Work Text:
Being a lone wolf (or coyote, depending on how shitty your sense of humor was) was all about yourself. You were the number one priority. Her new pack didn’t seem to understand that.
She had seen Allison’s scars from protecting Lydia, had heard Lydia screaming, watched Scott take bullets. It didn’t make sense.
And here they were, crammed in a tiny Jeep, going to save someone who had tried to kill them.
“He’s our friend,” Scott had explained, patient as ever. “He started out pretty rough, but he’s saved my ass a hundred times.”
“Only after he got done beating it into the ground,” Stiles had reminded, putting a hand on Scott’s shoulder.
“I know that he did some awful things, but we still have to help him.” Scott had defended. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, Malia.”
“Of course, I’ll come,” she says a little too quickly. She’s not going to pass up a few hours of touch and a club.
So here she is, squished between Allison and the window. On Ali’s other side, Lydia’s stressing out about game plans. In the front seat (of course) Stiles is driving with Kira in the passenger seat. Leading the way is Scott on his bike that makes Malia cringe every time she hears it’s engine.
“You okay?” Allison slides an arm around her shoulders, drawing her out.
“Yeah, it’s just loud.”
“Sorry babe, Stiles’ jeep is a wreck,” for some reason, her pulse quickens.
“Hey!” Stiles protests, “She’ll hear you.”
“Cars don’t have gender,” Kira lifts her head from her book. Malia still isn’t sure what Kira and Stiles are. She’s pretty sure that they’re both dating Scott. It’s confusing. People are different and most of them don’t have… what they have.
“It’s not just the trashy jeep,” Malia says, somewhat smugly, plowing through Stiles’ indignant squawk, “it’s like the stuff outside. My senses are going crazy.”
“It’s only like your third full moon since you changed back. It’s probably fine,” Allison says comfortingly.
“Probably?” Her voice came out skeptical than she meant it to.
“Yeah. But there’s not much else it could be. Scott would will probably be dead if there were wolfsbane in here, and you’ve gotten much better at control.” Allison’s arm is still around her and she sinks into it.
“Wake me up when get there?” She asks, and Allison nods.
“I got you,” she smiles down.
Lydia says something, but Allison’s warmth drowns it out and she falls quickly.
Allison is most definitely gay. Definitely. (If she’s being technical about it, pansexual, but she definitely likes girls.) It’s not helping matters that her actual girlfriend won’t stop laughing about it, which is at least better than being mad.
“You’re so whipped,” Lydia, and everyone else might as well know about it.
“Oh my god,” Allison breathes, putting her free hand through her hair, more pulling it than combing it. “She’s gonna look so great tonight, both of you are,” she grabs Lydia’s hand. “I so cannot do this. Her head drops to Lydia’s shoulders, straining her neck.
“You so have to. This way I get to watch both of you dance,” Lydia smirks, and she turns her head to kiss her. “If it makes you feel any better Ali, you’re so right.”
Allison groans.
The club is hot and sweaty and exactly what Malia needed. The dancing, the music, the energy. Something other than strawberry shampoo to focus on.
She doesn’t know what she feels when she’s with Allison and Lydia. It’s some combination of the pack feeling when she’s with Scott or Kira, something about when she’s with her dad and something entirely separate. She doesn’t even know if she likes it or not.
So she orders another shot and smiles at the bartender and dances, limbs loose and hair everywhere. It’s instinctual, wild. She knows what they’re here to do, adrenaline racing through her body is better than any drug.
Allison makes her way over, putting on a good show of not being tense as hell. She smiles and leans into her ear, “What’s the plan?”
“Keep eyes on Scott. Stiles and Lydia just came in. How’re you doing?”
“Pretty sure everyone here thinks I’m drunk.”
Allison wrinkled her nose, “Smells like it.”
“I’m not really, though. So it’s good.” She smiled. They stood still amongst the moving bodies.
She sighed, “Dance?”
“What?”
“Dance with me, dumbass.”
They sort of tangle together, hands and arms and bodies brushing, colliding, twisting. It’s far from a perfect thing, but it makes the feeling in Malia’s stomach fluter and she’s pretty sure she likes it.
Her eyes light up as a man leads Lydia away, trailing her.
“It’s good. This is the plan. Dance with me, dumbass.” Allison smirks at her, looking up ever so slightly.
It’s just the adrenaline. That’s all.
She wakes up with a pounding headache and a lingering fear. The last thing she remembers is dancing and a tunnel and then it went dark.
“Lydia! She’s up!” Someone, maybe Malia, says, and her head pounds.
“What happened?” She lifts a hand to a raised bump on her tempe.
“Leave it alone,” Lydia says, smacking her hand away. “They were ready for us. They got you guys in the tunnel. There was wolfsbane and they hit you pretty hard.”
“Head wounds bleed a lot,” Malia choruses, looking half traumatized and half grossed out. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Where’s everyone else?”
“They took Scott and Kira a while back,” Stiles pipes up. He looks worried, his hair is even more messed up than it usually is.
Lydia sinks down next to her, on her knees to wrap an arm around her. The room they’re in is large and white and intimidating. It’s not pristine by any means, but it’s just empty enough to remind her of Eichen House.
“I know,” Lydia murmurs. “It’s all I could think about.”
“Eichen?” Malia asks, pacing by the door. “I think that might have been worse.”
“Yeah, right,” Stiles scoffs. “At least they fed you at Eichen.”
“Shut up!” The three of them snap simultaneously. Lydia’s fingers tighten on her shoulder. Malia walks faster.
She tries to block it out, the aching in her head and the memories, and the look on Malia’s face.
“So what’s our next move?” She asks, hand moving to cover Lydia’s.
“We don’t have one. Malia can't open the door, Scott’s gone, Kira’s gone, There’s just nothing. We wait.” Stiles says angrily, running his hands through his hair.
They don’t have their phones, their watches, anything really. There’s a sink in the corner but it’s not really working. She’s sure that time is passing, but all she can feel is anxiety.
Eventually, Malia sinks into the wall, “I can kinda hear them. Just their voices. There’s some lady up there, and she’s pissed.”
“Is she hispanic?” Lydia asks.
“She has an accent, yeah. I can just hear pieces. Does she-wolf mean anything to you guys?”
“Cora? She’s in South America isn’t she?”
“Yeah, but Derek said she found a pack there, it can’t be her.”
“Malia what are they saying?”
Malia’s face is screwed up in concentration, nose wrinkled and eyes closed, “There’s too many voices, I can’t concentrate on her.”
Lydia moves towards Malia, kneeling down and taking her hands, “You can do it. Just focus in. Control it.”
Stiles is pounding on the door again, and Allison pushes her way to Malia and Lydia.
“You can do it. I promise you can.” She whispers, trapping Malia’s hand between her’s and Lydia’s.
Suddenly, Malia’s eyes open, bright blue.
She’s been trying to do the same thing with Scott for months. Focus on one thing. Concentrate on it, listen, feel the emotions, whatever. She wants to change back.
She thinks.
She feels this sense of acomplishment, squeezing Lydia’s hand, Allison’s hand on her shoulder, Scott’s voice in her ears. She did it.
Pretty quickly, she realizes that they aren’t out of danger yet. She wants to know something about Kate Argent, and Allison recoils at the name.
“Kate?” She sounds horrified and scared, and Malia wishes that she could take it back, that she was wrong.
“Yeah. Do you know her?” She doesn’t let go.
“She’s um, my aunt. We thought she was dead.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“What about Scott? Is he okay? Kira?” Stiles is pushed back against the door, sweating.
“I think they’re fine. It sounds like they’re heading down.”
“Thank God.”
Allison collapses down, hand dropping from Malia’s shoulder into her lap.
“Thanks,” she says softly. “I knew you could do it.”
Malia takes her hand. It feels right, and from the smile, it’s pretty good. “You helped. It’s gonna be okay.”
“Yeah,” Lydia chimes in, sitting in front of them with her legs tucked beneath her. “Just breathe. Both of you.”
So the psychotic bitch is back, and Lydia takes neither of those words lightly. Allison shakes the whole time they load into the Jeep, and she hates it.
“Hey, babe. Let’s get some sleep until we get to the church, okay?” She says, softly. It says mountains that Allison just drops into her shoulder without protest. “It’s gonna be fine.”
“It’s okay if you wanna lay down, Allison.” Malia says.
“Thanks,” Allison replies, pulling her legs into Malia’s lap and her head into Lydia’s. Goodnight.”
“Night.” They say together.
Stiles and Kira talking quietly in the front is the only sound for a while.
“Thanks. For helping with Allison,”
“You don’t have to thank me. I’d never leave without you guys. Not after Eichen.” She sounds genuine.
“You don’t have to thank us for what happened in there. We should never have let you go there in the first place.” That whole thing had been a disaster. The nogitsune and Allison and everything had distracted them, and they had let Malia stay there. Even after what had happened.
Eichen House, Echo House, The Fucking Crazy Place (TM), whatever you want to call it was cold and dark and scary. She hated it here, and it had only been one night. They hadn’t even let her stay with Allison.
Of course there was everything going on. This crazy shit with the nogitsune trying to kill them all, but then, there was Peter. Lydia had never fully recovered from everything that had happened with him. Going back…
Sure, she was a Banshee. Sure, she had all these powers. Sure, she could do something to fix this. She had to do something to help. Even if it meant going to Peter.
It hadn’t been worth it. When he was done with her, she had needed, well, a mental institution. Peter was unstable and if she had listened to Allison, she wouldn’t be here.
She just couldn’t move. All of Talia’s thoughts, everything, running through her head. It hurt. She couldn’t imagine doing this all the time. The bite, her abilities. They were about as far from a gift as she could possibly imagine.
So she was stuck here, for the time being at least. They had strapped her, too tightly to the bed, and she couldn’t do anything. She hadn’t been this scared in a long time.
Eventually, her eyes closed, and she was left to Talia’s words and the dark.
In the morning, she could breathe on her own again, and promptly demanded to be let out.
“I’m fine now. I need to see my gir-my friend.”
“Sorry. You’re here for 72 hours for an evaluation. I can’t let you use the phones.”
“You can’t do this. Can’t you call my mom? I’m fine.”
“Ms. Martin, you were Catatonic when you came in here last night. I’m sorry, but we have to keep you for 72 hours.”
“Why can’t I use the phones then? I have to check up on people. I have homework.”
“We can’t allow patients to use the phones for 24 hours after a suicide.”
“There was a suicide?”
“Don’t know how you missed it. There’s a reason we call it Echo House.”
“Please I need to call my mom.”
“Tomorrow. Right now you have group therapy.”
She was okay now. She just wanted to go home and curl up with Allison and Legally Blonde. She didn’t need this, she just needed to go home.
She caught sight of familiar dirty blonde hair. No way.
“Malia?” The girl turned around, and sure enough, it was Peter Hale’s daughter.
“It’s Lydia, right?” She asked, coming closer, coming fast.
“Yeah, Lydia Mar-“ She took a step back, but Malia was faster, slapping her across her face.
“Oh my god. What the hell?” She yelled.
“You think you did me a favor, bitch? I want to go back!” She screamed, advancing again. An orderly caught her before she could do anything else.
“Hey! Malia this is your last warning. We have to put you in solitary if this happens again.” They said, releasing her once she stopped moving. “Are you alright, Ms…”
“Martin. Yeah, I’m fine.” She looked at Malia. “What happened wasn’t my fault. We can talk about it later if you want.” She said cooly. She had to warn her about Peter, but she didn’t have to be nice to her.
Group was predictable, if hard to listen to. She tried tuning them out by listing the numbers in Pi, trying to remember all the words on Allison’s make out playlist, the various equations that decided parabolas.
“Lydia,” Ms. Morrell turned to face her. “Why are you here?”
“Because you won’t release me to the custody of my mother,” she retorted smoothly, remembering the latin term for “Butterfly.” It at least elicited a laugh from the group.
“The nurse last night reported that you were unresponsive. Catatonic. Want to tell us what that’s like?”
“No. Thank you.” She pursed her lips, wishing for some chapstick.
“Alright then. Malia, what’s been going on with you lately?”
“Nothing’s different. I wake up. I eat. I come here. I study. Next?”
A snicker escapes her lips, and Malia glares.
“What was that Lydia?” Ms. Morrell asks, eyes flat.
“Nothing.”
“Alright, Malia. If everything is the same, then why don’t you talk to your regular therapist. You should be opening up to him about your experiences. Then we’d have longer visiting hours and you’d be able to get out sooner.”
“He wouldn’t believe me.”
“He might.”
“He won’t. And even if he did, I don’t want to talk about it. I’m ready to move on. Isn’t it your job to let me?”
“Alright, Malia. That’s progress. Why don’t you take a breather.”
“Mark? What about you, is there anything you want to talk about today?”
After group was over, Lydia hurried to the bathroom to appraise her hair. As predicted, it was a sticky mess of hairspray and blood that hadn’t been washed out. She quickly turned the spray as hot as it would go. Nothing would feel better than to wash the thoughts of other people out of her skull. But someone’s already there.
“Normally I’m the only one who comes in here around eleven. But they don’t get that the water’s always hotter now,” Malia says, running fingers through her hair. Lydia’s eyes trail down the water drops that cling to the ends, falling lower.
She snaps her eyes up, “No one thought to wash the blood out of my hair after a major head injury. Don’t worry, cold showers are better for your hair so I won’t take any of the hot water.” She turns around, letting her dress slip to the ground.
“Thanks,” Malia says, and there’s not much malice in it. “I’m always cold.”
“You’re used to having an extra layer.” She unhooks her bra and folds it so it lays on the counter with her dress. “I’ve got a sweater in my room if you want it. We can talk.” Panties come off. Folds them.
“We’re talking now, aren’t we?” Malia asks, suddenly close.
“I—“ Lydia starts, trying not to look down. “I can tell you about what’s been going on. “I— um.”
“You have a girlfriend. Allison, right?” Malia backs off, grabbing a towel from under the sink.
“Yeah. Sorry, I—“
“It’s cool. Just wondering. I’ll see you later about that sweater though, right?”
“Sounds good.”
Malia leaves, and Lydia is so, so thankful that cold showers are actually good for your hair.
She’s pulled out of her thought when the Jeep skids to a stop, almost sending Allison flying.
“What the fuck, Stiles?” She asks, gripping Allison’s shoulders, praying she won’t wake up.
“I don’t know what happened, just give me a minute,” He climbed out of the Jeep, Malia right behind him. Outside the window, Scott slowed to a stop next to them.
“What happened?”
“Jeep broke down again,” Kira chimes in, annoyed.
“Hey! I can fix this, just give me a minute,” Stiles defends, and the whole Jeep shakes when he yanks open the hood. “Just go with Braeden,” he says, tearing a piece of duct tape. “We’ll be fine, go.”
“Not without you,” Scott says, looking between Scott and Kira.
“It’s fine.” Kira says, taking his hand. “Good luck.” She leans up to kiss him on the cheek.
“Are you sure?” He asks, hand wrapping over Stiles’.
“Yeah, dumbass. Kick her butt.”
“Okay. stay safe.”
He comes to Lydia’s window, and she rolls it down, “Are you guys gonna be okay? How’s Allison?”
“We’ll be fine. She’ll be better once Kate is under control.” She says, stroking Allison’s hair.
There’s a wrinkle between Scott’s eyes.
“We’ll be fine. Go!” Malia says, over her shoulder.
“Only if you guys are sure.” He drums his fingers over the window for a second before his mind is made up. “Keep me updated?” He asks, looking over his shoulder where Kira and Stiles are arguing over what to do.
“Of course. Go!” She tells him, smiling fondly. He can do this. She knows he can. She looks over to Malia once he’s gone.
“We got this. Ready for a long night?”
Malia nods and she rolls her window up.
So, Malia’s pretty sure that she’s figured out what she wants. It’s not like she ever worried about this kind of thing before, but God, everything is more intense. She wants it.
She wants the look on Lydia’s face when she strokes Allison’s hair, or the glint in Allison’s eyes when Lydia says something smart.
If what she remembered about Disney movies were any indication of love, then she was falling. Or at least she had a crush.
How could she not after what they had been through?
She and Lydia had settled into a pattern. Information for answers. Sweaters for fighting lessons. Secrets for minutes alone with Meredith, who, for some reason, Lydia seemed obsessed with.
Not that she was complaining. She liked this, having someone who wasn’t her creepy therapist Brunski to talk to. Someone who she could actually talk to, about what had happened.
And Lydia wanted to learn how to fight, how to defend herself. It wasn’t like Malia knew a lot about fighting in this body, but she knew that Lydia wanted it. And that together, they could be really good at it.
“You’re Malia Hale. Peter… He’s a fucking psychopath, and I hope you never meet him.”
“Did he do that?” She asked, pointing to the scar on Lydia’s temple.
“This too.” She lifted up her shirt and there was a bite mark, still red. “No bikinis for me.”
“Not like you need them,” she tried, feeling sick.
She got a smile out of Lydia, “You’re nothing like him, Malia. Not if you don’t want to be.”
“Like who?” She grinned back. “I’m Malia fucking Tate.”
“So what are you? How did you get… involved in all this?”
“Hell. Um, I’m a banshee. That’s why I’m always trying to get time with Meredith. She’s one too, and I think… I think she can help me. Learn to control it, I mean.”
“I know about what it’s like to need control. What can I do to help?”
Lydia had exactly six hours, twenty minutes and 31 seconds left in Eichen when everything went wrong. Brunski had them tied to a fucking wall, drugs held to her neck, and it was all she could do to not freak the fuck out.
“You killed my grandma. You killed all those people. You killed Meredith,” Lydia yelled as loud as she could. Malia could have told her that with him, it wouldn’t do any good.
“I helped them, Lydia. Just like I’m going to help you two.” She could feel his breath on the back of her neck, a needle pressing in…
There was a thumping noise, and suddenly everything stopped.
“Lydia! Lydia! Are you okay?!” Allison Argent, in all her glory, swooping in with arrows and fury.
“Oh my god, I’m gonna kill him. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, babe. Malia?”
“Malia? Is she here? Oh my god.”
“I’m good, yeah. It’s okay. We’re good.”
At least they had let her out after that.
She was warm, and it was dark, and someone was shouting. She blinked the sleep out of her eyes and sat up.
“Hey, you’re up. You okay?” Malia asked, drawing her knees in.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. What’s going on? Where are we?”
“The Jeep broke down. They’re all out there trying to fix it.”
“Should we help?”
“Probably a good idea, but I don’t really want to go out there.”
“I feel.”
The door opened, and God, for summer in Mexico, it was cold outside. “Hey, guys. Scoot over?” Lydia came in on her side, and she snuggled in.
“Any chance we’re gonna be able to get home before School starts?” Allison asked.
“Only if you’re confident in Stiles’ duct taping skills.” Lydia scoffed.
“Hey guys?” Malia asked
“Yeah?”
“This isn’t just me, is it? I just get this feeling when I’m with you, and I wasn’t sure, but I like it, I like you. Just— tell me to shut up if I’m wrong.” Malia looked down, tugging at her sleeves.
It’s quiet for a minute, and she finally musters the courage to look at Lydia. What she sees just confirms it.
“We like you too,” Lydia says for both of them.
“And I want to see where this is going to go.” She finishes. Malia’s grin is like the sun.
Outside, someone screams, “Guys! There’s something out here!”
“We’ll finish this later,” Malia says, grinning.
“Definitely.”