Strange Terrain

Chapter 7 – Fight or Flight

Malia climbs into bed beside him, and he automatically rolls onto his side, his body fitting perfectly next to hers. She shifts until she's right up against him, her back against his front, his arm wrapped protectively around her waist. They both exhale, allowing their bodies to relax, to slip into the blissful oblivion of sleep.

But then Stiles starts to lose feeling in the arm he's laying on.

He's never perfected the art of spooning; there's never been a comfortable way of dealing with the arm he's laying on, and if there has been, he hasn't found it yet. Stiles tries to move it in the most subtle of ways, not wanting to disturb Malia, but after a while it becomes too much.

"What is it, Stiles?" she asks, exasperated.

"Uh…" he hesitates, unsure of whether or not to tell her that he's uncomfortable. She always looks like she is, so he never wants to make her move. But sometimes it just comes out. Especially when she starts staring him down. "It's just… my arm…"

He can practically hear Malia rolling her eyes at him as she promptly rolls over onto her other side, resting her head on his shoulder once he's turned onto his back. Stiles sighs, shutting his eyes tight and trying to will himself to get comfortable and go to sleep. But he never sleeps on his back, and even more, he's no longer in the middle of the bed, which he always used to be when he slept alone.

Everything's wrong.

Apparently, Malia can sense it and she groans. "Stiles."

"I'm fine. It's fine."

"No it isn't," she says, forcing a tired laugh. "You are so picky."

"I swear I'm not. It's just… I'm not used to sleeping with another person. But it's not your fault, like, at all. I swear. Just go to sleep." Stiles shifts again, adjusting his pillow.

"I'm not going to be able to sleep if you keep squirming like that."

"Okay, I'll stop." He makes a point to lay very still. Malia quirks a brow.

She then shakes her head, propping herself on her elbow. "Uh-uh, turn over." She orders. Stiles gives her a wary look, but her look wins as usual, and he's flipping onto his side, his back to her. She situates herself behind him, becoming the big spoon. "How's this?"

He frowns at first, not exactly happy with the arrangement. But the second he opens his mouth, he can feel himself starting to drift off. "Well, I don't know…" and his words turn into snores, and Malia smiles, burying her face in his hair.

When Stiles woke up, he was in a state of panic.

He was lying in his bed, half-naked and alone, despite the fact that he had fallen asleep with Malia right next to him. He was panicking because she could have gone out without him and gotten lost again on her way back, or worse – she could have left him for good. Gone back to New York with her family, never to return again.

Stiles shook his head, scrambling out of the bed in a tangled mess of sheets and limbs as he made his way to the door and down the hallway. He came to a halt when he reached the kitchen.

Malia looked up at him, spooning cereal out of a ceramic bowl. She was wearing one of his t-shirts. It was too big and had the Star Wars logo on it. Stiles didn't say anything as he walked into the room, grabbed a glass and filled it with water. He could feel her eyes on him the whole time.

"Look, about last night –"

"I know what you're thinking," Malia said finally. "But I still don't remember you… us. It's not for lack of trying, I swear. It's just that whenever I try to figure it all out, everything's still fuzzy. Like, really bad cable fuzzy." She managed a small laugh, looking down at her cereal. Stiles watched her for a moment, unsure of what to say.

He sighed. "I don't expect you to figure it all out right now," Stiles admitted.

"And what if I never figure it out? What if all this" – she gestured at her head – "is permanent? What if I never really remember any of it?"

Stiles didn't say anything as he took a sip of his water. He knew what he felt – that his entire world would come crashing down if she didn't remember anything about the last four years – but he couldn't tell her that. She seemed stressed enough about the whole situation, and he knew that pushing her more wouldn't help.

"Hey, let's not talk about this right now, okay? We're going to be late," Malia told him, finishing off her cereal in a few bites and setting her bowl in the sink. Stiles looked confused as she walked past him to the bedroom.

"Late for what?"

"You're getting married?"

Alana laughed, nearly choking on her glass of champagne as she rolled her eyes at Stiles. She stuck her left hand in his face and wiggled the fingers, showing off her ring. "No, I just like to throw bridal showers sometimes. Do you people out here in Cali not do that?"

Stiles shook his head. "I'm afraid we're just not as sophisticated as you New Yorkers." He smirked, looking around the room.

The bridal shower was a modest affair which took place in the ballroom of the swankiest hotel that San Diego had to offer. Once again, Stiles was in his nicest clothes and stuck in a room with Malia's family, but at least now he didn't feel as out of place as before. Her parents hadn't shown up yet, and Alana was graciously filling him in on the whole wedding thing.

Apparently, her parents were originally in California because of the wedding, and Malia's accident had just been a coincidence. Alana didn't mind; she had arranged to have the wedding pushed back until she was sure that her maid of honor would be healthy enough to participate.

Now, the wedding would be taking place in two weeks.

Yet another thing that his wife had neglected to tell him about. Once again, Stiles found himself wondering what else Malia was keeping from him.

"Oh, fuck. Don't look."

Stiles looked. Across the room, Malia's parents were greeting some of the guests, flanked by a much more dapper-looking Isaac. Stiles immediately felt his blood start to boil. Alana moved into his line of vision. "I told you not to look, dumbass."

He wasn't paying attention to her anymore. "I should talk to him."

"No, you shouldn't. There will be no drama today. This is my day."

"Alana –"

The younger Tate looked around quickly, before grabbing Scott by the arm and dragging him out of his conversation to keep Stiles company. Erica joined them, nursing a beer and looking bored. "I swear to God if you do anything stupid I will never forgive you." And then Alana put on a grin and went over to speak with her fiance.

Stiles was still glaring in Isaac's direction.

"What is she talking about?" Scott inquired.

Erica nodded towards Malia's ex-fiance. "See that guy over there? Apparently he almost married Malia once upon a time. Ever since she woke up from her coma and he showed up, it's been a shit show for Stiles."

"Thanks," Stiles said dryly.

"Anytime."

"So does that mean you finally got around to talking to Malia?"

Erica shrugged. "Yeah, we've talked. She seems to remember some things about me, which is a relief. It's a work in progress."

"Well, progress is progress, right?" Stiles offered.

She shrugged again, taking a swig of her beer. When Stiles looked back toward Isaac, the man was gone. It took him a minute before he could locate him again, and when he did, his face fell. He was with Malia now, standing too close and whispering in her ear. Stiles was torn between throwing up and wanting to punch something.

Before his friends could register what was happening, Stiles had started moving towards Isaac, blinded by his utter disgust, and caught up with him once he had moved on from Malia.

"She really is something, isn't she?" Isaac was saying, taking a swig of his drink. It smelled strongly of bourbon.

Stiles replied smoothly, "Oh yeah, Alana's great. Can you believe she's getting married to Jeremy? She's way out of his league." He laughed, shaking his head, watching Isaac out of the corner of his eye.

The blonde chuckled. "He's a lucky guy, but I wasn't talking about her," he explained. "I meant her sister Malia. We were supposed to be married once, you know? She was perfect. Incredibly hot, smart, crazy in bed… What I wouldn't do to have her again…"

Stiles snapped then, turning and punching in one swift motion. Everything happened so fast – his fist connected with Isaac's jaw once, then again; he heard gasps and glass breaking; his hand was throbbing.

As he was being pulled away from Isaac, he could have sworn he saw the guaranteed look of disappointment on Alana's face.