45: The Hybrid

                                    

                                          
Once the party was over, Whit drove her home, but MJ didn't really want to be in her apartment. She flicked through the messages on her phone and read one that didn't make her too happy.
                          
A sketch of a house in Tennessee.
                          
It was a good sketch, as much as she didn't want to admit it.
                          
She plugged her phone in, then left it behind as she grabbed her pyjamas and walked a few streets to get to Ric's. She knew he'd been staying at the Gilbert's, but even if he wasn't there, she needed her safe place. She needed the apartment to still be her safe place.
                          
MJ used her spare key to open the door, surprised to see Ric sitting on the couch, watching the TV.
                          
"Hi?"
                          
Ric raised an eyebrow, "Why are you surprised? This is my place."
                          
"Yeah, obviously, sorry," She cleared her throat, "I'm crashing here tonight."
                          
"No, you're not."
                          
She halted in the doorway.
                          
"You need to go home, MJ."
                          
"What?"
                          
"Not home actually. You need to go to the Lockwood's."
                          
"Why?"
                          
"God," He rubbed his hands on his face, "I literally just had this conversation with Elena, and I thought I could put off having it with you until tomorrow."
                          
"Ric?" MJ closed the door and jumped over the back of the sofa to sit next to him, "What's going on?"
                          
"Nothing's going on, I just realised some stuff."
                          
"What stuff?"
                          
He looked at the TV, switching it off.
                          
"Ric?"
                          
"Damon said 'dad-mode activated'."
                          
"Yeah, and?"
                          
"You always told me I wasn't actually your dad."
                          
As he spoke, MJ's heart sunk.
                          
"And you're right. I was just your history teacher, and you were this good, and smart kid, who didn't have anybody," He closed his eyes, "But, you were better that way."
                          
MJ's mouth hung open a little bit, "What?"
                          
"I drink too much, I encourage bad behaviour, I'm not a parent, I don't discipline you – I'm not meant to be a parent – "
                          
"You were exactly what I needed, Ric," MJ cut him off, "You don't get it!"
                          
She shook her head rapidly.
                          
"I was eleven the last time I felt safe. My mum hugged me tight, shoved me in a closet, and then she died."
                          
MJ couldn't let him kick out.
                          
She couldn't.
                          
"The family that ran where I lived in New York were good people, but they had their own kids. They kept me housed, but it wasn't their job to look after me either," She couldn't cope with him shutting her out, "You – you came into my life, and you cared about me. You supported all the weird stuff that keeps me calm and happy, and the crazy impossible to handle situations. You let me live my life, but you make sure I know I have somewhere to land – "
                          
"Then I've clearly set the bar too high because I can't do it anymore."
                          
"Then let me help you."
                          
"I can't do the supernatural anymore."