Teen Wolf | Scott/Isaac | WIP
Melissa gets home a little after one-thirty. She’s tired, she’s achy, and all she really wants is a cup of coffee and to fall into bed. She’s surprised when she stumbles into the kitchen to find a half-naked teenage boy that is not her son, mixing what looks suspiciously like pancake batter. The sound of her keys settling on the counter draws his attention and he turns, smiling. “Hi, Ms. McCall.”
“Hi, Isaac. Did you boys have fun last night?”
A flush creeps up over Isaac’s cheeks, and Melissa raises an eyebrow. “Yeah.”
“What did you end up doing?”
If anything, the flush darkens into a full-blown blush. The blush is intriguing, but Melissa decides not to ask; she can always talk to Scott about it later. “Oh, uh,” he coughs, “We played some Call of Duty and ordered a pizza. Just regular Friday night stuff.”
Melissa waits a moment, watching as Isaac tries desperately to will away his blush. “Isaac, sweetie. I want you to go and do something for me, okay?” He nods. “Go and put a shirt on, and then come back and sit with me.”
He takes longer than a simple shirt should require, but she doesn’t mind. It gives her time to work out in her head the things that she wants to say, and with Isaac, she wants to make sure she says them right. The blush is gone when he returns, and he offers her the familiar shy smile she sees every time she opens the door. She waits for him to take a seat. There’s an anxious tension running across his shoulders. Melissa can’t help but smile. “Sweetie, relax. You aren’t in trouble, okay? I just want to talk to you for a second. We don’t get to do much of that when Scott’s around. First of all, I like you. You’re a great kid, very sweet, very polite, and I think that you’re a great change of pace for Scott. Don’t get me wrong; I love Stiles like he is my own child, but he and Scott have been attached at the hip since they were able to form words. Second, whatever happened here last night?” The blush returns to Isaac’s cheeks and he ducks his head. “Hey. Whatever happened here last night - and you don’t need to tell me; I don’t need to know - it is perfectly fine. If you and Scott are just friend or if you’re something more, it’s okay. So long as you guys are being safe and are happy, I’m happy for you. I want you to know that this house is a safe place.”
When she finishes, Isaac is trying to surreptitiously wipe at his eyes. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. It’s nothing. I’m fine.” Melissa stands, pulling Isaac into a tight embrace. “Thank you, Ms. McCall.”
“Oh, sweetie. You’re welcome.”
“Are you hungry?” Isaac asks with a smile that’s intended to be encouraging, but has a watery edge to it. He turns quickly back to the bowl on the counter and the pan on the stove. “I’m making pancakes. There’s coffee on the counter, too.”
Melissa hums, pleased, at the mention of coffee. “I’d love some pancakes, thank you,” she adds as she reaches for a mug from the cupboard, filling it near to the brim, pausing at the fridge for milk before sinking back into her chair with a relieved sigh. “Where did you learn to cook?” Even though Melissa’s been allowing Isaac to spend increasingly more nights over at their house, she hardly knows anything at all about Isaac. There are the ugly stories that circulated around town, of course, and a few memories of Isaac being brought into the hospital several times with broken bones and black eyes under the guise of falling down the stairs or getting into fights at school.
“Oh, um,” Isaac smiles shyly, and Melissa thinks that if she were younger, or if we were (significantly) older she’d let herself admit that he was attractive. “I learned from my mom. Before she uh, before she left. We used to spend a lot of time in the kitchen together.”
“That must have been nice,” Melissa replies. “Scott isn’t really that interested in learning how to cook. He’s an eating machine, but heaven help us if he actually learned how to do more than pour noodles into boiling water.”
Isaac chuckles and shrugs a cotton covered shoulder. “I don’t know. He seemed pretty interested last night.”
“Interested in what?” Scott asks, flopping down into the chair across from his mother as he knuckles the last of the sleep from his eyes.
“Cooking,” Melissa says with a pointed look, and Scott grins wide, stretching his arms back behind his head.
“We made cookies,” he announces, proud of the accomplishment even though they didn’t even get an opportunity to taste the finished product. Scott glances back at Isaac who’s hovering by the stove. “Dude, are you making pancakes? You didn’t have to do that. There’s loads of cereal in the cupboard.” Isaac shrugs.
“It wasn’t a problem.”
“Do we have any chocolate chips left? I want chocolate chips in mine.”
“Any special requests, Ms. McCall?”
“No, thank you.” With a deft flick of the wrist, the pancakes in the pan skid out and up into the air, flipping back in perfectly. It’s a skill that Isaac’s been practicing for a few months, and he’s pleased to note that Melissa and Scott are both suitably impressed.
“Here you go.” Isaac sets a plate of pancakes down in front of Melissa, depositing a fork and knife and a nearly-empty bottle of syrup.
“Chocolate chips, remember,” Scott says as Isaac spoons more batter into the pan and Isaac smiles - exasperation mixed with fondness.
“So where are these cookies you guys made,” Melissa asks around a mouthful of pancake. She makes an appreciative noise, nodding her head and pointing at the plate. “These are really good.”
Isaac blushes again, but it’s different than before - the flush of colour that comes with the receiving of a compliment, rather than the burn of embarrassment. “Thanks. The cookies are just in the bowl on the counter. Nothing fancy.” A few minutes later a plate of chocolate chip pancakes is deposited in front of Scott who adds syrup, folds one in half like a taco, and takes a huge bite.
Melissa’s silverware clinks against her plate as she sets them on top. “Okay boys. As much as I’d love to sit and visit, I am exhausted. Be good. Don’t burn the house down.” She snags a couple of cookies and her coffee before leaving them with a waggle of fingers and a wink.