Vengeance/Moon Knight

      It would have taken a keen observer to locate the two figures atop the Gotham Industrial Museum, though they made no apparent effort to conceal themselves. One—sleek, black, predatorial—sat in a niche that time and weather had carved in the crenellated edge of the rooftop. The other—a faceless shadow cloaked in white—stood beside her, one arm resting on the shoulder of a gargoyle perched to leap from the roof. His cloak blended with the statue’s pale stone wing, which curved around behind the pair, obscuring their forms and sheltering them from the occasional errant wind.
      Vengeance’s eyes scanned the streets below, nearly empty this close to midnight. It was over an hour before the robbery her ninjas had told her of was to take place, but she had learned that early was far better than late in these cases, and was slowly learning patience as well.
      A sidelong glance revealed her companion to be watching the city skyline, nearly motionless, but alert. His relaxed pose assured her that all was well there, and she decided there was no better time to broach one of many sensitive subjects she wanted to discuss with him.
      “There’s something I wanted to ask you,” she said slowly, returning her gaze to the streets. “About Blacklash.” She almost never spoke to him of his former life; and when she mentioned it, it was always in third person. “I want to know, if Scourge hadn’t—” She rephrased her thoughts hastily; she had almost referred to his death as an execution, but Moon Knight considered it murder. “If Blacklash hadn’t died that night, what might he have done; what kind of person would he have been?”
      “Why?” One word, spoken in the harshest tone he had ever used to address her. Flat, angry, and the accompanying tension in his body put her fur on end.
      “I just—” She broke off, annoyed with herself for having failed to foresee his anger; angry with him for his natural response. “I wanted—” Scowling at the street below, her legs pulled up in front of her now, arms wrapped around them, she stumbled through more truth than she’d meant to explain. “It’s just that, in my lives, I’ve made bad people into worse people, I’ve made bad people into corpses, and I’ve seen far too many heroes turn into criminals or worse. But— I’ve never done what Scourge did.” Her head was turned away from him; the tears that sprang to her eyes were hidden, safe. “I’ve never managed to change someone from a criminal to a force for good.” It was her voice that betrayed her, cracking on the last note, and she lay her ears back, lashing her tail furiously as she took refuge in anger. “Never mind,” she snapped. “It was a question, that’s all. Forget I asked.”
      “You know who Blacklash was; what kind of things he did.” Moon Knight’s response was blunt, but without the edge of anger his voice had held before. “No-one forced him to do them. Life as an enforcer for the Syndicate was pretty good.”
      Vengeance bit back her first thought; she’d been on the receiving end of that “enforcement” more than once, and it was the Syndicate’s enforcement branch, the Lords of Pain, who’d broken Batman’s back. But she’d left more scars on Blacklash than he had left on her, and by the time she’d found him the night he’d died, she’d accepted that the past was over and done. She took a deep breath, and started again.
      “I know who Blacklash was,” she agreed carefully. “But that night in Syn City, I didn’t go into that bar looking for information. I was looking for you, for him.” She toyed with the end of her whip idly, aware of him watching her in silence. “I had decided to talk to Blacklash about, well, about doing what you’re doing now. Helping me protect the city, instead of terrorizing it. I thought that maybe, given the opportunity…” She trailed off, not sure that she wanted to hear the answer to the question she left hanging there.
      It was so long before he responded that she looked up at him, afraid she’d said something wrong. He was watching the skyline still, and in his costume, his expression was unreadable. When she turned to face him, he looked down at her, and shook his head.
      “There’s no point to speculating,” he said flatly. “Scourge removed the possibility, and we’ll never know what could have been.” After a moment, he spoke again, his voice softer. “But for the rest … All that Scourge did was end a life prematurely. It was Khonshu who created Moon Knight.” He looked away, scanning the skyline, then the streets below, then added quietly, “And he chose the vessel he did because Bast’s avatar saw value in it. It’s not Scourge’s actions that are justified by the end result.”
      Vengeance watched as a lone car drove past, taillights vanishing in the Gotham night. Carefully, moving slowly so she could pull back if he drew away, she leaned against the man standing beside her.
      “I would have tried, you know,” she whispered. “Whether or not it would have worked out, I want you to know that I would have tried.”
      A white-gloved hand brushed her cheek, then settled on her shoulder briefly before they moved apart, resuming their vigil.