theresalwayshope | 20} didn't hear the confession...walking through the procession...

[SUNDAY SPAM]

[...something isn't right.

The whole day is off, and Allison can't...function properly. In the dining hall, she gets her usual blood bag, but she finds herself skipping the apples she usually grabs along with it. The food on the line smells good, the savory aromas drawing her attention...

Before she knows what she's doing, she's grabbed a couple of croissants as well, and not unlike her first day, she takes her food on deck to eat. The blood, and the croissants, do wonders for her mood.

And that's the most difficult part of the day: her mood. As she slinks through the corridors as she trails her friends through the ship...as she checks on Isaac and Tig, she's having a harder and harder time setting her feelings aside.

Something isn't right. All day, something is wrong, and she can't...quite...put her finger on it...]

[MONDAY SPAM]

[Allison is gone.

She hasn't left the ship, but there's no sign of her anywhere. She doesn't show up for meals in the dining hall, she doesn't stalk a soul, she's completely absent, a non-presence on the ship.

Because Allison is sitting in her cabin, in the dark, on the floor in the corner of her bedroom. The stakes gifted to her by Jerry's mirror counterpart are clutched to her chest, and she's armed with every single weapon she can comfortably stash on her person: her ring daggers, her father's gun, every folding knife she can possibly conceal, her quiver propped up beside her, and her recurve bow laying beside her on the floor.

She's not afraid of an attack: the weapons are her. They keep her rooted in the present, they remind her of who she is, how she thinks, what she feels.

She doesn't eat, but her stomach growls. She doesn't go for water, but her throat burns with thirst that blood won't slake.

Eventually, she will have to leave and seek out nourishment. Eventually, she will have to face the rest of the ship. Eventually, Allison will have to face the reality of truly being an omega, because this is bigger than fighting with Lydia.

She remembers everything she did, everyone she hurt...those she killed and nearly killed.

She knows that now, after all that...she is truly, completely alone.

And she will have to leave her cabin to face that eventually...she just can't bring herself to do it just yet.]

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[Having Allison throw her words back at her hurts, but despite the way her eyes are tearing up, Lydia steps forward and focuses on Allison. On what she can see. On what is obviously happening.

She's seen Stiles having panic attacks and being close to them several times before. She's had them herself. She has researched them, but right now, she can't remember much of what she's read. So she follows her instincts. She'll try to distract Allison from it.]

I know you're too smart to believe I meant that, Allison. I don't care what you do, how much you go against what I say to you. I know you know it won't change how much I love you, how much you mean to me. How much I need you.

[And she steps forward, lifting her hands to Allison's arms. They're still pack, right? And the werewolf Allison said being physically close to each other helped for a reason, right?]

Just look at me, Allison. Focus.

[Allison's counterpart is right about the contact, but for Allison, in the moment, it doesn't feel helpful. When Lydia talks to her, touches her, fear and horror threaten to smother her. She shakes her head and can't step back in time before Lydia is touching her...and the second she does, Allison's features buckle and she doubles over because she can't even cry. The sob is lodged in her throat, she feels like she's choking on it.

She reaches up to shove her away. She clings to Lydia instead, hands gripping her elbows with all of her strength.

Human strength, thin and powerful, but no more than a teenage girl her size can muster.

A strangled noise finally squeezes past the tears she's choking on, a wheezing breath instead of a sob, and she shakes her head, still bowed.

She can't look. She can't focus...she can't do this, but she can't let Lydia go because she feels like she's drowning, choking on a week's worth of mayhem and blood and so much death she can't even cry around it.

She can't face Lydia. She can't let go of her. She can't live with what she's done to her pack, and she can't live with what she's done to her best friend.]

[It breaks her heart even more when she realizes Allison isn't looking at her. Like she can't. And Lydia can't figure out if it's because she feels guilty and ashamed, or if it's because she hates her for all that she's said before.

But when Allison wraps her hands around her elbows tightly, Lydia decides it doesn't really matter.

She frees herself from her grip just for a second, and then she wraps her arms around Allison and hugs her closer.

Lydia chooses not to say anything. She doesn't know if right now Allison is more angry or scared. So she wants to check on her state of mind before she can figure out what the best thing she can say to her best friend is.

She is, however, incredibly relieved to feel Allison's warm skin under her touch, and none of that dreadful chill that Jerry provides.]

[Allison twists in her grip as Lydia pulls her close, but not enough to get away or push her back...she just twists, almost writhing, ripped in two between the need to run and hide from every single sin she's committed, all embodied in Lydia's presence, and the need to hold on tight, to let herself be held and healed by her best friend (that limb being sewn back on, the blood not flowing from a wound but through a part of her, healed and whole again).

She ends up clutching at the arms around her, shaking her head even as it presses into Lydia's shoulder, hiding her face...still twisting in her arms even as she dissolves into tears: horrible, hysterical sobs that end in hiccups and one arm leaving Lydia to wrap around her own stomach, heaving with the nausea that comes with tears this violent.

Only occasionally do the animal noises of grief and sputtering hiccups form discernible words.]

...sorry...sorry...I can't...sorry...

Shh, Allison. Sit down, sweetie.

[She doesn't know what Allison 'can't', but with the way that she's both trying to physically pull away from her, and pull her closer at the same time, Lydia can only guess it's guilt. She can't accept comfort, she can't handle her being there after everything that's happened.

But Lydia doesn't care about any of it.

This is her role. She can't fight like a hunter or like a werewolf. She can't do the things the rest of they can. But she can take care of them. She can pick up the pieces. She can talk them off the edge. She can be emotionally strong.

And the more she spoke with Steve, she more she realized this is what Allison needs her to be. Allison needs to break, and Lydia needs to be there to piece her back together.

She gently pushes her down to the floor and takes a deep breath.]

Just sit down with me. Take a deep breath.

[Allison can't. She can't do any of it. She can't let herself be comforted, she can't breathe, she can't sit, she can't she can't she can't...

But she's not strong enough to resist Lydia's gentle physical and verbal urging, so she sinks when she's steered to sit on the floor, and she clings to Lydia when she tries to draw a strained, clogged breath of air through the tears that are knotted in her throat, choking her to death. She ends up in a huddled sort of heap, tucked against Lydia, coughing and heaving as she tries to do what she's told.

Sit and breathe. She can't think, can't function, but those two words join the panicked, animal jumble in her head, things that require no action or survival. She has to breathe to live, and that panicked, animal jumble of nothing can understand that.

So she sits. She breathes. It takes a long, long while, but eventually the sobs and coughing and wet, choking heaves settle into something steadier, actual free breaths that start to make her vaguely dizzy after a little while.]

[Lydia is right there on the floor with her, with her arms wrapped around her, her hand tucked under Allison's head as she guides it toward her shoulder. She doesn't say anything, doesn't do anything other than run her fingers through Allison's hair soothingly.

Even when Allison finally starts to calm down, Lydia doesn't move. It's obvious she's in absolutely no condition to talk. Even if she does talk, Lydia isn't sure it's actually gonna make sense, or that she'll be able to make her listen.

So she won't push her. Lydia'll be there for as long as Allison needs her to be, silently trying to comfort her and show her that no matter what happens, she's not alone.]

[It feels like ages that she's huddled against Lydia like a child, half slumped on the floor, in pieces held together only by her arms. She's scared without reason now, terrified and cut to pieces by her own guilt, but she has to face it. She has to explain.

She feels like it's going to kill her, but she has to try.

Allison is still weeping when she lifts her head and draws away, but the tears are more normal now, sniffling and voice quavering as she tries to look Lydia in the eye.]

Nothing I said when I was like that...Lydia, I didn't mean any of it, I was...I bit Isaac a-and I yelled at you and I killed someone and I thought it was right...you shouldn't believe me, you shouldn't forgive me but you have to know it was--I was insane, I thought I was helping. It wasn't Jerry, and it wasn't me, and it was just...it was awful--

20} didn't hear the confession...walking through the procession...

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