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Melissa had another email from that guidance counselor–Morell, or something like that. She’d never actually met her in person, but from what she understood, she was really involved in the supernatural community and had approached Scott about therapy.
So she tried not to let the emails bother her. After all, she was happy someone was looking out for Scott, but to be honest, Scott was old enough to set his own appointments. There was no need for Morell to confirm appointments with her. She’d said as much last time she’d gotten an email, but Morell had responded that it was school policy to double check with the parents.
She settled down on the couch, still in scrubs, and sent a quick email that the scheduled appointment was fine, without really checking through. She and Scott rarely had plans any more–she was busy with her job and he was busy with being a vet-in-training and being the protector of their shitty town. If he had penciled Morell in, than he had it taken care of.
She needed to call Scott. She needed to make sure he had eaten that day. She needed to ask how he was doing, and if it was actually helping to talk to Morell, and had he talked to Stiles yet? Not that Stiles deserved Scott’s forgiveness, as far as she was concerned, but she knew Scott, and knew how much it hurt him to lose someone so close to him. To lose so many so close to him. She should ask him about Kira, too, just to see. Just to make sure he was okay.
She didn’t call him just yet, even though she knew she should. Instead she wrapped herself up in a blanket and lied down on the couch. She tried not to think about how she should be a better mother. She tried not to think about how her one good friend had betrayed her trust and left her alone.
Her phone chirped. Another email.
She thought about ignoring it, but then it might be Scott, and she needed to be there for him. So she pulled it into her nest of blankets and opened it up to find…a reply from Morell. It was blank, except for the attached picture. Which was odd, to say the least.
Curiously, Melissa tapped on the picture. It took a second to load, but when it did, she gagged and dropped her phone onto the ground.
For a minute, she just burrowed tighter into her nest of blankets, wondering what the fuck Morell had been thinking by sending her that picture. She’d seen a lot of things, working in the hospital. But never something like this.
Finally, she reached for her phone, and shaking, dialed Scott.
He picked up on the second ring. “Mom? You okay?” he asked, and she had to take a moment to compose herself because her son was so good and caring and would always be ready to protect her, from anything.
“I’m okay,” she lied. Or maybe it was the truth. She was physically okay, and her life was in no more danger than usual. “Did you know Peter Hale is dead?”
Scott was silent on the other end of the line for a moment. “Is there another dead body in the house?”
“No! God. No, I just got a picture from your guidance counselor.”
“Marin?” he said, apparently a little flummoxed. And then, “Are you sure he’s dead?”
“Depends,” she replied flatly. “Can werewolves survive being cut in half?” It wouldn’t surprise her if they could, actually.
Scott just sighed. “Definitely not. Listen, I better talk to Deaton about this. Peter is supposed to be locked up in Eichen, not getting cut in half. Love you.”
“Love you, too,” she said and hung up.
Her phone chirped again, before she could even set it down. Another email.
Fuck.
She opened it, almost afraid, but this time it was just a slightly panicked message from Marin.
“Fuck! That was meant for someone else. Sorry.”
Melissa had emailed Morell a few times–or Marin, as Scott had just called her–and admittedly, she was startled by the candor. Normally, her writing was impeccably professional and calm, like nothing bothered her and she never made mistakes.
Then again, she had just emailed a picture of a bisected werewolf to the mother of Beacon HIlls’ resident alpha. A bit of frenzy wasn’t that strange, given the circumstance.
She decided to send a reply because it seemed like the best plan of action. She considered a variety of responses, ranging from a calm, “Don’t worry about it,” (good, forgiving, polite, candid) to “What the fuck?” (transparently horrified, disgusted, upset, candid).
But, truth be told, as gross and upsetting as it was to open a picture of a human cut in half, that human was Peter Hale. She hated Peter. So she finally decided on, “Should I be worried that my son’s therapist is a murderer? ;)” The wink made it seem a little flirty, but it also gave the message a little bit of a softened blow. It didn’t let her off the hook, but made the hook seem a little…nice.
She snuggled back into her nest of blankets while waiting for a response. She briefly considered watching something on TV before remembering that nothing good was on. She turned on Netflix instead. The tenth season of Criminal minds was just added and she might as well be entertained while she waited for Scott to call her back. Anyway, the TV gore had never bothered her, and the more time she spent around the supernatural, the more it seemed…boring. She wondered if the desensitization would bite her in the ass one day–she was less bothered by the young blonde woman being stabbed than she was by Reid’s voiceover reading out some pretentious as hell quote.
Her phone rang just as Hotch said, “Wheels up in thirty.”
“Hey, so everything is okay,” Scott said, as soon as she picked up. “Deaton said he tried to escape from Eichen and was shot down by a guard. He was dead, but Marin cut him in half so he wouldn’t be able to come back again. She didn’t want another Lydia situation, I guess.”
“So bisecting rules out resurrection, huh?” Melissa sighed. It should bother her, that cutting corpses in half seemed reasonable. And yet there she was, about to press play on Netflix, mostly over the trauma of opening her email. “Thanks for calling me back and letting me know. Did you eat dinner today?”
He blurted out that he definitely had, and hung up.
So he hadn’t, then.
She texted Deaton that she was going to order pizza to be delivered to the clinic, and that he should make sure Scott ate some. She didn’t have enough energy to cook something and drive it to him, but she could have a pepperoni pizza delivered to her babe.
After ordering and paying for the pizza online, she went back to watching Criminal Minds.
She didn’t bother to pause when her phone chirped, signaling a response from Marin.
“Scott is the last person who should be worried about me. Marin.”
No winky face. She was almost–no, definitely–disappointed. She wasn’t exactly sure why, because the only interactions she’d had with Marin had been professional email exchanges. She didn’t even have a clue about how old Marin was, or what she looked like. She had no real opinion of Marin except gratitude that she was helping her son and vague annoyance that she always required an email from Melissa to do it.
Maybe it was the loneliness. She and Scott barely saw each other any more. She had banned John from her house after the whole…fiasco. She almost missed Stiles being around, for fuck’s sake.
Yeah, she wanted a little playful banter. She waned a friend. She’d take a conversation that didn’t involve death, at this point.
She typed out a response. “Thank you for looking out for him. He needs it.” She tried to think of a way to make the conversation go somewhere more friendly, but couldn’t, and hit send.
On screen, Morgan and Garcia were doing their normal flirty routine. Melissa felt a little envious.
Marin responded. “You do a great job. He always mentions how supportive you are.”
“You think so?” Melissa typed back immediately. It took a minute to send, but after it did, she got a response back very quickly.
“Yes. But more importantly, Scott thinks so. You make my job a lot easier.
"Text me sometime. It would be nice to have a friend my age who knows about the supernatural.”
Her phone number was attached to the bottom of the email. Melissa grinned. A friend her age, huh? She could live with that.
She texted Marin immediately. “It’s Melissa.”
Marin responded quickly. “Hi. :)”
Yeah. She could live with this.
