Teen Wolf 1. Chapter 1

Lydia, Parrish, and Stiles drove back to the police station in tense silence. To say that their visit to Eichen had gone poorly would be a gross understatement; it had been an unmitigated disaster. Lydia had the burst and bloody eardrums to prove it. In the back seat of the police cruiser, she wearily brushed Stiles's hands away as he struggled to examine her wounds (for the twentieth time) and looked pointedly out the window, pretending not to notice the intense gaze the young deputy fixed on her in the rearview mirror. There was something in his look, some inscrutable extra in the mix of confusion and genuine concern, that unsettled her, though she couldn't put her finger on exactly why.

She wanted to trust him. On the surface, she knew it was human instinct to want to trust a pretty face, and Lord knows she had fallen prey to that instinct before, but it was more than that. Parrish had proven himself patient and kind. The memory of his strong hand pulling her protectively behind him as they explored the game locker lingered sweetly in her mind. He was dependable. He had earned the Sheriff's trust, fought and been wounded beside him. But he was new in town, and in light of recent events, she and the rest of the pack were inclined to treat newcomers to Beacon Hills with extreme caution, particularly when those newcomers' names inexplicably popped up on a hit list of supernatural citizens.

"Just don't give too much away," she coached herself in her mind. "Not until you know for sure he's a good guy. IF he is a good guy." Inwardly she shrank from the possibility that he wasn't, but still she determined not to let her growing attraction to him cloud her judgment.

Unable to shake the feeling of his soft green eyes boring into her, she scrunched her eyes closed and allowed the dull ringing in her ears to consume her focus. Slowly, the events of the night replayed themselves in her mind.

"Meredith, just tell us the last cipher key!" Lydia heard her own stern voice desperately trying to haul the words from the other girl's mouth."If you don't help us, a lot of people are going to die!"

"I don't know!" Meredith stuttered, shaking her head brusquely. "I-I don't know!" Her body trembled as though the fear and anxiety had physically overtaken her. Eyes darting around the room, she panted frantically, until finally the dam of her fragile sanity burst. **"I DON'T KNOW!" **she screamed, piercing the air in the tiny cell like a sonic boom. Lydia felt as though the entire world were vibrating around her, as though the brittle screen of reality might shatter like glass at the other banshee's shriek. Clutching her throbbing head like an anchor, Lydia imagined herself split in two, at once writhing in agony and patiently observing it, waiting for the pain to subside and for the serene quiet and clarity that would fill the ensuing silence. In that interminable moment, her mind wrapped around hope and clung tightly.

When the last echoes faded, she was vaguely aware of a pair of lean arms around her, supporting her weight, and thin hands caressing her face.

"Lydia! Lydia, are you okay? Lydia!"

Dazed, she opened her eyes to Stiles's anxious face, inches from her own. The proximity made her blush, and she cursed inwardly that he could have this effect on her even now, despite their unspoken understanding that they were "just friends".

Lydia weakly attempted to push Stiles away, but her legs were unsteady beneath her, and he caught around the waist again. She stole a self-conscious glance at Parrish, who stood stiffly a few feet away, a look of heavy concern etched on his face.

"I'm fine, Stiles. I'm -" Her voice, so strong before, now sounded reedy and thin. She reached one hand tentatively to her ear and shuddered at the thick liquid that came away on her fingertips.

"You're bleeding!" Stiles yelped.

In her periphery, Lydia noticed Parrish start toward her before hesitating and catching himself, sending a brief cautious look Stiles's way. She caught his eye and held it for a moment then whispered, almost inaudibly, "We should go back."

As they left, Lydia looked one last time back at Meredith, who lay curled in a ball in the corner, mumbling incoherently and shaking, and wondered

* * *

Opening her eyes again in the backseat, Lydia pressed her forehead to the cool window and took in the familiar surroundings of the police station parking lot. Yellow street lights lit up empty parking spaces intermittently around the edges of the tarmac, and near the door she could see the Sheriff's car still there, now flanked by Stiles's beloved blue jeep. _Stiles_. Suddenly she was aware of his absence, that his hands were no longer gently appraising her face, his voice, which grew almost comically shrill when concerned, was no longer debating aloud whether or not to take her to the hospital.

"He went inside to consult with his dad."

The deputy's mild voice drew her back to reality. Turning her head, she found him seated in the back beside her, occupying the place Stiles had left.

"You were pretty out of it there for a second. Closed your eyes halfway back and barely moved for 20 minutes. I was getting really worried. Thought you might've slipped into some sort of psychic coma." He drew closer and gently placed his palm on her forehead. "How are you feeling now?"

"I'm not psychic." She rolled her eyes, careful not to betray the tingle in her spine she felt at his touch.

"So you've said," he nodded knowingly. "I'll take that as an 'I feel better.'"

"I mean it. I'm not."

"Maybe I don't believe you," smirked Parrish, arching a brow at her. He brushed a loose lock of her strawberry blonde hair behind her ear, careful to handle her as gently as possible, and let his hand slide slowly down to cup her cheek, where he began to trace small circles with his thumb. Their eyes locked together, and her breath caught.

A moment of electricity crackled between them. His words hung like a challenge in the air. Lydia studied his handsome face for some hint of deceit or malevolent intent and, after a moment, pushed his hand away, hoping the distance would afford her some clarity of thought.

"Why are you here?" she burst finally.

Parrish's brow furrowed. He looked slightly taken aback. "...I thought I should wait with you while Stiles talked to the Sheriff? Did you want me to lea-"

"No, why are you **here**? In Beacon Hills? Why did your name pop up on a mysterious dead pool, and why don't you seem all that concerned about it?"

"Oh. Well, I have no idea why I'm on that list, but I'd say I'm at least _mildly_ concerned, certainly," he grinned tentatively at her. "But then again, I was a soldier, so I'm pretty sure I could handle myself against some two-bit assassin."

"This isn't a joke, Jordan." Stunned to hear her use his first name, Parrish looked up at her, his joking demeanor vanished. Lydia's voice grew stronger. "I want to trust you, I'm really trying, but I need you to be honest with me. Why are you really here?"

He gazed at her a moment longer, searchingly, then looked out the window.

"To be honest, I'm not sure," he sighed. "I guess I just felt like...maybe I could do some good."

In spite of herself, Lydia felt a rush of relief at his words, like a warm blanket covering up all her misgivings. She slowly reached over and placed her hand atop his.

"I believe you," she whispered.


	2. Chapter 2

Lydia had been staring at the ceiling for hours now, watching as the shadow of the ceiling fan disappeared into the darkening room. She knew she should try to sleep, that the coming day would require a good night's rest, but the more she willed her mind to drift, the more alert her body felt, the more attuned she was to every sound around her in the darkness. As she closed her eyes, attempting to fall sleep for the umpteenth time that night, his words echoed in her ear. "Lydia...Meredith's gone." Parrish's voice was strained but gentle, and for a moment she imagined him cradling the phone to his ear as he struggled to sound comforting over the phone. "They found her in her room an hour ago," he told her. "She hung herself."

Silence hung heavy over the line as his words sunk in, then – "I'm sorry." His voice was soft and earnest, as though he were sorry for more than her loss but also that he couldn't deliver the news in person. She blinked, stunned, and dropped the phone from her ear, turning dumbly to a bewildered Stiles.

Gone. The word rang like a gong in her mind, over and over again, until it sounded foreign and unfamiliar. Gone. _Gone_. How could Meredith be gone? The only other banshee Lydia had ever met – the only person who could have provided any insight whatsoever into what being a banshee even meant – and Lydia had driven her to suicide. Another person in her life was dead, and again she had been helpless to stop it. Worse, she was the cause. Guilt and sorrow overwhelmed her, and forgetting herself for a moment, Lydia wrapped her arms around Stiles, closed her eyes, and wept.

* * *

When she pulled into her driveway a few minutes later, still brushing away tears, her mother's car was missing, but she barely noticed. Slipping off her heels at the door, Lydia immediately trudged up the stairs to bed. As she pulled on her pajamas – a pair of soft shorts borrowed the last time she'd stayed at Allison's and one of Aiden's old t-shirts – she heard the doorbell ring.

All of a sudden, with a sharp jolt of adrenaline, Lydia realized that she was alone in the house. Alone at _night_. Alone at night, in a town crawling with assassins where she was worth $20 million dead and had no powers to protect herself from whatever deceptively polite murderer was ringing her doorbell. _Bzzt_. The assassin rang again, and Lydia's breath quickened as she mentally recited everything she had ever read about krav maga. _Attack pre-emptively. Target the vulnerable areas. God, I wish I had some claws right now._

Outside on the doorstep, Parrish was out of uniform, holding a large cardboard box in his hands. As he awkwardly shifted his feet, its contents made a muffled jumbling noise. He rang again.

_Bzzt_. Lydia sprinted to the kitchen, frantically scouring drawers for the biggest knife she could find. Just as the doorbell rang for the fourth time, all the lights sputtered out, plunging her into complete darkness. She screamed.

As the bloodcurdling wail from inside the house pierced his ears, Parrish dropped the heavy cardboard box unceremoniously on the ground, throwing himself into the door. It burst open, and he charged in, determined.

"Lydia? LYDIA?"

Parrish held his phone out like a flashlight, searching, until finally he found her, collapsed in a heap on the kitchen floor. There was a huge knife at her feet, and she held her hands to her ears, whimpering. Gasping with relief, he knelt beside her and softly tugged her hands from her face.

"Lydia. Lydia. Look at me, you're okay." It took a moment for her eyes to focus on him in the dark, for her breathing to steady. Slowly, he became aware that he was still holding her hands in his, and blushing, he released them.

Lydia gazed up at him questioningly. "Jordan? What are you doing here?"

"I was on your doorstep just now. I heard you screaming."

"That was you? God, I was going to stab you! I thought you were an assassin! Why didn't you call?"

"I just got off work, and I wanted to check on you. You cut out on the phone earlier. I was worried."

"I was with Stiles. The news about Meredith, it shook me up, that's all. I'm fine."

Parrish shot her a skeptical look. "Yeah, you definitely _seem_ fine," he said, gesturing at her sitting slumped on the floor.

Lydia narrowed her eyes and him and rose to her feet, lips pursed, brushing herself off imperiously.

"Well. I am fine. Or I _was_ until you decided to come over and scare the bejeezus out of me." She stared down at him, hands on her hips. "Was that the primary purpose of your visit, or was there some other reason for this after-hours police check-up?"

Parrish sighed and rose after her. "No, there's another reason. I brought you something." He returned to the foyer and stepped over the broken-down door. In a moment he returned with the cardboard box.

"What is it?" Lydia said, her indignation immediately replaced with curiosity. He handed it to her and she set it on the counter gently.

"These are Meredith Walker's belongings," he explained as she began rummaging through the box. "I stole them from evidence for you. Thought maybe you'd need them. To channel your psychic energies or something."

Lydia glanced at him sideways. "I'm not psychic, Jordan."

He winced and edged slightly away from her. "...Parrish. You should probably call me Parrish," he said stiltedly, "Or Deputy. Deputy Parrish."

The sudden formality of his tone struck her, and she turned to him frowning.

"Listen, Lydia, about earlier..." he looked down at his feet and swallowed uncomfortably. "I – I'm sorry. It was inappropriate. I don't know what came over me."

Lydia raised an eyebrow, and he flushed, stumbling on.

"You know. In the car before. When I, uh-" he made a slight sweeping gesture with his hand, "-to your hair. I'm sorry about that. And for holding your hand. ...And for holding it again just now too, I guess. I'm sorry. God, I don't know what's wrong with me."

Lydia looked down at her hands, bemused, smiling at his little speech.

"Jordan, nothing's wrong with you," she said, reaching toward him. "Don't be sorry. You have nothing to be sorry about."

"It's Deputy. Please. And yes, I do." He stepped backward again.

"_Why_?" Lydia shrugged in frustration.

"Because I'm 24 and you're 17, Lydia! Isn't that obvious? Because I can't – Because you're still in high school for Christ's –"

"Did you know that the legal age of consent in the UK is 16?" Lydia interrupted him. He met her eyes, surprised, but did not speak, so she continued. "It's also 16 in Canada. And in some U.S. States, as a matter of fact, primarily in the South and Midwest."

"But it's not in California," he said, quiet but resolute.

"No, not in California." They stared at each other for a moment, seemingly at an impasse.

"What do you want from me, Lydia? Are you suggesting I break the law?" Parrish sighed and ran his hands through his short brown hair. "I'm in law enforcement!"

"I'm not suggesting anything, _Deputy_. I'm merely making an observation about comparative law. And I should point out, you didn't worry yourself so much about breaking the law when you absconded with a box of evidence tonight." She moved closer to him again. This time he did not retreat.

"That's different," he said softly.

"Not significantly," she whispered. She ventured another step toward him, until they were just inches apart. "Besides, did I fail to mention?" she said, reaching out to take his hands in hers, "...I'll be 18 in two weeks."

"Oh?" he grinned. "Well then...that's different."

Lydia placed her hands against his chest and rose up on her toes, holding her lips an inch from his for a long, tense moment. Exhaling softly, she shifted her head and planted her mouth lightly on his burning cheek. She lingered there a few seconds, then dropped back down, pressing her hand to his cheek where her lips had been.

Parrish reopened his eyes slowly and exhaled with a heavy sigh. "It's late. I should go."

Lydia shook her head. "Oh, I don't think so, Deputy," she smirked. He looked at her, confused - and a little intimidated. She nodded toward the door. "You're not about to leave me here alone after you broke down the door to my house. And now, with the power out? Anybody could just waltz in here and kill me! And they _might_. I don't know if you recall, but I'm worth $20 million on a secret dead pool."

"You make a strong point," he grinned. "Considering the circumstances...it seems the only responsible thing for me to do is stay and make sure you're safe. At least until your mother gets home."

"My mother's at a conference. She won't be back until Sunday night..." Lydia shrugged innocently. "I guess you'll have to stay over."

Parrish shook his head, smiling resignedly. "Okay. I guess I'll take the couch."

"No need," Lydia said. "There's an air mattress in my room. You can sleep on my floor. It's safer that way anyway. For both of us."

She turned to go up the stairs, maneuvering slowly in the dark, before turning abruptly back to him, a wry look in her eye.

"Oh, and _Deputy_?" His green eyes met hers, curious, and she grinned mischievously. "Don't get any ideas. I'm psychic, remember? ...I'll know."


End file.

Teen Wolf, Romance, Supernatural