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Lydia stood in front of the Stilinskis' doorstep for who knew how long, alternating between staring at the doorknob and the doorbell. How funny, she thought to herself. One created a sound that beckoned to residents within, which led to the door opening, which meant that, in effect, a doorbell summoned a doorknob. Interesting.
A sharp pang of emotion began somewhere in her core again, however, bringing tears to her eyes, and she took a shaky breath before mimicking the shakiness with a far-less-flawless-than-normal toss of her hair and two tiny steps up to the doorbell.
Sheriff Stilinski opened the door, still in his uniform. Lydia suddenly had the distinct memory of him -- and Stiles, and a good portion of the local police force -- seeing her stark naked in the woods just a few days ago. A "fugue state," they'd called it -- but post-woods-frolic-Lydia would also label it as an extreme "state" of embarrassment.
"Lydia." The sheriff sounded surprised, and Lydia felt a flush rising to her cheeks. He didn't look unhappy, though; just concerned. He squinted at her. "Is everything all right?"
"I-" Lydia quailed at his question, even though it was a reasonable one. She clenched her toes in her high-heeled boots at the sound of hearing her faltering voice. Normally it was so strident and smooth, but now she could hear that she just sounded...scared. Timid, even. "I wanted to see Stiles."
"Sure, he's right upstairs," the sheriff said quietly, holding the door open. There was kindness in his eyes, but also confusion.
Lydia saw that same confusion and affectionate concern in the eyes of Stiles a minute later. "Lydia! Hey," he said, shoving his hands into his jean pockets, his mouth open a little in the endearingly-befuddled expression that Lydia had started to recognize. He glanced at his father, who sent him an equally-befuddled look over Lydia's head -- but Lydia was already looking down towards Stiles' shoes, and didn't notice.
"Are you okay?" Lydia heard the sheriff heading back down the hall, and sucked in a sharp little breath.
"I just," she pressed her perfectly-glossed lips together, hearing her own voice waver again, and fluttered her eyelashes nervously. It was coming for her, she could feel it, those pangs of fear and panic and those terror-inducing hallucinations that were making her reluctant to ever be alone again -- and that ominous feeling brought her voice back for a moment, albeit in a whisper. "I just wanted to come sit for a while?"
Stiles heard the question in her voice -- and the frailty -- and stepped back into his room immediately, holding out a hand. "Sure! Sure, yeah, of course." His hand gestured to the edge of his bed, and Lydia barely noticed the lacrosse posters on the walls or the haphazard textbook piles on the desk as she tentatively sat down, crossing her hands across her lap.
There was a beat of silence while Stiles stood next to her, and she saw him flail his hands in the air awkwardly for a moment in her peripheral vision. His voice was lower now. "Do you want some water, or anything...?"
Lydia shook her head in a minute movement, but Stiles noticed it immediately and nodded in response. "Okay..." Lydia sensed him looking around the space for a moment and back at the open door before slowly sitting down next to her.
"Okay," Stiles murmured again, pursing his lips comically and looking around the room with a casual shrug. "Sitting it is." There was a brief pause, then he leaned over a little and spoke again, staring straight ahead like she was. "It's a good night for sitting. GREAT night for it, actually," he added lightly with a glance in her direction.
Anyone who knew Stiles well would have recognized the influence that Lydia had on him, considering the fact that he stayed still for longer than thirty seconds. He lasted only a few minutes though, his long-lashed gaze on Lydia's averted face, before the fidgeting began.
Somehow, Lydia didn't mind it, though. She could hear his sneaker faintly pressing against the carpeted floor in a soft muted thump, and see him twiddling his thumbs and blowing through his cheeks. But she just sat there, staring straight ahead. Maybe if she stayed like this, with Stiles and his energy...maybe it wouldn't come back. Maybe THEY wouldn't come back -- the hallucinations or her panic.
She felt her bandage pressing against her side underneath her tight thigh-length dress; it didn't hurt, but she winced at the sensation of the bandage anyway. She wanted to feel like she had earlier this week, like she had for the rest of her life before this. Happy, whimsical, normal. The thought and the touch of the bandage made tears come to her eyes, and she blinked them away delicately -- but not before Stiles noticed them.
She heard his slow intake of breath and his exhale when he saw them glistening on her cheeks, trailing down past her glossy pouted lips. They kept coming, and fell on her hands, sliding further down onto her lap. Stiles stared at her unabashedly now, forgetting his furtive glances, and distantly sensed that he should get up and offer tissues. But sitting this close to Lydia, HIS Lydia...he really didn't want to move.
A little sob escaped between Lydia's lips before she could catch it, and Stiles took in another deep breath at that sound. Seeing her cry, hearing her cry, and seeing how small she looked...he always thought that her small size was cute, but seeing her this small when she was upset made him want to hold her and squeeze her and carry her around without ever letting go.
His hand gently moved to her clutched-together ones, touching her fingers, and she instinctively loosened her grip enough to allow his hand to enter between her palms. His thumb was on the back of her hand, his own fingers contacting hers, but he kept his touch soft and stayed still.
Lydia didn't know how long they stayed like that, and didn't notice when Sheriff Stilinski peeked in once in a while. At first, Stiles gave his father worried looks, but after a while he had eyes only for Lydia and failed to notice his father's quiet investigations.
Eventually, there was nothing for it; it had gotten late, and the sheriff hesitantly knocked on the door. "It's eleven," he said quietly, looking sadly at Lydia and apologetically at his son. "You should both be getting some rest."
Lydia looked up slowly, coming to, and wiped her free hand on her cheek. Stiles nodded at his father before immediately turning back to Lydia. "Are you sure you can drive home...?" His eyes were big and his jaw clenched as he tried to read her expression.
Lydia nodded tightly, taking a breath -- and realized, with a glimmer of surprise, that she did feel okay now. "Thank you," she whispered. Stiles' hand moved from hers, but brushed against her skirt as it did like he was reluctant to stop touching her.
"Anytime." Stiles' voice cracked a little, sounding a little higher-pitched than normal, but he walked Lydia down to the doorstep anyway. The silence felt like a thin pane of glass stretching between them, and Lydia took a step ahead towards her car, feeling his eyes on her back.
"Lydia, I-" he sounded more like his normal self now, although more serious and plaintive than she had ever heard him. She turned, looking everywhere else before finally settling on his face. What she saw there made her want to cry again, but for a different reason. Stiles lifted his hands back in the air for a moment, unsure what to do with them.
"I'm here for you," he said after another beat of weighted silence and a soft exhale. Lydia stared at him, her lips parting slightly, and he sucked in another breath before stepping forward and gingerly taking her into a hug. "I'm here for you," he murmured over her shoulder.
Lydia nodded into his hug, making a little whimpering sound that was meant to be a grateful affirmation but came across as a prelude to more crying. Stiles' grip on her tightened a little, and Lydia felt his chest constrict with another breath against her.
She nervously stepped out of the hug, suddenly feeling tired, and Stiles put his hands in his pockets as he watched her turn back towards her car. "Text me when you get home, okay?" he suddenly asked, following her with a few steps to the sidewalk. "Please?"
His voice cracked again a little on that word, and Lydia met his gaze again to nod.
"Is she okay?" Sheriff Stilinski said quietly, appearing at his bedroom door as Stiles returned upstairs. Stiles could tell his father already knew the answer, but sighed and replied anyway. "No," he looked towards the front door somberly. "No, she's not."