Moisture on her palms . . .

It is the first thing Lydia Martin notices when she wakes up, disoriented and bleary-eyed on the floor of her bedroom. But why is she on the floor? And why is her $200 cashmere sweater ripped to shreds?

Then, it all comes surging back to her . . . her "date" with Jackson . . . the stalker, serial killer way he'd acted, throughout it . . . the way her neck felt when he scratched her . . . the way she felt when she crumbled to the ground, not feeling anything at all. Then, she remembers Stiles, and how safe he made her feel, in spite of everything. She remembers the way he stayed with her throughout the whole horrible ordeal, and how she fell asleep with her hand in his sweaty palm.

His sweaty palm . . . the very same sweaty palm she's running her fingers across right now . . .

"I can move," Lydia says out loud, as she tentatively wiggles her toes, and stretches her arms out in front of her.

A mixture of relief and elation washes over her, as she beams over at the still sleeping Stiles, unable to remember the last time she felt this happy. Mere hours ago she was completely paralyzed, and feared she might stay that way for the rest of her life. And now, she feels perfectly normal, almost as if the whole thing never happened . . .

But it did happen, didn't it?

It had to have happened, because Stiles is here, sleeping next to her on the floor of her bedroom . . . except . . .

Stiles is always next to her, in her dreams.

It's gotten to the point where Lydia can't tell whether she's dreaming or awake anymore. And that is a Very Bad Thing . . .

Back when Lydia and Jackson were still dating, he took her to see that Leonardo DiCaprio movie . . . the one where Leo and the girl from Juno would go into people's heads and manipulate their dreams. In that movie, each of the characters had their own totem, some kind of object that could tell them whether they were dreaming or awake. Leonardo DiCaprio's totem was a spinning top.

But Lydia didn't own a spinning top. So, how the heck was she supposed to know whether she was dreaming or not? Then, it came to her . . .

Stiles' lips.

Every single dream she had lately ended with her kissing Stiles. She would start kissing him, and just before things got hot and heavy between them, everything would turn to black, and Lydia would awaken. It was like she was trapped in some "T for Teen" rated show, whose censors never let her get past second base . . .

So, that is what Lydia has to do, she decides. She has to kiss Stiles, and see where it takes her. She'll kiss him, and then either she'll wake up, or she won't. It is rather scientific, really. And it has absolutely nothing to do with her having feelings for Stiles. (She doesn't!)

Here goes nothing. Lydia thinks to herself, as she leans over, and presses her lips against the still- Sleeping Stiles, prying them open ever so gently with the tip of her tongue. "Lydia," Stiles murmurs, with his eyes still closed, almost as if he might be in the midst of a dream himself.

A dream within a dream. This really is like that Leonardo DiCaprio movie. Lydia thinks to herself.

Then, Lydia does something she's never done before. She stops thinking, and just acts . . . acts on the impulses and desires that have been driving her literally crazy for weeks. Cupping Stiles' face with her hands, Lydia pulls him closer to her, so that she can feel his surprisingly taut stomach press against her own.

Sleeping or not, Stiles is an exceptional kisser. Within seconds, his right hand is massaging her back, while his left is exploring her neck, teasing the sensitive area behind her ears, and running his fingers through her hair. And those lips! Lydia has never experienced lips so soft and pliable. . . lips that seem tailor-made to kiss her own.

Stiles body bucks up against her own, and Lydia lets out a soft moan. "I don't care if I'm dreaming, I never want to wake up," Lydia whispers in Stiles' ear.

"I don't want to wake up either," replies Stiles, his voice sounding raw and husky, even to his own ears.

Then, suddenly, he does wake up . . . his eyes wide like saucers, as they come face-to-face with a flesh and blood Lydia. And Stiles is thrilled. But he's also really confused. "Umm . . . Lydia, did you just rape my face with your tongue, while I was sleeping?"

The minute the words escape Stiles' lips he knows he shouldn't have said them.

"Oh god!" Lydia exclaims, covering her mouth with her hand. "I'm a total slut . . . a slut and a rapist."

Stiles smirks and holds up his hands in a placating gesture. "It's OK. I liked it . . . A LOT . . . so much, actually. You have no idea how much! I'm just . . . a little surprised, is all."

Now, Lydia is pacing back and forth across her room, her head in her hands. "You must think I'm crazy," she mutters. "Heck, I think I'm crazy! It's just that I kept having these dreams . . . where you and I would . . . you know . . . and then, I remembered that Leonardo DiCaprio movie where . . ."

"Inception?" Stiles asks brightly.

"Yes! That's the one!" Lydia replies excitedly, forgetting for a moment the awkwardness of the situation.

"I loved that movie, especially the part where the building folds in on itself, and Leonardo DiCaprio's character says . . . wait, I think I missed something very important here . . . did you just say that you've been having dreams about kissing me?" Stiles asks, his mouth forming the shape of an "O."

"You have dreams about me too!" Lydia sputters, pointing accusatorily at Stiles.

"Of course, I do," admits Stiles, shrugging his shoulders. "I've been in love with you since before my parents took the training wheels off my bike. I don't think that's exactly new information. But that doesn't explain why you're dreaming about kissing me."

"I . . . I . . . I should go," Lydia says frantically, turning toward her bedroom door.

"Lydia . . . you live here," Stiles explains quite rationally, a devilish grin on his face.

"OK, you're right, you should go," Lydia says nodding resolutely.

Stiles blinks trying to hide the hurt and disappointment on his face, as he rises from his position on Lydia's floor. "Do you really want me to leave?" He asks tentatively.

"Yes! No . . . ugh, I don't know," admits Lydia pitifully.

Stiles gingerly sits down on the edge of Lydia's bed, and waits . . .

After a few moments of silence, Lydia composes herself enough to face Stiles. "Listen, what you did for me last night . . . the way you stayed with me, when I was . . . I don't know anyone else who would do that for me, not with the awful way I usually treat you. I just . . .you saved me. And I can't thank you enough," she concludes, as she sits down on the bed next to him.

"You're welcome," replies Stiles.

He can feel his ears burning, and knows that he's probably blushing something fierce right now.

"I know I probably don't deserve you as a friend," Lydia continues, looking down at her hands. "But I'm really glad I have you as one."

Lydia can feel Stiles eyes' boring into her right now, searching for something. But she can't quite bring herself to look at him. She fears that if she does, she might start to cry again, or do something much worse . . .

"Is that what we are, Lydia . . . just friends?" Stiles inquires, his head tilted charmingly to the side.

"Yes . . . that's what we are," replies Lydia, though her voice wavers a bit when she says it, and this gives Stiles the courage to say what he says next.

"Friends who . . . have dreams about kissing one another . . . and who sometimes actually kiss one another," Stiles continues, as he leans ever so slightly closer to Lydia, so that she can no longer avoid his eyes.

Lydia makes the mistake of looking up then . . . up into those mocha fudge puppy dog eyes . . . eyes that are filling with caring, kindness, and a passion for her, that makes her whole body tingle with need. Those eyes are the rabbit hole to Wonderland, and she's Alice . . . falling, far, hard and fast into the abyss. "It was an accident . . . it won't happen again," Lydia whispers, as Stiles moves even closer to her.

"Of course not, because you don't have any romantic feelings for me at all," Stiles responds evenly.

Their faces are inches apart now . . . so close that Stiles notices a small bead of perspiration slide down the nape of Lydia's neck.

For the moment, he can't imagine anything sexier than that . . .

"Absolutely none," replies Lydia, as she grabs Stiles face to her own, and kisses him hungrily, greedily, and amorously, pushing him down on the bed roughly with the base of her palm.

One thing is for sure, they are both Wide Awake now . . .

Meanwhile, over at the Argent house, the kanaima has just walked through the front door, which Allison was quite certain was locked when she left. It saunters into the kitchen, like it owns the place, and waits . . .

Allison shoulders her bow and arrow, and rushes to follow it. But Scott blocks her entrance.

"Scott, my family is in there," Allison pleads, trying to move around him.

"I know," replies Scott solemnly, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "And I promise you, I . . . we won't let anything happen to them. But this is our only chance to catch the Master. And if we go in there, guns blazing, I feel like we never will."

Allison rolls her eyes. "I'm not going to go in there 'guns blazing.' I just want to shoot it in the leg a few times. You know, neutralize the threat."

"But what if you miss?" Scott wonders.

Allison smiles. "Honey, haven't you learned by now? I never miss."

Scott smirks, and shakes his head. "OK, but what if the Master is another kanaima like Jackson, and your shooting at its 'slave' or whatever, causes it to go all Villain from a Spiderman Movie Crazy on your parents."

Allison considers this for a second. "Good point. Fortunately, I have a Plan B."

"You do?" Scott asks, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Allison walks around the side of the house toward the kitchen window, which she has cleverly started to leave slightly open, ever since she's been banned from seeing Scott. (After all, it's a heck of a lot easier climbing through a one-story window into her kitchen, than through a two-story window into her bedroom.) The young hunter than picks up a garden hose, lying on the floor, and aims it at the gap in the window.

"You said the kanaima was afraid of water, right?" Allison muses.

"Yeah, so?"

"Well, I know for a fact that Jackson can swim," replies Allison with a grin, as she turns on the hose, and aims at the kanaima, who screeches horribly, as it falls to the ground.

"My god, it's like the Wicked Witch from Wizard of Oz," Scott exclaims.

Two seconds later, a very wet and naked Jackson is lying on the floor, incredibly confused.

"Allison, you are a genius!" Scott admits, patting his girlfriend on the back.

"Ah, see, and here I thought you were just dating me because I'm good in bed," Allison replies with a wink.

It's then that Gerard Argent walks down the steps, and into the kitchen.

"Well, Grandpa is in for quite a surprise," Scott jokes.

Except, Gerard doesn't seem surprised at all . . .

"Ahh . . . ahh . . . Principal Argent, I don't know . . . I can explain I . . . I should go," rambles naked Jackson, as he dashes for the door, trying in vain to cover his "man parts" as he moves.

Gerard Argent then places both of his hands on Jackson's back and turns the younger man to face him. It's beyond creepy. "What's the hurry, Jackson? Stick around and chat with me for a while. Besides, you look tired, you should close your eyes."

Funny thing . . . Jackson wasn't feeling at all tired before, but now he's dead on his feet. He closes his eyes, and falls to the floor. The kanaima, however is now wide awake . . .

Exhausted, and exceptionally happy, Stiles and Lydia are lying in one another's arms, in various states of undress, beneath the pale pink comforter on Lydia's ridiculously comfortable bed. Half asleep, Lydia is lazily tracing the freckles on Stiles' chest with the tips of her fingers, when she hears his phone vibrate on the floor beneath them.

Stiles closes his eyes, hoping he can make the phone stop vibrating with the power of his mind. It doesn't work. "Aren't you going to get that?" Lydia inquires.

"Um . . . no?" Stiles says, looking quizzically at Lydia.

All Lydia has to do is give him one stern look, and he's off the bed and kneeling by his phone. It's a text message. And when Stiles sees it, his face goes white as a ghost. Quickly, he starts to collect his clothing from the floor. "What's the matter?" Lydia asks, rising from the bed herself.

"Uh . . . nothing. It's ah . . . just my dad. I'm actually grounded so ah . . ." he fibs, gulping exaggeratedly, as he tries to avoid Lydia's eyes.

"Seriously? You are seriously going to lie to me NOW, after everything that's happened between us," Lydia scolds, folding her arms across her chest.

Stiles looks down guiltily at the clothes strewn floor. "I was kind of planning on it, yes."

But he hands Lydia the phone, anyway. The text message is from Scott. It reads. "Gerard Argent is the Kanaima's Master. 911."

Lydia is dressed and tugging Stiles toward the door, before he even gets both legs back into his jeans. "Come on, let's go save our friends from Allison's crazy grandpa," she demands.

"Yes, ma'am," replies Stiles with a smirk, as the two rush down the stairs together.

Yeah, Stiles' hands are still sweaty. Lydia's hair is looking far from perfect right now. They both are suffering from a pretty bad case of morning mouth. And, let's face it, battling her ex-boyfriend, i.e. the psycho killer lizard thing, and some evil old dude, isn't exactly Lydia's idea of the perfect first date. In short, Lydia's reality with Stiles is NOTHING like her dreams.

It's much, much better . . .

The End?