She almost welcomed the water in her ears when she walked down the hallways at school. If everything was distant and jumbled and skewed she wouldn't have to hear the incessant chatter about the cheerleading team or the physics test or Allison's death or how Lydia had gone certifiably A Beautiful Mind on everyone.
She just had to get from class to class and try to focus without writing any unknown secret codes in her notebook. Head down, quick feet, books clutched to chest. Go.
"Hey." She stopped short of her plan when Stiles left his place by Malia's locker and ran, limbs flying, towards her. He fell in step and they kept walking towards Physics.
"Hi," she said nicely.
"So?" he said and let it dangle.
"So…What?" she asked.
"Um, the Google Doc? Hello?"
Lydia sighed. She and Stiles had a shared Google Doc where she wrote down in diary form everywhere she ended up that she couldn't explain. The last thing she remembered, where she went, what she found, her feelings etc. It was to try and find some sort of pattern or Gestalt in the whole mess and Lydia didn't have the energy to tell Stiles how futile it seemed to her. When she'd been so sure, she had been wrong. When she had no idea what was going on, she had found things. There was no pattern. It was entropic, but Stiles liked unsolvable webs.
"Please tell me you found Peter Hale dead? Maybe like caused by an accident of his own? Accidental suffocation by way of too tight V-neck or…or! His brand of hair gel was discontinued and he couldn't bear a world without it so he…you know," Stiles made a gross gurgling sound and mimed hanging himself in a noose.
"Sadly, Peter is very much still alive," Lydia said matter-of-factly.
"Okaaay," Stiles drew out the word and let it dangle. She still didn't bite. "So what happened why did you end up there?"
"I don't know."
He scratched his head. "This complicates things."
"Don't I know it," she rolled her eyes and darted into her classroom as the bell rang before halting abruptly and running right into the star soccer player's back. Crap.
.
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"Peter has my car," Lydia sighed and scuffed the bottom of her bootie along the floor.
"Why does Peter have your car?" Derek said, arms crossed, flat.
"Is he here?" she said impatiently.
"Contrary to popular belief, Peter does not actually live here," Derek said.
"So I'm told, but I've seen no evidence that leads me to believe otherwise. So get him or tell me where to find him. He's always here. He has nowhere else to be."
"I resent that." She heard Peter's voice from far back in the loft. She raised an eyebrow at Derek, who scowled.
"Want to come in?" Derek asked with little pleasantry in his voice.
Lydia looked at him wide eyed. "No...Thanks. I'll wait here…Keys please," she called out to Peter.
She tapped her foot, heard movement and rustling and the clang of keys against one another, and soon he wasn't just at the door, but stepping into the hallway.
"It's parked far away. Bad neighborhood. Follow me," he said casually and made his way to the steps.
Lydia didn't budge, but shot a desperate look at Derek, who shrugged and so obviously didn't get her message. "It's true."
"Oh come on, don't be a brat," Peter said. "I'm trying to do something decent here and escort a lady to her car?"
Lydia wanted to vomit. Cursing Derek's complete lack of social cues whatsoever, she puffed up her chest and pursed her lips, preparing to follow the leader down the rickety iron meshed steps.
"Just so you know I make it a distinct point not to be alone with you. Ever. So don't get used to this," she said.
"And yet here we are again, twice in one week," he cooed, taking the steps as leisurely as he pleased.
"I'm not responsible for where my psycho psychic premonitions take me."
Peter stopped abruptly and turned, so that she halted just on the step above him. They were equal height and his cold, chiseled and symmetrical face stared at her point blank. Her breath hitched.
"Oh, but you are," he whispered and his breath reached her cheek, warm and damp.
Lydia's heart was thumping loud and heavy against her chest and she knew he could hear it. She tried to regulate her breath, so it came out soundless and even though it didn't want to.
"Now," he said in a low, serious voice. She could have sworn he leaned in even closer. "You can continue to refuse to take responsibility for your abilities like any other narcissistic teenage girl or you can start to own it."
Her insides were screaming. Every nerve ending wanted to jerk her backward, wanted to take her feet running back up to Derek. When she didn't they screamed louder and her head felt light and dizzy.
"You know…" she started slow and steady, sucking in her cheeks just slightly and puckering her lips like she'd just spit out something sour. "For someone who doesn't care a whole lot for narcissistic teenage girls, you sure seem invested."
For a moment Peter said nothing, but kept his jaw square and menacing and his icy eyes on hers. "Maybe," he began before his mouth ticked up into a lopsided smirk. "When precious cargo is in question."
"Ugh," Lydia groaned and rolled her eyes so far so she couldn't see him for a brief, lovely second. "Spare me." And she huffed passed him to get the show on the road, namely her car on the road and away from industrial downtown lofts and the smell of wet cement and garbage.
"Aren't you going to ask what we both know you want to ask?" he said as he followed her brisk, clapping heels out of the building and into a back alley.
"I don't know what you mean," she said absentmindedly. "Left or right?"
"Left." She began walking. "Yes you do. 5.0 in all of her AP classes? Lydia definitely knows what I mean." She sensed exasperation in his voice which amused her. She added an extra swish to her hips as she walked. Leather dress shoes scuffed along the cement behind her. Scurrying, like on a leash, she thought.
"Sorry to break it to you, darling, but I don't see anyone else knowing how to help you get into Stilinski's brain," he said, more slyly and arrogant than she'd expected, and her forehead creased slightly. "I'm the only one that knows what you're capable of. I know what's in there. You want power? Want to harness it? Hmm?"
Lydia's stride broke as his words sunk in. Did she want all of those things? Yes. Did she want them at the tutelage of Peter Hale? No. But she knew she could call him when there was nothing else left with which to save Stiles. She had just known. It was true, Peter understood what she could do more than she did.
"Don't you want to know what you can do? Aren't you curious?" he pried, like a pest buzzing behind her ear.
"Not particularly," she clipped.
"Don't you want to see Allison?" he said finally and she stopped cold.
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thanks all for the warm reception to the first chapter! not sure I've moved this slowly with plot/character before. I'm enjoying writing the slow burn, but lots of stuff is in play so hope you stick with it. reviewing or following will be a huge kick in the butt for my motivation. xoxo.