Hi guys! I hope you enjoy reading this! If you are, it's probably because you're as interested and excited in Lydia and Parrish's relationship as I am. Well, I hope you enjoy, and please leave a review so I can know what to fix up and what you guys would like to see! Sorry if there is any grammatical mistakes. xx

Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf, nor any of the characters. I am just making up bits to the story as I see fit.

"Parrish!" A steel iron voice travelled through the station, making the deputy turn his head in the subtlest of movements, his eyes meeting officer Peterson's as he walked away from Sheriff Stilinski. Parrish turned his head back to his desk, his fingers drumming silently against it, his right hand scribbling down statements of information onto one of the twenty files of paperwork that sat at his table; easily the worst part of his job. "Parrish, I'm talking to you." Peterson called again, trying to get his attention from the sheets.

Parrish barely lifted his eyes to give Peterson the second of acknowledgement that he would surely need to keep on going with whatever he needed from here. "Listen, new guy. You can't disrespect us like this around here." He growled, making Parrish drop his pen and lean back in his seat, finally looking at Peterson eye to eye.

"I've been here for six months." He said, crossing his arms over his chest, receiving an eye roll from Peterson at his response. "What do you want?" Parrish demanded, his voice never harsh, just alert and final. He didn't muck around.

"I need you to come on a run with me. A dead body, over at the gas station off Clarence St." Peterson said, making Parrish's eyes widen and stand up immediately. He slid his gun into the holster on his hip. Peterson was already walking out of the station, muttering something about 'I told you so' and 'asshole' mixed into some kind of remark that Parrish didn't really care for.

Another dead body. Beacon Hills had definitely held up its reputation since he had moved here. As Parrish shrugged his jacket on as he walked out of the station, Peterson pulled up in the police car in front of him. Sliding in, Peterson gave him the run down. One body, homicide, over twelve hours old. There were already officers there, examining the body, making sure everyone stayed back, keeping the place untouched, doing the easy shit basically. That's how Peterson described it.

Stepping out of the car, Parrish felt it. It was that familiar instinct of murder, that feeling he got as a cold chill ran up his back, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on edge. He thought that feeling would pass after his first year of being an officer; it never left him.

Evaluating the crime scene was the easy part. The gas station was cut off by the think yellow tape, Parrish could see where the action had obviously happened, where all the police men stood, where blood stains stuck to the ground.

Gun.
Taser.
Knife.

The three words always went through Parrish's head in any crime situation, as he stopped himself from putting his hand to his holster.

"It's the girl. Martin."

Parrish turned around at the voice, his eyes meeting officer Maxwell's, his expression seemed annoyed. Parrish heard a throaty groan from Peterson. His eyes looking over at him, an eyebrow raised. Peterson noticed the look, and bit onto his lower lip, clearly irritated.

"There's this girl. Lydia Martin. She keeps finding all these bodies before we do." Peterson sighed, scratching his head. "We're keeping it as quiet as possible, but some people are starting to ask questions." He said. "She's always there." Peterson turned his head, making Parrish follow suit. "There she is." Peterson pointed out, nodding in the direction.

Parrish took a step forward, letting his eyes adjust to the two girls standing with one of his men. One with black, short hair. She was Japanese, and her figure small and thin. She looked uncomfortable, she looked terrified. Which is what one could assume when you find a dead body in a gas station.

Then there was Lydia Martin.
He knew her when he saw her.

Strawberry blonde hair. Soft, wavy, delicate strawberry blonde hair. She looked frustrated-she looked beautiful, but frustrated none-the-less. How could such a young girl be finding her way to body after body? Why?

Within the second of Parrish staring at Lydia intently, asking himself every possible question as to what this girl had going on in her head, her eyes flashed past, meeting his contact across the gas station. Green eyes. Lydia Martin.

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