the untitled tw prompts
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Characters: Malia Tate, Stiles Stilinski
Rating: T
Warnings: None
Placing: Season 4
Kira and Lydia hadn’t even sat down in front of Malia to eat when the werecoyote spoke up, surprising them.
“Life sucks.” She said certainly, angrily cutting her meatballs with her fork.
“Why’s that, sweetheart?” Lydia asked slowly, sitting in front of her plate and eyeing Kira, who shrugged.
“It just sucks.” The girl insisted. “It’s annoyingly sunny outside, my dad burned the pancakes this morning and these meatballs taste nothing like meat!”
Malia let go of her fork and crossed her arms, frowning while Kira and Lydia just exchanged a look, unsure of what they should do or say. Luckily, the boys arrived to their table.
“Babe, you okay?” Stiles asked, as soon as he sat by Malia’s side, eyeing her defensive posture.
“No.”
“What happened?” he continued, quickly looking at the other two girls. Malia sighed.
“I listened to Drake’s new album and now life sucks.” She answered, pouting. Stiles looked at her tenderly.
“Oh, babe, did you get your period?” he said that so normally the others decided it was better not to interrupt. Malia nodded. “Is that it?”
She finally looked at him, mouthing a yes and he smiled. She punched his arm.
“Don’t look so fucking relieved, douchbag!” but Stiles just laughed and pulled her for a quick kiss before he reached for his bag, where he found a bar of chocolate.
“Here.” He handed the chocolate to Malia, who snatched it from his hand. “Hey! What do we say?”
“Thank you, bae.” She said with a small smile, looking at him. He kissed her forehead.
“You’re welcome, bae.” And because it was the first time she was happy that day, she even fed him a few squares of chocolate.
“Stiles?” someone called from behind him. It’s been ten years and most people were unrecognizable by now, but he would always recognize…
“Greenberg.” He said, turning around do face the old colleague who smiled.
“Wow, I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” He said excited. His hair already was greying, but it probably had to do with the fact he was a bit older than everyone else. “You disappeared, I heard you were living in New Orleans.”
Stiles nodded.
“I am.” He said, taking a sip of his drink. “I’m a detective.”
“A cop like your dad, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.” Greenberg said, punching Stiles in the arm.
“Yeah, I guess so.” He replied looking around, his mind trying to quickly recognize the faces around BHHS’ gymnasium. Greenberg came closer.
“Malia is here.” He told Stiles, who raised his eyebrows.
“Is she?”
“Yeah. Looking gorgeous as usual. You two kept contact during those years? I mean, I heard you had broken up in college.”
“You heard a lot of things.”
Greenberg shrugged.
“You know how these reunion things work, everyone like to talk about everyone and such…”
“Stiles?” and this time, it was her voice.
Malia was a few steps to his right and came closer, smiling. Greenberg was right, she still gorgeous, with her golden skin and brown hair, the dark, clever eyes of a clever animal, long legs, her usual low heeled boots and short red dress. Stiles had to try really hard not to look amazed.
“Malia! Uau.” And internally, he cussed himself. Great way of not looking amazed. She smiled.
“It’s been a while.” She commented and he nodded. It sure had, since they’d been in that school, around those people. She came closer, dispensing Greenberg with a subtle hand gesture. “You know everyone comes to me like ‘Oh, did you see Stiles?’ and all.”
He laughed.
“Gosh, I’ve been getting the same. ‘Malia is here, did you talk to her? Did you see her?’, everyone so damn worried about our lives.”
“High school bullshit all over again.” She replied in a serious tone with a nod. “But we did have some history, didn’t we?”
Stiles looked at her for a long moment. Every time he saw her face, he was overwhelmed with memories. Malia was this woman who was always strong, always forward, with so much life knowledge. They had so many good things together, it was beautiful.
“We did.” He finally answered, smiling. “Was a good thing to be away from the social networks the past eight years or so, I think. Less people knowing about my life.”
“I was never good at it.” Malia assumed. He knew. She was too practical to even care about memorizing passwords. “How’s life?”
“Oh, it’s been great, I…” Stiles raised his left hand showing the wedding ring. Malia’s jaw dropped a bit and she raised her left hand too.
“That makes two of us! You have kids already?”
He confirmed with a nod while sipping from his cup.
“A boy.”
“Me too! That’s so cool.” Malia seemed very excited about it, her glass was empty already. “Is your boy already solving cases behind your back and being better at it than you?”
Stiles laughed.
“That kid will have to run for his money if he wants to be better than me one day. I know I had to work my ass off to be better than my dad.” He finished his drink with one long gulp. “What about yours? Does he bite his friends and tell them he’s the Alpha now?”
This time, Malia was the one who laughed.
“Are you asking me, in other words, if he spends too much time with my dad?”
Stiles shrugged.
“You’re the one saying this.”
Malia shook her head.
“No, he’s not been doing it. He’s a nice kid, you know? A bit intense, but a nice ki-“ she stopped mid-sentence and looked around, sighed. “Scott and Kira are here.” She told Stiles, looking at him again. He could tell her werecoyote skills were still on top. “Wanna walk around?”
“Yea, sounds like a nice idea.” He agreed and they threw their empty cups in a trash can on their way to the high school halls.
They walked in silence for a few minutes, the sound of music fading as far as they went, their steps echoing on the walls.
“This school still is creepy.” Stiles commented and Malia nodded.
“I almost died in that corridor.” She pointed. They remembered well the Benefactor episode. She pointed one of the doors. “We had sex in that room.”
“And that one.” He pointed another door.
“And Coach’s office.” She pointed the one at the end of the corridor. They laughed. They stopped. They looked at each other. “This school is taking us back.”
“That’s dangerous.” Stiles said soberly. “I promised my dad time travelling wasn’t a real thing.”
She couldn’t hide the smile and they couldn’t deny what was going on in there. If they were smart, they’d walk away. They’d do the clever thing. But they didn’t feel like being smart or clever. They felt like being wild and reckless. And that’s why they ended up stumbling to the nearest bathroom, all mouth and hands, being eighteen again.
“What about your wife?” Malia asked under her breath.
“She won’t mind.” He answered. “Why, does your husband care?”
Malia smiled mischievously and they crashed together once again.
Half an hour later, they were back at the gymnasium. The same way it happened in high school, everyone knew what had just happened and Stiles and Malia didn’t seem ashamed at all.
They got themselves some new red cups with purple drinks and met Scott and Kira. Lydia wouldn’t come, they knew, because she was in Paris. Honeymoon.
“What the hell are you two doing?” Scott asked, frowning. He was about to deliver a speech, they were certain, but was interrupted when someone abruptly opened the door; a child - a boy with dark curly hair - ran inside, diverting from the people with an incredible energy. The Sheriff Stilinski, who still was the Sheriff (come on, it’s been just ten years), looked for his son, his face red with stress.
“That’s it, that’s enough.” He said, pointing at Stiles. “I’m not taking care of your kid alone anymore, Stiles, you want to know why? Because I already raised you. I think it was enough.”
Everyone stopped, even the DJ.
“Careful, dad, you can have a stroke.” Stiles said, surprisingly calm. The only sound echoing was the kid’s feet stomping the ground and his airplane sounds, as if he was maneuvering between the tall legs. The Sheriff dropped his hand.
“I’m not taking care of a mini you. It’s your time.”
“What did he do?” Malia asked and the Sheriff looked at her.
“You.” He pointed at her, but just for a second, just for emphasis. “You stop your father from being around this kid. He bit my daughter, told her he’s the Alpha. What the hell is that supposed to mean, he’s five!”
Stiles and Malia looked at each other. There was three seconds of silent discussion about who would get him and Malia lost.
“Chuck!” she called.
“Mommy, I’m an airplane!” Chuck replied from the other side of the gym.
“Yeah, how many candies this airplane ate before taking off?”
He stopped. He was sweating, but his breath was even. He had to think a bit. Malia got closer, took him in her arms.
“A few. Grandma Melissa made chocolate cake with frosting and everything.”
“I thought so.” Malia replied, then turned to the Sheriff. “You can’t let him eat that much sugar.”
The Sheriff just sighed.
“You were pretending you weren’t together, weren’t you?” Kira asked, looking from Stiles to Malia. The werecoyote went to talk to the Sheriff; the DJ started playing music again and people were back to their conversation. Stiles smiled.
“We like to do things sometimes.” He said and winked. Scott rolled his eyes.
“Gosh, everyone was freaking out, thinking they had the gossip of the year.” The Alpha said. “I knew you had pranked one of those.”
Stiles laughed and looked at Malia.
“It’s what happens when you have a prankster and a trickster.” He said, making his friends shake their heads. They were used to Stiles and Malia’s little acts, but that didn’t mean they were always ready. Those two were impossible anyway.
“Kira, you don’t understand!” Malia complained on the phone while fumbling with all the books and papers she was caring. It was only her first week at college, but it already was a mess. Nervous, she sighed relaxing her shoulders a bit. “I sucked at school and now I don’t really know why I decided to try this college life. I feel like this is gonna eat me alive.”
On the other side of the line, she could hear Kira giggle. She eyed the two sides of the corridor, trying to remember which led outside and started to the left.
“Mal, relax! You won’t be able to enjoy it that way.” Her friend warned and Malia rolled her eyes so hard she was sure the other girl could see from the medical campus.
“You really don’t get it, do you? I’m already hat-“ she was cut midsentence when she bumped on someone so hard they both fell on their asses, books, cellphones and papers flying everywhere. “SHIT!”
Malia immediately got on her knees trying to sort out what was hers and what wasn’t. She didn’t even see the person she bumped into, so nervous that she was.
“I’m sorry, I’ve been having the worst day ever” she was saying, looking down at the mess of books “and it just don’t seem to-HEY, CAREFUL THERE!” she shouted to someone who almost stepped on her phone. She could hear Kira asking what was going on and if she was alright. Quickly, Malia caught the phone, putting it on her ear. “I’M NOT ALRIGHT! I’M FAR FROM ALRI-“ but, at that moment, the stranger who fell to the floor with her touched her shoulder and she looked up, meeting his gaze for the first time.
He was gorgeous. Nerdy, but gorgeous. Fair skin, dark hair and clear eyes full of concern glaring at her worried. Malia’s jaw dropped a bit and she lost track of everything for a couple of seconds.
“Miss, you okay?” he said. He had a husky voice that made things with her brain and she blinked trying to regain control over herself. “No offense, but… you seem about to have a stroke.”
“Malia?” Kira asked insistently on the phone and the girl took a deep breath.
“Holy shit.” She said, her eyes still on the guy. “I’ll call you later.”
“What? MAL-“ but Malia already had hang out.
“I am about to have a stroke.” She said, sounding way more calm than she had half a minute before. (but maybe it was just a sudden low of adrenalin) “I think I won’t survive four years.”
He smiled, almost a giggle and she noticed his lips. Wrong move, Malia, wrong move.
“Four years?” he said and now he was definitely giggling. “My cousin’s been in college for eight, we’d be lucky if we finish in four.”
Surprisingly, she smiled. They still were on the floor, Malia sitting on her heels and the guy crouched in her eye level.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” she asked, feeling suddenly tired. It was official, all her adrenalin was gone thanks to a pretty face.
He rubbed his forehead, probably realizing what he said and his cheeks blushed a little.
“I guess not. Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Malia sighed and put her last book on her pile. He took the pile from her hands and helped her to her feet. “Like I said, I’m just having a terrible, terrible day that is making me question my existence.”
“I suppose we’ll do that a lot.” He said soberly, handing her the books and he crunched again to take his.
“Wow, you’re really not helping!” Malia mocked and he blushed even more.
“I guess I wasn’t having such a nice day either. But hey!” he poked her arm. His touch was warm. “It’ll get better. Gotta get bad before it gets good, right?”
“I guess.”
They went silent for a few moments, just looking at each other. It was just the first week and so many people already was freaking out. Malia wasn’t alone in it, it seemed.
“I better go, now.” She said, almost a whisper and he nodded.
“Yeah, I’m already late for class.”
“Gosh, it’s Friday, just leave it!”
“I can’t!” he exclaimed. “it’s anatomy and it’s important.”
Malia smiled. No wonder he was on her campus, he was probably on a major similar to hers.
“Then I’m lucky I don’t have any more classes today.” She winked and he smiled.
“I’ll spend my afternoon envying you, miss.” Her mouth closed, but her smile remained. He was such a gentleman, it was the light of her week. “I see you around, maybe.” He said, passing by her and she turned to look at him one more time.
“See you around maybe.” Malia replied and after a minute longer watching him (who looked back!) she made her way to her dorm. It was better not to risk anymore and she really could do some cake and ice cream.
…
As soon as Malia opened the door of her dorm, after a long and deserved hot shower, she found Kira perking at the gigantic piece of chocolate cake Malia had brought from the bakery.
“You can have half of it.” She told her friend who finally looked at her.
“Malia, what the hell!” the oriental girl exclaimed. Kira never ever cussed and it always made Malia internally roll her eyes. “I’ve been waiting for your call, what happened?”
Malia shrugged and dumped her things on her bed before starting to put everything into place.
“Nothing very fantastic, I ran into a guy, everything fell on the floor, I got pissed and stuff.”
“No, you hang up on me for a reason. It has to be more than just what you say.” The petit girl teased, getting closer.
The other girl pouted, shrugging again as she placed her shampoo on her dresser.
“Well…” she started “the guy might or might not be a tad bit hot, I guess.” She eyed Kira, who waited for more expectantly. “And I might know that he has anatomy classes every Friday afternoon.”
Kira’s jaw dropped.
“How do you know that? Did you stalk him? Is he the man of your life?”
“Woa, hold on there! He told me. And it’s too soon to even know that kind of thing.”
The shorter girl scoffed.
“Things like that, we know.” She pointed out and Malia rolled her eyes.
“Have you ever felt it?” it was a rhetorical question since she knew Kira was single since junior year. “Then you don’t know.”
“You’re probably right.” Kira admitted, shrugging. “But I like to think that’s how it happens.” They sat by their small table and Malia reached to part the cake. “So? How is he? What’s his name?”
Malia smiled.
“White, nerdy kind of guy. Could as easily be in Palo Alto. Moles, dark hair. He’s pretty average, really, but a cutie. And such a gentleman.” She paused for a second, frowning. “But I don’t know his name. And I doubt he knows mine, unless you shouted it loud enough through the phone earlier.” Kira pouted. “But he does know where I have my last Friday class and how stressed out I get out of it. If he feels like being late for anatomy again…”
The two girls spent the rest of the afternoon and beginning of the evening making silly plans to how Malia could “accidentally” bump into the guy again and watching urban fantasy on Netflix until there was too much noise on the hall (it was Friday!) and they felt hungry again. By the time they were discussing if they should order Chi food, someone knocked on their door.
Kira jumped to her feet to answer the door as Malia took everything from her bed - the DVDs and computers and books when she heard a male voice.
“Uh, sorry, this is not Scott’s dorm.” Someone said and Malia turned to see who it was. A tall guy with British accent turned to his right. “Mate, this is not Scott’s dorm.”
Kira smiled at him and Malia came closer, stopping behind her friend.
“Unless Scott and Boyd were turned into two very hot young ladies.” The guy continued talking to someone they didn’t see yet and the girls smiled.
“Last time I checked, my name was just Malia, though.” She replied, making him smile. “And hers is Kira.”
The guy opened his best I’m-British-love-me smile and turned to his right again. This time, the girls bent to see what he was looking and one door down there was a guy with his back to them talking to a redheaded girl.
“Ay, Stiles!” the guy called again and the other one turned annoyed.
“I heard you the first time, you useless! I’m trying to find out which’s the right dorm.”
“Oh, shit.” Malia said under her breath and Kira turned to her. “It’s him.”
“Just a second, ladies.” The guy excused himself and walked the three steps between him and his friend. Stiles, if she understood well. He put his arm on Stiles’ shoulder and brought him towards them and away from the redhead when they were still talking. “Lydia can update you later, mate, I have something better.”
“You are such a pain in the ass, Isaac, I swear to God…” but he stopped talking when Isaac turned him to the two girls. His eyes were direct to Malia’s and she smiled. “Hey, it’s the psychology girl!”
Alright, they both were terrible at hiding that they knew each other somehow.
“How can you tell?” Malia asked petulant.
“Your books.”
She shook her head.
“I’m majoring to be a profiler.”
His eyes widened.
“No way!”
“Yea way.”
Kira cleared her throat and they suddenly remembered that weren’t alone. He offered his hand.
“I didn’t say that earlier, how rude. I’m Stiles.”
She took his hand, giving a firm shake. She liked people who could give a hard hand shake.
“Malia.”
“Yeah, and this is Kira and I’m Isaac, nice to meet everyone.” Isaac cut, forcing Stiles and Malia to release their hands from the grip. “We are looking for our mates Scott and Boyd, they’re supposed to live in this corridor, have you seen them? Puppy-like Latin boy, full of tattoos and tall mysterious black guy who hardly smiles?”
Malia was already shaking her head no, when Kira said
“Wait, is the Latin tattooed boy really cute?”
“Bitch, he might be.” Isaac said and Stiles rolled his eyes.
“Room 33B, the second to last door.” Someone said. The girls looked to their left and saw the redheaded girl again; she was leaning on the wall, her arms crossed. She was probably shorter than Kira, if that was even possible.
“I knew you could do it! Lyds, I owe you.” Stiles said. The girl rolled her eyes.
“You two are terrible friends.” She pointed a finger at them and the boys seemed to wilt.
“But hey!” Isaac tried to make it up. He looked from Lydia to Kira and Malia. “We’re going to a party. You guys are coming too, right? I mean, you can come too.”
The roommates looked at each other considering the offer, then at Lydia, who was smiling and then at the boys again. Stiles raised an eyebrow.
“Gosh, it’s Friday, why not?” he teased and the girls smiled too.
He was right, why not?
They were kids from the streets. Different streets, different gangs. He was the mastermind, she was the executer. Each in each’s gang. Street kids. The white boy pretending to be tougher than he actually was and the girl who liked pretty little to take orders.
They responded to themselves and to the streets.
They were howlers and mooners.
He was from the west wing, she was from the south wing. Different gangs. They had never met.
…
South wing also meant beaches. The most beautiful beaches, if you’re wondering. South wing meant a whole bunch of rich people and tourists and an even bigger bunch of poor kids. The kids from the south wing had it rough, but their hands were light and they could survive just fine, picking pockets and smoking cigarettes by the ocean.
You can’t blame a west wing kid for wanting to sneak a peek.
…
He was probably the only gang kid who wasn’t marked. He hated needles and said loud and clear that ink wouldn’t make him more one of them then the others.
It was a good thing that his best friend was the head of the Moonies. No one ever insisted for him to be marked. He was the mastermind, after all.
He also loved the ocean. It reminded him of his mother and the fury of the water made him feel powerful - almost universal. He couldn’t help getting into the train and riding south, to the crashing waves and the people.
…
Ink marked her skin, so he knew damn well who she was - or, at least, part of what she was - as soon as she took out her dress to run to the ocean. The wolf howling on her left side said it all.
“Can you watch my stuff?” she asked him and he nodded in agreement. “Don’t rob me, white boy.”
And it made him smile. He highly doubted that anyone would dare robbing from the Wolves. He spent the afternoon shirtless in bermuda, sitting in the sand and smoking cigarettes, watching the Wolf girl float and dive alone in the clear waters of the ocean until she came back.
“You look cold.” He commented, noticing her shivering skin.
“Yeah, but the ocean is too powerful to be ignored.” She replied, sitting by his side. “I don’t know how you managed to just sit here and look.”
“Some days I’m just an observer.” He said looking at her and she looked at him, smiled.
“Thanks for taking care of my stuff.” She said. “I’m Malia, by the way.” The girl offered her hand. He knew that name - Malia Hale, the Wolves’ executer. She had a reputation. He shook her hand one time firmly. It was such a pleasure to meet her and she appreciated that he looked in her eyes.
“Stiles.”
Something flicked in her eyes and he knew it was understanding. He himself had a bit of a reputation too.
“The mastermind.” She said under her breath and he smiled.
It felt deliciously dangerous.
…
The streets were where they belong. Different streets, different gangs. They were a howler and a mooner and they only responded to themselves and to the streets. No one else could stop them.
And every wolf howls to only one moon.
The new upstairs neighbor was loud. Really loud, like bursting-hip-hop-songs-through-the-speakers-and-dancing-along loud. It was extremely annoying for a building so small (three storey, one apartment per store) and being awake by 50 Cent at six in the morning was pissing him off.
However, Stiles never bothered to go upstairs and knock at the door of the noisy neighbor. He could say he was a rocker, but every time the neighbor played some Kanye West song, he got a bit happier.
That neighbor had moved in two days before he came back from his vacation at his father’s house. Ever since Stiles graduated at college, his trips to Beacon Hills were less and less, and he owned his dad, stepmother and little brother a visit. He never saw the new neighbor coming, had no idea who was stomping over his head. And every time Flo Rida was played, he decided to stay away. No Yeezus could top that.
The only thing he knew about the neighbor was the music taste and a last name: Hale. He felt it was enough.
Two weeks later, at three in the afternoon, there was a commotion of voices and the stomping multiplied, for about an hour, it felt like there were ten people dancing upstairs. Whenever Stiles was at home in a week day, the people would dance above his head and for a whole hour he couldn’t study or watch TV or anything. The downstairs neighbor, who also was his best friend Scott (and half-brother now living with his fiancée), declared that he adored the new neighbor: there was nothing like party people.
Stiles should do something about it. He even went upstairs one day and almost knocked, but then started to play Pitbul and he decided it’d be a better time (for him) to come back at least when there was Drake on the speakers.
…
The downstairs neighbor played drums every evening. He was good and liked Rage Against the Machine. She knew he was a guy because of his car and because her best friend Kira said so. “Stiles lives in the middle, he’s Scott’s half-brother. You’ll like him.” But he wasn’t there when she first moved in and their schedules never matched.
Malia had dinner at the sound of his drumming and her feet couldn’t help tapping along. She was a dancer, after all, and even after the hip hop lessons that she tough to a few kids, she kept on dancing.
She just hoped that he wouldn’t mind her music the way she didn’t mind his. She needed her classes to finish paying her college bills.
One day, in her third week there, three of her students showed interest in ballet, so the playlist changed for a bit and Mozart filled the apartment. For an hour, before her bigger class started, she put the three kids to stretch and make pliés and relevés and when the class was almost done, her bell buzzed.
When Malia opened the door, Kira was there all smiles and with a plate of cookies on her hands.
“You got cookies!” her friend said with excitement and she took the plate from her.
“Why, thanks Kira!” she said, giving space so the other girl could come in and Kira shook her head.
“No, it wasn’t me. But I did met Stiles on my way up. Did you know that he didn’t know you’re a girl? He had no idea who was living here.”
“I’m not surprised, we never met.” Malia said, taking the remote control and changing the music. As soon as she did that, the three little girls looked at her. “Free style, ladies!” and the children jumped up and down cheering, soon starting to dance to some Britney Spears song.
Kira sat on the floor across from the mirror placed in Malia’s huge dance room (it was, actually, her living room that she transformed into a dance studio, but shh) and the other girl sat by her side.
“What brings you here in the middle of the day, though?” Malia asked. She had placed the plate on top of one of her speakers and rescued two of them, handed one to Kira, who accepted. Taking a bite, she realized that those were some great cookies.
“I’m cooking dinner tonight and you are coming.”
“I don’t like Japanese food. Nor guacamole.” She stated and Kira shook her head.
“I know, and you’re not having it. I brought this Julia Child book and I’m feeling very Julie, you know?”
“Oh, no, not that movie again…” Malia whined, but Kira didn’t care.
“I’m making lobster.” And the other girl’s widened as she looked at her friend.
“I’ll be over there for sure, what time?”
Kira shook her head one time.
“You are so easy to bend, it’s ridiculous. Get down at seven.” She said, getting up. She headed to the door. “Bring wine. And you can knock on Stiles’ door on your way down, because he’s coming too. Tell him not to forget the desert.”
…
At 6:55, Malia looked for the best wine in her small cellar, checked herself in the giant mirror and left. It didn’t take one minute to be one store down and knock at her neighbor’s door. He, on the other hand, took his time to open it.
“Did you left me cookies earlier today?” she asked, not even giving him a chance to say hi.
“Uh, yes.” He said, taken aback. “I mean, it was quite rude of me not doing it before so I figured…”
“Thanks! They were delicious, the girls loved it.” Malia said the last part as if it was a secret. She had let her students take a cookie each on their way out.
“Cool.”
“I hid the rest, though, because my hip hop students are always looking for sweets to eat and I want those cookies only to myself. Are you remembering the desert?”
Stiles smiled.
“Wow.” He said in awe. “You talk even more than me.”
“No, I’m just nervous.” And right there Malia hid her mouth with her hand realizing that yes, she was talking too much. With her cheeks red, she lowered her hand. “Sorry, Kira had a lot to say about you and you’re a cop and you are really cute, I better shut up! Jesus. Okay, I’m Malia.” She offered him her hand and he took it. “Are you remembering of the desert?”
“Stiles and yes. Just a sec.” he stepped back and then changed his mind, turning to look at her one more time. “You are beautiful too and have a great taste in wine.”
He winked and she smiled, feeling a bit more comfortable. Maybe being neighbors with him wouldn’t be bad after all.
“Uh…” Malia heard someone behind her and cussed under her breath. Slowly, she turned around, still crouched behind a table. She looked up to a guy about her age who seemed to be halfway through a text on his phone. “Is there a reason for you to be behind my table?” he asked, sounding very confused and Malia cussed again.
“Sorry, I’m just…” she peeked over the table to see if the commotion had passed by the diner already and sighed relieved. “hiding. Mind if I sit with you?”
Without waiting for an answer, Malia sat in one of the soft red seats across from him, her back to the window, and knotted her hair in a bun. The guy needed a minute to even react and in the meantime, she ate a few of his fries.
“Gosh, I’m starving, this was the stupidest idea ever.”
“Sure, you can eat my fries.” He mumbled, going back to his phone and writing with determination.
“I’m sorry, I’m being rude, I know.” He looked up at her and she smiled. There was cheddar on the corner of her mouth and it gave her some sort of humanity that he didn’t expect to see in her. “I’ll order more fries, hold on-CAN SOME ONE BRING US MORE FRIES?” she shouted and a waitress ran to the kitchen. “What’s your name?”
His eyes widened a bit. She still couldn’t tell if he knew or not who she was (how couldn’t he, though? She was in the cover of almost every single magazine since the premiere of her latest movie), but the fact that he wasn’t trying to take a picture with her appealed her.
“I’m Stiles.”
He didn’t stutter, he just straight up said it, without even blinking.
“Stiles…” she said it slow, smiling again and he breathed out, giving her a shy smile before rescuing his burger and taking a bite. “I’m Ma-“
“Malia.” He completed, his mouth full. “Everyone knows.”
“Oh.” Then he knew her. Okay, she shouldn’t be surprised, no matter how alternative he looked - like the kind of guy who wouldn’t watch anything that could be considered mainstream. He swallowed his food and the waitress put the fries between them (a superfast service, if you asked her).
“Trouble in paradise?” he asked, before filling his mouth with more food. The waitress also put a bottle of Coke in front of Malia and a new one for Stiles.
The movie star sighed.
“I never thought that this shitty town would cause such commotion, I just wanted some break, you know?” Malia said and then noticed his raised eyebrows. “Sorry, I shouldn’t call your city shitty.”
“It is shitty.” Stiles said somberly. “I wonder why you thought that coming here would be interesting in the first place.”
She smiled, shaking her head and there were her dimples. He took a deep breath and a sip of Coke.
“I guess that was why.” She assumed. “I mean, because it isn’t. No one would follow me here.”
Stiles nodded.
“Except that it has teenagers too.” He commented and Malia hid her face in her hands with a dramatic sigh.
“Crap.” She mumbled and when she looked up she also seemed a lot more human to him, more distant from the photoshopped bullshit that the magazines and internet like to sell. She touched his hand, surprising him, and her touch felt cold. “I’m sorry, I’m ruining your lunch.”
“Stop apologizing, okay? You didn’t ruin anything. It’s nice having company.” His words eased her and she got back to eating the fries.
They talked little and smiled a lot. The practically empty diner didn’t face any commotion of screaming teenagers and when they finished eating, Malia gave them a tip that could pay the month’s wages for all seven workers. It was three in the afternoon when they left through the back door and when Stiles asked if she wanted to get out of there, Malia felt good enough to say yes.
When Malia lost her adoptive mother, she didn’t have the chance to mourn. In her weak state, between the bodies and the crashed car, she just wanted it to be over and when she woke up she had fur and paws. Her instincts told her to run, so she ran for a long time. It was only when she was forced back to her human body that she could feel again.
So many years had passed that the emotions were distant and to deal with it was new.
Everything was different when she lost her mom. The other mom. The biological mother who she had so little time with, someone with a wicked heart and troubled past but also someone who, differently from Peter, really wanted to know the real Malia and bond and love her.
Malia had had a mother before and she was granted a second chance.
And that second chance was taken from her.
There was nothing anyone could ever do to ease the pain in her chest. Not even Stiles.
…
She was too hurt to accept pity. Too hurt to care. Too hurt to accept that maybe they knew what she was feeling - he knew what she was feeling.
Despite de fact that Stiles had always known what (and how) she felt, deep down she wanted to have those feelings just to herself.
She wanted to mourn and she wanted to do it alone. And for her utter despair, Stiles understood it too.
He didn’t complain when she sat for hours in the living room and refused his care and touch. He didn’t say much to convince her to eat, knowing that she would give up hunger before life would give up on her. He didn’t force her to sleep with him or watch Star Trek re-runs or go back to his house after school. He’d ask
“Where do you want to go?”
And sometimes she’d say “our house”, but sometimes she’d say “my house”, and he’d drive her to Tate’s.
He didn’t try and make her talk and she loved and hated him for that. And he said
“You want to have your time and I’m giving it to you, even though you know I’m worried because you can smell it in my pores. I know you’ll come back to me when you’re ready and I can wait.”
That day, she shook her head afraid of what she could say and he stepped closer just a little bit.
“Mal, I know what you’re going through-“
And that.
That was the moment she snapped.
The moment she said too many things that wouldn’t matter if she hadn’t finished with
“…AND YOU CAN’T KNOW, BECAUSE YOUR MOTHER IS DEAD AND YOU’D NEVER UNDERSTAND WHAT IT IS TO HAVE HER BACK JUST SO SHE CAN BE TAKEN AWAY FROM YOU AGAIN.”
She regretted those words as soon as she said them and the hurt in Stiles’ eyes could easily match hers. Inside her grew a dread that escalated faster as Stiles kept quiet. And then he walked to the door and held it open to Malia.
“You are right, we should stay away for a while.” He told her, still unable to hide the hurt.
“Stiles.”
“See you at school tomorrow.”
She didn’t come back. Not even to get her things.
…
They played the blame game for the rest of senior year and then she decided to go to a college in Orlando where they barely had cold days while Stiles Ivy Leagued his way through college with Lydia and Kira by his sides.
She never said sorry.
…
The pain of losing her mother - the second mother - went away and had vanished. Five years later, she had lived long and enough to know that people leave and love falls apart more times than it should be necessary. She had lovers and lovers and the only contacts from Beacon Hills in her list were Derek and the Sheriff. Not that she would talk a lot with him, but ever since he and Melissa started dating, he had questions to the werecoyte that only she could answer embarrassing herself. At first, it was kind of annoying, but now it was just pure fun. Deep down he was more her dead than any other man who took the title.
Sheriff Stilinski made her miss Beacon Hills, because he made her miss Stiles, but she never could help when it was him calling.
…
There was something inside her, a little voice bugging her brain, telling her that five years was a lot of time. Malia had a vague notion that perhaps five years was too long a time. But at new year’s eve she entered in his room and found everything in place, all her things in a box inside the closet, including photos and highlighters. On the back of one of the photos, she wrote something and left it on his pillow before leaving to Derek’s loft. He and Breaden were celebrating their first New Year with the new baby and Stiles had probably been invited too.
With ten minutes to midnight, Derek’s two-years-old soundly sleeping in Malia’s arms (she loved children just as much she loved cubs when she was a coyote), the bell rang. The loft was crowded and noisy with lots of supernatural creatures, but it still had space for a few more and between the bodies she identified Scott, Kira and Lydia.
Right in that moment, little Tori started to fuss, so she decided to put the girl her bed, away from all the noise. She would stay with her until the clock hit midnight and leave her alone when the commotion would be eased, but as soon as she put Tori to bed someone cleared the throat, making her turn around surprised.
It was Stiles, looking at her in the dark with a sadness that was both new and old and made her chest hurt. He reached for his pocket and took something out of it - the photo she left for him earlier.
Malia came closer and took the photo from his hand gently, reading what she wrote once again.
But this time.
This time it had something was written underneath her cursive.
She looked up at him and he managed to smile, an act that she mirrored with shyness.
“Hi, Stiles.” She said, her voice quiet. In the living room, the countdown started.
“Hi, Malia.” He replied just as quiet and before they knew it, she was hugging him. On the back of the photo in her hand two phrases were written, one in red and the other in green.
Is it enough time?
It’s enough time if you want it to be.
Characters: Malia Tate, Stiles Stilinski
Rating: T
Warnings: None
Placing: Season 4
Kira and Lydia hadn’t even sat down in front of Malia to eat when the werecoyote spoke up, surprising them.
“Life sucks.” She said certainly, angrily cutting her meatballs with her fork.
“Why’s that, sweetheart?” Lydia asked slowly, sitting in front of her plate and eyeing Kira, who shrugged.
“It just sucks.” The girl insisted. “It’s annoyingly sunny outside, my dad burned the pancakes this morning and these meatballs taste nothing like meat!”
Malia let go of her fork and crossed her arms, frowning while Kira and Lydia just exchanged a look, unsure of what they should do or say. Luckily, the boys arrived to their table.
“Babe, you okay?” Stiles asked, as soon as he sat by Malia’s side, eyeing her defensive posture.
“No.”
“What happened?” he continued, quickly looking at the other two girls. Malia sighed.
“I listened to Drake’s new album and now life sucks.” She answered, pouting. Stiles looked at her tenderly.
“Oh, babe, did you get your period?” he said that so normally the others decided it was better not to interrupt. Malia nodded. “Is that it?”
She finally looked at him, mouthing a yes and he smiled. She punched his arm.
“Don’t look so fucking relieved, douchbag!” but Stiles just laughed and pulled her for a quick kiss before he reached for his bag, where he found a bar of chocolate.
“Here.” He handed the chocolate to Malia, who snatched it from his hand. “Hey! What do we say?”
“Thank you, bae.” She said with a small smile, looking at him. He kissed her forehead.
“You’re welcome, bae.” And because it was the first time she was happy that day, she even fed him a few squares of chocolate.
“Stiles?” someone called from behind him. It’s been ten years and most people were unrecognizable by now, but he would always recognize…
“Greenberg.” He said, turning around do face the old colleague who smiled.
“Wow, I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” He said excited. His hair already was greying, but it probably had to do with the fact he was a bit older than everyone else. “You disappeared, I heard you were living in New Orleans.”
Stiles nodded.
“I am.” He said, taking a sip of his drink. “I’m a detective.”
“A cop like your dad, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.” Greenberg said, punching Stiles in the arm.
“Yeah, I guess so.” He replied looking around, his mind trying to quickly recognize the faces around BHHS’ gymnasium. Greenberg came closer.
“Malia is here.” He told Stiles, who raised his eyebrows.
“Is she?”
“Yeah. Looking gorgeous as usual. You two kept contact during those years? I mean, I heard you had broken up in college.”
“You heard a lot of things.”
Greenberg shrugged.
“You know how these reunion things work, everyone like to talk about everyone and such…”
“Stiles?” and this time, it was her voice.
Malia was a few steps to his right and came closer, smiling. Greenberg was right, she still gorgeous, with her golden skin and brown hair, the dark, clever eyes of a clever animal, long legs, her usual low heeled boots and short red dress. Stiles had to try really hard not to look amazed.
“Malia! Uau.” And internally, he cussed himself. Great way of not looking amazed. She smiled.
“It’s been a while.” She commented and he nodded. It sure had, since they’d been in that school, around those people. She came closer, dispensing Greenberg with a subtle hand gesture. “You know everyone comes to me like ‘Oh, did you see Stiles?’ and all.”
He laughed.
“Gosh, I’ve been getting the same. ‘Malia is here, did you talk to her? Did you see her?’, everyone so damn worried about our lives.”
“High school bullshit all over again.” She replied in a serious tone with a nod. “But we did have some history, didn’t we?”
Stiles looked at her for a long moment. Every time he saw her face, he was overwhelmed with memories. Malia was this woman who was always strong, always forward, with so much life knowledge. They had so many good things together, it was beautiful.
“We did.” He finally answered, smiling. “Was a good thing to be away from the social networks the past eight years or so, I think. Less people knowing about my life.”
“I was never good at it.” Malia assumed. He knew. She was too practical to even care about memorizing passwords. “How’s life?”
“Oh, it’s been great, I…” Stiles raised his left hand showing the wedding ring. Malia’s jaw dropped a bit and she raised her left hand too.
“That makes two of us! You have kids already?”
He confirmed with a nod while sipping from his cup.
“A boy.”
“Me too! That’s so cool.” Malia seemed very excited about it, her glass was empty already. “Is your boy already solving cases behind your back and being better at it than you?”
Stiles laughed.
“That kid will have to run for his money if he wants to be better than me one day. I know I had to work my ass off to be better than my dad.” He finished his drink with one long gulp. “What about yours? Does he bite his friends and tell them he’s the Alpha now?”
This time, Malia was the one who laughed.
“Are you asking me, in other words, if he spends too much time with my dad?”
Stiles shrugged.
“You’re the one saying this.”
Malia shook her head.
“No, he’s not been doing it. He’s a nice kid, you know? A bit intense, but a nice ki-“ she stopped mid-sentence and looked around, sighed. “Scott and Kira are here.” She told Stiles, looking at him again. He could tell her werecoyote skills were still on top. “Wanna walk around?”
“Yea, sounds like a nice idea.” He agreed and they threw their empty cups in a trash can on their way to the high school halls.
They walked in silence for a few minutes, the sound of music fading as far as they went, their steps echoing on the walls.
“This school still is creepy.” Stiles commented and Malia nodded.
“I almost died in that corridor.” She pointed. They remembered well the Benefactor episode. She pointed one of the doors. “We had sex in that room.”
“And that one.” He pointed another door.
“And Coach’s office.” She pointed the one at the end of the corridor. They laughed. They stopped. They looked at each other. “This school is taking us back.”
“That’s dangerous.” Stiles said soberly. “I promised my dad time travelling wasn’t a real thing.”
She couldn’t hide the smile and they couldn’t deny what was going on in there. If they were smart, they’d walk away. They’d do the clever thing. But they didn’t feel like being smart or clever. They felt like being wild and reckless. And that’s why they ended up stumbling to the nearest bathroom, all mouth and hands, being eighteen again.
“What about your wife?” Malia asked under her breath.
“She won’t mind.” He answered. “Why, does your husband care?”
Malia smiled mischievously and they crashed together once again.
Half an hour later, they were back at the gymnasium. The same way it happened in high school, everyone knew what had just happened and Stiles and Malia didn’t seem ashamed at all.
They got themselves some new red cups with purple drinks and met Scott and Kira. Lydia wouldn’t come, they knew, because she was in Paris. Honeymoon.
“What the hell are you two doing?” Scott asked, frowning. He was about to deliver a speech, they were certain, but was interrupted when someone abruptly opened the door; a child - a boy with dark curly hair - ran inside, diverting from the people with an incredible energy. The Sheriff Stilinski, who still was the Sheriff (come on, it’s been just ten years), looked for his son, his face red with stress.
“That’s it, that’s enough.” He said, pointing at Stiles. “I’m not taking care of your kid alone anymore, Stiles, you want to know why? Because I already raised you. I think it was enough.”
Everyone stopped, even the DJ.
“Careful, dad, you can have a stroke.” Stiles said, surprisingly calm. The only sound echoing was the kid’s feet stomping the ground and his airplane sounds, as if he was maneuvering between the tall legs. The Sheriff dropped his hand.
“I’m not taking care of a mini you. It’s your time.”
“What did he do?” Malia asked and the Sheriff looked at her.
“You.” He pointed at her, but just for a second, just for emphasis. “You stop your father from being around this kid. He bit my daughter, told her he’s the Alpha. What the hell is that supposed to mean, he’s five!”
Stiles and Malia looked at each other. There was three seconds of silent discussion about who would get him and Malia lost.
“Chuck!” she called.
“Mommy, I’m an airplane!” Chuck replied from the other side of the gym.
“Yeah, how many candies this airplane ate before taking off?”
He stopped. He was sweating, but his breath was even. He had to think a bit. Malia got closer, took him in her arms.
“A few. Grandma Melissa made chocolate cake with frosting and everything.”
“I thought so.” Malia replied, then turned to the Sheriff. “You can’t let him eat that much sugar.”
The Sheriff just sighed.
“You were pretending you weren’t together, weren’t you?” Kira asked, looking from Stiles to Malia. The werecoyote went to talk to the Sheriff; the DJ started playing music again and people were back to their conversation. Stiles smiled.
“We like to do things sometimes.” He said and winked. Scott rolled his eyes.
“Gosh, everyone was freaking out, thinking they had the gossip of the year.” The Alpha said. “I knew you had pranked one of those.”
Stiles laughed and looked at Malia.
“It’s what happens when you have a prankster and a trickster.” He said, making his friends shake their heads. They were used to Stiles and Malia’s little acts, but that didn’t mean they were always ready. Those two were impossible anyway.
“Kira, you don’t understand!” Malia complained on the phone while fumbling with all the books and papers she was caring. It was only her first week at college, but it already was a mess. Nervous, she sighed relaxing her shoulders a bit. “I sucked at school and now I don’t really know why I decided to try this college life. I feel like this is gonna eat me alive.”
On the other side of the line, she could hear Kira giggle. She eyed the two sides of the corridor, trying to remember which led outside and started to the left.
“Mal, relax! You won’t be able to enjoy it that way.” Her friend warned and Malia rolled her eyes so hard she was sure the other girl could see from the medical campus.
“You really don’t get it, do you? I’m already hat-“ she was cut midsentence when she bumped on someone so hard they both fell on their asses, books, cellphones and papers flying everywhere. “SHIT!”
Malia immediately got on her knees trying to sort out what was hers and what wasn’t. She didn’t even see the person she bumped into, so nervous that she was.
“I’m sorry, I’ve been having the worst day ever” she was saying, looking down at the mess of books “and it just don’t seem to-HEY, CAREFUL THERE!” she shouted to someone who almost stepped on her phone. She could hear Kira asking what was going on and if she was alright. Quickly, Malia caught the phone, putting it on her ear. “I’M NOT ALRIGHT! I’M FAR FROM ALRI-“ but, at that moment, the stranger who fell to the floor with her touched her shoulder and she looked up, meeting his gaze for the first time.
He was gorgeous. Nerdy, but gorgeous. Fair skin, dark hair and clear eyes full of concern glaring at her worried. Malia’s jaw dropped a bit and she lost track of everything for a couple of seconds.
“Miss, you okay?” he said. He had a husky voice that made things with her brain and she blinked trying to regain control over herself. “No offense, but… you seem about to have a stroke.”
“Malia?” Kira asked insistently on the phone and the girl took a deep breath.
“Holy shit.” She said, her eyes still on the guy. “I’ll call you later.”
“What? MAL-“ but Malia already had hang out.
“I am about to have a stroke.” She said, sounding way more calm than she had half a minute before. (but maybe it was just a sudden low of adrenalin) “I think I won’t survive four years.”
He smiled, almost a giggle and she noticed his lips. Wrong move, Malia, wrong move.
“Four years?” he said and now he was definitely giggling. “My cousin’s been in college for eight, we’d be lucky if we finish in four.”
Surprisingly, she smiled. They still were on the floor, Malia sitting on her heels and the guy crouched in her eye level.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” she asked, feeling suddenly tired. It was official, all her adrenalin was gone thanks to a pretty face.
He rubbed his forehead, probably realizing what he said and his cheeks blushed a little.
“I guess not. Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Malia sighed and put her last book on her pile. He took the pile from her hands and helped her to her feet. “Like I said, I’m just having a terrible, terrible day that is making me question my existence.”
“I suppose we’ll do that a lot.” He said soberly, handing her the books and he crunched again to take his.
“Wow, you’re really not helping!” Malia mocked and he blushed even more.
“I guess I wasn’t having such a nice day either. But hey!” he poked her arm. His touch was warm. “It’ll get better. Gotta get bad before it gets good, right?”
“I guess.”
They went silent for a few moments, just looking at each other. It was just the first week and so many people already was freaking out. Malia wasn’t alone in it, it seemed.
“I better go, now.” She said, almost a whisper and he nodded.
“Yeah, I’m already late for class.”
“Gosh, it’s Friday, just leave it!”
“I can’t!” he exclaimed. “it’s anatomy and it’s important.”
Malia smiled. No wonder he was on her campus, he was probably on a major similar to hers.
“Then I’m lucky I don’t have any more classes today.” She winked and he smiled.
“I’ll spend my afternoon envying you, miss.” Her mouth closed, but her smile remained. He was such a gentleman, it was the light of her week. “I see you around, maybe.” He said, passing by her and she turned to look at him one more time.
“See you around maybe.” Malia replied and after a minute longer watching him (who looked back!) she made her way to her dorm. It was better not to risk anymore and she really could do some cake and ice cream.
…
As soon as Malia opened the door of her dorm, after a long and deserved hot shower, she found Kira perking at the gigantic piece of chocolate cake Malia had brought from the bakery.
“You can have half of it.” She told her friend who finally looked at her.
“Malia, what the hell!” the oriental girl exclaimed. Kira never ever cussed and it always made Malia internally roll her eyes. “I’ve been waiting for your call, what happened?”
Malia shrugged and dumped her things on her bed before starting to put everything into place.
“Nothing very fantastic, I ran into a guy, everything fell on the floor, I got pissed and stuff.”
“No, you hang up on me for a reason. It has to be more than just what you say.” The petit girl teased, getting closer.
The other girl pouted, shrugging again as she placed her shampoo on her dresser.
“Well…” she started “the guy might or might not be a tad bit hot, I guess.” She eyed Kira, who waited for more expectantly. “And I might know that he has anatomy classes every Friday afternoon.”
Kira’s jaw dropped.
“How do you know that? Did you stalk him? Is he the man of your life?”
“Woa, hold on there! He told me. And it’s too soon to even know that kind of thing.”
The shorter girl scoffed.
“Things like that, we know.” She pointed out and Malia rolled her eyes.
“Have you ever felt it?” it was a rhetorical question since she knew Kira was single since junior year. “Then you don’t know.”
“You’re probably right.” Kira admitted, shrugging. “But I like to think that’s how it happens.” They sat by their small table and Malia reached to part the cake. “So? How is he? What’s his name?”
Malia smiled.
“White, nerdy kind of guy. Could as easily be in Palo Alto. Moles, dark hair. He’s pretty average, really, but a cutie. And such a gentleman.” She paused for a second, frowning. “But I don’t know his name. And I doubt he knows mine, unless you shouted it loud enough through the phone earlier.” Kira pouted. “But he does know where I have my last Friday class and how stressed out I get out of it. If he feels like being late for anatomy again…”
The two girls spent the rest of the afternoon and beginning of the evening making silly plans to how Malia could “accidentally” bump into the guy again and watching urban fantasy on Netflix until there was too much noise on the hall (it was Friday!) and they felt hungry again. By the time they were discussing if they should order Chi food, someone knocked on their door.
Kira jumped to her feet to answer the door as Malia took everything from her bed - the DVDs and computers and books when she heard a male voice.
“Uh, sorry, this is not Scott’s dorm.” Someone said and Malia turned to see who it was. A tall guy with British accent turned to his right. “Mate, this is not Scott’s dorm.”
Kira smiled at him and Malia came closer, stopping behind her friend.
“Unless Scott and Boyd were turned into two very hot young ladies.” The guy continued talking to someone they didn’t see yet and the girls smiled.
“Last time I checked, my name was just Malia, though.” She replied, making him smile. “And hers is Kira.”
The guy opened his best I’m-British-love-me smile and turned to his right again. This time, the girls bent to see what he was looking and one door down there was a guy with his back to them talking to a redheaded girl.
“Ay, Stiles!” the guy called again and the other one turned annoyed.
“I heard you the first time, you useless! I’m trying to find out which’s the right dorm.”
“Oh, shit.” Malia said under her breath and Kira turned to her. “It’s him.”
“Just a second, ladies.” The guy excused himself and walked the three steps between him and his friend. Stiles, if she understood well. He put his arm on Stiles’ shoulder and brought him towards them and away from the redhead when they were still talking. “Lydia can update you later, mate, I have something better.”
“You are such a pain in the ass, Isaac, I swear to God…” but he stopped talking when Isaac turned him to the two girls. His eyes were direct to Malia’s and she smiled. “Hey, it’s the psychology girl!”
Alright, they both were terrible at hiding that they knew each other somehow.
“How can you tell?” Malia asked petulant.
“Your books.”
She shook her head.
“I’m majoring to be a profiler.”
His eyes widened.
“No way!”
“Yea way.”
Kira cleared her throat and they suddenly remembered that weren’t alone. He offered his hand.
“I didn’t say that earlier, how rude. I’m Stiles.”
She took his hand, giving a firm shake. She liked people who could give a hard hand shake.
“Malia.”
“Yeah, and this is Kira and I’m Isaac, nice to meet everyone.” Isaac cut, forcing Stiles and Malia to release their hands from the grip. “We are looking for our mates Scott and Boyd, they’re supposed to live in this corridor, have you seen them? Puppy-like Latin boy, full of tattoos and tall mysterious black guy who hardly smiles?”
Malia was already shaking her head no, when Kira said
“Wait, is the Latin tattooed boy really cute?”
“Bitch, he might be.” Isaac said and Stiles rolled his eyes.
“Room 33B, the second to last door.” Someone said. The girls looked to their left and saw the redheaded girl again; she was leaning on the wall, her arms crossed. She was probably shorter than Kira, if that was even possible.
“I knew you could do it! Lyds, I owe you.” Stiles said. The girl rolled her eyes.
“You two are terrible friends.” She pointed a finger at them and the boys seemed to wilt.
“But hey!” Isaac tried to make it up. He looked from Lydia to Kira and Malia. “We’re going to a party. You guys are coming too, right? I mean, you can come too.”
The roommates looked at each other considering the offer, then at Lydia, who was smiling and then at the boys again. Stiles raised an eyebrow.
“Gosh, it’s Friday, why not?” he teased and the girls smiled too.
He was right, why not?
They were kids from the streets. Different streets, different gangs. He was the mastermind, she was the executer. Each in each’s gang. Street kids. The white boy pretending to be tougher than he actually was and the girl who liked pretty little to take orders.
They responded to themselves and to the streets.
They were howlers and mooners.
He was from the west wing, she was from the south wing. Different gangs. They had never met.
…
South wing also meant beaches. The most beautiful beaches, if you’re wondering. South wing meant a whole bunch of rich people and tourists and an even bigger bunch of poor kids. The kids from the south wing had it rough, but their hands were light and they could survive just fine, picking pockets and smoking cigarettes by the ocean.
You can’t blame a west wing kid for wanting to sneak a peek.
…
He was probably the only gang kid who wasn’t marked. He hated needles and said loud and clear that ink wouldn’t make him more one of them then the others.
It was a good thing that his best friend was the head of the Moonies. No one ever insisted for him to be marked. He was the mastermind, after all.
He also loved the ocean. It reminded him of his mother and the fury of the water made him feel powerful - almost universal. He couldn’t help getting into the train and riding south, to the crashing waves and the people.
…
Ink marked her skin, so he knew damn well who she was - or, at least, part of what she was - as soon as she took out her dress to run to the ocean. The wolf howling on her left side said it all.
“Can you watch my stuff?” she asked him and he nodded in agreement. “Don’t rob me, white boy.”
And it made him smile. He highly doubted that anyone would dare robbing from the Wolves. He spent the afternoon shirtless in bermuda, sitting in the sand and smoking cigarettes, watching the Wolf girl float and dive alone in the clear waters of the ocean until she came back.
“You look cold.” He commented, noticing her shivering skin.
“Yeah, but the ocean is too powerful to be ignored.” She replied, sitting by his side. “I don’t know how you managed to just sit here and look.”
“Some days I’m just an observer.” He said looking at her and she looked at him, smiled.
“Thanks for taking care of my stuff.” She said. “I’m Malia, by the way.” The girl offered her hand. He knew that name - Malia Hale, the Wolves’ executer. She had a reputation. He shook her hand one time firmly. It was such a pleasure to meet her and she appreciated that he looked in her eyes.
“Stiles.”
Something flicked in her eyes and he knew it was understanding. He himself had a bit of a reputation too.
“The mastermind.” She said under her breath and he smiled.
It felt deliciously dangerous.
…
The streets were where they belong. Different streets, different gangs. They were a howler and a mooner and they only responded to themselves and to the streets. No one else could stop them.
And every wolf howls to only one moon.
The new upstairs neighbor was loud. Really loud, like bursting-hip-hop-songs-through-the-speakers-and-dancing-along loud. It was extremely annoying for a building so small (three storey, one apartment per store) and being awake by 50 Cent at six in the morning was pissing him off.
However, Stiles never bothered to go upstairs and knock at the door of the noisy neighbor. He could say he was a rocker, but every time the neighbor played some Kanye West song, he got a bit happier.
That neighbor had moved in two days before he came back from his vacation at his father’s house. Ever since Stiles graduated at college, his trips to Beacon Hills were less and less, and he owned his dad, stepmother and little brother a visit. He never saw the new neighbor coming, had no idea who was stomping over his head. And every time Flo Rida was played, he decided to stay away. No Yeezus could top that.
The only thing he knew about the neighbor was the music taste and a last name: Hale. He felt it was enough.
Two weeks later, at three in the afternoon, there was a commotion of voices and the stomping multiplied, for about an hour, it felt like there were ten people dancing upstairs. Whenever Stiles was at home in a week day, the people would dance above his head and for a whole hour he couldn’t study or watch TV or anything. The downstairs neighbor, who also was his best friend Scott (and half-brother now living with his fiancée), declared that he adored the new neighbor: there was nothing like party people.
Stiles should do something about it. He even went upstairs one day and almost knocked, but then started to play Pitbul and he decided it’d be a better time (for him) to come back at least when there was Drake on the speakers.
…
The downstairs neighbor played drums every evening. He was good and liked Rage Against the Machine. She knew he was a guy because of his car and because her best friend Kira said so. “Stiles lives in the middle, he’s Scott’s half-brother. You’ll like him.” But he wasn’t there when she first moved in and their schedules never matched.
Malia had dinner at the sound of his drumming and her feet couldn’t help tapping along. She was a dancer, after all, and even after the hip hop lessons that she tough to a few kids, she kept on dancing.
She just hoped that he wouldn’t mind her music the way she didn’t mind his. She needed her classes to finish paying her college bills.
One day, in her third week there, three of her students showed interest in ballet, so the playlist changed for a bit and Mozart filled the apartment. For an hour, before her bigger class started, she put the three kids to stretch and make pliés and relevés and when the class was almost done, her bell buzzed.
When Malia opened the door, Kira was there all smiles and with a plate of cookies on her hands.
“You got cookies!” her friend said with excitement and she took the plate from her.
“Why, thanks Kira!” she said, giving space so the other girl could come in and Kira shook her head.
“No, it wasn’t me. But I did met Stiles on my way up. Did you know that he didn’t know you’re a girl? He had no idea who was living here.”
“I’m not surprised, we never met.” Malia said, taking the remote control and changing the music. As soon as she did that, the three little girls looked at her. “Free style, ladies!” and the children jumped up and down cheering, soon starting to dance to some Britney Spears song.
Kira sat on the floor across from the mirror placed in Malia’s huge dance room (it was, actually, her living room that she transformed into a dance studio, but shh) and the other girl sat by her side.
“What brings you here in the middle of the day, though?” Malia asked. She had placed the plate on top of one of her speakers and rescued two of them, handed one to Kira, who accepted. Taking a bite, she realized that those were some great cookies.
“I’m cooking dinner tonight and you are coming.”
“I don’t like Japanese food. Nor guacamole.” She stated and Kira shook her head.
“I know, and you’re not having it. I brought this Julia Child book and I’m feeling very Julie, you know?”
“Oh, no, not that movie again…” Malia whined, but Kira didn’t care.
“I’m making lobster.” And the other girl’s widened as she looked at her friend.
“I’ll be over there for sure, what time?”
Kira shook her head one time.
“You are so easy to bend, it’s ridiculous. Get down at seven.” She said, getting up. She headed to the door. “Bring wine. And you can knock on Stiles’ door on your way down, because he’s coming too. Tell him not to forget the desert.”
…
At 6:55, Malia looked for the best wine in her small cellar, checked herself in the giant mirror and left. It didn’t take one minute to be one store down and knock at her neighbor’s door. He, on the other hand, took his time to open it.
“Did you left me cookies earlier today?” she asked, not even giving him a chance to say hi.
“Uh, yes.” He said, taken aback. “I mean, it was quite rude of me not doing it before so I figured…”
“Thanks! They were delicious, the girls loved it.” Malia said the last part as if it was a secret. She had let her students take a cookie each on their way out.
“Cool.”
“I hid the rest, though, because my hip hop students are always looking for sweets to eat and I want those cookies only to myself. Are you remembering the desert?”
Stiles smiled.
“Wow.” He said in awe. “You talk even more than me.”
“No, I’m just nervous.” And right there Malia hid her mouth with her hand realizing that yes, she was talking too much. With her cheeks red, she lowered her hand. “Sorry, Kira had a lot to say about you and you’re a cop and you are really cute, I better shut up! Jesus. Okay, I’m Malia.” She offered him her hand and he took it. “Are you remembering of the desert?”
“Stiles and yes. Just a sec.” he stepped back and then changed his mind, turning to look at her one more time. “You are beautiful too and have a great taste in wine.”
He winked and she smiled, feeling a bit more comfortable. Maybe being neighbors with him wouldn’t be bad after all.
“Uh…” Malia heard someone behind her and cussed under her breath. Slowly, she turned around, still crouched behind a table. She looked up to a guy about her age who seemed to be halfway through a text on his phone. “Is there a reason for you to be behind my table?” he asked, sounding very confused and Malia cussed again.
“Sorry, I’m just…” she peeked over the table to see if the commotion had passed by the diner already and sighed relieved. “hiding. Mind if I sit with you?”
Without waiting for an answer, Malia sat in one of the soft red seats across from him, her back to the window, and knotted her hair in a bun. The guy needed a minute to even react and in the meantime, she ate a few of his fries.
“Gosh, I’m starving, this was the stupidest idea ever.”
“Sure, you can eat my fries.” He mumbled, going back to his phone and writing with determination.
“I’m sorry, I’m being rude, I know.” He looked up at her and she smiled. There was cheddar on the corner of her mouth and it gave her some sort of humanity that he didn’t expect to see in her. “I’ll order more fries, hold on-CAN SOME ONE BRING US MORE FRIES?” she shouted and a waitress ran to the kitchen. “What’s your name?”
His eyes widened a bit. She still couldn’t tell if he knew or not who she was (how couldn’t he, though? She was in the cover of almost every single magazine since the premiere of her latest movie), but the fact that he wasn’t trying to take a picture with her appealed her.
“I’m Stiles.”
He didn’t stutter, he just straight up said it, without even blinking.
“Stiles…” she said it slow, smiling again and he breathed out, giving her a shy smile before rescuing his burger and taking a bite. “I’m Ma-“
“Malia.” He completed, his mouth full. “Everyone knows.”
“Oh.” Then he knew her. Okay, she shouldn’t be surprised, no matter how alternative he looked - like the kind of guy who wouldn’t watch anything that could be considered mainstream. He swallowed his food and the waitress put the fries between them (a superfast service, if you asked her).
“Trouble in paradise?” he asked, before filling his mouth with more food. The waitress also put a bottle of Coke in front of Malia and a new one for Stiles.
The movie star sighed.
“I never thought that this shitty town would cause such commotion, I just wanted some break, you know?” Malia said and then noticed his raised eyebrows. “Sorry, I shouldn’t call your city shitty.”
“It is shitty.” Stiles said somberly. “I wonder why you thought that coming here would be interesting in the first place.”
She smiled, shaking her head and there were her dimples. He took a deep breath and a sip of Coke.
“I guess that was why.” She assumed. “I mean, because it isn’t. No one would follow me here.”
Stiles nodded.
“Except that it has teenagers too.” He commented and Malia hid her face in her hands with a dramatic sigh.
“Crap.” She mumbled and when she looked up she also seemed a lot more human to him, more distant from the photoshopped bullshit that the magazines and internet like to sell. She touched his hand, surprising him, and her touch felt cold. “I’m sorry, I’m ruining your lunch.”
“Stop apologizing, okay? You didn’t ruin anything. It’s nice having company.” His words eased her and she got back to eating the fries.
They talked little and smiled a lot. The practically empty diner didn’t face any commotion of screaming teenagers and when they finished eating, Malia gave them a tip that could pay the month’s wages for all seven workers. It was three in the afternoon when they left through the back door and when Stiles asked if she wanted to get out of there, Malia felt good enough to say yes.
When Malia lost her adoptive mother, she didn’t have the chance to mourn. In her weak state, between the bodies and the crashed car, she just wanted it to be over and when she woke up she had fur and paws. Her instincts told her to run, so she ran for a long time. It was only when she was forced back to her human body that she could feel again.
So many years had passed that the emotions were distant and to deal with it was new.
Everything was different when she lost her mom. The other mom. The biological mother who she had so little time with, someone with a wicked heart and troubled past but also someone who, differently from Peter, really wanted to know the real Malia and bond and love her.
Malia had had a mother before and she was granted a second chance.
And that second chance was taken from her.
There was nothing anyone could ever do to ease the pain in her chest. Not even Stiles.
…
She was too hurt to accept pity. Too hurt to care. Too hurt to accept that maybe they knew what she was feeling - he knew what she was feeling.
Despite de fact that Stiles had always known what (and how) she felt, deep down she wanted to have those feelings just to herself.
She wanted to mourn and she wanted to do it alone. And for her utter despair, Stiles understood it too.
He didn’t complain when she sat for hours in the living room and refused his care and touch. He didn’t say much to convince her to eat, knowing that she would give up hunger before life would give up on her. He didn’t force her to sleep with him or watch Star Trek re-runs or go back to his house after school. He’d ask
“Where do you want to go?”
And sometimes she’d say “our house”, but sometimes she’d say “my house”, and he’d drive her to Tate’s.
He didn’t try and make her talk and she loved and hated him for that. And he said
“You want to have your time and I’m giving it to you, even though you know I’m worried because you can smell it in my pores. I know you’ll come back to me when you’re ready and I can wait.”
That day, she shook her head afraid of what she could say and he stepped closer just a little bit.
“Mal, I know what you’re going through-“
And that.
That was the moment she snapped.
The moment she said too many things that wouldn’t matter if she hadn’t finished with
“…AND YOU CAN’T KNOW, BECAUSE YOUR MOTHER IS DEAD AND YOU’D NEVER UNDERSTAND WHAT IT IS TO HAVE HER BACK JUST SO SHE CAN BE TAKEN AWAY FROM YOU AGAIN.”
She regretted those words as soon as she said them and the hurt in Stiles’ eyes could easily match hers. Inside her grew a dread that escalated faster as Stiles kept quiet. And then he walked to the door and held it open to Malia.
“You are right, we should stay away for a while.” He told her, still unable to hide the hurt.
“Stiles.”
“See you at school tomorrow.”
She didn’t come back. Not even to get her things.
…
They played the blame game for the rest of senior year and then she decided to go to a college in Orlando where they barely had cold days while Stiles Ivy Leagued his way through college with Lydia and Kira by his sides.
She never said sorry.
…
The pain of losing her mother - the second mother - went away and had vanished. Five years later, she had lived long and enough to know that people leave and love falls apart more times than it should be necessary. She had lovers and lovers and the only contacts from Beacon Hills in her list were Derek and the Sheriff. Not that she would talk a lot with him, but ever since he and Melissa started dating, he had questions to the werecoyte that only she could answer embarrassing herself. At first, it was kind of annoying, but now it was just pure fun. Deep down he was more her dead than any other man who took the title.
Sheriff Stilinski made her miss Beacon Hills, because he made her miss Stiles, but she never could help when it was him calling.
…
There was something inside her, a little voice bugging her brain, telling her that five years was a lot of time. Malia had a vague notion that perhaps five years was too long a time. But at new year’s eve she entered in his room and found everything in place, all her things in a box inside the closet, including photos and highlighters. On the back of one of the photos, she wrote something and left it on his pillow before leaving to Derek’s loft. He and Breaden were celebrating their first New Year with the new baby and Stiles had probably been invited too.
With ten minutes to midnight, Derek’s two-years-old soundly sleeping in Malia’s arms (she loved children just as much she loved cubs when she was a coyote), the bell rang. The loft was crowded and noisy with lots of supernatural creatures, but it still had space for a few more and between the bodies she identified Scott, Kira and Lydia.
Right in that moment, little Tori started to fuss, so she decided to put the girl her bed, away from all the noise. She would stay with her until the clock hit midnight and leave her alone when the commotion would be eased, but as soon as she put Tori to bed someone cleared the throat, making her turn around surprised.
It was Stiles, looking at her in the dark with a sadness that was both new and old and made her chest hurt. He reached for his pocket and took something out of it - the photo she left for him earlier.
Malia came closer and took the photo from his hand gently, reading what she wrote once again.
But this time.
This time it had something was written underneath her cursive.
She looked up at him and he managed to smile, an act that she mirrored with shyness.
“Hi, Stiles.” She said, her voice quiet. In the living room, the countdown started.
“Hi, Malia.” He replied just as quiet and before they knew it, she was hugging him. On the back of the photo in her hand two phrases were written, one in red and the other in green.
Is it enough time?
It’s enough time if you want it to be.