#.. wyatt barlow

It had been a strange few days, to say the least. Daniel had left on Friday (Talia had sent him out on Friday, really). She spent the majority of Saturday in bed, hungover and pathetic, before calling herself a plethora of names and texting Owen to meet up that night. Which had been weird. Or what she needed in the moment, but weird up to that point and after it. And it was only on Sunday, when she was miserable with the new moon and missing Daniel so much she felt like she might vomit from it, that Talia realized what she needed more than self-loathing sex was Wyatt. (After a brief stop-over for some drinking and reluctant conversation with Emilio on Sunday night, of course.)

Their friendship had always been warm and kind and safe. And, in the aftermath of some horror between Owen and Wyatt, vulnerable and comforting. That was what Talia needed, if only for this one day. 

There was no point in hiding how upset she was from Wyatt (she had more or less already told him), so Talia showed up at his door wearing one of the flannels that Daniel had left in her dressers. At her feet was a duffel bag, packed with all the other things he had left at her cabin (Most of the things, anyway. She had kept a few articles of clothes, for this and future pathetic displays of yearning). Talia hoped that Wyatt would be willing to play messenger and pass the bag along to Daniel for her. 

There was also, tucked into one of the outer pockets of the duffel, a bottle of some kind of red wine. It was half a joke: red wine seemed like the kind of thing you drank at a girls night to heal from a break-up or whatever. Mostly Talia was hoping that Wyatt would have enough of that bourbon he liked to share. She had gotten drunk enough the night before with Emilio, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t need a little something (more than a little) to take the edge off. 

When the door opened, Talia didn’t allow any time to pass before she was in Wyatt’s arms. She had said she didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to think about it, but that didn’t stop her from taking the comfort she needed because of it. Tucking her face against his chest, she pressed hard to stem the sudden flush of heat that bloomed behind her eyes, a sure sign of tears. 

—

He recognized the flannel as Daniel’s, of course. He was pretty sure the ranger had worn the same one on one of their fishing trips. Or was it when they went bouldering? Either way, it was somehow both a shock and completely expected to see Talia showing up wearing it, and it made Wyatt’s heart break just a little bit more than it already had. 

She closed the distance between them without a word and Wyatt responded in kind, pulling her close to him. One hand on the crown of her head, the other wrapped around her shoulders to keep her close, he tucked his head down to press a kiss against her hair. “I got you, baby,” he breathed, eyeballing the duffel that still sat on his porch. He didn’t make any moves to reach for it, though, content to stand like this until Talia pulled back. “I got you,” he repeated, rubbing her back and swaying gently on the spot. “You don’t gotta hold nothin’ in, all right? I’m here for you.”

—

When she murmured out, “I’m okay, really,” even Talia could tell that it wasn’t convincing at all. Her voice was water-logged and shaky. And maybe that was in part the hangover hitting her, but it was also the safe haven of Wyatt’s arms around her, the familiar scent of him that had already been ingrained in some far-back corner of her beast-mind that coded him as pack. So when she opened her mouth again, to double-down on convincing him she was all right, what came out instead was a thin sob. 

Talia couldn’t think of when she had last cried in front of someone, other than Daniel, and that night with Emilio. Probably she had been a child, before that instinct had been trained out of her. It still felt a little alien, but nothing with Wyatt was uncomfortable for too long. She fit her face into the soft fabric of his shirt, his solid chest holding her up beneath it, and let herself cry.

Just for a minute, maybe two. A quiet, subdued affair that was more hitched breaths than prolonged weeping. But still she felt better, if a little shaky, when she finally tilted her face back and found his eyes. “Got you all wet,” Talia joked, a laugh hiccuping out of her. “But I brought wine, to make up for it.” She nudged the duffel with her foot. “I dunno, just seemed like the thing you’re supposed to drink in these situations?”

—

Wyatt shook his head and let out a soft, breathy chuckle. “Well I tell you what, we can start with that. Get through it pretty quick, I reckon, then I got plenty of that whiskey we like.” He kissed her forehead before untangling their bodies, ushering her inside and away from the cold that seeped through the open door, bending down to grab the duffel. 

“On the subject of things you’re supposed to imbibe in these sorts of situations, as promised, I got all your favorite flavors of ice cream in the freezer. Figured you might wanna mix n’ match, dependin’ on where the mood of the night takes ya.” This wasn’t an especially typical role for him to be playing, and while it felt a bit foreign, he was taking to it pretty well. Taking care of people was something he’d learned well enough by watching his folks, it was the heartbreak of it all that complicated his feelings on the matter. Not to mention that he wasn’t just an observer of that heartbreak… he felt some of it, too. For both of them, for the bond he’d witnessed between them and that had resulted in a delightfully competitive vying for attention when the three of them were together. Talia was his pack, though he hadn’t put words to it yet, and her sorrow was his sorrow. Never mind that he would get to see the other side of it too, and feel all of this all over again when he spent time with Daniel next. 

He grieved for them, for what they had lost, and a little for what he’d lost too. 

Setting the duffel down at one end of the kitchen island, Wyatt grabbed some glasses and got to work on opening the wine bottle. He wasn’t going to start giving her the third degree – she’d talk about it if she wanted. And if she didn’t want to, that was fine too.

—

At the promise of finishing the wine and moving onto the good stuff, Talia felt the start of a smile touching her lips. “You’re a god among men, you know that?” And if she leaned into the warm, welcome comfort of Wyatt’s kiss, of the shape of his body and his familiar scent close to hers, a little longer than she usually did, who would blame her? Inside the house was just as familiar and safe. Wyatt kept it warm for his own preferences of course, but something about coming in from the frigid winter cold soothed her wolf. Or maybe it was just that – here in this house, Wyatt knew what she was. He was kin of a kind to her, and pack for certain. All of that taken together meant that Talia could let her guard down without a care, here. 

“You didn’t have to get all of the flavors.” But she was happy to hear it. Talia had never gone through a break-up before, so having the necessary supplies, as laid out by so many romcoms, made things feel more manageable. Red wine, check. Ice cream, check. A best friend who wouldn’t judge her no matter how pathetic she was, check. “As long as you promise to have some with me.” She hovered close, not wanting to stray too far from Wyatt, and followed him into the kitchen. When he set the duffel bag down, she nudged it with her toe. “Don’t worry, I’m not trying to move in,” she joked.” Was hoping you wouldn’t mind returning some of his things?”

In all honesty, she wasn’t sure how to navigate this part of things. Obviously she wouldn’t try to tell Wyatt that he couldn’t be friends with Daniel (more details she had seen in movies and television shows) – but he should know the truth about things. Talia set her hands on the counter, looking down at them instead of at Wyatt. “Maybe you already know, but if you don’t, you should. Daniel’s a hunter. A ranger, specifically.” It was a piece to this puzzle that she hadn’t quite been able to fit into place yet. Daniel had been happy to not only be friends with Wyatt but take him to bed as well. Was he holding some kind of sick competition with himself, to see how many shifters he could sleep with? “That’s…what happened,” she told Wyatt. “I figured it out, and found out that he had known I’m a werewolf the whole time. Obviously.”

—

“Oh, trust… I got myself a flavor or two, too. You ain’t the only one gonna be enjoying some much needed sweet treats.” He noticed that she was keeping close to him, which he didn’t mind. And when she referenced the duffel, he laughed.  “I can do that,” he agreed. “But for what  it’s worth, if you’d needed to move in for a bit, I woulda been happy to have you.” He smiled fondly at her, though it fell slightly when she started talking about Daniel.

The cause of their rupture was one that was somehow both surprising to Wyatt and also… expected. When they’d started messing around, he’d figured Talia knew that Daniel was a hunter and vice versa. After all, he’d not kept his own inhumanity secret for long, much preferring to know the truth about people even if it meant exposing himself. Anyway, Daniel was so clearly a hunter, it hadn’t been difficult to guess. But maybe Wyatt just spent an inordinate amount of time around hunters and had gotten too good at picking them out. Talia, on the other hand… She clearly felt threatened by the fact that Daniel was a ranger. She had issues with hunters in the same ways most supernatural people did, which was fair: Wyatt could admit that he was a bit of a fringe case. Or maybe just an idiot. 

But a thought occurred to him, and he didn’t like it: did she not know any of her friends were hunters? Like Owen? Or Emilio? Well, ex-hunter, though he wasn’t sure if that mattered if Talia was willing to ignore how much she loved Daniel just because of the family he’d been born into. Well, and the things he’d done, to be fair. He couldn’t say Daniel was innocent, just like neither he nor Talia were innocent. Nobody could be, in matters like this. 

He kept his expression neutral, pushing a glass of wine toward Talia. “I knew.” He didn’t want to lie to her, but he worried how much else this was going to bring to light. Maybe if he stepped carefully… “I… I’m sorry, darlin’. I thought you knew, too. Thought you both did, and were fine with it.” He glanced down at his own glass, brows knitting in the middle. Should he admit that Daniel had known what he was, too? Would that help? Or would it hurt? “He couldn’t tell what I was unless I shifted, but… I figured him out pretty quick. So… I showed him. When he didn’t get all uppity n’ try to kill me, I figured it weren’t a problem.”

—

Wyatt took her request in stride, which was a relief. She hadn’t expected any trouble, but it was one less thing she would have to think about. One less reminder of Daniel, now that it was out of the way. “Happy to have me, maybe, until you wanted to have a suitor over and I was in the way,” she teased. Talia knew that wasn’t the case – that if she really needed a place to stay, or just didn’t want to be alone, Wyatt would open his door to her and let her stay as long as she needed. Thankfully, she wasn’t quite so pathetic, and she did still value her time on her own. 

She took the glass, focusing in on the deep red of the wine as she tried to decipher how she felt. Betrayed? No – after all, it made sense that Wyatt would assume she and Daniel had known about each other. They should have known. Disappointed? A little, but in herself not Wyatt. Hurt by the fact that Wyatt and Daniel had seemingly known each other better than she and Daniel had. That hurt dug its claws in, dragged down her throat and into her chest so that she had to take a gulp of the wine just to stop thinking about it. “I didn’t know,” she corrected, though it was obvious now. “And now that I do… I’m not fine with it.” More obvious facts, but it was all Talia could find to say. 

Figured him out pretty quick. Like Talia should have. Like she had, more or less, and had just ignored all the facts screaming in her face. (Who else knew? Emilio? Likely. Metzli? Jade? Owen? Who else had been looking at the two of them with a quirked eyebrow and shrug, assuming that they both must be fine with how things were, however odd it was.) “I’m glad he never did. Try to kill you, I mean.” Just like Daniel had never tried to hurt her (not in any way she hadn’t asked for, at least). She shook her head, brow still furrowed. “I have no fucking clue why it wasn’t a problem with him. It should have been.” His sister had been literally torn to pieces by a berserker and yet he laid next to a werewolf night after night. He killed her kind and thought they could just go on as they had been. “I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.” 

She didn’t have to try and decode Daniel’s thoughts or feelings. She didn’t have to try and parse his reasoning. Steeling her face into a smile (that didn’t quite reach her eyes), Talia raised her glass to Wyatt. “To… I don’t know. Moving on?”

—

All he could do was nod, sorry that it had ended up this way. Talia questioned why it hadn’t been an issue for Daniel, and Wyatt didn’t have time to answer before she was saying that it didn’t matter. 

But god, didn’t it? 

Deflating, Wyatt met her smile with one of his own, noting how neither of them seemed fucking happy. “To movin’ on,” he agreed, clinking his glass against hers. What good would it do for him to argue that some hunters were different? Some didn’t kill for the sake of it? The waters were muddy enough, and he didn’t want to say anything that might push Talia away from him. So he just agreed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders in a brief but tight hug, then got to work with serving their ice cream. The pair moved to the living room afterward, where Wyatt put on the first of the promised films, keeping the volume high enough that they could hear it, but low enough that if Talia felt the sudden need to talk over it, she could. 

The ice cream was good (he never skimped when it came to food, even if this had been the last of his ‘free spending’ money for the month), and between that and the movie, a decent distraction was created. Wyatt fell into their familiar pattern of friendship, enjoying the way Talia was pressed to his side. Once his bowl was empty and hands free, he draped his arm over her shoulders and let his fingers run back and forth on her arm in a way that was meant to comfort, his attention divided between the movie and the feeling of her body against his.

—

Talia did talk over the movie, here and there. Not to get back into the weeds of her and Daniel, but to comment on the movie itself, to laugh at the quality of the special effects or the acting, to shake her head at the plotholes. It wasn’t desperate on its face, her behavior, but it was clear she was trying to distract herself. To keep her mindset on the movie, on the ice cream, on the wine. On anything but the reason why she was there. Which was made easier once she was fully wrapped up in Wyatt’s embrace. She abandoned her mostly finished ice cream in favor of tucking herself deep into his hold.

Since almost their first encounter, Wyatt had meant safety to Talia. Whether they were making a mess of the bedsheets or moping over boy troubles, there were few people in town that she felt so comfortable being her absolute, complete self with. It helped that he was a shifter like her, if another flavor. There wasn’t much that lamias and werewolves had in common, but the baseline understanding of being something else, something animal, was enough. And she knew that werewolves felt differently about packs than other shifters – and that it could even be more individual than that. But as far as Talia was concerned, Wyatt was her packmate, bound by something deeper than had ever connected her to her family.

She tried not to think about the fact that she had been ready to consider Daniel the same.

When the credits to the first movie rolled, Talia nuzzled her face down into soft fabric over Wyatt’s chest. “Wanna break out the stronger stuff?” she asked, muffled against his shirt. Daniel and all that had happened between them was still buzzing at the edges of her mind. She wanted it gone, at least for that night. She wanted to sink herself fully into the comfort of her friend, and some top shelf whiskey. “We can do all the other girls’ night things, too. I’ll paint your nails and you can braid my hair.” It was the rundown of activities they had done, half as a joke, when it was Wyatt seeking comfort on Talia’s couch, after an unfortunate incident with Owen. It seemed only fitting that they do the same now that Talia was the one moping and Owen and Wyatt were more secure.

—

Switching over to the hard liquor was an easy choice, which Wyatt took care of once Talia had untangled herself from his side. As promised, hair was braided and nails were painted, and for a few hours, their troubles were forgotten. The bad movies continued to play in the background while they chatted about unimportant things, taking comfort in one another’s presence. Wyatt wondered aloud if his painted nails would stay painted when he shifted, opening up a whole new dialogue between them that continued to suppress all the things Talia was trying to not think about.