word count: 12,591
polyvore: look for 'sarcasticfina' - check under collections for one named after this story
episode: 1x01 - "wolf moon" (continued); 1x02 - second chance at first line
iv
Malia twirled around in her desk chair, regretting every decision that led her to this moment. Her outfit was laid out on the bed, her hair was straightened, and she was sitting in her underwear wondering how much flack she'd get from Danny if she just didn't show up. It was a big party. He probably wouldn't even notice her absence. And really, the last thing she wanted to do was hang out in a place where she only knew four people, two of whom would be flirting with each other. No, thanks. Deciding that her best choice was to just cancel, she dug her heels into the carpet to stop her chair and grabbed her phone off her desk to give Stiles a call. Knowing him, he'd still end up going just on the off-chance Lydia acknowledged his existence, so it wouldn't put him out too much. However, just as she was about to pick his name out of her contacts, his face flashed across the screen.
Answering it, she said, "Hey, I was just about to call you. Listen, I'm not really in the partying mood and—"
"You have to go."
She frowned. "I'm pretty sure I don't."
"No, listen, I need you there. Scott is a werewolf, Malia. Like a real, live, straight out of a horror movie, werewolf. I researched everything and I told him what I found. With the full moon, he won't just go through physical change. There's other things, too! Like blood lust."
There are some things that people simple could not be prepared to hear. Regardless of the conversation she'd had with Stiles earlier, a part of her still fully believed he was just being an overdramatic ass. "…what?"
"I know it sounds crazy, but you didn't see him. I- I told him what was happening and he just snapped! He pushed me against a wall and he was going to do a lot worse. I could see it in his face, okay?"
"Well, this date is really important to him…" She chewed her lip, her stomach twisted up in the kind of knots that broke nails when you tried to unravel them. "He really pushed you?"
"Yes! He's just, he's not himself. And I'm going to need your help, because if something does go wrong, he could really hurt someone. Worse, he could hurt himself. So just… Get ready, okay? I'm already halfway to your house. You're going to this party with me and we're going to save his furry ass if it's the last thing we do."
Malia nodded and rubbed a hand over her forehead. She wasn't completely sold on the 'werewolf' thing, but if he was that worried about Scott, then she at least wanted to check in and make sure he was okay for herself. "All right. I'll see you soon."
Stiles let out a relieved sigh. "Thank you. I'm about ten minutes away."
"Okay."
Hanging up, Malia turned to her bed, eyeing the clothes laid out in front of her with a frown. She wondered what she'd ever done to life that it had to keep screwing her over.
...
"Can we talk about this outfit?" Stiles put his jeep in park, just down the hill from Lydia's house. Either side of the street was lined with cars and, even from a distance, they could make out the bass of the music.
Malia tugged at the bottom of her top, regretting her idea to step well out of her fashion comfort zone. "It's just clothes."
"Yeah, but it's…" His brows hiked. "Hot."
She glared at him.
He held his hands up in surrender. "I'm just saying… You're pulling it off."
"Whatever." She pushed open the jeep door and hopped down, wishing she'd brought a cardigan or a jacket to cover up her arms at least. She felt kind of naked. Maybe Danny was right; her clothes had become a safety blanket of sorts. Given how chilly it was, however, she wasn't sure that was a terrible thing right now.
"C'mon." Stiles circled around to walk with her up the hill. "We should probably split up. When one of us finds him, we can let the other know."
"And then what?"
He shrugged and tossed a hand up. "We convince him he has a furry little problem and get the hell out of there."
"You realize that this whole werewolf theory is nuts, right?" She shook her head. "Werewolves aren't real. They can't be! And seriously, this is Scott."
"I don't think they took a census to figure out which guy would fit in their pack. I think they just bit him because he was there." His brows hiked as he turned to her. "It chased you too, didn't it? You'd probably be in the same boat as Scott if it caught you."
"Yeah, or the bite was superficial and Scott's just going through some kind of weird growth-spurt, I don't know." They passed a few familiar faces as they made their way inside Lydia's house, which was packed with people. The music was so loud that Malia could hardly hear herself think. She winced and turned to Stiles. "Well?"
"I'm going this way." Stiles motioned to the left with his thumb. "If you see him…" He waved his phone at her and tapped the screen. "Text me."
Malia nodded before walking off to the right, weaving between people as they clustered together in groups. Her gaze bounced around the room in search of a familiar mop of brown hair. She spotted Danny, red solo cup in hand, flirting with a cute guy she didn't recognize. She waited until she caught his eye and then nodded in greeting. He grinned in return, raised his cup, and tipped it at her, as if to say 'cheers' for actually dragging herself out of the house.
Leaving him to his flirting, Malia made her way to the sliding glass doors overlooking the back. The porch served as a makeshift dancefloor and it was there that Malia spotted him. Scott wearing that oversized brown jacket of his that hung well past his fingers and a pair of blue jeans, about as close to dressed up as she'd ever seen him. One of his hands was on Allison's hip, the other brushing her hair off her shoulder. Allison's hands were interlocked behind his neck, their foreheads close, but not touching as they dance, lost in each other.
The crowd around them was a mixed bag of friends and couples, a collection or red and blue cups raised about their heads as they moved along to the beat. Malia lingered longer than she meant to, feeling like a complete creeper. She watched the smile grow on Scott's face. He looked happy and enthralled. So did Allison.
Malia's stomach bottomed out and sunk as low as her feet. This was exactly what she wanted to avoid. More than the discomfort of social interaction with complete strangers. Just witnessing them together first hand. Backing up, Malia turned to leave, figuring she could catch up to Stiles easy enough. He should be happy to know that Scott was just as human as ever.
She walked deeper into the house, searching the main floor to see if she could spot Stiles. The crowd was dense with familiar and unfamiliar faces, but none of them were who she was looking for. After a few minutes of searching the bottom floor with no luck, Malia climbed the stairs to see if she could find Stiles elsewhere. There was a line in front of the bathroom and a couple sloppily making out against a wall, but no Stiles. Down the hall, she saw a door cracked and found her feet moving in its direction. There was no light to suggest anyone was inside, but her feet seemed intent on getting there. It was a strange pull, a tugging sensation at her navel that kept her moving.
In this area of the house, everything seemed strangely muted, leaving her cut off from the party below. She pushed through the door, listening to the eerie creak as it opened, and stepped inside to find the room empty. Moonlight cast a blue glow through the open curtains of the window, stretching across the floor. Malia walked toward it, reaching a hand out to let moonbeams play across her palm and up her arm. The noise from downstairs had dulled to a distant buzz.
"What are you?"
Malia jumped at the unexpected voice. She whirled around to see—
Derek Hale.
He stepped forward, shadows dripping off his figure to reveal the suspicious narrowing of his eyes and the aggressive frown she remembered all too well from the woods.
It would be a lie to say Malia didn't feel intimidated; it was just the two of them in an empty room, inside a house where the music was so loud no one could hear her scream, and he hadn't exactly shown a great disposition thus far. Still, she raised her chin and folded her arms defiantly. "Aren't you a little old for a high school party?"
He ignored her question and stepped closer, his gaze bouncing across her face. "You don't even know."
Malia felt a cold shudder run down her back and took a step away from him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
He didn't answer, instead letting out a huff through his nose. "You'll figure it out."
"Yeah, I think you've had a little too much to drink. You want me to call you a cab or something?" She moved around him, making her way to the door, but kept her eyes on him as she went. It was strange. That feeling she got when she first met him in the woods was there, but she still couldn't pinpoint what it was. It was like… a memory, just out of reach.
Before she could yank the door open and flee, his hand was on her elbow, drawing her back. The simplicity of his strength was jarring; the effortless way in which he pulled her forward, until she just was inches from him, made her bones feel like liquid. The sudden awareness of a power dynamic that was quite obviously not in her favor made her knees shake and her panic-struck heart climb into her throat.
Derek stared down at her, his brow furrowed. "You shouldn't be here. It's not safe."
A blaring red alarm was going off in her head. When his fingers loosened, she yanked away from him, stumbling backwards. "Next time, skip the keg. You clearly can't hold your liquor." With that, she left, quickly making her way downstairs. Her nerves felt frayed, pulse still a little too quick. She kept looking back, as if he was just going to appear, menacing and strange. Only, he wasn't coming after her, which oddly made her feel even more freaked out.
And then a body collided with her, kicking her panic up another notch. But when she looked up, she was surprised and relieved to find Scott. His skin was damp with sweat and his breathing was more of a wheeze than anything. "Scott?" She caught him as he fell forward. "What happened?"
"I… I don't…" He looked up at her, his eyes glazed and his expression twisted in pain. "Something's wrong."
"Okay." She stared at him searchingly and then pulled one of his arms around her shoulder to help him stand. "Come on. I'll take you home."
He nodded, leaning into her as they shuffled out the front door. They moved down the driveway to where his mom's car was parked, with Malia carrying much of his weight as his whole body seemed to fold in on itself. She got him settled in the backseat while she raced around to the front, taking the keys from his outstretched and shaking hand. Maybe it was worry for Scott or the fear she still felt curdling her stomach around her encounter with Derek, but when she pulled away from Lydia's house, the tires squealed.
The drive to Scott's seemed to fly by in a flash of street lamps. When the radio attempted to interrupt, she switched it off, avoiding sensory overload. It was just him and her; his pained groaning and heavy breathing echoed through the car as he twisted and turned in the backseat. Malia split her attention between the road ahead and the mirror, checking on him frequently.
"You think it's something you ate?" This didn't look like food poisoning. While a part of her couldn't help but think of Stiles' ominous warnings, another part of her wanted— needed— it to be something much simpler. "What'd you drink while you were there? Anything?"
"No. I- I was too nervous. I didn't eat anything. I just got there. We were just… dancing…" He was panting, rubbing an arm over his face to wipe away the sheen of sweat that had collected.
"Okay, we're almost at your house." Malia's hands squeezed the steering wheel tightly, a feeling of absolute helplessness flooding her. There was nothing she could do. No way to help him through the pain. Her foot pressed down a little harder on the gas, enough that when she finally pulled into his house, the car skidded at the abrupt stop.
She helped him out of the back, hooking an arm around his waist to keep him upright and steady, wondering if maybe she should've taken him to the hospital instead.
"No. No hospital."
Malia hadn't realized she'd said anything out loud. Regardless, she still frowned at him. "This is a dumb idea. What if it's something serious? Your mom is a nurse. Shouldn't you advocate for medical attention?"
He cried out, wrapping an arm around his ribs. "I just… I can't breathe…"
"Yet another reason to see a doctor!"
Still, with a huff of a sigh, she helped him inside and up the stairs. He tripped over his feet a few times, toppling her sideways in the process. Her hip banged into the railing, but she merely readjusted and kept going. Between using the banister and the wall as leverage, she eventually got him up the stairs and into his room. Immediately, Scott started stripping off his shirt and kicking off his shoes. He staggered into his bathroom and turned on the shower, a flood of cold water splashing against the bottom of the tub. Climbing inside, he sat, crouched, with his arms hooked around his knees. Water poured down on top of him, drenching him in seconds.
Malia dug around in his desk, desperately searching for his inhaler. "Come on, come on, come on…" She shoved books and paper and pens around, pulling open every drawer. When she finally found it, she made a victorious noise of relief, and then joined him in the bathroom. Kneeling next to the tub, she gave the inhaler a shake and handed it to him. "Here."
Scott took it, sucking in a few puffs before burying his face against his knees once more. He rocked forward, burying his fingers in his hair, and groaned. "It h-hurts."
Malia watched, conflicted. She leaned closer, feeling the water soak the top of her head and her shoulder. Reaching out, she ran a hand down his back, just like she used to do for Kylie when she was little and had the flu. A sweeping, circular motion, over and over.
After her mom and her sister died in a freak car accident, Malia had spent some time in therapy. It was no secret that she wasn't dealing with her grief, but there were other things too, namely that she had trouble letting her dad get into vehicles. Every time she saw him pull away in his truck, her lungs seized up and she was stuck in a spiral of anxiety, fearing the moment a cop would show up to tell her she'd lost her dad, too. She had fewer panic attacks these days, but her therapist had shown her a few ways to deal with them when they did crop up. The first was the song— Fleetwood Mac's Rhiannon. For her, it usually worked. But there was another technique that her therapist had shown her; one she thought might work a little better for Scott.
"Just breathe, Scott. Focus on that."
He turned his head and stared out at her from beneath wet hanks of hair. He took deep breaths, sucking in gulps of air, and let them out shakily.
"Slow it down." She reached under his arm and pressed a hand to his chest. "Feel your lungs fill up as much as they can take. Hold your breath for a few seconds, then let it out, okay?"
Nodding, he drew a breath, held it for one beat and another, and then let it slowly.
"Again."
Malia did it along with him, giving him a visual to follow along with.
They kept it up for three deep breaths and she could see that he was at least starting to calm down. His eyes were at half-mast and his body seemed to be loosening up, no longer a ball of tension.
But then his vision dropped and his brow furrowed. "What are you wearing?"
"What?" Taken off guard, she looked down, catching sight of her pleated top, now partly soaked through from the storm of water battering down on them both. "Clothes."
"Barely!"
"Hey! You wanna rethink that?"
He groaned, his shoulders hunching. "Stiles said I had to stay calm. Nothing that raises my pulse."
"And that's my fault?" She scowled. "I'm trying to help you here."
He buried his face against his hands. "Can you change? Please?"
"I paid good money for these clothes. And I think I look pretty good."
"Malia …" he whined.
Before she could reprimand him anymore, he started shaking, his whole body vibrating as he hyperventilated. He slammed a hand down against the side of the tub and then lifted it, turning both of his hands over to stare at the palms.
Malia stared in shock as slowly, his nails transformed into— claws?
"Scott…" Her voice went quiet with disbelief.
He turned to look at her, his face awash in fear. "What's happening to me?"
She shook her head, but then she spotted something. Reaching forward, she rubbed her thumb against his lower lip, moving it out of the way to touch the sharpened edge of a fang.
Seeing her expression, he reached up. "What?" He felt around his teeth, finding four had elongated. "Li-aaa!"
"I…" She shrugged her shoulders high. "I think Stiles was right. That wolf that bit you, it wasn't a normal wolf. And now…"
"Now, what? I- I'm changing? I'm turning into a wolf?"
"I don't know!" Her eyes widened. "Maybe it's just temporary. Maybe it only happens on a full moon. You just… you have to ride it out, that's all."
"Ride it out?" His voice rose an octave. "I have fangs and claws!"
"I don't know what you want me to say! I have no experience with this. I—" She paused, suddenly struck with an idea. She wasn't sure how good it was, but it felt like a clue to the bizarre mess this last week had been. "But, we might know someone who does."
"What?" His brow furrowed. "Who?"
"I ran into Derek Hale tonight. You know, really creepy loner we met out in the woods the night after you were bit?" She nodded. "He was at the party."
"You saw him? I… I saw him, too."
"He was in a bedroom on the second floor—"
His brow furrowed. "What were you doing in a bedroom?"
"That's not the point." She waved a dismissive hand. "He was so weird. He confronted me, asked me what I was or something, like I wasn't human. But, I think he was confused. I think he meant you. Because you were bit."
Scott's eyes widened. "Like maybe he bit me!"
"If he knows something about what's going on, then maybe he knows how to reverse it. Or at least how to make it hurt less."
Scott stared at her a long beat. "Wait, he confronted you?"
She blinked, thrown off by the question. "I— Yeah. He was being all lurky, standing in the shadows. I got a weird vibe so I tried to leave, but he grabbed my arm and—"
"He grabbed you?" His vision shone a brilliant gold.
Malia's mouth fell open. "Scott… Your eyes."
His chest started heaving and falling rapidly. "Did he hurt you?"
"No. He just— He was just being weird and… aggressive. I don't know." She shook her head. "Scott, your eyes are a different color."
"What?"
A sudden banging on Scott's bedroom door startled them.
"Scott?" Stiles' voice rang out.
Malia breathed a sigh of relief, but Scott scrambled out of the bathtub, dripping water everywhere as he rushed into his room, blockading the door with his body.
She followed after him, her brow furrowed. "What are you doing? He can help!"
"No!" Scott stared at her, panting desperately. "Neither of you should be here. Something's wrong with me. I could hurt you."
"You haven't hurt me so far." She crossed her arms. "Let Stiles in. We can figure this out together."
"Stiles needs to find Allison. If you're right, then Derek's dangerous. I don't want her to get hurt."
"Wait, Derek?" Stiles kicked the door irritably. "What are you guys talking about?"
"Derek Hale was at the party; he confronted Malia. Something about not being human. We think he's the one that bit me."
"Or just someone who knows a lot about whatever's going on," Malia added.
"Either way!" Scott insisted. "Stiles, you need to go back to the party and make sure Allison gets home."
"Uh, small hiccup in that plan… She already went home. She, uh, caught a ride, actually… With Derek."
Malia felt a tug at her chest; worry flooding her. She and Allison might not be extremely close, but there was no way she wanted her to get hurt. Still, she couldn't help but feel like Scott's reasoning was a little compromised They needed to make a plan, not just run head first into things and hope for the best. "Scott…"
Eerie yellow eyes focused in on her. "I have to do something."
"Like what? You don't even know what's happening to you. Two minutes ago, you could barely stand up."
"I'm standing now!"
Malia frowned and stepped toward him.
Scott leaned back, pressed flat against the door. "Stop! I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't." Malia reached for him, wrapping her hands around his wrists, and found his pulse jackhammering beneath her finders. "I care about Allison, too. But chasing after her like this could do more damage than good…" She stared at him searchingly. "You're not thinking straight."
"I…" His breathing increased, chest heaving. "I just need…"
"You remember what I showed you?" She pulled on him, leading him close until they were front to front. "Deep inhale, hold it, slow exhale."
He followed her instructions, his forehead falling to meet hers. His skin was still wet from the shower and his warm breath skittered against her face as he exhaled.
"Again," she whispered.
Eyes closed, he sucked in air, his chest expanding as he did.
She watched him, her own breath a little shaky. "Count to three in your head…" She stroked her fingers along his wrists. "Then let go."
His eyes opened as he breathed out, meeting hers in the process. It was cheesy and dopey, but she thought she could count every single one of his eyelashes. Her heart jumped in her chest, ballooning enough that it felt like it might escape her body and float up to the ceiling.
Scott stared at her, his eyes slowly returning to that warm, familiar brown.
Her mouth turned up, slow and relieved. For a moment, she really thought they could do this— fight this— whatever it was.
And then Stiles' voice interrupted— "Scott, I'm calling and she's not answering. Do I call my dad? He can send a car over to check on her. Scott?"
Malia hardly had a chance to brace for it before the calm Scott that had once been standing in front of her was suddenly gone, leaping out the window of his bedroom and off the porch roof to land in a puddle below.
Malia followed after him, leaning out the window and watching as he reared his head back and let out an ominous howl. She felt it down to her toes; a vibration that shook her whole body. And then he was off; racing into the night, half-dressed and entirely out of control.
"Shit," she muttered before lurching back to the door, swinging it open, and shaking her head at Stiles. "We need to find him."
His brow furrowed. "Why are you soaking wet?"
"Stiles!" She glared impatiently.
"All right, okay." He nodded rapidly. "Two guesses where he's going."
With a sigh, she followed him downstairs and out to the jeep.
…
By the time they reached Allison's house, Malia was expecting a small murder scene in the front yard. The entire drive over, Stiles talked about everything he'd read about werewolves and their bloodlust this time of the month. How they couldn't control their impulses and anybody could be a victim. But as they pulled to an unsteady stop in the driveway, the house looked quiet and undisturbed.
"Let me do the talking." Unclipping her seatbelt, Malia hopped out and took a deep breath.
Stiles circled around the jeep to stand next to her. "You think I can't handle this?"
"I think you're freaking out and the last thing we need is for her parents to think something's wrong."
"What if something is wrong?"
"Then we'll figure it out." She marched up the driveway. "For all we know, Allison's fine."
"You think Scott's wrong?"
"I think Scott just turned into a werewolf in his bathtub after his first ever date." She rolled her eyes. "I don't want to jump to conclusions and I really don't want Allison's parents to think Scott is some crazy person. Which is exactly what they'll think if we tell them what happened tonight."
Stiles floundered for a counterpoint, but it was too late. She was already knocking on the door and waiting for someone to answer.
When the door swung open, a tall, severe looking woman stared back at her from icy blue eyes, an eyebrow raised. "Yes?"
"Hi, Mrs. Argent." Malia attempted a friendly smile. "Is Allison home? I'm Malia, a friend of hers from school."
Mrs. Argent stared at her a beat longer before casting a curious and dismissive eye in a jittery Stiles' direction. Finally, she stepped back and called out, "Allison… It's for you."
Malia's heart leapt as Allison stepped into view at the top of the stairs overlooking the foyer.
"Malia?" A curious smile upturned Allison's lips. "Hey…"
"Hey!" Malia let out a sigh of relief. "Sorry to bother you so late. Things were just weird and I wanted to make sure you were okay."
Allison made her way down the stairs, nodding at her mom in thanks. As Mrs. Argent left, Allison took her place in front of the door. "Yeah, definitely weird. Is Scott okay? He left so suddenly…"
"He was sick," Malia offered quickly. "Really sick. And totally embarrassed. He didn't want you to see him like, throw up in the bushes or anything."
"Oh." Her brows hiked. "Well, is he going to be okay?"
"Yeah, it's just, uh, a flu. He should be fine by Monday." She elbows Stiles beside her. "Right?"
"Huh?" Stiles looked up from where he was chewing on the edge of his thumbnail. "Oh, yeah. Super sick. Blowing chunks just everywhere. But it's fine, just, uh, give him a couple days and this too shall pass…" He laughed awkwardly.
Malia stared at him like he was an idiot before shaking her head and looking back at Allison. "Anyway, like I said. Just wanted to make sure you got home all right."
"It's fine." She smiled. "Scott's friend Derek gave me a ride home."
"Glad to hear it. We were a little worried we basically stranded you at the party." Malia rocked back on her heels. "Okay, well, we'll let you get back to your Friday night and… see you Monday. Probably."
"Sure." Allison stared at them, somewhat confused, but reached for the door to close it. "Have a good weekend."
"Yeah, you, too."
"Bye," Stiles added.
As the door closed, Malia turned on Stiles. "Now what?"
"I don't know. We can drive around and try to spot him, I guess."
Nodding, Malia turned on her heel and, together, they hurried back to the jeep. All the while hoping that Scott didn't end up hurting anybody, or getting hurt himself.
…
It was a long night. Malia abandoned her boots on the floor of Stiles' jeep as they drove across seemingly every square inch of Beacon Hills, looking for any sign of Scott. They made frequent detours through Allison's neighborhood to see if they might spot him, but there was no such luck. It was morning, the birds chirping and the sun glinting on the horizon, when they finally saw a familiar figure moving down the road ahead. They should have guessed he'd be closer to the preserve.
"Malia…" Stiles shook her shoulder. "Is that him?"
Resting her head on her hand, her arm braced against the window, Malia turned sleepy eyes out the front window and let out a sigh of relief. "That's him."
Stiles put the jeep into park and shoved his door open.
Malia was already out, running barefoot across the cold, wet pavement, until she connected with Scott. Nearly bowling him over in an effort to make sure he was real and solid and okay, she hugged him tight. He had one arm pinned to his stomach, but the other wrapped around her, his fingers dug into her back. "You're okay," she breathed. "We've been looking everywhere…"
"I was in the woods. I got lost…" He rested his chin on her shoulder. "I was going to look for Allison when I spotted her sweater hanging from this branch, but it was a trick."
Stiles stood next to them, hands on his hips. "What kind of trick?"
"It was Derek. He was trying to lure me out."
"What?" Stiles frowned. "Why? What'd be want?"
"I think… he was trying to help." Scott's brow wrinkled. "I don't know. It was weird. But, he said he was protecting Allison… From me."
Letting him go, Malia took a step back, her hand lingering on his shoulder. "What happened?"
"I… I lost it. I couldn't think straight and it was like everything was tinted red. I was just— angry. But then Derek was there and we were fighting and I wanted answers. Only, he wasn't the only one."
Stiles perked up, curiosity peaked. "There were other werewolves?"
"No." Scott grimaced. "It was hunters."
"Uh…" Stiles shook his head. "Not familiar."
"Derek said they've been hunting werewolves for centuries. They kill them!"
Malia looked down at his arm, dried blood marring his skin. "They hurt you."
"One of them shot me with an arrow… And I think they would've done worse, but Derek stopped them."
"So, is he one of the good guys then?"
"No… Maybe… I don't know. But I do know that he bit me and he turned me into this- this thing. He said it was a gift. But I don't want it."
Malia sighed and then pulled at Scott's shoulder, drawing him against her side. "Come on. Let's go home."
Leaning into her, he hooked his good arm around her waist. "That sounds good."
They walked up the road to the jeep and hopped inside with Malia in the back and Scott slumping down in the passenger seat. An eager— and entirely too energetic— Stiles climbed into the driver's seat and pulled ahead.
"You guys were out all night?"
"Yeah, well." Malia shrugged. "Mauling the locals would be pretty hard to scrub from your school record."
Stiles snorted, but said, sincerely, "Of course we were out here all night. You think we'd leave you behind?"
"I'm a literal werewolf." Scott looked between them, his eyes wide. "Yeah, I think that warrants abandonment."
"Hardly." Stiles scoffed. "If anything, this just makes us closer."
Unconvinced, Scott raised an eyebrow. "How?"
"Dude, you're a supernatural creature. You're going to need us here to help you through it. And also, you're a frickin' werewolf! How cool is that?"
Malia rolled her eyes. "What he's trying to say is that a little extra fur and an overbite aren't going to send us running for the hills." She patted Scott's shoulder gently. "You're our friend. And whatever this is, we'll help you with it. If that means finding some kind of cure or just helping you control your weird werewolf impulses, so be it."
Scott turned in his seat to smile back at her. "Thank you."
"Yeah, well, you'd do it for me." She leaned back in her seat. "And if Allison asks, you've had the flu all weekend. According to Stiles, you've been puking your guts out, so…"
Scott groaned. "You told her I was throwing up?"
"I think the words he used were 'blowing chunks everywhere.'"
"I panicked!" Stiles defended. "Anyway, I went there thinking she'd been taken hostage or like, mauled by a wolf. So, excuse me if I was a little off my game."
"Did she believe you at least?" Scott hoped.
"Yeah, totally," Malia reassured. "Just make sure you apologize."
"Or," Stiles said, "you know, you could just… tell her the truth and revel in the awesomeness of the fact that you're a frickin' werewolf!"
Scott stared at him blandly.
"Okay, bad idea. Hey, Malia was right; we'll get through this." He swiped at Scott's arm. "Come on, if I have to, I'll chain you up on full moon nights and feed you live mice. I had a boa once. I could do it."
Laughing under his breath, Scott shook his head.
Stiles grinned in return.
And Malia slunk down in her seat, happy that, as much as things had clearly changed, some things never would.
…
When they reached Scott's house, exhaustion had swamped everybody. They made their way inside and quickly found themselves passing out on the nearest furniture. Stiles fell asleep in an arm chair while Malia took over the loveseat and Scott sprawled out on the sofa.
She was half-asleep, her eyes closed as the weight of her worry was relieved and any excess adrenaline she had deserted her entirely.
"Lia…?" Scott asked, his voice quiet.
She hummed.
"Do you think…?"
With what little energy she had left, Malia cracked her eyes open and turned her head to see him. He was on his back, arm tucked behind his head, and one of Stiles' shirts wrapped around him. "What?"
He looked at her, his expression taut with uncertainty. "What if this thing… this bite… it changes who I am?"
She peered at him a long moment; frown marring his lips and the dips of worry flaring around his eyes. "You left the party as soon as you realized something was wrong. Because you didn't want to hurt anybody. And the only reason you left here was because you wanted to make sure Allison was safe… I don't care what bit you. Werewolf, normal wolf, rabid squirrel… You're exactly who you've always been, Scott. A good person. Nothing and no one can take that from you."
He gazed back at her, a slow smile forming. "Thanks."
She nodded. "Anytime."
"You're good at that."
Her brows hiked. "At what?"
"Just… grounding me. You know?"
She hummed. She wasn't sure anybody would consider that an apt description of Malia Tate. Aloof, aggressive, dismissive, sure. But not their grounding force. Strangely uncomfortable with the idea, she said, "Get some sleep."
His smile widened a bit, but he listened, letting his eyes close and his chin dip.
Malia, on the other hand, turned her gaze to the ceiling. A few days ago, she was telling herself to keep her distance. To disconnect from the feelings she was having for him. Werewolf or not, she wondered if that was ever a real possibility. Scott was her best friend. There was no way she could completely walk away from him. But, as much as she cared for him and as much as he was going to need her and Stiles to figure all of this out, she knew she had to stay practical. Scott liked Allison. Not her. And it would only add another unnecessary level of complicated to this whole mess for her to add her feelings to the mix, too.
With that thought, Malia let her eyes close and willed herself to sleep.
…
Considering Malia spent much of Saturday sleeping, half her weekend felt like it had been wasted. On Sunday, she made her way over to the McCall house, but not to see Scott. Sunday was his and Stiles' official 'play video games until their hands cramped' day. So, she wasn't surprised to find the house quiet and mostly empty.
When Malia was eight, her mom taught her how to make pancakes. It was a step-by-step process that resulted in them both wearing a lot of flour. Not to mention the added crunch of tiny egg shells in their food. But, over time, she got better at it. Which was why she had no problem getting out the skillet and whipping up a batch of pancake batter. There were three, perfectly circular pancakes cooking away when a tired Melissa wandered downstairs, her jaw cracking with a yawn. Her hair was a little lopsided, mussed from sleep, and her eyes were only half open, but she smiled at Malia as she made her way to the coffee machine, where a pot was already brewed. Pouring herself a large mug, she took a seat at the dining room table and watched as Malia went about setting the table with cutlery, butter, and syrup.
"Should I ask what I did to deserve this or just appreciate the gesture?" Melissa wondered.
"Local nurses deserve more love, don't they?" Malia flipped each of the pancakes and then waved the spatula around absently. "But this might be a bribe. A small one. Tiny, even."
Melissa's mouth hitched up, amused. "What kind of a bribe?"
"Of the advice variety." Her nose wrinkled. "On, you know… feelings."
Stifling a laugh, Melissa took a long sip of her coffee and nodded. "Not sure I needed pancakes for that, but I won't say no now…"
"Scott's at Stiles', right?"
"Think so. His door was open and I didn't see him sleeping." Melissa stared at Malia searchingly. "Is this advice about one of them?"
Malia paused. "So, let's say that I started having feelings for someone, right?"
"Okay."
"But I didn't want to have feelings for them…"
Melissa winced. "Ah. One of those."
"Yeah." Malia's expression turned grumpy. "It's just… dumb. I wish it could all go away. It's like this weird pressure on my chest and this floaty feeling in my stomach, and I hate it."
With a hum, Melissa watched her curiously. "Do you hate it or do you hate that you don't know what to do with it?"
"Is there a difference?"
"Maybe it's not the feelings, just a lack of control that bothers us. You can't control what you feel— sometimes, you just have to wait it out and it goes away on its own. But, you can control who knows and what you do about them."
Malia nodded slowly. "So, I can just leave a peaceful life of denial is what you're saying."
With a slow, amused grin, Melissa said, "Technically, yes. But is that really going to make you happier?"
"I don't know." Malia scuffed her toes against the floor. "It's just inconvenient."
"Have you been feeling this for a while or is it new?"
Malia frowned. "A while, I think. It kind of feels like it's been building, you know? Like, back when I first noticed it, it was just this tiny thing. Like… the size of a marble, and it'd sit in the pit of my stomach. And then he'd do something or he'd smile or he'd make me smile, and that stupid little marble just kept growing. And now it's the size of a basketball and I'd like to have it surgically removed."
A huff of a laugh left her. "Yeah, I know how that feels."
"What did you do?" Malia took the pancakes off the skillet and slid them on a plate that she carried around to drop in front of Melissa before taking a seat next to her at the table.
"Well, I married him, for one." Melissa slathered butter across her pancakes and uncapped the syrup. "There were other boys and a couple girls that I liked over the years. But, it was different with Raf."
"How? Why?"
"There was just…" Melissa took a deep breath and let it out on a sigh. "There was a friendship there. A foundation that we'd built together. It made everything simultaneously easier and harder. At first, you don't want to cross that line because you're worried about what it'll do and how it'll change things. But then, you wonder if maybe it's worth it. And sometimes it is. Sometimes it's the best thing to happen to you. Sometimes it just starts that way and it ends later. Other times you realize it's a mistake and you regret it."
"So, there's no guarantee either way." Malia frowned. "That sucks!"
Melissa nodded. "Yeah, it does."
Sighing, she slumped back against her chair. "Anyway, what I feel for him is totally different to what he feels for me."
Humming, Melissa cut off a bite of her pancakes. "What makes you say that?"
"Because. I know him. I know how he looks when he likes someone. That's not how he looks at me. And…" And Allison. "I mean, I don't hold it against him or anything. It's like I said, I just want to stop feeling this way. Because…" It hurts. And I'm scared that one day he's going to figure it out and he's going to pity me or hate me or just feel completely weird and… I don't know what I'd do without him. "It would just be easier if I could get over him."
"We've all felt that way before." Melissa smiled at her gently. "Unfortunately, it's like I said. Sometimes, you just have to ride those feelings out. And, if you think it'll help, you can always take some time away from him. I'm not saying end the friendship, but I am saying that it's okay to look out for yourself. And if you think it'll only end up hurting you more, it's okay to step back and look after yourself first."
Malia nodded, even though she wasn't sure she could do that. Scott was dealing with this huge transformation right now and he'd need both of his best friends to help him get through it. Her feelings be damned. But, she appreciated the sentiment and the support.
"Thanks." Malia stood from her seat then and dragged her denim jacket on. "I should get home. Shiloh's probably bored out of her mind and I have some homework I need to work on."
"Okay. Thank you for breakfast, sweetie."
"Sure. Thanks for the advice." She bent to pop a kiss on Melissa's cheek before making her way through the living room toward the door.
"Hey, Malia…" Melissa called after her.
"Yeah?" She turned back to face her curiously.
"He would be lucky to have you… Whoever he is."
Malia lifted her chin, a faint smile pulling at her mouth. Unable to say how much she appreciated the sentiment, she merely nodded, and then turned and walked out the door. Tucking her hands in the pockets of her jacket, she made her way down the porch and started her trek home, repeating all of what Melissa had told her as she went.
…
It was after dinner when Malia decided to go for a run. Pulling on a sports bra and her favorite running clothes, she thumbed through her iPod for her high-energy playlist. Beacon Hills preserve had a lot of trails, some more arduous than others, and Malia always liked to challenge herself. Making sure her music was loud and fast helped keep her momentum, feet slapping against the paved walkway as she moved. It didn't occur to her until she was nearly halfway through her run that there had been a possibly-murderous werewolf in these same woods exactly one week ago. She said 'possibly' because as likely as it was that the dead and severed body of that woman was in fact a victim of the same werewolf, there was no proof of that yet. Not being an expert on the subject herself, she could only speculate. Scott was, apparently, a werewolf now and his instincts were to protect others. But, that was one occasion. What if, in the full moons to come, those urges changed, or he was incapable of controlling them?
Sweaty and out of breath, Malia came to a stop at the edge of a cliff. It was sectioned off with overlapping logs of wood to ward joggers from getting too close, but she walked right up to them until her knees brushed against the edges to stare down at the town below. Slowly, street lamps were coming on and people were trading in the natural light of the sinking sun. Hands on her hips, she stretched her back and plucked one headphone out of her ear. Her own breathing was all she could hear at first, a little too heavy and uneven. Behind that, she could hear the forest coming alive; crickets and birds and rustling bushes.
Taking a deep breath, she let the cool air fan over her warm face and reached up to make sure her ponytail was secure. Just as she was about to put her headphone back in and get back to her run, she felt it. A skittering sensation climbed up her back; a shock of awareness that told her she was not alone. Every muscle in her body tensed, though she had no idea what she was going to do. Every memory she had of the self-defence classes her dad put her in seemed to run through her mind. And then—
"I'm not going to attack you."
Malia turned slowly, eyeing the figure standing just ten feet away. Derek Hale had his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, seeming to affect a nonchalant disposition. She raised an eyebrow. "Is that supposed to comfort me…?"
"Sort of." He drew his hands from his pockets in a show of innocence, but her eyes only narrowed.
"This weird, lurky, appear from the shadows shtick is seriously wearing thin…"
His mouth quirked faintly or maybe that was a trick of the dying light, since he didn't seem like the type of guy that frequently interacted with humor. "I'll keep that in mind."
Crossing her arms, she sighed. "Well, what ominous message did you feel like sending this time? I already know you're a werewolf. Scott told me he ran into you in the woods the other night."
Derek's nostrils flared and his mouth flatlined. "Until Scott is trained, he's dangerous. To you, his family, and anyone around him."
Malia shrugged. "Then we'll train him."
"You don't know how. And there's a lot more to this situation than any of you know."
"Then maybe try being a little more transparent about what's happening." She took a step toward him, irritated. "Scott was bitten by a werewolf. He thinks it was you. Since you're only one around and all you've done is keep secrets and demand we just listen to your creepy double-speak, you're not starting off on the best foot."
Derek ground his teeth and cast a look off to the side. "I don't really feel like explaining myself to The Three Musketeers."
"Oh, well as long as our werewolf crisis isn't inconveniencing you…" With a scoff, she walked past him.
"You need to tell Scott that I can help him." Derek pivoted, his gaze following her retreating form. "Unless you want him to hurt someone."
"Until you feel like cracking open that vault on your werewolf knowledge, I think we'll handle Scott on our own, thanks." She picked up her dangling headphone and wiggled her fingers at him in farewell.
"You have no idea what you're doing!" he called after her.
"I'm a quick study." With that, she put in her earbud and started making her way down the path. But as much as she wanted to drown out the information she'd just gathered, she couldn't.
She might not know Derek Hale at all, but his words still left a bitter taste in her mouth. The truth was, the only knowledge she or Stiles had about werewolves was whatever they could pull off the internet, which was no doubt chock full of fallacies and folklore. But she also wasn't about to be a puppet for some mysterious stranger that said he had all the answers to what ailed them. Until he started getting honest about his motives, they would keep the issue between the three of them.
…
Come Monday, Malia found herself sitting on the benches overlooking the lacrosse field, eating her lunch and reading a book while Scott and Stiles practiced together. Given Scott's recent upgrade in the reflex department, it was more like Stiles attempting and failing to score while Scott showed off.
Panting, Stiles stood with a hand on his hip, leaning against the lacrosse stick he had dug into earth as a pillar of support. "Okay… Think I'm good… Still got a whole scrimmage later to show how much I suck."
Malia snorted and flipped a page in her book.
"Come on, just a few more!" Scott encouraged.
"For what? So, you can block those, too?"
Scott grinned. "I'm getting good, right?"
"You were already good," Malia called out.
"Hey!" Stiles cried. "Where's my support? Huh? Where's the encouragement for Stiles?"
"I told you to kick ass in the jeep this morning." She plucked a grape from her lunch and popped it in her mouth, crunching it between her teeth as she asked, "What else do you want from me?"
Stiles stared at her a beat and then shrugged. "All right, that's true."
"I didn't tell you to get your ass kicked, though. You did that all on your own."
Sighing, he trudged toward her, collapsing dramatically on the ground at her feet. Sweaty and out of breath, he asked her, "On a scale of 1 to 10, what do you think my chances are?"
Malia extended her leg to gently knock the end of her foot against his ribs. "Slim. But, that means if you do make it, it'll feel even better."
He pursed his lips at her, unamused. "You could try being more uplifting, you know?"
"I prefer the safety of being practical." She shrugged and then tossed him a grape, snorting when it bounced off his cheek and landed in the grass. "Anyway, there's always the chance someone will get injured on the field and you can replace them for a game."
Eating the grape anyway, Stiles nodded. "That's true."
"Something to look forward to then."
Scott made his way over, pulling off his gear as he went. "Are you coming to the scrimmage today?" he wondered, raising an eyebrow at Malia.
"Probably." She leaned back on the benches and put her book aside, a page folded to mark her place. "Allison and I were going to test out our rusty gymnastic skills sometime this week."
"Would that involve some kind of leotard or…?" Stiles wondered, looking interested.
Malia threw a carrot stick at his face.
"Ow!" He covered his eye and glared at her with the other, uninjured one. "I was just asking!"
"You haven't gone to the gym in years…" Scott sat next to her, straddling the bench and resting his hands on his legs. "You said it reminded you too much of Kylie."
Malia felt a tug in her chest and let out a sigh. "It did. It probably still does…" She shifted in her seat to see him better. "But, I used to love it. And I was pretty good. So, when Allison said she was into it, it just kind of slipped out that I was, too. Next thing I know, we're making vague plans to see if we were still any good."
Scott reached for her, rubbing a hand down her arm gently. "You know there's no pressure, right? I'm sure Allison would understand."
"Yeah, she probably would. But, maybe this is good for me. I should push my boundaries a little. That's about the gist of what Danny said, anyway."
"Danny?"
"Yeah, we were talking last Friday and he encouraged me to start getting out there. Make more friends, go to parties… not scare away any boy mildly interested in me."
Scott stared at her a beat. "Oh."
"Yeah." She rolled her eyes. "I don't know how much boundary-pushing I really got out of Friday. I felt like I was only there ten minutes before things went sideways."
"There's always other parties," Stiles said. "And if you've got Danny on your side, you're pretty much invited to all of them."
"Yeah. We'll see." She shrugged. "Anyway, I Googled my old gym and it's still there. They've got a two-hour block where pretty much anyone can come in and give things a try, so…"
Scott nodded. "That's great. I, uh, I'm glad you're getting along."
"She's really nice." Malia half-smiled.
"Yeah, she is."
The bell rang shrilly in the background then, letting them know lunch was over.
"Shit." Scott hopped up, looking panicked. "I wanted to shower before class…" He started backing away from them. "I'll see you guys after!" To Malia he said, "Come to scrimmage! Please? For support!"
As he raced off, she called after him, "You already made first line!"
But Scott merely waved a hand back, continuing to run toward the school.
Standing from the benches, she put the last of her lunch away and hooked her bag over her shoulder. "What about you? Just content to stink the rest of the day?"
"I prefer to think my natural pheromones might be a good thing." Stiles dragged himself up from the grass with a groan.
Malia took a sniff of him and shook her head. "They're not." With that, she headed across the field toward the school.
"Always a pleasure to be around, Malia…"
She smirked. "I know."
…
Danny took a seat across from her in the library and got straight to the point. "So, are we going to talk about how you bailed on the party after like, ten minutes?"
Malia grimaced. "Aren't you supposed to be prepping me for a quiz?"
"It can wait." He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "You managed to show up, but you took off with McCall before the party even got started."
"It seemed pretty 'started' when I got there…"
"Barely." He rolled his eyes. "Give it another hour before the lightweights pass out."
Malia tapped her pencil against her textbook. "I would've stayed longer, probably, but Scott got sick."
Danny raised a skeptical eyebrow. "And it's your job to nurse him back to health?"
"No, but…" She frowned. "We're friends. We look out for each other."
"Look, McCall seems like a nice guy. But at some point, you're going to have to ask yourself if he's worth sacrificing your social life."
Malia's face screwed up irritably. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means that anybody with eyes can see you're pining over him. And he's pining over the new girl. So, either you move on or you get stuck as the unrequited third of a love triangle."
Malia's gaze fell, her brow furrowed. "And partying is supposed to fix that?"
"No. But it opens doors, Tate. If you're willing to see what might be behind them, anyway." With that, he pushed a few papers toward her. "Now, let's get you studied up for this quiz."
Malia nodded, but her mind had drifted elsewhere.
…
After school, Malia found herself once again sitting on the benches overlooking the lacrosse team. Not for long, however, as a distracted Scott stepped up to run a drill against Jackson and quickly had his ass handed to him. After what Coach Finstock considered his own version of a 'pep-talk' occurred, Scott tried again, this time knocking Jackson off his feet before he too fell to his knees. Given the way Stiles hurried to him, crouching by his side only to shuffle him off the field while the rest of the team worriedly grouped around Jackson, Malia quickly realized it must be another werewolf issue. As they jogged toward the school, Malia climbed off the bleachers to follow, only to get sidetracked as she found Derek Hale standing near the benches, as broody and mysterious as ever, pinning her with a stare and hiked eyebrows that just screamed 'told you so.'
Rolling her eyes, she walked over to him. "Lurking at high schools now, too? If you're not careful, somebody's going to put you on a registry somewhere."
His mouth ticked up faintly. "You know, he's probably tearing your skinny friend to pieces right now."
Her eyes narrowed. "You don't know Scott."
"Maybe not, but I know werewolves."
Malia stared at him a beat, then looked to the school. Taking a deep breath, she broke out into a jog that soon turned into a run. Her heart hammered in her chest. Worry for Stiles made her pulse race and her stomach twist. 'Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay,' was on repeat in her head.
Considering the last time Scott started shifting, he'd hopped in a cold shower, she made her way toward the locker room, only to hear banging from inside. Just as she was about to enter, she heard a loud rushing noise, and caught a stumbling Stiles as he backed out of the swinging door, a fire extinguisher clutched between his hands.
Her eyes widened. "Are you okay?"
"What? Huh? Y-Yeah!" He turned, pulling her off to the side so they were both pressed against the wall, with him at the friend, fire extinguisher raised and ready.
"Stiles?" Scott's strained voice called out. "Malia?"
They shifted, peeking in through the door.
Hunched over and panting on a bench, Scott looked up at them. "What happened?"
"You tried to kill me." Stiles put the extinguisher aside and yanked off his lacrosse gloves.
Malia's hand found his shoulder and squeezed reassuringly.
He nodded at her and then took a seat on the ground, staring up at Scott seriously. "It's like I told you before. It's the anger. It's your pulse rising. It's a trigger."
Malia stared down at Scott. "Jackson pissed you off?"
Scott nodded. "He's just… a dick."
"No arguments there."
"Stiles, everything you said, that's lacrosse... It's a pretty violent game, if you hadn't noticed."
"Well, it's gonna be a lot more violent if you end up killing someone on the field." Stiles tossed a hand up. "You can't play Saturday. You're gonna have to get out of the game."
Scott's eyes darted. "But, I'm first line!"
Stiles sighed. "Not anymore."
Groaning, Scott looked between them. "I earned this. All summer and winter break. I've been practicing non-stop! And now I have to quit because…"
"Because you might rage out and hurt someone, yeah." Malia crossed her arms over her chest. "Look, it sucks, I won't lie. But, Scott… You know this is the smart play. At least until we find a way to keep you from wolfing out."
"Wolfing out," Stiles repeated. "I like that."
She kicked his ankle distractedly. "There's always next year."
"What if there isn't?" Scott frowned. "What if I can't fix this?"
"Hey, don't think that way." Stiles shook his head. "We can figure this out."
Scott sighed, forlorn and disappointed. But, there was nothing more for them to say. This was just how it had to be.
…
For the record, Malia hadn't planned on hanging out with Allison that night. In fact, she had planned on being the homebody Danny was completely right in accusing her of being and just eating a grilled cheese sandwich while she did her homework. Instead, Allison had texted to see if she wanted to get food, since her parents had unexpectedly gone on a date. Agreeing before she could talk herself out of it, Malia soon found herself sitting at an In n' Out Burger, scraping the second slice of cheese of her Double-Double.
Allison giggled. "Why get it if you're gonna scrape it off?"
"The cheese to meat ratio is off. It only needs one slice of cheese, otherwise that's all I taste." Replacing the top of her bun, Malia picked it up with both hands and tore off a large bite. "Anyway, you asked for extra tomatoes. Who does that?"
"Me. And it's delicious." Allison smiled, chipmunking her food in one cheek as she let out a laugh.
Malia dipped a few fries in her strawberry shake and popped them in her mouth before dusting her hands of salt. "So… How was your weekend?"
"Good. Short." Her nose wrinkled. "It went by really fast. Lydia and I hung out on Sunday."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." She grinned. "We went to the mall; it was nice."
"Cool." Malia nodded, picking at her fries.
"So, you and Lydia…" Allison stared at her curiously. "Do you think you could be friends?"
"I think Lydia and I operate on completely different wavelengths. Not in a bad way. She does her thing and I do mine. I'm happy with that, and I think she is, too. She's pretty happy with where she landed on the social hierarchy."
Allison hummed. "What about you?"
"What about me?"
"Do you like where you are on the… hierarchy?"
Malia shrugged. "I don't hate it. Being popular's never really been a thing for me. I have my friends and that's enough."
Allison nodded. "That's kind of how I see it, too. Or, well, how I want it to be. Like I said, it can be hard to maintain friendships with all the moving. But, I'd like to. You know, settle in one place and just have that one group of friends. Or even just one really good friend."
Malia scooped a fry through a small hill of ketchup. "And that's Lydia?"
"Maybe. I don't know. I like her. She's very… confident." Reaching up, Allison tucked her hair behind her ears. "Maybe I'm hoping it'll rub off."
"You don't seem very meek to me."
"I'm not. Or, well…" She tipped her head thoughtfully. "I don't know if 'meek' is the right word. Just, self-conscience sometimes. Self-aware."
"I get that."
"Do you?" Allison raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You seem pretty confident, too."
"Not in everything. I suck at math. I avoid social interaction. I'm blunt in a way that makes people uncomfortable. And when I'm scared, I get confrontational. Like, my 'flight' option is faulty. I almost always go for 'fight.'"
Allison ducked her head as she laughed. "I can see that. You look like someone who's ready to fight."
"I have my moments." Malia took a sip of her milkshake and licked her lips clean. "Anyway, the point is that we all seem like something on the outside, but that doesn't guarantee who we are. You seem nice, but for all I know, you're secretly a serial killer, picking off victims until the local police notice, and then you just pack up and move on."
"Ah, right, you've totally figured out my secret. My parents are just for show. I secretly keep them locked in my basement during the day and only let them out for social gatherings."
Malia grinned. "At least you're honest."
"The most honest serial killer you will ever meet." Allison tipped her milkshake at Malia. "Cheers."
With a laugh, Malia knocked her own cup against Allison's. "Cheers."
…
After dinner, Allison dropped her off at home and Malia spent a long and frustrating hour on her homework. She was about ready to turn in for the night when she heard a shuffling noise outside her house.
Shiloh heard it too, lifting her head from her bed and zeroing in on the window, her ears back and her teeth bared as she let out a low growl.
Malia stood from her desk chair and tried to strain her hearing. Given the strange appearance of Derek Hale in various places, she didn't want to ignore what could be a warning sign before he turned up out of the blue. However, just as she was searching her room for anything that could be used as a weapon, there was a knock at her window, followed by, "Malia? It's Scott."
Letting out a relieved sigh, she crossed the floor and yanked her window up, sticking her head out to glare at him. "What're you doing here?"
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Something happened. I needed to talk to you."
"And you couldn't call?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. I panicked."
Pursing her lips at him, she leaned back in her room. "Get inside before you wake my dad up." She stepped out of the way and waited for him to clumsily climb through before she carefully closed her window. "What happened?"
"Derek showed up at my house."
"What?" Her eyes widened. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, he just… He pinned me to the wall and he said he saw what happened today, on the field."
She frowned. "I forgot to tell you… I saw him there, at practice. We talked."
"You talked?" He winced when she shushed him and lowered his voice. "Sorry. But… About what?"
"Well, you, obviously." She waved a hand at him meaningfully. "I ran into him the other day, when I was jogging, and—"
His brow furrowed. "Just how many times have you run into him?"
"Just those two times, not including the party…"
Scott's brow furrowed. "He found you in the woods and you didn't think to tell me?"
"I don't know. It wasn't a big deal. He didn't attack me or anything. He just said that you were going to need him if you wanted to figure this werewolf stuff out. And I told him he needed to be more transparent because so far, all he's been is really shady and suspicious. He didn't exactly like that and told me you were dangerous. Which, duh, we've figured that out, but we're working on it. Anyway, when you and Stiles ran off the field today, he was there, watching, and he said you were probably hurting Stiles, since you were going all… wolfy, so I left and found you guys."
He groaned and combed his fingers into his hair, pulling at it. "Malia, Derek is dangerous."
"I know."
"No, you don't. You can't just… confront him or— or run around in the woods all alone."
Her gaze flattened. "Watch it. Because it sounds a lot like you're trying to tell me what to do. Like I'm some weak little flower than can't protect herself. And you're wrong. I may not be a werewolf, but I'm not afraid of one either."
"Maybe you should be! Maybe…. Maybe everyone should be. Because I don't know what I'm doing and it could end up hurting you or Stiles or anyone."
Sighing, Malia stepped toward him. "Scott, I'm not afraid of you."
"That's the problem!" He stared at her searchingly. "You're not afraid of anything. Not the creepy woods, where werewolves are just running around biting people. Not of actual werewolves that threaten and follow you. And not of me, because you think that somehow I'm going to be able to control myself. Well, guess what? Today, in that locker room, I almost killed Stiles. I had no control over myself. He could be dead right now, because of me, and I… I…" His shoulders fell abruptly and his eyes sparked with tears. "I'm scared."
Malia's anger fled her in that moment, replaced with worry instead. She reached for him, her hand landing on his shoulder and tugging until he was pressed flat against her body, his chin hooked over her shoulder. She wrapped her arms around him as his own circled her waist, his hands balling up the fabric of her shirt into fists. She could feel him shaking against her and dragged a hand down his hair, fingers soothingly brushing the nape of his neck.
"I know it doesn't seem like it now," she murmured, "but you'll get through this."
He let out a disbelieving huff. "My mom thinks I'm on drugs, my best friend thinks all of this is cool, I separated Jackson's shoulder today, and Derek Hale threatened to kill me if I set one foot on the lacrosse field this Saturday… How is any of this going to be okay?"
Malia sighed. "We won't let Derek hurt you, and we won't let you hurt anyone else." She leaned back a little to catch his eye, her hand cupping his cheek. "I can't fix Jackson's shoulder, but honestly, he probably deserves it."
He snorted. "Lia…"
"Fine. Maybe not. But you didn't do it on purpose and he'll heal eventually." She shrugged. "The point is… You are not alone."
He stared back at her. "Neither are you… I know you're strong. I know you could probably beat me up, werewolf senses and all, but we don't know what Derek's capable of, and I don't like that he keeps searching you out. So, just… be careful, okay? Because I worry about you. Even if you don't want me to."
Chewing her lip, Malia nodded. "I can maybe see your point…"
"Maybe?"
"A tiny bit." She rubbed her hands down his arms. "Is the freaking out over then?"
"Mostly." His brows jumped then. "But I forgot to tell you!"
Malia rolled her eyes. "Clearly our communication skills suck…"
"After school today, before scrimmage, I talked to Allison. I wanted to apologize about Friday and her dad was there to pick her up."
"Okay…" Her brow furrowed. "I've met him. Briefly."
"Yeah, so have I. He was in the woods Friday night! He was one of the hunters."
Malia's chest squeezed as a cold dose of reality rushed through her. "What?"
"Yeah." He nodded. "Her dad wants to kill me… Literally."
"Wow."
With a groan, Scott sank down and sat at the edge of her bed. "What am I gonna do?"
"Well, a pity party isn't going to get us anywhere." She joined him on the bed and crossed her legs at the knee. "We just need to figure out this control thing. Then her dad won't have any reason to find out what you are, because you'll never give him a chance to."
He fiddled with his fingers. "How do we do that?"
She turned to look at him and admitted, "I have no idea."
He sighed.
"But we've got until Saturday to figure it out, so…"
"Six days."
"Six days."
He stared at her. "Maybe Stiles is right. I should quit lacrosse until I figure this out."
Malia frowned. "It would give us more time…"
"But?"
"But, it sucks. I know how much you wanted this."
"Yeah." His shoulders slumped. "I just wish it was different, you know?"
She hooked her arm around him and rested her chin on his shoulder. "I know."
Reaching up, Scott covered her hand. "Can I stay here tonight?"
She looked up at him. "Your mom's not going to notice?"
"She's got a late shift tonight. She took it specifically so she could be at my game on Saturday." He grimaced. "She's going to be so disappointed in me…"
"I don't think your mom knows how to be disappointed in you." She shook her head. "Seriously, Melissa loves you. She's not going to your game to watch lacrosse. She's going to support you."
"And now I'm not even going to play."
"Maybe." She squeezed him. "We've still got six days. You never know what'll happen." Pushing up off the bed, she walked to her dresser and dug around inside. Finding his sweat pants and tank top, she tossed them over. His new reflexes made sure he caught them one-handed. "Here. I borrowed these last week."
"Thanks." He left her bed to change in the bathroom while Malia moved around her room. She closed her homework and put it away in her bag, figuring she could finish the rest in first period tomorrow. Turning off all the lights but her bedside lamp, she slipped into her bed and readjusted herself so she was laying on one side instead of the middle.
When Scott came out, the bathroom light shone behind him, highlighting him in an all too cheesy and strangely ethereal glow. She silently told the butterflies in her stomach to take a hike and refrained from comment.
He bundled up his clothes and left them in a pile on the floor beside her desk before padding across the floor to climb into bed next to her. As he settled in, he asked, "This is okay?" His arm was pressed against hers; warm, bare skin touching.
"Yeah. It's fine." She turned her head toward him. "Can you get the light?"
"Mm-hmm." He reached up and turned out the lamp, blanketing the room in darkness. Laying back, he stacked his hands on his chest and tapped his fingers together, staring above at the ceiling. "Hey, Lia…?"
"Yeah."
"Thanks."
Her brow furrowed. "For what?"
"Just… always being here." He turned over onto his side so he was facing her. "I didn't forget what you did, you know? When the wolf was on top of me and I thought it was going to kill me, you lured it away. I don't know what would've happened if you didn't. But, you risked your life to save mine and… that's amazing."
She stared at him; his face was dressed in heavy shadows, but her eyes adjusted enough to make out his features. "You'd do it for me."
He let out a scoff of a laugh. "You believe in me too much."
"No," she said, sincerely. "I believe in you exactly as much as you deserve."
He didn't answer, simply gazing back at her.
Malia felt that oversized marble in her stomach grow another two sizes mockingly. "Get some sleep. We've got a busy week ahead of us."
"Yeah." He cleared his throat. "Uh, good night."
"Night."
Malia turned herself over; laid out on her side and faced away from him. She glared out into the darkness of her room and took a deep breath. Letting it out slowly, she closed her eyes. She was supposed to be getting over him, not making late-night confessions in the dark. Sometimes she wondered just how transparent her feelings really were, and if Scott already knew but wasn't sure how to address them. So, he just didn't to spare them both the awkwardness.
She fell asleep worrying about exactly that.
tbc
author's note: so much happened in this chapter, but i feel like it was necessary to help move the plot forward. so scott's werewolf status is officially confirmed. derek is turning lurking into an extreme sport, and malia is having a hard time dealing with her feelings. i really wanted to highlight the strength of scott and malia's trust and friendship in this chapter, as well as to see just how close these two wander to crossing that line. i also wanted malia to have a support system in melissa, as i think as a young woman without a mom to turn to, she would gravitate to melissa for advice. i hope you enjoyed it!
next chapter will feature: a ton of friendship, chris argent, a surprise guest appearance, derek, henry tate, concerned!scott, and a confession. oooh.
thanks for reading, please try to leave a review!
- Lee | Fina