At 5 minutes late she texted no less than 30 times. No response. At 10 minutes late the radio went up to 11, the windows went down. Lyrics went through her mind to drown out the tirade. At 15 minutes late she shut the engine off, stood on curb and leaned against the car frame. Lydia wanted the first thing he saw driving into the parking lot to be her staring daggers at him over the horizon.

At 21 minutes late Stiles swerved into students parking like some drift racer, kicking up sound and no form (like its driver). Before she could make out if the thudding in her ears were over anger or the engine revving, Stiles shoved a piece of paper into her hands. She had the sneaking suspicion it wouldn't be an apology letter.

"What is this?"

"Step by Step instructions," he genuinely looked proud of himself.

Lydia stepped off the curb after him but her quick strides easily overtook his. She scanned the list, "Stiles, this isn't an exam."

"Stick to the list."

"It's a 50 item list Stiles."

Lydia reached for the door of the Jeep but Stiles put himself in the way.

"Stick to the list," he pleaded, his voice practically whined but his face was the human equivalent of a kicked puppy.

She abated momentarily and Stiles knew he'd won the argument. At least a little bit until Lydia took in the list again and narrowed her eyes at him. "Or I could make you eat this list Stiles," she offered.

"Fine, stick to the highlighted items on this list," he patted her arm in encouragement.

"This list reads like an elementary students coloring book."

"Lydia, please."

"Step One; access to classic 1976 Jeep CJ5 in blue," she read off the first item. Lydia emphasized the word classic as if in disbelief.

"Check." Stiles bounced on his heels, quite proud of himself.

"Step two; get the keys from the owner. Stiles can I get the keys?" she put out her hand in demand.

"I suppose. I mean, physically anyone can," he answered philosophically.

"May I?" she replied through clenched teeth.

"Suure," he dangled them onto her open palm, amused with her annoyance.

"Step three; unlock the car and sit in the driver's seat." When he reached to help she glared at him hard enough to melt him alive. In one fluid movement she pulled herself up and amended her body mid-lift to slip onto the seat with the grace a gazelle would envy. Stiles closed the door behind her, locking it through the open window. He raced around the hood but his ascension into the passenger side seat was significantly less graceful.

"Seatbelt," he reminded.

"Seatbelt," she confirmed, already tucking her dress comfortably against the way the seatbelt cinched her waist. Lydia leaned a few times from side to side to check and readjusted the side view mirrors. It wasn't until she reached below her seat to pull at the levers that Stiles went into a panic.

"Heyheyhey," he sprung forward and grabbed at her wrist. "The list doesn't say anything about adjusting the seat."

Visibly startled Lydia leaned back but she managed to keep her tone poised. "Stiles, I can't reach the pedals."

"I can reach it for you," he answered on instinct.

Stiles sat a bit upright to get better access with less strain against his seatbelt. He reached his left foot across the divide, stretching his body at the strangest impossible arch over the stick shift to nearly land on her lap, leaving his legs to tangle with hers.

"You. Are. Not." Dumbstruck, Lydia locked her legs at her ankles and twisted his left leg painfully. She grabbed his body at the mid-section just under his ribs and dug in her fingers until he lets out an inhuman squeal. Stiles would have jumped straight through the windshield if not for his seatbelt.

"Right," he panted.

Lydia buried her head in her hands; she couldn't devise which was worse, his attempt to drive the jeep while sitting on her lap or the noise he had just made. She couldn't bear to look at him for embarrassment but what he said next made everything worse.

"I just want to make sure everything's alright for my baby?" he sounded tortured.

"You're talking about the jeep," she peeked over her hands.

"'course!"

Lydia sighed and dropped her head against the steering wheel. There was no replying to that so she pushed on. She fixed the seat while she glared at Stiles a silent dare for him to do something about it.

Afterward she went back to the list; "Step Four; push in the clutch, then put your key in and turn the ignition."

"Be careful though," one hand still stroked the dashboard.

"Careful at 'putting in the keys'?"

"Yeah well..." the other hand rubbed at the back of his neck while he looked far off and not in her direction.

"How am I going to miss where the keys go?" subconsciously she dared him to answer that question. To really truly answer that question just to see what would happen next.

"Yeah well..." he shrugged, as if he sensed her silent threat.

"Step five; stuff these instructions so far down your throat you'll crap rainbow colored confetti." She turned off the car, unlatched her seatbelt and swung open the door.

"Where are you going?" both of his hands were clamped onto one of hers while her free hand gripped onto the doors latch. Stiles looked somehow genuinely confused by what could have upset her. If she understood the extent to what his Jeep meant to him or what significance it meant to share this precious piece of equipment with her, why bail now?

"I'm leaving," one legged dangled out of the jeep, the other firmly onto the worn floor mat. When she hovered between the two spaces her resolve seemed fractured, she tilted her head and looked Stiles over trying to read for the millionth time what it was that made the guy tick. Dark hair untamed, eyes wide with concern and looking barely stitched together by ironic T-shirt's and bad layering choices but somehow still one of the people she trusted most with her well-being. And so she listened.

"Don't leave," he squeezed her hand. He didn't pull at her but he may as well have. She slowed her breathing, brought her leg in and closed the door but kept hold of the handle.

"Stiles," she started, her voice had a rasp to it distinct to Lydia's special breed of exasperation.

"Lydia, I'm sorry," he thankfully cut her off. "This just, it's making me nervous."

"It's making me nervous too," she brought her hands up and placed them both on the wheel. "Idiot," she added with no malice.

"Why does this matter so much to you? Why now?"

Lydia glanced toward the back of the jeep for a split second, her eye caught sight on Stiles' aluminum bat. "I'm thinking of buying a new car," she lied.

"No, you're not," his eyes narrowed.

"Of course I'm not. You're a horrible teacher."

"Hey, I made pain-staking notes," he smiled. Stiles eased back to watch her. Not analyze, just watch.

"You could have googled better directions," she poked fun at him. She caught his gaze and jutted her head to look toward the road ahead. "I don't have all the time in the world Stiles."

"Right!" This time he encouraged her, "You got this. Clutch, turn the ignition, release the clutch, pull forward, see on the knob there and pull it to the far left. Release the clutch and give it gas, look for traffic," in an empty parking lot. She smiled at that. "And go into first, give it some gas, hey... shift into second further out the clutch and give it some more gas."

"Stiles, are you going to hold my hand on your stick the whole ride?"

Stiles wiped his hand away from her grip on the gear shift that he hadn't realized he'd started to guide. He flashed a grin she didn't return. She refused to give him the satisfaction.

The car went silent for a few seemingly long minutes. They came to a red light they both resented at a long expanse of road with no cross walk but a sign that read "Deer Xing." The last time they were here the sign should have read "Deer Xing Thru Wshld." Stiles bobbed his head to non-existent music until Lydia was forced to respond, without looking.

When the light finally turn green she sighed, "Stiles," (but secretly hoped the wind through the open window would take his response with it), "just say it already. You're going to be useless until--"

"That's what she said!" proud of his horrible joke.

Lydia put a hand to her forehead as a groan churned up from deep within. A switch flipped and mother-hen Stiles was on her in a flash of "Hands on 10-N-2!"

After a tight swerve, with a brisk swat of her hand the jeep and Stiles were once again under her control. Stiles sulked into his seat and stared straight ahead once more. The jeep against the pavement built a staccato rhythm and he didn't, you know, not enjoy it.

"Hey! Look you're a natural, shifting into fifth cruising like a pro."

Lydia glanced at him through the rearview, her smiled lit up her eyes but she kept her tone haughty.

"I am gifted with spectacular instincts and you don't need a degree to understand the aspects of general engineering. How engine torque varies on the rpm not what gear you're in; or how transmission output torque can change. Engine torque x gear ratio equals transmissions output torque so of course lowering the gear ratio gives--"

"That's great. But it doesn't mean you should stay in fifth," he responded.

Lydia swore under her breath, trying to impress Stiles had distracted her. She shifted down gear with a slight jolt. For once Stiles hadn't reached over to adjust her technique. He watched and noticed how different it seemed; her hold not as hard as his but somehow more assertive, pulling at the gear shift. When she pulled her hair back from her face to focus and tucked it behind her ear but he hadn't sniped at her. In fact it bothered him less and less to see her make herself at home. But he still envisioned himself losing it if she stopped to check texts at a light or something like that.

"If you know all this" he shifted to half-face her, "than why do you need lessons?"

Lydia bit her lower lip in thought before answering, she didn't lie but had her answer been 'to take a joyride through town' it would have been more revealing.

"Because I can't calculate tire revolution against the circumference of the crankshaft through theoretical practice."

Well, that was more informative than Stiles had anticipated. "It has to be my jeep?" he replayed her answer in his head. "Is there something wrong with my jeep?"

"I wouldn't even know where to begin to list the things wrong with your crap Jeep." For the first time she glanced away from the road just to roll her eyes directly at him for emphasis.

"She didn't mean it," he stroked the dashboard. Lydia didn't respond at first. She seemed less focused on the road than lost in her thoughts.

Experimenting was always a good idea. His jeep was a fabulous idea but experimenting with his jeep was a terrible idea, even if it was left up to Lydia Martin. There was something conspiratorial about the whole thing. Stiles reached for the radio to drum out his thoughts and Lydia swatted his hand away for the second time.

"I meant it," she said in a way that pissed him off. Not angry but upset. Not vicious but sincere. "I really really meant it."

"Pull over," he snapped "Apologize."

"No. You do know that stick shifts are becoming increasingly arbitrary. Repairs are more costly, it's a myth they're theft deterrents, it's becoming hipster to want a car just because of a stick! Is that what you want to be, do you want to be a hipster!?" her voice had become shrill and the word hipster sounded like something of a threat.

"Of course not!!" Stiles rubbed his face in frustration while he shouted in self defense but of what he had no idea. "Lydia, what the hell." They hit a pot hole and Lydia sped up instead of slowed. The jeep screech to a halt that made them clutch the dash to keep from slamming into it. After a second to catch their collective breath they looked to one another and glared. Stiles reacted first.

"Get out of the car," he demanded. He opened the passenger side door, snapped apart his seatbelt and stumbled out in the most graceless maneuver a drunken giraffe would have been akin to. With a speed that borderline supernatural Stiles was around the hood. "I'm driving us back."

"No."

"Get out." He pulled open the driver's side door.

"No." She slammed it closed on him and narrowly missed his fingers.

Stiles flinched and clutched his not-at-all wounded hand to his chest yet somehow Lydia looked more startled than he had.

"What is going on?" he demanded.

"I'm not leaving until you teach me how to drive your Jeep," she replied lamely.

Stiles came up to the window and brought his face close to hers. "You could have hired an instructor. Why does it need to be my Jeep?"

Lydia paused to think again. She opened her mouth twice and answered quietly as if she knew already her answer was weak but needed to stick to it. "Because it needs to be."

"Is this a banshee thing?" he whispered. She shook her head miserably.

"Fine," he gave up. Stiles reached through the window before Lydia could protest. He pulled the keys from the ignition and tossed them far away. It was a dramatic gesture and a very dumb one.

The jeep had pulled over in a domestic neighborhood and the keys had flown over someone's lawn, smacked into the door and landed on their front porch.

"Now no ones driving," he said dramatically, Lydia's brows knit together in wordless incredulity.

"You're being childish," she hissed.

"You're being childish," he mimicked her tone.

"Fine," she turned away, rolled up the window and locked the door.

"Fine," he turned away and leaned up against the side of the jeep.

Lydia gripped the steering wheel intermittently. She muttered dark things under her breath and worse things in her mind.

Stiles tapped his foot until he nearly kicked off his sneakers. Then he paced in awkward small rotations, determined not to look at or near her, leaving him staring at the ground or the sky. It was a miracle he hadn't toppled off the curb.

They both knew that wasn't enough. Holding back between them, it never worked out in the past. Whatever this was, it wasn't okay.

Finally Lydia tapped on the glass it nearly scared Stiles out of his skin. She lowered the window achingly slow.

"Stiles," she said his name like an apology in itself. He looked skeptical. "I apologize," she stroked the dashboard as she said so. He smirked at that.

Without taking "No" for an answer she gestured for him to get the keys from the neighbor's porch. Stiles stumbled up the front steps, sped along by the sound of a dog barking from inside the residence and the stares from people within. She anticipated he would hand her the keys and race around to the side door like he had before. He had not. Instead he waited outside the driver's side door. The neighbors' started to yell.

"Ok? Now, get in the Jeep."

"Alright," he shoved the key into the lock and gave her no chance to refuse.

Lydia let out a noise somewhere between a squeak and a gasp far more dignified than the sound Stiles gave off earlier. She fumbled backward, squished between the gear shift and front seats not meant to fit a regular personbarely a petite person. The dog running toward them from outside gave little room to argue. Stiles threw his arm behind the headrest and hefted himself upward, upward, upward, curling his back against the roof not calculating for the chairs adjustment. He shifted again and again until he could find a way where his knees would settle not too painfully centered between Lydia's knees and despite her reclining at a crooked angle onto the steering wheel it pressed their heads together.

"You did not think this through."

"I am aware of that, thank you."

Lydia stared, daring him to laugh as it was right there on the corner of his lips, looming. After a still beat she brought up something he would never laugh at, something closer to the truth.

"You drove this thing through a wall to save Jackson once."

Less comfortable suddenly Stiles straightened, a little. "One of the finer points in my highlights reel. Yeah, I remember."

Lydia's eyes had new focused, bright and dark all at once "I've never been sure if you did it on purpose or not."

"Totally on purpose," he nodded his head in assurance. "A one in a million chance but worth it."

"I think you're percentage is a little off," she shook her head in the little room afforded her.

Her vivid hair fell into his eyes and he thought, strangely, how must she see him? Was it a hero? Was it a goof? Can't it be both?

"Yeah, and the repairs were crazy,--" he babbled.

"Stiles," she cut in, her voice a steady cord bringing him back. "I kept thinking about that when we were at the power substation, looking for Barrows."

"Something that won't be making the highlight reel." Oh, that look she gave him. "Go on."

"You told me to wait in the Jeep that time, do you remember why?"

"Not really."

Lydia readjusted her legs, sliding one up along his and the other at a tilt that pained to shift underneath her but at least Stiles could slightly sit. Her right leg thrown over his, he was decent enough to pull her dress down before his legs sandwiched hers. Awkwardly, they fit. She reached back, under his prostrated arm and touched his aluminum bat in the back of the jeep.

"Because you've only got one bat." He only remembered saying it after she repeated it to him. "You know what I think about that too?"

That came easier to mind. "That I need to find something better than a baseball bat." The statement wounded him, he loved that bat.

"Seriously," she emphasized with a grin.

"That bat has been there for me through some tough times."

"Yeah, great," she cut his argument short. "So has this beat up thing," she said and tapped the gear shift. "You know outside that power substation, waiting for you and Scott. I couldn't help but think 'If I knew how to handle this Jeep maybe I could drive it through that wall.'"

The walls at the substation were ridiculously thick by comparison to the rundown warehouse where Jackson had held their friends captive. Lydia was smart and had to have rationalized that. Bringing to his mind that sitting in the parking lot helplessly couldn't have been easy.

Between hardships it became an unspoken rule amongst them all; do not obsess, focus on the good, hopes, dreams and avoid blame or guilt. But that never prevented their waking mind from theorizing what could have been done to prevent this or save that.

That night at the substation was the beginning of a long horror story for Stiles, his private obsession. It never occurred to him that Lydia felt some responsibility to him. This was her way of saying it aloud.

"Totally on purpose?" his voice grew quiet.

"One in a million chance and worth it,--" her voice grew to match his.

"You don't think you're percentages might be off?"

"I didn't think it factored since I don't know how to drive your Jeep."

Lydia had never seen Stiles so still in her life. He pressed his lips together as if he were working out a mystery more profound than any conniving shape-shifter or murderous hunter combined. How could that look land so squarely in her direction when he had had her pegged before anyone saw anything mystical about her? What was she going to have to do for him to get it? Being one of the good guys wasn't enough if she couldn't be that for him?

"Ahh," his brows rose with an internal revelation, her brows narrowed in uneasiness. "Soo, you want to drive my stick shift?"

Lydia smirked. She would give him that one. "I do."

"Just my stick shift. I'm honored." Stiles shifted upward abruptly, she dipped back in surprise. He pressed himself against the roof and shimmied across to the passenger seat, his backside scrapped the windshield and almost dislodging the rearview mirror.

"You're an idiot," Lydia could hardly mutter while she shuffled out from beneath him and slid into the driver's side.

Stiles squirmed around to fix his clothes, to pull down his shirt and up his pants. Lydia combed her fingers through her hair and pulled her dress down into place. The neighbor knocked with abrupt harshness against the window and demanded for them to move on. Both Lydia and Stiles gave her an identical annoyed glare then dedicated themselves to ignoring her fully.

"Are you going to teach me then?" Lydia stifled a laugh.

Stiles huffed to catch his breath then caught her words. "So you can deliberately crash my Jeep?" His jaw dropped in genuine horror but then titled his head as he seemed to think better. "Yeah, sure" and he handed over the keys.

"You know you aren't driving him much better lately," Lydia maneuvered through start up procedure with ease. They left the angry neighbor curbside with her empty threats.

"I could just get you a bat?" Stiles leaned back in the seat, feet up on the dash and arms crossed behind his head. It took all her restraint not to snap at him to get his feet down. He would ruin it before she ever got a chance to.