WHO: RTW!Allison and Chris Argent WHEN: Late evening, March 17th, 2014 WHERE: Hawaii, Allison's apartment WHAT: Allison and Chris mutually break down, pick up the pieces, and put their masks back on. SPOILERS for 3x23 RATING: PG
The Argents were masters of repressed emotion. They taught it to their children at very young ages. Emotions made you weak, and weakness made you vulnerable. Vulnerability got you killed. Of course, there were many things that could get you killed. Death was inevitable, and death seemed to follow Chris Argent everywhere he went. Outwardly, he looked pained, a man going through hell but doing his best to stay strong and firm for those who needed him. Inwardly, he was devastated and overwhelmed by his sense of loss and failure. He had more than just his Allison to tend to, though, and Allison had her friends. They’d met up immediately after the show, and he’d held her close and kissed her forehead and reminded himself that she was okay and alive and safe. And then they’d put on their masks, because that was their job. For now, they needed to be as strong as they could be.
Once he’d seen some of the other Allisons, and after she’d spent some time with Lydia and Kira, he’d finally returned to the home she shared with Lydia, where he’d been staying, and he tracked her down and pulled her away, closing the door behind them and pulling her close again.
When he held her, he held his beautiful, grown daughter, of whom he was so proud and so impressed. But he also held the tiny little bundle that had been passed to him the day she was born, her bright eyes and dark hair looking up at him and stealing his heart in an instant. He held her and thought of every childhood moment, the normal ones and those that came with her training as an Argent. He recalled arguing with her mother and Kate over teaching her everything, his argument based on a desire to give her a normal childhood and to keep her safe. He recalled her first perfect target and the first successful hunt they’d gone on. He recalled the good moments, and the bad ones, and everything in between. And with all of that, he couldn’t shake the image of his little girl in Scott McCall’s arms, that light no longer in her eyes. He inhaled sharply, a pained breath that was a precursor to the emotion he’d been holding in, and he held her even tighter.
Allison was familiar with being stone. Part of her training years ago had been to partition her heart so emotional reactions wouldn’t distract her. Supernatural creatures were master manipulators, after all, and keeping a clear head even in extreme distress was key to survival.
Also key to survival was keeping in mind the Parry #9 in fencing - ensuring one’s back was protected at all times from those that lacked the honor to attack from the front. Sure, she'd gotten stabbed in the front, but the approach...
It was a rookie mistake to make, and one that had continued to frustrate her as the evening progressed. Focusing on the moment that the Allison on the screen lost focus was easier than dealing with the myriad of emotions roiling inside her. She had paused and rewound the sequence in the spare moments that no one was hovering over her, watching her other self’s footwork, taking into account her good and bad style. Good - the loose grip. Bad - the arching shoulders. Did she do that? She didn’t think so. She was always very careful to keep her form as perfect as possible. Could this happen to her?
She watched her likeness fall again and again before she was dragged back into the cacophony of grief and anger. Lydia and Kira were hovering, of course, and Allison wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Her predominant emotion she felt was guilt - neither of them needed to lose anyone, and she’d screwed up something as basic as a Parry #9. How basic. What a yellow-tinged failure.
Seeing her father, she felt an itch of that guilt bubbling to the surface as he tugged her into a more-private room. Some part of her legs were stiff and refusing to cooperate; in her head she stayed with the falling, bleeding girl who had only begun to realize her error. Her father looked-- well, he looked like an Argent. Some ruined, abandoned building of an Argent, but he was still standing. “Da--” She didn’t have a chance to finish; he was already hugging her and she stiffened in response. Allison wasn’t anti-hug, despite her gruff demeanor, but something about his comforting smell and warmth of his arms was too much; there were broken and raw edges inside of her and this wasn’t helping her forget their presence. “We’re fine. I’m fine,” she said, and those sharp and unfamiliar pieces bubbled into her throat. Stone. She mirrored his breath with hers, dry eyes staring at the wallpaper just beyond his shoulder as his grip on her tightened like a punishment.
She took a meager piece of comfort in him and then straightened, clearing her throat. “I messed up a-- it was a basic step. I didn’t have a neuvieme; I should have, but I didn’t, and then I concentrated too hard on one front and ignored my others.” The surprised girl falls, clutching her middle. “I know, I know, I have to keep fencing moves in mind; I can’t just stand their with my bow and hope it’s all okay. I have to keep moving. It’s a stupid mistake. I knew better than that. Y-you---” It was as if she were coughing up glass, something spindly scratched her throat and her eyes were watering. She took a breath and fought through the apology. “Yo-ou taught me better than that. I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have--”
Allison couldn’t breathe; there was too much inside of her clawing its way outside and her voice hiked up another octave. “I’ll t-train more; I can do that here. I can take a class, I can find an instructor, I can get better, I can get better--”
The girl with the sword in her hands fell behind her eyes, and likewise, Allison fell against her father, shoulders shaking with the force of an animal noise escaping her traitorous mouth.
Chris knew his daughter, and he knew that the way she stiffened in his arms wasn’t a reflection of anything but the way she’d been taught, the way he’d raised her. It was what he expected of her, and it broke his heart even still, but she was his strong, powerful child, even in this moment. Still, he knew there was more below the surface. He knew that she was withholding just as he was withholding, and he knew that they needed the release of what was being stored inside for the sake of the others.
He held her shoulders when they pulled apart, his eyes full of an indescribable emotion as he watched her speak. The training and her technique was the furthest thing on his mind, but he knew this process too well. The Argents were trained to think clinically and to remove their emotions. Focusing on the flawed technique was preferable to focusing on what had actually happened, based on their training.
But as she spoke, her words began to falter and his grip on her tightened, his expression mirroring her shift in emotion as raw pain tore through him, when she collapsed against him, he wrapped her back up in his arms, holding her even closer than he had before. “My girl,” he breathed, his comforting gestures and words frantic and full of his own emotion. “I’m so sorry. You were trained, you knew what you needed to know, it’s not your fault. I failed to keep you safe. I should’ve been there.” Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her on the ground. He wasn’t sure he’d ever see anything different. He never should’ve let Victoria and Kate talk him into involving Allison. He never should’ve put her into this sort of danger.
Allison shook her head, unable to articulate the refusal that she felt at his admission of guilt. She wasn't stupid; she knew that her childhood training had been unorthodox at best, borderline-abusive at worst, but her father had done what he could. Lydia had tried to warn them. Scott had tried to plan for every potential problem, Kira couldn't be hated for her parents any more than Allison herself could, and Stiles wasn't to blame for something that the Nogitsune had done. "No, Dad, you tried," she managed, taking a gulp of air against the trembling that she couldn't yet control. "You were coming. But they were too many for us; they've been ahead of us from the start."
Which was cold comfort given that Stiles was still possessed, but Allison refused to look at it that way. They had the opportunity to end this now, and goddammit, she'd keep her back covered and eyes on all angles at all times. Like she should have from the beginning.
Her fit of falling apart was already abating, or perhaps she was only forcing it to through sheer force of will. Allison barely knew anymore. Her knees were straightening, her tears coming less frequently, and she already looked a little embarrassed. Nevertheless, she leaned forward and planted a kiss on her father's cheek, scaring up a smile a few sizes too small that disappeared almost as quickly as it materialized. "Don't do anything stupid."
Chris could accept her refusal of his guilt, but it didn’t stop him from feeling it. He had made many mistakes in his life, and he’d been lucky so far that they’d not cost him the life of his daughter. Now he couldn’t say that, and the guilt was an overwhelming feeling now that he was allowing it to emerge, even briefly. The supernatural world was a dangerous one, he knew, and no one could’ve predicted Allison’s death, but he was sure there was more he could’ve done to prevent it.
At the very least, he could console himself with the fact that it was only the show at the moment. Stiles was not nearly as far along in his possession, and they still had time. More than that, they had warning now. They knew what was possible, and they knew how to keep the worst from happening.
He forced himself through his own breaking as well, though he still held her. He smiled just a little, just a fraction of a smile that matched the small one she wore, at the kiss and reached to wipe a tear away from her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “I won’t,” he promised her. “We’ll train together. We’ll involve the others, too. No one will go into what’s left of this unprepared.”
Talk of training was exactly what she needed to hear. Allison no longer believed that adults had all the answers to everything, but her father’s suggestion was precisely the sort of can-do project work that helped her focus, get her breath under control, and start planning. “Lydia said she wants to learn how to use the bow,” she said, thinking of one of the things Lydia had mentioned sometime during one of the many cuddle-piles of the evening. “I want to improve my hand-to-hand. It’s fine with one person, but I start getting sloppy with two.”
Allison paused. Her face was blotchy, her eyes swollen, but she was, for all purposes, herself again: cool, methodical, and in-control. “I think we should ask the others - the other Allisons and the other...packs, I guess - if they want to train with us. After the Nogitsune is defeated.” It was somewhat of an out-of-character statement for her; Allison wasn’t much of a joiner and certainly hadn’t warmed to any of the other groups much yet, too jaded and paranoid to appreciate anything they might bring to the table. “Not every time,” she added quickly, huffing a little, “because they’re annoying and they smile too much and no, but… sometimes. They might appreciate it. Self-defense, that kind of thing. I mean like… defense against yourself. Coming head-to-head with a person who thinks like you do because on some level they are you is going to force you to branch out of your comfort zone, right?”
Talk of training was what Chris needed as well. He’d learned long ago to be a proactive person, a problem-solver. He was someone who could be counted on to deal with problems when they arose, because he could usually do so with that clinical precision demanded of him. They faced an overwhelming problem now, a possible outcome to the Nogitsune problem they were facing even here, and Chris intended not to repeat the same mistakes.
“That’s excellent,” he agreed, nodding. “We can work hand-to-hand. Kira can continue training us on longer blade-work, as well. Her mother’s katana isn’t here, but that doesn’t mean the weapon itself couldn’t be useful.” He listened as she spoke of including the other Allisons, and nodded to it. Her huffed addition made him smile a bit more, and even breathe a small laugh. “Sometimes,” he agreed. “I definitely think it could be an invaluable training exercise to pit all of you – not just the Allisons – against each other as a test of strengths and weaknesses. Most never get that opportunity.”
“There are other katanas.” And Allison had a feeling that Kira wouldn’t mind breaking away from her mother, even if things on the show weren’t identical in their world. Watching their lives unfurl on television couldn’t have been easy on any of them.
Her father’s stricken face as he’d seen her lying on the ground once again flitted across the inside of her eyelids, and she felt that same strange trembling inside of her at the prospect of what exactly had happened. But Allison forced it down. Lifted her chin. Met her father square in the face. “Anyway, I want to discuss something I read about the Nogitsune. I think it might be a translation error on the part of the editor, but…” ">