Deucalion woke up alone. Reaching out in search of the warm body of the nubile woman he had shared the bed with the night before, he found nothing but a cold spot where she had once slept. As he sat up a touch, he rubbed a sleep heavy hand over his eyes. They shifted to red and with his Alpha vision, he took in her room.

It was cluttered with books and papers, many of which were pushed against the wall in stacks. The path to the door was completely cleared. Deucalion assumed that was for his benefit and let a smile slip over his mouth. Folded neatly at the foot of the bed were his clothes, his cane and glasses placed delicately on the top. With a smirk, he plucked the latter up and put them on.

As he dressed, he listened to Isla speak. She seemed to have been on the phone, her voice surprisingly cold.

"Are they sure?"

…

"But- yes, I know."

…

"What time is the funeral?"

…

"At- yes, okay. I'll be there. Okay. Thank you for calling. Okay. Goodbye."

Deucalion frowned. Slipping his jeans over his hips, he buttoned them quickly and zipped his fly up. He slid his sweater over his shoulders but didn't bother to zip it up. With a well-practiced flick of his wrist, his cane extended and he sighed as his gaze blackened and his eyes became clouded and blue once more.

The tip of his cane skipped over the cheap tile. It was cold under his bare feet, but he wasn't bothered by it. He listened to the woman sigh and cleared his throat from what he hoped was the door way to the kitchen.

"Well, well," Isla greeted him, her voice bright and warm once more. "Look who's decided to join the land of…"

When her voice trailed off, he finished, "The living?"

"Yeah." She cleared her throat, tone weak and tired.

The man arched an eyebrow at her. "Is everything all right?"

Isla sighed. "I just got some less than stellar news. I guess I'm still kind of in shock."

"Oh?" Deucalion moved into the warmth of the kitchen. "It's nothing serious, I hope?"

The stove was on, the room humid despite the faint draft that he had felt in the hallway. He offered her his hand and she didn't hesitate to link their fingers together. The kiss they shared was light and quick before she pulled him over to the rickety table a few feet away. When he sat on what he assumed to be a lawn chair, she moved to gather whatever it was she was making.

Vaguely, the Alpha sniffed at the air. Her scent was still the same, no more or less bitter than the day before. Deucalion supposed the phone call she had received had nothing to do with her illness, or at least nothing major.

After a brief pause, Isla told him, "A girl I knew from the hospital died. She had been missing for a while, but still. She had run off with her boyfriend, you know how stupid teenagers get. They think living under bridges is romantic."

"Hm." The man frowned as he listened. A sense of dread crept up in him and with a tight voice, he asked, "Did you know her well?"

"No. No…I only spoke with her a few times, but… I don't know. She left an impression. She was a tough kid. Epileptic."

"What was her name?" He asked, already knowing the answer.

"Erica. Erica Reyes." The woman replied. He listened to her sniff and felt his stomach clench. He could faintly smell her tears and turned his face to the table, his cheeks burning with shame as she spoke. "God, she had just turned sixteen."

Deucalion felt her fall into the seat across from him. Her elbows hit the table hard and he felt her head follow. His hand searched out the table, a cheap plastic thing with more than a few cracks in its surface, until he met her fingers. Stroking the slender digits with his own, he frowned. "I'm sorry for your grief, Isla."

The Alpha meant it. He didn't particularly care that the Reyes girl was dead- she was a threat and a rather rebellious prisoner, but he didn't like knowing that his pack had caused the young woman across from him pain. He could taste it in the air, the shock and distress still fresh and potent in her scent and Deucalion sighed softly to himself.

The redhead chuckled darkly. "It's just…she was doing so well, ya know? Finally coming into herself." She rested her head on the table, next to their hands. "It was nice to see. Encouraging, you know?"

The Alpha ran his fingers through her hair. It was still fluffy from sleep, curly and soft against his skin. Voice gentle, he asked, "Encouraging how?"

"I thought it meant she'd be okay." Isla admitted, her hand coming up to stroke the inside of his wrist. "Once you kind of…accept your illness, once you learn you're more than just what is on your chart…it's the first step toward healing. Mentally, that is. At least that's what all the support groups say."

Deucalion thumbed at her temple. Quietly, he asked, "Have you been to many?"

"I've been to enough." The younger woman sat up a touch. She let him touch her face; let him trace the tracks of her tears before she kissed the palm of his hand. With a gentle smile, she told him, "I made oatmeal, is that okay?"

"I'd love some." He felt her beam into his hand before she pulled away and kissed his cheek. Taking the chance to nudge their cheeks together, he let his head rest against hers. "Don't fret so much over the Reyes girl's death, Isla. Things like this…they happen for a reason."

Isla hummed. With doubt in her voice, she told him, "I don't think so. Things like this aren't some kind of divine message, they're just sad."

Deucalion kissed her jaw, the closest part of her he could reach. Tangling his fingers in her curly hair, he tilted her head back to capture her lips with his own. Sighing against his mouth, the human chuckled. "I can honestly say I don't think that chair will hold us both, Dee. Besides, the oatmeal will burn."

"To hell with the oatmeal."

"So dramatic!" Isla gave him a peck and quickly pulled back. "Plus, didn't you say you have work this morning?"

"Sadly, I do."

"What is it you do exactly?"

Deucalion merely smirked at her.

"This air of mystery is losing its appeal, Dee."

"No it isn't."

"Yes it is!"

A few hours later, Isla's mirth had dilapidated back into sadness. The funeral had been a relatively small affair, with only a few of the kids from the local high school making an appearance, and of course, Erica's parents. The redhead's eyes narrowed as she watched Mrs. Reyes cry into her tissue. She knew she shouldn't judge. That she had no place to, having never known the loss of a child, but she knew the Reyes well enough to know that the woman receiving so many condolences was hardly the most attentive mother.

Erica had spent every trip to the hospital alone. She went into MRIs without a parent present behind the glass, without anyone their waiting for her to come out, without anyone fretting over her and embarrassing her in front of the cute doctors. Without anyone fussing over her or holding her hand and frankly, it made Isla sick to her stomach as she watched Mrs. Reyes accept comfort for a child she neglected while she was alive.

Disgusted, she looked away. Most of the students had broken off; moving away from the grave, but one remained sitting a few rows back from the Reyes family. He was a young man, somber looking with his head down. Isla could see a picture in his hands.

Curious, she approached him. Tilting her head, she asked, "Were you her boyfriend?"

"No." He looked up at her. His features were strong and tense, his voice empty as he said, "We were just friends."

"But you're the one she left with?"

He nodded.

Isla put a hand on his shoulder. When she squeezed it, he looked up at her with confusion, "I'm sorry for your loss."

"I only knew her a few months…aren't you supposed to say that to her parents?"

"Why? They didn't appreciate her when she was alive." The redhead offered him a strained smile, tears easing over her cheeks in the steady way they had all morning as she told him, "You were the one closest to her. The one she wanted to be with. You're probably feeling her loss more than anyone here."

For a few moments, the young man was silent. There was something off about the way she smelled. The familiar smell of illness and something else, something he couldn't place that put his fangs on edge and he didn't trust himself to speak. Finally, he nodded to her. "Thank you."

She patted his shoulder once more. "Take care of yourself. Live twice as fully for the both of you, yeah?"

Boyd nodded again. Isla smiled stiffly at him and walked off. Her mother met her at the gates of the cemetery. The woman's blue eyes were laced with tears and the redhead wrapped an arm around her shoulders. They embraced tightly for a long moment before pulling back. Autumn Crane smiled at her daughter and wiped the tears from the younger woman's face as she spoke, "I hate coming here."

"Did you see dad?"

Autumn nodded and brushed a strand of Isla's hair back. "Yeah. How was the service?"

"Long." They fell in step and began to move toward the car. "And sad. And I hate them."

"Isla. We've been over this."

"You were fine when I got sick."

"I know." The shorter woman nodded, understanding. Isla had always had a rather fierce maternal side, something Autumn was usually quite proud of. Her daughter had always made it a point to be welcoming and friendly and frankly, it was unlike her to be so hard on someone- much less a grieving mother. "But you can't hold everyone up to the same standards. Everyone deals with things in their own way."

"But they ignored her, mom." The rage in Isla's voice was palpable and it shone in her misty eyes as she shook her head, "They ignored their little girl when she needed them most and now she's gone and-" Isla's voice cracked and she looked away. Autumn gave her arm a rub and she continued with a sigh, "And now I'm supposed to feel bad for them? No. I can't do that."

Her mother sighed. "I don't like this judgmental streak, Isla, it isn't like you."

The younger redhead hugged herself as they walked. "I don't like people taking things for granted. I don't like people getting taken for granted. People get snuffed out so quickly…" She shrugged. "I don't get it. How could they do that to her?"

"Having a sick kid…it's complicated. It's hard seeing them that way. Sometimes it's just easier for people to switch off, emotionally, I mean."

"That doesn't make it right."

Autumn nodded her agreement, "You're right, it doesn't. With me, I had seen your dad go through it. I knew what to expect. I didn't think it would get as bad as it did with you, and I'll admit, sometimes I wanted to shut you out."

Isla blinked in surprise.

The shorter woman smoothed some of her daughter's hair back. It had come loose from the ponytail she had tied it in that morning and with soft eyes, Autumn continued, "It's so much easier to do. When your baby's hurting, you just want to take it away. To make it better and when they're sick, sick like you are, sick like Erica was, you can't. It's never going to be fixed."

A few tears slipped from the woman's eyes and Isla faltered. "Mom…"

"When you were sick, really sick and had to go in for surgery, I almost couldn't do it. You were so young, Izzie. Barely eighteen, you remember?"

"Yeah."

Autumn smiled softly, her fingers not straying from her daughter's face as she continued, "I didn't want to see you like that. You had always been in and out of the hospital, but that…that was different. We could've lost you and I didn't want to remember you like that. Too sick to move, hooked up to all those machines."

The taller redhead frowned down at her. "But you didn't leave me."

"I couldn't." Autumn sighed. "For some people it's easier to walk away."

"Yeah, well…let's not get all candid and emotional, I mean, a funeral really isn't the place for feelings, mom."

Autumn gave her shoulder a gentle slap. "Get in the car, Iz. You can tell me all about the new older boyfriend you got."

"Oh my god, Daye did not tell you about that!"

"Actually, Jimmy did."

Isla glared at her. "He did not."

"Did too. Said he's blind and foreign and hot, too."

The redhead clenched her jaw a moment before reluctantly nodding, "Okay, yeah, he is all those things."