Consider me content because for once the show delivered the recommended dose of Stydia (and they hugged! Actual physical contact, guys!). So yeah, I'm a happy little Hufflepuff. And it's actually good timing because this chapter has a fair bit of Stalia, but I'm hoping you guys can stick with it anyway. Thanks as always for the reviews, and I'm glad my story's apparently living up to expectations. Here's the next chapter, don't forget to review, etc.

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A week after the fight with the other werewolf pack – who seem to have hightailed it out of Beacon Hills as fast as their little werewolf asses could move – things have started to go back to normal. They're falling back into one of their periods of relative quiet. Relative meaning that there's no supernatural evil trying to kill them all. But there's plenty to keep Stiles busy, including all of the normal teen things he used to desperately want. He's not sure why he ever thought that homework and tests were so interesting, but after battling supernatural evil for months they seem like a letdown.

Still, flunking out of school would be the cherry on top of a god-awful year, so he'd rather avoid that if possible. Which is why, after school on Friday, he finds himself in the library with Malia. It had been her idea, actually, which had been a pleasant surprise; she has yet to understand the importance of not failing school, so it's up to Stiles and the rest of the pack to make sure she keeps doing her homework. And turning up to school – she also hasn't quite managed to fall back into the five-day week yet. Whenever anyone calls her out on not showing up to school she just tells them that in the wild it doesn't matter if it's a Tuesday or a Sunday – if you're hungry, you eat, if you're tired, you sleep.

If he's honest, Stiles can sort of see the appeal of a life like that. He would never consider running away into the woods with her – despite her occasional jokes (he hopes she's joking) along those lines – but it would be nice to forget the days of the week, the assessment schedule, heck, even the lacrosse training system. He's out on the field three days a week, even though the season hasn't technically started yet.

"I don't get it," Malia says, flipping a textbook over and glaring at the cover.

Stiles looks over at the book. "It's physics, Malia, and you're not going to get it unless you -"

"No, not that," she says, slapping her hand against the title. "That." She points to the book, and Stiles tries to follow her train of thought. He gives up.

"You lost me," he says, taking the book from her and flicking to the first page. "What don't you get?"

"I don't get why I can't just take the book," she grumbles. "If I was in the wild -"

"But you're not," Stiles interrupts, for what feels like the hundredth time that day, and the millionth time that week. "Other people need to use the book, so if you want to take it home, you have to check it out."

Malia sighs heavily. "I still don't see why I can't just take it."

Stiles rolls his eyes and chooses not to answer. They keep studying for a few more minutes, but he can sense Malia getting restless. Normally this is the point where he'd hand her over to Scott for some alpha-Zen-sensei training, but he knows that Scott and Kira are going on a date tonight and he doesn't want to disturb them. He also knows that if he tries to force Malia to study any more, she'll probably just coyote out and end up attacking the librarian or something.

"All right," he says, closing his book and looking at her. "I think I've read as much about Newton's laws as I can take for today."

Malia's eyes brighten. "Does that mean we can stop studying?"

"For now," he says carefully, knowing that if he gives her the chance she'll never study again.

"So what do we do now?" she asks, already stacking her books and shoving her pens back into her bag.

Stiles starts packing up too, and he's suddenly very aware that they're the only people left in the library, aside from the librarian – who's right up the front of the library, so far away that there's no way she'd be able to hear them. Stiles grins, and Malia leans in. But just as their lips meet, a low growl escapes her throat. Pulling back, Stiles looks at her in concern.

Her features are still human, but her claws are out and her eyes are bright blue.

"Okay," he says slowly, careful not to startle her. They've been through this before and he knows how to handle it, but that doesn't mean it's not still scary. "Malia, look at me. Take a deep breath, okay? One deep breath."

She obliges, and slowly her nails fade back to their human size.

"One more," Stiles says, watching her carefully. She takes another deep breath, almost exaggerated, and then she closes her eyes. When she opens them, they're back to their normal shade. Stiles breathes a sigh of relief, realizing for the first time how on edge he'd been. "There we go," he says soothingly.

Malia takes another deep breath, giving him an apologetic smile. "Sorry," she says sheepishly.

"Hey," Stiles says, knowing she's about to start feeling bad for something that didn't even happen, "don't worry about it."

Crisis averted, they keep packing up. Since anything romantic seems out of the question, Stiles comes up with another activity. Malia doesn't seem thrilled, but he talks her into it.

"I need someone to practice with," he says, leading the way to the locker room so he can get his lacrosse stick. He tosses her a spare one and grabs a ball. "Scott was better than me even before the whole werewolf thing, and now he's just unfairly good at everything."

"And what, you think I'm not going to be good at this?" she asks, holding up the stick.

Stiles doesn't answer. She'll probably be better than him anyway, even without the werecoyote reflexes, but he doesn't want to give her the satisfaction of telling her that. "It's not about being good," he says as they head out of the locker room, "it's about learning control. Now's the perfect time, when there isn't anyone else around."

Malia comes to a stop in the doorway, holding the stick loosely by her side. "Are you sure that's a good idea? Having no one else around?"

"Sure," Stiles says, coming to a stop and turning to look at her. Seeing that she's still hesitant, he comes back to her. "I did this with Scott, back when he was first learning to control the change."

"And you're sure this works?" she asks again, and Stiles can see some of her reservations melt away.

"I promise," he says, taking her hand and starting to lead her down the hall.

Just as they step outside, Stiles runs into someone. Literally. He stumbles back a step, letting go of Malia but somehow managing to grip onto his lacrosse stick even tighter. He's halfway through an apology before he even realizes who's standing in front of him.

Lydia looks at him, and then at Malia, and then at the lacrosse sticks they're both carrying. Then she mumbles an apology and tries to slip past them. Stiles hesitates, glancing between Malia and Lydia.

"Go out to the field," he says at last, handing her his stick. "I'll meet you out there."

Malia narrows her eyes. "I don't want her coming with us," she says.

"She won't," Stiles replies without giving himself time to think about it. He waits until Malia starts walking off before he ducks back into the school and jogs after Lydia. She doesn't slow down as he reaches her. In fact she doesn't even seem aware of his presence, and she actually jumps when he rests a hand on her shoulder.

"Woah," he says as she comes to an abrupt stop and whirls around to face him. "Sorry, I didn't mean to -"

"Oh," she says faintly. "Stiles."

There's something off about her, but he can't figure out what it is. She's not looking him directly in the eye, but he's used to that – nobody really looks him in the eye anymore, not after the nogitsune. He figures they're scared of what they'll see, or what they won't. Like there'll be some part of him missing, some part he can't get back. He doesn't blame them.

"Listen, about last night," he says, and something flashes through her eyes, something like hope, although he's not sure why that would be – or whether it's even there, because he doubts any of them really have hope anymore.

"Yeah?" she asks, her voice still softer than usual.

"Malia said she might have accidentally left her pen in your car," Stiles says. "Do you think you could look for it?"

"Her pen," Lydia echoes, and she looks faintly disgusted. "Why would she bring a pen with her?"

Stiles shrugs, beyond trying to explain Malia's idiosyncrasies to people who don't spend much time with her. "It's her favorite pen," he explains. "She takes it everywhere. So can you look for it?"

"Yeah," she says, turning to go, "I'll look for it."

For a second he considers letting her go, but at the last moment he grabs her arm to stop her. She lets out a gasp of pain and Stiles lets go at once, startled. "Lydia, what's wrong?"

"Like you care," she says curtly, moving forward again.

He steps in front of her, cutting her off. "Lydia, what the hell is going on?" He watches as her hand drifts to her side, like she's in pain. "Are you hurt?"

The same emotion – hope? – passes through her eyes, but it fades away to leave something colder, something more distant. "Yes," she says stiffly, but she doesn't elaborate.

"Why didn't you say something?" Stiles asks, his voice caught somewhere between anger and concern.

"It wouldn't have made a difference." Lydia folds her arms across her chest, seeming simultaneously vulnerable and closed off. "Let's just forget about it."

"You should at least tell Scott," Stiles urges, but she shakes her head resolutely. He sighs. "How did it even happen?"

Lydia's gaze hardens, and Stiles is reminded of a time before they were friends, before they were pack mates – back when she still terrified him, even when she was ignoring him. He feels suddenly very small. "It happened," she says, "while I was staying out of the way."

Something about her words makes Stiles flinch, and then he realizes what it is. She's echoing what Malia had said, what he himself had said. And she seems pissed. "Are you – are you angry at me?"

"I don't know, Stiles," she snaps. "How should I know anything? I'm just a – just a damsel in distress."

That's not a label that's ever been applied to Lydia, especially not by her, and Stiles finds himself taken aback. "I was trying to protect you," he protests, trying to understand where her anger is coming from.

"Did it ever occur to you that I don't need protection?" she shoots back, her voice cracking like she's trying not to cry.

Stiles is so not equipped to handle this, which is why he finds himself saying, "Yes, you do!"

This is exactly the wrong thing to say, because Lydia's entire manner changes. She's no longer vulnerable in the least; she's furious. "Despite what you all may think," she says, her voice almost like a snarl, "I don't need protection. I can take care of myself, and I don't need you looking out for me all the time."

"But you're not -" Stiles starts to say.

"Not what, Stiles?" Lydia interrupts harshly. "Not a werewolf or werecoyote or goddamn kitsune? Newsflash: neither are you. In fact, you're the only human in this screwed up pack, so maybe you're the one who needs protection -"

"Do I really need to remind you that the only other human to ever run with this pack is dead?" Stiles snaps, and as soon as he says it he knows he shouldn't have. But he can't take it back.

Lydia actually gasps, and the pain that crosses her face is almost unbearable. But just as quickly it fades and her eyes are blazing, and before Stiles can react her hand darts out. He braces himself, expecting her to slap him (and hell, he probably deserves it), but at the last second she just curls her fist, withdraws her hand, and huffs. Then, without a word, she turns and marches away, the sound of her heels echoing in Stiles' ears.

"Hey," calls a voice from the doorway, "are you coming?"

Stiles watches Lydia go, and then he turns back to Malia. It seems strange that Malia, who spent eight years as a freaking coyote, is easier to understand than Lydia, someone he's known for years. But he'd rather deal with Malia's animal instincts and out-of-control shifting than Lydia's mood swings and cryptic comments. So he pushes the strawberry blonde from his mind and heads outside to Malia, and they spend the next hour working on his lacrosse and her self-control.

As they walk back to the school after practice he has the strange feeling that someone's watching them. He chalks it up to residual stress and spends the night at Malia's house teaching her how to play Monopoly.

Sometimes even sidekicks need a break.

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Next chapter something big happens, so stay tuned and I'll see you all next week.

(Also sorry for this chapter; it was necessary, I promise.)