The young woman was rarely shy. So rarely, in fact, that she was considered audacious and (if a female could be described as such) a bit of a hard ass. But when confronted with her mother, she crumbled. Alexia Bardow stared angrily at her daughter with bloodshot, mud-brown eyes. Tanya stood stiffly and stared at the floor almost desperately. She had just asked for information, any information, about her father.

Finally, Alexia spoke. "He's in law enforcement. He's a retired marine. He'd been married 3 or 4 times by the time he knocked me up. He never knew about you. I don't know if he's still alive…" the dead tone she had used changed into one of vindictive glee. "Even if he did know of you, he wouldn't want you. He hated me by the time he left. You're a worthless little bitch, aren't you?" Her sick smile enraged Tanya, but she didn't say a word. It would only make it worse; Alexia always kept the whip close at hand.

Tanya left the house as quickly as possible. As she blew through the door, she was digging in her pocket for the one picture she had of him. She had always taken comfort in it. It proved she wasn't a physical replica of her mother like some people seemed to think. The ice blue eyes that stared out of the picture in her hand were the exact same as the ones she saw in the mirror every day. The smirk was very similar as well. And more recently, when Tanya found a streak of grey at her temple running starkly through her long golden curls, she noticed they had the same shade of premature silver.

Now, as she sat on the woodworking bench in the shed in the back yard, the photo brought only questions. Was her mother telling the truth? If she ever found him, would her father want her? She sighed and ran a hand through her long tresses. No wonder she was going grey at 17, perpetually asking herself these kinds of questions.

She stuffed the photo back in her pocket and got out some sand paper and her current project. A wooden, heart shaped locket hung form a length of leather. After sanding mindlessly for some time she sat back with a jolt, hanging the heart in front of her face. It was finished; there was nothing more she could do for the little piece of jewelry. Tears pricked her eyes. She had made it for her father.

(Scene change)

Two days later she heard a commotion from a souvenir store she was passing by. It was sectioned off with crime scene tape and through the window she could see the back of a grey haired man wearing a black cap and jacket. His hands were up in a placating manor, and she noticed he was wearing latex gloves. He was an investigator. He was also surrounded by five mean looking thugs.

Excellent.

Tonya smirked at her comrades, a mixed race group of tattooed young men (obviously not counting her). They grinned back at her. A tall black man who stood next to her handed her a pistol. She thanked him by kissing his cheek. A subtle signal from her and they all swarmed around the building and entered the back door. Soundlessly they infiltrated the back room and took out the enemy's sentry. The black man, her second in command, named Horratio, poked the agar door cautiously. It didn't creak. They moved in, silently taking up positions behind the investigator's captors. There was a pool of blood behind the counter, Tanya noticed sadly as she stepped over it. Once she was sure she had her target covered, she risked looking at the one they were here to help. Her heart stopped. She knew that face. It had a few more lines, and the smirk was gone, but it was him. Two pairs of icy eyes met for a split second and her hand went to the wooden heart that now hung around her neck. His eyes went there too, but then continued on to the gun she held in her hand.

Tanya's temper spiked. These thugs were going down. She glanced at Horratio. He nodded. "Now, what's all this about, hmm?" she purred in her most dangerous voice. The thugs all whirled around and turned the air blue at the sight of her and her comrades, all with guns aimed at places that would put them out of commission, but wouldn't kill them.

Their leader smiled charmingly at Tanya, despite her gun trained on his groin. "Now, is this really necessary?" he asked, condescendingly. The bastard, thought Tanya as her temper spiked again.

"It is very necessary," she growled.

"This has nothing to do with you." The leader was finally sounding a little worried. Maybe it something to do with the fact that she was now aiming at his chest, and more specifically his heart.

"Correction," she said, her voice low and growly enough that even though everyone could hear her, they had to strain. "It has everything to do with me."

At her damning pronouncement, the leader whirled around and shot at the investigator as a last ditch effort to cause damage. The investigator reeled back, banging his head on the shelf behind him and a little to the left. He dropped like a stone. Tanya let loose a shriek of pure rage as she fired once, twice, three times into the bastard's chest. That was the cue to the others. The air filled with screams and bullets. Finally there was relative silence, with only the moans of the thugs to be heard. Tanya rushed to the investigator's side. There was a bloody gash on his head, but nothing else. She ripped at his jacket, looking for a wound. She was never so relieved to see a bulletproof vest in her life.

Her comrades were still hanging around. "Go!" she ordered them. They shot worried glances at her, but Horratio nodded and led them out. She turned back to the unconscious man. It really was him. She took a handkerchief from her pocket and pressed it gently on his wound. He winced and opened his eyes. As he squinted up at her, she smiled sadly. She touched his face, convincing herself that he was real. Suddenly an unholy shriek of "TANYA" split the air outside the shop. She looked up startled. Her mother was outside. She looked back at him. He was still watching her, face screwed up in pain. Quickly, she took off the wooden locket. She lifted his head, as gently as possible, and he groaned again. She slipped the leather cord over his head and settled him back down. Groggily, he reached up and grabbed the locket, engulfing it in his large hand. She let one tear fall, and it landed on his shirt. She kissed his forehead as he closed his eyes.

She got up and ran to the door. Just before she darted through it and into the waiting claws of her Alexia, she glanced back at her father. She left him there.