Nothing Personal

"So, do I have to repeat everything or were you ease-dropping on all of it?" Stiles said sarcastically to Derek after he slid into the passenger seat of the sly, midnight black Camaro. Derek shot him an irritated look. "What? What did I do? I've been helping your sour wolf ass all week and this is the gratitude you give me? Fine, if that's the case, I'll just leave," Stiles exaggerated his rant, going so far to open the door in an attempt to get out but the Alpha shot his hand out and violently pulled the boy back in, slamming his head against the head rest. With a loud "OOF" Stiles clutched the back of his bruised head and glared at the unremorseful twenty-something-year-old. "Thanks douche," he retorted but didn't expect any less from Derek.

"And to answer your question," Derek said harshly, "yes I overheard everything." With that said Derek shifted gears and sped off from the side of the road across from Stiles' blackened house.

Across the town, in her brightly illuminated room, Madison shifted through various papers sprawled across her polka-dotted, basic black-and-white colored patterned comforter. Her rare-but-ever-present bright eyes glowed under her banes as she skimmed across the fine black print of the thin-stripped-articles, fingering a few notes handwritten by Chris himself. Her eyes grazed by surveillance pictures and after-math pictures of the black stump that used to be her house.

Her door suddenly opened. Expecting her guest, she slowly raised her head to meet her omega, a scrawny little brunette joined by a similar brown haired lanky boy. "Bambi," she greeted Cecelia, using her nickname, "Devon, thanks for coming."

Rarely did she call upon them but this was a scenario required a second perspective from an equally intelligent mind. She used her finger to motion Devon forward. He gulped as he hesitantly sat next to her, keeping a safe distance as a feeble Cecelia joined his side, trembling in her red converse shoes. Madison looked her over with sardonic eyes, not impressed with her lazy outfit of dark skinny jeans and a ruffled top. She didn't think the skinny brunette had enough to fill out the outfit. It was like putting a wolf in sheep's clothing. It didn't match. She didn't like how Cecelia felt compelled to change, that this bite could change her, but she had yet to prove anything.

Devon looked better in simple black jeans, a white graphic tee, with a cardigan over that. His attire reminded her of Stiles in a way but his face was thinner, his shoulders not as wide, with a thin physique that didn't present any durability at all.

Madison, even in her nighttime attire, looked sophisticated, showing off sleek, long legs, under velvet pink shorts, covering the rest of her body in a sexy, loose one shoulder white tee that hung off her shoulder. Her hair was in an effortless side pony tail that glimmered under the bright light of her ceiling fixtures.

"This doesn't make since," Madison explained, pointing to the mess all around her, scattered around her bed. Cecelia picked up a photo of the burned house in outside the mess of papers. She didn't understand most of Madison's history except for the fact her parents were murdered by hunters by via arson and the fact she was raised by her uncle. "No one knows I'm alive or dead. It was like I never existed, which is impossible. I know my neighbors must have known something. They would have at least seen me once."

Devon shrugged. "I don't know what to say…" And he didn't.

"Someone made sure the newspapers didn't say anything. I don't know how they –he," she corrected, thinking of Martin Klein, "did it but he made sure no one knew I could be out there." She snarled angrily. They only man who could've provided answers was dead. She was so frustrated. Why didn't he tell her why? Why didn't she force it out of him before she knocked him out for good? "Why did he do that? Why did he let me get away?"

"Maybe he was guilty," Cecelia mumbled.

"Guilty of what," Madison retorted, her eyes shifting from blue to a vibrant red. "He covered of my parents' murder. If he was guilty, he could've uncovered it all, admitted to the press all the guilty parties, hung their asses in front of everybody."

"And ruin his career?" Devon challenged, skeptical.

"And don't forget to mention, people wouldn't believe it. There weren't 'logical' motives other than your parents' were werewolves –or, I mean, your dad was," Cecelia corrected, catching Madison's scrutinizing glare. "They wouldn't believe that. Most likely, the case would be thrown out due to circumstantial or no evidence at all." Always the voice of reason, even if it was meek, but Madison tried to ignore her, sending a hateful glare, but if it was anyone else –let's say Tabitha –she would have most likely given in.

"You know, there is only one way to learn the truth," Devon offered. Almost sharing a telepathic link, she stared at him with knowing eyes.

"You don't think I considered that yet?" She retorted sarcastically.

Devon raised a brow, confused. "Why haven't you then?" He assumed she was desperate and willing to go to that length. She stared at him with hard, gray eyes.

"Because," she hissed, "if I did, it would prove I am, in fact alive."

"Why would it matter?" Cecelia questioned. She pursed her lips after Madison sent her another heated glare. Not providing an answer to the meek infant, one Madison considered Cecilia, she returned her hardened gaze to Devon. They shared a moment of silence, telepathically agreeing on something yet to be revealed.

"You won't get the answers anywhere else," Devon persisted.

"Maybe, maybe not," Madison retorted. "We don't know if he told her or not."

"Like I said, there is one way to find out." Devon insisted. They all sighed.

She closed her eyes for a moment, looked down at the scattered papers but picking one up. Her eyes glazed over the fine, Times New Roman font before crumbling it into a ball and throwing it at the plaster wall. It bounced off the ivy green paint and onto the fine, clean white carpet. She nodded in agreement and got up, gathering the papers and scrambling them into the folder before sliding them into her desk drawer.

"Do you want us to come with you?" Devon offered, holding Cecelia's hand in his own. She hid behind him, scared of Madison's intense expression.

"No," she declined. "I need to do this on my own. Thank you though."

With that said, she led them outside into the dark, where Devon guided his girlfriend into his beat up Toyota. He gave her one more pitiful look before opening the driver's side and sliding into his cloth seats. The dim light from inside illuminated Cecelia's worried face as she watched Madison step inside the French doors of her grand door, closing the door for good.

"I'm worried about her," Cecelia voice out. "What's happening Dev," she asked quietly. "What's going on? Who is she after?"

He sighed. He knew exactly what was happening but didn't want to scare Cecelia. "Anyone who stands in her way," he replied, dismayed. Cecelia stared at him with wide, bewildered brown eyes. "She's blind with revenge. Anyone but her can see that." He sighed again as he realized what would be the likely outcome of tonight. He didn't say it out loud, not wanting to upset Cecelia but her eyes begged for answers. "It's best you stay out of her way."

"I understand that," Cecelia began, "but I want to know what's happening, who is she going to see? Are they… in trouble?"

"I hope not," he mumbled to himself. "She's going to check up on loose ends, that's all."

"Who," Cecelia demanded.

"It won't matter, she'll be dead by tomorrow," Devon exclaimed, startling Cecelia.

"Aubrey?"

"No, the loose end," Devon seethed through clenched teeth. She gasped and covered her mouth, shock evident in her dark orbs. The thought sickened him as he wondered what on earth a person could do to deserve such an untimely end. The widow wasn't the sheriff. Wasn't she already in pain from the loss of her devoted husband? He couldn't agree with Madison's methods. She was slowly losing touch with reality, he believed whole-heartedly.

"Why would she do it?"

"The same reason she killed the other ones," he cringed at the thought as he spoke, slowly reversing out of the driveway. "She doesn't leave a trail. She kills all her witnesses after she sucks whatever she can out of them. Everybody is disposable to her, CeCe, and you'll see that soon enough. She's like death, CeCe, no, she is death. She'll be the last thing a person ever sees." It was hard to comprehend the delicate looking blonde with long curls swinging over her designer attire could be so cruel and vicious. It made him shiver in disgust. He recalled her ghostly grey eyes, almost transparent, with nothing human inside. She was a hollow, vindictive killing machine. He noted how her wolf form better fitted her inner desire to slaughter, dark, gangly, with glowing red eyes. It was like she leapt out of nightmares. "Thank God we're in her good graces."

Cecelia didn't see Madison in that way though. She saw Madison as an idol, a scary one, but an idol nonetheless, with a glamorous closet, flawless hair, and unique –not necessarily scary –eyes. She was ruthless but Cecelia couldn't imagine Madison as bloodthirsty or sadistic. The difference between her thinking and Devon's was the simple fact Cecelia didn't see how messy Madison really was. Madison enjoyed gore, pain, and suffering, to watch her victims wither on the floor, but at the same time, she was articulate and cunning, not careless with her kill but not merciful either, a pure psychopath. Maybe it was because all of her victims were personal to her but the splatter of blood and guts made Devon shiver. The only thing Cecelia ever saw was Madison's way of thinking –a deceptive form of thinking –one that didn't really provide an accurate insight at the turmoil Madison faced every day.

Inside her estate, Madison scavenged around her closet, replacing her lazy attire with black tights and an elegant neck-lined baby blue satin tunic, stretched over her hips, tied together with a thin leather belt. Matching the same shade of leather were her knee high leather boots Tabitha had inspired. Finishing the simple pair of colors, she grabbed a beanie of the same color of her shirt to adorn her head as her hair –still tied together in a pony tail –lying over her shoulder. She reached for the folder in her desk drawer, expecting it to be there, but her hand felt nothing but cold, empty air. She was in disbelief for a moment before panic set in. Her pupils widened, unable to comprehend where else she could have put it. She searched all throughout her room, turning everything upside down before collapsing in her antique, white leather chair imported from France, breathing heavily as she tried to whip up some sort of damage control. Frustrated, her eyes constantly shifted from red to her natural blue-grey orbs, her angry igniting an early shift she tried to control.

She rushed outside of her room down the grand staircase, not having a clue where to go.

"Madison," a deep voice demanded. She stopped in her tracks and looked into the kitchen next to her where she saw her father lean over the countertop, his eyes –magnified under prescription lenses –grazing over recent bills, she assumed. Next to her paper was a large slice of birthday cake –her birthday cake –that was nibbled on.

"Dad," she greeted, stepping into the grand, classic fashioned French kitchen, with vintage, dark stained cupboards with a hint of modern taste, stainless steel appliances mixed with looming, symmetrical oval lamps hanging above the island stove, dimly lit. Her smile was strained as she tried to keep a cool face so her father wouldn't suspect anything.

Frank Lundgren looked up and greeted his niece/daughter with a solemn smile. He was a younger gentleman but years of intense work made him look like he was bordering forty five instead of thirty eight. His dark hair –the same kind as her mother's –stared to grey at the roots, ones he easily covered with a little dye but he had yet to do that tonight. His skin was tight and beginning to pale, not his usual complexion as he was presented more of his Sioux heritage than his sister did. He was a lanky guy, too, with a thin swimming physique he acquired during his college years at Berkley. Normally, he dressed professionally in expensive suits but in the comfort of his own home, he sat comfortably in track shorts and a thin black T-shirt.

Madison looked at him wearily, wondering what was bothering him. Her heart started to beat faster, scared they had actually come across financial troubles but her fears were washed away as he lifted the thin, grey shaded piece of paper off the granite surface. Her fear was nothing compared to the shock that paralyzed her system. It wasn't a bill, thank God, but something much worse, the crinkled article she had carelessly tossed on the floor. All she could do was stare at it, amazed and blank, struggling to find an excuse for the piece of paper but came up empty. Wordless, she gaped.

He shook his head, skimming over the article for the seventh time. "I knew this would come up again," he admitted, astounding her. "I thought you were over this at seven, during that little stage where you wondered what happened to your parents." He pursed his lips. "I had hoped you would be satisfied with what I have given you but I knew, deep down, you were smarter than that. You have your father's cleverness and determination."

Madison felt her legs shake, almost giving out but she supported herself by holding onto one of the bar chairs next to her.

"Come here, Mads," he cooed softly, patting the seat next to him. Slowly, she dragged her flat footed heels across the smooth tile of the kitchen floor to the seat next to her dad. He threw his arms over her shoulder and hugged her close to him. "I'm not mad. I'm not really. Don't look so scared."

She wasn't scared of what he thought about her interest in her parents' murder but how she already avenged it so far, if he suspected it.

"I'm going to warn you, I really have no idea how to talk about this. This…" he made a motion with his hands, "-I have no clue about. It's out of my element but you, as my daughter, this is an important subject that is just as crucial as the birds and the bees. I'm just going to wing it, okay?" He spoke in a clumsy matter. Madison grew more nervous by the second. "You're father…wasn't," he took a breath, "he wasn't normal." Madison was shocked by his blurt and knitted her brows together, questioning to herself if Frank really knew. Frank pinched the bridge of his long nose. "I knew there was something different about him on the occasions Aubrey brought him and you over to visit. He was mysterious and reclusive. He didn't tell anything about his past but," Frank said fiercely, "that didn't change the fact he loved you very much. You were the pearl of his world."

Frank gulped painfully, remembering Sloane's watchful, protective gaze of Madison, how they shared the similar, unique eyes. How –despite the rough texture of his hands –how gently he would hold his little girl, never letting her drop. It tugged at his heart strings. The bear of the man had the heart just as big. He sighed, dismayed. Suddenly Aubrey's words came to mind in the moment he most needed them.

"What are you talking about?" Madison managed to croak out. Frank suddenly reached out and pulled out a familiar, thick manila folder from a drawer and dropped it in front of her. She gasped loudly, unable to explain it but from Frank's grave expression, she knew it was better not to speak anyways.

"This," he pointed to it, "doesn't even cover half of it," he told.

"How did you get it?" She demanded.

"Doesn't matter," he insisted, hiding the fact he popped into her room to say goodnight and spotted the crumbled ball of the article which led him to do some more thorough investigating in her room, managing to find the thick folder in her bottom desk drawer. "I'm going to fill you in on the rest." Madison only stared incredulously at the man as he continued to speak. . "I'm going to tell you exactly what your mother told me. I'm going to explain how you were never mentioned in these articles and who really killed your parents and why," he listed off, "but you have to promise me that you'll listen to all of it, with no interruptions. It's going to sound crazy at first but you need to know of your family's true heritage and how much danger it presented and why I kept it from you for so long. Just bear with me, okay?"

Madison just nodded along.

In the darkness, Stiles shifted uncomfortably in his seat as Derek drove like a maniac on the late roads. "So, you met the Alpha," he began, glancing at Derek's serious face.

Derek nodded. "It's not Tabitha because she's the Beta," he replied, stunning Stiles.

"Then who's the Alpha?"

"I don't know," Derek replied. Stiles exasperated and flew his hands up in the air.

"Well, geez, that helps. Tabitha isn't the Alpha but you don't know who is. Back to square one now," Stiles retorted. It was moments like these Derek wanted to slap Stiles. He was as annoying as he was helpful, Derek snared mentally. He wished that Stiles would only open his mouth when it was useful.

"That's why we're out here," Derek exclaimed. "I have a lead that can explain who she is and what she wants." Justice, Derek answered for himself.

"Okay, okay," Stiles began, "what does she look like?"

"Blond, blue eyes, tall, skinny, and seventeen," Derek explained. Immediately Stiles thought of Aubrey. It was too uncanny. She was already related to the pack…

His natural doubt came to the surface though, as he hated to think Aubrey was related to the heinous acts planned for Argents. "How do you know she was the Alpha?"

"Red eyes," Derek explained.

Stiles sighed, somewhat relieved. Aubrey was a simple gamma, with no superior standing. She would have normal gold eyes like Scott. But then again, his mind reminded him, she was lying when she said –for certain –Tabitha was indeed the Alpha. The question was: Who was she covering for? He tried not to think of the most likely answer "herself" and instead, focused on the possibility this "Mads" person was the actual Alpha.

"She was drop dead gorgeous, too," Derek mused, thinking back at her face. Without her serious and sour expression, she would be almost angelic, with her light hair and exquisite grey-blue eyes.

"Yeah, yeah," Stiles waved him off, disgusted by Derek's lustful expression. "Keep your eyes on the road and mind out of the gutter until we're at this place, okay?"

"We're here," Derek immediately replied as he stopped abruptly in front of a picture-perfect cottage, behind the white picket fence was a single story modern home with two brick pillars uploading a sharply angled roof. Rows of brightly colored flowers lined to stepping-stone path, the classic old lady home.

"So what do we do now? It's like…" Stiles grabbed his phone from his pocket to glance at the time, "its eleven o'clock at night. I bet she's sleeping by now. That's what old ladies do."

Derek shook his head. "Not her," he objected, staring at the window. Behind lace curtain, a bright illumination spotlighted a frail shadow struggled across the short width span of the window. Stiles caught the shadow and gaped, surprised and concerned, as he was worried what Derek had planned for this old woman.

"You aren't going to kill her… are you?" Stiles pleaded. Derek shot him a confused look.

"Why would I?"

"I…I...don't know," Stiles' struggled with words. "Because…" his fingers fumbled before flying his hands up in defeat, "because you're you and you're kind of known for that."

"What?" Derek objected loudly, knitting his eyebrows together. "What the hell are you talking about Stiles? I do not kill people…" Stiles shot him an incredulous look, silencing him, "….randomly."

All Stiles did was raise a brow in doubt. Derek shoved him hard against the door. Stiles' had another retort on the tip of his tongue but he bit it back when the sting of the bruise on his shoulder antagonized him. They quietly exited the car and crossed the uninhabited street, sneaking across the yard and onto the porch where the footsteps cracked the peaceful silence.

Derek heard the distant heartbeat of the woman inside pitter frantically as he was well aware she heard them. He decided he would be polite and give her another warning so she wouldn't have a heart attack with the way her heart was pounding. He heard her heavy footsteps drag across the floor come across the foyer before the door clicked. A moment later the door cracked open, slipping a little light from inside onto the black-ridden porch, illuminating half of Derek's intimidating body. The woman's dim brown eyes widened as a gasp escaped her chapped, thin lips.

"Hello," Derek cut the awkward air with his suave voice to ease the woman's tense shoulders. "I'm Derek Hale and this is my friend, Stiles. We're sorry about waking you up so late but we desperately need to see a Hannah Klein." He could see she was about to close the door so he pushed the words faster out of his mouth, almost incoherently. "It's about your husband, Martin Klein. We have some information about his death that I think is really important for you to hear!" Derek spun the truth a little bit, not really intending to reveal Madison's actions but he needed a way in.

Hannah's dull eyes sparked as she examined the two boys before opening her door full length, letting them stride into her modest foyer. It had an air of simplicity with a solid blue paint to give a serene, peaceful air, as well as elegance, with the rich cherry wood floors. Antiques like glass china added a sense of history to the place that matched Hannah perfectly.

She was an aging woman, passing fifty. Her pale face was worn with wrinkles as her eyes dulled, too. Her paling blonde hair thinned and to hide the small bald spots, she put it in a strict bun. Her attire was comfortable in plaid pants and a cotton shirt, as she had prepared for bed.

"Come in," her tired voice said, directing them into the cozy living room. It was aged with outdated furniture, scratched wood fixtures with small, a tacky flower printed couch and matching chair. Stiles and Derek awkwardly plopped down on the stiff material before looking at Hannah who sat opposite of them on the dainty chair.

"So, what about my husband?" Hannah hurried her speech. In her freckled, pasty hand, a small tea cup rattled in her grasp.

"About that…" Derek dragged on. "We were wondering if you could answer some questions first, about his death, so it could clear up some blank spots first." Hannah looked at him skeptically. "We know he covered up a house fire," Derek guessed but sounded confident. Hannah sighed, defeated. "But… we were wondering about the circumstances around it. Why would he cover it up?"

Hannah glared at them. "Why would you want to know?" She hissed.

Derek glared back, not hiding his true identity. "I know you know what the hell I am. I know you knew what side business your husband was in. I know you know we exist. I'm not here as a nosy human wanting the drag your husband's name in the dirt. I'm here as a concerned Alpha. I know there is another Alpha targeted the Argents and I know you are familiar with them." He articulated every word as his orbs glowed a raging red. Stiles gaped as he was stupefied that Derek would reveal his true nature to a feeble old lady.

Hannah gasped loudly before she reset herself, relaxing her facial muscles. She placed the tea cup on the antique table before looking confidently at them.

"Why would you be concerned for the safety of the Argent family? Aren't they your mortal enemy, as a werewolf? Wouldn't you be glad to see them gone?"

"To be honest, yes, I would, but not when I have no idea who the other Alpha is and why she is hunting them down. I have no idea what she is planning afterwards."

"Son, I know you have a basic idea, with what you already know about the fire and all," Hannah doubted his words.

"Not really," he retorted fiercely, "all I'm aware of is that she's connected to the Dubolazov family and the house fire that killed them, I also know she killed your husband, she said it herself," Derek announced. Hannah shook her head, dismayed and hurt, not by Derek's words but the memory of her husband's death.

"Yes, I suspected as much," she mumbled.

"Don't forget her name," Stiles inputted. He then faced Hannah. "Mads is what she is called. I talked to my dad –he's the sheriff that took over Mr. Klein's position –he said the family had a daughter by the name of either Madeline or Madison…"

Hannah nodded. "Madison Dubolazov," Hannah corrected him. Derek locked his jaw tensely. "I remember her most definitely." Hannah gulped as the memory of a helpless four year old penetrated her aging mind. "My husband was the one who took her to the police department after he found her hiding behind a shed. She had no burns on her body, escaping the house before it was set aflame." She dabbed her mouth with a tissue after taking a long hot sip of tea. "She saw exactly who did this to her parents."

"What exactly did happen to her parents?" Stiles had to ask. "If they were-were," he stuttered under Derek's harsh glare, "if they were werewolves, they could have easily escaped the fire."

Hannah shook her head again. "They were dead long before the gasoline was poured," she murmured against the glass rim of her cup. She took another hot sip before setting it down on a small plate. "They were shot with arrows lined with wolfs bane."

"How did she survive?" Derek questioned with furrowed brows.

"That's what Martin –my husband –wanted to know," Hannah answered. "He questioned her for five hours in his private office but she wouldn't say anything. She just sobbed and asked for her parents. It was futile. All she wanted was her Mom and Dad but they were in the morgue. When he told her this, she asked if she could see them one last time, to say goodbye properly." Hannah felt moisture line her eyes and she dabbed those away, too, with her napkin. With a shaky breath, she continued. "She looked up at him with these sad, blue eyes, red all over from crying. He said his heart broke and his hard shell cracked. He took her into his arms and hugged her as tight as he could. She asked over and over again if the "bad people" would be caught and he promised her he would try his best." Her throat constricted as she thought back on the little girl.

"He came home later that night," she continued, "with her picture in his hand. She was adorable, with long brown hair and big blue eyes and this little smile, cute as a button. I asked him why he had it, and he said he couldn't do it. 'Do what?' I questioned. 'Kill her,' he replied. 'What do you mean?' I was so confused." She licked her dry lips. "He explained to me how he went after these things called werewolves, and at first I thought he was crazy, but there was something in his eyes, sincerity, and I had to believe them. He then told me how he knew these people –the Argents –also hunter werewolves and called upon him to cover up the execution of this man –Sloane Dubolazov. He was fine with it until he saw the helpless look in Madison's eyes. He felt guilty that he orphaned a girl, even if her father was a criminal in question, it didn't feel right that she lost a mother, too. He knew if he told Chris –one of the other hunter's –she'd probably be slaughtered, too, and he couldn't justify that."

She took another long sip of her tea as Derek and Stiles leaned forward, hanging onto her every word.

"What do you mean criminal in question?" Derek had to ask.

Hannah shrugged. "Martin didn't disclose that to mean. All he said was it was circumstantial evidence."

"Of what," Derek pressed.

"I don't know," Hannah persisted, pursing her lips.

"You didn't bother to ask?" Derek demanded, outraged.

Hannah's thinning brows furrowed in annoyance as she glared at the arrogant Alpha. "Oh I did, don't think I didn't," she accused. "He just didn't want to talk about it and as a wife, I had to respect that."

"Why didn't he turn them in? Chris, I mean," Stiles diverted the tension with a simpler question.

"Who would believe him? There was no believable motive for Chris to kill Sloane or his wife, not one the court would accept. The case would be thrown out and then Martin and I would become targets for treason. He didn't' want that. The only way he could redeem himself was to hide Madison, to make sure harm never came her way. When her uncle came to pick her up, he advised him to take her far from Beacon Hills, because he knew the Hunters would come to check up on the progress of the case. The uncle didn't do that, instead he moved a city away –he was afraid Madison would be traumatized if she moved too far away from the place she grew up –and moved her to a different school district though, where no one heard of the fire."

"He was so guilt ridden, he retired only a year later. The exhaustion of trying to prevent the discovery of her existence only a town away kept him up all night for almost three years until she moved away. To make matters worse, I was diagnosed with cancer and the Argents were generous enough to provide a lot of money to pay for my treatment, hush money. Martin felt dirty for accepting the money, but it was what kept me alive. He officially had an oath of silence to both Chris and Madison and it wore him out for quite a while, especially after he was pressured into going back into work when his buddies begged him to return as Sheriff. Two years later, Madison returned."

"I will never forget the look on his face when he came home that night. It was drained, completely white, as if he saw a ghost. I sat him down at the kitchen table, put roast in front of him, but he didn't touch it, as he described how she changed. He told me her eyes were ice cold, how harsh and bitter she sounded. He wanted to tell her how he protected her from the same fate as her parents faced but… the words couldn't come out, making her believe he was one of them. He told me…" Hannah took a breath, the memory very painful to her.

She remembered how ghastly he looked, how his dark hair seemed limp upon his stretched forehead, and how blue and breathless his lips were. 'She was so mad, Hannah. You could see the anger in her eyes, the betrayal, the disgust… I couldn't see any part of that child I remembered so long ago anywhere in her anymore… It was like she died inside… she just seemed….hollow, Hannah, just dead inside…' She remembered her husband's exact words and it made her face drain in color.

"He told me how angry she was and that…" she closed her eyes to hide the tears. "…that she looked like she about to kill someone." She struggled to take a breath as her heart pounded painfully against her rib cage. "Two weeks later, after I returned from the grocery store, I found him laying the couch with his head…" she couldn't even describe it, with her bottom lip violently trembling, and then suddenly, in a snap she broke down and sobbed.

Derek and Stiles looked at each other, dismayed with soft expressions, pitying the frail woman. A minute later she dabbed her face and looked at the boys. With a heavy breath, she stared at them fiercely. "I know she did it. I know she blames him and I know she won't stop until she kills every, single Argent responsible out there. She's psychopathic like that. She staged my husband's murder like a suicide and she made a pretty damn good framing." Hannah's face lit up bright red as anger fed into the volume of her voice, making her louder with each word. "I'm angry but at the same time…" as quickly as it came, her anger faded into a soft voice that better suited her frail body. "I understand where she's coming from. I support her cause, as odd as it seems. She did kill my husband after all. But in her defense…" The words seemed forced, "he didn't defend himself or admit the truth. He made himself look like the guilty party. I blame the Argents for putting himself in that position and it was their alliance that got him killed. I hope makes them suffer, for her loss and for mine."

Stiles' face contorted in shock, unable to process or understands her thinking. Derek, on the other hand, perfectly understood her thinking. She blamed the Argents for their part, for having Martin feel obliged to protect them for something wrong, and instead of getting what they deserved, her husband paid for their mistake. Instead of blaming Madison, she blamed the Argents for framing him.

"I would not get in her way," Hannah warned them. "Whatever you do, don't interfere. They'll get what's coming to them. Its personal for her and you don't want to get caught up with what she's doing. You'll regret it. Just let her be and you'll be fine."

Derek thought back at the time he and the blonde –Madison, he identified, feeling a tingle up his spine just thinking about her name –shared and remembered her cautious words, "the less you know the better…" as if she was sparing him. She didn't want him involved… because she didn't want him to get hurt or because she wanted to do herself? He couldn't decide.

"How do you think…she'll do it?" Stiles had to ask.

Hannah pursed her lips together, thinking deeply. "She's a clever girl but a sadistic one, especially to those who cause her pain. For the Argents, I think she has something very special planned for them. I wouldn't know what but… I don't expect it to be clean, especially with how my husband died."

Derek and Stiles cringed. "You wouldn't at all still have that photo, would you?" Derek requested. Hannah nodded her head and lifted a finger, motioning for them to wait, and then got up painfully to retriever the photo upstairs.

Stiles was flabbergasted at the news and torn. He had totally forgotten about Tabitha and Madison (as Aubrey) and focused on Madison. He felt sad for her, and as crazy as it seemed, sympathetic towards her cause. He would feel outraged, too, if his parents were murdered, and remembering his mother's death made it seem so much realer, and justice wasn't delivered. He would be driven crazy enough to pull out his own justice, too. He hated to admit it but for one moment, he actually agreed with Madison's efforts to extract revenge against Chris.

Derek, on the other hand, already understood Madison's struggle and had decided days before he would join her effort, only if she let him. He held back a frustrated growl but his face contorted in the familiar expression of disdain, an emotion in retaliation to her pride.

They heard Hannah descend from the stairs with a picture in her hand. She extended towards Derek when she finally made it across the faded carpet of the living room. He smiled back in gratitude up at her before looking down at the picture. His eyes widened as he noticed the picture wasn't of her just as a child but instead, within a flame, was a collage of photos, one of a four year old, another of a seven year old, a ten or eleven year old, and fourteen year old.

"Martin collected photos of her every chance her could, to capture her growth. Her uncle would send them to him via e-mail and I would print them out at my photo shop in the highest quality. I wouldn't consider Madison a daughter but she was a very important person to him, a reminding to him, a painful but an important one. It hard to think she could betray him in the way she did…" Hannah developed a heavy frown on her worn face as her eyes drooped. "I don't think she understood how important she was to him. If she did, I don't think she could've gone through with what she did." Hannah shook her head, dismayed. "But, as I said, I understood why and I can't necessarily blame her…"

Hannah didn't say much more on the matter and focused back on the photo as did Stiles and Derek. Stiles caught the similarities to Aubrey and Madison but not much, as in the photos, Madison's gray eyes brightened into a bright blue against her chocolate locks and peach skin. Her smile seemed big and genuine but the truth was, behind the camera lenses, Madison was just as troubled and angry, but was smart enough not to let it show.

A fatal mistake on their part, Stiles forgot about Madison (as Aubrey) as the real thing and focus on her as a different part while Derek was determined to get to her as an ally. They would realize soon enough, the most dangerous person is someone who isn't who they really are.