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After, when they're home, Derek knocks at the Stilinski front door with a duffel bag full of cash. "Figured I'd find you here," he says, looking over the Sheriff's shoulder to Malia. Derek's eyes are soft and he's wearing loose jeans and a dark purple Henley, and he smells like he came to the house by way of the forest.
Malia shifts from one foot to the other. She's been alone with Derek before. He's fine, he wasn't a threat then with his fading power, and he's not a threat now, with his penitent scent. And she's not alone, in this house. But she doesn't know what Derek's done to feel so sorry about, the tang of it in the air between them, and that makes her nervous.
Stiles steps up behind her. He glances sidelong at her, then at Derek. "Hey," Stiles says. He trusts Derek, even if he doesn't seem to particularly like Derek. The tension coiling in Malia's shoulders eases. Stiles says, "Come on in, man, we've got pizza."
So they eat pizza.
---
Derek leaves the duffel bag full of cash.
---
"There's more," Derek said. His lips twisted and he glanced down and to the side. "Somewhere. In a bank account somewhere. I can try to help you track it down, but I think Lydia would have better luck."
"More," Malia repeated.
Derek looked at her, eye to eye. His face was soft. His expression was gentle, tender, and a little bruised. "You're a Hale," he said. "This is your inheritance."
---
Malia kind of gets the point of money, in that it's important and her dad seems to prefer giving her money to having to face the reality that when she goes shopping, part of it's for bras and underwear. He'll literally open his wallet, empty it of all its bills and slap a credit card on top before he'll take her to the mall. The only and only time he did he stood around with a deeply pained and confused expression on his face and seemed to develop a nervous tic whenever Malia wandered near the shorts section. (Malia likes shorts.)
Malia remembers her parents used to squabble about money. Dad wanted an expensive cable package, mom wanted to save for a vacation overseas, they weren't paying down their mortgage fast enough, all of that kind of stuff.
Malia's mom used to say, People who think money can't buy happiness have obviously always had money.
Now Malia has money.
---
They line up the stacks of bills on Stiles' bed and stare at them, contemplatively.
"How much is it?" Malia wonders aloud.
"Five hundred thousand," Stiles says.
Malia looks at him. Stiles slow-flushes, ducks his gaze and avoids looking at her.
"You knew about this?"
Stiles knows a lot of things, and only tells Malia maybe a quarter of them. He doesn't seem to like lying but he sure does a lot of it. Malia touches his hand.
"Hey," she says. She can be patient. She waits until he's looking at her again. She feels something ugly and fragile blowing round in her chest, like an eggshell made of glass, expanding. Like there's a bomb inside her and it could go off. She tries to smile. "You knew about this," she repeats.
Five and five zeroes. Malia's not the best at math but even she knows that's a pretty big number.
She loves him when he finally says the true thing and admits, "I knew about it."
---
"You should have it," Malia says.
They've put the money back in the bag and put the bag by the door.
Stiles startles. "Uh," he says.
"I know you've been worried about bills," Malia says, because she pays attention to Stiles and his dad and their home. "I don't need any money so you should just use it. Scott and Lydia need money, too, don't they?" She looks down at her hands. "It's not really my money. It was Peter's, and he ruined everyone's lives, so he should pay to make them better. Even if it's just a little bit."
Downstairs, the Sheriff is sitting at the kitchen table. Malia can smell his coffee from here, and can hear the rustle of his casefiles strewn everywhere, and the dim crackling of the radio that doesn't tune right set to low. It makes her warm just thinking of him down there, wearing glasses and a sweater, homey. Early in the morning when Stiles is still sleeping sometimes Malia slips down to where the Sheriff has just started breakfast, and watches him cook, and it settles an uneasiness within her. He's not her dad, but she thinks she could love him like he is. She wants to.
"Malia," Stiles says. The refusal is already in his voice.
"You keep doing things," Malia says. She fights to keep her voice steady. "And you say they're all to protect me. But I get to protect you, too."
Stiles is her territory. She's marked his skin and slept curved around him, guarding him and keeping him warm.
---
"Dad'll never say yes," Stiles says with his back pressed against her chest, later that night when they're in bed.
His hands are large and his fingers are long, and they clasp so perfectly around Malia's that she nearly croons.
"We'll sneak up on him," Malia says into her ear. "We make a good team." Her knees draw up into points against the backs of his thighs. She feels his heart steadily beating against her wrists.
"Yeah," Stiles breathes. "We do."