Author's Note: This little baby was born from my reaction to the following songs and how the scene played out in my head with me as Malia in the distant future and Stiles conveying the boy who broke my heart seeing me again for the first time. Morbid, I know. Enjoy!
Chapter One: Baby, Come and Fall Away With Me
Song Inspiration: "Fall Away" Lund
"Seventeen" Tors
[Intro]
"Baby come fall away with me
Baby you and I were meant to be
Baby come fall away with me
Baby you and I were meant to be"
Moving to New York hadn't been premeditated. Stiles hadn't thought things through like most big moments in his life. There were no red strings, no cork board of plans and clues, no questions, no answers. Leaving on a whim had been more like a simple ghosting of his life, a rebirth and repeat. The last six months passed in a long string of incidents that led up to the moment he packed up his suitcase, wrote his dad and Scott a letter, and disappeared to the nearest train station. He had considered writing to Lydia and letting her know where his head space was in the moment he abandoned everything that he's called home for the past twenty years, but doing that felt permanent as a felt-tipped pen- like if he wrote those words down on paper it would cement his guilt in dried ink. A type of eerie finality he couldn't just wash away. Because while words held weight, goodbyes had their own gravitational force that Stiles felt less and less the further he pushed through the crowd of other people waiting for the train, getting lost in the sounds and void, another nobody. Just another blank-faced, nameless stranger pursuing a Great Perhaps. It was almost exhilarating being in a place where nobody knew his name with only the feeling of the rough duffle bag in his hand and the goosebumps that danced on the back of his neck.
Stiles wrapped his trench coat tighter around his body, falling deeper into the shadows as people walked by him without a care in the world. He pulled out his phone scrolling through his contacts until he reached a familiar name.
[Stiles:] "Thanks for lending me money for the ticket, I'll text you when I get there."
[...]
[Derek:] "Scott is going to kill me for this."
The corner of Stiles' mouth turns up in a smirk.
[Stiles:] "You're Derek Hale… suck it up."
He pocketed the phone and continued down the graveled walk way.
[Verse 1]
"It's been too long since I kissed you
And baby girl you know I miss you
No it's no excuse, for my behavior
Baby girl, I'm sorry that I played ya
It's been too long since I kissed you
And baby girl you know I miss you
No it's no excuse, for my behavior
Baby girl, I'm sorry that I played ya"
The train arrived on time and people begin filling the seats. Stiles hands his ticket to the conductor manning the door with a stiff nod of his head and scanned over the empty seats. He finds a quiet spot in the back, a bit stuffy for how much he paid for the ticket, but the dim lighting and muted atmosphere could prove to be worth the money Derek had lent him.
His hair had grown a bit longer. His once boyish features had matured over the past couple of years with a roguish beard covering his jaw, inky black hair falling in his eyes, and his face hardened a bit around the edges. No one really commented on the permanent circles he wore from the lack of sleep that sat on his face like two black holes orbiting his eyes that shined a murky, golden ale.
Malia once said his eyes reminded her of her favorite bottle of whiskey.
He ran a cold, clammy hand down his face. Now was not the time to start thinking about her. The hell with it, it was bound to happen eventually.
Thinking about Malia was like opening up Pandora's box. There were a lot of mixed emotions. Even more unsaid words. Things that he should of said, ways he should of done things, things he could of handled better.
Stiles and Malia met each other at a very strange time in their lives. In some ways, he was so afraid of losing her- someone that he loved, that he refused to love anything. He pushed her so far away until he could hold her at arms length, dipping his toe in the water but never quite jumping head-first into the relationship the way he wanted to. And that's kind of the gray area Stiles had been in ever since.
Malia left two years ago. Maybe he was piggy-backing off of her idea. Last the pack had heard she was pursuing a lavish lifestyle in France thanks to the money Peter pushed on her to make up for being a dead-beat father and an overall shitty human-being. Last time she'd sent a postcard she'd attached a smiling Polaroid photograph with none other than Isaac Lahey. Who knew those two would hit it off, let alone travel around France together. Apparently their pretty good friends now. At first, Stiles wasn't sure how he felt about it but had enough sense at the time not to call Malia out on it. As much as he would of loved to goad her into returning to Beacon Hills for a few days, the last thing he wanted to do was anger the werecoyote. And at the time, Stiles was dating Lydia. And honestly, he was probably the last person who got an opinion on how and with who Malia chose to live her life. Scott had been pretty upset when she'd taken off, he'd grown a soft spot for her over the course of senior year. Eventually he met someone, though. A nice human girl whom he'd had a class with back at UC Davis.
In the case of Malia, Stiles was glad she got out. She was too big of a person for Beacon Hills. That place fit her like a shirt that just didn't quite hold true to size. At first she seemed content to settle down in the sleepy town, attend community college, and in that time figure out what the hell she wanted to do with her life. But somewhere along the way, things changed. One night she skipped town like a ghost in the night, not an uttered word left behind. He would say that it hurt, but everything about her hurt. Missing the feral girl with dark-bright eyes, a stubborn heart, and an enchanting smile hurt like hell.
"You're the only one that makes my heart beat
You're the only reason that I still breathe
Fall away I feel it, its so soothing
The look in your eyes is so moving
You're the only one that makes my heart beat
You're the only reason that I still breathe
Fall away I feel it, its so soothing
The look in your eyes is so moving"
A slip of a girl with thick-rimmed glasses, fringe bangs and a black beret takes a seat next to him, her coat rustling nosily as she sits. He bites back the urge to groan in annoyance, his hopes of making it through this train ride under the radar thwarted by some girl who looks like she stepped right out of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Stiles can feel her curious eyes on him, but when he doesn't meet her gaze or even offer up a hello, she turns away with a scowl.
The first couple of hours into the ride were pretty uneventful. Stiles was, however, an observant person and learned a thing or two about some of his fellow passengers, soon to be amateur New Yorkers. The man in aisle one is having an affair. He can tell by the way he writes gingerly on the paper he's holding, a certain level of care and precision he takes with each cursive loop. But looking down at the wedding band on his ring finger, he frowns. The woman a few seats up and across from him has a baby on the way. She's somewhat of an eccentric women, what with the way she clutches her leather jacket like a blanket and places a pair of funky, over-sized earphones over her belly. I bet that bump is going to grow up to be one cool kid. The girl next to him is afraid of trains. It's kind of obvious by her flighty eyes, the tremor in her hands, and the way her chin quivers every time the engine rattles. The less asshole-ish part of him almost comforts her, but inevitably the overbearing asshole portion of his personality takes the reigns. Stiles has never really been a people person.
"Are you always this moody, or is it just nerves?" Girl next to me utters under her breath, her back straight as a board as she continues to analyze the back of the seat in front of her.
Stiles' eyes never waver from his own back-seated view, "It's kind of a coin toss, it could go either way." He offers shortly, bringing his eyes out to the morbid gray of the sky and the sepia tracks that carry them further away from anything remotely resembling home.
She chuckles, but doesn't say anything. A few more minutes of silence go by and Stiles almost lets himself fall asleep when her silvery tone leaks into his ears once again, "My name's Melanie, by the way."
"Charmed, I'm sure." He say with a snort before actually turning to face her, "I'm not trying to be a prick, at least not anymore than usual, but I'm kind of having a mental break down over leaving home and rude and aloof is my only defense mechanism to rectify that. So Melanie, you're probably a really nice girl but I'm really not someone you want to make friends with." He states matter-of-fact, turning his head of disheveled dark hair away from her expression of barely concealed shock, going back to looking out the window.
Melanie lets out a snide laugh, "Gee, I didn't know being male and bitter constitutes being a dick." Her jade eyes assess him with a crinkle of her nose, "Maybe that's why you came on this train alone."
Stiles barks out a laugh, "What, you trying to psychoanalyze me now? Is that what you like to do for fun, befriend broken things and try to figure them out. Well my shit reeks of complicated and there's nothing to dig deeper for. This is me, rude and abrasive. What you see is what you get."
Melanie glares at him unabashed from her seat, "Who hurt you, Bruce Wayne?"
Her insult gives him pause. Scott was always Batman while he was always stuck being Robin. And even now, he's still not Batman, just the lukewarm, watered down version of him. A cope out, a disguise, demoted to a goddamn Bruce Wayne. Nobody likes a Bruce Wayne.
His sordid black eyes bleed into hers with a slight dip in his gruff voice, "How much- time do you have?"
At that crack in his composure, her steely eyes soften, "I've got time." She looks at her watch with a creeping smile starting at the corner of her lips, "Actually, I've got exactly sixty-one more hours of sharing this small space with you so we might as well attempt to get along. And I know that may be hard for you since apparently you're some hard-ass with a whole diary full of issues, but I'm still a person." Her bottom lip falls hostage between her teeth, "And I'm the only person here willing to listen. So play nice and regale my wandering mind with some back story on what built the foundations of the elusive man that sits next to me."
Stiles scratches the back of his neck, "I'm not that interesting."
She smirks, "And I'm not that interested. But beggars can't be choosers. How about you start with your name."
A witty retort sits on the tip of his tongue, but Stiles chooses to rise above the urge to push away this stranger's resilience and incessant probing. Not that he'd ever admit it, but it was kind of nice to have someone ask him a question about himself without already actually knowing the answer.
He holds back an eye roll, "Stiles."
She shakes her head with her lose navy blue curls falling around her face, "It really is like pulling teeth with you, huh?"
Stiles braces his hands on his knees and clear his throat, "You should feel lucky, most people haven't even made it this far in the conversation."
She shifts her weight to face him, "I'm touched."
A ghost of a smile slants across his face, "Anyone ever tell you that you're really persistent?"
Her own smile forms, "Only every guy I've had the misfortune of dating."
Stiles stifles a laugh behind the camouflage of a cough, "You don't seem like the type to put up with that."
Melanie winks at him through her glasses, "Right now you don't seem like that much of an asshole, Stiles." She pushes her glasses further up the bridge of her nose, "I think we're making progress."
"It's progress."
The similar collection of words floats through his mind. A certain ill-tempered, mildly devastating, doe-eyed girl creeps back out from the recesses of his thoughts.
"Just looking at you is so moving
And bring it back down how you do it
Just looking at you is so moving
And bring it back down how you do it"
Stiles shakes himself from his stupor with a charming smile, "Give me time, I'll get there."
They both laugh under their breaths.
61 Hours Later…
Melanie and Stiles ended up hitting it off with a jab here and there and maybe even some mild swearing. After spending a little more than two whole days together on the claustrophobia-inducing train, the pair decided that with their combined wits, maybe they could actually survive in New York. In the spontaneous and more begrudged agreement on Stiles' part, the two decided to be flat mates and would start apartment hunting once they stepped off the train. They'd narrowed their choices down to a couple of options back on the train, but now it was all about compromising and if Stiles' past relationships said anything about himself, he was never very good at that.
The streets were bustling with frantic people on their cellphones, juggling shopping bags, and bypassing obnoxious street vendors that set up camp in every inch of the city. You can't pass a single corner without someone shouting at you to buy a hot dog.
Stiles is pretty weak when it comes to hot dogs, he'll probably have to look into a gym membership as well. Tossing a couple back easily, he wipes his mouth clean with the back of his hand and disposes of the trash in the nearest garbage can. New York is already notorious for having a littering problem, his first impression would not begin by conforming to the masses.
He'd been in contact with a private investigation agency over the last year or so, finally landing an online interview and an eventual position that helped coax him into making the big move and leaving his old life behind. Melanie was meeting up with an old friend of hers, before parting ways they exchanged numbers. With a few hours to kill, Stiles decided to experience the city and visit all the standard monuments and cultivating museums filled with rich history and tragedy. The 9/11 exhibit was probably the most awe-striking. As morbid as it was, it definitely made him feel a sense of loss he hadn't thought he would. His dad had once spoken of a distant relative that lost their life when the twin towers went down, but Stiles had never really given it much thought until now. He made it his mission to search through every name until he stumbled upon a lone Stilinski surname.
He traced the engraving with his index finger, the shallow indention feeling foreign against his skin. When he'd had his fill he exited the monument, but not before offering a tissue from his pocket to a little old woman who wept over her late husband's name.
The smell of petrichor perfumes the air with a salty musk before the first falls of rain begin to pour, hitting the asphalt and droning on in a drum-like background noise. Drenched, dark hair sticks to Stiles' forehead and beads of water slide down his spine, causing him to shiver. He looks down at his duffle bag in search of an umbrella when a familiar flash of bronze-brown hair catches his eye. Bent over his knees in the middle of a crowded street, Stiles narrows his eyes through the stream of water coating his lashes and spots a speck of a forest green sweater and long legs dressed in high-waist jeans melting into the blend of people, unnoticed by all but him.
Her hair is half up in a strategically messy bun, the rest of her chocolate waves cascading around her sun-kissed shoulders with a small, intricate braid falling behind her pierced ear. Even from their distance, Stiles can make out her glossy brown eyes and sultry, bee-stung lips.
He's not sure if he's awake or dreaming, but Malia Tate is gliding towards him and every single nerve in his body freezes. It's as if she's moving in slow-motion, each step closer still feeling like a giant step back.
"That moment, when you kiss someone and everything around you becomes hazy and the only thing in focus is you and this person and you realize that that person is the only person that you're supposed to kiss for the rest of your life."
I loved her and she had loved me, but somewhere along the way we lost each other.
(Beginning of second song- "Seventeen" Tors)
"We fell in love when we were young. Oh what a thing we've done, So many things we didn't know. Driving just to see how far we go. Life passes by, like a whisper. We lost our sights, too many times."
Stiles catch her eyes for a fraction of a second and for a moment, everything is technicolor. Seeing her right now, it's almost like seeing her for the first time, yet so startlingly different. She's not guarded and weary like the girl she was who came into the world naked on the floor of the woods seventeen years too late. She smiles blindingly like she's hiding the sun behind her teeth and those two years that she's been gone feels like a life time ago.
She's running now, towards him. She sees him. She's excited to see him.
She gets closer and Stiles mentally prepare himself; tries to school his expression, pulling words to form sentences in order to tell her how much he's missed her, trying so damn hard not to give away just how much he's thought about her over the years.
She's here in arms reach and Stiles can almost touch her, but her shoulder brushes his so faintly as she passes him up without so much of a thought registering at all, tortuously light, as if she moved right through him. One moment she's next to me and the next she's already slipped through his fingers, her eyes never meeting his as they focus on something behind him. Just as her body passes, Stiles eyes follow her as his own body turns on instinct like a magnet to her magnet, buzzing at the energy that still exists there. Her arms fly around a man he doesn't recognize a few feet behind him near the phone booth. She clings to him fiercely with her head buried in his chest.
Stiles watches her absently, sadly, as rain falls mockingly over his head. A contented laugh slips from between her lips and her eyes shine so bright even in the bleak, grey morning on these drenched, city streets. And at the moment, he felt like he was dying inside.
As though feeling his eyes boring into her back whether from her senses or just the sheer blatant-force of his stare, Malia turns her gorgeous coyote eyes on him and her mouth forms a little 'o' as her eyes widen in disbelief.
And when Stiles sees her looking back at him with those timeless eyes that take him back to another time and place, every unsaid thing between them hangs in the air waiting to drop, every noise of the city falling at their feet. And in that quiet moment you live in right before you know your world is going to fall apart, Malia whispered-
"Hello, Stiles."
"Caught in a photograph we made, we were seventeen. Watching the girls as they fade. In all the while the faces stay the same and yet they never seem so strange to me, yeah. How do you say we just run away, and do it again?"
Author's Note: Honestly not really sure what I have planned for this. It can remain a one-shot or I can expand on it, let me know. However if I do continue it further, please don't expect frequent updates. My muse is all over the place, flip flopping between Stalia and Scalia and I'm working on finishing other stories. But if this one catches some steam, I'll try to be diligent with my updating. Your reviews dictate where this goes so tell me what you want and what you liked or didn't like. Thanks friends!