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He had made plans to organize, scan, and update many of the family records that survived the fire; to have them backed up on his computer, and to perhaps dig a little deeper into the anomaly that was the pack of Alphas circling Beacon Hills. It was supposed to be a productive evening.
Peter didn't care to be sent out on trifling errands, but he could play his part in this Greek tragedy that called itself a pack. For now. Certainly for the foreseeable future, until he could get his hands on one of the Alpha pack. Big plans. The kind that required patience and cunning and, unfortunately, obedience to some extent. His nephew wanted information on the latest victim of their fair town's unwelcomed guests, and information he would have, though perhaps Peter should reteach the boy basic manners. Saying please never harmed anyone. At any rate, going to the hospital meant an increased likelihood of seeing the lovely Melissa McCall, and who was Peter to deny the magnetic pull of a deeply attractive woman? If this thought put an extra spring in his step as he neared the building, Peter refused to acknowledge it.
And out through the sliding doors of the hospital came Melissa herself. Peter's smile faltered when he saw that she was physically dragging a swaying man behind her. With a pained and angry huff she pushed him onto the curb outside of the ER.
“What were you thinking?” she yelled at him. The man stumbled as he pulled himself up to his feet and it was then that Peter could pick out the almost overpowering scent of alcohol. “You can't just come here, to my place of work, and act like this!”
“Ya werenat home!” the man slurred. Melissa lips tighten to a thin line and she pressed her hands to her face.
“You're lucky I don't call the cops, you know that? Get out of here. Now. I don't know why you're back in town and quite frankly, I don't care. Just-” her voice wavered and her eyes shined with tears she fought back, “-just leave.”
“I wanna see m'son, damnit!” yelled the man, throwing his arms wide. “Where is he?”
“He's not your son anymore!” Melissa asserted, thrusting a finger in the man's chest. Anger and hurt rolled off of her in waves, but most palpable, Peter noticed with interest, was the anger. “If you go anywhere near Scott, I swear to God-”
“What, Mel?” the man goaded. (Her ex-husband, Peter's mind filed away with some unexplainable disdain.) “Whatrya gonna do? You can't keep me from my boy. Where is the little brat?” he demanded. Melissa shook her head, visible trying to contain herself.
“Forget the cops. I have had enough of you, do you hear me?” she said, digging into her scrubs and pulling out her keys. She quickly began walking towards the parking lot. Her ex-husband's face turned an alarming shade of red and he reached out to grab her by the hair.
Melissa flinched, but lifted her head when she heard his pained yelp. Peter had him by the wrist, turning it slightly and watching the man fall to his knees in pain.
“That is not how you treat a lady,” he said, doing his best to be as condescending as possible. He turned his head to look at Melissa and gave her his most charming smile. “Melissa, it's been a while. You're looking as beautiful as ever this evening.” He felt the man try to pull his hand away and merely tightened his grip. The bones made a distressing sound. Melissa worked her jaw a couple of times without sound, shifting her gaze from Peter to her ex-husband. Even complete shock becomes her.
“What are you doing here?” she finally asked. Peter smiled again.
“Well, I was hoping to garner enough of your pity that you might consider giving me the honor of a second date,” he said, his words not a total lie. “I know I... vanished for some time, and that I didn't return your calls, but I promise you I had good reason.” Being dead is always a good reason for poor dating conduct, he argued in his head. The man on the ground let out a bark of laughter. Peter's expression darkened as he turned his attention back to him.
“Haha! Trust me pal, you don't any a'that!”
And the crushed, humiliated look on Melissa's face was all the justification he needed for breaking the man's wrist entirely.
The howl of pain was impressive, and it satisfied his wolf to a degree that probably should have concerned him; like a tension building inside of him had been given an outlet and had loosened. He managed to keep the feral smirk from reaching his face as he school his expression into one of something vaguely apologetic, gesturing to the writhing man on that ground as if to say, Some people. Melissa looked ready to run back into the hospital, however. Perhaps he was losing his charm.
He heard the sound of the knife being flicked into place before he heard Melissa's gasp.
He moved out of reach as the man swiped at him. Cradling his injured hand to his chest, the man held the knife out with his other.
“Are you kidding me?!” Melissa shouted. She did run then, keys clenched in her hand, heading towards her car parked some ways away, chanting under her breath batbatbatbat.
Peter followed her movements in his peripheral vision, only half focused on the swaying man in front of him. When he lounges forward, Peter simply side steps him and punches him in the nose. The knife is dropped and the man falls to the ground, unconscious.
It's all incredibly anti-climatic, but Melissa wasn't there to witness any daring heroic feats, so what was the point of dragging it out? Letting out a deep, put-upon sigh, Peter looks around, and, seeing no one, picks the man up under the arms and drags him around the hospital building. Perhaps he'd lay him down in the middle of a dark alley and let natural selection play out via alcohol and vehicular manslaughter.
And then the scent of another wolf hit him. Dropping the drunk, Peter scented the air and scanned the area. Seeing nothing at first, Peter looked up towards the hospital and was met with glowing red eyes watching him from the landing of the first floor. One of the brothers, Peter thought to himself. The alpha's hands were covered in blood, and it was only then that Peter began to pick up the sounds of chaos inside the building. So much for checking on the victim.
Peter readied himself for a fight, instinct briefly overpowering his good sense to back off and stay out of the other wolf's way. The boy jump down to the ground, his shoulder high and claws extended. However, it would seem that Peter was not the only one not looking for a confrontation (of the supernatural kind) as the alpha huffed and then turned his back and ran. Peter stood, shocked for a moment, before inexplicably taking off after him, gaining quickly. The alpha turned a corner and before Peter could do so himself, he heard a sickening crack and the boy fell back, clutching his face and nose, fresh blooding flooding out of his already red stained hands. Melissa cautiously approached, bat held out in front of her.
"Holy crap, I just bashed in a teenager's face..." she said, her voice shaking.
"He's a werewolf. It'll heal," Peter said absently, his focus entirely on her. Melissa shook her head and waved the bat.
"I just BASHED in. A TEENAGER'S. FACE," she repeated. Peter looked at her fondly.
"You are a magnificent creature."
“You said werewolf,” she said suddenly, directing the bat towards Peter. He lifted his hands in a pacifying manner. “You just said werewolf! Why-why would you say that?” Her voice began to take a panicked edge. Well, perhaps it was best that she knew.
“I'm surprised Scott hasn't told you about me,” he said calmly. Melissa looked confused for a split second before hitting the ground with the bat.
"Seriously?! No. That is it. I have had it with wolves and lizards and crazy old bastards! That's it, I'm done.” Melissa waved the bat again. “It was very nice seeing you again, Peter. Please don't ever call.” Peter refused to admit he pouted. “You there, on the ground... I don't know. Go away before I call your parents?” The alpha looked up at her as if she were crazy. Peter raise his hand and pointed to him.
“Actually, I'm fairly certain he just killed someone, so-”
A howl rang out in the night air beyond the trees that lined the hospital property. Before Peter could react, an arm grabbed him by the jacket and pulled him down as the boy pulled himself up, breaking out into a run toward the trees. Patience, Peter told himself as he fought the instinct to give chase. Another time. He turned to Melissa to see her already jogging back into the hospital, bat still in hand, no doubt about to call the Sheriff.
Yes. Another time.
-
“My son doesn't like you. At all.”
Peter put his hands on the counter of the nurse's station.
“He and I... got off on the wrong foot,” he says tentatively. The glare he receives is not only fierce but also quite stunning.
“He told me everything. And if you know what's good for you, Mr. Hale, you'll turn around and walk away before I swing a bat at your face.”
And of course this would come back to haunt him in every facet of his life. His brief flirtation with insanity certainly has put him at a crippling disadvantage in terms of dealing with other people. He looks down at his hands splayed out on top of insurance forms. A wave of what could almost be called shame fills him for a moment. He wants to tell her that none of this was planned from the beginning. None of this was meant to be the way it was, that he hadn't always been trying to place himself two steps ahead of everyone else in the game, that he hadn't always been filled with this odd sort of paranoia. That once upon a time he was different man; a brother, an uncle, a trusted second. Someone who loved taking his nieces and nephews to the theatre and loved reading classical literature while his sister-in-law sang off key to too-loud music. Someone who obsessed over March Madness and cooked every Wednesday night.
But she doesn't know that someone. That someone died in an arson fire years ago along with a majority of his family.
“You are a remarkable woman, Melissa,” he says, after a deep breath. “Scott is lucky to have such an outstanding mother.” And with that, he nods to her, flashing one last charming smile to contrast her taken-aback expression, and heads toward the exit.
Patience, he tells himself, ignoring the odd tight feeling in his chest. Another time.