"Moving in the Dark"

Lucawindmover

Chapter Twenty-Three

"One More"


"It feels like I have lost this fight. They think that I am staying down. But I'm not giving up tonight. Tonight the wall is coming down."

SuperChick "One More"

Allison paced back and forth in her bedroom, her heart racing and her palms sweaty. She didn't remember being this nervous about the ritual the last time they'd done it. Granted, last time they had been in a rush and desperate to find their parents. And back then she hadn't fully understood the repercussions of crossing over to the other side. Hindsight being twenty-twenty and all that, she knew this wasn't a decision to come to lightly.

The last week had been a jumble for her. They were all back at school after taking the weekend to recover. Everyone except for Isaac who had managed to take a leave of absence due to illness and was having his school work delivered to him at home. The fewer people to know he'd lost his arm, the better. On the off chance that he managed to grow it back, he wouldn't be able to answer the questions that would be posed to him. So he was doing his schoolwork at home. But he wasn't particularly worried about falling behind. Lydia had been tutoring him and he said he was certain their teachers couldn't have taught his subjects half as well as she did.

Isaac was laying on Allison's bed now, skimming through his math homework and checking his answers against the ones that Lydia had left for him. As Allison paced, she watched his brow furrow upon finding something wrong with his homework. He moved to erase his answer and realized he couldn't hold his paper still while he did so. It was an action that would take two hands. Instead of jumping to his rescue and holding the paper for him, Allison waited and watched as Isaac cleverly rewrote his new answer over his old answer in a way that was still legible, effectively erasing without having to ask for help.

He had been staying at her house pretty much all week, mostly crashing on their couch in the living room rather than in his own room at the McCall's. Allison figured it was because she didn't always move to help him with stuff. She didn't open his doors or cut his food or treat him like an invalid. Of course if he asked for help, she was at his side in an instant. But the others…they must have felt a little guilty when they looked at him, despite the fact that the only person actually responsible was dead. So they covered that guilt by trying to take care of him. They didn't know, couldn't know, that all he wanted was to figure out how to do things himself. She was letting him do things.

And she was also asking him to do things. For her. Another part of the reason he'd been staying over was because of the nightmares. She'd had several very convincing dreams since the battle with the leshy, each worse than the one before. The only thing that ever made her feel better was to know that Isaac was alive and real and within reach, if need be. Her father had been hesitant to let a werewolf, even a one-armed one, sleep in a bed with his daughter. But after the second night of blood-curdling screams and violent thrashing, he'd changed his mind and only requested that they leave the door open.

These nightmares were the reason she had to go through with the ritual again, once and for all. She and Stiles had talked about it on the phone for hours, weighing the pros and cons and making the final preparations with Deaton. They were going under this evening. They had both had enough.

"You know, it's kind of hard to concentrate when you're doing that," Isaac said, breaking her train of thought.

Allison paused and frowned. "Doing what?"

Isaac waved his pencil at her. "Pacing. You're driving me crazy."

"Oh I'm driving you crazy, am I?" Allison said, throwing her arms out. "I'm so sorry. Let me take a break from my dead aunt driving me crazy so that I don't mess up your homework."

Isaac sat back against the headboard and made a motion like he was going to cross his arms. But, since he had nothing to cross his one arm with, he contented himself with just laying his hand in his lap. "That was a little sarcastic of you," he said. "You've been hanging out with Stiles again, haven't you?"

Allison stopped pacing and groaned, sitting on the foot of her bed. "God. Yes. Sorry. I guess I'm just wound a little tight right now," she sighed, her shoulders sagging. "I kind of get why he does it now I guess."

"Wait, get why who does what?" Isaac asked. He shifted his homework over on the bed and scooted down to sit next to her.

"I get why Stiles is always covering everything up with sarcasm," she said with a gesture of her hand. "It is so much easier than talking about what's actually wrong, you know?"

"You're worried about tonight, aren't you?" Isaac said. It was more of a rhetorical question really, considering they both knew the answer.

Allison pursed her lips. "What if I fight you and you can't keep me under the water?"

"You didn't before," he answered.

"Well, I didn't know what I was doing before," she said, tapping her fingers against her knees.

"Besides," Isaac said. "I'm pretty sure that I could keep you under water, even with just one hand."

He bumped his shoulder against hers, a gesture that always made her smile. He was trying to lighten her mood. She knew it. He didn't want her to go through the ritual again. He hated the idea. But he knew how important it was to her to get rid of Kate's ghost and so he was trying to be supportive. She couldn't thank him enough for that, especially now that she felt like she was getting cold feet. So if he wanted to lighten the mood, if he wanted to take her mind off of her nerves for a little while, she would let him. He needed to feel like he was doing something to help. She understood that and appreciated it more than she could express.

"Besides," he said. "I can still take you down. You realize that, right?"

Allison smirked. "Yeah right. You could barely take me before."

"Aha!" he said, poking her knee with his finger. "So you admit. I could take you before!"

She laughed. "Barely. You could barely take me. And I seem to remember resolving this argument in the woods one afternoon?"

"Exactly," he said with a grin. "The time that I took you down."

Allison shook her head. "Are you angling for a rematch?"

"I don't need to," he answered. "I won the last one."

Quick as a snake, Allison turned and pushed him backwards, straddling his lap. The books and papers on the bed behind him were shoved out of the way as his back hit the bed and her lips crashed into his. His arm snaked his way up her shirt and he gripped the back of her neck. With no warning, he rolled them and grinned down at her as she was now the one pinned.

"See," he said, his voice husky with desire. "One arm and I can still take you."

Allison smirked and raised an eyebrow. "I didn't realize this was the sort of 'take' you were talking about."

She laughed as the realization of the double entendre dawned on him and a crimson blush crept up his neck. "That's not…well what I meant was…I didn't even think…" he stuttered.

Allison reached up and grabbed his face with her hands. "I'm teasing you," she said softly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Then his nose. Then both of his cheeks. He sighed and rested his forehead on her shoulder and the two of them laid this way for a long time.

"I thought you were supposed to be finding something of Kate's for the ritual," he said eventually, rolling off of her and flopping onto his back.

She groaned and sat up. She swung her legs off the bed and crossed the room to her dresser. In the top drawer, buried under a layer of socks, rested the amulet that should have been buried with Kate. Allison dug it out and closed the drawer. Sitting on the foot of the bed again, she stared at the offending object, frustrated that something so ordinary as a necklace could become so sinister in her mind.

"You're absolutely sure you have to do this?" Isaac asked from behind her. He leaned forward and propped his chin on her shoulder, touching his cheek to hers. She could feel him looking down at the object in her hands.

She nodded. She had to finish this, once and for all.

"Oh my god. Oh my god," Stiles chanted under his breath as he tossed one article of clothing over his shoulder after another. He had almost reached the back of his closet and he still couldn't find what he was looking for. "Oh my god, where the hell is it?"

"What are you looking for?" Lydia asked from behind him. He was pretty sure she was picking up everything he was throwing behind him but he hadn't turned around to check. "And why are you freaking out about it?"

Stiles grabbed another hoodie off a hanger and dropped it by his feet. He was amassing a very large pile of hoodies and sweatshirts now as most of the back of his closet was full of warmer clothes. "Deaton said that I should take something of my mom's with me when I go under this time," he said, glancing over his shoulder. Sure enough, Lydia was folding all of his discarded clothes and had them in stacks on the floor. "I know, I know I have one of her sweaters in the back here somewhere. It has to be here somewhere. I can find it. I have to find it."

"Why is it so important that you find this one particular sweater though?" she asked. "I mean, you have other things that belonged to your mother, don't you?"

Stiles threw his hands in the air. "Yeah, of course I have other stuff but I wanted this sweater. I need this one. You don't understand. When I saw her in my vision she was wearing this sweater."

"And you think that'll help make the connection stronger?"

As soon as his fingers touched the wooly fabric, he knew he'd found it. There wasn't much light in the back of his closet and he had to reach over a box of old lacrosse pads and roller blades to even reach it. But as soon as his hand closed around the sweater, he knew it was the right one. It didn't matter that he hadn't seen or touched this sweater since just after his mom died. He'd known it so well before that it was as if no time had passed.

He pulled the sweater, his mother's librarian sweater, off the hanger and turned around, holding it up. It smelled musty now, from neglect at the back of his closet, but just holding the article of clothing already made him feel closer to her somehow. It was missing half of its wooden buttons and one of the sleeves had a string hanging from the cuff but it was still perfect.

Stiles watched as Lydia stood, her expression asking him permission to touch the sweater without having to actually vocalize the question. He nodded and handed it to her, feeling his chest tighten. He'd never let anyone else touch it before. In fact, he had tucked all of his mother's things away. They were in closets or the attic or the basement. His father had never had the heart to do it himself and Stiles hadn't been able to keep looking at reminders that she was gone. So he'd taken care of it. Just a few things at a time put into boxes or baskets or totes. Scott hadn't ever even seen this sweater. And now he was letting someone else hold it.

But Lydia wasn't just someone else. Lydia wasn't just a someone. She was the someone. She was the only one. And if he couldn't let her hold this sweater then she wasn't the right person. So instead of feeling anxious or jealous or angry, he felt…relieved. He felt relieved because all he wanted to do right now was wrap Lydia up in that sweater and hold her until the end of time.

Or until he had to pee, which was much more likely to come first.

"I see why you wanted this," Lydia said with a sigh. She handed the sweater back to Stiles who folded it and placed it on his desk.

"What do you mean?" he asked. He looked around his room and suddenly felt a little embarrassed that he'd thrown almost the entire contents of his closet over his shoulder in his previous haste. He grabbed a handful of empty hangers and took a seat on the floor next to one of the stacks that Lydia had made.

She shrugged and sank on the edge of the bed. "I don't really know how to describe it," she said, tucking her feet up underneath her. "Just…it has a feeling to it."

Stiles paused in the middle of putting a flannel shirt back on its hanger. "A feeling? You mean like a banshee feeling?"

She shook her head and bit her lip for a moment. "Not really that kind of feeling. I don't know. It has a safe feeling to it. Like I said, I can't really describe it."

"For once the Great and Mighty Lydia Martin is stumped by words," Stiles joked. He started on another shirt, adding to his stack of clothes that now had hangers once more.

He'd expected her to say something. He didn't usually get away with teasing her. Lydia was just as quick with the one-liners as he was. None of his little quirks got past her. But she had become increasingly quiet and thoughtful over the last week and it was starting to make him nervous.

"You don't really…seem right…" Stiles said. He stopped putting the shirts on hangers in order to watch her expressions. "I mean, I know you're still freaked out about the hospital and Peter and all but this feels like something else. Is it the tests? Are you worried about the blood tests and stuff coming back?"

Lydia shook her head. "No. It's not that. I mean, well of course it is a little but…you're right. Something's not right."

"Any idea what that might be?" he asked.

"I'm pretty sure it's because I know my boyfriend is going to die tonight."

Stiles felt his stomach lurch for two different reasons. The first, and albeit lesser of the two reasons was because she had finally admitted that he was her boyfriend. Or at least he hoped she was talking about him. Which lead him to the second reason his stomach was in knots. If she was indeed talking about him then he was currently sitting with a banshee who had just predicted his death.

He gulped. "I'm gonna die?"

"Of course you are," she said. "You died last time too. You all did."

Stiles frowned. He thought they'd always just joked about being dead. He hadn't actually realized that they'd been…well…dead. "Are you sure about that?" he asked, feeling his hands start to shake. "Because I'm pretty sure that dead people don't just wake up out of water and go on living like normal people."

Lydia laughed but Stiles didn't see what was funny right now. In fact, he felt like his whole body was vibrating with sudden anxiety, making the situation feel very much the opposite of something to laugh about.

"You are not living like a normal person," she said. "Not by a long shot."

"Jokes?" he asked, hopping to his feet. The clothes that had been in his lap fell to the floor, discarded and forgotten as he started pacing. "You think this is a time for jokes?"

"I don't know what else to do right now so yeah, maybe I'm taking a page out Stiles Stilinski's coping playbook," she answered.

Stiles stopped moving long enough to throw his hands in the air, staring at her. "Did you know we were going to die last time?" he asked. "I mean did you 'banshee' know it?"

She bit her lip and nodded, sending him into a fit of pacing again. "But Stiles, Deaton said it was safe so I just…didn't say anything. We needed to find your parents. It wouldn't have helped anyone if I freaked you all out about it."

"Ha!" he laughed. "Ha, okay. Deaton said it was a safe death, nothing to worry about. Oh my god, Lydia. What have I signed up for? Again? I'm going to die tonight. I will be literally dying."

Lydia opened her mouth to respond but she couldn't get a word in edgewise.

"Do you realize what this means?" His voice was getting really loud at this point. He could feel it going up an octave but he couldn't seem to manage it. "I'm going to die a virgin. Again! Twice. Most people only die a virgin once. But me? I suck at life so bad that I get to do it twice."

Lydia stood and put herself in the middle of his path, forcing him to stop. She grabbed his upper arms and ducked her head down a little to make sure she had his attention.

"Is that what you're most worried about?" she asked him. "Dying a virgin? Really?"

Stiles shrugged her hands off, gently, and took a seat in his computer chair. "Look, don't make fun of me about it, okay? Getting laid was never really a priority for me. I mean, not that I didn't want to because what guy doesn't want to, right? I just…I don't know. That was never the goal for me. But it is something that I want. It's an experience that I want to have in my life because god knows we aren't guaranteed another day. If anyone freaking knows that, it's us, right?"

"Stiles," Lydia said. "I'm not trying to belittle you or make you feel like it's a dumb fear or anything. I was just trying to…separate out what the worst part was for you. That's all."

He sighed and looked up at her to see that her mocking face was definitely not in place. She wasn't being sarcastic, she was being genuine. That was a little on the rare side for her so he decided not to question it. If he drew too much undue attention to the action she might never do it again.

"Being afraid of dying is not something I can help you with," she said, moving toward him. A sly, more Lydia-like grin started to play on her lips and Stiles felt his mouth go dry. "But not dying a virgin? That's exactly something I could help you with."

Stiles started to protest as she straddled his lap, wrapping her hands around the back of his neck. But he wasn't able to because her very sumptuous lips were pressing against his and she smelled amazing. He remembered the first time they had kissed in his jeep, remembered that sensation of being completely overloaded, and was astounded to find that this much time could pass and yet he felt exactly the same.

The kiss was full of heat and somehow gentle. Stiles wasn't sure exactly how this was going to play out so he was cautious with his kisses. He wanted to give her time to back out, he realized. He might be sabotaging this before it really got started.

Lydia pulled away, breathing hard. Her cheeks and neck were flushed an amazing shade of red that caused Stiles' heart to beat faster. He was pretty sure there wasn't enough blood left in the top half of his body to make him blush like that.

"We really don't have to…I mean. I don't want you to feel like you need too…oomph," he said. Or at least tried to say before her mouth crushed against his again. This time he found himself having a really hard time holding back. His hands drifted to her thighs, parted around his waist. She was in one of her trade-marked short skirts and his hands itched to get underneath it.

She pulled back again before he could, hopping off his lap and taking his hand. The movement happened so quickly that he was disoriented.

"Are you coming?" she asked, tugging his hand and backing toward his bed.

Stiles swallowed hard. "Look, Lydia, I'm serious. We don't need—"

She stopped and dropped his hand. "Yes. Yes we do need to do this. I need to do this, okay? Maybe I'm being selfish here but I…I need to be with you. I need it. And you know what? You need it too. We, together, need it. It's normally just a biological imperative…" she trailed off to a pause, looking away from him. "But right now I think it's an emotional one too."

That's all he needed to know. He needed to know that this wasn't pity sex, that he hadn't coerced her into something she didn't want to do.

But then he remembered who he was dealing with. Lydia Martin. Nobody made Lydia Martin do something she didn't want to do.

…to be continued…


Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf, nor do I profit in this story other than working at becoming a better writer. I do not claim to own any of these wonderful characters. They belong to the creative genius Jeff Davis and the various copyright holders.

A/N: The reviews have been phenomenal you guys. I can't thank you enough for them. Seriously. I'm hearing from lots of folks who have been here since the beginning but who are reviewing for the first time. It's amazing!

So we have these loose ends to wrap up with the ritual and whatnot and then BAM. End of the story folks. Chapter 25 will be it. So after this, we have four more updates because Chapter 25 is more like an Epilogue and will only be one scene.

But don't fret. This will not be the last story I write for Teen Wolf. I already have a TON of plans for the next two. So if you like the way I treat the characters and my writing style, please be on stand-by for the next one because I'm pretty sure you'll love it too.

Thanks so much for all the love and support. This has been one of the best years of my life.

Luca