Hi there beautiful people :)

I know this is really late and I'm sorry. Work is getting piled on at Uni, so I didn't have as much time to edit as I would have liked. Thank you guys for your patience.

So, I hope your weeks have all been good. Mine was pretty awesome thanks to my amazing reviewers. I seriously love you all, no joke. But the definite best review of all the great ones was the one from the beautiful guiltlessgleek who this chapter is dedicated to. I expected a couple of sentences and a got multiple paragraphs, so you won hands down. And, honestly, I thank you for what you said- it was exactly what I needed to hear :) Love you lots!

I also got a couple of questions/comments from you guys, so I'm answering them here:

To Mimi21389: Lydia knows that she kissed Stiles, but Stiles has no idea. This will be addressed in a later chapter, so get ready for some interesting reactions.

Thiswasmade4me: I know what you mean about the sarcasm. I'm trying! It's hard to be as sarcastic as Stiles. Honestly, I applaud Jeff because I have no idea how he keeps it up.

That's pretty much it from me. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, and I'll be seeing you next week, Monday (hopefully) :)

xxx

VI

Give and Take

Lydia was lying on her bed studying. She and Stiles had been rotating between their houses, and today it was her turn to play host. They'd eaten a snack after school (well, Stiles had consumed half a packet of chips, and Lydia had nibbled on some celery and peanut butter) and then they had gone up to her room, as was their custom. Lydia had taken refuge on her bed, and Stiles took his usual place at her desk. Three hours in, Stiles had taken a break and they had discussed a new book she was reading on astrophysics, and the new graphic novel Stiles was obsessed with for the allotted half-hour. Then they had both gone back to studying, and had been at peace doing so for about 45 minutes. Lydia looked up from her Chemistry homework to see that Stiles was not reading the notes she had given him on particle physics, and was instead playing with one of her makeup brushes. He had been unusually quiet all afternoon, but Lydia had thought nothing of it until now. She had seen a relatively tranquil Stiles before, but she had never seen him this interested in her beauty products. At least, not recently.

"Is there something wrong? Or do you just have an inkling to become a cross-dresser these days?" Lydia asked.

Stiles smiled slightly, obviously appreciating her joke before saying, "you have to promise not to tell anyone. I don't want them thinking that I am any less of a man."

Lydia laughed and replied, "they won't hear it from me. Now, as strange as this is, I actually know you pretty well Stiles, so quit it with the bluster and tell me what's actually going on." The small line between Stiles' eyebrows creased further, but Stiles reluctantly admitted what was going on.

"My dad's working on Thanksgiving."

Lydia drew in a breath. She and Stiles had never explicitly discussed what happened to his mother, but she knew that holidays were a volatile time for the Stilinski household. One thing that she did know, though, was that when they were in Primary school, every year Stiles would come to school with a gigantic basket of cookies with icing turkeys piped onto them and give everybody one. Until the year his mother passed away. It took someone as smart as Lydia to figure out that Thanksgiving was both the best and worst day of the year for Stiles. In one way, it was the time of year where Stiles had the best memories of his mother. He probably helped bake and ice the biscuits, baste the turkey and prepare the cranberry jelly. But, because it was obviously his mother's favourite holiday, there was also the evident and painful fact that she was no longer there to make the day special. And, so, Stiles was going to be completely alone on the day he reserved to grieve his mother. Lydia sat up on the bed and patted the duvet next to her. Stiles moved and sat, hands on his knees. Lydia lifted his left arm and cautiously slid her arms around his waist, silently giving permission for him to hug her. Stiles did, enclosing her in his warmth and tucking his face into her hair. Lydia rubbed circles into his back with one tiny hand. When they pulled apart, Lydia took one of Stiles' hands in both of hers.

"I know it's only a holiday. But I miss her. She used to make the day seem so important and special," Stiles said, looking at his feet.

"You don't have to explain it. I understand," Lydia told him. "After Mum and Dad got divorced we only ever celebrate holidays as a way for them to try and get back at each other. Last Christmas was the worst. Dad bought me this ridiculously expensive handbag, so Mum decided to trade in my car for a new model. I honestly don't even care about the stuff anymore. So I understand the loss."

"I really, really miss her, Lydia. I know it's only one day out of a year, but it was her favourite. And I can't even see a turkey without thinking of her," Stiles' voice cracked on the word turkey.

"I remember in grade school when you used to bring in those amazing cookies. You used to give one to the whole class. Even the kids who picked on you," Lydia reminisced. Stiles smiled.

"Our teacher actually asked me once why I did that. I told her that even bad people deserve turkey on Thanksgiving because it's about being grateful for what you have. Even bad people can be grateful for something. She ended up sending my Mum home a note to tell her what I'd said, and Mum laughed and said she was proud of me. She loved to laugh," Stiles told Lydia. He raised one hand and scrubbed it across his eyes, wiping away the moisture that had been forming. Lydia squeezed the hand that remained in hers and gave a tiny smile. It was then that she decided to solve both their problems.

"Hey, Stiles? Why don't you come here for Thanksgiving? Mum and I usually order the dinner, but if your mother cooked, I'm sure she has recipes. Not to mention the fact that the only time my parents don't harass me is when I'm with a friend. So we can celebrate your mum together." Lydia knew this was a good idea. The look that Stiles gave her only confirmed it.

"Actually, yeah. I'd really like that. And Mum did leave a whole bunch of recipes behind. Dad and I usually cook them, 'cause it's the only day I let him off the hook with his diet, apart from Christmas and his birthday," Stiles said, his usual infectious smile back on his face. Lydia smiled back at him, before squeezing his hand once again and then releasing it.

"I need to finish my homework so you need to go and read those notes I painstakingly typed for you. But I'll see you on Wednesday next week at 10 a.m. sharp. Be ready to cook like you've never cooked before," Lydia said, rolling onto her stomach and picking up her pen once again.

Lydia and Stiles were surveying the island counter in Lydia's kitchen. Stiles had given her a list the day after they had decided to cook dinner together, and Lydia had collected everything on it late last night. She and Stiles had decided to surprise her mother with a home-cooked dinner, so Lydia had conspiratorially said she was studying late last night and had instead gone shopping, knowing her mother never used the kitchen in the mornings. Stiles had done his part by preparing several ingredients that they would not have time to do today. Anything non-perishable had been placed on the island, and Lydia had also left out the turkey last night to allow it to defrost. The result was a gigantic pile of food that the two of them had approximately nine hours to prepare. Lydia hoped to God that Stiles remembered the order to do things in, because she was feeling more than a little overwhelmed.

"Any bright ideas on how to deal with this, Stilinski?" she asked, turning her head to look at him. Stiles let out a laugh and nodded, before starting to spout off instructions like there was no tomorrow.

"Okay," he said, unwrapping the now thawed turkey. "I'm going to wash this bird because we need to get it on as soon as possible. Can you start tearing up that loaf of bread for the stuffing? The recipe for it is in the book in my backpack." Lydia nodded at him, and Stiles turned to wash the turkey. He seemed to be holding up pretty well, all things considered. Lydia just wanted to make sure he was okay. Stiles had been with her through so much in the last year that she knew she owed him more than just the help she was giving him with school. He had literally saved her life on several occasions. He meant so much more to her than she ever thought he would. And that's why today was so important to Lydia. This was her chance to rescue him for a change. Lydia unzipped the backpack- digging under the fresh pair of jeans and button down shirt that Stiles obviously intended to change into after cooking all day- and pulled out a beautiful leather-bound notebook that was held closed by a simple clasp. Lydia's eyes widened. This was no ordinary book, but something that Stiles' mother had treasured. She ran her hand over the cover, thinking of all the times that Claudia Stilinski's hands must have done the same thing. Lydia unfastened the clasp with great care and folded back the cover. There- on the first page of the thick, white paper- was the stuffing recipe. She reverently placed the book on the windowsill in front of the place she was working to make sure it wasn't damaged, and began to follow the clear, concise instructions written in elegant handwriting that was surprisingly similar to Stiles'. Lydia took the cornbread that Stiles had made last night and broke it apart, placing it into a large bowl as she was instructed by the book. A clattering behind her told Lydia that Stiles had dropped the baking tray, and at his humorous assurances that he was fine she giggled. I'm glad he's okay, she thought, meaning more than just the fact that he hadn't injured himself. God knows he could use something to smile about.

Lydia could smell the rosemary in the stuffing already. The turkey had only been in for about an hour, but the skin was already starting to turn a slightly golden colour and it smelled great. She and Stiles were side by side at the double sink, peeling potatoes and yams. It was a quarter past twelve in the afternoon, but despite the time neither Lydia or Stiles had complained of being hungry yet. It had taken both of their skills combined to stuff and seal the turkey before they put it into the oven, but their flushed cheeks and dirty hands had been worth it. Lydia had put some music on in the background after they had dealt with the turkey, and the soft tones of ambient music were floating through the room, accompanying the 'shick' sounds the peelers were making. Lydia hummed along, and started to sway slightly on the spot- an old habit from ballet lessons. The silence between them was comfortable. She was torn between making sure she didn't hurt herself with her own peeler, and watching Stiles' deft hands, skinning the potatoes with a skill that spoke of years of practice in the activity. Her hand almost slipped on the peeler, but luckily Stiles didn't notice. He started speaking, still quietly concentrated on the task at hand.

"So, thanks for today," Stiles said, quietly. "If I have to spend the day with a narcissist, I'm glad it's you and not my own brain." Lydia snorted, and raised an eyebrow.

"Well, if I have to spend the day with a geek, I'm glad it's you and not Spock. Although, he would argue that the term geek is illogical," she said.

"Did you just make a Star Trek reference?" Stiles asked, obviously shocked and pleased.

"My dad and I used to watch it when I was little," Lydia told him, smirking. Stiles smiled at her.

"Mum and I did too," he said, but the smile didn't fall. Lydia's smirk changed to a real smile, and she knew that today was helping to heal the hole in Stiles' heart.

It was five minutes to seven. Lydia's mother had gotten back about an hour and a half ago, and Lydia had told her to go and get ready to go out for dinner. Mrs. Martin hadn't noticed anything amiss, and readily agreed, reminding Lydia to come and get her when she was ready before heading upstairs. Lydia and Stiles had both showered and changed out of their food-covered cooking clothes. Now dressed in more appropriate wear, they were preparing the table. Lydia had set it with their best plates, complete with cloth napkins and wine glasses. Even her grandmother's silver was polished to a gleam. As Stiles placed the last dish onto the table, Lydia's mother entered the room putting an earring into her ear. At the sight of the food on the table, she stopped in her tracks.

"Lydia, are you ready to head out for din-" she trailed off, looking between her daughter and Stiles. "How?" she asked, obviously gobsmacked.

"Hi Mrs. Martin. Um, I hope you have room in your refrigerator for leftovers. My mum used to make the best Thanksgiving dinners, and Lydia thought that it might be nice to make a home-cooked one this year," Stiles told her, fidgeting slightly.

"Lydia? Is that true?" Mrs. Martin asked her daughter.

"Well, we usually just go out for dinner. And Stiles' dad is working tonight, so I figured it might be fun to spend the day doing something other than schoolwork," Lydia said, honestly. She hadn't thought that her mother would mind, but she was nervous now. She realised about three seconds later that she didn't need to be. Her mother smiled gently at her, and moved to give her a hug.

"Everything looks wonderful," she told her daughter, kissing Lydia's hair. "It's nice to see you again Stiles."

"You too, Mrs. Martin," Stiles said, pulling out a chair for Lydia's mother, and gesturing for her to sit. She gave him an approving smile, and seated herself in the chair. Stiles also pulled out Lydia's chair before sitting himself down in the seat facing her. Lydia smiled at Stiles, and handed him the carving utensils, which he put to good use.

The plate in Lydia's hands was warm compared to the air outside. She had on a small cardigan, but she was shivering in the breeze. Stiles had unlocked his car and was putting his bag on the floor in front of the passenger seat. Lydia was looking upwards, into the surprisingly inky depths of the night sky. Beacon Hills was classified as a city, but somehow the light pollution was minimal enough so that you could still see the stars. She heard the door of Stiles' Jeep slam shut, and she lowered her head to look at him. He turned to face her, pulling on a familiar red hoodie she recognised as his favourite. Their eyes met and Lydia gave a smile, which Stiles returned.

"So thanks for today. I haven't had that much fun on Thanksgiving in a while," Stiles said.

"You're more than welcome. Besides, I think we have enough leftovers to feed a small army. Or at least enough so that Mum won't have to cook for a few days. And that's a pretty good thing, too," Lydia joked. Stiles chuckled awkwardly, and shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels.

"So," he said, trailing off.

"Right, you've gotta go. This is for your Dad. So he doesn't miss out on the good stuff," Lydia said, handing over the dish of food. Stiles took it from her and began to walk around to his side of the car. Lydia followed him. Stiles opened his door, and placed the plate onto the passenger seat. Then he turned back to Lydia and opened his arms. Lydia stepped into them, and wrapped her arms around his waist and let him banish the cold from her form. Before they separated, Lydia leaned up and pecked his cheek chastely.

"Goodnight, Stilinski," she said, and walked back through the front door, closing it. With her back against the wood, Lydia let out the breath she was holding.

She didn't wait to see Stiles' confused touch to his cheek, or the goofy grin that crossed his face before he hopped into the car and drove home. And she definitely didn't see what he did to his body alone in his room that night; recalling her smell and her touch; gasping her name as he came.