Chapter Text
“Lydia!” Scott greets gleefully, a huge smile on his face, before he’s scooping Lydia up into a huge bear-hug as though the last time he saw her was years ago and not, in fact, the previous week. He grimaces as he pulls a few stray pieces of fluff from his mouth when he pulls back – feather-earrings aren’t great for bear-hugs. “Or should I say Ariel; I’m your eleven AM!” he adds after a moment, waving his hands jazzily in a ‘surprise!’ gesture.
Lydia laughs and holds herself up higher, shaking herself more alert and awake as she drops the Ariel act. “Scott! What’s wrong with you?” She asks, shaking her head disapprovingly but unable to hide her smile when Scott’s is literally like staring directly into the sun. “You realise you could just have called me on my normal number like a regular person instead of putting on a dumb accent and making an appointment?” Lydia says as she shuts the door behind Scott and gestures for him to come inside. With her free hand, she starts taking off the clip-in rings that go all the way up the side of her ear. Those things ache.
“I just thought you could do with a nice surprise,” Scott says as he runs his finger down the beaded curtain that hangs in place of a door over her coat closet. The glass beads reflect the sunlight from the window onto the walls and Scott watches them like a puppy, wide eyed and smiling.
Lydia rolls her eyes but leans over to ruffle Scott’s hair affectionately. “That’s sweet, Scott. But shouldn’t you be at work?” She heads through the small apartment to her kitchen, which actually looks like a normal person’s kitchen instead of something from the set of Charmed.
“Thanks,” Scott says as Lydia passes him a glass of coke. He sits down at the small kitchen table and looks up at her with that same beaming smile. “Deaton gave me the day off.”
Lydia sits down too, opposite Scott with a cup of tea and stares at him from across the table, eyebrows raised. He seems content to sip at his coke and look around the room, which makes Lydia suspicious. “How’s the rest of the pack?” She asks, gently prompting him. Lydia knows they’re all fine – they have a group Facebook chat and her laptop is constantly dinging from the notifications, usually from Erica and Cora, who seem to spend a lot of time mercilessly teasing Derek for everyone else to see.
“They’re all good,” Scott says, nodding. There’s another brief silence and Lydia waits with her arms crossed because this is the moment Scott is going to ask her for a favour – she doesn’t have to be psychic to know that.
When it doesn’t come instantly, Lydia sighs and picks up the stray bottle of nail paint from the table in front of her and uncaps it. “Scott, I know if you just wanted a chat you wouldn’t have gone to all the trouble of making an appointment – you would have just turned up in the middle of a session, like you usually do.” She touches up the chips in her nails with aquamarine glitter as she talks and can practically sense Scott’s sheepish expression looking at her. “Just spit it out, Scott. Is it Deaton? Does he need my expertise again?”
Scott laughs and shakes his head and at least has the decency to look apologetic. “Okay, you’re right. I do need a favour. But I just felt bad coming to ask you because you’re always so busy and stressed out. And honestly? It always smells gross in your apartment. No offence.” Scott sniffs the air and grimaces. “Like burning leaves and twigs.”
“Incense,” Lydia supplies, nodding. “And none taken – I’m not really a fan either. They’re part of the Ariel image,” she adds with a shrug.
Scott looks at her weirdly, like he always does when she talks about her stage-character as if she’s a different person. “It’s been such a long time and I still don’t really get the whole Ariel thing,” he admits, crinkling his nose up from confusion – or maybe it’s just the incense.
“There’s nothing to get. She’s not a real person – she’s just who I pretend to be when I’m working. I tell clients my name’s Ariel so I don’t have swarms of people stalking me on Facebook. It really isn’t that complex, Scott,” Lydia explains in a long-suffering sort of voice. “Did you find another box of stray kittens that need a home? Because I told you last time you asked me to take one that I’m not allowed pets in my apartment. And before you ask, no. Not even fish.”
Scott shakes his head, and it’s then that Lydia notices his smile has dimmed slightly. “It’s not that. I came to ask if you could maybe help someone.”
Lydia stares at Scott seriously, eyes narrowed. It’s been a long time since the pack has been in trouble. Since Allison had died, in fact. But something in Scott’s voice puts Lydia on edge. “Okay. Well, I can do my best, but it depends on what’s wrong. Who needs help?”
Scott chews on his lip before leaning back in his chair and pulling his wallet out of his pocket. “Do you remember in kindergarten I had a friend called Stiles? He was like, crazy in love with you, remember? We used to sit in the sandpit together?”
Lydia looks at Scott with one eyebrow raised, wondering if he’s the one who needs help. “You can’t expect me to keep tabs on every single person with a crush on me, Scott. You’re going to have to be more specific.”
Scott opens his wallet and digs behind the little plastic slot, where he keeps that old photo of Allison taken at prom. He pulls out a dog-eared and crumpled Polaroid photograph from behind it and pushes it across the table to Lydia. “Me and Stiles. And there’s you running away in the background. You didn’t want to have your picture taken with two gross boys,” Scott explains, grinning again suddenly at the memory.
Lydia picks up the photograph and studies it, wracking her brain to remember the boy. She recognises Scott instantly; he still looks exactly like the four-year-old he once was. The boy beside him is small, with a sharp nose and fluffy light brown hair sticking up all over his head. There’s a spattering of freckles and moles across his face and bare arms, and he’s grinning mischievously at the camera. “I believe you that he exists now, but I still don’t remember him. So this Stiles needs my help, why?” She asks as she passes the photograph back.
Scott looks disappointed for a moment before speaking. “Well, his mom died when we were all in kindergarten so he and his dad – his dad was a deputy at the station, remember? They moved upstate after that because his dad got offered another job. And, um…” Scott trails off, shrugging a little bashfully. “After Allison died I was sort of lonely, so I tracked him down again. My mom kept their address. And we were sending letters for a while and then we switched to phone calls and then we skyped, like, every day.”
Lydia stares at Scott incredulously, listening quietly before she holds up a silencing hand. “Wait. I swear, Scott McCall, this story is starting to sound like the first five minutes of an episode of Catfish. Did you tell Stiles about everything that happened?”
Scott shakes his head vigorously, before it turns into a sort-of half shrug. “I didn’t outright tell him. He’s really smart, Lydia. Like, your level of smart. He figured it out by himself.”
“He just figured out you were a werewolf,” Lydia repeats doubtfully, frowning in confusion. “Is he a werewolf?”
Scott sighs and shakes his head. “No, he’s human. Well, I mean… I think he is. But that’s sort of why I need your help.”
Lydia narrows her eyes for a moment. She hums thoughtfully under her breath, before leaning nearer to Scott in her chair. “I’m listening.”
Scott runs a hand through his hair and bites his lip before talking again. “Basically, my mom and Stiles’ dad started talking again too after me and Stiles did, and somehow his dad found out about the supernatural stuff, too. Nothing specific. I guess my mom or Stiles just told him the basics, or whatever. I dunno. But I didn’t hear from Stiles for ages. Not a word.” Scott’s arms start to move as he speaks, as though telling the story is making him more and more agitated. He leans forward over the table and lowers his voice and Lydia instinctively leans nearer to him.
“And then after about two months of radio silence – a week ago – his dad called me and said he thinks something is wrong. It’s really weird, Lyds’ – he told me that Stiles has started sleepwalking and when he wakes up he’s in the middle of nowhere with scratches up his arms. And he had to drop out of college because he suddenly stopped being able to read, which is why he never emailed me back. John – Stiles’ dad – said that Stiles didn’t want to call me and make me worry. But obviously I worried anyway.” Scott chews on his lip anxiously as he talks and Lydia leans over to rest her hands on top of his in what she hopes is a comforting gesture. She hasn’t seen Scott this worked up in a long time.
“Scott, have you ever considered the option that maybe Stiles is just a little… You know. Unstable?” Lydia asks slowly, lightly. Sure, what Scott described sounded a little like the possessions she’d read about, but since she’d never actually encountered one herself she wasn’t sure what to believe. It all sounded a bit too fantasy-novel for her world, which was really saying something.
Scott sighs. “That’s what I thought,” he says with a miserable nod. “But then his dad told me that he’s been talking in his sleep.” Scott pauses for a moment, looking at Lydia with a strange look that makes Lydia feel like she should already know what Scott is going to say. “Apparently he’s been talking about someone called Ariel,” he says, glancing up and meeting Lydia’s eyes with an unreadable look.
Lydia feels the blood drain from her face and a sudden chill go up her spine. She leans back in her chair, keeping her expression carefully blank. “Maybe it’s a coincidence,” she says slowly. Somehow, she already knows it isn’t.
Scott tilts his head to the side, looking doubtful. “He told his dad he needed to come to Beacon Hills to talk to Ariel.” Lydia can feel Scott’s eyes on her, as though he’s waiting for her to explain what’s going on.
For once, Lydia can’t.