Lydia had been staring at the ceiling for hours now, watching as the shadow of the ceiling fan disappeared into the darkening room. She knew she should try to sleep, that the coming day would require a good night's rest, but the more she willed her mind to drift, the more alert her body felt, the more attuned she was to every sound around her in the darkness. As she closed her eyes, attempting to fall sleep for the umpteenth time that night, his words echoed in her ear. "Lydia...Meredith's gone." Parrish's voice was strained but gentle, and for a moment she imagined him cradling the phone to his ear as he struggled to sound comforting over the phone. "They found her in her room an hour ago," he told her. "She hung herself."
Silence hung heavy over the line as his words sunk in, then – "I'm sorry." His voice was soft and earnest, as though he were sorry for more than her loss but also that he couldn't deliver the news in person. She blinked, stunned, and dropped the phone from her ear, turning dumbly to a bewildered Stiles.
Gone. The word rang like a gong in her mind, over and over again, until it sounded foreign and unfamiliar. Gone. Gone. How could Meredith be gone? The only other banshee Lydia had ever met – the only person who could have provided any insight whatsoever into what being a banshee even meant – and Lydia had driven her to suicide. Another person in her life was dead, and again she had been helpless to stop it. Worse, she was the cause. Guilt and sorrow overwhelmed her, and forgetting herself for a moment, Lydia wrapped her arms around Stiles, closed her eyes, and wept.
When she pulled into her driveway a few minutes later, still brushing away tears, her mother's car was missing, but she barely noticed. Slipping off her heels at the door, Lydia immediately trudged up the stairs to bed. As she pulled on her pajamas – a pair of soft shorts borrowed the last time she'd stayed at Allison's and one of Aiden's old t-shirts – she heard the doorbell ring.
All of a sudden, with a sharp jolt of adrenaline, Lydia realized that she was alone in the house. Alone at night. Alone at night, in a town crawling with assassins where she was worth $20 million dead and had no powers to protect herself from whatever deceptively polite murderer was ringing her doorbell. Bzzt. The assassin rang again, and Lydia's breath quickened as she mentally recited everything she had ever read about krav maga. Attack pre-emptively. Target the vulnerable areas. God, I wish I had some claws right now.
Outside on the doorstep, Parrish was out of uniform, holding a large cardboard box in his hands. As he awkwardly shifted his feet, its contents made a muffled jumbling noise. He rang again.
Bzzt. Lydia sprinted to the kitchen, frantically scouring drawers for the biggest knife she could find. Just as the doorbell rang for the fourth time, all the lights sputtered out, plunging her into complete darkness. She screamed.
As the bloodcurdling wail from inside the house pierced his ears, Parrish dropped the heavy cardboard box unceremoniously on the ground, throwing himself into the door. It burst open, and he charged in, determined.
"Lydia? LYDIA?"
Parrish held his phone out like a flashlight, searching, until finally he found her, collapsed in a heap on the kitchen floor. There was a huge knife at her feet, and she held her hands to her ears, whimpering. Gasping with relief, he knelt beside her and softly tugged her hands from her face.
"Lydia. Lydia. Look at me, you're okay." It took a moment for her eyes to focus on him in the dark, for her breathing to steady. Slowly, he became aware that he was still holding her hands in his, and blushing, he released them.
Lydia gazed up at him questioningly. "Jordan? What are you doing here?"
"I was on your doorstep just now. I heard you screaming."
"That was you? God, I was going to stab you! I thought you were an assassin! Why didn't you call?"
"I just got off work, and I wanted to check on you. You cut out on the phone earlier. I was worried."
"I was with Stiles. The news about Meredith, it shook me up, that's all. I'm fine."
Parrish shot her a skeptical look. "Yeah, you definitely seem fine," he said, gesturing at her sitting slumped on the floor.
Lydia narrowed her eyes and him and rose to her feet, lips pursed, brushing herself off imperiously.
"Well. I am fine. Or I was until you decided to come over and scare the bejeezus out of me." She stared down at him, hands on her hips. "Was that the primary purpose of your visit, or was there some other reason for this after-hours police check-up?"
Parrish sighed and rose after her. "No, there's another reason. I brought you something." He returned to the foyer and stepped over the broken-down door. In a moment he returned with the cardboard box.
"What is it?" Lydia said, her indignation immediately replaced with curiosity. He handed it to her and she set it on the counter gently.
"These are Meredith Walker's belongings," he explained as she began rummaging through the box. "I stole them from evidence for you. Thought maybe you'd need them. To channel your psychic energies or something."
Lydia glanced at him sideways. "I'm not psychic, Jordan."
He winced and edged slightly away from her. "...Parrish. You should probably call me Parrish," he said stiltedly, "Or Deputy. Deputy Parrish."
The sudden formality of his tone struck her, and she turned to him frowning.
"Listen, Lydia, about earlier..." he looked down at his feet and swallowed uncomfortably. "I – I'm sorry. It was inappropriate. I don't know what came over me."
Lydia raised an eyebrow, and he flushed, stumbling on.
"You know. In the car before. When I, uh-" he made a slight sweeping gesture with his hand, "-to your hair. I'm sorry about that. And for holding your hand. ...And for holding it again just now too, I guess. I'm sorry. God, I don't know what's wrong with me."
Lydia looked down at her hands, bemused, smiling at his little speech.
"Jordan, nothing's wrong with you," she said, reaching toward him. "Don't be sorry. You have nothing to be sorry about."
"It's Deputy. Please. And yes, I do." He stepped backward again.
"Why?" Lydia shrugged in frustration.
"Because I'm 24 and you're 17, Lydia! Isn't that obvious? Because I can't – Because you're still in high school for Christ's –"
"Did you know that the legal age of consent in the UK is 16?" Lydia interrupted him. He met her eyes, surprised, but did not speak, so she continued. "It's also 16 in Canada. And in some U.S. States, as a matter of fact, primarily in the South and Midwest."
"But it's not in California," he said, quiet but resolute.
"No, not in California." They stared at each other for a moment, seemingly at an impasse.
"What do you want from me, Lydia? Are you suggesting I break the law?" Parrish sighed and ran his hands through his short brown hair. "I'm in law enforcement!"
"I'm not suggesting anything, Deputy. I'm merely making an observation about comparative law. And I should point out, you didn't worry yourself so much about breaking the law when you absconded with a box of evidence tonight." She moved closer to him again. This time he did not retreat.
"That's different," he said softly.
"Not significantly," she whispered. She ventured another step toward him, until they were just inches apart. "Besides, did I fail to mention?" she said, reaching out to take his hands in hers, "...I'll be 18 in two weeks."
"Oh?" he grinned. "Well then...that's different."
Lydia placed her hands against his chest and rose up on her toes, holding her lips an inch from his for a long, tense moment. Exhaling softly, she shifted her head and planted her mouth lightly on his burning cheek. She lingered there a few seconds, then dropped back down, pressing her hand to his cheek where her lips had been.
Parrish reopened his eyes slowly and exhaled with a heavy sigh. "It's late. I should go."
Lydia shook her head. "Oh, I don't think so, Deputy," she smirked. He looked at her, confused - and a little intimidated. She nodded toward the door. "You're not about to leave me here alone after you broke down the door to my house. And now, with the power out? Anybody could just waltz in here and kill me! And they might. I don't know if you recall, but I'm worth $20 million on a secret dead pool."
"You make a strong point," he grinned. "Considering the circumstances...it seems the only responsible thing for me to do is stay and make sure you're safe. At least until your mother gets home."
"My mother's at a conference. She won't be back until Sunday night..." Lydia shrugged innocently. "I guess you'll have to stay over."
Parrish shook his head, smiling resignedly. "Okay. I guess I'll take the couch."
"No need," Lydia said. "There's an air mattress in my room. You can sleep on my floor. It's safer that way anyway. For both of us."
She turned to go up the stairs, maneuvering slowly in the dark, before turning abruptly back to him, a wry look in her eye.
"Oh, and Deputy?" His green eyes met hers, curious, and she grinned mischievously. "Don't get any ideas. I'm psychic, remember? ...I'll know."