Author's Note: I lied. This will definitely be more than a two-shot. I hope you enjoy!

"I was there for you

In your darkest times

I was there for you

In your darkest nights."

—Maroon 5, "Maps"

Kissing Malia is like being caught in a tornado.

She's strong, powerful and as her hands roam over his chest, he figures that's one of the points he likes best about her. He's new to this—having a girlfriend, getting kissed, going on dates—and though she must be too, she doesn't hesitate. She doesn't get tripped up like he does, doesn't balk at taking his hand within hers and leading the way.

And he likes her a lot.

He just . . . it isn't love. Maybe it will grow to be one day, but there is a difference between the amount of affection she holds for him and the amount he holds for her. Still, he wants to love her—wants to become the kind of guy that she sees in him—and he's willing to work at it for as long as it takes.

Ring.

Malia's lips leave his the moment his phone rings. His girlfriend grimaces—annoyed to be interrupted by the phone—but Stiles mouths a quick apology before picking up the cellphone and placing it to his ear.

"Yeah?"

"Stiles."

The teenager visibly relaxes at the sound of his father's voice on the other line. Malia drapes herself over his shoulder, her gaze flickering to his eyes, perplexed.

"What's up, Dad?"

There's a pause and it's the first clue that something is off.

"Have you seen Lydia this afternoon?" There's an overly cautious edge to his father's tone that leaves his hairs standing up on edge. He glances at his clock—8:00pm—and wonders when it got this late.

"Lydia?" He feels Malia stiffen beside him. "No, I haven't."

His father sighs heavily.

"It's probably nothing." His father mutters and Stiles can picture him leaning back in his chair and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"But?" Stiles presses, voice tinged with fear.

"Lydia hasn't come home tonight, Stiles."

"What do you mean she hasn't come home?" He can't process what his father is saying to him. It's ridiculous to think that Lydia could be in trouble! She's part of the pack and so far no one had dared to go after her—

But, on the other hand, money could a strong motivator and going after a banshee is certainly easier than going after a werewolf.

"I don't know yet!" His father snaps, a mixture of concern and fury coloring his tone. "I just . . . her mother is here and I can't help but wonder if this has something to do with the . . ." He lowers his voice. "With the list, okay?"

"Someone's taken her." Stiles breathes and Malia straightens up, an unknown expression flashing across her face.

"We don't know for sure—" His father tries to protest.

"It's Beacon Hills, Dad." Stiles chuckles mirthlessly. "What else could it be?" He rises from his bed and reaches for his jacket. "I'll be there in five." He hangs up and then zips the jacket.

"Is something wrong?" Malia questions, her gaze downcast. It reminds him of a child put in time out, the way she's hunched over.

"Lydia's been taken." He explains quickly. "We need to go to the police station."

"Right." She nods.

They head out the door and pile into his Jeep but he can't help but feel like he's missing some key piece of information, something that Malia wants him to know but can't voice.

But, with Lydia's life on the line, he doesn't have time to figure it now.

All that matters is Lydia.

By the time they get to the station, the Sheriff is consulting with Parrish, both of them looking equally grim.

He bursts through the door, not caring if he's interrupting anything.

"You find her?" He asks, knowing that they haven't, but wishing for it regardless.

"Her car was abandoned on a back road, about 20 minutes from town." Parrish reports dutifully, though his lips are in a tight line. "Her, uh, backpack and cellphone were left behind in it."

"But you don't know where she went?" Stiles presses and Parrish shakes his head mournfully.

"I'll call Scott." Malia speaks up softly. "He and I could take another look." She shares a knowing glance with the Sheriff who nods before she exits the room.

Parrish seems confused by the sudden turn of events, but doesn't voice his concerns.

"Parrish."

"Sir?" The Deputy straightens.

"Take Ms. Martin home." Stiles' father orders. "Tell her . . ." He pauses to think of some plausible excuse other than, 'your daughter is on a hit list and someone took her' but fails to come up with anything. "Tell her something and make sure she's calm before you leave."

"Yes, sir."

The Deputy leaves the room and Stiles finally has the chance to discuss the matter frankly without fear of the wrong person overhearing.

"Did you find any traces of who took her? Maybe Kate—?" Stiles questions, desperately needing to know who took Lydia and how they could get her back. Lydia means more to him than he knows how to express. She is his partner, his anchor—the girl he fell in love with in the third grade—and he'll be damned if he just sits here, being useless.

"Nothing." His father replies softly. "Whoever did this is a professional. No fingerprints, nothing incriminating left behind."

"They were hired to take her then." Stiles concludes. "So, maybe this isn't tied to the Benefactor."

"Or maybe someone wants a banshee." His father proposes. Running a hand through his hair, he grimaces. Then, crossing to his son, he places a hand on his shoulder and smiles softly. "We'll find her, Stiles."

"Alive?" He echoes, fear etched into his expression.

"Alive." His father repeats forcefully.

And in that moment, Stiles begins to hope again.

They will find Lydia; it's only a matter of time.

Author's Note: Next chapter, more on Lydia and her captors and more of the pack! Please review if you have a moment. Thanks!