Stiles' phone rang in the darkness, startling him from his half-asleep state. He looked at the alarm clock; red numbers shone into his eyes. It was 7:30 am, on a Saturday and he was laying on Scott's bed, freezing, as Scott Mccall had yet again stolen all the covers. Stiles had spent at least 10 minutes attempting to wrench the sheets from his best friend before giving up and resigning himself to sleeping more-than-slightly chilled. The light of the phone and the obnoxious ringing had quickly robbed him of his rest. He looked at Scott, still snoring loudly, and grabbed his phone. It was Lydia. Without a thought, he leapt from the bed, stepping into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.
"Lydia? Are you okay?" Stiles whispered into the phone.
"Stiles! Yeah, I'm…I'm fine. I'm sorry if I woke you-"
"Lydia, if there is one person I am 100 percent okay with waking me up in the early hours of the morning, it is you." Stiles yawned, rubbing at his eyes.
"I need to talk to you. Malia stayed the night last night, but she woke up early to go on a run and she had to get back to Derek about, well, that's what I need to talk to you about actually." Lydia said in a rush.
"Wait, what? You need to talk to me about Malia and Derek?" Stiles' brain was still foggy with sleepiness.
"No, I need to talk to you about what Malia is talking to Derek about. And what we'll need to talk to Scott about as soon as possible." Lydia said, sounding worried. Stiles began to feel the familiar itch of anxiety in his chest.
"What's going on? Should I wake Scott up?"
"No! No. I…I want to talk to you first if that's okay. That's why I'm calling so early. I want to talk to you and then we can talk to Scott."
"Lydia, you're starting to worry me…"
"Stiles, please don't worry. Everything is fine! I just need to talk to you about some things. That's all…Now, get over here, before my mother wakes up." Lydia hung up the phone before Stiles could respond. He shook his head and came out of the bathroom as quietly as possible. He had barely made it a foot out of the door before Scott's voice mumbled:
"S'matter? What's happening?"
"Nothing, I'm leaving. Lydia wants me to come over."
"Ooooooo!" Scott said, eyes still closed.
"Hey, Scotty!"
"What?"
"Shut up." Stiles said throwing a pillow at his best friend with a grin. "I'll talk to you later."
Stiles arrived at Lydia's house at 8:00 am. When he got there the door was unlocked, so he let himself in and tip-toed his way up the stairs to Lydia's room. She was sitting on the bed, wrapped up in a blanket, reading a book. She was so beautiful; the light of morning shone on her porcelain face, giving it a soft glow. Her copper hair shimmered, falling in soft waves over her shoulder to frame her face. Stiles leaned against the doorframe smiling.
"Hey, pretty lady. Can I come in?" He said quietly, smiling at her.
She looked up at him with a start, and smiled slightly, looking more sad than happy. Stiles' smile slipped away and a concerned frown took its place. He shut the door softly behind him and moved to join her on her bed, kicking off his shoes as he went.
"What's wrong, Lydia?" Stiles asked, taking her small, soft hand in his. His heart was pounding, terrified of what she would tell him. Was she going to break up with him? Had something happened?
"Stiles, I need to tell you something. And, I want you to promise me, that after I tell you this, you'll try not to see me differently. Please." Stiles could tell from her tone that she was dead serious about this. His anxiety increased.
"Lydia, I love you. Nothing will change that. What's going on?" She turned toward him, looking into his eyes, and took a deep breath. Then she told him her story. She told him how she really escaped the Calavaras. How she had been attacked by a hunter in the night. How she had fought him off, and in the end, killed him with his own gun. And lastly, how she had then made her way back to the camp, only to find nearly all of the hunters dead, slaughtered by Kate Argent. Stiles let Lydia speak, without interrupting. He knew how important it was that she get all of this out. It was as though she were syphoning the poison of this experience from her veins, purging her body of the horrors she had witnessed. His heart ached at her words. He felt a deep anger stir in his stomach at the thought of anyone hurting Lydia, and an even deeper sense of worry for her safety in the future. Kate was not to be trusted; she had let Lydia live for a reason and Stiles would be damned if he allowed Kate Argent to even contemplate laying a hand on her.
"So…so, that's how I got home. I ran, Stiles. I jumped in one of the trucks and I fled until I made it home. And now I might have brought danger to the whole pack. I killed the hunter, I faced Kate, and I ran." Lydia's voice was quivering. Stiles had looked away, thinking, but his eyes darted back to Lydia when he heard the pain in her voice.
"Lydia…You saved your own life from a murderous lunatic. And you faced Kate Argent and lived. You survived. You did what any of the rest of us would have." Stiles said softly, taking her face in his hands and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Please don't ever apologize for stopping someone from taking your life."
"Stiles, I killed someone. I can't stop thinking about it all. The cold metal against my palm, the jolt as I fired. And then all the people in the camp…" A tear escaped Lydia's eyes and Stiles brushed it away with his thumb.
"You're going to be okay. You know that right? You're stronger than you think you are. You're going to get through this. I know it isn't easy, but, you are not a murderer, Lyds. You're not. I know that, Scott knows that, Malia knows that, and so do you. You were scared, and in danger, and any one of us would have done the same. I…I killed people when I was the nogitsune. I know what you're feeling to some extent."
"But that wasn't you!" Lydia protested.
"But it was my body. My hands, my voice. I was conscious of everything I did. Even when we were in separate bodies, it was like we were still connected somehow. I have to live every day knowing what my body did without my consent. Sometimes I have nightmares about things he did…things I wasn't in his body for. I remember hurting my best friend, but I dream about him pushing you against the wall, taunting you under Eichen House. I remember his satisfaction when…when Allison…when…" Stiles' chest began to tighten. He breathed deeply, forcing himself to remain calm. It was over, it was over. These words were like a mantra, always in his mind, reminding him that things were different now; he was better, they were all moving on. Except they weren't. Not really. Since Allison had died, their world had only seemed to continue to crash and burn. Lydia's struggles were proof of this.
"Stiles, Allison's death wasn't your fault." Lydia said, quietly. "That wasn't you."
"Listen, the point is, you are not a bad person. You're not a murderous monster. You're Lydia Martin and you're good and you're strong and you stopped a very bad person from killing you. As for Kate killing all those people, even if you had known, you wouldn't have been able to stop her. You know that, Lydia."
Lydia only stared at him, her eyebrows furrowed, her expression troubled. Stiles hated to see her this way. It just wasn't fucking fair that they had to push through all of this.
Stiles turned Lydia's bed down, taking off his clothes until he stood in his boxers, then he slid beneath the sheets and watched as Lydia snuggled down into the sheets with him. He laid as close to her as possible, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest. She looked up at him and kissed his jawline. He kissed her forehead in return, then slowly rolled over to lay on top of her. She slid her hands up and down the muscles of his upper arms, looking up into his eyes with an adoration that made his heart throb with affection. He looked at her small hands and noticed the scars scattered across her porcelain knuckles. He pressed his lips to the damaged skin, each kiss a promise; he would never allow someone to hurt her again. While his heart was beating, he would keep her safe.
He kissed the scar behind her ear, where her head had crashed into the rocks that night when Kate had murdered werewolf hunters, and Lydia had saved her own life. He kissed the delicate skin of her breast, above her heart. Then he gently lifted her shirt and kissed the puckered, shining skin on her stomach, to the left of her bellybutton, where the bullet had torn through her skin. Lydia ran her fingers through his dark brown hair, tears running silently down her cheeks. She felt the warmth of Stiles' lips on her stomach, and he tasted the salt of her sadness as he made his way back to her mouth and kissed her softly, whispering that he loved her over and over again, until he was sure that she knew, sure that she wouldn't forget that he had loved her and always would; so that she would know why he did what he planned to do.
