Marcy wasn't one to mope, and with an inability to get drunk in any sense of the word, she did the only sensible thing; she threw herself into her work. For two days, she didn't leave the lab, except brief trips back to her apartment to shower and glare at the flashing zero on her answering machine.

"Not that I don't enjoy the company," Noel eyed her sympathetically as he passed her a cup of coffee, "But shouldn't you be…sleeping? Like a normal person does at one in the morning?"

"Shouldn't you?" The brunette shot back, wrinkling her nose in annoyance. Something was wrong with the way he smelled, different and sour. He stunk of decay, of rotting leaves and he looked like hell, all sallow skin and slow movements. It was unsettling- usually Noel was pretty sharp, but she had more important things on her mind than his case of the flu.

His brown eyes twinkled despite the bags under them, "And miss a chance to sweep you off your feet?"

Marcy rolled her eyes, but allowed herself to smirk; it was a weak, but would suffice. Her stomach ached, the thought of Peter taking care of Kate Argent by himself making her sick and a little lightheaded. Noel was openly looking her over, concern etched into his boyish features.

The woman swallowed and handed him back the coffee, "I think…I'm going to head in for the night."

He smiled at her, "Sounds like a good idea, Marce."

She returned it stiffly and slipped off her lab coat. The December air was brisk, but nothing she couldn't handle as she made her off campus. The moon hung high in the sky, but the entire area was dark and still. Most of the other students had left for Christmas break already and the strangest sense of deja vu hit her as she gazed out at the empty courtyard.

Dread crept up her spine, reminding her that Peter hadn't come for her, hadn't sought her out to help him go after the Argent woman. He'd be alone- well, he'd have Derek but he didn't exactly scream killer, much less competent to the female Beta. Pursing her lips, Marcy squared her shoulders; served him right. She refused to be his eager little bitch any longer. Her stony expression faltered at that. It wasn't like she was dependent on him- hell, it wasn't as if she was lying when she said she didn't need him anymore but that didn't mean she wanted to leave him. She just wanted some respect.

They'd make up. They had to make up. The woman bit her tongue absently as she crossed the road. It was their routine, they fuck and fight and then they fight while fucking and then everything was fine again. Somewhere in between they'd find something to rip to pieces and things would be back to normal. Even if it did mean he only thought of her as his whore.

The egotistical bastard, like he was any less of a Lech. Marcy fished her keys out of her purse and unlocked the entrance door to her apartment building. She was halfway up the stairs went it hit her and with a startled cry her legs gave out from under her. A wave of pain washed over the Beta's body, flooding every nerve with fire as she began to convulse on the stairs. Her claws grew out, trying to catch something to steady herself as roar of anguish echoed through her skull. Just as suddenly as it had appeared, it stopped. An emptiness radiated from her chest, a cold, hollow ache in her lungs as she fought to catch her breath. For a moment, she could only gape at the ceiling, disoriented and despondent.

Peter was dead.

Marcy wasn't sure how she knew it, or why it would be enough to physically knock her off her feet, but it did. It wasn't until she sat up that she realized there were tears on her cheeks. A shaky hand grasped the handrail and she eased herself to her feet. With her head swimming and face flushed, she slowly made her way up the stairs. If Peter was dead, she knew exactly where he would be…a growl escaped her throat and her eyes flashed as she turned and ran down the stairs and out the door.

The smell hit her at the edge of the forest. Tears welled in her eyes as she approached the Hale house, the sight of blood and burnt grass making her stomach twist and knot almost as much as the hanging stench of death in the cold air. The woman steeled her nerves and carefully made her way up the rickety steps of the abandoned house.

Marcy's resolved fell as she caught sight of him. Derek looked over at her from a hole about three feet deep in the center of the room, but she wasn't looking at him. He paused his actions and gripped the shovel tightly, ready to fight if he needed to. He unsurprised but clearly not pleased with her sudden appearance, but her attention wasn't on him. The Beta moved slowly, her expression pained as she made her way toward them. The woman swallowed as she brushed past him, crouching low to look at the corpse a mere foot away.

"You burned him?" Marcy breathed, voice strained and weak as tears began to slip from her eyes, "Of all the things you could've done to him, you burned him?"

"It wasn't me," Derek cleared his throat, "Stiles and Jackson-"

A hollow laugh escaped her, "Stiles." Hadn't she pleaded for his life at one time? "That stupid little…"

With an unsteady but careful hand, the woman reached out to touch him. Peter's eyes were open, wide and blue and disturbingly empty, and Marcy closed them for him. Her fingers lingered on his cheek a moment, the waxy texture familiar despite its unmoving stiffness. They trailed down to the gash along his throat and she turned to look at the younger man. With blazing yellow eyes, she asked, "Who did it?"

Red eyes answered her.

Disgusted, she looked away from him, desperately trying to steady her breathing. Of course it had been Derek, the boy responsible for it all. Peter hadn't told her it was his fault- but his dreams had. He had dreamed of a boy in love and a manipulative seductress with a taste for fire. Marcy bit back a sob. She wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of it. Of seeing her lose control, seeing her come apart at the seams- Derek had mocked her affections for Peter before and she couldn't bear to hear his boosting now. Jaw clenched, she asked him what he was going to do with the body.

"Bury him. Here…with the rest of them." Derek told her, gripping the shovel absently before he began to heave dirt out of the way.

She nodded, but made no move to help him dig. Marcy frowned, catching the scent of unfamiliar blood and asked whose it was.

"Kate's."

A smile, cold and cruel, wound around the woman's lips. "Good."

"You didn't even know her," The man spat, his movements jerky and rough as he continued to dig. "What do you care if she's dead? You didn't know my family. You didn't care about us. It was just another person to tear to pieces and you weren't even here." His hazel eyes blazed red in the darkness and he turned to glare at her. Accusingly, he growled, "Why weren't you here? You could've kept him in line! You could've stopped him!"

"It looks like you handled that all on your own," Marcy replied sharply.

"He was the only family I had left. I didn't want to."

The brunette said nothing, just sat down. She crossed her legs, not wanting to disrupt the corpse of the man she had loved so dearly- in her own sadistic way, of course. Her gaze drifted from Peter to Derek, or more specifically his tattoo, just barely visible between his shoulders in the dark room. The triskelion- a symbol of pack and family among werewolves.

"He killed my sister."

"I know. Laura."

Derek's eyes whipped to hers, but she wasn't looking at him. Not really. Her gaze was blank and her heart beat disturbingly steady as he growled at her, "He bragged about it?"

"He dreamt about it," The woman blinked, her pulse skipping and heart clenching as she met his glare, "he dreamed about a lot of things he didn't want me to see. You. Laura. The fire. What you were like before." His stare softened, but not much. He watched as she turned to look down at the corpse of his uncle, her eyes glazing over with tears as she spoke, "I should've been here… maybe if I had, we'd be digging your grave instead."

The younger man pursed his lips. He remembered how the woman, so weak and frail in the moonlight before him, had taken Peter's face in her hands with cautious affection and smiled at him like he had hung the moon. Without thinking, he asked, "Did you love him?"

There was no hesitance. "Yes, but I didn't like him sometimes."

"Hm." Derek returned to digging the grave, speaking over his shoulder in a low tone, "he loved you too."

A hollow chuckle escaped her lips. "He didn't love me. I don't think he even liked me. I was just convenient. A whore with a crush."

"You knew he was dead without needing to be called," The man shifted some of the dirt, evening it out and flattening the bottom, "Bonds between Alphas and Betas shouldn't run that deep. Not unintentionally."

Marcy didn't reply to that. The chill hadn't left her yet, settling in her veins like ice water and making every movement heavy and dull. Vaguely, she wondered when it would pass.

"I think this is deep enough…" Derek jumped out of the hole. He nodded to his uncle's corpse and took hold of its feet, "help me move him."

The Beta stared at him a long moment before she stood. With considerably more gentle hands than the new Alpha, Marcy eased Peter's shoulders up. She blanched when his head rolled limply on his shoulders, exposing his slashed throat. Her grip tightened and her eyes flashed, but she managed to help Derek get him in the makeshift grave. The woman took special care, arranging his arms across his chest and peered down at him. She kept expecting him to wake up. It was a scratch, wasn't it? Werewolves were supposed to be strong and she had always thought Peter to be indestructible. He had to be with his recklessness.

A rough hand dropped down on her shoulder and she looked up to find Derek frowning at her from the house's main floor. He pulled her out of the grave and for a moment the two were quiet as they stared down at the shell of the man they had begrudgingly loved.

Marcy sighed and in a low voice murmured, "We should say something."

"Like what?"

The petite brunette shrugged, hugging herself tightly with shaking hands, "I don't know. I was never very good with words."

For a few seconds, Derek was quiet before he recited, "thou know'st 'tis common; all that lives must die. Passing through nature to eternity."

"Nicely done," Marcy nodded, trying to swallow the lump in her throat as he picked up the shovel.

She was okay until the dirt hit him.

It didn't cover much, just a small patch of his burned stomach, but it was enough to cut into her lungs. He was dead. A scream bubbled and tore through her, her legs giving out from under her as she began to howl. A broken, tortured sound that cut through the woods and echoed in the darkness. Marcy pressed her face into the floorboards, the splinters cutting her cheeks as she wailed. Her claws dug into the wood, her body racked with sobs. Pain and rage coursed through her; Peter was gone. He wasn't coming back- she'd never get to apologize for calling him broken and damaged, she'd never wake up to his hands on her again or have his fangs prick into her skin. There would be no more love bites, no more teasing touches or hoarse chuckles in the dark. Her cries fell short and she struggled to catch her breath, to steady herself.

There would be no more Peter.

Derek paid her no attention, ignoring her sobs and wails as he finished the job he had set out to do. When he could no longer see pale skin through the dirt, he closed his eyes. Methodically, he continued to shovel, hearing only the brunette's hiccups and whimpers and his mother's voice in the back of his head, telling him how pack was the most important thing; the only thing. And now he didn't have one. No link to his family, no link to his past, he was alone except for the woman at his feet.

As he pushed the last bit of dirt in with his foot, filling the hole, he looked down at her. Marcy was still struggling to even out her breathing, but her heart had calmed, the beats steady and strong. Derek grasped her by the shoulder, "come on."

"No."

"What?"

"I said no," Blue eyes glared up at him, bloodshot and hate filled as she shoved away from him. She stood with a fluid grace, "don't touch me."

The man's hazel eyes narrowed, flashing red in the dawning morning light, "I'm the Alpha now."

"Not mine." She growled at him, "You'll never be my Alpha."

"You'll die without a pack," Derek snapped back at her, "you won't survive without me."

"I'd rather be dead than be your Beta." Marcy spat at him, ignoring the tears on her cheeks and his bared fangs as she walked around him. "Peter may have been an abusive freak, but he was mine." Her eyes glowed and she turned back to look at him as she reached the threshold of the house, "and he's the only Alpha I'll ever have."

Derek swallowed as he watched her disappear into the darkness.

"It will stop your breath how cruel I can be. But you understand, don't you? You are clever enough. I am a demanding creature. I am selfish and cruel and extremely unreasonable. But I am your servant. When you starve I will feed you; when you are sick I will tend you. I crawl at your feet; for before your love, your kisses, I am debased. For you alone I will be weak."

Catherynne M. Valente, Deathless

A/N: I just want to thank all the readers who stuck through this fic through the whole thing. I appreciate it and all the reviews you gave me. The sequel, Flawed Design, should be up within 24 hours.