(A/N: I update Wednesdays and sometimes Saturdays. Enjoy the new installment! Please read Hell Hath No Fury first.)

"Hello Smith-Cragen Realty, this is Valencia speaking how may I direct your call?" A twenty two year old Valencia Smith(Fury) answered her work phone. She pressed the proper extension on the landline and hung up the phone then inspected her manicured fingers. Crossing her stockinged legs at the ankle, she smoothed out her black pencil skirt and pulled down her white blouse, then she grabbed her compact and inspected her make-up.

A year and a half had passed by since Valencia had been back home and they seemed to have drug on and on. The young woman took the proper precautions to stay safe and lay low, making her home and social life dull. She had still not gone back to school, opting instead to take business classes at the local community college. She also still lived in her parent's house. She didn't have much of a social life because she didn't want to get close to anyone; the situation with her father had made her very aware and untrusting of the people around her. Valencia's appearance had also changed in the two years since the 'incident', though she tried to change her hair every two weeks to avoid being pointed out in a crowd. This week, Valencia's shoulder length hair was jet black, curly and parted down the middle. Another change to Valencia's look was a tattoo; a flock of small black birds flying across the back of her left shoulder. Since the tattoo could be an identifying characteristic, Valencia usually kept the birds covered.

After she had come home, Valencia's life had returned to the boring, mundane one she had before the 'incident'. Her life before meeting her father was made up of studying and going to class. She had no friends, no excitement, nothing out of the ordinary. All that had changed once she had met Sam, then in turn met Steve, then met her father. She had friends, allies, and a 'boyfr- not a boyfriend. But it was all temporary and Valencia is back where she started. A lonely twenty two year old with with a mundane job. A job gifted to her by her mother that's main purpose was to keep her busy and out of trouble. The only excitement the ebony-haired woman got now was her weekly training sessions with her mother at the gym, where she could blow off steam and finally fight like she yearned to.

But, unfortunately, that was only two times a week.

"Hey Val!" A average sized male with mousy black hair and brown eyes stopped at the young woman's desk. He leaned toward her with a friendly grin, "Valley! Valerina! Val-"
Valencia raised a dark brow and flipped her compact closed. "Hi Mr. Johnson." She interrupted with a sigh, which was a cue for Ron to continue his daily, one-sided chat with the young woman.

With the charm of a used car salesmen and the white, dimpled smile of a innocent child Ronald Sinclair Johnson was her mother's highest realtor. He was quite average looking, you probably couldn't point him out in a line up, but he was utterly convinced that Valencia was in love with him. She called him 'Mr. Johnson' to keep a professional air between them, but he just couldn't take the hint. Which could all be attributed to her mother trying to hook him up with Valencia pre-Shield takedown. In Valencia's mind, he was a less endearing version of Sam.

Oh Sam...she hadn't talked to Sam in...well, forever! She didn't blame him though, phones work both ways after all, keeping in touch just wasn't as easy as she thought it would be. But she did miss her Samuel...

Valencia smiled at the thought of her dear friend, and Ron's face lit up.

"So you're free?" He asked with a grin.

The brunette's brow furrowed, "What?"

"Tonight? You, me, drinks at the Brickhouse? Come on it'll be fun." Ron said with a grin, leaning on her desk.

"Rule 33 Section 2 of the hand book, Ron." Valencia replied, gathering up random papers from her desk and getting up from her chair. "No interoffice romances." The ebony-haired woman finished, walking towards her mother's office.

"Oh come on, Val!" Ron exclaimed, following after her. "Don't quote the handbook! I helped write the handbook!" He trailed after her, stopping at his boss's office door.

"Stop sexaully harassing my daugther Ronald." Rebecca called from her desk as Valencia all but ran into her office.

"I-" Ron started to protest before clearing his throat, "Sorry." He said, before backing out of Rebecca's office and walking away.

Rebecca turned to her daughter with an amused expression. "What was that about?"

Valencia plopped down on one of the chairs in front of her mother's desk. "It's all your fault."

Rebecca Smith-Cragen's office was a light beige with a large window overlooking the city. A large modern, brown desk was set in the middle of the room and pictures of Valencia and Daniel adorned the walls along with awards and accolades. In front of the desk were two patterned, brown arm chairs for clients to sit in when they visited the office.

As Rebecca replied to an email she snorted at Valencia's response. "Blaming me for your problems again, Lena?"

The young woman rolled her eyes and sucked her teeth. "This is actually your fault Mom. Remember that whole episode of you trying to hook me up with Ron?"

"That was three years ago." Her mother answered, dismissively.

"Well for a horn-dog like Ron it was like yesterday." Valencia rolled her eyes. "Anyway, what's on the agenda for the remainder of this week?"

"Daniel and I are going out tonight, tomorrow I have to go to a property for an open house, and Friday is the annual budget meeting. Why?"

Valencia sighed, "None of those plans include me, mother dear."

"That's because you are a grown woman with her own life, darling daughter." Rebecca replied, looking at Valencia over her reading glasses. "I'm sure you can find some way to entertain yourself for three days."

Valencia bit her lip and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, thinking to herself; that sounded easier said than done. What could she really do? Week after week it was the same thing. Valencia's parents went out, busy with their own lives, and Valencia was left by herself. She really should be used to it by now, she has been on her own for four years, but maybe it's because she now lives in their house with them again that she is reminded that she has no friends.

"You should probably get back to work, Miss Smith. The phone's aren't going to answer themselves darling." Her mother told her, not looking up from her computer screen.

Valencia huffed and stood up from the tan arm chair, brushing her hands against her pencil skirt and left her mother's lavish office to return to her plain, receptionist desk.

After a few more hours of, "Hello Smith-Cragen Realty, this is Valencia speaking how may I direct your call?", the young woman was finally relieved of her position and could go home. She shrugged on her white cardigan, grabbed her handbag and bid farewell to her mother, before clicking and clacking her way to the elevator.

"Hold it!" A voice called out, right before the doors were about to close, and the brunette held the door open for the person.

And as luck would have it, Ron S. Johnson stumbled his way into the elevator and pressed the garage level.

Valencia closed her brown eyes to keep them from rolling at the man.

"Tired?" The mousy man next to her inquired.

She opened her eyes and her eyebrow ticked up, "Yeah, long day." She replied, leaning her head against the elevator wall.

"My offer still stands, Val. Dinner and drinks on me…" Ron trailed off, his brown eyes looking at her pointedly.

Valencia inwardly scowled and willed the elevator to descend faster. "I'm not really looking into having a relationship right now, Ron." She finally replied, chewing on her lip.

Ron's eyebrows shot up and he chuckled. "I didn't say we had to get married, I just wanted to hang out with you. I've worked here since the beginning of this company and we hardly know each other."

Valencia opened her mouth to reply but she was interrupted as the elevator doors dinged open. "Oh thank God." The ebony-haired woman muttered, as she, for the second time, all but ran from Ron to her car. This time though, she wasn't as lucky to have her mother save her.

"Valencia!" Ron exclaimed, corning her at her car. She turned around and leaned on her white Kia, frown fixed on her face. "Can I at least get an answer? It seems like every time I talk to you, you try to avoid me. Do I stink or something?"

Valencia took a breath and shook her head. "No Mr. Johnson, you don't stink. But I'm really not comfortable with 'hanging out' or 'dating' my co-workers. Especially not someone who works right under my mom."

Ron's eyes widened at her last statement. "If that's your concern, you have nothing to worry about! Miss Rebecca and I have nothing but a platonic relationship!"

A beat of silence passed between the two and Valencia had an incredulous look on her face.

'Did he just…' She thought and she opened her mouth ready to attack. "Are you out of your fucking mind Mr. Johnson?"

He furrowed his bushy brows, "You can call me Ro-"

Valencia silently held her hand up and interrupted him. "No. I'm talking. That was beyond disrespectful and I have half the mind to tell her what the fuck you just said." She paused, glaring. "You know, I was trying to be nice, and politely turn you down but no Mr. Johnson. You're a perverted man who stares at my mother and I whenever chance you get and I think you're disgusting. If you ever talk to me again about something other than the business, I'm going to shove a sexual harassment lawsuit so far up your ass, your grandkids will be sending checks to me."

Ron's mouth dropped and he tried to babble out a response.

"Save it. Just get the hell away from me." Valencia scowled at him, which was very reminiscent of her father's, and got into her car. She slammed the door shut and revved her engine, before peeling out the garage and leaving a slack mouthed Ron in her wake.

Valencia was flying down the street furiously, like a bat out of hell. By the grace of God and the luck of a Fury, she made it home without even a citation. Slamming her door, the ebony-haired woman stomped up the walkway to her front door and unlocked it, then slammed it closed.

No one in the house reacted, which was because, no one was home. At this realization, the young woman kicked off her heels and stomped her way up the steps to her bedroom.

She threw her purse down on the floor, threw her heels to a random corner, and collapsed on her bed. Valencia grabbed a pillow and screamed into it for a couple of minutes, until she was lightheaded. She then pulled her head from the pillow and laid on her back, staring at the ceiling, the question that she asked herself daily drifted through her mind.

What hell was she doing here again?