Work Text:
It was nearly midnight when Lydia decided to take a break to proofread her essay and realized she'd been writing that stupid code again.
"Oh, nononono," she moaned, scrolling up through the document. "Come on, I've been working on this for hours!" Groaning in frustration, she leaned back in her desk chair. The squeak of the chair startled the small dog sleeping at her feet, little more than a pile of black and white fluff.
"Sorry, Prada," she chuckled. "Come on, buddy. You need to go out?" The little papillon perked up at the word 'out,' getting to his feet. Lydia frowned, anticipating the familiar jingle of dog tags but hearing only tiny nails on hardwood flooring. She got out of her chair, crouching and inspecting her dog's neck. "Where's your collar? Ugh, mom is going to flip out, we just put your new rabies vaccination tags on that thing."
Prada cocked his head, comically large ears trailing wisps of long fur with each movement. Lydia smoothed the fur she'd just mussed in her fruitless search. "How can you be so tangled again already? Didn't you just go to the groomers?" She picked him up, snuggling the small dog close as she left the room, descending the stairs toward the back door. "Did mom take you to a different groomer this time? You smell like… Old Spice and gunpowder. Compensating for something?" she chuckled, and he licked her chin. "It's ok, Prada. You're still the number one boy in my life. I promise."
It was only when she reached for the doorknob that she realized the door was slightly ajar. Her heart sank in her chest like a cold lump of lead, and Prada wriggled fiercely, jumping free and scrambling through the open door. Lydia hesitated, instinctively checking her pocket for a cell phone before realizing she'd left on her desk upstairs. Shit. She stood dead still in the doorway for a moment, contemplating her options, before a thump in the next room made up her mind for her. Moving quickly and quietly on bare feet, Lydia crept out into the back yard and crouched behind her mother's azaleas, hoping they would shield her from being visible through the window. With her heart still pounding in her ears, it took her a moment to register the noise behind her, and she turned slowly to see Prada digging desperately at the small side door to the garage, whining.
"Prada, ssh," she hissed sternly. The little dog ignored her, still digging at the door like his life depended on it. Afraid the noise would draw whoever was in the house back outside, she carefully crept closer to the dog. "Come here, Prada. No. Leave it." She tried to grab him, but he struggled against her grip and nipped her hand when she pulled him away. Startled, she dropped him, and he went right back to digging at the door. Defeated, she turned the doorknob slowly, quietly, and opened the door. Prada dashed in, quietly scampering to the far side of the garage and out of sight. Holding her breath, Lydia closed the door behind herself. Not exactly a defensible position, and still without a phone to call for help, but at least if whoever was in her house came after her here, there were places to hide, and she would likely hear them coming.
Now, if only she knew where her dog had run off to.
Fear of drawing attention to herself by turning on a light only barely outweighing concern that she might step on a stray nail, her only option was to to navigate by the dim light of a half moon through sparse windows, which was slow and careful work. She heard something move in the furthest, dustiest corner, near her father's old fishing gear. One of the rods that had been leaning on the wall crashed to the floor, and Lydia though she heard cursing. With shaking hands, she picked up a dusty old crowbar, carefully continuing her approach, still unable to see anything around a large, covered gas grill. Taking a deep breath, she stepped around the grill, crowbar raised, and yelped a strangled "What the fuck?!"
"Ssssh! Lydia!" Deputy Parrish was stark naked on the floor of the garage next to an overturned plastic tote full of.. was that his uniform?
"Deputy Parrish?" She hissed, a barely contained attempt at a whisper. "What are you doing here? And why are you naked?"
"I'll explain later, we've got to deal with whoever is in your house right now," he scrambled into his pants before reaching back into the plastic tote, pulling out his holster and tossing it aside once he'd pulled his gun free.
"How do you-" she sputtered, still keeping a white-knuckle grip on her crowbar. "Where's Prada?"
"What?"
"My dog. Prada. He was desperate to get in here, probably because he could smell you. Where is he? What did you do to him?"
"I didn't do anything to your dog, I swear," he sighed, getting to his feet, still barefoot. "Now I need you to stay here and stay quiet, I'm going in the house to see if the coast is clear-"
"Shouldn't you call for backup or something first?" Lydia asked, suspicion creeping up the back of her neck. "Or are you more afraid of explaining to the Sheriff why you were naked in my garage than you are of facing a probably armed and dangerous intruder in my house?"
"Look, I'll explain everything once I know you're safe, Lydia, but I need you to just trust me for a second," Parrish gave her shoulder a squeeze. When he stepped closer to touch her, Lydia smelled Old Spice and gunpowder. She stuttered, and in that moment of silence they heard the side door click open. Before she could react, Parrish pushed her down behind the grill and raised his gun.
"Put the gun down and no one has to get hurt," Parrish warned.
"What the hell are you doing in here? Where's Lydia?"
She knew that voice. Lydia dropped her crowbar with a resounding 'clank' and got to her feet. "Mr. Argent?"
"Lydia, it's ok, I'm here to protect you," Mr. Argent spoke calmly, not lowering the gun he had aimed at the shirtless deputy. "Just make your way over here, carefully. If he moves, I shoot."
"Whoa, whoa, Mr. Argent," Lydia raised her hands. "Were you the one in the house?"
"As soon as I found out about the dead pool, I put up surveillance cameras around the edges of your property. I saw him sneak into the garage hours ago and never come back out, so I came down to investigate, but when I got here, I couldn't find him, so I just went into the house to make sure you were ok."
"Oh, thank god," she sighed with relief. "Mr. Argent, you can lower your gun, this is Deputy Parrish. He works with Stiles's dad."
"I'm aware of who he is, Lydia. I'm still waiting to hear what he's doing in your garage."
"I-" Parrish fumbled. "I, ah…"
"Parrish isn't one of the killers," Lydia shook her head. "He's…. he's on the list."
"Wait, I am?" he asked. "Why didn't you tell me that back at the station?"
"So if you're on the list, what are you?" Chris asked, gun still steadily aimed at Parrish's heart. Lydia could see Parrish's hand shaking, but he wasn't lowering his gun, either. The silence was deafening.
Old Spice and gunpowder.
"He's Prada." She whispered, not sure she even believed it.
"What?"
"My.. my dog. Prada."
Parrish was staring at Lydia, looking… apologetic? Chris Argent laughed so hard he nearly dropped his gun.
"Your little toy frou-frou dog that you named after your purse?"
"I'm sorry, Lydia, I was going to tell you, I just-"
"Oh my god," Lydia backed away from him. "I let you sleep in my room! You've seen me naked!"
"… And this is exactly why I was having a hard time telling you," Parrish sighed. "Look, I never meant for any of this to happen, but at least it gives me a chance to protect you with all the shit going on right now, and-"
"You never meant for what, exactly? You've been living in my house for two years!"
"Well, I-" he sighed. "When I got back from Iraq, I was fucked up. I guess I just… I couldn't handle being human for a while," he chuckled. "The problem with being a shifter with a form that isn't very intimidating is that people won't just let you wander. I ended up in a shelter, and then… well, then there was you."
"Why didn't you say something sooner?"
"You were always so nice to me," he shrugged. "It took me over a year just to remember how to shift back and forth with any degree of control. And I was going to tell you then, but I didn't think you'd believe me. Figured you'd just call the cops on the strange, naked guy in your house. So I found some of your dad's old clothes out here in the garage, went out, got a job at the station… I was going to just leave, make a clean break, but… the more I saw of Beacon Hills, the more I realized how dangerous this place is. And I saw how often you were home alone at night, and I just couldn't. I couldn't leave you like that." He looked at Lydia, shoulders slumped in defeat and eyes glossy with tears. Dear god, he looked like a kicked puppy.
"Well, this has certainly been…. weird," Chris put his gun away. "Is there somewhere I can give you a ride to where you can crash?"
"I never said he couldn't stay," Lydia gave Parrish a smile, gently taking his hand.
"Really?" he smiled, trying to contain his joy.
"You're still not allowed up on the bed, though," she smirked. He hugged her tightly.
"Ok, well, now that I know you're safe, I'm going back out on patrol, I guess," Chris sighed. "You sure you're alright, Lydia?"
"I'll be fine, thanks, Mr. Argent," she nodded. Shaking his head, Chris left, closing the door behind himself.
"Now then," Lydia brushed the dust off her hands. "Is this box everything you have here?"
"Uh, yeah," Parrish scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. "I don't really own anything but uniforms. I keep everything else in my locker down at the station."
"I'll feel better if you start keeping this in my closet instead. That way if there's an actual emergency, you can get to your gun a lot faster," she turned the tote back upright, picking up the socks and shirt that had fallen out and tossing them back in before she snapped the lid on and picked it up.
"...I don't suppose you know where you left your collar?"