#this song hurts to listen to in context of stalia. it is very post s5 stalia coded. this is not a good thing! my weak little heart!!!

[cescalr]

stalia, 17

... I knew this was a big risk, given my taste in music. So.

Stalia + Yeah Yeah Yeah (V2) by Jack Conte, for the spotify wrapped ask game. I really don't know how to write this as actually stalia, since the whole song is about a failed relationship. Whilst this is accurate to canon, alas, it also breaks my weak little heart :(. So, fair warning. Angst ahead! Feel free to repeat request, if you weren't looking for heartbreak at half nine in the goddamn morning.

As a... consolation prize? I guess - have a link; my stalia playlist.

And finally, of course; read this on Ao3 instead, if you like!

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I knew it all along I knew it from the very start And I felt it in my heart If there's even one to feel, oh-oh   I bought you a gift It's a picture frame for my face When you decide to place me in the past 'Cause nothing lasts Yeah nothing lasts No nothing lasts   You're taking off your clothes I hear echoes of her breathing But she is fading into the past At last At long last At long last   Yeah, yeah, yeah, I knew it all along I knew it from the very start And I felt it in my heart If there's even one to feel (To—! To—! To—!) Let me be! Let me alone! (Water me) (My memories are wilting)   Yeah, yeah, yeah, I knew it all along I knew it from the very start And I felt it in my heart If there's even one to feel.

- 'Yeah Yeah Yeah (V2)' by Jack Conte.

It's been fifteen years.

Malia can hardly believe that sometimes; that she's lived this long, that she's thirty-fucking-five years old. That missing nine years as a coyote is now only... well, it's no longer half her life. Malia did not ever get great at math, and as soon as school ended, saynoara equations! Point being she doesn't actually know the fraction or, percentage 9 out of 35 is, but it's not nearly as significant as 9 out of 18. Malia doesn't remember it, anymore. Doesn't have that same desperate longing she once did for the simplicity of life as a coyote. 

Malia has grown as a person, is the thing. But not straight upwards. Not in all the right ways. Not even in all the ways she'd be proud of, or happy with, which are different from the 'right' ones. 

Case in point; Jordan Parrish. 

He's a sweetheart, really, is the thing. The thing being that that's the problem. Scott was a sweetheart, too. Didn't change jack shit about how it ended. Didn't stop their train from wrecking. Once is whatever, twice is coincidence, three times is a pattern. Malia doesn't want to find out she's the common thread, here. Malia doesn't want to... 

She doesn't want it to happen again. 

Malia's not really an introspective person. But reality prompts rumination, as Scott might say, either quoting Deaton or expanding his vocabulary, and he's... right, begrudgingly. Christmas is coming up soon. 

Malia turns up the volume. The car's speakers blast Malia's music louder, but it doesn't drown out her thoughts. Fuck.

- I knew it from the very start, and I felt it in my heart, if there's even -

Malia turns down the volume. Fuck. She knew co-opting some of Stiles' taste in music was going to bite her in the ass one of these days. 

... More than most of what's her's being someone else's first already had, anyway. 

He's coming home. Not to play the pronoun game - Stiles is... returning, to Beacon Hills. For Christmas. They haven't warned him about Allison, because both her and Scott agreed not to, and Malia knows that asshole, and she knows he won't take the surprise well, but whatever. Nobody listened to her fifteen years ago because she kept her mouth fucking shut about her memories of Stiles, for Lydia's sake, and she's still reaping what she sowed on that one. And god, just maybe Peter was right; she should've been more selfish. But anything that makes her think along those lines only reminds her of what happened in Mexico, and Malia nips the thought in the bud real quick. 

Peter's never right about anything. He can't be. It wouldn't be good for Malia if he was. 

Malia shoves open the door, dropping out of her car onto the Sheriff's driveway. Noah will be that, she thinks, until he's physically forced into retirement. 

Malia volunteered to help move some stuff around to help accommodate their guests. Stiles, of course, is staying in his own room, which hasn't changed much since he last saw it, other than maybe gathering some dust on the shelves that needs wiping off since the last cleaning session the Sherrif reluctantly forced himself through (which, agreed. Malia hates cleaning. You wipe a shelf and then have to wipe it again, and again, and again, for the rest of forever) at some point last month. 

Their other guest is Theo. Malia does not envy the Sheriff having to suffer his presence. But he's been hanging around Virginia, apparently, for at least a decade. Malia didn't know this, and it rankles she wasn't told. But it makes sense. Stiles is her ex. They never had the chance to be friends. Malia couldn't...

She just couldn't. It hurt. 

It doesn't really hurt anymore. Scott's a fresher wound, one that feels more solid, more real. Malia - it's not just Malia. Everyone's memories of Stiles will forever be slightly warped, just on the edge of wrong. That happens when a person is snatched from reality, a whole fake history is written, and then he's summarily dropped right back on top of it like he never left. Sometimes, the incorrect memory assimilates, and you think something that happened didn't, and something that didn't did. 

Lydia remembered kissing Stiles in high school. She didn't remember the context. She'd thought they might have dated, briefly. Malia hadn't been sure, had her own conflicting account of events that she'd kept to herself, had her memories of dating Stiles in high school as opposition to Lydia's vague idea. Maybe things would've gone differently if she'd been upfront about it, but Malia... is blunt, yes - 

Not quite honest, though. Not quite honest. Malia's Peter's daughter and Stiles socialised her. This should've been an expected outcome. But people are still surprised when she lies... or simply omits the truth. 

But Lydia broke up with Stiles. Two weeks. They lasted two fucking weeks. Malia threw away her whole - just for a fucking fling. Lydia got scared he'd die and ran away, and Malia can completely sympathise with a fear of a car crash for obvious reasons, but the thing is that that wasn't the only solution, and people die. 

Malia hates it. She hates it so much, she wishes she could make a deal with some kind of deity and stop death in it's tracks, but she can't. Nobody can. You can't halt your life because you're afraid it will end. That's calling quits yourself before death even has the chance to come knocking. A kind of living suicide. 

If there's one thing Malia's never going to do, it's halt her life for the sake of someone else. Malia's sacrificed things that make her happy, yes. She's put her continued existence in danger to save another, yes. But if she wants something badly enough, Malia's not going to be scared off by anything. Not even fate itself. 

Malia enters the spare bedroom, or what will be the spare bedroom once she's moved the desk out of here. Sheriff's just going to have to do his paperwork at the station, which is fine - might even stop him from breaking the law and taking boxes of files home he shouldn't be. 

One table downstairs and a mattress on a bedframe later, Malia helps herself to a sandwich. It's just ham. Nothing special. After, she leaves. That's all Malia was needed for - really anyone could've done it, including the sheriff, Malia just wanted to help out. 

Beacon Hills is a strange sight, these days. Deader than ever before, even when all the worst stuff was going down. The town's dwindled in revenue, she thinks. Shops are boarded up. Potholes aren't filled in. Malia wonders why; what changed, exactly, to make Beacon Hills less desirable than when there was a murder happening every week. There's fewer people on Main Street as she parks in the lot that used to sit in front of a video rental store, but Blockbuster failed years ago and this little independent never stood a chance. In it's place sits a nice little café. Malia gets a doughnut, a coffee, and stares at the swirls her stirring stick makes as she waits. 

Jordan shows up, like he said he would. He looks nice - always does, but Malia means he looks Date Nice, which normally gives her fight-or-flight response a little shove, but Malia's resolved to give him a real chance. He's been so patient, understanding. Kind in a different way to Scott, and more honest than Stiles by a mile. He's just as blunt as she is. Malia likes that. 

Jordan sits down across from her. It's... sometimes strange to recognise this man is dead, and has been for years. He doesn't look much older than when she met him, over a decade ago. Jordan ages, but slowly, much like Malia herself. She likes that, too, that she doesn't have to worry about being outpaced. Stiles is human. He's thirty-four. He probably looks it, though she wouldn't know. Malia's avoided recent pictures of his face for about five years. He looked thirty when he hit thirty, and that had spooked her.

Stiles is going to die long before Malia will. That's a fact. It's unavoidable. Weres can live hundreds of years. Humans can barely manage eighty, if they're lucky. Jordan's not human anymore, and already dead besides; Malia doesn't have to worry about sickness, or cancer, or really anything at all taking him out before her. Maybe that's just as cowardly as Lydia leaving Stiles because of her vision just in the opposite direction, but Malia didn't claim a lack of hypocrisy. Malia's never claimed anything about that either way, which would be telling enough on it's own if you'd paid any attention.

Malia bets on people not paying enough attention. 

"How was work today?" Malia asks, feeling trite, but this is how people talk on dates if they're normal, and Malia wants a normal date. She's never had one of those. Even with Scott, it was - loaded. Besides, when she was dating those two, they were teenagers, either not even or just barely out of high school. Malia's never had an adult relationship, only flings with men she liked sex with that she'd ditch as quickly as she could, so this is... new. Novel.

Jordan smiles, pearly-whites on show, pleased she asked. Malia smiles back, tentatively, which just broadens his grin. 

"Great," He said. "Nothing interesting happened at all."

In his line of work, Malia supposed that would be a good day. 

"Great," Malia echoes, and doesn't know how to carry the conversation further. This happens when you learn how to talk to people while your dad's old roommate is trying to commit genocide on his dime. And then your dad proceeds to try and murder all your friends also, for vastly different, being extremely power-hungry, related reasons. 

"How are you feeling about..." Jordan trails off. "You know, Raeken coming back?"

"Weird. Unpleasant," Malia says. "But it's been fifteen years, and Scott's always preaching about the benefit of the doubt. If Stiles is vouching for him, I can't really say shit. Stiles hated him from day one, after all. Theo'd have to do something really drastic to get his vote of confidence."

"That's fair," Jordan says. "But he did shoot you in the gut and sell you out to your mother. You don't have to forgive that."

"I haven't," Malia says. "He should be in jail. That's how we deal with people who do those things, right? But he could break out pretty easily. Maybe it is better he's helping Stiles do... FBI stuff. I don't know."

"Reform," Jordan says. "There's a lot of people with a lot of different ideas of how the judicial system should work. A lot of people who specifically think prisons, as they are, suck ass. Prison labour equals slavery, that sort of thing."

"Oh," Malia says. "I mean, if you can't say no to doing a job, isn't that literally the definition?" 

Jordan shrugs. "I was a soldier," He says, "Not an ethics student. Maybe, maybe not. They call it repentance. Doing a service for society in exchange for not getting the death sentence for killing a whole family."

"Right," Malia says, brow furrowing, then shrugs herself. "Yeah, I... have no idea about any of that. Sheriff said anything about having to host Theo?"

"He's not happy about it," Jordan nods. "But he's going to go along with it, since Melissa absolutely refuses point-blank."

"Fair," Malia says, "Since he killed Scott."

"Is Peter sticking around?" Jordan asks, "For Christmas?"

"No idea," Malia says. "He really enjoys annoying Melissa and Chris though, so probably. Until he gets bored, at least." Malia makes a face. "Honestly, I think he's flirting, which is just disturbing enough as a thought to get stuck in my head. Share in my misery."

Jordan laughs at that, which was Malia's intention, so. Score. She laughs, too.

It's only a few days until Stiles arrives. He left his jeep with Mason years ago, and replaced it with something more practical - and functional. Malia's pretty sure this car isn't half broken, like the Jeep had been, though - Mason, for the record, has taken good care of it. Got the whole engine replaced, new wheels, e-t-c. (Malia's pretty sure that stands for some Latin or something, but she's not Lydia.) 

Stiles and Theo must've carpooled, because Theo drops out the passenger seat a few moments later. Cora, also, exits the back. It's good to see her cousin - Malia greets her first, with a smile and a quick hug. "How was your decade?" Cora asks. 

"Not bad," Malia says. It wasn't bad, after all. Very quiet. 

"Hm," Cora says. She's a pretty reserved person, so Malia doesn't expect any more than that. 

"Yeah," Malia says. "You going to see Eli?"

"If I must," Cora jokes. "See you."

And she's off. If Malia's bluntness is that of a sledgehammer, Cora is a whole battering ram. And given how Derek was over a decade ago, how he learnt not to be with Eli in the picture, it's probably a Hale trait. Much better a thing to inherit than whatever Peter's got going on, that's for sure, even if it's not always a good thing.

"Stiles," Malia greets, then begrudgingly, "Theo."

Theo smiles at her, charming as ever. Seems more genuine these days, though. The chemo signals from his scent are more... easily discernible. And the corners of his eyes crinkle - he's not just slightly squinting to fake it.

"Malia," Theo greets in turn. Stiles has his hands awkwardly shoved in his pockets, which saves her from having to offer a hug. 

"Hey," Stiles says, "Good to see you."

It is, is the thing. His hair's grown. 

"Yeah, well," Malia says, "it's been like fifteen years. Good to know you're still alive," and she means it. Stiles laughs, abrupty. "Yeah," he says, "You too, Mal."

Malia helps them unpack. Cora's staying with Eli, so her stuff remains in the boot. The rest, they split between the guest room and Stiles'. 

"Isn't this the sheriff's office?" Theo says.

"Surprised he was willing to give it up?" Malia asks. "For you, specifically?"

Stiles snorts. Theo rolls his eyes at him, then shrugs at Malia. "Yeah," He says. "Guess helping with the wild hunt taking his son just gave me more good will than I realised."

Malia doesn't know the Sheriff's reasoning any more than Theo does, unfortunately. Stiles probably just asked him, though, and the Sheriff tends to cave when Stiles is the one requesting something. It's the 'only family left alive' thing - gets you every time. Malia and her dad - not Peter - have a similar dynamic, though it's... more strained. He hasn't stopped apologising for Eichen House since he started, but that first apology came later than it should have.

"Maybe," Malia replies, a non-committal acknowledgement, and moves on from fitting the bedsheets to dragging in a set of draws taken out of the attic earlier, when Scott popped over with a grocery delivery. (Scott was specifically chosen because he knew at least vaguely the kinds of food Stiles would buy, when he lived here. Malia hadn't paid much attention to that, because what the Sheriff ate hadn't been her business - and she'd have been much more lenient on his diet than other people. Malia agrees about salads, by the way. People are omnivores, for god's sake. Put some chicken in there at least.) 

Malia moves to Stiles' room when they start unpacking. She checks the highest shelves for dust, and wipes them down. Stiles arrives not long thereafter, with his own suitcase full of clothes for the holiday and some other things besides. Malia helps him pack things away. An old plaid flannel she used to borrow, that one stripped hoodie he never wore with the red line but he still kept, for whatever reason. Half of these clothes might as well have been her own, at one point. A point she barely remembers correctly. 

"Why'd you never wear it?" Malia asks, abruptly. She waves the hoodie at stiles, with it's red line, and he grimaces. "The nogitsune liked it," He said, and shrugged. "I didn't... not wear it on purpose, I'd just... choose something else instead. You liked it - hell, I said you could keep it."

"You know why I didn't," Malia says. "Or, didn't intend to, anyway."

"Why you returned my stuff after the Anuk-Ite? Yeah." Stiles glances away. He finishes his underwear and sock drawer, then stands. "Thanks for the help."

"No problem," Malia says. "You do this sort of thing for friends."

"Yeah," Stiles says. "Yeah, you do."

Malia wonders if anyone's told him about the Nogitsune's return, about Harris, about everything. Maybe they're waiting, like idiots, to hit him with it all at once. 

Malia goes on one more coffee date with Jordan before Christmas. She buys a nice watch for her dad, to replace his broken one, and a shitty cheap plastic toy watch for Peter that costs her less than a dollar. Malia finds Cora a nice jacket, and debates over what would be appropriate for Eli. Theo is halfway down the aisle from her, headed to the cards section. Unfortunately, he stops to chat.

"Great minds think alike," He says, self-aggrandising. Malia presses her lips together, looks back at the stock.

"Not even a chuckle," Theo sighs. "I know there's nothing I can say to make up for what happened," Theo says, cutting to the chase. "you don't have to forgive or forget, that would be stupid. But we can be civil, right? For our friends' sakes, if nothing else?"

"If nothing else," Malia says, begrudgingly. "I'm not getting you a present."

"That's fine," Theo says. "I don't like getting presents for people just for the sake of it, anyway. They should mean something, you know? But people always need money. World we live in, and all. How much d'you want off me?"

"Gimme fifty." Malia says. "And I'll be civil."

"deal," Theo says, and with a vaguely amused quirk of the lips, he holds out his hand to shake. Malia indulges this. 

"Great," Theo says, sounding genuinely relieved. "It's been a long time since Stiles was home - it wouldn't be great if we were fighting the whole time, you know?"

"You say that as if it'd be two sided," Malia replies.

"I'm going to defend myself, you know," Theo says. "I've done a lot of bad in my life. Can't say otherwise. I've been doing as much good as I can since then, though. Can't say otherwise about that, either."

Malia supposes this is true enough, or Stiles would have kicked him to the curb years ago. 

"Yeah, whatever," Malia says. "Go buy your cards."

Theo nods. He goes and buys his cards. Malia returned to browsing, setting aside Eli's present for that moment. Eventually she'd pick it, along with all the rest - Scott, Lydia, Liam, etc - and Christmas arrives shortly thereafter. 

Malia places the star on the top of the tree. Liam claps and Mason cheers. Hikari is helping Melissa and Chris and Stiles in the kitchen. Theo is somewhere, and Lydia is avoiding Stiles in the living room. Jackson and Jordan are setting up the dvd player, as the Stilinskis'  was unexpectedly broken (they had to run out and quickly borrow the McCalls'). Malia has been systematically taking down every single sprig of faux-mistletoe she sees, as stealthily as she can. Extremely terrible idea, that one, even if Allison and Scott think it's cute and funny and festive. It is none of those things. Worst holiday tradition by a country mile. 

"Dinner's ready," Melissa announces, so everyone piles around the table. It's really not made for this many people - too crowded. Malia is stuck between Lydia, who is using her as a shield, and Theo, who has decided to be Stiles' Lydia shield, apparently (entirely, it seems, without Stiles' input). This leaves an extremely awkward seating situation. Malia makes desperate eye contact with Jordan, who grimaces in sympathy and hooks his angle around hers, silent support. 

At least she's not next to Scott and Allison, Malia supposes. Small mercies. 

Malia had not been here for the session of informing Stiles about everything that happened. Derek's funeral has been scheduled for during his stay here. This is not the most festive of Christmases, but they're... trying. Eli and Cora are sat next to each other, quietly talking. 

Malia... knew her cousins. She started knowing Cora better in the past fifteen years, but Derek was many years her senior. They weren't peers; it was difficult, in some ways, to understand each other. Meeting as they did was also Not Great for their future getting along potential. Derek left as soon as she started figuring him out, and stayed gone for a long time. Malia had known Braeden better than Derek, to the point Malia was the one person (other than Cora, who had witnessed the whole event) that heard about their breakup from her as well as him. She's in Europe somewhere, now.

Sometimes, Malia thinks, this feels like the worst timeline. Like the sci-fi stuff Stiles espouses the virtues of, the one Lydia liked - Babylon 5. Like this was all always going to happen, and never should have. 

Malia finishes her roast dinner. Has a slice of pie. The mood is half-light, half-heavy, a kind of desperate joviality over genuine sadness. Scott and Allison couldn't be happier together, except for the fact they absolutely could, and neither of them appreciate what this has cost. 

Stiles, also, is deeply moody right now - brooding. It's not nice to hear the nogitsune's back, for him, and doubly so Malia thinks that nobody warned him. Nobody called. Scott chose not to call. It's one thing to forget in the heat of a crisis, and another to make an active choice to exclude him from something that's extremely, personally relevant. Malia hadn't called, either. Nobody had, so he's a little mad at all of them. It's... fair. Even if their choice is understandable, given how much trauma surrounds the nogitsune for Stiles and for the rest of them, but... blindsiding Stiles with so much at once and the fact they did all of it without him is going to drive home the truth that one thing Stiles never wanted, back in senior year, ended up happening anyway. Not because they chose to leave. Because he did. Over and over again. 

Malia never called. Neither did Stiles. It takes two people to ruin a friendship, most of the time. 

Malia picks at a slice of cake. Jordan nudges her ankle. Tilts his head, raises a brow. Smells - concerned, questioning. Malia nods, shortly. After he finishes, Jordan stands, stretches. "I'm wiped," He announces. "Anyone need a ride home?"

"I walked here," Malia says, standing, ignoring Lydia's widening eyes as they dart over to Stiles. She's a grown woman. Malia's not covering for her this time. "I'll take you up on that offer."

They escape the reunion into the cool midwinter night. Malia takes a breath, icy sharpness a shock to her lungs after the stuffiness of an over-filled house. 

"You doing okay?" Jordan asks, able to speak freely as they drive away, the quietness of his question and the loudness of the engine hiding his voice from the weres inside. 

"That was awkward," Malia lets out. "Oh god."

They laugh, a little, not out of humour. He pulls up on the side of the road a moment, turns on the overhead light. "Do you wanna go home?" He asks her. Malia thinks of her room in her old house, in the middle of the woods, about being alone in the dark all over again, because of Scott, because of Stiles, because of everyone else, because of herself, and decides against it.

"Let's go to yours," Malia says, instead, and Jordan smiles in understanding. He switches off the light, and drives. 

Boxing day brings cleaning day. The funeral's in a week. 

Malia helps take down the tree. Scott and Stiles are doing the same. Allison is putting away the box of tinsel and decor in the attic. 

"Left-" Malia grunts, turning the tree left. They eventually manage to get it outside, into the garden. Malia leaves the two to the rest of it, and goes back inside. Gets a drink.

Allison is doing the same, it seems. She smiles a little awkwardly in greeting. "Hi," She says. "Done with the tree?" 

"Almost," Malia says. "They've got it now though. Needed a drink," Malia gestures with her soda. "Are all the boxes in the attic?"

"Almost," Allison echoes, "Just a couple more."

Malia helps her finish up. They gather in the living room. Stiles rocks on his heels slightly, hands shoved in pockets. Scott drinks in the sight of Allison like a man who's lived in an oasis-less desert his whole life just got dropped on a random Caribbean island. Allison slips under his arm, smiles sweetly, all dimples.  

"We're good then? All done?" Stiles asks. "Because that was easy."

"All good," Scott says, smiling. Stiles is his best friend - it's been entirely too long since they last saw each other, Malia thinks. Speaking on the phone occasionally is different from meeting up in person. 

"Great," Stiles says. "Well, thanks for the help."

"You're welcome," Allison says. Stiles keeps looking a little surprised every time she speaks. Allison also just looks different - death and a decade will do that to a person, Malia supposes, but there's a kind of uncanniness about it all, because they missed the versions of her that would have sat between 17 and 35. It's probably jarring - for her to sound the same, but to appear so different. Plus, Stiles' own last memories of Allison are warped; he remembers everything the nogitsune did, as if he did it himself. That's bound to give a guy a complex or three, and it definitely did, but on top of that it just... makes the timeline strange. Simultaneous events are hard to place, mentally. Malia would know; the wild hunt proved it. That kind of taught them all how hard it was to reconcile two different versions of events. 

Malia's just saying that - it makes sense. Every time Allison speaks, Stiles' chemo signals spike guilty. They shouldn't, as it wasn't his fault, but Malia knows Stiles. She understands why they do. 

Scott picks up on it, obviously. His expressions are always too easy to read, though; Stiles can see right through him. And he doesn't like it when they do that, use their senses 'against him' - or, rather, put him on an uneven playing field. They can read him... he can't read them. It rankled Stiles 15 years ago just as much as it does now. Malia would know, again. This time, the reason is that... it's - part of why they broke up. Amongst other things, like miscommunication. 

Malia watches the conversation unfold, silently, for a few sentences. 

"So when are you going back?" Scott asks, casually. Stiles raises a hand to do the uncertainty motion, a little horizontal wobble. "Eh," He says. "Was planning for the 10th, but... plans can change."

"They don't need to," Scott says, "You-"

"I appreciate your concern for my mental health, Scotty, I really do," Stiles says, dismissively, "but I should be involved in this. It's the nogitsune, Scott. If we can't have Kira here-"

"We can't," Scott says, grimacing, "Her stay with the skinwalkers could last - hundreds of years-"

"Exactly," Stiles says. "If we can't have kira, and since Derek is dead - Scott, I'm the only backup you've got."

These days, very true. Unfortunately. 

"What about Isaac?"

"He has actual self-preservation instincts, unlike the rest of us." Stiles sends an apologetic glance to Allison. "He'd say no. And probably move to another country, again, even further away than last time."

Allison's lips twist in displeasure. "So much has changed," She murmurs. Malia pats her shoulder sympathetically. Missing a decade sucks. For the third time; Malia would know. This one should not need explaining.

"Yeah," Stiles sighs, sounding exhausted. "Yeah, it has."

Malia sits on the back stairs. Stiles joins her for a smoke.

"I can heal this shit," Malia says. "What's your excuse?"

"I'm an FBI agent," He says. "Part of my cover on an assignment, once. Stuck around, after. Know a witch or two with decent medical skills - I'll be fine."

Malia nods. They watch little clouds form in the air, smoke swirling around in shapeless, meaningless patterns. 

"I'm sorry, you know," Stiles says. "For - fuck, everything. I never said that. Should've. Didn't. Too late now. But... still."

"Too late now," Malia echoes, and sighs. "For both of us. I'm sorry too. I should have said something. You were spiralling, I could tell, and I did jack shit about it."

"You weren't doing so hot yourself," Stiles says. "Neither of us was in a good place."

"We were in a very bad place," Malia says, dryly. "Called 'Beacon Hills'."

Stiles snorts. "Yeah," He says. "You should - you should visit, some time. Virginia is nice."

"I might," Malia says. "Might not. You should visit more often."

"I might," Stiles echoes wryly, "Might not."

Malia ashes her cigarette, crushes it underfoot into the neglected lawn. "For the record," Malia says, "I loved you for a very long time. I liked Scott, but never truly loved him, and it got... messy. I think he knew that. I didn't want to admit it." Malia looks up at the sky. "I'm seeing Jordan," She says. Stiles makes a noise of surprise. 

"Oh?" He tilts his head. "How's that going?"

"Okay," Malia says. "He's great. I struggle with intimacy. Thanks for that."

Stiles winces. Malia shakes her head. "It's not entirely your fault," Malia says. "I never told you much of anything."

"You told me a lot," Stiles rebuffs. "I lied to you all the time."

"Not about the nogitsune, you didn't," Malia says. Stiles frowns, a little confused. 

"You told me about the crash," He says, gently. "That was - really brave of you, you know. To be vulnerable like that. You're an honest person, Malia. Extenuating circumstances force people to do things they otherwise wouldn't."

"I know that," Malia says. "I just..."

Malia lights a second cigarette, watches the smoke curl in the air. 

"I just wanted to say it," Malia says, finally. "We never did. Explicitly, I mean. 'I loved you'. Present or past tense, we never said it, and that was fine, except it means we missed it. Late to the station, you know?"

"It's probably pretty callous to say this, but... you're better off, you know. We both are. We... get each other, sure. And you - you are beautiful, really. But -"

"Communication," Malia says, "Is something we both suck at."

"Yeah," Stiles says. "And you deserve - just, so much. More than I was willing to give, then. Which means I didn't deserve what you were willing to give me."

"It's not about deserve," Malia says. "It's about what you can make work. You choose to love someone, every day you love them. A relationship requires mutual effort."

"We differ there," Stiles says. "I never found love to be an active thing. It hung around when I didn't want it and it left when I really would have appreciated it staying." Stiles finishes his cigarette.

"Romantic compatibility," Stiles continues, "Is... complicated. Which is why Lyds and I lasted two whole weeks," Stiles says, wryly, "Before she dumped me and fled the state, and now won't look me in the eye over Christmas dinner."

Malia taps her lighter. "Why'd you break up?" Malia asks.

"Lydia didn't say?" Stiles replies with a question of his own. Classic.

"Of course she did, she's my best friend," Malia says, "Since Kira's otherwise occupied." Stiles snorts. "I want to hear your side."

"I don't know," Stiles says, truthfully. "We had a fight, she broke up with me and left. I never got a real explanation. It... kind of sucked, honestly."

"Yeah," Malia muttered. "No kidding."

Stiles grimaces. "Yeah," He says. "Taste of my own medicine, there."

"We didn't fight," Malia says. "We disagreed, fundamentally, about the ethics of killing someone in self-defence."

"We didn't, really," Stiles says. "I was just - caught up in my head about it. I guess we didn't fight," Stiles allows, "But I didn't explain jack shit with any real clarity, and I broke up with you by implication, which wasn't right."

"It wasn't," Malia agrees. "But you are right that we're... better off, now. Maybe-" Malia presses her lips together. "I wasn't really honest with anyone, during the wild hunt," She admits, finally, for the first time. "I lied. Directly. To everyone except Peter, who remembered everything anyway so I couldn't have lied to him."

Stiles' brow furrows. "What did you lie about?" He asks.

"You," Malia says. "Non-stop. Lydia remembered kissing you in high school and asked me about it. I said that was before I showed up, so she should ask Scott. She did. He confirmed it. For a bit she assumed you'd dated, back then. I knew you hadn't. I knew I was your first girlfriend. I knew that, factually. I didn't say anything. When Scott reassured Lydia that he'd known you and her were meant to be or whatever, I backed him up. I confirmed what he said. I said I saw it too, and I never once brought up that we dated. To anyone. Because I chose to put Lydia first, I chose to set aside our failed relationship, and I chose to support what it looked like everyone wanted, and it lasted two non-consecutive weeks."

Stiles winced. 

Malia sighed. "I loved you," Malia said. "Once, a long time ago, for longer than we were dating, for less time collectively than it felt like. You helped teach me how the world worked. I'll be grateful for that for the rest of my life. You're a good friend, Stiles. I don't think we were ever solely friends - without sex, without romance... and I'm ready to be, if you want to try."

"I'd like that," Stiles says. 

Malia smiles. 

The funeral.... happens. It's kind of a tear-filled blur, and Malia won't relive the pain by recounting it. 

When the 10th arrives, so does the day of Stiles (and Theo's) departure. Cora is sticking with Eli for a while. Malia's got a date with Jordan on Sunday. Watch a movie. Eat a pizza. Have sex. A normal evening, all told. 

Malia sees off Stiles (and Theo). She does so last, after everyone else, and once Theo's situated in the passenger seat. 

"Hey," Malia says, "... call, okay? Skype or soemthing."

Stiles smiles. He offers a tentative hug, which she takes. It's a little strange, to give him the same kind of hug she'd give Lydia or Liam, but it's... nice. Malia's getting used to a lot of different things lately. This one should be the easiest. 

"Obviously," Stiles says, "You too."

Communication, Malia reminds herself, got Scott and Stiles too, at one point. Friendship requires just as much effort as any other dynamic. 

"Duh," Malia says. "Hey," Malia says. "You be careful, alright?"

"I try," Stiles says. "You too."

He gets in his new car, which is coloured a deep navy. Some things change, but Stiles will always think blue's pretty. There's a kind of comfort in that, Malia thinks; red is unsolved, yellow is working on it, green is solved, and blue's always pretty. Simple, uncomplicated, fact. 

Malia watches them go, and feels differently about it than she would have a month ago. Metaphorically, her shoulders are straighter, her back less bowed - no weight pushing her down. They all have a lot of baggage, Malia no different... but this, her and Stiles and all they could have been, is one stone-filled sack she can put down. It's a good feeling. 

Malia calls Jordan. 

"Hey," He says, sounding surprised. Communication is a two way street, Malia repeats. A two-way street. 

"Do you wanna go for dinner tonight?" Malia says. "That shop on Main, the one on the corner that's been boarded up for like, two years, got bought recently. Watched them put up the sign, some kind of Italian deal."

"That sounds great," Jordan says, and he sounds genuinely happy. Malia does not feel guilty - that would be unhelpful. This is simply an opportunity to step forward, this time, instead of waiting for Jordan to meet her where she's stood. It's a development, it's growth, it's good. Malia likes Jordan.

Malia would like to see where this goes, if she'll finally let it start moving forward.