Firelight dances in the dark, cutting through the pitch blackness of the drafty old farmhouse. The fire crackles, casting long, pale shadows all around them. They both sit quietly, their eyes drawn in by the lulling rise and fall of the flames. Stiles blinks, having lost himself in thought for a moment. He hunches his shoulders slightly, his hair is still damp from the shower, so there is a slight chill at the back of his neck and on the tips of his ears. While the rest of him is snug and warm beneath the thick sleeping bag.

Beau shifts laying his head on his front paws, which are stretched out on Stiles' lap. The weight of the big Rottweiler half on top of him, while heavy, is actually quite a comforting presence. But it's the feel of Malia sitting so close, with her arm pressed right up against his that's more comforting than anything.

It doesn't matter that she's got the rest of herself carefully angled away from him, while they share the same blanket. What matters is that even after everything had gone wrong between them, she still came looking for him tonight. And even after she found him she refused to leave him on that bridge, even though he'd have probably deserved it if she had. No, she didn't settle until she'd brought him home.

He tilts his head to watch her from the corner of his eye.

He doesn't deserve it. He doesn't deserve her.

Lightning flashes blindingly, and the living room's bay windows appear shockingly bright for an instant before falling back into darkness. A jarring clash of thunder follows, rattling the floorboards. Beau whimpers, his whole one-hundred and ten pound body quaking with fear. Malia untucks her cool hands from beneath the sleeping bag and reaches out for Beau, soothing her hand down his neck.

"Shh—shh, it's O.K. buddy." She says in that impossibly tender voice again. Stiles loves that voice. If you'd told him back when he'd first met this fierce, beautiful coyote-girl who had just easily laid him out with one punch, that she could be like this. He never would have believed it. She had been so raw back then, all anger, confidence and rough edges. So intimidating…and tongue-tyingly gorgeous.

He didn't always understand her, especially when they first started this, but it didn't take him long to see through all that toughness. It wasn't that she'd didn't let anything touch her, it wasn't that she didn't feel anything. It was that she felt everything. She'd gone so long without having to feel anything that now her emotions were back in full force and it was overwhelming. And all that toughness was her way of coping. But it didn't take long for him to find a few cracks in her facade.

…The first time he saw a flicker of curiosity in those guarded brown eyes…the first time her voice lost it's rough edge with him, when she talked about her family, when she promised not to judge.

He watches as she squeaks Beau's toy rabbit for him and strokes his fur. The dog settles soothed by her touch, and chews on his toy. While her focus is on the dog, Stiles can't help watching her and thinking of all times she's allowed close enough to see the gaps in her armour.

…The way her cheek dimples when she laughs…how she grins at him sometimes, all teeth and bright eyes…how she sits perched on the edge of his bed, twisting her hands when she can't figure out the right words…the way she runs her hands through his hair and down his back trying to calm him after a nightmare…how she kisses him sometimes, with gentle, unhurried lips like she's got all the time in the world just to savour it.

The first time he saw her, he had no idea what she was going to mean to him. It wasn't love a first sight. She crept up on him. He never even saw her coming.

He's so caught up in watching Malia that he chuckles in surprise when Beau licks his hand. His eyes dart down to the big Rottweiler, who nudges his hand insistently. He smirks and ruffles the dog's ears.

"He isn't much of a coyote, is he?" He muses, breaking the silence. He feels Malia shift beside him and let out a long drawn out sigh.

"Not everyone is built to be a coyote, Stiles."

He lifts his head, looking to her again. She's staring down at Beau, but in the firelight he can see something sad and almost reflective in those deep brown eyes. He squints, confused. He hadn't been serious. It was just an old joke between them, back from the early days of their relationship. Back then he'd made a point of skipping class with her on the hard days and taking her to the preserve. He'd let her drag him through the woods, showing him her world, all the things she was good at, all the little tricks she'd learned to survive.

He'd been too loud, too slow and uncoordinated to keep up with her and Malia had bluntly concluded that he wouldn't survive long as a coyote. He'd scoffed at her somewhat offended, but she'd been standing above him on the crest of a hill, grinning down at him, with her hands on her hips. He remembers how he felt at the bottom of that hill, staring up at her, completely out of breath. She was in her element and she had looked so damn pleased with herself. It had been worth all the knocks to his ego getting to see her like that.

She doesn't look like that right now. Instead she's got that faraway look in her eyes as she stares at the fire. The look that tells him she isn't here with him right now, she's back in that backseat of that car at the bottom of the ravine.

It stirs up a need in him to banish that look from her eyes. He shifts toward her, suddenly feeling bold, and Beau disturbed by the movement hops down off the couch.

"Is that what you meant on the bridge?" It had been bothering him ever since she'd said it. "When you said I'm nothing like you?" Beau weaves in between the couch and the coffee table and sits at Malia's feet, resting his chin on Malia's knee.

Malia doesn't look up from the fire, she just subtly ducks her head, hunching to rest her arms on her knees, running one hand along the ruff of Beau's neck.

She blows out a breath, "…something like that."