So a couple of awesome things: My lovely beta Rantsofafangirl made pretty art for me (link on my profile), and I also did a tiny sequel involving Jordan/Erwann and his yet to actually be introduced sister (link also on my profile).
A not so awesome thing: Trigger Warning for suicide this chapter folks.
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Faintly Lydia can hear her phone ringing. Blearily she blinks and sits up, listening closer. It's her Stiles ringtone and with a groan she crawls out of bed, taking a sheet with her; her clothes still downstairs with her phone.
She only feels a little wobbly, though her left shoulder hurts, as she walks and she takes extra care with the stairs. As she descends the smells of beef and some sort of leafy green reach her nose and her stomach complains.
Peter doesn't say anything as she goes to her phone, but she knows he knows she's up. Picking up her phone she hits 'answer'. "What's up?" At least she doesn't sound like she had wildly kinky sex.
"Hey, so I was planning on going down to the station to talk to my dad about Benefactor stuff, you want to come?" Then a few seconds later. "You don't sound like you're at the bonfire."
At least he's asking; securing the sheet a little better she leans against the back of the couch and gives an inaudible sigh; if she cared at all for her social life anymore she would be at the bonfire, but she'd kind of gotten caught up in Peter –though she doubted Stiles would like that answer. "And you don't sound like you're at the bonfire either Stiles, so don't go judging me. And why not. But I need," she ticks off essentials in her head: bandage shoulder, dressed, eat something, at least she didn't have to ask Peter for a ride. "About half an hour. Meet you at the station?"
She hears what might be jangling keys, "okay, yeah. Half an hour." He hangs up.
"It wouldn't be too much to hope that you've got bandages and anti-bacterial cream?" Hanging up her own phone she straightens, then grimaces. "And some painkillers, I'm sore." It's only half-accusing because she sure as hell isn't going to complain about the sex.
Peter comes in drying his hands off on a towel. "You forget Lydia, Derek's gone human, so yes we've got a first-aide kit. And I guess I can't convince you to stay and enjoy the dinner I made."
This time her sigh's audible. "Sorry, but the sheriff should know about my grandma"–not your grandmother–"sooner rather than later."
He gives a mock pout. "If you insist." He walks past her into what looks like another bathroom, while he's in there she drops the sheet and pulls on her panties and bra, leaving the left strap hanging around her arm. Peter's timing in returning is perfect enough that she's sure he waited for her to finish before coming back out. "At least let me get your shoulder."
"Peter, I would have chewed you if you didn't take care of my shoulder."
He gives a rueful chuckle as he efficiently gets out everything; as he rubs the cream on the bite he leeches pain, perks of dating a werewolf she supposes.
"Is it going to scar?" Though she wonders if that's a question better asked at Jordan, Peter still doesn't know she is fae after all.
"I don't think it should," he answers as he tapes on gauze. "Finish getting dressed and I'll get you pills and at least something to eat."
Rapidly he packs up the kit and goes back into the kitchen. "I don't know if I'm liking this mother hen side of you," she tells him as she pulls her dress up grateful it hasn't gotten too wrinkled.
Peter doesn't respond, a reaction she's unsure is good or bad. Dashing into the bathroom she checks her hair, she'd rather not have to come up with a lie to explain sex-hair to Stiles; though at least he doesn't have super senses. After a little rearranging she leaves and goes into the kitchen.
A glass of water and three ibuprofen are waiting for her on the counter along with a plate of apple slices. Peter's doing dishes. As she sits at the bar-counter she thinks this is strangely domestic of them, especially considering two and a half months ago she refused to be alone with him.
She doesn't eat quickly, but she can't really take her time, it'll take her about ten minutes to get to the department from the loft, leaving her only ten minutes to eat.
They remain silent as she does so, leaving Lydia feeling unnerved as she gets up. It doesn't feel like their relationship's ruined or anything, more that if Stiles hadn't called everything from then on would have turned out differently.
Hesitantly she goes over to Peter, who's been washing the same pot since she started eating, and wraps her arms around him resting her head on his back. "I'll see you later."
There's a bit of a clatter as he lets the pot drop and turns in her grasp. "Alright. And," for a brief second his damp hands wrap around her and return the hug before going back to his sides. "Don't think we're not done talking about this deputy of yours Lydia. There's something about him. . ." The interest she sees in Peter's eyes makes her strangely giddy.
"What do you think you might like him?" Lydia mock gasps.
Peter gives a bark of laughter. "I'll have you know I drove my poor parents up the walls with uncertainty on whether or not I'd bring a boyfriend or a girlfriend home during breaks, if I brought one at all." He gives a twitch of a smile, and something in Lydia softens to hear him fondly talking about life before the fire. "I don't think Talia quite approved, or at the very least didn't like, that I was, am, bisexual but she lived with it."
Part of Lydia wants to stay and talk more about this, because Peter might actually be opening up to her and who knows what they'd talk about. But she knows if she's even two minutes past when she said she'd be at the station Stiles will be calling her asking her where she is. With a sigh she lets go of Peter and steps away from him. "I'll see you later," she repeats before turning around and leaving.
000
The more Malia dances the stranger she feels, like everything's gone slow; some new thrum in the music grabs her and won't let go.
The boy trying to dance with her is attractive enough, she thinks about what sort of pups they'd have; she deals with that thought the same way she'd dealt with errant pups, grabbing it by the ruff and giving it a firm shake.
It doesn't work as well as usual though, mentally she feels like she's slogging through mud . He grabs her elbow, gently though otherwise she might have attacked him for being so presumptuous, and says something.
She stumbles and laughs, even though she's sure whatever he said wasn't actually funny. He starts leading her out towards the end of the crowd, but before they can go beyond the glow from the bonfire there are big burly men there. They sound angry as they speak, and she finds herself baring her teeth when one of them grabs her.
He sneers and starts dragging her towards the school. Shortly two others come along, dragging Scott and Liam. A twist in her gut tells her something's wrong, and she tries to get away; but like her thoughts her body feels like it's moving through something thicker than air and she can't seem to do anything of actual purpose.
They get dragged into a hallway and thrown against a row of lockers. It isn't until they start drenching the three of them in gasoline that she realizes they're assassins.
Next to her Scott sputters, shifting a little so he's half blocking Liam. "Wh. . .what are you doing?" He sounds like dad does sometimes; he sounds drunk.
Is that's what happened to them, did the three of them somehow get drunk? One of the assassins hunches down to eye level. "We're gonna burn you, like Haigh's gonna burn Parrish and then collect a good chunk of cash."
She has no idea who Haigh is, but she wants to at the very least rip his throat out. The assassin stands. "Make sure they're well soaked."
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Jordan leans back in his chair and stretches, feeling every one of his many years. Besides Haigh he's the only one in the station, Stilinski and Michalson were out on patrol but should be back soon.
"Here," he's honestly surprised when Haigh sets a mug of coffee on his desk, it's not usual for the guy. "You look like you need it."
Only a little suspicious Jordan picks up the mug, coffee doesn't actually do much for him but he has grown to like the taste over the decades. He doesn't bother trying to sniff it, he doesn't exactly have the senses to tell if it's been drugged or not, just brings it up to his mouth and drinks. It's lukewarm, Haigh probably got it from the pot in the breakroom then, but that doesn't bother Jordan.
A few minutes into the mug he realizes everything's a little hazy, huh, guess it was drugged. He sways and out of the corner of his eye he sees Haigh approaching. Well despite the drugging, Jordan knows he can take whatever Haigh has planned.
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One of the assassins flicks open and strikes a lighter, but as he goes to light them on fire a gunshot rings out and barely an eyeblink later the lighter's flying from the guy's hand away from them. All eyes turn to the end of the hall where Derek and the gun lady. . .'B' something. . .are standing.
A heartbeat later the horrible lethargy just. . .vanishes. Feeling alive again she lunges as Scott reaches out, hitting the assassin's shoulder the same time Scott grabs his hand and twists. The sound of cracking bones makes her mouth water, eager to suck the marrow from them. She gives herself a mental shake, eating people is bad!
The man falls down, incapacitated and before Malia can even blink it's a free-for-all. For all her desire to still become a coyote again she has to admit there's a certain rush to fighting like this, one she'll miss a little.
Then just as quick as it started it's over. She finds herself stumbling a little, legs wobbly. B-something reaches out to steady her and Derek helps Scott and Liam up. "You three alright?" He asks.
"I'll be fine," Scott answers, and she can't smell if he's lying or not –she'll need to shower for a week to get the reek of gasoline out of her.
Liam looks a little green though, and for all that they're pack-mates she thinks he could do with a little toughening up.
Malia takes a few deep breaths a forces her legs to support her. "I'm good."
B-something doesn't question her and lets go. Taking a step Malia's grateful that she doesn't wobble. "But I want a shower. . .then a nice patch of clover." She'd always liked the smell of clover.
From the looks that gets her she thinks she might have done another blunder and she curls up a little on herself. Derek's lips twitch in a bit of a smile though. "Come on at least you can shower in the locker rooms."
Oh goody.
000
It's laughably easy to act scared; and he does mean laughably, if he's not too careful he will burst into laughter and well. . .that would kind of ruin the 'helpless' affectation. Though out of what he expected from an assassin Haigh isn't it.
Immolation is a horrible way to die, even worse, by the time Haigh leaves Jordan's still alive in the smoldering embers. Bastard didn't even have the decency to make sure he was dead.
Blindly he reaches for the magic that will keep him alive, he might only be half-dead, but he needs that burst of healing that comes with new life. He has no idea who Haigh might go after next and Lydia still needs him. But it keeps slipping from him, the geas too indomitable. Death or nothing.
Gritting his teeth, which hurts hurts more than it has a right to, he forces a destroyed arm to move grateful that the plastic cuffs have melted; gas burns hot enough to kill, but not hot enough to warp metal and. . .yes. Half-fingers grip his gun and painfully slow, hurry hurry, he brings it over to himself.
It hurts to breathe, but he forces himself to take a deep breath, suicide never gets easier but there's no choice. With what little strength he has left he raises the gun and fires.
Rebirth comes in a glorious rush. With gaining strength Erwann kicks the door of the iron trap he's stuck in. Fire's weakened it and it doesn't take long before it's flying away.
And like that he's away, running towards Lydia, towards that circle of perfect cold that is the heart of her. The trees whisper around him as he runs, here, here, turn, no go. Part of Erwann wants to laugh, it's been so long since his last death that he feels almost hyper-aware of the world around him, the way an errant breeze sweeps past taking more of his ashy clothes with it, the chatter of people a few streets over, the almost technicolor vision that comes with refreshed eyes.
It's heady, but he won't let him distract him from his goal, he can't fail, failing again means the loss of Lydia and he can't let that happen.
He slows when he reaches the sheriff's department, a little surprised she's here. Striding in, uncaring of his nakedness it won't stop stop him from doing what he needs to do, he sees Lydia in the Sheriff's office. Safe, that part of him relaxes, but another part tenses when he sees Haigh sitting at his computer like nothing's happened.
Rage whites his vision and Erwann charges.
Haigh's attempts at defending himself are human and weak, and Erwann easily subdues him. Once Haigh's trapped and truly helpless, Erwann redoubles his efforts, especially when he hears Lydia scream. "In war playing fair gets you killed, you go to kill or be killed, so kill."
When Haigh stops moving beneath him Erwann finds himself searching for another target, there has to be others here who are a danger to him, to Lydia.
"Jordan!" Reaches him faintly, as if in a fog. Lydia's voice says something else, but it's unimportant. Then a cool hand touches his shoulder and: "Erwann." It's whisper soft, a secret.
Erwann, who is also Jordan, breathes. Turning his head slightly he sees Lydia squatting next to him, worry clear in her gaze. "Are you alright?"
"I. . ." He turns his head to hack up a disgusting ball of ash and phlegm. Quickly though he turns back to Lydia, better to look at her than what he just spit out or the remains of Haigh. "I'm alright." A shiver wracks him and absentmindedly he realizes he's naked.
Lydia seems to realize this at the same moment, she flushes prettily then looks away. "Stiles?" Her voice sounds a little strained. "Jordan kind of needs clothes."
A laugh rattles out of Jordan, who briefly wonders if he should consider Erwann a different person now, they act so differently, "there should be something that fits me in the back room." With Stiles he doesn't think he needs to elaborate more than that. He starts to move to stand, only to stop when Lydia removes her hand the palm covered in ashes and grease. "And I'm going to take a shower." He damn well deserves one.
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Next week: conversations, Lydia experiments, and the big s4 shocker.
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Yeah, the whole gasoline-bullets thing isn't true, and anyways they would have been shooting at the assassin's, not the gas cans.
And yeah, Peter is totally bi in my head, and nothing you can say will convince me otherwise.