It had been almost a week since my stay at the hospital. 

Melissa forbade me from leaving, as motels weren't always the cushiest places to heal from a mortal wound. I wanted to continue aiding the effort to find the Benefactor, but every time I tried to argue with Scott's mother, she won, so I stopped trying altogether. 

I began to use showers to pass the time since my friends couldn't visit much. I was currently having my third one of the day, savoring the feeling of hot water. The motel rarely got above room temperature, so it was nice to wallow in steam. 

A knock on the bathroom door pulls me out of my glorified sauna.

I shut off the shower's valve and step out onto the cold tiles. Water pools at my feet, and I hurriedly grab for a towel to dry myself with to avoid flooding the room. I slip on my sweats quickly, too, not wanting to keep whoever was in my room waiting for long. Before I exit, I make sure to properly dress my wound, studying it closely in the reflection of the mirror. 

After what Scott had done, it had almost completely healed. 

His own scar gave me an odd glimpse into my future, aware of what it would look like when the skin knitted back together properly. I traced the area around the wound with the tips of my fingers, still in awe of how such a thing was possible. 

Scott McCall never ceased to amaze me.

I applied medicine to the injury, and the scratches that Kate gifted me the other week, before wrapping my waist with a lengthy bandage. Once it's secured properly and I've slipped on a sweater for coverage, I head back into the main room.

Doctor Geyer stands inside it, a friendly smile on his face.

"Sorry to interrupt your shower, Jacqueline," he apologizes. "I'm heading out for the night, so I wanted to stop by and see you before I left." 

Waving off his apology, I sit at the edge of my bed. 

"Aw, come on, doc. You can just admit I'm your favorite patient already," I joke.

"Guilty," he chuckles.

Geyer was pleasent to have around. He always caught on to my poorly timed jokes, and didn't press about what happened to Scott and I. It was fair to assume that he had lived in Beacon Hills long enough to know that this town held secrets beyond reason. 

It was also nice to have him here as he served as a reminder of Liam. 

Since I couldn't see him, I constantly asked Scott for updates on his Beta when he stopped by. He kept his responses short and simple, barely giving me any real idea of how Liam was doing. It was infuriating, but it wasn't like I could do anything about it. Any pleas from me for him to share more may have been too obvious. 

"I'm actually glad you stopped by," I tell Geyer. He raises his eyebrows in question, unsure of what I meant. "I never thanked you for saving my life... so thank you. I don't know how I can ever repay you."

Scott may have taken the toll of my wound, but that wouldn't have even been possible if it weren't for Geyer bringing me back. 

"You repay me by breathing," Geyer replies, humble as ever.

"I could give you a five-star review?" I quip.

Geyer grins amusedly. "Oh, that would be great, it would really help with my commission." 

The two of us share a chime of easy laughter, both enjoying the other's sarcasm. I can't help but allow my humor to falter, though, as the man before me only serves as a constant reminder of Liam. My thoughts kept gravitating toward the wolf, and my desire to see him. 

"Something else on your mind?" Geyer asks, noticing my shift in demeanor.  

I hesitate, not wanting to overstep or cross a line. Geyer wasn't keeping Liam away from me, he was keeping him away from danger. Liam was his stepson, his family. He had every right to want him to avoid any place that could bring him harm, and I had no refusals against Liam's safety. However, I also couldn't pretend he didn't exist. 

"Actually, there is," I admit sheepishly. 

Geyer waits patiently, allowing me to fumble over my words. 

"I was, um, hoping you could thank Liam for me? He was the one that found me, and I- I wanted to do it myself, but I know you told him not to come by the hospital anymore."

Geyer frowns in response, and my stomach sinks. I intend to apologize, to ask for his forgiveness if I've somehow insulted him, but his next words keep me silent. 

"I don't mind him coming by," he says, looking more confused than I felt. 

"Now, I did tell him I prefer he comes on days when I'm working, but he can stop by whenever he wants. I'm actually surprised he hasn't been here already," Geyer continues.

What he was saying obviously betrayed what Scott had told me. Did Liam ask him to come up with some excuse so he didn't need to see me? Or was Scott finally learning how to keep secrets?

Either way, I was being lied to and I didn't like it one bit.

"You know, I was probably sleeping when he stopped by," I say dismissively. 

Geyer chuckles, not at all phased by the bomb he's unknowingly dropped on me. 

"Well, I'll still pass on your thanks to him. He'll he happy to hear from you. He asks me about you every day," he says with a teasing grin. 

I blush under his humored gaze, and thankfully, the door to my room opens to save me. 

Melissa stands in the doorway, a stern look on her face.

"What the hell are you still doing here?" she scolds Geyer. "I am not covering for you working late and missing dinner with your wife again."

Geyer holds up his hands defensively, sheepishly backing away. 

"I was just on my way out," he says. 

Melissa steps inside, holding the door open for him to leave. Before he does, Geyer turns my way, pointing a finger in my direction. 

"Don't go looking for any more trouble," he warns. 

I point back at him, wearing a slight smirk. 

"Trouble finds me, doc. Can't help it." 

Geyer shakes his head fondly and bids Melissa and I goodbye before finally leaving. When he's gone, Melissa turns to me with a subtle smile. 

"Someone's here to see you," she says. 

She opens the door wider, allowing whoever's waiting in the hall to enter. I hope for a split second that it's Scott, that way I could confront him, but when I'm greeted by my favorite strawberry blonde, I find that I don't care to think about Scott for a brief moment in time. 

"Hi," Lydia whispers. 

I hadn't seen or heard from her since everything happened. Her phone call from the other night had been replaying in my head, reminding me I was a fool not to trust the warning of a banshee. It also added to my guilt, because I would hate for Lydia to feel responsible for my poor thinking. 

She ventures into the room further, nodding to Melissa. It's an unspoken request for privacy, and Melissa happily obliges. Though, before she leaves completely, she puts her focus on me.

"Oh, and Malia brought by a rabbit earlier but I threw it out. Don't think I need to explain why." Melissa adds with a slightly disgusted expression, then finally closes the door.

Malia's gesture makes me smile, glad to hear she hadn't written me off entirely. I don't linger on thoughts of the coyote as Lydia approaches me, coming to sit on my bed. She doesn't say anything, and I understand it's because she's waiting for me to speak first. I don't hesitate to do so, owing her more than that. 

"I should probably apologize for not listening to your call," I mutter shamefully. I look down at my hands in my lap, unable to meet Lydia's eyes directly. I was admittedly scared of what I would find in them. 

"You think?" she snaps lightly. 

"The next time I tell you to do something, you better do it," she demands, sounding like the prissy and bossy girl I first met when I came to Beacon Hills; sounding like the girl who didn't like me. 

Her words aren't coming from that same place, though. She's not angry or resentful, she's anguished. 

I muster up the courage to finally look at her, facing this reality. Her eyes are swollen and the tip of her nose is an agitated red. It's clear she's been crying for days, but she still keeps her chin high. Lydia always found a way to maintain her composure, and never allowed many people to see her porcelain face crack.

"I'm sorry, Lydia," I say.

"You better be," she replies instantly. 

I bow my head in shame, taking my well-deserved lashings. I prepare myself for more, expecting Lydia to fully lay into me. From the corner of my eye, I notice her lunge at my form, and resist my instincts to put my hands up defensively and block her. If she needed to slap me a few times to feel better, I would allow her to. 

However, my instincts would've been useless anyway, as Lydia doesn't hit me. She wraps her arms around my shoulders and yanks me into a tight embrace. 

I'm stunned at first, but soon mirror her gesture and place my hands on her back loosely. These tender gestures were still new to me, but for my friends, I could find a way to adapt. 

We stay like that for some time, and I only pull away when Lydia does. 

"When was the last time you brushed your hair?" she asks, taking me by surprise. 

"Seriously?" I deadpan in disbelief. I hadn't thought our hug would be when she took the time to scrutinize my hairdo.

Lydia pulls back more, her eyes analyzing my head critically.

"Getting stabbed isn't an excuse not to look presentable," she lectures me. "Turn around." 

With a reluctant sigh, I do as she says. 

I hear her rifling through her purse, and glance behind me to see her pulling out a comb. When she notices me watching her she gives me a pointed look, silently telling me to turn back around. I do, and sit there patiently as she begins to separate my damp hair. She brushes through the smaller pieces gently, careful not to tug at the tangled strands too much. 

"I thought you were supposed to be with Stiles?" I ask her, filling the silence.

The night of the plan Lydia had found a code similar to the structure of the Dead Pool in her grandmother's urn. We had no idea what it meant, but Stiles and Lydia were trying their hardest to figure it out in hopes of it being a potential advantage for us. The last time Stiles stopped by, he mentioned they would be meeting up tonight to concentrate on it. 

"I needed a break," Lydia replies, her tone laced with annoyance. 

I grin at that, able to picture Stiles breathing down her neck as they tried to solve the next keyword. He probably suggested pointless phrases that were the furthest thing possible and saw no problem with it. He would've actually thought he was helping, but was really only driving her to insanity. 

"Hovering?" I inquire knowingly. 

"Like a fly," Lydia confirms teasingly. 

Thoughts of Stiles soon make my mind drift to his immediate counterpart. Scott. In the back of my mind, I was still thinking about his lie, and why he had done it. I wanted answers, but that wasn't something I could get until we talked. 

"Do you know where Scott is, by the way?" I ask Lydia, trying to keep my tone casual. It's not a hard effort, as she had no reason to suspect anything anyway. 

She hums in thought as she begins to braid my hair. 

"Probably at the school," she suggests. "Tonight's the bonfire." 

"Right," I murmur in realization. 

The campus bonfire was the highly anticipated event of this semester. Scott and Stiles had offered for me to go with them a few weeks ago which I happily declined. Most people at the high school were hard to deal with sober, so I would rather not have to face them in an inebriated state where they're even less self-aware than usual. Stiles couldn't make it anymore because of his obligation to help Lydia, but Scott was required to attend because he was the lacrosse captain. 

"A bunch of teenagers getting drunk on school property. Totally normal thing to do," I add. 

"Sweetheart, it's Beacon Hills," Lydia quips sharply, those four words summarizing our town perfectly.

She soon reaches the end of my braid, slipping a band off of her own wrist to tie it off. 

"Much better," she sighs with satisfaction. 

I face her again, bringing the length of my braid forward to appreciate her handwork. It honestly did feel better to have my hair out of my face rather than clinging to my neck. Lydia's pushy nature definitely had its pros. 

"Am I pretty now?" I ask jokingly, posing with my hands under my chin as she does. Lydia rolls her eyes fondly, reaching up to pull a few hairs loose to frame my face. 

"Beautiful," she replies. 

"Not as beautiful as you," I say softly, repeating to Lydia what I knew I had once said to someone else. Only they were deserving of hearing such words. 

Lydia grins, flipping her bright hair over her shoulder effortlessly.

"Obviously," she smirks. 

I burst with laughter at her actions, but soon come to regret it. My wound can't handle the sudden shift of air being expelled form me, and it my entire side burns. I hunch over to cope, not expecting the abrupt wave of pain. I swallow it down, noticing Lydia's fearful reaction.

"I'm okay," I tell her, hoping to ease her mind. 

Her face doesn't shift, though. It remains taut with terror, and beneath that, her eyes hold more pain than I could ever feel. 

"You saw it happen, didn't you?" I ask gingerly. "That's why you called me."

Lydia shakes her head, her attention faltering from me. Her eyes become distant; hollow. It was the same expression she held the night we lost Allison, and the following night when we lost Aiden. It was the expression that came with the trauma associated with death that only she could truly feel, but hardly understood. 

"It was a premonition," she starts. 

"I saw you drowning. It was in a lake, maybe a river, I don't know. The current kept dragging you down and you tried to fight it, but after a while, you went under." 

Her slightly crazed eyes find mine again, a chill running down my spine at the sight. 

"I waited for you to come back up, but you never did," she breathes out. "I knew it was something inside of me telling me you were going to die." 

I reach for Lydia's trembling hand, taking it into my own. 

"It wasn't real," I promise her. "You don't have to be scared of it anymore. I'm okay. We're okay."

Her words obviously unsettled me, but I pushed that away. I only cared about comforting her, hating those times when Lydia's powers ate away at her. Her wild features soon soften, telling me I've done my job correctly. I also take it as a sign to say the things I wanted to as I was bleeding out a few floors above us. 

"Lydia, I know I don't say it, but-"

"And you don't have to," she cuts me off. I stare at her confusedly, unsure of why she had done that. 

"I already know," she adds with a gentle smile. 

I mirror it and don't make any effort to speak again. Lydia settles in beside me as peace falls over us, resting her head on my shoulder. I don't move and allow her to stay there for as long as she wants, because there's more than one way to tell someone you love them. 

---

Lydia left an hour after her arrival. She seemed to want to stay longer but had to return to Stiles, their duties still calling to them. I wasn't bothered and bid her goodnight, figuring I could turn in early as my friends were all preoccupied. 

I worked on making my bed, arranging my pillow to benefit my wound. My actions only slow when I catch sight of a shadow beneath the door to my room. It was obvious that someone was standing on the other side. I wait, wondering if they would knock or try to open the door themselves. 

They don't do either, though. After a few seconds, the shadow's gone. 

I walk over to the door, my hand hovering over the handle. I remain cautious as I pull it open, telling myself to stay on edge. I step out into the hall, finding no one that stood out as unsavory or irregular. I was about to go back into my room, chalk up the shadow to someone simply pausing outside my door, until I notice the papers taped to the walls around me. 

A few other patients had come out of their rooms, probably seeing the same thing I did. There were other people walking by, too, all of them stopping to read the collection of what appeared to be flyers. 

They weren't flyers, though. 

Murmurs filled the space as everyone tried to figure out what it all meant. I was the only one who recognized the various Dead Pools displayed, the names of my friends for everyone to see. This was a cruel assassin's way of announcing that it was officially open season in Beacon Hills.

I rip the paper from my own door, finding more names crossed out, even Derek's. It seemed like I wasn't the only one who Lydia had a successful premonition of. 

My stomach only continues to turn when I find Liam's name. He had been previously worth three million, but now sat as the third highest ranking on the list behind Scott and Lydia at eighteen million. 

A familiar spark of rage begins to form inside of me. The Dead Pool was available for any desperate soul to get their hands on and that meant Liam was in more danger than ever, and I wasn't there to protect him. Whatever game the Benefactor was playing had gone too far, and it was time to end it. 

Looks like I was going to the bonfire after all.

~

||| A/N |||

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