keeper (d. Hale)

rot and decay.

Delilah snuggled deeper into the coocoon of warm blankets and waited patiently for Derek to return.

Rationally she knew that he wouldn't be gone long but his absence had her question if she should bundle the thick blankets further around her and slip out of the bedroom to find him.

It wasn't the worst idea.

However, in her mind she could already picture the outcome. Her feet would pad softly against the landing at the top of the stairs and she would take great care in ensuring she missed the creak in the nearest hall floor board as she tipped toed to the landing, moving like a phantom intent on remaning hidden while drifting through different realms of existence.

And just as she would prepare to take her first descending step towards her love, Derek would be there to throw her over his shoulder in a binding hold before moving to cradle her against his chest. His walk back to the bedroom would be a slow one, with a soft kiss to her forehead and a warm look to his eyes. He would take his time until he reached the foot of their bed and suddenly she would be airborne. Tossed against the pillows like a naughty child that refuses to remain in bed for the night, but unlike a child she wouldn't pout. No. She would smile as she watched him crawl towards her with a look that demanded control.

With a sigh, Delilah decided it would be for the best if she chose to stay exactly where she lay, just on the verge of sleep and with his still warm pillow tucked beneath her head. Perhaps Derek would attempt to wake her as any princess charming should do for their princess, with the sweet press of his lips to her ear and the whispered promise that the coffee was ready.

That was honestly her favourite way to start the day.

Coffee and Derek.

The bedroom door clicked open with the gentle turning of the knob. Delilah watched from her bundled position as her husband entered. He balanced a tray in one hand and closed the door softly with the other.

His movements were rigid. Something was off.

"Der?" Delilah whispered while she tried to interpret why her husband seemed to be moving with such unease.

Derek carefully adjusted the tray in his hands and placed it on the nearby dresser top. Two coffee cups, two spoons slathered in peanut butter and one file that he had yet to open. It didn't feel right, no matter what Peter said. These words were for his wife first.

His wife. His beating heart.

"Derek?"

And there she was, not entirely in the position he had left her in but almost similar.

Derek stopped to take her in. To finally look at her.

"Der?"

The curtains ruffled lightly against the open window, sending one of his favourite curls to the way side. He tracked its movements before he was drawn back up to her open eyes and felt that all too familiar cold shiver slide down his spine.

No matter how many times he was greeted by this side of her, it was still no less terrifying. No less puzzling.

The warning hiss reached his ears just as suddenly as it descended into a light purr.

"Beautiful boy," she smiled at him with all of her teeth. "I told you there would be a time for stories."

The creature that wore his wife's face stretched her arms above her head with a slight groan before sitting up in one fluid movement.

Derek did the only thing he could do when she spoke to him in that firm authoritative voice, he nodded.

"Stories are secrets and secrets can be stories. If you tell her one of these ensure that the words you use are not twisted."