'Cause even underneath the waves
I'll be holding on to you
And even if you slip away
I'll be there to fall into the dark
To chase your heart
No distance could ever tear us apart
There's nothing that I wouldn't do
I'll find my way back to you
- Find My Way Back to You by Eric Arjes
Lydia is standing in her backyard with the sun blazing above her head and a soft breeze blowing across her skin. She glances at her dog, Prada, who has sprawled on an outdoor lounge chair to wrestle with a toy that nearly matches her for size. The black and white Papillon lets out a high-pitched bark, followed by a less than intimidating growl, then lunges at her opponent, tail playfully wagging the entire time. Shaking her head, Lydia adjusts the straps of her teal-blue bathing suit. She hears laughter echoing from a few feet away.
"Don't laugh at her," she reprimands without turning around. "You're the one who got her that ridiculous thing. It's almost as big as she is."
"I couldn't help myself. When we were in the pet shop, I could tell that she was drawn to it…" Stiles replies, voice getting closer with each word, "and I love to spoil my girls…" he whispers as he tucks Lydia's hair behind her ear, "both of them."
Her stomach clenches as his exhale caresses her earlobe and neck, and her lungs cease to expand when his bare chest and abdomen graze her back, but she continues talking, trying to disguise how affected she is by the barely-there contact between them.
"You're not serious..." she retorts, looking at Stiles over her shoulder with wide eyes and curled lips. "She was drawn to it?... Really?... I saw you coaxing her down the toy aisle while I was picking out her new harness."
One minute, the stone patio is hot under Lydia's bare feet, little tufts of grass that grow between the tiles tickling her toes. The next, she feels an arm winding around her back, another sliding under her legs…and she is promptly cradled in Stiles's arms.
"I'm telling you, Lyds, she was drawn to it... Obviously, not in the same way you and I are drawn to each other but—"
She silences him, pressing her mouth firmly against his and enjoying the way he immediately parts his lips, allowing her to deepen the kiss.
When Stiles breaks for a breath, his nose still smashed into her cheek, Lydia says coyly, "What makes you so sure I'm drawn to you?"
"That kiss for one..." he sighs heavily, "Last night for another... Don't forget this morning either."
She drapes her arms over his shoulders and hides her face in his neck, feeling the blush rise in her cheeks. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."
He takes a few steps forward. "Oh, you don't...huh?"
"Nope," she fibs, lifting her head to kiss his jaw.
"Are you sure?"
Sensing the continuous forward motion of his steps, she stops mid-kiss. "Stiles…what are you doing?" she asks. "Stiles…"
He steps up to the edge of the in-ground swimming pool.
"Stilinski!" Lydia shrieks, wildly swinging her legs and tightening her hold on him. "Don't you dare even think about throwing me into that pool or I'll…I'll—"
"You'll what?" he questions with raised brows.
And he looks so beautiful with his disheveled hair...and his bright excited eyes which are changing color by the second...and his wiry little smirk...so beautiful that she can't even think clearly.
"I— I don't know..." she stammers, "but...I'll think of something!"
He laughs, swaying her gently from side to side as he proceeds to tease her a bit more. "Lyds," he begins with feigned offence, "I'm highly insulted that you'd even consider the possibility that I would toss you..." He pauses for a moment, then resumes by inundating her with compliments, punctuating each of them with a kiss. "...You, my perfect...highly intelligent...incredibly gorgeous...unbelievably thoughtful and loving... Did I already mention perfect? Doesn't matter... It's worth repeating. Do you really think I would toss my perfect girlfriend— Did I just call you my girlfriend? That sounds so...not enough..."
"Stiles... I'm trying to be annoyed with you! Stop being so adorable!" she giggles.
"Instead of girlfriend…I should have said love of my life."
Before she can respond, he kisses her again and it makes her stomach swirl...over and over...in the best possible way. The air is hot and humid, their skin is sticking together with sweat, but all Lydia can think about is the fact that Stiles just called her the love of his life. She holds him tighter still because she doesn't want him or this feeling to slip away from her.
"What was I saying? Oh yeah... Do you really think that I would toss you into the deep end of the pool? I would never do that…" Stiles kisses her one more time, letting his mouth linger against hers, then nudges the tip of her nose with his. He remains quiet for a few beats, after which the pace of his speech abruptly changes as he hurries to finish his statement. "But...I would jump in with you... Like right now!"
"Stiles!" she squeals, as he steps back, then races forward, leaping off the patio and plunging them into the pool.
As they free-fall, the world becomes a dizzying blur of color and light. Lydia holds her breath and squeezes her eyes shut…just in time to brace herself for the rush of water that surges above her head.
Sounds become muffled, bubbles tickle her skin, and her body becomes weightless. Seconds later, when she breaks through the surface of the water, Lydia is still firmly anchored by Stiles's arms. Inhaling deeply, she watches the fire ignite in his eyes as he blinks them to clarity. He is tentatively searching her face for a reaction, his curiosity laced with a spark of hope.
Lydia guesses she should be annoyed that the time she spent styling her hair in the morning had been in vain, but for some reason she can't stop smiling. Whether it's the relief from the heat, or the way Stiles is holding her, or the fact that only moments earlier, he called her the love of his life – she is just too happy and too in love to care about her hair.
She leans in, delicately touching her lips to his. He releases her legs, and she feels them sink into the water as he loops both arms around her waist.
When she pulls back, Stiles lifts a hand to swipe the remaining droplets from her face and then his own. "So…you think I'm adorable... Huh?" he flirts, biting his lip through a broadening grin.
"Yeah," she laughs softly. "Yeah, you are. It's a good thing too...or I'd be so mad right now. Do you have any idea how long it takes me to blow-dry my hair?" She smooths his hair back, shaking her head. "Yours will air-dry in less than twenty minutes and look perfect..." she notes, "but mine—"
"Always looks beautiful. You are beautiful," he tells her, speckling kisses across her neck and chest.
"Mmm... Nice tactic – trying to distract me like that. I am going to get you back though," she warns as she squirms out of his arms and paddles away.
He counters her move, swimming closer, but she swipes at the water with her left hand, sending a wave in his direction. It laps along his chest and shoulders.
"Come on, Lyds. You can do better than that," he challenges, splashing in response while flaunting a devilishly handsome grin.
She swiftly withdraws so the brunt of the upsurge rolls against her back, then spins towards him again. "Okay… Have it your way," she laughs, smacking the water more forcefully.
Even with his eyes closed to avoid being inundated with water, Stiles finds Lydia's wrist amidst the precipitous spray that strikes him. "You're too far away. Come here," he calls, tugging her nearer until their bodies reconnect. She relaxes in his arms, hoping to give him the impression that she is surrendering. Once he loosens his grip, she wriggles free and swims behind him.
Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she pushes him under the water.
As soon as Stiles is submerged, Lydia's body goes cold. She lets go of him, she drifts below the water, and she remembers.
She remembers the night of the ritual...
Lydia was in a dimly lit room in Deaton's clinic. She remembers a metal tub that was filled with icy water and the feeling of pins and needles that plagued her from the tips of her fingers to her wrists. Stiles was beneath her palms, his shoulders tense, the fabric of his tee shirt water-logged and dense between her digits. Their friends were alongside him – Allison to his right, with Isaac; Scott to his left, with Deaton – both fighting the same battle against their executioners – the ones Deaton called emotional tethers.
It didn't take long for the throbbing in Lydia's hands to spread to her forearms. As uncomfortable as it felt, all she could think about was the fact that Allison, Scott, and Stiles were experiencing the same awful sensation…all over their bodies. Worst of all, she knew that Stiles was in pain because of her.
She was the one holding him under the water, and she remembers how his body shook with tremors, thrashing against the water from the cold…thrashing against her in those last moments as his fight reflex activated. He struggled to come up for a breath. He struggled to live. He struggled under her hands.
She told herself that she didn't have a choice, that she was doing what he wanted, what he needed…like he always did for her. But deep down, Lydia knew she was hurting him – Stiles – the boy who would never so much as think of lifting one finger to hurt her – and that realization racked her body with an even greater agony.
She looked at Isaac. He was already facing her, his eyes wide and mouth agape, the panic on his face reflecting the turbulent cyclone of anguish she felt inside. She turned to Deaton. His eyes were fixed on Scott, focus complete, demeanor calm as ever, but it did nothing to reassure her.
Lydia remembers an uncomfortable tightness in her chest. Stiles couldn't take a breath, and neither could she. She remembers fighting to ignore her own instincts which were begging her to just let go – let Stiles come up for air, let him breathe. But she couldn't. She promised to help him find his father. When she made that promise, Lydia never imagined that this would be the only way to do it. Now, she had no way out. After all, it was her fault Sheriff Stilinski was taken in the first place. If he hadn't been trying to save her life, the Darach never would have taken him.
An intensely sickening feeling stirred inside, her stomach twisting at the thought of what she was doing. She was supposed to be helping Stiles, but the truth was – she was killing him. The truth was – she was taking the life of the boy who had saved hers, the boy who had come to mean more to her than any other in the world, the boy she kissed only a few hours before, the boy who lit up the dark spots in her life like it was his life's purpose. And worst of all, the awful truth was – he might not come back.
Lydia remembers the stinging in her eyes and the trembling of her lips as the familiar and comforting tugging sensation she had been feeling all day transformed into a piercing jab intended straight for the center of her heart.
She fiercely withheld the scream that was clawing its way up her throat. By then, the freezing water had numbed her hands, and the deadening ache was radiating up to her shoulders. Stiles resisted one last time, his body jolting…then going still. She felt him slip away. She felt him die, and the loss she experienced was worse than the struggle that preceded it.
Slowly, she dragged her shaking hands out of the water and backed up a few clumsy steps. Deaton tried to guide her to a chair, but she shrugged away from him. She remembers wanting to pound her fists against him, to yell at him for suggesting her friends take this risk, for allowing them to sacrifice their lives to awaken the Nemeton, for not finding another way to rescue their missing parents…but she couldn't move. Allison was dead. Scott was dead. Stiles was dead – and it all hurt so much.
Unassisted, she claimed the seat closest to Stiles. She looked down at her lap, watching beads of water run off her palms and seep through the fabric of her pale blue dress...just like the chill that was seeping throughout every inch of her. The type of chill that penetrates down to the bone and doesn't relent. Reeling from shock, she stared ahead blankly. She couldn't cry. She couldn't even blink. She couldn't tear her eyes from the body in the tub of water in front of her. Stiles's body – which only minutes ago was animated, and alive, and driven by his beautiful beating heart. His body which, only hours ago, was warm and alert, and full of sarcasm and wit.
The glaring white light of an illuminated x-ray box caught Lydia's eyes from across the room. It was cold and artificial. It was nothing like the light she always saw in Stiles's eyes – a kind of light that was real, and pure. A light that smoldered even in the dark, like embers which continue to glow long after a fire has burned out. A light that she might never see again. The thought alone filled her with a devastating feeling of hopelessness.
But you know how I'll feel?... I'll be devastated.
Stiles selflessly gave his life to save his father's. He put himself in her unworthy hands – to anchor him, to keep him safe, to be a focal point so he could find his way back. The responsibility weighed heavily on her. She had no idea what to do, how to keep Stiles from drifting too far, how to pull him back. What if I'm not strong enough? What if I fail him?
And if you die, I will literally go out of my freakin' mind.
Her ears started ringing. She shut her eyes, and she saw Stiles. Eventually, the discordance was replaced with quiet when it occurred to Lydia that even in despair, he was getting through to her. It had to mean they were still connected.
But it's not just someone to hold you under. It needs to be someone who can pull you back, someone that has a strong connection to you, a kind of emotional tether. Lydia... You go with Stiles.
Deaton paired her with Stiles. Somehow, he knew – they were linked. Lydia had already thought it many times before. She had felt it…again and again. All of those times when Stiles would say just the right thing to make her smile…or when he would stand next to her, and she wanted to step even closer…or when he would reach for her hand, and she would think about lacing their fingers together. She felt it today too – when she kissed him.
When she closed her eyes and kissed Stiles, her sight had never been more clear.
In those moments, she saw with her heart. In her heart, Lydia knew that she and Stiles were more than friends. And for the first time, she was afraid that Stiles didn't know she felt that way.
Afterwards, Lydia remembers worry, pain, and fear. Her thoughts paddling from Stiles, to Allison, to Scott, back to Stiles. Focus on Stiles…or he won't come back. Time seemed to be slowing down, but her mind was racing to find a way to keep him from drifting too far. She was circling an idea when the sound of Isaac's voice broke her concentration.
"How do we do this?" he asked.
Her head snapped in his direction.
Isaac stood with his arms crossed over his chest, face white as a sheet, eyes pointed at Deaton. "How in the hell are we supposed to pull them back?" he repeated.
"You need to remain calm and focused," Deaton began.
Lydia's eyes involuntarily rolled. The man was so composed that it only added to her agitation, but she pursed her lips to prevent any pointed remarks from escaping her mouth.
Isaac, on the other hand, was unable to withhold. "Calm? You expect us to be calm when three of our friends are dead? Why is it taking so long? You said minutes… It's been nearly an hour already."
She remembers being surprised that so much time had passed. Her eyes flicked to the clock which indicated that exactly fifty-six minutes had gone by, causing her anxiety to spike drastically. The tightness in her chest became even more acute, making it painful to breathe.
"I said if it went well…" Deaton clarified.
Isaac's eyes narrowed, his arms waving through the air. "So, then I guess it's logical to assume that it's not going well."
Logical. Nothing about this is logical, she thought.
But Lydia tried to redirect her nervous energy into something useful – like figuring out a way to bring her friends back. She remembers the desperate need for silence. She had been close to something before Isaac started talking. If she could only have some quiet again, she could think.
Deaton stepped towards Isaac. "It's difficult to put a timeline on situations like this. I know this is trying, but—"
"Damn right it is! Are we supposed to just—"
Suddenly, Lydia was standing, arms tensed at her sides and fists clenched as she noticed Stiles's hands floating in the tub. "Isaac, stop!" she interrupted, voice cracking as she attempted to shout. "This isn't helping!"
Once the words flew out of her mouth, she instantly regretted them. She dropped into her chair, propping her elbows on her knees and concealing her face with her hands. Even though he towered over her in height, when Lydia yelled at Isaac, she caught a glimpse of the frightened little boy that lived inside of him – the boy that had been abused by someone who was supposed to love him. Lydia couldn't help but see the similarity between them, and she remembers wishing she had been more patient. Remorse compiled in her stomach. Isaac had only spoken the truth about what he was feeling. He was just as scared as she was…only he was brave enough to admit it.
The room fell silent, and several minutes went by, but she still hadn't found a solution. It seemed obvious that no amount of quiet was going to help. She needed Stiles. He is the one who always figures it out.
She heard the light sound of footsteps approaching. Lydia remembers the moment when her shoulders were drenched in unexpected but familiar warmth. She looked up, confirming what she already suspected. Isaac was standing next to her, and he had covered her with Stiles's jacket. Her throat constricted as her hands automatically grasped the fabric, pulling it securely around herself.
"Is it okay if I sit with you?" Isaac asked.
"Sure," she answered softly.
After taking a seat, he bumped her knee with the side of his thigh to draw her attention. "Sorry about before," he offered sheepishly. "I didn't mean to upset you. I'm just…"
She turned to him. With his big blue eyes, head full of messy curls, and mouth drooping into a frown, Isaac looked as helpless as she felt.
"Worried about them," she finished for him.
"Yeah."
"I know. I'm sorry too. We're all on edge. I shouldn't have yelled."
"It's alright. This has gotta be harder for you… They're your family."
The loneliness in his tone nipped at her heart. As much as she cared for Allison, Scott, and Stiles, she knew they didn't belong to her. Ever since Isaac had been on his own, they had become an integral part of his life. Without them, he would be lost…just like she would be.
"Isaac, they're your family too."
He gave her a weak smile. "Hmm…"
"What?"
"I was thinking…how different you said my name this time. You know…compared to before…when I was being an ass… It sounded nice…comforting…"
"You weren't being—"
She halted mid-sentence. Tears clouded her eyes, blurring her vision. She blinked them away.
"Lydia, what is it?"
"That's it…"
"What's it?"
"Their names… We need to focus on their names. People are intrinsically linked to their names. Maybe if we focus on that – not just that…but all the things we know about them…maybe it will keep them from…"
She couldn't finish her statement without breaking down, but Isaac seemed to understand.
He relinquished a sigh. "Allison never misses a chance to mention what a genius you are. So…if you think it will work, then I'm willing to try."
Lydia could hear how much he cared for Allison, and it helped because she knew she could trust Isaac to hold onto her. She glanced at Deaton, and he was smiling proudly at them. He moved nearer to Scott and closed his eyes. She relaxed a bit more because she knew Scott was being protected too. When Isaac gingerly enveloped her hand with his, Lydia felt more connected to Allison, and it allowed her to keep all of her energy focused on Stiles.
For the next length of time, she thought of nothing but Stiles. She repeated his name in her mind. Not just Stiles — Miecyzslaw and every version of it, over and over. She could almost hear his voice saying her name in response.
She closed her eyes again…so she could see clearly.
She pictured his face – his soulful brown eyes with gold flecks and the rapid way they blinked after she kissed him, his many smiles from small and shy to broad and exuberant, and the constellation of moles that decorated his jawline. She thought of the way his cheeks flushed when he was embarrassed, or angry, or sometimes when she touched him. She could almost feel his hands – their warmth, how they were a little rough and calloused…but always gentle whenever he touched her. She ducked her head and brought the collar of his jacket up to her nose to breathe in his scent. She imagined him sitting beside her, picking her up for school in the Jeep, walking down the hallway with her, borrowing (and never returning) pens from her in class, meeting her by her locker at the end of the school day.
It wasn't difficult to fill time with thoughts of Stiles. She knew so many things about him. He is named for his maternal grandfather. His birthday is April 8th. His favorite color is blue. His prize possession is his Jeep. He plays lacrosse…but his favorite sport is baseball. He has a closet-full of plaid shirts and hoodies. He loves astronomy and solving puzzles. He treats pizza like it classifies as its own food group. He adores French fries, but whenever we share them, he makes sure I get the last one. He can't stand pumpkin pie or licorice, thinks white chocolate is an abomination. He paces when he talks on the phone. He bites his nails when he's frustrated, fidgets when he's anxious, taps his fingers when he's thinking. He always sneezes twice. He hates horror films and loves Star Wars, but his favorite movie is Frequency, and he wasn't ashamed to cry when we watched It's a Wonderful Life together. He's observant…though impatient, but also strong-willed and incredibly bright. He can't refrain from sarcasm, but he never misses a chance to be sweet to me. The list went on and on…
But still, Lydia knew there was so much more to learn. She needed Stiles to come back, so he could teach her. She wanted more time with him.
Seconds became minutes. Minutes in which she walked countless laps around the room. Minutes in which she sat, then stood still, then sat down again. Those minutes became hours. Each hour that passed brought about a new wave of nerves as well as the ongoing struggle to refocus and remain calm. The cycle repeated…hour after hour…and then…
Lydia remembers the relief she experienced when all three of her friends came out of the water with a gasp.
Her heart was pounding. Stiles's jacket fell behind her as a powerful force propelled her away from her chair…and closer to him.
Scott was the first to speak, while Allison worked to catch her breath. Stiles stood between them, clutching the rim of the tub as he climbed out on unsteady legs. His clothing was clinging to his body, water pouring off him, bare feet clapping against the linoleum as he took a shaky step forward.
She remembers his first words. His first words since he came back to life.
"We passed it. There's — There's a stump…this huge tree. Well, it's not huge anymore. It was cut down. But it's still big though…very big."
His teeth were chattering, and his entire body shivered. More than anything, Lydia wanted to rush towards him and lock her arms around him…but she was frozen again; the overwhelming weight of emotion bearing down and trapping her in a state of limbo.
She remembers Stiles's eyebrows arching and jaw slackening with shock when Deaton said that he, Allison, and Scott had been out for sixteen hours. Sixteen hours in which she was pushed past the point of exhaustion as she waited, and wondered, and worried. Sixteen hours when the three people closest to her were unconscious, in a trance-like state, essentially dead. It was over now. They survived. They all came back. Stiles came back. He was breathing again…and Lydia told herself she would have more time with him.
Not long after, she was seated in a quiet corner of the room. Allison was facing her, kneeling on the floor on top of a grey towel with another covering her shoulders. Lydia remembers the way her best friend huddled close to her, arms folded across Lydia's lap as she towel-dried her hair. With every drop of moisture that Lydia withdrew from the dark brown locks, Allison's natural waves became more defined. Her warmth was gradually being restored; goosebumps on her porcelain skin receding, rose-pink tone highlighting her cheekbones once more. Allison was alive, and by some miracle, she was unharmed. Deaton had already checked her vitals, but it was far more reassuring for Lydia to be able to feel that Allison was improving. Comforting as that was, she couldn't stop wishing for the chance to do the same with Stiles.
Deaton was attending to him, and they were across the room, Stiles with his back to her. She couldn't see his expression or sense his warmth. She couldn't hear his inhales and exhales, determine if there was color in his cheeks, or feel whether he was shivering. Her anxiety was relentless, and she was unable to keep her eyes from glancing in his direction.
"Lydia, what's going on?" Allison asked, her voice still somewhat hoarse.
She startled and tensed. "Huh?"
"Why do you keep looking behind me?"
"I'm not," she lied feebly.
"Yes, you are," she insisted, twisting her mouth suspiciously before peering over her shoulder. "Are you— Are you looking at Stiles?"
"What if I was?" Lydia answered, shrugging one shoulder and doing her best to sound casually indifferent.
When Allison's eyebrows arched in response, Lydia quickly worked to deflect.
"Anyway…he's standing under the clock," she evaded, turning away to rummage through her purse for a comb.
Allison pushed her hands into Lydia's thighs. "Come on… I know you. Something's up. There's a reason you—" Her mouth formed a perfect O. "Something happened between you two… Didn't it?"
Ignoring the question, Lydia began carefully combing through Allison's hair.
"Lydia...tell me. I'm your best friend. I have rights."
"Allison, this is hardly the time—"
"Lydia. Talk," her friend pressed, commanding her attention by skillfully catching her wrist and seizing the comb.
When Allison was determined, there was no way to put her off. Lydia knew it.
"Okay," she gritted out. "I— I sort of…kissed him," Lydia admitted, briefly closing her eyes.
She remembers the way Allison clasped her hand over her mouth to stifle a dramatic gasp, and the way her expressive brown eyes lit up. After a lengthy pause, Allison's hand finally slid away from her face to reveal her vibrant smile; heart-shaped and framed by two perfect dimples.
"Oh...my god! Lydia..." she whispered through a breath.
Reflexively, she attempted to downplay the significance of what she had confided. "It's not... He was having a panic attack."
Allison grinned, shaking her head in awe. "How did I not see this before?"
"See what?" Lydia asked, heat flourishing in her cheeks.
"You have feelings for him."
"Wha—I..." She might have denied her feelings altogether, but it hurt somewhere deep inside to even consider verbalizing such a falsehood, so Lydia opted for what seemed like a safer alternative. "I mean… Of course, I do. We're...friends."
"I know that look and that is not how a person looks at a friend. You're falling for him..."
Lydia opened and closed her mouth. She was unable to think of another excuse for the countenance of her face – the one that communicated a truth she couldn't and didn't want to hide from Allison.
"Oh... Lydia! I'm so happy!" she said a little too loudly.
"Shh… Allison…" she hushed her, eyes pleading for discretion.
"Sorry…" she cringed in apology. "But this is such good news. You have to tell him."
"I can't," she responded adamantly as she reached for Allison's forearm.
"Yes, you can."
"No. If I tell him now…it will seem like I'm only saying it because I was scared and—"
"Lydia, he won't think that. He'll be so happy."
"But if—"
"Listen to me...you should at least talk to him. The way things are...you just never know if you're going to get another chance. There are things I wish I had said to my mom...to my dad...to—"
Lydia remembers the way Allison's tearful eyes flashed towards Scott. She didn't have a chance to reply before her friend's quivering voice resumed.
"If you don't say anything...you'll regret it, like I do."
She cupped Allison's face, heart aching with empathy. "Allison, you are going to be able to say everything you want to your dad. We're getting him back."
"I know. I'm just scared," she sighed, blotting her eyes.
"And...when it comes to Scott...maybe you should take your own advice..."
"Who said anything about Scott?"
It was Lydia's turn to call Allison out on her denial. She quirked one side of her mouth disapprovingly.
"Okay, but things are complicated with... Anyway, we're not talking about me and Scott. This is you and Stiles. The boy is crazy about you."
"But…he's so good…" She swallowed with difficulty, then lowered her tone to a whisper. "He's so good to me…and I'm just starting to get a hang of this friendship thing. I've never been friends with a guy – not like this. I trust him, and he believes in me…the same way I believe in him. I've never felt this way about anyone else. What if I screw everything up? What if I disappoint him? Allison, I don't…I don't want to lose him."
"Lydia, honey, you won't. Just be honest with him. Be yourself. You are amazing – you're brilliant and strong…and also fun to be around and fiercely loyal, and…despite the fact that you so stubbornly try to hide it, you have the biggest heart I've ever been lucky enough to come across. Stiles already knows all of this. That's why he's so into you."
She smiled at Allison through tears.
Allison firmly set her hands on Lydia's shoulders, offering a few more words of encouragement. "It will be alright. You can do this. I know you can." Then, she pulled Lydia into a hug.
After a moment, Lydia broke from the embrace to look into her best friend's eyes. "Thank you, Allison."
"You're welcome," she replied, affectionately smoothing a few loose strands of Lydia's hair into place. "You know I love you… Right?"
"Yeah," Lydia answered. "I love you back."
Minutes later, Lydia crossed the room and stood next to Stiles. He was talking with Scott and Deaton. She remembers how her nerves began to swell when she slid her hand into his. Stiles immediately met her gaze, smiling as he tightened his hand around hers. Just like that, the pressure in her stomach faded and swiftly morphed into the tickle of butterflies.
"Excuse us a sec?" he said politely to Scott and Deaton.
They both nodded as Stiles backed away from them.
Lydia remembers the lack of hesitation in him and the way his thumb repeatedly glided over her skin as she led him to one of the other rooms. She shut the door behind them, wincing at how loudly the metal frame clicked. Her right hand was still linked to his left. She shifted in front of him, teetering on her heels. She remembers the way Stiles sensed her imbalance, intuitively taking her other hand as if he knew the contact would ground her.
"Lydia, what is it?"
She allowed herself a quick inhale. "Are you okay?" she asked as her exhale directly followed.
"Deaton says my vitals are fine."
"But…are you okay?"
"Oh… Yeah… I'll be better when we find my dad but yeah, I'm fine. What about you?… Are you alright?"
"I'm fine." Her voice sounded much smaller than she intended, and she averted her eyes to the floor, shuddering as she observed his poor bare feet on the cold linoleum.
He let go of one of her hands and tucked his index finger under her chin, coaxing her to face him as he sighed her name. "Lydia…"
His tone was so gentle, concern so palpable, care and affection so present.
And that was it. She lost control.
Her lips trembled and tears started flowing freely. She remembers diving into his arms and letting out a sob.
"Lydia, your dress... I'm still soaking wet."
"I don't care. Stiles, sixteen hours..."
She felt him breathe; his chest rapidly expanding and contracting in sync with hers. She wanted to squeeze him, but she was afraid to hurt him, so she clutched his tee shirt instead, water collecting in her palms and dripping between her fingers. Lydia remembers how Stiles wrapped his arms around her, a little more forcefully than she expected, but she took advantage of the opportunity, releasing his shirt and matching his grip.
"It's okay. It's alright," he crooned.
All the things she wanted to tell him were rushing through her mind. She desperately searched for a starting point, and when she was calm enough to find her voice, she spoke quietly to him.
"You know how sometimes you want to say something…but you can't seem to find the right words?"
"Yeah… I do. It's okay though…you know… You can tell me anything."
Lydia could feel the vibrations of his every syllable matching the pounding beneath her rib cage. The longer Stiles held her, the more she felt at ease.
"I know," she whispered into his shoulder. "It's just… I was so scared. When you were… I kept thinking – what if you didn't know…?"
"What if I didn't know what?" he asked, rocking her ever so slightly.
"How much you mean to me?"
"Lydia?" He set his hands on her forearms and backed up enough to look at her.
"Stiles, you… You're so important to me. I'm really glad you're in my life…that we're such good friends. I've never had this before…and I was so worried you didn't know that."
She watched his smile take shape as faint splotches of red tinted his cheeks. She could see that Stiles was happy – and all the nervousness she had endured was suddenly worth it.
"I…uh… I feel the same about you. I've never had anything like this either. It's pretty amazing though… Isn't it?"
"Yeah. Yeah, it is."
Lydia remembers that when Stiles brought her into his arms again, the burden she had been carrying was lessened. It hadn't completely vanished, but it was easier to bear. There was more she wanted to say, but no words seemed adequate and she thought it better to wait…until she found the right ones. It was enough just to see him look so happy, enough to know that the feelings she did manage to share meant something to him.
"Are you cold at all?"
"Nah… Not one bit," he answered.
Then Stiles did something that made the breath catch in her throat. He tenderly pressed his lips to her forehead for the very first time. It was in that moment that Lydia realized – she was no longer cold either. Not one bit. She leaned into him…just a little more…because it felt so good and so right.
When his lips left her forehead, their warmth remained.
"Hey, Lydia?"
"Yeah?"
"When I was…you know…under the water… Were you talking to me?"
"No. Not out loud…but I was thinking about you. I was thinking about you the whole time. I thought that maybe…if I could just keep holding onto you…all the things that make you…you, then it would help you find your way back."
"Well, it worked. I heard you. I heard you say my name… Not just Stiles…my first name too. I heard you calling me, and I wasn't cold or afraid 'cause I knew you were waiting for me here."
"Really?" Lydia lifted her head and looked into Stiles's eyes. The mesmerizing light they held had grown brighter…and it felt like it was for her.
He was smiling when he said, "Yeah, and I really wanted to come back…so I could see you again."
And he pulled her back…one more time. Stiles was alive. Lydia could feel it – his warmth, his breaths, his beautiful beating heart. She remembers that the next time he spoke her name, it sounded more comforting than it ever had before.
"Lydia?"
"Hmm…"
"I was thinking… When things calm down…we should go get some fries together… I mean, if you want to. My treat…?"
"I'd like that," she replied with a smile that she knew he couldn't see…but hoped he could feel.
She was tucked into his arms…and his lips brushed against her forehead for the second time…and she told herself she would have another chance to say more.
Present Day
A voice is calling to her. Not just any voice – Stiles's voice.
"Lydia... Lydia, can you hear me? Please come back. Lyds, please."
When her eyes refocus, she is sitting on the patio with Prada at her feet. Stiles is kneeling next to her, both arms encircling her as he holds her close to his chest. His lips are grazing her forehead, and she hears panic when he speaks.
"Come on… Baby, talk to me."
She wriggles one arm out from beneath the towel she is cocooned in to grasp his shoulder. "Stiles," she exhales.
He startles, then the tension begins to leave his body. "Oh…" he gasps, dipping down to press his cheek against hers. "Are you alright?"
She nods, biting her lip to subdue a sob.
Stiles straightens up, his hands wandering the length of her arms and shoulders before stopping to rest on either side of her face. "I thought...I thought I was losing you." His expression is stricken with pain, eyebrows cinched, tears gathering in his eyes. When he blinks, they spill over his lashes.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she tells him.
"Shh... You have nothing to be sorry for. Okay? I just... I got... Lydia..."
He leans closer, until their noses are touching, and his kiss feels different than any of the others he gave her today. It's urgent – like he thinks he might miss the chance if he hesitates any longer.
And it brings something that Lydia has been trying to avoid directly to the forefront of her mind. Something she has scarcely been able to think about, let alone articulate. It's a feeling she has been having; a secret fear. One that reminds her – any moment between them could be their last.
In the two weeks since Stiles came home, Lydia hasn't been able to face it, but now she knows she has to...because now she understands that Stiles feels it too.
Her heart is pounding as she presses more deliberately into him, one hand gliding along his shoulder and around his neck, her fingers digging into the base of his skull to bring him closer.
They break at the same time, each of them letting out a soft moan.
"What happened?" she asks, her mind orbiting the blank space in her recent memory.
"I don't know... We were laughing and splashing around in the water. All of a sudden...you went under. It couldn't have been more than a few seconds. I pulled you up and carried you out here... You were shaking at first...like you were cold, so I wrapped you up. Then you went still. I could feel you breathing though...and I thought you were coming around, but you didn't respond to me for...I dunno...at least five minutes... It felt like forever," he says breathlessly. "Do you remember any of that?"
"No."
"Were you having a premonition?"
"No."
"When we were playing around in the pool... Did I do something...something that scared you or that felt wrong?"
"No. Stiles, no. It was me... When I pushed you under the water...I remembered...last year...the lunar eclipse...the ritual..." she explains, straining over tense vocal chords.
"Shit..." He briefly closes his eyes and lets out a huff. Beads of water drip from the ends of his hair as he drops his head. They rain down on her, blending with her tears when he draws her into a hug. "Come here. I know... I know that's hard to remember."
His voice is gentle, but it carries a great deal of anguish. His hands are trembling, splayed across the skin that is exposed by her backless swimsuit as he massages the length of her spine. Lydia knows he is trying so hard to be steady and calm for her, when he is just as scared as she is…and it makes her love him more.
"Try to focus on the good things," he tells her, "like how you helped save my dad…and Melissa, and Chris…like how that was the night we realized you were my anchor. You pulled me back, Lydia…just like you did two weeks ago. You always pull me back."
"I'm trying, but all I keep thinking is that…I wish I had said more to you that night," she hiccups.
Immediately, Stiles's hands stop shaking, his right maintains its support of her spine and his left moves to her cheek. He puts a little space between them so he can make eye contact. "Hey, listen to me. What you told me – that meant the world to me. You didn't need to say more if you weren't ready."
"But I felt more, and I should have—"
"Lydia, don't—"
"Stiles, please. I need to say this."
He quiets and nods a silent okay.
"That night, I wasn't just afraid that I wouldn't be able to pull you back. I was afraid of losing you…the friendship we had…and that fear kept me from telling you how I really felt," she woefully admits, bracing her hands on his chest. "It kept me from telling you that…I was falling in love with you."
Her eyes well up as she watches his widen in comprehension, then quickly soften.
"Oh…Lydia…"
"What if not telling you kept us apart all that time?"
"You can't put it all on yourself. Okay? You weren't the only one holding back that night. There was more I wanted to say to you, but I was afraid...just like you were – afraid of losing what we had. It was so good between us."
"Yes, it was," she agrees, rubbing her palm over his sternum.
"At least we could both see that. It wasn't all bad that we took it slow... Right? I mean, we were being careful, building something really strong, and it's part of the reason we're here now."
She breathes easier. Somehow, Stiles always manages to help her see things differently, to push away the darkness and warm her with his light.
"You're right. Of course, you are. There's something else though...something that's been on my mind...and I think yours too...for a while, but neither of us have been able to say it out loud."
He grips one of her hands, his thumb continually rolling over her knuckles. "What's that?"
"The fact that we are both terrified of losing each other. We've been dancing around the issue ever since you came home. Am I wrong?"
"No, you aren't," he concedes, eyes flicking to their joined hands. "I am. I'm terrified of losing you…so much that…"
"Go ahead…" she leads.
"So much that…just now, I nearly went out of my mind. I didn't know whether you were in some kind of fugue state or if there was something medically wrong with you. Lydia, I…"
"I know. We've both come so close…so many times…and still we kept making the same mistake."
"What do you mean?"
"We kept convincing ourselves that we would always have another chance to tell each other everything we feel…but the truth is – we never know how much time we are going to have with each other. No one does. Anything could happen."
"Lydia, I don't even want to think about that."
"Neither do I, but we can't pretend that our lives are simple, that we aren't at risk more than most people. I don't want us to be scared all of the time either, so maybe…maybe if we talk about it, we won't be so afraid." She shifts closer to him. "Stiles, you being gone…the memories…they've made me realize how important it is that we say how we feel…as often as possible. I don't want to hold back my feelings for you, and I don't want you to think you have to either. You're so good at expressing how you feel, but sometimes…I can tell that you want to say more, and you stop yourself."
He gnaws on his lip. "I… There are so many things I want to say, but I don't want to push too hard…and I don't always know where to start or when's the right time."
"I think whenever you feel it…that's what makes it the right time – like before, when you said…"
"That you're the love of my life," he finishes for her.
"Yes."
"It kind of just came out…but I meant it. I've wanted to tell you so many times."
He glances down timidly, breaths shallow, cheeks deepening in hue, and there is such raw vulnerability in him that it pierces Lydia's heart.
"Stiles, look at me," she directs, firmly grabbing hold of his chin. When he complies, she continues. "I promise, you aren't going to scare me away if you tell me how you feel. I can never hear you say that you love me enough times."
His eyes take on a glossy shine, his gaze filled with intensity and awe, like she just handed him the whole world. "In that case, I'll say it again. Lydia, you are the love of my life."
She smiles through the powerful current of emotion that courses through her veins, making her feel more alive and more in love with each passing second. "You're the love of my life too. I need you to know that. When you said that I am drawn to you—"
"Lyds, I only meant—"
"Shh… I know what you meant," she assures him, nudging his nose with hers, then sneaking a quick kiss. "It's not like it isn't true – I am drawn to you. But I hope you also know, it's so much more than that. I'm with you because I want to be with you, and I want to be with you because of who you are. I love you, Stiles. I love the person that you were in my memory and who you are right now, in this moment. I already love the person you are going to be tomorrow, and I am never going to stop feeling this way. You make me so happy...more than I ever thought I could be, and you help me see things in a different way. When we're together, I feel like anything is possible and...and I just want to make you as happy as you make me."
"You do, Lydia. I've never been happier. Being with you... It's all I ever wanted, and so much more."
A few droplets escape the corners of his eyes, and Lydia traces the tracks they leave with her fingertips. He catches her hand and reverently touches his lips to the inside of her wrist.
"And I don't just mean these past two weeks," he elaborates. "You make me look forward to waking up in the morning so I can spend time with you, so I can hold you, watch you smile, hear you laugh. I think about all of the things we're going to do together, all the things between us that no one else understands, all the things that make us…Us…and it's so amazing to me…to have this kind of connection with you."
"I feel the same way."
She kisses him slowly this time, relishing in the sensation of his lips against hers until her lungs force her to come up for air. Then she nestles her head on his shoulder, and he tightens his arms around her.
"You were right," he tells her. "We needed to talk about this. I mean, I'm still going to worry about you – like non-stop...but I feel relieved that we got it all out in the open."
"Yeah, me too."
"We should go in...get you dried off," he suggests.
"I'm okay. Really. Could we just stay here for a while?"
"Yeah. Sure." He kisses her forehead, then looks behind them. Prada has resumed a furious confrontation with her new toy. "Guess she plans on hogging the big lounge chair all day. I bet we can squeeze onto the smaller one though."
Lydia laughs, wiping the last of her stray tears. "That's fine with me. The closer we are, the better."
Stiles gets up and reaches for her. "I couldn't agree more," he acknowledges with a signature crooked grin as he pulls her to her feet.
Together, they snuggle comfortably into the cushioned chair, where they devote their time to exchanging sweet words, between kisses and caresses, all the while bathed in the bright light of a sunny afternoon.