ANOTHER UPDATE? ALREADY? You ask.
"Yes." I reply. "Dont expect another for a while though." I add, guiltily thinking of my bad procrastination and the fact that I had a few fics published that had been abandoned accidentally.
"Oh, Bugger!"
Scott's eyes snapped open and he sprang into high-alert mode, all traces of sleep gone from him as he jumped up at the sudden shouting and clanging going on in the kitchen. Confused and concerned, he made his way into the room, nose wrinkling as the scent of burnt bacon and batter inflamed his nostrils.
The British girl that had turned up last night seemed to be cooking breakfast.
Well, trying to, at least. It seemed her cooking skills were on par with his mother's-if the smell hadn't told him that, then the mess of flour on the countertop, splodges of batter dotted around, and the blackened food being scraped off the poor frying pan would do the job just the same.
"Y-You okay there?" He asked tentatively. The girl jumped, whirling around and brandishing the poor, poor frying pan with wide eyes. Her flour-topped nose scrunched up.
"Oh! So sorry-I must have woken you! I do apologise…I was trying to make breakfast." She stated with a bashful shrug, cheeks ruddy with embarrassment.
Unable to contain himself, Scott let off a chuckle as he stared at the bashful girl, an eyebrow raised.
..
Not ten seconds later and they were both laughing hard, gazing at the mess she'd made.
"Oh, I've never been able to get the hang of cooking. Soup and bread are as far as I can do." She sighed through subsided giggles, her eyes sparkling happily even as she put on a mournful look.
"I'm not too good at it myself, but Mom's worse, so I can do a few things. Like pancakes and bacon, for example." He stated with a chuckle. "And you have just ruined a once unblemished frying pan, by the way."
"We'll hold a funeral for Albert this afternoon then. The flag shall fly at half-mast and we'll do a twenty-one-gun salute." She quipped, wiping her brow and grinning at him.
Scott understood why Stiles took a shine to the girl.
And using 'girl' was really annoying now.
"Can I ask-what's your name? The Sheriff never actually said." He blurted, eyes widening slightly as he realised how rude he sounded. Thankfully, she shook her head and laughed.
"Don't worry, it's probably because he was worried about pronouncing it wrong," she chuckled, "It's Hermione. Hermione Granger." She held out her spare hand and he shook it again, an easy smile on his face. It was easy to relax around her, he noticed.
"What did you do in here?"
Scott turned, eyes wide at the sight of Stiles at the door. He still looked deathly; but this time it looked like he'd at least slept a whole night. And he'd showered, too; his hair damp and fluffy on his head.
"Hey, it wasn't my fault!" Scott denied, pouting slightly and pointing accusatorily at Hermione, who simply stuck her tongue out at him before turning to Stiles, shrugging sheepishly.
"I was trying to cook breakfast for you and then I decided to experiment with batter viscosity and then I forgot about the bacon and the batter in the pan already and when I tried to fix that I forgot to switch off the mixer and- "
Stiles stopped her in her rambling by throwing a dish cloth at her face. Sputtering slightly, she grabbed it and glared at him. He just smiled. A real, genuine smile; small, but very real.
How the hell did she manage to do that?
As Scott pondered the mystery that was Hermione Granger, a silent conversation had seemed to pass between the other two in the room. Stiles noiselessly took the frying pan from Hermione and she turned, beginning to wipe down the sides. Wanting to help, Scott grabbed a cloth himself and set to work, the sound of batter sizzling in the pan slowing his thoughts as they worked.
Eventually, a rich stack of thick, fluffy pancakes had been set up on the dining room, a bottle of maple syrup on the counter; Scott finished setting the last glass down as Hermione brought in a pitcher of apple juice; Scott noticed a bit of flour that was on her nose still and chuckled inwardly.
"There, that's it! Stiles, I already talked to the school you go to; Beacon Hills High? And I told them you were taking the day off." She stated, and the two boys looked up from their places; Scott midway through placing a third pancake onto his plate.
"Really?" Stiles asked, his face scrunched up. Hermione nodded, her mass of hair moving with her like rolling brown waves.
"Yup! I don't have a car, and I have errands to run; plus, I need a guide about town-and don't you remember me telling not three years ago, that when I eventually visited I would take you shopping?" She stated, inspecting her plate for a second as the words sunk into Stiles' head and he paled, leaning away from her.
"No. You wouldn't dare."
Hermione winked at Scott and he chuckled at the back-and-forth the two held.
"You promised me."
"Only because the Hermione Granger I knew hated clothes shopping!"
"Hey. Blame Ginny on that one, she got me into it; plus, I want to make sure you have enough clothes at my house in case you need to stop over."
There was a pause of intense staring before, eventually, Stiles sighed dramatically, slumping back in his chair.
"Fine. God, you'd get on with Lydia. Short, smart, and fricken terrifying."
Hermione's eyes gleamed and Scott swallowed, hard, at the thought of those two being friends.
"Great!" She beamed, going back to her food as if nothing had happened. "Scott, eat up! You've got school in twenty minutes; I managed to get the boys to class every day and I'll be damned if that streak is stopped because of you." She smiled sweetly at him.
Scott ate faster.
Scott had been gone for thirty seconds, the rumble of his bike echoing behind him, before Hermione turned towards Stiles.
"How are you feeling?" She asked softly, lines of worry on her face, all pretences of joking gone. Stiles observed her for a moment; he knew she was up at least most of the night (which was just early morning at the point she arrived) and she had to have been up at least an hour before him. Had she slept at all? He considered his usual lie, but the strings of his heart spoke for him.
"Not great, but better than I have in a long time. I can't really remember the dreams this time…just how they felt."
He couldn't lie to her.
She nodded, wordlessly taking the plates into the kitchen and dumping them in the sink temporarily. He followed suit with the rest of the dishes, following her obediently to the couch; he was pulled down immediately and pulled into a soft embrace; one he, surprisingly, didn't pull back from.
She grounded him. She always had.
"I'm sorry, Stiles."
"What for?" He asked. She didn't have half a clue what had gone on.
"For whatever it is that happened. You didn't deserve it. And I wasn't there for you."
Stiles shook his head vehemently. He pulled back to meet her gaze, tucking a curl behind her ear.
"I didn't tell you. And you're here now. That's all that matters." She nodded, swallowing thickly, and Stiles tried his hardest to ignore the wretched look of pain upon her face.
"I understand Stiles, a lot more than you think. Trust me on that. I know you won't tell me everything; but you can. No matter how unbelievable you think it is. Trust that I will believe you and be there for you." She whispered, grabbing a hold of his hand, squeezing it.
He squeezed back, falling back onto the couch and pulling her to him; a tangle of limbs.
"I will do, eventually."
It was the truth. He couldn't keep all this from her. Not ever. No matter how much danger it would put her in; she, of all the important people in Stiles' life, deserved to know.
"I have something to tell you too, eventually." She whispered again, playing with her fingertips.
Stiles frowned, his hand tracing circles on her forearm.
"Not unless you're ready, too." She nodded in assent.
They laid like that for a while, before, as if jolted by electricity, Hermione jumped up, grasping Stiles' hand.
"What's up?" Stiles asked.
"Come on. I do actually have errands to run, and I am going to take you shopping."
"…dammit."
"Now, get your arse into gear Stilinski, and let me get my purse."
Twenty minutes later, they were sat in Roscoe, peeling out of the drive towards town. Hermione had asked him if he could help her tame her bu-hair, into a braid. It took time and sweat and Stiles was sure she had cried at one point, but they'd done it.
They'd parked up at the local superstore and Hermione hopped out of Roscoe, wrapping her arm around Stiles' as they walked to an ATM, bank card in her hand.
"Do you think this will be enough for now?" She asked, biting her lip. His eyes bulged and he pulled her aside from the cashpoint, before anybody could see the amount of money in her hand.
"What the hell, Stiles!"
"Hermione, that's $500!" She frowned at him, chewing slightly on her lip.
"Is that not enough?"
"Hermione, for somebody so smart you really don't have a clue, do you?"
"Hey, I resent that Stilinski!"
Stiles rolled his eyes, grinning light-heartedly. He saw the beginnings of a smile encroach onto Hermione's face, and he inwardly celebrated that minor victory.
"It's more than enough. What do you need, anyway?"
"Oh, this is for groceries."
"Your house isn't even ready yet."
Hermione rolled her eyes this time.
"It for you and your dad, you idiot. I figured if I was eating your food I could at least buy some of it; especially if I end up wasting it with my disasters," she grimaced. "It was the least I could do and don't you dare turn me down on it Stiles. At least now you have full control over how much junk there'll be for your dad to eat."
She knew how to play him. And indeed, Stiles knew he was being played.
But that offer was too good to refuse.
An hour later, they were hauling three trolley's worth of food and other essentials towards the Jeep. "How on earth did we get this much?" Stiles panted, pushing a weighted trolley with all his might; Hermione had another one, and they were managing the third between them both.
"Hey, I wanted to make sure you were packed with enough food for a small army, sue me; your friends look like they'd get through all this in a month. The guys, at least." Hermione snorted, fly-always sticking to her forehead and her cheeks ruddy with tiredness.
Stiles snorted, trying to picture Lydia eating all this herself. He shook his head.
"You have a point there."
They loaded the bags into the back of Roscoe, and Hermione turned to Stiles with a tired grin.
"How about we take this stuff back and unpack, then go out for lunch?" Stiles suggested.
"Lunch, and then clothes shopping." She grinned, a devious expression that Stiles had learnt to love loathing.
"You're going to kill me."
"Oh, woman up, Stiles."
He took her to a diner in the middle of town; one of his favourite hangouts, a place called "The Bistro." He'd been going there since he was a little kid; a kitsch, family run business, he had eaten his first curly fry there.
"What can I get ya, Stiles?" The waitress, a woman in her thirties named Mags, grinned at him, a notebook in hand.
"I'll have my usual please, Mags."
She chuckled, jotting it down even though all the employees knew his order off by heart; a double chicken and cheeseburger, curly fries, and a large chocolate milkshake.
Mags turned to Hermione with a pleasant smile. "And what can I be getting you, miss?" She asked.
"Oh-Just some curly fries and a milkshake, please. Chocolate." Hermione responded, putting down a menu that Stiles had noticed she'd barely glanced at. Mags nodded and left with a smile.
"You okay, Hermione?" Stiles asked, frowning slightly. She seemed…off.
"Stiles, I could ask you the same thing." She raised an eyebrow pointedly, and a blush rose to his cheeks.
"Hey, just because I haven't been…peachy, it doesn't mean you can't tell me, yeah?" He took her hand, which had been drumming against the countertop, and started rubbing the pad of his thumb along her knuckles. Hermione seemed to sag slightly, the air coming out of her.
"I know, but honestly, it's not really a conversation that can be had right now."
"Are you sure?" He asked her again. She nodded, biting her lip slightly. Nodding minutely, Stiles leaned back, still tracing his friend's knuckles. He understood completely.
He just hoped that she knew that he wouldn't abandon her, no matter what. Hell, she could claim to be an alien and he'd stand by her. And he hoped (prayed) that she felt the same way about him. He'd have to get the okay from the Pack, but he wanted to tell her. Not right away; he wasn't ready for the look of disappointment in her eyes, even if right now that look was in his head.
Stiles' reverie was broken upon the arrival of food and drinks; the pair lapsed into comfortable conversation, as if they'd spent the last several years at each other's hips rather than across oceans.
"So, where is your house?" Stiles asked, munching on a curly fry. Hermione looked up from the straw of her milkshake and grinned, cheeks dimpling as she did so.
"It's on the edge of town; actually, it's a few miles into the woods. I decided I wanted to live somewhere quiet and I found some people willing to sell some land and a few old buildings. I've actually been having it restored for a while now…I bought it long before I even knew I was going to be forced onto sabbatical."
Stiles snickered. Only Hermione would need to be "forced" to take a vacation. Though it did make him wonder exactly where in the woods the house was; the pack certainly hadn't stumbled upon it before.
Wolfing (heh) down the last of his meal, Stiles observed Hermione; though she seemed perfectly distracted by food, he noticed several things; she was more moving the fries about, as if they were being eaten; her posture was completely stiff and rigid, and not just in an "I was brought up an English Lady" type way- more like she was on high alert; and that, every so often, Hermione would bite her lip, tense her hands up as if ready to fist them, and glance around at all the windows and exits, as if plotting an emergency escape route.
What on earth had happened to her?
"Stiles, I think it's time we get going, if that's okay? I have a lot of clothes I want to see you in." Hermione grinned near-maliciously as Stiles groaned; though you could tell it was partially false by the amused glint in his eye as he mentally filed away his earlier observations for later.
"Come on then, Buttercup. Lead the way to my doom." Hermione rolled her eyes at the boy, a smile teasing her lips as they each left a decent tip on the countertop alongside the check book, waving at Mags as they exited the Diner.
"Buttercup? That's certainly a new one, Daisy."
Shopping. Was. Hell.
Well, no, not completely.
It was fun at first; Hermione dashing about like an ADHD hummingbird (or like him on a research task), grabbing this and that and making little gasps of excitement as she found something new that she wanted Stiles to try on.
Very soon, though, Stiles' arms became weighted with a mountain of clothes, and he decided that he preferred online shopping.
Not to mention that Hermione not only took him to stores in the nearest mall, but she also took him to several fancy stores-he knew they were fancy because he couldn't pronounce the foreign names on the storefront.
The one saving grace was that Hermione knew what Stiles liked; she didn't try and completely change up his style. She referred to it as "The Stiles Stilinski fashion line version 2.0." A blend of Hermione's own upscale, first-class upbringing fashion sense (that she herself claimed to never caring about until she got an office job) and the familiarity of plaid and t-shirts and jeans.
She'd insisting on paying for them all; and though Stiles knew he'd never afford the veritable mountain she'd bought, he reluctantly agreed with the compromise of her buying the clothes in return of adding whatever she wanted to without his complaint. (The fact that Hermione was what would be best described as "rich as balls" helped soothe the guilt a little.)
Though he did wonder what the Pack would think about his new leather jacket that she'd unceremoniously dumped into his lap when he'd finally found a pouf to sit down upon.
"You know, I really didn't care for shopping, nor fashion, all that much when I was younger." Hermione stated, as she handed over her card for the twelfth time since lunch. "I liked it, but it felt more like a chore." She hummed to herself, tilting her head to smile at him. "Not only is it more fun shopping for other people, I've honestly learnt to appreciate good tailoring."
There was a look in Hermione's eyes that halted the remark on Stiles' tongue. She looked far away, as if remembering something important, when he himself remembered one of Hermione's letters.
…Mum keeps harping on about getting the uniforms fitted and going shopping for clothes this summer and it's driving me bonkers, Stiles! I love her to pieces but I've heard the phrase "good tailoring makes all the difference not just to first impressions, but to your confidence" a thousand times now! Anyway…
"Hey, is there anywhere else we need to be?" Stiles asked, snapping Hermione out of her daze.
"Oh, yes. Just one place. I promise it won't take as long, I'm buying something for myself, too."
The last store she had bought him to seemed to be more of a castle. It was upscale boutique; large and spacious, with four floors in total. Stiles felt rather like a fish out of water. A calligraphy signpost next to the stairs and elevator read "Shoes/Accessories-Ground Floor; Suits- First floor; Dresses-Second Floor; and Changing Rooms-Third Floor."
Gold and cream was the main colour scheme of the store, floor length mirrors along several walls; mannequins were placed meticulously, posed as if they were royalty; displaying only the best of the best. A single pair of shoes seemed to cost more than his Dad's salary. He knew Hermione was rich, but he honestly hadn't expected her to be this rich whatsoever; heck, Lydia most likely couldn't afford this outside a sample sale.
He was glad beyond words that Hermione seemed to know what she was doing here. She led him straight up to the first floor, upon which, Stiles was assaulted with racks and racks of trousers; suit jackets; shirts; waistcoats; and things Stiles didn't even know how to describe. There were several large catalogues near each rail or shelf, teeming with fabric and colour samples, the warm lighting making everything seem all the more luxurious.
"Welcome! Is there anything I can do for you two today?" Intoned a cheerful man, his hair perfectly coiffed and straight white teeth baring a grin that seemed a little too false. He smiled brightly at Hermione; her smart attire making her fit right in. When his gaze turned to Stiles, however, he noticed that the smile seemed to turn into more of a grimace.
"Yes, I'd like to get my friend here fitted; I want four suits, a tuxedo, seven shirts, and three pairs of pants." Hermione stated firmly, an ice-cold expression on her face; she'd clearly seen the judgy look the sales guy shot Stiles. "I have an important function in a few weeks. I'm also here to pick up three suits of my own; furthermore, I had four custom dresses designed and fitted three months ago, from your store in France; I had been informed that they would be shipped directly here for me to get fitted." The sales guy swallowed hard and nodded, clearly intimidated by Hermione's straightforwardness.
"Y-Yes, of course! Right this way."
Two hours later, and they were finally done. Stiles' suits would be ready next week; Hermione's dresses had been a perfect fit as far as he was aware- she hadn't let him see them. Her own suits were in a few garment bags, and they'd gotten three pairs of shoes there as well. Heck, they'd even been given goody bags after leaving; expensive bags, filled with cologne and perfume and shoe polish and cufflinks and jewellery.
Stiles figured that if only it required 90% less effort, he could get used to a "high-life".
"So; what's all the fancy suits for, anyway?" He asked as he started up Roscoe; the sun beginning to set behind him.
"Back home, whenever somebody moved into a house, there'd often be a welcoming ball. They'd host it as a way to get to know the guests. I never managed to get to one, but Mum loved them. I suppose, well, I still have some ingrained traditions." Hermione stated simply, head against the window. "Plus," She added, twisting her head to grin at Stiles, "the town needs livening up and I just bet that you would look damn good in a Tux."
Stiles chuckled, rolling his eyes slightly. "It'll certainly get the town talking." He smirked.
"Oh, it bloody better. Oh, and tell your friends they're more than welcome to come along. If they go to the boutique and say I sent them it'll be added onto my tab. I didn't know what to get them as gifts, so this'll do." She mused to herself. Stiles barked out an answer.
"Hermione, that's more than enough, trust me. And Lydia? She will never ever leave your side if you promise free couture."
Hermione laughed brightly, a sleepy gaze on her face as the day finally wore her down some. "I think I'm going to like Lydia a lot; I like treating people, especially," She stated with a pointed look and a grin, "those that know exactly what a treat they're getting."
"Hey! I just think a $50 suit is better value than a $500 suit!"
"Yes, if you don't count for the quality, longevity, fit, tailoring…"
"Yeah, yeah. Fancy getting takeout? Pizza sound good to you?"
"Only if it's BBQ chicken. None of that pineapple rubbish."
"You got it."
Noah Stilinski came home to his son, wrapped in a blanket and his arms around his British friend; Pizza crusts in a box and feet curled up on the couch, Star Wars on the TV screen.
"Hey, son. Hermione." The pair jumped slightly in shock, having not heard him come in, and Noah chuckled.
"Evening Sheriff." Hermione smiled.
"Hey Dad. There's some pizza in the kitchen, with some salad. You better eat it, too!" Noah grimaced to himself. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get Stiles to relinquish his health crusade.
Noah nodded his thanks, grabbing some slices before sitting on the couch. "Thanks; How have your days been?" He asked, mainly towards Hermione.
"Quite beneficial; I managed to get Stiles to enter a clothing store."
"A clothing store? More like twenty!" Stiles protested. Hermione just rolled her eyes, elbowing him slightly before smiling at the Sheriff.
"That actually reminds me. Sheriff, I'm holding a sort of meet-and-greet once my house is ready and I've settled in-it's black tie, and I wanted to invite the police department. I went to a boutique today and I can give you the details; say it's from me and you'll get fitted for a suit or tuxedo-on me."
"Hermione, that's too much, you really didn't have to." Noah began to protest, though he figured beforehand it was most likely futile.
"Don't fret about it; you've allowed me into your home, and free of charge too. It's the least I can do; plus, you raised this fine young man and I happen to care quite a bit about him, so consider it a thank you." She smiled, and Noah noticed Stiles' blush as his pride swelled in is chest at the sudden compliment. "Please, let me pay for the suit. The county Sheriff must set an example, after all." She added with a wink.
"If you're absolutely sure." Noah conceded, nodding slightly and sighing, finishing his pizza. "Anyway, I best be heading back to the station, I'm having to add a lot more shifts on lately." He said. "Don't be up too late and stay safe."
"We will do, Dad."
"Will you stay with me tonight?" Stiles asked, gazing at Hermione. His eyes were wide, displaying an abnormal vulnerability; he could never hide his heart from her. They were in his room; Hermione had stolen a baggy t-shirt for pyjamas, and he wore his sweats. Hermione twisted from her place at the doorway, a furrowed brow on her face.
"Of course, Stiles. I'll stay; until you don't need me to." She promised. Stiles' head jerked into a nod.
"I'll always need you to." He responded softly, his voice hoarse. Hermione smiled softly and warmly; her eyes, shining, spoke a thousand words.
I'm here. You'll be safe. I understand. I have nightmares, too.
She nodded, sliding into the bed, her doe eyes sparkling as she opened her arms for him and he entered her embrace happily. He felt raw, like his soul was being exposed.
"I will always be there, Stiles." She whispered, stroking his hair as they moved to get more comfortable. He slept on his side, Hermione spooning him (and god how unmanly was that), her leg thrown over his hip casually as she continued with softly stroking his hair.
And, for the first time in what seemed like forever, Stiles slept soundly.