The divorce papers had been sitting on his desk for two months.

Given that Lydia had disappeared in the night without a word ten months ago and had seemingly dropped off the face of the earth, custody of their six-year-old daughter had been appointed unanimously to him and his currently falling apart career as an FBI agent.

He knew that he should have called anyone. Derek, Scott, Malia, all of which he had not spoken to in thirteen years. Or at least try Lydia's voicemail again even though she had definitely changed her number to avoid him, but he had to get past this hurdle by himself. It would help if he could force his hand to pick up a pen and sign those divorce papers.

"Just man up and do it," he whispered to himself as he paced in front of his desk, his hand in his hair as the moon faintly shone in from the window, "you can sign these stupid papers. After everything you have been through, it's not that hard."

That's when he heard the door to his office creak open followed by tiny footsteps that he knew belonged to Rowen. Usually, when she did this, he'd make up some sort of game to get her back in bed. But tonight, all he could do was sigh as she called out for him.

"Hey, kiddo," he forced a soft smile onto his face before turning to her, taking in her strawberry blonde hair that definitely needed to be brushed in the morning and her dark eyes that matched his to a t, "what are you doing out of bed so late?"

"I heard you pacing and mumbling."

"I'm sorry about that, I'll try to be quieter," he told her, making a mental note to take his Adderall when he returned to his office before picking her up, "let's get you back in bed. You've got school tomorrow."

"I'm not sure if I'm going yet." She mumbled against his shoulder as he started to ascend the stairs.

"Why not?"

"It's a new school. I liked my old school."

"I know you did, but with everything going on, we had to move," he was hoping that she wouldn't start asking for Lydia like she had a few nights ago and sobbing herself to sleep when he told her that her mom wasn't coming home, "you know that."

"Doesn't mean I have to like it. I don't like Virgina," She pouted as they made it into her room and he set her on her purple blanket-covered bed, but pouting was better than sobbing.

"I don't like it either, Rowe. But, we need to try and make the most of it," he stopped to tuck the blankets around her and to tuck a few hairs behind her left ear before pressing a kiss to her forehead, "I love you."

"I love you more."

He smiled at her before he turned off her light and shut her door before descending the stairs back into his office. He shut the door and let out a sigh before bringing the now-cold coffee to his lips as he picked up the papers again.

"I know you want me to sign these papers, Lydia," he said to no one in particular as he put them back down on his desk, "but I am not done fighting for you."

As if he had spoken something into existence, it was at that moment that the clock struck midnight that his personal cell phone rang. He didn't even look at the number before he answered it, a habit he had picked up in his job when using his work phone.

"Agent Stilinski."

"Stiles?" He hadn't expected the voice of who was once his best friend, his brother, to come over the line. He also didn't expect Scott's voice to sound so broken and hollow, "we need you to come home."

"No, I can't go back," he said without explaining that he still felt haunted by that place and counted his fingers to confirm his reality, or that his wife had left and he was suspicious it could have something to do with Scott, "not after everything."

"I'm not asking you to stay. But…" the pained exhale which sounded teary made Stiles' heart beat rapidly in his chest. The next words that came out of Scott's mouth nearly stopped it, "Derek's gone. I know that Beacon Hills is bad for you, but I also know that Derek would want you here."

As Stiles made a travel plan in his head, he swallowed back his sudden grief. He had grown used to pushing his emotions down despite the distance he had put between him and the town that he used to call home.

"I'll get the next flight out to L.A.X."

And before Scott had a chance to respond, Stiles hung up the phone and sat in his chair, his fingertips pinching the edges of his eyes.

Among all the people he expected not to make it out of Beacon Hills, Derek was the last. The werewolf who had lived there his entire life, who had survived so many injuries and losses surrounding him. Just like Lydia, death didn't happen to Derek, it happened around him.

Stiles grabbed the cold coffee mug off of his desk and drank the remaining liquid in one gulp. Then, he opened his briefcase and pulled out paperwork that needed to be turned in before putting in a few case files to work through on the plane and at the last second, pushed the divorce papers in there as well.

He didn't know if he was going to find the strength to sign them or convince Lydia to come home.

He went up to his room, opened his suitcase, and grabbed as many of the casual clothes he owned that he knew would fit along with the cream-colored coat that Lydia had given to him last year and a few pairs of shoes. He hurriedly tossed his toiletries and phone charger in his computer bag before taking it downstairs.

He pondered going by himself as he made his way to his Delta Airlines app and started to use his credit card points to find a flight to L.A.X. He knew for a fact that he did not want Rowen involved in the hell that he considered Beacon Hills, but at the same time if he called up one of his coworkers in the middle of the night to watch Rowen for an unknown duration, he knew that it would probably seal the deal on his job.

So he went to her room and turned on the lights, hearing her groan as she pulled her purple blanket over her head. He grabbed her suitcase out of the top of her closet and started to pull together outfits that made sense in his head but would probably make Lydia recoil in disgust.

"Daddy, why are you packing my clothes?" Rowen finally asked as she stared at him through squinted eyes.

"You were right, Rowe," he mumbled as he pulled together an outfit for the plane after putting her toothbrush and toothpaste in a zip bag that ended up in the front compartment of her suitcase with her hairbrush, "You're not going to school tomorrow."

"So…where are we going?" She asked curiously, but her enthusiasm about putting off starting fresh at school shone in her dark brown eyes.

"To see some old friends of mine."