There isn't any self-pity in her voice, it's just soft and matter of fact. It riles him, he wants to argue with her. Part of him wants to seize her by the shoulders and shake her till she listens to him. The rest of him just wants to pull her into his arms and whisper to her every good and decent thing he's ever seen her do.
Stiles clenches a fistful of the upholstery on the armrest to keep himself from doing either. He could fill his evidence board with proof to contradict everything she thinks about herself. But nothing he can do or say will ever change how she feels about the accident.
It's one wound that she'll never let heal.
He shifts forward in his seat, tilting his head to the side to watch her. She's perched on the edge of the couch now, staring into the flames, with beau sunk down on her feet. When she'd moved the sleeping bag had slipped down off of her. She must be cold, because she's unconsciously rubbing at her arms.
Stiles tugs the sleeping bag off his lap and shifts closer to her. She lifts her head, her eyes flitting to his as he moves closer. She raises an eyebrow at him, but he ignores her. He unfurls the sleeping bag around her back, and gathers it around her shoulders.
Malia makes no move to stop him, just appraises him cautiously with those big caramel brown eyes. The desire to touch her, comfort her is so pressing that he can't resist reaching up to brush the hair out of her eyes, as he tucks the sleeping bag up around her neck. It's a fleeting touch but Malia's eyes fall closed when his hand lingers there for a second longer than it should. As her eyes flutter back open he slowly retracts his hand, and shifts back to his side of the couch. He clears his throat and looks down at his hands.
"I know you too, y'know, and no matter what you think, what happened in that accident doesn't make you a killer."
"It's not just what I've done, it's what I'm capable of…it's part of me, Stiles, it's in my nature."
"I think I'm somewhat of an expert when it comes to you and your nature," he says softly, his eyes flicking back to hers, "and it's never hurt me."
"Maybe its just a matter of time before it does."
Stiles shakes his head, "You'd never hurt me." He says with conviction.
"How can you know that?"
"Pfft—I've got a thousand reasons, you want 'em listed chronologically or alphabetically?"
Malia brushes the sleeping bag off of her and moves off the couch, "Stiles," she says tiredly, "just stop. Forget I said anything."
Stiles has to look away from her for a second and bite his tongue to keep from arguing with her. When his eyes cut back to her, he finds her crouched down by the fire. She brushes the mesh spark curtain aside with a log and pokes at the fire with it kicking up sparks. Stiles leans forward, clasping his hands in front of himself, as he watches her fuss with the fire. The curve of her face is gilded by firelight and Stiles tilts his head as he watches her, mesmerized, she's so damn beautiful.
She tosses a few more pieces of wood on the fire and it crackles as the flames climb higher. Bawling up her sleeve she grips the mesh screen's handle and tugs it closed.
His throat clenches, words clawing at his throat, "My best friend didn't have any trouble believing, Theo." he finally says in a low strangled voice. Malia lifts her head to look at him. "You never did." She slides backward sitting on the edge of the stone hearth with her back to the fire. "Even after I hurt you, and after I gave you every reason to stop believing in me, you never did."
She looks down, and knots her fingers in the cuffs of her sweater. "Yeah, well Scott's never slept with you."
Stiles blinks, startled, "Uh…what does that have to do with this?"
Malia's lips twitch upward slightly, "Not what I meant, dumbass. I meant your nightmares, ruthless killers don't usually have night terrors about what they've done."
Stiles looks down and picks at his fingers, "You, uh," he says, when his eyes dart up to meet hers. "You get nightmares too."
Malia sighs and crosses her arms, shrugging, "Yeah, well that's different. Those are about Lindsay and my mom. If someone came at me and I had to put them down I can guarantee you that I wouldn't lose an hour of sleep over it."
Stiles blows out a breath, his lips twisting to one side. She's so damn tough sometimes. Lightning flares in the window again, the answering thunder is a quiet grumble in the distance. His eyes dart to Beau, whose stretched out of the floor, sleeping undisturbed. He sighs, relieved and when he looks back up he finds Malia watching him. His heart picks up speed, he looks down for a second, before his eyes flick back to hers. She's still staring at him steadily, with an inscrutable expression.
Stiles cocks his head to the side and watches her right back. The firelight dances filling the space between them with flickering light. As the wind dies down outside all Stiles can hear is the rush of the rain, and the pounding of his own heart in his ears.
Malia looks away first. She tilts her head to the window, watching the flashes of lightning in the distance. Stiles rubs his sweaty palms on the knees of his jeans and tries not to let his eyes linger on her anymore.
It's not a good idea. He's already hurt her enough.
It's quiet for a long time between them with nothing but the pelting of the rain and the crackling of the fire.
Her eyes are still pointed at the window when she breaks the silence, "Can I ask you something about what happened to you that night?"
His mouth falls open, but no words come. Thunder booms giving him a slight reprieve from answering her.
Malia chews on her lip, "It's just something I need to know," she presses.
Stiles hesitates looking down, his jaw tensing, but he nods his consent anyway.
"He attacked you the night I left you in the library, didn't he?"
Stiles swallows and nods his head, "He caught up with me in the parking lot…the jeep had stalled."
Malia tenses, her eyes falling downward, "I never should've have left you there."
Stiles shifts forward in his seat, shaking his head at her, "You couldn't have known what was going to happen."
Malia's eyes dart to him, "That school is a deathtrap, and I just left you there." She snaps.
"What happened to me wasn't you fault." He insists.
"All I could think about that night was Tracy."
His lips part, ready to argue with her when his brain finally catches up with what she'd just said, and he goes very still. Malia doesn't usually just come out and say these things. He knew that Tracy being killed had really shaken her up, and he'd been trying to get her to open up about it with him for weeks. But then Donovan had attacked him, and he'd been too anxious and guilty to think about anything other than keeping his secret.
"When I tracked her down, I didn't care what Scott said, I was out for blood. She'd attacked us, left us vulnerable I was ready to put her down. We fought and then I had her, I had my knee right there on her throat and I could've killed her, it would have been easy. But then I looked at her, really looked at her…and all I could see was this scared kid. I let her go. I talked to her, and she heard me, y'know. And for a second I thought—I thought I could save her. Then the dread doctors came through the walls. I tried to stop it, but they had me pinned. They made me watch her die. I couldn't stop it, I couldn't save her."
"Mal," he rasps, wanting nothing more than to reach out to her. "There's nothing you could've done."
Malia brushes a hand across her mouth and leans forward clasping her hands in front of herself. "I was thinking about that when I should've been with you…I should have been there protecting you. If I was there then I would have been the one to kill Donovan and then none of this would be happening to you."
Stiles shakes his head and rises up, moving to crouch in front of her by the fire and reaches out to touch the hand on her knee. "Hey, none of this is your fault," he insists, "Donovan was coming for me, if it wasn't that night, then it would have been the next. You don't get to feel guilty for this, this is my fault."
"Survival costs you something. I had to learn that a long time ago. I wish I could've protected you from that." She says slipping her hand out from beneath his and brushing at her nose with the back of her hand. Stiles doesn't drop his hand, he just lets it settle warmly across her knee. Malia's throat clenches and she swallows hard, "I never wanted you to have to understand…I never wanted you to have to be a coyote, Stiles."
His mouth goes dry as he watches her, his lips parting to say something but he can't form words. Malia just watches him with those sad brown eyes and reaches out to touch him. His eyes close for a second as her small hand cups his shoulder, right above where the gauze bandage lies beneath his shirt.
"Whatever else you might think about yourself," she whispers, his eyes blink open to watch her. "That night you were brave and fast and smart, that's what kept you alive. You don't ever have to be ashamed of that."
Stiles drops his eyes, swallowing hard. Malia's thumb drags soothingly back and forth over top of the bandage on his shoulder. He lets out a shuddery breath, stifling tears as his eyes flick back to hers. She's looking at him so gently. He doesn't deserve that look in her eyes. He licks his lips trying to form words. Then something shifts in Malia's eyes and she lifts her head tilting it slightly, listening.
Stiles blinks, confused then he hears it to, it's the faint hum of electricity. The lamp on the side-table by the couch, suddenly flickers back to life, brightening a corner of the living room with a soft pool of light. The yard light flares against the window, cutting through the darkness and illuminating the rain.
Malia's eyes flick back to him and she lets her hand slip down off his shoulder. A few seconds later, Stiles lets his slide down off her knee and clears his throat, rocking back on his heels.
"The worst of it must be over," Malia says as her eyes dart back to the window. Stiles nods and rises up from his haunches and sits down on the edge of the hearth with her. Stiles keeps his head down, toying with his fingers, resisting looking Malia's way.
Malia rubs her hands on the knees of her sweatpants awkwardly, after a moment she rises up, moving away from the hearth. "I should let you get some rest." She says turning back to face him.
Stiles picks at his fingers, before meeting her eyes, "O.K."
She nods folding her arms, "Will you be alright? Do you want more blankets or pillows?" She asks, gesturing toward the couch.
Stiles shakes his head. "I'll be alright, thanks."
Her eyes dart away and she nods again to herself, "O.K." She picks the sleeping bag up off the floor and drapes it back over the couch, and fluffs one of the cushions for him. She whistles and Beau lifts his head. "C'mon, buddy, let's go to bed." The dog stretches and wags his tail, his big tongue hanging out. He circles the coffee table and trots over to where Stiles sits on the hearth, sitting next to him expectantly. Stiles lets out a huff of laughter and ruffles the dogs big dopey ears.
"G'night big guy." He says fondly.
Malia moves toward the stairs and pats her pant leg, "C'mon, boy." But Beau persists, staring at Stiles with his head cocked to the side, whining slightly.
"Go on, I'm O.K." He whispers to the dog conspiratorially. Beau relents and trots over to Malia who's standing at the foot of the stairs. He lopes past her and up the stairs, disappearing into Malia's room.
Malia pauses at the foot of the stairs, gripping the baluster of the handrail, "Good night, Stiles."
Stiles gets to his feet, "Good night," he says with a forced smile as he shoves his hands in his pockets. When she turns and starts up the stairs, he blows out a breath and rubs a hand through his hair, clenching his eyes shut.
"Malia." He calls, stalling her. She turns back toward him. Stiles licks his lips and moves to the foot of the stairs. He doesn't know what he's trying to say that's the worst part. He's the words guy…and right now he doesn't have the right words, or even enough words to make her understand. So he grips the baluster and just looks at her. Malia tilts her head down at him, her eyes attentive. And then he finds them.
"Thanks for coming to find me tonight, and bringing me here. I was an ungrateful ass and I didn't deserve it."
Malia comes down one step so that she can look him in the eyes. "Stiles," she says softly but firmly. "A couple weeks of you being an ass, it…it doesn't just undo who you are to me."
It's like a punch in the gut. A few words from her and he's levelled, stuck there at the bottom of the stairs. She turns and starts back up the stairs. He doesn't even hear her whisper goodnight. He watches her continue up the stairs, as he tries to get his breath back. She pauses half way up the stairs by the thermostat on the wall, adjusting the heat.
He's never wanted anything more than he wants her in this moment. He wants all her fire, her stubbornness, her gruffness and vulnerability, he wants to kiss her every jagged edge.
His feet carry him up the stairs, driven by a single impulse—he needs to be closer—so much closer—
He pauses standing on the stair below her. Malia turns from the thermostat and arches an eyebrow at his proximity.
"Did you change your mind about that extra blank—" Stiles rises up, planting one of his feet between hers on the stair and kisses her.