Beacon Hills, 2019

Eight years after graduation.

It was a warm summer night in Beacon Hills and the Jeep was parked off the side of the road near the railway tracks. Stiles bit into the edge of a roll of duct tape tearing off a strip with his teeth. A freight train bellowed in the distance, its long clear blast shuddering through town. Stiles leaned under the hood fastening the last strip of duct tape to the engine. Flicking his flashlight over his work he nodded to himself before dropping the hood.

Coming around the driver's side door Stiles tossed the duct tape under the seat. Stripping off his grease stained plaid shirt he wiped his fingers on it, before bunching it up and flinging it into the back seat. He shrugged back on his Sheriff's Deputy uniform shirt leaving it unbuttoned over his white undershirt. Sliding into the driver's seat he started up the C-J5 and rolled over the tracks and into the Old Railway District.

Out of the corner of his eye Stiles caught sight of the lights of the high school. As the streetlights flared against his windshield he found himself thinking about all the things he and the pack had been through since graduation. Senior year was hard on all of them with Theo and the dread doctors being the least of their troubles, but they managed to survive high school as a pack.

After everything they had endured in high school they were determined to stick together. Malia accepted a track scholarship and attended USF with Scott, Kira and Stiles while Lydia studied at Stanford. They all roomed together in a dilapidated old frat house they rented from the defunct Beta Omega Rho Fraternity on the USF campus. It was a hulking Victorian era monstrosity with cracked windows and missing floorboards. It had leaky pipes, peeling paint, an unreliable supply of hot water and it occasionally felt unsteady in the wind. Despite its severe drawbacks they had a lot of fun in the rickety house that they affectionately named 'Oldcastle.'

Stiles and Scott were known to practice their skateboarding tricks down the decrepit staircase. And freshman year they may or may not have blown up the cellar in a chemistry experiment that took a few wrong turns. Malia, Lydia and Kira who had claimed the upper floor for their rooms spent a great deal of their time scaling up to the roof of Oldcastle. They would sit up there for hours studying, painting their nails, sunning themselves or just talking.

On weekends between their course work and jobs Malia and Stiles would work on fixing the old place up. Together they patched the holes in the front porch, replaced a few cracked window panes and re-shingled the roof that first year. The others pitched in helping where they could but Malia and Stiles spearheaded the project. Scott would always tease them about how everything they 'fixed' always ended up slanting at odd angles. Malia would just roll her eyes and tell him to do it himself next time.

When the radiator busted on the CJ-5 Malia dragged Stiles around to five different salvage yards. Eventually they found exactly what they needed at Tucker's Auto Salvage and Repair. When Mr. Tucker a surly ex-navy mechanic heard that Malia was planning on replacing the part herself he mistook her for inexperienced. Tucker bet her ten bucks that she wouldn't be able to install the radiator herself. Malia won that bet and Tucker's respect and he offered her a job. She put herself through college working as a mechanic for him and Tucker taught her everything he knew.

In the heart of Tucker's salvage yard Malia found the guts and frame of a 1968 Chevy Camaro Z/28. Her dad and the pack all pitched in and bought it for her twentieth birthday. Malia set it up on blocks in Oldcastle's little whitewashed garage. Little by little she worked away at it bringing that old car back to life. Malia had to work harder than anyone in college and it helped to have a project to take her frustration out on.

The walls of Tucker's shop were covered in old photographs. They were pictures of his time in the navy, of him and his buddies backpacking through Europe, of his wife and kids and portraits of each car he had ever restored. When Malia was floundering in sophomore year grasping for a faculty and a major those old pictures inspired her. She graduated from UCSF with honours and a Photojournalism degree.

Stiles worked a bunch of odd jobs before landing one with the District Attorney's Office as an Investigator's assistant. He worked under Joe Garrity a hard-nosed detective who taught Stiles how to bend a lot of rules. Garrity made Stiles earn every inch of respect that he ever gave him. He spent his first year working for Garrity verifying facts, sifting through dumpsters, writing up reports, answering phones and alphabetizing files. He didn't stop at that though. On his own time Stiles did surveillance, made calls and examined evidence. With all of that he spent a lot of his sophomore falling asleep in class.

Joe eventually respected Stiles for taking initiative and took him under his wing. Garrity taught Stiles to drink his coffee black, how to pick a deadbolt, to throw a mean right hook, and how to handle a gun. Joe who was a former SFPD detective and he had Stiles seriously thinking about joining the SFPD after he finished his criminology degree.

But instead something pretty unexpected happened. One weekend when Stiles dropped by his dad's house he found Melissa McCall kissing his dad at the kitchen table. Apparently the two parents suffering from empty nest syndrome had been spending a lot more time together. They had started seeing each other and had sort of shacked up without telling anyone. Stiles and Scott had been understandably freaked out by the shacked up part, but were glad their parents were happy. Stiles already loved Melissa like a mother anyway so it felt like a natural transition. Scott and Stiles had pestered John endlessly to propose so they could officially be brothers.

John and Melissa were married during Stiles and Scott's junior year of college but that wasn't really the surprising part. What was surprising was when Melissa announced after the wedding that she was pregnant with a baby girl.

Rory Delgado Stilinski came into the world to a loving father and mother and two over-protective big brothers. Stiles and Scott had always loved each other as brothers but the day Rory was born they truly became them, united in the promise to always look out for their baby sister. Rory was three now and Scott and Stiles still playfully fought for her attention.

Stiles graduated top of his class from the San Francisco Police Academy. But he decided to take a job with the Beacon County Sheriff's Department instead so he could be closer to Rory while she's growing up. It's good working for his dad, though there are challenges that come with it. His dad can't appear to be doing Stiles any favours so he has to work twice as hard as the other deputies.

Stiles also can't turn off his natural curiosity and his obsession has gotten him into more than a few tight spots. After he got into an off-duty fistfight with a sheriff's investigator who was critically mishandling a case. His dad had tossed him into the K-9 unit to keep him out of trouble. Stiles turned out to be really good with the dogs and he enjoyed working in the unit. His position also made it easier to get a lot of police work done with less oversight. His dad also stuck him on two rotations in the archives a month. Stiles passes the time working on cold cases under the table.

Like all the other deputies the rest of his time is divided between desk duty and patrol. Stiles suffers through desk duty and but he has a lot of fun with patrol. He's gotten into a bad habit of pulling over Coach Finstock, Isaac, Jackson, Cora and Derek Hale just because he can.

At twenty-five Stiles has been on the job for almost three years and is eligible to challenge the Sheriff's Detective exam in six weeks. He already has his detective's manual memorized and he keeps it in the glove box of his Jeep.

Stiles cruised past the Animal Clinic smirking to himself at the tarp covering the overhead sign. Scott was graduating from UC Davis in two weeks and Deaton had offered him a position at his practice. The old sign was being replaced with one that now included, Dr. Scott McCall, DVM.

Stiles was proud of his best friend who had managed to juggle his course load and three jobs even with the supernatural world constantly knocking at his door.

His phone buzzed raddling against the cup holder. Stiles paused at the red light and flicked open the message.

It's done.

Derek Hale's short and cryptic text message made him nervous. He wasn't sure if he was going to be able to pull this off. He shook off the feeling dropping his phone back in the cup holder. He gripped the wheel tighter in his hand waiting for the green light. When it flashed overhead Stiles took his foot of the brake and bared to the right.

Then there was Malia and him, they had been together on and off for the last eight years. They had broken up a total of six times in their relationship, including twice in high school. The longest they had stayed together had been three years. They longest they managed to stay apart had been a year. Even through all their breakups they managed to keep their friendship alive. Even living together as roommates at Oldcastle through a few of them.

But neither of them were very good at moving on. Stiles dated a few girls in college in between breakups with Malia. But the intensity that still crackled between him and Malia always drove them off in the end. Malia went on her fair share of dates in college but nothing to serious. After getting her degree she started dating a guy and it got pretty serious. His name was Cale Corban and he was perfect for Malia in every way. It drove Stiles crazy.

There had always been something left unresolved between Lydia and Stiles. After Malia and Cale had been dating for five months Stiles impulsively kissed Lydia at a party. They started dating soon after but it ended before it ever really began. Lydia Martin was nobody's second choice and she knew just from the way Stiles still looked at Malia that he wasn't over her. She broke things off with him admitting that they had missed their chance at whatever could have been between them. Then she kicked him in the ass telling him to fight for Malia. Stiles was grateful that they could still be friends despite everything.

And he took her advice.

Stiles pulled up to an old refurbished firehouse its blazing neon letters spelling out Tate's Garage. He hit a button on his visor and the garage door rolled up. Stiles eased the Jeep into the garage and parked beside Malia's fully restored Camaro Z/28. Stiles slammed the Jeep door and pocketed his keys. A black dog who had been lazing on the old green couch in Malia's office bounded off the couch barking excitedly. The dog circled Stiles thumping his big black tail.

Stiles hugged the happy German shepherd's neck. "Hey, Obi. How're you buddy?"

Obi barked in reply and nudged his face into Stiles' hand. Stiles scratched Obi behind the ears. He rubbed a gentle hand along a white scar that ran along Obi's left side. Obi was a three year-old retired Beacon County Sheriff's dog. He'd been the first dog Stiles had worked with when he'd been reassigned to the K-9 unit. He'd taken a knife for Stiles a year ago and per department policy he had been retired. Stiles had insisted on adopting him. Obi now spends his days at Tate's Garage lounging on that old couch and being adored by customers. Malia always takes him for a run on her lunch break.

Since retirement he seems to have forgotten all of his training. He hardly listens to Stiles anymore but dutifully obeys Malia. He's sort of become Malia's dog in many ways. Whether it's because of her coyote magnetism or just her personality he can hardly fault Obi for falling in love with her too.

"Where's our girl, huh?" he asks Obi as he ruffles his neck. "C'mon." He beckons softly as he walks further into the garage. There are half dismantled vehicles neatly arranged throughout the shop with gleaming tool chests bordering the work areas. An old jukebox lit up the main wall it filled the shop with a near constant cadence of classic rock. The walls were covered in framed photographs and newspaper clippings.

Some of the clippings were from National Geographic, the Washington Post and the New York Times. They were all photographs Malia had published in the last four years. Since graduation she had been traveling extensively freelancing her work and working a few contract jobs for National Geographic. With the money she earned she was able to open Tate's Garage last year.

The framed photographs were an assortment of pictures Malia had taken and photographs of her life and adventures. As he came to the stairs leading up to the loft he stopped examining one of them. It was a picture of the Tate family gathered around a Chevy Firebird. A nine year-old Malia is hugging her baby sister tightly with their parents on either side of them.

As he climbed the stairs his eyes catch sight of a more recent picture that was easily his favourite. It was of Malia sitting in her parked Camaro with a two year-old Rory in her lap. Rory is playing with the steering wheel pretending to drive, while Malia is watching her keeping an arm around the little girl's middle. He smirks enjoying the picture for a moment, until Obi noses past him and pushes through the door leading to the loft. Stiles follows after the dog.

Coming through the doorway Stiles stubs his foot on Malia's scuffed motorcycle boots. Shaking his head he nudges them out of his way. The loft apartment is open and airy with three large windows. A bookshelf is built into one of the walls. It's lined floor to ceiling with books, vinyl records and trinkets from Malia's travels.

Malia loves live music. The leather-bound journals that line her bookshelf are filled with her photographs, plane tickets, wristbands and concert tickets. One shelf holds an arsenal of professional cameras. The living room table is a mess of film canisters, gears and small tools and a half disassembled camera. In the far corner there is an old fireman's pole that's still in good condition they use it to slide down to the main floor all the time.

Obi was sunk down by the doorway that led to Malia's darkroom where she developed her film. Stiles crossed to the door rapping his knuckles on it softly.

"Malia?" he calls. "You in there?"

"Hey, Stiles." Her reply comes muffled through the door. "I'm just going to need another ten minutes in here or I'll ruin these shots." Malia explained.

"No rush. I've gotta change before we head out anyway." Stiles says shifting off the door, moving further into the loft as he shrugs off his uniform shirt.

At the heart of the loft there is an old wood stove. When Malia had bought the place it had been too heavy and awkward to maneuver down the stairs. So she repainted it and replaced the rusted front with a glass door. They spent so many nights by the fire now that the couch ended up angled towards it. Two tightly packed hiking backpacks were leaning against the couch and Stiles had to dodge around them on route to the closet.

The wall opposite the bookshelf was coated in chalkboard paint. Malia had painted it for him because he always ran out of room on his evidence board. So she made him an evidence wall. It was currently covered in three investigation webs. Two cold cases from the archives and one for the pack. His low-key position at the Sheriff's department made gathering police information for pack investigations a whole lot easier and it made desk duty a whole lot more fun. Against the wall was a rustic desk and chair and on it there were stacks of photographs and piles of paperwork. Stiles stared at the wall for a moment his hand reaching for the chalk as he drew a line circling a new connection. Then he stepped back from the wall, wiping his hands on his jeans, dropping the chalk back on his desk.

Don't get distracted. Stick to the plan, Stiles.

Stiles crosses to the windows dropping his shirt in the hamper by the bed. He grabbed a red and blue plaid shirt out from the closet and tugging it on. After buttoning it up he dropped down on the bed and kicks off his shoes in favour of tugging on his sturdy hiking boots. As he is tying up the laces he notices traces of grease on his hands and beneath his fingernails. His eyes shoot to the closed darkroom door and he makes his way hastily to the bathroom sink. Lathering up his hands he tries to wash away the evidence as best he can.

Stiles hears Malia's footsteps behind the door and he tenses. Drying his hands roughly on a hand towel his eyes scour the room for a quick escape. His eyes land on their backpacks and he gets an idea.

"I'm just gonna go throw our stuff in the Jeep. Where's the rest of our gear?"

"I already packed the camping gear in the Camaro." Malia said through the door. Stiles shakes his head at her though she can't even see it.

No. The plan won't work without the Jeep.

"We're not taking the Camaro." He argues. "You finish up. I'll pack the Jeep."

"What? Wait why aren't we taking the Camaro? Stiles?" she calls after him. Stiles ignored her grabbing their bags and jogging down the stairs. Obi following behind him.

Stiles drops the backpacks down by jeep then he opens the liftgate and drops the tailgate. Popping the Camaro's trunk he starts repacking the camping stove, tents and coolers in the Jeep.

Originally this had been their camping trip but it sort of got taken over by the local youth drop-in center. Malia had been roped into volunteering there back in college. They had asked her to teach an auto shop class for new drivers. Malia reluctantly agreed but had ended up falling in love with mentoring teenagers. Now she volunteers there weekly teaching auto shop and dance.

She enjoyed it so much she even got the rest of the pack involved. Lydia started volunteering with her while she was still finishing her Ph.D. in psychology. Now Lydia volunteers as head of their counseling department. Kira teaches Jiu Jitsu classes and helps run the tutoring program. Scott and Stiles started a lacrosse program where Stiles bought a whistle and does everything possible to imitate Coach Finstock.

Malia's latest contribution to the drop-in center is running a wilderness survival program. It was so popular they had to run it twice to make it available to all the kids. So that's how their camping trip suddenly became a youth event. Stiles couldn't bring himself to be too upset about it though. He probably would never admit it out loud but he really enjoyed working with the kids at the drop-in center. Everyone always felt like they belonged when they were there and for teenagers who feel like misfits that's a pretty powerful thing. He liked being a part of that. He knew how much his high school years would have sucked without his friends.

The drop-in also gave the pack a unique way to find and help out troubled supernatural teenagers. And this being Beacon Hills there was no shortage of them. He and Malia were heading out to Big Basin State Park tonight to set up their campsite. They would have a whole day to themselves before the kids arrive on Saturday.

Obi hopped into the back of the Jeep thumping his big black tail. In his enthusiasm displacing some of the luggage sending it tumbling out of the back of the Jeep.

Stiles shook his head picking up the fallen bag, "Don't worry, buddy. We'd never leave you behind." He assures the dog as starts toward the Camaro intent on getting the last bag.

Stiles hears the familiar squeal of metal as Malia slides down the fireman's pole and her feet hitting the pavement. Stiles comes around the front of the Camaro. She's wearing a short-sleeve navy blue work shirt with an embroidered name patch, ripped jeans and scuffed biker boots. There's a delicate tattoo of a compass rose on her forearm. Her long hair was tied in a ponytail and swept over one shoulder. Her one piece of jewelry is the tarnished St. Jude's medal around her neck. She's so Beautiful.

She stays there for a moment resting her hand against the pole looking at him beneath her lashes. Malia always could make him nervous in the best possible way. As she started towards him he felt his pulse spike and from the crooked grin she had on her face there was no way she hadn't heard it.

Malia crossed the distance between them, pulling him in by the collar of his shirt, kissing him thoroughly. His breath caught in his throat. As Malia kissed him he lost track of his carefully thought out plan. Stiles smirked against her lips winding his arms around her middle and kissing her back hungrily. She pushed him against the Camaro and he distantly heard the clang of a wrench as it impacted the pavement. Spinning around he hoisted Malia up setting her on the hood of the Camaro. Malia wound her arms around his neck running her fingers through his hair before pulling back.

She grinned nuzzling his nose, "Hello, deputy." She whispered a little breathless.

"Hi," he whispered back before kissing her again this one was soft and sweet. When he pulled back she kept her eyes closed for a few seconds longer than necessary. He smirked feeling proud of himself. He unconsciously rocks forward to kiss her again when her caramel coloured eyes fluttered open. She presses her thumb to his lips, before he can kiss her. Stiles pulls back to look at her.

"So…are you going to tell me what's up?" she asks without preamble. Stupid chemo signals.

"I not sure what you mean." Stiles felt the skin prickling at the back of his neck.

"You've been acting weird all week. But today your heartbeat is all over the place." Malia told him pointedly.

"My heartbeat is all over the place whenever we're in the same room." Stiles countered with a disarming smile. But Malia shook her head.

"I know the difference between that and whatever this is." She rebuffed. "Does this have something to with why Derek called me today?"

"Malia it's nothing—Derek called you—when?" Stiles tumbled over his words. Malia eyed him suspiciously.

"Yeah, apparently you pulled him over today, again." Stiles felt his shoulders slump with relief.

"Yeah, I kinda did." He smirked.

"Well he ranted to me about it. He wanted to know what I see in a guy like you."

"What did you tell him?" Stiles asked curious.

"That I'd try to get you to stop pulling him over."

"No. The part about what you see in a guy like me."

"Oh. I told him it was none of his business."

"Of course you did." Stiles grumbled.

Her eyes shot toward the Jeep and Stiles followed her gaze and felt his heart jolt again.

"There it is again." She told him her eyes locking with his. "What is going on with you?"

Stiles smoothed his hands down Malia's arms. "Look you're right something is up with me," he admitted, "But can we just get in the Jeep and drive out to Big Basin? I'm going to explain everything on the way."

"Alright." She says reading his sincerity. She seizes her backpack from the garage floor and carries it around the back of the Jeep. Stiles follows her watching as she tosses it in the back. He tucks his bag in beside hers. He doesn't need to be able to smell chemo signals or hear a heartbeat to know she feels hurt and confused right now. It makes Stiles feel about three inches tall to know he's responsible for that. Just a few more hours.

Stiles lifts the tailgate and Malia's hand touches his wrist where it rest on the metal.

"You never have to be scared to tell me anything. You know that right?" she tells him. Stiles feels his heart swell and feels that familiar rush of emotions again. The same feeling she's stirred up in him ever since they were seventeen.

"Yeah. I know that. I'm not scared…just nervous." He replies his voice a rough whisper.

"Well don't be." She tells him over her shoulder. She grabs the passenger side door and tugs it open, whistling for Obi. The dog dutifully bounds into the Jeep. "Are you going to tell me why we can't take the Camaro?"

Stiles shakes his head smirking, "Nope." Malia rolls her eyes at him. She ducks inside the cab and turns the keys and the radio clicks on. Stiles feels his blood run cold as he hears the creak of the hood opening. He jogs around the side of the Jeep just in time to catch Malia around the middle before she ducks under the hood.

"Whoa-whoa-whoa what are you doing?" he asks steering her away from the front of the Jeep.

"I'm checking the oil." She says confused.

"I already did the pre-road inspection. You don't have to worry about it." Malia shrugs off his arm.

"OK. But I'm the mechanic and I'm telling you something smells off under there. It's weird I can't place it. It's like something plastic like…" Malia's eyes narrow at him, "Duct tape."

Stiles stiffens and Malia slides past him and leans under the hood Stiles follows behind her rubbing at the back of his neck.

"Hah! Duct tape I knew it." She crows triumphantly, "No wonder you were nervous. We have a rule about this. No duct tape on the Jeep ever." She stresses.

"Malia, wait I can…" Malia rips the duct tape off before he can stop her and there is a tiny metal ping…ping…ping as a small metal piece tumbles off the Jeep. It rolls across the garage floor and collides with Malia's scuffed boot. It raddled as it settles on the grease stained floor. Stiles hears Malia's breathing hitch as it gleams when the light catches it. She slowly bends down and retrieves the simple art deco ring.

"I was going to fake a stall at Big Basin and pull over to the side of the road by the waterfall…the one you always make us stop at." Malia's eyes shot to him. He was kneeling in front of the headlights. He's managed to do it without her noticing. "I figured you'd pull the tape off and it would be easy from there."

Malia's leaned back against the Jeep her eyes fixed on the ring, her breathing ragged.

Her eyes shoot to his, "This isn't you overreacting to me asking you to move in is it?"

"No," he chuckles. "This isn't me overreacting." Reaching into his pocket he pulled out an old cassette tape with faded writing. "A long time ago you asked me to keep this for you." He says as he looks up into her eyes. "That's the first time I knew you loved me when you trusted me with this." He tells her. "That was my mom's engagement ring," he says pointing to her hand. "I was hoping you would keep it for me."

Malia was very still as she leaned against the Jeep her hand clutching the embossed white gold ring in her fist. But her eyes weren't locked on the rounded square cut diamond they looked beyond it as if she was caught up in a memory.

"You never let go of my hand." She finally whispers. "That first time in Eichen House you never let go of my hand." She repeats. "I think about that all the time. You're the first person I ever told about the accident. The first boy I ever kissed." Malia whispers her eyes meeting his. "That's what I was thinking about when Derek asked me what kind of man you are."

They watch each other for the longest moment. Then Malia smiles at him and slips the engagement ring on her finger.

"Get up here," she commands softly, as she leans off the car, reaching out pulling him to his feet and into her arms. They hang onto each other desperately. Stiles can feel a few teardrops against his neck and pulls away slightly. He brushes her tears off her cheeks with the cuff of his sleeve.

Tilting her chin, he gets her to meet his eyes, "I love you." He tells her. Malia surges forward kissing him.

"I love you, too." She says against his lips. It's not the first time she's said it. She tells him pretty much every day but she rarely says it with words. So he's pretty helpless whenever he hears her say those words. He twirls her around in front of the Jeep. Malia whispers something in his ear before leaning in to kiss him.

Stiles grins scooping her up in his arms and kicking a tool box out of his way. Malia laughs and kisses him as he carries her up the stairs. Malia nipped at his lips in a thoroughly distracting way and it made him catch his foot on a stair. He stumbled forwards sprawling them both on the stairs. Malia chuckled against his throat her arms still around him. "The stairs? How romantic." She teases. Stiles groans lifting his head giving her a dirty look.

"Your fault, smartass." Stiles answers back. Kissing her soundly to show her two can play at that game. She's a little breathless when they break apart and Stiles is feeling pretty smug about it.

"Wanna try that again?" she says tilting her head toward the top of the stairs. "I'll go easy on you this time." Malia promises running her fingers across his cheek. Stiles nuzzles her hand and starts to climb to his feet. He stills when he feels his phone buzzing in his pocket. It started blaring an old western theme which Malia programmed for him after he'd become a deputy. He reached for it trying to switch it off when he saw it was Scott calling. Scott knew his plan for tonight so he shouldn't be calling unless there was some sort of catastrophe. He answered the phone switching it to speaker and tossing it up on the stair above them. Then he leans down brushing his lips lightly against Malia's.

"Hey buddy, what's up? I thought I said I was busy tonight."

"Seriously, just propose already. I mean you've been trying to do this for months."

Malia raises an eyebrow mouthing the word 'months' to him.

"Only because every time I try, you're interrupting us." Stiles replies annoyed.

Malia grins up at him and turning her face she leans toward the phone, "Hi, Scott."

"Oh. Sorry, Malia." Scott apologizes. "Look we've got a big problem."

"OK. What's going on?" Stiles asks concern sobering his voice.

"We're outside. It might be better if we show you." Scott explains.

"OK. Scott. We'll be right there." Malia assures him as she hangs up the phone.

Stiles drops his face into Malia's neck and groans. "I'm sorry. Worst. Proposal. Ever."

"Hey," she said tugging on his shirt so he would look at her "The guy I love just asked me to marry him. If you think I need more than that then you don't know me very well."

"Yeah, but it doesn't mean I don't want you to have more." Stiles asserts.

"Oh, I plan on it." She said mischievously, "When you're friend isn't within five hundred feet of us." She laughed at the colour Stiles turned before sliding out from under him and offering him a hand up.

Stiles took her offered hand and sprang to his feet. The cool kiss of the ring on her hand beneath his fingers was an indescribable feeling. It kind of knocked him off-balance how good it felt to have his ring on her finger. A lock of hair fell over Malia's forehead as she brushed it out of her eyes her unbuttoned work shirt slipped off her shoulder slightly. Beneath the strap of her tank top he could make out the edge of a small raised white scar.

Malia nudged him gently, "Stiles? You OK?" He blinked and realized he'd been staring.

Stiles nodded, "Yeah," he whispered roughly. He reached out and drew his thumb along the scar lightly. Malia shivered as he did so. Stiles knew every scar on her skin, each of them were from her childhood, from before she first turned. All of them except for this one. Stiles frowned as he caressed it. He blamed himself for this scar. Malia pressed her hand to his chest and looked up at him her eyes full of concern.

"Hey, what's going on in your head?" she asked. Stiles pulled his hand away and gently tugged her shirt back onto her shoulder.

Stiles stared down at their entwined fingers, "Nothing I just…" he ran a hand through his hair "I wanted to say thank you."

Malia cocked her head to the side, raising her eyebrow, "For what?" she asked confused.

"For…" Stiles gestured a hand vaguely between them failing to find the words. A sudden rush of memories played through his mind.

Malia punching him…the look in her eye before she stole her first kiss…Malia climbing through his bedroom window…her promising to never leave him behind...Malia stretched out on his bed with her textbook and highlighters…her shivering in his arms on the floor of the Hale vault…her walking away…Malia biting her lip as she admitted she liked him…a lot…them under the hood of the Jeep as she told him about Lindsay's favourite song…Malia slipping the mix-tape into his shirt pocket…them stretched out on the couch as Malia mumbled questions about Star Wars into his shirt…Malia pulling him into the street to dance with her a music festival…Malia grinning down at him from the roof of Oldcastle…the first time she told him she loved him…Malia scaling a fence saying they wouldn't get caught and taunting him to follow…Malia dancing with Rory around the garage…her with tears in her eyes shoving him away and walking out into the rain…the first time he saw her in another guy's sweater…an arrow in her chest and black blood spilling from her lips…Malia rolling him towards her and kissing him awake…the other night cuddling on the couch by the old wood stove, with the ring in his pocket and her asleep in his arms.

Stiles brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, "…for all of it. For everything that got me to this moment with you." Malia dropped her eyes biting her lip as she shook her head at him. When her eyes met his again he was overwhelmed by what he saw in them. Malia leaned into him sharing the same breath as him as she fisted her hand in his shirt.

Her lips a hairsbreadth away from his as she promised, "You ain't seen nothing yet, Stilinski." Stiles smirked brushing his nose along hers before leaning in to kiss her slow and deep. Malia braced his face in her hands easily matching his intensity. But they were interrupted by knocking at the garage door. Malia pulled back from him growling at the door and straightening his shirt.

"We'll finish this later, deputy." She promised him before turning toward the obnoxious knocking. Stiles grinned boyishly shoving his hands in his pockets as he watched her cross the floor.

Malia threw the latch on the deadbolt then stopped, hastily tugging the ring off and slipping it into the pocket of her washed out jeans. Stiles already missed the sight of it on her hand, but he got her point. She wanted this to be theirs for a moment before it became everyone else's. With the ring safely stored away she pulled the door open wide.

Scott rushed through the doorway with an armful of rolled papers, a majority of the pack following close behind. Obi barked and thumped his tail, weaving through Scott, Kira, Lydia, Mason, Liam and Hayden. Scott met Stiles at the hood of the Jeep and passed him the armful of papers.

"We've got big problems." Scott told him as he grabbed one of the rolls of paper and unfurled it on the hood of the Jeep. He smoothed out the map and searched it with a serious expression.

"You're gonna need to be more specific." Stiles said, as he looked over Scott's shoulder and found him reading a map of telluric currents. The rest of the pack gathered around the hood.

Lydia drew up beside Scott, "One of the kids I've been counseling at the drop-in, Emily. She thinks she being followed…well tracked might be the better word for it." Lydia explained. Scott was still searching for something on the map.

Malia crossed her arms, "Tracked? By what?" she asked.

"You know the blackouts we've been having the last few days?" Lydia asked.

"Yeah, the A/C in the shop has been out pretty much all week because of it." Malia muttered.

"Deaton thinks she's being tracked by a Black Dog." Lydia told them. Stiles felt his blood run cold and his eyes instantly shot to Malia. They had a run in with a Black Dog their sophomore year of college and it hadn't ended well.

"What's a Black Dog?" Liam asked reading the exchange between Stiles and Malia. Scott looked up from the map.

"It's what happens when an evolved werewolf goes feral." Scott replied with a grim expression.

"What does that have to do with the blackouts?" Hayden asked.

"Black Dogs travel through telluric currents, they are mostly sighted near thunderstorms. Some of the writings in the bestiary even claim some of them can manifest electricity." Kira replied.

Liam shifted his feet, "This is bad."

Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose, "You don't know the half of it." he cautions, dropping his hand and meeting Liam's eyes. "They can appear and disappear, pass through walls, they can make you hallucinate. And here's the best part they don't give off a scent."

"So how do we even find this thing?" Mason asks.

"I'm working on it." Scott said through the pen clenched in his teeth as he scoured the map. Stiles looked over his best friend's shoulder again his eyes trailing over map of telluric currents. When his eyes found a convergence of currents near the Foundry Bridge.

It was an old abandoned railway swing bridge set up on stone pillars. It was built back when Beacon Hills had been nothing more than a railway station and the iron foundry. It had had fallen away from the shore. Its weathered remains now rose up eerily from the depths of the river. Abandoned by the county, it was left to loom over the murky water collecting graffiti and rust.

"The currents converge here, near the Foundry Bridge." Stiles told Scott tapping the map. "A call came in over the radio this morning about trespassing down by the river." He pulled out his phone and scrolled through it landing on a picture, offering it to Scott. The picture showed a metal No Trespassing sign bent in half and the pole twisted at a strange angle. "It just looked like some kids had been messing around, but now I think it's something more."

"Like what?" Liam asked.

"Like a Black Dog marking its territory." Stiles replied, rubbing his forehead.

"I don't understand what would a Black Dog want with that old bridge?" Mason asked.

"They are drawn to the energy of certain places. Particularly bridges, graveyards, crossroads, and footpaths." Lydia replied.

"What we need to worry about is if this thing is marking out a territory." Malia interjected, "If you cross a Black Dog's territory they will stalk you to the ends of the earth."

"That's what I was afraid of," Lydia rasped. "I'm worried for Emily."

"Where is she now?" Malia asked

"She's with Jordan and Argent at my place." Lydia said.

"Right so what's the plan?" Liam asked.

"We check out the Foundry Bridge, carefully." Stiles insisted.

"How did you deal with the Black Dog last time?" Mason asked.

"We were lucky." Scott stressed. Stiles nodded in agreement.

"We're gonna need the two-way radios, turpentine and a whole lot of salt." Stiles decided. Malia pulled her keychain from her pocket and plucked out a small brass key.

"Yeah, I'm already on it." she said over her shoulder as she moved with a purpose towards her office. Stiles looked up from the map his eyes trailing after her. He shot Scott and Lydia a look.

"I'm gonna go help her. I'll be right back." He said as he shifted away from the Jeep and followed after her. Stiles leaned into the office and already found Malia elbow deep into the storage locker. She was tossing a set of radios into an unzipped black duffle bag at her feet. Stiles stole into the room coming up beside her as she maneuvered through their little armory. He reached above her head and grabbed a box of salt tossing it into the bag. Malia shifted her weight reaching up to grasp a roadside flare. Her fingers brushed it but couldn't grasp it. Stiles took it down from the shelf and pressed it into her hand.

"Thanks," Malia whispered, as she dropped it into the bag. "I think you should bring the 12-gauge and some mountain ash rounds." she suggested.

"You sure?" he asked surprised. Malia didn't like being around guns, even if it was him using them.

"If we're going up against a Black Dog then we're gonna need the stopping power." Malia insisted. Stiles couldn't argue with her there. He pulled out the gun and set it aside and took down a box of shot gun shells that Argent had made for him. He put his hands on his hips and inspected his girlfriend—fiancé. She looked nervous. This was not at all how he imagined this night going. With a smirk he decided exactly how to get her out of this dark mood.

"Hey, could you pass me the duct tape." He asked as innocently as possible. Malia turned holding a jug of turpentine and scowled at him.

"We're not bringing duct tape." she snapped, as she set the jug down.

"What if we need it?" he asked as he reached towards it. Malia intercepted him and rolled the duct tape further into the shelf just out of his grasp.

"We won't need it." she dismissed.

"We might." he insisted as he pressed up against her back and reached past her for it. Malia lithely seized the duct tape and quickly spun out of his grasp.

"We won't." she countered. Stiles stepped toward her but she dodged around him. Her eyebrows raising in a playful challenge.

Stiles bit his cheek, restraining a smirk, "C'mon just hand it over." he taunted. She shook her head and dodged away from him. He mirrored her movements his eyes tracking over her with purpose. He managed to hook his foot around hers and catch her, drawing her close to him. It was a loose hold one she could easily break from but from the playful look in her eyes he knew she wouldn't. Stiles ducked his head laying teasing kisses against the skin of her neck. Malia threw her head back laughing trying to squirming away from him.

"You had enough?" he said against her throat goading her on.

"Never." She said with conviction. Stiles abruptly found himself pinned to the storage locker door with his arms above his head.

"Gotcha," she whispered, grinning at him wolfishly. Stiles tilted his head towards her brushing his lips against hers.

"You've got no idea." he replied.

"You drive me crazy," she mumbled against his lips as she kissed him, releasing her hold on his arms. Then she pushed the roll of duct tape into his chest with force. Stiles choked on his own laughter at the force of the impact. Malia started to lean away from him, when Stiles caught her wrist.

He drew his thumb over her pulse point and whispered, "I wish we were camping right now."

Malia squeezed his fingers in response, rocking back into his space for a fraction of second, "Me too." she replied. Then she artfully dodged his lips and stepped around him. "But right now we've got work to do." Stiles sighed and followed her lead packing up what they needed from the armory.

When they were done he ducked down and zipped up the duffle bag. When he straightened he found her fumbling with the clasp of her necklace. He watched her curiously for a moment before he saw her reach into her back pocket and retrieve the engagement ring. She slipped it onto the gold chain and drew it back around her neck. Stiles stepped up behind her brushing her hair off her neck his hands covering hers as he hooked the clasp closed her. He lingered there for a moment brushing his thumb along the back of her neck.

"You ready?" he asked. Malia nodded bending down to grab the bag. Just as Scott and Lydia came through the doorway of the office.

"Argent is going to meet us at the—" Scott started to tell them before Lydia interjected.

"—is that a ring? You asked her!" she exclaimed. Malia and Stiles shot each other a look and couldn't help blushing. Scott's serious expression broke out into a wide grin. He crossed the room grabbing Stiles and Malia in either arm and hugging them tight. Lydia was right behind him wrapping her arms around the pair of them the second Scott released them.

"I'm so happy for you guys," she whispered to her friends.

When she pulled back from them Scott raised a questioning eyebrow at Stiles, "I thought you were gonna do it at the waterfall." Stiles shrugged looking at Malia.

"That was the plan but she smelled the duct tape before I could even get her in the Jeep," Stiles explained. Scott rolled his eyes at Stiles.

"I warned him duct tape was a bad idea." Scott told Malia conspiratorially.

Malia smiled a secret smile directed at Stiles and shrugged, "I don't know I think it was kind of perfect." Stiles straightened up and met her eyes feeling a deeper pride than he'd ever felt before stirring in his chest. Scott clapped him on the shoulder a little too hard but even that couldn't pull his eyes from hers.

"So when did this all go down?" Scott asked.

"About eight minutes before you got here," Malia said in that nonchalant way of hers. Scott's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline and Lydia smacked his arm for good measure.

"I told you we should have left them out of this tonight." Lydia reprimanded.

"Yeah, you were right. Sorry, guys." Scott said sheepishly.

"It's fine man." Stiles assured.

"I would have been pissed if you went after a Black Dog alone," Malia insisted. "We're a pack. And we handle things as a pack."

The four friends shared a meaningful look before Malia grabbed the duffle bag at her feet and slung it over her shoulder.

"C'mon guys, we've got a feral werewolf to track and a girl to save before sunrise." she said over her shoulder, "And the sooner we get it done the sooner I get to go camping."

Malia marched over to the back of the Jeep and tossed out one of the hiking backpacks and put their equipment in instead. She grabbed four sets of two-way radios and started dividing them among the pack.

The pack was gathered around the hood while Scott pointed out the Foundry Bridge on the map and started walking everyone through the plan. Stiles was caught up in the moment and looked at the people gathered around him, and down at Obi who was sitting on Stiles' foot thumping his tail on the concrete.

Stiles knew that he would always feel a piece of himself was missing because he had taken a life. What he had done to survive it would always be a part of him. But trying to save people that was how he pushed back against the darkness. How he reclaimed the piece of himself that Theo and the Nogitsune stole, even if it was only for a moment. There are a lot of different ways to save a life. But in his experience the most powerful way to save someone was to be a true friend. To sit with someone in their darkest hours. To believe in them when they couldn't believe in themselves. And when they are lost to stop at nothing to find them and bring them home.

Stiles watched the people who stood around the hood of the Jeep with him. Each of them had saved him in one way or another. And he had saved them.

Scott looked up from the map and turned to each of them, "OK. Everybody all set?"

Stiles nodded as he pulled Malia closer into his side with one arm and gripped Scott's shoulder with the other.

"Let's go save a life."

The End

Author's Note: Thank you everyone for sticking with me through this story and for all your wonderful comments and encouragement. This is my first completed story. YAY! I have left a lot a lot of Easter eggs in this epilogue for my follow up story "Nine Simple Rules" which will be coming soon. I am also writing a short "Bonus Scene" for this this story from Malia's P.O.V. I hope you like this ending. I know I left the Black Dog story up in the air. I just like endings that make you feel like the characters are still doing their "thing" even as they exit. All the best. Hurricane.