1Title: Revenge Part 3

Author: Ethiercn

Rating: T (language)

Disclaimer: I don't own them. I am not making any money or profit off of them.

Author's Note: Begins the day after Part 2.

Angelica collected her mail and made her way up to her apartment. She didn't have much. A postcard from Jupiter, an art supply catalog, an ad from the local pizza place, and one of those envelopes that suggested a plea for money, most likely from the local animal shelter. She read the postcard on the way up the stairs. Jupiter was having a wonderful time, and her Italian was getting better. Angel entered her apartment, and put the postcard with its predecessors on the fridge. Meowing, Pumpkin came over and jumped on the table. She petted him, and opened the envelope.

I know who you are. Leave him alone, bitch.

The first flash of panic was for her father. It passed the instance she remembered that Thrash had put security on their families. She retained enough presence of mind not to crumple up the letter. How dare this person, this, bitch wasn't quite the right word, invade her life, her space.

Vance was going to flip.

"Anything?" Justice asked tensely. He stood protectively close to Firestar, who sat on the Crash Pad's couch. Sil sat nearby in a chair.

At his seat in front of the computer, Thrash shook his head. "Just like the last one. No fingerprints. We might be able to match the printer," he shrugged, "But I'm not sure what that's going to tell us."

Justice shook his head and began to pace. "There doesn't seem to be anyone. No one has been acting any different. And why now?" He started to reevaluate everyone he had contrast with from his classmates, to the support staff on campus, to the women at his local coffee shop. The only mail he got at the Vault had been letters from Angel and news clippings from Rich. "You're not going anywhere alone," he said the Firestar.

She let out a small sigh but didn't argue. Vance had refused to meet at her the Crash Pad, insisting that she wait for him at her apartment and then come in with him. He was so worried about her that he wasn't thinking of the danger to himself, she thought. "Thrash, my father, "she began.

"I already increased the security around him after you called, Angelica," Thrash interrupted. "Don't worry about him." He shifted his attention to Justice. "I also increased security around your mother. She's far more of a target. She, however, did put something in the mail the other day. Is it possible that she's doing this?"

Justice stopped his pacing. For a second, it seemed like he was about to shout at Thrash, but then his shoulders sagged. "I don't know. I haven't talked to her since the whole thing with the Upstarts." He looked away. Firestar went to him and put her arms around him. He hugged her back, resting his head on top of hers.

"I don't think it's your mother," Sil said quietly. "Though considering this team's history with mothers, it wouldn't be surprising. But it's most likely someone who saw the trial and identifies with you. Thought they had a chance then you got back with Angel." Sil ignored Thrash's glance.

"So anyone in New York," Justice replied, looking at Sil.

"Nation, actually," Thrash amended. "It got a lot of coverage."

Justice looked at Firestar. "I should have stayed at your place after I got out."

"We knew the risks. This isn't your fault," she replied, gently touching his cheek. He leaned into her touch.

"We still have the tape to go though," Thrash said after a few moments. "We'll find her, don't worry."

Next Morning

Angelica whisked the eggs, head cocked to one side as she listened for the sound of the water shutting off. He gaze slid to the sleeping bag where Vance had slept last night. He had tried to get her to stay at Nita's, but the Sub-Mariner was allergic to cats, and Angel valued her independence and her working space. It was difficult enough to paint with one person looking over her shoulder.

It was strange, though not in a bad way, to have him spend the night, to wake up and see him sleeping there. Like the night before Stephen had captured her; the comforting presence of his body next to hers.

And since she was completely honest with herself, she was starting to think about sex.

She couldn't help but wince a little at the memory of offering herself to Vance before he went off to the Vault. Any lesser man would have taken of advantage of her, but he hadn't it. Then when they had gotten back together, he hadn't pressured her to rejoin the Warriors. She smiled; she felt loved.

She bit her lip thoughtfully. After the last couple months, she was sure that she didn't want to wait until marriage. And she would rather have her first time be with Vance for a whole host of reason, including, most importantly, how she felt about him and the feelings he stirred in her each time he touched her.

He made her knees go all wobbly and her mind places that made her blush.

When he kissed her . . . .

But now was not the right time to broach the topic. It still was a bit too soon after everything. While she wanted him, she also wanted to make sure that it wasn't simple lust or hormones. After the stalker issue was resolved, she thought, if she still felt the same way, she would raise the topic.

The water shut off with a clunk. The plumbing in the building was not the quiet type. She could hear Vance moving around in the small bathroom. She poured the eggs into the waiting frying pan.

Vance exited the bathroom and came up behind her, "Omelets? Every time I try to make it one, it always ends up as scrambled eggs."

"It's all in how you shake the pan," she replied as she added the cheese and sausage.

Standing behind her, he slid one arm around her waist and placed his free hand on top of hers as she gripped the pan. "Like this?" he asked.

"Only if you want the eggs on the stove," she laughed, slowly down the movement slightly.

"Your Nana taught you?" He asked as she slid the omelet from the pan onto a plate.

"She was a great believer in Julia Child," she pulled the toast from the toaster. "Try the next one."

"Did you send that letter to your mother?" Vance asked as he experimented with making an omelet. If he could get it right, he could have something else besides Cup of Noodle, slightly underdone pasta, or scrambled eggs.

Angelica poured the juice, "Yes. Dad said it would take a couple weeks for a reply to make its way back."

"Is this done?" He glanced over at her for confirmation, "Can you live with the answer she'll give you?" Both of them had mixed emotions about Mrs. Jones.

"I want to know. If there's no straight answer, like with why she brought my painting," she shrugged. "It's not like I can believe what Stephen says anyway."

He sat down across from her and shoveled some of his omelet on to his toast. "You're in class for most of the morning, right? I'll drop you off and pick you up after my presentation. Then we go help Thrash and Nova looks though the rest of the tapes."

"Rich was complaining to you about that too?"

"Well, if he could always go back to school and have an excuse to get out of some of the grunt work."

Anger. What she was felt was raw, fierce anger. If the stalker stood before her now, she would turn the woman to ash without a second thought.

Her beautiful painting of the burned munitions house on the Hudson ruined.

The canvas slashed to ribbons.

Dimly, Angel was aware of her professor reaming out security, of the sympathy words and glances of her classmates. All she felt was anger. All she saw was red. She clenched and unclenched her hands so tightly that she could feel her nails digging into the flesh of her palms.

She would rather have the stalker come after her, and then she could blast the woman. To attack her work was worse, a more intimate destruction of self.

"Angel," James said. "It won't do any good to keep staring at it. Let's get you some water." He steered her out of the exhibit room.

She was so upset that she didn't hear Vance call her name, though he must have. She was only aware of throwing herself into his arms and of his body tensing when he saw the ruined painting though exhibit room window.

"You're done here in two hours?" he asked still holding her.

She nodded.

"I'll stay here until you're done, and then . . ."

"You can't," she interrupted. The anger was still there, but she was calmer and determined not to let the stalker control her every move. "You have that presentation."

He brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, "I'll reschedule."

"I'll be fine. I'll wait here. You can pick me up afterwards."

He tightened his hold on her and shook his head, "No. After this . . ."

"I'll stay with her until you're free," James interjected causing Vance to look at him for the first time. "The class will still be here anyway. We have to clean up the mess. It was mostly likely some stupid frat joke."

Vance didn't answer. He looked at Angel. "He's right," she said. "About the others staying," she amended at his doubting look. "I won't be alone."

"You called Dwayne?"

She nodded.

"You stay with someone," he said. "I'll get you after the presentation. Then we'll meet up with Dwayne and the others." He cupped her face with his hands and kissed her. "Be careful," he whispered, kissing her lightly on the forehead.

"You too," she replied. "I'll be in the studio."

He smiled tightly, kissed her lightly on the lips, squeezed her hand, and left.

Thrash rubbed his eyes. He had been looking at the tapes for a couple hours. He glanced at the clock. Nova would be here soon to spell him.

He paused the tape. There. Wait, he knew who that was.