I Don't Want To Be A Star, I Want To Be The Sun
Summary: In which an ambitious assassin is placed in the body of the strawberry blonde goddess herself and proceeds to wreck canon. Peter/Lydia
Warnings: Profanity, Violence
Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf or anything else mentioned in this story. None of it's mine except my OCs.
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Chapter 3: If Found, Please Return to Lydia Martin
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"Okay, now that you've played an excellent host, can you tell me what I need to know?"
The blunt question makes Jackson huff, rolling his eyes. He shifts to get more comfortable on his bed, leaning back against the headboard.
Seated in his desk chair across the room, Lydia crosses her legs primly and waits, sipping at the can of soda he'd been kind enough to bring her in his nervous fit of politeness.
"You realize the only reason I'm telling you this is because I actually feel kinda bad for you, right?"
"I'm aware. I appreciate it, nonetheless."
He nods, clearing his throat and starting. "So…you're Lydia Martin, the girl I've been dating since fifth grade. We've been friends for a long time, me, you, and Danny, my other best friend. It's always been the three of us against everyone else."
"I haven't met Danny yet. I'll have to talk to him soon," she notes, gesturing for him to continue the story.
"Me and you, we didn't mean to actually start dating," Jackson cleared his throat again, glancing over before staring down at his lap. "I started noticing that I was…different. I wasn't…normal. Danny's gay and he's been through a lot but he's always been proud of it. I…I wasn't ready to admit it at all, I'm still not, so you offered to be my mask."
Taking her silence as a bad thing, he rushes to continue.
"But it worked for both of us! You've always been so smart, like genius smart, and ruthless when pushed. Boys didn't interest you but you interested them. You've always been the prettiest girl in Beacon Hills," he offers a small smile, crooked and more genuine than she ever expected. "It was safe, for both of us."
It isn't anything she's ever thought about before.
Yet, against all odds, it makes a startling amount of sense.
Two people hiding, using each other as protection to hide from what they didn't want to confront.
"It makes sense," she admits, seeing the tension ease out of his shoulders as he realizes she believes him. "I don't remember any of it but it makes sense. There's only two pictures of us pinned up in my room, one of just us and the other of us and who I'm assuming to be Danny."
"Hawaiian, tanned, nice smile?"
She nods and he nods back, confirming her assumption.
"Yep, that's Danny. He's the most well adjusted one between the three of us."
Lydia cocks her head, leaning back in her chair. "If we were each other's protection, then why did we stop dating? What caused that? Were we safe?"
"Hell no," Jackson snorts, shaking his head. "We broke up because I realized that as much as it worked for us, it was hurting us. I was forgetting you as one of my best friends because we fought so much as a couple. It was tearing us apart and I didn't know what else to do."
Lydia purses her lips, thinking.
Well, this is an angle she wasn't expecting.
Perhaps it's possible to do this semi-peacefully.
She knows an opportunity when she sees one and Jackson Whittemore is certainly that.
He would make a great ally if she could manage it.
"From what I can tell, it was the best decision you could make at the time," she comments, offering a small smile. "I'm probably not the same person I was before but I'd like to get to know you again, if that's okay? I could use a best friend right now."
Jackson smiles back, warmer than she's ever seen before, a smile that makes his blue eyes light up like the summer sky.
"Yeah, yeah, that'd be okay," he agrees. "Any questions you wanna throw out now?"
"What happened to me on that lacrosse field? What bit me? Because it looks like something used me as a chew toy," she snorts, shaking her head. "It's still healing but it's going very slow."
"About that…"
By the time he finishes explaining about everything that went on for the last month, the sun is starting to set and Lydia has migrated from the desk chair to curl up with him on the bed against the headboard, twisted to face him.
"So let me get this straight and correct me if I'm wrong," he nods in acceptance, following along as she continues. "Werewolves exist, Scott McCall was bit by one, half a dozen people died over the last month because of a grief-driven werewolf on a revenge kick, said werewolf attacked me because he wanted to turn me, and you, Stiles, Allison, and Scott set him on fire while Derek killed him."
"Sounds about right, yeah," he concludes, looking at her carefully. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm just processing," Lydia answers absently, mind racing as she debates her next move. "So Derek bit you, right? And tonight's a full moon."
"Yeah," he glances over at the door, moving to stand. "You should probably go. It's probably not going to be pretty, from what I've seen."
Lydia makes her choice, thinking quickly.
"You're insane if you think I'm leaving you alone tonight. Jacks, this is serious. It's a huge thing and I'm not leaving you to deal with it alone. I'm staying."
For a moment, Jackson looks like he's about to protest but then he sees something in her face that makes him blink in surprise, softening as he plops back on the bed next to her.
"Okay but if you're staying, you're sleeping on the futon. I'm not sharing my bed."
"We'll see about that."
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Meeting the Kanima side of Jackson is awe-inspiring and scarily beautiful.
Lydia doesn't run, sitting comfortably cross legged on the futon in a baggy shirt and a pair of basketball shorts she'd borrowed from Jackson.
Her eyes are scanning the alternate form of her friend, taking in the obsidian scales and graceful, careful movements as he crawls over to her.
"You're beautiful," she tells him honestly, meeting those slitted golden eyes.
Movements slow and purposeful, she lifts a hand, palm outwards and fingers outstretched.
She waits only a minute before a larger, scaly, claw tipped hand meets her own, mirroring the gesture.
Just like that, something clicks into place deep in her chest and she wants to purr in satisfaction.
"Hi Jacks," Lydia grins as he hisses quietly, claws gently tapping against her fingers. "Want to come on an adventure with me?"
She takes the hiss he lets out as one of agreement.
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Her peaceful slumber is broken as a foot slams into her stomach, punting her off the bed.
Instincts have her instantly snapping her eyes open and waking up but her body is clumsy and untrained, crashing to the floor with a loud thud.
Raking a hand through her messy hair, Lydia lifts herself up and peers over the bed at Jackson, green eyes narrowed sharply.
"That was your one freebie. Wake me up like that again and I'll retaliate."
"Yeah that's scary," he scoffs, looking more freaked out than anything else. "Why the hell were you in my bed? I thought I made it clear I wasn't sharing."
Standing, Lydia rolls her eyes as she adjusts her sleepwear, tugging down the basketball shorts and baggy shirt that had ridden up in the fall.
"You did but your other self likes to cuddle and it was too adorable to resist," she shrugs shamelessly. "By the way, about your other self…."
Thrown off by her tone, Jackson is up from the bed and at her side in seconds, gripping her by the shoulders as he turns her this way and that way, searching for any damage.
"What'd I do? Did I hurt you? Are you okay?"
Gripping his arms to stop him from manhandling her, Lydia speaks softly, soothing. "Hey, I'm okay, Jacks. You didn't hurt me, I promise. But your other self…well he's not exactly what you expected."
"What do you mean? Am I not a werewolf?"
"I think….I think you're something else," she states carefully, choosing her words with care as the distress increases in his expression. "Maybe when you turn, it's possible to turn into something else other than a wolf. Maybe what you turn into reflects what kind of person you are."
"What's that supposed to mean?! What did I turn into, Lydia?!"
Jackson is clearly starting to panic, eyes widening and breathing quickening.
Although she's not a hugger normally, Lydia pulls him into a tight hug, shushing him quietly as his arms latch onto her middle and his face is buried in her neck.
"Everything's going to be alright, Jackson. We're going to figure this out together. I'm going to help you figure this out, I swear," she vows, combing her fingers through his hair comfortingly.
He leans into her, arms tightening, and Lydia makes a promise to herself right then and there.
She's used to working alone, yes, but Jackson's hers.
Deep within her chest, the bond that snapped into place when their hands touched glows brightly, strong and steady.
The way he followed her on their little adventure willingly, even ripping off the lock for her quite helpfully, and how he curled around her last night, as if bent on protecting her from even her dreams, it's all clear to her.
He's her ally now, she decides, not a weapon to be used by any poor sucker who tries.
If that little creeper Matt or the geriatric psycho decides to come for him, she's going to make them regret it.
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That night, Lydia diligently sets up her research board.
She knows she's expected to be far less knowledgeable than she is so she carefully plans out what she needs to project to anyone who sees it.
It's similar to a crime board in that it holds things that are unsolved, including newspaper clippings of the animal attacks over the last month that were pinned on Kate, online articles she'd printed out about werewolves, ranging from their weakness to wolfsbane/mountain ash to an article on the Hale fire with a big question mark on it in red marker, the autopsy report of Lahey's body that she hacked into the police station for, and a section on Jackson, surrounded by any werewolf mythology she could find, along with a brief sketch she'd made of his kanima form.
She even adds a section purely on Peter Hale, writing his name in elegant scrawl. There are printed online articles on the Hale fire, the insurance report on the fire that she scrounged up, a missing report of his absence from the hospital, and a bloodied scrap of her dress from the dance, all connected by red strands of tape.
Once her board is set up to her satisfaction, she goes through the packages that arrived earlier in the day.
The first box holds about a dozen neatly pressed button-up shirts in a variety of colors. They're all men's dress shirts as well as plain black and white undershirts.
She makes sure to research what fabrics are best for people with sensitive skin because she knows his skin has to be sensitive after having endured what he has.
The fabric is the softest and sturdiest she can find. The same effort is applied to the second box, which holds a dozen sets of jeans and slacks, and the third box, which holds a dozen sets of comfortable socks and durable shoes, ranging from boots to more formal shoes.
All of it is based off of the measurements she steals from his hospital chart, having stolen his file from the hospital.
Lydia inspects each article of clothing critically before folding it neatly and placing it back in the box.
The fourth box holds several items she purchased from a less than legal site.
It consists of this; a velvet mold for copying keys, a lock picking set, a 50 AE Desert Eagle with three cases of accompanying bullets, a Walther P88 handgun equipped with a sound suppressor and three cases of bullets, and a pair of reliable leather gloves.
"Oh how I missed you," Lydia croons to her Desert Eagle as she cleans and loads it with the ease of hours of practice.
Although her muscles are slow to memorize, her mind remembers the motions.
After her weapons are cleaned and put away, she reaches for the last box, smaller and wooden, which holds the supplies she'd stolen from the animal clinic with the help of Jackson.
There are five jars in total, two of mountain ash, two of wolfsbane, and one of mistletoe.
She grins happily as she wraps them all in cotton cloth and tucks them away, setting the box down on her shelf.