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Peter knew the pack was attempting to save someone's life, but someone else's life had been in jeopardy who he cared about a lot more than some random teacher. He'd been hanging out in the corner of Cora's room, watching her and Derek, waiting for her to wake up. When he noted Derek's eyes drooping, he said he was going to get them coffee and would be right back.

Moving through the halls, he avoided the nurses's station, not wanting a run in with Melissa McCall. He did the same on the way back and was almost back to the room when he heard a scream that ricocheted through him, plucking hard at his eardrums, though not close enough to drop him to the ground.

He did drop the coffee, though, because he knew that scream. He'd heard it in his dreams, elicited it from her more than once last year.

Lydia.

Ignoring the splash of the hot coffee on the floor and not bothering to return to Derek and Cora, Peter took off at a run. He heard his name distantly shouted, but he didn't stop for it. He didn't stop for anything.

When he hit the school, he closed his eyes and felt for her, feeling the edges of her mind, seeing what she saw. He'd gone to school here; he knew it well, and the images he got from her helped him pinpoint her location. Students, parents and teachers were spilling out of the auditorium doors, though, screaming in a way that made him grateful he even could feel her--that she was still alive.

The crowd made going in problematic, so he went around, twisting toward the hall of classrooms where she was. Scanning rooms as he went by, he caught sight of something that about made his heart stop: Lydia, tied to a chair, a garrotte around her neck, and some woman moving toward the fallen sheriff. He couldn't see Lydia moving, didn't know if she was all right, but there was blood in the air--hers, Scott's, Sheriff Stilinski's.

Peter's eyes glowed blue and his claws and fangs extended as he growled. With a running leap he threw himself through the windows, knocking into the woman and sending her farther away from Lydia. He snarled, almost fully wolfed out, noting the others at the door. He wanted the woman, wanted her blood, but how much and how hard depending on how hurt Lydia was, so he spun to her, moving to kneel in front of her chair, senses trained on the woman for any sudden moves.

By the time he reached Lydia, his features were normal again, though his eyes were still glowing bright blue and the claws of his right hand were still extended. He slashed through the bindings holding her, careful not to nick her skin, then reached to pluck the garrotte away, eyeing the marks on her throat with a fury that had him growling again.

Another crash from behind him startled him enough to look and see the girl and the sheriff disappear. Whatever. He had her scent. He could hunt her down. His attention focused back on Lydia.

"Are you badly hurt?" She obviously wasn't all right, but he needed the physical damage report first.

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"So you're intending to carry me right to your bed, aren't you?" She asked with a knowing look before reaching over to press the elevator button for him.

"That is the plan, yes," he said with a nod, stepping on the elevator when the doors opened, and letting her hit the button for his floor. "Get you into something comfy, in bed, with water and painkillers and sleep." To be awoken every two hours the rest of the night.

Really, she was expecting him to keep waking her up in the middle of the night for the next few days because of his paranoia that she might lapse into a coma.

"I don't have any pajamas here. Just one of your shirts." That she had claimed.

It was good she had reasonable expectations of how things were going to go, then. But he smiled at the comment. "I like you in my shirts..."

Especially when she left her scent all over it. He did not at all curl up with it close when she wasn't there. Really.

Which was fine because she hadn't stolen one of his shirts to wear at home when she wasn't with him. Just so she could keep his scent with her. No, really, she hadn't.

She smiled faintly, leaning her head against his shoulder as he carried her to his place.

He got them both in the apartment and, true to his promise, carried her to the bed, setting her down on it and then getting her the T-shirt she liked to wear. Letting her do what she needed, he went to get her a bottle of water from the fridge, bringing it back so she could take her pills, while fishing out his phone.

"I'm just going to call Hayley..."

:Lydia was amused when he actually carried her right to the bed, depositing her right in the middle as though he worried she would get up unless he did exactly that. It was sweet though and she couldn't recall the last time anyone had taken such meticulous care of her before.

She did have to stand up long enough to strip though and she did that slowly as he got her some water so she could take her pills. Which she did after getting his shirt on, nodding as she sat on the edge of the bed. "Okay."

Once the pills were swallowed, she moved to her side of the bed, crawling under the blankets as she listened for him.

He knew she had to stand to change, but him helping with that probably would have hindered more than actually helped, so he let her do it herself, though he was pleased she was back on the bed quickly. He brushed his fingers through her hair and pressed a kiss to her forehead before stepping out to the living room to make the call. He didn't close the door or anything, wasn't trying to make her not hear--just to make her not have to if she didn't want to.

Hayley answered at once, and Peter ran through the evening's happenings pretty quickly. She'd known Derek was at the hospital with Cora, of course, and was concerned about Lydia. Less so about the darach, honestly, as her focus was mostly on the pack, but knowing the twins were with Isaac made her more fretful (he was part of Derek's pack, after all), and she promised to send reinforcements for the search.

When he'd finished the phone call, he snagged himself a soda with caffeine and moved back to the bedroom, stripping down to boxers and t-shirt before stretching out on the bed next to her. "How are you feeling?"

"I don't know." She admitted as she looked up at him, looking soft and troubled all at the same time. "Physically, my throat hurts and my head is killing me but I think the pills are starting to kick in."

"Mentally, I don't know. It doesn't feel real." She frowned a little more. "I think I'm relieved to know what's happening to me but..." She was scared too. She wasn't just a human but she had no real idea what being a banshee meant.

"Emotionally?" She looked at him. "I really thought I was going to die tonight...and all I could think about was you. That I needed to her to you." She wet her lips. "And I thought if I screamed, you'd hear me."

Edited 2013-08-06 06:46 (UTC)

He shivered a little at the reminder of how close he'd come to losing her and reached to pull her into his arms. Outside, a crack of thunder made him flinch, just at the sudden loud noise, but he tightened his arms around her even more, fingers going to her hair.

"And I did. I heard you. I got there as quickly as I could..." Which, all in all, had been pretty damn quick. He turned to nuzzle at her temple. "I thought I was going to lose you."

Lydia didn't mind as his arms tightened around her, drawing her closer as she snuggled in against his side to let her head rest on his shoulder, her hair trailing over his arm as she let her hand fall on top of his chest.

After awhile her mind started to go this way and that as the pills took effect, making her more than a little loopy. Once again she marvelled at the fact that she was tucked in his bed in his arms. That he had been the first person she thought about when she thought she was going to die.

Then, randomly, she giggled. "Do you think I could have used you to resurrect myself?"

Peter had been lost in in his own thoughts--not very happy ones--as he held her close, but he pulled back a little to look at her, arching an eyebrow.

He realized the drugs were taking effect, but he still gave her a half-amused-half-exasperated look. "I'm not sure it works that way, but I would have moved heaven and earth trying."

"Thank you." She murmured when he told her about moving Heaven and Earth to get her back. Her eyes drifted closed and she was quiet again for awhile, her fingers drifting bank and forth slowly against his chest as the conversation back in the hotel played over again in her mind.

"Do you want kids, Peter?" She asked softly.

Peter went very, very still at that question, internally wincing a bit. He'd figured they'd come back around to it, but it wasn't an issue he had any clear answers on.

Every instinct said to dodge the question, but she'd almost died, and he couldn't do that to her. "I don't know," he said quietly, fingers twisting and untwisting in her hair. "I did."

No, that wasn't quite right. He still did, badly. He just didn't know if he should.

"Did?" She asked softly as her brain went jumping all over the place, trying to form the right answer, and then she was tipping her head to look at him. "Is it because I'm a banshee?"

She looked oddly vulnerable as she asked.

"What?" He gave her a startled, then slightly disbelieving look. "No. It's because I murdered my niece and several other people and terrorized you for weeks and I am pretty sure that no one should actually trust me with the molding of another human life."

"Oh." She blinked a little as she tried to digest that, shifting to lower her head back on his chest. "So you don't want kids then? Or you're just scared to have them?"

Peter closed his eyes and tried to envision it, with her, and found himself with a bit of emotion clogging his throat, which was just embarrassing. "I want them," he said quietly. "And it terrifies me."

Lydia found herself smiling a bit as she gave him a little squeeze, drifting again. Minutes went by without her saying anything though it felt like only seconds to her. "I wasn't sure I wanted them. I don't really have good parent figures myself and everyone is always saying I'm cold hearted."

A tiny little yawn then. "But I could see having them with you. A little girl, maybe."

"You're not cold-hearted," Peter murmured. "You're like me."

He brushed another kiss over her forehead. "Well, any children of ours would be absolutely stunning. We would have to beat the boys--and maybe the girls--back with bats."

"What do you mean?" She asked, the fog getting a little thicker in her head.

She was drifting further and further but this time she was surrounded by the different images, and ideas, of children she could have with Peter in the future. She especially had her heart set on a little girl with dark hair and his eyes.

"Everyone thinks we don't feel things, that we don't care, and we're okay with that. We don't want them to think we feel, because then they would know we could be hurt. And we do not want to be hurt."

His voice was just a murmur, soft and soothing, and he was perfectly alert, because he had to watch over her.

"Very smart, Peter Hale." She murmured sleepily, her hand brushing over his stomach. Again, a little while passed before she said anything again. "When do you want them?"

"I'm a smart man." He listened to her breathe, letting it settle in his bones, soothe him after the terror.

"Well, I think we should at least wait til you're out of high school," he said dryly. "But...I don't want to be in a walker at their high school graduation, either."

There might have been a muffled laugh. "You're not that old."