Distance [Derek Hale]

Chapter Forty-Seven

"It is our Jackson," Margo said, and Derek glanced up at her from his place on the sofa. He'd been injured but he hadn't told her, not yet. The previous day had been filled with trying to save packs from dying of a disease although Margo had sat out for that one since she wouldn't be much help anyway. He figured she knew though, or that she knew there was something wrong because everything felt wrong.

Like there was a darkness in the loft that could not be overcome.

As of this moment, she was walking from the kitchen over to the sofa with her laptop secured in her arms, "what?"

"Ethan sent a few pictures of his new apartment, and he sent a selfie too," she explained as she took a seat beside him and showed him all of the photo's, "and look," as she got to the last one it was a selfie of Ethan and Jackson both wearing sunglasses and holding large smiles on their faces, "do you think it looks like he's eating enough? I can't tell."

"I'm sure he's eating just fine," Derek assured, "makes sense. Two narcissistic murderers would find each other eventually," he added on and she turned her head back to look at him with a scowl.

"Watch it, Hale," she warned and he hummed out of amusement reaching forward and placing his hand on her back, "it looks very posh... do you think that's Ethan's money or Jackson's."

"My bets Jacksons," Derek said and she hummed in agreement.

"That's definitely Ethan's style though," she added on just as a knock came to the door. Glancing over at Derek confused, she pushed herself up from the sofa and fixed her dress as she walked over to the heavy thing.

Sliding it open, her brows furrowed as she came face to face with Braeden who was holding a duffel bag. Looking at her confused for a moment, she opened the door further and stepped to the side without a word and Derek immediately pushed himself up from the sofa with a grimace.

"What are you doing...?" He asked, as Braeden put the bag on the table and rolled it out to show a collection of weapons.

"Protecting my investment," she said and he hummed in confusion as she pulled out a few guns, "why aren't you healing?"

Margo looked over at them not understanding just as she saw the red marks which were staining his t-shirt. Braeden reached out and lifted up the t-shirt just enough to see the wound. It was like loneliness came as she watched them be so close and yet it was not their closeness that was bothering her. She couldn't tell you what was actually bothering her.

"Some wounds take longer..." Derek dismissed.

"And some leave scars-- but not for people like you. So, what's going on?" She asked.

"Maybe I'm just tired..." He excused, not wanting to be caught out in his secrets once more but Braeden didn't believe him for a second. Realising what was happening, Margo pressed her lips together and headed to the bathroom to get the first aid kit knowing full well that it would be needed.

"Derek, show me your eyes."

"You just saw them."

"Show me your real eyes." He couldn't. "Okay... Now, why don't you tell me what's really going on?"

Margo walked back out and placed the kit on the table for them before heading back to the kitchen to find something to distract herself with. That loneliness had turned into nausea and she was tempted to go through the calendar to find every reason as to what could be the cause of it. She didn't appreciate feeling sick and horrible without knowing the reasoning behind it.