Strange Terrain

Chapter 9 – Recovery

"We're born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we're not alone." -Orson Welles

Bobby's was nearly empty on the dreary Thursday afternoon that Stiles had decided to stop in. He hadn't really wanted anything, except to escape the torrential downpour outside and to clear his head.

Even weeks later, he still couldn't get her out of his thoughts.

At least now he was spending most of his time brooding at a corner table by the window in the coffee shop and not drowning his sorrows in booze. Scott was probably grateful; Stiles crowding his bar every time he was feeling upset was most likely bad for business.

Bobby's was nice. It had that old coffee shop smell, the air thick with the scent of ground coffee beans and freshly baked pastries, and it was relatively calm, peaceful. Stiles had found himself stopping in so often that the barista that he always ran into was starting to know him by name. She was pretty: brown eyes and chocolate colored hair that fell to right above her shoulders. But he could never bring himself to say anything other than "Thanks."

Stiles slid into the wooden chair at his table by the window, pulling out his phone and pressing a button to bring it back to life. Still, she hadn't called him back.

It had been weeks since he had sent her off with the signed divorce papers, but he hadn't heard back from her to know whether or not the divorce was final. He knew that he shouldn't have cared at this point; it had been her idea in the first place – their time was up. He just wished he could wake up from this nightmare already.

The bell over the door to the shop rang and, out of sheer instinct, Stiles glanced up to see who the newcomer was. His mouth went dry.

Malia was standing just inside the door, bouncing on her heels, drenched from head to toe. Her hair was matted to her face, and she seemed frantic, a little on edge. But when she saw him, it was like someone had put a heater to her and she immediately thawed.

He thought about running, hiding, getting the hell out of there – but he didn't do anything. He just sat there, confused, as she walked over and gestured to the seat across from him. "Can I sit?"

Stiles just nodded wordlessly, unable to form words.

A young man came over as Malia was shrugging off her wet coat, asked if she would like a cup of coffee. She refused and he went away. All the while, Stiles couldn't take his eyes off of her. It was like he was seeing a ghost. Finally, he found his voice.

"What are you doing here?"

Malia let out a small, incredulous laugh, brushing her hair out of her face. "And here I was, thinking you'd be happy to see me –"

"Happy? You left me, Malia." Stiles told her, leaning forward and lowering his voice slightly. "You went back to New York with no intention of coming back."

"But I did come back –"

"Why?" He snapped unintentionally, making Malia lean back in her chair, away from him. She looked a little put off by his tone, but then she sighed, clearly acknowledging that she deserved the verbal abuse.

She shook her head. "New York was not what I thought – not how I remembered it…" Malia swallowed hard, not looking at Stiles. "My dad was cheating on my mom. That's why I left, came here, married you. My parents aren't together anymore." She shrugged. "There's nothing left in New York for me."

Stiles opened his mouth and then closed it, suddenly feeling bad about how he had spoken to her before. He, of course, had not known any of this, but for the moment he decided not to dwell on the fact that she hadn't told him.

"I got the first flight back to California and at first, I didn't know where to go," Malia admitted. "I couldn't go back to the apartment, not after the way we'd left things. So I came here." She smiled a little, running her fingertips across the edge of the table absently. "This is the place we met, you know? It was only natural for me to be drawn to somewhere… happy."

"Wait," Stiles said, sitting up straighter, "did you just say that you remember? You remember the day that we met?"

Malia looked up at him then, as if just realizing what she'd said. "I – Well, yeah, I guess I do."

"Do you remember anything else?"

"Stiles…"

"Right, sorry," he admonished quickly, but he couldn't help the feeling that a ton of weight had just been lifted off of his shoulders. "It's progress though." Stiles paused for a second. "Can I ask you one more thing?"

Malia rolled her eyes. "Sure."

"Does this mean you're staying here? For real this time?"

"Yes," she smiled. "For real this time."

"Good. Go on a date with me."

"What?"

"You heard me. Even if there's no real chance of you remembering everything about our life together before the accident, the fact that you felt anything for me at all was real. And I'm going to keep trying to get back to that even if it sends you running for the hills. Again." Stiles explained with an unapologetic shrug. Malia raised an eyebrow, but laughed nonetheless. "Go on a date with me, Malia."

She smirked, considering for a moment. "Okay." Malia said, leaning towards him. "But on one condition: you're not taking me somewhere that we've already been before." Stiles tried to protest, but she stopped him. "I don't want you to get your hopes up again. I want to start over."

He didn't say anything at first; she had caught him just like she always used to, knowing exactly what he was thinking before he had a chance to think it. Stiles had considered taking her to the place where they had had their first date in the hopes that she might remember that night, too, but she was right. He had to let go of the past – especially if the odds of her not remembering were far greater than the odds of her remembering.

It was time to start writing a new story.

"Okay," Stiles finally said. "We can start over."