The funeral was like a blur of black and white against a green canvas. Meg remembered staring at the coffin, drifting in and out of the reverend's words and then eventually watching as the polished wooden coffin was gently lowered into ground until it disappeared from her eye.

"Hey papa, Bobby asked me the weirdest question in school today."

"What was the question?" Samuel Day replied vaguely while reading his newspaper while sitting on the living room couch. His horn-rimmed spectacles were balanced on the bridge of his nose and he had to constantly tuck back a strand of his loose blonde hair that obstinately hindered his vision.

Meg remembered her father to be someone who paid very little attention to his appearance. With shoulder length blonde hair—usually held back in a loose ponytail—he never had time to cut. Being busy with work and devotion to his one and only child.

Meg noticed the way other women looked at her dad when they went shopping. Their longing stares directed at his boyish smile and tall broad yet lanky body. He had sharp features with thick dark brown eyebrows that Meg had inherited that accentuated his amber eyes, also a feature they shared but other than that they were as different as night and…well day. Now that she thought about it, his last name really suited him.

"When I die would I rather be cremated or buried?" He lowered the newspaper and looked to fifteen year old Meg—who sat on her bean bag staring up at him— his eyes were full of wonder as a smile of amusement pinched the corners of his lips.

"A rather cryptic question for a kid to ask don't you think? Your friend Bobby is very strange." He mused while folding the newspaper and placing it on the seat beside him. Meg grinned and nodded in agreement.

"Yeah I know, but it was a good question, I never really thought about it…have you?" She had asked and her father rubbed his chin in thought, pondering the question with much interest. Meg had waited anticipating her father's answer, never knowing she would be fulfilling them only a few years later.

Funerals, they always brought up the worst memories. She remembered her father once telling her that he never liked the idea of being buried in the ground. She didn't understand his reasons behind not wanting to be buried when he died which was why she honoured his wishes and cremated him, but it made sense now.

A grave stone was a constant reminder of what was lost. Even though it allowed a space to visit when you missed them it will always be there as a statement to the world that the person died. They were gone and they were never coming back, a repercussion to sadness once felt.

Isaac stood between Stiles and Scott but he kept glancing at Meg every few seconds—she stood on the opposite side of the grave—just to make sure that she wasn't crying but from the blank expression on her face Isaac knew she was spacing out. Maybe as a way to cope or maybe she was in her own sad thoughts of her grandmother, slowly reminiscing, unable to grasp the situation. Isaac knew he couldn't.

Out of curiosity he followed her gaze and found it to be fixated on a woman on the other side of the grave. Isaac didn't recognise her and from one look at her graceful figure. High heels and spiral auburn tendrils that fell onto the shoulders of her white blouse paired with a pencil grey skirt. He knew she wasn't from Beacon Hills, the woman was dabbing away a few tears but her hazel eyes were cold and almost resentful, who was she?

"Scott."

"Yeah?" The Beta answered glancing up at Isaac who still focused on the slim woman.

"Do you know who that is?" He asked subtly pointing in the direction of the woman. Scott followed the direction he was pointing to.

"I am not sure, she looks really familiar." He murmured in reply, his eyes narrowing on the features of her face. She was well groomed with thin dark brows, sharp nose and high prominent forehead but there was something in her stare, something dark and resentful.

"Dude, I think that's Jacqueline, Meg's aunt."Stiles answered shocking his best friend, Scott never imagined her aunt to be so young, or attractive.

"The one living in France?" McCall whispered in disbelief his gaze unwavering from the woman.

"Yep, Meg doesn't look to happy to see her." The honey-eyed teenager pointed out, they all looked to her stone expression "Then again, it is a funeral."

Meg smiled and exchanged handshakes of cheek to cheek kisses from everyone who came to pay their condolences. Most of them were old friends of her grandma and her neighbours and Meg didn't really know any of them personally other than bumping into them at a store or at school.

Megra tensed up on reflex when her aunt approached in her usual proud way. Her hands were buried deep into her expensive black Prada coat that snugly fit her slender tall figure, her voluminous auburn curls spiraling down her shoulders. Her aunt dominated her in many ways, height, personality and sometimes Meg thought it was beauty.

"Megra," Jacqueline acknowledge towering over the teen wolf in her high heels. Meg directed a tight smile her way.

"Aunti—"

"I told you not to call me that." She cut in harshly and Meg instantly silenced.

"Sorry, I am glad you could come." She said with a wavering voice. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes at her aunt's obvious need to feel younger than she actually is.

"Sure you are." Jacqueline grumbled mockingly "The lawyer is coming over to discuss the will tomorrow, be at my motel room by twelve and don't be late."

Her tone was strict and cold which was something Meg was used to ever since she had to live with her after her father passed away. Jacqueline didn't even way for her niece's reply and simple walked off and Meg stared after her, not at all surprised by her aunt's inconsiderate actions.

"Meg." She spun around on reflex, instantly recognising the voice. It was strange to see Sheriff Stilinski in a black suit and tie but he looked good, a different image from his usual uniform.

"Mr. Stilinski, thank you for coming." She said with much enthusiasm. He smiled softly there was pity in his eyes and she pushed back the urge to cringe but there was also an understanding, funerals were a bad reminder for him too—and Stiles.

"My condolences Meg and if you ever need a place to stay if Jacqueline plans on selling the house, we are more than willing to take you in." His kind words warmed her heart. She stepped forward and hugged him without faltering which he was surprised by at first but soon returned it with just as much affection.

They pulled away and Meg's smile was full of gratitude.

"Thank you so much" He returned his own soft smile before ruffling her head of dark curls and walking off to probably talk to her aunt. Meg could imagine how that conversation would go. How good her aunt was as pulling off the act of the perfect caring woman she wasn't.

A sudden feeling of dread hit her and she wanted to get away from the crowd, hide somewhere and not come out for a long time. The entire time during the funeral all she could think about was her father, combined with the resolute worry that her aunt would somehow find out her secret. Her stomach was in knots and her mind was in turmoil, the air around her felt thick and heavy and it—someone said her name.

Meg hadn't realise she was spacing out while staring at the grass beneath her feet until she had to abruptly look up.

Derek hide behind a few trees being inconspicuous. People barely noticed him anyway and when it came to being undetected he was always best, counting the various times he had snuck up on Scott and Stiles and scared them half to death. But at that moment he never wished for nothing more than being part of the crowd.

He had to watch the funeral from a distance, he couldn't be seen. Questions about his presence at the funeral could not arise. Isaac, Stiles and Scott could attend without a care, they are all near her age and they all knew her from school, the neighbours knew her grandma but Derek was the outsider. He would stick out like a sore-thumb.

The doubt began to sink in and he began to wonder what was he doing there standing all by himself in the edge of a forest creeping over a funeral. He tried to remind himself that he was there for Meg's moral support but the action seemed empty. She didn't need him, she had Stiles, Scott and Isaac, but then she was standing by herself just staring at the grass.

He was alert at how slowly the smile faded from her face and her fists clenched tightly as if suppressing some deep emotion or fighting it. His foot automatically took a step towards her but then realisation held him back. He couldn't approach her without causing a scene so he stood still unsure of what to do.

Derek wanted to reach out to her, every fibre of his being yearned to be next to her. To hold her in his arms and assure her that everything was going to be okay because it physically ached to see her eyes so wide and terrified. Before he knew it his lips moved calling out to her and she perked up. She had heard him.

Their eyes met, amber to silver. She was staggered at first, not expecting him to be there but then her shoulders relaxed and the frown on her lips softened into a smile and a light sparked her ochre eyes. He did that, just from a look. It was so simple yet so intimate to just be able to look at her. To be there and for her to instantly be assured that everything was okay.

I am not alone, I am not alone. Meg repeated in her mind while holding his gaze and the smile gradually formed on its own. She wanted to go to him, wrap her arms around his wide torso, share his warmth. He was always so warm which is surprising considering his usual cold demeanour. Everything around her began to fade away. The noise the sadness and then there was only Derek, just him.

You know those scenes were two lovers are just running to each other through a field of grass under the blue sky and shining sun? Meg used to think they were really sappy and pathetic and she remembered rolling her eyes at the cliché of it all…but running to him, just pouncing on him and burying her face in his chest sounded so appealing at that moment—until someone stood right in her line of vision.

"Hey Meg, you alright?" She blinked furiously and raised her gaze to meet his concerned honey eyes, she was still dazed.

"Huh yeah I am fine, are you okay?" Was her response, Stiles—was leaning forward— arched back to his full height and stared down at her with one raised dark-brow.

"Why wouldn't I be okay?"

"We—I don't know why I asked that." She replied sheepishly while trying to sneak a glance behind him at Derek. He was still standing there watching them. The younger Stilinski exhaled pityingly and brought his hands out of his pockets and to his sides.

"Come here." He spoke softly and Meg was surprised when he wrapped his arms around her shoulders. She tensed, not expecting the hug but soon relaxed as the whisper of a mint smell brushed under her nose and the scent instantly calmed her. She liked the fresh linen smell of his clothes combined with the gum he had been chewing that morning. It was all so very Stiles and familiar.

"Oh whoa Stiles, you are willingly hugging me." She couldn't help but tease which he chose to ignore.

"Feel better?" He asked, his breath warming up the roots of her hair. She smiled and returned the embrace but her stare always found Derek who stood patiently watching them, she smiled his way.

"Yeah, I feel better."