if the lies don't touch you (the truth will)
by Sandrine Shaw
Scott is quiet on the way home.
"Do you think he was lying?" he asks, eventually, when Allison drops him off at his house.
Allison shrugs. "I don't think he was telling the truth," she tells him, and it's not quite the same thing. She knows the lines between truth, untruth and lie are blurry, and Gerard is a master at manipulating them. It's the difference between we forced your mom to commit suicide because it's what The Code dictates (truth) and your mom killed herself because Derek Hale bit her (truth, except not quite) and your mom wrote this letter for you telling you to take revenge (lie, lie, lie).
"Yeah, me too," Scott replies, the nuances lost on him.
She thought having no answers at all was bad, but now, having been fed a half-hearted, half-true story she needs the truth even more than she did before.
The elevator stops at her floor and when the doors open, Allison hovers with one foot on the threshold until the warning sound that tells her to stop blocking the door makes her step back inside.
She presses the button for the penthouse.
Her heart skips a beat and she instantly regrets it, her fingers itching towards one of the buttons between the current position of the elevator and the top level. She can just get off somewhere between here and the penthouse, take the stairs down, and no one will ever know.
Stop being such a coward, her mom says, standing in the opposite corner of the cubicle with her arms crossed in front of her chest. She's frowning. She's always frowning at Allison now, and Allison can't quite remember if she was like that when she was still alive. I raised you better than that. There's no point in doubting yourself once you've made a decision. When you start something, you see it through.
"I'm not a coward," Allison tells her.
Her mother raises an eyebrow at her. Then stop acting like one.
Allison pulls her hand from the console and watches the numbers go up, up, up.
Still, she hesitates in front of the door. Thinks of all the ways this can go wrong. She might not get the truth here either. It could be one of the twins opening the door, who don't have a story to tell even if they were willing. She might end up dead before she can even get a word in.
Well, maybe you should have thought this through before, her mom chides her. How can you be a leader if your plans have so many flaws?
The door opens in front of her before Allison's fingers make contact with the doorbell, making her jump in surprise. Deucalion stands with his hand on the edge of the door, not quite blocking the entrance, not quite leaving enough room for it to be an invitation.
"Allison." His voice is pleasant, conversational, like they were good acquaintances and he expected her to come around for tea. "Were you going to come in or did you plan to spend the night standing on my doorstep?"
His head is turned towards her, and she wonders if it's only her scent and the sound of her heartbeat giving away her position, or if he can in fact see her from behind those dark glasses. Gerard said Deucalion isn't blind when he's a wolf, but what does that even mean? Does he need to fully transform or is it enough to let his eyes channel the Alpha vision?
She forces herself to meet his sunglasses-obstructed stare head on. "I came to get some answers," she tells him, and her voice sounds almost steady.
A thin smile stretches his lips. He takes a step back, opening the door a fraction more and motioning her inside. "By all means, come in, then."
Allison swallows and crosses the threshold.
When the door falls shut behind her and the lock makes a soft clicking sound, Allison jumps.
Part of her is expecting him to attack, but his behavior doesn't change. He's perfectly pleasant and well-mannered and hospitable, offering her a seat, asking if she'd like a drink, and it's unsettling her more than she thought it would. Scott told her that all his one-on-one encounters with Deucalion were surprisingly benign, but it's a different thing to hear about it and then to be on the receiving end of Deucalion's freakish politeness, and Allison feels a little like the mouse the cat is toying with before she gets eaten.
"Stop it," she snaps, despite being well aware that poking the predator with a stick is a bad idea. "No, I don't want a drink. I don't want to act like we're having regular tea parties and braid each other's hair, okay? You threatened to kill my friends!"
"I didn't kill anyone." He offers a wry, lopsided smile. "Well, not no one, I suppose, but I did not kill any of your friends. Yet."
Her hand tightens into a fist over the pocket of her pants, where her dagger (one of them) is hidden. "I'd just rather you didn't pretend to be friends when we both know we're not, okay?"
Deucalion shrugs. "Would you prefer me to act like this?" he asks, and before she even knows what's happening, she's flat on her back and Deucalion is on her, his cane pressing into her throat to cut off her airflow while a clawed hand wraps around one of her wrists and forces her arm down over her head. It almost immobilizes her, except for how it leaves her other hand free. She has her knife out and against his throat in a flash, even though it's getting harder to breathe and her movement is severely limited because he's holding her down with the full weight of his body on top of hers.
Every fiber of her wants to sink the knife into his throat, watch it neatly break the skin and make his blood flow, but it wouldn't kill him and she knows that he's holding back. He's not even really hurting her now: his claws are prickly pressure points against her wrist that don't break the skin and the unforgiving metal of the cane across her throat leaves her just enough room that she doesn't choke. All he's doing is play-acting an attack, but she has no doubt that the moment she draws his blood, this will become real.
Her knife stays against his skin, steady and unmoving. Inside her chest, her heart is beating rapidly, but it's more adrenaline than fear now. She looks up at him and weights until his lips twitch into the barest hint of a smile and the pressure against her throat eases.
"Let's call this a draw, for now," he suggests, even though they both know that it wasn't.
He pulls away from her and settles at the opposite site of the couch, his posture relaxed as she sits up and tries to compose herself. It takes her a moment to realize that her shirt is torn, four long gaping claw marks down the front, revealing more than a glimpse of her bra and the unmarred skin underneath. She blushes and tries to arrange the rags of fabric to cover herself before she remembers that he can't see anyway.
"What makes you think you'll find them here? Those answers you're looking for?"
"I talked to Gerard," she says, and watches as for the first time his unperturbed façade cracks. His jaw tightens and his hands clench into fists and she wouldn't be surprised if behind those dark shades, his eyes flash red. He looks like he's itching to rip his claws into someone, preferably Gerard. She presses on before he can decide that she might just do as a replacement.. "He tells a good story, but it's just that, a story. I don't believe him, and I want the truth. Or at least your side of it."
Deucalion interlaces his fingers in front of him and rests his chin on top in what might or might not be a mere parody of watching her. It's a gesture that speaks of composure, perfectly in line with his earlier attitude, but when he speaks, his voice carries a hint of bitterness. "He's your family. Why wouldn't you believe him?"
Something about the assumption makes her nerves prickle in the same way as when Derek looks at her and she knows he's seeing Kate. Carrying the same last name doesn't mean she's like them. It doesn't really mean anything, now.
"He turned my aunt into the kind of person who slaughters innocent people, he did the same thing to me, he made my mom kill herself, and he tried to blackmail Scott into helping to make him an Alpha. That's why," she says hotly, trying to remember that whatever she thinks about Deucalion and his pack, the anger she feels right now isn't for them. "He gave us this metaphor about the scorpion and the turtle to point out how it's in werewolves' nature to kill, but it applies to him just as well. It's his nature to deceive and lie, and I'm sick of being manipulated."
There's no response. He just continues watching-not-watching her like he's contemplating whether to give her what she's asking for or kill her and be done with it, and the moment stretches uncomfortably long until he has her squirming.
Abruptly, he leans back, the sudden movement startling her. He gives her an open, predatory smile at her involuntary response.
"Very well," he says. "Let me tell you a story. Just remember, Allison, you were the one who asked for it."
It's every bit as bad as she expected it to be.
It overlaps in just enough points with Gerard's version that she has a vague notion of the events as they occurred, even though the truth – if there was a universal truth – still remains elusive. She can't bring herself to trust in Deucalion's tale any more than she trusted Gerard: a mastermind manipulator with a fanatical hatred for werewolves who claims to have walked into an ambush, and a power-hungry, psychopathic Alpha who talks about his vision of peace. Neither of them rings particularly true.
"If all you wanted was peace, if there was no plan to ambush Gerard, then why all this? Why kill your pack, why come here and go after Scott, why kill Derek's pack one by one? And don't fucking tell me it wasn't you who killed Erica and Boyd just because it wasn't your hand who made the killing blow. We both know who's pulling the strings here."
Deucalion's smile is complacent. "I adapted," he says.
Allison tries to imagine him, a decade younger and idealistic and carefree, his eyes not hidden behind dark glasses. She can't picture it, but perhaps she's just lacking the imagination. Just because she couldn't picture her fun-loving, free spirit aunt setting fire to a house with eleven people inside doesn't make it any less true.
"If you come to a fight looking for peace, you're going to be slaughtered. If you come prepared to fight, you might stand a chance." He pulls his glasses off and sets them on the table. When he looks back up at her, his eyes are red. They're too focused on her, the gaze too piercing to be unseeing. "But if you strike before the other even knows that there will be a fight, then you win."
Allison shivers, and looks away.
It's a thoroughly chilling statement, but at the same time, it makes her a little more inclined to believe his version of the story. She remembers how Gerard had pretended to act all reformed before they left. All that show of remorse, trying to pass himself off as the good guy who made an unfortunate error in judgment. There's none of that from Deucalion. He doesn't apologize, he doesn't ask for redemption, and perhaps that's the real tragedy of it.
"Of course, Gerard knows that too," he continues. "I wouldn't be surprised if he had actually counted on you not believing his story. Send you and Scott out on a wild goose chase to uncover the truth when all it would do was buy him time."
"Time for what?"
"Put the final act of his plan into motion, I assume. He failed at turning himself into a wolf, but I'm sure that whatever powers he's amassing now are no less dangerous."
She doesn't immediately understand what he's hinting at, but when she does, cold dread settles in her stomach even though it's not a possibility she's quite prepared to entertain. "Gerard isn't out there killing people," she protests. "He can barely take a step out of his wheelchair."
Deucalion's flat hand slaps the table so hard that the wood cracks, making Allison shrink back. "Have you learned nothing? He doesn't have to be the Darach. He just needs to use the Darach."
She instantly feels foolish for not having considered it. It's classic Gerard, too. Use Kate to get rid of the Hales. Use her to hunt down Derek's pack. Use the Kanima to keep them all on their toes. Use Scott to make Derek give him the bite.
"Then why aren't you going after him? Why mess around with Derek and his pack and Scott while Gerard is turning himself into a weapon against werewolves that has the power to destroy you?"
"Do you really think I would go anywhere near Gerard again without being fully prepared?" He raises an eyebrow. "And who knows, maybe the problem solves itself. All I have to do is wait until your merry band of wolves get to the Darach, or the Darach gets to you, and I'll only have to fight whoever wins that war."
"Or we could join forces to bring you and your pack down," Allison argues.
It's a bluff, and such an obvious one that Deucalion sees through it right away. He chuckles. "You risked your life coming here tonight, into the proverbial wolf's den, because you mistrust Gerard so much. Somehow, I don't imagine that this is an alliance I will have to fear."
It frustrates Allison that he's right. They're not going to work with a person who's killed at least eight if not more innocent people and attempted to force Scott, Isaac and Boyd to commit suicide, even if Gerard weren't involved. And with Gerard, any alliance they would enter would inevitably end up with him backstabbing them.
"Then help us fight him!"
Deucalion smiles wanly. He reaches out and brushes a finger down her cheek in a weirdly tender gesture. Allison remembers how Scott had told her about his encounters with Deucalion. It's weird, though, Scott had said. Like, I know he's the bad guy and he's really dangerous and could probably kill me before I even got a hit in, but when I talked to him, he didn't make me uncomfortable. I mean, even Derek makes me uncomfortable most of the time, but Deucalion has this weird way of making you feel all calm and mellow. I'm not sure if that's some Alpha mind mojo or if it's just him.
She understands what he meant now, even though she thinks it probably wasn't the same for Scott. Right now, though, with Deucalion's fingers warm against her face, it's strangely hard not to lean into the touch.
But his voice, when he speaks again, is cold. "That's not going to happen."
It's the arrival of Kali and the twins that prevents her from asking any more questions.
"You better be on your way," Deucalion says. "The others are coming. I don't think you want to be here to meet them."
She's almost out of the apartment when his voice makes her turn around. "A word of advice. Stay out of this, Allison, or I assure you, you will get hurt."
She swallows. "Are you threatening me or warning me?"
It's apparently not a question he likes, judging from the sour expression that takes over his features, and she counts that as a win. "Are you really naïve enough to think that makes a difference?"
He shuts the door between them before she can answer.
"Do you really think it doesn't?" she tells the closed door, knowing he'll hear it.
The doors of the elevators slide open in front of her and Kali gets out, flanked by the twins. Her gaze fixes on Allison, giving her a once over before coming to rest on her torn shirt and the expanse of naked skin beneath. Behind her, Aiden unsubtly sniffs the air and chuckles.
"It seems like Deucalion messed our little hunter up a bit," he quips, snickering, and for the first time Allison realizes what kind of an image she presents: disheveled with her clothes torn, visibly upset, her pulse racing and Deucalion's scent still clinging to her body from when he made a show of attacking her. One might think that Deucalion did a hell of a lot more to her than sit her down and tell her a story.
She flushes crimson, instantly inclined to correct the pack's assumptions when Kali laughs. "Poor little girl. Run along now, before we continue what he started. He doesn't like to share, but maybe he'll make an exception for you."
Allison's protests die in her throat when she realizes that her appearance and Deucalion's scent on her are what's keeping her safe right now. She keeps her head down and stumbles into the elevator, only daring to breathe freely again when the doors lock between her and the Alphas.
Her mother is back in the corner, staring at her.
You don't think he did it on purpose, do you? she mocks. You really believe he was trying to keep you safe? That deep down inside he's still the good guy? That's cute. Haven't you learned yet what happens to people who always believe in the good in others? If you need a reminder, just look at Deucalion. Or Derek and his family.
Allison turns away to escape her mom's scathing expression. "If you keep believing the worst of everyone, you end up like Gerard and Kate and you. I don't want to be like that."
If you'd rather bet your life on the chance that you can save a monster who doesn't even want to be saved, then obviously your father and I have failed in instilling even a moderate amount of common sense in you.
It feels like a real, physical slap in the face, even though her mother doesn't touch her. It makes her angry, so angry, all of it. How the list of Gerard's victims is getting longer and longer, even if some of them are still alive but so broken that they might as well be dead. How they're fighting a war on two fronts now that they're bound to lose unless they can somehow do what her mother deems impossible. How she's alone in an empty elevator, talking to a dead woman who wasn't even able to overcome her own prejudices for the sake of her teenage daughter.
"You know what?" Allison says viciously. "Fuck off!"
Her mother has nothing to say to that.
The elevator stops at their floor. When Allison turns back around before she walks out, she's alone.
End.