useofcuriosity | PSL Box

She looks over her shoulder at him as she takes her hair in her hands and begins to coil it into a bun. "Did you fall asleep in the on call room again? You better hurry up or you're going to be late, Stiles."

The thing that frustrated Lydia about Stiles Stilinski is that she's entirely aware of how smart he is. Maybe not as smart as her...or maybe smart in a different way. She doesn't know what's distracting him or maybe not taking the program seriously, but she wants to find out someday.

The thing is, he thinks he is taking it seriously. Just in a completely different way than Lydia Martin. "The on call room? And risk hearing Scott and the lady Argent again?" Whose father is resident director and therefore absolutely terrifying to Stiles. "No thanks. Besides, I'm already late."

And late means research and scut surgeries and trauma. And he wants that.

This gains her attention. She turns around on the bench, unabashedly staring at him regardless of whether he's changing into his scrubs or not. "It's like you want to be stuck with the scut work." she observes curiously. "Is that what you want?"

She's well aware of the trouble Allison and Scott have been known to get into in the on call room. But Lydia's got her own niche in the program; she's the intern all the residents want to lure into their specialty. Whatever she's considering, she's keeping it close to her chest for the moment.

He's about halfway into them, at least he's fast at that. He's pretty deliberately slow at other things. "Who would want that, Lydia?" Him, apparently.

She seems oddly relaxed as she studies him. "Slow down. We've got a little bit before rounds today." There's a puzzled tilt of the head as she regards him. "And that's a good question. You, it would seem, since you're always winding up in the pit. Ever hear the phrase 'first time coincidence, second time happenstance, third time enemy action'?"

She purses her lips. "Why don't you just tell the head of trauma that's where you want to specialize? If you like getting your hands dirty I'm sure you can be up to your elbows in viscera and GSWs in no time." She can't help it, the corner of her mouth quirks into a smile. She has your number, Stiles.

"Enemy action, huh." He sits down, digging through his locker for a candy bar to eat before rounds. "I could do that. Sure, I could do that. Or I could not do that, and I could drive Doctor Hale up a wall."

Guess which sounds more appealing to him.

Her brows lift. "You're smarter than that." she says flatly. "Do you really want to wreck your career just so you can put a bug up Doctor Hale's ass?" She is visibly baffled, getting up from the bench and walking over, arms crossing over her chest so she can peer at him critically. "I know you love surgery, so if I'm wrong, why are you making yourself into the program scut monkey?"

"I'm not wrecking my career, but even if I were...why does that bother you? You're the program genius, you'll probably have a Harper Avery before anyone else in this class."

"Because you're smart." she says, pursing her lips in that way she has when she's peeved or thoughtful or uneasy. "It's like watching a Lipazzaner stallion pull a donkey cart. I find it frustrating." There's a tilt of her head. "Would you rather I not bother? I could if you want, Doctor Stilinski."

"Not as smart as you. No one is as smart as you." He gives her a look. "I didn't say that at all."

Edited 2014-03-23 08:23 (UTC)

"You're better with patients than I am." she counters. "And you think outside the box. You might be erratic, but when you decide you want to focus, you're on point, without fail. So what's your deal, then? What's the agenda aside from pissing off Dr. Hale? Because the only thing you're doing is building a reputation from being unreliable. If you were actually a slacker who skated into the program I wouldn't care at all. But you're not."

Her arms are crossed over her chest now and her foot is practically tapping with a well, I'm waiting! air.

"If people thought I was that unreliable, no one would ask me to help me with their research." Or just plain do it for them. He thinks about this for a moment, watching her. And her tap-tap-tapping foot. "You know what frontotemporal dementia is."

It's not really a question.

Her foot stops tapping immediately.

"I do." she confirms, and then adds in surprise, "You want to go into neuro?"

Because shhh, that's where she wants to go, actually.

"Not exactly?" Though he doesn't doubt that's where he'll end up, one way or another. "My mother had it."

That catches her attention even further, and she steps a bit closer, peering up at him. No Lydia, you are not a walking MRI and no matter how much you peer at him you won't be able to see if there are problems in his brain.

"Weren't you tested?" she demands of him. "The marker has a twenty to fifty percent chance of being passed on to a first generation relation." This isn't good. "You should have been tested when your mother was diagnosed."

Her gaze softens a little. "Is that why you went to med school?"

He hasn't been tested, because he honestly didn't want to know. And yet, the closer he gets to how old his mother was, the more he thinks maybe he should want to know.

And again: yet, he does not get tested.

"Because of my mother? Wouldn't you?"

"Assumption is dangerous, that's why I asked." she points out, letting her arms drop out of the defensive criss-cross across her chest. "And while I see why it would inspire you to get through med school I don't see how it leads to you doing bottom of the heap work, unless someone's doing a project that you find directly relevant." She can't help but add, "And you should get tested. If you think you have the marker you should know and be prepared."

Now she's actually a little worried.

"It gives me time to do my own work." Since he's pretty sure he's never going to get that far into his career to make a name for it. "And if I do that, then I know. And if I know, my father knows. And I'm not putting him through that before I have to."

He knows it's not smart, but it's what he has.

She stares at him. She actually stares at him, gaping a little. "Why are you doing this on your own?" she asks, her tone quietly stunned. "You're acting like you think you're on borrowed time but you don't know for certain, and even if you are, we've got one of the top neurosurgeons in the world right down the hall, Stiles!"

Wow. She's actually really upset. Way more upset than even she might have expected.

"Scott has his own problems. Everyone has their own problems, Lydia." Especially here. Beacon Hills has it's deathy nicknames for a reason. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"You didn't mean to upset me." She begins pacing back and forth. "You're an idiot, did you know that? The smartest nitwit I've ever met. This isn't something you avoid. Not using the resources at your disposal is a mistake. Thinking like you're on borrowed time is a mistake." She levels a look at him. "What do you care if I'm upset, anyway?"

She's actually, well. She realizes she's actually a little angry at him.

He watches her pace, almost fascinated by it. He's heard her yell at the others, even heard her given dress-down lectures. He's never really been on the receiving end of one before. It's fascinating. And a little frightening.

Then she asks that question, and he gives her a look. "You're joking, right?"

She stares at him like what? and upon realizing he's not psychic, "No? Why would I joke about that?"

She appears genuinely clueless.

"Now who's brilliant and not really that bright at the same time?" Staring at her. "You really don't get that I've basically had a crush on your since the day we met?"

"I've been busy," she protests, like she's not certain how to deal with this news. "With surgeries. The program." Nevermind that everyone else seems to regard the on call room as the booty call room.

"Does that mean if I asked you to, you'd get tested and actually get neuro on board?" she challenges him.

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