Description:The missing moments in 1x11 between the Macy's scene and the arrival to the Formal? Including that dress shopping afternoon.
[stydia-fanfiction on tumblr needs to fill requests in before S6 premiere. This is the 2nd of ? prompts.]
Genre: Slice of Life
"At least we're spared the 'Winter Wonderland' theme they went for over at Pali High," Lydia flittered her hand through the air dismissively. "Now we don't have to deal with tacky snow flake cutouts put up by the freshman art class."
As the engine shut off, Lydia cast a sideways glance and listened to Allison laugh lightly, it was nice to hear those little bells still ringing off. They were in uncharted territory when it came to guys, and they didn't share taste so it was more than a little weird to discover that Allison would go to the Winter Formal with Jackson. He wasn't just an ex for Lydia, or even a messy ex, he was an ex recent and relevant enough she still had him under her skin. That made Lydia lash out that she'd kissed Scott. Not brag exactly, so much as barter the information for emotional amnesty. Allison didn't yell or scream or react in any of the usual ways Lydia had expected. Or maybe deserved. Just accepted it as fact, a thing that happened before to get them to where they were now; at the Mall where Lydia would buy her a dress as an apology.
"As far as apologies go, that's more than I expected-" Allison said grinning, which should have been a warning.
"Excellent," Lydia said smugly, content in her conniving.
"-but not as much as I'm going to ask," Allison might as well have had fangs, her grin extended twice as wide.
"What?" Lydia snapped at first, and quickly remembered her vulnerable position. She wasn't in a place to say no. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Together, their eyes darted from each other to Macy's cosmetics and fragrance counter. There, a familiar buffoon nearly doubled over in self-inflicted sneezes. He was Scott's other-spazzier-half and Allison explained in no uncertain terms, that Lydia should break off any date to the Formal she already had. Because this, THIS spaghetti limbed Octogoat in a boy suit would be taking her to the Winter Formal instead. And she was instructed to 'smile' about it.
Oh, Allison was several sorts of evil.
To give Stiles credit, while he looked every level of uncomfortable to be waiting in the Women's department for god knows how long, he was determined to keep a good face on.
"Stiles, right?" Lydia asked, not because she didn't know his name, she knew every lacrosse player's names, but because she always re-asked boys' names when she wanted to remind them how little they meant to her. "Could you just hold the dresses and keep up."
"Oh, yeah. Sure. I can do that. That's like-" she muffled his comeback with a short, strapless dress with sequins to the face. She would never wear something with sequins but boys like him always had way too much energy and needed a purpose.
"That's nice." He commented on something not horrible with a sweetheart cut and embroidered lace.
She 'hmmed' and wouldn't give him the satisfaction of agreement. "This isn't prom," she snapped and grabbed the one next to it, which was very near identical and tossed it toward him.
A sleeveless, ruffled skirt with a cinched waist caught her eye and she marched toward it like one would toward the enemy combatants. He scampered along blindly to keep up.
"Is this a 24-hour Macy's?" he asked mostly to himself since he should have known by now she wasn't listening.
.
By the time she reached the dressing room, she had nine outfits in total.
"You can only bring in six items," the floor associate said, guarding the changing rooms.
The annoyance heated Lydia's cheeks and she opened her mouth to argue when Stiles explained, "half of these are mine."
Blinking rapidly they both looked to him for an explanation. "What? What's wrong? I don't look fancy enough to wear a... Open Back Bead Embellished Short Dress by Elizabeth K $189! Are you kidding?!... Are you kidding, just $189? That's... a steal for a special night. To wear for just one night. A single night. And not have any reuse value. Whatsoever."
A queue behind them began to form, unwilling to argue or get a manager the associate let them through.
"Thanks, uhm Stiles, right?"
"Yeah," he seemed equally pleased and deflated that she showed him gratitude. After she said it, it was obvious they both wished it sounded a little more sincere.
In the changing rooms were mothers and children, other teenagers obviously getting ready for the Formal and a few elderly people swapping out belts and shoes that were clearly on sale. Stiles waited alone, restlessly, on the circular couch between the dual rows of changing booths as people popped in and out. Lydia chose a booth on the end, nearest the floor-to-ceiling mirror. When she strutted out in a new outfit, she stepped straight toward the center without regard for any stragglers in her way. She made a small tight spin and twisted to see over her shoulder and pulled her hair up high off the nape of her neck. After a few moments, she would nod in a sort of acknowledgment, then look up and catch his eyes watching, strut over and grab the next dress before disappearing into the booth. She never asked his opinion, not once.
Lydia didn't need to ask his opinion, each time it was written across his face 'beautiful and gorgeous.' They always said that. No one ever supplied her with useful feedback.
"Hey, do you think you've narrowed down a color?"
His voice filtered through the curtain. Lydia stopped, with a dress partly overhead, "What?"
"What?" he shouted back, his tone pointed. "I can't hear you."
She yanked the dress off the rest of the way and tossed it onto the mound of useless fodder. She stared down at them and listened to what he had to say, "why do you want to know which color?"
"Well, so I know what corsage to get you..." his voice drifted off.
"Stiles, this isn't Homecoming," grinning she shook her head considerately while she slipped on her original dress. "You don't give a girl corsages at a Formal."
"Oh, then what do you-" she cut him off when she flung the curtain open, the pile of dresses collected in her arms. Immediately he jumped up to retrieve them.
The floor associate didn't look pleased to see they weren't back on their hangers, but Lydia was happy to remind her she should get paid for doing something other than being a bridge troll.
Stiles stifled a laugh, his face burned at her comment, and it was obvious he felt bad about laughing. He even mouthed an apology while Lydia marched off and dragged him in her wake.
In the Accessories Department, she plucked at items and imagined where she would wear each of them. When she looked at him through the mirror, Stiles only half watched her and half played with everything after she put it down.
"Hey so, what should I, you know, get you?"
"Get me?" Lydia kept his gaze while she held a black dahlia-like flower band up to the side of her face.
"For a Formal?"
"Oh." She rolled her eyes and turned to face him, "how about this, Stiles." She said his name with familiarity and in a particular tone that made him tremble, maybe not in a good way. She turned around and leaned toward him, locking her bright green eyes firmly on his. "You can get me a date wearing a new expensive suit, for a special night. To wear for just one night. That won't have any reuse value whatsoever."
"Uh-huh," he gulped his reassurance, with a nod. "I can do that."
"Good." She spun around and led their way to the cashier.
If only Allison's punishment had ended there, it might have been a slap on the wrist or taken as a light joke. But the boy was earnest and eager and not vulgar or forceful at all. And worse yet, Allison had abandoned her.
"She isn't here. She left," Lydia stared down at her phone in betrayal. "She said she got a call that her car was being towed."
"I can drive you home," Stiles offered quickly, then added calmer. "If you want. If it helps."
"Fine." Lydia accepted it. This was just her fate. She was destined to have to deal with this, and she couldn't even blame Allison really. Or even Scott... who really should take equal blame, but whatever. She only had herself to blame for getting in this position, for putting herself in the passenger side of Stiles' Jeep.
The silence was palpable and when she started to ask if she could turn on the radio, he was already reaching for the knob. They talked over each other about who could pick what to listen to. They ended up picking nothing and lapsing back into awkward silence.
"You don't have to go with me," Stiles suggested while they pulled up at a red light. Instead of taking the out, Lydia took this as an offense, like she would ever re nege on a promise.
When she glanced over to him, despite all of his attempts at bravado, he looked too ill-equipped to be behind the wheel of anything.
"Allison kind of roped me into this too," Stiles sounded utterly confused, his hands clenched along the steering wheel. "Since Scott wants us all there and she's going with Jackson, I just figured- everyone was just going to be going as friends, just friends. And I got excited but if you're not into it-"
"Who says I'm not into it?" Lydia broke in with a hushed voice, her eyes went big with nervousness. The realization hit her suddenly that 'The Night' had arrived, the Formal would come. Jackson would be there with someone else. She would be there... with Stiles.
"You're cool with this?" He glanced at her, she nodded at him in encouragement.
"It's going to be great. We're going to make the best of it." The words fell from her mouth and she wanted to believe them. She even put her best pep into their enunciation, but she wasn't certain they hit their mark. He tapped the wheel faster and only looked away a few seconds after the lights changed colors and the car behind them began to honk.
After Lydia directed him to her front door, she tried to dash out to familiar ground to reassess but he insisted on opening the door for her. Maybe it was practicing for the Formal or Stiles was just that chivalrous, but she took that moment to get her bearings. They agreed he would pick her up there, and she knew right away not to expect a limo on the night. Before she made it to the door, he honked at her to stop, and it frightened her nearly enough to make her drop her shopping bags.
"What is it, Stiles?" She inhaled sharply, trying to keep her tone in check.
"Probably the best time, only time really to ask for your phone number," he licked his lips and kept trying to work around a sentence he never seemed to finish while his eyes focused in on her with a forceful concentration.
With a sigh she stomped over to him, reached out for his hand. From her purse she pulled out a pen and wrote her phone number along the inside of his forearm. "There. Give it to no one."
"No. Never," he said, a silly wistfulness to his voice and Lydia rolled her eyes to keep from grinning.
.
Later, while Lydia tried on the dress again, testing it against an array of accessories and shoes for good measure, her phone went off at a quarter to 10.
"Lydia? Is that you?" he asked like he thought she'd pranked him.
"Stiles?" she asked more annoyed with him than amused, "What is it?"
"Oh, cool. It is the right number." The sound of clattering went in and out on his side of the phone. She tried hard not to imagine what he could be up to, but visions of plaid shirts hanging off lacrosse equipment in cave life were all that came to mind. "The numbers smudged when Scott tried to give me an Indian burn, but everything's okay now. Our suits have been acquired and I managed to make out the difference between the number eight and epsilon."
"You thought I wrote on your arm in Greek," she dropped with a plop onto her bed, this time her amusement read clear throughout her light tone.
"Hey, I've been blown off by others, why not get blown off by the best!" he chuckled, deflating with ease and the sound of squeaking bedsprings followed. "I mean, not to sound self-deprecating-"
"Not to sound any more self-deprecating."
"Right."
"If you called for a reason, could you get to the point?" inhaling deeply, she stretched out onto the bed and listened to his breathing.
Stiles took a mindful while to finally ask, "Yeah, should I wear a matching tie to your dress?"
Lydia stared up at the ceiling and considered the option of forcing him to wear an exact outfit of her liking. That seemed wearisome. "No. That's okay Stiles. You're fine the way you are."
"Yeah, but I could change to-"
"No," she rolled over onto her stomach and wanted to admire his willingness but it was a bit of a turn off. She couldn't even say it was a refreshing change from the demands Jackson made of her. Instead, she rather liked the idea that he might "Just surprise me."
"Yeah?"
"I get the sense you're good at that. And Stiles, be here at 8:30. Exactly." Alright, she could make some demands.
"Yes. Of course, Lydia. Absolut-" she hung up before he went off on another ramble. She was starting to figure him out and noticed he seemed prone to those. While she was growing a tolerance for Stiles' rambling, it could only go so far, and anyway she wanted to save up her resolve for THE night.
Sigh.
Their one long night.
That night where he turned up at 8:40 and blamed it on his beat up old Jeep. But he cut a fine line in his suit, a very fine line so she cut him some slack. Then, he was willing to speed through a red light to get her to the dance, which she couldn't decide if it was a plus or minus, but his dad was the Sheriff he assured her.
"Wouldn't that make it worse if you get pulled over?" Lydia glanced behind them for any speed traps. The Jeep slowed abruptly and she gripped the seat to keep from sliding out of it.
"Right, it's fine. We're practically there." Stiles tried to sound confident but might as well have been pacing in his seat. "You can pick something on the radio if you like."
She considered it, but then considered it might be better if she kept talking to him and calmed him down to keep from crashing.
"Look, focus. All you've got to do is get us there," her voice was forceful but calm as she ducked her head closer toward him. "So just get it together and pull into the parking lot already."
After a deep gulp, he bobbed his head in agreement and moved them along the road at a smoother pace.
"Make sure to get a spot-"
"At the front, of course! Are you kidding me?" Stiles cut off a small sedan with a curt scoff. "Like I'd go anywhere else."
Lydia eased a little to think that he'd have done that either way, this wasn't him showing off for her. This was him just being a crap driver and getting curbside service was by convenience. "Just don't park anywhere near the bikes, they always clutter."
"I know, right?" he grinned and switched off the Jeep, with an unsteady jerk. Not missing a beat, he was out of the vehicle and flying around the hood to reach her door before she could correctly fasten the flower straight in her hair.
Lydia wished she'd been more observant and noticed who had been parked along the driver's side. She wished she'd noticed Jackson's Porsche. She wished she'd thought about Jackson's ritual pre-partying with some booze in his car. She wished she had anticipated Allison looking so beautiful, hovering beside him or Jackson looking just so breathtakingly handsome. But there was nothing for it and before Lydia could get her feet steady beneath her she felt Jackson's bitterness blow her back.
Muttering low she recollected her thoughts and refused to let him make her feel insignificant, after all she could have come stag. Or she could have stuck with, as Allison put it, 'a dumb, roided-up jock' and worn the flirty formfitting black dress she had waiting at home. But she decided against plotting an evening around getting Jackson's attention. She let Allison set her up, she even went out and got a new playful dress on a whim, because it was fun and because it made her happy, goddamn it!
"Well, I think you look beautiful."
Simply put. Stiles hadn't said anything at Macy's. Although beside her all night, he hadn't ogled her once but when he looked at her, his slow smile reminded her that admiration can come in many forms.
"Really?" it wasn't disbelief but the realization that Stiles just liked how happy she looked in it. In the changing rooms he'd watched her try on nearly a dozen outfits, barely commented or responded. He only grinned oafishly when he saw that she was smiling contentedly at her reflection. When she twirled around on display for no one but herself, and in retrospect him.
Waiting by the Jeep in front of the school, Stiles' smile spread the further Lydia's did and he put out his arm in a corny gesture to escort her toward the dance. If she weren't in such high spirits, she would have teased him about it.
Instead, she spun around in step and he led the way, happily marching along with her in arm.
.
To his credit Stiles never once regarded her as a trophy - 'Yeah, I got Lydia Martin to come with me to the Formal! Total score!' - to classmates. None of that, but there was a distinct difference in classism once they entered the gym. Her friends wouldn't come over to talk to her as long as she was with him. And face it, his only friend was Scott.
Maybe Stiles didn't understand that at first. When he kept offering to get punch she refused, rationalizing she wouldn't want to mess up her lipstick. When he offered to get snacks, she gave a mild sneer instead of explaining she didn't have an appetite. When he asked if she was okay, she shrugged and glanced at the wall clock, instead of explaining that she didn't want to stay for more than an hour.
If only they hadn't chosen a table at the cusp of the dancefloor, in plain view of everyone and where she would be forced to watch Jackson with his arms around Allison and the beautiful little bubble strapless dress she bought for her.
Just when Lydia got enough will power to look away from the dancefloor, Stiles pounced.
"Wanna dance?"
It felt like adding insult to injury.
And so she had to reject him.
And he rejected her rejection.
And then came a verbal assault that felt like a sit-down lecture, mental-emotional confrontation a longtime coming. Why had she kissed Scott? Why had she messed with her best-friend's boyfriend? Her best-friend should have been a lot angrier- was watching them dance together supposed to be punishment? Wasn't knowing she hadn't affected Jackson at all been enough of a punishment? Was knowing she hurt more people and all the wrong people an awful punishment? Was knowing she's smarter and better than this a punishment... because if forced to think about it, their special night going out as friends, just friends, wasn't really a punishment at all. But listening to Stiles ramble, that could be punishing and she had to learn to cut Stiles off quicker or he was bound to go on for hours.
And so she led him to the dancefloor not to make Jackson jealous at all but because on the dancefloor Stiles would have to be quiet.
And neither one of them would have to argue over who picked the music.
.
"Your best-friend is making a scene," Lydia said looking over Stiles' shoulder to where the Coach shouted after Scott and ran full pelt through the crowd. They slowed to a sway but didn't stop moving to the music.
"Right now, that guy is a stranger to me," Stiles ducked his head low beside Lydia's neck, on the opposite side to keep from being seen.
"It's hard to tell which of the two of you are stranger," her smirk went unnoticed but not her scoff.
When the band stopped due to Scott (and Danny's) and the Coach's disturbance, Lydia and Stiles stood close together in a loose embrace. They peeked around each other through the crowd to try and tell if Scott would get busted or would the Coach get a discrimination lawsuit thrown at him? But the band started up again and everyone was instructed to "Just Dance! It's a Party!"
Their arms jumped back to life locked around each other, and after an awkward pause they realized they weren't sure what expectation was implied.
"Do you want to-" Lydia looked back from the tables and gave a tilt to her head.
"No! Do you!" he whisper shouted, a little concern in his eyes.
"-keep dancing?" she asked with a smirk, then tugged her arms tighter. This was fun. Not just 'more fun that sitting at the table' fun but actually nice.
"Oh. Then I mean yes." He laughed. After a sigh he looked down and realized she had deliberately set him up for a fail. He breathed easier, "thanks for asking me."
When Stiles wasn't trying to spaz around he was comfortable to hold on to. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
"Third grade is a long time hold on to a crush," she hesitated for a moment. She leaned upward and asked calmly, hoping for the truth. "Didn't you just think of coming over and saying hello?"
"I've tried a million times to get your attention," Stiles' light brown eyes widened, he stilled his hands at the small of her back.
"Not using a line?" Lydia looked up at his startled face. That's right, she could deliver a confrontational lecture a longtime coming, just as well. And wow, could she hear the cogs turning.
"Oh." He asked, a dawning revelation crashed in on him. "Would that have worked?"
"We'll never know now," she shook her head, then her expression melted from stiff to uncertain. "Not if you asked me out and I had a boyfriend you dummy..."
"When do you not have a boyfriend?" he said with a little cough laugh. "And anyway, who said I wanted to ask you out?"
"You don't?" She cleared her throat delicately, and he shook his head, grinning. "What did you want?"
"Just to say 'Hi'. Maybe be study-buddies and bring up my GPA. You could be my personal shopper," he waxed on lyrically and she sighed, shaking her head. With that she went on to dancing, moving the pace to a quicker speed, ignoring his ramblings "Maybe we could carpool to away games. The bus could get kind of rank and I don't mind chipping in on gas."
"Stiles, from what I've seen, you're luckier not hanging out with me," Lydia's voice was gentle, then put her forehead against his shoulder. "I've only got baggage."
"As you can see, I've got great shoulders for carrying baggage," he lifted them lightly, along with her head and let them fall gently. "I deal with Allison and Scott on the reg so..." his hands moved tentatively to her back, in warm support.
"Oh, I know how that is." She chuckled softly and eased her arms along his, adjusting for their movement in kind, "I wouldn't be here if it weren't for those two over there-"
"What? Where?" Stiles straightened and swiveled his head around to follow her gaze. It looked like Scott had not only made it to the party but he got the girl. "Well, alright for him."
"Mmhmph," she closed her eyes and turned back against him, her mind left to wonder; if Allison had found Scott's arms, then where had Jackson gone off to?
"You know if you ever need to talk, work some stuff out, let off some steam, my door is always open." She didn't doubt it.
There was a soothing feeling she got when they moved together. Something unexpected, unassuming and altogether nice. And it reminded her nothing of Jackson. The division of thought threw her rhythm off.
.
Stiles looked at her like he could a little bit read her mind, like he considered what she wanted before she even figured out the words. He asked if she needed to find another guy, Jackson of all guys, and he asked without any judgment in his voice. Lydia judged herself a little harshly, though, and when they walked off the dancefloor she held his hand.
When she started to fret because it didn't look like Jackson was on the dancefloor, he said not to worry and that he'd help her look.
"I'm not worried. Do I look worried?" Her voice was tart and her face was hot with embarrassment.
"No! Of course not, you look- you look a little bit worried," Stiles conceded and Lydia quieted. "Look, I'll keep a lookout here for you. Have you tried to call him?"
"Does this dress look like it has pockets?" she gestured widely.
Stiles looked confounded, brows raised and eyes squinted in an effort to figure out if this was a trick question.
"Ohhkkay, so I'll try calling him. Do you think you might know where he'd take off to?" Stiles fumbled for his phone, while maintaining her glare.
Wrapping her arms around her waist she gave it some thought, the list in her mind began with drinking alone in his car and ended with being fall-down drunk under the bleachers out behind the school. None of them were places Lydia liked. She frowned. "I can think of a few places. Let me just check quickly and see that he's okay. That's all."
"I know," Stiles gave an unsteady smile, and was already dialing. With no answer.
"We still have time. Do you want to meet back here in 20 minutes?" Lydia figured, since she wasn't the sort of girl to obsess about a boy and chase after him all night. No, she refused to do that. "Then we can get on with the rest of the night, I promise."
"You want to like, keep this going?" Stiles gestured between the two of them. He grinned when he made the connection that she might want to spend more than their mandated time together.
"Yes, Stiles. I'd like that." Lydia said moving backward down the hall a few steps, then she turned and walked a few more steps before calling back over her shoulder, "20 minutes."
"Yes, 20 minutes," he inhaled deeply, then moments later, once in the gym and out of her sight "Yes!"
Further along the hall and still within hearing range of Stiles' shouts, Lydia shook her head and kept on task. Lydia called Jackson's name along the darkened hallways until they seemed to all empty out and there were only balloons that blocked her line of sight. Lydia shouted Jackson's name and wandered out of the school through the double doors, unafraid because she was convinced everything would be alright. Lydia walked onto the lacrosse field, shaking because of the cold, of course, not nerves.
And as soon as she saw for herself everything was alright, the sooner she could get back to the gym and back to their night.
"Jackson."
A single special night.
"Jackson!"
A single night.
"Jackson! Is that you?!"
"Lydia!"
Wincing against the light, Lydia spun away and looked to Stiles. The 20 minutes weren't up. Things must not be okay, but he was on his way, so whatever was wrong, together they'd figure it out.