Author's note: Oh, look at you, my beautiful people of Burlesque. We met again. I had this idea like, TODAY and had to write and I love it so very much. You know, english is not my thing, but Stalia is and Malia is even more, so it was such a pleasure to write. I hope you guys like it and I'm sorry any mistake.
DISCLAIMER: Teen Wolf is not mine. If it was, we'd have a Malia Squad.
TIMING
(or: four times Malia wasn't sure of what something meant and one it didn't really need explanation)
A Teen Wolf fanfic
i. pride
When it came to lacrosse, Stiles already had told her a thousand times he wasn't good, but she watched every single practice she could and planned on going to all of his games. They started running together, so he was better at that, but the coach put him in defense anyway, so he wouldn't need to run so much, just hit people.
She liked it better that way.
And in their first game for the season, she was there, front roll, between the Sheriff and her father, cheering as loud as she could. He was amazing. The game was tough, but he was amazing. And when the ball landed in his stick, he was able to score a couple of goals and that was the cherry on the top.
"The same thing happened last season." The Sheriff told her, cheering.
"That's so cool!" she shouted back, trying to be heard over the crowd.
It was tight, but they won. Mostly because of Liam, but Stiles's two goals were important too. Their victory filled her with joy and some sort of responsibility, for she was part of the school, part of the pack and part of Stiles. It was hard to explain.
The whole school cheered when the game was over and he came straight to where Malia and his father were.
"Great game, son!" Mr. Tate greeted, tapping his shoulder. He removed the helmet.
"I'm so proud of you!" the Sheriff said and Malia looked from father to son, understanding that the world fitted well with the feeling inside her – that he could be bad and good at so many things and yet she'd appreciate his accomplishments.
It seemed right and she stepped closer.
"I'm proud of you, too." She whispered, her right hand holding the front of his jersey.
"Do you understand it?" because he had such hard time explaining pride to her before, but she nodded.
"Now that I feel it, I get it."
Stiles smiled and Malia knew for the first time what that smile meant. He was proud of her too.
...
ii. jealousy
"Lydia, what's jealousy?" Malia suddenly asked one afternoon. She was fresh from the track practice – barely felt it – and Lydia was on the bleachers watching the lacrosse practice. The three girls were supposed to go to the mall afterwards. The banshee looked at the werecoyote surprised.
"Excuse me?"
"Jealousy. What is it? What's like?" the brunette insisted.
"Where does it come from, sweetheart?"
Malia bit her lip and looked at the field where two cheerleaders were talking to Stiles and Garrett.
"Inside, I guess."
Lydia shook her head smiling.
"Jealousy is what I feel about you sometimes." She admitted and Malia looked at her with surprise.
"How? Why? Did I do something?"
"No, you didn't. Don't worry." Lydia quickly added and looked at the same direction the other girl looked before, wondering. "It's just… besides Allison, Stiles was my best friend. I used to come first for him in everything, he was always trying to help me and listen to me." She looked at Malia. "But now he's got you. And I'm not saying this is bad or anything, is just that… I miss him, you know?"
"He's your friend." Malia said in her but-this-is-obvious tone.
"I know. But it's different now."
Malia shook her head.
"No, Lyds. He is your friend, in the present. You said was, but he still is. He's very fond of you, he says you two are like Pinky and the Brain and stuff."
Lydia laughed.
"Do you remember Pinky and the Brain?"
"Yes! Favorite cartoon, excuse me!" the two girls laughed. "There's no need to feel jealous, you were here before and I'm not friendship competition." She winked. "But those" Malia looked at the cheerleaders again. Stiles wasn't with them anymore, he was talking to Scott and Kira, the three of them walking to the bleachers. "those smell like competition."
Lydia shook her head, but before she could say anything the other three arrived.
"Shower here or at home?" Stiles asked Malia and she was quick to answer.
"Home."
"Okay, I'll just take my stuff."
They all walked to the locker rooms, Lydia included, and the banshee didn't waste her times.
"You don't need to worry either." She told Malia. "The girls feel like competition, but the only person he can smell is you."
...
iii. wicked
Sometimes she likes to watch people. She likes to go out with her dad – her real dad, Mr. Tate, not the rabid werewolf who gave her half of her DNA – to pubs and other places she wasn't really supposed to go as a teenager and a girl and just watch all those people waste money on beer and pool bets. All that money being wasted while Stiles and his father could barely pay the medical bills. It made her shook her head and watch them more. It made her think and come up with a plan.
Well, like most of the pack's plans, hers sucked, but it wasn't as bad as driving to Mexico or killing supernaturals for money. It was for money, but without the killing part.
She tried a solo mission one day, at a pub and it was a complete success. She got to Stiles's house and fished $300,00 dollars from her pocket, leaving it right in front of him on his keyboard.
"What the hell is that?" Stiles asked worried, avoiding to even look at the money too much.
"To help you pay the bills." She simply said.
"How did you get all that money? I doubt your dads gave it to you. Tate is not very happy you spend more time here than in his house and Peter is just as poor as I am at the moment."
Malia just shook her head.
"Part of it was having "beginner's lucky" in a pool bet and the other I got from a cowboy's pocket."
Stiles nodded and then her words hit him.
"You stole it?!" he hissed and she shushed him.
"Wanna tell your dad?" she replied. "Yes, I stole it. The guy was going to spend it on cheap beer and jukebox country songs, I've been watching him for a while. He was very drunk and too mesmerized by my rag to really care."
She could tell Stiles wasn't very happy about it. He knew he needed the money, it was welcomed, but he was pondering if it was a good idea to steal around. He was the sheriff's kid after all, he should have some sense of right and wrong.
Too bad he also was a smartass.
"Do you think there can be more from where it came?" he asked and Malia smiled.
"I was hoping you would say that." She sat on his table, moving his computer out of the way. "I have a plan."
And Malia told him. It was bad. It was pretentious. It was quite amazing, actually.
"Malia," Stiles said when she finished talking. "You are mischievous. I love it."
She didn't know what mischievous meant, but if he liked, then it was all good.
...
iv. lust
"Derek, you are like really smart, aren't you?" Malia asked her cousin. The grumpy werewolf lifted his eyes from the book he was reading (The Brothers Karamazov, if you're wondering) and grunted an 'hm'. "And you know all those languages and were studying philosophy or something before coming back to Beacon Hills, right?"
"What do you want to know, Mal?" he asked once and for all. From his spot on the sofa, Peter rolled his eyes. Malia frowned, trying to formulate the question.
"What's a lascivious person?"
Peter chocked and Derek's eyebrows rose.
"Where did you hear it?" the younger wolf asked, completely curious.
"Is it bad?"
"Did you see it on a movie or something?"
"No." she replied, maybe too quickly. "I was called that."
"By whom?" Peter asked, louder than necessary and suddenly interested. Malia just shrugged.
"Stiles." She answered completely calm and did not understand at all Peter's reaction, all heated up, crossing the room with annoyed steps. "He said sometimes I'm very lascivious, but it was okay because he was lascivious too." Derek made a face and whispered something about too much information. "I'm not sure what it means. Can you tell me? Peter?"
But Peter threw his hands up and rushed upstairs, slamming his door. Malia looked at Derek with her puppy, naïve eyes and he sighed. He had to explain.
...
i. love
That was a hard one. Somehow the meaning was buried deep down her, every time she thought about her mother or her sister. She couldn't quite grasp it, though, so she decided to ask around.
It's complicated, Scott told her and he couldn't say more than that. The guy had a very hard time being clear, that was a fact.
For Derek, love was a delicate subject. He actually said it. It was like flowers. You can't quite control its birth and death, but you can manage its lasting.
Chris said it's painful, but a good pain. Like when Stiles told her the truth about Peter, that was love. He knew it'd hurt, but he also knew they'd overcome the pain. And the fact that he waited for her to understand and come back, that was love, because he also was hurt. Then Chris changed his mind and said love was healing. The painful part was there, but there was always a new layer of skin to grow and make you stronger, wiser.
Neither Kira nor Lydia were very sure they knew what love is. They liked to say that they were discovering it, therefore couldn't have a solid answer to give her. Life is too weird, Lydia said, and its ways isn't always clear. So she was still to decide if what she felt – and feels – is love or not.
Love is care. It's intense. It's caring about someone so much you end up caring very little about yourself. You feel it when you have a partner, a mate, but it's so much clear when you become a parent, the Sheriff told her. It's like your view of the universe changes completely. To love is to give and to give openheartedly. It's fluid, even though it's not always easy. And, in the end, it's beautiful.
"Love is a choice." Her father, Tate, told her. "When your mother came home sixteen years ago with you in her arms, a baby that wasn't ours and a baby with so much history, I could have chosen not to have you. I could've just left, I could've made your mom leave, I could've treated you badly. But I didn't. I could, but I didn't need to. And I chose to love you as my own, the way I love you now, even when you know who your real father is. I could use it as an excuse and turn my back on you, but I don't want to, I choose to put you first and love you more." He caressed her hair, kissed her goodnight. "And I wouldn't change my choices even if I had the chance."
So later that night, when she climbed up Stiles's window and laid next to him, she wondered if the timing was right; she wondered if it was the right feeling and the right word.
"Stiles?" Malia called and he opened his eyes, looking directly into hers. "Is it too soon?"
"For what?" he asked sleepy.
"Love you."
He was silent for a moment and she died to know what was going on in his head.
"I don't know." He answered and she felt his hand under the comforter resting on the small of her back, pulling her closer. "But if what I feel is not love yet, I bet we're really close."
And that settled things, she guessed.