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Having been roommates with Stiles since their freshman year of college, it wasn't really out of the ordinary for Scott to hear their apartment door swing open at all hours of the night. So when the telltale creak of the door dragged him out of sleep in the middle of the night, Scott figured Stiles was wandering back in from the library or from going out or—
Wait. No. Stiles was gone. Stiles had left on a romantic getaway with Derek, going to some B&B outside San Francisco for the weekend and Scott had been instructed only to contact them in case of an actual emergency.
In a flash, Scott was out of bed and grabbing for the wooden bat he had stashed behind the door, because someone was in their apartment.
He advanced down the hallway toward the living room, where the lone lamp had been turned on. Oh God, was it a burglar? The only things of value in the living room were the PlayStation and the television, and Scott wasn't going to die for either.
But wait. It hadn't sounded like the door was forced. What if it was Stiles? What if something horrible had happened to him and Derek and they'd had to come back? Oh God, what if they'd broken up?
Scott might have to kill Derek. He didn't want to, he liked Derek, but he'd do it for Stiles.
He stepped into the living room and saw a petite redhead in a fancy coat standing next to the coffee table, and his entire train of thought crashed to a halt.
She snapped her head around to face him. "You...are not Stiles." She narrowed her eyes. "Why do you have a bat?"
Scott could only blink at her, and he lowered the bat. "Who—what—I thought you were a thief or something! Who are you and what are you doing in my apartment? How the hell did you even get in?"
The woman frowned around the room, and then lowered her gaze to her hands, clenched around the handle of her purse. "I'm sorry. I'm looking for Stiles Stilinski. I must have the wrong apartment. I'll go."
"No!" Scott said. "I mean, no, you don't have the wrong apartment. Stiles does live here, but he's gone right now. I'm Scott. His roommate."
The woman nodded at him. "I'm Lydia. I am very sorry for waking you up, Scott. I'll just—"
"Why are you coming to see Stiles at"—Scott rubbed a hand over his hair and squinted at the microwave clock—"holy shit, it's three a.m.?"
Lydia pressed her lips together and shook her head. "It's nothing, really, it's absolutely nothing. I was just hoping to talk to him, and I've had a few drinks and I completely forgot he was going out of town this weekend and—" Her voice started to waver and her knuckles had turned white around the handle of her purse.
Some tiny voice in the back of his mind shouted Mayday!, and Scott took her by the elbow and led her to the couch. "Here. Why don't you sit down for a minute and I'll get you a glass of water?"
Lydia shook her head tightly, her long red hair rippling with the motion. "No, that's fine. I don't want to—to put you out or anything, I just—"
Her voice cracked, and she dropped her face to her hands and let out a sob that hit Scott right in the gut. Shit. Shit. How was he supposed to handle a crying woman he barely knew?
He tugged her gently by the elbow again, and this time she sank to the couch. Scott sat next to her and pulled their giant Yoda throw blanket off the back of the couch to tuck it around her shoulders.
Tea. He should probably make tea. His mom always liked that when she was having a bad day.
He started to get up to do so, but then Lydia slipped sideways, straight into his shoulder, and tightened her fingers in his old white shirt. Scott froze for a second, debating, and then slowly lowered his arm to her shaking shoulders. She felt smaller than she'd looked.
"Hey, it's okay," he said, in the same soft tone he used with skittish animals at the vet's office. "It's going to be okay, whatever it is."
That was either the right or the wrong thing to say, because Lydia cried harder, but she also latched onto him like she wasn't ever letting go.
Scott patted her shoulder awkwardly, and leaned back until they were both settled against the back of the couch. "Okay. Um. You can cry on me as long as you need."
The only response was another long sob.
Scott squeezed her shoulder and rested his head on the back of the couch. It was going to be a long night.
***
Scott woke up the next morning with a crick in his neck and to the sound of someone moving around his kitchen. He practically flew off the couch before he got a good look and realized it was Lydia.
She stared at him with wide eyes and held up a bag of coffee. "Do you always spook this easily?"
Scott laughed shakily and rubbed his hand over his face. "No, I swear I don't. I just remembered Stiles wasn't here and forgot that you were."
Lydia's lips twitched into a small smile and she ducked her head, turning back to the kitchen counter. "I thought coffee was the least I could do after barging into your apartment last night. Thank you for letting me stay, by the way."
Scott scurried over to the sink to put some of the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. "Oh, uh, no problem. Any friend of Stiles's is a friend of mine."
He hesitated, thinking of how to ask his question, and saw the line of Lydia's shoulders tense. "So, I imagine you're wondering why I was drunk and sobbing on your couch."
"Actually, I was wondering how the hell you got into my apartment," Scott said.
Lydia stared at him for a beat, and then burst into laughter. "Oh, Stiles made a key to my apartment, so I made one for his. Sorry. I completely forgot he had a roommate."
Scott shrugged. "At least you weren't a burglar. I'd hate to have called the cops on you."
Lydia turned back to the coffee maker and turned it on. "I had a meeting with my advisor yesterday. It...did not go well. Long story short, I'm going to have to find a new advisor for my thesis."
"And you were coming over to talk about it with Stiles?" Scott asked.
"Well, rant drunkenly about it, but yes."
Scott elbowed her gently. "You can rant about it to me, if you'd like."
Lydia arched one perfect red eyebrow. "You want me to rant to you about my mathematics and mechanical engineering thesis?"
"Why not?" Scott asked. "I mean, I can't promise I'll understand every word, but I can listen and make appropriately angry noises in all the right places."
Lydia threw back her head and laughed, and her red hair rippled down her back like a wave. Scott had to clench his fists at his side to keep from reaching out to touch it.
"Well, since you asked, he made some inappropriate comments regarding my gender and my ability to craft a proper thesis," Lydia said, and her eyes took on a steely glint. "Never mind that I'm at the top of my class, and never mind that I'm exploring theories in my thesis that he only has the barest grasp of. Shooting all my ideas down just because he's angry he didn't think of them first."
"That bastard," Scott said, with feeling.
Lydia jabbed a finger at him. "Exactly."
"He sounds like a total ass," Scott said. "You're probably a lot better off without him."
"I know." Lydia dragged her hands through her hair. "But he's still at the top of his field and one of the most respected professors at school and half the reason I came here to do my graduate work was to study with him, and—"
"Hey, hey." Scott settled his hands on her shoulders. "There are other professors you can work with, right? People who aren't utter jerks because you're smarter than they are?"
Lydia smiled a little. "Yeah, I have some options."
"Good!" Scott awkwardly pulled his hands away, belatedly remembering that he'd only met Lydia last night and probably shouldn't be touching her without her permission. "Just...do that. This guy, who cares if he's at the top of his field or whatever? You deserve better than that."
Lydia covered her mouth, but the corners of her eyes crinkled, like she was suppressing a smile. "You know, Stiles would have just offered to key his car."
Scott rolled his eyes. "That would be the low end of what he offered."
"You're really sweet, you know that?"
Scott made to shove his hands in his pockets, before he remembered he was still wearing boxers and didn't actually have pockets. He felt like he was grinning like an idiot. "Thanks. I know it's not bloody revenge—"
Lydia waved the statement away. "Bloody revenge involves so much potential jail time and bail money and then lawyers and trials, though. I really don't have time for that. Why don't you let me take you to breakfast? To thank you for letting me stay here and for listening?"
Scott took a deep breath. "Only if you let me take you to dinner later."
Lydia stared at him for a long moment, and then broke out into the most genuine smile Scott had seen on her yet. "Oh, you are smooth."
"Not really," Scott admitted, suddenly nervous. "Seriously, that was my one smooth line. It's all awkward bumbling from here on out."
Lydia pressed her lips together, but her eyes were dancing. "Well, I think I'll take my chances anyway."
Scott started to smile in relief, and then his nerves returned. "Just for the record, that was a yes, right?"
In response, Lydia stepped closer and kissed him on the cheek. "Yeah. That was a yes."