Chapter 10 – Redemption

Dancing. He hated dancing.

Malia knew that - she'd known just how he turned into a dysfunctional mess of limbs and that that was not something anyone wanted to be seen with in public - or at least she'd used to know that before the accident. But he had forgotten about that and let her choose where they went for their first date. She'd chosen a bar. A bar, with drinking and dancing.

"You alright there? You look like you're gonna vomit. And I'd prefer it if you didn't 'cause I like that shirt on you and we are not going back home so you can change." Malia smirked, patting his chest as they walked towards the bar.

"Yeah, right, thanks," Stiles muttered, barely hearing her over the deafening beat of his heart in his ears. His eyes were wide and glazed over, like he was about to face his death. Malia eyed him for a second, before stepping out in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. He blinked, almost bowling her over. "What?"

She tilted her head, raising her brows. "You know what. Something's wrong."

"What? No way - I'm fine. I'm pumped. Let's do this thing -" Malia put a hand out, stopping him again. Her dark red nail polish seemed black in the poor lighting from the street lamp a few feet away. "Fine. I hate dancing."

"Stiles -"

"I know, I know. I let you choose and now I have to deal with it. So I'm gonna deal with it." He paused, taking a deep breath of the cool night air. "Oh, would you look at that? I feel so much better now."

"You still look like shit."

"That is an insult to shit, Malia."

She pressed her lips together. "We can go somewhere else, if you want. I don't really care," she said, shrugging as she took a step back.

Stiles stared at her blankly, not fully processing what was happening. He was so used to her always getting her way, being forceful, not taking any shit from anyone. But something had changed. Well, that was the understatement of the year. He took another deep breath, shaking his head as he slung his arm over her shoulders and steered her towards the bar.

"No, you do care. I want you to care. And since you care, I'm not going to screw up our date by choosing something totally lame to do by comparison." Malia laughed, but leaned her head against his shoulder as they walked. Stiles watched her out of the corner of his eye, breathing in the familiar scent of her against him.

The music was so loud he could feel it deep in his bones. He had let Malia go off and dance, making up an excuse that he had gone to get more drinks. They had been there an hour, but it wasn't going as badly as he had expected.

The bar was a dark, humid hole-in-the-wall downtown that was frequented by mostly kids in their early twenties who drank until they couldn't walk straight and spent half the night in the bathroom when they weren't grinding up against strangers on the makeshift dance floor. Right now, they were playing an upbeat remix of a song he could vaguely recognize, and Malia was in the middle of the little crowd of youngsters, having a party of one.

Stiles smiled to himself as he watched her, taking a swig of his beer. For a moment, everything felt back to normal again. But he had to remind himself constantly that things would never really be normal. Sure, he had gotten her back, but they still had a long way to go from here.

"You've got to come out here," Malia shouted at him as she made her way through the tables to the bar. She squeezed herself between him and some scantily clad girl who was drunkenly demanding another round for her and her friends. He could feel her hot breath on his face. "You promised me a dance two songs ago!"

"I told you I don't dance," Stiles yelled back, leaning down to her ear. "Agreeing to come anyway was a courtesy. You should be glad. Thankful, even."

She hit him in the arm. Hard. "You are such a dick. Dance with me. Right now." It wasn't a question. She grabbed his hand and dragged him towards the dance floor, abandoning his drink on the counter. Stiles tried to protest, but he knew she wouldn't be able to hear him and that he would have to be resigned to his fate.

Before he had a chance to embarrass himself, though, Malia turned her back to him and pressed her backside against his front, moving her hips side to side to the beat. Stiles just stood there, surprised, and unsure of what to do with his hands. He glanced around, but everyone else seemed preoccupied with their own dancing. But then her hands were on his, guiding them to her waist, once again knowing what he was thinking before he could say it.

The front door to the apartment banged open, Malia shoving him against it with her lips still busy kissing his. "Shit," Stiles managed to hiss, glancing out of the open door and hoping that none of his neighbors would be making a noise complaint. He wrapped an arm around Malia's waist, turning her and kicking the door closed behind them in one swift move, pushing her against the opposite wall and kissing her again.

She was laughing. "You are so paranoid," she mumbled against his mouth, her hands catching the back of his shirt and tugging at it. "You really need to loosen up."

"Oh yeah?" Stiles retorted, his hands finding the space just below her backside and lifting her up so suddenly she squealed in surprise, her legs wrapping around his hips as he carried her to the bedroom. "Is this enough or are you going to keep insulting me all night?"

He set her down on the bed, tugging his shirt off over his head and tossing it aside. Stiles knelt down in front of her, pushing her dress up, his lips finding the inside of her thigh. Malia exhaled sharply, letting her head fall back. "I'm sure I'll come up with something else soon enough," she breathed, then moaned as his lips grazed the apex of her thighs. His head was buried beneath her dress, his fingers hooking in the waistband of her panties before pulling them off.

In the middle of the night, she awoke, and couldn't get back to sleep. It was nothing to do with the sleeping arrangements or the events of the night – she had found herself sleeping next to Stiles again for the first time in a long time, she presumed, since the accident.

Malia pushed her hair out of her face, looking over at Stiles, still deep in sleep, breathing evenly, to her left. She smiled a little, feeling happy for no reason, just laying there and watching him sleep so peacefully for the first time in what felt like forever. They had been through a lot, but now things were starting to feel right. Normal.

Normal. That word felt strange, unfamiliar. What was normal? She still wasn't totally sure, since she still had not regained her full memory from before the accident, but she felt like this was it. Laying there, with him, happy.

That had to be normal for them.

But then something else surged up in her, just watching him. She had been feeling it coming since she had left home, returned to Beacon Hills, let him have his chance at making things work with them again. She had felt it since she had been starting to remember again. She felt it every time she looked at him, or caught him staring at her, or when he touched her. Malia sighed heavily, quietly in the dark.

"I love you, Stiles." She murmured. "I know it now. I feel it. I love you. I don't think I ever really stopped, even when I forgot you."

Malia watched him for a minute longer, but then her eyelids got heavy and she felt herself drifting again, slipping back into unconsciousness. It wasn't a minute later when Stiles' eyes opened, and he stared at her, disbelieving, but relieved.

His wife was back.