Two days after Jackson dies a lizard and returns a werewolf, she shows up at Stiles' house.
She stands and stares at the front door, remembering the same moment forty-eight hours earlier. It feels like a lifetime ago.
Smoothing her hair back, she squares her shoulders and ignores the gnawing in her stomach and shake in her hands.
This is not like last time, she reminds herself. Two days ago, she stood in his room, unsure and distraught. Now, she's armed with knowledge and purpose. And a determined Lydia Martin should not be taken lightly, regardless of her emotional state.
She knocks and, after a moment, Stiles opens the door, his eyes lighting up with surprise.
He stammers out a hello and tilts his head. His eyes travel over her, before returning to her gaze. She swallows at the warmth and want she finds. He never wears a mask and she always knows how he's feeling. She finds the concept as foreign as werewolves and kanimas.
"My dad's at the station."
She nods, stepping past him without a formal invitation. Her eyes travel over the well-lived in house as he closes and locks the door behind her. He stutters out an apology for not seeing her in the last two days.
He suddenly appears by her side, garnering her full attention.
She glances down at the files in her hands. "Can I show you something?"
His brows raise in surprise as he nods, pointing towards his room.
He stares at the papers strewn over his bed, then back at her, then back at the papers.
She stands expectantly before him, twisting her hands, waiting for any response besides his confused expression.
"Say something!" she demands, exasperation in her whine.
As if on cue, his whole body starts. "I just—how did you find out all of this?"
"Allison gave me all her research. The rest, I found at the library."
"So, Allison asked you to do all this?" he asks skeptically.
She shakes her head. "No, but you guys are going about this the wrong way. You know some things, but the information is scattered."
Stiles nods slowly, his eyes still glued to the tens of papers before him. "So, you're compiling it?"
Her jaw tenses at his continued confusion. "No! I'm trying to understand what's happening to all of us!"
His head shoots up at her tone. She glares at him, willing him to understand and he rolls his eyes at her annoyed expression.
"This stuff isn't some mathematical formula. A plus B does not always equal C."
"Well, running around without knowing all the variables is just as dangerous."
He tilts his head in agreement, sighing as his gaze drops back to his covered bed.
Grabbing one of the papers, he says in amazement, "I haven't even seen some of this stuff."
"A lot of the research was in French or Latin. I've been translating it."
His brows shoot up as he glances at her. "For fun?"
"No. To help me study for the SATs."
He rolls his eyes, then returns to the paper in his hands.
She sighs, sitting on the other side of his bed, a hundred files between them. He continues to read in silence as her shoulders hunch and she slips further inside herself. She shouldn't have come here. She expected him to understand. Maybe, she really is crazy.
"You're reading about more than just the kanima." She turns her head towards him, but refuses to respond. His voice continues, softer, "You're trying to figure out what happened to you." She watches as his tongue slides to the side of his mouth as he considers her actions. He shrugs, nodding. "It's smart."
She nearly smiles as her chest expands, a burden lifting off her shoulders.
"How's Jackson?"
The question catches her off guard and she stumbles with her answer, "He's—he's adjusting. Mr. Argent and Derek both think he's just a werewolf now. Scott's trying to teach him to control it."
"And you?" he asks quietly.
"I'm—," blinking rapidly, she paints on a smile and meets his gaze head on. "I'm fine."
His lips turn up in a faint smile as he ducks his head. "Yea, I'm still freaked out, too." He sighs, falling back into his bed. She watches him till he turns his head, catching her stare. "Why me? Why are you here?"
She forces a smile and glances away.
She's asked herself that same question a hundred times.
Jackson and Scott are too busy learning the actual mechanics of their newly developing skills to sit and read her findings. Not that either would care. Scott would feign interest, but she needs more than a listening ear. She needs someone who can participate in an active discussion and lively debate about viruses and cures.
Allison puts on a strong front, but Lydia knows how much she's been through in a few short weeks. Plus, she and her dad took off, hoping to heal together, outside of Beacon Hills.
But, despite all this, she didn't come here because she had nowhere else to turn. Stiles doesn't feel like a last choice. He feels like her only choice, like she hasn't chosen it at all.