Calder Fullerton (sarclawstic) wrote in blackpoint, @ 2014-04-11 02:40:00 |
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The Pearl Harbor tour took up the majority of the day. It was interesting, for sure, even if Stiles had a hard time paying attention, and seeing the memorial of the Arizona was striking in a way that he’d not expecting. It wasn’t very often that Stiles had his breath taken away, after all. That was significant in itself. Well, except if Lydia was involved. She was capable of rendering the normally spastic boy beyond speechless. Stiles shifted in his seat, peering out the side of the boat into the calm blue waters that they glided on away from the memorial, tapping his foot impatiently as he did. He didn’t like being on the water; it was too wild, too often changing without rhyme or reason and he liked control. At least, he liked having some weird semblance of control, considering every other aspect of his life was completely out of his hands. He glanced over at the strawberry blonde sitting next to him, shooting a smile at her. He didn’t reach for her hand. He didn’t expect her to want to hold his, after all. They’d discussed multiple times how she wanted to keep whatever they were doing quiet for the time being. The time being could very well stretch into forever, and he wouldn’t have minded. Spending time with her was more than enough. So instead, he elbowed her softly, jerking his head in the direction of the wreckage. “What’d ya think? Stimulating enough for you?” Lydia couldn’t remember the last time that she had been on some sort of date. Her relationship with Jackson had been based on sneaking into each other’s bedrooms at night, going down to the movie store to rent The Notebook for the fifteenth time, or snarking at each other across the lunch table, and the boys that had slid into her bed between then and now barely earned the title of boy toy. She had gotten so used to doing things her way and by herself for the past few months that she had forgotten how it was to share experiences with someone else. “Stop fidgeting,” Lydia said for the tenth time as she felt Stiles move against her. It was a little ridiculous how attuned to the werewolf she was, but she always rationalized it by how he always seemed to be everywhere at once regardless. His long limbs appeared to have a mind of their own and were going wherever they wanted to, logic be damned. While it could be said that he lacked the finesse that most wolves had, no one could fault him for his spastic enthusiasm. She smoothed down the brochure she was reading and looked back towards the memorial. She had been unprepared for how many voices had assaulted her when she stepped foot on the white structure that spanned the wreckage, but she couldn’t deny that it had been an experience that she hadn’t had before. She had made Stiles hang back from the tour and shared the stories they told her, earning more than one curious glance from a few of the children as she talked about what the band’s favorite tunes had been. “It was a good choice. I’ll probably pack some more Tylenol the next time we go, but you did well.” “Sorry,” he said automatically, moving closer to the edge of the boat. Stiles was afraid of crowding her or making her feel cornered, and at times it showed far more than he expected that it would. He didn’t want to scare her off, though he felt that he was terrified enough for the both of them. His left foot stilled near hers; the right one continuing to beat out a random pattern that was stuck in his head. His limbs were too long and lanky to keep to himself, something he was acutely aware of when it was pointed out as consistently as Lydia did. But at least it was comforting to know that she was apparently as ridiculously tuned into him as he was to her. Before suggesting the memorial, Stiles had thought his choices through carefully; deciding after the fact that it was worth the risk of a headache for the stories that Lydia had shared. It was more than a tour at that point, it was a real experience. “This is happening again, then?” he asked, his voice full of amazement as he dug through his bag. Retrieving a bottle of water and ibuprofen, he offered them to her with a smirk. “Because I’m totally not complaining, but I mean, I need time to get ideas that aren’t going to end up with you hopped up on acetaminophen.” Lydia reached a hand out as Stiles moved away, already missing the warmth and wind resistance his presence next to her provided. The seabreeze easily cut through the thin fabric of her sundress, chilling her more than she would admit aloud. Plus, her gesture was twofold. She had picked up on his discomfort about being out in the open water when they had stepped foot on the boat earlier, but she had sat him down near the middle of the boat where he would feel the least amount of rocking and blocked him in. She worried about him, but she also wanted to get out to the memorial and since neither of them could fly and she didn’t want to ruin her dress by swimming with sharks the boat was their only ride out there. “This? No,” Lydia corrected, waving her brochure in front of her. “As interesting as the exhibit was, I can go for a while before coming back to the Arizona. But as for other places? Yes, that can totally happen.” She took the bottle of water and pain killers with a grateful half-smile and a roll of her eyes. “I’d hate to hear you complain, Stiles,” she said, dumping a few pills into her palm before knocking them back like a pro. “And unless you’re concerned about my liver and kidneys, being hopped up on acetaminophen wouldn’t be too terrible. It’s better than dealing with an incessant headache.” His temperature was always running on high. It was an unexpected benefit of his lycanthropy; one that may have very well been his favorite if it hadn't been for the healing. Stiles looked at her outstretched hand, a little surprised but nonetheless pleased, and scooted back towards her, turning slightly to block the breeze. It was more like the boat made it a wind tunnel, what with the speed that they were traveling and the enclosed cabin. Carefully, he put his arm around her, breathing deeply to calm his racing heart. Thank god that she couldn't hear that because it was embarrasing. Nodding, Stiles checked off the memorial in his head, picking through some of the other options he'd come up with. There was plenty to do in Hawaii; things that he wanted to try and places he wanted to explore. He was fine doing said things by himself, and the more physical ideas he usually could rope Allison into, but he liked spending time with Lydia. Not that it was a surprise for anyone who knew him. If given the choice, Stiles could spend days with Lydia just talking to her and he would have found it the most intriguing days of his life. "Look, it's not my fault that you're all invested now. You get to hear all of it, nearly daily. What were you thinking?" he joked, his eyes narrowing in concern at her words. Stiles bit back his I'm always concerned, choosing to open and close his mouth like a fish. "If I thought you'd let me, I'd take the pain away," he said quietly, checking around them to make sure no one heard the strange phrase. Like Stiles, Lydia’s temperature tended to swing towards the abnormal. Hers swung in the opposite direction, causing her skin to always be slightly chilled to the touch. It was a side effect of her connection to death and it wasn’t unusual to see her with a shrug on even in summer. Her sweater was rolled and stashed in her bag at the present to avoid getting any saltwater on it, so part of her reasoning for wanting Stiles closer was selfish. His warmth was beneficial to her and being nearer meant she didn’t have to risk others overhearing their conversation. While he might have super hearing and could hear the way her heartbeat increased when he slid nearer, she didn’t. Lydia smirked at his words and settled against him, nestling against his shoulder and pulling his arm around her shoulder to ward off the breeze. “I’m going to have to put a limit on how many times you can bring that up during a day,” she scolded, relaxing slightly as his warmth seeped into her. She knew that he wanted this to be how they were around everyone, but for now she wasn’t ready to be outed to the massive Teen Wolf crew. No one was around to see them, and those who were would be getting back on their plane and flying away soon. A frown appeared on her face at his next comment and she quickly shook her head, her bun wobbling dangerously. “No, don’t do that. The pain makes me human,” she said, dropping her voice and moving the brochure so it was between them so it appeared that they were arguing over the place to go next, not him using one of his wolfie powers on her. “It’s nothing I can’t live with. I’ve pretty much had one ever since Parrish appeared, so don’t be a white knight. I’m fine.” Her smirk was met with one of his own, her heartbeat completely on his radar. It would be impossible to miss when he was constantly thinking about her anyway. Whenever he attempted to not be a total creep and be attuned to her, it failed. Epically. He was hopeless, and he wasn't even bothered at this point. Stiles shifted when she did, slouching slightly and pressing his lips to Lydia's hair briefly. "There are so many rules here, Lyd. How am I supposed to keep track of them all?" He may have whined on occasion, but in the end, Stiles did understand. At first maybe he didn't, especially since they were just hooking up. If there was one thing that he understood about himself, it was the fact that he couldn't do casual. He tried as hard as he could, but that wasn't him. Acting as if he could separate what he felt from what he had was nearly impossible. That didn't mean that he couldn't understand where Lydia was coming from. It was a big deal for her, with all the people that they knew here and her incessant need to compartmentalize. "Wasn't planning on it, Lydia." He knew her well enough to grasp that she wouldn't have wanted the pain to be taken away regardless. Stiles shrugged, glancing down at the brochure, his lanky arm around her sneaking down to hold her hand. He didn't attempt to take her pain, giving it a squeeze. They were closing in on the mainland now, thank god. "Like I said, if I thought you'd let me, I would. But I know better." “You can make a list,” Lydia pointed out, glancing across the aisle at the approaching pier. “You’re good at those, aren’t you? And I’ll be here to remind you.” From what she had learned being here in this world was pretty permanent. The portal still seemed to be a little unstable about bringing here, but it didn’t go the other way as much. There were good things about this 2014 - no crazy teachers sacrificing students, no crazy blind Alphas dramatically screaming nefarious warnings - but there were some drawbacks. Deaton wasn’t here to continue her training and there wasn’t anyone from further down their timeline so she could have peace of mind about what happened with Allison. Yes, there were major differences, but it didn’t mean that some things ran parallel. She saw Stiles’ hand creeping towards hers and turned her palm so he could easily grasp it, knowing that he would listen to her. She knew these things were important to him, and while it wasn’t something she’d normally do, she wasn’t as cold as she pretended to be. “Have you ever considered that it’s pretty unfair how much you know about be while I can’t really say I know what your favorite color is,” she commented, frowning slightly as she came to that revelation. They had been in some of the same classes for as long as she remembered, but they had never run in the same circles until Beacon Hills became the supernatural hotspot of California. “Rule number one, don’t be affectionate in public. Rule two, don’t mention your ability to emote. Rule three, get naked in ten seconds or less…” he trailed off, a smile in his voice. “Miss anything else?” He liked being here. It was nice not having to worry about someone coming to kill them all or make examples of them. It was even better not to have his world’s Derek here along with the rest of his pack. Stiles was selfish. Despite the fact that the two packs had worked together in the past, he enjoyed not having Lydia be in the middle of them. Stiles would hold out hope for Deaton, preferably from a later point in their timeline and call it a day with him. Stiles shrugged, no longer bothered by the thought. Of course it had crossed his mind; he wasn’t an idiot, but Lydia had no reason to attempt to get to know him. Most of what he knew about her was common knowledge or based solely on observation. “I prefer to think of it as not having been on your radar,” he joked. He caught the frown, and gave her hand a squeeze. “Don’t worry about it. We’ve got time now. And it’s green, for the record.” “No cradling and no glitter text, but you got the two main ones,” Lydia pointed out, ducking her head to hide the dimple that appeared in response to the grin in his words. They weren’t hard rules to go by if you asked her, but she had always been good about putting a mask on going on with her life as if nothing was wrong. She didn’t use claws and arrows to protect her – instead her brain, clothes, and makeup were her armor. She was capable of pushing it aside like she had done after Jennifer Blake tried to strangle her, but there were times when she still liked to present a different picture to the world. “Don’t worry, I’m not.” Lydia didn’t apologize. She hadn’t acknowledged his existence until a few years ago and still winced when she saw a clip online of her asking What the hell is a Stiles? That night hadn’t been one of her best, and seeing evidence of her indifference to his devotion was a little damning, but that was who she was then. Being with Deaton had helped transform her from the self-absorbed queen bee that she had been then to someone who was more aware of the impact she had on others. There were still things she had to work out, but for the most part she was more confident in her abilities. “Lucky for you we’re about to dock so you don’t turn green. You’re not that big of a fan of water, are you?” “The glitter text!” The exclamation was accompanied by a standard Stiles flail, his arm that wasn’t wrapped around her windmilling out. “Look at that, it’s so ingrained that I forgot it existed.” She was absolutely correct; they weren’t hard things to abide by, even if at times he wanted to yell out that Lydia Martin thinks I’m sexy. Her trust in him for whatever they were doing meant more to him than bragging. If that wasn’t a sign of maturity on his part, he wasn’t sure what was. Stiles, while having his own methods of self-preservation, was still completely transparent. He didn’t know how else to be and it seemed like a waste of energy to pretend otherwise. He glanced around, and seeing that they were still a hundred yards out, bent down to kiss her quickly; aware that once they were on solid ground again, they’d resume their friendly, spaced out front they had assumed on their way here. Compartmentalizing at its finest. Shrugging, Stiles retrieved the backpack and shouldered it, gazing at the water as he did. “I like it just fine when I’m not on it.” He wasn’t entirely sure where the fear stemmed from. He was a strong, capable male able to swim without an issue. “Water’s something that can’t be controlled. It’s disconcerting.” The boat docked, and he let out an audible sigh of relief, gesturing her to stand. “But it could always be worse. Could be hurricane season.” “You’re hopeless,” Lydia sighed, leaning closer to Stiles as he flailed, choosing to literally embrace the enthusiasm than risk getting hit by it in case he got too caught up in his celebrations. Sometimes it was better to be closer to him than far apart, and even she had to admit that it felt nicer being there. Studies had shown that human contact helped soothe the mind and was healthier than being alone, and Lydia was all about the facts. Dating him had been filled with learning new ones, including learning that there were some benefits to flannel. Not that she’d ever say them out loud. It still was best suited for lumberjacks, but it was more comfortable to lean against than some of the fabrics that were en vogue right now. Lydia easily returned the kiss, and after he pulled away she gave his hand another squeeze and scooted back towards her original spot on the bench. The space gave them the chance to slip back into the Lydia and Stiles the outside world saw, complete with a jacket to keep her warm without depending on the heat he always seemed to emit. She couldn’t say that she was a big fan of water either. Too much had happened around pools for her liking when she was coming into her powers, and she couldn’t get the image of finding the dead lifeguard out of her mind each time she saw a lifeguard station. She was more likely to lay by the pool or stretch out on the beach than go in, but being on the boat didn’t bother her as much as it did him. “Typhoon seasons. Hurricanes that happen in the Pacific are called typhoons,” she pointed out, standing and filing off the boat with the other tourists. “There are plenty of things that can’t be controlled. Fire, Axe spray in the boy’s locker room, me.” “Ly devoted,” he chimed in. It was moments like these, however few and far between, that Stiles actually felt normal. It had been so long back in Beacon Hills since he felt any sense of normalcy that when he did here in Hawaii, it made him pause. Sometimes he wasn’t sure if he was coming up with complicated daydreams to stay occupied throughout his days or if it really was happening. He loosened his grip on her hand, flashing her a smirk before composing himself. Lydia was much better at this whole facade of friendship than he was. As such, Stiles generally needed more time to pull himself together. The downside of living on an island full of multiple variations of his friends was that all of them could sense that something was up with him, and the majority had extra senses that would have him found out in a matter of moments. And while Stiles didn’t really care too much, he respected the strawberry blonde far too much for that. |