CHAPTER THREE:

There were moments where she almost felt bad for him. Key word being almost. It wasn't that he left her in what she thought was a turning point for them. No, that she could understand. What hurt her the most was that Stiles didn't seem to believe that she had the same feelings as he did. There was a dull ache inside her chest as she went through the next few days.

He did everything she told him to. He even went out of his ways to walk her to every class, waited for in the hall by their lockers before lunch and escorted to her car when school let out. She had spent more time with Stiles Stilinski than ever before. He was constantly there. All the time. Every time her eyes landed on him something inside of her clenched and her breath shortened considerably.

The effect he had her had always puzzled Lydia. It was a heightened awareness when he was around, something in his eyes managing to still something in her, his voice causing the storm inside to calm until nothing remained. It was that, more than anything, that caused her to keep him an arm's length away. She wasn't stupid. She knew what lay ahead on that particular path. It wasn't that she didn't want it. She wanted it too much.

Her punishment for him started backfiring on her a few days later. One night, near three in the morning, her phone rang. The shrill noise startled her awake, and it took all she had not to throw her phone at the wall. And when she saw who was calling, her first reaction was stark fear.

Why is Stiles calling me so late?

She didn't manage a word before she heard his voice. "Lydia? Are you awake?"

"I am now."

"Good-that's good. Get dressed. I'm outside. I need your help."

"Oh God, did someone die? Stiles, if someone's dead, I don't want anything to do with it. I've met my limit for seeing dead bodies."

"Just, just come on. I'll be waiting." And then he hung up. Annoyed beyond belief but for some reason tossing the covers away, Lydia padded her away to her closet. In minutes, she was dressed for a middle of the night excursion in a simple, nondescript outfit of jeans and a black sweater. Seeing what a mess her hair was, she just pulled it up and twisted it into a bun. As soon as she had on her boots, she was made her way downstairs, not caring to cover the fact she was heading out.

She was long past the effort to keep her mother from finding out what she was up to. After Eichen, they had a short conversation and came to an understanding of sorts. Her mother knew there were things she didn't care to know, so she decided she wouldn't ask. She would simply trust that if ever became too much for Lydia, her daughter wouldn't hesitate to come to her. It was a relief to Lydia after all this time.

It was cloudless, the moon, waning, hanging low in the sky. There was a breeze that cooled her heated cheeks, for which she was thankful. She closed the creaky, metal gate behind her and stepped out onto the sidewalk, noticing Stiles' jeep immediately.

She could see the boy in question through the windshield, tapping on the steering wheel. When he saw her walking over, he reached over and opened the door, making it easier for her to slide inside. Once she was settled and buckled in, Stiles turned the key in the ignition and pulled onto the street. He drove slowly, carefully, trying to be inconspicuous. Beacon Hills had put a curfew into effect last year in response to all the strange occurrences that tended happen, especially to the Sheriff's son and his friends.

Lydia didn't even ask questions. All she had to do was give him a certain look, and Stiles would start rambling on and on.

"I was finishing that research paper for Lit, and then my dad got a call. Things have been too quiet lately. Something's bound to happen sooner or later. I tried telling Scott about something I heard on the news the other day, something about an out of towner going missing near the gas station before the highway. It was last Friday during that really bad storm we had? Which, by the way, was crazy. Meteorologists were spazzing about that storm! It came out of nowhere. Strange, right?"

She was losing her patience. "Stiles," she admonished. "Get to the point."

He passed her a glance, nodded, and continued his explanation. "The point, Lydia. Yeah. I turned on the scanner and heard what happened. Some campers went missing, by the look of it."

"Don't tell me you dragged me out of bed to go traipsing through the woods in the middle of the night!"

"Campers. Missing. What part of that don't you get?"

"I'm pretty sure this is something the police can handle, Stiles. It's kind of in their job description."

That earned her a scowl. "What if it's something, you know, supernatural! The police aren't equipped to handle that."

"And we are?"

"Well, yeah! Werewolves, a werecoyote, a Banshee, and me. We've got loads of experience under our belts too, which helps, for whatever this turns out to be."

"I think you're projecting."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Nope."

"Yes."

"Don't thi-" he started.

"-Stiles!" Lydia admonished, glaring at him. "Stop it." She watched him open his mouth then close it, his knuckles whitening from his grip on the steering wheel. Silence fell between them. She turned away to towards window and watched for a few moments as trees streamed by them.

There was a tense air between them that refused to dissipate. So she opted for something that was familiar territory for them. "Walk me through what you know."

He didn't answer right away, so she turned her gaze back towards him. "Stiles."

Whiskey colored eyes glanced her way briefly, then focused back on the road that stretched out ahead of them. Then he let out a sigh.

"I don't know anything. It's just...there might be something."

"Maybe there's not," she replied softly. Sometimes she wondered why he was so hell bent on throwing himself into the supernatural disasters around them. She knew he didn't have a death wish like she'd previously thought. It had taken her ages to puzzle out his lack of caution in the face of certain death. Part of it was to prove himself (she understood that drive, as it was something she, herself, struggled with), and the other part was this need to save everyone no matter what. She almost admired him for it, if wasn't for how much she would care if he did manage to get himself killed one day. After a moment of deliberation, she added, "Okay, let's check it out."

"Just like that?" His voice was full of disbelief, but she wasn't fooled. She could see the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Who's meeting us there?"

"I, ah, oh. Yeah. I should probably call Scott, shouldn't I? Or Malia. Hm."

Lydia looked at him and didn't say a word. She let the silence work for her. She was a master at getting information out of Stiles Stilinski without even having to utter a word. In seconds, he tossed another look her way, frown on his face, and then said, "Yeah, you're right. I'm sorry. Okay? I thought this could just be us. Since, you know, I messed everything up and you still haven't really forgiven me."

She bit her lip, struggling not laugh. It was hard to be mad at him when he looked so contrite and concerned. And if she wasn't annoyed with him, she might even consider him adorable. "This isn't what I'd call a date, Stilinski."

They were on a back-road, somewhere north of Beacon Hills, where forests surrounded them on either side. The moon gave an eerie glow to everything, and if she wasn't a Banshee and used to, relatively speaking, the supernatural, she might feel a touch scared. But something about Stiles wouldn't allow her that fear. Somehow, she felt safe with him.

Especially when he pulled over at a rest stop, where a few cars were parked off to the side, parked next to the one closest to the trailhead and silenced his jeep. He paused before opening the door, meeting her curious gaze. She lost herself for a moment in the sudden heat she found there. She swallowed, her mouth dry.

"You couldn't handle a date with me, Lydia."

"Yeah?"

He nodded, never looking away. She fought to keep her heart from pounding. The challenge in that statement drove her to respond in kind, but there was something serious in his eyes that made her pause.

Maybe he's right, she thought.

Changing the subject, she forced herself to open the car door. "Let's get this over with, Stiles. The sooner we're done here, the sooner I can get back to sleep." He met her at the trailhead. They walked in silence; Stiles, for once, having nothing to say.

She didn't know what was happening between them. She didn't know what the stakes were. But, this time, she was playing for keeps.

Notes:

I wanted to give this to you all much, much sooner. You deserve a lot more than this chapter. But sometimes Lydia and Stiles don't cooperate with me when I want them to do something. I cut it short, mostly so you can see where it's heading. I'm working a lot of faith about what happens in-between seasons five and six. In episode one of season six, we learn that it's been three months Stiles has been dragging Lydia out of bed at least once a week, sometimes more than that. So I'm going to see what kind of shenanigans they manage to get themselves into. I hope you enjoy this chapter. And you can look for the next one by Friday. Work has been killing my schedule these past months and I've only now managed to get a few days off. So it's writing time!