Clairvoyant || Stilinski [1]

Fifty-Eight || Mayonnaise Stilinski

|| Mayonnaise Stilinski

Jacy sat on a porch swing, her legs folded and a mug in her hands. Her eyes flickered over the river covered by darkness, in the back of her father's lake house.

She sat in silence of her own, calls of bugs and licks of the river her 1 am soundtrack.

"You're still up?"

Jacy glanced over her shoulder, the figure of Senator Parrish coming from the porch door. "Couldn't sleep."

"Understandable," said Richard as he put a knitted afghan around Jacy's shoulders. He sat down next to her, looking out to the river. "Strange night."

"Strange isn't the word I would use," Jacy told him as she sipped on her tea.

"Fair enough," replied the senator. "How are you feeling?"

Jacy drank her tea, able to see every detail of her surroundings with her night vision in a hue of purple. "I don't know," she quietly said.

"At least you can have some peace and quiet to figure it out," Richard noted in a kind voice.

"It's never really quiet for me. Not really." Jacy leaned her head back, curling into the afghan.

"Quieter than usual," said Richard in response.

Jacy's eyes started to droop, overwhelmingly drousy. The ceramic mug slipped from her fingers, shattering to bits on the porch with a sound like a gunshot. With nearly closed eyes, she looked over to her father.

Senator Parrish watched Jacy slip in unconsciousness with empty emotions. "Peace and quiet, darling." He picked up his daughter, carrying her back into the cabin as she was swathed in an afghan doused in wolfsbane.

Jacy mumbled, resting her head on Richard's chest.

Setting her down, he laid her out on the guest bed and kept her wrapped in the poisoned fabric. He ran a hand along her hair, "Peace and quiet."

||

Stiles rolled over in his bed, letting out a heavy sigh.

He just couldn't get comfortable.

The teen propped his head up on his arm, folding it behind him. He stared up at the ceiling, blinking a few times.

Still sleep didn't come.

Stiles groaned, rolling over in attempt to find a position he could fall asleep in. He rolled again, wiggling around.

Sighing, Stiles knew it was no use.

He was well too worried about Jacy to sleep.

It was hard to sleep without her in the bed with him, but even harder not knowing if she was okay.

Stiles glanced over to the empty space of his bed, practically able to see her lying there.

"Stop staring," mumbled Jacy with closed eyes.

Stiles hesitated, "I'm not."

Jacy opened one eye, seeing Stiles through the dark she'd grown accustomed to. "Yes you are."

Facing her with his head on the pillow, his lips curved into a smile. "Okay, maybe I was."

"It's creepy."

"It's romantic," defended Stiles with a soft laugh.

"Kinda creepy, Stilinski." Jacy, in one of Stiles' shirts and small flannel shorts, shifted and put a hand under her head.