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She finds Scott on the Stilinskis’ porch, hands folded around an empty can as he braces his elbows against the railing. He must have noticed that she was there, but he doen’t look up. She would say he looks like Atlas, back tight even when he’s relaxed, but that wouldn’t fit. Even though Scott carries the weight of his entire world on his back, it was never a punishment. Scott chose this, every time.
“Hey, Lydia,” he greets, before she can find the proper allusion. He nods at her but stays braced against the railing, staring out at the lawn as if there was something hiding in it. Summer was settling in on northern California, and Scott wore the sunlight well, nearly golden in the weak evening light.
“Scott.”
Lydia Martin is never at a loss for words. It’s simply not her condition to second guess her speech, or to ever find herself unsure of what she wants to say. Maybe it is because she doesn’t know why she sought Scott out, maybe it is because everything after high school is unfamiliar territory, maybe it because she has never quite been able to read Scott the way she can everyone else, he is not so legible to her.
“What’s up, Lydia?” Scott asks. He turns to face her, leaning his back against the railing. It’s a mannerism he picked up from Isaac; one of a hundred tiny things he’d picked up from everyone around him, hypersensitive to everybody all the time.
“I was planning on asking you the same thing,” Lydia answers, smirking when Scott rolls his eyes with a warm laugh. “What are you doing out here, Scott?”
“Wanted some fresh air,” Scott shrugs, watching his fingers drum against the can in his hands. Scott is a terrible liar, transparent as the glass in a fish tank; his beating heart always on display. It’s no small miracle that Jackson figured out Scott was a werewolf almost as quickly as Scott had.
“Hmm,”she murmurs, waiting for him to give a real answer.
“I just needed a break from all the celebrating.”
“Jealousy isn't a good look on you, sweetheart,” Lydia says blandly, coming to stand beside him against the porch railing. She wasn’t jealous of everyone else and their functioning romances, not really, not in any way she wanted to examine, but she could understand why he might be. Watching alone as all her friends coupled off was uncomfortable enough for her, but watching Allison lean into Isaac’s chest as they explained their summer backpacking plans to Braeden must be worse for him.
“I’m not jealous,” Scott says in reflex.
“No,” she corrects, not unkindly, “I’m not jealous. You are.”
“I don’t have anything to be jealous about,” Scott shrugs. “Really.”
“We’re having a party to celebrate surviving high school, and you’re hiding on the porch.”
“I guess I’m just not sure if it’s right that we’re celebrating,” Scott says, after no small time deliberating. “Yeah, we survived, but a lot of people didn’t.”
There is not much to say to that. Aiden’s death still weighs heavy on her chest a year and a half later, Allison visits her mother’s grave every other Saturday, and Isaac still wakes up some nights screaming for Erica and Boyd. She has felt so many people die in this town; maybe the right time for celebration here wouldn't be for a long time yet.
“I’m not jealous, though,” he continues. “Really. I’m honestly just happy for them.”
“Happy for who?”
“Allison and Isaac, sure,” Scott smiles. “But I meant everyone. I’m glad that everyone’s got someone. Allison and Isaac, Kira and Malia, Derek and Braeden, Stiles and Cora…”
He trails off, looking at her consideringly.
Lydia smiles at him, wrapping her fingers around the hand he was counting couples on. “And you and me. Just because we’re not dating doesn’t mean we don't still have each other.”
“You and me, then,” Scott laughs. Lydia likes the way all of that sounds.
The silence that falls between them is companionable, more comfortable than the noise inside the house. Even with the doors closed she can Braeden’s laugh over the music, and Malia’s voice drifts up and quiets down every so often.
“When are you leaving this summer?” she asks after a few minutes.
Scott sighs. “I’m not.”
“When did you decide that?” Lydia asks. Past the initial surprise, she wasn’t necessarily all that shocked. It was so much like Scott to put this town before college. He’d always been best at putting himself last.
“About a week ago, but I just called UCLA today.”
“What are you going to do here?”
“I’m starting on the paperwork to transfer to UC Santa Barbara, because it’s close enough I won’t really have to leave town. I’ll work extra hours with Deaton until then, I guess.”
“It could get lonely around here, with just Derek and Braeden and their gun collection for company.”
Scott shrugs. “I don’t mind. Besides, somebody has to keep an eye on Liam.”
“Nobody said that had to be you.”
“No, but I think it should be. I feel like I owe him something, like I owe this whole town something.”
“You don’t owe them your life, Scott,” Lydia says quietly. He isn’t looking at her, watching one foot tap against the stone of the porch, so she watches him until he meets her eyes. “You don’t owe anyone that.”
“I’m not giving up on the rest of my life. I’m still going to go to college, Lydia. I’ll probably play lacrosse if I can at UCSB, and I’ll go to vet school, even if UCLA has a better veterinary program. I’m not giving anything up.”
“If that’s what you want.”
“Yeah, it really is,” Scott smiled briefly, sad around the edges. “I don’t think I could ever leave Beacon Hills on a clear conscience, y’know? I’d spend my whole life thinking about all the people I should have saved, and that’s not much of a life, either.”
“You’re really something, Scott McCall,” Lydia says warmly, finding his hand with her own, giving it a quick squeeze.
Scott snorts, rolling his eyes at her. “Not compared to you. You’re gonna be great at Harvard, Lydia.”
“I'm expecting nothing less,” Lydia preens. “You need to tell everyone that you're not leaving for college in the fall, Scott. They'll want to know.”
"I know," Scott shrugs. "I've kind of been putting it off."
"You should do it soon."
"Not today," Scott says. "I'll do it this week, when all the graduation parties are done."
"Good. Do you think you might want to head inside? I'm going to guess that people are wondering why they can't find Scott and Scott and Stiles' joint graduation party."
“Yeah, alright.” Scott pushes off from the railing, Lydia’s hand trailing along in the air behind his. “Oh, sorry,” Scott flushes pink when he realizes he never let her hand go, but gives it a squeeze before letting it go.
For the rest of the party, Lydia's hand feels pleasantly warm, as if she could imagine Scott still holding it. It's a curious feeling, but Lydia doesn't think it's a bad one.
*
Graduating from high school is more of a milestone than it ever should have been, more a celebration of survival than of her valedictorian award. It’s okay though; graduation means freedom, means leaving this town in her rear view mirror and starting over in a college bigger than all of Beacon Hills, where nothing can find her if she doesn’t want it to.
She would think it was a little unfair that they were all running off and leaving Beacon Hills defenseless, but leaving 30,000 people to fend for themselves seems fairer than asking a handful of teenagers to die for that town. She thinks Derek will stay; she thinks Derek might always stay in Beacon Hills. Derek’s been running for long enough.
But when she gets on the plane in San Francisco International, waving at Allison, Scott, Isaac, Stiles, and Malia until she and her mother have walked halfway down the gateway, it doesn’t feel like running away, it feels like liberation.
Two days after she arrives in Harvard, when her mother has finally left for California again, she Skypes Allison. Allison is still packing, sorting through shirts as they video chat, and Lydia realizes, really understands for the first time, that she won’t see Allison for a whole year. Allison will leave for the American University in Paris, Isaac right beside her, and Lydia will be in Boston, and they will have these new lives that barely involve each other.
Allison is saying something about off-campus housing and Lydia can’t hear a word she says, because all she can think of is Allison moving to Paris and falling in love with France the way she never loved California, moving into an apartment with Isaac and speaking French together and never looking back. It’s irrational, completely and utterly, but now that everyone is leaving Beacon Hills, it’s starting to feel like they’ll never all come back together.
“Lydia?” Allison asks, finally catching her attention. “Is everything okay?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Lydia beams.
“You just looked a little lost, that’s all.”
And Lydia is feeling a little lost, a little like she’s losing her hold on everything. But Lydia has known better than to show weakness, even to her closest friend, for a long time now, so she smiles self-deprecatingly and laughs a little. “Just a little distracted, sorry. Harvard is a little busy.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.” She’s firm, and the look on Allison’s face says she wants to keep pushing, so Lydia changes the subject and soldiers on. “You were saying something about off-campus apartments?”
“Yeah,” Allison nods, and trails off. Lydia eventually gets her talking about university and Isaac and Paris again, but it’s not the same. She can’t shake the feeling that all of this leaving is somehow more permanent than it seems.
A few minutes after Allison hangs up with the promise to call again soon, she calls Scott. It goes to voicemail, Lydia doesn’t leave a message.
He calls back three hours later (she keeps forgetting she’s changed time zones, keeps forgetting that everyone she knows runs on different clocks these days), and by the time she picks up the phone, she still isn’t sure why she called in the first place.
“Lydia, hey!” Scott says through the phone, sounding far too cheerful for somebody in a time zone where it's only 7:45 in the morning.
“Scott.”
“Hey, what’s up? How’s Harvard?”
"Harvard's good."
Now that she is on the phone with Scott all she can think about is how much she misses home, in a weirdly aching sort of way. It's not homesickness, so much as this odd longing, like as if she'd left something behind and wanted nothing more than to go back and get it. It's inexplicable. There is nothing about Beacon Hills that she misses, and most of the handful of people she cared about had left it behind. Still, she can't shake the feeling that she belongs there, in her mother's town, her grandmother's town, and the town of her great-grandmother before her.
"Does it feel weird, living in Beacon Hills, now that everyone's gone?" Lydia asks. Of course not everyone has left, but in a way they have. Scott, Stiles, Allison, Isaac, Kira, and she were an entire world between the six of them.
"Yeah, it does." Scott says, voice thick with heartbreak. "It's weird. I feel weird without all of you here."
"I know what you mean."
"I miss my pack. I feel wrong without my pack around."
"Yeah," Lydia agrees. "Yeah. So do I."
*
She’s not quite sure when it becomes Scott that she Skypes every Thursday night; it's some time after Allison left for Paris with Isaac and started finding less and less time for things back in America, but before the leaves had started turning gold. She still talks to Allison almost every week (and she’s spoken more to Isaac in the months he’s been in France than she did all last year, by virtue of his constant presence just beyond the edge of Alison’s webcam), but not with the regulatory she talks to Scott.
It’s Scott she calls when she wails as she wails as someone dies for the first time since leaving California, when she finally accepts that the supernatural didn’t follow her to Cambridge, that she is the supernatural. It’s Scott, when her roommate drives her to the point of madness. It’s Scott, when she gets drunk and sad, and misses home and Aiden and her grandmother and her pack so much that she ends up crying into her phone on a wooden bench in the quad.
Stiles, she texts every now and then, she sometimes posts articles to Kira’s Facebook wall, and she sends truly inspired Snapchats to Danny. But it’s Scott, it’s always Scott, who she inevitably speaks to next.
When Scott Skypes her the second week of November, he is wan and wasting away, shadows under his eyes blooming black. Last week, he’d cancelled their Skype chat for the first time since August, and after not seeing him for two weeks, the way he has faded is staggering.
“You look terrible,” she says before Scott can say anything, pursing her lips and staring him down.
Scott shrugs with one shoulder, combing a hand through his hair. It’s getting a little shaggy, just another way he looks worn out. “Things are a little crazy here.”
“Crazy how?”
“You know,” Scott deflects. “Just Beacon Hills.”
“Crazy how, Scott?”
He mumbles something that sounds unfortunately like witches.
“Witches? There are witches now? Christ, Scott. What’s next, sea monsters?”
“Actually,” Scott informs her. “Derek says there typically aren’t any this far up the coast. They like warmer climates than the North Pacific.”
“I was joking!”
“Well, I’m pretty sure Derek was being serious.”
“Then I guess I won’t be seeing any in Boston Harbor, either.”
“There’s a pretty good chance you might get selkies up in Boston, though,” Scott offers, sounding vaguely apologetic.
“Did you get that from Derek, too?”
“Uh huh.”
Lydia doesn’t have much to say to that. She’s not Derek Hale’s biggest fan, tries to keep her distance from that whole damn family, actually, but she doesn’t really mind him. Allison always kept her distance from Derek, still trying and failing to look past his role in her mother's death, and usually Lydia had just done the same. He’s not a bad man, Lydia knows, just completely unequipped to handle positive human interaction.
“And so are witches the reason why you look like you’ve been awake for a week?” Lydia asks, steering them back to the conversation.
“Eh, more or less,” Scott shrugs. He scratches the back of his neck on her computer screen, looking a little sheepish, like he’d been caught stealing extra desert.
“More or less,” Lydia repeats back. “Want to elaborate?”
“I’ve been busy. Pulling a few extra shifts with Deaton, helping Liam train, stuff like that. Derek and I are trying to repair the old Hale house. It needs work.”
“How many extra shifts?”
“I don’t know, four or five.”
“God, Scott!” Lydia sighs. “Why are you running yourself into the ground?”
“People are dying, Lydia! What am I supposed to do, take a day off so I can nap and watch Netflix?”
“No! But you’re not supposed to wear yourself out until it kills you, either!”
“Lydia…”
“Scott, listen,” she interrupts. “I worry about you, okay? So, please, could you worry about yourself, too?”
“I worry about myself,” Scott responds immediately. “Just, maybe not as much as I worry about everyone else.”
“Well, if you die, who’s going to worry about everyone else, then?” Lydia asks. She watches Scott sink in on himself in his desk chair, visibly deflating at her words.
“I’m not going to die, Lydia.”
“Very few people go about their day with the expectation of unplanned death, Scott.” Lydia sighs, staring at Scott over Skype. He looked halfway to dead over the video’s mediocre quality, and even seeing Scott this weary was exhausting her. “Did you ever read The Giving Tree?”
“Uh, the kids'd book?” he blinks, confused by her sudden change in topic. "Yeah, I think so."
“Do you remember what happens?”
“A tree gives a kid stuff, right?”
“What about the ending?”
Scott blinks, a little unsure. “It’s been years since I read that, Lydia. Why are you even asking?”
“The tree gave up everything, until it was nothing left but a stump. The tree gave all of itself away, just because somebody asked. It put absolutely everything before itself, and it ended up destroying itself.”
“Is this supposed to be a metaphor?”
“Allegory,” Lydia corrects absently, before doing her best to glare Scott into submission. “And, yes, it is. Don’t be the damn Giving Tree, Scott. Don’t you dare burn out because you’re too busy giving yourself to everyone else that you forget about yourself.”
“I’m not going to forget about me, Lydia,” Scott says, looking a little taken aback. “I promise.”
“Don’t you dare die on me too, Scott McCall,” she scolds, trying to cover up the sentiment behind it. She doesn’t want him to know just how worried she is, because that would show just how much she does care about him.
“Deal,” Scott grins, suddenly. “But you have to promise to come home for winter break.”
Lydia laughs, surprised. “Are you blackmailing me with your own death?”
“Yeah. Is it working?”
“I don’t know,” Lydia says. “I was actually planning on doing some research with my physics professor. It would be a really great opportunity; I’m the only undergrad she accepted.”
“You’re Lydia Martin. You’ll get offered plenty of opportunities, I promise.” Scott grins. “Come home, Lydia.”
“Is everyone else coming back, too?”
“Stiles definitely is. Kira’s going to try, but her parents moved back to New York, so she’s probably going to have to spend part of the break there. Malia might just go where Kira goes. And Allison and Isaac probably aren’t.”
“None of that surprises me.”
“So, are you gonna come?” Scott asks again, eyes big as he grins at her. "Lydia, please? I really want to see you, outside of a computer screen. And I know you miss home, even if you don't want to admit it."
“I’ll let you know,” Lydia demurs, but she already knows she’ll be flying back to California come winter.
*
Almost two weeks later, Lydia Skypes Allison, and is surprised when Isaac picks up the call.
“Hey, Lydia,” Isaac says, smiling widely at her. He looks as relaxed as she’s ever seen him, easy posture and quick grin. France has been good for him. “Allison’s in the shower, but she’ll be out soon.”
“Hi, Lydia!” she hears Allison’s muffled voice from somewhere in the apartment.
“Hi, Allison,” she replies.
“Lydia says hi, babe,” Isaac calls, turning from the camera to look to his side, ostensibly in the direction of the bathroom.
“How are you, Isaac?”
“Really pretty good, actually. I ordered lunch today without the waiter looking like he wanted to murder me, so I think it’s safe to say my French is improving.”
“Congratulations.”
Isaac tilts his head just slightly to the side, staring unnervingly at her. “What’s going on with you and Scott?”
Lydia blinks at him, blindsided. Somewhere in the apartment, she hears Allison yell something indistinct at him. She gets the feeling that Isaac is asking things he was explicitly not supposed to.
“Nothing’s going on with Scott and I,” Lydia answers brusquely, rolling her eyes when Isaac makes a disbelieving face.
“Does Scott know that?”
“Of course he does. Why are you asking me about Scott?”
“It’s just,” Isaac begins, “every time I talk to Scott these days, he’s always talking about you. Like, all the time talking about you.”
“It’s not his fault I’m fascinating, Isaac,” Lydia sighs in false condescension. This is something she doesn’t fully know what to make of. The idea that something might be happening between her and Scott isn’t one that had occurred to her before, but now that Isaac suggested it, it’s an idea that fills in a lot of blanks she hadn’t even realized were there.
“Yeah, okay,” Isaac rolls his eyes so aggressively that his head moves with them. “Scott tells me about the physics research you’re doing, and how much he likes talking with you, and how he hopes you’re coming home for Christmas because you’re fascinating. Because he’s intellectually curious about you.”
“He says all that?” Lydia asks, shocked out of her mask of disinterest.
“Yeah, he really does,” Allison answers, popping onto the screen. She climbs onto the couch Isaac is sitting on and perches on his lap, so they both fit into the frame. “And Isaac was really not supposed to bring it up.”
“Sorry,” Isaac says, not sounding at all apologetic, and pressing a quick kiss to Allison’s shoulder. “But, just because Scott is the biggest dumb martyr I know doesn’t mean I’m going to let him end up old and alone in Beacon Hills, with only the pets in his clinic for company.”
Allison rolls her eyes and sighs. This is obviously a conversation they’ve had before. “Scott’s going to be perfectly fine without you interfering in his business.”
“It’s possible.”
“Probable,” Allison corrects.
“Okay,” Lydia interrupts, before they can dissolve into the bickering/flirting routine she’s had to watch too many times already. “Scott likes me. We already knew that. We’re friends, it’s not a big deal.”
“It’s a medium sized deal,” Allison smiles. “He really likes you, Lydia. Romantically.”
“It’s irrelevant,” Lydia dismisses. “I doubt you’re right, and even if you were, I don’t date friends’ exes. Too much baggage.”
“Oh, we’re right,” Isaac smirks. “Believe me, we’re right.”
“But, you’re saying, if we were right, you’d consider dating him?” Allison asks. “If he wasn’t my ex I mean.”
“I,” Lydia says and bites her tongue, because that’s exactly what she’d just said.
“Because I don’t think that should stop you,” Allison continues. “I think you’d be good for each other. I think you’d make each other happy.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that he dated my best friend.”
“So, what?” Allison asks. “It’s been more than two years since we broke up. We still care about each other, sure, but Scott’s not still in love with me, any more than I am with him.” She glances back at Isaac with a warm smile. “I moved on a long time ago.”
Isaac leans down to kiss the crown of Allison’s head, and she twines their hands together to pull his arms around her. “God, you two are disgusting,” Lydia groans. They ignore her.
“That’s great, I’m glad you’re happy, but what even makes you think I’m remotely interested in dating Scott?” Lydia says, thankfully pulling their attention back to the conversation at hand.
“I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t have let this conversation continue this long if you weren’t interested,” Allison smiles. Allison has always been able to see right through Lydia, to understand all the things she wouldn’t say. It’s never been more annoying.
“I’m not particularly interested in dating somebody on the opposite coast,” Lydia says, instead of addressing what Allison had said.
“Hey, you’ve made it this far over long distance,” Isaac shrugs. “Might as well go for it.”
“We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to,” Allison says. “But, if you are interested in Scott, you should say something. You’re going home for winter break, right?”
Lydia nods.
“Then maybe you should talk to him.”
“Maybe,” Lydia agrees blandly, and they let the conversation drop.
There are only three weeks left until she flies back to California. She’s got all the time in the world to think about what she wants. She’s pretty sure already she’ll just be thinking about Scott.
*
Her flight lands at midnight on the 21st, in San Francisco International. It's 3 in the morning in Boston time, and Lydia is so tired she wants to cry.
There is a small crowd waiting by the baggage claim when she gets there, mostly parents picking kids up for the holidays and spouses waiting to be reunited. Near the front of the crowd is Scott, grinning so wide it looks like it has to hurt, and holding up a sign that says Lydia Martin.
Lydia drops her bag and flies into Scott, tackling him in a giant hug. "You're such a dork," she laughs, accidentally knocking the sign out of his hands.
"Yeah," Scott says, picking her up and twirling her once, making her shriek in surprise. "But at least I'm cute."
"Put me down!"
"Right, sorry." Scott sets her down but doesn't move to end the embrace, and Lydia tightens her arms around him as she tucks her head against his chest.
"I was a little worried you weren't going to come," Scott admits, head tucked towards her so she can feel his breath on her scalp.
"Of course I came back," Lydia rolls her eyes. "Beacon Hills is home."
Scott grins at her.
"And besides, if I'd stayed in Boston, I would have waited until summer to do this," Lydia says, and pushes up onto her toes to kiss Scott. She pressed her lips to his quickly, before pulling away to smile at him.
"I'm so glad you didn't wait," Scott says, laughing happily. He lifts her up and spins her around again, kissing her again as he whirls her around. Behind them, other passengers are watching them and Scott is still holding her aloft and Lydia's body keeps insisting that it is 3 in the morning but none of that really seems to matter as much as Scott pressed against her chest.
"Welcome home," Scott says when they break apart, and Lydia has never been happier to hear it.
fin