[The video clicks on, and Scott looks better than he has in a month. There's no perpetual droop to his shoulders, no hooded eyes, no cloud of doubt hanging on him. And what's more, he's not in his room, where he kind of ended up barricading himself at the end there. He is, in fact, in the Enclosure, standing on a lacrosse field. And he's smiling. It's small, a little apologetic, but very present.]

So last month....uh, it sucked. A lot. And I just want to say, to everyone I talked to or should have talked to, that I'm sorry. [His smile turns in a way that says he knows it wasn't strictly his fault, and he's not going to beat himself up over it, but he does wish he'd been able to beat it sooner.]

But I think we should all try to get past that, like, as quickly as possible, and I know there are some new people on board, so...Does anyone want to play lacrosse? We've still got a bunch of room on both teams. It's great for things like, working out aggression and...figuring out tactics? [Scott, never become a salesman.]

Plus, it's a ton of fun.

[He has resolved to be better and more available and throw some unrelenting optimism at everyone, look out Barge!!]

[Private to Clementine]

Hey. Um - I just, I want to apologize. For being so totally and completely useless. It's not gonna happen again.

[Because he's going to be better. He'll be stronger. Because he can't let anyone down again, and most importantly, he can't let anything happen to her.]

Wanna get something to eat?

[Private to Dean]

Hey, uh, I dunno if you don't want to hear it, but....thanks. I couldn't...I wasn't thinking straight. But I'm really glad you were there for her.

[Good job being a friend, Dean, now let Scott ooze gratitude.]

[Private to Cassel]

I've been thinking.

[He's been thinking about this on and off for a while, ever since Cassel and Chris got back from dinner at his mom's house. A lot of it is guilt: Mickey warned him, but Scott didn't go with. He let their heads get messed with.

But the part that bothers him most is that it was Cassel's mom. That she could be that twisted up, that she could do that to her own son. He knows how strongly Daneca felt about working, how she struggled with it, and the idea of someone - an adult, someone who should be completely trustworthy - not caring about it even half as much, has not sat well with him.

So he's been thinking about this a lot, because he wants to do something. Because he has to. Because Cassel is his friend, one of his best, and if he can do anything to make sure this won't ever happen again, then he has to do it.

Not to mention the other thing. Scott shrugs his shoulders.] ...About taking a trip back to your home.

[Private to Katniss]

I'm sorry if I freaked you out. I wasn't really thinking straight, when we met. Actually, I've been meaning to say hi for a while, I just....[He shrugs one shoulder apologetically.] Got distracted, I guess. I'm sorry.

[Private to pack + friends]

I'm going to be leaving the Barge for a bit. Just a day, two tops. I'll be back before you know it, but don't freak out if you can't find me for extra lacrosse practice or something.

[Scott is holding a copy of his complete Works of Shakespeare and looking really, really confused.]

So that was all Shakespeare?

[He flips through the book a little, blinking at the camera.]

I thought that was an Amanda Bynes movie.

[Private to pack + friends]

Uhhh, so, I guess if you saw Cassel and Chris' post, you know I'm kinda getting kidnapped.

[He's sitting in his room, on his bed, with a packed backpack next to him. He's not wearing his hideous Christmas sweater anymore, but he's still looking lighter than he did before he put it on. Just getting the chance to do nice things for people, to have fun without worrying, did a lot of good for him.]

I mean, obviously not kidnapped, but I'm gonna go to Cassel's world with them. It shouldn't be that long - I'll make sure we're back in a few days.

[Because he does not plan on spending years there, no matter how much he wants to see Daneca.]

I'll see you all soon. Maybe I'll bring you guys back some awesome gloves.

[Private to Clementine]

I'm gonna be back. Is there anything you need before I go?

( dear Admiral )

I know you assholes are all talking among yourselves.

[This is Scott from the other side, only he's not looking as aggressively monstrous as he has for the past month. He doesn't look like normal puppy Scott McCall, either: his eyes glow red, his brow and nose are shifted, animalistic. His fangs aren't as massive, he doesn't have as many, but they do peek past his lips. His ears are pointed, just a little.

He's still a beast. He still wants to be one.]

So here's me talking to you. Anyone who tries to play at being my warden is going to get claws heart-deep in their chests.

[He can't grow his claws long enough, especially not when he's keeping his face like this. But this Scott has become a very good liar.]

Anyone who gets in my way is going to get their throat ripped out. And I'll do it with my teeth.

And if you're really lucky, I'll give you the bite. Lycanthropy is all the rage, lately. Just ask Clementine.

[He growls, deep in his throat, and huffs out a breath. It's only with careful concentration that he grows the claw of his forefinger so he can turn off the feed with it, just in case it comes into view.]

[The feed clicks on and Scott is standing outside his door. He's holding the device in one hand, his lacrosse stick in the other.]

Okay, so I sorted out teams for lacrosse. Lydia helped make sure they're...mostly fair. [The odds are stacked against him.] I hung the sheet up outside my room, but - here.

[He turns the camera on the team listing, just to the right of his door:

Scott's Team Cassel Chris Slevin Archer Jack Bucky

Stiles' Team Steve Peter Ben Mindy Andrew Needy

He holds it there for a solid thirty second before turning the camera back on his face.]

So we're gonna start practice on Friday, in the CES around noon. And we haven't really decided on team names yet....What do you guys think? The Badgers and the Bears? The Bears and the Bengals? The...Okay, I can't think of anymore animals that start with a B. Consider this a, like, open call for suggestions.

And way, way more importantly - teams are supposed to be ten players, and we only have seven each. So come on! There have to be six more people who are bored and want to do something new around here. Lacrosse is, uh, it's a contact sport, kind of like....field hockey, but with sticks in the air.

[Nailed that description.]

It's easy to learn, and it's great for burning off energy, and it's - it's a lot of fun! Who's up for it?

[Private to Daneca]

[Early in the evening, he sends Daneca a text.]

are you busy???

[Private to Lydia]

Hey, um, this - this is gonna sound dumb, but do you think you can, uh. Keep Allison away from the CES tonight?

[Filtered to Peter, Cassel, Stiles]

So I have this really...really dumb favor to ask you guys.

[Beacon Hills Filter]

Hey, so Cassel gave me this charms for you guys. You can stop by my room, and I'll explain what they're for.

[The video feed is shaky when it flicks on, and over the crackle of static, there is something that sounds like wheezing. It takes a moment for words to come through, and the shakycam kicks it up a notch as Scott stumbles over - he doesn't want to know. The glow illuminates his face, fuzzing in and out.

He's sweating, his hair no longer carefully gelled up falling over his forehead. The wheezing comes from him, in time with the horrible gasping his chest is doing, like he's trying to fill his lungs and just - can't. His chest is tight, distress crackles through him.]

I can't - I can't find--

[It's been so long since he had an asthma attack that he almost doesn't get what's happening. It feels like a panic attach, like he imagines they must feel. He's seen Stiles have them so often. He gasps and drops to his knees, holding tight to the communicator, though now the only decent view is of the dirt.]

Can't find - anyone--

[He feels like he's ten again, stuck in the Beaconburger with his parents, and they're arguing again, and all he wants to do is force air down his windpipe so his dad won't get angry. Every puff of the inhaler costs money. He just doesn't want them to fight anymore, he doesn't want his dad to yell at his mom because he has asthma. It's not her fault, it's his.

Yellow and gray dots are starting to dance across his eyes, but it's okay, it'll be okay. He's not a wimp. I'll breathe, he wants to say. I'll breathe, I'll breathe, I'll breathe. But he's not ten anymore, and his dad was wrong - it's not all in his head.]

Can't breathe--

[Okay. He learned from the last time. He doesn't have to apologize. That doesn't mean he's not struggling with the memories of what he did.

Scott's eyes aren't quite red rimmed, but he is far from relaxed. It's obvious he's broadcasting from the infirmary: there still some structural damage around as the Admiral slowly fixes things.]

I'm, um.

[Sorry sorry sorry sorry. He swallows it back, draws in a shaky breath.]

I'm in the infirmary. [He looks around over his shoulder.] Obviously. I know there's not a lot the doctors can do for people who are death tolling. But one of the things I learned at home can help. I can take away pain, when I touch people. So, I'll - I'll be here. I'l be around. Just let me know if you're hurting, and I'll make it better for a while.

[He doesn't mention that he takes the pain on himself. He hopes Stiles and Dean won't say anything, either. It feels like penance, though that's not the only reason he's offering. If he can help people and feel like he's scouring away his guilt, well...then he's going to.]

[Private to Peter]

You were right. I'm definitely thanking you after.

Are you okay?

[Spam for Stiles and Lydia]

[He's been at her bedside in the infirmary since they reappeared back on the Barge, waiting for her to wake up. He knows she will. Knows it deep in his gut, because the Admiral hasn't failed them like this. He won't leave her there, and he won't leave her dead.

There's a whisper of doubt in his thought, and he's doing the best he can to banish it. It leaves his throat and mouth dry, and he doesn't know what to do.

Looking over the bed at Stiles, he draws in breath to say something, anything, but he can't. It wasn't him, but he remembers tearing her throat out, he remembers Stiles' face when it happened, and he has to look down at his hands again.]