Chapter Text
Christmas has always been a little bittersweet for the Hale family. It calls back a lot of memories of the way things were before the fire. David, the Hales’ youngest son, had loved Christmas, and spent all year carefully compiling lists for Santa. Olivia loved to decorate and made the most amazing baked goods for the holidays. And Derek’s birthday was on Christmas, of course, so it made the holiday even more fun.
Talia can remember the first Christmas after the fire. It was only three months later. She didn’t even want to celebrate, and had wanted to call the entire holiday off. Aaron said that they couldn’t do that, because they would wind up doing it every year for the rest of their lives. So they tried, they really tried. They tried to celebrate like David and Olivia and all the others would have wanted them to celebrate. But it was impossible. Derek had just gotten out of the hospital. Nobody had any idea what to get him, and he refused to ask for anything. Peter had been entirely feral, curled up in a corner and lashing out at anyone who tried to touch him.
But over the years, things did get better. Celebrating the old traditions was too painful, so they invented new ones. Christmas brunch instead of Christmas dinner, and then Chinese take-out later in the day while they sat around and watched movies. Instead of Olivia baking a birthday cake for Derek, they found a bakery that made amazing pies, and tried a new kind every year. A themed Christmas tree every year – one year seashell ornaments, one year flowers – so they didn’t have to open the boxes of ornaments that the children had made.
New family members brought new traditions, too. When Laura met Jonathan two years after the fire, he brought the tradition of opening a single gift at midnight. Stiles brought his amazing mulled cider recipe and driving around Christmas Eve to look at holiday lights.
Looking at her family now, it’s not hard to believe that this is their tenth post-fire Christmas. Everything has changed so much. The huge rec room in their new house is filled with people, most of them rolling around like slugs after stuffing themselves with Chinese food. It has, as always, been a long and exciting day. Aaron had just come downstairs after putting the twins to bed. Laura’s two younger kids are asleep upstairs, but Tyler had begged and pleaded for ‘just a little longer’ until she had given in.
Talia looks around, feeling warm and content. Cora is playing with her new phone while Isaac leans against her, his chin resting on her shoulder. Scott, Allison, Stiles, and Derek are playing cards. Melissa, Tom, and Peter are gathered around a movie while Laura and Jonathan put the food away. Tyler bounces between the groups, wanting to help everyone with what they’re doing.
An hour later, when the movie is over and Tyler has fallen asleep in his father’s lap, still clutching one of his new toys, Peter looks over at Tom and says out of the blue, “Do you think we should tell them now?”
There’s a round of blinking faces, and Tom rolls his eyes. “Well, we kind of have to since you said that, don’t we.”
“Oh, I suppose so.” Peter waves this aside. “We could just tell them not to worry about it.”
“That has worked with my son exactly zero percent of the time since his birth,” Tom says, and indeed, Stiles looks like he’s about to explode from curiosity. Tom gives a snort of laughter and shakes his head, threading his fingers through Peter’s and giving his hand a squeeze. “Peter and I have been talking about adopting a child.”
After a moment of surprised silence, Stiles bursts out, “Oh my God! Oh my God, that’s awesome! That is amazing! You should adopt, like, twelve children – ”
“Let’s not get carried away,” Tom intervenes hastily. “One will be quite enough, at least for now. And it’s not as easy as just strolling down to the neighborhood orphanage, either.”
“No, I know that, I totally know that, private adoption is actually a really complicated subject, and do you know what? I’m happy to look into that for you and do some research, because the idea of having a younger brother or sister is the most amazing thing in the universe!” Stiles is halfway to his feet with excitement; Derek has to get him by the wrist and gently draw him back down. “Uh, if you haven’t already done all the research.”
“Well, we haven’t yet, since we actually only decided for sure to go ahead with it last night,” Tom says, giving Peter an amused glance. “So I guess you can help out if you want.”
“Awesome!” Stiles says, starting to scramble to his feet as if he intends to do it right this moment. Derek patiently pulls him back down again.
“Are you all right, sister?” Peter asks, and Talia realizes that she’s crying.
“I’m just – so happy,” she says, snuffling a little. “I’m so happy for you, Peter. I know that – that this can’t be a decision you came to easily and I – ”
“You know, it was surprisingly easy,” Peter muses, as Aaron puts his arm around Talia. “I just thought about what Olivia would want for me. For us,” he adds, and Tom squeezes his hand again. “I suppose it doesn’t make a lot of sense. Although I suppose it doesn’t have to.”
“We would never expect you to make sense, Uncle Peter,” Derek says, and everybody laughs.
~ ~ ~ ~
Almost a week has gone by before Stiles calls his father to tell him that he’s done with the preliminary research and has ‘gotten some stuff together’. Tom feels somewhat wary as he heads over to the house where the kids live over their breaks and Stiles and Derek live all the time. It smells as good as always; Stiles has been baking.
“Okay, so, don’t judge me,” Stiles says hurriedly as his ushers his father into a chair, “but I might have gone a little overboard with this research thing and there might be a pie chart or two. Don’t panic. I promise that it’ll make sense once I go over it.”
Tom looks down at the folder Stiles hands him and rubs the heel of his hand against his forehead. “Tell me you didn’t pay money to have this laminated.”
“Of course not, Aaron’s office has a laminator,” Stiles says. “That’s not the point. I wanted to make it look professional.”
“It does look very professional,” Tom says, “and it’s also in no way what I actually asked you for. Exactly what were you avoiding while you went ‘a little overboard’?”
“Uh, baby-sitting the twins,” Stiles says, and Tom groans. “Dad! I’m just excited! I’m going to have a little brother or sister! And that’s awesome and amazing because you’re like the world’s best father and so it makes perfect sense to spread that around.”
Tom tells himself that he is not blushing. “Sure, kid. You want to tell me what you found out or what?”
“Right, okay. So, adopting a werewolf is pretty much impossible. Because not only are werewolves generally healthier and harder to kill, but they also have packs. So, even if a child’s parents are killed, the pack just adopts them. I mean, if anything were to happen to Laura and Jonathan, God forbid, Talia and Aaron would raise their kids, or Derek and I would . . . or we’d share, whatever, you get my point.”
“I do,” Tom confirms with a nod.
“Adopting a human child, uh . . .” Stiles rubs a hand over the back of his head. “Let’s just say that preliminary research makes that look dicey.”
Tom gives him a questioning look.
“Most private adoption agencies won’t consider werewolves as viable options,” Stiles says, “and even foster agencies are a little leery of them, and those who wouldn’t be leery of werewolves would probably still give the side-eye to, you know, Peter. I mean. What with the murder and the clinical insanity and all.”
Tom opens his mouth to point out that since Peter had been cleared of all charges, technically it would be illegal to discriminate against him. But then he remembers who he’s dealing with. Stiles never researches anything halfway. There are lots of reasons an adoption might not go through, and proving discrimination could be impossible. If Stiles says it’s not an option, then it’s not an option. “Okay,” he says, “but I know you didn’t assemble a twenty page paper including pie charts to tell me that.”
“Right,” Stiles says. “See, then there’s the third category. Non-human, but non-werewolf children.”
“There can’t be many of those.”
“No, there aren’t,” Stiles says, “and because of that, they almost always fall into this gray area, this . . . unadoptable zone. There are so few of them that there’s no system to deal with them, but they do exist. There are shifters who don’t pack like werewolves do, like werefoxes. There are banshees and wendigoes. Sometimes even the children of Druids are considered ‘non-human’ enough that it’s hard to find human parents to adopt them.”
“So what happens to these children?” Tom asks.
“Well, a lot of them just bounce around. But as it happens, there are a few group homes that specialize in their care. There’s one in . . . that city that has the Golden Gate Bridge, so that’s where I’d start.” Stiles sees his father’s look and huffs out a sigh. “Page twelve. But I worked hard on that, so you should read the whole thing.”
“I will,” Tom says, smiling. He reaches out and tousles his son’s hair. “I do appreciate it. How would you feel about a little fox brother or sister?”
“Oh my God, like it would be the cutest thing ever,” Stiles says.
Tom laughs. “Well, I’ll see what I can do.”
“There, uh, there’s one more thing you should probably know.” Stiles fidgets a little and says, “I didn’t find any data on this from the non-human adoption side, but human adoption agencies at least are heavily biased towards married couples. Because, you know, permanence and all that.” Hastily, he continues, “I’m not saying that you and Peter couldn’t adopt because you’re not married, I’m just saying, it might hurt your chances.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to him about it.” It’s funny-but-not-funny, because in the past year of discussing adoption, marriage had never been brought up. Tom had had a feeling that it might be an issue, but he didn’t want to say anything, didn’t want to spook Peter, who still wore his wedding ring. Tom had stopped wearing his after he had moved into the Hale house, but Peter hadn’t, and Tom had never wanted to press the issue.
“I think – you know, I think he’s going to be okay,” Stiles says. “Knowing him, he’ll just be like, ‘of course we should be married, I don’t know why it’s taken you so long to ask’.”
Tom gives a snort. “That is a strong possibility. Don’t worry about it, okay? We’ll get it sorted.”
~ ~ ~ ~
Peter leafs through the extensive booklet of information on adoption that Stiles has produced, and feels that familiar warmth in his chest, not quite the fierce love of one’s own child, but the quiet fondness for his nephew. “Stiles is as impressive as always.”
“Yeah, he did that to get out of looking after the twins, so don’t be too impressed with him,” Tom replies.
“That’s really more impressive, to be honest . . .” Peter has always liked people who have ulterior motives to helping out.
Tom just rolls his eyes. Since Peter is intent on reading the entire book, he’s barely listening as Tom summarizes what Stiles told him about non-human adoptions, group homes, a system that has no idea how to cope with banshees and wendigoes. He tunes back in as Tom is saying, “The system does seem to have a lot of favoritism in place when it comes to couples who are married, rather than simply partners. I think it might be a holdover from before gay marriage was legal, to be honest. They could say they only accepted married couples and eliminate all the gays and lesbians without being accused of discrimination. Anyway, it’s something we might want to think about, if we don’t want to get turned down.”
Peter’s silent for a long minute, rolling that around in his head. “I’m sorry, but did you actually ask me to marry you anywhere in there, or did you think you could sneak it under the radar by talking about prejudice and probability?”
Tom rubs his hand over the back of his head and makes that cute embarrassed face that Peter loves so much. “It’s not necessary, I was just saying – ” He sees the look on Peter’s face and clears his throat. “Want to get married?”
Peter opens his mouth to say yes, but then hesitates. “Do you?”
He expects more hedging, but Tom just nods and says, “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”
“Well, all right then.” Peter lets out a breath. He looks down at his left hand, at the wedding ring to Olivia that still graces his finger. Then he slides it off and tucks it away into a pocket.
“You don’t have to,” Tom says.
“I know. And if you weren’t the sort of person who would say that, I wouldn’t be with you. But Olivia is dead. She’s been dead for ten years. She’ll always be my mate, but she can’t be my wife anymore.” He looks at his bare finger and squelches the urge to reach for the ring, to give himself that reassurance that it’s still in his pocket. “Nothing big, though. I couldn’t . . . handle that.”
“I wouldn’t want it that way either,” Tom assures him. “Just something quiet at city hall is fine with me.”
“Don’t think we can get away with not telling the pack, though,” Peter says. “They would throw three different kinds of fits.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
~ ~ ~ ~
The wedding is short and sweet. Rather than going to city hall, they have a justice of the peace come out to the den. The pack is there, but nobody else, and it’s a little bittersweet because the kids are all leaving to go back to school the next day. Peter wanted to do it before they left, but that was easy enough, without a lot of frills.
Stiles has made a lot of food, of course, and there’s a party, but it’s on the quieter side. They stuff their faces and play some board and card games. Everyone goes to bed early. There’s the usual fuss in the morning getting everyone off to school. Tom sees Peter fiddling with the new ring a few times, but he doesn’t seem to be in any distress over it.
That being done, Tom sits down with the information on the adoption agencies and begins what he’ll later call ‘The One Hundred Days of Paperwork’. He’s familiar with paperwork – police work involves a lot more of it than people realize – but this seems ridiculous. There are background checks and home inspections, drug testing and financial reviews. There’s a mental health screening which Peter somehow passes with flying colors. “Fake it ‘til you make it,” is Peter’s response when Tom asks him how it went.
There are reference letters and physical exams to make sure they’re not in danger of dropping dead. It goes on for what feels like forever. But finally, they’re certified and approved. Tom calls the group home in San Francisco – ‘New Beginnings’, it’s called – and speaks with the adoption coordinator. Their brief conversation gives him the feeling that she’s thrilled to hear from someone, and he remembers what Stiles had said about how these kids are often considered unadoptable.
“We do have dossiers on each of the children here, of course, but we really recommend that you come down and meet them,” the coordinator, whose name is Sharon, says. “It’s just so hard to get a sense of who they are from a sheet of paper or a computer screen.”
“Absolutely,” Tom says. “We’d love to come down.”
“Did you have any, er, preferences? To age or gender?”
She sounds a little wary, so Tom is careful in how he answers. “Gender doesn’t matter. Age, I guess we’d prefer someone younger, but it would depend a lot on the child.”
“We don’t have anyone under the age of six,” she says, somewhat anxiously.
“Oh, that’s fine. I mean ‘younger’ as in ‘doesn’t have a driver’s license yet’.”
Sharon laughs. “Okay. How about Monday?”
“Monday sounds great. It’ll take us a few hours to drive down. Early afternoon okay, say, one o’clock?”
“Perfect.”
~ ~ ~ ~
“As you can see, we have children of all ages here,” Sharon says, as she shows them through what was obviously a rec room. There are several tables set up with coloring books or crafts, a reading nook, and an area with a variety of toys. And there are, indeed, children ranging from as young as six all the way up to a group of teenagers gathered around a movie.
Sharon starts talking about what sort of children they take in and where they came from, and before a few minutes have gone by, Peter loses interest and starts wandering around the room. Tom keeps half an eye on him but doesn’t intervene. He knows everything Sharon says, of course, thanks to Stiles’ prodigious research, but he knows it’s her job to give the spiel, so he lets her talk.
While she’s telling him about the screening process and the therapists and the supervision, Tom watches Peter. The werewolf prowls around the craft tables for a minute, leaning over shoulders to see what the children are doing, but doesn’t interfere. Finally, he sits down at a small table in the toy area, where there’s a sullen-looking girl playing with blocks. Well, ‘playing’ isn’t really the right word. There are a few of them on the table, and a big box of them, but she’s just got one in each hand and occasionally smacks them together.
Peter doesn’t talk to her or ask what she’s doing. He just takes some of the blocks and starts building a tower. It’s a simple thing, four walls and then a roof and then another four walls –
– and then the girl lashes out with one hand and knocks it down.
“Oh,” Sharon says, her voice tinged with distress, and she makes a move as if to go over.
“Hang on,” Tom says, watching. Peter is completely unfazed by the girl’s behavior. He simply starts rebuilding the tower. Her scowl deepens and she knocks it over again. He starts again. And again. And again. It never gets more than three levels high before she reaches out and sends it all crashing down. But Peter just keeps starting over.
Nearly ten minutes and twice as many towers have gone by before the girl reaches out, picks up a block, and sets it on top of Peter’s half-built tower. He pays her no mind, and keeps building. She adds another block. He puts one underneath it to stabilize her addition. Another minute later, and they’re just building it together. Inevitably, it gets too high and starts to wobble, and then a minute later it falls.
Tom sees Sharon’s mouth tighten, like she’s waiting for an outburst, but Peter just chuckles and starts again, and after a moment, the girl’s mouth curves in a hesitant smile.
“Oh,” Sharon says again, sounding like she’s been kicked in the stomach.
“Who is that?” Tom finally asks.
“That – her name is Malia,” Sharon says. “Malia Tate. She's a werecoyote. She came here about six months ago, and that – that’s the first time I’ve seen her smile. She . . .” Sharon stops to take a breath, and regains her professional attitude. “She lost her family in a car accident that the WLO orchestrated. Malia escaped, but the trauma . . . she wound up locked into her shifted form and stayed that way for three years, living feral in the woods, before somebody found her.”
“How old is she?” Tom asks.
“She would have just turned eight about a month ago,” Sharon says. “She’s very . . . volatile, and it’s made her difficult to place. She’s gone home with two families but come back both times. Just came back last week, in fact. She doesn’t talk very much; in fact, I’ve seen her go weeks without saying a word. And her temper, as you can see . . . her outbursts can be somewhat unpredictable.”
“She’s perfect,” Tom says, before he even realizes that he’s about to say it. He’s watching Peter again, playing with the wordless girl and her blocks.
“It won’t – I want you to understand that it won’t be easy – ”
“I never expected or wanted easy,” Tom says. “I wanted somebody that Peter would understand, and somebody who would understand him. He went through a long time just like her, after he lost his mate. We’ll take care of her. She won’t come back to your facility this time. That’s a promise.”
It looks like Sharon might cry, but after a moment to gather herself, she says, “I’ll go get the paperwork.”
Tom nods. He steps over to Peter and rests a hand on his shoulder, watching Peter arrange the blocks. “There’s going to be some paperwork to fill out. I’m going to go make a quick call. You’ll be all right here?”
“Mm,” is all Peter says in response, not looking up.
As he steps outside, Tom is suddenly reminded of how Stiles had come home with a puppy once. He had gone to the animal shelter with Scott and somehow conned the staff into letting him adopt one (that or he outright stole it; Tom hadn’t questioned overmuch after finding the hapless pooch a new home). They hadn’t technically intended to go home with a new daughter today. It was just supposed to be a tour. But it feels so incredibly right, and given Peter’s focus, Tom doubts he could tear him away.
His finger hovers over his phone for a few moments as he debates who to call. He needs to call Stiles, because Stiles is his son, and he’s been insanely excited about this process. But he also feels like he should call Talia, because she’s the alpha, and Peter’s brother. After a few moments, he dials his son.
“Hey, Daddy-O,” Stiles says brightly, answering on the second ring. “How’s it going?”
“It’s going well. Is Talia around?”
“She’s in her study. Why, did she not answer her phone?”
“No, I just need to talk to you both at once.”
Stiles immediately catches on, and Tom realizes he should have called Talia, who would have also caught on, but probably wouldn’t have started shouting in his ear. “Oh my God! You adopted somebody! Oh my God it’s just like that time I came home with a puppy and you whupped my ass – ”
“Stiles,” Tom says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Will you please go get Talia and then put the phone on speaker?”
There are several loud thuds and then a rapid knock, followed by Stiles shouting more. “Talia! My dad’s on the phone and he wants it on speaker and you know what that means!”
A few moments later, Talia’s voice comes over the line, notably calmer and with just a hint of laughter. “Hello, Tom. How are things going?”
“Things are going fine. Could you – ”
“Who did you adopt?!” Stiles shouts. “Boy or girl? How old? Is it a shifter? How’s Peter taking it? Does he – ”
“Stiles, for God’s sake!” Tom says, hoping he doesn’t sound as desperate as he feels. “Her name is Malia. She’s eight years old, and she’s a werecoyote, and Peter’s fine, and I have paperwork to fill out and I don’t want to be here until midnight so will you please just let me tell you the reason I called!”
“It wasn’t to tell me I had a little sister?” Stiles says, then bursts out, “Oh my God! I have a little sister!”
Talia is audibly laughing now. “What is it, Tom?”
“Malia is very skittish,” Tom says. “She’s had a difficult life. I’d like to bring her to the den tonight, but it would probably be best if there aren’t a lot of people there.”
“Sure,” Talia says. “Laura and Jonathan can eat at their place and I’ll pack the rest of the kids back to their house.”
“Not me,” Stiles objects.
“No, not you,” Tom and Talia say in unison. Tom continues, “You’re her brother, and of course I want you there. Derek can stay too, along with Talia and Aaron. I just don’t want her to get mobbed, that’s all. She’s not very . . . friendly.”
Talia gives a snort of laughter and says, “Peter’s found a kindred spirit, I take it. I’ll see if Laura can watch Hope and Brian. We don’t want screeching werewolf babies adding to the festivities either, I’m sure. What time should we expect you?”
“Well, the drive here took us about four hours, so I’d say around seven or eight, probably,” Tom says. “We’ll probably stop for a bite to eat, so don’t wait for us to have dinner. Okay?”
“Okay. See you soon, love you!” Stiles shouts, clearly too excited to keep his shit together.
Tom shakes his head a little and goes back inside. Sharon hustles over and they walk over to where Peter is sitting with Malia. Someone else is using the blocks, and Malia is coloring now, in that she’s using a crayon on paper. All she’s drawing are jagged lines. Peter is offering her crayons but not trying to give her artistic advice.
“Malia,” Sharon says, smiling, “let me introduce you. This is Tom Stilinski, and his husband, Peter Hale. Say hello.”
“Don’t wanna,” Malia says, not looking up.
“Malia, is it?” Peter says, and holds up his hand in front of her face, leveling his index finger at her nose. “We’re going to take you home.”
It’s probably not the subtlest way to break the news, which amuses Tom since Peter is capable of such subtlety on a given day. But there are times when you just have to be straightforward, and Peter has clearly decided that this is one of them. Malia clearly doesn’t agree, because she drops her crayons and then clamps her teeth down on Peter’s finger.
“Malia!” Sharon gasps, but Peter takes this in stride. He doesn’t make a noise, doesn’t pull away. He just reaches out with his other hand and flicks her nose.
“No biting,” he says.
Malia sulkily lets go. Peter pulls his hand back, the wound healing.
“Shall we?” he says, glancing up at Tom.
Tom tries not to roll his eyes all the way to the county line. “We can’t just walk off with her, Peter. There’s paperwork to fill out.”
“You said you were going to do that.”
“I had to call your sister first. You know, the alpha? I thought she might appreciate a head’s-up.”
Peter’s nose wrinkles. “I suppose so. Well, you can do that while I put together Malia’s things. Presuming you have things, little one?”
Malia growls. “I don’t want them.”
Tom tries to intervene here, because Peter is just nodding like that makes perfect sense, and this is apparently his daughter, too. “Why not?”
“They’re not really mine,” Malia says, jaw setting in a mulish expression. “They got them for me but they’re all wrong.”
Tom considers questioning, but he can easily picture the well-meaning staff getting Malia cute dresses and dolls when she probably would have rather had jeans and – actually, he’s not sure what sort of toy she would want. But Barbie probably isn’t it. “Okay. Why don’t you at least pack up a few things, like a set or two of clothes?” He sees that she’s about to refuse, and continues, “That way we’ll have some time for you to pick out some new things that you like.”
Malia gives him a suspicious scowl, but then says, “Okay.”
Tom watches fondly as Peter extends his formerly bitten hand to her. She’s still scowling, but she takes it, and drags him off in the direction of her room. He gestures to Sharon, who takes him to her office.
~ ~ ~ ~