outsiderslogs | oo2. | ℒ | what the HELL just happend?

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oo2. | ℒ | what the HELL just happend?

who. Lydia & her roommates
what. Lydia's Triumphant Return
where. Places.
when. This Morning.
warnings. Stiles will fuss.

Lydia wakes up with a start. Her body feels sore, a pull across her chest as if she's been in a collision. The Jeep. She had been in a warehouse. Frowning, she sits up and glances around. This isn't the warehouse. She glances down and she's in a bed. Fingers press to her brow, rubbing at it and trying to wake up more. She feels hazy and when she stands up she feels just uncomfortable. Moving to the door, she exits and then she realizes that she's not in a warehouse somewhere in Beacon Hills. She's on Omega. Again.

Turning around she looks at the door, but it looks like all the others and she's not even sure who would've taken her here -- or why.
Shaking it off, she finds her omni-tool and figures out where she is. It's just a shuttle ride and then she's back at the apartment. She needs to get back.

The ride feels numb, like a blur. She's trying to reconcile being home. She's trying to deal with what she saw. She's not even sure how it happened -- if it happened. Except, it matches what Stiles said to her. Maybe that's what it was. Maybe she dreamed it. Except it feels much more real. She's sure of it. Her fingers rub to the side of her nose again and the shuttle comes to a stop, allowing her to get out.

She gets to the apartment and opens the door. Glancing around, she just speaks loudly, "Stiles? Rachel?"

Her voice carries, mostly because Lydia knows how to project.

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It's been nearly a week without Lydia. Stiles has gone from anxious to angry to sullen in that space of time - why bring her along if they were just going to take her away? Who killed her if that's what happened? He wants revenge but he's not even sure if that's the case.

So he's moped. Learning to fly has only somewhat mitigated the moping, and Joker has poked at him, but he can only do so much.

He's still working his repair job as well, to actually get money instead of paying off the dent he caused Joker's shuttle to get. He's just come home from that shift, and showered. Before he can text someone, though, the door swishes open.

And he hears Lydia.

He comes bursting out of his room at a dead run, his eyes wide. Because yes - that's Lydia standing there.

"Oh my god," he says faintly, and then runs over to her and - well, he hugs her. A huge crushing hug. She smells a little funny like she hasn't bathed in a few days but he doesn't care, because Lydia.

"Holy crap! Where the hell were you? I thought you were dead!" He rapidly cycles through surprise and anger while he's holding her - but mostly, he's relieved she's here and alive.

Lydia takes the hug. Maybe it's because she just watched Jackson die or maybe it's because she feels like she's actually not alone, but she clings back and just shuts her eyes.

Then there's that moment where it sets in that she's hugging Stiles.

She lets go and pulls back. Distance.

"Dead? No. No! What are you talking about? I went to work and then Mordin wasn't there so I went to check on him. Then I woke up in someone's apartment--" Lydia halts her ramble and glares at him, "Stiles? How long was I gone?"

He makes a small bereft noise when she puts distance between them - but she's talking and alive so he tries to cover it. Mostly, he succeeds.

"You woke up in someone's apartment?" He says though, voice pitching high in a way that screams I am vindicated!. Still, when she asks how long she was gone and glares, he glares right back at her.

"You don't know? You were gone for like, a week! And that is not an exaggeration!" He pulls up his omni-tool display and points at the date in the corner. "See? You wouldn't answer our emails and we couldn't find you!"

He's rapidly working himself up as he talks.

She pulls her omni-tool out and oh. Look at that. Lots of messages. She makes a small sound, then redirects her attention to him.

"So?" She should have checked the date earlier, when she was looking at the map, but really she didn't think she had to worry about the date so much as the map.

Lydia wants to be haughty, she wants to keep her chin lifted up and she wants to just ignore all of the potential remarks that Stiles might have on how he was right. Except she swallows and she's seeing Jackson dying again.

She pushes that back, far away from herself. She's not going to do this. Not now. She knew. She knew because Stiles told her and yet back home it didn't change anything.

"I'm here now and I'm fine, whoever took me in must have wanted to ... ensure my safety." There, that sounds slightly less molest my unconscious body.

"Or they were a total creep," Stiles told Lydia, waving his arms again. "Seriously it's just..." he trails off, looking at her. He might not know her well, but something is definitely up.

"Lydia, what happened? Why were you gone so long?"

She tries to ignore his whole flailing around thing, rubbing her hand to elbow. There's a shrug, but that's because she doesn't know why it took so long.

"I don't know. I went looking for Mordin. He didn't come in and that wasn't like him. Then I woke up in that apartment." There's a brief moment, and she almost shakes it off, but she knows that she can't lie to him.

"I went home. I mean, at least it felt like I did." Her eyes meet to his, "I saw Jackson die. In the warehouse. I saw Derek and Peter..."

Lydia stops talking and glances down to the floor, her mouth pulling into a tight line.

His first question is to ask how did you go home, because that's important. That could be a major thing in getting off of this rock, but then she talks about Jackson.

Stiles may hate the douchebag, but he doesn't want him dead. Not anymore. And all he can think of is Lydia's expression when he'd been gutted by Derek and Peter, and he feels his irritation melt away to worry.

"Lydia..." he starts, unsure of what to say. "He gets up, you know that? He's gonna be okay."

She nods, it's a bit numb, but it's still agreement. "No, I know. I remember what you told me, but it doesn't stop the fact that it happened. That I saw it. That he died twice."

Lydia turns to him, "I'll be fine. He's not here and I helped him. That's what I was supposed to do, what they wanted me to do, right? That's all I was supposed to do."

Reassure him that she still loved him and then watch him die. It's callous of him to take that from her and she knows that, but that's Jackson. He takes. Her eyes shift to the counter behind Stiles, then back to him, "Is Rachel still here?"

"I guess," Stiles says after a moment, softer, watching Lydia with concern in his expression. He wants to hug her again, to tell her that everything will be all right - but he knows that won't help. That it really isn't, considering where they are.

He looks around when she asks and then nods. "I think she might be. I mean she's definitely still here-here I just don't uh, know if she's here right now."

He'd been really worried about Lydia, after all. To the point of distraction.

More nodding comes to her, it's easy to just nod along and agree with things. She knows that she worried him and if she would stop to be honest with herself, she'd say that she's worried about herself, but actually saying that takes a lot more than she has right now.

Her fingers pick at the elbow of the shirt she's wearing. She probably smells worse than she thinks she does. Hair a mess of tangles and she realizes that he has every right to be mad that when Mordin went missing that she didn't come tell him first. She's just not used to having someone to check in with. Her mom isn't around enough to care what she does and the only person she used to tell things to was Allison and even that wasn't telling her things. It was attempting to.

Drawing in a shallow breath, she worries on her bottom lip before she looks up at him again. "It feels like it was just an hour ago, but you don't have the bruises, so I know it's not the same." Lydia needs it to make sense, but it doesn't so she's struggling to just hold onto what she knows.

She knows Rachel isn't here right now.

"It's not okay," she says softly. She doesn't want to keep getting pulled back and forth from the past and here. Swallowing, she rolls her eyes, trying to stop feeling sorry for herself. "I sound pathetic and I smell, and I was living in a strangers home for a week. God, I hope I was wearing this the whole time."

Stiles does care, though. And while he can't say it's an entirely altruistic kind of caring, he does want her to be safe. He's trying to stop protecting her at every turn from imaginary monsters, but he does care about her - he wants to show that he does, too.

He sucks in a short breath and then nods. "Yeah, those have been healed for a while."

"There aren't any strange stains, right? You're probably okay," he tries, and then shakes his head. "God, I was so worried about you. You know that, right?"

And, not caring how she smells or what she's wearing he moves forward to give her another hug.

Stiles earns such a look at the remark about strange stains. She doesn't want to go searching her clothing for that and if anyone even tries to ring a black-light near her she's screaming.

"I know. I have messages from you--" she's about to ask him if she should listen to them, if they're things she should hear or not, but then he's moving toward her and hugging her again. She would've stepped away, but Rachel's not home right now and she just needs this. She needs to know someone cares, because for every hour she was back there, back home she had forgotten everything that had happened here. It was like it didn't count for anything.

All the hollow and lies just layered atop the rest of it and she came back into the truth. It's hard to look at, to think that it had been there if only someone could've told her.

Her head tilts and rests to his shoulder, "Should I listen to the messages or are these ones I should delete?"

"You can delete 'em," Stiles says into the slightly greasy curls of her hair - but again, he doesn't care. He's just happy she's here, that she's not home watching Jackson die, that he knows she's safe.

"They're just me freaking out. Actually, definitely delete them without listening." He'd been in full freakout stage near the end, and possibly at one point just begged her to tell him to fuck off if she wanted to avoid him, just so he'd know she was okay.

A few months ago, hugging her, he probably would have been too excited to sit still. Now it's - mostly platonic, on his part, just a way to make sure she's okay and to let her know he's happy she's safe.

"I won't listen," she replies easily. It's probably for the best anyway. She's not sure if she wants to listen to a stream of Stiles' thought process through it all. She knows that it'd do more harm than good at this point. She's heard it. Maybe not this one, but the other one - recently even.

The talk about how he'd be devastated. How things don't happen to her. No matter how long ago it happened, it still has that echo of recent in her thoughts. It feels real and maybe that's why she's okay with the hug. Why she had pulled away that first time, because she hadn't expected the reality of it to be okay.

Her breathing slowed, bringing in a deep breath before she let her head lift up off of his shoulder, "I really need to shower."

The messages aren't quite like the conversation they'd had at home, or even the one they'd had on the station about her looking for a job. But they do all hold that edge of manic worry, and it'd be embarrassing to rehash.

"You do kinda smell," Stiles says, mostly because he's honest, and because, well, she does. He doesn't really let her go, though, just looks at her with a faintly worried expression.

"Bathroom's clear, though. So you can scrub to your hearts content and all that."

To be honest, Lydia doesn't mind that he hasn't let go of her. It's reassuring and it's who he is. She doesn't expect him to stop being worried and concerned just because she's miraculously back from ... the place that shall not be named.

Exhaling, she nods at his remark about the shower, "I'll do that then. You'll be here when I get out, right?" Because, maybe she wants to just have that reassurance again.

"I'm not going anywhere," Stiles assures her earnestly, patting her back once where his hands are before he lets them fall away to his sides. "We can talk about something. Or you can kick my butt at holographic chess."

Lydia nods, exhaling again once his hands leave her shoulders. She knows that she can handle this, that it'll be fine and she'll just push forward and continue on.

"I'll be looking forward to kicking your butt," she replies with an attempt at a smile. Excusing herself, she goes to her space gathering her things and then heading to the bathroom where she's planning on just curling up under the water and letting it run over her for a good bit of time. She'll scrub and clean, but she just wants to breathe and not think about anything for a bit.

Stiles watches her go and he - well he worries. He hopes this is really Lydia, but he's still not sure what this place is like. Still, it seems like Lydia - what he knows of her.

Instead, he sits down and pulls up the games tab to set up the game, wondering if she'll show up. He hopes Rachel will be home soon so he can tell her Lydia's back, too.

Lydia knows that he's going to worry and that there's nothing he can do to not worry. Surprisingly, she's okay with it this time. Mostly because she's worried herself. In the shower, she mostly presses to the wall and lets the water run over her. She scrubs where she can, inspecting every inch of herself that she can see. The scar from Peter is still there, angry and pointing out that vulnerable time in her life, but that's all that's there. She doesn't see any puncture marks, no skin irritation that would be indicative of being held against her will. There's nothing, which is as much frustrating as it is confusing.

So Lydia lets the water just run over her. She lets it run until it's nearly cold. She lets it run until she can't feel the water anymore, just a press of temperature to her skin. Shutting the shower off, she sits on the floor in the bathroom, towel wrapped tight across her as her hair drips water into a puddle. Eventually, she dries off and twists her hair up in a towel while she redresses. She pats at her hair, shaking it through the towel and running her fingers through it. She doesn't dry it, doesn't look to put make-up on or anything else. She just gets dressed and moves to rejoin Stiles.

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