Blind Spot

Chapter I

"Memories don't always soften with time; some grow edges like knives." – Barbara Kingslover

October, 2002

Emma swung her legs beneath her. Her polished black shoes shone in the sunlight and she wanted to deliberately scuff them. The tree branch she sat on was uncomfortable and dug into the back of her thighs, but she didn't care. Her mother might care about the sap and moss stains that were sure to have marked her dress, but that was another matter for another time. In that moment, all little Emma cared about was swinging her legs and hearing the wind swoosh, swoosh, swoosh.

"Emma?" A high pitched voice called to her.

Looking down from her branch, Emma saw the faces of her two best friends staring up at her – both boys were wearing immaculate black suits. Scott had his hand on the trunk of the tree as if he had been about to begin climbing before Stiles called out to her. Stiles, unlike Scott, had taken his tie off and had stuffed it into the pocket of his trousers.

The boys stared at her for a while, as if she were an alien from another world. Their heads were tilted to the side, their eyes wide and unreadable. The downturn of their friend's lips wasn't something they were used to seeing, and the fact that she had climbed their tree without them was worrying.

"Whatcha doing?"

"Nothing," Emma muttered in reply, focusing on the noise of the wind rather than her friends.

Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh…

"You have to be doing something," Stiles scratched the top of his head, sharing a look with Scott.

"Yeah, you can't be doing nothing," Scott supplied.

"Well I am," Emma stuck out her chin defiantly and crossed her arms tightly over her chest.

"We're coming up."

"Don't!"

"Why not?" Scott asked, his chocolate colored eyes wide with confusion and a little hurt.

"Because…" Emma trailed off, unable to find a proper excuse that would satisfy the boys.

"Because why?"

"Because…because I said so, Stiles!"

Stiles and Scott seemed to consider her answer for a moment before answering in unison: "Not good enough!"

Within moments, the two boys had clambered up the trunk of the tree and had plopped down on either side of Emma – though not without injury, going by the tear in the knee of Stiles' suit.

The three sat together, their legs swinging, listening to the sombre chatter of the adults bellow them.

Scott puffed on his inhaler heavily.

The sea of adults continued to swell beneath them, on ocean of black and white and condolences. Only Emma's grandmother stood out: a bright blotch of purple in an otherwise monotonous world.

Emma suspected that half of the town had shown up for the funeral. Her hand was a little sore from how many times people had shaken it while offering their condolences. Emma didn't even know what 'condolences' meant but, based on everyone's expression and the tears in their eyes; she guessed it meant that they were sorry her dad had died.

It was weird to watch the way the town came together but still remained so separate. The majority of the sheriff's department huddled together at the bottom of the garden, swapping their own stories about her dad's days in the force. Sheriff Stilinski stood in the centre of them, a glass of scotch in hand, as he regaled some story about his first arrest with Mike.

Emma's extended family sat around Delia, whispering words of comfort and advice. Delia had sat down as soon as they had returned from the graveyard and hadn't moved since.

The rest of the guests milled around, chatting sombrely with one another. Even Mrs Reyes – the local baker who always gave Emma a cookie for free – had made an appearance.

As Emma watched Mrs Reyes talk to Dr Deaton, and Mrs McCall and Mrs Stilinski handing out sandwiches, she noticed a large dog-like figure hiding in the bushes at the bottom of the garden. The figure was much too large to be a normal dog, and it gave off an unusual aura. Emma could practically see the confidence and authority it was exuding.

Comfort washed over Emma as she made eye contact with the dog. It's unusually red eyes stared at her unwaveringly, but it did not startle her. What did startle her was that the dog seemed to tilt its head ever so slightly, as if offering the canine version of a handshake, before it slowly backed into the bushes and disappeared from sight.

Emma thought that her imagination was playing tricks on her.

"I miss my dad," Emma finally broke the relative silence of the tree.

Stiles plucked the black headband that had been holding Emma's hair back and grinned at her as he placed the band onto his own head, "You can share mine."

"Mine too," Scott offered, reaching behind Emma to nudge Stiles.

Stiles flailed for a moment, appearing to be on the verge of falling off of the branch before regaining his balance. Stiles grinned triumphantly at the smile beginning to quirk at the edges of Emma's lips.

The three sat together in their tree as the wake continued bellow them. For a moment, even though grief gnawed at her stomach and the sea of black seemed never ending, Emma thought that things might be okay after all.

Soon, much like the voice that had warned her of the impeding car crash, the dog with the unusual eyes was entirely forgotten.

January, 2011

If Lydia Martin was the Queen, then Jackson Whitmore was the King. Being the captain of the lacrosse team meant that he had a certain image to uphold, and uphold it he did. He spent more time in the gym or on the lacrosse field than he did anywhere else, and the hard work showed. Jackson was tall and full of lean muscle, and he was not afraid to show it. He had often been accused of wearing shirts a size too small just to show off his figure and, though the accusers were right, he would deny it and say that he just needed to buy a bigger size. Jackson's image was everything. He always woke up three hours earlier than necessary to work out, have the healthiest breakfast he could manage, and style his hair until it looked effortless. If he didn't pick out his outfit the night before, he could spend up to an hour choosing the right thing to wear: deliberating colour choices and textures was hard work for the sixteen-year-old.

Jackson also liked surprises, such as the Porsche his parents gave him for his birthday, but he only liked them when they benefitted him. Emma Moore showing up on his driveway just as he was about to leave for school was not a surprise he liked. Not that he didn't like Emma; yes he thought she was annoying and yes she was too snarky, but he had grudgingly (very, very grudgingly) let her into his inner circle and did in fact consider her a friend. What he didn't like, was letting her into his car. She had the awful habit of touching things, and Jackson always had to scrub his car down afterwards to get rid of the fingerprints.

"Stop that," Jackson seethed as he swatted Emma's hand away from the radio controls.

"Stop what?" Emma asked teasingly as she reached once more for the controls.

"Don't be cute, it doesn't work for you."

"You think I'm cute?" Emma gasped in feigned shock, adopting the tone of a scandalised southern belle. "What on earth would Lydia say?"

"Lydia would – hey, stop that!" He smacked her hand away again, but he was too late as Emma had successfully turned the volume of the radio up.

"Do you know how long it's going to take to get that back to the right volume?!"

"Oh take the stick out, Jackson," Emma stuck her tongue out at him childishly and sank back into the plush leather seats of Jackson's car.

"Only when you stop shopping at Hand-me-down's R Us."

"What's wrong with my clothes?" Emma pulled at the faded grey t-shirt she wore.

"What's right with them?"

"Goooood morning, Beacon Hills!" The radio blared before Emma could spew the snarky retort that had bubbled in her throat. "It's a beautiful day today, so let's head over to Maggie Marshall for the news."

"Thanks, Billy. Two joggers found a body last night in Beacon Hills Preserve. Little is known about the victim, though has been identified as a female in her early to mid-twenties. The Sheriff's department is asking for anyone with any information relating to the case to come forward. In other news…"

Emma turned the volume of the radio down. Jackson didn't stop her. The uneasy feeling that had plagued her the day before was beginning to return with a vengeance. Beacon Hills was a small town; the biggest news in the past ten years had been the Hale house fire, but even that had been an accident. A body being found in the woods was almost unimaginable, especially since the body hadn't been identified in a town where everyone knew everyone.

"Aren't you a curious thing?" A voice whispered in Emma's ear.

She jumped in fright, spinning round to find the source of the voice, but Jackson's car was just as empty as it had been moments before. Jackson stared straight ahead as if nothing had happened, his fingers still drumming against the wheel. Emma swivelled round to search the backseat, but all she found was Jackson's jacket neatly folded on the middle seat.

"What did you just say?" She asked Jackson.

"I didn't say anything."

"I could've sworn I heard…" her voice trailed off into an insecure mumble.

A chill ran down her spine. She pulled her cardigan tighter round herself as she shivered. She could have sworn that someone had spoken and had felt their breath against her ear as they whispered. Yet nothing was amiss. The trees still stood tall and proud outside of the car, Jackson's cologne was still too strong, the radio was still humming quietly – the radio, must have been the radio, Emma reasoned.

Sooner than Emma would have liked, the high school loomed ahead.

"Out," Jackson ordered oh so politely once he had parked in an empty space.

Without waiting for Emma to follow his order, Jackson swung his door open but it met resistance with an audible thud.

"Dude, watch the paint job," said Jackson to the boy he had hit.

Emma rolled her eyes and grabbed her backpack from between her feet as she stepped out from the car. She slammed the door shut behind and scoffed at Jackson's barked "careful!"

"It's just a car, Whittemore."

When she glanced up, she realised that it had been Scott that Jackson had hit. Jackson glared at Scott without saying anything, and poor Scott seemed to however in a state of confusion and incredulity.

Scott hadn't changed much since they had been kids. He still had the same floppy hair and wide brown eyes that let him get away with pretty much anything when he played his cards right. Scott had always been the one to get Stiles and Emma out of trouble when they had been friends. Whenever the two had gotten a little carried away and broken something, it was always Scott who would play up the puppy dog eyes and convince whatever adult was present that it had truly been an accident. If Stiles had been left to the task, he and Emma would have been given a bigger punishment for whatever sarcastic comment he made. Scott had always been a saviour of sorts.

Emma remembered that he had always been a kind boy, and always stood up for her no matter what. She remembered when Greenberg had been particularly nasty with his teasing and pulled her hair too hard; it had been impossible to forget the bully's laugh when she had started crying. Yet, she also remembered Scott sprinting across the uneven playground, his limbs gangly and flailing, and stood in between Emma and Greenberg. She didn't remember much else about that day, except for Scott's bloody nose – a gift from Greenberg – and the chocolate chip ice-cream they had shared on the walk home.

"Down boy," Emma patted Jackson's back and smiled guiltily at Scott.

"Whatever," Jackson huffed and, with a click of his keys to lock his car, he stomped away towards the school.

"Sorry about that, Jackson can be…"

"Difficult?"

"Well, I was going to go for 'bit of a jerk', but 'difficult' works too."

Scott and Emma grinned at one another. Being friendly with Scott was easy, even after they stopped being best friends. If Emma was asked to describe Scott in one word, it would have to be: warm. The boy made Emma feel as if she was accepted without having to try. Sometimes she felt as if she had to hide parts of herself around her other friends – Lydia in particular – but Scott made it easy for her to be herself. She sometimes found herself missing the boy. Not that she didn't miss Stiles, because she certainly did, but she often felt guilty around him and knew that she could never take back some of the things she had said and done. She doubted Stiles would ever forgive her even if she could. No matter how much time passed, Stiles continued to be awkward around her and occasionally avoided her entirely. She felt even worse when he did that.

Jessica had told her that "it's just Twitch being Twitch. He's like that with everyone," but Emma couldn't help but feel that Jessica wasn't being entirely truthful. In fact, from what Emma had seen, though Stiles was a little awkward, he never went out of his way to avoid anyone other than her. Maybe she was being a little paranoid, but she knew deep down that she was right.

"Are you going in?" Emma asked.

Scott nodded once and the two began trudging towards the school, following the same path Jackson had taken.

"Hey! Lacrosse try-outs are today. Do you think you're ready?" Emma asked, noticing the lacrosse stick poking out of Scott's bag.

"I think so. I'm hoping to make the team this year." Scott answered his excitement clear. For as long as Emma could remember, all Scott had ever wanted was to make first line. Yet, the years had passed and Scott had only ever been allowed to grace the bench. She could only remember him ever getting to play in six matches in three years. Yet, Scott went to every practice and every match and was one of the most dedicated members of the team.

"I'm rooting for you. Jess will probably drag me to watch so I'll cheer you on." said Emma, bumping her shoulder into his.

"Scott! Hey, Scott!" Stiles Stilinski's all too familiar voice shouted out as he raced towards the pair. He too had a lacrosse stick jutting out from his backpack, but the bouncing nature of his run made it whack the back of his head with every step. "Scott, wait up!"

Emma braced herself for the moment Stiles noticed her, knowing that he would instantly seize up.

She was proven right in the next moment when Stiles' eyes widened and his hand flew to rub the back of his neck and he muttered "and Emma. Scott and Emma."

"Hey, Stiles." Emma suddenly became fascinated by her shoes in order to avoid looking at Stiles avoiding looking at her. What a stupid mess, she thought.

The three stood in a tight circle in awkward silence. Stiles bounced on the balls of his feet, Scott glanced back and forth between the other two, and Emma…well, Emma did everything in her power not to cringe.

"So…did you both do the English homework?" Emma finally broke the tension.

Neither boy answered.

They shared an odd look, as if there was some big secret that only they knew about. Emma shivered and wrapped her arms tighter around herself.

Suddenly, the crowd of students parted and Lydia Martin emerged in all her strawberry-blonde-fashionista glory. Emma could have cried in relief.

"I'm gonna…yeah, I'm just gonna go," Emma gestured towards Lydia and all but sprinted towards her friend.

As soon as Emma reached Lydia, she linked their arms together and continued marching at the same fast pace. Lydia was forced into an almost jog, her heeled boots click-clacking like hooves.

"God, you're my saviour. I could kiss you!" Emma sighed in relief.

Lydia, in turn, appraised her up and down slowly. Her head tilted to the side and her eyes narrowed.

"Hm…I'm flattered, but you're not my type." She flipped her hair over one shoulder and waited for Emma to pull the door to the school open for her.

"What? I'll have you know that I'm a catch."

"Not dressed like that you're not." Lydia settled her with the sort of stare that screamed 'this is why I'm the queen bee and you're not', but Emma was used to it and knew that there were no truly bad intentions behind it. Instead, she was more scandalised by Lydia's statement.

"What's wrong with my clothes!?"

"What's right with them?"

"You've been spending too much time with Jackson."

Lydia looked her up and down once more, and Emma felt almost as self-conscious as she had felt around Stiles. She couldn't really see what was wrong with what she had chosen to wear. Yes, the t-shirt was faded and old, yes her shoes were scuffed, and yes her backpack was beginning to fray at the seams, but she didn't think the outfit was that unseemly. Though compared to Lydia's perfectly ironed blouse, pleated skirt, and polished boots, Emma looked like she'd just rolled out of bed.

"I think it's time we went shopping," Lydia said sweetly, but the underlying threat was real and terrifying. Shopping with Lydia was like battling a tornado with a leaf blower. Sales assistants quaked in fear when she walked in the store. Emma had even witnessed other shoppers moving out of Lydia's way in fear. The whole experience left Emma frazzled for days.

"That really isn't necessary, Lydia," Emma pleaded.

"Well, I think it is," Lydia finished, turned on her heels and left Emma alone outside her first class.

Being friends with Lydia Martin was certainly an experience. She was a force to be reckoned with at the best of times, but Emma wouldn't trade her for the world.

She deposited her homework book in the tray on her teacher's desk and headed to her seat, digging out her copy of Othello as she went.

The class slowly started filling up around Emma and Scott and Stiles were the last two to rush in just as the final bell rang. They raced to take their seats directly in front of Emma. She noticed something odd about Scott as he slid into his seat; he winced in pain when his side smacked off the edge of the desk, but it seemed as if he was in serious pain and not just the normal pain from a slight nudge.

"As you all know," Mr Evans began in his wobbly voice that grated on Emma's nerves and had done ever since it had been pointed out to her in the first week, "there indeed was a body found in the woods last night. I'm sure your eager minds are coming up various macabre scenarios as to what happened, but I am here to tell you that the police have a suspect in custody. Which means you can give your undivided attention to today's lesson. Open your books to Act Two, Scene One and begin reading."

Emma tried to focus on the words in front of her, but her mind drifted towards thoughts of the body anyway. It certainly was strange. There hadn't been a murder in Beacon Hills in a very long time; the biggest crime that had occurred in recent memory had been when the local bank was robbed at gunpoint. Unwittingly, her thoughts turned to the voice she had heard in Jackson's car. "Aren't you a curious thing," she had been sure the voice had said. She could have sworn the voice had been coming from behind her and not from the car radio. But it had to have been, she reasoned, it couldn't have come from anywhere else.

She shivered, her spine tingled and the hairs on her arms rose. Maybe she was just tired. Maybe she hadn't gotten enough sleep. Maybe.

As English had never been Emma's favourite subject, she was eternally grateful that the lesson was interrupted for even a short moment by the Vice Principal entering the class and ushering a girl Emma had never seen before into the room. The only way Emma could even think of describing the girl was as a modern day Snow White. With her pale skin and long curling black hair, the new girl looked like the animated character brought to life. The new girl was introduced as Allison Argent who shyly smiled at the staring students before quickly making her way to the only vacant seat left in the room.

Allison sat down in the plastic chair beside Emma and Scott immediately turned around and offered her a pen. She looked at him in in confusion for a moment before taking the pen from his outstretched hand and smiling to herself.

Emma was stolen of the opportunity to introduce herself to the new girl by the teacher beginning his lesson. It wasn't until the end of the school day that Emma and Allison met each other.

Ryan Lucas, Jessica's boyfriend, was a member of the championship winning lacrosse team along with Jackson Whittemore. As such, Emma was often dragged to watch the lacrosse practices by both Lydia and Jessica. That day, the three girls were joined by Allison Argent, whom Lydia explained was her 'new best friend'.

"Hi Allison, I'm Emma," she waved at the initially shy girl sitting on the bleachers next to her, before pointing to Jessica. "And this is Jessica".

Jessica glanced at Allison, offering her a quick smile, before returning her attention back to the lacrosse field and staring at her boyfriend warming up.

"Oh, hi, you're in my English class right?" Allison asked Emma, tucking her hair behind her ear as she did so.

"Yeah, I'm in the seat next to you." There was a short pause between the girls, neither really knowing what to say to each other and both hoping that either Lydia or Jessica would pull them out of the awkward silence.

"So, uh, where did you move from?" Emma really hated small talk but she figured that it was better to get to know Allison than to simply sit in uncomfortable silence.

"San Francisco." Allison offered with a small smile. "We move around a lot for my dad's work".

Lydia tapped Allison's arm to get her attention before gesturing to players on the field.

"Ok, so Jackson's over there," she pointed to her boyfriend with a proud smirk on her face. "That's Danny talking to Greenberg." Before Lydia could continue naming the players, Allison found her attention wandering to the floppy brown haired boy who had given her his pen.

"Who is that?" She asked, gesturing to Scott who was facing away from the girls.

"Him?" Lydia questioned to make sure that Allison was actually referring to the boy who she had never given the time of day to or to one of the more popular boys. "Not sure who he is."

Emma rolled her eyes at Lydia. "He's Scott McCall".

Sometimes Emma couldn't believe that Lydia would think herself so above everyone else that she didn't bother to learn people's names. A small part of Emma knew that Lydia's attitude was just an act and that she really did care about people besides herself and Jackson. However, that small part of Emma was made even smaller by Lydia's following question.

"Why?" Lydia's voice was filled with such disdain at even having to speak about someone who wasn't a part of the popular clique.

"He's in my English class", Allison replied, a bit cautious of Lydia's tone but couldn't help her mind drifting back to wanting to know more about Scott McCall.

As Allison was thinking about getting to know Scott, Emma found herself looking at Stiles Stilinski. He was a member of the lacrosse team, but not an active member; he was, as Jackson Whittemore so affectionately put it 'a bench warmer'. Stiles never took part in the matches but every time Emma watched one of the games she silently hoped that that would be the day that Stiles was allowed to play. So far, he had only ever occupied the bench. Though the two weren't really on speaking terms, Emma always wanted him to do well. He was, after all, still the boy that she had shared a bubble bath with when they were two, and he was certainly still the boy who had hugged her whenever she cried and always offered her his blue crayon.

As Emma watched him, she noticed him exaggeratedly wince and rub his shaved head, and heard the watching crowd wince in sympathy. Looking up in confusion, Emma noticed Scott flat on his back in the goal and clutching at his head.

"What happened?" Emma whispered to Jessica who grimaced.

"McCall got hit on the head with a ball".

Emma grimaced, knowing full well just how sore that could be. Scott recovered quickly and shook the embarrassment off and prepared himself for the next player to attempt to score a goal. This time, Scott managed to catch the ball aimed at him, much to everyone's surprise as it was no secret that he was not good at lacrosse. Even Stiles let out at surprised shout at his best friend's ability to actually catch the ball. Player after player tried to throw the ball past Scott but each time he caught it, not one managing to slip by him. The more throws he caught, the more the excitement in the crowd grew and soon people were cheering for him and his new found abilities.

Emma and Jessica shared a look of pure confused excitement, their mouths hanging slightly open as they turned back to the field to stare at Scott. Jessica managed to catch Ryan's eye who merely shrugged his shoulders, confused just as much as everyone else. Emma could see Stiles bouncing in his seat, barely able to contain his exhilaration.

Emma whispered a quiet "oh no" when she noticed Jackson striding purposefully towards the front of the line of players trying the beat Scott. He pushed Ryan aside with his lacrosse stick and Emma could practically see the steam coming out of his ears. Jackson did not like for anyone to be better than him. Emma and Jessica glanced at each other once again, this time with faces filled with nervous anticipation. They hated to think of what Jackson would do if Scott somehow managed to catch the ball Jackson would throw at him.

Jackson began to run at Scott, cradling the ball in his lacrosse stick, and Emma raised her hand to her temple as if she was going to shield her eyes but she found that she couldn't look away. As Jackson leapt into the air to throw the ball, everything stilled for a moment as if everyone was simultaneously holding their breath.

Then the spectacular happened.

Scott caught the ball.

It was as if an explosion had occurred as everyone who had been sitting jumped to their feet and began cheering. Even Lydia jumped to her feet to cheer for Scott, knowing full well how angry that would make Jackson. Stiles was whooping and hollering in astonishment for his friend.

"Go Scott!" Emma and Jessica screamed while clapping their hands.

Stiles, hearing Emma's voice, whipped his head round to the bleachers to watch her jumping in joy for his best friend and for a moment wished that she was cheering for him. He was momentarily distracted by the sight of her red hair flashing in the sunlight before he realised that Emma was actually speaking to him.

"Stiles!" Emma waved her hand to catch his attention, wondering what he had been staring off into space at. "When did he learn to do that?" She shouted over the noise of the crowd once she had gained his focus.

Stiles simply shrugged his shoulders, a simultaneously bewildered and excited look on his face, as his way of an answer before he quickly turned back to the field to congratulate Scott.

As the crowd began to settle down, Jessica departed, claiming that she was going to speak to Ryan but Emma suspected that 'speak' was in fact code for 'kiss'.

"You're coming to my party Friday night, right?" Emma realised that Lydia was addressing her so she turned to face the other girl whose hand was firmly planted on her hip and her bag hanging from the crook of her elbow. From her tone, Emma knew that Lydia wasn't really asking, but telling.

"Um, yeah…yeah. I should be able to make it."

"Good." Lydia flipped her strawberry blonde hair over her shoulder and began to walk away from the two remaining girls.

"I'm going to go have a word with Jackson." Lydia called over her shoulder and Emma knew that in this case 'have a word with' was more likely to be code for 'scold' than anything else.

"Are you heading out or staying behind?" Emma asked Allison who was still seated.

"I'm heading out too.'

The two girls made their way to the parking lot, chatting as they went. Emma discovered that Allison had lived in San Francisco for a year before moving to Beacon Hills (which according to her was a long time to stay in one place) while Allison discovered that Emma had never lived anywhere but Beacon Hills. Allison had taken gymnastics for eight years; Emma loved to sing even though she was terrible at it, but not the kind of terrible were she really knows she is good, no, Emma was the kind of terrible that is just plain terrible. Despite the fact that the two girls were rather different from one another, Emma found herself warming to Allison; in turn, Allison found herself warming to Emma, despite the fact that she had initially thought that Emma was a bit cold.

As the two girls parted ways, Emma could hear the crowd of students dispersing from the lacrosse field. The day had not been cold, but Emma found that she had not been able to warm up at all. Not since the incident in Jackson's car. She couldn't get the words out of her head: "aren't you a curious thing…aren't you a curious thing…aren't you a curious thing…" She wondered what it meant.

Hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think, any feedback is greatly appreciated.

Thank you to everyone who has followed and favourited this story! A big thank you to JackieOh for reviewing and for making some really awesome posters for this story (which can be found on tumblr. at fanficjackieoh)!

Thanks for reading!