It's mostly Allison's fault.

Okay, maybe it's only a little bit her fault, but Scott allows himself to blame her at least for this. This being him hugging her crying father in the Argents' front room.

The chain of events leading to this moment has been fairly straightforward. Scott rings the Argent apartment doorbell, nervously shifting his weight from leg to leg as he waits with the box under his arm. It's taking ages, enough for Scott to start questioning his plan and hoping no one's home after all. Just as he's about to bolt and run home with his tail between his legs (Scott cringes at himself, because Stiles' terrible jokes are rubbing off on him) the door cracks open.

Instead of his ex-girlfriend, it's Mr Argent. Which should be completely expected seeing how this is his home and all, but it's only now that Scott realizes he didn't plan for this contingency.

He's probably the last person Chris Argent wants to see right now; that much is evident in the glare and the raised eyebrow directed at him.

"Is Allison home?" Scott asks hopefully. "I still have some things of hers that I thought she'd like back. Seeing how we're… Um."

He lifts up the small box he's brought with him. It's not actually much, just some of her hair stuff and other small things she'd left at his place. It would be weird to cling to her makeup, right? That's definitely less healthy than going over to her house unannounced, which Scott is starting to realize was probably a mistake.

"Didn't she tell you?" Mr Argent sounds a little tired. "She went to Oregon for the summer."

"Um," Scott says, because yeah, he should have probably checked with Allison first. "No, she didn't, we haven't really… talked. At all, really." Which should be a good thing to say, right? He knows Mr Argent can't have been too unhappy about their break-up, even if the circumstances were terrible, to put it lightly.

Mr Argent looks at him and opens the door a little more. It takes Scott a few seconds to realize he's being invited in.

Once inside, he gives the box gingerly to Mr Argent. The box is Allison's too, light blue cardboard, with handwriting on the lid. Allison's written something in French on it, Scott can't remember what. She actually kept a few pairs of underwear there, which is a little mortifying to think about right now.

Something comes over Mr Argent's face as he looks down at the box in his hands. Scott wonders a little hysterically if she'd written something like underpants for my secret werewolf boyfriend's house and something awful is going to happen any second. And then he understands that Argent doesn't look angry with him as he places the box on a table with shaking hands, just unbearably sad and like he's about to cry.

In a flash, Scott suddenly knows he has to control himself. He's an empathetic crier, as Stiles had pointed out when they were watching daytime tv a little stoned and Scott lost it at a Dr Phil guest weeping over her marital problems. Other people's distress makes him ache, and seeing almost anyone cry makes him tear up. It's embarrassing, really, and made breaking up with Allison even weirder and messier in his head. She hadn't outright cried but had seemed to be on the verge and Scott had had to try his hardest not to start sniffling in front of her. He couldn't do that to her, in addition to everything else.

Now there's another Argent who looks like he's about to cry in front of Scott, and he quickly determines that the least emotionally scarring thing right now is to keep his own tear ducts in check. So he takes a step closer, awkwardly, until they're chest to chest and loosely wraps his arms around Mr Argent.

"It's, um, okay?"

Scott can feel his cheeks heat up. He can't think of anything not-lame to say. He's afraid Mr Argent will push him away and be even more weirded out by and/or angry with him, and for a moment he goes stiff in Scott's embrace. Then he, miraculously enough, seems to relax into Scott a little.

They stay like that for a while. Scott can smell a hint of an aftershave and something that reminds him of Allison, a curious mix of strange and familiar. The full-body contact isn't exactly uncomfortable. He likes hugging people. It's just weird.

As Mr Argent pulls away, Scott can feel his stubbled cheek brush against his own. He takes a step back and looks away for a while, letting Mr Argent dry his eyes discreetly. He clears his throat before speaking to Scott.

"Thank you. I'll give it to her once she's back."

Scott leaves the apartment with both relief and worry fluttering in his chest. He's glad he survived the encounter, and now he knows there's no use hoping he'll bump into Allison anywhere in town. It makes things easier. Why he still feels like something was left unfinished, he can't tell.

Doing paperwork in 95 degrees is probably a mark of looming insanity. Chris is sure he's slowly losing it in the heat wave.

If he's honest with himself, there is no need for him to toil over tax and insurance forms for small business owners right now, but he desperately needs something to do, and it's impossible to do anything productive outside. Without Allison, the apartment is empty. He's already called her today for their semi-regular, only slightly forced father-daughter conversation, and is resisting the urge to text her. She's in Oregon specifically to get away from anything to do with Beacon Hills for a while, and her dad calling her twice a day like she's a little girl on her first trip out of state is not helping anyone. He knows it's good for her, but it doesn't make her absence any more bearable.

He's already gone for a run, before the sun was up, when it was bearable be outside. He'd gone to get groceries, which for one person was a short trip. Thus, paperwork it is.

The doorbell is almost a relief. The sneaking suspicion of who's on the other side, not so much.

"Hi, Mr Argent."

Of course he is treated to the sight of Scott McCall and his nervous smile for the second time in a week. Chris was sure that after what happened a few days ago, Scott would have enough tact to stay away from him, at least until Allison returns. He's entirely prepared to see him again, just not so soon.

Chris says nothing, but Scott answers the question in the air anyway.

"It's, uh, it's really hot today, which, um, you probably noticed? I was going to do some reading today but Stiles is out of town with his dad and our AC is busted 'cause mom had to have our dishwasher fixed instead? And I tried the library but it's the same and I can't go to the clinic where I work 'cause it's closed but it's like my brain is melting. So."

Scott gestures vaguely towards Chris.

"I thought I could come here?"

"Was there an actual question in there somewhere?"

Chris tries for his authoritarian werewolf hunter voice, but he can't keep the amusement at bay, so the words come out arch at best. Scott isn't exactly a portrait of a wild beast right now, with his hair curling and sweat running down the side of his face – he must have taken the stairs for fun, which boggles the mind – and a hopeful, lopsided smile. He runs fingers through his hair, messing it up even more.

"I'm sorry, Mr Argent. Could I please come in? I know you have pretty good AC. I didn't know where else to go."

If he wasn't so tired of the heat and in need of a distraction, Chris might find it in himself to argue the frankly ridiculous proposition – surely there are other places to go, doesn't McCall have any other friends, why isn't he in the woods where it's cool and dark – but as it is, he simply steps back and lets the kid in. He might as well let Scott stay until he's cooled down.

"Thanks, Mr Argent," Scott says with what sounds like genuine relief in his voice. He has a full backpack with him, which suggests he wasn't lying about his intentions of reading. Not that Chris takes him for an especially disingenuous person, aside from all the fake-not-dating his daughter and the rest of it. For all his personal baggage with Scott, he knows there's a good kid underneath. Just not one he'd like to share a space with right now.

"I have to warn you, though, the AC isn't much better here. And please," he adds, "Call me Chris."

He almost adds the customary Mr Argent is my father. From the look on Scott's face, it seems he already got it. The shared discomfort hangs in the air between them until Scott moves towards Allison's room, as if by instinct.

"Would you like a drink? You must be parched."

Chris beckons him toward the kitchen instead. It's weird being alone with Scott McCall in the privacy of his own home again, but this time hopefully there will be no breakdown to deal with. Chris can't bring himself to care too much about what Scott thinks about him. He's mostly sorry for putting Scott in the position of having to console an adult, but with the way things have been going, the kid has been treated much worse in the hands of adults already. And he's a child of divorce to boot. What's a little extra emotional damage on top?

He regrets the thought already as it goes through his head, feeling like he's taken the first spiraling steps down into a darkness he's desperately trying to evade. Over the years he's worked hard to deal with any emotion as raw and complex as they come, a necessity in his line of work. There's no use sugarcoating ugly feelings, nor is there a need to wallow in them. Scott doesn't need his pity. Just a glass of water.

Having provided Scott with just that, Chris gets one for himself and sits down to drink. Scott remains standing, gulping down the ice water and closing his eyes.

"Thank you," he sighs with a hint of actual pleasure in his voice, as if Chris had served him a delicious meal. He licks a drop of water off the rim of the glass, unselfconsciously. It really is like watching a puppy instead of a powerful wolf creature who could rip his head off if he wanted.

Chris realizes he's staring, and stands up, trying to stick to his plan to shoo Scott out of his home. He braces himself for the actual reason behind Scott's visit – something to do with Allison, he's sure. Scott seems a little lost in the wake of their break-up. Allison hasn't discussed it in detail with him – she closed that door already and he will not pry, even though he suspects she's mostly trying not to burden him any further. It hurts, her concern for him at a time like this when he should be the one comforting her.

It suddenly strikes him that Scott, too, seems awfully concerned about him. He feels uncomfortable at the thought. He's surely exaggerating, seeing something that isn't there just because it's a small comfort. Why would Scott care? They are not exactly friendly.

"Where can I read?" Scott asks him, clearly not budging on the seriousness of his study plan.

Chris figures it's no use accusing him of false pretenses, when he doesn't have a clue what Scott might really want. Maybe he just needs company as much as Chris does, though why he would choose to come here for that is a mystery.

"If you really want to stay here, choose any room you like." Except Allison's, goes unsaid.

"Is it okay if I read in your study?"

"Are you sure? I'm filling business forms, Scott. It's hardly exciting to be around."

Scott just shrugs, smiling and reaching for his backpack.

"It's okay. Great, actually. Like I said, I have a lot of summer reading to do. I might as well do it there."

So, Chris sits behind his desk and starts going over his SBA forms for the third time, and Scott curls on the sofa with Of Mice and Men.

It's surprisingly comfortable after a while. Chris glances at Scott occasionally. He seems immersed in the book, chewing his lip and wrinkling his brow at times in concentration. There's something about the high school study zone that's fascinating to see from the outside, in Allison at least. He remembers his own experience vaguely, not enjoying the reading especially, but the feeling of trying to focus on something that felt absolutely important, immutable, defined by adults as a rock of civilization whether you liked it or not. For the past year, she's done her reading on her own or with Lydia – or "Lydia", currently reading Steinbeck on his sofa – and Chris doesn't get to see her study often anymore. Watching her clean their guns wasn't really the same. Perhaps it'll all change now.

"I still miss it, you know. Miss her," Scott suddenly blurts out, dropping the book in his lap. Chris' heart leaps uncomfortably at the tone of his voice and he averts his eyes. He realizes he's been staring again. Scott sounds soft and young and he's not sure if he's ready to talk about his own daughter with her ex-boyfriend, now or ever.

"You will still be friends, though, won't you," Chris says guardedly. "She hasn't moved anywhere permanently." Or more like, Scott has tangled his life irrevocably with theirs and seems reluctant to leave any time soon.

Scott looks at him a little curiously, biting his lip as if trying to hold back from saying the first thing in his mind.

"Well, yeah, no. She hasn't. But you know how before she used to smile like, she'd get this look in her eyes and wrinkle her nose?" Scott sounds as awkward as Chris feels, and he can't help but feel for the kid. This is clearly something Scott wants to get off his chest. Maybe it's just fair for him to return the favor after the whole crying incident.

"Like she'd light up all excited and she just knew exactly where we– where she was going and she'd figured it all out. And suddenly she just didn't anymore? And I wish she hadn't changed."

Chris knows exactly, and it almost punches the air out of his lungs to hear Scott fumble through the words, teenage intonation and all.

"And yeah I know it's like, maybe she didn't change, like probably it's just because I lo–" Scott breathes in abruptly, correcting himself in a way that would probably be endearing if it wasn't Allison he's talking about.

"'Cause I really liked her and thought we were on the same side and we were going to always be and then it was over and I just won't see that side of her anymore. Um. I still like her though," Scott finishes quickly.

Chris thinks about whether he should tell Scott that he knows exactly what he means, and beyond that. That it's not just the loss of romantic love or a partner that will haunt you. That there's a worry placed inside you when you have a child that never goes away, and a pain you feel every time they take a step away from you and towards adulthood, no matter how much you want and need them to be a fighter. That there's a selfish kind of love that breeds dissonance in your heart and you just live with it, because that is what it means to be a parent. That Scott's mother knows it too, and for all he worries about Allison he can't imagine how she copes with having her child taken away from her in so many different ways.

Chris knows Scott's not looking for a lecture, though.

"I know," he says simply, softly. "She's done that nose-wrinkle thing since she was a baby."

Scott smiles a little at that, not hiding the little trembling in his fingers but going back to his book.

After Scott's left, the apartment is empty, but it's not the pressing, loaded emptiness of before. Chris is simply alone.

In the middle of making a cup of coffee, he realizes that even after everything, he likes Scott. The baggage around their interactions is heavy, but perhaps that's okay. He's never had any particular desire for a son, never felt unfulfilled in that regard. Allison is his world. He feels uncomfortable at being thought of as a father figure to any strange kid, werewolf or not. But then again, maybe Scott isn't really looking for one.

Scott goes over to the Argent house again the next day. The heat wave lingers over the town, and he truly has nothing better to do. Deaton won't need Scott until next week, and Stiles is gone until Monday. He could ask Isaac to hang out, maybe. But something about Mr Argent – Chris – something about him keeps nudging at the edge of Scott's mind.

He totally understands why Allison wanted to go away for a while, he does, but at the same time, he's a little – not angry or disappointed, but discombobulated (Word Of The Day, yesterday). And not just because he can't stop thinking about her. Her dad seemed so lost without her, too, and Scott can't help but think that if it was him and his mom in the same situation, he would never leave her.

Of course, he might be a little hypocritical. He can't bring himself to mourn a woman who literally tried to kill him. Still, for some reason his instincts tell him he could be, if not of any real help, at least a distraction. It's better than staying at home playing Xbox or trying to work through his summer reading list in the heat.

Today, Chris opens the door almost immediately.

"Study date again?" He sounds amused, and Scott takes it as an invitation to step in.

The air conditioning actually isn't that great, but it's at least better than outside. He can't deny that a big reason he's drawn to the apartment is the lingering scent of Allison. It's probably creepy to the maximum, but Scott justifies it as a sort of substitute for the real thing. If he didn't get anything, he'd eventually snap and resort to texting her desperately at 3 am with no Stiles to keep him in line. He figures the normal thing to want would be to talk to Chris about her, but beyond yesterday's stilted conversation, he doesn't really want any relationship advice from Chris. He's not sure what he wants.

Chris doesn't have paperwork today, but he sets out to make lunch while Scott goes back to reading, in the kitchen with him. He types notes in his phone, mostly stuff like phrases he doesn't quite get, questions like "what's with the rabbits." He's not sure if he's doing this right. He's about to google what a greased jack-pin is, when Chris informs him that the food is ready.

For a second, Scott thinks he's being asked to leave so Chris can eat in peace, but he quickly realizes the table is set for two.

"Thank you, um, wow, you didn't have to," he says as he puts away his things and sits down opposite Chris. It's hard to feel hungry in this weather, when eating anything warm just makes him feel gross, but Chris had made cold soup and some kind of salad. It all looks about a hundred times better and healthier than what he's used to.

It's delicious, too. Scott hasn't realized how hungry he actually is. They eat mostly in silence, which only slightly reminds him of the strained family dinners before. Chris doesn't seem like a person for small talk, which Scott is pretty sure he likes. He'd rather be comfortably quiet, too. It's just that usually he has Stiles, and together they add up to the normal amount of conversation anyway. Afterwards, he helps clean away the dishes, moving carefully around the kitchen.

He goes over the next day, and the next, as the heat wave goes on. He tells his mom he's going to the library, which could be true. The news says local air conditioners are putting record strain on the electrical grid, which Scott can believe. It's pretty much the same each day: Scott reading and taking notes for a paper he's supposed to write on the depiction of his home state.

Chris moves around the house, doing small things and making the occasional phone call. From what he told Scott, he's setting up the security business, for real, again. It seems to involve a lot of tedious paperwork instead of actual gun-handling, which Scott finds somewhat of a relief. It's part weird, part fascinating to see what Chris does. How boring and normal everything seems. It's almost like nothing happened.

On Thursday, Chris tells him he's got a meeting in Oakland on Saturday.

"I don't think I have time for you to come over tomorrow. Unless," he says, sounding unsure in a way that has Scott's heart jump to his throat for some reason. He's gotten so used to this, so quickly, that he doesn't want to let go yet. "Unless you'd like to come with me."

"Yeah," Scott says too quickly. Is it weird he didn't even hesitate? It must be weird. "Yes, I would. If you're sure you don't mind. I've never been to Oakland."

It's only after they've made the plans to meet tomorrow that he realizes he should've probably checked with Melissa first. Then he wonders why Chris even asked him to go with him, what's in it for him. Maybe he just doesn't want to be alone, like Scott has suspected. Maybe he thinks Scott doesn't want to be alone. Either way, it's not an unpleasant idea, going away even if only for a night.

He immediately texts Stiles, Im going to oakland w chris argent is that weird.

Thats hell of a rebound scotty, comes the instant reply. Scott rolls his eyes and feels a flood of warmth. The text convo continues with Stiles giving him shit about it until he feels like everything's normal again.

Be careful, Stiles texts him last.

Scott's mom feels less optimistic about the trip. She's still able to tell him what to do, now that they've worked out the whole werewolf issue. Scott is basically glad that his mom has recovered from the "flinching in fear" phase and moved back into the "you're grounded" phase, but he really, really needs her to say yes. Melissa has a very good question, though, one that Scott isn't sure how to answer.

"Just... why?"

After a moment of hesitation, Scott goes for the sneakiest option: telling the truth. A part of it, at least.

"We've, uh. I've been talking with him about Allison, and the other… stuff that happened. I went to his place to give Allison some things back and well, she wasn't there but Mr Argent was and we started talking and I've been visiting him. It's been... nice. He's not that bad."

He knows it's dirty, playing the "I need a dad" card. It's not really about that, and he wishes he could tell his mom he doesn't need anyone else but her, but he can't tell her the whole story. He leaves out the part where he's probably developing an unhealthy crush on his girlfriend's father and he's filled with weird guilt about being saved from certain death and he's starting to feel crazy in his skin and he needs to get away from Beacon Hills if only for a day or he's sure he'll wolf out and go live in the woods as a crazed omega for the rest of his days.

Scott suddenly feels like crying, for real. Melissa's expression goes a little soft at that, her eyes tearing up. She's an empathetic crier, too. Scott's puberty has been tearful for everyone involved. He finds himself enveloped in a hug he's grateful for. When his mom hugs him, it still feels like she's bigger, and stronger, than Scott will ever be.

"Of course you can go," she smiles at him as she wipes away a lone tear from his cheek. "But he'd better bring you back in one piece, or I'll go full Derek Hale on his ass."

Chris picks Scott up from the McCall house the next afternoon. Scott runs out of the house with his backpack and climbs into the car, smelling faintly of fresh sweat and shampoo. He's brought a T. S. Eliot book with him for the road, which he digs out.

"Is that really required reading already?" Chris asks, genuinely curious.

"Not really," Scott answers. "But I figured I'll read ahead."

Chris isn't really one for poetry, but he can respect Scott's dedication to be his better self, as he's explained his new life plan, so he lets Scott read in peace for a while. It's about a four-hour drive, one he'd been dreading, but the presence of someone else in the car helps. He'd been planning to take Allison with him, and already booked a hotel, but didn't really have any backup plan. He wasn't sure how Scott would react to his offer, whether it was over some line. If there ever was a line, Scott has certainly been blurring it.

"Do you mind if we take a slightly longer route?"

They're not in a hurry, and he feels like choosing a road with less traffic for the sake of it. Scott doesn't mind, and they turn to a road that runs along a river. It's quiet, no other cars passing them. The water glints in the sun, the forest a dark green shadow on the other side. Scott puts away his reading and looks out the window. Everything feels deceptively normal right now, Chris thinks, a little detached. Like some alternative to his life.

Suddenly, there's a dark figure jumping in front of the car, a real solid thing, and he instinctively goes for the brakes but it's too late.

There's a horrible, screeching noise as the brakes come down, and a sickening sound against the bumper. Scott registers that the glass isn't broken, maybe because the Argents must have some kind of specially enhanced car windows, probably for driving over werewolves, he thinks in a wild flurry, as the seatbelt sinks into his chest. The car comes to a halt and his first thought is Chris, and he tries to fumble open his seatbelt but it's stuck and so he claws it out of the way.

"I'm okay," Chris tells him and Scott's second thought is the animal. He gets out of the car and follows the smell of blood more than sight. When he kneels beside the doe – he picks up from the scents milling about that she's had a fawn with her recently, perhaps now in the bushes by the road, if not already scared away by him – he can tell she's slowly bleeding to death and in pain. There's something broken and wrong about the shape of her neck. Before thinking, his hands wrap around it and he snaps it, the life going out of her.

Scott gasps and falls back, disgust flooding him immediately. He just killed an animal – he didn't even think – he knows it was the right thing to do, but the swiftness of his own actions horrifies him. He didn't hesitate a heartbeat, he just knew. It was probably good, but he still feels like a monster.

Still reeling from the emotions he gets up on shaking legs and, knowing he can't leave her on the road, drags the body to the side even though there's no one passing right now. He then stumbles back to Chris, who has also found his way out of the car and now stands next to it, shaking. Suddenly it's like he folds in on himself as he crumples to the ground.

Scott's heart aches tenfold and he hurries to kneel by Chris. He's not bleeding. He's not dying. Scott doesn't have to snap his neck.

"Chris," he says, and it comes out shaking. "Hey. You're alright." The ground under his knees is soft and dry and it smells of heat and stale water and dust here.

Chris takes an unsteady breath, eyes shut tight. Scott thinks of how Stiles' occasionally surfacing panic attacks still worry him, but he's learned that he can help, or at least try not to make it any worse, by being calm and talking Stiles down. The situation is similar enough that he gets the confidence to pull Chris up. Scott sits up and settles the man against his chest.

"Hey, it's okay," he says a little desperately, not really sure what to say. He seems to feel like that a lot around Chris. Their scents mingle and he can smell fear and sweat and the blood of a dead animal, a confusing mix of scents he associates with Allison and sports and safety and danger. His wolf both bristles at Chris' scent and is attracted to it, a thought he pushes away.

Scott doesn't really know what to do, which is also a familiar feeling, so he does the first thing that pops to his head. It's clumsy because of the angle but he works open a few buttons on Chris' shirt and slides his palm in until he can feel skin on skin. He closes his eyes and lets himself feel around for pain.

Scott still doesn't know how to describe the feeling of easing someone's hurt. It's almost a physical sensation but not quite, it doesn't really hurt him but it's like his nerves throb and there's a strange pull in his veins. It's not exactly painful, and the feeling of being able to help someone like this is still so overwhelming it makes his eyes sting every time. There are parts of being a werewolf he still hates, but doing this, he forgets them all.

"I'm not hurt, you don't. Have to, ah." Chris' voice is somewhat feeble. Scott can feel his heartbeat, all sped up, under his fingertips and against his lips where he's pressed his mouth unthinkingly into a spot behind Chris' ear. It's an entirely wrong thought right now, but a part of Scott registers he smells really good.

"It should also work for shock," Scott says, shifting back a little and swallowing down the thickness of worry in his throat.

"I'm not in –" Chris gasps for breath, chest heaving under Scott's hand. Scott tightens his hold and wraps his other arm around the older man so he's sort of cradling him. Stiles usually likes it when he talks about something, not about the attack but something else, keeps him focused somewhere outside his body until it's better, or so he's explained.

"It was a deer. A doe," Scott says quietly, not sure if Chris is even listening to him but figuring facts about the situation are good. He concentrates on the heartbeat of the body in his lap.

"She couldn't have lived, so I," he swallows, almost goes for vet vocabulary, "killed her before she suffered any more." He rubs little circles on Chris's back.

"I think it was a black-tail deer. They're not supposed to come here. Or maybe it was just a regular deer," Scott goes on, realizing he remembers very little about what he was taught about local wildlife. He talks about the car instead.

"Your car seems mostly fine. The airbags didn't even go off. I don't know if that's good or not, anyway, after all this we should probably call your car insurance, I think that's what you do first. Or wildlife control. Or maybe an ambulance. I should call my mom and you should, um."

Chris takes a slower, deeper breath.

"No need for an ambulance." He sounds much steadier already and Scott lets go as he turns around in his arms and inspects Scott in turn.

"I'm okay. And okay, no ambulance. But I'll drive the rest of the way."

"Do you even have a license yet?" Chris asks weakly. "We're not in Beacon Hills anymore."

He doesn't protest, though, after Scott repeats his points – Chris is not fit to drive right now, they're not that far off, and he can totally drive a car – a few times. Maybe Scott imagines it, but he looks relieved as he takes the passenger seat.

"Ah, sorry about that," Scott gestures at the destroyed seatbelt. "I panicked and. I'm really sorry." He shouldn't have lost his patience like that, but he can still feel the collision rattle in his bones. Chris just shakes his head.

"It's okay, Scott. Nothing that can't be fixed."

After insisting he wants to call the police about the deer, and checking the car for damage, Scott takes them to a more populated road as soon as possible. Chris closes his eyes and takes deep breaths. He's glad Scott isn't asking if he's okay.

There's construction on the way along the highway and the traffic picks up once they're past Sacramento, but Scott navigates the route with surprising certainty. By the time they get to downtown Oakland, they're both much less tense. Scott reaches over to touch his shoulder a few times, as if to check if he's still there. Chris does feels very present, alert in the way you are after you've avoided potential random death.

When they're finally in the hotel room, Scott calls his mom. Chris walks over to the other side of the room where the beds are to give him at least some privacy, which isn't much. He sits down on the bed and tries not to listen as Scott tells Melissa McCall the drive went okay, nothing exciting, love you mom. He then sighs, dropping his phone on the small table and walking over to the beds. Chris expects him to sit on the bed on the other side, but Scott chooses his bed instead.

"I just don't want her to worry," Scott says a little unsurely, as if he needs to explain something.

Chris wants to say that he understands all too well, but the words stick to his throat. After the immediate shock of the accident has worn off, he feels, oddly, more clear-headed than before. It's far from the worst thing that has happened to either of them this summer, but Scott's determination after the collision fills him with not entirely unwelcome admiration. It's natural that Scott's deflating now, in the quiet of a hotel room – what's remarkable is his apparent resolve in the face of any obstacle.

So when Scott shuffles carefully closer, Chris wraps his arms around him, letting Scott bury himself into his chest. He doesn't say anything for a while, stroking Scott's back slowly. He's not a tactile person by nature, but Scott's need for touch has been radiating off of him every day they've seen each other. Maybe it's because he misses Allison, for reasons Chris is slowly letting himself forgive, or it's just how he is.

"I know." Chris finally breaks the silence gently, face still half buried in Scott's hair. "And thank you," he says, hoping he doesn't need to say more. He's never felt anything quite like that before, the ache in his chest leaving as Scott touched him. It feels like there's still some residue left in his bloodstream, a wave of relaxation lapping at his mind. And then Scott is lifting his head up and kissing him, and it's the most natural thing to do.

"This is okay, right?" Scott asks breathily after pulling back. They are still more or less hugging, and Scott's eyes are dark as he swallows nervously.

"Yes," Chris says. "If you really want this."

He feels a little dizzy as Scott nods slowly and they kiss some more, lightly and breathing each other in. It's probably a werewolf trait that Scott seems so drawn to touch, determined to get them both undressed so he can bring his fingertips to Chris' collarbone, his shoulder, the bend of his arm, as if checking all over that he's alright. His hands flutter over Chris' abdomen as he begins to undo his belt. When Chris is nearly undressed, he helps Scott pull off his t-shirt, and Scott shivers at the touch of hands on his chest.

When they're both down to their underwear, Chris lays back and pulls Scott down with him. Scott straddles him and bends down for another kiss, still a little careful. Chris doesn't want to scare him away, so he lets Scott explore his body in peace for a while and concentrates on the sensations. Scott's hands wander around searching for purchase, fingers skidding over his chest and brushing his nipples, finally settling for a loose grip on Chris' shoulder and neck, respectively. Scott's thumb strokes little circles just below his pulse point. He finally kisses with more determination, and Chris lets himself respond in kind, fingers in Scott's hair and his other hand landing on a shoulder blade. He feels the edge of it, a curve of bone under smooth skin, never to be scarred again.

Scott lifts his head and looks at him, hair mussed and brown eyes wild.

"I've never, um. Done this? With, you know, a guy."

Scott's smile is bewildered but infectious, and Chris can't help but return it and slide his fingers down, over his ear, cheek. The werewolf nuzzles into his palm.

"Scott. It's okay. Neither have I."

That isn't strictly true, but it's been a long time – since before Scott was even born, in fact, and isn't that a thought that should make him reconsider all this – so long ago that it might as well not have happened to him but some other person, parts of whose life he still remembers. There is no need to explain himself further, not now.

Scott seems to relax a little at that. He bends down again, diving right into the spot below Chris' ear that he seems to have a fondness for. It seems Scott wants to inhale as much of him as possible. Chris pulls him tighter against his chest, feeling decidedly like he's in bed with an overgrown puppy. Scott bumps at his jaw and noses his way towards the corner of Chris' mouth, which he then proceeds to kiss again, wet and eager now. Chris can almost feel the smile against his lips. He turns his head and deepens the kiss, opening his mouth in invitation for Scott.

Scott's hands come up to bracket his head and his fingers slide into Chris' short hair. He kisses softly but enthusiastically, tongue swiping against Chris' upper lip but not delving deeper, making little moaning noises every time he exhales. There's little of the teenage bashfulness Chris remembers from his own youth. He runs his hand along Scott's back and marvels at the sound breaking against his mouth as his fingertips trail down his vertebrae. He rubs at the spot right above the waistband of his boxers, feels the downy hair there, and it wrings from Scott a noise halfway between a moan and a growl.

"What do you want, Scott?"

Chris manages to murmur in between the kisses that are turning more demanding by the minute. Scott trails a hand down his cheek and neck, pushing himself up a little so he's straddling the hunter again. He holds onto Chris' shoulder as his boxer-clad hips push against his abdomen, the scent of his arousal clear between them even without werewolf senses. Chris lets his fingers slip under the waistband and Scott breathes heavily through his nose, swallowing before talking.

"Hands. Just," he says, coloring a little at the most innocent of words. "Your hands."

As if to demonstrate, he takes Chris' free hand in his own and guides him to touch his thigh and then travel up. Chris lays his palm against the straining erection trapped by cloth, holding Scott's gaze and seeking his face for any hesitation. He's still not entirely convinced this isn't some mutual trauma-based act of lunacy that one of them will soon snap out of. Scott shows no sign of hesitation though as his eyes close and he rocks his hips against Chris' hand slowly. There's a wet spot Chris can feel under the heel of his hand.

Scott looks radiant from this angle, a light smile still on his face and eyelids fluttering. As Chris strokes him through the boxers, he gasps and pushes into it. He's more like a cat than a wolf like this, seemingly basking in the simple pleasure of touch.

It strikes Chris absurd on so many levels that he would get to have this creature in his bed: a teenage werewolf who used to date his daughter. Oddly enough, there's no fear of the lupine form in him right now. He knows enough of werewolves, and of Scott, that he trusts him to stay human enough during sex. It's the other two that give him pause. In the middle of the making out, it suddenly hit him that the last time he had sex with a teenager, he was one himself.

It's also been awhile since he's had sex with anyone else but his wife. He can't think about that now, but it's inescapable. It's still somewhat unbelievable Scott wants him. Of course Scott is old enough to pursue whomever he wants, but even without the werewolf-hunter culture clash, their situation isn't exactly clear-cut. The fallout could be toxic, and clearly he should be extremely careful if not outright running for the hills.

And yet the quiet intensity of Scott's has gotten under his skin, so much so that it's hard not to feel the weight of inevitability as he moves his hands to pull down the now rather soaked underwear.

"Alright, let's get these off," he says. His voice sounds rough in his own ears, feels too heavy for his throat.

Scott clambers off of him, a little dazed and letting Chris maneuver him so his boxers can be flung to the floor. He climbs back and goes for Chris' underwear but Chris stops him with a gentle hand on the wrist.

"Not yet. Let's see to you first," he says, and Scott downright melts against him at that, straddling him again and diving in for another kiss that lands somewhere above Chris' brow. He kisses Chris' face all over, apparently beyond verbal communication until Chris slides his hand down his already slick chest. The soft skin of his wrist bumps against the head of Scott's cock, wet like he's already come but straining. Something about that has fire blossoming in his blood, the eagerness in Scott, who blushes further and finds words again even as more wetness leaks out of him.

"That's, sorry, a wolf thing I think, I'm sorry I can't really control it," he pants against Chris' mouth, eyes screwed shut and hips undulating like he's trying to both rub against him and hold back.

It's Chris' turn to shush him. He slides his palms up and down Scott's sides, kissing the corner of his mouth.

"Hey, shh. Open your eyes, Scott."

He complies, and there's the barest hint of yellow but that's not what Chris is worried about.

"Scott, that's okay. I know it's a werewolf thing," he says as gently as possible. He's not sure how much Scott even knows about the sexual behavior and the biological curiosities of his own kind.

"And I want that. I want you. So much, you have no idea."

It's difficult to put in words, banal and limited as they are, so he settles for kissing Scott again. When Scott presses against him, he touches his cock again, feels around the glans. A gentle tug has Scott making a sound deep in his chest and positively bursting over his fingers, slick and smelling of arousal so heady it makes Chris want to bite into his neck. To mark him, to claim him, he thinks hazily.

He knows that if he were another werewolf he would do just that. Through his human senses, the scent is watered down, but it's still enough to make him light-headed with want. It's amazing to witness this up close and he groans and can't help but reach down so he gets a firmer grip. Both of their chests are slick now with sweat and Scott's precome. They give up on kissing for a while so Chris can get a better hold of him, while Scott mouths lazily at his neck, bites his ear and makes near-animal sounds but stays in his wholly human form. Except, Chris notes with a jolt, the tips of his fangs, which graze his earlobe a little too close to an artery for his liking.

"Scott, hey," he says even softer, needing to make this point but afraid of ruining the moment. "Please, no fangs." He cringes at himself internally, wishing he didn't have to ask for this. "No healing, remember."

Scott immediately pulls back, eyes wide and another needless apology on his lips. Chris quickly shakes his head, holding his gaze.

"No, it's okay. This is okay. As long as you're good with me stopping you if you get too excited. Is that alright?" Chris is improvising, not really sure if it'll work but not remotely able to entertain the thought of interrupting their sexual engagement.

"Yes, god, yes," Scott whispers. "I'm sorry," he still adds, feeling the tips of his fangs reflexively with his tongue. "I don't know if," he struggles to speak as he rocks into the loose ring of Chris' fingers, leaking more, color high in his cheeks, quivering with obvious need but still capable of sexual shame that Chris wants to drive out of him.

"Don't know if I can keep them in now," he finishes, a little desperately. Chris can't stand to hear another sorry from his lips and he pushes Scott up with determination. Scott gasps at the momentary lack of skin contact.

"Come here," he says and it comes out like a command. It's not what he likes or is used to but Scott obeys him immediately. Chris sits back against the headboard and guides Scott to sit between his legs, back against chest.

"Let's try it like this," he breathes into Scott's ear as he wraps his arms around the werewolf's chest. They can't kiss but it's the safest way for now. After what seems like an eternity of settling together and sliding skin and Scott's trembling in his arms, he finally fully grasps Scott's cock and gives him a strong pull from base to head.

Scott doesn't even make a sound now, he just draws a stuttering breath and bares his neck for Chris and convulses, coming from the first touch, blunt human fingers digging into Chris' thigh and the arm holding him tight. It makes Chris' mouth dry, makes his eyes sting. He breathes in Scott's sweaty hair and the scent of the slickness, Scott's ejaculate adding to the mess on their skin. The hotel will have fun cleaning their sheets, he thinks a little inappropriately.

"Scott, how many times do you usually–," he begins to ask before he can help himself, selfishly. Scott makes a satisfied sound and wiggles around in his arms, smiling again with fangs sunk into his own bottom lip.

"Maybe, mm, four? Not always. I can go less. Fewer."

Scott sounds breathy, still aroused, and true to his word he's already hardening. Chris thumbs at his slit, marveling at the precome that's still bursting out. It's meant for male-on-male copulation, he knows academically, nothing to do with producing offspring but something that encourages sex for pleasure. Scott's body recognizes his as human, and goes on overdrive. They could have penetrative sex right now, any which way, to the point of exhaustion. Knowing it is one thing, but a real life example in his arms makes his head spin. He feels like he could do this forever.

"It's okay, don't hold back. Let's see if we can break your record."

Scott's already pushing up towards his next orgasm, and Chris tightens his hold. His own cock has responded in kind, but he's content to ride the scent and the movements of Scott's body for now. He mouths at the back of Scott's neck, his ears, like another werewolf would, and Scott comes a second time, now making a noise like a growl.

"Again?" Chris asks, licking the shell of an ear. Scott just nods, and he goes to town again. He switches hands when he tires, and after the third time Scott has come, everything's so slippery it's hard to find purchase without wiping his hands on the pillow. It's not something Chris has ever thought of being particularly hot before, the literal mess of sex, but he feels buzzed – he know he is high on Scott's primal scent, pheromones if you want to call it that, a unique olfactory cocktail – and every minute movement Scott makes against him has his nerves firing. His body wants Scott in a way that feels new to him, not entirely sure if it's just the thrill of a first time that he's forgotten, or something chemical and intoxicating.

The best part, though, is watching Scott. Despite having three body-wracking orgasms, which would leave a human sleepy and slow, he's still straining against Chris, muscles tense and hips rocking into his hand like a demand. His wet eyelashes frame his clear, yellow eyes, and his mouth falls open. After the fourth time, Scott lets his head fall back to look at him, looking only slightly tired but questioning. Chris kisses his temple.

"You're beautiful," he says, earnest but a little curious about the effect of his words. "Doing so well." The werewolf in his arms shivers. Chris continues carefully.

"But I'm not as young or as, well, as much of a wolf as you are. Not sure how long I can keep up."

Scott is still impossibly hard, but he smiles at Chris, a little dopey and brown-eyed now.

"It's okay," and his voice is scratched and low with with pleasure. He turns around and Chris lets him pull him away from the headboard and push him on his back on the bed, back to their original position.

"Can I," Scott hesitates again. "I won't bite you, not anymore, I just want to feel you." His fingers toy with Chris' boxers, and he now lets Scott pull them off, free his heavy, neglected erection.

"Come here."

Chris pulls Scott on top of him, and their cocks line up, Scott slicking him up in the process.

Chris gasps at the first contact. He wraps his arms around Scott again and shifts his legs so that it's easier for Scott to rut against him. The slide of sensitive skin on skin is incredible, the smell of their combined arousal heady. The sheet under his back is sticky, and as Scott presses down to bring their mouths together again, Chris can feel him licking perspiration from his upper lip, even hear the slight rasp of his stubble against Scott's tongue. He lets Scott set the pace now that he's clearly comfortable chasing another orgasm against his body.

The rocking movement and the pressure of their tightly connected bodies together is enough to bring Scott off again. He hides his face against Chris' neck and bites, with blunt teeth, at his collarbone as his release spreads between them. Chris works a hand between them, slides fingers through the thick fluid, needing some direct stimulation but not wanting to demand anything of the sweaty, panting werewolf on his chest.

"Five," Scott mutters against him. "Five's my record." He lifts his head up, defiant and playful, and a sudden warmth floods Chris' chest.

"Once more?"

Scott nods and moves to kiss him again. His movements are more languid now, the muscles of his back less tense under Chris' hand that's still holding him. He slides his hand down, feeling the curve of Scott's backside, and then back again, fingertips traveling up Scott's spine. It has Scott shivering and turning the kiss into a clash of tongues before he tears himself away.

"I wanna see you come, too," he breathes out. He lifts himself up so he can fit his hand alongside Chris' fingers around his shaft. Chris bucks into their hands and the friction feels so good after the half-accidental brushes and the slide of shining, slippery skin that he has to close his eyes. He imagines he can still feel Scott's intent eyes on him as they rock against each other and into their fists. Scott's fingers brush downward, towards his balls, then, in a move he doesn't expect, suddenly squeezing him in a way that has him leaping towards the edge.

He forces his eyes open. He needs to see Scott as he comes, he thinks with a hint of desperation. Scott holds his gaze, and Chris blinks away moisture from his eyes as he can't hold back any longer but comes all over their fingers, his release mingling with Scott's.

Chris feels immediately boneless. He can feel Scott come again, once more, with a now painfully rough sound escaping his lips against Chris' skin. He collapses partially on Chris, finally tired out, it seems.

Chris wraps his arm loosely around Scott, who burrows into him. It's hard to think coherently. They're both covered in sweat and come, mostly Scott's. It's still a little arousing, the smell of sex covering everything, the sound of their heavy breathing, the soaked-through sheets, but it'll be uncomfortable soon. He needs to be the responsible party here.

"Come on. You need to drink a lot of water now. And we both need a shower." Chris stands up, feeling unsteady on his feet. He pulls Scott up and guides him towards the bathroom.

It turns out they are the perfect size for spooning.

Scott feels his body waking up slowly, bit by bit, breathing carefully so as to not wake Chris up. He's never thought he'd like to be held in someone's arms like this, but then, he hasn't really thought about it before. Cuddling with Allison was nice, and there's no way of escaping the thought of her, ever, when everything around him carries a memory of her, but this feels different. He fits here perfectly. There's a strong arm around Scott, fingers loosely threaded with his. He can feel the scrape of stubble against the back of his neck and the coarse hair against the back of his thighs. His wolf feels content and safe.

His slowly waking mind goes over last night. If it wasn't for waking up like this, Scott might think it was just a ridiculously vivid and mind-blowing sex dream. As it is, it's without a doubt the best sex he's ever had, and that should be messed up, right? Sex with Allison was awesome, but he didn't know it could be this… real, somehow. His body feels everything now, like Chris touched every place of him and each place he touched woke up.

Scott's glad Chris made him shower last night and that they migrated to the other bed to sleep. They made a mess, and Scott still blushes at that. He's never been that… productive before, but something about Chris must have affected him. And Chris liked it. Or just liked him. It's all a little tangled up in his mind, except for the fact that Chris Argent made him come six times last night. It's crazy when he thinks about it.

"Good morning."

There's a rumble against his ear, a kiss pressed to the side of his neck which makes his heart skip a beat. His vague fear that it would be supremely awkward after they wake up disappears. He turns around for a kiss, which tastes only a little bit of morning breath, and underneath he can sense the lingering scent of sex, still. Scott thinks he'll never be able to wash it off.

"Morning," he mumbles against Chris' mouth. A strong hand strokes his side and he feels himself getting hard again. Not intense and consuming like yesterday, just regular morning wood. He reaches for Chris' hand, a ghost of last night. The press of a palm against him feels still good, just… softer, somehow.

"I'd like to blow you, if that's okay," Chris says, in the soft but no-nonsense way of his that has Scott feeling like he's going to melt into a puddle of pleasure.

"Yes, please," he says into Chris' mouth and lets himself be slowly undressed and spread out, which Chris seems to take delight in. He kisses Scott's ankle, the side of his knee.

Another thing Scott has never thought about before is the prickling of stubble against the soft skin of his inner thighs. The sensation messes up his head and heart in the best of ways, and he keens at the feeling of Chris' hands gently spreading his legs so he can fit better between them. He follows the scratching with soft kisses, and Scott wants to cry. Chris' fingertips are small points of pressure around his hipbones.

"You okay?"

Chris lifts his head up to look at Scott and his eyes are searching and his voice so gentle, he looks a lot like Scott feels: full of lust and caution. Scott realizes he's been making a sound, a noise he knows his wolf sometimes makes when he's lost in pleasure but which sounds a little like he's in pain and can worry other people. It's a weird déjà vu kind of a moment, mixing memory and desire in his veins. He smiles at Chris and tries to form words without squeaking.

"Yes. Please. Don't stop."

It's all he can muster before his head falls back on the pillow and Chris licks a stripe toward the crease of his thigh.

After another shower and getting dressed, Chris is relieved to check the time. There's still plenty of time for him to collect himself for the meeting with a potential customer and to eat. He also clearly needs to go over some things with Scott, loathe as he is to have the conversation. Scott seems still a little dazed as they settle on the small couch on the other side of the room. He's himself not entirely sure if he has come down from the high yet.

The last thing Chris wants to talk about is his daughter's sex life, but it's the obvious elephant in the room now. Scott must feel similarly about the subject, but Chris knows now is the best and probably the only time to talk about it. He resorts to bluntness.

"Do you mind if I ask you about Allison? I don't want details," he adds quickly. Scott goes a little stiff, his eyes wide, but Chris needs to know.

"Did you ever–"

"Did I try to bite her? No," Scott answers just as quickly. "I mean, it was hard at first, but when I learned how to control the transformation, I could do it whenever. And she was my anchor, so it was easy."

Chris probably shouldn't feel the relief he does, but his feelings for his family have been an open wound all summer. Knowing there's one thing less to worry about is more than welcome. And after last night, it's hard not to worry a little for any of Scott's human partners, related to him or not. It's not that he doesn't trust Scott to physically control himself if need be, but he's still amazed by the intensity of last night. It could be a little overwhelming for anyone. As if reading his thoughts, Scott goes on.

"It was never like… that, with her, really. I don't usually, uh, last that long? And it was like – I was more like... this morning."

As Chris suspected, Scott hasn't really been given a werewolf sex education class. It should be Hale's responsibility, really, which explains a lot.

"I can't tell you everything, Scott, but I'll tell you this: it's completely normal. Sex is always different with different people, and with werewolves, you're even more sensitive to changes. When you have sex with a man, your body reacts to that. And that's amazing. It makes things so much easier. I just hope you know it's okay to tell your partners about it and expect them to respect that."

Scott looks a little uncomfortable at his words. It's all a little too close to giving the Talk, Chris knows.

"And the other thing, well." Chris isn't even sure of how to phrase it without sounding like he's talking about either animals or S&M. "Werewolves can change their rank in the pack, right? I believe it's similar when you have sex. You're not always an alpha or a beta. You can… switch, for a while. Depending on the person or your mood."

Scott looks at him thoughtfully.

"So, last night, when I felt like I just wanted to, I don't know, submit to you? Does that make you an alpha? A sex alpha, at least."

Chris can't help but snort a little at that, but there's truth to what Scott's saying. He suspects it isn't all just a werewolf thing between them, but he doesn't feel ready to navigate that discussion with Scott, maybe ever. It's not likely they have to.

"In a way, with you, last night, it did," he says with a smile. "I didn't even know it would work like that with humans. I'm not, well. I haven't had much personal experience in that area. You're my first werewolf, believe it or not."

Scott laughs at him, then, shuffling closer on the sofa, and pushes himself under Chris' arm and buries his face in his chest. Chris breathes him in. The fog of werewolf scent has lifted, and Scott is just a young man, smelling lightly of toothpaste and hair product and summer skin.

They decide to skip breakfast and opt for lunch straight away. Scott wolfs down (thanks, imaginary Stiles) his plateful in record time. He realizes he needs to text Stiles, but he has no idea whether to omit about 90 % of what's happened or outright lie.

Chris goes to his meeting, leaving Scott to wander around for a few hours. He doesn't do anything special, just walks around, enjoying the wind that's cooler than back home and the facades of the old movie theaters. He gets ice cream, reads his book in a park, and imagines for a while he's some artsy university student, reading poetry just for the fun of it.

After Chris is done, he suggests they go to the waterfront. There's a rocky shoreline full of birds, most of which Scott can't even name except for the seagulls, looking as lazy in the sun as the people enjoying their picnics on the grass. Scott feels good just being near Chris, brushing against his arm every so often as they walk around. They don't talk much, and that's nice, too. A few times, Scott gets the urge to hold hands but that's probably a step too far. It feels a bit like a date, but without any pressure or expectations. They spend a lot of time just looking at the San Francisco skyline, and the air is clear and the water glittering in the sun.

The drive back is uneventful. Scott doesn't feel like reading anymore so he watches the sunset, occasionally glancing at Chris' profile. He has his eyes fixed on the road, but his hands grip the wheel without pressure.

Back in Beacon Hills, Scott expects everything to be awkward again, but it somehow isn't. Chris drops him off at his house. He doesn't need help with his bag or anything, but Chris gets out of his car and they simply look at each other for a while. Scott knows what one of them has to say, but he wants the moment to last a little longer. Stiles is coming back the day after tomorrow, and he'll start working at Deaton's soon again, and Chris will be just Allison's dad, not even a hunter anymore.

"I guess this is it," Chris finally says, and it's weirdly comforting to see him lost for words, too.

"Yeah. Thank you. For everything. We're getting our AC fixed next week, Mom promised. So I think I can read at home now." Scott says it lightly, but he finally gives in to the urge and reaches for Chris' hand, squeezing his fingers once before letting go. He wants to say something meaningful and not corny.

"I guess… We'll always have Oakland?"

Chris laughs at that, eyes crinkling at the corners and something like fondness in his voice.

"Yeah. We'll always have Oakland."