word count: 15,950
polyvore: username is 'sarcasticfina' - check under Collections for one named after this story to see all of Malia's fashion choices
episodes: 1x04 - magic bullet; 1x05 - the tell

XIV

Malia's legs were noticeably wobbly when Scott pulled his bike to a stop in the back alley of the clinic. Wincing, she hopped down to level ground. "I never thought I'd say this, but apparently, you can ride your bike too fast, and you did. I think I ate the entire cast of A Bug's Life on the ride here.

Scott winced. "Sorry." He hid his bike behind a dumpster and dug his keys out. "Are you okay?'

"Yeah." She stretched her legs out and gave each a shake. "I feel like I was on a roller coaster, but it'll pass... Probably."

Scott pushed the door open and waited for her to walk inside, following right behind her and closing the door behind him gently. The last thing they needed was someone seeing them and telling Deaton that Scott was sneaking people into the clinic after hours.

"He's in the surgical room." Malia led him down the hall. "It's the only place with a bed. He's pretty weak and he kept passing out."

"How weak?"

She looked back at him, her mouth set in a severe line. "Infected with a magical bullet and definitely about to die, weak."

Scott sighed and hurried his steps.

Malia was expecting one of two things— a dead or dying Derek. What she wasn't expecting was to walk into the room to see Derek on his feet, a puddle of black gunk on the floor, and Stiles holding a surgical saw against Derek's infected arm, ready to remove it. Her mouth fell open in shocked surprise.

Scott rushed past her. "What the hell are you doing!?"

Stiles dropped the saw to the side and went limp with relief. Letting out a breathless laugh, he said, "Oh, you just prevented a lifetime of nightmares."

Derek looked up, panting. "Did you get it?"

Malia dug the bullet out of her back pocket and passed it to him.

Derek raised it up, swaying as he stared at it.

"What are you gonna do with it?" Stiles wondered.

"I'm gonna... I'm gonna..." The bullet dropped from Derek's fingers as his eyes rolled into his head and he fell backwards.

"Whoa!" Malia hurried to catch him, but his weight was a little more than she was prepared for, knocking them both to the ground in the process.

"No. No, no, no, no..." Scott lunged for the bullet as it rolled across the floor and underneath a cabinet, slipping down a drain. He hit the ground on his stomach and stretched his arm out, fishing around for the bullet. "Guys... I can't reach it."

Stiles moved around the table and knelt in front of Malia and Derek. He slapped Derek's cheek lightly. "Derek... Derek, come on, wake up."

Derek remained unresponsive.

Stiles looked to Malia, his brow knit. "I was joking earlier, about the whole digging a grave thing, but... now I'm thinking we might actually have to."

Malia rolled her eyes. She shifted her way out from beneath Derek and carefully laid him down on the ground. To Scott, she asked, "Any luck?"

"No." He let out a frustrated sigh. "I can feel it, but I can't get a grip on it."

"Just keep trying." Returning her attention to Derek, she pressed a hand to his cheek; it was damp and cold. She grimaced. "Derek, wake up. Come on, you said you could last a few hours, right? Well, your time's not up yet."

"Scott, I think he's dying." Stiles pressed his fingers to Derek's neck, searching for a pulse, and turned a panicked look on Malia. "I think he's dead."

"Just hold on!" Scott shouted back.

"What do we do?" Stiles panicked. "Malia, what do we do?"

She pushed up onto her knees and stacked her hands atop Derek's chest, beginning CPR.

"Does that... Will that even work? He's a freaking werewolf!"

"He has a heart, doesn't he?" She kept doing compressions, counting them off under her breath. "Air. Stiles, you need to breathe for him."

"I what?" Stiles stared at her, wide-eyed. "Why can't you?"

"Seriously?"

"What if whatever's in his arm is communicable? Have you thought about that? Because I'm human and I will die."

Her eyes narrowed on him and she gritted her teeth. "When this is over, I'm gonna—"

"I got it!" Scott raced over to them, bullet in hand. "I got it!"

"Look out." Stiles nudged Malia aside and folded his hand into a fist. "Please don't kill me for this…"

His fist slammed into Derek's cheek.

Malia scowled. "Why would hitting him do anyth—?"

With a gasp, Derek startled awake, his eyes wide.

Stiles stood back, ringing his hand. "Ow! God!"

Derek motioned to Scott. "Gimme."

Scott handed the bullet over and, together with Malia, they got Derek onto his feet. Moving to the surgical table, Derek stuck the bullet between his teeth, bit down, and broke it open. He poured out the powder inside and lit it with a lighter from his pocket, sending sparks and a blue smoke up into the air. Dragging the powder into his hand, he slapped his palm down against the bullet hole and ground the powder in as deep as he could. With a strangled cry, he stumbled backwards, gritting his teeth and falling hard to the ground.

Scott, Malia, and Stiles gathered at Derek's feet, watching him thrash and shout. The veins in Derek's arm only seemed to thicken and darken. Malia's stomach twisted and turned. Her heart hammered as she bit her lip, watching worriedly. What if Stiles was right? What if Derek died? What would they do? What could they do?

She felt the brush of fingers against her own and looked to her right. Scott's gaze was still on Derek, his brow furrowed and his mouth hanging open in shock. But his hand wrapped itself around hers, their fingers folding together, palms meeting in the middle. It was a small gesture— of comfort or solidarity or something— and it meant everything.

"Look," Stiles muttered.

Malia turned her attention back to Derek only to see that the infection seemed to be swallowing itself. Reaching black veins receded, leaving clean skin behind, and the bullet hole itself healed over in a matter of seconds. Stunned silence echoed in the room until—

"That was awesome!" Stiles fist-pumped. "Yes!"

Scott turned to stare at him incredulously, shaking his head a little, before he looked back at Derek. "Are you okay?"

Derek sat up and rolled his eyes. "Well, except for the agonizing pain..."

"I'm guessing the ability to use sarcasm is a good sign of health," Stiles snarked.

Derek stood, leveling Stiles with a glare that had him taking an uneasy step back.

Malia broke away from the boys and crossed the room, grabbing up a tattered shirt and Derek's jacket, which she dusted off and walked back over to him. "All things considered, I think we can chalk this up in the win column."

Derek snorted.

"Not completely." Scott frowned. "I'm still pretty sure Kate Argent thinks I stole something from her, with or without proof."

Derek looked up abruptly. "What do you mean?"

"Kate had the bullets stashed in her bag. Scott grabbed one while he was using the guest room bathroom. She noticed her bag was open and accused him of taking something." Malia shook her head. "We hid the bullet in time, so she didn't find anything on him, but she's still suspicious enough that she's a threat."

"The Argents are your enemy." A muscle ticked in Derek's jaw. He dragged on his shirt, scowled at the shredded sleeve, and then pulled his jacket on. "And that includes your girlfriend."

Scott paused. "Allison's different. She isn't like them."

"She's a good person," Malia agreed. "If you knew her, even if you'd just been there tonight, you'd see that."

"You can't trust them. Any of them." Derek looked from Scott to Malia before keeping his focus on her. "She might be your friend now, but that'll only last for so long."

"I think you're wrong." Malia crossed her arms defiantly. "She doesn't think like they do. I don't even think she knows werewolves exist."

"And who do you think is going to shape her beliefs around us?" Derek shook his head, staring at her searchingly. "You're her friend, you're not her family. No matter what you do or say, she'll always believe them over you. They raised her. You were a stranger a month ago."

Malia's gaze fell, her mouth pursed. As much as she hated to admit it, he made a good point.

"If you want to stay alive, if you want to keep each other alive, then you need to stay away from her."

"What if you're wrong?" Malia raised her eyes to meet his. "What if Allison really is different?"

"Are you willing to take that risk?"

She chewed her lip. It wasn't so long ago that she was sitting in Allison's room, telling her how she and Scott became friends, and the awe in Allison's face had said so much. It was filled with the hope that Allison could have something similar. Malia thought of ice skating and bowling and gymnastics. Of laughing with Allison over everything and nothing. As much as she'd never set out to make Allison a friend, that was exactly what she was. And Malia didn't turn her back on her friends.

Derek stepped closer, staring down at her seriously. "You want to know who the Argents are, what they'll do to you, what Allison is going to become, I can show you that."

Her brow furrowed and she lifted her chin. "Go ahead."

…

Whatever Malia was expecting, it wasn't a drive to Beacons Crossing Home, a long-term care facility. Climbing out of the Camaro, she waited for Scott and Stiles to hop out of the jeep after it parked next to them.

"What are we doing here?" Scott wondered.

"Hopefully," Stiles muttered, "we're checking him in and never seeing him again."

Derek ignored them and made his way inside.

Malia glanced at the boys before giving in to her curiosity and following after Derek.

Sighing, Scott and Stiles trailed after her.

It was unnaturally quiet inside. Malia was somewhat used to the hustle and bustle of Beacon Hills General, with nurses and patients moving to and fro. But here, most of the patients were tucked neatly in their rooms. The staff moved around with no noticeable urgency, talking amongst each other, calmly moving in and out of rooms with food trays and medical charts.

Derek led them to a particular room. The lights were out and he didn't bother turning them on, leaving the room dressed in shadows.

Malia felt the skittering sensation of discomfort climb her spine. Scott and Stiles were right behind her, clustered at her back; she took comfort in their presence. As much as she didn't think Derek was out to hurt her, this place gave her the creeps.

There was a lone man in the room, seated in a wheel chair, staring at, well, nothing. He was facing a wall; beige, of course, just like everything else in this place. Sterile, absent, and empty— how mind numbingly awful.

Scott cleared his throat. "Who is he?"

"My uncle," Derek answered. "Peter Hale."

Stiles peered over Malia's shoulder, trying to get a better look. "Is he a werewolf, too?"

"He was." Derek stared down at his uncle. The anger of before was dampened by a very real sadness. "Now he's barely even human."

Malia peered at Peter, unmoving, unresponsive, and felt her stomach dip. Was this any way to live?

"Six years ago, while I was at school, my house caught fire." Derek's hands folded into fists. "Nine people were trapped inside. My uncle, my parents, two brothers, and four sisters. Peter was the only survivor."

Swallowing tightly, Malia reached out, her hand wrapping around Derek's wrist and squeezing.

He looked back at her, his brow furrowed.

Stiles piped up then, "How do you know it was the Argents?"

Derek's gaze cut toward him. "'Cause they're the only ones that knew about us."

"You said that the hunters have a code, right?" Scott shook his head. "Then what is it? What made them attack?"

"Made them?" His eyes narrowed. "What justifies any of this?" Derek reached down and turned the wheel chair— the entire right side of Peter's face was scar tissue.

Malia felt Stiles spring back in surprise, muttering, "Holy..." under his breath.

Scott sucked in a breath.

But Malia merely stared. Peter's head hung to one side, staring sightlessly ahead. The scarred side of his face was mottled, bumpy, and seemingly in a state of melting. Part of his hair line was gone, leaving rippled skin bare above his ear. The pain must've been excruciating. Werewolf or not— to have been caught in the middle of the fire, to feel it eating away at his body, his face, to have his family dying or dead all around him...

Derek's voice cut through her thoughts. "They say they'll only kill an adult and even then, they need proof that a werewolf is dangerous. That they pose some kind of threat. But they didn't care about that. I was your age when they set that fire. I had five younger siblings who'd never done anything wrong. Never hurt anyone. And they still did it. Because they don't care."

Scott swallowed tightly, his voice hoarse as he said, "I'm sorry."

Derek shook his head. "You don't get it." He turned to Malia, baring his teeth in his anger. "This is what they do. And it's what Allison will do."

Malia stared up at him, her brow furrowed.

An unfamiliar voice interrupted then. "What are you doing?" A severe looking nurse stood in the doorway, her hair slicked back into a tight bun. "How did you get in here?"

Derek glanced at her. "We were just leaving."

Stiles hurried out first, awkwardly rubbing a hand over his head.

Derek followed, casting one last look at his uncle.

Malia lingered a moment, staring at the shell of Peter Hale. A survivor who didn't seem to be surviving whatsoever.

"Lia...?" Scott's fingers grazed her wrist. "We should go."

She swallowed tightly and nodded. "Yeah."

Scott towed her out of the room, but Malia kept looking back, trying to ingrain the image of a broken man on her mind. Was Derek right? Was this what the Argents did? Was this where Allison was headed?

...

"Allison still won't answer her door…" Kate pursed her lips. "I even tried bringing her extra dessert."

"You accused her boyfriend of stealing from you." Chris shrugged from his seat on the couch, a glass of bourbon in his hand. "It'll take some time for her to get over."

"Yeah, but you were grilling him through the whole dinner." Kate snorted. "She wasn't happy about it, but she isn't giving you the silent treatment."

"I haven't tried to talk to her. I know better." He half-smiled and then dropped his gaze to his drink. "What do you think about him?"

"Who? Scott?" Kate shook her head. "He's soft. Or he acts that way, anyway. He's got edges, he just keeps them hidden."

Chris' brows hiked. "Edges?"

"You saw how he defended Malia when Victoria asked how her mom died. He got riled up and he didn't back down. Kitty's got claws."

Chris hummed, his brow furrowed.

"So does she… Sure was quick to step in when I accused him of stealing."

"They're friends."

Kate hummed, absently playing with a long match between her fingers, her gaze turned away thoughtfully. Eventually, she shook her head. "On to more important topics… The wolf that attacked me was big. It had width and power. But, the one I shot was lean and fast."

Chris leaned forward, arms resting on his knees. "Well, that would be Derek Hale."

She clucked her tongue. "Are we sure?"

Chris paused. "Mostly."

Kate shrugged. "Well, how do we know it's just two of 'em?"

"We don't yet."

Kate bent to twist a knob next to the fireplace.

Sighing, Chris sat back. "But, if Derek's alive, he'll lead us to the alpha."

"Take the pack leader..." Kate grinned. "Take the pack."

Chris raised his glass in cheers. "And we do it according to the code."

Kate snickered and shook her head. "You and the code."

"It's there for a reason, Kate."

Amused, she grinned to herself. "Of course." She lit the match with an easy flick of her thumb and held it up to admire the flame before tossing it behind her, where it landed in the fireplace and created a roaring fire. Smirking, she winked at him. "I always play by the rules."

...

"Are you sure you want to ride home with him?" Stiles glanced past Malia's shoulder to Derek and then back. He rested his arm atop the hood of his jeep, fingers tapping nervously. "I know he almost died, but he's still a dick."

Malia snorted. "I'll be fine. Really. I'll text you when I'm home and let you know I'm okay."

"All right. But in future, we need a—" He snapped his fingers. "—a code word or something. We can text it to let the other know it's really them and there's nothing to worry about."

"Sure. Or I can Facetime you if you're really worried."

"Either works." He backed up toward the driver's door and pulled it open.

Scott lingered, his hands tucked in the pockets of his hoodie.

Malia smiled reassuringly. "You want a text, too?"

"Yeah." He ducked his eyes. "I can't get it out of my head."

"What, Derek's uncle? Not exactly pretty, was it?"

"That, too." He nodded. "But what Allison's dad said, about the dog snapping its own back. You think that's true?"

Malia stepped closer. She reached out and tugged at the front of his shirt. "I think he's an intimidating guy who uses stories like that to let people know he's dangerous and then he smiles to hide it." She shook her head. "You're not a dog, Scott."

His shoulders slumped. "No, I'm worse."

"Says who?" She caught his chin and raised it. "If what Derek says is true, then the Argents have always and will always see werewolves as the enemy. Anything they say is colored by that. You don't need them or Derek or anyone to tell you who you are. You're not going to find that in someone else. This werewolf thing is just a piece of the picture, not the whole thing."

He reached up and covered her hand with his, the tips of his fingers sliding over her knuckles and along the length of each of her fingers. "I'm still dangerous."

"We're all dangerous if we try hard enough." She smiled then and pinched his chin. "Go home, get some sleep. It's been a long and stressful day."

"Yeah… Hey, we should get together tomorrow night. Like we did on Thursday. A movie, junk food, that kind of thing."

Malia wanted to, she really did, but she couldn't. "I would, but I already made plans with Cole."

Scott went still. "Right. Yeah, of course." His brow furrowed. "Uh, have fun then, I guess."

Nodding, Malia let go of his chin and stepped back. "I'll text you when I'm home."

"Okay."

Turning on her heel, she made her way to Derek's car and climbed into the passenger seat.

Irritably, he asked, "Do you two always take that long to say goodbye?"

Malia rolled her eyes. "Why? You got somewhere to be? 'Cause last I checked, your social calendar wasn't exactly overflowing."

Derek snorted and backed the car up. "Have I thanked you yet for saving my life?"

"No. And you should thank Scott. He's the one that found the bullet."

"With your help."

"I kept the Argents distracted— it wasn't rocket science. Besides, I'm human, remember? They're not a threat to me."

"You think that matters to people like them?" He raised an eyebrow. "Kate Argent wouldn't hesitate to put you down just as fast as me or Scott." His hands flexed on the steering wheel. "They're the real monsters."

Malia had no counter to that, not after seeing what was left of Peter Hale.

...

Malia and Derek sat in an idling Camaro just outside of her house, the headlights off and the heater on high.

Grimacing, he muttered, "I don't need a babysitter."

Malia rolled her eyes. "Why not? Just because your arm looks healed doesn't mean you're at a hundred percent. I bet even Stiles could take you right now."

Derek scoffed. "Hardly."

She shifted in her seat to see him better. "It's one night. You can stay in Kylie's bedroom. My dad never goes in there."

Derek paused. "He won't notice?"

This late at night, there was little to no chance that her dad wasn't passed out either on the couch or in his bed. It would take an earthquake to wake him up. "He's a heavy sleeper."

"Is that before or after he finishes off a six pack?"

She ground her teeth and refused to look in his direction. "You want to stay or not? The offer has an expiry date and the more you annoy me, the sooner it is."

Derek sighed. "I'm only doing this because the Argents are probably still looking for me."

"Uh-huh."

"It's not going to become a habit." He cut the engine. "I don't need your charity."

Climbing out of the car, she walked up the driveway, not bothering to wait for him. She skipped the loose stair to the porch and dug her keys out. Opening the front door, she pushed it open slowly, peeking inside to see if her dad was on the couch. Finding it empty, she walked into the house and kicked her shoes off. Waving at Derek to follow, she made her way down the hall. She was about to pass the linen closet when she paused, backed up, and reached inside to dig out clean sheets and a blanket. Kylie's bedroom was right next to Malia's, but it remained closed for the most part. Years ago, her dad had stripped the room down as much as possible, leaving behind only the essentials— a bed, two side tables, and a white dresser.

She ushered Derek through the door and quietly closed it behind them. Making her way to the bed, she dropped the linens on top and got to work dressing it. Derek circled around to the other side, reached for a corner of the sheet, and helped her spread it out, tucking everything in on his end. He glanced at her off and on, his mouth pursed.

"What?" she finally asked, exasperated.

"What are you going to do about Allison?"

Sighing, she shook her head. "I don't know."

"She's dangerous."

"So are you and I still invited you to stay." She looked up at him, scowling. "Things aren't black and white, I think you know that. It's not as simple as saying she's an Argent therefore she's the enemy. Her family, yes. I'd prefer to avoid her dad and her aunt, especially. But Allison is just a sixteen-year-old girl who wants friends."

"Hunters are bred. They're trained and created by their parents so that when the time comes, they'll be the perfect killing machines."

Malia rolled her eyes. "She's not an elite assassin. She- She's just like me."

"No, she isn't." He sighed. "You look at me and Scott and you want to see the best in us. You want to believe that, deep down, we aren't animals. That we're just as human as you are."

"You are!"

"Partly, yeah. But we're animals, too. We shift and we fight and we heal. Scott might try to hide from that, but we both know that when the time comes, he's going to have to choose who and what he is."

Malia's eyes narrowed. "We agreed to help you bring down the alpha because it's hurting people— killing people. After that, I don't know what happens."

"Scott needs people like him. He needs a pack."

She crossed her arms. "And that's you?"

"No, it's you." He stared at her. "A pack doesn't have to be strictly shifters. They might understand better what he's going through, but that's not all he'll need. What Scott really needs, what he wants, is a tether. An anchor to his human half. And whether he knows it or not, he has one."

Malia shook her head. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You're smart. You'll figure it out."

She huffed. "You are so unbelievably cryptic, you know that?"

A faint smile edged his mouth up. "I can be."

Grabbing the blanket, she flipped it up, letting the fabric unravel. "Was that the first time you've seen your uncle since...?"

"Since the fire or since I got back?"

"Either."

"No." He caught an end of the blanket and helped spread it over the bed. "After the fire, Laura and I ran. She didn't think we were safe, so we left as soon as we could. I didn't even know Peter had made it until a week later. Laura called the hospital, put everything in motion to make sure he was taken care of. But I never came back, not until she stopped answering my calls."

"And all this time…? You were just laying low?"

He shook his head. "We bounced around a lot the first couple of years. I finished high school online."

"What made you stop?"

"I was accepted at Columbia in New York." He shrugged. "Laura said it was time to stop hiding, so we did. Or I did. I moved into the dorms on campus and she… She kept moving." Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "This was always home for her. Didn't matter how long we were gone, she always knew she'd come back here…"

Malia stared at him a moment. The windows had no curtains; shafts of moonlight fell across him, leaving him dressed in light and shadow. With his slumped shoulders and hanging head, he was the picture of defeat. "You were close? You and Laura."

"Yeah." His throat bobbed and his eyes fell shut. "She was older than me by a few years. When I was a kid, I idolized her. Laura is… was strong and smart. She was who I wanted to be. Just like my mom. The kind of person who knows who they are and does the right thing. Who always knows what the right thing is." He sighed. "I could always go to her, no matter what I did or what was going on. She was always there for me. Both of them were."

"They sound pretty amazing."

His eyes opened then. "They were."

"I'm sorry you lost them."

He turned to her then, searching her face a moment. "What about your mom?"

Malia hugged her arms around herself. "What about her?"

"What was she like?"

"She was…" She swallowed. "My dad used to say that she was wild. She grew up in Beacon Hills but as soon as she graduated, she was gone. She had this beat up old van and she just drove until she found what she was looking for. Apparently, it was this commune on the other side of the country where they grew all their own food. That's what made her want to go to school. She wanted to learn about sustainable living and agriculture and have her own farm. But after she met my dad and they moved back to Beacon Hills, the best she got was her own garden..." She shook her head. "It's all weeds now. I never had a green thumb. I mean, I tried, but I couldn't get the hang of it." She paused for a moment, overwhelmed with a simultaneously warm and empty feeling. "She had the most beautiful laugh, you know? She was just a really happy person who loved her family and made sure we knew it."

Derek nodded. "And your dad?"

"He used to be happy, too. He'd race home from work to be with us…" She smiled faintly. "Every year on my birthday, he'd call in sick so we could hang out. He'd take me to the arcade and let me eat my weight in pizza." Her face fell. "Now, I'm lucky if he remembers what month it is."

Derek stared at her searchingly. "He drinks a lot." It wasn't a question, but a statement.

She raised her eyes to meet his. "He's coping."

He shook his head. "That's not coping."

Scoffing, she glared at him. "Says the guy living in his family's burned out house."

"You can't grieve or heal if you're always drunk. Maybe that's what he wants. Maybe he thinks healing means forgetting. Take it from me, you won't forget them. But hiding from it isn't going to make it any better."

"Are you healing?"

Derek stared at her a beat and then looked away. "My situation is a little different."

"How?"

"I made a lot of mistakes. And I paid for them."

"You think the fire was your fault?" Her brow furrowed. "What, like you were being punished?"

He clenched his jaw. "There are different ways to hide. Your dad uses the bottle, but you keep people at arm's length."

She snorted. "You're one to talk."

His mouth hitched up faintly. "And you get defensive if anyone points out the obvious."

Malia scowled. "I don't need a psychologist, okay?"

"Good, because I'd probably be a shitty one." He searched her face. "The only reason I know you push people away is because I've been doing the same thing for six years. Some advice? It gets lonely real quick. All I had was Laura and now I've lost her, too."

"An hour ago you were telling me to drop Allison and never look back."

Derek stood from the bed then, his shoulders tensed. "The Argents are different. You can't trust them."

"Can I trust you?"

"I think we both know you already do." His brows hiked. "Or I wouldn't be here right now."

He had her there. Still, Malia shook her head. "Tomorrow's Saturday. My dad sleeps in, but I'd still recommend sneaking out early." She walked to the door, but paused before she could walk through it. "I do trust you... Don't make me regret it."

Not bothering to wait for a reply, she left, gently closing the door behind her before she made her way to her room.

Exhausted, Malia stripped out of her clothes and pulled on a pair of pajamas before scooping a half-asleep Shiloh up and carrying her to her bed.

Climbing under the covers, she laid on her back, Shiloh tucked against her side, and dug her phone out. She thumbed through her text messages, sending one off to Stiles first. —'made it home and headed to bed'

Stiles was quick to reply —'we still need a safe word so i know it's really you' It was followed quickly by—'like pomegranate'

Malia rolled her eyes. —'why pomegranate?'

—'i don't know! it the first thing that came to mind'

—'you come up with something and then we'll both erase it from our phones so nobody but us knows what it is'

She snorted and typed back— 'your paranoia is showing'

Ignoring her, he texted —'maybe we could keep it simple like 'green light''

—'green means you're good, red means danger, yellow means get ready to panic'

Grinning, she shook her head— 'what does crosswalk mean?'

He sent her an angry emoticon and— 'you're impossible'

She snorted, amused. —'thanks. but fine, traffic lights it is. i'm at green, btw'

—'me too'

Scoffing, she typed back— 'that's not how this works, stiles'

—'GREEN. i'm green!'

Malia sent a laughing emoji. —'good. i'm going to bed. today has been long and weird. remind me to tell you about allison's strange family and how over the top dramatic and intimidating they are'

He sent a thumbs up emoji. —'tomorrow?'

She paused. —'i'll skype you. just not too late, i have a thing with cole'

—'what do you mean THING?'

She rolled her eyes. —'goodnight stiles.' She added a heart and ghost emoji and left the conversation, thumbing down to Scott's name. —'hey, guess who made it home safe and sound?'

He replied with a smiley emoji, followed by— 'glad to hear it'

Above, she could see Stiles' latest message telling her— 'don't forget to erase any evidence of our safe word!'

Rolling her eyes, she returned her attention to Scott's chat, seeing that he was writing. A bubble formed, disappeared, then returned. Her brow furrowed. —'have you heard from allison?'

—'no' he wrote back. —'i feel bad.'

Malia chewed the inside of her cheek. —'me too. but it was important.'

—'yeah, i know' he texted, followed by— 'what do you think about what derek said? about the argents?'

Malia hesitated a moment, eventually admitting —'he's not totally wrong. they're hunters, we can't trust them'

—'and allison?'

—'i don't know. i don't think she's like them.' She paused. —'not yet at least'

A minute passed, and then another, before finally—'what do we do?'

—'i don't know. i wish i did'

—'me too' Malia stared at those two words until a new text appeared. —'you should get some sleep. it's been a long day. text me tomorrow?'

She smiled to herself. —'i will. you too.'

He sent her a heart emoji. —'night'

—'night'

Malia sighed and rubbed a hand over her face. She plugged her phone in and placed it on her bedside table before rolling over. Hooking an arm around Shiloh, she kissed the top of her head and closed her eyes. Hopefully, tomorrow would be a little less crazy.

…

An eight-year-old Malia can't remember when the swing was made, but every day she finds herself sitting in it. She pumps her legs until they hurt, her hands so tight around the rope that it leaves her palms red and sore. It doesn't matter how high Malia goes, it's never enough. Sometimes, she wishes she was a bird. That wings might sprout from her back and she could weave through the clouds and sit atop the highest branches.

"What kind of bird would you be?" Evelyn kneels in the soft earth, dragging her forearm over her face to wipe away the sweat that dots her skin. Her cheeks are ruddy, her forehead sunburned, and her smile wide. "An eagle? Hummingbird? Maybe a beach scavenging seagull?"

Malia laughs, her head thrown back, hair blowing across her face each time she swings backward. "I wanna be fast!"

"How fast?"

"So fast you can't see me!"

"What if I want to see you, huh? What about then?"

Malia lets her legs dangle and lifts her head. "I'll slow down. But just for you."

"Oh, I'm special."

"Yup."

When her swing slows just enough, Malia leaps from it, landing with one knee braced on the ground.

Evelyn shakes her head. "You give me a small heart attack every time you do that."

"Good thing you got a strong heart." Malia walks over and takes a seat in the dirt, crossing her legs beneath her. Seeing a worm peek out of the ground, she reaches for it.

"Careful," he mother warns. "Remember— this is their home."

Malia's mouth screws up. "It's mine, too."

"You have a cozy bed inside. You're sitting on their bed." Evelyn scoops her hand into the dirt and lifts it up, bringing the worm with it. "They're all part of a chain. They take care of the ground that we use to grow our food, so we have to respect them and give them the space to do it."

Malia reaches a finger out and the worm wiggles around, brushing against her. An excited cry leave Malia and she pulls her hand back abruptly. But just as quick, she's reaching out again. "Does it like peas?"

"I don't think they've ever had one. They get their nutrients from what lives in the soil." Evelyn smiles down at her. "This is one of your favorite memories. You dream about it a lot."

Malia hums, still staring at the worm.

"Do you still want to be a bird?"

In a blink, Malia is her sixteen-year-old self, still seated in the dirt, hand outstretched toward the worm. "I don't know what I want to be."

"What if you didn't have to be anything but what you are?"

She snorts. "Mom, there's only two years left until graduation. I can't put that on a college application."

Evelyn lowers her hand, tipping it to let the dirt and worm return to the ground. She removes her gloves, tucks them away in her pocket, and sits back on her haunches. "When you were little, you wanted to be a fireman. It used to scare me. The idea that you might go running into a burning house one day and never come out... But that's exactly who you are. I learned to accept that."

Malia stares up at her searchingly. "Is that a bad thing? Wanting to help people?"

"No. Of course not. I just want you to look out for yourself. Make sure someone is watching out for you, too." She reaches out then, her fingers cupped beneath Malia's chin. "Promise me you'll be careful."

Malia drags a finger over her heart with her finger once, twice, making an 'X.' "I promise."

"Malia!" Kylie stands on the edge of the garden, beaming at her. "You're it!"

"Go," Evelyn tells her. "I'll be here when you're done."

Malia looks down at herself, a young girl again. "No, you won't," she says, but she stands anyway. "None of this is real."

As she takes off toward Kylie, her mother's voice follows her. "Be careful!"

"We will," Malia and Kylie sing-song back.

When Malia reaches her sister, Kylie's smile widens. "Catch me!" she cries before she races toward the trees.

Malia stares after her a moment. With a grin, she gives chase.

...

When Malia woke the next day, nostalgia left her feeling raw and empty. Dragging herself out of bed, she left her room to take Shiloh out. She paused outside of Kylie's bedroom, wondering if Derek was still asleep inside. Quietly, she turned the handle and let the door swing open. The bed was stripped down; sheets and blanket carefully folded up and resting at the corner of the mattress. Something was left behind, however. On the bedside table was a faded gas station receipt, held in place with one of her mom's cat shaped salt shakers. The receipt read simply, 'thanks -dh.' Malia shoved it in her pocket, grabbed the salt shaker, and made her way to the door.

With Shiloh right at her heels, Malia walked down the hall and into the living room, cutting toward the fireplace mantle to replace her mom's salt shaker. Not one of her best, she had to admit. It was lumpy and misshapen.

"Were you in Kylie's room?"

Malia jumped and whirled around, surprised to see her dad awake and sitting at the kitchen table, a plate of scrambled eggs in front of him. "Um, yeah. I felt a draft, I thought the window was open or something. It's not."

Henry stared at her a beat, his brow furrowed. Then, with a shake of his head, he looked back to the paper in front of him. "There's still some eggs in the pan if you're hungry."

"Thanks." She padded across the floor to let Shiloh out to pee, keeping an eye on her as she sniffed around in the grass. Leaning against the door jamb, her hands tucked behind her back, she let her gaze wander back to her dad. A cup of steaming coffee sat in front of his plate. "There's a parent-teacher conference on Monday. I can't remember if I told you or not."

He looked up. "You put it on the calendar?"

Her eyes moved to the calendar on the fridge, the one that still said November. Seeing as it was closing in on the end of January, she shook her head. "Think we might need a new one."

Henry's gaze moved to the fridge and he sighed. "I'll pick one up. Just, uh, remind me on Monday. I'll be there."

"Okay."

Shiloh made her way inside once more, tail wagging. She took a seat at Henry's feet and stared up at him hopefully, waiting on any scraps.

Closing the door, Malia made her way to the stove. She dug out a plate and filled it with the last of the leftover eggs. Pouring herself a glass of orange juice, she joined her dad at the table. It felt nice to see him awake and to share space with him again. She smothered a smile in a bite of eggs. Maybe it was another sign of change on the horizon. She could hope.

…

That afternoon, Malia was digging around in her closet for something to wear when Allison called. Hesitating a moment, she eventually thumbed the 'Answer' button and raised the phone to her ear. "Hey."

"Hey!" Allison's voice was a little high pitched. "Um, I know you're hanging out with Cole tonight, I just wanted to talk to you... I still feel terrible about last night and, I don't know. I feel like maybe you're mad at me."

"I'm not." Malia shook her head. "I don't know Kate all that well. But I know you, and I don't blame you for anything that happened. It was a weird and awkward dinner and I hope we never have to sit through another one."

"Yeah, me too. I don't know why Kate was being like that. The whole dinner felt very pitch forks and torches, you know? Like, if my dad wasn't trying to put Scott down, Kate was asking you really personal questions. I'm sorry they were so strange."

"It's fine. Maybe it was the wine or something." She turned her attention back to her closet and continued to search through her tops. "Hey, do you have any movie recommendations? I'm stopping by the store to pick something up before I head over to Cole's."

"You're the second person to ask me that today. I guess Lydia and Jackson are having a movie night, too. I gave her a bunch, but it sounds like she's just going to watch The Notebook again."

Malia hummed. "Already seen it. What about Easy A? Is that good?"

"Yeah! I liked it."

She nodded. "Maybe I'll pick that up."

"What happened to making out through the whole movie?"

"I'll just take it home with me and watch it then. It'd be a waste of money to rent it and not even see it."

Allison laughed. "Good point."

"What're you gonna do tonight?"

"Uh... I don't know. Kate wants to hang out, but I'm still kind of mad at her. Actually, I'm not really talking to her."

"How long is she staying?" Malia wondered. "I mean, if she's leaving soon and you're not going to see each other for a while…"

"I don't think she is. The way her and dad are talking, it looks like she'll be around for a while. They're working on some deal together. It's really important, I guess."

Malia frowned. That wasn't what she was hoping to hear. Shaking her head, she said, "Well, you could always veg out in your room and just watch a movie or something on your laptop."

"Yeah, I probably will. Okay, I'll leave you to your non-date. Text me tomorrow when you want to get together."

"I will. Have a good night."

"You, too. Bye."

"Bye."

Hanging up, Malia put her hands on her hips and sighed at her closet. Choosing to go with comfort, she grabbed out a tank top and a warm sweater.

...

Crossing the video store parking lot, Malia grinned down at her phone. Danny had sent her a picture of him and Adam, sun setting at their backs, arms hooked around each other's shoulders as they beamed for the camera. She texted him back —'see? obnoxiously cute together'

He sent her a winky emoji with its tongue out. —'the granola was great too'

—'he's a keeper'

She pulled the store door open and walked inside, a bell ringing overheard. The place looked basically empty, outside of a a clerk on a ladder, trying to replace a blinking lightbulb. There was a TV in the corner of the room, playing a movie she vaguely recognized— the volume was unnecessarily high, making everything sound a little too shriek-y for her tastes.

Malia cut to the right and went in search of Easy A, walking up and down aisles, checking genres and titles as she went.

Feeling her phone buzz, she swiped it open.

Danny had sent another text —'fingers crossed' followed by —'cole's tonight right?'

—'yup. picking out a movie now. allison suggested easy a.'

He sent a thumbs up emoji. —'good movie. not that you'll see much of it.'

Malia rolled her eyes. Having her head down, she didn't quite see where she was going and clipped someone as she passed them. Looking up to apologize, she was surprised to find Erica standing in front of her. Hair up in a messy bun and wearing her comfiest sweat pants, Erica looked ready for a night in.

"Hey." Malia grinned. "Don't tell me you're looking for Easy A, too?"

Erica shook her head. "Nope. I'm going for a horror movie. Just can't figure out which one yet." She held up three. "Suggestions?"

Malia plucked a DVD from her hand and snorted. "I told Stiles 'Alien' was a horror..."

Her brows hiked. "Sci-fi horror. One of the best kinds."

"Agreed." She looked at the other two. "Ghosts or serial killer?"

Erica shrugged. "I don't find zombies creepy enough. Ghosts freak me out and serial killers are too real not to be scary."

"True."

A thud sounded through the store then and Malia frowned, turning her head. She waited to see if she'd hear anything else but when nothing immediately came, she returned her attention to Erica. Just as she was about to suggest which movie would be a better watch, a scream could be heard. Loud, agonized, and very, very real.

Erica jumped, her eyes wide.

Malia raised her phone and sent a text to Danny. —'call 911' Tucking it in her pocket, she handed the DVD off to Erica and started in the direction of the scream. There were two pillars with a long front desk between them that separated one side of the store from the other, which meant she couldn't see what was going on without getting closer.

Erica grabbed at the sleeve of Malia's sweater. "Wait. What if it's dangerous?"

"Someone's probably hurt." Malia waved her off. "Stay here. I'll look."

"Are you kidding? You can't leave me alone back here..." She shoved the movies back on a random shelf and motioned around. "I'm literally standing in the horror aisle."

Rolling her eyes, Malia nodded for Erica to follow. Slowly, and as quietly as they could, they made their way across the store, trying to get a look at whatever was happening. The ladder was still standing beneath the buzzing and blinking light, but the clerk was missing.

Another strangled cry rent the room, followed by a gurgling noise, and Malia stopped. Her stomach tied itself in knots and her chest grew tight. She had a feeling that whatever they were about to find, it wasn't that the clerk had simply slipped off his ladder.

Erica stood at her back, her breathing sounding incredibly loud.

From where Malia was standing, she could see a foot sticking out from an aisle. Her heart was racing and her palms grew sweaty. Hesitantly, she took a step forward, even as every instinct screamed at her to stop and turn back.

Erica pulled at the back of her sweater. "Don't," she whispered.

But Malia had to. She needed to know if the clerk was just injured or dead. She kept walking, even as each step felt heavier and more damning than the last. Until finally, she reached the aisle, and could see a man sprawled out on the floor, twisted at the waist, his back against the movie shelf. His throat was slashed open, blood spatter across his cheek and down his chest. It pooled beneath his head, hanging limply, his eyes still open behind blunt, square glasses.

Erica sucked in a sharp breath, her fingers digging into Malia's arm.

Malia turned. "Don't look."

"He's—"

Movement. Someone or something was still in the store. It was a dark blur out of the corner of Malia's eye, making its way down the outer aisle. It circled around and cut across the center, making it clear that the door was not an option.

Malia grabbed Erica's hand and hurried into the aisle just ahead of where the clerk was, pulling her down to crouch with her.

"What are you doing?" Erica whispered worriedly. "We need to get out of here."

"It saw us. Which means that if we make a break for the door, it'll chase us."

She shook her head. "What is it?"

The Alpha. She couldn't be sure, of course, but given the claw marks, she felt pretty positive. "I don't know. A bear, cougar, something."

Erica swallowed tightly. "What if it attacks us?"

"There's two of us..." Malia nodded. "One of us can run for the door, get help, the other can distract it."

Erica's brow furrowed. "You're on the track team. You're faster."

"Which means it'll have a harder time catching me when I distract it." Malia took a deep breath. "Okay. When I give a signal—"

The bell above the front door rang then, followed by, "Can somebody help me find The Notebook?"

Jackson.

Malia closed her eyes and let out a sigh through her nose. Talk about the worst possible timing…

The front desk phone started ringing too, making the store seem even more eerie.

"Hello...? Is anybody working here?"

Erica turned a worried look on Malia. "What do we do?"

Malia could hear Jackson's footsteps making their way up the carpeted aisle.

"You gotta be kidding me," he muttered irritably.

Malia closed her eyes and shook her head. She motioned for Erica to stay put and edged closer to the end of the aisle, trying to peek around to catch Jackson's eye and warn him to stop and be quiet. But just as she did, he stopped short, directly in front of the dead clerk. Before she could call out a warning, Jackson stumbled backwards in shock. He hit the ladder, which knocked into the hanging bulb. Suddenly, the TV died and every light across the ceiling was blinking in and out. A red glow was all that lit each period of darkness, coming off the sign in the window.

A vicious growl echoed through the store then— Malia swore she could feel the very real sensation of terror momentarily stun everyone in the room. Shaking it off, she reached out, snagged a leg of Jackson's jeans, and yanked.

He yelped and looked down, his eyes wide and his brow furrowed.

She glared up at him.

Getting the message, he hurried to hide with them, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.

Erica looked from him to Malia. "What now?"

"The plan is the same." Malia peeked around the edge of the shelf and saw a dark blur race across the aisle again. Instead of speaking, Malia pointed at Jackson, then Erica, and finally the door.

His brow furrowed and he pointed at himself questionably.

Rolling her eye, Malia reached out, took his hand, and put it with Erica's. She used her fingers to mimic running and again pointed at the door.

He frowned and motioned to her, shaking his head.

Malia grabbed up a few DVD's, pretending to throw them before she tapped her ear and waved her hand vaguely to gesture the animal itself.

Erica reached out and grabbed Malia's hand, using it to motion to all three of them, as if to suggest that they all run.

Malia stared at her a beat and then looked at Jackson, her brows hiked.

He nodded, slow and jerky.

Suddenly, they heard a crashing noise, and Malia looked out to see that alpha had knocked one of the shelves over and it was having a domino effect.

Malia pulled at Erica's hand, leading her and Jackson into the aisle before the shelves could topple over and trap them underneath. She held up three fingers and then she darted to the left, leaving them to their countdown. Malia started throwing DVDs at the far wall, hoping the noise would draw the alpha in that direction. Not to her, exactly, but away from the door, giving her a chance to run, too. She swiped full shelves of their DVDs and eventually pushed one shelf so it would crash into the one behind it.

When the lights flared back up, she could see as Jackson and Erica broke toward the door.

She also caught a brief look at a dark mass in the far right corner of the store, its head turning in either direction, like it was trying to decide if it wanted to attack Jackson and Erica or her. When it went for them instead, Malia rerouted herself. They were nearly to the door, but she could see the alpha gaining ground. Malia gathered up every reserve of energy and ran as fast as she could. When she was close enough, she shoved Jackson forward, hard enough that he tripped and hit the ground, taking Erica down with him. Malia's relief was brief.

The alpha slammed into her side and sent her flying through the air. She careened right into the wall, taking down shelves and DVDs with her. When she hit the floor, she grunted in pain. Oh yeah, that was definitely going to bruise. Gasping for air, she kicked her legs out and willed her lungs to start functioning. She could only remember getting the wind knocked out of her once before. When she'd been on the swing in her back yard and Kylie had stepped in front of it. In an effort not to hit her, Malia had let go of the ropes and fallen backwards, landing hard on the ground. As a kid, she'd panicked, terrified that she was dying. But her mom had hovered over her, a hand on her chest, her voice soothing as she told her to just relax and the air would come.

It wasn't her mom's voice in her ears now, however.

Instead, she heard Jackson telling Erica, "Come on, come on!"

It took seconds that felt like minutes, but eventually, Malia was able to catch a breath. She opened her eyes, her vision sinking sideways for a moment. She listened to the bell ring above the door and turned her head, watching Jackson pull Erica along with him. They were safe. Relief filled her with a cool sensation, starting at the top of her head and spreading down to her toes. But it was short lived.

The alpha stood before her— the lights had given out completely, meaning all she could see was a red glow against dark fur. But she could hear it growling, a rumbling like gravel. And suddenly, she could feel the weight of a hand-like paw pressing down hard against her chest, enough that her lungs were compressed.

Malia stared up at it, breaths coming in little gasps. It lowered its head, sniffing at her, baring its long, jagged teeth in the process. Her heart stuttered, fear swallowing her up.

And then—

Sirens.

The alpha raised its head and pulled away. It turned and took a running leap out the window, sending shards of glass all over. Malia heard a sharp scream from outside— Erica? It sounded feminine. Maybe Jackson had brought Lydia along.

Worried that the alpha might be attacking them outside, Malia tried to pull herself up. She sucked in a strangled breath and turned herself over. Her arms and legs were heavy and weak, but she managed to lift herself up. On her hands and knees, she attempted to crawl toward the door. There were bits of glass on the carpet; she could feel them slice up her palms. She kept going, even as every muscle screamed and her lungs felt like lead weights in her chest.

The door swung open again and a panicked Erica hurried toward her, falling to her knees at Malia's shoulder. "It's gone. Whatever it is, it ran."

Malia let her arms go limp and dropped to the floor on her stomach. "Jackson?"

"He's okay. He's trying to get Lydia to stop freaking out... It's not working so much." There was a pause before, "You're bleeding."

"Yeah. I cut my hands on some glass. It's fine." She groaned. "It'll be a bitch to get out later, but—"

"No. Your side." Erica reached out and carefully pulled Malia's sweater up.

Malia hissed through her teeth. "Okay, ow."

"Sorry."

Blue and red lights flooded the front window then. "The police are here."

Malia nodded. "Good."

"How'd they know?"

"I texted Danny when we heard someone scream." She screwed up her face, rolled over, and held a hand out. "Help me up."

"Should you be moving around? Maybe we should wait until the paramedics—"

"Erica?" She stared up at her, brow furrowed. "What, in the short time we've known each other, makes you think I want a paramedic poking at me?"

With a long-suffering sigh, she reached down and took Malia's hand, pulling her up and onto her feet.

Malia whimpered and wrapped her free arm around her waist, feeling the fabric squelch where it was soaked through with blood.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'll be fine."

"What you did...?" Erica shook her head. "That was crazy."

Malia leaned into her as they hobbled toward the door. "Thanks."

"No, seriously. You could've been killed. That thing— animal— it was huge."

"I wasn't exactly measuring it. I just wanted to give you and Jackson a chance to get out."

"How are you so calm right now?"

Malia shrugged. "Maybe it's shock."

"Malia?" Danny was crossing the street, his car parked on the other side of the road, the door still open.

She let out a relieved sigh. "You called."

"Yeah, of course I did." He reached for her, a hand cupped beneath her elbow to keep her steady. "Jesus, are you bleeding?"

"Yeah, but it could be worse."

His eyes widened. "How?"

Malia pointed a thumb over her shoulder. "I could be the dead guy inside the store."

His brow furrowed. "What?"

Erica piped in then. "Something attacked the clerk, clawed his throat out. He's dead. Malia distracted it while me and Jackson got out."

"Jackson's here, too?" Danny looked around, finally spotting his best friend crouched down next to Lydia, who was still sitting in her car, hyperventilating.

"It's okay," Malia told him. "You should check on him. He was pretty freaked out."

Danny hesitated a moment. "If you need me, shout."

"I will."

With a nod, Danny made his way over to Jackson, kneeling down and putting a hand on his shoulder.

Jackson looked up, startled, but immediately relaxed once he saw who it was.

"Who can tell me what happened here?" a police officer called out.

Erica raised a hand, drawing the officer over. The conversation was brief. Once he found out there was a body inside and that whatever attacked them had already taken off, he was on his radio, letting dispatch know there was a possible '187' before he made his way inside the store, gun and flashlight raised.

Malia could hear more sirens approaching. "Hey, can you grab my phone out? It's in my pocket."

Erica shifted around and dug the phone out for her. "Can you even use it?"

"Not really." Her arms were sore and moving hurt.

"Do you want me to call someone? Your dad maybe?"

Malia pursed her lips. "No, it's fine. There's a dead guy. Sheriff Stilinski will be here soon."

"Okay." Erica held the phone out. "Don't tell me you want a selfie."

Snorting, she shook her head. "Just open my messages. Find Cole, tell him I can't make it tonight and I'll explain later."

Nodding, she thumbed in the text and then held it out for Malia to see. Once it was approved, she sent it. "Anyone else?"

An ambulance pulled up then, two paramedics hopping out.

Lydia had finally left the car and was leaning against it, arms crossed, with Jackson and Danny standing on either side of her.

"She wasn't even inside," Erica muttered.

"Trauma's weird. Sometimes just seeing something can hit you just as hard." Malia let out a sigh. "Now I'm never going to see Easy A."

Erica shook her head. "You're so weird."

"Miss? I need to take a look at you." A paramedic stood in front of Malia, eyeing her wound with a frown. "How long have you been bleeding?"

"The correct answer to that question is always 'too long.'"

Erica helped lead Malia over to the back of the ambulance, sticking close to her as the paramedic went about asking questions and generally poking and prodding at her. It all ended up taking a lot longer than she wanted or expected it to. Enough that the parking lot of the video store had become full of cop cars and a small crowd was forming on the fringes, trying to see what was going on.

"What about you?" the paramedic asked Erica. "Were you inside, too?"

"Oh. Yeah, but I'm fine." She nodded nervously. "I just scraped my chin when I was knocked down. No real damage."

The paramedic glanced at her chin. "I can clean it out and bandage it up. Are you sure you didn't hit your head?"

"I don't think I did." Her brow furrowed. "I'd remember that, right?"

In a second ambulance, Jackson and Lydia were being tended to. Even from a distance, Malia could hear Jackson complaining that he was fine and wanted to leave.

"He hit his head," Erica told her. "Knocked it against the door when we fell."

Malia hummed. "He'll probably have his dad sue me for damaging his pretty face."

"It was really brave, you know…?" Erica stared up at her. "Jumping in the way like that."

"I think the word you're looking for is 'stupid.'"

Red and blue lights suddenly lit up Malia's peripheral vision and she turned her head to see a familiar car pull up, SHERIFF written on the door.

"Girls?" A police officer approached and looked from Malia to Erica. "I'd like to get your statements."

"I can go first," Erica offered.

Smiling briefly, the officer led Erica away.

Malia leaned back against the ambulance door, cringing as her side pulled.

"Malia?" a deep voice called out. Sheriff Stilinski cut toward her, his express twisted up in concern. "What the hell happened?"

"I went in for a romantic comedy, walked out with a headache." She shrugged. "Animal attack. It killed the clerk."

"What about you?" He rested a hand on her shoulder and looked her over. "Is that blood?"

"Yeah, well... Long story."

The paramedic cleared his throat then, drawing their attention. "She's going to need stitches," he informed them. "We have to bring her in."

"Or," Malia said, "just a thought, I put a Band-Aid on it and we call it a night."

With an amused half-smile, the paramedic shook his head. "Afraid not. From what you told me, I think what cut you was a piece of metal holding up the shelf. You're going to need a tetanus shot and a few stitches."

"No offense, because I know you're just doing your job, but that was the last thing I wanted to hear."

He shrugged lightly. "The sooner, the better."

"Yeah, yeah, all right." Turning back to Sheriff Stilinski, she sighed. "Erica's already making a statement. I guess I have to, too."

"I'll drop by the hospital and talk to you myself. How does that sound?"

"Fine. Hey, you think I can request a nurse or is that weird?"

Sheriff Stilinski snorted. "I'm sure Melissa will make an exception for you."

Heightened voices caught their attention then and Malia watched as Jackson continued to berate one of the paramedics. "I should check that out..." The Sheriff nodded to Malia's paramedic. "Take good care of her."

"I will."

Malia was ushered deeper into the ambulance, where a gurney was waiting for her. "Seriously? It's not even that bad."

"Standard protocol."

Sighing, Malia took a seat on the bed and turned herself over to lay on her back, staring at the ceiling as she was belted in. "Worst Saturday ever."

…

On the roof of the video store, Scott stared down at the people below. A body was being wheeled out on a gurney while Jackson berated Sheriff Stilinski for not letting him go home with a potentially deadly head injury. A crowd had formed, trying to get a look at what happened, and the scent of blood was strong in the air.

Derek stood at Scott's shoulders, hands tucked in the pockets of his jeans. "Starting to get it?"

Scott shook his head. "I get that he's killing people, but I don't get why. I mean, this isn't— This isn't standard practice, right? We don't go out in the middle of the night murdering everyone, do we?"

"No. We're predators. We don't have to be killers."

"Then why is he a killer?"

"That's what we're gonna find out."

"But…" Scott paused, his brow furrowed and his head cocked.

Derek stared at him. "What is it?"

"I… I smell something."

"Something familiar or strange?"

"No, I…" He stood abruptly, his eyes wide. "Wildflowers."

"What?"

"It's Malia. Her shampoo. She was here. She…" Scott started pacing. He extended his ears for the familiar sound of her heart but he couldn't find it. "It was her, I know it was, but I can't… I can't hear her heart."

"Scott, Malia isn't here." Derek reached for his shoulder, but Scott shrugged him off.

"I know her smell. I know it. She was here!"

"Even if that's true," he allowed, "she isn't here now."

"What if she's hurt? Or-or dead? Or what if the alpha took her?" His eyes widened and his hands started shaking. He could feel his lungs squeezing and his nails elongating into claws.

"You need to calm down," Derek told him.

"I can't calm down!" Scott bent forward, pressing a hand to his chest, and shook his head. "I— I can't… I can't breathe."

"You're panicking and it's making you shift. You need to calm down and focus."

"I can't focus!" He snarled, baring his teeth at Derek.

Scott's lungs felt like there was a vice around them and he groaned, stumbling until he fell to one knee and dug his claws into the roof.

Derek walked toward him and crouched down. "Look, there's two ways to control a shift. An anchor and pain."

"A what?"

"If we weren't on a roof overlooking a murder scene, I'd break your wrist and the pain would snap you into focus. But if I do that, you're going to yell and draw attention to us. So instead, you need to focus on something else. Something that brings you peace. Something or someone that makes you feel safe."

Scott stared at him through squinted eyes. He was having trouble understanding anything Derek was saying. He couldn't catch his breath, his chest ached, and his worry for Malia was making him feel dizzy. "I don't… I don't know." He swallowed tightly. "I…"

"—don't want you to worry, but Malia was here earlier," Sheriff Stilinski's voice floated to Scott's ears.

"What?" Stiles exclaimed. "What are you talking about? No. She— She had a thing. A non-date, non-movie related thing."

"I don't know anything about that. What I do know is that Malia was at the store and according to the other two witnesses, she got in between an animal and them, giving them a chance to get out the door. Now, she was injured in the process—"

"Injured!? Injured how? Is she okay? Oh my god, is she dying? Is she dead?"

"Stiles, calm down. Listen to me, son. Malia is okay. She's fine."

At the same time that Stiles let out a loud sigh of relief, Scott was able to suck in a breath of air.

"She cut her side open, something about a metal shelf. She's going to need stitches, so she's on the way to the hospital. But she's fine. I promise, okay? She'll live."

"Oh, thank God. I… I have to go. I have to see her."

"Hold on. Give her some space. She's probably feeling overwhelmed and she just went through a serious trauma. Don't crowd her, okay? Try texting her, see if she's up for a visit."

"Yeah, yeah, of course."

Sheriff Stilinski hummed, not sounding particularly convinced. "I need to finish up here, but then I'm stopping by the hospital to get Malia's statement. Why don't you head home?"

"Okay, I'll do that."

"She's going to be okay. Don't look so worried."

Scott fell back to sit atop the roof, hands braced on either side of him, arms shaking. He looked up at Derek, his breathing coming easier now. "She's okay." She was alive, but it had been close. The alpha had hurt her and Scott had been nowhere in sight.

Derek stared at him searchingly. "I'll drive you to the hospital. You're gonna wanna see her for yourself."

He nodded, but his mind was elsewhere.

Standing, Derek tucked his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. "The next full moon is in a week. Some advice? Get this stuff figured out. Because the sooner you have an anchor, the safer everyone else is."

Scott frowned. "What if I can't find one?"

Derek rolled his eyes, turned on his heel, and walked away.

"Hey!" Scott climbed to his feet and chased after him. "That was a serious question!"

...

Malia wondered if falling asleep was a bad idea. She was sprawled out on a bed in the ER, an arm tucked behind her head, her shirt cut open and a bandage covering half of her left side. The curtain around her bed was closed and as loud and busy as the hospital was, it all just sounded like background noise. She was tired and more than ready to take a nap. And then the curtain was abruptly thrown open.

"I was hoping I read the paperwork wrong." Melissa bustled inside. "Police are saying it was an animal attack. We've got a guy in the morgue that they tell me took the brunt of it."

"Yeah. The rest of us were lucky."

"You're about to get stitches, I don't know how lucky that is."

Malia snorted. "Luckier than him."

"Let's take a look at it." Melissa carefully moved Malia's shirt out of the way and peeled back the bandage. "Ouch."

"It doesn't hurt that much. Then again, I might still be hopped up on adrenaline."

Melissa nodded knowingly. "Gimme a minute to grab everything, all right?"

"Yeah, sure."

It took more than a few minutes. Given it was the ER, however, Malia wouldn't blame Melissa if she'd gotten distracted with another patient. Maybe it was the declining adrenaline, but Malia felt herself sinking back into that comfortable state where taking a nap was very much on the table. Her eyes were drifting closed just before Melissa returned.

"Okay!"

Malia jarred awake and blinked a few times, trying to shake off her lethargy.

Melissa pulled a stool up to the edge of the bed and had Malia lay herself straight and flat as she probed the cut. "So, the way I heard it, you got in the way of the attack. Even saved a few people."

"Hardly." Malia shook her head. "I knocked them down and then got T-boned by a bear."

"A bear?"

"It was about as big as one..." She winced as Melissa's fingers pressed a little harder. "Did the paramedics check your ribs?"

"Yeah. They were fine. They said I'd probably have some serious bruising, but I'll heal. It's mostly just the cut they were worried about."

"I'll give you a tetanus shot and freeze your side while I put the stitches in." She patted Malia's hip. "You wanna talk about it?"

Malia swallowed. "I was scared. I mean, obviously I was scared. I found a dead guy in the comedy aisle. But, I tried to stay focused, you know? Erica and I hid— we had a plan. I'd distract it and she'd run for help. And then Jackson showed up, knocked over a ladder, and the whole plan just blew up in our face."

"Sounds scary."

"I wouldn't wanna do it again." She stared at the ceiling and frowned. "Did you call my dad?"

"I did." Melissa hesitated. "He didn't pick up. Front desk will keep calling, but..." She sighed. "Listen, I get off in an hour. Why don't you come home with me? I can keep an eye on you just in case and I'm sure it'll make Scott feel better if you were close."

She nodded, swallowing the lump forming in her throat. "Y-yeah, that's fine."

Melissa looked up, her expression soft and knowing. "If he knew, he'd be the first person here."

"I know." She clenched her teeth. "But he doesn't. So, he isn't."

Melissa found Malia's hand and squeezed. She didn't say anything— there wasn't really anything more to be said. Instead, Melissa refocused on getting Malia stitched up. It was a small mercy.

…

Dressed in thin, itchy hospital scrubs, Malia mourned the loss of her clothes, which Melissa had called time of death on, given the blood stains and tearing. She was scrolling through her phone when the door to her hospital room swung open. Melissa had found her a room with only one other patient, who might as well be comatose since she didn't seem to respond to any outside stimuli. Lowering her phone, Malia looked to the door, assuming it was Melissa, only to find a wild-eyed Stiles staring back at her, Scott right behind him.

"What the hell?!" Stiles marched toward her bed, his hands up. "What happened to the system? Green for good, yellow for panic, and red for danger. Danger, Malia! Like, oh, I don't know, you're trapped inside a video store with a homicidal werewolf!"

"Whoa, keep it down!" She shushed him, glancing at the other occupant of the room, who hadn't so much as twitched. Looking back to Stiles, she said, "I was in panic mode, all right?"

"You still had time to text Danny!"

"I was texting Danny when I got to the video store. Texting him 911 meant that he'd be able to tell dispatch where the hell I was. Texting you would mean having to go into detail. It was just quicker."

He puts his hands on his hips and nodded. "And getting hurt, what was that?"

"Not planned." She shook her head. "I was trying to distract the alpha while Jackson and Erica got out, but it knew, so it chased them anyway."

He let out a high-pitched laugh. "So, you threw yourself in front of it like a sacrificial lamb?"

"Best case scenario, he jumped right over us after I tackled them. That wasn't exactly what happened though..."

Dragging a hand over his face, he groaned. "Well? What happened? Did it scratch you? Are you...?" He looked away and then back. "Did it bite you?"

"No." Her eyes widened. "When we collided, I flew into the wall. This—" She motioned to her side. "—was from that. It didn't scratch or bite me. It just... It pinned me to the floor. I couldn't breathe. But then the police were coming and it spooked. Jumped out the window, scared the hell out of Lydia, and took off."

Stiles crossed his arms, narrowed his eyes, and tapped his foot. "All right, let's see it."

"Seriously?" With a sigh, Malia shuffled up the bed a little, pulled her hospital issue top out from under her, and raised it up over the bandage. Carefully, she peeled back the edge, wincing as she did, and showed them the jagged mark along her ribs. "Four stitches. Melissa put them in. It looks worse than it is."

"It doesn't look great." Stiles leaned in, bracing himself on the bed, and took a closer look. "You're sure it wasn't a bite?"

She nodded and flattened the bandage back dowon. "I'm sure."

He rubbed a hand over his forehead and stepped back. "It was still stupid and reckless and seriously dangerous. Why— Why couldn't Jackson be the bait? O-or you just all make a break for it?"

She stared at him knowingly. "Because I knew what it was. And you really think Jackson's going to put his life on the line for me and someone he doesn't even know?"

Stiles pursed his lips. "What was it even doing there? Of all the people the alpha could kill, it picks some random video store clerk? I don't get it. Why?"

She shook her head. "I don't know." Dropping her gown back in place, she leaned deeper into the pillow behind her head and sighed. "How'd you guys know I was here?"

"My dad. I was on the scene, but I didn't see you. He let me know what happened after he had a blow out with Jackson about letting him leave when he had a head injury. Idiot. Dad's gonna drop by soon to get your statement."

"Yeah, he mentioned that."

"So, what happens now? Are you discharged?"

Malia shook her head. "I'm a minor. They tried calling my dad, but he isn't picking up. Melissa said I could come back to her place; her shift should be over soon. She's listed as one of my emergency contacts, so I guess it's fine." Malia's gaze wandered to Scott then. He was being unusually quiet. Standing at the end of the bed, his arms crossed, he was staring at her side, directly where her stitches were.

The door swung open again, this time admitting Sheriff Stilinski, who sighed at his son. "Why am I not surprised? Didn't I ask you to give her some space? She had to get stitches and she's been through a traumatic event."

"Which is exactly why I should be here," Stiles argued. "She needs support and a very stern conversation about when not to play the hero."

Sheriff Stilinski rolled his eyes and approached the bed. "How are you feeling, sweetheart?"

Malia half-smiled. "Kind of regretting I said 'no' to those pain meds."

He snorted and raised a clip board. "I need to take your statement on what happened. Are you up for it?"

Malia nodded. "Yeah, sure."

He glanced at the boys. "Alone. You guys can wait in the hall."

Stiles pulled a face. "What, like her memory is going to change because we're here?"

"Out."

Rolling his eyes, Stiles muttered irritably under his breath, but cut toward the door.

"Scott, that means you, too." Sheriff Stilinski nudged Scott's shoulder.

With a jerk, Scott blinked, looked up, and then abruptly made his way to the door. Sheriff Stilinski stared after him a moment, frowning. "Is he all right?"

Malia shrugged. "It's been a weird night."

"Scott wasn't there, was he?"

"Nope. Just me, Erica, Jackson, and a dead clerk." She frowned. "Well, us and the animal that killed him."

"So, it was an animal?"

"Definitely."

He nodded thoughtfully. "All right. Let's take it from the top..."

...

Melissa's shift ran late, but eventually, Malia found herself at the McCall house. "I can sleep on the couch. Really. It's comfortable and I don't mind."

"You have stitches. You're not sleeping on the couch. Scott will." Melissa shrugged off her jacket and pointed to the stairs. "It's late, it's been a long day, I think we all need a good night's sleep."

Malia hesitated a moment, but eventually made her way to the stairs. Each step jarred her side a little, making her wince, but she made the climb. Maybe slower than usual, but nobody seemed to notice. Then again, a wiped out Melissa looked like she was probably going to pass out as soon as her head hit the pillow.

When Malia reached Scott's room, she didn't even bother turning the light on. Instead, she sat on the edge of his bed gingerly, her hands braced on her knees as she let out a shaky breath. She wasn't kidding before, she really did wish she'd agreed to those pain meds. She was feeling the after-effects of not just the stitches, but hitting the wall. Her entire body felt like one giant bruise.

Scott lingered by the door.

"You're being weird," she told him. "Quiet and weird."

He moved to his dresser, dug out some clothes, and passed off a long shirt and a pair of shorts to her before he disappeared into his bathroom to change.

Frowning to herself, Malia stood, exchanging the hospital scrubs for Scott's clothes. She left hers bundled up in a pile on the floor and then retook her seat on the bed, sliding back to lean against the headboard, pillows stacked behind her. She stretched her legs out and crossed them at the ankle. She wasn't sure why she was feeling nervous. Maybe because he was being unnaturally stoic and detached. It was throwing her off. Was he mad at her? Usually, she could read Scott pretty well.

There was a knock from the bathroom door then.

Clearing her throat, she said, "All decent on this end."

Scott walked out, his own clothes clutched in his hands. He tossed them toward his laundry basket and then lingered.

Malia wanted to say something— she could feel words crowding her throat, but nothing came out.

And then, abruptly, he turned on his heel and left. Walking right out the door without a word, he was just there and gone.

Malia felt his absence like a punch to the gut. This wasn't like him. With Scott, even if he was upset with her, he expressed it somehow. But ever since the hospital, he'd been blank. And she hated it.

Sinking down against the bed, she shuffled around until she was on her back. Pulling the blanket up to her chin, she stared at the ceiling, and hated that her eyes were burning. Overwhelmed was an understatement. The last two days had been hell. Between Derek almost dying, the intensity at the Argent house, the alpha attack, and now Scott's brush off, she was feeling all of it like a giant weight on her chest. Her lip quivered and she bit down on it to try to cut off the suddenly desperate need to just cry. It wouldn't solve anything. It wouldn't make what happened any different. But it was there— burning her throat and filling her eyes. She dug her heels into the bed and sucked in a breath through her nose, holding it until her lungs ached. She closed her eyes and willed the tears back.

Creak.

The door opened an inch and Malia looked.

Scott walked back into the room, holding a glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen. He unscrewed the top and poured a few into his palm, holding them and the water out for her.

Malia sat up, wincing at the pull against her side. She popped the pills into her mouth and took the glass, swallowing half of it in a few deep gulps. When she was done, she swiped her wrist over her mouth to dry it and put the glass on the bedside table. She watched him out of the corner of her eyes, curious but unsure. He was still being strange— too quiet and still and distant.

He lingered next to the bed a moment, before making his way to the door again.

Panic filled her stomach. "Scott?" she whispered.

He stopped.

She wasn't sure what she wanted or needed or even what she was hoping for, but when he reached out and closed his door, she felt relieved.

He walked back to the bed, circled around to the other side, and climbed in. When he pulled the blanket up, cool air rushed in and she shivered. But then he was there, just inches away, and the heat coming off his body sunk into her own. She laid down again, turning onto her good side, and resting her head on her arm, curved atop the pillow.

Scott turned over too, facing her. Only he wouldn't meet her eyes, staring at her chin instead.

"Hey… Talk to me."

"You could've died tonight." His voice was thick and raspy. "That's the second time in less than a month. Third if you count when the alpha chased you in the woods."

"You can't take responsibility for what some asshole alpha does."

He looked up then and met her eyes, his brow furrowed. "I'm not."

She frowned, unconvinced.

"I'm not," he insisted. "I just… I was at the video store with Derek."

"You were?"

"Not when it was happening, but after. He wanted to show me what happened, what the alpha is doing, I guess. But I caught this scent, like wildflowers. And I knew it was you. I knew you were hurt. And I… I couldn't breathe. It was like before, when I had asthma, only worse. I couldn't catch my breath and I was shifting and I didn't know what to do. Derek kept saying that it was in my head, that you were fine. But, I didn't believe it, not until I heard Stiles' dad tell him you were at the hospital, that you needed stitches, but you were gonna be fine."

Malia reached out, her hand finding his in the space between them. "Okay, so, you panicked. It happens."

He shook his head.

"Scott…" She smiled reassuringly. "You think I wasn't freaking out in the store? I found a guy with his throat torn out and I knew that the alpha was still in there. I was terrified. But if I focused on getting Erica and Jackson out, it was different. I could do what I had to do."

"Almost get yourself killed?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Tell me you wouldn't do the same thing."

He sighed.

"All I'm saying is that it's okay to get scared sometimes. We all are. We don't know what we're doing. Not with the werewolf stuff or the alpha or any of it. We're just walking into it blind and hoping for the best."

"It's more than that…" He looked away. "I wasn't there. I couldn't do anything."

"You can't be everywhere."

"I want to." He squeezed her hand. "If something worse happened… If I lost you, I…"

"You're not going to lose me."

"How do you know? It's like you said, we don't know what we're doing or what's coming or who'll get hurt."

"Scott—" She stopped, her brow furrowed.

"What?"

She looked down. "I… I don't feel anything."

"Huh?"

Malia pushed the blanket back and looked at Scott's hand folded in her own. Dark veins rippled up Scott's hand and along his forearm. "Are you…? What is that?"

He looked down, his brow furrowed. "Uh…"

Malia let go of his hand and the veins abruptly stopped. Slowly, she felt the pain come back. It was distant, not quite as heavy as before, but it was there. That dull throbbing along her side and the weight in her chest. She reached out and took his hand again. "Can you repeat it?"

"I- I don't know what I was doing."

Her mouth scrunched up. "I think you were taking my pain."

"How much pain are you in?" he worried. "Are you sure it's me? Maybe it was the ibuprofen?"

"No, it wouldn't kick in that quick. I think it's you." She squeezed his hand. "Just, I don't know, recreate what you were doing before."

His shoulders hiked. "I wasn't doing anything. I was talking to you."

She nodded. "You were worrying about me."

"I'm always worried about you." He frowned. "Well, not always, but a lot more lately."

"Okay, well, what makes this time different?"

He shrugged. "You're actually hurt this time and I'm mad that I didn't stop it. That I have these stupid abilities that I barely understand and the one time they might actually help, I wasn't there."

Her fingers flexed along the top of his. "Scott… You can't blame yourself for that. You didn't even know."

"That's the problem! If there's one good thing that's come out of any of this, it's that maybe I'm strong enough to be there for you. For Stiles and my mom and everyone. My whole life, I was just the asthmatic kid who couldn't stack up. And now I can. Only I don't know when the next attack will be or who the target is. And the idea that you might get caught in the crossfire again makes me crazy. Because I… I need you to be okay. I need you to be safe."

Malia softened. "You don't need werewolf strength to be there for me. The only reason any of this stuff matters, the strength and the speed and everything, is because it's a part of you now. But you've always been enough."

Scott opened his mouth to say something, but paused. He looked down at their joined hands and his eyes widened. "I think you're right about the pain thing."

Malia followed his gaze and watched as those dark lines moved along his arms once more. "Does it hurt?"

"Not really. I mean, I can feel something, but… I can handle it."

"The ibuprofen will kick in soon. You don't have to."

"I know." He looked up at her. "I want to."

Malia shook her head, touched.

"Were you really scared?"

"Yeah." She nodded. "After I hit the wall, I couldn't breathe. It knocked the air right out of me. It sucked, but it's happened before. That didn't scare me. But when the alpha was standing over me, when it cut my air off on purpose, that scared me. Because it was intentional. It wasn't like this mindless animal was just attacking whoever was in sight. It was like it was testing me or playing with me or something. And for a second, I really thought I was going to die like that." She licked her lips, finding them dry and chapped. "It was different in the woods, when it was me and you. Even though I was scared of you, a part of me still knew that you were in there and you wouldn't hurt me. But the alpha… It had no reason not to kill me."

Scott tapped her hand with his thumb. "You're shaking."

She turned her head to look at him. "It's dumb. I'm alive and I'm not even that banged up."

"It's not dumb." He pulled on her hand, drawing her closer.

Before Malia knew it, she was hugging him, her cheek pressed to his chest and her arm hooked around his waist as she laid on her side, tucked against him. His arm folded across her back, fingers pressed to the nape of her neck. She closed her eyes as he kissed the top of her head. And the tears of before, when she laid alone, staring at the ceiling, wishing he'd come back, suddenly swamped her again.

"Erica…" Her voice gave out for a second and she had to swallow to bring it back. "Erica said I was brave, but… I don't feel brave."

"You are." His fingers coiled in her hair. "Brave doesn't mean you can't be scared, too."

Malia took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She could feel herself shaking and she hated it. Hated that her weakness was so obvious, that he could feel it too. That she couldn't keep that fine tremble from spreading itself through her entire frame. Couldn't keep the tears from her eyes or swallow the strangled cry trapped in her throat. She gripped him a little tighter and buried her face against his chest. "Don't let go," she whispered.

His voice was muffled against the top of her head, but his words were strong and sincere. "I won't."

They stayed like that, wrapped in each other, until Malia eventually drifted off to sleep with his heart beating steady under her ear and his fingers gently combing through her hair. While the terror of the attack was nowhere near forgotten, with Scott there, Malia had never felt safer.

...

It was late, or incredibly early, depending on your outlook, when Malia suddenly woke. She blinked into the muted blue of Scott's room, the space next to her no longer occupied. Scott was sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing the heel of his hand against one eye.

She reached out and plucked at the back of his shirt. "What're you doing?"

"I gotta go downstairs. Mom'll notice if I'm not on the couch."

She hummed, her eyes at half-mast. "What time's it?" she mumbled.

He looked back at her, smiling fondly. "Early." He reached out and pulled the blanket up around her shoulders. "Go back to sleep."

"Hmph."

"You feel okay? Did the ibuprofen work?"

"Yeah. That or your little healing trick helped. I feel okay. Still a little stiff, but not like I was pancaked into a wall."

He snorted. "What about your stitches?"

"They're good." She tipped her head back against the pillow and looked up at him from under her lashes. "Worrywart."

He shook his head, smiling to himself, and stood from the bed. "You need anything?"

"Your body-heat. I'm cold."

Scott frowned. "I can get you another blanket or some socks. Will that help?"

"Scott, I'm teasing. I'm fine, seriously. You don't have to baby me."

"I'm not babying you." He crossed his arms. "I just want to take care of you."

Malia felt a tightness in her throat. She blamed it on the lingering affects of sleep. "You already have. I was super emotional last night and… it helped. You being here. It made me feel better."

"Good." He grinned, his eyebrows raised. "It made me feel better, too."

She smothered a smile. "Are you gonna be here when I wake up?"

"You should sleep in. If I'm not here, I'm at Stiles'. Call me when you wake up, let me know how you're feeling."

"Sure."

He hovered by the end of the bed for a long moment, and then he walked closer. He bent down, his eyes searching hers, and Malia felt her heartbeat slowly increase. Her hands tightened around the fabric of the blanket the closer he got. Until— a kiss found her forehead, warm and gentle. Malia closed her eyes and let out a quiet breath.

"I'm glad you're okay."

When he leaned back, she opened her eyes. "Me, too."

Nodding, he murmured, "Night."

"Night."

Malia watched him leave, carefully closing the door behind him. Once he was gone, she turned her gaze to the ceiling and shook her head. One of these days, she was going to stop waiting for something that just wasn't going to happen.

tbc

author's note: i want to again touch on the length of the chapter. this one was also incredibly long. i've noticed a decline in reviews and i'm wondering if that has something to do with it or if it's something else...?

i was actually really excited for us to get to this chapter, because i had the video store attack planned out in my head for ages. malia makes the executive decision to get erica and jackson out and to use herself as bait of sorts, which is a very malia thing to do. she's not planning on fighting the alpha, just keeping him distracted. whereas i think the malia we know in canon, who is aware she's a werecoyote, would absolutely take on the alpha one on one. this was a way to show that same personality trait in her as a human while acknowledging her own limitations.

i really enjoyed writing the reaction scenes from both scott and stiles regarding malia being injured. stiles is very frantic with his dad and then very irritated with malia which, in my opinion, has a sibling like vibe to it. scott, on the other hand, had a panic attack, and then when he did see her, he shut down. he was lost in his head and thinking about all the ways he felt he'd failed her, and it wasn't until they were alone that he was able to voice those thoughts and share that feeling with her. and again, we see the idea of anchors threaded throughout everything, with derek making it clear he already thinks scott unknowingly he has one and is definitely getting tired of these oblivious teenagers, lol

also, i did hide two nods toward something that tie into a bigger thread and i'm really curious to see if any of you have picked up on it. it was carefully touched on in the last two chapters, so as not to be too obvious, but it's there. ;)

finally, there is now a character page on my tumblr (sarcasticfina) for the tate family. just visit my url and add /tates to the end to see it!

things to look forward to next chapter: a ton of friendship- malia/allison, malia/danny, malia/erica; concerned!derek; allison learns a little more about scott and his friendship with malia; parent teacher interviews get complicated. :)

thanks so much for reading, please try to leave a review!
- Lee | Fina