Author's note: This is my life: I start new fics instead of finishing the ones waiting for new chapters.

Hi you. I've got a one shot for you guys. I was going to post it on tumblr, then I thought why not, so here it is.

Can you please be nice and leave a review? Pretty please? And I promise I'll try to write my other fics after tomorrow's episode, okay? I'm waiting for your opinion!

DISCLAIMER: Teen Wolf is not mine. I like using other people's ideas to write my own sometimes. (that sounds wrong)

Halcyon

"When it's just us you show me how it feels like to be lonely,
you show me what it feels like to be lost;
I take your hand for you to let it go.
It's gonna be better."
Ellie Goulding - Halcyon

When she saw the third part of the dead pool and thought her name was written wrong, she looked for Stiles. She wondered if there was another Malia in town and looked for Stiles to ask him that, but when he looked at her she knew something was wrong. It was wrong because it wasn't wrong. It was wrong because her name wasn't Tate, it was Hale and he knew it. He knew it. And then, suddenly, the world was upside down, like that new TV show on MTV and her family wasn't her family and how could she be a Hale?

It was something Lydia heard, he told her. It had to do with Peter. They weren't sure about her mom, though, they couldn't tell exactly what happened, cause they didn't know either. But he tried to explain anyway. He said he wanted to protect her. It wasn't very easy to understand the words, because the voices were muffled. His voice, that always had been the only thing she could hear clearly. He lied to her.

"You lied to me." She whispered. And it hurt like a motherfucker.

Before he knew it, she was gone.

She wandered around Beacon Hills for three days and the only person she looked for was Derek. He didn't know either, but Scott told him when the list was out. They had a plan about the list, but she couldn't care less about the damn thing. How could she be Peter's daughter? He was evil and all shades of wrong and she was just Malia.

"How much am I worth?" she had asked; and wondered if she could trust Derek to kill her right there and then, get the money and spread with the pack, so they could run from Beacon Hills.

It was the first time she thought collectively. The pack, not just Stiles. She didn't thought "kill me, give Stiles the money, he needs it", she thought "share with the pack". That thing alone made her wonder if she was as important to them as they became to her and made her rethink the offer. I'm better alive.

But Peter. The reality of Peter always struck her hard in the chest. He looked at her with those eyes of his, like with so much meaning and it's terrifying, because it's like he knows her, but he doesn't really. Could he? Were they alike? Derek said no. She could bet Stiles would say the same, but Stiles didn't count. He lied to her. Could she ever trust him again? Could she? Does she want to?

She had gone home, showered, tried to eat. She had lay down on her bed and tried to sleep. She tried lots of things and got very little success at them. She had very little success in everything in life, actually. As a child, growing up; as a coyote, staying in animal form; as a seventeen years old human being. She bet that, if she counted, the good things she had done so far could be computed in her two hands. Was that a proof of her DNA heritage?

Before she knew it, she was inside his house, sitting on his bed.

It was dark, but she knew the pack had had a meeting at Lydia's lake house, so it'd take time for him to arrive. She had no idea how long she waited, sitting still on his bed, absorbing the smell of every single thing that made him Stiles – the paperbacks on the bookshelf, the dirty clothes near the door, the clean clothes on the closet, his baseball and lacrosse equipment; and herself all over it, as if he hadn't touched anything since she left.

When he arrived, she almost gave up, she almost jumped through the window and took off once again, but she couldn't. Now she was glued to her decision and she felt powerful with all the things she had to say to him. It was a million things, so many things she got up. It was nothing at all, when she saw his face and her chest ached so much and her eyes burned.

He looked terrible. He looked lost and tired and he looked like crap. The minute he landed eyes on her, he was confused and sad and relieved. He was something she couldn't quite decipher.

"Malia?" he said, but his voice was almost none. She nodded and he let go of his backpack, its weight making a loud tump when it hit the floor. His hands, when he reached for her, were shaky. "Malia." The second time, his voice was stronger, but she stepped back, eyeing the window behind her. She needed an escape route. Seeing her stepping away from him made him lower his arms.

"Hi." She finally managed to say, weaker than she pretended. She realized she was very hungry, for she had barely eaten the past three days. She doubted she'd be able to put any food in her mouth however.

"Where have you been?"

"What, you didn't send a search party?" she quickly replied, sounding very rude. Stiles shook his head.

"No." he answered. "We figured you needed time alone. We figured you wouldn't want us around."

"You figured right."

They were silent for a moment, just watching each other's body language and trying to understand their words.

"What exactly do you want here, Mal?"

She shook her head.

"I don't know." She mumbled lowering her eyes.

"You don't know?" he insisted and she looked back into his eyes.

"Like most things in human life, yes, I don't know." She replied, realizing that maybe she was getting very angry. "Like eating in public and showing affection and having a filter, I don't know. Like wondering what good can math be and why someone wants my head on a plate and why did you lie to me, I don't know, Stiles." Her eyes burned so badly, what was going on? "I know nothing." She whispered and blinked, for she couldn't see clearly.

Malia took a deep breath and when she opened her eyes again, Stiles was very close. In her personal space, he had taught her once. It was rude, except when it was with her boyfriend. (but people didn't like public displays of affection, so they should save the intimacy for private moments)

"Why did you lie to me?" she begged. "How am I gonna live with this piece of information without you?"

"Why does it have to be without me?" he asked, truly hurt. She looked into his eyes.

"How can I ever trust you again?"

"Please, don't say that." And he was the one to beg this time. "Malia…" he reached for her face once again, but she held his wrist, making him stop the movement.

She looked at his hand. He knew how to hold her so good, he knew everything about her – even the things she herself didn't knew about her. And it hurt so much, God! Why did it have to hurt so much? When she looks in his eyes again, she feels her cheeks wet. She doesn't know what's going on.

"How?" she asked again, getting a bit closer. It was hard to see him. Her voice was cracked. "Why?"

"Because!" Stiles started nervously. "Because I didn't want it to define you! I didn't want you to think that to be Peter's daughter changes something, because it doesn't!" she rolled her eyes and tried to look away, but with his other hand he made her face him. "Malia, I'm serious. Don't you ever for a second think that knowing Peter's importance in your life makes you different or molds who you are, because you already are your own person. You are not what I say you can be, you are not your father, you are not Peter, you are Malia. Unique. You are so beautiful and strong in your own way and the fact that the man who raised you is not the man who made you cannot get in the way of who you've became."

"If you think all of that, why did you lie?"

"I know how convincing Peter can be. I know how much there still is for you to learn so I feared for you. I fear for you. I told you the truth when you saw the list: I wanted to protect you. I don't have supernatural powers, so I do my protection the way I can. I'm not always right, I'm aware of that, but it's what I can do. Malia…"

They were so close. He kissed her forehead tenderly. She let go of his wrist and held his shirt so tightly she could rip the fabric.

"Malia, I didn't lie, I hid." He continued and she looked at him again. She didn't get why her cheeks were wet and why her eyes burned so bad. "And I know it doesn't make it any better, but I promise you I'm not gonna hide anymore. Look at me. I did it because I love you. Do you understand what it means?" he knew she didn't and it was clear by the lost look in her eyes, so he tried again. "Mal, you're my mate."

Before they knew it, she broke down. She hid her face with her hands and she understood what was going on. She was crying. To cry was to be like that: helpless and vulnerable and open, it was to let the feelings flow and how human feelings were messed up! How they fucked with your brain and pained your chest and there was so much going on.

He considered her his mate. He actually said the words. You are my mate. I love you. Were they the same thing? He made it look like it. His arms around her sure felt like it. He was crying too. He was sorry; he didn't want to lose her. You're my mate, Mal, you're my mate.

I love you too – she thought.

"I love you too." She said and even though they were a little broken, in each other's arms it felt like they could be whole.