Not much of a response last chapter; I hope you're all still with me. Anyway, I'm back. And I'm sorry for this chapter. It hurt my Stydia heart to write it, but I wanted to be true to the characters and their relationship, and this is the best I could do. So, enjoy.

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"Talk to me." Stiles' eyes follow Malia as she makes her way around his room, shrugging back into one of his old sweatshirts – the one she's been sleeping in for the past week. They'd come back to his house from the cemetery, and Stiles had been intending on going to sleep when they got back. It's a school night, after all, and he's missed way too many classes for him to be able to justify missing an entire day. Besides, Malia takes her cues from him, so if he skips school, she will too.

Yet here he is, wide awake, sitting on the edge of his bed and watching his girlfriend start pacing. She'd been quiet the whole ride here, and she's only spoken three words – keep it down – since they got here. Admittedly Stiles had employed less than his usual level of care sneaking back into the house, but there had been something particularly terse about the way she said it. She's not acting like herself, and Stiles needs to find out why.

"There's nothing to talk about," she says in a tone which makes it very clear that there is something they need to discuss.

Stiles pats the bed beside him and Malia, after a hesitation that's uncomfortably long, sinks down onto the bed. She's not looking at him; instead she's picking flecks of dirt from her nails, rubbing at a grass stain on the back of her hand. She's quiet, and she's still, and none of those are like her at all.

Since Malia doesn't seem inclined to start the conversation, Stiles takes it upon himself. God, he wishes he doesn't have to do this, but there's no choice. He needs to know what's going on. "When Scott and I were at Allison's grave," he says, feeling that all-too-familiar twinge in his heart as he says her name, "you showed up. Where were you before that?"

Malia narrows her eyes, caught off-guard by the direct question. Stiles waits patiently, or as patiently he can, given that his heart is going a mile a minute. Of all the things he could be talking to his girlfriend about, it's this. Of course it's this, because god forbid anything goes right in their lives.

"I was… out," she says. Evasive. Closed off. Hiding something.

"Out where?" When Malia doesn't answer, Stiles shifts his position so he's facing her more directly. He tries to catch her eye, but she keeps her gaze fixed resolutely on her hands. There's no more dirt to flick off, but she keeps going through the motions anyway. "Malia, you need to talk to me. Something's going on, and I can't help you unless I know what it is."

"What do you mean, something's going on?" she says, still not looking at him, but her voice is sharp and he can see faint tinges of blue creeping into her eyes. "You mean what happened with Lydia tonight at the cemetery? Because I saw the way you looked at her -"

"What?" There's enough surprise in his voice to cause Malia to look up. He'd known they had things to talk about, but Lydia hadn't been on his mind. In the pause that follows, Stiles wonders how long it's been since he's been able to say that – he can remember a time when Lydia was always on his mind. Now she's barely even in his life.

"I'm not stupid, Stiles," she says, and he tries not to quiver under her gaze. "I know you had feelings for her, and I know that tonight you were looking at her like -"

She stops talking abruptly, and Stiles casts his mind back. He can't remember looking at Lydia any differently than he normally does, which makes Malia's outburst all the more mystifying. "Like what?"

"Like you're still in love with her." Malia spits each word out, looking like they actually taste bitter.

The words hit Stiles hard, and for a long moment he doesn't speak. He hasn't even thought about his crush on Lydia in months. She'd made it clear she wasn't interested, and even after their kiss, things hadn't changed. He'd thought that maybe something was starting after the night with the nogitsune, after Allison and Aiden had died and Lydia had clung to him like nothing else mattered, but they'd become distant after that. The pain was too much, the wounds still raw. And then there had been Malia – bright and spirited, right there in front of him, wanting everything he had to offer. So he'd gone to her, and he hasn't looked back since. Not really, anyway.

"That's what this is about?" Stiles says finally. "You think I still have feelings for Lydia?"

"Do you?"

Those two words stop Stiles in his tracks. His feelings had faded, of course, especially when he realized that she wasn't interested. But in a way they're still with him – Lydia was his first love, his greatest crush, and he's not sure those feelings will ever go away entirely. But here he is with his first real girlfriend, the first girl who's ever really loved him like this, and he can't tell her that.

"No," he says, after a slightly incriminating pause. "I don't have feelings for Lydia. We're still friends, and we're still part of the same pack, but that doesn't mean I'm still in love with her. I swear to god, I'm not. I -"

He's about to say I love you, but he can't. Not quite. Not yet. He's not sure why, but it doesn't feel right. He cares about Malia – of course he does – but he's not quite there yet. Malia's back to not looking at him, but the blue in her eyes has faded. Normally that would be a good sign, but now it's worrying – it seems like she's shutting herself off again, and with Malia, that's always dangerous.

"Malia," he says, hoping he hasn't screwed this up beyond repair, "listen to me. I care about Lydia, and I always will. But I'm with you. And I promise it's going to stay that way."

"Promise?" There's a note of vulnerability in her voice, something Stiles rarely hears from her.

"I promise," he says, taking her hands in his. "I'm yours, okay? You don't have to worry."

This seems to assuage her concerns for now, but Stiles can sense that things still aren't entirely okay between them. But the immediate crisis seems to have been averted for now, which means he needs to find a way to bring up the subject he actually wanted to discuss with her. The problem is, he knows she's not going to like it.

"Thank you," she says softly, resting her head against his shoulder.

Stiles lets her stay like that for a minute before he gently nudges her upright and meets her eyes. She's confused now, rather than suspicious, but that doesn't make it any easier. "There's something we need to talk about," he says. "Something else, I mean."

Malia dips her head, encouraging him to go on, and he tries to find the right way to broach the subject.

"When we were at Allison's grave," he says, feeling that same twinge, "after you left, Scott said…"

Malia's eyes narrow. "Scott said what?"

There's no easy way to do this, so Stiles dives right in. "He said you smelled like blood."

The words fall heavy between them, and Malia clenches her fists like she's trying not to coyote out. Instinctively Stiles stiffens, knowing that at this rate he won't be able to talk her down from it. He's used to being her anchor, but with the residual tension between them now he's not sure he would be very helpful. Slowly, she uncurls her hands.

"Did he know whose it was?" she asks.

This isn't the response Stiles had been expecting. He'd been anticipating a heartfelt denial, or a plea for him to understand, or something, but she's not even defending herself. "He didn't recognize it," Stiles says, carefully watching her for a reaction. She doesn't seem surprised that he knows, and she's not exactly angry either. She's keeping something from him, holding something back, and he's suddenly terrified to find out what it is.

"No," he says at last.

Malia exhales slowly, thoughtful, and Stiles knows better than to interrupt. So he waits quietly while she thinks, and as soon as she turns to him he knows she's going to tell him what's going on.

"I've been having trouble with my changes lately," she says, which is especially worrying given that she's never really had much control over them. She's also always been unwilling to admit this, and adamantly claims that she's learning and she'll get there and it's all going to be okay. It worries Stiles that she's admitting she's been having trouble – it would worry him if she weren't a werecoyote, but since she is it makes it a lot worse. She's not just a danger to herself but to everyone around her, and to –

Something occurs to him, but he doesn't want to tell Malia. He doesn't want to bring it up to her – partly because he doesn't want to upset her, and also partly because he's afraid he might be right. And if he is, well, god help them. And even then, it might not be enough.

"What is it?" she asks, sensing his unease.

Stiles hesitates. Part of him wants to just ask her outright, but that's the part that usually gets him into trouble. So he just says, "What's been happening? With the changes, I mean."

She gives him a look that makes it clear she knows he's not saying something, but she doesn't ask about it. "Sometimes I just… I can't stop myself," she says, and Stiles feels his heart beat faster with every syllable. "A couple times I've woken up in the woods, and I had no idea how I got there."

In Beacon Hills, this isn't exactly an uncommon occurrence. Lydia's been through something like that too, when she went into her fugue state and disappeared into the woods. And in the early stages of possession, Stiles had been losing time and finding himself in places he couldn't remember going to.

"And the blood?" he prompts.

Malia hangs her head. "I don't know whose it was," she says, "but it wasn't the first time. Sometimes when I wake up, I'm just… I'm covered in blood."

Stiles has dealt with a lot of things since becoming involved in the supernatural, but this is a new one. And in all honesty he would have been okay without having yet another supernatural mystery, especially one in which his girlfriend ends up covered in blood with no memory of how it happened. He knows he's meant to be supportive now, that he's meant to comfort her and say she probably didn't brutally murder anyone, but all he can think is that if she were to coyote out right now, he wouldn't be able to stop her. And she might not be able to stop herself from killing him.

"Are you okay?" she asks suddenly. "Your heart rate just sped up."

Damn werecreatures and their supernatural senses. "I'm fine," he says, but even he can feel his heart spiking. He's not fooling anybody.

"You're scared," she says, and it's not a question or even an accusation – it's just a statement, a simple observation. Then her face falls. "Are you scared of me?"

"No," he says, too quickly. She can see through his lies, so he takes a risk and tries honesty instead. "I know you would never hurt me – deliberately. But you said it yourself: you don't always have control over it."

"Do you… do you want me to leave?" There it is again, that note of vulnerability, and it hurts Stiles' heart.

"No," he says, more slowly this time, and she seems to accept it. "We can work through this together, okay? I'm not leaving you."

Most of the tension seems to have dissipated, and soon they're getting ready for bed. Malia stays the night, like she normally does, curled up beside him. Absently he wraps his arm around her, and it's not until he's drifting off to sleep that he realizes what's bothering him. Back in the Jeep earlier, he'd said what they were about to do was illegal. So's half the things you guys do, Malia had said. You guys. Not us. Like she's not part of the pack.

He looks at her sleeping form beside him and feels a jolt of fear. He might be in it for the long haul, but he's not so sure about her. And there's some part of him that knows she can't escape her wild instincts.

He's not leaving her, but he can't shake the feeling that one day he'll blink and she'll be gone.

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As always, R&R, and I'll see you very soon for the next chapter.

And just to make sure you're interested, here's a teaser for chapter thirteen:

"It's you," she says, and if possible she's even more terrified than she had been moments before. "You're the one who's been killing all those girls."