Sequel of To Save a Life and Nine Simple Rules, Originally a one-shot but I've been inspired to keep writing it.
Beacon Hills, California
Nine Years After Graduation.
Malia quietly unlocks the front door of her two-story red brick house on Cherry Street. She carefully shuts the front door and slips her keys into her pocket as soundlessly as possible. As she takes in the sight and smell of her home, she feels the tension of the last few hours, she spent on board her flight back home, slip off her shoulders. She sets down her tightly packed travel backpack, and camera case.
She pauses to crick her neck and roll the kinks out of her shoulders before she starts climbing the stairs. Malia pauses at the top of the stairs and peaks inside the guest room door. In a low-rise bed with a guard-rail, sleeps a four-year, Rory. Stiles' baby sister. She always stays over on Tuesdays, when the Sheriff and Melissa have their date night. Rory loves the colour pink and sports cars. And she loves to come visit Malia at the garage and see all the cars. Rory pretty much has Stiles wrapped around her little finger. He really loves being a big brother—probably because he spent so much of his life as an only child.
Malia chuckles internally as she notices that Rory has kicked off her blankets, but has persistently clung to her teddy bear. So she slips into the room and kneels down, pulling the blankets back over the girl and tucking them under her chin. She fondly brushes Rory's bangs out of her eyes, before rising and sneaking back out of the room.
A few doors down is the nursery and Malia can't resist slipping inside the room. After almost a week away she has a strong need to see her son. She can already hear, her baby making a soft bumbling noise. Obi, her German Shepard is slumped down on the floor, guarding her son's cradle. The dog lifts his head, wagging his tail at the sight of her, but he doesn't rise from his post. Obi is fascinated by the baby and almost always sleeps in the nursery with him. Malia reaches down to ruffle the fur on Obi's neck.
Malia leans over the crib and smiles when she finds her six-month old son, Tate, bumbling and playing with his toes. Tate's eyes widen and he lets out a squeak of delight as he sees her. His cubby little arms strain upward reaching for her. Malia scoops Tate up and bounces him, gaining a giggle from him. She kisses his hair and breathes in his scent, while Tate grasps one of the zippers on her jacket and curiously toys with it.
Malia quietly inspects her son. It feels like so long since she's held him and he's growing so fast. She brushes her hand over the fine layer of his dark brown hair, she could swear that it was a touch longer, than before she left. As she's fussing with his hair, Tate reaches up and catches her finger, squeezing it in his tiny fist. Malia feels her heart squeeze, and she gently rubs her thumb against her son's tiny palm.
Tate rubs at his eyes and murmurs. Malia adjusts her hold on him and beings to hum a soothing tune. Tate's face rests against Malia's chest, listening to the soothing vibrations. His eyelids droop and Malia quietly paces the room with him, humming softly as he drifts off to sleep. With practiced skill she carefully lay a slumbering Tate back into his nest of blankets. But as she lay her son down she notices that he still has a tight grip on her thumb. Malia's heart catches in her throat. She leans her elbows on the crib, and just watches the peaceful face of the little boy clutching her thumb.
After a while Tate releases Malia's finger in favour of bringing his little pink fist to his mouth and sucking his thumb. She leans back and watches her son with a lopsided grin for a few more moments before slipping out of the nursery.
Malia shuffles down the hallway to her bedroom. She smiles in the expectation of seeing her husband sprawled out across her side of the bed. A habit she found that he'd picked up whenever she was away. When she came home from these trips she would often find him with an arm thrown around one of her pillows. She found it cute. And tonight she was looking forward to prying her pillow from his grasp and taking up her rightful place in his arms.
But as she pushes open the bedroom door, and the hallway light spills into the room, she finds it empty. Malia lets out a small disgruntled noise, at not finding him there. With soft feet she sneaks back down the hallway, and glides stealthily down the stairs. She finds him in the basement staring at his evidence wall. He's so caught up in piecing together this latest case that the young detective doesn't even notice that she's in the room, until it's too late. She sneaks up on him, wrapping her arms around his middle and nuzzling his neck.
Stiles jolts forward in surprise, "AH! MALIA!" he yelps, spinning toward her. She gives him a playful grin and moves into his space, sliding her hands up his chest. Stiles lets out a relieved laugh and rubs a hand across his face. "Ugh- you scared the hell out of me!" he scolds. "What happened? I thought I was picking you up at the airport tomorrow?" he asks, concerned as he slips his arms around her waist.
Malia grins and laces her arms around his neck. "We finished up earlier than expected, and I just wanted to get home." she leans into him and gives him a soft lingering kiss in greeting.
"Is that you saying, you missed me?" he teases.
Malia gently grips his tie. "You were supposed to be in bed when I got home, Stilinski." she says, with a pout.
Stiles gives her a slow sexy smile. "Oh, yeah?" he says, lifting an eyebrow. "So what are you going to do about that?"
Malia flashes him a glint of teeth, before she plants a hand in the center of his chest and presses him back against his evidence board. She leans forward and nuzzles into his neck.
"All sorts of things." she promises, hotly in his ear.
