Archive of Our Own

As he stared out the window at the house across the street, Scott couldn’t help but wonder if he was making a mistake. Being here, doing what he was about to do, it was almost certainly not going to end well for him. He wasn’t even sure what a good ending would be. At the very least, he was looking at having all his mistakes pointed out and thrown directly in his face, his bad choices dragged out for dissection, old wounds reopened and left raw. It was going to be painful, no matter what, could very easily turn into one of the most uncomfortable encounters of his life.

None of that mattered. It needed to be done. It was the whole reason for this trip, the reason why he’d put Los Angeles in his rear-view mirror in the early hours of the morning, and made the drive back to the place he’d done his best to avoid for the past decade.

On a regular Saturday, at this time, he’d be at the animal shelter, probably sitting at his desk, finishing up some paperwork he’d fallen behind on during the course of the week. It was just after noon, so lunch would be calling his name, maybe delayed slightly if he decided to look in on any of the animals, make sure any newcomers were doing okay, settling in. He’d be staring down another couple hours at work, and then it would be home to his apartment, to see if Eli was hanging around. Dinner would come next, followed by an evening spent watching a game on tv, or maybe a movie. Or maybe he’d spend a couple hours working outside, trying to finish the bike restoration he was doing in his spare time. A normal day, the sort of routine he’d fallen into over the last couple of months.

Not today. Today, he was in Beacon Hills, staring at a house he’d never actually been inside before, working up the courage to get out of his truck, go knock on the door. Today, he was facing his past, to try to make an easier future.

A future in Beacon Hills. A future where he finally came home. But before he could step into that future, he had to deal with his greatest failure.

There were a lot of things in his past he regretted. Some of them were things done, choices made in the heat of battle, when it was literally a matter of life or death. Those, he accepted. He felt bad about them, wished he’d chosen differently, but he didn’t really dwell on them. But then there were the other ones. The things he done when there was no outside pressure forcing him to choose, no excuse he could use to rationalise. Choices made after a lot of thinking, after going through all the options, and somehow landing on the ones that caused other people, people he cared for, people he loved the most pain.

Too many of those were a direct result of his own insecurities, his own fears. He’d let friends and family fall to the wayside, because he was too hung up on his own mistakes, too afraid to face his own past. He’d spent years running from ghosts of his own making, aware he was only making things worse for himself, completely unable to put a stop to it, because it would mean addressing things that scared the hell out of him. That was his pattern, one he’d followed for so long, sabotaging his own relationships. It was the pattern he was trying his hardest to break out of now, even though it was entirely possible it was too late.

One regret, one person he’d wronged stood out from the rest. The worst case of letting his demons get the better of him, letting them convince him to isolate himself, to sever ties with the person he loved the most, to burn a bridge he once thought would stand forever. One decision that constantly haunted him, that he would give anything to take back.

Malia was probably going to kill him. He knew that, and it didn’t matter. It didn’t change what he had to do. They needed to talk about what was coming, he needed to tell her. He owed her a chance to air her grievances. He owed her much more than that, and after four years spent running away from her, it was time. He’d made his bed, and he was finally ready to lie in it.

Almost ready, anyway. Fully committed to the act, but definitely not without hesitation.

This wouldn’t just be a conversation he’d been dodging for years. It would also be the first conversation they’d had without some dire threat or mystical event hanging over them since they broke up. Three times they’d seen each other since then, three times in four years, and all three had been because some kind trouble was brewing. It was always the same. Things were uncomfortable between them, neither of them sure what to say to each other, how to act. Then the danger kicked in, and the personal stuff faded into the background because if it didn’t, they’d really be in trouble. After it was over, once they were safe again, they’d make awkward small talk, carefully avoiding mentioning anything that might bring up memories, until they could get far away from each other again.

It was one thing to be able to interact, talk to each other when a supernatural monster was on the loose, and the dead were being resurrected. When their lives depended on working together. They’d always been great at that. It was another thing entirely to just show up on her doorstep unannounced and actually talk to her. Having a sense of impending doom to focus on instead of themselves really helped get things going. Not having that this time made the prospect of facing her again that much more intimidating.

It needed to happen, though. She needed to know his plans, that he was moving back to Beacon Hills. It was her town now, not his. He couldn’t just come back and not let her know. It wouldn’t be right.

And then there was that wild, desperate hope he had, that maybe they could find a way past the awkwardness, a way to interact normally again. He had no illusions about how likely that was, how bad he’d screwed everything up. But he wanted her back in his life. That was the only thing he knew for sure, and that meant he had to try.

Fingers drumming on the steering wheel, he took a deep breath, and tried to talk himself into making a move, actually leaving his truck. He’d come all this way to do this because he knew it was necessary. Because he was trying to change. Because he was in a spot now where he thought he could actually do things differently. He needed to just do it. Open the door, walk across the street, and face his past. It had to happen.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Scott jumped and nearly choked on his own tongue at the unexpected voice. A voice he immediately recognised, even before he turned to look out the open passenger-side window. And there she was, looking back at him through narrowed eyes, a heavy frown on her face. Her hair was a little longer than when he’d last seen her, but otherwise, she looked the same. She looked good.

At least he could blame the sudden stutter in his heartbeat on being startled.

“I thought you were at home,” was all he managed to say.

She arched an eyebrow. “I was down the street. Visiting a neighbour. Not that it’s any business of yours.”

There was a bite to her tone that hadn’t been there last time they’d spoken, and it had his insides wilting. As painful as this was probably going to be, he had hoped maybe they could at least get off to a semi-decent start, before things got heavy. They had been friends, once upon a time. And they’d been civil after Derek’s funeral, before he fled back to Los Angeles with Allison and Eli, trying to convince himself he’d just found what he needed to move forward in life. But judging from her tone and the little furrow in her brow that told him she was not in a good mood, it was looking like this was going to be a mess all the way through.

Perfect.

“I know. Sorry. Uh…” He shifted uncomfortably, fingers still tapping out a staccato beat on the wheel. “I was gonna call, but, uh, I don’t have your number anymore.”

It was almost funny, the things that hurt the most. The realisation that he didn’t know her phone number anymore had hit him hard. It wasn’t like he couldn’t have gotten it. Lydia would have given it to him in a second if he’d just asked. But he hadn’t. He hadn’t, because a part of him knew having that number might be useful in the moment, but would be a bad idea in the long run. There was a reason he’d deleted it six months after they broke up. But still, it hurt, one more reminder of the distance between them, the distance he’d put there.

She shrugged, her expression not changing at all. “It’s fine. I wouldn’t have answered anyway.”

There wasn’t really anything he could say to that, so he said nothing. It was growing more and more obvious by the second that she was not just not in a good mood. She was pissed off, and looking for a fight. Which did not bode well for whatever was coming next. His only play, if he actually wanted to get to the part where they really talked, was to wait it out, let her calm down a bit. He knew from experience it wouldn’t be long, as long as he didn’t say anything to wind her back up. Which, going off how she’d reacted to him so far, meant not saying anything at all.

Sure enough, a minute later, her expression began to soften, her frown easing into more of a look of general displeasure. He bit his tongue, kept waiting, and after another moment, she rolled her eyes, and let out a sigh.

“Whatever. Does your mom know you’re in town?”

He nodded. “I stopped in earlier, visited for a bit. She had to go to work, though, so … here I am.”

“Uh huh. What do you want, Scott?”

“To talk. There’s, uh…” Trailing off, he took a deep breath, shot her a tight-lipped smile he was sure looked more like a grimace. “There’s some stuff I need to say, something I need to tell you, and… I just want to talk to you, okay? I’m not trying to bother you, I swear. I just… I need a few minutes. That’s all.”

He wasn’t sure if it was the clear plea in his voice, or if she just wanted to get it over with, get rid of him, but after a moment spent studying him closely, she nodded curtly. “Okay. A few minutes.” Slapping the door of his truck, she nodded toward the house. “Come on. Too hot to stay out here.”

Without another word, she started across the street, and he scrambled to follow her. She made no effort to wait, actually seemed to lengthen her stride as he hurried out of his truck, stumbling slightly, forcing him to jog to catch up to her. For just the briefest of seconds, he thought he saw a hint of a smile on her face when he did draw level with her, but he chalked it up to his own imagination a second later when she saw him looking and shot him a fierce scowl.

To avoid getting more of that, he turned his attention to the house. Derek’s house. He half-expected to feel a pang of grief as he approached, but there was nothing. Probably because he’d never actually been there before, had no memories of Derek there, nothing to tie the two together. It was just a house.

“When’d you move in here?” he asked softly, as she led the way inside.

“Couple of months ago.” She gestured to the kitchen table, and he took it as an invitation to sit. The correct interpretation, as she did the same, sliding into the seat directly across from him. “Peter was sniffing around. I didn’t like it, so I moved in.”

There was still an edge to her voice, but her cadence had changed. Now, it was clipped, words out as quick as she could say them. It was how she sounded when she’d rather be doing anything else, not wasting any time. He couldn’t blame her for that.

“It’s nice.”

Small talk never had been a strength of his. It didn’t matter, though. She clearly didn’t want to talk anyway, just sat there, silently watching as he looked around. The house really was nice. Small, but nice. Extremely neat, almost everything in its proper place, which he assumed was how Derek had kept it, how she honoured his memory. There were hints of her in there, too, though. The loaf of bread on the counter, the open end folded underneath it rather than spun and clipped. The sink full of dirty dishes, her least favourite household chore. The pad of paper and pen sitting on top of the microwave, the pen-cap all chewed up.

Little things that made him wish he had found her number, called her, asked her to meet him somewhere else. Somewhere there was nothing to remind him of the time when seeing those things was an every-day part of his life.

“Just you here, then?” he asked, a distraction as he returned his gaze to her. When she arched an eyebrow, he shrugged, ducked his head. “Sorry, not trying to pry. Just seemed like maybe you and Parrish were heading somewhere last time I was here.” Damned if that didn’t leave a bitter taste in his mouth, but he pressed on. “I thought the two of you might be…” Trailing off, he gestured vaguely around.

“No,” was her terse reply.

His brow knit. “You two aren’t together?”

For a second, he thought she wasn’t going to answer, her frown somehow deepening even further. But then she gave a slight shrug of her shoulders. “We were. Now we’re not. It wasn’t working.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. Uh, what happ—” The question died in his throat the second he saw her eyes narrow, a clear warning that pressing on harder on that subject was not going to make things any less tense. Switching tracks, he forced what he hoped looked like an understanding smile, and said, “Break-ups suck. Me and Allison actually—”

“I know.”

Bemused, his head tilted slightly. “You know?”

She nodded, expression still completely unchanged. “I know. Your mom told me.”

He almost asked why she’d been talking to his mom, before he abruptly realised what a stupid question that would be. Of course she talked to his mom. They were friends. They’d grown close through the first couple of years they’d been together, and even after, when they initially left Beacon Hills, they used to talk often. More than he had, actually. And in the four years since she’d returned to Beacon Hills, he had no idea what she’d been up to. The two of them breaking up didn’t mean she had to cut off all contact with his mom, and she clearly hadn’t.

“What, uh, what’d she tell you?”

“That you two broke up. You were having a tough time, you had a fight, Allison left.” She shrugged, face giving nothing away. “That’s it.”

He frowned. “Bit of an oversimplification.”

“Was she wrong?”

“I—” He froze for a second, then let out a heavy sigh. “No. That’s what happened, I guess, more or less.”

There was more to it. A lot more. But he wasn’t about to share the specifics. Not with anybody. Especially not with her. Not now. He was having enough trouble just getting around to what he’d actually come here to talk about today. No need to dump more of his issues on her, complicate things even further.

“Clock’s ticking, Scott.”

Her words focused his attention back on her, where she’d crossed her arms, that frown back in place on her face. And behind it, hostility. More than he’d been expecting, at least before he got to the point of the visit. Their previous meetings, the anger had always been there, simmering just under the surface, and he got it. He deserved it. But there’d also been restraint. She’d at least tried to curb it. Which led to the awkwardness. Not today. This time, it was like all that anger she felt towards him was cranked up to eleven. It was like she hated him.

Biting back his pain, he nodded, forced his face into a neutral expression, buried what he was feeling down as deep as he could get it. Time to get on with it.

“So, I’ve been thinking about this for… for a while,” he said slowly, trying not to get unnerved by how intently she was watching him. The urge to look to the side, to the clock on the wall behind her, basically anywhere but directly at her was strong, but he resisted. “We—I know things are all fucked up with us, but there are some things I really need to say to you, and, uh…” He took a deep breath, braced himself for the storm that was coming his way. “I’m moving back to Beacon Hills.”

“You’re coming back?”

For the first time, there was something different on her face. Shock. Wide eyes, a slack jaw, unmistakeable. Whatever she’d been expecting, it clearly wasn’t that. To her credit, she suppressed it quickly, buried it back under that irritated look she’d been wearing since she’d first spotted him. But not quickly enough.

“Yeah, it’s—it’s happening. Got a job lined up, a place to stay, and everything. Just waiting for Eli to finish the school year now. A couple of weeks and I’ll be back.”

“Why now?”

He sighed. “I miss it. I miss it all. I miss my mom. I miss—” He swallowed. “I want to come home.”

“All this time,” she said, her voice deceptively soft. “All the time you’ve spent avoiding this place like the plague, and now you’re just coming back?”

His reply came after a lengthy hesitation, because he wasn’t sure what to say, but he didn’t want to lie. She deserved the truth. He had avoided Beacon Hills, for a long list of reasons that had seemed perfectly valid for the longest time. Another mistake, because when he finally had come back, because he’d been forced to, it opened his eyes, made him realise he’d been wrong, that it was where he belonged. Made him realise he’d finally reached a point in his life where he wanted to stop running, where he was strong enough to go back. It shouldn’t have been that simple, just based on what it had cost to stay away so long. But in the end, it was. He wanted to come home, despite everything.

There were a lot of things he wanted that he couldn’t have. They were beyond his reach, and there was nothing he could do about it. But coming home again was entirely within his power. He couldn’t do everything he wanted, but he could do that.

“Yes.”

Her expression didn’t visibly change. Her body language did. She went completely still, staring at him, eyes narrowed. He shifted uncomfortably under the weight of her stare, not sure what to do, what to say. For a second, he thought she was going to explode, the anger coming off her in waves. But when she spoke, as obviously angry as she was, she was still in control.

“Why are you here? Why are you telling me? Did you want me to say welcome back? Did you want—what is this?”

“This is—” Dropping his face into his hands, he rubbed at his eyes with his palms, searching for the right words. What was this? He wasn’t even sure he knew anymore. “I wanted you to hear it from me,” he managed to say, looking back up at her, trying not to flinch at the hard look on her face. “I didn’t want you to just find out I’d come back and not said anything. And I guess…” He let out a heavy sigh, shook his head. “I guess I wanted—”

“What?” she demanded, leaning forward, arms on the table. “You want me to say it’s okay? You want my blessing?”

“No. No, I—” He swallowed heavily, met her angry eyes, his own hopeful. “I wanted to know if there was a way we could be okay again.” She rocked back in her chair at that, eyes widening, and he pressed on, taking advantage of the moment. “I knew things would be different between us after… after. I’m not an idiot. But the way it’s been… I don’t want you to be uncomfortable around me. I don’t want you to hate me. I know I’ve got no right to ask anything of you. I know that. But I’m gonna be around. We’re going to see each other. And I don’t want it to be weird every time.” Placing his palms flat on the table, he took a deep breath, and looked up, met her gaze. “Is there any chance we can be all right again?”

There was more he could have said, but he stopped himself. He was getting dangerously close to losing it, to spilling his guts to her, and that would be a mistake. What he’d just said was already too much. Piling more on top of it was just going to make it worse.

If anything could make it worse.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Not a great sign. Even less so was her stormy expression, the way her nostrils were flaring as she leaned forward, mirrored his position. “You want us to be all right? Seriously?” He didn’t respond, knew she wasn’t really asking. “We were all right. For ten fucking years, we were all right. We were happy. Or I was happy. I thought you were too. And then you decided you needed space, and that was it. You just left. We were done. And I couldn’t understand why. I couldn’t figure out how love can just disappear like that. That’s…” She slammed her hand down on the table, hard enough it creaked, and he leaned back, jaw clenched tight almost as tight as his chest felt. “I don’t hate you, Scott. I never will. But seeing you now… it hurts.”

He let out a shuddering breath. “I know.” Her eyes narrowed at how emphatic his tone was, but he didn’t pause, didn’t let her linger on it. “I don’t—” Burying his face in his hands, he groaned. He felt terrible, over everything, over all of it. Hurting her, leaving her. The cowardly excuse he’d given her. That he’d thought, at the time, he was doing the right thing by her. He couldn’t take any of it back. But he could clear things up. “I didn’t need space.” Looking up at her, he forced himself to meet her gaze, not to flinch or look away at the anger he could see there. “And you were—it had nothing to do with you. It’s never been about how much I love you. Never. You’re more than enough for me. You’re…” He huffed out a breath, shook his head. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

His heart clenched painfully at the way she shut her eyes tight, her whole body trembling from the tension. “Then why?” she asked, voice thick with more emotions than he could identify. “Why did you leave? Did you just… fall out of love? Did you just wake up one morning and decide the life we were building wasn’t worth the effort? What was it?”

The naked pain in her voice hit him like a punch to the stomach. He could feel himself choking up, but she deserved an answer. She deserved the truth. The least he could do was give that to her, even if it was way too late.

“It was me,” he said simply, his voice barely above a whisper. “It was all me. I was in a dark place, and you were such a bright spot. The only bright spot. I—I cut everybody else out of my life, until it was just me and you, and I just… I started to think all I was doing, all I’d ever do was drag you down. And I couldn’t do that to you. You don’t do that to the ones you love. I had to go. I had to get away before I pulled you down into that pit with me…”

It hadn’t been a quick thing.

In the immediate aftermath of the war with Monroe and the hunters, he’d chosen to take up a nomadic lifestyle, drifting across the country, helping to bring stability to the dozens of packs left damaged and in chaos by the struggle. It made sense. He’d been an authority figure, somebody they all respected, maybe the only person who could actually help. So that’s what he’d done, moving from town to town, helping as best he could. And through it all, she’d been right by his side, for ten years. The one constant in his life, the one person he counted on, the one he couldn’t, wouldn’t push away.

Which didn’t stop him from pushing away others. As time crawled on, he’d stopped talking to their friends, stopping going back to Beacon Hills, let all those old connections wither and die. The war had left him changed, with memories of people they’d lost, things he’d done, things he’d failed to do haunting him. Reluctance to face his friends, the people who’d seen him at his worst led to avoiding them, until it just became easier to cut off all contact altogether. Which led to avoiding Beacon Hills, because there wasn’t a street he could go down, wasn’t a place he could see that didn’t remind him of a mistake he’d made, or a relationship he’d killed. Bad choice after bad choice added up, until he was alone.

Except for her. She’d been there, with him, supporting him, and he couldn’t picture his life without her. Until the time eventually came for them to seriously consider settling down somewhere. And then it all fell apart.

Beacon Hills was the only place she wanted to call home. He knew it, understood it. He also knew he couldn’t go back. Not then. He would have followed her anywhere else, but he couldn’t go there. She, on the other hand, would have followed him anywhere. He knew without asking, without doubt, she would have given up her own wants, her own needs to support his. He knew she’d always put him before herself, sacrifice her happiness for his. He’d seen it, the entire time they’d been together. He’d watched her take bullets for him, watched her walk away from their friends just to stick by his side. It was who she was, who she’d always be. As long as he was in her life, she would always put him first.

At that point, he’d been hiding just how dark things had gotten for him. He was drowning in all the mistakes he’d made, clinging to her, the only thing keeping his head above water. The only thing he could do, the only thing that made sense to him then was to cut her loose, before she drowned right next to him.

So he left. He told her he needed some space, that he needed time to figure some stuff out, and he left. As much as it hurt, as miserable and lonely as it made him, he did it, because he loved her, and he really thought it was what she needed. And she’d done exactly what he’d hoped, had gone back to Beacon Hills, started reforming all those old connections he’d destroyed. She’d started building a life without him. He’d gone to Los Angeles, close enough to be nearby if anything threatened her. Far enough he didn’t have to see her everyday, be reminded of the love he was denying himself.

God, he wished he could go back, take it back. Make his old self understand that how he’d been feeling then wasn’t real. What they’d had was real. Everything else, all the negative was just depression talking, trauma from what he’d gone through, warping his perspective, dragging him down, pushing him toward the edge. That he could get past it if he just tried, if he worked at it. That walking away from her was the worst mistake he would ever make.

Too late.

“I convinced myself I had to get away from you,” he finished, breathing heavily from the effort of explaining it all, explaining his screwed up thought process, the broken logic he’d somehow taken for truth back then. “For your own good. That your love for me was poisoning you, would eventually kill you. That my love for you was just an anchor, dragging you down. I was wrong. God, I was wrong. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I wish I could go back, I wish I could take it back…”

He trailed off into silence, eyes locked on her face, a face gone cold, still, like it was carved from stone. She hadn’t moved, hadn’t blinked through it all, just let his words wash over her, let him pour it all out until he was nearly empty. And still, she sat there, frozen, as he struggled to keep himself from completely falling apart right there at her kitchen table.

“What am I supposed to say to that?” she finally asked, voice tight, controlled. “What am I supposed to do with that? It doesn’t change anything. We can’t go back, can’t be what we were when we were kids. There’s too much. There’s—just tell me what you want.”

“I just want to know if we can be in each other’s lives again. I want to know if there’s anything I can do to make it better.”

For a moment, she was silent, staring at him, and he could see the emotions playing across her face. “There isn’t,” she finally said, and there was a finality to her tone that had him swallowing around the lump in his throat, trying to maintain his composure. “We can’t choose how we feel. When there’s trouble, I’ll be there. If we bump into each other in the grocery store, I’ll say hello. But I can’t pretend I—” Her voice cracked, and he flinched, looked away as she got herself back under control. “Time’s up. Get out.”

There was no argument to be made. One look at her face, at the blank mask she’d pasted on, over her pain, even over the usual anger, and he knew. This entire visit had been a failure. He’d accomplished nothing he’d set out to do. All he’d done was upset her, and himself. Staying there any longer was only going to make it worse for both of them. With a nod, he rose to his feet, and headed for the door, feeling a terrible sense of déjà vu as he stepped farther and farther away from her.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, pausing in the doorway, turning head just enough to catch her in his peripheral vision. “I just want us to be friends again.”

“Funny,” he heard, as he opened the door, stepped out into the light. “That’s the last thing I want us to be.”

Scott was aware that sitting alone, in the dark, staring blankly at the wall for an hour was generally considered concerning behaviour. But he was alone, and that’s what he was in the mood for, so that’s what he was doing.

Anybody looking in on him probably would have thought he was asleep. Or maybe dead. His face was set in place, every muscle frozen, a statue, his breathing so slow it was barely visible. Inside his head, it was a different story. He was lost in thought, re-living that terrible encounter with Malia earlier over and over again. Replaying it from every angle, wallowing in the pain, in the disappointment, in the self-loathing. There was nobody to blame but himself, and he was piling on the abuse, kicking himself for putting her through everything, for letting his own insecurities, his anxiety trigger self-sabotage on such a profound level.

“That’s the last thing I want us to be.”

Her parting words kept echoing in his head, in his soul, and he could feel the weight of them. He didn’t blame her. It was impossible to go back. They’d shared too much, good and bad, to ever really be friends again. It had been a fool’s hope on his part that they could, that there was any path back to some kind of easy co-existence again. He’d turned their life upside down with almost no explanation, and even though she’d made her own life in the wake of it, moved on, that was always going to be true.

She had every right to hate him. Even if she insisted she didn’t. If that meant they were doomed to being awkwardly civil every time they were forced to interact for the next fifty years, so be it. It was more than he deserved.

There was a part of him, a tiny part he was doing his best to ignore, that kept insisting he should tell her the whole truth. That he should tell her everything. Tell her what had ultimately ended his weak attempt at rekindling a relationship with Allison. Tell her why he’d spent the three years in Los Angeles before that on his own, with not even the slightest attempt to move on, meet anybody else. Tell her that he didn’t really want to be friends either, but that the alternative, not having her in his life at all, was so much worse he’d had to try.

But that was the devil talking. She was in a good place. From everything he’d heard over the years, she seemed to be doing well, moving on. He had no right to drag her backward, no matter what he felt, no matter what he wanted. He’d already done enough damage today.

“Well, this can’t be a good sign.”

Given how deeply inside his own head he was buried, it was no surprise he didn’t hear the door open, or the approaching footsteps. When he did hear the voice, he blinked slowly, coming out of the near-trance he’d been in, and looked to his left. His mom was standing there, in the entrance to the living room, high-lighted by the moonlight spilling in through the kitchen window.

“What?” he asked, voice coming out a harsh croak, rough from disuse.

“You,” she replied, waving around the room. “You know you can turn a light on, right? I did pay the power bill this month.” To illustrate her point, she reached over and flicked on the lamp sitting on the small table next to the entryway, flooding the room with dim light. He grunted, looked back at the wall, and she frowned. “I’m guessing things didn’t go so great with Malia this afternoon.”

“They pretty much couldn’t have gone worse.” The sigh he let out sounded like it came from somewhere down around his toes, but he forced a smile, and a casual shrug. He was a grown man. He wasn’t going to mope. Not where anybody could see him, anyway. “It’s okay. I didn’t expect anything. I hoped, but…” Trailing off, he shrugged again. “It is what it is.”

“I’m sorry, Scott,” his mom said, as she stepped into the room, and perched herself on the coffee table, in front of him. “But you can’t really be surprised, can you?” Her words came out slowly, like she was carefully choosing them. “After everything, you didn’t really expect her to just… be okay with you again, did you?”

“No. But I still hoped. I thought…” He shook his head, a wry smile twisting his lips. “I thought maybe there might still be enough there to, I don’t know, to build something back, y’know? Something positive. But…” Another sigh, and a smile that lacked even the tiniest bit of humour. “It really seems like she hates me.” Then, quieter. “She should hate me.”

“She doesn’t hate you.”

He arched an eyebrow, surprised by just how certain she sounded. “Yeah? Did she tell you that? She told me you guys talk, that you told her about me and Allison.”

Leaning back slightly, she frowned, looking more than a little uncomfortable. “No, she—she doesn’t really talk about you. Ever. It’s—you’re a touchy subject, Scott. And I doubt she thinks I can be impartial.”

He grunted again. “More proof that she does hate me.”

She let out a noncommittal noise. “Maybe.” There was something in her voice, a slight undercurrent of doubt that had him looking at her, eyes narrowed, but she quickly moved on. “You know I have to ask, right?”

“Ask what?”

“Why does this matter so much to you?” She held up her hand to cut him off before he could speak, could ask what she meant. “I mean, you two broke up years ago. You’ve both moved on, right? You’ve been around her since then. You might not have a personal relationship anymore, but you know she’ll be there when you really need her. So, why?” Eyes narrowed, she studied his face intently, looking for something, though he couldn’t figure out exactly what it was. “Why does it matter if you can be friends, or anything else? Why does it matter if she hates you or not?”

For a second, he was still, looking back at her, trying to figure out how to best answer that question. Because there was an answer. He just wasn’t sure if he wanted to share it. There were exactly two people in the world who knew for sure. He was one. The other was Allison, and she only knew because of a chance find, a unique situation that allowed her to figure it out, even before he’d reluctantly confirmed it for her. Did he really want his mom to be the third? Did he want anybody to?

On the other hand, what could it hurt? Maybe talking about it would help.

“It matters,” he said slowly, “because I still—”

Despite choosing to speak, Scott still felt a huge spike of relief when he was interrupted by a knock on the door. That relief was short-lived, however, when the door opened a second later, and somebody came inside. He turned his head to look, the question of who would walk into the house after just a brief knock only just having time to form in his head before Malia appeared.

Just like earlier, at her place, he felt his heart skip a beat as soon as he laid eyes on her, felt his breath catch in his throat. He couldn’t help it. Despite how poorly things had gone, he was still happy, more than happy to see her. She paused in the same spot his mom had, her eyes finding him, and locking on, pinning him in place.

“Can we talk?”

He nodded wordlessly, not sure what was going on. Knowing her like he did, he wouldn’t have been shocked if she was still pissed at him for earlier, wanted to let him know what was on her mind. Except she didn’t look angry anymore. There was a certain way she stood when she was looking for something specific, when she was driven by something, a way she held herself. That’s what he saw. Whatever she was here for, whatever she was searching for, she’d left the rage at home.

“I guess that’s my cue to leave.”

It was only when his mom spoke, when she stood, that he even remembered she was in the room. Forcing his eyes to her, he gave her a small smile when she patted his knee reassuringly, then watched as she headed toward the door. Pausing in the entryway next to Malia, she gave her arm the same treatment she’d given his knee.

“Take as much time as you need,” she said softly.

“Thanks, Melissa.”

After his mom left, disappearing out through the door, leaving them alone in the house, there was only silence. For a long moment, they just looked at each other, neither speaking, neither moving. On Scott’s end, he could feel the tension building, as he waited for whatever this was to reveal itself. But he couldn’t speak first. Wouldn’t. He’d had his moment, said his piece. For better or worse, this was her time. She’d come to him, asked to talk to him, and she was going to get that chance, without interference.

Which didn’t mean he didn’t take note of the way she was looking at him, studying him. There was something about her furrowed brow, the slight tilt of her head that told him she was appraising him. Or maybe trying to figure him out. He had no idea what exactly about him had her looking at him like that, but there must have been something. It was like he was a puzzle she just couldn’t quite put together, a missing piece keeping the full image obscured.

“There are a couple things I want to talk about,” she finally said, her eyes locking onto his. “But first, I need to know if we can just be honest with each other. Just—just talk, y’know, like we used to. Open, honest, nothing off-limits, no bullshit. Can we do that?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yes. We can do that.”

“Okay, good.” Pausing, she eyed him silently for a moment, bit her lip. “Can I sit?”

“Yeah, of course.”

There were mixed emotions in him as she joined him on the couch, settling in next to him in a spot they’d shared before, many times. It didn’t matter those times had come so long ago. In his head, it might as well have been yesterday. He vividly remembered the little sigh she’d let out as she got comfortable, the warmth as she’d lean into his side, use him like a pillow. The memories had a lump forming in his throat, even as the reality of the present had his jaw clenching tight, biting back the pain he felt at how stiffly she sat this time, how she was careful to keep as far away from him as she possibly could.

Sitting on a couch with somebody shouldn’t be this hard, but that’s where he was. That was the position his choices had put him in.

Before she could see the struggle on his face, he schooled his features into what he hoped was more of a curious expression, and turned his whole body so he could properly face her. It was a little unnerving to find he staring back, still closer than they’d been in a long time despite the space between them on the couch, but he resisted the urge to look away, gestured for her to say what she’d come to say.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” she said, after taking a deep breath. “I was—you caught me off-guard, and I reacted poorly.” The corner of her mouth ticked upward ever so slightly. “You know how much I love surprises.”

That got a tiny smile out of him, as he nodded. “You don’t need to apologise.” His smile turned sad. “I get it. I didn’t expect you to be happy to see me.” She shifted slightly, like she was about to say something, and he paused, but when she remained silent, he pushed on. “I’m not under any illusions about where we stand, Malia. I know things are always gonna be... strained. I was just…” He trailed off, huffed out a little sigh. “I don’t even know what I was doing. Making another mistake, I guess.” He shot her a wry grin. “Seems to be the only thing I’m good at.”

She hummed low in her throat, her eyes never leaving his. “I know the feeling.” She paused there, and he watched her lips thin as she pursed them. “So…” She clicked her tongue. “I know you said you weren’t looking for my blessing to come home, but before anything else, I wanted to say… you do have it. The way we left things earlier, I didn’t want you thinking I have a problem with you coming back. So, yeah.” She clapped her hands together, cleared her throat. “Welcome back to Beacon Hills, I guess.”

“Yeah?” he asked, uncertain. “You’re okay with it?”

There was only the slightest hesitation from her. “Yeah. I mean, it’s your home too. I can’t keep you out. I don’t want to. And even if I did, it’s not like it’s my town.”

“More yours than mine these days,” he pointed out.

She let out a huff. “All right, sure, I guess it kinda is my town now. But that doesn’t change anything. I’m not gonna try to stand in the way, Scott.” Finally, the smallest of smiles appeared on her face, and seeing her brighten just that tiny amount made his heart stutter again. “Your mom would never forgive me.”

“She did seem pretty happy when I told her,” he replied, mirroring her expression.

“She misses you. A lot of people miss you.” He cocked an eyebrow at the way her voice had softened, how her smile had faded, and she quickly cleared her throat again. “Like Liam. He’s been coming back more often lately. He’ll, um, he’ll be happy to see you.”

Scott tried to suppress his grimace at the reminder of his old friend, of all his old friends. The people he’d isolated himself from over the years, until there was almost nobody left. There were a lot of people who deserved an apology from him, an explanation, and coming back to Beacon Hills permanently was almost certainly going to mean those explanations were about to come due. Which he’d known, considered when he made the decision that coming back was what he wanted to do. He’d figured once he got through the conversation with her, the rest would look a lot easier by comparison.

“Will he? I’m not really on good terms with… well, with anybody.”

She shrugged, though the smile she shot him was sympathetic. “I don’t know. I think so. You might have to work at it, but…” Another shrug. “You’re gonna have to rebuild a lot of relationships. But the foundation is still there for a lot of them. It’s up to you.”

Huffing out a sigh, he grunted low in his throat, and nodded. “You’re right.”

A moment of silence followed then, and he found himself unable to look away from her. There was a bit more tension in her now, in the way she was sitting, shoulders slightly up, jaw clenched just a little bit. Whatever she wanted to say, they were coming to it, and he could feel the weird mix of dread and anticipation building in his stomach, a little ball of feeling that had him thinking he might throw up if it went on much longer without some kind of resolution.

“Fuck, this is a lot harder than I thought it would be,” she suddenly said, and he could see the frustration on her face. “Do you ever wish we could get drunk? Just forget about everything for a little while?”

“Every day,” was his fervent response.

She smiled then, a real, genuine smile, and it was like the sun was suddenly lighting up the room. At least until it slowly faded into something more neutral. “But we can’t forget,” she said softly, more to herself than to him, her gaze locked on his face. “Okay, here we go.” She took a took breath, and he braced himself. “I wasn’t lying when I said I don’t hate you.”

“You should,” he murmured.

“Yeah, well, I can’t, all right? I—” She swallowed heavily. “I just can’t. Which doesn’t mean I haven’t cursed your name more than once since you left.”

“I figured,” he said softly, hanging his head.

“But I’d be lying if I said I don’t miss you,” she continued, and it hit him just how vulnerable she looked in that moment, how tentatively she spoke, like it pained her to admit it. He couldn’t help but wonder when the last time she’d really opened up to somebody was. “‘Cause I do. And that—I’ve never really been sure how to deal with that, okay?”

“Okay.” He kept his voice quiet, didn’t want to knock her off whatever track she was on, whatever she was leading him to.

“Today, after you left, I thought a lot about what you said. Everything you said.” Her emphasis had his eyes narrowing, but she never paused. “And there are some things—I’m trying to clear some things up, okay? I’ve got some questions.” She arched an eyebrow, challenging. “You gonna answer them?”

Nodding, he ignored the odd sense of foreboding her words sent coursing through him. “I will.”

Hesitating for a second, she licked her lips. “Earlier, at my place, when you told me why you… why you left, you said you wish you could take it back. Does that—” She cleared her throat. “Does that mean you wish you could do it different? Us, I mean. How we ended.”

He heaved out a sigh, a sad smile twisting his lips. “Not different. I wish I hadn’t done it at all. I wish I’d never left.” If he hadn’t been so internally focused, remembering how he’d felt in the days, the weeks, the months after he’d first gone to Los Angeles, he might have noticed how her eyes lit up. But he couldn’t see anything through his own memories. “So many times, I’ve thought about coming to find you, trying to fix things. The first few months, I’d look at your name in my phone for hours and just think about calling, telling you how bad I fucked up. But I was so deep in a hole back then, I couldn’t find daylight. I was so convinced I was doing the right thing, doing what was best for you.” He shook his head, cursing himself for how stupid he’d been, how badly he’d handled everything then.

“I thought you would come after me,” she admitted, her expression mirroring his. “For months after I got back here, I was so sure I’d wake up one morning, and you’d be here. But you never came.”

“No, I—” Honesty. They were supposed to be honest. “I almost did,” he whispered, before pausing to swallow, jaw clenching tight at the particularly painful memory associated with that decision. “About a year in. Things were sort of getting a little better. I thought maybe I could brave Beacon Hills again, see you. See if I could make it work here. But I called Lydia first, to see if she’d come with me, and she mentioned you’d started dating again.”

That had been a dark day, when he’d first really had to reckon with the reality of his desire for her be happy without him, and what that would actually look like. He hadn’t handled it well.

“My first attempt to move on,” she murmured.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Well, that put an end to that for me. You were doing what you needed to do. Things were better for me, but not good, and I couldn’t—I didn’t want to screw things up for you. I, uh…” He hesitated for a second, not sure how much he should admit. “I was kind of a wreck for a little bit after that. I forgot about coming back, just threw myself into work. It was… it was a distraction, but I needed it. I needed to get you out of my head.”

He expected her to respond to that immediately, but she was quiet instead, studying him closely for a moment, and again, he got the feeling she was searching for something, trying to puzzle something out. Which still had him completely stumped. He’d been pretty upfront with her today, hadn’t left much unsaid. And what he had left unsaid was something he doubted she had any interest in actually finding out.

“And after that?” she finally prompted. “You never thought about trying again?”

Again, he hesitated. Throwing himself into work, letting it become the only thing in his life had worked. He’d focused on helping animals, helping people, and let everything else fall away. As much as it possibly could. His already-infrequent calls to his mom, and Lydia had grown even rarer, with the work as an excuse. Really, he’d just been avoiding hearing more news about her in passing. Cutting himself off from his old life more than ever before. But none of that meant he didn’t think about coming back, didn’t dream about it. Scenarios where she took him back, forgave him for everything, where they got to live happily ever after, like the last four years never happened.

“I think about it,” he admitted softly. “A lot. But I could never do it. I just…” He blew out a breath, shook his head. “Every time I heard about you, it seemed like you were doing well. Like you were happy. And that’s all I’ve ever wanted. Even if it’s not with me.”

He cut off abruptly, the truth on the tip of his tongue, his voice thick with emotion. Closing his eyes tight, he took a few breaths, trying to get himself under control. Much more of this, and he was going to lose it. When he opened his again a second later, he found her studying him again, that considering look back in place. But not quite the same. There was something else this time. A light in her eyes, like things were starting to come together.

“Scott,” she said slowly, an odd undercurrent to her voice, “Nothing off-limits, right?”

He forced a tight-lipped smile, bracing himself for the worst. “Right.”

“What happened with you and Allison?” To say he was caught off-guard by the subject change would be an understatement, but it must not have shown on his face, because she continued on without pause. “Your mom told me the basics, but she didn’t go into detail, and I just…” Her shrug was nonchalant, her expression anything but. “You looked… happy when you left with her.”

Happy. Happy wasn’t the right word. Hopeful fit better. Hopeful that he’d found the one thing that could get him past her. He’d thrown himself into a relationship with Allison because she’d been his first love, and that had to matter. It had to, because if it didn’t, he was out of options. He’d never felt any romantic connection to anybody after Malia, but with Allison, it already existed. He’d convinced himself he could build on that, that it would let him forge a real relationship, despite the years, despite how much he’d changed, despite what he was holding onto. Moving on had never even seemed like a possibility. But suddenly, there was a chance, and he’d jumped on it, because he couldn’t see another opportunity ever coming his way.

Selfish. And wrong. Wrong to put that on somebody he cared about, to drag somebody else into his mess. Wrong because it was doomed to failure. And it hadn’t taken long for reality to set in.

Leaning his head back, he looked up at the ceiling, and blew out a breath. “We never should have got back together,” he said, barely a whisper. “It took about a week to figure that out.” Letting his head loll to the side, he flashed her a wry smile. “Turns out jumping into a relationship with your high school ex that’s been dead for fifteen years is a bad idea. Who could have guessed?”

She snorted, then immediately clapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry, I just—” Another snort, softer, and a little burst of laughter she was only partially able to stifle. “I’m sorry. Go on.”

To her credit, she sounded sincere. But she was also still trying and failing to hide her amusement. Which he couldn’t blame her for. In retrospect, the whole thing seemed like some kind of joke. He’d been delusional to think it could ever work, for the obvious reasons, and a few more he was keeping to himself. Waving off her apology, he shrugged, directed his gaze back up to the ceiling above.

“We tried, y’know? Even though we knew it wasn’t working. We were using each other. We both needed something, and tried to get it from each other. I, uh… she helped with Eli.” Not a lie, but not the truth either. But as close as he was comfortable getting. “And she needed a connection to the world, to help her get back into it. But that could only get us so far. In the end, there just wasn’t anything there. There was love, but we weren’t in love, and that… that matters. We were just—we’re at different points in our lives. I’m—Jesus, just look at all the shit we lived through, all the stuff we did. She’s got none of that. She’s basically the same person I met when I was sixteen. And I’m… I’m not. It was only a matter of time. We both knew it.”

“And then the fight…?”

He huffed out a breath, a little smile twisting his lips. “The fight.” There was a heaviness to his words, a heaviness he felt mirrored in his chest, but not about the fight. About what had led to it. About what it had led to, a confession he hadn’t thought he’d ever have to make. “It wasn’t even really a fight,” he said, forcing a light tone, trying to deflect. “It was a misunderstanding, one that got us to finally admit we weren’t working. That I’m not what she needs. That she’s not who I want.” He looked back over at her, shrugged. “That was it. She left two days later. Flew out to meet up with her dad.”

“How’s she handling it?”

He shrugged. “She’s good. I talked to her on the phone last week. She seems happier. She’s getting her GED.”

If there was any bright side to the whole failed experiment, it was that Allison actually was adjusting to her resurrection well. It would take time, a lot of time, for her to be truly okay, but she was strong. She’d be all right. She had Argent to help her through it, and he had the resources to make sure she got all the support she needed.

“That’s good.” Again, her words sounded sincere. But the smile she flashed him looked half-hearted, and her eyes had narrowed. And that strange undercurrent, that weird tension was back in her voice when she asked, “What was the fight about?”

He froze, recognising the intensity he could see in her eyes for what it was. That was how she looked when she was determined to find something, determined to see it through. For whatever reason, she’d latched onto his reluctance to talk about the fight, and she wasn’t going to let go. No matter how much he wanted her to. Because he couldn’t talk about it, couldn’t get into the details, not without revealing more than he wanted to. Not without turning this whole thing on its head. Not without telling her the one thing he was determined to keep hidden, determined to keep buried deep inside.

But he couldn’t lie to her. He’d never been able to do that. She’d always been able to read him like a book. The one time he’d successfully pulled it off was the biggest regret of his life. What choice did he have?

“She found something,” he said softly, directing his gaze back up at the ceiling. “She was looking for… I don’t even know. She was looking for something in my dresser, and she found… something else.”

“Something else?”

“Something else.”

He could hear the eye-roll in her sigh. “Jesus Christ, Scott, are we playing twenty questions here or something?” Looking over at her, he almost smiled at the exasperation on her face, the way her eyebrow arched as she sharply motioned for him to keep talking. “What did she find?”

“A ring,” he said, after a moment’s hesitation. “She found a ring.”

“You bought her an engagement ring?” she asked slowly, confused. Which was understandable, given what he’d already told her about how that relationship had been going. Hard to see how a ring could possibly factor in.

“That’s what she assumed. She confronted me over it. She thought I was planning something stupid to try and… I don’t know. Try to fix things. Which wasn’t a crazy assumption, I guess, given my history.” He was trying to get something out of her, a smile, anything, but she just grunted, and he felt the resignation settle into his soul. Nothing to do now but tell her and hope she didn’t make the same leap Allison had. “I had to tell her it wasn’t meant for her. That I’d bought it… years ago.”

Silence greeted his quiet words, and he found himself unable to look away from her face. He watched as her eyebrows shot up, her surprise almost comical. Under other circumstance, he may have even laughed. But it didn’t last, her brow furrowing, eyes narrowing as she considered what he’d said, the implication. He could actually see the instant she did what he was hoping she wouldn’t, made the exact same connection Allison had, saw her jaw clench, saw something, some emotion flare to life in her eyes.

“You bought it for me.”

It wasn’t a question, and he didn’t bother responding to it like it was. Instead, he just watched her face, holding his breath, praying she wouldn’t ask the one question he didn’t want to answer. The question Allison had asked. Because he didn’t have it in him to even try to lie to her. Deflecting hadn’t worked, wouldn’t start working now. He’d have to tell her the truth, and that would be it. The end of this conversation. The end of their attempt to be anything more than awkward acquaintances. The end.

He saw the question coming before she even opened her mouth, felt his heart drop somewhere down around his toes. Of course she was going to ask. It was the only thing that made sense to ask. Because it didn’t fit. Keeping that ring didn’t fit with somebody who’d moved on.

“Why did you—”

“Don’t ask me that,” he interjected, cutting her off, the desperate plea in his voice, written all over his face, imploring her to bite her tongue. “Just don’t. Please.”

If she stopped there, if she just didn’t press, didn’t make him say it, they could go on. Ignorance was bliss. They could try this, try to be friends again, try to do what he’d asked for, what he’d come to her about. He could pretend it was what he really wanted. He could be her friend. He could have her in his life in a way that didn’t have her looking away every time he walked into the room. It would kill him, but he could do it. He would do it, because he needed her in his life again, and he just couldn’t deny that, couldn’t run away from it, from her anymore.

But if she didn’t stop, if she asked, he’d answer. And no matter how weird, how uncomfortable things had been, they’d get worse. It was something he knew they wouldn’t be able to get past.

Unfortunately, it was too late to stop now. She’d found a scent, and she’d followed it, would follow it wherever it led. There was only one way that hunt was going to end. He could see it in the way her eyes flashed, defiance burning in their depths. In the obstinate set of her jaw, the way she leaned ever so slightly closer to him, her gaze focused directly on his.

“Why did you keep it?”

Her words came out quiet, soft, but they echoed through the room like she’d shouted them. To his ears, at least. Because that was it. It was over.

At that point, he knew she knew. He knew there was no point in dragging this out, in explaining every little bit of his thought process. She was looking at him, and he couldn’t interpret her expression, couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but it couldn’t be good. Her lips were set in a tight line, her eyes dark, unreadable. As soon as he said the words, confirmed it, she’d probably explode, make all that anger from earlier look like nothing in comparison. Better to get it out, get it over with, let her vent. And then let her walk out that door. Let her walk away from him this time.

“I couldn’t let it go, because I couldn’t let you go. Because I’m still in love with you.”

There it was. The thing he was holding back. The thing that was haunting him, had been since the day he’d left her. He was just as in love with her now as he’d ever been, despite all the time apart, everything else that had happened. She was the one, and he’d fucked it up. Ruined it beyond all repair. And now he had to live with that. He had to live without her, because there was no way she was going to want to be near him now. It had been hard enough, awkward enough when she thought he’d moved on. Knowing that he hadn’t was only going to make that ten times, a hundred times worse.

The silence between them seemed to stretch on forever as he sat there, watching her, waiting for her to blow up. Waiting for the odd expression on her face to leave, the one that looked oddly triumphant to be replaced by rage. He was somewhat surprised to note how calm he felt, would have expected his heart to be beating out of his chest, the tension of waiting turning him into a mess. But it wasn’t, he wasn’t. He wasn’t anything but resigned. Accepting your fate, even if it was a terrible one, a painful one apparently had at least one benefit.

Which didn’t mean it was easy to watch as she abruptly rose to her feet, and left the room. She didn’t even hesitate, didn’t look back, didn’t say a word. She just walked out.

For the briefest of seconds, he seriously considered getting up, going after her. But he heard the door open and close again before he could move an inch. Not that it would have mattered anyway. What was he supposed to say? What could he possibly do to make this situation better? Tell her he was kidding? Say it was a joke? She’d kill him just on principle, and he’d deserve it. There was absolutely nothing he could do to make this better, nothing he could say that would fix any of it.

There was only one thing to do.

With more effort than he’d expended in a long time, Scott forced himself to get up off the couch, and make the short walk into the kitchen. He hadn’t lived in the house for a very long time, but when he was a kid, his mom had always kept a bottle of whiskey in the highest cupboard, nearest to the fridge. For special occasions. He was hoping she hadn’t changed her ways in his absence. And if she had, the store was just a short drive away.

Werewolves couldn’t get drunk? He was going to seriously put that idea to the test tonight.

The whiskey was exactly where he thought it would be, and the bottle was almost full. Pulling it out, he set it down on the counter, then stood there, staring at it. In his head, the same words just kept repeating, over and over again.

What did you expect? What did you expect? What did you expect?

Nothing. He’d expected nothing. Nothing good. He’d expected her to get pissed off, tell him she never wanted to see him again. Even before his confession, when he was just asking for a chance to be in her life in some small way again. He’d expected hostility. Or apathy. Her to be uninterested in his words, his sentiment. Because she’d moved on, moved past him. He’d hoped for more, hoped for some good, something positive. But he’d never expected it. And yet it hurt. It hurt, even though he’d anticipated it. It hurt.

With a heavy sigh, he reached for the bottle, twisted off the cap. And then nearly dropped it when the door crashed open behind him. Whirling around, eyes wide, his hands already coming up in a defensive position, he stopped short when he found Malia standing in the doorway, glaring at him.

“Four years,” she growled, teeth bared. “Four years and barely a word from you.”

Even from across the room, he could see the fire in her eyes, and despite the circumstances, despite what it meant, he couldn’t help but smile. He missed that, missed seeing it. Missed her. But the smile couldn’t last. Closing his own eyes, he took a deep breath as he screwed the cap back on the bottle and set it back down on the counter, mentally preparing himself for whatever storm was coming his way.

“Yes,” he acknowledged softly, meeting her glare directly.

She took a step toward. “I thought I was gonna spend the rest of my life with you. I was ready to spend my life with you.” He flinched at the pain on her face as she stepped closer. “I would have said yes,” she stated, her voice shaking.

“I know.” His words came out so quiet, they were barely audible. But he knew she’d hear them.

Another step, drawing her level with the table, six feet away from him. “You just left. You walked away from me. Like it was nothing. Like it was easy.”

Her voice was cracking on each word, and every time, it hit him like a slap to the face. It was one thing to know he’d caused her pain. He’d known even before he left that it would hurt her, and it was something that haunted him to this day. But hearing it, seeing it, right there in front of him, getting ever closer was something else entirely. He wanted to say something, try to make it better, tell her it wasn’t easy, it was the hardest thing he’d ever done. But he couldn’t. It wouldn’t help even if he could. She knew. He’d already told her as much. It didn’t change anything.

“I know,” he repeated. It wasn’t right, wasn’t enough, but it was all he had.

“I thought you got tired of me, or—I don’t know. You wanted something else. You wanted… something I couldn’t give you.” She was almost to him now, close enough he could touch her if he reached out. The urge to do just that was strong, but that wasn’t his move to make. He leaned back instead, back against the counter, trying to breathe through the mounting pressure in his chest as she inched even closer, eyes boring into his, not blinking. “You let me think that. You made me think that.”

He swallowed. “Yes.”

“Because you wanted me to move on. Without you.”

“Yes,” he mouthed, his voice gone.

For a second, she was silent, staring at him, no longer moving. All he could see was her, her eyes, taking up his entire field of vision, and he couldn’t look away. There was too much going on there, too much emotion, a roiling mass of it that he couldn’t separate out, couldn’t fully comprehend. Pain and anger and sadness and grief. And others, shifting, lighting up her eyes, lining her face. Too much.

“I should hate you,” she whispered. “I should hate your guts for all of it. For leaving. For staying away. For coming back.”

He nodded, once, barely breathing. “You should.”

Dead silence reigned then, as they stared at each other. Scott could have cut the tension with a knife as he waited for the bubble to burst, for her to say it. Tell him she wanted him gone. Tell him she didn’t want to see him around Beacon Hills. Tell him she never wanted to see him again. She’d be well within her rights. And he’d respect her wishes. As much as it hurt, he’d do it. For her, he’d do it. He’d go back to Los Angeles, change his plans, recommit to a life he didn’t want. For her.

“But I don’t.” He blinked at her words, at her the sudden shift in her tone, the note of almost-wonder in it, as she slowly shook her head. “I don’t. I can’t. Because I still love you too.”

Hearing those words from her were the last thing he expected in that moment. The second to last thing he expected was for her to reach out, grab him, pull him into a kiss. If his brain hadn’t already been broken by what she said, it would have shorted out completely the instant her lips touched his for the first time in four years. As it was, it was all he could do to just stand there, mostly held up by a combination of her grip, and her weight pushing him back against the counter, hands hanging limply at his sides, not sure what to do, what was happening.

Then, instinct took over. Or maybe it was muscle memory. He knew this. He knew her. It was familiar. It was more than that. It was something he dreamed of, longed for. It was Malia, and she was holding him again, kissing him again, and he knew, without thought, exactly what to do with that.

Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her flush against him, lost himself in her. It came naturally, came easy to him, despite the years, despite the uncertainty, the questions about what this was, what it meant. Kissing her again was like coming home, familiar in all the best ways, exciting. She still felt the same in his arms, still tasted exactly like he remembered.

“I love you,” he whispered hoarsely, both of them breathless, flushed when she pulled back slightly. “I’m sorry.” He kissed her again, desperately, unwilling to let go. “I love you.”

“I love you,” she murmured against his lips. “I tried not to. I tried to move on. But I couldn’t.”

There was a small part of him, the tiniest bit in the back of his mind, that started drawing connections. He still loved her, she still loved him. His awkwardness around her, because he was always desperately trying to hide it. Her awkwardness around him, which he’d chalked up to her trying to move on and not appreciating him being there to remind her of what once was. Maybe not the most accurate of interpretations. Maybe she’d been in the exact same position as him, trying not to show what she felt, trying not to show how much it hurt.

“I couldn’t either. It’s you. It’s always been you.”

The moment, their embrace could have gone forever. He wanted it to go on forever. But there was too much between, too many other elements casting a shadow on them for that to happen. As hard as he was trying to hold on, terrified that this was it, this was all they were going to get, eventually, she broke the kiss, pulled away. Not far, just a few inches, but far enough to make his heart clench as he tried to gather his thoughts, tried to recover, tried to keep his heart from beating its way out of his chest.

“I am so pissed at you,” she said softly, her frown only slightly off-set by how bright her eyes were. “There is—there’s so much we need to talk about, so much we need to work through. You understand that, right?”

He nodded, swallowed, afraid to say anything, jinx anything.

“Love only goes so far, Scott. I don’t—” She cut off abruptly, took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled. “I don’t know what this is. I don’t know if we can make this, or anything work. There’s—the history’s there, good and bad, and I don’t know if we can get past it. I don’t know if love is enough.”

Again, he nodded. He got it. Love didn’t wash away the hurt. It existed in spite of it, somehow, miraculously. But acknowledging it didn’t make the hurt disappear. He’d still done what he’d done, chosen what he’d chosen. Him loving her, her loving him didn’t mean it never happened. They couldn’t pretend. But she was still right there, talking to him, talking about them. She’d just kissed him. He could still taste her on his lips, could still feel her hips under his fingertips, could hear her heart beating fast. She wasn’t cursing him out, wasn’t chasing him off, wasn’t running away.

It was impossible not to be hopeful. It was impossible not to want more, not to finally think about, consider the possibility he’d denied himself for so long.

“But I’m willing to try.” His heart sang. “You’re coming back, you’re gonna be here, we can try. We can—”

He kissed her this time, couldn’t help himself. The swelling feeling in his chest had him feeling like he was floating. Like he was flying. This was more than he could have ever hoped for. A chance. A chance he’d been absolutely certain he’d never get. But she was giving it to him. Despite everything, there was a possibility he hadn’t ruined everything. It was a miracle.

No, not a miracle. It was a choice. He’d made bad ones, and would be paying for them for the rest of his life. Four years ago, he’d chosen to run. Regardless of his motivations, he’d chosen to run. She was choosing to face things head-on, choosing to try.

“I’ll do better this time,” he vowed, when they broke apart again. “I promise. I’ll—”

“You’ll talk to me,” she interjected, cutting across him, arching an eyebrow like she was daring him to say something else. “You’ll talk to me because we’re grown-ass people, and if we want things to work out, we need to be open with each other. No running away. No making big decisions for each other without discussing things first.” Her tone was harsh, but she undercut it a second later when she leaned in for another short kiss. “I don’t expect perfection,” she murmured, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes, “but I can’t go through that again, Scott. If we’re gonna do this, if we’re gonna try, we need to do it right.”

He was nodding even before she finished speaking. Fully in agreement. He’d let his demons cloud his judgement about her, about them once. It wouldn’t happen again. He was done hiding in his own head. No matter what happened, no matter how things went for them, he was going to give her exactly what she wanted. Openness. Honesty.

“Yeah. We do. We will. We—” Bringing his hands up, he cupped her cheeks, a gentle smile on his face as he studied hers. “I can do that. Whatever you need.”

“Good. Great.” She clasped her hand over his, mirrored his smile, then leaned in, pressed her lips to his one more time, short and sweet. “Right now, I need food.” She arched an eyebrow. “Have you eaten yet?”

“No,” he said sheepishly. “I, uh, wasn’t really in the mood earlier.” It felt like days ago, that terrible mood he’d been in, dejected from her apparent rejection. But it had only been a few hours. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking we grab a late dinner. We’ve got a lot to talk about.” As she spoke, she stepped back, let his hands fall away from her face. When they dropped low enough, she reached out, grasped one tight, gave a gentle tug. He let himself be pulled away from the counter, as she backed toward the door. “We’ve got four years to catch each other up on. Might as well start tonight.”

Four years of memories. Four years of a life he’d lived without her. A life that had its high points, had things he’d enjoyed, things he was proud off, but had primarily been empty, lonely. A life he was leaving behind now. Coming back to Beacon Hills. Coming back to her. Trying to build a new life, a better life. One with her in it. One with the other people he used to be closed to. Talking about it seemed like a good idea, a good way to hopefully close that chapter, as they worked on writing the next.

There were so many things they’d have to work through. There were no guarantees things would work out. Even if they did, it wouldn’t be easy. There was too much between them for things to ever be easy. But he wanted it, she wanted it, and that seemed like a good place to start. To start again.

“Sounds great.” His smile stretched from ear to ear, a carbon copy of the one lighting up her face. “Lead the way.”