BTW, this, so far, is the longest chapter. (And thanks Saiyajin-Neko for pointing out my screwup)
00000
Lydia's alarm wakes he the next morning and she feels surprisingly. . .refreshed. Not 100% sure, but better than usual. A warm arm pulls her closer as her alarm gets cut off. Like that last night comes back and she finds herself blushing as she opens her eyes.
Peter's own blue ones are staring down on her with more fondness than she thought he had. "Morning Lydia."
Lydia blinks at him. "Morning." She pushes herself upright, using her blankets to cover herself. Wrapping the blanket around herself she stands and begins walking to her bathroom.
"Would you like me to stay? Or shall I go?" She turns back to see Peter lounging against her headboard looking for all the world like he belongs there.
"I. . ." Him pushing her against the wall of her shower. "I, I think you should go. I've got school." She tries to hide her own disappointment.
Peter's expression never changes, but she senses he's not happy with her choice. "Alright." He stands, and Lydia finds herself fighting not to look down. "Well you know how to reach me should you want to." He walks over to her, leans down, and gives her a light kiss on the lips before pulling away and heading to his clothes.
She hurries into her bathroom to cover her surprise at his actions. And by the time she gets out of the shower he's gone. There's a small sorrow in her chest at that, even though she's the one who said he should go. But she brushes it aside in favor of getting dressed and made up.
Her phone rings before she steps out of her room; she gives an exasperated roll of her eyes when she sees Stiles' name on ID. "Morning."
"Hey, want to be truants and skip school?" Only Stiles.
Mentally she debates, she's far enough ahead that she could miss a day or two, but actually doing it? "Why?"
Faintly she hears humming on the other end, but eventually Stiles speaks. "I was thinking we could tell Parrish about him being a wanted man. It only seems fair, since, you know, we actually know him."
He has a point, and she exhales gustily. "Fine. Be here in five minutes."
000
Jordan blinks in surprise when Stiles and Lydia approach the front desk, because he's pretty sure the both of them should be in school. He puts his hand on Michaelson's shoulder. "I'll deal with them."
Michaelson rolls his eyes. "Better you than me Parrish."
Which he feels is a little unfair, from what he's heard about Stiles' exploits they've never seemed that bad. Jordan puts on his best smile. "Hi, what can I help you with?" He won't tear into them about school, yet, for all he knows there's a really good reason for their skipping.
Stiles runs his heads through his hair. "Yeah, uh, we were hoping we could talk to my dad."
Little alarm bells go off in Jordan's head. "Alright, follow me." Stiles probably knows his way around the department, but hell if he's going to let them go around unescorted. "He's out, but he should be back in the hour. You gonna wait in his office?"
Lydia and Stiles glance around for a moment, before turning back to him. "Actually," Stiles begins, and Jordan just knows this is going to be bad. "We wanted to talk to you."
Finally Lydia speaks. "Privately."
Jordan escorts them to the sheriff's office. "Alright what?" If they wanted to talk to him it's got to be important.
Stiles pulls out a folded piece of paper and holds it out to him.
He takes it and stares at it for a few moments, not really understanding it. . .then. "This is a hit list." It's only half an accusation.
At least Stiles looks uncomfortable. "Yeah. But we're calling it a deadpool. Recognize any of the names on it?"
"Yeah, your dad had me run most of them through the system last night, but nothing popped up."
Stiles turns to Lydia, who looks tense. "Show him." Dread settles further in Jordan's chest.
She reaches out and takes the paper from him, only to turn it over. Revealing gibberish and. . .
He stands and starts to pace because standing still isn't an option. "That's, that's. . .not good. What's the number?" He's pretty sure he already knows, but asking doesn't hurt.
Lydia looks about as discomforted as he feels. "That's how much you're worth."
Jordan, and staring at his human name he is Jordan wholly and completely, doesn't feel fear at seeing his name on a kill list. . .however. . . "I'm worth only five dollars?"
Stiles, too clever and sharp for his own good Stiles, shakes his head and holds his hand up fingers splayed. "Five million."
. . .Oh, even with inflation he's pretty sure that's more than the last time someone put a bounty on him. Now he feels a little worried. "I only make forty thousand a year," when in doubt deadpan. "Maybe I should kill myself." Again, wouldn't be the first time.
"Do you know why someone would want you dead?"
He has to squash the urge to kiss Lydia at her near perfect wording. "No," he shakes his head. For the past decade he's been careful, he hasn't even been horribly wounded since. . .1990? Longer possibly.
He isn't even worried if someone does manage to kill him, he'll just come back; though he can still remember the fear of death in his first few years of growth, back when his queen would use almost any excuse to give someone a true death so they could be laid in the graveyard. Though he's grateful Violet's behind bars already, recovering from decapitation's the worst.
And he's moved twice since he started his search for Lydia. Beacon Hills had been a whim at the time, though the sheer amount of power here had been a huge draw –enough to open a Way to the Mound if he knew how– even if it was a little. . .gray.
Stiles seems to deflate a little. "Alright." He turns. "You coming Lydia?"
She meets Jordan's eyes. "In a moment."
Stiles shrugs and leaves, through the window Jordan can see the boy head over to deputy Rodgers and start chatting with her.
"Are you alright?" Concern is an interesting thing on Lydia.
But it's appreciated. "I'm fine. This isn't the first time someone's wanted me dead." He decides to not try and elaborate further.
Lydia seems to brace herself for something, then speaks. "Look we didn't just come here to tell you you're on the deadpool."
Oh, boy. "What else?"
She crosses her arms, fingers tapping out arhythms on her biceps. "We've been using cypher keys to translate the list. But we don't have the last one for the final third. So we need help."
He stands up a little straighter, willing to help, but the earlier dread comes back. "From who?" He has to ask, even though he's sure he's not going to like the answer.
At least Lydia looks a little ashamed. "Meredith."
He wants to help Lydia so much, because she means a lot to him, but when he signed up for this job –with much, much glamouring and falsified paperwork– he'd sword to serve and protect everyone. And while he's sure oaths taken hundreds of years ago supersede that, he has to draw the line somewhere.
Meredith is, despite her banshee powers, for all intents and purposes human and can't take the same abuse Lydia can. "No. The last time you saw her you almost gave her a nervous breakdown." He walks to the door and opens it, hopefully signifying their discussion was over.
But of course Lydia seems to be taking Stiles lessons. "Almost."
Jordan sighs, knowing this is a horrible idea, but also knowing that at the very least Lydia, let alone Stiles, won't give up until this happens. "Fine." Lydia brightens. "But I get to pull the plug if I think you're going to far."
Her shoulders slump a little and he's glad he's added that caveat, otherwise who knows what she'd get up to. "Fine."
They collect Stiles, who grins as he realizes what they're doing, then file out to the cruiser; Jordan's not letting either out of his sight for any longer than necessary.
The ride to Eichen is subdued, he can hear Lydia and Stiles talking quietly but he doesn't want to listen in, so instead focuses on the radio.
Once at Eichen house he approaches the orderly at the desk, giving him a little smile and a brief flare of glamour. "Hi. We'd like to take to Meredith Walker, it's important."
The orderly nods and grabs the ring of keys on the desk next to him. "If you all could sign in, then follow me."
Jordan always forgets how claustrophobic Eichen is, pressing in and making you feel low. Not exactly the most conducive of places to heal minds in. Finally they reach the right room and he watches as the orderly tries to find the right key to opening Meredith's room. Of course we have to deal with the forgetful one.
The narrow hallway grows a little tense and Stiles speak. "Not him."
Footsteps approach and soon he's being run into by Brunski. "What the hell is going on here?"
Brunski yanks the keys away from the orderly and Jordan almost feels bad for the other man. "What are we suddenly a bed and breakfast? You don't open the door just because some idiot flashes a badge at you."
The sudden image of Brunski being impaled on spikes is much more enjoyable than it should be. "We need to talk to Meredith Walker, now. It pertains to a murder investigation."
Of course Brunski doesn't back down. "You, you can talk to her all you want deputy. But those two," he points at Stiles, "especially that one can't. No matter what you want."
"They're witnesses in the investigation. I wouldn't have brought them with me if it weren't absolutely. . ." He has to hunt for the right word to make it truthful. "Crucial." Out of the corner of his eye he can see Stiles grimacing and Lydia looking more uncomfortable by the second.
"Okay deputy." Brunski steps into Jordan's personal space, trying to make him uncomfortable; though Jordan's half tempted to tell the poor mortal it's not going to work, he's met more frightening grass. "You bring me a court order, then we can talk about letting those two bozos in."
For a brief moment Jordan thinks that the glare Lydia sends Brunski will actually kill the man, which while making thisworlds easier won't fair them well in the long run, but it's only a glare.
But Brunski's dismissing Jordan –stupid mortal never turn your back on the unknown– in favor of playing bruiser to Stiles. "As for you, Mr. Stilinski, why don't you come back with him, with payment in full." Stiles flinches and Brunski pounces. "That's right, your daddy might be sheriff, but he's still late on paying the bills. I'd hate to see what happens when something like that goes public, those government jobs aren't as stable as you might think."
Not even crows would peck your eyes out, bastard. "But they do come in handy when you need a favor." Brunski turns to him and Jordan has to hold back his vicious smile. Gotcha. "Like how Eureka PD helped you get home when you blew over .1 on a breathalyzer last month."
Stiles goes from defeated to smug in less than a second.
Brunksi's all smiles after that. "Alright." The hand holding the keys smacks into Stiles shoulder. "I've nothing against a little quid pro quo. Take all the time you need. Just make sure to lock up on your way out."
As Brunski walks down the hall Jordan takes the keys from Stiles, who slaps him on the shoulder. Jordan has to pretend to stumble a little. "I like you." Which doesn't mean much to Jordan, though it is accompanied by a twitch of a smile from Lydia. "We're keeping you."
Jordan has to bite back a 'no you won't' as he selects the right key, 'but Lydia might.' The urge to forswear his queen and swear to Lydia is stronger than he thought it would be, and he's not sure if that's good or bad. He opens the door. And they look in to see Meredith already facing the door, clearly waiting for them. "You're a little late."
Stiles just saunters in like there's nothing strange about being expected by a girl in an asylum, but Lydia's a little more hesitant. Still, she's the one who speaks first. "Hi Meredith. We need your help."
Meredith shivers a little and shakes her head. "I can't. . .I can't tell you."
Lydia and Stiles take the unoccupied bed across from Meredith while Jordan stays by the door, feeling a little like a bouncer. "What do you mean Meredith?" The concern in Lydia's voice is reassuring to Jordan.
"Yeah." Stiles' hands start moving as if to emphasize his words. "Just tell us the third key, in words, numbers, Morse code. Whatever you want."
"I can't." Meredith sounds forlorn enough that for a moment Jordan wants to wrap her up and take her somewhere where they'll really look after her.
"Then why did you give us the second key?" Lydia's starting to sound frustrated again.
Meredith hunches in on herself a little. "I wanted to help. I. . .I just wanted to help."
"That's great, and we really appreciated it. But we need you to help again, alright?" Impatience creeps into Lydia voice. "Just give us the third cypher key."
Eyes darting, looking everywhere but at the three of them Meredith wrings her hands together. "I, can't. Things are different now. I can't."
"Why not?" Now Stiles sounds impatient too.
Deciding that's enough of that Jordan speaks. "Guys, take a few breaths, go easy on her." At least they look a little chastised.
"I'm sorry." Meredith stares at her hands now. "I, can't. He. . .he doesn't want me to." The gaze she gives Stiles and Lydia is imploring, and Jordan finds himself bracing for the worst.
"He?" Jordan can't tell if Stiles is talking to himself or to the room. "Who's he?"
If Jordan found himself wondering about Stiles' question, Lydia's is as clear as water. "Meredith, who doesn't want you to tell us the third cypher key?" A little burst of glamour accompanies the question and Jordan hopes they don't get a repeat of yesterday.
But Meredith gives. "The Benefactor."
Stiles and Lydia perk up at that. "Good. Progress. Can you give us a name?" Stiles' fingers clench and unclench his jeans.
"No, he'll get mad, he'll. . ."
Standing Lydia crosses her arms. "Please Meredith. Just give us the name and we'll go."
Even that doesn't sway Meredith. "No."
Lydia starts pacing, which Jordan thinks is better than directing all her frustration at Meredith. "Just tell us his name."
Once again Meredith shakes her head.
Now Stiles is the one ganging up on her. "Okay, you're shaking your head. Does that mean you don't know his name or you're not gonna tell us?" Jordan seriously hopes it's former, because then they can leave this poor girl be.
"I can't, I can't, I can't help anymore." Meredith's starting to sound panicky and for the umpteenth time Jordan-Erwann finds himself tensing and preparing for everything to explode.
Lydia turns on Meredith. "How do you know about him?" More glamour creeps into Lydia's voice, an insistent press against Meredith. Meredith trembles under it.
This is enough. Jordan-Erwann takes a step towards her. "Lydia, Stiles. You need to stop."
"Meredith." Lydia seems set on ignoring him. "A lot of people are going to die if you don't tell us." Even more glamour, filling up the room like it did last night.
Meredith's crumbling beneath it. "I can't. . .I don't. . ."
Even Stiles is looking a little worried.
Erwann-Jordan takes a step closer, hoping he can still reach Meredith. "Meredith, it's alright." He's hesitant to use glamour when she's already under so much pressure, even if it might help. "You're gonna be okay."
Meredith's really agitated now, her hands fluttering as she keeps repeating. "I can't. . .I don't. . ."
Another step. "Meredith."
But it's too late. "I. . .I don't know!"
Lydia recoils into Stiles, her hand flying up to cover her ear. And in the ensuing silence Erwann sees blood dripping from said ear.
For a brief moment the urge to hurt Meredith is a sun in his chest, and he has to think very cold thoughts to stop himself from walking up to her and do something he'll regret later. She didn't mean to hurt Lydia, the poor mortal girl just wants peace.
In lieu of hurting Meredith he can make Lydia safe. "Let's go, it's clear she doesn't know anything more." Stiles doesn't seem happy about it, but Lydia takes Jordan's hand and lets him lead her out. "Are you alright Lydia?"
When she looks at him he has to resist the desire to shiver, because it's clear that Lydia isn't all there at the moment and gods he wants to find a way to pull her back.
Then Stiles is there taking her from him, mustn't hurt Stiles either, and ushering her out.
Jordan-Erwann follows, his own mind tangling. He knows Lydia believes him now, but she needs to ask questions; so he can teach her how to use her powers without something like this happening. Or maybe he just needs to sit her down when they're not worrying about their lives and talk to her, but he hopes she asks first.
Silently they get into Jordan's cruiser. Silently they drive back to the department. Silently –he wants to speak but the words keep getting caught up in his throat– he watches as Stiles guides Lydia back to his Jeep and they leave.
Jordan goes back into the station and wishes he could drink on the job.
000
"So what's the common thread? Allison and Aiden are both dead."
Lydia resists the urge to throw her computer across the room, she can't afford a new one. "But we've already tried every dead person we knew. And if you didn't notice, there are a lot." She's fairly certain that statistically they're outliers when it comes to people near them who have died.
"I know, it's just. . ." She can see Stiles pacing in the corner of her eye, sees it when he turns to her. "You okay?"
God, why don't people ask her that more often? "Meredith's the only other banshee I've ever met," her hands curl and she can feel her nails dig into her palms. "And I think I drove her into insanity." She feels more guilty about not feeling guilty about that then she feels guilty about that.
Stiles steps closer. "Lydia," and closer. "It wasn't your fault."
She wants to slam that so intelligent yet stupid head of his into his crime board. Of fucking course, it's her fault. If she hadn't asked Meredith any of those questions Meredith wouldn't have freaked out like she did. Parrish being there is probably the only reason things aren't worse.
"I was there too." Yeah, sure, but he wasn't a fae-banshee who didn't know the first thing about herself. "And you're probably not the only. . ." He drifts off.
She almost asks him what's wrong, but he starts off on a new thought first. "Hold on. Banshee's predict death, right?" But he doesn't give her a chance to answer. "So what if the key isn't someone who's died yet. . ."
". . .but will soon." Dread and euphoria make her stomach queasy. But she takes a few breaths and closes her eyes as she feels Stiles stand behind her. Keeping her eyes closed she moves her hands over the keyboard letting them hover. The only sounds in the room are Stiles' breathing and the hum of her laptop's fan; at least at first. Soon though the almost-whispering returns, and even though she has no idea what any of the voices are saying she lets her fingers start typing. Trusting that at least subconsciously she knows what to do.
When she finally opens her eyes again the third key sits in the password box, accusingly. Derek. She hits enter and the last of the pool decodes. Her eyes skim down the list and. . . "Call Parrish," it rings like a bell in her throat. "We need to call Parrish." Maybe she should get his number herself so she doesn't have to go through someone like Stiles to talk to him.
Stiles doesn't know Parrish's private number, but he does give her his extension at the sheriff's department. The phone rings a few times before he answers. "This is deputy Jordan Parrish, how can I help you?"
"Parrish, it's Lydia." For a second her nails dig into her arm from nerves. "Look there's something we need to tell you about Meredith."
Silence on the other end of the line. "Er–Parrish?" Nearly speaking his true name is a fluttering shock, why now?
"Lydia. . .Meredith's dead."
Her heart turns rocky. "What? What do you mean dead?" Are they already too late?
Parrish sighs. "The orderlies at Eichen found her an hour ago in her room, she'd hanged herself." Somehow that's even worse than being too late. "I'm sorry." Those words of his feel like a lie, but they can't be because he spoke them.
Hands shaking she hangs up and drops her phone like it's suddenly burst into flames. It's. . .it's too much. She feels grateful when Stiles pulls her into a hug.
She just needs someone to hold her with no expectations right now.
Stiles finally lets her leave, she knows he's worried but there's such a thing as taking platonic comfort too far. But she only gets as far as her car, before she has to stop and just breath. But only for a second, shakily her hands pick up her phone typing in a number.
As the phone rings she wonders if she should be doing this, she knows Peter's thoughts are confused when it comes to Malia, he isn't anything to her which Lydia's come to realize unsettles him. But she kind of promised without promising.
"Lydia, my night's just gotten better."
And in a moment it's going to get worse. "Malia's on the list."
Her ear fills with the dial tone. Worried she calls him back, but he doesn't answer. Tossing her phone onto the passenger seat she grips her steering wheel so hard her hands hurt. She will not cry.
She. . .she needs to leave or Stiles is liable to come out and ask why she's still in his driveway. She'll start crying if he does. With a ragged deep breath she starts her car and pulls out. Resisting the habit to just drive home she turns down random streets and deliberately gets lost.
Stop! A voice shouts in her mind. Her foot steps on the brake before that she even registers that the voice is not her own. She sits there, in the middle of the road in a residential area she doesn't think she's ever been in before at, she glances at her dashboard clock, 8 PM. Why the fuck is she here?
Almost dreading what she'll find she gets out of her car and looks around. Nothing. The street's about as generic boring Americana as any other street. All but one of the houses have their porch lights on, the house that doesn't has lights shining faintly through curtains. There, now it's whisper-soft, but again a voice not her own.
She desperately wishes Banshee powers had off switches, or just switches in general. But she goes up to the house and tentatively knocks on the door.
Faintly she hears someone moving around, then the door opens.
And there stands Parrish, Jordan, Erwann. Concern fills his face when he realizes its her, and fuck.
Lydia starts crying.
Warm arms pull her into an embrace and she buries her face in his shirt, greedily inhaling the smells of leather, fabric softener, and something cold and chilly that's somehow the most comforting of all. One arm stays around her waist, while the other shifts up a little so his hand can rub circles on her back. "Hey, it's okay. What's wrong?"
The most horrible sounding laugh leaves her, saying everything's okay then asking someone what's wrong is. . .wrong. And anyways, she can't find it in her to talk just yet, instead letting herself cling to him and just let all her pain and sadness out. For the past few days it's felt like everyone's been counting on her to decode the deadpool and even though they've got all of it now the crushing weight of expectation still hasn't left her. She feels herself being moved, but can't find it in her to care anymore than that.
Faintly, like she's been wrapped in layers of cotton, she hears Jordan mutter something. And then, clear as day. "Just do what you have to do Lydia. Let it out."
Then the floodgates really do open. Or to be more accurate, the screamgates. Scream after scream after scream tear their way out of her throat; not banshee screams, just plain old screams of sadness? Anger? Whatever emotion's behind them she lets out so many that she fears she won't be able to talk tomorrow. It's just not fucking fair. The only other banshee Lydia's ever known is dead now. She's alone again, and still so lost. She wants to understand herself so badly, wants to understand this power she has.
Eventually the screams end, but then the words come. Everything comes spilling out, even Peter and her's relationship –something she'd sworn never to tell anyone, let alone an officer of the law. When she finishes she feels washed out, her flood of emotion's passed and she's now left dealing with the aftermath. Unwillingly, because not even fucking Peter has brought her this sort of catharsis, she pulls away from Erwann. Wiping her tears away with her sweater sleeve.
"Here." Blinking she stares at the handkerchief he's offering her before taking it. She hasn't cried like that since Allison. She wonders how much of a mess she is this time.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to do that." It's true, she'd been allowed to ugly cry with Jackson because he'd been crying too –with the unspoken agreement between them to never talk about it again, before then it'd been Stiles, who'd had the decency to lie.
Erwann's smile is small, yes, but real. "I don't mind at all Lydia, I'd like to think it means you trust me."
She does, though it surprises her to realize it. Without thinking she leans in and kisses him. She's not sure what she means by it, if she means anything at all, but it feels right.
But just as quickly he's gone, somehow now on the other side of the room. "Do you want something to drink?" He asks so politely that something in her crumbles and she finds herself slumping into the couch she's apparently sitting on.
"Hot water and honey." Her voice is more cracked and raw than it was before and she's dreading tomorrow like no. . .tomorrow. She hears him moving around in the kitchen and as she debates the merits of just vanishing now and saving herself further heartbreak she looks around.
She's in his living room, it's sparsely decorated, with little to no personal touches. She finds herself wondering what those personal touches would be as she stands. Wrapping her arms around herself to try and ward off her inner chill she quietly makes her way to the front door. Impulse has her flicking on his porch light as she opens the door, stepping out onto his porch she's embarrassed to realize her car's still in the middle of the road and she hopes no one's called the sheriff about it. Slowly she closes the door behind her. Then before she can change her mind she races to her car.
Music floods through her speakers as she turns the car on and with more force than she needs she turns her radio off. In the silence she hears a door open.
Foolishly she looks over to Jordan's house, but the moment she sees him standing in that pool of light she jerks her gaze away. She'll start crying again if she looks at him any longer. Putting her car in gear she pushes the gas and tears down the street, uncaring if she gets in trouble for speeding or whatever.
She needs to get home and reconstruct the walls around her heart. Liking Erwann too much is a mistake.
000
Jordan-Erwann, there's something horrible and strange about being caught between these two identities of his, stands on his porch and watches as Lydia drives down his street like she's running from something.
Which considering what just happened she probably is. Not wanting to attract the attention of nosy neighbors he goes back inside. Morosely staring at the still steaming mug of water and honey he'd gotten for her. He's half-tempted to drink it himself, but he knows it'll only strengthen the lingering sweetness still on his lips from Lydia's kiss.
She kissed him. The part of him that is Jordan, dear human Jordan, keeps telling him she's too young, she doesn't know what she wants; the Erwann part of him, who remembers times when Lydia would have already been married with two children at her age, points out she's already in a relationship. Kissing him didn't mean anything, just a seeking of comfort from someone who cared.
Shakily he dumps the mug down the sink. Keep telling yourself that boy. Because he liked it when he shouldn't have. Taking a deep breath he stares out the window into the night. "Dear gods and Winter, I need help." Or at least some direction.
000
The sewer stinks, even more so than usual. Stinks of cat and the strange dusty, not-dry scent of Berserkers.
He's only a few feet away before Kate finally notices him, leaping away and pointing a shotgun at him. He clicks his tongue. "Really Kate? You should have heard me coming a lot sooner, it's almost like you have no idea what you're doing." Though part of him is saying the same thing about himself; Derek, Malia and Lydia might all be on the deadpool but that doesn't mean he should go and try to make a deal with the woman who murdered his family.
She pumps the shotgun, an action even he knows is pointless, and glares. "What, come to try and finish the job Peter?"
Well yes, but not yet and anyways why would he tell her one way or the other? "And if I am?"
The Berserkers behind her step forward, and while normally the sane response would be running the other way he's feeling reckless and driven. He watches as Kate's skin darkens and shifts. "I think you'll find I'm a lot harder to kill this time."
Nonchalantly he shoves his hands into his pockets and strolls forwards, glad he's managed to get his self-control back to what it had been before the fire –her fault, lunge and tear and make it stick, his wolf snarls and snaps but can't do much beyond that. "Well lucky you I'm not here to kill you. I want to make a deal."
Kate snarls, showing off some impressive teeth. "Really? Well that's big of you." She doesn't, however, lower the gun. On the other hand the Berserkers return to their previous position so he'll take it as a win. "And what would this deal entail."
"Well you're clearly in need of a few lessons in self control and anger management, and I'm quite good at those if I do say so myself." He stops right in front of her. "I'll teach you."
Narrowing her eyes she looks up at him. "And what do you want in return?"
You dead, my family safe, Lydia safe, my money. "Your help in finding and killing the Benefactor." That done, at least most of the rest should hopefully follow.
"Feeling altruistic are we?" She mock pouts. "Did Peter Hale's heart grow three sizes while I was gone? Gained a conscience? I would have thought you'd like the Benefactor cleaning house as it were."
He will not roll his eyes at her asinine comments. His heart's the same as always, and he does have a conscious –it's called his wolf. And as for the Benefactor. . .he leans in. "Not when it's my money it they're using."
He doesn't have to look at her face to know she's smiling. "Ah, there it is. The real reason you're talking to me." One of her hands rests itself on his chest, and it takes all his willpower not to rip it off, literally. "Give it to me straight Pete. It's all about power for you isn't it?"
"Of course," the lie flows like water, it's clear she doesn't have the control to tell otherwise. "Isn't it what I've always wanted?" Though if she believes that than she's a bigger fool than he'd thought. He's got power aplenty thanks to the tie still between him and Lydia, an endless well to draw from when he feels so inclined. Then again, he doesn't think she could care about her family if you paid her to.
00000
Next week: Weaponized part 1, the return of Danny and Jordan has a neat trick.
