A/N: That's right, I finally finished this! Happy reading ;)

Lydia disappears from the living room after they've finished the pizza and put on another movie, and comes back with a bottle of white wine in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other.

"Lydia," Stiles says sharply.

Lydia blinks innocently at him and sets the bottles on the coffee table. "Stiles."

"What are you doing?" This is so Lydia, acting like everything's fine, like she wasn't attacked last night, like she didn't cry in his arms and hold onto him like she was drowning.

"Being a good host," she says, like it's obvious. "Help me get glasses."

She turns around to go to the kitchen and Stiles follows her, cataloging everything he knows is in her system: one milligram of alprazolam, amoxicillin, one slice of pizza with all the grease blotted off, the cheese shredded with her fingers and left on the plate.

"I don't think you're supposed to drink when you're on antibiotics."

Lydia opens a cabinet and gives him a pointed glance. "Glasses," she says stubbornly.

He glares at her but follows her orders because she's Lydia and he can't ever say no to her apparently, pulling down four glass tumblers from the top shelf.

"Don't look at me like that," she snaps.

"Look at you like what?" he exclaims, exasperated, trying to carry four glasses at once back to the living room without dropping them.

"Like I'm a child," she huffs.

"I'm not looking at you like that," he says defensively.

"Yes you are!"

Scott and Kira are both sitting meekly on the couch, looking mildly horrified.

"Alright, enough fighting in front of the kids, honey," he says, his voice horrible and thick with sarcasm.

Lydia blinks and then suddenly she's laughing, a little unhinged, and he steps forward, pulling her into his body and she folds right into him.

"Hey," he murmurs, and just breathes with her, his arms wrapping around her and cradling her against his chest. "You don't have to pretend for us, okay?"

She drops, her weight falling against him and he tightens his arms around her to keep her upright.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

"Hey, hey, it's okay." He cups the back of her head, and says a silent prayer of gratitude to any deity that may be listening for returning her to him, for not pulling her out of his life entirely. He loves Lydia no matter how many pieces she's been broken into.

And then he prays that he'll be able to put the pieces back together.

xxx

Scott and Kira are assigned one of the Martin's guest rooms for the night, after she and Lydia have had two full glasses of wine each and Scott and Stiles put a significant dent in the whiskey, after Lydia's eyes fall shut and she gets carried upstairs by Stiles.

"I'm just gonna..." Kira blushes and points across the room to the en suit bathroom, her overnight bag clutched in her hands.

"Yeah," he says, and tries to give her a warm smile. It feels harder than it should be.

He waits on the bed, stripped down to his boxers, head in his hands. Flashes of the past twenty-four hours slam into him: Lydia, bloody and pale in her dirty silk dress, Stiles practically vibrating with fear in the hospital waiting room, Derek's eyes cold with suppressed rage in early morning sunlight.

The words the man had whispered in Lydia's ear right before she passed out, the memory washing out to black as she lost consciousness.

He thinks about Allison, what she would say if she were here, what she would do: not cry, he thinks, not tell him it was okay. She wouldn't try to make him feel better, pretend it wasn't his fault; no, she would make a plan and fix it.

Allison would want vengeance. Allison would want blood.

And then he's holding her again, copper sharp in his nose and his mouth like pennies, her blank eyes staring up at him and seeing nothing-

"Scott?" Kira's kneeling in front of him and he can tell by the look on her face that she's said his name more than once. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he lies, moving off the bed and around Kira without touching her. "I just need some water."

In the bathroom he runs the water as cold as it'll get and dunks his head under the faucet, shakes and shakes like he's a dog trying to dry itself, until the guilt in his stomach doesn't feel like it's trying to kill him, until he can breathe without smelling blood.

In the bedroom the lights have been turned off, Kira's in bed under the covers.

"Hey," he says softly so he doesn't surprise her, crossing the room and lifting the covers to slide into the bed.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she whispers.

"Not really."

"Okay." He doesn't expect her to push him or argue, because that's not Kira. She doesn't fight him like Allison did, doesn't send his head spinning in circles like Lydia does sometimes.

Kira's just there, takes whatever he has to offer, even when it's nothing, and guilt surges through him.

"Kira." He walks his fingers across the mattress until they connect with her wrist. "Just-c'mere."

He pulls lightly on her arm and she rolls into him, one leg flopping over his. She's wearing the thinnest tank top and little boxer shorts, and even in the dark he can see her eyes, wide open, lips parted like a kiss.

He leans down into it, feels her surprised little gasp when he captures her mouth with his. He feels her go boneless against him, soft soft skin and silky hair against his cheek.

He slides one hand up her back, walks his fingers up her vertebra, her skin cool against his palm. Perfect white skin, whole, spared of bullets and arrows. Her body is warm with life and she doesn't smell like metal or salt, she smells like flowers and something a little musky too.

Her tongue licks into his mouth and he moves his hand up to the back of her neck, a slow caress, around under her jaw and her pulse is pounding insistently under the pads of his fingertips, because she's alive and safe, whole, and Lydia is broken and Allison is rotting in the dirt-

"Scott." Kira pulls her mouth away; her hands are cupping his face and she looks almost absurdly worried.

"What?" He blinks, his vision is strangely blurry and he realizes that Kira's face is wet and her fingers are slick on his face.

"Scott, you're crying."

He pulls his hand away from and wipes curiously at his cheeks. She's right, he was crying and he didn't even know it.

"I'm sorry," he stutters, feeling a surge of shame, he can't even kiss his girlfriend without freaking out. "I'm so sorry, it's not you, I promise, I'm so sorry."

He's crying again, this is horrible, but Kira just sighs and pulls him against her so his face is pressed into the hollow of her throat.

"It's okay," she murmurs. "It's okay to be upset."

He has to fist the sheets in his hands, choking on a sob because he's just so tired of this, of losing, watching the people he loves get hurt over and over again.

"Breathe," Kira says, her voice light and calm, like he's not falling apart. "It's okay. Breathe, Scott."

He sucks in a breath, exhales against her skin.

Kira's hand runs up and down his back. "I'm here. Everyone's okay."

"Lydia-"

"Will be okay. Just breathe Scott."

So he does, in and out, feeling her underneath him, mirroring his actions, until he exhales into sleep.

xxx

Lydia knows she should fall right asleep that night, considering that alcohol is a depressant and she has little white pills to help the process along, but she doesn't.

She lies in bed next to Stiles, who's valiantly attempting to stay up with her, his hand sweeping up and down her side in a manner she supposes is supposed to be soothing but is just serving to rile her up.

"What can I do?" he asks, his voice thick with whiskey. "I'll do anything Lydia, just tell me what to do."

What comes out of her mouth is honest if not at all planned. "I haven't had sex with anyone since Aiden."

"Uh-okay?" he says hesitantly.

"I couldn't," she confesses. "Not after Boyd."

Stiles nods in the darkness, his hand settling over the dip in her waist. "Yeah, I get that."

"I promised myself," she whispers. "I promised myself that the next person I was with-that I'd wait until it someone worth it. Someone good."

"Oh Lydia," he whispers.

"I can still feel him," she whisper-gasps. "I can feel him all over me Stiles, I can feel it where he touched me and what-what he did to me-"

Stiles surges forward suddenly, pushing her over so she's flat on her back, knees bracketing her hips and his fingers twining around hers.

"Where are you?" he says, demands really, an intensity in his eyes she doesn't recognize.

Lydia swallows hard. "Home. In my room. In my bed."

"And who are you with?"

She feels captured, his eyes boring down at her but it's good, it grounds her. "I'm with you."

He bends down a bit so their foreheads are touching. "Tell me what you feel."

"Um..." she breathes shallowly, feeling overwhelmed and strangely, semi-aroused. "You. Your knees against my hips." She flexes her fingers. "Your hands. Your face."

"That's right," he murmurs. "It's just you and me. Okay? He's gone, Lydia."

"Stiles." Her voice cracks, there's something surging inside her, raw and desperate.

"Tell me what you need." He's spread out over her, holding his weight on his elbows and knees so she can breathe, because he'd never hurt her, not Stiles.

"Kiss me." It comes out got and desperate but she doesn't care, she needs to get the bad out of her, needs Stiles to replace it with something good.

"Lydia," he says hesitantly, like its's a trick, like he doesn't think it's what she really wants.

"Please. I don't want-I need you to make it better, please Stiles, make it go away, make him go away-"

He cuts her off with a soft press of lips against hers, so gentle. She exhales in relief, kisses him back, parting her lips to slide his tongue into his mouth and it's so easy, to let her legs fall open, to let him sink into her hips and roll her body up against him-

"Wait." Stiles pulls away, breathing hard. "Wait, Lydia."

"What's wrong?" she breathes, mourning the loss of his lips.

"We can't- we can't do this."

She curls her hand around his neck to pull him back down. "Sure we can."

"Lydia, I don't think this is a good idea-"

"It's fine, relax, I want this-"

"No you don't!" He rolls off her, and he looks mad.

She curls into herself defensively, feeling dark and dirty. "I just told you I wanted it," she says flatly.

He makes a frustrated sound, pushes his fingers through his hair. "I don't think you get to judge what you want right now," he snaps.

"Why are you yelling at me?"

"I'm not yelling at you," he says, looking horrified. "I'm trying to stop you from making a huge mistake."

She curls her knees to her chest, vulnerable and raw. "You would never be a mistake," she whispers.

"God," Stiles groans. "Why are you making this so hard for me?"

"I'm making this hard?"

Stiles huffs. "One, I'm just going to ignore that little entendre, two, yes, you are making it very hard to be the good guy and not like, completely take advantage of you-"

"You wouldn't be taking advantage of me."

"Lydia, somebody raped you. Do you get that? I'm not going to fuck you so you can pretend it never happened, so you can erase it and act like everything's fine, okay? I'm not doing that to you."

"Oh," she says, and starts to cry, because he saw right through her, because he's Stiles, and always sees her.

"Oh fuck, I am so sorry." Stiles looks sick. "I'm so sorry Lydia, I'm the worst friend in the entire world, I cannot believe I just said that to you, seriously, you should hit me or something, I totally deserve it-"

"Just hug me, you idiot!" she whines, and Stiles wastes no time wrapping his long arms around her and crushing her to his chest.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, over and over again, rocking her like she's a child. It feels good, she shuts her eyes and lets herself be soothed by the repetitive motion.

"You're not a bad friend," she says when she stops crying.

Stiles manages to huff out a laugh. "Thanks."

She pulls back enough so she can see his face. Her beautiful boy, who'd do anything but hurt her. And remembers her promise to herself, to wait for someone good.

"I want you," she blurts out, watching Stiles' eyes get huge and round.

"I want you too," he says hoarsely. "But-but not like this. Okay?"

"Okay," she agrees. "But-"

"When you're ready." Stiles' voice is shaking a little, like he's nervous.

"I don't know when that'll be," she admits.

He drops a kiss on the top of her head. "I've been waiting for you since I was eight. I can wait a little longer."

xxx

Lydia strolls into school Monday morning in a clean floral print dress, her hair perfectly curled and lips painted red, like everything's totally normal, and strides right across the hallway to where Stiles is standing up against the lockers with Scott.

And then Lydia plants a kiss smack on Stiles' mouth, which is decidedly not normal, while Scott splutters next to him.

"Uh-hi?" Stiles says, like an idiot, because it apparently takes about three seconds for Lydia's lips to liquefy his brain.

"Hi," Lydia says calmly, looking a little amused.

"What-what're you doing?"

Lydia smiles and it's like everything goes white around her, all he can see is her: a strawberry blond angle in four inch heels. "I'm waiting for my someone good."

xxx

Scott's in the hallway halfway to Econ when he hears his own name echoing in his ear. He whips around but he can't see his friend, but then the voice says, outside Scott, and the voice resolves into a familiar tone.

Derek's waiting for him in the parking lot, leaning up against the Camero. He's wearing a pair of aviators and his leather jacket and Scott remembers when Derek Hale was enough to make him want to shit himself in fear. But all he sees now is the guy who helped him when he didn't have to, the guy who came back to Beacon Hills for his sister and stayed for Scott.

Derek takes his backpack from him and throws it into the backseat. "Come on."

Scott slides into the passenger seat; watches Derek shift into drive and peel the car onto the street. Scott's quiet while Derek drives because he's finally getting that asking question is a waste of energy, Derek will tell Scott what he wants, when he wants to, whether Scott like it or not.

He trusts Derek, now, he guesses. Enough to cut school for him with no explaination.

Derek drives until they get to an old warehouse at the edge of the town line. "Come on," he says. There's a pleased little smile on his face that makes Scott feel extremely wary but he dutifully follows him out of the car and through the rusting warehouse door.

It's empty, with the exception of a single chair with someone tied to it and then the light shifts and Scott looks at Derek in shock. It's the man from Lydia's memory, gagged and pale, a cut on his forehead trailing blood.

"What?" Derek says casually. "You think I don't know how to find a witch?"

Scott scrubs his face. "No, I just-I don't really have a game plan here, man."

Derek snorts. "I didn't get a witch to use a tracking spell to catch him just for you to let him go, Scott."

Scott watches the man watch him, his eyes so big he can see the whites all around, like a wild horse. The rancid smell of fear in his nose.

"You think I should kill him," Scott says quietly.

Derek gives him a stern look. "You're an alpha. Protecting the pack is your first priority."

"I know that," he says sullenly. "I just hadn't planned on killing someone before taking my chem test, okay?"

"Fine, I'll do it then," Derek says easily, grinning when the man lets out an aborted whine through his gag.

"No, just wait." Scott grips Derek's arm and winces when Derek gives him the did you really just do that face.

"Scott-"

"He raped Lydia because of me," Scott says; but he's not looking at Derek, he's looking at the man. "To hurt the pack. To hurt me. Death would be too easy."

He glances back at Derek. "Do you understand?"

Derek looks delighted. "Yeah Scott, I think I get it." He tosses the keys to the Camero at Scott. "Go take your test."

"For real?"

"Yeah, I got this."

"Dude, you're letting me take your car?"

Derek's eyeing the man like a cat about to catch a bird. "I'm gonna be here for awhile."

"Okay. Just one second." Scott walks up to the man, whose chest heaves with sharp breathes as he approaches. Scott kneels down so he's level with him, the man who hurt one of his best friends in Scott's name.

"I'm sparing your life today," he says quietly. "Nod if you understand."

The man's head jerks.

"I'm not doing this to show you mercy. When he's done with you-" Scott tilts his head back to indicate Derek "- you're going to wish I had killed you. And if you ever come back to Beacon Hills, if you ever go after my pack again, I will."

And then Scott turns on his heel and walks away, the Camero's keys cold in his hand, watching Derek cross the warehouse out of the corner of his eye to pick up a serrated knife.

Scott walks back out into the sunlight and unlocks the car, hauls himself into the driver's seat and sits there until he hears the man start to scream, and then he carefully reverses out of the parking spot and drives back to school.

xxx

Stiles catches her by the wrist when they get out of Econ, pulling her toward him against the tide of bodies. "Come on," he says, leading her towards the entrance to the school. "I got a text from Scott."

"And?" she asks, impatient and breathless, she has to take huge steps to keep up with Stiles' loping walk.

"I dunno, he just said that Derek showed up and-"

"Derek?"

"Yeah, I know."

They push through the school doors in time to see Scott swing the Camero into a parking spot.

"Oh my god, he let Scott drive his Camero? Seriously?" Stiles is dripping with envy.

"Hey!" Scott jogs over to them, his backpack dangling by one strap. He reaches out and curls one of his hands over Lydia's. "So um, Derek found him. The guy who attacked you."

"He-what?" she gasps.

"Yeah, he like, found a witch I guess? I don't know, anyway, he found him and it's um, it's okay now."

"Okay," Stiles says suspiciously.

"Yeah, Derek's um, he's taking care of it."

Stiles' eyebrows fly up towards his hairline. "Taking care of it?" He draws a finger across his throat. "That kind of taking care of it."

Scott squirms. "Not exactly."

Stiles squints at him. "How not exactly?"

"Can we talk about the details later?" Scott hisses, and catches Lydia right as her vision starts to black out.

"Lydia!" Stiles exclaims, helping Scott take her weight and sitting down on the pavement with her.

"I'm fine," she breathes. "Just surprised. I thought- I thought he was gone. I thought he got away."

Scott's hand is warm on her shoulder. "He's never going to hurt you now, okay? He can't hurt anyone anymore."

Lydia lifts her head, suddenly worried. "Scott, what did you do?"

He shakes his head. "Lydia it's okay, trust me."

"You didn't kill him," Stiles says quietly, his hands wrapped around her own.

"I left him alone with Derek and a knife," Scott says. "I didn't have to."

Lydia leans forward on her knees and hugs Scott. "Thank you," she whispers.

"Don't." Scott sounds a little broken. "Please don't thank me."

"You did the right thing," Stiles says, and leans in so Lydia's in the middle of a three-way hug. "Being tortured by Derek Hale is better than death."

"We really have to stop being so morbid," Lydia says lightly, and feels both boys choke back laughter.

Scott and Stiles both haul her up, a bell rings and they turn back towards school.

"Oh no, come on, we're going to be late for chem," she says worriedly, and reaches down to collect their hands.

Scott groans. "I'm gonna fail."

"You're not gonna fail," she reassures him. "We're all going to do fine."

"Hey," Stiles says, falling into an easy pace with her and Scott as they head for the front doors. "You sure you're okay?"

She glances between them; Scott, her alpha, her protector, her link to Allison; and Stiles, her anchor, her best friend, the boy who runs with wolves.

"No," she says softly, and tightens her fingers around their hands. "But I will be."