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The moon is full and bright overhead.
Lydia’s not thinking about Jackson, not thinking about the way he’s with the Pack transforming into someone – something -- that she doesn’t know. And she knows Allison’s not thinking about the same thing, and it’s the most natural thing in the world to invite her over.
Lydia’s summer schedule is somewhat lighter than usual – something she’s blaming on everyone being older now, with more responsibilities, because she just can’t face the idea that her popularity has been slipping away bit by bit – and Allison... Well, Allison needs her.
Allison agrees to come over without Lydia even cajoling her, without even breaking out the dozen reason she’s mentally listed of why Allison needs to get out of her house of hunters and into the real world.
Lydia spends a few minutes turning Allison into a life-size doll, pushing her into tighter dresses and brighter colors than Allison would chose on her own, admiring the view and applauding as Allison does a catwalk turn, smiling easily for once.
But it’s hard to push aside the thought of that final day, Lydia’s birthday, when they’d done something similar and Mrs. Argent had come in with pain-filled eyes. Allison’s smile falters first, is replaced with something bitter and brittle.
Lydia grabs her hand, tugs her downstairs and out onto the patio, before Allison shatters right there in Lydia’s closet.
“What are we doing?” Allison asks. In the moonlight her skin is almost translucent, and Lydia makes a decision.
“Swimming,” Lydia says confidently, reaching back to tug down the zipper of the sequined dress she’s wearing.
“Swimming? Or skinny dipping?” Allison’s hands flit at her sides, like she’s debating whether or not she’s going to start shedding her clothes.
“Same thing, isn’t it?” Lydia asks. She’s already accomplished what she initially set out to; Allison’s stepped back from her emotional ledge, her mother and her guilt forgotten as she watches Lydia drop her dress on a lounge chair. Watches her unhook her bra, and then Allison’s quickly looking down, nervous, as she slowly reaches back to undo her own zipper.
Which is interesting. Allison hadn’t been shy about watching Lydia undress upstairs, but now there’s a different feeling.
Lydia thinks it might be the moonlight, the way it gives a soft, strange glow to everything.
Lydia doesn’t avert her own gaze. She watches Allison like a hawk as she peels away her layers, revealing more and more pale skin. Lydia wants to reach out and touch her, to make sure that she’s real.
Allison’s underwear is crumpled at her feet when she finally looks up and meets Lydia’s eyes. Lydia gives her the shark-like grin that always makes Jackson sit up and beg, and she dives into the pool.
The water is just warm enough after a day in the summer sun, and when Lydia surfaces, she sees Allison is still standing on the side of the pool, stark naked, staring up at the sky.
Staring up at the moon.
“Stop thinking about him,” Lydia calls, pushing long wet tendrils of hair over her shoulder. “Join me.”
There’s a vulnerability in her voice that Lydia hopes Allison doesn’t notice. Layers of things she can’t say, things she won’t say about Jackson and Scott and the way they’re standing on the opposite side of a huge gulf that she knows she and Allison will never be able to bridge it.
Allison hesitates as though she’s on the cusp of saying something, but then she jumps into the water, sending ripples across the pool. She emerges from the water gasping for air like she’d forgotten to take a breath before leaping.
Lydia swims up to her once Allison’s breathing again, touching her shoulder lightly, running her hand all down Allison’s arm until she can tangle their fingers together. Then she starts to swim, tugging Allison along after her.
For a few minutes, the world narrows down to just the feel of water over her skin, how warm Allison feels when Lydia brushes up against her, and the splashes and laughter that echo through her backyard as they play.
A few times Lydia wonders how far their voices carry, if they can be heard all the way to the burnt remnants of the Hale house deep in the woods behind them. Wonders if the Pack can hear them.
Wonders if Jackson is out there, if he’s finding out whether being a wolf is what he hoped it would be.
Exhaustion creeps into her suddenly, and Lydia pulls herself out of the pool. Sits on the edge and watches Allison cut through the water like she’s a mermaid, all grace and strength and hidden danger.
When she finally stops swimming, resting her arms on the edge next to Lydia’s bare thighs, Lydia asks, “Can you teach me to fight?”
Allison blinks, looking up at her. “You, Lydia Martin, want to learn to fight?”
Lydia nods. She should just give some flippant comment about femme fatales, but she’s already naked in front of Allison, she might as well strip herself bare in all ways. “I can’t be vulnerable like that again. You have no idea, Allison. Even my dreams weren’t safe.”
Sometimes she still dreams of Peter; strange, heated dreams. She doesn’t know if she hopes that they’re remnants of their bond or not. She’s been working on the assumption that the resurrection burnt out the ties between her and Peter, but if not… then it’s her own subconscious.
Allison gets this determined look and she says, “I’ll teach you.”
Lydia lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, and offers Allison a hand to pull her out of the water. Allison grabs hold, but then she pulls Lydia back into the water.
Underwater, everything is muted, everything except Allison’s limbs crashing into hers and then, as Lydia pulls to the surface, Allison’s mouth presses into hers, like she’s stealing Lydia’s breath.
They break apart, Lydia now the one gasping for air, and Allison says, “Rule one. Always be on the lookout.”
“And what’s rule two?” Lydia gets out as soon as she’s caught her breath. They’re in the middle of the pool, water up to their shoulders, but it still feels like ground has disappeared beneath her feet. Lydia presses her hand against Allison’s hip, like she’s afraid that Allison is going to float away.
“Stay on the offense,” Allison says softly.
Lydia’s never been great at following directions, has always preferred to lead, so instead of waiting for Allison to lean forward again, Lydia tightens her grip on Allison’s hip, pulling her closer and kissing her. It’s not gentle, no more than Allison’s kiss was, and it’s wet and warm and searching.
They make their way to the edge of the pool, and Lydia crowds Allison in, pressing close against her. Their legs are tangled together, the heat of Allison’s core against Lydia’s upper thigh, and Allison’s got a hand cupping Lydia’s breast, rolling her nipple with her thumb almost lazily.
When Lydia gasps, she wonders again if the Pack can hear them, if they’re close out there in the woods, and the next time, when Allison’s hand drifts downwards, she makes sure that she gasps Allison’s name.
It’s petty of her, but Lydia’s never been subtle. She wants Jackson – even Scott, if she’s honest, because Allison’s her closest friend – to know what she’s doing.
Wants them to know that they aren’t the only ones with secrets.
After, they lay tangled together on a lounge chair, draped with the same beach towel. Allison’s toying with a strand of Lydia’s hair. Lydia stares at the treeline and asks the question that’s been festering inside for months.
“Why wouldn’t you just tell me?”
Allison’s hand freezes, and Lydia shouldn’t have brought it up now. But the words are already out, and Lydia can only wait to hear Allison’s answer.
“I wanted to keep you safe,” Allison whispers.
“I wasn’t,” Lydia says, because it’s the truth, and she’s done with shying away from the truth. “All it did was hurt more.”
The flash of pain in Allison’s eyes isn’t worth the satisfaction of finally getting the words out, but Lydia thinks she can live with it.
“I know,” Allison says quietly. “I know that now.”
Lydia reaches out and grabs Allison’s other hand, squeezes tight. “So protect me another way. I wasn’t kidding about learning to fight.”
“And I’m serious about teaching you,” Allison replies. She doesn’t say all the things Lydia knows she’s thinking: about how it didn’t save her mom, about how it wouldn’t have saved Lydia, but just not feeling helpless…that’s what’s important.
“Tomorrow?” Lydia doesn’t like sounding hopeful, but right now… she can live with it.
“First lesson.” Allison doesn’t sound cheerful, still doesn’t quite sound herself. But it’s a start.