"Things cannot be reversed,
We learn from the times that we are cursed,
That things cannot be reversed,
Learn from the ones we fear the worst,
And learn from the ones we hate the most."
Stiles' knee was bouncing faster than a 5 year old on a space hopper. His nerves had officially hit the top scale and he had seriously considered performing a tuck and roll out the car just to avoid that awful feeling in his gut. Scott had been driving for about 7 and a half minutes to an undisclosed location. All Stiles knew was that he was about to meet Cop- Lydia for the second time in two days. The first time she'd been a little shy of annoyed. Hopefully, the mood would be much more relaxed this time. The boy could still picture her clearly in his head. Her hair; strawberry-blonde and long. Her eyes; green and full of something a lot like flames. Her form; small and delicate. She'd held herself with a type of dignity that could only come from years of power, her aura was nothing that could be gained after a successful game of monopoly. What Lydia was like was nothing you see in a person often. She was strong, fearless and smart. It was funny how much you could learn about someone from one meeting.
The SUV turned into an alleyway that brought images of shady back deals to the front of his mind. The thought didn't disappear when the car stopped next to a brick building with a green sign over the top. "Druids Feast" Stiles didn't know he'd read that out loud until Scott replied with a hum.
The door was old and wooden, chipping off at the bottom with splinters everywhere. You could tell it used to be nicely painted the same green as the sign, but that must've been many years ago. Scott stayed in the vehicle as he approached the entrance. The glass covering most of the door was blocked out by dusty beige blinds, there was no way in hell this was a real establishment.
Stiles threw a look over his shoulder to the boy who was quickly becoming a frie- ally, he gave what he probably thought was a reassuring thumbs up. With an unintentionally deep breath the brunette pushed through the door. It was lighter than he expected and he quickly realised he had exerted much too much force. The door swung open heavily and he literally fell into the room. On reflex, his arms braced themselves in front of him as if there was something to catch himself on. Maybe a few years ago he would've fallen flat on his face, but this time his balance kept his cheeks only slightly reddened.
The door swung shut behind him with a loud squeak and by now all eyes were 100% on him. Taking a look around, turned out there weren't many pairs of eyes at all. The building was clearly some kind of restaurant, if the smell was anything to go by, a steakhouse. Old tables and chairs, all made from a dark wood littered the small apace with practically zero organisation. He looked to his right first and saw a small rectangular hole in the wall, a black, older man was stood there. He had a particularly long knife in one hand, and a sharpening tool in the other. His position with them both in mid air suggested he had been interrupted in his satire practice. Stiles held his curious expression for a moment before the mans eyes slipped to something behind him.
Stiles turned on the spot, and despite the lack of proper lighting, it was hard to miss the bright strands of strawberry-blonde tucked into the booth furthest away.
Her expression was one of nonchalance as she stared right at him, unabashed. He took an audible gulp before making his way over to the table. The boy felt that unmistakable feeling of shame as he approached the petite girl who was anything but small. He felt 13 again visiting the head mistress' office.
She raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow and gestured towards the chair opposite her. He mentally noted how she always chose gestures over words and sat down. The chair was as uneasy as Stiles' mental stability which didn't help his anxiety.
"Can I get either of you two anything?" A low voice called from behind him.
"Just my usual, Deaton. You hungry?" It took him a moment of opening and closing his mouth before his mind formulated a response.
"No, I'm good." She gave him a courteous nod. "Is there a-a reason I'm here?" Stiles tried to sound sure of himself, however, she had an unwavering intenseness about her that he was not accustomed to. The people he called his friends were carefree, they'd laugh and make jokes, slouch in their chairs, smile. She wasn't like the people you start up conversations with on a flight.
"Yes, I thought that if you were going to be my advisor we should get to know one another. You can't help someone you don't know." Everything she said was spoken with clarity, as if she'd rehearsed it a million times.
"Sounds great. What...do you want to know?"
She sighed at him and looked away. "What brings you here, Stiles?"
"Money?"
"Are you asking me or telling me?" She smiled round a glass of wine he was sure was only there to intimidate him.
"You sound like my third grade English teacher." The weak attempt at a joke was mildly pathetic, yet a sweet noise made its way past her lips, somewhere between a huff and laugh. A small part of him felt the tiniest bit more relaxed. Humour was always like a reflex to him, when awkwardness seeped into a room, always pin it on Stiles to tell the 'hilarious' story of losing his virginity in the back of his old jeep.
"I'm assuming she has an advanced degree so I'll take that as a compliment."
"What about you? How did you get into this business?" In his head he knew this was standard undercover work, getting information was what he was there for, but a big part of him really wanted to know. Lydia was intriguing in the same way that a hot plate was when the waiter told you not to touch it.
"That's a...long story." She concluded.
"I thought you said we should get to know one another" he challenged her with a smirk.
Her fingers moved over the wine glass stem. "I was um...18... I think. When I started I mean." She glanced up at him from the table and saw as he nodded encouragingly. This piece of information, as small as it was, was like a crack in the door as it slowly fell open.
"I had this boyfriend in high school, typical rich boy: had everything handed to him, didn't get hugged enough as a kid, dumber than a bag of rice, yada yada yada. But he was nice and sweet. He made me laugh, held my hand, I thought that was all you needed in a relationship - as long as it looked good, it was good. It didn't matter that he would smoke in my bedroom even after I told him not to, and blame me when I got grounded for it. Or when he'd 'forget' dates because he was higher than Mount Everest, but he said sorry after, so, what more could I want? Anyway, junior year, he decides he wants to take up drug dealing, he thought it would be fun, y'know. Make him tough and shit. I was so attached to this dumb relationship that at the time I was like so... It was all I had. Growing up, I didn't have friends or people. I had acquaintances and a boyfriend, that was it. I just- I didn't know...I-." The girls words became trapped behind her red lips - explaining why you were OK with your boyfriend making and selling illegal drugs that could quite possibly leave someone's daughter dead in an alleyway was not something you could get used to. Stiles was hesitantly silent. Questions were adding up in his head like stones in a boot but he held back. The door was falling open without needing him to push.
"He started making crystal methamphetamine with some guy he met, I never asked how. And money started rolling in, I mean he's buying me jewellery every month, going to expensive restaurants, it was fun, so I didn't mind when a girl in his bio class was sent to rehab. Then this one time I went round to his house for a movie but he said he had to cook instead. I was just gonna leave him to it but...lets just say I was curious. He was working in this basement of his friends house, it was dirty, messy, the smell was just..." She scrunched her nose up at the thought, making circular motions with her wrist. "I looked at his equipment, he was using a volumetric flask to cook with. Terrible idea. They're used for titration and general mixing, you shouldn't apply heat to them. That's what a boiling flask is for. He thought I was being overbearing when I told him that. Even more so when I told him he needed to clean all his equipment if he wanted a high yield. Idiot didn't know what a yield was, he kept calling it all 'art'." Stiles noticed the small shake of her head. "He was getting like a 30% yield, less with all the chilli powder he kept putting in. The shit he was cooking was...well...shit. I told him if he wanted good product it had to be chemically pure and stable. He pretty much laughed at me. So I showed him. I stole a load of equipment from school, walked right out the door with it and no one said a thing - I was kind of a science nerd so no one was really suspicious. It took me one afternoon, 99.1%. He couldn't believe it at first, then he kept calling me an artist, said I was a freaking genius. It was basic chemistry. He sold it for a few grand, gave me a bracelet from Tiffany's for it. I agreed to do more as long as he kept everything safe. We even got an eye wash station. He started giving me shares of what we made, a few hundred pounds, I never questioned it. Then he started getting cocky, he'd bring friends round to watch, offered to double the product for more money. I could hardly keep up. Eventually I insisted we use phenylacetone in a tube furnace, then we could skip the difficulty of obtaining pseudoephedrine. That's what gives it the blue colour."
"Sky blue." Stiles spoke with a mild numbness. He was quietly processing.
"That's what the kids are calling it." She swallowed heavily before continuing. "We started doing business with this big guy - he was called Gerard, he could move product on a global level. He set us up in a lab under a factory, out where Scott took you. We were making meth on a massive scale. After a while though, Argent decided he didn't need my boyfriend anymore, he was too much of a liability. An idiot if we're being honest, too big for his own boots. So they...-"
"Killed him?" Her eyes flashed with something he couldn't place.
"Yeah. After that I realised it was too risky to keep working for them, so I took certain precautions, and with some help managed to take control. We took over his distribution scheme - by we I mean me and Allison Argent, she was his granddaughter - and used it to create our own system. Then I put Peter Hale on retainer, he helped us build everything back up, we hired people we could trust, used tight methods so no one would be suspicious. He also set me up with the magazine, showed me how I had to slowly build it up. Then Allison's dad started shipping product overseas as well as providing the lab with the phenylacetone. That was last year."
"Overseas?"
"Europe mostly, some in Africa."
"Oh." The boy couldn't focus on one thought. Questions were ablaze in his head, who was the boyfriend? What happened to Gerard? What's the magazine? Who are the Argents? The more he found out the more he wanted to know. This question mark he'd been trying his best to put a face to for years was now an open door. There wasn't much else to say yet he couldn't shake the feeling he still wanted more. More information, more detail, more answers.
"So yeah, that's my story." Her eyes remained following the swirly pattern her fingers traced on the table top.
He nodded solemnly.
"Here." The man - Deaton? - placed a bowl of Curley fries in front of her. The smell was strong and actually pretty incredible. "Anything else?"
"No, I'm good." Stiles watched the food in interest, only just realising he had one slice of toast this morning. "...do you want some?"
He only just realised he'd been staring and snapped up to meet her eyes. He hesitated with politeness but she pushed the dish forward suggestively. "Thanks." She smiled and picked one up with her thumb and fore finger.
"You didn't answer my question, y'know."
"What question?"
"Why you're here." She smirked and folded her arms on the table top. "You're good at deflecting. Unfortunately, I'm pretty good at conversations like these."
"Conversations like what?"
"Conversations with people keeping their cards close to their chest."
"Well illegality must mean you get that a lot."
"Oh my god, you did it again!" She lifted one hand into the air, making a gesture of exasperation. He laughed quietly trying not to focus on how adorable she looked when she called him out. Her elbow purchased on the table before she rested her chin on top. "C'mon Billinski. Spill." He looked up at her on the name. It was a bitter reminder that this wasn't actually real.
"Uhh, I went to public school in California, studied business. I dropped out toward the end. I-"
"Why?" He paused and met her gaze. She looked honest and not at all drug dealer like.
He had hoped to skip over this part as with it brought those awful pitiful looks and embarrassed blushes. "My mum died, it was a tumour. I got rebellious after that, wanted to go out and see the world."
She raised her eyebrows in surprise. It wasn't pity in her eyes though, and her cheeks gained no extra colour. She seemed more thoughtful than anything else. A small crease appearing between her brows as she frowned at him. He continued nonetheless.
"Then this guy paid me to sell stuff so I could afford an apartment and food. Everything was done through cash to avoid a paper trail. After a while I got sick of it though, small time selling. So I heard about you and waited for my chance until I could find Scott who brought me here I guess."
"That's it?"
He frowned at her, attempting to look confused. "Well, yeah."
"Did you...ever have a girlfriend or something?" She wasn't embarrassed by the question and instead looked him in the eye, dead serious.
"Yeah, in high school."
"But none after?"
"Have you ever had a boyfriend?" He countered.
"Not for a while, no." He nodded, not really feeling like digging up that grave.
"Well then." He reached his hand behind his neck in discomfort. Silence settled between the two. Stiles was still processing everything in his head. She'd loaded a lot of personal information onto him and the boy was doing his best to make sense of it all. "Y'know I didn't really pin you for the steakhouse kinda girl." He spoke absentmindedly as his eyes scanned the signed photo of a man in a suit behind her.
"The bloodier the better." Lydia smirked at him and it sent chills down his back.
"OK."
The girl fidgeted in her seat looking from left to right and back again. "You said you studied business right? How was that."
"Shit." She rolled her eyes at his bluntness but in his defence it was as shit a question as it was an answer. "What about you? Did you have a major?"
"Biochemistry, and forensic science. I double majored."
A smile curved his lips, of course she double majored. He put a fry in his mouth casually, still not able to wipe the look from his face.
"What? What's that look for?" She was smiling too but with a hint of defensiveness in her tone.
"Well, I mean - isn't it kind of a cliché by now. The perfect rich girl turned badass bitch. I swear there's like a bajillion movies based off of it."
She laughed lightly while poking a fry between her lips. "Yeah, you're probably right. I can't remember the last time I watched a movie."
"Seriously? What's you're favourite?"
"I don't know, there's so many. What about you?"
"Star Wars, obviously." He wafted his hand in the air to emphasise his declaration.
"Never seen it." She tilted her head to the side prettily.
"I'm sorry, what?" He leaned forward as if he hadn't heard her right.
She laughed before repeating herself loudly.
"How can you have never seen Star Wars?" She sipped up the last bit of wine and shrugged again. "I swear to God one day I'm gonna fix that."
She smiled gently and Stiles felt the tiniest hint of butterflies that were absolutely not supposed to be there for this reason.
Definitely not for this.
"How d-" she was cut short by the sound of the door opening behind them. Stiles turned in his chair fast enough to get whiplash. A man in his late thirties stood in the doorway. He had short brown hair and a goatee. The navy blue coat he was wearing had a collar that went right up to his ear and Stiles wondered how he wasn't sweating his ass off right now. "Peter. I thought you weren't coming for a little while longer." He swivelled back to watch Lydia rise from her seat.
"Well, I believe we have business to take care of and there's no time like the present." His voice was low and smooth as he made his way over to them. Something about 'Peter' put Stiles immediately on edge.
"This is Stiles." She pointed towards him and took her seat again only now it was next to Peter in the red worn down booth.
"Stiles." He said the name experimentally, trying it out on his tongue. "You don't hear that often."
"It's a rare name." He held his hand out to take Peter's in a handshake. An attempt was made to hide his surprise at the strong grip the man had. Stiles didn't think it was successful.
"If you say so." The boy narrowed his eyes but kept his mouth shut. Lydia was biting her lip again, watching the boy anxiously. "I'm actually here to discuss business. I have your credit card to the account your funds will be wired into. I also have some files you'll need to keep with you in the safe."
"The safe?"
"In your apartment? There's one there, right? I informed the boys it was important you had one."
"Well I only moved in yesterday so..."
"OK, well there should be a safe in your apartment and that is where you should keep these." He pulled a brown envelope from his pocket with a pen. He had to sign the work about six times, but after, the envelope was passed to him along with a gold card reading American Express. "And for your next surprise..." He dug his hand around in his pocket for a minute before producing a set of keys. Stiles spotted the Jeep branding on it immediately.
"A car?"
"Yep." Lydia answered for him chirpily.
"It's parked right outside." Stiles looked behind him as if he could see it through the boarded up windows. This should be like Christmas; money, a car, free food. Something about the whole circumstance felt too much like betrayal. It seemed like in this scenario he was the bad guy. Tricking them into giving away all this stuff. But no, this was all part of the plan, right? He was stopping the bad guys not becoming one.
"Thank you." Stiles hooked his hand around the cold metal and settled them on the table. He tried to smile in appreciation but he found his face making more of a wince.
"If that's all miss Martin?" He didn't wait for a dismissal - Peter didn't come across as a man who would wait for much - and hiked up his ear lobe reaching collar before making an exit.
The small restaurant fell quiet with Stiles and Lydia sat face to face and silent.
Lydia hesitated, tapping her fingers on the table top like he imagined important business women do when they're reading something equally as important. After a moment or two her hand disappeared under the table and she looked at him with resolve.
"Have you ever been to Mexico, Stiles?" Her face was the picture of indifference.
"Uhhhh..."
"Next week, on Monday. I'm going down with Scott and Allison to meet with some people, I think it would be a good idea if you came with us."
He looked at her with wide eyes and a slack jaw. Did he actually have a choice or...?
"It won't be long, 2 nights at the most, all expenses paid."
"Are you offering me a free holiday? I mean, we could at least go somewhere better, like the south of France, or Hawaii?"
"It's not a free holiday. Like I said, there are people I need to speak with, settle some...disagreements."
"Well that doesn't sound shady at all."
"I just need to talk with them, face to face." This was starting to sound more like the badass he'd been reading up on.
"Well how could I so no to face like that?" He mirrored her head tilt from earlier.
"I'm glad. I'll tell Scott everything you'll need to know. In the meantime..." She pulled out a pen and business card from her purse. "This is my number if you need anything, use the burner cell only." The boy leered over her pretentiously manicured hands and waited until all numbers were scribed neatly on the back of the white paper. "This isn't 24/7 by the way. Don't call before 11 or after 12, those are my resting periods." She tucked the pen back into her pocket and slipped out of the booth.
He wasted no time in scooping up the keys and files to follow her out the door. Everything was moving faster than he anticipated and the boy couldn't figure out if this was a good thing or a bad thing.
The strawberry blonde gave no signs of common courtesy by holding the door open, he wondered for a minute to whether she was like this with everyone or just him. There were two cars parked in the alleyway, one was an SUV - his SUV - black from the tyres to the windows. The other was a car closer to the ground, a Mercedes probably shipped in from another country, in a dark blue colour. The back door popped open as Lydia turned her back to it to face him. He saw the camel coloured leather and tried not to pass judgement. "I'll see you on Monday, yes?" Her phone pinged at the same time as her voice heightened in pitch with the question.
"Yeah, sure." A tall man climbed out of the car just over her shoulder. He had short red hair. Big arms. Straight face. Bodyguard, no doubt.
She followed his eyes and tilted her head so she could share his line of sight.
"You ready to go?" The question was spoken to her with an immense lack of flair. She didn't gratify him with anything more than a nod. Stiles didn't let it slip his notice that the man was shooting silent bullets in his direction. A look of that much protectiveness could only come from a severe lack of self esteem. Stiles didn't even know the man but he could smell trouble when it stunk that much.
"Bye, Stiles." She gave him a tight lipped smile before heading towards her own personal vehicle. The redhead carefully helped her in before shutting the door and joining her from the other side. Stiles waited patiently until the car was gone before he entered his new one. It was clean and new, it smelt like real leather and blueberries from the hanging fruit shaped paper in his windscreen. He took it down and stuffed it into the glove compartment. His mother hated those things too.
...
Once the boy had arrived 'home' in his new car - which he felt much more comfortable calling his own - he quickly found a Thai takeaway menu in a draw and ordered in the same food he always got from Mr Tsing who ran the Thai food restaurant in California.
With a takeaway box going cold next to him the boy spent about 45 minutes on his laptop before he found her.
Lydia Martin.
Her picture was all over the Internet. Once he'd found her for the first time, the floodgates were open. There were photo shoots all over google images, some of her, some done by her. He found one article about an interview she did when she first bought the magazine. She'd spoken to some news reporter he'd never heard of about her past.
"Creating the magazine is by far the best achievement of my life. I'd always wanted to make it in the fashion industry, but working hands on never really appealed to like it did to other people. Writing did though. Creating articles and forming ideas was like my dexterity. I enjoyed it so much. I never dreamed I would be creating my own magazine, it sometimes doesn't even feel real. I think the reason for my success had to be perseverance. Starting a whole new magazine in this industry is difficult and so many people told me I was crazy. I couldn't be more thankful they did, because without that pressure, without that constant threat of failure, I wouldn't have had hope to succeed. So thank you to all those people that told me 'don't do it' because you made it feel so much better when I did."
The rest of the article spoke about her success, and how she could advise other people to create their own goals and meet them no matter how big. He couldn't help but feel a small sense of pride. A woman who had been hidden away for so long had actually given him a piece of herself today. A piece of herself that she apparently refused to share with the rest of the world. At about 2am he finally shut the lid down and crawled into bed.
His mind was still on a high from all the Lydia he got today - finally broken the habit of calling her Copper Rose - but his body was far from active. When the sleep finally settled through his bones, he slept wondering whether Mexico would be the downfall. Perhaps this whole time he'd been fooling himself. Meeting Scott, eating curly fries, getting a new car, maybe these was the steady waves before the storm took over. Maybe this was his brain fooling itself into thinking he was better than the cops who came before him, he had to be. 'Cause if he was wrong he doubted they'd let him say goodbye to his pops first.