Chapter 1

Lydia enjoys the silence. She loves the quiet that working at the Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital brings her. And no, she's not a doctor nor a nurse. She's an assistant at the morgue, actually. And don't get her wrong; she doesn't get her hands dirty. She hasn't actually touched one single dead body in her life and she'd like to keep it that way. She deals with the families in the aftermath of their relative's death, and most of the administrative process falls on her; she deals with the local authorities and is the liaison between the morgue itself and the hospital and the morgue and external entities whenever the Medical Examiner doesn't feel like doing it himself, which happens often. She's also responsible for other tasks, lending a hand to the ME or the hospital when needed.

After so many years of enduring her parents arguing over the most ridiculous things, after her older sister left for college forgetting a 15 year old Lydia behind… Yeah, the dead became her best friends; their shared silence is something invaluable to her. And okay, she knows how weird it sounds, alright? Lydia has friends, she does, but nothing compares with being left to do her work by herself without interruptions, just the way she likes it. Well, a few interruptions. Families always come to grieve, looking for answers that most times she can't give them, and the authorities often visit to check in on some leads or, if it's a gruesome case of some sort, look for clues to help with the investigation. Sometimes, people will stop by just because of their morbid curiosity. Like Lydia likes to say, the dead aren't the ones bothering her, the living are. Thankfully, death doesn't happen often around here.

But today is not a good day. In fact, she knows that today is not gonna be easy at all. There was a car crash a few hours ago just outside of the city. 3 cars involved, 4 dead on the scene that were brought to the morgue just a few minutes ago. One of the families, who lost an elder, arrives promptly and Lydia tries her best to let them know that the end of the afternoon is approaching, that there's nothing she'll be able to do for them until tomorrow morning. The second family lost two members – death tragically took the lives of a man around his forties and his twelve year old son - and they come in not long after. Lydia ends up teary with them as she lets them know the same thing. The third family, however, is the one she's been dreading ever since she was told about the accident. A woman died, one that is apparently well known in town even if Lydia has never met her. She has met her husband though, and she knows that that family is the one she'll have to deal with the most.

Time passes however, and Lydia sends the two families that first showed up at the morgue home for the day with words of support, and she's left with no choice but to leave as well when closing time comes. Lydia can't exactly wait for the third family to come in; it's already past eight and all this emotional charge takes a toll on her, always does. She's actually finding it weird that the husband hasn't showed up yet but maybe he just needs times. Lydia ends up locking everything up, logging out of her computer and tidying her desk for the next day. Turning off the lights, she puts on her jacket and grabs her purse and is all set to leave when she hears a knock on the front door.

She knows it's the third family even before she opens it. If it's something that Lydia has grown used to over time is this sudden lack of air when families come in to see her. It's like the air just evaporates from the room and all that Lydia wants to do is scream in frustration. It's almost painful; sometimes, in truth, it is. The door knob feels extremely heavy as Lydia turns it to find a young man in tears, almost livid.

He is inconsolable, sobbing here and there as he's obviously struggling to keep breathing, and Lydia is quick to step aside and let him in, directing him to one of the chairs in the waiting room. The man doesn't sit though, fearing he wouldn't be able to get back up if he did. Noticing that the young woman in front of him was probably already on her way home he stills suddenly, even looks at her apologetic. Lydia feels like she could die because of it.

"I- I'm sorry," he gasps. "You were leaving."

The tears don't stop running down his cheeks and he seems to be fighting his trembling hands the best he can. Lydia takes off her jacket and places it on one of the chairs along with her purse as a reply. "I'm not." She gives him a small smile. The families need to learn that Lydia is there for them, they need to trust her so that she can help. "How can I help you?"

The man looks disbelieving at first, but then he remembers why he's there and the little colour he still had on his cheeks disappears entirely. For a second he's so rigid looking back at her that if Lydia hadn't seen him move just before, she could easily mistake him for one of the dead bodies she sees pretty much every day, and also because the only light illuminating the room is coming from the moonlight through the windows. "My uh-" He takes a moment to figure out the best way to say it. On his drive to Beacon Hills, after receiving the news, nothing else crossed his mind but what would be the best way to say it out loud. Letting the words out of his mouth make it seem final, significant, even if consciously he knows it won't change the end result in any way. He lets out a long breath. "I'm Stiles Stilinski. There was an accident today," he whispers, his voice hoarse as he wipes away his tears with his sleeve. Stiles can't hold back the sob that escapes his lips and one of his hands reaches out to grab at something, to find a surface, a wall maybe, any object he can hold on to so he can keep steady. He wants to keep steady so bad.

Lydia holds him, grabbing his arm and helping him sit on one of the chairs. He feels as beat as he looks. "You're the Sheriff's son," she murmurs in realization, her hand not leaving him as she gets down on her heels to face him properly.

He looks at her blankly. Of course she'd know his dad. He nods, letting out another whimper. "Has he- Has he been here yet?"

Lydia purses her lips and shakes her head. "No." Lydia has learned that it's better to just wait and see what the families already know about the situation and what it is that they want from her instead of bombarding them with questions or advices, so she waits silently.

The young man looks down at his shaky hands for a moment, closing his eyes and crying to himself for a bit. Lydia doesn't move. Eventually his hands run through his hair erratically, making it look dishevelled as he groans in despair. "I can't get a hold of him. He won't answer my calls."

It's understandable, she thinks. She was told that the Sheriff had been called to the accident without knowing who the victims were. She hopes the man is okay; he has always been nice to her. "Why don't I give a call to one of his deputies, see if they know anything?" she offers.

Stiles takes his phone out of one of his jacket pockets and slides his finger across the screen to find no missed calls, no text messages; not from his dad anyway. He nods slowly, barely letting out "Please."

Lydia squeezes his arm gently and gets up unhurriedly not to startle him. Seeing someone this wrecked always tugs at her heart in a way she can never cope with very well, especially someone who looks about her age and so lost as this boy seems to be. It's ironic how old and young he looks at the same time, how mature and innocent death can turn people in the blink of an eye; it always leaves a sour taste in her mouth. "I'll be right back," she says as he glances up at her disoriented, like losing her out of his sight will leave him alone in the world for the time being.

She doesn't tell him she's sorry, not yet. Something else she's learned in the year she's been working here is that there is a time and a place for everything. People won't want to hear everyone around them say "I'm sorry for your loss" when they haven't even fully grasped what happened, that their loved one is gone. Lydia only moves when Stiles nods in agreement. Making her way back to the secretariat, Lydia turns on the lamp on her desk to start rummaging in one of the drawers, looking for her phone book. Turning a few pages quickly and finding the number she's looking for, Lydia makes the call.

As she does so, the young man's eyes are strained on Lydia's petite frame through the glass wall that separates the area she entered and the one he's in, the faint light of the room contrasting with the darkness of the night and making it look like the young woman is surrounded by light. He's fixated on the sight of her for a second, and in that second he forgets. He forgets that he just endured a ten hour drive after pulling an all-nighter. He forgets the phone call he got six hours ago while he was driving. He forgets that he pulled his Jeep to the side of the road for an entire hour after that and stayed still, quiet, considering what he'd just been told as he felt like his heart would break free from his chest at any given moment. For another hour he cried and screamed, yelled at whatever deity he does not believe in for how unfair it was that it happened. For another twenty minutes he ignored the calls of his best friend and all he wanted to do was to reach his dad. When he didn't succeed, he answered one of Scott's texts to let him know he wasn't far away, that'd he'd be home soon, and then he went back to driving. In that second, he forgets how slippery the steering wheel felt under his touch, how afraid he was that he'd suffer the same fate she did.

But he only forgets for a second and then it hits him hard again, the truth, and Stiles lets out a small shriek and a sob, and he's not sure where all his tears are coming from; he thought he'd be drained out by now but no. He cries as he remembers the call, as he's reminded of how it physically pained his heart to hear the words. He cries because he needs his dad to hold him and he's not here. He cries because his mom is dead.

xxx

A/N: Feel free to leave me a review to let me know what you're thinking of the story so far.

Until next time xx
Susana