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.