Work Text:
The Hale house was unusually quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioner and the occasional creak of the old floors beneath shifting weight. Chris Argent sat on the back porch, nursing a glass of whiskey, the bottle untouched beside him. It was late—too late for most of the pack to be awake. The moon was half full, casting pale light over the trees.
He barely noticed when Peter Hale stepped out, but of course, Peter noticed him.
“You brooding or sulking?” Peter asked casually, closing the sliding door behind him and sinking into the chair beside him. “Hard to tell with you.”
Chris didn’t answer immediately. He took another sip, swirling the whiskey in the glass. “Do you ever think about the past?”
Peter snorted. “That’s a dangerous question, especially when posed to someone with my history.”
Chris gave a humorless chuckle. “I don’t mean like... vengeance or fire and death. I mean... personal things.”
Peter tilted his head, suddenly interested. “Personal things,” he echoed, voice smooth, teasing but not mocking. “Like the night you almost strangled me for suggesting the triskelion look good carved into a shotgun stock?”
Chris rolled his eyes, but his smirk faded quickly. His voice dropped lower. “Do you remember that night...between *us*?”
Peter stilled, the shift in his posture subtle but noticeable. “Vaguely.”
“It was... what, fourteen, fifteen years ago?” Chris said, staring out at the trees. “You were in heat. I was... I had just buried Victoria.”
Peter nodded slowly. “I remember. You were spiraling. Grief does strange things.”
“I didn’t hate it,” Chris murmured, almost surprised at his own confession. “I’ve told myself for years that it was just... impulse. Grief. And for you, I know it was heat. Rage. But—”
Peter leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, fingers steepled. “But it didn’t disgust you.”
“No.”
Silence stretched between them. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was taut—like a string drawn too tight.
Chris shifted. “I’ve been thinking about it more. Lately. Not you—don’t flatter yourself. Just... the implications.”
Peter smirked, but it was softer than usual. “Chris Argent, questioning his sexuality. I’m shocked it took you this long.”
Chris narrowed his eyes. “Don’t be an ass.”
“I’m not,” Peter said, and for once, he sounded genuine. “Look—there’s nothing wrong with being bisexual. Or pan. Or curious. Or whatever term fits. Half the damn pack is rainbowed. Stiles, Derek, Isaac, Ruby, your daughter—Allison’s been open about that for years. No one’s thrown a parade because no one needs to.”
Chris let out a shaky breath. “I thought it was just that night. I’ve only ever been with women. I married Victoria. I was in love with her. And Isabelle...” he gave a soft smile. “We were never serious, but I cared for her. Still do. She’s like family now.”
Peter chuckled. “I know. I remember the 'almost something, definitely nothing' you two were. Hell, I still tease her about our not-throuple.”
Chris glanced sideways at him. “I know you're married now, and I'm not trying to dig, but... did you ever really question yourself? Or was it just sex for you?”
Peter leaned back in his chair, thoughtful. “I questioned everything once. After the fire. After I came back. My body, my mind, my desires... they were all flames and ruin. But before that? No. I didn’t question it. I knew. I’ve been with women, men, and a couple of people who didn’t fit neatly into either box. Most of it was sexual, but not all. I think... I didn’t care about gender. I cared about the power, sometimes. Mostly the need, the release...now the person, the connection."
Chris nodded slowly. “It’s not about you. It’s not even about that night. Just recently it just... made me realize that maybe there’s more to me than I thought. That I’ve buried parts of myself because I thought they didn’t fit who I was supposed to be.”
Peter’s voice softened, a rare thing. “You’re allowed to evolve. To change. Or to discover you were always something more and didn’t have the language for it.”
“I just…” Chris hesitated, looking down into his glass. “I don’t think that kiss was the only time I noticed someone.”
Peter arched a brow.
Chris muttered, “A man. Before. After. Hell, maybe even during. I don’t know. I always assumed it didn’t count if I didn’t do anything about it.”
Peter snorted. “That’s Catholic repression talking.”
Chris actually gave a short chuckle. “You’re not wrong. I just… I always thought I was supposed to be one thing. I loved Victoria. Fiercely. Completely. That never felt fake.”
“It wasn’t,” Peter said easily. “Being bisexual doesn’t erase the love you had for your wife. It just means your capacity to love or be attracted to someone isn’t limited to one gender.”
Chris was silent again. Then he gave another weak chuckle. “It’s just so stupid. I’m a grown man. I should have figured this shit out years ago.”
Peter tilted his head. “You didn’t have the luxury. You were raised to think in binaries. Right and wrong. Human and supernatural. Straight and gay. There wasn’t room for anything in between in your world.”
Chris looked up at him, expression taut. “You ever think maybe we should’ve hated each other more?”
Peter’s smile turned crooked. “Oh, I did. I just also wanted to strangle you, fuck you, and prove I could win in a fight. It was a confusing week. Werewolf heats alone can suck balls.”
Chris barked a surprised laugh, “Just so you know, I don’t have feelings for you.”
Peter smirked. “Thank god.”
They sat in silence a while longer, the moonlight filtering through the trees, and the past stretching behind them like an old scar.
“You gonna tell anyone?” Peter finally asked.
“Maybe one day,” Chris said. “When I figure out the words.”
Peter nodded, “You’ll find them. And if not—hell, Allison’ll probably write them for you.”
Chris smiled faintly as he raised his glass. “Probably.”
Peter stood up and headed for the door, "Oh and Argent? You're Welcome."
Chris gave him a raised eyebrow, "For what?"
"For being your bisexual awakening. It’s an honor, really... and making you question your life. Good thing I’m someone else's problem now, huh?"
Peter gave a small salute with two fingers and disappeared back inside, leaving Chris alone with the quiet, the memories, and the start of something unspoken—but not unwelcome.