Chapter Text
THREE YEARS LATER.
Lydia’s photo collection on one of the shelves in her office was her favourite part of the room.
Each photo — she had six in total, though she was always looking for an opportunity to expand the collection — had been positioned carefully and with the utmost precision.
From left to right, each photo told a story. A story that she wanted to remember.
The first one was, of course, a photo of her and Allison. It had been taken in their junior year, on one of the calmer days, and Allison was in the middle of laughing at something out loud. Her head was tipped back, one hand pressed to her stomach and the other reaching out to Lydia, who smiled back at her.
Beside that photo was a photo from their graduation day. Allison hadn’t been there physically, but Lydia could feel her all around them. Scott, Malia, Lydia and Stiles posed with their arms around each other, grinning into the camera. She could see her mom standing off to one side, looking on proudly with her own camera hanging around her neck.
Next came a picture of Lydia and Ella; it had been taken on Lydia’s last day at the office. Ella had spent most of the day crying (“Whose coffee am I going to get now? I know your order like the back of my hand, Lydia, what am I supposed to do with that knowledge now?”) and hugging her. Lydia hadn’t realised how upset she would be too, though she’d been happy to move on, she still missed the office from time-to-time. Now, she could relax in her new job. It was still at a research center, where she worked as a mathematical analyst, but San Francisco had a slower pace than New York. Lydia found herself enjoying work again.
The fourth photo along was one of her more recent favourites: Kira, Malia and Lydia looped their arms around each other, each holding a glass of champagne, wearing spa bathrobes and slippers. It had been taken a year earlier on one of Lydia’s trips home to Beacon Hills, where she’d spent most of the weekend with her friends.
The penultimate photo on her shelf had been snapped the day they had moved into their new home. Stiles had moved back to New York with her as he’d promised (much to the chagrin of Scott, though he’d tried his best to pretend he was 100% happy for them) and they’d lived in the city for eighteen months in Lydia’s apartment.
They were both happy there — more than happy there — but the time had come for them to move on from New York. It had started to feel like home with Stiles there beside her, but they both wanted to move closer to home. Stiles claimed that he needed to move back home to help out with his dad, who had retired from the Sheriff’s position and was slowly adjusting to his changed life, but Lydia suspected it had more to do with being away from Scott for so long.
They didn’t move back to Beacon Hills, and they certainly didn’t move back to LA (despite reconciling with Grace and Woods six months after the wedding debacle, Stiles still shuddered whenever LA was mentioned in conversation). They moved to a small town near San Francisco, where they were still close enough to go home whenever they liked, but they had their own life.
They’d become homeowners. It was a modest suburban house with a large garage, three bedrooms, a huge wraparound porch and a spacious back yard where their future children could play. Lydia liked to sit out on the back porch at night with a cup of coffee and a book — usually a textbook about linear algebra; sometimes a fable about werewolves — with her feet propped up against Stiles’s legs.
In the photo, they were both carrying boxes packed with their belongings, grinning into the camera. Stiles held the car keys for the Jeep in his hand and Lydia held the keys for the house in hers.
The sixth — and final — photo on her shelf was a photo of Stiles on one knee, lifting a black box with a diamond ring inside it up to her. Scott had snapped the photo with perfect timing, capturing the exact moment Lydia had gasped loudly, her hands flying to her face.
She’d said yes, obviously.
Six photos that perfectly captured the important moments and people in her life. Six moments that she never wanted to forget.
“We can add another one soon,” Stiles’s voice came from behind her as he stood in the doorway to her office. She turned around and smiled at him, her heart fluttering inside her chest.
“Very soon,” she corrected him. “Are you almost ready?”
“I think so,” Stiles said. He walked over to her, his hands winding around her waist, and planted a kiss on her forehead. “I can’t wait. Why can’t we just get married now?”
“Stiles,” She laughed, pushing against his chest so she could look him in the eyes. “It’s tomorrow. You can’t wait until then?”
“I wanted to marry you ten years ago, Lydia,” Stiles said, then shook his head. “No, wait. Twenty. I’ve been wanting to marry you for twenty years now — I can’t wait another second.”
“Stop it,” she told him, “that makes me feel old.”
“Can you believe how stupid we’ve been?” Stiles murmured. She clutched at the corners of his plaid shirt, feeling the soft material beneath her fingertips. “How long we’ve loved each other compared with how many years we’ve actually spent together.”
“Incredibly stupid,” she agreed, “but it doesn’t matter. We found our way back to each other.”
“And we haven’t looked back since,” he said. Then, “We need to get on the road by one, otherwise we’ll never beat the weekend traffic. You’re ready, right?”
“I was ready two hours ago,” she told him. He patted her waist gently, before breaking away from her. “I was just waiting for you.”
Although she’d meant her words simply as the few hours she’d been waiting for Stiles to get home from work and pack a couple of things he needed for the weekend, she realised that her words could also take on a deeper meaning.
I was just waiting for you.
She felt like they’d been waiting for each other for years. Stiles had waited for her while she’d dated Jackson, way back when werewolves were only the topic of supernatural young adult novels (she was somewhat surprised they’d never come across a vampire in Beacon Hills), then she’d waited while he’d dated Malia. He’d waited for her to realise her feelings for him, which had still been so confused and jumbled in those days, and she’d waited until she knew for sure.
Then, of course, they’d spent seven years apart. Those days felt like a lost memory now. Lydia didn’t like to think about it so much, knowing how much she could have saved between them if she hadn’t stupidly walked away from him at the airport when they were in college, but also acknowledged that those days were part of their story.
And she didn’t think that they would be where they were — as strong as they were — without having faced all those obstacles first. She’d learned a lot while they’d been apart and she knew Stiles had too. They’d learned to live without each other; they’d learned that they didn’t want to.
Now, if she ever felt freaked out about cohabiting and being engaged, all she had to do was look over at Stiles when he was on the phone to his dad or Scott, laughing, and she could feel herself calm down.
If commitment was the problem, Stiles was the antidote.
Lydia looked around the office that she’d be leaving for the weekend, her eyes falling on the shelf of photos again. Stiles followed her gaze.
“You know that she’s going to be there with us tomorrow, right?” he said gently. “Allison, I mean.”
Lydia smiled at him. “Yeah, I know.”
“I like to think she’d be cheering,” Stiles continued, “along with Scott.”
“You think they’d still be together?” Lydia asked. It was a question she asked herself often.
“Maybe,” Stiles said. “I don’t know. All I know is that he’ll always love her.”
She nodded. This, she knew for sure. Scott would always love Allison, just as she would. She also knew that Stiles was right: Allison would be there with them on their wedding day. Just like graduation, Lydia would be able to feel her rather than see her.
She reached out to Stiles, needing his comfort and support, and he pulled her in close to him. With her head tucked under his chin and her cheek pressed up against his chest, she could hear the steady beat of his heart and feel his arms enveloping her. She felt safe.
With Stiles, she always felt safe.
“Come on,” Stiles said eventually, his vocal chords reverberating through his body. She pulled away and looked up at him. “We don’t want to be late for our own wedding.”
______________________________________________________
It had taken them a while to decide on the location for and style of the wedding.
Although Stiles wasn’t incredibly enthused about the idea of a church wedding, he insisted he would be happy with one if it was what she wanted. Luckily, Lydia agreed that she didn’t want a church wedding. If they were to have one, it would have to be in Beacon Hills, and that felt too weird.
They both wanted it to be simple, elegant, classy. They didn’t want a huge white wedding, they just wanted something where their closest friends and family could see them express their love for each other.
They’d trawled through bridal magazines and visited countless venues in search of the perfect one, but when they’d been sitting out on their back porch six months ago, Lydia had been struck with inspiration.
“The beach,” she announced.
She looked up at Stiles, who raised his eyebrows. “The beach?”
“Let’s get married on the beach,” she continued. She tucked her hair behind her ears and leaned forward, even placing the book she’d been in the middle of reading down beside her.
“The beach,” Stiles repeated. The repetition of their conversation was almost comical. “Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes,” he confirmed. “One hundred percent yes.”
“Seriously?”
“Lydia, I just want to marry you,” he said. “As soon as we can. If we book a venue, a proper venue, we’ll only have to wait another year — or more! The beach means we can get married as soon as we want.”
She smiled. “We can.”
“How’s this weekend for you?”
She reached for his hand and rolled her eyes. “Stiles.”
“No, you’re right,” he said, “that would never work. Scott’s visiting this weekend.”
Lydia thought about that conversation as they pulled up outside the small, quaint bed and breakfast where they’d booked a room for the night before the wedding. They’d wait until sunset the next day, when the tourists and sunbathers had gone home, before they exchanged vows in front of just a few of their friends and family.
It was a no-fuss wedding, which Lydia had never imagined herself wanting, but it seemed perfect for them.
She didn’t want it any other way.
They dropped their bags and belongings off in their room at the bed and breakfast, and Stiles grabbed her by the wrist as she walked past him, intending on heading downstairs. He pulled her in close, sliding his hand to the back of her neck and kissing her. She kissed him back — urgently, deeply, like it was their first kiss — before she pulled away gently, placing her hands against his chest.
“What was that for?” she asked, her voice only just above a whisper.
“Because I love you,” he said, “and I can’t wait to marry you.”
“I can’t wait to marry you either.”
Scott, Kira, Malia, Natalie and the Sheriff (Lydia couldn’t think of Noah as anything other than “the Sheriff,” despite his retirement) had also booked rooms at the bed and breakfast for the night. After kissing a few more times — and hastily pulling apart when they realised the time — Stiles and Lydia headed downstairs to meet everyone.
It was evening and the sun started to set outside, casting an orange and pink-coloured glow through the communal area of the bed and breakfast. The owners made them cups of tea and coffee and laid out slices of cake for them.
After they had eaten a sufficient amount of food for the evening, they all relaxed. Stiles and Lydia curled up on one of the couches together, Lydia’s legs draped over Stiles’s and Stiles’s arm tucked casually around her. They listened to their friends talking, laughing, and reflected on how everything had changed so much in the last three years.
“I would make a toast,” Scott announced, reaching for his cup of hot cocoa. “But I didn’t plan anything, so Stiles, just think about whatever I said to you when you and Grace were getting married and change the name to Lydia.”
Stiles tossed a cushion at him, which Scott caught easily and tucked under his arms.
“You think you’re so funny, don’t you?”
“I have my moments,” Scott replied, grinning to himself. He nodded at them. “I love you both, you know that. You guys deserve this more than anybody.”
“Thanks, Scott,” Lydia replied with a soft, relaxed smile. She didn’t think she’d ever been so relaxed in her life.
“In all seriousness,” the Sheriff added, lifting his own cup of coffee up, “I’m happy you kids made it in the end.”
Stiles looked at Lydia. She turned her head, meeting his eyes. As the others in the group moved on, laughing over something loudly, Stiles only spoke to Lydia.
“More than happy,” he commented.
She nodded. She brushed her fingers underneath his chin, pulling him closer and planting a kiss on his lips.
“Ecstatic,” she finished.
______________________________________________________
They refused to be superstitious.
“What could possibly go wrong?” Stiles asked Lydia that morning as they laid in bed beside each other. “Last time, I followed all the rules and superstitions I was supposed to and look how that worked out.”
“Hey, you ended up with me,” Lydia reminded him, “so I’m pretty sure it worked out fairly well for you.”
“You’re right,” Stiles agreed, because it was true. Grace leaving him had been the best thing that could have happened to him on his first wedding day.
Now he knew what it was like to wake up on his wedding day without giant moths fluttering inside of him, or to feel like he might throw up at any given moment. He wasn’t nervous at all; everything felt so right.
When he looked at Lydia, he could see his future. And he liked what he saw.
That evening, they headed down to the beach together. It was only a short walk and they could see the small group of people crowding, waiting for them. Stiles went ahead, greeting Liam, Mason, Corey, Parrish and others along the way.
He stopped beside Woods and Grace, ruffling their son’s hair as he passed. Elliot looked more and more like his father everyday; he was the spitting image of Woods and Stiles always found himself doing a double-take every time he saw them together. Which, admittedly, wasn’t much. Maybe they’d let bygones be bygones and Stiles had forgiven them almost as soon as baby Elliot had been born — though by that point, he was relieved to find out that Elliot wasn’t his — but he still distanced himself from them and their family. They no longer worked for the FBI, so they didn’t even run in the same circles anymore; Stiles had written a recommendation for Woods to apply to be a police officer just last year.
He stood beside Scott — his best man for the second time — in front of the group of people and waited for Lydia.
She approached him slowly, with her mother walking her down the “aisle” (a parting between the group of people), smiling at him the whole way. She was wearing a simple white sundress, her hair braided back from her face.
She kissed Kira and Malia on her way past them and stopped momentarily to hug Ella and her date, Jacob. Stiles didn’t know how he felt about Lydia’s date to his first wedding being in attendance, but Jacob had been dating Ella for almost two years now.
Natalie kissed Lydia’s cheek, then kissed Stiles’s, before Lydia stepped over to him.
“You look beautiful,” Stiles told her.
“And you look very handsome,” she said, then threw a pointed look over to where Grace, Woods and Elliot were standing. “I can’t believe you invited your ex to our wedding.”
He grinned at her. He’d expected some quip about Grace being at the wedding, even though Lydia had been completely fine with it and had, in actual fact, suggested it.
“Which one?” he teased.
Lydia glanced over at Malia, rolling her eyes back at him. “Take your pick,” she whispered back to him.
“Um,” the Sheriff, standing just in front of them, cleared his throat. “If you two are ready, we’ll begin.”
Stiles reached for Lydia’s hands and grinned at his dad. “Sorry, Pops. Go on.”
“Sorry, Sheriff,” Lydia said, but she was still smiling at Stiles. She didn’t think she’d stopped smiling yet.
“Okay, everyone,” the Sheriff said loudly, smiling at the small group of people. Stiles would have glanced out into the crowd to see who was there — they hadn’t stressed over RSVPs — but he didn’t think he could take his eyes off Lydia, who radiated in front of him.
“Dear friends and family, we are gathered here today to celebrate the marriage of my son, Stiles, and Lydia. With love and commitment, they have finally decided to live their lives together as husband and wife, and I couldn’t be happier for them.”
Stiles winked at his dad. “Thanks, Dad.”
“You’re welcome, son,” Noah stage-whispered in response. To the rest of the gathering, he continued. “Now, when Stiles and Lydia asked me to be the minister today, I decided not to recite a traditional reading. These two have never been traditional, so I figured something else might be more apt.”
“Oh God,” Stiles replied, “you’re not going to sing, are you?”
“Stiles, stop interrupting,” Noah answered, sighing. “No, I’m not going to sing. I just wanted to tell you both — and everybody here — that it’s been a pleasure watching you both grow in the last twelve or so years. Years ago, I watched my son literally fall over himself trying to rescue a girl he’d had a crush on since forever, and I waited and watched as Lydia slowly put her trust in him. They became friends, a friendship that didn’t seem to make sense to outsiders, but it was one of the strongest friendships I knew. They worked together as a team everyday. They supported each other, they loved one another from afar. And eventually, they figured out that they were supposed to be together.”
Lydia wiped under her eyes quickly, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall. She had no idea Noah had had it in him.
“It’s been an honour watching the two of you find each other over and over again,” Noah concluded. He smiled at them both — a proud smile. A smile filled with love. “And now, before I start crying, I believe you two have prepared your own vows. Stiles, why don’t you go first?”
“Thanks, Dad,” Stiles said, turning to face Lydia. The sun was setting behind them, setting Lydia’s hair alight and casting a light orange hue across her face. She looked beautiful and he couldn’t believe he was finally marrying her.
“Lydia,” he began, “I have loved you since I was eight years old. I knew from the moment I laid eyes on you that I would slightly obsess over you for years to come, but what I didn’t expect — what took me by surprise — was that I didn’t just fall in love with your beauty, but everything about you. You’ve saved my life countless times, in more ways than one, and I’ll spend my whole life following you anywhere you want to go. Remember that I will always love you, no matter what happens, and I have always loved you.”
Lydia breathed out slowly, trying to stop the tears that were almost ready to ruin her makeup. She smiled shakily.
“Stiles,” she started, “you showed me what it was like to love — to really love — and to be loved in return. Before you, I didn’t know what unconditional support, belief, trust or love was. You’ve been there for me for as long as I can remember. You saved my life, but you saved me in other ways too. In more ways than I can think of. You always believed in me, you always trusted me, even when everybody else thought I was crazy. You made me realise that I wasn’t alone, and I wouldn’t ever be alone as long as I had you by my side. I will love you forever, and I don’t even think forever is long enough. Thank you for being you, but most of all, thank you for loving me as much as you do, for as long as you have, unconditionally.”
Stiles squeezed her hands, smiling through his watery vision.
The Sheriff ran through the vows — the answers were, of course, I do — and Scott stepped forward with the rings. Stiles slid the gold band onto Lydia’s finger, and she followed suit.
“It is my greatest honour to now pronounce you husband and wife,” Noah Stilinski announced gleefully. “Son, you may finally kiss your bride.”
Stiles took a step closer to Lydia and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her softly. When they pulled apart, they could hear the distant sounds of their friends and family clapping — plus a couple of whoops from Malia — but it all sounded like a million miles away.
“Hi, Mrs. Stilinski,” Stiles whispered, so only she could hear.
Lydia narrowed her eyes at him. “Hi, Mr. Martin.”
“Maybe we should have talked about this before …” Stiles said, but then he landed a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll be whatever you want me to be, Lydia Martin-Stilinski.”
“And you’d follow me anywhere?” Lydia asked.
“Absolutely anywhere, for the rest of my life.”
She narrowed her eyes up at him, pretending to consider it. Pretending to think about it. “I like the sound of that.”
She leaned up to him and kissed him, before they joined hands and walked to the small crowd of people gathered in front of them. Their friends and family congratulated them, hugging them, kissing them, crying over them.
While Natalie hugged her daughter, Scott pulled Stiles aside.
“So,” Scott said, grinning, “it kind of feels like everything’s the same, right? You two have been together for so long that this is just inevitable.”
Time seemed to slow down as Stiles looked over at Lydia, who hugged Malia, Kira and then Grace, reaching for Elliot’s chubby little fingers. He watched as his wife — his beautiful, talented, genius wife — smiled and laughed with their friends and family.
He thought about how he got to go home with her, back to their house, and wake up together everyday. He thought about how they would eventually have children together and raise them in their house. He would chase them around the backyard while Lydia read books that were far too intellectual for him, but he would try to understand for her sake. They would be together, everyday, for the rest of their lives.
He had no doubts at all.
Lydia turned to look at him, catching his eye, and smiled at him. It was a smile that lifted his heart.
“No,” he said to Scott, shaking his head.
Years ago, he had been in love with the most popular, unattainable girl in school, with no real belief that she would ever return his feelings. But somewhere along the way, his ten year plan started to work.
Amazingly, that strawberry-blonde haired, unobtainable girl became his friend, then his best friend, his partner-in-crime, his girlfriend, and eventually — after some obstacles along the way — his wife.
Lydia freaking Martin was his wife now.
It was only up from here.
“Everything’s changed.”