Lydia opens her mouth to scream. She can feel it building in her throat, but somehow she knows it's not for death, it's for pain. She can use it, get to Meredith before anything else can happen.
But Meredith sees and does something; and just like with the Oni a few months before Lydia feels her scream die in her throat. Nonononono. How can she do that? As if nothing had happened Meredith sits across from her, cross legged, tilting her head. Now that Lydia knows the truth she can see bits of the Martins in their daughter, she has Richard's jaw and Natalie's nose. Her hair looks a lot like George's, her grandfather, does in the old photos of him before he went bald. Rapidly she begins to blink back tears, she's not going cry.
But she finds herself starting to squirm under Meredith's scrutiny, especially with Stiles still there, for some reason Jordan doesn't bother her as much. "You like my trick? " Meredith asks. "They taught it to me."
Opening her mouth Lydia tries to speak, but finds even that's taken from her. At least Stiles would most likely ask nosy questions too. "Who're they Meredith?"
Meredith turns, looking as if she's forgotten about Stiles, out of the corner of her eye she can see Jordan, still squatting next to her caught in observing for now.
"The ones who took me. They taught me all sorts of things before I left. But at least they're not the ones who broke me."
Dread and fear coalesce in Lydia's stomach. And she just wants to speak. This isn't the sort of confirmation she'd been hoping for. It's just. . .too much for now.
As if sensing Lydia's train of thought Meredith shakes her head. "Can't let you talk Lydia, can't let you scream. Bad things happen when you scream. You need to be a quiet little mouse for me." She reaches out and gently pats Lydia's cheek. Out of the corner of her eye she can see Jordan strain to try and do something; caught up in a different variation of the same thing she is. "And it's not too much really. Too much is when you beg them to stop, but they keep on going." Anger creeps into Meredith's voice.
"I just, I wanted them to leave me alone." Meredith tilts her head again, this time so she can stare at Brunski's body. "And they all did, though he had to help." She smiles, "It's a lot quieter in here"–she taps her temple–"than it used to be. I forgot how nice that could be."
So this was all some deranged revenge plot? If Lydia could she thinks she would be laughing hysterically.
Meredith's attention snaps back to her. "Not revenge. They. . .no one stopped her, they should have stopped her. But no one did and they had to be taught that that wasn't acceptable." Tears fill Meredith's eyes and Lydia fights off sympathy. "It makes me want to go back to them, everyone there would have stopped her."
"What–" But before Stiles can continue with his question, what Lydia thinks is the entire sheriff's department comes rushing in through the door.
For a short while after that everything's a bit of a blur, in the ensuing chaos Meredith gets handcuffed and taken away, Lydia gets unbound –though still she can't speak– and so is Stiles; somehow she loses track of Jordan, though she can't tell if it's because he leaves or if he glamours himself to not draw attention to the fact that he seemed frozen in place.
Then everyone except her, Stiles, Jordan –it had been glamour though how no one had run into him was beyond her, and the sheriff had left. The sheriff stands there arms crossed, "so what happened?"
And because Stiles, the lucky bastard, is the only one who can talk, he does. ". . .And Meredith did something to Lydia and Parrish and she can't talk and I'm pretty sure he's frozen," since Jordan does not dispute Stiles words Lydia assumes he is right. "Which is kind of about when you came."
Lydia's just grateful that while Stiles mentioned Meredith's mysterious 'them' he didn't seem to actually understand what Meredith had been talking about. So she, and perhaps Jordan, is the only one who knows that Meredith is the true Lydia Martin.
"Great." The sheriff clearly looks worried by the fact she can't speak and Jordan can't move. "So how the hell are we going to fix this?"
Stiles starts pacing, clearly trying to figure it out.
Lydia has to resist the urge to go to Jordan, the Winter in her wanting to go and comfort him, but she just. . .she just can't, not after everything that happened.
"Hurt. . ." Jordan starts to flush from exertion and she worries that he might do something to himself. Something that she might not know how to fix. "Hurt me."
The sheriff doesn't look at all happy about those words but before he can say anything Stiles whirls around, grabs one of the empty needles from Brunski's case and jabs it into Jordan's shoulder. "Burning hedgehog fucker!"
Stiles scrambles out of the way and Jordan tilts forward. Though he manages to catch himself before he hits the ground. Righting himself Jordan yanks the empty needle out of his shoulder. "Hell, you didn't have to stab me."
At least Stiles looks a little shamefaced at that, though the sheriff just looks resigned. "What about Lydia?" The worry in Stiles' voice for all that it's appreciated, is a bit too little too late to Lydia.
Jordan rolls his shoulder, "I'll make sure she's alright, but you two should figure out what to do with that needle, it was evidence."
Which somehow makes Stiles even more embarrassed looking. The sheriff sighs, "come on Stiles."
She's a little grateful that the two of them leave as Jordan steps up to her. When they're completely alone his hands cup her cheeks, "besides the voice are you alright?"
Out of habit she starts to nod, then shakes her head; she needs to start being more truthful with herself: what happened with Meredith and Brunski makes her feel like she's been run over by a steamroller, and she would love some time alone to process everything. Though the chances of that actually happening are slim to none.
His expression turns unhappy and that makes two of them. "I'm going to try something alright? It might hurt a little and I'm going to need to draw a little blood, are you okay with that?"
Her nod is rapid and quick, while she appreciates that he's asking, she'd rather he get it done than waste the time asking.
Avidly she watches as he grabs the knife he dropped earlier and gently jabs the tip of his right pointer finger, barely grimacing as he does so. She holds out her own hand and he gratefully nods, though he nicks her wrist not her hand.
"I am Erwann, a knight of the Winter court, sworn to protect Lydia who is it's princess, while in the service of her mother, the queen. I prove my dedication to this cause by spilling blood in her name." At his final words he sets his finger on top of her own wound.
Somehow she feels the exact moment his blood mingles with her own like a bucket of ice water being dunked over her head. Though as the sensation seeps into her it doesn't feel uncomfortable at all, in fact it feels wonderfully refreshing.
Inside her it feels like parts she didn't even know she had open up as that icy chill fills her completely. Something in her mind groans and contracts, shattering a few moments later and she finds herself sighing in relief. "That's worlds better," Oh she loves that she can speak again. Earlier she'd asked him about giving her a hug, this time she doesn't bother with asking. He smells more strongly of winter than their last hug, but like Peter's smell of old books, it's a scent she finds comforting.
He only hesitates for a moment before wrapping his arms around her. Squeezing her tightly for a minute. "You are very welcome. Would you like me to take you home?" His voice is low and comforting.
She finds herself arching an eyebrow. "Shouldn't you be taking me to the station to file a report?" Her words fill her with déjà vu, and when she places why she finds herself giggling.
From the looks of it Jordan catches on faster than she did, if his grin is anything to go by. "Well if you insist."
Lydia most definitely does, now that the danger has passed –relatively speaking– she wants to know why Meredith did it, and most definitely how to stop the deadpool. For herself and Jordan, and Malia, if nothing else.
...
Stiles is still at the station, clearly waiting for her if his pacing is anything to go by, when she and Jordan arrive. When he sees them walk through the front door he heads over. Jordan spares her a glance, "I'm going to start on the paperwork and you can head back when you two are done talking alright?"
She gives a nod and watches him walk off, part of her wishing he would stay. Stiles actually looks a little uncomfortable as he stops in front of her. "Hey, you okay?"
Unlike with herself and Jordan, she doesn't feel bad about skirting the question with Stiles. "I'll be alright." In a year or two perhaps, if nothing else happens –and knowing Beacon Hills that's about as likely as a tornado touching down here.
He looks relieved though. "Awesome, I think. Uh, I called Scott and the others, told them what happened. Turns out they managed to find the rest of Satomi's pack, they're holed up at Deaton's until they can find a more defensible place."
It's a little galling for Lydia to realize that while she and Stiles were being tied up and nearly killed, Scott and the others were saving the lives of complete strangers. She also knows that that's highly irrational, none of the pack knew they were going to Eichen so how could they have known they were in trouble?
Because that's how a real pack functions, the flash of insight from the splinters of Peter still inside her doesn't surprise her. It does make a part of her want to know how it felt to feel the rest of your pack die around you, however faint.
But it also brings up the question, if Scott, their supposed Alpha, didn't realize they were in trouble, did that mean they weren't really a pack? A good question, but one she should contemplate at a later date, not dying is far more important than a bond, or lack there of, between herself and Scott.
Regardless she doesn't really want to spend more time with Stiles, she really does love him as a friend, but these past few weeks everyone her age just seems to rub her in all the wrong ways. "That's great Stiles, I need to go fill out my paperwork though, so talk to you later?"
Stiles blinks at her, she can't tell if it's in surprise at her briskness or at wanting to do something as boring as police paperwork, but he does not press. "Fine, see you tomorrow at school." He does walk her to the door between the entryway and the bullpen, but instead of following her in he chats with the deputy about making sure his dad took care of himself.
The bullpen's mostly empty, she can see the sheriff in his office, but other than that Jordan's the only one there, everyone else must be going through Eichen. Walking towards him she steals a chair from a nearby desk and moves it to be right next to his. She hesitates thought before sitting.
Jordan glances at her before returning his gaze to his computer. "You know you don't have to fill out the paperwork, I can do it for you if you really do want to go home."
Violently Lydia shakes her head, she can't go home. Natalie will be there and Lydia can't stand to look upon the woman who thinks she's her daughter right now. "I want to stay here." Raising her right hand she moves it to rest on his left forearm, the feel of his warm flesh beneath her own reassuring.
"Was. . .was Meredith, and Lorraine telling the truth? Is she the girl I was switched with at birth?"
He frowns and turns to face her completely. "What do you mean, about Lorraine?"
Oh, that's right, he hadn't been there for the tape. "Brunski played the tape he made of Lorraine's murder"–and there'd definitely been something wrong with the man if even after that he'd still claimed to not be a serial killer–"On it she said, she asked Brunski not to hurt me," Lydia slides her hand down to rest on top of Jordan's. "She specifically called me Changeling. Then, she told him to be kind to her granddaughter, because he would be all that she had."
She can feel Jordan tense, then he shocks her a little by turning his hand over and lacing his fingers through her own. "I don't know Lydia, did it feel true to you?"
Her heart stutters, and she nearly denies it; For all she knew Lorraine had been so wracked with guilt over what she had done to Meredith that she actually made Meredith her granddaughter to make the guilt worse, or more understandable.
But Meredith's implied claim at having resided with the fae, rung too true, made Lorraine's words disturbingly plausible. "I do not want it to be," she finally answers.
He narrows his eyes at her, and presses. "That's not an answer Lydia. Do you think Lorraine was telling the truth about Meredith being her biological granddaughter?"
Somehow Jordan's use of the word 'biological' just drives everything home. "Yes," it comes out a sob.
The arm of her chair presses into her almost painfully as Jordan pulls her into a hug, one arm wrapping around her back, while his other hand started rubbing at her neck. "Just let it out Lydia, no one can see or hear us."
Lydia's not ashamed to admit she clings, uncaring of ruining his uniform with her makeup or her tears she lets them come; she releases great gasping sobs as she cries for a human girl who didn't deserve anything that had happened to her and she cried for herself, for what the past year had made of her. She cried because she nearly died, she even cried because her best friend is dead and not here alive, comforting her too.
The tears dried up in the end though. Still sniffling she pulls away and gives Jordan what's probably a wobbly smile. "Thank you, Erwann," she doesn't even care what sort of little debt she owes him for that 'thank you' she means it with her whole heart.
The smile he gives her in return is a small one, but it's real. "You're welcome, do you, uh, want to go to the bathroom to clean up a little?"
She nods, and letting go of each other completely they get up and he walks her to the bathroom. Inside she unflinchingly looks at herself: her mascara and eyeliner are unsalvageable and make her look like a raccoon, the rest of her isn't so bad, but she definitely looks like she just cried her heart out. With a little sigh she opens her purse and pulls out her little make up remover kit.
When she's done she stares at herself again, she looks more tired without the make up, and she has to fight that part of her that insists she put more on before walking out the bathroom door. But she overcomes.
Nearly running into Jordan, clearly waiting for her, right outside the door. He reaches out to steady her, but quickly lets go. "Come on, I'll take you home."
She shakes her head. "No, I'm not leaving until Meredith tells us how to stop the deadpool." He opens his mouth to probably protest and she shakes her head. "No, you should go, I can get the sheriff to take me home if need be."
"Lydia. . ." He clearly doesn't like the situation.
Taking a deep breath she heads back down the short hallway and into the bullpen. He follows. "Jordan. . .Erwann," This time he recoils a little at her use of his true name. "I'm not leaving, not when I have the chance to stop this right here and now. So go home, get some rest." She reaches out and squeezes his hands. "The sheriff can keep me safe if anything happens. And if I think it's getting too late I'll ask him to drive me home." She, of course, won't think it's getting too late; 'too late' at the moment means everyone she cares about is dead.
He looks unconvinced, but he extracts his hands and nods. "You will send me a text when you leave."
She nods, that's an easy promise to make considering she won't be leaving. Jordan stares at her for a moment longer, as if gauging her honesty before nodding. "I'll come by when school is over and bring you here if you want?"
"I'll be fine making my own way Jordan." She gives an encouraging smile. "Now go! You look like you're about to keel over on the spot."
Lips twitching he turns and leaves, while she goes over to the row of wooden chairs that serve as a waiting area.
After a few minutes she's regretting the fact that they took Jordan's cruiser back to the station, if they'd taken her car at least she could have done homework. Sure she has her phone but she's not Stiles, who's more than willing to spend endless hours trolling the internet.
You should probably tell Peter what happened, an insidious part of her whispers, and your mother. Not my mother, and isn't arguing with yourself a sign of insanity?
Regardless she's pretty sure the sheriff already called her mom, though whether or not Natalie actually comes is up for debate. As for Peter. . .pulling out her phone she opens up a text, got attacked, but discovered Benefactor. It's disturbingly terse, but right now she can't go into too much detail. Ignoring the apprehension roiling in her stomach she hits send and starts counting.
She hits twenty seconds before her phone rings. "Explain." Peter's voice is deep, angry snarl.
There's comfort to be found in his anger though, because at least it's not directed at her. Slipping her heels off she tucks her feet under her legs. "After I decoded Lorraine's list Stiles and I didn't know any of the names so we took it to the station. Jordan looked them up for us, they were all patients at Eichen and all supposedly suicides. So Stiles and I went to Eichen to bribe Brunski to let us into the records room. We got in, but he came back and nearly killed Stiles and me." Peter's snarl starts up again. "But then Jordan came in and shot him." Lydia's 98% certain there's something wrong with her when seeing someone killed in front of her doesn't phase her; Peter's snarling abruptly ends.
"Brunski," she will not sob or choke up. "Brunski had a tape of him murdering Lorraine. He played it because he thought I might have some answers, she,"–Lydia nearly bites her tongue–"she said some things about me I didn't know anyone knew." At least anyone except her and Jordan.
"Lydia," Peter's voice has turned smooth and calming. "I'm coming over there."
"No!" The deputy who just came in gives her a strange look. "No," she repeats in a more reasonable voice. "I'm at the station Peter." A pointed reminder that they might be together, but nobody knows.
He sighs, "then at least tell me what she said that rattled you Lydia. You don't deserve to be rattled."
A smile briefly twitches at her lips, Peter could be such a sweet talker. But should she tell him? Did she trust him enough with letting him know she, and Jordan –did she dare out him like that?– by extension, weren't human and never had been?
The memory of her guilt and almost-love from earlier returns, a pointed realization that, yes, maybe she does trust Peter that much. "I will, I swear." She hears her mom's voice talking to the deputy at the front desk; Lydia would call it disturbingly perfect timing if she wasn't so grateful. "But my mom just came. I'll talk to you later."
Before he has a chance to answer she hangs up and quickly tucks her phone away.
"Lydia are you alright?"
With Natalie rushing towards her Lydia grudgingly gets up and lets herself be pulled into a hug. A little surprised her mom came at all, let alone this late. "I'm fine mom, she. . .she didn't do anything to me." Except shatter my heart a little, you should be asking about her not me, she's your real daughter. Even thinking it makes something inside her twang uncomfortably.
"You must have been so scared." Her mom, Natalie, mom hugs her tighter. "Come on, lets get you home." She releases Lydia from the hug, only to grab her arm and gently tug her towards the entrance. The sheriff's already told her to go home but she won't until she knows Meredith's talking.
"Mom," how can she speak that if it's a lie? "I can't go, I. . ." she scrambles for a truth that is a lie. "I still need to talk with the sheriff." She hopes her. . .mom thinks she means she still has to get her statement taken.
"Oh, well." Her mom starts moving as if to sit. "Then we'll wait."
Lydia shakes her head. "I don't know how long I'm going to have to wait mom, he's interviewing other people. Go back home, I'll get the sheriff or a deputy to drive me home when I'm done."
The expression on her mom's face is an unusual one, one Lydia can't really put a name to. "Are you sure?"
"Yes mom," she lets herself hug Natalie. "I'll be fine." And she will be, once the deadpool is done and over with. Lydia sits back down as her mom leaves, grateful she didn't question more or put up more of a fight.
Sleep starts creeping up on her, but she doesn't really feel it until ten minutes later. Unsteadily she gets up and goes over to Jordan's desk; he'd left his jacket there when they'd come in and had failed to grab it when he'd left. Grabbing his jacket she wraps it around herself, for a second just standing there and breathing in his scent, before heading back over to the slightly uncomfortable 'waiting room' chairs. Curling up as best she can she readjusts Jordan's coat and closes her eyes.
She knows the sheriff won't be happy to find her here whenever he finds her here, but she's not leaving until Meredith tells them how to stop the deadpool. With that final thought she drifts off into sleep.
000
"I guess I should be thanking you."
Gun raised Jordan whirls around to see Peter only a few steps away.
He would have thought spending so much time around werewolves recently would have made him more attuned to them, but Peter's sudden appearance, in his kitchen no less, has blown that hope right out of the water. Slowly, because Jordan finds himself a little unnerved by Peter –for more reasons than the debt he owes him, Jordan puts his gun down and forces himself to relax. "Do you even know how to knock?"
Peter smiles. "I only knock when I'm not wanted, it's more fun that way."
Amusement bubbles up inside him and Jordan finds himself letting loose a huff of laughter. "What makes you think you're wanted here?"
Before Jordan realizes it Peter's standing right in front of him, a strange look in his eyes. "Because of what you did for Lydia." Unexpectedly Jordan feels a too warm hand brush under his chin, claws prickling.
A shiver races through him before he can stop it. "It's what I'm supposed to do." At least it comes out mostly normal. He'll protect her at the cost of his own last life if he has to, her death means the end of Winter. And it's not like he'll be stuck being dead.
Peter hums nonchalantly, but Jordan doesn't fail to notice the sharpening interest in Peter's gaze at that shiver. Almost affectionately one of Peter's claws taps Jordan's chin. "Does Lydia know that I wonder."
Jordan has the sinking suspicion Peter's not just talking about the protecting Lydia part. And he wonders if he should be more concerned that he's losing all control of this conversation than he is. "She knows I'm here to protect her." So far he feels he's done a better job of it than those people who call her part of their 'pack'; an alien idea for Jordan-Erwann, he understands courts, factions, retinues, the chains of promises and obligations most strive to escape. If he had to he would think pack was like family, yet looser. Looser than even the ties of a lord or lady to their retinue if what he's seen so far holds as the norm.
As if to pull his attention back to him Peter steps even closer, Jordan tries to step back, but it only manages to be half a step before he hits the counter. Peter steps even closer, effectively trapping Jordan and in response he feels his pulse begin to race. It's not the same sort of helplessness that affected him while Lydia was under Meredith's hold, but it's insidiously worse. He tenses, ready to act. True Lydia is with Peter, but that won't stop him from defending himself.
Laughter ghosts across Jordan's throat. "What is it about you, Deputy Jordan Parrish," the way Peter's voice wraps around that title and name makes his knees buckle, but Peter's there to catch him. "That seems to draws her and I like mayflies?"
There are fangs on Jordan's throat and he can't answer because speech is beyond him at the moment. Oh stars, it's not enough and Jordan finds himself pushing against Peter, seeking more. This is not what he expected from the other man.
From the sound that escapes Peter it's an unexpected move, and Jordan feels pride flush through him. Only to be overcome with tingling pain as Peter bites down harder, a not so subtle reminder. Jordan lets his head fall back, exposing his throat completely. A pleased rumble leaves Peter and dances down Jordan's spine, and as if in reward clawed hands dance along the hem of his jeans.
Chills fill Jordan when those hands reach the button and zipper, making quick work of both. And a moan tears its way out of his throat when they dive right in, stroking and teasing. Fuck. Then they wiggle under his boxer-briefs and Jordan's vision goes a little white around the edges as blunt fingers wrap around his cock.
Peter's hands turn rough, almost angry, and the orgasm that crashes over Jordan leaves him shaky.
Paradoxically Peter's movements turn. . .not gentle, but something like it, as he lowers Jordan to the floor, refastening his jeans before taking the floor across from him.
Unwilling to shake the lassitude that's taken over him Jordan watches with hooded eyes as Peter licks his hands clean. Warm pleasure echoes through Jordan at the show, though the realization it is a show drives him to speak. "Why?"
The other man shrugs as he finishes his impromptu tongue bath. "Why not?"
"You and Lydia. . ."
Peter snorts. "One handjob's hardly going to change things between her and I think, just between you and me," Peter's tone turns conspiratorial. "She'll be disappointed she missed out."
Jordan hadn't thought he could get hard after what just happened, but his cock puts forth a good effort at the mental image of Lydia perched on the counter next to them, hazel eyes avidly taking in everything.
Nostrils flaring Peter laughs, then he shrugs again. "And I wanted to test something." But before Jordan can even wonder as to what Peter means by that, the other man's expression turns serious. "I do believe this makes us even, debt-wise. I nearly killed her, and you saved her."
His brain feels foggy but he thinks that works out? Though Peter saying it is enough that the subtle tension in him eases, equals. It's more of a relief than it should be. "I accept the. . .the debt fulfilled."
Peter cocks his head like Jordan's said something truly interesting. And Jordan thinks he can actually see the wheels turning in Peter's head. "I accept the debt fulfilled?"
Hearing it repeated back, second nature to fae but not to others, shocks him as much as the orgasm did. The words are only a formality, acknowledging the debt as null is enough to break the tenuous tie, but one Jordan-Erwann finds comforting. "It's just a custom now, like when people ask how you are and you reply with some variation of 'fine.'" He thinks that's a good enough comparison, his thoughts currently move like quicksand.
"Hmmmm," Peter gets up. "Well I'd love to stay and chat, but I have other things I need to do tonight." He takes the two steps back over to Jordan and crouches down; and Jordan doesn't know if the hand that gets run through his hair is because of affection or just some strange perfunctory action. "You'll be alright on your own I think." He rises. "I do hope though that we see each other again soon."
The sounds of Peter's footsteps seem to echo long after he's gone. Eventually Jordan gets up the will to stand himself and somehow still feeling shaky he makes his way up to his room. Feeling too wrung out he forgoes a shower and quickly undresses, falling into bed.
And resigning himself to confusing dreams he closes his eyes.
00000
Next week: The deadpool ends, and things come to a head with Peter, Lydia, and Jordan.
