Cuddy stormed home from the penthouse she had caught Sergei drunk at.
Sergei- a sixteen year old, drunk. Sergei- her son, her responsibility- incoherent. Fighting. Rebellious.
She passed endless streetlights, not even watching, not even caring which direction or way she went. She felt like she was a rat in a maze, watched and observed by some great outer force, pushed to the limit, stuck, hopeless. She eventually reached a dead end, and turned swiftly to go back to her car. An arm abruptly grabbed the trails of her coat.
"Wha-" she said hoarsely through thick tears. Another arm flashed through the streetlight, grabbing her hair. A dark-lit face peered at her rudely, examining her. He ripped off her jacket, covering her mouth.
Out of nowhere, a dark shadow shifted from more shadow, ghosting through her attacker, just about to yank her shirt off.
"You have made a grave mistake," A low accented voice growled, and flew at the shadow,
The attacker pulled a shiny object from his back pocket, stabbing at the ghost.
The shadow spun, kicking the knife from the thug's hand and subsequently kicking him in the face with the other foot. He landed lightly, watching his opponent fall, coughing. The thug was picked up, punched in the face and thrown in the dumpster. Through all of this his white sweatshirt's hood fell down, revealing an extremely recognizable pair of eyes and shaggy hair.
"Ser-" Cuddy sobbed,
"Shh," Sergei muttered, pulling his hood back up, reclining into the shadows.
And like that, he was gone.