Work Text:
Malia doesn’t know why the thought gets in her head, but it does, and it sticks there, and becomes a thing. A Stiles-type-thing, a fixation-thing, like the time Stiles didn’t trust Peter and wouldn’t stop investigating him, or like the time he didn’t trust Theo and wouldn’t stop investigating him, or—
The point is, it gets in her head, and mixes with her memories of all the times she’d dragged an unwilling-but-not-actually—his scent and pulse and surprised hitching breathing giving him away even if Scott couldn’t tell, if Liam couldn’t tell—Theo out into the woods with her. All the times she’d made him shiver loose of his human skin and run, paws on hard-packed earth and bodies weaving in-between trees, until Malia could forget the too-close feeling of the walls of their latest hotel room, or the Jeep, or the towns, filled to bursting with people who never stopped talking but more importantly who never stopped living, their hearts-lungs-bodies always pumping and pounding and scraping at Malia’s ears.
(Everyone is too loud!, she’d shrieked at her father—her real father—one time, curled up in the corner of her—her?—bedroom in her—her?—house, and her father hadn’t understood, because he’d been the only one in it.)
She finds Theo with Liam (of course). They’re never far from each other these days, not since—since, and they have a whole roll of excuses prepared for why that they cycle through whenever anyone asks or looks like they want to ask or when no one asks or looks like they want to ask but Theo or Liam need to give one anyway, still pressing at the world and each other like slow-healing bruises. Each of them is the worst about it in their own unique ways—Theo stopped wearing shirts that come down to his wrists after the third time one was ruined, Liam reaching out reflexively to grab him as Theo stood unexpectedly, Liam’s claws breaking skin, and Liam is obsessive now about always chewing gum, or sucking on mints; is obnoxious now about pressing his mouth to Theo’s every time Theo goes a little green, or presses the back of his wrist to his mouth as his shoulders hunch helplessly in.
(I guess it makes sense that mercury tastes like metal, Theo had managed in between dry heaves, the one time Malia had caught him bent over the McCall’s kitchen sink and clearly trying not to retch. Malia had looked at the mess of spices and sauce splattered to the side on the counter, had eyed the small metal mixing bowl at the eye of the miniature storm, and then she’d picked up the bowl—ignoring the streak up the side where someone had clearly licked it to catch a stray bit of sauce—and crushed it in her hands.
Theo had laughed, though it’d sounded like something else, and Ms. McCall had shrieked Malia! in a way that set Malia’s insides to squirming in a strange mix of shame (sorry-mom-never-again-mom) and delight (four-legged-trickster-chew-chew-chew).
She and Theo had never talked about it again.)
“Are you even listening to me?” Theo is asking as Malia is walking up to the tree in the school’s courtyard that he and Liam are lounging underneath, playing a game with herself where she only steps on the outermost cracked edges of the high school’s sidewalk, balancing easily on the balls of her feet and twisting and pivoting to maintain her center.
“Sure,” Liam answers, though he’s clearly lying; he’s got his head in one-half of Theo’s lap, the other half filled with an open textbook and a notebook filled with a chaotic mixture of Theo’s and Liam’s handwriting, and his eyes are closed.
As Malia watches Theo rolls his eyes and flips the textbook closed, and then lifts it over Liam’s chest before dropping it pointedly, and with a complete absence of warning or ceremony. Liam oofs in winded surprise at the impact and curls up like a pill-bug, and then he groans dramatically and attempts to bite Theo in the thigh in retaliation. Theo palms his forehead to hold him off, and only then does he look up and realize that Malia is standing a few feet away from them and watching curiously.
“Oh, hey, Malia,” he greets, though there’s a hidden question mark in his words; Liam stops trying to ineffectually gnaw on his leg and twists around to look at her, too.
“I want to run,” Malia tells him without preamble.
Theo’s eyes narrow as he studies her, but not in a suspicious way. Not in a Theo way, or Theo-as-he-had-been way; not a Theo who would always look for how a situation was going to screw him over—or how he could screw it over—kind of way. This one is—this one is concern, like when he used to look at Liam when he thought Liam wasn’t looking at him, Liam angry and angrier until the anger popped like an overfilled balloon and left just the grief behind. This one is curiosity, like when Theo used to watch Shohreh’s hands as she’d cook, or Marcus’s hips when he’d dance, or—or Ailene’s shoulders when she’d lead, red eyes and a half-quirked smile that always had benign secrets hidden in its corners; a head never made heavy by its crown.
“Uh,” Liam says after a few seconds, clearly confused, but Theo just says, “Okay,” and dumps Liam off his lap as he moves to stand.
He does it too fast, though; Liam’s hand whips out. Malia’s nostrils flare at the subtle metallic bite of blood that fills the air, but she doesn’t move as Theo freezes, half stooped over, and then he almost instantly goes back to his knees and slowly reaches out to uncurl Liam’s clawed fingers from around his wrist.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, while Malia looks away, and pretends that she can’t see Liam’s panic-fast breathing, or fear-wide pupils.
“I have to get back to class anyway,” Liam announces maybe a half-minute or so later, too fast and with a tremble to his voice that all three of them are, without discussion, going to pretend isn’t there at all.
Malia looks back and he’s gathering up the textbook that Theo had dropped on his chest, snagging his backpack by one strap as he gets to his feet. But even with the nonchalant attitude he’s trying too obviously to project, he still stops only a few feet away from Theo, practically vibrating with tension.
“Don’t worry,” Malia tells him. “I’ll take care of him.”
Liam makes a face and flips her off with his free hand, and then he mutters, “I’ll see you later,” to Theo and hurries off, his shoulders hunched in. Malia realizes that he must have thought she was kidding, or making fun of him, and she frowns. When she glances over at Theo, though, about to ask if she should call Liam back, tell him but I meant it, Theo is rubbing at his bloodied wrist and staring after him, and so Malia—doesn’t.
Theo shakes himself out of it, after a few seconds. “Scott’s house?” He asks, tipping his head that direction; Malia nods.
Theo texts Scott to explain the piles of his and Malia’s clothes in his backyard. The thought wouldn’t have occurred to Malia but it’s a good thought, a Theo-as-he-is-now thought, trying and trying to stop hiding, stop sneaking; to break every habit that’d literally been bred into him before he knew—before he chose to know—better. But still Malia just leaves him to it, and takes off for the trees bordering Scott’s backyard.
Theo catches up with her fast. He’s twice her size and powerfully built, and he sounds like it; crashing through the trees and pounding at the earth. As a human he can weave through woods as effortlessly as she can but four-legged he sounds like a tank rolling through, and that’s—that’s bad, Malia’s coyote-brain insists: that’s how two-legged creatures find and trap and hunt.
So she doubles back around, disappearing from Theo’s sight and ignoring his alarmed bark, until she can approach him from behind, and slam into his side. Theo startles—he clearly hadn’t heard her, even though she hadn’t been trying to be quiet—and trips sideways, collapsing into a tangled pile of limbs before he manages to scramble back to his feet. He doesn’t growl at her, like he had that one time when they found that operating theater, but he does cock his lupine head, clearly confused and a little concerned.
Malia just bears her teeth, and then she starts walking, and walking carefully.
Theo moves to follow her but almost instantly he steps on a brittle branch, which snaps under his considerable weight; Malia whirls around and snarls at him. Theo leaps backwards with an alarmed bark, tumbling rocks and breaking more branches as he goes, but Malia just ignores him and twists around until she’s standing just where he had been. She looks back at him after she’s positioned herself to find Theo’s bright, lupine eyes fixed on her, and so Malia turns back around, and very carefully takes a step forward.
A step to the side of the branch he’d broken.
She keeps going, picking the places where she puts her paws, avoiding every branch and tricky, tumbling stone; stepping lightly to avoid crackling the dry leaves covering the forest floor as best she can. She makes it maybe fifteen feet before she hears the sound of Theo following her, but she hears—forest sounds, other creatures sounds; things easily lost to the breeze and the distant roar of the city sounds. When she glances back at Theo over her shoulder he’s not looking back, his head dropped low as he watches where he puts his massive paws; as he watches where she puts her not-so-massive paws, and clearly tries to copy her.
Malia’s tongue lolls in a canine smile, and she starts to pick up the pace.
She leads him weaving through the woods for hours. After a while she circles around, and trails him through moss-covered trunks instead, wincing and wincing every time he steps too heavy on a rock and sends it clacking into others, or catches the edge of dry, brittle branches and snaps them into pieces. But it happens less and less as time goes on, as Theo adapts, and soon Malia can’t help herself—she darts in to nip at the back of one of Theo’s hind legs, and leaps away before he can whirl on her.
And then she does it again, and again, yipping as she goes, until Theo gives up first on being confused, and then on being irritated, and starts to bounce around with her, pawing at her with his massive paws, and catching-and-releasing, catching-and-releasing her in his massive jaws, their solemn, careful demeanor falling away from them both until they’re rolling around like dogs in the dirt, in the crumbling leaves; until they’re rolling around like littermates, like packmates. Malia catches one of Theo’s big ears in her mouth and gnaws on it, her hindquarters practically wriggling with the force of her wagging tail, her eyes squinting closed as Theo paws perfunctorily at her head to try and get her off.
But eventually the sun starts to set, and Malia’s coyote-brain remembers don’t-worry-I’ll-take-care-of-him, and she hops to her feet from where she’d curled up against the big bulk of Theo’s lupine body and barks at him. Theo raises his big head slowly, blinking sleepily at her, and this time when Malia takes ahold of his ear she tugs. Theo yelps at the bite of her sharp fangs in his sensitive skin and leaps immediately to his feet, following the pressure with a half-confused, half-annoyed whine until Malia releases him, and starts to trot off back to town.
Theo barely makes a sound as he follows her, and Malia wriggles again with excitement, turning to run in a single, tight, and silent circle around him, before she takes up the lead again; Theo nips once at her wagging tail, and then settles easily behind her.
He starts to turn towards Scott’s, when they get close, but Malia just doubles back to nudge him sideways, pushing him farther east, east. Theo gives an inquiring whine but goes when she doesn’t let up, though his ears pin back to the top of his head when they break the tree line, his eyes flicking anxiously around the quiet suburban houses around them. Malia just puts her nose in the air, and picks through the myriad, tangled scents—people-sweat-garbage-exhaust-trees-people-people—until she finds the one she’s looking for and picks up her pace.
Theo realizes where they’re going fast; he stops in the middle of the sidewalk. But there are people—people-people-people—all around, roaring engines and creaking machinery as commuters arrive back home from long days at work—exhaustion-contentment-resentment-blankness—and so Malia takes hold of his ear again, and tugs him on.
He presses himself back into the shadows of the porch Malia leads him onto, eyes flaring helplessly gold as he glances nervously around the neighborhood. But Malia just ignores him, tongue lolling, and rears back on her hind legs so that she can get one paw on the doorbell, lean all her weight into it.
Somebody inside swears in surprise at the racket and Malia can’t help barking in reflexive response, falling back to her four legs and then bouncing a little around Theo still curled back against the wall. He growls at her, half-hearted at best—he also pins his ears back against his skull where she can’t get them—but Malia doesn’t need to try and figure out how to get to them anyway, because the door opens.
“Holy sh—” Dr. Geyer starts to shout when he sees them, though he manages to stifle it at the last moment even as his eyes go comically wide; Malia barks happily at him and, because she can’t get at Theo’s ears, closes her teeth around the join of one of Theo’s massive paws and ankles and starts trying to tug him towards the open door.
“Dad? What’s going o—?” Liam starts to ask, clearly having heard his stepfather’s yelp, but he cuts off instantly when he appears in the doorway and sees Malia with her paws braced-but-slipping against the wood of the front porch as she tries to drag a reluctant Theo away from the wall. “Malia?” He realizes blankly, and then he glances sideways and adds, a little more incredulously, “Theo?”
Malia gives a muffled bark again—don’t-worry-I’ll-take-care-of-him—and puts all her strength into pulling Theo off the wall. She goes tumbling ass-over-teakettle when she finally manages to dislodge him, colliding back with the porch wall at the sudden loss of resistance. Dr. Geyer and Liam both make startled noises and aborted moves towards her, but she shakes it off easily and circles around to nudge the now-standing Theo towards the doorway; towards Liam standing within it.
That’s about when Liam catches on. “Oh,” he realizes, then: “Oh.”
He reaches out and gets a hand in Theo’s ruff, starts pulling him unconsciously or not towards himself. Theo goes easily, much more easily than he had been, his feet carrying him close enough that he runs right into Liam’s legs, his muzzle buried against Liam’s stomach; Liam wraps his arms immediately around the back of Theo’s head, his fingers clenching tight in Theo’s fur.
“Well, uh,” Liam says, still holding onto Theo and grimacing apologetically at his stepfather still stood wide-eyed and clearly baffled to the side, “thanks for the special delivery, I guess.”
Malia barks one last time, and then she whirls around, and goes, though she keeps her ears perked back so she can hear it as Liam leads Theo deeper into the house; as he clicks the front door carefully shut behind him.
And then, the next day, she finds Theo again.
“Oh, c’mon, I thought I passed Silent Forest Trekking 101 yesterday,” Theo complains toothlessly when she pops up next to him in the parking lot of Raley’s, a paper bag of groceries in his arms as he freezes mid-reach for his truck door handle.
They leave from Theo’s apartment this time, because Theo bitches incessantly about his need to put his milk away. Malia huffs and huffs and rolls her eyes, but climbs into the truck regardless and even holds Theo’s bag of groceries in her lap, her annoyance fading fast as she takes her first deep breath of the air in the cab and smells Liam. Liam’s scent bright and prickling, Liam’s scent sour and cloying; Liam’s scent so intertwined with Theo’s that Malia spends the first part of the ride trying to pick it loose, and can’t.
There’s a sunken stairwell out back of Derek’s building that no one ever uses—no-exit-except-in-emergency—and they shed their clothes there. The first few times Malia made Theo run he wouldn’t stop blushing and stammering and covering his eyes, yelping at her to wait, Malia, jesus, but now he doesn’t even pause. Instead he takes off fast for the trees, ignoring Malia’s alarmed bark, and disappears into the dense woods before Malia can catch him with her smaller stride.
Oh, she thinks, her instincts coming alight: oh, yes.
It hadn’t been what she’d planned but she throws herself into it regardless, adapt-or-die, adapt-or-die, chasing Theo through the trees as he runs and she runs and they run. Theo may be big and fast and much quieter, now, but these are Malia’s woods, her territory; these trees and that stream and those rocky cliffs are her home.
She catches him fast.
He gets himself turned around, too human, too human in the way he approaches the twisting trees and towering trunks, and Malia barrels into his side. They go down in a tangle, Malia’s jaws locked carefully-tight around Theo’s throat; Theo freezes, prone on his side and with his lungs working like bellows, and then he lays his big head down flat. Surrender, surrender.
Malia releases him and leaps back in one quick movement, a happy yip leaving her mouth that turns quickly into an instinctive, triumphant howl. Theo snorts, canine and burring but still somehow so human, and just stays where she’d put him, on his side and stretching his long, long limbs out before collapsing back down with a quiet, dirt-stirring huff.
But they’re not done—not done—and so Malia leaps back for his head, barking in annoyance when Theo immediately pins his ears back flat and twists his head around so that his teeth are in the way, his lips pulled back from his muzzle to show his displeasure. Malia barks and paws at his face instead, dodging back when Theo reaches a big paw forward to push her away and then darting right back in.
Eventually he gives in and climbs back to his feet, and Malia darts in one last time to lick him across the muzzle. She gets more of his nose than she’d intended, and nearly falls around her twisted limbs in surprise when Theo sneezes, suddenly, loud and helplessly. He looks so comically shocked when Malia’s attention jerks reflexively to him that she does fall, canine tongue lolling as she rolls a little before hopping immediately back to her feet and taking off.
Theo goes for one of her back legs, almost immediately, but stops when Malia barks reprovingly at him. He flicks his ears back and forth, clearly confused—though he stops when he sees her eyeing them—and then he sits. He stays upright and attentive, focused-student-waiting, and so Malia puts her nose carefully to the ground, and searches.
There, there, leading meandering through the trees and then gone—gone when she and Theo had come crashing through the dead leaves—and Malia starts to follow, one ear swiveled back to listen for Theo as he hesitates, and then carefully starts picking his way after her.
She stops sometime later, the scent stinging sharp with its freshness and now, now its source close enough that Malia can hear a heartbeat—a rabbit-fast heartbeat—pulsing in her ears. Instincts shivering her muscles loose and her fur on end, Malia twists around so that she can jump up—silently, silently—and put her paws on Theo’s massive head beside her and push him down, down. He gets it, after a few seconds of confused resistance, and lowers himself quietly to the forest floor, his ears flicking back and forth curiously and his eyes—flaring momentarily gold—on her.
Malia licks his muzzle again, pleased, and then she starts to circle around; slowly, slow.
The rabbit doesn’t stand a chance—it never did—and even though Malia closes her jaws carefully around its body, cages it carefully with her paws, it doesn’t matter; the fear takes it anyway, its veins bursting with the pressure of its pounding heart. Malia releases its body and straightens back up, barking once and then again until she hears the not-so-distant sound of Theo heaving himself upright and making his way through the trees towards her.
He looks dubious, even with his lupine face. For a moment Malia considers giving in to the insistent burn in her gut to eat now, eat now—to never wait because there might not be a later—but she resists it, and steps away from the body, and puts her nose back to dirt.
Theo makes an inquiring whine, his head twisted around to look at the dead rabbit, but he doesn’t know, he doesn’t understand—the forest will reclaim it, a coyote-coyote or an owl or a fox, nothing wasted—and so Malia just circles around until she can forcefully redirect his attention with her body, pushing his muzzle back forward with the side of her canine rib. Huffing, Theo goes, and then he puts his nose to the ground when she lifts a paw and drops it on his muzzle, pressing down and down pointedly.
Theo’s mouth is big enough that he can nearly fit the first rabbit he catches entirely inside it. This one has more spirit, and kicks him hard in the jaw regardless, Theo dropping it with a surprised yelp and then staring stupidly after it as it streaks away. Malia drops flat with the force of her canine laughter, panting it out and with her tongue lolling as she takes in the stupefied look on his face.
He does better with his second rabbit, and with the squirrel he suddenly darts off through the trees to catch without instruction or direction. That one does die, same as the first rabbit, but Theo just lowers its body carefully down and leaves it for the scavengers to scavenge; Malia yips in approval.
As the sun starts to set, Malia stops, and considers, shifting from foot to foot as she takes a step towards the tantalizing scent of deer deeper into the woods, and then shifts to take a different step towards the oddly pleasant, pungent reek of the city. But Theo’s big frame is sagging, some, his head down and clearly exhausted, and so Malia presses herself to his side, and turns him towards home.
But partway back to Derek’s building she stops; they both do, instantly and instinctively.
Malia considers the tug way down deep at the base of her spine, and then she considers Theo, and this time it’s Theo who reaches forward with his big muzzle to nudge her lightly in a different direction. Malia yips, and bounces a bit with her excitement, and then she runs.
Scott and Liam are in Scott’s backyard when she and Theo come sprinting out of the trees. Theo scrabbles to a somewhat-clumsy stop as he slides into place in front of Liam, but Malia barely slows, just leaps at Scott and Scott’s red-flared eyes and takes them both down, Scott rolling gracefully onto his back to cushion both of their impacts.
“Hey, Malia,” Scott greets, smiling down at her as he scrubs his hands roughly and perfectly over her furred sides, and Malia barks and then licks him, once and then again across his jaw.
And then she looks over, because Liam oofs. He stays on his feet, though, impressive as that is with Theo reared back on his hind legs and easily of a height—taller—than Liam himself, his massive paws on each of Liam’s shoulders. Liam steadies them both with one hand on Theo’s heaving chest, his other reaching up to scratch behind one of Theo’s ears. But:
“Ugh,” Liam says, pushing Theo’s muzzle sideways away from his face, “your breath reeks. What were you two doing, tearing small animals to shreds?”
He freezes, immediately after he’s said it, and Theo’s tongue lolls in lupine amusement for a half-second before he very purposefully leans forward and licks Liam’s face, from the bottom of his jaw, up over his cheek, to the top of his forehead.
“Ugh!” Liam complains, half-shrieking it; he shoves Theo off of him as he scrubs at his cheek with the side of his sleeve, but Theo seemingly doesn’t take offense, just barks and then butts his head against Liam’s stomach. Liam oofs again at the sudden pressure, but drops his hands immediately to Theo’s back, his fingers winding deep in Theo’s fur.
They stay, for a little longer, Scott staying flat on his back with Malia heavy on his chest and Liam eventually sitting so that Theo can drape himself possessively over his lap. The effect’s a little comical—Theo is just so big—but Liam doesn’t seem to mind, one hand wrapped just as possessively around Theo’s chest and the other stroking and stroking down Theo’s back as he and Scott talk.
But eventually it gets late, and Liam nudges at Theo’s big head with his knee—Theo’s sleepily-slitted eyes blinking slowly open—and he grins softly down at him as he says, “C’mon, big guy. I’ll take you home.”
Malia doesn’t move as they both clamber to their feet, and Scott doesn’t make her. She watches as they go, and squirms a little in delight when she feels Scott’s called-out see you later rumble through his chest beneath her, Scott’s hands scratching absently at her hindquarters as he feels her wiggle.
“Well,” he says, once Theo and Liam are gone, and it’s just them in the backyard. “What’s the verdict? How’d he do?”
Malia yips happily and nips lightly at Scott’s jaw, then presses the tip of her cold nose up underneath his chin. Scott laughs, quietly, and lets her, his hands running lightly along her sides.
“In that case,” he tells her. “I had an idea.”
Theo’s at the station, when she finds him a few days later, braced over an open case file with his head close to Parrish’s and the Sheriff watching through his open door, calling-and-answering theories with them over the low-grade, omnipresent rumble of the station at work. The Sheriff smiles crinkle-eyed at her when he spots her and nods, and Malia grins helplessly back even as her nose wrinkles up, don’t-sneeze, don’t-sneeze as Parrish’s chili-pepper-and-smoke scent tickles at her nostrils.
Theo glances up at her and then double-takes, and then he laughs, quietly and under his breath, and straightens up as he rolls out his shoulders and says, “I’ve got to say, sensei, I think you’re running out of things to teach me, here.”
Malia just smiles, secret and sly.
On weekends the Preserve fills with hikers and campers and rambunctious groups of wild-eyed kids all chasing each other around, and Theo spends the first hour of their trek hovering close to Malia’s side, his big shoulders sunk low and his ears pinned back to his skull as he glances nervously around the trees. But he isn’t the only creature made nervous by the noise and commotion, and so Malia leads him out, out past the carefully-maintained trails into the deep spaces of the forest, the undergrowth thick and tangled and the trees pressed in close together.
It’s harder for Theo to stay quiet out here, his long legs getting tangled in the thick grasping roots and the fur of his big sides getting caught in the rough reaching limbs of the branches and bushes. But he tries, getting better as the day rolls on—the sunlight filtering in weak through the tree cover—especially once he realizes that he can’t follow her smaller frame through the same natural gaps; especially once he’s willing to risk breaking off from her to find his own path.
Malia resists the urge to bark—to howl—triumphantly the first time he does it, settling for licking his muzzle when their individual paths reconnect, and instead keeps focusing, the scent she’s been trailing getting stronger and stronger all the while.
She knows when Theo catches on because his big head comes up, his attention arrowing out, his nostrils flaring wide and his ears swiveling forward; his limbs starting to vibrate with reflexive, instinctive tension.
Wait, she thinks about cautioning him, a paw on his muzzle or a nudge of her rib against his, but. But. He looks at her for instruction and she just looks back, waiting, waiting, until Theo’s mouth drops open in a lupine grin and he puts his nose to the earth; decision made.
The first deer he tries to bring down kicks him hard enough in the ribs to snap several of them.
Malia picks her way through the undergrowth after the herd has sprinted away, Theo left in the dirt trying to breathe around his knitting-together bones. He shifts, once it’s done, panting on his dirt-covered hands and knees, and tips his defeated head to look at her as she comes to stand by his side.
“So. Don’t get cocky, huh?” He interprets wryly, the last of the bruises from his broken ribs fading even as Malia watches. He sits back on his heels—one thigh purposefully positioned to preserve what modesty he can, Malia snorting a canine-snort and looking away—and cocks his head as he studies her. “So what am I actually supposed to do?”
Malia’s mouth drops open as her tongue lolls, canine-pleased and showing it.
The herd ran far but she and Theo can run farther, and they catch up with it just as the sun is starting to get low. This time when they find it—circling around, far around, to catch it from downwind—Theo doesn’t sprint right into the middle of it like a bumbling fool—like a pup—but waits, big body poised and braced as he watches her from across the other side of the small clearing.
Malia pads carefully around the edge of the trees. Did you see the young buck, the one with the hurt leg?, she’d asked, one arm over her chest to spare Theo his stammering, and Theo had admitted, tinder-box dry, I was a little focused on my punctured lung, sorry, and Malia had rolled her eyes. But it doesn’t matter that Theo hadn’t seen it, because Malia had, and she sees it now, out on the edge of the herd because it can’t keep up with its fellows as they nudge their noses through the undergrowth, looking for the best grazing.
She settles low on her limbs, and glances across the way at Theo—who’s just as low, his eyes fixed attentively on her—and then she moves.
Theo goes for its hindquarters as instructed, keeping it from moving and pinning it low so that it can’t kick out at Malia as she goes for its throat. The rest of the herd takes off in a flurry of terrified bleating, Malia’s eyes squinting helplessly closed as they rush past her in a blur of furious color, but she doesn’t let up; she bites down harder.
Theo blinks, baffled, when Malia finally unlocks her jaws and shakes herself free of the deer’s body, his eyes flicking from its ruined throat to Malia’s dripping teeth and back. Malia just grins at him, canine tongue lolling, and then she tosses her head back and howls.
She gets an answering one back almost immediately.
Theo looks stunned, and continues to look stunned through the next quiet hour as they wait, Malia howling every now and then until finally two figures break the tree line. Argent smiles close-mouthed-but-pleased at her, but Derek crouches down to let her press her head into his hands, cousin-cousin-cousin running through her head as Derek runs his fingers through her fur.
“We’ve got an ATV waiting about a mile or so away, where the trees are less thick,” Derek tells her. “You want a ride?”
But Malia doesn’t want a ride, she wants to run, triumphant and shivering with excitement and all but bursting with emotion, pride and contentment and a little melancholy and happiness, and so she can’t help but yank herself free of Derek’s grip to sprint in tight circles around him, around Argent; around Theo laid flat and still confused by their deer. Derek laughs, and then Argent does, the sound clear and ringing in the crisp forest air, and Malia yips and tackles Theo sideways, claiming his ear before he can pin it back away from her and gnawing on it.
And then she hops to her feet, and circles around behind him, and starts nudging at his back legs until he stands, and starts to walk.
But it isn’t long before he starts to run, too.
The campground Scott chose is less-used, out-of-the-way, too far from the city and the main roads to be a favorite of Beacon Hills’ weekend woods warriors. It means that Malia has no fear about bursting into the middle of it, Theo on her heels, and straight into the controlled chaos that is the McCall pack spread in clusters around the clearing; around the roaring bonfire at the center of it.
Dr. and Mrs. Geyer both startle when they see them but break into genuine, self-deprecating laughter almost immediately afterwards, Ms. McCall and the Sheriff toasting them with their metal mugs of spicy-smelling something as they do. Mason and Corey laugh just as loud, jumping backwards apart when Malia darts between them, and Stiles makes a lunging grab for her that she easily eels out of, turning a tight circle around Lydia before racing off again. Scott just huffs a quiet laugh as she brushes up against the back of his legs, again and then again, and then just watches with an equally quiet smile as she darts away, towards Theo.
She can’t get to his ears because they’re hidden underneath the folded-over bulk of Liam’s body, Liam’s arms wrapped around his middle and his face pressed against the ridge of Theo’s spine. But his tail is there, and unprotected, and so Malia grabs it, and yanks.
Theo yelps and leaps backwards, and then he whirls on her. Malia lets her tongue loll as he stares at her, golden eyes flaring, and then she turns and sprints off, and then sprints faster when she almost immediately hears Theo’s big paws strike the ground after her.
She’s lying sprawled out in Scott’s lap, her belly exposed to the warmth of the crackling fire, when Argent and Derek finally make it back to camp. She and Theo both lift their heads—Theo laid flat with Liam’s back to his side, Liam’s feet stretched out towards the flames—when they come picking their way through the trees and into the camp, the smell of paper-wrapped fresh venison wafting deliciously out from the pack Argent has slung over one shoulder; Malia feels her canine mouth water and her jaw start to reflexively work.
“I just have to say that I’m still dubious about this whole concept,” Stiles announces as he eyes Argent, sat in a folding camp chair with his hands wrapped around a mug of hot chocolate; hot chocolate that the Sheriff wouldn’t let him add whiskey to, the Sheriff swiping the bottle away from him and then slapping him lightly upside the back of the head.
“I could have cleaned it in the camp,” Argent reminds him mildly, and then proceeds to ignore Stiles’ exaggerated gagging as Lydia rolls her eyes and reaches over from her own camp chair to smack him lightly in the chest.
Malia has to let Scott up so that he can help Argent and his mother finish prepping their dinner, venison and chopped potatoes and carrots and bundles of sharp-smelling spices all wrapped in tinfoil and placed carefully by the fire. She huffs when he first stands but lets him go, and meanders over to Theo and Liam instead, clambering relentlessly into Liam’s lap until he gives up on both his surprise and trying to resist her and lifts his arms so that she can drop down on top of his legs, the rest of her body pressed to Theo’s bulk behind Liam. Liam makes a good show of complaining but his scent blooms warm and full, and his hands when he drops them back down start to card carefully through her fur.
Theo just twists his head around some until he can rest his big muzzle on her back, his breath ruffling her fur with every exhale.
Scott and Liam brought changes of clothes for her and Theo respectively, but without planning or speaking or really even thinking they both stay four-legged. They do get up as dinner is being served, though, Theo following Liam over to his parents so that he can eat the tinfoil-wrapped helping that Liam spreads out flat on the ground for him—and ignoring Liam’s okay, I’m just going to admit that this feels somehow wrong, and if you get mad at me later for treating you like a dog I’m going to be pissed—and then carefully, carefully accepting the pieces that Mrs. Geyer offers him from her own plate. Malia for her part trots over to Scott and Ms. McCall and Argent, leaning up against Scott’s side after she’s done eating but raising her head to press into Ms. McCall’s stroking hand.
Argent and Ms. McCall and the Sheriff and Liam’s parents leave once it gets late, the Sheriff and Argent giving careful, dubious instructions to Scott and Stiles and then secretly glancing over both their heads as they look pointedly at Derek, who smirks and nods. Scott and the others had already set up tents before she and Theo had arrived, and Corey and Mason disappear into one soon after, Mason’s jaw cracking around a yawn. He ruffles a hand through Theo’s fur as he goes and gives Malia a sloppy salute as he says thanks for dinner, guys, and then follows Corey into their tent. Stiles and Lydia don’t last much longer, but Derek stays by the fire as they head into a second tent, lifting his head for quick kisses from both of them but dropping his attention almost immediately back down to the flames.
“I’m pretty sure we can handle not burning the forest down,” Liam tells him dryly, but Malia barely hears him; Derek’s scent had gone as bitter and ashy as the smoke from the wood, and Malia wriggles herself free of Scott and circles around until she can climb into his lap, instead.
Derek looks down at her in surprise, initially, but his expression crumples fast as she pushes her nose against his cheek, and he wraps his arms tightly around her for an instant before loosening them to leave them draped around her back, her muzzle dropped over his shoulder as he responds, “That so, city boy?”
Liam squawks with outrage—dislodging Theo in his lap, who rumbles out a complaint—as he yelps, you lived in New York, you hypocrite, while Scott just laughs.
They stay like that, Scott with his arms draped loosely over his knees and Liam half-blanketed by Theo and Derek still holding Malia loosely in his lap, until the fire burns down, Scott and Liam and Derek just quietly talking. Only then does Derek stand—carefully pulling himself free from a three-quarters asleep Malia—to douse the coals, all of them reflexively flaring their eyes to see in the near-complete darkness that falls.
Derek disappears into his and Stiles’ and Lydia’s tent after, and Liam leads Theo carefully to theirs, Malia catching it with an amused canine grin as Liam tells him no complaints if you wanted to stay like that, it’s fucking freezing and you’re like a goddamn furnace. She watches as they go, something warm blooming and blooming in her chest even though Liam’s right, and it is fucking freezing without the fire, the chill breeze rustling her fur, and then she startles some and looks up at Scott as Scott drops a careful hand on her head. He smiles at her briefly, and then he kneels down so they’re of a height.
“Thank you,” he tells her quietly, and strokes his hands back through her fur. “I love you,” he tells her softly, and presses his face to the side of her own.
“C’mon, let’s get some sleep,” he suggests as he pulls back, and winds his fingers in her ruff as he walks with her, side-by-side and one step at a time, back to the last of the tents, the soft quiet sounds of the pack, their pack, safe and sound all around them.