Word count: 6525
Pairing: Jackson/Erica
Notes: So I'm gonna call this Happy!Chapter despite the minor angsting at the end. Sorry for the time it took to actually write.
Jackson calls Danny a couple days after panicking. He's not sure why he didn't think of it in the first place, because even if he couldn't tell Danny what exactly was bothering him, he could have taken comfort from just hearing his voice.
"'Lo?" Danny murmurs, probably distracted by whatever he's doing. Probably not homework or his boyfriend, given that he answered on the second ring.
"Hey," he says, tucking himself into the corner of his couch. If he concentrates, he can smell vague traces of Erica. It's more comforting than it should be, because she's only pack on the vaguest of technicalities. (He won't think about the alpha thing again, for his own health.)
"You okay?" Danny asks, seeming to pay more attention to him now. It's enough to hear his voice, his concern.
"I've been better," he says honestly. "I just had a panic attack the other day and missed you I guess."
"Wow, you really did miss me," he replies drily. The music playing in the background gets turned down and Danny laughs a little. "You're never this nice—or honest—unless you're genuinely upset."
Jackson huffs out a laugh despite himself and tugs his hood tighter over his face. He hasn't dressed well since the full moon, and despite the incoming heat, his hoodie has seen a lot of wear. He's not really ashamed, so long as he's feeling good. His friends acted worried at first. Eli had wondered why he hadn't been in class, but had dropped it when Jackson had brushed him off.
None of that would ever work on Danny, so why pretend in the first place?
"Shut up," he says affectionately.
Danny laughs a little, too. Seriously, he asks, "Do you want to talk about what triggered you?"
"No," he says, settling more comfortably on the couch. If he turns his head just a little, he can smell her. "Tell me something cool that's happening."
"Okay," he replies, sounding contemplative. "I guess it's pretty exciting that school will be out soon. Just a month of classes and then finals, right? I think I should be getting mostly A's, just one B."
"In what?" he asks. Danny has always been pretty intelligent, so it's no real surprise. Before, Jackson had always considered Danny the smart one of the group. Of course, later he'd discovered that Lydia had had a 5.0 which was inexplicable, given that she wasn't only in AP classes. He mostly chose not to question in it.
Danny sighs and mutters, "Physics," like by admitting he's not a rocket scientist just yet, he should be ashamed.
"Getting a B in physics is impressive," he says.
"Ugh, but look it was so stupid. I answered a question wrong on the test and I knew it was wrong but I couldn't figure out how to solve the equation differently..." Danny rambles on and Jackson shuts his eyes, just listening.
It doesn't matter how far they are because Danny will always be his.
Maybe he'll tell him about the werewolves one day.
Nothing would change.
Jackson almost doesn't return to the diner—well, that's not right. He almost doesn't want to return.
But he does because, you know, he doesn't run away from his problems. And when he breathes carefully, he remembers that Erica had promised she wouldn't force him into anything, and as far as he knows, she's not his alpha.
Plus, wouldn't it be appropriate to submit to alphas your pack is friendly with? It's with that thought in mind he drags himself to the diner, maybe thirty minutes later than he normally would. He managed to dress himself sort of well today, and tried to convince himself when he looked in the mirror that he didn't look like Stilinski in the plaid shirt he was wearing. At least his fit him properly.
Erica isn't out front when he steps into the diner, but he's pretty sure he can smell her in the kitchen, so he takes his normal seat and pulls out the current philosophy assignment. It's Seneca, this month, and he actually kind of likes the Stoic. Half the time he's completely full of it, but there are memorable moments, like the idea that knowledge belongs to everyone who knows it, not just the originator.
"Seems like you like him better than Kant," Erica says when she makes it to his table. Her hair is twisted into a loose bun at the base of neck. It makes her look older and softer. Still beautiful, of course, but also less threatening.
He nods. "It's not as murky. Mostly he's trying to teach lessons to some kid and Kant was just...to be honest I don't think I understood any of it."
She smiles softly at him. "That's good, at least. Can I get you something to drink?"
"Um, just water today," he says. He's still trying to catch up on sleep, and he doesn't want to wreck his chances of it with caffeine.
"Do you want a lemon with that?"
Jackson nods and she walks off to take care of that. He returns to reading. If he can finish the reading, then all he'll have to do is work on a set of problems for his math class, and he can go to bed early. The thought it more attractive than it should be, considering he's a college student. Isn't he supposed to be partying?
For all that he told Erica he has other friends (he does, okay?) his friends either aren't the type to party or don't miss him if he's not there. And if he's honest with himself, he's never liked parties. They were just another way to get attention as Lydia's Boyfriend, or Star Lacrosse Captain. What's he got to show off, now? He feels old, sometimes, because partying just feels like something he used to do.
An early night of sleep? Yeah, he's up for it.
She brings him the water and takes his order, but makes herself scarce immediately afterward. He gets the feeling that she's trying to give him space, which he genuinely appreciates, given everything that went down last week.
It's not bad. It shouldn't make him feel like they've taken steps backward. After all, he still barely knows her. It's not a big deal if, every once in a while, the two of them feel a little awkward around each other. After all, he came into this friendship knowing he was attracted to her and hoping she felt the same.
So it's okay if tonight she treats him like a customer she's vaguely fond of instead of a friend. It is.
Which, technically, is what their relationship is based on. He tries not to think about it usually. He likes to remember the other aspects of their relationship: the banter, sharing an apple pie, running together on the full moon...
Okay, so they should be doing more. Erica is his friend now, definitely. Right? Probably. He resolves to figure something out before he comes back to the diner next week.
Not tonight though. He's tired. An early night still sounds really good.
Jackson wakes up an hour early because someone is calling him. "'Lo?" he murmurs, yawning a little. He feels pretty well rested. While his interactions with Erica last night had been sparse, they'd held the same tone of a couple that had only recently reconciled. Which he knew, naturally, because he and Lydia had broken up and gotten together throughout high school. It had been like that, minus the bad history.
Well. The bad history was different, anyway.
"Are you okay?" Derek asks gruffly on the other end of the line.
"I'm fine," he sighs, rolling onto his back.
"You never answered my texts," he says. The scowl on his face is apparent in his tone of voice. It's kind of hilarious.
He does his best not to laugh. "So you waited a week to call me?" he asks doubtfully. "That's bad even for you."
Derek grunts unapologetically. "Whatever. Do you want to talk about it or whatever?"
"Why do I feel like it wasn't even your idea to call me?" Jackson wonders.
"It wasn't. Do you need anything?"
"No," he says, and promptly hangs up. Derek's still an awful alpha, at least where he's concerned. Scott was probably the one who recommend calling him. As much as he hates to acknowledge it, the animosity between them had always been heavier on his side.
He doesn't have to like Scott or anything, though.
Jackson checks the time on his phone and sees he still has 45 minutes before he needs to wake up for classes, and rolls back over.
He doesn't sleep, though, and instead he drifts between wakefulness and sleep, never quite landing on either. His thoughts spiral. For a while he just thinks about the way Erica looks in her uniform. He wonders what she'd look like in the clothes she wore back in Beacon Hills now. She's still too thin, like she doesn't really get enough to eat.
(There's a part of him that wants to feed her, to give her anything she needs. He squishes it, because if anything, she's independent and wouldn't appreciate it. But if she asked, he'd give her anything. It's probably not a good spot to be, knowing that she could exert alpha influence over him any time, but in the half-awake state he's in, he can't bring himself to mind.)
When his alarm goes off, he's thinking about breakfast and visiting Danny. At least his mind has more than one track.
The next week, when he gets to the diner, Jackson isn't expecting the older woman to serve his table. Her name tag reads "Carrie."
"Hey, what can I get you to drink?" she asks, smiling. She doesn't bother with a notepad, and he wonders if she's a career waitress. She must have excellent memory.
"Just coffee," he says carefully, drumming his fingers on the table. He knows exactly what he'll order, because he's given up on trying new things at this place. It's hit and miss, most of the time, anyway. If he's honest with himself, he only comes to see Erica anyway.
"I'll have it right out for you," she says, still smiling. How much practice does it take, he wonders, to make smiles seem that genuine. Or maybe she really feels that happy.
Jackson pulls out his phone, thinking about texting Erica. Her scent is thick enough here that he honestly can't tell if she's currently here. Maybe her section got moved, or something? Or even worse, maybe she reconsidered everything that had happened between them and decided she needed out. She'd said she didn't have time to be in a pack, after all. What if she was worried about Jackson submitting to the point that she'd run off?
His phone buzzes before he's even figured out what to say to her. He opens the text message, absentmindedly chewing his lower lip. The message is from Erica, which makes his heart stutter and then even out.
"Sorry. ran into a problem. see u next week?" it reads.
He's typing out a response before he can really think about it. "Of course. It's ok."
Idly, he wonders what problem she could have run into that would make her miss out on work. From what he understands she's barely scraping by on waitress wages. It's not cheap, living in the city, but she must be doing better than she was before, if she really did gain back the twenty pounds she lost. Whatever is keeping her from her meager paycheck is probably a pretty big deal.
(Should he be helping her? That's what pack does, right?
But he's never been pack.)
"You're Jackson, right?" Carrie says when she comes back to the table, holding his coffee. She's still smiling, and he feels the corners of his own mouth turning up in response.
"Yeah," he says, taking a drink of the coffee immediately.
"Do you know what you want?" she asks, tapping the closed menu.
"The California Burger, please," he says.
She nods and turns to go, but hesitates for a second. "She likes you, you know. I didn't think she had friends outside of work, but..." She shrugs, and her smile seems to grow impossibly wider. "You make her smile more than any one else. I like that."
He's dumbstruck.
She must expect that, though, because she just takes his menu and nods. "I'll have it out for you in just a few minutes."
He finishes reading Seneca that night at the diner and leaves Carrie a 20% tip because he likes her.
Just not as much as he likes Erica.
The weather continues to heat up as they approach the end of May. He's had to give up on wearing jackets and hoodies, which is probably a good thing. He tries to imagine his high school self walking around every day in the same grey hoodie and cringes. Lydia would have murdered him.
Today he tugs on one of the new shirts he bought at J. Crew and some loose Chinos. For the first time in months, when he looks at himself in the mirror, he sees himself. It's not something he can really explain, because he still dresses like himself most of the time. The hoodie thing was just for last week, after all.
Maybe it's his eyes. For once there aren't deep purple smudges underneath them. He's slept remarkably well these last few days, since Erica reassured him at the diner. It's more than that, though. Some of his old confidence is back, and just for fun, he flexes his arms, grins.
He feels...different. Good.
So he texts Sarah and Eli, asks if they're going out tonight. He hasn't in a month or two, but he thinks he could handle it tonight.
He ends up at Applebees with Sarah and Caleb. Sarah was in one of his ethics classes last semester, and they'd immediately decided to study together. They slept together once, but it was mostly out of loneliness on her part and boredom on his. It never got awkward, which is something he really appreciates.
But he's never met Caleb. "Hey," he says, offering a hand shake to the guy. He smiles and it feels almost-real. "I'm Jackson."
"Caleb. I'm in Sarah's math class." Caleb is taller than him, but also far thinner. He kind of resembles Isaac in that way, but the slump of his shoulders isn't demure.
"Nice," Jackson offers, and glances over at Sarah to try and get a read on the situation.
She offers nothing, just smiling a little. "Look at you, making plans all by yourself!"
"It's nice to be here," he agrees, idly picking through his menu. He ignores any dig she might be making. He likes Sarah's candid manner. It's entertaining.
"Caleb is from California, too," Sarah says, "But the southern part, you know?"
"Sure," he says, looking up. "Where, exactly?"
"Chula Vista," Caleb answers. "Just north of the border."
"That must be really nice," he says. "It's near San Diego, right? I'm from the northern part, myself, but I haven't been back since I started school here."
"Seriously? These summers kill me," he replies. "I go back as soon as possible."
"Eh, you get used to it," Sarah says, leaning forward with a grin.
"Easy for you to say," says Caleb, elbowing her a little. "How long have you been here?"
"Twenty years and counting," she grins. She tucks a loose braid behind her ear and shrugs. "It's not my fault your parents were weakass white people who couldn't stand to live out of temperate zones."
Jackson snorts. No one's ever described his parents as succinctly as Sarah does.
"You know what I could go for right now? Some cheese dip," she says, tapping her menu. "Maybe some tacos."
"Does Applebees sell tacos?" Jackson wonders.
"Nah," she sighs. "But they do have queso."
"I think they have fish tacos," Caleb pipes up, flipping through his menu.
"Who eats fish tacos?" she says disbelievingly. Then she looks across the table at Jackson. "You do, don't you? Or maybe your high school girlfriend."
"Lydia never ate tacos in front of me," he laughs.
"So what did she eat?"
"Salad, mostly," he admits.
"Rabbit food," she sighs. "I remember those days. High school was a bitch. Now I eat whatever the hell I want."
"Living the dream," Jackson says.
"Basically." She looks over at Caleb. "You can eat whatever you want, too, huh? Skinny ass boys."
"Actually I'm allergic to citric acid," he says, shrugging. "I can't eat a lot of things."
"That blows," she sighs. "I guess you have to be really particular when you order. Waitresses probably hate you."
"Maybe," he says, smiling.
"Are you allergic to anything?" Sarah asks, turning to face Jackson.
"My mom tried to make me go gluten free for about a year when i was eleven," he says, smirking. "But she got over that."
"Hmm," Sarah says, eyeing him distastefully. "Of course she did."
He's missed nights like these. He loves being around Erica, but lately it's like the nights he spends at the diner are bright spots in an otherwise bleak landscape. This...could be another bright spot. Maybe he could have lots of them.
Even if it means he has to eat at Applebees.
His good mood persists as the days go on, and when he gets to the diner Wednesday, Erica does a double take.
"I didn't know you could smile like that ," she teases as he takes a seat.
Jackson shrugs, relaxing into the booth. "Maybe I'm just happy to see you. I missed you last week."
She gives him an odd look and shakes her head. "That's sweet, but...it's something else." Then she scowls at him and puts her fists on her hips. "Besides, you've totally missed weeks before."
"I was out of state."
She plows ahead without listening to him. "And you could have come back some other time. Carrie wouldn't even have been insulted. She thinks you only come for me."
"Well, it's not for the food," he ribs her lightly. And he could have come by another time...it's just...well. If he had, it would have felt like a surrender of...something.
"Apparently you just gave her a 20% tip," she says, raising an eyebrow.
"Like I said," he says, rolling his eyes. "The company is really nice here." He's still smiling, only barely succeeding in holding in a laugh.
"Carrie is very sweet," she says scornfully.
"But not as pretty as you."
"You're just here for my looks ?" She puts on an aghast face.
"You're very impressive, that's all," he says seriously. "I've never met anyone who was almost as pretty as me before."
She laughs then, apparently unable to keep up.
He might be smug about that.
(He is.)
"Okay, okay," she says, waving her notepad at him. "Do you know what you want to drink tonight?"
"Coffee," he says brightly.
"Sure thing," she says. "Be back in a bit."
His phone buzzes on the table, and when he looks down, he sees that Scott is texting him. He grimaces, but opens the message anyway.
"Derek says you were fine when he called you but he wants to know when in June we should drop by."
"How considerate," he sends back, rolling his eyes.
"Don't want to run into your parents," Scott replies.
"Then don't come. I'm fine."
"Come on, man, just give me a date. It's Isaac's turn and you won't even notice he's there."
Well, that's probably true.
"Hey, where did the happy boy go?" Erica asks as she sets the coffee down.
"Scott texted me," he complains.
She rolls her eyes. "Okay. About what?"
"He wants to know when to come by in June."
Her face becomes a little unreadable, but then she shrugs. "Derek is really possessive, huh? Faking my death was most attractive in that I get to avoid that."
"Yeah," he says, nodding. "I could try it, but I figure they'd try to find me. That would probably compromise things."
"For both of us," she agrees. She becomes thoughtful, pursing her lips and shifting her gaze to look out the window. "You should tell him sometime in June. When are your parents coming?"
"I'm not actually sure yet. And how did you know they were coming?"
She shrugs, looking at him again. "I just remembered you saying something about not going back to Beacon Hills, I think? And your parents seem like the type who would cater to your every need."
"As they should," he says, slipping back into cockiness like it's a second skin. "Danny is coming, too, after school ends for him."
"Well, that should be nice," she says. Her hair is coiled in a loose bun today, maybe because of the heat wave they're dealing with.
Jackson might be a little mesmerized by the shape of her bare neck.
"Do you know what you want to order?" she asks, apparently unaware of where his thoughts have taken him.
"Just, um, the usual," he says slowly.
"Okay," she says, smiling easily. She writes it down on the notepad. "I'll have it out for you in a few minutes and we can talk more then. But I should go deal with that guy." She gestures over her shoulder at the man staring at her impatiently from a few tables over.
He glares at Jackson. Jackson glares back.
Erica chuckles as she walks away.
Talking to her at the diner is nice and comfortable, but he wants to do more with her, in another context. He wants to talk with her in a place where they won't be interrupted by scrubs.
Finals are coming up, which means that he seriously has to understand Kant at some point. He's pulled the Spark Notes up on his phone, and has the book opened in front of him. The worst part? He's still not getting it.
Like, objectively, he understands that phenomena are different than noumena, but determining which is which? Less likely.
"Oh, the Kant guy again," Erica says. She slides into his booth, a cup of coffee in front of her. "Do you mind if I sit here? I'm on break."
"Sure," he says, raising an eyebrow. "This is an interesting time for you to have a break."
"Maybe I just wanted to talk to you."
"Sweet," he comments. "It's almost like…you care."
"I never said I didn't," she says, smiling. She takes a drink of coffee and grimaces. "This coffee is decent, but I wish they'd serve it iced."
"Iced coffee is for wimps," Jackson replies, rolling his eyes.
"Not if it's hot outside, you dumbass," she says. She kicks him under the table lightly. She's still smiling.
"I take my coffee like the Spartans," he says.
"You put a shit ton of cream in. You sure about that?"
"Positive."
She rolls her eyes. "Okay, fine. Come on, pretty boy, commiserate with me."
"It's really hot outside," he says flatly.
She kicks him again. "I know it's bothering you. It was always nice in Beacon Hills, temperature-wise."
He smiles then, and leans forward, propping his head up. "How's it going?" That's not what he meant to say. He wanted to tease her some more, because surely she's been here longer than he has, but he can't help the giddiness. He just wants to talk to her all the time.
"Okay," she says. "Missing work last week isn't going to break me financially, at least not completely. I finally got a library card, but I don't know when I'll be able to go. I'm always working when it's over. Maybe on lunch hour? I don't know."
"I could go for you," he offers before he really thinks about it. He doesn't really have time to do it, honestly, not with finals next week or making his apartment presentable for the inevitable visit of his parents and Danny.
"Really?"
Well, he can't take it back now, not when she's smiling at him like that. "Sure," he says, almost helplessly. "Just tell me what kind of books you want and I'll bring them on Wednesday."
"Thanks," she says, smiling warmly. "What about you? You seem really happy."
He shrugs. "I just feel good," he says honestly. (He doesn't want to lie to her, not while he feels this well.)
"I'm really glad," she says sincerely. She takes another gulp of coffee, still grimacing.
"Why do you keep drinking it if it's too hot? Drink soda or something."
"I'm tired," she admits. She takes a spoon out of her pocket and adds a creamer cup into the coffee. "The caffeine hits faster with the coffee."
"You need a break," he suggests.
"No time, no money, no way," she rattles off.
"Well, how do you relax?" he wonders, dropping his arm onto the table. "Do you just work constantly?"
"Basically," she sighs. She rolls her neck, working out the kinks. "It's exhausting, for sure, but I do what I have to. I only really get to relax on the full moon or when I'm sleeping." She eyes him and the pile of school books next to him. "What about you? You're always studying."
"I swim," he says, shrugging. "Just last weekend I went out with friends to Applebees."
"You went to Applebees?" She puts on a face of disbelief.
"It's shocking, I know."
"Do you eat out constantly? That can't be healthy."
"I do what I have to," he says, shrugging.
Carrie walks over just then, smiling warmly. "Here you go, hun," she says, setting the food down in front of him. She pats Erica's shoulder as she walks toward the other man, a plate balanced on her other arm.
"I haven't swam in forever," Erica laments. She traces a pattern into the table, then swipes a fry from his plate.
He bites into his burger thoughtfully. "I swim at the university pool. You could come with me some time. It'd be easy to sneak you in."
"No time, no suit," she says, shrugging.
He hums, thinking. "Well…" he pauses, looking at her calculatingly.
"What?" she wonders, quirking an eyebrow.
"Are you willing to break the rules?"
She grins. "Do you know me at all?"
Saturday night, Jackson goes back to the diner and orders a milkshake to go. It's nearing midnight, and Erica gets off shift in fifteen minutes. He sits on the barstool to wait for her, idly sipping his milkshake. He has two towels in his backpack and the keys he paid one of the lifeguards 100$ for.
His milkshake is strawberry.
Erica is wearing lipstick the same color. Right now, she's mopping up a spill of coffee while the customer apologizes profusely, citing lack of sleep and overwork. Erica reassures the woman as she mops, promising that it's totally fine, to be expected, as though she isn't running on minimal sleep herself.
She'd never do that for Jackson. Not that Jackson would spill his coffee, but if he did, Erica would probably tease him mercilessly. And still get an excellent tip.
The customer leaves pretty soon after, obviously embarrassed and a little more awake, and the two of them are the only ones in the front of the restaurant.
Another waitress approaches Jackson from the kitchen. "Do you need a refill on your milkshake, honey?" she asks, smiling. Her red hair hangs in tight ringlets around her face, and bounces when she walks.
"No thanks," he says, slurping noisily.
As though she can tell it's directed at her, Erica scoffs and nudges him as she passes with the mop. "I'll be done in a few minutes. Be patient."
"You can go now," the other waitress says. She eyes Jackson, giving him a once over. "I'd want to get to that as soon as possible, too."
Erica turns pink. "It's not like that."
"It should be."
"Marissa," she hisses, hurrying into the kitchen, probably to avoid Jackson's gaze.
Marissa turns to look at him and raises an eyebrow. "Please tell me it's like that. Erica deserves to have someone who looks as good as you."
"Thanks," he says, nonplussed.
Erica appears again, now without her apron. "Okay, let's go." She grabs Jackson by the bicep and pulls him out of the diner, cheeks still bright red. "Bye Marissa, you suck. I hope you step on a lego."
Marissa tossed her hair and winked. "Bye, sweetie!"
Outside, Erica turns to him and drops his arm. She crosses her arms shyly and asks, "So what's the plan?"
"Let's go to the university," he says, gesturing down the street. Campus is only about 15 minutes away when walking, so he didn't bother calling a cab or anything.
"Did you bring me a swimsuit?" she asks after a few blocks.
"No," he says, shrugging. "How would I even know your size?"
"So how am I supposed to swim?" she demands.
"Swim naked," he suggests, wiggling his eyebrows at her. "It's not like you're shy."
She punches his arm and doesn't speak to him for a full block. As they round a corner, she says, "If I'm swimming naked, you have to do it, too."
"Fine," he says, shrugging.
"And you can't look at me."
"Okay," he agrees.
"And I mean seriously," she says, grabbing his arm. "Don't, like, look when you think I can't see you."
"I promise I won't," he says, meeting her eyes. He's not a dick. If she doesn't want him to do something, he won't do it. Sex Ed 101.
"Okay," she says, dropping his arm. The walk past a building before she says, "But if you do, I'll cut your hair off with my claws."
"Deal," he says hastily.
Inside the Aquatics center, Jackson drops his backpack near the shallow end of the pool. "Should I go first?" he asks, glancing at her.
She's got her arms crossed again, but she's smiling. "Sure," she says, turning around dutifully. He hadn't asked her to, but he appreciates it anyway. It puts them on the same level, and that's very nice.
He strips quickly and slides into the water. Swimming naked always feels way better than swimming in a suit. Something about the water, he guesses. "I'll swim a couple laps," he says, not looking back at her. "Come in when you're done."
"Okay," she says.
He hears a rustle of cloth before he starts swimming. He starts with breaststroke to warm up, and he's across the pool and headed back before he feels someone else get in the water. He pops his head up and sees Erica across the pool, smiling radiantly.
She's piled her hair on top of her head to keep it dry, and only her shoulders are visible with the way she's crouched. She submerges them, too, after a minute, before looking over at him. She lifts a hand out of the water and waves a little before starting to swim.
He swims leisurely toward her, making sure to leave enough room for her to feel covered. He can't see much through the rippling water as it is, but every effort counts when it comes to Erica.
"Should we be swimming without a life guard on duty?" she asks, swimming across the pool toward the deeper end. "What if I drown?"
"I'm certified," he replies, swimming after her. He's faster than she is, so they reach the deep end about the same time. He ducks under the floating divider, but she picks it up and moves under, still keeping her hair dry.
She starts treading water. "What if you drown?" she wonders. "What if I can't save you?"
He looks over at her and raises an eyebrow. He's not sure how much she's asking with this, how much she's admitting. Does she feel responsible? Like they're pack? Or is this strictly about the swimming? He's not sure what he wants from her besides...being with her? Is that the right phrase? Dating her? Is that too simple?
"I won't drown," he promises, and grins. "I'm built for this."
"Really," she says, grinning and starting to swim toward him. "Pretty sure I could shove you under."
"Dying with your breasts in my face would be the best way to go," he says solemnly.
She cackles in delight. "Okay, okay. You got it." She changes paths, swimming around him instead. She rests her arms against the wall, back to him. "I'm not a very strong swimmer," she tells him, looking over her shoulder.
"Even if you drown I can do CPR." He's certified in that, too.
She shakes her head. "You'd go to such great lengths just to kiss me."
"Fun fact," he begins, grinning and swimming a little closer. "You're not supposed to do mouth to mouth in CPR any more. Just the heart pumping."
"Movies have lied to me," she laments, looking away from him and sinking into the water a little more. "All that kissing was useless?"
"They can show a woman's breasts on TV," he says. "So they just have them blow the air in. Yeah, it was useless."
She laughs a little. "Good thing you know how to save me, I guess."
He smiles at the back of her head and then ducks under the water to swim away again. Resolutely, he doesn't open his eyes to look at her. Her body, her choice, right?
(And he's not ready for...that. Because it couldn't be casual, and entering a relationship seems impossible, most days.
Not today, so much, but tomorrow? It will probably be different.)
He pops his head back up on the other side of the pool and he says, "Let's play a game."
She turns around in the water, starting to tread again, though she holds onto the side with one arm for a moment. "What kind?"
Jackson shrugs. He's not very creative, and most of the games he knows in the water require physical contact, and neither of them are fully prepared for that. "Twenty questions? Truth or Dare?"
"If we pick Truth or Dare," she says, dropping the wall and starting to swim back to the shallow end. "Nothing involving nudity will be allowed."
"We're already nude," he teases, swimming back with her.
"You know what I mean," she says, rolling her eyes. "You do."
"I guess so," he says, rolling his eyes dramatically. When he looks over at her, she's smiling and her eyes are soft.
"You're happy," she says, before he can ask.
He just nods. He doesn't want to acknowledge it or think about it, because happiness doesn't last. Not for long. So he just says, "Truth or Dare?"
"Why do you get to start?" she complains. "Fine, truth."
He considers it carefully, then says, "Are we friends?" Maybe that's a stupid question, but he'd hate it if she didn't say yes. He cares about her, which is unusual in itself. It's stranger when you consider their history, but then...
(The time she picked the weight off his chest and he'd said, "Thanks," without feeling guilty, and she'd said, "Any time." Of course she'd immediately followed that up by dragging him to Derek, but no one is perfect.)
"Of course, you idiot," she says, splashing him. It's a huge splash, given that he's fifteen feet away from her at least, and it manages to sprinkle onto his skin.
"Okay, sorry, just checking," he says, but he can't stop smiling.
She rolls her eyes. "Pansy. Truth or Dare?"
"Truth?" he says slowly, not sure if he's picking right. In high school, Lydia had derided Truth or Dare. It was apparently for middle school babies. He's never been good at it.
"Are you ever going to make a move?" she asks, looking down at the water.
"Do you want me to?" he says incredulously.
"Not now, obviously," she huffs. Her eyes narrow as she regards him and she sinks a little deeper into the water. "But, yes, preferably before I get old and ugly."
"I don't think you're going to get ugly," he says.
"Answer the question. Don't think I didn't notice you got me to answer a question when it wasn't your turn, either."
He snorts. "Yeah, probably."
"But?"
"It's not your turn."
"So make your cheating up to me, then, dumbass."
Jackson laughs, "Okay, Erica. Fine. I'm...waiting."
"For what?" she demands. "Now is not the time to start emulating Derek."
"Well, you made out with him, right?" he teases.
"Shut up. How do you even know that? And stop distracting me."
He shrugs. "I know everything, probably."
"I will punch you in the balls," she threatens.
"I'm waiting for it to feel right, maybe," he says. He kind of feels like hiding, but instead, he drags his fingers though the water, looks down. He doesn't move away, though, and that feels like its own kind of strength. "I know, you know, one day. It will be. But I'm...I lack closure on everything. How could you even want that?" And that's the truth, the only thing he could possibly say. He wants Erica more than anything, except maybe Danny. He wouldn't give Danny up for anything. But he wants her different, and that matters, right? But he's a screwup, a poor little rich boy who baffles his parents, who killed people because there was something wrong with him.
He's a werewolf now, which means he should be fixed, but he feels like nothing ever got resolved. He still worries that his birth parents will show up and take him away. (Take him away where? He never figured that out.) And as soon as he had Lydia, really, truly, had her, he let her go. He pushed her away.
Why should this be any different?
"Hey," she says, getting a little closer. "You were happy, now you're not. I take everything back." She's close enough to touch, close enough that if he really concentrated, he could see her under the water.
He doesn't try it.
"It's not like I'm much better," she continues. "Everyone thinks I'm dead. I lost my only friends because I was afraid. Because I am afraid. If you're a lost cause, so am I." The she laughs and covers her mouth to hide what he guesses is a smile. "Sorry. I just never saw this coming. In school I always thought you were, like, really happy? You know, since Stiles was so in love with your girlfriend. I figured she must be pretty...pretty perfect. So you were probably happy. And rich."
"Nah," he admits. "I mean it was fine, I guess."
"It's okay," she says. "And by the way? This is a stupid game."
He looks over at her and smiles. "Race you to the other side?"
"No way!" she shouts, but he's already taken off. "You jerk!"
He makes it to the other side before she's left the shallow end, so he meets her in the middle, and she gets behind him to dunk him under the water, her modesty preserved.
(Her hair ends up getting wet.)