Stiles huffed and let herself sink further into the cushions of Derek's surprisingly comfy sofa, hooking her knees over the plushy armrest. In the four years she'd been gone, it seemed the entire Hale house had been refurnished. Rather tastefully, she thought absently as she considered the glossy finish on the mahogany coffee table, reaching out her hand to tap on the shiny surface with her nails.
"Ah, ah. Mind the finish, my dear."
Stiles started violently at the sound of Petra's voice, flailing her limbs to keep balance as she nearly rolled off of the sofa. A steadying hand on her hip helped her shift back onto the sofa. Stiles, flushing slightly, belatedly swatted at the hand still resting innocently (ha!) on her skin where her shirt had rucked up. She turned her glare on the owner of the helping hand, refusing to acknowledge the quick stutter of her heartbeat in response to seeing Petra's amused eyes. It should be illegal for serial killers to be able to smile with their too-pretty eyes.
"Bells! I've said this for years - bells for all non-human creepers!" Stiles squawked as she hurriedly yanked the hem of her shirt down over her stomach and moved to sit upright.
Petra only lifted an arched eyebrow at how flustered Stiles became, and stared unashamedly, taking in the pleasant sight of the younger woman's long mussed hair framing the faint points of red rising on her cheeks. It had been quite a long time since she had last seen the Sheriff's daughter. Last she'd seen of the girl, Stiles was.. well, still a girl. Not much had changed - she still had long, ungainly limbs, a deceptively delicate frame, an easily-sparked spirit, and a mouth that just wouldn't stop spewing out words. But now, Petra could see the hard-earned strength in the set of Stiles' shoulders, the minute clench in her jaw, the sharpness of her gaze. All grown up. Her girl was now a woman.
"Wh-what?! I'm not your anything!"
Oops. Had Petra said that last bit out loud? From the way the young woman was glaring indignantly up at her, it appeared she had. Petra only smiled indulgently at the way Stiles was fuming.
Leaning closer, bending at the waist, Petra reached out a hand and swept stringy brown strands from Stiles' flushed face, deftly tucking the hair behind Stiles' ear. Her nails, slightly elongated, just barely scraped the skin of Stiles' neck, leaving faint red lines in their wake. She shifted back quickly before Stiles could take a swipe at her for invading her person space, laughing all the while.
Stiles, her face now practically radiant from the full force of her blush, ground out between clenched teeth, "Get bent, bitch." Which only seemed to amuse Petra further judging from her toothy smile and the way the corners of her eyes creased in amusement. Almost a sincere smile, Stiles thinks, before aggressively squashing that thought.
"What a mouth on you, pet," the older woman husked, hooded eyes dipping down to the body part in question. "Such a lovely mouth, save for what usually you use it for. Pity."
Stiles shifted her legs in discomfort and something else - like the summer heat prickling her skin, like the hum of laughter vibrating warmly against her back, like the slide of hot water on cool skin. She barely winced when her calf accidentally brushed up against Petra's.
When Petra stepped closer, stood within the bracket of Stiles' spread legs, Stiles only leaned back, lips parting confusedly as she wondered why she was letting Petra approach her like a predator to prey. It wasn't the starved look in those shadowed eyes, nor the way all of Petra's intent seemed focused on Stiles and Stiles alone. It was perhaps, Stiles thought, the tilt to Petra's lips that she had never seen before. It made for a crooked smile, a flawed smile, but Stiles knew instinctively - knew in her heart that that was the genuine smile Petra Hale once wore as easily as she now smirks. Before the fire. Before she was stripped of everything that made her human, made her want to be human.
But it seemed that some things were left untouched by flame and scar. Stiles, words finally stoppered in her throat, could only stare at that smile as Petra moved in closer, closer.
Petra blinked, startled like she never is, when it is Stiles' hand that touches her face. She wants to close her eyes, feel more closely the barely-there pressure of fingertips hesitantly skimming over her lips, but she's drawn to the serious set of the younger woman's face. She could suss out the more obvious emotions mapped out on Stiles' face - consternation, confusion, fear.. But she didn't expect to catch steeled determination in amber eyes, understanding in the the furrow between her eyebrows, pity..
Petra drew back violently from the gentle touch, lips curling back into a snarl that sounded almost wounded. Stiles, hand still suspended where she had reached out to Petra, did not flinch.
"I see." Stiles' voice is steady. The two words hang between them, amber eyes boring into flashing blue with added emphasis.
"You don't see anything," the words are mangled, drawn out between sharp, lengthened teeth.
"I see." Stiles laid her hands across her lap, palms up, even as Petra's roar rang dully in her ears.
"You don't," Petra gasped, her ribs aching as she struggles to take in another breath, fill her lungs until she feels.. until she feels something other than what - who - she used to be.
When Petra, unable to regain her composure, takes off - flees, Stiles bows her head, allowing her hair to curtain her face.
She smiles. She sees.