Malia slams her bedroom door shut and tears the towel off her shoulders, hurling it away from herself. Frustration and sadness claw at her throat. She swallows hard, holding back the tears that bead at the corner of her eyes. Screwing her eyes up tight, she lets out a low shuddering growl.

Her fists clenching at her sides. Why does everything have to be so damn hard? She slumps against the door, and thumps the back of her head against it. She stays their for a moment with her eyes shut tight, as raindrops slowly trail off her clothes, her feet leaving soggy imprints in the carpet.

Then she shakes her head and pushes herself off the door. She peels off her wet clothes and yanks open her dresser drawer. Her teeth are starting to chatter as she tugs on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. She snags the towel from the floor and runs it through her hair as she moves to her closet. Pushing open her closet door, she instinctively reaches for her favourite warm shirt, that hangs with her assortment of sweaters. But her fingers falter as they close around the worn brushed-cotton sleeve.

It's his shirt. She'd had it since that night they'd spent driving back from Mexico. It had been cold in the desert after dark, and she'd been injured by a berserker, so she'd had trouble keeping warm. Everyone else was asleep in Jeep, except for Stiles who had kept casting worried glances her way as he drove. After she'd brushed off his concern more than a few times he huffed and shrugged off his thick plaid shirt, and tucked it around her. It was warm, and so soft against her skin, and his scent clung to the fabric. He must have been cold in just his t-shirt, but he'd never given a hint of discomfort. In fact the rest of the drive home, whenever his eyes would linger on her, he seemed really pleased with himself.

She had alway meant to return it. But it was just so warm and comfortable and after a long hard day, it was just so soothing to wrap herself up in it. So she'd kept it. No matter how many times she'd washed it, his scent still clung to the worn fabric. It made her feel so safe. Stiles had caught her wearing it more than a few times around her house. He'd give her this crooked little grin, and teasingly call her a "shirt-thief." He'd always joked that he'd have to steal it away from her, but he never did.

Malia lets go of the sleeve, and grabs one of her sweaters instead. She tugs the sweater over her head and hisses as it drags harshly over the goosebumps on her skin. She starts to tug her closet door closed, when she hesitates, her eyes lingering on the old plaid shirt. Stiles needs dry clothes. Malia shakes her head and slams the closet door. The selfish part of her doesn't want to give it up. She makes it about three paces away from her closet door before she stops, and clenches her eyes shut, gritting her teeth.

But it's Stiles…and he's hurting…and she can never be selfish when it comes to him.

So she spins on her heel and marches back to the closet. Thrusting open the door she yanks the shirt down off the hanger and bunches it in her fist. She's careful to shut her door on the way out. The last thing she needs is for Stiles to see her makeshift evidence board and figure out that she's been playing detective without him.

She trots down the stairs and strides into the living room. Finding the laundry basket on the couch she sorts through it finding some of her dad's clothes, a t-shirt, a pair of sweatpants and a set of thick wool socks. She gathers them into a neat pile and sets the laundry basket aside. Somewhere in the distance her cellphone buzzes. Malia tilts her head curiously, she must have left it behind, when she'd gone to find Stiles. She tracks it to the kitchen table. She raises an eyebrow when she picks it up to find that she has ten new texts.

She flicks open the last message and grins when she see's a picture that her dad has sent her of himself in front of a stock-car.

(10:00 pm)

Thanks Spitfire!

Daytona 500 is amazing. Best. Birthday. Present. Ever.

Malia feels a little bad about using his birthday gift as an excuse to get him out of town for a few days. But with the desert wolf so close she couldn't risk him being around. She had to keep him safe. She's already lost her mom and little sister, to this monster, she won't lose him to.

The next three texts are also from her dad.

(8:20 pm)

Don't forget to lock the front gate.

And don't let that boy talk you into letting him come over.

(8:42 pm)

Maybe you should stay over at Kira's or Lydia's instead?

Malia rolls her eyes, fondly. If her Dad ever found out how many dangers she dealt with on a daily basis, he'd have a heart attack.

(9:20 pm)

You sure you're O.K. at home alone?

Did you lock the front gate?

Malia snorts and shakes her head, "Yeah, Dad, I think I can handle it," she says aloud to herself, as she taps out a quick message.

(10:28 pm)

Stop obsessing. I'm fine. Have fun.

She scrolls down through her messages as she makes her way back into the living room. Her heart picks up speed when she sees a single cryptic message from Braeden's burner phone.

(9:00 pm)

I've acquired the target.

She's two days from your location.

You sure you're up for this, Kid?

Malia replies without hesitation.

(10:30 pm)

Absolutely.

(10:31 pm)

Good. I'll be in touch.

Malia grimaces as she sees that the next four messages are from Scott.

(6:00 pm)

Pack meeting. My house. In 20.

(6:52 pm)

Where r u?

(7:00 pm)

Malia?

(7:15 pm)

Is this about Stiles?

Malia grits her teeth and punches out a reply.

(10:30 pm)

After what you did to Stiles I've got nothing to say.

The last three messages were from…Theo.

(8:23 pm)

I meant what I said about Stiles.

You should stay away from him.

He's dangerous.

(8:30 pm)

I don't think you took off because of

what I said about him. I think you

took off because of what's going on

with us.

(8:34 pm)

C'mon, Malia. I know you feel it too.

Malia clenches the phone so hard in her anger that she accidentally cracks the screen. She curses under her breath and loosens her grip. Then she growls and tosses the phone away from herself before she's temped to crush it beyond recognition. It lands in the nearby laundry basket with a thunk!

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