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.

Okay guys, new chapter! I wish you all happy holidays and hope that you all kicked the ass of your exams! Please enjoy.

A huge thank you to KEZZ 1, NeoMulder, WinchesterDixonBros, kickarseanime, DarlingPeterPan, Daenerys86, resinswhy, BewareTheBearShark, DraxThePacifist, TheMMMG, Sonny13, Gee Brittany, AmyRoxx123, Lin148, Paige, RealWinchesterGirl95, Female whovian, shy-lady, Exhuberance of Youth (are you formerly Undeniable Weirdness?), Caliweiser, Iste, honjlh, Atomicity, RK13, Hpisdabest, and Marloweee1856 for your reviews! You're the best!

Okay guys, new chapter! I wish you all happy holidays and hope that you all kicked the ass of your exams! Please enjoy.

Chapter 21 - Confessions

"I'm sorry, I think you'll have to repeat that. Because if you just said what I think you just said…Have you sustained some sort of traumatic brain injury?! What the hell is wrong with you! You have come up with some pretty damn terrible ideas, but this on a whole freaking different level!"

This was not how Charlie wanted to spend her morning. Shouting into her phone was usually reserved for after 10:00 a.m. No, usually she preferred to hit the snooze button on her alarm a minimum of five times, reluctantly rolling out of bed at the last possible moment, zombie-walking her way through a shower, and mainlining at least two cups of coffee before she could become fully conscious enough to operate heavy machinery and drive to school. Yes, mornings were for laziness and procrastination and hating absolutely everything. But she had told Stiles to call her in the morning to tell her what had happened, so when the sounds of 'White and Nerdy' blasted out of her phone as freaking 6:42 in the morning, she was prepared to drag herself out of bed and answer it. What she hadn't prepared for was the sheer idiocy she would be hearing as soon as she did.

"I'm serious!" Charlie shouted into the phone, her voice muffled by the toothbrush currently hanging out of her mouth. "You have got to be concussed or something, because I refuse to admit that I am with someone who would do something so…..so profoundly moronic."

"That's a little harsh, don't you think?" Stiles's voice mumbled from the other end of the line.

"Is it, Stiles?" Charlie demanded, waving her toothbrush around a bit and showering the bathroom mirror with toothpaste and saliva. "Is it, really?"

"Okay," Stiles said, his voice taking a placating tone. "It's not as bad as it sounds."

Charlie paused a moment to spit out the toothpaste in her mouth and then stared at her reflection in the bathroom in a weird form of self-solidarity. "Not as bad as it sounds?" she growled. "How in the hell is it not as bad as it sounds?! Because it sounds pretty freaking catastrophic!"

"Not catastrophic. Just disastrous."

"STILES!"

"Look, it's—it's not that big a deal," Stiles insisted. "I just commandeered one of my dad's prison transport vans and we're quarantining Jackson until he's been cured of being all murderer-y."

At that point Charlie threw her toothbrush at the counter, letting it clatter against the granite and fall into the sink. "Really?" she growled, her voice tight and forced. "Because that sounds like a euphemism for vehicular theft of a POLICE CAR and KIDNAPPING!"

"Bwah…..I prefer to look at it as lizard-napping."

Charlie's eyes fell shut and she gritted her teeth, forcing back the stream of expletives threatening to spill from her lips. She took a deep, calming breath before opening her eyes again, but apparently—given she expression she saw in the mirror—that calming breath hadn't worked all that well. "It's kidnapping, Stiles!" she hissed. "I know we pretty much live in a legal grey area at the moment, but this one's pretty cut and dry. It's the type of shit people go to prison for! You would not do well in prison."

"Well that's kind of offensive," he said, his voice taking on a defensive tone. "I think I'd do okay. I'm wily. Like a fox."

Charlie scrunched up her face into skeptical expression and shook her head. "No," she drawled out slowly. "You're more like Wile E Coyote. If I painted a tunnel on the side of a building I'd half expect you to make a break for it."

"Hey! That—that was uncalled for!"

"Stiles, did you miss out on the part where I mentioned prison?" she said, waving the hand not holding her phone around frantically. "You're too pretty for prison, Stiles. Word of advice? Find some big guy with a name like Bubba, make friends, and get him to take care of you."

"See all I heard was that you think I'm pretty."

Charlie let out a groan, her head rolling back on her shoulders, and she trudged back to her room, dragging her heels as she walked. "Shut up, man," she mumbled as she went over to her closet. "And just so we're clear if you do get yourself locked up, I am not waiting for you or doing any of that 'stand by your man' crap."

It was Stiles's turn to let out a heavy scoff. "Please, you wouldn't have to wait for me. If I get arrested, you're busting me out."

"And how exactly do you propose that I do that?" she mused idly, flipping through her clothes to find something Lydia would consider acceptable. "Should I bake you a cake that's high in iron?"

"Bake a cake?" Stiles demanded, his voice thick with confusion. "What the hell does that even mean?"

Charlie made a face and shrugged, holding up a sparkly top to consider it for a moment. "You know….." she mumbled. "Bake you a cake with a gun or a shiv or something in it." There was a long, slightly judgmental pause that inspired what was probably an unnecessary degree of defensiveness. "Shut up," she grunted. "Don't judge me while I'm breaking you out of prison."

"Wha—I didn't say anything!" he spluttered.

"You have a very judge-y silence," she informed him, raising her eyebrows pointedly. "You're probably doing that thing with you face right now."

"What thing with my face? I don't do a thing with my face."

Charlie rolled her eyes with so much enthusiasm it almost felt like they were going to pop out of her skull. "Sure you do," she said matter-of-factly. "Whenever somebody says something you think is stupid you do this thing were squint your eyes, wrinkle your nose, and frown. It makes you look like a grumpy turtle.

"That doesn't make any sense," Stiles protested. "How many grumpy turtles have you met?"

Charlie let out a tired sigh and grabbed a top, holding up to her and looking in the mirror. There was a giant stain on it from that time she had used it as a napkin after eating ribs. Lydia wouldn't approve of that one, and a day like today was going to take some serious ingratiating on her part. "I don't know, man," she mumbled into the receiver, shrugging a bit at her reflection as she discarded the shirt, tossing it into the ever-growing laundry pile. "I'm just telling you what it looks like. I have 'angry badger' face, Scott has 'confused puppy' face, and you have 'grumpy turtle' face. It's a thing. Just accept it and move on."

She heard quite a bit of incoherent grumbling before Stiles spoke again, but she was pretty sure she heard the words 'grumpy turtle, my ass'. And then there was a pause, probably accompanied by his 'okay, what was I supposed to be talking about in the first place?' face. "Alright, I think we might have gotten a little off-topic here."

"Right," Charlie said with a solemn nod. "You were telling me how you're moron who just kidnapped a guy who hates your guts and will definitely go after you as soon as he gets out."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. A long, third trimester level pregnant pause. Which meant it was about time for Stiles's 'oh, crap, what have I done?' face. A tinny, nervous, borderline hysterical laugh echoed out of the phone's speaker. "We're going to have to kill him, aren't we? Yup. We're definitely going to have to kill him."

At this point the facepalm was inevitable. She slapped her hand to her face, covering her eyes and shaking her head. "Because that's the way to get yourself out of legal trouble!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air in frustration. "You kill the guy you just kidnapped. How could that possibly go wrong? Jesus, you're lucky you have your looks."

Stiles let out a huff of frustration. "I thought you of all people would be slightly less judgmental when I pitched this. You hate Jackson."

"Just because I daydream about killing Jackson doesn't mean I'd ever actually consider doing it."

"L—look," Stiles stammered out. "We'll figure it out, okay? We always figure it out." All of the sudden there was a loud, rumbling noise followed by a bunch of angry yelling. Charlie didn't think it was possible to cram so many curse words into a single sentence, but somehow Jackson managed it. It was kind of impressive, actually. As the rattling and yelling continued, Stiles let out a pained groan. "Jackson's awake."

"I can hear that," Charlie drawled out in a sarcastic tone. "Is he restrained?"

"Yeah," Stiles mumbled, his voice somewhat uncertain, probably due to the violent noises coming from the car van next to him. "The van comes with these shackle things….I had to put his pants on for him."

"Ew," Charlie muttered, wrinkling her nose. "On a scale of one to ten, how traumatized are you."

"I really don't want to talk about it," he muttered bitterly. There was a short lull in the conversation during which the metallic clanking of Jackson throwing himself around in the van grew louder and louder. "Alright," Stiles continued. "I should probably go feed him. And, you know, tell him that he's a giant lizard that's killed like three people. Look, I'm probably going to miss school today and—"

"Don't worry," she interrupted, waving her hand dismissively. "I'll cover for you."

"Thanks," he bit out, clearly not that enthusiastic about what was about to happen. He let out a heavy sigh—a sigh steeped in exhaustion and a hell of a lot of frustration. "Well, this should be fun."

Charlie felt her chest tighten a bit. She did not like this plan. Putting Stiles in a room with Jackson was bad enough before the idiot had gone and gotten the bite. But now? Jackson had super-strength and crazy healing abilities. That paired with his usual degree of contempt and jackassery….it was not a combination she was comfortable with. Stiles was just flesh and bone. It wasn't like he could turn his sarcasm into some magic shield that could stop those translucent claws. She exhaled sharply and bit her lip, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet nervously. "Look, Stiles, just…just be careful, okay? I saw the Argents at the club last night. This thing is getting bigger. If I hear you've done something stupid and gotten yourself hurt, I'll freaking kill you, okay?"

"Doesn't that sound a bit counterintuitive?"

"I'm serious, Stiles," she said, her tone solemn. "You can't die before I get a chance to make out with you without Scott or your dad showing up and interrupting. That's unacceptable."

"Well that definitely gives me something to live for," he said laughingly. But Charlie didn't laugh. She stayed completely quiet. Stiles seemed to hear the anxiety in that silence, because the next time he spoke his voice was low and earnest. "I'll be careful. Don't worry—nothing's gonna happen to me. I'll be okay. I know what I'm doing."

Charlie's eyes fell shut and she let out a shaky breath. "Stiles, none of us know what we're doing."

"Fine," he admitted. "I've got a vague and general idea of what I kind of, maybe should be doing. But I'm gonna be okay."

"You better be," she mumbled, kicking absently at the laundry pile at the foot of her bed. "I'll see you tonight."

"Yeah," Stiles replied quickly, almost like he was trying to reassure her. "Yeah, I'll see you tonight."

When she hung up, Charlie wrapped her hand around her phone, forming a fist, and brought it to her face so she was resting it against her forehead. Her body was humming with a sort of nervous energy. She felt as if she was vibrating, like a guitar string after it had been plucked, trying to be still—to be calm—but still shaking the air around it. It was like the anxiety was wafting off of her in waves, and she couldn't make it stop. She didn't even know how to begin to try and make it stop.

Something bad was going to happen. That's what the humming feeling was. It was the physical manifestations of that prescience. She knew. She knew in the marrow of her bones that something very, very bad was about to happen. Honestly that probably didn't seem like much of a prediction. The life they were leading these days, 'something bad' was around pretty much every single corner. Usually she took everything in stride, but this? This was different.

It was a no-win scenario. That's why she felt this way. Because no matter which course they took, one of them would suffer. And sure, Jackson was an ass and she hated him and she probably wouldn't be too terribly upset if she never saw that asshole's face ever again, but that didn't mean she wanted him dead. And it wasn't just because Lydia loved him. Being around him might make her want to gouge out her own eyes rather than look at his insufferable smirk for a moment longer than absolutely necessary, but he was still a person. And from what she could tell he was a broken one—one trying to figure out how to make himself whole. As much as she hated the idea of having something in common with that unbearable ass-hat, she knew a little something about that feeling.

Charlie was taught to never believe in no-win scenarios. It was one of the things her dad always told her. It doesn't matter how shitty the circumstances life hands you are, you can always turn them into something better. Or at least something useful. He would always mime wiping off a pair of glasses—he never wore glasses, his vision was way better than 20-20—then he put those fake glasses on and say to her, 'Charlie, people always say you can't polish a turd. But I'll tell you what you can do. You can take that turd, put it in a paper bag, put that paper bag on the stoop of some jackass and then light that paper bag on fire. Every crappy thing can have its upside. You just need to be smart and creative enough to find out what it is. Truth.' And then he would fake a mic drop and stomp out of the room, more often than not returning half a second later because he forgot his keys or the fact that he was in the middle of eating dinner.

She actually used to believe that. Not that everything would work out for the best, but that if you tried hard enough, you could find a way to make it slightly less terrible. But right now she was standing at a crossroads and no matter which direction she looked, all that she could see was the potential for more hurt.

Shaking her head, Charlie tried to rid herself of those thoughts. They weren't productive. Worrying about failure wasn't going to stop her from failing. She wasn't going to go into one of those worry spirals. Nope, she was going to actually try and do something. She was going to see Lydia. Which meant that she should probably finish getting ready.

After littering the floor of her room with clothes that were probably clean, Charlie finally settled in on something Lydia wouldn't hate. It was a simple black sheath dress, one of maybe three that she owned. She had actually gotten it the first time Lydia had dragged her out shopping. That day she had been wearing one of her multiple 'The Clash' T-shirts, flannel shirt tied around her waist, and a pair of combat boots. Lydia had knocked on her door that morning and the minute it swung open Charlie had been confronted with that beatific, slightly calculating smile. "Charlie," she had said with that unequalled determination. "I'm going to 'Pretty Woman' you." A statement to which Charlie had replied, "Are you calling me a hooker?" Yeah, that day hadn't started all that well. And if Charlie was being honest it hadn't ended all that well either. But before they called it quits and left, Lydia had ensured that Charlie left with the one item that was apparently essential to every girl's wardrobe. The little black dress.

Without another though, Charlie yanked her over-sized pajama shirt over her head and slipped on that dress. After that she grabbed a red leather belt, cinching it in around her waist, a matching jacket, some burgundy knee high socks, and a pair of her classiest combat boots. She stood in front of the mirror, giving herself the once over. Lydia would approve. Or at least she thought Lydia would approve. Maybe. Charlie wrinkled her nose and thought about going back to the closet, but then she looked at clock. She had less than fifteen minutes if she wanted to catch Lydia. There wasn't any time for second guessing. Damn it, why did the girl have to go and be a morning person?

After taking one last steadying breath, Charlie threw her bag over her shoulder and jogged down the stairs and into the kitchen. She barely registered the person sitting at the kitchen island as she made a beeline for the fridge. Because she was on a mission. And being on a mission meant that she had to have coffee. A lot of coffee. She wrenched the door to the fridge open and peered in, squinting at the contents as the cool air hit her face. "We're out of yogurt," she called over her shoulder as she reached for the cold brewed coffee. "And we're out of orange juice. And milk. And like three of the basic food groups. I think I see a trip to Costco in our future."

"Mmph."

At that, Charlie paused. 'Mmph' was not a response that Mel usually made. In fact, Mel never responded to anything with a noncommittal, guttural noise. It was either a 'yes' or a 'no'—crisp, clear, decisive. Never an 'mmph'.

Slowly, Charlie closed the door to the fridge and turned around. There in front of her, Mel was sitting at the kitchen table, only it wasn't with that bright, beaming 'I'm a morning person' smile. Not by a long shot. Nope, Mel was leaning forwards over the granite counter top, her arms covering her head to block out the light and her hair sticking out every which-way. Making a face, Charlie wandered over to her aunt's shoulder. "Mel?" she murmured quietly. But she didn't get a response. "Mel, are you dead?" Reaching forwards, she tapped her aunt hard on the shoulder.

All of the sudden there was a weird snorting noise and Mel threw herself into the sitting position abruptly, looking around for the source of Charlie's voice. "I'm up!" she proclaimed loudly. "I'm up!" Then something in her demeanor changed. That typically radiant smile turned into a grimace and she let out a pathetic coughing noise before lowering her head back to the counter. "I'm down. I'm very much down." Once her cheek hit the cool granite she let out a happy sigh. "That's better."

Charlie could feel her facial expression change. The muscles of her face moved and tightened until her eyes were wide—almost bugging out of her head—and her mouth formed a gaping 'o'. She could entirely identify the emotion she was feeling. On one hand there was the sympathy and concern, but on the other hand there was a sensation of genuine mirth. That amusement might make her a terrible person, but given the sight before her she couldn't help but clap a hand over her mouth to stifle the laugh threatening to burst forth. "Mel?" she asked quietly, trying to keep the weirdly gleeful tone out of her voice. "Mel…are you hung over?"

Once again, Mel sat up in her seat, but this time she didn't pop up suddenly like she was participating in a game of 'whack-a-mole'. This time she slowly pushed herself up, her hands gripping the counter to ensure that she didn't wobble too much. "H—hung over?" she demanded, doing her best to look innocent. "N—no. No, no, no. I'm…fine. I'm totally fine. I'm just a little bit sleepy is all." But as much as Mel's mouth protested, the rest of her body betrayed her. Suddenly her stomach gave a loud gurgle and she went pale, a queasy look covering her face. "I—I might be a little bit under the weather."

Charlie's lips pulled back, her face forming a sympathetic grimace. "I recognize that look," she said, waving a finger in Mel's direction. "That's the look dad always had the night after he would hire a sitter. He always seemed to get 'food poisoning' the next day. We Oswins are a puky sort when it comes to the morning after."

A pathetic whine emanated from Mel's mouth and she lowered her head down to the counter again. "Can you make the birds stop chirping so loudly?" Mel mumbled incoherently wrapping her arms around her head. "Shut up! You chirp! We get it already!"

Charlie moved so she was perched in the seat next to Mel. She propped her head up on one hand, looking carefully at the woman while rubbing small, comforting circles on her back. "So….." she drawled out. "You either had a really good time or a really bad time. What happened?"

Mel shifted over the counter so that she could peek up at Charlie. "I remember lots of yelling," she said in a slightly muffled voice. "I remember woo-hooing, I remember a truck flying through a ring of flame, and I remember something called bottomless beer."

"Yeesh," Charlie said through a heavy wince. "How much did you have?"

Mel finally lifted her head, looking up at Charlie with an expression of intense regret on her face. "I think I found the bottom." An involuntary snort forced its way out of Charlie's nose, making Mel glower at her with as much hostility as the woman was capable of expressing. "Don't laugh at me! I—I am vulnerable, and—"

"And seriously hung over!" Charlie declared, probably enjoying the circumstances a little too much.

"I was having a moment!" Mel protested. "I was letting loose. It seemed like the type of place you could let loose."

Charlie made a tsk-ing noise and leaned down so she was eye-level with Mel. "Please tell me you had a designated driver."

"Robert doesn't drink," Mel muttered. "Which makes this so much worse."

"No it doesn't," Charlie scoffed. "Mel, you are never anything less than charming and adorable. No matter your degree of sobriety. If anything it made you even more adorable in his eyes. I find you impossibly adorable right now, in this moment, and honestly you still kind of smell like Jaeger. That in itself is an accomplishment."

After glowering at Charlie for a few seconds, Mel let out a loud scoff and pushed herself up so her head was resting on her elbows. Her still slightly wobbly elbows. "I was drunk in front of somebody who was totally sober. Life lesson, Charlie: that's never a situation you want to find yourself in."

Charlie lifted a hand to grip her aunt's shoulder and squeezed. "Mel, you don't need to worry. Just because you're practically perfect doesn't mean you don't get to go crazy and have stupid fun. Nobody's gonna begrudge you that. Especially Finstock. That guy's crazy and stupid most of the time."

Mel narrowed her eyes and glared a bit, but Charlie didn't get the slightly shocked reprimand she was expecting never came. Instead she got a slightly sad sounding sigh. A sigh that made Charlie's eyebrows draw together in confusion. "Mel….are you okay?"

Mel blinked at the question and shook her head a bit. "Yes," she said a little too quickly. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" Charlie asked quietly, shifting so she was facing Mel directly. "Because that look of regret on your face….is it all about the bottomless beer? Or is it about something else."

Mel's eyes fell shut and she let out a heavy sigh. "I—I don't know," she admitted. There was a long pause before she spoke again. The small crease in her forehead—her 'thinking face'—told Charlie that there was something bothering her. Finally, she opened her eyes again and looked at Charlie meaningfully. "I don't drink beer."

"What do you mean?" Charlie asked quietly.

"I mean that I don't drink beer," Mel replied, running her hands through her hair. "I drink wine and the occasional Cosmo. But lately whenever I go out…I end up drinking beer. I'm having fun with Robert, I really am. It's just that….every time we do something, I feel like I—I have to work at it. I have to learn the rules of football, I have to buy myself a jersey and a baseball cap to go to a game…..It never just fits. I always have to try and be some slightly different version of myself."

"Mel," Charlie whispered. "Mel, if you're not happy—"

"But that's just the thing," Mel interjected. "I am happy. I'm trying new things, I'm having new experiences, and that's—that's great. That's really great. But the thing is…..I don't want to spend the rest of my life watching monster trucks. This is not the place I want to end up. I want something that….fits. I know all the epic romances we're fed have drama and heartache and obstacles to overcome, but I really believe that if you've met the right person, there shouldn't be any obstacles. If you really love someone, it should be easy, right?"

Those huge, innocent doe eyes stared up at Charlie like she expected some sort of an answer. And Charlie for the life of her couldn't understand why. It wasn't like she had anything useful to contribute. She was terrible at relationships. And she was barely two minutes into dating Stiles. Hell, they still hadn't called each other 'boyfriend' and 'girlfriend'. It didn't feel like it most of the time, but technically the two of them were still in this weird relationship limbo where they knew they were more than friends, but still a bit less than a couple. All of the werewolf crap kept getting in the way of things actually happening. They were in the process of starting to date, and sometimes that just felt….weird. She didn't know what the hell she was doing. So why was Mel looking at her like she should?

After a few moments, Charlie hopped off of the stool and leaned forwards, wrapping Mel in a tight hug, resting her head on the blonde's shoulder. Mel reached up and grabbed Charlie's hand, giving it a tight squeeze. "You don't have to decide anything today," she mumbled quietly.

"I know," Mel replied, her tone weary. "I've got to go to the shop."

Immediately, Charlie stood straight up and looked down at her aunt with an admonishing look. "Oh, I'll tell you what you're going to do," she said, waving an insistent hand in Mel's direction. "You are going to take the day off. You are going to go back upstairs, change into a plushy robe and either go back to sleep or put on a mud mask and watch bad daytime soaps. Maybe you can leave the house after noon, but it will not be to go to work. Maybe crash a parade, sing 'Twist and Shout'."

"You are a terrible influence," Mel muttered absently.

"But you're gonna listen to me anyway," Charlie smirked.

"Of course I will," Mel mumbled slightly bitterly. "Somehow I always do."

"Well that's because I'm always right. Now get that adorable ass back upstairs. I need to go catch a ride to school with Lydia."

"W—wait, what?" Mel demanded, blinking a few times in confusion. "What's wrong with your Impala?"

"Nothing major," Charlie replied, her voice a little too high pitched to seem entirely honest. She gave Mel's shoulder one last squeeze before heading to the door. "Honestly, she's fine. Just experiencing some…..technical difficulties."

"Again?" Mel's shrill voice called out after her.

"I'll take care of it!" Charlie shouted over her shoulder. "Now get back and bed and be lazy for once in your life!"

And with that she slammed the front door closed and stared out across the street. Lydia's front door loomed there, like the specter of conflict to come. While her eyes stayed fixed, her feet were frozen. Here she was again, in one of those situations where she didn't know what to do. That was happening way too often these days. She couldn't just apologize to Lydia. No, that wasn't nearly enough. Apologies were cheap. And that meant she had to do something drastic.

She had to tell Lydia. Maybe not everything, maybe not the specifics, but right now Lydia felt alone in this. Possibly going crazy, being constantly ditched by her closest friends—Charlie had to make sure she knew that she wasn't alone. And while that might not mean telling Lydia about the kanima, Charlie could tell her about herself. "Suck it up, Oswin," she murmured under her breath.

And with that she took that first step. She strode across the street with as much confidence as she could muster, gradually slowing as she approached the door. Finally she found herself on Lydia's porch, staring at that ornate, embellished brass knocker. She lifted her hand to alert Lydia to her arrival, but just as she grabbed hold of the handle, the door swung open violently, making Charlie jump in surprise. The well-coiffed redhead on the other side jumped as well, but regained her composure almost immediately, those wide, surprised eyes narrowing into hostile, standoffish ones. She folded her arms across her chest and quirked an accusatory eyebrow at Charlie. "What are you doing here?" she demanded, giving Charlie a once-over and taking in her appearance. "And why are you dressed like someone who gives a shit?"

Charlie made a move to shove her hands in the pockets of her pants—her go-to move whenever she felt uncomfortable in a social situation—only to discover that she didn't have any pockets at all. A fact she apparently had to be reminded of every time she put on a freaking dress. And a reminder of why she usually hated them so much. Eventually she just wrapped her arms around her waist and pressed her lips together in a thin line, looking at Lydia apologetically. "My car broke down at school yesterday," she said, inclining her head in the direction of the empty driveway across the street. "I know you kinda hate me right now, but was hoping that maybe we could drive to school together and ta—"

Before she could finish the sentence Lydia brushed past her, slamming her front door and marching to her car with that sort of intense determination only she could show, leaving Charlie staring at a locked door. The whole thing felt a little symbolic—Lydia was locking her out. Charlie felt her heart drop as Lydia stomped away, her heels clacking against the sidewalk like they were trying to tell Charlie just how far away she was. It was probably ridiculous but the beep of the car doors being unlocked felt like a knife in the heart. Her shoulders sagged as she waited for the sounds coming next—the closing of the car door, the revving of the engine, the wheels against asphalt. But it never came.

"Well," a slightly shrill, impatient voice demanded. Charlie's spine straightened and she twisted around. And there was Lydia, standing at the driver's side and resting an arm on the top of the door and raising her eyebrows expectantly. "Are you coming or not? Seriously, Charlie, we want to get there before the weekend. I swear, trying to get you anywhere is like herding cats."

A hopeful smile pulled at the corners of Charlie's lips, but she tried to force it down. Lydia was still too hesitant for her to call it a total victory. So instead her mouth contorted into some weird grimace that probably made her look like a crazy person. "Come on, Lydia," Charlie drawled out, trying to act as normal and nonchalant as possible. "You know all you've got to do is hit a can with a knife and I'll just come running."

Lydia let out a small scoff and rolled her eyes. "Who would have ever thought that you're unhealthy obsession with food could end up being slightly useful."

Charlie bit her lip, forcing back a laugh as she slid into the passenger's seat. Lydia shot her a withering look as she shoved her keys in the ignition, almost mocking her with the smoothness with which the car started up. "Your car is a piece of crap."

"You take that back right now."

"Not likely."

And then Charlie opened her mouth to say….well she wasn't quite sure what she was going to say. Probably to blurt out one of her never-ending supply of useless opinions on absolutely everything. But given the way Lydia's jaw was set, she could tell that it wasn't time for her to talk. Lydia wanted the first word. But she was going to take her sweet time getting to it. She was going to draw out the silence until she felt like she had tortured Charlie long enough. In the meantime the radio just blasted, the dull thump of pop music filling up the car.

"Well, I've decided to forgive you," Lydia said suddenly in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Forgive me?" Charlie asked stupidly, startled by the sudden shift from silence to conversation.

"Yes," Lydia replied primly. "For all of the ridiculous, terrifying things that happened at Scott's house yesterday."

"You mean all the stuff that happened before I got there?" Charlie asked. It probably wasn't a fair thing to say. Sure it was true, but saying that truth out loud while leaving out all the other bits? It turned it into a lie of omission. But she said it anyway. It might make her a terrible person and a worse friend, but she just couldn't bear the idea of Lydia hating her. So said her little half-truths and just ended up hating herself instead. That was the bargain she made.

"Fine," Lydia bit out, her voice still high-pitched and hostile. "You weren't there for the little trip down the rabbit hole of weird and crazy. But that doesn't change the fact that you have been acting super-weird for the last..." She let the sentence trail off and then gave a little, humorless laugh. "You know what, I don't even think I can remember back that far."

"Of course you can't," Charlie said with a shrug. "I've always been weird."

"Obviously," Lydia said with yet another roll of the eyes. "But that was just your aggressively nerdy type of weird. Lately you've been a different type of weird. A secretive kind of weird. All of you have. Allison's not telling me anything, Jackson's….he's…."

Again, she trailed off, only this time it wasn't for dramatic effect or to make a point. She actually seemed lost in thought, her eyes misting over a bit. It wasn't until the radio changed from some benign pop song to a heavy rock song that she snapped out of it. She shook her head to reorder her thoughts and turned off the music before speaking again. "Anyways," she continued, back to that carefully regulated voice, "like I was saying, everybody is just….ugh! Even Stiles bailed on me that time and he's Stiles, whatever the hell that means. He always shows up for you. But when it comes to me, somehow I always end up in the dark. Especially last night, when the power went out and I was literally in the dark!"

Charlie fidgeted in her seat, pulling nervously at the hem of her dress, and glanced up at Lydia's reflection in the rear view mirror. "Lydia," she asked quietly. "What happened last night? I mean before I got there. To you. What happened?"

As soon as the question left Charlie's lips, Lydia lifted her chin, jutting it outwards in an expression of defiance. Charlie could see the whole thing play out on her face—the internal debate. Would she tell her, would she not tell her, would she leave Charlie hanging like Charlie had done to her so many times. But that was the thing. Lydia was lonely now. And all she really wanted to do was talk. Not that she would admit that out loud.

"Look," she said, her tone clipped and harsh. "All I know that is one minute a couple a crazy people who bear a striking resemblance to my friends are marching me out of school to Scott's house. Once we're there Allison and Stiles start boarding up the house like we're under siege or something, and Jackson….."

And then it happened again. As soon as Lydia mentioned Jackson's name, her words faded immediately, leaving her with a thoroughly pensive expression. Charlie hated it when Lydia got that look on her face. The girl was a bona fide super-genius—she didn't have to think hard about anything. Unless she was thinking about something that was really bothering her.

"Lydia?" Charlie murmured tentatively. "What did Jackson do? What did he say?"

Lydia blinked suddenly, shaking her head. "Nothing," she snapped, her voice regaining its brusqueness. "Nothing that made sense anyway. He just accused me of deleting some video of him and—and looping the footage? Like I would even know how to do that. And then he started rambling about me 'ruining his moment'. We're not even together anymore and somehow all of his problems are my fault."

"And then what happened?" Charlie prompted.

"Then he left," Lydia said with a shrug that was way more nonchalant than it should have been. "Hell, he might have climbed out the freaking window. And suddenly Allison's telling me someone's breaking into the house, the power goes out, and then I find you, Allison, Stiles, Scott, and freaking Derek Hale having a kegger on the front porch!" Lydia shot Charlie a sidelong glance through narrowed eyes. "So there you go," she snapped. "Have I satisfied your curiosity?"

Charlie pretended not to notice the jab despite the fact that it kind of felt like getting punched in the gut. Not that she didn't deserve it. She shifted in her seat and tore her eyes away from Lydia's reflection in the rearview mirror to look at the girl herself, an apologetic look covering her face. Lydia glanced at Charlie out of the corner of her eye, but then stared intently back out at the road, almost like she was refusing to acknowledge Charlie's presence. "Look, Lydia," Charlie said in a low, serious tone. "You're right."

Lydia let out a scoff and flipped her hair over her shoulder primly. "You'll have to be more specific Charlie," she trilled. "I'm right about most things. All of them if you round up."

A part of Charlie wanted to roll her eyes at Lydia's smugness. And a couple of months age she would have. But back then they had both been oblivious, and that had made it easy. Not so much anymore. But here it was. The moment of truth. Literally. It was time to nut up or shut up. Exhaling sharply, Charlie steeled her nerves and turned to Lydia, a solemn expression on her face. "Lydia, I have been keeping things from you," she whispered. "There are—there are things that I haven't told you. About what's going on with me. And I—"

But before Charlie could finish what she was trying to say Lydia held up a hand to cut her off. "Save your breath, Charlie," the redhead deadpanned.

Charlie hadn't known what to expect from Lydia when she tried to com clean, but this? Blatant dismissal? It hadn't fallen within the spectrum of possibilities. "W—what?" she stammered out in confusion. "Lydia, I—"

"Charlie, I already know," Lydia said with a roll of her eyes.

Cold fear flooded through Charlie's veins and she kept her eyes fixed on Lydia's profile, trying to find any hints of what was going on in the girl's head. "You know?" she asked quietly.

"Yes," Lydia sniped, sparing one of those patented withering glances of hers. "I already know about you and Stiles. The two of you are together, aren't you?"

All of the air forced its way out of Charlie's lungs in one big whoosh. She blinked a few times and pulled nervously at the ends of her hair. Of course that was what Lydia was mad about. She was stupid for not being able to see it in the first place. With all of the layers and layers of secrets she had laid down over the past few months, Stiles hadn't even entered her mind as one of them. Jesus, Charlie was failing at friendship on even the most basic level. Pressing her lips together in a thin line, Charlie looked over at Lydia, an apology written in the lines of her face. "How did you know?" she murmured.

Lydia let out another scoff and glowered at Charlie. "Um, because I have eyes and half a brain," she drawled out sarcastically. "The fact that you started smiling for no reason was the first tipoff. Your neutral facial expression is more dour."

Charlie wrinkled her nose and gave her a weird look. "Dour? What is this, Downton Abbey?"

"Yes, dour," Lydia replied, enunciating carefully like she was speaking to a small child. "You're face is dour. You know, with your frustration with the stupidity of the human race is constantly written all over it. Plus when you guys all ran out of chem. class yesterday, he grabbed your hand."

"So what if he grabbed my hand," Charlie mumbled, shrugging her shoulders a bit.

Lydia just quirked her eyebrow and looked at Charlie in that way that always made her feel like a complete idiot. "Please, Charlie. He didn't even think before he grabbed it, and you didn't react when he did. People are only that comfortable holding hands after they've made out. Several times. Are you actually going to bother pretending that the two of you haven't got some sort of thing going on?"

"No," Charlie replied quickly, shaking her head. "Stiles and I are….something."

And then it was quiet. For a long time it was quiet. Charlie could practically see the gears turning in Lydia's head. Or whizzing, given the rate her brain generally worked at. And then her face contorted into the most elegant mask of rage Charlie had ever seen. "You're 'something'?!" Lydia demanded. "'Something'?! That's it?! That's all you've got to say?! God, even when you're fessing up, you're completely freaking infuriating. Can't you just talk about boys like a normal teenage girl instead of oozing intimacy issues out of every pore of your body."

"Alright, that was a horrifying mental image," Charlie muttered under her breath.

"Why wouldn't you just tell me in the first place?" Lydia demanded, throwing the hand not clutching the steering wheel in the air in frustration before glowering at Charlie accusatorially. "You're supposed to be my best friend. You know what best friends do? They tell each other things!"

"I'm sorry."

"Seriously, Charlie," Lydia barreled on. "Just because my Facebook status just switched to single doesn't mean I'm an emotional basket case who will fall apart at the sight of other happy couples. I refuse to be one of those jealous types who tries to block everyone else's happiness."

Charlie squeezed her eyes shut for a moment before leveling Lydia with a serious look. "Lydia, you're not the emotional basket case," she murmured. "Okay? I'm the emotional basket case. This had nothing to do with you. It was me just…..just being scared. Scared of the relationship, of what it meant, of me screwing it up. I'm good at screwing things like that up. And…I just needed time to get used to it before it became real. Telling you things makes them real. When something's real it means you have something to lose."

There was a moment there where Lydia's face softened. Just a moment. She looked at Charlie and gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. It might not have been much, but it was enough. It was enough for Charlie To know that they would be okay. But, of course, once that moment was over the mask went back up. "Well," Lydia announced primly. "I think we have firmly established that you need to tell me exactly what is going on in your life at all times."

Charlie let out a tiny laugh and raised her eyebrows skeptically. "Really? How exactly do you figure that?"

"Well how are you supposed to live up to your utmost potential without my worldly guidance?" she demanded as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Right," Charlie agreed, bobbing her head a bit. "You're right. How would I be able to navigate high school without you?"

"I'm glad we see eye-to-eye on this."

And then, suddenly, they were out of time. The car ride to school usually felt like it took forever, and this time it was over in an instant. This time when her heart sank at the sight of that freaking school, it wasn't because of that fact that it was school. She felt her heart begin to beat faster as Lydia pulled into the parking lot. She hadn't said everything she needed to say yet. And she couldn't left it unsaid—not for another freaking second. She might be too much of a coward to do it later if her resolve failed now.

Lydia removed the keys from the ignition, making the engine sputter into silence. The girl flipped down the visor to look in the mirror for one last makeup check before reaching for the door handle. Before she could open the door, though, Charlie's hand darted forward and grabbed Lydia's shoulder. The redhead turned around to face her, a confused crease forming between her eyebrows. "What?" she demanded.

Charlie pressed her lips together in an 'o' shape and blew out a long breath. "It wasn't Stiles I was going to tell you about."

Lydia wrinkled her nose at Charlie, narrowing her eyes a bit. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? Why wouldn't you tell me about that?"

"N—no," Charlie said, shaking her head. "It wasn't that I wasn't going to tell you about Stiles. It's—it's that there was something else I was going to tell you too."

"Okay," Lydia drawled out, her patience waning. "Then what were you going to tell me about?"

Charlie bit down on the inside of her cheek until it started to bleed a little, her mouth filling with the taste of copper. She ran a hand down her face before unbuckling her seatbelt so that she could fully turn to face her friend. "Lydia," she murmured, her voice low and halting. "Lydia, after you were attacked on the night of winter formal—"

"Stop." The change was immediate. Her voice came out scared and high-pitched and this—this look appeared in Lydia's eyes. It was scared, almost feral, like a small, desperate animal that had been backed into a corner. "I'm serious, Charlie," she continued. "Just stop. I don't want to talk about this."

"Lydia, something happened after that night," Charlie barreled on. "And it wasn't just the near death experience. You've been distant, you've been scared, I think sometimes you see things and you're not talking to anybody and—"

"Charlie," the girl said, her voice becoming desperate. "Charlie I am asking you to stop—"

"No," Charlie insisted. "No, I'm not going to stop because I need for you to know that it isn't just you!"

And suddenly the car went quiet. Charlie could feel the tension filling it up. It was like somehow the air had become thicker, a heavy pressure falling against her skin. Wordlessly, Charlie slid her hand under the curtain of hair and pulled it to the side before leaning forwards in her seat. A chilly, air-conditioned draft hit her, making the hair on the back of her neck to prickle. Except, of course, for those four points of smooth, hairless, knotted skin that dotted along her spine, each one driving in at that small gap between the vertebrae. Lydia didn't say anything, but Charlie could hear the sharp intake of breath.

"It wasn't as bad as what happened to you," Charlie murmured, straightening up and moving her hair back over her neck to cover those spots. "Not by a long shot."

"You were attacked too?" Lydia whispered. "Why wouldn't you tell me that? Why—why didn't you tell anybody?"

"Because you were in a coma," Charlie said, her voice hoarse. "Because you disappeared for two days. Because I was okay as long at you were okay. Because I was fine." Charlie paused for a moment, taking a deep breath and forcing herself to be calm. "Or at least that was why I did at first. Then it was because I was because I was freaked out. I didn't tell anybody because….because I'm definitely suffering from some PTSD or something. I keep having these dreams and these flashbacks. And sometimes okay, it's not that bad. And other times I feel like I'm dying even though I know I'm not. But every time it happens I feel like I'm slowly going insane. And I didn't want anybody else to think that too."

Charlie cleared her throat and stared out straight through the windshield as she spoke. She didn't want to know what Lydia's face looked like. She thought she would be relieved when she actually told Lydia something, but she wasn't. Shame and worry. That's what she felt. "We don't have to talk about it or anything," she muttered, tucking her hair behind her ears nervously. "I don't really want to talk about what's going on with me. I just needed you to understand that you weren't alone in it. So there you go."

Her hands balled up into fists and she clenched her jaw, waiting for Lydia's response. Anger. Yelling. Passive aggressive silence. The options were pretty much endless. Finally, she heard something. A disbelieving snort. "Well, then," Lydia declared, her voice returning to that crisp, prim tone. "You and I can be crazy together. We get to star in our very own reenactment of 'Girl, Interrupted'. Yay for us."

And there it was. That one, tiny, glib comment, and it felt like a freaking anvil had been lifted off her chest, leaving her weightless. She knew it shouldn't. She knew she was still lying about a so many things and she had so much to feel guilty about. But this? It helped. It helped a lot. Charlie blew out a long breath, feeling a relieved smile tugging at her lips. "'Girl, Interrupted', huh," she murmured, bobbing her head a bit. "Do you want to be Winona Ryder or Angelina Jolie?

Lydia didn't say a word. She just glanced down at her chest, then at Charlie's much less amply bosom, and finally looked directly at Charlie, her eyebrows raised pointedly. Charlie pressed her lips together in a thin, wan smile. "Fine," she grumbled under her breath. "You get to be Angelina Jolie."

"Oh, come on, Charlie," Lydia said, shaking her head. "In what universe was I not going to get to be Angelina Jolie?"

"I'm getting out of this car."

Lydia clucked and shook her head admonishingly. "Oh, Charlie. Always so sensitive."

With one exaggerated roll of the eyes, Charlie wrenched open the door to Lydia's Beetle and clambered out of the car and began marching towards the school as quickly as possible. It was always fun to listen to hear the frantic clacking of heels as the tiny legs of her five foot three frame had to work overtime to catch up. As she reached the door to the school Charlie relented, slowing down and allowing Lydia to catch up around.

"So," Lydia said, panting a bit as she caught her breath. "Can we talk about something kind of normal? You know, something that girls our age would actually want to talk about?"

Charlie wrinkled her nose and peered at Lydia out of the corner of her eye. "Meaning what? The climate crisis? The growing income gap between the wealthy and poor? The economic collapse of Detroit?"

"Ugh," Lydia groaned. "Why do you always have to be so obtuse? I'm talking about boys. You know I'm talking about boys. More specifically, your boy."

"Really?" Charlie demanded, raising her eyebrows skeptically. "You want to talk about me and Stiles?"

Lydia pursed her lips and gave a dismissive shrug. "You finally defrost your panties enough for you to admit that you've got the warm and fuzzies for a guy and you expect me not to what to talk about it?" she drawled out. "Call it morbid curiosity. Or scientific inquiry into the nature of geek love. You and Stiles together? The two of you could probably generate a swirling vortex of geekdom that will swallow the entire earth." Then Lydia narrowed her eyes and cocked her head to the side. "Is your first date going to be at Comic-Con?"

"That would have to be a pretty freaking long wait," Charlie shot back. "Comi-Con's not until July."

All of a sudden Lydia's hand darted forwards grabbing Charlie's shoulder and forcing the bothe of them to a dead stop in the middle of a hallway teeming with students. When Charlie turned to look at the girl questioningly, she was met with a concerned stare. "The fact that you know that off the top of your head concerns me. Deeply."

Rolling her eyes heavily, Charlie shrugged the redhead's hand and continued in the direction of her locker. "O—okay," Charlie said, lifting up a hand and gesturing for Lydia to stop. "If you find the geekiness so off-putting then why the hell do you want to talk about it so much?"

"Because," Lydia declared, enunciating the words carefully like she was speaking to an infant. "Now that I am….no longer involved with anyone, I need something else to occupy my time. And since Allison and Scott are too busy with their whole Romeo and Juliet lovers in the nighttime thing to be viable candidates. Which means that I must live my romantic drama vicariously through you and Stiles. God help me."

"Oh my God," Charlie groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. "Who said there had to be any drama? I don't want any drama—romance sans drama. Seriously, things don't always have to be complicated. They can be simple."

And suddenly Lydia's lips twisted into a strange expression. At first Charlie wanted to label it as pity, but pity was a strange thing to judge with Lydia. Sometimes her 'pity' was pretty much just thinly veiled smugness. "Okay," Charlie exclaimed, throwing he hands in the air in frustration. "What is it?"

Lydia blinked innocently and shook her head. "Nothing," she chirped. "There just seems to be a bit of a complication."

"Wha—"

Lydia raised her eyebrows pointedly and inclined her head, indicating for Charlie to look. Furrowing her eyebrows in confusion, Charlie followed Lydia's gaze. What she saw made her swear internally. And out loud. Because there, slouching against the wall of lockers right next to the one that was hers, was Isaac freaking Lahey. Nope. No. She was not doing this. It didn't matter that he looked like he hadn't slept at all and bore a passing resemblance to a sad, kicked puppy. This morning she was not going to be dealing with any of his shit.

"Oh, yeah," Lydia sighed out, patting Charlie gently on the back. "Things are real simple."

Charlie swallowed heavily, not quite sure if it was out of rage or out of the desire to be anywhere else in the world at that moment in time. "Hey, Lydia," she said, trying keeping her voice casual through a grimacing smile. "You wanna walk with me to my locker?"

Lydia scrunched up her face into an expression of intense concentration and then shook her head. "Nah," she mused absently. "It's getting a bit late. I need to get to class on time."

"You're acing every class," Charlie grunted through her clenched teeth. "Come with me to my locker."

"Yeah…I don't think so. Plus, the way he was making eyes at you during chemistry yesterday? I think this would be a good time to tell him that you're off the market."

"Lydia," Charlie growled. "I'm asking you to be my social buffer. He can't say stupid things that I don't want to hear if you're there. You have a great judgmental glare. It's scared off a ton of people. Let's put it to good use, shall we?"

Lydia gave a prim shrug and idly twirled her strawberry blonde locks through her fingers. "That may be true," Lydia mused. "And I could help you. But then again you have been keeping a lot of secrets from me for a very long time."

"Wha—seriously?!" Charlie hissed. "You're gonna bail on me right now?!"

"It's about time you figured out what that looked like," Lydia quipped, her voice not totally devoid bitterness. "And anyways, it's not like you're going to be able to avoid him forever. Just grow a pair and get it out of the way." And with one last satisfied smirk, Lydia spun on her heels and began to march the other way down the hall, her hips swaying confidently as she did so. "I'll see you at lunch!"

"Stop enjoying this!" Charlie shouted after her.

"Not likely!"

"That's not even the way to your locker!"

But Lydia rounded the corner anyway, refusing to admit defeat or lose style points. Grumbling to herself, Charlie turned back to face her locker. And that's when she discovered the downside of frantically shouting at someone in the middle of a hallway. People tended to hear you. Especially when they had finely tuned werewolf senses. Isaac was still leaning against the lockers, but now he wasn't just staring off into space. He was looking directly at her. Fan-freaking-tastic.

Charlie squeezed her eyes shut and let out a pathetic whine, wishing he would just disappear, but when she opened them again he was still standing there. It was strange. He almost looked like the old Isaac—the Isaac she had met at the dance, the one with the black eye she drove to school that one time. Those big blue eyes were all soulful and apologetic. And you know what? That pissed her off. A lot.

Letting out an angry huff, Charlie marched forwards, gradually slowing to a stop in front of him. "Isaac," she spat bitterly. "I see you're conscious again. Good for you."

Isaac looked down at the floor and exhaled sharply—something between a laugh and a despondent sigh—before glancing up at her. Head bowed, furrowed eyebrows….he was really pulling out all the stops for this one. "Charlie, I—"

"You're on my locker," she interrupted bluntly.

Isaac blinked, a bit surprised by the harshness in her demeanor. Not that she could understand why. "W—what?"

"My locker?" Charlie repeated, waving her hands around a bit. "You know, the surface you're currently leaning against. Whilst you are leaning against it, I am unable to access it."

Isaac wrinkled his nose in mild confusion. He looked to his left, staring at the lockers like he was surprised to see them there. He pushed himself off of the metal surface and shoved his hands in his pockets. Charlie didn't look at him directly as she pushed her way towards her locker, but she could feel his eyes on her as she dialed in the combination and yanked the door open. It felt like they were boring a hole in her skin. "If Derek wants information on Jackson, you can forget it," she declared, her head still inside her locker. "I'm not telling any of you a damn thing. So you might as well save your breath and get the hell out of here right now."

"I didn't come here for Derek," Isaac replied, only the barest hint of apathetic swagger contained within the phrase.

Charlie let out a bitter snort and stayed facing her locker, exchanging her books. "Are you sure?" she demanded as she shoved her chemistry text into her messenger bag. "Because these days you seem to be doing pretty much whatever the hell he tells you to do. I think that makes you a minion."

Isaac blinked, his face scrunching up into an odd combination of confusion and amusement. "A minion?" he drawled out. "One of those little yellow things that runs around making weird noises?"

Slamming the door of her locker shut, Charlie spun around and folded her arms across he chest, leveling Isaac with a deadly look. "No," she snapped. "A minion as in the underling of an authority figure who unquestioningly and blindly does that person's bidding no matter the cost."

"I—I'm not a minion, okay," Isaac shot back, actually looking a little offended. "Look, Charlie, I didn't come here to fight with you. I came here to talk."

Charlie felt her lips pull back into a semi-hostile sneer. "Isaac, I just stabbed you with a pencil that was covered in a paralytic. Why don't you go ahead and ask yourself what kind of message that sends."

"I think it shows that you're just really demonstrative when you're expressing your feelings," he deadpanned. "You were feeling anger, so you stabbed me. That's legitimate. I'm not holding a grudge." There was a tiny half-smile on his face, like he was hoping that she would soften or maybe even laugh. Like he was hoping for her normal reaction to snarky banter. Fat chance of that. When Charlie didn't respond, Isaac's face fell. He ran his hands down his face, rubbing at his eyes a bit, and when he pulled his hands away, he seemed torn between exhaustion and frustration. "I'm trying to apologize," he murmured. "For what happened last night and yesterday."

"Just call it what it is, Isaac," Charlie spat, her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Attempted murder."

A wince etched itself into the lines of Isaac's face and he averted his eyes, staring at his feet. "Look, Charlie—"

"I'm with Stiles."

She just blurted out the words. She wasn't sure why she did it. All she knew was that she wanted Isaac to go away and stop trying to apologize for something there was no way in hell she was going to forgive him for. And the words had their desired effect. Isaac twitched violently and his eyes snapped to hers, a sort of frantic look in them. "What?"

Charlie sighed loudly and readjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder. "I'm with Stiles now," she repeated. "Romantic-style. So that's a thing."

Isaac paused for a moment. As the initial shock of the revelation wore off, he eased back into that casual, blasé attitude he had adopted of late. "Seriously?" he drawled out, almost sarcastically. "Well that's disappointing. And kind of unbelievable." And then a crease formed between Isaac's eyebrows and he began blinking rapidly, like he was thinking very hard about something. "Wait, do you—do you think that I'm apologizing to you because of what I said in chemistry class—me saying that I was hitting on you?" he asked, looking at her seriously. "You think I've got some sort of agenda here?"

Charlie exhaled sharply and shrugged her shoulders. "Honestly, Isaac?" she sighed out, shaking her head. "I don't know. Maybe. Probably. Everybody has an agenda."

"Come on, Charlie! You know I wouldn't—"

"No, I don't, Isaac," Charlie interrupted, narrowing her eyes at him dangerously. "Apparently I don't. You see, I know I never really got to know you all that well, but I thought you were a sweet, shy guy who had been dealt a seriously shitty hand. And I thought that when you turned that you would be the type of person who would use that strength to, I don't know, maybe help some people. People like who you used to be. But what happened? You became a cocky ass who jokes about killing people—about killing innocent people. You picked feeling powerful over the most basic human decency. So you, Derek, Erica—hell, even Boyd—all of you can go screw yourselves. Because clearly I don't know any of you at all."

"Charlie, I'm saying that I'm sorry!"

"And I'm saying that's not enough!" she hissed. It was rising up in her all over again—the anger. She felt that characteristic tingling in her fingers that made her hands clench into fists, her nails digging into her palms as she fought the urge to hit something. She ground her teeth together trying to push it all back down—to get the anger to stop choking her for long enough to say what she needed to say.

"Apologies are cheap," she said, her voice echoing despite the fact that she was whispering. "It's just—it's just air passing over the vocal chords. And I'm not good at forgiveness. You tried to kill my best friend and turned it into something that you and the rest of your pack can high-five each other over. You enjoyed it. Real team-bonding experience, right? That's going to take a hell of a lot more than a couple of 'I'm sorrys'. You want my forgiveness? Do something that makes me think you freaking deserve it."

The words hung in the air between them as they stared each other down. Charlie could see hurt and anger in Isaac's eyes. But that was kind of the point, wasn't it? He didn't get to just blink some big, blue puppy dog eyes and be forgiven. Actions had consequences, it was one of the first things she learned in life, so she just returned that moody stare, refusing to back down. His jaw twitched violently and he ground his teeth together, almost like he wanted to say something. But whatever it was she would never know, because suddenly a dark-haired figure appeared at her shoulder and it wasn't just her and Isaac standing there anymore.

"Hey," Scott murmured, moving so that he was standing almost between her and Isaac. "Is everything alright here?"

Charlie stared Isaac down for a few more moments before her eyes flicked to Scott. He was standing there, hands on his hips, looking between her and Isaac with that constipated look he usually got when he was worried about something. She pressed her lips together in a thin line and nodded. "Yeah," she said, nodding a bit. "Yeah, everything's fine. Isaac here was just leaving."

Isaac's hands started clenching and unclenching into fists. He was getting frustrated now, and he didn't quite have a good enough handle on the werewolf thing yet to be unaffected by it. "Right," he agreed, his voice tinged with bitterness. "I was just leaving."

Isaac spun on his heel and marched away from the two of them. His shoulders were tense and rigid, angry disappointment rolling off of him in waves. Charlie felt a slight twinge of guilt in her gut as he stalked off, but she ignored it. She had meant what she said earlier. Apologies were cheap. And most of the time they were more for the person doing the apologizing than for the person that was being apologized to. It was an easy out—you never actually have to fix anything.

When Isaac was finally out of earshot—which took a while given his more recently developed abilities—Scott placed a hand on Charlie's shoulder, making her glance up at him. "Are you okay?" he asked, giving her a meaningful look.

"Yeah," she replied quickly. "I'm fine."

Scott looked down the hall at Isaac's retreating figure, squinting after him with a slightly bemused expression. "What was all that about?" he asked, nodding in Isaac's direction.

Charlie sighed and turned away from Isaac to face Scott. "Trust me when I say you don't want to know."

"He didn't threaten you, did he?"

The urgent concern in his eyes made Charlie let out a bitter laugh. "Worse," she replied. "He tried to apologize."

Scott made a face at her, clearly not understanding her warped logic, and then sighed as well. "Man," he groaned. "Everything is getting so screwed up."

"Yeah, in more ways than one," Charlie shot back, raising her eyebrows at him pointedly. "Stealing a police car? Really? That's your genius plan."

Scott opened and closed his mouth a few times, clearly at a loss for what to say. "That was Stiles's idea," he finally said, throwing his hands in the air.

"Yeah," Charlie replied. "And as Stiles's best friend, it's your job to stop him from doing stupid crap."

Scott covered his face with his hands and let out a loud groan. When he withdrew his hands his face was screwed up into a goofy, bemused look. "At least there's no way it can get worse, right?" he demanded, shrugging innocently.

As soon as the words left his lips, a wave of horrified disbelief swept through Charlie. Her mouth dropped open and, seemingly of its own accord, her fist swung out and punched Scott hard in the shoulder making him jump. "Are you freaking kidding me?" Charlie growled, cutting off any accusatory complaints he might have wanted to share. "Seriously, Scott, why would you go and say anything like that? Everybody knows that as soon as someone says 'there's no way things can get worse', things get worse!"

"Come on, Charlie," Scott shot back. "You don't really think—"

But before Scott could even finish the sentence, two men strode down the hallway, both of whom were clearly not a part of the student body. In their arms one held a ladder and the other what looked like a security camera—the type they keep outside of banks and government buildings. Charlie and Scott both watched in horror as the men planted the ladder on the ground and proceeded to screw that damn camera to the wall. Yup. It got worse.

"Oh my God," Scott whispered from next to her. "We are so screwed."

Charlie had seemingly lost all power of speech. All she could do was nod stupidly as she saw the horizon of her freedom shrink that much more. The school had been a battleground before, but now it had been taken—it was occupied enemy territory. They were living in the belly of the beast, and eyes were everywhere. And now she sounded paranoid. High school had finally managed to make her paranoid, and not for the usual reasons. It was a war. Sure it was a covert war where both sides ended up having really awkward dinner parties with a startling frequency, but it was still a war. And she couldn't shake the feeling that they were losing.

Then she heard it. That cold voice that pretended to be warm.

"Miss Oswin."

Her name had never sounded so freaking terrifying. Charlie felt her breathing hitch and her jaw clench. Slowly, she turned to her left only to be met with cold eyes of bottomless cruelty. Or maybe she was just being dramatic. He was Allison's grandpa after all. But that fact alone didn't mean he wasn't scary as hell. Charlie swallowed heavily and nodded at him in acknowledgement. "Sir."

And then he smiled at her, those teeth glinting ominously in the fluorescent lighting. "Would you mind joining me in my office? I have some things I'd like to discuss with you."

Without another word, Grandpa continued on his way past her in the direction of his office. From the way he walking it seemed like she was meant to follow him. To the principal's office. His office. Where the two of them would sit. Alone. As she watched him go, Charlie felt like she was sinking down, down into the abyss. Which would probably still have been a better place to be than the principal's office.

Charlie blew out a long breath, wondering whether or not she should just let in the despair and be done with it. "Well, shit."

Okay, guys, that's a new chapter. I'm sure you're all mad at me for how Charlie acted towards Isaac. I love him as a character, but he tried to kill Lydia and that's not something Charlie just forgives. Not ever. And, like with Derek, he's going to actually have to do something that earns her forgiveness.

I guess this chapter felt a bit like filler, but I'm happy with it. A (hopefully) cute Starlie scene, finally checking in with Mel, revealing something to Lydia, and more Charlie/Scott time. All good things I guess!

Please review. After all it is the holidays!