Allison Argent

Scott felt the life leave Joseph’s body like a punch to the gut, still, they weren’t just people, they were them, and there had to be something, something else -

"Scott-" That was Allison.  That was Lois. They weren't friends, not as far as Allison knew, not in any way that counted. Mostly everyone she worked with was on a first name basis with her, but that was her preference as a team leader, and she thought Scott was the same. Lois' grip was tight on the steering wheel, and she looked so lost.

Allison’s voice was like one of her knives slicing through the rest of the noise to reach Scott’s ears, and he could hear the lie in them. He could hear everything she was feeling in that handful of words. It made him regret taking the bite, but not as much as the way Joseph’s slowing breaths made him regret.

Allison tracked the flair of light behind them. She didn't relax after realizing it was a civilian car. They were far enough from their target zone that civilian traffic began filtering through. The streetlights were back up - not regularly, but frequently enough. She still checked the skylines. They'd done damage, but there was no way she could believe that they'd decimated the gremlins' resources.

"Fine, I’m fine," Scott insisted. His hand slid around Allison’s wrist at the same time as her’s curled around his. In that moment, he had no supernatural strength. He couldn’t remember it, couldn’t distinguish between what was and what had been him, and he wasn’t trying to figure it out. His primary concern was the agent he and Allison were loading into their transport. Scott climbed in first, pulling Joseph after him, falling back so the injured agent was braced against his chest when the vehicle surged forward. Scott’s hands were pressed over the weeping edges of the bandages Allison had applied, leeching pain, and he was muttering to himself. This wasn’t their fault. This was bad intel.

"Scott, you aren't acting right," Allison pointed out, her expression dire. With anyone else, she wouldn't have brought it up. They had a mission to do, and the time to lick wounds would present itself if the survived. When they survived. Scott wasn't just another agent. He knew what it meant to a machine when one cog stopped working like it was supposed to. 

"Someone has," he muttered, lifting his brows. Blood didn’t come from no where. Plus, there was the matter of the little object on the screen. He tensed, just a little, when she leaned closer. Stiles knew her, was friends with her. He’d trusted her a few hundred times.

That was new. She didn't think they'd updated his files with that, but it wasn't like Allison spent her days reading other people's information for shits and giggles. It was still another point of information that she might be able to use, when she wasn't worried that someone else was using her hands for murder.

Lois was so fast, and strong, it gave Scott the same sort of elicit thrill he’d felt when Allison had first moved forward during the original scuffle, swinging her recurve like a sword. Except he was distantly aware that it wasn’t really him getting - whatever it was he was getting out of this violence. It was what Cora had warned him about. Not really losing himself, but letting something else take over. This time it was Allison’s voice that brought him back to clarity.

They traveled light. It was a part of every mission. They couldn't afford to take any more than the bare minimum, and sometimes, more often than not, their baggage skewered towards weaponry than first aid supplies. Prevention was more effective than cures, and all. The gauze Allison had wrapped around his chest tugged on whole skin without disturbing the lacerations that tore Joseph in half. They couldn't provide the right sort of pressure. They weren't enough.

Lydia tried not to appear blatantly disdainful when Allison returned bearing paperwork. She knew the two of them had different lifestyles; while Lydia was quite the fast worker, it was impossible for her to always be done when the clock struck quitting time. However, because she wasn’t in a leadership position, what she didn’t finish could be returned to the next morning.

That look was loaded, but Allison didn't know Lydia to give anything less. Ignorant were those who believed what painted smiles implied. She knew enough to reconsider them, but she didn't think there was anyone who could fully understand them. It was her choice to take that expression at surface value. Allison wondered if it would just be easier if she went back to a time where she wasn't so aware of Lydia Martin.

Scott had never fought like this before, trusting his instincts, learning his strength, all while knowing deep down that he had less control over his own motions than he wanted to. He turned, fast, swiped claws across an angry face before teeth penetrated his arm, moved too quick to give the gremlin another shot. He had no weapon, there was only him, and it was more than enough.

She'd known for years that Scott could hold his own in a battle. What she saw was something else entirely. There was blood on the floor, smeared across the ground where their enemies had been dragged back into a battle they couldn't win. There were gremlins with limbs bent in ways they shouldn't be, the white arc of bone cutting straight through wrinkled skin. Allison didn't want to look too closely. She couldn't help herself, and the gun in her hand felt like it was on fire. 

There was the slightest thrill of nervous anticipation at seeing Allison’s home, but once she was within its wall, the place made perfect sense. It wasn’t flashy, but then, neither was Allison. And yet, there was a sense of comfort to it that Lydia appreciated. Or perhaps she was still appreciating being let in. She’d never imagined she’d ever find herself viewing another agent’s residence; she knew for sure there was no chance she’d ever be inviting anyone over. But then, she supposed that with her current location taken into consideration, Allison would make an exception, as always.

"Go ahead, I can't promise to be as sparkling a conversationalist as he is. I'm sure you'll have a grand time," Allison countered, the effect of which was rather wasted as she poured them each a healthy drink in a flute glass. It was a dessert wine, but they were eating on a couch and even if the cutlery was inscribed with their restaurant's logo, it was still plastic. With their dinner boxes, she brought a pile of paperwork that she regretted taking home, adjusting so that as she sat cross-legged on the couch, her knee threatened to knock against Lydia's. 

"You’re ridiculous." She tried to keep the smile off her face, and totally failed. If it were anyone else, she wouldn’t have gone along with their lame shenanigans, but this was Allison, who was fast becoming the exception to all of Lydia’s rules. 

I - I should be surprised. I'm not. [Allison chuckled, because if there was ever someone who could rewrite the rules to suit her objectives, it would be Lydia. She didn't know how her friend had convinced someone to let her keep a fire-breathing beast, and part of her was still toying with wondering how large he would get. It was probably safer in ignorance.]

He’ll wear what he gets and love it, I assure you.

He should have his own grand debut.

Of course. I figured referring to him as “it” long-term would be a bit cruel.

He'd wear that name better.

Well. For your information, his name is not Marshmallow. It’s—well, I  haven’t decided on a name yet.

You're naming him! 

Well.

A whimper pierced the air behind her, and Lydia required a significant amount of effort to keep her annoyance off of her face. She pretended she hadn’t heard. Acknowledging the source would only send a signal that pitiful whimpers worked on her, even if the noise had made something in her stomach tighten. She would not let an animal several times smaller than her get the better of her. There was a reason humans were at the apex of the animal kingdom—even though once you began counting supernatural creatures, things definitely became debatable. Whatever.

The radio filled their silences. It was more comfortable than Allison expected it to be. Maybe she was just tired, or Sebastian was being exceptionally well-behaved, but she doubted it. She liked this. She let herself enjoy it.

"I think whoever did this is the type of person to turn their underwear inside out to get one more day out of them." Yeah, so he could attempt to lighten the mood too. Admittedly, there wasn’t a whole lot that would make anything about the situation lighter.

"Has anyone gotten injured?" Allison clarified. She didn't say 'killed.' That was unnecessary to consider now. She leaned closer, trying to get a better look over Stiles' shoulder without stepping into his space. From this distance, she knew what steps she'd have to take if she wanted to incapacitate him. She hoped whoever was behind all this didn't.