rising up on their way to shielding his face.
Chris removed his hand as though branded – or as though he had branded Isaac. “I’m sorry.” He blurted out – pulled his hand away, straightened his entire body, took a step away from the boy.
“I’m sorry.” He said again, and was astounded that Isaac said it in unison with him.
“I know you were just – I didn’t mean to – Sorry. I’m sorry.” Isaac said. He wouldn’t look Chris in the eye, and he hadn’t let his arms relax from their defensive posture.
“Isaac,” Chris started; stopped.
Isaac shook his head. “It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m sorry.”
“Stop saying you’re sorry,” Chris told him, not knowing what else to say, hating how even that made Isaac flinch.
“Sorry,” the boy said again; whispered, almost.
Chris almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it. The sharp drop in his stomach made him feel ill and the comfortable nature of the evening had evaporated.
He knew about Isaac’s father, of course. Chris had made it his business to find out what he could – the man was murdered and his son bitten, after all. He was sickened and saddened that whatever the specifics were, it meant that Chris had startled Isaac so badly when he dared to show a little brisk affection.
“I just…” and now Chris held his hands up placating, palms outward toward Isaac. Isaac still hadn’t relaxed, and Chris knew neither of them were going to be able to talk openly about it. Not now, maybe not ever. “…goodnight, Isaac,” Chris said with a sigh, lowering his arms.
“Goodnight, Chris,” Isaac told him with the same note of hesitancy and regret.
Chris laid awake in bed for a long time.
Isaac stayed away the next night. Chris sat at his kitchen table, glaring angrily as he scraped a bottle cap back and forth across the tabletop. He wasn’t angry at Isaac; he was angry at himself, and at the situation. He was angry at how sick with worry he felt, wondering if Isaac was going to keep coming around to spend time at the apartment.
Just as Chris was getting ready for bed, brushing his teeth a little more vigorously than really called for, he heard a knock on the door. He hastily rinsed his mouth and headed for the door, wiping his mouth on the hem of his shirt – Victoria wasn’t around to tell him not to do that, anymore. He tried not to let himself be too hopeful as he reached the door. It didn’t matter, though, because he was relieved – and anxious – to see that it was Isaac after all. He opened the door and tried to keep his face still. “Hey. It’s late. I didn’t think you were going to come today,” he said.
Isaac ducked his head, not meeting Chris’ eyes. “Yeah, I… I was at Scott’s. I was going to stay there, but…” He shifted his feet and looked at Chris briefly before his eyes slid straight past him, glancing into the apartment. “Can… I come in?”
Chris hastily moved out of the way, and closed the door behind Isaac as he came in.
“Thanks,” Isaac told him. “Did you eat dinner?” He barely paused for Chris to answer, powering on with a forced casual air. “We had Mexican. And I helped Scott with his homework for French.” As he went through the doorway to the living room, Chris was left gazing into the apartment. The hall was arrow straight, and ended with an always-closed door.
Isaac’s head popped back out into the hall. “Chris?”
Chris blinked, and focused on him. “What?”
Isaac’s mouth quirked into his half-smile. “Are… you okay? I asked you a question.”
Chris actually had to force himself to think back, to focus on Isaac’s words instead of milling in his own feelings of relief and pleasure – but also anxiety and desperation. “Uh,” he said. Isaac simply lifted an eyebrow at him. “Yeah,” Chris finally said. “I had Thai. Noodles.” He mentally kicked himself for the awkward clarifier. He was off-kilter, and Isaac knew it.
The younger man stepped fully into the doorway, leaning his shoulder against it. His tall body hunched down, arms crossed against his chest, his eyes cutting away to the carpet in between them. “Look, about last night –“
“It’s okay,” Chris cut him off quickly. Isaac looked up in surprise. “I get it. And I… I shouldn’t have done that.”
“No, that’s not –“ Isaac cut himself off with a shake of his head. “I know you didn’t mean anything bad by it. You just caught me off guard.”
Chris nodded. He had thought a lot about how he had been off to the side, slightly behind where Isaac had been sitting tucked up against the coffee table. A flanking position. He had also thought a lot about how he wasn’t in a hurry to try initiating contact, even with a more obvious approach, again. He still felt surprisingly disappointed by that.
“Well,” he said awkwardly, when the silence had stretched a little too long. “Thanks.”
They stood for a moment longer, not quite looking at each other. “I was going to just go to bed, but since you’re here…” Isaac looked up hopefully, and his face broke into a more genuine smile when Chris asked, “do you want dessert?”
Marked quizzes and tests started appearing in the apartment, left behind on the dining or coffee tables without comment when Isaac went to school in the mornings. At first Chris didn’t know what to say, or if Isaac even expected him to acknowledge them. He and Victoria had never actively checked on Allison’s grades during school terms. Brief mentions over dinner just about covered it, but it looked as though Isaac wanted to visibly share all his results. Chris tried not to think too hard about whether Isaac felt he had to provide proof that he was keeping respectable grades.
Chris found himself with a quiet, creeping sense of pride any time he read over one of the papers. Especially the French test marked with an “A”. He wondered if Isaac and Allison had ever studied together in amongst all the other things that had happened. The thought didn’t hold as much sting as it might once have.
Chris thought that the French test warranted dinner out, so he headed to the school and sat on the bleachers to watch Isaac, Scott, and Stiles at lacrosse training. The coach was as grating as ever, but the boys – and the young Yukimura kitsune, Chris was surprised to see - seemed to work well with him, and with one another, regardless. The drills were boring to watch, but he found he didn’t mind waiting, anyway, and he was glad to see Isaac playing with the stick he had bought.
Stiles noticed Chris’ presence first, which was a surprise, and trotted over to Scott, slapping him on the chest and bending close to talk to him. Scott’s head snapped to look at Chris in surprise. Chris made himself sit calmly, raise a hand in a wave, and smile. Even through the bulky lacrosse helmet, Chris could see Scott return the smile.
Scott turned towards Isaac, and even though the beta was across the length of the field, Chris watched him pause, head cocked to listen, and then also look to the bleachers. Chris waved again, and after a moment of surprise, Isaac waved back.
At the end of practice, Isaac came jogging straight over to the bleachers. Scott and Stiles practically tripped over themselves in their haste to intervene. “Hey,” Isaac said to Chris, sounding pleased to see him. “What’re you doing here?”
“Well, I was in the neighbourhood, so I thought we could grab dinner together.”
Isaac ducked his head on a smile, then nodded. “Alright. I need to change first.”
“Hey, Mr Argent,” Stiles practically sing-songed as he and Scott skidded to a halt, “whatcha doin’? Creating even more opportunities to gain baby Isaac’s trust? Do you have a car battery waiting to go in your new apartment, or don’t you have the space like in the basement at the old house?”
Isaac frowned and set his jaw. Scott looked uncomfortable, but he didn’t say anything.
“Mr Stilinski, always a pleasure.” Chris said blandly, his face carefully blank to hide the punch to the gut Stiles’ words delivered. He turned back to Isaac. “You did… really well. On your French test. So I thought maybe we could have dinner out to celebrate before we headed home.”
He froze as soon as the word ‘home’ slipped out of his mouth. So did Isaac. Stiles scoffed, and Scott drew himself up to his full height, a hand on Stiles’ chest to stop him from speaking. “Isaac, are you really sure –“ Scott started, but Isaac cut him off.
“That sounds great. Thanks. Burgers at the diner? I’ll just go shower – should I meet you at the car?”
Chris had never been more glad to receive an embarrassed teenager’s dismissal before. He cleared his throat and nodded in agreement. He forced himself to meet Scott’s eyes, then Stiles’, with a small farewell nod, and turned to walk away.
“Moving on to another crazy, asshole daddy figure, Isaac?” He heard Stiles say.
“Stiles,” Scott sounded shocked.
“Shut the hell up, Stilinski,” Isaac snapped.
Chris kept walking.
It wasn’t a big surprise to just sit down across from Isaac in a booth and see Stiles’ car pull up in the parking lot. A moment later, Scott and Stiles tumbled out and hurried towards the diner. Chris sighed, resigned.
The door to the diner flew open and the two boys pushed through at the same time, nearly getting stuck and tangled together. “Oh, hey, Isaac; Mr Argent!” Stiles said loudly with a cocky grin. “Wow, you guys were coming to this diner? Scotty and I had no idea. We just felt like burgers after you mentioned them.” As if Chris would be fooled. Stiles clapped his hands loudly, before holding his hands out like he’d had a sudden idea. “Well – hey! Since we’re all here, you guys don’t mind if we join you, right?” There was no chance to reply, because Stiles was already sitting down on Isaac’s side of the booth, unabashedly bumping against Isaac until he scooted across to make room.
Scott made to slide in on Chris’ side of the booth, and Chris was slightly mollified by the sheepish smile the boy gave him. Chris rolled his eyes anyway, before he shifted down to make room for Scott to sit.
Nobody said anything for a few long, awkward moments. “Man, I can’t wait to have one of Andy’s choc-malt milkshakes!” Stiles said, over enthusiastic.
“Oh, yeah, me too!” Scott agreed, also too enthusiastic. Then again, Chris thought, that was just Scott; overly eager.
Chris shifted in his seat, and flicked his gaze across to Isaac. The boy was looking up through his lashes at Chris. He hadn’t looked so unsure for weeks. Chris found he didn’t like that look on Isaac’s face.
He tried to summon a reassuring smile, and said, “I like banana, myself.”
“Gross!” Isaac blurted out, then seemed surprised by himself. Chris felt his smile widening, becoming more natural, and was gratified by the smile it finally drew from Isaac.
Shortly before their food arrived, Chris was surprised by the arrival of Derek Hale. The only consolation at this turn of events was that Derek seemed as surprised as Chris. Chris watched as the werewolf moved from surprised to sullen and angry, apparently his default expression.
Stiles suddenly leapt into motion, all limbs as he said hello. Chris thought he often seemed to be all limbs. “Hey, Derek! There’s room for you here by me, buddy.” Stiles shifted further across the seat, once again squashing against Isaac until he moved, which he did, begrudgingly.
“I didn’t realise there’d be such a big group,” Derek said. He was sullen and angry, but that was pretty standard as far as Chris was concerned.
“Who, us?” Stiles rambled, “I don’t know, I wouldn’t say we were a – big – group – of people, I mean, it was just Scott and me, we really wanted burgers after Isaac said he and Mr. Argent were going for some, we didn’t realise they were going to be at the same diner as us, but here we are. Right, Scotty?”
“Right!” Scott asserted with his confused dopey smile.
Derek didn’t say anything.
“Come on, sit down, you’re making the locals nervous,” Stiles said.
Derek rolled his eyes, but he did sit down.
Chris had no idea what was going on.
After an uncomfortable meal, Chris unfortunately had a pretty good idea of what was going on.
“So, Stilinski and Derek…” he tried in the car as he and Isaac drove home.
“I don’t think anything’s going on,” Isaac said quickly. He seemed nervous. “Not yet, anyway. Stiles keeps saying he’s ‘wearing him down’.”
Chris snorted. “I… can see that. Them, I mean,” he said grudgingly. He didn’t really want to know about it, but he thought in a set of strange ways, the two of them made a kind of sense. “Dinner with Stiles is an… experience.”
Isaac snorted in much the same way Chris had. Chris watched his shoulders relax, his body slump back into the seat. “Yeah… Thanks. For not making it weird.”
“Well, not any weirder than it had to be, I suppose.” Chris told him, because that was easier than facing how much he wanted to make it work, and how glad he was that Isaac was returning home with him instead of riding back to the McCalls’.
Allison had often had Lydia Martin over to the apartment, and the house before that. Occasionally it was one of the boys; more rarely, a few of them in that group of friends all came together. Chris’ mind still shied away from calling it a pack. One night, Chris steeled himself and told Isaac, “you can have your friends over here, if you want.”
Isaac froze in the doorway to the living room. He’d been getting ready to sleep, and had just come back from changing in the bathroom. His bony ankles and toes stuck out from the bottom of his ratty pyjama pants.
Chris met Isaac’s wide eyes. He wondered if they would ever stop surprising each other.
“You always go to Scott’s when you want to study or hang out,” Chris continued lamely. “I’m not saying you have to be here, but if you want to, you can bring them here.”
After a moment, Isaac cleared his throat, and nodded. “Okay. Thanks.” He finally came into the room, sitting down on the couch and darting a look at Chris before settling to watch the TV. They didn’t talk about it again, which Chris didn’t mind. There was a comfort and familiarity to the fact that he and Isaac understood each other more now, even when they didn’t talk about things.
It was a Thursday. Chris spent some time in his office, dealing with some Argent Arms work before deciding to go for a drive. It was a familiar circuit now; past the McCalls’ house, the Stilinskis’ house, and down the street Isaac and Jackson Whittemore both used to live on.
Isaac was now spending more nights at Chris’ place than at the McCalls’.
Chris skirted the edge of the industrial area and checked on the building where Derek Hale lived. He drove by the police station, and along the edge of the preserve to the high school. It was a dull patrol, if Chris was honest, but he wasn’t quick to complain about it. He stopped to put gas in the car, and idly watched the cents tick over as it pumped.
In his mind, Chris saw Allison texting on her phone in the passenger seat of his car; she cracked the car door and asked Chris if he could get her a drink. He saw her walking down the hall in the apartment to her bedroom at the very end, catching her father’s eye as she turned to close the door, smiling at him.
After paying for the gas, Chris headed for home, aching for his family. He was getting damned tired of feeling alone. He was getting damned tired of still feeling that uncertainty about whether or not Isaac would come home each afternoon, of waiting for the boy to arrive after school or to receive a text message that he would be elsewhere that night.
As he drove by the little hardware store, Chris again saw Allison’s bedroom door. A door that Chris hadn’t opened in months.
He decided.
He put on his turning signal, and pulled into the hardware store.
After working solidly and with as little feeling as possible, Chris loaded up the back of his SUV with the things he had packed into boxes that were leftover from the last time they had moved, and returned upstairs to start cooking dinner. It was meant to be a distraction while he waited for Isaac to get home, but he was so jittery and nervous that the knife skidded across the cutting board when he heard Isaac’s knock on the door.
When he went to let the boy in, Chris felt as though his back was exposed, the apartment huge and gaping behind him. “Hi,” he greeted Isaac.
“Hi,” Isaac replied, hefting his bag higher on his shoulder, and his eyes looked beyond Chris, and Chris knew. He knew the exact moment that Isaac saw it.
Chris stepped aside from the door. He let Isaac in, and shut the door behind him. And then he took a deep breath, turned around, and made himself follow Isaac’s line of sight, to the open door at the end of the hall.
He let his breath out, and went back into the kitchen, and continued to chop carrots for dinner.
He felt hypersensitive, his ears straining to listen to the teenager he had just invited into his home, the back of his neck tingling as he waited.
It seemed a very long time before Isaac came into the kitchen. Chris made himself look at Isaac, and his mouth was dry as he realised he couldn’t get a read on the werewolf’s thoughts. Isaac’s face was blandly pleasant like any other afternoon when he arrived after school.
“Need any help with dinner?” Isaac asked him, and Chris tried desperately to believe that this was another one of the times they understood one another even though they wouldn’t talk about it.
“No,” Chris’ voice rasped out of him. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I’ve got dinner covered, but you can unstack the dishwasher and set the table.”
Isaac ducked his head and nodded. They worked together quietly, not speaking much, and ate dinner in the same fashion.
Chris left Isaac cleaning up after the meal to go and have a shower. The door – Allison’s door – seemed to sear a hole in his retinas, and he couldn’t look away. It was ajar now, like someone hadn’t bothered to pull it all the way closed as they walked away. It was so unlike Allison; she had always firmly closed the door whether she was in the room or not.
Chris hadn’t felt this dazed in some time. It was only now that he realised how much calmer he had become lately. Isaac did that, he thought, and again he ached for his family. This time, it seemed different.
The evening dragged on as Isaac worked on his homework. Chris had a lump in his throat, words he couldn’t choke out for fear of what Isaac’s response might be. He escaped to his office to hide, following his little routines of tidying up. He heard Isaac across the hall in the bathroom, brushing his teeth. Chris took a deep breath as the water stopped running, and went to the door of the office just as Isaac came out of the bathroom.
They both drew up short, staring at each other from across the hall.
Isaac had a book tucked under his arm. “I’m just going to read for a while before I go to sleep,” he told Chris. “Night.”
Chris nodded stiffly. “Good night,” he managed around the lump in his throat.
Isaac hesitated for a moment longer, staring at his feet on the carpet. Then he threw a glance at Chris, and shuffled down the hall in the opposite direction to the living room, and the couch where he had been sleeping for so long. Instead, tonight, he went to the end of the hall, to the half-open bedroom door.
He went in, and quietly closed the door behind him.
Chris stared after him for a long moment before he felt his breath gust out of him. Then he went to get a beer from the fridge.
On Friday afternoon, Chris waited, and he hoped.
And when Isaac arrived home, he used the key Chris had had cut at the hardware store and left on Allison’s old bed – Isaac’s bed now, in Isaac’s bedroom - and let himself in the front door.