Somewhere after the movie
There were many things Lydia got from her little trip back to Beacon Hills, but the most important of them all was a lesson.
A lesson in holding on to the things and the people we love because it might be too late if we don’t.
It was hard to be back, especially after the past year. To go back on those streets, the same places and with the same people she grew up with… well, almost.
The most important person wasn’t there.
She knew that she was to blame for that, that maybe he didn’t want to go knowing that she’ll be there. She also knew how hard he worked, so maybe he just got caught up with a case and couldn’t find the time to drive down.
Either way, Stiles wasn’t there. And it felt wrong.
It felt wrong to be detectives without him, to tie a red string on a board and not have him fussing over it, tying it around his fingers anxiously as he tried to figure it out.
But that was her fault, too. It was she who left, her who put a stop to what they had because she was scared. Scared of a nightmare that felt too real not to pay it any mind. And, after her record, she didn’t want to risk it. Not when it came to Stiles. She lost him so many times already.
“Are you okay, Lyd?” Jackson asks. It’s been nice to have him around. The whole bringing-Allison-back thing was hard enough, she needed a support system if her usual one was gone.
She’s glad at least that worked out, and maybe it was seeing Scott and her best friend get back together as if no time had passed, or maybe it was the fact that she had to catch Allison up with everything she missed the past fifteen years, and the memory lane wasn’t a fun ride to go down.
“You don’t look surprised,” Lydia asked her best friend after she finished the re-cap of her story.
“About Stiles? How could I?” Allison laughed. “Lyds, you kept denying it but I could see it from a mile away. Besides, I do remember that kiss. Even with everything that was going on, you two… you were meant to be.”
The words still play in her head now as Jackson waves his hand in front of her.
“Sorry, what were you saying?” Lydia asks, turning to face him. He just rolls his eyes in annoyance. He really became a totally different person after he left Beacon Hills, but Lydia thinks he likes it better like this, funnily enough.
“You need to talk to him,” Jackson blurts out.
“Talk to who?” She frowns.
“Oh, come on, you’re the smartest woman in the world, I’m pretty sure you can figure that one out.”
“I—I can’t, Jackson. I can’t go back. I don’t even know if he still—“
“This is Stiles we’re talking about. The guy’s been in love since… what, eighth grade?”
“Third, actually—“
“Even better! Trust me, he’s not… he’s still in love with you. It would be stupid of him not to.”
“I just don’t think it’s fair. After all, it was me who left without a warning,” she sighs.
“Fine, then wait until the next supernatural crisis hits and we can all come back here and make it awkward like Malia and Scott! What the fuck happened between those two, anyway?”
“Beats me…” Lydia says.
“I’m just saying, I think you should call him. Or show up at his doorstep and tell him what happened. He’d do that for you.”
And Jackson is right about that, Stiles would do that for her. He’d do anything for her. Once, after they moved to San Francisco, her bosses were being dicks and not giving her enough credit and he actually conducted an investigation that got them in trouble for neglecting their workers.
“I’ll see what I do, but thanks for coming and… for everything else,” she hugs him. It’s time for him to catch his plane back to London.
“Of course, but remember—“
“No word of this to Ethan. Got it,” she chuckles. “Have a safe flight!”
“Call him!” Is the last thing he says before he closes the door and heads inside the airport. Lydia sighs and holds the steering wheel harder, thinking.
When she closes her eyes, he sees the dream again, so clearly, so vividly, Stiles on the floor, glass shattered all around him, and the car on fire. He’s not breathing, and all Lydia can do is scream, but nobody hears her.
She shakes her head and starts driving back to San Francisco. It’s gonna be a long ride, but she hopes that she’s made a decision by the end of it.
(…)
There are few things Lydia missed about using her powers again, but the random blackouts weren’t one of them.
That’s the only possible reason she can think of as to why she’s parked her car in front of Stiles’ apartment. Or maybe it was just muscle memory.
Or both.
Call him.
“Fuck it.” She says and she gets out of the car, trying to make herself look presentable as if Stiles hadn’t seen her at her worst. As if he hadn’t loved her even when she was locked up in an asylum, with her head drilled open.
As she heads to the door, her heart starts to beat way too quickly for comfort.
Maybe this is a horrible idea. Perhaps she should’ve called. What if he’s not home? What if he’s got someone over? She probably should’ve texted first to make sure he didn’t hate her.
“Lydia?”
She doesn’t even get to ring the doorbell.
But, of course, he must’ve felt the red string of fate pulling as she got closer.
“Hi,” her voice barely comes out, which is funny for a Banshee. “I—“
“Oh, my God,” he drops the bags he was carrying and walks to her to hug her so tightly she can barely breathe. “You’re okay, thank God.”
She doesn’t know what to say, how to act. It takes her a few seconds to hug him back, too startled. But this is the place she belongs in: his arms.
“Scott texted and… I didn’t know you’d be going back, too. Beacon Hills was—“
“It was Allison, of course, I went back,” Lydia says. “It was… weird being there without you, you know? We all missed you, I missed you.”
“Did you?” He asks, and Lydia knows that he has every right to be defensive, but she doesn’t want him to be.
“Of course, I did. I—“ she sighs. “Listen, can we talk? Upstairs, maybe? Or if you don’t want to, I can come back another day or we can meet up somewhere else that doesn’t feel so personal, or you can tell me to get the fuck out and—“
“I would never do that,” he says, and it hurts that Lydia knows. Even when she’s hurt him so many times, he still wouldn’t. “Let me—I was on my way to take out the trash, so let me do that and then you can come up, sure.”
“Cool, yeah, sure, do you need any help with that?” She asks, pointing at the bags, but he shakes his head, smiling slightly.
“Wouldn’t want you to stain those boots. They’re your favorite, aren’t they? Or maybe you got a new favorite pair now.”
“I don’t,” she says, maybe a bit too quickly. The fact that he remembers makes something warm burn inside her. The same fire that’s been burning for over fifteen years and didn’t die even when they were apart.
She watches him go down the stairs to the bins down the street and come back with his checkered pajama bottoms and a plain white t-shirt that Lydia knows he loves to sleep in.
It feels like nothing has changed except it has. Many things have changed. Dead people aren’t dead anymore and people who weren’t dead before, are.
“Alright, let’s go?” He asks once he gets back to her, and she just shyly nods before she follows him inside.
She knows the way to his apartment by heart, and could probably get there with her eyes closed if she wanted to, but she enjoys the sight of him. His hair is a bit longer, much like it was when they were in high school.
She feels like she just jumped on a time machine and they’re back to the days when discovering dead bodies around their town was the norm. Well, he still kind of does, but he always said it wasn’t as fun without the rest of the pack.
“Welcome. I’m sorry about the mess, I wasn’t really… expecting anyone,” he chuckles, scratching the back of his neck as he moves to the side to allow Lydia to walk in.
The fact that it still looks exactly the same as the last time she was here gives her a bit of whiplash. Only the pictures of them two are gone, but Lydia doesn’t blame him for that.
At least the ones of the whole pack are still there.
“It’s okay, I’m used to your mess,” she smiles a bit, hoping it wasn’t too much for her to say.
“Yeah, after hanging out in my teenage bedroom, I’d say you’re good,” he chuckles as well and closes the door behind her.
It’s a bit awkward as they sit on the couch in silence, and Lydia is starting to second-guess coming here in the first place.
“What did you want to talk about?” He eventually asks, and Lydia is surprised that she founds herself at a loss for words. That’s never happened before.
“I… These few days have been very intense. Going back there, seeing all the people from our past… Allison coming back and losing Derek was very hard. It showed me the importance of not holding anything back because it might be too late.” She looks down at her hands as she starts fidgeting with her fingers nervously. She always does that.
“Hey, Lyd? It’s alright,” he reaches over and holds her hand the same way he always did. The same way he used to unwrap the colored strings they used for their detective maps, the same way he did when he put a ring on her finger. A ring she left behind when she left.
“Is it, though? Don’t you hate me even a little bit?” She asks, now turning to look at him. “Because, trust me, I do. I hate myself. I hate myself for leaving you like that, but I didn’t have a choice,” she says. “I— I’m sorry that I left like that, so suddenly and without explaining. I couldn’t—“
“Do you want to explain it now?” He asks, as gentle as usual, just as patient.
“I had a nightmare one night… we were driving somewhere and suddenly, it all turned black, there was a crack on the window, and you… you were on the floor, surrounded by glass and I couldn’t move. I couldn’t reach you, but you weren’t breathing.” She gulps. “And I know that I’ve had nightmares before, we both have, but—It kept happening, every night I dreamed the same thing until the point where I didn’t know if it was a dream or if it was a premonition.”
“Well, I’m not dead, am I?” He asks.
“You’re not, because I left. I was there in the dream, so I thought that… if I left, then—“
“You have to be kidding me,” he says, standing up. “Lydia Martin, you—“
“I couldn’t lose you, okay? Not like that! I—I couldn’t face you dying, Stiles. I’m sorry, I know it was selfish, but I just—I couldn’t be the reason why you died.”
“So losing me anyway was the best idea you had? Why didn’t you tell me?!”
“Because I was scared! I was terrified of triggering it, so I just—“ she sighs. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come. I had no business stirring up the past like that, you—you never deserved it.” She stands up and starts to head for the door.
“Hey, hey, hold on, I never said that,” he reaches out to stop her, grabbing her arm. “I’m just saying… Lydia, I’ve been in love with you since the third grade. Even when you barely acknowledged my existence, I loved you. Did you really think that I stopped?”
“You should have,” Lydia says with a bitter laugh.
“Yeah, well, I also should have stayed home that night that Scott got bitten, I should have studied more for my exams instead of going around the woods every night, and I should have made sure to keep my Jeep in top-tier condition so it wouldn’t keep breaking, I should have done many things, but we all know I never was too good at doing what I should, was I?” He says, a smile on his face. “So, tell me, Lydia, why did you actually come here? Just to tell me that? So that I could… find closure and move on?”
“I came because I missed you. Because being back in Beacon Hills without you felt wrong and made me realize how much I wished that I’d stayed. How much I regretted letting that nightmare drive me away from the only thing that I’ve ever had. You—You’re the love of my life, Stiles. And every second I’ve spent without you has been torture.”
“I’d say we’ve both been tortured enough in the past, haven’t we?” And with a swift pull, Lydia finds herself colliding against his chest. “Let’s stop that,” he says before he presses their lips together.
And even though she’s been back in Beacon Hills, this is her true Homecoming. She wraps her arms around Stiles’ neck and deepens the kiss, making up for all the time they lost.
“I love you so much,” she whispers against his lips, feeling her own tears rolling down her face.
“And I love you,” Stiles says back with a smile. “Next time you have a nightmare, tell me about it instead of taking off in the middle of the night, yeah?”
“I’ll try. If I don’t, come find me.”
“Alright, deal.” And he kisses her again, and again, and again, for all the times he couldn’t, for all the nights he wished she was still in her arms, for all the minutes of the day he’s spent thinking about her since he left.
And, when they find their way back to bed, Stiles gets a box out of his bedside table and hands it to her.
“You kept it?” Lydia’s eyes open wide when she sees the ring.
“Always kept hoping you’d come back,” he admits, sliding the ring on her finger and kissing it after. “I’m glad I was right.”
“I am, too.”
And the world might still be a freaky place with werewolves, banshees, kitsunes, nogitsunes, dark druids, and people coming back from the dead, but in their little bubble, it’s just them.
It’s always been just them.
