Author's Note: I know it's been a painfully long time since I've updated this fic. My muse was just not there and I didn't want to give y'all a sloppy, half-done chapter. So to make up for it, this chapter is long. Actually, it's the longest chapter I think I've ever written, lol. I really hope y'all enjoy it. And also, I want to thank the lovely TheFlashFics94 for helping me get through writing this chapter and kick-starting my inspiration again. Love you! Check out her Scalia story, 'Whenever You're Ready' it's amazing!
Chapter Ten: When He Sees Her, It's Like Tunnel Vision
Song Inspiration: Stakes By Vancouver Sleep Clinic, Sparks By Coldplay, and We Move Lightly By Dustin O'Halloran
Malia sits Indian-style on the floor of Lydia's immaculately done room. A crystal chandelier hangs above her bed, star-lights trickling down from the ceiling, pristine white bed sheets giving off a cozy vibe, and an ivory vanity where she is currently sitting. Lydia brushes through her long, strawberry blonde hair, working the tangles out of the bottom in long strokes. Malia stares, fascinated just watching her. She remembers how the other girl used to intimidate her when she had first joined the pack. Her 5'3" stature didn't deter from her sharp tongue, glossy lips, and all around beauty that fell off of her in waves. She reminds Malia of a fairy.
Lydia catches the werecoyote watching her through the reflection in the mirror and turns to her. "Do you want me to do yours?" She asks, a peek of a smile curling in the corner of her lips. "Okay" She nods, gracing the other girl with her own toothy grin.
Malia sits between her legs and shakes her hair out of the makeshift braid she had sloppily put together before she had came over. Deciding to return the favor, she picks up two nail polish bottles, gesturing towards Lydia. "Pink or purple?" She asks, wide doe eyes making Lydia's smile grow. "Pink." She says, reaching over to her mini fridge and pulling out a bottle of red wine. She pops the cork open with a sigh. "I can tell we have things to talk about, you haven't stopped smiling since you got here. I take it things went well with Scott. Now it's time to dish all the dirty details, so drink up Tate."
Malia chuckles, taking a swig of the wine and passing it back to Lydia. Her and the banshee had never been the type of friends to paint each other's toenails, play with each other's hair, or gossip over a bottle of wine. It just wasn't them. However, Malia was feeling especially nice today after her talk with Scott. Lydia had been right, (when is she not), and now they were finally at a place that she was comfortable with opening up.
The red head starts kneading her scalp, running her fingers through her hair and starting what looked to be a fishtail braid. Malia missed braiding her hair. When she had chopped all of her hair off to her chin she hadn't realized at the time what she was giving up. Such a small thing was able to make her happy. She's been thinking about growing it out really long again.
"We kissed." Malia admits, the bubbling feeling in her chest finally overflowing until she explodes and tells Lydia.
"So now that you know that you like him, what made you realize it?"
"I think I've always known. Part of me didn't want to believe it. Giving him a chance would mean giving myself a chance to ruin it and he's been such a stable part of my life. I didn't want to lose him, ya know?" She confesses, hair forgotten as she turns to face Lydia.
"Sweetie, you could mess up a thousand times and Scott is the type of guy who would give you a thousand and one chances to fix it. There aren't many Scott McCalls in this world. So when you have him, hold on tight. Boys like that get snatched up faster than you know it."
Malia smiles softly. "I know... He's amazing."
"Someone's got it bad." Lydia laughs, making Malia blush a faint pink. When did she become such a blushing betty? She needed to reign that in, it was starting to make her look soft. She takes a pillow from off the floor and chunks it at her friend's head. And then Lydia says the one thing that brings her back to reality."But what about Kira? What if she comes back?"
Malia stills. How had she forgotten about Kira? The fiery kitsune had been one of the first people that she'd felt comfortable opening up to. She considered the girl her best friend. Her laugh used to make Malia smile, something that at one point had been hard to achieve, especially during her first few months since the transition. She would bite the heads off of anyone who got too close to her but one day Kira pulled her into her small arms when she'd found out that Malia had gotten a C+ on one of her homework assignments. But while she did love Kira, was it enough to let go of her budding feelings for Scott?
She didn't even consider what Kira would think about her feelings. Technically she still had claim to him, right? Those were the rules of the Wild Kingdom. Malia knew the rules and knew them well, living the life of survival for so long. She had made the mistake of encroaching on a mountain lion's territory once. That left her with a torn ear and a broken leg. What a bitch that was to heal. And it still left a crescent moon scar on her there and a big one on her leg. No one knew about it because she's never let anyone get that far.
While Kira may be a slight problem, she's not sure if that's the only thing holding her back. Fear of rejection sits well into her skin, stemming from the relationship she never got to have with her biological mom. If her own blood couldn't even love her, how could she possibly believe that Scott could one day? But she's getting way ahead of herself. Love is way out of her line of sight. She's known lust before, infatuation being a little bit of a reach. The feeling of never being good enough for a guy as wholesome as Scott rubbed her the wrong way. She didn't want to corrupt him. Like Lydia said, there's only so many Scott McCalls in this world.
Scott is good and kind. Malia is a little rough around the edges. Two kinds of people who simply aren't meant to be together. He's been her person for a while now, always offering her a shoulder to lean on. She has many favorites: favorite ice creams, places, and smells. Is it weird to have a favorite person? If not, Scott is it.
Her feelings for Scott were also so new and fresh, surely she could go back to the way they were, right? She'd come to realize that emotions are so fickle in humans. Her fear is falling; hard and shamelessly for her best friend and him deciding one day that he doesn't want her back.
Lydia snaps her fingers in front of the brunette's face. "Malia... where did you go? I'm sorry, I didn't mean for that to hurt you. Everything will be fine. We don't even know if Kira will ever come back. She couldn't hold onto him forever. I love her, but Scott moved on. And he's choosing you."
Deciding to let Lydia believe that Kira is the main reason for her hesitation, Malia shoots up off the ground, towering over Lydia's height. "But I can't choose him. It's not right."
"Malia..." Lydia calls, grabbing her hand and pulling her down to sit on the bed with her. "You have to know, right?"
Malia shook her head in confusion. "Know what?"
Lydia rolls her eyes and looks at her like how her Calculus teacher looks at her when she hands back her test scores. "Scott has liked you for a while now, even if he didn't realize it at the time. I'd catch his eyes wandering to you sometimes. At first I thought it was merely concern. But then I started noticing it more and it was different from how he looked at Kira, not how a friend should look at a friend." She emphasizes, looking Malia directly in the eye. "I remember the panic he felt when he found out you had been shot, it was almost frantic. He spent the rest of the night running around trying to find out where you were so he could go see you. And to you that may not seem out of the ordinary, but I've known Scott a long time. I've never seen him look so scared to lose someone like he did with you. With Allison, that was understandable. She was his first love and she died. With Kira, she was lucky enough to have not been fatally wounded. But with you, it was different. You weren't dating. You weren't as close. So why was he so worried about you?"
Malia worries her lip between her teeth as her deep brown eyes sink to the ground. She wanted him, wanted all the things he could make her feel. And she was curious of how she could make him feel, too. The intrigue crashed into her like a tidal wave, but the fear of unacceptance weighed heavier, stripping her down to the memory of her fur pelt and the lost sea of blue that swam in her eyes. Before she would have done anything to be a coyote again and now she can't think of anything lonelier.
"It's crazy when I think about it. Since meeting Scott, I've actually found myself wishing for more time. More time to adapt and to cope. I've wanted more time to get over this anxiety that swallows me every time I turn the lights off." Malia says admittedly, looking to see Lydia's reaction.
"You're afraid of the dark?"
"It's not something I like to talk about."
"But you spent so much time in the woods, surely you would have become used to it?"
"Lydia,"
Lydia bites her tongue, deciding when it's best to choose her battles. "Sorry, continue."
Malia rubs her chin. "Scott's always been there, being the most compassionate person I know even when I say something dumb or speak tactlessly. And for some reason he sees me, Lydia. Me. I can never be good enough for him. Not like Kira was. And I definitely could never measure up to the ghost of Allison." A watery smile haunts her face. "Without even knowing her, I can tell that she was indescribable. She left a hole in all of you for a long time, especially you, Lydia." She grasps her friend's porcelain skin between her sun-kissed palms as tears start to spill from the banshee's eyes. "In a way, I feel like I would be betraying her, too."
"She was... She still is. I miss her so much sometimes. And I think she would have loved you. You guys are similar in a way. Passionate, both of you loving hard." She wipes her tears. "But she was also kind and smart. And so are you. You're both fiercely loyal to a fault. I see Scott has a type." She chuckles, smoothing out her hair with her free hand. "Having had the honor to know her and to call her my best friend, I know that she loved Scott and she would want him to be happy. I have an inkling that Kira would want the same."
"Maybe you're right. I'm such a mess." Malia admonishes, running her finger over the mangled scar that splits the top of her left ear.
"You're scared." Lydia points out.
"Yeah, I am. I can't lose anybody else. I'm so tired of losing people." She sighs, the very thought of his warm brown eyes breaks her heart.
"You haven't lost me. And you don't have to lose him." She says. "Just think on it before you do anything, okay?"
"Alright, I won't make any rash decisions. At least not without talking to Scott first."
She turns the knob and walks out, all her courage falling flat against her heavy shoulders.
Making the long trek to Scott's house, she talks herself through what she'll say to him.
She lied straight to Lydia's face.
"This was a mistake."
"This just won't work."
"We have to let this go."
She winces when she reaches his street. The beautiful house now feels like an eye sore that she wishes to avoid. There's only one heart beat in the home. Melissa must not be there. That leaves her, Scott, and a bunch of white noise suffocating them. The heavy footfalls of her boots feel so loud against her ears, thunderous steps crunching the gravel against the pavement. Her eyes look up at his window and she sees his silhouette, looming and dazzling in the shadowed periphery she witnesses. He doesn't even realize she's there and she's glad that he doesn't because then she gets to watch him for a little longer. He's staring up at the moon from his rooftop, a fading trail of a crooked smile fixed against her favorite crooked jaw that has managed to swim its way into her very own crooked heart. She knows that he used to be self-conscious about it, as if it made him any less handsome. Scott oozed ruggedness and masculinity, something that drew her to him when they first laid eyes on each other from her spot on the dirt-covered ground sprawled naked and bare for his eyes to bestow her. A fire lit under her skin that day, chipping away at the dreadful cold that felt like ice in her veins.
She climbs the scaling of the brick stone, two-story house unnoticed. She had gotten good at moving silently as a coyote. Making her way up the side of the brickstone, she takes a seat beside him. His woodsy smells envelops her senses, an intimate sigh leaving her lips. "What's got you thinking so hard?" She opens with, letting him know of her presence.
His soulful brown eyes pierce her when he jumps at her voice.
Her mouth grows dry.
"Did I scare you?"
His grin widens, "Maybe a little bit." Eyes narrowing amused, "I'm just surprised to see you here."
Malia squats down next to him, bumping his shoulder along the way. "I wanted to come over and check on you."
"Did you miss me already?" He teases, eye sparkling with mischief.
She beams. "Maybe a little bit." She says, mirroring his words.
"Well to answer your question, I was thinking about you. And I kind of miss you, too." He grabs her hand hesitantly, lacing their fingers together.
"I wasn't sure when I'd see you again. I hope I didn't scare you off." His voice rattles when he admits it, a hint of nervousness in his eyes and his movements clumsy and unsure. His vulnerability is showing and it's so refreshing. Not that he's insecure, but the fact that he's not afraid to show that he cares. Malia doesn't really know what that looks like, having a guy look at you like you're something to lose. His presence bores into her and a she feels like closing the space in between them.
They sit in silence for a while.
"You're really quiet tonight, what are you thinking about?" He prods, giving her his full attention.
She looks at him but doesn't say anything.
"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." He assures her quickly, not wanting her to feel obligated to tell him. He wanted her to come to him on her own and confide in him because she wants to.
"I have something to tell you." She says, finally looking up at him with a tight-lipped smile.
Scott senses her distress, knowing what she wanted to say before she even spoke. It was getting easier to read her facial expressions. His favorite dimple didn't divot into her cheek. Her eyes didn't crinkle in the corners. And her smile doesn't reach her eyes.
"Is it about us?"
She chuckles lightly, hiding her sadness by shielding her face until she can compose herself. "Something like that." She grimaces, eye lashes fanning around her sienna orbs.
His nimble fingers draw a stray piece of hair that had escaped the braid behind her ear where his fingers draw patterns on the sensitive skin there.
He notices the crescent scar that splits the top of her left ear.
"When did that happen?"
"It happened before I knew you guys. Being a coyote, I had to run to survive and I came upon land that had already been claimed. A mountain lion took a bite out of my ear. I fought him off, the laceration I took to my back being my other secret battle scar." She explains, rolling the straps of her tank top down to expose the creamy skin that lies beneath. It is hidden well, the deep jagged scar that starts beneath her shoulder blade and trails about half way down her back. "It's hideous, I know." She doesn't stutter, but she sounds so small. Her frown is crestfallen and closed off, and he can see the wall she's built up when he doesn't say anything. It doesn't escape Scott's attention that she won't look at him now.
Scott touches the tender skin that sits stark white against her olive complexion. Malia flinches, not because of his hands, but the fact that he's seeing this side of her. And he's still willing to touch her. The many facets of Scott never cease to amaze her.
"I've never seen this before. I don't think any of the pack has." He says, looking her in the eye before drawing his eyes back to her skin. "It's strange how our old scars don't quite heal. Heightened senses and strength don't change who we are underneath it all. These little inconsistencies that are essentially an engraved part of us are the one thing we get to keep that reminds us that we're still human."
Malia nods in agreement, identifying with his explanation in a really personal way. "My long hair always covered it well. But then I decided one day that I wanted to chop it all off. I didn't want to hide anymore." She says with finality, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on edge the longer he keeps his hand there.
"How did none of us ever notice? We've seen you naked plenty of times." He says and then cringes at how that came out. He coughs awkwardly, removing his hand. He didn't want to make her uncomfortable. She moves his hand back instantly and the little action makes his heart swell.
He runs his finger over the scar with the gentleness of a caress, tracing the lines that zig-zag similarly to a lightening bolt. He moves closer to her to where his legs part around her and she sits between him, her own legs tucked up to her chin between her arms. She creates her own little bubble, easing herself into the realization that Scott is becoming familiar with a part of her that no one else has come close to experiencing. The scar isn't little. Actually, it's huge. It's rough and jagged, a deformation that shines silver in the moonlight. Scott continues making paths on the scar tissue while Malia sits there quivering like a leaf.
"Do you want me to stop?" Scott asks, sensitive as ever to the sloshing of her heart. He zeros in on her as a whole, knowing how hard this was for her to share but being honored that she trusted him enough to show him.
Malia shakes her head. "No, I've needed to do this." She asserts, swallowing the lump in her throat. Scott bends down and kisses the scar, looking up into her eyes that now fill with tears. "You never have to hide anything from me, you know. This doesn't make you any less gorgeous."
She blushes at his sentiment.
This is what he's come to find about Malia. She's authentic. She doesn't pretend to be something she's not. What's the point in sugarcoating who you are? This is him and she is her and strangely, they fit.
Scott rolls up the cotton of his sleeve. If you aren't looking close enough, you'll miss it. Against his shoulder is a flesh colored scar in the shape of a distorted oval.
Malia inspects it closer. Her fingernails trace the outline, careful not to dig into his skin and open it up. Scott is far from delicate, but Malia still worries about hurting him. "I'm assuming this has a story behind it?" Her statement coming out more as a question. Her big eyes are almost comical, the concern floating behind them.
Scott fights a smile. "When I was eight years old, my dad came home late one night. He and my mom were having problems at the time which inevitably led to their divorce. He smelled like piss and booze, his red-rimmed eyes swimming with confusion. I don't even know how he made it home that night." He whispers, taken back to the moment that his mom still doesn't know about. "My mom was working a late shift at the hospital. The sheriff offered to babysit me but I convinced my mom that I was a 'big boy' and could stay home by myself." A somber smile pulls against his lips. "I guess he thought I should have been in bed already. I watched him from the top of the stairs as he crawled up to meet me. He finally got to his feet, grabbed ahold of my arm and shook me hard." He rubs the back of his neck as the memory itches way at him. "He lost his balance and accidentally pushed me down the stairs. I remember hitting my head on the way down and something sharp piercing my shoulder. He couldn't believe what he'd done. He stumbled down the stairs, took me in his arms and just cried. He begged me not to tell my mom. He took me to a 24 hour emergency center in the town over. From that day on, I insisted that I take showers without my mom's help because I didn't want her to see what he did to me."
An influx of blue fills Malia's eyes. "Why didn't you tell Melissa, Scott? He shouldn't have gotten away with abusing you, it's not right." She bites out, anger and hate for a man she doesn't even know engulfing her.
Scott shrugs. "I had hope that one day we'd be a family again."
Malia quiets at that. She never realized how much Scott's home life paralleled her own. Single parent? Check. Having a dead beat father? Double check. Maybe they were more alike then she thought. His hand finds her cheek.
Relishing in his touch could only last so long. "Scott, we need to talk."
He takes in her rigid posture and defiant chin. "Oh no, you've got your serious face on. Either you have something really bad to tell me or... You farted." He jokes to calm his nerves.
"Scott..."
He waits patiently for her to speak.
"Scott... I-" She tries again and this time she finds the words to say. "I'm worried what Kira will think about us having feelings for each other. You guys were so good together, why do you even like me? Her and I are complete opposites and-,"
His face splits into a lopsided smile that stretches from ear to ear.
He cuts her off mid-sentence and shushes her with a kiss. His lips are so soft and warm, his heat and emotion spilling out of his mouth and into hers like a exchange of confessions where words were not needed. He pulls away but it's her who pulls him back, nails digging into his dark curls and drinking him in. She feels so good right here, wrapped up in Scott and forgetting about everything else. His blunt teeth scrapping against her bottom lip is euphoric and delicious, his skin pressed against hers so hard, the lines of their bodies blurring together until it's impossible to distinguish where his ends and hers begins.
Comeliness fills the gaps between the stars and Malia wonders how something that tastes so right could possibly be wrong.
He releases her lips, "Kira and I are at different points in our lives. We just don't fit together anymore and that's okay, it just happens sometimes. But that's besides the point. I like you, 'Lia. If I wanted to be with her or anyone else, I would be. But somehow I always find my way back to you. So if you don't want to be with me, then tell me now. But if you do, then what's really stopping you?"
"I just also seem to get in my own way. I figure that if you've loved and fallen out of love with someone as amazing as Kira, who's to say that won't happen to us?"
He kisses her palm. "I can't promise you that I'm going to feel the same way I do in this moment ten years from now, nobody can promise that. Life doesn't work that way. But what I can promise is that right now, I've never felt anything like this before." He admits. "You're different from Allison and Kira, but a good different. Before, I felt like I was living on borrowed time. But with you time slows down. I like the pace we're going."
She looks at him with so much emotion and she finds it within herself to finally let go of the control she's been clutching at and just see where things lead with Scott.
"I always thought I was the one trying to make you a little more reckless, but somehow you are the one getting me out of my shell. How did that happen?" She chuckles, falling into his arms and looking up at him with romantic eyes.
His smile outshines the moon. Her favorite crooked smile and those damn cheeky dimples. Good god, those dimples could kill her on sight.
She hops up from her spot next to him on the flat plane of the roof and dances towards the window sill. "And if we're hanging out, you know that I have dibs on the last popsicle in the freezer that I know you've secretly been saving for me." She jokes, getting up to sneak inside his house through the open window.
He follows her through the window, his bare feet touching the hardwood floor of his room. She stands near the foot of his bed before sashaying over to him after discarding her boots, an extra pep in her step.
"Oh I see, you only keep me around for my frozen delights. Typical, Tate. Real nice." He says with with mock sadness, placing his hand over his heart. "You wound me." His big brown, puppy dog eyes flash momentarily and Malia just swats him on the chest.
She rolls her eyes. "You're such a goofball. Besides, what's wrong with having both? I think you'd make an adorable werewolf freezy-pop."
He perks up at her words. "I would be pretty cute, wouldn't I?
She pats him on the cheek and ruffles his hair in a sneak attack, jumping into his arms. Her long legs wrap around his waist and her arms hang around his neck. "Yeah yeah, sure McCall. Don't go getting a big head." She winks, a teasing smile lighting up her face.
"You're beautiful," He states, the sentence coming out almost instantaneous with a collective calmness that follows. He rests his forehead against hers. "You're always beautiful."
He says it in a way that leaves no room for doubt. She blushes in his arms, something that was becoming quite the habit around him. She shrugs in his embrace, poking him in the nose with her finger, "So are you."
He laughs at that, taking her hand in his and pressing them against his chest. "You think I'm beautiful, 'Lia?" He teases.
"Why else would I be sticking around? The popsicles are to die for, but you're not too bad on the eyes, either." She whispers flirtatiously, closing the gaping hole of his mouth with her index finger. His expression is priceless. She finds new things she loves about him every day.
"It feels good to leave you speechless for once, you never stop talking." She continues to goad, poking him in the places that she knows he's ticklish.
He can't contain his laughter. "'Ugh, 'Lia. Not that, you promised you'd never use my weakness against me!" He shouts over the sound of his own laughing, trying to escape her wrath. However, Malia is quite strong so it's no easy feat.
She rubs her chin. "Well I guess I lied. Payback is a bitch, huh?" She taunts, poking him one more time before racing into the haven of his bed, the sheets and comforter acting as a shield against the onslaught of retaliation she's sure to receive.
His wolfish eyes rake over her and she lets out a breathy sigh at the heat that trickles down her thighs. "You've been a bad girl, Miss Tate." He says with a comical raise of his brows and a goofy grin, advancing on her with no where for her to hide. She jumps off the bed but he's faster, cornering her up against the bathroom door. Even with the slight lust dripping from his voice, his playful eyes still sparkle at her.
He pins her against the door, his body hovering over hers so close that she can feel the rumbles of his chest vibrating against her body.
Malia believes that she must be insane. Because if she wasn't, she wouldn't have placed her hand against his chest, raising on her tip toes until they're eye to eye. His gaze drops to her lips and hers do the same before they both look back up and meet each other head on.
"I want to kiss you." He says boldly, something that is uncharacteristic of his usual timid behavior. His eyes flash red and his lips draw a path against her collarbone, leaving scorching kisses across until his mouth collides with her shoulder. He places a small kiss there as well, fire burning her alive every where he touches.
Her fingers are shaking, itching to rip his t-shirt to shreds and give into the desire that coils in her belly. She is no stranger to sex, the feeling being the first sense of gratification she had experienced as a human by a boy with pale skin and dark hair.
Her mind flashes wildly, images of caramel eyes, inky brown hair, and mole-covered pale skin flipping though her skull like a turning page.
She gasps, the breath leaving her lungs where she falls into Scott's protective arms in the semblance of a panic attack? She's never had one of these before. But somehow she knows that is exactly what is happening. Her eyes screw shut, a word echoing through the recesses of her soul.
Stiles... Stiles... Stiles... Stiles... Stiles... Stiles... Stiles... Stiles... Stiles... Stiles... Stiles...
What the hell is a Stiles?
She... can't remember.
She's hyperventilating, praying for the oxygen to find it's way back into her lungs. She's quivering from a nonexistent cold, the chill slithering up her arms and down her legs. She keeps hearing the word ringing through her ears, causing the shallow blue of her eyes to flicker like a faulty lamp.
"'Lia, what's wrong!" Scott urges, pulling her into his arms and wrapping her up in one of his blankets. It was her favorite one that she loved to cuddle with in the middle of the night when she wasn't clinging to him beneath the sheets.
He smooths the hair out of her face, pulling her into his chest with his cheek resting against her head.
"Breathe, Malia, Breathe..." He instructs, bringing her out of his arms just enough for her to look at him. He lets out puffs of air slowly, willing her to try it. She mirrors his breathing, in and out until the creeping feeling on the back of her neck begins to subside.
Her eyes are frightened and scared. "He's all alone." She whispers, the sound of it breaking Scott's heart.
"Who is all alone?" He asks, rubbing circles on the small of her back.
"I'm not sure... But I think his name is Stiles." She divulges, wide eyes blinking back tears.
"What did you see, Malia?" He asks, curious and anxious to uncover any little piece of the ghost rider mystery that had all of their insides stirring.
"I know who was taken from us. I saw a boy: lean, pale skin, brown hair, moles covering his cheeks, a red and black plaid flannel, and he was curled up in a ball... He was crying." She croaks, tears stuck in her throat. She didn't know why she was getting so emotional. She hardly ever cried, but something tells her that this isn't the first time she's cried over this guy.
"...You think it's him?" He asks hesitantly, coaxing her into a state of comfort. Her frenzy had caught him off guard and it worried him that he may not be able to protect her the way this other person was able to. Malia believes that this guy they have forgotten was her anchor and their friend. Scott remembers the hollowing disappointment when the words had first left her mouth. It left a bitter taste on his tongue. Insecurity bleeds through his veins. Was he a monster for sullenly hoping that they never got him back?
She nods her head, holding his eyes. "I know it's him. It has to be."
Scott looks at her searchingly, digging for any lost love or waves of recognition to cross her eyes, but he finds nothing. The rock in his throat lessens and his heart loses a little less of it's nervousness. He knows he promised her that he wouldn't doubt them anymore, but how could he not when just a small piece of this stranger brought her to tears?
Malia catches on to his thoughts and turns his head to face her with the palm of her hands that caress his jaw. "Hey, don't do that. If I'm not allowed to be broody and cynical about all the ways that we could inevitably fall apart then neither can you, Scott. Him.. This, it's nothing. Yes, this guy probably meant something to me at one point, but I know what I feel for you." She confesses, jaw clenched and eyes determined.
His eyes are downcast and a frown pulls at his lips. "I don't want to lose you, 'Lia."
She pulls him into a deep kiss, pouring all her emotions into one press of lips. "You have me, Scott. You always have me."
Her head falls onto his chest and he instinctively runs his fingers through the tawny, copper-brown of her hair. "You'll always have me, too." He promises, brushing her nose with the back of his thumb. "I want to hold your hand" He says timidly, a shy brush of his fingers touching hers until he moves his hand closer to the point where they overlap. "Is this okay?"
She rubs her cheek against the back of the hand that's mingled with hers. "Yeah, this is okay. This is perfect, actually."
"Now the real question is, are you okay?" He counters.
There's no point in lying, he could detect the uptick of her heart the moment she even considered not telling the truth.
She scrunches her nose and her eyebrows knit together. "No, I'm not okay. But I will be." Assurance radiating in her tone, she lets go of his hand and racing over to his closet and emerges with an armful of blankets and pillows.
"Will you build a fort with me? I need an escape from reality." She pleads, her bottom lip jutting out adorably and her almond brown eyes pleading him.
His eyes narrow, "Fort... And we share the freezy pop. And I get to pick the movie."
She sticks out her tongue. "Geez, and just when I was starting to think that you were a gentleman, McCall." She gabs at him, blatantly throwing off her tank top and shorts in simple, unabashed Malia fashion. There she stands with her wild hair in a disarray around her, half naked in only her bra and underwear and giving him a view of her long, tan legs that go on for miles. She's so untamed in her beauty, her hair a mess of browns and golds that he pictures sticking wildflowers in after an afternoon in the rain. Her lips taste like cherry cola and her eyes are the warmest brown he's ever known. Her feral nature tended to scare others off, but to Scott it only enhanced her unruly spirit. Those who fear her either don't know her or left her with a reason to be feared. At one point he might have thought the same thing, but now he only sees her as a girl. The girl he is determined to call his.
"I am a gentleman." He quips, a cheeky smile resting on his face.
He covers his eyes with his hand while peeking through the slips of his fingers, proving her point when she catches him looking. But she doesn't mind, she knows it's all innocent fun. Like he said, they've all seen her naked at one point or another. But this time his eyes are only for her and the thought spurs her own form of torture by intentionally dressing slower.
He catching flashes of taut, olive skin glowing faintly under the tempered, warm light that halos his room. The low light makes for an intimate setting, while also having something to do with one of his faded hoodies Malia throws over her head before stepping into a pair of his boxers. He loves the sight of her in his clothes. It brings out a possessiveness in him that he didn't even know he was capable of. But he can't help it. He revels in the way his smell clings to her skin, imprinting her for all surrounding supernaturals and hormonal boys to know that she's spoken for. Whether officially or not isn't important.
Her gorgeous thighs flex against the fabric of his boxers, her vanilla and honeysuckle aroma encircling the two of them when she plops down in his lap unexpectedly.
"So what are we watching?
"How does 'The Body Guard' sound?" He asks, already knowing the answer.
"That's a hell yes from me! You know that's my favorite movie. I just thought you'd get tired of watching it with me for the thousandth time" She snickers, clapping her hands together excitedly.
"I could never get tired of you." He smiles, watching her own slant across her face.
She rolls her eyes. "I was talking about the movie, dumbass."
"I know." He smirks, spooning her from behind. She hums in approval.
"Is this why you like me?" Scott laughs.
"I guess I have a weakness for the heroes. Kevin Costner is still a babe at 62 years old."
Her off-handed comment makes him laugh. He loves how she just says what's on her mind.
"So then you like me because you think I'm a hero?" He clarifies, waiting for her answer.
"No, just because you're Scott." Is all she gives, a soft grin carving into the corners of her mouth until the lone dimple on her left cheek caves in.
And just like every time before this one, her endless brown eyes drink him in, her familiar lips easing into their home that's nestled in the crevice of her cheeks. Not even the sun could hold a flame to her in this element.
They build the fort, blankets flying while landing on Scott's head a few too many times for his liking which of course leads to a pillow fight war. When they settle down, she cuddles into his side, the multi-colored quilts and throws littering the floor and laid across their bodies.
"I'm surprised you let me be the big spoon." He chuckles, only laughing harder at the little growl that animates from her throat.
"I thought I'd let you keep your masculinity for tonight. But for tonight only." She warns, pointing a finger at him before snuggling deeper into his body. Her hand lays against his chest and his chin rests against her head. This was all they ever really needed.
Malia begins thinking.
"Do you ever think about what your life would be like if you had never became the True Alpha? Then again I guess that wouldn't really be an option because you're not a killer. If anyone deserves the title of True Alpha, it's you."
Scott squishes her cheeks together until her lips resemble a little fish and he rubs his nose against her cute little button one, making her giggle. "I'm not perfect, but I don't believe that my supernatural anatomy has to determine whether I'm a killer or not. He explains, but the part about killing sticks to Malia's brain.
She's killed before and part of her is afraid that one day she'll kill again. Some days she lays in bed and finds herself paralyzed underneath the weight of her guilt and loss. Every bad thing that she has ever done crushes her until she can't breathe.
Scott can smell her sadness and looks down to ask what's wrong, but her eyes beg him not to. So he complies with her wishes for now, wondering what had brought on the stench of hopelessness that cocooned around her more so than the blanket she's currently tangled in.
"We need to talk to Lydia and the rest of the pack in the morning about what I saw." She yawns sleepily, moving to her side of the fortress and getting in a comfortable position.
"OK, yeah. We'll call them tomorrow and schedule a pack meeting here."
"Hey Scott... Do you mind keeping the bathroom light on?" She murmurs, exhaustion overtaking her. "I usually have the hall light on back at my house... But I understand if you can't sleep with it on. She says self consciously.
"Sure 'Lia, I don't mind. Is everything alright?"
She screws her eyes shut. "Yeah. I just can't fall asleep in the dark, sometimes. I get really bad insomnia most nights, but some nights are fine. When it's bad, I have nightmares of the night that I killed my mom and Kylie. Other times it's of the Desert Wolf hunting me down. And once or twice a month it's memories of my dad setting out traps in the woods to capture and shoot me...
She decided to get up and go smoke a cigarette on his balcony. The nicotine on her lips calms the noise inside her head so Scott can't find it in him to ask her to quit the addictive cancer sticks. Her side profile is all that is seen with the moon's iridescent light hitting her just perfectly. Her hair is mussed and her cheeks flushed, a tantalizing combination that makes her appear soft and ethereal. It's amazing all the things you can find in a person when they don't know that you are looking. She takes a long pull from the cigarette, the smoke making her eyes hazy and red. She takes one more drag and then puts it out on the ash tray he had invested in since she was over so often. Even with the nicotine hum that lulls her body to a restful mood, he can still see that she's agitated. She climbs back into the pillows and blankets, resting her head against his abdomen.
Scott wishes he could absorb the pain out of her. He loses track of how long he just lays there with her in his arms, waiting for her to fall asleep. He wouldn't get a wink of sleep until he knew that she was, too. This hands travel along the column of her spine as he feels her shiver beside him. He wants so badly to climb inside her body and fix whatever is tarnished. Too many horrible things have happened to the girl in his arms and the revelation makes him want to scream at the world, why her? Why must the girl with an abundance of love and life to give be the one who wears brokenness on her sleeve? Why do the loveliest, fiercest souls find the littlest happiness?
Her quiet snores fill the room and he feels her reach out and grab his hand underneath the sheets.
"Good night." He leans down and kisses her forehead, laying down on his side with her hand in his grasp before the temptation of sleep pulls him under.
Waking to the sound of his phone going off, Scott rubs the sleep out of her eyes and rolls over to the night stand. He reaches for his phone but it pulled back by the firm grip Malia has on his hand. Her eyes are still closed but a small smile plays on her lips, making him wonder what she could be thinking about.
He can't help staring at her. In his house. In his room. In his bed. Who would of ever known that this is where they would end up?
He checks his phone with his free hand, surprised at the name that flits across the screen.
Derek Hale
"I'm in town. You and the pack meet me at my old apartment in 30 mins. I have a few surprise guests along with me." -D
The cryptic message leaves Scott reeling. Derek's back in town, that's awesome. But who are the people he brought along? He sends out a few texts, one to Lydia, another to Liam and Mason, and lastly one to Parrish and Argent. He's sure they can take Liam and Mason can handle spreading the word to Hayden and Corey.
The pack assembles in front of Derek's place. Malia had left his house that morning to change and take a shower. She left in one of his button up shirts that it two sizes too big for her and a pair of his jogging pants. Once again, she looked so cute in his clothes.
They barge right into the abandoned building figuring that Derek had left the place to Scott anyways in case of emergencies.
Derek appears around the corner, dark and broody as ever, but a ghost of a smile passing his face. He had really missed everyone. Braedan stands by his side, the hunter decked out in all black and an assortment of guns at her disposal. They stand hand in hand, softly leaning into each other. Everyone in the room smiles, glad that Derek had finally found someone who makes him happy. He always did have tragic luck with women. The two are a great pair, Scott finding himself missing the dark-skinned woman more than he realized.
Malia rushes in late, bounding through in her combat boots and shorts, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. She stands breathless, her hair whipping around her head in slow motion like in those cheesy action movies. Her brown eyes assess the room, scanning every nook and cranny for a sign of danger. Her eyes find Braedan and Derek standing near the couch and she runs over to pull them into her arms, Braedan first and then moving over to Derek. Scott knows how close her and the other woman had gotten. He's pretty sure they'd kept in contact through letters and sparse phone calls throughout Braedan's travels.
"Easy there coyote, I'm still breakable." Braedan grins, squeezing the werecoyote into a hug.
Malia turns to Derek and she grins sheepishly. Derek's eyebrows raise and his small smile stretches out wider. He may not have gotten to spend much time getting to know her, but he really did miss her. "Geez, I'd thought you'd forgotten about me all wrapped up in Braedan. You'd think she was your girlfriend instead of mine." He whines, pulling Malia into a deep hug and ruffling her affectionately much to her chagrin. Regardless, she was happy to see them.
He looks her up in down, pride swelling in his chest. "You've really grown into a woman, Malia. I'm sorry I missed it." He says earnestly, hoping that she forgave him. He had brought a surprise for her.
Malia looks at Derek through her lashes. "It was never you're job to take care of me, but you looked out for me anyways... In you're own way. I'm just happy you're here now." She says honestly, no resentment or malice in her tone.
Derek stops. "Well I'm glad you feel that way because I brought a couple people home with me for you to meet."
The pack turns to face the sound of footsteps rounding the corner. In the shadows cast upon the room, none other than Cora Hale and Jackson Whittemore show themselves.
Lydia gasps when her old flame appears in front of her for the first time in years. She hates how after all this time he still manages to have an effect on her. Her heart stumbles from her chest cavity and gets stuck in her throat, remembering a time when all she saw was him.
She steadies her voice. "Jackson, what are you doing here? I thought you were in London?"
An awkward yet nostalgic smile lights up Jackson's face. "Hello Lydia, it's been a long time. You all may be wondering why I'm here and some probably wondering who I am. I guess I'll just let Derek explain."
Derek steps forward, commanding everyone's attention. "As most of you know, Cora is my little sister." He looks towards Malia. "She's your cousin, Malia." He acknowledges, giving each of them a look.
Malia takes in the woman before her. They shared some striking similarities: Dark features, bronzed skin, thick messy eyebrows, and full pink lips. Her eyes resemble the same chocolate brown as her own and a quiet presence circles around her. Malia can tell that she's not a girl of many words, but when she does speak, you better listen.
The Hale girl takes a tentative move to come closer, asking permission with her eyes.
Malia nods, stepping closer as well.
"So you're my family, huh? And here I thought I was stuck with just Derek." She laughs, trying to initiate conversation.
The dark beauty smirks, "I couldn't just leave you alone with him." Derek balks at her response. "I've heard a lot about you. I look forward to getting to know more. I can smell the Hale on you, cousin. And I hear that you're the stubborn type." She smiles, not one who is usually up for pleasantries. She leans into Malia's ear, "I can already tell that we'll get along fine."
Scott joins in on the good nature of the room. "How have you been, Jackson?" He questions amiably. They may have started off on the wrong foot, but everyone deserves a second chance. It seems like the reformed bad guy has turned over a new leaf. And if Malia wants him in her life, he's happy that he's here.
Jackson starts. "Hey McCall, long time no see. Does your mom still do all the grocery shopping?"
Scott chuckles at the inside joke from sophomore year. Jackson had confronted him and asked him "where he gets his juice" if he recalls correctly. Seeing the other boy was nostalgic and reminds him of simpler times when all of his friends were still alive.
"Am I sensing a past bromance?" Malia suggests, looking between the two of them casually.
They both chuckle at her question. "Not exactly." Jackson replies.
Derek intercepts the conversation and steers it back on topic. "Jackson was in London, he didn't lie about that. During that time he decided to take an offer from his school to do a study abroad program in South America. That's where he met Cora." He pauses, making sure everyone is following along, he hates repeating himself. "They met in one of the surrounding villages. Cora had made a home there once she left Beacon Hills and they came across each other in an old shop known for housing some ancient relics. Cora had been tipped off by an anonymous letter that there was a last lone Hale alive somewhere in the world. I sent her Talia's claws when I left town as a memento of our mother. She told me about the letter and I figured that they could help her locate our last family member the same way we found Malia. The owner of the shop was a Banshee... Like Lydia." He says, casting his eyes in strawberry blonde's direction. The old woman was able to uncover the missing pieces of information about our family tree that died with my mother. The Banshee was skilled in the art of drawing. She was able to sketch a life-like picture of what the last Hale looked like." He gestures to Jackson. "And that's when she found Jackson listening in around the corner. It was like fate."
Lydia can't wrap her head around the information that she's hearing. Before she can ask the question that everyone in the room is wondering, Scott beats her to it. "You're saying that Jackson is a Hale?"
Derek clears his throat. "That's exactly what I'm saying. But there's more to the story."
"What else could there be?" Liam steps in, eyeing the stranger with peeked interest.
Derek faces Malia. "He's also your brother, Malia... Your twin." He reveals, watching as her stoic expression crumbles and a thousand of emotions bleed into her eyes.
"-what?" She gasps. She's never felt more vulnerable. "So I not only have a cousin... But I have a brother?" She covers her mouth in shock. Happiness and curiosity heighten in her face, but surprise resonates above the rest. "How is that possible?"
Her stance is so fragile. She looks like she could cave in on herself at any moment, but she fights back to urge to crack under the pressure. Scott wants to pull the panic out of her. He can see how unnerved she is, not used to being left out of the loop. With eyes full of fear, she looks between Derek, Jackson, and Cora, waiting for someone to explain. She's afraid to feel anything for this group of people who are the only family she has left. Her dad is still around, but he doesn't know her. Not the real her, at least. God knows what he thinks she's always up to, most likely getting into trouble which actually isn't too far off. Just not the same trouble he's probably thinking. Or he may not care at all seeing as he's never home. She looks at all their faces, especially Jackson, and she can see the uncanny resemblance.
She finds herself slowly starting to love people the more and more she lets others in and the thought of losing them is too much for her to bear. Malia always thought of herself as a catalyst for death, her loved ones dropping like flies around her. Her very existence exudes death and pain and she doesn't want to drag anyone else down with her.
Cora puts her hand on her shoulder. "The older Banshee was able to see the strings that tie all of us together. Lydia was able to discover you when her voice thrusts my mother's claws into that very spot." She says, pointing to the deep indention that mars the stone pillar across the room. "But Talia covered her tracks... Sort of. She made sure that if one twin was ever found, the other one would be hidden. She befriended a few herbalists and witches in her time. She wanted to make sure that at least one of you survived, it was her dying wish to Derek."
"So you knew about me having a twin?" Malia growls, invading his personal space. "Why! Why would you keep that from me?" Her snarls echo through the room and Scott moves to calm her. His hand around her shoulders lessens her hostility, but she can still feel it snapping against her spine. She gives him an appreciative look.
Derek understands her anger and raises to defend himself. "I didn't know about there being two of you at first. Talia loved to speak in riddles and I finally figured out what she had meant not too long ago. She spoke of two, but Lydia was only able to uncover you. I thought it must have been a misunderstanding." He explains. "Besides, who would of thought it was Jackson Whittemore of all people? He was under my nose all this time and I finally realized why he didn't turn into a werecoyote such as yourself when I initially bite him. Talia had to decide. She was dying and only had time to save one of you, so she picked a baby at birth, putting a repressive curse on one child so that the werecoyote gene wouldn't be activated until the time was right. That's why Jackson became a Kanima first. It was a transitioning or "holding" period until it was time for him to embrace who he is. There was no way of me knowing that he was a Hale from the start. But in a way I feel like I should have known, he holds a lot of the same mannerisms as Peter." He cringes, looking back at an insulted Jackson. "No offense, buddy." He snarks, gracing the other boy with a shit-eating grin.
"Why would she want to hide one of our powers?" Malia questions.
"So the Desert Wolf couldn't get her hands on both of you."
Malia's breathing evens out, realizing how dumb she was. Of course Derek wouldn't do keep anything from her. She just had so many trust and anger issues that she didn't know what to do with.
Suddenly the thought hits her. "The Desert Wolf? So we have the same mom, but that doesn't explain the dad part that makes us both Hales. What am I missing here? And who's Peter?"
Derek stills, confusion masking the worry in his facial features. He lets out a dimmed chuckle, "I mean I know Peter isn't exactly anyone's favorite person, but he's still your father, Malia."
Malia's eyes grow wider. "Excuse me, what?" She spews out, dubiety coloring her tone.
Cora, Jackson, and Derek look at her strangely. She doesn't like it one bit. "Peter Hale: murderer, the original Alpha... V-neck extraordinaire? Cora checks off sarcastically, failing to hide her disgust at the v-neck part. She always hated those shirts.
And she never could get over how he killed Laura in cold blood, accident or not.
"Scott, help me out here." Cora grips, gesturing at him to say something.
"I don't know what you guys want me to say... I don't know this Peter guy either."
The three Hales look lost for words.
Braedan speaks up. "Peter Hale turned you Scott, he's your sire... How could you forget?"
With those words, something inside of Scott snaps, a set of distilled images whipping past his eyes like a movie.
He was bitten. He made first line on the lacrosse team. Allison. Pack. Becoming an Alpha...Stiles?
"It's the ghost riders... they didn't just take one person. Who knows how many people we've forgotten?" Lydia supplies, a foreboding eeriness taking over her tone. Her eyes are hollow and empty, looking in on a moment that the rest of them can't see. Parrish cups her cheek. "Are you okay, Lydia?"
Jackson's eyes narrow at the exchange. "So why can we remember Peter and the rest of you guys can't? It can't be because of a familial connection, I mean we all hate the guy just as much as the rest of you and Malia doesn't remember him either."
Braedan butts in. "Maybe the memory loss just hasn't taken affect yet. We've been on the other side of the world, the memory loss might not have spread that far yet."
Derek takes hold of Malia's arm. "Peter Hale is your father and Cora and I's Uncle. When he and the Desert Wolf got together, they found out they were having twins. When she gave birth, her power passed down and was split in between you and Jackson. But since she only knows about you, she thinks that it was you who sucked out all of her power, when in reality you only inherited a small portion of it. That's why she's so angry and wants to kill you. My mother took her and Peter's memories and that's why they were never able to find you. Peter was none the wiser, but the Corrine was smarter than that. Her power was gone and she knew there was only one way that could be, by having children. She found an ally that helped her recover her memories, but not all of it. She has no idea Jackson even exists."
The news reaches Malia's ears but all she hears is the white noise. A ring beats against her eardrums and her heart matches it's rhythm. Her hard eyes turn to Jackson. "So you're the reason she only came after me and my family. Why did you get to have a good life and I had to fend for myself?" She fumes, hitting Jackson hard across the face. He flinches at the contact but doesn't make a move to stop her. "I lost my family because of you. At least if she was hunting both of us I could have had more time with them. You smell of Calvin Klein and fresh money, you've obviously been well taken care of. So tell me brother dearest, why is your life worth more than mine?" She seethes, her face two inches from his and her jaw clenched to stop the guttural scream from leaving her mouth. Angry tears drip down her face and Jackson is at a loss of what to say. He found out that he had a sister and then he learned that she had suffered because of him. And how did he spend that life blissful ignorance? Being mad at the world for reasons he doesn't even remember anymore and fucking up every good thing that ever came his way. His eyes spy Lydia over Malia's shoulder. She stares back and then break contact, leaning into Parrish. Malia makes a lung for him with the intent of hurting him. She felt it was only fair to avenge the life that she gave up for him.
Cora tries to pull her off but Malia snaps her canines in her direction, warning her to stand down. Her eyes bleed a chilled blue and Malia has never felt so much rage in her life. Jackson will always be the walking reminder that her family is dead and that it's his fault they died so soon. She gains a brother and loses him all at once.
Scott goes to comfort her. "Don't touch me, Scott!" She cries. Hurt flashes across his face but she's too busy drowning in her pain to care.
He tries again. "Malia, let me help you." He pleads, reaching out to her.
She stares at his hand with glossy tears welling in her eyes. "You can't help me, Scott. No one can."
"What if I said that I remembered something about Stiles." He suggests, hoping that her curiosity will outweigh her grief.
"Oh yeah, where is that spaze?" Derek speaks up, a seeping fondness evident in his voice. But if anyone so dared to call him out on it he'd kill them.
Malia pushes her anger to the backburner for the moment. "Wait, you know Stiles?"
"Who is Stiles?" Lydia, Liam, Hayden, Mason, and Corey shout simultaneously.
Malia groans. "I had a weird memory of him. He's the one we've been looking for, the one who walks Lydia to class, is my anchor, and Scott's best friend."
"How do you know he was my best friend?" Scott asks doubtfully.
"Because you said so, yourself. You were drawn to a locker... Maybe it belonged to him. You said you heard the words, 'Scott, you are my brother.', what else could that mean?"
Scott runs a hand over his tired eyes. "I suppose it's possible. Any of you guys want to fill in the gaps?" He encourages, gesturing to the three Hales and Braedan.
Derek rolls his eyes. "He was with you when you stumbled into the woods that night. You were looking for a body... Who happened to be my dead sister. He was with you when you were bitten. You've known each other since the 1st grade, I think he once said you guys met in the sandbox." He smiles, remembering how animated of a person Stiles was. His limbs always flying around chaotically, a sarcastic sentence on his lips and way too many flannels. "He was the closest thing you had to a brother."
The knot in Scott's stomach tightens at Derek's words, ringing true through his soul. He knows in his heart that his former mentor isn't lying.
The lights flicker on and off. A radio buzz electrifies the air, the crackling and sizzling causing everyone to quiet. The hum tingles throughout their bodies before lightening strikes outside the window. The sound of hoofs can be heard in the distance...
Low rumbled growls set off a cacophony of sounds from the werewolves in the room.
They're here.
Then men on horses appear out of thin air, lassos whipping at the air and letting out a hiss at the impact. "Everyone, get out of here!" Scott roars, face transforming into a creature of the night. His fur erupts from his flesh, veiny red eyes overshadowing the warm brown. Claws split from his fingers and his back arches in a howl. Derek, Cora, Jackson, Liam, Hayden, and Malia all have similar reactions. A plethora of multi-colored eyes scan the surroundings, deciding which ghost rider to go for first. Braedan has Argent at her flank, spitting bullets from their loaded guns. The heavy machinery lets out a harsh whistle, the tiny steel pieces having little to no effect on the men and horses.
Lydia's ear-splitting scream works to their advantage, knocking a few of them off balance.
One rider whips out his lasso and aims it into the group.
He hears her cry before he sees her fall.
Malia.
Author's Note: You guys still with me? Leave a comment in the review box and let me know what you thought about the reveals in this chapter. I hope it was exciting and fun to read. The scalia was so great to write again. Are y'all liking where the plot is going? Are y'all happy that Cora and Jackson are back?Reviews make me update faster! Love you guys! Xoxo, Etherealmindss.