Vengeance

26

Seraphim closes the door behind her. She walks through the entryway into the living room where the four o'clock sun is hiding behind a neighboring skyscraper, washing the room in fractured light and shadow.

She heads upstairs and peers in the library. The Hub entryway is open, but deserted. She freezes, a momentary cord of panic striking her. She turns and rushes back downstairs. Bursting through the kitchen doorway she finds Angel seated at the island, a plate sitting before him.

"Why exactly do you have a dining room if you never use it?" Seraphim asks, drawing his attention.

He sets the fork down. "Status symbol?" He shrugs. "Do I gather from the look on your face, Marina told you something useful." Seraphim answers him with a nod. "Are you going to share or do I get three guesses?"

"You're awfully snarky," she observes.

"I'm hungry. I get snarky when I'm hungry," he retorts, stabbing a piece of chicken for emphasis.

She rolls her eyes. "I got a name, Marcus David." She slides onto the stool across from Angel, her knees scrapping against the tile. She glances around. "Where's Alan?"

"Decided to go out for dinner." Angel shovels a spoonful of lima beans into his mouth. "Now operating under the assumption I don't have telepathy, you care to elaborate on who this Marcus David is." He waves the fork around as he spoke.

"Director of Spectre, apparently."

Angel shifts a slice of the marinated chicken breast. "You do realize his files will probably be highly classified."

Seraphim smirks, leaning forward. "That's why I came to the best hacker I know."

"I wasn't aware you thought so highly of me," he commands, a teasing lilt in his voice.

"Only when I want something," she retorts.

"Speaking of wanting something, where's Ashley?"

"She went home with her other," Seraphim replies.

"Alright. Let me finish eating and then give me a couple hours, I'll have everything you need," he promises.

***

Two hours morphs into four then six. Alan returns a little after five thirty with leftovers he stashes in the fridge. Seraphim, laying on the replacement couch, updates him to the situation. By eight, Alan heads up to the guest room to retire for the night.

Seraphim is sitting on the couch's arm staring out at the city. The thoughts swirling around in her mind weight on her like a heavy coat, attempting to drag her down. She's known since she embarked on this crusade that there's only one way this will end and it seems clearer than ever. The only difference is the cause has expanded beyond personal vengeance.

Marcus David has left a trail of bodies in his wake that would rival any villain. Her own suffering was brought on because of her refusal to accept injustice and what was to be her reward? Her own team, her friends turning on her, killing her? What he did destroyed more than her body, in place of trust and acceptance now there's paranoia and fear. Because of him she now regards the world with suspicion.

Everything would have been so much simpler if she just believed what she was told and turned in Bullseye, but she couldn't. It went against every instinct Alan engrained in her. Justice for all...where is justice now?

Two years ago such thoughts of vengeance, of blood for blood would have never entered her mind, but she was a different person two years ago. She was alive. Now she hasn't the restraints of code or honor to hinder her. She is free. The thought should frighten her, but it doesn't. It is empowering. She will bow to no one and nothing will stop her from doing what must be done.