Vengeance

18

"It should be you," Seraphim insists. She pushes the object across the table.

"No, it should be you," he protests. He slides it in front of her.

"He's already mad at me. It should be you."

Angel lets out an exasperated sigh. "He's not to thrilled with me at the moment either," he mumbles. Angel runs a hand through his hair as he plucks the cell phone from the table. Alan's contact number is highlighted by a faint cream shadow, all he has to do is hit call. His thumb hovers over the screen, twitching ever so slightly. "We could always both call," he suggests with a weak smile.

Seraphim tilts her head to the side, considering the offer. "Fine, but you're pressing call."

"Fine," he grumbles, defeated. Angel hits speakerphone and sets the phone on the counter between them.

It rings three times before Alan picks up. "Hello?" He doesn't sound annoyed as they expected, but he does sound exhausted.

"Uh, something happened." Angel sighs. "We need your help." He hates this, feeling like he did when he screwed up as a kid. He curls his hands into fists. He's not a kid anymore and there are more important things than a bruised ego.

"What happened and who is we?" he demands.

Seraphim cringes at his tone.

"Seraphim and I," Angel replies. He deliberately ignores Alan's first question.

"Angel was attacked last night," she blurts out, looking at Angel. He glares at her. She shrugs.

"By who?" Alan growls.

Seraphim can imagine his face growing red and he vein in his forehead bulging out. Alan seldom allows his temper out of its cage, but when he does...well, it's memorable.

She gulps. "We don't know," she admits.

"Damnit Seraphim, what did you do?"

"I-I didn't do anything," she stammers. She curses herself for faltering.

"They didn't just attack Angel because they were bored!" Alan snaps. Seraphim looks away from the phone, her eyes stinging. He's right and she knows it. She may not be directly responsible for the attack, but if it hasn't been for her he wouldn't have been in danger.

"I'm find Alan. It's not Seraphim's fault." Angel's voice is firm. Seraphim is already tormenting herself, Alan doesn't need to add to it.

Seraphim's rapid blinks keep the brewing tears at bay. Alan's sigh emerges through the phone as crackling. "I'm sorry, Seraphim," he says, his voice a near whisper.

Seraphim nods, remembering as she does that he can't see her. "It's fine." She tries to sound dismissal, but the strain in her voice betrays her.

Angel reaches across the table and laces his hand in hers. He gives it a squeeze, coaxing a small smile from Seraphim.

"I'm coming up there. I'll be there in a couple hours."

"Alan, you don't need to do that," Angel intercedes.

"You've been attacked."

"And I'm fine," Angel assures him. "We called because we needed help figuring out who the attackers were."

The sound that flickers through the phone is a hybrid between a sigh and a groan. "Tell me..."

Angel glances over at Seraphim. "I don't know how they got in, my best guess would be they repelled down from the roof and slipped in through the living room. There were six, well-armed, military grade armor and training. I didn't see any identifiable marks on any of them, but I didn't get much of a chance to look. We were hoping you still had some contacts. Seraphim and I have been a bit out of touch."