#bhwocnetwork

Any pictures she wants to save will be scanned onto her laptop. Alan had let her borrow the scanner over the weekend. It was his work scanner, but he said no one would mind. It was his clinic, after all.

So here she was. She pulled down the earliest box she had—March through October, 1997. Scott was two, about this time, just starting to run around. He’d been such a cautious baby before that. When he learned to walk, he’d demanded that whichever parent was nearby would hold his hands over his head as he carefully toddled to wherever he wanted to get.

Raph had snapped one such picture of her helping Scott walk to the dinner table. It was only the fifth picture she’d looked at so far, but she found herself smiling at it, eyes already watering.

Scott was wearing that cute onesie he loved. It had a hood he could pull up that gave him elephant ears. He’d loved that onesie. She’d loved that onesie.

Melissa sets the photo up to be scanned before she loses any more time looking at her once small son. She misses the times when his biggest worry was whether or not she would cut the crusts off his pb&j. It all sounds so simple, now, and...well, she wishes she could go back to that. It would be easier on Scott--easier on her, too, but that doesn’t matter as much to her.

The next photo is of her kissing Raph. She immediately tosses it into the burn pile. Dickhead.

Some of the pictures are easy, like that. She knows she has no need for pictures of Raph before he drank so much and she knows that she will always want to keep pictures of Scott. She even allows a family picture to stay, even though it makes her wince when she sees it. She knows--believes, anyway--that Scott should have some pieces of his past that include his biological father.

But pictures of Raph without Scott in them? Burn ‘em.

She tries not to get caught up in pictures of Scott too often. Sometimes she can smile for a moment and put the photo in the scan pile, and other times, she’s caught up in a memory she can’t put away.

Like hereScott had wanted so desperately to go to the park. He’d dressed himself all on his own, in green corduroys and a sweater vest--just a sweater vest. He hadn’t understood why Melissa had laughed so hard and taken a picture of his pouting face before helping him into a t-shirt that would keep him a bit more comfortable.

She chuckles, remembering the way Scott would repeat “Arms up!” over and over whenever she helped him change his shirt. He’d been so cute and small, and now—she looked over at the most recent picture she had of him, hanging on the wall. He’d send it to her via text message—it was a selfie with Kira. They’d taken it with the flash off and Scott’s eyes were screwed shut, to prevent any otherworldly glows. They were so relaxed and happy.

In the hallway, Scottie holds her hand. “Sorry about Brittany. If she says anything again, I can deck her for you,” they say, so sweetly that Kira has to kiss their cheek.

“Thanks, Scottie.” She leans her head on their shoulder as they walk. “It’s not like I haven’t heard it before. It’s just...embarrassing.”

They stop and turn to look at her, holding her shoulders. “It’s more than that, Kira. You’re not a boy, just like I’m not a boy. Brittany saying that stuff is fucked up.” They pause, thinking carefully. “I’m going to tell Erica.”

“Don’t!” she gasps immediately, grabbing onto their arms. “She’ll make a big deal of it, and I really don’t want that--”

“It is a big deal, Kira!” Scottie interrupts. “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to, but don’t act like this is a small thing. Deliberately misgendering you like that, in front of everyone--that’s harassment and intimidation. And it’s not okay!”

“But it is okay. It’s normal. It’s fine. I’m fine. Please don’t make a big deal out of it.”

They stare at her, a frown wrinkling their brow and dimples nowhere in sight. They brush her hair very carefully behind her ear and lean down to kiss her forehead. “You deserve better than this.” They smile ruefully. “We both do.”

“I love you, Scottie,” she sighs, and wraps her arms around them for a quick hug. “And I know it’s not okay, it’s just...normal.”

“Believe me, I know,” Scottie sighs. “I’m really tired of being referred to as a boy. But I want to protect you, like you’ve protected me.”

She smiles and kisses his cheek. “That’s what best friends are for,” she agrees. “What does Ms. Blake want, anyway?”

At lunch time, Erica sits in the seat next to Kira and kisses her soundly. “Hey, cutie,” she says, smiling. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” she replies, pressing her forehead to Erica’s. “How are you so great?”

She grinned. “Can’t be genetics. My family is weird as fuck.”

Kira laughed and hugged Erica tightly. “Today has really sucked so far, but being with you always makes it better.”

“Aw,” Erica says, hugging her back. “You’re so sweet.”

Kira feels something slap the back of her head. When she reaches up to feel what it is, she comes back with a spit ball. “Ugh,” she mutters. “Not again.”

“Again?” Erica says, eyes narrowing. She’s straightening up and looking over Kira’s shoulder, death and fury in her eyes. “This happens a lot?”

“It’s not a big deal,” she says quickly, trying to soothe her girlfriend. “People are assholes. I’m just grateful no one has actually hurt me--”

“Bullshit,” she responds, standing up. She seems to have zeroed in on a target. “I mean, it’s not bullshit that no one has assaulted you, but I’m not going to let someone shoot spitballs at you.”

Kira spins around in her seat as Erica storms across the aisle to someone who is very obviously trying to look innocent. She should probably stop her, but she feels frozen in her seat. She is terrified.

As though they can sense the confrontation, Scottie arrives and sits next to Kira. “Did you tell Erica?” they ask with interest as they watch Erica slam the guy’s face into mashed potatoes.

“Nope, and this is why,” she hisses. “I don’t want Erica to get in trouble because of me.”

“Erica likes getting in trouble,” Scottie says thoughtfully. They giggle as a teacher starts to approach Erica and she glares him away as she comes back to sit next to Kira.

“What a fucking asshole,” she mutters. “Listen, Kira--I know you’re used to all this, but I’m not. I mean, I’m used to being bullied, but since the bite…” She shrugs. “I don’t put up with it any more. And I’m not saying you’re doing anything wrong! Not at all. I know what it’s like to hope that it’s just name-calling or just spitballs. But I always wished someone would care enough to say something when someone did that to me, so I want to do this for you, okay? I can’t let it go. I want to help you.”

Kira hugged Erica again. “Why are you so nice to me?”

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.