Stiles tapped his finger on the binder he was holding. Forget everything else. He was standing in front of her bedroom door with her school work in hand. She knew he was coming, he had called ahead. And they were really good friends. Then why did he feel like an intruder? Why did he feel like stepping on unknown ground? Never mind, there were things to do, questions to answer. There was another purpose to him coming to her house: Lydia was the closest they had to a lead, the only one who might have a clue about who the Beast was or what the hell was going on in general. Forget everything else, just knock on the door, wait for the answer and enter.
There she was: looking all breathtaking in the window frame with a book in her hands. She was wearing a blue dress, bright blue, the pretty kind and her hair was gathered on one side in a braid. Stiles realized it was to cover the bandages where a hole had been drilled in her head and felt nothing but anger again.
"Stiles?" she called his name in a raspy voice which brought him back in the moment.
"I brought your homework" he said, stepping forward, placing the binder on her desk. "How are you feeling?"
"Better, thank you."
"Does your head still hurt, because I was talking to your mom downstairs and she said you could have stayed in the hospital longer. Plus, I've read on the internet that with a wound like yours, the infection risks..."
"I'm fine, I'm just really happy to be home."
"That's good, because I was hoping to talk to you about what happened. I know you've been through a lot, but there are some questions that we need to answer."
"I'm glad you said that." She stepped closer to him. "Ever since that night I have been thinking, Stiles, you're one of my best friends and I don't want to lose you, ever..."
"What are you talking about, that won't happen, ok? I would go back and do it all over again if you needed me to." They were now face to face.
"It's just that, I never properly thanked you", she said, searching his eyes with her own.
In all of history, Stiles could not remember one instance in which Lydia Martin had wanted to thank him. So, naturally, his next answer was the very best he could come up with.
"You're welcome." he said, gripping her forearm. She smiled in return.
"Is there something you wanted to ask me?"
"Yes, about Valack. What did he actually want?"
"Valack? That's what you wanted to talk about?" Was that disappointment in her voice? Was it too soon?
"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to upset you. It's just that I was talking to Scott and maybe, if we knew what he was trying to do, we could find a way to do it without the drilling-a-hole-in-your-head-and-almost-killing-you part, you know. We really don't have any other cards to play. But, if you're not up for it I, we totally understand."
"No, you're right, of course I should help. What do you need?"