Strange Terrain

Chapter 6 – Truth

"Remember not only to say the right thing in the right place, but far more difficult still, to leave unsaid the wrong thing at the tempting moment." –Benjamin Franklin

Stiles adjusted his tie as he eyed the menu warily, barely registering any of the conversation going on at the table around him. He only owned one tie, and had really tried to talk Malia out of making him wear it, but she had insisted, and even now he found it impossible to let her down.

Her parents had decided to take them to one of the higher end restaurants in Beacon Hills, complete with screeching violins and a menu full of things that he could neither pronounce nor afford. Stiles glanced over at Malia to guage how she was feeling about the whole ordeal – she had always made fun of places like this, refusing to let Stiles take her out on nice, cliché dates – but she seemed comfortable, chatting in hushed tones with her sister. Alana was tall and slender, with a pretty face that resembled her sister's in a few obvious ways. He liked her; she hadn't been casting nearly as many dirty looks his way as her father had been.

"Isaac has been asking about you," her mother finally said, causing the glass of wine in Malia's hand to nearly slip. Stiles' mouth went dry as he realized who this person was.

"Mom –"

"I just don't understand what happened. You leave New York for this place and shack up with this guy, all without a single explanation," Mrs. Tate continued, shaking her head. Her cheeks were slightly pink, probably from drinking so much before dinner had even been ordered.

Malia rolled her eyes, setting the glass down. "You're talking to the person who just two weeks ago woke up from a coma with a huge chunk of her memory missing. If anyone should know what's going it would be you." She pointed out. "Besides," she went on, glancing at Stiles for the tiniest of seconds, "I don't want to talk to Isaac."

Stiles wasn't sure, but it seemed like she was intentionally trying to hide something from him. The very thing that he already knew about. But she didn't know that, so she was clearly hiding it for a reason.

Maybe she felt sorry for him.

He set his menu down, no longer hungry, and reached for his beer. He had never been much of a wine guy.

"He misses you, Malia. You just picked up and left him out of the blue. Don't you think he at least deserves to hear why from you?"

"It wasn't out of the blue, mother," Malia said, clearly exasperated.

Mrs. Tate sat forward, reaching out to touch her daughter's hand. "Just call him –"

"Stop!" She shouted just loud enough to startle the people sitting in the immediate vicinity. But she didn't seem to notice that she was making a scene. Malia pushed her chair back and headed toward the restroom without another word, leaving her mother gaping and taken aback. Alana got up and followed her sister, and a few minutes later, her mother followed suit.

Stiles exhaled, his eyes trailing back to the table to find Malia's father staring at him. He lowered his beer from his lips, suddenly forgetting how to swallow.

He wished Malia would come back already.

"You need to leave her," Mr. Tate said without pretense. He wasn't exactly the most intimidating-looking man; he was broad shouldered and had a thick mustache, deep set eyes, and a stern look on his face. It was the words that came out of him that frightened Stiles.

"What?"

"My daughter. Whatever you're playing at, it needs to stop."

Stiles frowned. "I'm not playing at anything. Your daughter is my wife –"

"You saw what just happened. She's confused, and you're the reason why. Before she moved here, she was perfectly happy. She had everything going for her. She was engaged to the perfect gentleman. And now she's with you." He spat. "Waking up and seeing you there, that confused her. She thinks she owes something to you, and she doesn't."

The more the man spoke, the more angry Stiles got. He suddenly didn't care who he was talking to. "Have you ever thought about why she left? Have you ever thought that maybe she was happier here than when she was back in New York? Maybe it's not me at all. Maybe it's you."

Mr. Tate ground his teeth together, preparing to retaliate, but then Malia appeared in a hurry, grabbing her coat. His expression immediately softened. "Where are you going?"

"Home," Malia shot back, not even looking at her father. She added to Stiles, "You coming?"

At first, Stiles wondered if she was just asking him if he was coming because she still didn't know how to get back on her own. But then he saw the pleading look in her eyes and forgot about that theory. He started to stand up, grabbing his coat as her mom and sister returned. Someone approached the table then, a tall, blonde guy that seemed out of place, with his blue jeans and quarter-zip NYU pullover. Malia turned around then, and immediately took a step back when she saw him, running into Stiles.

"Who is that?" he asked.

"Isaac."

Almost an entire half hour had passed since Malia had agreed to talk to Isaac outside of the restaurant, accompanied by her parents who were acting as mediators. Stiles stared at them through the window, trying to imagine what was going on.

"Want one?" A french fry was suddenly in his line of vision, being brandished by Malia's younger sister, who had remained at the table. "Seriously, take it. You look like shit."

"Uh, thanks," Stiles said, taking the warm fry and popping it into his mouth. "I can't believe you actually ordered something."

Alana shrugged, swirling another french fry in her ketchup. "I was promised dinner, not an evening of drama." She looked over at the window, shaking her head. "I can't believe they invited him. She wasn't happy with him, and they refuse to see it."

"What?"

"Oh yeah, she didn't tell you," Alana said. "Well Isaac was a friend of the family, like my parents knew his parents and were trying to make this big business deal with them. And suddenly mom was insisting that Malia talk to him and get to know him, and then they were dating, and by the end of college they were engaged. It was all too fast for Malia. Once she found out what was going on, she cut her losses and split. I don't blame her." She nonchalantly took a bite out of her french fry and took a gulp of her Coke to wash it down. Stiles was amazed.

But he knew exactly where she got it from.

"She was a lot happier with you, you know," Alana continued. "I keep trying to tell her, but you know how she gets."

"Yeah, I do," Stiles finally managed to say, glancing back at the window. "They really told that Isaac guy to come here?"

"Yep."

"Your dad tried to force me to divorce Malia."

Alana barked a laugh, shaking her head. "Not surprised." She rose an eyebrow. "So are you gonna do it?"

"Hell no."

"I like you already."

When they got back to the apartment, Malia dropped her purse on the floor by the door and kicked off her heels, breathing a sigh of relief as her bare feet touched the hardwood floor. "That was bad. Like, really fucking awful." Malia ran her fingers through her hair, turning to face Stiles. "I can't believe my parents would do that. I left him for a reason."

Stiles quirked a brow. "So you remember what it was?"

"Well, no, but whenever I hear his name I get a bad feeling. Even Alana seems put off whenever his name comes up," Malia explained. She shook her head. "Know what? I don't care. I don't want to talk about him anymore."

"Good, 'cause I don't want to hear about him anymore."

Stiles headed towards the bathroom, but suddenly she grabbed his wrist, holding him back. It was a shock, since this was the first contact they'd had since she'd woken up. He held her gaze for a long moment, swallowing, waiting for the next move. She ran her tongue along her bottom lip, slow and calculating, moving closer to him. It seemed like forever before she pressed her lips to his softly, hesitantly, almost as if she were testing the waters.

But then she pulled back, her eyes wide. "Fuck, sorry –"

"No, don't be," Stiles told her, and then another second passed before he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her back to him with a little more force. He kissed her again, exhaling hard through his nose, their teeth clacking and mouths unrelenting.

She kissed him back with equal fervor, her hands sliding underneath his jacket and pushing it off his shoulders, down his arms, and to the floor. Stiles moved forward until her back was against the door, pinning her there as she continued to rip at his clothes, discarding his tie, unbuttoning his shirt, fingers moving at speeds he hadn't experienced in far too long. He kissed her harder, tasting the bitterness of wine and the saltiness of fries. His hands moved down her thighs, then back up to her backside, pushing up the hem of her dress and exposing her lower half for the first time in months.

She pushed her hips against his, rubbing just enough to get him excited, making him push back as she removed his shirt. Eventually, he caught hold of the fabric of her dress and pulled up until he could pull it over her head and toss it aside, his mouth capturing hers once more as he picked her up and moved to the couch. A lamp crashed to the floor in the process, bulb shattering everywhere. Malia laughed; Stiles cursed under his breath as he laid her on the couch.

He kissed her neck, his hands exploring her body as he hovered over her and she made quick work of his belt and the button of his khakis, pulling down the zipper. She had always been prone to rushing things, but something in Stiles' head made him realize that this was not the same person that he had been doing this with for almost four years.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Stiles found himself asking, pulling back to look her in the eyes.

"Yes," Malia replied breathlessly, her eyes sincere. There was something about the way that she looked at him now that was different from how she had looked at him that first day when she'd woken up. It made him pause for a second, a glimmer of hope. But only a second. "Get down here," she ordered, pulling him back into the kiss.

He didn't talk anymore for the rest of the night.