A/N: So this chapter is kind of a filler/aftermath type of thing. There is no major plot development (except for some relationship stuff), but there is a lot of character reflection and decision making. I hope you like it anyways(:

I'm sorry for the wait, I got a lot of messages on tumblr asking for an update and I definitely took a lot longer this time.

The Unwinding Cable Car

Emotive unstable, you're like an unwinding cable car

Listening for voices, but it's the choices that make us who we are

Go your own way even seasons have changed,

Just burn those new leaves over

So self-absorbed you've seemed to ignore the prayers that have already come about

This is the correlation, of salvation and love

Don't drop your arms

Don't drop your arms, I'll guard your heart

With quiet words I'll lead you in.

- Anberlin

Ten

"Fuck. Oh shit." It wasn't long after Lydia lost consciousness that Calvin came to his senses, dragging her freezing limp body from the water and letting it fall motionless against the ledge. He was lightly slapping her cheek in a mantra, trying to rouse her with his eyes wild and frayed. The more empty time had passed, the more anxious and panicked his movements became "Fuck, Lydia. Wake up, wake up, "he roughly shakes her shoulders "Wake up!" He stills then, waiting and watching her chest as he waits for it to rise or fall or do something. Anything.

"No, you're not going to do this. Not now." Lydia's body is floppy, dead weight in Calvin's arms as he flips her over, holding her up in an awkward sitting pose as he smacks a flat hand hard against her back, trying to force the water out. "Come on," he leans her over the side more, her wet hair dropping from the back of her neck to rub thick wet strands against the side of her cheek while she is hung over the ledge.

He pounds her back again, but when that fails to do much other than leave a hand-shaped print on her skin, he wraps loose arms under her sternum, maneuvering his hands to hold her at just the perfect angle, her lull form making the attempt much more gradual and tiring. Finally, when his arms are hooked firmly in their rightful positions below her ribcage, he pulls upwards with great force. He does it again. And again.

And then the sound of a choked gurgle halts his movements, and only a second after that Lydia's hand is twitching and then she's awake. She lurches forward as bursts of water spout from her lips, the sensation similar to drowning all over again as her water-filled lungs forcibly empty themselves. Her chipped nails dig into the rock beneath her lurching body, searching for an anchor; something to hold onto to prevent her from losing it.

Somewhere along the way, Lydia wasn't sure how, her heaving eventually turned into hysterical sobbing. Once again, she was the scared little girl with monsters under her bed, the teenager on the verge of a mental breakdown because of her nightmares. She hadn't felt this utterly hopeless and taken advantage of since Peter roamed the secret places in her head and made her see and feel things that she couldn't even begin to understand were supernatural. It was the darkness that had once lurked beneath the surface of muddy water and it had risen until it was in plain view for only her to see. She could see evil, it was everywhere.

"Shh, its okay." Calvin was crushing her close to him. From a spectator's point of view, he probably looked like a man who almost lost the woman he loved, trying to find comfort in her breathing while simultaneously comforting her. It was eerie.

Lydia wanted to scream at him, to shove him away; but she was too weak; tired, and far too worried for what he might do next. She was shaking in his arms but it wasn't because she was cold.

She could only give in to her broken heart, her eyes bleeding tears as she miserably wailed and the throbbing in her head as difficult to ignore as an immense hole in the wall of her sanity. The wall that had been patched up so many times before; the evidence was there with each piece of gauze and tape disguising it. Lydia had to hide her broken walls before she accidentally let someone in.

It took a long time for her to calm down, hiccups fading into sniffles and quiet pain-filled moans until she finally found the strength to drag her aching body away from Calvin. He didn't fight her on this, just observing as she collapsed back against the ledge breathlessly.

His voice causes a whirling in her stomach, the sudden noise unexpected after he'd spent so long silent, letting her rest in his arms and trying to comfort her with gentle hands and hushing lips. "You wore yourself out."

It was questionable whether or not he was referring to her spout of crying or was actually blaming her for his volatile and near life-costing actions. Lydia was still horrified and unable to comprehend that he actually just drowned her. He held her underwater, not caring that she was screaming and choking and sucking down harsh amounts of water. It didn't even feel real, more like a nightmare that she was just waking from upon her revival. More than anything, Lydia was swept in a wave of terror. Every instinct inside of her was set to red alert, the little hairs on her arms protectively raised and her entire form quivering.

Lydia probably couldn't stop her teeth from chattering long enough to get the words out, and she wasn't even going to bother trying. As unpredictable as Calvin was, there was a good chance that anything she said was going to set him off anyway, and she couldn't deal with anymore of his violent outbursts. If being quiet and listening to him when he wanted her to was the way to keep him tame, than she would do it. If she had to stay away from Stiles… she'd do that to. As long as he was safe and not being remotely threatened by what should've been a weak "villain" to be beaten. He was just a human; his strength was nothing compared to Scott and Malia's, his dexterity and skill obsolete when contrasted with Kira's, and his brain miniscule beside Lydia and Stiles. So why was this so hard for her? Why was she so afraid?

Time passes, and Lydia can't be sure precisely how much, but the sun is just beginning to rise, assuring her that they've been here a while. Most of that time is spent with her thoughts questioning and deciding and reevaluating. For the life of her, she can't make a decision. She doesn't know what to do with Calvin. But she wants to go home. "I should probably take your kayak back to the shore. I'll get a two-seater and come back for you." Her voice is shredded with knives, courtesy of the period of crying she did, followed by a refusal to speak until now (being drownedmay have also played a part). Immediately, she knew he was going to shoot down her suggestion and take it the wrong way.

Calvin's eyes narrow dangerously, pupils dilated as they focus on her face. His tone drops to an intimidating volume, "Given the probability of you actually coming back for me, I think I'll go get the two-seater."

Panic struck a chord inside of her. "Don't leave me here!" She blurted out.

"Hmph," Calvin snorts a short laugh, even though he clearly doesn't find anything even slightly humorous. He leans over her with a bent finger touching the small spot under her chin and Lydia does everything she can to avoid flinching, but it happens anyway. "Oh, Lydia." he sighs longingly, "I wouldn't do that to you."

She avoids his intense eyes, nervously staring at the farthest corner of the grotto, a dark shadow that she can't quite make out.

"Don't worry, kitten, I'll be back.."

"Kitten," Lydia reiterates thickly, disgusted.

He steeples his fingers thoughtfully, nonchalantly telling her that, "Cats hate the water." As if that was any kind of explanation.

Disbelief runs red in Lydia's veins and she outwardly fumes. Was he blaming her drowning on something as simple as not liking water? He was trying to provoke her, and it was working. She glowers at him, her legs becoming tense where they're sloppily folded underneath her "It has nothing to do with hating water you-" She stops herself short, a spider-like tingling coursing over the top layer of the skin of her arms. Lydia's gaze drops in submission. It was best not to bring his temper back, not after what he did.

Calvin sighs, lowering himself to her level on the ground. "Poor thing, you must still be delirious. You hit your head pretty hard there," his eyes twinkled mischievously, the only evidence that he was aware of his own violent tendencies, his outbursts so sudden and unpredictable that Lydia was beginning to consider some very serious mental disorders. "Hopefully there's no lasting damage."

"If I was going to get hypoxemia or hypothermia it would have set in by now." she stares off into the distance. "I could still get pneumonia though. I guess it beats being dead."

Calvin's head reels back into his neck, taken aback by her bluntness.

Lydia shakes her head and tells him with a breathy croak, "Just go." The sooner the better.

"Don't worry Lydia," Calvin husks, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of her still jaw. "I'll be back." His grin was vindictive as he added, "Eventually."

Her head lifted from her knee, her eyes bulging at him. But he didn't say anything. "Calvin!" Lydia called helplessly as he kayaked out of the cave and into the basking sunlight.

With every second he's gone, the painful throbbing in her chest is accompanied by one more thread of physical and emotional torment. After she's finally pulled her clothes back on over her bikini, she just starts unraveling and yanking out the string of her shirt's sleeve to take her pent up anxiety out on something. She can't allow herself to break down again; she can't throw herself screaming in this tiny little cave, not like she sometimes did in the privacy of her own room. It wasn't like her mother ever heard her; no one ever did.

x-x-x

When Stiles wakes up, he's seeing things a little clearer (or so he believes). The sun is shining just a little bit brighter than the moon had upon Malia and Calvin's spontaneous arrival last night, and sleeping on his thoughts had been a better idea than he considered it might be. There's a fresh wave of energy in the air today, and he can feel it on the edge of his tongue, the excitement squeezing his heart. Today is a new day, no... a new era. Because today was the first day since he and Lydia kissed.

Real kissing. He wasn't having a panic attack and she wasn't either. They were swimming in the ocean and laughing and smiling and even arguing a little, but there was nothing forced about it.

Stiles touches two fingers to his lips, because he can still feel her there. Maybe it's because he hasn't brushed his teeth yet.

The pep in his step remains as he puts on a clean pair of jeans and a grey t-shirt and it heightens when he finally brushes his teeth, because now he's another few steps closer to the moment he sees Lydia. They didn't bump in to each other in the bathroom this time, and with a small chuckle Stiles realized that she was probably still sleeping. Maybe he could sneak into her room and scare her awake… or he could just plant butterfly kisses along her neck until she rouses with a moan. Either way, she was going to be adorably bedraggled and sleepy, eyes half-open and her mouth parted with confusion. He liked plan with the kissing better, but it was going to have to wait until they'd actually discussed what they were to each other and what to do about the other people in their lives. Stiles Stilinski wasn't a cheater, and he wouldn't have kissed Lydia if he and Malia were an actual couple. But even though they weren't, there was still a lot of explaining to do, and a friend with benefits to be turned into nothing other than a friend.

And then there was Calvin. Their "relationship" was very strange and still new, so he couldn't understand Lydia's connection to him. Everything about Calvin rubbed Stiles the wrong way, but he knew it was probably just his jealousy getting the best of him. He was nothing but a gentleman toward Lydia, except for those times that he got irrationally irritable. Wanting to be friends with him was for no one other than Lydia and the sake of his friendship with her, and now that things between them were getting increasingly romantic he didn't see the need.

He wondered if Lydia was going to stay close to Calvin now that she was outwardly showing her feelings for someone else. Maybe he was thinking too far ahead. Maybe he was overthinking the entire thing.

Stiles spit his toothpaste into a bush behind his tent, taking a few sips from his water bottle and gargling to repeat the movement. He was going to be perfectly fresh for the moment that he was most certainly not going to wake Lydia up by kissing her neck. Because that would be wrong…

He took his first few steps toward her tent before the familiar sound of Scott's voice beckoned him away.

"Stiles!"

With a huff, the impatient teenager dragged his unwilling legs toward the center of the campsite where Scott was heaving a few backpacks.

"Scott, what are you doing?"

"Just want to get a head start on packing so that we can enjoy the rest of our day," he smiled broadly, admiring the pile of bags he'd tossed.

"I almost forgot we were leaving today." Stiles casually chuckled and noted, "I've been having such a good time."

Scott looked up with curiosity in his eyes. If the way his friend said it was telling, the goofy smile and stuttering heartbeat was a dead giveaway. "Uh-oh, what happened?" Apparently, Stiles had gotten himself into the good kind of trouble. The alpha would get this story out of the human of his pack one way or another.

Stiles wanted more than anything to tell Stiles the delicious details of his night, but he couldn't. Not until he and Lydia talked about it, first. It was an important conversation to have, and he wanted to get it done while he had the enthusiasm and rehearsed lines memorized in his head. He could repeat them in a mantra at this point.

"Lydia, you're like no other girl."

Scott observed the area, the body of water beside their campsite with scanning eyes. "Something's weird," he murmured to himself.

"And I think last night was an opportunity for us to finally get what we want. I think that we finally might want the same thing."

The alpha's eyes narrowed on something in the distance. He cupped a hand over his eyes just to see through the rays of sun blocking his vision.

"I want you… and for some insane reason beyond my undeserving comprehension there's a chance you might want me too."

Scott could finally see what was setting off his instinct, something nestled into the gentle sloshing water.

"And instead of just wanting each other… maybe we could… have more than that. You could have me and… Sure, I realize that you've always kind of had me but maybe this time... I could have you too?"

"Isn't that Lydia's boat?"

Stiles was viciously torn from his fantasy in a split second. It took a moment to free himself from make believe-land and come back to the real world, but when he did he turned his eyes in the same direction that Scott was staring off into with concern edged along his brow.

And right there floating emptily toward them was a bright yellow kayak with a chip in its rubber.

Stiles faltered forward foggily, his heart beginning to race as the implications of the kayak drifting in their direction empty tangled like webs in his brain. The only thing Stiles needed right now was to know where Lydia was. And he needed to know now.

"Lydia!" He trudges through the shallow water, heavy against the soggy ends of his jeans as he rushes toward the kayak, splashing liquid onto his shirt as his hands took hold of the sides. It was of course clear of any trace of the banshee, obvious enough from when he was still on land. Kayaks were small and only meant to hold someone sitting up. If he couldn't see her from the shore, she most definitely wasn't going to be there when he got closer. Fear usually lacked rationality and he was so befuddled that he didn't think it through.

He drags the kayak back to the dirt anyway, leaving it there as he turns his alarmed eyes to Scott. Seeing that he's just as uncertain and bewildered as him, Stiles stomps his tense figure toward the only person that would actually know. During his stride, he runs straight into Malia's shoulder.

"Stiles?"

He ignores her and continues his journey, but then it occurs to him that he could ask her something, so he whips back around. "Have you seen Lydia since last night?" The question is hurried, and the way his hands are shaking at her indicate that he wants her to answer just as quickly.

"Uh.. no. I don't think she came back."

Stiles tears off toward the tent the boys were staying in and checks for Calvin, but of course he isn't there, and now his worry has shifted into something a little more desperate. He can hear Malia behind him, but he continues his search as he goes for the women's tent next.

"Stiles, what's going on!?" Malia slaps a hand to her forehead as she watches him move in a flurry. "Talk to me."

"Calvin's back," Scott declares loudly from the edge of the water. He was ready to find out exactly what was going on, because clearly he'd missed a lot last night. He didn't understand the reason behind Stiles freak out or why Lydia was considered missing. It was possible that she and Calvin were off doing their own thing, and he was thankful that he wasn't the only one left out of the loop when Kira came to his side with the same observing determination to figure out what the issue was as he.

They were going to have to wait, because just as Calvin was climbing out of his kayak Stiles was treading toward him with a tightened demeanor in his pounding pace, a matching indignant spark in the center of his eyes.

"Oh boy," Kira muttered. She didn't have to be psychic to see that something not-good was about to happen.

Stiles was back in the shallow of the water, reaching for Calvin before he was even fully near him, his hands boldly raveling fists into Calvin's shirt without the slightest hesitation. Between gritted teeth he tugged him closer and demanded, "Where's Lydia!?" With a raucous crackle overtaking his voice; it was evident that he wasn't going to take anything other than a direct answer.

"I'll give you one chance to get off me before I put you down," Calvin confounded mightily with a snarl to boot, unmoving in the other teen's grasp.

"Just tell me where she is! Why didn't she take her boat back last night!?"

Calvin finally reacts, swinging two arms up between Stiles' and smacking his violently away. "Fucking chill out! She's back at the cave."

Stiles is placated just a little bit, but the red mist is still settled over his rigid shoulders and tense jaw. She was safe, that was what mattered. He wasn't finished here yet, though. "You left her there?"

"We ended up spending the night there," Calvin replied smoothly, a smug smirk accenting his lips slightly upwards. "Her kayak unhooked from the ledge and kind of sailed away in the middle of the night, so I came back to get a two-seater." His eyes darken. "Is that a problem?"

Stiles blinks, folding his arms across his chest in embarrassment. He was starting to feel idiotic. "No... It's not." He was still caught on the part about Lydia and Calvin spending the entire night there. What reason could she have to possibly do that? His arms cross, concern for her replaced with anger; anger for being worried about her in the first place when she was with Calvin all night. But Stiles has to give her the benefit of the doubt and let her explain her actions. For all he knew she was just trying to break up with him and he didn't take it well, so she spent the majority of the night comforting him. It was possible, and he was going to hold on to the shred of hope that said so.

Everyone settled down as Calvin brushed past them in search of someone who could help him find a larger boat. Stiles was sitting on a log by the water, waiting for Calvin to bring Lydia back whilst Scott and Kira "discretely" whispered about him a couple of yards away. He didn't pay them any mind because he couldn't explain his own actions either.

He didn't know what he was thinking, going after Calvin like that. He had no reason to suspect that Calvin was responsible for whatever he thought had happened. When Stiles saw Lydia's kayak drifting lonesome in the water it sent him into a haze of blind worry, and when he could find no one to blame or hold responsible he automatically decided Calvin had done something. It wasn't good of him to think that way, he didn't want to be the guy that assumed, especially when Calvin had enough to deal with. He was in a new school, being bullied by jocks and living in a dirty little house with his older brother who was probably just as strange if not worse, and here he was, (probably) about to get dumped by the one girl that made his time in Beacon Hills worth it. Stiles had to sympathize with someone in his position, even if their new friendship was a little forced.

He saw Scott approaching before the alpha had even moved his feet.

"Hey." Scott dropped on the log beside him. He studied his friend's face for a long seven seconds before he jumped right into the problem at hand. "What's going on, Stiles?"

Stiles lets out a quiet sigh and shakes his head at the dirt below his feet.

"You don't want to talk about it?"

"I do want to talk about it, especially with my brother." Stiles cracked his knuckles, shuffling his hands together. "But I can't. Not until I talk to Lydia."

Scott nods smoothly, rubbing a hand along the stubble of his jaw with a question on his tongue.

Stiles can see that. "What?"

"I don't know, it's just…" Scott frowns as he finally asks, "She's okay, right?"

The dark haired human weighs this heavily. If he was being honest with himself, he'd admit that he was concerned about the banshee. More than concerned, he was frightened for her. The way she spoke about her hallucinations sometimes reminded him of his mother in her more delirious states, when things were getting worse in her head. The things Lydia was sometimes seeing had no explanation behind them like before. They were completely random and meaningless, just meant to scare her. It was terrifying when they made the discovery that someone had been in her room, someone had replaced Allison's last memory for her with a bloody dress, one that belonged to Allison that Lydia wore to her funeral. Hell, Stiles was still waiting for his father to get back to him about that.

He felt like Lydia was in danger, not from someone else but herself. Ever since he did a rewatch of 90's movies last week he's been considering that it was a "Fight Club" kind of deal. That maybe Lydia was the one responsible for the blood, like she had soaked it into the dress in some fugue state. It was an intrusive thought that kept stabbing into the back of his brain every time something strange happened around Lydia. Every time she got that faraway look in her eye but told him nothing was wrong.

"These days?" Stiles looks Scott right in the eye. "I just feel lucky when she's not crying."

x-x-x

By the time Calvin has returned with Lydia, everyone is set to go. Last minute bags are being packed into the car, tents are being folded up and everyone is triple checking to make sure they have all of their things.

When Stiles spots their boat, he tosses his bag to Scott and jogs toward the shoreline. He had the time to think over every possible scenario and outcome. He had no idea what Lydia was thinking, and if she'd spent the day thinking about him like he had with her. He was hoping he would find some indication to her feelings by reading her expression, but it was just as inscrutable as he feared; and on top of that she looked exhausted. He wanted to hug her and apologize for leaving her with a drunk dumbass that lost her boat.

"Hey!" His enthusiasm was a little forced. "I'm glad you're okay." Her eyes fail to meet him for a full ten seconds. "I mean you are, right?"

Lydia remains quiet, gaze lingering over Stiles shoulder where Calvin was watching her, waiting for her response. She didn't know what to do anymore. She could tell Stiles the truth, she could tell Scott and they could help. But what could they do? Werewolf strength wasn't called for in this situation, and she wasn't about to have her life invaded by police asking her questions about this abuser and eventually being stuck in a courtroom having Calvin's lawyer call her a deceptive little girl that wanted attention. She couldn't go down that endless path and she couldn't put her mother through all of that. And she especially couldn't risk the chance that Calvin would hurt Stiles.

If Lydia was going to take this guy down, she was going to have to do it on her own, and he couldn't have any inkling how and when she would do it. If she was going to be building any sort of plan, she was going to first need to get through this emotional conversation and get back to Beacon Hills; because she was going to speak to Forrest and get a closer look at Calvin's bedroom; when Calvin isn't there, of course.

The banshee swallows hard and she wishes she had the courage to get through this without crying, but she could feel her nose burning and her eyes stinging.

"Lydia?" Stiles whispers worriedly.

"Last night was a mistake," Lydia shudders, her voice low and firm to prevent her emotion from leaking through. "It shouldn't have happened, I'm sorry."

Stiles stares at her in disbelief, waiting for her to pull back with a charming smile and tell him she's just telling a cruel joke. There was no way that she was serious after everything they said and did, not after she kissed him the way she had and clutched his body closer.

"What are you talking about? Why?" His brow hangs low, pink lips parted like he's misunderstanding.

"I'm with Calvin."

He grunts his frustration with this heartbreaking anger-inducing female who's been using his heart as a drum since he started learning how to write in cursive. "Bull-shit, Lydia! He's not your boyfriend, you said so yourself last night."

"And then when you left we had a lot of time to," Lydia runs out of breath so she sucks in a sharp intake of cold air. She knew that he would put up a fight, and she wasn't sure how she was going to stop herself from dropping every bit of responsibility she was supposed to have and telling him how right he is. She's breathing hard as she picks up where she left off, " – to talk and – and we realized that…I realized that my feelings for him are…"

"Are what?" Stiles snapped, betrayal freshly cutting into his heart and icing his vocal chords. "Stronger than your feelings for me?"

"Keep it down there are werewolves nearby," Lydia says under her breath.

"I don't wanna keep it down, you keep it down!" Stiles chomps down on his lower lip, running a hand through his slick head of hair and taking a few sloppy steps away from her. He wouldn't feel as crappy about shouting at her if he wasn't standing close enough to smell her, even if her scent was composed of mostly just salt water. "Why are you doing this?"

He speaks as if she's enjoying it, like her cruelty was meant for him. She can't blame him for that.

"Last night I told you I didn't want to be yanked around like a marionette, you told me you would never do that to me." He jabs the air between them, his expression withering and angry. "You made it sound like I was different, special or something." Stiles scoffs unforgivingly. The knife cuts deep when he grates out, "You don't care you just like being in control."
It's a phrase that will repeat endlessly in her head for the next seven days. It will repeat in his cold voice that tried so hard to mask the hurt, a punishment that she deserves for doing this to him yet again. For doing exactly what she promised she wouldn't. He's better off with Malia.

Lydia decides to simplify the matter, ignoring the scratching in her throat as a well-practiced illusion of calm broke over her facade. "I liked kissing you, and I'm sorry that you took it for more than it was." As a hiccupped sob makes its way half up her throat and turns into a lump, she recognizes that she has to get away from this discussion before it tears her apart.

When she turns to walk away, Stiles' fingers graze the top of her arm as if to stop her, but they're gone just as quickly as they had appeared. There is nothing left to say.

Lydia focuses on the task of changing her clothes because she can't think about what just happened or she'll lose her mind. She can't bear the very thought of going through a five hour car ride back to Beacon Hills, trapped with the belittling Calvin and a hurt Stiles and everyone else when she can hardly stand her own existence. So she stumbles in the direction of the nearest bathroom with a bag of fresh clothing in hand, feeling the eyes of the boys responsible for her aching heart watch her with burning thoughts until she was hidden behind the trees along the path.

Stiles was not going to drop it. He wasn't going to let it go just like that, it wasn't that simple. No way did she completely change her mind after a couple of mindless hours with a wasted loser. If anything, it should've been more of a revelation for what a good idea it was to dump his ass now.

He knew he'd regret this, but his legs were moving steadily toward Calvin before her fully realized it. He'd been watching Lydia walk away too, he saw him.

"Hey!" He calls roughly, feet skidding to a halt in front of him. "What did you and Lydia talk about after we left last night?"

Calvin rolls his tongue over the roof of his mouth, giving Stiles a once over. "I can't see how that's your business. But while you're here, there's something I've just been itching to ask you." His arms fold over, his chin lifting toward the air with arrogance. "Were you trying to put moves on Lydia before I got there? You two seemed pretty cozy, and I thought that was weird since you told me you wanted to be friends."

Stiles is apprehensive. He wants to shove it in Calvin's face that Lydia's lips were all over his last night, that her desire was just as aggressive as his had been. He never would have taken things as far as they'd gone if it hadn't been for her enthusiastic response, which only left him even more befuddled upon her rejection minutes ago. He has to know what Calvin could have said to change the tune she sang so shamelessly into the early rise of the sun, but at the same time he doesn't want to get her in trouble. It was stupid. He was stupid; for defending this heartbreaking banshee after she pulled the rug from beneath his sturdy feet, leaving him confused and sad on his knees.

"We weren't doing anything," he conveys, despite the brutal burst in his windpipe just to say the words.

Surprisingly enough, Calvin accepts that as an answer. "I don't blame you for coming at me when I showed up without Lydia. You saw her boat… empty. I probably would have thought the same thing," he confesses with guilty eyes.

Stiles is taken aback. He'd been preparing himself for a real physical confrontation here. He had the full intention of barreling over here to tell Calvin off, and in the middle of it probably tell him about Lydia saying Calvin wasn't her boyfriend. Just to piss him off. But the dark haired teenager was being strangely understanding and it was only making Stiles feel worse.

"You would have?" He blinks a few times, coming to terms with how this topic of discussion is so calmly going. Rubbing a hand over his neck, he manages a genuine thank you before Calvin is gone, and he hadn't even noticed his abrupt exit until another moment later. That was a weird encounter.

x-x-x

It wasn't until they stopped at their second and final rest stop for bathroom breaks and snack pile-ups that Lydia tries talking to Stiles. Even if they can't be together, she wants to do everything in her power to make sure he isn't hurt by this. Getting through to him was a longshot, but if she could explain that it had nothing to do with him, that she found him to be incredible but wanted to be with Calvin… No. There was no way that she could put it that wouldn't cause him more pain. The only reasonable thing she could think to do was apologize, and even then it was improbable that Stiles would listen to it. But she had to try.

Lydia waited until Calvin was in the restroom to say something to him where he was currently filling the car with gas, the pump held loosely in his hands as he shakes the hose, trying to find the right angle in the fill spout to get every penny's worth that he just spent.

She came up behind him carefully, sliding her flip-flops along the dirt of the ground until she was beside him, feeling unusually small without her heels. It was unfortunate because her wedges gave her a confidence that flats and sandals did not, leaving her vulnerable and miniscule next to the sprouting and more than likely irate teenager.

He detected her presence immediately, his eyes very briefly flicking in her direction before returning to the pump like she was never there.

The only sign that he saw her was the tension in his shoulders that wasn't there a moment ago, his stature more rigid where it was previously awkward and fumbling.

Lydia rocks on the heels of her feet uncomfortably, trying to work up the courage to say something or at the very least figure out what the hell she wanted to say in the first place. She's sucking her bottom lip into her mouth like toddler with their thumb, a tactic of removing anxiety and feeling something other than worry.

"Hi." It comes out raspy, so she clears her throat. It's a good way to fill the silence following her comment.

His lips twist, expression unreadable.

Lydia tries again, faltering every so often as she becomes more embarrassed and humiliated as the quiet seconds wear on. "I…I just wanted to come over here to – to…" She closes her eyes tightly, arms flopping pathetically at her sides. "I'm sorry, okay?"

Stiles tightens his grip on the pump and allows his mouth to part, still refusing to look her way. "What does that mean?"

He wants to know if she's taking back everything she said about not wanting to be with him, and that fact stings Lydia more than she thought possible. She visibly flinches. "It just means that I'm sorry… And that I wish things were different."

The meter runs out and Stiles rips the pump from the car's spout, his force confounding his actual feelings. He shoves it back in its rightful place. Only then will he turn his attention to Lydia, his body shifting to face her. But his eyes were dark and furious. Hurt.

"Lydia," he breathes with frustration grating through her name, his teeth pressed together. His head leans forward more, to be closer to her height so that she understands the depth of his warning. "Don't talk to me."

He leaves Lydia in the dust, climbing into the car to find his seat beside Malia, where she'd been waiting. Everyone else was still inside the convenience store.

Stiles demand was enough to tell Lydia that no, their friendship was not okay. He was not going to forgive her, and she couldn't hold that against him, even if it really fucking hurt. Lydia had to remind herself that whatever she was feeling was nothing compared to the betrayal Stiles had just experienced, courtesy of her stupidity and inability to make good decisions. How could she already be regretting her choice to keep him safe? She couldn't be selfish about this. He was one of the most important people in her life and she couldn't let anything happen to him.

Stiles was in the car holding Malia's hand, trying to ignore how wrong it felt. Not only was he feeling incredibly guilty about letting Lydia worm back into his heart like she had the night before, but Malia didn't know about it. He could tell himself over and over again that they weren't a couple, and that it wouldn't be fair of her to get angry, but it would only make him a hypocrite to think that way. He felt like a terrible person because Malia was a nice girl that was just a little bit new to the way the world worked today and that was okay. She still deserved a boyfriend, someone to take care of her like she expected him to.

He could still offer her that. He could be there for her and in return she could be there for him. Malia could blanket the heartache that Lydia left behind, and maybe he could even fall in love with her. Malia hadn't hurt him like Lydia had, she hadn't lied to him and whispered sweet nothings into his ear just to turn around and take it all away.

Malia's eyes trailed over Stiles fingers where they touched hers. "I'm sorry I flipped out before. It isn't exactly fair of me to get mad at you for kissing Lydia." His confused eyes meet hers, wondering how she knew. "You smell like her." His eyes are guilty now, returning back to their hands. "Don't worry I'm not mad about it. You said so yourself, we can date other people." Her tone indicates that although she doesn't agree with it, she understands. "…We're not together…" she sighs sadly.

Stiles studies her face, searching for hint of something that told her she was lying, but he only found ingenuous innocence. He licks his lips and says the first thing that comes to his mind. "What if we were?"

Her head raises. "What?"

Stiles scoots forward in his seat to get closer to her, both hands squeezing hers. "What if we were?" His heart is stuttering along with his words. "I could be your boyfriend."

She misses the fact that he nearly winces when he speaks, but smiles softly. "Really?"

He owes her this much, and there's a real chance she might surprise him. Her ability to make him feel like the most desirable man in the world was definitely a positive of their coupling, and even if they lacked substance, they could find it along the way if they were to have a real relationship. Something that was merely sex could become something real. He could fall in love with this girl if he really tried.

"I deserve someone who's going to treat me right," Stiles says with conviction. "And so do you."

Malia's smile overtakes her whole face. "You finally realized that Lydia isn't good for you?"

He swallows hard, his eyes glassing over as he looks out the tinted window where he can see the back of Lydia's head. She's still standing by the gas pump, her arms wrapped around herself and the wind tossing her bright hair.

"Yeah," he whispers.

A/N: I know, I know you guys hate me. I'll make it up to you at some point, cross my heart. In the next chapter we will see Lydia trying to investigate Calvin's background a little more.