His only response was to lean over and stick his finger right in the masked potatoes and scoop out a bit for tasting.

“Needs salt.” He said flatly, not bother to look at his mother as he reached over and grabbed the salt shaker. Tina grabbed it out of his hands and set it down besides the bowl.

“Peter.” Tina said calmly. “My wife.” Peter craned his neck away from her, as though he didn’t want to hear it. “My friends. These are the people who matter most to me. These people are-”

“Your pack.” Peter interrupted, perhaps a bit accusingly. “Is that it mom?” Finally he looked at her, and if Tina didn’t know any better she could swear for the briefest moment she saw hurt-if not betrayal- in those eyes. “They let you into their cute little wolf pack and now you’re a one of them?”

“They’re not a pack, Peter.” Tina said, leaning back.

Peter said nothing, just looked down at his hands. She followed his gaze and realized that they had balled into fists so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. For a moment a silence hung over the room, before Tina dared to probe. To try and test a theory that had sprung unbidden and unwanted to her mind barely a week after Peter had come to live with them.

“ And they’re nothing like the werewolves who-”

“ Don’t. “ Peter snapped, eyes turning a dead shark black as he turned to look at her. After a while they transformed back into their normal human coloration. “I don’t go there.” He explained. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t either.”

“Right. Sorry.” She said out loud, mentally she was kicking herself. She had to push on though, she once again had to at least try and break through Peter’s thick skull and reach him. “These people. My friends. I have watched you slap away every hand they have offered you.” Peter snorted and it was a sound almost of disbelief, like maybe he didn’t exactly remember it that way. Then he turned to look at her as if he was about to say something. For a brief moment, the hope briefly flared in Tina’s heart. Even if he disagreed, even if he saw things differently if he could just let her in for one brief moment… Then Peter looked away again, apparently deciding against it. Tina continued on despite the crushing tide of disappointment that followed it. “And when you walk away I’m left standing there having to answer for you.” At this Peter looked down and his expression changed.

“Wow.” He looked back up at his mother. “Pretty effective way to make me feel like an asshole mom.”

“Yeah.” She said with a nod. “Honestly you are kind of being an asshole.”

Peter turned away from her in a huff and stalked towards the center of the room. He looked around at the house. Bette’s house. Tina’s house. Their home…would he ever think of it at his? She was his mother, and even if Bette choose to tune it out to Tina his discomfort at being there was almost palpable-and extraordinarily painful. Peter turned back to Tina and folded his arms in front of his chest.

“What do you want, mom?” He asked, really asked. Like he really wanted to know. “What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to try!” Tina insisted. “Peter, I just want you to try!”

Peter looked down and his face twisted, like this was causing him actual physical pain.

Some part of him wanted to argue with her, she could see it. The anger, the barely restrained fury lurking behind his eyes. He was wound up tight and ready to spring, ready to tell his mother everything going on behind his calculating eyes…

But another part of him held back, withholding from her. A part of him molded in the image of his father. It was a part of him that dared not question perhaps the last person in the world he truly respected and looked up to.

“Are you asking me or telling me?” Peter finally asked.

Tina closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

“Telling you.” She said, defeated.

“ Fine.” Peter whispered before turning and stalking back to his room. His mother watched him go, heart breaking all over again until he slammed the door shut.

Tina added the salt as he went but eventually cast it aside.

Peter would at least try tonight, he would do as he was told. By his mother at least.

Yet somehow, despite the fact that she had gotten exactly what she had wanted she felt like she had made no progress at all.