Malia Tate probably shouldn't be doing this. It's two o'clock in the morning, she didn't tell anyone where she was headed, and she has no idea where she's going, or even where she is at the moment. Leaves swirl in the wind all around her, their scent momentarily distracting her from the scent she picked up. For days she's been rummaging through Stiles' possessions, attempting to catch a whiff of something, anything that could lead her towards him. Now she's finally found a faint connection.

But it's beginning to seem like another dead end. There have been too many of those for Malia to take another one. She has to find Stiles. Scott told her that Hayden and Liam forgot this morning, their memories vanishing in the night. Now it's as if he never existed to them, like he wasn't even there. That's why she vowed not to sleep tonight, or any night, until she's found him.

She will not forget. She refuses to.

Still, it's hard to focus on his scent when the trail she's taking twists every few steps and she's sleep deprived. Malia stumbles over a branch she didn't see and topples to the ground. Unable to stop her momentum, she rolls down a steep incline into a hard, rock-like surface, hitting her head in the process. Her vision, which was already spotty, blurs completely, and then goes black.

"No," she whimpers, but the dregs of sleep pull her under without her permission. At least Stiles can be with her in her dreams…

Malia and Stiles laid on his bed, her arms around him as he quietly slept. She could feel his breath, its rhythm soothing her more than anything else in the world. She'd never thought she could feel safe or comfortable. Back when she was a coyote, the only thing she understood was the need to survive, and that never came with a feeling of safety. But now, with Stiles' body entwined with hers, she felt at peace. She closed her eyes and nuzzled her face into his neck.

Stiles woke her up as the sun was rising, drawing small circles on the backs of her hands. She rubbed her feet against his calves in return and soon he was rolling over and kissing her. Stiles ran his hand down her neck lightly, sending chills throughout her body. His left arm was wrapped around her, pulling her as close as she could get. Malia's entire being seemed to catch fire whenever he touched her, as if it knew that his body would tame the flames. Or perhaps it thought his body would only add to the fire so that they could explode together. And that's what it felt like: an explosion.

Malia pulled his shirt off, desperate to touch his skin in as many places as possible. While she was running her hands down his sides, she felt a gash and heard him gasp in pain. She quickly pulled away and tried to inspect the injury. It was a cut that ran from the top of his rib cage to just above the line of his pants. It looked like it had been there for a few hours at most.

"What happened?" Malia asked.

"Oh, nothing. You know how clumsy I am," he answered with a casual shrug of his shoulders. But she heard his heart speed up a bit and his tone was a little too casual, as if he was trying to not give something away.

"This is more than clumsy, Stiles," Malia retorted. "What did you do, fall onto a cutting board?" She tried for a humorous tone, hoping he felt comfortable enough to share the truth with her.

"Nah," Stiles said, "I was cleaning the gutters for my dad and I fell off the ladder half way down." He touched the cut on his side. "A stray piece of metal cut me on my fall." There was that small fluctuation in his heartbeat again.

"Yeah but it doesn't even look like you tried to clean it off or bandage it." She was trying to get him to reveal whatever it was that he was hiding.

"Hey, I washed it off and put some neosporin on it, okay?" he said. "You know, not all of us can heal right away." Malia looked up at him. His tone seemed casual enough but his heartbeat sped up again and Malia knew he wasn't being honest with her. She was about to call him out on it when he began tickling her. Malia couldn't help but laugh since he knew all of her vulnerable spots.

"Are you insinuating that I'm dirty, Malia Tate?" he managed to say through his own laughter.

"I don't even...know what that...means," Malia gasped, trying to regain her breath. Stiles started kissing her neck, and she almost forgot what they'd been talking about.

"It means that I love you," he murmured against her skin. "That's all you need to know." Malia sighed, ignoring that fact that he just blatantly lied to her because she knew that he did love her. Whatever it was that he was hiding, he would tell her when he was ready. For now, she just wanted to enjoy the taste of his lips and the feel of him inside of her. Nothing else mattered. Just Stiles, only, always Stiles.

Malia wakes up with the sun beating down on her face and the memory of Stiles' taste fresh on her lips. Her cheeks feel wet and she realizes she's been crying in her sleep. Her head throbs and her body aches but all she can think is that she has to hold on to the memory of his scent. In her dream, she could smell him: his combination of soap and ink. The chemo-scent of anxiety that followed him everywhere, but also the scent of love that she could sense whenever she was around him. It's so vivid that she almost thinks it could be real.

Malia shakes herself off and gets up off the ground. Her head is still pounding but she can see more clearly now. After assessing her injuries, she concludes that she'll be fine. Most of them are already healed. With a deep sigh, Malia turns around to leave this strange part of the woods. But something stops her. She sniffs the air, wondering why she can still smell Stiles. It can't be just remnants of her dream, it's too strong for that, too real.

Suddenly, she's locked into his scent and she knows exactly where to go. Acting on instinct, Malia lifts the rock surface she landed on and finds a hole in the ground with a ladder built into it. She quickly climbs down and finds herself in a cave with tunnels branching off from it. And in the entrance to one of those tunnels, she finds Stiles' flannel shirt.

Malia runs over to it, grabbing it and holding it close to her chest while breathing in its scent. Standing up on shaky legs, Malia yells his name through the tunnel. She yells it multiple times, as if the more she yells it the better her chances are of getting a response. As she expected, nothing comes back but an echo. But it's still something, a connection to him. It's more than she's had since he disappeared.

With her hopes of finding Stiles increased, Malia finally lets herself take a break. She sits down with her back against the tunnel wall and cradles his shirt, remembering all the times he wore it or lent it to her. This one is green, blue and white, and she remembers him wearing it to the pizza shop down the street when his father treated them to dinner. She hopes that she gets another chance to make fun of him for his fashion sense like she did that day.

Looking around her, Malia realizes that she can't handle this alone. The tunnels could lead to anywhere or could be a trap of some sort. Plus, she can't rescue Stiles on her own. She needs help and she knows exactly what number to dial.

"Scott, it's Malia," she says when he picks up. "I found something."