1:43 AM

Reflexively, Lydia placed her hand over her mouth. There was a large mark on Stiles's right shoulder. It was raw and bloody, and circular in shape.

"Is that a bite mark?" she said with shock, lightly placing her hand on his back. The entire area was bruised and inflamed, with even the slightest touch causing Stiles to flinch. "Sorry. I'm sorry," she apologized.

He motioned subtly, waving his arm to tell her it was okay.

"Who…what did this to you?"

"Donovan Donati," he said flatly.

As she came around to face Stiles, Lydia could now see a series of bruises along his chest and abdomen. Instinctively, she reached out to touch him, and his muscles tightened underneath her fingertips. She tensed in response, considering the damage that could be hidden from her sight. "I'm taking you to the hospital," she told him firmly.

He shook his head. "No. You can't. I can't. They'll want to know," he resisted.

Lydia pressed, "Stiles, that bite…you could get an infection. You might have broken ribs or internal bleeding. We need to make sure you're going to be okay. We could go to Melissa."

"I can't go there," he insisted. "I can't explain…Lydia, please," he stressed, placing his hands on her shoulders and hunching down to look into her eyes.

Please. That was it – the magic word. On a good day, hearing Stiles plead could reduce Lydia to a puddle of mush – not that she would admit it to anyone. Right now, paring that word with the vulnerability in his eyes shattered her heart into a million tiny pieces. He was the only person who could express a single syllable in such a way. She would be furious with him if she thought he had any idea of the influence he had on her.

"Alright," she replied begrudgingly. "I'll do the best I can, but Stiles, I am serious – if there is even the slightest sign that you are developing a temperature, I'm calling Melissa."

He opened his mouth to protest but she went on.

"Listen to me. I won't hesitate. If you get an infection, you could die. Do you hear me?" She meant to stop talking, but the words kept flowing. "Stiles, you could die, and I can't lose you. Not you. You have to understand that."

They were standing so close Lydia could scarcely breathe. Though she was, to some extent, embarrassed at the frankness of her words, she fought the urge to break eye contact with him. Lydia thought she saw a flicker of surprise there, and again an image flashed into her mind that she couldn't hold onto.

"Stiles, promise me that you won't fight me on this," she managed to say as unshed tears pooled in her eyes. "What if it were the other way around?"

Her distress seemed to soften him. "Okay, I promise," he agreed, drawing her into a hug; chin resting on the top of her head, hands at the small of her back, hot bare skin wrapping her in comfort.

She locked her arms around his waist, being mindful not to squeeze too tightly. They remained that way for an extended length of time, then Lydia led Stiles into her bathroom. She motioned for him to sit, and he complied. After filling the sink with water, she drenched a soft cloth in its warmth.

"This is going to sting a bit," she warned.

Methodically, she cleaned the wound behind his right shoulder. She could tell that it was an effort for Stiles to sit still. From her recent experience with Tracy, Lydia was fully cognizant how much the process must be hurting him, and she admired how brave he was being. When the painstaking process was complete, she took a large gauze pad, applied antibiotic ointment to it, and gently secured it in place over the bite.

"I'll change the bandage in the morning – sooner if it bleeds through."

Tapping her hand on his left shoulder, Lydia encouraged Stiles to turn and face her, so she could direct her attention to his hands. Emptying and refilling the sink, she submerged both of their hands under the water, gingerly maneuvering his palms and fingers to cleanse all traces of blood. Then, she dried his hands with a fresh towel, being attentive of his bruised knuckles as she did so. Lydia took her time, deliberately looking Stiles over, wanting to be certain not to miss any injury. Without thinking, her hand came up to smooth his hair in place. She let her fingertips drift downwards and stopped under his chin, nudging him to look at her.

The gentle affection Lydia conveyed seemed to affect Stiles rather profoundly. He grasped her hand and clutched it tightly, blinking back the fresh tears that were forming in his eyes. Quivering lips, cinched brows, and tortured eyes, he hid his face in her hand.

Helplessness crept over Lydia as his tears collected in her palm and cascaded down her wrist. She wanted nothing more than to ease his pain or better yet, to take it from him. "Stiles, it's going to be alright. I'm here. I'm with you, and I'm going to help you."

"Thank you," he breathed, kissing the center of her palm.

Quite taken by the gesture, Lydia ignored her instinct to maintain the current boundaries of their friendship. Leaning forward, she pressed her lips to his forehead. Instantly, she was reminded of the first (and only) time she kissed him – the memory causing her own eyes to sting and the all too familiar fluttering in her stomach to return. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

After an extended moment, she pulled away hesitantly. "I almost forgot." She stepped aside to fill a glass with water and took two ibuprofen tablets from the medicine chest. "Take these, they will help with the inflammation."

Then she carefully helped Stiles into the clean tee shirt and put her arm around his waist to help him stand. She handed him the pair of sweatpants and told him to meet her in the bedroom.