One look, dark room
Meant just for you
Time moved too fast

When Kira got the phone call, her heart plummeted. All she wanted in that moment was to be able to go home and be with Lydia, not be on a weekend trip with Scott. But as badly as she wanted to be home, she couldn't do anything. So she did the only thing she could think of.

You played it back
Buttons on a coat
Light hearted joke
No proof not much
But you saw enough

Lydia Martin had been through enough hard, emotional things in her life to make her think that she could handle something as simple as a dog growing old. But she was, once again in her life, proven wrong.

"Lydia, honey," her mom said one morning over breakfast. Her voice was soft, gentle, sad and Lydia knew right then in that moment. Of course she knew. She wasn't blind or deaf. She knew that Prada was having trouble eating, having trouble breathing. She would lay awake at night and pant because she just couldn't breathe any other way. The lung cancer was winning the battle inside of her.

But even with all of the loss that Lydia had suffered in her life, nothing could have prepared her for the moment that her mother told her that she had made the appointment. Or the way that she crumbled at the table, sobbing over the toast that would remain uneaten. She would never forget how her fingers had trembled so badly that it had taken three attempts just to pull up Kira's number and call. She would never forget how it had taken her four tries to get the words out. Or how Prada stayed by her side all day, as if she knew that it was time for the two of them to say goodbye after all of those years.

Prada was the first dog that Lydia had ever owned. She'd picked Prada out at the pound when she was a little girl. She named the dog Prada, because she knew that classy women used Prada handbags and she wanted herself and her dog to grow up to be classy. They had shared everything together. Prada had cuddled her during every breakup, every crushing crush, every stressful test or paper. She was there for her when she lost Allison and Lydia remembered wondering how she would have survived without her wonderful, perfect, loving companion.

So as the clock ticked, sending them closer and closer to that final goodbye at 3:40 on that Thursday afternoon, Lydia kept her hand on Prada and tried to focus on her book. She read out loud to Prada for a little bit and then she spoke to her softly, trying the entire time not to cry.

At 2:30, they took Prada to the park one last time. It was empty, it usually was at this time, and they spread out on an old blanket that they had brought with them and sat with Prada and swapped stories of her. They even managed to laugh a little bit.

And then, at 3:20, they forced themselves to get up and go to the car. Prada stood on the grass as long as possible, detoured to get one last drink of water, before getting in the car. It was as if she knew and didn't want that moment in the park to end, even though she also didn't want the pain to keep going. She was ready but not quite ready all at once.

And Lydia had to turn away and cover her mouth to stop the sob before getting in the back to sit with Prada one more time.

"Your father is meeting us there," Natalie said softly as she drove. She was trying not to cry herself. All Lydia could do was nod.

When they pulled up at the clinic, her dad was there, as promised. He hugged them both and took them inside. They were just about to go into the exam room when the door banged open and someone else came in, brown hair wet and ruffled as if it had just been washed, brown eyes wide and wild, hands knotting through his hair. His eyes passed over her father without a flicker of emotion but when they landed on Lydia, they softened and became filled with sadness.

Stiles Stilinski opened his arms and Lydia very willingly went into them, allowing herself this moment to cry into his chest before putting the brave face back on. He held her and ran his hand over her back, whispering to her words that she couldn't begin to comprehend in that moment. But she didn't need to. He came. And that was all that mattered. He was here.

"How?" she choked out.

"Kira called me," he murmured. "Come on, sweetheart... It's time..."

I don't want it to be time. She can't leave me yet. But she went with him, moving at the same pace as him so that his arm remained around her. She stepped forward once Prada was put on the table, making sure to pet her and talk to her. Deacon spoke to them for a few moments, explaining exactly what it was that was causing this, making sure that they knew that they had done everything.

And for the first time in her life, Prada didn't fight against him. She didn't try to get off the table, just as she hadn't tried to hide under the chairs before being lifted up. Her eyes stared right into Lydia's soul as the needle went in and it was if she was trying to tell her how much she loved her, how much she knew Lydia loved her, and that she was ready.

She was saying goodbye.

Lydia cried silently as she watched the life slowly flicker out of Prada's beautiful eyes. And then Deacon lowered her so that she could lay down and he said, "She's gone." And then the sob tore from Lydia again and Stiles's arms tightened around her.

Leaving the clinic was a blur. She only vaguely remembered exiting the clinic, Stiles right beside her the entire time. She didn't have to think about it before she climbed in Stiles's jeep and pulled her legs up to her on the seat, placing her chin on her knees as the tears rolled down her face. Stiles swung into the drivers seat and reached over, his hand lightly touching her cheek. "I still think you look beautiful when you cry," he whispered. His fingers wiped away a few of the many tears before moving the gear shift so he could get them out of there.

You understand now why they lost their minds and fought the wars
And why I've spent my whole life try to put it into words

'Cause you can hear in the silence
You can feel it on the way home
You can see it with the lights out

"I should get home..." Stiles looked at the clock and regretfully got to his feet. The numbers 10:00 flashed at them but Lydia didn't want him to leave. She didn't want to be alone.

"Stiles," she said and, as she spoke, her voice broke. "Please," she whispered, "stay."

He looked back at her, his brown eyes meeting her green, and he slowly nodded his head. "Always," he whispered, sinking back onto the bed beside her and lacing his arms around her small frame. "Always, Lyds..."

She melted into him as she had done many times in the past, her head coming to rest on his chest. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "All I've done is cry on you and-"

"Stop. You have no reason to be sorry, Lydia. Honestly, I'm happy that you're letting me be here for you. Because that's all I've ever wanted."

She looked up at him, into his eyes once again, and could see the truth reflected in them, just as she could see pain in there. "You're hurting," she whispered. It almost seemed like a stupid thing to say. Of course he was hurting. He wanted to try again and she had slammed him back out.

"Of course," he murmured. "Lydia, it hurts me to see you hurt. I want you to be happy and you feel broken right now and that kills me." He kissed the top of her head, his lips lingering. Maybe she should have told him that that was crossing a line but she didn't. She didn't feel that it did cross a line. It was comforting.

She fell asleep in his arms for the first time in a long time and, under different circumstances, she probably would have had the best night's sleep that she had had in a year. But this was no normal night.

Her subconscious was not getting the peaceful message that she wished it would. She was sucked into a nightmare that she would later not really remember. The only part that she remembered, the worst part, was the part that stayed with her as she woke.

Prada's corpse was on the bed.

Lydia sat bolt up right with a gasp and went crazy patting the foot of the bed, tears stinging her eyes, her heart beat wild. Stiles sat up beside her. "Lydia?"

"Prada- she's on the- she's-"

Somehow, he understood from that. Stiles took her hands in his. "She's not," he whispered. "It's okay, Lydia. She's not." Lydia looked at him, her vision blurred by the tears that she hadn't realized were falling and let out probably the worst sob that she had had yet. She fell into his chest as her mouth gaped open in a sob so twisted and angry and painful that it was silent, her whole body shaking as she cried.

"I know," he whispered. "I'm here. You're not alone. She loved you. She loved you so much. You did the most loving thing you could do. It's okay. I'm here. You're my best friend. I'm here. I'm here."

One night he wakes, strange look on his face
Pauses, then says, you're my best friend
And you knew what it was, he is in love

You can hear it in the silence, silence, you
You can feel it on the way home, way home, you
You can see it with the lights out, lights out
You are in love, true love
You're in love
You can hear it in the silence, silence, you
You can feel it on the way home, way home, you
You can see it with the lights out, lights out
You are in love, true love
You're in love

-
AN: I really hope you guys enjoyed this. This is a chapter that is very dear to me. I wrote it soon after my childhood dog passed away. It helped me through that time and I hope you guys enjoyed it.
Also we only have a couple of chapters left and I wanted to thank every one of you for making this an amazing experience.