Blood In The Water

by It Belongs In A Museum

Sequel to Black Water. A lot changed for Charlie the night of the formal. The line between hunters and werewolves was drawn, Lydia was acting off, another creature was wreaking havoc, and, oh yeah, she may or may not be losing her mind. And possibly scarier than all of that, she was starting to have actual, human feelings for a certain best friend. Just another day in Beacon Hills.

14. Awkward Silence

Disclaimer: 'Teen Wolf' isn't mine. Shocking, right? But it's true. If there are any similarities in content or dialogue, it has probably originated with the show.

A huge thank you to ParalyzedInHeaven, Atomicity, We're All M-M-Mad Here, skysapphire20, Ayine, Daenerys86, shy-lady, Just Anonymous, Valkyrie101, Micaela M, katiesgotagun, BriancyyD, Shes-The-Proto-Type, pennamethathasn'tbeentaken, meels234, My mother is a koala, She Wolf, Female whovian, shes. .one, TheMMMG, SK-Scatenato, zvc56, WhatsGoingOn, PixieCharm, Guest, Undeniable Weirdness, Lammstrellicon, Guest, Tania, and Just Anonymous for reviewing! I love you all!

Okay, so I hope you guys liked the last chapter. I'm sorry if it seemed a little filler-ish or something, but I needed to develop the Mel/Charlie relationship more and I needed to work on the Finstock angle more. Last week I didn't get as many reviews as usual and I hope you guys weren't disappointed or anything. But this is how Charlie works. She's not going to have a sudden emotional epiphany-she's not built like that. I have a plan in mind and I'm sticking to it, and I swear that once you read it, you'll know it couldn't have happened any other way.

Chapter 14 – Awkward Silence

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me."

The snide tones of Peter Hale echoed against the cold, cinderblock walls and resonated in her ears. The room was completely bare save for the table bolted to the ground, those two chairs, and that large one-way mirrored window. The closest thing there was to decoration were the coffee rings left on the table surface and the mystery stains splotched on the floor. There wasn't even a door—the two of them were totally closed in. The pair was sitting opposite each other in one of those old-school interrogation rooms, torn straight out of the early episodes of 'Law and Order'. Charlie considered it to by a perfectly appropriate setting given what was about to happen. But, as it was with most things, Peter had a few constructive criticisms to make.

"I mean really, Charlie?" the man demanded, waving his hand around the room. "An interrogation room? Don't you think this a little too on the nose?" He shifted in his seat and the chair wobbled beneath him. One of its legs was just a little too short, making it impossible for him to settle down and get comfortable. Peter glowered down at the chair and let out a small groan. "I mean the least you could have done was spring for some semi-decent furniture."

Charlie rolled her eyes and propped her head up on her hand. "Right," she muttered bitterly. "I'll just run and make a quick trip to IKEA, shall I?"

"Well honestly I think it's the least you could do," he said with a casual shrug. "And while you're there, pick up a few posters to brighten up the place. This room looks like hepatitis. I feel like I'm in an episode of 'NYPD Blue'."

Charlie scrunched up her face and gave him a strange look. "'NYPD Blue'?" she demanded. "How old are you?"

Peter narrowed his eyes at her and ground his teeth at her. "That's not the issue here," he said evasively. "The issue is your complete lack of imagination. Honestly, I've been keeping it to my self so far, but I'm beginning to get kind of bored."

"Shut up," she spat, glowering at her. "Just be grateful that you're here at all."

Peter snapped his fingers and pointed at her, that superior smirk gracing his features yet again. "You're talking about that stuff Deaton gave you."

Charlie clenched her fist involuntarily. She hated that face. It was the face Peter always wore when he thought he knew something she didn't. "So what if I am?" she murmured defensively.

Then he gave her this patronizing look—like he felt sorry for her or something. "Come on, Charlie," he said, shaking his head at her and giving her a skeptical look. "Deaton? Do you really think you can trust him? A stoic mentor figure who knows everything about the problems you're dealing with appears out of nowhere, and that's not the tiniest bit suspicious to you? I mean, really, Charlie. I thought you had more sense than that."

Again, Charlie felt the icy sensation of doubt running up and down her spine, making her shiver. Peter might be a son of a bitch, but that didn't mean he wasn't perceptive, and it didn't mean he wasn't right. He was playing to insecurities that were already rattling around in Charlie's brain, drawing them out and making her doubt the potential solution to her problem. "What's the alternative," she shot back, raising her eyebrows at him. "Trusting you?"

"You know me, Charlie," he said, placing a hand over his chest. "You know all of my flaws and quirks—"

"You mean like your proclivity for murder?" she spat back.

"You can trust me not to be trustworthy," he barreled on as if she hadn't said anything. "But at the very least you can anticipate me. Or at least you could try. But Deaton?" He winced theatrically and slowly shook his head. "I mean what do you really know about him?"

Out of all the things about Peter that she hated, there was one that she found particularly annoying. His tendency to be right. His ability to say what she was thinking, and know she was thinking it. It did nothing to curb the insane degree of arrogance that oozed out of his every pore. "Come on, Charlie," he said earnestly, reaching across the table to take her hand. "You know I really only want what's best for you. Except of course when it conflicts with what's best for me."

But Peter's hand only made it half way across the table. It only took a single blink of the eye and suddenly his hands were encased in handcuffs which were bolted to that etched metal table by chains. Suddenly, Peter started laughing gleefully. "Bondage," he cackled, waving at her with what limited movement his hands still had. "I take it back—this is starting to get interesting."

Charlie didn't respond immediately. The sarcastic quip was fighting to get out of her, but she held it back. If she quipped, then they would banter and she would totally lose control of the situation. If she lost control, she wouldn't be able to get the answers she wanted.

"What is it?"

The question was posed seriously and dramatically, inviting a serious and dramatic response. Peter's widened slightly and he leaned inwards conspiratorially. "What are you talking about?"

Charlie collapsed back in the seat and ran her hands down her face, grunting in frustration. No matter what the circumstance, Peter would always find some way to be a pain in the ass. "You know what I'm talking about," Charlie replied. "The successor to your murderous rampage. What is it?"

"How the hell should I know?" he said with a shrug. "Last I checked 'it' wasn't a descriptor. It's a pronoun."

Letting out a groan, Charlie let her head fall down, colliding with the table. Count down from ten. Whenever she got really worked up about something, she just had to count down from ten and then everything would be manageable at least. Ten…nine…eight…When she got all the way down to zero she wrenched her head back off the table and stared at Peter evenly. "The new player in town," she elaborated. "It's some sort of lizard monster thing. Any details you might want to share? Anything at all?"

Peter pursed his lips and shrugged nonchalantly. "That depends," he mused casually. And then his focus shifted from Charlie to something behind her. Whatever it was, his focus seemed pretty intense. Frowning to herself, Charlie shifted around in her seat to follow his eye line, only to find that he was looking at his own reflection in the one-way mirror, raising his bound hands as far as he could to smooth back his hair. Letting out a loud scoff, Charlie turned back around and smacked him over the head. "Seriously?" she demanded. "You're fixing your hair?!"

"Ow!" Peter declared loudly, staring at her with indignation. "Are you trying to be good cop AND bad cop? Please, Charlie. That'll never work out. There's no consistency to it."

"How about consistent, unadulterated rage?" she said, rolling her eyes at him. "How does that sound?"

"Oh, don't be so dramatic," Peter replied with a roll of the eyes of his own. "That vein in your forehead is throbbing so much it looks like it's going to explode."

"Peter—!"

"Okay, okay, okay!" Peter said, holding his hands as far out in front of him as he could in self-defense. "Alright, calm yourself! I'll play ball!" Charlie leaned back in her chair, giving him some space. Peter shifted in his seat to get more comfortable and nodded in appreciation before continuing to speak. "Alright," he continued in a matter of fact tone. "Now there is more than one lizard-like creature out there. The first consideration is size. Now on the larger end of the spectrum you have Godzilla, but then again we may have a Ninja Turtle situation on our hands." He cocked his head to the side and looked at her curiously. "Did anybody mention anything about a shell?"

She was going to kill him. She was absolutely going to kill him. He might already be dead and he might not be corporeal, but none of that mattered. Charlie was going to find a way to make sure that Peter Hale died a second painful and unseemly death. Or was it his third? Well that depended on perspective more than anything else, but honestly Charlie really didn't give a shit. She was too busy hating the man sitting across from her. "You know what I'm going to do?" she demanded rhetorically, leaning in with menace. "I'm going to conjure myself up a machete, and I'm going to cut a bitch. Spoiler alert! The bitch is you."

Peter exhaled loudly and pressed his lips together in a wan, patronizing smile. "Charlie, you're overreacting."

"H—overreacting?" she spat back. "You know what? No. Just no. Congratulations Peter. There is now officially no purpose to you whatsoever. You're like a piece of popcorn caught in my teeth that I just can't manage to get out. There's no flavor any more. You're just…a mild annoyance. Soon enough you'll just melt away and I won't have to deal with your crap anymore."

Peter frowned and sat back in his chair. He actually looked a little bit offended at that. As per usual, though, that only lasted about half a second before that usual swagger returned. He sighed and wrenched his hands backwards, making the chains fall away like they had been made of yarn. "Come on, Charlie," he said, gesturing at himself. "Clearly I am an asset to you. It's not my fault if you're not using me correctly."

"That's just fantastic," Charlie spat, throwing her hands in the air. "Just freaking perfect. You're blaming me for your uselessness. Way to take responsibility for yourself."

"Oh, grow up," Peter groaned. He leaned back in his chair and rested his hands behind his head, as casual and comfortable as he could possibly could. Charlie felt a sudden wave of frustration and hostility. He was in an interrogation room, surrounded by dust, concrete, and metal, sitting in a wobbly chair, and he was still as smug as ever. And then her worst fear came to pass. His lips twitched slightly, forcing back yet another smirk. A full-on smirk was fine, but a repressed smirk? That meant he had just found himself a new angle. Charlie sighed and collapsed back in her chair just as Peter leaned forwards in his. He rested his elbows on the surface of the table and perched his head on his folded hands, looking at her with sympathy. "So…." he murmured gently. "This business with you and Stiles—"

"You have got to be freaking kidding me!"

Immediately Charlie threw herself out of the chair and began pacing back and forth. He was putting her on the defensive. Even when he was the 'perp' in the wobbly chair, he was putting her on the defensive. This was never how it worked in the crime shows. The cops were never the ones on the defensive. Man, she sucked at this—the interrogation thing. Then again the interrogation was a bit useless when the person sitting across the table from you literally had nothing to use. Charlie wished with everything she had that Peter would just stop talking, but she knew full well that would never happen.

"Come on, Charlie," he said, looking up at her with entreating puppy dog eyes that made her want to punch him in the face. "It's not like it's something you can ignore. You're going to school tomorrow and you know who's going to be sitting right next to you in first period?"

"Lalalalala," Charlie chanted, sticking her fingers in her ears and shaking her head like a toddler having a tantrum. "I am not listening to you. This is me actively not listening to you."

"That's right," Peter said, raising his voice so she could hear him. "It's gonna be Stiles. And guess what he's going to want to talk about?" Charlie clapped her hands over her ears and let out a pathetic whining noise, making Peter's smirk widen. "He looked so sad in your rear view mirror!" Peter barreled on. "Like one of those baby pelicans coated in oil after the BP oil spill."

"Why are you talking about this?!" Charlie screeched rounding on him.

Peter lifted his hands in the air and shrugged in bemusement. "I am invested in you and your happiness."

Charlie's face scrunched up into an expression of distaste. "Ugh. Bite me, Oprah."

Finally, Peter himself got out of the chair. He pushed back from the table violently, making his chair clatter to the ground behind him. He marched towards her with strong, intimidating steps towards her. Charlie instinctively pulled back, shrinking slightly as he advanced on her. Suddenly she felt like she had to escape. Her eyes darted left and right, but there was nowhere to go. Leave it to her to pick a dreamscape with no available exits. She ended up backed up in the corner of the room, pushing herself against the concrete like she was trying to disappear into it.

Peter reached forwards, making her flinch. The last time he had been this close to her, his hand was closed around her throat. But this time he didn't go for her jugular. He grasped both of her shoulders and tried to convey something that seemed eerily similar to comfort. "I'm not going to try and lecture you, Charlie—"

"Really?" she scoffed. "You could've fooled me."

Peter chuckled and shook his head at her. "Always so combative. Charlie, do me a favor. Take a good long look at yourself, and figure out what's on the other side of the reflection. Figure out what you want—better yet what you need. And when you do, then do something about it."

With one final smirk, Peter released her and clapped his hands together twice before vanishing into the thin air. Vanishing. Like he was Mary freaking Poppins. And he left his words there, hovering around her and lingering like a bad smell.

Wrapping her arms around her waist, Charlie continued to pace back and forth. She was stuck in a room with no door, only her own reflection for company. Alone with her thoughts—way, way too many thoughts. Which was the last place she wanted to be. Peter could just check out whenever he felt like it. She couldn't.

The frustration began to build, filling Charlie up. There was too much to deal with. Random lizard monster? Fine, she could handle that. At least she might be able to if she had her shit together. Charlie was usually the type of person who could keep it together. Now, though? Now she was a hot mess.

All of the sudden a wave of claustrophobia smacked Charlie in the face. That room was small. Way, way too small. Or maybe it was her problem that felt too big for the space. She needed to be out. She needed space—air—but there was nowhere for her to go. Her breaths began to come out quicker and more panicked. It felt like somebody had dropped a freaking anvil on her chest. She continued to pace back and forth more and more frantically, running her hands nervously through her hair. She needed to get out. Now.

On impulse, Charlie grabbed hold of one of the chairs and swung it at that one-way mirror. There had to be a way out on the other side. At the very least it would give her more space. But the mirror didn't break. So she swung the chair again and again and again. But the mirror still didn't break. Each time metal struck glass there was a slight gonging noise, but it there was never that resounding, satisfying crash. Eventually Charlie's arms were too tired to continue and she was forced to drop the chair, collapsing against the wall and panting to catch her breath.

Slowly, Charlie turned against the wall until she was facing the mirror, staring at her own reflection. As much as she hated herself for it, she was taking Peter's advice. She looked directly into her eyes and nowhere else, trying to decipher what she saw. And she had no idea. She had no idea what she wanted, no idea what she needed. Or maybe she just didn't want to know. Maybe she was just a coward. Because she was definitely scared.

Letting out a groan, Charlie let her head fall forwards, colliding with the glass and giving rise to a soft thunk. The coolness of the glass against her forehead had a calming effect. She felt her heart begin to beat slower and the breaths fogging the mirror came out more evenly. The anxiety was beginning to seep away. Until that haunting sound reached her ears.

At first Charlie glanced around, trying to find the source of the noise, but she didn't see anything in the room. And that's when she realized it was coming from the other side of the glass. Immediately Charlie wrenched her head back and stared at mirror. The volume of the noise continued to grow until that haunting hiss filled the room. There was someone on the other side.

Soon enough the noise got so loud the glass began to shake. Charlie started backing away from the mirror, her eyes widening in anticipation. She sucked in a deep breath and it caught in her chest. Suddenly she collided with the table, stumbling a bit and clutching the surface to keep herself standing.

CRASH!

Scales. Claws. Teeth. Blood. And then nothing.

"Holy shit!"

Charlie bolted straight up, gulping in breaths so violently she felt she might choke on them. It was a dream. It was just a dream. At first her mind was racing at a million miles a minute to the point where she felt like the room was spinning. Her hands grasped the sheets, balling up into fists as she attempted to reorient herself. After blinking a few times, her vision sharpened and she could see that she was back in her room. Safe.

Letting out a breath, Charlie tried to calm herself down. There was a thick sheen of sweat covering her body, making her hair stick to her face, and her body was twisted into the sheets like she had been thrashing violently through the night. But it was more than that. Her eyes ached. It was the same kind of pain she felt after staring at the sun for two long—a sort of internal pain radiating outwards. Slowly, she raised her hands to her face and wiped under eyes, feeling the moisture there. When she pulled her hand back, she could see that it was covered in black. At first she jolted, like she had been given an electrical shock, but then she calmed down almost as immediately. She hadn't been crying that black liquid, she had just been crying. With everything that happened last night she had forgotten to remove her makeup and the tears had mingled with the mascara and eyeliner before streaking down her face.

A pitiful whine emanated from Charlie's mouth and she collapsed back on her pillow, sighing in frustration. She had gone to sleep with a single goal in mind—get at least some information about the new threat in town—and, yet again, she had failed miserably. She kept trying to take a step forward, and instead ended up taking two steps back. Pretty soon she was going to end up backing out over a cliff. She made a move to run her hands through her hand, but the suddenly her palms began to sting harshly. Frowning to herself, she pulled her hands back and looked down at them in confusion. Both palms were marked by a small semi-circle of four deep puncture marks. It was only then that she noticed there was blood under her fingernails. While she was sleeping she had clenched her fists so tight she had ended up stabbing herself with her own fingernails.

"Suck it up, Oswin," she muttered to herself. She sucked in one more deep breath before throwing the covers back and clambering out of bed and heading towards the bathroom. She just needed a shower. She just needed to wash the sweat and tears from her body and then she would be fine. At least that's what she kept telling herself.

The sun had barely started peeking through the curtains, and Charlie found herself already dressed for school. Normally she would have laid in bed, wrapped in blankets and contemplating smashing her alarm clock to bits every time the snooze alarm went off, but not this time. After that dream there was no way in hell she could come even close to falling back asleep. Which meant she had a solid hour to prepare herself for the day. So now she found herself sitting on the bed in that pair of brown leather pants and this cropped silk patterned shirt Lydia had insisted she buy on one of their shopping expeditions, and a cream-colored tweed jacket with fingerless gloves pulled on to hide the puncture marks in her palms. Hell, she had even done her makeup just like Lydia had taught her, getting rid of all the puffy circles under her eyes. She almost looked normal. Almost.

It was all still swirling around in her mind, pushing everything else out. The hallucinations, Deaton, the kiss, that dream—it was all in her head all at once. Stiles hadn't been lying when he said she had a haunted look about her. It was written across her face plain as day. And she was just sitting there, staring at that little ray of light peeking through the curtains, almost like she was paralyzed. Usually she would just distract herself by talking to somebody—one of two people to be exact. Only this time one of the two people was part of the problem. Which left just one other person. Lydia. Turns out that morning they were in for a bit of a role reversal.

Charlie jumped up from her bed and began shoving all her books in her purse as quickly as possible before making a mad dash out the door. It was still a full 45 minutes before school started, but Lydia wouldn't mind the intrusion. She was the only morning person Charlie had ever met. Other than Mel. The pair of them must be superhuman somehow. They could wake up ready to take the world by storm while the rest of the puny humans were staggering around bleary-eyed, desperately seeking caffeine in any form possible. Running her hands through her still damp hair, she tried to get it into some semblance of order before knocking on the door. It was a minute or so before the door opened, but it wasn't Lydia on the other side.

"Charlie, hello," Mrs. Martin said, leaning against the door. "How are you?"

Charlie blinked in surprise at the woman. Usually she looked so put together and polished, but this morning was a bit of a different story. Not because her clothes were drab or rumpled—they were as perfect as ever—but she had a frazzled expression on her face. "H—hi, Mrs. Martin," Charlie said with a small wave. "I was just stopping by to see if maybe Lydia wanted to grab breakfast or something before school today."

Mrs. Martin's hand tightened around the door knob at the mention of her daughter and a tight, slightly pained expression covered her face. "I—I'm afraid she can't. Not this morning at least."

Charlie's eyebrows pulled together in a concerned frown. "Is she okay?"

"Yes, she's fine," Mrs. Martin said, waving her hand dismissively in a way that was not at all convincing. The woman exhaled sharply and her head sagged on her shoulders, staring at her feet for a few moments before looking back up at Charlie. "She's already at school," Mrs. Martin admitted. "She's with the school counselor for an appointment. After everything, I thought it was something she might need."

"And she agreed to that?" Charlie asked, a little taken aback.

Mrs. Martin let out a shaky and laughed. "The word reluctant comes to mind, but I did eventually manage to get her to agree." She bit her lip and bounced up and down on her feet a bit before leveling Charlie with a serious look. "I wasn't supposed to tell anybody, but she needs people looking after her. Do you think you can be one of those people?"

It felt like getting kicked in the gut, and it took everything she had not to show it. She forced a comforting smile and nodded at the woman. "I already am."

Mrs. Martin returned the smile and placed a hand on Charlie's shoulder. "I know, sweetie."

With that, Mrs. Martin flashed one last wan smile retreated back behind the door, leaving Charlie, once again, alone with even more troubling thoughts than she had woken up with. Lydia. After that freak out she had known something was wrong, but with everything that was going on in her own life she had never really dealt with it. Lydia wasn't the type of person to ask for help—she had to have help forced on her. And usually Charlie was standing right next to her, helping her deal, whether it was by having meaningful conversations about feelings or letting Lydia drag her out shopping. This time, though, she had been missing in action, which meant that Lydia was by herself.

Well that ended right now.

Hopping in her car, Charlie drove straight to the school. When she pulled into the parking lot the thing was still virtually empty. Just a few of the teachers' cars and one very familiar Beetle. Charlie pulled her Impala up next to that Beetle and hopped out, marching through the school and making a direct line to the school counselor's office. The row of green seats lined against the wall opposite the office door looked oddly ominous. It's where you sat and waited to be judged by some hack armed with an undergraduate psych degree, a clicky pen, and a clipboard. They would tell you what was wrong with you and what you needed, like they knew what you were going through better than you did. Charlie had sat in one of those seats more than once. It was never fun.

Ignoring her natural aversion to people who tried to psychoanalyze her, Charlie tossed her bag in one of those green chairs and collapsed into the one next to it. She stared at the door to the counselor's office. It had a huge glass pane in it that let you see straight through, which struck her as an odd thing seeing as a counselor's office might attempt a higher degree of privacy, but it meant that she could see her friend's wavy strawberry blonde locks as she faced down…..Ms. Morell? What the hell was the French teacher doing advising Lydia on her mental health?

Charlie sat in that chair for about a half hour, waiting for the session to end. The hallways slowly started filling with students as the time ticked closer and closer to the beginning of classes. It was only about five minutes before the bell rang that she saw Lydia get up to her feet and primly sling her purse over her shoulder. The girl spun on her heel and dramatically flipped her hair over her shoulder, probably aiming for some kind of dramatic exit, but when she saw Charlie sitting there, she stopped short, a tiny scowl forming on her face. Charlie smiled and gave a weak wave, but that just made the scowl deepen even further.

"My mom told you, didn't she?" Lydia demanded, wrenching open the door to the counselor's office.

"Good morning to you too, Lydia," Charlie said, slowly getting to her feet and looking the girl up and down. "You're looking fantastic as usual. Love the gloves."

Lydia let out a scoff and marched straight past Charlie, forcing the other girl to jog after her, struggling to keep up. How she managed to walk in that fast in those heels, Charlie would never understand. "That woman is unbelievable," Lydia said with a shake of the head. "I tell her I'm fine, she signs me up for a counseling session. I tell her not to tell anybody about that session, and she blabs to you. You think there would be some sort of mother-daughter confidentiality agreement, but no!" She glanced at Charlie through narrowed eyes. "So isn't this the part where you ask me whether or not I'm okay?"

It was a trap. Charlie knew it was a trap. But she asked the question anyway, sighing heavily before she did so. "Are you okay?"

"Thank you so much for asking, Charlie!" Lydia said with false enthusiasm. "I'm fantastic! Except for the fact that my mother and my best friend are talking about me behind my back."

"I don't talk about you with your mom," Charlie insisted with a roll of her eyes. "I stopped by to see if you wanted breakfast and she said that you had an appointment with the guidance counselor. It's not like there's some vast conspiracy." She looked at Lydia with raised eyebrows. "We good?"

Lydia pursed her lips together and eyed Charlie suspiciously. "That depends," she murmured quietly.

"Oh what?" Charlie asked shrugging her shoulders.

"On how much you and my mom chat," Lydia replied, looking more than a little bit worried. "What else have the two of you been talking about? What else has she mentioned.?"

Charlie sighed and looked up at the ceiling, as if in thought. "Well we did have that one very spirited conversation about which member of One Direction was the cutest—"

Lydia let out a scandalized scoff and smacked Charlie on the shoulder. "Be serious!"

"I steadfastly refuse to be serious," Charlie shot back. "It's a ridiculous question. Your mom and I don't have tea parties where we eat cucumber sandwiches and drink out of ridiculously tiny cups while holding out our pinky fingers and chatting about you. She just told me why you had left for school early. That's it."

Lydia stopped short in the hallway and stared at Charlie through narrowed eyes, like she was analyzing her or something. Charlie actually felt herself go tense. This was why it was so difficult to be worried about Lydia. She was so determined to be perfectly okay, the second you suggested she wasn't she would either clam up or get angry. The closer you got to finding out what was wrong, the more she shut you out. Which was why in order to take that step forwards, sometimes you had to back off and let her be. So Charlie was backing off. She wasn't going to ask any questions or appear curious in any way. She was going to quietly monitor.

Apparently Charlie passed whatever inspection she was being put through, because Lydia began to nod slowly. "Good. Keep it that way."

After that Lydia seemed to let the whole thing go, which more than a little bit of a relief for Charlie. When she felt like it, Lydia could hold quite the grudge. Which was why it was such a relief when Lydia started rambling on about how pointless the whole thing had been in the first place. And it was why Charlie nodded along like she wasn't slowly tearing herself to pieces on the inside. "I don't see how the whole counseling session thing would be helpful anyway," Lydia trilled, brushing her hair over her shoulder like she was brushing off the experience. "Like talking about your feelings is actually going to change anything. I mean what's the next step—holding hands and singing a duet? The whole thing is ridiculous."

Lydia continued to ramble on about how annoying and overprotective her mother was being and how stupid therapy was, but Charlie could definitely tell that there was still something slightly off in her demeanor. It was a look that hovered just behind her eyes. Something was bothering her and it had nothing to do with her mother or the counseling session or anything like that. It wasn't a deeply troubling thing that was bothering her—it was something small that had stuck in her craw and she couldn't spit out. Then the two of them found themselves at Lydia's locker, unloading her books. The girl stared into the locker, a mild frown tugging at the corner of her lips. "Charlie," she murmured in a mildly troubled tone. "Do you think I'm narcissistic?"

Charlie leaned back against the lockers and made a face at her. "Why would you ask me that?"

"No reason," Lydia chirped in an oddly high-pitched voice. "Just something some boy said to me." She closed her locker and looked at Charlie pointedly. "So do you?"

Charlie shrugged her shoulders and said the first words that came to mind. "Yeah. Kind of."

Lydia's mouth dropped open, suddenly looking horrified. "Charlie, how could you say that?"

"I'm sorry," she said with a semi-apologetic shrug. "I thought we were doing the thing where you asked a question and I answered it." Lydia glared at Charlie, eyes spitting fire, and Charlie sighed loudly. "Ugh. Look, Lydia, you're flawed. News flash—we all are. And there are plenty of narcissistic people out there. The good news is you actually have a reason to be narcissistic. You're awesome. Most narcissistic people don't have enough positive qualities to make their narcissism warranted."

Lydia pursed her lips and linked her arm through Charlie's, cocking her head to the side in thought. "That might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

Charlie let out a snort and rolled her eyes. "Bullshit."

"Charlie!" Lydia exclaimed through an offended scoff. "You're being very harsh during a very delicate time for me! I'm in counseling!"

The statement was phrased as a humorous one, but Charlie could see through Lydia well enough. This was one of the whole 'talk about your problems candidly so nobody will think you're insecure about them' type situations. Heading off tension with humor. That was move number one out of the Charlie Oswin playbook. And Charlie knew what that meant. Lydia wasn't ready to admit to anything yet, so she would play along.

"Please," she replied with as casual a tone as she could muster. "You think you have trauma? You just had a near death experience. That's it. I, on the other hand, was forced to witness my aunt snuggling up next to Coach Finstock. My eyes are burning. I'm the one in need of counseling here."

Immediately a wince covered Lydia's face and she shook her head in disappointment. "Ugh," she muttered. "I've got to say, I am disappointed in your aunt. I always pictured her more with a Daniel Craig stoic type of guy. She was supposed to be the sane member of your family. Apparently the Oswin girls have a fondness for weird, twitchy men." At the mention of Stiles Charlie paled visibly, but that just made Lydia smile widely. "What? You thought just because we haven't been talking about it I forgot about your little ice rink confession? Please, Charlie. Who do you think you're talking to?"

Charlie had just begun babbling incoherently, but before she could even manage to mumble out some denials she was rudely interrupted by the shrill tone of the bell. Immediately she froze as a wave of panic shot through her. She was panicking because she knew where she would have to go next. And who she would have to face next. It had felt like there was more time. She needed more time to prepare.

"Well we can talk about your soon-to-be boy-toy later," Lydia said loudly, making Charlie jump. The red-head applied some lip gloss, staring into the mirror of her compact before smacking her lips together loudly. "I'll see you later."

"Wh—what?" Charlie stammered out shaking her head to reorient her thoughts.

Then Lydia looked at her like she was crazy. "It may have escaped your attention, Charlie," she said, waving her hand around, "but we're in school. In school we typically go to these things called classes. My class is that way." She pointed left down the hallway. "Your class is that way." She pointed in the opposite direction. "This is where we leave each other."

Charlie glared at Lydia for the excessive amount of sarcasm, but Lydia just shrugged back innocently. "What? You seemed confused." And with that and one more dramatic flip of the hair, Lydia stomped off in the direction of her class, her easy natural confidence intact. Charlie, on the other hand, couldn't maintain that sort of self-possession. She suddenly felt small and scared. Walking towards English class felt kind of like walking the plank. She wasn't ready for it. She wasn't ready to face him yet.

As she walked down the hallway, Charlie's pace was slow. Other students brushed quickly past her, knocking into her shoulders and jostling her as she moved. All the while she clutched on to the strap of her messenger bag like it was a security blanket, the wounds in her palm stinging as they rubbed roughly against the bandages she had wrapped them in.

By the time Charlie got to Mr. Hobson's classroom, the second bell had already rung and she was running late. Though that had been her intention. If she showed up for class late, then she wouldn't be able to talk to anyone about anything or face the wrath of Mr. Hobson. She was safe. But as she walked up to the door, she realized the fatal flaw in her plan. All of the other students had filled in their seats, leaving only one left. One that was right next to Stiles.

Charlie came to a stop in the doorway of the room, scared of crossing that threshold. Her eyes zeroed in on one spot. Stiles was sitting at his desk, head sagging and tapping his pen absently against his open notebook. Her heart seized up as she watched him. It felt like her body was at war with itself. Half of her wanted to go up to him and kiss him again and the other half wanted to sprint straight in the opposite direction and hide. Those two equally opposing forces kept her rooted in place. That is until the highly embittered voice of Mr. Hobson imposed itself on her ears.

"Ms. Oswin, you should know where your seat is by now," he drawled out. "Please take it."

At the mention of her name, Stiles's head snapped up from the desk. Immediately their eyes found each other, and almost just as quickly Charlie had to look away. There was way to much in his gaze—fear, worry, anticipation, and, more than anything, the desire to talk. But how could they talk when Charlie still had no idea what to say?

Sucking in a deep breath, Charlie bowed her head and wound through the desks to find her seat, staring intently at her feet and nowhere else. She could feel Stiles's eyes on her as she moved, but she still couldn't bring herself to look at him. She managed to glance at Scott for a moment, but the floppy-haired wonder just smiled and waved back like nothing had changed at all. And that meant Stiles hadn't told him. Stiles told Scott everything, but he hadn't told him about last night. Shit. She wasn't sure if she was grateful or if that just made her even more anxious. Things were becoming way, way too complicated.

Making her way to her desk, Charlie dropped her bag on the floor and rooted out a pen and notebook before settling in place. He was still looking at her, studying the side of her face. It felt like his gaze was burning a hole in her skin. Then, finally, she sent a glance in his direction. His expression was so earnest it made her stomach begin to twist itself into knots.

"Hey," he whispered quietly, his voice oddly raspy.

Charlie's lips twitched slightly, attempting to form a smile. "Hey," she said in a barely audible voice.

And then that was it. That was all they said to each other. Sure they continued to stare at each other awkwardly and there was clearly a lot that needed to be said, but neither of them could verbalize it. It was exactly what Charlie had been afraid of. The two of them could usually talk to each other about anything. Well, almost anything. And now they were rendered mute. Charlie and Stiles—two of the loudest and most talkative people in the entire school—couldn't make themselves say a damn thing. And it broke her heart.

Swallowing heavily, Charlie summoned up the courage to speak, shooting Stiles a few hesitant glances before she could make herself. "So, uh, I—I heard you had an eventful night last night," she murmured under her breath, nervously tapping her pen against paper. Stiles's eyebrows pulled together in confusion at the comment and suddenly Charlie was hit with a pang of anxiety. Two eventful things had happened last night—a kiss and an attack—and he wasn't sure which one she was talking about. "The—the mechanic's," Charlie elaborated, her voice shaking the tiniest bit. "On that message you left….it sounded pretty bad."

Stiles exhaled sharply and nodded. "Uh, yeah," he stammered, bobbing his head. "Yeah, that giant lizard thing Scott and Allison were talking about showed up. Turns out it secretes some paralytic goo. I—" he waved his hand around a bit "—I got some on my hand. Not a fun experience."

"Terrifying, cool, and gross all at once," Charlie said with false levity. "Looks like we hit the trifecta with this one, haven't we?"

"H—yeah," Stiles laughed out. "Now all we have to do is figure out what it is."

"Agreed," Charlie said with a nod. "I'll check Wikipedia and you can start putting up wanted posters with a picture of the GEICO gecko on it. See what shakes out."

A small but genuine smile appeared on Stiles's face and he let out a clear, crisp laugh. Charlie wasn't sure why, but that expression made her feel hopeful. Like maybe they could skip all of it and go back to normal. But unfortunately it soon faded away and was replaced by that same awkward, almost pleading one. That is until he looked away.

Stiles began drumming his fingers against the desk, shooting fleeting glances in her direction, but never maintaining eye contact. "So….." he drawled out, finally able to look at her fully again. "So, uh, so my dad said you dropped by the crime scene."

All of the sudden the sound of the tapping stopped. Stiles's hands were perfectly still, like he didn't want anything to interrupt her response. Charlie swallowed heavily again and nodded. "Uh, yeah," she murmured, tucking her hair behind her ears and nervously tugging at the ends of it. "Yeah, I did."

Stiles didn't say anything after that, but his eyes held that silent question. 'Why?'

"I—I had to make sure you were okay," she muttered. "After that voicemail, you know?"

"Y—yeah," Stiles breathed out shakily. "Hey, I get it."

The two of them stared at each other for a little while. Charlie could feel the anxiety rising up inside of her by the second, like it kept filling her up until she felt like she was going to explode. "So are you?" she mumbled weakly.

Stiles blinked at her in confusions. "Am I what?"

"Okay," Charlie repeated, inclining her head in his direction. "Are you okay?"

"Wha—yeah," Stiles said, nodding almost frantically. "Yeah. I'm good."

The corners of Charlie's lips pulled up a bit, forming the ghost of a smile. "Good."

"A—and you?" Stiles pressed. "Are you oka—"

"Mr. Stilinski, Ms. Oswin," a deadened voice interrupted. "Is there something you wish to share with the class?" Charlie and Stiles both jumped in their seats, their heads snapping in the direction of the front of the classroom. The classroom that the both of them seemed to have forgotten they were sitting in. Mr. Hobson was standing at the chalkboard, hands planted on hips and glowering at the two of them. And then, almost in unison, all of the other heads in the room turned around to look at them as well. It was almost like a scene from the Discovery Channel with all the meercats looking in the same direction. Usually it was cute. This time it was close to horrifying.

Usually Charlie or Stiles or the both of them together would have had something to say—either a snarky comment or a semi-apologetic comment—but this time they were both completely quiet. Neither of them said a damn thing. They just shook their heads and let that be that. After one last mildly hostile comment Mr. Hobson he continued on with the lesson and most of the meercats turned back in the direction of the chalkboard. All except one that is. Allison was staring at Charlie with the weirdest look in her eye.

For the rest of the class she was completely silent. And so was Stiles. But her mind wasn't. Her mind wouldn't shut the hell up. It kept telling her how close she was sitting to him. Less three feet—that was how far. Give or take a few inches. And then came the flashbacks. First it was all the times he had told her how much he loved Lydia. All fourteen of them. And then it was their kisses. All two of them—one of which really didn't count in the first place.

She could do math. She was making an A in pre-Calculus. It just didn't add up.

As soon as that bell signifying the end of class rang, Charlie didn't waste any time. She jumped up from her seat, grabbed her bags, and ran out the door. It all happened in the space of a breath. Specifically the breath Stiles was taking before he tried to speak to her again. She didn't look back. She forced herself not to look back. She needed time to let this go—she needed distance. She needed to be able to think.

The rest of the day she kind of felt like a ninja. Not in the way that she was constantly being mysterious and kicking ass which, quite frankly would have been fun and more than slightly awesome, but in the way that involved her being a complete ghost. As far as anybody was concerned, when she wasn't sitting in a desk and allowing the knowledge of such well–renown educators to wash over her, she didn't exist. She ate lunch in the darkest corner of the library, she hid in the girl's bathroom in between classes, she left school grounds during free period—all of it to avoid Stiles and that conversation she was fairly sure would destroy her. She pretty much hit rock bottom when she saw him headed down the hallway in her direction, talking with Scott, and ducked into a storage closet to hide from him. She literally stood next to a mop for a full two minutes waiting for him to pass by. And when she opened the door she found herself face-to-face with an extremely confused-looking Allison.

It wasn't until the end of the day that Charlie actually slowed down long enough to actually talk to anybody. That's the problem when all your friends are friends with each other too. If you're trying to avoid one of them, then you have to avoid all of them, and that leaves you totally out of the loop. And avoiding Stiles had been pretty difficult that day. He seemed to be everywhere, running back and forth with a slightly crazed glint in his eye. Staying out of his way was more than slightly difficult.

Finally, the end of day bell rang and Charlie let out a sigh of relief. She didn't even bother passing by her locker before making a break for it and heading for the front door. As soon as she opened it, though, she stopped short, making the person behind her collide with her back. Allison was sitting on one of the benches lining the parking lot talking to none other than Stiles. She could not catch a freaking break.

On instinct, Charlie dodged behind a particularly large ficus, earning more than a few strange looks from passers-by. Soon enough, Stiles gave Allison a parting salute and scurried off to do something else. After counting down from ten, Charlie left her hiding place and sauntered over to Allison as casually as possible. "Hey," Charlie sighed taking a seat next to the girl.

Immediately Allison snapped the book that she was reading shut and gave Charlie the strangest of strange looks. "Where have you been today?" she demanded, staring at Charlie suspiciously. "I feel like I haven't seen you at all."

"Around," she muttered with an evasive shrug. "Here and there. So what's up? What's going on?"

Allison's eyes stayed narrowed, but she seemed to tentatively accept that bullshit response. "Well you missed a lot," she muttered. "We're trying to find out what that lizard thing is. Apparently there's this type of book that's basically a list of mythical creatures—"

"A bestiary?" Charlie supplied.

Allison's eyebrows pulled together in a frown and her mouth opened and closed a few times before nodding. "Um, yeah," she murmured. "Apparently my grandfather should have this big leather-bound book thing and we need to get access to it….You and Stiles really haven't discussed this at all? I mean it's kind of your thing."

"What thing—we don't have a thing."

The words sort of rushed out of Charlie. She muttered them so quickly they were almost unintelligible, which didn't serve to lessen Allison's suspicious looks. "Um, yeah it is," Allison said, raising her eyebrows and nodding slowly. "The two of you sit there and talk about all the supernatural stuff going on until you come up with some sort of half-assed plan that somehow ends up saving the day. You speak in hushed tones…..Star Wars references are usually involved…Is none of this sounding familiar to you?"

Charlie shrugged and jerked her head to the side noncommittally. "It might sound vaguely familiar. But plotting ways to save our bacon is not my only hobby. I have facets—I have layers. I….I play guitar and fix up my car. I am a woman who wears many hats. Metaphorical hats. I rarely ever wear actual hats."

Allison let out a snort and made a face at her. "You're rambling," she stated matter-of-factly.

"Wha—I am not rambling," Charlie protested.

"Yes. Yes you are."

"I am not."

"Why are you avoiding Stiles?"

In retrospect Charlie should probably have expected a question like that. Allison was not an unobservant person and she hadn't been particularly subtle with the ridiculous antics today, but somehow Charlie still managed to be surprised by that question. She shifted in her seat and folded her arms across her chest defensively. "I—I'm not avoiding Stiles," she muttered in a tone that even she herself had to admit wasn't all that convincing.

"Oh," Allison chirped lightly, nodding a bit. "Okay. That's good then, because he's headed back over this way."

"What?!"

Her reaction was almost cartoonish. She jumped about three feet in the air and wheeled around, her head practically doing a 360 on her neck as she looked around. And what did she find? No Stiles. Stiles was nowhere to be seen. And then she realized what happened. She could practically hear the smugness. Slowly, she sat down and turned back to face Allison, only to find herself confronted by the widest of smirks. Charlie let out a long breath and ran her hands through her hair. "Was it really that obvious?" she grumbled under her breath.

"Well my powers of deduction are pretty impressive," Allison sighed out, shrugging innocently. "And then there's the fact that I saw you jump into a closet to when you saw him in the hallway." Charlie covered her face with her hands and let out a pitiful whine, causing Allison to put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Okay, what's going on with the two of you?" Allison asked. "This morning in English you were talking in the shortest sentences I've ever seen either of you use. You were practically monosyllabic. It kinda creeped me out."

Another groan came from Charlie's throat and she pulled her hands away from her face, looking up at Allison. Her face screwed up into a pained wince and she bit her lip before speaking. "Stiles and I kissed last night," she whispered quietly. "And I don't mean like a peck on the cheek or anything. I mean really kissed. Like if I had been chewing gum, he would then be chewing that gum. That kind of kissing."

The words rushed out of Charlie and she was left staring at Allison expectantly, waiting for a response. Honestly Charlie wasn't sure what type of her reaction her admission would lead to, but she definitely didn't expect the one she got. Silence. Complete stunned silence. The girl was completely quiet, staring at Charlie with her mouth hanging open a bit. "Allison?" Charlie prompted. "This is the part where you say something."

Slowly, that gaping mouth morphed into a ridiculous grin. "Oh, I've got something to say," Allison exclaimed loudly. "Freaking finally! That's what I've got to say about that!" A gleeful laugh burbled out of Allison's mouth and she shook her head happily, sending her brown locks flying about. The comforting hand on Charlie's shoulder tightened and Allison began shaking her in excitement. Until she registered the resigned expression on Charlie's face. "Why are you not at least kind of excited about this?"

"Because it's not a good thing!" Charlie shot back, throwing her hands in the air. "In fact it is a very, very bad thing!"

"How?!" Allison spluttered. "And don't tell it's because you don't have feelings for him. If I have to hear you give the 'we're just good friends speech' one more time, I'm going to have to start throwing things. You kissed. You like each other."

"Just because we kissed doesn't mean he likes me that way," Charlie protested. "Sometimes a kiss is just a kiss."

"Oh, come on," Allison whined, looking at her like she had grown a second head. "What would make you think that?"

"You remember our good friend Lydia?" Charlie drawled out, her voice tinged with bitterness. "Red-head, about yay tall, super-genius? Stiles has been in love with her since the third grade. He has told me so. Frequently. How am I supposed to compete with that, exactly?"

All of he sudden Allison's eyes widened, like she had seized onto something Charlie just said. "AHA!" Allison practically shouted, snapping her fingers and pointing at Charlie. "So you admit that you do want to compete with that! You like Stiles! You totally like him!"

"Would you shut the hell up?!" Charlie hissed, smacking Allison's hand out of her face and looking around self-consciously. "Jesus! You're talking so loud you might as well commission a billboard that says Charlie 'hearts' Stiles!" A glower had fixed itself on Charlie's face, but it did nothing to change the radiant smile shining on Allison's. Charlie's eyes fell shut and she sighed heavily, rubbing at her forehead to stave off the headache threatening to form. "Okay," Charlie murmured, doing her best to keep her voice even. "Okay, yes. I like Stiles. I feel all the fuzzy feelings and they are directed towards Stiles. But that doesn't matter."

"How does that not matter?!"

"Because the feelings are pointless unless they're reciprocated!" she hissed back, throwing her hands in the air in frustration. "Stiles likes Lydia, and I'm fine with just being friends. It's fine, I'm fine, everything's fine."

At that point Allison let out a strangled cry of frustration and balled her delicate little hands into fists. "Charlie, everything is not fine!" she exclaimed. "You were hiding in a broom closet! That is pretty much the antithesis of fine!" Then she clamped her mouth shut and got this constipated expression on her face, like she was trying to calm herself down. It was a few more moments before she spoke again. "Okay," she said in a carefully moderated tone. "So what are you going to do now?"

Charlie opened and closed her mouth a few times and shrugged. "I've generally been a fan of ignoring a problem until the situation resolves itself."

Allison frowned in concern. "Charlie," she whispered. "What are you afraid of?"

Charlie jerked her head to the side noncommittally and made a face. "Clowns, bears, giant sewer monsters, avian flu—"

"Be serious!" Allison interrupted in an accusatory tone. "What are you afraid of?"

Charlie's mouth moved, trying to form words, but she honestly wasn't sure what to say. "I—I don't know," she mumbled. "Everything?"

At that Allison's expression softened. She bit her lip and ran a hand through her hair, letting out a sigh. "You're going to have to talk to him about it eventually," she pointed out.

Charlie pressed her lips together and shook her head. "I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because I can't have it be weird!" she insisted. "Stiles is one of my best friends! I don't think I could handle it if the way we acted around each other just suddenly changed. It…it would hurt too much. It could ruin everything."

"Right," Allison said, raising her eyebrows. "So you're just going to avoid him."

"For now, yeah."

"Mm-hm," Allison said, nodding her head in a way that was oddly patronizing. "And how is you constantly avoiding him any different than 'ruining your friendship' by talking to him. Either way, you're not friends anymore. So what exactly do you have to lose?"

The truth of those words smacked Charlie face with such force she actually physically felt her body jerk backwards slightly. Allison was right. There was no difference. Avoiding Stiles was just as destructive as talking to him would be. Either way, she was totally screwed. And the worst part about it was that, even faced with that knowledge, she was still too afraid to talk to him. When it came down to it, she was a coward.

Charlie must have looked pretty pathetic sitting there with sagging shoulders and emotional turmoil written all over her face. Allison let out a tiny sigh and got to her feet, holding a hand out to help Charlie up. After staring at it for a few moments, Charlie took it and allowed herself to be hauled to her feet. "Come on, Charlie," Allison murmured, wrapping an arm around the girl's shoulders. "We've get a lacrosse game to get ready for, a History test to study for, and a bestiary to steal. It's gonna be a busy night."

The two girls walked through the parking lot in the direction of their cars, Allison explaining the new half-assed plan she and Stiles had developed to get their hands on her psycho grandfather's book. As they walked Charlie's eyes found their way to the lacrosse field. Right now in the daylight it looked innocuous enough—just green grass and white lines. But in a couple of hours, it would become a battlefield. And they would all be part of the fight.

PREVIEW: Charlie goes for a swim.

CHAPTER 14 SOUNDTRACK

And here's the obligatory reminder that I have a Spotify account. You can find the link on my profile.

The dream. The song would start when Peter disappears and leaves Charlie alone. Charlie would grab the chair and start slamming it into the mirror at about the 2:10 minute mark.

-~-~-~-~-~-~Somewhere Else – Indians

Charlie wakes up, recovers from the dream, and gets ready for school.

-~-~-~-~-~-~Run – Let's Buy Happiness

Lydia and Charlie talk and Charlie walks to English class, freaking out a bit.

-~-~-~-~-~-~Rabbit Hole – The Lower 48

Charlie and Stiles have the most uncomfortable conversation ever and Charlie runs out of class.

-~-~-~-~-~-~ Lady of Late - Priory

Charlie dodges Stiles. Picture a bunch of jump cuts of her doing ridiculous, almost slapstick things to avoid be detected.

-~-~-~-~-~-~Hats And Glasses – The Anomalies

Allison tries to comfort Charlie and the two walk to their cars.

-~-~-~-~-~-~Never Never - Khushi