Lydia can't help but curse the gods as she stands in her bathroom with one of her designer shoes in hand, holding the black boot over the sink scrubbing relentlessly in attempt to wash off some of the blood. She asks herself why they couldn't have given her a different ability, one that doesn't require finding mutilated bodies in gas station bathrooms covered in blood and brain matter. It didn't help that the blood had had a couple hours to set whilst they ran about trying to find young Derek and Kate. Then the Hale fortune having been stolen, Kate escaping and Derek restored to his former brooding self, all providing enough distractions for the blood to have time to set and ruin her very expensive footwear.
Her back is beginning to ache from standing arched over the sink, fingers red and rubbed raw. The frustration continues to well up inside her as she realizes that the stains are just not coming out, no matter how hard she tries. Her hand shakes slightly, breaths coming out in uneven puffs. Dropping her shoe in the sink with a clunk she falls back against the tilled wall feeling uneasy, lightheaded and nauseous. Her eyes sting and vision begins to cloud, she realizes with a start that there are tears running down her cheeks, and she is crying silently allowing the tremors to wrack her body.
Sliding down the wall unceremoniously she pulls her legs up to her chest and wraps her arms around her knees. Sucking in a couple unsteady breaths trying to calm herself down, overwhelming grief washes over her and she feels as if she can't breathe. Everything is too much. Her head spins and the wave of nausea builds, throwing her body upwards as fast as she can, reaching the toilet just in time to bring up the contents of her dinner. It is incredible difficult to keep her hair out of her face and the toilet whilst she wretches for several minutes.
It doesn't take long to empty her stomach; she feels slightly better, there is still a slight tremble to her hand and her pulse is beating against her throat wildly. But the all consuming sickness has died down. Her hand reaches up and finds what it's looking for, the sound of the toilet flushing reverberating through the room and waking her slightly.
Lydia pushes her knees up from under her lifting her to a standing position, her hand grips the edge of the sink holding her body up right, and the need to lie down and sleep for hours weighing her down. She hadn't been very comfortably sitting in a chair in Deaton's office on the previous night, and sleep had not come easy or for long.
She lifts her gaze to the mirror and winces at the state of her; hair wild and damp along her scalp from sweating, skin pale and sickly looking, eyes red rimmed and tired. In a weak attempt to compose herself she turns the tap on, water flowing through the pipes, icy cold and refreshing. Cupping her hands under the flow of water she brings them up to her face and tries her best to wash the tear tracks from her face.
Her hands absentmindedly find a towel and bring it up to her cheeks and wiping all the nocks and crannies of her face. Lydia continues to dry her face gently, the soft red fabric smelling of some unidentifiable mixture of flowers, at the smell of the familiar detergent she relaxes slightly.
Dropping the towel to the side and blowing out a breath she reaches for a toothbrush and begins to scrub her teeth, tongue and gums thoroughly. Once satisfied that her mouth is minty fresh she moves on to her hair, grabbing a wide tooth comb, she starts at the bottom working out the knots until she can run the comb straight through, root to tip.
Her boot still sits in the sink taunting her and she can't even be bothered to think of how much they cost as she grabs them both and chucks them in the bin. She knows in the back of her mind it isn't the shoes that made her feel so queasy, but she doesn't want to think about it.
The blood, all that blood, and the mangled body. It was just too much, she is proud to say she held it together for most of the night, even if it was out of necessity, it just seemed to rise to the surface when she got home and it overcame her. Dragging her into a pit of darkness, the sense of dread and death looming nearby, as if waiting for the next attack.
Kira, Scott and Stiles had all asked her whether she was alright after the chaos had settled and if she wanted to talk she didn't. She wasn't sure why but the words just didn't seem to form, her unease lying on the tip of her tongue but she felt unable to voice it. So she had simply shrugged them off and told them she was fine. They seemed to take that answer and move on. She was grateful at the time that they didn't try and pry, but after throwing up the contents of her stomach she wonders if talking would have been for the best.
A groan ripples through her knowing she is going to have to come up with a suitable explanation when her mother asks about the shoes, and she can't help but just want to shut off her mind for a couple hours. Close it off to everything and anything.
As she exits the bathroom hand flicking off the light she hears the faint murmuring of voices down stairs, her mothers and someone else's. A man's. It isn't loud enough for her to be able to make out whom though. But she can't say she really cares, to emotionally and physically drained to do much more than flop down of her comforter and close her eyes.
The peaceful silence unsurprisingly lasts all of 3 seconds before she hears her mother's voice.
"Lydia! There is someone here to see you." Her mother's booming voice yells up in a cheerful tone that in Lydia's state of exhaustion annoys the hell out of her. She wonders if she can just pretend she isn't there, and her mother might let it go and tell whoever it is to go away.
"Lydia!"
No such luck.
This time it is said louder and is undeniably a parental command, "Lydia, come here!"
"Fine, Mom. Give me a minute!" She can't help but feel equal parts embarrassed and annoyed at the mystery visitor, whoever they are they clearly don't care about the fact that it is most definitely past the appropriate hours for late night visiting.
Dragging her feet as she goes down the stairs, not in the mood to entertain anyone's nocturnal visits. Thank god she took the time to clean herself up before going to lie down, she can't imagine her mother would be too delighted about her chatting with a guest in that state. Then again the guest probably wouldn't be too pleased about it either, not that she'd blame them.
Finally reaching the door she is able to get a look at the visitor. And well, she definitely didn't see this coming. Standing on her porch at approximately 11:43 p.m is Derek Hale. Yup, definitely not what she was expecting. He is back to his old self now, leather jackets and all. He doesn't seem to be in any kind of rush to get her alone so she assumes it isn't a life or death emergency, which is a comforting thought. One night's worth of tranquility would be quite nice. But she won't hold her breathe on it happening anytime soon though.
When he sees her standing behind her mother he smiles. It is small and tentative but it's more than they've ever shared before, so she smiles back. Slightly. Her mother catching Derek's averted gaze turns to see Lydia standing behind her, a curious looks is sent her way inconspicuously, Lydia ignores it, turning to look at Derek.
"Well… I will just leave you two too it." Her mother says lightly, inclining her head towards Derek she finishes, "It was nice meeting you, ."
Derek's head snaps back to Mrs. Martins in a heartbeat, extending a large hand out for her to shake. "The pleasure was mine." Her mother smiles at him and extends her own arm. The handshake is brief and polite, it doesn't take long for her to say her goodnights and leave the hallway. They both stand there at the doorway waiting for the other to speak, but the way Lydia sees it he came to her house, he should be the one to start the conversation. Almost as if detecting her line of thoughts he breaks the silence.
"Can we talk?"
It is a vague question, that doesn't do anything to calm her churning thoughts. "Sure." Instead of inviting him in she walks over towards him, closing the door behind her and leaving them both standing on her front deck. She walks over to the bench swing that is in the corner of the deck, it is the first time she has been on it in a long time, she remembers sitting out here during the summer nights reading a good book or doing homework. She used to love it out here. But things have changed a lot recently, the thought of lingering out in the dark alone puts her on edge, she isn't really scared. Just more cautious than she used to be.
She assumes that this kind of reaction is normal once you find out how many terrors can lurk in the night, especially around Beacon Hills, she just prefers not to chance it anymore.
Sometimes she wonders if it will ever go away, that feeling of dread. Once you know how dark the world can be, will you ever be able to fully see the light again?
He doesn't sit next to her, just leans against the porch rail looking at her; she realizes she's probably been quiet for a while having been so lost in thought. He looks concerned which is in turn concerning to her, there is a slight frown marring his face, not out of annoyance like the one he generally wears though. Which is a small victory in itself.
"Are you okay?" He questions.
It is her turn to frown now, "Yes. I was waiting for you to do the talking since you are the one who called upon me, remember?" Her voice is sharp and she blames it on a lack of sleep and the worry he is causing being here but not actually saying why.
"No, I mean before…" He trails off, hand pointing vaguely upwards. Her frown deepens in confusion. "I could hear you upstairs in the bathroom, you didn't sound so good. I would have come up to… Well I would have tried to help, but your mother was very intent on questioning me thoroughly before allowing me permission to talk to you."
She briefly wonders whether her mom remembers that time that he was accused of killing a girl. Lydia can imagine that set off some warning bells. A small chuckle rises up in her throat at the thought of her mother interrogating Derek Hale of all people.
"I am fine." Her answer is quiet but curt. Direct and to the point. She does not want to talk about it.
He nods but by the look on his face he does not believe her, she doesn't really believe it herself so she can't blame him. Plus with the fact that he can hear any blips in her heartbeat doesn't really help her case, but if he does hear any abnormality he doesn't mention it, merely sends her one last meaningful glance.
"I came to say thank you, actually." He doesn't look at her when he says it, his eyes fixed out into a dark patch of the trees outside her house.
Trying to wrack her brain for his meaning but coming up blank, she asks. "For?"
"Last night."
And then it hits her. Ah. She isn't sure that that alone warrants a midnight visit but she doesn't voice that opinion, mostly because he continues talking.
"You had no obligation to stay with me last night, but you did. Despite the fact that we barely know each other and I have never been entirely friendly with you—"
She interrupts him with a loud scoff "Entirely friendly? You mean you've been a little friendly at some point in our acquaintance?" Raising an eyebrow daring him to challenge her on the topic.
His eyes find hers and she swears that she isn't hallucinating when a corner of his lip turns up slightly.
Ever so slightly.
His eyebrow arches too, "Can I finish." It is supposed to be a question but it comes out more of a command than anything, not that she really cares. The sooner he says what he came here to say the sooner she can go back to her room to sleep for the next twelve hours straight. Then she remembers she has school in the morning and those twelve hours of sleep are definitely not going to happen, she will be lucky if she manages a solid seven, and with that thought a stream of unladylike curses flow through her. She is going to be so cranky at school tomorrow, she can feel it.
As she had not spoken for several moments he seems to take it as silent acceptance and starts speaking again.
"It… It isn't often in my life, actually let me rephrase that. It isn't often previous to meeting Scott that people look out for me with no ulterior motive. Having Scott in my life has changed a lot of things, and I appreciate that. You helped me last night, whether it was because you are a part of Scotts pack and he asked you too or because you were being kind, I don't know, and I don't care. Either way from what I am told you stayed with me all night to make sure I was alright, and you came to Mexico to find me… I guess what I am trying to say is that I really appreciate it. So yes, thank you, Martin."
She wasn't sure what she was expecting but it wasn't that, and for the second time tonight she finds herself off kilter and unsure. She had stayed with him, not for Scott, or for him really, but just because it seemed like the right thing to do. For everyone really. She is slightly uncomfortable, not because of Derek precisely but from the absolute sincerity to his words and the appreciation in his voice.
"You said, 'from what I am told' I am guessing you don't remember much, huh?" She deflects the conversation elsewhere, curious as to what he actually does remember.
He seems to accept the shift in conversation, almost looking glad that the intensity of the moment has been broken. "No, not much." His brows furrow looking lost in a bad memory, he shakes his head briefly banishing whatever dark thought from his mind. "It is all a pretty big blur to be honest, all that I know comes from things Stiles and Scott have told me."
It makes sense to her, turning into a teenager and then back must be quite an intense feat; she isn't surprised his mind is a little fried. She can't help but think that it is probably for the best that he can't remember his homicidal ex girlfriend using him to get to his family vault. Trying to trick him. Yet again.
"I should go, it is getting pretty late." And then he looks at her in the most amusing way, like how her father looks at her when he is trying to act incredibly parental, "And it is a school night. Get some rest."
She doesn't do much but nod gently, her body agreeing with him completely. Exhaustion looming over her like a grey cloud. And good god her bed sounds heavenly right now, she would probably even fall asleep right on the bench at this point. The soft lull of the swing reminding her of the rock of waves against a ship.
He turns and heads down the porch stopping at the last step before turning to angle his body towards her, he opens and closes his mouth a few times almost as if unsure what to say exactly.
He seems to settle on something as he looks her directly in the eye, "If you ever need to talk, Lydia, you know where to find me." His gaze shifts up towards her bedroom's direction in thought, "I know there are plenty of other people in your life that you can talk to, and I really do think you should talk to someone. But just know I am around and… I might understand better than you think. "
He gives her a sad and genuine smile. "Anytime, okay?"
"Okay." And she actually means it.
Something invisible passes between them, a connection she doesn't quite understand and she is too damn tired to worry about figuring it out.
Turning on his heels he says one last goodbye before disappearing off into the darkness, she doesn't move for a while though, taking a minute to enjoy the fresh air before getting up and walking back inside. She makes it to her bedroom and collapses on the bed without care, the last image that flickers before her eyes is one of Derek's sad smiles, she doesn't dwell on it long as she falls into a sleep filled oblivion.