Lydia had been crying in her car for nearly a half hour when Stiles found her. His heart broke, and he felt a burning desire to bang on her window and beg her to tell him what was wrong so he could fix it…but Mal's advice burned in his head, at odds with his every instinct. Show her that you cared, show her the heart on your sleeve, and she would eat it.
But he couldn't do nothing.
He took a deep breath and strolled over to the car. He would ask her what was wrong, but play it cool. Yeah, that was the ticket.
"Hey Lydia, you ok?" he asked, trying to sound bored.
"God, Stiles leave me alone!" she snapped at him.
A sliver of anger lanced through his mind, though whether at was at her (for being her usual self) or him (for being an idiot) he couldn't tell.
Mal was right…as usual.
"Whatever." Stiles said it as coldly as he possibly could, then walked off.
"Stiles, wait!" she called after him.
'God, why was Mal so right about her?' he wondered to himself. Mal would probably advise him to keep on walking, show her he was not someone to cast idly to the side…but he wouldn't be who he was if he did that.
Stiles turned back towards her. "Yeah?"
"Can…can we talk?" she seemed hesitant, uncertain…an expression he had never seen on her. He didn't even think she had the necessary facial muscles to do it.
"Okay." He moved to the passenger door, and she snapped at him again. "Not in the car! What would people think?"
Stiles was getting a feel for the game now…he began to see the patterns that Mal kept telling him were all around him. It was almost like that kids game where you had to sneak forward without the leader actually seeing you move. If you jumped the gun, you got penalized. If you played it slow and safe, you eventually reached the goal. He had to press forward…without seeming to.
"Can't be any worse than what people already think of you, Lydia. And since when do you give a shit? Guess you aren't as confident and aloof as you think you are. Call me when you find the right spot to talk. I might even still care by then."
He turned his back on her for the second time.
"STILES!" she shrieked. When he turned back, he was alarmed at what he saw. The uncertainty had progressed to pure terror. She bawled and screamed as if her entire life were a rug that had just been pulled from underneath her.
Stiles walked back over to the car and tried the passenger door. It was locked. He rapped the glass once, sharply, and Lydia clicked the lock open. He got in. This was why Jackson was such an ass to her all the time…it was the only thing she responded to.
"OK, I'm here. Now what's wrong? The short version, please." He pasted an annoyed expression on his face.
"Jackson…he…he dumped me!" The tears were out of control. Stiles ached to put his arm around her. He fought down the urge savagely.
"Jackson…is a jerk. He cares more about his hair than he does about you or anyone else, Lydia. Everyone knew that from Day 1. You're smarter than any twenty students put together, why can't you see that?"
"He's not a jerk! You're the one who's - " she stopped as Stiles' eyes blazed with anger. " – always saying that!" she finished lamely.
"Bullshit. You girls are all the same. You ignore the nice guys because there's nothing for you to do with them. Your work is finished. What you want is to find a total bleeding asshole and transform him into a Prince! It's like you want to be Dr. Freaking Frankenstein! But you never learn that guys never transform! The nice guys will stay nice, and the jerks will stay jerks. What you need to think about is why you even want such a jerk." A cold voice that Stiles had never heard in his mind before suddenly asked a frightening question. 'Stiles, why do you want HER?'
Lydia was looking at him in amazement. "You transformed. You used to be a nice guy. What happened?"
This time, Stiles didn't have to fake the bitterness and anger in his voice. "Nice guys finish last, Lydia. I've had it. If assholes finish first, then damn it, I'm gonna be the biggest…you know what? Let me not even finish that sentence."
Lydia started giggling, and that got Stiles going too. They sat there laughing for a few minutes before falling into an awkward silence. They stared out the windshield into the slowly deepening dusk.
Then: "You're different. More confident. It's kind of attractive." Lydia said, blushing. Stiles' heart was racing. He was close to the goal, so very close."
"Thanks." he said, crushing his impulse to compliment her back. In fact, he was wondering if the compliment would have been sincere if he had spoken it aloud. Another tremor ran through him. Lydia's golden goddess glow had faded from his vision, and now she was just a girl…a very beautiful girl, and highly intelligent to be sure…but a human girl nonetheless. It was as if he had poured some of the fire of his passion into her, so that it burned less brightly for him even as it gained brightness for her. If he pursued her, it would not be an Immortal Love of the Ages…just ordinary love.
And as he suffered this realization, Lydia pulled his face to hers, and kissed him.
Written in Stiles' notebook that very day in English Literature class, a line from Robert Browning: 'A man's reach should exceed his grasp, or else what's Heaven for?' Months afterward, Stiles would stumble across this scrawled bit of wisdom. As he read it, he would think back to this very moment with perfect understanding.
{}{}{}{}
Scott and Derek stood behind Danny and watched as the handsome teenager worked his magic.
"His dad was a cop killed in the line of duty. His mother and stepfather were killed in a car accident…the record says the brakes failed. He was emancipated, and has a ton of money from insurance policies. Let's see…wow, he's been to three different high schools. Beacon Hills is his fourth. Nothing out of the ordinary in the records. The counselor at his school said he was really well-adjusted for a kid his age."
Scott was peering at the records. "Why do all those high schools sound familiar?"
Derek glanced closely at them. "There were a bunch of shootings between rival gangs at that first one. It was all over the news. Nearly a hundred students were killed or injured. Both gangs claimed the other started it.
"The second had that rash of suicides…all these girls killed themselves, leaving suicide notes claiming their boyfriends had cheated on them with their best friends. They called it the Valentine's Day Tragedy." said Danny.
"The third was in the news because all of the sports teams lost players…there was rampant steroid use and a bunch of guys died when they got a bad batch. Look, all three schools were closed…the year after Mal attended." Scott pointed out.
The two werewolves and the human shivered involuntarily.
"Derek, if this was Mal's doing, what do you think he has planned for Beacon Hills?" asked Scott.
All the color drained out of Derek's face as the answer came to him. "We are so fucked."
{}{}{}{}
Lydia left Stiles by his Jeep, and he watched her drive away with a goofy smile on his face. It had worked. He and Lydia had gotten over that ridiculously awkward first step and were now officially dating. They had exchanged numbers (although Stiles had her number for years thanks to his police connection) and were going to go on a date that weekend.
He saw Mal coming out of the school and talking on his cell phone. Stiles ran up to him, and Mal instantly closed the phone and stuck it in his pocket.
"Stiles, what's up-" Mal was stunned into silence as the hyperactive teen threw his arms around him and squeezed him tightly.
"Mal, old buddy old pal of mine…it worked! Everything you said, worked! Lydia and I…well, we have a date, and I owe it all to you! You are the best! I love you, man!"
Mal remained standing there, frozen. Half of him wanted to throw Stiles to the ground and leap on him, beating him to a bloody pulp. The other half…well, the other half wanted to return the hug, congratulate Stiles and slap him on the back. He even had a brief vision of them playing video games together, or going out for pizza…like any normal kids. The two impulses were so evenly matched that Mal felt he was standing on the edge of a knife, and any sudden movement might send him plummeting off either side.
"Stilinski! Are you attacking Mr. Drake?" came a stern voice. The two turned towards Mr. Harris, who was walking to his car.
Mal suddenly felt very defensive of Stiles. He knew Harris loved to target him, and Mal wanted to stop it.
"No, Mr. Harris, I helped him out with something and he was just thanking me. Actually we are pretty good friends."
Mr. Harris nodded approvingly. "Good to see you are picking a better class of friend, Mr. Stilinski."
Stiles choked on his tongue. Harris never called him 'Mr.'.
"Stick with Drake, and you'll go places." Harris continued as got in and started the engine.
"Bye, Mr. Harris." both boys said in unison.
Stiles turned to Mal. "That was the first time that guy treated me like a human being…and it was because he saw me with you. You're like the greatest thing that ever happened to me. You ever need anything from me, you let me know." Stiles got into his own Jeep and drove off.
Mal stared after him. Deep inside the black stain that passed for Mal's soul…something tore open with terrible force.
