Written as a request for FeralG3. I literally never would have put these two together but now I think I'm a serious shipper. Thank you and I hope you all like it.
Redemption.
1.
If there's anything that irks Jackson Whittemore more than fear, then he was yet to meet it. He didn't like the way it made his palms sweat, or the way it seemed to creep under his skin, seeping into his veins like ice and fire all at once.
He hadn't been paying attention to his feet as he walked to her house. He trusted that his legs knew where to find her. Now, he finds himself almost hopping from one foot to the other outside Lydia Martin's door, wearing a hole in her doormat.
He wonders idly if she still looks the same. Did she still feel the same? How would she feel in his arms if he ever had her there again? He deduces that it's unlikely he ever will; her last letter had been unfriendly at best. Jackson assumes that she probably has new arms to hold her now.
He takes a heavy breath, closes his eyes and winces as his finger finds the doorbell. From within the house he can hear the soft tinkle of bells and Prada yapping wildly. Soft footsteps approach the door. He could hear the tinkle of keys being pulled from the bowl beside the door. It was cut crystal and Lydia had once called it hideously extravagant as she placed it on the side table.
"Nanna will be practically distraught if she thinks we don't love it, which of course we don't," she had said, plonking it down and rolling her eyes.
He could almost imagine her now, hair slung up in a bun, rolling her eyes as she had then and shooing Prada into the kitchen as she attempted to answer the door. In reality, Prada was still barking. Jackson can hear her jumping up at the living room window. The blinds are drawn but his ears tell him she is pawing at the glass, claws clacking.
As the door clicks he hears Lydia's voice float through the window. It's muffled, as if they're underwater.
"Prada, enough," she admonishes sternly. "I said that's enough. Scott, could you?" She pauses as Prada falls silent. "Thank you."
Jackson pulls his attention back onto the porch as a small, pretty girl pops her head around the door. She smiles tightly when she sees him waiting anxiously on the doorstep.
"Jackson, right?" she says by way of a hello. She tugs the door open completely to reveal a fashion sense that Jackson can only describe as eclectic. "Scott said you were coming?" She says it like a question, as though she as unsure whether she should invite him in or not.
Jackson smiles as she shuffles her feet and tucks a strand of shimmering black hair behind her ear.
"Yeah, Jackson," he confirms, offering her his hand to shake.
She regards it with wide eyes for a moment before giving him an apologetic smile and grasps his hand, shaking it gently.
"Kira," she replies.
Her skin is warmer than he expected and her cheeks glow as her hand lingers in his for a moment too long.
As she moves aside and welcomes him into Lydia's hallway, he catches a glimpse of his reflection in the hall mirror.
His cheeks are scarlet too.
2.
Stiles has been missing for almost three days. Jackson isn't sure exactly what he expects him to look like when he sees him again, but it isn't this.
Stiles smirks as he rips the taser gun away from Allison. Jackson's eyes widen slightly as it falls to the ground at her feet. She staggers back in alarm as Stiles shakes his head and chuckles to himself.
His appearance is shocking in a way that Jackson can't describe. He doesn't just look ill; he looks exhausted, empty and vacant. But he isn't empty at all. In fact, Stiles' body is harboring two souls where there should only ever be one. By the way he seems to shudder when he moves, Jackson can see that it's tearing him apart at the seams, splitting his mind in two.
Could the blundering, lovesick teenager he had known still be trapped somewhere inside this ruined shell of his body? Jackson would have said no once. Long ago, before werewolves and Kanimas he would have said that nobody could have survived this, but hadn't he? Hadn't he survived a monster inside of his head? At least Stiles could claim the Nogitsune as a separate entity, liable for its own crimes. For Jackson there can be no such reprieve, no innocent verdict. He can see it in the way Lydia's eyes swim with pity when she looks at him from beneath Aiden's arm. Or the way that Kira always stands just an inch further away than she needs to. He is not forgiven, and even the newer pack members are afraid of him. The Kanima is a part of him and always will be, as well as the sins he has committed. Those would stay etched into his soul forever.
It is almost impossible for Jackson to reconcile the Stiles that stands before him now with the boy that lay helplessly paralyzed at his feet not long ago. He wavers like a stiff wind might send him toppling but Jackson finds this to be far from true as he launches himself, fangs bared, at Stiles. He moves with the slick speed of a hunter but the Nogitsune is quicker. Jackson hits the ground only moments before Derek collides with the wall and he hears a sharp crunch as his leg twists beneath his body. He growls in agony as Allison darts to his side. It isn't logical, or even close to the right time to ask but Jackson can't help himself.
As she places a soft hand on his shoulder and the other on his leg, she says, "Ready?" as he says,
"Was this what I was like?"
3.
Kira had been thinking about it for hours. The way that his fingers had brushed over the back of her hand. The scent of mint and something woody as he'd leant across her.
"I don't think he meant anything by it. He was reaching for the lemonade." She didn't even believe it as the words fell out of her mouth.
Lydia rolls her eyes and Allison scoffs into her hand as her fingers dance over the throwing knives she has laid out on the dresser. She selects two of her favorites and tucks them into her belt with a spin.
"I know Jackson, trust me, if he smelt your hair," Lydia cringes, "then he meant to."
Lydia wipes away the remnants of the pale pink lipstick she had worn that day and replaces it with a bold fire engine red. She rolls her lips together and lifts her chin. Allison may have her knives and Kira, her sword, but Lydia has a war paint of her own. Besides, if she's going to be the only supernatural in the pack without a useful power, she wants to look strikingly powerful regardless.
"He seems different now, maybe London's good for him," Allison notes as she collapses onto the bed beside Kira.
Lydia pops the cap back onto her lipstick and drops it into her purse.
Kira falls back onto Allison's bed and grabs one of her fluffiest pillows, hugging it to her chest. Scott had kissed her. Scott had kissed her, sweetly, tenderly, and it had been nice. Kira lets her lungs collapse as she admits to herself that maybe 'nice' just isn't enough.
"But Scott-"
"Scott is a boy who doesn't know what he wants. I'll at least give Jackson that; he's a doer not a watcher," Lydia affirms, leaning back against the dresser. "Allison's right," she admits, "leaving Beacon Hills has changed him and seeing Stiles…" she hesitates and licks her lips, "seeing the Nogitsune has changed him again."
Kira sighs and lets the pillow fall beside her. She taps her fingers over her stomach and muses that perhaps they were right. Scott was the Alpha. Scott was warm and safe and maybe she had thought she wanted all of those things. It made sense to want someone dependable in a town where nothing was steady. That didn't stop her from admiring Jackson's shoulders during pack meetings, or the curve of his neck where it disappeared into his shirt. It certainly didn't stop him from lifting her shirt over her head in her dreams last night.
"Stiles might be the one that's possessed by an evil fox, but I think I'm the one losing my mind."
Allison and Lydia only nod.
4.
Her hair is black ebony, tumbling in streams around her face as Allison falls.
And Stiles is going to kill her.
Her eyes narrow in determination as her Katana cuts through the air.
And Stiles is going to kill her.
Her eyes are wide as she collides with the lockers of Beacon Hills High School.
And Stiles is going to kill her.
Jackson's body is a shield around her as the Nogitsune dissolves into dust.
And Stiles is alive.
5.
Nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger.
We protect those who cannot protect themselves.
The pack bleeds together, and then, there is darkness.
6.
The bedroom door is already cracked open when Kira steps onto the landing. She uses her other eyes, the eyes of the fox, to navigate her way through the darkness towards the slit of light that stretches across the floor towards her. She can hear Jackson already breathing heavy, ragged breaths on the other side of the door and takes one of her own to steady herself. She raps her knuckles softly against the door frame and pushes the door open.
Jackson raises his head as she slips into the bedroom and nods when she asks if she can come in. Kira clicks the door shut quietly behind her and hesitates before joining him on the bed. Her bones ache with the strain of the last few days and she rolls her shoulders, listening as they crack and crunch with the movement.
Jackson's head remains hung low as he rubs at his eyes. They are rimmed red with dark shadows fading into his cheek bones and Kira knows that he's been crying. She couldn't explain, even if she wanted to, why she found this endearing. Perhaps it was that it confirmed her suspicions about him. Perhaps it showed that he really wasn't the same narcissistic teenage boy that Lydia had told her about. He was strong, decisive and kind. She likes the way his nose slopes ever so slightly to the left and way his eyes lit up when she finally let him touch her without drawing away. It had only been a moment, a second where they stood shoulder to shoulder in the snow, but it had been the closest they had been since he arrived on Lydia's doorstep.
Jackson clears his throat as though he's about to speak but he seems to decide against it. They sit in companionable grief for a few moments before Kira sighs and smooths her skirt, brushing away the creases that aren't really there.
"I still can't believe it," she whispers. It doesn't matter that her voice breaks on the last word because she knows that he can hear her.
Jackson is silent, eyes glued to the floor, toes tapping nervously on the sandy colored carpet of Scott's bedroom.
When he finally speaks it is in a voice so heartbroken that Kira thinks she can feel her heart beginning to shatter.
"The last time I was in Beacon Hills I hurt everybody that meant anything to me. I was jealous of Scott, jealous of his friendship with Stiles, jealous that he had Allison and that he trusted her in a way that I could never trust Lydia. Even when she kissed him, I understood why she had done it, but I still couldn't understand her. I didn't feel like I could trust anyone. This thing inside of me, it never goes away. I'm a werewolf now but the Kanima is still there, that venom still runs in my veins. What does that say about me?"
Kira considers this for a moment before curling her legs underneath herself and turning to face him. She can feel her eyes beginning to glaze with tears but she holds them back and forces her lips into what she hopes is an understanding smile.
"It says that none of us are perfect," she says simply.
Her heart skips as his brows furrow and he rests his head in his hands.
"I was thinking, maybe, that I could trust you."
Kira reaches out, slowly at first, but then with more determination as his eyes flicker up to meet hers. She draws soothing circles on the back of his hand where they rest in his lap and before he can draw away, she threads her fingers through his.
"Didn't anyone tell you that you can't trust a fox?" she whispers softly.
7.
The first time he kisses her Kira feels like she's standing in the eye of a hurricane. In a world where Allison still lived the kiss might have been slow, gentle and utterly unhurried. Kira knew that world didn't exist anymore. Here, in the world where Stiles is in therapy and Lydia and Scott barely speak anymore, Kira knows that this is the only way that it could ever be.
Their world is in chaos and they are standing in the rain, being swept up in the storm that whips around them, but all Kira can feel is Jackson's lips pressed hard against her own. His hands are clasped over her cheeks, pulling her closer as she curves herself into his chest like she might fall over if she doesn't. Kira sighs in the back of her throat as her lungs burn and she realizes that she can't breathe, doesn't want to breathe, not if breathing means that she doesn't feel like this again.
And all too soon it's over and he's holding her so much more tenderly than before. His eyes dance across her face as he tries desperately to guess what she's thinking. This girl, this fiery Kitsune, that is such an enigma to him.
Thunder claps overhead and Kira jumps slightly. Her fingers begin to spark, and she lurches away from him, her back brushing the wall of the animal clinic. She wonders surreptitiously how it would feel if she pulled him closer, how his body would feel pressing hers into that very wall. She doesn't have time to find out before a strike of lightening finds the ground mere inches from her toes.
"We should get inside," Kira shouts over the next wave of thunder.
At first, she thinks he looks offended, hurt by her distance, but as a second bolt of lightening sends shock waves crackling up her arm his eyes become afire with understanding and he nods. They burst into the animal clinic and Kira hopes they look less bedraggled, or perhaps it was guilty, than they felt.
Deaton emerges from the surgery as they stagger onto the welcome mat and wordlessly swings open the wooden barrier for them to slip through. Kira ignores the way Jackson's hand grazes her lower back as he guides her into the back room after Deaton.
"We thought you weren't coming," Scott says brightly when he sees them.
He looks tired, Kira thinks, and the smile he gives them doesn't quite reach his eyes. He has his hands laid out flat on the table.
Kira surveys the pack gathered around the table. They look so different now, each one worn down and pale. Kira's heart squeezes as she realizes that this is how it will always be. Loved ones will always die and be replaced by new friends. They might not be replacements in their hearts, but in the pack, the army, they would always just be new soldier to fill the hole left behind by the fallen.
Scott seems endlessly isolated as he stands before them all, a lone wolf and yet the Alpha, a leader. Perhaps, Kira surmises, this is a lonelier position than being an Omega. A little too far away stands Stiles. His eyes are still dark and rimmed with crimson circles, but he seems to have more color in his cheeks recently and for that Kira is grateful. Lydia is grateful too, and Kira watches fondly as she reaches out towards the hem of Stiles flannel shirt. Her hand darts back however before she can run her fingers over it, and she shakes her head, brows knitting together. If Malia notices the exchange she doesn't show it, only lounges calmly against the table with her head in her hands. She seems thoroughly bored.
Scott's eyes dart up to meet hers for a moment and he regards her wistfully as Jackson slides his fingers over the back of her hand where they've come to rest on the table. The gesture is so small but it sends a warm sensation up her arm and down into her stomach. She's sure that Scott can smell the perfume of that feeling but he shoots her a quizzical look anyway.
Malia sighs and dips her head towards the table. When she raises it again she says, "Look, are we doing this or not, because I'm starving."
8.
When she fights, Jackson thinks that Kira becomes a giant. She carries the Katana like an extension of her arm and her limbs seem to stretch as they whip through the air, kicking and jabbing. She holds her chin high and her eyes glow like fire.
As he looks down at her now, he's struck by how small she is. With her eyes closed and soft breaths escaping her lips, she curls around him like a snoozing cub rather than a snarling fox. He brushes her hair away from her neck and tucks his face into her shoulder. She smells like oranges and vanilla and if he isn't mistaken, a hint of his toothpaste left over from the kisses he had trailed down from her jaw before she had fallen asleep.
Jackson nuzzles deeper into the covers and pulls her body flush against his own, feeling the steady beating of her heart against his chest.
"I don't think I'm going back to London," he whispers into her hair as she squirms in her sleep.
At least, he thought she was asleep. No sooner has the last word left his mouth, is she twisting in the cocoon carved out by their bodies and drawing away from his chest to look up at him with alarmed eyes.
"What do you mean you're not going back?"
"I'm staying here. I'm staying here with you."
For a second she looks like she might fall out of bed – or run out of bed, the jury was still out for the time being. He waits patiently as her eyes scan backwards and forwards over his face as if she might be searching for a sign that he was teasing her.
He's in agony by the time she melts and places a soft hand on his chest. He knows she can feel his heart hammering beneath her palm.
"You're staying?" she whispers as she nudges his chin with her nose. He raises his head obligingly and chuckles deeply, his Adam's apple bobbing as she traces soft kisses from his cheek down to his shoulder.
"Yes," Jackson croaks as she works her way back up to his mouth and pulls his bottom lip between her teeth.
He almost wishes that she was wearing clothes just so that he could tease her out of them, but they had fallen asleep in the afterglow of their earlier encounter. A mere three hours ago, in fact.
As Kira's leg hitches over his waist and they entangle themselves in an endless pattern of limbs and sighs, Jackson decides that yes, sometimes, you can trust a fox.
Fin.