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Timed: August 19, 2014

She lives in the same damn building as Stiles. She lives right across the hall from Stiles's Dad. It seems wildly unfair, and almost cruel. These people don't know who she is. The lack of recognition when she'd first seen Stiles and even Derek had stung, more than Malia wants to admit.

But she can't let it show.

She stands on the front steps of the apartment building, and stares at the tenant plate by the door for a long time. They're so close together on the list. Derek and Stiles. Malia Tate. Right there, like nothing. She clenches her jaw briefly, then looks down at her weird, creepy folder with her info in it. There, on her City of Darrow ID, is her address. This is the place.

And Derek and Stiles are right there, too.

Instead of going to her apartment, Malia uses her key to unlock the lobby door, then goes to their floor and knocks. There are a lot of reasons she's doing this, and none of them are reasons she really wants to think about right now.

Hey, they should consider themselves lucky that she's not just walking right in, locks and knobs be damned.

Open to: Stiles and Derek! Tagging order should probably be Stiles → Derek → Malia. ST/LT totally welcome!

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Stiles may or may not have spent a good portion of the afternoon freaking out about Malia. In fact, he may... still be freaking out about her.

"She said I've been saving her. What does that even mean? I get that the world keeps on turning back home, but I feel like everyone's got some secret about what happened back there and I have no idea what's going on. It's slightly irritating." Derek has just been letting him rant. Which is nice. It's not like any of this has been easy for him either, he's sure, but he's let Stiles do all the talking, which he appreciates. The nightmares haven't stopped, Derek had been seeing his dead sister, and now this.

He stops pacing the living room - he's not sure when he started that - and just stops in front of Derek, falling down on the couch next to him with a sigh. He opens his mouth to say more (to bitch, really), and then there's a knock at the door.

"Uh. Who's that?" He looks over at Derek. He isn't expecting anyone.

Derek isn't enjoying this. There's too much going on for this complication to rear it's attractive little female head and cause problems.

Stiles hasn't stopped talking about her, which isn't helping. He's sitting there and letting Stiles rant, because it's Stiles and that's what Stiles needs to do. When Stiles drops down next to him, Derek leans over and rubs their cheeks together, instinctively scenting him. He nips at his jaw and opens his mouth to say something, but the knock on the door has him pulling back.

He stares at the door and listens, scenting the air. Malia is on the other side, wanting to be let into Derek and Stiles' space, and Derek jumps up off of the sofa with a low growl. He composes himself by the time he reaches the door, looking only faintly irritated as he pulls the door open.

"Malia."

Malia blinks at him, caught off guard by his reaction before she remembers that this isn't the Derek she knows. Immediately, her own hackles raise, and she narrows her eyes.

"Don't look at me like that," she says. "I'm just here to figure out what the hell's going on, and how I can get home." She looks back around his shoulder to see where Stiles is. She wants to see him, too, even if it's just a glimpse. She misses him, that's all. It's only been a few hours: it's still hard to believe this isn't her Stiles.

Stiles jumps off of the couch the instant he sees who's at the door. He isn't sure why. He might be worried that Malia is going to try and rip his throat out, because they never really did resolve that whole 'I have no idea who you are' thing. And yeah, he might be worried that this is awkward, because apparently, Malia and him were a thing. And here, he and Derek are a thing.

So maybe he's on his feet in case he has to go run and hide.

"Hi. ...Malia." He raises a hand awkwardly.

Derek's lip curls back on instinct at her attitude, but he does his best to reign it in. Stiles jumps up from the sofa and Derek steps aside so he can see, keeping himself slightly between the two of them because Stiles seems anxious.

Stiles' cheek is still pink with beard burn from Derek's scenting, and his eyes go down to the triskele bracelet that never leaves Stiles' wrist. It's okay, Stiles is his. He's not going to lose him. He repeats this like a mantra in his head, but it sounds more like a plea.

"I told you. You can't leave. You apparently know Stiles so well," he grits out, proud of how there isn't even a growl to it. "We've been here for over a year. If there was a way out, Stiles would have found it."

Of that, Derek has no doubt. Stiles is so smart, and he sees things in a way other people don't.

Every wolf instinct is telling him not to let Malia into their private space, and he just stares moodily while he decides. Stiles is warm at his side, and his shoes are kicked off to the side with Derek's. His backpack is on top of Derek's favorite leather jacket. Their lives are intermingled here. It smells like them. It's theirs.

He sighs and pulls the door open wider, leaving it open as he walks over to Stiles and rests a hand low on his back. His intent isn't really to appear possessive; he just feels like he needs the contact right now. Derek's face is blank to hide how unsettled he is, but he can't help the way that his fingers curl almost desperately into the loose fabric at the back of Stiles' shirt. "Come in, if you want."

There, he used his manners.

Edited 2014-09-03 04:09 (UTC)

Malia sort of just stares at them both for a long moment. She can feel the tension rolling out of the apartment in waves, and she doesn't even need to use her coyote senses to do it. She looks between them, then rolls her eyes. Hard.

"Oh, would you two relax," she says. "I'm not here to pee on anything. Look, since apparently none of us are going home, let me just . . . I want to apologize to Stiles." She eyes Derek. She'd rather do this alone, since this Derek is obviously crankier than the one she knows. But she's not about to actually say that. Instead, she looks back at Stiles.

"I'm not sorry I yelled at you for not being my Stiles," she says. "But I'm sorry you're not my Stiles, and I'm sorry I upset you." She hesitates, then adds, "But you look like him and you smell like him, but you're not, and . . ." She trails off, growing less tense and more resigned. "And I wish . . . I wish you . . ."

She clenches her jaw.

"I'm not good at this!" she snaps. "Go be happy with your alpha, okay? You— you deserve to be happy." Despite the tightness in her voice and brow, she's sincere, because she's always sincere. Sure, it hurts to let go like this, when she'd only just seen Stiles, her Stiles, a few hours ago. But she's not going to be able to focus on going home if she can't stop thinking about this one. And he's not even hers, so . . . letting go should be easier than this.

It feels like her only course of action. So, she'll try her best. Maybe that Elena lady will even succeed in teaching her to gain back her other form, and she'll go live in the woods here. Being a coyote has always been . . . easier.

Edited (Formatting/continuity error) 2014-09-03 12:03 (UTC)

Stiles opens his mouth to respond, then closes it. This... is not what he was expecting. He doesn't know Malia, not like she knows him, but it doesn't take a genius to tell that she's as blunt as she is goal oriented.

Both of which are qualities that he can appreciate.

So he isn't sure what he was getting himself ready for, but it wasn't a white flag, or whatever this is. It was an apology and not an apology, but he'll take it, because part of him thinks he isn't the one who needs to be apologized to. If he were to be dropped into another universe tomorrow and see Derek with someone else, how would he feel? He'd prefer not to think about it.

He ends up staring, mouth going like a dying fish for a couple seconds, then lets out a whoosh of breath, finding himself leaning into Derek's hand at his back.

"I... wow. Thank you?" This isn't easy for any of them, and it's probably worse for Derek on Malia. He, on the other hand, feels like he's somehow responsible. He feels as though giving up something you had takes courage, and deserves a thank you. "I'm really, really sorry that I... other I... isn't here for you. Things here take getting used to, so you know. It's better with someone you trust.

"But maybe we can help! I mean, I know I'm not your Stiles, but I'm still... Stiles." This conversation is weird. "And Derek's still Derek. Scott's here, he's still Scott. We can help."

Malia's words sort of knock the breath out of Derek's lungs. They're so raw and sincere that Derek actually feels guilty, like he's taken something from her. In a way he has, he supposes. He's caused even more pain simply by trying to be happy.

It feels like he holds his breath the entire time that Stiles speaks. The words reassure him, as does the press of his back against Stiles' hand, but Derek is still Derek, and his thoughts tend to be ruled by Murphy's law.

Malia is a gorgeous girl Stiles' own age, one who is obviously devoted to him. And Derek, well, he's never felt good enough for Stiles. He spends a long time staring ahead with his brows furrowed, but the silence snaps him out of his thoughts.

Stiles is offering their help, because of course he is. Derek's hand slides around Stiles' hip to pull him a bit closer, thumb slipping under the back of his shirt to press into skin, and he nods. He doesn't know Malia, and he has no idea if his position as alpha means a damn to her, but it's sort of all he has to offer.

"We'll help you," Derek confirms, eyes flashing red briefly. "You have a place here."

Malia tenses, just a little, when Derek's eyes flash red. Her own flash blue in response, and she looks between them. "You might be able to help," she says. "But I know when I'm not wanted." She shakes her head and takes a half-step back: she was barely in the apartment to begin with, hovering on the threshold, and now she's back in the corridor.

"I'll figure something out." She looks at Stiles. "Goodbye." Hurt flashes briefly across her face, but she quashes it. This isn't his fault. This isn't Derek's fault. It's no one's fault, and that makes her the maddest of all. She can't blame anyone.

She clenches her jaw, then just nods once and turns to leave.

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