Fight Till We Die

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You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.

- Mary Oliver

Stiles set her up in the guest room and let her use his shampoo and conditioner. It was a significantly greater experience than the kind of showers she'd been having the past few weeks, with the exception of, bathing in the school's locker room. Bath wipes, and gallons of purified water with cheap soap had been her life.

The house actually had warm water and real bath products. The house was comfortable, and the idea of a real bed would've been enough to convince her any day. When Libby got out of the shower, Stiles had set out a pair of sweats-women's cut, which she found odd but didn't say anything-and a blue t-shirt that smelled like him.

Libby dressed and knocked on his door across the hall to say goodnight, "Stiles?"

The boy opened the door, wide enough to see into his room, and his gaze fell heavy on her. "You okay?" He asked.

"Yeah, just wanted to say goodnight."

It was awkward for a moment, the comfortable silence they had found earlier was long gone. Stiles nodded and then pointed back into his room, "Wanna watch a movie?"

"It's 11:30." At his confused look, Libby continued, "It's a school night."

Suddenly his stilted demeanor fell apart and he gaped at her. "You're telling me you don't stay up past 11:30 on a school night?"

Libby scoffed at his blatant attitude, "No, I'm saying I didn't sleep last night because I was worried half to death about Derek and a movie would mean staying up for another two and a half hours."

"Well... That's actually a pretty good reason." Stiles looked her up and down as if he could see the weariness in her body. As if trying one last time he said, "You can pick?"

Libby laughed, "Goodnight, Stiles."

"Night."

☾

Libby left early in the morning before Stiles woke up. She crept down the stairs doing her best to be quiet and just when she thought she'd make it out the door, she heard a voice from behind her.

"What are you doing in my house?"

Whirling around as if she'd been caught doing something bad, Libby saw Sherriff Stilinski standing behind her, tense, like he thought she was an intruder. "Hi." She whispered through the dark. "I- Stiles let me stay the night."

His gaze dropped down to her clothes-the ones Stiles had given her the night before-and as if coming to a conclusion his eyes widened and he said, "Oh."

She couldn't help but notice the way his gaze hooked on the pants she wore. "I stayed in the guest room." She blurted, not liking the look on his face.

"Where'd you get those." He nodded to the sweats.

Libby looked down at the plain pair of sweats that looked like nothing special. Looking up, "Stiles left them out for me."

Mr. Stilinkski nodded for a moment and turned to walk away before he stopped in the doorframe to the kitchen, gripping the wall so hard she could see the white of his knuckles. "I want those back."