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Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf, or 9-1-1. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

Summary: Evan is running from his past, and Stiles is running towards her future. Their paths cross in Cambridge, and everything changes. Pre Series 9-1-1, Post-Series Non-Canon Teen Wolf. Fem!Stiles AU. Buck/fem!Stiles.

Rating: M for language, violence, character death, and adult themes.

Author: tlyxor1.

Part One: Cambridge

Chapter One:

In Cambridge, there's a diner ideally situated equidistant from Harvard and MIT. As a student of Boston University, and therefore located on the other side of Charles River, it takes Stiles a bit longer to get there than it does her companions, but she doesn't mind.

The diner serves the best curly fries in the area. They don't compare to those from Beacon Hills - as far as Stiles is concerned, none will ever measure up to Molly's Fries (caps fully intended) - but they're probably the best she's going to get for a while, and as such, Stiles anticipates her weekly sojourns with an eagerness that should probably be embarrassing.

That said, it's not entirely due to the fries.

The company is a factor, too.

Her friends have already arrived by the time she reaches their usual table, Jackson and Lydia and Danny. Lydia looks impeccable, of course, but Jackson looks to be clutching his coffee mug for dear life, and Danny barely seems conscious.

A wild night, then.

"Look alive, Mahealani," Stiles greets, louder than strictly necessary.

Danny startles from his daze and scowls, disgruntled and pained, and Stiles laughs, obnoxious and unapologetically so.

Lydia smirks, Jackson shakes his head, and Stiles slides easily into the seat reserved for her.

The reality still sometimes leaves her feeling an odd sense of dissonance. If someone had told her three years ago that she'd wind up with a regular brunch date with three of the most popular kids at Beacon Hills High, Stiles would have laughed in their face and recommended a psychiatric evaluation pronto. They'd all changed though, had all come along way (literally and figuratively) since those early, halcyon days of high school, and frankly, Stiles isn't sure how she'd be handling college without them and their steadfast, unfaltering support. They're each phenomenally intelligent, they demand the best of and from Stiles, and in Boston, they are the only piece of home she has.

"Nice of you to join us, Stilinska," Jackson greets, tone dry as the desert.

"I'm sorry I'm late," Stiles rubs at her eyes, chagrined and weary, and sets about depositing her outerwear in the space between herself and Danny, "Late shift, then I got caught up studying. Wound up sleeping through my alarm." The panicked flailing when she'd realised the fact had been embarrassing and painful, and Stiles is only glad none of them had been around to witness it. "Have you guys ordered?"

"We got you your usual," Lydia confirms as Jackson rolls his eyes and mutters under his breath, long-suffering.

He goes ignored.

"Thanks," Stiles offers the redhead a grateful smile, helps herself to a complimentary glass of water, and queries, "How was the party?"

"What you'd expect," Lydia's mouth pulls into a teasing grin, "We lost Danny early on, though."

Danny smirks, entirely unabashed by Lydia's implications. His eyes are bloodshot, he looks as though he could sleep for a year, and if the self-satisfied expression on his face is anything to go by, he enjoyed himself. Immensely.

Stiles laughs. "That doesn't surprise me."

"You should have come. Ryan was looking for you."

Ryan is one of Jackson's classmates. He's a rich, pretentious, and unfairly attractive douche, and Stiles has been avoiding him for weeks. Early on in the semester, she'd made the mistake of returning his flirtations, and ever since, he's made it his mission to make her another notch on his bedpost.

Stiles pulls a face. "Ryan can eat a dick.

Danny and Jackson both laugh.

Lydia rolls her eyes. "Do you want to get some, or not?"

"None of what he's offering, thanks," Stiles parries mildly. "Besides, from what I've heard, dude probably couldn't find a clitoris if he had a map and a compass."

"He's a disgrace," Jackson confirms.

"Savage," Danny opines, laughing.

Stiles shrugs, unapologetic. "Honest."

"That too."

Their food arrives, and conversation turns to classes, to jobs, to news from home. They speak of mutual friends and acquaintances too - from Beacon Hills and from their time in Boston - and it's a pleasant, entirely unremarkable hour spent with good food and even better company.

"What are your plans for the rest of the day?" Lydia wonders, though it's not directed at anyone in particular.

Danny yawns into his hand. "Sleep."

"What he said," Stiles concurs,"Then work again. Study, maybe."

"Living the dream, I see," Jackson opines, droll. He shares an exasperated glance with Lydia, absentmindedly picks at his fries, and casts his gaze across the diner, "So much for living it up at college."

"Sorry not sorry."

Even taking into consideration the unmitigated chaos that was their Sophomore, Junior, and Senior Year of High School, Stiles isn't sure she's ever been so busy (or tired) in her life. As such, between work, study, and the hours she spends volunteering at a nearby nursing home, Stiles exists in an enduring state of exhaustion, and she has no interest in adding any other variables to that mess.

"Leave her alone. Not all of us can keep up with your rampant social life."

"It's called networking, Daniel," Lydia counters, scowling.

Danny nods, dubious. "If you say so."

Lydia rolls her eyes, but opts not to pursue the subject. Instead, she makes eye contact with their server, who approaches them with an obligatory, customer service smile.

"Have you all enjoyed your meal today?"

"We have, thank you," Lydia replies, "Could we please have the check?"

"Sure thing. I'll get that to you as soon as I can."

"Thanks," Stiles acknowledges.

Their server clears away their plates with an efficiency that speaks of practise, and returns shortly thereafter with the bill. They each contribute to the cost, the routine familiar and mindless, and set about gathering their things to leave.

"I was talking to Allison the other day," Lydia informs Stiles as they approach the exit.

"Yeah?" Stiles wonders. She shoves open the door to the diner, and is abruptly slammed with the increasingly familiar chill of Massachusetts in November. She shivers, tucks her face further into her scarf, and shoves her hands into the pockets of her coat as Jackson, Danny, and Lydia shuffle out behind her, "How's our favourite huntress?"

"Loving life, actually."

"What's not to love?" Stiles wonders, "Paris, Art School - She's living the dream. Has she found herself a lover yet?"

"She has, actually," Lydia confirms. Her smile is sardonic, "A dancer, if you'd believe it."

Stiles rolls her eyes. "Of course he's a dancer. Because her life isn't enough of a chick flick already."

Lydia laughs. "My thoughts exactly."

"If anyone deserves it, it's Ally Cat," Stiles decides.

Lydia hums to herself, thoughtful. "I think we've all earned a bit of a happily ever after. Don't you?"

Stiles' smile is wistful. "I hope you're right."

"Haven't you realised already, Stiles?" Lydia's smile is easy, and her green eyes dance with good humour, "I'm always right."

Stiles elbows her unrepentant friend, laughing. Close by, Danny and Jackson have been drawn into conversation with a couple of guys their age. Among them, there's a guy who is tall and blonde and outrageously attractive, and Stiles is arrested by the sight of him in a way she hasn't been since her first sight of Derek Hale, circa 2009.

"Lydie, who is that?"

Lydia follows Stiles gaze, rakes her eyes over the tall glass of water in question, and nods her approval. "He's lovely."

It's an unusual description, but an oddly appropriate one. He's broad in the shoulders, with a narrow waist and long, strong legs, and in that regard, he's strikingly masculine. His face verges on pretty though, with cornflower blue eyes, long lashes, and a bright, sincere smile.

Stiles is enchanted.

"Do you know him?"

Lydia furrows her brow in thought. "He's a friend of Danny's, I think. I've seen him around on campus a few times - A Sophomore, maybe?"

And probably way out of Stiles' league.

Lydia links her arm through Stiles', the gesture made comical by the fact the brunette is roughly seven inches taller than the other girl. The redhead, however, is undeterred.

"Let's go meet him."

And Stiles? Well, she knows better than to argue with the indomitable Lydia Martin.