Stiles stumbled out of the bar into the still chill of the night. Taking a few unsteady steps, he thrust his hand out towards the wall to counter the disorientation he felt. He let the wall guide him along and round the corner into the service alley next to the bar.

'Should have known', he thought to himself, 'should have known it would be exactly the same'.

What had been a light gurgling in his stomach began to turn into something far more insistent and he turned to face the wall, falling into it but catching both hands against it at the last minute. Stiles let the nausea take control and he emptied his stomach onto the pavement below.

Five minutes later he felt that he could probably stand unaided again so he carefully lifted his head up, took a couple of deep breaths and with the mist from his breathing disappearing into the cold night air slowly pulled himself up to standing.

Upright was one thing, moving was a completely different matter so Stiles swayed ever so imperceptibly as he ruminated that bourbon was never a good thing for him to take in quantity, particularly after some bad news. However this probably wouldn't be the last time he'd be in this predicament as it equally wasn't the first.

As he considered trying to make his way home, he took a few tentative steps out into the middle of the alley and immediately felt a change in atmosphere. He realised that where before the air had been still, now a breeze came from the dark recesses of the alley and no sooner had that realisation struck him than the breeze intensified and something came whooshing at him out of the dark. Whatever it was caught his side and sent him spinning back towards the wall, arms flailing for balance. Bringing the resurgent nausea back under control again, he looked out in the direction of the street but whatever it was had gone and didn't seem to have made an impression on anyone else out in the night judging from the lack of screaming and all-round commotion. It could almost not have happened, except that dirt and small pieces of trash blew gently around, slowly settling back to the ground again as the air stilled.

Luckily for Stiles, he only lived a couple of blocks away from the bar or perhaps that had been unconscious planning on his part when he'd made the arrangement earlier. Either way, the distance was short enough that by careful concentration he made his way back to his apartment with no further mishaps. The concentration was almost enough to push the memory of the strange incident out of his mind.

The three tries it took him to get his key in the lock were about average for a night of this calibre and he gratefully let his weight push the door open as he spun round with it falling into the hallway. He didn't bother putting any lights on, he just aimed himself at his bedroom door and ricocheted off the walls and the furniture until he landed on his bed. He had enough presence of mind to toe his shoes off but not do any more than struggle out of his jacket and crawl more centrally on to the bed.

Lying there, still now, he waited for the room to stop spinning round him and hoped that sleep would be quick. He didn't want to think, he didn't want to think about anything. His subconscious was not going to be his friend though and thoughts of the evening began to trickle round the edges of his mind; images of Lyla, the girl he'd gone to meet and memories of the things she'd said. He groaned and rolled into the pillow.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Stiles had been pretty happy earlier at work. His project was near completion, there was just some beta-testing still to work on. After college, he'd stayed in the city to work for the software house which had scouted him during his academic years. Five years later, he was still there. It was coasting, to some degree. He had a particular knack for finding flaws in programming so the work wasn't so much in the trouble shooting, it was more in the error correcting for him. He knew he could work a bit harder, improve his skills in programming and he could move to a bigger company but the people here were nice, the place was chilled, mostly and the benefits were reasonable. Why invite trouble? He'd had more than his share of it back in his teens. It was good now to just stay under the radar, bother no-one, let no-one bother him and keep a nice easy routine.

He kicked his feet up onto his desk and sat back clasping his hands behind his neck. He thought about the evening ahead and his date with Lyla, the cute blonde account executive. They were just going to have a drink at a local bar but Stiles was feeling good about it, this was their third date so perhaps something would come of this. So often it didn't. He'd had no real serious girlfriends in all this time and the only two relationships which had seemed like they might get serious fizzled out after a couple of months. Apart from that it was just sporadic dating which sometimes went terribly but more often than not ended up in a 'it's not you, it's me' conversation.

Stiles got to the bar 10 minutes early; he got himself a beer and snagged a small table. He smiled as he sipped his beer and considered how the evening might play out. Of all the outcomes he played with – most of them involving some sort of nightcap back at his apartment – none of them were remotely close to the actuality of what would happen.

A gust of cold air indicated that the bar door had been opened; Stiles looked up to see Lyla coming towards him. He stood up.

"Hey", he said smiling, "can I take your coat?"

Lyla pulled her scarf more firmly round her body and shook her head, "I can't stay, I'm sorry", she said quietly and perched herself on the chair opposite Stiles.

"Look, I know I should have said this before but you were so sweet and I did have a great time the other night…"

Stiles heaved in a breath and sighed, he knew what was coming. Why did it always end up exactly the same damn way?

"…it's just that I don't think it's a good idea to start anything with someone I work with. You know, it can get complicated down the line…" Lyla trailed off, looking at him with sad eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, I know", he said, breaking the eye contact and staring down at the table, "It's not me, it's you, blah, blah".

"I'm sorry", Lyla said leaning over to put a hand on one of his, "I hope you understand".

Stiles pulled his hands away from the table top before she could reach him. "Yeah, I understand, I understand only too well".

Lyla mistook his resignation for acceptance. "I hope we can still be friends, you're a great guy and I really do like you."

'But not enough to actually spend some time with me', thought Stiles to himself

"Well, thanks for coming, it must really have been an effort to drag yourself out in this weather, I appreciate it, thanks", he said, picking up his beer and draining the glass.

"Okay then", Lyla was unsure, "I'll see you Monday?"

"Guess so", said Stiles standing and turning towards the bar with his empty glass in his hand.

"I'm sorry, really I am", Lyla had one more try at leaving the situation with some dignity.

"Yeah, whatever…" and he didn't even watch her go as he sidled up to the bar and dropped himself on an empty stool there. Banging his empty glass on the counter to get the barman's attention, "JD, large and don't stop them till I tell you to".

Several hours later and Stiles still sat there, now holding his head in his hands and running them through his short dark hair. His consumption of Jack had slowed although it remained steady and because he was neither loud nor obnoxious, the barman had continued filling his glass at intervals.

Stiles had stayed there contemplating himself and wondering which of his many faults had turned the girl off this time. He wasn't the greatest looking dude in all the world but he knew he was passable; she might have just had a thing for tall guys. Perhaps it was his personality, he'd learned to reign in some of his wilder aspects as he got older but he could still be overly enthusiastic. Maybe Lyla had spotted how keen he was. After all, he'd only been hanging round the accounts department for about three months before he found the courage to ask her for a drink. Possibly one of her friends had warned her off, reminding her that she shouldn't date nerdy losers. Stiles shook his head, 'oh well, it was only to be expected'.

He reached into his pocket for his phone and thought about calling Scott but it was now nearing midnight and this wasn't a time for one of those calls. Perhaps a quick 'how you doing' text? He hadn't seen his old friend in an age but they still kept in contact. The distance between where he was now and his home town of Beacon Hills precluded weekend visits but Stiles would go home for the holidays and occasionally Scott would visit him in the city.

Scott had never really understood Stiles' need to escape Beacon Hills. Stiles thought back to his youth and the events that had changed his life and that of those close to him. He remembered how he had helped Scott through his change, helping him to come to terms with it and control himself. He recalled how close he had come to changing himself and that was really the impetus to get the hell out of Dodge. Stiles didn't think he had the self-control to keep saying no. He knew that if he stayed something would happen, something would change and he had been petrified of what that might be. Deep down inside himself, he had felt a yearning for an intangible something and he wasn't quite sure it was right.

In the year before college, things had quietened down. The Alpha was dead and the new Alpha, Derek, disappeared soon after. Scott's girlfriend, Allison, came from a family of Hunters and although their prime motivation was to kill all weres, Scott's role in the death of the Alpha persuaded them that he was not the danger they supposed and their concentration lay in finding the new Alpha and dealing with him. This proved to be a fruitless task since Derek had apparently vanished without trace. As things settled back down to something approaching normality, Stiles mind turned increasingly to escape himself, which his college opportunities fortunately offered him and he left with his father's and Scott's grudging acceptance.

But still, on nights like this, the yearning would come out of nowhere and grip his heart and his mind in a fearsome hold. If only he knew what it actually was…

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

About half an hour after Stiles had stumbled from the alley, a dark shadow crossed into it. The figure stood where Stiles had been earlier and raised its face into the air. After seemingly taking an inventory of all the facets in the ether, it looked around and caught sight of an object strewn to one side. It strode over, picked it up and examined it. It was a wallet, cast away in the collision between known and unknown. The figure put it in a pocket and slowly walked out of the alley, pausing briefly under a lamp. Anyone standing opposite would have seen a dark handsome face with cheekbones like carved marble and bright flashing eyes but then the impression would vanish, as quickly as the unseen figure did into the dark night.