After Peter died, Marcy took some time to herself.

She spent her Christmas vacation sobbing into her mattress, choking on the scent he left behind and trying to rid her apartment of any trace of him. She gave the apartment a thorough cleaning. She burned her sheets and anything that held a trace of him, from the clothes he had ripped off her that still reeked of their mingled sex to one of the towels he had used during an overnight visit. She scrubbed the floor and steam cleaned the carpets.

The couch was donated to charity.

The young woman knew she was going overboard, that she was letting the dead dictate her life and it sickened her, but not as much as the nightmares or the constant ache in her chest or the complete and utter lack of interest in anything around her. For the first time in her life she understood what it was like to pass through life as a ghost and it scared the hell out of her. Worse yet, it wasn't enough to snap her out of it.

It was a week before Derek came looking for her. A teenager trailed behind him, curly haired and blue eyed and eager to please, but Marcy shut them out. She arched a brow from behind the door, the thick chain lock still in place. A frown pulled at her lips as she asked bluntly, "What do you want?"

"Open the door," The new Alpha demanded with a twisted smile. "It's time we have a pack meeting."

"I'm not a part of your pack," She wasn't about to join another pack. Packs were nothing but trouble- and there was no loyalty to be found in Derek Hale, at least none that she had seen. With a snarl, she snapped at him, "I'll never be part of your pack, Hale. Now get out of here before I call the cops."

The younger man rolled his eyes, his hand shooting out to catch the door as she went to close it. "Marcy. Please. Be rational."

A growl escaped her throat. "Let go of the door, Derek."

"You'll never make it as an Omega," He teased, ignoring the way the boy behind him shifted, "No one ever does."

"I'll take my chances." Marcy bared her teeth at him through the opening, her claws coming out to grip the frame as her eyes flashed, "Now let go or I'll rip your little friend to pieces and leave him for you to find like Peter did your sister."

Derek's eyes flashed at her, an ominous red as the boy behind him startled. The Hale man leaned forward, "Open the door and say that to my face."

A wicked smile crossed her lips, but she did as she was told. The woman opened the door and stepped into the hall, shutting it tightly behind her all while glaring spitefully into the Alpha's eyes. "You're a sheep in wolf's clothing, Derek. I have a better chance by myself than I do with you."

He smirked at her, "You think so? What do you know about being in a pack? A real pack? I can guarantee whatever fucked up little affinity you had with Peter-"

"Isn't any of your business," Marcy finished for him with a mockingly sweet smile. She cocked her hip and leaned back against the door, her gaze dropping to her nails as she spoke, "Moving on."

"You really think you can handle being an Omega?"

The boy stepped forward now, anxiety rolling off him in waves as he all but whispered, "Derek, she said no-"

"Shut up, Isaac."

"You know for all his many, many flaws I don't think Peter ever told me to shut up," The brunette blinked, a sarcastically puzzled expression on her soft features as she crossed arms, "Huh."

Derek rolled his hazel eyes in annoyance, "Marcy. Don't be stupid."

"Never called me stupid either."

"Omegas don't survive very long on their own," He went on, ignoring her quip and moving to loom over her. His expression serious and tight, hers bold and hard as he finished, "They're easy prey for hunters and rival packs. Females especially. It's not safe for you to be on your own."

The woman laughed in his face. Told him if he was the Alpha, she would have better luck on her own and wished the curly haired boy the best of luck with his inept leader before she retreated into her apartment.

It was that afternoon Marcy decided to make some changes. If she was going to be an Omega, by choice and not exile, she was going to have to find a way to defend herself. The first thing she did was line the bottom of her door with mountain ash and attach two latches on either side to create a barrier- no werewolves allowed in without her say so. She began experiment with Wolfsbane in its different forms, began keeping concentrated doses on her person at all times.

It was also that day she resolved to get over Peter Hale. She had mourned him long enough. Marcy went out every night. She took more than her fair share of men to bed until her mattress no longer smelled like her Alpha and sobbed in to her pillow when she realized his last mark on her life was gone. The woman let her heart ache, but didn't let it stop her.

It became the norm, the pang in her chest, the hollow coldness in her bones as she went about her day. Marcy took some time off from school and went on the road with her dad and his friends.

"Mars!" Her brother had screamed, jumping and waving as she left her apartment building. His lean frame a bundle of nerves as he waved his arms excitedly, looking more six than twenty.

Marcy smiled as she hiked her duffle bag up further on her shoulder. Her wheelie suitcase bumped over the stairs behind her. Logan beamed and took it from her, all but tossing it into the red Plymouth's trunk as Clayton looked on fondly. The siblings hugged tightly, but briefly before the elderly man cleared his throat and motioned for them to get in.

"I can't believe your back!" Logan cackled, shaking his big sister's shoulders from the back seat.

Marcy and Clayton shared a smirk. "Where was I before?" The woman asked.

"Dad is so excited, it's not even funny. And Gina? Do you know how long she's been waiting to see your sorry ass?"

"I'm sure your little girlfriend will tire of me quickly."

"Mars," The driver gave her an affectionate punch on the shoulder, "don't be such a suck. You can always fly your little boyfriend out if you get lonely."

When her expression turned somber, the men shared a look. Logan's touch became lighter, more careful as he asked, "Marce? What's up?"

"Nothing."

"Did you and what's-his-face break up?" Clayton asked, his grip on the steering wheel tightening dramatically, "I swear to god, I'll break his legs if he hurt you."

Logan rolled his eyes from the backseat, "That's a little dramatic, Clay."

"Did he put his hands on you? So help me god, I'll-"

"He's dead," Marcy cut in, expression cold and voice hollow as she shook her head, "I don't want to talk about it."

For a few seconds, the men were quiet. Finally, Logan let out a low, "well, shit," as he leaned back in his seat. "That sucks."

"I don't want to talk about it."

Clayton reached over and took her hand. "Well, if you do-"

"I don't."

"We're here for you."

Her blue eyes rolled at him as she let out a sarcastic, "Fantastic."

It was like time had reversed. Like back when she could go to her family for help and she relished in it. The bus was just as it had been, filled with the same people she had come to know as family and Damien was right smack in the middle of it, ready to shower her with all the affection she could handle. Her father was his usual carefree self, all smiles and filled with child-like excitement at the prospect of his two youngest spending some time with him. On threat of castration, Logan stayed quiet about her bereavement. Instead, he and his girlfriend made it their person mission to make sure she had a good time. It was easy to keep her mind off things, considering how they bounced around the country and in such a confined space.

When her first full moon alone came, Marcy was in Detroit. They were staying in a lavish hotel, but the woman didn't really think anything of it as she pulled a familiar flask from her bag. She made a barrier of mountain ash and stayed in it until her younger brother found her the next morning, passed out in the French bathtub in their suite's bathroom.

"Wow." Logan teased, unknowingly breaking the line of ash as he leaned against the tub, "someone certainly had fun last night."

Marcy moaned. With stiff limbs and an aching head, she peeked an eye open as she stretched out, "I wouldn't call it fun."

"There's my hardcore sister." The twenty year old leaned over and pinched her cheek, "I missed you!"

"Don't touch me."

"Oh, don't be such a little bitch. Come on, get up," He ruffled her dark hair, the exact shade of brown as his own, and kicked off from the tub, "Dad wants to get a tattoo and you're coming with us."

"Wonderful."

After checking the sterilization area and making sure the needles were new, Damien hopped into the chair. He beamed at the artist(a man in his late thirties who looked a bit awestruck) and began to roll up his pant leg, "I was thinking you could do something off the top of your head."

"Are you sure? What if you don't like it?"

"Then I've got something to complain about," Damien shrugged, his Cajun accent light and warm with affection as he gestured to his son, "Just make sure it's got Cyan in it somewhere for my baby."

Logan blushed and glared half heartedly at his father, but his attention was drawn away as the women brushed past him. He arched a brow as his girlfriend, Gina, followed Marcy into the backroom, "Where do you think you're going?"

"Mars's gettin' a piercing," The girl replied with a shrug. She brushed her long blonde hair off her darkly tanned and tattooed shoulders before smirking, "In a place I'm sure she don't want her little brother seein'."

Logan stepped back, hands raised. "Say no more."

Marcy barely felt the needle poke through her delicate skin. When it instantly accepted the silver ring without so much as a tingle of redness or healed over skin, she was relieved, if not a little disappointed. The piercer didn't so much as bat an eye at her quick healing, too busy taking off his latex gloves to notice. As she stood, Marcy's eyes drifted to the artwork that lined the walls, over the inked drawings and various brightly colored doodles and pencil sketches.

Gina cocked her head, her arm resting on the back of her friend's chair as she asked, "Thinkin' about gettin' a tatt?"

"Mhm." The brunette stood, her fingers touching one of the picture frames absently.

"Anything particular you had in mind?" The man who had done her piercing asked, "Or are you more like your dad?"

"A wolf." Marcy's blue eyes fell to his, and she smirked when he winced at the coldness in her eyes, "Celtic styling. From lower sternum to natural waist."

Gina had watched the exchange warily. It wasn't like the botanist to be so assertive and dead eyed, but she didn't say anything. Logan had filled her in on the woman's loss, told her how she had broken down one night and sobbed into his chest, gasping and stuttering about a man named Peter and how they had fought before he died. She placed a careful hand on the woman's back and grinned, "Sounds awesome."

Marcy forced a smile back as another man entered the room. He sat down in the leather chair and flipped open a sketch pad, "How about some specifics, sweetheart?"

It took little over an hour, but since Damien's was still being worked on, nobody she knew noticed when her tattoo evaporated into her skin. The artist didn't so much as bat an eye, just smirked at her before he called out to the front desk, "Yo, Mika, we got one back here!"

"Coming!" A high pitched voice had replied, and a pretty Korean girl sauntered in, rolling a small blow torch in her palm. Her brown eyes had sparkled with mirth as she leaned over the tattoo artist's shoulder. With a sharp grin, she whispered conspiringly to the older woman, "so, what're you then?"

"Werewolf," Marcy replied stoically. Of course they found the only supernatural tattoo in the mid-west. "You?"

"Kitsune." Mika told her as her pupils slit and irises turned a vibrant green. Under her soft perfume, her scent changed to something more feral and natural. The girl shrugged as she lit the torch. "Born and raised."

"Hm."

The girl took the seat the artist had vacated. "This your first since you've been turned?"

"How'd you guess?" Marcy asked.

"Most werewolves come prepared. Or just do this part themselves…" She arched a brow, her eyes returning to their normal brown as she went on, "where's your pack?"

"I don't have one."

Mika nodded, seemingly impressed as she dropped the flame to the woman's pale skin. Marcy let out a growl, her claws slicing through her cuticles to dig into the leather chair as the girl carried on in a tone that was both nonchalant and oblivious to the woman's pain, "Omega. Nice. Don't see many of you around here."

Marcy didn't say anything, just let the petite brunette sweep the blue flame over her skin. Try as she might, her mind wandered back to Peter; to the burns over his body and the way he had felt pinned under that fucking beam. She closed her eyes tightly and tried to rid them of the tears that had begun to well in them. Marcy barely won.

"There," Mika pulled back, turning the flame down and off. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Is it done?"

"Mhm."

"Can I see it?"

The smaller girl handed the werewolf a hand mirror. Marcy checked the inked skin, unsurprised to find it already almost completely healed. The tattoo was just under her right breast, trailing over her ribs to her natural waist. She hummed and nodded her approval.

Mika walked her around to the front desk to pay for it, jotting her phone number down on one of the shops appointment cards. Marcy tucked it in her wallet and thought nothing of it as she continued on with her father's tour.