Chapter 6
You know you're gold, you don't gotta worry none
Oasis child, born and so wild
Don't I know you better than the rest
All deception, all deception from you
Elaine Durant should have been downright livid when the Sheriff notified her of Mal's whereabouts on the previous night. She should have yelled and cried and grounded her daughter for at least a month – she'd done a lot more for a lot less. But as it so happened, she wasn't angry in the slightest. And out of every unusual thing Mal had been faced with that week, this might actually have been the most puzzling.
"You aren't mad at me?" she asked her mom over breakfast the next morning, after sharing an abbreviated and previously agreed-upon version of her adventure with Scott and Stiles. As far as their parents knew, Scott, Stiles, and Mal had been going for a walk in the woods, when they stumbled across the body and called the police. The Sheriff had been altogether unsurprised, but making good on his word, he'd told Elaine. So now, as they sat across from each other at the kitchen island, Mal added presumptuously, "Because it feels like you should be, you know, earth-shatteringly furious. To tell you the truth, I was kind of expecting Beacon Hills to implode at your fury."
"Don't be so dramatic. It's unbecoming on you," Elaine retorted with an eye-roll, but then she sighed with what sounded like tired relief. "I'm not mad."
"Are you sure this isn't like the AP Psych thing?" Mal questioned cautiously. " 'I'm only your mother. You should just do whatever pleases you'," she imitated in a high-pitched tone.
Amused, her mother quirked an eyebrow. "Do you want it to be like the AP Psych thing? Because I really don't. As I recall, that was rather unpleasant. It was like this out-of-body experience, and I saw myself turning into my mother," she stated with a tiny shudder.
Mal gave her a small smile but had a hard time believing her mom could make light of something so…heavy. She'd come home at three in the morning with dirt caked on her knees and horrifying bags under her eyes, fully prepared for her mother's unmitigated rage. Elaine, however, had claimed she was too exhausted to deal with Mal just yet and that any sort of punishment would have to wait until a more reasonable hour. But she wasn't being as overprotective as Mal had anticipated, and it was freaking her out a little bit. "Why haven't you grounded me 'til I'm grandma's age?" she asked in a critical voice. "Why are you being so...un-you...about this?"
"Look, what you did was exceedingly reckless, and you are going to clean every last inch of this house for it – and I'm talking overpowering-smell-of-Lysol clean – but you were just carrying out your civic duties and trying to protect the rest of the town, which I suppose is a valid argument for doing said exceedingly reckless thing," Elaine granted, defaulting to lawyer-mode. Mal would have laughed if she weren't so bewildered. "Besides, even though Stiles worries me more often than not, I know he'd move heaven and earth to protect you. If only from the type of havoc he doesn't wreak," she chuckled. Her daughter smiled guiltily, so she continued with a smirk, "And Scott's a good kid. He's like the older brother that you do have, except he actually lives within walking distance. I'll always trust him to look out for you."
Mal grinned more easily now. "Me too."
"Don't think you're off the hook, Mallory," Elaine commanded seriously, becoming more like herself again. "I am...indescribably glad that you're all right, but I didn't even know where you were. Stiles's father had to call me, and when I heard that you had – " She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head as if to rid herself of extraneous emotion. "You and your friends shouldn't have been wandering in the woods that late, not with a murderer at large. Thanks to you, he isn't anymore, but that's still no excuse."
"I know," Mal stated earnestly, gazing intently at her mom to express that she meant it. "I know, you're right. It was dangerous and irresponsible, but – but we – "
" – Mallory, I may be a mom, but I do remember what it was like to be young," she said in understanding, and there was something mournful in her remark. But it was gone in an instant, and she cleared her throat to declare with authority, "This won't happen again. I will not lose you, too. Do you understand me?"
Mal dipped her head in shame, staring vacantly at her unfinished cereal. Even all these years, Elaine still couldn't do anything more than vaguely refer to her husband. It was completely justified – they actively avoided mentioning him in the Durant household – but it saddened Mal to think that her mom was so afraid of losing her daughter, she felt compelled to bring him up at all. And what made it worse was that Mal knew she couldn't give her mom the answer she wanted, because as Stiles had put it, this wouldn't be the last of their dangerous expeditions.
When Stiles came to pick her up so they could see Derek's arrest for themselves, he was simply amazed. "Wow. Your mom was pissed at me for a solid week after the lawnmower incident," he pointed out indignantly. "There was a murderous werewolf involved this time, and she didn't blow a gasket?"
"It might be due to the fact that she doesn't – and will never – know Derek's a werewolf, but yeah, she was pretty chill about it," Mal confirmed, leaving out the part regarding her father. "Although, d'you remember that episode of 'Star Trek' you nagged me to watch with you last year? The one with the evil, spastic android trying to pass itself off as some other android? Mom twitched like that thing for a solid ten seconds when I got home."
" 'Nagged you'?" Stiles repeated incredulously. "I do not nag – and you loved that episode!"
Mal snorted loudly. "No, you loved it. You were obsessed with 'Next Generation' for a solid three months after that – And speaking of obsession, 'The Wolf Man'? Really? That's what you're gonna use as your source for werewolf information? I was hoping for something better from you," she said in a playfully condescending tone.
"What? How can you say that?! There's nothing better than 'The Wolf Man'!" Stiles almost shrieked. "It's a black-and-white masterpiece!"
"Only as far as the production value goes for movies made in the '40s. And even then, 'masterpiece' is kind of overstating it. I mean, the make-up was God-awful, the acting was so bad I couldn't stop laughing – Remember? – And the ending was totally disappointing. It felt way too rushed," Mal criticized, thinking back on her experience with the so-called horror movie. Fondly, she reminisced about how Stiles had been staring at her for nearly the entire seventy minutes, searching her for the exact reactions he'd had when he'd seen the film for the first time. Needless to say, he was utterly crestfallen when she couldn't tell him it was her favorite.
"No, you're – you're wrong! It was perfect! Sir Talbot killed his own son. He'd have to live with that for the rest of his life! There was absolutely nothing left to be desired in the ending," Stiles argued stubbornly. "And obviously the make-up's gonna be God-awful in a movie that old. That's the beauty of it!"
"Hey, man. You can love whichever horror movies you wanna love," Mal assured him, throwing her hands up in surrender. " 'Psycho' is much more up my alley, though."
"Of course, it is! 'Psycho' is the definition of a classic. But it's more thriller than horror," he explained imperiously. "It's like you're saying chocolate chip cookies are better than curly fries. The two are totally awesome in their own right, but they're completely unrelated…God, you are – I don't even – " Stiles spluttered, pausing to exhale forcefully. "You know what? At least I have Scott left. When he finally gets around to it – "
" – If he ever gets around to it – " Mal interjected cheekily.
Stiles went on as if she hadn't said anything. " – He's gonna love it. A thousand percent!"
"Sure, okay. Whatever keeps you from spontaneously combusting." Mal smirked snobbishly but held her tongue after that, and most of the remainder of the car ride was silent. But then Stiles started tapping his fingers on the steering wheel – fitfully – and wouldn't stop. Flailing arms and jerky movements were both characteristic of him, but his rhythm was usually unaffected by that. (Mal had always assumed his long, slender fingers had something to do with it.) "What's on your mind, Stiles?" she asked confidently, twisting in her seat to face him. It was more a statement of fact than a question, though.
"Huh?" he asked distractedly, tearing his eyes from the road for half a second to glance at Mal. When she nodded to his hands, he looked down at them and feebly answered, "Oh! No. Nah, this is – it's nothing. Heh, I'm always drumming."
Mal blinked, unconvinced. "Stiles, you've been my best friend for eleven years, longer than the actual show 'Friends' ran on TV. You wanna try that again?" she challenged him.
Stiles sighed and grit his teeth. Not out of irritation with Mal, but out of irritation with himself. "If you laugh, eleven years'll be the cutoff point," he grumbled, but the threat was empty, and they both knew it.
Mal's eyes widened in realization. "This is about Lydia. Something happened with her yesterday, didn't it?" Stiles winced and began fidgeting again, so she continued in a gentler tone, "I saw you staring at her and Jackson at the hospital."
Stiles peeked at Mal before bursting like an overfilled water balloon.
Apparently, he'd found Lydia sitting in the waiting room by herself, "looking as beautiful as she always does with her perfect, strawberry-blonde curls and gorgeous, forest green eyes." (At these exact words, Mal had to clamp her mouth shut and muster all of the strength she possessed to refrain from curling her lip in revulsion.) And then Stiles had summoned the courage to finally talk to the popular girl and reveal his feelings for her, saying something along the lines of, "We have a connection, and I think we should explore it." He almost didn't repeat what Lydia had said to him after that, embarrassed as he was and dreading Mal's volatility when it came to the feisty strawberry-blonde. Because as it so happened, Lydia hadn't even heard him. She'd been on her Bluetooth the whole time, nodding along to whatever the person on the other end had been saying. When she realized that he'd been speaking to her, she literally asked, "Is it worth repeating?"
"Please don't say 'I told you so'," he said miserably. "I mean how was I supposed to know she'd be on the phone? Don't hospitals have rules against that?"
"I don't think Bluetooth counts."
"Great. Fan-freaking-tastic!" Stiles thumped his head against the headrest as soon as they hit a red light. "I don't know what the hell I was even thinking. She's Lydia Martin, for Christ's sake."
"Eugh, Stiles, I hate it when you say that, like she's God come down to Earth or something. She's just a person – and a really nasty one, at that," Mal complained ardently.
"You don't know her – "
" – What? As well as you do? Don't give me that, Stilinski," she growled, crossing her arms. "You've been putting her on a pedestal for years. Literally. Years."
"Oh, well, excuse me. I forgot that you're so clearly experienced in having feelings for someone who doesn't reciprocate them," he snapped back acerbically.
"I am, actually," Mal instantly replied, briefly hesitating to elaborate, "I never told you this, but I had a – I liked Boyd in middle school." While it was a passing crush on a boy she'd never even been friends with, she made sure not to explicitly call it that in front of Stiles. She didn't want him to think she was still treating how he felt about Lydia lightly. She knew he really liked her, but that didn't make embarrassment something that was uniquely his. She'd had her fair share of cringe-worthy experiences, as had everyone else in the world.
"No, you didn't," Stiles declared argumentatively. "You'd have told me and Scott."
"Normally, yes. But what ended up happening was me humiliating myself to get him to notice me, and that's the kind of thing your friends tend not to let you live down. Especially in middle school," Mal responded, cringing at the memory.
Stiles opened his mouth as if to disagree, but then he thought better of it. "Yeah, okay. That's probably true," he said instead, before making the excuse, "But it would've been out of affection. If anyone else had tried to mess with you in front of me and Scott, he'd have beat them up, and then I would've found something they were super insecure about and made trauma-inducing jokes about it."
Mal smiled crookedly. "Scott would never have beaten anyone up, and you know that."
"Fine, whatever. Would – would you stop stalling?! I've been waiting years to hear this! Literally. Years!" Stiles exclaimed, unintentionally slamming his hand on the car horn and in return, receiving a very rude gesture from the driver in front of him.
Mal rolled her eyes but didn't waste time pointing out that she'd only just told him about Boyd thirty seconds ago. "Okay, so…this happened sometime around the beginning of seventh grade. I'd tried talking to Boyd a bunch of times, asked him what kind of music he was into, if he played any sports. That sort of thing. But he kept to himself even then, so I got relatively desperate."
Stiles perked up, straightening in his seat and listening with rapt attention. He kept his eyes on the road, however, trying to be a conscientious driver.
"The bus was running late after school one day, and it was raining really hard," Mal resumed with a sour grimace. "Boyd didn't have so much as a jacket, so I offered to share my umbrella with him. He said, 'Thanks', and I said, 'You're welcome', but neither one of us knew what else to talk about while we waited, and the silence was becoming sort of painful. He kept giving me these awkward smiles, and I thought he was just feeling shy, so I told him he could…kiss me if he wanted to."
Stiles's mouth fell open in a funny combination of glee and secondhand embarrassment. "Oh God," he muttered, darting a joyful glance at Mal.
"Yup," she agreed before shaking her head. "Except it actually gets worse. Boyd essentially refused to look me in the eye, mumbled something like, 'No, thanks', under his breath, but I let myself go voluntarily deaf because I didn't really give a shit. I thought he liked me but was just too nervous to do anything about it, so I...made that my excuse to try to kiss him. Which was a total nightmare. I think he might've run the entire way back to his house after that. At any rate, I made a complete jackass of myself in front of him and about twenty-five other kids – including Jackson and Lydia – and they didn't stop laughing for months. I'm honestly surprised you and Scott never heard about it."
Stiles gaped at Mal, who directed his attention back to the road by poking his cheek, albeit with a self-mocking snicker. He blew out a breath of astonishment but was at somewhat of a loss for words. He'd never known his best friend to be presumptuous or act impulsively around people she barely knew; that was reserved for him and Scott. With everyone else, Mal was always the levelheaded, think-before-you-act girl.
"You can laugh if you wanna," she permitted with a twitch of her lips. And he did. For one whole minute. But seeing as it was no longer a sensitive issue for her and given that Stiles's laugh was incredibly infectious, she gamely joined in. Once they'd calmed down, she continued, "I still wanna punch twelve-year-old me in the face – although that's more of a general, middle-school-douchery thing. My point is, I thought I'd die of humiliation. But I got over it, and I'd say Boyd did, too. He even nods at me in the hallway occasionally."
Stiles scrunched his forehead in deliberation, actually feeling quite better. At the very least, Lydia would never know any of the admittedly clichéd things he'd blurted out. And on the plus side, there hadn't been a horde of cruel teenagers around to jeer at him. "Yeah, and you know what? This wasn't my only shot. I can do better next time. I will do better next time!" he reassured himself, instilled with renewed energy.
"Uh, Stiles, that – " she began to argue, on the brink of telling him she didn't actually mean he should keep chasing after Lydia, when she caught the look in his eyes. There was such a fire in them that she felt compelled to swallow her words. " – That sounds more like the Stiles I know."
"Mal, I'm not stupid. I've put together how very little you like her. And I can understand why," Stiles stated upon catching the strained expression on Mal's face. He went on with a heartbreaking sigh, "I mean, she's not exactly the sweetest girl around, but I just…I've seen how amazing she can be. I've seen how brilliant and spirited she is. She doesn't want anyone to know this, she hides it because, I dunno, she's ashamed of it or whatever, but Lydia is whip smart. Like, some kind of Einstein-Newton hybrid. And I won't be surprised if she wins a Nobel Prize before she graduates high school." He could tell Mal was biting the inside of her cheek, so he frowned and said, "You don't have to agree with any of this – I'm aware that your attitude towards her is basically anything but friendly – but it'd be pretty awesome if you could just be, like, the slightest bit supportive."
Mal didn't even remotely agree, but there was a laudability to the way Stiles spoke so admiringly of Lydia, putting her turbulent personality into such gracious terms. He saw something in her that very few people did, and Mal could appreciate liking someone that much.
Still, her heart hurt when Stiles talked like this, when he revealed that there were parts of himself too painful for him to often even look at. Like caring for a girl who didn't feel the same way about him or losing his own mother after too short a time with her. Stiles deserved a much better hand than he'd been dealt in life, and there were so many things Mal wished she were able to do for him but just couldn't.
"I've been doing a shoddy job as the designated moral support, haven't I?" she chuckled, feeling worse about it than she was showing. She took a deep breath and said, "Y'know, I am on your side. I've just been acting a little too much like your bodyguard, I guess." She paused to study Stiles's profile, the wrinkles in his forehead and his thinned lips. "Look, I'll try not to be so spiteful," she gave in, "but you have to accept that I'm not just gonna stand by and tolerate her bashing my friends. You can have all the support you want from me, but I can't say the same about Lydia, okay?"
It wasn't the most willing compromise, but Stiles was grinning so wide, Mal could practically feel her cheeks hurting. "I'm pretty sure this is just gonna be a moratorium on all Lydia-related insults said around me, but I'll take it...Thanks, Mal."
Evidently, Lydia was someone he felt very strongly about, and Mal wouldn't be the one to tear him down for it. She couldn't. He and Scott were her dearest friends, and cheering both of them on in their romantic efforts was more or less a preordained aspect of that. If reining in her resentment toward Lydia would make Stiles happy, she would try her best to do so.
Even if it meant playing into his delusions. Even if it meant ignoring the way her insides were twisting.
When the two teenagers arrived at the Hale property, it was crawling with deputies from the Beacon Hills Police Department. The Sheriff's car was parked right out front, and as Stiles and Mal approached the house, she scanned the premises for Derek, almost pitying him for being taken from his old home without so much as a warning. She assumed that he'd chosen to live there out of loyalty to his family, given that he owned a shiny, black, most likely expensive Camaro. He could probably have afforded better living conditions, but it seemed that he'd decided to stay in the broken-down building, and Mal wondered if maybe he'd just wanted to feel the familiar presence of family again. She had no idea what to do with that possibility, though; it made Derek too human, and she had to remind herself that he wasn't.
"Listen, I wanna talk to Derek, so I need you to find my dad and distract him for a few minutes," Stiles requested, rubbing his hands together with anxious excitement.
"What? You want to get closer to the creep that bit Scott? Are you crazy?!" Mal protested, reaching out in vain for the back of Stiles's blazer.
He had already zeroed in on the police cruiser, and before she – or even Scott – could stop him, he sauntered over to it, attempting to appear as casual and unassuming as was possible for the typically negligent boy. He glanced around furtively and then disappeared into the car, while Mal cursed his inquisitiveness and Scott tried to maintain a low profile at least twenty feet away from the commotion. (His mom already thought he might be on drugs, so he figured that meddling in a crime scene probably wasn't in his best interests.)
Mal ran her fingers through her hair but did as Stiles had asked and scuttled over to his dad once she'd spotted him by the side of the Hale house. "Hey, Sheriff! How goes police business?" she inquired nonchalantly, pulling him around to face her and block his view of the cruiser at the same time.
He groaned audibly in response. "It goes dangerously. As in, you shouldn't even be here, Mal. I thought Elaine would've grounded you for at least a week or two after yesterday."
Mal frowned and crossed her arms, temporarily diverted from her task. "You wanted me to get in trouble? I kinda thought we were buddies, Sheriff."
"Oh, yeah, real pals," he quipped, mirroring her stance, albeit with much more formidable posture. "Now talk. Does your mom know you're here?"
"Um, not – not technically," Mal stammered pathetically, grimacing when Stiles's dad narrowed his eyes at her. She rushed to explain, "But I told her I'd be with Scott and Stiles, so it's okay. Really. She adores them. In fact, I'm pretty sure she loves Scott more than she loves me most of the time."
"Mal, that doesn't mean you can just – aw, Christ." Sheriff Stilinski paused, recognizing the devious work of his son. Mal struggled to remain outwardly indifferent, but Stiles's dad wasn't the police chief for no reason. "You're the distraction, huh?" he asked instinctively. She made the mistake of flitting her eyes toward his car, but he merely took this as confirmation of what he already knew. "That boy is giving me the grayest hairs," he grumbled, striding over to the vehicle and yanking his son out by the arm.
"Oh, please. You still look like you're thirty-five," she insisted, trailing after him and hoping to soften the scolding Stiles would be powerless to escape.
"Ow, ow, ow," he complained, as his dad dragged him away from the car.
"There. Stand," the Sheriff commanded, dropping Stiles's arm and then sighing heavily. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"I'm just trying to help," Stiles defended, setting his hands on his hips and briefly glaring at Mal, who recoiled sheepishly.
"Okay, well, how 'bout you help me understand exactly how you three came across this," Sheriff Stilinski demanded, peering between the pair of teenagers. Scott was still keeping his distance.
"We were looking for Scott's inhaler," Stiles answered.
"Which he dropped when?"
"The other night."
"The other night when you two were out here looking for the first half of the body," the Sheriff clarified.
"Yes," Stiles replied without thinking.
Mal let out a strange half-whimper, half-groan in warning.
"The night that you and Mal told me you two were alone and Scott was at home," the Sheriff continued.
"Yes," Stiles reiterated, while Mal pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation. When it finally dawned on him what he'd confessed to, he backpedaled. "No. Oh, crap."
"So you kids lied to me?" the Sheriff questioned in dismay. It took a lot to make him sound that disappointed, and Mal felt awful for it. She hated letting him down. And Stiles was only aggravating the situation.
"That depends on how you define lying," he prevaricated.
"Well, I define it as not telling the truth. How do you define it?" his dad countered.
"Mm, reclining your body in a horizontal position?" Stiles tried, using his hands in the makeshift definition.
"Or, being buried in a specific place, if you're dead," Mal chimed in tentatively, attempting to elicit even the smallest of smiles from the Sheriff. She was incapable of keeping her mouth shut when he was annoyed with her and Stiles.
"Get the hell out of here," he ordered them.
"Absolutely," Stiles agreed, running one hand over his buzz cut and wrapping the other around Mal's elbow.
"Oh no. No, no," the Sheriff objected, pulling her away. "Elaine and Melissa might have the patience to deal with all the grief you three give us, but I have truly had enough for one day. Deputy Cross will take you home, Mal."
"Wha – but I always drive her home. And Scott was a part of this, too! You're not even gonna split us up properly?!" Stiles whined unhelpfully.
The Sheriff stared at him blankly. "You really don't wanna put that idea in my head, Stiles. Ever heard the saying, 'Bad things come in threes'? I'd think you would have, since whoever came up with it must've been acquainted with you delinquents at some point in his life."
"Ouch. Although, I guess that's fair," Mal conceded, waving at Scott and then bidding Stiles good-bye with a grin and a shove.
But her good mood quickly vanished when she remembered that Derek was sitting so close by, the door to the police car the only thing separating her from him. She couldn't make any sense of it, but she was feeling guilty.
It was going to take awhile for her to realize that Derek wasn't.
"Mind if we stop by the station for a minute?" came Deputy Nathan Cross's request, as he fished out a set of keys from the glove compartment. "Tara'll probably be worrying about these."
Tara Graeme was a member of the Sheriff's department and Mal's favorite deputy by far. When she and Stiles used to hang out at the station, Tara would help the two young children with their math homework. The woman was a godsend and the main reason Mal was even in her current advanced math class. So she replied, "Yeah, 'course. Mind if I come in and say hi?"
"Sure. But she's on duty right now – manning the dispatch line – so we can't stay too long."
The Beacon County Sheriff Station was about as familiar to Mal as her own home, and this, of course, was only because of the Stilinskis. Over the years, she and Stiles – and later, Scott – had paid the Sheriff many a visit, either to bring him dinner, do their homework, or snoop around (as successfully as any three pre-pubescent kids could). Of course, she'd only ever been there on friendly terms and never when legitimate or psychopathic criminals were in the same room, so the station was an almost calming presence to her. It quashed her fears and reminded her that these were the best people to catch a killer. If Derek was guilty, which he had to be, then the Beacon Hills police would figure it out, and he would be appropriately punished.
When Mal and Deputy Cross walked in, Tara immediately looked up from her desk - one of four identical ones strewn with absurd amounts of paperwork – with a huge smile taking over her face. "Well, well, well. If it isn't the Incurable Malady," she declared, accepting her keys from Nathan with gratitude. The affectionate nickname had existed ever since Mal was old enough to know what "malady" meant, and apparently, it had stuck.
Mal rolled her eyes but grinned. "Hey, Tar," she greeted, giving the older woman a hug.
"How are ya, honey?"
Mal gave a half-shrug. "Eh, can't complain." But she could. She really could. Mostly about the recent supernatural developments. "You?"
"That depends…Did Stiles put you up to this? Are you in on this stupid prank of his?" Tara asked with a justifiable dose of admonishment. Because usually, the answer to those questions would be "Yes."
Except Mal had no idea what Tara was talking about. "Prank? What prank?"
The deputy snorted in disbelief. "Oh okay, sure. You can play innocent with me. That's fine. But you can also tell your accomplice that I haven't, in fact, gotten any calls about a 'dog-like individual roaming the streets', as he so brilliantly phrased it," she conveyed to Mal with a smirk.
"Tara, I really don't know what – " Mal began, halting abruptly when she realized what must have happened. The ensuing ten-second silence was an apparently revealing response, but before Tara could call her out on it, Mal forced out a laugh and said, "God, he's an idiot. Uh, what did he say exactly?"
"You really had no involvement in this?" Tara questioned skeptically, but Mal maintained eye contact and nodded just once, so she knew the girl wasn't lying to her. "He prank called me about an odd person allegedly roaming the streets. Described him as 'dog-like', whatever the hell that means."
Mal chuckled uncomfortably, suddenly itching to get out of the station. "Yeah, well you know Stiles. Forever the misfit with all the goofy hijinks – Listen, I should probably let you get back to work, but it was great to see you."
Thoroughly unaware of Mal's internal panic, Tara winked. "You, too, hon. Don't be a stranger."
Mal didn't stop fidgeting once during the drive back to her house. Mostly because her phone wouldn't stop buzzing, and she knew she couldn't pick it up without alerting Deputy Cross to what she'd inferred was a young werewolf currently on the loose. Why else would Stiles have called Tara while she was on duty? He knew it wasn't allowed.
When Nathan parked in front of her house, she thanked him without delay and practically sprinted up to her room, pressing "2" on her speed dial and waiting impatiently for Stiles to pick up. Ironically, her phone had stopped vibrating the minute she'd stepped foot into her house.
"Yo," was Stiles's frustratingly one-worded answer.
Mal cut right to the chase. "Where's Scott?"
"Hell if I know," Stiles replied, and he sounded almost apathetic to Mal's ears.
"Stiles! Some concern would be nice," she reproached him. "I was just at the station. Tara said you called her and asked about a 'dog-like individual'? What happened?! I thought you were taking him home?"
"I was," Stiles sighed, suddenly becoming defensive. "He started losing it in the Jeep, 'cause I…kind of kept the wolfsbane in my backpack. You know, for research purposes. But he flipped, so I pulled over to throw it away, and – and he disappeared. Tara didn't take me seriously…but I'm thinking that's a good thing. That's gotta mean no one's found him yet."
Mal tangled her free hand in her hair, racking her brains for a solution. "Listen, you aren't going to like this – hell, I hate this – but I don't know if we can actually do anything for him this time. I mean, we could drive around like last Friday – "
" – No. We can't," Stiles interrupted decisively. "I shouldn't have kept that damn wolfsbane, but I have no idea where the hell he is, and after what happened today, my dad's keeping a really close watch on me. Who knows, though? Maybe Werewolf Scott has common sense. Maybe he's just hanging out in the woods, scratching at his fleas or something."
Mal laughed despite herself. "Maybe. I guess we'll just have to wait it out, and anyway, you have to get ready for the game."
"Only if Coach miraculously gets amnesia and forgets that I suck," Stiles scoffed. "You know I never actually play."
"Well, if Scott doesn't show up, you might have to."
Mal heard teeth grinding. "You are so not helping."
Elaine had to work that evening, so she texted Mal that she'd have to miss the lacrosse game and that she was sorry. Theo, on the other hand, had nothing better to do, so he drove Mal to the high school and at the last minute, decided to stick around and watch. The air of excitement was enticing, and teenagers and adults alike were steadily filling up the bleachers on the lacrosse field, most of them chattering away excitedly. It was only 6:50 pm, but it was already dark enough for Mal to see her breath, along with everyone else's. The biting January air made her draw her coat tighter around herself and retreat into the warmth of her scarf. She was glad she'd donned something more comfortable than the dress she knew she'd have had to wear had her plans with Allison still stood.
Thank God for police-enforced curfews, she thought facetiously.
"Scott and Stiles are still basically the mascots, right?" Theo teased, as the two siblings searched for decent seats.
"This, coming from a guy who barely knew the breaststroke when he tried out for the swim team freshman year?" Mal retorted with a smirk.
"Yes, because that same guy came in second during the Beacon County Regional meet of 2006. So, he does have some authority to trash-talk." Theo had, in fact, been on the Beacon Hills Swim Team in his day, but only after two years of an almost fanatical devotion to learning the sport.
"Fine, just please stop referring to yourself in the third person. It's pretentious as hell," Mal mocked her brother, scanning the field for any sign of her MIA-werewolf-best-friend. "Hey, can you hang tight for a minute? I wanna wish Scott and Stiles good luck."
"Sure. From what I remember, they'll need it."
"Too true," she mused apprehensively.
After sharing a wave with the Sheriff – he wasn't one to hold a grudge, least of all against Stiles or his friends – Mal speed-walked to the boys' locker room. The Cyclones were gearing up for the game, and as she waited outside, she could hear Coach Finstock bellowing out his usual Independence Day pep talk. Being the captain, Jackson was the first to walk out, rolling his eyes pronouncedly and muttering, "Freak", under his breath when he saw Mal. She ignored him, grinning a mile wide when Stiles walked out with his hands on Scott's shoulders, his customary method of encouragement.
"You scared the shit out of us, dude!" Mal exclaimed, broad smile still on her face as she whacked Scott's arm with the back of her hand. She was too relieved to be upset. "Where have you been?"
"At Allison's. You guys don't have to freak, though. She's fine. Everything's fine," Scott answered, but the statement was contradicted by the nervousness and distress in his expression. "Y'know, except that her dad decided to come watch the game with her…God, if I turn, I'm dead. Worse than dead. Like, twice dead. 'Cause Derek's gonna kill me and since that won't be enough, so will Allison's freaking father!"
"Whoa, hey buddy," Stiles cut in, "It'll be fine. Just – "
" – Don't think about any of that? Yeah, Stiles, you said that already. In, like, a hundred, annoyingly different ways, " Scott moaned, referring to something the other boy must have said in the locker room. "I – I can't do this. I don't know what I'm doing."
"Stiles, could you give us a sec?" Mal asked abruptly, her eyes focused on Scott.
"Um…yeah. Yeah, sure. I'll see you guys out there," he said, glancing back at his companions once, before catching up with the rest of the team.
"Scott, we are going to figure this out. I promise you that," Mal declared with total confidence, however out of place it sounded at the moment. "All the snooping around we've been doing for six years is finally going to pay off, okay? But right now – right now, you have got to breathe. You belong on the lacrosse team. You belong on first line. Doesn't matter if it happened because of some werewolf bite. You deserve to be out on that field just as much as Jackson does. So, forget everything else, and just concentrate on the game. Nothing but lacrosse, comprende?"
"Nothing but lacrosse," Scott repeated, the look on his face beginning to harden with resolve. "Nothing but lacrosse."
"Everything's going to be okay. Just try not to let anything piss you off – by which I almost exclusively mean Whittemore – and know that I have enough faith in you for both me and Stiles," Mal asserted, patting his upper back bracingly.
"You do?" Scott asked dubiously.
"Yeah, I do," she affirmed with an heartfelt smile. "I wanna say Stiles and I didn't come after you because we always had faith in you, but the truth is we just didn't know where you'd gone. Anyway, that doesn't matter. You're here now, and no one's hurt. And I personally think that if werewolf Scott McCall can go six hours without ravaging the city, then human Scott McCall can certainly go another one."
Scott wasn't entirely convinced of that, but Mal's was a much better pep talk than Coach Finstock's, and with his chin up, he strode out to the field with her.
But, of course, everything in his life seemed to be conspiring against him. The first of his problems came in the form of his mother, who'd held true to her word and gotten out of work for her son's first game. She waved at Scott and Mal cheerfully and went to sit down next to Theo on the right-hand set of bleachers. And then came the "devastating hurricane" – according to Mal – that was Lydia Martin.
"Scott," she forcefully addressed the hapless boy, tugging him by the jersey to secure his attention. Stiles goggled at them from the bench, while Mal growled at the overbearing girl. "I just want you to remember one thing for tonight."
Scott looked down at her hand. "Uh – winning isn't everything?"
Lydia laughed airily and smoothed out Scott's jersey. "Nobody likes a loser," she taunted him, patting his chest with finality.
"Nobody likes a spoiled brat, either. But you don't hear us complaining," Mal snarled with tightly crossed arms. She might've tried to be civil for Stiles's sake, but Lydia wasn't giving her much incentive for that.
She gave Mal a once-over, plainly disapproving of what she saw but smiling nonetheless. "I've never been under the impression that Scott deliberately tries to be a loser, but it is kind of fascinating that you do. Right down to that fiasco only a homeless woman would call an outfit," she retorted haughtily, before flouncing away toward Allison, who'd been watching the exchange with unease.
Staring meaningfully at Mal's clenched fists, Scott asked, "Do I have to worry about you killing someone now, too?"
Mal scowled but mumbled out a, "Good luck", spinning on her heels and then joining her brother and Mrs. McCall up in the stands.
There were five minutes left in the game, and Stiles was viciously biting down on his lacrosse glove. His father and Melissa McCall were frowning, Theo's brow was deeply furrowed, and Mal was digging her nails into her thighs. Why? Because none of the other players were passing the ball to Scott.
"Is there a reason no one's letting him play?" Melissa inquired crossly, turning to Mal for answers. She'd sacrificed a shift at the hospital, after all, only to see her son's teammates excluding him as if it were just one big game of Monkey in the Middle.
"Yeah. Jackson Whittemore is a puffed up meathead," Mal replied irritably, making sure to speak loudly enough for Lydia to hear her from where she was seated two benches behind, cheering obnoxiously. "A thousand bucks says he told the rest of the team not to pass to Scott."
"Why? Doesn't being on first line give him, like, a pivotal role on the team?" Theo chimed in from Mal's other side. He was well versed in the language of swimming, not lacrosse.
"You'd think so, but that jackass obviously thinks he's talented enough to carry the whole team without Scott," she answered, directing her attention back to her friend, who was now hunched over and breathing heavily. She made brief eye contact with Stiles, but the two of them reluctantly remained where they were.
A player from the competing high school started backing away from Scott, so Mal began chewing her nails. And then gnashing her teeth when she glanced over her shoulder to find Lydia and Allison holding up a sign that read, "Jackson is #1". But this was precisely the push Scott needed.
Facing off with a member of the opposing team, the young werewolf jumped five feet in the air to snag the ball. He landed quite gracefully, masterfully dodging every rival player as he dashed across the field. Melissa bounced on her feet with pleasure, and then, Scott scored his first goal of the season. Practically every Cyclones supporter shot up from the bleachers at once, some of them applauding and some of them pumping their fists in the air. Mal whooped for joy and side-hugged Mrs. McCall while they jumped up and down together. "That's what I'm talking about!"
She could hear Stiles shout, "Yes! That's what I – what? What?", his palms facing up as he made a raise-the-roof motion. He whirled around to find her, and they grinned at each other with a tacit appreciation for how wonderfully things were panning out. Maybe everything was going to be all right.
The next goal was Scott's as well, but that was when things got weird. Not necessarily dangerous. Just weird. For reasons Mal had gathered were of the lycanthropic variety, a player on the opposing team tossed the ball directly to Scott, who ran across the field again but this time, shot the ball with such force, it tore straight through the goalie's stick pocket and into the net. Mal didn't know quite what to make of this but clapped just the same, nodding dazedly when Mrs. McCall asked, "Wh – Did you see that?"
Spectators and teammates cheered again, but tensions rose palpably at the collective realization that the two schools were now at a tie and there were mere seconds left on the clock. The referee called, "Set!", and Jackson grabbed the ball. He passed it to Scott, who hastened down the field but then took a sudden pause. No one actively pursued him, but Mal was getting antsy. "What are you doing?" she murmured, wondering whether he was able to hear her with his new powers. If he could, he made no indication of it.
Mal could tell by the way Stiles was standing – his back sort of bent and his neck visibly stiff – that he was just as agitated as she was. Looking around, she discovered that Stiles's dad had started tapping his foot, Melissa had her hands clasped together, and Theo's lips were set in a hard line. Even Lydia and Allison were on edge, the former gripping the metal bench beneath her and the latter swallowing heavily before murmuring something to herself. Mal remembered Allison telling her and Scott at the party that she'd never been to a lacrosse game before; she'd barely even known what the sport was until she'd arrived in Beacon Hills. Funnily enough, she was now as emotionally invested as the rest of the town.
With almost no time left, a few of the rival players finally took a run at Scott.
Except they were too late. Scott no longer had the ball, and the Cyclones had already won.
Bliss. The next sixty seconds were sheer bliss.
If the roar of the crowd had been loud before, it was positively deafening now. The applause intensified tenfold, and people danced in the stands. Mal briefly found herself in Mrs. McCall's warm embrace and then Theo's (which was amusing since the only sport he'd ever claimed to enjoy was swimming.) Allison was laughing gloriously, so Mal stretched on her toes to give her the most enthusiastic of high-fives. Mal, herself, mostly followed lacrosse for Scott and Stiles, but its gift for bringing the town of Beacon Hills together was kind of a beautiful thing. Not even Lydia's "We love you, Scott!" could annoy her.
Mal virtually flew out of the stands upon spotting Stiles by the bench. He was holding both of his arms as high in the air as he could and yelling, "Yes! Ha! Oh my God!"
She attacked him with a gigantic hug, her arms clasped firmly around his torso, and he tottered considerably at the impact of her slender but surprisingly powerful body. Once he recovered his footing, Stiles threw his arms around Mal and squeezed her back, strongly enough to lift her a few inches off the ground. "Victory is ours!" he proudly proclaimed, setting Mal down and beaming at her radiantly.
It became slightly difficult to breathe over the furious pounding of her heart, but in the chaos, Mal didn't think to chalk it up to anything other than post-game adrenaline. "Hell yeah!" she cried in agreement, as the crowd began filing out into the parking lot.
The pair went back for Stiles's gear, and his smile faded a touch when he sat down to retie his shoes. "I guess, technically, the victory is Scott and Jackson's, but – Dad, what's wrong?" he asked, breaking off at the sight of his father. The Sheriff was standing a few feet from them, talking on his cell phone in hushed and hurried tones to someone important. He held up a silencing finger but ended the call a minute later with a frustrated expression on his face.
Mal's eyes sparked in concern. "What's up, Sheriff?"
"It's a police matter, Mal, and you know I can't tell you about those," he replied, but it was a halfhearted reprimand, and she and Stiles could tell.
"Dad, come on," he insisted, standing up and trying to seem imposing by putting his hands on his hips. "You, of all people, should know how this works by now. I'm just gonna keep bugging you until you cave."
The Sheriff scoffed lightly but surrendered what he'd heard.
And what he'd heard was bad. Not just because the medical examiner had attributed the bite marks to a wolf, or that the police now thought the real killer was an animal, or even that the Sheriff had ID'd the dead girl as Laura Hale, Derek's older sister. Granted, none of this was good news exactly, and all of it should've alarmed Mal the way it did with Stiles – who had to sit back down on the bench to process everything – but she just stood there with her hands shoved in her coat pockets, as if that would smother the guilt that was gnawing at her.
It was instinctual, her newfound yet all-consuming conviction that Derek Hale was innocent, but what was disconcerting to Mal was that a part of her, no matter how small, had sensed it ever since her episode in the morgue.
After the Sheriff left for the station to release Derek from lockup, Mal told Stiles to find Scott and let him know what had happened, neglecting even then to mention her vision of Laura. (She wasn't quite sure what else to call it.) So he made a mad dash for the locker room, where Mrs. McCall said she'd seen her son run off, pursued by a pretty brunette she'd assumed was Allison. Mal would've gone with Stiles, but Theo was waiting for her by the parking lot.
"What's up with him?" he laughed, when Stiles raced past.
"Uh, pretty much the usual," Mal lied, smiling awkwardly. "Listen, there's something I should probably tell you, and I want you to hear it from me rather than on the news." She knew what she had to tell her brother, but she wasn't really looking forward to the conversation.
"Um, okay? What is it?" Theo asked slowly, his brow scrunching up in a mixture of fear and curiosity.
"Derek was arrested this morning," she hesitantly began. "Scott, Stiles, and I found the other half of the dead girl buried on his property, so we called Stiles's dad."
"Oh God, no…" he muttered as his head lolled back.
"We had to, Theo," she defended weakly, unable to believe this herself. "What – what else were we supposed to do?"
"Jesus, Mal," he groaned, dragging his fingers through his already disheveled hair and simply messing it up further.
"But you were right, and – and I was wrong," she admitted with difficulty, hoping Theo wouldn't give her too much of a hard time about what she was going to say next. "As it turns out, Derek's…innocent. At least of what he was taken into custody for. And I would totally get it if you're bent out of shape about it, because you two used to be friends and I – I definitely ruined that for good, but – "
" – Oh, is that it? Is that why I should be 'bent out of shape'?" he questioned sarcastically. " 'Cause I'm pretty sure I'm just pissed off that my sister keeps throwing herself into all these highly dangerous situations."
"What?" Mal asked obtusely. "What are you talking about?"
"Are you kidding me? I've been here barely two weeks, and you and your idiotic friends have somehow been dead body hunting twice. Not to mention that you got someone arrested, someone you practically ordered me to stay away from but obviously couldn't yourself! Jesus Christ, Mal! I know you're kind of dense sometimes, but to be this stupid?! It's unprecedented!" Theo ranted, growing louder with every word until he was shouting at her and visibly shaking.
Mal shrank back at his harsh tone, wounded. "I was…trying to help," she mumbled, but the sentiment didn't feel genuine. If she'd truly been trying to help, she would've told Stiles and Scott what had happened back in the morgue. She would've told them how she hadn't really blacked out but rather seen a memory of the girl's death, seen the silhouette of her killer as he lunged at the woman in wolf form, a silhouette she should've realized sooner could never have belonged to a twenty-four-year-old Derek. She should've told Stiles before he'd run off to find Scott just now. So why hadn't she?
"No, you weren't," Theo argued fiercely. "You and Stiles just get your kicks from nosing around in business that isn't yours. I told you that you were making outrageous accusations, but you didn't listen to me, and now you've ruined Derek's life because of it!"
The statement stung, and Mal was struck speechless by the truth of it. Thanks to her carelessness, Derek's reputation would forever be tarnished.
Nevertheless, Theo was causing quite a scene in the near-empty parking lot, and in the midst of all the yelling, a man had gotten out of his Chevy Tahoe and was now walking straight up to the pair of siblings. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to intrude, but is everything all right? I couldn't help but overhear," he explained, observing Mal so closely, it was unnerving.
The stranger was in his early forties and had to be someone's parent, so his concern made sense, but Mal couldn't help picking up on an almost threatening vibe coming from him. Like he didn't really care about them but rather what they were talking about. Like he wouldn't have bothered interrupting them if he hadn't found what they were discussing so interesting. "Uh, yeah, we're okay," she said without further clarification. "Right, Theo?"
"Yes, we're fine," her brother curtly replied. "Just a disagreement between siblings. Which we can work out on our own, so if you don't mind…"
The man's eyes hid their burning interest remarkably well, but his subsequent inquiry did not. "Yes, of course. I just noticed that you were talking about Derek Hale. I understand he got back to town recently?" He asked the question in a policeman-like manner, commanding but restrained. All he was missing were the badge, pen, and notepad.
Theo stared at him harshly, so Mal took it upon herself to respond. "Yeah…about two weeks back," she warily confirmed. "Do you know him?"
"His family," the man stated vaguely. "When they were alive. Such a shame they all perished in a fire like that. Tragic, really." The least perceptive person in the world would've detected the insincerity in his words; 'Tragic' was not what he'd wanted to call it. That much was transparently clear.
"Right, tragic. So…who did you come to the game for? Son on the team?" she inquired, seeking a subject change.
"Thank God, no," he laughed throatily, enjoying some private joke. "My daughter's…friend is on the team."
And right on cue, Allison popped up at his side, glaring. (Was it Mal's imagination or did she look a lot more flushed than the cold should have warranted?) "Jeez, Dad, how many of my friends do you plan on terrorizing before it's enough?" she half-teased. To Mal, she said, "He ran over Scott earlier and basically scared the crap out of him."
Mal's eyes widened significantly. Of course the idiot had avoided mentioning that he'd been hurt yet again, and by a werewolf hunter, no less. But it all made sense now. The piercing stare, the questionable inquiry, the threatening vibe. Since it was his job to purge the town of werewolves, Allison's father would profit from any details concerning Derek Hale. Mal couldn't determine whether or not he knew Derek was a werewolf, but she considered it a good thing that she didn't know very much about him apart from that, because now that he was being released, he'd have no safe place to hide. She just hoped the hunters didn't know the Hale house's location yet.
"I didn't run him over, Allison. I hit him lightly because he came out of nowhere," her dad patiently replied. "He clearly isn't injured, given his performance on the field."
Mal looked apprehensive and Theo still seemed irritated, so Allison whacked her dad's arm with the back of her hand. "Did you even introduce yourself, weirdo?"
Mal softened when the man smiled at his daughter affectionately. He turned back to her and held out a hand, which she and Theo shook politely. "Chris Argent, sorry about that. If I terrorized you," he mimicked Allison, glancing back at her amusedly, "I promise you I didn't mean to."
"Nice to meet you," Mal acknowledged respectfully, a bit more receptive than she'd been three minutes ago. "I'm Mallory."
"Theodore," her brother interjected in a clipped tone, still angry that some strange man had meddled in family business. He'd have liked to yell at Mal some more, but that no longer appeared to be an option.
"Nice to meet you both, as well. Shall we, Allison?" Mr. Argent asked, gesturing toward his car. Sternly, he reminded everyone, "None of us should be out past a police-enforced curfew."
"Yeah, sure, dad," Allison agreed with an unmistakable eye roll. "Think you can defy the law for just a few more minutes, so I can say goodbye to my friend?"
He nodded once and left her alone with Mal and Theo.
"I'm assuming you want to wait for Stiles and Scott, so I'm leaving," Theo said gruffly, smiling courteously at Allison but then stomping off to his Honda. Mal watched him leave, feeling like a chastised schoolchild. He wasn't going to forgive her soon.
"Is he…okay?" Allison inquired delicately.
"Yeah, just a tad upset with me. But I deserve it," Mal sighed sadly. She chewed on her lip for a moment but then took a restorative breath and turned to Allison with an amiable smile. "Anyway, what's up with you? What's the verdict on high school lacrosse?"
Allison giggled. Legitimately giggled. "I'm feeling pretty great about it. You know something? Number 11 isn't half-bad," she remarked with a smirk, but there was more to the compliment than she was letting on, more than just a mischievous undertone.
Mal narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Why do I feel like you aren't really talking about Scott's lacrosse skills?"
"Because I'm…kind of not…" Allison trailed off, the blush reappearing on her face as she bit her lip.
"Well, don't leave me hanging!" Mal cried eagerly, swatting the other girl's shoulder.
Allison tucked a curled locket of hair behind her ear, staring shyly and fixedly at the ground. "Mal, I don't know if I should be talking to you about this, since you're one of his best friends and all. I mean, don't get me wrong, I really like you. That's actually kind of my point. I want to be your friend, and I'm pretty sure freaking you out isn't the best way to go about that."
Mal's mouth nearly fell open. "Oh my god! You guys kissed. Oh man, you did. You totally kissed, and you totally loved it!"
Allison stepped in front of Mal to block her from her father's view, paranoid as she was that he'd never let her leave the house again if he knew. "Shhh! Not so loud!"
Mal snorted but toned down her excitement. "Sorry, I just…wow, this is awesome. I'm really happy for you!"
"Huh, I can tell," Allison whispered, sniggering for a few seconds before sobering up. "Wait, are you sure this is okay? That I'm talking to you about Scott like this? Um, romantically?"
"As long as you don't describe anything in excruciating detail, yes, absolutely," Mal permitted after a moment's contemplation, grinning toothily. "And I'll admit it helps that those plans with Lydia and Jackson got canceled."
Allison frowned. "Yeah, about that. I'm sorry we couldn't all go out together. It would've been nice to celebrate with you guys, and I really think the post-win euphoria would have been enough to neutralize everyone's…issues with each other," she remarked optimistically, hesitating to mention the antagonism between Jackson and Scott as well as Lydia and Mal. If she didn't talk about it, maybe it would cease to exist.
"I doubt it, but you're sweet for trying," Mal said genially.
"Listen, I should probably get back to my dad, but thanks for…being happy for me. It kind of means a lot," Allison praised warmly.
"That his best friend so approves?" Mal finished, hands in her pockets as she bounced on her feet with delight.
Allison's blush darkened. "Yeah."
The two girls shared a quick hug, and Mal allowed herself a moment of peaceful happiness.
Unfortunately, it wouldn't last.
A/N: Ahh, okay. Sorry for the wait! To those of you who have been following, reviewing, or even just reading "Headlights", I sincerely apologize! I've been trying to find a happy medium between schoolwork, life, and this story (which I have fallen quite in love with) and am still struggling with that. I hope this makes it kind of worth it. Incidentally, it's the longest chapter I've written, clocking in at over 10,000 words. Wow (for me, anyway).
I strongly recommend skimming over the whole story, because I made a bunch of edits, but that's your call, of course.
HUGE THANKS TO: QueenOfTheHobbits, Ayine, sugabee14, TheDysfunctional, green angel01, CupCakes24, angelskull16, and Lmv16 for reviewing. You all have truly kept me going, and your lovely comments make my day!
Follow, fave, and please review! Thanks, my pretties.
