Taciturn
Gritting her teeth against the pain, Malia struggled to her feet and limped over to the door. Every step was agony, the ragged, gaping hole in her leg still leaking blood, too fresh to have started healing yet. She could feel the blood drying on her face, could feel every bruise and cut aching and stinging, protesting the movement. All she wanted to do was lie down and go to sleep, to rest, to wake up and find this had only been a nightmare. But she couldn't. This was reality. Hard, cruel reality.
Curling her hands into fists, she started to hammer on the door, grimacing with each impact but unwilling to give into the pain. She had to break through, she had to get free. But it only took a few seconds for her to realise that wasn't going to happen. With her leg the way it was, she couldn't generate any real strength. The door was a heavy one, set in a solid steel frame, with no way of opening it from the inside. Even uninjured, she wasn't sure she could have torn it loose. In her current shape, there was no way she was taking it down.
"Liam!" Her voice was hoarse, strained by the yelling, the cursing, the growling she'd done during the fight, desperately trying to keep the enemy focused on her and not on her friends. "Liam! Get up!"
Behind her, she heard Liam let out a little groan as he came to. Bracing herself against the rough concrete wall, she turned, keeping as much weight off her injured leg as possible, and watched as he stirred, slowly sitting up. Like her, he was in rough shape, his hair stained red with the blood pouring from the crooked gash across the top of his head. His shirt was nothing but blood-stained rags, barely covering the small cuts and wounds dotting his torso. But unlike her, he had no major injuries, nothing serious enough to limit him in the way she currently was.
Blinking rapidly, he turned toward her. "Malia?" He sounded confused, lost. "What happened?"
"I'm not sure." She shifted, wincing as the movement pulled at her wounds. "I think—I think they shot us with something. Knocked us out."
"How long?" Already, he sounded more alert, the gravity of the situation forcing a rapid recovery as he rose to his feet, swaying a little but staying up.
"I don't know. Not long." She held up an arm, showing him the open cut running the length of it. "None of my wounds have started healing yet."
Beyond that, she really had no idea how long they'd been out. All she could remember was the fight, the heat of the battle, claws flashing, people screaming. They'd been out-numbered, surrounded, the enemy pressing in around them, always one more there, ready to step in when another fell. She'd known, been sure they were going to die. There was no way out, no way to win, and no one coming to help them. But she'd kept fighting, they all had, because giving up wasn't an option. How they'd gone from that to lying on the floor of what looked like a concrete prison cell was a mystery. One minute, she was in a war. The next, she was waking up on the floor, every part of her aching, mouth dry, head pounding, with no recollection of how she'd ended up there.
"Corey?" Liam's voice was soft as he stepped up next to her.
"I don't know. I can't smell him. I can't smell anything but blood." Switching subjects, not wanting him to dwell on the fate of their friend, she gestured to the door. "Can you break it down?"
"I can try."
Leaning forward, he pressed both hands against the door and pushed, testing for weaknesses. It didn't even creak. Gritting his teeth, he tried again, muscles visibly straining, but the door held solid. Letting out a low growl, he drew back his hand and did what she'd done, hammering hard, drawing on every frustration-fuelled ounce of strength he had to try and break it down. After the fourth ineffective blow, he growled again, louder this time, angry, his features changing as he shifted, the wolf breaking free. Face flushed, eyes glowing bright in the dim light, he bared his fangs and hit it again, then again, and again, over and over until his arm was just a blur, desperately trying to free them. But it wasn't to be. Other than a small dent where his fist kept falling, the door remained sealed, unharmed.
"Liam." He didn't react, lost in his anger. "Liam! Enough!" She put a little power into her voice, her own eyes flaring as she reached out and hit his shoulder, hard. Yellow met blue as he froze then, hand pressed flat to the door, chest heaving, and looked to her. "Stop. You're just gonna break your hand."
For a second, he was silent, stationary, staring at her like he hadn't heard a word she'd said. Then, abruptly, he went limp, features fading back to human as he regained his lost control. Turning, he slumped back against the door, hunching over, hands on his knees, breathing ragged.
"This is my fault." The words were so low, so quiet, she almost missed them. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Remorse, despair dripped from every syllable. "I'm sorry..."
A part of her wanted to agree, to rage at him for getting them into this mess. It had been his plan, his and Corey's, to sneak into the enemy's headquarters and try to take out their leader. Cut off the head of the snake and bring an end to the fight before more people could die. They'd waited until Scott was out of town, gone with Argent to try and track down some new allies, because they knew he'd stop them. It was impulsive, rash, the half-baked plan of a Beta trying to be an Alpha and an insecure chimera trying to prove his worth.
But she couldn't do it, couldn't bring herself blame him. Not just because he looked pathetic there, bent over, miserable, in pain. Not because Corey was missing, was probably dead. But because she'd let them do it. When she'd stumbled on them about to leave, to put their plan into action, she'd tried to stop them, tried to point out exactly why it was stupid, why it would fail. But Liam wasn't about to listen to her. He believed he could do it, could end the threat, the danger, and no amount of logic or reason was going to stop him. One way or another, they were going to go, to try, to probably die.
Faced with that knowledge, that horrible certainty of what was coming, she only had one play. If they went, if they died, and she just stood there and did nothing, she knew she'd never be able to look the rest of the pack in the eye. With no Scott there to be the leader, the Alpha, to put a stop to things, and no desire to drag the rest of her friends into it, she'd made the only move she could. She'd demanded they take her with them. She might not be able to stop them from going, but she wasn't going to let them go alone.
"Hey, it's okay." Dropping a hand onto his shoulder, she squeezed once, softly. "It's okay. We'll be okay. We'll get out of here."
The words didn't sound right, didn't feel right, even as she said them, and she wasn't entirely sure why. Maybe because they weren't her words. She wasn't the one who did the reassuring. That wasn't her style, never had been, and she felt uncomfortable, weighed down by the self-inflicted pressure to fill the role usually played by someone else, someone who wasn't there. Or maybe because they weren't true. They were screwed, and she knew it. Nobody knew where they were. They might not even know they were gone yet. They'd taken their shot and came up short. Maybe Lydia would know, would sense when they were about to die, but it would be too late by then. Too late to find them. Too late to save them.
It hit Malia then, just what that meant. She'd never been afraid of death, of her own death, not really. For so long, it had just been an accepted part of life. As a coyote, it had been something she'd faced often, a constant threat she lived with, a given. Eat or die. Run or die. Fight or die.
It was only once she returned to humanity that death became something she dreaded. Not for herself. For her friends. She couldn't stomach the thought of things going back to the way they were before, of losing them, losing everyone she cared for, the people who made life worth living. After years of solitude, she'd gained something, an appreciation, a need for the safety, the survival of people who weren't her. Stiles first, and then the rest of the pack, slowly worming their way into her heart, until she couldn't imagine life without them.
She'd never see them again. Never see Lydia, somehow looking perfect regardless of how she was feeling, whether the world around her was shining or burning down. Never see Stiles, too excited, stumbling over his own words and feet as he tried to pull them into some new adventure. Never see her dad, never feel his arms around her, reminding her of when she was a kid, before everything went to hell. Never see Peter, arrogant and abrasive and failing miserably at trying to hide how badly he wanted to matter to her.
Never see Scott. Never see that crooked little smile that made her heart skip a beat. Never spend another evening up in his room, having some animated conversation about whatever stupid thing Stiles had introduced him to now, fighting the urge to just kiss him. Never sit across a table from him and pretend to get angry while fighting a smile when he stole something off her plate. Never stand next to him, feel his warmth, and know with absolute certainty that he had her back, no matter what. Never look into those dark eyes and finally tell him what she'd almost told him a million times over the last few months. Never give voice to how she felt, tell him he'd managed to become the most important person in her life, the one she thought of first, last, always. Never get a chance to become more than they were, more than just friends.
Too late.
Blinking, Malia angrily wiped the back of her hand across her eyes, dashing away the tears forming there. That wasn't her. She didn't cry. Not now, not ever. No matter how dire the situation, how bad she was hurting.
Looking for a distraction, any distraction, before she could completely break down, she turned her attention to the room around them. She'd given it a look when she first regained consciousness, and hadn't found anything worth noting, but she needed something to focus on. So she looked at the narrow bar of fluorescent lighting above her head. She looked at the electrical cord running from it, across the roof, and out through a tiny hole in the wall. She looked at the low bench along the bottom of the far wall, barely wide enough to sit on. And then she looked at Liam, because bare, grey concrete walls were all she saw.
"There's no way out." He turned his head slightly to look up at her, and she could see the anger, the frustration there. "Our only play is to wait for somebody to come and jump them."
"If they come," he muttered. "They could just leave us here to starve."
Which was a real possibility, she knew. They had no strategic value. This wasn't conflict between two massive forces. It was an army versus a pack. It wasn't a war. It was a hunt. If they wanted Scott to surrender, to step aside, maybe then they might have been a useful bargaining chip. But they wanted him dead. They wanted all of them dead. Really, she was surprised she and Liam weren't dead already.
"But we're alive."
He raised an eyebrow then, straightening up to face her properly at the sudden undercurrent of emotion in her voice. "Yeah? So?"
"Why? Why didn't they kill us? They must want something, right?" She went to take a step, instinctively trying to pace as she worked through her thoughts, only to stop short, letting out a hiss of pain as her leg buckled under her. "Damn it!" Growling, she leaned back against the wall, gritting her teeth against the shooting pain in her leg. "They have to want something from us. Otherwise, we'd be rotting right now."
"They probably want to torture us." Liam's jaw clenched as he gestured toward the door. "They're probably torturing Corey right now, the sick fucks! And we're next!"
She growled in his face and slapped her hand hard against the door. "So? We can work with that! We're gonna die anyway, so we might as well be ready to fight. Right?"
When he slowly nodded, she quickly directed him over to the bench, directly facing the door. "Why there?" he asked, even as he obediently sat where she was indicating.
"Because," she explained, as she moved to the other side of the door and leaned against the wall, "it gives you a straight path to whoever comes through that door. I'd do it, but I can barely walk. So I'll stay here, and when they go for you, I'll get 'em from behind. Then you come in, okay?"
It wasn't the best plan. If she was being honest with herself, she didn't really expect anything to come of it. It relied entirely on the enemy doing something they didn't have to do. And that if they actually did come, it was only a few of them, a small enough number the two of them, injured as they were, might actually have a shot at overpowering them. But it was something. It was a plan. And more importantly, it was something to focus on, some little hope to grab onto, to keep her afloat on the sea of despair trying so hard to drag her down into its dark depths.
Unfortunately, Malia quickly realised, it was hard to hold onto the spark of hope as time stretched on. There was no way to know how long they waited, the only sound their own heart beats and the low hum of the single light. Eventually, she had to sit down, sliding down the wall, stretching her leg out to avoid jarring it. Her body was crying out for sleep, for rest, for a chance to let itself heal, but she couldn't give in. If she fell asleep, she could miss her chance, her only chance.
Across the room, Liam was in the same boat. They'd both been running on adrenaline, first from the fight, then from the realisation they were trapped. But it couldn't last forever, and as she watched, his head kept sinking down, going a little lower each time as it got harder and harder to stay awake.
"Liam!" she hissed, when his chin touched his chest. "Liam! Wake up!"
He started violently, head coming up, eyes slowly blinking as he peered at her. "I'm awake," he muttered. "I'm up."
"Good. Stay that way." He shot her a glare, but nodded. "Tell me something about yourself," she said then, searching for something to keep them both conscious.
"Like what?"
"I don't know. Anything." She pursed her lips, considering. "You've only got a year of school left, right? What do you want to do with your life?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Really? Future plans, now? Kinda pointless, don't you think?"
"Not if my plan works," she growled, eyes flashing blue again. "Just talk, dumbass. I'm trying to keep us awake here."
For a second, he was quiet, fingers drumming along the bench next to him. Then, "Okay, yeah, all right. Plans. Uh..." He trailed off, shrugging sheepishly when she made an impatient gesture with her hand. "Well, honestly, I don't really have many plans. I just sort of thought, once I finished high school, I'd go find Hayden and figure out everything from there." He smiled pensively. "I'm not like Mason. He's already got his whole life planned out. I just... that's not me, y'know? I can't see that far ahead."
Malia huffed out a little breath. "Yeah, me neither." She'd been thinking about her future a bit more lately, but it wasn't something she particularly enjoyed. It was just so much easier to live in the present, where the options were endless if you didn't try to think too far ahead.
"Do you think they'll win?" Liam's question was slow, halting, like he didn't really want to ask it. When she caught his eye, a questioning look on her face, he frowned and let out a heavy sigh. "Scott. The pack. Do you think they'll win?"
"Yes."
The two of them might not be there to see it, but she had no doubt. Scott would win. He'd survive. It wouldn't be easy. They'd probably lose more people. He'd probably do something really noble and completely stupid. But in the end, he'd win. It was what he did. It was what they did.
"Yeah."
They lapsed into silence again, neither knowing quite what to say. It was hard to make conversation with someone, she realised, when you both know you're probably going to die soon. They could pretend all they want, mask the fear, the apprehension with whatever words they wanted. It wouldn't change anything. They were trapped, alone, and nobody was coming for them.
When Liam suddenly stood, Malia didn't react. She just assumed he was stretching his legs. She wouldn't have minded doing that herself. Sitting still wasn't something she particularly enjoyed, never had been. But she didn't really have much choice at the moment.
"Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?" she asked, watching as he crossed the room, eyes narrowed, focused on the door.
"I don't know. Sounded like..." He trailed off as he turned his head and stuck his ear against the door.
Closing her eyes, she concentrated, trying to pick up whatever it was he was picking up. It wasn't easy, a constant, low-level buzz from the light interfering with her hearing more than she would have expected. But slowly, sounds started to filter through. First Liam's heartbeat, louder and quicker than it had been just a few minutes ago. Then something else. Dull thuds, low, barely audible. Footsteps. Somebody running. And then a sound she immediately recognised, a sound that made her heart skip a beat, unmistakable even through the concrete walls and heavy door.
A growl. A growl she knew well, had heard a million times before.
Scott.
Liam figured it out at the same time she did. Drawing back, he started hitting the door again, hard. "Scott! Scott! We're in here!"
Grimacing, Malia got back to her feet, using the wall to drag herself up. Inside, she was a roiling mass of emotions. Relief dominated. They weren't alone. Help was there. They weren't going to die after all. But then, as she watched Liam hammer away at the door, another emotion, fear, suddenly rose up. Fear for Scott. He'd come after them, walked right into the lion's den, put himself directly in the line of fire. She'd been ready to die, accepted her fate. She wasn't ready for him to die, especially not for her.
"Scott!" She joined Liam at the door, adding her own hands to the efforts, eyes glowing, claws out as her palm slammed against the steel. "Open the door!"
Now that she knew what she was hearing, it was easier to track what was happening, even over the sound of their pounding on the door. There was clearly a fight going on, the sound of guns firing, of steel blades ringing out, clashing off the walls. Growls, more than just Scott. She was pretty sure one was Peter. The third she couldn't immediately place. Parrish, maybe. The thud of fist hitting flesh. A yelp of pain. The splatter of blood on concrete. Then, silence, broken only by laboured breathing, followed by footsteps, moving closer, approaching the door.
Malia and Liam exchanged looks then, questioning, uncertain. She couldn't tell who was on the other side, who had won. In unison, they drew back, her stumbling on her wrecked leg but staying up as he flicked out his claws, ready to fight.
As soon as the door swung open, all the air rushed out of her lungs. There he was, blood dripping from a cut on his forehead, standing tall. She took one lurching step toward him, almost reflexively, and suddenly he was holding her, arms wrapped around her, crushing her tight to him, burying his face in her hair.
"Are you all right?" Scott's breath was warm against her ear, his voice full of relief.
"I'm okay, I'm okay," she said breathlessly, closing her eyes and just taking a moment to appreciate the sudden change in fortune. They really weren't going die. All those nevers were no longer. It wasn't too late after all.
She almost protested a second later when she felt his grip loosen, but he just pulled back enough to shoot her a soft smile. She couldn't help but smile back, her heart jumping in her chest. Then he looked over at Liam, who was watching them with a grin on his face. "All right, Liam?"
"I'll live," was the reply.
"And Corey?"
Liam shrugged helplessly, worry flashing across his face. "I don't know. They must have him somewhere else. Or he's..." He trailed off, unwilling to say the word.
Malia watched as the muscles in Scott's jaw clenched and felt a sudden jolt of fear spike through her. She knew that look. It was the one he got right before he went and did something dumb. That was frightening enough at the best of times. So much worse when she knew she was too injured to follow him, to watch his back.
"We need to go." His voice was tight, restrained, giving nothing away.
Manoeuvring around her, he got his arm around her back as she wrapped hers around his shoulders. With him taking most of her weight, they headed for the door, Liam trailing behind them.
"I thought I heard Peter," she murmured as they stepped out into the hallway.
"You did," he replied, gesturing down the dimly-lit hall with his head. "He took a bullet to the stomach. Don't worry, he's fine, just a little weak right now. I left him up ahead." Even as he spoke, she spotted a shadow on wall ahead, where the hall made a sudden right turn.
When they turned the corner, Malia's eyes widened. There was Peter, bleeding heavily through a hole in his shirt, and looking about as happy to be there as she would have expected. And under his left arm, supporting him just like Scott was with her, was a familiar and unwelcome face. Theo.
"What's he doing here?" she growled, locking eyes with the chimera.
"Helping," Theo replied, smirking. When she bared her teeth and snarled, his expression shifted to a scowl. "Hey, your Alpha there asked me to help out. And it's a good thing he did, isn't it?"
"He's right," Scott said softly, as he guided her over to where they were standing. "I asked him to watch the house while I was gone. I knew they'd never figure him for a friend of ours. He saw the three of you leave and called me. It was just lucky I was already almost home."
Jaw clenched tight, Malia's eyes moved from Scott to Theo, biting back another growl at the smug smirk that reappeared on his face. She wasn't going to thank him, didn't want to acknowledge his help. She could still remember the pain when he gut-shot her and left her to die at her mother's hands. But for now, she could set that aside. There were more important things to worry about. So she nodded once, curtly, and was a little surprised to see his expression soften, a genuine smile replacing the smirk, just for a second.
"Great, children," Peter said, rolling his eyes at the exchange. "Now that we've got that out of the way, how about we get out of here before I bleed out in this dingy little hole in the ground, hmm?"
"What about Corey?" All eyes turned to Liam, who was standing near the corner, looking back down the hallway. "We can't just leave without him."
"Don't worry," Scott said, already heading down the hall. "Let's just get you guys taken care of first, all right? Help Theo with Peter."
Again, Malia felt her stomach clench. He was planning something, and she didn't like it. But there wasn't time to call him on it. Already, she could hear the movement behind them, hard to pinpoint in the narrow tunnel, but unmistakable. The sounds of a lot of feet, of people coming toward them. She didn't know how many of the enemy were around, how many they'd managed to take out, but there were always more. If they didn't go now, they might not get another chance.
The tunnel was long, seeming even longer with the following footsteps growing ever louder, but eventually they reached the end. A rough staircase led up into a large, empty building, an old barn someone had built over an entrance to the tunnels under Beacon Hills. Malia's leg felt like it was on fire as Scott half-carried her toward the door, the stairs taking a toll despite his efforts, but she bit her lip and pushed the pain aside, the scent of fresh air after who knew how long down in the tunnels reinvigorating her. Once they were outside, they headed away from the barn, away from the narrow dirt road leading to it, and into the surrounding trees. She stumbled over the uneven ground, but his arm was always there, strong and steady, keeping her on her feet, moving forward.
Suddenly, Scott stopped, coming to a halt underneath a massive oak tree and leaning her back against it. She shot him a questioning look, but he wasn't looking, already turning around, away from her. Liam, Theo, and Peter slowly came toward them, the older wolf looking decidedly sickly under the bright moon light.
"Liam, come here." He obediently slipped out from under Peter's arm and came over. "I need you to help Malia."
"What? No!"
Scott ignored her sharp exclamation, his focus never wavering. "You guys need to keep going, all right? Theo's truck is about a quarter of a mile that way." He pointed west. "Get back to my house. Deaton's there. He'll take care of you."
"But—"
"I'm just gonna get Corey. Don't worry, I'll be right behind you."
His voice was steady, sure, but Malia wasn't buying it for a second. She could feel her own heart thudding painfully in her chest as she reached for his arm, some desperate idea of holding on and not letting go flashing through her mind. She'd almost lost him tonight, lost any chance at anything more, at what she wanted more than anything. But he'd come for them, for her. And now he wanted to just walk back into the enemy's stronghold alone, like that wasn't a suicide mission, like it was just a little stroll through the woods. He wanted to go where she couldn't follow.
No. No, that wasn't happening.
"Scott, you can't." She could hear the edge of panic in her own voice as her fingers latched onto his arm. "If you do this, you're going to die. You can't."
Turning, he gave her that same crooked smile she loved so much, face the picture of confidence. "Don't worry," he said, hands falling on her shoulders and squeezing lightly. "I'll be fine. I'll be right behind you."
"No, you won't! If you go back down there, you're dead." Her voice caught in her throat, sounding a lot like a sob to her own ears as she stared into his dark eyes. "You can't do this. Not now. Not—" She hesitated for just a second. This wasn't how she wanted to do this, how she wanted to tell him, but he wasn't giving her any other option. "You can't leave me, Scott, I—
Leaning forward suddenly, he pressed a quick kiss to her forehead, catching her off-guard, shocking her into silence. "Don't say it yet," he whispered as he pulled away, one hand coming up, gently tucking her hair behind her ear, fingers lingering. "We'll talk later."
Reeling from the realisation that he knew, she just stared at him, at a complete loss for words. When he turned and jogged off, she didn't react, until he disappeared into the dark, snapping her back to reality.
"Scott!" she cried, taking a step away from the trees and immediately stumbling. Liam caught her before she could hit the ground, but she snarled and jerked her arm away, stubbornly taking another step. Again, her leg started to give, and again, he caught her, this time wrapping both arms around her from behind and holding on, even as she struggled to get free. "Go after him! Help him!" she growled, locking eyes with Theo. "He's gonna die!"
"His choice," the chimera replied, though he looked conflicted, a heavy frown twisting his features. Before she could say anything else, he started off, Peter staying surprisingly silent, something almost like sympathy on his face as he looked down at her.
"He's right, Malia," Liam said softly, as she glared after the pair. "We need to go."
"Don't tell me you're okay with this," she snarled as he wolf moved around her, taking her weight on himself like Scott had. She wanted to fight, wanted to break free and chase after him, tell him how stupid he was being. Losing Corey was awful. Losing Scott in a pointless effort to get him back? Unthinkable. But there was no way she could catch him. She couldn't even walk. "Scott is going to die! He's your Alpha, your friend, and you're just gonna watch him go?"
"No," Liam growled, his own voice thick with emotion. "I'm gonna get you to the car. Then I'm gonna go after him. So stop fighting and let's go!"
Caught off-guard by both his words and his tone, she stopped struggling, eyes still locked on the space between the trees Scott had disappeared through. For a second, she was frozen, biting back the frustrated scream that was searing her throat, fighting to come out. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, swallowing down all that anger, that rage, that fear, then slowly nodded.
"Okay."
Her voice was quiet, barely a whisper, but it was enough to get Liam moving, following the path left by Theo and Peter. It took every ounce of strength she had to start moving away from Scott when she knew he needed her, when all she wanted to do was go to him, keep him safe. But she did it. Because she had to. Because if she kept fighting it, the enemy would catch them, and all of this would have been for nothing. It infuriated her, hurt worse than her leg, but all she could do was send up a silent prayer to someone, anyone to keep safe, to keep him alive, to bring him back to her.
-l-l-l-l-
Staring up at the starry sky, Malia rubbed absently at her leg, the pain almost gone now, muted to a dull ache after several hours of healing. Deaton had given her wound a quick cleaning when they got back to the McCall house and declared she just needed time before he moved onto Peter. She'd been left to sit on the couch, frustrated beyond belief as she watched Theo head back out after Scott with Argent and Parrish on his heels. It chafed badly, the fact she couldn't help, that she had to just sit there, feeling useless.
She hated it.
Two hours she sat there, the TV on and nobody watching, while Deaton patched up Peter, and the rest sat in the kitchen, talking about Scott, about Corey, about what was happening, about what they could do. Two hours of no calls, no texts, no word. Two hours of building fear and worry, the lack of updates just feeding the fear, the anxiety everybody was feeling. Malia kept to herself, unwilling to join the group, to let them see her, how badly she was taking this. It was just a little easier to stay separate, by herself, hide the fact she was on the verge of completely breaking down.
Eventually, it just got to be too much. She could smell it all, every negative emotion pouring off her friends, and it was overwhelming. Mason and Stiles were the worst, their worry hanging thick in the air like a cloud of smoke, but Lydia and Deaton weren't much better. She felt like she was drowning, couldn't quite catch her breath. Letting out a growl, she'd risen onto her slowly-healing leg and stormed out back, outside, desperate for some kind of break, a respite from the negativity choking the life out of the house.
She wasn't sure how long she'd been sitting there when she heard the door open quietly behind her. She didn't need to turn to know it was Melissa, the nurse's familiar scent filling her nose as she pulled up another lawn chair and sat down next to her. For a moment, the silence remained unbroken, neither saying a word, just looking up at the sky.
"Are you all right?" Melissa finally asked, voice soft, understanding.
"I'm fine," she muttered. "My leg's healing."
"I'm not talking about your leg."
Malia could feel her gaze on her and studiously avoided looking back. It was taking everything she had at the moment not to lose it and either start crying or tearing the house apart. The last thing she needed right now was to look into Melissa's eyes, so much like Scott's. That wasn't going to do any good for anybody.
Silence reigned then, stretching between them as she prayed the older woman would just take the hint and go back inside. But the effort was in vain, she knew, because she was sure Melissa wouldn't abandon her. They'd grown closer lately, the two of them, unavoidable as she spent more time with Scott. He was so close to his mom, there was no way to be around him and not see a lot of the woman. And Malia didn't mind that in the least. She liked her, found her fun to be around, laid-back and easier to talk to than most, no matter the topic. Their shared goal of keeping Scott as safe as possible, methods very different but ultimate aim the same, only made the connection deeper. So despite her desire to be alone, she knew that just wasn't in the cards.
"Sometimes," Melissa finally said, softly, almost to herself, "I can't help but wonder if I made a mistake when I was raising him."
That caught her attention. Eyes wide, she turned to the woman and saw a sad little smile on her face. "What do you mean?"
"He's always gotta do the right thing. Always. No matter what. That's how I raised him, and usually, I'm so proud of him when he lives up to that. But sometimes..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "Sometimes, I just wish he'd come home, stop sacrificing himself for everybody else. He doesn't have to be the hero every time. He doesn't have to take everything onto himself. "
"Except he does."
Melissa's eyes locked on hers, and this time, she didn't look away. She stared back, unflinching, open, seeing the same things she was going through mirrored in those eyes. If anyone understood how she felt, it was this woman, his mother, the person who knew him best, saw the best and worst of him, had to live with everything he did, every self-sacrificing choice he made. Had to accept the fact every time he went out, he might not come back, she might never see him again.
"He does have to be the hero," Malia stated, softly, slowly. "It's who he is. He's always gotta be the one to go in where no one else will, to take on the enemy he can't beat. Because it's the right thing to do. Because he wants to keep everybody safe. Because somebody has to, and he'd rather take that on himself than put it on anybody else. It's stupid!" she snarled, eyes flaring blue as she let out a little of the anger that was choking her. "It's dumb, and it's maddening, and it's frustrating!" She paused then, and blew out a heavy breath. "And it's part of why I love the moron."
"Oh, sweetheart." Leaning over, Melissa put her arm over her shoulders, pulling her close. She didn't fight it, leaning her head down on her shoulder, finally accepting the offered comfort, as she fought to keep the tears lurking just below the surface from erupting. "Does he know?"
She swallowed heavily. "Yeah. I guess..." She paused, a sad smile twisting her lips. "I guess he figured it out. He told me we'd talk later about it later, before he..." She trailed off, not wanting to think about it, about watching him walk away, about those words possibly being the last thing she ever heard him say.
Melissa seemed to sense the direction her thoughts were taking, because she squeezed her tight, tucking her head under her chin. "He'll be all right. He'll be fine. He always pulls through."
Malia wasn't sure how long they sat there, just looking out into the night, sharing in their worry, their fear together. Behind her, inside the house, she could hear heartbeats slowing, breathing evening out as a few of her friends finally gave in to their exhaustion and tried to get some sleep. She had no idea how any of them could do it. She'd never felt more awake, more on edge, despite the long day. If she was alone and her leg wasn't still bugging her, she'd be pacing around the house like the Energizer Bunny. Not that the idea of slipping into slumber for a little while, taking a little break from her racing thoughts wasn't appealing. She just knew there was no way it was going to happen for her.
Suddenly, one of the heartbeats picked up, going from zero to sixty in a second. Frowning, she pulled away from Melissa and looked back over her shoulder at the house. An instant later, the door flew open, revealing Lydia, eyes wide and her phone in her hand.
"They're coming!" she blurted out, waving her phone at them.
"Scott?" Malia asked, already on her feet. "Is he okay?"
Lydia paused, her expression falling. "I don't know. Argent just said they had them. Both of them. I'm sorry."
"But you haven't sensed anything?" Melissa asked in a rush, her worry showing through in the crease of her brow, the tension in her shoulders.
"No, nothing."
Unable to resist, Malia reached out then and snatched the phone out of Lydia's hand. The move earned her a glare, but she didn't see it, already reading the message. It wasn't long.
— On our way back. Got them both. Need Deaton.
Snarling at the lack of information, she shoved the phone back into her friend's hands and hurried into the house, her leg holding steady despite the twinge of pain accompanying every step. She blew past Stiles, stretched out on the couch, heading right for the front door. Deaton was standing outside, watching the street as she stepped up next to him. He looked at her long enough to give her a little reassuring smile, then returned his gaze to the street. She followed his lead, hands clenching reflexively as she tapped her foot on the ground impatiently.
She heard them coming before she spotted them, engines roaring as they raced toward the house. "I can hear them," she said, when Deaton looked over, sensing the sudden tension in her.
Headlights suddenly appeared at the end of the street, an instant before Argent's SUV sped around the corner. It skidded to a halt just inches from the garage door, and Argent jumped out, running around to the back as Theo's truck pulled in behind him. "Deaton!" the former hunter shouted as he opened the back door.
As the vet jogged over to him, Malia's eyes focused on the second truck. Through the windshield, she could see him, Scott, propped up in the back seat, his face a mask of blood. She felt her heart racing as she slowly stepped across the lawn, movements short and jerky, holding her breath. Theo and Liam got out as she approached, and slowly, carefully pulled him out, each taking an arm as his feet touched the ground. It was only when she saw his eyes open, his legs hold steady beneath him that she exhaled, relief flooding her soul.
"Told you I'd be fine," he rasped out as she stopped in front of him, flashing her what might have been a grin, though the blood made it hard to tell.
The noise that came out of her mouth then was halfway between a snort and a sob. "You call this fine?" Her voice was choked, full of emotion, and she could feel her eyes burning as she looked him over, desperately trying to reassure herself he was okay. She wanted to reach for him, touch him, reassure herself he was there, but she didn't want to accidently make anything worse. He seemed to be bleeding from everywhere, his clothes ripped and torn, too much to tell exactly how badly he was hurt.
Before he could reply, his eyes suddenly rolled back in his head, and he went limp, only Liam and Theo keeping him on his feet. Malia's eyes widened and she instinctively reached out for him, but his helpers were already moving, carrying him up to the house. She hurried after them, only peripherally aware of Deaton working feverishly on Corey's battered body, stretched out in the back of Argent's SUV, a worried Mason hovering nearby.
Inside, Melissa directed them over to the kitchen table, where Lydia and Stiles were standing, arms wrapped around each other. "Lay him down here, guys," she instructed, her voice rock-steady despite of what was happening. As they gently lifted him up and laid him out on his back on the table, she grabbed some scissors out of a drawer, then made quick work of his ragged shirt, revealing his shredded torso, covered in blood and wounds. "Oh, God, Scott," she murmured, hands hovering over him, like she was afraid touching him would just make it all worse. "Stiles, there are some towels under the sink. Can you wet them and bring them over here?"
The next few minutes were almost like a blur to Malia as she stood there and watched Melissa work. All sound, all smell, everything seemed to fade into the background, her whole world focused on Scott as his mother doggedly washed away the blood, revealing wound after jagged wound. All she could hear was his heart beat, strong and steady despite his appearance, and she seized on that, taking it as a good sign, that he was going to be okay. She'd spoken to him, she kept reminding herself. She'd heard him talk, saw him smile. He was going to be okay. She was so focused on him, she didn't even react when Liam brushed past her, probably heading out to check on Corey, her gaze never wavering from the scene before her.
When Melissa finally finished up and backed away from the table, Malia stepped forward. "Is he gonna be all right?" she asked quietly, drumming her fingers nervously along the edge of the table as she looked down at him. Despite the ugly wounds dotting his body, he looked peaceful, calm, his face relaxed now that the blood had been wiped away and she could see him properly.
"I think so." She drew in a deep breath, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand, then let out a weary sigh. "He's been shot and stabbed more times than I can count, but I got all the bullets out and none of his wounds seem fatal. From what I know about you guys, the super-healing should hopefully take care of it."
"Why's he still out then?" Stiles asked, looking about as worried as Malia felt.
"Blood loss," Lydia said softly, her eyes locked on the wounded Alpha.
Melissa nodded, then turned as the door opened again and Liam stepped back inside. "Deaton said Corey's gonna be all right," he announced as he paused next to Stiles and Lydia, relief written all over his face. "He's pretty beat up, but they gave him something to jump-start his healing." He paused, brow furrowing as he looked over Scott. "Is he—"
"He'll be okay," Melissa said. "He just needs a little time."
As she spoke, Scott suddenly stirred, letting out a low groan. Everybody held their breath until his eyes slowly fluttered open. "Hey," he said, voice a harsh croak. His gaze found Malia's, and a smile started to form on his face, before abruptly morphing into a frown. "Did I faint?"
That drew a relieved chuckle from almost every person in the room, the tension, the worry finally breaking as it sank in that he was okay. But not her. As her friends relaxed behind her, she leaned down, gently cupping the side of his face. The world fell away again as she looked into his eyes, finally sure he was fine, he was going to be all right. And now that she was sure, now that the threat of imminent death was lifted, if only for night, she knew what she had to do.
"All right, kids, let's give them some privacy," she heard behind her, only peripherally aware as Melissa ushered everybody out of the kitchen, leaving the two of them alone.
"You are so stupid."
As far as romantic declarations went, it wasn't great. There were a hundred other things she could have said, words she'd been holding inside, on the tip of her tongue, for weeks, for months. But in the moment, her whole system flooded with relief, her brain not fully engaged, that's what slipped out.
"Wow, talk about kicking a guy when he's down." The corners of his eyes crinkled as he looked up at her, lips twitching, fighting a smile. When she didn't respond, just continued to stare down at him silently, drinking in every aspect of his face, the face she'd twice been forced to think she might never see again, his expression shifted, turning serious. "I'm sorry, Malia, but I had to. I couldn't leave him there. I couldn't walk away. I'm sorry I had to leave you behind. I know it hurt. I know..." He trailed off, letting out a heavy sigh.
"You know what?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.
"I know everything. I know you have feelings—I mean, I know you're..." He paused, a wry smile twisting his lips. "No offense, but you're not very subtle." That drew a reluctant grin from her, even as her heart pounded in her chest, the moment she'd been thinking about, dreaming about for so long finally here. Not under the best circumstance, maybe, but still. For a second, all was silent, before he started again, slowly, carefully, eyes staring into hers. "I wanted to say something tonight. Well, I wanted to say something weeks ago. But I kept putting it off, because... I don't know. Because I was afraid, I guess, afraid that maybe I was seeing something that wasn't there. And then tonight..." Trailing off, he swallowed heavily. "All the way there, I just... I just couldn't help but think, y'know, what if you died and I never said anything? What if—" He cleared his throat. "What if you died thinking it was one-sided? Because it's not. What if you never knew that I—"
Malia finally gave into the feelings she'd been concealing for so long, cutting him off, unable to hold off any longer. Leaning down, she kissed him, gently at first, her free hand finding his on the table between them. It wasn't perfect. She could still smell the blood on him, and he was too weak to respond as passionately as she would have liked. But that didn't matter. They were finally kissing. Things were finally out in the open, acknowledged. It was something she'd thought about a lot, and the reality was just as good as the fantasy.
They broke apart a second later, and she pulled back slightly, a little surprised to see a grin on his face. "So..." he said slowly, dark eyes locking onto hers. "Does that mean you're not mad at me anymore?"
"Oh, no, I am pissed," she said, letting her eyes briefly flash blue as her lip curled back in a snarl, in stark contrast to the elation, the warmth she felt inside, sparked by his confession. "You could have died tonight."
"Pretty sure I'm not the only one," he said mildly, as he clasped his hand over hers, stilling the thumb that had been gently stroking his cheek.
She huffed out a sigh at that and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well, both of us do dumb things sometimes. But yours was worse, and we are definitely going to talk about it again."
"But later, right?" he asked, as she leaned back down.
"Later," she confirmed, a second before her lips slanted over his again.
They still had a lot to talk about, she knew, things that needed to be said, about the night, about them. There was still a dangerous threat hanging over their heads, the heads of their friends and family, and events of the last few hours probably hadn't done much to make that any better. But right then, in that moment, none of it mattered. It was all just noise, something there but muted for now, pushed to the periphery by something beautiful. She was kissing Scott, and he was kissing her back, and for this second, this moment, all was right in the world.
AN: Another one-shot, and another vague but powerful threat, because I am a creature of habit. This was mostly just an exercise to get more into Malia's head than I usually do, because Scott comes way easier to me, so I needed the practice. Let me know what you think.