The next few weeks fell into a sort of pattern. Scott and Stiles stayed with them as much as they could, leaving for food and other supplies. Lydia would complain about the lack of hot water whenever they got back, Stiles would reply with some jibe about her concern over her appearance when they were at near-constant risk of being arrested, and it would go from there. Scott would catch Allison's eye and grin, or roll his eyes, and she would very quickly look away. No, that was not a blush on her cheeks, and the heat in her belly was probably from how warm it was in the house at the height of California summer. It had absolutely nothing to do with the way his fingers brushed against her arm to get her attention, or the almost puppy-like expression on his face when he told her he couldn't get her gems back.
"I'm sorry," he said, brown eyes wide and pleading as he broke the news. "The room was crawling with cops. I tried, I really did, but-"
"Scott," Allison stopped him with a hand. "It's fine. I don't want you getting arrested."
The relief that lit up his face was almost too bright. "Okay," he said, and their eyes met for a long moment before Lydia let out a small cough that sounded suspiciously like she was saying "get a room."
Allison tried to stare her friend down, but Lydia just tossed her hair and smiled. "You'll just have to give us half of those emeralds then," the redhead said, shrugging.
"What?!" Stiles yelped. "No! We worked hard for those!"
"Uh, so did we," Lydia rolled her eyes and held out her hand. "Come on. Give us the goods."
"No. Nu-uh, no way," Stiles turned and went up the stairs, hands in the air. "You are not getting our emeralds. Never." Lydia followed him up, hand out.
Scott and Allison watched them disappear around the bend at the top. "We might be getting some of your emeralds," Allison said then, feeling a smile curl the edges of her lips as she glanced at him sidelong.
He scratched the back of his head, perplexed and more than slightly resigned. "Yeah, probably." His own face cracked into a grin, and they both broke into giggles.
"What are we gonna do about those two?" she asked in between breaths, shaking her head.
"I dunno," he replied, still shaking with laughter. "Hopefully not clean up any bodies."
"That would make it rather difficult, considering this is supposed to be a safe house," she giggled, and he grinned at her. They were alone, she realized in a sudden, acute flash. "Sorry," she muttered, trying to sidle past him and up the stairs.
His hand wrapped around her arm. "Wait," he said, and the earnest tone in his voice made her look up. "Why are you avoiding me?"
"I'm not avoiding you," she replied with a nervous smile, shaking his hand off. "I'm just going to make sure that Stiles and Lydia won't kill each other."
"Allison," he followed her. She did her best to ignore the tingling of her arm where he grabbed her, and the heat that flooded through her as he said her name. "Come on. You're avoiding me."
"Okay, fine," she rounded on him, fixing him with her best glare. "I'm avoiding you. Can you please make it easier to?"
"No," he replied, following her up the stairs. "Why are you avoiding me?"
"Because you're still bothering me?" she snapped. She reached the top of the stairs, fully intending to stomp off to the room she claimed as hers. Her foot hit the divet in the floor where the molding carpet sagged through the floor and she pitched forward. Scott's hand flew out to catch her, missed, and they both fell, sending a cloud of dust into the air.
"Sorry," he groaned, the word echoing hazily amidst dust and pain and a sudden pressure.
"Scott," she said quietly as the dust subsided.
"Yes?" he asked, his voice suddenly very close to her ear.
"Get off me."
"Oh my god," he scrambled backwards off of her, pressing against the wall. She sat up, a little confused at his reaction. "I am so sorry," he said, worry lacing through his tone.
"Why are you sorry?" she asked, a small frown creasing her forehead.
A sheepish grin spread across his face, sweet and embarrassed. "My mom always told me that I shouldn't be on top of a girl unless she wanted me there." Allison arched an eyebrow. "The girl, I mean!" he burst out, realizing how that could have been interpreted. "Not my mom, no. I should only be on top of a girl if the girl wants me there."
Allison tucked her knees up against her chin. "She sounds great."
His grin softened into a smile, the gentle sort of smile you save for those you really love. Part of Allison's traitorous mind wondered if she might ever see that smile directed at her, but she pushed the thought aside. "Yeah, she is. Though if she knew what I did for a living she would ground me for the rest of my life," he finished with a snort of laughter. "She thinks I'm working as a high-end vet that travels around to look at rich people's pets."
"My dad doesn't know either," she found herself saying, and immediately bit her lip closed. He did not need to know about her family issues. She should just get up and go back downstairs, run through the woods until her blood pounded though her ears and not in her chest and her muscles were loose instead of tightly curled into a ball. But she didn't move. And again, she began to speak. "He just knows that I didn't want to go into the family business." Everything seemed to sharpen almost painfully, the long-forgotten lump rising in her throat. He would have seen the bolos. He would know. "I haven't spoken to him in years."
"I'm sorry," Scott's eyes were soft. "What about your mom?"
"My mom's dead," her voice didn't even sound like hers anymore. It couldn't always be so hollow, could it? "She committed suicide when I was seventeen."
"Oh, Christ," he breathed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring it up."
She shook her head. "It's all right. It was a long time ago. It kinda wrecked my relationship with my dad, though." God, was she crying? Since when had she turned into a weepy little girl? Lydia was the emotional one, not her. She was the strong one. The one who always held it together, who got them through when there seemed like nothing left but dark nights and running and the bottom of a bottle waiting for them at the end of it all. Yet here she was, a choked sob rising in her throat because she was talking about her family with someone who was basically a complete stranger. She wrapped her arms around her knees and hid her face in the crook.
The floor creaked as he shifted, and suddenly she felt warm arms wrap around her. She tensed, ready to flee, but his voice came then, oddly soothing. "It's okay," he said, arms tightening. "You can be sad if you want. It's okay. You don't have to be strong all of the time."
Yes, I do, she wanted to respond. Otherwise, what else am I? But she couldn't make herself speak. All she could sit there and let herself dissolve.
"She's crying."
"I know."
"She never cries."
"I know!"
Lydia frowned. "How would you know? You've only just met her!"
"Well, she doesn't seem like the type, you know? She seems so…" Stiles groped for the right word.
"Indomitable?" Lydia suggested.
He pointed at her. "That. Now move, I want to see what's going on."
"Don't shove!" she shoved back, taking the slim space by the crack in the door.
He sat back, legs crossed in a slim facsimile of patience. "So what's part two of your master plan?"
She shot him a withering look. "That was part two. Part three involves her actually telling Scott about her dad."
"I mean, she opened up a lot, for her," he commented. "We gotta work on cracking Scott open. He's a tough nut."
"Allison's worse," Lydia shook her head, keeping her eye glued to the crack.
"Nah," Stiles shook his head. "Scott's pretty messed up. I mean, why do you think he started stealing in the first place?"
"Trust me," Lydia tossed a lock of hair behind her shoulder. "Whatever his damage is, Allison's is worse."
"Hey, don't sell Scott short! He's got some shitty stuff in his past!"
"Not as bad as Allison's," Lydia sing-songed.
Stiles gritted his teeth. "I bet you it is."
She turned, hazel eyes glittering. "Bet me what, exactly?"
"Uh," he paled. "I guess if I win, then you have to do whatever I say. Within reason, of course!" he said, as her expression darkened.
"And if I win, I get those emeralds," she shot back, a small smile curling around her lips.
He scrutinized her for a long moment. "Deal."
Her smile widened and she turned back to the crack in the door. "Oo, they're moving!"
"I'm sorry," Allison said, finally able to calm herself down enough. "I didn't mean to… I got your shirt all wet," she brushed at it half-heartedly, the wet patch from her crying taking up more than half the shoulder. "I'm not normally such a girl."
"It's all right. You can be a girl. It's allowed. Besides," he smiled, blooming a warm feeling in her stomach again. "I have more shirts. So," he began, rocking back onto his bum. "What's the family business?"
"Law enforcement," she replied, a wry tone seeping into her voice. She wiped her eyes one last time and scooted around so she was facing him. "Ironic, I know."
Scott couldn't keep a small smile from creeping over his face. "So what, is your dad like the sheriff of a tiny town somewhere or something?"
An answering smile crept over Allison's lips. "Or something."
"No, but seriously," he cocked his head. "What branch of law enforcement? Mine's in the FBI. It can't be much worse than that."
A bark of laughter escaped her lips. "Oh, you have no idea."
"Try me."
Her eyebrow went up again. "My dad is your dad's boss."
"Wait, but…" Scott let that sink in for a moment. "My dad is the head of Counterintelligence. He doesn't have a-" his eyes widened. "Unless you mean…?"
She nodded. "My dad is the head of the FBI."
Behind the door at the end of the hall, Stiles swore softly and Lydia stretched out her hand expectantly.
"Derek," Lahey poked his head into the temporary office he had been assigned while chasing down this lead. "I mean, Agent Hale. You've got a visitor."
Derek frowned. "Who is it?"
"Um," the pale man shifted uneasily. "The director?"
"What?!" Derek nearly yelped, shooting out of his seat.
"There's no need for such alarm, Agent Hale," a smooth, professional voice interjected, and Chris Argent stepped into the room. "That will do, Agent Lahey. Thank you." Isaac nodded, looking like he almost swallowed his own tongue, and vanished.
"Sir," Derek almost felt like swallowing something himself, although his choice would be far less painful and far more alcoholic. "What brings you all the way to California?"
The director didn't answer, but instead turned and slowly, deliberately shut the door. This time, Derek did swallow. Director Argent was not a large man, but he radiated power from every pore. One of the youngest directors in history, he ruthlessly dismantled several arms rings in his rise to power, including one led by his own father-in-law. "I would like to know," he said, pulling a single piece of paper out of his suit jacket, "why my own daughter is the subject of a national manhunt." He let the piece of paper flutter to the desk, and Derek's stomach dropped to the floor. The sketch he and his team put out stared back at him, the same square jaw and sharp eyes as the imposing man in front of him obvious now that he was paying attention.
"Well, sir," Derek began cautiously. "We've been reliably informed that your daughter participated in several thefts across the country, most recently including the jewelry theft at Duke Lyon's castle overseas." A muscle worked in the director's jaw, but he didn't speak. "We got a lead and followed it. This is where it led."
"Your case is the Wolf, correct?" Director Argent's eyes were steely, his voice so tightly controlled Derek thought it might snap. "So why are you not chasing him?"
"With all due respect, sir, we ran out of leads for the Wolf. The only reason we were even able to put a bolo out on your daughter is due to a lucky break from our connections in the criminal world," Derek replied, studiously keeping his own voice as calm as possible. He heard the water cooler rumors of a wife that killed herself from loneliness and a daughter that never came home again. From the rigid tension lining the man in front of him, he would hazard a guess that those rumors were true. "She is connected to the Wolf as well. They had a tussle during the castle job. Finding her might lead us to him."
"Then find her," the director bit out those last three words, turned on his heel, and left. Derek slumped back into his chair with a sigh, the sketch still staring up at him accusingly.
The director's daughter was an international jewel thief that he now had to arrest.
Well, shit.