Lydia wades through pitch darkness using her hands to guide her. The air is cold and damp. The space around her, narrow like a tunnel. She feels intensely afraid – like nothing she has ever experienced. The burden of emotion makes it difficult to breathe.
Suddenly, she hears someone call her name. The voice is one she would know anywhere.
"Stiles!" she answers. "Stiles, where are you?"
"Lydia," he replies. His voice seems to be reverberating all around her, making it impossible to determine his location.
"Stiles, wait! I'm here!" she cries out.
"Lydia…Lydia…" The sound becomes more distant each time.
"Don't go! Stay with me!" she pleads.
A flash of violet-colored light momentarily blinds her. Once her eyes are able to adjust, she can see Stiles standing before her. Lydia moves towards him, but with each step the gap between them seems to widen. She runs, desperately fighting to catch up. He is just a few feet away now, but he isn't moving.
She calls out to him, but there is no response.
He seems frozen in place.
Lydia's heart forcefully pounds against her rib cage. She steps closer, left hand violently shaking as she reaches out to touch his face. No warmth, no softness – just cold and abrasive, like stone. Her eyes widen with shock and her head starts spinning. As she withdraws her hand, Stiles's form crumbles into a pile of dust, and the darkness resumes.
Lydia awakes gasping for air, tears streaming down her cheeks. She immediately seeks out the figure lying next to her. Stiles is there, but he is so still that she can't determine whether or not he is breathing. Her hand involuntarily covers her mouth in a frantic attempt to stifle a cry. She tries to control her own breathing, but anxiety has completely taken hold.
Carefully, she moves her trembling hand to the center of his chest. As soon as she detects the gentle rise and fall of his inhale and exhale, relief spreads over her, permitting the throbbing pain in her own chest to subside. She bends down to tenderly kiss the spot where her hand resides, then turns her face and nestles her ear there to listen. The rhythmic sound of Stiles's heart always helps Lydia relax. She lies motionless, taking deep deliberate breaths along with him and visualizing the anchoring power of the tether that binds them. She takes note of the heat, smoothness, and scent of his skin – the complete opposite of the lifeless imitation that invaded her mind.
He's here. He's alive, she reminds herself, repeating those words again and again until she calms.
Eventually, Lydia glances at the digital clock on the nightstand. It reads 5:12 a.m.
She and Stiles have an early flight scheduled from Washington, D.C. to Beacon Hills, CA. The apprehension she already felt about returning to their hometown is now compounded by the terror of her dream. A dream which she interprets to be a premonition – the worst she has ever projected.
Thankful that Stiles is sound asleep, Lydia uses the time to process what little information she has and to try to decide what to do about it. Every possible solution that crosses her mind is promptly met with rejection – save for one. She keeps circling back to it. It seems to be the only option, the only one that can ensure Stiles's safety. There's just one problem – the mere thought of going through with it also triggers a piercing pain in her chest. Oddly enough, that pain is also what convinces her it's the right thing to do.
Now comes the even more difficult step – convincing Stiles to stay in D.C.
Lydia lifts her head to look at him and begins tracing his features with her eyes; a habit she developed several months ago. She can't stop herself wanting to memorize every detail of his face, so she can picture him even when they are apart.
Apart. A concept which ruthlessly nudges at the growing knot in her stomach. They have already spent more than enough time apart. Lydia loathes the thought of leaving without Stiles. Even worse, she dreads the thought of waking him from a peaceful sleep, only to tell him not to come home with her. She hesitates for a few minutes more, not quite able to face the inevitably uncomfortable debate that will follow.
He's not going to like it, but it's for his own good.
Lydia returns her focus to Stiles's face, and the pain in her stomach diminishes. Ever since he came home to her, she grants herself permission to look at him as often as possible. Not only is he beautiful, but she loves observing his expressions and mannerisms – full of life, occasionally awkward, always endearing. As she watches him, all she can think about is how deeply she loves him. The fullness in her heart compels her to plant a kiss at the corner of his mouth...followed by a second...and a third.
"Mmm..." Stiles moans, his mouth curling into a smile against her lips. "Now that is a good way to wake up. I could get used to this." His eyes gradually open and fix on Lydia. "Good morning, gorgeous."
"Morning, my love," she coos, kissing him again because when it comes to Stiles, one kiss, or even two or three, can never be enough.
"What time is it?" he asks as he wraps his left arm around her.
"Almost six."
"We should get going...flight's in a few hours," he replies with a yawn.
Lydia is already starting to lose her nerve. Right now, she wants nothing more than to ignore her vision, forget Beacon Hills and the supernatural, and simply be still with the love of her life. She resents the fact that on top of having to separate from Stiles earlier than expected, the last few hours they have together will probably be spent arguing.
"Not yet," she says, drawing him on top of her.
He resists, somewhat weakly. "Lydia, you are incredibly tempting, but if we start this we'll never make it to the airpo—"
Refusing to let him finish the sentence, she captures his mouth with her own, kissing him more fervently. "Sti—les, please," she pouts.
She is quite pleased with herself when she feels him give in to her; their lips in perfect harmony, his tongue casually sweeping across hers. Within seconds, his hands adeptly slide under her back, pulling her firmly towards him.
Knowing he is about to adjust their position, so that she is on top of him, Lydia protests, "No, stay."
In that moment, she feels the overwhelming desire not just to be near Stiles, but to be surrounded by him – his arms around her, the full weight of his body pressed against hers. He makes her feel so safe and protected that she wishes she could dissolve into him.
"Lyds, I'm crushing you," he murmurs through a kiss.
"No, this is perfect. Please, stay." It's all she can manage to say as heat rises in her cheeks and her breathing accelerates.
Stiles pulls away to look in her eyes. The darkness in the room is barely starting to break with first light, but Lydia can see the visible concern impressed upon his face. He pokes at his lower lip with his tongue, and she knows he must be contemplating her behavior. Lifting one hand, he softly caresses her face. The affection he conveys causes Lydia to shut her eyes and hold her breath.
"Are you alright?" he asks.
She opens her eyes, seeking the solace she can only ever find in his. "I just…need you," she tells him with conviction. Then she presses her hands into his shoulder blades, encouraging him closer.
As usual, Stiles seems to have a greater understanding of what she is communicating.
"It's okay. I'm right here, and I love you," he whispers in her ear, sending shivers up and down her spine.
He moves his lips to her throat, and Lydia can finally exhale. She wants to say she loves him, but fears that the emotion in her voice will give too much away. It's too soon. She isn't ready to talk about letting go of him yet. So, she buries her face in the crook of his neck and holds onto Stiles with all the strength in her possession. Then she thinks of nothing but the way their bodies begin to move together. Nothing but his lips, and his hands, and his bare skin. Nothing but the heat between them and the throbbing pulse in her core being soothed by his perfect thrusts. Nothing but the way they respond to each other so effortlessly, so in sync, so right.
When they part, Lydia is dizzy and breathless. She is shaking, fiercely trying to withhold tears as Stiles resettles beside her, chest heaving with panting breaths of his own. His hand finds hers amid the rumpled sheets. Then he laces their fingers together and brings the back of her palm up to his lips.
The contact is like an arrow – straight to her heart.
It never ceases to amaze her how much she feels for him. Every time they are together, their bond becomes more powerful. Right now, that scares her because she wants to stay with him so badly that she can feel her resolve slipping away. She needs some time alone to figure out what she is going to say and to reassemble the nerve to go through with it.
Abruptly, she reminds Stiles of the time and suggests that he shower first, praying that her voice won't betray her.
He slowly lets go of her hand and gets up from the bed. Shoulders sagging, he regards her for a minute while raking his fingers across his jaw.
"Lydia?"
"Yeah?" she asks cautiously.
After a lengthy pause, he drops his arm with a sigh. "I...uh... I won't be long."
She knows he wanted to say something else, but she can't bring herself to encourage further discussion.
"'Kay," she almost chokes out, desperately hoping to disguise her grief.
She is sure it didn't work but Stiles turns and heads towards the bathroom anyway. Her eyes water and her throat tightens as she watches him quietly leave the room.
After he closes the door behind him, Lydia gives in – lets herself cry into his pillow. She allows herself one full minute of silent sobbing. Then she gets up, slides on a shirt, and nervously rehearses each of the points she needs to address, pacing the room until she hears the water stop running in the shower.
A few minutes later, the bathroom door opens. Stiles emerges from a cloud of steam, half-dressed, still buttoning his jeans. His hair is damp, and his skin is glistening from the humidity.
"Babe, have you seen my belt?" he asks.
"It's...on the dresser, I—I think," Lydia stutters, staring at him and wondering how in the world she is going to articulate a solid argument when he looks like that – so beautiful it makes her heart ache.
He crosses the room, puts on his belt, and makes his way back to the bed where Lydia is now seated. Dropping a kiss on her forehead as he passes in front of her, Stiles reaches to retrieve his watch from the nightstand. Before he can move away again, Lydia grabs hold of his waist and props her chin against his torso.
It's now or never.
But as she notices the sweet smile that traverses his lips in response to her touch, each of the points she so carefully planned to discuss rapidly drift out of her head.
"Lyds, as much as I would love round two right now, I think…" his voice trails off.
She looks up at him, struggling to speak. She thinks he must notice the pain in her eyes because as he lovingly brushes a few strands of hair from her face, the playful expression begins to fade from his.
"Lydia, I know there's something bothering you. Are you going to tell me what it is?"
She nods but says nothing.
"Okay, we're already running a little late, but uh…anytime you're ready…you go right ahead," he jabs feebly.
Normally, Lydia would have jumped right into their comfortable banter, but she has no desire to even try.
As tears fill her eyes, Stiles swiftly apologizes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make light of it… I swear."
"It's not your fault. None of this is your fault. I need to tell you something, but…I'm afraid."
"Hey, you never have to be afraid to tell me anything. You know that," he reassures, kneeling in front of her. His rich brown eyes are now level with her green ones. Placing his hands at her waist, he starts massaging little circles on her lower back to help relax her. "Come on, whatever it is, you can tell me. We promised we would always be honest with each other – no matter what."
She shifts closer, resting her arms on his shoulders and running her hands through the hair at the base of his skull. "It's probably going to make you angry with me."
He shakes his head. "I thought I told you... I'm incapable of being angry with you. Remember?"
Lydia's mind wanders.
Remember...
She does now…but a few months ago, when the Ghost Riders swept through Beacon Hills, she didn't remember Stiles at all. She recalls the awful time she endured without him, the constant ache in her heart because there was someone missing from her life, the bleak and hollow feeling when she realized she may not be able to save him. She never wants to experience that again.
"Lydia? Lydia..." Stiles's voice snaps her back to her surroundings. "What just happened?"
"I was remembering… I have to tell you..."
"That's right…you can tell me."
She continues to stare, rendered speechless by sadness.
"Lydia…you're starting to scare me now. You haven't been yourself all morning." The apprehension on his face is apparent.
"The thing is…I…well… I don't think you should come home with me." She tenses as she hears her voice cracking over each syllable.
He furrows his brow. "Of course I should come with you. Scott needs our help. We made plans. We can't—"
"What I mean to say is... I don't want you to come with me," she interrupts.
"Why not? Where is this coming from?" he asks incredulously.
"I just think it's a bad idea. You should stay here. Your internship starts in a few weeks and—"
"Oh, I see. Actually…no, I don't." He stands up and backs away, running his hand through his hair and standing silently for a minute. He opens his mouth as if to say something but then stops himself. Looking agitated, he steps forward and back once more, crosses his arms, and begins tapping his fingers on his left bicep. "Are you… Are you breaking up with me?"
"What? No, of course not!" she exclaims, standing up and quickly reaching out for him.
She tries to hug him, but Stiles unwraps her arms from around his mid-section and holds her at a distance.
"Tell me the truth, Lydia."
"I am. Why would you think that I'm breaking up with you?"
"What am I supposed to think? I mean, before…when we were together…you were…it's never been like that."
She retreats, feeling stunned and insulted. "I'm sorry. I…"
Stiles puts his hands on her, preventing her from moving farther away. The warmth of his skin connects with her left arm, where her shirt has slid off her shoulder, and the breath catches in her throat.
"That's not what I mean," he corrects. "It was…being that close to you is always incredible. But you were holding me like it was the last time you were ever going to. And…I didn't want to say anything, but you were shaking afterwards...and honestly, I don't think it was just because of my superior love making skills," he says, voice elevating slightly. As soon as the words pass his lips, Stiles closes his eyes and his cheeks flush with embarrassment.
Lydia withholds a smile but tries to take advantage of the moment by lightening her tone. "How do you know that isn't the reason?" she questions, trying to sneak into his arms again.
Stiles isn't ready to concede yet. He continues to hold her at arm's-length. "I didn't mean that the way it came out. Seriously though, I saw that you were crying too...and when I told you that I love you…"
"I didn't say it back," she finishes for him, pursing her lips together.
The hurt on Stiles's face is intensifying the knot in Lydia's stomach. She quivers with remorse.
"The next thing I know, you are kicking me out of bed…and now you tell me you don't want me to come home with you." He lets go of her shoulders and shoves his hands into his pockets. "Yeah, and I'm fully aware of how insecure I sound," he adds, focusing his eyes on the floor. "I'm sure I'm losing serious points for admitting this, but sometimes I can't even believe that we are a couple. It's been months, and it still seems too good to be true. Can you see why I would come to that conclusion? When we were together… Lydia, it felt like you were saying good-bye."
"I was saying good-bye," she responds quietly, then adding more firmly, "but not how you think. That's not it at all." She cups his cheek. "Stiles, look at me. I love you. I love you – so much that it hurts sometimes," she explains, clutching at her chest. "No one has ever touched my heart the way you have. I don't want to break up with you – ever. I want you to stay here…to keep you safe," she continues as tears uncontrollably spill from her eyes.
"Safe from what?"
"From whichever form of chaos, destruction, and death that's decided to wreak havoc on our hometown this time."
"You can do better than that, Lyds. That could be any given day in Beacon Hills. What's different now? What is it that you are trying so hard to avoid telling me?" When she remains quiet, he presses further. "Come on... You have to talk to me, please."
She hesitates briefly, before surrendering. "I had this dream – a premonition really," she confesses.
As soon as she says those words, Stiles's expression morphs into one of understanding. "Why didn't you just tell me?"
"Because I've never felt anything like it before! It is literally making me sick to think of, and I'm trying to process everything, and…" she stresses, "because I knew you would try and talk me out of leaving without you…and I want to be with you so much, I was afraid it would work."
"Alright, Lyds, alright... Come here," he sighs, bringing her into his arms. He holds her so tightly that her feet lift off the ground. Kissing her bare shoulder, he eases her towards the bed and sits next to her. Then he takes her hand, weaving their fingers together. "Can you try to tell me about it?"
His proximity gives her strength. She nods, inhales deeply, and describes the vision in detail – the dark, the flash of purple light, seeing him turned to stone, then crumbling beneath her fingertips. She tries her best to convey the paralyzing fear that gripped her, but no words seem to sufficiently express it.
"Look, I know that must have been terrifying, but it doesn't mean I shouldn't come with you."
"Yes, it does. I had the premonition this morning – the day we are supposed to go home. It can't be a coincidence."
"But we don't even know what it means yet."
"I think it's safe to say it means you are in grave danger," she says with an edge to her voice.
"Yeah, well I'm not completely helpless you know," he counters defensively.
"I never said that you were. I know you aren't."
"Then don't treat me like it," he adds with frustration.
"I'm not! Stiles, please try to understand. I can't lose you – not again. I won't survive it. I won't... What would you do if the roles were reversed? Would you let me walk into a situation knowing that I wasn't going to…"
Instantly softening, he squeezes her hand. "Lydia, I'm right here. I'm not going to just disappear—"
"You don't know that," she interrupts, "and it wouldn't be the first time!"
"This isn't like before."
"You're right. It is different. Stiles, last time I had a premonition about you, I didn't figure it out until it was too late...and then I lost you – for three months," she cries, dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve. "This time, I have the chance to do something about it – to prevent it from happening. That's why I need you to stay here…at least until we know more. You know I would never do this to you if I didn't feel like it was the only way."
"What about us being able to face anything, as long as we are together? How can it be right if we're not together?" he asks, with a sadness in his voice that she has never heard before.
It tugs at her heartstrings. She puts her head on his shoulder and kisses his hand, which is still linked with hers.
"What if… What if this is the one time that together means having the courage to admit when we should be apart?"
He stares at the floor, shaking his head, sensing that he is losing the debate.
"Stiles, look at me," she directs, waiting for him to make eye contact before continuing. "Do you believe that I love you?"
"Yes," he replies in a low voice.
"Do you believe that if I thought I had a choice, I would always choose to be with you?"
"Yes."
"And do you love me?"
"You know I do. I love you more than anything," he affirms, gazing at Lydia with such devotion that she thinks her heart will quite literally burst into flames.
"Then will you please do this for me…for us?" she implores.
He takes in a deep breath and then slowly exhales, "Alright...but I'm going to hate every second of it."
"So am I," she agrees.
"And I'm gonna constantly call you...and text you...and think about you...and miss you."
"Promise?"
Stiles shifts on the bed so that they are facing each other properly. With one hand he pushes her long hair behind her shoulder, his hand traveling down her side and coming to rest at her waist. With the other, he brings their hands over his heart.
"Promise."
"Good...'cause I'll answer when you call...and I'll text back...and think about you...and miss you too. "
He closes his eyes. "Lydia, it hurts."
"I know it does. It hurts me too…but when we are together again, it will stop," she soothes, running her free hand across his forehead and along the side of his face.
As he has done many times before, Stiles turns into her hand and kisses her palm. They both respond to the invisible tether that links them. It draws them closer together. Stiles leans into kiss Lydia's forehead. Then nuzzling his cheek against the side of her face, he drops a line of kisses down her jawline and across to her chin, until his lips are barely grazing hers.
Lydia holds her breath until Stiles presses his lips to hers, gently at first, then more deliberately and filled with desire. Her stomach tenses and flutters all at once, reminding her of the near constant tickle of butterflies he has inspired ever since she fell for him. Back then, she had assumed the sensation would eventually begin to dissipate, but as time passes, she only feels it strengthening. She drapes her arms around his neck as he slides his hands under her legs, pulling her into his lap.
Lydia will catch a later flight to Beacon Hills, but for now, it is Stiles's turn to say good-bye.